Love4BlkWrites

Centered in care. Layered with nuance.

[love4blackwrites]

𝒲𝑒𝓁𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝟒𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬!

​This is a dedicated safe space for Black readers and creators. My goal is to celebrate the diversity of our stories while supporting through reblogs and comments.

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐵𝐿𝒜𝒞𝒦 𝒲𝑅𝐼𝒯𝐸𝑅 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞/𝐓𝐢𝐩𝐬

[soleilnomoon]

✨ category: bad b!tch ✨

⋆˚｡⋆ 18+, mdni; i write fics, hcs, scenarios, drabbles for one piece, jjk, & aot/snk ⋆˚｡⋆ ⋆˚｡⋆ requests are: open temporarily (0/3). ⋆˚｡⋆

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[otakufilms]

‧₊˚﹒♡﹗₊˚⊹❀𝓸𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓶𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓰…‧₊˚﹒♡﹗₊˚⊹❀

rugged. toji.

𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count—5.0K, ORIGINAL!BLACK!FEM!READER! southern domestic vibes!, husband!toji, shyblack!femreader, blackwife!reader, ranchmen!toji, gritty!toji, southerncoded!femreader, southerncoded!toji, aggressive!toji, dominant!toji, gruff!toji, sweet!toji, size kink!, pet names!baby!love!, pussy eating!, face slapping!, 69!, riding!, sex after work!toji, aggressive sex!, dick sucking!, squirting!, creaming, condomless sex, minors aren’t welcome! 𓊇ྀི

メモ。— been in a deep depression + ‘was missin’ my number one, my man, my lover, my only in another lifetime. this was inspired by a lil’ tik tok made by @scrumptious_chowder—i can’t seem to find the specific link for the video i saw, i think she might’ve deleted it? but if you see this, babe. this one’s for you. love your content + all the nasty thoughts in your head. @chrollohearttags ? love you baby. teehee. enjoy.

IT WAS ONE OF THOSE DAYS.

One where talking your husband off the verge of a crash out wasn’t enough—but fucking it out of him made it all complete. Sweeter, somehow.

The evening sun spills honey gold through lace trimmed windows, casting delicate shadows across the yellow bricked backsplash of your kitchen—your sanctuary.

The air smells like yeast and the faint citrus of lemons piled in your farmhouse sink—natural light streaming in soft, golden pools across the Tuscany checkered floors. Your fingers, dusted with flour, press into the supple dough, kneading with practiced rhythm, the marquise cut pale gold band on your left hand catching the warmth with every movement. French tips glint against the raw, pillowy mass, your wedding ring a quiet testament to the life you’ve built here—far from the noise of New Orleans, in a house he built for you with his own calloused hands.  

The vintage radio hums low, crackling with updates between New Orleans and Mississippi, the announcer’s voice a distant murmur beneath the rustle of your Persian kitten—Yumi’s—fur as she nudges the radio with her tiny, impatient head. You glance up, dark lashes fluttering, and reach over to twist the volume knob down. 

“Too loud, baby?”

Yumi answers by leaping gracefully onto the vintage dining table behind you, stretching her fluffy body into a perfect arch before collapsing into a loaf, her purrs filling the quiet kitchen like a melody.  

“…I guess so,” you hum softly.

Your kitchen was made with more love than his proposal, more intention than the ring itself. The single bowl sink overflows with lemons, limes, and a single stray peach, their vibrant colors bleeding into the muted tones of your oasis.  

The curtains flutter, carrying the scent of distant rain and turning earth—his scent, soon. The house breathes around you, every nail driven by his hands, every brick laid with the weight of his promise. 

“Ain’t gonna let nothin’ touch you ‘cept me.” 

You and Yumi share the same untamed spirit—both of you all flickering tails and sharp, watchful eyes.  

Your face, sultry as a fox, intense as a panther mid hunt, holds the kind of beauty that makes men pray before they dare to speak to you. Slender eyes, naturally dark waterline like you were born with kohl rimming them, framed by full, wispy lashes that give you an air of mischief—almost wicked, even when your soul is nothing but sugar. Deep pink lips, their edges kissed by a natural brown halo, part just slightly as you exhale, your large, arched brows lifting in amusement at your feline counterpart.  

That wild mane of yours—deep copper melting into cinnamon, black balayage curling like tendrils of smoke—is tossed messily over your head, a single stubborn curl swaying against your forehead. A constellation of dark freckles dusts the bridge of your wide nose, the warmth of your ochre complexion glowing beneath the golden kitchen light. 

“You’ll look no different in pregnancy," his voice rumbles in your mind, "Glowin’. Red. Fuckin’ perfect.”

You narrow those eyes at Yumi, who chirps at you like she’s got a whole argument prepared.  

“Daddy’ll be home soon," you murmur, thumb stroking the edge of your sourdough loaf before setting it aside to rise—“…You think he’ll like dinner?" 

The scent of New Orleans hangs heavy in the air—shrimp and andouille sizzling in a spiced roux, red beans simmering with a bay leaf tucked between them, and buttery cornbread waiting to be pulled from the oven. His favorites. The kind of meal that’ll soothe every ache in his body, warm. 

Yumi answers by rolling dramatically onto her back, paws curled, tail flicking.  

“Yeah—you’re no help."

The soft hum of the radio wraps around you as you lose yourself in the rhythm of cooking again, fingers dancing over ingredients with practiced ease. The music plays just a hair louder now—enough for Yumi to shoot you a withering glare from her perch, her tail flicking in disapproval. You ignore her with a little smile, your voice a gentle murmur as you hum along to the tune, the melody curling around the warm, spice laced air.  

Then—the growl. 

The deep, guttural rumble of his pickup truck tearing through the gravel drive is a warning, a proclamation—he’s home. Your spine straightens before you even realize it, ears attuned to the familiar sequence of his arrival—the creak of the screen door, the slam, the heavy thud of boots being kicked off near the welcome mat.  

Except today—silence. 

No boots. No pause. Just the hurried, uneven thud of his footsteps, heavier than usual, more urgent. A shiver races down your spine, instinct flaring before you can even turn—  

And then him.

Big. Encompassing. Swallowing you whole.  

His heat presses into your back, rough hands gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You don’t need to look up to know his expression—you feel it. The tension coiled in his muscles, impatient huffs against the curve of your throat.  

“You scared me,” you whisper, voice trembling just slightly as your fingers lift, clawing back into the wild strands of his hair—midnight black, nearly blue in the dim light. It’s longer now, unruly, a messy tangle between a wolf cut and a short mullet, the front nearly falling into his eyes. Your nails scratch lightly at his scalp, and he exhales sharply through his nose, his apology a low, graveled grunt against your skin.  

“‘Couldn’t get to you fast enough." 

You know him.  

His anger, his irritation, the frustration clings to him like a second skin. It seeps into you like ink in water, dark and suffocating, a storm barely contained beneath the surface. Your body responds before your mind can catch up—arching back into him, your pulse fluttering beneath his touch. 

That’s when your hands shift, turning you just enough in his grasp to catch his gaze—and the moment you do, the world narrows.  

Those eyes. 

Deep gray, like storm clouds rolling in over the pasture, narrowed and restless beneath the weight of his scowl. His brows—thick, dark, almost severe—are knit together, tension carved into the space between them. At thirty two years old to your twenty nine? The years have only sharpened him, etching his features with an intensity that makes your breath catch. A full blooded Japanese man raised in the heart of the South, he’s a walking contradiction—heritage and home clashing in the best ways.  

And today, every inch of him shows it.  

Dust clings to him like a second skin, ground into the fabric of his filthy wifebeater, streaked across the navy and black flannel rolled up to his forearms. His tattoos—a sprawling canvas of ink swallowing his egregiously broad frame—peek out from beneath the dirt, the edges of them smudged with the day’s labor.  

Head ranchmen. Raising livestock. Wrestling miles of fencing. Hauling hay, operating machinery, fighting with the land and the heat and the men under him who can’t keep up—it’s all written across the stars. His muscles are still coiled tight, his jaw working as if the frustration hasn’t fully left his bones.  

And yet, god, he’s yours.  

The scent of him—sweat, leather, and something wild washes over you, a pheromone laden reminder of exactly who you belong to.  

You reach up, thumb smoothing gently between his furrowed brows.  

“You okay?”

He exhales sharply, "M’alright. Always doin’ this, woman. Thinkin’ I’m about to cry."

A laugh bubbles in your chest, but you press closer instead, fingers trailing down to cup his jaw.  

“My soul’s with yours," you remind him, tilting your chin up despite the height difference—“I know when you’re sick before you do—" 

He grunts at that, but there’s no real irritation behind it. Instead, he ducks his head, nudging his nose against yours in a rare moment of tenderness, the gesture contradicting every rough edge he wears so well.  

Toji’s head dips low, those storm gray eyes scanning you with the kind of focus that makes your pulse flutter.  

You stand there in white fuzzy socks, swallowed whole by the oversized replica of his flannel—the deep blue of it sharp against your caramel skin, sleeves slipping past your wrists, the hem hanging dangerously high on your thighs.  

And as your husband, he knows what’s beneath. 

The way your waist cinches in like a damn hourglass, unnaturally narrow compared to the flare of your hips—so wide, so heavy it looks like you’ve carried a child before. The ass that fills his palms perfectly, fat, jiggling with every step. And those tits—full, heavy, sitting high like they belong on a sultry pin up poster. His name—Fushiguro—in tiny cursive beneath the curve of your left breast, a claim he never gets tired of seeing.  

Your fingers drag gently through the hair at his nape, nails scratching lightly as you murmur, “Yumi missed you.” 

His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, calloused and rough—“‘Momma missed me too?”

You nod, just slightly, tilting your head with those fox eyes of yours—narrowed, knowing, stripping him bare of any lie he could try to spin.  

“Tell me what happened at work.”

His brow twitches, “You tellin’ me?”

You don’t argue. Just raise your brows, waiting.  

A beat. Then, with a sharp exhale, it spills—

“Men actin’ like goddamn children. Argued with me ‘bout the fence line—then one of ‘em nearly flipped the ATV ‘cause he wasn’t payin’ attention. ‘Whole damn day wasted fixin’ other people’s—” His voice deepens, slipping into sharp edged Japanese, “…Nande kon'na baka-domo to issho ni hatarakanakya naranē nda? Mattaku, kuso jikan'nomudada.” 

Why the hell do these idiots work for me? Total waste of fuckin’ time.

You stand on your tiptoes, pressing your thumb between his brows again, smoothing the crease there as you answer him—fluent, just like he taught you. 

“Son'nani ikatteiru to, fukeru no ga hayamarimasu yo.” 

You’ll age faster being so angry.

He pauses, nostrils flaring—before he lets out a sharp exhale, forehead dropping against yours.  

"...Goddamn, woman. ‘Always knowin’ how to shut me up.” 

You hum, pressing closer.  

“So that’s why you keep me around?” 

“Nah. Keep you ‘cause you’re mine.” 

You hum, fingertips tracing the corded muscle below his neck, your touch featherlight. 

“Did talking about it help?" 

His jaw flexes, “You want me to lie?" 

“I’d rather you be honest, Fushiguro.” 

A rough exhale escapes him, “I’m on the news tomorrow? ‘Know I killed one of those bastards." 

You know he doesn’t mean it—but the frustration is real, simmering beneath his skin like an untamed storm. So you tease just a little, trying to loosen the tension coiling in his shoulders—“Fussier than a baby, ‘swear." 

That gets you a glare—"Nowhere near a damn child."  

You react before he can pull away, fingers tangling in the dark strands of his hair, holding him just firm enough to ground him.

“Hey," you murmur, voice softening, “I was just pokin’, love. Yeah?" 

He stares down at you, that perpetual scrawl of his features more habit than anger now. After a beat, he nods.  

You press on, voice a gentle lull. 

“Rough days are inevitable…but there’s your favorite meal to look forward to. And cuddles from me an’ Yumi." 

His expression doesn’t change.  

"Or," you offer, tilting your head, “I could rub your ear  ‘like you like?” 

Something shifts in his gaze then—dark, heavy. He looks at you—really looks. That sweet, sultry face he’s seen crumble beneath him, twist in pleasure, pout in frustration. It all hits him at once, a wave of something possessive and hungry that makes his fingers flex against your waist.  

And in response?  

“Yeah." 

A single word. Deceptively simple.  

Because you did rub his ear, sure—but what you didn’t expect?  

Was ending up bouncing stupidly on his cock in the process.  

Now, here you are—hair a mess of copper, cinnamon, and black curls, wild like a halo around your flushed face, the flannel hanging open, barely clinging to your shoulders. The fabric dips, revealing the sinful swell of your tits, the heavy weight of them barely contained by the parted material. Your fuzzy socks—adorable, ridiculous in contrast to the filth of this moment—curl helplessly into the bedsheets as you struggle to steady yourself.  

Your thighs ache, burning from the relentless pace he’s set, but you barely feel it. Not when he’s got his hands wrapped around your waist, his fingers so big they nearly touch when he grips you—effortlessly hauling you up, then slamming you back down, forcing you to take every inch of him.  

“F—Fushiguro—!" 

You choke on his name as he pulls you all the way up, the slick length of him just about to slip free before he yanks you back down, letting his dick carve straight into your g-spot with every punishing thrust.  

And the worst part?  

He hasn’t even undressed.

Leaned back against the vintage headboard, still in his dirt-streaked wifebeater—tugged halfway up to reveal the hard planes of his abs, ink-dark tattoos trailing down the cut of his V-line. The roughness of his pubic hair grinds against your clit with every brutal snap of your hips, the friction almost too much, threatening to push you over the edge before he even lets you.  

And his face— 

Dark brows pulled low, storm gray eyes locked on you with an intensity that borders on cruel. He watches you with that same scowl, like you mean nothing to him in this moment—just a warm, trembling hole for him to use, fucking you with ruthless precision.  

He leans back, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lifts you again, dragging you down onto his cock with a sharp snap of his hips.  

“C’mon," he growls, voice rough with restraint—“Keep fuckin’ feelin’ me.”

