★ hi babies, so i just wanted to keep y’all updated. my lovely, beautiful bestie @st4rbwrry ended up finding almost all of my fics for me, including @chosokamos as well, and a couple of y’all also sent me some links where my fics still show up on tumblr? for some reason when i click them, they disappear. i guess they really don’t fuck w/ me on here, LMAO. anyways, i have a few more still in search—say it, the snake wrangler, slim pickens, blasphemy—but everything is now saved within my google drive! so i’m happy + blessed for that, and just feel overall completed. tumblr did get back to me, and unfortunately explained once my account was deleted/ deactivated, that was it :(. i could still take my name back if i wanted, so i’ll probably use that as a back up account so nobody can steal it. it does suck, but i’m pretty excited to see where this new account takes me, + i have all of your support with that! w/ all that being said, i will be re-mastering most of my older fics, and more of the newer/recent ones will probably be the same when re-posted, maybe edited slightly, but i’m pretty content w/ those. hopefully y’all can enjoy re-reading my fics + it’s not irritating or boring seeing the same premise w/ a different plot or dialogue. i’ll try my best to make it infinitely better. but yeah, y’all have truly been amazing in this. i love everyone so much. muah. ★
I write all my characters country and with an accent bc at the end of the day, that’s what I’m familiar with. I couldn’t care less how Japanese Toji is, bet he’s going to talk in a country accent. Yall better be lucky I’m not writing him going to trail rides and dancing zydeco cause I can turn him into a creole cowboy in a heartbeat.
p.s. i don’t get how yall draw the line at us shorting their words and taking in aave, but jumping for joy when a with r*pe or in*est fic hit your feed. FAWKK OUTAA HEA
cw: fluff, single father, profanity, suggestive themes, black!reader, not proofread unfortunately
an: omggg omg. this was so fun yallll i love himmmmmm. i already have fic ideas for them, so so juicy. im so excited to share wit y'all!!! finally!!! enjoy, kisses!!! alsoooo, ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ is y/n just so yall aint confused
₊˚.༄ so y’alls little meet cute starts your second year of teaching. lowkey still fresh out of school, degree acquired, little life set up and ready to inspire the children! you’ve worked at this for so long and you’re buzzing to be able to say that you’re finally where you want to be in life. the kids, the environment, the hours, you just feel so fulfilled… for a single woman, working and living on her own – saturday night’s out with the girls only give you so much.
₊˚.༄ you especially look forward to meet the teacher, just before the first day of school – always excited to get a first look at your students that year and the parents you’ll need keep that right eye out for. howeverrrr, you didn’t expect to have such a good-looking surprise that year. meet the teacher goes off without a hitch ofc, but about an hour before you should start closing up your classroom for the evening, in walks ony… holding the tiny hand of his adorable, bright-eyed daughter amira.
₊˚.༄ ony steps into the classroom and immediately clocks you – legs crossed at your desk, gloss sparkling, runway-grade teacher fit, and attention currently on some other parent - unfortunately for him. while you’re chatting, he takes a minute to stay stunned, amira running off to play with the few kids left in the classroom. he would’ve bet every penny to his name that love-at-first-sight didn’t exist, but he’d be a broke ass mf today if the feeling spreading through his body is any sign. he's watching your lips while you talk to that other woman like he already knows he wanna kiss them for the rest of his damn life.
₊˚.༄ “you must be amira’s dad” your warm, bright greeting sounds like seduction to him, having to physically shake his damn head to clear it – you’d been expecting him and amira all day, grateful for the chance to meet them before school starts. ony, on the other hand, thinks he actually might be in a dream – he swears he can see you glowing like an angel, and the sweet, luscious scent invading his senses couldn’t possibly be anyone else in the room. he wants to take you out TONIGHT, but he figures he should probably respond first. “damn… uh–yeah. i mean, yeah. onyankopon. but.. you could just call me ony.” he so outta practice he don’t even know what to say, just grinning in your face really. you’re very professional, and take your place of work very seriously but you definitely notice his nerves – you think it's cute how surprised he is that you’re bad.
₊˚.༄ as soon as he and amira leave the classroom, he’s texting his group chat “yo. i jus met my wife”
₊˚.༄ amira lovesss you off rip. obsessed. right next to you during read aloud, always participating even if her answer is dead wrong, never afraid to ask for extra help, begging you to play with her and her little friends at recess. she’s practically attached at your hip. AND tink got a mouth on her lowkey. always ratting out her daddy like “miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧, my daddy says you too pretty to be teaching these bad ass kids” you literally laugh out loud and almost drop your whiteboard marker but it’s not funny “amira! what did i say about quoting your father? and! what i say about cussin?”. you tell him about it when he picks her up and he just looks away smirking like “mm… you mad she being honest?”
