belle. 24. she/her/hers. third gen haitian & black texan. bisexual af. media enjoyer. bunny lover. wild imagination haver. aqua 𖤓 leo ☾ cap ↑
౿ multi-fandom blog; i write what i want • yes my requests are open • black reader inserts • i also write on wattpad too • i’m grown, minors plz find somewhere else to be.
౿ #belle’sbunnyhops #cocoabutterbunnyblog & #cocoabutterbunnyfics for the tags.
⨾ 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤
⨾ 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 [𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧]
⨾ 𝐭𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐪 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬
be honest with me
be honest with me pt. 2
⨾ 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐚
⨾ 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝
⨾ 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐬
the taste of him
eyes on me, baby
⨾ 𝐯𝐢𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬
off the record || tyriq withers
──── ౿ housekeeping
in case it was missed up top, again i ask that minors/ageless blogs absolutely turn around and go somewhere else; do not interact with my content pls.
be cool on my page. pls don’t copy my work. don’t translate it, don’t feed it to AI, none of that foolishness please. no hate or bigotry of any kind, you will absolutely be aired & blocked. but most of all, i hope everybody has some fun here ᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ି♥︎
my favorite thing is when i'm reading a fanfic and the author writes something that lmk that they're black and then i check their page to see that i'm right. it feels like we're interlinkedddd
Yes we love desperate tyriq !! I would love to see something where the reader overstimulates him, like he’s gotta tap out type 🤭
— ۶ৎ 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥 • 𝘵𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘲 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴
tyriq had a long day and an even longer interview. you just wanted to take care of him. turns out taking care of him means watching him fall apart under your mouth until he has to tap out.
content warnings: smut abt best friends who are too in love to act normal about it. praise kink. dirty talk. tit fucking. nasty oral sex (m receiving); deep throating. messy head. spit + cum swallowing. overstimulation. tyriq whimpersing and tapping out.
word count: 2.5K
— ۶ৎ 𝙩𝙮𝙧𝙞𝙦 𝙭 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
The shower’s still running, and you’re laid on your stomach near the bottom of Tyriq’s bed, staring at the bathroom door like it personally owes you something.
The lanyard you both got from the studio are on his dresser, right next to his silver chain. The recording room’s stale, fake Keurig coffee smell still clings to your sweater, but his bedroom is almost oozing with the smell of his sea salt scented body wash and the smell of whatever all-natural detergent he uses. Steam flows out his bathroom door in thin blobs of smoke, and you’re just waiting on it to stop.
You spent almost two hours behind studio glass watching him lean toward a microphone, manspreading like a whore in that orange sweater that hugged his biceps a bit too well, answering questions in that calm voice he uses when people with press credentials and exposure want him to say something useful. Extra long practices and an extra day of conditioning in his schedule this week had him exhausted by the time the interview started, but he still handled his business. Smiled when he needed to. Dodged the draft question twice. He even ran his thumb across his bottom lip whenever the interviewer repeated himself to ask about his biggest supporter.
And that’s when the idea hit you.
Then the water shuts off and five minutes later, Tyriq’s walking out the bathroom holding a grey towel wrapped around his waist, his other hand rubbing over his buzzed fade. His skin’s still a lil damp. Those broad shoulders look tense and there’s water slipping between the muscles on his chest. He even looks exhausted; poor baby. His eyes are already low and there’s a faint red mark across his nose from the headset they gave him.
His eyes land on you and he finishes drying himself off.
“You been sittin’ there making that face the whole time?” He asks, voice still low. You smile like you’re up to something and have just been caught.
“What face?”
"Like you wanna eat me." He tosses the little towel toward the hamper and misses. "I'm too tired to fight you off, pretty girl." You stand up and hook your fingers into the front of his towel before your nerves decide to make this stupid. “Lay down, Riq.”
His eyebrows go up and he smirks. “Well, damn. Hello to you too.”
“Please.” You whisper, eyes pierced to his. The corner of his mouth lifts, tired and smug. “See, there you go.”
He drops the smaller towel and lets you guide him backward. The mattress dips under his weight, springs giving a quiet complaint as he lays back against the pillows. His knees hang off the edge of the bed, feet planted on the carpet. You step between them.
“I know today took a lot outta you,” you whisper, hands traveling up his warm, muscular thighs. “So let me take care of you.”
Tyriq goes still. The still he gets when he’s focusing real hard, eyes tracking your hands as they reach the knot on his hip. “Take care of me how?”
You pull his towel off and see his dick resting heavy against his thigh, already thickening as you look at it, and the visual sends a pulse low through your stomach. You’ve had him before. You’re beyond familiar with how he feels inside you, but this is different. Kneeling between his legs with every heavy inch laid out in front of you feels indecently intimate, but you want it.
“Like I wanted to during your interview.”
He laughs, and it turns into a rough sounding exhale when you close your hand around him. “You sat behind that glass thinking ‘bout my dick, baby?”
“You kept touching your mouth. It made sense.”
“I was…thinking.”
“Great minds think alike?” You joke.
You wrap your hand around him and the first stroke makes his stomach tighten up. His skin is hot; soft over all that solid weight and he gets harder in your hand with every pass. Tyriq hisses through his teeth. "Shit." His stomach flexes when you drag your palm up slow. "Your hand's soft."
You notice a clear bead of moisture gathering on his tip and get intrigued, swiping your thumb across it, and his knees spread wider.
“Come here, you,” he murmurs.
You lean in expecting instructions; instead his big hand cups the back of your neck and pulls you up for a kiss. His mouth is warm and unhurried, dancing against yours while you stroke him slowly, making his fingers tighten when you do a twisting motion around the head. He kisses you harder, tongue wrestling with yours before he lets you go, pulling your lip between his as he does.
“You sure ‘bout this?” He breathes out, and you nod against his mouth. “Use your words, pretty.”
“I wanna suck your dick. Let me, Tyriq.”
His eyes go wide hearing you, not a speck of exhaustion in them anymore. “Then show me what had you distracted, baby.”
You sink to your knees and try to get comfortable as the carpet scratches gently through your leggings, and Tyriq watches as you bring him toward your mouth. You kiss his tip first then lick it; one careful drag around it, then another, tasting his clean skin and the faint salt of precum. You weren’t expecting him to taste bad, but you definitely weren’t expecting a watery taste either.