You’re silent—trying to be—but your pussy isn’t.  

Loud. Obscene. Creaming around him in thick, slippery pulses, gushing with every brutal snap of his hips. The sound of it—wet, filthy, shameful—fills the space between your ragged breaths. Your lips stay pressed together, but your expression betrays you—eyebrows pinched, a cute little frown twisting your face as pleasure burns through you, sharp and unforgiving.  

Discomfort. Overstimulation. The kind of pleasure that hurts, that makes your toes curl and your stomach clench. Because god, the way he stretches you—thick, unrelenting, carving into you like he was made to ruin you.  

The worst part? He knows.  

Knows that in places where you’re soft, silent, observant—here, like this? You’re a mouthy little thing when he gets you there. Which is exactly why he cocks his hand back, fingers tangling in the back of your flannel, yanking you down harder on his cock before—  

SMACK. 

The sharp, stinging crack of his palm against your ass echoes through the room, your flesh jiggling from the impact, the heat of it blooming fast.  

“Ain't hearin’ shit from you," he growls. 

“C’mon. Gimme’ somethin’.”  

The rough clap of your thighs against his hips—hard, frantic, skin slapping skin—does something to you. Your eyes flutter shut, your fingers sinking into his forearms, claws digging in as a whiny little cry punches out of you.  

It’s a domino effect afterwards. A whimper slips free, trembling, desperate, and then another—another, slurring into heavier, broken whines, like you’re trying to swallow them back every time they threaten to escape. But you can’t. Not when he’s like this—when his thighs are so thick, his grip so bruising, when he makes you fuck him like he hates you.  

“There it is,” he grunts, fingers tightening around your waist, hauling you down harder, heavier. 

“‘Know my wife more than anyone in this fuckin’ world.”

You're an eye-rolling, pouting, mess. 

His mess. Your pussy keeps gushing, clenching forcefully around the thick swell of his cock, kicking off a series of unfinished, half-shattered orgasms that leave you spiraling—dizzy, overwhelmed, ruined.  

Tears brim your dark, pretty eyes, lashes sticking together as broken little whimpers spill from your lips.  

“I'm—‘M cumming.” 

But Toji? He doesn’t stop. 

His grip tightens, digging into the softness of your hips as he finds a devastating new rhythm. Slower now, but heavier. Louder. Each deep, punishing thrust drags a wet, filthy sound from where you’re stretched around him, the slap of skin echoing through the room.  

And the scent of him—god. 

Woodsmoke, leather, the erotic musk of a hard day’s work still clinging to his clothes, swallowing you whole even as he lounges beneath you, lazily using your body to chase his own pleasure.  

“Wanted me to feel better, ‘ain’t you?" 

His palm lands against your ass again—hard—the sharp crack reverberating through your bones before he spreads you open with that same rough hand, exposing your flushed, dripping cunt as he starts fucking up into you with renewed force.  

“Gonna fuck you ‘til every nut makes me less angry," he grunts, fingers biting into your flesh—“Had a hard fuckin’ day, remember?" 

You lean forward, sniffling pathetically, nodding in meek submission—like you’ve lost a game you never even meant to play.  

“Okay," you squeak, voice surrendering, small.  

His teeth flash in a wicked grin.  

“Atta fuckin’ girl." 

And then he takes—pounding up into you with a brutal pace that has you muffling trembling little moans into the crook of your arm, body jolting with every deep, claiming thrust. 

Toji slides his broad palm against the top of your head, fingers threading through your curls as he tilts your face up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze. 

“You here with me?" 

You nod, and that's all he needs before he tugs you forward by your hair, sealing your mouth with his in a deep, tongue-filled kiss. It's filthy, possessive, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before he pulls back just as swiftly.  

And then—SMACK. 

His palm meets your cheek with enough force to make your breath hitch, just sharp enough to snap you back into focus. 

“Fill your fuckin' mouth up.”

You sink down instantly, taking him between your lips with breathless little whimpers, your lashes fluttering as you suck him in deep. You pull back just enough to kitten lick along his length, teasing the flushed tip before swirling your tongue around it. Then lower—sucking his heavy balls into your mouth, your fingers lightly jerking the base of him.  

It's adorable in the most pathetic way—how easily you obey when you're usually all quiet fire and defiance. But like this? You're truly his.

Toji watches as you work him over—his cock glistening with your spit, your lips stretched around him. Then he takes himself in hand, slapping his length against your flushed cheek, dragging it over your lips with a filthy, wet sound.  

“Look at you," he grunts, voice rough with satisfaction.  

And he does look—drinking in the sight of your dark, caramel skin flushed raw, your pretty eyes swollen with tears, your lips parted and trembling. It makes him crave more.  

“C'mere," he growls suddenly, gripping your waist before flipping you both in one swift motion—your back now pressed to his chest, his thighs bracketing your head as he maneuvers you into a 69. 

The second you're settled, he buries his face between your thighs with a groan, his tongue devouring you. You gasp, trying to refocus, wrapping your lips around his cock again—but it's impossible to concentrate when he's sucking on your clit like he's starved, his tongue dragging hot and wet through your folds, slurping obscenely. Your hips jerk, back arching as pleasure zings through you, your forehead dropping against his hip as you whimper around him.  

“Focus, baby.”

He mutters this against your cunt—right before his hand comes down on your ass again, the sharp SMACK making you jolt.  A broken moan slips past your lips, and then you're bobbing your head faster, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him back into your mouth with desperate, sloppy devotion.  

And Toji?  

He just feasts—grunting, licking, taking—his fingers digging into your hips as he fucks his tongue inside you, making sure you feel every second of it.  

You don’t stand a chance.

The air is thick with the sound of skin on skin, your breath ragged and wet as you lose yourself in the rhythm of him. You move without thought, drunk on the taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue—both palms wrapped tight around the base of his cock, jerking him from root to tip in slow, filthy strokes. Your tits bounce with every movement, swaying heavy and lewd as you work him over in a way that’s downright pornographic, your body moving like it was made just for this.  

Toji’s hips twitch, his breath catching when you suddenly take just the head of him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the swollen tip while your small hands take care of the rest. His head knocks back against the headboard with a low groan, his voice rough, strained, as he mutters something under his breath—half curse, half praise—before his hand comes down again, another sharp SMACK landing on your ass.  

“Edge of the bed. Now.”

You crawl there on shaky knees, face pressing into the blankets, ass up—presented, waiting—and before you can even brace yourself, he’s sinking into you, stretching you open in a way that punches a muffled whine from your throat. His fingers tangle in the nape of your hair, tugging just enough to make your back arch as he yanks you back onto him, filling you to the hilt with a single brutal thrust. Your face stays buried in the blankets, lips pouting, muffling little whimpers and breathless complaints—but they’re weak, half-hearted, lost in the haze of pleasure as he starts moving, fucking into you with rough, measured strokes.  

“Fussin’ just like Yumi," he growls, voice thick as you tuck your face deeper into the sheets, hiding the way your cheeks burn. 

“Tch—feet closer to your chest.”

He rasps this, voice gravel-scraped and impatient. You whimper but obey, knees pressing tight to your body, hips lifted higher—exposed, helpless. Then, in Japanese, sharp and commanding—

“Jibun no handan de ugoite kudasai.”

Move on your own. 

And you do.  

At first, it's slow—tentative—your hips rocking back and forth in small, uncertain motions, your body arching as you try to find the right angle. The sight of you like this—spread open, trembling, taking him—is obscene. Erotic in the rawest sense.  

His fingers snap once, sharply. Another order, another growled phrase—“Head up.” 

You just obey, lifting your face from the sheets, breath ragged as you look back over your shoulder at him.  

“If you don’t move, I’ll show you how I wanna’ be fucked.” 

You pout—lips trembling, eyes wet—but then you start moving again.  

Little bounces at first, your ass clapping lightly against his hips—gentle, testing. Then deeper. Faster. More. Until you’re fully fucking yourself on him, your body taking over, driven by instinct, by the need to please. His fingers tighten in your hair, holding you in place as you pant, as you whimper—  

“…M’sorry, baby." 

It slips out without thought, weak and breathless.  

Toji only grunts, “Yeah?” 

You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. But you say it again, lips quivering. 

“M’sorry—"

You’re squirting. 

A hot, sudden gush, spilling around him without warning, your body convulsing as pleasure rips through you. The words turn into something else—deep, shuddering sobs, your voice breaking as you keep repeating it, "M’sorry, m’sorryyy...” 

Your husband? He could care less. 

Toji fucks you through it. His grip on your hair tightens, his hips snapping up to meet yours as you sob, as you tremble, as you fall apart. 

Because this? This is how he takes his anger out.

The world narrows to nothing but the brutal snap of his hips, the sound of skin meeting skin in sharp, wet slaps. Toji yanks your legs out from under you, planting your feet flat on the floor—forcing your spine into a deep arch, your ass tilted up just right for him to sink into you even deeper, each thrust punching the air from your lungs.  

You can’t help the noises that tear out of you—loud, broken, punched out moans that rise higher with every merciless drive of his cock. His fist tightens in your hair so everlasting, wrenching your head back as he growls above you, the sound rough and satisfied—because nothing pleases him more than hearing you unravel, your voice frayed beyond coherency.  

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, knuckles white—until he tsks, a single sharp sound of disapproval that has you scrambling to correct yourself before he can fuss. Arms straight back, wrists together, like you know what he wants without him even saying it.  His free hand wraps around both your wrists in one brutal grip, pinning them against the small of your back as he drives you into the mattress, fucking you so deep you squeal, high and desperate, your body jerking beneath him.  

“Fuckkkk…!” 

It’s a shriek, really—raw and guttural, your cunt gushing around him as he pistons in and out, his grunts syncing with your cries in a filthy, primal rhythm. He’s not gentle. Not close. Every snap of his hips is punishing, claiming, his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside you until you’re keening, your thighs shaking, your mind gone beneath the sheer intensity of it.  

And then—  

His rhythm stutters.  

A deep, guttural growl rips from his throat, his fingers tightening hard in your hair as he buries himself to the hilt, spilling inside you in thick, pulsing ropes. Your sounds drown his—whimpers, choked cries, the way your body clenches around him as if trying to milk every last drop.  

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of heavy breathing—his, yours—both ragged and uneven.  

Then he slowly pulls out, leaving you limp beneath him, your lower body trembling, your nerves still alight with aftershocks.  Toji catches his breath for a beat—just one—before he leans down over you, his voice rough but soft now, murmured against your ear in Japanese.  

“Daijōbudesuka?”

You alright? 

His hand cups your throat from behind, tilting your face toward his. And then—kisses. Tiny, chaste pecks against your swollen lips, one after another, as if checking that you’re still with him.  

You let out a breathless little giggle, your lashes fluttering.  

“Mmm...legs feel numb." 

He hums. 

“They should.” 

The moment his hands twist you around, your breath catches—but it melts into another light giggle as he scoops you up effortlessly, depositing you onto the bed like something precious. The sheets are cool against your overheated skin, a stark contrast to the burning imprint of his body still lingering on yours.  

And then he looks at you. 

His fingers slide through your hair again, slower this time, almost reverent, before his mouth finds yours in a kiss that’s startlingly gentle. You nudge your nose against his, affectionate, lingering, before you pull back just enough to murmur—  

“…‘Gonna have a better day at work tomorrow?" 

Sweet. Hopeful.  

Toji rumbles, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he presses a kiss to your forehead—“Already havin’ a better day now." 

Your eyes dilate at that, lashes fluttering as you whisper—"Really?" 

“Murder’s still in question for ‘them employees, though.” 

Your face falls immediately, lips pressing into a pout as you sigh, long suffering. Before you can protest, his palm lands on your thigh—a light, teasing smack—and then he’s pushing off the bed, leaving you sprawled there. You scramble to grab his discarded flannel, draping it over yourself like a makeshift shield before flipping your hair back with an exaggerated huff.  

“You’re hardheaded!” 

“Got a hard head, baby.” 

You suck your teeth. 

But then? he reappears in the doorway, Yumi cradled in his big arms. 

The whiplash of it nearly gives you an actual headache. One second, he’s got you bent over the bed, fucking you like you owe him money, and the next? He’s holding that Persian kitten like it’s spun glass, cooing at her in a voice three octaves higher than you’ve ever heard come out of his mouth.  

You roll your eyes so hard you swear you see your own brain.  

“You don’t talk to me like that.”  

Toji ignores you, of course. Because why would he ever acknowledge the way your metaphorical tail is swishing back and forth in irritation? He’s too busy booping Yumi’s tiny pink nose, murmuring, “Momma’s the fussy one, isn’t she? Yeah?" 

“Boy, please. I don’t win the hot head award. You’re an overachiever for that score." 

He just smirks—smirks!—as he sets Yumi down on the bed, watching with that stupid, smug expression as she prances toward the headboard like the little princess she is, tail held high as she lets out a dignified Mrrow. 

One second you’re lounging there, all sass and post coital glow—the next, he’s on you, knocking you flat onto your back in the sheets with a oomph that dissolves into breathless giggles as you shove at his chest.  

“Go away!"

He doesn’t.  

“You know how much I love you?"

You tilt your head, pretending to think. 

“Not sure."

The air between you shifts—just for a heartbeat—from playful to something deeper, something heavier. His rough fingers catch yours, and he brings your hand up, pressing a slow, almost reverent kiss to the gold band on your finger. Against the metal, he murmurs something low and raw—something that sounds suspiciously like—“Mines forever." 

You sigh, but it's a warm sound, your fingers curling around his, intertwining like they were made to fit there. Playfully, you squeeze.  

“Hungry?"

He exhales through his nose, “Been thinkin' about those red beans all day."

You bat your lashes, feigning innocence. 

“I wasn't part of the meal plan?" 

His thumb drags over your pulse point as he leans in, breath hot against your ear, “You were the meal plan."  

Then, just like that, he's hauling you up—one arm under your thighs, the other bracing your back as he tosses you halfway over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. You yelp, but your legs lock around his waist instinctively, arms looping his neck as he starts moving.  