₊˚.༄ amira draws one of ony’s hoodies for a “favorite things” activity because “he wears it all the time. he thinks miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ likes when he wears it.”
₊˚.༄ at first you only see him at morning drop-offs through the open window of his truck, just a lil smile when he winks at you before you both get on with your lives. but best believe he's got a plan – he gon make sure you see him dammit, and you start seeing LOTS more of him. you head outside for morning drop-off? he parked first in line, leaning against the front side of the sparkling truck, waving you over with that sneaky ass smirk that's saying “c’mere. i know you wanna”. so you decide to chop it up with him – innocently OFC - while you wait for your signal to start letting kids in. y’all try to make small talk but ony gets bored of that with a quickness. this is all he gets to see of you - ofc he's making the most of it. yall talk about everything under the sun in that drop-off line – work, young parenthood, goals. but that deep, rough voice like a hot kiss on your neck… he could get your social security number out of you if he wanted to. he doesn’t though, he wants your favorite meal so he can learn it like the back of his hand. he wants your hobbies and what you do with your freetime so he can plan the PERFECT date for y’all. he wants your family plans, so he’ll know if he can turn you out like he's planned since meet the teacher.
₊˚.༄ that's really not enough for ony though. how else is he supposed to be blessed with your presence? everytime he even gets close to bringing up a date, you curve him on some professional shit. he decides it's time to amp up the pressure, because you’re clearly not understanding how serious he is. soon enough, he's first in line at pick-up too – waiting against his truck for baby girl to come running out yelling “daddyyyyy!!!”, with you trailing right behind her, smirking at his persistence.
₊˚.༄ then he's dropping her off and picking her up early so he gets to see you without all them other eyes, walking all the way into the building just for a few minutes of alone time with you. stays working you up just cuz he likes to see you sweat him a lil, looking you up and down, fingers brushing your side like he can’t stop himself from touching you. “when you gon let me take you out…” he mumbles softly like he’d spend all day in this classroom with these snotty ass kids if it meant he could be next to you. “when you gon quit showing up here like my landlord on the first, mr. ony?” you smile up at him like you want them juicy lips on yours right tf now, but your professionalism keeps him at arm's length - he’s a parent of a student! telling yourself you just need to be cautious until you know how serious he is.
₊˚.༄ he always got some excuse to come into the classroom midday and be sneaky while the kids aren’t watching - “she forgot her snack, i swear”, “i just wanted to say hey, you look real pretty today miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ...”, “oh, i just forgot to give her a jacket this morning, it's too damn cold. you warm enough miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧?” he’d give you the hoodie off his back if you said yes. neverrr misses a parent teacher conference, always on time with some beverage for you and a whole damn folder of shit. obviously he's tryna impress but you have no clue what could possibly be in there??
₊˚.༄ what gets you the most? hes such a good dad and its sexy as hell. patience like a saint, makes her laugh nonstop, gentle giant but the protective dad instincts are always on ten. plus, amira’s hair is always laid - cute baubles and bows, slick back styles, braids, twist outs… he does it all!! and does it very very well. you see the adorable lunches he packs her, flower shaped fruit, heart shaped sandwiches, cute little notes that sometimes include a little message for her to pass along to you - she’ll jump at any excuse to skip up to your desk and yap.
₊˚.༄ every time he shows up, you swear he got finer. soft hoodie, grey sweats, clean sneakers, and the most delicious cologne you’ve ever smelled in your life. your professional act crumbling more and more every time you see him, all he has to do is bend over to tie her little crisp ass dunks, and let that hoodie ride up a lil bit exposing them thick ass chocolate abs, that v-line? you have to remind yourself that you’re at work all damn day, getting flashbacks to that flash of skin like it's the victorian era.
