hi everyone !! i've seen some mutuals and some other writers on here already start preparing for kinktober and hopefully this year i'll also participate !! i hope to post every other day (ish) of october and i already have some ideas planned :3
this is just a rough template, all kinks / characters are subject to change. so, if you have any requests or things you might want to see then write a comment or send an ask and i'll see what i can do !
all works will be x fem!reader, im also going to seize the opportunity to hopefully write more wlw smut because that's actually what im much more confident / comfortable writing and i enjoy writing it far more!!
𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 8.2K word count. camgirl!blackfemreader, original!blackfemreader, contentcreatorcoded! onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, size kink, black woman, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, aggressive talk, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, squirting, riding, missionary, stand n’ carry fucking, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, multiple orgasms, minors aren’t welcome!
━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ reference to the title, this song did inspire this fic. teehee—nasty, okay? that’s all i can say about this one. just nasty. might be one of my faves, idk.
visual. visual. visual. visual.
THE PINK PLUSH OF YOUR DUVET SOFTENS BENEATH YOUR TOES AS YOU LAY ATOP OF IT, curved nails wrapping around the cherry sunken between your heart shaped lips. You didn’t think this would be as hard as it was, but you were now on hour three of scrolling in between OnlyFans and Twitter—you’d found nothing.
Your job wasn’t something anyone expected of you. You were quiet, reserved, introverted—But being in front of a camera? Well, that was different.
A Cam Girl, to be exact. You’d only been in the industry for about a year and a half, but the money you made versus working as a bartender was tenfold— your experience with people was all in the making of your success. Your smile, those slender eyes combative in getting what they wanted, dark curls framing the doll shape of your caramel face.
You leaned into the camera every other night to show off the multitude of lingerie you’d bought, twisting your fingers against the satin bow between your large breasts, comments flooding as your customers waited for an accidental slip to show. Your legs spread open, teeth digging into the plush of your lip as you fucked yourself, moaning blasphemies into the camera—or, a couple scandalous pictures posted if you were working overnight at the bar.
Your customers would ask, Are we ever gonna see a collab?
It’s not that the thought never crossed your mind. But to anyone’s surprise, you’d only known the pleasures of exploring your own body. You’d had sexual partners, but none that ever satisfied you the way you could yourself. Your customers enjoyed watching you indulge yourself, but just like them, something in you might’ve wanted something—different.
So here you were—continuously scrolling through male content creator’s to possibly do a collab with—you just were unsure how comfortable you were with the entire idea. To make matters worse, you couldn’t find anyone that piqued your interest.
You leaned your jaw against your palm as you fell deeper into the bed, a soft sigh parting your lips as your finger flicked the mouse pad down your timeline. Your eyes were practically immune to the nastier side of Twitter. But then—you stopped.
Onyankopon.
Licensed massage therapist. Top .015% on OnlyFans.
His profile picture might’ve gotten your attention. It was simple, but enough. You could tell that he might’ve had a head full of hair, as it was braided to the back in cornrows, clear beads hanging at the end of them. His brown skin almost carried a red undertone beneath the lights, tattoos and silver jewelry complimenting the bistre of his complexion. His lips—full, the perfect shape, coated by the sable of his facial hair. Tattoos scattered all over his body—neck, arms, crawling all the way up to his face—the cross along his cheek twinkling next to the silver stud in his nose. He was pretty.
But as you continued to scroll down…pretty isn't the word you’d use for him. Your eyes nearly widen at the sight of his di—
It’s big. Huge, even. Veins protrude throughout it, the tip as flush as his lips. It nearly reaches his mid thigh. The sculpt of his body was insane, and you felt your mouth watering. You’d never had this reaction before— But your body seems to react worse as you keep scrolling. Videos of him and other women, the darkness of the rooms are curated in candles and roses, lights blaring colors for a sensual environment. Each girl smiles sultrily as they all start the same—he talks with them, has them become comfortable as they sit along the massage table. He touches them in an almost innocent way, keeping their attention—Then, his touches become less innocent, and to see the way he handles them—the squeals, screams, orgasms are like no other. They cum in raptures, squirt all over him—his voice grunts, praises in satisfaction. They made your jaw drop, glasses tipping over your nose.
They might’ve had you squeezing your thighs together, too. So you did what you didn’t expect yourself—You messaged him.
bimbopiscesprincess: hey, um. do you happen to live in new orleans?
You received a response almost immediately. You can see the typing bubble, making your heart skip at how fast he’d seen your message.
onyo: hey. yeah, i do. why?
Before you could even type out your next message, another notification pops up at the corner of your screen.
onyo: user is typing…
And then—
onyo: hollon’. i know you.
Your eyes blink at that. You showed your body to the world on a regular basis, so why did that sentence make your face go warm?
bimbopiscesprincess: oh. you do?
onyo: yeah. the bartender down on canal at the blue bayou. saw you behind the bar a couple of times.
It’s hard to contain the way your heart rate picks up— Your stomach is flipping at the idea. You type back immediately.
bimbopiscesprincess: i guess that’s better than saying you’ve seen my videos, lol.
onyo: i guess i should’ve clarified. i’ve seen your videos. yo’ pussy pretty as hell, face too.
Your eyes go wide. You can’t help but bite the corner of your lip, a light feeling in your chest as your fingers press against the keys.
bimbopiscesprincess: well um—thank you, lol. sorry, i’m a lil’ different when the camera isn’t on.
onyo: so what’d you hit me up for? i ain’t tryna’ stop talkin’ to you, just curious.
You stare at the screen, eyes flickering up and down his messages. Did you really want to do this? Could you? The man made you nervous through text.
bimbopiscesprincess: i don’t mean to be forward, i was just curious on how this whole collab thing works? i mean, that’s even if you were interested.
onyo: you don’t gotta be shy. we can call and talk
‘bout it if you’d like.
You go to reach for another cherry, but your fingers can’t seem to find the bowl. Your heart was beating.
bimbopiscesprincess: right now?
He’d messaged you a number, which you assumed was his. Your fingers seemed to dial it on their own, nerves beginning to eat at you as the ringer went off.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
And then he answered, voice heavy and smooth.
“Hey, mama. How you’ doin’?”
Your voice is breathless, “Hi. I’m um—I’m fine. I hope I didn’t wake you?”
He lets out a chuckle. It’s low, deep and gravelly.
“You’ good. I was just scrollin’ on my computer when you decided to hit me up. Glad you did.”
He pauses, “You born and raised in the boot?”
“Uptown,” you hum, “Graduated from Xavier. You?”
“You’ smart, I like that shit. But yeah— I grew up on the Westbank. Did college out in Baton Rouge, came back to work with my momma before I started doing content. She owns a couple shops down here.”
Even when he was just talking, his voice was like velvet, thick, and raspy. It had you unconsciously squeezing your thighs together.
On top of that, you didn’t necessarily expect all this dialogue with him.
You say it before you think, “Are you usually this open in conversation with the girls you collaborate with?”
He chuckles again, the sound vibrating against your ear through the receiver, “Not really, nah. But it’s not hard to have a conversation.”
He lets out a sigh, almost like he’s stretching, “You asked how the collabs worked, right? We ain’t even get to that part.”
“Right,” your voice is soft, “So—you wanna explain it to me? I mean—it’s probably simple, but—I just—“ you stop yourself with an awkward giggle, “Sorry, Go ahead.”
“You good, baby. It’s how it sounds, so I promise you ain’t off with the idea. We’ll just plan out a date and time, you’ll come to mines, and—“ He exhales, like he just realized he was getting off track, “Let me not bore you with extra shit—it all depends what you’ comfortable with, first.”
Your eyebrows raise at that, “What I’m comfortable with? So—it doesn’t necessarily have to be sex? I mean—sorry, that’s a dumb question. I just see that you’re specialized in massaging, so—yeah.”
“You ain’t gotta keep apolgizin’ to a nigga. I swear, you’ good. Sex brings in a bigger payout for the both of us, but I got all types of ways I can service you if you’ not comfortable with that. Just say what it is.”
You think to yourself—this is your line of work. You didn’t have to be nervous or scared. This could bring in more attention to your page, and you could get a new experience out of it.
Your voice is a bit softer as you reply, “I’m open to anything.”
Another chuckle. It’s heavier this time.
“You sure?”
You nod your head, “I’m sure. I’ll see you then, Onyankopon.”
Then was sooner than you’d expected it to be. Two weeks had gone by, officially making a date after you’d both gotten tested. Your eyes flicked up to the high rise condos glowing into the starry night of the sky, coaxing you into the entrance. You almost couldn’t feel your legs from the moment you stepped into the lobby to show your ID to the receptionist, your lower body numb as you stood outside the door to his apartment. 888 was his door number. Figures.
With a small breath, your fingers tightened along your baby pink Telfar tote, other hand raising up to the door as you knocked. You waited.
When the door opened, you couldn’t even think to prepare yourself.
He was tall, even taller than on videos. But it was in a more muscular, wider way. He wore a fitted black tee that showed the extent of his broad shoulders, with a pair of sweatpants. It was casual, but he looked like he’d just rolled out of a photoshoot, durag shining in the light as he towered over you.
“Hey, baby.”
His voice was deeper in person, something you didn’t expect, your fingers tightening around the handles of your bag.
You’d always been confident in yourself. In your body, your shape— Your hips were as full as a woman who’d given birth, ass and thighs almost preposterous in curves. It showed under the BODYBYRAVEN teal set you wear—the yoga pants and jacket hugging your frame, your curls draping over your body in lazy waves, black furry boots covering your feet. You were cute to him, but in a way that had him glaring at the sight of you.
“Hi,” you gently greet back, “I hope I didn’t knock too loud,” your fingers tug a curl behind your ear.
“I told yo’ ass about allat’ apologizing. Come on.”
He moves to the side, the aroma of his body oil wafting through your nose—something sweet, musky and spicy. You felt yourself almost wanting to taste him, your stomach fluttering by the time you’d made it inside.
The condo is large, high-end, yet it carries a homey touch to it. A large glass window overlooks the view of the river and city. You weren’t that nervous—until you saw the maple wood of the massage table, the plush material atop for comfort making your heart pound in your chest—and then, the blaring sight of the professional lights tilting directly onto the furniture, camera stands holding the perfect angle of the scenery.
You drop your bag beside the sofa, running your fingers through your hair as you ask, “You were um—setting up?”
“Wanted to get it out the way ‘cause I knew it’d take yo’ ass a while to get here,” he pokes fun, “You’ hungry? A nigga been cravin’ pasta like a muhfucka’.”
You can’t help the way your face flushes—his voice was just as sweet as it was heavy. You didn’t expect him to be so—real?
The question was genuine, as if he’d sensed your nervousness. It reminded you that you needed to answer.
“You don’t have to do that,” you shake your head, “I don’t wanna’ impose or—make you feel like you have to make me comfortable.”
“Why you bein’ like this, huh? I stink or sum’?”
He goes to sniff under his arms, and it makes you giggle a bit at the sight.
You sigh, “No, no. I’m—I’m sorry, okay? You’re being very sweet— I’m being weird, aren’t I?”
You lean against the counter, “I just haven’t done this before, Onyankopon. That’s all.”
“Ony. You can call me that.”
His jaw shifts, “Come here. You’ nervous for no reason.”
Your lips part a bit, but you don’t move forward.
“I guess I just didn’t expect you to be so—normal.”
“Normal,” he repeats, a light chuckle rumbling in his throat. It was deep, chest vibrating within your ear, “I can’t be nothin’ else. You ain’t gotta be different either.”
You nod your head, taking in his words. Your eyes fall behind him as you notice the array of snacks in his open pantry, eyebrow raising as you flick your vision back to him, “Oatmeal Cream Pies? Really?”
“You judgin’ me, huh?” he grins down at you, “What, I gotta’ be all high end ‘cause I do what I do?”
“Nah. I’m judging ‘cause they’re nasty,” you retorted back, finding a seat on one of the stools, “Just a lil’ surprised is all.”
“I could say the same about you, girl— Actin’ all shy in person when you be goin’ crazy on camera.”
Your eyebrows raise, your face flushed once again, “How bout’ you focus on that pasta you supposed to be makin’ me? ‘Cause you just wanna talk!”
“A nigga must’ve hit a nerve,” he chuckles, but steps away to rummage further into the kitchen.
"What I do, what you do—same difference."
His voice is muffled under the sound of the stove, but he continues, "You gon’ tell me it’s not?”
“It’s not. Self pleasure versus connecting with someone else is two completely different things,” you point out, leaning your head in your palms as you watch him move around the kitchen, back flexing in return.
He looks down at you with a smirk, hand reaching up to grab two plates from the cabinet above with ease. Something about that made you tug at your lip.
“What? You ain’t gon’ argue back with me?” You question.
“Nah,” he shrugs.
”Don’t gotta’ argue what I know is right.”
“I think I’d like it better if a man didn’t argue anyways,” you confess, another small giggle falling from your lips.
You can hear the smile in his voice, “You like a nigga that’s gon’ tell you sum’. Ion’ believe that.”
“If that was the case, I might’ve done a collab a long time ago. So wrong. Feed me, now?”
“See. You ain’t that shy. Lyin’ ass.”
This man couldn’t have been good at everything. You had to keep your reactions to yourself as the pasta melted in your mouth, warm and just the right amount of flavor. The minute you placed your fork on the plate, you sighed, “Now I’m gonna’ be bloated on camera.”
“You got a pretty ass shape, girl. Niggas gon’ kill to see you in any state.”
He picks a noodle from his plate, leaning over to you. His eyes are hooded, brown and pretty. He nudged the fork to your lips, “Open.”
That compliment—it throws you off a bit. A part of you almost had to remember this was a part of a job, and nowhere near a date.
So your voice is soft as you lean back, “I should probably get dressed.”
Your lashes are fluttering in a way that’s returning to nervousness, so he steps back.
“You’ right. But if you need anythin’, let me know—You got a preferred kind of music you want? Imma’ go start settin’ up.”
“PARTYNEXTDOOR is always good,” you hum, “I’ll be back.”
You should’ve had a glass of wine to cure your nerves. You make your way into your bag, sifting through the contents to find the perfect lingerie set. But then you thought—you had to push yourself in some way.
So you retouch your makeup, fix your hair, and slip on the deep blue of a satin robe you owned. The material was short, nearly teasing the cheeks of your ass, your body completely bare as your breasts loosely moved beneath the top. Your honey freckles appear lighter under the complexion of your robe, and you exhale, feet paddling along the floor as you make your way back into the living room.
You slow down as you see him—now shirtless, and as your eyes continue to travel down, you can also see the bulge pushing through his sweats as he adjusts the lights against the table.
“Need any help?”
He looks up at you, brown eyes narrowing the moment he catches your appearance. You were pretty, pretty in a way that felt different from anyone else.
“I’m good. C’mere, though.”
His voice—heavy and dark, beckoned you over to him. He was like a dog under your gaze.
You move the moment he asks you to. You come forward, somehow keeping your face away from the camera as you hide your expression with your hair, “Should I change?”
He steps into your space, the scent of you making him move in closer—it’s milky, musky—fingers brush under your chin with ease to capture your attention. Tilting your face upwards, Onyankopon’s eyes lower into yours. It felt invasive, in a way that made your stomach twist.
“Ain’t no words to compare how fuckin’ pretty you’ look. You’ ready?”
You nod, sitting yourself along the massage table, the tip of your toes just barely reaching the floor as you keep your eyes on him. It’s a scene you’d seen before—the rose petals, the candles, the music almost has your shoulders hike up. The plush of your lips pressed together, your breasts spilling slightly from the soft fabric.
“Do I look nervous?” you try to whisper, the chuckle he gives in return making you release a light giggle.
He moves to sit against the end of the table, his back still to you as he reaches for one of the cabinets, picking a few oils out before placing them beside the massage bed.
“You can be nervous. You wanna tell me why?”
It’s all he questions, his gaze still on the items in front of him. You felt your heart rate pick up a bit when he looked behind him, eyes peering over you.
“…I’ve never had a man—well, anyone, make me—you know,” you admit to him, “I’m nervous about that, I guess.”
“That ain’t a bad thing, Mama. Ain’t gotta’ be embarrassed about nothin’ with me.”
You can feel his presence now towering over you from behind, his voice vibrating through the music fading within the background as he finds a clasp of your curls, gently pulling you enough for your eyes to meet his.
“Imma’ take care of you. You’d like that?”
The question itself, you’re unsure why, but it instantly makes you horny. To make matters worse, he brings his face lower, looming his lips above yours. The moment feels heavy, and it makes your chest rise a bit, your lips patting a soft exhale as you hear him say, “Gotta let me know if I can touch you, baby. C’mon.”
You nod, “You can touch me, Ony…”
He moves to the front of you, sliding your lower body off of the table as he holds you by the arch of your foot. His thumbs dig into the muscle, and the feeling rushes along your entire body, making a chill graze down your spine. It makes your hips visibly tense. The warmth from the oil makes it no better.
“Sorry,” you mindlessly part from your lips, an awkward giggle after.
You see that he muses at the reaction, eyes flickering with that sensuality you couldn’t place.
“What you’ apologizin’ for?”
His hands move up the leg he holds, palms gripping, large and strong. He’s deliberate in every move he makes. Every touch.
As his hands travel farther up your left thigh, he places it along his shoulder, the arch of your toes directly besides his ear. A pressure begins to develop at your inner thigh. When he stretches your leg even farther, his bulge presses right against your clit—the warmth has your nails digging into his bicep.
“You flexin’. That feels good for you, huh? Want me to stay here?”
When you go to find your words, Onyankopon presses a sweet kiss to the side of your foot—Then, his tongue is grazing the flesh, lips wrapping along your toes, sucking.
This was one of your spots.
You nearly jump out of his hold, your thighs trembling as your eyes flutter shut. You gasp, “O—Ony…”
“There we fuckin’ go. How’ you holdin’ up, baby?”
He’s soothing you, still sucking your toes.
It makes you reach up for his shoulder, pulling him closer by the nape of his neck. You’re bad at saying what you want, so you rub your lips against his, breath shuddering in return. They were soft.
“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles against you, pulling back enough for him to give you a look, “Gotta’ ask for it. I wanna’ hear you.”
Your slender eyes flicker up, lips pouting for him to take yours.
“Wanna kiss, Ony.”
“Yeah? Where? Here?”
Onyankopon tugs you, gripping you by your jaw so he could give you a taste of his lips, a smacking sound swelling as he quickly pulls his mouth away.
He repeats it along your throat, your head knocking down as you pant, sticking your tongue out as you whimper, “My mouth.”
His lips press against your collarbone, then your shoulder—slower this time, almost teasing you along the stretch of your neck before he gives you that taste of his lips again—it’s all you’ve been waiting for. His tongue dips in and out of your mouth, nearly dragging against your lips—he’s sinful in his kisses.
After minutes of him devouring you, he pulls away, a string of spit bridging you both together as his dark gaze finds your eyes. You’re drooling.
“Imma’ need that pussy droolin’ on my mouth next. You gon’ let me eat her?”
His lips are sucking the skin of your stomach into his mouth, trailing lower—you squeak as he tugs you further off the table, your legs in the perfect angle above his shoulders to see everything within the camera.
He’s bringing it closer, and your face flushes as you whimper, “Ony—I’ve never—“
“I know. Just need you to keep talkin’ to me.”
When he speaks, you can feel his words caress your folds—they glisten under the lights of the camera, his hands gripping the soft of your thighs as his eyes find yours. His face is handsome, yet so different from this angle. Your lips part to speak, but his thumbs rubbing along your inner thighs—your words turn into a soft mewl.
That’s when you feel it—his tongue drags along the entirety of your pussy, his groan muffled, “Knew this shit was gon’ taste good as fuck. You finna’ be a problem.”
Your fingers are knotted in the braids of his hair, legs quivering at the first contact.
You hate yourself for it, but you turn your head away from the camera as you whimper again, knocking your eyes down as you stutter, “Ohmygo-Ony.”
He groans at the sight of you hiding from the lens, his mouth kissing at your clit, “You cute as hell,” his full lips wrapping against the pink bud, vibrating as it’s being sucked up by his mouth. Slurps fill your ears, and your thighs are back to trembling.
“You doin’ good, baby. Shit.”
He pulls your legs wider apart, giving the camera an unobstructed view of your body. You whimper even more, mortified, but he doesn't relent. With a swift motion, he raises his palm against your folds, massaging your pelvic, fingers splayed on your pussy—he’s rubbing, teasing.
You’re holding your breath, slender eyes flickering down to watch his palm graze your clit each time his fingers move. His voice is low, “Keep them’ muscles relaxed, baby. That’s how we finna’ get you to cum.”
Then, he’s taking his index and middle finger—it’s rubbing directly on your clit, and instead of tensing up, you moan softly. He’s continuously grinding his fingers around your clit, slowly, your breath steady as you softly whimper, “Okay.”
You can see him directly into the camera—his beard begins to glisten as he lowers his mouth back down—he’s making out with your pussy, tongue wagging as if he’s lapping to drink you. His eyes find yours, grunting at the sight of your face screwed up.
Slurps echo through the room louder as Onyankopon dives deeper between your thighs, his tongue flattening against your clit, lapping in long strokes. His free hand comes to grip your hip as he eats you out, groaning in appreciation of your flavor .When he glances back up at you, his eyes are dark with lust, and he grins, showing you the wetness coating his beard.
"You' taste so fuckin’ good, baby," he growls, “Like you' been savin’ this shit just for me."
Your eyes roll, your back arching up from the table as you squeeze his hair under your fingers. You give a low whine, “O—Ooh.”
It’s as if your every reaction makes him go more, and you can feel the flesh of your thighs becoming drenched in your own arousal. It’s when he sucks your clit up into his mouth, shaking his head side to side into your folds, the schlick of your pussy nearly making music against his mouth. That’s when you really tremble, your thighs vibrating on their own as you whimper, “Ooh-oohshit.”
Onyankopon’s tongue continues to stroke on your clit, the pulse intensifying with each passing second. His grip tightens on your hip, fingers digging in as he uses his other hand to spread your pussy open for him, exposing more of your slick flesh to his eager mouth.
“Gimme’ this shit," he grunts, fucking your clit with his tongue in a rapid, filthy rhythm. Up and down, up and down.
He’s nothing you’ve ever dealt with before. Onyankopon raises his mouth, drooling saliva onto your pussy and letting it drip in between your folds, coating the increasing slick of your pussy. You’re already shuddering, but that just made it worse.
“A nigga need you gushin’ on his fingers.”
Onyankopon brings his forehead up to yours— not before sucking your perked nipples into his mouth roughly, then taking his fingers as he grazes them back up your folds, continuously rubbing—he’s rubbing.
You could’ve blacked out. Your palm clings onto his jaw the moment his fingers nudge in between your folds, sinking in so easily that you barely feel them. But when you do, they’re deep, and your eyes roll as you clutch the nape of his neck—you messily whine, “Ohfuck—O—Ony…”
He gives a sharp grunt through his nose as he feels your walls tighten around his fingers,"Come on, baby," he murmurs, slowly pumping them in and out of your soaking folds, “Let it happen. I know you cum so muhfuckin’ pretty.”
The sound of squelching flesh fills the room as he works you over. Your eyes shut, holding him so tight as if to gain some control in your body. Your eyes roll as you cry a moan—Onyankopon groans, “Shit, you tremblin’."
He watches your face contort with pleasure, claiming your lips in a dominating kiss, tongue plundering your mouth as he fucks you harder with his fingers. Onyankopon breaks the kiss, looking down at where he's buried to the knuckle inside you.
“Look how muhfuckin’ wet you are. Pretty lil’ bitch— you finna’ milk my fingers.”
It just happens—your stomach coils the deepest groan, your entire body trembling as the vibration flows to your lips—tears lightly puncture your eyes as you lean yourself farther into his forehead, a whine shakily gasping from your lips as you squeal, “Onnnnyyy-fuckkk.”
You’re squirting, the arousal drowning his fingers as your lower body convulses onto his palm.
“Ohmygoddd.”
You tense, Onyankopon’s other hand tugging up at the back of your neck as he holds you up more into the camera.
You don’t stop—it’s everywhere, the groans releasing from your lips whiney as he’s practically milking your squirt, his voice rumbling with approval, “Thereee’ you go. You soakin' my fuckin' hand. Look at that shit."
His mouth is back on your pussy, nodding up and down into your folds, tongue fucking your opening, coaxing more gush from your between your legs.
Your fingers grip onto his shoulders as you whimper, “O—Onyyyy…fuck, baby.”
You're shaking, tears streaming down your face—Onyankopon laps his tongue once more against your clit as you coat his mouth and chin. His thrusts become irregular, shallow, lazily curling inside you—he’s like a demon. But finally, he stops.
Your legs are still over his shoulders, panting, your palms sliding along the swell of your breasts as you just breathe.
“You aight, baby?”
Your eyes are shut. You move your palm up to your face, covering yourself along the camera as you nod your head.
He doesn’t mean to. But he chuckles, fingers sliding up along your stomach to help you breathe, “Yeah? You wanna take a lil’ break?”
You nod your head again. You’re dazed.
“Yeah. I—I need a minute,” you mutter.
He’s already helping you straighten up, sliding your legs off his shoulders as he asks you softly, “Want some water? Tea? I know it’s too late for coffee, but we got another hour of filmin’.”
You want to answer. You really do, but your body is still trembling a bit, your legs buzzing—you lean your forehead into his chest, a flushed giggle releasing from your lips as you whisper, “Tea, please.”
He chuckles in return, hand caressing along your shoulder—it’s the first time you noticed the rosary tattooed on it, complimenting his brown skin.
“Aight. You’ want it sweet? Sugar—“
Before you can answer, you feel something press into your neck—his forehead. He leans against you, almost in a cuddling manner, lowering his height for you to relax.
“You gon’ be good while I go make it? Not gon’ fall asleep?”
“Camera is still rolling, Ony. I’m fine,” you promise, “I like my tea sweet, yeah. Thank you.”
He gives you a soft tap on the chin, his eyes lowering along your form before he makes his way into the kitchen. You find yourself fixing your hair, adjusting the robe along your body before you exhale—You were still shaky, but it didn’t make your heart race the way it did before.
Your eyes follow him over to the kitchen, watching the way his muscles flex with every movement he makes. The silence is comforting, but you somehow still feel awkward around him.
Your voice is soft as you ask, “How come you never left New Orleans?”
He leans over the counter to turn the stove on, the candles in the room making his eyes look darker.
“I wanna’ protect it. Not only my family—but my people. When it got rough, my brothers moved to Texas for better opportunities, started their careers—I was cool makin’ a name for myself here.”
When he turns back around, his face is a bit softer, almost innocent. He moves his shoulders a bit.
“Why’ you ask that?”
You press the fullness of your lips together, “You just—seem like you have it all together. A huge fanbase, and there aren't many of us who reside here. L.A or Houston is more on the nose—I just figured maybe you’d fit in there too.”
“My manager been pushin’ for it, but the people in L.A are superficial as hell—I got fans here, and that’s enough. Ain’t always about the money.”
He looks back at you.
“And what about you? You want a bigger fanbase?”
You think about that question.
“Well—don’t get me wrong—I love being in front of the camera, but my dream has always been to get my life together and move to Tokyo,” you giggle a bit, “Sounds silly, I know. Plus—I’m close to thirty, and I don’t know how okay my future husband is gonna be with me showing myself online for money.”
He chuckles when you giggle, coming over to hand you the tea before he takes a seat next to you. When you move to sit beside him, you still feel vulnerable—but at ease.
“It’s doable—All in how you plan. You’ want the family, the white picket fence too—allat’?”
You hold the mug in your palms, letting it warm up your hands for a moment. You then look up at him, nodding your head.
“I do. The way you’re talking— I guess it’s safe to assume that’s not what you have in mind?”
“It’s the end goal, but nah. I got a long while ‘til that,” he responds, reaching his hand out to caress your shoulder when he sees you shiver.
When you’re quiet for a moment, he clears his throat.
“You gotta’ nigga?”
Your eyebrow raises, “That’s a serious question?”
“It can’t be?”
His gaze is musing on you, eyes flickering to the way you press your body closer to his palm.
“If you do, this shit could get you into some trouble with yo’ nigga.”
It’s a teasing tone, but it holds a little weight. He wanted a direct answer.
You throw it back to him, “Do you got a bitch?”
“If I say yes, you gone’ be mad?”
“I’m not, I’d actually feel bad for her—cause I’d lose my mind if you was doin’ shit the way you do on camera—and I’m sitting at home—yeah, hell no.”
“So you’ the jealous type. Interesting,” He responds, lifting his own mug of tea to his lips.
“I don’t,” he then confirms, “You still ain’t answering my question, girl.”
“My nigga would either be doing this with me as a couples content channel, or I wouldn’t be doing it at all. So no,” you shrug, “And I’m not jealous. But I’d kill a man if he was eating my pussy the way you did and then doing it to every other bitch across the state for a couple dollars,” you sip your coffee, “Jealous? I guess.”
His lips are smiling against the rim of his mug, giving you a look from the corner of his eye, “Sounds like you tryna’ be a nigga ole’ lady.”
That’s how you were making it sound. Dammit.
You play it off, “Maybe you want me to be your ole’ lady, and this is reverse psychology, hm? Right. And even if I was sayin’ that, it looks like you gon’ have to clear all them’ messages in your phone first.”
His laugh is loud, like music to your ears. It makes that tingly feeling in your stomach tighten the more you hear it. It’s different from the ones you hear in his other videos. He seems more genuine, more personal with you.
He reaches a hand out to nudge you with his shoulder, “You gon’ be mean to me like this now? Ion’ like that shi’, girl.”
“You laughin’, but I’m serious.”
“I heard you, Mama. Chill.”
You take the final sip of your tea, placing it down on the table behind the camera. You question, “You’ ready to massage me now?”
“You ain’t ready,” he shoots back, “Gon’ head and take that robe off—Need you naked as fuck.”
The command makes your body thrum—you’re surprised, but after he makes you smile, it somehow makes it so easy to listen to him. Maybe hornier than before.
