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luvrsluxe · 9 days ago

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PLEASE !??!??!

OWN IT - JEY USO

Summary: An appointment for gear measurements with your workplace crush isn’t the only business that goes down after hours during a fitting session.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Fem! Reader (she's a little stubborn)

Warnings: 18+ / NSFW below the cut, lots of flirty banter, oral (F! receiving), fingering, P in V (wrap before you tap, babes!), cursing, backshots (in her office), consent checks, jey loves to praise little miss reader, pwp, fluffy ending

Word count: 3.4k - not proofread so if there's typos....sorry!

Author’s Note: hiii <3 this is my first published oneshot here, so please bear with me... this was just a silly idea in my head but i felt like writing it out fully. if you do end up enjoying this, i’d love to hear from you (inbox me, message me, likes comments, reblogs - are all welcome). Enjoy!

Being one of the new lead designers for wrestling gear was one of the new exhilarating roles you had accomplished in recent months. What started as small sketches on your personal iPad became reality, with various designers implementing your artwork into real life gear.

Now here you were, hired as a junior lead designer by Mikaze. The initial stages mirrored that of an apprenticeship, but you were a fast learner. As of late, you would often sketch, sew motifs, do final fittings, and helped complete measurements for the WWE RAW roster. Things had definitely become surreal as of late.

Mikaze was away on leave for a month, giving you free rein to not only design new gear for the upcoming Netflix premiere, but run business as usual, without him. That meant booking appointments with superstars, ensuring their gear got delivered in time, and coordinating fittings. All in a day’s work, plus the sweet bonus you would be getting from providing superb customer service.

You currently sat at your desk, chewing gum whilst furrowing your brow. In the last hour, the palm tree motif you had been etching was not coming out as nicely as you wanted.

It frustrated you. And rightfully so.

The client you had scheduled in for today was someone who had a rather serious effect on you. He always crossed your instagram feed, or was safeguarded in your private likes on other platforms. The urge to have the sketch turn out perfect was a serious deal, given his popularity was undeniable, and gear style was extremely specific.

Not to mention, you couldn’t help but have an unbearably obvious crush on him.

It didn’t help that you two flirted casually at work, him always so chipper and excited to see the handiwork of his gear, stopping by your nook at every arena, ensuring to give you hugs that often felt like more than just “friendly.”

Jey was clearly one of the biggest stars on Raw, and one of the fan favourites of his family stable, the Bloodline. Mikaze had always designed for them, but had only recently decided to let you work with Jey, as per Jey’s special request. Besides, everyone knew how close you two were.

“This shit is so…irritating.” You huff under your breath, so deep in concentration as you etch in the details of the palm tree, headphones reverberating music in your ears as you carry on, that you don’t even see Jey enter your office.

“Ay, uce….” he says, faltering when he sees you working away. He chuckles, noticing the frustration on your face as you sketched. His eyes marvelled at the projected image behind you, showcasing the assembly process of his newly drafted gear. When you finally lift your head, you’re taken aback but smiled once you saw him.

“Sorry mamas, didn’t mean to scare you. You seen Mikaze?” He quips, flashing a grin at you, and you catch sight of his bottom grill. It takes you awhile to answer the question, taking in the fact he was wearing that hooded black jacket, a Cuban link chain, and black jeans with his signature Air Force sneakers. What worsened (or bettered) the outfit was the way his jeans hung low, showcasing the red designer waistband of his boxers.

Of course. The fucking flirt he was. It everything in you not to collapse, but he couldn’t know. “He’s on a break for a month, Jey.” You murmur dismissively, while failing miserably to not sneak glances at him. He sighs, pulling up a chair across from you. “Whatchu workin’ on?” He murmurs, the close proximity causing you to lift your head up again.

He smells of rich oud, undertones of sandalwood flooding your senses.

A serious weakness.

“Your new gear, actually.” you said softly, and his eyes widen. “Shucks… he ain’t even measured me for that shit.”

His response triggers a sudden realization and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

Measurements were always done in undergarments to ensure security of material and determining how much padding and lining is needed for protective purposes. Which meant - you would be measuring Jey in his underwear.

Oh great.

