#Tyrone x Black!OC
Text
Just One Taste
Pairing: Tyrone x Black!Fem!OC!/ Plus Size reader
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FILTH! PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (fem and male receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, Dom fem, all consensual. Heavy use of n-word. Disrespectful Tyrone. Drug use. Tyrone POV. Mild Sub Tyrone.
Summary: Tyrone gets lost in a deserted town with his friends. The only place open is the library. They head inside and receive quite the surprise.
Word Count: 5,642k
A/N: Trying something new! Happy spooky Halloweek. I hope this fit the bill. It was majorly fun to shake it up a bit, do something a little new I hope! Listen, I need to go lay down myself!! Because sweet lawdt! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! I blocked over a hundred people today for no ages!
Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody @wakandas-vibranium @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @notapradagurl7 @mcotton0928 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @mybonafidefeelings @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer
“Man, pull the fuck over,” Tyrone snapped. The car pulled over to the closest sidewalk and his friend put it in park.
Tyrone climbed out of the car. The first thing he noticed was the chill. Burrowing cold whipped against his skin and he fought off a shiver. He sparked up, inhaling the weed and exhaling the stressful drive.
“Told ya’ll niggas which way to go and now we lost,” he muttered, mostly to himself. He was pissed. They were supposed to mob up in Vegas for the weekend, get out of the city and into something a little strange for the upcoming Halloween weekend.
But you can’t trust non-reading ass niggas. Tyrone knew it and, yet, he let them drive because he wasn’t feeling it today. He searched the area around him, noting the darkened buildings and dim streetlights. There was an eerie lack of cars around.
“Where the fuck did you take us to?” Tyrone leaned down into the open passenger side. His friend, Paul, was on his phone finagling with the GPS.
“Ion know, nigga! I was on the 15!”
Their other friend, Mike, who sat in the back seat slapped the back of Paul’s head. “You got us lost mu’fucka!”
The two men got into a playful slapping match, calling each other names and cursing at each other. Tyrone stood up straight and took a hit. He rolled his shoulders and looked up into the darkened sky. He thought there were supposed to be stars and shit out here in the desert, without pollution from the light.
He scanned the area once more. It looked like some Scooby-Doo shit. There appeared to be a main street with a hardware store, general store, local restaurant, and a souvenir shop. There were buildings further beyond that, but the cruel California/Nevada night gave no indication of life.
The air felt empty yet tangible. Like there was an invisible screen just in front of his face. “Corny ass, niggas,” Tyrone muttered and took off down the street. Maybe if he found someone’s house, he could knock and get some help. He only hoped this wasn’t one of them racist in-between towns that’d shoot him on sight.
It’d be just his mu’fuckin’ luck to get shot in the boonies on his way to Vegas. Instead of getting shot back in LA. Wouldn’t that be hilarious?
Car doors slammed behind Tyrone and his friends called after him. “Aye, where you goin’?”
“To mind my business, nigga,” Tyrone bit out. He wanted some sleep. He was so fuckin’ tired and the weed wasn’t hitting like usual.
The streetlights overhead were spaced out so far apart that he was entrenched in shadow every time he made it past a beam of light. He sighed as he walked, wondering what the hell they were supposed to do with no service in a town like this. If they slept in the car, would they wake up to some old white mu’fucka with a shot gun?
Hell, maybe he watched too much TV.
“Aye, what’s that?” Mike pointed a meaty finger towards the distance. At the end of the block, the streets rounded off. There was a tall, brick building on the corner with a lonely light over the doorstep. They were too far away to read the sign overhead.
“Hopefully someone who can help ya’ll dumbasses,” Tyrone said. He passed the blunt to Paul and took off down the street, wishing he had a jacket.
This was the type of cold that sunk down into the bones as soon as you acknowledged it. And it was hard to shake.
Tyrone made a beeline for that lonely beacon of hope, praying for someone to be inside and willing to help. Mike lumbered after him while Paul kept time with Tyrone’s quick strides. No one spoke.
As they got closer, Tyrone noticed the sign. It was a library.
“What’s a library doing open so late?” Paul asked.
“Let’s just hope it’s warm. And they got food or somethin’. I’m hungry,” Mike complained.
“Yo fatass always hungry. I’m surprised you weren’t munchin’ on the car seat,” Paul said and snickered. He put out the blunt on the side of the building.
Tyrone cracked a smile. Mike pushed Paul who went jumping a few feet sideways. “Can ya’ll shut the fuck up? Damn.” Tyrone huffed and pushed into the library.
Inside, there was ambient lighting and no one at the front desk. A little bell rung from the open door and the trio whipped their heads to it, huffing quick and nervous laughs.
“Scared, little nigga?” Mike asked.
“Nah, all I gotta do is hide behind yo fatass ‘till I can dip,” Paul said and laughed. He danced out of the way of Mike’s big paws. Tyrone stood in the entryway and raised his eyes to the ceiling.
If he made it out of this bumfuck town, he was getting new friends. The library was decent and less cold than outside. There were tables spread out in front of the info desk, books scattered on them. There were shelves and rows of books stretching the length of the space and those little sorting carts he thought were only in movies.
There was the same sense of emptiness here that was just like outside. Perhaps the town was just that small that it didn’t have a presence or personality like in a bigger town or city. Whatever it was, it set Tyrone on edge as he looked around. He moved closer to the info desk, scanning it for anything he could use.
Maybe it was just that kind of town. Maybe all of the doors were left open. Car doors too. Because who the fuck would steal from this empty ass town?
Mike and Paul were still fussing at each other, slinging insults back and forth. Tyrone turned around, already annoyed and approaching irritated. “Can ya’ll shut the fuck up? And help?”
Mike and Paul gave each other one last shove. Tyrone scoffed and took a step forward.
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
Mike and Paul screamed. Tyrone flinched and turned to the source of the sound. To his right, a woman stood there dressed like someone’s fantasy of a librarian. She wore a button up white shirt, skin-tight black skirt, complete with a loose mini tie. The collar of the shirt was open, a few buttons loose down to show her generous cleavage.
And she was thick as hell, straining the material of her outfit to near sinful levels. If she breathed too hard, the rest of the buttons would go flying everywhere and reveal the rest of the bra that poked out beneath the shirt. Her button down was tucked into the skirt with a skinny belt and non-flashy buckle.
Her hair was tucked up into a high bun and she wore glasses loose on her nose. She was so fuckin’ cute and sexy at the same time. The stirrings of desire tightened Tyrone’s gut and his dick twitched. He flexed his fists at his side, trying to calm his racing heart.
“Damn lady! You fuckin’ scared us!” Paul yelled. He shoved Mike off of him, the two getting close after being so scared. Tyrone kept his eyes on the woman. She pursed her lips at the boys and shook her head.
“Have some manners when you come in here,” she snapped.
“Yes, ma’am,” Paul said instantly. Mike and Tyrone stared at him. Paul has never said anything like that in all his life. Whatever spell Tyrone had been under looking at the woman, it seemed to have caught Mike and Paul as well. No one could resist glancing away from her for long.
The woman took a deep breath and finally turned beautiful eyes towards him. “Can I help you?” She asked.
“We’re turned around. We were heading up to Vegas,” Tyrone explained. He moved closer, wanting to be in her orbit. Nervousness crept up his spine. He scowled. The fuck did he have to feel nervous for?
She looked at the girly watch on her wrist and then raised an eyebrow at him. “A little late isn’t it?” She asked.
“Better than stuck in traffic tryin’ to get there for the weekend,” he said.
She conceded the point with a twist of her juicy lips. Red lipstick drew his eyes to her mouth. There was a sudden vision in his head of kissing her and smearing it. He imagined red lip prints on his skin. He imagined licking it off of her.
The images were so vivid, he got hornier. Gettin’ bricked up by the minute. He cleared his throat and shook his head.
“Um, we just want to know where we are so we can get movin’,” Tyrone said.
“And get to food,” Mike said right next to Tyrone’s ear. He flinched and turned to see that Mike and Paul had moved without him noticing. They stood in a near perfect line, transfixed on the librarian.
That comment seemed to soften her. She shook her head at the boys. “Have a seat, I’ll see if I can find something. May as well rest up before heading back on the road,” she said. “Do you want to help me look?”
A secret smile played about her carmine lips. He took a step forward but her eyes weren’t on him, it was on Mike. Mike grinned from ear to ear and nodded his head. Swift disappointment hit Tyrone in the gut.
That was his boy, but what the fuck did she see in him and not Tyrone? He scowled as Mike disappeared down the stacks with the librarian, murmuring softly to each other. As soon as the woman was gone, Tyrone could think more clearly.
Paul shook his head and sucked his teeth. “The fuck she want with that greedy mu’fucka?” Paul flopped down into the nearest seat. Tyrone sighed and joined him, looking around at the space.
Tyrone and Paul shot the shit as they waited for Mike and the librarian to return. While he wasn’t starving, he could eat. His buzz was faint but still there and it made his head go pleasantly funny.
“I bet his ass eatin’ all the snacks and tryin’ to get her number,” Paul said.
Tyrone huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Dawg, I’m just ready to go,” he said. He ran a hand down his face. How long had he been there? Thirty minutes? Forty-five? How long did it take to round up some crackers?
“Nigga, shut up. You know fuck well you’d hit that given the chance,” Paul said. He fidgeted in his seat. He leaned forward, then back. Put his elbows behind him on the desk. Stretched out his legs.
“Stop movin’ damn,” Tyrone said. He sighed and shook his head. He was definitely getting new friends after this.
Shuffling near the back made Paul sit up straight, like a dog excited to see its owner. Tyrone gave him a weird look before catching the confused look on his face. Tyrone turned towards the sound. Mike had a dopey grin on his face, walking zombie-like towards them.
The librarian trailed behind him, looking more or less happier than when she found three strange men in the library late at night. “No snacks for us?” Paul asked. “Did yo fatass eat it all?”
Mike continued walking and sat down in the next available seat on their side of the table. Tyrone was the closest and shook Mike. He only kept the goofy smile on his face, hands placed flat on the table, and stared straight ahead.
“Aye, what you do to him?” Tyrone asked.
“Excuse me?” The Librarian asked.
“Why he look like that?” Tyrone asked. He shoved Mike once more, but there was no one home behind Mike’s eyes.
“Aye what the fuck, lady!” Paul yelled. He jumped up from the chair he sat in and rounded Tyrone to get to Mike. He shook Mike, pulling at his oversized T-shirt. Mike blinked a few times and looked down at his stretched shirt in Paul’s hands.
“What the fuck man!” Mike yelled and shoved Paul.
“We thought she did something to you!”
Mike adjusted his shirt with a scowl and shook his head. “What could she do? We had a muffin. Gonna make fun of me for that too, little nigga?”
Paul looked between Mike and Tyrone. Tyrone trained his eyes on the Librarian who watched the whole thing like something was funny. Her lips were turned up like she and Mike knew a dirty secret.
Tyrone stood up and approached her. His head grew fuzzier as he approached, but he pushed on. Pushed past that feeling. He got into her face and stared down at her. He wasn’t a tall man but she also wasn’t a tall woman. And her small heels didn’t give her an advantage.
“We not here for games. Where the hell are we?” He demanded.
The Librarian sighed and it was like he smelled the greatest scent in the world. It was something dark, alluring, like pomegranates. He leaned in, wanting to smell more of it.
“You’re not far from the 15, I promise. You probably didn’t catch the turn off driving in this type of darkness.”
“The hell you do to him?” Tyrone asked and cocked his head to the side.
“What are you talking about?”
“What took you so long to come back out? Don’t take that fuckin’ long for a muffin,” he said.
The Librarian rolled her eyes. “I’m going to assume it’s the weed that’s making you paranoid. I asked for Michael’s help with some boxes that needed lifting. Some men like to help,” she said and pointedly looked at Tyrone.
He caught the challenge, a burning in his chest to defend himself. “I ain’t know you needed help,” he said.
“There’s still a few things I need to move. Can you help me before you go on our way, screaming that I’m the devil?” She lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow and Tyrone looked at Mike.
Maybe she was right. But Tyrone didn’t trust it. He looked to Paul who shook his head. Mike just stared at him blankly. The smell of pomegranate hit him again and his mouth watered. He looked back at the Librarian.
“I help you, you help me, that sort of thing?” He asked.
The Librarian shrugged. “I’m a librarian. I’ll help you anyway,” she said. “Won’t take as long as I did with Michael. I promise,” she said.
The way she kept saying his name made Tyrone scowl. He wanted to hear his name on her lips. He wanted her to scream it while he was balls deep inside of her. He blinked and shook his head. Where did that come from?
He found himself nodding anyway, following behind the Librarian. He watched her ass in that skirt that looked painted on. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear she didn’t have any panties on. He didn’t see any panty lines as she walked.
She moved fast, disappearing down a few stacks. Towards the back, there was a door marked for employees only. She went inside and held the door open for him. It led to a dingy hallway with a few doors on either side. To their immediate left, there was a small kitchenette with a basket of muffins on the table.
The Librarian walked past, heading down the hallway. “I’m Tyrone, by the way,” he said.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said.
He huffed, thinking he was going to hear his name from her voice. He followed her to an office. It was cramped, one lonely and neat desk surrounded by stacks of books and notebooks, papers, and a sorting cart.
She pointed to a few boxes on top of a high bookshelf. “Can you please get these down for me? The last librarian was a giant and they’re too heavy for me,” she said.
He nodded and used a step ladder to climb up and get the boxes. She was right, they were heavy. Probably filled with books and shit. He got to work, climbing up and down the ladder and moving boxes. He worked up a nice sweat in the office. A single drip of sweat slid down his neck and down his chest.
They made small talk while he worked. He learned that she was new to town and he asked her what made her move to some place like this.
“It’s quiet and the people are nice. That’s what I was looking for,” she said.
“Bad ex?” He asked. He huffed as he strained under the heaviest box yet.
“No, just wanted a change. If that’s too heavy, don’t hurt yourself trying to move it. I can ask the shop owner to help. He’s a giant too,” she said.
Tyrone scoffed and worked even harder to scoot the box from the top of the shelf. Fuck that. If anyone was going to help her, it was going to be him. He made a sound as he got the box down and descended the ladder. Thank fuck it was the last box.
He set it down on top of the others with a smug smirk and looked at her. She returned his smirk and she leaned on one side, calling attention back to her figure.
Tyrone licked his lips and thought, fuck it. “If you need more help, we got time,” he said.
“Don’t think I’m the devil anymore?” She teased.
He stepped closer, closer than he ought to. That pomegranate smell hit him again and he leaned in. “Never thought you were the devil. Just sayin’. I can help with anything,” he said. He cast his eyes all over her body, his fingers tingling with the urge to touch her. To see if he could peel her skirt off and lick what’s left behind.
“Anything huh?” She asked. She laughed and trailed her long red nails across his chest. A shudder ran through him, desire spiking higher. His dick twitched, getting thicker. She moved from around him and fiddled with things on her desk.
Tyrone approached her, trying not to spook her. He pressed into her back, placing his hands on either side of her on top of her desk. He inhaled the heavenly scent of her, his nose pressed to the back of her neck. He didn’t know why he was being so bold. But he knew that if he didn’t at least try, if he didn’t shoot his shot, he’d forever regret it.
There was no way he was coming back to this town. But he couldn’t leave without a taste of her. Just one taste.
“Must get lonely in this town,” he whispered.
“What makes you say that?”
“‘Cause you in this library instead of at home, letting some idiot fuck you to sleep,” Tyrone said.
The Librarian chuckled. “You always talk so nasty to strangers?” She asked.
Tyrone placed a kiss against her neck since she wasn’t stopping him. “Mhm, no ma’am. Just hate the thought of you here all alone,” he said.
“Why, you want to fix it?” She asked. She turned around, turning mischievous eyes to him. She laughed and for a split second…nah, that can’t be right. Her eyes didn’t flash red. Impossible.
He licked his lips and nodded, drawn once more to her lips. “Do you really want to fix it?” Her voice turned sultry and she drew her pink tongue across her lips. He followed the movement, undone by it.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Sit down, Tyrone,” she commanded.
Tyrone’s legs bent without any thought to if there was a chair behind him or not. Luckily there was and he sank into the plush chair with a quiet sigh.
She sank down to her knees and he was mesmerized by the way her skirt moved with her. How it didn’t rip or tear on the way down. He widened his legs and she smirked at him, running her hands up and down his solid thighs.
His dick tented his sweats, obviously showing his desire for her. He was near mad with it. Lustful. He ached to bury his dick somewhere warm and wet. She had the same idea as she eyed it.
She moved her hands to the waistband of his sweats and started to shimmy them down far enough to free his dick. She palmed him, stroking him, and he bit his lip to keep from moaning. He was not going to bust off of a hand job. The fuck he looked like?
She wasted no time leaning onto her knees and taking him deep. “Oh fuck,” he said and his hips jerked off of the chair.
She took him to the base, suckling him and moaning around his dick. She played with the tip, swirling her tongue around the head and licking up any drop of pre-cum. She slurped as she released him and then ran her hand up and down his length.
“Wait, put yo mouth back on me,” he said.
“Did you like it?” She asked.
“Fuck yes,” he said.
She did not return her mouth to his dick. She stroked him, driving him insane with the right amount of pressure and speed. But it was nothing like her mouth. He reached up to pull her head back down. He didn’t know why women wanted to be cute when he just wanted to bust.
She moved her head out of the way. “Put your hands down or I stop,” she snapped.
Tyrone’s hands froze in mid air. His mind stuttered as her voice was equal parts erotic and scary. There it was again. That same flash of red in her eyes. She grinned but it was like a slash across her face. Still hot. Still a little scary.
He was no stranger to a girl taking control in the bedroom. He didn’t always like it, but he wasn’t always the cool and calm mu’fucka he projected around LA. He fumbled the first time he had sex. A few times after that as well.
He lowered his hands back to the arm rests and she ran her tongue across her teeth. “Good boy,” she said.
She stroked him and stared at him, waiting to see if he’d try something else. When she was satisfied, she dipped her head and really got to work. Her mouth sucked him down like she was trying to eat him alive. Burning pleasure seeped into him and he threw his head back against the back of the chair.
“Won’t you moan for me, Tyrone? I like to know I’m doing a good job too,” she said and then returned to sucking the soul out of him. That’s exactly what it felt like. Like she was drinking from the very essence of him.
“Goddamn,” he groaned, twisting his hips. Trying to push more of himself into her mouth. He licked his lips and made himself sit up. Made himself watch as his dick slipped in and out of her mouth. His hands gripped the rough fabric of the chair, dying to grab her. Hold her.
Saliva gathered on his dick. Her mouth was hot and perfect on his velvety dick. She added her hands, stroking as she slobbered. The room filled with wet suckling noises. Garbled saliva noises. She slurped him up and his climax hit the base of his spine. His balls grew heavier. The need to cum was overpowering but he did not want this to go too fast.
He wanted to stay in the moment. Stay with her mouth on him. Her hands on him. Her eyes fixed in absolute pleasure. He was used to women doing this shit as if it were a chore. As if it were something they thought he wanted in order to please them back. He wasn’t selfish. He didn’t want them to do anything they didn’t want to do.
But what a fuckin’ difference when he got with a real head hunter. He gave her all of his moans, all of his encouragement. Sweat poured down his temple. He watched and felt her work him, a near feeding frenzy.
He thought about baseball, the DMV, LA traffic, anything to keep this climax at bay. But then she sucked hard enough to sting and he threw his head back once more. “Shiiit,” he groaned.
His powerful climax hit the back of her throat. She hummed around it, swallowing every last drop. She continued to suck him, wringing it all. He fed her and wished he could cum again just to the sound of her humming around his dick.
He heaved as she released him, inch by slow inch, and finally let him go with a wet pop. Her eyes were closed as she licked her lips. The lipstick was a little smudged and he groaned. Fuck. He wanted to go again already. But he’d never quite had the soul sucked out of him like that. He needed a moment to calm down, to get his bearings.
“You beautiful boy,” she whispered, more to herself. He watched the emotions play out on her face as she wiped the corners of her mouth and sucked on her finger.
“You talk about me being nasty,” he said.
The librarians didn’t do it like this back in LA. Maybe he needed to frequent the bookstore more. Find the quiet girls. Those were some closet freaks. Shy as hell though. Still might be worth looking into.
The Librarian chuckled and got to her feet. She moved away but Tyrone grabbed her hand. “Wait, lemme return the favor,” he said.
“That’s okay, baby. I got what I wanted,” she said. Her eyes were too narrow for him to catch her meaning. She caressed his face, those long nails sending arrows of lust straight to his dick.
“Please,” he said and licked his lips. It wasn’t in him to leave a woman unsatisfied while he got off scott-free. He ain’t never begged for pussy. But dammit he wanted it. If her pussy was anything like her head game, he’d have to consider moving here. Maybe getting out of the game would be worth it.
“That’s okay, baby. Really,” she said. She moved her hand from his face and he grabbed her again. He kissed the back of it and then flipped it over to kiss her palm. He left wet kisses on her wrist and up her forearm.
“Let me taste you,” he said. “Please?”
She smirked at him. “What about your friends?”
“Fuck ‘em. They ain’t my kids,” Tyrone said.
She chuckled and raised her eyebrow at him. He shook with restraint. Anyone else and he’d bulldoze his way in. Talk all kinds of nasty shit in their ear to get them to spread their legs. But she was different. She drove him wild.
His skin was feverish. Desperate. He had to have her. There was no way he would leave without tasting her and seeing what made her squirm. What made her scream.
“Come on then,” she said. She said it like she didn’t believe him. That he couldn’t pleasure her. He wondered if some boonie fuck got to fuck her. If she was comparing them. He’d make sure she remembered him.
Tyrone stood up from the chair as she stood facing him, inching her skirt up her thighs and revealing that she, in fact, did not wear panties. He groaned as he watched her. She sat on the desk and spread her legs for him. For him.