“C'mon. I'm starvin'."

You press your lips to his jaw, nipping just to feel him tense—“You're starvin’, and you love me?" 

He grunts—but for him? It’s not a denial. It’s yes, a thousand times over. 

And just like that, the scene fades—into the quiet hum of domesticity, into love and passion and marriage with all its rough edges and sweet, stolen moments.  

[yung-notorious]

"ONE MORE SHOT, I'M SUPER TWEAKED! THAT LIQUOR TURN ME TO A FREAK!"

— “That’s what boyfriends do, right? Show out. Keep your girl and her friends happy.” — ft. ryomen sukuna

+18 MDNI. WARNINGS. baddie!reader x boyfriend!sukuna, porn w/ plot, clubbing culture, houston club scene, mentions of alcohol, drinking, ryomen treating the girls, plotting to get your boyfriend drunk, established relationship, f*cking off the liquor, unprotected sex, dom/sub undertones, possessive, praise & body worship, creampie, edging, nasty rough sex, dirty talk, aftercare. notes. image sourced from pinterest. word count 4.5k. title: Latto - Liquor

You can’t say what happened between then and now, other than the fact that you’re down in the garage being buckled into the passenger seat of his car. Your entire body light, lips buzzing from laughter and lime, the world feels like it’s tilting, like it’s been set to a softer, slower spin.

His hands are steady on the seatbelt buckle, veins in his forearms jumping as he clicks it into place before jumping into the driver’s side then turning to ask if you’re all good, before backing out.

The drive is quiet except for the hum of the engine and your shallow breaths, your thighs pressed together because every time his hand slides up your leg at a red light, your body lights up feeling sensitive. If you were any more sober, you’d be less ashamed to tell what followed next when his fingers brushed against your pussy, but that’s what tints are for.

By the time you make it through the front door of your shared condo, you’re not sure if you walked in or if he carried you. Everything's a blur now— the slam of the door, the sound of your heels hitting the floor, his jacket dropping somewhere you don’t care to look— because the only thing you can focus on is him. His weight against you as your back meets the bed, his breath hot and sharp in your ear.

“Had me sittin’ there watchin’ you all night, little ass dress ridin’ up, dancin’ like you ain’t got nobody at home. You know how bad I wanted to drag you outta there?”

Your head is spinning, but it’s not just the tequila— it’s him. The way his mouth claims yours before you can even think of an answer, the taste of liquor on his lips, his hands everywhere at once like he’s trying to make up for every second you kept him waiting. You melt easily under it, giggling into his kisses when he lifts you clean off the bed just enough to slip your dress and thong off, like you weigh nothing.

The bed catches you in a soft bounce, his mouth brushes yours again, slower now, teasing, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth until your toes curl.

“Look at you.” He murmurs against your chin, voice rough.

“Drunk off your ass and still so fuckin’ pretty. You know how many dudes were starin’? How many I wanted to break in half for even thinkin’ about you?”

Your laugh is breathless, shaky. “You’re so jealous…so fucking jealous.”

“Damn right.” His smirk is dangerous, something serious behind it, that makes your stomach tingle. “They get to see you like this. Only me.”

When he kisses you again, it’s slower, deeper, like he’s trying to swallow every sound you make. His tongue slides against yours, sloppy and hungry, and you can taste the tequila on his breath when he groans into your mouth.

Your hands tug at his hair, as your knees fall open without thinking, giving him space to press in. A moment after, he’s trailing wet kisses from your chest to your stomach, pausing to swirl his tongue just above your lower belly before traveling further to kiss at your pussy. Within seconds those kisses turn into licks with his tongue flat against your clit, heavy enough to make you feel pinned in the best way.

“You feel that?” His voice rings, lips brushing your inner thigh as you catch your breath.

“Been wantin’ this all night. Watchin’ you out there, dressed like that, lettin’ those bastards look at what’s mine.”

You can’t even answer— just a breathless whimper when his fingers slip in slowly for you to feel every inch of them, curling. Then he moves, flips you like it’s nothing, strong hands guiding you flat onto your stomach.

Your face sinks into the sheets, hips tipped up just enough for him to squeeze your ass, the sound of his belt loosening and pants dropping to the floor quieter than your moans as you rock back needy, chasing his fingers to fill you up again. Pushing his dick through your slick folds, he sinks in deep from this angle. The sound you make when he bottoms out is filthy, your head spinning as he sets a brutal rhythm— each thrust punching the air from your lungs. 

He groans, palm sliding up spine, pressing until your stomach flat against the mattress and you’re taking him the way he wants.

→ read the full post here ←

[jwnsslvt]

⋆⋆ˎˊ˗ hop in, baby, yeah, let's slide (yeah) •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:58

ㅤ♡ Welcome to the Smut Sanctuary ๑

. ݁ ˖ jwnsslvt, '04, BLACK ♥ fem, animeee, multifandom, NSFW - MDNI!

︎ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ DMs are always open ݁ ˖

♥ fics︎ ♥︎ tags ♥ WIP list ♥

☾⋆⁺₊ J.S.Y.K ๑

#jwnsslvt 🌰 all fics

#jwnsslvt's 🌰 jabbers thoughts, spiels, whatnot

uh, uh, uh, come on (don't hide) •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 1:10

[love4blackwrites]

hi i see the personne from your blog says they have more plagiarism? is it? it look very similar but the person said they didn't steal? sorry for the link i could not send without space.

https://w w w.tumblr.com/umber-cinders/822261885891182592/omg-i-was-rereading-all-of-your-fices-while?source=share

Yes, it looks very similar for a reason.

[love4blackwrites]

if anyone is looking for well written jjk x reader stories @yung-notorious is THEE MF ONE! she’s underrated and earned many credits from writers on this app ❤️

!!

[love4blackwrites]

I really enjoy jwnsslvt’s blog!! she is a black tumblr who writes anime x reader

Thank you for the rec!! I can't wait to read her work and add her to the list 😋

[love4blackwrites]

Plagiarism vs. Inspiration for Dummies

​With story theft running rampant, people constantly misidentify what "inspiration" actually means. I'm going to explain the definitive line between building on an idea and stealing someone’s work.

​1. The Difference

Inspiration: ​You read a story, and a specific concept, dynamic, or emotional description resonates with you, sparking an entirely new, original idea. You take that spark and write it using your own voice, your own structural layout, unique dialogue, and your own world-building.

​Plagiarism: ​You took the author’s blueprint. Changing a few adjectives, swapping character names, or using a thesaurus to copy the same sentence structure is theft. It does not matter if you physically typed the words yourself; if you stole the exact paragraph flow, lines of dialogue, scene-by-scene progression, and specific narrative, it is plagiarism

​2. Textual Examples: Seeing the Difference

​Example A: The Physical Discomfort / Closet Setup

​The Original Work by @2neaky:

​The Plagiarized Version by @getmoneygirl:

Why this is theft: The author did zero original structural thinking. Even though they converted the perspective to second person ("you") and changed the underlying cause from a food allergy to ovulation, they stole the exact flow of the scene. They followed the identical sequence of physical moments: standing at the mirror, pulling up a top, analyzing a slight swell over the waistband of sweatpants, prodding the skin, experiencing an unexpected sharp ache low in the stomach, and combining a teeth-sucking sound with the exact dialogue "Are you fucking serious?" They even wrapped the sequence up with the exact same comfort element—the realization that they are wearing their boyfriend's oversized clothing. This is lifting a writer's unique pacing and creative choices, then just rephrasing the sentences to hide it.

​The Inspired Version (genuine creative transition):

The mirror was a harsh critic, but the tight, heavy pressure building in her lower abdomen was worse. She adjusted the waistband of her track pants, sighing at how unforgiving the fabric felt against her bloated skin today. It was a dull, heavy ache that made even standing up straight feel like an effort. Sucking in a breath, she leaned against the cool porcelain of the sink and closed her eyes, waiting for the sudden cramp to subside. "Not today," she muttered into the empty space. She did a series of deep breaths before giving up on the reflection entirely, she grabbed the nearest oversized shirt from the laundry basket—his, of course, smelling faintly of cinnamon—and drowned herself in the fabric, desperately seeking the extra room and comfort.

​Alternative Inspired Version (even more distinct):

The apartment was dark when he arrived, save for the faint glow of the television. You were curled on the sofa, staring blankly at a sitcom, completely drained. Hormonal shifts always hit you hard, turning minor inconveniences into insurmountable walls. He didn't ask questions. He ran a hot bath, dumping in the lavender salts you kept in the cabinet, and left a mug of chamomile tea on the counter. When you finally climbed into the tub, he sat on the bathmat beside you, quietly recounting a stupid story from his workday just to give you something to focus on.

Why this is inspiration: It takes a similar core concept—a character dealing with sudden bloating/discomfort in front of a mirror and finding comfort in a partner's clothing—but the execution is entirely unique. The physical reactions are different, the dialogue is completely distinct, and the atmospheric flow belongs entirely to a new writer rather than copying another author's story.

​Example B: The Studio / Creative Frustration Setup

​The Original Work by @aizawash0e:

​The Plagiarized Version (Structural Theft & Setting Copier):

The track had been looping in your headphones for hours. It was the usual routine, you trapped in the vocal booth, the headset pressed to your ears, standing right before the microphone. The music stand held your printed lyrics, though you didn't actually need them. You knew every word by heart, but the vibe wasn't hitting right. Maybe staring at the physical pages would help you see what the issue was. You couldn't figure out if it was your delivery, the track, or the words, but something waswrong. On the other side of the double-paned glass was the high-end control room, with its expensive leather chairs, state-of-the-art gear, and walls covered in your plaques and favorite singers' albums. Sitting across the glass were your manager, Maya, your assistant and best friend, Chloe, and right in the center, sitting directly at the mixing board was Jordan, your producer and boyfriend.

Why this is theft: Once again, this is a complete narration lift. The plagiarist changed a few vocabulary words and swapped the character names, but they stole the exact pacing, the specific internal conflict, and the layout of the room. They copied the exact progression: blocking out hours in the booth, staring at a lyric sheet the character already knows by heart to diagnose a vague creative block, describing the expensive control room through the glass, listing the plaques on the wall, and naming the exact same three-person lineup in the exact same seating order (Manager->Assistant/Friend ->Producer/Boyfriend at the center of the board).

The Inspired Version by @alaiasole: Studio Nights

​The Inspired Version:

The vocal booth always felt a little claustrophobic after midnight, the heavy foam walls swallowing up every breath. She leaned her forehead against the cool metal of the pop filter, letting the instrumental track bleed through her open-back headphones for the twentieth time. The song was technically perfect, but the emotional delivery was dead on arrival. Across the studio floor, the glass partition reflected the green and red glow of the soundboard. Her producer—who also happened to be the guy she went home to every night—was slumped in his chair, rubbing his eyes while their small puppy dozed off on his lap. She didn't need to look at a lyric sheet to know they were losing the magic; she just needed him to cut the playback so they could figure it out.

Why this is inspiration: It takes the exact same premise—a singer experiencing a creative block inside a recording booth while her producer/boyfriend watches from the control room—but it builds an entirely fresh scene. The atmosphere is different, the character's physical reaction to the frustration is unique, the room layout isn't copied bead-for-bead, and it relies on completely original imagery instead of piggybacking off another writer's structural draft.

​Example C: The Direct Copy-Paste

The Original Work by @liliacsdelight:

The Plagerized Fic by @lovedcow:

Why this is theft: ​The wording is identical, copy-and-pasting has been done, and the entire story follows the original's structure, dialogue, and pacing.

The Inspired Version: You didn't know what to do after last night. The timeline in your head kept looping back to the exact moment the screen shifted on FaceTime. He had been screensharing something stupid, a corny video about JJK fans, when his thumb swiped too far left and cracked open his camera roll, and you saw it. The apology after had been clumsy, automated. "Oh, um... sorry. Just forget you saw that." ​You had forced your face to stay flat, keeping the conversation running on autopilot until the random facts about whales became too awkward breathe through. "Who are you even sending nudes to?" you’d asked, trying for a detached, casual tone. ​He’d shifted on his end of the screen, the sudden flare of embarrassment turning the tips of his ears dark. "Nobody," he muttered. ​You let out a dry, sarcastic hum. "Riiiight." ​Then he’d leaned into the camera, a sudden, nervous joke cutting through the static. "Why? You want some?" ​The air had left your lungs instantly. Your throat felt coated in sand, a sudden, choking heat climbing up your neck. You mumbled some half-baked excuse about needing to throw laundry in or check the door, snapping the call shut before he could see the panic in your eyes. ​And now, twenty-four hours later, your brain was stuck in a loop.

​3. Why Giving Credit Matters

​People love to argue, "No one owns a trope! Ideas aren't unique!"

​True, no one owns the producer trope or the comfort trope. But if you read a specific author's work, and their specific execution of a trope gave you the idea to write your own version, give them credit. A simple "Inspired by @[Author Name]'s incredible story" costs you nothing. It shows humility, respects the community, and acknowledges that another creator's brain sparked your own creativity.

​Feigning ignorance and pretending you came up with a hyper-specific concept entirely in a vacuum after just interacting with their post is transparent and disrespectful.

​4. The Parasitic Nature of Theft and AI

​When you copy an author's story, run someone's work through an AI generator, or use AI to write your fanfiction, you are announcing that you are lazy and talentless.

​Writing is a muscle. The more you struggle through the awkward drafts, look for the right words, and build your own worlds, the more your mind expands and your skills improve. If you slack off and steal, you will never grow. You will remain a scummy, fake-writer.

​If you want to get better:

Read actual literature: Stop consuming exclusively internet erotica. Read published books, analyze their prose, and study how professional authors pace a scene.

Do your research: Learn about the subjects you write about.

Seek feedback: Reach out to authors you admire and ask for constructive criticism (I still do this even though my writing has improved drastically).

