You couldn’t sleep, that restless heat before your period keeping you awake, so you woke him up in the middle of the night. Though your husband's tired, he gives in and lets you take control by riding him. What started soft and needy quickly turned rougher—you riding him hard, him gripping you and taking control when you faltered. He teased, scolded, and pushed you until you broke apart, messy and crying in his arms. In the end, you were both spent, sweaty, and tangled together, ruined but held close.
˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖2,232 words, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), you're a little bratty, riding-> then he holds you to his chest and fucks you before making you ride... again, degradation & praise, dirty talk, name calling (e.g., ma/mama, slut, pretty girl, sweetheart, whore, etc), spanking, no condom(wrap the willy), he pulls out, etc˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖
❤︎ 18+ 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓓𝓸 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽 ❤︎
The room was dark and quiet, the only sound the steady rhythm of his breathing. You shifted beside him, restless, heat pooling low in your stomach like it always did before your cycle. It was unbearable—the ache, the need—and you couldn’t help yourself.
You pressed your face against his shoulder, voice low and needy. “Baby…”
He stirred with a sigh, not even opening his eyes at first. “Sweetheart,” his voice was rough with sleep, “what time is it?”
“Three” you whispered, almost guilty but too desperate to stop. Your thighs were already squeezing together, your pulse thrumming. “I can’t help it. I’m horny.”
Another sigh, this one heavier. He rolled onto his back, rubbing at his face. “Christ, honey… that’s two nights in a row. You’re gonna wear me out.”
You pouted, smacking your palm lightly against his chest, nightgown bunching a little as you moved. “Don’t be mean.”
His hand slid over his face again, then dropped to rest heavy on your thigh. “I’m tired,” he muttered.
You hit him again, softer, half-whining.
Finally, he cracked one eye open, looking at you with that mix of annoyance and affection only he could manage. “Fine. Get on top then.”
Your heart jumped, lips tugging into a smile as you swung a leg over his waist. You straddled him, lifting your nightgown up over your thighs. Before you reached for him, you tugged your bonnet back into place, adjusting it carefully, ignoring the way he huffed a laugh at the sight.
“Gotta look right,” you mumbled, more to yourself, before pulling his dick free of his briefs. He was heavy and warm in your hand, already thickening just from your touch.
Settling over him, you guided the head against your slick folds, gasping when it nudged against your entrance. He gripped your hips, eyes barely parted, watching the way you teased yourself on him.
“Go on then,” he rasped, voice low and edged with sleep. “Take what you wanted so bad you had to wake me up for it.”
You sank down slow, the stretch making your eyes flutter. His dick filled you inch by inch, and your lips parted, breath shaky.
“Mmm…” you moaned, hands braced against his chest as you bottomed out, the weight of him deep inside.
Your thighs trembled as you eased yourself into a steady rhythm, rocking against him, savoring the deep stretch of his dick filling you to the hilt. Each slow roll of your hips made you moan softly, little broken sounds that slipped into the quiet of the room. You were wet enough that every motion drew out a slick, lewd sound, your arousal dripping down to dampen his briefs bunched low around his hips.
He kept his eyes closed at first, head sunk into the pillow, his hand still heavy on your hip. Every so often, he let out a low grunt or a quiet moan, the kind of sound that rumbled from his chest and made you clench tighter around him.
You rode him like that for a while—slow, sensual, almost lazy. But the ache in your belly only grew sharper, needier. You leaned forward and pressed one palm to his stomach, sliding it under his t-shirt. Your nails scraped over his skin, dragging lines across his abs as you bounced harder, faster.
His breath caught, and his eyes cracked open. Hooded, half-dreaming, but watching you now—your nightgown bunched high, bonnet crooked, your lips parted around breathy moans, the slick sound of your cunt taking him raw filling the room. His lips parted too, a faint grunt pushing past them as he shifted his grip, squeezing your hip tighter.
“Fuck…” he muttered, voice rough, gravelly with sleep. “You’re lucky I love the way you feel.”
That only spurred you on—you fucked yourself down on him harder, wetter now, your moans rising into whines. The drag of him inside was unbearable, thick and perfect, hitting so deep your stomach clenched.
“Mghn—ahh” you gasped, nails digging into him as your hips snapped down, creamy arousal coating his dick with every grind. “You feel so fucking good—”
His gaze dragged over you slowly, hungry even through the haze of sleep. He groaned again, hips lifting just enough to meet your movements, driving deeper, making your breath hitch.
You rode him faster, tits bouncing with each movement, sweat pearling on your skin, voice catching as you gave him everything—your whimpers, your nails, the sight of your body working his cock like you were made for it.
His eyes stayed on you, hooded and dark, lips parted around another low moan.
“Messy little thing,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep but edged. “Getting wetter the longer you use me. Gonna make yourself cum on this dick, ma?”
Your hips faltered for a moment, thighs burning from the effort, and you let out a shaky little moan. He felt it immediately—the drag of your rhythm slowing, your body trying to take mercy on itself.
“Uh-uhn,” he murmurs, eyes still half-lidded but sharp enough. “Keep going.”
“Mhm,” you whimpered, nodding fast, biting down on your lip as you tried to grind faster, harder, the stretch almost too much but addictive all the same.
