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whatdoeseverybodywant · 3 months ago

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The Boy Is Mine - Chapter One

Authors: @whatdoeseverybodywant & @paigereeder

Summary: Josh was at the tail-end of his marriage and has told himself he doesn’t want anything serious. He just isn’t a casual type of guy, and all his actions have consequences.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Female OC

****We do NOT give ANYONE permission to repost or copy our work and post it as their own, that goes for on here and any other site (this does not include reblogs on Tumblr)****

****We do NOT own any distinguishable public figures, celebrities, lyrics, places, institutions, or businesses. Only thing we own are our OCs and made up locations****

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

CAST PAGE!

~Thursday- December 31st, 2021~

The base thumped as the sweaty drunken bodies bounced, slid, bumped, and gyrated against each other in one of the most popular clubs on arguably thee most popular night for the city… in the most popular city in the world for this day. New Year’s Day always brought those from all over the country to New York City for one reason or another; be it a Broadway Musical, the Macy’s Day Parade on the day itself, or one of the many festivities the night before…the city had plenty of stories to tell. Some of those stories would be amazing, some would not be described with the same sentiment. And…Unfortunately for some, New York City was no Vegas…and what happened there would most definitely not stay there.

Amina was dancing, for the first time in a long time she was carefree. A state that she didn’t reach often, especially if she wasn’t drinking. Her nerves were much too high to get drunk, that was a recipe for disaster. Before her big basketball games in High School and College her and her teammates had their traditions that got them through pre-game and game day nerves. That luxury wouldn’t be awarded this time, she was doing this on her own. No teammates to fall back on, and she was entering into a sport where they would chew her up and spit her out if she showed weakness or lack of skill. Oddly enough she had become cool with a couple of her female colleagues so when she was invited out for New Year’s Eve in New York City she gladly went. She threw on a short black cocktail dress and the red Swarovski Crystal Louboutin’s she got for Christmas, some black eyeliner, a couple coats of mascara and a red lip stain to tie it all together and left her hotel room with only a couple goals. Dancing and having fun, hopefully hold the nerves.

She didn’t have the chance to become too familiar with her male colleagues but the ones she was introduced this evening seemed pretty nice and welcoming so far. Dancing with a couple and having conversations with others, being socialable wasn’t as hard as it usually was for her. Granted she was being introduced by someone that already liked her and had even taken her under her wing as her ‘little sister’, was also a plus. But even still, she normally stuck to herself being slightly shy because a lot of people had the misconception that she was either stuck up, conceited, or a mean girl. She was no stranger to being bullied, so this atmosphere was definitely a change of pace, and she was trying.

One guy in particular lingered a little longer than everyone else that talked to her. Amina enjoyed talking to him and even picking his brain a bit since he had already been in the business a while. He was easy to talk to and offered his help in the future with navigating anything in the business. For some reason, this man was comforting and that led to finding out he was funny, and that led to finding out he wasn’t a terrible dancer, and that led to both being fully sober when Amina found out his lips were soft when the club showed the ball drop and the clock struck midnight.

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“S-shit…” Amina’s mouth fell open as she panted out; she gripped onto the sheets.

“Fuck mama…you takin’ dis dick so good baby….”

Josh held onto her hips with his right hand as he hammered into her, using his left to grip and straighten her chin as he dipped his head to kiss her. The champagne on his tongue that he used to cheers at midnight, mingling with the sweet fruity flavors from her non-alcoholic drink on her tongue as the two tongues battled each other for dominance. He squeezed her chin to get her to submit to his lead, she uttered incoherent words against his lips. Pulling away from the kiss his thumb swiped across her red lipstick-stained lips, smudging it lightly. She choked on her moans when he picked up the pace. Her lust-filled eyes glanced down where their bodies joined before roaming over his entire being. Josh was consuming and attentive, rough yet tender, passionate, and his strokes were lethal. When his eyes met hers, his lips formed a small lopsided smile.

Her sensuality all evening had enthralled him, being inside of her was satisfying in so many ways. Every touch she left was warm and intoxicating. Her aura…welcoming and soft, not what he had imagined. The hiss they both let out in unison when he first sank himself into her; she was a vocal lover and he was slowly consumed with the sounds he could evoke from her. As her hands roamed his abs and chest he found himself already becoming addicted to being in her presence and attention. Lowering his lips to hers, contentment filled him when they collided.

“Mm… this tight ass pussy…. this gon’ be my pussy now mama?” Josh groaned into her ear, nibbling on the lobe.

Amina couldn’t form the words to answer the way she wanted as he made his strokes shallow and hard, hitting her g-spot over and over. He sucked on her neck leaving behind splotchy love bites. She ground her hips up as she felt the tip of his dick nudging her cervix. Josh moved his hand from her hip and pressed down on her lower stomach, and he slowed his thrusts; he watched his dick slide in and out of her, it glistened in her juices as his ears filled with the sounds of her wetness. She shivered under his touch, eyes rolling into the back of her head as she came.

“I need words baby…” he removed his hand from her chin, tapping her lightly on the cheek with the tips of his fingers.

“P-p-please…baby…You... ugh… you feel s’good…I can’ttt” Amina moans, squirming as he fucked her through her orgasm.

Josh moaned as Amina rolled them over. He propped his head on a pillow as he watched her slow wind in his lap, squeezing her own breasts as she started to bounce; a new sense of pleasure surging through her as her body started to climb towards another orgasm as she barely finished the first. His hands traversed her curves in an appreciative and exploratory manner. Grabbing Amina’s waist, he thrusted up into her as she threw her head back. Sitting up, Josh reached his left hand up and wrapped it around her throat, applying slight pressure. Sucking her right nipple into his mouth,swirling his tongue around it, his lust filled eyes met her hooded ones as he looked up at her when her head lulled back forward. Pushing his body up more on his right elbow he used his left hand that was around her neck to pull her lips hungrily to his. He bit on her bottom lip, squeezing her neck as her ass was clapping against his thighs.

“J-JOSH!!”

“That’s right baby…let the whole floor know who fuckin’ this pussy…”

Clenching her walls slightly Amina spun around and faced away from him with his dick still throbbing inside of her as he laid back with his arms behind his head watching her; he bit his lip. Holding onto his calves she started to bounce; he slapped her ass cheeks as they ricocheted off his pelvis, his eyes slightly mesmerized. He closed his eyes and licked his lips as his balls started to tighten as his orgasm built. Amina started to rock as she used her right hand to rub her own clit. Josh sat up and switched their positions; he reached and gripped behind her knees putting them in a full nelson.

“Mm fuck…you on birth control Amina? Fuck! Let me bust in you…”

Amina nodded her head adamantly as she moaned, picking up the speed of her right hand rubbing her clit; she was completely at his mercy. Josh bounced Amina on his dick as her moans strung together, echoing off the room's walls. She rubbed her left hand down her body to his balls, gently massaging them in her palm as she rhythmically squeezed her pussy walls around his throbbing dick. He picked up the pace, bouncing her fast and sloppy; her breasts bouncing.

“F-Fuck J-JOSH!!!!!” Amina screamed out, her walls clenching in steady pulses as she came.

“Shit Baby...” Josh grunted as he filled her with his cum, biting down on her shoulder as she swiveled her hips slowly, his dick twitched as his warm ropes coated her pussy; emptying himself.

Both were panting as they came down, Amina rested her head back on him. Josh slid his arms around her waist; she placed her hands gingerly on his as he kissed her temple.

~Friday- January 1st, 2022~

Amina stood under the hot water, the steam soothing her muscles that were already beginning to ache. It was the big New Years Day episode of Smackdown in New York City at thee Madison Square Garden, and it just so happened to be her debut as well. She had practiced with Mercedes a couple times the week leading up to this in between the house shows. Mercedes was an easy partner to work with and she was really sweet. Everyone had been so far. It was always good to see everyone outside of work so the party last night that Bianca and Kenneth through was helping with her nerves as well. Now, that was her opinion walking into the arena this afternoon. Her debut did not go the way they had rehearsed… it at all. She still bested Mercedes like she was supposed to, but some of the hits the other woman landed seemed to be fueled by something other than what had been there when they were practicing.

Finishing washing up and washing her hair quicker than she would if she was home, or hell even if she was at her hotel for the evening, but the arena’s locker room wasn’t the place to try and reflect what could have possibly happened Monday afternoon up until when her entrance music hit. Fans were familiar with her from her extremely brief two month run on NXT, one of the fastest if not the shortest NXT runs in history, and they actually received her really well on the main roster. The fans, the higher ups, production and the men congratulated her, which didn’t explain why she would probably be wearing more black spots than Cruella DeVille and a lot of the women were side eyeing her.

Reaching her arm out she grabbed her towel and wrapped it around herself, making sure it was secure before stepping out. She was wearing some shower shoes, so she grabbed her hair products and body wash then made her way out to the main locker room area. Charlotte looked up when she entered the room, but didn’t say anything; she just finished texting whoever she was texting before tossing her cellphone in her bag and exiting the room. She seen Pam glance her way then whisper something to Mercedes before she followed in Charlotte’s footsteps without a word. Amina threw her products in her duffel bag and took out her deodorant, she applied it quickly before throwing it in her bag as well before sighing.