He sauntered closer, running his fingers through her soaking folds. He dropped his head to his shoulder and groaned.
“You gon’ kill me,” he said.
She chuckled and ran her hands across his shoulders. She kissed his cheek. “Never,” she said.
He lifted his head high enough to kiss her. The smell and taste of her made him bolder. He slipped his fingers inside of her, pumping her, seeing how much of him she can take. He slipped in with ease and he felt her clench around his fingers.
Pride swept through him that she was so wet for him. He kneeled down, placing one of her legs over his shoulder. He kissed her pussy, inhaled the scent of her. He groaned in satisfaction and feasted on her.
He went in fast, flicking her clit. “Oh shit,” she said. Her hands gripped his shoulder. Her thighs squeezed his head and he went faster, flicking that little nub until it was nice and swollen.
“Right there, right there,” she panted. Her voice rose in octaves. He kept it up, giving her exactly what she needed. He used his thumbs to open her up wider. Her juices coated the entire lower half of his face.
He dug in, licking and flicking, sucking, and moaning. She tasted so damn good, so damn divine. “That’s right, eat it, baby,” she encouraged.
The praise hit him like a sack of bricks. It spurned him on, wanting to please her. He slipped his fingers back into her pussy, curling them and rubbing her spongy wet walls until she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but murmur and coo and grip his cornrows roughly.
She tensed before orgasming, twitching and jerking beneath him. He licked up what she gushed out, not ready to give up the ghost. All of her sounds were in the back of her throat. Animalistic, guttural.
He stood up, wiped his mouth, and then entered her before she could draw breath. Her eyes flashed red once more but it was just a trick of the light. He pounded into her ruthlessly.
He moaned and kept going. She was a welcome sheath for his straining dick. Her heated core felt so good, so right, that he became more animalistic himself. He pulled her by the legs to the edge of the desk, supporting her weight, and spearing her.
He wanted to split her in half. He fucked her and her pussy gripped his dick like it had a mind of its own. He’d never met a woman like her. Will never meet another.
She only grew wetter and he slipped and sputtered as he pounded. He kept going, searching and reaching for the deepest part of her.
“Goddamn, you feel so good. So - uh- good,” he said.
She cried every time he went in, her face twisted in that perfect mix of ecstasy and pain. “Oh fuck, oh fuck. Deep-mm-deeper,” she moaned.
He angled his hips and pulled her closer, giving all of himself to her. Her hand was on his chest as if to push him away. But she grabbed his shirt and pulled him close, kissing him. She licked his lips and he lost his rhythm. If she kept shit like that up, he wasn’t going to last.
“Let me cum in this pussy,” he begged. “Let me cum in it.” It was a desperate need. That same primal need to mark her or claim her. To fill her up. Humans lost their super sense of smell many evolutions ago. But he wished that anyone who came across her in the future would be able to smell him on her, in her.
She wheezed as he finally hit a spot deep enough for her. She rocked on his dick as she moaned. Her teeth grew a bit sharper, her nails a little longer, and her eyes a wicked deep shade of red.
Her head was thrown back as he watched the transformation, watched as she seemed to swell with energy. “Fuck me, Tyrone. Fuck me,” she said. Her desk made scraping noises as he pounded into her.
His heartbeat was in tune with his strokes. He wanted to stop, needed to stop, but she felt so good bouncing on his dick. She trained those red eyes on him and smirked.
“Cum in this pussy,” she commanded.
He let go, his climax making his eyes cross. He shouted his release into her, pumping her full of his biggest load yet. He stuffed her full and it triggered her own orgasm. She squeezed his dick and he cried out, hoarse, losing his voice to her. Losing his mind to her.
He slipped out while she laughed and settled onto the desk. “Oh, I could gorge myself on you for years,” she said and cackled, throwing her hands across her chest and hugging herself.
He wasn’t tripping. Her eyes really were fucking red. He pulled his pants back up and backed out of the room. Her cackles followed him.
“Come back any time and see me, Tyrone!”
Tyrone ran down the hallway, her cackling laughter seeming to follow him. He didn’t dare risk a look back. He flew past the door, past Mike and Paul.
“What the fuck!” Paul yelled. No need to be told a thing, Mike and Paul raced after Tyrone. He didn’t stop running. Her laughter was in his head. In his skin.
He ran to the car and hopped in the driver’s side. He yelled for the keys. Paul threw it to him and slipped into the passenger side while Mike just made it into the back.
It was pitch black, not even the street lamps enough to pierce the darkness.
“Anytime.” Tyrone heard in his head. The tires squealed against the pavement as he threw the car in reverse.
Fuck Vegas! If there was one thing he knew, it was how to get the fuck home. He put his foot to the floor of the car and peeled off down the road. He was confused, still a little horny, but all around freaked out.
He swerved onto the freeway and put the night and that crazy bitch out of his mind. But the laughter still followed him all the way home.
&&&
You need some more in your life? There's more! The Secret Tyrone Files
#megaminds secret files#The Secret Tyrone Files#They Cloned Tyrone smut#Tyrone smut#Tyrone x Black!OC#Tyrone POV#Tyrone x Fem!OC#x Black OC#Halloweek#Happy Halloweek#Spooky smut#Black writers#Black writers of Tumblr
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Still Mine.
Tyrone x BLACK!FEM!Reader
WARNINGS: Tyrone being a slut, baby daddy drama, smutty flashback, slight daddy kink, unprotected sex(wrap it before you smack it!), abortion mentioned, pill mentioned, baby trapping, short, tad bit unedited.
SUMMARY: During Tyrone’s weekly pickup of his daughter, he tries to make his baby mama fold.
Ps. This was originally SO much longer but I didn’t like the way some parts were written so I cut it in half lolzzz
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“You know if I licked it, it’s mine, right?”
Your face twisted into a mug at Tyrone’s words while packing a diaper bag with all the necessary things your daughter needed for the weekend with him.
“Tyrone, please don’t start with that tonight” You couldn’t believe the extents he’d go just because you were seeing other people, it was crazy! Tyrone didn’t see it that way though.
The man was a tyrant. A danger to society and other men when he suspects you fucking with somebody who wasn’t him. Every single time he found out, he would let you know that you had limited days with that nigga, which he was always right about.
They’d either disappear completely or simply just stop responding to your texts.
One time you saw one of them at the grocery store and tried to say hi but he ran the other way, even left his cart stacked with groceries. You wondered what the hell was going on, and why they were so scared, but you knew there was only one person that could have them running for the hills like that, and it wasn’t you.
“I’m not startin’ shit, I’m speakin’ facts. You playin’, knowing them niggas ain’t shit compared to me”
Though the statement was true, it was bold of him to assume you wasn’t getting any good play. It was rare you did, but still! It’s the audacity.
You look at Tyrone up and down before bursting into laughter, making the infant besides you both slightly jump in her pack and play, looking around in confusion before flipping over on her stomach, a skill she just learned.
“Oop- I’m sorry, mama” You apologize to her, the baby just rolling back over and blinking up at you with a tether in her mouth. “Now, back to yo’ delusional ass!”
You thanked god the small child wasn’t old enough to understand words because she would have been cursing like a sailor by now. Pointing at Tyrone with the acrylic nails he paid for, that same signature mean look on his face that he always wore when somebody had him fucked up, you squint.
“Ain’t shit yours, and it hasn’t been yours since about a year now”
Tyrone sucks his teeth, still not believing anything you were saying to him.
“You shittin’ me, it’s always gon be mine!”
“Says who?! You crazy” You blow him off with the wave of your hand, zipping the diaper bag up and handing it to him.
He grabs it, then drops it to his feet without a care, crossing his arms. You look at him with a confused expression, your eyebrow cocked upwards.
“Why you like playin’ wit’ me?” He questioned while straight faced, but you stood your ground, unlike when you use to submit under him and his tone when you two were together. Truthfully, you use to be a bit scared of the nigga. He never gave you a reason to be personally, but he was a hard shell to crack, you rarely knew if he was happy or sad until he said something to steer you in a certain direction.
“Tyrone, quit playing and find you something safe to do, aight?” You fired back, challenging him. He moved not one inch. You knew he wasn’t scared of you at all, so this was no surprise, but you wasn’t gonna take him treating you like this in your own damn house.
“How many niggas you fucked since we broke up, Y/N?”
You shrug. “However many I wanted. I dunno, I wasn’t counting”
“Okay” He nods slowly, putting you on edge just a tad bit. You hum and study his reaction. He only did that when he had some shit up his sleeve. A simple answer, then a nod before he did or said some fuck shit. “And if I find them niggas and suddenly they stop callin’, then what?” Nothing he hasn’t done before.
“One less problem for me. You already pack up enough niggas in the glen anyway. Can’t kill ‘em all!” You giggle childishly after gaining your composure again, but as you found humor, the man stayed oh so serious.
“Oh, you’d be surprised at what a nigga can do now”
“Lemme guess, you learned to read a no loitering sign? Or maybe a no trespassing one?” You continued to joke, him finding nothing funny, as usual.
“You think you so funny” He warns, but you brush him off again, picking the diaper bag up and handing it to him again, this time forcing it in his hands to keep it there.
“I’m fuckin’ hilarious, nigga. better ask bout me”
Tyrone rolls his eyes.
“…so you really tellin’ me youn miss me?”
You turn and walk away to ignore the man further, side eyeing him as he followed. “Get out my face, Ty”
“Stop playin…so youn miss how I use to beat that pussy till you cry?” He spoke, getting closer to your ear so you could hear every syllable there. See, if this was a year and some change ago, you would have folded yourself in on a couch and put your legs to the sky faster than a pin could drop, but you had a point to prove.
You inched away from him to your kitchen, but he followed behind like a hungry shark that smelled blood.
“Let daddy dig that pussy out again, baby. You know I do it better than any other nigga”
Just with those few words, it had you thinking of flashbacks, your eyes fighting off a roll inwards. You knew the power he held in those boxers, you knew all too well what he was capable of. When Tyrone got to the pussy, he made sure he wasn’t playing no games. The man would even pull your bed from the wall everytime he came over so nobody in your moms house could hear how hard he was beating it up, talking dirty to you like you was a random bitch from the club, and that was your favorite part. That’s how you got into this mess anyway. Stuck with him and a tiny human who stole your face.
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Tyrone was definitely a man of threats, but he had never fallen through with any of the non-violent ones till this.
As Tyrone bucked his hips wildly into you, your leg began to quiver in his hold. You had thanked the gods that he had opted to lay you down on your side instead of fucking you standing up like he loved to do. You were sure your legs would have gave out by now if you were upright.
“Imma nut in this pussy, baby. Can daddy nut in this pussy? You want daddy to get you pregnant?”
He asks, and you nodded gladly like a dummy. Whatever the female version of pussy whipped was, you were definitely long past it. Even in that moment, you thought he wasn’t serious about the whole baby thing. He had never talked about one outside of sex, and you honestly thought he was against the entire idea of kids with the way he’d run junebug out of his presence when he’d do normal kid shit. He just didn’t seem serious.
Hell, you knew you weren’t serious about it. What would you do with a baby in this economy? Most importantly, how the fuck were you gonna care for it? You were only 21 and he was 24, had no business being together, but obviously he wasn’t the type to follow rules of any kind, or let you go.
The more he promised to get you pregnant, the harder y’all fucked until you were on top, riding him like there was a prize at the finish line you called an orgasm. Your hands were placed on his thighs behind you and your back was arched in as you spread your legs wide and bounced that ass on him, giving him the perfect opportunity to see himself slip in and out of you.
“Shit…shit! I’m bout to cum!” He shouts while panting, a few groans exiting his mouth.
“Fuuuck! I’m bout to nut, bae!” You heard him announce once again, but that wasn’t what set off alarms in your head, it was when he held you down and continued thrusting upwards into your wetness, making you leak. You whimper and shout, toes curling into the mattress.
“Shit! Lemme get up, Ty!” You tap his hands, trying to get them off of your hips so you could move, but he continues to bounce you with his fingers gripping you tightly, bound to leave a mark. “Tyrone! lemme get up, please!” You shout with urgency, but it had already been too late. By the time you rose up off of his dick, he had been pumping out the last bit of his seed, the small amount just sliding down the shaft of his dick. That’s when you knew you fucked up. Tyrone was a shooter in more ways than one, but when it came to cumming, he was damn near like a loaded gun. You’d have to squeeze your eyes shut when giving him head because he liked to cum on your face, and the first time he did, he almost blinded you with how far he came, literally.
“My god…” You breathed harshly, looking down at his dick begin to soften.
When it was all said and done, you asked him for money for a plan B, but lo and behold, he already had a pill prepared. Right in the glove compartment of his car is where he kept it and gave it to you when he came to see you the next day. But, as the weeks went by, you started to feel like that pill wasn’t much of a plan B, or at least not your “plan B”. It was definitely Tyrone’s though.
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and nine of those later, you were popping out a little girl with a full head of hair and features just like yours. If you told somebody you made the baby alone, they’d probably believe you with how much you two looked alike. You were pissed off your entire pregnancy at Tyrone, but that didn’t stop you from loving your baby, you just couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of her either, though the process wasn’t foreign to you. If the “plan B” didn’t take her out, then who says she wasn’t meant to be here? But, with that being said, as you came closer to your due date, you grew farther from Tyrone while he was trying to keep you close, you even moved out of the glen and into a whole ‘nother town over.
He was there through your entire pregnancy, or at least tried when you weren’t trying to kill him for getting into stupid shit and almost dying, but because he was still so supportive and caring for you, checking up on how both you and the baby were doing, you cut him some slack, letting him name the bouncing baby girl. He went with the name ‘Autum’ because you two met in autumn, to your surprise he even remembered that since it had been so long ago.
Fast forward five months later, y’all were still beefing on and off over stupid shit. You would curse him out over scaring away new friends and or lovers, he’d ignore it and continue, working extra hard to make sure all them niggas knew who he was. Oh, Tyrone was on a mission, and he would not be ignored by some lame nigga you wanted to fuck, or ignored by you.
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#fontaine x black reader#john boyega smut#x black oc#black oc#smut masterlist#masterlist#black!fem! reader#black!reader#black reader#black writer#black fanfiction#john boyega#they cloned tyrone fanfic#they cloned tyrone smut#tyrone x reader#smutty#henneseyhoe
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Synergy (1/12)
SYNOPSIS: Tatianna "Tati" Mason, an avid John Boyega fan, is caught in a thunderstorm one night. A lightning strike transports her to an alternate universe and to her astonishment, she soon discovers that she is dating John Boyega himself. In this magical realm, she experiences firsthand the love and affection he exudes on-screen, but now it's directed at her. As she experiences the enchanting world of her dreams, she navigates the intricacies of being in a relationship with a celebrity she idolizes. She learns the realities of John's life beyond the public eye, the pressures he faces, and the genuine person he is beneath the fame. Eventually, Tati must grapple with the inevitable: staying in this alternate reality or returning to her own world.
PAIRING: John Boyega x Tatianna "Tati" Mason
WARNINGS: drama, angst, cursing, explicit sexual content, not-so-glamorous life in the entertainment world. RATED M (18+)
TAGLIST: Please let me know if you would like to be added to this short series.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This series is set from late 2022 (September) to the present.
Chapter I: The Storm's Embrace
Tati stepped through the opened subway doors in the heart of New York City, her eyes scanning the crowded train for an available seat. Spotting an empty corner, she hurriedly made her way there, grateful for a moment of respite after a long day at work as a fashion advisor at Chanel. With her stylish, pre-loved designer work tote draped over her arm, she let out a content sigh as the subway train accelerated beneath the bustling streets of Manhattan, carrying her toward her cozy studio in Brooklyn. The rhythmic clatter of the tracks and the chatter of fellow commuters created a symphony of urban life that enveloped her senses.
Leaning her head against her hand, Tati's mind buzzed with thoughts of what awaited her at home. Overdue chores and half-completed applications to prestigious fashion schools around the world beckoned for her attention. The weight of responsibility tugged at her thoughts, but for now, she allowed herself to be carried away by the fleeting moments of the subway journey.
Amidst the urban symphony, Tati's mind wandered to her dreams and aspirations, fueled by her relentless determination to make her mark. Having earned a degree in Comparative Literature from Columbia University, she soon found herself standing at a crossroads, faced with the decision of whether to embrace her true passion for fashion or heed her parents' protests and follow a different path. Fashion had always been Tati's hidden flame, an alluring world that beckoned her like a siren's call. From her earliest memories, she had found joy in exploring fashion museums, losing herself in the vibrant stories told through clothing and style. She would spend hours perusing glossy fashion magazines, absorbing the artistry and creativity that graced their pages.
Yet, the expectations of her family loomed large, urging her towards a more conventional career. But it was that one pivotal moment almost two years ago that changed everything. When the opportunity to attend New York Fashion Week presented itself, Tati's heart leaped with excitement, and the path ahead became clear.
In the heart of the bustling fashion capital, she witnessed the magic of designers unveiling their collections, models strutting down runways with effortless grace, and the passionate crowd celebrating the art of fashion. It was in those exhilarating moments that Tati knew in her soul that this was the life she wanted – to be part of the world that stirred her heart. With newfound clarity, she made a brave decision, pushing her anxiety aside and embracing her true calling. The journey ahead was far from easy, and the weight of her parents' expectations tugged at her resolve. But Tati knew that she could no longer deny the fire that burned within her.
As the subway train reached her destination, Tati stood up, ready to embrace the reality that awaited her beyond the subway's embrace. The doors slid open, and she stepped out, carrying with her the dreams and aspirations that fueled her passion for fashion and life in the city that never slept. As she walked through the vibrant streets near her studio apartment, the city lights danced around her, painting a picture of a life in constant motion.
Finally, Tati arrived at her cozy studio apartment, a sanctuary she had carefully crafted to reflect her artistic spirit. The evening light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the space. After a long day, she craved some quiet time to unwind and center herself.
Tati shed her work attire, leaving a trail of discarded clothes as she made her way to the bathroom. The soothing sound of water filled the room as she indulged in a long, rejuvenating shower. Each droplet felt like a gentle caress, washing away the stress of the day and leaving her feeling refreshed.
With a soft towel wrapped around her, Tati ventured into the kitchen to find sustenance. Leftover chicken alfredo called out to her from the fridge, and she heated up the savory meal, savoring each bite as she sat at her dining table. As she dined alone, the sky outside began to darken, even though it was only early evening.
The soft pitter-patter of raindrops on the window gradually grew into a symphony, and a sudden gust of wind blew through the open window, carrying the earthy scent of rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the city lights flickered, creating a cozy ambiance that enveloped Tati's studio.
She poured herself a glass of red wine, its deep crimson hue mirroring the stormy sky outside. As she sipped the velvety liquid, a sense of comfort settled over her, a feeling of being embraced by the elements. The rain outside intensified, casting mesmerizing patterns on her window as she observed the city being washed anew.
Cozying up on her couch, laptop and glass of wine in hand, Tati was ready to immerse herself in the latest John Boyega interview. The British actor had always been one of her many celebrity crushes, and his performances provided solace during the most challenging moments of her life. Tonight, she sought that familiar comfort once more. As the interview began, John's charisma filled the screen, and Tati couldn't help but smile.
His laughter was infectious and his attractiveness always made her swoon. His deep, blemish-free brown skin seemed to glow, his muscles toned and defined and complemented by the inking of his tattoos, hinted at the strength and resilience within. His eyes, like pools of warmth, held a captivating spark that could light up even the darkest corners of her world.
Tati found herself drawn to John Boyega in ways she couldn't fully comprehend. It was more than just his fame or talent; it was his genuine spirit that resonated with her soul. He had an uncanny ability to inspire and uplift, both on and off-screen, making her feel like anything was possible.
Lost in the captivating conversation on her laptop screen and her own reverie, she barely noticed the storm that continued to brew outside, with dark clouds gathering ominously. Suddenly, a brilliant flash of light burst through the room, followed by a deafening clap of thunder that rattled the walls. The ferocity of the storm intensified, and before Tati could react, she felt an intense surge of electricity rush through her body. With a gasp, she fell to the floor, her vision blurring as the world around her dissolved into darkness.
When she opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was the scent of fresh rain and the sound of gentle pattering against the windows. Confused, she slowly sat up from the couch, rubbing her head where she had been struck.
"What the fuck just happened?" Tati murmured to herself, her heart still racing as she swung her legs onto the floor. Her bare feet touched a soft surface, and she soon discovered it was a cozy shag rug beneath her toes. Looking down, she couldn't help but notice that she was now dressed in a luxurious silk camisole with matching shorts. The sudden change in attire added to the surreal nature of the situation she found herself in.
A soothing accented voice called from across the room. "Tati? Are you all right?"
Turning towards the source, Tati's breath caught in her throat. There he stood on the stairs, the man she had admired, her celebrity crush who was now right before her eyes. It was John Boyega, looking as sexy and charming as ever, completely shirtless and wearing pajama pants and a warm smile.
"John?" she stammered, unable to believe what was unfolding.
He chuckled as he walked closer to her. "Yes, it's me, babes. Are you okay? That lightning was something else."
"I... I don't understand. How is this possible?" Tati glanced around, taking in the beauty of the unfamiliar surroundings. The living room was no longer her own; she found herself in an unfamiliar space, surrounded by vibrant colors and Afrocentric decor that radiated warmth and culture. "Is this... your home?" Tati asked, still trying to process what was happening.
John nodded slowly. "Well, and yours sometimes. You stay here from time to time when you visit London," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Are you sure you didn't bump your head or something? That thunderstorm shook the house like crazy, not to mention the wind...should I get you to a hospital? Maybe you have a concussion."
Her heart fluttered as she realized the implications of his words.
I stay here from time to time? Is this the Twilight Zone?
Although she chuckled to herself, deep down, Tati knew that this had to be nothing more than a figment of her imagination. She couldn't fathom how a thunderstorm and a glass of wine could lead to such a surreal experience. Perhaps she had indulged in one too many glasses, or maybe exhaustion had finally caught up with her, playing tricks on her mind. The idea of being transported into a parallel reality where she was dating her idol seemed too fantastical to be true, but she couldn't shake the strange sense of connection she felt.
