#Jey Uso AU

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Blood Bound - Part 3 🥀

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

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All OC Characters belong to me

Vampire!Jey Uso x Black OC

1920

The party was in full swing. Joe sat in the back corner with his cousins sipping on an old-fashioned. He watched her with a small smile on his face. Her laughter filled the room, a soft melody that seemed to make everything around them fade. She moved gracefully through the crowd, her dress shimmering under the soft light. Joe's eyes followed her, and despite the noise and the people, it felt like they were the only two in the room.

He raised his glass to her once they finally made eye contact. Jon and Josh shared a look as Joe stood from their booth and walked over to the woman. She was way more breathtaking up close. Her beautiful brown skin glowed softly in the warm light, her dark eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief and her lips were painted a nice shade of ruby red. 

“I was starting to think you would never come over.” Her voice was low and sultry, her boldness made Joe chuckle. 

His voice was smooth and practiced. “I don’t usually make a habit of interrupting a good time,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers.  He flagged the bartender down and ordered himself another old-fashioned. “And whatever the lady wants.” He muttered, his eyes raking over her. 

Her smile didn’t fade as she watched him. “How about a gin and tonic?” she asked, her tone playful, yet sharp, like a challenge.

Joe’s lips twitched into a smile of his own. “A gin and tonic it is,” he said, motioning to the bartender to make the order. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“That’s cause I didn’t give it to you.” She smirked and took her drink from the bartender. “Thank you for the drink.” She winked and walked away from the bar.  

2025

“I don’t think I can hurt anybody Josh,” Simora whispered as they stood in the shadows across the street from a busy bar. Simora needed a living source in order to complete the transformation. 

Josh’s gaze softened as he studied her. “Hey.” He called out cupping her face in his hands. “You're not gonna hurt anybody. Imma be right here with you.” 

“What if... what if I can’t control it?”

“I’ll be right here with you,” Josh repeated. “Joe is on standby too, just in case.”  

Simora’s eyes flicked over to Joe, who was standing in the darkness, with her new heightened senses, she could see him clearly. He was staring at her, but not in a creepy way, but in a more protective way. 

She turned her attention back to the bar when the door swung open and a drunk guy stumbled out. “Him,” Joe said so low only Josh and Simora could hear him. “He’s by himself.” 

Josh sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “You ready.” 

“No,” Simora answered truthfully and Josh grinned. “But I knew what I was signing myself up for by taking your blood.” She took a deep breath and stood up straighter. “I’m ready.” 

“Good, remember what I said. You have to believe the compulsion. Be confident.” Simora nodded and stepped out of the shadows. 

Josh stepped closer to Joe and they both watched as Simora slowly walked over to her victim. 

“Hi.” Simora called out. The guy, who had been messing around with his phone, jumped and turned to face her.  

“Shit.” He muttered, running a hand through his hair. “You scared the shit outta me.” He laughed.  

Simora smiled softly, her nerves tightening but she pushed them down, focusing on the task at hand. The man was a little disoriented, his breath smelling faintly of alcohol and cigarettes. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice smooth and soothing. She took a step closer, watching the way his eyes lingered on her. She focused on him, locking eyes, and felt her power rising within her, the compulsion ready to take hold. “Are you alright?” she asked. 

The guy blinked and then nodded his head. “Yeah. Just came out to get some fresh air” 

Simora took another step closer, her heart pounding as the hunger coiled in her chest, tightening with every second. She took a slow breath, forcing herself to remain steady. She was so close to him now, just a few feet separating them, and she could feel the overwhelming pulse of his blood. She could hear it rushing in his veins, and could almost taste it in the air. Her fangs ached, itching to sink in, to take what she needed.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered. “But I need you to relax and not scream.” The man’s posture immediately relaxed as he nodded his head. “You won’t remember any of this.” The man nodded again and Simora reached out and gently cupped the back of his head, bringing him closer to her. She closed her eyes and inhaled as the smell of his blood pumping through his veins took over her senses. It was intoxicating—the rich, metallic scent that filled her nostrils, the thrum of his pulse beneath the surface of his skin. She had been holding back, trying to fight the need, but now it was all-consuming. Her fangs ached with the intensity of her hunger.

With one final breath, she tilted his head slightly, her lips brushing against his skin where the vein pulsed, and without hesitation, she sank her fangs in. The moment her teeth pierced the flesh, a shudder ran through her body, a rush of warmth flooding her senses as his blood flowed into her. His blood was hot, thick, rich with life, and Simora drank deeply, her hands tightening around the back of his neck as she allowed herself to indulge. 

She pulled away slowly, her breath coming in short gasps as she wiped the blood from her lips, feeling a sharp pang of regret settle in her chest. The man stood there, still frozen, his expression blank, but his pulse had slowed significantly. 

Simora stepped back, trying to regain her composure, but her hands were trembling slightly, her heart pounding faster now that the hunger had been satisfied. Her senses were in overdrive. Everything was clearer, sharper, and the world around her seemed more alive than ever before. She could hear the hum of the bar's neon sign in the distance, the muffled chatter from inside, and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Joe and Josh rushed over, Josh walked over to Simora and pulled her into his arms, and Joe walked over to the guy. Joe bit into his wrist and pressed it to Simora’s victim’s mouth, forcing him to drink.  

“You did good,” Josh muttered, holding her close to him as Joe healed the victim and sent him on his way. “It’s over.” 

Bloodline Coven House

“We’re obviously missing some members today.” Dwayne finally spoke up, motioning to the empty chairs at the table where Josh, Jon, Talisua, Solofa and Joe would normally sit. “They’re not to be trusted.” 

Aleki, one of the first vampires of the Bloodline Coven smirked. “I see, why have you called only us elders here, Dwayne?” 

Dwayne’s gaze hardened, his fingers tapping in rhythm against the wood. “Josh’s actions weren’t just reckless; they were a betrayal.” He leaned in, making contact with the two elders her called the meeting with,  his voice low and steady. “He turned a human without consulting anyone. Without even considering the consequences. This coven has laws, Aleki, and Josh broke them. If we let that go unchecked, it sets a dangerous precedent.”

Aleki’s smirk deepened, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Ah, so is this really about trust or is this your way of trying to get Josh and his brother out of the running to become elders?” 

Dwayne’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face before he quickly masked it with a calm, controlled demeanor. He leaned back in his chair, fingers still tapping, but now with a more deliberate slowness. “This isn’t about me, Aleki,” he said, his voice ice-cold. “It’s about preserving the integrity of the coven. Josh’s actions jeopardize everything we’ve built. You know as well as I do that the rules exist for a reason.”

Aleki’s gaze never wavered, the faintest glimmer of amusement still dancing in his eyes. “And yet, you’re the one who’s convened this meeting. You’re the one who’s calling for action. I can’t help but wonder if there’s a personal agenda here.”

Haku sat across the table, his eyes firmly on Dwayne. “Josh said he would handle the situation, correct? The girl is in good hands.”  

Dwayne chuckled, he was expecting this type of push back from them. 

“You really believe that?”  Dwayne’s voice was smooth, yet edged with an underlying bitterness. “That Josh, who can’t follow the simplest rule about turning a human without permission, has the situation in hand? You think he’s going to keep this under control when everything he does is based on impulse, rather than the coven’s law?” He paused for a moment, letting the tension build, then added, his voice a little colder, “The girl might be alive now, but that doesn’t mean this is over. Josh doesn’t think ahead. He’s already dragged us into this mess—without consulting anyone, without considering the consequences. That’s not handling the situation, Haku. That’s avoiding it.”

Haku’s expression remained neutral. “And when the time comes, we will deal with it as a family.”  Haku gave Aleki a firm nod and rose from the table, signaling that this little meeting was over. He gave Dwayne one last look before walking out of the room. 

Aleki smirked and Dwayne before he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. Dwyane rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat. He exhaled through his nose, fingers tapping a slow, methodical rhythm against the wood. He was getting nowhere with the bloodline elders. It was clear that this issue was too big to be handled internally, too ingrained in the coven’s fractured politics. If he wanted this resolved—if he wanted to save the Bloodline—he’d have to go over their heads.

Authors Note: Damn.... Dwyane on some bullshit smh.

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[d-lanx]

Punk: "I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to make money."

Also Punk:

bro was like “I'm not here to make friends” and then proceeded to make friends with literally everyone. collecting besties like pokemon.

probably forgot somebody but I already hit the 30 photo limit. but i think i made my point just fine

[samijey]

we're just being shameless with it now apparently (source)

[caramelcleopatraa]

The groupchat finds out you're a freak

Characters: Jey Uso, Jimmy Uso, Trinity, Talia (OC), Roman

CW: Suggestive themes, alluding to sexual activities

🏷️ taglist @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @msbigredmachine

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@sassginaswanmills @pixiedust4000 @shes2real @pittieprincess22 @wrestlingprincess80

[msklassickilla]

Prada You Chapter 25 (The End)

Summary:

In the summer of 1998, sparks fly between Nyeya and Jey.

Nyeya is an 18-year-old around the way girl. Jey is older, paid, and fine. He is also the leader of the infamous Prada Bois alongside his twin brother Jimmy.  The two have chemistry. However, Nyeya has plans outside of her attraction. With a birthday around the corner and dreams of living a good life, Nyeya sets her sights on enjoying the perks of Jey's money and hood celebrity.

But baby girl has no clue what it takes to really be down. Nyeya is about to learn some hard life lessons at the expense of her 'Prada' priced dreams.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye) Green (OC)

Author’s Note: This story is happening in an alternative universe. It features the current and original Bloodline members along with other WWE stars. So, the characters are themselves, but some things are switched around for the stories sake. This was originally written with all original characters, but I think it could work better this way. Hope you guys enjoy it and I actually finish it...

Warning: Please be advised that this chapter contains violence, harsh/foul language, age gap relationships, violence, underage drinking,

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 25: Forever Young (The End)

August 30th 1998

Sunday morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting thin golden lines across my bedroom floor. I sat cross-legged on the carpet, surrounded by an array of neatly wrapped gift bags, their glossy surfaces reflecting the light. Jey’s gifts. My fingers hesitated over the handles of one before I reached in and pulled out a small box. Inside lay a pair of red heels, their delicate straps glistening under the morning sun. They were stunning. My breath hitched as I realized they matched the dress I had picked for my party perfectly.

Jey had been paying attention.

Each bag held something I had casually mentioned in passing—perfume, jewelry, even a new journal with my initials engraved in the corner. My hands shook slightly as I reached for the last bag, feeling the weight of it settle in my lap. Nestled under the tissue paper was another pair of shoes I wanted and a white envelope with my name scrawled across it in familiar, uneven handwriting. My pulse quickened.

Tugging it open, a folded piece of paper slipped out and fluttered to the floor. I reached for it, carefully unfolding the letter inside.

Jey’s words sprawled across the page in black ink.

"Nyeya, I don’t know how to say this right, so I’ma just say it. I never learned how to love somebody the way they needed to be loved. I only knew how to take. To claim. To control. Because that’s what was done to me. That’s what I was taught. You know my dad wasn’t around unless it benefited him. My mom tried her best, but I found love in the streets first. The streets taught me how to be a man before anybody else did."

I swallowed hard, blinking away the burn creeping into my eyes.

"I wanted to be like my older cousin. He was everything I thought a man should be. Tough. Respected. Feared. He handled business, and he handled his women the same way. I followed that blueprint. I thought that’s how it was supposed to be. But you… you showed me something different. You made me want to unlearn everything I thought I knew. And I’m sorry, baby. I really am."

Tears slipped silently down my cheeks as I kept reading.

"I should’ve treated you better. I should’ve let you breathe instead of making you feel like you belonged to me in a way that wasn’t love. I don’t know if I can fix that, but I swear to you, I’m going to try. You want space? I’ma give you some. But I need you to know something: I ain’t letting you go. I love you too much. I need you too much. I can’t see myself living in this world without you in it."

My hands trembled as I clutched the letter to my chest. My breath shuddered out of me, my heart beating out a rhythm of confusion and longing.

I had spent days trying to convince myself I was over him. That I was done. That I could move on. But now, holding this letter, reading his words, feeling his pain woven between the ink and paper—I wasn’t so sure anymore.

Images flickered through my mind, moments frozen in time. The first time I met him. The way he looked at me like I was something worth having. The way he made me feel like I was the most important thing in the world when he was good to me. But then, the fights. The control. The possessiveness. The way he took and took without realizing I was running out of pieces to give.

I reached for the phone before I could talk myself out of it.

Jey answered on the second ring.

"Hey, baby," he said, voice low and rough like he had just woken up.

I tried to steady myself, but the lump in my throat wouldn’t go away. "I just read your letter," I whispered.

Jey was quiet for a beat. Then, softer, "You good?"

I wiped at my damp cheeks. "I don’t know. I—" My voice broke.

Jey exhaled into the receiver. "Ask me anything. Whatever you wanna know, I’ma tell you."

I knew he meant it.

I thought about the dozens of questions swirling in my mind. About us. About him. About everything we had been through and everything we might still face. But I didn’t want to do this over the phone.

"Can we talk in person?" I asked.

Jey didn’t hesitate. "Yeah. Let’s go to the lake. Just me and you."

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. "Okay."

"I’ll be there soon, baby. Just wait for me."

The call ended, but my heart kept racing. I set the phone down beside me, staring at Jey’s letter still clutched in my hands.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I was walking right back into something I wouldn’t be able to escape from. But maybe, just maybe, this was something I needed. A final answer to the question that had been eating at me for weeks.

Did I really want to let him go?

---

The car ride to the lake was wrapped in silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. It was the kind of quiet that felt heavy with meaning, with thoughts neither of us could put into words just yet. The soft hum of the radio played a song I barely registered, and the steady rhythm of the road beneath us was almost hypnotic.

Jey kept one hand on the wheel, his other resting absentmindedly on my thigh. He wasn’t gripping it possessively, wasn’t trying to stake his claim—he was just… there. Present. And for once, it felt like he wasn’t trying to control the moment.

The sun hung low in the sky by the time we reached the lake, casting a warm, golden hue over the still water. The sight of it made my chest tighten. This place had always been peaceful to me, a sanctuary. A place where things made sense, even when my world felt like it was spiraling.

Jey parked and cut the engine. Without a word, we got out and walked towards a tree-covered spot, the soft crunch of grass under our sneakers filling the space between us. The air smelled fresh, tinged with the scent of water and pine, and for a moment, I closed my eyes, taking it in.

Jey sat down first, leaning back against the thick trunk of the tree, stretching his legs out in front of him. I sat beside him, pulling my knees up, wrapping my arms around them.

I started with small questions, ones that felt safe.

"What were you like as a kid?"

Jey exhaled through his nose, a half-laugh that held no humor. "Curious. Hardheaded. Always into shit."

"Tell me something I don’t know," I lightly chuckled.

Jey was quiet for a beat, then he spoke, his voice lower, softer. "I loved my mama more than anything. She was everything to me. She still is. But my pops… he wasn’t there unless he needed something. A favor, money, whatever. And when he was around, he acted like I was just some little dude that wasn’t worth his time."

I turned my head slightly, watching his profile. His jaw was tense, his hands clasped together between his knees.

"I spent most of my time looking for something to hold on to. Something that felt like…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I don’t know. Stability? Control? Belonging?"

I nodded, letting him know I was listening, really listening.

"I found that in my cousin," Jey continued. "He was everything I wanted to be. Respected. Feared. Untouchable. When he walked into a room, people moved. They listened. I wanted that. I thought that was the only way to be a man."

His voice was laced with something I couldn’t quite place. Regret? Bitterness? A little of both?