₊˚.༄ he starts volunteering for school events and chaperoning… coming around all fine and big, just for the wasp moms to absolutely swarm him, all while he's undressing you from across the room - that lip bite was NOT for them! haha!
before geto met you he barely gave two fucks about his hair. he kept it washed, but as far as detangling it and learning which products work for him he was a lost cause. all that changed when he met you. of course the two of you didn’t have the same hair type, but you made it your mission to learn his and find good products to keep his hair thick and healthy, eventually teaching him how to wash and maintain it on his own. you never would’ve thought it would come back to bite you in the ass though…
“ma lemme go first” geto sucked his teeth as he watched you roll your eyes at him from the bathroom door. towel on your shoulder and basket full of your products in your hand as you stood in the doorway of the bathroom. “aww hell nah. you had all week t’go wash your hair guru” you walked in, turning on the shower before putting your basket on the toilet. “but you be taking so long. ima be in and out sweet pea, promise” geto followed you into the bathroom. setting his basket on the counter before lightly tilting your chin up towards him.
his face held a seductive smirk as his chocolate eyes gazed into yours. he always gave you this look when he wasn’t getting his way, knowing what it does to you. “in and out, you can even get in wit me and time me” his lips moved towards yours, lightly kissing you before he moved back and waited for your reply. you were stunned, per usual, already feeling that thump in your panties as you rolled your eyes. fighting the smile that was trying to creep onto your lips
“you got twenty minutes boy.” you mumbled before trying to push your way past him. naturally, he used his much larger frame to block your path, staring down at you with a slight grin. “sure you don’t wanna just come in here wit me. you know i like when you massage my scalp” any other day you would’ve gladly helped him out, but the mischievous glint in his eyes and the obvious tent in his boxers, made it very clear to you what his intentions were. “twen-ty min-utes” you clapped with each syllable, giving your boyfriend a stern look before walking out of the bathroom. booty shorts tight on your ass as it jiggled deliciously with each step. “damn” geto whispered, shaking his head with a grin as he began to undress himself.
𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 4.7K word count. blackfem!reader/original character, onyankopon, football player!onyankopon, sweet!onyakopon, dominant!onyankapon, arrogant!onyankopon, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, squirting, creaming, aggressive dirty talk, nasty sex chile, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!
𝓐ᥫ᭡
𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ guess who it is? yo’ favorite couple. now, lemme’ tell you. this is NOT the new fic, so look out for that in the next couple of days. this was just the nasty part of my mind wanting to put pen to paper—and i might’ve seen this video that reminded me of ole’ girl and ony real bad. so i suggest watching before reading ;) it’s nasty. sorry? kinda? not really. okay, bye.
𝓐ᥫ᭡:: your baby’s birthday is full of surprises.
visual.
STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE HADN’T BEEN YOUR ONLY CHOICE. From Bratz, to Hello Kitty, the possibilities of a six month olds birthday party shouldn’t have been so complex—that was, if you weren’t dealing with your black ass family.
Driving from New Orleans to Mississippi wasn’t the issue. It was planning this party, having to take it three hours from your hometown, packing your children up for their first road trip, and making sure everything was set in stone by the time you arrived.
To top things off, you didn’t…feel well.
Once again, this was all the doing of your mother in law. You loved her, but her desires of doing everything to her perfection could be—suffocating.
It was an exciting time—your baby girl was turning six months old, and the entire family freaked out as if this weren’t you and Onyankopon’s second baby. You could appreciate everyone’s desire to celebrate—aunts, uncles, Onyankopon even had a couple of his teammates coming.
The idea of planning this whole thing was supposed to be fun. But it became less fun when you had the realization that you weren’t the one in charge of this. It was even more frustrating that Onyankopon tried his best to tame his mother, but there was nothing much he could do when she had her mind made up.
So you did what you always did—gave a smile, and tried not to fuss as much as you wanted to.
It started with the decorations. You’d bought everything you wanted for your baby girl’s party to give Strawberry Shortcake down to her outfit—however, after going over budget, you found out that your mother in law had gotten decorations professionally made, and she decided that your decorations were too “Boring.”
Strike two was when she decided to ship everything to your house and not hers, meaning that you were overflowing the car, but you had to pack your own stuff, your husbands, and two babies into Onyankopon’s G—Wagon.
Strike three—your breast ached from having to feed Sage within this three hour drive, you had the worst cramps on the planet—and you learned that Salem could become carsick. You stopped two times, having to change his clothes, hold him within the passenger seat with a tiny bottle of water, and made sure no vomit made it anywhere on the seats.
When you finally made it to your mother in laws, all you wanted was a nap. Onyankopon offered to take the kids downstairs for a while as you slept, but around the clock, Sage could be what you called a velcro baby, losing her everlasting shit if you weren’t within arms reach.