“I mean… I could…help?” You say after a few minutes in silence. He rubs his beard, his gaze lingering on your figure as you made the suggestion. You were clad in one of his blue merch tees, a little distressed courtesy of a few cheeky cutouts and a denim miniskirt that hugged your ass just right.

“I was hoping you would.” He husks, smirking as he heads off to the change rooms.

He returns to your office after a few minutes, and it takes everything in you to not break. He’s beautifully built, with broad shoulders and a muscular torso, all of which are detailed with intricate Samoan tattoos. The familiar red boxers from a certain crash out segment adorned his lower body, both his legs covered in tattoos as well. He grins, massaging his face as you meet his eyes, unable to read his intention.

You knew good and well that measuring his body wouldn’t be the only business handled in the shop.

You curse under your breath, tugging at your skirt as you stand up, measuring tape in hand. Jey chuckles at your unusual shyness, cocking an eyebrow as you approach him. “I’m surprised you don’t already know your measurements, Jey.” You murmur, breaking the silence. He shakes his head, a flash of gold from his grills reflecting in turn. “Nah, mamas, we always measure. Accuracy and shit… it’s like security y’know…ensures we don’t look goofy while kicking ass on live television.”

As he speaks, you begin to take measurements, noting down the numbers and adjustments to be made to the gear.

At times, his breath hitches when you wrap the measuring tape around his body. Typical reaction given the difference in his body temperature and gentle, feather like brushes of your hands as you complete the measurements.

You’d done the arms and legs just fine, making small talk in between about upcoming schedules. But when you completed his chest measurements, the slight flex in his pectoral muscles caused a fleeting feeling of warmth in your lower belly. “You good, bae?” He whispers, bringing you back to reality. You nod, pulling the tape back to write the number down on paper. “M’great…just have to do your hips.” You reply, almost hoarsely.

You see, the hips and waist on him were your biggest weakness. It was so painfully obvious he was well endowed. The man always let everyone know his shoe size, given he was a sneaker head. But, it was clear that said size translated to the bulge in his boxers. Your hands gently brush up against the ink of his palm tree tattoos etched on his ribs, settling down on his waist and hips as you measure. He remains quiet though, as if he was studying you. Not a single hitched breath or sharp inhale noted.

You didn’t know it, but Jey found you just as attractive. Your long lashes, the scrunch of your nose when you checked for accuracy, and the glossy pout worn on your lips. He’d checked you out plenty of times when he would swing by your workplace during shows, but being alone in the shop made things feel more…. intimate.

“Look up at me, pretty girl.” He says after a while, a slight roughness in his tone. You try to remain focused, but he sees through the facade. He scoffs, using two fingers to lift your chin up. “Hi mamas.” He murmurs again, his dark brown irises almost rounder than you imagined. He cups your cheek and you lean into the warmth of his palm, for a moment - only to step back and note the hip measurement on your document. As you step forward, you stumble, and he catches you. Jey’s grip is secure, enabling you to find your footing. Your composure however, falters.

It is practically burnt out.

“H-hey Jey…” You mumble weakly, and take in his presence. He smelled heavenly up close, like cardamom and sandalwood, and some fancy oud you couldn’t name. And his eyes, so round and curious, yet so knowingly cocky. And then there was his boyish charms and his grin and the glint of gold on his bottom set of teeth.

Everything about him set your body ablaze.

“You alright…? You seem a lil tense.” He adds, thumb brushing on your hip as you rest a hand on his tattooed chest. “I’m a number of things, if I’m honest.” You murmur, which makes him scoff slightly. “You know…” He begins, pulling you closer to him, the ever obvious bulge straining the front of your skirt. “…you not as slick as you think, ma. You actin’ real shy right here but with the girls….i overheard ‘em say you tryna see what I’m about.” The cocky smirk and the slightly bared grill is enough for your cheeks to burn and for arousal to flood between your thighs again.

“What? You gon’ flake and not stand on business. That’s cool… cuz, shit… I’m flattered…I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t feel the same about you.” He concludes, his free hand now gently grabbing your jaw to bring you forward. Your heart rate picks up, given your crush on him is no longer a secret. He moves forward, just a touch, lips barely an inch from yours.

“Your call, baby. You own the damn play.” He murmurs.