Nah, it had to be the Malbec. I cannot be dating John 'fine-ass Daddy' Boyega.
"Babes? Tati? Yeah, hell no, I'm calling an ambulance." John pulled his iPhone from his pajama pants pocket and begin to dial 999.
His words snapped her out of her thoughts. "No, no, I'm fine, really. I'm just a bit lost," she admitted, causing John to pause his movements.
John continued to look at her strangely, his head tilting to the side adorably. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," she tells him, smiling softly. "I mean, the lightning was intense, but I should be okay. I'm just... I'm just not sure how I ended up here."
John knelt down beside her, his concern evident in his eyes. "Well, you're safe now, love," he said gently, using the term of endearment that was so familiar to him but confusingly new to Tati. "We'll figure this out together, alright?"
Tati swooned at the endearing nickname. "Okay," she replied softly, still unsure of what to make of the situation. "But, why are you calling me that? Love and babes? I mean, I've watched your interviews and seen your interactions with fans, but this feels... different."
John smiled warmly, his gaze unwavering. "Because you are my love. My babe. My girlfriend. Tati, you're scaring me. One minute I'm literally throwing your back out and the next you're talkin' 'bout being lost and not knowing what's going on."
Throwing my back out? What kind of dream am I dreamin' right now?
"Sorry, can we rewind here? Just for curiosity, what happened before the thunderstorm?"
The corners of John's mouth quirked into a wide grin. "You surprised me when I came home today from TIFF. I thought that you had to finish up some work for school, but you caught a train from Paris and dropped by. It was a welcomed surprise obviously, not to mention the things you did with your tongue. I mean, Jesus Christ, woman, you're truly blessed....but yeah....we had sex then you went downstairs for some water and now we're here."
Interesting. "So I live in Paris?"
"Yeah, for school. IFM Paris. You're getting your master's in international fashion and luxury management."
No fuckin' way! That's it, I'm staying in this dream.
Not only was she dating her celebrity crush, but she also got into one of her dream schools.
"Okay, wow, that's....this is....holy shit."
"Are you sure about not having a concussion or going to the hospital? You're truly scaring me, babes," John expressed genuine concern, his caring nature evident in his voice and expression.
"I-I'm f-fine....." Tati's voice trailed off for several beats as she tried to process everything that had just happened. Her mind was still racing, trying to make sense of the extraordinary twist of fate that had brought her here. "Can we go back to bed?"
"Of course," John replied, his hand gently guiding her as he helped her to her feet. "Rest would definitely help. Let's take it easy for now."
Tati appreciated his attentiveness, feeling a mix of comfort and intrigue as she noticed his eyes raking over her body. It was a subtle moment, but she couldn't help but feel her cheeks flush, wondering if this was indeed a dream or if it was real and he truly felt something for her.
He led her upstairs to the main bedroom, and as they entered, Tati couldn't help but marvel at the grandeur of the space. Floor-to-ceiling windows adorned one side of the room, allowing moonlight to filter in, casting a soft glow over everything. The bed was large and inviting, a haven of comfort and serenity.
Tati carefully settled onto the bed, keeping some distance from John as she was still trying to grapple with the surreal reality of the situation. Her heart was torn between excitement and uncertainty, unsure of how to interpret this magical experience.
As she gazed around the room, every detail seemed to confirm that she was indeed in London or, at the very least, experiencing an incredibly vivid dream. The blend of curiosity and bewilderment within her only heightened, making her wonder if she would wake up any moment and find herself back in her own world.
John pulled the covers gently over her, tucking her in with care. "Get some rest, Tati. We'll figure things out in the morning," he assured her, his voice soothing.
"Thank you," she said softly, feeling the warmth of gratitude enveloping her. The comfort of the bed and the presence of the man she admired so much began to lull her to sleep.
As she closed her eyes, her thoughts swirled with the enchantment of the night. Was this a dream? Or had some extraordinary force brought her here for a reason? Whatever it was, Tati knew that she had the chance to live out a fantasy, if only for a little while.
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To her surprise, and delight, she woke up in London rather than in her small studio in Brooklyn. To her displeasure, however, John's fine ass was gone, and his side of the bed was left empty. Now fully awake, Tati took time to explore her surroundings, her bare feet padding around John's home. She entered the adjacent en suite, which included marble tiled floors, shiny gold fixtures, and a huge walk-in shower with steam jets and a rainfall showerhead. The bathroom reminded her of those coveted baths in Architectural Digest: clean and dreamy and smelling like a Roja Parfums candle.
She ventured into the closet next, her fingers trailing lightly over John's side. The closet was a treasure trove of streetwear, and it boasted an entire wall dedicated to an impressive collection of shoes, a paradise for any sneakerhead.
The opposite side held an array of women's clothing, spanning from trendy streetwear to elegant formal wear. A dedicated rack showcased a stunning assortment of designer shoes and purses. Tati's curiosity led her to make a beeline to the purses, her fingers exploring their contents in hopes of finding any clues about the alternate version of herself that inhabited this reality.
With a sense of anticipation, she carefully sifted through the contents of the Chanel purse. Her heart raced as her fingertips brushed against something unexpected – a Polaroid picture tucked away inside. Gently retrieving it, Tati's eyes widened in astonishment as she beheld an image that sent shockwaves through her.
The photograph captured a moment frozen in time, a memory of her and John standing before the iconic Eiffel Tower. Tati's gaze fixated on the scene, her heart skipping a beat as she observed the way the woman in the photo – herself – radiated a profound sense of happiness and love. John's strong arms encircled her in a tender embrace from behind, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. Tati's smile was a testament to pure joy, her dimples on full display.
It was a snapshot of a reality she had only dared to dream of – a reality where she wasn't just a fan of John's, but a partner, sharing a moment of intimacy and connection in the shadow of the illuminating Eiffel Tower. As her eyes lingered on the photograph, a rush of emotions flooded over her, mingling wonder and disbelief with an inexplicable feeling of longing.
Tati's mind raced, questions and possibilities intertwining as she contemplated the implications of this discovery. Was this an actual memory, a glimpse into the life she now found herself in? Or was it a creation of this alternate reality, a manifestation of her deepest desires?
She carefully placed the Polaroid back in the purse, her thoughts spinning with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. The image remained imprinted in her mind, a testament to the inexplicable connection she shared with John in this parallel universe. As she closed the purse and stepped back from the closet, Tati found herself grappling with the baffling question of how she had ended up in this surreal situation in the first place. It was as if she had stumbled into a storyline that blended elements of What If... with the uncanny unpredictability of The Twilight Zone.
Until she discovered how the Hell she'd gotten to this Earth 2.0 reality, she noted that appearing utterly shaken by every single thing wouldn't do her any good. Shit, based on that look from John last night, ol' boy was ten milliseconds away from hauling her ass to an insane asylum. So, she did what any other woman would do, and got ready for the day. Tati reentered the bathroom to do her normal morning routine, which consisted of brushing her teeth and washing her face. Luckily for her, her hair was still well-kept in bohemian braids and she took her time fixing her baby hairs and smoothing the curly strands with mousse.
"Babes?" John's voice echoed through the hallway, his footsteps resonating on the polished hardwood floors. Tati heard his approach and turned to see him appear at the bathroom entrance, and he let out a sigh of relief. "I see you're back to your usual self? Damn girl, you almost gave me a fright. Thought I had to call a shrink or somethin'."
See? This is why you got to remain observant and keep shit to yourself.
Her intrusive thoughts made her roll her eyes. Playing it cool was the only, not to mention the best, option at this point. Tati counted herself fortunate that she hadn't landed in the 19th century, reminiscent of the crazy-ass time-travel scenarios depicted in Octavia Butler's Kindred. If anything, this was a fan's wet dream.
"Yeah," she says to him as she wrapped a satin scarf around her head. "I don't know what came over me, honey. It's been a long ass week."
And it has been a long ass week in her other life. She had to cover someone else's shift twice and it drained her, but at least the money would be worthwhile in the next paycheck. Speaking of money, she should check her account; see if that changed too because last time she checked, she was damn-near broke after paying for her rent. Tati made a mental note to do just that later in the day.
John let out a soft chuckle as he loomed closer to her and place a kiss on her cheek. "Aw, baby, I told you that you should've come with me to Toronto. Would've been a nice lil' getaway. I had a balcony and everything. Could've bent you over....anyways, I'm glad you're good. Are you hungry?"
Just then, a low rumble echoed from her stomach, causing Tati to cringe in embarrassment. John's response was a wide, infectious grin, his bottom row of teeth adorned with a stylish grill. His lopsided, sexy smile left Tati feeling a bit off-kilter, her thoughts momentarily swept away as she followed him downstairs to the kitchen in a daze.
"You've been pouring your heart into school, working on project after project. But don't forget, babes, you've got to take care of yourself," John's words carried a blend of wisdom and genuine concern. His tone wasn't reproachful; it held a sincerity that made her feel seen and cared for, almost as if he were her boyfriend.
A thought struck her – well, wasn't he?
Caught in the moment, Tati gazed up at him with a smile, savoring the warmth of his words. "I promise to look after myself," she replied, her commitment genuine. She truly recognized the need to prioritize her well-being amidst her busy life.
"You betta," John agreed with a low growl, "or else I'mma have to sort it out."
An unexpected slap to her ass made her yelp and she stared at John with a wide-eyed expression.
"John? What the fuck..."
"You like that shit anyways," he interrupted with a wink, guiding her further down the hallway to the kitchen. "C'mon, c'mon...look at this spread. Ola came thorough, huh?" John gestured with theatrical flair, as though he were a charismatic game-show host showcasing a grand prize. "I specifically told him to prepare all your favorites."
The kitchen island was a picturesque tableau, adorned with an enticing array of breakfast delights that formed a colorful mosaic of flavors. Plates of fluffy pancakes, each one a golden masterpiece, were stacked in a tower of indulgence. Platters of crisp bacon and sausage offered a savory aroma that danced in the air, while bowls of freshly cut fruits provided a refreshing burst of color and vitality. Fluffy scrambled eggs and buttered toast completed the spread.
As Tati and John approached the island, they were greeted by Ola, which Tati already knew to be John's personal chef from an interview, and he was adding a final flourish to a plate with meticulous attention. Ola, of average height, exuded an air of culinary confidence. His neat fade haircut and a meticulously groomed tapered beard framed his face, emphasizing his strong and composed presence. The genuine warmth of his smile and the sparkle in his eyes reflected his deep passion for his craft.
Dressed impeccably in a classic chef's coat, Ola moved gracefully and purposefully, an embodiment of culinary finesse. His movements were orchestrated with a practiced elegance, a symphony of kitchen sounds harmonizing under his skillful direction.
With a final touch, Ola placed the completed plate on the island, his smile growing even broader as he turned his gaze toward John and Tati.
"Ah, here you are," he greeted them warmly, his thick Nigerian accent infusing his words with a melodic charm. "A breakfast fit for royalty, just as you requested, Mr. Boyega."
She exchanged a grateful look with John. "Thank you so much, honey."
"You're welcome, babes," John smiled, his gaze softening as he leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a gentle, lingering kiss. The moment was tender and filled with a sense of familiarity that belied the fantastical circumstances surrounding them. As they pulled away, his hand brushed against her cheek, his touch sending a shiver of warmth through her.
She was shell-shocked by the intimacy of the gesture, yet there was a sense of rightness to it as if fate itself had conspired to bring them together in this extraordinary moment. Gathering her wits, Tati managed a shy smile, her eyes locked with his for a beat longer before she gently stepped back. She moved to the nearby breakfast nook, a dazed but delighted expression on her face. She watched as John deftly arranged a plate for her, his movements infused with a quiet grace that spoke of familiarity with this routine. She couldn't help but marvel at the surreal yet wonderful turn her life had taken.
Seated together, John and Tati shared a tranquil breakfast, their laughter and conversation flowing effortlessly as if they had known each other for a lifetime. Amid the clinking of utensils and the warm aroma of food, John's voice held a note of excitement as he reminded her of their plans for later in the day.
"Don't forget, we've got that appointment at Boodles, babes," John said, his eyes dancing with a mischievous glint.
Tati's brows knitted in curiosity. "Boodles? Why are we going there again?" she asked, her tone laced with a mixture of puzzlement and intrigue.
A grin tugged at the corners of John's lips. "To look at rings," he replied, his gaze meeting hers with sincerity and anticipation.
Tati's eyes widened in surprise, a moment of realization dawning upon her. She met John's gaze, her heart skipping a beat as the implications of his words settled in. The ordinary breakfast nook suddenly felt charged with new energy.
Holy-fuckin'-shit.
TO BE CONTINUED...
#john boyega#synergy#john boyega x black oc!#john boyega x black female reader#they cloned tyrone#john baeyega#emjayewrites
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YOUNG JUSTICE/DC OC: MUNCH “YELLOW JACKET” MARTINEZ
bio under the cut!
BASICS
Name: Taylor Martinez
A.K.A: Yellow Jacket; Munch, Munchie, Jacket, YJ
Age: 16 [S2], 18 [S3]
Gender: Transgender Male
Orientation: Homoromantic Homosexual
Race: Metahuman
Ethnicity: Afro-Latinx, Black-Colombian
Location: Dakota City, Michigan
Hometown: Dakota City, Michigan
Skin: Dark Tan, warm undertones
Hair: Black
Eyes: Dark brown; glow fully yellow while actively using metagene
Height: 5’10
Build: Lean with sinewy muscles
Distinctions: Has a large collection of hoodies and jackets, specifically of shonen anime merch.
RELATIONS
Parents: Gloria Martinez and Jamal Winston, Danielle Seymore [step-mother]
Siblings: Tori Winston [younger half-sister]
Friends: Virgil “Static” Hawkins, Jacklyn “Ferro” Ericson @generalfandomsofthefreak, Raquel “Rocket” Irving, Eduardo “El Dorado” Dorado Jr., Jaime “Blue Beetle III” Reyes, Karen “Bumblebee” Beecher, Malcolm “Guardian III” Duncan, Asami “Sam” Koizumi, Tye Longshadow, Roy “Arsenal” Harper, Tatsuo “Irezumi” Sumioka [@Triskata], Bart “Kid Flash II” Allen, Gi “Riot/Geode” Flores [OC], Shizuka “Oni” Amachi [OC], Tim “Robin III” Drake, Forager “Fred Bugg”, Violet “Halo” Harper, Brion “Geoforce” Markov
Partner/s: Richie “Gear” Foley [ev.]
Misc.: Augustus “Icon” Freeman, Jefferson “Black Lightning” Pierce, Ivan “Ebon” Evans, See-More, the HIVE 5, the Meta-Breed gang, the Blood Syndicate
Affiliations: The Team, Taos Metateen Youth Center, The Titans [ev.], S.T.A.R Labs [formally]
PERSONALITY
Personality Type: ESTP-A [Assertive Entrepreneur]
Temperament: Choleric-Sanguine
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Passionate | Social | Upfront | Risk-prone | Defiant
Smart-mouthed, openly opinionated, and with an apparent lack of volume, Munch quickly cements himself as the class clown in any group. He enjoys living in the moment, a truly free spirit with an infectious energy. He is the textbook extrovert, finding himself to be bored out of his mind if not sharing with others, leading him to have quite the large group of friends and acquaintances. He’s notorious for poking fun at anything and anyone, but has no problem sincerely apologizing once he realizes he might have taken something too far.
As a hero, Munch takes after his namesake, the Yellow Jacket wasp. Quick, nimble, and particularly aggressive, Jacket revels in the comic book hero lifestyle of kicking butts and taking names. His energy blasts aren’t his only weapons, he has as much fun slinging insults and burns as he does physically taking someone down. He certainly enjoys the attention of being a hero in a celebrity sense, but Jacket sees his role as a chance to inspire others to fight the good fight in any capacity.
Hot-blooded as he is, Munch struggles with controlling his emotions. He can be easily frustrated, especially when things aren’t as straight-foward as he is, and blisteringly fierce when angered. It takes an ungodly amount of coaxing to get him to let go of past grudges due to his tendency of being bullheaded.
ABILITIES AND WEAKNESSES
Metahuman Biology: Metahumans by standard are more durable than humans. While not by much, Jacket exhibits increased strength, speed, reflexes and resilience.
Plasma Manipulation: Jacket’s metagene allows him to create, shape, and otherwise manipulate plasma matter
Plasma “Stingers”: By shooting short blasts of plasma energy, Yellow Jacket creates his signature “stingers,” the potency of said stingers can vary from shocks to explosions.
Variants include plasma beams and large spheres, but they currently require more concentration and stamina to use
He can also use his stingers to push him off surfaces as a kind of super-jump and can sustain limited flight mobility
Plasma Shields: Jacket can create small shields, enough to deflect low to medium powered attacks. Large shields require significant effort to shape and contain, once he’s made one, he’s stuck sustaining it.
Inventory
Flight Belt: Jacket can fly thanks to the inertia belt made by his mentor Icon, based off Rocket’s Inertia belt. Since it was not made of the same material as the original belt, it allows only for flight and a decent powered body aura.
Goggles: Jacket’s goggles feature different kinds of vision including: Telescopic, Microscopic, Infrared, and X-Ray
Weaknesses and Limitations
Energy Stamina: Jacket stands the risk of overexerting himself if he pushes his plasma control too far. The reason why he tends to stick with short blasts is because they take much less energy to conjure. Attacks such as beams, energy spheres, and large defensive shields can potentially wear him down to unconsciousness if the strain is too much.
High Metabolism: Similar to that of a speedster; Jacket’s plasma energy tears through his calorie reservoir. He needs a rather high end amount of food to sustain himself properly or else his energy suffers.
HISTORY
16-year-old Jamal Winston and Gloria Martinez figured trying to force their relationship made having to take care of their newborn far more painful than it had to be and called it quits. They continued co-parenting with both opting to drop-out of high school, Gloria a fulltime mother and Jamal picking up a fulltime job. Eventually the two managed to assuage any resentment towards each other and made steps toward genuine friendship, both turning out to be equally dedicated and loving parents.
Taylor, named Clara at the time, enjoyed school. Not so much the actual studying as the playtime and socializing, but he was a bright student. In middle school he discovered a love for track and kept at it when he entered high school. Taylor was doing well, but struggled with his self-esteem in connection with fitting in with girls. He’d always been masculine and known a tomboy for nearly all of his childhood. His parents never had a problem with that, but he was picked at by other family members. It wasn’t until high school where Taylor discovered himself as trans, which both gave him answers he’d been looking for and terrified him as he had no idea how to go about this with his family.
The topic of LGBTQ+ matters rarely passed through his household with his mother or with his father and step-mother. None of them openly expressed homo or transphobia, but Taylor had met enough extended family anti-LGBTQ+ and that stopped him from broaching the subject. Still he began looking into subtle ways to get a "head-start" on transitioning, including buying a binder and teaching himself natural voice changes.
But Taylor was publicly outed during a family get-together, when a few of his younger cousins rifled through his belongings and brought with them the attention of Taylor’s uncle. When the situation turned into an all out yelling match and nearly physical, Taylor ran off. It would be the last anyone would see him for the months to come.
While wandering around Dakota City, Taylor was abducted by the Reach and experimented on, the stress and torture he endured all the while activated his dormant metagene. He was eventually rescued by a team of young heroes while deep in the Western Pacific Reach mobile base, recognizing a past classmate, Virgil Hawkins. The two stuck close out of familiarity as they were eventually shifted over to S.T.A.R. Labs in Taos.
They spent a month or so under the eye of Dr. David Wilcox, building resentment over being treated as lab rats alongside Tye Longshadow, Eduardo Dorado Jr., Asami Koizumi, and Nathaniel Tyron. It was during this time that Taylor’s commonly used nickname of ‘Munch’ came about because of his extreme appetite due to his metagene and at that point Taylor hadn’t chosen his name yet. The group, sans Nathaniel, then came to agree their stay at S.T.A.R was over and escaped.
Their party was joined in by Jacklyn Ericson, unknown to them a hero known as Ferro and Team member, and were soon approached by Lex Luthor who offered them security in exchange for favors against the Reach. Little under two weeks later, the gang were fighting their way through the heart of the Warworld to rescue the captured heroes caught in stasis. Munch was on board with Nightwing’s invitation onto the Team, he’d always looked up to the Justice League and heroics called to him, but left with the others at seeing Arsenal’s dismissal despite him leading the rescue.
Munch wouldn’t involve himself with heroes until their group until the League reached out to Jacklyn; they needed as many hands on deck. The Reach had activated field disruptors around the world which would eventually tear Earth to shreds if not shut down; Munch was paired off with Rocket to shut down the disruptor in Chile. Munch couldn’t hide his joy at being paired with Rocket, he’d been a fan of hers ever since she started off in Dakota City as Icon’s protégé. The two got on well and Rocket extended another invitation onto the Team stating their hometown could do with another hero, this time Munch accepted.
He would take on the mantle Yellow Jacket and when Rocket’s former mentor Icon returned to Earth, was taken under his wing as a mentee. He and Virgil, who had also accepted the invitation onto the Team as Static, became the new generation of heroes in Dakota City.
Just in time too, as from the shadows rise a threat spreading across the city’s metayouth, the Metabreed.
NOTES
Munch does eventually make it back to his parents, who have been been running themselves ragged organizing search parties for him.
Because of his color scheme and insect motif, Jacket tends to be confused as Bumblebee’s protégé instead of Icon’s. Not that it’s cause for insult, but Karen and Munch note they wouldn’t make good partners.
Munch comes to find out of another super in the family, although not of the heroic kind. His step-cousin is member of the H.I.V.E 5, See-More.