The moment he takes both mugs into the kitchen to wash off, you press your body into the soft material of the massage table, kneeling yourself on your knees as you slowly drag the silk of your robe off your shoulders.
You dig your teeth into the plush of your lip as you question, “Like that?” more playful, a giggle sounding through your mouth as you purr directly into the camera.
You can hear him hum his approval, placing the mugs down in the sink before turning around to watch you get in position— His footsteps grow closer as he heads into the living room, the camera now following his footsteps to stand by your side as he admires your form.
“You’ a good ass girl.”
Maybe it’s the sugar rush—but your toes point as you sit further on your knees, coming closer to him as you run your tongue over your lips, “I like that. Say that again,” you giggle sultrily.
His fingers move forward to slide against the sides of your neck, his thumbs digging slightly along the bone as he tugs you closer, face stopping just before your own, eyes flickering along your lips.
“You a good ass girl,” His voice is raspy with his words this time, his lips grazing yours.
That’s all you needed.
He’s putting you in different positions as he stretches you, your body relaxing in each way your limbs fold. You’re now flat on your stomach, your back arching, a huff passing your lips as he holds your lower body up by his hands, thumbs digging into your back.
His words were heavy, “How’ you doin’?”
Your lips part the sound of a deep exhale, a soft “Good,” passing your lips as you feel his fingers trail along your spine. His hands were strong, large, long—talented.
“You lyin’?” he mumbles, “Or I’m that good for you?”
Another giggle—but it’s more shy this time.
“You smell so sweet, Mama.”
You sigh when you feel him lower your pelvic back down to meet the table, taking your ankles as he folds them, allowing the balls of your feet to meet with the back of your thighs. The warmth of the oil on your body makes you tingle, and every touch keeps you shivering at this point.
His hands were now slow, his touches a mixture of pressure from his fingertips and the strength of his palms—it had your eyes flickering shut, head lowering a bit more as you found your hands gripping the table.
“Don’t tense up,” he warns, “You got it.”
It felt heavier than it looked from pictures—his tip felt weighted, the dark pink of it flushing against your puffy folds, slapping against your pussy.
You suck in a breath.
A long lick along your back—your jaw kisses the material of the table as you tug your bottom lip again. He’s groaning, “Keep yo’ back like that,” another lick.
Onyankopon’s fingers are still folding the balls of your feet as you lay on your stomach—but it’s a distraction—a new pressure overwhelms your lower body, it has your mouth slightly drop, unexpected of his tip stretching your folds open. Your back fully arches, fingers digging into the table as you frown, a whirlwind of pleasure and pain throwing you into overdrive. One of your hands goes to immediately reach back, a whimper dropping from your lips as you feel Onyankopon gently trap your arm behind your back.
“You got a pretty ass back, baby. You know that?”
You know the question is another distraction, Onyankopon reaching for the back of your neck, beginning to leave the gentlest kisses there. You’re still lost within the feeling, your lips releasing a pant as you then tremble a soft whine, “Ohmygod…Ony…”
Your free hand finds a hold of him as he’s close, holding him by the side of his ear from below. Your eyes roll.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice raspy, “That’s it.”
His head was in the crook of your neck, kissing in an almost slow, lazy way, yet there was a ferocity to them.
“Good girl,” he hums, hands moving lower along your neck, “Yo’ shit opening up for me. I can feel her.”
“N—Onyankopon…”
His nose nudges along your ear, his whisper deep, “Let it out.”
Your pussy gushes out air, making the loudest sound each time he slowly fucks himself back into you. It’s like he wants you to listen.
“Ohshit,” your voice warns, “Shit,” you tremble. You could feel every. Single. Thing.
“Hold my hands.”
When you find his hands, your arms are now pulled behind yourself, chest inches above the table. Your eyes flicker towards the camera—it makes your body arch more for him, a pleasured pout pulling at your lips as you murmur to yourself, “U—Uhn…”
“You sound pretty, Mama.”
Onyankopon’s voice—it makes your brain so jumbled, so messy, that you can’t find the words to respond.
“You want me to stay like this? This shit deep enough for you?”
“S—stay just like this…”
Your hips slowly begin to move, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you allow him to use you, dropping you up and down onto his abdomen from behind. The specific angle hits your spot, one that you could only reach while filming yourself. But you felt it now, and you can feel your eyes watering with how good it feels.
“Ughn,” you whine louder, “Shit.”
His hands are strong, and they’re now holding you by your hair, pulling back—it makes you frown a little more, “Your balls feel so good hittin’ my pussy, baby.”
It’s hard to talk with him moving behind you, his hips snapping to the bounce of your ass, a soft clap that sounds in the room.
He grunts, “You’ a nasty ass bitch— pussy talkin’ to a nigga. They’ hittin’ yo’ clit, huh?”
“Yeah,” you whine in return.
“Mmh,” he softly groans, “Look at that pussy. She’ so pretty and creamy.”
The soft clap of your skin resounds as he slows himself, almost giving you a deeper, more intense wave of strokes. You gasp, reaching for the side of his hip, pulling him in as you whimper, “Right there…”
“This yo’ world, Mama. You want me to stay right here?” he keeps himself angled, hitting exactly where you leaned him towards.
You give him a breathless squeal, “Yes, baby.”
“You been waitin’ all day to feel me, huh?” he asks, the corner of his lips moving in a teasing grin. He knew.
Your nod is thoughtless. Your eyes are watery, and you’re almost in a state of confusion on how your body responds in a way it never has.
Your voice tells him, “Itfeelssoogood,” whiney as ever.
“C’mere,” he mumbles, turning your face behind, his lips smacking against yours.
He lets out a small grunt, “This some good muhfuckin’ pussy.”
With every smack of his lips that meets yours, he’s sucking at the same time, and when your mouth pulls for air, it stays directly against his, trembling against it, “Ohhhmygod, Ony. Ony…”
You don’t realize—but you’re cumming again through his movements, your brain muddled as your eyes roll, teeth sinking into your lip as you moan, drenching his abdomen with that pretty cream he’d been looking for.
“Yeah,” his grunt is smug, “That’s it, girl. You got it.”
But it didn’t stop there.
He was gonna be the death of you. You knew that, because you’d been more turned on then you’d ever been before. So much that Onyankopon was now beneath you, back flat along the table as you loomed above him. The camera had the perfect angle—your ass jiggles above him, feet flat against the sides of his thighs as you’re bouncing atop of dick.
Your eyes roll, skin clapping together—you’re moaning, eyes lowering over your shoulder to stare into camera, “Oh my god.”
He’s watching you with a glare. The camera could only hear his voice as he asked, “You know who’s dick you’ takin’ right now?”
You were lost.
“Onyankopon, Ony,” you stutter, the words breaking between your breath, the back of your thighs slapping with his. Your cream is beginning to create strings between the flesh of your thighs, splattering down with your movements.
He gives a smirk, “Good fuckin’ job, baby.”
You’re breathless, low whimpers as your curls fall along your face.
“Keep that ass bouncin’. Shit lookin’ pretty on my dick.”
A smack from his palm, like an added punctuation.
You listen.
You press your palms along his chest, your eyes still to the camera to watch yourself from behind—You’re dropping, riding, every exhale breathily pushing out another moan in return.
“You like how you look, huh?”
You found yourself slowly nodding your head, grinding as you came down. Your voice is a whimpering mess,“You’re so big, Daddy. Fuck.”
“My shit curvin’ inside you, I know. Keep goin’,” the sound of your skin meeting his is loud, as if it were a melody. A piece of music his other hand keeps composing.
You knew you were gone—Your head dropping, your eyes lowering in a pleasured face. Your thighs tremble as you’re squirting for a second time, but you keep going, your eyes rolling as your thighs collide down to his hips— the squelch, squelch, squelch, deafening in your ears.
You look directly into the camera, watching as you drown his pelvic area, his dick shining into the lens—your eyes roll heavily as your head falls back, “Oooooohshiiittt.”
“Fuck, girl.”
He groans as his breath starts to hiss, “Just like that. Yo’ pussy so—“
You hear him moan, so softly it’s nearly inaudible, as if he wasn’t used to doing that on video. You watch as his eyes narrow at you from below, smacking your ass assertively. To gain his control back.
And he does—Onyankopon now stands inches away from the table, your legs held up by his arms as he’s carrying you, lifting you up, dropping you back down onto his dick. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pouting as your eyes roll at his deep strokes he forces onto you.
You’re practically being tugged down onto his dick, he’s strong. The strength of him makes your brain fuzzier, your mind nearly gone. You’re groaning, a slurping sound creating as his tongue curls with yours in a hungry kiss.
”You got another one in you?”
You mewl in response— shaking your head, your brain nearly short circuits at this point.
“You can.”
He lays you back against the table, his body hovering atop of yours now—he’s rotating his hips, mouth sucking the skin of your neck that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“Mmh,” he softly grunts, his eyes flickering up to the camera as his expression is a smirk.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, the word soft, yet commanding with every roll he gives, “That’s my baby.”
Your voice squeaks, “Ony.”
“You’ so shy,“ he huffs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your mouth, your legs tightening around his hips, “Yo’ pussy keep on talkin’ to me. She tellin’ me sum’.”
Your lips part open as you reach down for the side of his thigh, gripping the flesh as you rock him in the angle you feel the most pleasure.
You tremble, “Don’t stop…”
His hand was on the table, steadying himself against it before his head leans against yours, “Yeah?” he repeats, his voice a deep groan, “You need my shit in yo’ stomach?”
“Please,” you whimper, your nails dragging into the skin of his lower back, tugging his body towards your own.
He goes deeper, and the change had you grunting. Your mouth is parted, your ankles meeting at the sides of his head, the sight of this position in the camera's eye makes it all the more erotic—you shout a moan.
He let it out—a deep sound of another snarl, pushing in you even deeper, hands digging into the back of your hair as he held you steady. His lips met yours in a kiss that was hot, heavy—You could feel the way he sucked at your tongue, the wet sound of your lips echoing in the room.
You sob, “I’m gonna cum, Ony. Don’t move. I need you.”
“This the best shit I ever had,” he admits, grunting out every word, “Imma’ kill a nigga ‘bout this shit. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Your eyes widen a bit, but you’re so distracted from the waves of pleasure that rushes across your entire body, you can’t respond properly. Onyankopon groans in your ear, and you clasp him closer, your entire body shaking as you both moan against each other's lips.
You whimper, “You don’t mean that.”
His eyes flicker up to yours. Onyankopon’s fingers find the back of your neck, tugging you closer for him to leave a kiss along your shoulder, “I swear on my momma, you ain’t. You mine now,” he mumbles.
You’re gasping in his ear.
“You was a problem from the moment I seen you—but now?”
He’s fucking you with every word.
“Imma’ need this shit all the muhfuckin’ time. Imma’ need you.”
That made you weaken.
“I’m’ cumming.”
You hold him.
“Ony, you got me.”
“I know.”
It’s like that music from earlier— a symphony, the camera nearly shaking at how hard he’s fucking you, how deep he’s fucking you. You sob—you’re squirting for a final time, your body shaking so much that you had to find his arm to ground you. The warmth of his cum mixtures within your folds, the sight pretty, Onyankopon pulling his dick out as he smacks it along the creamy mess you’ve both made.
And as you look at each other, lips inches apart, a thrum of emotions sitting between two strangers, it happens—you both laugh.
req sent by ? anon : can u please do another like dads best friend michael? but said daughter is way more bratty when it comes to him and likes to watch him from afar and loves putting on cute fits for when he comes over. that one was too good
❛ dbf!michael jackson 𝑥 𝒻 black woc!reader ❜ ╱ 𝓶.list 𓂋 mdni . can be seen as a continuation of this . & again i'd want to preface that michael did not know reader while she was a child, he met her father when she was 21+ . reader is a spoiled brat . stern!michael agenda . sneaking around . drinking . oral (m! and f! receiving) . pussy spanking . video call mutual masturbation . lowkey dumbification . cockwarming. raw penetration . reverse cowgirl . ℘ 3.481k
𝓻𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬⠀ ⠀𝐚𝐫𝐞⠀ ⠀𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝⠀!
dbf!michael . . . who knows what a massive brat you are. your father talks his ear off about how he raised a spoiled, entitled monster, seeking advice from his friend. which is exactly why he doesn't give into you, not even your freshly manicured hands (curtesy of you father's pockets of course) tug at the collar of his button up, glossed lips in a pout, and breast pushed plush against his chest. "uh huh, sweetheart, you've gotta work f'me."
dbf!michael . . . who can feel your eyes on him at all times. you're too stubborn to admit it, but he knows that if he's in your vicinity your eyes will be on him. and eyes tell a story he always reminds you, and yours beg for the attention of the older man. even going out of your way to barge yourself into your father's study, waltzing over and perching yourself on the desk. lazily tracing a finger over the wood pattern as you interject yourself in their conversation . . . it never takes you long to leave just as you came, but not before you look over your shoulder to see if michael is eyeing your exit.
dbf!michael . . . who as easy as he loves to deprive you is quick to seek you out. call it cat and mouse, but michael will always find a way to excuse himself and catch you to play the little game the two of you have been playing.
it's been all afternoon, the glances you and michael have been giving each other. starting from the moment you stepped foot on the bricked concrete of the back patio, flip flops clapping and attitude in your walk as you make your way to the lounge chairs lined against the pool. paying no mind to michael and his shielded gaze from where he and your father are seated in the expensive wicker chairs your mother had insisted on getting years ago when the backyard was getting renovated.
only when you're rubbing tanning oil onto the lengths of your legs do you raise your gaze to be met with the distant view of michael. his lap as inviting as ever as he manspreads, an arm thrown over the hair of the chair and you can already tell his fingers are absently tapping as he nods along to whatever your father is talking about. clearly not paying the most attention to what is being said as the only movement his mouth remotely does is clench and unclench from the gum he's toying with in his mouth.
his attention only gets worse when you flip about an hour into tanning, and his it a dangerous game he's playing as he allows his sunglasses to slight the smallest bit down the bridge of his nose to get a clearer view of you flipping your body over. teeth nearly breaking the skin of his bottom lip when your as recoils as you shift and get comfortable once again.
it takes you taking a dip in the pool and retreating inside for michael to excuse himself to the 'bathroom', following the water droplets from your dripping body to the kitchen where your back is turned, fiddling with the top of a contain full of fruit. body bronzed and glowy from the tanning oil and sun, you're just irritable as he comes up from behind you, large hands on your waist to pull your back flush against him chest, not caring if you get his top wet. hands feeling up all on your torso, even daring to slip beneath the tiny triangles of your bikini top, enveloping the entirety of your breast in his grasp, "we gotta be quiet 'nd quick, baby. know you're achin' for me like i'm achin' for you."
dbf!michael . . . who is only on your side when it comes to your fashion. muttering, "she's a grown woman" when your father disapproves of your scandalous clothes. maybe it's his own perverted selfishness, seeing you prance around in skimpy tank tops which enunciate your pebbled nipples, skirts so short that when your purposely bend down michael can get the perfect view of you puffy cunt confined within your panties, or dresses so tight and low cut that it leaves nothing to the imagination. and boy, would your father hate to learn that he's the one enabling your fashion habits.
ּ❥ : you think this is too much mikey ? ( image )
michael : You look very gorgeous, Baby. I think it's perfect. ּ❥ : you're only saying that because it's showing off my ass
michael : All the more reason it's perfect, I think.
dbf!michael . . . who's eyes widen when you lift your shirt, so baggy it's falling off your shoulder, first his eyes fall on your plump ass, tracing the bedazzled juicy on the signature velour fabric . . . until his eyes catch the cling wrap taped to your lower back. leaning closer from where he's sat on the couch, legs spread to fit you between them. large hands finding their familiar spot on your hips, thumbs tracing over the edge of where the smooth plastic covers the tattoo and your soft skin. he'd always tell you to wait for tattoos, to think hard and long about it, 'cause it's permanent. nothing like the temporary tattoos that come off with water and a little scrubbing. but this? he's choking on his words, a million thoughts popping up in his mind and poofing into thin air before he can process them. the only thing that consumed him is the is the small tramp stamp being none other than a butterfly.
michael is a gentleman, even in bed. he loves⎯thrives off of making his woman experience the best she's ever had when she's with him. which is exactly why he prioritizes making love with you, and he'll give into whatever you ask within the confides of the bedroom walls . . . well that is unless that's asking to do any position where he can't see your face. he finds it intimate to be able to see you and all the ways your face contorts in pleasure. but ever since you've showed him the delicate tattoo on your lower back something has been simmering low within him⎯the want? the need? to see you sat on his dick, backside facing him as his eyes stay trained on the butterfly as your hips roll.
"'m gonna come, mikey," you moan out, all desperate as your movements becomes rigid as you reach your peak. head lulling to the side when michael's tip hits gummy spot that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.
michael hums, hands sliding down from where his fingers pressed into your plush hips. a pair of helping hands for your tiring muscles. "go on, mama," he urges, all while gentle fingers trace around the inked wings of the butterfly, "i've got ya'."
dbf!michael . . . who becomes your makeshift chauffeur. and the man rarely drives, but the moment you say you want to go somewhere, whether that's a strip mall or your favorite overpriced restaurant he's picking up his keys, following the sound of jingling as you waltz after singer. and it's truly sight a see, michael driving. he used to be beyond diligent when driving, seat straight up, both hands on the steering wheel, and no music because it distracted him too much. michael now is far more relaxed, one hand on the steering wheel and one hand resting on your thigh. you spend most of the drives just staring at him inbetween your belts as you sing the latest pop song.
and what better way to repay his acts of kindness than a sloppy blow job in his rolls royce? is it classy? absolutely not, but you never cared about being classy with michael, not when you can be messy and passionate.
"that mouth of yours⎯"
you had managed to butter michael up just enough. and by enough, which is just peppering kisses along his jaw as a manicured hand rubs up and down his chest, stopping just below his belt before your hand makes it way back up. and now with his casual slacks and briefs pushed haphazardly halfway down his thighs, your swollen lips wrapped around his dick, and the same manicured hand stroked whatever length you couldn't take in your mouth. drool escaping your mouth as your head bops, falling down your chin just to dribble onto your fisted hand.
michael's chest raised then falls as he watched you past heavy lidded eyes with a hand in your curls. when your you glassy gaze meets his you pull up from off his length with a pop, still pumping at his base. flashing him a love (dick) drunk smile just before you duck back down. except instead of taking him back in your mouth you kiss down the underside of his shaft, licking your way back up, planting a kiss on his leaking tip. only then do you take his tip into your mouth once again, all while maintaining eye contact.
"it's dangerous, girl," he rasps out. throwing his head back against the headrest when you take him further down your throat.
dbf!michael . . . who is known by your homegirls. and i mean like it was an eye bulging reaction when a rolls royce pulled up along the curb of the club, and a not so discreetly dressed michael exits the drivers side, jogging over the passenger's side to open the door for you. the cherry on top that left their mouths agape was the kiss planted on your glossy lips, then another, and another, until words are spoken that can't be deciphered from the loud music booming within the club. it's safe to say that wasn't the last time they'd see michael. and it's only fueled their amusement that you have the michael jackson saved in your phone as mikey and they're even more amused that the award winning singer puts up with your antics. giggling and waving off their comments because as much as you never expected how easy and how soon you had the man wrapped around your finger, you never expected how deeply in love you'd be, "he's a good man, a real sweet one at that" ⎯ moving on from the conversation as they berate you further for your mushy comment about the man.
dbf!michael . . . who becomes touchy when he's tipsy at a dinner party. he knows he shouldn't, there's still common somewhere in the back of his mind, especially with eyes around everywhere. but he can't help it, not when you look so pretty ⎯ already having pressed his face into you're coils greeting you when he had first arrived, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, "lookin' so gorgeous t'night, baby" giving your waist one final squeeze before he releases you from his grasp and walk away with your father ⎯ and he's only escalated from there, his presence seemed to follow after you, much like a ghost binded to its prized possession. you didn't mind one bit, you were thankful for it because was the one carrying these conversations he'd follow you to, hand coming up to rest on your shoulder as he joins you and the other guest, only for it to fall lower and lower all while he's nursing another glass of champagne.
dbf!michael . . . who is stern with you. it isn't out of the ordinary for michael to have dinner with your family throughout the week, and it isn't out of the ordinary that he'd always find his spot at the dinning table right in front of where you. diverting your teases about how he just can't not be as close as he can to you by playing it off that the seat he sits at happens to be be the only seat open ⎯ knowing damn well there are at minimum five other open seats he could've chosen to sit at. but michael didn't know that by choosing that seat would give you the best access to mess with him, as you currently have your foot ⎯ removed from your heel, of course ⎯ pressed against his crotch. ignoring the tight grip he has around your ankle, while his free hand remains above the table, knuckles turning pale from his grip on the silverware. or turning your head every time michael tried to get your attention to grit some kind of warning past his teeth, only applying more pressure to his semi as you engage in conversation with your family or cut another piece of food to shove into your mouth.
the heated impact against your wetness causes your body to jolt and your hips to buck. michael's hand is large enough to perfectly cover the entirety of your pussy, applying just enough pressure to have you whining after he's delivered the pleasure filled slap, just as you'd done to him during dinner in your act of teasing. but never enough pressure, keeping you at a frustrating medium of teetering on the edge of release and dissatisfaction.
he's still michael though, so a large hand is cupped around your jaw to allow for his thumb to brush away any stray tears that might've fallen out of frustration. and he's still nice enough to give you a break in between each smack, coos that mock your ruined form fall from his lips. eyes darting down for just a moment as he removes his hand, pupils dilating further at the sight your pussy's sticky strings of arousal still connecting you to his hand. and when he delivers another smack, he's already doing damage control, pressing his lips against yours to swallow the moans your cry out. you're a hiccuping mess when he pulls away from the kiss, "this is gonna be a long night, swee'heart," he muses. delivering another blow to your puffy pussy as you attempted to seek further pleasure to ease the ache by grinding against his hand.
no amount of sorry's could get you out of this.
dbf!michael . . . who revels in you turning into a babbling mess. whether that's him making you flustered from saying all the right things that causes your body to heat up and your heart to run rampant. stumbling over your words as you try to think of something to combat what he just said ⎯ which you almost never succeed at, and it proudly amuses michael to get of you guarded and wide eyed. or whether it's when he's got you below him, all sweaty and mindless as you babbling nothing else other than his name past your plush lips. and better yet when it's his mouth that's dumbed you down this far already. precise licks against your sopping entrance as his nose nudges against your swollen clit. all that work to witness you gasping for air, thighs clamping his head in place while your hands clench and claw at whatever is closest in your vicinity. it's all worth it for the mess he makes you for the mess you make on his face in return.
dbf!michael . . . who manages learn tech from you, you're twist with your legs sprawled over michael's lap while you're body is pressed as close to his as possible, his phone clad in hand. it's difficult because after you're done showing him something he'll immediately ask "how'd you do that? show me again, baby, please" and it doesn't help that michael's large hands and thick fingers miss click the little buttons on his phone. the same hands to smooth up and down your legs, tracing shapes and patterns onto your skin as you help set up his voicemail, humming along to what you have to say.
"jus' like that, mama," michael purrs, voice slightly staticy from beyond the other side of the screen. his fist lazily stoked his dick as he admired in the sight of your hand between your spread legs, "take your fingers f'me again."
you circle your clit a few more times before you sink your fingers back into your warmth, heat creeping up your neck when when the enter with a squelch. you'd be on your back normally, but you want to be able to see michael pleasuring himself at the same time as you from where your laptop is propped open. so you've opted to put all your body weight on the arm that's fisting the wrinkled bedsheets in its hand. through a heavy gaze and a wide mouth you pump your fingers in and out of your slicked pussy, "wish they were your fingers, mikey."
michael exhales through his nose, shifting from where he sits in the arm chair in an empty hotel room across the world from you. being able to hear your beautiful noises and pliant body in front of him, but not being able to touch you is something cruel ⎯ torturous, even he thinks. and it's selfish, to want you to by his side wherever he goes, and maybe if it was a normal day, one where he didn't need you as bad as he needs you right now, he'd agree. but today is not that day. "i know, i know, baby. doin' s'well though, jus' keep doin' that. and i'll be home soon t'give you the real thing."
at least technology gives him the privilege of seeing your body contort every which way as you please yourself. the phone would confide him just hearing you and his imagination.
dbf!michael . . . who gives in when you've begged enough. just like how he isn't above making you work for what you want, he isn't above making you beg either. but it never comes easy, not when you're as stubborn as you are, it'll take hours of the silent treatment and boredom before you result to the tiniest bit of begging. but once you've started, you don't stop. and michael knows you think you're the one in charge, you've got him all wrapped around you're finger and that it'll only be a matter of time before he gives into you. it's a tortuous game when you have yet to realize that michael is making all the right moves.
"mikey," you huff, "let me move."
you shuffled just the smallest bit and michael's hand plants itself on your hip, stilling your movements. "whole lotta demands with no use of please in sight," he murmurs, not bothering to look up from his book.
disbelief is what someone would call the face you made. you don't even know how long you've been sitting on michael's dick, but far too long for you liking to not even have moved an inch at all within the span you've been sat on top of him. and that damn book in his hand is getting on your nerves, every time he flips a page, reaches a new chapter, fucking sighs, you think he's finally done reading. yet every time nothing happens, and you're fed up. "could you please put the book down and fuck me know, michael?"
your attitude laced tone caused michael to close the book, using his thumb as a bookmark. looking up at you ⎯ face adorned with a pout and squinting eyes ⎯ past his glasses that have now fallen a smidge down the bridge of his nose. his mouth opens and closed as quickly as it opened, watching you for a moment before he opens his mouth once more. "that please didn't sound genuine enough," he concludes. opening his book once more to leave you helpless and begging.
dbf!michael . . . who can't help it when his heart skips a beat when he comes home and sees you lounging in his bed. he had an extra key made for you forever ago, before the two of your entered a relationship, just in case of emergencies and you've been abusing it ever since. always finding a need to come over, so it's no real surprise to see you in this state, milky white satin slip with the little lace trim detail and a silk scarf protecting your curls, clay mask slathered on your face while you lazily flip through a magazine. it's the intimacy of seeing you like this, the way your head lifts and a smile instantly stretches your lips that's got him feeling fluttery. you'd beat him to it and ask out his day, flipping the magazine shut and getting out bed, making a beeline to michael to steal a few pecks before heading to the bathroom, where he'd follow and tell you all about his day as you wash off the mask. this is what he wants, someone to exist with, someone who makes them crack a grin when they look utterly ridiculous attempting to wash off their face while maintaining conversation. you give him a hard time ten times out of ten, but he wouldn't want it any other way. michael wants the long run with you.
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stealing your husband’s chocolate and finding out it was laced with an aphrodisiac!
[content: MDNI, crack smųt, a very unserious piece of work, piv, hair pulling, use of aphrodisiacs, sukuna’s sour but then he’s sweet]
Never in your life have you been so horny it hurt.
“Kuna, please—harder,” you cry out.
“I’m going as hard as I fucking can, you little slut,” he snaps, each thrust matching every harsh word that gets spat through his teeth. “THIS IS WHY YOU DON’T EAT RANDOM. CHOCOLATE. ON. THE. COUNTER.”
“I’m sorry! Fuck!! I didn’t know!”
“There was a note saying DON’T eat it—you just didn’t give a shit because you’re a thief and a glutton. A liar now, too,” he continues to scold you over the chocolate bar he was going to give to Jin so he’d stop groveling over his ex. It’s been 6 fucking months, he’s tired of having to listen to him go on and on about Kaori. Enough is enough—he needs to go out and sleep with someone.
And now Jin’s never going to shut up. Sukuna doesn’t even want to look at you right now—let alone reward your behavior with dick.
“And now you’re cryin’ like it’s my fuckin’ fault.” It’s him who should be crying right now. “It’s simple: Leave my fucking snacks alone. I always get multiples of each so you’d keep your grubby little hands off them. Why can’t you just be normal and go in my wallet?? Fuck—Arch that back some more.” He cracks his palm over your ass. “Yeah, hike it up nice and high.”
“I can’t!” It feels like it’s about to break with all the weight he’s putting on it! Both of his hands pinning you down, burying every last inch of his cock inside of you.
He scoffs, nudging for you to close your thighs, then planting his knees right next to yours so they stay that way. “Do you want to cum?”
“…yes,” you whimper.
“Then fucking arch it.”
You sniffle. “Okay.”
He breaks character and huffs out a laugh as he watches you continue to helplessly stretch and squelch around him, making a creamy mess all along his shaft. He straightens his back, big hands now firmly grabbing your hips as he picks up the pace.
“Yeahh—stay right there,” his chest rumbles as he lets out a low, drawn-out groan. The smack of his hips growing louder, driving himself right into that little spot that won’t stop screaming for his attention.
It has his attention now.
The new angle had you whining into the pillow, absolutely reeling from how good he was at this, despite his complaints. He knows how to be rough. Nearly lifting you off the bed once he starts pulling your hips back, heavy balls smacking against your sensitive clit as he makes you meet each and every rough thrust he delivers.
“F-fuckk!” you choke out, barely able to form a coherent sentence as you start babbling out a bunch of words.
“So fuckin’ spoiled.” He complains, but just barely. “C’mon brat—you’ve been working me like a fuckin’ dog, give it to me already.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t believe you. You sound like you’re in heaven right now. “Mmhh—I love you so much.” His scowl deepens. “So, so much—you’re so fucking big.“
“Tch.” He grabs a handful of your hair, then yanks you back until you’re up against his chest, lips grazing your ear while muttering in it. “I don’t want an apology. What I want is for you to cum on my fuckin’ cock already. Or should I just stop?”
“No, no don’t! Please! I’m trying, I swear,” you begin to plead with the man.
“Try harder.” Then he smiled, because he felt you squeeze around him. “Jesus Christ—you need to me talk you through it too? The chocolates supposed to make you horny, sweetheart. Not useless.”
“It’s not my fault,” you whimper, and squeeze around him again, pulling a condescending huff out of him.