It’s as if time stops, and you take in his words, processing them at a pace unheard of. It’s not slow, but it’s not a rapid fire response either. You tense against his hand wrapped around your neck, nodding a few times before pulling him flush against you. His gentle exhales tease your lips to form a half grin, and you kiss him.

Jey mumbles a couple expletives, acknowledging the fact that a kiss was long overdue. His hand leaves your neck, gently holding the back of your head and leaning forward so as to explore your mouth a little while longer. You hum, wanton sounds leaving your lips as his warm body envelopes you. He pulls back to breathe, hands roaming your curves before delivering a stinging smack to your ass, which causes you to moan in response.

“You gon’ be the death of me, baby.” He husks, and you chuckle, gasping immediately when he gives your plush ass a squeeze. “Am I really? If only you knew the effect you have on me.” You retort.

He grins, dropping to his knees in front of you. “You not gon’ tell me so I’m gonna have to get it out of you.” He murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs. “Been scrolling through your posts daily, ma. Every single highlight on your profile, tryna see whatchu about.” He adds, licking higher and higher until he reaches the apex of your thighs.

You shuddered at the feel of his tongue, combined with the thought of him late night scrolling paralleled that of your own unbridled desires within when watching his matches or his content, or keeping up with hashtags related to him. “M-me too…” you mumble, and he grins. “I know, mama. I know you do.”

He latches onto the hem of your panties, tugging them down with his teeth, the cold metal of his grill sending an achingly sinful sensation down your spine. Once off, he tucks them into his jeans pocket. “For safekeeping, baby.” He says, blowing gently on your wet mound, kissing gently on the sensitive folds before diving in.

He groans against your cunt, eating ravenously like a man who’d been deprived for years on end. Which seemed to be the case since you two were “just friends turned workplace crushes.”, or so it seemed.

“So sweet ma… you taste so sweet, pretty girl.” He compliments, and you thank him with a soft mewl, scratching his scalp as the sensation of his thick, wet tongue mixed with the feel of his lips suckling your pussy drives you borderline insane.

“J-Jey… please.” You stutter, and he chuckles as your legs shake, helping you sit on your desk first, before pulling your legs onto his shoulders. The new position only worsened the tight coil in your stomach, as his hands gripped your thighs once more. “Please what, pretty mama?” He teases, kissing your puffy, glistening, swollen entrance. “Mm…baby…please don’t stop.” It’s all you can say, given how drunk you feel from his ministrations.

He smirks, wrapping his skilled lips around your bundle of nerves and suck sharply to elicit the filthiest of moans and whimpers from you. He notices your legs quivering as you buck into his face, an indication that you were nearing an impending climax, but that only pushed him to eat you out all the more sloppily, eager to satisfy you while getting his fill.

“Gon’ head baby… get what you need.” He mumbles against your folds, and you do. Jey laps up every last drop, the overstimulation causing you to cling onto him for dear life as he continues to pleasure you through the aftershocks.

Once done, he stands up in front of you, lips and beard and chin glistening with your essence.

You’re blissed out, much to his delight, and your eyes notice just how eager he was. The print in his boxers was so prominent it made your heart race. He chuckles, shaking his head.

He leans down to press his lips to your glossy pout, allowing you to taste yourself for a few moments. “Imma let you get back to work, mamas. Come see me later though, aight?” He murmurs, but you disagree… you weren’t about to let him leave you without finishing this whole… encounter, so to speak. “Nah, I still need you…” You confess, and he wets his lips with his tongue, savouring the lingering taste of you once more. Your words tempted him, and you clearly weren’t going to let him go.

Not that easily.

He leans forward, one hand on your hip as the other free hand pulls off your top in one swift motion, and he latches his lips to one of your breasts. The sensation is so dizzying, eliciting several curses to fall from your lips.

“This whatchu want, huh?” He murmurs, gently teasing your folds with his fingers before sinking them into your soaked channel. You can barely talk, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. He curls his fingers, growling at the sight of you sheathing him down to his knuckle. It only worsens the bulge in his boxers, but he's focused on your pleasure more than anything. His tongue swirls around your now stiffened nipple, and you find yourself tugging at the curly base of his mullet. “J-Jeyyy…” You implore, the sound of his name off your lips a newfound sound to his hearing. He'd thought about it so many times, but never thought it would've spurred him to carry on in pleasing you the way he currently did.

