𝒜𝒸𝓀𝓃ℴ𝓌𝓁ℯ𝒹ℊℯ ℳℯ.

SummerSlam Night Two - August 2nd, 2026

Author's Note: Another request. This baby wanted a toxic Jey. She requested : "...was wondering if you could do something like this for Jey.. toxic drunk maybe both.. you are the professional so you can make it whatever you want angsty smutty whatever but maybe his bratty ex has started to try to move on and he deads that shit REAL QUICK." The picture she also referenced is attached too...👇🏽🥴

4.5k Words🫣

Reader| 

I had one lash on, one lash off, hair halfway curled, and my phone buzzing on the counter like it was trying to break through the marble. Again.

"Damn it, Jey…" I muttered, flipping it over. His name lit up my screen for the sixth time in ten minutes. I hit decline.

Not even thirty seconds later, Incoming FaceTime...

I groaned but answered, because I knew if I didn’t, he’d just keep calling like a man possessed. "What?"

The camera was close to his face, way too fucking close — that slightly red-eyed, glossy look that told me he was real drunk. His grill flashed when he smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Where you goin’, mama?"

"Out." I didn’t even pause in grabbing my setting spray. "With the girls."

His smirk dropped. "Nah. Not tonight. Stay home."

I laughed under my breath, brushing my curls forward. "You still think you can tell me what to do? Newsflash...We’re not together, Joshua."

"You keep sayin’ that like it mean somethin’," he shot back, leaning so close to the phone that I could see the glint of his chain swinging. "You mine ‘til I say you not. Don’t get cute."

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the way my stomach tightened at the edge in his voice. "You must be real gone if you think you can pop up on my phone like this, tryin’ to call shots."

"You think I won’t?" His tone shifted — low, slow, that dangerous calm he always got right before he did something stupid. "Keep playin’ with me, baby. Post one lil’ story, let me see a bottle or some dude in your section, all that shit gettin' handled."

My throat went dry, but my mouth still worked. "You sound crazy."

"And you love it.” His smirk returned, lazy and arrogant, because he knew damn well he wasn’t wrong. "Tell me you don’t."

I didn’t answer. I just hung up.

But as I turned back to the mirror, my pulse was pounding — and deep down, I already knew… tonight was about to be some shit.  My phone buzzed again before I could even slide my heels on. 

Joshua🙄

I pressed decline without a second thought, but the damn thing lit up again like he was in competition with my patience. On the fourth call, I swiped up just to get it over with.

"Nigga!...What!?"

"Don't fuckin' hang up on me," he bit out, his words sharper now, that drunken drawl still laced underneath. "You actin' real bold tonight." 

"I told you I'm going out. I don't owe you shit." 

His chuckle filled the speaker, "You think I'm just gon' sit here and let you disrespect me?" 

Jerking my head back and looked around, cause I know he done lost his damn mind. "Disrespect?" I let out a laugh, closing my bedroom door and tossing the strap of my purse up to my shoulder.  "Joshua, you are not my man. You don't get to use words like 'disrespect'. Please be fuckin' for real." 

"I'm always yo man." His voice dipped low, slow, heavy with conviction– and it hit that nerve I hard admitting still existed. "You got a bad habit of forgetting." 

"You got a bad habit of thinkin’ you own me," I snapped, pulling the phone from my ear. "I’ll talk to you when you sober up."

Beep Beep Beep. 

I didn’t wait for him to respond. My notifications were already blowing up — my girls were texting that they were outside the lounge, hyping me up with mirror selfies and "Where you at?!" messages.

I grabbed my keys, heels clacking down the stairs, that mix of irritation and adrenaline buzzing under my skin.

The second I slid into my driver’s seat, my phone lit up again.

Joshua🙄: Don’t make me come find you. Joshua🙄: You think I’m playin’.

I bit my lip, staring at the screen longer than I should’ve. His contact photo —that same stupid fine smirk I hated— stared back at me.