"When he went to jail, everything changed. Me and Jimmy had to step up. People were looking at us to run things, to make sure we didn’t fall apart. But you know what? Nobody thought I could do it."

Jey let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head.

"They thought Jimmy would hold shit together. Not me. They said I was too soft. I wasn’t built for this life."

His hands clenched into fists against his thighs.

"That shit ate me up. My own people, the same ones I broke bread with, laughed with, called family—they ain’t believe in me. Not until I started proving myself."

I felt a lump form in my throat, but I stayed quiet, letting him get it all out.

"So, I did what I had to do," Jey said, his voice rising slightly, like the weight of his past was crashing down on him all at once. "I made moves. I took care of problems. I did shit that made people respect me. But it never felt like enough."

His breathing turned shallow. His shoulders were tense, his whole body rigid like he was trying to hold something in.

"I had to kill so many people, Nyeya," he whispered, and my blood ran cold. "So many."

He wasn’t looking at me anymore. His gaze was locked onto the water, but his eyes were distant, unfocused. Like he was seeing ghosts from his past.

"Every time, it got easier. Until it didn’t. Until it started eating at me. Until I started wondering if I was even a person anymore or just some monster they created."

Jey’s voice broke on the last word, and my heart shattered right along with it.

"I got so much blood on my hands," he murmured, his head falling forward. "I don’t even know who I am anymore."

He kept apologizing, over and over, like he was in some kind of daze. Like he wasn’t even talking to me anymore, but to the ghosts that haunted him.

I couldn’t take it. I reached for him, grabbing his face between my hands, forcing him to look at me.

"Hey," I whispered. "Look at me, Jey."

His eyes flickered up to mine, and I saw it. The pain. The weight. The fear.

"You are enough." My voice was firm, unwavering. "No matter what’s happened, no matter what you’ve done, you are enough."

Jey’s lip trembled.

"You hear me?" I asked, my thumbs brushing against his cheeks.

He nodded slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he believed it, but he wanted to.

"You’re not that little boy trying to prove himself anymore. You don’t have to fight for respect. You don’t have to prove anything to anybody. You are enough, Jey."

Tears welled in his eyes, and for the first time, he let them fall.

I held him. I let him cry.

I poured into him, telling him all the things I wished someone had told him before he had to become the man he was today. I told him he wasn’t just his mistakes. That he wasn’t just the blood on his hands. That he still had time to figure out who he wanted to be.

I didn’t know if he believed me. But I needed him to hear it. We stayed there until the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky painted in streaks of pink and orange.

By the time Jey dropped me off at home, I was emotionally drained. As I lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, one thought lingered in my mind. I was starting to have a change of heart.

But could I really love someone who was this broken?

---

August 31st 1998

The late morning sunbathed the campus in a golden hue as I stepped into the community college, the crisp scent of freshly printed brochures mixing with the faint aroma of coffee from the nearby student lounge. The place buzzed with quiet energy—students moving between offices, advisors speaking in hushed but enthusiastic tones, the occasional burst of laughter from the hallway.

I had never really pictured myself here, sitting in a stiff chair across from an advisor, filling out enrollment forms, trying to piece together a future that felt so uncertain. But now, as I tapped my pen against the edge of the desk, waiting for the next question, something inside me stirred—maybe this was where I was supposed to be.

The advisor, a middle-aged woman with kind brown eyes and a welcoming smile, glanced up from her papers. “So, Miss Green, do you have any idea what you’d like to major in? Or maybe a career path you’re interested in?”

I hesitated for a moment, letting the question settle. It was something I had been thinking about but hadn’t quite voiced out loud. The idea had been lingering at the back of my mind, like a quiet whisper waiting to be acknowledged.

“I think I want to be a psychologist,” I finally said, my voice stronger than I expected.

The advisor’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “That’s a great field. What made you choose that?”

I took a breath, feeling the weight of my answer before speaking. “Because I want to help people heal… people who think they’re too far gone. I want them to see that they don’t have to stay broken, that they can still turn things around and be good people.”

The advisor studied me for a moment before smiling warmly. “I like that answer. The world needs more people who think like you.”

I smiled back, but inside, I felt something shift—a sense of purpose settling deep in my chest.

After finalizing my paperwork and getting my class schedule, I walked out of the building feeling lighter, like I was finally taking a step toward something bigger than myself. I had spent so much time being wrapped up in Jey’s world, in Prada Boi business, in chaos and uncertainty. But this? This felt like a decision I made for me.

That high lasted until I pulled up to my building and spotted a familiar car parked out front.

Him.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I approached. He leaned against the hood of his car, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. He was wearing a white tank top that showed off his tattoos, and for once, he didn’t look tense—he looked… calm. Relaxed. Less like the Jey who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

I stopped in front of him, tilting my head. “What brings you by?”

Jey smirked, pulling out his keys and twirling them around his finger. “I wanted Waffle House. Thought I’d see if you wanted to roll with me.” His eyes skimmed over me with something unreadable. “Plus, I wanna hear how things went at the college.”

I raised an eyebrow at that, surprised by the interest. But I wasn’t about to turn down free food. “Alright,” I said, slipping into the passenger seat.

The ride was smooth, easy. Jey listened as I told him about my advisor, about choosing psychology, about what I wanted to do with it. He nodded along, actually paying attention, which caught me off guard.

“That’s real,” he said after I finished. “I can see you doing that. You got the heart for it.”

His words caught me off guard. I turned to look at him, but he was focused on the road, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. He had said it so casually, but it felt genuine.

At Waffle House, we slid into a booth, the scent of bacon and coffee thick in the air. It felt… normal. No tension, no drama, just two people eating and talking. It reminded me of the times we were good, when things between us weren’t so complicated.

For once, Jey wasn’t pretending, wasn’t looking over his shoulder, wasn’t distracted. He just listened. And when he wasn’t listening, he was making me laugh with some story about Jimmy getting too high and eating three whole boxes of dry ass cereal in one sitting. For the first time in a long time, I felt like we were actually moving in the right direction.

Then his phone rang.

I watched as his entire demeanor shifted in an instant. His muscles tensed, his jaw locked, and the lightness in his eyes disappeared. He let it ring for a few seconds before answering, keeping his voice low. I couldn’t hear who was on the other line, but whatever was being said wasn’t good.

When he hung up, I knew before he even spoke.

“Gotta wrap this up,” he muttered, pulling out some cash and tossing it on the table. “I got some business to handle, mamas.”

I didn’t press. I knew better. The ride back was quiet, not in the comfortable way it had been earlier, but in the kind of way that made me nervous. Jey gripped the wheel tighter than necessary, his mind obviously elsewhere. I wanted to ask, but I also didn’t.

I was done being in Prada Boi business. When he pulled up to my building, I leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Call me later?”

Jey exhaled through his nose, nodding. “Yeah. I will.”

The rest of my night was slow, spent flipping through TV channels and listening to the radio. I tried not to think about Jey, but my gut told me something was amiss. When my phone rang, I sat up quickly, expecting his name to flash across the screen. It wasn’t him. It was Kiyah.

I answered, and before I could even get a word out, she launched into her gossip.

“Bitch, tell me why the Prada Bois are beefing with some old associates over drugs and money?”

My stomach tightened. I stayed quiet, and Kiyah took that as her cue to keep talking. “You remember that dude Damian got into it with at Tama’s party when they we're at the bar?”

I thought back for a second, vaguely recalling the altercation. “I guess,” I said slowly.

All I could remember from that night was that kiss from Damian. A kiss I was wanting to forget.

“Well,” Kiyah huffed. “Jacob told me that dude was brought in by Jey to handle a deal with some new buyer. But the deal went south, and now both crews are blaming each other. Prada Bois lost money and product. And you know what that means.”

I swallowed hard. “It might turn into an all-out war.”

“Exactly,” Kiyah said, clicking her tongue. “And we both know Jey or the others ain’t the type to let that slide.”

I sat back against my pillows, my fingers tightening around the phone. My gut had been right. Something was definitely wrong. Kiyah kept talking, but my mind was elsewhere. Jey had been tense. Distracted. And now, knowing what I did, I understood why.

I should’ve pressed. I should’ve asked him what was going on. Because when Jey didn’t call me that night like he said he would, I knew—things were worse than we all realized.

---

The phone rang, cutting through the silence of the apartment. I grabbed it quickly, hoping it was Jey, but my stomach dropped when I saw Damian's number on the screen instead. Something told me this wasn’t just a casual call like last time. I hesitated for a second before answering.

"Hello?"

"You need to cancel the party, Nye," Damian said, getting straight to the point.

I frowned, sitting up straighter. "What? Why?"

"Too much attention," he explained. "No matter what Jey tells you, this party don’t need to happen. Things are getting too hot right now, and the last thing anybody needs is a big-ass event putting a target on our back especially when we’re all together.”

I exhaled, rubbing my forehead. "Damian, you know that’s not my decision. Jey’s already set everything up. He paid for everything. He’s gonna do whatever the hell he wants."

"Then you need to convince him, mami." Damian said firmly.

I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. "Tell me why you feel this way. What exactly do you think is gonna happen?"

There was a long pause before he finally answered. "I don’t know," he admitted. "But I got a bad feeling, and Jey ain’t listening to nobody right now. He thinks he’s untouchable."

I swallowed, my throat tight. "I’ll try… but you know how he is."

"Just do your best, muñeca (doll)," Damian said before hanging up.

The silence that followed was deafening. I stared at the phone for a moment before tossing it back onto the receiver.

I was alone again. Michael was off somewhere with his friends, and my mama was spending the night with Reggie. The apartment felt too quiet, too empty, and it made my thoughts even louder.

I left my room, feeling like walls were closing on me after awhile. Eventually after flipping through channels on the tv in the living room, I leaned back against the couch, closing my eyes, but before I could fully relax, there was a knock at the door. My heart jumped as I stood up, my mind already knowing who it was before I even checked.

Jey stood on the other side of the door. I wasn’t surprised, but I also wasn’t expecting him. He hadn’t called since he dropped me off the other day. His face was neutral, his posture relaxed, but I knew better. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Still, I stepped aside and let him in.

He walked past me, his presence immediately filling the space like he owned it. He smelled like cologne and a tinge of alcohol, a scent I’d come to associate with him. He sat on the couch, stretching his arms over the back of it like he belonged there, like nothing had changed between us. I studied him carefully. He looked calm, but there was a tightness in his jaw, a stiffness in his movements. He was hiding something.

I sat next to him, waiting. If he wanted to tell me, he would. The TV played in the background, filling the silence between us. Jey’s hand found my thigh, his thumb tracing slow circles against my skin. Normally, it would’ve made me relax, but tonight, it only made me more aware of the tension in the air.

After a few minutes, I finally spoke. "What’s wrong?"

Jey didn’t even hesitate. "Nothing, baby. Nothing, I can’t handle."

I scoffed. A lie. Shit was bad and probably getting worse by the minute. I wanted to press him, but I also knew that with Jey, timing was everything. If I pushed too hard, he’d shut down completely. So, I tried a different approach.

"The party," I said casually. "You excited?"

Jey’s lips twitched into a smirk. "Hell yeah. I think I did a good job."

I forced a small smile, nodding like I believed him. But I didn’t. Not really. His excitement didn’t feel real. Something was weighing on him, something he was refusing to say aloud or admit. I should’ve kept going. Should’ve r him of Damian’s warning, should’ve tried harder to convince him to call it off. But then Jey pulled me into his lap, his lips grazing my neck, his hands firm and demanding as they traveled my body.

I knew what this was. A distraction. He always did this. And I let him have it. I could admit that I missed his touch as it had the ability to take me beyond the stars.

I melted into him. Jey always knew how to make me forget. Forget my doubts, forget my worries, forget everything except him. Lust took over, and before I could stop myself, we were in my room, tangled in sheets, in each other. By the time Jey was getting dressed, his phone rang. He grabbed it from his pocket, glancing at the screen before looking back at me.

"You coming Saturday, right?"

I was still caught up in the wild session we just had, still floating somewhere between reality and whatever spell he had cast over me. I nodded without thinking.

"Yeah."

Jey smirked, stepping toward me and pressing a slow, deep kiss to my lips. "I’ll pick you up at nine."

I watched as he walked out, phone to his ear, voice low as he disappeared into the night. The moment the door shut. Damian’s warning came flooding back. I had completely forgotten about it. And now, I just prayed nothing went wrong.

---

September 4th 1998

My Friday was spent at the nail salon with Kiyah and Natasha. The smell of acrylic and fresh polish filled the air as the three of us sat side by side, picking out colors for our nails and toes. Nataya was off somewhere looking at houses with Jimmy, leaving Natasha in a quiet, contemplative mood. The buzzing of the electric nail file hummed in the background as I glanced over at her, remembering the look she gave Taya and Jimmy at the bowling alley.

I turned toward her, voice soft but direct. “How do you feel about Taya moving in with Jimmy?”

Natasha sighed, watching as the nail tech shaped her almond-shaped tips. “I’m not happy about it,” she admitted. “I just don’t believe Jimmy is as good to Taya as she says he is. I think he’s pressuring her into moving, keeping the baby, and basically altering her whole life for him.”

I nodded, understanding her frustration. She had always been protective over Nataya, and now that her sister was wrapped up with Jimmy, it made sense that Natasha would be wary.

“I love my sister,” she continued, “but I have to let her make her own mistakes.”

Kiyah scoffed, shaking her head. “Girl, I don’t blame you. But you know how Taya is. Once her mind is made up, it’s made up.”

Natasha sighed again, running a hand over her face before her expression softened. “At least I know Sami’s one of the good ones. Like I get what he do for money but outside of that he just a good guy.”

Kiyah grinned, leaning forward in her chair with a teasing smirk. “I’m shocked you into white meat.”

We all burst into laughter, Natasha rolling her eyes but unable to hide her grin. “Trust me, I’m surprised too,” she admitted. “But I really do like him.”

Kiyah wiggled her brows. “Uh-huh. You sure it ain’t just a phase? ‘Cause I seen the way he looks at you, and that ain’t no casual thing.”

Natasha tried to play it cool, but I could tell by the slight blush on her cheeks that she was starting to fall for Sami more than she let on.

After a few more minutes of teasing, Kiyah turned her attention to me. “So… what’s up with all those big ass passion marks on your neck?” she asked, smirking as she tilted her head toward me.

I pretended to be shy, lowering my gaze with a little smile. “Me and Jey are in a good place right now,” I admitted. “Not saying we back together. Just saying that I’m enjoying his company it while it lasts.”

Kiyah and Natasha exchanged a knowing look before Natasha shook her head. “Girl, please. That’s your man. You ain’t going nowhere. And he not letting you go nowhere.”

I sighed dramatically, holding up my freshly polished nails as if they were the most important thing in the world. “I swear, the moment he acts up, I’m out.”

Kiyah snorted. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see about that.”

---

Once we left the nail salon, I headed back home, feeling light from the girl talk but also exhausted from the past few days. The house was quiet when I walked in, the scent of fresh laundry filling the air. My mama was curled up on the couch, flipping through channels, but when she saw me, she patted the spot next to her.

Without hesitation, I slid in beside her, resting my head against her shoulder as she clicked on a movie. A Time to Kill played on the screen, the familiar voices of Samuel L. Jackson and Matthew McConaughey filling the room. We watched in comfortable silence, eating popcorn and occasionally commenting on the movie.

I loved nights like this. Nights where I could just exist, where I didn’t have to think too hard about anything. Where I felt safe.