He watched the struggle, the way your mouth parted, the way your brows furrowed and eyes watered just a little as your body worked him. A dark smirk curled at his mouth.
“Shameless.” he muttered, voice edged with heat. “Waking me up at three in the damn morning just to sit on this dick. You’re so fucking nasty, you know that?”
A flush burned through your chest at his words, your thighs quivering. His hand released your waist and he slapped your ass, his filthy way of trying to spur you on. You wined at the sharp stinging sensation.
He groaned low, thrusting his hips up into you once, hard enough to make you yelp. “Faster. I didn’t tell you to slow down.”
You rocked slow, already sensitive. “I—fuck—you shouldn't talk—ah—you’re making me do all the work,” you gasped, nails clawing at his chest.
That got him. He sighed like you’d tried his patience, then suddenly his big arm was wrapping tight around your waist, hauling you down flush to him. His other hand came up, rough and certain, wrapping around your jaw and squeezing until your lips jutted in a pout.
Your eyes went wide, lips parted around a soft, broken sound.
“Watch your mouth,” he scolded, his hips snapping up into you, hard and fast, making your whole body jolt with each deep thrust. “You’re the one who woke me up begging for dick. You should be grateful I even let you ride me, slut.”
Fresh tears pricked at your lashes, your breath coming in high-pitched moans as his dick slammed into you, raw and deep, stretching you in a way that bordered on too much.
“Mmghn—oh god—” you gasped, voice breaking as your nails dug harder into his chest, leaving deep cresent marks as your mind slipped sideways with the force of his thrusts.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he grunts against your mouth, eyes locked, lips curled. “Cry for it. Take what you asked for.”
You keen, wet and whimpering, eyes glassy as you felt him battering deep inside, his grip on your jaw forcing your gaze to stay locked with his. Your thighs shook, your walls fluttering around him, every stroke drawing you closer even as his voice scolded, edged with possession.
“Ungrateful little brat,” he gritted, jaw tight as he kept fucking into you. “So mouthy, but you always listen when it counts, don’t you? You love me putting you in your place.”
You nodded frantically, lips trembling under the pressure of his hand, every thrust pulling a needy moan from your throat, your whole body screaming yes even as tears spilled from the corners of your eyes.
His thrusts never lost rhythm—deep, rough, unforgiving—forcing your body to take him over and over.
“Don’t pout at me,” he teases, voice low and edged, his breath hot against your face. “You wanted this. You woke me up begging, and now you’re gonna take it the way I give it.”
His hips snapped harder, making you yelp. He swallowed the sound with a deep groan, lips parted, eyes blown. Your walls clutching him with desperate pulses.
You pant, clinging to him, your body burning, splitting, drowning in him.
“Please—ah—!” your voice cracked, high and broken, “please—”
“Mm, I love hearing that,” he rasped, pushing deeper until your walls spasmed around him, soaked and messy. “My sweet girl, dripping all over me, crying for it. Look at you. So fucking needy.”
Your eyes rolled back when he hit that spot again and again, and you could feel your body trembling on the edge, teetering. But just when you thought he’d let you break, he released his grip on your jaw and waist, leaving you suddenly free, trembling and desperate.
“Go on,” he said, leaning back into the pillows, sweat glistening at his temple, lips curling as he watched you. “Ride it. Show me how bad you need it.”
Your thighs burned as you shifted, lifting yourself just enough to start bouncing again, his cock dragging deliciously through your slick walls. Your head tipped back, moans spilling out, wetter and louder than before.
He groaned low in his chest, one big hand sliding down between your thighs, thumb circling your clit. You gasped, body jolting, hips stuttering as the pleasure doubled.
“Ohhh—fuck, I—” you whimper, bouncing faster now, the mix of his dick stirring your insides and his thumb working your swollen clit making you gush wetter, dripping down his shaft.
“Messy little problem,” he grunted, watching his dick disappear into you, creamy and soaked. “So nasty and perfect. Can’t even wait ‘til morning—had to wake me up dripping for it.”
Your moans broke higher, tears streaking your cheeks as you rode him harder, his thumb rubbing fast and dirty over your clit. He groaned with every bounce, his eyes fixed on you, dark, lips parted, savoring the sight of you falling apart but not giving you permission yet.
“Keep going, ma,” he ordered, voice a low drawl. “Show me you’re grateful. Show me how much you need this dick.”
Your thighs shook, your body begging to give in, but he only pressed harder at your clit, drawing it out, dragging your need to the very edge without letting you tumble over.
Your thighs were trembling, muscles screaming, but you didn’t dare stop. His dick kept splitting you open, sliding in deep and raw.
“God—oh, baby—” your voice pitched, cracked and broken, breathless from the pace. Your lashes fluttered, lips parted and glistening with spit as your head tipped back.
“That’s it,” he rasped, voice low and rough, every word vibrating against your chest where you leaned into him. His hand at your waist held you steady while his other worked between your thighs. “Look at you. Falling apart on my dick. So fucking wet for me.”
More tears streaked hot down your cheeks as the pressure built unbearable. “F–fuck, I can’t—” you sobbed, bouncing harder, messy and uncoordinated now, your wetness gushing down his shaft.