“Ok…did I do something wrong to someone? Is this part of some hazing process?! Everyone was fine yesterday?!”

Mercedes chuckled under her breath as she took her items out of her own duffel to prepare for her own shower. She was far too busy gossiping prior to their segment. Pinning her hair up she grabbed her own shower products and towel and made her way to the shower area, that just so happened to have to pass Amina to get to.

“Yeah, everyone was probably fine before they knew you liked to sleep your way to the top. I don’t knock annnnnnyones hustle but…...no one is going to like the snobby brat that gets shit handed to her. And a little word of advice? Keep your legs closed to married men…” Mercedes smirked before using her shoulder to knock into Amina as she finished her walk to the showers.

Amina’s mouth fell open in shock. She glanced around the room, it was silent. The only one left in the room that she knew was Natalya, and her look was one of pity. Making her way over to the much younger girl, a slight frown on her face; she wrapped her arms around Amina.

“Try not to let it get to you. Some women just do not get along with certain other women. Sometimes its ‘cause they are a threat, or some real reason. Other times, unfortunately you can just exist and that will bother someone.” She pulled away and lowered her voice, whispering the last part. “Plus I think she has a thing for Josh…” Natalya finished, giving Amina a comforting shoulder squeeze and walking back over to her stuff.

Giving the room one more glance; no one daring to raise their eyes to her. Amina put on some lotion before slipping a thong and leggings on. Putting on a sports bra and zip-up hoodie, she took off her shower shoes and through on some Nike slides. Grabbing her duffle bag, she made a beeline out of the Arena. She heard a little shuffling right outside the door.

“I tried to catch you right after yo’ segment, but you must’a been bookin’ it to the locker room.”

Amina jumped at hearing Josh’s voice. She glanced at him for a second, she almost answered but then she realized that her frustrations and the entire problem….was him.

“What are you still doin’ here? Don’t you got a crew or somethin’ you travel wit’?” Amina said lowly making her way over to her rental that was thankfully tucked away in the talent parking underneath the arena, she did not need fans thinking the same things her co-workers were, or worse knowing that she did indeed sleep with a married man.

Josh moved to walk next to her, grabbing her duffle bag off her arm. She was about to protest but she didn’t want to make a scene, there were after all some crew members and other superstars down here. Luckily for her they weren’t any of those looking at her like a jezebel.

“Yeah, normally I travel wit’da fam but I wanted to catch up wit’chu…and I realize you ain’t even give ya boy ya number.”

“Oh…” she responded quietly.

They stopped when they made it to the Dodge Charger she had rented, popping open the trunk, she watched him put her bag in the trunk…but also his. She was about say something when he started talking first.

“We can stop at like two or three in the mornin’…if we do that we can wake up and only have to drive an hour or two after check out before we can check in at the next city…plus that will give us plenty of time to talk about why the girl I’m talkin’ to now is all short and dry when she was bubbly and talkative last night and this afternoon when I left her…”

He said it with a somewhat joking tone, but Amina knew without a doubt he was far from joking. Josh took the car keys from her shocked hands and went to open the passenger door for her. She looked at him and he gestured for her to get in, which she obliged before he shut the door after she climbed in. He jogged around to the driver's side and hopped in himself, waiting for them both to put on their seatbelts before starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot.

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The two were silent until they hit the interstate. Amina didn’t know what to say to him, she wanted to go off, but she was too tired and too sore. The radio was the only thing heard for the first twenty minutes into their trip to the next city. A few moments after Josh’s GPS told him to get on the highway he cut the radio down.

“You good?”

Amina kissed her teeth. To her, that question was utterly stupid. She knew about wrestling; her grandfather enjoyed it when she was growing up. Knowledge of the sport to her, didn’t mean knowing the wrestler’s personal lives so how was she supposed to know this man was married? Yeah, he was attractive, but that did not mean she did a deep dive on every attractive man on the roster's marital status, no matter how few of them were attractive on the current rosters.

“I don’t speak in lip smacks and shit like that Amina…you gon’ need to use your words…closed mouths don’t get fed”

“Like you used your words to tell me you were married…not dating…MARRIED!…Maybe I should keep things closed…your little friend Mercedes made me aware that I should keep my legs closed to married men and not sleep my way to the top!” Amina started to fume as she angled her body to face him.

It was now Josh’s turn to smack his teeth. His knuckles on his left hand started to turn white as he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“I don’t speak in lip smacks and shit like that Joshua…you gon’ need to use your words…” Amina mimicked him.

Josh didn’t say anything, he just nodded his head silently. The silence was becoming too much for Amina, and if he wasn’t going to explain himself, she would just cut her losses and go about her life with most of the people she seen daily disliking her. She could go to everyone that gave her a dirty look and explain that she didn’t know, but what would be the point…if they didn’t dislike her for thinking she was a home wrecker they would find something else to condemn her for. Leaning forward she turned the radio up, this would be a long little trip but once it was over they could go their separate ways.

There was a rest stop that was coming up and Josh took the turn off for it at the last second, causing Amina to hold onto the door.

“Man makes me a whore and wanna drive frivolously….”

“Cut that shit the fuck out…”

She wasn’t sure if it was the tone, or the overall seriousness of his posture…but she cut that shit the fuck out. Josh parked in an area that was farthest away from the actual building and took his seatbelt off, angling his body towards her.

“She said that shit to you?”

Of all the things he chose to comment on, it was the fact of what Mercedes said not what he had done.

“Does it fuckin’ matter that she said the shit to me?! YOU didn’t…”

“I ain’t say that dumbass shit to you ‘cause I know you ain’t fuckin’ yo’ way to the top… and you ain’t open yo’ legs to a married man. Well… not technically.”

“Pfft” Amina crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

Josh licked his lips and reached over the center console and knocked her arms loose.

“I’m fa’ real…I… well…I’m not divorced yet, but I’m separated. And yo ass talented as fuck… me and Big Uce was watchin’ some of yo’ matches at NXT…shit even watched yo’ college highlight reel. Hell, yo ass might got us beat on some of the shit yo’ lil ass can do. I don’t know what the hell her issue is, i caught the segment just as you made it to the ring, she probably was mad you cooked her ass. I even heard folks talkin’ bout you dawg walked her on the mic. So, you got mic skills this early in yo’ career too? You ‘bout to be pressure. Hell… I might have to get in bed wit’chu to get some tv time in a minute.” He joked, noticing her face still lacked any and all amusement. Amina rolled her eyes again and turned her head to look forward and out the front windshield. He reached over to firmly grabbed her chin, turning her to face him again gently. “Maaaan look at me when I’m talkin’ to you and fix ya face. I’m fa’ real. You don’t need me to push you no where… you goin’ places. But on the real…my marriage been over. It’s just…I guess we then got into a co-parenting routine and since we don’t live together, I ain’t press for a divorce. Plus, our sons is young, she ain’t even move out right away. I got a lil’ spot in Florida from back when we was doin’ the thunderdome, so I stayed there a little more. But now she found her a new crib and we explained to the boys somewhat. Man my family don’t even know for real, just Jon, Joe, and Joseph…not even Trin know right now. I’m private, don’t none of them people in there that I don’t talk to like dat know about all dat…”

He let her chin go when her face softened. Amina wanted to believe him, but in all honesty, she didn’t know him well enough to know if he was a liar. In her gut, she felt like he wouldn’t lie about that. Josh could tell by the look on her face she was conflicted.

“Look…we was vibin’. We had good conversation. You like a lot of shit that I do. You like sports, and….hell you interested in wrestling. And all that shit is important to me at this point in my life. I…I can’t offer you a relationship. Cause I don’t even know if I’ll ever want that again at this point. I don’t require much personally, but my lifestyle so different most won’t understand; you gon’ learn this shit ain’t for the weak. But, if you cool wit’ it… I want us to be able to kick it.”

“…I…I mean I guess we can kick it….not like I have many friend options now, I probably wouldn’t have anyways…besides….we just kickin’ it…it’s not like we gonna repeat last night where you tryna rearrange my insides.” Amina rolled her eyes again, sarcastically this time.

“You want me to talk to ‘em?…”

“Nah… it’s whatever. I’m used to it.” Amina sighed.

“You sure?”

“Yeah…I’m sure…”

“Aight… take out yo’ phone…”

“Why?” she raised her eyebrow at him.

“You know you walkin’ around wit’ a Utopia Box?” He asked, flicking his eyes between her legs than back at the well-lit building of the rest-stop.

“Thanks, I got it for my birthday…” she deadpanned. He was so random.

“Look up the best divorce lawyer in Atlanta….”

“Huh?…”

“Girl if you don’t want me to talk to ‘em… and the only thing stoppin’ me from gettin’ back in between yo’ legs is my divorce than I’m pickin’ one and I’ll call bright and early at eight on Monday mornin’…cause baby I’m a lot to handle and my sexual appetite high, so if you think you can put that good ass pussy on me and you gon’ fuck and duck me? You outta yo’ mind…respectfully. ”

Amina shoved him causing him to flinch towards the door, laughing. She side-eyed him for a minute before joining in with him in laughing. When their laughter died down his eyes got a little lower as he slowly blinked, moving in closer to her face.

“Ahmi, Can I kiss you?”