My mother glanced at me with warmth in her eyes. She reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear before speaking. “I used to want you to stay my little girl forever,” she murmured. “So, I could keep you with me, always. But I see now that no matter how old you get, we’ll always be close.”

Her words made my chest tighten with emotion. I turned to her, gripping her hand in mine. “We will, Mama. I promise.”

She smiled, squeezing my hand before leaning back against the couch. The weight of the moment settled over us, filling the space with a quiet kind of love. And just like that, we fell asleep together, fingers intertwined, the movie still playing softly in the background.

---

September 5th 1998

Saturday arrived with rain coming down in heavy sheets, drumming against the windowpane. I sat up in bed, watching the storm through the glass, wondering if it was some sort of sign. Good or bad, I wasn’t sure. The dark gray sky made the morning drag, stretching time like a slow-moving tide.

Michael came strolling out of his room and peeked into mine, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. “So… you think me and my boys can slide to the party tonight?”

I gave him a sharp look, not even entertaining the idea. “You know damn well y’all can’t come.”

He rolled his eyes, exhaling dramatically. “Man, that’s some bullshit. If we can’t come, then you and your little broke friends shouldn’t be able to go either.”

My eyes widened before I jumped up, shoving him out of my room. “Boy, get the hell on with that! Broke where?” I called after him as he laughed, dodging into his room before I could throw something at him. He always knew how to get under my skin.

The morning passed agonizingly slow. I busied myself around the house, doing small tasks to keep my mind occupied. Anything to make time move faster. By the time the early evening rolled around, Kiyah and Natasha arrived, bringing their usual energy and chaos.

“Taya ain’t coming?” I asked as Natasha set down her purse.

She shook her head. “Nah, she’s been feeling off all day. I told her to rest and meet us there later.”

I nodded, understanding. Things had been weird between them since Jimmy came into the picture. Natasha got to work on my hair, carefully styling it into a sleek updo, while Kiyah sat beside me, drinking one of the wine coolers she smuggled from her house. “I’m tryna get a lil’ tipsy before we leave,” she admitted, taking another sip.

“Same,” Natasha added, popping her gum.

As Natasha finished up my hair, she moved on to Kiyah’s while I started on my makeup. Kiyah added the finishing touch, carefully placing small adhesive gems around my eyes to enhance the look. The three of us danced to the music playing from my stereo, singing along, laughing, and letting the wine coolers warm our veins. Slowly but surely, excitement began to creep into my chest.

When the time finally came, Kiyah and Natasha helped me into my dress. The fabric hugged my body in all the right places, the shimmer of the gems catching the light beautifully. I turned toward the mirror, momentarily stunned.

I looked like a princess. I ran my hands down the gown, taking in the way it fit, the way my makeup and hair pulled the entire look together. My heart swelled.

“Bitch, you look good,” Kiyah hyped me up, adjusting the straps on my dress.

“Grown as hell,” Natasha added, smirking.

I held back the sudden swell of emotion, refusing to ruin Kiyah’s hard work. “Y’all gon’ make me cry,” I admitted, fanning my face.

“Don’t start, ‘cause if you cry, I’ma cry,” Kiyah warned, and we all laughed.

---

By 9, we were stepping out of the apartment, heels clicking against the pavement. A limo sat at the curb, its sleek black frame glistening under the streetlights.

We all froze.

“No fucking way,” Natasha whispered.

Kiyah’s mouth dropped. “Bitch.”

The driver stepped forward, opening the door, and out stepped Jey, Jacob, and Sami, all dressed to impress. Jey smirked, dressed in a crisp suit, his chain catching the light. Jacob adjusted his watch, while Sami shoved his hands into his pockets, his usual cool demeanor faltering slightly.

I nearly squealed. I hadn’t even ridden in a limo for prom. Kiyah, Natasha, and I ran straight to our dates, grins stretching across our faces. I wrapped my arms around Jey’s neck, pressing a kiss to his lips. Kiyah threw her arms around Jacob, and Natasha—without hesitation—grabbed Sami by the collar and kissed him, shocking everyone, including Sami himself.

The group erupted into laughter and cheers, teasing the two of them as Natasha shrugged it off like it was nothing. Inside the limo, we kept the energy going. Music blasted from the speakers as we danced and sang along, the excitement thick in the air.

I leaned into Jey’s side, whispering, “Thank you.”

He looked down at me, brushing a loose curl from my face. “You deserve nothing but the best, baby.”

And for the first time in a long time, I believed him.

---

The limo pulled up to the front of the nightclub, and even before we stepped out, I could feel the energy buzzing through the air. The bass from the music inside vibrated through the pavement, the muffled voices of the crowd merging with the beat. Excitement stirred in my belly, but so did something else—something I couldn’t quite name.

Jey stepped out first, fixing his suit before extending his hand to me. I took it, and the second my heels hit the pavement, the doors to the club swung open. A rush of warmth and flashing lights washed over me as the crowd inside erupted in cheers.

A smile stretched across my face so wide that my cheeks ached. Inside, the entire nightclub was decorated in deep shades of red, black, and gold. Prada Boi colors. Balloons lined the ceiling, the tables were draped in silk cloths, and trays of food were set against the walls. Bodies filled the space, moving in rhythm to the beat the DJ was spinning.

This was my night. The night I imagined when I first started talking to Jey. It had arrived and I was going to enjoy it fully.

As we walked through the crowd, the love was instant. People showered me with compliments, hugs, and laughter. Bronson’s wife pulled me into a hug, whispering how beautiful I looked. Nataya nearly crushed my ribs with how tight she held me.

“You look like a damn queen, bitch,” she squealed.

I giggled, feeling warmth spread through me. “You tryna kill me before I even get to enjoy the night?”

She finally let me go, grinning. “Maybe.”

I made my rounds, speaking to everyone, soaking in the attention and love. Every time I glanced over my shoulder, Jey was watching me. But he wasn’t hovering, wasn’t clinging to me like he usually would. He stood back, letting me shine. Maybe he really was trying to change.

The night unfolded beautifully. Laughter, dancing, drinking, eating— I was having the time of my life. I felt weightless, free. At some point, I pulled Jey away from the crowd, wrapping my arms around his neck, placing my forehead against his. His hands slid to my waist, his grip firm but gentle.

"Again, thank you," I whispered, my voice barely heard over the music.

Jey’s eyes softened as he looked at me, his thumb rubbing slow circles on my hip. “You don’t gotta thank me, baby. I love you.”

His words sent warmth all through my body, but before I could respond, someone called his name from across the room. Jey sighed, kissing my forehead before pulling away. “I’ll be right back, a’ight?”

I nodded, watching as he disappeared into the crowd.

I found Kiyah and Natasha on the dance floor just as Biggie’s "Hypnotize" blasted through the speakers.

"Biggie, Biggie, Biggie, can't you see? Sometimes your words just hypnotize me..."

The three of us belted out the lyrics, moving in sync with each other, hands in the air, hips swaying. The whole club was alive, the energy electric. Tonight felt good. I caught a glimpse of Damian sliding into the club, Dulce tucked under his arm. If Damian was here—with Dulce no less—then maybe the threats had passed. Maybe things really were cooling down.

I exhaled, letting my shoulders relax. As the night deepened, I found myself curled up in Jey’s lap, a plate of food in my hands as I listened to him, Jimmy, Tonga, and Solo trade stories. The four of them laughed loudly, their voices full of ease.

No one seemed tense.

No one seemed on edge.

For the first time in a long time, things felt normal. It felt like nothing could go wrong.

---

The bass from the speakers thumped through my chest as I swayed to the music, a half-empty glass in my hand. I had a buzz, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the emotions swirling inside me. My heels had been abandoned under the table, my feet sore from dancing. I sat in one of the plush bar chairs by myself, watching the scene unfold around me.

Kiyah and Jacob were in the middle of the dance floor, moving in sync like they had been doing this for years. Natasha was wrapped up in Sami, her hands resting against his chest as she whispered something in his ear that made him grin. Nataya and Jimmy dance in corner, his face buried in neck.

I should have been out there with them. I should have been soaking up every moment of this party that Jey had put together just for me. But instead, I was sitting here, lost in my own head. Having the Prada Bois as family could be fun. They were wild, unpredictable, and full of love in their own way. They looked out for each other. Protected what was theirs. I had grown to love them; despite all the things I knew about them. Despite knowing what they were capable of. Despite knowing what Jey was capable of.

Before I could spiral any further, I felt a familiar warmth slide over me, a solid presence pressing against my back as Jey settled into the chair, pulling me onto his lap. I melted into his embrace, letting him hold me like he always did.

“You enjoyin’ yourself, baby?” His voice was low, thick with something I couldn’t quite place.

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah... I’m having the time of my life.”

Jey leaned in, pressing a kiss against my bare shoulder, his lips lingering. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t wanna live this life without you. I wanna create more memories like this with you… only you.”

His words sent a chill through me, and I tilted my head back to meet his gaze. His brown eyes were soft, too soft, like he was seeing me for the first time.

“You make me better,” he continued, his fingers tracing circles against my thigh. “I ain’t never done nothin’ like this for no other woman. Only one I ever really did for was my mama... until you.”

Something in my chest tightened, my throat threatening to close. Jey made me feel special. Like I was everything. Like I was the one thing he needed in this world.

I kissed him. The kiss never deepened. It never got the chance.

A loud crash echoed from outside the club, glass shattering, followed by the sharp rise of angry voices. The energy in the room shifted instantly. The bass of the music still pulsed through the speakers, but the tension in the air became thick enough to choke on.

Jey stiffened against me, his head turning toward the entrance. My stomach dropped as I saw the Prada Bois move in unison, heading toward the source of the commotion. Jey's grip on my waist tightened for a split second before he turned to me. His eyes were hard, voice sharp.

“Stay inside.”

I barely had time to react before he let me go and disappeared into the crowd pressing toward the doors. The uneasy feeling in my gut twisted as I watched them go. My feet felt frozen in place, my body telling me to listen, but my mind already screaming no. The doors flew open before the Prada Bois could even reach them. Several men stormed inside, their presence turning the already tense atmosphere into something dangerous.

The air shifted again. This time, it was electric. The music still played, but it might as well have been silent. Everything slowed for a split second before it all imploded.

Yelling.

Shoving.

A punch thrown, then another.

A full-on brawl broke out in seconds before my eyes.

My breath hitched as fists flew, bodies shoved each other, people knocked over tables, and glass shattered against the floor. I scanned the chaos, desperate to find Jey. My heart pounded when I finally spotted him locked in a struggle with a man I knew I had seen before, but my mind refused to place him.

I called Jey’s name. Once. Twice. My voice was swallowed by the chaos. I needed to get closer. I pushed forward, dodging people running in every direction. Every time I thought I had a clear path, I got shoved back, my frustration growing with each failed attempt. My pulse pounded in my ears as I lost sight of Jey again.

I turned quickly, spotting Kiyah, Nataya, and Natasha in the far corner. Relief flooded me, my instinct telling me to get to them, to get safe. I didn’t even get the chance to take the first step.

The first gunshot rang out.

Then another.

And another.

Panic erupted like a bomb going off in the middle of the room. Screams tore through the air as people scrambled, running in all directions. The music cut off, but my ears still rang from the shots.

I turned to run.

A sharp, searing pain shot through my arm. It felt like fire had been injected into my bloodstream, burning through me so fast that my body barely had time to register what had happened before—

Another shot.

My side exploded in white-hot agony. The force knocked the air from my lungs, my knees buckling beneath me.

I fell.

The floor felt so far away.

I could hear screams, glass breaking, the heavy thud of bodies crashing into tables, but everything was starting to sound distant. My vision blurred, the edges darkening as I tried to make sense of what was happening.

Shapes moved around me, voices rising, but my body wouldn’t respond.

Through the chaos, I heard one voice.

Frantic. Desperate. Calling my name.

It was Jey’s.

I tried to hold onto that voice, tried to focus, to respond, to move, but my limbs were heavy, my eyelids even heavier.

Someone was crying. Sirens wailed in the distance.

I needed to hold on. I had to.

But I was slipping.

Everything started to fade.

And then—

Darkness.

---

Epilogue

The night was a blur of flashing red and blue lights, sirens screaming through the air, and the sharp scent of gunpowder clinging to the pavement outside the club. The scene was chaos—people crying, bodies scattered, and the Prada Bois standing in tense clusters, their clothes stained with blood, their eyes flickering with something between rage and grief.

Jey was on his knees in the middle of it all, his hands coated in her blood.

He rocked slightly, his grip tightening around Nyeya’s limp body as he pressed his forehead against hers. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving with each uneven inhale, but his voice was clear—desperate, commanding.

“Stay with me, baby. You hear me? Stay with me.”

Her head lolled slightly, her skin look lifeless under the flashing red lights. Jey shook her gently, his grip firm but careful, as if he could anchor her here with him.

Damian was beside him, his face unreadable but his hands steady as they helped apply pressure to the wound in her side. His jaw was clenched tight, his usual detachment gone.

“She’s losing too much blood,” he muttered. His voice was sharp, urgent, the kind of voice that didn’t deal in hope, only facts.

Jey barely heard him. His eyes never left her.

“Nyeya, you hold on. You ain’t done. You ain’t done, you hear me?” His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t above begging. Not for her.

Somewhere behind them, Kiyah was sobbing, held back by Jacob as she tried to push forward. Natasha and Nataya were both crying, their hands clasped together, whispering prayers between broken sobs.

The paramedics arrived, pushing Jey aside despite his resistance. He fought against the hands pulling him away, his body lunging forward, but Damian gripped the back of his shirt and yanked him back.

“Let them work, bro.”

Jey’s heart hammered against his ribcage as he watched them lift Nyeya onto a stretcher, voices barking out orders, someone checking her pulse, someone pressing a mask to her face.

When they moved to close the doors, Jey snapped out of his daze.

“I’m ridin’ with her,” he announced.

The paramedic hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Get in.”

Jey climbed into the ambulance without a second thought, sitting beside her, his fingers gripping the edge of the gurney like he could hold her here.

The ambulance doors slammed shut, and the sirens wailed as they sped off.

Behind them, the others didn’t wait.

Jimmy and Damian jumped into their cars, peeling off in pursuit. Kiyah, Natasha, and Nataya piled into Jacob’s car. Sami followed close behind.

No one spoke.

The only sound was the hum of engines pushing toward the unknown.

Toward whatever fate waited for Nyeya.

Jey didn’t pray. He never had.

But tonight, in that ambulance, as he clutched Nyeya’s cold fingers and watched the heart monitor beep too slowly for his liking—he prayed.

And he wasn’t sure if anyone was listening.

The city blurred past in streaks of neon and darkness, and all Jey could do was hold on.

To her.

To hope.

And to the fear that, for the first time in his life, he might be powerless to stop what was coming.

-----

AN: This is the end, bebe's. Whew... I'm trying not to cry! This book has been so fun to write and it's the first story I've completed... ever. When I started this book I always knew the ending would end like this. But what I didn't know was how in love I would fall with these characters. This may not be the end. I'm debating on it. I think these characters have so much left to do and learn. What you think?

And to the readers who been reading, liking, reblogging, and commenting, I APPRECIATE YOU! Thank you so much. All the love truly gave me the motivation to keep writing. I love you ꨄ

-----

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[mjonthetrack]

O7

Pensacola,Fl

Jey stood over the woman’s bed, he looked at the alarm clock by her bedside. He clenched his jaw as his fingers gently stroking her curls, “I’m sorry ma, it’s just a one time thing.” He adjusted his outfit wearing an all black tracksuit and black forces. He tucked a glock into his waistband, stepping out of the room he made sure her sisters were all asleep as well. He made his way out of the home having swiped a spare key that was in a kitchen drawer. Jey stepped into an Escalade that Roman had sent for him. It was a quick drive to the inner warehouse where he’d gone in to meet with his cousin. In the back room his cousin stood with a blank expression,”you came, congratulations uce, say goodbye to the poverty line.”