He enjoys various shonen anime, occasionally reading the manga if he likes the anime enough, his favorite being the Dragon Ball franchise. He makes a nod towards this during the escape at S.T.A.R when Virgil asked him if he could blast open the door. When Munch’s first few blasts don’t cut it, he tries a larger beam in the only way he knows how, via Kamehameha.
Yellow Jacket has become very active on social media and has a notable following, much to Icon’s annoyance.
Munch has recently taken up being a peer counselor at S.T.A.R Taos alongside Ed Jr.
#young justice oc#Young Justice OCs#dc oc#gar's oc#gar's art#oathofoaks#he STING#meet the ocs#munch martinez
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9,445 Miles From You - Your First Day
Pairing/Characters: Bartender!Harry Styles x Waitress!Reader, a shit load of OCs
Warnings: nothin too bad in this chapter; swearing, anxiety
Chapter Summary: You fought your anxiety and now you’ve got a job. You meet your co-workers and managers but most importantly, you meet Harry Styles, who is one of a kind.
Word Count: 3.1k+
A/N: Mostly some background stuff but Harry makes an appearance :)
9MFY Masterlist
February 2018
At this point in time, you weren’t exactly sure what was happening with your life. You were eighteen and jobless and so far, not even McDonald’s wanted you. You were depressed. You had no money of your own and financially, your parents couldn’t provide everything for you without sacrificing everything else that needed to be done. You needed to be independent. You wanted to be independent so that you could, even just a little bit, take a bit of weight off of their shoulders.
Another day, another failed interview. You huffed with frustration and threw your folder into the nearest bin. You tried to stay positive, but this was the seventh interview in a row where they had found a “more suitable candidate” – excluding all the previous interviews within the last three years. You gave them all of your hours, even the hours you didn’t have and couldn’t give but still, they had advised you to put down “more” hours. A more suitable candidate? More hours? Bullshit. There were only so many hours in a day and you had put down ‘24 hours’ in your resume and yet, they wanted more hours. You were angry with the world. Why couldn’t they just give you a job? You were hard working. You had initiative. No experience due to the fact that no other place wanted to hire you but nonetheless, you were the person who wanted to learn anything and everything in anyway you possibly could. You had a smile for days even if you didn’t want it for fucksake! You sighed and eventually, when you got home, cried into your pillow.
“I just don’t get it, I’m giving them everything I’ve got, even everything I don’t.” You cleansed your face as your best friend was on loud speaker.
“I know, Y/N, but like your mom said, if it’s for you then you’ll get but obviously these places don’t have a spot for you, it’s not you, Y/N, they’re dickheads.” You sighed after grabbing your phone off of the marble top bathroom bench. There was a moment of silence due to the fact that Anastasia was working on an assessment for one of her classes – most probably due the next day due to the fact that she kept complaining about how much she wanted to die.
“You know…” You began.
“What?”
“Paige told me about this group on Facebook and I joined it a couple of days ago.” You pulled up the group and took a screencap, sending it to Anastasia.
“Hospitality Job Hunters? Are you sure this is legit?”
“Yeah,” You shrugged as if she was actually right in front of you, “I know some people who got jobs from there, I guess people just post pictures of themselves and a description of what they’re about and a future employer responds.” Anastasia hums in response, looking through the photos you’d sent her.
“So, why not do it?”
“Well, first of all have to seen my face? My body? Compare all of this to the people who post on there.” She scoffs.
“Okay, first of all, shut the fuck up, you’re fine, and second of all, you’re posting to get a job, it’s not Tinder!”
“It’s like Tinder for jobs though.” She sighed through the phone, the taps of the keyboard loud enough for you to hear through the phone.
“I don’t know, Y/N, I reckon, just do it, you never know if you don’t try.” You mumbled a ‘whatever’ through the phone and another moment of silence crashed the entire conversation, “Anyway, I gotta get this done, text me in the morning?”
“Will do, ya lil bitch, have fun with that.” She laughs.
“I will, don’t worry.”
“If another person rejects me, I’ll stick my head between a door and slam it on myself.”
“You’ll be fine! Just relax and rip it off, like a band aid.” You let out a deep breath, “I love you, okay?”
“Love you too.” And with that, the phone call ended. You laid in your bed staring at the wall. You just needed to sleep this off, you can decide in the morning.
When you woke up, you still hadn’t decided and on top of that, you barely slept, making you cranky and ridiculously sleepy on the train. When you arrived to your class, you sat down next to your friends who greeted you warmly as they always did. Jean noticed your intense stare at your phone; three photos – one happy which showed your outgoing personality as much a still photo could, one smiling before seeing a musical, and one that looked like a headshot.
“Nice photos.” Jean compliments. Kadia looks over and agrees with Jean with a smile.
“What are they for?” Kadia asks.
“I’m kind of looking for a job on that Facebook group.” Jean nods. Shortly after, your other friends, Kiley, Bea, and Megan walk in and sit at the table just behind you. Kiley moves her blond hair away from her face.
“Just post them, Y/N.” She suggests, her sweet and shy voice comes out. The other nod.
“This is your last option, if you don’t get it, you’ll just have to wait until we graduate.” Bea interjects, “And that’s two years away.” And with that small push from your friends, you write a small description of your personality and attach the three photos into the post, pressing ‘post’ as quickly as you could. You set your phone down as Jean rubs your back in support and after fifteen minutes, you phone vibrates.
‘Jacob Fisher commented on you post on Hospitality Job Hunters’ It had said. You squeezed Jean’s arm and she looked at you with concern.
“Someone commented.” You whispered.
“Check it.” And so, you did. You gasped after you read it, “What?!”
“’Hey, Y/N! Send your resume through to my email and leave your number as well, I’ll call you today, so we can set up an interview.’” You read out to her quietly. She shook you by the shoulders and gave you a warm hug.
“This is it, Y/N, this is your job.” And you could feel it too, this was the one. This was your job, you believed. Eventually, Jacob called you with an interview waiting the next day. So far, everything was going great. You felt like you could breathe even just for a moment.
The next day, you’d met up with Jacob at a tall building, obviously the bar you were to hopefully going to work at. A small but very visually appealing sign hung above the entrance, ‘Heavenly Gin’, blinking bright and very pink. You sat by the front side of the bar where you were greeted by a blonde-haired girl with bright blue eyes, her smile was warm and welcome.
“Hi! How can I help you?” Just in front of you was a man, he too had blonde hair but his eyes were green and almost hazel, not a bad sight at all. You blushed softly at the sight of him when he smiled at you.
“I’m actually here to see Jacob Fisher.” You smiled at the girl.
“I’ll get him for you.” She held her hand out for you to shake. With nervous and clampy hands, you shook it, “I’m Regina, by the way.”
“Y/N.” As you waited, the blonde-haired boy began to make conversation.
“Hi, Y/N.” He greeted with a smile. Everyone, so far, seemed to be chirpy and you felt right in place, “I’m Roger.” He too held his hand out for you to shake which you did. He continued to polish the cutlery in front of him and separated them into different trays, “So, how’d you find us?”
“I, uh, posted on this Facebook group.”
“Ah.” He nodded, “Most of our bartenders here did the same.”
“Really? I feel less weird now.” You chuckled.
“Oh yeah? I’ve got another one for you, one of our bartenders actually ‘applied’, if you will, when he was drunk out of his mind during a night out and now, he’d been working here for two years.” It made you laugh. The though of a drunk guy having a very drunk conversation with Roger about how he needed a job, “On a scale of one to ‘I feel so out of place’, how weird do you feel now?”
“After that? I’m at a two.” He chuckled at your reply, “How long have you worked here?” You continued.
“I was hired just before the renovations, so around seven or eight months.”
“So, long?” You questioned, and he nodded.
“Long enough.” Footsteps were heard behind you.
“Aha! There she is, hi, Y/N, I’m Jacob!” Jacob was just a bit shorter than Roger. He wore a colourful Hawaiian shirt with some khakis, his brown hair was slicked back and his beard was quite thick. You jumped off of the bar stool and shook his hand, “Just come through here.” He took you behind the bar through a dining area after waving goodbye to Roger and Regina. He asked you about your likes and dislikes and why you wanted to work there. You chatted heavily about the Winter Olympics which you bullshitted a little bit due to your lack of knowledge on most of the sports but in the end, Jacob smiled and commended you for your quite outgoing personality. He had let you know that there was another waitress he needed to interview but so far, everything was going good for you and if he hadn’t taken another interviewee, he would’ve hired you on the spot but still, things were looking up. You thanked him for his time and said your last goodbyes to Regina and Roger before exiting the venue. You took and deep breath and prayed to whatever God there was up in the heavens and down below hell to bless you with this job and these seemingly good people.
By the week after, sure enough, Jacob had emailed you a list of uniform preferences and where to be when.
Friday, February 23rd, 2018
The smell of brewed beer and oak flooring filled your nose as the clock struck 3:30 PM. You wore a black top and blue jeans with black and white sneakers – regulatory uniform for staff at the venue. You were once again greeted by Roger who introduced you to the Venue Manager, Tyrone, and the Bar Manager, Josh. Tyrone looked down at you, not in a euphemistic way but in the literal sense. The man was at most, to you, like six foot five. He greeted you with what you sensed was an absolutely fake smile. He was unsure of you, almost like he didn’t trust you and your lack of experience and skills. You were used to the stare due to the fact that most places you had applied for, the interviewers had the same belittling stare. Tyrone showed you around the venue and the staff area before giving you a name tag and sending you upstairs into the high ground bar. Josh greeted you after you pushed your way through a sea of people.
“You feeling okay?” You nodded, “I can tell you’re overwhelmed and if you feel anxious at all throughout the night, just let me, Gianna,” He gestured to a small woman, with curly hair sticking out of her bun, “or Jane,” She was tall with blonde hair who smiled sillily at you, trying to make you feel welcome, “know, okay?” You nodded again with a much realer smile. Josh then introduced you to a fellow waiter, Joe, who wore glasses and had his long hair tied into a bun. He smiled sweetly at you and shook your hand. Josh left you with Joe who showed you every basic thing you needed to know; collect plates, glasses, light the candles, and of course, take some orders. He explained that at night, the bar turns into a club and that we needed to keep the place clean which meant checking bathrooms and cleaning up broken glass. To be quite frank, you didn’t know that waitressing meant doing all of this stuff, though, you weren’t complaining.
“So yeah, we’re pretty much the back bone of the bar, without us, these people would go to shits.” He laughed. Joe was sweet and made himself feel welcome and approachable. This was dangerous, knowing yourself, this would eventually get messy. He was sweet, handsome, funny, and approachable which was honestly a recipe for disaster for someone looking for love and affection. Someone who was inexperience with the world like you. He interrupted your thoughts, “By the way, you’re not the only new kid, see that guy over there?” He pointed over to another guy who looked almost exactly like him; long hair tucked away in a bun and glasses. You nodded, “That’s Harry, he’d new as well, maybe you could both bond over that.” He chuckled.
As night fell, Joe asked you to light up some candles and start spreading them out on each table. You subtly observed Harry from afar. He was handsome, incredibly handsome. When the light shone on his eyes, they were emerald green. His smile was contagious, evident in the fact that the girls he was serving were all smiley and giggly which also meant that he was probably a good conversationalist. You hadn’t noticed yourself staring until Harry quite loudly placed a glass into the dishwashing rack, making you clear your throat and look away.
“Girls seem a li’l crazy tonigh’, aye?” He began.
“Yeah, crazy.” You reply, still lighting up the candles.
“’M Harry.” He smiles.
“I know,” You cringed at yourself, “I mean, I don’t know but now I do know since you told me- Jesus, sorry, I’m- I’m Y/N, sorry to ramble, I guess I’m just nervous.”
“First day too?” You nodded, “I was like tha’ when I first started workin’ at a bar bu’ don’ worry, shit gets easier, don’ stress, yeah?” At this point, you were trying not to. And just like Joe had said, the bar had turned into a club type scene. People were starting to stumble in from their pre-drinks and began to order drinks from the Heavenly Gin bar. They started gathering on the dancefloor as early 2000s and late 1990s music blasted from the speakers. This was all fun and laughter to you since you’d never actually been clubbing or the such. You danced and sang along but still worked hard which you were commended by Josh when he laughed as he walked by. You continued collecting glasses that were empty and even collected one that was sitting in the same spot for almost four hours, untouched. It was almost empty, a sip left, and it would’ve been completely drained and so, you took it upon yourself to collect the glass, knowing that it was a rule to collect such glasses just in case it’d been spiked. The music was getting better and better which only made you dance more, making Harry laugh and join in. A few moments later, while putting some glasses away, you heard a commotion at the bar, making you turn your head. A dishevelled man was arguing with Harry.
“Who the fuck took my glass!?” He pointed at you and began to make his way behind the bar, “It was you, wasn’t it!?” The slur in his voice made it evident that he was, in fact, drunk.
“I- I, I just- I-it was s-sitting there, almost empty, I-” Harry watched as you stammered and stumbled on your words. He inched closer trying to keep him away. The man kept coming closer which only made Harry grow more protective over you. He held his arm out in front of you to keep you away from the intoxicated patron.
“I will talk t’her, mate, jus’ step outta th’bar.” The man growled in frustration.
“Next time, don’t take someone’s-“
“Mate, jus’ calm down! I said I’ll talk t’her, I’ll get yeh anotha drink, jus’ step out, yeh don’ need t’yell at her, I’s no’ tha’ big of a deal.” You stood behind Harry with the tea towel, that once hung off of your apron, covering your face. The man walked away with a huff, “Hey, yeh okay, love?” You couldn’t breathe, it was like the world suddenly crumbled around you, “Okay, okay, yeh alrigh’, Y/N, I’s no’ yeh fault, I’s yeh job, lovie.” He tapped the other bartender and let them know that he was off to take care of you. He took your hand and led you to the side door which led to the staff entrance. He rubbed your back and held you in his arms, hushing your sobs, telling you that you were going to be okay. After a while, Harry left you to calm down, Josh telling him the he urgently needed to be back at the bar. He left you with sad and sorry eyes, completely regretful and not wanting you to be left alone with your thoughts. You guessed that he knew what this feeling was like. When you had calmed down, you returned to your work and tried to cast away the anxious thoughts of being fired after your first day and to be faced with, once again, with the intoxicated patron who had been the source of your panic attack. Harry checked up on you frequently, rubbing your back comfortingly whilst speaking to you. It was later, after work, when you found out that Harry had spoken to the security guards and asked them to eject the man which made your heart warm. After work, you sat in the locker rooms by your locker and took a deep breath. Harry walked in and gave you a soft smile.
“How’s m’girl?” He asked, taking his jacket, bag, and red and white bobbled beanie out of his locker.
“I’m okay now.”
“That’s good.” He nodded. You weren’t really good at expressing gratitude and making the words ‘thank you’ leave your lips felt almost foreign in the sense that no one had really done this for you before. You cleared your throat and stood in the middle of the room.
“Harry?” He hummed in response, “I- I just wanted to say thank you for what you did.”
“Y/N, I’s alrigh’ I promise.”
“I know but you didn’t have to stick up for me like that but you did it anyway.” He walked over to you and engulfed you in a hug.
“I wasn’t gonna let some drunk guy yell at yeh fo’ summat so trivial, I’d never let anyone yell at yeh if I can help it.” He pulled away from you and looked at you, “A’ve always got yeh back yeah? From now on, yeh got me.” You smiled and hugged him tightly once again.
“Okay.”
“Okay!” He pulled away from you and put his backpack on, “Now, how ‘bout we get a drink downstairs an’ I’ll take yeh t’th’ station, how’s ‘at sound?”
“Sounds good, Harry.”
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Project Elemental: Chapter 1 - Skylar’s Date
OC Character: Skylar Muñoz x Paul Deckery x Cooper DiMare x Tyrone Sear x Jade Salinas x Gabriel Gonzales x Marlie Martinez x Sakura Reed
Word Count: 7554
Warnings: Tough Subjects, almost assult, PTSD
<center>Skylar Has a Date
Skylar POv </center>
“That dress looks great on you!” Marlie starred in amazement at my plum purple dress. It had been about 1 year and a half since my last relationship and I haven’t really dated in a year. BUT, I recently had been catching up with old friend Rhys Kemp from high school. All my friends new him, in fact everyone of them liked him. Cooper and Paul had played basketball with him on sundays a little after graduation. The girls all admired the kind of man he was. He was old school, he opened doors, very ‘telenovela galán,’ handsome, kind and caring.
“You think he’d like it?” I quizzed still unsure of the dress. I looked at the bodycon dress in the full length mirror it was short, a deep plum color with a deep V neckline that made my breasts look twice their size. “Listen girls, I don’t want him to think I’m a slut or easy. I mean I love love,” I stressed the second love, “this dress but that’s not the message I am trying to send.” I exhaled loudly giving myself another once over in the dress.
“Really Sky?” Marlie giggled. “Girl, maybe you’ll get some!” She exclaimed, I sent her a glare as Jade swatted Marlie’s shoulder. Marlie took a swig of her wine cooler. “Sky, would it be exactly bad for you to get laid? How long has it been?” She quizzed, I could feel the blush growing on my face, my cheeks were already warm. I went into my shared bathroom grabbing the black dress that I had laid out on the bed,just to escape as I heard a chorus of laughter come from my bed.
Honestly, it’s been a long time but was fine on my own. I didn’t need a boyfriend to feel important or loved. I mean I wanted what Jade and Gabe had but, I didn’t need it. I have Cooper, Paul, Tyrone and Gabe who make me feel loved even if it’s plutonic. I felt safe with them. Then this whole powers thing.
Who wouldn’t be afraid of Storm? It’s like you pulled my powers out of her comic books. It’s not exactly inviting plus who could we really trust. Besides, I only accepted the date with Rhys because it’s someone who I already knew okay enough that if need be and this date wouldn’t go well I could clear his mind from the point that we started talking and it’d be like he never remembered asking me out or even thinking of me. Then we’d be done.
<Center> Paul POV </Center>
I was walking from my room to the kitchen to speak to Cooper when I heard Marlie’s voice teasing “Sky would it exactly be a bad thing if you got laid? How lo— ,” I started walking faster I didn't need more or even wanted to hear that conversation. I didn't know how I felt about her dating Rhys let alone any guy for that matter. For some reason, I felt the most protective of her. I mean I knew she could handle her own, she was feisty. I didn’t doubt her ability to defend herself and Rhys wasn’t a bad guy.
I just don’t want to see what happened last time happen again. She went on a bender sad movies, ice cream, the wine and crying for almost two weeks straight. Now she was a women with powers dating. what if he didn’t like her powers? What if he was afraid of her or thought she was a monster? Sell her out to feds? I don’t want to see her get hurt. If he’d hurt her, I’d have to kick his ass. Right? I just don’t want to see her hurt.
“Coop, so Rhys?” I asked with a weak smile. He walked over to the fridge glancing back at me with a half hearted smile.
“Yes, Paul, Rhys.” His tone was cold, as he pulled to beers out of the fridge. “Who would’ve thought?” I shrugged my shoulders. “And he didn’t bother telling you? ‘Cause he sure as hell didn’t tell me shit about talkin’ to her.” I shook my head no as I heard Cooper begin to slur his last word. Today was Friday and Friday meant beers at home or going out to a bar as Coop himself puts it ‘drink and fail at flirting’ with women who wanted nothing to do with us. “Paul, shouldn’t he ask us if for permission to date her?” He interrogated me. “Aren’t we her ‘brothers’ for all intent and purposes?” Putting bunny ears on ‘brothers’ then taking another swig of the beer before cracking mine open.
We weren’t her brothers… but we almost acted like we were. “Dude, I don’t know. He didn't tell me anything.” I downed the beer to the halfway point. “He didn’t hint anything to me. But, don’t tell Skylar he needed to ask for our permission. That will backfire. She will throw the ‘you’re not my father’ card in your face then we’ll all pay for your mistake.” I said with a humourless chuckle drinking the rest of the beer. “We’ll. All. Pay. And I can’t take that again. She’s scary sometimes.” I smirked glancing at cooper who smiled remembering the last time we ‘fathered’ her.
We had never seen her so mad. She was small in stature but boy was she fierce. That day she tore mine and Coop’s heads off with this sarcastic smile like a shark. Her voice was so condescending but oozing with sickening sweetness too. I smiled to myself remembering. Her words cut like a knife but with a smile. Then 3 days later hugs us then tells us she loves us, saying sorry into our chests. And it’s not like you can not forgive her. We can’t stay mad at her. We just can’t.
“Yeah, super scary.” He chuckled, putting beer on the counter. “Super super scary.” We started picking at the chips he had taken out of the pantry.
“Heyyy guys,” we heard a voice down the hall, a soft voice. It was probably Marlie or Skylar asking us where did we put something they’ve misplaced. “Guys??? Cooper, Paaaauullll?? Where are you guys??” She called out into the patio. Skylar. That was her soft sing song voice, the way she always elongated my name. Cute but whiny. We heard soft heeled footsteps. “Can I ask for an honest, men’s opinion from you guys?”
We turned around to see her walk in our jaws dropped we slowly put the bottles on the table, so we wouldn’t drop them and just starred. Our eyes scanning her body in full. The little black dress was black and came about 4 inches above her knees flowy fabric softly brushed up against her thighs. She wore a V neck line that didn’t that wasn’t too showy but showed enough skin that it left a lot to any imagination.
“What do you guys think? Honestly.” She smiled shyly at us.
“You look pretty,” Cooper said, she smiled sweetly, looking him in the eyes and running her fingers through her long brown wavy hair sending the smell of lavender vanilla through the air.
“You guys think Rhys will like it? I don’t look easy, do I?” She glanced over at me then started to fuss with her dress, clearly flustered. I walked up to her and grabbed her hand, then held her at arm’s length.
“You look beautiful, Skylar. He’d be stupid not too.” It was true, she did and he would be stupid not to think she looked beautiful. She was beautiful but the dress just enhanced what was already there. She jumped into my arms and hugged me tight. After a second of shock, I hugged her back. I needed a drink a real drink after this. I think I’d actually like to go to that bar now.
