━━ ❝ it's so much smaller than mine...how amusing. ❞ wc: 1.4k
𓇼...synopsis : you've always been a bit shy about your strange features, but sukuna thinks it's cute. really, really cute. but, he can't help but wonder if both mouths taste the same.
𓇼...cw : trueform!sukuna x fem!reader, you and sukuna both have stomach mouths, wet and messy kıssing, teasing, mild spit kınk, sukuna's stomach mouth is referred to as 'mokuna', it's just weird and kinda shitty blurb of my freaky thoughts i won't lie
"why are you so shy," sukuna gruffly asks, looking down at you. "you act like i have no experience with this.
you can't stand still, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. it's hard not to be shy. no one has ever shown genuine interest in your...'features' in a non-disgusted manner.
yet, you couldn't be surprised that sukuna wouldn't be disgusted, not when he so proudly shows off the massive maw on his abdomen, which is currently...smirking?
"well, it's just...weird."
a loud scoff is your only response, his arms grabbing your wrists and gently prying them away from your own stomach.
cute.
cute is the best way for him to describe you right now, your stomach mouth having a matching pout to the one on your face.
"mm, i think it's adorable. she's much smaller compared to mine," he teases lowly, referring to the adorably small size of your maw compared to his massive one. "a cute little thing. so shy, just like her host."
all you can do is whine, his words making your insides twist and squeeze in embarrassment. despite this, you found yourself unconsciously stepping forward, not realizing how the two mouths clearly were interested in the other's existence.
"see? they both know what they are and can sense each other...even you know it subconsciously, little one."
as you hold up your shirt, your face on fire, your own stomach mouth makes a grumbling noise of curiosity before pouting...as if it can sense the stupid grin that mokuna was giving.
great, both of his toothy maws are insufferable.
his eyes flicker down to your stomachs that seem to be communicating on their own, little grunts and movements coming from both of them, as if drawn to each other.
"look closely, little one," he murmurs, pure amusement in his voice. "they want to get acquainted. who are we to stop them, hm?" his hand finds your hip, guiding you closer despite your embarrassment.
of course that wouldn't stop him, he's sukuna, for fucksake, and you should've known he would be into this.
the moment you get close enough is when mokuna acts, licking a thick, wet strip across your tummy with the most devious grin. "s-sukuna," you gasp, squealing at the strange sensation as a whine slips out of you.
honestly...it feels kind of gross, like thick, hot slime coating your abdomen. you can't help but shiver, shocked at the boldness. and just when you are about to bring up how weird and strange this is...your own mouth seems to have its own plans, growling before licking right back.
the second you look up to see sukuna's reaction, you know you are in trouble.
sukuna's eyes are glued between your bodies, watching as he little 'mouth argument' of annoyed growls and teasing licks slowly start to become something more. it doesn't take long before both your tummy and his lick at the same time, causing mokuna to instantly grow bolder.
its tongue is fully extended now, running across the opposing tongue with a wet, sticky noise that only makes you squirm, mortified by the entire situation.
"sukuna, this i-is so fucking weird!"
he merely hums, giving a low approving grunt that vibrates through the air.
"when has anything with me been normal, princess," he murmurs. "let them get to know each other properly."
both of his hands are on your hips now, slowly rubbing up and down your sides, his way of gently encouraging you to calm down and enjoy it.
it's adorable, how flustered you are by something you keep calling weird and strange.
the heat from his hands only makes you feel everything more, seeping into your bare skin as you continue to hold your shirt up.
you're trying to piece your thoughts together, but before you can—
"ah!"
"mmhp..."
"s-sukuna—!"
"that's new."
your own stomach mouth slides its tongue against mokuna's, not hesitating to slip inside the large maw...and surprisingly, it feels good.
really fucking good.
the sight isn't helping, watching the abnormally large tongues intertwine and exploring each other is oddly erotic to you, and you know sukuna can feel it too.
his brow is furrowed now, a faint blush painted on his cheeks as she seems to struggle to keep it together.
"you have the nerve to call this moment strange, yet your own body cannot control herself. fuck, look at her, she's just as desperate as you are," he groans, squeezing his eyes shut as the strange exchange only got messier, wetter.
"you like it, don't you? you like how strange it is, knowing that only you and i can be intimate like this?"
that realization alone draws a moan from you.
he's right.
neither you nor he knew of anyone with the same unusual anatomy except each other...meaning this truly was something only the two of you could do together.
his hands grip you tighter when he notices you melting in his hold, that thought taking hold of your brain and mixing with the intoxicating feeling of the two monstrous mouths practically making out with each other now, spit and drool dripping down both of your lower stomachs.
"w-why does it feel so good? i-i can feel it all over, like my entire body is on fire, sukuna, I-I can't take it," you manage to whimper, trembling hands gripping his biceps for support.
like you, sukuna is struggling. he's struggling to hold it together because fuck, it really is getting nasty and sloppy now, the monstrous nature starting to take over as they grow hungrier and hungrier for the others' taste.
"fuck if i know," he grunts, voice clearly strained. "just...it feels good, doesn't it? mmh, they're devouring each other, tasting each other..."
he pulls you closer, right up against him, and then, they connect, lips pressing against each other, and both of you are done for.
the obscene slurping and sucking noises only grow worse, louder and messier, little growls and purrs filling the air. both of you let out low, debauched groans, the pleasure so foreign but so fucking good.
"you drive me mad, woman," he grits out, finally letting go and letting his hips rut against you needily. his hands roam all over, groping and gripping the soft flesh of your hips and ass. "god, it's too much...c'mere."
sukuna grips your face with one of his hands, capturing your lips in a deep, bruising kiss, pouring all his hunger and need into it. once his tongue delves into your mouth, neither of you can stop from moaning.
as you melt into the kiss, his eyes roll back, feeling your soft curves pressing into his hard, muscular body.
he hisses a curse against your lips, his hand fisting in your hair to pull you into a deeper kiss, his stupidly fat tongue unknowingly mimicking the movements of mokuna, who seems to grow more enthusiastic and aggressive now that its host is finally participating, pleased growls filling the air again.
"s-sukuna, it's too much, i-i'm—i'm gonna cum like this," you pathetically sob against his mouth, tears filling your eyes as the pleasure gets too much.
that little confession makes him groan, his head dropping down to press against yours. "mm, you and that little mouth of yours are going to get you in trouble, making a king weak like this...making me act pathetic."
you know what that means.
you know exactly what it means.
he's going to cum too, he's about to cum in his pants from both your stomach mouths, sloppily making out on their own, pressed together lewdly, desperately.
"c'mon, stop holding back," he rasps, eyes boring down into your own as he presses you into him harder, grinding his clothed cock against you.
"let it happen, cum around nothing like the needy little thing you are," he groans before pulling you into another searing kiss, swallowing each of your sweet moans as you finally, finally fall over that edge.
it's warm, you feel like you are on fire, it's too much and not enough at the same time. feeling your body go rigid before melting in his arms is too much, and he pulls away from the kiss, the string of saliva connecting your lips snapping immediately.
"you...you have the nerve to say this was 'weird,' yet here you are, cumming untouched, just from this," he huffs lowly, eyes narrowed as if he wasn't the one who was interested in your similar anatomy.
after a moment of studying your fucked out face, he pulls away just enough that mokuna has to pull its tongue away from you, licking its lips with an evil grin as your own maw purrs, no longer reacting aggressively at its presence.
"we aren't done here, princess...no, not at all. come, let's see what other bonding methods we can discover. after all, they seem to like each other. let mokuna taste you again when we both cum together this time."
You, a humble little librarian working in the depths of Ryomen Sukuna’s fortress-palace-death-mansion, have lived quite the quiet, cushioned existence. You've catalogued blood-drenched scrolls, re-bound curses into volumes that whisper when no one's looking, and sassed your way through enough bureaucracy to be labelled "refreshingly competent" by literal hellspawn.
You're the favorite.
The favorite.
Capital-F Favorite.
You and your cat, Chairman Meow (an utterly dignified cat who has committed war crimes in your name—most of which involve shredded tapestries and the occasional hairball in sacred spaces), have been living in unbothered luxury.
You even survived the night he got bored and tried to make a pufferfish spell book.
Until now.
Until tonight.
Until the fated, drunken, absolute-horror-movie-lust-slicked Banquet of Fools.
Enough that Ryomen Sukuna, Destroyer of Men and Other People’s Property, is weaving slightly by the end of the banquet, all four of his arms thrown open to the gods in celebration of… something? Victory? Being hot? You're not sure.
Because, to your scholarly dismay, Ryomen Sukuna—the King of Curses, Devourer of Armies, Godslayer, Asshole Supreme—is sloshed.
Like, not tipsy.
Not “oh I might kiss you on the cheek and forget in the morning” drunk.
We are talking “drank enough oni sake to challenge the moon to a duel and win” levels of fucked up.
So when his four godforsaken arms dragged you (gently-ish?? firmly, definitely firmly) away from the banquet and into his massive, dark, tapestry-laden private quarters, you didn’t expect anything more than a weird rant about how the rice was undercooked.
But, uh.
Now he’s on you.
Literally. Lips on your neck, one hand under your thigh, another one tangled in your hair, one very much cupping a tit like it owes him money. The last is just... hovering. Maybe supervising.
“Why,” you gasp, halfway moaning, halfway complaining, “do you have so many hands—are you trying to grope me into another dimension?”
“You’re warm,” he mutters, voice rough, teeth dragging your bottom lip into his mouth. One of his many hands has found your breast, the other cupping your ass, the third roaming like it’s looking for hidden treasure, and the fourth? You don't even know where it is anymore.
Frankly, you're scared to ask.
He’s everywhere.
All heat, and tongue, and need.
You? You are but a simple librarian. You catalogue scrolls. You file documents. You do NOT get railed by demonic warlords with the body of a god and the alcohol tolerance of a rice farmer on New Year’s.
You are being kissed. Sloppily. Intently. Like you’re water and he’s dying of thirst. Your entire existence is now measured in moans and confused panting.
And then he strips.
Like, naked. Swiftly. Smoothly. Like he’s been waiting to make this some sort of Performance Art™.
You blink.
You freeze.
You witness.
You blink again.
You stare again.
You tilt your head slightly to the left like that will make the visual more manageable.
And your soul does not survive the viewing.
Because—
Because.
He has two dicks.
Two.
Dos.
Deux.
Tsuuuuuuuuuuuuu.
You, staring at them like they’re going to speak to you:
“…Now hold on.”
Sukuna, blinking lazily while licking your neck:
“Problem, pet?”
You do not respond.
You are busy having a stroke.
Your eyes flit between them like you’re comparing weaponry on a battlefield. And maybe you are, because those are armaments, not genitals. They're long. Veiny. Intimidating. One’s slightly curved like a fucking artisanal sickle. The other has the gall to twitch at you.
Twitch.
At. You.
“Why—why are there two?” you whisper, as if maybe this is a test.
Sukuna smirks. “To ruin you twice as effectively.”
“That's not—! That’s not efficient! This isn’t a warehouse!”
Another silence.
You pointed. “You have two dicks.”
One of his mouths quirked. “Observation skills like that, no wonder I keep you in the library.”
“Two, Sukuna.”
“Yes?”
“Two penises, Sukuna.”
“I’m aware.”
You go silent.
You stare.
You kneel slightly to get a better look and feel like a war historian inspecting ancient siege weaponry.
"Is it... functional?" you whispered. "Are they both... operational??"
Sukuna raised an eyebrow. "What, you think they’re decorative?"
And then he wiggled them. He wiggled the dicks.
You screamed. Not like, scared. Like you just saw a ghost wearing Dior.
“HOW do you walk with those?? Don’t they bump into each other?? Do you have, like—double testicles? Is this a two-heart situation? Do you—do you have a backup kidney too??”
He just laughed. That bastard laughed. Deep and low and rough like a rockslide in hell.
“You are,” he said, with alarming fondness, “fucking ridiculous.”
“No,” you gasped, crawling forward like a woman possessed. “This is ridiculous!” You pointed to his hips like you were accusing them of tax fraud. “There’s like a whole... garden vibe! That’s landscaping!”
He cracked a grin. “You like what you see?”
"LIKE?? I am terrified, Sukuna. I am a civilian. I'm an archivist! I cannot be held responsible for handling—this! You need permits for that dick. Plural. Dicks. You need a cursed license!”
Sukuna chuckles, one of his mouths opening lazily at his abdomen. “You’ve seen me shirtless a thousand times, little human. You’re acting like I’ve grown a new limb.”
You gesture vaguely. “Well technically—you’ve got more cocks than I have vagina and I feel like that should’ve come up in the employee handbook.”
He blinks. Then laughs.
He fucking laughed. A rich, indulgent, absolutely amused sound that rumbled through his chest like a stormcloud. “Do you always go full scholar when you see a man’s cock, or is this just for me?”
You, noble scholar that you were, did not answer. You were transfixed.
You watch one of the dicks twitch again.
You whisper, “Please tell me you don’t pee out of both.”
“...I don’t even know.” He blinks, clearly too drunk to remember. “I just… go.”
“That’s terrifying.”
You lean closer. You’re fascinated. Horrified. In awe. You are a Greek scholar encountering a hydra.
The happy trail. The runic tattoos. The fact that it looks coordinated—a pair—as if these dicks were summoned with intention and flourish.
You're in a personal crisis.
“Do the balls—do they clash? Like do they ever just—bonk?”
He gapes at you, fully naked, covered in curse markings, and somehow blushing.
“Do you want to keep talking,” he growls, “or do you want to scream?”
You hesitate.
You’re still crouched like a field researcher.
Your brow is furrowed. You are learning things against your will.
“I mean… I am impressed. Like, horrified—but impressed? It’s a sort of architectural marvel.”
Sukuna groans, covering his face with one massive hand. “You are the most infuriating, annoying, sharp-tongued little thing I’ve ever—"
“But why two?? Is it a hierarchy situation? Like one’s the commander and the other’s the intern?”
“Shut up and get on the bed.”
“Do they operate independently?! What’s the org chart for this? Do they rotate?? Like wheels??”
He lunges. You squeal, giggling like a madwoman as he tosses you onto the silk-draped bed like you weigh nothing. You bounce once. Chairman Meow bolts for cover behind a curtain, tail fluffed.
“Enough talking,” Sukuna hisses. “I’m going to break you.”
You whimper. “Break me gently, I’m fragile!”
“You catalog cursed tomes and tell warlords to wait their turn. You’re not fragile, you’re annoying.”
“You love it.”
“I do,” he growls. “I really, really do.”
You flailed. “Wait wait wait—we need lube. We need a PLAN.”
“I am the plan.”
“You are two dicks with a dream, you don’t get to plan shit.”
“I have oil.”
“You have—of course you do. Is it cursed?”
“Only slightly.”
“DOES IT SCREAM WHEN YOU OPEN IT?”
Chairman Meow meowed loudly, either in concern or condemnation. He tried to crawl over Sukuna’s robes and tripped over one of the sashes. You pointed dramatically. “See?! Even he’s not ready for this!”
“You’re stalling.”
“I’m rationalizing. There is a difference.”
He kissed you again.
You forgot what you were talking about.
Two of his hands had begun stroking up and down your thighs, parting them slightly, drawing little lazy circles with his thumbs like you weren’t going on a full academic spiral over the concept of being double-dicked into oblivion. You whimpered into his mouth.
“Sukuna,” you breathed, as one of his cocks—the left one?—pressed against your thigh. “Please. I don’t wanna die.”
“You’ll thank me.”
“I’ll need physical therapy.”
“You’ll limp proudly.”
“I’ll need a gurney.”
“Stop being dramatic. You’ve read dirtier things in my library.”
“I THOUGHT THOSE WERE FICTION.”
*-*
Silk sheets.
Low lighting.
A breeze that dares to carry the sound of your sin down the corridor.
You are spread across Ryomen Sukuna’s enormous bed—half scholar, half sacrificial lamb, fully in peril.
Chairman Meow is perched nearby, engaged in full-scale warfare with one of Sukuna’s discarded robes, biting a sleeve like it insulted his mother. He is wrestling one of Sukuna’s robes in the corner like his life depends on it. You think you see blood. It is unclear who is winning.
And Sukuna?
He is above you.
Grinning like the devil caught a virgin in a confession booth.
Four hands, three mouths (somehow), two cocks, and the grinding arrogance of a god. And, speaking of- you knew you were doomed.
Not like, “oh no teehee I’m about to be ravished~” doomed.
More like “this is going to change me on a cellular level and I will never be normal again” doomed.
You should be worried.
You should be writing your will.
But instead you're like, “...Are you really going to use the oils? Or is this going to be a ‘suffer and perish’ type scenario?”
Sukuna just chuckles.
Like he’s amused.
Like he’s been waiting for this moment.
Like your pussy’s the final boss and he’s bringing a cheat code.
He reaches for a small, lacquered vial tucked into the drawer of his absurd, dragon-carved bedframe. You squint.
"Is that—rose oil?"
"It's mixed with camellia." He shrugs, utterly nonchalant as he uncorks it. "Softens the skin. Heats when rubbed. Very luxurious."
You stare. “You’re such a slut.”
He dips two of his lower hands into the oil, rubbing it between thick fingers. “Takes one to recognize one, little human.”
"How many mortal women have you actually bedded?" you ask, genuinely curious as you lay back, legs parted like an offering on a temple altar, brain vibrating.
"Enough to know most of you can't handle me raw." He grins. "So we're going to play first, pet."
And play he does.
He starts with your thighs.
Not your pussy.
Your thighs.
Slicked hands massaging up and down, from the outside curve to the soft inner part that has never seen the light of day or a man’s touch.
You whimper. You squirm. Your brain says intellectual discourse but your body says feral noises and foot kicks.
"Already trembling?" he says, smug bastard. “That’s not even your clit yet.”
“I have bloodlines,” you whimper. “I descend from scholars—”
“You’re going to descend onto this dick if you keep talking.”
Your brain: fair.
Then he touches you—there. Thumb slick with oil, lazy circles over your clit like he’s got all night.
(He does. Immortal bastard.)
You yelp. Not elegantly. Not even hot. It’s like a goose honked through your soul.
He does not stop.
Two fingers slide into you—slow, deliberate. Thick. Stretching.
Because yeah, at first, it's fingers.
(Clawed, thick, confident. Two in your cunt, one teasing your backdoor like it's asking for RSVP to an afterparty.)
Then, it's the hand-mouth.
(It laps. It suckles. It moans as if it’s tasting nectar distilled from forbidden texts.)
“Gods,” you gasp, clutching at the sheets. “You could fistfight a kami with those hands, what the fuck—”
He hums. The cursed mouth on his stomach opens, tongue slick and curved and smiling.
It grins.
You panic.
“That better not go near me—”
It does.
It does.
That tongue licks over your clit with a precision that cannot be taught. It must be inherited from the sin gods themselves.
Your back arches. You see a whole new tier of enlightenment.
*-*
Meanwhile:
Chairman Meow: biting the robe’s belt like it holds the secrets of war.
Sukuna: mumbling “tighter than I thought” with a cocky curl of his real lips.
You: transcending the mortal plane.
*-*
"Is that—is that a moan or a plea, little librarian?"
You hiss, “That’s a don’t you dare stop you cursed, glorious asshole—"
And he doesn’t. He levels up.
Your legs are trembling.
Your spine is arched.
Chairman Meow is now wearing part of Sukuna’s robe like a cape and trying to climb the bedpost.
You are dying. Actively. Ecstatically. Historically.
Because now one hand is spreading you open, two fingers pumping slow and deep, the stomach-mouth tongue doing figure eights like this is some kind of clitoral calligraphy practice, and—
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
Now his real mouth joins in. Sukuna leans forward, tongue flicking the sensitive part right above where his other tongue had already working, and his fingers start moving like he’s conducting a symphony of your collapse.
He's using a finger to stretch you open, another hand to fondle your tits, a third to lift your hips, and that accursed mouth-hand to tease your second hole like it’s preparing for war.
“Too much—fuck, it’s too much—”
“Too much?” He smirks, chin glistening, eyes dark. “You haven’t even begged yet.”
"I—I have a cervix, Ryomen, don’t bully me—"
Sukuna, humming with contentment against your clit: “You’re louder than a temple bell, pet.”
“YOU’RE LONGER THAN A TEMPLE BANNER—”
And then?
He crooks his fingers.
The spot. That spot.
The g-spot. The God-spot. The holy button.
And you scream.
LOUD.
Chairman Meow bolts into a curtain, knocks over an incense burner, and keeps fighting for his life.
Sukuna groans against your folds, licking through it like you’re the first meal he’s had in a hundred years.
You try to speak. Try to warn him.
You are close.
You are right there.
“I—fuck—I’m going to—”
“Come for me, little pet.”
Your vision whites out.
You shake. You sob. You clench around his fingers like they’re salvation incarnate.
It’s obscene.
It’s religious.
It’s the most academic orgasm you’ve ever had.
When you come down, your voice is a hoarse whisper:
“…You could’ve led armies with that tongue.”
He licks his lips, eyes glinting.
“I’ve razed cities with it.”
Of course he has.
Chairman Meow, robe fully defeated, now curls up on the pile of silks like a tiny war general at peace.
You? You're stretched open, boneless, oily, and have at least five new sex haikus forming in your mind.
Sukuna licks a stripe up your thigh and grins, all predator.
“Now that you’re loosened up…”
Your breath catches.
He grips your hips.
“…let’s see how much you can really take.”
You arch off the bed, gasping like a maiden dying of poetry.
You’re wet. Like, criminally wet.
Drenched. Absolutely betrayed by your own body.
*-*
So.
Here we are.
The main event.
You, debauched and folded like a historical parchment on Sukuna’s stupidly big bed, thighs slick, holes stretched, brain a scrambled egg of philosophy, lust, and god knows what else. Your soul is trying to reattach to your body. Your pussy is doing Morse code. Your mouth? Not doing well. Saying anything.
“You gonna actually fuck me now, or are we gonna keep playing ‘Pin the Tongue on the Clit’ for the rest of the century?”
Sukuna looks up from between your legs. His real mouth is smiling. His cursed stomach-mouth is grinning. His hair is wild, the tattoos glowing faint under the moonlight.
“You’re awfully bold for someone who came screaming five times,” he says, voice low, smug, dripping with amusement.
“Bold?” you pant. “I’m on my death bed. I’ve been spiritually and vaginally annihilated. I’m just trying to go out with a bang." You look down,oh right. Two. " Oh well preferably two.”
Your legs are shaking.
Your soul is floating somewhere in the rafters, sipping tea with the ancestors.
You have been touched. Stretched. Tongued. Twice. You're oiled up like a courtesan in a palace bathhouse and not one, not two, but four hands have rewired your entire understanding of pleasure.
You had an orgasm that felt like a seasonal festival.
And yet—despite your body screaming “No more!”, and your cat waging full-scale guerrilla warfare up the bed curtain (Chairman Meow is halfway to the ceiling and has no idea how to get down)—you glance down at the situation between Sukuna’s legs.
And... yeah.
Still two dicks.
Still majestic.
Still terrifying.
Still worthy of worship, fear, and maybe an emergency exorcism.
You blink.
You point at one lazily. “That one’s looking at me funny.”
“You touched it first,” Sukuna rumbles, absolutely delighted. He’s flushed and glowing, still a bit tipsy, still licking remnants of your soul off his lips. “Be nice.”
You poke it.
“Boop.”
He laughs—a genuine, low, rumbly sound that makes your toes curl.
"You are—" he huffs, amused, “—a fucking menace.”
You grin up at him, smudged with slick, bitten red on your lips, looking every bit the unrepentant goblin he’s chosen to ruin.
"And you have two dicks, sir. What am I supposed to do? Not comment? Just—just nod like that’s normal? Like—pardon me, Your Cursedness, I see your double cock and I shan’t be perceiving it??”
He looms over you, one hand stroking oil down your inner thigh again like he's drawing runes.
“You’re still talking for someone about to be filled in stereo.”
You raise a finger, teetering between fear and curiosity. "Wait—logistics. Geometry. Philosophy. You can't just... put both in there, right? At once? Is this some ‘choose your fighter’ scenario? Or are we—oh no, are we going front and back?”
His grin sharpens.
You freeze.
“Oh, hell.”
*-*
The lube is warm, because of course it is. Infused with ginger and plum blossom oil and probably the tears of virgins.
Sukuna coats both dicks with a reverence that borders on spiritual. You try to look away, you really do, but—
“...Why are the veins so detailed?” you mumble, squinting like it’s a map.
He just chuckles again. “You’re still staring.”
“They could be in textbooks.”
And then—then—he gets between your thighs.
His upper arms brace beside your shoulders, and his lower hands wrap around your waist like he owns it (because he does now, let’s be real). His forehead bumps against yours, warm and amused.
“Ready?”
You’re not.
You're not.
But you nod, drunk off him, high on hormones, and blessed by bastardry.
The first push is slow. Gentle.
But deep.
So deep.
You shriek. In Latin. Possibly in Sanskrit. Your vision tunnels.
You clutch his shoulders like they’re life rafts, nails immediately digging in. His cock is thick. Hot. Veined like some arrogant monument.
Your mouth opens. Words try to come out. Instead:
“AOEUHHHHHHHHHHHH—”
“You're singing for me already?” he drawls, voice husky. “We’ve only just started, little human.”
“I—hnnghh—I didn’t know my body could do this—”
“You’re doing perfectly.” One of his bottom arms cradles your hips, guiding your slow descent. “You're taking me.”
You? You are FREEBALLING.
Full body trembling, mind empty, soul gently ascending.
He rocks his hips. Just a little.
“OH MY GODS—”
“I’m better than your gods.”
“You’re the reason temples have rules.”
He grunts, hips rocking a centimeter deeper. “You feel fucking perfect.”
“I feel like a ceremonial vase being repurposed.”
He groans. You swear his stomach-mouth is smiling again. The audacity.
And then—oh hell—he shifts, and you feel a second stretch, slick and slow and deliberate from behind.
You protest. Obviously.
Because you’re not trying to be split like a wishbone.
"There's no way—I have a digestive system, Ryomen, I have bone structure—"
He hushes you with a kiss. Slow. Deep. Warm. And then?
He uses his fingers and his oil and that one cursed mouth on his stomach to get you ready back there.
And it’s not painful—it’s full. Devastatingly full. Like you’re a temple being blessed from all angles.
You are being glorified.
And then he starts moving.
Smooth, deep thrusts that steal your breath, make your toes curl, and punch sound out of your throat like you’re an instrument in his orchestra of ruin.
You’re singing. You are actually singing.
Not words. Not lyrics.
Just high, hoarse, pornographic operatic noises.
“A-ah—fuck—ohmygodfuckfuckfuck—”
He’s laughing again. “Music to my ears.”
He doesn't fuck.
He claims.
He devours.
He worships—in the way gods only worship when they’ve found something worth owning.
You come the first time with a sob that nearly bursts a lung.
You don’t even respond. You’re just whining now. A bratty, greedy little moan factory clinging to him like a vine.
“Stop laughing,” you pant, mouth pressed to his neck, teeth grazing a tattoo. “You’re not allowed to laugh mid-dick.”
“Oh?” he smirks, hips grinding in. “You’re not the one doing all the work, pet. I’m carrying this duet.”
“You’re carrying these nuts—OH—!”
A thrust. A good one.
You claw down his forearms in retaliation.
He hisses.
The curse of curses is scratched raw by your petty, furious nails and it’s glorious.
“Marking me, are you?” he growls, licking your shoulder, biting the edge of your jaw.
“You’ve earned it, slutlord.”
The bed creaks.
The walls echo.
Chairman Meow has reached the top of the curtain and is now attempting to kill a (cursed?) spider.
Sukuna fucks you until you’re gasping, until you’re coming for the fourth time, then the fifth, body spasming so hard you bite into his shoulder and stay there, drooling, mumbling about divine retribution.
Second time when he angles just right—his upper left hand on your clit, middle two hands on your hips, bottom hand wrapped under your ass.
Third time when he bends you back against the pillows and starts biting—your throat, your shoulder, your fucking ankle like some kind of perverted menace.
Fourth—when he grinds, teeth bared, tongue slipping from the mouth on his belly to lick where you’re joined.
Fifth—you don’t even remember. Just know you woke up briefly mid-orgasm like some sort of broken shrine bell, gasping for air.
And finally—finally—Sukuna’s rhythm stutters—hot, hard, and deep—groaning like your name is a prayer in a forgotten language.
His thrusts slow. Still inside.
You’re a mess.
Sweaty. Slick. Sprawled out like a conquered village.
And so, so empty when he pulls out.
"Ah—nnghh—wait," you whimper, twitching. “Put it back in. I—don’t like that. I feel hollow. I feel like—like a cursed flute, unplayed. Don’t leave me like this.”
He laughs again, rubbing a soothing hand over your thigh.
“You took me so well, little brat.”
You whine.
“You’ll be rewarded.”
Your voice is hoarse. “I better be.”
Sukuna strokes your face with one of his rough hands. His chest rises and falls. He’s glowing. You are oozing.
“You took me perfectly,” he says, voice rough. “Good little human. I might just keep you.”
You blink up at him, dazed.
“Didn’t know you were sentimental.”
“I’m not,” he lies. “I just enjoy ruining you.”
*-*
Later—because time has no meaning—you’re curled up under absurdly soft blankets in Sukuna’s bed. Your legs don’t work. Your brain is buffering.
He doesn’t need to sleep.
But he rests, reclining against the pillows like a smug beast who just feasted on a whole kingdom.
Chairman Meow climbs the curtain. Then promptly dives onto the bed, walks over your ass, and settles himself directly on Sukuna’s chest like this is a perfectly normal night.
“Your child has no respect,” Sukuna mutters, scratching behind the cat’s ear.
“Your dicks have no mercy,” you croak.
Silence.
Then, Sukuna smirks.
“…I can’t wait to do it again.”
You blink blearily. “At this point you should just marry me. For tax purposes.”
He chuckles. “Oh, pet... you’re already mine.”
A/N: gee i'm posting one hour late so sorry. anyways hope this was funny. sorry for the ooc abt sukuna, i just wanted to make this funny
fanfiction is a rare gem and a solid, living proof that, in a world of tiktok, influencers and content posting, not everything is about money and going viral. art can still be art just for the sake of the artists’ pure love, joy and passion for the art they create. fanfic writers write 100k words and more about the characters they love for free. just because they love these characters and the art of writing so much. art is not dead and the world is still beautiful.
your boyfriend surprises you with a trip out of town for your special day and a weekend you’ll never forget. Little does he know, you’ve got some of your own…
black fem!reader (plus sized descriptors, change if you don’t like it, just don’t tell me), drug dealer!sukuna, six year age gap between him + reader, mentions of religious trauma, she gets super spoiled + slutted out, cute/fluffy moments, reassurance + affirming, heavy sub/dom, alcohol use, heavy kissing, mentions of p!rn and mutual masturbation, lots of dirty talk, backshots, foot play/foot on head, choking, collaring, fingering, spit play, p+a eating, squirting, pet/degrading names, lube + baby oil use, anal, full nelson, spanking/marking, throatfucking, overstimulation, aftercare, super sweet + funny ending
wc: 12.0K
🎙️: I know it’s been a damn millennia since I’ve actually posted but I’ve def been working. I’ve realized I’m much better at long form fics and this is decently the longest one shot I have EVER written. If that’s not your taste, idk what to say. For everyone else, please enjoy.
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You couldn’t believe him sometimes…honestly, just who the hell did he think he was? Naturally, you’d expect nothing less from a man who always lived by his own code, had the world at his absolute disposal and marched to the beat of his own drum. But even so, he had no right to do…this!
“Ryo….please tell me you didn’t…”
“Sure, if that’s what you want to hear.”
“But I can’t accept this! You know that’s not right.”
“Does it look like I’ll miss it? That’s pocket change.”
(Y/N) (L/N) had just stepped out to lunch at your day job as a front desk receptionist for a pediatrics office. Oftentimes, you’d spend your hour-long respite in the break room with AirPods in your ears..listening to ambient music or whatever podcast had grabbed your attention at the moment. However, you decided to leave today. You thought it rather difficult to enjoy your caprese salad and fresh lemonade over the incessant background noise of beeping machinery and the occasional toddler who couldn’t be drowned out by lofi. But before you could even get the key into the ignition, you’d receive the notification that almost sent you into a coronary:
Ryomen Sukuna has sent you $5,000.
his reasoning? So that you didn’t have to go to work for a while!
“That should be enough to cover a week or so, right?”
“More like ten! Listen, I appreciate you, Ryo. For everything you’ve done f’r me..but I wouldn’t be okay with accepting that type of money from you. I mean, what could I possibly need with this much?”
you could think up every excuse possible and it still wouldn’t suffice. Try as you might, there was no arguing with this man and as far as he was concerned, that was yours now and what you chose to do with it was none of his concern. On the other end of the screen, you’d see a sweat glistened Ryo stepping off of some machinery; towel draped over his shoulder and a water bottle draped over his finger. He had been working out, attempting to eat better and change a few of his bad habits…where he could afford to at least..all a result of you being in his life. He finally had something worth not being so reckless for. Truth be told, his large ‘donation’ wasn’t just some off the wall, random gift. The two of you had been talking..late night after one of your much needed ‘stress relief’ sessions, about the fact that you never really celebrated any holidays or had any fun for that matter..things like Valentines Day and 4th of July cookouts were obsolete in your world. As a woman, you were supposed to find your fulfillment in being a homemaker and caregiver. Hell, even your birthday was a foreign concept! An entire day focusing on yourself when you could be tending to your husband and children as the Good Book instructed? How foolish. So you never got the chance to open gifts or celebrate your life..because the man you were arranged to marry felt the same way as your family. You’re thankful that it ended before it could get started.
however, Ryomen wasn’t concerned with your past and rather, wanted to spend every second making up for the lost time and giving you the experiences you deserved.
“I don’t know. Hell, do something nice for yourself for once. Don’t you think you’ve earned it?” The question sent pangs through your stomach because no one had ever asked you such a thing before..you didn’t necessarily feel entitled to anything. Even so, he thought that you should have the world delivered to you on a silver platter.
“Listen, your birthday is coming up, lemme take you out of town for a few days. Get a nice hotel, do some shopping..make you come a few times before breakfast—“
his words trailing off and getting interrupted by your laughing. “Ryomen!” Even so, his point still stood.
“What? All I’m saying, love, ‘s you should enjoy yourself. Life’s too goddamn short to be living for everybody else. I promise, we’ll have a good time. You trust me, right?” Peeking at you through the camera as he awaited the response. Naturally, you knew he was correct in everything he was saying. What could a few days hurt? Besides, you were certain your boss wouldn’t mind if you took a day or two.
“Of course I do..”
“Then I’ll see you tonight..enjoy the rest of your lunch break.”
but before he could end the call, (y/n) would interject with one more thing..one that would send his heart into a flurry of flutters. With those precious brown eyes, so big and beautiful..curls framing your pouty cheeks and that gorgeous smile staring back at him, you’d utter the words that had eluded him for so long with other women.
“Wait—I love you. Be safe, okay?”
In that moment, his chest began to thud exponentially and not just from the set of reps he’d completed. The visible flush of red cascading over his cheeks as he stood up. Part of him wanted to be embarrassed and kick himself for getting all mushy. He’d never heard those words truthfully uttered to him and vice versa. Somehow, he was filled with joy every time they left your mouth. But it was just how you made him feel nowadays..those lips would inevitably crack with a smile and that deep voice cooed back to you in the sweetest tone. “Y-yeah, I love you too, babygirl..”
With that, the call disconnected and you’d try to finish out the remainder of your day, thinking about what was sure to be an eventful weekend.
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page break + time skip oops lmao
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just as quickly as the workday began, it had come to an abrupt halt just the same. You had every intention to finish it out until five o clock when the doors shut for the next forty eight hours, but per Ryo’s constant goading, you’d construct some absolute bullshit of a lie and elaborate story about a family emergency. Even going as far as to put on the theatrics. All in hopes to leave early and have the week off. To your shock and somewhat of dismay, the plan worked! Fast forward, now here you are riding passenger on the heated leather seats of your man’s blacked out Audi Q8 as you venture out onto the open road.
Tinted windows concealed the two of you from passerbys as you gazed at the highway, exploring the surrounding landmarks and scenery. It was certainly a far cry from what you knew in your previous life. The only expeditions you went on were mission trips, all consumed by whatever reading material or book of the bible you were forced to read whilst being strapped to the uncomfortable benches in the white church van, usually next to an individual that you probably couldn’t stand. It certainly wasn’t lost on Ryo..he immediately picked up on your body language and how you seemed almost bashful of what was transpiring. Although your relationship had far progressed past mere hand holding and unrequited protection and you were no longer bound to the strict, harmful ideologies of your former religion, (y/n) still felt a sense of guilt and shame. As if you weren’t worthy of these sorts of things...that you didn’t deserve this life or him. It was as you were squeezing your thighs together, you’d feel his fingertips caressing the skin and gripping it lightly as a semblance of comfort and reassurance.
“You can relax, sweetheart. I promise they won’t fire you. If they do, I’ll just burn their building down.” Making his attempt at a lighthearted joke which you knew harbored nothing but truth! However, your mind had gone elsewhere..
“No, it’s not that..I just..can’t believe I’ve been missing out on..well, everything like this. I had no idea it could be this good.”
suddenly, you’d feel your eyes well with tears and before even one could fall, your boyfriend would reach over and gently grasp your chin, kissing your warm cheek.
“Well get used to it..after all, you’re gonna be my wife someday and I can’t have my lady thinking it’s only bare minimum shit out here. You deserve this and everything else..” in that moment, your heart began to palpate and flutter at his kind, gentle words. Having someone that spoke life over and into you was an absolute surreal feeling but one you could become accustomed to nonetheless. Breaking out into that warm smile and infectious laughter that made Ryo fall in love in the first place, you’d lean over, returning his smooch with a gentle peck. “I’m already so blessed because I have you.” Immediately causing his face to flush a warm red in embarrassment once again. He could never admit it out of sheer bravado and pride but you made him feel incredibly happy.
“Ahh, well..everybody can’t be as lucky as you. You got a real catch.” Playfully rubbing his chin and joking with you.
smacking your lips and giggling, you’d turn in the seat to check over your makeup once more. “Mhmm..okay. Well Mr. Grand Prize, are you going to tell me where we’re headed?” Out of your peripheral, you’d catch a glimpse of those pearly white teeth, specifically those fang like sides that were adorned with gold caps and grills on the bottom row. That smile on his face could only mean one thing: he had a hell of a scheme up his sleeve!
“C’mon now..that would spoil the surprise. No fun in that.”
“But Ryooo..” pouting in a seemingly frustrated huff, tilting your head with those adorable doe eyes that would make him lose it without fail every time.
he really had no intention of telling you because he wanted to see the raw reaction on your face. But…he supposed a little clue wouldn’t hurt!
“Fine, I’ll give you a hint….you’ll never want to leave once you get there.”
Naturally, he knew you’d have no idea what he was talking about. It was all incredibly vague and left much to the imagination. However, it would keep you occupied for a minute or two. Besides, had he been more specific and spot on, you would’ve guessed it immediately. Instead, he’d reach over and clutch your hand once more, bringing up to his lips for a soft peck.
“Don’t think about it too much, alright? Just know, imma give you a vacation you’ll never forget. Until then, you just sit your cute ass back and enjoy the ride, yeah?”
In that moment, he’d flash you a smile and your stomach would flutter as if it were filled with butterflies. Your cheeks burned in response as well because truthfully, you weren’t used to this sort of flattery and pampering. ‘Princess treatment’ as it had been coined. But with Ryo, this was just the regular…he despised that phrase quite frankly.