Tyriq’s hand settles in your hair without pushing as you keep going; learning what you like first. “Mm.” You let out, licking into the slit, curious.
Tyriq jerks hard enough that his foot comes up off the carpet, along with a startled whimper before he can cover it up, making your clit throb.
Your eyes jump back to his for a second.
“Don’t.” His jaw clenches around a smile he’s tryna hide. “Don’t look proud yet.”
“I think you liked that.” You tell him, grinning.
“I think you should finish what you started.” You can’t tell if it’s the fatigue in his voice or what, but he already sounds like he can’t put up a fight.
You part your lips and take him in; the stretch both catching you off guard and fueling you. He’s thick enough to make your jaw ache almost immediately, his weight firm on your tongue. You start off slow, learning the angle while your hand handles what your mouth can’t fit. This is new but you aren’t naive; you know better than to keep going without your mouth as wet as possible. Your spit gathers fast as you slowly take him deeper and deeper, running over your knuckles as you find a rhythm you like.
“Damn,” he says softly. “Look at you, baby. First time and you already acting hungry.”
The praise runs straight through you. He knows what he’s doing, but you can play unfair too. You hum lightly around him, your thighs pressing together while his dick slides over your tongue. His fingers flex against your scalp, begging to take control.
“Yeah, make that sound again. You moaning like having me in your throat feels good.”
It does; like, embarrassingly good. The wetness of it, the fullness between your lips, his clean taste growing every time he leaks, the quiet
noises of your lips massaging his dick. More than that, you’re getting a front row seat to this fine ass man—your best friend slowly losing his shit one small bit at a time, and you just put a dick in your mouth for the first time ever today. You notice the crease between his brows and his stomach pulling tight again: those long fingers twitching like he’s fighting himself and you feel a rush of something. Power, arrogance, adornment, feral horniness; maybe all of the above.
You pull back for a second just to breathe, mouth glossy with spit.
“Don’t move,” you pant. “I’m not done figuring you out.”
“Who moving?” He sounds almost shocked, and you both laugh.
“Um, you do sir. Every time I lick you right—“ you press your tongue into his slit again; slower, and his hips jump. This time you hear it; the wet shlick of your tongue, right before the tip slips between your lips. He lets out a sound that's part groan, part whimper.
“Right here. It’s sexy, actually.” You plant your hand against his lower stomach and laugh again.
“That ain’t funny,” he mutters, voice fraying. “You keep doing that and this is gonna be real short.”
You sink down further, one hand still at the base and the other on his thigh. His room fills with your gag noises and his low fuck, baby, and every time you bob your head it's a messy, wet sound that you can't hide. You don't wanna hide; you want him to hear exactly what he does to you.
Your tongue dips into his slit again, feeling his dick jump against your lips. Tyriq’s hand catches you by the chin and pulls you up. “Come here. Let me taste.”
The moan you let out disappears into his mouth. He kisses you harder this time, tasting himself without hesitation, thumb rubbing the wet corner of your lips. His other hand spreads across your ass and holds you against him, gripping hard.
“Nasty girl,” he murmurs. “Quiet as hell in that studio, whole time you were thinking about getting on your knees for me.”
“You looked too good.”
“I seen you staring.” He kisses you again, then guides you down with a firm hand between your shoulder blades.
You lean back on your heels and pull your sweater off, no bra underneath. Tyriq’s eyes move like he's studying exactly where he wants to touch you; gaze lingering on the pink barbells decorating your nipples before coming back to your face. You spit once on the head of his dick and it lands warm and glossy, and his nostrils flare as you spread it down his shaft.
“Shiittt,” he drags it out, head falling back. “You been holding out on me baby, fuck.”
You squeeze your breasts together around him and the slickness lets him glide between them with ease, his head appearing near your mouth with each upward stroke. Your nipple piercings drag cold against his skin, warming quickly. You lick him whenever he reaches your lips, teasing his tip until his thighs shake beside your ribs, eyes still on you like he’s hypnotized.
“Look at this greedy shit,” Tyriq says, breathing hard. “Got my dick between those pretty tits and still chasing it with your tongue.”
You moan, mostly because he’s right. Your pussy throbs everytime his hips twitch, and the way he watches you makes your skin burn.
“Riq, don’t move.”
“I’m tryin’, baby.” His voice cracks into another soft whimper when you squeeze tighter. “Fuck, you look too good doing it.”
"Stick your tongue out for me." His voice is rough now. You open your mouth and show him your tongue, accepting his spit and let him thrust shallowly against it while your hand and tits squeeze around him. His breathing goes ragged, short and choppy like he's already close.
You release your breasts and lower your mouth to his balls, warm and heavy against your tongue. You suck one gently, rolling the other in your hand and he jerks.
Tyriq’s hand slaps flat against the comforter. “Oh, you foul.”
You switch sides, fingers massaging as you suck the other one while your other hand glides slow up and down his length. “B-baby, fuck.” His voice climbs, breath catching around the word. “Get back on my dick before you make me embarrass myself.”
“You’re already whimpering for me,” you tell him. “I love it.”
“And you’re rubbing those thighs together like I can’t see you.” Your face gets hot and he gives you a shit-eating grin. “Mhm. Thought so.”
You swallow him again, taking all of him this time. The head pushes into the back of your mouth, and your eyes water, but the noise he makes turns the discomfort into pure heat. You pull back, breathe through your nose, and sink down again while your fingers knead his balls. You’re moving faster now; head bobbing while your hand twists at the base, your mouth making a wet gluck gluck gluck with every stroke. He's panting, whining, his fingers wound tight in your hair.
“J-just like that, baby,” he says. “Keep those pretty lips tight. Fuck, you eating this dick like you missed me.”
You hum and look up at him, and that’s when his control finally cracks. His hips push forward, barely an inch, but enough to overly fill your mouth. You tap his thigh and he freezes baby. “My bad,” he pants. “I’m sorry, baby. Got me losing it.”