“You poor thing,” he hums. “Probably spent the whole day waiting for me to come home so I could make you feel better, huh?”
His breath tickles your ear and you nearly moan. “Mhm—I thought about it all day.”
“Well aren’t you sweet,” he mutters, tone as condescending as ever. “You got what you wanted, too. I’ve been taking care of you for a while now. How many times have I cum in you now?”
“I… I don’t know—“
“Of course you fuckin’ don’t.” He cuts you off, unamused by your answer. “Want me to do it again? Fill you up, make you feel all nice and warm?”
“Please.”
“Give me what I want then. If these sheets aren’t soaked by the time I’m about to cum again, I’m pulling out and finishing on your face,” he lets go of your hair and begins to laugh. You don’t get much of a chance to react before you feel the pads of his fingers on your clit, pulling a gasp out of you once he starts rubbing little circles on top of already fucking you. “Heh—let’s see if playing with this cute little clit saves you.”
And he knows you don’t deserve it—any of it, honestly. Unfortunately, he can’t help himself, not with the reactions he gets out of you. He married you for many reasons—getting to spend the rest of his life with a squirter was one of them. The moment your breathing grows labored and you sound like you’re gonna start to cry, his lids grow heavy and he starts saying all the things he told himself he wouldn’t say today.
"Yeahhh, that’s it, baby—fuuuuck—takin’ it so good.” He is fucking gone. Voice thick, filled with nothing but lust and awe as he presses against your lower belly. “C’mon, you want it here, right? Yeah, you know what to do—don’t let some fuckin’ asshole finish on your sweet little face.”
Yes. Your husband just degraded himself. And you just egg him on without meaning to. You were already whining about how it was too much, the incoherent “want it inside,” just made it better worse.
“I will, I’ll give you so fuckin’ much if you just give me one—just one. Easy. Shit—I’ll fill you up as much as you want afterwards.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but that doesn’t matter when it’s what has you crying and trembling and finally gushing around his cock.“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it, that’s—fuuuuck yeah. Good job, sweetheart—good fuckin’ job. Fuck.”
Funny enough, he came right after you, which was a relief because that meant his job was done and he was finally able to give his dick a fucking break after hours of feeling like he was working for free, when he had already worked a regular eight hour shift prior. The biggest relief of all was seeing you lie limp in bed, after slightly worrying if you ever actually would.
He leans over you with a smug smile, already having forgotten how much you pissed him off earlier as he moved some hair away from your face. Checking to see if you’re actually asleep or not, then feeling a deep sense of peace when seeing that you are. He presses a kiss against your cheekbone, and in the most loving way hopes you stay that way because he cannot do that again. Then finally, he gets up to use the bathroom.
The peace is only lasts four steps until it’s completely shattered again when he hears your weak voice.
warnings ᯓ★: black reader, southern accent, 18+ reader (19), best friend’s little brother trope, age gap (eren is 17), explicit sexual content, risky sex (people sleeping in the same room), unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, degradation, choking, light face slapping, ass slapping, teasing/edging, power play, possessiveness, aftercare, mild breeding kink elements, post-nut clarity
pairing: possessive!eren x black!brattyreader
Description ᯓ★:your best friend’s little brother has always been off-limits. he’s younger, cocky, and the one person you constantly argue with. but after a drunk game of twister and everyone passing out in the living room, the tension that’s been building for months finally snaps. sneaky raw sex on the floor while your best friend sleeps just a few feet away.
your best friend’s little brother always got irritated the second you walked in. everytime you came over he’d make it known with heavy sighs and muttered complaints under his breath.
and when you stayed the night it was even worse. doors closing a little too hard, cabinets shutting louder than necessary.
you two argued about everything, stupid shit mostly. it was constant.
“bro you always talking about boys?” eren would get in your face, voice sharp. “pick me—”
“pick me? eren i never had to go out my way to get picked,” your lips pushed up. kasie would just laugh from her bed. “eren… she’s not a pick me. if anything she’s a hoe.”
you turned quick and pinched her side hard. “you really wanna go there? ‘cause when you needed a ride to—”
she cut you off with a loud fake cough.
“shit is sad and disgusting.” eren stayed leaning against the doorframe, tall as hell, just watching. his eyes stayed on you for a beat longer than they should’ve.
then he pushed off and walked away without saying anything. that part always pissed you off. you hated when he got the last move.
“just let him be,” kasie said, already back on her phone, back facing you.
you crossed your arms tight under your chest. “your brother is really annoying. i’m starting to actually not like him,” you said, voice rising a bit.
“i’m sure he feels the same about you,” she replied, half turning. “you’re the only one he argues with like that.”
you climbed onto her bed, the mattress sinking under you. “really? he doesn’t get into it with your boyfriend or anybody else?”
kasie giggled low, shifting back against her headboard. “maybe it’s ‘cause you’re always here… or maybe…” she dragged it out, smirking. “eren got a big ole crush.”
you pouted your lips, twisting them a bit. “girl i’d never talk to nobody younger than me—especially your brother.” you were taken aback.
the words kinda hung there and you felt a weird little twist in your stomach, replaying how he looked at you from that doorframe before he left. you hated how it stuck with you even a little.
she rolled her eyes, “eren is what like— three years younger than you?” she shifted her lips to the side. “that’s not even bad.”
and that made you frown, “would you talk to my little brother?” you tilted your head, your curls shifting down your shoulders as you stared at her.
kasie smiled, “no.. definitely not—but your older brother.” she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and rolled her eyes back playfully. “the things i’d let him do to me!”
“you’re actually sick.” a soft smile formed on your face and you shook your head, looking at her real judgmental. she was talking about your older brother who fucked five bitches in one day.
“you don’t even know him for real.” you added, voice low.
before she could say something back, her dad came in the room. the door creaked open and his footsteps were soft on the carpet.
“hey girls!” he smiled, his glasses slipping down his nose as he pushed them back up with one finger. “me and your mom are going to this ballet show tonight.”
he paused, clearing his throat awkwardly and shifting in the doorway. “so uh… keep it down, no crazy stuff, and definitely no boys sneaking in here while we’re gone, alright? i mean it.”
you and kasie both nodded quick, trying not to laugh in his face. soon as the door clicked shut the room got quiet for a second, just the low hum of the fan spinning above you and the faint sound of their car pulling out the driveway.
kasie looked at you and busted out laughing first, covering her mouth. she was saying something between laughs but it was all jumbled up and hard to understand.
and as soon as the car lights danced across the blinds, she instantly grabbed her phone and called her boyfriend. you shook your head, smirking. “kasie you not shit for real..” and she really wasn’t.
and 30 minutes later her boyfriend and his friend showed up.
kasie couldn’t help being all over her boyfriend the second he walked in, kissing him and sitting on his lap. the vibe felt a bit awkward at first, everybody kinda just looking around. her boyfriend’s friend sat next to you, legs spread wide in his sweats.
“so what’s up witchu?” he broke the silence, looking straight at you. you shifted your eyes over to him without fully turning your head, acting like you wasn’t really paying him no mind.
“what you mean?” you let out a soft ‘hmph,’
he sucked his teeth and leaned forward a little. “you single, and i’m searching?” he talked with his hands, moving them all extra while he spoke.
he wasn’t ugly at all—actually.. he was really attractive, nice fade, pretty brown eyes, and tattoos peeking from under his sleeve.
“i really just wanna focus on school you know?” you finally faced him, turning on the couch. your knee accidentally rubbed against his thigh as you shifted, but you didn’t move it right away.
after a while you got extremely comfortable with him. yall started talking about all kinds of shit —music, funny stories from school, wild shit yall seen on social media.
the awkward vibe disappeared and yall were laughing for real, leaning into each other. before you knew it yall were exchanging instagrams and snaps, phones out, heads close together while you followed each other.
“let’s play twister!” kasie squealed, holding the beat up box in her hand, shaking it around all excited.
her boyfriend looked over at his friend then back at the group. “i’m down if you down?”
alex grinned a bit, rubbing the back of his arm. “nah i don’t mind,” he said, then turned his eyes back to you. “you playin’ right?” his brown eyes were so soft.
“well since you begging and shit.. i guess i’ll play alex.” you got up from the couch and stretched real slow, arms reaching high above your head, past all your curly hair. your shorts rode up your butt a little as you arched your back.
“can you go get eren?” kasie shifted her lips to the side and looked at you with them big pleading eyes. “i want him to have fun tonight too.”
you sucked your teeth loud and rolled your eyes hard. “okay, i guess.” you dragged yourself upstairs and knocked on eren’s door twice before just walking in.
he was laid back on his bed scrolling on his phone, one arm behind his head, gray sweatpants sitting low on his hips. “kasie said come play twister with us,” you told him, leaning against his doorframe.
eren glanced up at you, eyes moving slow from your face down to your legs then back up. “why you gotta be the one to come get me?” he asked, voice low.
you shrugged, stepping inside his room a little more. it smelled like his cologne mixed with weed and fresh laundry. “she wanted you to have fun tonight too, i guess. you gone come or you just gonna stay up here being weird?”
he let out a little laugh and sat up on the edge of his bed, legs spread. “you the one always in my house acting like you run shit. now you want me to come play twister like we kids?”
you crossed your arms and leaned against his dresser. “aren’t you like 12?” you scoffed, “this right up your alley boo.”
eren stood up slow, walking towards you. “bet i can show you something they never did at yo’ little university.” he tilted his head slightly, his manbun shifting as he looked down at you.
the way he said it made the room feel hotter. he stopped right in front of you, close enough that you had to look up at him. his gray sweatpants hung low on his hips and his t-shirt was fitting just right on his chest.
you wanted to find the words, something to say. anything really. “bitch please.” was all you could come up with. you struggled to even keep the eye contact..
he licked his lips and let his eyes drop down to your thighs and back up. “keep playing with me and imma show you just how much i mean that shit.”
he looked at you for a second longer, eyes dark, before stepping back a bit. “and you really playing in them little ass shorts?” he shifted his head to the side, staring hard.
you walked over to his mirror and turned around, checking yourself. “and what’s wrong with them exactly?” you wagged your butt a little in the mirror, smirking.
eren followed you to the mirror, standing behind you. “you don’t see nothing wrong?” he scoffed under his breath, eyes locked on your ass. “your whole ass out and you wanna play twister with people downstairs?”
“just cmon,” you rolled your eyes and walked past him toward the door, trying to ignore the way your skin felt warm from him staring like that.
kasie already had everything set up, she even had drinks lined up on the table like she been planning this.
“oh my god finally!” she clapped her hands loud, all excited. “guys let’s play now!”
you sighed as you finished walking down the stairs, eren inches behind you, his presence heavy. “you didn’t say we was playing drunk twister,” you said, crossing your arms as you got closer to the group.
“it was alex’s idea,” kasie grinned a little, shrugging. “and we all grown sooo.” she crossed her arms too, trying to look innocent.
you balled your lip up softly. “kasie your brother is 17.”
“okay and? eren got a whole tattoo and he smoke weed… he grown enough,” she said, waving you off.
you shook your head. kasie was the real pick me honestly. “okay whatever.” you sat on the couch, legs crossed, already feeling the vibe in the room shifting now that drinks were involved.
eren dropped down on the other end of the couch, spreading his legs wide, eyes flicking over to you for a second before looking away. alex was watching you too, a small smirk on his face like he was waiting for the game to start.
“okay so first everyone take a shot just to get started.” she handed everyone their drinks one by one, all smiley and hyped.
you hesitated for a second, staring at the cup before shrugging and throwing it back. the liquor burned going down your throat. eren swallowed his in one go with no reaction at all, face blank like it was water. alex’s cup was already empty too, sitting it down quick.
“okay so here’s the teams…” kasie spoke, still blinking a little from the shot. “you and eren — and alex and jace.”
kasie just laughed loud, waving him off. “it’s just a game, stop babe.” you side-eyed eren real quick, already feeling the shot warming up your chest.
alex looked a little disappointed but played it off, glancing over at you with them soft brown eyes. the energy in the room felt messy now.
drinks and tension.
the game finally started and you actually started having fun. the boys kept ending up in mad weird positions and it had you giggling nonstop.
jace and alex got twisted up bad, with jace basically sitting on alex’s lap. kasie quickly snapped a picture, laughing her ass off. they tapped out fast and took a drink because neither one of them wanted to stay like that any longer.
kasie kept yelling out body parts and colors, eventually you ended up bent all the way over, ass pressed right against eren. he was holding his core tight, muscles flexed hard under his shirt as he tried to stay balanced.
the position felt embarrassing, especially with everybody right there, but you hated drinking so you refused to fall. “fuck— you’re so flexible,” alex said, looking up at you from the mat with a grin.
eren let out a loud, heavy sigh that everybody in the room definitely heard. you stayed secured on top of him, trying not to slip. “thank you.. i used to cheer!” you replied, breathing a little hard.
you could feel eren’s breath on your back, heavy and warm. his body was tense as hell underneath you and you swore you felt his dick twitch against your ass again through his sweatpants. he wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore.
“right foot green,” kasie called out. you tried to move but eren’s hand suddenly gripped your waist tight to keep both of y’all from falling. his fingers pressed into your skin a little too hard, like he was frustrated.
alex laughed from the side, still watching you. “y’all look good together like that,” you could tel he was trying to be funny.
eren didn’t say nothing back, but you felt his body shift behind you, pressing forward just enough for you to really feel how hard he was.
your heart was beating fast now. the alcohol mixed with eren’s dick basically resting on your ass was making it hard to focus.
you tried to play it cool but your thighs were starting to shake a little from holding the position.
kasie kept spinning and calling out moves, completely clueless to what was happening. you tried to adjust your foot but slipped a little, pushing your ass back against eren even more. he let out a low groan only you could hear, his grip on your waist getting tighter.
“you doing that shit on purpose?” he muttered behind you, voice deep and rough. his hard dick was pressed right between your cheeks now, thick and warm through the thin material of your shorts.
alex was still talking, trying to get your attention. “you good over there? need me to come help you?” he asked with a smirk.
eren rolled his eyes, and you could feel him holding you tighter. he didn’t want alex nowhere near you. ever. you were starting to get wet. uncontrollably.. you wanted the friction.
you softly pushed back against his thick lining in his sweatpants. soft groans escaped, and eren started grinding into you for a few seconds. not even caring if others saw.
his dick pressed between your cheeks and he slightly shifted up? “want me to show you now?” his words tickled your ear.
your eyebrows shifted and as bad as you wanted to rub your clit you couldn’t. not with everybody right there laughing and playing like nothing was happening.
alex kept talking, still trying to get your attention. “you sure you good? you looking a little stuck,” he said with that smirk, starting to move closer like he was really about to help.
eren’s grip on your waist got even tighter, almost possessive. he pressed his hard dick firmer between your cheeks and rolled his hips slow, grinding into you like he didn’t give a fuck who saw. you had to bite your lip hard to stop from moaning out loud.
“want me to show you now?” he whispered again, his lips brushing your ear, voice low and raspy. his breath was hot against your skin and it sent chills down your back.
you couldn’t even answer him. your pussy was throbbing bad, getting wetter every time he pushed up into you. the thin material of your shorts was doing nothing to hide how turned on you were getting.
eren kept that slow, nasty grind going behind you, acting like he was just trying to stay balanced for the game.
kasie yelled out another color but you barely heard her. all you could focus on was eren’s thick dick rubbing against you and how good it felt.
you pushed back against him again without thinking, chasing that friction even though your thighs were starting to burn from the position.
after an hour of twister everyone eventually passed out drunk. the living room was a mess — empty cups, the twister mat still on the floor, and the tv playing quietly in the background.
kasie and jace were knocked out on the big couch together, tangled up under a thick blanket, her leg thrown over him. alex was sprawled across the smaller sofa, snoring lightly with his mouth half open.
you and eren were laid out on the floor on a pile of blankets and pillows. the room was dark except for the glow from the tv. you were both still kinda awake.
he shifted closer to you under the blankets, then quietly turned on his side to face you. his hair was down now, messy and falling across his face. he sucked his teeth a bit, eyes low.
“why you still up?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“because why would you do that…” you whined softly, your lashes fluttering as you finally looked him in the eyes.
“do? what exactly..” he dragged his words, teasingly. he knew what he was doing. he shifted closer. so close your lashes could touch.
“eren…” you pouted, lips poked out.
you couldn’t help it. your hand slipped under the blanket and into your shorts, rubbing your soaked pussy. eren watched the movement under the blanket and his eyes got darker.
he grabbed your wrist gently and pulled your hand away. “let me do it,” he said, calm and low.
you frowned but didn’t stop him. his long fingers slid under the blanket, under your shorts and panties, and started rubbing slow circles on your wet clit. your eyes rolled back to the stars.
“wait—” you whispered, gripping his wrist. “wait… we can’t… everybody’s right here—”
“so?” he breathed against your lips, slipping one finger inside you. you were dripping. he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes closing for a second like he was savoring how wet you were.
“fuck…” he muttered under his breath, slowly pumping his finger in and out of you under the blanket.
you opened your legs a little wider without thinking, letting him go deeper. the wet sounds were quiet but so loud to you. eren added a second finger, stretching you more, curling them every time he pushed back in. your breathing was getting shaky and you had to turn your face into the pillow to stay quiet.
he kept that steady rhythm, fingers sliding in and out, thumb rubbing your clit in slow circles. your pussy kept clenching around him, getting wetter with every stroke. you started moving your hips against his hand, chasing it.
eren pressed his hard dick against your thigh, letting you feel how turned on he was. he was throbbing.
you let out a soft whimper and reached back, grabbing his wrist harder, not sure if you wanted him to stop or go faster.
he didn’t speed up. he kept fucking you slow with his fingers, drawing it out, making your thighs shake under the blanket.
he watched every little twitch in your face — how your eyebrows scrunched up, the way your lips parted, how tight you were squeezing his wrist. you were so close. he could feel your pussy pulsing around his fingers. eren had something to prove.
then he just… stopped.
he pulled his fingers out of you completely and yawned loud, acting all casual.
“the fuck?” you balled up your lips, eyes wide. “eren what are you doing?” you whispered, voice shaky and desperate.
he stretched his arms like he was getting comfortable, still yawning. “i’m tired… goodnight.” he sniffed and turned his back to you, pulling the blanket up over his shoulder like he was really about to go to sleep.
you laid there stunned, pussy still throbbing and dripping down your thighs. your body felt hot and frustrated as hell. you stared at the back of his head, breathing hard, lowkey pissed off but even more turned on.
you nudged him with your knee again, harder this time. “eren… stop playing.”
he still didn’t say anything, just stayed facing away from you, but you could see his shoulders shaking lightly like he was trying not to laugh.
“eren.” you sat up on your elbow now, heat rushing all over your body. you were getting pissed. your pussy was still wet and pulsing and this nigga really had the nerve to play with you like this.
you sucked your teeth loud and crawled over him, literally rolling your body right on top of his before settling down.
your back was now pressed against his stomach, ass nestled right against him. he was still laughing softly under his breath.
“what?” he whispered close to your ear, voice deep and amused.
“don’t ignore me,” you pouted, clearly upset that he got you worked up and then tried to play sleep. you could feel his dick, still hard, pressing against your ass through his sweatpants.
eren chuckled quietly and wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you tighter against him. “okay,” he said, but you could hear the smirk in his voice. his fingers started twirling one of your curls, playing with it while his breath brushed the back of your neck.
he didn’t say anything else for a moment. just kept grinding against you slow, letting you feel every inch of him. his breathing got heavier against the back of your neck. you pushed back against him, frustrated and horny, wanting more.
eren slid his hand down your stomach and slipped it back into your shorts. his fingers found your pussy again, even wetter than before. he rubbed your clit in lazy circles, then pushed two fingers back inside you.
“this what you wanted?” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. he started slowly pumping his fingers while grinding his dick against your ass at the same time.
you nodded, biting your lip hard, trying not to make any noise. your hips started moving with his hand, riding his fingers while your ass kept rubbing back against his dick.
eren breathed heavier against the back of your neck. he pulled his fingers out for a second, then pushed three back in, stretching you more. you gasped quietly and grabbed his wrist, but didn’t push him away.
“you mad at me?” he whispered, smirking against your ear as he slowly fucked you with his fingers. “or you just mad cause i stopped?”
you didn’t answer. instead you pushed your ass back harder on his dick, grinding on him. eren groaned low in his throat and finally pulled his hand out your shorts. he yanked your shorts and panties down to your thighs in one quick motion, then did the same with his sweatpants.
his hard dick sprang out, heavy and hot. he grabbed it and rubbed the thick head up and down your soaked pussy, teasing your entrance, coating himself in your wetness.
“please put it in.. stop playing eren..” you whispered softly.
eren let out a quiet breath and lined himself up. he pushed the head in slowly, just the tip, stretching you open. he stayed there for a second, letting you feel it before pulling back out. he did it again… and again. just the tip, teasing the fuck out of you.
you reached back and grabbed his thigh, trying to pull him deeper, but he held your hip still with a strong grip.
“if you can’t be quiet—”
“i can be quiet.. just do it!” you cut him off, pushing against him. eren laughed softly. then he finally pushed deeper. stretching you with each inch.
your eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering. you reached behind you and gripped the side of his face, pulling him closer. your mouth fell open and even though you swore you could stay quiet, a soft, shaky whimper slipped out.
“shhh,” eren whispered, lips brushing your ear as he bottomed out inside you. he stayed there for a second, letting you adjust to how full you felt.
he started moving — slow, deep strokes under the blanket. the wet sound of your pussy was quiet but obvious between the two of you. every time he pulled back and slid back in, your body trembled.
you bit down hard on your lip, trying to hold it in, but another small moan escaped. eren’s hand quickly came up and covered your mouth gently, his palm warm against your lips.
“you can’t take dick?” he grunted quietly, still fucking you with those long, controlled strokes. his dick was so deep it felt like he was hitting your stomach.
your eyes were watering. the feeling of him stretching your pussy open raw. while trying not to wake up the whole room was making everything more intense.
before you knew it, eren lifted one of your legs, hooking it over his arm. his dick pushed even deeper inside you. you arched your back hard, mouth falling open.
“wait— oh my god—” you whispered, voice breaking. your hand shot down and started rubbing your clit in fast circles, trying to match his pace. your pussy was making the wettest noises now, slick and loud under the blanket with every stroke. you couldn’t control it.
eren groaned low in your ear, gripping your thigh tighter as he fucked you deeper. “you hear that shit?” he breathed. “…pussy creaming all on me.”
you nodded frantically, biting your lip so hard you thought it might bleed. every time he pulled out and slid back in, the wet slapping sounds got a little louder. you were dripping down his dick, down your thighs, making a mess under the blanket.
“eren… slow down,” you whimpered, even though your body was doing the complete opposite. pushing back to meet every thrust.
eren suddenly shoved the blanket down off both of y’all, letting it bunch up around your legs. the cool air hit your sweaty skin and you instantly panicked.
“eren—” you whispered, eyes wide, looking over at kasie and them sleeping on the couch. you were scared somebody was gonna wake up and see him deep inside you like this. raw.
he didn’t care. he just hooked your leg higher and kept fucking you harder now that he wasn’t trapped under the blanket. his hips slapped against your ass quietly but steady. before you could say anything else, he shoved two fingers into your mouth, pressing them against your tongue.
“just take this shit—and be quiet,” he grunted low in your ear, still stroking deep. his fingers muffled your moans while he fucked you even nastier, skin slapping skin, sweat dripping between y’all.
you sucked on his fingers desperately, trying to stay quiet while he fucked you deeper. the sound of his hips hitting your ass was getting riskier.
“you scared somebody gone see me in this pussy?” he whispered, voice rough as he curled his fingers deeper in your mouth. you nodded weakly, eyes watering, but your body kept pushing back on him.
he pulled his fingers out your mouth and grabbed your throat instead, turning your head back toward him. he kissed you sloppily, messy and hungry, while still stroking deep. his dick was hitting spots that had your toes curling and your legs shaking.
“then be quiet,” he grunted against your lips, picking up the pace a little. your pussy was making loud, creamy noises with every thrust now. you reached back and gripped his arm tight, trying to ground yourself, but it felt so good.
eren suddenly pulled out, making you whine at the empty feeling. before you could even react, he flipped you onto your stomach and climbed on top of you, pressing you down into the blankets. he spread your legs wider with his knee and pushed back inside you in one deep thrust.
“fuck—” you moaned into the blanket, gripping it tight. this new position felt even deeper. eren laid his whole body on top of you, chest pressed against your back, and started fucking you.
you couldn’t even be quiet anymore. your best friend’s little brother had you acting completely out of character, moaning and whimpering like you had no sense. and the crazy part? you loved every single second of it.
eren wrapped his hand around your throat and pulled you back harder, forcing your back to arch deeper. you let out a soft, broken gasp as he sank even deeper inside you. it was too much. the wet sounds, your moans, his low grunts — it was all getting way too loud for people being asleep just a few feet away.
his eyes were dark and locked on your face, not looking away for even a second. he gripped your neck tighter, controlling you. “talk to me,” he said softly, almost sweetly, while still stroking deep.
“i— oh my go—” your voice cracked, breaking off into a whimper. you reached up and grabbed at his hand around your throat, trying to loosen his grip a little so you could breathe properly, but he wasn’t letting up.
“no,” he whispered, slowing his strokes just enough for you to really feel every thick inch stretching you open. “say it. say ‘oh my god, eren… you fucking me so good.’”
he gave your face a soft little slap, just enough to sting sweetly, matching the low groan in his voice. his eyes stayed glued to yours, waiting.
you swallowed hard, voice shaky and weak. “oh my god… eren… you fucking me so good,” you moaned quietly, the words barely making it out. saying it out loud made your pussy clench around him even tighter.
eren groaned deep in his chest, satisfied. “mhm… say,” he whispered, still stroking deep and slow. “say ‘i love getting fucked by my best friend’s little brother.’”
you hesitated, embarrassed, but your pussy clenched hard around him at his words. he felt it and let out a low chuckle, tightening his grip on your throat.
“say it,” he repeated, slapping your ass hard enough to make it sting. “don’t get shy now.”
you whimpered, voice shaky and broken as you finally gave in. “i… i love getting fucked by my best friend’s little brother…”
“yeah?” eren’s voice dropped even lower, sounding pleased as hell. he started fucking you harder, deeper, like your words turned him on even more.
eren kept that same slow, deep pace, dragging it out on purpose. he wasn’t rushing at all. every stroke was intentional, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, making your toes curl.
“that’s crazy,” he whispered against your neck, voice low. “all that arguing… and now you letting me fuck you right here on the floor.”
he reached around and rubbed your clit in slow, teasing circles while still stroking deep. your legs started trembling again. you tried to push back against him but he held your hip still, keeping full control.
“slow down…” you breathed, even though you didn’t really want him to.
eren kissed the back of your shoulder softly. “you don’t want me to slow down,” he said quietly, almost teasing. “you just scared you’re gonna get too loud and wake them up.”
he kept fucking you slow, making sure you felt every inch. “you feel how deep i am? you really want me to pull out and waste all this nut?”
you shook your head weakly, eyes rolling back. “mm-mm… i don’t… i don’t want you to,” you breathed, voice shaky and broken.
eren let out a quiet, mocking laugh and gripped your hip tighter, still stroking deep and steady. “that’s what i thought,” he muttered. his breathing got heavier against your neck as he chased his nut.
he sped up just a little, giving you longer, harder strokes while keeping his voice low. “i dont— wanna pull out okay?” he groaned, “don’t make me pull out..”
your pussy clenched hard around him at his words. eren groaned softly in your ear, clearly enjoying how your body reacted to him.
“tell me you want it,” he demanded quietly, lips brushing your skin. “tell me you want me to nut in you.”
you stayed quiet, breathing hard, trying to hold onto the last bit of pride you had left. eren slowed his strokes down to a torturous pace, dragging his dick almost all the way out before sliding back in deep.
“don’t play with me,” he whispered against your ear, voice low and dark. he gave you one hard, deep thrust, making your mouth fall open. you whimpered into the blanket, your pussy clenching around him uncontrollably.
“eren…” you whined softly.
“say it,” he pressed, gripping your hip tighter, still moving painfully slow. you finally broke, voice shaky and small.
“…i want it,” you whispered. “i want you to cum inside me.”
eren let out a satisfied, cocky breath. “there you go,” he muttered, finally picking up the pace again. “wasn’t that hard, was it?”
“see.. my good girl.” he tightened his grip on your hip and started fucking you harder, deeper, chasing his orgasm.
his breathing got rough and ragged against your neck. after a few more deep strokes, his body tensed up completely. “fuck…” he grunted quietly.
his dick throbbed hard inside you as he pushed all the way in and held himself there. you felt thick, warm spurts of cum shooting deep into your pussy, pulse after pulse. he kept pressing his hips forward like he wanted every single drop to stay as deep as possible. there was so much it started leaking out around his dick while he was still inside you.
eren stayed buried deep for a long moment, breathing heavy against your neck, twitching every few seconds as he finished emptying himself.
when he finally pulled out slowly, he turned you gently onto your side to face him. without saying anything, he wrapped both arms around you tightly and pulled you into his chest, holding you protectively. one of his legs slid between yours as he tucked you close against his body, almost like he was shielding you.
“come here,” he whispered, voice low and a little possessive. he pressed your head into his chest and wrapped you up even tighter, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back while the other rested on your waist.
“you good?” he asked softly, kissing the top of your head. “i got you… just relax.”
he kept you locked in his arms, warm and secure, like he didn’t want even an inch of space between you two. his breathing slowly evened out as he held you, clearly not planning on letting go anytime soon.
᭡୧ Fix your route? Nah, Fuck you right. — N. Kento.
᭡୧ synopsis: in which nanami is a longtime divorced man but got a very active sex life. and in which a new, bimbo… and a very much younger neighbor moves in next to his apartment. worst part is, he’s not able to control himself around you. especially when you’re at his door, asking him to fix your wifi late at this hour.