“Yes you can,” he snapped, eyes locked on you, sweat beading at his brow. Breath ragged, but his stare never wavered. “You’re gonna cum for me, sweetheart. Right here, right now. Cream all over this dick—come on. Be good for me.”
His thumb pressed harder, circling tight, and that was it. Your whole body seized as your orgasm tore through you, violent and raw. You screamed his name, thighs shaking uncontrollably, your pussy squeezing around him in desperate pulses, soaking him as you collapsed forward.
“That’s it,” he groaned, gritting his teeth as he fucked you through it, keeping you bouncing, milking him while you shattered. His eyes burned into yours when you lifted your head, dazed and wet-faced, your lips trembling. “Mghn—so pretty. Look at you.”
Your body shook, tears blurring your vision, but you held his gaze. Even while your orgasm ripped through you, you saw him watching—hungry, proud, undone by how desperate you were for him.
He hissed, groaned deep, He pulled out fast, stroking himself rough until he spilled hot and messy over your stomach, streaking your skin, painting across the underside of your tits.
“Goddamn, baby” he panted, voice frayed, chest heaving as his release dripped down your belly.
You were still shaking, your thighs weak, lips glossy and parted, chest heaving. You smeared some of his mess across your belly with shaky fingers, half-worn, half-proud, and he only smirked, pulling you down into his arms, sweat-slick and sticky between you both.
His mouth pressed to your temple, giving a sweet peck before he whispered into your hair, "Got it out your system?"
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.
shortyy ficc 18+ | i need a deep sea diver, swimming with the fishes, all up in this pussy like he on a secret mission 😉
after a long saturday of working (shopping), youre tired out, but you still wait for your man to get back from hoopin’.
to occupy yourself, you take a everything shower and do face masks.
now when he gets back you swear you can hear the water gush from your cat, seeing Ony, shirt off, sweat dripping from his abs, chain glistening. his slender figure lingering in the doorway.
and like he had, spidey senses, he knew you were wet too..
—
“mmph- daddyyy too good!“ you let put in a squeak.
he had your ankles pinned by your head, one hand around your neck, the other playing with you soaked puffy clit.
“a nigga cant play ball these days“ he said in a chuckle, detaching from your pretty clit.
anytime he ate you out he made sure to spend equal time tounge fucking you, and sucking on your pretty clit.
“s’ too good, mm“
he ran his tongue up and down your dripping cunt, not leaving any part un touched.
his hands began wandering, from squeezing your titties, to sliding a finger into your mouth to suck on as tongue fucked your tight cunt like he had something to prove.
he ate like a starved man, for atleast 15 minutes, sometimes you have to beg for the dick cause hes perfectly fine just eating you.
“shit’s sweet as hell, ma“ he let out tightening his grip.
“please- please can i cum“ you finally managed to let out.
you never were the type to do college hookups or mess around with dudes on campus— full honestly. your academics mattered much more to you than any other possible distraction.
until sero hanta came into your life.
initially, you wrote him off as a sleazy whatever-he-majors-in major who likes to smoke out girls he likes, then get his dick sucked. which… he may have been like that at a point in his life. and while he reassures you that he’s retired that life, you still try to give yourself reasons to be wary of him. he’s slow to respond to texts, his dishes are always piled, he sells weed even though he already has a job, he’s stupidly tall, he has a stupid smile, and he has a stupid, yummy happy trail that you can see when he stretches or wears his slutty low-sitting sweatpants…
he’s so stupidly sexy.
you can’t help the way you get all soft on the phone with him after you have a bad day, and his syrupy calm tone as he asks you,
“you wanna come over, mama?”
of course you do. of course you want him to kiss up on you and get you high. then he always gives you shoulder massages that turn into you laying on your stomach as he eases out every single knot on your back. and his large hands always end up kneading the soft flesh of your ass, small hums vibrating through the pillow as you become gelatin in his hands.
next thing you know, your ass is in the air and your panties are pulled to the side as he devours you from behind. his slender fingers always massage your walls justtt right as he spells his name with his tongue on your clit. and he never misses the noise that escapes your mouth whenever he smacks your ass while he does it.
and now you let him pull his dick out, let him spread your asscheeks open he slowly stuffs your already creamy pussy full of him. he’s so big that you moan with every roll of his hips, his tip hitting you right in your gut. if you weren’t high, you would be able to hear how you’re so wet it’s nearly louder than your mouth right now.
but he notices. he loves that shit.
“fuck mee~… ooo shitt~..!”
you almost should be ashamed of yourself. you’re so fucking loud and so wet and you’re about cum already and you just need him so bad… and he knows. he has to know with the way he uses that smooth, soft voice while he’s in it and he talks to you.
“let it out, ma. i got you.”
he fucks you faster, chasing the feeling of you taking him so good like you belong to him or something— at least in your mind. he doesn’t fail to notice your breath hitch or how your eyes are barely open.
“lemme hear you.. mhm.. pussy so fuckin’ creamy.. ‘like that shit..?”
you pretend not to hear him— other than the fact that you can barely respond from him currently bullying your g-spot.
“hmm? *smack* i’m talkin’ to you.”