You were tired, irritated, and sore more than usual. But you weren’t gonna cry.
It all led up to the day of your baby girl’s birthday—the morning was a little more chaotic than you hoped for, current focus along feeding Sage, while your mother in law ran rapidly around the house.
“Where are the cupcake toppers? Did you move them?”
Your eyes flick up to her, standing in a pale pink and red apron, looking like a mentally insane pastry chef.
Your voice is soft as you say, “Ony put everything in the garage like you asked him to, momma.”
She doesn’t waste a beat to rush out of the kitchen, leaving the scent of buttercream behind. You turn your attention down to Sage, the baby smacking her lips against your nipple as she continues to suckle.
You can’t even properly greet your husband as he enters the kitchen, not to mention, he was doing a great job of avoiding your irritation and his mother’s wrath. He’d camouflage into the wall if he could.
“Lil’ mama already lookin’ for yo’ titty this early?”
You release a soft breath, “I’m really thinkin’ about taking her off—putting her on the bottle for good.”
Your eyes narrow a bit, “And where have you been? Yo’ momma in here’ about to lose her mind because you moved the cupcake toppers.”
“That’s how you greet yo’ man? Don’t start trippin’ on me, girl. Forreal’.”
He pecks a kiss on your lips, leaning down to do the same with his baby’s forehead. Your irritation might’ve soothed a bit.
“I’m sorry,” you sigh, “I’m just—as little sleepy, is all. Good morning,” you pull him in for another soft peck on the lips, “Where’s Say-Say? Still sleep?”
“Yeah—lil’ nigga tried to swing on me earlier cause I told him to hand over that pacifier. But he ‘sleep—climbed his bad ass in Sage’s pack-n-play. The real question is—how you doin’?“
You can’t even answer the question. Onyankopon’s mother comes back into the kitchen as she questions, “Onyankopon—did you move the cake toppers? I told you not to touch them!”
Onyankopon raises an eyebrow, “And have you cuss’ me out? Hell nah’ I ain’t touch ‘em. They’ been in the garage since we got here.”
“Are you sure you didn’t hear me mention the attic, and that’s where you actually put them?”
She dismisses his statement, the sound of opening and shutting doors echoing into the kitchen as she frantically pulls at the wood.
“Are you sure you ain’t lose em’?”
“I have a great memory!” she huffs, “If I can’t find them—the cupcakes are gonna be dull—they don’t look a lick of Strawberry Shortcake!—And y’all just sitting there, watching me freak out!”
She gives you no time to defend yourself, stomping out of the kitchen as she cusses. Your jaw is clenched a bit, turning back towards Onyankopon as you raise an eyebrow, “You wanna know how I’m doing? Forreal’? ‘Cause that might cause an argument.”
His eyes narrow, "C’mon, bro. Don’t start. You know how my momma be’."
“I ain’t even say nothing, Ony. You keep reminding how yo’ momma acts, but you ain’t saying nothing to her.”
Your voice is a little sharp, pulling yourself back as Onyankopon tries to grab for Sage, “Stop—You know she’s gonna start crying.”
"If you 'bout to start somethin', can you do it after the party?" He takes note of your attitude, his voice more stern than usual, “We came all the way out here for lil’ mama—I ain’t about to let y’all make a scene.”
“I’m literally more calm than I should be,” you deadpan, “How you finna’ check me about my attitude but not yo’ momma? Your priorities are in the wrong place right now.”
Onyankopon smacks his lips, “I ain’t realized there was a manual on how to react when yo’ wife actin’ salty, and yo’ momma in the next room ‘bout to pop a blood vessel.”
“What you’ want me to do, Ony? How should I act?” You question, placing Sage against your shoulder, gently patting her back, even in the midst of your irritation.
“Just chill. I ain’t tryna’ click out on you and my momma.”
Onyankopon’s gaze is serious, not backing down despite your glare.
“I’m so serious.”
“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, “I’m sorry that me being irritated with the fact that we drove three hours—well, let’s wrap it up to five since Salem was car sick—that I had to also feed Sage— not to mention that I was extremely uncomfortable since we had no room in the backseat with all the extra decorations your mom decided to buy when I already bought some! I’m running off twelve hours of sleep in the past two days, and somehow your momma still thinks I’m not doing enough. My fault—let me chill.”
Sage burps, babbling as she wraps her mouth along the end of your shoulder. Your arms are sore at this point. You sigh, “Take her,” as you lean your baby girl into his arms.