​5. How to Handle Story Theft

​To the authors and readers who care about this community; telling thieves to stop won't magically fix their morals. We have to look out for one another—especially keeping an eye on popular accounts or new creators who quietly lift concepts, plot structures, and entire stories from other writers.

​If you find your work has been plagiarized:

Gather Proof: Take screenshots immediately. Document the timestamps, the exact paragraphs, lines, and the formatting matches.

Decide Your Approach: You can handle it privately if you think it's a new writer who genuinely doesn't understand anything. Or, if they are malicious and you just want to, you can put them on blast publicly. Expose them and spread awareness outside of your immediate circle.

​Do not let people tell you that you're overreacting/reaching. Your words and your creative work belong to you. Protect your work, credit your inspirations, and stop letting people treat your labor as a free resource.

☆—————————☆—————————☆

All examples written by me!!

All works ©. Do not modify, plagiarize, or repost my work.

[love4blackwrites]

Writing Tips (for x Black!reader writers)

I’ve been seeing more Black readers wanting to write x reader stories that actually center poc readers—and that’s such a good way to create representation and explore dynamics that usually get ignored. While this post can apply to everyone, I wrote it with Black women in mind. They’re constantly targeted with hate on this app, left without real representation, and often made to feel too afraid to share their work. And just to be clear—before the ignorant ones show up—yes, x reader fics are meant to avoid assuming identity and stay “inclusive.” But if that were really happening, people wouldn’t have to dig through endless stories full of stuff like "you blushed bright red," "...pale skin," "he ran his fingers through your straight, silky hair," or "he was mesmerized by your blue eyes." That’s not inclusivity. This post is here to encourage and uplift writers who deserve to see themselves in the stories they love.

So here are some tips to help you get started:

➹ Starting Out

1. Pick your character/fandom first.

Who do you want the reader to interact with? Who is driving your motivation? Choosing a specific character gives you immediate direction.

2. Decide on the vibe.

Fluff, angst, romance, horror, or erotica? Knowing the tone makes it easier to start writing scenes.

3. Start small.

Instead of planning a giant fic, write a short drabble (like 300–700 words). You can always expand later!

✍️🏽 Writing POC Reader

Normalize the reader’s identity. Don’t overexplain—just weave details naturally, like references to skin tones, hair textures, cultural foods, or experiences. Avoid stereotypes. Instead of making the story about being a Black, let it be about the relationship/plot while still honoring identity (unless that's what the story is about).

Use inclusivity in description. Instead of “her cheeks flushed red,” you might say “their cheeks warmed” or describe a glow/undertone. If you do reference appearance, tie it to beauty and pride.

Tag your work properly!! If you do reference specific hair textures (like coils) or distinct skin tones, just make sure to tag it or mention it in the header so people looking for something else can scroll past.

​Examples for Inspiration:

"At times like this, you envied bald people. Your coils were trapping the humid air against your scalp, the thick heat thriving enough to drive you crazy."

"You smoothed oil down your thighs, watching the dim bedroom light catch the way your brown skin gleamed against the sheets."

"You didn't turn around, but you could feel his gaze tracing the curve of your lips, completely mesmerized by the texure of your hair, your [blank] figure, and the deep, warm glow of your skin in the sunlight."

📚 Writing Techniques

Use second person pov (“you”). That’s the core of x reader writing.

Think like a scene director. Imagine what “you” are doing, how the character reacts, and the emotions.

​To really make your scenes pop, you have to play with the actual rhythm of your sentences. The way a sentence is structured dictates the reader's mental and physical state.

Experiment with narration styles!

Play with sentence length. Use long, drawn-out sentences with sensory details when you want a scene to feel heavy, suffocating, or deeply sensual. Then, smash the reader with short, blunt sentences when the tension breaks or something terrifying happens.

Dialogue is gold. It brings out chemistry quickly, but you don’t need a constant back-and-forth to make a story good. Sometimes, the quiet standoff, the heavy silence, or a single, lingering look says more than a whole page of talking.

Show, don’t tell. Instead of writing "you were embarrassed or scared," break down the physical reaction. Write about the sharp catch of breath in your throat, the small, crooked smile you try to hide, or the way your nails dig into your palm to keep from trembling. "You dropped your gaze, but couldn’t hide the small, crooked smile that threatened to break through." Don't take this too literally—sometimes it's best to just name the feeling instead of going on and on.

☆ Tips for Staying Motivated

Write for yourself first, audience second! If you don't love the story, nobody else can do it justice.

Don’t compare your progress. Everyone starts somewhere, and your style will find its own natural rhythm over time.

Test the waters. Post short drabbles on Tumblr, AO3, or Wattpad. Seeing how people respond to small snippets can help you grow without the pressure of a massive project.

Save your inspiration. Keep screenshots, build specific music playlists to anchor the mood of a scene, or save aesthetic boards. It all helps spark ideas when you hit a wall.

Write for dead or tiny fandoms!! If the inspiration is there, DO IT! You'll usually find a small, incredibly dedicated group of readers who are starving for what you're creating.

Basic decency!

Always give people credit where it's due. Writers love knowing their work inspired someone else—it's the highest compliment you can pay. If a specific scene or dynamic sparked an idea for your own fic, drop a note to say that! And if you use someone’s artwork, graphics, or custom dividers to style your post, GIVE THEM CREDIT! Keep the community supportive and respectful.

Beautiful Dividers by @uzmacchiato

Repost from my other account. All works ©. Do not modify, plagiarize, or repost my work.

[love4blackwrites]

𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞/𝐓𝐢𝐩𝐬

Writing Tips (for x Black!reader writers)

Plagiarism vs. Inspiration for Dummies

[idontblushsrry]

Stress Relief

Carlos Oliviera x Black NB Reader

Warnings: Some swearing but that's all

WC: 654

AN: If yall see me post 4 fics in a row... no you didn't

Today was awful.

There was no real rhyme or reason for it, it'd just been one shit thing after another. First, your alarm hadn't gone off because your phone had decided that a software update took precedence over your actual job. Then you'd missed your normal train by two minutes because a random asshole didn't hold the elevator door for you. And finally, when you'd gotten to work, your boss was on an unholy tear because your job received a sudden influx of urgent cases that had needed to be tended to.

Needless to say, when you finally got home, you wanted to do little more than collapse into the nearest decently soft surface and forget the day ever happened.

Your mood brightened significantly at the sight-- or rather smell of your boyfriend's cooking.

Certain your mind was playing some manner of cruel, hallucinatory joke on you, you'd peeked around the entranceway corner hesitantly, only to find that indeed your boyfriend was back home from his latest mission, looking, honestly, a hell of a lot better than you probably did.

"Carlos!"

He'd barely had anytime to process what was happening as you ran headfirst into his arms. He'd caught you (he always would) with little more than a small 'Oof' at the impact.

"Hey good lookin', uh, surprise I'm home."

You breathed in his slightly charred wood scent, his presence enough to offset the unadulterated shittiness of your day. He'd sounded a bit like what he said wasn't what he'd entirely wanted to say, ending his sentence awkwardly. "Mhmm, I see."

"I was uh, trying to surprise you but I ended up getting back later than I anticipated."

You make no move to leave your spot, nuzzled in between his pecs as you are, so your response is a bit muffled, "Oh baby, you didn't have to do that. I woulda just been happy to have you back."

"Yeah, but my boyfriend senses told me that you needed a pick me up, and I can't argue with my instincts."

The nonchalance in his tone brings a tear to your eyes. One of your favorite qualities about Carlos was his thoughtfulness, he was always so gentle and intentional with you and it made you feel loved in a way that you'd never felt before. The fact that he'd just got off work, probably jetlagged as hell, but still decided to take the time to make you dinner because you'd texted him about how shitty your day was, meant a lot to you.

"Ah, right, can't argue with those. Where would you be without them?"

"I certainly wouldn't have the amazing partner that I do without them."

Despite the fact that your skin is too dark for a blush to appear, you feel yourself flush, and you know from Carlos' lovesick laugh, that he knows that he's managed to fluster you.

You aren't sure how long you've stood in the kitchen buried in Carlos' chest, but you do know that your ankles are starting to hurt when he removes one of his arms from your body.

You fuss at the removal of the appendage, body suddenly exposed to the cold, cruel world that isn't his biceps. "Calm down baby, I just gotta take this pot off the stove real quick."

You hear clanging as he stirs whatever's in the pot with a spoon before his body tenses as he tries to twist and move the pot with one hand.

When his arm finally returns, he pulls your head out of his chest to place a chaste kiss onto your pouty lips before letting your head slump back down to return to its perch. He doesn't rush you, or force you to talk, or act like a normal person and not a human remora. He lets you cuddle into him for as long as you need, the spiced smell of dinner wafting over the two of you.

Thank you for reading! Please reblog/comment if you enjoyed

Resident Evil Masterlist || Masterlist || Taglist

[love4blackwrites]

Carlos is so precious. The fact that he got off work tired and still made dinner? That’s the standard right there—turning a bad day into something sweet and cozy. Your writing is beautiful. I especially loved the detail about the reader's skin being too dark to visibly show a blush, and the wonderful way you narrated their feelings and day!!🩷

[prettygeekergirl]

🫧 warm vanilla kisses and honeyed words

‘ 📞.. hello? best writer speaking, who’s callin’ ?

{ 777. } .. she/her. .. twenty. .. olivia j.

001. recents ౨ৎ 002. my library ౨ৎ 003. requests ౨ৎ 004. popular works ౨ৎ 005. silly lil’ thoughts

taglist!

others! @aauroraxia @dearestcameron

[cocoadropp]

Warnings: Feetkink? Dry humping, thigh fucking, sub!ony. uhhh idk guys.

NSFW

you were like a vixen straight out of a 80’s porno. always had curtain bangs, hair black with streaks of blonde or pink. lips puckered with a dark brown lip liner and nude pink in the middle glossed up. eyeshadow always sparkled with glitter, body always sparkled in glitter. and Jesus you smelled so good.

looked even better with your black lace bralette and black lace panty, thong so skinny it almost looked like you had nothing on if it wasn’t for what’s between your legs getting hidden by that exact lace. top and bottom belly pierced with a tattoo that reached the top of your ribs all the way to your ankle.

gosh, to say onyankapon was infatuated would be an understatement.

“so you the birthday boy?” you questioned, walking up to him where he was seated in the private room. “friends out there hollering about you, how you deserve this cause you just won a football game, what? last thursday?” you smirk at him, you tease him.

he’s never felt so stuck before, not when he was on the field, not when he had to talk in front of damn near millions of people when he lost a game, and never when he talking to some female. his lips curl as if he was mad at her for even given him a reason to stutter on his words.

he bite his lips, diamond grills showing slightly “yeah, that’s me.” he eyes your feet first when you get closer, cute, feminine with black frenchtip. he eyes trail higher when he sees the long straps on your heels that reaches below your knee, you so fucking captivating. the hell you doing at a strip club?

his eyes meet your pelvic bone, looks at you petite waist and ribcage and he can tell you been working hard on that pole. your body just shows it, faint muscles in your arm, ass so plump and he bet he can sit a cup on it if he concentrated hard enough. “yea that’s you?” you bite your lip back at him, all white straight teeth.

you get even closer, one heeled foot going between his man-spreaded legs. and with that he leans back, gets more comfortable. arms behind the seated area. you tuck your head to the side as you inspect him, designer baggy pants and chrome heart long sleeve, he has a hat on but you can tell he got a fresh cut with some braids underneath. Silver Cuban link chain around his neck and an even big Cuban link bracelet over his wrist that matches perfectly with a blinged out Rolex.

you can’t say the money he obviously has wasn’t making your pussy a little wet, you loved when men came in, and they looked as good as they money. but you can tell onyankapon is different, he’s a little calm, he looks like he was forced into this but possibly has taken a interest in you. and another thing you absolutely loved more than a cute face with money is someone you can get over.

the way he flinches a little, you can tell even though bitches probably flaunt they way at him he ain used to someone like you, and that makes him…cute.

“you cute onyankapon.” and just as he was about to question you with a eyebrow up, you plop on his lap. “can tell you never did nothing like this before huh? even though football filled with niggas that ain shit, you a good boy.” you lean closer to his ear and ony swears his spine tingles and straightens.

his fist balled up and he leaned his head to the side as if it was an invitation. you don’t take the invitation though, you lean back and look at his face, your hands going behind you to lean or his knees, covered pussy in the front of his zipper.

“I-it, what?” it’s like he wanted to confess but a cat caught his tongue telling him no. One hand from his knee moves to grab on his jaw, his breath is caught up and staggered. “usually men aren’t supposed to be touching on the girls, not supposed to be doing more than giving money and watching,” you lean closer to his face, teeth softly biting at his bottom lip, he groans almost pathetically. “I can tell though ony, you might be my favorite.”

your hips grind once against his, and his hands find your thigh, not giving in all the way.

ony was frustrated to say the least, though you had something so skimpy on, his jeans was making it hard.

and speaking of hard he can feel his shit twitching more, the more he smelt you, the more you body moved, the more your fingers touched over his face and under his undercut, the more you fucking breath against his ears.

he was a sensitive man, barely fucking anyone because that’s just not his style. he aware of gold diggers and money hungry girls, which is ironic because he at a strip club where the reside at but fuck he was forced her and fuck did you change every thought process he had.

his friends told him about you, how you move, how you laugh and just how sexy you are. they always said how strict you are about the touching policy, about how you barely even give them more then a 5 minute lap dance before you requesting the money.

he doesn’t know nor you, but you end up on your back.

his jeans still on but dick so hard it’s form against his thigh and he’s getting so fucking greedy he just jumping against your thigh and covered pussy like his famous career doesn’t even exist. like she can’t go and rat him out for actually being a loser.

but you would never, because this is exactly how you like em.