Another text popped up before I could lock the screen.

Joshua🙄: Bet.

I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat and started the engine, shaking my head.

But that thump in my chest? That wasn’t fear.

That was knowing damn well he meant it.

The bass from the lounge was already rattling the sidewalk by the time I pulled up. Neon light spilled onto the street, and I spotted my girls posted near the entrance, drinks already in hand like they’d been pre-gaming without me.

"Finally!" Mia yelled the second I stepped out of the car, her silver mini catching the light. She hugged me tight before pulling back with a grin. "Girl, you look good as hell. He gon’ be sick when he see—"

"Don’t." I cut her off, shooting her a look that said we are not speaking his name tonight.

Tasha and Lani followed with their own greetings, hyping me up, tugging me toward the door. "C’mon, shots are already waiting."

We slipped inside, and the music hit me like a wave– sticky floor, flashing lights, that familiar haze of sweat, perfume, and liquor in the air. My irritation from earlier started to fade into something lighter, easier. 

For a while, it was just drinks and laughs. We posed for pictures, made short videos, and clinked shot glasses until my cheeks hurt from smiling. Tasha was the one filming boomerang when she turned her phone around and said , "Ooo, this is cute–going on the story." 

I didn’t think twice about it.

Until I saw the read receipt pop up from Joshua’s thread.

No text. No call. Just the read. A cold prickle slid down my spine.

"Mama, you good?" Mia asked, sipping her drink.

"Yeah," I lied, forcing a smile.

But not even ten minutes later, the crowd at the door shifted, heads turning like someone important just walked in.

And there he was.

Black fitted shirt. Cuban glinting under the lights. That damn slow, cocky walk like he had all the time in the world. His eyes found mine in seconds — and didn’t move.

"Oh, hell," Lani muttered under her breath, already recognizing the look on his face. "Is that–" 

"Please." My voice was low, my pulse loud in my ears. 

I watched him weave through the crowd, ignoring people trying to dap him up. The closer he got, the more I could see it — that slightly glassy stare, the lazy smirk that wasn’t really a smirk at all.

He stopped just in front of me, looking me up and down like he was making a mental list of all the ways he’d ruin my night.

"Enjoyin' yourself?" he dryly asked. I crossed my arms, fighting to keep my expression bored. "I was." 

He just nodded, lips twitching like he wanted to say more but was holding it in. "A'ight." 

...That was it...?

Before I could figure out what game he was playing, he turned on his heel, and glided through the crowd without another word. No scene. No dragging me out. No petty back-and-forth. 

I blinked, still staring at the space he'd left behind.  "What in the hell was that?" Mia asked, brows raised while looking over the rim of her cup. 

I took a short breath before shrugging, "Hell if I know," I muttered, shaking it off and grabbing my drink. If he wanted to pretend he didn't care, I could do that too. 

And maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was the bass thumping throughout the lounge, and the heat from the dance floor. 

By the next song, I was in the middle of the crowd with my girls, hips rolling, hair sticking to my shoulders, our laughter cutting through the music. My phone was somewhere in my purse, forgotten.

Some guy I didn’t know slid in behind me, his hands hovering near my waist, close but not touching. I didn’t move away. I didn’t encourage it either—but I knew exactly how it looked from across the room.

Especially if a certain drunk, possessive man was still watching.

I let my head fall back, letting the beat carry me, feeling the eyes around us— the way the air seemed heavier all of a sudden.

Tasha leaned over to yell in my ear, "Girl, he’s still here." I didn't have to ask who. 

But, I knew how he was about to react. 

The music suddenly wasn’t the loudest thing in the room anymore.

I could feel it before I saw it — that shift in the air, the way the crowd seemed to ripple like they knew something was about to go down.

Fuck.

Joshua didn’t look at the guy behind me. Didn’t need to. His eyes were locked on mine, that slow, deliberate stalk that said you must be out your mind.