᭡୧ pairing: older!nanami kento x kinda bimbo fem!reader
᭡୧ c. warnings: age gap, heavy sexuál tension, eyefu cking, solo m. mast urbation, nanami is in his 40s and reader is early 20s, belly/tummy bulge, fing ering, did i say heavy se xual tension?, pus sy eating, overstim ulation, squi rting, weak plot/heavy po rn — if there’s more to tag lmk. w.c: 7.8k+
nanami kento has always kept his life neat and quiet, the kind of man who folds his shirts the same way every morning and times his coffee exactly seven minutes after the water boils. forty years old, divorced once a long time ago, and now he lives alone in the corner apartment on the fourth floor where the hallway light flickers just enough to remind him he should probably call maintenance but never does.
his sex life is the same as everything else he controls, sparse and deliberate. a few times a year he lets himself download one of those bland apps, meets a woman his age in a hotel bar, fucks her slow and polite in the dark so neither of them has to look too closely at the other.
most nights though it is just his own hand in the shower, quick and efficient, eyes closed while he thinks about nothing at all. he likes it that way. clean. no mess. no complications. until you moved in next door three months ago and ruined every single one of those careful rules without even trying.
you showed up on a rainy tuesday with too many cardboard boxes and a laugh that carried through the thin walls like it belonged there.
early twenties, fresh out of whatever college or job that spat you into this building, always in oversized shirts and tiny sleep shorts that rode up the back of your thighs when you bent over to pick up your mail. nanami noticed you the first time he passed you in the hallway, the way you smiled at him like he was just another neighbor instead of a man who suddenly felt every one of those twenty years between you. he told himself it was nothing. just new noise in a building that had been quiet for years. but then the noise became something else.
the soft thump of your music when you cooked dinner, the way your balcony light stayed on late while you scrolled on your phone, the faint vanilla scent that drifted under his door every time you took out the trash. he started catching himself pausing at the peephole when he heard your keys, hating the way his cock twitched at the mere sound of your footsteps. hating it more when he realized he was hard again in the shower that same night, fist wrapped tight around himself while he pictured those sleep shorts pooled around your ankles.
he tried to ignore it at first. threw himself into longer office hours, came home later, kept the volume on his television higher so he would not hear you humming in the shower through the shared wall. it did not work.
every little thing you did chipped at him. the way you waved from your balcony in the mornings wearing nothing but a thin tank top and no bra, nipples stiff from the cool air. the way you asked him once, all sweet and shy, if he knew how to fix a leaking faucet and stood too close while he worked, soft focused grunts leaving is chest and his rolled-up sleeve. after that night he jerked off twice before he could even get his jeans off, coming so hard he had to brace one hand on the shower tile just to stay upright.
he hated how easily you affected him. hated that a girl barely old enough to rent her own apartment could make a man like him, a man who prided himself on control, feel like some desperate teenager again. his sex life used to be something he managed. now it was just quiet frustration and the occasional guilty stroke while he thought about how small you would look under him, how tight you would feel, how pretty you would sound moaning his name.
then came the router. you knocked on his door at nine-thirty one random night, voice small and embarrassed over the phone first, then in person when he opened up still dressed in his white button-up and black jeans.
nanami stands at your doorway with one hand already in his pocket, the other holding the small toolbox he keeps for these exact random neighbor emergencies all ready, and he tells himself for the tenth time that this is nothing. just a quick fix.
your voice is soft and a little embarrassed over he’s not surprised. “sorry to bother you, nanami-san, but my wifi router just died and i have no idea what i’m doing with these things.” he had sighed, told you he would be right over, and now here he is, hating every single second because the moment you open the door he feels it again. that pull. that stupid, inconvenient heat low in his gut that has been creeping up on him since the day you moved in.
you are wearing your famous oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and tiny sleep shorts that ride up when you shift your weight, bare feet on the hardwood, skin glazed with a thin layer of sweat like you had been lounging on the couch all evening.
you smile at him, grateful and a little shy, and nanami’s jaw tightens. he is forty, a divorced but settled, a man who likes order and quiet and routines that do not include getting half-hard at the sight of his much younger neighbor’s collarbones. yet here he is, eyes dragging down the line of your neck before he forces them back up.
“thank you so much for coming,” you say, stepping aside to let him in. your voice is warm, a little breathy from the relief of not having to deal with it alone. the apartment smells faintly of vanilla and whatever takeout you had for dinner.
nanami nods once, polite as always, and follows you toward the corner where the router sits on a low shelf. he can feel the weight of his own body, the clean but lived-in scent of his white button-up clinging slightly to his skin after a long day, black jeans sitting snug on his hips. he is musty in that grown-man way, soap and faint cologne mixed with the faint trace of office air and the walk over, nothing overpowering but undeniably male. he knows it. he hopes you do not notice how it fills the small space between you.
you hover close while he crouches down to look at the router, your thigh brushing his shoulder as you point at the blinking lights. “it just stopped working out of nowhere. i tried restarting it but…” your words trail off when he glances up.
his eyes catch on the way your t-shirt hangs loose, the soft swell of your tits visible at the neckline, the smooth skin of your legs right there at eye level. he should look away yet nanami does not. instead his gaze lingers, slow and heavy, tracing the curve of your hip, the way the hem of those shorts digs into the flesh of your thigh. he feels his cock twitch in his jeans, thickening against the zipper before he can stop it.
fuck.
he shifts his weight, trying to hide the growing bulge, but the movement only makes the fabric pull tighter.
“let me see,” he mutters, voice lower than he intends, rough around the edges. his fingers work the cables, checking connections, but his mind is not on the router. it is on you. on how you smell like warm skin and faint lotion, on how you keep biting your lip while you watch him, on how easily he could reach out and slide his palm up the back of your thigh.
he has been trying to ignore it for weeks. it takes him back to the way you wave at him from your balcony in the mornings, the sound of your laugh carrying through the thin walls when you are on the phone with friends, the soft thump of your music when you cook.
every little thing has been chipping away at his carefully built restraint. he is older. he should know better. but his body does not care about should.
he stands up slowly, taller than you by a good amount, and when he does his chest brushes your shoulder. you do not step back and the air between you feels thick, charged, and nanami’s eyes drop again, this time to your mouth, then lower to where your nipples have tightened under the thin shirt.
he swallows hard. his cock is fully hard now, pressing insistently against the front of his black jeans, the outline obvious if you were to look down. he turns slightly, pretending to fiddle with the router settings on his phone, but the movement only highlights the bulge.
he can feel the heat of it, the way it throbs when you lean in closer to see what he is doing, your breath ghosting over his forearm.
“is it the cable?” you ask, voice quieter now, like you have noticed the shift too. your eyes flick to his face, then down, then back up, and nanami sees the faint flush creeping up your neck. good. at least he is not suffering alone. he clears his throat, forcing his attention back to the device, but his free hand flexes at his side, knuckles whitening. he wants to touch you. wants to back you against the wall and slide those tiny shorts down your legs, wants to feel how wet you already are because he can smell it, that sweet faint arousal mixing with your usual scent.
his mind supplies the image without permission: you bent over the couch, his cock buried deep while he grips your hips and fucks the whimpers out of you. he exhales sharply through his nose.
“try it now,” he says, stepping back just enough to give you space, but not enough to hide anything. the router lights flicker green. you pull out your phone to test the connection and let out a small happy sound that goes straight to his dick.
“it works! oh my god, thank you, nanami-san.” you turn to him fully, eyes bright, and for a second he lets himself look. really look. at the way your chest rises with each breath, at the bare stretch of thigh, at how your lips part when you realize he is staring.
he does not smile. his expression stays bland, almost stern, but his eyes are dark and hungry, eye-fucking you so openly now that there is no pretending. his cock strains harder against the denim, a small wet spot forming where he is leaking, and he makes no move to hide it.
he is half heartedly relieved you do not notice. your gaze still stuck on your phone screen, lashes fluttering, and when you look back up, you read there is something new in his expression, something needy and waiting to be unleashed.
nanami’s voice comes out rougher than he means. “you should get a better router. this one is outdated.” it is the most neutral thing he can think of, but it does not matter.
the tension is already there, thick and undeniable, wrapping around both of you in the half-unpacked living room. he can feel his pulse in his cock, the heavy ache of it, the way his balls feel tight just from standing this close to you. he wants to hate how easily you affect him.
he does hate it. but he cannot stop the slow drag of his eyes over your body one more time, imagining exactly how you would look spread open on his bed, taking every inch while he tells you how long he has been fighting this.
you shift on your feet, thighs pressing together, and nanami catches the tiny movement. his jaw clenches. he should leave. he should say goodnight and go back to his quiet apartment and jerk off to the memory like he has done more nights than he cares to admit.
your heartbeat picks up its rate, your finger tips sweaty. you feel the air thickening already, noticing the print of your neighbors dick without even looking down.
“so maybe you could stay and i could make you some te–” your proposal is short lived.
“i’ve fixed what you’ve called me to help for. goodnight.” his stern voice catches you off guard, watching him collect and grab the toolbox on the floor that was forgotten seconds ago. you try to say something but stay frozen when he pushes past you, his neck veins slightly showing on his skin.
nanami strides out fast. because right now, with his cock hard and obvious and his control fraying at the edges, he is not sure he has the strength to stay in the same room with you.
and so he leaves you standing in the middle of your apartment with your wifi fixed and a pile of notifications ‘ding-ing’ every seconds.
+
a week drags by in thick, unspoken tension that sits heavy between the thin apartment walls like smoke that refuses to clear.
nanami wakes each morning with the same stern resolution burning behind his eyes: keep the distance, lock it down, pretend the night you called him over for the router never happened. he leaves for the office before the sun fully rises, comes home long after the hallway lights have dimmed, and when he passes your door he keeps his gaze fixed on the scuffed floorboards like they hold the answers to every moral question he has been asking himself since he first felt that inconvenient throb in his jeans. but the memory refuses to fade.
it lingers in the shower when hot water runs down his chest and his hand wraps around his cock without permission, stroking slow and frustrated while your freshly known name slips out between gritted teeth like a confession he wishes he could swallow back.
it follows him into bed at night, where he lies stiff on his back and remembers the exact shade of flush that crept up your neck when his eyes dragged too long over your body.
he hates it. hates how easily a girl barely out of her early twenties can unravel the careful, quiet life he has built for himself. he is older, disciplined, a man who values order and restraint above almost everything, yet here he is, reduced to stolen glances through the balcony railing and late-night strokes that leave him emptier than before.
you do not make any of it easier. you still wave at him from across the narrow gap between your balconies in the mornings, soft smile curving your lips like you know exactly what you are doing to him. you leave polite little notes taped to his door about shared packages or the new recycling bins downstairs, your handwriting neat and looping in a way that makes his fingers tighten around the paper every time.
each accidental brush of your fingers when you hand him mail in the hallway sends a spark straight down his spine, and every polite “good morning, nanami-san” you offer chips away at the walls he keeps trying to reinforce. he catches the sound of your laugh through the thin wall sometimes when you are on the phone with people… your age, light and warm, and his cock thickens in his slacks before he can stop it.
he tells himself it is nothing. just proximity. just the natural reaction of a man who has been alone too long. but deep down he knows the truth: you have gotten under his skin, and the more he tries to push it away the harder it pulls.
tonight the last thread of his restraint finally frays and snaps.
the familiar knock comes at exactly the time he wishes it to, soft but insistent, cutting through the quiet of his evening like a hook sinking into flesh.
nanami opens the door still dressed from the office, white button-up with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, black jeans sitting low on his hips, the faint musty-clean scent of him drifting out into the hallway, clean and faint cologne and the long day clinging to his skin.
you stand there in another oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and those same tiny sleep shorts that have been haunting him, hair not perfect like you had been caught up in something… private, cheeks already carrying that telltale pink flush. it’s as if last week was repeating itself.
“the router again,” you say, voice small and breathy, but your eyes are not on any imaginary problem. they trace the open collar of his shirt, the broad line of his shoulders, the way his chest fills the doorway. “it keeps dropping signal. i tried everything you showed me last time but… i think i need your help again.”
he should tell you no. should suggest you call the building manager in the morning this time and close the door before the air between you thickens any further. instead he exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight, and reaches for the small toolbox he keeps by the door without saying a word.
he follows you next door, the faint click of the lock behind him sounding louder than it should. the moment you are both inside the living room the atmosphere shifts, warmer and heavier, like the space itself is holding its breath. you lead him to the same corner shelf where the router sits, but this time you do not hover at a polite distance.
you stand close enough that your bare arm brushes his rough skin when he crouches down to look. the lights on the router are steady green. he knows it is working fine the second he glances at it. and most definitely you know it.
the excuse is paper-thin and neither of you bothers to pretend otherwise.
nanami rises slowly, turning to face you fully, his tall frame casting a shadow over you in the soft lamplight. his eyes do the same slow, solemn drag they did the week before, only heavier now, sharpened by seven long days of fighting the memory of your body.
he watches the way your nipples have already tightened under the thin fabric of your shirt, the subtle press of your thighs together like the ache between them is already building. his cock responds immediately, swelling thick and heavy inside his black jeans, the thick ridge becoming obvious as it presses against the denim. he’s sure a faint damp spot is beginning to form, but he does not try to hide it this time. he lets you see. lets the weight of his stare settle on you like a touch.
“the router is working fine,” he says, voice low and rough, carrying that same stern tone he always uses, like he is delivering a verdict in court rather than standing in your living room with a hard-on he cannot will away. “you know that as well as i do. why did you really call me over here?”
you swallow visibly, eyes flicking down to the clear outline of his cock straining against his jeans before rising back to his face.
your chest rises and falls with a heavier breath, lips parting slightly, but instead of answering you take one slow step back. then another. your hands move to the waistband of your sleep shorts, fingers hooking under the fabric, and you bend forward just enough to slide them down your legs in one smooth motion.
the shorts pool at your ankles and you step out of them, leaving you in nothing but a pair of grey lace panties with delicate pink ribbons threaded along the edges. the soft fabric clings to the curve of your pussy, the faint outline of your folds visible through the thin material, and nanami’s right leg twitches involuntarily, his cock jerking hard inside his jeans at the sight.
his brows draw together in a quick pretend of frown, serious expression tightening. “what are you doing?” he asks, voice dropping even lower, a clear warning threaded through the words. but you do not stop. your fingers catch the hem of your oversized t-shirt next, lifting it slowly, inch by inch, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the delicate dip of your waist, the underside of your breasts.
you pull the shirt up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor beside the shorts, and now you stand there in only the grey lace panties, tits bare, nipples stiff in the cool air of the room. nanami’s breath catches, his hands flexing hard at his sides, the long fingers curling into fists as he fights the urge to reach for you.
he says your name then, low and rough, the syllables heavy with warning. “don’t.” but you only smile, small and soft and knowing, and continue. your thumbs hook into the waistband of the panties, sliding them down your hips with agonizing slowness, the lace catching briefly on the swell of your ass before you let them fall.
you step out of them completely, now fully naked in front of him, skin flushed warm under his heavy gaze. you walk toward him, bare feet quiet on the floor, hips swaying just enough to make your tits move softly with each step. when you are close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from your body, when his mouth opens to speak again, you lift one finger and press it gently to his lips, shushing him.
nanami lets out a small, broken sound, half whimper, half groan, the noise slipping out before he can stop it. his cock throbs visibly in his jeans, another bead of pre-cum soaking into the fabric as the tension coils tighter in the narrow space between your bodies.
he exhales shakily against your finger, eyes dark and conflicted, thick needy lines deepening on his face. “you’re a very young girl…” he trails off, voice rough and strained, the words carrying the weight of every reason he has been telling himself to stay away.
you pull your finger back just enough to speak, voice soft but steady. “i’m legal.”
“barely,” he counters immediately, the word clipped, his gaze dropping despite himself to the bare curve of your breasts, it taught him to squeeze on them and make you feel good, the soft swell of your hips, the smooth skin between your thighs where he can already see the faint shine of arousal. “you’re barely twenty-something. i’m more than twice your age. this… this is not appropriate.”
you tilt your head slightly, still standing naked and unashamed in front of him, the tension so thick it feels like the air itself has weight. “and yet you’re standing here with your cock so hard i can see it twitching through your jeans,” you murmur, eyes flicking down pointedly to the obvious bulge. “you’ve been avoiding me all week, nanami-san, but you still came over the second i knocked. tell me again how inappropriate this is.”
caught him red handed. fuck you.
he lets out another low groan, the sound vibrating in his chest, his hand coming up like he might push you away but instead hovering just above your waist, fingers trembling with restraint. “you have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, voice quieter now, almost pained. “i’m not some young man who can just… give in without consequences. you deserve better than an older neighbor who can’t keep his eyes off you.”
the banter stretches, slow and heavy, every word laced with the electric pull between you. you step even closer, your bare breasts brushing the front of his white shirt, nipples dragging against the fabric, and nanami’s breath hitches sharply. “then why does it feel like you’ve been thinking about this as much as i have?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “why do you look at me like you want to bend me over every time we pass in the hall?”
his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking visibly, but his eyes stay locked on yours even as his cock continues to throb between you.
“because i do,” he admits finally, the words dragged out like they cost him something. “i want to. more than i should. but you’re young. barely out of college. and i’m… this.” he gestures vaguely at himself, the musty yet cleaned scent of his body stronger now with the heat rising off his skin, the faint sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. “a tired man who should know better.”
you smile again, softer this time, and reach up to trace one finger along the line of his jaw. “then stop fighting it for one night,” you whisper. “just let yourself have me. i want you, nanami. i’ve wanted you since the first time you fixed my router and looked at me like you were starving.”
the silence stretches again, thick and humming with tension, his breath coming heavier now, chest rising and falling against yours. his hand finally settles on your waist, large palm warm and slightly rough against your bare skin, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate.
he does not pull you closer yet, but he does not push you away either. the battle is still there in his eyes, solemn and conflicted, but the hunger is winning, inch by aching inch, as the minutes tick by in the quiet room and his cock continues to strain painfully against his jeans, waiting for the moment his restraint finally gives out completely.
nanami’s hand tightens on your waist, fingers spanning wide enough to nearly wrap around the curve of it, and the last of his resistance crumbles like dry paper under the heat of your bare skin against his palm.
he exhales once, long and shaky, eyes still calculated but dark now with the kind of hunger he has been trying to bury for weeks, and then he is moving, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the couch and you sink down onto the cushions. he follows without a word, dropping to his knees between your spread thighs like a man who has finally stopped pretending he can walk away.
his broad shoulders push your legs wider, the white button-up stretching tight across his chest as he leans in, breath hot against the inside of your thigh. he looks up at you one last time, jaw set, like he is giving you one final chance to tell him no, but you only slide your fingers into his neatly combed hair and tug him closer. that is all it takes.
his mouth finds your pussy like he has been starving for it, lips parting to drag a slow, broad stripe up your folds, tongue flat and heavy as he tastes you properly for the first time. the groan that vibrates out of his chest is low and rough, almost pained, because you are already soaked, slick coating his tongue in a way that makes his cock jerk hard inside his jeans.
he licks again, slower this time, savoring the way your thighs tremble on either side of his head, then seals his mouth around your clit and sucks gently, tongue flicking in tight little circles that have your back arching off the couch. one of his huge hands slides up your stomach, palm pressing flat just below your navel, and he pushes down with just enough pressure to make your pussy clench around nothing.
the size of his hand there is obscene, fingers spread wide so his pinky rests near the base of your ribs and his thumb brushes the top of your mound, the sheer scale of him against your smaller frame making everything feel tighter, hotter, more overwhelming.
nanami eats you out like he has all night and nothing else matters, tongue sliding deep between your folds before circling back up to your clit, sucking and licking in a rhythm that builds slow and relentless. his free hand grips your thigh, spreading you even wider, thumb digging into the soft flesh while he buries his face deeper, nose pressing against your mound as he drinks down every drop of you. the wet sounds fill the quiet room, wet and loud, his groans mixing with the slick slide of his tongue and the shaky breaths you keep letting out.
he keeps that steady pressure on your lower belly the whole time, palm rubbing slow circles that make your insides twist and flutter, the tummy bullying so deliberate it feels like he is trying to feel exactly where his mouth is working from the inside. your hips twitch, trying to ride his face, but he holds you down with that big hand, keeping you exactly where he wants you while he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
when you come it hits hard and sudden, pussy pulsing against his tongue as your thighs clamp around his head and a broken moan spills out of you. nanami does not stop. he keeps licking you through it, slower now but just as thorough, tongue dragging over your oversensitive clit until your whole body jerks and you try to squirm away from the intensity.
he only presses his palm firmer against your stomach, holding you in place, the slight overstimulation making your eyes water and your voice crack on his name. “nanami…plea– fuck, it’s too much,” you whimper, but he just hums against you, the vibration sending another sharp spark through your core, and slides two thick fingers into your still-clenching pussy without warning. they stretch you wide, the size of them so much bigger than your own that you feel every knuckle, every ridge, as he curls them deep and starts pumping slow and steady.
he lifts his head just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside you, eyes dark and tempting, lips shiny with your slick. “look at how well you take them,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough, the praise low and almost reverent as he presses down on your belly again with his other hand, feeling the way his fingers create a very faint bulge against your walls from the outside.
the pressure makes everything tighter, more intense, and you clench hard around him, another wave of overstimulation crashing through you while he keeps fingering you through the aftershocks. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles that have you shaking, the combination of his thick fingers stretching you open and the firm press on your tummy turning every breath into a broken little sob.
he does not rush. he just keeps working you, long fingers dragging along that perfect spot inside while his palm rubs steady circles on your stomach, bullying that soft lower belly until you are dripping down his wrist and whimpering his name like it will make it better than it already is.
only when your thighs are trembling uncontrollably and your pussy is fluttering helplessly around his fingers does he finally ease up, sliding them out slow and careful, bringing them to his mouth to lick clean with a low groan that makes your stomach flip.
he stays on his knees between your legs for a long moment, forehead resting against your thigh, breathing hard while his cock strains painfully against his jeans, the front of the fabric dark with pre-cum. when he finally looks up at you his eyes are still determined, still carrying that quiet conflict, but the hunger has won completely now, and the way he stares at your flushed, marked body makes it clear he is nowhere near done with you tonight.
nanami stays on his knees between your spread thighs for another long, heavy breath, forehead pressed to the soft skin just above your knee while his chest rises and falls like he is trying to steady something inside himself that already broke minutes ago. his fingers are still shiny with you, the faint scent of his skin mixed with the sharp sweetness of your pussy hanging thick in the air.
when he finally moves it is slow and deliberate, like every motion costs him something. he rises to his full height, towering over you on the couch, white button-up wrinkled and damp at the collar from the heat rolling off both of you. his hands, large and steady, slide under your thighs and around your back in one smooth motion, scooping you up off the cushions like you weigh nothing at all.
your legs wrap around his slim waist on instinct, heels digging into the firm muscle of his lower back, and the sudden shift leaves you gasping against his shoulder because he lifts you so easily, strong arms locking you against his chest while your bare pussy hovers right above the heavy bulge still trapped in his jeans.
he does not give you time to look down. one arm stays banded tight under your ass, holding your weight like it is effortless, while his free hand works between your bodies to unbuckle his belt with a quiet metallic clink. the zipper follows, the sound loud in the quiet room, and he shoves both jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself.
you feel the thick, heavy length spring up against your inner thigh, hot and velvet-smooth, the blunt mushroom head already slick and leaking. before you can even tilt your head to catch a glimpse he shifts you higher in his arms, pressing your back against the nearest wall for leverage, and uses that same free hand to guide the fat head of his cock right to your dripping entrance.
the broad tip nudges through your folds, rubbing slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick while he watches your face with those solemn dark eyes, brows knitted tight like he is still fighting the last scraps of restraint.
“breathe,” he mutters, voice low and rough, the single word almost gentle even as his hips tilt forward. he helps you sink down, one thick inch at a time, the stretch burning so good it makes your jaw go slack and your eyes flutter half-shut.
he is big, thicker than anything you have taken, the veined shaft dragging along your walls as he lowers you steadily until your ass meets his hips and he is buried to the hilt. a quiet groan tears from his throat when he bottoms out, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, and for a long second he just holds you there, letting you feel every inch of him pulsing deep inside your smaller body.
you’re pressed and folded in an awkward position, and it only makes the size difference feel more obscene, your soft curves dwarfed by his tall, solid frame.
nanami does not wait long. his hands grip your ass harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he starts to move, lifting you up and dropping you back down onto his cock with controlled, powerful strokes that hammer into you deep enough to punch the air from your lungs. each thrust makes your whole body jolt in his arms, tits bouncing under nothing. bare and free for him to watch, back sliding against the wall while he fucks up into you like he has been imagining it for weeks.
his height towers over you completely, shoulders broad enough to block out the room, white shirt straining across his chest with every roll of his hips.
the mushroom head of his cock drags perfectly along that spot inside you on every downstroke, the sheer size of him making your belly bulge slightly every time he bottoms out, a faint outline visible under your skin if you looked down, but he keeps your face buried against his neck so you cannot.
he keeps that steady, punishing rhythm, hips snapping up hard while his arms hold you suspended like you are weightless, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing louder with every thrust. sweat beads along his hairline, dampening the collar of his shirt, and his breath comes in hot, measured pants against your ear.
“too big for you?” he asks, voice strained but still carrying that solemn edge, even as he grinds deep and holds you there for a heartbeat, letting you feel how completely he fills you.
your only answer is a broken moan and loled nod, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, legs tightening around his waist as another wave of overstimulation starts building fast. he does not slow down. he just keeps lifting and dropping you onto every thick inch, eyebrows still knitted in concentration, eyes flicking between your slack mouth and the way your body takes him so greedily.
his shirt keeps getting in the way, bunching up between both of you, so he shifts his grip, one hand sliding up to yank the fabric higher until it is completely off of him, exposing his sweaty chest completely to the cool air and your half-focused stare.
now there is nothing between you but sweat-slick skin and the relentless drag of his cock stretching you open. he leans in, mouth finding your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin while he hammers into you harder, the angle shifting so the head of his cock bullies that perfect spot with every upward thrust. your smaller frame jolts in his arms with each powerful stroke, pussy clenching tight around the thick length splitting you apart, and nanami groans low and deep, the sound rumbling through his chest as he feels you start to flutter around him again.
he keeps you pinned against the wall like that, towering over you, strong arms never tiring as he fucks you deep and steady, the size difference so stark it makes your head spin. every time he bottoms out his hips grind against your clit, the pressure on your lower belly from the inside making everything feel tighter, fuller, more overwhelming.
you are already close again, thighs shaking around his waist, voice cracking on his name, and nanami just holds you there, determined eyes locked on your face while he drives you closer to the edge with every heavy thrust, determined to feel you come around his cock before he lets himself follow.
nanami’s rhythm starts to falter just a little, hips snapping up with shorter, more desperate strokes while his breath comes hot and ragged against the side of your neck. he can feel it building fast, that tight coil low in his gut, his heavy balls drawing up tight and aching as your pussy flutters and squeezes around every thick inch of him.
but he refuses to let go first. he is older, more controlled, and right now that control means making sure you fall apart completely before he does.
with a low grunt he shifts his grip, one big hand sliding under your ass to tilt your hips forward while the other presses flat against your lower back, forcing your spine into a deep arch that pushes your pelvis out and opens you up even more obscenely. the new angle is nasty, almost cruel, your body folded and suspended in his arms so your clit grinds hard against the base of his cock on every upward thrust and the fat head of him drags directly into that spongy spot inside you at a brutal upward curve.
your legs dangle wider, heels kicking uselessly against his lower back, the sheer size difference making you feel like you are being split open and rearranged from the inside while he holds you like a toy.
he starts hammering into you with that filthy new angle, cock bullying that spot over and over until your eyes roll back and broken sobs start spilling from your slack mouth.
the overstimulation crashes in hard and fast, your already sensitive pussy clenching and spasming around him while tears prick at the corners of your eyes and start to slip down your flushed cheeks.
your hand flies down between your bodies on instinct, palm pushing weakly at his lower stomach like you can stop the relentless drag of his cock, fingers scrabbling against the damp fabric of his white shirt. nanami’s eyes narrow, jaw tightening, and he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he hisses the words low and dark, “do that again and i’ll fucking hurt you good.”
the threat hits you like a live wire. your whole body seizes, a choked cry tearing from your throat, and then you are squirting hard around his cock, hot fluid gushing out in messy pulses that soak his jeans, drip down his balls, and splatter onto the floor beneath you.
nanami groans deep and filthy at the feeling, the wet heat flooding around him making his cock twitch violently inside you. he does not slow down. if anything he fucks you harder, hips snapping up with wet, punishing slaps while his free hand slides between your bodies and starts tracing tight, relentless infinity signs over your swollen clit with two thick fingers. the pressure is mean and perfect, circling and dragging in that figure-eight pattern while he keeps pounding into that nasty folded angle, cock bullying your g-spot and his fingers never letting up on your overstimulated clit.