“Ahmi?” she looked at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher.

“I’on kno it’s like yo’ name but remixed…plus I’m sure you ain’t gon’ let me call you baby at work…” he smirked.

“It’s just no one has ever given me a nickname before…except my mama and my lala”

“That makes me special… and since I’m special…” he paused and licked his lips. “I’m gon’ ask again..can I kiss you?” his voice slightly huskier.

Biting her bottom lip for a second, before nodding her head slowly, he smiled closing the very short distance between them and pressed his lips softly to hers.

-Tuesday- February 14th 2022 ~

Atlanta, Georgia

“Fuck!” Chantelle Dixon also known as Honey cried out as she finished counting all the money she had made for the night. “Five hundred?! This shit ain't enough,” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with irritation. She ran a hand through her curls, trying to shake off the disappointment in her chest. Valentine’s Day was normally a good day at the club, but this year, everyone seemed to be in a relationship or flat-out broke. Honey scowled, stuffing the bills into her purse, not bothering to roll them. She'd have to pull double shifts next week to make up for this disaster. Her mother was already doing doubles all week at the diner to make ends meet, and Honey had promised herself she wouldn't let her down.

“Honey! Request, room four!” a voice called out, breaking her moment of frustration.

"Okay" she called back, irritation still present in her voice. She took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror, she forced a smile onto her face as she adjusted her sparkly top and reapplied her lip gloss.

The walk from the dressing rooms to the private one wasn’t a long one. Honey knocked twice before entering, her practiced sultry gaze sweeping the dimly lit room. Her heart skipped a beat as she locked eyes with her client for the night. This man was FINE —caramel skin glowing under the soft light, muscles defined in a cut-off white Nike shirt. The Cuban link around his neck and wrist gleamed like a promise of something more. She prayed that this dance would give her just enough to keep the lights on for another month.

She felt her panties dampen as he stuck his tongue out to lick his lips and the gleam of his grillz caught her attention. Honey swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. This wasn't her first rodeo, but something about this man made her feel like a rookie all over again. She walked further into the room, hips swaying with each step as she felt his eyes on her.

“Damn Ma’ you even prettier up close.” He muttered licking his lips again as she walked closer to him.

Honey felt her cheeks grow hot as his eyes roamed her body. “Thank you,” She said with a sultry smile just as the music started flowing through the room. “You don’t seem like the type to be alone on Valentine's Day.” She said just as she started gyrating her body to the music.

“I’m usually not.” He chuckled, leaning back in the chair and getting comfortable, legs spreading open, so if she wanted to, she had room to dance up close. “This year jus’ a lil’ different”

“Well, that's good for me right?” Honey winked, as she slid her hands up her body, keeping her eyes locked on his as she reached her clothed breast. Josh felt his mouth dry up as Honey started to toy with the silver buckle that held her top closed. “I get to have you all to myself.” He groaned as she finally undid the clasp and her breast spilled out.

“Fuck” She heard him whisper and it made her smirk. Honey bit her lip and turned her back to him, rolling her hips in slow, hypnotic circles. She bent her knees a little shaking her ass in his face, before standing up straight and slowly walking over to him. Honey straddled his lap, her hips undulating to the rhythm of the music. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, his breath hot on her neck as she leaned in close. His hands hovered near her waist, not touching, but she could sense his restraint. She ran her hands up his arms, loving the way his body shivered under her touch.

. “What’s your name?”

“Josh” He answered immediately. His eyes dropped down to her exposed breast and he licked his lips. As she continued her dance. She could feel his arousal pressing against her, and it took all her self-control not to grind down harder. This was business, after all. But something about this man made her want to blur those lines. Josh's fingers twitched, yearning to touch her. Honey noticed his struggle and leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear. “Remember, baby, no touching,” she purred, her voice low and sultry.

Josh groaned, his head falling back against the chair. “Damn, ma. You makin’ it real hard to follow the rules.”

Honey chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Josh's spine. She continued her dance, her body moving in perfect sync with the music. Her hands trailed down her sides, over her hips, drawing his gaze to every curve. As the song faded out, Honey stood up slowly, her eyes never leaving Josh's. She could see the desire burning in his gaze, matching the heat she felt coursing through her own body. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was a professional who was used to maintaining emotional distance from her clients. But something about Josh was different and it intrigued her.

“That's the end of our time, baby,” she said, her voice huskier than she intended, more turned on than she had ever been during a private dance. Josh’s eyes widened as she bent down to grab her discarded top.

“One more dance,” he said, grabbing his wallet and taking out a couple hundreds. Honey’s eyes widened. It was way more than necessary. “Please,” he begged and Honey felt herself nodding.

“Okay,” She whispered, dropping her top back to the floor. As the next song started to play, Honey went back to her previous position, straddling Josh’s thighs. As Honey began to move again, she felt a shift in the atmosphere. The air between them crackled with electricity, and she found herself getting lost in Josh's intense gaze. His hands, still hovering near her waist, trembled with the effort of restraint.

She quietly grabbed his hand and placed it on her waist. She would deal with the consequences from her boss later. Josh let out a choked curse as his hands came in contact with Honey’s soft skin. He brought his other hand up and gripped her hips. The music faded into the background as they lost themselves in each other. Honey's hands slid up Josh's chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palms. She leaned in, her forehead resting against his, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. Somehow the dance had turned into downright dry humping.

Honey's hips moved in slow, sensual circles, her body responding to Josh's touch in a way she'd never experienced before. She could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, his fingers digging into her flesh making her moan softly.

“What’s yo name?” He asked and Honey knew he was asking for her real name.

“Chantelle.” She whispered, moaning as Josh began rocking her hips harder against his erection, biting his lip at her soft moans.

“Chantelle,” Josh repeated softly, savoring the sound of her real name on his lips. “It suits you.” He said as he pulled her even closer, her bare breast now pressed up against his shirt. Chantelle felt herself getting lost in the moment, in the heat of Josh's touch and the intensity of his gaze. She knew she was crossing a line, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She had never crossed this line before, but something about this man was different. It felt natural to be this way with him.

Chantelle’s fingers tangled in his hair as she closed the remaining distance between them, her lips brushing against his in a feather-light kiss. Josh groaned, one hand sliding up her back to cup the nape of her neck. He deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing the seam of her lips until she opened for him. The kiss was electric, setting every nerve ending in Chantelle's body on fire. She leaned her neck to the side as she trailed kisses up and down her neck.

“What time yo’ shift over?”

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“Fu-fuck” Chantelle moaned out as Josh wrapped one of his hands around her neck, pinning her to the seat as he fucked all the thoughts out of her head. This was not how she pictured her night ending, folded up in the backseat of Josh’s car, eyes crossed, mouth hung open in pleasure while he dugged her out. She had one of her hands pressed up against the door and the other one was holding onto her breast, toying with her nipple.

Josh's grip tightened as he thrust deeper, eliciting another breathy moan from Chantelle. “So fuckin’ wet.” He mumbled, eyes locked onto where their bodies met, loving the way her pussy swallowed his dick whole. Chantelle choked out another moan as he let go of her leg with his other hand and brought it down to her clit, rubbing it in tight circles. “Pussy so fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ good. You gon come fa’ me?” He grunted out, eyebrows furrowed together as he started pounding into her. The car was definitely rocking but neither cared, given she was the last to leave the club and no other cars were in the parking lot.

“Yes.. oh fuck!” Chantelle's body tensed as her climax hit her full force. Stars exploded behind her eyelids as she cried out Josh's name, her body trembling beneath him. Josh growled at the feeling of her pulsing around him, He shifted his grip, sliding one hand down to Chantelle's hip for better leverage while the other remained firmly around her throat. The new angle allowed him to hit even deeper, his cock brushing against her G-spot with every stroke.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Josh groaned, his voice husky with desire. He leaned down, capturing Chantelle's lips in a searing kiss. Their tongues danced as he continued to thrust into her, swallowing her whimpers of pleasure.

Chantelle pressed her hands against his abs trying to push him away, tears welling in her eyes at how overstimulated she felt. Josh broke the kiss and moved his lips near Chantelle’s ear, his lips brushing against it as he whispered huskily, "You can take it, baby. I know you can." His tongue flicked out, tracing the shell of her ear.

“J-Josh!" she cried out, as her second orgasm hit outta nowhere, her fluids gushing out, wetting up him and his seats.

Josh's rhythm faltered as Chantelle's second orgasm washed over him, her slick heat clenching around him like a vice. He groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he fought to maintain control. The scent of her skin, a mix of sweat, and her flowery perfume filled his nostrils, driving him wild.

"Fuck, Chantelle," he panted, his hips snapping forward with increased urgency. He abruptly pulled out of her and grunted and he came. Chantelle gasped at the sudden emptiness, her body still trembling from her climax. She watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Josh stroked himself to completion, his release spilling onto her stomach and breast in hot spurts. Chantelle moaned at the feeling.

"Damn, girl," Josh murmured, running his hands through his damp mullet after their breathing had returned to normal. He reached into the pocket of one of the chairs in the backseat and handed her a pack of baby wipes. She eyed the wipes in his hand, wondering why he had them in his car. “Whatchu looking at them like that for?”