The guy’s hands dropped from my waist before Joshua even reached us. Smart man.

"Lemme talk to you real quick." 

And it wasn't a request. His tone cut through the bass, low but edged, and it snapped me right out of the tequila haze. 

The crowd seemed to pull back without anyone actually moving, like they could smell the tension bleeding off him. Joshua didn’t break eye contact once as he closed the space between us, that slow, deliberate gait making the whole room feel smaller.

My mouth opened to protest, but the way his hand brushed my wrist—not rough, but firm enough to remind me of exactly who I was dealing with—shut me up. I could feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of liquor and his cologne hitting me all at once, that intoxicating mix of trouble and familiarity.

"Josh, I’m not doing this here—" I started, trying to twist my hand free.

"Didn’t ask where we was doin’ it,"he murmured, leaning down so only I could hear him. "Let's go. Now."

I glanced back at my girls, who were all wide-eyed and frozen in place. Tasha mouthed be careful while Mia shifted like she was debating stepping in. I shook my head—fast—because the last thing I needed was for him to feel challenged by somebody else.

He led me toward the back exit, not even looking around to see who was watching. Every step we took, my pulse got louder. I hated how much my body responded before my brain could tell it to chill—the familiar coil tightening in my stomach, the way my skin buzzed under his touch.

The second the door swung shut behind us, the muffled bass of the club was replaced by the hum of the city at night. Cool air rushed against my skin, but it did nothing to cool the heat radiating off him. 

He stopped just far enough from the door that no one could hear, his gaze sweeping over me like he was taking inventory.

"You out here lettin’ random dudes touch up on you now?" His voice was calm, but that calm was razor-thin. "You think that’s cute? Think I’m the type to see that shit and let it slide?"

I tilted my chin up, refusing to shrink. "He wasn't even touching me and I told you earlier, Joshua. You not my man. You don't get t–" 

His laugh cut me off, short and humorless. "See, that's where you keep fuckin' up. You think I need your permission to handle what's mine?" 

Before I could fire back, he stepped closer, his breath hitting my cheek, the smell of Hennessy heavy between us. "Finish up whatever you got goin' on. I'll be outside. Don't make me come find you again, bae." 

He didn't wait for a response, didn't so much as glance back when he walked off into the night. 

I stood there, heart thundering, my body caught somewhere between fury and adrenaline. 

By the time I finally left– ten minutes later, still trying convince myself I didn't care. My stomach was already knotted. 

I decided to just go home. I walked back into the club, and walked straight to the section Mia looked up at me with a raised eyebrow.  "You good babe?" 

Her question caused Tasha and Lani to look over.  "Yeah," I lied, grabbing my purse from the couch and finishing the last of my drink. "I'm just gonna head out." 

The three of them exchanged a look, the kind that said we know you’re lying but we’re not about to press it right now. 

"You sure?" Tasha asked, voice low so it wouldn’t get lost in the music.

I nodded, forcing a half-smile. "Yeah. I'll text when I'm home." 

They let me go, but I could still feel their eyes on me as I threaded my way through the crowd and back toward the door. Every step felt heavier, the air thicker. I told myself I was fine, that he was probably gone by now, that this was just me being paranoid.

The lie barely lasted until I hit the sidewalk.

The lot was quiet— too quiet. The kind of quiet that made every sound echo, every shadow look sharper. My heels clicked against the pavement as I headed toward my car, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling.

I unlocked the door and slid into the driver’s seat, tossing my bag onto the passenger side. The second I reached for the ignition—

Tap. Tap.

That metallic knock was soft, almost casual, but it hit me like a punch to the gut.

I turned my head slowly, and there he was.

Joshua.

His smirk was slow, deliberate, but his eyes were stone—sharp, unreadable.

"Told you not to make me come find you," he said, voice low enough that it vibrated more than it carried, sinking right into my chest. "Unlock the door." 