You hold his gaze while you move even faster. Saliva dripping down your chin and breasts; wet, sloppy sounds loud in his room, mixed with his breathing and your muffled moans. Pleasure coils between your thighs each time he twitches on your tongue. You want every reaction. Want him helpless with it, just for you.
“Wait.” His fingers tighten in your hair. “I’m close. You gotta decide what you doing.” You answer by taking him deeper. Spitting would simply be counterproductive at this point.
“Oh, fuck. Yeah, okay—“ His voice breaks as you moan around him, and you’re rewarded with the feeling of his dick swelling one last time. Tyriq cums with a low grunt, filling your mouth full with his hot, thick release, feel his dick swells over your tongue, then pulses hard, filling your mouth with hot, salty release, his hips stuttering as you take every pulse down your throat. You swallow it down, not letting a single drop go to waste and keep going.
You don’t pull off. His hand loosens in your hair as you suck gently now, tongue circling his oversensitive head. Tyriq jolts as if you shocked him or something.
"Wait." His voice cracks. He pulls your hair gently, a warning. "Baby, wait." You pull back just enough to lick the head soft and slow, right along the slit.
"Nnngh, shit." His whole body shudders and another weak jet spills onto your tongue. You moan immediately, realizing you like this feeling. A raw whimper falls out Tyriq’s mouth and his hand hits his bed twice, quick and unmissable before he grabs your wrist.
“Tap, baby. I—fuck, I can’t.” He catches your shoulder, laughing breathlessly as he finally pulls you off him, staring at you like you just took his soul and rewired his brain all together. “Bring that ass here before you kill me.”
You barely get a breath before he hauls you up his body. His arms lock around your waist, and his mouth crashes on yours, deep and messy, while his spent dick twitches wetly against your stomach.
"You proud of yourself?" He murmurs as his hands slide into your leggings.
You giggle. "A lil bit.”
“Mhm, you earned that, baby.” Tyriq flips you pm your back and hooks one leg over his shoulder. "I’m finna show you just how proud you made me too, pretty girl." Your leggings and panties come smooth off, then his hand slides up the inside of your thigh and he goes quiet, like he's about to spend however long he wants making sure you feel his gratitude.
a/n: my first request 🥹 i hope this is good LOL I wrote it in like 20 minutes and made the gif from a tiktok i had buried deep in my bookmarks. so y’all like desperate whimpering Tyriq? #note #taken
tyriq knows your body better than he knows any playbook, and he’s tired of you hiding behind your silence. your best friend is done playing games; he wants the honesty only your body seems brave enough to give him, and he’s not stopping until you finally admit that he’s the only one you’ve ever wanted.
tyriq withers x blackfem!reader
CONTENT WARNINGS: MDNI • explicit sexual content, vulgar language + dirty talk, pet names (baby, mama, pretty girl) possessive language, fingering (in the bath), oral sex (f receiving), spitting, marking/hickeys, unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, praise/degradation, jealousy, best friends to lovers, size difference, breeding kink if u squint, kinda.
WORD COUNT: 3.5K
A/N: hiiii so this is the first fic ive written in years and i lowkey forgot how fun this is hehe. i’m already working on my next tyriq fic too, i have so many ideas for that fine ass man #whew. but lmk what u think pls! feedback is loved n vry appreciated, thank u for reading <3
The bath water’s almost lukewarm when you hear the beeping from the keypad on your front door.
You’re all too familiar with the sounds. The chirp after the code is entered, the door pushing open, the thump of his duffel hitting the floor. A familiar shiver runs down your spine as you listen to the familiar sound of his footsteps walking towards you.
Tyriq’s 6’5 frame fills your bathroom doorway, grey sweats low on his hips with a tight Nike Dri-Fit hugging his muscled body, a sheen of sweat on his smooth skin. He leans against the frame with his arms crossed and you watch his greenish grey do a slow scan of your body. From your brown eyes looking up at him to your lips adorned with the glossy, açaí and mango scented balm, over your supple breasts to where your body is a distorted shadow under the water. His mouth quirks, the muscle in his jaw tensing with restraint he’s convinced himself he had.
“I see somebody got started without me,” he says. His voice is rough, gravelly from practice. Your favorite sound.
“Just taking a bath, Tyriq,” you tell him.
He pushes off the doorframe and sits on the closed toilet lid, man spreading, his knees almost touching the side of the tub. When he’s comfortable he leans forward, pushes his sleeves over his elbows, and his hand enters your bath water. His fingers—those long, perfect fingers, trail up your shin. “How was practice?” you ask him, attempting to divert your attention.
"Whole practice was progression drills mostly. Coach was on my ass acting like I don’t know how to make the right reads. His hand glides over your knee, up the meat of your thigh, the water magnifying the friction of his thumb against your skin. "Nigga thinks Ion know exactly how to handle what's mine. Like I'ma miss the best part of my day."
His fingers trace the crease of your thigh, skating over the soft skin of your inner thigh before they slide home. He finds the wet heat waiting for him and parts your folds like he’s got the route memorized; thumb slowly circling that little peak of nerves until you’re arching off the bottom of the tub.
“Tyriq…” But you aren’t stopping him. You never do.
“Relax,” he murmurs. “Talk to me. What you get up to today?”
How does he expect you to form words when he’s touching you like this? Your brain shorts out and your body does the opposite; softening, opening up for him like it’s instinct. He feels it and his smile goes all types of satisfied, a slow curve against your wet skin.
“Mhm, cat got your tongue already. Guess I’ll talk then.” Tyriq leans in and softly kisses your damp shoulder, then bites down hard enough to make you tense and soothes the spot with his warm tongue. “I missed you today. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about this.”
He doesn’t give you a second to brace yourself before he shoves two fingers deep inside your pussy, the sudden, deliciously full feeling making you reach out to grab the edge of the tub, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't even need to ask if it feels good because already knows, and he’s still grinning like it too.
“Missed how you feel right here,” he murmurs, crooking his fingers to hit that spot. Your hips jerk. “Missed this shit so bad. Always so wet for me. Fucking dripping’ in the goddamn bath.”
He sets a rhythm, a hard, deep curl of his fingers, while his thumb grinds into your clit. His other hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your bottom lip.