“You uhh.. Do this often?” She asked as she took them and wiped his release off her stomach and breast.

“What -Nah!” He chuckled. “I have kids and they be messy as hell. Can’t get in the ride with messy ass hands.” Chantelle giggled as she sat up and began putting her clothes back on.

“Where’re my panties?” She asked looking around the car. She cursed and she peered into the front seat and saw them torn, hanging from his rearview mirror. “Sir what the hell.”

Josh chuckled as he pulled his briefs and cargo pants back over his hips. He grabbed them out of her hand. “Souniver” He winked and she scoffed.

“I’m not getting in a Uber with no panties.”

“Girl. You know imma take you home. I ain’t havin’ you in no stranger’s car.” Chantelle’s eyes widened. There was no way in hell he could see where she lived. Technically he was a stranger too.

"No, no, it's cool. I can just call my friend to come get me," Chantelle said quickly, fumbling for her phone.

Josh raised an eyebrow. "At 3 AM? C'mon, be forreal. I'll drop you off, it's no trouble."

Fuck Chantelle thought as she tried to come up with a plan. Josh got out of the back seat and stretched his body before getting the the driver's seat and starting the car. He then picked his phone up from the cup holder – where he had placed it earlier and handed it to her.

“Put yo’ address in” Still panicking, she quickly entered the only other address she knew by heart. She handed Josh back his phone and climbed into the passenger seat. As she settled into the seat, she quickly grabbed her phone and texted her best friend. She crossed her fingers as she waited for her response.

To Bff4L : You up? From Bff4L : yea whats wrong? To Bff4L: I’ll explian when I get there.

Chantelle relaxed in her seat as Josh started driving towards her best friend's house. The car ride was anything but silent. They pretty much got to know each other in the 30-minute drive. Chantelle had learned that he was 35, had two kids, and was an athlete. Which didn’t really surprise her. It was obvious he had money.

Chantelle told him some things about her too. She told him she was 26, she was born and raised in Atlanta, and that she was an only child. He didn’t need to know anything else. She let out a tiny sigh of relief as he pulled onto her friend's block.

“Thank you,” Chantelle whispered as she looked over at him. Her heart pounded in her chest as their eyes locked. Josh smiled at her. He had taken his grillz out and his smile was even more captivating without them. Chantelle felt a flutter in her stomach.

“It’s all good Telle.”

“Nig– Telle?” Chantelle raised an eyebrow, not sure how to feel about the new nickname.

“What? You don’t like that? How bout boo, baby, sweetheart.. I can go on.” Josh teased playfully.

Chantelle scoffed and opened the car door. “Bye Josh” She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the smile on her face as she shut the passenger door and started walking up the driveway towards the front door.

“Bye Boo!”

She flipped him off making him laugh. She opened the front door and looked back to see Josh still sitting in his car, watching her with an amused grin. She shook her head and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

“Is he the reason why I’m up at 3 a.m.?”

Chantelle jumped and turned to face her best friend Dejah, who was leaving the kitchen with a bottle of water.

“Shut up, you said you were up already,” Chantelle muttered as they walked into the living room and threw themselves onto the plush couch. Chantelle sighed as she leaned back into the couch and closed her eyes.

“Bitch! Who the fuck was that?”

Chantelle sighed with her eyes still closed, she answered, “That was Josh. We met at Blue Diamond earlier.” Dejah hummed and Chantelle opened her eyes to look at her. “What?”

“Y’all met at the club?” when Chantelle nodded Dejah continued. “So how did you get in his car at three in the morning?”

Chantelle groaned and covered her face. “Don’t judge me Dejah.”

Dejah gasped and reached over to slap Chantelle on her arm. “Chantelle Rose! Did you sleep with him?” With her face still covered, Chantelle nodded, and Dejah hit her on her arm again. “What the hell friend! Why?!”

“I don’t know,” Chantelle muttered, dropping her hands from her face and looking at her best friend. “It’s just – something about him is just different. You know I’ve never done nothing like this before. I tried to just be professional but girl, the way he looked at me I mean.” Chantelle paused and took a deep breath. “I been striping for years and have been stared at like a piece of meat by any and every man. But the way Josh looked at me, it was like he saw through all of that. Like he was seeing the real me, you know?”

Dejah shook her head. “You a big girl so I’m not gonna berate you. All imma say is be careful.” Dejah said as a yawn escaped her mouth. “I’m going to bed. You already know the guest room is yours”

“Thank you,” Chantelle muttered. Dejah gave her friend a tight-lipped smile before making up way out of the living room and up the steps to her bedroom.

With a sigh, Chantelle stood from the couch and made her way to the guest room. She took a quick shower before changing into the pajamas she left there last time. As Chantelle climbed into bed, there was only one thing on her mind.. Josh.

~ Wednesday- February 15th 2022 ~

It was around 10 am the next morning when Chantelle finally left Dejah’s house. As she was walking out the front door and to the MARTA bus stop a couple of blocks down. As she made it to the end of the driveway and semi-familiar white BMW pulled up to the curb. She paid it no mind and continued her walk to the bus stop.

“I man, Ion mind chasing after you.” Chantelle stopped dead in her tracks and turned around to see Josh smiling at her as he leaned over to yell out the passenger window.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, walking back towards the car, trying to keep her voice casual despite the flutter in her stomach.

Josh shrugged, his grin widening. “I came to see if you wanted to go to breakfast”

Chantelle’s heart skipped a beat. He came to see me she thought as a smile crossed her face. She nodded and grabbed the handle of the car door, opening it. “I would love to.”

₊˚ ‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵˚₊

“How you doin'? Uh, can I get triple hash browns scattered and covered? Six scrambled eggs with American cheese, two chocolate chip waffles, and a lemonade.”

Chantelle’s eyes widened as his order kept growing and growing. After he was done he looked over at her, waiting for her to order. “Damn, I thought you were ordering for the both of us.” She chuckled before turning her attention to the waitress. “Can I just get the cheese and eggs with raisin toast please, with a glass of water?” The waitress nodded before taking their menus from them and walking away to put their order in.

Raisin Toast? Josh thought That’s what Ami– he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She ended things with you. Stop thinking about her.

They both lapsed into a comfortable silence, sneaking glances at each other before adverting their gazes. Chantelle felt herself blush when Josh caught her staring and smirked at her.

“Can I just say that um, I never done.. Um, I never had uh, sex with a client before,” she admitted softly, glancing up at him through her lashes.

“I’m your client?”

Chantelle nodded. “Yeah, you paid for a service and I provided that service, making you my client. But I don’t want you to think I’m some hoe or something, just sleeping with men who pay for dances.”

“Telle.” Josh chuckled, cutting off her rambling. “I don’t think you a hoe. Promise”

“Thanks,” she said softly, meeting his eyes. “I just... I don't usually do that kind of thing. There was just something about you…” She trailed off with a shrug and Josh’s smile dropped a little. He cleared his throat and sat back in his seat.

“Look, I wanted to eat first but uh. I like you. I mean the sex was.” He paused and let out a slight chuckle. “The sex was good but I can’t go no further with you.” Chantelle’s face dropped. “I mean, I can’t give you a relationship or nothing. Like I’m always on the road and only here in the ATL for about two to three days out the week.”

“Oh,” Chantelle said. She felt her heart sink, but she forced a small smile and nodded. "I understand," she said softly, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "I appreciate your honesty."

Josh leaned forward, his gaze intense. “I don't want you to think I'm playin' you or nothin'. It's just... my life, it's complicated as hell right now and I can't drag you into all that.”

Chantelle said nothing and Josh sighed just as the waitress came and sat their food down. Not in the mood to eat anymore, she asked the waitress for a to-go box.

“Wait. Chantelle, you don’t have to leave.”

“No, I think I should.” She said as she started putting her food in the container.”

“Listen Uce, chill chill,” Josh said as she stood from the booth and started walking towards the exit. He stood too and grabbed her arm gently, stopping her from walking away from him. “We can be friends, can’t we? I-I got so much shit going on right now. I can’t be in a relationship.”

Chantelle rolled her eyes. “Friends?” She deadpanned “You wanna be friends?”

Josh nodded eagerly and held his hand out. “Yeah, You cool and we obviously vibe together. Leeme see ya’ phone.”

Chantelle scrunched her face up but fished into her tote bag and handed him her phone anyway.

“Looks, here’s my number.” He said as he handed her phone back. She arched her eyebrow when she saw he had saved it under UceyJucey. “Text me.”

Chantelle bit her lip and nodded. “Okay.” She said just as she saw her Uber pull up in front of the restaurant. “I have to go.”

Josh nodded. “Aight. Don’t forget to text me, Telle!” He called out to her as she was leaving the restaurant. He let out a loud sigh as he sat back down in the booth. He placed both his elbows on the table and placed his head in his hands. “Fuck.” He muttered and grabbed his phone out of his pocket, calling the one person who he knew he could talk to.

“ Uce! I was starting to think I wasn’t gon hear from yo’ ass today.”

“Jon,” Josh muttered. Jon’s smile immediately dropped at the seriousness in Josh’s voice. “I fucked up.”