She looked gorgeous, but she was going on a date with Rhys. “Thanks Paul.” She whispered almost inaudibly into my chest. I started to feel my heart clench with emotion. I looked down at her then placed a soft kiss on her hair.
“No problem, Sky. Remember if you need anyone to kick his ass if he doesn’t treat you right Coop and I will gladly kick his ass. Okay?” I murmured softly into her hair glancing over at Coop who nodded in agreement.
Skylar began to pull away and fuss with her dress then the doorbell rang. Marlie went to open the door. “Oh heyyy, let me call her. Come on in!” She chimed. And there stood Rhys our friend, Skylar's date.
#lucas till#aimee carrero#ocs#my ocs#magic#elements#alberto frezza#sofia carson#selena gomez#corbin bleu#tagging for traction#hope you guys like#reblog if you like it
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A New Marvel
Lets just rewrite everything shall we...
Wasp Origin of The Wasp and Antman - Janet/Hank
Spiderman Origin of Spiderman v. The Lizard - Peter/Gwen
Ironman Origin of Ironman v. Iron Monger - Tony/Pepper
Xavier Institute Season 1 - 3 Mutant Kind, SHIELD and the Brotherhood Jean/Scott
Captain America Origin of Captain America v. Red Skull - Steve/Bucky
Hulk Origin of the Hulk v. Abomination - Bruce/Betty
Hawkeye Origin of Hawkeye v. Trickshot - Clint/Bobbi
Avengers v. Doctor Doom
Antman How Hank Pym retired as Antman and hired a thief in his place - Scott/Hope
Daredevil season 1-2 Kingpin, Elektra - Matt/Foggy
Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver Origin of Wanda and Pietro v. Magneto - Erik/Moira
Captain America 2 Captain America v. Winter Soldier - Sharon/Sam
Jessica Jones season 1-2 The Purple Man, Echo - Jessica/Luke
Thor Backstory on Thor v. Enchantress - Thor/Sif
Hulk 2 Origin of She-Hulk v. Red Hulk - Jennifer/Wyatt
Luke Cage season 1-2 Black Mariah, Shades - Misty/Claire
Hawkeye 2 Hawkeye v. Bullseye
Black Widow Origin of Black Widow
Iron Fist season 1-2 Madame Gao, The Hand - Danny/Ward
Black Panther Origin of Black Panther v. Killmonger - T’Challa/Nakia
Agents of SHIELD season 1-4 Hydra, Skrull, the Inhumans - Jemma/Leo
Spiderman 2 Spiderman v. Doc Oc - Ned/Betty
Avengers Age of Ultron birth of Vision
Defenders event Alexandra and The Hand
Doctor Strange Origin of Doctor Strange v. Dormammu - Stephen/Christine
Black Widow 2 Black Widow v. Sin - Natasha/Claire
Young Avengers season 1 Kang the Conqueror - Billy/Teddy
Captain America 3 Captain America v. Zola - Steve/Bucky
Guardians of the Galaxy Origin of the Guardians v. Ronan - Gamora/Peter
Black Panther 2 Black Panther v. Klaw - Ayo and Aneka
Runaways season 1 The Pride - Karolina/Xavin
Hulk 3 Hulk v. Grandmaster - Hulk/Veranke
Fantastic Four Origin of the Fantastic Four v. The Other - Sue/Reed
Cloak and Dagger season 1-2 D’Spayre - Tandy/Tyrone
Captain Marvel Origin of Captain Marvel v. Genis-Vell - Carol/Maria
Antman and the Wasp v. Ghost - Janet/Hank
Moondragon Origin of Moondragon v. The Brood - Heather/Phyla
Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver 2 Wanda and Pietro v. Doctor Doom - Wanda/Vision
Spiderman 3 Spiderman v. Green Goblin - Peter/Gwen
Thor 2 Thor v. Loki - Loki/Sigyn
Avengers Infinity War
Captain Marvel 2 Captain Marvel v. The Kree - Carol/Victoria
Young Avengers Young Avengers v. Avengers
Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver 3 Wanda and Pietro v. Medusa - Pietro/Cyrstal
Xavier Institute season 4 the Decimation
Event M Day
Runaways v. Nitro
Thor 3 Thor v. Angela - Loki/Sigyn/Angrboda
Fantastic Four 2 Fantastic Four v. Galactus - Ben/Alicia
Black Panther 3 Black Panther v. Namor - M’Baku/Okoye
Doctor Strange 2 Doctor Strange v. Mordo - Stephen/Clea
Guardians of the Galaxy 2 Guardians of the Galaxy v. Victoria - Nebula/Mantis
Avengers Civil War
Fantastic Four 3 Fantastic Four v. Beyonder - Johnny/Frankie
Doctor Strange 3 Doctor Strange v. The Eternals - Stephen/Clea
Captain Marvel 3 Captain Marvel v. Rogue - Raven/Irene
Guardians of the Galaxy 3 Guardians v. The Shi’ar - Adam/Gamora
Rogue Origin of Rogue
Storm Origin of Storm
Iceman Origin of Iceman - Bobby/Johnny
X-Men X-Men v. The Sentinals - Charles/Erik
Avengers War of the Worlds
Nightcrawler Origin of Nightcrawler
Wolverine Logan and the birth of X-23
Professor X Origin of Professor X
The Brotherhood Dissolution of the Brotherhood, the birth of Genosha - Erik/Charles
X Men X-Men Apocalypse
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SYNERGY (2/12)
SYNOPSIS: Tatianna "Tati" Mason, an avid John Boyega fan, is caught in a thunderstorm one night. A lightning strike transports her to an alternate universe and to her astonishment, she soon discovers that she is dating John Boyega himself. In this magical realm, she experiences firsthand the love and affection he exudes on-screen, but now it's directed at her. As she experiences the enchanting world of her dreams, she navigates the intricacies of being in a relationship with a celebrity she idolizes. She learns the realities of John's life beyond the public eye, the pressures he faces, and the genuine person he is beneath the fame. Eventually, Tati must grapple with the inevitable: staying in this alternate reality or returning to her own world.
PAIRING: John Boyega x Tatianna "Tati" Mason
WARNINGS: drama, angst, cursing, explicit sexual content, not-so-glamorous life in the entertainment world. RATED M (18+)
TAGLIST: @melaninpov, @melanin-goddess-world, @cocobutterqwueen, @judymfmoody, @blackreadersatrisk, @merranerra, @life-in-the-slut-house, @hopefulcyclestarlight, @shar74nett, @goldieccentric, @mochachocolatteyaya, @blackerthings, @wakandas-vibranium, @kemkem101 @whoopigol-barnes @ihearteddiemunson @hxneyclouds @blackerthings @certifiedlesbianbaddie
If you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This series is set from late 2022 (September) to the present.
Chapter II: Jumpin' The Broom?
After breakfast, and still reeling from her conversation with John, Tati went upstairs to get ready for their appointment at Boodles. Her mind was racing with questions.
What the fuck is she getting herself into? What life is this version of herself living?
She had always admired John, not just for his talent but for the values he stood for and the way he inspired others. The idea of exploring a future with him was both exhilarating and daunting, and not her life, at least not this version.
Tati entered the spacious en suite bathroom, her reflection in the oversized mirror looking back at her with a sense of wonder. This life was a stark contrast to her life in New York. The massive townhouse John owned dwarfed her small Brooklyn studio, not to mention living in Paris and attending her dream school; this was everything she'd ever wanted.
As she showered and got ready, her mind continued to race with doubts. That tiny voice in the back of her brain beckoned and tried to convince her that this was just an elaborate cosmic joke and she couldn't get caught up in her feelings. But her heart told her otherwise. The connection she felt with John was real, and this world, no matter how strange, was now a part of her reality.
Besides, she'd much rather be stuck with John's fine ass instead of being locked up in a psych ward. For now, and much to her delight, she had to play the role of the alternate Tati.
After dressing in a chic yet comfortable outfit she found in the closet, she notices a delicate crystal perfume bottle on the vanity. It emanated a scent that seemed oddly familiar, like a distant memory.
Vanilla and orchid with a hint of sandalwood.
Intrigued, she hesitates, then gives in to the impulse, spritzing a cloud of the fragrance around her. Suddenly, she feels a peculiar sensation, as if reality itself is shifting.
In an instant, Tati finds herself standing in a quaint, candlelit Parisian bistro. She's wearing a halterneck dress, and across from her is John, looking dashing in a silk shirt and matching pants. Their laughter fills the air as they share stories, their connection palpable.
"So how long are you in Paris?" he asks her.
"Two years," she says timidly.
"Then back to New York?" wonders John and Tati nods her head as she takes a languid sip of her wine. "That's a shame, but I figure something'll have you staying here longer than expected."
"Like what?" Tati inquired, curiously.
"Me," John quipped without a second thought. John reaches out to touch her hand, a gesture that sends a shiver of electricity through Tati. Their eyes meet, and in that shared gaze, there's a mutual understanding that goes beyond words: she was never going back to New York City.
Suddenly, like a snap of fingers, Tati is back in John's London home, the scent of the perfume lingering in the air. She's left breathless, the experience so vivid that it's as if she truly lived it.
"Holy shit," she whispered to herself as she set the perfume bottle back on the vanity. Whatever that moment was — déjà vu or something else entirely — changed her.
Am I having visions now? Flashbacks?
Shaking her head, Tati tried to push those thoughts aside in order to focus on putting on her shoes. Things were getting weirder as the days went on, and she had to play it cool and try to piece everything together.
"Babes?" called John. "The car's here."
"Coming!"
She made her way downstairs to find John waiting for her. His easy smile and a light kiss on her temple reassured her of any worry she had, and they headed out together to the awaiting car.
Boodles was an elegant boutique nestled in the heart of London, known for its exquisite jewelry. As they entered, the soft chime of a bell announced their arrival, and a friendly sales associate greeted them.
"Good afternoon," the associate said with a warm smile. "How may we assist you today?"
John stepped forward, his demeanor confident yet charming. "I've made an appointment with Peter," he said, casting a meaningful glance at Tati. "We're here to look at engagement rings."
Tati felt her cheeks flush, and she smiled in response. The associate nodded, understanding the significance of the moment. "Of course, right this way."
They were led to a beautifully appointed display area showcasing a stunning array of engagement rings. Diamonds of various cuts and sizes sparkled in the soft lighting, each one more captivating than the last.
The associate motioned for them to sit, and they both obliged; taking a seat on the most comfiest chaise lounge chair known to man.
"Peter will be out soon," the associate informed them. "Would you like anything to drink? Champagne perhaps?"
John let out a soft chuckle. "Water will be just fine for me." He glanced over at Tati and placed a hand on her thigh, squeezing it slightly. "What 'bout you, babes?"
"Uh..." she stammered then eventually shrugged. "Sure, I'll take a flute of champagne."
The associate smiled widely. "Of course, I'll be right back." The associate left quickly and within minutes, arrived back with their beverage orders and Peter in tow.
Peter was a rather tall man, much taller than John, with peppered hair cut low and almond-shaped brown eyes. John immediately stood to shake his hand and the two men exchanged a quick chat before sitting back down. Peter's eyes focused on Tati, and he gave her a welcoming nod.
"Is this the infamous Tatianna?" Peter asked John, smiling brightly.
"Yes, it is," John mentioned excitedly, wrapping a protective arm around her waist. "Future Mrs. Boyega."
Future Mrs. Boyega...I kinda like the sound of that.
"Welcome, Tatianna, we're very pleased to have you and John here today," spoke Peter as he gestured to the display of engagement rings. "As you can see, we have rings of various sizes and cuts. One of my personal favorites is the princess and pear cut. I think that the style is timeless and fits well for any bride-to-be."
As Tati examined the rings, she couldn't help but be drawn to a particular design. It was an elegant Ashoka diamond set on a band of white gold, a delicate and timeless piece. She pointed it out to John, her voice filled with awe. "John, look at this one. It's breathtaking."
John's eyes lit up as he examined the ring. "Is this the one, babes?"
"You have impeccable taste, Tatianna. It's stunning," Peter murmured, his gaze shifting between her and the ring. "This is a three-carat Ashoka cut diamond set in a vintage design with a beautiful white gold ring. We can try it on if you'd like."
"Oh, I don't think—"
"She'd love to," John interrupted, shooting her a quick look. With his furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips, Tati could easily sense that there was no way she could get out of this.
She was going to try on the ring, plain and simple.
Peter removed the ring from the display case and carefully placed it on the fourth finger of Tati's left hand — the ring finger. Tati marveled at the way it caught the light, casting a dance of rainbows across the room.
"It's beautiful," she breathed, her heart fluttering in her chest. "But, John, this... it's a lot. I mean, this is crazy, right?"
John's expression softened, and he took her other hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "Not really, babes. I knew you were the one since our first date. It's been a crazy year and a half, but I've never been more certain in my life."
Tati met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with emotion. In that moment, she felt a profound connection with him, one that transcended the boundaries of the reality she once knew. It was as if she were destined to be here, in this extraordinary alternate universe, making choices that would shape her future forever.
With a determined yet gentle smile, Tati looked back at the ring. "Then this is the one. It feels right."
John's face lit up with joy, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her temple. "I couldn't agree more, love." He gave Peter a wide, boyish grin. "Let's box this one up, mate."
"Excellent choice, Tatianna. Congratulations," Peter said. "I'll draw up the invoice and then we can get settled on payment."
As they finalized the details with Peter, Tati couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder. Reluctantly, she gave the ring — her ring — back to Peter to be wrapped and she sat back in the lounge chair to settle her erratic thoughts.
This cannot be my life, she thought in amazement. Holy-fuckin-shit.
John and Peter continued to chat, their voices trailing indistinctively as Tati slipped into a reverie.
"Babes?" called John, adoringly, his hand rubbing small circles on her back. "Should we get a matching necklace as well, or maybe earrings?"
"Sure", was her only response.
"Let's get both, Peter," John confirmed, winking suggestively in Tati's direction.
____________________________________________________________
Several hours and thousands of dollars later, Tati and John settled into the plush seats of Brasserie of Light for a late lunch. Tati's mind was still abuzz with the events of the day. The ring that they'd picked out felt like a promise, a symbol of the extraordinary turn her life had taken.
The soft glow of candlelight bathed the room, casting a romantic aura around them. John's eyes never seemed to leave Tati's, his gaze warm and unwavering. He reached across the table, his fingers entwining with hers.
"To us," John toasted, his smile radiant.
"To us," Tati echoed, her heart swelling with a mixture of gratitude and wonder. They clinked their glasses together, sealing the moment in time.
As the evening unfolded, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Tati couldn't help but marvel at the depth of John's character and his genuine kindness. He was almost too good to be true.
Then, in a moment of whimsy, John leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Remember that rainy day in Paris?" he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"That was..." she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Unforgettable," John finished, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that rivaled her own. "I knew that you were the woman for me from that kiss alone."
Tati's breath caught in her throat. It was as if he had plucked the memory from her very thoughts. The world seemed to blur around her, and suddenly, she wasn't in the restaurant anymore.
She was back in Paris, the city of lights glistening around her. The rain fell in a gentle cascade, painting everything with a sheen of magic. Tati and John stood in the narrow street in front of her apartment building, their laughter mingling with the soft patter of raindrops.
John's warm hand gently cupped Tati's cheek, his touch a caress that sent shivers down her spine. His eyes bore into hers, a silent promise passing between them. And then, he kissed her.
It was a kiss that spoke of longing and connection, a kiss that tasted of rain and dreams. Time seemed to stand still, the world around them fading into insignificance. Tati's heart thundered in her chest, every nerve ending alive with electricity.
When they finally pulled away, their breath mingling in the cool air, Tati felt a sense of exhilaration wash over her. It was a moment she had treasured in her heart, and now, it was etched into her memory forever.
As the vision faded, Tati blinked, finding herself back in the restaurant, her heart still racing. She looked at John, her eyes wide with wonder.
"Oh...wow..."
"Yeah," he said, oblivious to what had happened to her. "I love you, Tatianna."
Still in shock of undergoing yet another vivid vision and John's profession of love, she mustered a garble of words together before saying those precious three words back to him.
"I love you too, baby."
The rest of the evening passed in joyfulness. They savored each moment, knowing that this was a chapter in their story that would be told for generations to come.
As they stepped out of the restaurant, the early evening air crisp around them, John turned to Tati, his gaze steady and unwavering.
"I have something I want to ask you, babes," he said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity.
Tati's heart skipped a beat, anticipation coursing through her veins.
"Would you come to South Africa with me?" John asked, his eyes holding hers in a steady gaze. "For the promotion of 'The Woman King'? I want you by my side, babes."
Tati's breath caught in her throat. South Africa, a new adventure, a new chapter in their shared story.
Without hesitation, she smiled, her heart brimming with certainty. "Yes, John. I'd love to."
And, it was in that moment, that Tati declared that she was never leaving this reality.
TO BE CONTINUED.....
#john boyega fanfiction#john baeyega#john boyega smut#john boyega fluff#they cloned tyrone#john boyega x black female reader#john boyega x black oc!#john boyega x reader#synergy#emjayewrites#john boyega
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Could you do a one shot with mob boss Tyrone?
A/N: My sweet Anon, you asked for one and I present to you seven. Why am I like this?
Blackbird, Part 1: Lust
Pairing: Mob Boss!Fontaine x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, fluff, angst, cursing, PIV, oral (female and male receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. Use of n-word and non-inclusive language. Minor OC backstory.
Summary: You are a dancer trying to make it in a world not built for your body type. Fontaine is a gangster trying to rise through the ranks of a prominent gang. Will love truly conquer all?
Word Count: 10,810k
Interested in a Blackbird playlist? I'm not the greatest at curating songs but these remind me of these two. I may add or remove songs at my discretion.
A/N: Listen, I know. I couldn't get this idea out of my head and just kept writing. I'm trying something new here, so any feedback is welcome! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!
Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @longpause-awkwardsmile @insburner @slippinninque @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @babybratzmaraj @iv0rysoap @misskiki90 @harmshake @sageispunk @ciaqui @ms-angiealsina @satoruya @hopefulromantic1 @itsbackwoodsbby
Moodboard by the sweestes person ever, planetblaque 🥹🥹🥹
You looked at your watch on your delicate wrist. Night chased the afternoon out of the sky, taking over in their delicate push and pull. Night was safer for confessions. For reflection.
The sun’s rays slanted through the blinds and you blinked against the bitter light. “My apologies, would you like me to close them?” Your lawyer, Mr. Gates, asked you.
“Please,” you said. You sighed and adjusted your neat teal dress across your knees. There was nothing to fix, but you supposed you were nervous. After all these years, you thought that you would carry these secrets to the grave. Everything was different now.
Mr. Gates moved to the window and shut the blinds more fully, draping you in the safe comfort of his office. Mr. Gates had been part of the family for years now, a profession he took seriously. It was refreshing to speak to someone who couldn’t be bought. Who would never fold, not even under threat of death.
The office had been cleared especially for you, per your request. People liked to gossip. Busybodies, your grandmother called them. The only sound was the low hum of the AC blowing cool air into the room and Mr. Gates shuffling around.
He finally sat down at his desk, the chair creaking under his weight. He pulled out a small recorder and showed it to you, the exact model you requested. You dipped your chin in acknowledgement. He took out a notebook, new and clean of any writing. You hoped he had enough pens.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked.
You adjusted your dress once more, running your hands along the fine, silken material. You licked your lips and looked back up at him. “I don’t wanna die without marking the occasion first,” you said with a clipped smile.
Each day it drew closer to the date, you got used to the idea of dying. You had a good run. It could have been better. But you weren’t one to be greedy.
Mr. Gates smiled softly, perhaps a little sad. It was nice to know someone would miss you. There would be one person on this earth who’d care if you were gone. That was something.
Mr. Gates wrote down something on his notepad and pressed a button on the recorder. He cleared his throat and introduced himself, the date, and the time. He asked you to state your name for the record.
“...of sound mind and body do declare this to be read as my last will and testament.”
“Goddammit!” You yelled. Your fists thumped against the rough wood of the door as it finished slamming into your face. The asshole on the other side was just as faceless as the long stream of dance companies that tossed you out on your ass. There were plenty more, sure, but this one had been reputable. Fair.
They took one look at your raggedy dance clothes, worn from too many times around the washer. At your hair, styled high above your head in braids they didn’t understand but were obsessed with. You didn’t have the time or the money to go to a salon. Just once, you’d like someone else to bother with your thick hair and its maintenance. You couldn’t be bothered.
You’d shave it all off but you didn’t want to deal with the mean and hurtful comments about you looking like a boy. Your knuckles were just getting over being bruised and tender from the last mu’fucka that tried to talk out the side of their neck.
“Asshole!” You screamed. It was open auditions. Open. Auditions. That meant that anyone could come in and try their hand. You had killed the routine. You only needed to watch something once to get it down. To feel it move through your body like a live wire and your muscles respond. To mimic it to near perfection and add your spin on it. Nothing fancy, just an extra oomph that these companies seemed to lack.
You had waited to the side with the other girls, all wispy, wafer thin girls who took one look at your curves and deemed you less than. A joke. That you couldn’t possibly move your body like they could.
One had the audacity to allude to that, calling it doing you a favor. Next thing you knew, your fist was flying and she was crying foul, blood running down her aristocratic nose. You just gave her a little more character, honest.
You cursed under your breath and moved away from the building. To hell with them. You shifted your dance bag over your shoulder and walked backwards. The marquee above the door announced an upcoming performance. Below it, there was the name of the headliner, Gabriella Greywood.
One day, and one day soon, your name would be up there. In bright lights. And no amount of racist, fatphobic fucks were going to stop you.
You turned and headed down the street, running head first into a person, solidly built by the feel of them.
“My bad, sweetheart,” a deep, rumbling voice greeted you.
Your mouth was already fixing to give him hell for not watching where he was going and that you were nobody’s “sweetheart”. The words dried on your tongue as you looked up into a deep set of brown eyes that crinkled a bit in the corner when he smiled.