“f-fuck sorry I just….oh god.” he moans softly. his hands grip the underside of your thighs and your hands follow his shoulders. “it’s okay ony, you can take it out though.”

he pauses, breathing heavy as fuck and eyebrows furrowed. “you can’t put it in, but I’ll give you a little something more for your birthday.”

and he does, his thick tip sliding against the pudge of your pussy that’s now poking outside of your panties.

he feels the wetness, he feels the lace and he so turned on he feels like a teenager.

you can tell he’s getting into it, your biting your lips and your pussy is fucking throbbing cause it all just feels so good. he smells so good, and he’s doing so good.

“mm, my- I’ve never did this before.” you mumble and moan, watching him bring your legs up and over one of his shoulder so your thighs close better around his dick and he goes deeper like that, balls squished against where your hole is pulsating and the top of his dick covering almost your whole belly button. “just like that ony.”

“uhn fuck! mama, I think I can nut just like this.” he half way laughs and groans. and now he’s unstrapping your heels to digs his nose in your ankle, to suck and lick on the heel of your feet all the way to the tip of your toes.

you moan out in shock, back arching off the couch.

yes, this is exactly your type.

his hips go sharper, but sloppy nonetheless, it makes him tremble and he’s not even sure what he’s doing anymore, “ima become a regular. I swear, you gon give me this treatment everytime?” he questions and oh he’s the cutest with the way he’s absolutely deadass.

you smile behind a moan and you nod.

you’d give him everything he wants.

A/N: lowkey y’all im finna drop drafts because why not. I’ve been MIA ASF, i edit a little of em but not all. I have so many drafts. (Should I start finishing them? I lowkey lost motivation, I feel like a Wattpad author when they ghost their audience lmao)

[mtcloudsworld]

Please do one with Diana Prince and a short girlfriend, because Diana must be HUGE. The reader discovers she got pregnant by Diana somehow because she's a goddess, right? So it kind of makes sense. I NEED THIS PLEASE I BEG YOU

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝒮𝓊𝓇𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑒

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 : 𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑤𝘩𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒, 𝑠𝘩𝑜𝑐𝑘/𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟, 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑, 𝑓𝑒𝑚.ᐟ𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑎 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑦𝑟𝑎, 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑖𝑡𝑦, 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦, 𝐴𝑚𝑎𝑚𝑧𝑜𝑛𝑠, 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑦, 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝, 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑖𝑙𝑦 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑠, 𝑜𝑏𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑒𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠 ─ 𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟𝑠, 𝑡𝑦 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦 .ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ

𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥 : 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡, 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑡. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦 𝑖𝑡 ♡ .ᐟ

𝒲𝒞 : 𝟏𝟓𝟔𝟏

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

Ever since you and Diana became a couple, the idea of children drifted naturally to the periphery of your shared life.

Neither of you dismissed the possibility, but it never rose to the level of urgency or expectation.

You were too busy living — laughing together, building a life that felt both expansive and grounded.

Adoption lingered as a warm, distant thought, a gentle “maybe someday,” never a pressure or a deadline. Your closeness unfolded without fear or calculation.

There were no anxious what‑ifs, no sense of looming consequence — only trust, comfort, and that quiet spark that always ignited between you.

Still, somewhere deep inside, the notion of being connected to Diana in a way that transcended the ordinary lingered — a private, impossible dream you never expected to take shape.

But loving a goddess means the impossible is never as far away as it seems.

The realization didn’t arrive through any mortal sign. It came as a surge of energy that felt foreign and ancient, a warmth that hummed beneath your skin.

You had always known Diana’s divine origins, but you had never fully grasped what it meant to share your life with someone sculpted by gods.

Her essence wasn’t confined to human biology.

In moments of profound closeness— when her presence felt like sunlight pressed into your bones— she had unknowingly shared more than affection.

She had shared a spark of creation itself.

That following morning everything changed, the air around you shimmered faintly. You didn’t feel sick; you felt charged, as though your blood carried threads of starlight. Your reflection revealed eyes touched with a golden tint, and when your hand drifted to your abdomen, you felt a subtle, rhythmic pulse that wasn’t yours alone.

When you told Diana, the sun was sinking behind her, casting her in warm amber light. She didn’t even react with shock. Instead, awe softened her features.

She crossed the room in a heartbeat, sunk to her knees before you and whispered “I thought we were simply sharing ourselves,” she pressed her forehead to your stomach, gripping you by your waist. “But the gods have allowed my spirit to take root in you. You carry the fire of Olympus.”

You looked down at her, your eyes wide and searching. You felt a sudden, sharp chill despite the warmth coming from your skin. "Is that what that thrumming is? It feels... it feels like a storm, Di. It doesn’t feel like me." You gripped her shoulders, your knuckles turning white. "I'm terrified. What if I'm not enough to keep it safe? What if it's too much for me?"

Diana stood up slowly, never breaking eye contact, until she towered over you with that effortless Amazonian grace. Diana let out a long, shaky breath, her forehead dropping to rest against yours. You could feel the heat radiating from her skin, meeting that new, strange warmth in your own.

"It’s okay to be scared," she murmured, her hands sliding up from your waist to gently cradle the back of your neck. Her thumbs brushed against your skin in a slow, rhythmic circle. "To be honest? My heart is racing just as fast as yours."

She was trying to process the shock right along with you, but was finding this all too difficult to piece together.

"I’m scared too. Anyone would be."

But regardless, she kept her focus on you. "I know it feels weird. I know it doesn’t feel like 'you' yet. But you aren't in this alone. You have me, and we’re in this together."

She took your shaking hands off her shoulders and held them tight between hers, squeezing until you could actually feel your own pulse again.

"If it gets to be too much, I’m right here. I’m not going to let you break, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. We’re going to take this one step at a time, okay?"

From that moment, everything shifted.

The trip to the island was a total blur of wind and salt spray, with the Invisible Jet cutting through the sky so fast the horizon felt like a smudge. Diana was focused, her hands steady on the controls, but you could tell she was on high alert.

She knew that whatever was happening to you was way beyond anything a normal hospital or doctor could handle. You weren't just "expecting"; you were changing, and she needed to get you to the only place that understood that kind of power.

​When you finally broke through the cloaking field and hit the air over Themyscira, everything shifted. The air didn't just feel different—it felt heavy.

It was thick with the scent of old cedar trees, blooming jasmine, and that sharp, metallic smell of ozone you get right before a massive thunderstorm. It was the smell of raw, unfiltered energy.

​As the jet touched down and you stepped out onto the white sand, your legs felt a little heavy, like the island itself was reacting to you. Usually, the Amazons are all about discipline and clashing bronze, but today, the training grounds went completely quiet. Nobody reached for a weapon.

Instead, they just stopped what they were doing and watched you pass in this intense, respectful silence. They could clearly feel the shift in the island’s vibration the second your feet hit the ground.

​You walked toward the palace, feeling that "thrumming" in your chest getting more in sync with the surroundings. Hippolyta was already there, waiting at the base of the massive marble steps.

Usually, she has this unyielding, "queen of the warriors" look that can be pretty intimidating, but as you got closer, her expression totally shifted.

Her gaze softened in a way you’d never seen before. She didn't ask for an explanation or a medical report. She just looked at you, seeing the way the air seemed to ripple around you, and she knew.

The divine energy coming off you was loud enough to hear.

Diana led you deep beneath the mountain, far below the training grounds, into a chamber etched with the history of the gods. The Oracle sat amidst swirling blue incense, her eyes clouded with visions.

“The weaver has dropped a thread,” she rasped, her voice like grinding stone. “And the Goddess of Truth has caught it within a vessel of clay and spirit.” As she moved her hands over you, the mist responded, forming shapes that echoed the heartbeat growing inside you.

This was no accident, she explained, but a “confluence of will.” Your love for Diana was so absolute that your body had literalized your desire to be one with her. Carrying a child of Olympus would be an ordeal of endurance. The island’s magic was already reinforcing your mortal frame to withstand the power you nurtured.

Diana didn't leave your side for a single second through the whole ritual. Even when you finally got back to your room, she was right there with you. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, just staring off into space, totally wiped out and trying to make sense of everything.

​She grabbed your hand, and that solid, familiar grip was the only thing keeping you from feeling like you were floating away. She waited until you looked at her, and her expression was intense—like she was ready to take on the world for you.

​"What you're doing... even the gods think it’s a miracle," she whispered, moving her hand to cup your face, thumb stroking against your cheek. "But Themyscira is your fortress now. You're safe here."

You let out a soft, huffed breath that was half-laugh and half-sigh. "A miracle. I still feel like I’m just me, Di. Only... me with a literal lightning storm inside." You put your hand over hers on your face, holding it there. "But...I’m glad we're here. I don't think I could have handled this back at the apartment."

She let out a small, relieved hum as you slumped against her letting the weight of the day drop, her fingers trailing down to rub soothing circles into your back. "I know," she murmured, her voice vibrating through her chest and into you.

By the second trimester, it became clear after a moment of shock and terror that you weren’t just simply carrying a child — you were becoming a conduit for Olympus itself.

The changes could no longer be hidden beneath loose tunics or explained by mortal science. Your body was being rewritten in the language of the divine.

The first sign was the luminosity.

What began as a faint glow became a constant radiance. In the dim royal chambers, your skin emitted a soft golden light— the “Ichor‑light” — pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

Instead of exhaustion, you felt a strange vitality.

Your steps grew lighter. Your senses sharpened until you could hear the tides shifting against distant cliffs.

Silvery patterns traced themselves across your skin, swirling around your abdomen like celestial maps.

Diana recognized them as ancient Amazonian runes of protection, appearing naturally to shield you from the power within.

Your connection with her deepened into something near‑telepathic. Because the child carried her essence, she could feel echoes of your sensations.

“I can hear them,” she murmured one evening, her ear pressed to your stomach, her hands tracing the glowing runes. “It isn’t just a heartbeat. It’s a melody. And they're dreaming...dreaming of the stars, and I can see them right through you.”

But with beauty came intensity. 

Sometimes the air crackled with static. Sometimes gravity shifted subtly when you moved too quickly.

The Amazons watched you with reverence and caution. Considering you were the first of your kind — a bridge between their eternal world and the world of men — carrying a soul forged in divine love.

The training grounds, usually filled with clashing bronze and sharp commands, fell silent when you walked onto the sands with Diana. You weren’t there to spar— she would never allow that— but she believed movement would help your body harmonize with the growing power.

As you stretched, the air vibrated.

When you steadied yourself against a marble pillar, a shockwave of golden energy rippled outward. The sand beneath your feet crystallized into glass in a perfect circle. The sky above swirled with sudden clouds, as though the weather itself responded to your heartbeat.

When a young Amazon dropped a training sword nearby, your instinct to protect yourself surged. Before the blade hit the ground, a translucent golden shield formed around you, pulsing with force that sent the sword flying twenty feet.

Gasps rippled through the warriors.

Diana rushed to your side, hands raised in calm reassurance. Veins of faint electric blue glowed beneath your skin, replicating the color of lightning.

“D‑Di? What’s happening to me?”

“Breathe, my love,” she said softly, her voice anchoring you. “Don’t fight the tide. Let the power flow through you, not out of you. You are the storm’s center, not the storm itself.”

And as your breathing steadied, the shield dissolved into mist, and the glass beneath your feet cooled, but your hands still tingled with residual energy.

From the balcony, the Oracle nodded. Coming to terms that this was clearly an ascension. That your body was learning to wield the divine authority of the child’s lineage. 

You weren’t just carrying life. You were being gifted a portion of Diana’s sovereignty.

As midsummer settled over Themyscira, the final days blurred together. Your abilities quieted into a steady hum. You no longer shattered pillars by accident, but moved with a grace that felt beyond mortal.

You spent your last days in the Queen’s private gardens, where flowers bloomed unnaturally large in your presence. Diana rarely left your side, her hand always resting on the swell of your stomach, where the runes glowed with fierce, steady light.

"I hope they have your eyes," you said, your voice raspy. You combed your fingers through her hair, eventually tucking a stray piece behind her ear.

You let your hand drop to cradle her cheek, and she leaned into it, looking up at you with eyes so blue and bright it made your chest ache. You brushed your thumb across her bottom lip, just watching her.

Diana leaned into your touch, her eyes closing for a brief second as she let out a slow, steadying breath. When she opened them again, the intensity there was enough to make your knees weak.

"And I hope they have your heart," she whispered back, her voice thick and private. She caught your wrist, gently pulling your hand from her cheek just enough to press a lingering kiss to your palm.

The “weakness” you once feared had transformed into a profound readiness that made you feel time was near─ the gods had finished their deliberations and the Fates had tied the final knot.

Labor didn’t start with the kind of pain you’d expected. Instead, it started with a sudden, heavy silence. Everything—the birds in the gardens, the sound of the waves hitting the cliffs, even the wind through the trees—just stopped, like the whole island was holding its breath.

​When the first real wave of pressure hit, it wasn't just a physical sensation; it felt like a dam breaking. A massive burst of energy surged out of you, filling the royal chamber with a golden light so intense and raw that even the seasoned Amazon healers had to look away and shield their eyes.

​Outside, the world went wild. The sky over Themyscira began to bleed through colors that shouldn't have been there—deep, bruised violets, brilliant flashes of gold, and electric blues that pulsed in time with your breathing.

Even though there wasn't a single cloud in sight, a heavy, resonant crack of thunder rolled across the sky─ Olympus offering its final salute.

Diana stayed locked behind you, her arms wrapped tight around your chest to keep you from being swept away by the sheer force of it.

She acted like a literal lightning rod, absorbing the overflow of energy that was pouring out of you so your body wouldn't have to carry it all. You could feel her own pulse—that steady, divine beat—syncing up with yours, her strength bleeding into you right when you needed it most.

​She pressed her face against the side of your neck, her voice low and constant as she spoke in a language that felt older than the island itself.

At the very peak, the runes on your skin flared one last time before breaking apart, dissolving into a shimmering dust that floated in the air like a room full of stars.

The silence didn't break with a scream or a cry. Instead, there was a clear, ringing sound, almost like a silver bell. As the blinding light finally started to dim, the storm in your chest vanished, replaced by a sudden, solid weight resting against you.

When you looked down, your vision still a bit blurry from the light, to find a tiny, perfect face looking back up at you. The child’s skin held a bronze sheen, head full of dark hair. Their eyes — opening from the first moment — shone with Diana’s piercing blue.