He’s deliberate, eager to break down every wall possible. “Don’t stop…” You manage to say, holding onto his shoulders as his fingers scissored you open. He detaches himself from your chest, grunting at the lewd squelching coming from between your thighs. “So responsive… so wet, f’me.” He says almost lovingly, as if he were the artist admiring his own handiwork. The arousal in your belly only increases, and the constant whines let him know you were falling apart at the seams. “Fuck ma, look atchu, taking my fingers so well, hm? Doin’ s’good baby.” He groans as you fall apart, the second climax washing over you almost instantly. He grins victoriously, and your cheeks burn.

He takes a good look at you, mesmerized by everything that had ensued, only to taste your sweet nectar off his fingers. The sight is erotic in and of itself, but more than anything, it confirmed the one thing you both knew.

He'd never get enough of you. And you would never get enough of him.

"Y'sure you wanna do this, ma?" He asks one last time, and you nod. "Use your words, baby. I need you to be sure."

"I'm sure. One hundred percent sure."

He smiles at that, ridding himself of his boxers. The man standing before you was too good to be real. He’s got a few scars from his War Games match, but those combined with his toned abdomen, his quadriceps… his cock.

All of it… of him was yours.

He helps you onto your feet, turning you around so that your back rested on his chest. Nestling behind you, he wraps one arm around your hips, brushing his precum-soaked tip against your glistening folds, earning a mewl of mercy out of you. “I know…y’want it bad, mama. I'll take care of you.” He chuckles, slowly pushing into you. His length fills you to the brim, and as his hips begin to snap erratically, you begin to lose control.

All that ego, all the bravado and confidence has melted away, replaced by an unwavering need to be fucked stupid.

Specifically by him.

As his hips piston deep into you, his grill grazes against the pulse point in your neck, lips marking you up deliberately.

It simply indicates that you are his and he is yours.

“F-fuck that's it...J-Jey that's it." You babble out, and he picks up the pace, hips snapping deep into you as he grunts your name under his breath. The grip on your waist tightens just a bit more when you lean onto an unoccupied table near your work desk. The pleasure is far too good to be true, and the lust-filled gaze in your eyes translates all your feelings when you look over your shoulder at him.

The shared eye contact, the way his baritone grunts intermingled perfectly with your endlessly breathless pleas, the sweat trickling from his chest onto your body - all of it is erotic and overstimulating as he works you into overdrive. The harder he fucked you, the more delirious you became, and when his breath hitched and lip curled upwards, you knew he was close.

“Take everything you need…” I whispered, and he kisses you one more time, interlocking his fingers with yours, his opposing hand reaching between your bodies to play with your clit. Both of you sigh in unison, a plethora of curses and filthy desires exchanged, urgent murmurs of each other's names, and the neverending combination of skin on skin contact was enough to fully see that you had both claimed what belonged to you;

And that was each other.

You feel him tremble, and with a subtle clench of your velvet walls, you implore him to finish. When Jey asks where, you simply tell him to "cum inside me, please." He obliges, slurring his words as his hips stutter rapidly into you. "F-fuck, m'gon' fill you up so good, mamas."

And when he does, your silken walls are coated a creamy white, painting you with his own mark. And he doesn’t stop thrusting, because he wants his release stored so deep it leaks out when you walk.

“Takin' me so well, baby. Could never get enough of you or this sweet pussy.” He whispers and you moan once more in response, overstimulated by the feeling of his deep thrusts in time with his words. When he finally empties himself again, he clings onto you, enabling you a chance to stabilize yourself and process everything that's just happened.

After a few moments of basking in each other's warmth, Jey gently pulls out of you with a *pop.* He's quick to help you sit on the desk, running to the washroom to grab a clean towel to wipe you down and clean himself up.

"Meant what I said earlier... I still wanna see you tonight. And...if it helps, we can sketch out the palm tree motif together." He says kindly, to which you nod.

"I'll be there. It's a date."

And somehow, everything that felt incomplete, from your sketches to undeclared feelings for Jey, now seemed...

complete. whole. owned.

#thank uu for reading luv!#and were - mikaze would've been FLABBERGASTED if he knew abt their little rendezvous :D #ci reblogs ✍🏾#mwah!

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