Maybe it was because he was older but treating your woman the way she deserved didn’t need a separate category. One day, he was going to sweep you off of your feet entirely and make sure they never touched the ground. For now though, he was going to give you a weekend you’d soon never forget! So you’d do exactly as he instructed ... .head planted back on the heated seat with your hand still intertwined with his own. You couldn’t wait to see what was in store for the days ahead.
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page break + time skip again-1:00PM:
Sawgrass Mills, Shopping Centre
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“Oh….my…GOD! No way, look at this, Ryo! It’s so pretty! Look at the design on it.” If the words culture shock had ever personified and came to life, it would be (y/n) in that very moment. The two of you had finally made it to the city where your destination would be and a little earlier than expected….or so it would seem. Ryo had finally caved and told you about the luxury resort you guys would be residing in for a few days. To say it was fancy and beautiful would have been doing it a complete disservice. Passing it on the way to where you were currently located, your jaw fell slack as you ogled at the exterior designs and of course, all of the landmarks surrounding it. Scenic beaches, swaying palm trees and a lively street full of patrons who were dressed to the nines. You’d honestly never seen a thing like it. Currently, you were inside of Sawgrass Mills, one of the city’s premier shopping centers and it was nothing short of extravagant as well. Your check in time wasn’t until after three so you’d pass the time by shopping until your heart’s content. Naturally, as he’d figured, you’d miss out on an integral part of many peoples’ lives growing up and that was hitting the mall. Scouring stores with a group of friends with a Starbucks cup in one hand and bags from all of the usual stores dangling from your wrist….something many girls and women did all the time and yet, it was just another thing to elude you. Right now, you were having the time of your life, looking at clothes, shoes, handbags and makeup. Stuff that you’d always taken a keen interest in but either couldn’t afford it or were never allowed to have. You’d never forgotten the day when your shitty ex ripped up one of your dresses because he felt it’d make you look cheap and didn’t cover your ankles. Instead….
“You think it’ll look good on me?”
“Hell yeah…matter of fact, you won’t have it on long playing with me.”
Causing your cheeks to burn and fluster yet again. You’d just giggle as your boyfriend stood before, chewing subtly at his bottom lip as he eyed you next to the beautiful ensemble. It was a red strapless number; not as cheaply made as a bodycon but equally as form fitting and coming up far past your knees. He’d had a quick vision of how you’d look in it…those juicy, thick thighs of yours spreading as you sat pretty in his seat, that radiant color complimenting your decadent skin tone….sitting there none the wiser, looking innocent as ever in the face with a body that made him want to commit every carnal sin known to man and he nearly lost his mind.
“The better question is, do you want it and how does it make you feel?”
You’d stand before a full length mirror….a fear that had once consumed you as you didn’t care for your body much and it made you super conscious. However, you’d come to love the woman you saw before you. Not because of weight loss or even some drastic change, but because you started to believe you had value beyond someone else’s desires and that you were worthy. Not to mention, a loving man who spoke life into you every time.
“Well….it makes me feel beautiful. But it just costs—“
before you could even complete the sentence, Ryo would gently snatch the dress from your hand and turn you by your shoulders back towards the other selection of clothes. “That’s not for you to worry about. When I said get anything, I meant it. If you buy this whole damn mall, I don’t care.”
he’d never admit it, but when he saw that twinkle in your eye and the way you lit up upon placing that piece to your frame, his heart nearly exploded! Your happiness was something he could never put a price tag on. Nonetheless, he’d follow behind dutifully, watching you grab up this shirt, snatch up that skirt and practically almost trip over yourself to get to the pair of shoes you spotted. The old you and all of the individuals in your past would’ve had a heart attack seeing this new wardrobe. Lingerie, heels, bikinis, fishnets, short dresses….lipsticks?! You’d would’ve been exiled and burnt at the stake for this. By the end of this expedition, you had racked up over thirty five hundred dollars worth of items and yet, Ryo looked like a man who had just won the lottery.
“Thank you so so much, Ryo! I love everything. Especially this….”
once the spree had concluded, you’d find yourselves in the food court, resting your legs on top of his; feet sitting in his lap and nursing some smoothies. As you took a sip of the thick passion fruit flavored beverage, you’d wring your hand around; complimented by medium length French tip nails with pink charms, admiring the newest pieces of jewelry to adorn them. There was a really expensive well known store that specialized in handcrafted, obscure pieces. Naturally, once he entered and took a look around, Ryo had to make his first purchases of the day. The ‘this’ in question was a twenty four karat rose gold ring with a huge pink lab grown diamond centered at the top. It was absolutely gorgeous and you fell in love immediately….right along with the matching tennis bracelet seated next to it so he purchased you both. As for himself, he picked up a nice little piece of arm candy in the form of a bust down watch with a pink face to match yours.
“Yeah? That’s how my baby’s hand is supposed to look. Feels nice, don’t it?” Giving you a smirk, knowing you were enjoying the feeling of being flashy and over the top.
Make no mistake, it wasn’t an engagement ring quite yet but rather, a promise ring. He would’ve picked it out himself but he wanted you to have the experience of seeing all these extravagant pieces with your own eyes. When you got engaged to your ex, you got the cheapest ring possible with the tiniest diamond you’d ever seen and at the time, you were none the wiser that better was out there for you. Reaching over to grasp your fingers, he’d gently place a kiss atop it, looking over it once more. In that moment, when he saw you smiling, all he could think about was the reaction he’d receive when he inevitably proposed one day. Because he was damn certain you two were in it for the long haul.
“Well I could never repay you for any of this—“
“I don’t know what type of bum you used to be with but I wouldn't give a damn if you left me right now, ain’t no way I’d ever let you ‘pay me back’. Spend whatever the hell you want, you know I’m not worried about it.”
“You’re too good to me, you know that?”
“Nah, I’m not doing nothin’ special….just treating my woman exactly how a man should. It’s a damn shame you’ve had to wait this long for it. This ain’t even half of what you deserve.”
and unbeknownst to you, this was just the tip of the iceberg. He had already copped several gifts before you guys even left home and had snuck to have more delivered to your suite, among other things. He truly was going all out….something he never expected to do for anyone.
“Aye, we should get going. Hotel’s probably ready now.”
“You’re right. Here, let me grab my stuff—“
as he stood from his seat, he’d walk around to pull your chair out for you, taking your hand to usher you from your feet before taking all of your shopping bags in one fell swoop into the other. All whilst holding your hand on the way out.
“(Y/N)…” giving you the stankest side eye he could possibly muster as the words attempted to leave your mouth.
“Yes, Ryo?”
“Didn’t we just have this talk?”
Ryomen’s physique was unreal sometimes and you’d tell him constantly how good he looked. Those giant muscular arms covered in ink, the barrel chest and chiseled facial features. A few women were staring as you tried on clothes and he bent down to leave a peck on your forehead, whispering about how lucky you were. One of the girls at the register even complimented on how cute of a couple you guys were. Nonetheless, you’d begin your journey back to the car and to the resort. As you walked out, you’d receive the text that the suite was officially open and ready for check in. You’d been browsing photos of the place whilst sitting down and you were absolutely gobsmacked at how beautiful it was.
“Baby, you can’t do everything for me. I have to do some things on my own.”
“Yeah, like standing there and looking fine as hell. Now leave me alone.”
knowing he didn’t mean the words in a malicious manner but rather a playful one. Truth be told, any time you called him ‘baby’ or said his name in an endearing tone, he would melt instantly and in fact, would do anything and everything for you. Continuing on to the car, he’d hold your hand until he reached the trunk, which flew open with the flick of a button and he’d neatly place all of the items inside. He’d then walk you over to your side, opening the door for you as he always did…before getting over to the driver's seat and firing up the engine with the push to start feature. You’d be on your way and Ryo was trying his hardest not to break into a laugh because he just knew you were going to fall all over yourself once you stepped foot into the room. However, what he didn’t know….was that he wasn’t the only one with surprises in store. You had a few of your own that you couldn’t wait to display. Something that was sure to take this getaway to the next level…
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The remainder of the day was nothing short of a dream as well. Upon checking in, your bags were whisked away by the bellhop as you explored the resort. It truly was like stepping into an entirely new world. You’d find yourself like a child in a wonderland, taken aback by all that you saw. Everything from the pool area to the massage rooms were an absolute dream….you couldn’t wait to check those out. But what Ryo was most excited for?….
“Oh hell yeah…..smell’s just as good as the menu looked. They weren’t lying when they said it’s the best in the state.”
…..was the in-house restaurant! Not just because of the A5 imported wagyu beef or buttery lobster that was cooked to perfection. But the chance to see you in that pretty little number you purchased earlier was all that his mind could focus on. After getting settled into the place you’d call home for the next week, the two of you unpacked your bags and began preparing for the first scheduled event of the evening; the dinner reservations you had set for eight PM. However…it was what would transpire post meal that would soon prove to be the main course.
As you clumsily traipsed up to the room door, feeling slightly buzzed from the four glasses of aged Sauvignon, (y/n) swiped the keycard, triggering the door to unlock. That faint clicking noise muffled out by your adorably obnoxious giggles. He didn’t mention it out loud, but Ryo just knew that you’d be a lightweight. Having only drank possibly less than a handful of times; consuming this much alcohol in one sitting had you floating. Although he had to admit, this bubbly, borderline air headed demeanor of yours was unbearably cute! Granted, it didn’t take much for him to find himself fawning over you but watching his girl act in such a carefree manner was all he wanted. Trailing behind you, he’d shut the door and lock it…catching you just in time out of his peripheral to stop you from tripping over yourself. He’d maneuver past a few stray pieces of luggage on the floor and scoop you up in his arms.
“Careful, love…take it easy.” Unable to hide his little smirk at your behavior. It was insane to think that he’d gone from hooking up with women who’d down a bottle of liquor, pop two Xanax’s and wouldn’t miss a beat to you becoming intoxicated from so little. And yet, this is where his heart belonged. However, all notions that you were inherently innocent were about to be dispelled and in a way he never expected..
“Why don’t we lie down, you seem a little—-“
“No no, I’m fine…swear. Can you wait on the couch f’r me, please? I have something I wanna show you…”
in that moment, his mind began to race. What could you possibly have for him? His first instinct was that you’d snuck and purchased a gift for him, despite the fact that this weekend was solely for your celebration. But he’d hold off on his conclusions or reaction. After taking a moment to gather your bearings, you’d kneel down in front of the assortment of bags from earlier and begin sifting through until you found two that you’d been looking for..
“Here. This is for you. But don’t open it until I get back, okay?”
A small white gift bag laced with pink ribbon and the contents inside had some sort of fuschia colored wrapping paper around them. The other was much larger but still had the same color scheme. You’d hand off the former to him before leaning up to place a kiss on his cheek and then swiftly turn on your heel. He didn’t have time to attest, ask questions or anything….he instead did exactly as you requested and took a seat on the suede sectional placed in the corner of the suite. To say it was huge, would honestly be selling the place short. Upon coming in, you were greeted by elegant marble decor…accented with black and gold. A corridor separated the entryway and the main suite. There was one bathroom and a large walk-in closet both concealed by sliding doors and then once you crossed over, there was a big mirror on the wall, the aforementioned seating, a jacuzzi nestled in the corner and of course, the giant king sized bed. To the farthest right, resided a balcony and glass doors shielded by white curtains. Lastly, there was a shelf and mini fridge that made up the micro bar. Full of assorted drinks and snacks to choose from. Although Ryomen was used to having his way and spending money freely, even this was a huge step up. He certainly hadn’t grown up in conditions like this and sure as hell wasn’t afforded a fair shot to get it the right way ... .so he took his opportunities any way he could and made a success out of it. Even if they weren’t always legal. Regardless, now wasn’t the time to dwell on any of that.
He’d walk over to the setup and fix himself a glass of bourbon on the rocks before gingerly sitting down in the middle of the couch. Spreading out in that all black dress attire…it was no secret but damn, did he look good! A button up leaving only the top two open to expose the tattoos and silver cross and Cuban link combo around his throat…..the sleeves rolled up to display those forearm pieces and that watch as well. Finally, the slack pants fitting so perfect against those toned legs was enough to make you start salivating. Unbeknownst to him, poor (Y/N) was squeezing your thighs together throughout the entire meal underneath the table! As you occupied the second restroom, cultivating his surprise, he’d turn on some music from the fifty inch flat screen mounted on the wall. There was something relaxing about enjoying some good quality booze whilst listening to a good tune. As he sat there, nursing the glass to the sensual sounds of Sade, he almost felt inclined to take a peak inside of that bag. But he’d never betray your trust like that, even for something so minuscule. Instead, his patience would prove worth it because as he went to go in for his third sip; head falling backwards…he’d hear the door unlock and slowly begin to open.
“I’m coming out. Close your eyes…I don’t want to ruin it.”
in that moment, Ryo felt as if he were in some sort of cheesy sitcom or romance movie and was loving every moment. Sprawled out and awaiting the reveal, he’d shut his lids as he heard the faint sounds of heels clicking against the tile. Softly chuckling because he figured you were about to mess with him in some way.
“I swear it better not be some shit you went behind my back and bought for me….so damn sneaky.”
knowing that you’d still find a way to pay him back despite this being all for you. He was only partially correct this time though because although these were your presents, he was certainly going to enjoy it just as much!
“Why don’t you open your eyes and see for yourself?” And upon uttering those words, his eyes would go from closed to stretched to their max; along with his jaw which had practically hit the floor. Ryomen was absolutely gob smacked when he caught a glimpse of what was before him. Standing there was a scantily clad, half nude (Y/N)….dressed in a pink latex microkini, tall heels of the same glittery shade and thigh high socks.
“You’re right. I am pretty damn sneaky when I wanna be….”
you’d strut over to him, not missing a beat as if you were used to walking in them. He didn’t know what to think or how to react…after all, the woman he saw walking around in fluffy sweaters and frilly dresses was standing before him dressed like she worked at the club. Those giant bouffant curls framed your face to capture that pouty, doe eyed expression as you made it over and kneeled before him.
“Wh—what the hell? I mean—damn, you look….”
so speechless that all he could do was burst into laughter. He thought his surprise was golden but you damn sure took the cake. You’d follow suit and begin giggling as well. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” His hands were trembling as they cupped your face and his cheeks glowed beet red, it was too cute! Not to mention, the visibly growing tent in the crotch of his pants. Nonetheless, he’d try to formulate his words so as to not say something stupid….never thought the day would come where the great Ryomen Sukuna was stumped. Cupping a hand over that rising bulge, you’d begin to explain away this little getup.
“You know how you told me I could have anything I wanted for my birthday? Well I thought really long and hard about it and the only thing I want……is for you….fuck the shit out of me. Make me your little slut.”
Between the look in your eyes and the way you uttered those words, Ryo could do nothing more than stare in utter confusion. His brain couldn’t process what it was that you were asking for because all he could see was that same innocent girl who moved in next door to him with no clue about the world. The one still shrouded by her own religious guilt and convictions. Despite the relationship, despite the numerous times you two had sex and everything in between….this didn’t make sense to him! But when you began to explain further…it all clicked.
“Remember all of those videos we watched? Well, I couldn't stop thinking about them so I got curious and found some more.”
See, some time ago, Ryo thought it wise and quite romantic for the two of you to watch porn together. Although it wasn’t always a realistic portrayal by any means, he wanted you to safely explore your sexuality. Try to get a sense of what you’d like and didn’t. Your turn ons, preferences and what you could tolerate. Naturally, you’d always thought of it as some carnal sin to view such material, especially as a woman but there was nothing wrong with it. You’d lie in bed, holding his hand as you masturbated….working those fingers in and out as he guided you to your orgasm; taunting and teasing you with thoughts of reenacting those scenes. He’d genuinely ask what you thought of certain things and how you thought they’d make you feel. Of course though, he held back because he didn’t want to scare or make you think he saw you as some object…little did he know, that’s exactly what you wanted to be treated like! Since then, you’d spent weeks searching every adult website, scouring the web for videos of new and exciting kinks. Learning the names and what they meant.
“Turns out, watching people be degraded and get their mouth spat in really gets my pussy wet. Crazy, right? I mean, they’re always smiling when they’re getting choked and slapped and I know it’s not real but fuck….it looks like so much fun.”
The excitement in your eyes could not be overstated. The way you lit up talking about being called ‘slut’ and ‘bitch’, how you’d play with yourself and wind up coming so hard to the images of anal sex, something called rimming and even seeing a man put a foot on the girl’s head as he fucks her from behind…it was baffling! You’d been exposed to so many new things, and Ryo felt responsible. He’d explained to you the importance of things like safe words before and making sure your body could handle it but he honestly deluded himself into thinking you’d just chicken out and never want to act on it. He thought you’d be fine with the albeit amazing but vanilla, sensual sex you had. Being held and coached through your orgasms, missionary where he could stare at your beautiful face and even some occasional backshots where he’d just pull your hair or slap your ass at best. But now you were begging for him to pick you up and slam you down on his cock, to use your ass or fuck your throat until it was raw…he couldn’t take it.
“I’m sorry if that’s a little blunt and weird but it’s how I feel. I know you don’t want to hurt me or anything and I probably sound so disgusting—“
That's when he’d stop you, cupping that precious face in his hands to not only quell your incoming anxiety over the confession but to let you know he wasn’t judging in the slightest. In fact….
“Goddamn, girl…..everytime I think I have you figured out, you just keep surprising me.”
letting out a hearty laugh as he couldn’t help but to revel in how foolish he felt. Here he was preemptively judging you and yet again trying to shield you from the world. Honestly, sometimes, he felt no better than your shitty ass ex for doing so. But this was his chance to show you that he saw you as a grown woman; respecting you as such and not some fragile creature anymore. Enough time had certainly passed for it.
“You know I’ll do whatever for you, love. There’s no judgement here. Trust me…I can give you exactly what you need. That’s no problem…hell, I like this side of you….” running his thumb along your lips before shoving it into your mouth for you to suck on. The way those eyes fixated on him and those moans vibrated around his finger, Ryo was barely holding himself together.
“But first, you gotta promise me something..”
“Anything, of course.”
“If at any time it gets too much, you tell me and we’ll stop. I’ll only go as far as you’re comfortable.”
it may have seemed like yet another damper on your parade and another way of infantilizing you. But even so, he had a responsibility as not only the older partner but a more experienced one as well to keep you safe. Rough, hardcore sex like this could be a lot for someone not used to it and he was certain you were oblivious to this fact but those women in the videos? Were probably high out of their minds or worse. So he was going to take every step to make sure it was safe whilst giving you that same domineering experience you were looking for.
“I promise….I’ll say something.”
“That’s a good girl.”
leaning over to plant a kiss to your forehead and move a hand down your throat very gently….immediately clocking your reaction. The tighter he squeezed, the wider your smile grew and it certainly wasn’t lost on your boyfriend. Even giving you a couple light slaps to see how’d you take it and the only thing he got was a sweet ‘thank you’; needing no instruction and just making that cock twitch behind those boxers and slacks.
“Ooh….yeah, imma’ have a lot of fun with you tonight.”
Momentarily, he’d retract to finally open the bag that was sitting next to him. Once he unfastened that ribbon and peeled back the tissue paper, yet again, he’d burst into a befuddled cackle. You’d once again had him at a loss for words. It contained a pink collar with a chain link leash, a rose shaped anal plug, as well as small bottles of lube and baby oil.
“Oh my God…” bringing forth that contagious laughter yet again as he examined the gifts.
“Is it too much?”
For someone with your background, it certainly was. However, you had put a lot of effort into this but he appreciated the fact that you knew exactly what you craved and desired and that you didn’t allow shame or past fears keep you from getting them.
“If my lady wants it, it’s never too much. Besides…I’m just kicking myself for not seeing it sooner. Now…tongue out…let’s get this on you first.” Reaching for the collar and chain, he’d fasten that around your throat, before grasping the top of your head. He’d take a moment to examine you, admiring how cute you looked beneath him like this. That chain would wrap around his knuckles as he tugged you a little closer. Your man wasn’t saying much yet but his gaze told it all…..he was going to take equal pleasure in defiling you! That menacing grin overtook his face and in a split moment, Ryomen was on his feet and towering substantially over you. If you already didn’t feel small next to him, this certainly placed it into perspective. Keeping that grip atop your head nice and firm, he’d use the hand housing that chain to unhook his belt and pants. Watching him maneuver so smoothly had you turned on in and of itself. Moments later, they were shuffled to his waist along with his boxers….revealing that ever present bulge in them. “Got my shit so fucking hard already…..” mumbling with that deep voice, making you quiver.
Suddenly, he’d snatch your head closer, and with that grasp, glide your face along his clothed crotch ... .instructing you to place kisses on that bulge. Tousling it around for a moment, Ryo stroked his shaft and hoisted it so that you could feel the imprint of his balls as well. “That’s it…let me know how bad you want it.” After watching you paw at it for a few minutes, he could tell you’d grown antsy and was in desire of the real thing. That much was apparent by the way you’d whimper against it. So without another second wasted, your boyfriend unsheathed that thick member and slapped it across your face. Once again, he’d break into subtle laughter at the sight. Bucking those toned hips ever so slightly to rub himself across your features; just barely smearing that sticky gloss. No matter how many times you saw it, you’d never get over the size of this shit! That thick, juicy, veiny cock was every bit of nine inches and although he never forced you to take the entire thing, you were going to be trained today. By the time he finished, all of those holes would be accustomed to the full shape.
“You’re so cute….did this makeup all pretty just for me….
That’s when you’d feel that collar constrict and your mouth jolted wide open by the force. Suddenly, that snarky little grin on your face shifted to one of shock as you found that cock shoved between those plump lips. He was wasting no time in training you to be his personal whore. A quick few pumps in and out, followed by soft gagging emitted light strings of saliva that fell to your chest. That was merely to get you warmed up but now?…
“…Too bad I’m about to ruin that shit...” cackling right before thrusting full speed ahead into your oral cavity. And these were no slow movements by any means. Ryo was bucking his hips forward with lots of force as he wasn’t interested in holding back. His grip kept your head secure whilst that cock pounded those jaws….that tongue brushing against the underside of his shaft as your wet, warm mouth encompassed it whole. (Y/N)’s head bobbed back and forth thanks to his guidance and those moans grew louder, reverberating against it. Meanwhile, he’d become a lot more vocal as well. Taunting and spouting off that demeaning, aggressive language you’d been dying for. You loved being treated so delicately any other time but in the bedroom? There was no room for that. He was going to test if you could really handle it though.
“Mmm…yes. Throat that dick, bitch. Get it nice and sloppy…” his whole attitude had shifted. No longer did he feel the need to restrain himself or be ‘gentle’. This is what you begged for so there was no turning back. “This is what you’re really made for, baby. You’re so good at it…should’ve done this so much sooner.” Speeding up those strokes, Ryo pounded your upper half relentlessly….watching those beads of spit spill to your chest. “Let me see those pretty fucking tits..they looked so good in your dress earlier.” Roughly pulling them from that top to unveil those stiffened nipples. He’d then tug that collar to halt you for just a second so he could lob a couple droplets onto your tongue. “What do you say?” “Thank you, daddy.” “Oooh….and she’s got manners. Such a sweet girl.” Pleased with your response, he’d reward you with a slap to your cheek before all but dislocating your jaw to shove it back in. “That’s right…keep sucking. Until you start to choke and that spit is everywhere.” This certainly felt very different from when you’d normally perform oral sex on him. It was always so sensual and if you didn’t want to do it, then he’d never ask or force. He’d just rather go pleasure himself than to ever coerce you into anything sexual. “Don’t forget the balls either. Jerk me off when you do it…nasty fucking slut.” He was much less careful in how he maneuvered you around. Snatching your head in multiple directions, brutally fucking your throat and even pressing that tip through your cheek whilst slapping you in it. “Fucking slut..you love it, don’t you? Moaning around me like that..” All the while, that slutty mouth remained drenched in lubrication; letting him know you were enjoying every moment. That’s when those last couple of inches would find their way into your mouth and for a moment, Ryo would hold it there with no chance for you to escape.
Tossing his head back onto his shoulders, your boyfriend kept yours in place until he saw fit. You’d gag, claw at his thighs and even go slack jawed but this is what it meant to be a complete submissive.
“Through your nose…breathe. I’m not coming out of this fucking throat until I’m good and well ready..you’re just gonna have to get used to it.”
That's when you’d begin to emit those fated noises and saliva everywhere. Seeping down onto your chest, coating those pretty tits as well. But finally, only after strings of precum began to seep, he would release your esophagus and retract, leaving behind an abundance of gag spit ... .as well as having you all out of sorts; coughing and struggling to catch your breath. Naturally, he’d make sure you were okay. He’d always stressed the importance of frequent check-ins during sex. He felt like even the most experienced and freakiest people could benefit from it.
“Look at me….how you feel?” Holding you up by the chin. And your response truly caught him off guard.”
“I’m fine….just really fucking wet right now..”
“Oh? That felt good, huh?” Nodding your head with a giant smile on your face in response.
“I’m glad, because we’re not even close to being done. Now crawl over here to the couch.” And like an obedient little pet, you’d do exactly that. With your breasts exposed, makeup and hair a mess and those knees a little sore, you’d position yourself onto all fours. Strutting like a lioness through the Sahara…that glare in your eyes obviously so hungry for more. With his stiffened cock still sprang out, Ryo would gently stroke it as you made home on the suede red cushions.
“Stick that fucking ass out and keep your back arched….there we go.” He had to take a moment to admire the beauty that was your body….that thick ass, plump thighs and pudgy tummy. It was something so beautiful about all of those parts being cohesive and all your life, you’d heard that your body wasn’t ‘healthy’ or desirable. Which never made sense because you’d never been sick a day in your life and you found it to be quite attractive. You were told that a man could never love you as you existed and now, you had one who worshiped the ground you walked on. It was all bullshit conditioning to break your self worth. Ryomen on the other hand, never went one moment without letting you know how sexy you looked. “You know you’re the shit. You don’t need me or anyone else to tell you that. They were just tryna’ humble you, love. Don’t listen to that fucking nonsense they were talking.” Make no mistake, he’s dated women of all sizes, shapes, colors and creeds but a woman with some thickness and the stretch marks to match? He wasn’t coming up off of it!
Nonetheless, after watching you instinctively bounce that ass and mindlessly stroking himself to the image for a minute straight, he’d snap out of his trance.
“Damn…can’t even think straight with your lil’ freaky ass. Should’ve known you were gonna be a problem when I fucked you the first time..” Which only served to make you giggle even louder. “I’m sorryyy, I can’t help it..”
giving a fake pout whilst those big round eyes and false lashes batted at him. He would like to think he was responsible for this shift in you but something told him this side had been lying dormant for a while, just waiting on the correct person to bring it forth. Now that you were free to do as you pleased, there was no limitation. Nonetheless, he’d smack his lips before joining you; knee first on the plush cushions before giving you an incredibly hard slap on those fat cheeks. They’d ripple instantly and you’d let out a loud yelp as a result. “You’re a terrible liar, sweetheart. But that’s okay…I kinda like it when you pretend to be innocent.” Suddenly, it were as if a ravenous beast had awoken inside of him and he was bearing his fangs. He’d flash those silver capped teeth and bottom grill before leaving a handful of hard smacks on that perfect ass. “….because I get to be the one to take it.” You would jolt with each one and cry out in painful pleasure. It was something that was always synonymous with punishment but you really loved the feeling…it invoked a sensation like you’d never experienced. As he went on, those movements grew harder and (y/n) eventually became speechless, only riddled with tears of joy. “…oh fuck….” Breathlessly muttering as they began to sting. No warning or prep, just right into it. This is what it meant to be ‘fucked like a slut’ as you so sweetly put it.
“What? Did you think I was going to be gentle or somethin’? Hold your hand? Baby, this is what you asked for….don’t cry now.” Maniacally laughing as he continued on. After a few more spanking motions, mahogany colored marks began to form on your skin and it felt like you’d been sitting on hot concrete. “Begging me to do all this and you’re already whining? I’m starting to think you’re not built for it….” Taunting you relentlessly. Even so, with tears welling in your eyes and a few staining your cheek, that smile never faded. Meanwhile, the restriction from the collar provided even more pleasure to the mix and the wetness between your thighs was only growing larger…so much so, it began to drool down your leg. If you didn’t do something soon, you’d implode. But alas, your man was coming to the rescue yet again. Kneeling down further, he’d shock you once more and spread that sore bottom wide open and without a word, peeled the thong back and shoved his tongue into your aching hole. Prodding it in and out as he tenderly massaged those asscheeks.
“That’s okay. You just need a little…loosening up. I got you.” Teasing before shoving two digits inside of that dripping pussy whilst his tongue explored your tight asshole. You weren’t used to this much stimulation at once and it was apparent by the way your jaw fell slack yet again before a shrill cry arose from your throat. Meanwhile, he’d still keep a grasp on that leash; ensuring you stayed reigned in as he had his fill. “Goddamn…you taste so fucking good, you know that?” At that moment, you came to the realization that this was solely for his pleasure and he’d return to the surface once that need was met. For now, he’d continue delving deep into those orifices….those thick fingers thrusting in and out of your fertile cunt, already leaking with cream prematurely from being so overly stimulated. “Yeah, finger that fucking pussy while you play in my ass, baby….I love it.” Sucking your teeth as you uttered those lewd words. It was something so cathartic about listening to you talk in such a manner. “Bossing me around, yeah? That’s okay, I like it…talk that shit to me…” By now, you were finally becoming acclimated to this feeling. But just when you thought things were finally getting familiar ... .he'd switch it up yet again! Ryo would continue to bury himself face first in the center of that plump, juicy ass and lather your hole with his oral fluids. Even leaning up just an inch to spit into it….and get right back to sopping up all of those sweet nectars and flavors. Gripping the fat flesh, he’d then speed up with his fingers inside of your other hole; curling and hooking them around in a motion that landed directly on your g-spot.
“Fuck!….Ryo…wait—please, I—“
where you would’ve been met with concern and sympathy from your man, he wasn’t feeling nearly as generous tonight. When you tried to make so much as an inch to get away from him, he’d pull that collar tighter and smack your ass as a signal to not try anything. And because he knew you weren’t in any imminent distress, you’d just never had both holes ate at once.
“Aht aht….where the fuck you’ going? I didn’t say I was done yet.” Only finding yourself greeted with a scowl and another smack to the butt. Now you were resigned to sit here until he felt compelled to let you go. Gripping the cushions in front of you as some semblance of comfort, (Y/N) howled out in pleasure, attempting to thrust backwards onto his face….trying to prove that you could handle it but the feeling was insane. However, this was merely the precursor to the real thing. As a show of mercy, he’d take a quick detour down your thighs and legs, rubbing them before marking the skin with soft kisses. Even hoisting them to place kisses on your feet. Whilst those digits remained inside of your pussy, he’d toss off those heels and suckle on your toes for a moment. Letting out loud moans mixed with airy giggles, you’d ride those fingers…whirling around as he sped up the pace. Meanwhile, you couldn’t get over this new feeling either. “Fuck, baby….” You could hear your own wetness sloshing around underneath and that squelching sound of your tight cunt being manipulated. Finding a perfect balance of alternating between both entrances ; getting his face coated in your stickiness in the process.
“This should open you up reallll nice…”
there was that deviant laugh of his yet again and this time, he really had gotten the drop on you. Stealthily reaching underneath your frame whilst you were distracted by being fingered and retrieved the last three items. First, he’d remove the cap and coat that puckering hole with lube, as well as the metal plug itself. Once both were slicked up enough, he’d gently rub his thumb across it before popping it in and out, merely for his own gratification.
“Aww, does that thumb in your tight lil’ ass feel good, sweetheart?….” Cooing and taunting with that deep, raspy tone…knowing damn well you were only seconds from falling apart. Sweat pooling on your forehead and brow bone, breaths growing more shallow by the second and tears dripping down your cheek….not to mention the sloppy, wet mess you’d made around his fingers and wrist.
“….get used to it. Because once that goddamn plug comes out, I’m stretching it out on this dick..”
pulling your head back once more by that collar as he finally came up for air; retracting those fingers at the same time. But before doing that, he’d tilt your chin up with a hand cupped around it as he leaned over to shove his tongue in your mouth. Feeding you those sloppy, nasty kisses along with your flavor.
“Taste yourself, you nasty slut…how fucking sweet you are.” Straightening his frame but not before lobbing extra spit down your throat and another set of pats on the cheek. Whilst he did so, he’d go ahead and push that toy in, watching it disappear until only the pink rose remained. Your face instantly went blank and those jaws fell slack.
“Don’t worry, you’ll adjust….”
Typically, you guys’ go to was some gentle missionary. Make no mistake, he still found himself knee deep in your guts with your nails clawing his back but tonight, he wanted to truly grant you the experience you’d been asking for. That forceful, rough, ‘make it fit, make me take it’ kind of fucking! The kind where you could plead all you want but he wasn’t going to listen. Nonetheless, Ryo had been patient long enough but honestly, he or his pulsating cock couldn’t take another moment. He needed to be inside of you immediately. Taking a moment to completely disrobe himself, you’d get a tiny break to recharge but it wouldn’t last for long. Because as he finally stepped out of those shoes and socks, discarding them in the corner, you were in his clutches yet again.
“Face down in the fucking couch and I’m not asking again…hurry up.”
as you moved to fulfill his demand, he’d take the liberty of placing a leg on the side of you; hoisting it up for his own leverage.
“You were close…probably about to bust. But the only way you’re coming is if it’s all over my dick…. I wanna see you explode...” Spouting off whilst mounting behind you. His right palm making home on your hips as he ushered you back. Finally, in the position he desired, Ryo would stroke his shaft before using it to guide the tip along your aching slit. Those soft folds quivered with each movement and you could barely take anymore…
“..so give me what I want..” upon him uttering those words, (Y/N) found yourself stuffed full of that thick, throbbing cock. The initial sound of the stretch was enough to make him lose it. But instead, he’d maintain his composure and get acclimated. There was no time for slow, gentle thrusts to help you get adjusted….instead, he’d begin with a somewhat sped up pace. Feeding you deeper strokes than normal. Each one feeling better than the last; coupled with the stimulation of that plug in your ass, you were floating. Your head remained buried into the cushion as only your backside was arched in the air. Exactly like those girls in the videos…
“That’s right, love….this is what you wanted. To be treated like a whore…nothing but a wet hole for me to use…for my pleasure.”
as he’d spout off those insults, he’d keep thrusting….watching those thick cheeks ricochet off of his thighs. “I mean, look at how creamy you are on this dick…you must really love it.” The view and feeling were both indescribable. That’s when it clicked as to what could possibly make it better. “Can’t believe I almost forgot…” cackling to himself as he reached down to grab the baby oil, the final item in the bag. Unscrewing the cap whilst not missing a beat, he’d flip the container of clear liquid upside down and let it drizzle over that beautiful brown skin. The sounds of clapping flesh only reverberated with the added fluid. It was something so satisfying about seeing your round cheeks all glistened up and shiny. He honestly did feel as though the two of you were in a porno.
“Yeah, that’s it….that's what I needed.”
Now he felt as if he could really get in it. Speeding up that pace, Ryo crossed his hands around the small of your back, pounding into that juicy cunt with sheer force; prompting those fat balls to slap against your clit. That white substance was slathered all over his shaft because of you but he craved it…needed to see the results of his efforts, after all. “I—oh fuck! So good…so fucking deep in me…” He’d notice your tongue was dangling out of your mouth and wagging, muttering incoherent babble so he couldn’t help but to tease you for it.
“Yeah, go dumb on this big dick, slut. ‘Can’t even think straight or form a sentence. That’s all you’re good for right now…just letting me use this tight fucking pussy.” Suddenly, you’d feel those thrusts get a little harder and that asphyxiation from your collar again. As well as that foot gently pressing into the side of your skull.
“Say it… ‘I’m just a dumb whore for you, daddy…all of my holes belong to you.”
and without hesitation, you’d repeat the words directly back with that sweet little tone he loved so much. He’d spout off a couple more prompts for you to recite back to him and you’d do so with the utmost quickness as well. Each one invoking feelings you’d never had before.
“I’m only good for taking your dick, daddy…thank you for fucking me so good.”
“My only purpose in life is to get stretched and filled up with your cum…I should be thankful.”
Upon uttering those words, a smile would creep across your face, as well as his own. “Fuck, you just squeezed me real tight when you said that shit…I knew you were a freak, baby…. you just needed the right person to bring it out.”
Every day, he was grateful you found your way into his life!
Continuing forth, Ryo kept pounding until it felt as if you were trying to push him out. You were shaking, moaning and quivering from the pleasure. Nails still buried into the pillows as you braced yourself. Letting out loud, shrill cries, (Y/N) announced that pending release. However, that was of little sufficiency to your man.
“You really are a dumb whore, aren’t you, baby?” Cooing in a condescending tone, he’d reach down and grab you by your hair as that cock drilled even deeper.
“That’s now how you ask for permission. You beg me to let you come and if I feel called to, then maybe you’ll get the privilege of wetting up this dick. Are we clear?” Nothing had resonated more clearly, especially as he growled into your ear whilst you barely hung on. “Y-yes, daddy. I know, I’m sorry..” Eyes only fluttering at this point…
“Act like it and get to begging…now, bitch.”
and with that, you’d cry out in hopes that he’d feel pity for you. Or at least that he’d be convinced you deserved it. You’d plead with him to allow you to release this building pleasure. Your bladder felt as if it were going to explode any second and you knew what was coming. You had no other choice but to hold it in, otherwise he was going to really punish you then.
“You know my stamina, baby. I can hold my nut, can you?” Just to add further insult to injury. Mainly because he knew just how quickly you orgasmed. You had terrible control when it came to that but he loved a little slut that came quick just for him. He, on the other hand, was so disciplined. He could pleasure you forever, eating your pussy until you made an absolute mess and still wouldn’t touch himself or even think about coming. You’d shake your head profusely, confirming what he already knew.
“That’s what I thought….so keep talking.”
it’d gone from pure pleading to now just feeding his ego, telling him that your pussy only came for him and that no one deserved your cum more than he did. Telling him how you couldn’t even get yourself off anymore thanks to him.
“Is that true, love? I’m so honored.” Replying with such snark and arrogance but it was such a turn on. He knew exactly who he was and you loved it.
“Then who am I to decline such a generous offering…just for me..” and with that and a couple more deep strokes, he’d finally speak the words you’d been dying to hear.
“Come…come on this fucking dick right now.” And naturally, you did not disappoint. That pussy squeezed once before retracting and letting out the biggest stream of juices you’d possibly ever had. Squirting all over that couch and cock simultaneously, even catching your feet in the aftermath. You’d feel like the entire world just collapsed around you and faded to black. It truly was an earth shattering orgasm like you’d never felt.
“OH FUCK! SHIT—“
“Yeahhhh….that’s it. Squirt f’r me, you little bitch. That’s what I needed. I love watching you make a mess…” you couldn’t stop, it just continued to flow out as your entire body trembled in ecstasy. It almost looked as if you were convulsing from how hard you were coming. Meanwhile, where you hadn’t even felt it, Ryo noticed that your anal plug had flown out upon impact. That was his chance to segway into the next order of business. There was no letting up this time. Even as your orgasm continued to spill out, he’d simply mount back up behind you, spread that ass to its maximum extent and slather it up with additional lube; as well as his own shaft.
“St-still coming so hard…can’t stop—“
“I don’t give a fuck…and you’ll come with this dick in your ass too.”
With your head still planted on the pillow, he’d tug your arms back as if he were reigning you in on his cock and proceeded to pound you into oblivion once more. The plump of that bottom bouncing off of his thighs with a lot of force as he drilled that tight cavity. You’d wail out in both pain and sheer bliss, realizing you may have taken on more than you could handle. Even so, you didn’t want it to stop.