The “weakness” that you had once felt, soon vanished, replaced by a completeness so profound it felt like your soul had expanded.

Diana’s grip on you loosened, but she didn't pull away. She stayed right behind you, her chin resting on your shoulder as she looked down at the miracle you’d both been waiting for. She was breathing hard, her forehead damp with sweat, but the look on her face was pure, unshielded awe.

“They're here,” she whispered, her voice cracking just a little. "The bridge between our worlds." She reached out a shaky hand, her finger gently touching the baby’s tiny, flickering palm.

The baby's small hand curled instinctively around Diana’s finger. And at the touch, a tiny spark of silver light danced between them—a final, lingering echo of the stars they'd been dreaming of.

You leaned back into her, finally letting her take all your weight. "They're perfect, Di," you whispered, watching the baby’s tiny fingers keep a death grip on Diana's hand.

​Diana pressed a long, lingering kiss to your temple, her eyes never moving from the child. "You did so good," she murmured, her voice thick with pride. "So good, baby."

​As you watched them, the Oracle’s words from months ago finally clicked into place, echoing through your head. You weren't just the human who had fallen for a goddess anymore.

You were the mother of something entirely new—a legacy that carried all the strength of the Amazons and the heart of humanity.

©𝗺𝘁𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘂𝗱𝘀 ─ 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽. 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗅, 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒, 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾 ─ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

[dilfstarr]

DADDY LESSONS◞

T. Fushiguro & Onyankopon

જ pairing:Toji Fushiguro x Onyankopon x Black!reader

જwarningノtags:cowboy!Ony◞ cowboy!Toji◞ my boys are both country as hell!◞ brat!reader, grumpy!Ony◞ Megumi & Shiu mentioned◞ Megumi Thee Stallion [ literally ]◞ poly relationship [ m+f+m ]◞ reader has a pixie cut [ briefly mentioned ]◞ pet names [ SweetheartノDarlin’ノPeachノLove ]◞ fluff◞ suggestive in some parts but doesn’t cross the line.

જwc:4k

જan:just spending time with your rootin tootin cowboy lovers. No smut unfortunately, wanted to explore my fluffiness to the fullest. this is kinda a soft launch for my pending series, an intro post if you will…bye.

Sometimes the southern heat was just overbearing; if another layer of clothing wasn't peeled away quickly, you swore you could burst into flames like an unlucky vampire caught in the deadly webs of sunrise. Heatless copper dyed spirals laid obediently in gel—a white scarf tied around the surrounding area as a fashion statement while matching swirls curled at your temples. Cinnamon tinted moles sprinkled across your cheeks sparkled with sweat as you tried oh-so desperately to ignore the sun devilish presence. Dark washed and dirt stained overalls sat loosely on the crisp white tee that soaked in sorrow.

Another annoyed groan vibrated deep in your chest. Frustration wasn't even the word for what creeped deep beneath your bones.

You huffed in defeat, almond shaped manicure glistening under the sun's harsh rays once your bubble gum pink gardening gloves were flung from your palms. Your breathing starts to stutter as you try to keep your tears from bleeding through the concrete dam hidden behind your eyes.

You've been sweating buckets since you stepped foot from your wooden porch. Uprooting those invading, stubborn weeds from your stubborn Pentas has officially worn you out. Hours of hard labor for your garden to still look untouched—almost like you never stepped foot outside in the first place. Your beautiful star shaped flowers that attracted the most vibrant, joyful butterflies and hummingbirds weren't what they used to be; once full of life became an eyesore for anyone that analyzed your plants.

As much as the beautiful array of flowers shaped your garden, the pests and weeds that hounded were burdensome—damaging months of hard work in mere seconds. The forest green foliage might seem appealing to the naked eye, but spider mites lurked deeply in the cracks of the crops and damaged any and everything in sight.

Standing with a groan and an alarming sound of your joints popping, you watched your pedicured feet take turns on the freshly cut grass that led back to your porch. Defeat laid comfortably on your shoulders, tear ducts swollen from pending tears.

Stupid plants.

Distant clouds held the weight of a thunderstorm, the smell of the breeze carrying the scent of rain and sadness; the sun was oblivious to the storm brewing. The wind blew, but not the kind you wanted—it blew hot and sticky, like the first few seconds of an oven opening, making you feel more icky. Trees waved at you in the distance while the cries of your wind chimes touched gave subtle a warning.

"I know you're not sheddin' tears over those flowers, Sweets." Toji could read you like a book even if it was sealed shut and buried six feet under. He emerged from the darkness of the house like a DC villain, the screen door clapped loudly behind him; your furry pets tilted their heads in confusion when they weren't immediately let out.

Full lashes kissed at his cheeks—heavy eyelids making his appearance more intimidating. Even with half his eyesight, his shaded gaze weighed heavily on your figure. A half smoked cigarette slept lazily between his lips, glowing a deep crimson before grey smoke poured from his nose.

You jumped at the sudden noise; a sniffle and a quick wipe to your swollen eyes later and you almost looked normal. To whom? You don't know.

"M'not," You lie, avoiding his siren stare.

"Don't bullshit me, woman. Jus' watched it happen with my own two eyes." Toji wore the sweat on his temple proudly, the absence of his hat being the sole reason why he came back to the house and found you whimpering over plants. The metal porch railing held his tilted weight with ease.

A dark brown cowboy hat with his initials scorched deeply into the side casted a ominous shadow on his face, making his stare more menacing.

"If you knew then why'd you ask?" You followed his bulky shadow as it loomed over you like bad news. With the cigarette tucked between his pink lips he mumbled "watch that mouth," before blowing smoke in your direction.

"Asked to see if you would lie. And you did. 'Told you about that."

You rolled your eyes mumbling a quiet apology while your arms crossed over your chest. "Just upset right now, Toj’."

Silver poured like a fountain from his lips as he eyed you from afar. Clouded rings floated from his face as he squinted, his heavy head tilting to the left.

"Didn't we tell you to stop poutin' over those plants or am I goin’ crazy?” As he awaited your answer another wave of smoke surrounded you.

“You did.”

“We also told you we'd get someone out here to look at 'em because it somethin' out of your control. Did we not?”

He searched heavily for your downward gaze, that bitter, toxic stench of his cigarette curling into you like bumped ends. You sighed into a nod, slowly unbuttoning the jean deathtrap you wore to create some type of air circulation through your clothes. Still, your eyebrows touched and your lip poked out.

“Yes, Toji. I remember.”

"Clearly not if I just found you, not even two weeks later, doin' the same thing.” He inhales again, this time the smoke pouring from his nose like an angry bull.

"I knoww, m'sorry. It’s jus' that I watched another video and thought it looked easy enough to try. It sucks that my green thumb was lost in transit while I was bein' brought into this cruel, cruel world…”

He watched as you explained your reasoning with a grin clawing at his lips. He could never take you seriously when you're being this dramatic. The way you flung your arms in exaggeration and how your pout deepened as the urge to cry was a blink away—it was cute.

“'Nd now you're laughin' at me! This is why I only discuss my feelings with Ony!" You wiped at the heavy, hot tears that managed to escape down your cheeks.

Toji sucked the remaining cigarette dry and tossed it behind him, his frame becoming larger then shrinking—he was now crouching and eye to eye with his pouting woman.

"Look," he sighed, "I'm not laughin’ at you or tellin' you to stop gardening—l love seein' you in your own world, but you need guidance. Even if it wasn't something out of your control, you can't just start somethin' and expect to be a master at it in a few seconds. 'Shit takes time, Darlin’. Rome wasn’t built in a day."

Well…It's true.

With every new money sucking hobby you joined overnight, there were a good three seconds where you thought you knew exactly what you were doing from just watching a single video—that is before you're bulldozed with a reality check.

Baking? Served poison on porcelain with a toothy grin and it took Onyankopon one bite into your crack brownies before telling you the harsh truth about your skills, or lack of. Crocheting? Oh gosh. If Toji wasn't holding your tablet, the comically large aluminum crochet hook would've been lodged up his nose somewhere.

From accidentally downloading a virus onto your PC from downloading links you mistaken for Sim mods, to unknowingly buying knockoff anime figures from a sketchy website that really didn't seem that sketchy, but now that you looked back it definitely looked questionable. It was all trial and error.

You lived and learned.

“Understood?”

You nodded, untying the scarf from your scalp and throwing it to the swinging bench that sat adjacent. You sigh, "Sorry for my attitude, Toji. Still workin' on my snappiness."

He flashes a grin, rough palms rubbing tight circles on the soles of your feet,"I see that and 'm proud of you. "Lots of progress is happenin’. 'Bout three years ago we would've been barkin' back and forth like dogs."

"Yea," you both shared a chuckle, "Thanks, Toji-Bear. You're too sweet to me. Even when I'm cranky and bein’ a drama queen." Dark lashes that shaped your eyes something sinister fanned in his direction, blinking slowly like a cat admiring its owner.

He grinned at his nickname, sharp canines peeking through his pink scarred lips. A soft breeze teased at the spiral ends that peeked from his hat.

"S my pleasure, Love. You know that." Toji's voice matched yours: lust-heavy, his whispered words were deeper, more core stimulating. His finger lifted the tip of his hat, allowing his features to be visible and less insidious.

"Wipe your face 'nd give me a kiss?"

"Please?" You challenged, eyebrows arching to your forehead.

He eased his body slowly between your legs like a predator stalking its prey: too slow to notice until it was too late. The heat that radiated from his torso was almost torturous between your clothed thighs. Your breath hitched as you whispered, "Say please, Toji."

"Please, Darlin?"

Before he even finished begging, his tongue was already miles ahead, meeting you halfway. Kisses from Toji were always over the top—he couldn't keep his tongue hidden behind his teeth if he tried. His heavy head tilted, desperate to get closer—deeper between your plump lips. Your squeaks are muffled and immediately swallowed and before you know it, you’re unintentionally pulling back from him. Toji's weighted, calloused palm gripped at your throat, squeezing just enough to assert dominance and to keep you anchored.

"Toji," you warned behind whimpers, "We're outside."

"Mhm," He hummed, seemingly acknowledging your concerns. He tugged at your bottom lip asking, "Who's goin' to stop me from showin' love to my woman?" He cocked his thin eyebrow, waiting on an answer to his rhetorical question then continued his pleasurable assault between your lips, his thick tongue dancing around yours. You melted into his touch, muscles relaxed and meshed into him like soft wax. Finally, he pulled away for good—lips swollen and glossed from spit.

"So pretty. 'Taste sweet, Peach"

You fake gasped, your palms hiding your gaped mouth, “Don’t be stealin’ Ony’s pet names. You know how he gets!”

He chuckles, aged joints popping as he stands at full height. “You’ right about that. Speakin’ of—Ony had his panties in a bunch since we woke up. ‘Don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“Maybe he’s tired of dealin’ with you and Megumi and wants to see me.”

Onyankopon was definitely tired of dealing with Toji. Him and his nonstop jokes and childish antics under this type of heat? Nah. Nothing was funny in this bipolar weather.

His grin widened.

“‘S ironic that you brought him up, you know,” you quirked an eyebrow as Toji continued, “We’re about to bring Megumi out to the round pen before we’re done out here. Put some clothes on and meet us in the field.”

If your eyes got any wider, they would be rolling around on the porch. “Uh No, Toji. My time in the sun is over. I just want a bubble bath and to lay around inside with Salem and Boa. Maybe even pick back up crocheting. Plus the sky looks like it wants to open up and flood everything in sight!”

“Ten minutes,” He held his palm to you, his thick fingers urging you to stand. You didn’t want to, but the menacing look in his eyes showed that that there were no jokes behind his statements. “That’s the lowest I’m goin’ so you better get up before it jumps to twenty.”

“But I’ve been out here all day!” You whine, your hand falling on top of his. He tugged you up with ease and held you upright while you continued protested.

“You’ve been out here for not even five minutes, ⧼★⧽. Stop bein’ dramatic,” Toji deadpanned, officially leaving you by yourself on warm wood.

“Oh whatever—!” Before you could counter, he was already states away from you and towards the field. Even his jog was attractive—heavy muscles flexing under his shadow shaded clothes. He turned to find you still standing and chuckled. Cupping his hands around his lips he yelled, “Bring your ass before I get Onyankopon to sic you!”

You grinned, wiping the pending sweat puddling at your hairline. Ten more minutes.

It wasn’t ten minutes. Let’s try an hour and twenty minutes.

With the sun shining, still etching itself deep into your skin like a scar, the last thing you wanted to be doing was getting acquainted with a horse who couldn’t care less about your existence. Toji sits behind you, his weighted pelvis rocking against yours with the slow and steady stride of his horse—the metal plate of his sizzling belt buckle knocking against the top of your clothed ass crack. An earthly, tobacco scent mixed with a hint of sweetness from your vanilla perfume, that hadn’t melted off, trailing behind closely like a cape.

Wearing black in the sun’s presence was a disaster just itching to happen, so questioning Toji’s motives for wearing not only a long sleeved black tee, but jeans to match wasn’t frowned upon. His top hugged tightly against his sweat glazed tanned skin, threatening to rip with any sudden movement. Heavy strokes from his tattoos peeked just under the neckline of his shirt—almost giving the illusion that it was an extension of his top. If you were being honest, his poor choice of an outfit just brought extra heat, and it was being placed directly on your shoulders.

"Hol' on tight to the reins, Sweets. Take control. Meg’s not goin’ to take you seriously if ya’ scared of him.”

Barking orders around wasn’t anything new, these animals would walk all over him if authority wasn’t latched on to his voice—doing it for hours on end with cigarettes being chain-smoked in between is what’s fucking him up. Anytime he spoke, it felt like a microphone needed to be lodged down his throat to chase each whispered word. It’s only getting worse with each passing minute.

"There you go. Good joooob,” He praised, voice coming out winded, “You’re gettin' better at this, you ain't ridin’ while we sleepin'? Sure seems like it."