— —- ——

Jey found himself in a gas station three cities over, he had an earpiece and plain street clothes on. His target was some white male, who was a trucker and that was the only information Roman gave him, just get in, find him and delete the target. Jey wandered into the gas station, he ignored the greeting of the clerks, he browsed the isles though his eyes shifted around the store. “Your target is heavy set, white, with a beard, be sure you’re unseen,” the voice of his cousin was strong in his ear. Jey hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes sifting through the mini mart. When his eyes locked in on a larger male walking in to the store greeting the clerks and sauntering over to the drink area.

Jey followed him, he made himself a coffee to play of his motives. He stalked the man’s every move quite a few minutes before he noticed. The white man muttered something to him catching Jey’s attention as he asked him to repeat himself. The man chuckled,”I said how’s the coffee here? I always get water or Mountain Dew when I come this way.” Jey shrugged taking a sip from the cup,”it’s my first time,” he muttered plainly. The target only nodded his head in acknowledgment, then turned moving to the bathroom which was outside of the mart. Jey paced a little behind the man, then went inside the three stall bathroom. He heard radio silence from his cousin making him roll his eyes, it’s not that he needed help killing he’d done plenty of stealth operations in the marines. Jey slipped into the stall beside the one the man occupied, he clicked on his silencer, then moved to stand positioning himself to hover over the wall separator to the one beside him. Jey clicked the safety off his glock and shot downwards blowing the man’s head open.

Jey moved quickly collecting the bullet without grimacing blood wasn’t new to him. He waited for another person to come in and left his stall, then stood washing his hands until another person came in going in the stall he left covering the evidence of him entering the stall or leaving it. Jey left out the bathroom after counting to thirty, the time span of seconds that Roman insured the cameras would be down. He left the scene on a bike. Jey flew down the streets, making sharp turns with ease, he’d parked the bike in the back of the building. He wandered into the underground area where the back rooms were.

Roman stood tall flexing his arms over his chest,”not bad,next time you don’t speak to them at all, understood?” Jey nodded his head with a blank expression,”understood.” He moved to follow his older cousin who led him to his own office,”this is a commitment that you don’t get to quit, you hit your first target, that was an easy bone tossed for you, the rest will put you and anyone connected to you at risk.” Jey’s mind flashed to images of Marcella though his face remained stony, “when does it hit?” Roman chuckled grinning,”1.2 million will be deposited in the offshore account, you’ll be a rich man come morning, don’t fuck this up.”

Jey couldn’t help but let the look of surprise wash over his features not expecting the amount,”Aight, I got you uce, for the bloodline.” Roman dapped him up patting his shoulder,”the bloodline.” The two cousins separated as Jey went out the way he came, the same Escalade was waiting and led him back to the townhouse. He checked his watch, it was five am and the sky was starting to shift in color. He took a deep breath letting it out shakily as he helped himself into the home with the key. Easing his way to the kitchen he’d put the clothes he had on in the full garbage bag in the cabinet. He moved about swiftly taking it to the bin and pulling it to its designated spot. Jey came back in, he felt his heart racing, this was it.

He jogged up the stairs checking to make sure the sisters were all asleep, they were. Jey moved to Marcella’s room a small smile tugged on his lips when he heard her soft snores. He shuffled into the air mattress she set up by the bottom of her bed. Jey cussed getting up quickly and rushing to her en-suite bathroom showering off the blood that had been on him, then cleaned the shower. He moved fast, then was in the bed in just his boxers as daylight broke. His eyes fell shut with tiredness just as hers began to flutter open for her normal sleep schedule.

———

Marcella smiled softly seeing the man out cold on the bed she’d made up for him. Her heart sped up seeing his handsome face and slightly damp hair, he felt safe enough to shower and that made her smile. Marcella crouched down, she stroked his curls free from his forehead, her breath caught in her throat when he stirred by her touch. She snatched her hand away so he wouldn’t catch her, though her eyes wandered to his bare chest and tattoos. Marcella groaned feeling her attraction to him rise, she couldn’t like the man she was helping, it surely was a boundary error, not wanting to create a weird savior complex she paced out of the room.

Marcella showered, thanking the fact he was courteous enough to clean after himself. She emptied out her bathroom trash planning to fill the large bag in the kitchen pantry. When she went downstairs and into the kitchen she saw it had been already taken out. Marcella frowned, she didn’t want him to think he owed her servitude though she appreciated the effort. She jogged down her front steps shoving her trash in the bin, turning and going back into the townhouse she moved swiftly about washing her hands and prepping the kitchen to make a big breakfast for everyone, planning on explaining the man’s presence to her sisters then.

Marcella couldn’t help but feel worried for the man upstairs, he had a good heart and she knew he wouldn’t be caught up in any bad news if it hadn’t been for his need for security. She felt herself settle in the process of cooking, her brain easing when she considered the alternative to the streets she offered him. Sure she would’ve loved to offer him his own space but the three sisters took up the bedrooms. She didn’t want him sleeping on anymore uncomfortable chairs or benches as he’d mentioned so she set him up a comfy alternative in her room, letting him use her space and bathroom. She knew she’d have to prove the space as a safe haven for him, figuring it would be a while for him to adjust to that negative situation and knowing he wouldn’t have to involve himself in fights anymore, not for food and not for a roof over his head. Marcella had already decided on picking up a few more shifts to ensure he would not have to worry about the extra mouth to feed.

[violetmuses]

Hear me out: 👀

If Roman and Jey noticed Reader in the audience during an episode, who would get her phone number first? 📱 🤔 ☕️

@episodes-ff @expert-texpert @persethegawd @adriennegabriella @fearlesschimera @secretlifeoofmarpessa @mytribalnightmare @adoresmiles @blackgurlnhermoods @babybratzmaraj 🏷

[solefae]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 “𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑“ ☆ 𝐉𝐞𝐲 𝐔𝐬𝐨

pairings; jey uso x fem!internent personality!reader

faceclaim; scotlynd ryan

summary; Scotlynd's life turns upside down when wrestling star Jey Uso starts liking her posts. Fans are quick to judge, branding her a homewrecker. Little do they know, Jey's marriage ended months ago-a truth hidden from the public eye.

notes: this is my first post everrr so this might be trash 😒 and yess imma use her real name fa this bcuz I couldn’t think of a fake name 😭 + I love scotty y’all so I hope some of y’all don’t take these “insults”? a lil TOO seriously 🫣

scotlyndryan

liked by trinity_fatu, uceyjucey, and 798,578 others

scotlyndryan Gave em the blues over this Aqua 🪼🌊🥶💙🩵

view all 57,358 comments

trinity_fatu 😍😍

scotlyndryan all u trin😘

jonathanfatu mane all this flirting with my wife gotta stop

scotlyndryan boy shut up 😒

user 😍😍

user the baddest

themercedesvarnado ugh u too perfect 😫

scotlyndryan girl pls u too perfect

user scotty with the body 😍

scotlyndryan liked this comment!

user NOW why tf did jey like this? 🤨

user SAME THING I SAID 😂

user ain’t he married ?

user YES

user y’all always do this 😒 just be putting dating allegations on anybody, they prolly just friends

user I hope I’m not the only one seeing that jey liked 😳

user jey liking this knowing he married is CRAZYY

user jey WILDINNN😂😂

user onm 😂

user he hitting that on tha low 😂😂😂

user they js friends

user how yk?? u friends wit em??

user why jey liking my girl post? 🤨

user she do NOT know you bro 😂

user these comments weird asfc…

user right

user frl tryna start rumors 🙄

user ain’t she already messing around with that one married dude that made baddies ?

user chile she don’t want lemon pepper, she want some of that samoan d 😭😭

ilovepostingdrama

liked by user, baddieseasttea, and 789,246 others

ilovepostingdrama girl js can’t leave the married men alone huh? 😂😂

view all 600 comments

user she’s a homewrecker. period.

user this man is married to his high school sweetheart and she wanna come in and ruin that?? 🤦🏽‍♀️

user THE ARIANA GRANDE 2.0 tweet got me crying 😭😭

user FRL 😂

user 😂😂

user are they wrong? 👀

user rumor. IT’S A RUMOR SO THAT MEANS IT’S PROBABLY NOT TRUE 😒

user girl this is most definitely true she slept with lemon pepper, who is also married 😂

user and he got kids omgg🤦🏽‍♀️

user she got no respect

user THE ARIANA TWEET IS TAKING ME OUT😭😭

user RIGHT LIKE THEY AIN’T HAVE TO GO THAT FAR😂😂

gossippagee

liked by user, baddieseasttea, and 378,356 others

gossippagee Baddies East Scotlynd Ryan sleeping with WWE Superstar Jey Uso? Rumor started back in December of 2023 when Scotlynd started liking and commenting on Jey’s posts and since then, the rumor keeps spreading more. 😳

view all 348 comments

user so based off her liking his pictures and commenting, they dating automatically? 🤨 GOODBYE this ain’t true, he’s happily married 😘

user you might not wanna say that…

user girl she literally messed with a married man before, what makes you think she won’t mess with a another one? 🤨

user jey too loyal to mess with a homewrecker, he know better

user ur delusions is getting the best of u, homegirl is definitely messing with him

user so married men is her type? 🤨

user WITH KIDS TOO!!

user ig so 🤷🏽‍♀️

user right like why can’t she find someone who’s single ?? 😒

user WHY ARE YA’LL NOT WORRYING ABT THIS MF AGE GAP!? she’s 27 and he’s 38, UHM HELLO!? 😳

user she prolly like older men 🤷🏽‍♀️

user RIGHT LIKE HE’S ALMOST 40!!

user age ain’t nothing but a number

user jey too fine to be messing around with her

user DAMN 😂😂

user I’m not calling her ugly but she’s too young and she’s a homewrecker 😂😂

user RIGHT

user don’t do scotty, she fine asfc

a/n: thank you for reading! lemme know what y’all think about this series start off 🤍✨

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood (7) - eighteen is dangerous

pairing: biker!roman reigns x black reader warning: lots of teenage angst. descriptions of body insecurity. descriptions of alcohol consumption and reckless behavior (getting in a pool while drunk is very reckless, don't do that please!!) consensual underage intimacy (just a kiss!) reader is going through it unfortunately, sorry authors note: this is a flashback. reader is eighteen and roman is nineteen. word count: 7300 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @sortudademais @gg-trini @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce

eighteen is a dangerous age to be alive. all of your almost adult thoughts and ideas and intentions strewn together by wild, colorful imagination, but, at times, for the sake of another. in front of your mirror, picking at your hair and pinching the elastic of a maybe too tight swim suit. the back cut out to reveal skin and your legs thicker now than they were last summer. frustration brimming harsh in your blood so well it's knotting in your throat. tears pricking your eyes. doom in your bones. because, fucking boys and their oh so amazing pool parties. water every place you step and the torment of maybe getting thrown in for shitty amusement. beer bottles floating everywhere and just-finished-with-high-school-teenagers too lightweight to hold their stomachs. not that you're any better. but at least you know that much about yourself. the pool, party and house courtesy of seth and the kegs of beer to come courtesy of dean no doubt. a friend of a friend of his who wants clout with the club so badly that he swiped his card on kegs for underaged leather bound boys. fucking men. 

and seth's guest bedroom is hot. sweltering so much that it nearly leaves you damp with sweat. your fingers undone with a trembling ache as you pull a pair of shorts over your thighs. overthinking on over drive. because he and his cousins and the rest of the "vip's" have yet to make an appearance. the common people waiting with bated breath for their loud, grimy noise filled entrance. a rumbling, chaotic spectacle filled with air's and aura's of a specific importance and nature that you'll always find too high maintenance to keep up with. but that's why eighteen is such a terrible time, despite maybe your exaggerations about the angst of it. this weird refurbishing of the soul. his mighty self importance aside, romans thoughts and opinions mattering now much more than they used to. your eyes yours still, brown and "shaped so prettily", as your mother likes to say, but not really. going about a constant examination for someone else. shaped against your face perfectly but living outside to look inward too. 

because would he like what you've done with your hair? the earrings you've decided on for the night? the way the swimsuit cuts out at the back? toes painted a different color from your fingernails but oddly cute all the same, because you couldn't be bothered with changing the shade. your tummy not as flat as last year and that scar still embedded in the center of your palm. eyes working for you but at the service of another. him. yes. eighteen is goddamn dangerous. 

that sweet silver necklace he gave you sometime ago. eyes all nervous and his fingers shaky as it clasped the lock of it before you kissed him. a warmth to his skin you never knew existed till that moment. the cool of the metal resting on your skin. dipping low a bit more than usual. the swimsuit made with built in cups. accentuating indeed. because swiping for it at the register of the sports store was easy. naomi at your side smiling bright and excited with a matching style in a different color. the try on process quick and sure with a good natured finality because her eyes were different. lacking that air of intense appraisal. a girls girl for you in the truest sense. her eighteen and your eighteen so similar sometimes. her dealings with jimmy like yours with roman. 

a knock against the bedroom, like a warning, before naomi bursts through. red solo cups in hand and a frustration running lines into her face. long, waist length braids, ponytailed up and away from her face. the bright neon of her swimsuit wet, and her legs dripping some on the carpet. 

you shift quick from the mirror. a creeping heat in your cheeks rising till it settles about your forehead. heart hammering before it plummets to your empty belly. the idea of somebody, anybody, finding you amidst such a vulnerable moment of self brought on scrutiny, absolutely troubling. embarrassing even. a damn scary state of affairs that nearly makes all the doubts and uncertainties breathe harder, heavier. with a better purpose. 

"you went to the pool?"

plopping to lay against the made bed. the fluff of the sheets comfortable despite the heat. maybe even comfortable enough to stay laid up against. a decision that feels more and more appetizing by the second. 

she stands just near the mirror where you'd been, setting down the cups to readjust her hair. a strong presence living along with her reflection. unflinching and sure and at ease. "i took a dip. enough not to get my hair wet", she starts. still corralling the long waist length hair. "i was tryin to wait around for you but somebody decided to abandon me last minute to come up here", giving a pointed look through the mirror. slivers of guilt slipping under your skin. but her fuss of it doesn't last very long, eyes rolling as she dips into an annoyance. "they all down there standin around all brainless n'shit, like they need to be told when to get in the pool. half of them is only here just to say they came anyways...". her steps shuffling over the carpet, cups in hand again. "...followers irk my nerves", she groans. eyes dropping quick over your body. "why are your shorts on?" 

you sit up. a quick, abrupt movement. driven by that suffocating air of hesitation you've fought with since slipping on the swimsuit. 

"should i take them off?"

and maybe naomi doesn't understand the painstaking work of such hesitation, or even if she does, it isn't shown. eyes living with all of the opposite actually. "where is this coming from? it was fine when we bought it, it's fine now", her body plopping beside yours. eyes shining with a scrutiny towards you for the first time tonight, and maybe the first time ever. but oddly enough, it doesn't burn the skin, and neither does it make your esteem shrivel. a sigh leaving her. hardened eyes, protective and familiar in their way, like you could have maybe felt them once before in another lifetime. something similar to how a sister looks to her less stronger one. "if you're worried about what he thinks, then forget his ass. he should be lucky you even lettin him breathe your air". 

and your nerves don't fall away all that quickly, but the air is less thick now. breathable. your eyes interested now in the cups she's bought. both filled with something pink, but the smell of it like that faithful burn of tequila. 