Your hips are chasing the feeling of Tyriq’s thumb worshipping your clit. His fingers work you slow and deep, every curl of his fingers dragging like he's savoring it. His other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb stroking your bottom lip like he wants to feel the sounds you’re making. “Look at me, pretty girl. Wanna see you while I'm inside you."
You part your lips like a Pavlovian response and his thumb enters your mouth, a moan escaping you as you feel it press down on your tongue. You taste salt and him, sucking immediately like your body already knows what to do with him.
Three fingers stretch you open now, so slow you feel every vein on his fingers. Your hips have a mind of their own; steady rolling up towards his hand as you make soft, needy sounds around his thumb. He watches your face the whole time, the little overwhelmed crease you get between your eyebrows, how your lashes flutter in pleasure.
"You hear yourself?" He sounds like he can’t believe he gets to have this. Tyriq’s forehead drops to yours with a groan, his breath dancing against your skin. "This pussy so loud for me tonight, mama. So honest, singing for me. Tell me what you need, baby. I got you.” He works you through the tremble, through the ache, until your thighs are soaked and shaking and you're biting down on him just to stay tethered. He’s controlling your climax, holding you right on the edge, watching, waiting, wanting to hear you say it.
He pulls his fingers from you, slick and shining, then slips his thumb from your lips. The air feels cooler without his hands on you. He stands up then, his tall frame towering over you as water drips from his wrist onto the bathmat.
“Five minutes,” he says, his voice almost strained. “I need you out this tub in five minutes. Don’t make me wait longer.”
He leaves, sucking his fingers before he even opens the door. The water all of a sudden feels suddenly unfairly cold.
Three minutes later you’re walking into your bedroom, towel barely knotted around your body.
He’s on the edge of your bed in his boxers, hands resting on his knees, looking like he counted every second he waited for you. Your bed’s still a mess from the night before; sheets kicked to the foot, pillows half on the floor, still smelling like the both of y’all.
His head lifts the second your feet hit the floorboards, his eyes fixed on the drop of water rolling from your collarbone down between your breasts.
“’Bout time.”
Then he stands up, moving towards you in two steps and the distance between you both is gone. Your towel doesn't last a few seconds before it’s pushed down, puddled at your feet before his mouth claims yours.
He doesn't ask. He just takes, and you let him. The kiss isn't sweet; it’s hungry, searching; his tongue sliding past your lips like he's been starving for it. There’s the faint taste of those strawberry-watermelon mints he always has and the smell of his skin, and you’re suddenly lightheaded from how much he’s taking. His hand cups the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wants it. You nip his bottom lip and he groans into your mouth; a guttural sound that vibrates through his chest into yours. His hips grind forward, the hard line of his dick a strong, heavy pressure against your stomach.
“Missed this mouth,” he grunts against your lips, sounding half mad with it. “Missed the way you taste. The sounds you make when I got you like this…fuck, I missed all of you, baby.”
He doesn’t break the kiss until you fall back into the mess of last night’s sheets. He follows you down, knees forcing yours apart, his hands sliding up your sides like he’s finally allowed to touch what’s his. His warm lips make their way down your chest, tongue swirling around the barbell through your peaked nipple until you’re arching off the bed, hands cradling his head. You try to say his name, but he hushes you, his eyes dark and fixed on the wet heat between your legs. He pushes your thighs open with a gentleness that feels like a lie, his gaze heavy and focused. He hovers there, his breath fanning over your teased skin before he leans in and licks you open. A slow, needy drag of his tongue from your entrance to your clit that feels like he's trying to taste every secret you've ever kept from him.
He pushes your hips back down with one hand when you buck, firm and flat on your stomach. "Be still." His voice vibrates against your skin. He eats you slow, tongue dragging through your slick, then pulls back just far enough to spit on you. You hear him groan at the sight of his saliva dripping down your slit and your whole body clenches around nothing. Then he laps it up, tongue working your clit in tight, maddening circles, and the sounds coming out of you are embarrassingly loud, raw, nothing you can control. Your thighs are shaking and he doesn't stop, his own sounds telling you he’s already holding on by a thread too.
"God,” you gasp out.
“What you callin’ out to God for? He didn’t make you this wet. I did.” He smirks, his thumb catching a stray drop of spit on his lip before he goes back to work. He fucks you with his fingers, pressing against your spot with insistent knocks while his tongue flicks your clit relentlessly; it’s so wet you can feel it dripping down your ass. He hums against you again; a low, arrogant sound that means he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Tyriq’s fingers curl harder inside you to find the ceiling of your pussy, and you’re pretty sure you’re about to come apart right there.
When he comes up for air, you’re a writhing mess beneath him. Your legs won’t stop shaking, your chest is heaving, your inner thighs are slick with a mess of his spit and your own juices as your pussy throbs. Tyriq crawls up your body, mouth leaving a wet, burning trail over your skin until he’s hovering, all 205 pounds of warm, solid muscle covering you. His fist is wrapped around the thick length of himself, dragging through your slick folds, catching on your clit with a soft pressure before the head of his leaking dick taps against your clit. Once. Twice. Just a heavy, wet knock at the door, his jaw tight as he listens to the broken sound you make in response.
He holds it there, a heavy promise that has your pulse thumping against him. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the way your eyes blow out when he touches you. Then he drags it down, slow and wet through your folds before pulling back to do it again.
“Tyriq… stop.” You’re whining but don’t mean it, and you both know it.
“Stop?” He taps the head against you again, a hot, heavy promise that has your pulse thumping against him. “You sure about that?”
"No, please. You know what I want."
"I don't know shit." He grinds against you, a deep, heavy smear of his dick against your clit that makes your thighs clamp around his waist. He lets out a rough, shaky laugh against your neck. "Talk to me. Lemme hear it, pretty girl."
"Please."
"Please what?" His voice is firmer as he sinks his tip inside you, pushing in just enough to stretch the skin, to let you feel how massive he is, then he drags all the way back out. He’s shaking too, his breath coming in jagged hitches. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."
"Put it in."
"Put what in?"
"Your dick, Tyriq. I need you inside me,” you whisper, the honesty of it stinging more than the ache between your legs. “Fucking me. Now.”