😮‍💨 Welp! Here it is! the first chapter of my and @paigereeder 's collab. Let us know what you think? We love interacting with y’all… stay tuned… it’s going to get even more… interesting

🏷️: @trentybenty @nbanenefrmdao @mzv11 @southerngirl41 @yana3sworld

@uceyliyahh @harmshake @wooahmiri @xbriexx @misslackey

@biancasreign @ashykneee @claymoresofinfamy23 @geekinstilettos @sayyestoheav3nn

@bebesobrielo @amandairene88 @summerssoldierxx @christinabae @cyberdejos2

@pinkwithhearts @partypoison00 @msbigredmachine @alika-4466 @bossbitch-22

@jeyusos-girl @fearlesschimera @privateeyed95

#wwe #jey uso #jey uso x black reader #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso fanfic #jey uso imagines #jey uso imagine #jey uso x black oc #jey uso x fem reader #jey uso smut #jey uso x reader #jey uso fic #wwe fanfiction #wwe x reader #wwe x black oc #wwe x black reader #wwe x fem reader

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creaturefeaturecommando · 4 months ago

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Baldur’s Gate 3 Characters I think you can take to a black thanksgiving

Astarion: Definitely not. I will not elaborate. His mouth is way too fresh, he’ll get his ass beat. Like at first I was like “He’d probably be gossiping with the aunties” but I don’t think he’d last that long. Don’t bring him anywhere.

Lae’Zel: Definitely not, see Astarion’s reason why and apply it to her, she’ll get jumped.

Shadowheart: I feel like it would be safe to bring her but she really wouldn’t socialize. She’d probably stay next to whoever brought her the entire time, introduce herself, but she’d still be off in the corner with her plate. Might say something out of pocket so watch her but she’s still sorta safe

Gale: A safe option. He’s polite and he’ll help where he can but keep him out of the kitchen because he’d make unwarranted suggestions like “May I suggest less salt ? And less pork in the vegetable dishes ?” and would get glared at by all the older women in the kitchen and would probably get cursed out so you have to tell him to shut up and just go do something else away from the kitchen.

Karlach: A safe option. She’d get along with the rowdy cousins, and would love playing games with everyone and dancing to music but her favorite parts would be going on “walks” and then devouring the food. Definitely the type to leave with 15 to go plates and will eat her leftovers way into January.

Wyll: One of the safest options there is. Not because he’s black, but he knows how to behave and he’s polite. Grandma is definitely asking to bring him back for Christmas and New Years. Would be popular with the little cousins because he has a soft spot for kids and wouldn’t mind playing with them or watching the thanksgiving parade with them, helps sets the the table, helps put the food away. He’s a good one to bring and he’d be welcome to return next year, and would be welcome to attend other functions.

Halsin: “You are freaking African Americans… plus Halsin. Which, I’m rocking with Halsin cuz Halsin’s rocking with us” basically all the reasons why Wyll is allowed to the thanksgiving is the same reason why Halsin is allowed. The thing that won him a permanent seat at the table however is when he was invited to go on a “walk” and he shared his personal stash with everyone happily, and he rolled perfectly too. He’s invited to all the functions.

So in conclusion:

Who’s not allowed: Astarion and Lae’Zel

Who would be allowed to attend but will still get side eyed at some point for out of pocket comments: Gale and Shadowheart

Who’s invited back with open arms: Karlach, Wyll, Halsin

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world-of-wales · 7 days ago

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❥ favourite outfits worn by The Princess of Wales in 2024

⤜ king charles iii's birthday parade on june 15th

⤜ july 14th at wimbledon gentlemen's men's singles final

⤜ royal british legion festival of remembrance on november 9th

⤜ visiting the southport community on october 10th

⤜ welcoming the amir of qatar and sheikha jawaher on december 3rd

⤜ december 6th at 'together at christmas' carol service

⤜ celebrating christmas at sandringham on december 25th

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milunalupin · 28 days ago

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— six geese a-laying

regulus black x reader ★ 1.2k words

twelve days of nico-mas masterlist

The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across the grand hall, where laughter and clinking glasses mingled in the air. The Black family’s holiday gala was in full swing, a symphony of aristocratic gowns, tuxedos, and the faint scent of expensive perfumes.

You'd had been dragged here, as usual, by your mother, who had insisted that it was time for you to meet the sixth suitor of the week. Six, in seven days. A tiring cycle of forced conversations, meaningless compliments, and carefully curated gestures meant to see who would eventually be deemed ‘worthy.’ It was tedious and exhausting. You could already feel the tension creeping in as she eyed the young man your mother had ushered you towards while she looked for her scheduled suitor.

His name was Edmund, a tall, blonde, handsome young wizard from a prominent family, who seemed more concerned with inspecting his reflection in the silverware than actually holding a conversation. But you weren't about to spend another minute pretending you cared about his fake smiles and rehearsed lines.

You turned away, offering Edmund the briefest of smiles before excusing herself. You caught your mother’s eyes shoot daggers at you, but you merely arched an eyebrow and began to walk away. It wasn’t long before your feet carried you into another part of the room where you could at least escape the cycle of arranged marriages and endless suitors. You made her way to a corner by the grand fireplace, the warmth of the crackling fire a welcome contrast to the icy politeness of the gala.

There, was someone who seemed just as out of place as you felt. A young man, dark-haired and wearing a tailored black suit that made him look effortlessly regal. He leaned against the marble mantel, seemingly uninterested in the glittering crowd around him.

Without any words, your eyes met. A knowing glance passed between you, the kind that only those who are tired of the pretense can share.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” You remarked, her lips curling into a half-smile.

The man’s eyes gleamed with amusement, and he pushed himself off the mantel, walking closer. He glanced over his shoulder, as if ensuring no one was watching them too closely. “I was just thinking the same thing,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I take it you’re not enjoying the suitor parade either.”

A scoff escaped you. “I’m on my sixth for the week. It’s only a matter of time before I’m expected to start knitting wedding scarves.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sixth? Are you collecting them like chocolate frog cards?”

“Apparently,” You replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I think I’m supposed to pick one of them before Christmas, but I can’t even remember their names. I’m only here for the hors d'oeuvres.”

The man let out a quiet laugh, a genuine sound in the midst of the stiff formality of the party. “Well, I’d say we’re in the same boat. My mother has been parading me in front of one potential bride after another. They all seem to think I’m looking for some idealistic… what’s the word? Princess? It’s all absurd.”

Your eyes narrowed, intrigued. “Ah, so you’re a prince in disguise?”

The man chuckled, but there was a trace of bitterness in his tone. “Not exactly. But my family does have certain expectations for me. You know how it is—bloodlines, alliances, family connections.” He looked at you pointedly. “Arranged marriages and all that.”

Your lips twisted with distaste. “Exactly. It’s all so lovely and romantic, isn’t it?”

“I can’t think of anything less romantic,” he said dryly. “I’d much prefer to choose for myself. But who am I to argue with centuries of tradition?”

You looked him over again, suddenly curious. There was something about him—an intensity in his eyes, an air of rebellion that mirrored your own, though less overt. His posture, too, was relaxed but commanding in a way that suggested he didn’t belong here. Not in the way others did.

“Are you even sure this is your scene?” you asked, head tilting slightly. “This whole ‘high society’ act doesn’t really seem like your thing.”

He smirked again, but there was a hint of something darker in his expression. “You’d be surprised,” he replied. “But let’s just say I don’t have much of a choice. And as for this scene—” He gestured to the extravagant party around them. “It’s certainly a spectacle. I much prefer people who are honest. At least with those types, you can tell when they’re lying.”

You laughed, a brief but real sound. “I can’t imagine anyone here being honest about anything. Especially not their feelings.”

“Or their intentions,” he added. “I’d wager most people are here for appearances. It’s exhausting.”

They both fell silent for a moment, both of them standing at the edge of the room, looking out at the people who had come for reasons that seemed foreign and far too polished. The contrast was almost too stark to bear.

Then, just as he was about to say something more, a voice broke the silence. “Regulus, darling!”

The both of you turned to see his mother approaching, a pleased look on her face. Her expression softened just slightly as she caught sight of them, clearly happy with what she’d found.

“There you are. I’m so glad you two have finally had the chance to meet properly.”

Your own mother joined the conversation with a tight smile. “Yes, dear, I’m so glad you two have hit it off.” Her voice was as saccharine as ever, and you couldn’t help but notice how your mother’s eyes flicked from you to Regulus, as if already counting the success of this match in her mind.

You turned your head back to him, raising an eyebrow. “So, you’re the one,” your tone playful but soft, trying to hide the sudden mix of surprise and something else—something you couldn’t quite name.

Regulus smiled knowingly, his eyes alight with amusement and something deeper. “It seems so. I hope you're not too disappointed.”

Your lips twitched into a sly smile. “I can’t say I’ve been entirely miserable.”

Regulus’ lips curved into a full smile, the kind that felt both reassuring and a little thrilling. “Then I look forward to... this.”

You felt a soft laugh bubble up from you chest, and for the first time all evening, you felt something lighter than the weight of family expectations and rigid tradition. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all. You had a feeling Regulus was exactly the kind of suitor who understood that some things—like expectations, or forced connections—didn’t have to be so serious.

With a small, shared moment of quiet understanding, they both raised their glasses in a subtle toast to the evening ahead. Whatever this arrangement was, it didn’t seem half as awful when shared with someone who might just be as intrigued by it all as you were.