"you're right". 

she smiles."have i ever been wrong?"

your eyes rolling playfully. "no"

"exactly". shoving a cup in your hand before bursting up excited. "so sip on this and lets go mingle". 

and maybe you're like your mom about these things but "mingling" is for the fucking birds. an unexcitable process of small talk that does your head in. because no one actually cares about anything real, or different, or new, they just want to make good on first time impressions. all the real things, these scary little bits of air and unspoken moments between the words. something something, if we make the daughter of the vice president of the most infamous, illustrious, biker club in all of florida laugh and smile and twiddle her fucking thumbs, then we've made it to the inner inner ring, of the inner circle. which is a lie and a half. sweaty shoulders rubbing up at yours and the dampness nearly folding over your stomach with disgust as you follow naomi through to a less busy area of the backyard. the heat steeping in and weighing over everywhere. the crowd as idle as she said it was. hesitation in their bones as they wait for some fearless leader to make the first move of jumping in, so they of course then, can follow. 

you sip at your cup, and then nearly guzzle it the rest of the way. a cold, fruity bite to your tongue that helps ease the angst. 

your eyes peering over to the sliding door that connects the backyard and the inside of the house. like a mere gazing over would summon the not so true bane of your existence. a nineteen year old boy with a penchant for unscrewing your nerves loose. your words tongue tied when they aren't soothed into an easy quiet submission by the sweetness of his mouth. groaning little kisses that leave you frenzied and a little dazed and scared. because he has that way about him unfortunately. a lax sort of domineer. flirtatious eyes and quick little phrases that make your skin crawl something horrendous but excellent just the same. you literally despise him. mouth seeking your cup again. already at the end of your drink and feeling the hard rush in of it in your blood. warmth in your belly and a dizzying effect that loosens your anxieties. the type of buzz that asks for more. 

a small little table exists near a group of shrubs. a cloth bag nestled in a particularly thick way of leaves. your hand sticking down and into the bag to pull out a bottle of tequila. because seth said "only my buddies get the good shit", everyone else suffering with cheap beer they bought, waiting for dean and his kegs to arrive.  

 and with a harsh splash of water—some rando a little less than recklessly diving into the pool—does the party finally actualize. bodies corralling quickly in that cold wash of blue and the music a little louder. this concoction of whatever on your tongue and your urges less accounted for. 

surely this is what naomi means when she says "mingle". forgetting about yourself a little and just being. a hard task made easier when tequila doesn't give two shits about what it means to be perceived. eighteen not as dangerous when you've got liquid courage to slot a small battery in your back. 

"samir right?", his name calling sweetly on your tongue. the leaving of it gentle as you make to get closer to him. a tall-ish boy—but certainly not taller than roman—with a rich dark caramel complexion. charming hooded eyes and the cutest nose. his beer clutched for dear life in his hand like he'd maybe pay to be anywhere else. 

"uh, yeah". a cautious sort of surprise. like the possibility of speaking to him was slim to none. "how'd you know-"

"i seen you with yah dad before...", memory working amidst the alcohol. your words a little loose. stepping closer to him to get over the loud play of the music. his cologne nice in your nose. the type of scent made for double takes and "where'd you get it from?" questions. a silent wingman working as a possible conversation opener for anxious girls who maybe don't know that being this close makes for a heavier suggestion of familiarity. an intimate proximity like you know him more than just from seeing him around. "...he brings his car around my pops shop for tune ups n stuff. you look like him", and maybe the smile after that comment with the way you stand next to him implies something more than it should or more than you want it to but you don't notice. the fuzz of your brain winning the 'i dont give a fuck about being perceived' war. 

but samir is smiling and his shoulders are maybe not as slacked and bored. squared now with a new sense of purpose and open and facing you, like he's giving you the space to be as close as you'd like. like for some odd reason, if you fell into him, he'd catch you better, not that there'd be any reason for that but yeah...whatever, and the buzz is so obviously shaping your blood to run with a renewed sense of unawareness of present situations. thoughts roaming off to weird deep ends before they slip back close to where they belong. sipping at your cup again before you peer up to find him staring. a quick wandering of his earthy brown eyes, maybe at the silver of your necklace or the cup at your lips or maybe even a little below where your necklace dips in. 

samir's eyes bug. an embarrassment clinging to the shape. like he's just snatched himself out of the daze of staring at you. a throat clear that exposes the uncomfortableness in his own body at being made. "what're you drinkin?" 

"it's just juice and tequila, fruit punch i think...", taking a sip. "...beers not my thing". 

"s'not mine either", he gives. looking at his beer bottle unsatisfied. "kinda just grabbed it, cuz it's the only thing here". 

and maybe he'd have more fun if he were where you are? loose and slightly adrift. carefree amidst a sea of people who care too much. "if i say where the stash is, you won't tell right?"

"not a soul". 

your head juts, a motion for him to follow. his steps in rhythm with yours and that cologne staining his skin still flirting with your nose. like a light goading. this silent attempt to lure you into something unfamiliar. because all you know is the cool silver of this necklace, strong teasing fingers and that dark rumbling engine. the nineteen year old boy—who you don't think to name at the moment, not even in the secrecy of your thoughts—this not so true bane of your existence, is still, to you, a great big world of an almost man. tall and surrounding and new and the whole of what you feel for him still uncovered. so maybe it isn't exactly smart—even if such a rebellion lives in the name of a not so odd, half baked, tequila born, self esteem boost—to live so deeply in this state of coyness. a realization, or rather a confession, that threatens the carelessness binding your bones. 

eighteen a little dangerous still, playing loose and a little faster in your blood. because the liquid courage gives you this two-fold, uncanny, brazen sort of awareness. convictions flowing strong, parentally charged in a way that makes your ego break against it in bursting acts of rebellion. the midnight summer air sticky against the skin and baiting. the warmth like a second rushing in, a muggy air of defiance living beside the heat in your belly and the sweet flavor on your tongue. 

you push through that grouping of shrubs, revealing the hefty bottle. 

"shot?", a question but not really. more like a soft demand, styled with a smile and inviting eyes. 

the pour of it playing over samir's voice. a near drown out. "sure", he gives. the cup in his hand already before his decision can come into any finality. "cheers", the words slipping off to linger in the air like he's trying out the phrasing. like he's trying to please your excitement enough to keep it there on your lips. 

you take the stain of it on your tongue quickly. a clear burn that conquers easily on its way down. your throat humming to give it some ease but poor samir is reducing more by the seconds into a fit of coughs. the dry dirtiness of the tequila new for him. not yet to be overcome by the looseness it'll give his bones. 

you laugh. a fit of giggles living a little less than controllable. mixing a more digestible drink into his cup. something more similar to yours. "you don't drink too much huh?"

"nah", his face scrunching. expression embarrassed. "not really". 

"here", passing the cup back to him again. "try this". 

he sips at your concoction. face less screwed as the sweetness of it tempers the bitterness in his mouth. "s'pretty good", natural dark eyes a little brighter. a spark struck across them even. surely not made from janky pool lights that work no better than the old neighborhood street lamps. a courage to him that seems to settle in after he sips again. a courage that leaps with fresh legs. "you have, really, really beautiful eyes", tumbling out. unable to be stopped. the thought perhaps always there but now given the freedom to breathe. to walk and run.

"oh". dumbstruck. a load of giggling that bursts abrupt. not malicious, no. just the sort of drunken amusement caught from the suddenness of a thing. untamable almost if not for the fall of his face. making you feel awful, like shit. "i-..."

samir blinks. like he's just been un-dazed from a dream. "that was corny, i'm sorry".

"no, no, no, it's fine, i just-", your fingers trembling slightly. reaching across the little table to touch him. hands in his, to give him surety "i just-i didn't expect you to say that. thank you". 

"i'm interruptin something?" 

the question teasing as it leaves. flip flops shuffling before they flap down, smacking against the wet cement surrounding the pool. an obnoxious, creeping, entrance. it makes your blood more solid. hearing that mocking tone he gives. roman and the forever glimmer of mischief, spread about his eyes and his lips. like he's hinting the possibility of a storm. gaze drifting over your hands, the way they leave samir's, the proximity of your bodies and the ease of it. a knot in your belly, corralling in with a load of dirty little feelings. roman tall and broad. suffocatingly so. annoyingly so. like a tower. like a mountain that blocks the sun to cast a shadow. that burst of brazenness spreading fun under your skin, now tugging itself along to shuffle back into the dark nothing of a corner. but why should you have to cringe and recoil in and from your innocent fun? why couldn't you delight yourself in a little attention? was that so horrible? your arms crossing over. disruption, childlike and eager, running alongside the bold streak. 

"no". your smile tight lipped. voice bright. "just poppin samir's tequila cherry". 

samir chokes. coughs dangerously hard. roman's eyes slitting to narrow. his jaw giving a small clench before he returns your expression. a mirthless grin. "how nice. i hope he enjoyed it". 

"i think he did". 

roman's brows lift. your audaciousness funny. "lets ask". attention directing itself toward samir, who seems to be the most uncomfortable. 

"i uh", his hand setting the cup down. nervous, antsy and it irks you whole. "yeah, it was. it-it was fine". 

roman hums. shuffles up more till he's nearly flushed against your back. the fabric of his tank top blowing with the heat of the slim midnight breeze, hitting whats exposed of your skin. a reminder. your fists clenching. fucking asshole. the necklace at your chest still cool. in agreement with him. his presence this annoying, territorial claim. possessive and unwavering. your belly empty, your head swimming and frustration clinging to your nerves so well that it's stupid. because this is stupid. because annoyance shouldn't live like this, shouldn't find even ground with enjoyment so well. blood hot, something dizzy working behind your eyes. a complicated, rush of a feeling that has yet to be totally deciphered. 

"you're one of seth's buddies right?"

"yeah something like that". samir appearing less tall. shrunken in and a half step from paper frail. less willing to indulge his eyes. the interest in them gone and refusing to meet your face. and it sours whatever unnamed sweetness held for him. your curiosities gone. because allowing roman to destabilize him so easily. unbalanced and too shy for proper confidence. where was the fun, competitive edge, in that? a bold streak of something uneasy and conflicting and tricky. not simply rolling over and letting him win. thats what this was supposed to be. a riot for some damn reclamation. "i'm just gonna go", samir says. your eyes rolling as he gathers himself to leave the small safety of the table. 

you peer up at roman. the source of all this bullshit angst housed in your person. his face soft but angular somehow. tender lips existing as the object of your lingering desires. his shoulders wide and his body thick thanks to home cooked meals and too much football. your fists balling till they ache. tequila dulling the pain of your nails but doing nothing for the baseless frustration. this boy... this man... this whatever he is, so pretty and exacting and sure all the damn time. always testing and making attempts and looking. your skin less like skin and more like metal. like the tinny cold make of one of his many football trophies. and now you feel no better, no greater than samir. shrinking in and your throat tight again. dizzy and trembly. a leaf in the breeze. like you're back upstairs in seth's guest room, peering into the mirror. eyes yours, but more useful for him now. 

hate isn't too strong a word is it? your father says it sometimes. like the word is venom born, made to poison. says it and then kisses your mother anyways. kisses and hugs her and churns her indifference into pretty, wispy noise. rich and thick. honey inspired. so if that works. venom and honey. both thick and useful. then maybe they're the same. 

"you're such a dick", you cut at him. eyes rolling hard. making to step around him. but he's so tall and everywhere. a world and a half. 

and he laughs. like everything is so funny. like you're funny. a joke. sweetened tequila on the tongue. bathing your stomach. fuzzily in the brain. he thinks you're a joke. 

"how would you know, you've never seen one". 

you gasp. your shoulder trying it's hardest to check him. a barely registered move that gets you past him and closer to the pool. "ass", you yell. loud enough for people to hear. 

skin sticky. trembling still. exasperated. your feet a harsh descending as you stalk to the opposite edge of the pool. the beginning steps of the shallow end. dean there with a cup of beer in hand. hair long and already damp. 

"trouble in paradise?" 

your eyes cut. a sharp look to warn him. a deep breath as you breach the water with your foot. trying the cool of it. "your friend is a fuckin asshole", you give. 

he chuckles. like maybe he knows that to be a little true. "what'd he do?" and when you don't answer, occupied with settling into the chill of the pool, he turns his attention over to his friend. chuckling still. "what the hell did you do?"

roman flips his hand. a 'whatever' motion, like he couldn't be bothered to even care. 

your blood boils. loose and on fire. "what doesn't he do?!" loud and irritated enough for dean to hear. loud enough for roman. for seth and the twins and everyone else in between. but it doesn't stop the party. just adds to the air. to the drone of the festivities. to splashes of water, and the splatting smack of beach balls. to good feeling breezy wind and the thumping bass of music. to guys trying to flirt with girls and girls trying to quell their boyish half baked charms with coyness and shooing splashes of water. the party in full effect and alive. pulsing and balanced. and maybe you shouldn't be in the pool, all loose-brained and dizzy feeling. but the water feels good and the distance from roman is a welcomed addition. gets his cologne out of your nose and rids you of the sensation of his body along your back. 

but his mischief isn't done. stretches with a fresh awakened need to stress your nerves. the pull up and discard of his tank top a sensational performance. like he's mocking and poking and punishing you with the gasp and squeals of girls who pry at him with sharp hopeful eyes. his body dipping into the pool on the deep end before breaching up with his hair slicked back and dusting his shoulders. curling up as it meets the air all finger provoking like. 

you hate him. 

feet splashing behind you. dean stepping to sink further and further into the icy blue of the pool. a quick, resolute voice of mediation. "aaalright...", he draws out. "...none of this shitty, sulky, energy". his back to you, arms stretched out and waiting, like a human pool noodle. "hop on". 

but the water is safe here at the shallow end. close to the stairs and faraway from eyes and his prying little stare that grows more amused by the minute as you fight and fail to ignore it. "dean, i don't think thats a good—", your body up ended. water splashing as you panic. a fast jostling maneuver that forces you to grapple him as he lifts you onto his back. "dean!!!", thrilled and pissed and dazed behind the eyes still. arms and legs wrapping tight about him as he treads into the deep end. 

and he's all smiley, the little shit. "you don't got much of a choice unfortunately".

"i can't swim". 

"i know", patting the clinging wrap around of your arm. reassurance that barely makes a full registration about the body. "i ain't gonna let you drown sweets".

"sweets?"

"new nickname for you", he hums. satisfied with the ring of it.  

and you snort. set your head atop of his as he treads the water. because dean—and though it's unusual for him to fail at many things—is unfailing at pleasing his penchant for nicknaming people. you in particular. a little list of moniker's reflecting the growth of your relationship. from 'sis', at sixteen, to 'sissy' at seventeen, and then a very offhanded 'babe' for sometime. a jokey little term of affection you accepted, because the humor of it proved stupid and weird and annoying for roman. always silently bristling about it. these wordless little shifts in his expression. a disapproval he felt was maybe too childish to name properly. but dean didn't linger on it too long. a little razz of a name before moving on back to just calling you by your government. but 'sweets' is new. promotes something, maybe, a bit more delicate than the others. more endearing. 

"cute", you approve. "where are we going?"

"where the party is". 

your arms grow tighter. cinched threateningly at his neck. his little laughs and the edge of his weight against yours not doing much to make your irritations any true problem. but you try anyways. "i swear to God, and Jesus freakin Christ ambrose...", your voice biting. words slipping through your teeth. "...if you take me over to him on some kum ba yah bullshit, i will drown you. i will use all of my weight and pin you to the floor of this pool...", his sputters, chuckles flaming your blood. "...i will end you. i don't wanna talk to him". 