He makes a sound like he’s been gutted then pushes in slow, the wet slide of him opening you up inch by perfect inch. Your body takes him the way it always has, like some part of you was carved just to fit him. His forehead hits your shoulder, breath coming hot and broken. "Fuucck. Every time, it’s like the first time. Every damn time.”
His fingers splay over your ribs, thumb brushing your nipple as he starts those long, rhythmic strokes that make your vision blur. He grips your hip, holding on like he’s the one about to drown and a whimper leaves his mouth, shifting into grunts when he pushes deeper. "Pussy feels so fuckin’ good," he breathes in your ear. "So damn good, baby. Just like home.“
"Tell me I feel good too." His hips roll into you, deep slow strokes, the drag of him pulling a moan from somewhere low in your chest. "Tell me." Your nails dig into his back and he latches onto your neck, hips snapping harder now, your bedframe knocking into the wall now. "Say it, baby."
“You feel so good… nnmph, you’re so b-big, Riq.” The confession is pathetic, words that barely make it out whispered into the hollow of his shoulder as he bottoms out again. You’re struggling to keep up, your voice failing you every time his pelvis grinds against yours.
He loves it. You can tell by the way his grip tightens on your hip, fingers bruising your skin. “You struggling, baby?” He mutters, his voice steady as he speeds up, the wet slide of his dick inside you getting louder, slicker. He’s not being gentle anymore. He’s fucking you with a focused, heavy intent that makes your thighs shake and your toes curl into the mattress. His hand slides from your ribs to cup your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip. "Tell me how good."
You try to answer, you really do, but he’s so deep that every time you open your mouth, all that comes out is a broken, needy little sound. It’s crazy how fucked out he has you, but you’re addicted to the feeling. The way he’s splitting you wide; that thick, relentless slide of him filling every bit of you, makes it impossible to think. You’re just a mess of heat and friction, your body trying to swallow him whole while your brain tries to remember how to breathe.
Finally, you manage a sentence without stutters. "Please keep fucking me, Tyriq. I need you.” Your nails dig into the muscles in his back and he cusses, his right hand shoving a pillow you didn’t see him grab under your hips to change the angle; all while staying inside you, the both of you making sounds of ecstasy. His hips snap harder as his big hand finds your jaw, tilting your face up, thumb tracing your bottom lip.
Tyriq kisses you gently at first, swallowing your whimpers and cries. Then his tongue passionately invades your mouth while his hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your aching pearl again. His pressure is perfect; tight, firm circles that make your whole body tense up like a bowstring.
“You feel me?” he whispers with a strained voice, his lips against your jaw. “Feel how deep I’m in this shit? You take it so well, mama. Makin’ me never wanna pull out.”
He catches your mouth again, his tongue sliding deep as his thumb spins your clit into a frenzy. You’re close, so fucking close, and he knows it. He can feel your pussy fluttering and squelching around him, gripping him like a vice, telling him all the things you’re too overwhelmed to say. You wanna tell him how good it is, that you love him, that he’s the only one who could ever have you open like this, but all you manage is his name over and over, and he eats every sound right out your mouth, fucking you like he’ll never get another chance.
"You still thinkin' about that nigga?" His voice is thick with a jealousy he usually keeps under lock and key. You barely catch it, brain fuzzy, body strung out and so close to shattering it’s bordering on pain. "Whoever it is you be on FaceTime with or whatever at night." You can’t even find your breath, let alone an answer. Your brain is just a blur of his name and the way his dick feels like it’s rearranging you. Another whimper from him and pleasured cry from you as his tip kisses your cervix, the pressure so deliciously brutal it makes your eyes water. The wet slide of him is the only thing that’s real, as if he didn't just ask you something that matters.
His hand tightens on your hip, fingers digging in with enough strength to bruise you. He groans against your lips, the sound desperate, broken. "'Cause I’m right here. I don't think about nobody else when I'm in you like this. When I’m stretchin’ you the fuck out, claimin’ my spot deep in this perfect pussy.“
He speeds up with a frantic urgency, the pretense that control he’s so good at gone out the window. You feel his lips on your neck again, sucking hard enough to leave something behind, teeth scraping over your sensitive skin, and that does it.
Your whole body jumps like he hit a live wire, rewarding him using your pussy with a vicious tightening and gush of warm liquid, making him look down to marvel at the mess he earned.
But he’s not done and you know he’s not.
His hand slides down the side of your leg, fingers digging into the soft meat of your thigh then around to your ass, spreading so you feel everything he has for you. Your breath leaves you in a choked sound and your knees slip against the sheets, muscles clenching around him like you’re trying to hold him there.
His other hand glides over your ribs to hold you steady while he takes his time. Long, measured thrusts that start almost torturously lazy and feel anything but, every one fully bottoming out, his heavy balls slapping wetly against your pussy. The sound feels pornographic; wet, hot, driving you delirious. Your own arousal sticks on your inner thighs, his length sliding through it every time he pulls back.
“Tell me the truth. When you’re alone and you’re touchin’ yourself, who’s the one in your head?” The world stops. It’s just the two of you, the smell of sex and the weight of six years of secrets. You’re boneless now, pussy clenching around him in a way that tells him everything before you even open your mouth.
"Riq…" Your voice comes out cracked, thin.
"Answer me." He’s fucking you like he has nowhere else to be, like he’s got all night to pull you apart, dick driving into you with a rhythm that knocks the breath from your lungs. Your body’s singing for him, for this. His thumb circles your clit, tighter, faster, his teeth tugging your skin, and you’re right there again; every nerve lit up, nothing in your head but his name and the way he’s moving inside you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. “I wanna know. Please, baby,” he whispers.
"It’s you." you gasp, the words raw like they’ve been stuck in your chest for years. Saying them feels like stepping off a ledge. "It’s always you, Tyriq, please,” you beg. He looks enthralled, half-crazed with it, pupils blown to dark green orbs of desperate need.
He stills. Buried to the hilt, both of you sounding like you ran a marathon, him pulsing inside you like your words went straight through him. His eyes search yours like he's looking for the catch, like he can't believe you actually said it. As if you just handed him a piece of himself he didn't know was missing. Then he exhales shakily and says, "There she go. There's my girl."