Sage babbles, wrapping her toothless gums on the end of his t-shirt, rubbing her face into her fathers chest.
“Aight,” He nods, hearing the frustration in your voice, “I’m sorry. You’ right.”
You don’t mean to be snappy—You don’t want to be. You hate when you get like this, another exhale blowing from your lips as you’re holding that urge to cry. God, your period was definitely coming. Not only are you emotional, but even being upset with your husband, you wanna be as close to him as possible. And—were you a little horny?
You rub the muscular bicep of his tattooed arm, “You mind getting her dressed while I take a quick nap?”
He nods, “Of course. I was gon’ do that anyways.”
He takes Sage onto his shoulder, “I’ll come wake you up so you got time to get ready—just focus on sleeping, aight? I’m ‘bout to get Say-Say dressed and go help my momma with these cupcakes before dressing Sage.”
You reach for his ear, rubbing affectionately as you hum, “You’re so sweet, Daddy. Thank you.”
Onyankopon’s serious gaze eases, a smirk growing on his face.
“Aight—you know ain’t no callin’ me that if you ain’t gon’ do all the rest,” He shakes your grip from his ear, pressing a kiss on your palm.
“C’mon, ‘fore you get me worked up.”
You roll your eyes, giggling softly as you begin making your way back upstairs—but you can’t help but listen to Onyankopon talking to your daughter—as he always did.
“Don’t worry, baby. All of us gon’ be back in NOLA soon, and yo’ momma gon’ be back to herself—You gon’ get to see aunties, uncles— whatchu think? A whole lotta Strawberry Shortcake, huh? What a life you’ blessed with, pretty mama…”
Getting some type of rest definitely puts you in a better headspace, and the true realization that you were celebrating your baby’s birthday couldn’t have made you any happier. Sage’s Strawberry Shortcake Party was in full swing.
Sweets and desserts scattered across the plaid picnic table for guests to choose from. Everyone was here—family, Onyankopon’s players, even you and your mother in law were now getting along—everyone was in adoration of your baby, the celebration being better than you expected it to ever be.
Your dress matched Sage’s strawberry covered bonnet, oversized along her dark curls, her dress fluffing out from its poofy frill. The sight had you snapping a thousand pictures— however, you’re a bit distracted.
You’d redone Onyankopon’s braids for him the night before, the olive green shirt he wears clinging to his muscular frame, complimenting his brown skin that mixes with all of his tattoos. It’s something about how much of a southern man he really was—being in between New Orleans and Mississippi—he’s sporting jeans, a hefty belt shining under the natural light coming into the house, cowboy boots heavy on his feet with each step. Facial hair, face tats, it all pulls together with the print hung under his belt that he can’t seem to tuck.
God.
But you’re no better—the mini halter dress you wear molds around your full hips and ass, lace trimming along the end of the pale pink material. Your matching woven sandals show off the French tip of your toes, dark curls framing around your curvy figure.
The sight of your husband—it’s becoming a problem. Your heart swells as you hold Salem in your arms, the tune of Happy Birthday echoing to your baby girl, Onyankopon holding her up towards the cake, allowing her to tear the dessert apart piece by piece. She’s giggling, and to see Onyankopon so soft with your daughter that you created together—it made you love him even more.
Back to the point of him being a problem— now, he’s being touchy.
Salem’s a bit more independent now, running around the yard with his cousins as he screams out in excitement. You have the perfect view of your family enjoying the celebration that your mother in law put so much time and effort into—you couldn’t help but thank her, despite your differences.
Back to the point again, Onyankopon being a problem. His fingers become hooked along the waist of your dress, his face pressed in the crook of your neck as he kisses on your skin, gently nipping and licking.
You knew your husband to be affectionate, so to him, this was just showing you love in a way that he felt was innocent. But with each kiss, each compliment, your clit throbbed.
Maybe he noticed. Maybe he didn’t.
The party was now close to ending—Sage and Salem being taken upstairs to bed, leaving the rest of the adults downstairs, drinking and catching up with each other. You leaned yourself against his shoulder as he talked to his teammates, lightly padding your fingers against his lower back in the softest way. Your palms travel, finding the warmth of his ear—you start rubbing there.
Onyankopon can always sense your change in temperature. Your hands wander aimlessly on his body at this point, still giving no reaction to your touch as he occasionally takes a long swig from the bottle of beer in his hand.