He had a low fade and short beard, shaved close to his strong jaw. Pretty, long eyelashes that fanned across his cheeks whenever he blinked. He smirked, checking you out while you ogled him.
“S’okay,” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. He took in your tights and oversized gray sweatshirt.
“You heading inside?” He asked.
“Away from it. Those fucks wouldn’t know talent if it bit them in the ass,” you said.
The man chuckled and nodded, like he liked your honesty. Your words. “Fuck ‘em,” he said, gifting you with another smirk. You wondered what he’d look like when he really smiled. When he let it take up his whole face.
Too bad you didn’t have time for men. You may be behind most of your friends in that department. Their heads were full of getting married and popping out babies while they were still young. Like they were checking off boxes handed down to them through the generations. Grow up, learn just enough, get married, pop out babies, and then your real life starts once they are grown up with babies of their own. Fuuuck that.
“Where you headed then?” He asked. A noise to his left made you look up and see an entire other man standing next to him. He was a bit taller, broader around the shoulders, with a narrow face and a mischievous look in his eye.
“Home, I guess. Until I find the next studio giving out auditions,” you said. Your attention was solely fixated on the man in front of you. His friend grinned and moved away, lighting up a joint. He put a foot on top of a fire hydrant and pretended to ignore you both.
“Let me give you a ride,” he said. You couldn’t stop staring at his face. He was magnetic. Like he commanded attention whether you wanted to give it or not.
You giggled, stomach doing tiny flips. “I don’t know you,” you said, giving him a hint of the attitude you’re famous for. None of this, giggly, braid around your finger nonsense.
“Get to know me. Let me take you to Scarlet Lounge,” he said. His voice was smooth. Too smooth.
You crossed your arms and tilted your head. “That’s a gangster bar,” you said.
“What you got against gangstas?” He asked.
“They’re mean, amoral, kill for no reason, run drugs, and turn out little girls. They’re nothing but bad news,” you said.
“Damn, amoral. That’s a big one,” he said. He chuckled and licked his lips, calling attention to his mouth once more. Your body heated instantly, wanting to know what they taste like. What they feel like on your skin. What his hands would feel like on your skin.
“Not all gangstas are the same. Maybe some just wanna get over in a life hellbent on kicking them in the teeth,” he said. He put his hands in his pockets and you finally noticed what he was wearing. Simple jeans and a black hoodie, faded from too many washes like your clothes. You felt a sudden kinship with him, an understanding passed between you in being in similar situations. Just two mu’fuckas trying to make it.
“Are you saying you’re a gangsta?” You asked.
“If I say yes, you gon’ hold it against me?” Oh, he was dangerous. Absolutely dangerous.
You had gone on entire tirades about the level of crime in LA. It was insidious. The dangerous, hopeless underbelly that all kids from the hood grew up with was like a giant dome that prevented anyone from truly getting out. Truly making something of yourself. You either joined a gang, married into a gang, or rode the struggle bus ‘till God called you home.
You could leave. You could find some area where the people would treat you like a freak or like you didn’t belong but you would be safe. None of them would look like you. Or understand you. Change had to start in the hood. There had to be hope some-fucking-where.
“Probably,” you said.
He smirked and shook his head. “Cold game. What’s your name, sweetheart?” He asked.
You should walk away. There was no way you could entertain someone like him. No way. Your feet felt rooted to the spot, unwilling to walk away from him or this moment. The more you looked at him, the more you felt connected to him. That each minute you spent in his presence, you felt tiny stitches being woven in between you.
“I’ll tell you what gangsta boy. We bump into each other again and I’ll tell you my name,” you said. You turned on the balls of your feet, walking backwards away from him.
“You gon’ do me like that? Forreal?” He asked. The corner of his gorgeous mouth lifted higher. It was almost worth staying to see if you could get a real smile out of him.
“Byeee,” you sang. You giggled, heading towards the train station. You turned around and gave your hips a little extra swish.
“I’m Fontaine!” He called after you. It took all of your strength not to turn back around. You waved your fingers high in the air but kept walking. You didn’t really think you’d bump into him again. You couldn’t afford the distraction even if you did. You’d head back home to your shitty apartment that you shared with your best friend and regroup.
You needed to keep your eyes on the prize. You had a future to secure. And it did not involve pretty corner boys who talked smooth.
You finished doing your makeup in the vanity, touching up the bright red lipstick one more time and checked over your outfit. Muted music and cheers reached you into the backroom, from the set before yours.
Other dancers were touching up their outfits as well, skimpy little things that barely qualified as a costume. The leotards were black with thin stripes, sparkly silver edges that dug into your groin and under your arms. The designer, an evil little bitch with too much hair and a permanent sour expression, thought she was so damn important. Half the time, it was clear that she thought she was too good to design clothes en masse for a dance club.
You wore fishnet stockings like the others, black leather heeled boots, and a tiny black hat in your hair. You had sparkly glitter dusted across your cheeks so that your eyes would pop. Not that anyone would see you. You were relegated to the back in every single fucking number.
Everyone here had the same dream as you. It just came down to who was hungrier. Who was going to stick it out. You had been dancing your whole life and you’d be damned to let some wide-eyed, bushy tail ho from Minnesota steal your dream. You’d put in the work, you’d put in your dues, and soon, you’d be headlining your own show. Working with top directors and choreographers. Maybe even get into dancing on TV.
“One minute!” One of the stagehands called into the room. Kimmy approached you and looked at you in the mirror.
“Another day?” She asked.
“Another dollar,” you said back.
You both grinned and stood up, heading out of the dressing room and into the chaos backstage. Stagehands moved in a dance all their own, carefully moving around each other with headsets squawking with directions you couldn’t hear. Coordinating the lights and music, curtains, and set decorations.
The previous music was coming to a close, ending on a loud roaring beat that you felt down to your toes. Adrenaline thumped through you. Despite whatever else you went through, this made sense. This was the time that your mind finally shut up. That your focus on your dreams drifted to the back and all you had to do was feel the music. The euphoria that came with losing all sense of identity while dancing.
You stood on the stairs on the left side of the stage, too far away to see the current set; you’d seen the performance so many times you had it memorized. The group before you had done a circus themed dance, full of contortionists, flips, and tumbles. The performers worked hard to make it look so seamless, you were in awe every time.
They were due to exit on the right, to not interrupt your group. Their song ended, the curtains closing and claps echoing throughout the club. You were shuffled on stage, getting into position in the far back. Haters. Whatever.
Stagehands used pulleys to change the scenery behind you, to an alleyway facade. There was a fake brick wall beside you getting rolled in. The announcer, the sleazeball Rusty, was on stage and getting everyone pumped up.
You looked at Kimmy and made a face and she giggled, waving you off. The music for your number started to play, a slow and sexy jam. You were supposed to be a lady mafia, punishing men in a cold dark alley.
Once the curtains were open and the spotlight hit you in the face, you were gone. There was only the part you played, filling in the background while the lead dazzled the audience. You told yourself not to care, but deep down you did. It was disheartening to know that in your heart of hearts, you were more talented. You were a better dancer. You just refused to suck Rusty’s dick to get to the top.
So you focused on the music, on the dance, and executed it flawlessly. You were in the back now, but you weren’t going to stay there. You didn’t see the audience, you didn’t see the idiots at the bar, and you didn’t see any of the VIPs in the back, scoping out the dancers to see which ones they wanted to bring to the private backrooms for a “dance”.
You didn’t play that shit. You were too spiteful, too hateful, too outspoken. And you’d continue to do so. You had to take a pay cut to not be involved with that shit. It was illegal and unfair, but it beat spreading your legs for dirty cops and gangstas.
As you danced, your mind was partially split between what you were doing and the man you met the other day. Fontaine. You couldn’t stop saying his name. It rolled so well off of the tongue. Fontaaaine.
You nearly missed a step and mentally slapped yourself. You focused on the dance, lots of gyrating and popping your hips. Lots of slow glides down to the floor and rolling your back. Invisible prop assistants threw you all fake uzis and you ended the dance facing away from the crowd. You jerked your hand to pretend like you were shooting a gun into the alleyway while a group of male dancers pretended to die.
The crowd cheered behind you but your mind was already beating yourself up. Already going over what you could have done better. It’d help if your performances were recorded but for the “privacy of its patrons”, Rusty wouldn’t let anyone record inside. Phones had to be off or silent and there were plenty of bouncers willing to break expensive phones to ensure everyone’s “safety”.
Among the last to leave the stage, you turned to walk back to the dressing room. It didn’t feel like thirty minutes went by. You were sweating buckets though. Fat little droplets soaking your leotard and dripping from your temples.
“Aye!” You turned to the sound. “Over here!”
You knew better than to follow some strange sound around backstage, but the voice sounded familiar. Like warm caramel. You looked towards the front, where a bouncer stood to ensure that no one slipped past the curtain.
“Over here!” You walked towards the darkened back, following the sound. There stood Fontaine, standing behind a storage door. He smirked when he saw you.
“What are you doing back here?” You rushed over to him, pushing him into the storage room. You looked for people behind you. This area was where dancers left so it was hardly used for anything else. There were old decorations here, forgotten sets that needed to be stripped and repainted.
Fontaine’s callused hands pulled you into the storage room. Somehow, he found the lone lamp that worked and the soft light filled the room. It was junky. Full of chairs, tables, tablecloths. The overflow supplies.
“You said if we bumped into each other again, you’d tell me your name,” he said.
“This isn’t bumping into each other,” you pointed out. Your hands were still around his arms and his hands had relocated your hips.
“Sheeit, this is better,” he said.
You shook your head. “What are you doing here, gangsta boy?” You asked.
“Tell me your name first,” he said. He cocked his head to the side, letting you get a glimpse of his dark eyes.
A deal was a deal, you guessed. You told him your name and he rolled it around his tongue like cotton candy. “I like that, suits you,” he said.
“Your turn,” you said.
“Scarlets run this place, you ain’t know?” He asked.
“You work for Porter Sommer?” You asked. Porter Sommer was a ruthless drug kingpin that ran all of South Central. There wasn’t shit that went down in the hood that he didn’t have a fat little finger in. You’d only seen him once and it was enough to turn your stomach. He had dead eyes like a shark.
“He ain’t all that, I swear,” Fontaine said, shaking his head. “He the only nigga that give back ‘round here.”
“Give back? He got kids doing drugs in the parking lot before their parents pick them up. He shake niggas down for every last nickel they got,” you said.
“That ain’t us. That’s that bitch Shayne,” Fontaine said. He shook his head. “I ain’t come here for all that. I saw you on stage and I had to tell you that you were amazing.”
Now that you knew who he worked for, you weren’t sure if you wanted to continue dealing with him. You hadn’t given much thought to which side of the street he fell on. The Crips and the Bloods thought they were the top bosses in LA, aggressively defending square blocks they didn't own.
Porter Sommer and Shayne Blandford were the real OGs. They actually bought up the houses and stores on the blocks, doing their hardest to outbid each other at every opportunity. They both preyed on the weak and didn’t care who got caught in their crossfires.
Fontaine looked at you with such admiration though. Like he saw you. Like you weren’t just another dancer on stage. That he saw you with the same lights shining on you that you pictured in your head.
You stepped away from him to try to get some clarity. Obviously, touching him and getting that close to him was addling your brain. You were seriously thinking about entertaining a bad boy. One of the worst.
“What do you do for Porter then?” You asked. You crossed your arms.
Fontaine sighed and leaned back against an old desk. It wobbled under his weight and he looked down at it but then turned his attention back to you. “Do it matter? You gon’ judge me for it anyway,” he said.
“I’m not judging that you’re a corner boy. I’m judging that you work for Porter. That man is…scary,” you said.
“He a’ight,” Fontaine said with a shrug. “And I ain’t no corner boy no mo. Ya boy moved up and shit,” he said. He smirked and you could see him puffing his chest out. You giggled. He looked so proud of that fact.
You wanted to keep up your defenses against him. You wanted to walk out of the room and tell him to get lost. You could not get your head turned out by a gangsta. You didn’t have the heart for that kind of life. Why did you have to meet someone like him and he was bad news?
“Moved up how?” You asked.
“Protection services,” he said and waggled his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes playfully and couldn’t fight the grin that ran across your face. Whether he was outside or in this dingy ass room, he carried the same level of magnetism. Charisma.
“I cannot with you,” you said.
Fontaine stood up and slowly walked over to you. He had a mean ass lean to it that caused your stomach to flip in response. He was the total package, both in looks and wit. But, but, but.
He stood before you and clasped his hands behind his back. “I feel something. And I know you feel something too. I’d like to get to know you, sweetheart. Let me change your mind about gangstas,” he said.
“I don’t pay attention to words, gangsta boy. Your world is dangerous,” you said.
“You watch too many movies. Real gangstas talk and shit,” he said. He smirked and swayed from side to side. He was hypnotic. You swayed with him like he casted a spell on your body. Each word he spoke wove magic through your veins.
“Oh, really? Bunch of backroom deals and offers people can’t refuse?” You asked. You began to back towards the door. The only way to survive Fontaine was to escape. To remove yourself from the situation. With his voice and the way he spun words, he’d be liable to talk you right off of the City Hall building.
“Let me find out you like gangsta movies and you just giving me a hard time,” he said. He looked at you and slowly began to approach you. You had nowhere left to go. Your back was against the door.
“Maybe I just like giving you a hard time,” you said. You moved your hand behind you until your hand touched the cool metal of the doorknob. Fontaine’s mouth twitched but it wasn’t a smile. Dammit, you wanted to see him smile.
His minty breath fanned across your face as he leaned closer. You bit your lip. “I’on know if you heard me, but I’m in the protection game now. You don’t have to worry about anything ever again, I’m gon’ give you the world,” he said.
You smiled, letting his words fill up your head like fresh, doughy clouds after a storm. Plenty of people talked a good game. There was a long line of disappointing men who talked and talked but never backed it up. Starting with your daddy. Fontaine’s voice had the deep rumble of conviction behind it. He meant every single word. And you had no doubt that he could back it up.
But, but, but.
“I can’t be bought, Fontaine. I never asked for the world,” you said.
“I know. I’m gon’ give it to you anyway. With a matching moon,” he said.
You dropped your eyes from his intense gaze. The light didn’t quite reach this far, so you two practically stood in shadow. He blended into the shadow. Welcomed it. Like he lived and breathed in it.
“I’m a man of action. And I’ll prove it.” He dropped his head and kissed you. Electricity zapped your lips. His kiss was languid. Slow. Tongue already working its way inside your mouth like it owned it. Your hands came around his neck to pull him closer.
The kiss was intense, disconcerting. He knew exactly what to do too, alternating kisses and little nibbles. Your wet lips smacked against his and your pussy throbbed. He pushed you into the door, hands gripping onto your hips like he was holding on for dear life.
If he was magnetic before, it paled in comparison to touching him. Feeling him. You felt him everywhere. Each kiss sucked you further down into the shadows with him and you never wanted to taste the light again.
You paused here and took a deep breath. Mr. Gates cleared his throat and paused the recorder. “Do you want to skip this part?” He asked.
So kind. Mr. Gates was always so kind. He was a rare breed compared to all the men in your life. Especially when compared to Fontaine. However, Fontaine had no equal. There was no one who came close.
That first kiss ought to have been where you drew the line. You knew better than to sit in storage rooms with strange men and let them kiss you. Let them feel on your booty. Just remembering it, brought heat to your cheeks and to your core. You felt the ghost of Fontaine’s hands on your legs, on your hips. That playful smirk tickling your neck.
You shook your head. “I just need a minute. I-I need him to know that it was always real for me. That I went into it with both eyes open,” you said.
Mr. Gates nodded and got up, leaving his office for a moment. Your mind wandered, thinking back to those early days. From bumping into Fontaine to everything that followed after. Like the Hand of God tripped you over Fontaine’s feet so that you would meet. Would know. So that you would know each other and know what it was like to love with your entire body.
Moments later, you collected yourself. Mr. Gates seemed to know exactly when. He came back into the office without any prodding from you. You smiled at his kind, grandfatherly face. He had white hair sticking out the sides of his head. You bet he was a player when he was younger.
“Would you like to continue?” He asked.
You took a deep breath. “Yes, where was I? Um…so, Fontaine did exactly that. He proved with more than his words that we had something songs got written about…”
Fontaine attended every performance every night you worked. You were still in the background and he looked at you as if the spotlight was on you. He didn’t help your ego at all.
After every night, he’d somehow sneak backstage with a single red rose to tell you that you were the best dancer up there. He stole kisses after each one too. At this point, you didn’t know why you were still resisting him. You weren’t some prude waiting for a man to drop to one knee; you didn’t believe in that shit.
There was something a little hot about making him sweat it out. Something a little erotic about heavy petting and making out and living in the moment spent with your lips colliding and tongues exploring. With his hands around your ass and your hand rubbing him over his jeans.
You hadn’t had many occasions to lust after someone. Sometimes guys made you crane your neck, but you had a single minded focus that saw you through your shitty childhood, through your awkward teenage years, through screaming matches, and slammed doors. You got what you needed from guys, the only things they were really good for, and you left them high and dry. You left them while spit flew from their mouths as they called you bitches, hos, and anything else their little brains could think of.
Funny how once you treated boys how they treated you, you were suddenly the devil incarnate.
But you lusted. Every dip of Fontaine’s hips made your body respond in kind. Like he had a direct line to your pussy and constantly tugged on it to drive you crazy. He knew the effect he had on you too.
He always made sure to blow you a kiss while you were on stage. When he smirked, he liked to look at you out of the corner of his eyes. He made sure to grab your ass while making out, squeezing them like trying to get juice from a lemon. Oh and when he got to rubbing his stubble along your neck, your eyes would roll back and he’d tell you to quit being so cute before he dicked you down.
Fontaine made you hot and bothered. In more ways than one. As much as you were interested in him, you still hated what he had to do to survive. You understood the game, but it didn’t mean you had to love it.
When you weren’t on stage and you were taking your break, waiting for the next set, you would sneak out to the front of the house so that you could see the performances, see what worked and what didn’t. Sometimes you’d grab a drink and wait for Fontaine to sneak away to kiss you.
And sometimes you’d see him heading to the private rooms, escorting your fellow dancers and whichever powerful men wanted to use them for the night. Rusty was always there with a grin on his face and dollar signs in his eyes. It was disgusting.
Rusty never touched anyone but your best friend Kimmy. He took one look at her and fell ass over teakettle for your sweet friend who had a kid to look after. On top of paying her a little more, Rusty rented an apartment for Kimmy and her kid. She didn’t think anything of the little bargain. One man was better than a revolving door.
Sometimes anger boiled in your veins at the mere thought. You wanted to burn this place to the ground. It was true that you chose to come here, night after night. However, dancing was the only thing that kept the anger at bay. Well, that wasn’t entirely true anymore.
As Fontaine walked around the tables on his way to you, you found unexpectedly that his presence tamed the wildness of your anger. It wasn’t completely gone. The slightest thing would set you off. Until you bubbled over like a volcanic eruption, burning everything and everyone in your path. You weren’t like that with Fontaine. You didn’t want to be like that with Fontaine. And all it took was a few dozen roses and sweet stolen kisses.
“Hey sweetheart,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting. He was starting to grow his hair out. Since he moved to protection, he started dressing a little fancier. Dickies instead of jeans, plain T-shirts instead of whatever graphic tee caught his fancy.
Fontaine dressed all in black did things to your libido that wasn’t fit for mixed company. The short sleeved black tee seemed like he bought a size down on purpose, to emphasize his muscles.
“Hey you,” you said.
“Isaac was telling me about the Fair. We should go,” he said.
“The Fair? What we gonna do there?” You asked.
“I’on know. Fair shit,” he said, that damn smirk. You were going to get him to smile if it was going to be the last thing you did on this earth.
“You gon’ win me a teddy bear?” The question popped out before you could think about it and snatch it right back. You wished you could swallow the words, unring the bell, and ask him something different. Something that wasn’t a little too close to home. You always wanted someone to win you a teddy bear from one of those Fair games, carry it around for you.
But that shit was for other, softer girls and men who actually gave a damn. For TV movies and shows with people who didn’t look like you.
“I’m gon’ win the biggest one. So Friday night?” He asked.
“Friday night,” you agreed, little butterflies taking flight in your stomach.
“It’s a date sweetheart,” he said. He kissed your cheek and you watched his generous backside as he went back to the backrooms, making sure your friends were safe. As much as they could be.
When he approached the door, Issac came out of it looking self satisfied. The corner of your mouth lifted in a grimace. Isaac was attractive but something was throwing you off about him. Whether it was his vibe or the oily way he looked at everybody, Fontaine included, you made a mental note to get the full story behind them.
It was obvious that they were close and did next to everything together. Issac said something to Fontaine who shook his head but bumped fists with Isaac. It’d have to be none of your business for now.
Friday night rolled around and Fontaine was punctual in his champagne colored 90s Cadillac. You didn’t know much about cars, but you knew enough to appreciate the craftsmanship and that Fontaine lovingly took care of it.
It was shined to gleaming, silver chrome glinting from the streetlamps. Night was fast approaching and you had a long drive to Pomona, to the Fairgrounds. It was the first time in his car and you had to admit, you were a little nervous.
Fontaine got out of the car and you had to whistle at him. He wore black jeans, black boots, and a red flannel buttoned up. The top two buttons were out, giving you a peek of a black tank underneath. He wore his signature jacket, the same one he wore when you met. You had half a mind to say fuck the Fair and invite him inside.
“I know where yo nasty ass mind is at,” he said as he came around to the street to greet you with a kiss on your cheek. He handed you a single red rose.
“What you talkin’ ‘bout?” You asked.
“I know I look good,” he said. He smirked and stepped out, showing you his outfit. He dusted invisible lint from the front of his shirt and you laughed.
“You really do look good,” you said.