“Yes! Right there….keep fucking my ass!”
gritting your teeth with tears rolling down your cheeks. That smile was still as wide as ever and that’s all Ryo cared about it. He knew constantly asking if you were alright would only serve to turn you off, so he’d given you different ways to signal pleasure or distress. And the moment you ever uttered the safe word, it was a wrap. For now though, it seemed he was good to keep pounding. His veiny member glided in and out with only about four inches fitting comfortably. You were yet again creaming for him and now, all he wanted was to fill you up in return. He’d maintain that steady rhythm with his leg planted beside for a few more minutes; at least until he felt as though you’d adjusted properly. He’d then switch it up once more…that’s when you’d feel those hard strokes come to a halt.
“C’mere…get up.”
with no further explanation, he’d hoist you in his arms and proceed to carry you to the other side of the room.
“Wait—where are we going?”
“I just wanna try a lil’ something. Here…”
When he’d stop, you two landed in front of the mirror and you’d catch a glimpse of yourself for the first time since this ordeal began. Your hair and makeup was disheveled, top ripped open with your tits exposed and that thong still pushed to the side. Even so…
“Look at you, still so fucking sexy….” Hoisting you up with little to no effort, Ryo kept both of your legs parted and spread apart in his grasp. This is what you’d really been craving ... .that sought after position. Without haste, he’d maneuver you until those legs were pinned and your frame was completely folded up. Panting heavily, you’d wait in anticipation as he pinned those legs back and hovered to guide himself back inside of that tight anus.
“Yes…fuck. That’s the view I was looking for… “ growling and panting in your ear as those thrusts resumed once more. He had no sign of mercy…just picking you and slamming that body back down on his cock with sheer force. He was pounding so fast, it felt as if you were being impaled on a jackhammer. (Y/N) would eventually double over, only able to produce high pitched squealing noises as a result of the brutal fucking. But alas, he wasn’t going to let you get off that easy. Instead, he’d manage to snatch you up by your hair.
“Don’t look away now, sweetheart. We’re getting to the best part!…” those grizzly fangs baring themselves now more than ever. He was unhinged, ruthless and on a one man mission to utterly break you.
“Pl-please….Ryo—fuck, I’m gonna come again…“
But the plea fell on deaf ears as he continued drilling that hole, causing your pussy to emit more squirt; catching the mirror in the crossfire.
“I knew you had more left in ya’….holding out on me. Now it’s my turn…”
with that, he’d speed up one final time, bucking and thrashing his hips around with as much speed as he could muster. The deep grunts and curse words flying from his mouth only signaled that he too was reaching his peak. With both of your holes stretched and abused beyond their limits, your body at its max capacity and Ryo no longer able to restrain himself…there was only thing left….
“AGGGH! FUCK ME!—COMING…” with the loudest scream you’ve ever heard from him, Ryo held you down on that fat throbbing cock as it spilled every last drop inside of your asshole. You’d never felt any sensation like it but it was absolutely incredible.
“Take all this fucking cum from me…all of my nut, baby. You’ve fucking earned it..goddamn..”
For a moment, it almost seemed as if he were frozen, unable to think straight or form a coherent thought. But once he came to, he was able to see the final result of this wild lovemaking. “Here…lemme look at you.” Pushing the hair from your face, he’d catch a glimpse of your smeared makeup, watery eyes and hair, unable to stop himself from laughing right along with you. That afterglow bliss had hit you both incredibly hard and it seemed, from the looks of things, those desires had been fulfilled!
“Give me a kiss…c’mere.” Swiping those tears away as he cupped your cheek in his palm and shoved his tongue into your mouth. With those lips intertwined, you’d moan into that sloppy peck; lingering on every taste, touch and feel he presented to you. Although things had been a bit chaotic, there was only one truth that remained throughout the whole ordeal:
“Aye….you know I love you, right? I love you so fucking much, baby girl, you have no idea.”
“I love you too, Ryo…thank you, this was wonderful. Best birthday ever and it hasn't even gotten here yet.”
Still in shock and shedding tears from all of the ecstasy, (Y/N) couldn’t stop giggling as you’d never felt joy and happiness as you had in this capacity. “Like I said…you better get used to it because I’m going to make sure that everyday feels like this for the rest of our lives. If there’s anything you want from me, all you have to do is say so and I’ll make it happen. Don’t ever feel like you have to be ashamed or afraid.” Placing a kiss atop your forehead head to drill the point home. But nothing could prepare him for the witty comeback to his heartfelt confession!
“That’s so sweet, Ryo….anything?”
“Of course, sweet girl. That’s what I said.”
“Well um…do you mind pulling out and letting me down? My legs are starting to hurt.” Panting heavily and as expected, you’d garner another set of laughs from him. He could really get used to doing this forever. He’d do exactly that as you both maneuvered towards the bathroom; stumbling a bit whilst doing so.
“I suppose I could do that…why don’t we grab a shower while we’re at it. Ion’ know about you, but I’m not trying to sleep in sweat.”
“Who said anything about sleeping? I still have more outfits I want to try on for you.”
even after years of late nights, fast living and high risk situations, he’d never dealt with anything quite like you!
divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto
word count: 1.6k
synopsis: To Damian Wayne, this is just marriage. To his brothers this is a one way ticket to Arkham.
a/n: Damian's version to 'Til Death Do Us Apart is here! I think he's so far my favourite out of the series. I was watching The Addam's Family while writing this and he's so Gomez coded!
Damian Wayne had been stabbed twice, poisoned six times, almost lost a finger, and very nearly attacked by a Caspian cobra that had mysteriously appeared in his closet—though, in the end, he simply adopted the serpent and named it Caspian.
He wasn’t upset about any of it.
In fact, he was starting to consider it foreplay.
Most people wouldn’t interpret a tripwire on the staircase or a gas-emitting bookshelf as romantic gestures. But Damian was not most people.
You were, after all, an assassin—one of the most lethal in the world, a Black Widow. And also, his wife. Which meant that affection came with a few… complications.
Like needing to sniff his tea before every sip.
That morning, he sat in the garden beneath the soft canopy of climbing vines, a leather-bound Persian manuscript resting in one hand, a delicate china teacup in the other. You floated into view like a vision, carrying a fresh tray of biscuits, teapot and a suspiciously serene smile that usually meant something was about to happen.
You refilled his cup with practiced grace, the scent of jasmine rising between you. He brought it to his lips, took one measured sip, then paused. His nostrils flared slightly. He sniffed again.
“Belladonna?” he asked, not looking up from the page.
You set the tray down, gently brushing crumbs off your fingers. “Only a trace.”
He hummed thoughtfully. “Too floral. It throws off the jasmine.” Another sip. “Next time, try aconite. It blends better.”
You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Noted.”
Your attempts came and went like the seasons—some subtle, some so absurdly theatrical it was almost comical. Once, you’d rigged the library’s fireplace to release a sleeping gas if the wrong book was pulled from the shelf. You knew Damian would figure it out. And he did—of course he did—though he was a little smug about it.
He crouched by the hearth with a small, curved blade in hand, dismantling the delicate mechanism with an ease that irritated and impressed you in equal measure.
“I almost admire the mechanism,” he said dryly, flicking a piece loose and catching it mid-air. “You’re improving. The trigger delay was clever.” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes glinting. “You’ll have to try harder next time.”
And you had.
The following week, you’d set a spring-loaded dart trap just outside the hallway near the greenhouse—timed perfectly to his morning routine, right as he turned the corner, casually eating an apple.
The dart whistled through the air.
Damian shifted to the left without so much as blinking. The dart missed him entirely—only to pierce straight through the apple and embed it into the wall with a soft thunk.
He stared at it for a moment. Then calmly walked over, plucked the dart free, and retrieved the apple.
“You’re getting lazy,” he remarked, holding the dart up to the light, examining its make. “This one’s off-balance. It veered left.”
“Maybe I just wanted to nick you,” you said breezily as you strolled past, lips twitching into a grin. “You did mention needing to work on your reflexes.”
He chuckled under his breath, biting into what remained of his apple.
“How considerate, beloved,” he muttered.
But then came that Sunday afternoon.
Damian’s brothers had come over—against his better judgment—for what they claimed would be a “simple brotherly brunch.”
Within minutes, he regretted opening the door.
His home was louder than usual, filled with overlapping voices, the clatter of silverware, and the relentless stream of bickering that passed for affection in the Wayne family. The pancakes were drowned in ungodly amounts of syrup. Someone had opened a bottle of orange juice with their teeth.
And worst of all? Someone—he still didn’t know who—had touched his katana display. There were smudges. Smudges. Left on the usually pristine, sparkling glass. He said nothing. But he made a mental note to run a full scan later and find out exactly which one of those imbeciles had committed the crime.
He had just excused himself to fetch something from the west wing and only made it half way across the dining room when it happened.
A soft click.
He froze mid-step. Looked down.
A pressure plate.
From his seat, Jason glanced up, a fork halfway to his mouth. “What was that?”
The ceiling above them shifted with an ominous creak.
And then—whoosh.
A pendulum blade, polished to a mirror shine, dropped from the rafters and arced through the air like something straight out of the Addam’s family. It missed Damian by less than an inch as he pivoted smoothly to the side, ducking in one seamless motion. The blade swung past with a rush of air, that ruffled his hair.
The others froze mid-bite, forks suspended in the air, expressions shifting from confusion to outright horror.
Before anyone could react, another panel hissed open—this time along the wall. A rapid click—shhhk echoed through the room as sleek, retractable knives launched from hidden compartments, hurling straight toward Damian.
He moved like water—graceful and effortless—spinning out of the way, one hand casually snatching a blade mid-air. While another knife sliced cleanly through the fabric of his sleeve, but didn’t touch skin.
He exhaled, long and put-upon.
“Again with the ceiling blades,” he muttered.
The others, however, were not so composed.
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” Jason barked, nearly flipping his plate as he bolted upright.
Dick stood, wide-eyed, gaze darting to the now-settling blades embedded in the wall. “Are you okay?! What the hell just happened?!”
Tim was already pulling out a compact scanner from his pocket, frantically scanning the room. “Is the house booby-trapped?! Did someone breach the security grid?! Is there an intruder?”
Damian remained exactly where he was, unbothered, as he studied the captured blade that was held delicately between his fingers.
“No intruder,” he said annoyed at the clear overreactions. “This was my wife’s work.”
All three stared at him in horror.
Tim blinked. “Your wife just tried to impale you,” he said slowly, carefully, as if explaining a basic law of physics to someone who should’ve known better.
Damian hummed to himself, turning the blade between his fingers, letting the light catch the polished steel. “She’s improving,” he remarked. “These ones actually had decent balance.”
Jason just stared. “Why the fuck are you so calm?” he snapped. “SHE JUST TRIED TO KILL YOU.”
Damian let out a slow sigh, clearly irritated by the dramatics. “She didn’t try to kill me,” he said, as if the distinction was obvious. “If she wanted me dead, I would be.”
“Damian,” Dick said, cautiously, as if speaking to a feral animal.
“She’s just being affectionate.”
Tim blinked. “That’s not affection, that’s—”
“It’s her love language,” Damian interrupted, stepping around the still-swinging blade without a flinch. “She’s very dedicated to making sure I'm aware of her love.”
Dick looked like he was about to pass out. “You’re telling me this happens regularly?”
Damian shrugged. “You’re just upset no one’s ever loved you that much.”
Moments later, you strolled in, utterly unbothered. Silk robe tied neatly at the waist, not a single hair out of place. In one hand, a steaming cup of coffee. On your lips, a soft, pleasant smile that nearly made it hard to believe you were the architect of the carnage around the room.
“Good morning,” you greeted cheerfully, leaning in to press a kiss to Damian’s cheek before casually glancing at the embedded blades. “Did the new blade wall trigger too soon?”
Damian nodded as he tucked you to his side. “Off by two seconds. Adjust the fuse delay.”
You let out a quiet sigh. “Noted.”
Your gaze shifted to the blade still turning slowly from the ceiling. You tilted your head. “Is that one still rotating? I meant to fix the alignment—it’s drifting too far left.”
“I told you to aim for a clean ninety-degree arc,” Damian added, glancing down at you. “You’re losing power on the backswing.”
You made a soft, thoughtful noise. “I was worried about overcompensating.”
“Next time,” he said, without missing a beat, “use a counterweight.”
Jason looked at Dick. Dick looked at Tim. Tim looked like he was ready to drag you both to Arkham and check you two in under a shared room. The three of them turned back in unison, staring at the two of you standing there—utterly calm and composed, as if you were discussing home décor and not lethal traps embedded into the manor’s infrastructure.
Jason blinked. “You’re two are joking, right?”
“Of course not,” Damian replied coolly, taking the coffee cup from your hand with ease and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “We’re a team. I only wish the best for my beloved.”
“I don’t think the feeling is mutual,” Tim muttered under his breath.
Damian rolled his eyes and took a slow sip of the coffee. He paused, considered the taste, then added matter-of-factly, “This is poisoned, isn’t it?”
You tilted your head, smiling sweetly. “Just a touch of cyanide.”
He took another sip, unfazed. “The coffee was already bitter. This just makes it more obvious. Try strychnine next time—it’s cleaner.”
You giggled and kissed his cheek again. “You’re so picky, darling.”
Dick stared at the two of you, eyes wide, colour slowly draining from his face. “I—I think he’s going to die.”
“No,” Damian said simply, sliding an arm around your waist as the two of you turned and began walking away—utterly unfazed by the blades, the scorched wall, or the stunned expressions behind you. “We made vows, Grayson. I promised to love her, cherish her—and survive her.” He glanced over his shoulder. “This is just the life of marriage.”
And for Damian Wayne, it was everything he could have ever asked for.
Jason Version | Bruce Version | Tim Version | Dick Version
𝐬𝐮𝐦. poor Housecat!Reader, Gojo and Sukuna left you all alone today—but Exotic Pet Owner!Geto is still home and if you ask him nicely, surely he'll play with you! ♡ 𝓂𝒹𝓃𝒾.𝟣𝟪 𝐰𝐜: 3286
ᨐฅ : this is left overs from pt.2 i never finished so that's why it's only Geto x Reader smut, but I did add a bit more to make up for only mentioning Gojo and just a bit of Sukuna, hope y'all enjoy!
Caracal!Sukuna who thinks his only problem when it comes to you is Gojo, which he has since solved for the most part by building you a nest. So whenever Gojo is away, Sukuna sees it as an opportune time for him to go for a nice long romp in the forest.
The other hybrids are becoming much too complacent with him indoors now, he needs to keep them on their toes.
Sukuna thinks you should be perfectly content in the nest he dutifully made and re-scents with you daily, making sure to pamper his mate lots of his attention.
Yet Sukuna will soon realize the silent killer is usually the deadliest. Not only are you far more spoiled and needy than he originally imagined—but he learns the real threat is Geto.
Appearances are certainly deceiving when it comes to Geto as it's pretty clear from the start he only tolerates all the hybrids and animals to appease Gojo's whimsy.
Geto Suguru is anything but a pet person.
Yet despite his indifference to pets, he finds himself rather enjoying your sweet lil presence. There’s something endearing about you, much like his equally needy and attention seeking husband. Besides, the two of you do well in keeping each other company so Geto can have a few fleeting moments of peace to himself.
And above all else?
Geto still is a man.
As such he is also not immune to your sugary demeanor nor the sensual appeal of your fluffy tail swishing behind your cute perky bottom that's always peaking out of something much too short or tight for you thanks to Gojo.
However, Geto has a certain couth about him that doesn’t bind him to chase after you—unlike Sukuna with his acute mating instinct or Gojo with his severely debased perversions.
As a result, it’s you dear Housecat!Reader, that seeks him out.
You solicit Geto’s indulgences only during the times of perfect chaos—when Gojo's clan responsibilities distract him and Sukuna, keeping track of only Gojo, thinks you are still asleep in your nest while he is out terrorizing the reserve.
So of course you’d paw at Geto’s door this time as well, not ever wanting to be alone.
Exotic Pet Owner!Geto who doesn't acknowledge you at first when you pop your head into his office. With Gojo out of everyone's hair, Geto has a chance to catch up on all the extensive paperwork and licensing that comes with owning a nature reserve with both private and public donors. Not to mention any organizational delegation with keeping the mansion in one piece, fell to him.
The Gojo estate would swiftly spiral into shame as a crazy neighborhood hoarder house overrun with frivolously expensive junk and unkempt hybrids—who would all multiply carelessly and run amok—if it wasn't for Geto keeping things in check.
You don't know any of this of course—no room for boring procedures nor responsibilities with all the fluff and rainbows always dancing in your cute furry lil’ head.
However, you do know Geto is almost always busy and you really don't want to be a bother—but you can't help yourself this time!
You're really bored, plus you really do miss him~♡!
It’s been too long since you didn’t have either Sukuna or Gojo to keep you company.
Standing in the doorway, you fidget with your tail. You know, he knows you’re there but Geto doesn’t cater or baby you like Sukuna or Gojo. If you wanted his attention you had to go to him and ask for it nicely like a big girl kitty.
However, that doesn’t mean you can’t have a lil fun with it.
With a coy glint in your eye, you slink to the floor and begin a slow, teasing crawl towards Geto. On all fours, your short white slip pushes up past your bare hips, swaying as your fluffy tail swishes. Slipping beneath his broad cypress-wood desk, you settle at Geto’s feet. Your tail curls around his legs as you brush against him with soft affectionate purrs.
Geto only hums, not looking up from his papers but his skillful fingers don't need to. He knows the exact spot to scratch behind your ears that sends a jolt down of dopamine down your spine and has you purring even louder, tilted fully into his touch.
Yet with Suguru's main focus elsewhere you easily grow restless for more attention, nudging at his hand when his fingers slow to mere half-hearted pets that leave you yearning for more. It's not long after that you find yourself nosing your head between his robes. Your cheek smooshes innocently on his bulge as you gaze up with adoring, pleading eyes.
"Suguuuu... pet me more—jus' for a bit… Everyone else left me all alone n’ m’bored…pretty please~♡?"
Geto sighs, pushing up his reading glasses to massage the bridge of his nose as he knows he'll have to pay you a good deal of attention now so you'd let him be.
Reclining, elbow propped up on the leather chair, Geto rests his head in his hand. His focus is drawn down to the adorably pathetic way you've further attached yourself to his leg.
"Hmm, such a troublesome lil kitty..."
Geto closes his eyes, savoring the swampy heat of your pantyless cunt shamelessly sliding up and down his shin. You might be a ditzy little feline, but your seductive charms were unmatched between any hybrid or human he knew.
“...spoiled too. You only come to me now as a last resort. That hurts my feelings, you know…”
The dark look on Geto’s features now says he’s anything but wounded but you don’t care, nuzzling your face into his covered cock all the more, feeling it harden beneath you—you missed having his smell on you too.
You mewl, body already too sensitive from your lust feeling your sensitive clit scrape against his robes, fully humping his muscular leg.
Geto will let you work yourself up into a tizzy too, panting, you're cute lil tongue peeking between your fangs—using him to rut against until your pussy leaves a honeyed slime trail on his robes. The more sweet cream your cunny spills on him the more of an excuse he has to reprimand you later.
“Suguuu, m’sorry let me make it up to you, I promise I’ll drink up all your milk this time, kay?~♡”
Of course, Geto pretends like it’s a bother but he’s faintly smirking as he unties his robes. Someone had to be a responsible owner around here—and what kind of owner would he be to deny you nutrition?
Exotic Pet Owner!Geto who finds that sweet spot behind your ears again as you suck down every inch of his long thick length down your throat. You can barely breathe but the sweet release of endorphins from his heavy hands caressing your soft fur, has your head swimming and trachea loosening to take him deeper.
The pleasant sensations of being pet by Geto are so heavenly you don’t even mind the contrast of him savagely fucking your throat like his personal fleshlight as you go completely slack in his hold—save for your hips still rocking, albeit lazily, against his drenched robes.
So debased and animalistic, it’s times like these Geto can see the appeal of hybrids, so willing to be diluted to the rawest form of pleasure.
“Good kitty, my sweet persian… opening up so wide for me, hm? Now if you swallow every drop, I’ll pet you just the way you like it…” Geto sucks in air through his teeth, his praises making your throat all the more complacent. “…as much as you can handle.”
Geto teeters on the brink, the wet chorus of your gulps, gurgles, and desperate groans around his cock shoves him straight over the edge—your hunger for his release feeding your own aching need leaking out of your core and soaking your thighs along with his robes. His growl rumbles low and feral as his fingers dig harder into the fur at your skull. The vigorous vibrations of your gags, paired with the sharp, euphoric sting of your fangs grazing his base, tear the last bits of restraint from him. With a deep shudder, Geto floods your throat, spraying your vocal cords white. Geto he keeps you pinned there, choking and swallowing until every drop of his viscous milk is gone, sinking heavily into your belly.
Once he finally calms enough to dislodge his hefty length from your throat, you’re left hiccoughing, dizzy—your lungs strain from finally being refilled with air after being forced to breathe nothing but cock for so long. You’re a mess—panting, throat fucked out, with remenants of his ‘milk’ seeping from the corners of your puffy lips—but you’re not done.
Cheek pressed against his bare thigh you look up at him with the cutest drooly lil pout. Your body trembles with want, your eyes begging for more as you languidly grab Geto’s length, giving it a few more firm pumps. You tongue wantonly at tiny droplets that dribble out like you still haven’t had enough of his milk yet after completely draining him dry. Hips jerking, Geto grits his teeth, cursing. He’s still too sensitive from just coming for more of your teasing.
“Yummy, oishii Suguuu~♡”
Smacking your lips ‘ahhhh’ you smile up at him with a giggle, making for sure to get ‘every last drop’ as you promised.
“Now, may I have my pets, pretty please~♡?”
Exotic Pet Owner!Geto who has you laid over his lap, your soft stomach resting on his knees. Bare ass in air you shiver, exposed to the chill of the A/C from your flimsy panties being pushed down and bunched at your knees. Pen in Geto's right hand, still filling out documents—all while his left is lodged three long fingers deep into your creamy core.
"You already have one foolishly doting owner—not to mention a psychotically possessive alpha as a mate—but that isn't nearly enough to sate the boredom of our greedy princess persian, now is it?"
You try to answer but you can't do anything but let your pussy do the talking for you. With your well-fucked throat out of commision, her squelches becoming louder than the wordless croaky moans that spill out of you.
Geto tuts at you, setting down his pen.
Your continued disobedience is now deserving of his full attention.
"Such a shame, this spoiled lil' pussy has no manners."
SMACK!
"First she ruins my robes with her sticky filth—"
SMACK!
"—now, she insists on answering for you, when it's not her turn to speak yet—"
SMACK!
"—you can't even get a word in, can you, princess?"
SMACK!
Your walls contract around his digits dragging along your insides, stirring up your guts and all thoughts in your head. Boredom is the last thing concerning you now with Suguru probing this deeply inside you, and raining delicious punishment on your bottom.
The way he pets you, igniting just the right toxic mixture of pleasure and pain leaves you reeling—Suguru always gives you the best pets.
"Although, I suppose your mouth has worked hard enough today and deserves a break...”
Babbling meows and whimpers, your ass jiggles from the feverish way you rock back on his fingers, wanting him to pet your insides even deeper until they feel like they might even breach your womb.
“Let’s see what this hole has to say then, hm little kitty?”
Geto doesn't hesitate to stick his thumb fully past the tight ring of muscle into your twitchy asshole. You're mewling out soft lil moans so nicely for him, as you pull desperately on his robes, claws extended.
You know he will punish you even harder if you rip them, but alas you can't control your body. Geto's fingers mold into your cunt like she was his fitted glove, keeping all of your lower holes entertained and plugged for hours if need be. Your pretty manicured claws rake down the fibers tearing into Geto’s robe, kneading biscuits into his thighs as his fingers liquify your doughy core.
Too much~too good! ♡
Geto easily pulls two toe curing orgasms out of you as you spray your fluids all down his forearm, sprinkling puddles onto the floor. Your body trembles with pleasure, the flimsy slip rucked high around your hips, its straps fall down your arms until the fabric hangs around your waist like a belt. Your tits spill free, heavy and aching, nipples hardened and swollen, smashed against hard thighs as you squirm restlessly in his lap.
Geto gives you a small recoverly, hurriedly swirling his fingers over your clit, thumb still lodged firmly in your ass, but you’re too worked up—you need more.
“Suguuu… m’more! A-Again!~♡”
What a greedy girl. Geto ascertains from your shameless begging even though he’s already made you cum twice.
You need patience and the discipline that neither Gojo nor Sukuna gives you.
Seemingly appeasing you Geto’s fingers suddenly piston into your sloppy cunt faster, your lewd squelching loudly echoing throughout the office and likely down the halls of the mansion by now.
Yet Geto pointedly denies you the one thing you’re aching for.
Every thrust of his digits skims just shy of your sweet spot, keeping you thrashing on his lap, grinding down harder, desperate to chase the angle he withholds. Your mewls climb higher, broken and desperate, tail lashing and swishing in frantic frustration—until it whips too sharply in your own pleasure, smacking across Geto’s face and nearly knocking his reading glasses askew.
Geto jaw tightens, irritation flashing across his features as he amps up his punishment.
With a growl Geto nips down hard on your tail, the sting is well timed with the brutal slam of his fingers ramming right into your achy spongy spot at long last.
"MMM—SUGUUUU NNNGH ♡~~!"
You gush once more on his thick fingers, the intense mix of pleasure and pain sizzling your nerves down to nothing. Geto doesn't stop though, he won't. Not until your legs become utter jello. Not until your entire body is a mess of slick, drool and goo.
You’re sure at one point you might have passed out, too much pleasure overloading your lil kitty brain, you’d die from this much. Willingly yourself to move you force your shaky useless limbs to work enough to slide completely off of him and onto the floor. Even the ‘thud’ as you hit the ground feels pleasurable as every nerve is still buzzing from Geto’s ‘pets’.
Exotic Pet Owner!Geto who is very true to his word that he’d give you as many ‘pets’ as you could handle, he wouldn’t stop—as long as you remained in his lap his fingers would remain patrolling in your creamy cunt, on duty for as long as you needed to be ‘entertained’.
As a responsible hybrid owner Geto knows he has to sufficiently tire out a rowdy pet and he accomplishes this task well, quelling your hyperactive drive—for now.
Shaking his head, Geto tuts down at you, an utterly fucked-out pile of fur curling around his feet once again, a dazed content grin on your face this time.
“Tsk, tsk and here I thought you missed me…”
This was ultimately good though, he could finally get some more work done now.
“I-I doooo♡~”
You purr softly from the floor, so drowsy now from pleasure you could fall asleep right here.
Geto smirks, such a good persian you are—so willing to please.
“Then you aren’t quite done yet, princess. Time to clean up your mess.”
Caracal!Sukuna who knows something is a miss when he comes back in and the perfume of your decadent cunny is saturating the halls. You touching yourself while he wasn’t away, wasn’t to be unexpected (although he told you many times not to touch his pussy without his permission)—this much was unusual.
Easily overstimulated and your own stamina for work low, you’d easily be drifting off to sleep from a minor orgasms, this much though?
Sukuna tracks down your scent until he reaches Geto’s wing of the house, instantly seeing red.
This motherfucker.
Sukuna has to chain down the savage impulse that bubbles up to disfigure Geto’s face the moment he steps inside. Absolutely murderous at the sight of you, slack on your knees, body drooping limply against Geto’s leg like a spent lil’ toy. You’re half-asleep, dazed, yet still loyally obedient as you lap at your own creamy slick smeared along Geto’s fingers. Each digit disappears between your swollen lips, sucked down like his cock, tongue curling around the knuckles before you drag them free with a wet pop.
Geto doesn’t even spare a glance at Sukuna.
His gaze remains fixed on the stack of papers in his other hand, reviewing calmly, as if your ruined body worshiping him on the floor were nothing but background noise.
It makes Sukuna’s claws itch to carve the sly smirk off Geto’s face.
And yet—watching you so pliant, so fucked-out and messy, your mouth working like you were born to swallow—it makes his cock twitch with a hunger no amount of rage can burn away, which in turn makes Sukuna all the more frustrated.
Sukuna underestimated Geto, the stoic no-nonsense man that seemed to think everyone but Gojo was beneath him—that won’t happen again.
Locking eyes with Sukuna, Geto takes much pleasure in his furry, his lips spreading to a wide grin as his words hit like a dagger.
"It was up to me to play with the little kitty today, so I had tired her out myself—seeing as you cannot control your own mate's wild desires."
Caracal!Sukuna who hasn’t forgotten and openly hisses at his own words being thrown back at him, hell raging in him as his pupils dilate dangerously. Geto is unaffected though, going back to his work and requesting Sukuna to shut the door behind him when he leaves—to which Sukuna gives him the finger.
Sukuna swoops in, scooping you up with the same rough ease he always uses when prying you off Gojo—ready to sling you over his shoulder like a sack. But he halts mid-motion, grip shifting as the sudden jolt has you hiccoughing roughly.
For a beat, he cradles you awkwardly in his arms, almost princess-style.
“Oh, and you might want to get her some tea. Her throat’s especially tired,” Geto drawls without looking up.
Sukuna doesn’t answer—only snarls out damnation under his breath.
Unfortunately for Sukuna, you love your owners and your cushy pampered lifestyle so mauling them bloody and kidnapping you to escape to the actual wilderness with him was simply out of the question.
Sukuna knows this well by now.
Yet the fact still remains Sukuna frankly needs to instill some basic fitness and outdoor survival skills into your floofly lil head so you could at least somewhat keep up with him on his runs in the forest. Now that he knows he cannot leave you alone for a single second indoors.
Perhaps he could teach you how to climb a tree and stay there for a while so he could watch you while he preys on the other hybrids?
Easier said than done though.
Training you would take time and as spoiled as you are, you definitely will be resistant to any bit of cold, dirt or excretion that comes with being outside.
Sukuna laments that his muscles will likely grow weak and atrophy—unless he could find a way to break you from your posh 24/7 sedentary lifestyle.
Caracal!Sukuna surely has his work cut out for him turning you, Housecat!Reader into an ‘outdoor kitty’ if he wants to keep you away from Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu's —especially with your next heat just around the corner.
ᨐฅ: tysm for reading! there is a p4 planned where reader goes into a full heat and is just caracal!sukuna x housecat!reader, he finally gonna breed a l. buuuuut i have to focus on kinktober now, so will pick this back up sometime afterwards!
please reblog or comment, love to hear your thoughts~♡
Caracal!Sukuna x Housecat!Reader ♡ ft. Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu
𝐏𝐭.𝟐 - 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ♡
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𝐬𝐮𝐦. you aren't n heat anymore but you just can't help that you're a cute sleepy persian kitty with 2 owners and caracal!sukuna as mate. all who love and indulge you non stop—competing for your love and your pu$$y! ♡ 𝓂𝒹𝓃𝒾.𝟣𝟪 𝐰𝐜: 4266
ᨐฅ : got kinda carried away here, lots of dynamic exploring in this one: smut, humor, and a bit of fluff—including satosugu mentions! sorry for any errors, i wrote this all in like a day, imma reread & fix.
#𝟏 — 𝐏𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬
Caracal!Sukuna who has to adjust to indoor life now that he lives inside Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu's mansion with his new mate—indoor Housecat!Reader.
The first order of business after getting you and Sukuna your own room is forcing Caracal!Sukuna to wear pants.
He couldn't just walk around openly freeballing.
Sukuna bitched at first but ultimately agreed.
As much as Sukuna hates any kind of confinement, wearing a hakama wasn't too bad and still gave him free movement without unnecessary restriction.
There was one thing though Sukuna was glad the hamaka pants did restrict—and that was the sneaky lecherous glanaces Gojo would throw his way.
Sukuna would so boldly stroll into any room butt-ass naked with a very low hanging, half-hard cock, like he was still in the wilderness—immediately causing blood to gush from Gojo's nose.
Not like Sukuna was doing it to get Gojo's attention—ew, fuck no.
It's just that Sukuna is a wild cat so his base instincts are pretty much on go at any moment. Keeping him at the ready whether it was a fight—or now that he had a cute lil mate with a creamy lil pussy—a fuck.
Especially when your pheromones are so potent to him. Even when you weren't in a heat, Sukuna could practically taste the lush feminine scent of your cunt in the air.
It's no wonder then why Caracal!Sukuna walks around with a perma half-chub, that's more than just a lil distracting.
Of course Gojo is just sore that Sukuna and his dummy-big dick, conned their way both into his mansion and his pretty persian's pussy. But Gojo would die before he owns up to gawking at the 'massive eye-sore'.
"Oh, really now Sugu!? I'm not starring! That's just ridiculous! I mean—it's playing taiko drums on his thigh! How am I supposed to avoid it when it's scoring combos everytime he walks!?
Geto just rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
The pants were actually Geto's idea upon Gojo becoming dizzy from all the blood loss—not to mention Gojo had now unconsciously started parting his lips into a large 'O' when Sukuna was around. As if trying to gage how much wildcat cock he could fit inside his own mouth if he tried without dislocating his jaw.
Sukuna chuckles darkly.
Gojo's sick perversions aside, as far as Sukuna was concerned, him having to wear pants was all apart of an huge inferiority complex on Geto's part.
"Fine, I'll put on the damn pants—seeing as you are not capable of controlling your mates wild desires."
Geto cuts Sukuna a mean side eye at that remark before directing him to a new closet full of hakama in his exact size.
"Just hurry up and do it before Satoru goes anemic."
#𝟐 — 𝐄𝐱𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐞
Caracal!Sukuna who also grows restless indoors. The mansion has high ceilings, some rivaling the height of trees—but despite this Sukuna isn't allowed to just climb atop any furniture he wants, even if it doesn't break. Not without getting scolded.
A 10th century heian era wardrobe, no matter how massive or sturdy, is NOT a proper cat climbing tree.
Gojo nearly faints when he walks in the room to see Sukuna had dragged you on top of it too for a nap—the priceless ancient wood creaking under Sukuna's bulk as you curled deeper into him. Sukuna fiercely hisses at Gojo's intrusion, but as your mate he manages to get both you and himself down without waking you from your nap.
Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu make a new rule: inside Sukuna is regulated to only climbing on the 'felinine safe' furniture in the sunroom which contained a massive cat tree mimicking a real jungle.
You love it of course—but you've never actually climbed an actual tree to know the difference.
Sukuna is not impressed by the colorful fleece carpeted structure and he thinks it's all a fucking insult.
He's a wildcat for fuckssake!
Shit—he needs to get outside again before he loses his fucking mind.
Caracal!Sukuna who is allowed to run through the conservation freely as he pleases (with pants on) for appropriately sanctioned outdoor exercise. However, this hinges on his ability to temper his predatory urges and not to physically harm any of the other animals or hybrids he encounters.
Sukuna quite intelligently notes that Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu said no physical damage. Yet nothing was mentioned against the damage of psychological warfare induced in 'friendly' yet forced games of surprise tag Sukuna imposes on the other hybrids.
However, as much as Sukuna enjoys bullying the scene for sport—Sukuna finds himself unable to leave your side for too long.
That's because of the needy lil thing you are Housecat!Reader—you're always craving attention.
Even when you were doing absolutely nothing at all.
Napping being your favorite hobby, if you aren't able to curl up in Sukuna's lap, basking in his comforting scent and the deep rumbling from his warm chest, like the spoiled lil persian you are—you'd seek substitute cuddles elsewhere.
Mostly from Gojo.
Too many times Sukuna would return from terrorizing exercising to find you wrapped up under many warm blankets in the theatre room with Gojo watching movies.
You're asleep but that fucker definitely isn't.
#𝟑 — 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨
Exotic Pet Owner!Gojo who lulled you into a deep comforting slumber, spooning you on an extra-large recliner which more resembles a daybed than theatre seat. Gojo pats your soft fur, giving honey-like praises of your beauty, his breath so close it tickles your neck. You purr contently in his arms as you drift off to one of your favorite movies of all time—the classic Oliver & Company.
It all seems innocent enough, except for the fact of Gojo is not-so-innocently resting his throbbing cock between your soft, smooth thighs under the many covers and pillows surrounding you both.
"My good girl's pretty lil kitty still remembers her owner, riiiiight~?"
He'll whisper as he kisses you behind your furry pointed ears. They block his view of the projector screen but he's not paying attention right now anyway. Fully asleep, you mewl so sweetly, unknowingly affirming his ecchi questions.
Sure, Gojo begrudgingly respected the fact Sukuna is now your mate.
He doesn't penetrate you anymore—but that still didn't mean he couldn't have 'sexy movie time cuddles' with his pretty prized persian!
Gojo's enthusiastic nuzzles during cuddles have you stirring in your sleep and you shift your hips to get more comfortable. Yet all your movement really does is sink his girth deeper into the chubby pocket of your inner thighs.
Likewise, Gojo moves to get more 'comfy' too.
Mischievously poking his sensitive rotund tip past the hem inside of your silky pink panties. The tight material keeps Gojo's cock snug like a bug between the warm moist buns of your folds—god it was almost as nice as sinking in your actual pussy.
Oh God, how Gojo misses the tight hug of your walls constricting around him.
But just the heat from the outside of your soppy cunt alone is making him leak globs of pre right onto your swollen lil bud. The vicious fluid spreads to dampen the fur on your pussy and Gojo sighs content from stewing his cock in a mess of your shared fluids.
"Mmm purrrfect, she could never forget me, huh baby?"
Gojo holds you closer and you stir once more from all the warmth generating under the blankets. You wiggle to let in some cool air, pushing your hips back in the process. Gojo almost cums from the naughty way your sluttly button throbs harder from being smooshed into his glands.
As a bonus, since you are so conveniently doing all the work, Gojo's hands are free to roam your body.
Pushing your frilly nightie all the way up your neck, the pads of his sinewy fingers draw out more of your sleepy pleasure filled purrs.
Gojo lazily maps out your familiar curves with his touch not stopping until he reaches your perky tits. Palms cupping the circular edge of your mounds, Gojo weighs them in his hand, taking note of any recent growth due to your last heat.
His procedural, yet loving ministrations beckon out more soft meows, which in turn produce more happy cock twitches against your cunt.
Greedy for more, Gojo ficks, rolls and pulls on your stiff peaks—only to cruelly push them back into your areolas just to feel how like the softest memory foam they pop out once more, back into place, just for him to do it all over again.
Squirming in earnest now you seek relief from your arousal even in your deep slumber. Moaning out as you rut your creamy lil peach back and forth on his length still sandwiched between your runny folds and nearly ruined panties.
"S'toruuuu~♡"
You purr his name in your blissful heat filled dreams and Gojo can only imagine you think he's actually deep inside you now—ugh he wishes!
This all too much for your perverted owner and Gojo ends up releasing at least 3-4 times over the course of the movie. It's no surprise your tiny undies are not even capable of holding one of Gojo's runny loads in and it all overflows out to stream down your thighs.
"NNNNN...FAHHCK!"
Upon hearing Gojo loudly release for the umpteenth time, Geto looks up from the game of suduko he's playing on his tablet. He is seated in an equally massive theatre chair next to you both.
Seeing the large wet spot and through the many layers of blankets, Geto can only hope Gojo remembered to lay a pad down. Otherwise this would be the 3rd time they would have to reupholster the theatre seats this month.
Knowing his carelessly impulsive husband though?
Chances are slim to none.
Yet before he can get back into his game an alert of a backdoor west-wing entry pops up on tablet.
Sighing Geto laments he never gets a break.
Completing a numerical row, Geto takes a pull from his weed pen as he relishes the remaining moments of relative peace he has left.
A few moments go by and Sukuna burst in the room on a rampage— like clockwork.