You’re looking at him— his legs spread against the chair, boots flat along the ground, bulge prominent as he continuously attempts to adjust himself. Your mind won’t stop fantasizing, and you can imagine yourself just—
Dishes. You needed to do the dishes.
The moment you say your goodbyes to everyone, you’re quiet as you wash off the ceramic plates into the sink. You can hear Onyankopon throwing things in the trash behind you, a sigh parting from your lips as you ask, “That was nice, wasn’t it?”
“Mhm.”
His hands slide up from behind, his arms enveloping your body as his hands gently rub circles along your stomach. Your body is pressed against his, warm and needy—but, was this the right time to speak up?
“My baby had a big day,” He says, his voice in a low hum.
“I just wish she would be able to remember times like these, you know? She was so giggly and excited to smash her cake, and her outfit was adorable—those are times we’ll never get back with her. I’ll think about them a lot,” you softly smile, leaning yourself back against your husband's chest.
“She gon’ know how much we loved her,” He kisses on the side of your neck, “We do got’ a few more times like this before Salem hits three, so don’t beat yo’self up too much, aight? Our family is perfect.”
You press your lips together at that. Turning your head to face him, you’re tilting up to find the gaze of his height. Your brown eyes pool into his sight, hand reaching for his facial hair, scratching your fingers into the coils of it.
“Thank you for holding me together today. I was a little frustrated earlier—but everything turned out better than I ever thought it would. I was good, wasn’t I?”
“It’s nothing you gotta thank me for, baby. We do this as a team, aight? You was’ good, even when you had every reason to be upset. You my lil’ team player, forreal’.”
That makes you smile. Your eyes are right below his as you say, “You’ my big team player,” you softly giggle.
“I know that. C’mere.”
His hand cups the back of your head, locking your lips into a kiss, full lips overlapping yours. It removes the lip combo you wear, tongue deepening itself in your mouth.
“Yo’ ass was good today, Mama.”
You’re always ready to accept his kisses, but sometimes—between you and yourself—you couldn’t handle Onyankopon when he got like this. Not to mention that your body felt overly sensitive in the moment, so just from a kiss, you were trembling.
You’re shy within your giggle as you breathlessly muse, “T—Thank you, baby.”
“You already know I’m gon’ thank you some more in ‘bout two minutes. Take yo’ ass upstairs.”
Onyankopon was always a man of his word. Here you were now—body shuddering from his tongue previously nose deep in your pussy, heart rate pounding in your ears as you straddled your smaller frame atop of his. You loved riding him—but you loved seeing his face more, rather than facing the opposite way as you were now. On the other hand, Onyankopon loved this position just as much as seeing your pretty face— his eyes continuously traced over the ink tattooed along your back, the dark pink complimenting your caramel skin.
You whimper to him, “Wanna see you, Ony.”
His tip is already being engulfed by the pretty pink of your folds, puffy as they’re stretched by the girth of him.
Onyankopon takes a handful of your hair, giving it a tug—your body quivers the minute you feel his other palm smack your ass, “Yo’ shit too muhfuckin’ pretty, Mama. Lemme’ enjoy you like this.”
Your lashes brush against your freckled cheeks as you slowly lower your hips, every inch of him being sucked in by your pussy, the back of your thighs meeting his abdomen as you go down. The curls of your hair drape along your figure with the sway of your body dipping, your lips parting a bit, shakily gasping in the softest way.
Leaning yourself against his legs, your teeth lightly tug at your lower lip as you rock down, finding a rhythm within the angle, skin creating the tiniest clapping echo against his dick. You part a whimper from your lips.
“Goddamn, Mama—Who you doin’ allat for?”
A hand makes its way over the front of you, rubbing the middle of your stomach to feel your body shift. His touch has you arching, your soft cry of pleasure deafening to your own ears as your ass bounces on his hips. You never sounded like this so early.
“Ion’ know who you was tryna’ play,” Onyankopon grunts out—you’re like a pendulum, putting him in a trance with the way you wine your body. But that never stopped his mouth.
“A nigga gon’ know if you need him as soon as you walk inna’ room—allat’ attitude, touchin’ on me—That’s how you know a nigga love yo’ ass. You love me, huh?”
“Love you,” your voice is still soft, whimpering as you hold your ass in your own palms, spanking yourself, “Love you, Ony…”
Every time he mentions the word love, even indirectly—you’re like a puppy, willing to agree to anything that comes from his mouth. That’s how it’s always been.
“You a good lil’ bitch,” he grunts, “Keep fuckin’ me.”