And for the first time in a long while, you both felt a bit more hopeful that maybe, things might not turn out exactly as planned—but that might be exactly what made it worth it.

— taglist ♥︎

@willowlovestheweasleys

#twelve days of nico mas #marauders era #regulus black #regulus x reader #regulus black x reader #regulus arcturus black

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ravennawritesfanfiction · 7 days ago

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Beauty From Darkness

Fomerly called Imagine Being Married to Lestat in an Arranged Marriage

Pairing: Lestat de Lioncourt x Reader (Past), Armand x Reader

Word Count: 2846 words

Summary: You were married to Lestat in an arranged marriage of misery. A twist of fate grants you the life you most desired and a chance encounter brings up the past.

You’d never imagined that you’d be sent away. How the thought had never occurred to you, you couldn’t say. You were a daughter; biological property. A financial burden. No prospects; no hope for a future outside of your husband. Beliefs that were a product of the time. Still, when your parents packed up your belongings and sent you to Auvergne, you were still surprised and hurt.

The Marquis’ son was your age and unmarried. You were to be his wife. A trade agreement outlined your worth. A poorly written and defined trade agreement. You wanted to be mad. You wanted to voice your outrage. But you were a daughter, you didn’t have the right.

Lestat seemed as angry as you were, however for vastly different reasons. You were yet another dictation in his life. The youngest of seven. The one without a choice. He’d never inherit a title, everything in his life served only to maintain appearances and the family name. A son, treated as a daughter. If he hadn’t instantly resented you, perhaps he would have realized that you shared the same pain, reflected. You weren’t his enemy, rather a fellow victim. He did not see it.

Your wedding, which should have been a grand celebration, more closely resembled a funeral; thanks in part to your groom. He paraded his displeasure like a badge of honor. He stayed as far away from you as the night would allow. You sat alone. No one approached you. Your gift that night had been the pitiful glances thrown your way as Lestat drunkenly told everyone how much he despised you and how little he looked forward to touching you. You were 16 years old, humiliated, and utterly alone.

That night, your marriage was consummated; mostly because the Marquis stood on the other side of the door to make sure it happened. Lestat would not look at you. He barely touched you. He was in and out fast enough to say it happened, but nothing more. There was no pleasure in it for either of you. Immediately afterwards, he kicked you out of his room and banned you from ever reentering. He didn’t stop there, you were banned from his presence entirely. You would not exist to him.

Lady de Lioncourt was your only companion for the next 11 years. She welcomed you into her library, taught you to read, and gave you the only escape you could foresee. She never apologized for Lestat’s behavior, never made excuses for him. She just spent the time with you he should have been. She alone watched you blossom into a young woman. She secretly wishes Lestat had given you a chance, even now she could see that you would have been a great match, but she never broached the subject to either of you. It wasn’t her business, the affairs of a married couple.

You ran into Lestat one day, nine years after you had been married. He was leaving the library as you were entering. He bowed to you in passing, the perfect gentleman; he had not recognized you. You continued avoiding him. He began inquiring about his mother’s new companion. She shot him down with a well placed jab about not wishing to know her. Lestat was left confused for two years.

You had thought about him a great deal since that encounter. He had grown into a handsome young man. You wished that he had not taken to hatred with you so immediately. You could have been happy with him. You could be out in the world together now; maybe have a small family of your own. Beautiful babies at your feet. Then the disdain returned. He robbed you of that.

Just before Christmas, eleven years after you were wed, Lestat found Gabrielle in the library crying, holding your favorite book. He’s seen her companion reading it just days before. He had taken to watching her from afar; hoping for some clue as to her identity.

“Mother?” Lestat rushed to Gabrielle’s side, begging her to tell him what had happened.

“She’s dead. That poor girl is dead,” there was a rage in her that Lestat had never seen. “Your wife is dead.” She snatched herself away from him, he jumped back in shock.

The girl that Lestat had lusted over for the past two years; the one he had inquired about countless times because of her beauty, had been his cast aside wife. The air was knocked from his lungs. He clutched at his chest; chest tightening. It was clear now why he was never permitted in her presence. His shame was more than he could bear.

“How?” how had such beauty met her end.

“We don’t know the details. Just that she had gone to the village. The amount of blood had made the butcher ill and only her ring and shawl were recovered.” his father answered. “Not that you would care, but there isn’t even a body to bury. She’s gone.” a sob ripped from Lestat. He felt dizzy and sick. He collapsed on the floor as if attacked by a phantom.

“Why did she go out alone?” he was sobbing. He knew where the blame lie. He had been evil and cruel. She hadn’t been given a chance.

“Who would accompany her? The husband that banished her?” his mother’s venom was unbridled. His father did not intervene on his behalf. He curled into himself on the floor. Sobs turned into wails. He had condemned her to death. A stupid young boy, broke the one thing a young man desired. His brother finally hauled him to his room after his mother had had enough of his presence. She lamented that your death was what had been needed for Lestat to show you emotion.

You awoke surrounded by the most beautiful paintings you had ever seen; the skittering of insects you could not locate, and a strange man watching you. Normally, you would have been afraid, but you had a suspicion that the worst was already behind you. You were 27 years old, no longer alone, and a vampire.

You took to your new life with grace. Every lesson Marius had for you, you devoured.You mastered your gifts with ease ad precision. You loved it all. Even the constant darkness could not damper your spirits. How could it when the darkness revealed the stars?

Marius was a gifted painter. Your talent was music. He’d given you the greatest gift; and eternity with your sheet music. You could imagine nothing better. Marius painted you often in the earliest days; you were an angel hunched over the sheet music at your piano. No greater muse had ever existed. You composed your life. Innocence shifted to profound sadness, the sadness turned into broken notes; a fear of ending hung heavy with those notes. The notes shifted to something dark, but even in the darkness, there was an uplifting hope in the melody. The song ended in unrestrained power and happiness. In your joy, you couldn’t have known that your music was calling to the one vampire that had broke you.

Lestat heard your music in the air; having fallen victim to Magnus in Paris. You felt him approaching. Both of you knew what his arrival would mean for your newly found happiness. Marius sent you away. The only way he knew he could protect you, his most beautiful creation. You had the skills to survive on your own now, and you had an ability to see the beauty around you in the night. He did not fear for you. He hid away the paintings of you. Once again, you were alone because of Lestat. So you drifted. You experienced the world around you.

You found yourself in Paris. Marius had instilled vampire customs in you while traveling. You announced your arrival to any vampires that may be inhabiting the city. A voice responded. You recognized him the moment you laid eyes on him. Amadeo. He was known as Armand now. The maitre of the local coven. When you explained that you were passing through with no destination in mind, he extended an invitation to join his coven. You declined.

Despite rejecting the offer, there was something about him that made you stay. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He spent his free time with you. When he was busy, you found yourself at the Theatre des vampires. You had taken to writing music while you listened to him work. He felt like home to you, but you had an unnameable misgiving about the coven that kept you at arm’s length.

You loved Armand. The first time you had ever been in love. It reflected in your music, uplifted and joyful notes that filled every corner of the theater. You stayed with him in his coffin most days, sleeping peacefully in his arms. You felt like you were home. But his coven wanted you. With each refusal they got more adamant. Armand feared for you should you not join. I was with a broken heart that he eventually sent you away. He regretted it before he had even carried it out. He didn’t want you to unwillingly join him and your happiness to fade. You were too important to him.You held no ill feelings towards him. It had been the best decade of your life.

It would be two hundred years before he would hear your name again. A familiar pain in his chest when he heard you on the radio. The year was 2010 and you were being catapulted into stardom. He was with a companion named Louis then, but they both were front row of your nearest show and backstage congratulating you.

Armand must have told Louis about you. You discussed your human lives and your early days as a vampire. You learned that Lestat had made Louis and that they had been companions for almost thirty years. You learned about the murder attempt and how he had found himself in Paris. How he and Armand had started their relationship. You gave cliffnote versions of your own relationship with Lestat. Unsurprisingly, he had never mentioned you.

Louis and Armand kept track of your tour schedule and had you stay with them when you were local. You still felt at home with Armand. Your feelings had not changed for him. But now, there was a deeper level of friendship that had not been there before. Not to say that you weren’t friends in Paris, because you were, but you understood him better now, removed from the coven. You saw Armand the person. Not just Armand the Maitre.

You were still going strong in 2024. You were still chart topping and living your best life. Marius had joined you along the way, insisting on helping you manage the delicate balance of being a vampire in the public eye. You were loved and loving life. Your world was blooming. You discovered that Gabrielle was alive; the first fledgeling of Lestat.

You cried when you saw her. She wasn’t much for physical affection, but she didn’t let you go for the longest time. You had escaped. She became a mother to you. She even found a place for herself with your tour; she had been looking through your wardrobe with disdain when you mentioned that your costume designer never listened to you. They were fired the same day and she joined and revamped the wardrobe for not only you, but the entire band. The new style was an instant hit.

One night, while you were enjoying the stars, you felt a presence behind you. It was sad and lost, but you knew him immediately. Armand. Fresh from the hell of the Dubai interview, you had been his only thought. He joined immediately as director, friend and companion. Your world was complete. Every meaningful person from your life was here with you now.