My fingers hovered over the lock for all of two seconds before I sighed and hit the button. There was no point pretending I had a choice—when Joshua wanted his way, he got it.

He slid into the passenger seat like he owned it, shutting the door with a quiet finality. That cologne hit first, then the faint tang of Hennessy still on his breath.

"Drive," he murmured, leaning back in the seat but keeping his gaze locked on me. "Home."

I didn’t argue. My hands gripped the wheel, knuckles tight, the quiet between us suffocating as I pulled out of the lot. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the leather when he shifted. I didn’t have to look to know he was watching me the whole ride.

When we finally pulled into my driveway, I killed the engine. Before I could even take a breath, he was out of the car, waiting for me to follow. I trailed him up the steps, every nerve in my body screaming with a mix of tension and anticipation.

The second we stepped inside, he went straight for the cabinet above my counter—the one he knew I kept my liquor stash in. 

He didn’t ask, didn’t hesitate. Just grabbed the bottle of Henny, twisted off the cap, and poured half into a glass like he hadn’t already been drinking.

"You think I ain't know?" His voice was quiet, almost conversational, but that edge was there, sharper than the glass in his hand. 

I stayed by the doorway, my purse still on my shoulder. "Know what?"

"That you out here tryin’ to move on." He took a long swallow, his eyes never leaving mine over the rim of the glass. "Think I ain’t heard? Think I ain’t seen?"

I scoffed, "Joshu–" 

"Nah, shut that shit up..." he cut in, setting the glass down with a solid thunk on the counter. "You think I ain't know about these other muthafuckas, you call yo self entertainin'?" 

I opened my mouth, but he was already closing the distance, the smell of dark liquor and him hitting me like a wave.

"You think I'm finna sit back and watch you give my shit away?" His hand came up, thick fingers brushing my jaw, deceptively gentle. "Nah, mama. That ain't how this works."  Thumb tracing my bottom lip, slow and deliberate, and my pulse went wild. 

I hated how much my body always betrayed me in moments like this. How no matter how much I wanted to stand my ground, part of me craved the storm that came with him.

"You can try, baby," he said, that dangerous calm back in full force, "but you already know how that story ends." 

Before I could get a word out, his hand slid down from my jaw, gripping my wrist, tugging me toward the couch. He didn’t shove — didn’t have to. His pull was that unspoken command I knew too well.

"Jey—"

"Sit," he said, low but firm.

I sank into the couch, my pulse hammering. He dropped down to his knees in front of me, that lazy smirk curling back up as he reached for my phone on the coffee table. My brows knitted. "What are you —"

He held it up between two fingers, unlocking it with my face before I could snatch it back. "Gon’ make somethin’ real clear to you… and to all these lil’ ‘friends’ that be blowin’ up your line."

"Joshua, stop playin—"

"Oh. I am playin'… just not the way you think." His thumb swiped quick, pulling up the camera before I could even process it.

The next thing I knew, his hands were on my thighs, pushing them apart like they weighed nothing. That thick chain of his dangled between us as he leaned in, phone in one hand, the other hooking under the hem of my dress.

"This ain't about showin' my face," he murmured, lowering his head until his lips brushed just above where I ached. "This about lettin' 'em hear what happens when you stop actin' brand fuckin' new." 

Before I could form a thought, his mouth was on me— hot, wet, deliberate. The first slow stroke of his tongue had my head falling back against the cushions, a sharp moan tearing out of me.

"That’s it," he hummed against me, the vibration making my legs twitch. "Let 'em know exactly where you belong."

I felt the subtle shift of the phone in his hand, angling it just enough to catch the sound of my breath hitching, the wet obscene noise of his tongue working me over. He kept one arm hooked under my thigh, holding me open, keeping me exactly where he wanted me while the other kept that camera locked in.

"J-Joshua—" I gasped, hips lifting.

"Mmh," he cut me off, licking deeper, slower. "Don’t run now. I’m just gettin’ started."