Tyriq kisses you hard, tongue pushing past your lips like he’s claiming something that was never anybody else’s. The first thrust back in motion knocks a sound outta you that gets swallowed straight into his mouth. If you felt like he was holding back before, all that held back energy’s exploding right now, his seed flowing warm and deep inside you as his his breath saws in and out through his teeth. The way this man always manages to unload an entire daycare inside you makes you feel grateful; both for him and the IUD he’s clearly at war with.
Always making sure he gets the last word, he’s still going like he’s trying to etch himself into the inside of you. Your mattress squeaks helpless under y’all and his hand grabs your jaw again with a firm pressure bordering on rough, but his thumb strokes your cheekbone to soothe you even as he pounds into you, drawing a second orgasm from you and a satisfied, soft smile from him.
"I know," he breathes against your lips, words breaking around a groan as your pussy spasms around him. His thrusts are punishingly good, punching blissed out noises from your throat.
His hand leaves your ass to hold your hand now, a sweeter, steady grip on your now laced fingers. “I know, pretty girl. It’s you for me too.”
tyriq knows your body better than he knows any playbook, and he’s tired of you hiding behind your silence. your best friend is done playing games; he wants the honesty only your body seems brave enough to give him, and he’s not stopping until you finally admit that he’s the only one you’ve ever wanted.
tyriq withers x blackfem!reader
CONTENT WARNINGS: MDNI • explicit sexual content, vulgar language + dirty talk, pet names (baby, mama, pretty girl) possessive language, fingering (in the bath), oral sex (f receiving), spitting, marking/hickeys, unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, praise/degradation, jealousy, best friends to lovers, size difference, breeding kink if u squint, kinda.
WORD COUNT: 3.5K
A/N: hiiii so this is the first fic ive written in years and i lowkey forgot how fun this is hehe. i’m already working on my next tyriq fic too, i have so many ideas for that fine ass man #whew. but lmk what u think pls! feedback is loved n vry appreciated, thank u for reading <3
The bath water’s almost lukewarm when you hear the beeping from the keypad on your front door.
You’re all too familiar with the sounds. The chirp after the code is entered, the door pushing open, the thump of his duffel hitting the floor. A familiar shiver runs down your spine as you listen to the familiar sound of his footsteps walking towards you.
Tyriq’s 6’5 frame fills your bathroom doorway, grey sweats low on his hips with a tight Nike Dri-Fit hugging his muscled body, a sheen of sweat on his smooth skin. He leans against the frame with his arms crossed and you watch his greenish grey do a slow scan of your body. From your brown eyes looking up at him to your lips adorned with the glossy, açaí and mango scented balm, over your supple breasts to where your body is a distorted shadow under the water. His mouth quirks, the muscle in his jaw tensing with restraint he’s convinced himself he had.
“I see somebody got started without me,” he says. His voice is rough, gravelly from practice. Your favorite sound.
“Just taking a bath, Tyriq,” you tell him.
He pushes off the doorframe and sits on the closed toilet lid, man spreading, his knees almost touching the side of the tub. When he’s comfortable he leans forward, pushes his sleeves over his elbows, and his hand enters your bath water. His fingers—those long, perfect fingers, trail up your shin. “How was practice?” you ask him, attempting to divert your attention.
"Whole practice was progression drills mostly. Coach was on my ass acting like I don’t know how to make the right reads. His hand glides over your knee, up the meat of your thigh, the water magnifying the friction of his thumb against your skin. "Nigga thinks Ion know exactly how to handle what's mine. Like I'ma miss the best part of my day."
His fingers trace the crease of your thigh, skating over the soft skin of your inner thigh before they slide home. He finds the wet heat waiting for him and parts your folds like he’s got the route memorized; thumb slowly circling that little peak of nerves until you’re arching off the bottom of the tub.
“Tyriq…” But you aren’t stopping him. You never do.
“Relax,” he murmurs. “Talk to me. What you get up to today?”
How does he expect you to form words when he’s touching you like this? Your brain shorts out and your body does the opposite; softening, opening up for him like it’s instinct. He feels it and his smile goes all types of satisfied, a slow curve against your wet skin.
“Mhm, cat got your tongue already. Guess I’ll talk then.” Tyriq leans in and softly kisses your damp shoulder, then bites down hard enough to make you tense and soothes the spot with his warm tongue. “I missed you today. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about this.”
He doesn’t give you a second to brace yourself before he shoves two fingers deep inside your pussy, the sudden, deliciously full feeling making you reach out to grab the edge of the tub, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't even need to ask if it feels good because already knows, and he’s still grinning like it too.
“Missed how you feel right here,” he murmurs, crooking his fingers to hit that spot. Your hips jerk. “Missed this shit so bad. Always so wet for me. Fucking dripping’ in the goddamn bath.”
He sets a rhythm, a hard, deep curl of his fingers, while his thumb grinds into your clit. His other hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your bottom lip.
Your hips are chasing the feeling of Tyriq’s thumb worshipping your clit. His fingers work you slow and deep, every curl of his fingers dragging like he's savoring it. His other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb stroking your bottom lip like he wants to feel the sounds you’re making. “Look at me, pretty girl. Wanna see you while I'm inside you."
You part your lips like a Pavlovian response and his thumb enters your mouth, a moan escaping you as you feel it press down on your tongue. You taste salt and him, sucking immediately like your body already knows what to do with him.
Three fingers stretch you open now, so slow you feel every vein on his fingers. Your hips have a mind of their own; steady rolling up towards his hand as you make soft, needy sounds around his thumb. He watches your face the whole time, the little overwhelmed crease you get between your eyebrows, how your lashes flutter in pleasure.
"You hear yourself?" He sounds like he can’t believe he gets to have this. Tyriq’s forehead drops to yours with a groan, his breath dancing against your skin. "This pussy so loud for me tonight, mama. So honest, singing for me. Tell me what you need, baby. I got you.” He works you through the tremble, through the ache, until your thighs are soaked and shaking and you're biting down on him just to stay tethered. He’s controlling your climax, holding you right on the edge, watching, waiting, wanting to hear you say it.