With every tour came interviews. Marius rehearsed with you from the list of permitted questions. You had been at this for a while so really it turned into a catching up session. Armand right next to you the whole time. All of you laughing and enjoying life together. Marius got an email mid discussion of modern art and the catastrophe it was.

He was not smiling when he returned. There had been another band on tour in the area and they wanted to do a joint interview. The up and coming Vampire Lestat. The room went cold. Marius offered to cancel the interview. Armand begged you to let him. You disagreed. It was time to face the past. Armand insisted that he be present the whole time, right there where you could see him, knowing that he would intervene for you the moment things shifted.

With an army of support waiting in the wings, the time came for you to take your seat beside Lestat. With a new name and 200 years separating your meeting, Lestat did not recognize you. Louis was there too. He came over and said hello. You caught up with Louis briefly and vaguely while Daniel Molloy set up for the interview.

“What's a beauty like you doing with a gremlin like Armand?” he did not hide his disgust as he asked his rude question. Thankfully Daniel was signaling that he was about ready to begin.

“The company I keep is of no concern of yours.” Louis chuckled. He was 100% on your team right now. He knew enough about your relationship that he really needed Lestat to get his.

“I’m joined today by the Vampire Lestat de Lioncourt and Miss (Y/N) de Romanus.” Lestat preened for the camera, showing off for you as well. You smiled politely at the introduction. “How are your tours going?”

Lestat jumped in immediately. The star of the show always. You were instantly irritated. Armand walked over and stood next to Daniel, you gave him the signal that you were fine. He backed up and stood alone.

“My tour has been everything I hoped. Though, I confess, it would be better if (Y/N) was there though.” It was Louis turn to be irritated with Lestat. You gave him the ‘I got this’ look.

“I’m sorry. I don’t believe there would be room enough for you, me, and your ego.” Lestat sat there, dumbstruck. “I don’t enjoy being cast aside into the shadows, so I think I’ll stick with my own venture.” Daniel was shocked. Louis beamed at you. Armand gave you the nod. Lestat felt that the jab was oddly specific.

“How’s your tour, (Y/N)?” you smiled. Bombs ready to drop.

“I have the best family on tour with me. It truly is a dream for me. Marius keeps me going. Gabrielle, my stylist is impeccable and the mother I never had. And Armand, he is my best friend, my companion on all the long nights. I love him so much. He always knows exactly what I need, even before I know it sometimes. I love them all with my whole heart. And the fans, they are my world. They make it all worth it for all of us.” you could pinpoint the precise moment that Lestat had figured it out. Armand said something to Daniel. You think it may have been a suggestion to press the issue further.

“I get the impression you know each other?” Daniel could not contain his excitement.

“I knew Lestat a long time ago. He was arrogant then too. It seems that the only thing that has changed is me.” You shrugged and Armand smiled at you, encouraging you.

“I have changed. I can now admit I was wrong. I apologize. I allowed my bitterness to overshadow the truth. We were the same.” He didn’t look at you, but you knew it was probably the most honest he had ever been in his life.

“What happened?” Daniel coaxed out.

“A personal matter between us.” Lestat got up and walked away. Daniel was stunned into silent observation. Louis followed Lestat out after giving you a thumbs up, making sure you were good first. Armand took Lestat’s seat.

“You handled that with more grace than he deserved, My Love.” Armand took your hand and kissed it.

“He only wants me when I’m not his.” you looked Armand in the eyes.

“You know, you have a whole mob of people who choose you,” he paused. “I choose you. And I will always be sorry that I chose the coven over you then. I have regretted it since the moment it happened and I will spend eternity choosing you now.” you pulled him down to the floor in front of you so you could look him in the eye.

“I knew you did. That’s why I never stopped loving you.” you were kissing Armand when Louis and Lestat returned.

“If we finish this, I want my companion and good friend both to join us.” Louis was mic’d up and seated next to Lestat. Armand joined you on your other side. “Shall we begin again?”

#lestat de lioncourt x reader #armand x reader #the vampire armand #armand #lestat de lioncourt #the vampire lestat #interview with the vampire #iwtv amc

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octuscle · 1 year ago

Note

We just had Veterans Day here in the US. My grandpa was in the navy and I was wondering if there was a setting that could make me a big muscular sailor to honor his legacy.

You are in the process of taking family photos. For the Christmas cards. All of you with funny sweaters. You hate that. You look terrible. And the sweaters are itchy as hell! Thank goodness it's your grandmother who suggests you wear your uniform. You have to think for a second. What uniform? Damn, this Christmas shit is driving you crazy. Your navy uniform. It's understandable that your grandmother insists. She's so proud of you for upholding the family tradition.

Your parents, your siblings, your grandmother, all in the silly green, red and gold sweaters. You in between in the immaculate white parade uniform. How you would love to fill it out like your grandfather. He was a real beefcake and jarhead. You're still missing a few kilos of muscle.

The whole family breathes a sigh of relief when the photographer says that he now has enough pictures. But he asks you if he can take a few more pictures of you. Even in combat gear. And if you'd like to earn a few more dollars, you're welcome to do so without your combat gear. He grins almost insolently.

You've wanted to join the Navy for as long as you can remember. To make your grandfather, whom you loved so much, proud. He would be so happy if he could see you today. And even if the photographer would certainly like it otherwise, your pants stay on. You are a soldier. And not a nude model. Even if you could be a damn good nude model or porn actor. But you don't show that to the crisp fellow until the camera is off.

Picture from the photo shoot found @steelblade

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #male transformation #muscle transformation #military tf

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writingoneout · 2 years ago

Text

Untilted Katamari Reflections

Preamble:

Content considerations for the following include:

Parental abuse

Bigotry

Worldly anxiety

You're welcome back another day if that's too much right now.

It’s fall of 2015.

You and your virgin college friends drink shitty cocktails called the “Slutty Will Rodgers.” They’re just Pepsi rawdogged with indeterminate amounts of grenadine and Captain Morgan. When you bought the mixers a Wal-Mart stocker yodeled “OOOOoOoooOH, maKIN sOMe DRINKS?!?!” and you knew it was time to leave.

We Love Katamari is on the Telly. It’s a sweet, trippy game you first bought to cope with high school. On Dark Fridays at 1am, when your inbox was barren and your balls were full, you’d drive to the empty gym downtown and sprint six miles. Then you’d come home and replay the firefly level until you fell asleep with your pug.

Your college friends are bad at the game, so they pass the controller. You’re playing the underwater stage. A spaceman falls in the pond of people gunk and stacked crabs. It’s going really well if you’re honest. You point to the screen and say “this’ll be Florida if Trump wins.” See Fig. 1.

Figure 1: Rick Desantis has big plans for Disney.

Your friends don’t reply because they soon won’t be virgins and their tongues battle each other’s. It’s a different game they play, one with fuzzier rules, but greater industry respect. You wish the campus gym was open 24/7.

. . .

Your skills as the prince are not inherent. You first meet him in 2005, when your dyspraxic hands can barely tie a shoe. Your parents catch you lose shit for the Toonami review of Me and My Katamari. They buy it for Christmas, hoping to steady your nerves while your father’s in therapy.

Dr. Flam is a Neo-Freudian hitched to your mom’s guy, Dr. Flim. She’s deep in your dad’s dream journal and makes him watch movies like Cool Hand Luke to really reign in his ego. He gets the DVDs from the Netflix site, then through the mail. As a family you watch your dad’s therapy films and reruns of Inyuasha.

In the waiting room you barely navigate the sticky ball through Namco Bandai’s Satoshi Kon parade. See Fig. 2. You’ve only seen adults express anger verbally, so when you mess up you grunt a lot and let out those Leopold Butters Stotch swears like “crap,” “shoot,” and “gosh darn.” You’re not particularly self-aware, so you probably just say “god fucking damn it” a few times and don’t remember. Years later you realize there was probably a secretary behind the glass watching you do all this.

Figure 2: Bwahbwahwabhbawahbwaaaaah.

Sometimes there’s a girl in the room with you, just around your age. She’s stuck while Dr. Flim teaches her mom about what dream snakes mean for her fear of male puberty. That's what he did for your mom, anyway.

You think the waiting-room stranger is cute, but you won’t admit you like girls yet, especially not to yourself. To cope with the cognitive dissonance, you do your weird shit louder while refusing to make eye contact with her. If you get real stressed you crank up the main menu track and yell “ahhhhh that’s so relaxing” while the “nah nah nah nahs” play through your headphones.

At one point the girl stands against a wall and stares at you with her arms crossed. You bet she thinks you’re cool, but she’s probably just annoyed and hopes you’ll notice, or maybe just ask if she’s OK. It’s probably good you don’t talk with her. You might ask something stupid, like if she's seen the roach corpse in the stairwell. It’s been there for a year straight, isn’t that crazy?

For better and worse, you power through your little game alone. Every time you lose the King of All Cosmos beats, shoots, and belittles you. See Fig. 3. It reminds you of when your own dad shattered your Harry Potter wand over the kitchen counter because you dropped a mini pizza.

Figure 3: The King of All Cosmos offers little constructive advice, all things considered.