My toes curled when his lips sealed around my clit, sucking until my moans spilled out helplessly— every one of them recorded, catalogued for his petty little plan. My phone buzzed in his grip, and he chuckled against me, not stopping.

By the time he finally pulled back, my chest was heaving, skin damp, legs trembling. He set my phone on the arm of the couch for a second, licking his lips like he just finished dessert.

"You know what’s next, right?" His hand was already unbuckling his belt. "Gotta make sure they understand the whole picture."

He grabbed my phone again, flipping it to the cinematic option, and this time… he wasn’t just recording sound.

The next thing I knew, he was inside me — deep, hard, claiming every inch with that slow, punishing stroke he knew made my voice break. My hands clutched at his shoulders, but he kept that phone steady, catching the sight of my lips parting, my back arching, my body giving in.

"Yeah…" His voice was a growl now, his thrusts picking up. "Look at you. Can’t even talk no more. Bet they ain’t ever get you like this. Bet none of them can."

"You try to move on…"  thrust  "…I’m sendin’ him this." thrust  "…and him... And him." Each word was punctuated with a sharp drive into me, phone still recording every second.

I barely heard the camera click as he stopped recording just long enough to swipe through my messages. My stomach dropped as I realized what he was doing — tapping send on every name he knew shouldn’t have been in my phone.

When his gaze cut back to mine, that smirk was pure satisfaction. "Now they know," he said, hips snapping into me with a sharp thrust that stole my breath. "Ain’t no movin’ on from me, mama. Ever."

Every thrust felt heavier, slower, like he was pressing the point deeper into me with each roll of his hips. My nails dug into his shoulders, my head tipped back against the couch, but his focus was split between me and my phone — which somehow made it worse.

A sharp ding cut through the air. He didn’t stop moving.

Glancing at the screen in his hand, his smirk spread like wildfire. "Mm… first one just read it," he murmured, dragging his hips back slow before driving into me again. "Bet he sick right now."

Another buzz. Then another. He thumbed the screen open, still buried in me, his free hand gripping my thigh so tight I could feel his pulse there.

"Ahhh, look at this…" He chuckled, reading aloud in that lazy, mocking tone. "‘Wow, so this what you on?’ "  His gaze slid back to me. "Yeah… this exactly what she on."

He tossed the phone to the other hand without missing a stroke, the chain around his neck swinging against my chest as he leaned in closer.

A third message lit up the screen. ‘Y’all still messin’ around? Thought you was done wit him bruh.’

Jey’s smirk sharpened into something meaner. "Go ‘head and tell him yourself, mama," he said, snapping his hips into me hard enough to make me gasp. "Tell him you real done."

Before I could speak, another notification popped up — and this one was bold. ‘She’ll be back when you fumble again.’

That laugh he let out was pure venom, low and humorless. "Oh, he think he slick."

His thumb swiped over the message, but instead of typing, he held the phone up between us, hit the little microphone icon, and gave me that slow, filthy grin.

"He gon’ hear this though," Jey said, voice low, taunting.

Then he started moving.

Deep. Slow. Heavy enough to shake the couch beneath us.

"Yeah…" he drawled into the mic, not bothering to hide the sound of skin meeting skin, the wet slap echoing in the quiet room. "This what she on… and she ain’t goin’ nowhere."

I bit my lip, but it was useless— the next thrust knocked a moan right out of me, high and breathless. The mic caught every bit of it.

"Mm-hmm," Jey kept going, tone smug, almost conversational like he wasn’t stretching me to the point of incoherence. "Hear that? This your girl… nah, my girl… takin’ every inch of what you know you can't and will never give her.”

Another moan slipped past me, louder this time. He angled his hips, hitting that spot that always made my legs shake, and I clutched at his shoulders, trying to muffle it in his neck.

"Nah, mama," he murmured against my ear, pulling me back so my voice carried. "Let him hear it. Let him hear who you screamin' and creamin' for."