He pulls his fingers from you, slick and shining, then slips his thumb from your lips. The air feels cooler without his hands on you. He stands up then, his tall frame towering over you as water drips from his wrist onto the bathmat.
“Five minutes,” he says, his voice almost strained. “I need you out this tub in five minutes. Don’t make me wait longer.”
He leaves, sucking his fingers before he even opens the door. The water all of a sudden feels suddenly unfairly cold.
Three minutes later you’re walking into your bedroom, towel barely knotted around your body.
He’s on the edge of your bed in his boxers, hands resting on his knees, looking like he counted every second he waited for you. Your bed’s still a mess from the night before; sheets kicked to the foot, pillows half on the floor, still smelling like the both of y’all.
His head lifts the second your feet hit the floorboards, his eyes fixed on the drop of water rolling from your collarbone down between your breasts.
“’Bout time.”
Then he stands up, moving towards you in two steps and the distance between you both is gone. Your towel doesn't last a few seconds before it’s pushed down, puddled at your feet before his mouth claims yours.
He doesn't ask. He just takes, and you let him. The kiss isn't sweet; it’s hungry, searching; his tongue sliding past your lips like he's been starving for it. There’s the faint taste of those strawberry-watermelon mints he always has and the smell of his skin, and you’re suddenly lightheaded from how much he’s taking. His hand cups the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wants it. You nip his bottom lip and he groans into your mouth; a guttural sound that vibrates through his chest into yours. His hips grind forward, the hard line of his dick a strong, heavy pressure against your stomach.
“Missed this mouth,” he grunts against your lips, sounding half mad with it. “Missed the way you taste. The sounds you make when I got you like this…fuck, I missed all of you, baby.”
He doesn’t break the kiss until you fall back into the mess of last night’s sheets. He follows you down, knees forcing yours apart, his hands sliding up your sides like he’s finally allowed to touch what’s his. His warm lips make their way down your chest, tongue swirling around the barbell through your peaked nipple until you’re arching off the bed, hands cradling his head. You try to say his name, but he hushes you, his eyes dark and fixed on the wet heat between your legs. He pushes your thighs open with a gentleness that feels like a lie, his gaze heavy and focused. He hovers there, his breath fanning over your teased skin before he leans in and licks you open. A slow, needy drag of his tongue from your entrance to your clit that feels like he's trying to taste every secret you've ever kept from him.
He pushes your hips back down with one hand when you buck, firm and flat on your stomach. "Be still." His voice vibrates against your skin. He eats you slow, tongue dragging through your slick, then pulls back just far enough to spit on you. You hear him groan at the sight of his saliva dripping down your slit and your whole body clenches around nothing. Then he laps it up, tongue working your clit in tight, maddening circles, and the sounds coming out of you are embarrassingly loud, raw, nothing you can control. Your thighs are shaking and he doesn't stop, his own sounds telling you he’s already holding on by a thread too.
"God,” you gasp out.
“What you callin’ out to God for? He didn’t make you this wet. I did.” He smirks, his thumb catching a stray drop of spit on his lip before he goes back to work. He fucks you with his fingers, pressing against your spot with insistent knocks while his tongue flicks your clit relentlessly; it’s so wet you can feel it dripping down your ass. He hums against you again; a low, arrogant sound that means he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Tyriq’s fingers curl harder inside you to find the ceiling of your pussy, and you’re pretty sure you’re about to come apart right there.
When he comes up for air, you’re a writhing mess beneath him. Your legs won’t stop shaking, your chest is heaving, your inner thighs are slick with a mess of his spit and your own juices as your pussy throbs. Tyriq crawls up your body, mouth leaving a wet, burning trail over your skin until he’s hovering, all 205 pounds of warm, solid muscle covering you. His fist is wrapped around the thick length of himself, dragging through your slick folds, catching on your clit with a soft pressure before the head of his leaking dick taps against your clit. Once. Twice. Just a heavy, wet knock at the door, his jaw tight as he listens to the broken sound you make in response.
He holds it there, a heavy promise that has your pulse thumping against him. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the way your eyes blow out when he touches you. Then he drags it down, slow and wet through your folds before pulling back to do it again.
“Tyriq… stop.” You’re whining but don’t mean it, and you both know it.
“Stop?” He taps the head against you again, a hot, heavy promise that has your pulse thumping against him. “You sure about that?”
"No, please. You know what I want."
"I don't know shit." He grinds against you, a deep, heavy smear of his dick against your clit that makes your thighs clamp around his waist. He lets out a rough, shaky laugh against your neck. "Talk to me. Lemme hear it, pretty girl."
"Please."
"Please what?" His voice is firmer as he sinks his tip inside you, pushing in just enough to stretch the skin, to let you feel how massive he is, then he drags all the way back out. He’s shaking too, his breath coming in jagged hitches. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."
"Put it in."
"Put what in?"
"Your dick, Tyriq. I need you inside me,” you whisper, the honesty of it stinging more than the ache between your legs. “Fucking me. Now.”
He makes a sound like he’s been gutted then pushes in slow, the wet slide of him opening you up inch by perfect inch. Your body takes him the way it always has, like some part of you was carved just to fit him. His forehead hits your shoulder, breath coming hot and broken. "Fuucck. Every time, it’s like the first time. Every damn time.”
His fingers splay over your ribs, thumb brushing your nipple as he starts those long, rhythmic strokes that make your vision blur. He grips your hip, holding on like he’s the one about to drown and a whimper leaves his mouth, shifting into grunts when he pushes deeper. "Pussy feels so fuckin’ good," he breathes in your ear. "So damn good, baby. Just like home.“
"Tell me I feel good too." His hips roll into you, deep slow strokes, the drag of him pulling a moan from somewhere low in your chest. "Tell me." Your nails dig into his back and he latches onto your neck, hips snapping harder now, your bedframe knocking into the wall now. "Say it, baby."
“You feel so good… nnmph, you’re so b-big, Riq.” The confession is pathetic, words that barely make it out whispered into the hollow of his shoulder as he bottoms out again. You’re struggling to keep up, your voice failing you every time his pelvis grinds against yours.