“love how you f-fuck me~.. love when you in it, pa~..”
just like that, you fold so fast. he always has you cumming all messy on him just so he can tease you about it. and he’ll flip you over, letting you look at your white nectar all over his dick as he pistons into you with your ankle on his shoulder.
“look at you, you cummin’? you givin’ me that pussy?”
you nod, moaning for him and your walls squeezing around him like you’re one of his sluts or something.
except… he doesn’t even fuck anyone else. he saves all of this for you, the one he thinks is so pretty and poised and self disciplined. the one who told him over and over that you’re not into hooking up or casual fucking. but he just has such good dick.
you hope he doesn’t think you’re some kind of hoe.
—5.1 k words! content warnings: ovulation, emphasis on pms symptoms (whether realistic or not), moody/petty reader, attentive bf Connie, p in v, b*ckshots, vulgar s*x talk, cr*eampie—(☆) will be used in place of "Y/N" (banners by @adornedwithlight)
The deep slope of her stomach curves gently, just barely a muffin over the tight hem of her sweats. If she hadn't been staring so closely, analyzing every inch of her reflection's figure, she wouldn't have even noticed it.
But the sight is enough to have her kiss her teeth, the sharp sound slicing through the air.
"Are you fucking serious?"
Bringing dainty fingers to the area where her stomach protrudes the most, she presses the tips into her warm skin. What she expects to to feel is the plushness of her abdomen.
Not a taut surface, feeling as though it's stretched to its full capacity. Or the sharp pang of an ache deep in her lower stomach. A hiss slips past her thick, two-toned lips.
"Fuck." She presses more, prodding at different spots to see if her body would have the same reaction. All she notices is the gradual change in where her bloated stomach had grown tight and where it had remained somewhat soft.
In all her twenty-odd years of living, (☆) had never expected be one of the unlucky few who got bloated. This is a first, and she desperately wishes for it to be the last time.
What did she eat to cause this? God, she hopes it isn't because of that bread she ate last night. A gluten allergy this late in the game would fucking suck.
And this is uncomfortable, at best. Her stomach feels tight and overall, she just feels heavier than usual. Not to mention the pain. It echoes from the inside out.
She whines at the unfairness of it all before defeatedly lifting her chin to let her shirt fall back over her stomach.
Correction—her boyfriend's shirt.
(☆) prays the bloating will go away before the end of the day.
Nursing the carton of passion fruit sorbet in her lap, (☆) watches the Tv screen with wide eyes. The anticipation regarding the killer's next moves only grows.
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," she whispers to herself, a spoonful of the sour treat stuck in her hand as she refuses a bite without seeing what happens next.
The shift and click of the front door, rather than the movie, has her jumping out of her seat. She looks over at it just in time to see Connie pushing his way into their apartment. The sight of which makes her heart skip a beat.
"Oh my fucking God, you scared the shit outta me," she laughs, breathless and holding her chest. She stretches forward to place her carton of sorbet on the coffee table.
"My fault ... didn't mean to do that," he smiles, shrugging off his jacket to place it in the nearby coat closet.
"You're good," she hums, making her way over to greet him.
Just as he's free, (☆) slides a hand up his chest, bracing herself as she leans in on her tippy-toes to plop a juicy kiss on his lips.
"Hey, baby," she beams, pulling back to look up at him through her fluffy mink lashes.
"Hey." His voice is soft and the traces of his cologne from earlier today flood her nose. "What you been doing?"
She shrugs and glances back at the Tv still playing in the dark living room. "Just watching a movie." Turning back, her eyes zero-in on her boyfriend's handsome face. If it were possible, her eyes would be two giant, blood-red hearts. "I missed you, though."
Her other hand joins its twin, still resting on his chest. In tandem, they slide up and around his shoulders. And Connie knows better than to not do anything about that; pale, tattooed arms encircle her waist.
Hugging her tight, his face immediately falls into the crook of her neck, her warm skin smelling like her usual rose-scented lotion.
"Missed you, too," he mumbles.
The vibration of his voice pulls a gentle giggle out of her. Connie pulls back from the crook of her neck, only to press a kiss to the portion of her forehead, where the band of her bonnet doesn't reach.
"How was work today?"
He does a half-shrug, not at all concerned with shit that's got to do with that place. Not when he's got his baby in his arms. Working at an auto-body shop isn't as exciting as it seems. "Regular shit. But I'm not tryna talk about that right now."
Another giggle. "Okay." (☆) sighs, the smile on her lips falling into a soft pout. "Why can't you just stay home with me?"
He scoffs, a teasing smile on his pink lips. "And who's gonna buy you all that expensive shit when you wanna go on your little shopping trips?"
With a playful roll of the eyes, she replies, "Fine. I just hate when you're gone so long."
Both of his dark, well-groomed brows pull together as he smile of confusion tugs at his lips. "It's just work, babe. You okay?"
(☆) blinks. "Yeah, why? I can't miss my man?"
"Ion know," he laughs, unsure. "You just ... Ion know."
"As your girlfriend, it should be normal that I just want to be buried in your skin at all times. C'mon now, Connie. You should know that."
Confusion melts away as he allows himself to fully laugh at her joke. "Aight."