Caracal!Sukuna who despite the size of Gojo's mansion, smelled your sweet lusty perfume along with Gojo's pungent stench as soon as he returned inside from his exercise.
Finding you in such a compromising situation, covered in filth, Sukuna has zero qualms time with waking you and does.
Hissing out enough cusses to shame a sailor Sukuna snatches you right the fuck up from the soiled blankets and gives Gojo the finger as he stomps out with you in tow underneath his arm.
Your sassy meows and protests from being woken up so abruptly fall on deaf ears as your screeches echo down the hall.
Sated and happy to have spent the little time he did with you, Gojo pouts but doesn't put up much fuss. Closing his own eyes for a few moments, and laying in on the soiled velvet seat cushions that—oh whoops Gojo realizings forgot to put down the pad this time too, teehee~.
Sorely missing your warmth Gojo, spots Suguru still seated in the recliner next to him. However, when he attempts to crawl into Suguru's theatre seat to watch the rest of the movie (Oliver & Company is one of his favorites too!) he is thwarted as Suguru rebuffs him. It only takes a strong hand and a little leverage to judo throw him right to the floor, without even looking up from his tablet.
"Aweee, c'mon babe!"
Not only is Gojo still in his cum riddled pants he just so carelessly added more work to Suguru's to-do list and Suguru is not happy.
"You've got to be kidding Satoru, you're a mess."
Although, on the other hand watching Gojo use you so shamelessly to get off, like his personal fluffy little sex doll, for over a good hour has Suguru's dick throbbing.
No longer being able to enjoy his game like he wants Suguru realizes he needs to take care of his own problem sooner rather than later.
"C'mon Suuuuuguuuuu~~!"
Gojo's complaints are immediately silenced though when Suguru tells him if he sits quietly next to him and watches the movie—not getting the rapidly crusting flakes on his pants anywhere near him—Suguru would join him in the shower after he finishes this chapter.
Like a obedient mutt, Gojo listens and does just that.
Well almost. He's not getting cum residue on Suguru but he isn't being quiet either.
Attention fully focused on the yassified animated poodle on the screen, Gojo cannot resist belting out the words to 'Perfect isn't Easy'.
Taking another hit of his pen, Suguru shakes his head.
Sometimes he truly did wonder if he's the only civilized being with some sense living in the house...
#𝟒 — 𝐍𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠
Caracal!Sukuna who easily grows frustrated at your slow oblivious nature. Sukuna sour mood would have him grumbling, ripping off your clothes for an immediate and fully-thorough grooming session.
Yet it was completely normal to you to wake up with your owners scent smeared on your pussy though—it made you feel loved and safe!
Especially since Sukuna was out exercising and left you all alone!
Scowling Sukuna licks Gojo's bitter spunk off your thighs as you giggle underneath him, his long heavy tongue tickling your skin. Sukuna would never come out and flat out tell you either that reason he was so vehemently jealous.
Sure, he didn't want any human's filthy hands on you to begin with—yet that isn't what really had him heated.
The true reason Sukuna is so pissed is because you under all those blankets and pillows scented with Gojo's smell reminded him too much of a breeding nest.
So this time not only does Sukuna resolve to re-scent you in his own essence himself—he also is going to ensure you have an overwhelmingly strong source of his scent in the house too in the process.
Pulling away from your thighs just before reaching your still messy pussy, Sukuna tells you to be patient when you whine. Using his big clawed fingers to pet quick tight circles on your clit, just enough to give you a small release of hormones that has your eyes weighing down heavy again.
Sukuna puts you on some soft pillows to nap on in the far corner out of the way while gets to work.
He'd finish with you soon enough, you'd need to rest for the way he was about to get into your ass once he was done.
With a decisive roar Sukuna then proceeds to extend his claws, tearing apart the brand new room you both were given.
Pieces of bed, dressers, cushions and down feathers scatter everywhere.
Ironically Sukuna only spares your collection of toy animal stuffies, carefully setting them around your dozing form when he comes across one. He learned his lesson well after you pouted and kept pussy away from him for damn near a week, even sleeping with Gojo and Geto at night, after he got bored once disemboweled mister snow leopard before ripping off his head (it reminded him too much of Gojo).
When Sukuna finished with his craftsmanship, all of the baseless destruction wasn't for naught. The result is a sizeable roundish looking structure sitting smack in the middle of the now demolished giant room.
Pieces of chester board and bed frame create the makeshift support beams holding up a modge podge of everything soft and cushy Sukuna could stack and weave together for the walls and floor—all draped in sheets, to black out the light in the room.
The result was a comfortable but rather derelict looking bed fort.
And because he knows you hate the dark, Sukuna made sure to string up the lavender fairy lights inside that you like to keep on at night.
To Sukuna the structure resembled his old cave yet it was soft, clean and indoors for you, not a single bone or carcass used so you should have no complaints really—the perfect nest.
Given that your feral instincts had been all but pampered away from the day you were born, Sukuna doubted you could build a suitable one on your own so it was up to him to do it for you.
You'd need one too as he was set on knocking you up on your next heat cycle. The urge to breed you, to see you full and fat with his kits, has been greatly overwhelming the urges to kill more and more these days.
Hauling your sleepy form inside, Sukuna plans to fuck your prissy ass wide awake before using those same strokes to put your ass right back to sleep when he finally turns you lose.
Hot and horny, the soft lights of lavender blur your vision when you blink open your sleepy eyes. Confused about where you are, the steamy hut of fabric and wood is more pleasantly humid than the blankets with Gojo.
You look down and Sukuna is biting his lip to hold back making any embarrassing sounds, dipping his fat ridged cockhead into your hole. Your pussy woke up long before you did and is gapping eagerly to take him in.
"*yawns* Whaaa, nnnn, where are we?"
Sukuna's gaze snaps up to you. He tenses.
Fuck—he'd wanted to get his dick inside you first and fuck you senseless before you even woke up. You were never more easy going and agreeable than when Sukuna shoved his cock in you.
As confident as Caracal!Sukuna is about everything else, there's something that makes him nervous now. He'd write it off solely as fucking hormones and instincts making him more feel more responsible for you as his mate—that he must provide for you.
However, providing didn't mean he needed your fucking approval, for you to actually like the nest he built for you.
And yet he wants it anyway.
Sukuna's large muscles flex tightly as he hovers over you, arms on either side of your head. His thick cock resting heavy on your belly, weighing down it's rise and fall of your breath.
Sukuna watches your face as you look around. Hand tracing the wall behind you as your your eyes land on all your fancy cushions and expensive furnishings destroyed to make what you would probably call a monstrosity and cry about for days.
Gritting his teeth, Sukuna spirals.
It's not like you were a completely bonded pair yet.
You could still reject him.
Deem him too brutish, crass and unruly.
Send him back to his cold cave to be alone.
Only visiting him during your heats and abandoning him like his pack and everyone else after that.
He would resent the fuck out of you for it but it wouldn't be surprising nor break him, he'd just have to—
"K-Kunnnnaaa~~♡"
—your manicured claw gently pokes at his cheek.
Sukuna's ears twitch as your heavenly voice buzzes in brain warming his thoughts and snapping him out of his self-loathing from just your touch and the adoring way you coo out his name.
"Mmm, did... did you do all this for me? Make me a nest?"
Sukuna momentarily blinks at you.
You actually knew what a nest was!?
"Yeah."
Squeeing you make grabby hands at him, pawing at his broad shoulders and he wordlessly lowers himself enough for you to plant kisses all over his face and wrap your legs around his waist.
Sukuna is still a bit stunned.
Did he underestimate you?
Would you have made one yourself, if he didn't?
Fuck, well... at least you did seem to like his version.
Yet as soon as the nervous tension leaves Sukuna, it's just as quickly replaced with rage as you explain through your kisses how Gojo's movie cuddles were for practice on how to properly make and scent a nest.
So that sneaky white-haired bastard was trying to nest with you after all!?!?
Sukuna's simmering fury is just background noise to you now though.
Your primal inklings activated by his gesture. You have nothing but hearts in your eyes for the ratty den your mate so dutifully made for you out of your ransacked bedroom.
Lost in his own raging thoughts again, Sukuna lets you guide him all the way back until he bumps his back against the makeshift walls.
Straddling him, your leg bumps against something familiar and fuzzy—Mister Snow Leopard 2.0!
You don't think you've ever been so wet before now, different than a heat, your heart is just full from the sweet thought gift your big bad kitty-man gave you.
"Yay! You even put all my stuffies in here and they are all in one piece!"
Sukuna ignores you, no longer lost in his thoughts though, his attention is focused on the way your dainty hand wraps around his fat cock, not even being able to close all the way around it—yet still so ready to line it with your drooling hole.
Fuck! Nasty lil thing is even oozing slick out of you, just dripping carelessly on him.
You smile when you notice where his sights are zoned into and you decide to tease him a lil.
Lowering your hips just enough so his cockhead kisses your enterance.
"Awe, Kuna, do you love me~♡?"
Sukuna definitely meets your eyes at that.
It's so hot and humid in the nest, and he so hard just pulsing in your hand like he could blow, you know he probably doesn't even realize how wide his pupils just dilated as he furrows his brows.
Once he fixes his face, Sukuna is wholly unamused.
Taking a beat before he answers you flatly.
"I'm your mate."
You hide your smirk beneath a pretty pout.
"Oh?..."
Sukuna hisses as you press his cock into your clenching core, taking your painfully slow time in sinking your pussy down to swallow him whole.
Your thighs are trembling, he's much too big, the veins of his cock dragging much too roughly against your stretched out walls to try to do some slutty power play on him and you should've known that.
The reality of the situation being the lower your hips drop, stuffing your wet cunny full of him so obscenely, the lower your IQ drops right along with it.
No way you can manage to keep this up to fuck a confession out of him.
You have shift to plant a foot on the ground, leaning back slightly to ease him in from a less gravity enforcing angle just so you don't collapse. Not knowing by leaning back you just gave him an even more salacious view of your how your wide pussy spreads to gobble him up.
Almost there!
Keening, your leg gives out and you slam down on him. Cunt not ready for those last few inches, your walls squeeze and convulsing like crazy. A small orgasm ripping through you just from bullying him inside you.
"Argh—Fuuuck, woman!"
There's actual blood leaking from Sukuna's inner cheek he had to bite nearly a chuck out of his own mouth, his sharp fangs the only anchor keeping him from nutting. His claws are close to breaking skin on the fat of your hips and his head had tilted back.
Only when your dizzy giggles hiccup out of you between your moans does he realize how he's exposed himself.
Sukuna's knot had fully ballooned in you.
Sure he hadn't cum but his knots appearance so early was every indication of how close you were to actually making him just from sitting on his dick.
"Ah~~~ mmm, feelsss like ur knot sure doesss luv m-me lotsss tho, Kuna Daddyyyyy~♡!"
You slur happily, a hundred percent cock drunk and head lolling to the side. You would probably fall over if it wasn't for Sukuna's massive hands holding you up by your hips and his fat cock skewering in place.
"Shut the fuck up, slutty ass brat!"
Making sure you could no longer say anymore stupid shit Sukuna thrusts up violently. His long powerful tail wraps around your neck to yank you forward, mouth devouring your screams of pleasure.
Your head's swimming, mind lost and drowning in the tsunami gushing out of you from the way Sukuna is like a battering ram against your gooey cervix in this position, fucking up into you so fiercely.
True to his word, Sukuna fucks you back unconscious making sure to sufficiently scent the nest in the process too.
Sukuna spills enough loads inside you to rival your previous heat. Cumming inside of you on as many blankets, towels and pillows—even some of your ugly ass stuffies, until you've milked him dry.
With as much cum, spit and sweat as he's doused the nest in, you shouldn't ever be lonely enough to need a napping partner when he wasn't around now.
You could just crawl into the heap of pheromones that smelled just like your mate, be comforted and sleep.
Peacefully.
And above all else? Alone.
The rest of the night is uneventful—until the next morning Gojo burst into the room as you are late to breakfast and has a small conniption fit at the state of the room—actually passing out for real this time thinking an earthquake had it.
He expected you to be the one to make the nest after all his 'training', not Sukuna!
Not to mention all his hard work in making you the perfect 'newly mated' room had been ruined—Gojo could kiss goodbye to the feature spread in next month's Hybrid Luxe Magazine he so painstakingly planned for. :(
ᨐฅ: if y'all liked this, I already have an idea for a p3 and p4 hehe, p3 is pretty much written as I cut it off of this (its geto's turn with housecat!reader ♡)—lmk if ya want it! i know sukuna might be a bit ooc here but he's also a hybrid cat full of mating hormones so its making him into a bit of a softie. (p.s. bad bitches recognize georgette slayed and gojo definitely knows every word to that song lol)
OMFGFHFNFJBHS. AHHHHH YESSS!! Lmfao so tea! aweee thats so cute the wild cat napping with cute house cat reader….
wait i got an idea! im cooking~!
Caracal!Sukuna x Housecat!Reader ♡ ft. Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu
mdni.18+
𝐭𝐨𝐜 — p1 ⟡ p2 ⟡ p3
Caracal!Sukuna who is nothing but trouble for Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu —a hybrid rescue with an infamous rap sheet for mauling smaller species and instigating near-death scraps with larger predators. Sukuna is passed from nature reserve to nature reserve until he finally lands into Gojo and Geto’s care.
Caracal!Sukuna who is always alone, kept in his own special section of the Gojo family nature conservation in the back of their huge mansion. Only the small prey animals ment to be his food are allowed in his enclosure and they never last long. Even the other hybrids on the Gojo conservation give his enclosure a wide berth, knowing they would not come out unscathed or even alive should they dare enter.
That is until the day you, hybrid Housecat!Reader, wander in.
You are Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu's favorite hybrid pet. A cute and pampered little Persian who sleeps curled at the foot of their bed when you aren’t nudging them aside to tangle yourself between them. They’ve adorned you with a cute rose gold and pink sapphire studded collar tied on your neck and extravagant pink bow that secured the back.
Signaling to all that you’re spoiled, adored—and absolutely clueless when it comes to just about anything then being 'their cute lil kitty'.
Geto complains it’s Gojo who spoils you rotten, allowing you access to any and everything you’d could ever want before you even ask for it. But Gojo just can’t deny his pretty prized Persian, who’s won many blue 1st place ribbons in hybrid cat shows, a single thing. So when they leave one day to run errands and forget to close the backdoor that leads down to the reserve, your lack of established boundaries has it so you don’t think twice about if you’re actually allowed to go outside.
Never mind that you’ve never been outside on your own before.
Your biggest solo outdoor adventure thus far has been the Gojo manner’s impressively ordinate screened sunroom.
But you don’t consider any of that.
Especially since a pretty blue jay flutters right in front of you onto the porch railing. Flapping its wings like he's just begging you to play with him as it sings a sweet tune.
So off you go, no shoes and no care simply wearing the pretty pink frilly Chanel house slip that Gojo bought for you last week.
Being outside for once is exhilarating and your tail flicks with excitement as you continue to run after the elusive blue jay that flits just out of reach.
When it lands on sign atop a tall fence, you don't even bother reading it as your eyes never leave the bird. Reeling back, you gear to pounce and in one hop you use the sign as leverage and hop over the fence. Your cute paws hitting the grass of Sukuna’s domain—not even registering the faint hum of the hazardous electric barrier behind you.
Caracal!Sukuna whose senses quickly alert him to the intrusion. Initially he thinks he's being fed his dinner earlier than usual so he's very surprised to see another hybrid in his space.
Such a kept, pampered thing at that—it's clear you didn't have a clue where you were as you continue to give chase to the bluejay.
Sukuna follows you with curiosity. He’s not even trying to hide his presence either, you are in his territory after all, so the fact you don't notice him after a few minutes?
Your ignorance is simply astounding to him.
It’s not until a flash of movement knocks you on your rear and scattered feathers flutter around you do you realize your bluejay friend is gone—and now register the presence of the huge, scarred hybrid now crouched in front of you.
Sukuna swallows and you cringe as you can see a lump you can only guess is Mr. Bluejay traveling down Sukuna’s throat.
Caracal!Sukuna whose imposing presence causes you to shiver in fear as he's starring you down like you’re his next meal.
Another vision blurring flash and Sukuna is right in front of you now.
With a squeaky yelp you scratch him, swiping at his nose on pure instinct—more startled by his quick movements than anything.
You’ve never seen this huge cat before. He’s scary.
You didn’t mean to hurt him. You just want him to know you’re not happy at him eating your friend.
Still, it’s a big mistake but you can’t even manage to apologize as your voice is frozen in your throat.
Caracal!Sukuna who ears sweep back as he hisses teeth barred in a dangerous grin. Your cute manicured claws aren’t even enough to draw blood which confirms to him how utterly weak and useless you are as a feline.
Enjoying watching you squirm in terror under his gaze, Sukuna savors your fear he can smell it in the air.
“Run—I’ll give you to the count of 3 little kitty. If I catch you through—you die.”
You don’t need to be told twice and you’re off fast as your limbs can carry you.
Yet, you are an indoor cat and the chase you gave the bird had already depleted most of your energy. Huffing and puffing, everything from your breath to your clumsy run through the forest tells Sukuna exactly where you are.
It was futile from the beginning but Sukuna likes to play with his prey circling you in wide arcs. Tsk, you don’t even sense him.
Sukuna takes pleasure in the fact knowing he could kill you at any second, rip that soft fur right off. His claws are longer, sharper than yours and his muscles are well-honed—trained for a single bone-crushing leap.
Nevertheless, he still allows you to think there’s a chance for escape when truthfully—you’d been running deeper into his territory the entire time.
Caracal!Sukuna who watches you foolishly dart into a cave for shelter—his cave.
His home.
You realize this is Sukuna's lair far too late though when you see his makeshift bed pallet—a pile of bones only cushioned with various animal skins and furs. All in piecemeal as they had been his prey before as well.
Heart racing, you swallow hard as the inevitability of your fate settles over you. Your hormones surges as pure adrenaline triggers a strange molten feeling, leaving your skin hot, your breath shallow. A shiver of terror runs through you as Sukuna's shadow stretches across the lair, swallowing the light.
Blocking the entrance in two strides, Sukuna’s shoulders hunch, eyes fixed on you with something between fury and fascination—he’d killed other hybrids before but never before has he seen one pout in indignation as they were about to die, it's almost comical.
You were interesting. Appraising you once more from head to toe your soft body, even softer fur and pretty collar—you were clearly cared for. Something about knowing that and knowing he was sentenced to sleep in a cold dirty cave pisses him off more and his fierce hisses grow louder.
“Please, *sniff* mister big kitty I’m sworry, I scratched you—
Tears run down your flushed cheeks and as last resort you roll on your back in submission. Paws up and tail curled between your thick thighs, your slip falls back and exposing your plump bare ass to Sukuna.
Caracal!Sukuna who is unmoved by any appeals for mercy, still planning to lodge his claws into your pretty skin—until he senses it.
That smell of yours.
Hot, sweet—and utterly intoxicating that pricks at his senses. The blood in his veins boils red hot and every strand of fur stands up straight to attention.
Nostrils flaring from the assault, his gaze sharpens to the source—the thick slick that's started to wet your bottom and now the floor of his cave.
Fuck.
And in that very moment Sukuna decides your fate.
Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu who expect to see you at the door when they get home. You always greeted them, a sulky pout on your lips when they were gone too long claiming you were bored all day. You didn’t want to make friends with the domesticated other hybrids—you only wanted them.
Initially, Gojo thinks you are simply hiding. Waiting to pounce on him so he can love on you and give you all the gifts he bought you when him and Suguru were out shopping. But after 10 minutes Gojo you are nowhere to be found.
The other hybrids don’t know either which prompts Geto to pull up your collar’s Airtag to see your location.
The blue dot shows up bright and clear beeping that you are close by—within a mile...
In Sukuna’s enclosure.
Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu who go into Sukuna’s domain armed—tranq darts, stun batons—and Geto even has a pistol hidden in his belt.
Gojo is hopeful but Suguru is prepared for a bloodbath, knowing all too well the track record of Sukuna’s.
But the scene inside the den is unexpected as both men freeze.
You're alive to be sure—on your back, legs bent in a vicious mating press, Sukuna’s thick cock drowning in your slick as he pummels into your swollen cunt over and over.
If not for your coloring it be hard to tell where Sukuna ended and you began, you're both filthy—fur sticky with spit, cum, dirt and lord knows what else. Your expensive Chanel slip in tatters as your tail twitches helplessly under Sukuna's weight, damp and matted with fluids. Your nipples, engorged and leaking, are sore from the bounce back of relentless rutting. Drool glistens at the corner of your mouth, spilling over your bruised lips as your jaw slacks.
More animal than human at the moment, you’ve gone completely non-verbal. You mewl, purr and hiss from the various sensations Sukuna is ruthlessly delivering straight into your guts.
Gojo thinks sometimes they could be a bit rough with you, but him and Suguru’s teasing nips, firm hands and playful wrestling had nothing on the beastly manner Sukuna was fucking you in.
Gojo's eyes widen to see your belly is already distended, too full from the amount of seed Sukuna has already pumped into you. Yet it's still not nearly enough for Sukuna to be satisfied as he savagely fucks you, round after round atop his pile of bones and carcasses.
His heavy barbed length drags against every raw, creamy ridge inside you. Cock pulling primal sounds from your throat you didn’t even know you could make.
Fluffy pampered house cat be damned—Sukuna fucks you like a wild animal.
Exhausted, your head lulls to the side and you finally see them—Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu.
Both stand stunned. Gojo, mouth open in shock sporting a half chub as Geto simply shakes his head and mutters something about installing a moat around Sukuna's perimeter.
You don't know how to feel though, a mix of emotions bubble up.
Perhaps 6 rounds ago you would have called out for your owners, begged them to rescue you from this wild beast ripping through your insides. That you wanted to be praised and petted gently, while given the strong slow strokes you were used to...
Then it hits you—a high, delirious giggle bubbles up between your moans at the mere thought of it.
You realize that nothing your owners have ever done compares to being fucked like this—like prey pinned and claimed until there’s no scent left on you but the fierce feline above you—whose name you still don't even know.
Every thrust of Sukuna’s is another brand, another mine-mine-mine! carved into your body. His knot swells full at your entrance, locking you in place while his broad hips keep pumping.
You didn’t know mating could be like this—hell, you didn’t know you even know what the word fully meant until now—to have a mate. But every time Sukuna’s fat round tip slams until your womb the word is seared that much deeper into your brain.
Mate...Mate...Mate!
Caracal!Sukuna who doesn’t stop either when Gojo and Geto appear. Of course, he senses them way before you do—before they even entered the cave actually. He doesn't give a fuck though and won’t pay them any mind as he’s on a mission to drill a liter of his kittens into your pretty pussy that so brazeningly dared to enter his lair in a heat.
Sukuna knows they won’t try to pull him off either—both men know enough about feline hybrids to recognize the risk of stopping a knotted wildcat mid-rut.
They would end up hurting you more than him, and Sukuna knew they wouldn't dare.
Fuck, you’re tight though—cunt gripping him harder and Sukuna has to clench his teeth to prevent his own eyes from rolling back into his skull and moaning like a lil bitch.
Sukuna's life up until now was fucking shit but your soft moist heat is so graciously swallowing him til' the hilt each time, squeezing his knot so obscenely as you purr so sweetly beneath him—giving him a true taste of whatever heaven must be like. Having been fed suppressants to temper his aggression all his life Sukuna has many a heat cycle to make up for in the slick confines of your tight cunt.
Caracal!Sukuna who keeps you in his den for 3 days while the worst of your heat passes. You remain glued to his side, his tail always looped possessively around you—your waist, your bicep, your ankle, keeping you tethered to him at all times.
It’s not like you could leave even if you wanted to, the intense heat between your tender thighs threatening to devour your body whole unless Sukuna and his massive girth extinguished it. Ropes and ropes of his hot milky fluids the only thing in the world that could sate your greedy womb.
Surprisingly though Sukuna isn’t half bad at aftercare. Grooming you as best he can by licking away your sweat, tears and cum when he’s not fucking you into another limp mewling heap of bones and fur.
Exotic Pet Owners!Satosugu who cautiously return on the 4th day to find you naked, happily perched in Sukuna’s lap, licking his ears while he pretends not to thoroughly enjoy it. At their intrusion, Sukuna doesn’t move, doesn’t bare his teeth—just glares murderously at them over your head for having the nerve to interrupt him and his new mate.
You having some sort of attachment to Sukuna was expected, but Gojo and Geto didn’t anticipate you flat out refusing to return to the main house unless Sukuna can come with you—and like the utterly spoiled brat you are, you also refused to stay another night outside in a smelly dilapidated cave.
The feral haze of your heat had worn off and the realization that you had been romping around on carcasses and old bones disgusted you.
Sukuna smirks and holds onto you more posessively, not expecting his cute lil mate to defend him so intensely. You made promises you couldn't keep, saying Sukuna would be a “good kitty” as long as he could be with you.
That wasn’t completely a lie—Sukuna still felt aggression and the instinct to kill in his bones yet the intense gnawing had tapered off immensely since he’d been around you.
You rubbing your fluffy lil' head underneath his chin could temper the worst of his moods—making him relatively docile as long as you were near.
In a move that surprises everyone—it’s Geto to who agrees first.
On the condition that Sukuna behaves.
No biting, no scratching, no tearing up the house or harming any of the other animals or hybrids on the property.
“How could you Sugu!?”
Gojo feels betrayed. He wanted to play hardball, not wanting Sukuna anywhere near his precious Persian kitty.
But Geto, the far more practical of the two sees this as the opportunity it is to finally semi-domesticate the wild cat that had caused them so many problems, and so much money, up until now.
Caracal!Sukuna who ends up moving in that very night—noteably uneventful, aside from the chaos of forcing the two of you into an actual water bath with soap.
The two of you reek.
All is calm until somewhere in the middle of the night, Gojo’s awoken by the shifting weight at the foot of his and Geto’s California king bed.
There’s two extra bodies now—you, curled across Sukuna’s chest, tail looped around his arm and Sukuna, one clawed hand kneading the fat of your hips in slow, possessive flexes.
You’re softly purring, grooming Sukuna with tiny micro licks under his jaw—the same licks you used to affectionately give Gojo when he’d brush you.
Sukuna’s ears twitch, but he doesn’t move, eyes fixed on Gojo with smug, unblinking triumph.
Gojo’s chest tightens. It’s not like there isn’t room—hell, you could fit five more bodies in this bed if you wanted to. But you’re curled up on Sukuna, purring so sweetly, lavishing all that soft, sweet attention on the mangey scarred stray that you should be giving him!
Caracal!Sukuna who, real talk, doesn’t even want to be in this fucking bed right now, he hates the stench of Gojo and Geto. Yet it's you, Housecat!Reader who insisted on sleeping at the foot of their bed on your first night back.
Sukuna sure as shit wasn’t about to let you sleep there alone either and have one of them touching you.
So when Gojo crawls over to pet your back, just to remind you he’s still here—Sukuna’s tail is quick to lash at him in sharp warning, a deep low hiss emanating from his slightly bared teeth.
“Yeah, sure…”
Gojo mutters under his breath, pouting.
“…just forget about the guy who bought you the fancy treats and collars, no big deal.”
Awake this entire time due to Gojo’s whining, Suguru cracks one eye open, sighs, and tugs Gojo back down to sleep.
“Turf wars can wait until after coffee tomorrow—and maybe after we get them their own room.”
You only purr louder as Sukuna squeezes on your ass grow more lustful, utterly oblivious to what just went down between him and Gojo.
Sukuna tips his chin to nose at your hair—mouth curling in an evil grin.
You’re not their pretty lil' spoiled Persian any longer.
You're his.
an: hybrid cat sukuna oml *eyes roll back into head* jdfbchsdbhfcs. this was fun to write. thats all for now but maybe ill revisit in the future!
SYNOPSIS: Damian Wayne has never been the kind of man to fall in love halfway. And when he loves, he does it with all the ferocity and devotion of someone who was trained to safeguard what he holds most dear
So when the girl he loves shines—he makes sure the world never dims her
PAIRINGS: Aged Up! Damian Wayne x Reader
TAGS: Alternate Universe, Romance, Fluff, Implied Dick x Kori, Implied Tim x Kon
🜼 :: i've seen too much alpha male content on tiktok i had to write this masterpiece to calm myself
🜼 :: i get that this might be ooc for damian—like i said, i'm not very familiar with the canon material yet—but i don't care because this is my fic and i can do what i want with it
🜼 :: i wanted to post this before part three of my tim fic just 'cause that one isn't quite done yet. i'm not yet satisfied with the way i've written it so this is a little something to have while you guys wait for that one.
There’s something in her—
Something radiant.
It’s not loud or dramatic.
Not desperate or flashy.
It’s just… bright.
The way she walks into a room and transforms it, like someone opened the windows and let the sunlight in—suddenly everything feels warmer, clearer, alive.
Damian fell in love with that brightness.
And the moment he did?
He made it his job to protect it.
One Year Ago
He showed up on her window balcony with a dislocated shoulder and a look that said: don’t ask.
So she didn’t.
She just opened the window, said, “You’re bleeding on my basil,” and went to get the first aid kit.
They weren’t dating then. Not really.
He was Damian Wayne. She was the girl who sat beside him in class—lip gloss always perfect, boots too pretty for Gotham grime, with a knack for saying something ridiculous and making it sound profound.
They met in a Philosophy 101 elective.
He thought she was an idiot for quoting Barbie.
She thought he was repressing sixteen years of rage and probably slept with his fists clenched.
Both were right.
But they also partnered on a debate project, complained about their annoying classmates, and kept running into each other at increasingly inconvenient moments.
He’d show up to class with split knuckles and a stitched lip, and she wouldn’t ask. She’d just pass him an ice cold water bottle, slide her hoodie over for him to use as a makeshift ice pack, and keep talking like nothing was unusual.
One time he came in with blood drying beneath his collar. She only raised an eyebrow, moved her takeout box closer to him, and said, “The garlic bread is still warm.”
When he disappeared for five days and returned, knocking on her door—limping, face paler than usual and shoulder stiff—she didn’t ask where he’d been. She just opened her door, pointed him to the couch, made soup, and put on a movie he once mentioned he enjoyed.
He stopped showing up anywhere else after long nights. Only her window.
They weren’t supposed to fall in love. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love
There were too many unsaid things between them—too much shadow in his world, too much light in hers. He carried weight in his shoulders like he was always bracing for war. She wore joy like armor, all sunshine and clever comebacks, like she could survive anything as long as she stayed golden.
But he kept coming back. For her. For the way she patched him up in glittery pajamas and brewed him coffee the way he liked it. For how she met every argument he made—disarming his logic with a well-placed “actually”—and still managed to be gentle about it, like she was offering correction with a ribbon tied around it.
For the way she made being brilliant look fun—and made him feel things he wasn’t supposed to. Things he didn’t have the time or luxury for.
It drove him insane.
He called her infuriating. She called him dramatic.
He kept coming back. And she let him.
Eventually, he told her. About Robin. About the League. About the fact that he wasn’t just bruised from bar fights, but from chasing actual death through rooftops and gutters.
She blinked. Took a breath. Then asked, “So that’s why you’re so bad at texting back?”
He stared.
She handed him his coffee. “Cool. That explains a lot.”
Now
Damian Wayne doesn’t do anything halfway.
Not in battle. Not in love.
So when it came to her—there was never going to be anything halfway about it.
He calculated the risk, weighed the consequences, and still handed her the keys.
He didn’t accidentally fall in love.
He didn’t casually let her into the Bat-side of his life.
And he’s sure as hell not going to keep living under the same roof as his gossiping, nosy, emotionally invasive brothers when he could be waking up next to her in a place of their own.
So yes.
The only logical next step?
Move out. Take her with him.
“Damian. Baby. Love of my life. Please do not fold my dress like it’s a tactical vest.”
She didn’t even look up from her side of the room, where she was carefully organizing makeup into a padded case like it was crown jewels. Damian, meanwhile, was frowning over her favorite silk dress, currently flattened into a rectangle.
“It wrinkles when you pack it like that,” she said, tone calm but pointed—clearly watching him out of the corner of her eye.
“It’s more space-efficient,” he said flatly, still folding.
“It’s Dior.”
“That doesn’t make it less wrinkle-prone.”
She sighed, standing up and crossing the room to peel the dress from his hands. “This is why you’re not allowed near my closet unsupervised.”
“I rescued a civilian diplomat in less time than it’s taking you to pack makeup,” he muttered, watching as she delicately re-folded the fabric with a practiced roll.
“And yet here you are,” she said softly, “ still showing up for me anyway.”
He flies her to the new place—not because it’s far, but because he likes the way her eyes light up when he does things like that. Private jet. Window seat. Her favorite drink already waiting.
The residence is technically still in Gotham.
Discreet. Reinforced. High above the noise.
A penthouse—three levels of clean lines and curated light.
The kitchen looks like it was designed for a cooking show.
There’s library already holds all her annotated books, shelved just the way she likes them.
Their bedroom has blackout curtains, soft sheets, and her favorite throw blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed.
She’s silent for a long moment. Then:
“You decorated.”
“Tt. I’m not a savage.”
The adjustment, the rhythm, the quiet luxury of building something together.
It doesn’t happen all at once. But the space eventually starts to feel like them—like a home.
Damian, ever precise, takes to domesticity the way he does combat: intensely, instinctively, and with startling dedication.
He remembers—too clearly—those nights she wordlessly cleaned the blood from his knuckles, nudged a warm bowl of fresh soup toward him, handed him a fresh shirt and didn’t ask questions.
Back then, he hadn’t known how to say thank you. So now, he shows it in the only way he knows how: by making her life gentler wherever he can. By handling the sharp corners before she gets near them. By protecting her from the quiet exhaustion she never complains about.
It starts small.
She’s humming—soft, distracted—while folding towels on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
Damian walks in.
Pauses. Frowns slightly.
“Beloved.”
“Hmm?”
“You shouldn’t be doing that.”
“It’s laundry. I’m not battling Deathstroke.”
“Still.”
Two days later, every piece of clothing she owned—including ones she didn’t remember buying—was folded, hung, and steam-pressed in perfectly color-coded rows.
No explanation.
Just a silent housekeeper named Marta, who appears twice a week like clockwork.
“Why?” she asks later, a little amused.
“Because you were humming,” he says simply. “And your voice is better when you’re not tired.”
She doesn’t cook. Unless you count heating water for tea.
Every morning, she wakes up to a pre-set breakfast bar tailored to her weekly cravings.
Avocados? Already sliced.
Eggs, soft-boiled for exactly six minutes? Naturally.
Chocolate-dipped strawberries on Tuesdays? Of course.
She once jokingly asked for pancakes shaped like bats.
The plate was waiting the next morning—complete with tiny edible batarangs.
“You know I can cook, right?” she once mumbled, more puzzled than insistent.
Damian, without looking up from his tablet, “You could also write a thesis in glitter gel pen. Doesn’t mean you should.”
She doesn’t grocery shop. She’s never had to.
The fridge is always stocked. The pantry never dips below half. The fruit is always fresh, the snacks never stale, and somehow, everything she loves appears just before she realizes she’s craving it.
The exact brand of instant ramen she lives on during final?
Local lemonade she swears tastes better than store-bought?
Her favorite brand of oat milk that always sells out?
It’s just there. Always. As if the universe anticipated it
—or Damian Wayne.
He’d hired a private grocer before they even moved in. Arranged deliveries on a rotating schedule. Commissioned a smart inventory system that flagged replacements before she noticed anything missing.
There’s no grocery list taped to the fridge, no scribbled reminders on the counter, no panicked “we’re out of milk” moment. It just… never happens.
“Did you go to the store?” she asked once, squinting at the restocked shelf of her favorite jam.
“No,” Damian said. “The store comes to us.”
She doesn’t clean.
Not because she’s lazy.
Because Damian has built a life where she simply doesn’t have to.
The housekeeper arrives exactly when they’re out.
The vacuum runs on a silent schedule while they sleep.
There’s a scent diffuser system that releases calming scents like warm vanilla and fresh linen.
The kinds of scents that say: You’re home.
She tried to vacuum once.
He unplugged the cord without a word, handed her a cup of tea, and delegated the task to Marta.
“This feels excessive,” she said once, laughing.
“No,” Damian answered. “It’s called priorities.”
“Priorities?”
“Yes. You have better things to do than chase dust bunnies.”
She huffed a laugh. “Like what?”
“Being brilliant. Annoying me. Tending to your garden of plants you call your children.”
“Your attention is a resource I refuse to waste on dust.” he said simply.
The only time she ever picked up a broom was to threaten Jason with it.
She asked him once.
“Is this a power thing?” she’d asked, curled in his lap on their couch.
“Are you trying to take care of me because you think I can’t?”
He had looked at her then, calm and deadly sincere.
“No. I’m taking care of you because you shouldn’t have to waste your time doing menial things. Because your time is valuable. Because your mind is extraordinary. Because I can.”
She didn’t answer right away. Just rested her head against his shoulder, eyes soft.
“You know I’d do the same for you, right?”
“I know,” he murmured, brushing his fingers through her hair. “That’s why I won’t let you beat me to it.”
“You protect the city,” she tells him once. “And I don’t even do the dishes.”
He looks at her like she’s lost her mind.
“You protect me.”
He said it like a fact.
And she didn’t laugh. Didn’t roll her eyes or argue like she usually might.
It was ridiculous. Over the top. The kind of thing people say in movies, in poems, in love songs whispered between verses.
But the thing about Damian Wayne was—
To him, her happiness wasn’t a luxury. It was a metric. A criteria for what was worth her time, her effort, her energy.
If it drained her, it was cut. If it bored her, it was handled. If it made her pause too long before smiling, it was gone by morning.
“But Damian—”
“If it doesn’t make you happy,” he said, quietly, forehead pressed to hers, “it doesn’t belong in your day.”
One of the things she does do—without fail—is wait up.
Damian came back with blood on his sleeve and exhaustion in his bones. The patrol had gone longer than expected, and the gash across his arm told her more than any debrief ever could.
She met him at the balcony window, arms crossed, your expression sharp with worry poorly disguised as irritation.
“We are having words,” she said firmly.
“I neutralized a threat—” he started, voice hoarse.
“No,” she interrupted, stepping forward and grabbing his uninjured wrist. “We are having nourishment, then words. In that order.”
He grunted something unintelligible, but didn’t pull away. Let her guide him out of his boots. Let her steer him to the kitchen. Let her fuss over him even as he rolled his eyes and muttered that he was fine.
Damian Wayne might be a soldier, might be lethal, might have faced down warlords and monsters—
But in her hands, he was just a man who needed soup, stitches, and someone to tell him not to bleed on the countertop.
And she always did. Every time.
“You disobeyed a direct girlfriend command,” she said, dabbing antiseptic on his scrapes and bruises. “I should revoke your forehead kisses.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” he grunted.
She simply leaned in, kissed his brow—gentle, lingering, a silent promise—and whispered, “Next time you come home bleeding, I will.”
It makes her happy, he knows.
To help.
To protect him the way he protects her.
To be part of this secret thing that is his, and now, theirs.
And because he has her…
He trains harder. Fights harder. Smarter. Cleaner.
He fights with her voice echoing in his ear, and with the knowledge that if he slips—if he falters—it will scare her.
“You did good tonight,” she says after every patrol. “Come home safe. That’s all I want.”
So he does.
Because she keeps him steady.
Keeps him from going too far, from losing himself in the mission.
From the silence that used to follow him home.
It was the first time she’d ever hosted anything in their penthouse.
She’d sent the invite on impulse, halfway through raiding the pantry for snacks. Damian hadn’t said anything when he saw the group chat name pop up. He only raised a brow and muttered something about “surviving one evening of meddling.”