“But you look good enough to lick on,” he said. He bit his lip and eyed your outfit, a spaghetti strap dress with a modestly low neckline and blue and red ombre colors. It started out royal blue at the top until it began to lighten around the hips, turning into a jam red at the bottom.
“And you call me nasty,” you said. You tapped his shoulder and his cheeks puffed up. You half thought you were going to get a smile but he stopped himself at the last minute.
“Just telling the truth. Matter of fact, you look too damn good. I’on wanna spend the night catching bodies behind yo cute ass,” he said.
“Shut up!” You giggled. Fontaine said the cutest shit sometimes. Threatening murder behind you was not sexy, but when it dropped from his lips it was. It was a type of possession you didn’t think you craved, but you did. You wanted to belong to him in every sense of the word.
Fontaine escorted you into the street and opened the door for you. You slid inside his car, smoothing your dress over the leather seats. It smelled clean, like some type of mountain scent laced with the particular smell of weed. Fontaine closed the door and walked around the front, climbing in himself.
Low, thumping hip hop music was on in his car and you looked at him. This was different. He was different. And you only wanted to see where the night took you.
As Fontaine got onto the 10 freeway, he got comfortable and leaned back in his seat. The seat was further back still and you got the sense that it stayed a little too far back on purpose. He kept his left hand on the wheel and dropped his other hand to your knee.
You looked at it and it felt right. His hand was warm across your knee and you sunk into the seat, placing your hand over his. The corner of his mouth lifted as you began to speak and get to know each other beyond just his kisses.
“How long you think you gon’ be a gangsta?” You asked.
“Damn girl. Not even gon’ ask me what my favorite color is?” He asked. The red lights from the cars in front of you lit up his face and you found that red suited him well. The starkness of the color played across his features in a way that made him seem timeless.
“I already know what yo favorite color is,” you said.
“What?” He asked. He rubbed this thumb across your knee and you lost the ability to think for a minute.
Everybody Loves the Sunshine played on his stereo and you shook your thoughts loose finally. “It’s purple,” you said.
Fontaine chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, you been paying attention to a nigga, huh?” He asked.
“Whatever, Fontaine,” you said.
“Love it when you say my name. You draw it out and shit,” he said.
“I do not! Just answer my question!”
Fontaine was silent for a moment, weaving in and out of crazy LA traffic. Every year it got worse and worse. To the point that you almost didn’t want to leave the house most days. It was why you started taking the train more. It sucked, but it beat dealing with the mu’fuckas that continued to flock here chasing their paper dreams.
“I’on know how to do anything else. That 9-5 ain’t me,” he finally said, his voice smooth and low. “I need to know if that’s ever going to be a problem. If you can ever accept that this is the life I’m in.”
He slanted his eyes towards you. This was the most serious you’d ever seen him. And Fontaine was a pretty serious person more often than not. He got this look in his eyes, like he saw the world burning before him and didn’t want to bother grabbing a bucket of water to help. Like he liked it.
“I won’t promise to never speak on it. I’m…scared to lose you,” you said. You were surprised it was true. You made him sweat for a month, turning down his date ideas just to see what he would do. Testing him, you supposed. If he was in it for you or for what you had between your legs. Usually you could tell the difference with perfect accuracy.
When it came to Fontaine, nothing was certain. And you didn’t know if that scared you to the point of attraction, or turned you on to the point of fear.
Fontaine squeezed your knee. “You don’t gotta worry about that, sweetheart. It’s me and you,” he said.
Me and you. Those three little words planted themselves inside you, taking root and growing vines around your bones. Sprouting leaves in your lungs and stretched towards your brain, filling it with the oxygen you needed to breathe. Three little words. The wonder of it brought unexpected tears to your eyes.
You grinned at Fontaine. For the rest of the car ride, you got to know more about him. More about his little brother who was killed and why he joined the Scarlets. Why he took up a gun and was never putting it down again.
It made more sense in context. The circumstances were always fucked in the hood. And the tender heart you tried so hard to guard against all evil only broke more for Fontaine. He told you about how his mother retreated into herself. Only got herself together long enough to fake the funk at work and then disappeared into her room.
With mounting bills and not wanting to live off anyone, Fontaine did what any other Black male did in his situation. He grew up.
You told him about your toxic childhood. How your parents alternated between fighting and fucking. That when your dad was lost to the drink, he’d look at you like you were a stranger. And when he sobered up, he looked at you like you were a princess atop a castle. You never knew which side you were going to wake up to.
You told him about your mother and how she always seemed to be jealous of you. Like there was some aspect about how she raised you that she didn’t like. That it was your fault for taking her instruction to heart and not giving a fuck about what anyone said. You wanted something, you went after it.
There was no love in your house so you got out when you were 17 and never looked back. Fuck them. You didn’t want to stay in that house anyway.
Reaching the Fairgrounds, you and Fontaine turned to lighter subjects. How or why you got into dancing. Your favorite dancer was Debbie Allen. You wanted to be her so badly that you studied every move she ever made. That you went for ballet because that was where she started.
She was able to get into TV but that wasn’t really where you wanted to be. Maybe when you got older and your knees started to rebel. For right now, you just wanted to dance. To be free.
You held hands with Fontaine, talking and laughing while you pulled each other around the Fairgrounds. You’d only been once, when you were younger, and hadn’t bothered since then.
There were rides and the sizzling smells of meat that made your mouth water. Desserts, weird food combinations like a Krispy Kreme donut burger, and the sounds of children’s laughter. The ground was littered with wrappers, coupons, and papers.
Fontaine paid for your play cards, dropping a wad of money that made your eyes bug out. He kissed your cheek and told you to go nuts. Anything you wanted to do or try. There was no limit. You told him that he was crazy.
“The world and the moon to match, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips. You grinned and dragged him everywhere. On the ferris wheel, on the spinning ride, and on the zero gravity one until your stomach hurt so badly that you had to sit down. Your head spun painfully and Fontaine rubbed your hand while you giggled about it.
You went into the funhouse with its crazy mirrors. Fontaine only had one request, that you go on the haunted ride with him. You were determined to stay far away from it. You hated the feeling of being scared. He peppered your cheeks with kisses until you relented and got on with him.
You suspected that was his plan all along. To have you clutch onto him for dear life. He chuckled at your theatrics but didn’t make you feel bad.
“Come on, girl, I got you,” he said. He kissed your cheek and pulled you into the safe embrace of his arms. You giggled. You was gon’ have his babies if he kept doing cute shit like this.
After that ride, you settled on Pink’s for dinner. The smoke from the truck was whipped into the sky by a bitter breeze. You should have brought a jacket. You forgot how fucking cold it got at night out here.
Without saying a word, Fontaine made you wear his jacket. You attempted to tell him that it was okay, if nothing else yo mama ain’t raise no bitch, but he refused to take it back. “I’m hot anyway,” he said.
You grinned, looking up at him. He winked at you and ordered you food. You ate and laughed and talked about nothing in particular. Shit you found on TV. Movies you happened across. Books you’ve read. Music you listened to.
You yawned and leaned your head against him after another round of rides and dessert. A huge funnel cake topped with ice cream and chocolate drizzle. Fontaine had to help you finish it in the end.
“You gon’ have to roll me out of here after all this,” you said, licking your spoon for every wayward swipe of chocolate and smacking your lips with a loud pop. When Fontaine didn’t say anything, you turned towards him. His gaze was fixed on your mouth.
“Fontaine?” You asked.
He gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing you closer. He licked the corner of your mouth and you moaned, feeling his hot tongue on your cold face. He hummed in the back of his throat.
“Delicious,” he said.
He pulled back with a smirk, rubbed your chin, and pulled back. Your whole body heated. Cascading down your body in waves. You rubbed your thighs together, wetness starting to pool in your panties.
“We got a little more to spend before we dip. Let’s get you that teddy bear,” he said.
“I was just joking about that,” you said. You gulped around the tension. So thick, it stuck in your throat.
“I wasn’t,” he said. He stood up from the bench and held out his hand. You took it, hand fitting his like a glove. He threw out the plate you finished up and tucked you into his side while he walked.
In the middle of the grounds, there was a row of carnival games like ring toss and popping balloons. There was also a basketball hoop. Fontaine made a beeline for it, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel. A staff member scanned the play card and loaded up the basketballs for Fontaine.
He tested the balls and soon, started sinking ball after ball. Your mouth dropped open. He could’ve been a basketball player with that lethal game! The staff member told you to pick out a small teddy bear. Fontaine stopped you.
“One game is a small teddy bear, but three mediums is a big one right?” Fontaine asked.
The staff member, some pimply kid, popped his gum and nodded. Fontaine loaded up more games, winning each and every one until you had three medium ones and exchanged it for a giant fuzzy teddy bear. It was so big! You squealed when the staff member handed it to Fontaine. He chuckled at your reaction.
You squeezed one of the arms and couldn’t help jumping up and down. You were happy to take the small teddy bear. But the fact that he kept going made your heart soar. “Worth it just to see your face,” he said. You kissed his cheek a hundred times and he finally smiled.
It felt like your world narrowed to that expression on his face. Watching his whole face light up and eyes crinkle. He had a wide smile that took up his whole face. His smile was infectious but you were too dumbstruck to smile back.
“Come on,” you said. You grabbed his hand and pulled him forward.
“Where we going?” He asked.
“I wanna remember tonight. And you better smile!” He chuckled while you pulled him to the nearest photobooth. You probably should have done this before winning the bear, but fuck it. Tonight had been nothing short of perfect and you wanted to capture this moment the best way you could think of. Like those shows and movies did. With something real. Not just something captured on your phone.
You wanted it in your hands. You wanted to slide it into a binder so that you could look at it over and over while in class. Daydream about him in between lockers and free time. Glance at him from across the way on the courtyard. Dance with him at Homecoming. He made you feel young, like you were back in high school with your first crush. Fontaine was everything. Absolutely everything.
The teddy did fit, and you scooted in first. Fontaine chuckled and sat down next to you. He swiped the card and it began to give you instructions. Fontaine was serious the first go around, mean mugging the camera.
“Forreal this time!” You giggled.
Fontaine sighed and rubbed his head. “A’ight, a’ight,” he said. He loaded it up once more. He kissed you in the first picture. Then you did a few silly ones. He tickled you for one of them. On the last one, you couldn’t think of what to do next. So you just looked at him. He looked at you. The camera flashed and you saw it reflected in his beautiful eyes.
You continued staring at each other until the booth buzzed, wanting to know how many copies you wanted. You printed two and finally scooted out. Fontaine scooped up the two cards and you placed your head on his shoulder to look at them.
“Thank you, Fontaine. For everything,” you said. He just…he had no fucking clue what tonight meant to you.
“The world and the moon to match, sweetheart. You ain’t gotta thank me for this,” he said.
“Yes, I do. And I know just how to thank you,” you said. Your voice turned a little flirty and you lifted your head to look at him. He looked down at you and smirked.
“Is that right?” He asked, licking his lips.
“Yup. We better get back to my place before my roommate gets home,” you said.
Fontaine took your hand and tugged you towards the entrance. You giggled the entire way, feeling giddy and light in a way you hadn’t in a really long time. Fontaine gave you that. Gave you that freeing feeling back. You thought you’d lost it when you accepted that your parents didn’t know how to love you.
His Cadiallac sped down the open freeway, too late for the out of town mu’fuckas to fuck it up for everyone else. The windows were down and the wind rushed through the car with wild abandon. He drove safely, but fast towards your place, hand on your knee the whole way.
The tension was back with a vengeance. Like you were both standing on top of a cliff somewhere ready to dive off. Heat pooled along with your arousal between your thighs and you couldn’t stop clenching them.
Lust. Lust was a powerful thing. Detonating bombs in your core until you were practically drunk on them. Looking forward to them. Until there was only the dirty thoughts running through your mind and the feel of his callused hand on your knee.
Fontaine managed to find a spot on your street. You were on the wrong side of Stocker, where you had to get to the spot faster than your neighbor. Fontaine got out first and then opened the door for you. He even grabbed the teddy for you so he didn’t have to come back outside for it.
You pulled him into your crappy apartment that you shared with Kimmy. Considering Rusty was paying for it, it could have been worse. You still owed rent to him and had to clear out when he wanted to ditch his wife and come mess with Kimmy. She was out with her son and likely wouldn’t be back until sometime Sunday. You didn’t tell Fontaine this. You didn’t want him to think that you were plotting on him.
But you were. You weren’t sure if he was the type to stay after sex, or once he got off, he was already looking for his pants. You wouldn’t really bring him upstairs if it was the latter. You got the feeling that he was a little clingy under that hard facade.
You only turned on enough light to get across the living room and into your room. You turned on the lamp. Both of you were breathing heavily. Bodies preparing to experience an unparalleled pleasure.
Fontaine gripped your hips and you giggled, accepting the kiss he laid on you. The ones before had been tame. He had been holding himself back. These were wilder. Crazier. Lips smashing into yours with a desperate plea to get closer and stay closer.
He pushed his jacket off of your shoulders and you worked on the buttons of his flannel. He helped you pull it off of him and you licked your lips at your first real look at his body. At the tattoos down both sides of his arms. You didn’t have time to catalog them all, but you would eventually. You were going to lick and trace every single one of them.
He was thick in all the right places. A hard stomach and big arms. His stubble tickled your chin while he started to kiss your cheeks and your neck. You were a twisting mess of flailing arms and legs trying to get out of your sandals, his shoes, and his pants while working your way over to the bed.
You pushed him to sit on it and he bounced with a small chuckle. You dropped to your knees, tugging at the zipper of his jeans. “Yo, what you doin’? Ladies first,” he said.
You leaned up and kissed him. “I appreciate that, but I said I wanted to thank you proper,” you said.
“Sheeit, don’t let me stop you then,” he said. He grinned, gifting you with another rare smile from him. It fueled your desire.
You tore desperately at his pants and briefs, freeing his long, thick dick. You moaned at the sight of it. The tip already weeped, precum beading. You swiped your tongue at it and Fontaine moaned, rolling his neck.
You continued to please him, licking him in certain spots trying to learn what turned him on. What made his dick twitch in your hands or his balls jerk. You wrapped your lips around his thick head and sucked him down.
“Fuck! Just like that!” Fontaine groaned. His hands disappeared into your braids, tugging on it. You groaned around his dick and he hissed in return. You batted your eyes at him and sucked him for real this time. No more teasing. No more games. No more tests.
You drooled on his dick, growing wetter at the act. You could practically feel him inside you already, ruining you for any other man. You used both of your hands to please him where your mouth couldn’t reach.
Sputtered words and soft commands filled your ears on top of you gulping him down. “Mm, suck that shit down, sweetheart,” he groaned.
That spurred you on, that you were doing a good job. You gripped his thighs and leaned up to take more of him. “Gah damn,” he said and licked his lips.
You took him in deeper, as far as you were able without using your hands. You breathed where you could. The only thing that mattered was letting him know what this night meant to you. What he meant to you.
You slurped on his dick, letting the spit lube up more of his dick for you to slide on him. His moans grew louder, fingers clutching your braids harder. “I’m finna bust,” he groaned.
You kept going. As if that was supposed to stop you? That was the goal! You wanted him to bust. You wanted to empty his balls into your mouth. You wanted to taste every ounce of his cum in the back of your throat.
He gasped and he was unleashing himself inside you, filling your mouth with him. You swallowed him down and moaned, arousal leaking from you. Pussy throbbing.
Fontaine grabbed his dick and pulled him from your mouth, tapping the head against your lips. You kissed him and he smirked. “You a bad one, ain’t you?” He asked.
You shook your head. “Oh? You a good girl?” He asked.
You nodded. He hummed, the low vibration sending signals down to your pussy. “Good girls get rewards don’t they?”
You nodded, too struck dumb by him to say anything else. What was there to say? If you opened your mouth, all kinds of sticky, gooey, lovey dovey shit would fall out and you’d never been good at that.
Fontaine stood up and helped you to stand, he kissed you, not caring that he just finished in your mouth. You loved a nasty nigga. He unzipped your dress and kissed your shoulders while it fell from your body.
He unhooked your strapless bra, freeing your titties and licking his lips at the look of you. “Like two little chocolate kisses for me,” he said. His lips descended on them, suckling each one and learning the shape and feel of them in his mouth.
His hands worked your panties off, pushing them off your legs. He kissed on your chest as he laid you down and now it was his turn to get on his knees. His turn to push his head between your legs and suckle his way past your pussy lips.
“Oh fuck!” You moaned. His tongue was a gift from the gods. Long and big, he flattened it against your pussy and moved his head in circles. Your breaths shuddered and your body twisted, legs shaking.
He pulled the orgasm from you like it was his divine right and you screamed out, lungs burning with the effort. Fontaine kissed your thighs and your belly, wiping your essence off on you.
“Let me taste,” you begged. Fontaine chuckled and climbed up your body and kissed you, letting you taste just how wild he made you. You scratched up and down his chest and back, pulling him closer.
“Let me feed you this dick,” he said.
“Feed it to me, baby,” you moaned.
He gifted you with another grin. Wide smile and crinkly eyes that you wanted to swim in. He pushed his jeans completely off and next went his black tank. He didn’t have any tattoos across his spacious chest and you ran your hands over him, learning every mole or scratch on him.
He had a faint scar across his shoulder and you traced it with your thumb. You didn’t have time to ask him about it before his dick was pushing at your entrance.
You hissed and pushed on his chest. You were sure you were wet enough, but he was still massive. “Slow! Slow!” You cried.
He tilted his head and moved his hips, pushing deeper into you. Once the tip was in, he shoved all the way in with one hard thrust. You gasped, your mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as he stretched you out with a bite of pain.
You slapped at his shoulder. “I said slow!”
He chuckled and kissed you, trying to ease the sting. “I can’t help it. You so fuckin’ wet. I need you,” he moaned. He fed you long, deep strokes touching a deep, sweet place inside of you that might’ve been your soul. Like he wanted to write his name in the very fabric of you and never lose you.
You gasped as he delivered these strokes, hissing when he hit that deep spot again and again. Your legs began to shake in earnest. “Mhm, don’t hold it, sweetheart. Let that shit go and lemme feel it.”
“Fon-tai–” you moaned.
“Shhh, I know you wanna call my name. I know you do. But all you gotta do is focus on that nut. Focus on my voice,” he asked.
He stretched you perfectly. And from how much arousal there was, it was staining your sheets. You were sliding up and down on his dick now, titties flapping from the strength of his strokes.
He moaned, watching the expressions play out over your face. He cupped one of your titties, pushing down to hold you in place while he fucked you. “Mhm, doing so good, sweetheart. So good, focusing on you. Focusing on what I’m giving you.”
“Oh god, oh god,” you moaned, eyes rolling back in your head.
“Shit, just like that baby. Grip it just like that,” he moaned.
Your cries turned wild, keening, and loud while you gripped onto him and shook and twitched through your orgasm. He hummed while you did so. Satisfied with himself.
“You-you didn’t…”
“I know, turn over,” he said. His deep voice let you know that he wasn’t playing. Somehow, you found the strength to flip over. He smacked your ass, watching it jiggle.
He entered you once more and you cried out. You would never get used to his size. Never get used to him slamming and stroking inside of you.
“Fuck!” You moaned.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. Hear how he knew exactly what you needed.
He gripped big chunks of your ass and used it like handles to slam you down on his dick, faster, and harder. Your elbows ached from trying to brace yourself against him. You slammed back, giving as much as you were taking.
“Ouue, that’s my good girl. You show me what you got,” he encouraged.
You continued to throw it back, craning your neck in time to see him throw his head back, surrendering to your pussy. It was enough to make you cry out, back bowing to another powerful, earth-shattering, world-altering orgasm.
“Take that shit, baby,” he moaned and then finally climaxed, pumping you full of his delicious cum.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, I need it, baby,” you moaned.
“I know you do,” he grunted as his dick stopped pulsing. His cum leaked out of you as he pulled out. He spread your ass cheeks to watch. He slapped your ass when you were sure no more would come out. You were thoroughly stuffed like a twinkie.
Fontaine left the room and you collapsed forward onto the bed, strength leaving you. A bit of nervousness crept in its place though. You wanted to ask him to stay. You wanted to roll over and be all sexy and enticing. As much game as you talked, sometimes you had moments where you couldn’t make your mouth move.
Fontaine came back into the room with a warm rag to clean you off. You moaned and he rubbed your ass as he cleaned off your thighs as well. You sluggishly rolled over and smiled at him.
“You’re so damn cute,” he said.
“You are,” you said and smiled.
“When yo roommate getting home?” He asked.
You shrugged and looked away from him. “Um, I think she said she doing something this weekend,” you said.
“So you gon’ be home alone?” He asked.
You shrugged again and played with the edge of a pillow. “Yeah, I think so.”
The bed dipped as Fontaine sat down on it. He grabbed your chin and made you look at him. You didn’t want to. You tried to fight him. But he only smirked and held on. You looked at him and he tilted his head.
“Do you want me to stay, sweetheart?” He asked.
“Only if you want to,” you said.
He shook his head and pecked your lips. “Be a good girl for me and tell me you want me to stay,” he said.
He smiled and you rolled your eyes. He got on your damn nerves. But you couldn’t quit him.
“I want you to stay, please.”
He nodded and kissed you. Then he pulled you further onto the bed and tucked you under the covers. He defied any expectation you had of his gender. He really was killing it for anyone else.
Though, as sweet as he was being, you knew that there would never be anyone else.
Me and you.
You stopped here and wiped a runaway tear sliding down your cheek. You sniffled. You were both a couple of fools. Two fools in love. In a love that blinded you to anything else.
You should have told him to go. Should have told him that one night was all you could have. Even thinking that, your chest seized like your heart was being compressed under a massive weight.
There was no you without Fontaine. And there was no Fontaine without you, you hoped.