Finally, they pull away. He steps into the living room, flipping on the lights. "You ain't go to work today?"
Taking up her carton of sorbet, (☆) goes for the forgotten bite. "Nope. I wasn't feeling it." Her tongue curls around the cool, silver spoon filled with the fruity, sour treat.
He hums, heading into the kitchen, (☆) following just a couple of feet behind.
"You might get your wish tomorrow."
Now it's her turn to look confused.
"I'm home tomorrow," he smiles, answering her silent question.
Gasping, her lips stretch upward. "Forreal?"
"Yeah, you got me all day."
Excitement isn't even the word. Before she can think of anything to say, Connie stretches over the island to pluck the spoon from her hand, stealing a bite of her sorbet.
"Hey!"
He takes the carton, too.
"You shower yet?"
She shakes her head, frowning as she watches him devour her favorite flavor.
"Good." He shovels another spoonful into his mouth. "I'ma meet you in there."
The hot pellets of water hit her body and cascade down her skin, covering her in a blanket of warmth. Suds crawl down her person and towards the drain.
(☆) can't wait for Connie any longer. Where is he?
As she watches a soapy bubble slip down her navel, her thoughts are brought back to her stomach. Fingers skate over the smooth and hot skin.
She's still bloated, though her stomach is a tiny bit softer. She hopes it isn't too noticeable.
The shower door pulls open and cool air rushes in, hitting her. It's slightly refreshing.
"You having fun in there?"
As the question leaves Connie's mouth, his gaze dips, noticing (☆)'s hands on her stomach. Immediately, they drop away.
"I already cleaned, you took too long," she rolls her eyes. "And hurry up and get in ... you letting all the steam out."
"Good." He steps into the shower, closing the door behind him. "You got the whole bathroom fogging up." He slides in right behind her, his body adding more heat to the shower. "Could barely even see two feet in front'a me."
She wants to roll her eyes again, because how dare he have her wait this long?
But, the urges dies away as soft hands grip her wide hips and warm lips are pressed into the side of her neck. Her rigid body relaxes.
Much like this bathroom, her mind fogs over as his hands travel up the sides of her body, only to slide up under her breasts to cup them.
And all (☆) can think about in this moment is how good his touch feels ... and how good it would be to get some dick right now.
His lips are moving against her neck. He's speaking and she's not even listening to the words coming out of his mouth.
Absolutely nothing can take her out of this moment ... except for the sharp pain that strikes throughout her boobs.
"Ow!"
She yanks away to face him.
"What?" His eyes are wide in panic, bouncing all over her face.
"Why did you squeeze so hard?" She almost yells, caressing her tender chest.
"My bad," he starts, eyes on her red-tinged skin. "I didn't mean to hurt you." His face creases with worry. "I thought you liked it, I usually squeeze 'em like that."
"Okay, well it hurt," she frowns.
"I'm sorry," he says, voice softening.
A tiny sigh slips past her lips. "Don't squeeze, just hold."
He nods. "Wash my back?"
"Yeah," she says, grabbing his wash net from the shelf. As she lathers it with soap, he turns his back to her. Ready, she begins with a. light scrub across the expanse of his skin.
The curves, ridges and dents of Connie's back shine through his tattoos. His biggest pieces are here. But the one that matters the most is pretty small—sitting on the perch of his shoulder: her name.
Slowly, Connie turns for her. (☆) keeps quiet, all of her attention poured into ensuring that he is squeaky clean.
Well ... until he focuses on just his body. And—fuck—his soap smells so good.
Her free hand presses to his bare chest, fingers splayed out against his tattoos. Before she realizes, she slips her hand down his stomach.
Her mind is running. Right now, she can skip all the foreplay. Shit, even head. Taking Connie in the shower would be so perfect.
Bent over, bracing the wall as he pounds into her from behind. Dick reaching so deep—
Her lower stomach aches wonderfully at the thought. And speaking of ache, she's sure his dick could fix that.
"Uh-uh, keep your focus."
Dark eyes flick upward to stare into his. A smirk ghosts at his lips.
"I can't touch it a little bit?"
The lust in her eyes is there, tangible. He almost laughs out of pure shock.
"You know Ion like shower sex," he smiles gently, taking up her hand to slips his fingers in between hers.
"Connie," she whines before kissing her teeth. "C'mon, please?"
"Nah, baby, we could do it after. I promise." He leans in to plant a kiss on her temple.
However, (☆) pulls away, even snatching her hand out of his hold. Frustration contorts her face.
"Why the fuck would we do it after we just showered?"
His eyebrows raise at her sudden switch in tone. "Woah."
"That's stupid, Connie. Like, what the fuck?"
Now he's making a face. "(☆)—"
Sucking her teeth, she pushes open the shower door and steps out.
And as good as her ass looks walking away, Connie can't help but to be thrown off.
By the time Connie had left the shower, (☆) was already in bed. The covers were pulled over her shoulders, and her back was turned to him.
"(☆) ... (☆)."
No answer.
"You serious right now?"
He's talking to himself. Sucking his teeth, Connie decides to move on with himself. He lotions his skin after drying off and gets dressed before climbing into bed.
The silence on (☆)'s end continues into the next morning, apparent by the other side of the bed left empty. Usually, she would wake him up.