The Gotham Partners Support Group™
hangout? snacks, drinks, and possibly unsolicited love advice
KORI: absolutely, i will bring flowers!!
KON: on my way as long as no one makes me play charades
DICK: lies, you love it
She laughed out loud reading it, already half-buzzing with excitement.
Kori’s heels click against the polished marble, echoing softly through the open space.
Kon lets out a low whistle when he sees the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Dick stops in front of the kitchen island, eyebrows raised. “Is that real marble?”
Tim pretends not to be impressed, but his fingers haven’t stopped tracing the edge of the built-in espresso bar for five solid minutes.
There’s music—soft. Lighting—warm, romantic. Scents—floral and calming.
And in the middle of it all is her, radiant in pink silk shorts and a cardigan she didn’t button up all the way, offering fresh lemonade in glasses that chill themselves.
Kon accepts his with both hands, eyes wide as he takes in the curated calm of the space.
“This is what you live like?” he asks her, somewhere between awe and disbelief.
Tim doesn’t look up from where he’s adding a lemon slice to his own glass. “This is what Damian insisted she live like.”
Kon whistles low. “Damn. I get it now.”
Kon finds the in-house massage chair. Within seconds, he’s flat on his back, eyes closed, muttering something about never leaving.
Dick discovers the balcony garden—rows of herbs, sun-warmed terracotta, and a vine-draped bench with a throw pillow. He whistles low, brushing his fingers over the rosemary. “Didn’t know Damian had a green thumb.”
“He doesn’t,” she calls from the kitchen. “I do. He just bought the balcony.”
Kori, meanwhile, opens the walk-in pantry—and promptly gasps. “You have an entire section just for different kinds of honey??”
“I like options.”, she beams.
Jason hasn’t even shown up yet, and already the place is buzzing.
Kon’s half-asleep in the massage chair, murmuring threats to anyone who tries to make him move. Dick is crouched in the garden corner, dramatically sniffing potted herbs and assigning them names with far too much confidence. Kori’s opened three jars of honey for “taste-testing purposes” and is now trying to convince Damian to try the lavender one on toast.
Tim is loitering by the drinks counter, drink in one hand, the other typing furiously on his phone, pretending not to laugh at the chaos around him.
And through it all, she’s just laughing—at ease, perfectly unbothered—as Damian leans against the kitchen island behind her, watching it all unfold with a look that says: this is his personal hell and also he’s never been happier.
They gather around the low table in the lounge—pillows everywhere, soft throws tossed over laps, bowls of popcorn and fancy chips within reach, half-finished drinks sweating on coasters. Laughter echoes off the high ceilings, warm and unhurried.
Kori nudges her with a grin, eyes sparkling.
“So you really don’t cook?”
“Nope.”
“Or clean?”
“Not once.”
“And Damian doesn’t mind?”
Before she can answer, Damian—seated beside her, legs crossed, perfectly composed, fingers idly brushing her knee—scoffs.
“Mind? I’d be offended if she tried.”
Jason, fork in hand, lazily gestures toward her as he leans back into the cushions.
“So what do you even do in the penthouse all day if you’re not cooking, cleaning, shopping, or doing laundry?”
The question wasn’t malicious. Just curious. Playful, even.
Damian answers before she can—calm, certain, unapologetic.
“She studies, she writes, she drives me insane by reciting musicals.”
Tim snorted into his drink. “You’re spoiling her.”
“She deserves it,” Damian said simply.
Jason raised a brow. “What’s she ever gonna do if you’re not around to handle everything?”
“Thrive,” Damian repeated—cold, final. His gaze didn’t waver. “Because I’m building her a life where she can.”
Damian leans back, calm and unaffected. “I don’t understand why her not doing chores surprises you. My mother never lifted a hand to sweep a floor in her life. And no one dared question her capability.”
Dick raised a brow. “Your mother also runs an empire of assassins.”
Damian doesn’t miss a beat. “Exactly. And she never wasted time on tasks that diluted her strength.”
Because Damian Wayne may live under Bruce’s roof, fight under the Bat’s symbol, and protect Gotham’s streets—
But the foundation of his worldview?
That was all Talia al Ghul.
“I grew up watching people serve my mother. Not because she demanded it, but because her time was valuable. You don’t train the world’s most dangerous woman to hand-wash her robes. You let her focus on what makes her extraordinary.”
His gaze flicked to her, sitting beside him—pink silk and soft joy wrapped in confidence.
“So I made sure my beloved—who is, in her own right, extraordinary—lives the same way.”
Kori nodded slowly. Kon glanced her way, thoughtful.
Damian spoke without hesitation. “Why would I ask the person I love to waste time on things I can pay others to handle—when she could spend that time with me, pursuing her passions, or simply existing in peace?”
Dick leaned back, arms crossed, mulling it over. “So it’s not spoiling her.”
“It’s honoring her,” Damian corrected, voice calm but absolute.
Jason scoffed, grinning. “And here I thought you were just whipped.”
Damian raised a brow. “Oh, I am. Fully. Willingly.” A pause. “You should try it.”
Everyone stared at him for a moment. Then:
Kon let out a low whistle. “Honestly? I get it. She glows in this place. Like she owns the world.”
“She does,” Damian replied, calm and certain. “Mine.”
– or, the language of devotion from a boy who was raised to conquer, not to love
It starts with the ring.
An emerald, cut sharp like a blade, set into gold with ancient Arabic filigree etched so fine it’s barely visible unless the light catches it. She finds it on her nightstand one morning—wrapped in black silk, warm as if it had been held in a palm all night.
The note is in his handwriting. Neat. Small. Precise.
“For your hand, which should always be protected.
She wears it. Of course she wears it.
She doesn’t expect the next gift—two weeks later, an anklet. golden, thin and elegant, a tiny د (the Arabic letter dāl) dangling from the chain. Damian doesn’t say anything when she finds it.
He just kneels down during a quiet hour in the Manor and clasps it around her ankle himself. His hands are steady. His touch reverent.
“I want them to know,” he says simply, eyes flicking up to hers. “Wherever you walk, you’re mine.”
She forgets how to breathe.
“Okay, but like,” Steph says later, eyes wide, “that’s not just romantic. That’s spiritual warfare.”
Jason whistles low. “Man’s out here forging rings like it’s Lord of the Rings, but hot.”
Dick smirks. “I told you. He’s an intense little poet when it comes to her.”
There are other gifts. A hair comb, made of dark wood and inlaid with jade. A carved pendant with lines from a pre-Islamic Arabic love poem, words so old they taste like desert wind and firelight.
He gives her a dagger once.
Not large. Not flashy.
But beautiful.
Etched down the spine, in Arabic script so fine it’s almost hidden, it reads:
“Whoever touches what is mine will bleed.”
She isn’t scared. Not of him.
She understands what it means—what he’s never been able to say without wrapping it in old language and older steel:
That he was raised by people who saw love as weakness.
That he is fighting to unlearn that.
That when he gives, it isn’t casual. It’s sacred.
They sit alone on the rooftop again.
Gotham sprawls below. The stars are faint. She’s wearing the anklet. The ring. A new necklace now—another gift, this one with a pressed green stone the color of his eyes, suspended above her collarbone like a vow.
“You’re mine,” he says softly, fingers brushing the pendant.
“Mm,” she murmurs. “Yours, huh?”
“I don’t mean that lightly,” he says. “I mean it the way temples mean prayer. The way altars mean blood.”
She smiles. “I know.”
“I would kill for you.”
“You have,” she says.
“I would die for you.”
Her hand finds his. “You don’t have to.”
Damian looks at her for a long moment. The kind of look that feels like burning incense and ancient gods and poetry that doesn’t rhyme.
Then he says, voice barely above a whisper:
“You are not mine like a thing to be owned.
You are mine like breath is to lungs. Like fire is to a blade.”
She closes her eyes, heart thudding. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m yours too,” he says.
Tim finds the dagger a week later.
Jason reads the inscription and whistles. “This boy’s out here writing Arabic death vows.”
“Poetic menace,” Steph mutters. “I love that for her.”
Dick just grins, arms folded. “Told you. He doesn’t love. He consecrates.”
And maybe that’s what it is.
Not love like hearts and flowers and Hallmark cards.
But love like carved emeralds and sacred steel.
Love like an altar.
Like devotion.
Like the whole world could burn—and he’d still reach through the smoke to clasp her wrist and whisper:
“rūḥī…”
i don't really what how i feel about this one
.Taglist🏷️: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001 (if you want to be added,comment down below!)
𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count— 14.9K, original!blackfemreader, neighbor!onyankopon, firefighter!onyankopon, southerncoded!onyankopon, shy!femreader, aggressive!onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, tipsy!sex, high!sex!, pet names, dirty talk, aggressive pet names, squirting, creaming, condomless sex, pussy eating, dick sucking, minors are not welcome! 𓊇ྀི
メモ。— listen, i wasn’t supposed to even be writing a new fic, so idk how we got here? LMAO. but that doesn’t matter, we got it! + i actually really like this one. it’s cute, hot, funny, sexy. i had fun writing it. i hope y’all enjoy it too, teehee. love y’all, glad to be back.
ビジュアル。 ビジュアル。
DOMINANT NOTES OF BLACK CHERRY SLIDE ACROSS YOUR TONGUE, STELLA ROSE ALWAYS BEING A FAVORITE WITHIN YOUR WINERY COLLECTION.
It was your favorite day of the week—Friday to be exact, the weekend right around the corner as you looked forward to girl’s night. Always hosted at your apartment, taking place on the porch if it wasn’t too hot. But it wasn’t—the weather was perfect tonight.
“I’m tellin’ you girl, Stella Rose: Red, is good too!”
“I’m not really into plum notes. What about the Moscato version?”
The porch was adorned with an abundance of foliage—large spider plants, devil’s ivy, pothos—the leaves all different shades of green. There were also white lights hanging across the bars, the soft glow basking your group in a warm, yellow glow.
As each of your friends guzzle down the sweet liquid, the sound of their laughter floats through the air. Your wine glasses clink together as the bottles rest on the table. Charcuterie is set out—dried fruits, crackers, cheese—everything was set up for a good night.
Pen scurrying across your journal, your glasses tip at your nose as you flick your round eyes briefly towards your closed textbook. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about homework, but you couldn’t help but ponder over the last question you’d gotten wrong on your previous assignment.
“Lawd—There she go’ with her nose in that textbook.”
Your lashes peer upward.
“Sorry. Did you try the Peach one?”
Three girls are sitting on the porch with you. They’re all different from one another—with two wearing oversized sweaters and a pair of leggings, while your one friend, Ruya, wears a form fitting dress, black strappy sandals on her feet.
Ruya, who is a nurse, sighs at you.
“It’s girl’s night, girl. Not study night.”
“I know, I know,” you mutter back, “It’s just—why can’t you help me study again? Didn’t you have Anatomy in nursing school?”
The other two girls shake their heads—Lola, who’s an attorney and Kimora, who runs a local restaurant, both of their gazes flicker between you and Ruya.
”That was freshman year,” Ruya reminds, “Besides—I barely passed with a B.”
“B?” Lola quirked an eyebrow at her friend, “You got a C. You called us sayin’ you were gonna beat up your professor, remember? The nigga nearly flunked you out of school.”
“So nobody wants to help is what I’m hearing,” you murmur, dropping your pen.
“We can tell you whether or not blue cheese is a good palette cleanser with your favorite wine,” Kimora hums, “We should be having girl talk right now!”
You sigh, realizing she was right.
Closing your textbook with an exhale, your french tips reach for your wine glass—you take a gentle sip as you tilt your head, “So, how ‘bout you tell us how you and the hubby are doing? You’ve been so hard to reach since he moved y’all up in that big house in the Garden District.”
Kimora chuckles, arms crossing over her chest. Her gold bangles clink when she moves, fingers grasping her glass with slender fingers decorated with rings.
“It’s been great. Just as great as we thought it’d be, you know?” Her lashes flutter, a soft smile pulling at her plump lips, “He’s so busy with work sometimes, the lack of sex can make me a bit fussy—but he makes up for it with every Birkin bag.”
“God, don’t even bring up the word sex. Me and my fiancè haven’t slept together in like—three days!” Lola groans, “I think I’m losing hearing in my left ear.”
Everyone laughs at Lola’s expense, her pout growing.
“I’m being serious!” She declares.
“At least you don’t have a doctor like Kimora,” Ruya shakes her head, “I don’t think I could handle the schedule. Me and my man have agreed that he cut down hours at the car shop, so he can spend time with me and the baby, y’know? She’s only three months old, but I don’t want her to feel unattached from her father. What if babies can feel abandoned?”
“Like dogs?” Kimora questions.
“Babies aren’t dogs, Kim. Geez. I’m just saying.”
You chuckle, “Dogs, really?” you question Kimora, who shrugs.
”I read somewhere that dogs are actually very intelligent.”
“I agree,” you hum, fingers toying with the stem of your wine glass, “God—I want a dog so bad, but my schedule’s too tight.”
“Oh hell. Please don’t get a dog,” Ruya interjects, “You barely have enough time for yourself as it is. I’m honestly shocked you can make space for girl’s night every Friday—speaking of sex, when do you even have time to rub on your own clit?”
“Jesus, Ruya!”
You shake your head, “I’m fine, okay? I’m just—having a little self journey involving preservation. I haven’t looked at my own vagina unless I’m showering or getting it waxed.”
“Here we go,” Lola shakes her head.
Ruya rolls her eyes, but laughs, “No, but seriously—You don’t even have time to cook, yet you think you’ll have time to take care of a pet?”
You pout.
“I’d name it Oreo.”
“Oreo would lick his own balls for self preservation, so what’s wrong with a little DJ’ing downstairs?”
Her words make everyone scoff—Lola and Kimora burst out laughing.
“Please never refer to masturbation as DJ’ing again!” Lola begs, head shaking.
Ruya holds up her hands, “All I’m saying is you need a little fun in your life instead of studying all the time—A.K.A? You need some dick, girl.”
“God,” Kimora sighs, “You’re filthy, Ruya.”
You groan, shaking your head—this has been a discussion between you and your friends for forever.
“Sorry that I’m not tryna’ flash my pussy to all of the Westbank. Maybe my education is more important, Mrs. Wife and Kid.”
Ruya glares at you, pointing a finger in your direction, “Don’t bring my baby into this, girl.”
Her warning makes you roll your eyes.
“Sorry, sorry—my bad. I’m just saying. It’s not that simple for me, okay? You know how difficult my parents are? The last thing I need is a man.”
“Not all men are going to try and control you, girl,” Lola counters, “Not everyone is like your helicopter parents.”
“That’s what this is about?” Ruya questions, “That’s why you wouldn’t go out with my fiancè’s friend?”
Your eyes flicker to Ruya, your back straight as your fingers fidget with your necklace.
”I didn’t even see what he looked like, Ruya,” you retorted, “There’s no way in hell I’m going out with some random dude I don’t even know—look, I appreciate the gesture, okay? I appreciate everyone’s take on my sad, single life. I’m content, alright? Can we stop? Please?”
The girls all share looks, each of them wearing a sympathetic frown.
They mean well—truly, they do—they care. They’re just worried about you. Especially since you’re almost thirty, and you’re more focused on work than a love life.
“I’m sorry, boo.”
Ruya’s the first to apologize, “We’re not here to tear you down about being single. It’s just—we have this love and family for ourselves, we wanna see you have that, with an amazing career— you know? You’re sexy and big brained, any man would be lucky to have you.”
“You just deserve a good time,” Kimora adds.
“We’re not tryna be mean. We just love you, okay?”
You sigh, feeling the guilt weigh you down—you love these women like sisters, they only wanted what was best for you.
“I know you’re not trying to be mean,” you nod, “‘Sorry for getting defensive.”
Everyone smiles reassuringly at you in unison, “It’s okay, girl.”
Kimora then exhales—she takes an unopened bottle of Stella Rose: Blueberry, “Let’s pop open this bad boy, huh? I’m not feelin’ wine drunk yet!”
“Hell yeah!”
“This’ll be my last glass,” Lola comments, reaching for the unopened bottle, plucking the top off with a corkscrew, “I gotta work in the morning.”
“God—you’re such an adult,” Ruya deadpans.
“Shut up.”
You smile, as they always made you do.
The warm glow of the string lights dances across flushed cheeks as the girls giggle, now pleasantly tipsy—glasses half empty, voices a little louder, limbs loose with laughter. Kimora sways slightly in her seat as she dramatically recounts her latest restaurant drama, while Lola rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smirk. Ruya leans back in her chair, fanning herself with one hand and swirling her wine with the other.
Then, a bark interrupts the silent night.
A deep canine sound cuts through their chatter like a gunshot. All four heads swivel toward the street below your terrace, railing like synchronized puppets.
And there it is—a man.
Broad shoulders stretch against his black tee, tattoos snaking up his thick arms, all the way to his neck where a small cross rests just under his left eye like some kind of divine warning label. His Cane Corso trots beside him on a heavily chained leash—a beast just as intimidating as its owner—tongue lolling between sharp teeth as it pants eagerly at something unseen down the block.
Kimora’s wine glass freezes halfway to her lips.
“Oh?”
Lola blinks like she’s trying to reboot reality itself, and Ruya? Her mouth drops. Her jaw literally unhinges so hard you hear it creak, she whisper’s, “Who the hell is that?”
His skin glows under the streetlamp, deep brown and smooth like aged whiskey, stretched taut over thick muscle that flexes as he adjusts his grip on the leash. The cross tattooed just beneath his left eye winks when he turns his head slightly—dark eyes scanning lazily ahead while those full lips press into a hard line. The rest of him is a canvas—black ink crawling up corded forearms, disappearing under rolled-up sleeves, only to resurface along the column of his neck where veins sit prominent against artful chaos.
And then there’s his hair—tight cornrows braided straight back from a sharp widow’s peak, each plait gleaming like polished onyx before disappearing at his crown; neat enough for church, but dangerous enough to make you wonder what those hands could do if they weren’t occupied with pounds of pure canine muscle beside him.
Intimidating? Undoubtedly.
Your throat goes dry.
Ruya peeks over the balcony, “Damn. That’s the type of nigga your husband would get mad at you for just lookin’ at.”
“That’s the type of nigga you have an affair with,” Kimora blinks, leaning towards her friend as she also watches him.
“Y’all shut up,” Lola whispers, “Girl—do you know him?”
"Girl….that’s the neighbor I told y'all about," you murmur, voice lower like he might somehow hear, “He moved in a month ago. I see him walking that monster of a dog sometimes when I'm leaving for work."
Ruya's eyebrows shoot up so fast they nearly disappear into her hairline.
"Wait—this is the new neighbor that’s kinda cute?!” Her whisper is practically a screech at this point, hands flying to grip the balcony rail like she might vault over it if given enough incentive, “Oh my god. You lied!”
Kimora chokes on her wine mid sip, coughing into her hand before wheezing out—“Hollon’—You never said he looked like that!”
“I didn’t think it mattered!” you hiss back defensively, still keeping your voice low.
Lola just shakes her head slowly, disappointed but not surprised by this critical omission of detail. The four of you crouch like naughty children as you and your friends peer over the edge of the balcony—staring.
He mumbles something low to the dog, voice seemingly deep even from afar. But that’s when it happens—he pauses when the animal suddenly sits and lets out a low warning bark, ears pulled back as its eyes narrow—its gaze fixed on the unit you lived in.
The man follows the dog's gaze. And then? They lock right with yours.
Ruya, Kimora, and Lola immediately drop to their hands and knees, flattening against the ground as they hide like their lives depend on it. Your eyes go wide as you look down at them, “Don’t be weird—get up!”
“No, now you have to go say something! He caught us!”
“Me?!” you whisper yell, “I wasn’t the one stalking!”
Ruya grabs your ankle and yanks—suddenly you're on your knees beside them, wine glass clutched like a lifeline as all four of you huddle like spies behind the railing.
Kimora peeks through the gaps, her whisper frantic—“Oh my fuckin’ hell, he’s still looking.”
And oh god, he is. One thick eyebrow arches slowly over those hooded eyes, the dog letting out another chuff, tail thumping against pavement while its owner’s lips twitch.
Ruya pinches your thigh under the table, “Go!”
Lola shoves you inside the house, “You’re the one that lives here!”
“I don’t even have clothes on!—“
Sometimes? You hated your friends. Now, you were scurrying down to the ground level of your apartment, the squeak of your bunny slippers patting along the concrete—you can already feel your nerves getting the best of you as you get closer to that broad frame of his, the dog immediately turning to recognize your presence first.
“Excuse me?”
Those dark, hooded eyes drag from the sidewalk up your frame. And God, standing this close? You realize just how huge he is—towering over you with shoulders that block out the streetlights behind him, tattoos peeking from beneath his rolled sleeves as thick fingers flex around the dog’s leash.
The animal sniffs toward your bunny slippers first, wet nose bumping against fuzzy pink fabric, then letting out a low huff of approval.
But unlike the dog? His gaze doesn’t stop at your feet.
It lingers on your hips barely hidden beneath those sweatpants, traveling up past the curve of your waist where caramel skin disappears under a long sleeve white tee. The outline of full breasts were impossible to ignore as his eyes flicker there for half a second too long—freckled cheeks dusted in brown tones and lips painted deep pink by nature alone; glasses catching moonlight when you nervously adjust them atop flushed cheekbones, dotted with brown constellations across smooth skin.
His nostrils flare subtly at bergamot laced vanilla curling off heated flesh. Finally, he meets your almond-shaped eyes blinking back at him through round frames, onyx curls draping all around your face and body as you tilt your head.
Looking at him closer, your brain short circuits.
So you say—
“Does your dog bite?”
The corner of his mouth twitches, just barely.
That one little movement makes your stomach flip. The way that small shift in expression cuts through all that heavy stoicism makes you realize he’s got a dimple on one side.
A single, deadly dimple.
The dog huffs again, licking its jowls as it sits obediently at his side—still eyeing your slippers with vague interest.
His voice comes out deep; gravel scraping velvet, “Depends.”
One thick brow arches higher as he lets the word hang between you two, “You plannin’ on pissin’ him off?”
Your mouth parts a bit. Then, movement catches above you. Three heads pop up from behind porch rails only to dip back down immediately when noticed again—your friends are literally spectating this train wreck instead of helping steer this conversation away from disaster.
Traitors, all of them.
“No! I—um,” you try to think of words to say, but you could only think about the way this man could probably see your nipples through the fabric of your top. You then manage to get out, “I just—I thought your dog was pretty, ‘wanted to know what breed it was. I have a dog—I mean, no I dont—I want a dog.”
That dimple deepens—just for a split second—before his face smooths back into that unreadable mask. The dog, sensing your nerves, lets out a soft whine and nudges your hand with its massive head.
His eyes flicker to the porch where your friends are now failing spectacularly at pretending they’re not eavesdropping—Kimora’s shoe is visibly sticking out from behind the railing—Then back to you.
“Cane Corso,” he says finally, voice low like it’s some kind of secret just for you, “Italian mastiff.”
“Oh,” you nod, “Right. He’s um—he’s a cutie,” you smile a bit, “Can I pet him?”
“Gon’ head, been tryna’ teach him to be more polite around strangers.”
Your fingers smooth over the tip of his head, rubbing both palms against the side of the animal's face—you lean in, “People are scared of you, hm? But you’re a sweetie bean.”
Why was it easier talking to a dog than a man?
You realize this as you scratch under its chin—you clear your throat to ask, “What’s his name?”
"Bully."
That one word rumbles out of him like thunder cracking over the bayou—low, inevitable, and somehow amused beneath all that stoicism. Bully immediately flops onto its back at your feet—exposing a belly speckled with pink scars and thick muscle, it kicks its legs in the air like some overgrown puppy begging for rubs.
You blink down at the beast currently acting like a glorified teddy bear before slowly dragging your gaze back up to his owner’s face—his goatee wafts a fruity scent, seemingly oil, you assume.
“Why’d you name him Bully?”
“‘Nigga got an attitude most of the time.”
The seriousness in his voice somehow makes you a bit amused—it garners a real giggle from your lips, your fingers splaying over Bully’s stomach to pat rubs onto it—you then murmur, “Well, I’d hope your owners name isn’t as scary as yours, hm?”
His chest shakes with a silent chuckle. A deep, barely-there vibration that makes your fingertips tingle where they're buried in Bully's fur.
"Onyankopon.”
Your nose scrunches before you can stop it, “That’s long."
The corner of his mouth twitches again—dimple warning, “Call me Ony, then."
Bully chooses that exact moment to roll onto his side and nearly crush your bunny slippers under pure muscle, tail thumping against the pavement as if approving this entire interaction.
You catch his eyes as you stand, the invitation of his name somehow making you more nervous. You tug a curl of your hair, adjusting your glasses reflexively as your cheeks flush—you nod, “It’s nice to meet you. You um—live here?”
Girl.
“I mean—you live in this unit? Did you just move here? Oh god, I sound like a stalker—I just meant, do you like it?”
That dimple breaks free again, before his face smooths back into something unreadable.
“Moved in ‘bout a month ago,” he confirms. His thumb flicks toward the unit across from yours, “Quiet over there. 'Cept for Fridays.”
His eyes cut pointedly up to your balcony, three pairs of hands clearly gripping the railing as they eavesdrop. Kimora’s wine glass nearly tips over—ice clinking violently as she jerks back out of sight again with an audible “Shit!”
Onyankopon doesn’t even blink, “Y’all do this every week?”
You bury your face in your hands, caught in your entire plan. Your freckles practically go pink as you nod, “Yeah, we do.”
Bully whines sympathetically, licking your ankle through one bunny slipper.
Onyankopon hums like he’s filing that information away somewhere. Something about him scares you. He’s quiet, observant.
You sigh, “I’m sorry. My friends are the most annoying people on the planet, we weren’t trying to seem creepy. They…thought I should introduce myself,” you briefly explain, “I really thought your dog was cute though, I don’t have enough time to get one of my own.”
He studies you for a long moment. Those hooded eyes trace the nervous way your fingers twist together before landing back on your face.
“You work nights,” he says suddenly—not a question, an observation.
Your brows knit together, “How did you—”
“I be hearin’ yo’ lil’ ass sneakin’ through the gate ‘round three in the mornin’.”
That single sentence lands between you two with all the subtlety of a grenade, his voice casual while your mouth drops open slightly. It takes everything in you not to whip around and glare up at your friends who are definitely losing their minds listening to this right now.
“I, um—Yeah,” you admit, voice dropping an octave like you’re sharing classified intel, “I work at the funeral home on Chartres—‘Embalming right now, but finishing up my Mortician license soon.”
You brace for that familiar flicker of discomfort in people’s eyes when they hear about your job. Or worse—invasive questions about corpses like you’re some walking encyclopedia on decomposition.
But Onyankopon? He just nods.
He glances down to his dog before muttering, “Mortician, huh? That’s why I ain’t never smell no food cookin’ when I walk by?”
That gets another small smile from you.
You pull a curl behind your ear, “I’m not the best cook,” you admit, “Definitely not the first thing I tell on a date. But um—since you see me coming in from work, I’ve seen you leave for work a couple of times—either you’re a secret agent, or you’re the first person I’ve met to also be an Embalmer.”
His chest rumbles with a quiet laugh—just once, sharp and deep.
“Firefighter,” he corrects, jerking his chin toward the faded emblem on his left pec where NOLA FD sits half-hidden beneath taut fabric, “Station 7.”
Bully huffs like even he’s judging your terrible cooking confession, flopping onto his side again to expose more belly as if trying to derail this entire conversation back into petting him instead.
Onyankopon watches you chew your bottom lip. He then asks, “So what you be sayin’ on dates, then? ‘Sides the fact that you can’t cook.”
Another dumb giggle bubbles up—partly from the wine, partly from the way his eyes haven’t left your face since you walked up. You adjust your glasses again, a nervous habit.
“Well,” you sigh, “I don’t lead with how I spend my days elbow deep in formaldehyde.”
That gets another rumble of laughter out of him—richer this time, vibrating through his chest like distant thunder. Bully’s tail thumps approvingly against the pavement between you two.
“What? That ain’t romantic enough for ‘em?”
You muse, “I’ve literally had men ask if my hands smell like embalming fluid on a regular basis. You can say it scares people off.”
“Ain’t never met nobody who could scare off weak niggas just by tellin’ ‘em what they do for a living,” that dimple flickers again—brief but deadly, “Shit sounds efficient.”
It takes everything in you not to visibly swoon at the compliment. The combination of his voice doing that gravelly rumble thing and his unapologetic honesty? It's intoxicating in a way you can't explain. Of course, now that you’re over the shock of him not completely recoiling in horror over your profession, you really start to notice how ridiculously attractive he is.
Those tattoos on his arms, that sharp jaw and those perfect teeth behind his plush lips—
“I—I mean yeah! Yeah, it um—” a nervous laugh slips out as you straighten up too fast, nearly tripping over Bully’s sprawled legs, “Definitely filters out the losers.”
Somewhere above you comes Kimora’s muffled “Oh my god!”, followed by Ruya violently shushing her.
Onyankopon’s gaze flickers down to where your fingers play with your hair, lingering on the curve of your bottom lip for a second too long.
“Might wanna tell yo’ friends they ain’t slick.”
You glance back up, before looking back to him.
“I might need the fire department after I’m done with all three of them.”
He snorts—a quiet, barely there sound that makes you realize you've actually managed to catch him off guard. But then, he does that thing again where his expression goes back to carefully blank. It's somehow even more dangerous because of the intensity of his eyes—dark and focused as they watch you fidget like a cornered animal.
“Well, I’m gonna go. Yeah, I um—need to—do something.”
Onyankopon doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink, just lets you drown in your own flustered words while Bully whines pitifully at your feet, like even the dog knows this escape attempt is pathetic.
“Do somethin’,” he repeats slowly, voice dropping to that rough timbre again.
A beat passes. Two. Then—
“Aight.”
That single word shouldn’t feel like a challenge, but it does. Especially when paired with the way he steps back just enough to let you flee—knowing full well you’re gonna have to walk past all six-foot-whatever of him to get away while your friends silently cheer from the balcony above.
You give Bully one last scratch behind his ears—“Bye, Bully,” you coo, voice an octave higher than normal. Then, turning to Onyankopon with what you hope is a casual smile—but probably looks more like a grimace—“Nice meeting you.”
“Nice meetin’ you too.”
You pivot on your heel—immediately tripping over absolutely nothing, catching yourself before face-planting into the pavement. You don’t dare look back to see if Onyankopon’s dimple made another appearance at your expense.
You just scurry forward, locking your eyes back towards your terrace as your friends freak out, in which you yell from below, “Oh my god, that was horrible. Imma’ kill y’all!”
And that dimple? Did in fact reappear.
The next week of your life hadn’t changed by much. If anything, it was a little more interesting. Ever since you’d had that conversation with Onyankopon, you were finding yourself running into him, seeing him, stumbling over your words each time you talked to him. It wasn’t your friends to blame now, you were just—shy.
That first time you passed him was in the hallway on your way to work, his uniform stretched taut over those broad shoulders, NOLA FD emblem gleaming under the fluorescent lights as he adjusted his duffel bag. He’d paused when he saw you, dark eyes dragging from your freckled face down to the textbook clutched against your chest like armor. You’d offered a shy little wave—all fingers wiggling awkwardly before tucking a curl behind your ear.
And Onyankopon? Smirked. That dimple carved into his cheek for half a second before he nodded back and kept walking—leaving you standing there feeling like you’d just been branded by that look alone.
Then came the gym incident.
You hadn't meant to spy, but when you glanced out your kitchen window while washing dishes one evening, there he was across the courtyard; shirtless and glistening
as he worked through reps with weights that should've been illegal in size. Every muscle in his back flexed with movement—tattoos rippled over sweat slick skin, cornrows perfectly intact despite exertion.
You'd dropped an entire plate into soapy water loud enough for him to freeze, head tilting slightly toward where the sound came from—
Your curtains snapped shut so fast they nearly tore off their rod.
But worst of all? The patio debacle.
After another grueling embalming session where formaldehyde clung stubbornly beneath fingernails, you stepped onto the balcony hoping fresh air would clear that lingering chemical scent—you froze when you saw him.
There he was, framed within his own apartment window tugging a black tee over an ink-streaked torso, defined abs leading down to a deep v-line, hips disappearing into low-slung sweatpants hanging dangerously loose. And from the thin material? It’s big, girthy, long.
Was this man orchestrating your downfall?
It didn’t help that friends won't shut up about him either— Just give Big Daddy your number already!
Giving him your number might’ve solved all the issues of your short circuiting each time you saw him, but you just didn’t want to make a fool of yourself if he wasn’t interested. So, you played it cool.
Well, not cool enough.
The universe was absolutely conspiring against you.
Three days after your last humiliating encounter with Onyankopon, you’d decided—against all better judgment—to attempt cooking real food for once. No more microwave meals, no more takeout. You were going to make jambalaya like a proper New Orleans girl if it killed you.
Which apparently, it nearly did.
You had your laptop propped up on the counter, an instructional video playing at full volume—“Now add the holy trinity—bell peppers, onions, celery—” while your Mortuary Science textbook sat open beside it, chapter on arterial embalming glaring up at you in stark black and white. Between frantically stirring what was slowly becoming charcoal in your pot and trying to memorize which vessels required the most pressure during fluid injection? Disaster was inevitable.
One second you’re squinting at a diagram of the brachial artery—
The next? Flames.
Not just a little kitchen mishap either; orange tongues licked hungrily up toward your cabinets as oil spattered violently from an overheating pan of sausage links. In true dramatic fashion, your brain short circuited into full-blown panic mode.
"FIRE! FIRE! OH MY GOD. I'M GONNA DIE LIKE THIS?”
Between sobbing into your hands and desperately fanning smoke toward open windows with anatomy flashcards, the fire went out, leaving behind mildly charred cabinets. But oh—the blaring smoke detector overhead now screeched like a banshee straight from hell itself, warning the entire complex about the crime you’d just committed.
Peeking through the blinds, your stomach drops like a stone. The entire apartment complex is outside—neighbors in robes, pajamas, even one lady clutching her cat carrier like she’s prepared for Armageddon. The flashing red lights of the fire truck paint everyone’s faces in alternating pulses of panic as your manager scurries around with a clipboard, visibly doing headcounts.
Then you see him.
Onyankopon steps out of the truck—fully geared up in his NOLA FD uniform; thick suspenders strapped over broad shoulders as he speaks into his radio. His partner—a shorter but equally serious-looking guy with salt and pepper hair—nods toward your building just as the apartment manager throws her hands up mid-count.
You duck away from blinds so fast they rattle—but that knock comes exactly three minutes later, firm enough to shake the doorframe.
You consider pretending death for half a second.
And there they stand—Salt and Pepper looks mildly concerned, while Onyankopon wears an expression of sheer disbelief once he gets a full view of the disaster zone behind you. Smoke curls the ceiling lazily around that still screaming detector; charred remained jambalaya clinging to the pot pathetically, your textbook splayed graphic images of embalming diagrams right beside your laptop currently blaring— “And that’s how you make the perfect Roux!”
“Ma’am,” Salt and Pepper starts gently, “We had reports of smoke coming from this unit—”
“‘Manager says you were the only tenant unaccounted for,” Onyankopon cuts smoothly, “What happened in here?”
You're standing there in oversized sweats with a headful of messy curls, soot smudged cheeks and an expression like a puppy that's gotten into trouble—hell, you're pretty sure your nose is even twitching from holding back tears. But instead of cackling like the universe seemed intent on making you endure? Onyankopon's face remains perfectly impassive—just quietly studying the mess around you like he's trying to make sense of the situation.
You nearly sob then and there.
"I was just—I was cooking! I was trying to cook and study and—I—I didn't mean to—"
To your surprise, Onyankopon's voice softens.
"Hey, Mama. Breathe. You know you can talk to me, stop allat’.”
“You know her?” Salt and Pepper questions.
Onyankopon doesn’t even glance at his partner, eyes locked on you as he steps forward—just enough to block the full view of your disaster kitchen from Salt and Pepper’s prying gaze.
His voice drops lower, rough but steady like he’s talking someone off a ledge—which, given the way your bottom lip is trembling? Might actually be necessary.
“Ain’t nobody hurt,” he mutters, “Building still standin’. You put it out yo’self?”
You nod frantically, wiping at your face with the back of your hand only to realize it’s covered in flour and something suspiciously sticky, “I used baking soda, learned that in one of my classes.”
For one second, Onyankopon's expression does something complicated—like he's fighting six different reactions at once.
“Good.”
That single word shouldn't feel like absolution—but it does. Especially when paired with the way his thumb brushes over your wrist when he hands you his handkerchief, “C’mon, let us do our job so we can clear this alarm.”
Still trembling a little, you clutch the handkerchief in your hands and look up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.
"Did I actually almost burn down the building?" you ask weakly, your voice barely above a whisper, “Because it really felt like I did."
Onyankopon exhales through his nose—almost like he's holding back a laugh but doesn't want to set you off again. He tilts his head just slightly, and that damn dimple makes an appearance as he murmurs, “Nah. But if it'd been worse? ‘Coulda carried you out over my shoulder,” a beat, “Dramatically.”
The unexpected humor catches you so off guard that a giggle bubbles up before you can stop it—which only makes him smirk harder.
Salt and Pepper looks between the two of you like he’s witnessing some kind of code red workplace violation. He clears his throat pointedly, motioning towards the smoke detector still wailing overhead, “We should probably—”
“Right,” Onyankopon cuts smoothly without breaking eye contact with you, “But next time? Maybe stick to orderin’ takeout.”
You press the handkerchief to your face in mortified defeat as they finally step inside—leaving Salt and Pepper to handle technicalities while Onyankopon lingers just close enough— and, for his low chuckle to ghost over your ear when he adds—
“Or call me.”
The next few days were painful.
After your apartment manager gave you a strongly worded lecture about fire safety—complete with pamphlets and an emergency evacuation plan shoved into your hands—you went full hermit mode. Only leaving for work and coming straight home, avoiding eye contact with every neighbor who may or may not have witnessed the Great Jambalaya Incident.
You had an exam coming up, so burying yourself in embalming fluid ratios and cranial sutures was a decent enough distraction—except when your mind would inevitably wander back to him.
Today was also Sunday. Saints game day, football being your one true love outside of mortuary science. Your two-piece set clung in all the right places, gold and black Saints logo stamped across shorts that barely covered the curve of your ass, long sleeved top hugging every dip of your waist before plunging just low enough to tease your full cleavage. Your curls were pulled back by a headband while still cascading past your hips; lashes thick from extensions, catching sunlight as your freckles glowed against caramel skin.
You're bent over checking the mail when his shadow falls across yours—
“Headin’ out?”
You jump, mail scattering as you spin around to find Onyankopon standing there. He also wears a long sleeve—football logo large on the material—molding around his muscular frame like it was painted on him, durag and cargo pants making him attractively relaxed.
“Uh—” You scramble for words while gathering fallen envelopes, “I was. But Ruya has food poisoning, Lola got caught up with her husband, and Kimora just ghosted. So—I’m just gonna’ watch upstairs, do some studying too.”
His gaze flicks pointedly towards your textbook sat atop of the mailboxes, Embalming & Restorative Techniques Vol 2.
Onyankopon tilts his head, dark eyes scanning over your figure with a slow—almost lazy—appreciation that makes you feel seen in a way that's unfamiliar.
"’Saints’ colors look good on you," before his gaze drifts pointedly to your shorts, "Even got allat’ ass pokin' out.”
Your breath catches, cheeks flooding with heat as you straighten up—too fast, nearly dropping the mail again. His smirk deepens at your fluster, that damn dimple making another appearance.