"you two go at it like a fuckin married couple, just—"

your name shrieks across the pool. a drawl of a mezzo soprano voice. pretty and clear like freshly cut diamonds. sing song like and attention grabbing. enough for dean to halt his treading and pivot. curiosities a shitty merging with some low level form of dread. tequila swimming in your stomach, this large, prong attached battery. a careless, suspicious, jolt of energy about your blood as you get closer to chauncey hayes and her mini crowd of personality destitute friends. and no, the dread doesn't spring off from some shriveling form of a fear absolute, but rather the regular anxieties of interacting with a girl too boy obsessed to think straight. because chauncey still roams free and ditsy-like in the halls of tenth grade socialization. a shark of a particular caliber. too small to be truly frightening but existing large enough to annoy already poorly wired nerves. tonight is not the night for this. tonight is not the night for chauncey hayes. 

"just the girl i wanted to chat it up with", she smiles. a little looser than tight lipped. like the work of ingratiating herself to you is a goal but not a top priority. sincerity casting bright for some seconds as she drops her eyes. "hi dean".

"ladies", he gives, to her and all her friends. polite and smirky like. their reactions amusing. 

"what's up?", you ask. ready to get it over with. your arms and legs clinging to dean still. less vexed. seeking comfort. 

"so um...", a faux bout of rumination. her eyes a light bright warm brown, glowing to contrast the cool blue of the pool. a summery colored bathing suit fitting her skin and her hair loose and curly. "...you're cool with the twins right?", her eyes flicking to jimmy and jey. reverential, bordering needy and crazed even. naomi atop jimmy in a similar fashion to how you cling to dean. but her body proves less anxious, more affectionate. the boys cornered and laughing gut deep with roman and seth. "like...deep family connects and all that good stuff?" 

"how federal of you", dean mumbles. 

and yes, blame it on the alcohol. spirits saturating your veins. curiosities fortified and blindly misguiding. so much so that your clues as to where this might lead are a bit blurred. a nameless teenaged ruin. oh yes, just blame everything on that fruity, semi-acrid taste steeped into your tongue. "i guess you could say that, yeah". 

"so whats the status on them then? ... like, i know jimmy and naomi are connected at the hip but roman specifically...", a rushing in where words intend to flow. heat and blood. the inner parts of your ears muddied with an ill feeling. a disruptive sensation. fingers alive with these little twitches. belly swimming. nausea maybe. a well, wet with liquor and a deep vexing. because what the actual hell? "...like what's his deal? is he taken?" 

dean laughs. from the base of his gut. abrupt and ill-controlled. amusement full in his cheeks. "oh young and the restless, eat shit, this is magic", he barks. 

"dean. shut. the fuck. up", you cut. tongue sharp like obsidian. shifting along his back. re-hooking your legs and focusing your eyes from that loose daze. for what? better posture maybe? a maneuvering perhaps that gives one of your arms more reach, more freedom. a reason unknown really. but your human pool noodle takes it as a sign to tread a step backwards. like he knows something you don't. "why do you ask?", your eyes slitting. no less curious, but the anxieties are fallen away to leave a spark of something vicious feeling in it's wake. an unchallenged sensation housed in your chest. a beating, a pulse. the pump of it venturing out to the center of your forehead and the tips of your toes. a thorough spreading about till you're filled with the brutality of it. a dangerous feeling. whole and sweet and grimy. 

"i mean...what do you mean why?", chauncey flicking her shitty little eyes over to roman. a dazzling appreciation in them that aches your teeth. "have you seen him?" 

you grin. mirthlessly. "what makes you think i'd know what he likes?" 

"you're always hanging around...", a patronizing go of words. her eyes rolling, the thought of it sticking to her odd and unwanted. like your proximity to him is more of a nuisance than a fulfillment of his own wants. of each others wants. "...i figured you had a little insider information". 

and the way your arms wrap around dean for stability, fingers clutching nails into his pale skin. anger attempting to be tempered but proving formidable and real bitchy. his throat grunting as he feels the violence of it. "ouch...", he pats your arm for reprieve. to draw you back off the ledge. that resolute voice of mediation coming back in full stride. awkward and stuttered. "...ok uh, so i think maybe...maybe in the spirit of pool parties and um...buoyancy? ...yeah that sounds right... that we should do a breathing exercise...y'know just something to chill us out—"

you cut off his rambling. "is this you trying to be funny?", his hands digging into your thighs to keep you up as you press forward. "your town cryin ass is always ten steps ahead on gossip but you don't know him and i are together?...", voice louder than before. erupting till its bouncing off pool waves to ripple out to the deep end. "...have been together?" 

she scoffs. fighting not to shrink. "he doesn't even talk you up, i—"

"ok, ok, wait!", dean calls out. bewildered at chauncey's nonchalance. treading back.

"girl are you fucking dense?", you yell. 

"ah shit", dean mumbles. backing away slowing. bones heavy amidst the water. 

but you keep going. laughing with teeth. a mild mannered hysteria. "do you not like your life?"

"are you threatening me?", chauncey shrieks. trembling but warring against it.   

"you know who i am", you give. amused and loose blooded. 

"ok, i think thats enough magic for tonight", dean mumbles. his thumb rubbing into your knee as he holds and carries you to the stairs resting at the center edge of the pool. 

the metal curve of the stepping rods cold to the touch. your bones tired and heavy. skin wet. an empty, drained, sensation coddling terribly well everywhere. that short bout of hysteria dead. the party goers unsure of when or how to resume. awkwardly existing under the torture of your fire. the buzz once sizzling your blood, growing neutral and ill-suited for this new lane of emotion. a merging onto something quiet and dejected. the thump of the music never returning to it's former glory, even as your feet press forward into the house. tracking in wet, an untouched collection of dry towels hanging near the entrance. your hand snatching one up, making a b-line for the other side of seth's house. his kitchen scarce of teenage bullshit—apart, of course, from your own—and the loud song of too trivial chatter. the large towel wrapping your body, a tender lean against the counter, trembling softly, waiting for the chill to stop. 

a gut wrenching sort of enervation plays dutifully under the skin. on cue and terribly in the pocket. a grimace worthy rhythm. it makes a disgusting, beautiful, cruel tune out of your nerves. bursting and wild, like the roar of an old iron made engine. a rumbling orchestra, dirty in its symphony, those residuals of anger oh so noisy in the body. feeling mighty and familiar. a fire and grime inherited surely. because who are you that it'd pass you by without troubling skin and bones and the thoughts made ready to leave your mouth?  and sure, maybe in her mischief, chauncey deserved to be dug into the ground, her knowing bright eyes filled with wanting to tear you apart for the fun of it, but not with the easy mean speak of your father. she didn't deserve the grime and blast of that tough leathery part of his nature. at least not from you. being a vessel, holding this much in the same way, it hurts too badly to keep in. hurts more letting it go. 

and roman is light footed as he steps into the kitchen. silent but full in presence. shaping the room to his body. but then again, everything looks quite too large for understanding when you've gone under such a quick, awful diminishing.

"sober yet?" 

"almost". 

he huffs through his mouth. a deep, amusing breath. "it's always the lightweights causing all the trouble", leaning up against the island that runs parallel to the counter. his eyes stitching to your skin. sewing in and binding themselves. "you gave the normals a show though, they'll have something to talk about for the rest of the summer". 

your eyes roll, turning away from him. opening the kitchen fridge to grab a bottle of water. opening it to take a sip, before the sarcasm drips. "m'so happy i could give your fans free entertainment, apparently the little strip tease wasn't enough for them". 

"takin my shirt off at a pool party is regular shit. i can't help it if girls like the way i look. i can't control how people react...", his face running hot with irritation. his cheeks dusting a faint red. loose curls joining up in his hands as he ties them into a small knot. " ...at least i wasn't baitin nobody. you get a little buzz and forget i exist apparently". 

but samir was an empty rebellion. not forgetfulness. a coup against the self to rid of the overpower of his influence. an attempt at reclamation—of eyes and thoughts and opinions—at not caring and just being. was it misguided? sure, but not malicious.  

"i can't help it if boys like the way i look". 

"you was eatin it up...", he flares. not loud but deep. accusatory and pissed. "...all giggly n'shit, like you never heard a compliment before". his body shuffling closer to gain advantage in your line of sight. "i give you compliments all the time and you act all meek like you can't take it". 

the plastic of the bottle gives a crinkling groan from the grip in your hand. your tired eyes meeting his. those last bits of looseness giving you the wherewithal to speak. "you wanted me to be a dick about it?" 

"have the same energy or somethin", he grits. "you damn near threatened chauncey". 

"she was makin it seem like i barely existed next to you!"

"because...you maybe don't", he breaks. urgent. his shoulders falling, unweighted now. like the thought has lived and shaped well in his mind for sometime. his face closer and troubled. a confusion born from frustration. "you don't want me next to you, you barely want me to touch you, and you hate when i look at you for too long, but you want everybody and they damn mama knownin we together". 

that nausea. dizziness behind the eyes. "thats not true—"

"are we together?" he asks. 

the air feeling harder to breathe. that bottle no longer clutched in your hand but too cold still and your ears flooding to the tips with heat. pressure welling up in your throat too much it starts to ache. fingers gathering to ball, nothing between them but the bite of your nails into the palms. the phantom of a thing they hold against for dear life. eyes prickling with a stabbing pain. the beginning of salty warmth that burns the skin. 

you chuckle. mirthless and panicked. "thats not a real question. you can't be for real right now". 

"you got somethin real to say to me then?" 

and it's all resting palpable at the tip of your tongue. but it lacks the proper brilliance. makes no quarrel with itself of possibly being undigestible. it lives wholly uncomfortable, eagerly so, with a streak of menace. and this, he wants you to spit out? to let fall and burn and weight over the air. displeasure true in the heart of your chest, melted and flamed and dangerous like the inner core of the earth. 

"why you so pressed to hear about what i got to say all the time? always lookin and diggin for stuff that don't matter". 

"if its you, it matters", he stresses. confusion wearing well in his eyes but his words sure. "if it's not, then whatever. i don't care". 

and this must be what drowning feels like. the flail of feet and arms and a hopeless horror. water sucked into the lungs, salty and raging against the palate. sinking the words with an evil diligence. but the body has a way about it. an uncanny, needy, pestering desire to survive. to live. so the drowning is not quick. and you are not overcome quickly. coughing and screaming, skin hot and cold and pale and wrinkling. blurry eyes and a gasp too large to contain for long enough. fingers pushing water to rush it behind, a play at propelling the weight of your bones beyond the surface. to say something, to be asked to speak truth to a wordless dread, is the painstaking performance of drowning. "...you have things... you have the club... all of your friends are my friends... it's easy, you get up one day and decide i'm not what you want, you can just leave". 

"no". an instant thing, thick fingers cradling your face. his eyes frightened and brown and displeased. "no". resolute. always so damn sure of himself. his hands pulling, a soft embrace and gesture, your eyes unable to leave him. frightful of being seen but too weak to leave the meeting of his. "that's not true. and you boxin me in like that, it's not fair". your fingers tired, clutched and nailing into his arms. his face, a world of a thing. freckled and soft and tanned. cutting sharper at the jaw but gentle still around the eyes. mouth and tongue delicate despite the cool edge of him, his nature. "when i said, way back before ,that i gotchu, it wasn't me gassin yah head up. i was being real". 

but he doesn't stop. doesn't drown under the roll in of a tumultuous wave. 

his thumb sweeping your cheek. to soothe the skin. to persuade it of his care. "i'm never lookin at you to find somethin wrong or to find a reason not to look", his eyes a slow wandering pace. brushing smooth over your features. your lips and cheeks blooming with a sensation only admiration can give. "it's hard not lookin at you". chuckling and his eyes rolling. "and yeah the way he said it was corny as hell, but samir ain't wrong. you never not look good to me". 

you can feel his breaths here. the draw of his mouth as his appreciation leads him closer. a bright sweetness on his tongue that quickens your blood. his nose a short dainty nudge into yours. anticipation filling the well of your body. 

"i like being next to you". tall body slipping up calm. closer. surrounding you against the kitchen counter. "i like touching you". thumb skimming along your lips. "ain't nothin awful about all that huh?" 

you shiver. the curl up of it riding along your spine. "no". 

"exactly". convincing brown eyes and an exacting little grin. "and nothin bad is gonna happen either. i gotchu. you're mine".

his words a sweet working spell. lips a teasing slot along yours, but never making the full embrace of a kiss. your desperation for it pure. dampens the odd, dirty, hard to digest ideas. 

he smiles. amused. "i snacked on a mint before i came in here so... you kinda gotta kiss me now".

you snort. slipping your fingers over his arms. holding tighter. the fresh scent on his tongue a gentle persuasion. 

"it's mandatory huh?" 

"yeah cause you been fallin off a lot actually. missin weekly quotas. thats real bad for business". 

"something's gotta be done i guess". 

he hums. planting tender and simple. tiny little pecks that lure you further into the give of his lips. a hand sweeping low, his arm curling about your waist, palms splayed. his fingers there bending and running dull to feel the supple fabric of your swimsuit beneath the towel. touching and testing his limits. seemingly waiting for you to pry yourself away. you breathe into his mouth, the air funneling out of your lungs. teeth a teasing bite into his lip. smiling and falling into him. his other hand meeting the exploration of the first. an unhurried pace over your body, along the line of your back. pressing in as it trails. a gasp melting on his tongue as it sweeps in, holding the tremble of you. "so pretty", he gives. littering your jaw with the affections of his mouth. your everything, feather feeling, weightless, arrested and held up in the strength of him. his smile curving into where he purses into your neck. the rhythm of your pulse playing into his kiss. 

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Blood Bound - Part Two 🥀

Vampire!Jey Uso x Black OC

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

Masterlist

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Josh let out a sigh as he pulled onto the street of his Condo. “Go ahead and say it, Joe.” 

Joe leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, his face unreadable. After a long pause, he spoke, his tone sharp and accusatory. “Why were you giving her your blood?”

Josh cut the engine and turned his head to look at Joe. “After Priest started poking his head around, I had to tell her the truth. And I-I didn’t want to lose her so I did what I had to do, Uce.” 

“You did what you had to? No, you did what you wanted to do. You didn't even think about the consequences Joshua!” 

“She knew! She knew what would happen!” His hands gripped the steering wheel, the tension in his chest rising. “I wasn’t forcing her into anything. She knew the risks. She -” Josh stopped abruptly, his fangs were suddenly sharp against the inside of his lip. He felt the veins starting to grow under his eyes. “Mora.” He whispered, before Joe could say anything, Josh had blurred out of the car. 

His senses honed in on her, the bond between them growing stronger with every second that passed.

He could feel her. Her pain. Her fear.

She’s fading.

24 hours ago

“Yeah, I’ll be home soon. Love you too.”  Josh hung up the phone, his face softening as he stared at the screen for a moment, as though savoring the words then, he slipped the phone into his pocket, shaking his head with a small smile.

Jon, who had been watching him from the other side of the kitchen, raised an eyebrow. “Being in love is a good look on you, twin.”

Josh snorted, but couldn’t stop his smile from growing.  

“Look at him not denying it.” Jon’s wife Trinity interjected as she came into the kitchen and handed her husband a cup of familiar red liquid. The rich, iron-scented blood swirled in the glass, still warm from whatever source she’d gotten it from. “Don���t go breaking her heart now, We actually like this one.” 