Rough hands were tight around your waist, giving you reassuring squeezes whenever you whimpered in doubt, which was every other second. Toji felt the fear latching onto your bones under your embrace—he could see the worry painted on your face from the moon, but the only thing to shake that said fear was to face it head on.

"M'sure..."

Stallions were naturally aggressive and not easy going with new people, especially Toji’s furry friend here. You’ve witnessed Megumi take that extra mile to be by himself—stationed in the corner glaring menacingly at the town below. And doing something he didn’t want to do sparked pure chaos.

You knew it was a pending problem with him when both Onyankopon and Toji had to stand close while Dr. Shiu performed his first of many monthly routine exams.

Megumi stomped his heavy hooves with anger at every gloved touch that graced his silky black fur, nipped at the doctor whenever he was in view, and whipped his tail when he was certain something was there to be strucked—almost like a child throwing a tantrum. You've seen plenty of horses come and go, all with different personalities that molded them differently from their counterparts—but none as special as Megumi.

With checkups becoming increasingly common, Megumi no longer acted an ass when it was time to be examined, but that day has been stamped into your brain like a tattoo. Being on the receiving end of his violence was not on your to-do list. Not not. Not ever.

"Toji-Bear?"

With your voice soft as a pillow, below a whisper and coiled tight in concern, you almost mirrored Toji’s hoarseness. He replied with a curious hum, pierced ear pressing against your warm cheek to better understand what you were saying. "He's not gonna hurt me, right?"

Toji confidently reassured you, replying in a hum, "He ain't gonna hurt you, Sweetheart. Pon and I trained him well since that day. Ain't that right?"

"Mhm," Onyankopon responded with a confident hum, "He's only aggressive with male horses and red balloons, Peach," A thin piece of hay dangled from his plump two toned lips. He stood leaning against the wooden fence— tone, tatted arms peaked from his white tea. His dark brown eyes stalked you like a hawk from afar. "If you’ ain’t either of those things then you'll be juuus' fine."

"’Kay... if you say so," Unsureness intertwined tightly around your words—in result, your grip on the reins were much tighter.

Riding around in circles with heavy supervision was a traditional practice that happened roughly twice a week. Sometimes it was your personal horses from the stable, others it was mounts who needed temporary assistance while they healed from minor surgeries. From what Onyokapon told you, doing this was beneficial and helped you get comfortable enough to ride on your own— climbing your way up to possibly helping out in the field if needed. You, on the other hand, hated it. Horses were their thing, not yours.

Whenever Toji received the horse as a gift, the handler informed him about his aggression towards all other animals and humans. Although he didn't specify on why, Toji assumed it had something to do with his previous owners mistreating him.

"Let's just say Megumi had a hard upbringing..." The handler expressed, eyebrows folded across his forehead. He was cautious with his brushing, afraid of any sudden movements from the horse.

Heavy hands weighed at Onyokopon's hips, chocolate dipped eyes squinting from the sun, "You don't say. ‘Boy can barely stop shakin’, Toj’,"

Toji gave a nod, eyeing the handler. “I see. Shakin’ like a rookie stripper.”

Toji hesitated touching Megumi, his covered fiery gaze turning Toji’s movements into stone. Scarred whip marks littered his backside and sides. The supposed silky black mane was a complete overgrown mess covering his curious eyes. Each sudden movement caused the colt to jerk in fear—sometimes going as far as lunging towards you as an act to protect himself. Megumi’s ribs were prominent from a skyscraper with mountains of flies dancing on his sunken stomach. He limped when he walked, overgrown hooves making it impossible for comfort.

“—Y’all don’t take care of him? Seems like y’all contributin’ to the rough upbringin’ if you ask me.” Onyankopon couldn’t help the anger in his voice. Still, he kept his voice level down to keep the horse at bay.

“Well, we have. He’s just… well— aggressive.” As if on que, the horse jumped forward causing the handler to quite literally jump into Onyakopon’s arms for protection.

For a good three years Onyankopon, Toji, and Dr. Shiu were the only people the horse became accustomed to. Building trust and loyalty took time and effort, but it was worth it in the long run. Your lovers took time to learn their pet, informing themselves about what Megumi adorned and highly disliked.

It came as little surprise that he disliked almost everything.

Except brushes.

Megumi became accustomed to his daily brushes—looked forward to them, actually. Onyankopon thinks it's a sensory thing, the bristles bringing a sense of peace to melt throughout his body.

"Give it 'bout three more months and Megumi will be out there with all the mares. Maybe get some kids out of ‘em. Hopefully make some profit."

"Yeah," Ony agreed, feeding a fistful of hay to Megumi, "Maybe even introduce him to Peach, see how he responds to her."

You rejected immediately, bringing up the situation with Shiu and how uncomfortable it made you feel. They understood, Onyokopon even considered postponing the meeting to a couple months later, but of course that didn’t happen. You were face to face with him ten minutes later. You could’ve sworn Megumi rolled his eyes when Toji was introducing him to you.

“He looks so angry, Ony-baby.” looking up through your lashes usually got you out of situations you didn’t want to be in. You swayed your hips more, even sticking your lip out a little far to catch his attention. He didn’t crack—not even a twitch in his tired eyes. His scold deepened as he rolled his eyes.

“Girl, please. ‘M not Toji. That shit didn’t work on me. Hop on.”You groaned dramatically as you were helped onto the animal.

All was well. The key word was. Not even two minutes and Megumi was already rising on his hind legs in an attempt to get you to unattached.

You thought it was your time, that he was going to somehow do a backflip and crush you to death under his weight. You yelped loudly, only adding fuel to the growing flames. Ony was quick on his feet, speaking slowly and softly to the horse as Toji pried you from his back.

The incident was brought up to Shiu and he said that you were still a stranger to him—He wasn’t familiar enough with you therefore he didn’t trust you. From that day forth, anytime Megumi was brought out, you were there.

His feedings? You were stuffing handfuls of hay in his puffy cheeks. You lead him with Toji but refuse to hold the reins and kept your distance.

What really got Megumi to gradually grow interested in you was your brushes. Really, it was your nails raking up and down his fur. You did it absentmindedly when feeding him—your finger tickled the spot just between his eyes. Up and down, up and down.

You didn’t notice that he was enjoying it until Toji pointed out that he leaned his head towards you.

“R-really? Thought he was jus’ rushing me.” You turned to the horse as he eyed the hay in your palm, “You like my nails, Megumi?” As if he could respond.

You shifted your body slightly, your legs becoming static from the extended horse ride. The clouds containing the storm were now minutes away, the smell of rain overpowering the scattered horse poop.

"I think she's 'bout ready to ride by herself, Toj’. Whatchu’ think?"

Toji hums, his fingers drumming at your hips, "You can think about it all you want, it's her that has the final say.”

"I can handle it," you answered, "I'm pretty confident... I think."

“You think?”

“Maybe a few more weeks, Peach.”

The wind picked up, the trees in the distance almost uprooting from the soil. Thunder cracked in the distance causing some of the horses to find shelter.

"Ooh, it’s startin' t'get dark Toj". Let's wrap this shit up. Fuckin’ mosquitoes 'bout to suck me dry!" Smacks to his dark skin followed after his complaints, his whacks echoing throughout the open field. Just as Toji was about to mumble something slick, a lightning bolt flickered through the clouded sky too close for comfort, followed by a thunderclap that made Megumi jump from beneath you. The nightmare of the last encounter with Megumi raising on his hind legs flashed through your mind like a premonition. This was going to take longer than expected.

[serenflms]

𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄| 𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚!, 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬-𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫(𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭), 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥!(𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐲-𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐮, 𝐲/𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐠, 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐡𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: 𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

A/N: i honestly don’t know much about racing so bare wit me yall🫩

⤷ "andddd here we are, at the race track with the two most famous race car drivers getting to compete against each other among the rest to win the tournament, on my left we have toji fushiguro and the one and only ryomen sukuna" you introduced both males as they both did a gesture towards the camera with a sweet smile.

"so, what are you boys predictions for today's race?" you held the mic in the middle. "well, i'm looking forward to winning of course and bringing home the trophy to my wife and kids who are watching" toji said as he smiled and waved towards the camera. "that's very sweet mr. fushiguro now, mr. ryomen what are your predictions?" you held the mic towards him, it being slightly lower since he was so tall along with toji. he bent down and spoked.

"you should already know what my predictions are" he smirked as he winked at you. you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him. toji shook his head as he brushed his jet black hair from his face. sukuna noticed your slight irritation and smiled a bit like he won. you asked them a few more questions before it was time for them to go and get ready to race.

you couldn't lie, sukuna looked good in uniform as he wiped his hair back with his hands and soon grabbed his helmet and placed on it onto his head before getting into his race car and settling in as his mechanics made his tires and car was ready to go. he then zoomed past you to make it towards the track and wait at the starting point of the race.

you stood there looking into your script for the day before your friend, kacie who is also a new reporter, came and stood next to you. "i saw the way he looked at you" she smiled. you sighed. "kacie, i seriously don't have time for this" you chuckled bitterly. "okay, but hear me out-" she took off her headset. "i think he actually likes you for real and you should hop on that before somebody else does" she shrugged.

“he's a whore" you deadpanned. "i want someone who is willing to be there for me when im having trouble with my mentality and simply be loyal, i know that's the bare minimum but that's all i ever wanted in a man kacie"

kacie stayed quiet for a moment before breaking it. "you know what, i can totally understand why you wouldn't want him" she nodded before grabbed onto your shoulder. "buttttt i think he actually changed his ways, i mean has he had any other scandals lately?" she questioned.

"no, but it wouldn't feel right to me especially since we're basically co workers...i don't wanna ruin my good job for a man who can't keep his dick in his pants" you sigh heavily before turning towards her. "i'm really grateful for your support with me and my discombobulated love life" you laughed as she laughed too. "okayyy, let's go monitor this race" she took her hand off your shoulder before leading the way.

"you two are awfully late" your co worker, sam said as he looked at you both. "we're not, the race hasn't even started yet sam" kacie rolled her eyes as you giggled. "what do you mean? the race is about to start in less than a minute" he stressed. "sam, did you not hear what you just said? it starts in less than a minute, meaning we have enough time to see them take off" you stated putting on your own headset and leaned towards the computer that has the camera view of the racers.

you can see the racers initials on the monitors screen as the little dots all came up beside it each other.(i don't exactly know how this stuff works so bear with me) as the anticipation and excitement for the race continues, as the audience is heard through out the arena. roaring and cheering can be heard as they all dressed in their favorite drivers colors, waving flags of their country's flag with face paint on as well.

"the racers are here so the show must go on, everybody let's get ready to rumbleeeeeeeeeee" the narrator declared as the crowd roared with excitement. just then the race had begun and you can see on the monitor that sukuna has already passed up three racers and was heading towards apex. many people cheered on for him as you watched in amusement. soon sukuna burnt out his tires and was making his way to the mechanics.

"come on, come on guys he's on his way" one of the team members said as they got alerted by the others. he came in, halting his car a bit too hard and the workers got to work. "how many minutes before they make it here?" he asked one of the workers.

"about a minute, why?" "saves me just enough time to get ahead and make it towards the next lap" he smirked as the workers were finally done with his car. and with that he revved his car's engine, speeding off onto the track completely passing two cars that were half a second ahead of him. he chuckled looking into his rear view mirror, seeing one of the cars trying to catch up to him.

"not on my watch" he quickly pressed down onto the turbo button to increase his speed. from his sudden speed the dirt on the road blew onto the other racers view making them swerve a bit.

"fucking asshole" toji mumbled, rolling his eyes. sukuna is now heading towards apex as he's cruising through the race. "gosh, he's so cool" you heard one of the reporters say as they kept their eyes on the tv screen above you all as it was showing the drivers. you couldn't lie, what he did was cool you just wish he wasn't so damn cocky all the time.

the race continued on for many laps and soon sukuna made it towards the finish line. he hurriedly got out of the car and jumped up in excitement as the other racers were groaning and mumbling from the lost. toji walked up to him and placed his hand onto his shoulder. "congrats ryomen, maybe you'll finally get the girl you've been fiending over " toji squeezed his shoulder before patting it and walking away.

sukuna halted his excitement as he skimmed his eyes over towards where you usually sat, smiling as he you saw you calmly sitting there with your head down as everyone else cheered. he smirked before walking over towards you. he sneaked behind you and placed his hands over your eyes. you jumped from the sudden touch. "guess who" he tried deepening his voice more.

"sukuna, i don't really have time for you" you pulled his hands away off of your face, getting up and turning towards him. "come on baby, why are you so angry with me? what did i do to deserve your harsh love, huh?" he stared into your eyes, grabbing one of you braids to fiddle with it between his fingers.

you continued staring him with a scowl before one of his many fan girls came up to him. "hey, ryomen wanna come by my place tonight? we're having a after party and we'll be happy if you're there" the dirty blonde asked as she pointed towards her friends as they giggled. sukuna looked at her and then back towards you. "uhhh, i would appreciate that but im kinda busy right now" he smoothly replied, dropping your hair as she stopped rubbing his arm, rolling her eyes before looking at you up and down with scoff before walking away.

you looked at him shocked. you didn't expect him to turn her down for you? "why'd you do that?" "what do you mean, pretty?" you rolled your eyes crossing your arms. "you know what i'm talking about, why didn't you accept her offer like you always do to groupies" you squinted your eyes at him. "heh, i'm a changed man y/n, i know what i want and i won't stop until i get it" he seriously expressed, staring deep into your eyes.

you nervously gulped from the sudden change in atmosphere and his body being so close you to the point that you can barely breathe.

"uhm, i-i'll see y-you later okay?" you hummed before walking away or attempting to because he quickly pulled you by the arm, turning you around as you was now pressed against his chest. you gasped, separating the yourself from him by placing your hands onto his chest. his hands held your waist as he took the initiative to lean in for a kiss, you mentally screamed as you forcefully pushed yourself away from him.