You fail quite frequently. Eventually you drop the game because it’s getting stressful and you have the power to relieve yourself of the situation—not the Freudian lobby, just your fake dad.

II.

It’s 2012. PlayStation Network uploads The Prince’s primeval outing: Katamari Damacy. Within, Padre Cosmotic flaps his gums over too much hooch then slams his dump truck ass through the better part of our solar system. He dislodges every recognized constellation and even the moon itself.

Cosmos sends Prince to Earth—the last brick left in the shitstorm—to make slop of our planet and bodies. With the slop space itself will be made anew. The Good Son does as he's told, and every living entity experiences euphoric ego death within the bulbous heaven of the Katamari.

As a Real Gamer Teen you lose a lot less in this one. You really go in and fix Fake Dad’s mistakes, no problem at all. This is why a year ago you hailed “gaming journalism” as your calling. You write clean and play tight; should keep the lights on. It’s the most concrete idea you’ve had since 7th grade when you outlined a YA novel called Tooth Pocket. Even you didn’t think Scholastic would buy that one, though. It was just too hot for the book fair.

One day you’re cranking through FFVI and your real dad swings by, mad you're young. He grills your ass and says “I bet you can’t even tell me the biggest thing happening right now.” It’s some real “What’s a gallon of milk cost?” shit, he could mean anything.

Surprisingly, you can’t think of a good answer. You and your friends are actually pretty informed because John Stewart is still at the desk and y’all chime in every day. See Fig. 4. You also spend hours each week tearing through MSN slideshows in your Graphic Design class because the Photoshop takes five minutes. You’ve seen a staggering amount of the Syrian civil war.

Figure 4: Sometimes in Snapchat you draw glasses on your cat to make him look like Mitch McConnel. You wouldn't do that without this guy.

Still, you’re a little stumped. It’s the middle of a phenomenon native to moralist presidencies known as "a slow news week.” You actually ran out of war shit the other day and clicked through some slides about Pakistani wrestlers. The seniors who offered you Jack Daniels in the Whataburger lot saw it and laughed. They thought you were peeping dong in class. You really weren’t, but they didn’t believe you. They graduate certain you were bricked up in the Dell Lab over big guys in spandex.

“I don’t know,” you tell your dad.

He throws his hands behind his head, hard, like an orangutan chucking logs at a poacher.

“It’s the fucking carbon tax,” he yells. This comes as a surprise, you think, because that shit is last month’s news. It really didn’t go anywhere.

“Do you not pay attention because you don’t give a shit, or are you just a nihilist and think you can’t do anything?” You can tell in his eyes he thinks there’s a real answer. “Seriously, which is it?

You don’t remember what you said. You probably just stammered until he walked off.

A month later he picks you up from marching band. Your phone is dead, so he had to wait twenty minutes longer than anticipated while you found his car. He punches the rearview mirror until the windshield cracks then screams of how your birth kept him from New England.

III.

It’s 2016. A rockin’ MILF in the Psych department gets you really into Hamilton. See Fig. 5. Every day you wake up on the grind and blast “You Aaron Burr, sir?” through your shitty 7-11 cans. While cramming foreign language Quizlets and McGraw Hill Online you do this thing called “Hafilton.” It’s where rock up to “Nonstop” and quit listening just before Hamilton decides what he will stop is being a good husband.

Figure 5: Like Kojima, you know "MILF" is a mindset, not a factual inquiry.

It’s 2018. Your grades are notably better and you’ve snuck into the honors program. Like Hamilton himself, you really flourished at 19 and thought about running for office. You immediately abandoned this idea after remembering your allergy to recordings of your image or voice.

You cohabit with the Psych MILF, and she offers some advice: she’s really had her boots on the ground with this whole “clinical psych thing” and honestly, respectfully, she loves you, but dear God it might not be your scene. It’s taken a real toll on her and the friends, and she can’t imagine you going through that shit.

At 1am in your living room you boot up DOOM (2016) and listen through some Hamilton. Angelica is thirsty on main when you remember that you, yourself, could be a lawyer. You don’t have to run for Congress to fight the establishment. There’s just the common law, and it’s right there. You can just get your grubby little hands in that shit and work your magic.

. . .

It’s the last semester of undergrad. Your Western Thought professor says Hamilton wasn’t really a huge deal and really James Madison shat out the big parts of our faction-proof empire. Yes, there was, in fact, a civil war, but the caplock rifle worked it out. After the Federalist papers he has you read the Bill of Rights but no Supreme Court cases. There’s a lot of talk on negative liberties.

Just before finals, the learned doctor says your generation only has two things to worry about: the climate and the poverty. Yeah they’re big, he says, but they’re just two things. You’re crafty kids, smart as the framers, even.

. . .

The state decides law school is your jam and lets you come inside.

There’s the negative liberties but you actually read Supreme Court opinions when the big boys aren’t shaking fists for Valley Forge. They have you listen to Hamilton for context. You feel dirty. An LRW professor puts on the “I’m Just a Bill” video and your sectionmate with Ivy degrees gets really, really mad.

. . .

The Federalist Society has a comfy presence at your law school. Along with Big Oil they sling out free pizza to every Little Scalia with a rumbly tum tum.

On your way to class you hear what the pizza boys feel. They hate Europeans, those social democrats with the rotten armories and clumpy cash. The Euros, they think, give too much wiggle room for the mentally ill, and by that they mean they mean gay people and probably just women overall.

There are more than two things to fix, you think.

. . .

The pandemic hits. You and some pals start a Google Doc to stay afloat. It barely works. In the Zoom review for the property final your professor catches multiple people crying. "You don't have to be here," he tells them, “there are other jobs.”

. . .

A year passes. You’re in a niche public interest class you do all right with. The professor looks you and thirty-five others dead in the eye and says how sorry he is that law school is traumatic. You shed a single tear in your little window. You're pretty in the shit and haven’t worn pants to class in months.

Then public interest prof takes a big, big drag from his long, fat spliff. He spins his desk chair and baseball cap at the same time, never letting go of the joint.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s not your fault, really, but the world is fucked. It’s time to fix what your parents did.”

The next week he gives a practice exam where the best solution is to sell an old lady’s house to Nestlé.

IV.

It’s 2022. After throwing your whole gooch at it, you fail the bar exam.

You fall back hard into exercise. When you’re not slamming Barbri you’re at the gym binging curls and cranking the Chainsaw Man soundtrack. One night on the way to squats you finally hear “Black Parade.” Just like you, Mr. Gerry Wayland is stuck between global disrepair and the desire to write Funny Little Books.

You just started an FLB yourself, actually. It’s spin on a Story Break episode you love. In your version there’s a fucked up civil war horse that moves like a spider and is covered in bugs. Rich people kill the planet then the horse gets lost in space. It’s compelling, you promise. There’s body horror and pirates dressed like Gorton’s Fisherman. See Fig. 6 It’s about the horrors of the contemporary world state. It’ll be fun.

Figure 6: An untapped horror icon. Imagine blood contrasting that yellow.

Big problem, though: you remember rich people love hiking. There’s no grass on Mars, not that good shit anyway. Would they really fuck all of it?

You edit. In the last few years, the real breathless ones, the oligarchs cash their tab. A cartel, they think, could really muscle those stragglers, the tragically common. There’s one city left with both breathable air and refugees. They level it. The few survivors are spread amongst the stars, so their loves and languages may die.

. . .

It’s the middle of Bar Prep Round 2. You and the patient MILF see Hadestown in the Big City.

There’s a juke joint on stage flanked by devil trombones. A sad little guy slinks in from the janitor’s closet. His name is Orpheus and, just like you, he’s a sad, short writer who likes a lady so much it comes out weird. He has a vision, he says, for a little ditty. It’s compelling, he promises, and shit’s gonna change. His love is functional and realized, worth the investment of a hardened woman displaced by capital’s torture. She believes him.

You cry because you know where this goes.

It’s just a single tear.

Don’t worry.

Nobody sees.

. . .

There’s this game you like, by some corporate anarchists who hate themselves. They’re Scandinavian, from the spot in Tallin where you stopped for a cruise. Every gift shop there had swastikas and gas masks leftover from the bloody years.

In the game is a liberal yacht MILF. She thinks you’re stupid but someone’s helping with your gun, so you’ve got that on her. And yet, she pins you, re your whole writing thing. See Fig. 7.

Figure 7: She sucked, but it still hurt when she left.

Your favorite Supreme Court podcast says the ocean’s last hope is other countries. But those countries’ people cry to the Disco game, and their ministers also bought The End of History. You meet them on the subreddit. You're all geeked out, waiting for the tide.

. . .

It’s the era of desert cradles. God thinks you’re disgusting, so he sends his better kids with a memo: the flood was too much work on his end, it’s time for something different.

“Just keep walking,” he says.

Your skin bares his figure. So do the corpses. You little birds among billions, gassed out and screaming, move to clean.

It’s 2023.

We Love Katamari is up on the PlayStation store. You sit with the cats and mow down some crabs. You don’t need it so much these days, but it’s nice.

There’s a Bar card in your wallet, just below your gym tag. There are two interviews in your Google Calendar. Good stuff might happen, hopefully soon. You crawl into bed and wrap an arm around your wife’s rib cage.

Everything matters and nothing is safe.

You are loved enough to sleep.

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