“You um—watching the game too?” You blurt out, desperate to deflect from how his words just made your brain go blank.
Onyankopon hums in affirmation.
He then questions, “You got’ a headache?”
You blink up at him like a deer in headlights. You then remember you had been rubbing your temples before he walked over, “Oh—Yeah, probably from studying too much. I’m always squinting, even with my glasses on.”
"Nah," he murmurs, "’Headache probably came from suckin' allat’ smoke in."
You swallow as his gaze lingers on you for a beat longer. Then, he nods towards the stairs, "You said you finna’ watch the game?”
Onyankopon doesn’t wait for your answer—just adjusts the strap of his durag with one hand, while the other gestures toward the stairwell like this is a foregone conclusion.
“You can study at mine,” he says simply, “‘TV loud enough that you can watch from the couch while I cook.”
The offer hangs between you two—heavy and loaded despite how casual he makes it sound. His eyes flick down to where your teeth worry at your bottom lip, voice rough around the edges, “Ain’t gotta worry ‘bout burnin’ my place down either.”
“Funny, but—I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
Onyankopon doesn’t budge—just arches a brow, stepping closer until his shadow swallows yours whole.
"You ain't askin'," he corrects smoothly, plucking your book right out of your grip, “I'm tellin'."
His apartment was immaculate—modern, open, almost minimalist. The kind of space you'd find in an interior decorating magazine, but with a distinctly masculine feel. Dark wood, black and brown furnishings. Art pieces and family photos adorn the walls. The only spots of color come from the vibrant pillows and blankets strewn across the sectional, Saints jersey hung in a frame next to a mini bar that looks stocked to the gills with top shelf liquor. The TV plays the pregame, volume low.
You're too busy staring around the place to notice Bully bounding up until he all but knocks you over—you giggle as you nearly stumble back.
Onyankopon scolds the dog with an amused shake of his head, "Bully, goddamn,” as he reaches down to scratch behind the dog's ears, “You can't just jump on a woman like that, boy. You gon' hurt her."
“It’s okay,” your murmur softly. You place your other textbook on the table, tugging him down to lay on his stomach—“You missed me, sweetie bean? I missed you too.”
Bully rolls onto his back like he's never seen better days, tail thumping against the floor in ecstasy. He whines, tongue lolling like he's smiling. His tail thwacks the floor.
“Don’t be givin’ that nigga too much attention, he already spoiled.”
“‘That right? Papa spoils you, hm?” You coo, “That’s okay. You deserve all the love and kisses.”
Onyankopon stands there watching you, eyes darkly amused as he murmurs, "I'm startin' to think you only came over for the dog."
“Don’t listen to him,” you murmur, “He’s just jealous.”
You grin up at him without thinking, sunshine-bright and unguarded, before realizing how close he is. How domestic this all feels. Your smile falters slightly as heat creeps up your neck.
Onyankopon notices immediately. That smirk returns full force as he pushes off the door, “Sit down ‘fore you start petting him like y’all married or some shit.”
Bully whimpers when you stop scratching him, trotting after you like a shadow while Onyankopon moves to the fridge.
“‘You drink?”
“Did you forget I’m tryna’ study? I can’t be giggling over my textbook.”
You take a second to think though, “Unless you have Stella Rose in there.”
His chuckle is low as he pulls out a chilled bottle of Stella Rose: Black, “You’ in luck,” he murmurs, pouring with practiced ease, coming over to hand you the glass from where you sit. The deep red liquid swirls as he taps his glass against yours, “‘To not burnin’ shit down this time.”
“Funny.”
You can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips, Bully immediately plopping his heavy head onto your lap like he owns you now.
“Game starts in’ ten,” Onyankopon gestures towards your textbook, “Better hurry up with allat’ studyin’. Saints don’t wait for nobody.”
He settles into the sectional beside you—all casual, spread legs, one arm stretched across the back of the couch, body angled toward yours like he's got all the time in the world. Even Bully gives up his spot on your lap to circle around you and collapse on top of his owner's feet, huffing contentedly when his big hand starts scratching under the dog's chin without looking away from you.
You sigh, “It’d speed up the process if you were a genius—you know anything about Pathology?” you slide your textbook along your lap, tucking your legs on the left side of your body.
“Depends,” he rumbles, “You talkin’ forensic pathology or just general shit?”
Your eyebrows shoot up, “Smart man.”
“Firefighter EMT certification had us studyin’ some wild shit,” Then, quieter, “Plus, my lil’ sister a’ pre-med.”
“Seems like the whole family wants to save the world. You’re like Superman,” you hum, “What part of New Orleans are y’all from?”
He chuckles at that—low and deep, “9th Ward,” He nods, watching your eyes go slightly wide.
He adds, “What, you thought a nigga was gon’ say Uptown?”
“No, I just—“
He cuts you off with a shake of his head—not mad, “Relax,” he mutters, leaning back slightly, “Ain’t shit wrong with being from Uptown if that’s where you at,” His thumb brushes against the fabric of the couch near your shoulder, like he's resisting touching you outright.
“We moved out when I was ‘bout sixteen after Katrina fucked up everythin’,” The way he says it is has no pity expected—before shifting gears smoothly, “But yo’ turn now. Where’ you from before this apartment tried killin' you?"
You shake your head, swirling the deep red in your glass before taking a sip, “Born and raised Uptown—whole family’s still here.”
“Explains why you walk around like you own everythin’ but can’t boil water.”
“Rude!”
“Just sayin’.”
You both look at Bully who's now flopped between both of your legs, paws up like roadkill, “He agrees with me."
The dog yawns. Traitorous animal.
Before either of y'all can retort though—the game starts blaring from TV speakers loud enough to make you jump, the crowds roar filling the apartment as the Saints run onto the field.
You try hard to focus on your notes, highlighting key terms, murmuring definitions under your breath—but it's impossible not to peek up every time Onyankopon leans forward, cussing at the TV like the players can actually hear him.
"Man, what kinda bullshit call was that? That’s a flag! Throw it, blind ass nigga!”
Bully barks in agreement like he understands every word, pacing before plopping down dramatically when a play resumes.
Somehow though? The chaos is weirdly comforting. You find yourself smiling into your textbook whenever he gets particularly animated; his deep voice growling obscenities one second, then booming with celebration next as Saints score their first couple of touchdowns.
Halfway through the second quarter—and three glasses of Stella later—you've given up pretending to study entirely, leaning back against cushions while watching the game from over Onyankopon’s broad shoulder.
“‘Thought this nigga ‘boutta graduate,” he mutters without turning around, “Now she watchin’ the game instead.”
“This class is kicking my ass,” you stressfully admit, “Imma’ just stay an Embalmer at this point.”
“Aight.”
He reaches for the remote, lowering the volume slightly before twisting fully toward where your legs tuck; he notions, “Tell me what ain't stickin'.”
You hesitate for half a second before sighing, flipping open your notebook to the most confusing section, “Okay, so—putrefaction. The stages keep tripping me up.”
“Aight. Think of it like this—” His finger taps against your notes as Bully rests his head on your thigh again for moral support, “Stage one? That’s when shit first start lookin’ wrong but ain't smellin' yet. Them’ gases build up, and the body gon’ look like a microwaved balloon.”
You giggle a bit, “Sounds extremely gross when you put it that way.”
“Stage two? Now we get stank,” He gestures loosely with his free hand, "Skin slippage, blistering—like when you leave chicken out too long and it turns green. Except this chicken used to be yo’ uncle."
“Okay! I got it now,” you giggle once more, “Thank you.”
“Thank me in yo’ valedictorian speech,” he stands from the sofa, “You hungry now?”
“After you compared spoiled chicken to a decomposing body? Sure,” you muse, “What are you making, chef? Since I’m apparently the worst cook on the planet.”
He shrugs off the playful insult like it's nothing, already stalking toward the kitchen with Bully following behind, “Not just a chef. Culinary King, baby.”
He then says, “Gumbo. Real gumbo,” he tosses over his shoulder, "Ain't gon’ need no YouTube video for this either."
You watch from the couch as he moves around the kitchen, graceful for a man his size. His tatted arms flex as he chops vegetables with quick precision, sleeves rolled up to reveal more ink along his forearms; bold black lines weaving stories you can only guess at.
One tattoo in particular catches your eye—a small, intricate design near his temple.
“That’ one mean something?”
His hand pauses briefly on the pot.
“Yeah.”
A beat passes where the only sound is sizzling roux. Finally, “Got jumped in at fourteen,” he murmurs, “Took my face tat’ the same night.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—“
“It’s good, shawty. You jus’ wanna know.”
He then continues, “Lost my lil’ brother not too long after,” The words come out rough-edged, “Wrong place, wrong time type shit. Made me realize ain't no glory in that street shit either way.”
The confession hangs heavy between the both of you.
“‘Moved Uptown right after," His voice gentles, “I finished school, got into the fire academy straight out. ‘Wanted do somethin' that mattered more than colors onna’ block."
You exhale, absorbing the weight of his answer.
A few beats pass before you venture, “I think you matter. Firefighter sounds much more cool than some nigga inna’ gang anyway.”
He huffs out a soft chuckle at that, “You think I don’t know I’m cool?”
You roll your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips, “No, mister humble. You really don’t know just how cool you are.”
You expect a retort—maybe that cocky smirk you've come to find weirdly endearing—but he surprises you with a genuine expression instead. It's softer, less guarded than his usual demeanor; the kind that makes you realize he isn't used to taking compliments.
Something about that makes your heart skip a beat, but he recovers quick enough—that smirk is back in full force as he murmurs, “You know what is more important than allat’? Food. This gumbo ‘boutta be straight fire, too.”
“Lawd, here he go’. I’m judging like Gordon Ramsay.”
“That’s cool. We gon’ see.”
The fourth glass of Stella has definitely done its job—loosening your limbs, flushing your skin, making every thought move slower.
Your textbook lays forgotten on the coffee table as you lounge against Bully like a makeshift pillow, fingers lazily stroking his fur while your gaze lingers on Onyankopon with newfound boldness.
Onyankopon checks on you as you’re silent—he turns to see your low eyes, thick lashes locking onto him from across the kitchen island.
“Yo’ headache gone?”
You swallow hard around sudden dryness in your throat, managing a weak nod followed by mumbled agreement, “Mhm.”
You don’t realize, but you’re smiling a bit.
"Uh huh," he rumbles, “You definitely feelin' that wine."
He wipes his hands on a towel before rounding the island toward you—each step deliberate, unhurried—until he’s towering over where you’re slumped against Bully.
"You good?" his thumb brushes your chin to tilt your face up toward him, "Or I need to cut you off?"
"I'm fine," You murmur—a little too breathless for someone who's supposed to be studying, “I thought you were feedin’ me?” you mindlessly pout in his palm, not realizing how you look beneath him.
He tuts softly, thumb tracing just under your chin, "Now why’ you lookin’ at me like that?"
"Like what?"
Onyankopon exhales through his nose—half amusement, half something far more dangerous as he leans in, “You gone, shawty. Imma’ get you some water.”
There’s a sharp, unwelcome pang in your chest when he pulls away—one that sobers you up faster than any water ever could. You straighten yourself out quietly, adjusting your top and clearing your throat as if that could erase the way his touch lingered.
Bully whines when Onyankopon snaps his fingers twice toward the hall—“Go on,” The dog obeys instantly, throwing you one last glance before trotting off toward his play room.
He returns with two steaming bowls of gumbo, perfectly dark roux, plump shrimp glistening on top. His large frame settles beside you with far more distance than before. Now you really felt rejected.
You take a few bites of that gumbo and have to resist a reaction. It's perfection—thick, rich, brimming with spices as it slides down your tongue. You can't help but hum in utter satisfaction, eyes nearly drifting shut as you murmur, "Hate to say how good this actually is.”
Onyankopon chuckles softly at the sight, a low rumble that resonates through the space between you two.
“Told you it was gon' be fire."
You roll your eyes, taking another bite. Your head's spinning from the alcohol, but it's nothing compared to the dizzying rush you feel under his gaze whenever you look over at him. You swallow thickly.
"Listen, I'm sorry if I’m a little too tipsy," You apologize, “It’s been a while since I drank without eating.”
He shakes his head, watching you with that same quiet intensity as he leans back against the couch.
"You ain't gotta apologize for nothin’," he says simply, voice low, “I wasn’t tryna’ make you feel bad. ‘Long as you’ good? That’s all that matters to me.”
His words settle over you like a blanket—warm, reassuring.
After a beat of comfortable silence between bites and faint commentary from the game still playing, Onyankopon tilts his head toward your abandoned textbook on the coffee table, “So why embalmin'?"
He asks this casually—like it's normal dinner conversation, “Ain’t many people wake up one day thinkin’ they wanna drain bodies for a livin’.”
The question catches you off guard enough that laughter bubbles out. You compose yourself again, “It sounds bad when you put like that,” You admit with a slight shake of your head.
Your fingers trace the rim of the bowl while gathering your thoughts. You then sigh, “I’ve always been fascinated by death. Not in a morbid way, but—“ you search for the right words—“More about how we treat it? Honor it? My grandmother used to tell me stories growing up about how they’d wash the dead themselves before burial, and sit with them the whole night so the spirits weren't alone.”
Then quieter, you almost become shy about the subject matter.
“I wanted to do work that meant something even if nobody ever thanked me for it.”
You pause mid rambling, a shy giggle releasing your lips. Onyankopon encourages your words with a quiet, “Keep goin’.”
He is so goddamn attractive like this—focused on you completely while his food goes ignored, “I'll listen all night."
The warmth of alcohol and his attention makes you soften. You lean your head against the couch, studying him with a lazy, appreciative smile.
"Sweet," you murmur, "Even though you look like you could break me in half."
Onyankopon's smirk is instant—sharp and knowing as he leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees again. But he doesn’t deny it; just lets that statement linger between you like a challenge.
"When was the last time somebody had all this?" Your fingers gesture vaguely at his whole existence, "Don't lie either."
He blinks, expression unchanging for a beat before shrugging—almost too nonchalant, “Couple months."
You raise a skeptical brow, "Couple months,” you echo mockingly, "That’s all?"
"Why?" He returns, "You got a nigga or sum’?"
Your expression deadpans, “Don’t be funny, nigga. Why would I be here if I did?”
"Ain't tryna’ be funny. Just askin'."
When he speaks again, his voice is much rougher than before.
"When was the last time you been’ with somebody, then?"
You exhale slowly, swirling the last of your wine before finishing it off. The admission feels heavier now that it’s out in the open—floating between you two like something tangible.
"A year," you admit with a slight shrug, "Not for any big reason. Just felt like breakin’ the streak wasn’t worth it.”
Your fingers trace the rim of your empty glass absently before adding quieter, "Especially not when I got school and this career to focus on."
His gaze remains steady on yours; a silent, almost dangerous intensity as he murmurs, "Ain’t nobody had you inna’ year?”
You swallow hard, thighs clenching involuntarily as you force yourself to keep your composure. But as you go to part your lips—the game roars within the room, catching your attention and cutting the tension you’d felt before.
You giggle a little awkwardly, suddenly needing to do something—anything to shake off the lingering heat between you two. Washing dishes sounded pretty excusable.
“I got these.”
Onyankopon watches you for a beat as you make your way to the kitchen, only a beat. He then pushes off the couch with a quiet chuckle, following you into the kitchen anyway. You feel him before you see him—his broad frame crowds behind you, reaching around to rinse his own bowl under the sink water.
“Thought I was doin’ those?” You question halfheartedly—eyes flicking over your shoulder to eye him, “I told you I had it.”
He doesn’t answer right away—just turns off the faucet and places his dishes aside without breaking contact with your body once. It happens so subtly—strong arms snake around waist from behind, pulling you gently against him in one slow motion until there is no space left between.
His chin rests atop of your shoulder that it makes you giggle, the sound breathless as you let your head tilt back against him. He rests atop your curls while the both of you sway gently—like there's some slow song playing only the two of you can hear.
"’Thought you were supposed to be watching the game, Ony.”
"Game borin’.”
Then?
"Been tryna' be good all night,” He admits gruffly into your skin—his fingers tighten their grip ever so slightly at your hips when he feels the way they tremble, "Ain't workin’.”
Your breath hitches when his lips press against your neck—warm, soft, teasing. You can’t help but hum nervously, squirming slightly in his hold.
“Ony.”
You giggle playfully, but it comes out more like a whine when he drags another slow kiss just below your ear.
His hands rub soothing circles against your waist like he’s trying to calm you down, even as he continues trailing those maddeningly light kisses along the column of your throat.
"Stop actin' scared,” He murmurs, “Ain’t gotta’ run from me.”
You lean back fully against him, tilting your head up just enough for your nose to brush against his. Another giggle, met with a low chuckle both filled with heat. Onyankopon’s breath fans over your lips—warm—before you close that tiny distance yourself, pulling him down into a slow, deep kiss.
His grip tightens on your waist as soon as your lips meet, the sound of soft sucking filling the kitchen between shaky exhales. You can feel his tongue slide against yours in lazy strokes—no rush, just pure indulgence—each press of his mouth making the heat coil tighter in your stomach until you’re panting between kisses.
Your heads tilt opposite ways naturally every time he pulls back slightly before diving back in; noses bumping playfully, locking together again even deeper than before. That’s when you stick your tongue out, fully stroking it with his.
Onyankopon breaks the kiss just long enough to murmur, "Goddamn,” before he grabs your face and yanks you back up against him with a hungry grunt—tongue licking into your mouth immediately.
He’s sucking your bottom lip, tugging it between teeth before slipping between your open mouth again; that’s when you feel a smack on your ass—you squeak breathlessly, giggling as you tug your mouth away—“Bully’s barking, Ony.”
Onyankopon doesn’t even flinch at the sound of Bully’s distant barking. He just slides one hand up to cradle the back of your neck, tilting your face back toward his with a low, throaty growl.
“Fuckin’ hell, Bully.”
His mouth crashes into yours again—hotter this time, hungrier, tongue sweeping past your lips before you can even process the curse. You finally manage to think, pulling away long enough to murmur, “You gotta—“ you swallow hard when the words come out in a hoarse exhale, “‘Gotta feed him.”
It takes a beat for his breathing to even out—a rough exhale as he leans forward, chasing your mouth for a second kiss that you manage to evade with a breathless laugh. He exhales roughly, “You’ tryna’ kill a nigga.”
“You can show me to your room first,” you hum, “Carry me?”
Onyankopon doesn't hesitate—his hands slide under your thighs in one smooth motion, hoisting you up effortlessly as you wrap your legs around his waist.
"Greedy.”
He’s stealing another kiss, deeper this time, tongue sliding against yours as he walks backward through the apartment without looking away from you once.
His bedroom is exactly what you’d expect—dimly lit sunset LED strips running along the ceiling, casting shadows over sleek black furniture. The walls are adorned with bold, striking paintings; splashes of color against dark canvases that look like they cost a fortune. A massive king-sized bed dominates the space, neatly made black satin sheets practically gleaming under the glow of those lights.
Onyankopon carries you straight to it without breaking stride—barely managing to kick his door shut behind him before dumping you unceremoniously onto that sea of silk. You bounce once before he’s crawling over you with slow precision; one hand already tugging at your waistband while his mouth finds yours again in a kiss so filthy it should be illegal. He’s dropping his tongue in your mouth, snarling against your lips like he’s hungry for you.
“This whatchu’ wanted?”
You stifle kisses through giggles, fingers tracing along his sharp jawline. He groans into your mouth—low and guttural, before you break the kiss to teasingly murmur, "Go feed Bully," against swollen, reddened, lips.
Your tongue runs across his mouth, “I’ll be here,” sucking on his lips, making that your promise.
Another groan, this time even darker than the previous one. He reluctantly pushes himself off the bed, eyes flashing dangerous when he looks down at you.
"Behave, girl.”
You hear him murmuring to Bully in the other room—low, affectionate growls of “Yeah, yeah—eat,” The sound of kibble hitting a bowl follows as you glance around his space again, eyes catching on the small tray tucked neatly on his nightstand. A half-rolled blunt rests atop it alongside a lighter and some rolling papers.
Before you can investigate further, the door creaks open again—Onyankopon leans against the frame with eyes only on you.
“Nosy.”
You’re like something out of his fantasy. Your freckles dance beneath the lights of the room, curls draping around your curvy frame at the position you sit along the bed. You sit along your knees as you lean forward, “‘Missed me?”
He’s tongue in cheek—big hands already working at the buckle of his belt, expressing pure hunger as he locks onto where you’re sprawled across his sheets.
"I did. I’m done playin' nice with yo’ ass too.”
Your lips curl into a slow, teasing smile as your eyes rake over him—tatted arms flexing as he undoes that belt, that hungry glare in his gaze fixated.
“So…Firefighter Onyankopon,” you purr, “They don’t drug test you?”
His smirk deepens as he stalks closer, knees pressing into the mattress where you lounge. One hand grips your ankle to drag you firmly towards him, “Nah,” then, “You tryna smoke?”
You bite down on your lower lip, “Mhm.”
Onyankopon stands at the edge of the bed, blunt already rolled and sealed between his lips as he flicks the lighter. The flame hisses to life, illuminating the sharp planes of his face for just a second—cheeks hollowing as he takes that first deep pull. Smoke swirls around him when he exhales slowly, eyes locked onto you like prey through low lids. He holds it out between two fingers—taunting as he curls his fingers towards himself.
“Come get it,” His voice is rough with smoke and something darker; command laced beneath amusement.
And at his words? You crawl.
Knees pressed into satin sheets, your hips sway with each deliberate movement until you’re close enough to smell that rich, earthy sweetness clinging to him. His free hand grips your chin at the last second—holding you back from taking it, leaning down so his next exhale coats your parted lips in hazy warmth.
“‘Thought I told yo’ ass not to tease no more,” he grunts, letting go, “Open.”
You lean back just enough to take a deep pull from the blunt, holding the smoke in your lungs before exhaling slowly—right into his face with a wicked grin on your full lips.
Onyankopon doesn’t flinch. Just watching, those dark eyes tracking every shift of your mouth—every taunting breath out. He finds a grip on your throat, fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver.
"Told you,” he murmurs lowly, voice roughened by smoke, “Play too fuckin’ much.”
You slide your palm beneath his shirt, rubbing the sculpt of his tatted abdomen.
He grunts, “‘Gon' learn today.”
Your teeth dip into the plush of your lip, tugging your hands along the hem of his pants—your lashes flutter, “Lemme’ put it in my mouth, Ony.”
His grip on your neck tightens. Onyankopon’s head tilts slightly, eyes going dark enough to match the room, those muscles jumping against your skin in anticipation.
“Gon’ head.”
The moment you tug his tip from beneath his briefs? It nearly smacks you in the face, bigger than you imagined it to be. It’s veiny under your tiny palm, and the size of it makes you horny. You drag your tongue against the entire length of him, wrapping your lips along the tip as you immediately begin sucking.
“Fuck,” he groans—low and rough—you’re so crossfaded that you’re already stroking him up and down with your hand and tongue together before pulling up—sloppy as saliva drools from your lips, dragging until he falls free. You look up at him through your own reddened eyes, pupils blown wide, just a moment before he grabs onto your hair, guiding you back down.
“Look at me wit’ them muhfuckin’ eyes.”
You do, mouth open and tongue out. He grunts, smoke spilling from between his own lips.
The sight of your mouth wrapped so perfectly around him was like a dream, poking through your cheek from his size. Even the taste of him is dark and rich, mixed with the sweet burn of the blunt—that scent and smoke swirling in the air as he takes another pull.
You move faster to make him moan, sucking him deep. He drops the blunt somewhere to grab your head with his free hand—thick fingers digging into your curls in ways that make you whine as he guides you against him. You’re taking him as deep as you can—throating him, your mouth tugging back as you whimper, “‘Dick so pretty, baby.”
The air fills with the sounds of your moans and his deep grunts, the scent of weed and smoke still lingering. He’s using your mouth like it was made for him, like your mouth was made to take him, “Mouth so fuckin’ soft, Mama. You suckin’ this dick.”
You try to respond between wet, rough sucks— all you can manage are slurred whimpers that somehow make him fuller in your mouth. You pull back once more, “Spit on it.”
He obliges, of course.
Onyankopon lowered his mouth, dropping spit on his own dick. It’s dirty, sloppy. But seeing you like this? Mindless, pliant— was like no other. You grip the base in your fist and drool onto him, coating those veined ridges with your own mess before swallowing him again.
You don’t stop—you stick your pink, slippery tongue out, drooling down the length of him—slicking it up good. He makes a sound in his chest that’s almost animal, thick fingers holding you still while he strokes it against your tongue—you just moaned.
It’s rough and delicious as you slurp and drool, taking him down while sliding your hands up and down over what you can’t reach—your eyes nearly flutter shut as you slur out, "Taste sogood, baby.”
He’s all you can taste.
Your pretty eyes are a haze, curls draping through his fingers like sable oceans. You’re lazily stroking him now as you pull your mouth back—you run your tongue along your lips as you whimper, “So big, Ony. Not gonna’ fit in me.”
His smirk is cocky as you salivate on him, eyes half-lidded but laser-focused on the way your mouth moves along his shaft. He’s too big to take, and he knows it.
“Nah, ain’t gon’ fit you,” he agrees, voice gruff, “Gon’ make you fit me.”
You give him that dazed look again, eyes muddled—drunk off his smell, his taste— your hands grip him again and start stroking him back and forth. His hand cups the back of your neck once more—firm but careful, holding you still as he strokes himself into your mouth over, over and over again.
Maybe pleasuring him was distracting your own thoughts of having to take him—but it seems you’ve been caught, as Onyankopon yanks you by your curls, tugging you back in a way to lock your lips with his own. You’re both greedy as you push your head deeper when you kiss one another, tongue sliding against his like you’d never kiss him again.
It’s as if you didn’t just have him bulging within your mouth. The moment his fingers slide down your stomach, dipping beneath your shorts as your legs spread open beneath him—your body tenses, dragging your fingers along the back of his neck as you kiss him shyly.
The sight of your pussy was mesmerizing—already soaked, flushed pink and twitching beneath your shorts.
“Yo’ shit prettier than a muhfucka’," Onyankopon murmurs—half to himself, half a rough compliment aimed at the way you shudder when his thumb drags through your slick folds. You tremble, hips jerking up off the mattress with a small gasp—your grip on his neck tightens all at once, all while those thick fingers begin working slow circles over your clit.
It’s no words, just a high pitched whimper escaping your swollen lips.
You pout along his mouth, spreading your legs just a bit more—your voice is so soft, begging as you mewl, “Put em’ in me.”
He grunts, “Imma’ slide them in slow.”
You nod, shuddering. That’s exactly how you want it.
Onyankopon’s thumb stills at your clit—the roughness of his fingers drags down, sinking inside so slow—he presses forward, burying nearly to the knuckle with a single push.
You don’t expect the reaction you give—but a year of no sexual activity in fact leaves you tight, two fingers nearly being the death of you in this moment. It feels so good, you’re creaming on his fingers, tears glistening within your eyes as you sob in pleasure, “Oh my god, Ony.”
“Why’ this shit so fuckin’ wet already?” He grumbles through his own parted mouth—his palm grinds over your clit, dropping his fingers in, listening to your folds squelch in return. It doesn’t help that Onyankopon’s grunting into your mouth every time his fingers sink in.
You tug your mouth inches from his—you mindlessly pant, “I needed that so bad,” it’s soft, breathy as he adds another finger in even slower.
“Keep talkin’ to me.”
“They’re so big,” you softly whimper, “Stretchin’ me.”
When his fingers curl, you gasp—your mouth pulls back from his, palm reaching for his fingers to tug them out—you feel his other hand grip you by the throat, yanking your mouth back onto his.
“Ion’ do that runnin’ shit,” he grunts, “You gon’ take me.”
His fingers slide right back in, spreading you wide as he sinks down to the knuckle once more. It’s hard to catch your balance when he’s rocking you onto his fingers like this—your hands find his wide shoulders to grip onto, head spinning at this point.
You’re shaking—trembling beneath him as he growls into your kiss, those big hands clenching harder against your neck before sliding down. He licks your lips, “Goodbaby. Watch my fingers just goin’ in.”
And you do. In and out, they’re just going.
Maybe he was just good with his hands—in seconds, your shorts are removed, back fully hitting the soft comforter—your clit is being stroked by his tongue, all while his fingers still plummet in and out of you.
He’s so rough—hungry as his mouth feasts on you, eating you out like a man starved of oxygen. Your moans get lost in the sheets, every sensation sending you into a spiral as you’re trapped beneath him, fingers still stretching you out just right. And the noises, they’re getting wetter and messier each minute.
You’re panting, “Fuck, baby.”
“This bitch drippin’,” he murmured against your clit, another lick as you mewled helplessly, hands clenching the sheets beneath your fingers, writhing against his mouth that was eating you messily. Your legs are shaking, thighs attempting to close around his head.
“Hold ‘em back.”
He’s reaching for your thighs in that warning voice. His tongue flattens over your clit, sucking.
That’s when your vision starts to fade, head spinning as you desperately try to stay present with him. You nod your compliance though, pouting as you hold your thighs open by the tips of your nails, spreading your pussy open.
You mewl to him, “Wanna’ watch your tongue go in me, baby.”
His tongue plunges in with a grunt of, “That’s a gooood fuckin’ girl.”
Your back arches off the bed, head tilting all the way back. It’s just too much, being filled like this—every nerve lighting hot and sensitive with so much of him all at once.
“You’ so wet.”
He sounds lost—voice disappearing between strokes of his tongue, “You. So. Fuckin’. Wet,” sinking inside—his fingers take over again, pumping thick and slow, “You taste good everywhere, girl. Goddamn.”
He’s eating you faster, moaning as his mouth works at your clit again—his tongue slips in between your spread folds, lapping like a canine. You’re shaking beneath him, head in the clouds with nothing but gasps to give.
Your hand reaches down to grip the back of his head—and he doesn’t resist, just allows you to guide his mouth right where you need him most. Your legs shake on either side of his head as he buries his face into your clit, “I’m goin’ all in, baby. Keep droppin’ yo’ shit on my tongue.”
You were gonna blackout if you let him keep going. You pull him up by the coil of his goatee, sliding your tongue into his mouth with a moan. Hands grip your waist under your shirt as you both share another messy, nasty kiss. You feel his hands pushing your top up, freeing your huge, heavy tits—and then, his mouth is on them.
Something about your nipples being sucked always made you infinitely more horny—you breathily giggle as you whimper, “Ooh, baby. I love that.”
His mouth was insistent—taking turns with your stiff nipples in his mouth, suckling and licking as they hardened more. He was rough as he grunted, “Pretty ass fuckin’ titties,” tongue circling them in the best way, teeth tugging just right.
You ramble, “Imma’ take your dick so good, Daddy.”
Onyankopom grunts at the name. Your grip on his durag tightens when he slides two fingers back through your folds—just to test you—just to make you whimper.
You don’t run.
Your legs are spread open wide for him as he holds you, “You gon’ let me fuck you?”
“Promise, baby.”
“Yeah? Gon’ let me take this pussy how I wanna take it?”
You’re nodding, begging, essentially—but that might’ve been stupid on your part. Because when he lays the both of you on your side, yet somehow trapping your legs over his shoulders in a missionary position? You’d never been put like this before.
One arm rests over your knees, the other sliding along the back of your neck in a way that traps you. Your body tenses the moment you feel his tip slapping amongst your soaked folds, your doe eyes peering through his low ones, needy, vulnerable.
As he sinks in, your folds spread apart slowly. Even with how wet you are, the uncomfortable stretch of pleasure burns your stomach like fire, every inch sinking deeper by the second.
“You look so small like this, like you breakin’.”
You try to respond—anything to sound like you have any semblance of control—but your mouth only parts open, eyes rolling at the whiplash of pleasure and discomfort.
“You know you ain’t runnin’, huh?”
You nod, eyes glazed over as he sinks further inside, “Ughn, shit.”
He’s not even halfway in by the time your legs are shaking around his head, hands fisting sheets in a white knuckle grip as he stretches you out, spreading you wide. You’re moaning so helplessly as he slides in another inch. Your hands reach for his—finding his thick, rough ones so you could squeeze them for dear life.
His voice is a low groan in your ear, “You takin’ it so good.”
He’s smacking your ass, spanking again at how good you feel.
You’d never been filled like this before—not this deep or this girthy. You’re trembling in his arms, eyes glassy as he leans forward, forcing your legs wider by the backs of your thighs, “I told you— keep them’ eyes onna’ nigga.”
You tuck your face within the pillow as you feel the first stroke—he’s still not even fully in, your face pouting as the first expression you give him.
The second stroke, your whole body clenches, fingers fisting the sheets so hard, eyes rolling at one slow roll of his hips.
“Ooooohh, my god.”
Another stroke, deep—“Ughh, fuuuck.”
“You sound too pretty, girl.”
You’re whining as he strokes a slow, deep rhythm inside of you, your head tossing between the pillow and his face. Your arms throw around his shoulders, fingernails digging into the back of his neck with a vice grip like you’re trying to keep yourself grounded—anything to make sense of the intensity of it all, curls spreading all across your cheek and pillow.
He’s still pressing you down onto his lap, holding you in place as he just keeps rolling his hips with a grunt, “Ooh, fuck.”
You nod so fast, whimpering at that feeling of him in so deep, stroking you open. He’s holding your bottom left thigh up in the air, spreading you in a way that made you ache at how much he was giving you, “You hearin’ us?” This shit sloppy as fuck.”
The air was a chorus of mixed breaths, grunts, your guttural moans and sloppy wet sounds from his strokes splitting you apart. Onaynkopon’s hips move slower than he’d ever thought possible—you were just too tight for anything too hard.
Squish. Squish.Squish. He’s slow stroking—which means he’s pounding into you—his balls are slapping at the cheeks of your ass, his tip bouncing at your cervix in the meanest way. You lock your mouth around his arm, groaning deeply as your eyes roll back.
“Ughh… Ughhh… Oh, my god… Ugh.”
It happens—you drench his tip as you squirt on him, the groan sinking into a squeal as your thighs tremble dangerously. You tuck your mouth back onto his arm to calm yourself, moaning helplessly through his flesh.
“That’s so good, Mama. Good lil’ bitch, squirt all on me,” Onyankopon’s voice is an octave deeper when he growls onto your lips, “Make a mess on my fuckin’ dick.”
He snaps his hips forward roughly, almost punishing that spot he’d found for this reaction. Your gasp is prolonged, a broken cry grunting from your lips—you’re singing, “Ohhhh my god!”
Your whining was delicious as it spilled onto his arm, his mouth hot on your ear that he began mumbling nasty things into. You feel one hand slide up to grip a fistful of hair at the back of your head, moaning into his chest. Your whole spine was shaking because of that roughness, your legs were shaking—his hips still bouncing brutally between your legs. But his last sentence left you pulverized.
“You think I’m done with you?”
In fact, he wasn’t.
Your sanity was being held by your fingers weakly pressing against the headboard for leverage—you’re now ass up, face down into the comforter as Onyankopon’s palms grip you by both arms, tugging you onto his dick. Your eyes are rolled back, moaning to him chaotically.
You’d never looked this pretty—this fucked.
You can’t even see the expression on his face behind you, not when your eyes keep watering, or rolling back. All you could feel was the brutal snaps of his hips, that grip he has holding you spread so wide for him. Your ass docks on his skin with every thck, thck, thck of his strokes. Your face is smothered between the sheets as you moan into the space, too lost to even speak, let alone think of anything else.
“Fuck me back,” he grunts, “Lemme’ see this bitch bounce.”
Your body responds by instinct, fingers fisting the sheets in a white knuckle grip as your ass bounces to that pace he’d set. You can feel the wetness between your cheeks as he slides in over, over, over…
You managed to pull yourself partially up the bed, hands gripping the pillow as your voice cried toward him.
You clench when you hear him groan behind you—his hands spread your folds to keep you open for him, so far forward that you’re on your elbows as he’s pounding against your spot. Your breath hitches when he groans, “Ooooh, girl. Fuck.”
Your ass jiggled against his hips, those wet sounds echoing between your legs as he stretched you open with every stroke. The sound of your ass clapping against him was downright pornographic. He’s gripping you by your lower waist to make your pussy grind against him even more, taking you roughly.
“Bounce on this big dick.”
You turn to find his eyes, reaching your hand up against his lower abdomen—you’re dropping your ass down to his abdomen, your eyes rolling as you mewl, “‘Balls hitting my pussy, baby. Go slow,” you whimper, “Just pound me.”
His grip was practically bruising against your hips, guiding you into that bouncing pace he’d set. Your body was trembling with it—those slow, punishing strokes leaving your head spinning. Your face was smeared down against the sheets again.
You’re catatonic at this point.
His hips were still going—thicker strokes that left you shouting every time he pushed back in. His face was still expressionless, the darkness in his eyes still so intense like the first time you’d met him. You’re barely even coherent at this point, just a mess of moans and words that didn’t make sense.
“You finna’ tap out, huh?”
You can only grunt, too busy trying to hold yourself together as your face pushes further into the mattress.
You were too gone—too gone to even form words right now. You barely had enough control over your body either, your thighs and knees were trembling with every stroke he gave. You felt him in your stomach, your spine, every nerve—he was all you thought about as you moaned into the sheets. He was turning your brain into white noise—your vision was almost blurry.
That’s when you give a whine—it’s loud, so loud that it drags, squirting all on him once more—you’re messily rubbing your clit, bouncing yourself back through your overstimulating pleasure. You’re a whimpering mess to him, “I love this dick, baby. Fuck me, just fuck me…”
His eyes darkened as your back arched, spine curling forward as that dazed expression danced across that pretty face. You’d squirted all over him again—his hands pulled away as he sat back, looking down at the way your body was squirming, hips still bouncing against the mattress.
You’re looking back at him from under your heavy eyes, mouth moving to try and speak but all that came out was another whine,, “Ughh… uh, uh.”
“You’re so fucked out, huh?” He murmured, hand spanking your ass harder than he’d done before, smoothing it over as he heard you sniffle.
“Lemme’ give you them’ slow strokes.”
He gently places you on your back, dragging you under his looming frame to place your legs back along his shoulders. The moment he slides back in, Onyankopon presses his nose to yours, nuzzling it as you did to him earlier in the night. The feeling makes you emotional in a way you hadn’t expected—tears glisten in your eyes, your arms wrapping around his neck as you just take him.
His head buried itself in the crook of your neck as he murmured, “You’re so beautiful,” sliding out, back in, all the way out, “You good, baby? I ain’t hurt you, huh?”
Your hands slide up to his hair, tugging at his durag as you finally manage to breathe, “Need you, Ony.”
His face is the closest it’s been to smiling in the night. His hand slides down to grip your knee, holding your thigh in place against him.
“Need you too, girl.”
You’re giving him small, broken cries. His face is within your neck as your mouth is by his ear, whining softly as your body trembles like you’d been tased. His mouth kept pressing against the top of your head between his rough murmurs, the words too quiet and jumbled for you to really understand.
“I’m cumming, Ony…”
“I know, baby.”
His voice was hushed against your neck, hands pressing your hips down into his to keep you still. Your nails dug into his back, teeth biting down on a shoulder to try and muffle your moans.
“Ughh…Oh. Oh my god. Fuugghhh. Fuck.”
Your arms were wrapped around his neck in a death grip, holding him to you as you moaned and mewled through your orgasm. You shiver, sniffling as you nuzzle his nose once more—you hear a low chuckle, a soft kiss being snatched against your lips.
You were crazy, but it was in the moment.
“Cum in me, baby. Fill me up,” you tremble, “Please.”
And that’s when you hear it—a real moan from Onyankopon.