"n-no, no no no" you only said before quickly walking away from him. sukuna watched in complete sorrow before shaking his head and walking away as well. kacie seen the whole thing happening in a state of shock before mentally noting that she'll ask you about it later on.

you found yourself in your comfy home, crying as you sat in the bathtub. you never expected for him to just throw himself onto like that. how dare he? how dare he all of a sudden change his ways for you. maybe he just wants to get into your pants because he thinks he can easily break you. yeah, that's it, that's all he wanted. he wanted to get you alone so he can use you. you rolled your eyes, wiping your tears as your phone started to ring. you grabbed your towel, wiping your hands before reaching for your phone and answering the call without even looking at the caller ID.

"hey, what's up?" you weakly asked as you used your washcloth to clean yourself. "y/n? girl are you okay? i saw what happened with you and sukuna" you stopped your movement as you responded, "yes, i'm fine....just a little tired is all" you lied as you continued cleaning yourself, rubbing the soap on your legs.

"y/n, i know when you're lying it's okay, you can tell me that you aren't" she pleaded. you sighed softly, "kacie.....do you really think he likes me? i'm having second thoughts" you carefully asked.

“yes girl, i'm telling you that man wants you but like i said before it's totally fine if you don't want him" she hummed. you stayed silent for a while. "i...i don't know, im scared" you voiced. "i'm scared that i'll just be another booty call to him" you continued. "yeah, i understand how you feel.....well, i'll leave you alone about it but if you DO somehow wanna talk to him, i got you girl" she reassured.

"okay" you weakly smiled as you two continued to talk before you got out of the tub and heard the sound of your doorbell ringing. you froze in place as you were putting on your shirt and panties. "now, who could be at my door this time of night" you more likely asked yourself.

"maybe you should answer it" kacie voice echoed through the hallway as you walked down it and towards your front door. you looked through the peephole seeing a tall figure dressed in all black.

"i can't see their face" you commented. "open it" she told you shuffling around in her room. "no!, i don't know who this could be" you quietly yelled. "y/n? it's sukuna, i just wanna say that im sorry" you heard a deep rough voice call out from outside. your eyes widened in shock, "kacieeeee, it's himmmmm" you dragged out.

"WHAT?! girl open the damn door" she yelled. "okay, okay, i'll call you back" you hurriedly said as she said her last few words before hanging up. you took a deep breath before unlocking your door and opening it.

there he stood, in his all black nike tech tracksuit with the hood over his head. the black beanie he wore covered his hair ever so slightly, the pink strands showing themselves.

"what're you doing here? who gave me you my address?" you hastily asked. "i been asked kacie for it" he rubbed his chin. “uhm okay come in" you stepped aside to let him in.

he simply nodded and walked through the doorway. you closed and locked the door after before turning around seeing him already taking a seat on the couch with his shoes by the side of the couch. "yeah, you knew to take off them shoes" you mugged as he only lightly chuckled at you. "come m'ere" he lowly said.

his eyes were watching you like a hawk as you made your way to sit next to him. you sat a few inches away from him as he chuckled. "why are you so far? i want you closer" he lightly grabbed your arm and pulled you closer. your nerves were spazzing out of control at this point. he can feel your shaking making him grab your chin to make you look at him.

"why are you so scared, huh? i just wanted to come see you and apologize for what happened, mmk?" your eyes didn't meet his gaze just yet as you looked anywhere but into his beautiful crimson eyes.

they were so enticing and pleasing to look at. sukuna's grip on your chin had gotten tighter as he forcefully turned your head towards him. "look at me" you winced as you finally made eye contact with him.

"there she is, my beautiful angel" he smiled softly. "s-sukuna why are you doing this?" you trembled. "why? because i want you y/n, i don't care about that stupid contract.....you're all i ever wanted baby" by the look in his eyes you can tell he was sure about it.

his crimson irises twinkled with desperation. "b-but i don't wanna lose my job sukuna" you gulped feeling him use his other hand to rub circles on your thighs.

"you won't" "but what if i do, huh? you can't always be so sure about everything" you sighed standing up causing his hand to fall from your chin.

you paced around the living room as he watched you. "y/n" he simply expressed as he sat back onto the couch, his arms crossed behind his head. you continued pacing slightly scolding yourself for even letting him into your home and basically falling for em even more.

“y/n, can you calm down for a moment? you’re over exaggerating” he rolled his eyes. “what do you mean i’m over exaggerating? YOU think i’m just gonna say yes to your proposal? NO, I WONT, you can just go back to being a womanizer and leave me the fuck out of it!” at this point you were shaking with anger as you finally let out your frustration.

there was silence. sukuna looked you with as much sympathy he can muster up. soon, he sighed standing up with a grunt before walking over to your shuttering form.

he slowly lifted his hand and placed it onto your cheek causing you to jump back, pushing him back with your palms against his chest. "no, get away from me and leave right now" you choked out your cries as you pointed towards the door.

yet, he didn't move a muscle. he instead just chuckled at you as he shook his head before sitting back down. "you think i'm playing? i want you gone" you suddenly gained the balls to talk to him with more dominance.

"ouuu feisty, i like that" he smirked. "you're so insatiable" you rolled your eyes as you groaned. "and you love it" he got up from the couch and pulled you towards him, making you become mush in his chiseled chest.

you shook your head, inhaling his scent. "i can't stand you, you know that right?" your voice came out mumbled as you wrapped your arms around his waist. your face was still wet with tears but you couldn't care less anymore about that. "yeah, yeah i know" he replied.

you looked up into his eyes, your chin sitting prettily against his chest. his own eyes stared back at you with a slight glint of softness.

the silence was comfortable as it can get before he decided to break it by slowing lowering his head to kiss your lips. your eye closed at the feeling of his lips on yours. it was a soft passionate kiss. you turned your head to the side and deepened the kiss.

you felt him smirk against your lips as he picked you up and soon carried you towards what seemed to him to be your room. he kicked the door as you tightened your grip on his waist with your legs. he walked over to your bed and laid you down. he stared for a moment, gawking at your beauty.

you felt a bit shy under his intense gaze as you instinctively covered your face with your hands. he only chuckled before moving your hands. "why are you so shy?" he questioned placing a hand onto your cheek. you sheepishly smiled. “i don’t know i just-“ you paused for a second.

“i just can’t believe im letting the known “fuck boy” do things to me knowing i wouldn’t have allowed it” you chuckled. he hooked a finger under chin before slowly bending down to kiss your lips. he pulled back with a bite of your lip, watching it fall back into place.

“heh, looks like you’ve been wanting me along” he chuckled gesturing towards your soaked panties. you instinctively pulled the shirt down only for him to move them above your head as he kneeled down to come face to face with your cunt.

“damn, you’re leaking” keeping a tight grip on your wrist, he leaned in to lightly suckle against the fabric. your breath hitched as you slightly jolted from the sudden feeling of his lips grazing against your lips.

he made out with your panties as he placed his tongue flat against your cunt and took a long lick. you softly moaned squirming from the pleasure. “ngh~ stop playing sukuna and just eat my pussy already” you complained furrowing your eyebrows.

“huh? what do you want me to do? i couldn’t hear you” he let go of your wrist and pulled away to hook his fingers under your panties. “you know, what i said” rolling your eyes, softly bucking your hips towards him.

“oh? i can’t seem to remember, can you enlighten me….please?” he whispered whilst a smirk slowly forming on his face. “ugh you’re so annoying, i’m just gonna do it myself” you attempted to place a hand down to rub your cunt but he immediately pulled your panties down in a swift motion as your slick stuck to the fabric.

“finally” you sighed closing your eyes. he only chuckled before pulling you closer by your hips and gripped onto your thighs as he began tongue kissing your vigina. he sloppily made out with it as you gripped his hair. he groaned against your vigina tightly sucking your clit. you quivered and shook trying to run away from his mouth.

“unt unt, come back here” he mumbled tightening his grip on your thighs. you were pretty sure if he held it any tighter it would sure bruise. you moaned helplessly as he continued antagonizing your cunt. “kuna~ babyyyy im almost there~” you say feeling your stomach tighten.

“yeah? you wanna cum all on daddy’s tongue, don’t you baby?” he mumbled now giving your cunt kitty licks. occasionally softly thrusting his tongue in your hole. you whined tucking your bottom lip between your teeth from the sensation. “yessss, keep eating my pussy” moaned out sitting up on your elbows as you felt yourself release.

he held eye contact with you as he slurped up all of your body fluids. his eyes low and hazy as his mouth continued doing wonders to you. you sighed rubbing his head as you laid your head against your shoulder. “you’re killing me sukuna~ fuck~” your face scrunched up as he only hummed against your cunt before pulling away.

a long strip of saliva mixed with your juices connected you both until it finally snapped. his chin was covered in your juices as he licked his lips. the fluid dripped down his chin and landed onto his crotch that seemed to be protruding a bit with his cock standing up.

“i love this pussy” he spoked before standing up. you immediately looked up at him spreading your legs wider. “you do? come own it then” you boldly replied using your foot to softly rub his harden cock through his sweats. “fuck~” he threw his head back, “you’re gonna make me feral” he brought his head back down.

you giggled stopping your teasing before turning yourself around, arching your back as deep as you can. your arms stretched out in front of you as you looked over your shoulder towards him. “what are you waiting for?” you rocked your hips back and forth seductively, “come fuck me” you bit your lip.

sukuna breath got caught in his throat as he watched how your cunt spread with how far you arched your back. placing a hand over his bulge before gripping your hips with force as he slowly pushed his hips against your ass. you moaned dropping your head into the pillow. “fuck, i can’t wait anymore” he groaned letting go of your hips, pulling his sweats down along with his briefs as he pumped his thick cock.

you lifted your head and looked over your shoulder once again. you bit your lip watching as he gripped his cock in his hand as pre-cum oozed from the tip. “put it in kuna~” you pushed your ass back onto him. “kuna? i’m ngh~ kuna now?” he questioned stroking his cock. “yesss, please put it in” you whined. “goshhh, okay” he pulled your hips back onto him more as he slowly inserted his dick into your hole.

immediately, he threw his head back moaning. “you’re so fucking tight, i can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me” he groaned continuing to insert himself. your fingers gripped the sheets. his dick was becoming too much to handle at this point. “fuck kuna~ how big are you?” you questioned in strained voice. he deeply chuckle.

“baby……this is only half of it” you snapped your head back seeing that he was for sure not lying. you can see that he about three more inches left to put in. you physically groaned as tears began to form at your waterline. “please tell you aren’t putting all of it in” you whined. “y/n, it’s either go big or home” he smiled, rubbing your back to soothe your worries.

“shit…..okay, y/n you can do this” you quietly as you looked at it once more before mentally preparing yourself again as you placed your head down. “you never had something this big before?” he laughed. “NO! now i see why all those girls fell in love with you” you groaned. “heh, it’s all yours now baby” he said before pulling his hips back and slamming right into cunt. your breath got caught in your throat as you literally felt the wind get taken out of you.

“my goshhh~ slow d-down kuna~” you cried gripping your sheets squeezing your eyes shut. “sorry baby, not with the way this pussy gripping me” he groaned snapping his hips into you at a fast pace reaching forward to grip your neck with his tattooed hand. his other hand kept an iron grip on your hip as he held your neck. your body jolted with each movement.

the bed shook with his heavy brutal thrusts. you sat up on your elbows in a daze as you continued to take thrust after thrust from the male. you began to bounce your ass back onto him to meet his thrust. “hah~ you’re taking me so well” he whimpered feeling your cunt tighten around his dick.

“tell me you love this dick” he suddenly slowed down his pace as he curled his hand in your hair. “why’d you stop?” you whined. “tell me” he replied slowly thrusting as the sounds of your slick and his own bodily fluids made themselves known in the bedroom. “tell me, right now or i’ll stop” he demanded.

“fuck, i-i love your dick” you stupidly stuttered hoping he would take that response and keep fucking you. “yeah? show me how much you love it” he rebutted completely stopping his movement. “please~ kuna” you pleaded. “do it” he once again demanded pulling your hair with a harsh tug. you unintentionally moaned from the force.

you began to rock your hips back and forth onto him as he continued to hold your hair, watching the way your cunt sucked in his dick as it disappeared inch by inch. he moaned biting his lip.

“go ahead, keep fucking yourself” he groaned throwing his head back. “mmh~ i’m close princess~” he whimpered tugging your hair as he forced your head to lean back. your eyes fell onto the ceiling as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“m-me t-too” you fastened your pace as your boobs bounced feeling yourself release all over his dick. he looked at the cock ring that formed. “shit, where do you want it?” he let go of your hair as you dropped your head onto the pillow, feeling him grip onto your hips again and fucked into you. beads of sweat began to form on both of your foreheads. his trickled down his face and rolled down to neck. “i want it inside…” you said in a unsure tone.

sukuna noticed and kept that noted in his mind as he felt his release coming. he hurriedly pulled out and came onto your back. the warm semen decorated your lower back like white paint on a canvas. your juices coated his dick as he tried catching his breath. your body went limp as you laid flat against the bed. your body shook as you tried catching your breath as well.

after a few minutes sukuna flipped you over and looked at your fucked out face. “you’re so pretty” he smiled. “really? i mean, i would i hope i still look good to you after you fucked me like a slut” you mumbled wincing as you sat all the up on the bed. “yeah, i’ll get some towels to clean you and then we can take a shower” he said before kissing you on the lips, pulling his sweats and briefs up and later leaving the room.

you sighed looking at your worn out pussy. “girl, you’ve been through a lot” you shook your head. sukuna soon came back a few minutes later, “sorry i took so long, i was trying to figure out the layout of your house and find the towels” he apologized. “you could’ve just asked me” you giggled.

“yeah, yeah” he placed the warm towel against your cunt and began gently wiping you off. after he was done, he grabbed you and carried you bridal towards your bathroom so you both can shower. you could’ve walked but you were sure that your legs weren’t usable right now after the very eventful night you just had with sukuna.

you planned to tell kacie all about this tomorrow as you both laid in your bed cuddling watching “good girls” on netflix.