His clasp at the end of your curls has your eyes rolling, your mouth pouting as he tugs you down to meet the sticky heat of your pussy becoming wetter. His palm lowers itself, gripping your ass, finding a hold there—you’re dropping, dropping, you’re groaning in the prettiest way, “Ughn, O—Ony…”
“Keep singin’, baby. Keep throwin’ that shit.”
His desire for you grew with each child, with each touch, with each word. But he would still give you the world.
Onyankopon always gave you an immense amount of pleasure—but when he wanted to reward you—god, you were lucky you weren’t a mental patient.
The positions are always dominated by him, now having you bent at the edge of the bed, body arched to perfection, legs tucked underneath his to keep you still. His fingers always find a hold of your hair, locking you in place as he’s sliding his tip up and down against your folds—slow, aching.
Your face is hidden beneath the sheets, palm finding a collection of the comforter beneath your fingers. Your pussy spreads as his tip sinks in—Onyankopon grounding his hips, allowing the weight of his dick to fill you in all one thrust.
Your mouth drops, “Damn, baby…”
It’s almost torturous—his tip goes from kissing at your folds, to the air within your chest leaving as you’re full in a milliseconds, dick curving into your walls, reaching for your cervix that eats a delicious pinch from his strokes. Again and again, the room fills with a sweet lullaby of the slaps his hips make against your ass. Each thrust is accompanied by a satisfying whine from your mouth.
“This them’ good girl strokes,” he grunts, stroking through his words, “Good ass fuckin’ girl.”
For the sake of your mother in law and children, you press your mouth into the sheets, eyes rolling as your whimpers muffle through the material—but Onyankopon could be the worst sometimes.
His favorite place to grasp—your curls, his fingers collect anything he can get his hands on, using it to drop you down in the slowest he’s ever given you a thrust, his balls rubbing against your clit, dick nearly reaching for your windpipe—he’s deep, deeper than he’s ever been before.
“Don’t fuckin’ move,” his voice is dark, “Imma’ keep you here. Let you feel this big ass dick.”
“Fuckkk.”
Your eyes roll as you gasp—your pussy was’ stuffed.
“Can’t f—feel you no more,” you whimper, trying to pull yourself together through the pleasurable tears that begin to collect in your eyes. You tremble, your mouth quivering a sob, “I’m too wet, baby. Oh my g—god…”
You don’t even realize you’re cumming—squirting for that matter—only able to hear the splat, splat of your arousal gushing in between your skin colliding together. Your thighs are trembling, the vibration traveling up to your throat as you groan.
“Don’t be fuckin’ lyin’ to me—you feel my shit.”
His fingers tightened around your curls, forcing you back onto his dick after a swift jerk, making your head tilt backwards for your throat to be exposed, your lower body going numb as he fucks you into an oblivious space.
He’s close, sliding his soaked tip out to see your cum glistening down the dick, to putting you back on him—again, again, again.
You’re brain is so fried, you begin bouncing yourself back on his dick, cumming, continuously cumming—you’re whining as you turn your head back towards him, “Dick so fuckin’ big, Daddy. Just taking your pussy. Just. Take…me….”
You’re talking through the strokes you provide for yourself, you’re drooling, almost in a bimbo like state. He took you there.
His body looms over yours as he finds a place of your throat to hold, pulling your face back to watch you. The sounds you made were identical to an angel crying, prettier than ever before. His dick finds the last crevice of space left inside you—his tip rests in between your cervix, “Make a mess on this bitch. Make. A. Fuckin’. Mess,” he emphasizes thrust.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuckkk.”
It happens—you scream—Onyankopon moans as you squeeze around him, pulling himself out to replace his dick with his fingers—he chaotically rubs your clit, fingers becoming drenched as you squirt again.
His hand holds you in place as you cry, legs trembling, having one of the most intense orgasms you’d had with him. There’s more tears in your eyes, your head knocking into the sheets, hiding your flushed face as you hadn’t expected your own reaction.
His voice grumbled into the shell of your ear, “There you go, baby. You did that shit for me. Did all that shit for me, huh?”
You only have to let out a shaky exhale in response to his words, too exhausted to argue otherwise.
That’s when you both hear a knock— it startles you so bad that your entire body jolts, Onyankopon cradling you beneath his hold protectively. His voice is low as he responds, “Yeah, momma. What you’ need?”
“I heard screaming—is everything alright?
You hide your face into his arm.