“i know, baby, i know,” he rasps against your ear, voice hoarse and strained, the words almost soothing even as he wrecks you. “you can take it. just let it happen.” your legs shake violently around his waist, tears streaming freely now, little hiccuping sobs mixing with the wet squelch of your pussy taking every brutal thrust.
nanami keeps that freaky rhythm going, hips rolling deep, fingers drawing those endless infinity loops over your clit until your vision whites out and another shattering orgasm rips through you, pussy clamping down so hard it almost forces him out. he hisses through his teeth, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest, but he powers through it, fucking you straight through the peak and into the trembling aftershocks.
his own control finally snaps. his balls tighten almost painfully, cock swelling even thicker inside your fluttering walls as he buries himself to the hilt one last time, grinding deep while thick, hot ropes of cum flood you. he comes with a low, broken groan that vibrates through his chest, pulsing hard and endless, filling you so full that it starts leaking out around his cock in creamy white streaks every time he gives one last shallow thrust.
the mess is everywhere, your squirt and his cum dripping down your thighs, soaking the front of his jeans and pooling on the floor, the obscene wet sounds slowly fading as he keeps you pinned against the wall, still buried deep, both of you heaving for air.
nanami’s forehead drops to your shoulder, breathing hard, the last energy well spent, showing of with both of your sweat-soaked body mixing with the sharp smell of sex filling the room. his arms stay locked around you, holding your smaller frame effortlessly even as his cock twitches with the last weak spurts inside you.
for a long moment the only sounds are your shaky sobs and his ragged breathing, bodies trembling together in the aftermath, messy and spent and still connected. he does not pull out yet. he just keeps you there, suspended in his arms, the quiet weight of everything that just happened settling heavy between you while his cum continues to leak slowly out around where he is still buried deep.
nanami stays buried inside you for what feels like forever, thick cock still twitching with the last lazy pulses while warm cum slowly leaks out around where your bodies are joined, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor in messy little trails.
your legs are still wrapped around his waist, trembling, heels digging weakly into his lower back like you cannot quite let go yet, and he keeps holding you up without any effort, strong arms locked under your ass, keeping your smaller frame suspended against the wall like it is the most natural thing in the world. your shaky little sobs eventually quiet into soft, hiccuping breaths, tears drying on your cheeks, but the overstimulation still makes your pussy flutter weakly around him every few seconds, milking out another thin trickle of his cum.
finally he shifts, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he carefully pulls out, the wet sound loud and obscene in the quiet room.
a thick glob of his cum follows immediately, sliding out of your swollen, puffy pussy and running down to join the mess already pooled beneath you. he lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor, but your legs are too shaky to hold you, so he keeps one arm banded around your waist, steadying you against his chest while his other hand tucks himself back into his briefs and jeans with a quiet zip.
the white button-up is wrinkled and damp with sweat when he puts it back on, black jeans dark at the front from your squirt, but he still looks put-together in that quiet, solemn way of his, even now.
he does not say anything at first. just looks down at you with those dark, heavy eyes, thumb brushing slow circles on your bare hip like he cannot quite stop touching you. then he exhales, long and tired, and rests his forehead against yours for a brief second.
“this…” his voice comes out rough, low, almost reluctant. “this can’t happen again.”
the words hang between you, simple and final, even as his hand lingers on your skin and his cum continues to drip slowly down the inside of your thigh.
he presses one last, almost gentle kiss to your temple, the kind of kiss that feels heavier than any promise, before he steps back. his fingers flex once at his sides like he is fighting the urge to pull you close again, then he turns toward the door, shoulders straight, footsteps quiet on the floor.
“get some rest,” he murmurs without looking back, the manly scent of him still clinging to your skin. “and… call the building manager about the router next time.”
the door clicks shut behind him, leaving you standing there naked and trembling in the middle of your living room, thighs sticky, pussy aching and full of him, the quiet weight of what just happened settling deep in your chest. you know he means it. you also know, deep down, that neither of you really believes it.
well y’all i had to claw my nails onto a wall to storm this idea so it better do good or you’re not hearing from me again.. (i’m literally posting in few hours again 😛)
cw : explicit smut, fingering, orgasms, orgies & threesomes mentioned, hookup culture mentioned, & not proofread, art hunnismokah.
ⓘ Featuring pornstar!satoru !
pornstar!satoru was the type of star his agent could tell would make it far from his very first shoot. "Nerd Satoru loses virginity in messy threesome with best friend & his girlfriend."
pornstar!satoru quickly found a home in the threesome content, soon branching out into participating in orgies & gangbangs, his striking white hair & piercing eyes in thumbnails of him folding girls in half always brought more views to his videos than any of the others at his agency.
pornstar!satoru was originally happily single, opting to hook up with his costars, or strangers in bars whenever he felt particularly needy.
He never thought he'd find someone worth settling down for, nor someone who could entirely look past his line of work—so he grew to enjoy the free time & waking up in different beds.
pornstar!satoru got invited over to pornstar!shoko's apartment after a particularly tiring shoot, since her place was closer to the set than his & she had two showers so he could get cleaned up faster.
He was slightly apprehensive at first until she assured him no one in her apartment complex would bother them & her apartment was nice little cozy spot she shared with her best friend.
pornstar!satoru agreed, entirely for the hot shower to wash away the remnants of what he'd done that day at work—but the promise of drinking with his friend & a nice hot meal she'd promised.
pornstar!satoru showed up at your apartment, tired & stumbling a little as your roommate walked in behind him—quickly introducing you to her coworker as she lit a cigarette and told you she was going to take a bath.
pornstar!satoru had never straightened his posture as fast as he did when he laid his eyes on you. He knew Shoko had some hot friends, but... damn. He gave you a short, awkward wave as Shoko told him not to be weird, & you'd be perfectly normal about the job.
pornstar!satoru who, despite himself, ended up blossoming a pretty strong friendship with you during the next few months. To the point where he felt comfortable sleeping over on the couch in your & shoko's apartment more often whenever he felt too tired for the long drive back to his house after a shoot.
pornstar!satoru accidentally walked in on you getting dressed after a shower during one of his sleepovers & stood in the doorway, frozen & in shock at the sight in front of him for a solid ten seconds before you hurled a washcloth at him and told him to either shut the door and piss or get out and wait.
pornstar!satoru teased you about it a few weeks later, teasingly poking your back where he'd memorized a few birthmarks to be, before instantly shutting his mouth when you tilted your head & teased him back about the freckles that dust his cock.
That had to have meant you'd watched at least one of his films—you'd looked at him in the videos and cared enough to remember how he looked nude. Fuck. That's what he'd done too.
pornstar!satoru was sleeping over one night, tired after a particularly long shoot—Shoko mentioned something about an orgy—when you snuck out to the living room & sat down on the pullout next to him, checking on him & then offered up your bed to sleep on instead of the old pullout for once.
pornstar!satoru now was lying in your bed, both of you facing opposite directions & had your backs pressed snug against each other—something in the air felt weirdly charged as he glanced over his shoulder to look at you & like a stupid rom-com, you both rolled over at the same time.
An eruption of giggles broke from your throats after colliding, his arm quickly pulling you close so you wouldn't fall off the bed, & you swatting playfully at his chest.
pornstar!satoru blinked at you, the mix of eye contact & close proximity constricting his throat, like the air had been knocked out of him, snapping out of his when your gaze flicked down to his lips for just a moment before his hand came up to cup your jaw & dive down for a kiss.
pornstar!satoru was on top of you within minutes, his fingers slipping past the elastic of your shorts to tease you while muffling your noises with quick kisses. He slipped two long fingers into you as one of your hands found his hair, deepening the kiss, & your other hand guided his hand perfectly.
pornstar!satoru is a quick learner & was scissoring you open until your breath grew shaky and he could feel you clenching tightly around his fingers. He pulled back to listen to your breathy whines & watch your blissed-out expression, whispering how good you were being for him.
God, he couldn't wait to fuck you for real.
pornstar!satoru who nearly creamed his boxers when you came on his fingers, pulling them out to show how sticky you'd made them, before pulling them to his lips & licking them clean.
He almost missed the way you scrambled to fix your clothes, obviously freaking out.
pornstar!satoru quickly calmed you down by kissing up your shoulder & rubbing your hip soothingly, assuring you it was okay, & that nothing was wrong, before asking if it meant something to you like to him.
He almost melted when you nodded & guided you to lie on his chest & rubbed your back until you fell asleep.
pornstar!satoru who pornstar!shoko found you sleeping on top of come morning when she came to wake you up for breakfast & feigned shock that you two had hooked up—though she was obviously bluffing.
pornstar!satoru who made you a plate of breakfast that morning, swearing he was going to take you on a nice date soon, before he had to head to work.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬◞﹒୧. Sukuna was a psychopath. You were psychotic. Since childhood, you have been inseparable. As you grew up and followed your dreams, your duo is the favorite topic of Twitter. The coquette famous actress who feels things too much and the unhinged mma fighter obsessed with violence. Only you were indifferent to his lack of empathy and guilt. You even found his empty dark gaze kind of sexy. Only he was unfazed by your hysterical sobs as you explained yet another megalomaniacal idea during a psychotic episode. He would keep you on his lap and nod his head to your plan to save the starving children of the world. However, he wasn’t your type. You wanted the perfect man who would be a family man. But when Sukuna's little brothers die suddenly, although he hides his grievance, he needs the woman he has always been in love with more than ever.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬◞﹒୧ . 13.3k words, black!fem!reader, plus!size!reader, coquette!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, yearning, dark romance, childhood friends to lovers, crybaby!reader, grief, mental health themes, family problems, bullying, hallucinations, delusions, schizoaffective disorder, lack of guilt & affective empathy, impulsivity, violence, animal cruelty, canon sukuna’s personality, ‘baby & bitch’ pet names, medical abuse, sukuna has black hair for specific reasons, yuji & choso are sukuna's little brothers, fully!tattooed!sukuna, smut, semi teenage first time, fingering, kisses, ass grabbing, cunnilingus, passionate sex, vaginal penetration, bathroom sex, dick piercing, unprotected sex, blood kink, sadism, unconventional relationship.
𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬◞﹒୧ . don't ask anything. if you ever wonder if reader comes from experience : yes, she does, now let's move on………..
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but emptiness resides in Sukuna's gaze.
His black-dyed hair clung to his sweating forehead as his thrusts grew in power and speed. With one hand on the headboard, he stared at Yorozu with such intensity that she preferred looking at the numerous tattoos on his chest. She couldn't meet his gaze for fear of being speechless by the void within. Blood red, empty, piercing—they possessed a black aura despite their ruby luster.
“You like 'em?” Sukuna asked, his eyes following her delicate hands as they traced the ink across his skin. The depth of his voice, yet the lack of sexual excitation in it, made her swallow hard.
She knew he didn’t really care about her opinion on his tattoos. She knew Sukuna didn't care about anything beside you.
“I like everything about you. Especially this,” she whispered, her fingers dancing over the cute unicorn tattoo on his ribs, the one that stood out from the rest.
He slapped her. A red mark appeared on her cheek as she stared at him, stunned, her lips parted.
“Mind your own business.”
He asked this because he just wanted an excuse to hurt her. It’s kind of hard to soft-launch sadistic tendencies.
“I’m sorry, I—”
Sukuna’s hand closed around her throat, squeezing without a shred of shame or fear of killing her.
“You know damn well all of this is for someone else,” he mocked her, lowering his head to kiss her.
Tongues tangled, breath ragged from the grinding of his hips, yet there was no passion to be found. The R&B playlist she’d put on to set the mood, her lingerie, and her perfectly styled hair, all wasted efforts to connect with a heartless man.
And yet, his heart beat for you; she knew it.
Everyone knew the D&S duo: Dollette & Sukuna.
That was your nickname. Your personal branding strategy was perfect : black-and-white outfits and accessories in a coquette style, with ribbon bows and lace. A dark doll. When you acted in movies, people were blown away by your ability to embody aesthetics other than the one so intrinsically tied to your public image.
Every photo of you and Sukuna ended up on women’s Pinterest boards, and the “best friends with sexual tension” trope exploded on BookTok. You two were the OGs. A hit couple without actually being a couple.
So, as his coach’s daughter, Yorozu knew him well. She knew exactly who was on his mind while he fucked her.
It showed in the way he touched her hips, and in the frown that creased his brow when he couldn't find the curves, the thickness, that you possessed. She could feel it when his body was pressed against hers, his eyes narrowed on her as if he wanted to punish her for lacking your softness. When he pulled her hair, he’d click his tongue in disapproval. It wasn't the same texture as your braids, nor the same volume as your curly hair. He was so bored with her.
Sukuna was bored with everything in life; she knew this.
She had thought she could heal his loneliness with her love. She had fallen in love the moment she met his merciless gaze during a boxing session with her father.
But when he finished training, he didn't turn to her to get to know her.
He turned to you.
Dollette. The actress who had already won multiple prestigious movie awards at just twenty-four. Known for her theatrical personality she displayed during hypomanic episodes, traits that infused her acting roles with raw emotion. Always seen in black Mary Jane heels and high white lace socks.
The kind of woman Yorozu couldn't compete with.
But you were his best friend, not his girlfriend. Sukuna wanted nothing serious. The love he felt for you was an exception, a distortion of reality, something that happens once every thousand years, a genetic anomaly.
Sukuna only fucked women when he needed to hurt someone. Foreplay was a pain in the ass to him. He was there for the violent sound of the bed banging against the wall, for the scratches on his back as his partner reached their peak.
Yorozu smiled at him as he strangled her.
“You think you're cute? I can't even cum with your face.”
He buried his face in her neck; his stomach churned with disgust at her scent. So far from the blend of vanilla mist, caramel perfume, and cocoa butter cream that was yours. He was allergic to any woman who wasn't you.
He closed his eyes and imagined you in her place.
Maybe you would be the only woman he’d make love to. The one with whom he’d take his time. The one with whom he’d pay attention to pleasure. All while still hurting you, because violence was his love language, his mark on humanity; that was why he boxed.
He pictured your cheeks wet with tears as you sat on his lap, in the throes of a psychotic episode. Your speech broken. The words that made no sense in your sentences. Your face buried in his chest, begging him to silence the noise in your head. You at your rawest.
He loved your tears, he loved it when you suffered. But only because of him. He hated your demons, the shadows of your mind that enveloped you in a world no one understood, not even him.
“Let’s stop this shit,” he grumbled, pulling away from Yorozu, who was whining.
She missed the warmth of his body, even though she wasn’t unaware of the coldness in his heart.
Sukuna’s lip corners lifted in a spiteful smile as he took off the condom and put on his clothes. “I didn’t even fuck you with any passion, the fuck are you whining for?”
Yorozu straightened her elbows, hoping he liked seeing her breasts (he didn't).
“Why did you dye your hair black? We can see the pink roots.”
“To make stupid bitches like you talk,” he chuckled, remaining shirtless, his muscular body and sculpted abs on display. He got out of bed, wearing the Jaded London baggy jeans you'd bought him. You were the fashionable one in the duo; he couldn't care less about his appearance.
As he rummaged through his things to find a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, Yorozu tried to ignore the energy emanating from his room. Everything was dark and so cold, as usual. Impersonal. Nothing that suggested anything intimate about him. Yorozu always came to his place with excitement to discover new information about the man she loved, but she was greeted by the physical evidence of his disconnection from the world.
The only thing radiating light was your smile in a framed photo on his bedside table. An androgynous person with short white hair had an arm around you and looked nervous, as if whoever was taking the picture was glaring at them for touching their girl.
Uraume. Sukuna’s personal physical therapist.
Yorozu tried to sleep with him too to get information on Sukuna since he was his childhood friend, but he never gave her the attention she wanted.
She nibbled at the inside of her cheek, glaring at the photo frame.
“We could have a picnic this weekend,” she said softly, playing with her hair, hoping he would find her hairstyle attractive (he didn’t). “You have a few days left before the next MMA event, we could—”
The bedroom door slammed shut as he stepped out onto the living room balcony. He rested his elbows on the railing, gazing at the city of Tokyo across the street, smoking his cigarette.
Sometimes he liked to watch people walking down the street and see his neighbors from the building across the street through the window to remind himself that he was superior to everyone.
All those people who felt guilt, empathy to the point of losing their sense of self. He could jerk off in front of Tokyo, show those idiots (who said how terrifying he was and had probably killed someone, making it undeserving to be among Rizin's champions) that he'd cummed on their faces.
Being empathetic, regretting something, feeling guilty was a drag.
Sukuna was as fast as lightning without his feelings, taking him to the very top of the MMA championships because that man genuinely didn't give a fuck.
He proudly declared himself the best in interviews and mocked his losing opponents. He cheated with his weight by losing quickly to be in a lower weight class and gain an advantage. He slept with his coach's daughter behind his back. Not a single fuck, and he waited for someone to challenge him.
His phone rang, and it was the special "Totally Spies" ringtone you'd set yourself so he'd know it was your group of friends and avoid ignoring his phone.
He smiled, checking his notifications.
[chats from ‘dollette's voices’ group chat]
schizoaffective baddie 💅🏿 : kuna didn't say good night to me :(((
schizoaffective baddie 💅🏿: im heartbroken and gonna kms for real now
sukuna : who gives a fuck about you
schizoaffective baddie 💅🏿: nobody 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
sukuna's dick rider 💯 : you're mean kuna, she misses you
sukuna : don't even start uraume i just fucked yorozu im in a bad mood
[schizoaffective baddie 💅🏿 is now offline].
big ass blue eyes 👁 : sukuna you have no game why tf did you say that in front of her
sukuna : that girl doesnt want my dick lets be real she said i was a slut
big ass blue eyes 👁 : u are
sukuna : acting as if you dont have suguru's mouth around your dick rn
big ass blue eyes 👁 : 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
big ass blue eyes 👁 : [photo]
sukuna : delete that disgusting shit immediately
peace n love 💐 : did yall forget i was a minor
emo boy : sukuna you're the worst big brother i know tf is that conversation yuji is 16!!!!!
sukuna : blah blah blah tell dollette to stop ignoring my calls
big ass blue eyes 👁 : is patrick bateman just experiencing guilt ??
sukuna : dont compare me to that whiny bitch he is hella insecure
emo boy : stop saying the b word
sukuna : suck my dick choso
emo boy : be a goddamn good older brother for once in your life
Sukuna rolled his eyes and focused on his phone to call you. After the tenth call, you finally picked up. He let out a heavy breath hearing sniffles.
“Your needy ass needs to stop.”
“I know but like anything breaks me down right now.”
“I know,” he said gently, the type of voice he uses only with you. “I told you to take your meds.”
“You don't get it, 'kuna. I need antipsychotics for the schizophrenic aspect of my disorder, but these meds make me so sleepy and basically a zombie. I need mood regulators for the bipolar aspects, but every time I have a hypomanic episode, I stop taking them so I never have the—”
“Wow, slow down,” he cut in. His heart squeezed at your faster speech. Bipolar disorder was complex, and sometimes depressive symptoms could overlap with hypomanic ones, creating mixed episodes. He was always on the lookout for contradictory behavior in you.
“How much have you spent in the last three days?”
Silence on the other end of the line.
“Dollette,” he grunted. “The fuck?”
“Well, there were tons of sales in Shibuya and Harujuku…”
“That’s not a reason to spend so much in 72 hours.”
“W-What? How do you know?”
“I know my baby.”
“Mhmm, I love it when you call me that.”
“Yeah? Enjoy it while you can because it’ll never happen again.”
“‘KUNA!”
What followed was a passionate conversation about the lace lingerie you had bought, your passion for fashion, ending in tears because nothing was going well in your life and you wanted to die.
“Happiness is a butterfly, Dollette.”
Sukuna knew how to calm you down because his sentence instantly soothed you.
“Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you” is a quote that rocked your complicated childhood with Sukuna. Most of Sukuna's tattoos were for you, but the butterfly one was the most special.
“You're right, I should calm down a bit. Rest.”
“You need some dick.”
“You're a fucking slut, don't ever touch me.”
“Oh okay, I thought you wanted that dick when you talked about lingerie.
“You're just my best friend.”
Sukuna tensed, gripping the phone tighter.
Best friend, my ass. The way he cared for you was nothing like the friendship he had with Uraume.
“I guess,” he mumbled, his jaw clenching. “I’ll come cook for you tomorrow. I bet you haven’t had anything homemade in days.”
“Thank you, ‘kuna. Love you a lot.”
“As you should.” Me too.
──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,
Happiness is a butterfly, and you were desperately chasing after it.
Sometimes your hypomanic episodes were so clever they happened at a natural time.
You'd read a mind-blowing book that gave you a new perspective on life, and bam! You'd buy 300 similar books, change your entire wardrobe because you were a new person, and your heart would race every day because you were bursting with creativity.
It was impossible for you to realize you were spiraling downward; changing your life after a good book seemed valid.
“And then he forced her to give him a blowjob or he'd throw her off a cliff in chapter two, but we learn later in the book it was her kink to be forced, and when they have consensual sex, she begs him not to be gentle with her. So hot, he's a psychopath like you,” you chuckled, rearranging your bookshelves.
“What did he do in chapter 2?”
You turned your head, holding ‘God of Malice’ by Rina Kent. You glared at him, his eyes on your ass.
“You never listen to me. I’ve already told you about Killian Carson. He has the same mind as you, that’s why he’s my book boyfriend.”
“Wow, what a love confession,” Sukuna chuckled, his head buried in your unicorn plushies, his legs spread wide on your bed as he smoked his blunt. He was on vacation and could afford drugs without his agent yelling at him that he was self-sabotaging.
Even if you were hypomanic right now, Sukuna loved you when you were like that.
There was so much color and life in you in those moments. The real you was amplified. Not the schizophrenic you, not the bipolar you. Just you. With your love for dark romance books, your love for cinema, your love for fashion.
It's a shame the mania came with so much suffering for you.
“What do you think of this?” You lifted your skirt to show him the lingerie you'd bought.
A groan echoed through the room, and you twirled around, hoping he'd have a better sight overall.
“C'mere,” he ordered, his voice deep.
His heart yearned for a kiss so bad. A kiss on your thigh to lead to something more sexual.
You sat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.
With his free hand, he gripped your ass under your skirt, kneading the pillowy flesh.
You talked about something; he guessed about another weird ass man in your romance novels, but his gaze was on your moving lips.
He bit the inside of his cheek, distracted and in love.
His phone rang several times, but he ignored it. He had the girl of his dreams on his lap.
“Wanna redo my dye with me?” he asked, tilting his head to better see your face light up. He fought a smile.
You spent quite a bit of time in the bathroom, black dye all over the sink, but Sukuna relaxed with your fingers in his hair. He stared at you as you focused on applying the chemical perfectly to his roots.
He swore he had never seen a woman prettier and cuter than you.
With long brown braids that reached your hips, your face was framed by layered french curls. Your soft face was adorned with a highlighter with satin pigments, which complemented your white strapless dress with its flowing skirt. The rest of your accessories were black, still very coquettish, with ribbon bows, barrettes, and a headband.
A princess. He wished he could be your prince.
“Shower me and shave me, too. I hurt myself in training,” he lied. He desperately wanted your touch. Desperately wanted to hurt you. Lovingly, tho. In a Sukuna way.
“You were smoking and touching my ass just fine.”
He smirked. “Don’t need any effort for that.”
────────
After a clean body, a shaved face, and a fresh dye, you finally emerge from the bathroom after two hours.
Sukuna grabbed his phone and clutched it tightly when he saw the 36 calls from Megumi.
Megumi never spoke to Sukuna; they had each other's numbers for Yuji.
Dread gripped his heart as he read the numerous messages from Choso and Megumi.
emo boy : i'm too drunk can you drive me home im with yuji
emo boy : no uber is available omg pls sukunaaaaa
emo boy : fine i will try to be careful im so tired i need to tell you what happened i think a girl liked me at the bar :))
megumi : i'm at the hospital rn because your grown ass was lollygagging when your brothers got in a car accident
────────
When you and Sukuna arrived at the hospital, it was too late. Yuji and Choso were already dead; the attempts to make their hearts beat during the emergency surgeries were futile.
“I’m so sorry, ‘kuna,” you tried to say, but he interrupted you.
“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, staring at the floor.
The doctors and nurses were busy dealing with other emergencies now, but they glanced at Sukuna.
Everyone here knew who Sukuna was.
The champion of Rizin. The one who had brought an avalanche of international fans to the Japanese MMA organization. Known for his brutality, the madness in his eyes when he fought, his mocking tone in interviews. The one whose entrances at MMA events garnered millions of views on YouTube.
How would a psychopath like him react to the death of his brothers?
Only you noticed the emotions in him. His legs were restless. His hands were trembling. His voice was harsher because he didn't know how to deal with his loss.
“It's not that deep, stop looking at me like that.”
You drew your lips into a thin line. “Sukuna…”
“I said stop looking at me like that, damn it.”
He stood up abruptly, ignoring you, and left the emergency room to go outside. But when he reached the doors, he saw his parents, stiffened, immediately looking down at the floor. His mother's violent slap didn't make him look up. Nor did her shouts. Nor his father's heavy, disapproving, broken gaze.
“Do you realize what you've done? They're… They're…” His mother placed her hand on his chest, which rose and fell, her cheeks flushed. “I told you we should have given up on him, honey.”
Sukuna's fists clenched as he remained silent, staring at the white floor.
His mother continued talking, but could she really be called a mother? She didn't care about his own loss. She didn't care that Choso had driven drunk. It was all Sukuna's fault, as usual.
Sukuna shoved her with his broad shoulders and left the hospital.
He never liked them, anyway.
Choso was too perfect. Sukuna's parents constantly compared him to him. Because Choso had everything Sukuna lacked: kindness, empathy, compassion, care for his brothers.
He tried to light his lighter, but the wind was in his direction, preventing the flame from igniting. He grunted, his hands trembling even more.
Yuji was a dumb ass. Stupid as fuck. Sukuna didn't know what Megumi loved so dearly about Yuji.
His lighter continued to malfunction, and Sukuna struggled to see where to press his thumb because his vision was blurred. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he spat out his cigarette. A butterfly fluttered past him. He chuckled at the absurdity of the situation, sniffing. Happiness was a butterfly, but with that loss, he didn't know if he could catch it anymore.
────────
But to better understand Sukuna and his grief, you need to go back in time to where it all began for the two of you.
────────
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞, 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Being a victim was boring as fuck.
Sukuna's bullies were having fun today. They stole his bento, Sukuna shed some (fake) tears when they gave him more cigarette burns, and now Sukuna was choking.
Mahito laughed hysterically as he pulled Sukuna's hair, his head in the toilet bowl.
Sukuna prepared a terrified expression for when he was freed from the water.
“That'll teach you to help my girlfriend with school. She doesn't need your damn help.”
Bored, Sukuna blinked but then remembered the role he needed to play.
“I-I'm sorry!”
“Yeah, you better be. Now let's go, I hear a teacher coming.”
Mahito and his friends left the bathroom, leaving a soaking wet Sukuna alone.
Sukuna burst out laughing once he was alone.
He shook his head, chuckling. “This is getting ridiculous.”
He grabbed his Cars school bag, the one he shared with his brothers, and left middle school. He'd been teased about his bag when he first arrived, but Yuji's happy smile at sharing something with his older brother was worth all the ridicule in the world.
He glanced at his watch. He needed to pick up Choso from elementary school and Yuji from daycare before his parents got home from work and started yelling at everyone because they were late.
He couldn't care less about disappointing his parents, but he didn't want to end up in foster care like they'd threatened him with ever since he stabbed his cousin.
His family had to move because of the reputation that had developed around the Ryomen family. His parents wanted to give him a chance and were having him see a psychologist.
So he wished he could destroy his bullies and show them real bullying, but if he did that, he could say goodbye to his brothers.
“Why are you all wet?” Choso asked him, accepting the ice cream Sukuna offered.
“I went swimming.”
“It’s winter.”
“Mind your own business and eat.”
Yuji came running up, a ton of new drawings for his family in his bag. Sukuna rolled his eyes at Yuji’s bright, admiring gaze at his two older brothers.
Sukuna ruffled Yuji’s hair and gave him the ice cream he had stolen.
“Tell Mom there was an ice cream sale at elementary school and it slowed me down if she’s upset.”
Yuji shook his head. “I don’t want to lie to Mom.”
“That’s fine, I’ll tell her you wet the bed last night.”
Yuji’s cheeks flushed. “That’s not true!!”
Choso sighed, taking Yuji's hand and walking ahead without Sukuna, who wanted to give them candy (which he had also stolen).
He was stupid. He was a threatening nuisance who needed to be kept away from them.
He threw the candy in a trash can, ignoring his heart pounding painfully before joining his brothers.
────────
Sukuna watched you from his bedroom window.
He wanted to come over and get to know you better. Not out of kindness, but mainly to see which category of people you fell into.
Sukuna sorted humanity into four categories. There were the NPCs. People he had no interest in talking to. The victims. People he enjoyed hurting and found amusing to manipulate for his own gain. There were the "friends”, people who understood him, with whom he could reveal his true madness and still be accepted (Satoru & Uraume). And then, there were the exceptions. The people he desperately sought out; the ones who made him want to live and die all at once because he cared about them so deeply. He hadn't found any of those, aside from his brothers.
You looked like a victim with those ribbons in your hair. A sheep waiting to be devoured by the wolf.
Sukuna’s mother was chatting with the new neighbors in the garden, but it wasn't the lemon tart she was offering them that looked most delicious to Sukuna, it was you.
He should welcome his new neighbors properly, rather than plotting exactly how he would break you.
But you were so pretty. He loved destroying pretty things. He wanted to know what your blood tasted like.
Sukuna had been obsessed with blood and violence since birth.
He didn't practice martial arts for the love of the sport. His body hummed with excitement whenever he heard a grunt caused by a particularly hard blow; he did it to inflict pain.
He hadn't stabbed his cousin with the intention of killing him. His pupils would dilate at the sight of blood flowing from the wound; he did it to witness the damage.
He used to hurt birds and snicker at their attempts to fly away and escape so he would break their wings. He had set up a little torture chamber in the garden shed where his parents never went.
He was forced to put a stop to this barbarity when his parents threatened to abandon him.
Sukuna knew right from wrong, and it was a pain in the ass.
So, so much restraint. All for the sake of his brothers.
His brothers were too young to understand that there was something fundamentally different about them; Sukuna wanted to preserve that innocence.
Sukuna’s impulsiveness was like fire flowing through his veins, setting his whole body ablaze whenever the urge to act became too strong.
His hands trembled with the desire to strangle you and rip the ribbons from your hair just to stomp on them. He wished he could torture birds to relieve the tension.
He grabbed a sheet of paper, drew a sheep on it, and folded it into a paper airplane. He waited until you were alone in the garden next to his before launching it.
You were wandering around your garden barefoot, clutching a large pink unicorn plushie. Sukuna frowned at the sight but sent the plane flying anyway.
He had to wait for you to circle the garden before you stumbled upon the paper. You read it, smiled, and spun around, raising your arms to the sky in thanks.
“What is she doing?” Choso asked, having snuck into Sukuna’s room, before leaning out the window to look as well.
“Dunno.”