It's only fair that Connie be pissed.
This is his day off, he's supposed to be enjoying it with her. How the fuck is he going to do that when she's ignoring him?
He doesn't even understand the reason for it either. It wasn't like he flat-out rejected her. He just said "not now."
And (☆) knows he doesn't like shower sex. It's too cramped and too slippery. Last time they did it, he almost slipped and busted his head open.
Scary times.
Shit, (☆) even agrees with him, regarding his feelings on shower sex. At least she usually did.
Either way, it just brings him back to his point—there was no reason for her to blow up at him like that. And there's no reason for her to be this upset.
He just hopes the silence doesn't last all day.
Sitting at the island, he shoves a spoonful of cereal and milk into his mouth. Because, of course, she only made breakfast for herself.
As he eats silently, he watches her stand at the electric kettle, waiting for the water to come to a full boil. There's a mug nearby, the tag for the raspberry tea bag hanging over the cup.
The kettle clicks as it shuts off. Carefully, she takes it up and pours the steaming water into the mug. As she does so, he eyes her closely, not caring to be caught.
Her tank top is tight against her body, practically a second skin. And it's making her boobs look great.
Totally an inappropriate time to be thinking this, he knows. God, he's like a horned up teenager. But he can't deny the obvious.
And usually, her boobs always look good. He's never been one to complain about them. But there's something about them today, he can't put his finger on it.
They look more ... full? A little heavier than usual.
And now that he's looking so closely, her nipples are poking. He glances up at her face, seeing that she's still choosing to ignore his staring.
Dammit, if that doesn't piss him off even more. Because even in a state of having just gotten out of bed, she looks beautiful. Her skin's got that soft, morning glow that's making it look all clear and her lips look so plump and kissable.
Why did they have to be fighting?
He shakes his head with a quiet sigh, lips pressed together in annoyance.
As (☆) turns to place the kettle back, his eyes move elsewhere on her body—her stomach. The bottom of it peaks out from under the end of her camisole, making it fit like a baby-tee.
Now, (☆)'s never had the flattest stomach or abs. He's okay with that, more than okay—he loves her soft tummy. But ... this isn't her usual stomach pudge.
It's got a roundness to it that, honestly, has got him second-guessing if she's still on birth control. Or if the shit is even working.
If he were dumb—or just didn't know his own girlfriend—he'd assume she's at least in her first trimester.
As he looks back up at her face, he finds her glaring back at him. His mouth opens—he doesn't even know what he wants to say. But, before the words spill out, she's walking out of the kitchen and back to their bedroom.
"C'mon, bro," he sighs out.
(☆) resurfaces minutes later, this time, dressed in one of his t-shirts. It completely sheathes her figure, causing him to frown.
"(☆)—"
"What?"
He buffers for a second, conflicted on what to acknowledge first: her odd ass behavior or that fucking attitude?
He decides to give her some leeway. "Yo, what's up with you?"
"Nothing." Her tone is flat and her words are quick.
"(☆), quit playing. I'm serious."
"I said 'nothing,' Connie, oh my God." Exhaling, she grabs her mug and takes a sip of her tea.
He eyes her for a moment. Clearly, she's in no mood for a mature or sensible conversation. And bringing up his concern for her stomach would be like shooting himself in the foot.
God, it's his day off! He doesn't want to argue with her. Today is supposed to be enjoyable and relaxing.
Whatever's going on with her, he just wants to fix it so he can get back to loving on her.
Desperate for a solution to this problem, Connie decides to be the bigger person and send out the first peace offering.
Shortly after breakfast, Connie had left the apartment.
Despite her aversion to holding a real conversation with him, a wave of frustration washes over (☆).
He just left without saying a word.
That really got to her, enough that the backs of her eyeballs began to prickle with the production of tears.
God, is she really about to cry over this?
They've had much worse fights. This isn't even a real fight? What the fuck is going on with her?
And why the fuck is she still bloated?
It's worse today, too! She wants to fucking scream. And Connie noticed, she knows he did. He was practically analyzing her body earlier.
Even worse, her boobs are even more sore than they were last night. And the ache in her stomach had grown into full on cramps, attacking her every five to 10 minutes or so.
God, she feels like shit.
With the presence of the cramps, she starting to fear the presence of her period. She isn't supposed to get it for another week. But she's wetter than usual, and it's got her fearful that at any moment it could be blood.
Her body is not on her side today, clearly, and it's fucking with her self-esteem. Who knows how long these symptoms are going to last?
Hopefully, they'll go away before her actual period starts.
But at this rate, it seems like she's going to be wearing baggy shirts for the next couple of days.
As he drives, Connie's mind doesn't stray from the thought of (☆).
Her stomach, her irritability—the raspberry tea. All those signs point to one thing: she's started her period.
Has it really been a month already? Shit ...
That doesn't explain the bloating, though. Or does it? He's never noticed it before, at least.
However, he shrugs it off. He's just glad he recognized the signs sooner than last time. That wasn't fun.
He glances over at the plastic bags resting in the passenger seat: her favorite food from the Jamaican restaurant they tend to order from, and a bag of groceries—full of her favorite snacks during her time of the month.