I couldn’t stop it — the sound tore out of me, raw and unfiltered, while he kept up that deliberate pace, the mic soaking in every whimper, gasp, and broken plea.

"You hear this shit, right?" he said into the mic, voice laced with that venomous pride. "Now do yourself a favor… delete her number."

He ended the recording and hit send without hesitation, tossing the phone back to the couch cushion before hooking both hands under my thighs and pulling me flush against him, his strokes harder now, like sending that voice note just poured gasoline on the fire.

His grip on my thighs was bruising now, his pace relentless— each deep stroke forcing a sharp gasp from my lips, his chain swinging against my chest in time with the rhythm.

"Yeah… that’s it," he growled, eyes locked on mine, sweat glistening on his temples. "Give me all that shit… let me feel it."

My fingers dug into the cushions, the pleasure winding tighter and tighter until it was all I could do to hold on. He was everywhere — in my head, in my body, in every ragged breath I took — and the toxic satisfaction in his gaze told me he knew it.

"You know you ain’t movin’ on," he rasped, his thrusts getting rougher, more erratic. "Ain’t nobody else ever gonna fuck you like this."

That last snap of his hips pushed me over the edge— my back arched, nails clawing at his shoulders as my orgasm tore through me, loud and helpless. He cursed under his breath, holding me there, milking every shudder, every squeeze, until his own release crashed into him with a deep, guttural groan against my neck.

For a moment, all I could hear was our breathing, heavy, uneven, filling the quiet. He stayed inside me, one hand still gripping my thigh, the other brushing damp hair from my face like he hadn’t just sent audio porn to half my contacts.

When I finally glanced toward the couch cushion, my phone was lighting up in the dark— rapid buzz after buzz.

MiMi🫶🏽: Babe… tell me you not home with him right now 😒 Tash🥰: Y’all messy as hell.  Lani🤍: We already know. Don’t even bother lying.

I shut my eyes, dragging in a slow breath.

Jey chuckled low against my ear, smug and satisfied. “Guess they know you made it home safe, mama.”

* Bonus 

The room was quiet now except for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen and Jey’s slow, heavy breathing. His arm was draped across my waist, his body still radiating that warm, post-sex heat. The Hennessy bottle sat half-empty on the coffee table, a silent witness to all the chaos he’d just stirred up.

I shifted carefully, not wanting to wake him. His grip loosened just enough for me to reach for my phone on the cushion beside me.

MiMi🫶🏽: U made it home? Tash🥰: ...nvm. We kno you DICKstracted Lani🤍: Smh

I bit back a laugh, glancing over my shoulder at him. Out cold. His lips were parted slightly, lashes resting against his cheeks, the chain around his neck still glinting in the dim light. He looked peaceful—like he hadn’t just set my phone on fire with that voice note and blown up half my contacts.

I opened the group chat, thumbs hovering for a second before I started typing.

Me: Y’all… this man recorded himself eating me out and sent it to EVERY nigga in my phone he think I been entertaining.

The response bubbles popped up immediately.

MiMi🫶🏽:????????? ...😳  Tash🥰: . I— Lani🤍: nah send me the audio LMAOOO

I muffled my laugh with my hand, glancing back at him again. Still dead asleep.

Me: He didn’t even show his face. Just my moans. Then read the replies OUT LOUD while still...😩

MiMi🫶🏽: girl. wthelly. Tash🥰:  messy af but also… 👀 Lani🤍: toxic soulmate behavior idc

I dropped my head back against the couch, shaking my head at their responses. My thighs were still sore, my phone was probably still hot from all the drama, and my heart was still racing from everything that had gone down.

I typed one last message before locking my phone.

Me: I hate him so bad. But also… I don't think I’m ever leaving... This dick is too good...🥴

Behind me, Jey shifted in his sleep, pulling me closer, his lips brushing my shoulder like he could hear what I’d just admitted.

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Doesn't seem to have aged a day fine then fine now