──
“I’d like you to be kind to the new neighbors’ child. She’s suffering from depression.”
She didn’t look depressed when she walked barefoot in her garden, smiling up at the sky, Sukuna thought as he ate the maki rolls he’d made with his brothers.
Sukuna’s parents loved their children deeply, and despite the struggles they faced with Sukuna, they moved to avoid a bad reputation, yes, but above all to keep Choso and Yuji from finding out the truth about their older brother. As long as Sukuna kept seeing his therapist and doing things with his brothers, everything should be fine.
No one noticed it but Sukun, watching from the kitchen window, but you were still out walking after nightfall.
──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,
Just as you laid your head on the pillow to sleep, your mother knocked to let you know it was time for school. You let out a heavy sigh and let your mother tend to you in silence.
Normal eleven-year-olds got themselves ready for school, but you struggled to find the motivation for anything in life.
The only thing that interested you was the Unicorn Goddess and writing her sacred book. The Unicorn Goddess had told you it would silence the demonic shrieks that made you cry at night.
Mom thought you were depressed; with your child’s mind, you struggled to grasp the meaning of the word, but you didn't feel sad.
You were terrified. As you grew older, you had withdrawn from the world, and the demons were closing in on you. Sometimes you could sleep, but at other times the screaming was so loud that you had to sleep with hyperpop blasting in your ears. You needed the Unicorn Goddess to save you.
You reached for your unicorn, but your mother grabbed your hand.
“Baby, you were bullied over this. You need to grow up.”
“But that's my only friend…”
Your mother smiled fondly, as if it were cute and not a sign of childhood schizophrenia.
“I know, my love. But you have to make an effort to fit in at your new school.”
“Fit in? Why? I just want my unicorn.”
“What happened, baby?” Her voice trembled. “You used to be such a cheerful and sociable child. Do you remember your friends Shoko and Utahime?”
You swallowed hard. They had been frightened of you when you told them about the demons at night. They had been kind and defended you against bullies, but they didn't understand you on a fundamental level.
“I'm sorry, Mommy.” You looked at the floor. “I’ll try harder to make friends.”
Your mother’s smile grew wider, even though your heart ached more and more from constantly being misunderstood.
──
After school, you were thinking about what kind of friends you could invent to please your mother. Telling her you’d eaten lunch alone and that classmates thought you were weird would break her heart.
In any case, your dream was to be an actress; embodying and creating characters came easily to you.
You were riding your bike, stopping at a convenience store to pick up some candy for your mom, just in case she discovered your lie. The truth would go down a lot easier with a bit of sugar.
“Hey, ballet-flat girl!”
A male voice called out to you, but you were lost in your own world.
You had developed concentration issues upon starting school. Your parents had you tested for ADHD, but you didn't meet all the criteria.
Someone struggling with dopamine issues, executive dysfunction, and boredom was worlds apart from someone who was simply inattentive because they were lost in their own hallucinatory world.
Still focused on thoughts of the Unicorn Goddess and how she would save you if you kept writing her sacred book, you stowed your purchases in your bag and got back on your bike.
You managed to ride two blocks before someone shoved you violently, knocking you to the ground.
You scraped your knee against the asphalt and froze as you noticed three persons your age looming over you.
Two of them had short white hair. One had a bob cut, and the other had sparkling blue eyes. But the one who really caught your attention was the boy with piercing red eyes and pink hair. He was taller than the others and wore a menacing smirk.
“So, the doll finally notices us?” he muttered, kicking your bike again. “Slash her tires,” he ordered his friends.
“I swear I’m only doing this because he promised me Digimon cards,” the blue-eyed boy blurted out.
“If you want cards, I’ve got plenty. I’m playing a character who’s a fan of them in a play; I wanted to understand his psyche better,” you said softly, rummaging through your bag.
His eyes widened. “No way… What the hell?! This card is so rare!!” He sat down next to you, eyes full of wonder.
“This isn’t what we were supposed to do, dumbass.” The red-eyed boy clenched his fists.
“Kuna, stop it ! She seems really nice!”
“Satoru, I don’t give a fuck.”
The other person hesitated for a few seconds before sitting down on the sidewalk too.
“Not you too, Uraume,” Sukuna sighed.
“My bad, ‘kuna.”
Sukuna fixed his gaze on you, narrowing his eyes. You were wearing black platform Mary Janes with lace trim and tall white socks. Your afro puff was tied back with a ribbon.
“You do theater? You should go to fashion school. Do you think this is Fashion Week or something?”
“F-Fashion what?”
“And she’s dumb. Wow.”
Sukuna waited for you to burst into tears over the bike and his insult. But you barely reacted, as if you were miles away.
His fists clenched and unclenched.
He kicked your bike a third time, breaking a part and making it unusable for the moment. He turned toward you, an unfriendly smile on his face.
“What are you gonna do now?”
You blinked a few times, your expression blank. You stood up, smoothed your skirt, handed a few Digimon cards to Satoru, slung your bag over your shoulder, and walked off down the sidewalk.
Sukuna glared at you. You thought you were special with your nonchalant attitude? He’s going to teach you some manners. He’s going to show you his torture chamber to shock you, then threaten you so you don’t say anything to his parents.
─
“I saw a demon today.”
You were cuddling your unicorn plushie for comfort on your bed.
“Maybe it’s a demon that screams at night. Maybe it needs a little love to stop screaming in pain.”
You got out of bed, still barefoot in your Strawberry Shortcake pajamas, and quietly left your room to press your ear against your parents’ door.
“She has serious inattention issues and doesn’t even react when we call her! Your daughter is severely disabled; she even lost her bike!” your father yelled, as if being disabled were a moral failure.
“She was bullied! She’s doing her best!”
You tensed up, a knot forming in your stomach.
Would they argue even more if you told them about the demons screaming at night? Would they be afraid of you, like Shoko and Utahime?
You took advantage of their argument to perform your favorite ritual for sleepless nights: circling the garden while chanting incantations.
It was important to show respect to the Unicorn Goddess so she would save you from the demons.
─
You were pretty creepy.
You'd walked past Sukuna for over ten laps of the garden but hadn't noticed him because you were so focused on muttering incomprehensible things.
He threw some dirt at you to get your attention.
In the moonlight, you were even prettier and you made his stomach churn.
"Who are you talking to?"
"The Unicorn Goddess."
"Ah, so you're really that weird."
You were about to continue your walk, ignoring him, but Sukuna called to you again.
"Come into my garden, I have something your Unicorn Goddess will love," he lied.
Your eyes lit up, and he helped you through the broken fence that separated your gardens.
Maybe it was Sukuna's love language. To bully, scare, make people cry.
Because he'd never shown his torture chamber to anyone. He swore it was to scare you, but his heart was pounding, as if he hoped your strangeness would make you an exception in his world.
“You’re very hurt,” was all you said when you saw the multiple bloody bird carcasses hidden in his father’s shed. “Take this. This is going to soothe the shrieks.” You gave him your unicorn plushie.
“The shrieks?” he murmured, frowning.
“You’re a demon. I’m haunted by demons. Unicorn Goddess is going to save us,” you said softly. “But you have to whisper; demons always come to haunt us in closed rooms.”
He didn’t understand why you didn’t scream and said he needed to go to foster care. He didn’t understand why you didn’t treat him like a public menace, but like a wounded boy who needed divine healing. He stared at you, speechless, lost.
“Can I kiss you?”
You blinked, looking at the animal carcasses around you. “Um…”
“Yeah, I know. Do you want to be my friend?”
You shrugged, distracted by a butterfly landing on your arm.
Why not?
──────── 𝟒 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,
Time dragged so slowly in the psychiatric ward.
You spent your time sleeping because of the antipsychotics. They made you gain weight, forcing you to wear those ugly, baggy, blue hospital clothes.
You wouldn't miss the plain walls and floors, the sound of doors opening and closing, or the musty air conditioning once you got out.
Most girls spent the summer before the start of the school year trying to have a "glow-up"; they didn't have psychotic episodes like you did.
The psychiatrist entered your room as you stared outside at the patients who were allowed to go out, unlike you.
“How are you feeling today?”
That stupid ass question they asked every other day. You were a literal zombie with no time to gain perspective on the situation because you were constantly asleep. Yet, they had the audacity to ask that.
“I'm fine.”
“You have visitors in the common room. You’re allowed to go out into the hospital grounds during the visit. You have one hour.”
Your world regained its color and vitality.
You struggled to get out of bed so the psychiatrist helped you to the common room where your group of friends was waiting.
“What did they do to my girl?!” Satoru exclaimed, rushing over to hug you.
“Your girl?” Choso chuckled. “You’re gay.”
“Hi,” Uraume greeted you calmly, rubbing your arm.
Only Sukuna stared at you piercingly without saying a word, before looking away, his hands in his baggy jeans.
He had changed since the eleven-year-old boy who wanted to kiss you in a shed filled with animal carcasses. Now, he struggled a great deal with his feelings, especially guilt, which manifested differently in him than in other people. He remained silent while everyone else laughed, trying to ignore the state you were in. A state that pained everyone, Sukuna included.
Uraume knew their best friend well and decided to leave you alone with Sukuna while the others went to get food from a vending machine.
“You're feeling guilty,” you stated as you sat on a bench, side by side, your thighs touching.
“I'm not,” he mumbled. “Just… Conflicted. I don't know what to do for you to be okay. I don't feel guilty about calling an ambulance for your episode; I'm angry. They don't try to treat you; it’s like they just want you to shut up and not make too much noise for their own comfort.”
“They said I’m probably bipolar but couldn't diagnose me yet because I’m a minor.”
“And they’re giving you huge doses of medication anyway? They’re completely crazy.”
“I wish I had the same condition as you,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder. “You channel your energy easily. Finding out that my stories about demons were actually auditory hallucinations was disorienting.”
“Mind you, I believed you.”
“No you didn't; you saved me as ‘schizoaffective baddie’ in your contacts.”
“Alright… Acting like being a baddie with mental illness is a fatal character flaw.”
“It really is. I had an audition for a movie today,” you pouted.
Sukuna patted your head.
“You were unlucky today, but you’ll win all the acting awards later on. A talented, schizophrenic, bipolar actress only comes along once every thousand years.”
“Don't go romanticizing the thing that's ruining my life.”
“Wait ‘till you hear what I think about psychopathy.”
You chuckled but stopped when you remembered the face of your mother when she heard you had schizophrenic traits and not depression.
“I'm such a disappointment,” you whispered. “Mommy is weird with me now.”
You missed when she would be so caring with you when she thought you were just depressed. Now, there is hurt in her eyes as if having mental illness was a betrayal.
“Mom can't stand me too.” Sukuna took your hands, intertwining you fingers. “But it's okay, you're not a disappointment to me.”
“That's not a compliment coming from you.”
“The fuck?”
Your shoulders shook with your laugh.
The need for belonging somewhere and the desire to be cuddled by someone who saw your flaws and chose to cherish them nonetheless shaped your life together. It's kind of funny you found solace with someone as hurt and mentally ill as you.
──────── 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,
“Happy birthday, ‘kuna,” you breathed on his neck.
You had climbed the wall just before midnight to arrive on time. But you raised an eyebrow when you saw dark hair instead of his pink.
“What are you doing here?” he grumbled, his voice sleepy. He hadn't opened his eyes but recognized your scent. He let out a groan when he felt your softness against him. His hands went under your skirt to grab your ass, kneading your ample flesh.
“That's not your gift.”
“That's fucking enough f’me, just need some bonus tits.”
He turned you around so he was lying on top of you. He leaned down to place soft kisses on your neck. You shivered; it was the first time a man had touched you like that.
Sukuna had often had his hand on your ass, but he had never kissed your body before today. “S-Sukuna, what are you doing?”
He added his tongue to the kisses, and the sucking. A wave of heat surged through your stomach, and you wanted even more, wanting to experience something normal in your daily life as a mentally ill teenager. But not with Sukuna.
“S-Stop.”
“Why? You shake at my touch. And I’m doing nothing. Needy slut.”
You slapped Sukuna, stiffening at his insult. But he said that on purpose, because he smirked.
“I’m into that. Let’s hurt each other.”
“Sukuna, you’re not my type.”
Sukuna's eyes squinted.
“What is your type?”
“Suguru. Calm. Gentle. Girl dad energy.”
“Suguru is fucking gay,” he glared at you. “What type of energy do I give?”
You looked at his muscular chest, his piercing red gaze and his broad shoulders. You gulped, looking away. You will never say it to his face.
“Wow, you're the shy type in bed. Interesting. I need to adapt,” he let out a mocking laugh but his affection was evident in the way he stroked your thigh.
“No need to adapt, I told you this isn't your gift.” You tried to get out of his grip to get his present from your bag.
“Why are you acting like I'm some average guy? I don't give a damn about your gift. Give me your body.”
Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes and he let out a heavy sigh as if you were a burden.
“I had a bad day, don’t start.”
You sniffled. “I spent hours on it, ‘kuna.”
“And how is that my problem? I asked for nothing. My parents stopped giving me gifts since I stabbed that boy. I don't care about my birthday.”
You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight.
“But you give me amazing gifts.” You nuzzled him.
For your birthday this year, Sukuna made a scrapbook listing all your favorite movies. Sukuna wasn't very creative, so he asked his brothers for help to make it look nice. Last year, it was about your favorite books, and when you were younger, he made a book himself out of paper to list your favorite recipes. He always needed other people to help make the gift less impersonal, but the love and affection in the thought of the gift came from him.
“It's to manipulate you into giving me your body, don't get it twisted.”
“Maybe I want you to twist my body.”
He froze.
He flirted with you constantly, and when he wasn't doing it seductively, he did it meanly. He was capable of asking you to kiss him and bullying you within the span of less than twenty-four hours.
But you never gave in. Until now.
“I thought your type was gay ass men. Lunatic as fuck.”
“I just don't think you're the right man for the life I want.”
He suppressed an eye roll, his tongue tucked against the inside of his cheek.
Your bullshit about being a mom pissed him off. You always talked about this. Motherhood. Everyone found it touching that a sixteen-year-old girl knew what she wanted so early in life. Sukuna was the only one who felt like vomiting at the idea.
“You will never be a mom because you're gonna be my fucking wife. And we will have a great child-free life.”
He crushed his lips against yours. You burst into sobs. You wanted that life with him. Being with someone who understood your weird, darker parts. But you desperately wanted to belong somewhere. Maybe if you were a mom, your own mother wouldn't be disappointed in your mental state anymore? Maybe society would stop seeing you as a poor victim of psychosis. You would have control.
“No, you won't. You just won't. Baby, sometimes you don't have the motivation to brush your teeth and I do it for you,” he whispered against your mouth, reading your thoughts because he was intimately connected to you.
“I’ll be a new person for this.”
“Something psychotic people like you love to say, and everyone laughs.”
“Fuck you.”
“Bitch, I am fucking you.”
You wanted to protest, but the roll of his hips pressing his erection against you silenced any urge to stand up for yourself.
“Sukuna, I’ve never done this.”
He wiped away the tears of frustration streaming down your cheeks. “Me neither.”
“You—What?!”
“You're the only girl that matters; I will never touch anyone else.”
Your expression softened, and you accepted him.
His kisses trailing along your thick thighs. His odd way of trying to go down on you through your cotton panties made you laugh. His fingers touching the deepest parts of your body. You swore he had access to your heart, as you clung to him as if your life depended on it.
His fingers moved in and out of you, like a romantic dance without any sudden, frantic speed. He was trembling, as if aroused, or holding back the urge to be rough, or a mix of both. Either way, you were grateful he was making an effort and not giving in to his sadistic fantasies right away.
You wanted to please him too, so your hands roamed over his chest, tracing the ridges of his abs.
He smiled against your lips; butterflies took flight in your stomach.
But the door suddenly flew open, and Sukuna’s mother looked on with surprise and concern as Sukuna’s hand pulled away from between your legs.
An awkward silence hung in the air for a few moments before you grabbed your bag and left Sukuna’s room.
“I didn't know you were his girlfriend.”
“I'm just his best friend. We were a bit lost tonight,” you said politely to his mother, accepting the glass of orange juice she handed you.
“I know you love my son very much, but I need to warn you: he’s not the man for you. He’s violent, selfish, and a literal psychopath.”
You gazed out at the garden, trying to escape the uncomfortable conversation.
“Thanks, but I’m already aware of that. I know what he did to his cousin.”
“And you still talk to him?”
“So what? Am I supposed to stay away from him because of something he didn't ask for? He hasn't hurt anyone since that incident. You spend all your time threatening to abandon him. Sukuna is suffering so much in silence.”
Sukuna’s mother flushed with anger. “You’re sixteen; you can’t understand. I’m doing what’s best for my family. And Sukuna is no longer part of it.”
You flinched and covered your mouth to stifle a gasp of surprise when you saw Sukuna in the doorway. He held a finger to his lips, and you gave a discreet nod.
“Sukuna is an anomaly in our genetic makeup, I don’t know what happened... he was born completely unhinged. Even his mixed martial arts coach tells him he’s too violent. But Sukuna won’t listen to a thing...”
“You do realize when you talk like that you make me feel...”
“No, not you,” she reassured you. “You’re the good kind of crazy. It’s absolutely not your fault that you deal with schizophrenia and manic episodes. Sukuna is a danger to the public. I’m sure he’ll end up in prison. He needs to be a bit more like Choso. He’s truly the perfect child.”
You glanced over to where Sukuna had been, but he was gone.
With a knot in your stomach, you knew he had heard what his mother said, and you understood why he had dyed his hair black—he wanted to look like the ideal brother. Choso.
──────── 𝟖 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
“Why them and not him?”
“God took the wrong brothers.”
“Sukuna is an abomination to the Ryomen.”
Sukuna remained silent as he walked through the room, hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, yet he heard everything being said at the funeral.
He agreed with them. It should have been him.
He had nothing but violence to offer humanity; being an MMA celebrity was merely putting glitter and paint over a foundation of rotten wood. Sukuna was rotten to the core. He had known that for a long time. But in the days following Choso and Yuji’s deaths, he was suffocating under a reality he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge: he should have killed himself long ago to spare his family the suffering, but he was too selfish to do it. Rotten.
Sukuna had wept at the news of their deaths, though it wasn't as if he cared all that much about his family.
He listened to the Buddhist priest chanting the sutras, wondering if he would have the privilege of having his spirit guided like that when he died.
When the attendees stepped forward to offer incense and say prayers for Yuji and Choso, he went outside to smoke, sitting on the steps.
What he was doing was incredibly rude. That was surely why no one had spoken to him during the otsuya tradition. (the Japanese wake held the evening before the funeral, where the deceased's family receives comfort through offerings)
A noise caught his attention; he turned toward you as you stepped out of a taxi, trying to push your way through the paparazzi. They were forbidden from approaching the funeral itself, so they lingered outside the building, hoping to snap a photo of at least one of the two celebrities in attendance.
“I'm so sorry, Sukuna!!!” you apologized profusely, bowing your head exaggeratedly. Sukuna smirked, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
“What’s your excuse for being late on the most tragic day of my life?”
“I… I had hallucinations and had a panic attack.”
His eyes softened and he opened his arms for you to sit on the steps between his legs, which you did gladly.
He rested his chin on your shoulder. “I left during oshōkō.” (when they gave incense offerings and prayers)
You gasped. “You give the idea you don't care about them when you do that, Sukuna.”
“Yeah, because I don't.” He pressed your back even tighter against his chest.
“I saw you trembling that day.”
Sukuna stiffened. “It was just shock. I don't give a damn about them.”
“What about accepting Mahito's bullying so you wouldn't be abandoned by your parents? What about your dark hair, just to be a better brother to them? What about—”
He crushed the lit end of his cigarette against the brown skin of your arm. You cried out in pain, and he sneered.
“Now, shut your damn mouth.”
He wrapped his arms around you, but you held your breath as you noticed the cigarette burn scars on his skin. Your heart ached every time you saw them. Physical manifestations of a time when he was desperate enough to do anything to avoid being separated from his brothers.
“Mahito was cruel,” you said softly, caressing his scars.
“No more cruel than me. Who else could attempt murder at ten years old like I did?”
Your giggle warmed his heart. He leaned down to kiss your neck, his warm lips peppering kisses all over you. Several camera flashes bothered him, and he lifted his head to glare at them.
“Don't do anything that could damage my reputation; I start filming my movie tomorrow.”
“Is there a kiss with a man in the movie?”
“There’s even a sex scene.”
He burned you with the cigarette again.
“Sukuna, stop!”
“You're a fucking virgin. Why would you ever do that?”
“Do you have to kill someone to play a murderer?”
“Well, yeah. Where do I sign up for the role?”
You rolled your eyes and straightened yourself up. He adjusted your skirt for you and kissed your knees.
“I’m going to bring flowers to your brothers.”
“What about me? I’m grieving. I need gifts.”
“I remember clearly being heartbroken because I wanted to give you a gift—”
“And I was heartbroken because I wanted to fuck you.”
“You lied that day. You deserve it.”
“Lied?”
There was no way you were going to let him know that you had wanted to be his first, or that you cherished the moment he said he wouldn't touch anyone else. Because he lied. Sukuna always lied. You hated the man you loved.
You smacked him on the head with your bag and ignored his insults as you walked into the building.
──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,
“You stink,” Satoru complained, downing a glass of vodka while his eyes remained fixed on his best friend.
Sukuna fiddled with his tie. A pathetic attempt to look put-together and hide his distress. But everyone noticed it: the dark circles under his eyes, his disheveled hair, his lack of hygiene.
“He’s been like that since the photo with Nanami,” Uraume admitted.
Sukuna glared at the people in the bar who were watching them with admiration. Satoru was a well-known public figure, a bit like Vinnie Hacker; he ran a YouTube channel where he posted commentary and reviews of anime. His good looks brought him a lot of visibility, and the fact that his boyfriend, Suguru, was a rockstar played a huge part, too. Sukuna hated how popular they were, both in Tokyo and internationally.
“Don’t talk about that!” Sukuna slammed his fist onto the bar counter. “I’m trying to forget that thing.”
“I’ve found Sukuna’s kryptonite!” Satoru let out a mocking laugh, brandishing the photo of you kissing Nanami in a café.
Sukuna growled and grabbed Satoru by the collar of his T-shirt, shoving him against the nearest wall. He landed a lightning-fast punch that made Satoru’s head spin, yet Satoru lifted his head, nose bleeding, and smiled.
“You love that girl so bad.”
Satoru didn’t get it. Nobody could get it.
It wasn’t about love, affection, or grief. It was about him. Always about him. Sukuna was selfish.
If Choso and Yuji were dead and you had a boyfriend now, who would be his exception? Who would be there to make him feel like he belonged somewhere, despite his broken brain? Who would be his butterfly?
He was so angry. He hated you and his brothers. He had tasted that human emotion, and now he was hooked. If he had no one left now, he might as well go completely mad.
He kept striking Satoru, who grunted and spat blood onto Sukuna’s face. The blows rained down. A futile attempt to vent his rage, for it would never be enough. A psychopath’s soul is greedy; he wanted to possess you and his brothers so that you would always be with him.
Uraume managed to stop Sukuna just as Satoru collapsed unconscious to the floor, amidst the screams of the bar patrons.
Sukuna stared at his bloodied fist, realizing just how right his mother had been to want to abandon him, for he felt no guilt whatsoever for having hurt his best friend.
─
Suguru’s eyes shot daggers when Sukuna entered the hospital room.
“What the fuck?”
“He pissed me off,” Sukuna yawned and slumped into a chair, manspreading. He looked at Satoru’s sleeping, bandaged face and chuckled. “He’s gonna be pissed when he wakes up.”
“I’m going to make him press charges against you.”
“Ooh, I’m scared. Emo boy is gonna ruin my career.”
“Are you always like this?” Suguru tensed.
“Worse in bed.”
Suguru ignored the remark and stroked Satoru’s arm. He knew his boyfriend was crazy and would forgive Sukuna, even if it made him mad.
Sukuna thought it was stupid to care that much about someone else until he remembered that he would commit genocide if anyone ever laid a hand on you.
Sukuna received a Google notification on his phone.
“Dollette and Nanami Kento: the new hit couple who met on the set of their new film have made it official!”
He hurled his phone against the wall. Suguru jumped, looking at Sukuna as if he were insane.
Sukuna placed the apology candy and chocolates he’d bought on the bed before walking out. He needed to fuck and hurt someone.
──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,
“Does he know about your mental illness?”
Heat rushed to your cheeks as you took the phone off speaker.
“Sukuna, I’m getting my makeup done for a photoshoot; don't say things like that.”
“So that’s a no,” he chuckled on the other end of the line.
“Well, it’s kind of scary to tell someone, ‘Hey, I have schizoaffective disorder, it’s a mix of schizophrenia and bipolar disorder!’”
“I don’t see the problem. Everyone knows you’re mentally ill.”
“He thinks I’m a tortured artist. He doesn’t understand how sick I really am. I don’t know how to tell him. It’s like you really want me to tell him so he’ll leave me.”
“Exactly. You’ve found me out.”
You hung up on him and let your makeup artist make you look beautiful.
Sukuna loved sabotaging your relationships a bit too much, but you weren’t going to let him do that with Nanami.
Nanami was the perfect man. Gentle. Someone who wanted a family. Serious.
Everything Sukuna wasn’t.
‘Have a good day, love.’
Butterflies took flight in your belly whenever Nanami texted you; you’d chat with him for a few moments before receiving a message from Sukuna and losing your smile.
‘He’d find the Unicorn Goddess cringe. Would she even want to save him? We’re her favorites.’
‘Those were schizophrenic delusions, ‘Kuna.’
‘And yet, I feel like you saved me anyway when you gave me that plushie. Maybe it was real.’
No.
He lied; he was a manipulator.
Just a few days earlier, he had deliberately sent you a sex tape of himself and Yorozu, pretending he’d sent it to the wrong person.
You were in a relationship, yet seeing your best friend fucking another girl made you want to cry. Because he had said you were the only one who mattered.
You didn't reply to the message, leaving it on "read."
After a busy day, you had a date with Nanami and were spending the night with him.
His face was gentle. He didn't have Sukuna's tough look which gave him such an intimidating aura, or those piercing red eyes that sent shivers down your spine.
Everything was so calm with Nanami.
He kissed your entire body as if you were a being to be cherished, not conquered like Sukuna did. Every moan was earned, not taken by force. Every caress was a genuine touch, not a form of manipulation.
But you covered your breasts with your hands, not because you were insecure, but because Nanami lacked that feverish gaze Sukuna had when he looked at you. You didn't know if you were truly wanted. If you really belonged here, in this bed with him.
After sleeping with Nanami for the first time, you lay in the dark regretting your actions, his arms wrapped around your waist.
He was fast asleep when the darkness of the room began to suffocate you, with demons crawling across your back. Paralyzed and terrified, their limbs left a slimy fluid trickling over your skin. You trembled in discomfort, unable to speak, your clothes feeling too tight.
Tears welled up in your eyes, and it wasn't until the screams, the ones you were so used, rang out that you finally snapped back to reality.
You tried to break free from Nanami’s embrace, but he was holding you tight against him. You sobbed even harder.
You shook him, waking him abruptly.
You said something in a panic, but your words made no sense. He turned on the bedside lamp and stared at you, frowning.
“Did you have a nightmare? It's okay, Dollette. Do you want some tea?”
The demonic shrieks grew in intensity, and you hyperventilated, choking on your tears.
“D-Dollette, I—”
You froze, staring at something in the room that Nanami couldn't see. The look of horror on your face unnerved Nanami; he didn't understand what was happening. You let out a scream of terror and leapt out of bed, running out of Nanami’s room.
He followed close behind, worried.
“Dollette!”
You rushed out of the apartment and scrambled down the stairs, gasping for breath, still in your pajamas and barefoot. Once outside, you ran through the streets looking for a garden where you could circle around and perform your incantations.
You only remember running for a long time, because when you woke up, you were in the hospital.
“W-What happened?” you asked the nurse who had come to change your IV drip.
“You had an episode. We have to wait for the doctor to prescribe the right medication. How are you feeling? Can you tell me today's date?”
“Oh—”
A noise to your left made you stop and turn your head, staring at the wall for several long seconds.
“Miss Dollette?”
“Excuse me,” you whispered, embarrassed. “Could I have some headphones and my MP3 player?”
“Of course. Someone with dark hair dropped off a lot of your things.”
She went to get your belongings, and you drifted off to sleep listening to the hyperpop music that soothed your anxiety. But you were jolted awake by the panicked voices of nurses surrounding you.
“But there was no history of suicidal behavior noted in her medical file...”
“Ms. Dollette, we have to follow protocol; we’re going to put diapers on you to make things easier for everyone.”
Before you could even protest, they were undressing you and restraining your hands.
“What did I do wrong?” you asked in a trembling voice, recognizing the procedure.
“You tried to strangle yourself with your earbuds; we found them wrapped around your neck while you were asleep.”
“They just got tangled—”
“You have a schizoaffective profile; it’s only natural that you wouldn't understand yourself...”
You stopped listening, recognizing that kind of attitude.
Once you were labeled psychotic, people assumed that everything you said was just the ramblings of a schizophrenic who couldn't be trusted. No matter how intelligent or relevant your point was, being psychotic meant your ability to be heard was compromised.
The humiliation of having to pee on yourself was something you hadn't missed about the hospital since you were fifteen.
──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,
“Why the fuck did you call an ambulance?” Sukuna yelled.
Nanami’s tense face remained unreadable as he adjusted his tie.
“She seemed to need medical help.”
“They constantly mistreat her. In a psych ward, they treat you like an animal if you aren't just depressed or anxious. What kind of world do you live in not to know that?!”
Nanami focused on the mental health posters on the psychiatric ward's blue walls.
“You really aren't the guy she needs.”
“I don't want to hear criticism from a man who disfigured his own friend in front of everyone,” Nanami said flatly, remembering the Satoru incident that went viral even after this, he said Sukuna was still his brother and we should move on.