Josh chuckled and nodded his head. He liked Simora a lot too, more than he cared to admit out loud. A lot more. There was something about her—the way she made him feel like he wasn’t just a vampire going through the motions of immortality. She had a way of making everything feel more… real. She made him see there was more to human life. With Simora, every moment felt like it had meaning. She made him remember what it was like to want something.

Jon’s teasing grin faded as he saw the shift in Josh’s expression, the quiet intensity that had come over him. “Damn Uce, You really are all in with her, huh?”

Josh met his twin’s gaze, his smile was soft but firm. “Yeah. I am.” 

“Good, we’ve been around for centuries but we still need someone to keep us grounded.” Jon’s voice was soft as he glanced over at Trinity.  She was from a well-known and respected African American coven with a long history of guarding powerful magic and secrets. Jon knew his time with Trinity was limited.  Despite the magic that sustained her, Jon knew that human lifespans weren’t meant to be stretched across centuries. Eventually, he’d lose her; no amount of power or immortality could change that. “Don’t take her for granted,” Jon whispered only for Josh to hear. 

Before Josh could respond, his phone started to ring. The smile was back on his face as he looked at the caller i.d, Jon sucked his teeth. “Man, get on outta here and go home to your girl.” 

Before Josh could respond, his phone started to ring. The smile was back on his face as he looked at the caller i.d, Jon sucked his teeth. “Man, get on outta here and go home to your girl.” 

Josh chuckled and answered the phone. “I told you I was -” 

“JOSH! HELP!”

Present Day

If Josh’s heart was still pumping, it would be hammering in his chest. He wasn’t able to blur up to his apartment because of the humans still lurking around at this hour. He was running as fast as he could with Joe right on his heels. 

He burst through the front door of his apartment, not caring about how the wood split. “Simora!” He called out, his panic rising when he didn’t get a response. 

“Josh?” It was weak and if he weren’t a vampire, he wouldn’t have heard it. He blurred to the hallway by his bedroom and found her sitting on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest. She looked weak. 

“Baby…” He called out, crouching down next to her. She picked her head up to look at him. She was crying. Red tears streamed down her face, her fangs were elongated, and the veins under her eyes were pronounced, dark lines threading outwards like cracks in porcelain. She had “vamped out”.  He ran into his room and came back out holding a blood bag.  “You need to drink, it’s gonna stop the pain, but only temporarily. You need to actually drink from the source to complete the transformation.” 

Simora’s eyes flickered to the blood bag, but her gaze was unfocused, distant. Her lips trembled, caught between fear and hunger, her fangs aching for sustenance. He gently tore the bag open and held it out for her, “Please, you have to drink.” 

She nodded and took the bag from him, her fingers were trembling as she brought the blood up to her lips. 

Joe watched from the sidelines, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He had stayed out of their intimate moment, giving Josh and Simora space. He couldn’t help but let his mind wander back to that day. The day he had tried to save her and failed. He had been reckless, thinking he could turn someone he loved into a vampire without considering the consequences. He could tell she was apprehensive when he asked if she wanted to be with him forever. He remembered how her eyes had flickered with hesitation, how she had quietly whispered that she wasn’t sure, but for him, she would try. And then, in an instant, it had gone wrong. When she had awoken, she immediately regretted her decision.

The change had been too much for her, too overwhelming. Joe had tried to help, tried to comfort her as her body fought against the transformation, but the damage was done. She hadn’t been ready, and she didn’t want this life. She had begged him to make it stop, to take it all back, but once the curse was upon her, there was no undoing it.

The girl he had loved—the one who had trusted him—was gone.

Joe closed his eyes for a moment, the memory still raw. He had failed her. And now, watching Josh fight to save Simora, he couldn’t help but wonder if the same thing was happening again. He hoped Simora’s love for Josh would be enough to pull her through

Authors Note: poor Joe 💔. I really love writing this story lol. How are you guys liking it?

I'm kinda basing my vampires off of Vampire Diaries and Tru Blood. Just taking some elements from both shows and mixing them together!

I know the chapters are short LMAO but I don't wanna overload them with information.

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[samijey]

POV: YOU'RE DATING JEY USO (you're sami zayn)

[put-a-keep-are-you-foo-dell]

My darling readers

I swear I'm writing, but the next chapters are going to be late because I just moved and haven't got time to edit and post

[msklassickilla]

Delirious | J. Uso|R. Reigns Two

Summary: When Titania buys an old typewriter from a closing thrift store, she thinks it’s just a vintage gem—until the words she types start coming true. However, the typewriter doesn’t just bring fantasies to life—it twists them. Giving Titania way more than she bargained for.

Pairing: Titania Marshall (Black OC) x Jey Uso x Roman Reigns

Author’s Note: This story is another AU thing. So, it might align, or it might not. I will try my best to keep it current enough. Nonetheless, it’s mash up of a few things: That one episode of Goosebumps. That one episode of the Twilight Zone. And that movie by the same title, Delirious featuring John Candy. I’ma make it work. Plus, I like mystical spooky shit with a bit of Jerry Springer type mess.

Warning(s): Will be updated each chapter. None for this.

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.

Two

Titania woke to the faint hum of music and the unmistakable scent of pancakes wafting up from the kitchen. She blinked at the ceiling, groggy and disoriented. Had she left the TV on last night? No, that wasn’t right. The typewriter... Jey...

Her heart raced as the memories from the night before came rushing back. She sat up abruptly, clutching the edge of her comforter. For a brief, hopeful second, she considered that maybe it had all been a vivid dream—some bizarre, storm-fueled hallucination.

Then the sound of a spatula scraping against a pan broke through her thoughts.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, hesitating. Every logical part of her brain screamed that this couldn’t be happening, but the smell of butter and syrup was all too real. Slowly, she rose and crept toward the staircase, each step down bringing the sounds from the kitchen into sharper focus.

As she rounded the corner, her breath caught in her throat.

Jey Uso stood at her stove, his broad back to her, wearing a plain white T-shirt and gray sweatpants that hung comfortably on his hips. His damp curls bounced slightly as he hummed along to a song playing from his phone on the counter. He flipped a pancake with practiced ease, then grabbed a plate to stack it alongside a tower of perfectly golden ones.

Titania gripped the banister, her knees threatening to give out. “This can’t be real,” she whispered to herself.

Jey turned at the sound of her voice, his face lighting up with a warm smile. “Morning, beautiful.”

Her throat went dry. She stared at him, unable to form a coherent response as he wiped his hands on a dish towel and walked toward her.

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his head as he stopped a few feet away. “You look like you’ve seen ghost, baby.”

“I—” Titania started, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m fine. Just... didn’t expect you to still be here.”

Jey chuckled, his grin widening. “Where else would I be? I’m not doing shows this week, remember? Figured I’d get in some QT with my girl while I can.”

Titania blinked, her stomach lurching. He said it so casually, so naturally, like this was just another ordinary day. But it wasn’t ordinary—he wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Right,” she said weakly, forcing a tight smile.

Jey didn’t seem to notice her unease. He gestured toward the kitchen with a proud little flourish. “Come eat before it gets cold. I made your favorite—blueberry pancakes, extra syrup.”

Her stomach twisted even tighter. She hadn’t told him her favorite breakfast.

Feeling like she was floating through a dream—or maybe a nightmare—Titania followed him into the kitchen. Jey moved around the space with ease, grabbing plates and silverware like he’d done it a hundred times before. He slid a plate stacked with pancakes in front of her and sat down across the table, smiling as if nothing was amiss.

She stared at the food, her appetite nowhere to be found.

“So,” Jey said between bites of his own breakfast, “what’s on the agenda today? You working on anything new?”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, her pulse racing. “What?”

“You know, writing,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his fork. “You’re always saying how you don’t take enough breaks, so I figured I’d ask before you buried yourself in another story.”

Titania forced out a nervous laugh. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Nothing big right now.”

“Well, maybe I can help you brainstorm later,” Jey offered, winking at her. “You’ve got all the talent—I just add the charm.”

She barely heard him. Her mind was spinning, replaying everything he’d said. How did he know so much about her? About her favorite breakfast, her writing habits? She hadn’t written these details into her story last night, yet he knew them as if they’d been together for years.

Jey’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Hey.”

She looked up to find him watching her with a concerned expression. “You sure you’re good? You seem... I don’t know. Off.”

Titania scrambled to recover, plastering on what she hoped was a convincing smile. “I’m good. Just didn’t sleep well, I guess. The storm, you know?”

Jey studied her for a moment, then nodded, his brow relaxing. “Yeah, it was rough. I kept thinking the power was gonna go out again. Glad it didn’t, though—I’d have missed my pancakes.”

She let out a nervous laugh, fiddling with her fork. He went back to eating, chatting casually about his plans for the week, but Titania barely heard a word. All she could think about was the typewriter upstairs, and the impossible reality sitting across from her at the table.

----

Titania perched on the edge of the couch, watching Jey as he scrolled through his phone at the other end. He was sprawled out comfortably, his arm draped across the backrest like he’d claimed the space long ago. His phone pinged, and he laughed softly at whatever popped up on his screen.

“You’re still in that group chat with Jimmy and Solo?” Titania asked, trying to sound casual.

Jey looked up and grinned. “Of course. That chat’s always poppin’. Jimmy’s been spamming us all morning with videos of his kids singing karaoke. Solo’s mad ‘cause he says they’re off-key, and Jimmy keeps telling him he’s just jealous.”

Titania forced a smile, her heart thudding in her chest. The level of detail in his answer made her head spin. She’d seen clips of Jimmy’s kids on Instagram before, but she hadn’t written anything like that into her story. Yet here was Jey, acting like it was second nature to talk about his brothers, just like any other morning.

“I thought Solo would be busy training for his next match,” she said carefully, testing him.

“Nah, he’s got a light day,” Jey replied, setting his phone down and leaning forward. “He said something about watching film later, though. He’s taking this stuff real serious—trying to hold it down for the new Bloodline, you know?”

Her hands tightened into fists on her lap. Everything he was saying lined up perfectly with what she knew about Jey’s real life—his brothers, his cousins, the way they worked together as a family in WWE. It wasn’t just the facts; it was how effortlessly he remembered them, as if his world had been perfectly stitched into hers.

“You sure you straight, Tee?” Jey asked, his brow creasing with concern. “You’re awful quiet today.”

“Yea, I’m straight,” she said quickly, waving him off. “Just thinking about... stuff.”

“Stuff?” he echoed, chuckling. “Alright, you don’t wanna tell me—it’s cool. But you know I can see right through you, right?”

She swallowed hard, forcing another weak smile. “It’s nothing, really.”

Jey leaned back, watching her for a moment before letting it drop. He picked up his phone again, scrolling aimlessly, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Titania’s gaze flickered toward the stairs, where the typewriter waited in her room like a dormant storm. Her stomach churned. She needed to know more. She needed to test it.

An hour later, Jey wandered into the kitchen, whistling softly as he rummaged through the fridge. Titania seized the opportunity to slip upstairs, closing the door to her bedroom behind her.

The typewriter sat on her desk, gleaming in the afternoon light. Its keys seemed to taunt her, daring her to push her luck. Her hands trembled as she rolled a blank sheet of paper into the machine and rested her fingers on the keys.

She hesitated, her mind racing. What if this made things worse? What if she couldn’t stop whatever she set in motion? But the curiosity—the need to understand—was too strong to ignore.

Her fingers began to move, clumsily typing:

Jey gets a phone call from his bosses asking him to fly to Tampa for a last-minute meeting.

She stared at the words, her pulse pounding in her ears. For a moment, nothing happened. The room remained still, the air heavy with anticipation.

Then, downstairs, she heard Jey’s phone ring.

----

Titania froze at the sound of Jey’s phone ringing, the unmistakable buzz cutting through the quiet house. Her breath hitched as she strained to listen, every nerve in her body on edge.

“Yo, what’s up?” Jey’s voice called from downstairs. She heard him answer the call, his tone casual, like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Her heart raced as she edged toward the door, pressing her ear against it. She could hear Jey’s muffled voice, the cadence of his words matching the exact scenario she had typed moments ago.

“Yeah, no problem,” Jey said, his voice growing clearer as he walked toward the living room. “I’ll head to the airport now. Should be able to catch the next flight out.”

Titania’s fingers curled around the doorknob, her grip tightening. This isn’t possible, she thought. She’d written that line. She’d made it happen.

A minute later, she heard the faint sound of Jey ending the call. “Babe?” he called, his voice drifting up the stairs. “Can you come down here for a sec?”

Her stomach dropped. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of her room and made her way downstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Jey was standing by the couch, his phone still in his hand and an apologetic look on his face. “I gotta head to Tampa,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Last-minute meeting. They need me there ASAP.”

Titania stared at him, struggling to keep her expression neutral. “Oh,” she said weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed, walking toward her with his usual easy confidence. “I hate to leave so soon. I was looking forward to hanging out for a few days, but you know how it is.”

She nodded numbly, her mind racing. “Yeah, I get it. Work comes first, right?”

Jey smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you when I get back, I promise. Maybe we can do something special next weekend?”

Before she could respond, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. The warmth of his lips sent a shiver through her, grounding her in a reality that felt too solid to deny.

“Thanks for understanding,” he murmured, pulling back and giving her a soft grin.

Titania managed a small nod, her voice caught in her throat. She watched as he grabbed his luggage from the corner of the living room, moving with the easy familiarity of someone who belonged there.

“You’re the best,” Jey said, flashing her one last smile as he opened the front door. The rain had stopped, and the afternoon sunlight streamed through, painting the doorway in warm gold.

And then he was gone.

Titania stood frozen in the living room, her hands trembling at her sides. The house felt impossibly quiet without him, the weight of the silence pressing down on her.

She sank onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. The call had been too perfect, too precise—every word, every detail unfolding exactly as she’d written. The typewriter wasn’t just powerful; it was terrifying.

She looked toward the stairs, where the machine sat waiting, gleaming like a predator in the shadows.

“What the fuck have I done?” she whispered.

----

The house was too still. The hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the occasional creak of the floorboards under the settling house only seemed to amplify the quiet. Titania sat on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, staring blankly at her phone.

The text Jey had sent stared back at her:

Made it to the airport. Thanks for being so cool about this. Miss you already. ❤️

Her chest tightened. It was such a simple message, something any partner might send—but the weight of it crushed her. She’d written him into existence, conjured him with a few keystrokes. He wasn’t supposed to be here, let alone texting her like they had years of history.

She dropped the phone onto the cushion beside her and buried her face in her hands. No matter how many times she replayed it in her mind, it didn’t make sense. Jey’s presence was seamless, flawless. He remembered his family, his career, even their supposed relationship, with a level of detail that terrified her.

It wasn’t just what she’d written; it was everything the typewriter had filled in on its own.

She stood abruptly, unable to sit still any longer. Her thoughts swirled in an endless loop, and she felt like she might suffocate if she didn’t move. Titania paced the room, her bare feet soundless on the worn carpet.

Her gaze flickered toward the stairs, where the typewriter sat in her bedroom. A sharp pang of fear hit her stomach, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the curiosity gnawing at her.

I have to understand it, she thought. I need to know how far this thing goes.

Before she could stop herself, she was halfway up the stairs, her breath shallow as she approached the door to her room. She paused, her hand on the doorknob, her heart thundering in her chest. For a fleeting moment, she considered turning back.

But the pull was too strong.

Titania pushed the door open and stepped inside, her eyes immediately locking onto the typewriter. It sat on her desk, gleaming innocently in the soft afternoon light, as if it hadn’t just turned her life upside down.

She walked toward it slowly, her pulse quickening with each step. Her hands hovered over the keys, trembling. The temptation was overwhelming.