Onyankopon deepens his face into your neck, chuckling before he replies, “Yeah. She—uh, saw a big ass spider. We’ good.”
“Oh—I just wanted to check. Anyways , this baby lookin’ for yo’ wife’s nipple.“
You sigh, barely able to respond, nearly halfway asleep in the seconds they conversed with each other. Your voice is soft as you reply, “I’m comin’, momma—Just give lil’ mama her binky until then.”
The silence that fills the room confirms that she left, a quiet, soft laugh coming off Onyankopon’s lips.
“You know she ain’t stupid—she finna’ get my ass, lawd.”
“No,” you cover your reddened face with his arm, “That’s so embarrassing. God, please go get Sage so I don’t have to face that conversation.”
“You heard how bad my ass was lyin’?”
He continues chuckling, the rumble of it hitting your back as you huff, “Ony.”
“Aight, aight,” He laughs, “Let me clean up ‘fore I head up there.“
The heat of the moment begins to fade away as your sobriety washes over you. The moment he goes to leave—you stop him. Turning to face him, you wrap your arms around Onyankopon’s neck as you pucker your lips out for a kiss, “I love you. You love me?”
“With my life, shawty,” He leans forward, pressing his lips into yours for a quick peck that you’ve been seeking.
“You sure?”
You didn’t mean to have the question sound worrisome, but your voice was a little—hesitant. You were hesitant..
“Baby. That’s never gon’ change. What’s going on?” he frowns, “Why’ you feelin’ like this?”
Remember all the times you said you weren’t gonna cry today?
Too late for that.
Your hands quickly cover your face as you feel your body trembling— you softly sob, hiding your cries within your palms as you release all the emotions you’d been holding for the past couple of days.
“Aye—What’s goin’ on, baby? Hey,” he takes your face into the palms of his large hand, “You can cry, forreal’, but what got you feelin’ like this? Why’ you think I wouldn’t love you? Talk to me.”
Your tears run down your face, cheeks as red as your baby girls as you continue to cry. Your voice shakes as you whimper, “You’re gonna be upset with me…”
“Aight, aight, just—,” he shakes his head, cupping your face into his hands more as he tries to figure out what to say.
“—You know I can’t stand seeing you cry. I ain’t never gon’ be mad at you for that—just talk to me.”
You take a deep breath, “I’m sorry for being mean to you, baby. I just—I love you so much—and you told me that you wanted a big family—but we just had lil’ mama, and you’re about to get back on the field again—“
“Mama,” he cuts off, “Slow down. What you’ tryna say? Are you pregnant?”
“…I just—I wanted to try a new birth control because the IUD was giving me issues—and I forgot to take my pills—you probably don’t even want another baby.”
You’re crying even harder now, pressing your face into his chest.
“You—,” He sighs, not even attempting to mask his irritation, “You think I’d be upset that you’ pregnant again?”
His tone is low before he continues, “I don’t care if you get pregnant with ten of my kids. You my fuckin’ wife. We’ll have a whole muhfuckin’ football team if that’s what god blessed us with. I love you. That ain’t gon’ change.”
That makes your heart swell. You press your forehead to his, a tearful giggle falling from your lips.
“I didn’t mean to start crying,” you softly say, taking a deep breath as your fingers wrap around his necklace, “My period was supposed to be a week ago, but when I realized it was late—I thought I was being dramatic thinking I was pregnant again, so I didn’t even tell you—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be talkin’ nonsense,” He mutters, “I told you when we first started this family that the number didn’t matter to me—As long as you happy.”
“I’m more than happy,” you say, pressing your lips back into his, “I love you and our babies so much.”
Onyankopon’s smile grows into a smirk, “I got a bunch of kids runnin’ around here anyway, Salem ‘bout two in one—I’m ready when you ready, baby.”
That makes more tears pour from your eyes. You tighten your arms around his neck as you softly cry, “I love you so much, Onyankopon.”
“I love you more, baby. Ain’t that why yo’ lil’ ass cryin’?” He chuckles, gently patting and rubbing on your back, “You gon’ be a mess if you keep goin’ like this. I’m finna’ go tell my momma—MA! MA!”
You giggle as he takes off—and at this point, you’re not entirely sure why you’re still crying. You’re just sensitive, okay?
You’re sobbing, but you’re so happy. You had no idea how lucky you truly were to have this man. Your heart flutters as you try to stop your tears, but the love for your family is making it difficult. The love for him made it all the more worse.
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