He hopes he didn't forget anything. Otherwise, that's his ass.
When he returns to the apartment, the kitchen and living room are empty.
Setting the bags down on the kitchen island, he calls out to her.
Still no answer.
So, he goes searching for her. And even though the apartment isn't small, there really aren't many places to hide. Connie knows his girlfriend well enough to know that she's in bed ... which is where he finds her.
"What you doing?"
She shrugs, sparing him no eye contact. Most of her attention is on the Tv.
"Aight, well ... I got you some food."
"I just ate."
"I know, but ... I know you still hungry."
And he's right. Her appetite on her period rivals his.
"C'mon." He's already heading back into the kitchen before she can onject, not that she would. Not when food is involved.
Sighing out, (☆) climbs out of bed to follow after him. As she saddles up to the island, Connie is pulling a foil container from one of the plastic bags on the countertop.
He pulls the plastic covering off before sliding the bowl over to her, the steam rising in her face.
Her resolve is cracking. (☆) peers up at him.
"I just ... thought you would'a ... wanted this."
She looks back down at the food, trying to keep her lower lip from trembling. She sniffs. "Thanks."
He nods, watching her open up the plastic utensils and stab a fork into the food. She takes a bite.
And another.
Then another.
Before he knows it, Connie has watched her devour half of the meal when she decides she's finished. She'll save the rest for later.
"You wanna watch something with me?"
She eyes him suspiciously. Why is he being so nice?
She had expected him to be upset with her. She knows she’s been a bit difficult. What she didn’t expect was for him to go out and by her food and still want to spend time with her when he got home.
God, she really was being unreasonable last night. She didn’t even mean to react that way. She doesn’t even like shower sex!
But … he just looked so good and she just wanted him so bad in that moment.
She has to apologize.
The couple move from the kitchen island to the living room couch. Connie sits back with his arms spread across the tops of the cushions.
Apprehensively, (☆) snuggles into his side, face pressed into his chest. His warm, musky scent only makes her relax further. He hadn’t put on any cologne today, and his natural scent is driving her crazy.
Connie takes the liberty of finding a show for them to watch: Snowfall. But, he honestly could’ve put on anything because she wasn’t paying attention at all. Only concerned with being in his arms, (☆)’s mood is better than it’s been all day.
One of his arm’s moves from the top of the couch to hang off of her shoulder. Smooth and delicately, his fingers rake up and down her upper arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
He does so a couple of times before that hand sinks to her waist and slides its way underneath the baggy shirt. It’s nothing for him to find her stomach, caressing her.
She doesn’t freeze or pull away. In fact, (☆) hugs him tighter and Connie is relieved that she’s enjoying this.
But she's enjoying it more than he intended. As he continues, (☆) only wishes for his hand to go lower. With every rub, his fingers tap at the hem of her pants.
She wants him to reach lower. Pushing her body up further against his, she hopes he gets the message.
Her mind is running, and there goes that ache in her lower stomach again. (☆) swears that the only thing that can get rid of it is him.
The thought of his dick pressing against her cervix has got her ridiculously wet. Emboldened, she throws a leg over his lap. Immediately, Connie catches it with his other hand.
He doesn't hesitate to rub her down, from her knee all the way up to her thigh and back. And every time he gets so close. What's stopping him from giving her just a small little squeeze?
Wordlessly, (☆) slips a hand beneath his shirt and heads straight for the hem of his sweats.
Connie tenses for a second, only relaxing when he realizes that she's only playing with his drawstring. His attention returns to the Tv for the next few minutes, until her fingers actually start to grip at his pants again.
This time he looks down at her. "(☆)—"
"Connie, c'mon." Sucking her teeth, (☆) sits up to really look at him. "Why don't you wanna do anything with me? You think I'm ugly or something?"
"What—(☆), no—"
"Then why not? What is it?"
Now it's his turn to sit up. "I never said I didn't want to. Shit, I did yesterday, but you got mad."
"Okay, but I'm sorry."
He shakes his head. "It's cool, I'm not tripping off'a that."
"Then let's do it," she almost whines.
"I—(☆)..." He releases a sigh. "Ion know if period sex is something you really wanna do."
She blinks, completely knocked off by his words. "I'm sorry ... period sex?"
'Yeah ... ain't you on it?"
"What the fuck—no." Her face scrunches up. "Why would you think that?"
"Wha—Ion know! I just thought—"
"So, just 'cause I got mad, I'm suddenly on my period?" Her voice is steadily rising.
"No—"
"Is that why you got me food?" She looks at him through squinted eyes.
"(☆)—"
She rips away from him, standing on her feet. "Fuck you."
"Baby, wait—" He stands to block her from leaving. "It's not 'cause you was mad."
(☆) crosses her arms over her chest, careful not to press too hard on her chest. "So what was it?"
"You just—you a lil' moodier than normal—but, but, I can see you also a lil ... bloated—"
She makes an attempt to push past him, but Connie catches her before she can slip away.
"I'm not saying it's something wrong with it, I just thought something was going on 'cause your body was reacting." His voice is soft and slow as he tries his best to explain himself. "You even drank the tea! You only drink it when you're on your period."
(☆) exhales, gaze averted as she internalizes his words.