“So what?” Sukuna smirked. “At least I would’ve run after her to comfort her and tell her they were just hallucinations. You chose to be a fucking pussy and call emergency services, just to humiliate her.” His voice barely concealed his venom.
“She wasn't on a regular treatment plan; that’s extremely dangerous.”
“She just needs headphones, a garden, and emergency antipsychotics for when the episode gets too intense.”
“But she’s also bipolar; that’s what the doctors said.”
“Who gives a shit about that?” Sukuna shoved Nanami, his hands on the other man's shoulders. “I’ll be the one handling her finances and advising her if she’s manic and wants to buy a bunch of stuff. She’s hypomanic, not in a full-blown manic episode with paranoia. Stop seeing her as a woman with no autonomy,” he added defensively, cracking his knuckles and getting ready to fight.
“I see you’ve got mental health issues too.”
His smirk widened into a grin. “Hell yeah. You scared?” He tilted his head.
A noise interrupted them as you leaned against the wall, making your way toward the hospital’s common room. Sukuna turned pale when he saw you and rushed over to pull you into his arms.
“Those motherfuckers are dead, you know that, baby?” He kissed your forehead. “This is literally medical abuse. You don’t need that much medication.”
You shrugged, still groggy from your nap. “I just need a few minutes to wake up.”
Nanami watched you, realizing he was intruding; he set his flowers down on a chair before leaving. Sukuna tossed them in the trash, taking advantage of your disoriented state.
“When you were running, you were looking for a garden, right? To walk around and pray?” Sukuna asked as you sat down.
You nodded mechanically, your head resting on his shoulder.
“Dollette, there’s a way out of this. Don’t be so spaced out.”
“Since when are you so optimistic about life?”
“I’m angry and happy. Happy that Nanami failed at being a good boyfriend so I have to step up, angry because you’re being abused. Is it true they forced you to wear a diaper, like you said in your text?”
You winced.
“In the emergency unit, yes. But I’m spending a few weeks here, and they haven’t put me in one.”
“I’m really gonna kill them.”
“Sukuna, it’s really sweet of you to come, but I want to continue my relationship with Nanami.”
Sukuna’s eyes widened.
“Dollette, he literally sent you to hell.”
“He didn’t know. Not everyone knows that psychiatric wards are horrible.”
Sukuna’s body vibrated with anger, and he let out a mocking laugh. “You think you found your man and you’re gonna leave me?”
You regained a bit of energy and pushed him away. “I need to get my life together.”
“Do it with me!” He grabbed your wrists to pull you up and stormed into the restroom, forcing you to follow him.
“Let go of me!” you shouted, but he locked the two of you inside the wheelchair-accessible stall.
“Fuck me, then. Because you aren’t giving Nanami a baby without giving me a taste of your pussy first. I can tell you that.”
“That’s all you ever think about; it’s always like that with you!” Tears welled up in your eyes and you tried to punch him, but he hoisted you up and forced you onto the sink.
“Awww, are you mad because I’m not romantic like your Nanami? What does he do better than me besides that, huh?” he snapped, radiating a terrifying aura with fury in his eyes. He slapped your thigh hard. “Stop crying; you piss me off.”
You slapped him back, your tears intensifying.
He grinned, rubbing his cheek, aroused. “I missed this.” He knelt before you and kissed your calves, moving up to your thighs. “You’re lost, ꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱. You think a baby will heal you? Since you were born, you’ve kept talking about being saved and healed. When are you going to embrace who you are?”
The shock of hearing your real name after years kept you from pushing his hand away in time before it slid beneath your skirt.
With clammy hands, you bunched up your skirt and tried to ignore his fingers caressing the wet warmth between your thighs. You cleared your throat as a wave of heat rose deep within you—an explosive cocktail mixed with your tears.
“You don’t embrace a life-ruining illness; you treat it.”
“There’s no cure for schizophrenia, baby. You just have to aim for remission, but you’ll always be scared of a new episode. So learn to love yourself. Screaming demons might turn into silent ghosts, but they’ll still be ghosts haunting you. A baby won’t change that.”
“So what’s your solution?” You sniffled. “Loving myself won’t stop the delusions, hallucinations, and negative symptoms of schizophrenia.”
“Your solution is me.” Your arousal soaked the fabric of your panties, and he slipped his fingers underneath. “Your body agrees with me; she is so wet.”
The feverish heat between your legs tightened around his fingers as he moved them in and out. They were big, calloused, and tattooed as if the devil’s own hands were penetrating you. But if you looked too closely, you’d see the cigarette burns on his arms all over again. You were thinking back to your childhood with him, how he is your only safe place and you didn't want to.
“You can't cure me, Sukuna,” you whined. His thumb on your clit sent an electric jolt through your body.
“I don't want to cure you; I think you're perfect like this. Society just wants us to be ashamed of who we are, and I don't buy that bullshit.” He kissed your inner thighs, pushing your panties to the side. “I’ll buy you a house with the biggest garden ever for your hallucinations. I’ll keep a stock of antipsychotics in case they get too intense, but I’ll never call those motherfuckers to drug you. I’ll help you with your chores when you lose your motivation and help you connect with the outside world when you don't want to leave the house. That’s what I’ve been doing for thirteen years, isn't it?”
“You spent years having sex with Yorozu; you never focused on me. You promised you wouldn't touch anyone but me.”
Your sobs were the only sound in the room.
Sukuna lifted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Because a certain bitch didn't want me in case you forgot, dumbass.”
“Stop insulting me,” you sniffled, your voice trembling.
“You deserve it. Why do I have to force you to even look at me?” He parted your lips. “You shaved for him but not for me. Who is your safe place, huh?”
“No, it means I don't care about you.”
“Me when I lie,” he laughed quietly, his hot breath caressing your cunt.
He lifted your skirt so you could see him clearly and sank his tongue inside you, grabbing your thick thighs to hoist them onto his shoulders. He lapped between your folds, groaning at the taste of you. A taste he’d waited years to discover. Pleasure coursed through your body; you shivered at the divine sensation of his licks on your throbbing bud, your back arching away from the mirror.
Your phone rang, and your hands clenched when you saw it was the man you were cheating on.
“Nanami, I-I’m a little busy.”
Sukuna paused, glaring at you, but remained silent.
“It’s okay; I wanted to let you know we’re having dinner at my parents’ place when you get out of the psychiatric ward.”
Your heart swelled with joy. You belonged somewhere. You were going to be a mom. Everything was okay.
“You aren’t uncomfortable with me?”
“No, of course not. It’s not your fault.”
You grinned. Your body was warm with the feeling that you mattered, not from Sukuna’s tongue. You were about to push Sukuna’s head away when your smile suddenly vanished.
“I told them you had some drug issues because of the pressure, don’t worry. No need to tell them about your mental health struggles.”
Your vision blurred again. “W-Why?”
There was silence on the line for a few seconds before Nanami sighed.
“I don’t think… I want to be associated with… You know…”
“See?” Sukuna murmured against you as you sobbed, hanging up on Nanami. “You have nowhere to go. It will always be me.”
Your chest heaved frantically, racked by your breakdown.
Happiness is a butterfly, and you had spent your whole life chasing it.
But if the butterfly was a psychopath, what were you supposed to do?
Relax and wait for it to land on you, the way you would with those insects?
Sukuna straightened up, and instead of stopping because you were clearly distressed (like a normal person would) he crushed his lips against yours. You fought against him, stifled by his kiss, but he grabbed your hands and pinned them behind his back.
“Stop fighting it, dammit. Nobody will love you more than me.”
You could breathe a little easier at that declaration of love, your gaze softening. But it would never be enough. Sukuna would never be enough to bridge the gap separating you from other, non-psychotic women. Even if Sukuna loved you madly, unless you worked on yourself, you would always feel like you belonged nowhere. The void was something that had to be filled from within, not by love from the outside.
Fuck it, honestly. Just fuck it; you were exhausted.
Craving connection, you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back.
“Fucking lunatic,” he quipped against your lips.
He unbuttoned his jeans and stripped off his lower clothes. He took his thick cock in his hands, rubbing the pierced tip against your clit as a gasp escaped your lips at the sight of its size and the piercing.
“When are you going to admit I’ve got big dick energy?”
You knew what he was referring to. That almost-first time back when you were sixteen. “You’re so corny,” you smiled fondly, still tearful.
“You’re really a lunatic, baby.” He nibbled your lower lip and plunged into your tight heat just as his tongue entered your mouth. “To be totally honest… I only showered today because I wanted to look presentable for you. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I’ve lost weight. I changed fighter weight classes in Rizin.”
Feeling so full, you stammered repeatedly, eliciting a chuckle from the man who (you weren't even sure if he was your boyfriend anymore) was holding you.
“It’s depression, Sukuna. You lost your brothers.”
“Shut up, I didn’t even like them.”
Your tongues tangled in an intimate, passionate dance, punctuated by your gasps. He thrust his hips to hit the depths of your glistening pussy; the sound of wet friction made you feel shy. But not Sukuna; once you’d adjusted to his size, he set a brutal pace.
“Oh my god,” you moaned softly, clawing at the back of his neck and clinging to him, your fat thighs wrapped around his waist.
“Mmh, yeah,” he groaned, each roll of his hips sending tremors through your core. “The Unicorn God and whatever that schizophrenic shit of yours was.”
Mortified and embarrassed, you tried to push him away, but he shoved you violently against the mirror, which shattered on impact. That didn’t stop Sukuna; he pressed your back against the shards of glass, which dug into your skin. You cried out in pain, but his eyes gleamed just as they did when he was fighting—lit up at the sight of blood flowing from your wounds.
“Hell yeah.”
“You’re genuinely so scary…”
“You aren’t scared at all; you’re pulsing around me.”
Your toes curled and uncurled frantically as he thrust into you. You struggled to remember what kind of building you were in, so completely did the way he was fucking you transform your world into intense, warm colors.
With his hands on your lower back and love handles, he shifted your position so your head and neck rested against the sink, holding your body firmly. You clung to the surrounding walls to keep from falling, moaning plaintively each time your back scraped against the edge of the basin. Sukuna’s cock grew harder at every sound of pain, his mouth watering at the thought of being the cause of your suffering.
The blend of blood, love, pain, and pleasure was the perfect metaphor for being with Sukuna. You couldn’t wait to get out of the psychiatric ward and let him fuck you in positions where you could hold him close and feel him right against you.
You had been heartbroken just minutes ago, but now you felt so alive.
It was no longer a question of belonging somewhere.
But of belonging to someone.
And you had your answer.
──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
You stepped out of the psychologist’s office, wiping away your tears. Sukuna was waiting for you, leaning against his black car with anti-paparazzi tinted windows. His tie was undone, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and his hair tousled. You were a mess together.
“Should I kill your therapist? Why are you crying?” he asked; there was no worry in his voice, only anger that someone other than him had dared to hurt you. Your body, your tears, your whole soul belonged to him.
“We just talked a lot about my self-esteem issues; it was truly liberating. I feel better.” You snuggled up to him, seeking his warmth.
The drive home was silent.
Both you and Sukuna were suffering a great deal at the moment.
Sukuna was increasingly realizing that he would never see his younger brothers again, and he still struggled to take care of himself because of his suicidal ideation. Living with you was part of what made him feel alive. You would wake him up for his MMA training, cook his meals, and run his bath.
You hadn’t yet found the right mood-stabilizing medication, so you still experienced depressive and hypomanic episodes. Sukuna managed your finances and did his best not to frustrate you, while being careful not to enable your troubled behavior. He handled the unpleasant household chores, like cleaning. He would call to remind you to take your medication when you were away on a shoot.
From the outside looking in, you were struggling a lot.
But there was so much tenderness. You understood and supported each other, taking care of one another on the road to remission.
“Which one did Yuji prefer?” you asked softly, sitting between his legs as his arms wrapped around you.
“The first one.” After coming home, Sukuna felt exhausted from the MMA event with multiple fights in a single day so he went straight to bed. Wanting to comfort him, you decided to watch Cars, the movie that connected him to his brothers. You stroked his hands in silence, feeling his tears trickle down onto your neck.
Grief was complicated to process when you had a neurodivergent brain.
He kept saying he didn’t care about his brothers that he only missed them because they loved him yet he couldn't stop dyeing his hair black. He was desperate to feel a connection to Choso however he could.
Yorozu didn’t understand how Sukuna worked. She wanted to "fix" him with her love, failing to realize there was nothing to fix, only things to embrace and accept. She had tried to seduce him anyway, even after the two of you were officially together and Twitter had blown up over it. Sukuna punched her.
You weren't trying to change your boyfriend; you were trying to stop chasing an ideal.
You let yourself simply live, waiting for the butterfly to land on you. No chasing. Non-sedating medication, tailored therapy, care, and love—that was what you needed; no more running after something.
Sukuna laid you down on the bed when you dozed off before the movie ended, pressing his body against yours. He breathed in the scent of the cocoa butter cream on your skin, his cock hardening.
“Dollette, wake up. I need you.”
You chuckled sleepily and turned over, facing away from him.
“As if that’s going to stop me.”
He still made love to you that night.
And every other night.
Because it’s always been you.
──────── ✃- - - - - - - - - - - you liked it ? please support fics you liked with a reblog or a comment ! writers never know how we impact you if you don't say anything <3 ── .✦
ꮼ jockbf!itadori who's obsessed with his pretty girlfriend's pussy
ᦸ aged up althetic yuji. unprotected sex. p in v. talking you through it. yuji's big & strong. pet names. creampie. not proofread.
"Oh, I know, my poor girl," Yuji cooed, pressing a palm to your lips to muffle the whimpers as he sank another thick inch into your fluttering walls. "I know, I know—fuck, baby—just breathe, I've got you."
His hand slowly moved to cup your waist, rubbing soft circles as he pressed quick kisses to your flushed face.
Yuji was the sweetest boyfriend. He tried his best—careful as can be—the burning sting of his fat cock splitting you open, flat on your back & whining at how good it hurt.
"Yuji—" You gasped out, sinking your claws into his back as your eager cunt practically sucked another inch in.
"There's my girl," he whispered, eyes fluttering as he groaned, hips thrusting down against yours instinctively. "I knew she missed me."
Yuji rubbed his palm soothingly over the bulge on your lower stomach, slowly bottoming out with a breathy whine.
"Hey!" You squeaked out, arching up against him, chest to chest, stomach to ab, and nose to nose. "Fuck, jus' stay still for a second, idiot."
"Yes, ma'am." He whispered, beefy arms caging you against the mattress as his eyes flicked over your face. "It's ok; the poor girl isn't dying."
"Easy for you to say," you grumbled, spreading your thighs to better bracket against his hips. "You're not the one being stuffed."
"It's not stuffing; it's making love."
"It is stuffing. Just because you love me while doing it doesn't change that." Your fingertips grazed his jaw, giggling softly as you rolled up against him. "I think you're a big fat meanie for that."
"Mm. I definitely do love you," Yuji mused, gripping your hips. "And I love feeling you almost as much, pretty girl."
"Yuji," you mumbled, cheeks flushing as his hips slowly ground against yours, sending shocks of pure pleasure up your spine. "Oh my god—please, baby, please?"
"Please what?" he hummed, giving a short thrust. "Use your words, c'mon, be a good girl."
"Yuji, I swear—" you whined pitifully, rolling your hips up against his, chasing after the delicious friction he was trying to deny. "Baby, please fuck me." Your nails sank into his back, trying to drag him closer. "Please, please, please."
"Fuck, baby, do you expect me to say no when you're beggin' for me like that?" Yuji pulled back, leaving only his aching tip prodding at your entrance, teasing like he was going to pull out, leaving you helpless, yet... Yuji wouldn't dare.
His hands were firm on your hips as he slammed back in to the hilt, gasping at the way your throbbing cunt squeezed each thick inch of him in.
The filthiest squelch as it swallowed him down to the base—fuck, did he love the feeling of you around him.
Even more, he loved the sight even better, leaning down to press a searing kiss to your lips as he set a ruthless pace, knocking the headboard into your wall with each maddening thrust.
Your lips mashed against his, whimpering as his blushing tip repeatedly left sloppy kisses on your cervix, claiming it.
"Mngh, baby?" You breathed out, dragging your nails up his back until your palms were flush against the back of his neck. "Just like that."
"Yes, ma'am." Yuji nodded, leaning down to bury his face against your neck, whining out at each deep-hitting thrust. "You feel so good, baby; I think m' gonna die here."
Your nose buried in his hair, nails scratching through the strands effortlessly, holding Yuji plush against you, the marks you'd left over his back a pretty red as he squeezed his arms around you.
Fuck, his biceps are so big.
"Baby!?" You squeaked out, a whimper tinging your tone as his pace slowed into a filthy grind, each roll of his hips rubbing sinfully against your clit. "m'gonna—"
Yuji only nodded against your skin with a breathy groan; he was close too. So close it was almost painful.
It's always so hot, seeing the big, strong, beaming basketball captain be reduced to a whiny mess every time he fucks you.
"You're so pretty." Yuji forced out, pulling back to gaze down at you, acting like you couldn't feel his tip twitching so deep inside you. "I love you."
"You—fuck—are such a dork sometimes." You pressed your palm to his cheek, guiding him back down to your lips, pressing a soft kiss there. "I love you too."
"Honey... you're sooo mean to me." He whined, breath hitching with yours as your climax fast approached, walls spasming around him with a whimper.
"Yuji—" you mewled, going limp in his arms as he felt the gush of your release hit his thighs.
"There you are, pretty." Yuji sighed, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw, followed by one pressed to the corner of your mouth & one final sharp thrust before his hips stuttered, and he came. "You did so good f'me."
You couldn’t even see anymore. He was usually rough with you in bed but you made it worse because you called him ‘old man’ earlier today when he was driving too slow for your liking—earning you a groan in response. And he is aware that he has a few decades on him, but he’d rather call himself wise than old. Little did you know when you got home after that little joke he’d be tossing you around like a sex toy for hours—hair sweated out, pillows on the floor, sheets half off the bed, throw blanket kicked somewhere, whole bed scooting to the opposite side—and he’d still be going just to prove a point, throwing you a flashy smile every time he drags another sound out of you. He always thought you looked so cute like this, wrists cuffed behind your thighs, legs pressed together and in the air. He’d hold your ankles with one hand, long fluffy pink socks soft against his palm— your completely exposed and helpless while your two-toned, cum filled pussy is exposed to the cold air.
“You strugglin’ a lot on an old dick, princess—keep up.” he smirked, voice cocky and deep, and that’s what finally snapped something inside you. Your eyes rolled, head thrown back, mouth falling open with a sound you didn’t even recognize like you gave up on trying to hold back.
Toji laughed—laughed—because he knew he had you right where he wanted you.
Your pretty little body was done, twitching under him, thighs trembling in his grip, toes curling in those fluffy socks he kept bringing up just to tease you.
“Y’hear that?” he asked, hips snapping forward with a rough, wet clap that echoed off the walls. “That’s you. That’s your lil’ joke gettin’ fucked outta you.”
You whimpered, trying to twist your wrists, but you weren’t going anywhere. He had you folded like a pretzel, ankles pinned together in his fist, hole getting forced open enough for his cock to grind even deeper. You’re making noises like it’s your first time with him, not saying words but he somehow knows completely what you’re feeling.
His free hand slid down your stomach, fingers spreading your lips so he could watch the way his cock dragged through your mess. That stupid, crooked smile that only came out when he was ruining you.
“T-Toji—” you choked, but your voice broke on the consonant, tearing into a breathy moan when he slammed into you again, harder this time as you dug your fingers into your unnecessarily expensive comforter.
“Uh-huh,” he teased, “say it right, princess.” A sharp smack hits your ass—firm, deliberate causing your back to arch painfully off the mattress.
“Toji—Daddy, please—!”
He groaned like the sound fed him.“Better,” he rasped, “knew you’d get polite eventually.”
Your vision blurred again, tears slipping out the corners of your eyes. You could barely breathe, barely think—every thrust felt like he was knocking thoughts out of your head on purpose.
“Look at me,” he demanded. His fingers caught your jaw, forcing your dazed eyes up to meet his. He held your ankles even tighter, it almost hurt but that was the least of our worries.
“This old man,” he said with a slow, deep roll of his hips that made your entire body seize, “is still fuckin’ you stupid.”
You sobbed a little—too overwhelmed to care. And god, he ate it up.
“I knowww, Toji the worst, huh baby?” he cooed, pure mockery dripping from every syllable. His mouth brushed the wet spot on your cheek—part tears, part sweat—right before he slammed his hips forward again. The bedframe groaned along with you, your toes curled so hard your socks had slipped halfway off, dangling uselessly by your heels.
“Tell me how many times you came for me,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot, tone way too sweet for how hard he was fucking you, “and I’ll let you rest.”
You hated him. You loved him. You hated that you loved how mean he got.
And you almost broke—your throat tightening, chest shaking, because he was asking for something you physically couldn’t give. You didn’t know. You couldn’t know. Everything blurred together in one long, pulsing rush of heat and overstimulation.
A hiccup stuttered out of you, your vision cloudy, your legs trembling uncontrollably. “You’re bein’—hicc!—m-mean t’me!”
He grinned against your cheek, teeth flashing, eyes dark with satisfaction because he doesn’t even know the answer, just wanted to give you a sense of false hope.
“Daddy… mmhh! I—ahh! I can’t—!” you gasped as uou felt your umpteenth, body trembling, slick pooling down your thighs.
He slowed just enough to drag his mouth over your jawline, teasing, kissing, but still fucking you deep like be always did when you started cumming around him.
꒰ 𓈒 ׁ ︎ ︎ he won't shave 𓈒⠀diamond necklace 𓏴 𓈒⠀finding his hentai collection ❤︎ 𓏴 𓈒⠀yuji gives him baby fever 𓈒⠀a (baby) fever you can’t sweat out ❤︎ 𓏴 𓈒⠀deceiving you w/ your daughter 𓈒⠀gojo is a major bully ❤︎ 𓏴 𓈒⠀satoru gets a haircut ❤︎ 𓈒⠀he has a major crush on you ❤︎ 𓈒⠀a helping hand ❤︎ 𓈒⠀handle it ❤︎ 𓏴 𓈒⠀ he says the stupidest shit in bed 𓏴 𓈒⠀gojo is obsessed with kissing you
pink mist ❤︎ ˖ ⎯⎯ 𓊆ྀི wc: 8.2k 𓊇ྀི ࣪ ˖
࣪ ◌ ۪ RYOMEN SUKUNA ⎯⎯ 両面宿儺 ݁ ݂ ꒱ྀི
꒰ 𓈒 ׁ ︎ ︎ sex education ❤︎ 𓏴 𓈒⠀chronically online girlfriend 𓈒⠀king of chrysanthemums ❤︎ 𓈒⠀smitten for his wife ❤︎ 𓈒⠀sukuna has a loser gf ❤︎ 𓈒⠀marital advice gone wrong
plagiarized heart ⎯⎯ 𓊆ྀི series : on pause 𓊇ྀི ࣪ ˖
࣪ ◌ ۪ TOJI FUSHIGURO ⎯⎯ 伏黒甚爾 ݁ ݂ ꒱ྀི
꒰ 𓈒 ׁ ︎ ︎ pestering toji with silly costumes go wrong ❤︎ 𓏴 𓈒⠀he doesn't like your april fools joke 𓏴 𓈒⠀gun lessons w older bf toji 𓈒⠀toji is such a pretty boy ❤︎ 𓏴 𓈒⠀toji is your biggest eater ❤︎ 𓏴 𓈒⠀
࣪ ◌ ۪ SUGURU GETO ⎯⎯ 夏油傑 ݁ ݂ ꒱ྀི
꒰ 𓈒 ׁ ︎ ︎ tba ˖
࣪ ◌ ۪ CHOSO KAMO ⎯⎯ 加茂憲紀 ݁ ݂ ꒱ྀི
꒰ 𓈒 ׁ ︎ ︎ choso & his pervy roomie 𓏴 𓈒⠀he's obsessed with your lips ⓘ 𓈒⠀ultraviolence 𓈒⠀meanie bf choso ❤︎ 𓏴 𓈒⠀
࣪ ◌ ۪ KENTO NANAMI ⎯⎯ 七海建人 ݁ ݂ ꒱ྀི
꒰ 𓈒 ׁ ︎ ︎ nanami gets so shy around you 𓈒⠀nanami’s sleepy girl ❤︎ 𓏴 𓈒 nanami is a surprisingly petty man ❤︎ 𓈒⠀
࣪ ◌ ۪ HIROMI HIGURUMA ⎯⎯ 日車寛見 ݁ ݂ ꒱ྀི
꒰ 𓈒 ׁ ︎ ︎ pepero game 𓈒⠀wash day with higu 𓈒⠀shawty bad, like morally
𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 4.5K words. blackfempregnant!character, drabble, toji fushiguro, husband!toji, grumpy!toji, sweet!toji, dominant!toji, nasty sex, public sex, sweet sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, oral [f], praising, LOTS of dirty talk, condomless sex, fingering, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!
━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ i just missed my man. this is very juno by sabrina carpenter coded. nothing serious, just wanted to put something out before i get caught in the chaos of moving. i love y’all. bye.
YOUR PALMS DID A FINAL SWAP OF COCOA BUTTER AGAINST YOUR STRETCH MARKS AS YOU COULD HEAR HIS DRIVERS SIDE DOOR SLAM SHUT, a breath exhaling out of your lips as you planned to open your door before he could do so.
Your french tips rest upon your swollen belly as your eyes flick up to the sun peeking beneath the clouds, cool air distracting the dewy warmth of spring. You loved and hated this time of the year.
You already knew he was about to chastise you for not waiting until he got to your side. But you were impatient. He could be—slow.
“I got it, Fushiguro.”
Your golden sandals step onto the concrete, lowering yourself from the Ford F-150 that murmured to silence as he cut the engine off. You could see his scowl the moment your face met his.
“Cut out that stubborn shit, Amai. You’ gotta be careful.”
His voice is a grunt. Amai. He didn’t often use that nickname, only when he needed to scold you.
You roll your eyes, “How are you gonna’ hold me and carry all the stuff? I’m not bedridden, Fushiguro.”
“That’s how you feel? You gonna’ keep calling me by my last name?”
“You gonna’ call me Amai like I’m a child?” You raise an eyebrow, going to reach in his pocket for the cigarettes you know are in there, wanting to put them back in the truck.
“We just got out of the car, woman,” he narrows his eyes, “Why are you already being difficult?”
Your eyes flick over him. Midnight black hair, even darker eyebrows, scar twitching against his lip as he continues to scowl. His frame is being hugged by a long sleeve white tee, leather jacket along his upper half, boots thumping the ground as he was heavy footed.
You pout a bit, “Can you not be grumpy? I just wanted to make it easier for you. We have a bit of a walk,” you reach up for his hair, “You love me?”
“That’s not a question that needs to be asked. You know the answer.”
To your comment on his grumpiness, his eyes narrowed even more. His eyebrows creased. It was almost cute.
He never had something that was his, and you were that. His soul was connected to yours, something that a woman made with a man like him was unheard of.
“You’re still frowning,” your slender eyes became a bit round, doe-like as they stared up at him, “Wanna feel my belly? You always like that.”
You place his large palm against your stomach, “Baby girl doesn’t like your energy.”
That made the scowl on his face change. You could see a flicker of softness in his dark eyes.
He sighs, “I’m sorry, baby.”
You smile a bit, “It’s okay, she forgives you. And so do I. Now, c’mon,” you yank on the shoulder of his jacket, “You’re gonna be hot in this. It’s already warm outside.”
“What happened to you forgiving me, huh?” he brings his face closer, brushing his nose against your cheek, “Where's your mouth at?”
“You don’t get a kiss until you take your jacket off.”
With one more glance over you, he began tugging off his jacket with no more complaints.
You watch as he tosses the item of clothing back into the truck, glancing over the way his biceps flex with each movement. It starts a ripple along his shoulders, igniting the muscles all the way through his back. You dig your teeth into the plump of your lips at the sight.
He can always feel your eyes.
“You checkin’ me out now?”
He steps towards you, his large palms cupping your face. Leaning down, he presses his lips against yours, giving you a couple of pecks in addition to his apology.
You pucker your lips out, head shaking as you disagree, “No. Don’t need your ego any bigger than it is,” you stand on your toes, “You still didn’t say you loved me.”
“I tell you that shit all the time. You want me to say it again?”
His thumb trails over your cheek, “You think I’m lying?”
The way his other hand cups around your jaw, his long fingers now pressing against the back of your neck makes it hard for you to focus. When he’s close to you like this, you get a bit dazed.
You sigh a bit, twisting your sandal into the ground. It’s not that you weren’t intimate within your pregnancy, but with you being so close to your due date, sex was the last thing on your mind. But the masculine energy your husband wafted was almost intoxicating at times. You wanted to breathe him in.
You say softly, “C’mon, Toji. I wanna find a nice spot to sit in.”
Your husband tuts in annoyance. However, when you call him by his name, it ignites a spark within his dark gaze. His hand slowly unwraps itself from cupping your face with a gentle motion.
“Are you alright to walk?”
Pressing a hand against his chest, your fingers trail over his pecs. Hard. His scent mixed with the aroma of his clothes made you drowsy at times— The way his warm fingers traveled to the small of your back, it always felt like home.
“You gonna’ carry me if I’m not?”
“Shit, you know I will.”
You giggle a bit as he pulls away from you, going over to the trunk to tug down the door of it, throwing the bag of essentials over his shoulder to bring on the hill. You reach for your journal as you begin to lead the way into the forest—You never noticed the natural waddle your body had, swaying a bit with each step as you searched for the perfect spot.
“It’s so pretty here, baby,” you smile from behind, “We should’ve had our baby shower here!”
“You really wanna get into that argument again?”
Toji’s eyes glanced over the way your mini dress swayed, the soft pink pretty against your skin, off the shoulder material hugging the swell of your heavy breasts. The way your ass bounced with it—He wasn’t usually a fan of shorter dresses on you, but he had to admit you looked good. Your body was full and feminine. He craved you.