He loves it. You can tell by the way his grip tightens on your hip, fingers bruising your skin. “You struggling, baby?” He mutters, his voice steady as he speeds up, the wet slide of his dick inside you getting louder, slicker. He’s not being gentle anymore. He’s fucking you with a focused, heavy intent that makes your thighs shake and your toes curl into the mattress. His hand slides from your ribs to cup your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip. "Tell me how good."
You try to answer, you really do, but he’s so deep that every time you open your mouth, all that comes out is a broken, needy little sound. It’s crazy how fucked out he has you, but you’re addicted to the feeling. The way he’s splitting you wide; that thick, relentless slide of him filling every bit of you, makes it impossible to think. You’re just a mess of heat and friction, your body trying to swallow him whole while your brain tries to remember how to breathe.
Finally, you manage a sentence without stutters. "Please keep fucking me, Tyriq. I need you.” Your nails dig into the muscles in his back and he cusses, his right hand shoving a pillow you didn’t see him grab under your hips to change the angle; all while staying inside you, the both of you making sounds of ecstasy. His hips snap harder as his big hand finds your jaw, tilting your face up, thumb tracing your bottom lip.
Tyriq kisses you gently at first, swallowing your whimpers and cries. Then his tongue passionately invades your mouth while his hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your aching pearl again. His pressure is perfect; tight, firm circles that make your whole body tense up like a bowstring.
“You feel me?” he whispers with a strained voice, his lips against your jaw. “Feel how deep I’m in this shit? You take it so well, mama. Makin’ me never wanna pull out.”
He catches your mouth again, his tongue sliding deep as his thumb spins your clit into a frenzy. You’re close, so fucking close, and he knows it. He can feel your pussy fluttering and squelching around him, gripping him like a vice, telling him all the things you’re too overwhelmed to say. You wanna tell him how good it is, that you love him, that he’s the only one who could ever have you open like this, but all you manage is his name over and over, and he eats every sound right out your mouth, fucking you like he’ll never get another chance.
"You still thinkin' about that nigga?" His voice is thick with a jealousy he usually keeps under lock and key. You barely catch it, brain fuzzy, body strung out and so close to shattering it’s bordering on pain. "Whoever it is you be on FaceTime with or whatever at night." You can’t even find your breath, let alone an answer. Your brain is just a blur of his name and the way his dick feels like it’s rearranging you. Another whimper from him and pleasured cry from you as his tip kisses your cervix, the pressure so deliciously brutal it makes your eyes water. The wet slide of him is the only thing that’s real, as if he didn't just ask you something that matters.
His hand tightens on your hip, fingers digging in with enough strength to bruise you. He groans against your lips, the sound desperate, broken. "'Cause I’m right here. I don't think about nobody else when I'm in you like this. When I’m stretchin’ you the fuck out, claimin’ my spot deep in this perfect pussy.“
He speeds up with a frantic urgency, the pretense that control he’s so good at gone out the window. You feel his lips on your neck again, sucking hard enough to leave something behind, teeth scraping over your sensitive skin, and that does it.
Your whole body jumps like he hit a live wire, rewarding him using your pussy with a vicious tightening and gush of warm liquid, making him look down to marvel at the mess he earned.
But he’s not done and you know he’s not.
His hand slides down the side of your leg, fingers digging into the soft meat of your thigh then around to your ass, spreading so you feel everything he has for you. Your breath leaves you in a choked sound and your knees slip against the sheets, muscles clenching around him like you’re trying to hold him there.
His other hand glides over your ribs to hold you steady while he takes his time. Long, measured thrusts that start almost torturously lazy and feel anything but, every one fully bottoming out, his heavy balls slapping wetly against your pussy. The sound feels pornographic; wet, hot, driving you delirious. Your own arousal sticks on your inner thighs, his length sliding through it every time he pulls back.
“Tell me the truth. When you’re alone and you’re touchin’ yourself, who’s the one in your head?” The world stops. It’s just the two of you, the smell of sex and the weight of six years of secrets. You’re boneless now, pussy clenching around him in a way that tells him everything before you even open your mouth.
"Riq…" Your voice comes out cracked, thin.
"Answer me." He’s fucking you like he has nowhere else to be, like he’s got all night to pull you apart, dick driving into you with a rhythm that knocks the breath from your lungs. Your body’s singing for him, for this. His thumb circles your clit, tighter, faster, his teeth tugging your skin, and you’re right there again; every nerve lit up, nothing in your head but his name and the way he’s moving inside you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. “I wanna know. Please, baby,” he whispers.
"It’s you." you gasp, the words raw like they’ve been stuck in your chest for years. Saying them feels like stepping off a ledge. "It’s always you, Tyriq, please,” you beg. He looks enthralled, half-crazed with it, pupils blown to dark green orbs of desperate need.
He stills. Buried to the hilt, both of you sounding like you ran a marathon, him pulsing inside you like your words went straight through him. His eyes search yours like he's looking for the catch, like he can't believe you actually said it. As if you just handed him a piece of himself he didn't know was missing. Then he exhales shakily and says, "There she go. There's my girl."
Tyriq kisses you hard, tongue pushing past your lips like he’s claiming something that was never anybody else’s. The first thrust back in motion knocks a sound outta you that gets swallowed straight into his mouth. If you felt like he was holding back before, all that held back energy’s exploding right now, his seed flowing warm and deep inside you as his his breath saws in and out through his teeth. The way this man always manages to unload an entire daycare inside you makes you feel grateful; both for him and the IUD he’s clearly at war with.
Always making sure he gets the last word, he’s still going like he’s trying to etch himself into the inside of you. Your mattress squeaks helpless under y’all and his hand grabs your jaw again with a firm pressure bordering on rough, but his thumb strokes your cheekbone to soothe you even as he pounds into you, drawing a second orgasm from you and a satisfied, soft smile from him.
"I know," he breathes against your lips, words breaking around a groan as your pussy spasms around him. His thrusts are punishingly good, punching blissed out noises from your throat.
His hand leaves your ass to hold your hand now, a sweeter, steady grip on your now laced fingers. “I know, pretty girl. It’s you for me too.”
the first kiss of aniya and carl in say less is visually the most beautiful scene of love island. the colors, their chemistry, the tension, the light, the ambiance, THE KISS - absolute perfection.