You didn’t even realize how quiet he’d been in contrast to your moans and pants. But the moment he moaned against your neck, it’s all you could focus on. You hold him tighter as you feel the warmth within your folds, Onyankopon grinding into you, moaning into your ear.
You felt his face in your neck again when he finally collapsed against you—still connected to you, his full weight falling flat against your chest as his arms locked around your waist. You stroked his hair, his durag ending up somewhere away from the bed—his forehead pressed into your neck as he inhaled deep.
Almost ten minutes of silence went by.
“You’re heavy.”
You had murmured this, your fingers running down the ridges on his back, feeling the curve of his mouth pull into a grin. His hands roamed your sides, squeezing at the flesh just under your ribs as he murmured back, “‘Feel good, Mama. I’m sorry.”
Now it was your turn to blush, the words being a sweet surprise—your hands slid up to his cheeks, fingers stroking that dark beard as you giggled once more.
“You don’t gotta be sorry, Onyankopon.”
You ran the pad of your thumb over the ridge of his mouth, tracing over the roughness of his lips, “You’re good.”
You gave a small grin, “You were good.”
“Damn right I was.”
You huffed a laugh that was more like another giggle, hands sliding up once more to run through his hair. His arms wound back around your waist, his mouth sliding up to suckle a new hickey onto your neck. You shivered as he continued, “You got a cute lil’ laugh, you know that?”
“And somehow you have a boner,” you flick his nose, “Unhand me!”
“Not my fault you’ fine as hell.”
But he did release you, rolling off of you with some effort.
Onyankapon watched you closely, able to see the wince on your face from the soreness you began to feel.
“You okay, Mama?”
That’s when you shake your head—you throw yourself back onto his body, wanting his warmth and comfort, “No. ‘Think you scraped my insides worse than a Pap smear,” you murmur, “Cuddle me.”
“Just say you’ clingy, girl.”
He chuckled, arms wrapping back around your waist—this time, pulling you on top of him. Your head rested on his chest, your body splayed out in a tangle of limbs.
You find yourself reaching up for his earlobe, rubbing comfortingly at the flesh. You then ask, “Is clingy bad for you?”
“Nah.”
His voice held an honesty that you weren’t sure you were expecting. His hands smoothed over your back, fingers spreading across that soft expanse of skin.
He then confirmed, “I like clingy.”
“Even if I’m a bad cook? You’ll still like me?”
“Especially if you’ a bad cook.”
You felt the roughness of his beard graze against the crown of your head, “You gon’ be a mess in my kitchen.”
His voice held a gruffness, but there was an underlying affection underneath it that you hadn’t quite heard from him much tonight—but you liked it, and so did he.
The both of you begin to doze off, his fingers captured in a coil of your curls, your fingers tucked within his chest. But that’s when you hear it—a phone buzzing, loud enough to hear, but quiet enough to ignore.
A second call. This one makes him exhale sharply through his nose, and by the third, he’s growling under his breath as he reaches blindly for the nightstand.
“Yeah…Yeah…Now?”
A pause.
Then a grunt, “Aight. Gimme’ twenty.”
He hangs up without another word and sits up abruptly, scrubbing a hand over his face— turning back towards you, an apologetic frown was already forming on his lips.
"I gotta go, shawty. Niggas got me on a distress call.”
That’s all he says at first—but you must have made some kind of face, because he’s suddenly hovering above you, one hand planted next to your head while the other cups your chin firmly.
"Ain't kickin' you out," he murmurs, pressing a hard kiss onto your forehead like a punctuation mark between sentences, "Get yo' ass under them covers."
You heard him, but you were sensitive—he obviously didn’t know that. You tug the covers close to your chest as your eyes watch him go back and forth, a small pout along your face regardless of his words.
He could see the way you curled in on yourself—protecting yourself, even—and it left a strange emotion burning in his chest. That’s when he sighed heavily, running a hand over his face once more as he padded toward the bed, sitting himself on the edge.
"C'mere, baby."
You feel dramatic.
“I didn’t mean to—“
"Nuh-Uh,” he cuts you off, grabbing your wrist to tug you into his lap in one swift movement, legs on either side of his hips. He pulls the blankets tight around the two of you—your head buried into his chest as he keeps you tucked against him.
"Look at me, pretty girl.”
You were pouting still, eyes averted from his gaze as you stubbornly kept your lips pursed. That is, until he forced your stubborn eyes to meet his once more.
"I ain't tryin' to kick you out, aight? I just gotta go take care of business.”
You’re still frowning.
He leans down to press a firm kiss against your forehead, arms tightening their hold on your waist to keep you against him.
"C'mon, don't be mad at me now."
Onyankopon's voice drops to that deep, rumbling register—the one he uses to get your attention—you’ve picked up on that.
"You really gon’ sit here poutin’ while I gotta go handle this?" His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, tugging it down playfully, “Ain't even said you gon’ miss me."
Then—before you can protest—his mouth crashes onto yours in a kiss that’s all tongue, teeth, and promise. It’s messy enough to make your toes curl, his hand sliding from your chin to the back of your neck to keep you locked in place. It’s to let you know that he wanted you, and everything that came with that.
"Stay right here. Keep my shit warm,” a pause, “Or I could bend yo' ass over this mattress one more time
‘fore I leave—your choice."
That finally got you to squirm and grumble in his lap—your fingers dig into the meat of his back in a futile attempt to escape him.
"I was playin',” he grunted, nipping your bottom lip as if to prove a point, "Goddamn, girl. I was playin'.“
“Bye, Onyankopon.”
“What kinda ‘bye’, huh? Like you gon’ sneak off once I leave?”
You sigh, rolling your eyes. But of course—you smile.
“Call Bully in here so I can cuddle with my actual man.”
"Forreal?" Onyankopon repeats, looking down at you with one brow raised in disbelief.
You can tell he's trying to hold back the grin that's threatening to lift at his lips—those dark eyes of his narrowing with mock-offense, "That's what you call yo’ forreal’ nigga? That raggedy ass mutt?"
You giggled, “Go, Superman. Save the world.”
He gives you one last look, a boyish grin you could find yourself getting used to.
𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count— 12.8K, original!blackfemreader, original!blackfemwife, threesome!, crossover!, tojixonyankopon!, blackmanxjapaneseman!, tojifushiguro!, onyankopon!, contractor!toji, husband!toji, southerncoded!toji, sweet!toji, dominant!toji, aggresive!toji, bestfriend!onyankopon, contractor!onyankopon, southerncoded!onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, aggresive!onyankpon, pet names, dirty talk, aggressive pet names, squirting, creaming, condomless sex, pussy eating, dick sucking, minors are not welcome! 𓊇ྀི
メモ。— hey cuties. just wanted to post another one of my fav’s, ngl. love, love, love. these two in the same alternate universe? my god. anyways, when rereading this i kept humming nightcrawler by travis scott? idk. anyways, sorry for the non-black link for visuals! just needed y’all to understand where my mind was at when i wrote this. okay. love you. teehee.
ビジュアル。
HOW DID YOU END UP HERE?
You kept asking yourself that question as your puffy lips poked in a pout, round eyes flickering in between the looming frames above you. Your freckled cheeks flushed as they glared in return of your angelic face—and then, impurely so, you crawled to them.
You couldn’t have been that naive. Not to realize their plan, or how long they’d been onto you. But none of this was your plan at all. It just—happened.
You’d been married to Toji for four years now, falling in love the moment he approached you in the streets of Tokyo, Japan. You were studying abroad in grad school, telling him that you’d been working on your masters degree within Administration, to which he replied that he shared a business with his partner—a contractor, he was.
You would never forget that initial interaction. The onyx of his hair tousled in a flawless way, matching the natural frown of his full eyebrows each time he watched you speak.
He allowed you to ramble off with low hums of ’Mmm’, even with it being the first conversation between the two of you. And to be honest, it made you nervous. From the warm ivory of his complexion that was coated with tattoos, being so many that they traveled beneath the white tee he wore, to his frame that was tall, lean, and built—the cadence of his deep voice, a gruffness to his tone as a cigarette sunk between the side of his full lips—He was like no other.
But you feigned an innocence he couldn’t pull from. The deep ginger curls draping around your freckled cheeks flushed as he spoke to you, round eyes beaming from beneath your lashes—you wore a cherry blossom within your tresses, pale pink mini dress clad around your curvy figure as you held textbooks beneath your arms. Your giggles, your smile, all those things made you like no other even more so.
He wanted you.
You both resided in New Orleans as his business was the most successful there, receiving a multitude of clients after Hurricane Katrina hit the city years before. Behind that scary demeanor was a man with wholehearted compassion—He helped others create their new homes after losing their old ones, becoming known as the most popular contractor along the Westbank. But of course, he had a little help along the way.
He offered you a job as his business’ consultant manager, able to give feedback on their personal brand as contractors, as well as answering emails and phone calls—but here’s where the issue began.
Onyankopon.
The first time meeting him was entirely friendly, even when his looks might’ve had your stomach do a flip. To the heavy New Orleans twang that slipped between a few creole words as he spoke to you, to the strength of his hand when he shook yours. The brown of his smooth skin complexion shined in cocoa butter, strident jaw clenching as he shook the small frame of your palm.
You’ little as hell, you remember him telling you.
He was an extreme contrast to Toji—open faced grills within his mouth, teeth straight and white each time he smiled or laughed. His lips were a deep pink, full, kissabl—
Teeth. His teeth were nice.
Your eyes ran across the neatly braided cornrows, broad frame covered in tattoos that moved when he flexed his muscles. In that moment, he’d lifted his shirt to wipe the moisture of sweat from his forehead, goatee wafting a shea butter scent from the follicles—but you couldn’t even finish reading his body over, as your eyes fell right at the sculpt of his abs, Bible scriptures thumping across the flesh as he grunted from the heat of outside. And like an idiot, your reply was—
You have big hands.
Yeah, you were fucked.
Well, at first you weren’t. Onyankopon had been the best man in your wedding, constantly coming over to the house, even dozing off on the sofa as you laid a blanket over him. You and him had a good enough rapport with Toji being the common denominator—so the question was, why did you have the inkling to fuck him?
This wasn’t cheating, right?
Regardless of Toji and Onyankopon growing up together, they were extremely different—Toji was more aggressive, outspoken, able to soften his hard corners the minute he was with you. On the other hand, Onyankopon was sweet, observant, quiet, and stoic—he was the action, while Toji was the mouth piece.
So back to the point—this definitely wasn’t cheating, right?
Okay, but you loved your husband. He was there for you throughout all your highs and lows—He was patient, affectionate, hard-working, all the things you wanted within a man. He was the only man you’d ever been with—sexually, romantically—so you couldn’t understand why your brain was thinking about how big Onyankopon’s hands were—
Anyway, this was your husband’s fault. You couldn’t blame him for loving Onyankopon like a brother, but you could blame him for bringing him around more than he should have. He was like a villain to your origin story. Working out with the both of you at the gym, going out with you late at night, hanging around you just as much as your husband did. To make things worse? He was so. Damn. Nice. Opening the door for you, taking your hand as you needed to walk up the stairs, always asking how you felt throughout the day when your husband wasn’t able to do so.
It’s not that you wanted him, per se. It was the mixture of both your husband and him within the same room, deep voices talking shit to one another, laughing, eyeing you as you walked past, made dinner, giggled shyly when they both called for your attention—you weren’t trying to make it obvious that he made you a little fuzzy, but the narrow of your husband's eyes might’ve said otherwise.
Now? You were fucked.
Here you were now, sitting along your miniature desk as you did emails during the business’ new project. Both men were working on a house within Uptown, a two story home where the family wanted an all white kitchen. You were in between phone calls and looking over shop drawings to make sure the infrastructure was to the family’s desires, claw clip within your curls as they draped in between your fingers, sighing as the paper work had you a bit tired.
Your eyes wandered over to your husband standing on the opposite side of the room, ear leaning into the screen of his phone as he tugged construction gloves from his large palms—Onyankopon on the opposite side of him, plummeting his hammer into the wall above. You watched both men for a brief moment, as they both wore forest green long sleeves, tugging to the muscular frame of their shoulders and abdomen.
When you heard the click of Toji’s lighter, your eyes rolled.
“Please don’t smoke in someone else’s house, Fushiguro.”
Of course, that natural frown appeared seconds later. Your husband’s eyebrows lowered, wrist knocking down as he shook off the ash collecting at the tip of his cigar.
“‘Bout to go outside,” he grunts to you, “The wife said she wants white oak instead of maple for the counter.”
Onyankopon hadn’t turned towards either of you, but he did stop his hammering.
A low breath huffed from his lips as he grunted in return, “Why she ain’t say that shit earlier? I was finna’ get started on the window.”
Toji releases a puff of smoke, “Husband said he’ll pay double.”
“That don’t’ make it any less work.”
Your husband’s grey eyes peered over his slightly irritated friend, a glint within them as he leaned forward, blowing smoke towards Onyankopon.
He now fully turned from where he stood, brown eyes stabbing every inch of Toji’s body—his low voice warns, “Chill out, nigga. You see I’m tryna’ figure out what I need to do.”
Both men always had an interesting dynamic—one could be playful, while the other couldn’t be at all. It was always easy for Toji to rile up Onyankopon.
“You’re mad ‘cause more money ‘bout to go in your pocket?” Toji raises an eyebrow, “Quit whinin’.”
Onyankopon turns to face the wall, hand holding onto the hammer, “Ain’t nobody whinin’. Stop talkin’ to me.”
Toji glances back at you from the other side of the room, a wink being sent in your direction.
You roll your eyes at the both of them, “And where does she think we’re gonna find White Oak at nearly six in the afternoon?”
“She’s tryna’ change everything to white oak,” Toji clarified, “Countertops to white granite, cabinets to off white.”
That’s when Onyankopon tosses the hammer beside his boot. He crosses his arms to lean his back along the wall, face hard from this conversation.
“She might as well do a whole new renovation,” he mutters.
“You’ the only one complaining.”
“Don’t mean I ain’t right,” Onyankopon counters, “Shit don’t’ make sense. We got three more days before the contract is up, and now she on some’ HGTV bullshit.”
“‘Can’t complain if that’s what she wants.”
Onyankopon turns towards you.
“How’ you feelin’ about this?”
You blink at the question, not wanting to be in the middle of one of their usual disputes. You tug a ginger curl behind your ear, scrunching your nose to adjust the tip of your glasses.
Your voice is soft, “Onyankopon’s right, baby. I think it’s a little late for changes in renovations when you’re already halfway done with the kitchen.”
You see your husband's jaw tighten at your confirmation, his back straightening as he glances between the two of you. Even if he didn’t agree, he had to understand his partner's point of view.
“I hear both of you,” Toji glances at Onyankopon, “What you wanna’ tell them?”
“Finish the current cabinet set up, make the kitchen white, and she can set another appointment if she wanna add other shit.”
You glance down to the paper beneath you, pen flicking beneath your fingers, “We still need more maple—think you can make it to Home Depot before they close?”
Toji gives a nod of approval, stomping on the butt of the cigar he was trying to finish, “I got it. Gonna’ head that way.”
Onyankopon's eyebrows raise in surprise, “You goin’ by yo’self?”
“Why? You gonna’ kiss and make up with me now?”
Onyankopons’ eyes narrow, “Ain’t nobody kissin’ yo’ overgrown ass, nigga.”
“You sound like a damn teenager.”
“‘Cause I’m arguin’ with one.”
“Can you tell me you love me and stop arguing, please?” you tilt your head, “Come gimme’ some love.”
The smallest smile might’ve found Toji’s mouth.
“You want love?” His footsteps approach your desk, heavy on the wooden floor, “You want some love, huh?”
His large hand runs up the length of your shoulder, fingers finding your neck as he pushes your chin up, “You hearin’ me?”
“Mhm,” you hum, pulling him lower by the bicep of his arm, “Don’t be long,” You rub your nose against his, “You love me?”
Toji brings his other hand to the other side of your neck, thumbs grazing your cheeks with that signature smirk on his lips, “You know I do.”
He pulls your face towards his, gruff as he questions, “You like when I tell you that?”
You’re met with the familiar taste of his mouth, tongue exploring yours as he sighs through his nose, hushing your small giggle through the kiss.
“Aight,” Onyankopon interrupts, “Y’all know Home Depot finna’ close, huh?”
Toji raises his middle finger in the direction of the other man, giving you a couple more pecks—his hand lingers along your neck when he turns back to his friend, “You’re still over there cryin’? Let me kiss my woman.”
He then stands to his full height, “‘Need anything from me before I leave, wifey?” he sarcastically questions Onyankopon.
Onyankopons’ eyes roll up in the direction of the ceiling, hand moving to rub the bridge of his nose.
“Just gon’ head, Fushiguro.”
“Have those emails ready for me,” He gives a kiss to your forehead, “Behave.”
He then extends back up once more, “Watch my woman for me, bastard.”
“I always do,” Onyankopon murmurs, “She’ good with me.”
And with that, the door closed.
You didn’t expect your husband to be gone for almost two hours. He wasn’t answering the phone, and the heat seeping into the home had you ready to call it quits. Your fingers were lazily typing across the keyboard, flickering up to Onyankopon every once in a while.
You softly ask, “Did he text you back?”
Onyankopons’ brown eyes glance up from his own set of papers.
“Nah,” he replies, “I called him, ain’t answer.”
You pout your lips at the news, now knowing Toji was really taking his time.
Onyankopon notices your face.
“He ain’t dead, shawty. Nigga prolly’ searchin’ for the best maple wood in all of New Orleans. He’d overwork himself before givin’ a bad service.”
The words make you smile a bit, knowing your husband just as much as he did.
You say, “I’m sorry. I just hate when he goes awol—I probably sound annoying.”
Onyankopon lets out a low chuckle, one that rumbles through the release of his chest. His attention was now on you instead of those papers, leaned forward in his chair. His shoulders seemed to expand in size.
“Youn’ sound annoying, just worried,” He leans forward more, “He ain’t good at checkin’ the time when he be runnin’ errands.“
He looks back down at his work, a moment of silence passing before he glances up again.
“You ain’t hungry, are you?”
Your eyes find themselves back to his face, realizing how long you’d glance over his muscular frame.
“Hm?” You process the question, “Um—no, I’m fine. I don’t like to bother you guys about food while you’re working and I’m just sitting, y’know?”
You adjust your glasses once more, “I’m fine, really.”
Onyankopon squinted his eyes in the direction of you, eyebrows cocking up when he asked, “You ain’t eat nothin’ today?”
His voice was like honey. Sweet, with a deep rumble, and it didn’t help the fact that he was giving you his full attention.
“You know you ain’t no bother to me. I can go grab you sum’.”
The thing was, you were hungry. Toji was sweet enough to have packed you a lunch earlier, one that you’d already scarfed down and hadn’t thought about until this moment. You weren’t sure why you couldn’t just say all that, but maybe it had to do with the way he looked at you.
Something him and your husband had in common—it was that damn glare they kept upon their faces, whether they were happy, upset, or just fixated on something. You hated to say that the sight had you shifting within your chair.
Your face flushes a bit, “I’m okay, Ony. Thank you.”
You might’ve been crazy. You swear you saw the corner of his mouth lifting at the nickname, but it happened too fast— it had to be a trick of the sunlight.
“You sure?”
The concern he displayed was always so pure, it made you wanna kill him.
You nod, “Promise. I’m just gonna finish my emails,” you nearly fumbled your words, “I have a couple more to do.”
“Youn’ gotta overwork yo’self, Mama. You can stop if you’ exhausted,” he gently adds, “Toji gon’ be out for a minute.”
There was that look again, the one that felt deep within your body, like you were entirely naked in front of him.
There was also the fact that your heart was pounding. It was either a heart attack, or you were going to spontaneously combust—
“You’ warm?” He questions, “You sweatin’.”
You quickly glance down your body, noticing the sheen of your skin. The soft yellow halter dress you wore hugged along your wide hips with the mixture of sweat—but nothing was worse when you realized your nipples seeping through the fabric up top. You weren’t even cold.
You run your fingers through your hair, pulling your curls farther away from the back of your neck. You awkwardly giggle, “‘S just really hot in here.”
The corner of his mouth definitely twitched up that time, like he had an idea of what was happening to you right now. He probably didn’t. You hoped he didn’t.
You could see the muscles of his arms flex when he shifted in his chair, fingers of his left hand scratching along his facial hair.
“It is,” he agrees, “Imma’ finish up this window.“
When he stands from his seat, you then hear, “You need me?”
You blink, eyes flickering over him as your mouth goes dry, “Huh?”
“I said, you lemme’ know if you need anything, aight?”
You were losing it.
“Okay,” you force the most normal smile, “Got it.”
This had to be your personal hell. It might’ve been enjoyable for anyone else, but this was the worst thing you could’ve witnessed. You were trying to finish your work, but you found yourself…glancing above your computer.
Onyankopons’ hands were rough, strong with large palms as he held up the thick glass window, the muscles within his arms flexing from the power of it. A few beads of sweat fell within the crevasses of his chest, dripping down and soaking into his shirt, tight from how it stretched across his body. His dark brows were focused, tongue running across his lips as his jaw was set, feet were slightly spread apart, stance strong—God, he was so strong.
His hair was braided back, sweat beading and traveling down his temples, face focused on the work in front of him. He gave a loud huff as he nailed in the window frame, face scowling as his biceps flexed.
Lord Jesus.
But oh, you must’ve been in the seventh ring of hell when he tugged that shirt off of his body. He’d begun playing music to keep himself distracted, but if only he knew.
The tattoos that lined his arms and chest were now on full display, shiny with the sweat. His chest and abs flexed from the work of lifting heavy objects, the thick length of his tatted neck and shoulders flexing from the movements.
And then, so attractively, he rolled his neck back, grunting as he lifted the weight of the glass once more.
You felt dizzy.
Your cheeks flushed as you watched him, eyes staring almost dreamily. There was nothing more attractive than a man working hard, sweat pouring down his body as he pushed his strength to the limits. It made you—imagine things. Your body throbbed at your thoughts, a small frown coming between your lips at the sight.
But that frown quickly erased, as your heart nearly dropped into your ass the moment you heard the door unlock. You hiked your body up to the perfect sitting position, scattering your fingers for your pen as you scribbled random words along the bottom of your papers.
You couldn’t even look in Toji’s direction.
Your husband could’ve called out your name, but you still wouldn’t have looked over. So when Toji appeared beside your desk, his strong arm draping over your shoulders, the weight nearly startled you.
“Babydoll,” he rasped, “What’s goin’ on? You need some water?”
Your eyes glanced at Onyankopon.
Kissing Toji’s jaw, your face flushed as you deflected, “The Louisiana heat is dire—what took you so long, baby?”
Toji’s eyebrows quirked up at your sudden affection, catching the tense in your body. However, being your easily distracted husband, he loved when you wanted to be on him. His hands rubbed over your arms, attempting to soothe you a bit.
“The closest Home Depot didn’t have the wood in stock,” he murmured, “Damn near traveled the entire state.”
Your hips had always been your sensitive spot, lower body shivering a bit as he began to rub there. You found yourself wanting to hold his face, tugging his body to be closer as you told him, “‘Missed you, Toji.”
His grip was light, a thumb brushing along the curve of one of your eyebrows.
“Yeah?” he murmured back.
He noticed the way you tried to look elsewhere.
His fingers came to grip beneath your chin, gently forcing your attention back to him.
“Eyes,” he reminded, “Need em’ here.”
Your husband was a lot of things, but oblivious wasn’t one of them.
“I’m just a little tired,” you found something to say, your hands rubbing at the smoothness of his jaw, rubbing his neck, rubbing everywhere to distract him.
Toji leaned into your touch, but not much. It made your heart beat more.
“You sure that’s the only thing?”
You nod, “Mhm.”
His frown flickers your face once more, but the warmth of your palms was all too soothing. His mouth grunted along your throat, “Missed you too,” kissing pecks along the warm flesh. Your fingers sunk into his hair as you giggled a bit, leaning your head back for him to keep his affection going. But in that moment, your eyes might’ve glanced at Onyankopon once more.
If only you’d realized that your husband noticed.
Finishing off the night was another hour later as you’d both said your goodbyes to Onyankopon, quickly making it home to wash off the heat of the day. You sat in the vanity your husband had built for you, angels carved within the gold trim of the mirror, lights attached to the surface below to do your skincare or makeup.
As your husband was within the shower, your mind wandered. You’d hoped today’s little hiccup was a spur of the moment, and that you’d become a bit delirious from the heat. However, you still thought about the way Onyankopon looked at you, and something in that still had your thighs squeezing together.
“Kawaī on’nanoko.”
Pretty girl.
You hear your husband call for your attention, the bathroom door opening to reveal him within a towel—it hangs low on his muscular hips, abs sweltering in water, upper body flexing as he dries the damp of his hair.
“You finished up those emails earlier?”
Shit.
The tips of your fingers swiped along your cheek with oil, your eyes briefly finding his as you replied, “Um—No, I didn’t.”
Toji raised an eyebrow in your direction, not used to hearing your denial of finished work.
“What happened?”
Your body shivered under the intensity of his gaze, the heat of the shower steam slowly crawling into the room.
“Got distracted with a couple of phone calls,” was your lie, “Want me to finish them before bed?”
“You seem distracted now,” he points out, “‘Can barely make eye contact with me.”
“You’re the most handsome man in the world,” you hum, “What can I say?”
Toji huffs a chuckle.
His gaze still hardened on you, studying you with those all-seeing eyes of his. You kept your head turned, face flushing again, fingers moving along your facial products as you pretended not to feel it.
“Let me ask you somethin’.”
Your heart immediately started beating, turning towards him with raised eyebrows.
You tug a curl behind your ear, “Yeah?”
Toji leaned his hip along the edge of the sink, towering over you even with feet away.
“How you feelin’ ‘bout Onyankopon?” he flatly questions, “You like him?”
Your eyes blink at the question. You tilt your head, “You’ve been friends for years. Why wouldn’t I?”
Toji lets a low hum escape his chest, biceps flexing from the position.
“Is that what I asked?”
You tried to keep your expression neutral.
“What are you asking, then?”
“To be honest with me.”
Onyankopon wasn’t a topic Toji treaded lightly on, especially when it concerned you. He wasn’t a possessive man by any means, but any question he asked, he wanted the truth.
He repeats, “You like him?”
“I don’t—“ you went to argue, but his eyes stopped you.
So you try again.
“That’s a bit of a weird question to ask, Fushiguro.”
His face twitched. His eyes, however, kept you in a hold.
“Nah,” he disagreed, “It ain’t.”
You sat there quietly, thinking about lying like you’d been doing all day. But the guilt of lying to him felt too heavy in your chest to keep doing.
So, with the slightest of hesitance, you softly admitted, “I do.”
You then follow up with, “But it’s not—like that.”
“Make me understand.”
You shifted in your chair, legs crossing as you attempted to keep your gaze from drifting.
You replied, “I don’t like him in a romantic way. I just—“
Your teeth scrape at your lip a bit, “It’s just a little fantasy, you know? That’s all. I would never act on any of my emotions, Toji. You know that.”
His expression was unreadable.
“You know that, right?”
You wanted that confirmation, swallowing hard. Toji studied you, jaw shifting in the silence that fell.
You then added, “You’re the one I married.”
“That don’t’ answer my next question.”
“Which is?”
“Your fantasy. Talk me through it.”
Your mouth parts to speak, but no words escape you.
“What?”
“Tell me about your fantasy,” Toji repeated, “Don’t act like you don’t understand what I’m askin’ you.”
You felt heat creep back up your body, your cheeks practically on fire.
“There’s nothing to tell, baby. It’s—silly.”
Toji’s jaw ticked.
“You think I’m mad at you?”
You question, “Are you?”
“I’m not. Shit ain’t silly if you’re flustered like this.”
He then repeats, “Tell me.”
You swallowed, fiddling with your manicured fingers.
“‘Promise you won’t be mad?”
He huffs, “I just told you I wasn’t, babydoll. C’mon.”
Your legs moved together awkwardly, fingers still a fiddling mess.
“When I see the two of you being together, working, or just—doing stuff, I imagine…”
Toji waited, watching you fidget.
“Sexual stuff, Y’know? My mind just gets a little dirty.”
“You think ‘bout him fuckin’ you?”
“Toji.”
“You think ‘bout him fuckin’ you while I watch?”
“Fushiguro!” you squeaked, “Jesus, no. I think about the both of you,” you clarify, “That’s all!”
You stand from the chair, going over to lightly wrap your arms around his neck—you’re breathless as you whimper, “Shitsumon suru no wa yamete kudasai. It’s a stupid thing, okay? I love you. I’d never do anything with anyone else.”
“Is that somethin’ you want?”
“What?” you frown, “What do you mean?”
“You want me and him? You wanna take that?”
You knock your head into his chest, throwing your hands over your face as you squeak again, “Baby!”
The corner of Toji’s mouth lifted with amusement.
“I’m just askin’ a question.”
You felt mortified.
You were stubborn in keeping your face covered, muttering out, “No, Fushiguro. Please. Stop.”
You could feel his chuckle against your head, deep within his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist.
“You’re so shy, woman.”
“You’re insane,” you murmur, heart thumping in your chest, “Why aren’t you mad? How aren’t you mad?”
“Don’t really have anythin’ to be mad ‘bout,” Toji murmured, squeezing at your waist, “You like the idea of it; ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”
“I feel insane,” You reply.
“Shit is kinda’ cute, honestly.”
“Toji,” You smack his bicep, “Stop.”
“Ouch.”
His hands gripped at the full flesh of your ass, forcing you to hold around his neck as he lifted you onto the sink’s countertop.
“You done with your lil’ tantrum?”
You roll your eyes, “My husband is tryna’ have me admit that I want a threesome with him and his best friend. I think my reaction is pretty valid.”
His lips brushed up your neck, voice deep, gruff with his reply, “Ain’t nobody said nothin’ ‘bout all that, huh?” Your legs hooking at either side of his hips, holding him between the warmth of your thighs.
“Can we stop talking about this?” you question, “Why can’t you just say I’m pretty and that you love me? Why do you have to make my life harder?”
He smirked at your complaint. He then responded with, “I think you’re the prettiest thing in the South; you know that.”
His strong hands were already tugging the fabric of your night gown, palming at the soft flesh up your thigh. You grip at his hair, fingers twisting within it.
“You know I love you so damn much,” he grunts, nose running along the curve of your neck, “You’re mine.”
You pucker your lips out, awaiting a kiss.
Toji gives you what you want, of course. He groaned from the sensation of you tugging down on his bottom lip, sucking on it with a pop as he pulled away.
You run your tongue along your lips as you giggle, “‘Mkay. I love you too, all is forgiven.”
You then sigh, “Wanna go to bed? Get a little—freaky?” you playfully wiggle your brows.
“Yeah. Lemme’ call up Onyankopon first—“
You smack his chest again.
The next couple of days were better than you imagined. It was a resting period, both you and Toji spending most of your time sleeping, cuddling, watching shows, and overall rejuvenating one another in preparation for work the next week.
Your time off had gotten infinitely better when your husband received a phone call from a client within the Garden District—who he thought wasn’t interested in his services—but when he offered triple Toji and Onyankopon’s pay rate, it seemed otherwise. You whisper screamed as you jumped on the bed above him, your feet thumping on either side of his legs as he talked business, watching as he tried to hold off his chuckle.
Here’s when things got weird. Later that morning, Onyankopon planned to come over for a football game, as you’d also agreed to cook in celebration of your big contract coming up. It was a usual routine—football, gym, coming back home to cook.
But something about today’s routine felt…different.
Toji and Onyankopon. The combination of the two was something you could usually handle, but when you came downstairs that morning for coffee, you felt an energy coming off of them. You were usually comfortable in their company. Toji was his rough, crass self, but nonetheless a loving husband. And then there was Onyankapon, who was usually the sweetheart.
But now, you felt as if their attitudes had shifted. They’d been quiet and watchful since you’d entered the kitchen, eyes following your every single move. That’s when you realize—they were watching you like you were their prey.
“Good morning?”
Your voice was sweet, nervous. You waved as if they weren’t ten feet away.
Both men replied with their own version of a greeting, their eyes locked on your form as you moved to grab a cup of coffee. You could feel the heat of their stares.
It was almost—too silent.
If that wasn’t weird, this definitely was. The energy picked up around the afternoon, both men gulping down a beer together as their low tones barked at the television, watching the game at its peak. You’d finished up with those emails you were supposed to finalize, snuggling yourself into your husband as you leaned your upper body into his, Onyankopon beside you while continuously watching the game. Your eyes were a bit droopy as you weren’t as interested, sinking your face deeper into Toji’s abdomen. And that’s when it happened—you felt Onyankopon graze his fingers along your hip as he spoke to your husband about the game. Your eyes went wide.
Onyankopon’s voice was gruff from grunting and the consumption of beer, but his fingers were steady as ever against your skin. Both men were locked onto the screen as if your reaction was nothing important—All the while, you felt your heart thumping under your rib cage.
Your clit throbbed.
Then, it was your husband's turn. Toji’s hand was a stark contrast to Onyankopon’s; rough, large, calloused, and much thicker. His fingers cladded onto your ass, pulling your body back so you were nestled further between the two.
“You think LSU’s gonna’ make an upset today?”
“Ain’t no way them’ niggas beatin’ Georgia,” Onyankopon shook his head, “I’m reppin’ my state, but they’ be drawlin’.”
“You always goin’ too hard for the opposition,” Toji countered, “Gotta’ be more confident in the home team.”
“You ain’t even from Louisiana,” Onyankopon sucked his teeth, “Why you defendin’ niggas like they’ payin’ you to say allat’?”
“I ‘been here for sixteen years now. Chill.”
They’re both touching. Again.
Your heart felt as if it was being squeezed between two giant fingers. You’d tried so hard to keep your focus on the game, but Onyankopon shifted forward in his seat, leaning more of his body closer to your ass. Toji shifted his legs apart, forcing you to lean a bit more onto Onyankopon.
Your heart palpitated.
“You wanna’ go against this bet or not?”
Onyankopon was still rubbing at your hip. He grunted at Toji’s response, “Don’t get yo’ ass beat.”
“Beat this bet, Pussy.”
“Who’ the pussy?”
“I’d say the man who’s ‘bouta lose fifty dollars.”
Your ass was right on top of Onyankopon’s thigh at this point.
You inhaled a shaky breath, feeling a bit dizzy at the scent of them. Toji smelled like nature; earthy, woodsy. Onyankopon, however, smelled like musk and some type of cologne. You weren’t sure which one you liked more, their argument now completely muffled to your ears.
They were trying to kill you.
Maybe it didn’t actually happen that way. Your mind fed on those delusions as you stood within the gym later that day, zoning out each time you waited to do your rep behind both men. You’d always worked out with them, learning different techniques that left your body sore afterwards—but once again, today was different.
They were both rough with their work outs, grunting whenever they’d throw down a set of weights. Chests’ heaving, sweat collecting—they were sexy. But today, the attention was on you.
The way Onyankopons’ fingers would graze over your waist as he helped you with your sets, how Toji’s hand smacked your ass as you walked past—You couldn’t handle them.
It all led into the night. Once everyone was refreshed and showered, you were within the kitchen cooking one of their favorite meals—steak, loaded potatoes and broccoli. You were comforted by the candles lit along the house, a glass of wine easing your nerves from the entire day. Your ginger curls draped around your face and past your hips, pale yellow halter top and matching capris hugging the fat of your ass, frilly sock beneath your golden heels to match the jewelry on your caramel skin. You were currently seasoning your steak, eyes briefly flickering to the patio door halfway open as both men smoked a blunt together. You watched them.
Toji was dressed in those loose, dark cargos that hung off of his hips for dear life, a white tee stretched to its limit across his biceps and over the chest. Onyankopons’ pants were black, and his shirt was navy blue. They're both huge.
A slight breeze drifted through the cracked patio door, blowing into the house and mixing with the scents of Toji’s—and now their—smoke.
Their shoulders flexed as they passed the blunt back and forth, laughter and low conversation heard through the glass. They were both so handsome, so attractive, so rough compared to you.
Your eyes briefly met theirs from the doorway, Toji’s eyes that dark grey, Onyankopons’ a lighter brown.
They were looking at you. No other way to describe it. They were looking at you.
The sight made you a bit wobbly. Nonetheless, you waved through the window at the two, dimple poking with the soft smile you gave them.
Your husbands’ fingers rubbed at his jaw while Onyankopon cracked a smirk, waving back at you in return.
Okay.
When they made it back inside, you were in the middle of cutting your potatoes up—you hummed, “Everything okay?”
Toji’s gaze was focused on your hands as you chopped the vegetables, but it eventually flickered to your face as he replied, "Good, just missed you out there.”
Onyankopons’ head tilted your direction too, eyes scanning you from head to toe, “You look good,” He complimented, voice raspy.
You blushed at his compliment. Accepting the kiss Toji gave along your cheek, you’re distracted as he tugs his finger through your curls—you giggle a bit, “Just wanted to look pretty for tonight—you guys look nice too,” you turn your face to kiss at your husbands lips, “You guys hungry?”
Toji leaned in for another kiss, sucking your lower lip between his teeth as he multiplied his pecks. You rubbed your fingers along his shoulder, turning your face up for his mouth to find your jaw. You weren’t used to your husband giving this kind of affection in front of his friend.
“Starvin’,” Toji grunted.
Onyankopons’ eyes stayed on you, tongue running along those full lips of his, “You always lookin’ pretty, Mama. You know that?”
The pet name made your thighs want to clench.
“Um—“ you giggled once more, holding Toji’s jaw to keep him in place, “Thank you, Ony. I should be done with dinner soon, okay?”
“Don’t take too long,” Toji murmured along your neck, “Can’t keep my mouth off’ you.”
His hand smacked the fuller portion of your ass, sending it jiggling beneath your capris.
Onyankopons’ tongue ran along his lips, “Aight. I’m waitin’ on you, girl.”
That sentence weighed in your chest.
Toji went upstairs to find another lighter, leaving the two of you downstairs—alone. You hummed the low instrumentals of your music, beginning to slice the stems of your broccoli. You gave Onyankopon a small smile as his eyes found yours every so often, tugging your hair out of your face as a way to distract how anxious you felt.
You softly ask, “How’d you spend your days off?”
Onyankopons’ eyes followed the movement of your fingers through your hair, watching the way your neck exposed when you threw it back. His arms folded over his chest, the veins within his forearms prominent from the action.
“Shit was aight,” he replied evenly, “‘Nigga just caught up on some sleep. You?”
You hummed, attempting to look for another cutting board, “We caught up on a couple of shows, cuddled; mushy shit that married couples do.”
You then ask, “How ‘you feel about the contract in the Garden District?”
The corner of Onyankopons’ mouth twitched with a small smile, eyes lingering on the way your hips shifted.
“Feels good to have contracts comin’ left and right,” he replied, “Blessed, essentially. Y’all’ been on my ass since the last project, so I’m ready to start sum’ new.”
You turn your head towards him, hair draping over your shoulder. Your eyes rolled as you mused, “Y’know it’s not like that, Onyankopon. Toji is just—despite the things clients ask for, he wants to go above and beyond that. Not saying you don’t, he’s just—particular, you know?”
Onyankopons’ eyes were practically glued to you as he replied, “Yeah, nah, I ain’t mean it like that. I know how Toji gets, that’s just part of the process,” His head cocked, “He just get’ too caught up sometimes.”
Onyankopons’ eyebrows then lifted, “How you’ be puttin’ up wit’ him?”
“The same way you do,” you softly giggle, “We both love him. It’s a thing we seem to have in common.”
He chuckled in return, your attention moving back to finish cutting your broccoli. After a few moments of silence, your eyes flick back up to him—you call, “Ony?”