Check out the Tyrone masterlist if you need more in your life! The Secret Tyrone Files
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#Megaminds Secret Files#Megaminds Asks#They Cloned Tyrone#Fontaine x Black!reader#Fontaine x Black reader#x Black reader#Fontaine x Fem!reader#Fontaine x Fem reader#x Fem reader#Fontaine x reader#Fontaine x you#Fontaine fanfic#Fontaine fan fic#Fontaine fanfiction#Fontaine fan fiction#John Boyega fanfic#John Boyega fan fic#They Cloned Tyrone fanfic#They Cloned Tyrone fan fic#They Cloned Tyrone fanfiction#They Cloned Tyrone fan fiction
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Aht aht aht. The vampire Tyrone said that the things he was gonna do to the reader was gonna make the devil jealous. I need details please, if you feel me!!!
A/N: Don't be quoting my fics back at me LOL. I'm gon take this lightly, but let's remember that I am not a smut machine. LOL
A Seduction at Midnight Chapter 3
Pairing: Vampire!Tyrone x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FILTH. Use of n-word. Reader is tied up with cuffs, fingering (fem receiving), oral (fem receiving), PIV (unprotected), cursing, AU Tyrone, Toxic Tyrone. Dark fic. Dirty talk. One mention of spanking. Possession kink, pet names. Mentions of stalking and manipulation. blood, over stimulation, Mean-ish reader.
Summary: A chance meeting at a club introduced you to the enigmatic Tyrone. He was interesting in ways that you weren't expecting. After inviting you to a exclusive party at his place, Tyrone promises a night of pure carnal delights.
Word Count: 4,172k
Midnight Sin Masterlist
A/N: Okay, let's see what these crazy kids get up to! I guess, this is kind of OC? Is it OC if I invented a tiny backstory? I'm still getting the hang of fic writing. Since this taglist is getting so big, please give me a headcount of who still wants to be tagged for Vamp Tyrone or who only wants normal Tyrone. I don't tag ageless blogs. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! Ageless blogs get blocked.
Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @wakandas-vibranium @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @mcotton0928 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @mybonafidefeelings @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @nerdieforpedro @umber-cinders @longpause-awkwardsmile
Mistakes were made. Your wrists were tied and suspended above you on a chain you did not see when you first walked in. You knelt on the bed in a growing puddle of your own arousal, knees spread wide. You felt how wet you were. It leaked out of you, trailing down your thighs.
You shook nearly in time with the grandfather clock. Each new chime was another hour passed while Tyrone played with you. Perhaps, you didn’t really know what you were signing up for.
Tears sprung from your eyes. You sniffled. It was too much sensation, too many nerves, too much pleasure. He had not stopped after your previous orgasms for the audience. No, he kept going. Pushing you past your limits.
“Still with me?” You turned to the sound of his voice but couldn’t see him. He had taken off your mask ages ago and replaced it with a blindfold. It was snug against your face, damp with your tears.
“Yes,” you whispered.
Tyrone trailed a feather against your skin and it was like he set you on fire. You hissed and jerked away from him, crying. The chain clinked loudly in your ear.
“Aw, don’t try to get away,” Tyrone said and chuckled. He leaned in and kissed your cheek. Even that shit was sensitive.
“P-please,” you whispered.
“Please what? Say it where I can hear you,” he said.
You leaned your head against your raised arms. They were starting to hurt, but the last time you asked him to lower the chain, he fingered you until you came two more times. You couldn’t possibly have another one to give.
The feather tickled your neck and you twisted, falling forward a bit. Tyrone caught you and righted you. But his grip was too much. You cried out and Tyrone shushed you.
“Shh, shh, where we at baby?” He asked.
“Y-yellow,” you said, cursing yourself. You should just end this. But you did not want this evening to end. For once, your brain shut off and Tyrone handled everything. The sounds he elicited from you were sinful. You didn’t know you could beg and scream and cry as often as you did tonight.
“Are you sure? You’re so messy,” he said slowly. His fingers grazed your pussy and you desperately clenched, needing to be filled. You moaned moving your hips forward, yearning for him to end your torment.
“Hmm, you’re so wet,” he purred in your ear. “I bet I would have to fight to stay inside, huh?” Tyrone licked your neck.
“No, no,” you said. If he’d just give you the dick, you would lock your legs around him and never let go. You licked your lips, still feeling a bit rubbed raw after the last time you sucked his dick.
Tyrone kissed down your neck, around your shoulders, towards your chest. He palmed your breasts, rubbing them slowly and running his thumbs across your nipples. Your whole body shivered.
You still felt his hands everywhere. Your body tingled from everything he had done to you tonight. Like phantom hands still massaged you, molded you, broke you in half like a pretzel.
His mouth replaced his thumb. He latched his mouth to your left nipple, swirling his tongue around it.
“S-shit,” you sniffled. You didn’t have enough air in your lungs to yell. He dipped his fingers into your pussy, pumping two long fingers in and out of you.
“Got another one for me?” He asked. His breath fanned across your wet nipple and you moaned.
“N-no,” you moaned. Hell, this couldn’t be real. You didn’t want to wake up if it wasn’t. He was ruining you for any other man. What human could compete with this level of stamina? Tyrone had sounded calm and collected all night. Except for when he was fucking your mouth. He never sounded more gorgeous than the few little “fucks” that kept escaping him.
He flicked his tongue lazily against your nipple. Once he got it into a tight nub, he moved on to the right nipple. He paid just as much attention to that one as he still pumped his fingers.
It was as if with every plunge, he was calling your orgasm to the surface. Dragging it from the depths of hell itself to make you cum. “Oh fuck, p-please,” you cried.
“C’mon and give it to me. I knew you had another one for me. With yo sexy ass. You’ve done so good for me tonight,” he whispered against your nipple. You cried out, nothing but the wisps of air you managed to keep escaping you.
Pleasure wrapped around you and held on for dear life. You shook and jerked. Feeling squeezed tight and not tight enough. Tiny earthquakes were set off inside of you, each with its own aftershock of pleasure. Tears trailed down your cheeks.
Tyrone lifted his head from your chest. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. He took his fingers out of your pussy and spread your arousal around your lips. He shoved his fingers in, making you taste yourself again. He licked your tears away, from both cheeks, humming in pleasure.
“You’re gonna have to tell me when to stop. I can’t get enough of you,” he said. He kissed your cheek. He held his lips there in a sustained kiss and breathed you in. You knew he didn’t have to breathe, not really. He did it anyway, committing you to memory. The thought made your pussy throb.
“I n-need…” You tried, but you couldn’t voice your thoughts. It had been too long since he entered you. Since he gave you what you wanted. What you truly wanted. You were trying to hold out but he was being incredibly stubborn about it.
Couldn’t vamps read minds? Weren’t they supposed to get super special powers to roll your mind, make you do things, or work some type of magic? You slunk down, wrenching your shoulders back too far, but you were close to passing out.
“Tell me what you need,” Tyrone said. His voice was clear, deep, and intentionally seductive. He knew fuck well what he was doing. You supposed after centuries of sex, he should know what he was doing. But you were a mere mortal. He had to have some kind of mercy.
“Please, fuck me,” you begged.
Tyrone chuckled and cupped your face. He kissed you. His tongue rolled against yours and you moaned, sitting up straighter. Your thighs were starting to burn from this position. The metal clanked overhead. The grandfather clock tick, tick, ticked. You’d never be able to look at another clock the same way again. The mu’fucka ruined clocks for you too.
He slotted his lips against yours, languid as a fat cat on a summer’s day. He explored your mouth as if he were kissing you for the first time. His soft lips were their own sweet torture.
“Hm, I need to taste you first. You made such a mess, I need to clean it up,” he said. You cried as he moved into position on his back. He pulled you closer, making you crawl on your knees. The chain rattled as it moved on the track, allowing you to push forward and sit on his face. You tried to stay on your knees, but he grabbed you by the thighs and pulled until you were seated.
He reminded you that he didn’t need to breathe as his tongue darted out to lick your pussy. You reared up but he pulled you back down. Your ass pushed against the heels of your feet.
His grip turned bruising as he crushed you to his face and ate you out again, moaning at the taste of you.
“So good,” you think he said. He sounded muffled. You bit your lip as your hips started to move of their own accord. Grinding down on his face. Oh, oh, yeah that felt so good. You moved your hips faster.
Tyrone stuck his tongue out and let you fuck yourself on it. You moaned as you rode him, taking your pleasure from him as if he were nothing but a toy. Nothing but a vibrator you were pleasuring yourself with. Your fingers tangled with the chains as you gripped them and rode his face harder. Fresh arousal leaked out of you, surely drowning him.
“Right there, right there, rightthererightthererightthere,” you cried, your voice tinny.
You were caught between wanting to go faster and pushing him off altogether. You could not survive another orgasm. And yet, you were grinding on him anyway. Your pussy clenched and throbbed as your orgasm built, tightening your belly. At its peak, it erupted.
You cried out as it swept through you. A volcano of pleasure that kept going and going, taking you to another plane of existence.
You slumped against his face as he licked up everything you gushed out. You spasmed. The smell of sex was so thick in the air, you could probably cut it with a knife. “Such a good little girl,” he said against your thighs. He moved you easily as if you were as light as the feather he used earlier.
The praise made your spirit soar, even as your body was too tired. He got to his knees behind you. A moment later, the chains were starting to lower and you whimpered in relief. He kissed your neck and back and started to massage your shoulders. He whispered nasty things in your ear as his hands rubbed the dull, burning ache.
“Better?” He asked.
“Unhuh,” you sighed.
“Where we at baby?” He asked.
You thought about it. If he teased you one more time, that was it, you were throwing in the towel. Stubbornly, you rallied the last remaining strength you had. “Yellow,” you said through clenched teeth.
“Stubborn little thing, ain’t you?” He asked.
“I was promised a night I’ll remember,” you said.
He chuckled and licked the shell of your ear. “Not enough for you? Complaining about my performance?” He asked.
“If I need to find someone else, let me know,” you said.
The sharp smack to your ass was unexpected and you gasped from the sheer force. The sting built in intensity until your ass was on fire.
“You can joke about a lot of things. That shit ain’t one of ‘em. Understand?” He asked.
Your head bobbled.
“Use your words,” he said.
“Yes, I’m sorry,” you squeaked.
Since your arms were now lowered, he pushed you forward. You leaned on your elbows and brought your ass up. You weren’t moving fast enough. Tyrone grabbed your hips and pulled you backwards.
He slammed inside of you. You were so wet that he slid in easily. You cried out as he fucked you with something to prove. Okay, you hit a fucking nerve.
Your wrists were still tied. You held them in front of you, to keep the chain from knocking into your face. He fucked into you with reckless abandon. His fingers dug into your hips, slamming you back on his dick.
You moaned and cried and whimpered as he finally gave you what you wanted. He filled you up. His thick dick was perfect, digging into your guts exactly in the way you needed.
“No one else gets to touch you,” he growled.
“Yes, Sir,” you said.
“No one,” he said. “No one.” It became a chant. Every thrust pushed you forward. Your ass slapped against his thighs. His balls tapped your clit.
Your nails scraped against the bedsheet as he rutted inside of you. He was animalistic. Grunting and groaning. In between chanting, he’d pepper in curses. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, squeeze that shit,” he moaned.
You pushed back against him, and he increased his thrusts. His moans turned you on. Hearing that deep voice moaning activated a different side of to you. You threw it back on him. He growled as he slammed back. Gasps and yips escaped you. You couldn’t take a full breath. He fucked the orgasm out of you, wringing a loud, keening yowl from you.
Your body jerked and twisted as your orgasm steamrolled you. Reality shifted and changed. You peeked into the fifth dimension, feeling at once above your body and in it. You pictured how you looked. Suppliant, on your knees, getting dicked down in the most primal way possible.
“Oh fuck, baby. So good,” you moaned.
As you floated back down, Tyrone roared and released a fat load inside of you. The hot spurts filled you up. He shuddered as he pushed forward to the hilt, moaning deep and low in his throat.
“So beautiful. So good,” he whispered. He leaned forward and kissed the base of your spine. You tensed, ready for his fangs to sink in. He rubbed one side against your ass and chuckled. “No more bites tonight, love,” he promised.
You pouted and whined. He placed another kiss there and slipped out of you when he softened. He untied the blindfold.
The sudden light seared your eyes and you blinked through new tears. You looked towards him, eyes blurry, and found him looking down at you with so much emotion. Such pride. Such admiration. You smiled lazily at him and yawned. You still shook from little tremors after that last orgasm.
He took the cuffs off of you, rubbing and massaging circulation back into your wrists. Warmth spread through your body as you stretched out, laying down fully on the bed. Sleep tugged heavily at you. You wanted to stay up and talk to him, but he kissed your forehead and told you to sleep. So sleep you did.
Tyrone
You were going to be the true death of him. You looked ruined. Your perfect body was curled on the bed, ass in the air and scrumptious enough to bite into. He almost did earlier, but it was your first time giving blood. He didn’t want to suck you dry.
Fuck, his dick twitched thinking of how good you tasted, in all aspects. Your blood was ambrosia. Straight from the heavens itself. It took every, single ounce of willpower to keep from killing you. And you poor thing. You had no clue.
He should feel horrible about it. You were so full of life. Interesting and unique. He loved listening to you talk and learning how your mind worked. He would hate it if you were snuffed from this life.
But you had no clue how fucking delicious your blood was. And then when he tasted that sweet honey between your thighs, it was enough to drive him insane with lust. Tyrone could not remember the last person who drove him so crazy. He’d had his share of lovers over the centuries. When his loneliness was so loud, he’d do anything to steal the warmth from his partner. He’d agree to anything, kill anybody, if it meant that someone would wrap their hands around him in love rather than fear.
He looked at you, staring at your rolls and curves. He could keep going. You made him want to keep going. He wanted to mesh your bodies together and never leave your embrace. He wanted to twist you any which way he could.
He needed a walk. Usually, he would kick out whoever he got done fucking. But you were different. He wanted to mold his body to yours and snuggle in close. But if he snuggled up with you right now, you wouldn’t ever be free to walk this earth again. This…possessiveness was starting to worry him. Slick Charles said as much as Tyrone spent nearly every night watching you in your house.
He left the room, towards the en suite bathroom and warmed up a washcloth for you. He cleaned you up, gentle, but you were deeply asleep. He heard the thump of your heart as you slept. You made little whimpering noises.
He was jealous of your dreams. For a while, you were lost to him. He wanted more of it. More of you. You were so cute and trusting, sleeping next to a monster. So, he threw on his briefs and left the room altogether. He needed to be away, where your scent wasn’t wreaking havoc on his senses.
Outside the room, the carnal sounds of fucking slammed into him. The smell of sex was potent. He walked down the hall where some people were fucking against the wall. He passed by people in various states of dress, masks on, dicks and pussies out. Some women were getting fucked, some men were getting pegged.
When he was younger, all of this still would’ve excited him. He still enjoyed watching sex, but his dick only stirred for you. He gritted his teeth as he passed through to one of the playrooms.
Four people were intertwined in a complicated dance on the large bed. Tyrone stopped for a moment, watching the foursome as everyone was getting off on someone else. Sex was fascinating to him. The way people contorted themselves into shapes just to get off. To reach that ultimate goal. Tyrone watched their faces. He watched how even though they selfishly sought their own pleasure, they were just as focused on their partner. On giving and taking.
Tyrone moved on, passing by the playrooms and ensuring that everyone minded the rules. At the end of the hall, a lone figure leaned against the wall. The figure was fully dressed in slacks and a shirt one size too big.
“Who are you?” Tyrone asked. He stopped walking forward. The figure was half in shadow. The figure turned his head, head dipping into one of the hall lights.
“Don’t you recognize your big brother?”
Tyrone sighed and rubbed his head. “The fuck are you doing here, Fontaine?”
Fontaine chuckled, his gold grills glinting in the light. Moans crescendoed all around but Tyrone tuned it out. Like turning down the sound on a stereo, the moans faded to the background.
Rage replaced his earlier calm at seeing Fontaine. Smug mu’fucka. Fontaine removed himself from the wall, stalking towards Tyrone. He put his hands in his pockets and looked Tyrone up and down.
“Shit, Tyrone. You finally fuck that stick out ya ass?” Fontaine chuckled. “Who is she? She still around?” Fontaine looked behind Tyrone as if the person would be coming up behind them. Tyrone clenched his fists but kept a mask of amused indifference.
“What are you doing here, ‘Taine?”
Fontaine’s smile slipped. He shrugged. “Can’t just be because I miss you?”
Tyrone reared back as if Fontaine had slapped him. It was uncanny, looking into the eyes of someone that fuckin’ looked like you. There was a disconnect between the mirror and this mirror-version of Tyrone. It was him but it wasn’t him.
“Fuck no. What do you want?” On the inside, Tyrone was worried. He still didn’t know what you were or why your blood smelled so divine. It was a big risk bringing you here tonight, knowing that your blood might draw the others. But nothing happened when that first drop touched air…still, he wasn’t going to gamble that Fontaine’s keen sense of smell would find you.
Tyrone barely held it together around you. Fontaine was a ripper, who enjoyed his food in all manners of ways. It would be nothing to snap your neck and drain you dry.
Fontaine laughed and nodded. “I got some business here,” he said.
“What business?” Tyrone asked.
“Mines, nigga,” Fontaine said. He laughed as he pushed past Tyrone, looking in and out of the playrooms. He stopped at one door and leaned on it, watching the couple as the man was getting spanked.
“Father banished you–”
“Father’s the one that called me back here,” Fontaine interrupted. He turned towards Tyrone and lifted an eyebrow. “Old man didn’t tell you?”
“Nigga don’t say shit but bark mu’fuckin’ orders.” Tyrone walked away from the playrooms. He went upstairs, heading towards his office. Here, the place felt slightly more like him. This wasn’t his main residence. He didn’t want to sleep in the same house that his people did depraved things.
Fontaine’s steps were quiet, but with his hearing, he knew Fontaine trailed behind him. The halls were painted light gray, soft wood underneath, and random sculptures and pieces of art along the end tables or on the walls. Paintings of himself were spread along the walls. He hated the idea. But Slick Charles told him that he needed to add some showmanship for the parties. Whatever.
He turned on the light to his office and walked inside. Fontaine slipped in behind him and closed the door. Tyrone flopped into his chair and rolled his neck. He just wanted to spend the night in between your legs. He knew the night was going too perfect.
His office was like his others, painted in his favorite color, gray, with complimentary furniture. He had a few personal items there like his watch or keys, or sunglasses. Fontaine flopped into the chair opposite the large desk. He sneered at the decorative plants and art.
“Corny ass mu’fucka,” Fontaine whispered.
“Why are you really here?”
Fontaine shrugged. “Pops gettin’ paranoid or some shit. Or he want something. I’ve been getting word that he’s been lookin’ into my business overseas. I’m just here to see why he broke the agreement,” Fontaine explained.
“Lookin’ into it how?” Tyrone asked.
Fontaine shrugged again. His gaze moved around the room. Tyrone watched him, looking at all the ways he changed in the hundred or so years since he last saw him.
Fontaine had a scruffy beard now, with kinked hair sticking up every which way. The grill was obviously new. The canines were elongated, perfectly hiding his real fangs. It was clever. He could move around more freely, not afraid to laugh or speak.
“Ion know yet. All I know is that he broke his side, so the terms is null. I’m taking myself off punishment, baby brother,” he said.
Tyrone chuckled. “That’s not the way that shit work,” he said.
“Does now. Look. I came here as a muthafuckin’ courtesy. No disrespect shit. I’m not going to make noise. I just want to see what Pops knows and then I’ll be gone,” Fontaine said.
Tyrone looked at him over the desk. There was so much history there. History of running around together, chasing girls in skirts, and fuckin’ them ‘till the morning came. Of all the arguments and yelling at each other. Fontaine moving to Europe was the best decision ever. They needed that continent in between them.
“How long?”
“Ion know,” Fontaine said.
“Not good enough,” Tyrone said.
“Make it good enough.”
Tyrone sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Dammit, ‘Taine. Don’t start that shit,” he said.
Fontaine suddenly sniffed and Tyrone whipped his head towards him. Fontaine’s head was tilted chasing the scent. Could he smell you on Tyrone?
“How long do you need?” Tyrone asked, trying to distract Fontaine. But Fontaine only took another deep breath.
“Damn, that almost smells like…Versailles,” he said.
The name triggered a distant memory, of remembering when Tyrone and Fontaine had walked the halls of the famous palace, had walked by a proper lady, and she had smelled so good, it made Tyrone and Fontaine whirl around.
Fontaine chuckled. “Must be all this pussy in the air. Anyway, I’m fo’ real. I just want to know how much he knows. I’ll be gone before you know it.”
Tyrone nodded. “Fine. Don’t start anything while you here. Get in, get out,” Tyrone said.
Fontaine smirked and shook his head. “Shit, baby brother. You really got something here,” Fontaine said.
“You don’t have to keep up the good older brother routine. I already said you could stay,” Tyrone said.
Fontaine laughed. “Man, whoever you fucked, go fuck ‘em again. Loosen up. All that frowning gon’ make you old,” Fontaine chuckled on his way out of the office.
Tyrone watched him go. He strained his hearing for Fontaine’s soft steps and followed the sound of his shoes out of the house. He hadn’t smelled you. Good. Tyrone left his office and headed back to you.
He couldn’t risk Fontaine knowing about you. He didn’t know what his brother would do around you. Especially if he was thinking of Versailles. Whatever that was supposed to mean. The centuries tended to blur after being alive so long. It was just fleeting from one activity to the next.
He’d have to look into it later. For now, he wanted to forget that Fontaine was here. He wanted to forget that there were others in the house. He wanted to wrap himself in your warmth and addicting scent and sleep the morning away.
You were still fast asleep. Tyrone lowered the lights and climbed into bed. He snuggled you from behind. You let out a soft sound. He wrapped his hand around your tummy and felt the approaching morning like a heavy blanket. He slipped off to sleep with your intoxicating scent tickling his nose.
&&&
Masterlist | Chapter 3
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