"Well ... I'm not on it."
"Okay, well ... my bad. Sorry for assuming."
She keeps quiet, her face softening.
"Forreal, (☆). I'm sorry."
"I know..."
"You'on forgive me?"
She didn't even notice when he'd gotten closer. But his hands are on her hips now. "Hm?" And his face finds its way in the crook of her neck.
"Connie—"
"You'on ... wanna ... accept my apology?" Every space in his sentence was filled with a kiss to her skin.
"Connie ... okay!" She bursts out into a laugh, feeling him nip at her skin.
He pulls away to stare down at her. "Forgive me?"
"Yes!" The big smile on her lips betrays the way she rolls her eyes.
Another bit of boisterous laughter pours our from her as he lifts her up onto his hips.
"Want me to make it up to you?"
She nods softly, leaning in to press her lips against his.
"Good."
“Oh shit … oh shi … o—shiiiiit!”
Acrylics dig into the plush comforter, strewn across the rocking bed.
The wide, tattooed hand splayed across the small of her back is warm, just like its twin that clutches her hip. Her body naturally leans into the touch, like it’s a salve to the repeated punch of dick to her cervix.
“Shit … bounce on it, baby.”
The clap of her ass against his pelvis has got her ears ringing. But it’s nothing compared to the loud sopping noise her pussy makes.
“Fu—uck Con’,” (☆) moans out, turning her head to the side against the mattress, just to watch him enjoy her pussy.
So wet, it’s too easy for him to pull out. It’s damn near no friction. Looking down at himself, surprise takes him as he sees her juices dripping from his dick—dripping like honey onto the sheets.
His dick bobs in the air and she whines, missing it already. Gripping one ass cheek to keep her spread open, Connie watches her clench around nothing.
“Shit so creamy ... you came yet?”
(☆) barely shakes her head.
Hand still on her ass, he jiggles it softly before giving the cheek a quick smack. Her whimper's got his dick jumping. He misses being inside her already.
Chuckling, he takes himself in his hand and pushes back in. As his dick bullies its way into her wetness, air expels from her tight pocket, making a wet noise of suction.
“Damn," he groans. "This pussy talking to me?" He resumes his steady strokes.
"Auugh ... aauh—yes, Daddy," she whines.
Clenching his jaw, Connie props a leg up. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he pulls her back on his dick as he drives his hips forward. The force punches broken moans out of her, only encouraging him to go harder.
"Yes, yes, yes!" she chants.
Dropping her head low, (☆) pushes a shaky hand down under her body, reaching between her trembling legs to weakly cup herself. It's an unintentional action to soothe the overstimulation—feeling more sensitive than normal.
"This what you needed, right?" His heavy breaths are quiet compared to the echoes of skin-to-skin, the squelching sounds of her pussy, and her moans. "Hm?"
Mouth dropping open, (☆) fights to get a word out. Her eyes almost get lost at the back of her head. "Ye ... y-yes!"
Every time she bounces back, Connie finds her cream building up at the base of his dick.
"Ooouuh, baby!"
"What?" He licks his lips, brows furrowed deeply as he continues delivering backshots. "Tell me."
"S-so deep!"
"I'm deep?"
"Yes—fuck!"
Hands move from her shoulders; One around her throat and the other gripping the fat of her hip. Connie slows, only to ground his hips into her with far-reaching slow strokes, aiming to make her feel each and every movement.
"I'm in your stomach?"
She nods wordlessly. Any arch in her back is gone. She can barely hold herself up.
The fingers around her neck squeeze, and she squeezes around him.
"Shit, baby," he whispers, pushing past any weaknesses to continue driving into her. "Pussy too good."
Through the haze of their fucking, (☆) still notices the way he pulses inside of her and the telltale twitches he makes when he's close.
A shaky moan pushes out of her as her eyes squeeze shut. "Don't pull out!"
She squeaks as Connie pulls her up, her back to his chest, and grips her throat tighter.
"Want me to cum in it?"
"Yes, baby," she pants. "Cum in me!"
The thought has her pussy fluttering around him. It almost blindsides him. His lower stomach burns as he staves off yet another release.
"Yeah?" He speaks in her ear.
"Yeah," she whines, eyes falling closed as she allows him to hold up the abundance of her weight.
He pushes (☆) back into the bed, keeping her head into the sheets and her ass in the air. His hand remains around her neck.
"All you had to do was wait," he said through gritted teeth. "Would've given you all this shit and more."
His sentences are punctuated with the perfect slams into her uterus. It gives her a pain that kills any of those pesky cramps she had early. A pain that feels so good.
This is better than any heating pad. Shit, better than taking painkillers.
Her orgasm hits her like a truck. But it doesn't stop Connie from drilling into her, fucking her as she sprays around his dick. The sensation feels like he's drowning in the best way possible.
Before he knows it, Connie is coming inside of her—deep. And (☆) swears to God she can feel him in her stomach. Her body is abuzz and she feels like she's floating.
Even though she's done, her body continues milking him, pulling a deep groan out of him. He lays one more smack on her ass before pulling out.
Immediately after, their cum—mixed together—oozes out of her. The sight is almost hypnotic. Before Connie allows himself to be swept up in it, he remembers something.
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