You think on your words.
“I just wanted to say—thank you, for being such a good friend to him. He doesn’t have anyone in his life outside of me, and having such amazing emotional support like you, he’s happier when you’re around. It means the world.”
Onyankopons’ expression changed with the way your voice softened. Something warm, comfortable, almost intimate coming from the way you talked about his friend. His best friend for that matter.
His voice was softer in reply, “Of course, Mama. Toji’s family to me—A nigga like me couldn’t ask for a better person to have in his corner.”
After a moment, he then questions, “What ‘bout you?”
You blink at the question, “What about me?”
“You’ happy to have me around?”
The question makes your heart thump.
You exhale, “I’m always happy to have you around, Ony. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Ion’ make you feel no type of way?”
You blink.
“Of course not.”
There was something about his tone that made your nerves tighten. The way he looked at you was different from the way Toji did, but it had your heart thumping the same.
“No,” you reply, “You’ve been nothing but sweet to me since day one.”
He spread his legs a bit, abdomen flexing as he did so.
Onyankopons’ head tilted, “Just sweet?”
You swallowed, nodding.
“Yeah.”
His fingers flexed as they rested in his lap. You turned your back to him, beginning to cut the remaining broccoli.
“Nothin’ else?”
Your neck prickled at the way his voice dropped.
You shook your head, keeping your eyes locked below. But that’s when you hear—
“I see how you be lookin’ at me, girl.”
Your hands clenched around the knife.
When your eyes find his, that’s when your body tensed—your hands quickly dropped the knife as you felt a slice along your index finger. You held your hand towards your body, scrunching your face at the discomfort.
Onyankopons’ chair made an obnoxious noise as he shot up from his seat—It seemed he was across the room in a second, towering over your body as he took hold of your injured hand. His palms were large, long fingers circling all the way to your wrist as he assessed the wound.
“I—I wasn’t paying attention,” You murmured, “I got distracted. You—“
And then, he’s sucking.
Your eyes widened as Onyankopons’ lips engulfed the wound on your index finger, tongue licking the area with zero hesitance. It was the last thing you expected him to do.
“Ony—“
“‘Gotta be more careful, Mama.”
His tongue runs across his mouth as he pulls back, as if savoring the taste of you. Your lips parted, your chest heaving as his lips loomed along yours.
“You got a taste on you, girl.”
You could’ve died right there. That’s when you hear the heavy thumps of your husband coming downstairs, your face hot as he eyes the two of you in closer vicinity.
He questions, “You good, baby? What happened?”
You felt dizzy under both of their heavy gazes. You swallowed again, nodding.
And as both men conversed normally after that, that’s when you realized—they were in fact trying to get you.
Your mind was elsewhere during dinner. The wine had your brain fuzzy, keeping yourself quiet as you watched both men talk shit between one another, per usual. Everything up in this moment began to click—the day you watched Onyankopon, the conversation with Toji, the weird interactions between the two all day—at this point, you were just waiting for something to happen.
“Yo’, you remember when we went into that adult store up on Bourbon street? Niggas was weird,” Onyankopon chuckled, “Never went back after that.”
Toji huffed, nodding in agreement, “Dude was tellin’ us ‘bout wantin’ to be a dog. I’m not judgin’, but I didn’t wanna hear all that.”
Both men laughed. Your fingers tapped against your glass nervously.
Toji then turns, “We went to one a couple years ago, huh, babydoll?”
You blink at Toji’s words, snapping out of your thoughts when your husband addresses you.
“Yeah,” you laugh a bit, “Yeah, we did.”
Toji chuckled once more, “We were in there for hours.”
Your eyes widened, “We were not in there for that long!”
Onyankopons’ head tilted, “What were y’all doin’ in there, applyin’ for the job?”
You roll your eyes, “Funny, but no. I just wanted to find a—“
You pause, “You don’t wanna hear all that,” you shook your head, “It’s a little TMI.”
Onyankopon raised an eyebrow.
“Try me. I ain’t gon’ freak out.”
You eyed him once more. Sitting up in your seat, your throat clears as you fiddled with the stem of your glass.
“I was just—browsing,” you giggle, “I was looking for a dildo, but the ones they had were a little too big for me. Like, seven or eight inches.”
Both men stared. Their expressions stayed the same—but you could see in their eyes that there was a shift. Toji’s eyes darkened, while Onyankopons’ jaw flexed a bit.
And then, Onyankopon chuckles.
It sends a chill through your spine, one where you didn’t understand what was exactly funny. Your eyes run across him the same way you did a couple days ago—cornrows, strident face, full goatee. You almost missed his next set of words as he looked to Toji.
“She ain’t gon’ be able to fit me.”
You felt your entire body freeze.
Toji’s jaw clicked in return, “Nah, she will. She be takin’ my shit real good now.”
Were you going into shock?
You could’ve melted into the chair.
Toji murmured, “My pretty ass woman. Always so shy.”
“She’ more than shy,” Onyankopon murmured in return, his tone low, “Ain’t that right, pretty girl?”
Your body felt like it was about to light on fire from the inside out.
“I—“
“What’s wrong, Mama?” Onyankopon questions, “Youn’ want me no’ more?”
Your mouth dropped open.
Toji grunted, “Words, baby. We need to hear you.”
And there it was. The arousal in your body ignited like a flame in that very second, becoming wet. You looked between the both of them, and suddenly, you were trying desperately not to break.
“Toji,” you pouted, “I—“
“Nuh-uh,” Toji clicked his teeth, “We don’t pout. You gotta’ speak up, don’t you?”
His gaze was intense, his lips slightly upturning as he watched you flounder around yourself. You had never felt so vulnerable in your life as both men’s eyes kept you on lock—no escape.
Onyankopon gave a low groan in return, “Use your words, Mama. I love hearin’ that voice.”
Your chest rose and fell faster, feeling like you wanted to rip your skin off.
Moral to the story? You were absolutely, positively fucked.
Your round eyes stared from above, fluttering between two looming frames that glared back down at you—the difference now? They were naked, and so were you. Your palms covered the swell of your nipples, ginger curls draping over your curvy body in a way that almost made you look otherworldly. You chewed at your baby pink lips, horny, curious.
They were so big.
Even within the bedroom, both men shared many differences—Onyankopons’ dick was massive, thick and veined at the top, long from the base. The complexion of his skin was beautiful and even, all the way down to his deep pink tip. Toji’s, however, was a bit more manageable—he wasn’t as wide, but was about a bit longer, his tip a softer pink as his chest rose and fell in a harsh manner, watching you.
“Show how pretty your shit is, baby.”
Toji’s voice. It echoes in your mind, low, gruff, and rumbling.
But that didn’t keep you from listening—even if you were a bit shy. Your back perfectly arches lower onto the bed, cheek pressed into the sheets as you spread your pussy open—your folds were in fact pretty, rougè, glistening beneath the dim lights of the room.
“There we go,” Onyankopons murmured, fingers moving to grip at the full bottom of your thighs. When he spanked there, your body trembled in return, folds clenching around nothing.
“Look how muhfuckin’ pretty you are.”
You whimpered into the sheets. Toji gave a low grunt of his own, hand coming up to grip at your other thigh harshly, spreading you open more for them to see, “Fuckin’ hell, baby.”
Your back arched lower at the feel of your husband, stomach pressed into the mattress as your body quivered.
That’s when you felt a thick, heat prodding at your entrance. He’s slapping his tip on your folds.
You clenched once more—your nerves were on fire from just the sensation alone, feeling of his thick, slick head smacking down.
“Which one’ you feelin’, huh?”
“Toji,” you whimpered quickly, “Feel you, baby.”
“Just me,” Toji rasped, “Always mine. Ain’t she?”
Onyankopons’ voice was behind you, “Yours entirely.”
You felt your back stiffen to keep in the mewl you were about to let out—your eyes continuously fluttered, cheek still smashed against the sheets.
“Now you listenin’,” Toji murmured, “All good girls do that, huh?”
Onyankopon chuckled behind you; the bed shifted as he spread you even further.
“C’mere. Show me some love,” your husband husked.
That's why it was your favorite term—it was something you both used, as you either wanted the sweetest affection possible—or he was planning to rut his dick at the back of your throat. Your body was still shivering as you turned, your teeth grazing over your bottom lip as his hand found your chin.
Your round eyes glaze up, “Lemme’ have a kiss, baby.”
His thumb swiped over your mouth, pulling your bottom lip with him as he watched your lips pucker, waiting for him to meet you.
“Just pretty as hell.”
His lips touched yours for a second, his tongue sliding inside your mouth to taste you. You returned the kiss, sliding your tongue around his mouth messily, panting when you pulled back—it made you throb everywhere, your mouth then lowering itself to latch onto the edge of his tip. The scent of him, the flex of his pelvic bone, you moan against him, sliding your fingers across his muscular abdomen.
“I know you’re excited baby—watch them’ teeth,” He growled, his head tilting back as the grip in your hair yanked your head further down his length, “Careful.”
You moaned around Toji’s dick once more, taking him just a little bit deeper into the confines of your mouth as he huffed. You could barely get halfway, your hands moving from his abdomen to rest on his muscular thighs, nails biting into his skin as his fingers kept you moving, the schluck of your mouth already creating a sound within the room. Your eyes cast to Onyankopon who watches, keeping his palm steady around his own dick, vision narrowing at the sight.
A string of saliva follows your full lips, your mouth pulling halfway off as your fingers wrap at the base of him, rotating your palm. Your voice, it’s higher in this scenario—your curls drape your body as you mewled, “Didn’t mean to hurt you, Daddy.”
Toji’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle, his hands gripping at your hair as you ran your tongue across his slit, spreading pre-cum across his tip before your mouth sucks, “You’re fine, baby. ‘Know you ain’t mean it.”
Toji then grunts, his face twisted back in pure pleasure, “Wanna’ see that pretty face a lil’ more.”
His other hand came down to grip along the side of your cheek, running his thumb along your jaw, “Tongue out. Show me how good my girl is.”
You didn’t hesitate to do as you were told, your mouth sliding backwards off of his length, tongue poking out to press just below his head.
Toji groaned, “Shit.”
You moaned in return, the sound muffling around him as your eyes locked on his. Your husband wasn’t always the most vocal man, letting you do most of the talking in bed—but to see how elated you were to have an audience, Toji let out a deep moan once you began to take him again, sliding him all the way to the back of your throat.
His hips pushed forward, slapping up against your chin as your mouth worked him—You looked up from beneath your eyelashes, eyes growing watery with the back of his tip hitting your throat. Your eyes found Onyankopon’s again, giving him a show.
Onyankopon’s jaw clicked at the sight.
Toji’s hands grip onto you, his face almost vicious in the look he gives. His voice came out in a hiss, “She ain’t stoppin’ no time soon.”
Onyankopon grunts at Toji’s words, the veins in his hands becoming more visible, “You’ doin’ a good job, girl—shit.”
“She’s doin’ a good job, huh?” Toji repeated, his free hand raking into your hair again, “You see that? My baby’s givin’ her all right now.”
All you could do under his grip was moan, nodding your head through its back and forth.
“I’m watchin’,” Onyankopons replied, his neck flexing from how he held himself. His fingers wrapped tightly around the base of his length, “I see you real good. Pretty ass bitch.”
Your face was a mess at this point. The makeup you had on earlier was smeared all across your mouth, your eyes still holding Onyankopons’ while Toji continued to move your head with his strong, large hands.
He grunted through his teeth, “She gettin’ better?”
“Yeah. Her mouth’ good as hell—I’m tryna’ feel that shit.”
Onyankopon wags his dick beneath his palm, “You gon’ let me?”
That’s when you slow your movements—your eyes peer back to the heft of his length, nearly the size of a monster you weren’t sure you could manage. At the same time, there was a slight hesitance in your eyes—simply because of who he was to you, and the last thing you wanted was to make your husband jealous.
Your lips swelled as you ran your tongue against them, eyes flickering up to Toji—your voice is soft, “Can I?”
Toji’s face flickered with something, but it quickly smoothed once he met Onyankopon’s dark eyes. A moment passed between them—a beat, or maybe two—your husband inhaled then exhaled, his features smirking slightly as he gave a single nod, “Go ‘head.”
“I love you,” you moan, sliding your tongue across Toji’s tip once more, “So much.”
It was a reassurance for him.
“I know you do,” Toji replied gruffly, his grip in your hair slackening once you move towards Onyankopons’ now exerted dick—it nearly covers your entire face. You tugged at your lip once more, eyes eagerly facing up to him.
Your fingers didn’t even wrap around him all the way.
Your hands come up to grip at the flesh of his quads, fingers digging into his skin as you flattened your tongue over the sides of Onyankopons’ dick, “Gon’ make me feel good, Mama? This what you been wantin’?”
You nod eagerly, feeling the way it twitched against your face. It jumped, too.
Your eyes widened. Your mouth was almost too small, or he was too thick. You moaned around his tip, sucking through the immediate fullness of your cheeks. Somehow, this felt rewarding.
You bobbed your head once, twice—He groans, his hands twitching against his thighs as he lets you try and take him, “There you go—that fuckin’ mouth.”
Onyankopon gritted his teeth; your tongue continued to slide up and down his length, sucking and swirling at his tip, wanting all of him in your mouth. Toji watched you, and he noticed something—the way your eyes rolled, as if this was in fact all you wanted. You were nastier, sloppier with the man opposite of him.
You moaned around his head, loudly, and Toji’s jaw clicked. You were careless—filthier with Onyankopon.
“Keep talkin’ to her,” Toji grunts, “That’s the shit she likes.”
Onyankopons’ hands finally settled on both sides of your throat, a rough grip on your chin with his thumbs—he moaned heavily, eyes flickering down towards you, “Pretty ass face, Mama. You suckin’ me up like a fuckin’ pro.”
You moaned in response, “Tastes so good.”
“Keep takin’ that shit, baby.”
Toji’s voice was all around you.
Onyankopon pushed his hips forward, a small shlupp was heard as you gagged. His fingers pressed against your cheek, feeling the curve of your stuffed mouth when he ran his thumb over the flesh, “Yeah? How it’ look?”
Without a second to waste, you let his tip pop out of your mouth, tongue poking out as you moaned, “‘Look so good. So handsome, Papa.”
You could hear him growl at the pet name, your face becoming more of a mess from how spit dripped over your chin. You were in a daze.
“Look in her eyes,” Toji instructs, “Look into them when you speak, too.”
Onyankopons’ eyes flicker down to meet your own once more, “Like that?”
You nod eagerly, lips swollen and puffy as you nod, “Mhm.”
“Always keep them’ eyes on her.”
Onyankopons’ mouth twitched into a smirk. They were brown; dark, a color you could get lost in if you looked long enough. They were bright despite the dimness of the room, holding nothing else but you.
His grip on your face got tighter as you slid your mouth back onto his length. You moaned again, feeling so full, “So big, Ony.”
You were becoming confident, a point you hit when you were so horny that it made you delirious—here it was. The sight of you was blinding—your mouth was engorged with the space of his dick, cheeks bulging as your eyes rolled shut blissfully. That's when you tugged Onyankopon from your mouth, tongue lolling out as you mewled, “Spit on it.”
And he did—he lowered his mouth, dropping saliva between your lips—he found himself kissing you seconds later, feigning to taste you. It was good, so good. Your body rose up to press against his as your fingers found his shoulders, nails digging into the skin as you moved forward on your knees to get closer to him, your head tilting further back so he could slide his tongue into your mouth. You sucked each other’s lips.
That’s when it happens—when you lower back down to find the fat of Onyankopon’s dick, you slap it on your tongue so loudly that it echoes—Toji grunts in an irritation, “Don’t be fuckin’ cute.”
You giggled, running your tongue over Onyankopon’s length, sucking his balls into your mouth.
“Just wanted to taste him, Daddy.”
Onyankopon darkly chuckled.
That's when you hear Toji’s, “Yeah?”
He grunts, “Quit playing. Lay on your back, miss your pussy in my mouth.”
Onyankopons’ voice cut through the room, “Lay that ass down.”
At both of their commands, you listen. Your heart thumped within your chest as your back made contact with the bed—you hear Toji’s, “Come hold her legs—she be runnin’ from my mouth,” he grunts.
You whimper, “Sensitive, baby.”
Regardless, Onyankopon was behind your head—he hovered over to pull your legs back, holding you by your ankles as he spread you apart.
Your fingers were already sinking in your husband's hair below, clenching the tresses between your fingers—his tongue spread across your folds, sliding saliva all across the flesh.
Toji groaned as he felt your legs already trembling, your eyes rolling as Onyankopon kept your legs open. You tug at your lower lip, voice high pitched, “F—fuck, baby. Missed your mouth so much.”
“‘Taste’s so good.”
You moaned in response, writhing—you were more sensitive as his tongue slipped against your clit, swirling around it in slow motions. Your chest rose and fell, feeling the heat of both men’s touch. You whimpered again, hips wriggling under the pressure of Toji’s hands over your pelvis, “Toji,” you moaned, “Ooh.”
He warned against your folds, “Stop movin’.”
Onyankopons’ grip on your ankles was borderline bruising, his dark eyes flickering down to watch how Toji’s mouth lapped at you. Each time you moved, he spread your ankles even farther.
“Look at the way he just in yo’ pussy,” Onyankopon grunts in your ear, “Bouta’ have a nigga drownin’ in yo’ shit.”
Your thighs trembled like crazy at the sounds your pussy made, almost as if Toji were blowing bubbles across the flesh. You pouted beneath yourself, “Fuck,” you mewl, “That feels so good.”
Toji’s took one long, slow, lick over your clit. He grumbled in return, “Pussy messy as fuck, baby.”
Your back arches. You lift above to take a look—Onyankopons’ eyes were staring down, watching. You could see the veins in his arms throbbing as he gripped your ankles.
“Goddamn,” Onyankopon murmured, “Yo’ pussy finna’ get sucked up by my mouth. That shit lookin’ edible.”
The combination of Toji’s mouth and Onyankopon’s words, your pout deepened on your face.
Toji didn’t hesitate to bury his face all into your folds. Your legs were trembling dangerously at this point, watching as he ate you like a starved man. To make matters worse, Onyankopons’ breath was hot in your ear as he continued to hold your ankles, eyes still locked on your husband between your legs—your chest rose and fell, the sensation of Toji’s mouth against you becoming almost too much to handle. You groaned, “Oooh,” legs trying to snap closed, head falling back against Onyankopon’s shoulder, just moaning within his ear.
“You smell so sweet,” Onyankopon murmured, “He eatin’ that pussy,” Onyankopons growled in your ear, “Shit look’ good as hell with his face in it.”
You whimpered at his words.
Onyankopons leaned forward just a bit, mouth pressed against your ear, “I’m missin’ yo’ mouth, babydoll.”
He tugs your hair from around your cheeks, looming above you as his dick slapped across your entire face—his tip is sliding between your mouth, making you whimper even deeper as Toji continued eating at you from below.
Onyankopons’ dick was bigger upside down. You moaned around it, making it hit the back of your throat with every quick thrust he made—he grunted, “You doin’ so good, pretty mama. Finna’ have a nigga put his shit in you.”
Your hands reached back, digging into his hips so you could pull him all the way in, “Fuck, girl. Yo’ throat bulgin’.”
Toji continued eating you from below; the mixture of him and Onyankopon had your eyes watery, legs shaking as if you’d been tased. Every other word out of your mouth was a moan that went directly onto Onyankopon’s tip.
That’s when you pull him from your mouth, sliding your tongue on the sides of his length—you whimper below him, “Want it in me, Ony.”
He pulled you down to where your nose was pressed to his pelvis—he groaned within your mouth, “That ain’t how you beg,” he grunts.
“Please, Ony. Please.”
“You want it that bad?”
You whined, “‘So bad.”
A smirk appeared across Onyankopons’ face. You could hear Toji’s slurrpp between your legs, still tongue deep along your pussy—but the moment he heard you begging from below, his mouth pulled away, leaving you cold. It had you whimpering at the loss.
But then, Onyankopon’s mouth was on you. And it was nowhere near the same. He wasn’t as soft as Toji. His long tongue swirled around your clit—you moaned again, feeling it slide against the flesh harshly.
You gripped at his cornrows, legs shaking in his grip again, “Oh, Ony.”
He lapped at your clit, “Can’t hear you,” he muffled.
Toji was behind you now, holding your legs in place of Onyankopon. He moaned in your ear, “You look so good, baby, spread all open like that.”
“I can’t,” you whined, “Put it in me.”
Onyankopon’s head dipped lower, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking. You were practically vibrating. You lean your head on your husband's shoulder, accepting the kiss he gives you, whimpers muffling into his mouth.
“I love you,” you kept whimpering, “Love you so much, Fushiguro.”
“I love you,” he murmured back onto your lips, “I know.”
Your body tensed the moment you felt Onyankopon’s tip sliding across your folds—you’d wanted it so bad, but actually feeling him weigh against your lower body, you shivered. His upper body loomed above your own as Toji stayed behind, Onyankopon’s lips coming to slide his tongue into your mouth, both men close to your face now.
His dick is sliding between your folds again, again, making them spread apart every few seconds. His forehead presses to yours in such a domineering way—the silence that falls between the two of you feels heavy as his tip begins nudging into your opening—it swallows itself inside, your mouth immediately frowning at the discomfort you feel. Onyankopon sucks the softest kiss on your mouth, grunting as he sinks even deeper. Your eyes rolled, body trembling as you pressed your forehead farther into his. Your fingers found his upper back, nails digging into the flesh as your body responds in all different ways—but it was so good, the tiniest whimper parts from your lips as you lightly squirt on his tip. You’d never done that before, as you creamed more than anything.
“Pussy tryna’ push me out,” Onyankopon grunts on your lips, moaning into another kiss, “That’s how you cummin’?”
“Baby,” Toji moaned, “That was so fuckin’ good. Ain’t even started yet,” he tugs your hair from your face, sucking his mouth against your throat. Your body shakes, gasping as tears seeped from your eyes. You whimpered to Onyankopon, “Oh my god.”
You could hear yourself—you were whiny, sensitive and too full. You mewled again, feeling your stomach clenching as your eyes rolled back. Onyankopons’ face was dark, “You tight as hell,” pressing his forehead more into yours, “You gon’ open up for me?”
A weak, “Uh huh,” comes from your lips.
You could feel him trying to be steady, not wanting to hurt you, but at the same time, his eyes were hooded, lust within them—“Tryin’,” he murmured. His hips stilled for a moment as he slowly, gently slid more of his length deeper into you. You moaned, loud enough to echo off of the wall, “Ugh, fuck.”
Your mind was going blank. His head fell back, “You takin’ me so good,” Your back kept arching, legs quaking. Toji was right there, caressing your scalp to soothe you. You were releasing sounds you’d never made before, moaning deeper each time Onyankopon pulled out to slide himself in more—the slap of his hips against the back of your thighs has your eyes rolling, your face screwed up in pleasure, nodding against his forehead as all you could do was cry for him.
Your legs were shaking too much, to the point Toji gave Onyankopon a glare, “Slow down.”
Onyankopon gritted his teeth as if to focus, trying to not give in to all of the sounds you were making.
“Can’t,” he grunted—Your body kept squirming, legs spreading themselves more open for him, “F—fuck,” he cursed. He was grunting and moaning just as much as you were now.
“Talk to me, Mama. I’m hurtin’ you?” Onyankopon gruffs at you. You find your hand at the nape of his neck, lips closer together—you mewl to him, “Feels sooo good,” your voice was soft, “‘M okay,” you promised to both of them.
Toji was trying to spread some comfort for you, “Look at me, breathe,” his voice was low, his hand reaching forward to touch your cheek. He gave you what you wanted; he leaned his face against your own, “Look at me, pretty baby. Breathe.”
Your entire body listened to your husband’s commands. You took in a deep breath in response, your body calming a bit as he murmured sweetly against your face, “That’s it, good girl.”
A little easier to process with your husbands’ fingers caressing your cheek, you whimpered, “Please,” you whispered on his lips, “Don’t stop him.”
You spread your legs wider—your eyes rolled at the sensation, reaching your hand up to Onyankopon’s face to pull him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth.
Onyankopon growled, holding onto your chin so he could suck on your bottom lip. Toji’s thumb was wiping at your cheek, swiping away tears that you didn’t even realize you were shedding.
He pressed his forehead back to your own, mouth still connected in a sloppy kiss, “Don’t move,” Onyankopon murmured against your face. You felt both mouths kissing somewhere along your body, and that pleasure could’ve engulfed you into an explosion.
But oh, they had so much more to give.
Maybe you did too. Your shaken legs had found themselves crawling along the bed, doe eyes becoming a sultry slender as you crawled towards your husband— your curls evaded your entire body as you slid your hands across his chest, grinding yourself along his lap to gain his attention—you tell him, “I missed you, baby.”
“Missed you too,” Toji murmured in return, unable to keep his eyes off of you. His large palm slid across your hips, another palm reaching around to smack his tip between your folds from behind. You giggled, hair swinging to one side of your body as you circled your hips atop of him, “You wanna put it in me?”
Your hands slide across your nipples, making sure to keep Onyankopon’s attention as your hand finds the tip of his dick beside your body—you whimper to your husband, “Want you so much, Toji. Talk to me.”
Onyankopons’ hands found their way to your arms and shoulders, squeezing the flesh there—One of your hands reached up onto Onyankopons’ face, running your fingers against his facial hair, moving to slide your index finger onto his lips.
“Always thinkin’ ‘bout you,” you moaned, your hands leaving behind Onyankopons’ face to slide back onto Toji’s shoulders. Onyankopon grunted, “She need’ you—Drippin’ all over the sheets and shit.”
You’re guiding yourself down, sinking onto his dick in a way that has your husband leaning his head back onto the bed, clutching your hips within his palms. Toji’s groaning through full lips, eyes narrowing up to you as you’re already bouncing your ass down onto his abdomen. You giggle through a moan, leaning towards Onyankopon with angelic eyes, sticking your tongue out to await for his mouth.
Toji growled from below, “Look at you,” while Onyankopons’ hand pushed a few of your curls aside with a low chuckle, “Cute as hell.”
Onyankopon’s tongue slithered within the confines of your mouth, hand sliding behind your neck to keep your face close to his—your attention went onto your husband, your hips rotating, circling above him—you take one of his palms, sliding it up your body as you suck his index finger into your mouth, moaning around it.
“Jesus,” Toji growled, “‘Gonna’ have me bust early, baby,” He grunted out, “Keep it up.”
You shake your head, “Don’t wanna cum without you,” you whimper—so you lean back to your side, finding Onyankopon’s dick between your lips—you’re sucking, keeping your hips moving for Toji, but your attention elsewhere.
Onyankopons’ hand was resting atop of your forehead, his fingers buried into your hair. You moaned around him again, one hand wrapped around his length and the other caressing Toji’s chest. Your husband was becoming more aggressive below you, his hands finding themselves beneath your thighs to guide you.
He takes one hand to find your throat, snatching your face in his direction. He grunts to you, “I know you’re hearin’ me. Come fuck me, girl. Bounce on my dick like you missed me.”
You have your attention fully on him now—you whimper, “Sorry,” all while you press your feet flat along the bed, tossing your hair along one side of your body as your palms pressed against his chest—your ass trembles each time it claps along his abdomen, a wetness drenching his flesh, the sight of you like hell wrapped up in beauty.
“I love your dick sooo much,” you promised to him, ass clapping at this point, “Love you, Fushiguro,” you whimper, spreading your cheeks from behind, wanting him deeper each time you dropped down.
“I know you fuckin’ do.”
His palm spanks against your asscheek. It jiggles beneath the impact, Toji’s hands finding your hips again to hold you in place.
“Keep fuckin’ me like that.”
Your legs were shaking as Toji’s hips moved to meet your own, bouncing you up and down himself.
Onyankopon was behind you, finding his palms along your hips as he helped you—your eyes rolled, mewling as you allowed him to guide your body down.
Your fingers found your clit below, shoulder shivering as Onyankopon licked up the back of your neck, “O—Ooh,” you moaned, “Please.”
You mewled at both men, your body quaking as your hands slid up behind you, fingers grazing over Onyankopon’s hair. You sloppily slow your tongue in and out his mouth, tugging his head back as you whimper to him, “Put it back in.”
You lean down to find Toji’s
mouth within a deep kiss, hearing his murmur of, “‘Go head, wanna watch you cum.”
Your curls draped across his chest as you tugged his dick from your folds, back arching as you grind your lower body for Onyankopon to take you from behind—you whimper to him, “Want it. ‘Want it, Ony.”
“Been patient,” Onyankopons’ husked, “Come drop that shit on me.”
His hands found both of your asscheeks again, spreading them open. You moaned over your shoulder, the taste of your own skin delicious as he slid himself between your folds, deeper than he’d been before. The giggle you give is elated, eyes rolling as you’re messily bouncing your ass back onto his dick, you’re groaning, “Fuckkk.”
“Good fuckin’ girl,” Toji groaned from below, watching you take it from behind, “Greedy as fuck.”
Onyankopon collected your hair beneath his fist, tugging you back gently while allowing you to fuck yourself onto him—he glares down, “You’ loud.”
“You feel so good,” you couldn’t stop repeating, your hands pressed into Toji’s shoulders to lean back more, arching as you continued to take Onyankopon as deep as you could, “Feelssogood.”
“Givin’ you what you been wantin’,” Onyankopon growled behind you, "Look how good you look takin’ this dick, pretty mama.”
You tried to keep your eyes open, but each time you moved with him, pleasure was rising from somewhere deep within you that had your vision becoming blurry. You were drunk at this point.
“You feel so good in me,” you repeated one more time—it’s the softest you’ve ever spoken, squealing in a way that your body showed exhaustion. You were just taking him now, Onyankopon’s dick becoming drenched in your cream. You pouted, sobbing lowly through your sniffles.
Neither of them had ever seen a reaction out of you like this—you were so sensitive, too sensitive, too open. Onyankopon pounded into your messy, soaking wet pussy from behind, “You gone. Takin’ my dick without even askin’ for it.”
His palm slides along your neck, gently tugging your face back to look into his eyes—you could hear Toji’s grunt of, “So proud of you, baby.”
You sob softly in return again, keeping your eyes against Onyankopon’s as he tugs you back and forth—you’re so full of him, you can barely feel it anymore. Your voice was deeper, an inhale shaky in your throat, exhaled as you cried real tears.
You were so far gone. Toji’s one hand fisted the tip of his dick, other fingers running through your hair, giving you a gentle pull to keep your face from hiding.
“How you feelin’, baby?” he keeps his voice low, gentle.
You could barely speak—you were so busy crying from pleasure, your hands found his face as you whimpered through tears, “I’m gonna cum,” you trembled, “Gonnacum.”
You were so beautiful like this. Crying and whimpering for them in such an exhausted state, so full that they were ready to cum with you.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You gon’ cum all on me, Mama?”
Onyankopon’s voice.
You nod again, breathless, “Mmm-hmm,” through tears. Toji presses his forehead against your own, allowing you to respond any way you needed to.
Toji pressed a small kiss onto your face, “Good girl. Keep goin’. Almost,” he encouraged you in the most gentle tone possible.
Onyankopons’ breathing was a lot rougher now, the sound of his pelvis smacking against your ass filling the room. He was holding onto your hip with one hand, while the other held the back of your neck, watching his dick being coated by your cream.
You moaned between your tears, voice hiccupping with every pound he delivered. He kept mumbling words from above you that couldn’t decipher, but Toji was still there to calm you.
The room was a chorus of skin against skin, your mewls getting even higher in pitch with how full you felt at Toji’s hands on your face—the warmth of his own cum spurted on your stomach— you were babbling, your body wilder, your toes curling. You squirt again, gasping into a rough kiss with your husband. Onyankopon’s tongue is sliding across your lower back, moaning as you feel a warmth in your pussy—he cums with you.
Your body feels sore, as if you’d just ran a marathon. You quiver when Onyankopon pulls himself out, feeling the cum dripping from your pussy—and somehow, through everything you’d just done, that makes you bury your face within Toji’s shoulder, cheeks flushed as you masked your face.
When your brain sobered over the events of the past couple of days, you still couldn’t believe it—Would it happen again? Was this a one time thing? Only the future could tell.
As your round eyes glanced between both men, the only answer you received was a deep, low, chuckle.
influencer!reader being gifted one of those viral milkmaid dresses for a try on haul and musician!eren becoming irrationally horny because of it ..🤭
🎀🪞🩰🦢🕯️ 🎀🪞🩰🦢🕯️ 🎀🪞🩰🦢🕯️ 🎀🪞🩰🦢🕯️
like he’s so used to seeing you in the fashion nova, shein-esque pieces that are an inch too short and skin tight (which he ironically prefers). make no mistake, he adores you in whatever you wear but it’s something about the way this just accentuates your features. At first glance, you look all innocent and dainty but as he’s watching you from the other side of the room, zooming in and out..stepping into the frame of the camera as you give your very honest and hilarious review of the ensemble, he can’t help but to become a little flustered. “okay, selkie..y’all did exactly what I needed you to on this one.”
giving light little finger claps and nodding as you’re cackling at the end result. Rambling on about how the corset has you snatched around the waist, the flow of the bottom highlighting your wide hips and of course, your cleavage sitting up high and perky at the top. “Got my girls sitting up real nice. What you think of it, bae?” (Y/N) pans the lens over to your husband, who’s trying to be civil because the thoughts in his head are most certainly not when you ask his opinion. “You look beautiful, princess..I love it..” answering very shortly with bright red, burning cheeks; knowing your followers are going to tease him about it because there is just still no way, even after three years of marriage you’ve domesticated EJ the Don. “..aww, thank you, baby!” But it’s what happens once the video is finished and you decide on an impromptu photo shoot in the spacious backyard. Surrounded by a red-and-white checkered blanket, wooden picnic basket, wine glasses and a bouquet of flowers, alongside your new designer handbag Eren had purchased. It was bound to be plastered all over everyone’s mood boards, Instagram feeds and your man’s phone screen in a matter of hours. But for now, he wants to enjoy the experience firsthand…getting to defile you right there in the open! Waving a finger to you once he finishes snapping the photos for you.
“ ‘ren..what are you doing?..” “ ‘m sorry, you just look so fucking good.”
causing you to erupt into a moan shrouded giggle as he aggressively gropes your tits and peels the material back to expose them to the air. Latching onto those sensitive nipples as he prompts you onto your back with your legs tossed across his shoulders..spreading them open as those jewelry laced and black painted digits sink into the seat of your panties. “So fucking sexy in this dress, goddamn..” In one swift motion, he glides them down your ankles and shoves two fingers inside of that warm cunt. Working you over as he pumps them in and out at a steady pace. Relentlessly lapping at both those stiff brown buds and your throat as he marks them each with sloppy kisses. “Mmm..baby. Oh my God..feels so good.” Crying out as the sun beams down on your decadent skin at the ideal moment and catches your face in the throes of ecstasy. But he’s not done..no. Here you are looking absolutely delectable in this thing so it’s only natural he gets a taste! Motioning once more until he’s face down between your thighs, lapping at that juicy pussy as he strokes his cock. You’re grinding on his lips, riding his nose and bucking your hips, trying to get yourself off as he growls and feasts hungrily on your throbbing cunt and with him, it doesn’t take long.. “Did you just come, princess? That was fast.” However, you know he’s a bit of a glutton..never full, never satisfied until he’s had the entire thing. He could be content with just making his sweet girl orgasm all over his tongue but instead, he needs to watch your pretty titties bouncing as he centers his hand on your tummy and maneuvers you up and down on his dick. Fucking you like an absolute slut to dispel any notion that you’re innocent by any means. After all, it was being that closeted freak that had him obsessed with you for months. Without hesitation, he’d tug one leg and the hem of your dress, drawing you closer only to pin them back behind your head. You’re taken aback..appalled by his raw strength and sudden primal behavior. But God, you’d probably lose your mind if he stopped right now!
“Fuck me, ‘ren! Please…”
amused by your sudden desperation, he’d grant your wish by casually sliding that thick cock between the warmth of your aching pussy; coated in juicy slick already. Shoving three digits into your mouth simultaneously with a sly grin on your face, he’d prompt you to suckle on them as he worked himself inside. Alrhough that tightness nearly broke him instantly, he’d maintain his composure. Seconds later, all you’d feel is the sharp thrusts and clawing of his other hand into your skin…burying that member six inches deep into you immediately with no plans of letting up until that blanket was left soaked!
“Yeah..that’s my pretty slut..that’s the look I’m used to..”
moaning through gritted teeth as he bawled that material up in his fist. The corset synching your waist and making those tits sit up quite nicely. It was a rather beautiful view watching them bounce as he propelled you up and down on that cock. If only your beloved fans could see you now..completely disheveled in only a few minutes. Eyes rolling back with your makeup smearing and your entire lower half shaking vehemently. It was only a matter of time before you came and the exposed part of his pelvis was drenched in your fluids. It’d been so long since you’d come that hard..with meetings, practices and everything else in between filling your schedule, you longed for the touch of your husband and this didn’t disappoint!
“Fuck, I’m so close, princess…you feel so good right now..God I missed this..”
he was inching closer to his own orgasm, collapsing into the warmth of your embrace; legs roping around his waist and your nails digging into his back. You could only thank the heavens that you two had no neighbors to speak of..otherwise, this little exchange would’ve been front page on Twitter or TMZ! Even so, none of that concerned Eren and he’d continue drilling into that slippery cunt. Now pulsating between your walls, his rough pace slowed to a more gentle one with sporadic rhythm. Clutching him tightly, you’d whimper in his ear to let it out..fill you to the brim for all the time you were apart..but alas, he had other plans.
“Oh my God, baby..please come inside of me..I need it—“
“No, fuck that..I need to paint that pretty face. I wanna see you in this dress..with my nut all over your face.”
and with a slight chuckle leaving his trembling voice, you’d become on board with his plan. So after carefully coaxing another and final orgasm from you..he’d reluctantly pull out, slapping his tip against that sensitive clit along the way..and next thing you knew..
“There you go, close your eyes..open that mouth—stick that tongue out..and squeeze your tits too..” shaking vehemently as he wrangled that cock around in his fist, pumping rapidly to draw out his cum. Seconds later, you’d feel that warm splatter of seed coating every inch of your upper half; droplets hitting your tongue, eyelids, nose, breasts and even your forehead. It didn’t stop for over a full minute so you knew he was well and pent up! You’d listen on with a deviant smile on your face as he cursed, crying out about how sexy you were and how you brought forth his worst.
“Getting me so fucking worked up like this—fuck..goddamn you—oh my God, I’m lightheaded.”
But amongst all of his fussing followed the clutch of his gentle hands around your throat, and a deep, sloppy kiss right after. Moaning into it with breathy confessions of how much he loved you and vice versa. Never did you think a single dress would elicit this kind of reaction from your man..
“So I’m guessing you don’t want to see the lingerie and handcuffs I got sent? And it’s in your favorite color too..shame—“
“See, now you’re just tryna’ tempt me..you must really want to be on bedrest again. You know once I start, I’m not stopping, baby..”
but with this kind of treatment, you’d model for him any day!
Every time I see a twilight or tvd long x reader fic I get excited and then the name is like
" the other Swan"
" the forgotten Gilbert"
" the secret Mikaelson"
take your ass back to Wattpad because that shit is LAZY.
No adoption mentioned either, which could create such a nice explanation and allow us POC readers to feel like we're not immediately excluded.
And the lack of racial/ethnic diversity, where is your imagination? You could literally craft an entire plot about how your mc has come to be involved with these characters and that's what you go with?
And the mc doesn't have to somehow be more powerful than every other powerful character like, they can just be strong and powerful enough to hold their own y'know?