“What else can you do?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She glanced at the notebook sitting next to the typewriter, filled with half-baked story ideas and fanfiction concepts she’d never gotten around to finishing. The pages were a chaotic mess of scratched-out notes, doodles, and snippets of dialogue.

Titania flipped through the notebook absently, her thoughts swirling. She could write something harmless—something small, just to see what happened. No big risks.

But her fingers froze, hovering over the notebook. She remembered Jey’s phone call. The typewriter didn’t just execute her words; it brought them to life in a way that felt real, almost too real.

Her stomach churned. What if she wrote something that couldn’t be undone?

Titania backed away from the desk, shaking her head. “No,” she muttered to herself. “Not again. Not tonight.”

She left the room quickly, closing the door behind her as if that might contain the typewriter’s power. The moment she was back in the hallway, a wave of relief washed over her—but it was short-lived.

The pull was still there, lingering in the back of her mind, whispering promises of possibility.

That night, Titania lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The house felt empty without Jey, and the silence seemed to stretch endlessly around her. She couldn’t stop replaying the events of the day, every detail solidifying the terrifying reality of what she’d done.

The typewriter wasn’t just a tool; it was something far more dangerous.

And despite everything, she knew it was only a matter of time before she sat down at that desk again.

----

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, but it did little to ease the tension knotting Titania’s shoulders. She sat at the edge of her bed, her phone in hand, staring at Jey’s most recent text:

Landed in Tampa. Meeting starts in an hour. Call you later, babe. Love you.

“Love you,” she whispered to herself, the words foreign and heavy on her tongue. She hadn’t written that, either.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to respond. What would she even say? Every time she thought about it, her chest tightened. She finally set the phone down, her hands trembling.

The sound of rain from the night before had been replaced by the hum of birds outside, their songs drifting through the window. But Titania’s world didn’t feel brighter. If anything, it felt more fragile—like reality itself was teetering on the edge of something she couldn’t control.

She pushed herself up and wandered downstairs, the ache in her chest deepening as she moved through the house. Every room still carried faint traces of Jey. The faint smell of his cologne lingered in the air. His towel was still draped over the armrest of the couch. A mug sat on the counter, forgotten in the rush to leave.

It all felt so ordinary, like he’d always been here.

But he hadn’t.

Titania’s knees nearly buckled as the weight of it all came crashing down on her. She braced herself against the counter, gripping the edge with white-knuckled hands.

“I did this,” she muttered, her voice cracking. “This is all my fault.”

She forced herself to move, tidying up the small traces of him that had been left behind. It felt mechanical, like going through the motions might somehow erase the impossible reality she’d created. But when she finally sat down on the couch, the emptiness was suffocating.

Her phone buzzed beside her, startling her out of her thoughts. She grabbed it quickly, her stomach knotting as she saw another message from Jey:

Meeting just started. Hope your morning’s going good, Tee. Don’t forget to eat!

Titania stared at the screen, her heart pounding. He cared—he genuinely cared. And that made everything so much worse.

Her gaze drifted to the stairs, where the typewriter waited in her bedroom. She could almost feel its pull, a quiet hum in the back of her mind, promising her control over a world that had already spiraled out of her grasp.

She knew she shouldn’t use it again. She knew it was dangerous. But a small, treacherous thought lingered, no matter how much she tried to push it away.

What if I could make it right?

----

Read Chapter 3... click here

Want to join the taglist, let me know!

Taglist: @theusotwinzcom @yana3sworld

Want to read from the beginning, click here

[mjonthetrack]

fe 1

The group’s laughs were ringing out in the

alleyway, the smell of liquor, weed and fruity

perfume surrounded them as they stumbled

down the alleyway. “Hey ladies give them

purses up and you get to walk away,” a gruff

voice behind a cotton ski mask motioned with

gun. Terea snorted,”what kinda mask is that,

we can see yo name in marker on the tag dumb

ass.” The woman nudged the other, Samara

geeked out laughed in the man’s face taking

the blunt from the woman in the middle who

rolled her eyes passing a blunt. “How about I

give you four seconds to get out the way before

we curb stomp ya dumb ass,” the woman

slipped her hoops off handing them to Terea.

The trio couldn’t help but geek out seeing the

man cuss them out leaving the ally calling them

bitches. As the three got down to the main

downtown street the two women gave their

friend frowns as their Uber arrived,”girl we gotta

get out more,” Terea sad rubbing the woman’s

back as she handed her earrings back. Samara

nodded her head with a small frown,” we hardly

see your mean ass, always working at that damn

hospital.” The woman’s manicured nails rested

on her hip shaking her head,”now y’all know I

got to-,” “get that bag, girl we know, call us

when you get home safe,” Samara uttered

pointedly. The three separated leaving the

woman to watch as their car drove off in

the distance, adjusting her skirt she stretched,

pretending to get drunk with her homegirls

was one of the main reasons she didn’t go

out with them.

14 years earlier ..

Flames licked the apartment’s front door,

Sixteen year old Kamaya woke up coughing out

her asthma woke her from her sleep. The teen

wasn’t surprised by the smoky smell, the

apartment had old heads always lighting up

new ports and blunts out on their fire escapes.

Sliding on her pajama pants and yanking on a

tank, she paced to her door, yanking the door

knob she let out a scream feeling the hot metal

against her palm. The teen yelped when she saw

flames down in the hallway blocking the front

door,”Mama!,” she sobered from sleep tripping

over her book bag she was on her hands and

knees crawling to her moms room across the

way. Kamaya yelled out for her moms yanking

at the woman’s doorknob as it was locked,

the smoke seemed to fill the apartment and

the girl cried out in anger seeing the fire

alarm not going off because her mom couldn’t

afford milk for their cereal half the time yet

to spare battery money. The teen ran towards

the front door, bracing for the scorching flames

to lick her skin. The smoke began to trigger her

asthma and that’s when the room began to

spin the teen cried out,”God please at least

let my momma live, I can’t save her,” the room

went black.

Two Saturdays from the fire the girl was at

a low income clinic where her mama worked

as one of her part time jobs. One of her moms

friend’s Ms. Tina was helping her out with her

breathing treatments and helping to heal a small

scar that was at her palm from where she’d

pried her bedroom door open. “Sweetheart I

know you don’t want to think about it but your

mama was a good woman, she wouldn’t want

her baby taking the blame for what happened,”

the woman’s words fell on deaf ears as bitter

tears stung Kamaya’s eyes. The teen looked

out a barred window of the clinic biting back

shameless bitterness towards the woman’s

kind words, she didn’t want comfort she wanted

her mama. “ I told you, you will be staying with

my girls and I, we got room and I won’t have

you missing out on school because of

everything,” Ms Tina was a pretty brown skin

lady, she was a single mom like many other

women in their boro, she had two daughters

by two different baby daddies, Terea and

Samara. You would’ve thought the two girls

were twins but their mama always said they

just were blessed to only show her genes. Growing up with the Stevens, would’ve been

a come up from her own home situation

considering their mama worked as a nurse,

bringing in more money than her mom ever

wished to. Kamaya hated it, she hated the

constant kindness and pity inclusion on

family events. She hated the way people

would praise Ms.Tina for her thoughtfulness

whilst she had to pick out a urn to hold

the ashes the firefighters never gave her.

How she wished the scar on her palm wasn’t

the only thing that reminded her of that night.

The rest of her teen years were spent as

far away from the Steven’s charity case as

possible. Kamaya didn’t let her grades slip,

getting in at a community college she took

night classes until she earned a nursing degree.

The teen was only nineteen and already

working at the same hospital as her mama,

she worked a little in the pediatrics ward

up until her accident. It was a Wednesday early

morning she was on hour ten of her twelve

when a drunk father came in as a result of

his own negligence. The man’s wife was

crying in the emergency room where their

two year old was in critical due to his drinking. The woman wouldn’t press charges claiming

she couldn’t afford the bills or anything

without her husband, the situation had

Kamaya out of the room before she said

something to risk professional bed side manner.

Her exit to the floor’s balcony terrace to catch

some air and clear her tired mind was wasted

when the man came out.”You should treat

ya guests better, fix that sorry ass attitude,” his

voice called out. Kamaya adjusted the weight

on her feet counting to ten and back down

again, turning to the man with a plastered

smile,”sir if there’s something that’s wrong

with the service provided you can address

that with the charge nurse.” The man scoffed,

stepping closer he chuckled reaching out

touching her arm,”you’re a pretty little girl.” Kamaya flinched at his touch, the smell

of alcohol made her stomach turn,”sir

don’t touch me.” He grinned, his large

hand roughly squashing her face as he

gripped her small chin,”such a mean

mouth for a pretty face.” Let Me GO!,” the

teens eyes glowed amber and her smaller

hand engulfed in flames making the man

scream as she yanked his hand away. The

man stumbled back clutching his severely

burnt hand and he screamed,”what the fuck!,

yo you’re a fucking monster!,” he trembled at

her eyes, tripping over his feet he fell on his ass.

Kamaya saw the reflection of herself in a glass

window pain and she streaked her heart raced,

looking down at her hands she stumbled on her

own seeing the fire but it didn’t burn her skin or

cause any pain. The teen stumbled down an

emergency exit making it to a Main Street she

ran until she was at the Steven’s, it was only

when she rushed past the sisters to her

room where she passed out.

The teen turned into a woman in her mid

twenties, she didn’t work at that hospital

anymore refusing to show her face. Kamaya

held a few jobs feeling more like her mama

in that way. From waitressing to shadowing

Ms. Steven’s at the clinic she felt stuck and

scared, the flames seemed to come and go

when they pleased. Feeling more isolated

than she had before, the woman didn’t

understand what was wrong with her and

she’d seen enough sci-fi movies to know not

to tell anyone. The woman saved enough

up for her own apartment, it wasn’t big but it

was enough for her and her secret. The woman

was scared she’d be like the hulk or something

from them Marvel movies if she got mad or

however these freak flames happened. It

is how she ended up in one of the boros boxing

clubs, she didn’t compete but found a way to

calm the fire within, it was as if she needed

some sort of outlet or she felt she’d explode.

Kamaya used her secret and new found

fighting ability to take out her anger from

what happened that night and this one

woman freak show she had going for her

to take out local crime. She was behind many

creep men, that tried to pimp out teen girls

like she once was, when they’d show up

suffering third degree burns and castration on

the news for authorities to collect. Being some

sort of vigilante wasn’t really how she saw it,

Kamaya felt alone, and she was scared.

Present Day

Kamaya dusted herself off cleaning the

punching bag, she was putting her things away

in her locker at the boxing club. “Maya isn’t it?,”

a deep voice interrupted her unwrapping her

hand tape. The woman turned seeing one of

the men who’d been around since she first

joined the gym,” Only my moms called me that,

it’s Kamaya.” The man rubbed the back of his

neck dropping his arm awkwardly,”I’m sorry I

didn’t know, I’m Jey,” he offered a hand. The

woman raised her brows,”I’ve seen you in here

I know who you are,” she closed the locker

grabbing her stuff. His smile fell,”uh, yeah so I

ugh was wondering if you were doing something

after this?”

“Yeah I was planning on going home,

is that alright with you Jey?”, she turned her

back taking a few pointed steps to add distance. The man frowned reaching out he gently

grasped her lower arm, the woman felt her

hands heat up, she snatched her arm away

her head snapped to the side not thinking about

her eyes as they flashed amber,”Don’t touch

me.” His hands shot up in defense,” I’m sorry

ma it wasn’t like that,” he rubbed his beard

sighing, feeling his attempt already crumbling

before him,”I just- I always see you here

and I wanted to introduce myself and maybe

get something to eat, no games I promise.”

She searched his eyes, letting out a deep sigh,”

look I haven’t eaten yet so that’s the only

reason I’m coming, but don’t get any ideas.”

Jey grinned but quickly neutralized his

expression,”cool, cool it’s just down the block

and dinner is on me by the way.”

[violetmuses]

The concept of Roman and Jey looking for Reader's attention is NAGGING me! 👀

@episodes-ff @persethegawd @adriennegabriella @fearlesschimera @secretlifeoofmarpessa @mytribalnightmare @adoresmiles @blackgurlnhermoods @dabratzchronicles @luvrsluxe @mselenalovebug 🏷

[solefae]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 “𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑“ ☆ 𝐉𝐞𝐲 𝐔𝐬𝐨

𝐏𝐓. 𝟑

pairings; jey uso x fem!internent personality!reader

faceclaim; scotlynd ryan

summary; Scotlynd's life turns upside down when wrestling star Jey Uso starts liking her posts. Fans are quick to judge, branding her a homewrecker. Little do they know, Jey's marriage ended months ago-a truth hidden from the public eye.

notes: our poor baby scotlynd 😭😭!

uceyjucey

liked by trinity_fatu, wwe, and 99,015 others

uceyjucey Wrestlemania 40.

Yeet Vs. NoYeet

LETS GET IT

@realityofwrestling

@bookertfivex

view all 1,350 comments

user don’t act innocent uce 😭😭

user right like 😂

user let’s not play pretend jey yk why we here 😒

user 😭😭

user he tryna act like we don’t know 😭

user so… you and scotty? 🤨

user RIGHT 😭

user who is scotty?

user that girl from baddies

user why is she involved with jey?

user apparently they sleeping with each other and we know miss scotty is a homewrecker bcuz she slept with a married man before

user “apparently” that means y’all don’t know if it’s true or nah

user there’s proof babes 😭

user what proof?

user this started back in December of 2023 when scotty started liking his pics and commenting flirty emojis and shi 😂

user so that automatically means they messing around with each other? GOODBYE that literally means nothing

user so if you was married and a random woman keeps liking and commenting on ya man pics, you wouldn’t say nun? 🤨

user hell yea I would but she ain’t random bcuz she know his brother and she friends with his wife naomi

user I hope you didn’t think we was finna run to these comments to say “YEET!” 😭

ilovepostingdrama

liked by user, baddieseasttea, and 79,358 others

ilovepostingdrama what y’all think? 🤔

view all 3,839 comments

user I really feel like y’all taking it too far 👀

user how is this too far?

user y’all literally have no proof that she’s messing with him + if they are messing around, how is that any of y’all’s business?

user 🤦🏽‍♀️

user the delusions…

user defender!

user homewrecker. that’s it.

user 😭

user I mean we can’t tell her what to do so 🤷🏽‍♀️

user the last slide is pissing me off

user why 😭😭

user “out of all people jey uso?” they wanna get popped talking bout my man like dat 😒

user 😭😭

user now imagine if she was messing around with jimmy instead of jey 😭

user oh she REALLY would’ve gotten that ass beaten, trin don’t play!

user FACTS!

user that fact her and scotty are besties 😭

scotlyndryan

liked by trinity_fatu, solefae, and 867,478 others

scotlyndryan my curls fell bc I had a time last night 🥰

view all 5,368 comments

trinity_fatu 😍😍

scotlyndryan ily😘

user wym you had a time last night? 🤨

user yk what she mean 😭😭

user she was getting that Samoan D 😂

user 😭

user YOU HAD A TIME LAST NIGHT!? 😳

solefae oh we know, trust ‼️

user 😍😍

user SCOTTY BAEE 😍😍

scotlyndryan liked this comment!

user a time last night??!?!? excuse me!?!?

user LMAOOO😭😭

a/n: planning on making part 4 & 5 long but idk

hope y’all liked this! 🤭 (also making a masterlist soon)

taglist!

@kumapassion @oc-helps @truefant4sy

@yeaiamme2 @cody-uso @riverina69

(lemme know if you want to be tagged!) 🤍✨