You slow down in your steps, turning towards him with a scrunched nose. You raise your hand for his own as you reply, “Why you’ always think I’m trying to argue? You’re making my feet hurt.”
“I told you not to wear those damn sandals. You know they make your feet ache.”
His hand grasps onto yours like second nature, your fingertips intertwining—Intentional.
“But they go nicely with my dress,” you frown, “Don’t I look pretty?”
You’re still waddling, despite putting your weight along his—You hate how tired you feel yourself becoming, huffing a bit with each step.
“You are pretty. You’re always pretty,” He mutters, leaning into you.
His grey eyes glance over the way your face had a flush to it. You were panting a bit, chest heaving with each breath. His hand reaches up, his palm brushing your dark curls behind your ear.
“You good, baby? Wanna go back down the trail?”
You shake your head from side to side, huffing, “Mm—Mm—we’re almost there, I wanna sit at the top of the hill.”
“Kirei josei.”
You're familiar with the name, as he’d taught you a couple of phrases—Pretty girl.
“I don’t need you going into labor before you make it up the hill—you’re tired. Just say you want me to carry you.”
Another thing with your pregnancy—how all over the place your emotions could be. You had the talent to cry on cue.
Like now.
Toji’s constant questioning has your throat a little heavy, your watering eyes glancing to the side of you as you sharply remind, “I’m not helpless,” using your other hand to hold your belly, your legs aching as you begin following the incline towards the top.
When you begin to sniffle, he knows. He can't be as much of an ass as he normally is—that's the effect you have on him—He has to be patient, his hand tightening around yours.
"Baby, I'm just trying to be considerate. I know you’ve got it, alright? Just a couple more steps.”
You nod your head, blinking away your tears as you follow him upward. When you finally make it to the top, you’re breathless, watching as he quickly places the blanket atop of the grass.
You’re holding onto your belly as you exhale, “She has to be over five pounds already.”
His deep tone releases a chuckle, hand gripping the curve of your back as he gently guides you towards the blanket, your body lowering itself with your hands clutching his bicep.
Toji’s already tugging your journal out of your hand, setting it on the blanket, free palm giving a smack to your ass, “Probably more. You’ve been a fuckin’ soldier carrying her, baby.”
Your hips shudder a bit at his palm, finally able to catch your breath as you stare over the horizon. It’s more beautiful than the last time you’d come—vibrant green grass, a field of miniature pink flowers spread across the top, running all the way back down to the bottom. The air feels cooler, your breathing going back to normal as you softly smile at the scenery.
“You remember when you proposed to me? Here?”
"You didn't even let me,” A gruff chuckle releases from his lips, "Your little ass said yes as soon as I mentioned I had something important to give you. You knew exactly what was in that box."
You giggle, pulling him down next to you as you say, “Maybe I was a little overzealous—But I was so happy.”
You reach towards your picnic basket, opening the top as you pull out the wrapped up food, “I made those pepper jack sandwiches you like. With the sourdough bread?”
"With romaine lettuce?”
“Mhmm.”
His palm rests on your jaw, turning your face up towards him, lips pecking against yours,"You didn't have to do all this, Kirei josei. You're already givin’ me my baby girl."
“There’s two of me now. More love to give, hm?” You kiss him back, “I know you’re hungry,” you hand him the sandwich, digging back towards the basket as you want your favorite fruit—strawberries. As usual, your husband scarfed it down in seconds, munching like a predator that hadn't eaten in days. He would never change.
You always enjoyed each other's company, talkative or not. You laid along the soft fuzz of the blanket as you wrote within your journal, rolling your eyes as your husband stood a couple feet away to take a business call, unable to stop his habit of smoking. But you couldn’t lie—watching his eyes narrow, full lips holding the bud within his mouth, deep voice harshly pushing out his native language—it was attractive. Something in your body throbbed, not in a way you were supposed to in public.
Another reminder of your stubbornness—you knew that spring time was the worst, the pollen within the area attacking your body like a swarm. You held your journal within your hand as you kept writing, every so often pressing the booklet to your face as you sneezed.
Toji makes his way back towards you, one of his hands resting along your thigh. He’s close, his breath tickling along your neck as he questions, "You cold, baby?"
His voice is in your ear. You’re not cold, but a chill comes through your spine at that. You then give him a sneeze in response, the sound soft as you lightly shriek through it.
You shake your head, nose becoming red as you huff, “Just allergies.”
"That's why you're supposed to take your pills," he mutters, his eyes glancing over the way your nose is scrunched. He thinks you're cute.
“Want me to go grab them from the truck?”
“I’m fine,” you reassure, leaning your head on his shoulder as you press your journal up towards his face, “Look, I wrote some more names. Wanna hear 'em’?”
"Show me.”
You could feel his chest vibrating, lips pressing a kiss on top of your head. Even sitting, he's large against your frame, and it doesn't seem to help your libido.
“Okay, I found—Umeko, which means apricot, or plum. And you call me Amai, which means sweet, so she could our my lil’ Umeko!—yeah?” You lean your head up, pointing at the doodles around the name you’d drawn.
“She’s gonna be sweet like her momma,” he gruffly chuckles, his thumb traveling over the curve of your thigh, “You don’t want any western names?”
You squint, “And have my black ass family give basic names? Yeah, no,” you ignore his grin, feeling his nose brush along your throat as he adjusts himself into your shoulder, “Every time I tell them my name ideas, they say that they’re weird. I’m okay with more cultural names.”
"I like that one. Umeko,” He repeats, "You wanna use it?"
The way his breath is warm against your neck makes your throat go dry. The way his fingers trail over your thigh—It was difficult to even focus on the topic at hand. Your eyes flutter each time his palm cups your hip.
You adjust yourself a bit, keeping your eyes against the journal as you reply, “I’ll put it at the top.”
As said before, he notices everything about you. His voice drops lower, his palm gripping your hip a little tighter as he feels the energy you emit.
“You alright, momma? You’ getting sleepy?”
You’re drowsy again. You watch his palm slide down your leg, reaching for your bare foot, squeezing the tense muscle beneath his fingers. It feels good.
You shift yourself even more as you quietly admit, “No—my feet still are hurting a bit, though.”
“Should’ve told me earlier.”
From the way he’s leaning down, his lips are pressing against your shoulder. One hand massages your foot, the other kneading the soft flesh of your thighs. That thick thumb, it continuously brushes over the inner sides. You sigh as he massages both feet, kneading to release the tension within your muscles. He moves to where you lean your back against his chest, lifting the point of your foot towards the sky. It makes you giggle a bit, rubbing at the swell of your belly.
“You good?”
His tone is huskier now. Toji’s hot breath makes you flutter your lashes, head slightly falling to the side to expose the skin of your throat—And he latches onto it, sucking the flesh between his lips.
Your curls are soft against his shoulder as you lean your head back, eyes fluttering shut the moment his mouth attaches to your skin. You snake your hand upwards, reaching for his hair as you find a lock of it to tug on.
You breathily sigh, “Y—Yeah…”
The way he’s kissing your throat, his tongue glides before he sucks the flesh back between his teeth, it’s sultry, his fingers wrapping around your ankle, gently taking your leg to raise over his own.
He does it with the other in a matter of seconds, your legs spread open against the blanket, only hidden by the material of your dress. You tug a little more on his hair, your hand nervously clutching your belly, eyes rolling a bit as he continuously sucks on your throat.
“T—Toji,” your voice is soft, “We’re outside, baby…”
“I know.”
His voice is deep, the heat of his breath makes you shudder. His hand travels up your thigh, slowly inching past your dress.
“Just give me ten minutes, baby. Let me have you.”
Your hand slides lower from his hair, holding the nape of his neck the moment your legs are being pulled wider. Your chest expands as you feel his fingers swiping in between your inner thighs, his middle and ring finger rubbing against the fabric of your panties, grinding at your clit. Your eyes blink shut against his throat, hiding your face within his shoulder as you whimper.
“Shit—you’re wet, baby. That fast?”
Toji’s voice makes you hide your face more into the skin of his throat, a small gasp emitting from your lips as he dips his hand beneath your thong. Your pussy keens beneath his touch. Your hips tense as you raise them a bit, eyes closing as you whimper again, “Just rub it a little…”
He hears you, placing the pad of his fingers against your clit, massaging in the softest way. He can feel how warm you are, how much you want this.
The pressure makes your eyes screw shut—you moan into his neck. You're quiet, but he can still hear you, feeling the way your breath hitches against his flesh.
He's not in a rush despite the need he has for you. He takes his time, watching your body react to his touch. The way your hips move, the way your chest slowly rises and falls, the way your nails dig into his skin. You’re sensitive.
His free hand reaches up, cupping your cheek as he turns your face towards him. He glares at you. He wants to see your eyes, needing to see the pleasure written all over your face. Leaning in, Toji pressing his lips against yours in a slow, passionate kiss.
You’re panting against his mouth, lightly pulling back as you press your forehead against his. Your lips tremble into a pout, unable to stop the gasp your mouth pulls, your thighs spreading even wider—your mind is spinning.
“Put them in me, baby.”
“That’s how you ask me?”
“Put them i—in me,” you attempt at a softer tone, “Please.”
He’s already nudging his fingers in, curling them all while pushing them in between your folds, spreading your opening around his knuckles. Your mouth parts open against his, eyes rolling back, thighs trembling as you hide your whine in between his lips. Toji groans.
It’s as if you forget where you’re at—the moment he takes you to a place of wanting him, you can’t repeat the things you do without blushing. You reach for his wrist, your fingers digging into his skin as you try to push him in deeper. You're breathless, your entire body trembling as you begin tugging his wrist up and down, your arousal sloshing each time his fingers go deeper.
You pout against his mouth, “Ughn,” brushing your nose against his cheek.
“Baby, you gotta keep quiet,” he reminds at first, his breath hot against your ear— But he can’t help himself, look at you.
He then grunts to you, “You sound so fuckin’ good. Say it again.”
“Ughn,” you breathe out in a filthy repetition, your voice a whisper, your head tilting backwards, eyes half-lidded as you stare up at the sky. Your cheeks are a light shade of pink, your mouth parted open.
“Look at that shit just going in.”
He refers to his fingers, curling into you each time they scathe at the flush of your walls, squeezing the intrusion of his palm.
You’re grinding yourself against his lap, “Take it out, baby. I’ll be quiet.”
He doesn’t stop, and it feels as if he doesn’t believe your words. You were loud, always had been.
But you were also stubborn.
You pull your legs from over his, managing to turn yourself around to straddle him this time around, pulling him by the back of his neck into a kiss. Your tongue swirls within his mouth as you push him back, Toji flat against the blanket as you pull your mouth from his, “Wanna ride your face.”
You’re already climbing forward, gently pressing your knees to the sides of his head, keeping your hips elevated to not suffocate him. His eyes are focused on the way your folds glisten under the sunlight. You giggle at the way he kisses the bottom of your stomach, the bump of your belly making him grunt.
You tug at your bottom lip again, shivering as you feel Toji’s breath against your folds. You let out a soft whine when you feel his tongue, rotating in circles, swirling it against your clit, dragging it all around your folds.
You shudder, “A—Ah, b—baby…” twisting your fingers in his hair, using your other hand to place his palms against your hips.
His hands latch onto your hips, helping guide you in the pace you want. He keeps his tongue moving, flicking against your clit, dragging it across your entrance, swirling it around your labia. He groans, loving the taste of you, your scent filling his nostrils like a perfume.
He can’t stop himself—he’s sucking at your clit, feeling as you move your hips to his rhythm—He’s making your arousal worse.
“‘Need you, Daddy.”
There it is. That fucking name.
“Fuck,” he grunts, “Put that shit in. C’mon.”
You slide yourself down until you’re straddling his lap, reaching beneath yourself to pull his tip from beneath his jeans. His voice is husky as he questions, “You comfortable, baby? I’m hittin’ your stomach?”
You shake your head, pecking his lips, “I’m okay, baby. Can’t wait anymore,” your voice is high, too drunk of a lustful intoxication.
Nudging your nose against his, you’re slapping his tip against your pussy—he makes a face at you, which makes you lightly giggle in return. Placing your hands along his chest, your curls hang above his face as you sway your hips, sinking yourself down, splitting your folds open, engulfing your walls around the length of him. You can only hear the nature around the two of you. It’s silent—both of your mouths parting open as you look at each other. You try not to react to the pleasurable pinch you feel, but you can’t help it—your curls fly up a bit as you press your nose into his, breathlessly panting another giggle, quickly turning to a deep whimper.
You’re trembling, your voice tiny as you quiver, “O—oh shit…”
He feels the heat between your legs, it’s warmer than anything. It feels good against his skin, his shoulders flexing as he tries not to move. He can feel your breath panting into his mouth, the way your body shakes from the feeling of you sinking down onto him.
His palm is wrapped along the nape of your curls. You keep his mouth close as you raise your hips a bit, lowering them back down. Your voice is so soft as you quiver, “Oh my god…”
You begin to find a bit of a pace, still going slow, but moving as your fingers dig into his shoulder, whining.
His voice is husky, “Keep goin’,” he urges.
You feel his forearm adding pressure to your lower back, helping you drop yourself down a little faster. The strength he has adds on by the second, and you’re lightly bouncing—it makes you frown, a pout coming to your lips as you whimper again, “U—ughn…”
He watches your face twist, eyes closing as you move against him, those pretty lips pouting out as a whimper goes from the back of your throat. He watches you bite the bottom of your lip, the way your breath is heavy.
“That little pout,” he chuckles, “It feels that good?”
He has you right where he needs you—your brown cheeks flush as you lean onto his shoulder, pressing your toes into the ground for more leverage—your eyes roll back heavily and you bounce on top of him, material of your dress swaying with each clap of your ass.
“You love me?” He questions, watching your body, up and down, low eyes taking notice of the arousal that coats his tip—you’re creaming.
You nod in response, teeth dug into your lip to mask the petulant babbles you want to release. But that’s when Toji grunts, “Say you fuckin’ love me,” the word being met with his palm spanking you, gripping the flesh of your ass, plopping you down onto his dick even harder than before.
You whine, “I love you,” pressing your face within his jaw, “Can’t wait to have your baby…”
A low groan escapes him, “You’re gonna be a pretty ass momma, baby,” his hands gripping onto your ass as he thrusts upwards, meeting your movements. You can feel the way his muscles flex, the way his breathing becomes heavier, the way his heart races. Those grey eyes bore into your brown ones.
“Fuckin’ nasty—You love it when I spank you, huh?” His voice is rough, eyes burning into your sockets. He smacks your ass again, watching the way your cheeks jiggle.
“Fuck.”
You’re moaning, throwing your head back, breasts bouncing as you continue to ride him. You're soaking him at this point, your arousal dripping down his shaft, trailing his balls.
“…T—Toji!” you nearly startle yourself at your own voice, cupping your hands against his face, tears returning within your feline eyes as you warn, “Gonna c—cum…” you’re covering your mouth, skin flushed, a sob faltering in between your fingers.
“Don’t cover that shit.”
He intertwined his fingers with yours, leaning your weight onto him, gaze locked within your eyes— he’s thrusting upwards, hitting directly at your g-spot. You’re cumming.
“It’s okay, momma,” he promises, “Relax. Just cum.”
And you do—You throw your head back, gentle voice rippling a sob into the trees, his name, anything, tears streaming down your face—Your walls are milking him, and he loves every second of it.
His large palm drags along the top of your mouth, still angling his hips into you while muffling your squeals, leaning up to press your forehead against his. It was rare for him to moan, but when he did, you whimpered in return, feeling the warmth of his cum filling your walls.
You repeat in a softer tone, “I love you, Fushiguro.”
“I love you.”
His voice was a groan.
His jaw falls slack, teeth digging into the bottom flesh of his plush lips. That scarred mouth releases another grunt of pleasure, keeping you close as you catch your breath.
His hand then wraps around your own, his fingers trailing along your wedding band, placing both of your palms against your belly.
“You okay?”
You nod your head, face flushed as you softly giggle, “Perfect.”
His hand leaves yours, tracing a pattern along the top of your skin. The feeling of him running his long fingers along your tummy made your skin buzz. As if on cue, the baby decides to kick.
You gasp, “Baby, she’s kicking! Oh no. You interrupted her nap!”
He chuckles, leaning down to press his lips against the bump before speaking into your belly.
"Umeko, Daddy’s sorry.”
There’s a couple of kicks in response—She didn’t forgive him.
“Awe, you said the name I picked out.”
Why were your eyes watering? You weren’t sure. You giggle as you’re teary eyed, pulling him up as you press multiple kisses to his face, ignoring his grunt in response.
You give him a sigh, “I’m hungry. And I have to pee!”
“You’re making me wanna smoke again,” Toji pinched the bridge of his nose, “Do you wanna pee, or eat first?”
𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 14.5K word count. blackfem!original character, onyankopon, basketball player!onyankopon, sweet!onyakopon, dominant!onyankapon, arrogant!onyankopon, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, kinda aggressive dirty talk, oral [f], nasty sex chile, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!
━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ i think i like this one. i’m not sure yet, hehe. inspired by one of my fav comfort movies, just wright. + i think of it won’t stop by sevyn streeter when i think of this fic. love you. bye.
(was having a hard time w/ nasty links this time w/ black couples so sorry for that. you get the point. visual. visual. visual. )
HEARTBREAK ANNIVERSARY PLAYED ON A LOOP WITHIN HER SPEAKERS. Being stuck under the covers was never the plan for today—but she was in a funk.
Her eyes peered over the olive green plush of her comforter, acrylic nail swiping across the screen of her phone as she mindlessly scrolled on social media. She refused to do what became a habit at this point—but damn, did she want to.
It’s unfortunate that she did it anyway.
Clicking on the previously searched profile, she goes onto the page to see a new picture had been uploaded. That familiar smile, arm wrapped around a faceless figure, dark hair spilling through his fingers as his hand sat on her lower back.
ALL MINE, it captioned.
Her vision locked along the screen, noticing that her sight began to blur. She hated crying. She felt like her tears weren’t deserved, yet she wanted to release them anyways—she felt weak.
When the phone suddenly buzzed, her eyes caught sight of a familiar number. She couldn’t keep ignoring calls. Parting out a sigh, she pressed the phone to her ear.
“Yeah?”
She tried to sound as normal as possible, wiping her eyes with a quiet sniffle. Allergies were her planned excuse if she was questioned.
“I know you’re not crying right now.”
That’s exactly how she expected her friend to respond. But she wasn’t going to give the satisfaction of admitting how embarrassed she was. So she replied with, “Allergies.”
A long, exasperated sigh echoed before the feminine voice replied, “You should know by now that I know when you’re lying”
Ama.
“You’ve been out of it for weeks—Cooped up in your apartment, calling into work. You’ hiding from that nigga or something?”
She rolls her glossy eyes, deepening herself within the covers as she mutters, “No.”
“You can’t stay in bed forever,” Ama sterns, “How long has it been since you ate? Look—I know you’ over there with that cornfed ass, but that doesn’t mean you can’t eat a lil’ more!”
That actually gets a weak laugh from her. She runs a palm along her cheek as she sighs, “I’m not too hungry, Ama.”
“So you’re really not finna’ come to my momma’s barbecue?”
“You want me to come to your momma’s barbecue all sad and shit? Yeah, no. I’m good on’ that.”
“You know my momma gon’ kill you if you don’t show up. So I suggest you get off your ass, fix your face and—don’t make me grow wings and fly into that window.“
She could hear Ama shuffling in the background, meaning she was on the way. Her friend was entirely serious about dragging her out of bed, and Ama’s mom would kill her for not showing up.
She adjusts her body to sit up against the bed, sighing as she replied, “So you tellin’ me I gotta get cute? Who gon’ be there—Lance Gross? Jalen Hurts?”
Ama sighs, “Unfortunately, no. You’d think Usher was coming with the way my momma set shit up. I think she’s all excited for Onyankopon to be back home.”
Onyankopon.
That wasn’t a name she heard too often. Ama made it a habit not to mention her brother, as she spent years behind his shadow, always being known as his sister and nothing more. He was the star of the family. It didn’t help that he was recently signed to New Orleans’ basketball team, and a well known face within the city. She was the only girl that didn’t squeal when Ama mentioned who her sibling was—but it might’ve helped that she also had never met Onyankopon.
She raises an eyebrow, “Your brothers back in town? I thought the Pelicans had a press run?”
Ama sighs, “Chile, they did. But he told me that they’re having playoffs down here in a couple weeks— he’s been craving to play a game in the boot. I’m sure he also can’t wait to tap some southern ass. Slut.”
She chuckles, “Don’t act like you ain’t excited to see yo’ brother, Ms. Fraternal Twin.”
“If I wasn’t driving, I would smack you. You’ always tryna use our bond against me. Point is, you better be standing outside your door in the next forty-five minutes or I will get violent.“
“That’s why I’m finna’ get back in bed.”
“Yeah, okay. Do that and see what happens.”
“Bye, Ama.”
“Bye!”
If one thing Ama was right about, she did need to get out of bed. The time rushed by as Ama yapped while she got dressed, talking all the way up until they made it back to her mom’s place. It was exactly how a family cookout would look—two story house, a baby blue color painted along the wooden roof and walls. The smell of hot dogs, burgers and fries wafted in her nose as she squinted from the sunlight, standing next to the bucket of drinks as she waited for it to be refilled with bottles of water. The longer she went without eating, her stomach growled.
Seeing her friend's family was different from her own—playing card games, from old jams to bounce remixes, to routined line dances—the energy was enjoyable, and she didn’t have the urge to check her phone again. She felt at ease.
“You still ain’t finna’ eat?” Ama questions, holding a plate up to her face as she stood beside her friend, nose deep into a plate of jambalaya.
She shakes her head, “I need water. It’s hot as hell,” she huffs, fanning a hand above her face.
“You’ so dramatic—“ Ama starts, halting as she follows the sound of tires screeching in front of the house, “—Oh, there he go’ with the water.”
Their eyes follow to the blacked out H2 Hummer, large wheels rumbling the ground as it leans atop of the curb. Two bodies step out of the car, her eyes familiar with one of Ama’s cousins, Shaun—but seeing her brother was a different story.
Neatly braided cornows to the back of his head was the first thing she noticed, his lineup as sharp as his jaw. Brown skin shined under the sun like iridescent honey, tattoos cascading across his muscular frame, all the way up to his cheekbones. Love was written in cursive above his eyebrow, full lips a dark pink beneath his goatee and facial hair. Rings cladded along his thick fingers, muscles flexing beneath the fitted white tee he wore with navy blue basketball shorts. 74 glittered around his neck, his number meaningful in every room he walked in—he was fine.
“Took you long enough,” Ama rolled her eyes, “Everybody finna’ die of dehydration!”
He’s already walking towards the cooler, effortlessly dropping bottles into the ice water. A slight smirk curls from his lips as he replied, “You’ aight. Me and Shaun’ was tryna’ roll up before we got back, you know momma don’t play that shit.”
His voice was deep, yet smooth—velvet almost.
“You ain’t supposed to be smoking anyways!” Ama reminds, “You’ got playoffs in a couple of weeks—they don’t drug test y’all?”
“Yeah,” He starts, plopping a few more bottles into the ice, “I got the next two weeks to do that, you act like I won’t be straight by then.”
He glances beside Ama, raising an eyebrow as he questions, “You don’t speak or sum’?”
She blinks in reply, realizing the question was for her. Her eyes travel down to the cooler before she points to herself—“Me?”
“Nah, the nigga standin’ by the tree—Yeah, you.”
His sister then scoffs, “She’s just not used to seeing big ass niggas like you.”
“Bro—stop talkin’ to me,” He warns. His glare stays in Ama’s direction before softening his gaze back onto her friend, “You got a name, you?”
“Nuh-Uh! Nope. She don’t! Don’t be tryna’ push up on my friend. You got bitches all over New Orleans for that,” Ama interrupts.
She scolds in reply, “Ama—lawd, I’m good. Chill.”
She then scans him up and down, noticing how big he was in comparison to her. She’d only seen him on TV, and only ever heard the amount of shit his sister talked about him. She honestly didn’t think she’d ever meet him, and maybe that’s why she suddenly felt so insecure.
But if only she could see herself.
Her bistre skin was like chocolate melting beneath the sun, midnight black hair slicked back into a low bun out of her face—edges styled along her forehead in perfection, small flyaways curled along the back of her neck. Feline eyes tilted above her full lips and freckles he could only notice as he observed her. But the star of the show was her eyes—a deep cobalt, giving her an almost villainous look. But nothing was more pure than her angelic face.
She gives a small wave, wanting to smack herself at the childish gesture as she softly introduces, “I’m Blue.”
Her voice was quiet, but sweet.
“Blue. I like that.”
Ama interrupts the moment, “Don’t be complimenting her, my friend know’ she's bad!”
The way her name rolled off his tongue made a chill run through her spine—she had to pull it together.
Onyankopon steps closer to the cooler, his eyes flickering back to hers as he questions,”You don’t drink?”
“Hm?” Blue raises an eyebrow, “Oh— No, I don’t. It’s easier to drink water. I mean, you should always drink water— If you’re dehydrated, of course. but if you’re hydrated you should be fine—“
She stops herself, realizing that she’s rambling.
Blue clears her throat, playing with a curl along the side of her face as she blows out a flushed smile, “…Yeah.”
God—she wanted to dig herself into the nearest hole.
Blue adjusts herself a bit, now feeling entirely naked under the snug white tee she wears, showing off her midriff and heart shaped nipple piercings, denim washed jeans that clung to the harsh curve of her ass, orchid sandals along her French tipped toes. She was pretty.
“Oh hell,” Ama groans, “I thought you said you wasn’t’ a fan?”
“I’m not—“
Ama shakes her head, “Anyways, Blue’s an athletic trainer—she be around you niggas all the time. So I don’t know why she even actin’ like this. You’ making my friend uncomfortable, Onyankopon!”
Her rambling was cute—refreshing, to say the least. He lets out a small chuckle, finding it a bit endearing as her brown cheeks went warm.
“Oh? You’ an athletic trainer?”
“I just work with college students,” Blue shakes her head, “I’m still working on my masters to move into professional athletes.”
“She used to play ball too,” Ama adds, “Better than yo’ ugly ass.”
He subtly flexes his jaw in annoyance of his sister, but the mention of her playing ball piqued his interest.
“What position?”
“Um—point guard. Like you,” she clears her throat, “It was back before I graduated,” she ends with a weak smile.
He raises an eyebrow, his fingers itching towards the silver piece around his neck.
“Why you’ all shy about it? Don’t be, I like that shit. You was nice onna’ court?”
It seems like the conversation becomes more intimate. As Ama gets distracted with her cousin that walks up, Onyankopon leans closer—Blue has to tilt her head up to get a good angle of him.
His body smells of a cocoa musk, and the scent clings along her senses, almost trying to coax her in. She was never this silent with anyone, her chest feeling heavier by the second.
Blue then replies, “Are you?”
His teeth flash a bit with the question. Her words were just a slight jab, but he appreciated it.
“I’m him, ain’t I?”
His fingers finally make their way to his necklace, pulling the silver up a bit, the numbers glistening in the sun as it reflected into her eyes.
“You tryna’ front like you ain’t never seen my games?”
“Ain’t nobody tryna’ front,” she confirms, “I watch more of the WNBA—you niggas get whatever y’all want even if you play around on the court.”
He shakes his head, a faint grin stretching from ear to ear, “You’ cute. You know that?”
His compliment makes her go stiff. Her lips part open a bit, but she doesn’t speak, unable to find any words to say back.
“You ain’t watching the right niggas,” He smacks his lips, “So what—a nigga gotta’ play for yo’ heart or sum’?”
Don’t get her wrong—Blue enjoyed a little flirting. But just in that millisecond, her mind trails back to someone else charming her with just their words, and that’s how she ended up with her first heartbreak.
She shakes her head, “I heard you got plenty to choose from—you should be fine getting benched by me.”
He narrows his lids, noticing that her expression grew more distant. There was a shift. An airy chuckle escapes his throat, glancing down at her with low eyes.
“You’ cold as hell. That’s cool.”
“I know it is. Can you back up off me now, 74?” she raises an eyebrow, azul vision flickering along his face.
He takes a second, staring at her facial features to memorize them. She was interesting to say the least.
Finally, he steps back, “My fault, Mama.”
Ama interrupts at the perfect time as she calls, “Yo’! Momma wants you to come carry the other grill outside, Ony!—And I told you leave my damn friend alone—fifty feet, nigga!”
“Damn—Fifty feet is crazy,” Onyankopon chuckles, glancing down at Blue, “We was’ just talkin’, huh?”
Blue tilts her head a bit, trying to push down the smile that wants to grow on her face as she replies, “…Mhm.”
“I’m finna’ start counting!” Ama threatens, her hands now on her hips.
“You gotta’ calm down,” Onyankopon groans to his sister, looking back once more, “Let me know when you tryna’ have me as yo’ point guard, Blue.”
Before she could respond, he was already walking away. She’s able to see his full frame—the muscles in his back flexing within his arms, leaving Blue just how she introduced herself—Quiet.
She tries to distract herself for the next hour. Her eyes glanced over to Onyankopon every few seconds, noticing something new about him each time. The open faced grills within his mouth, the stud within his nose, the lyrics and verses along his neck and arms. Fuck.
Her eyes couldn’t help but trail back to her screen, absentmindedly clicking onto social media. That was until her phone was snatched from her fingers.
“Ama!”
“I’m saving your mental, girl,” Ama replies, holding the phone up to her face as she types, “Don’t make me delete Instagram.”
Blue sighs, “You know that nigga is in a new relationship already?”
Ama sighs, tapping on the picture of him with a nameless figure wrapped around his arm.
“He never had loyalty, you know that. Stop fuckin’ with these ball players and find you a lawyer or some shit.”
Blue felt stupid. To have fallen for someone she knew had the reputation of careless acts—what else did she expect? But he made her feel like she was important. That she was different.
“I’d rather be by myself. A lawyer might lie even better than a ball player,” Blue murmurs, digging her fork into the piece of cake she’d had her attention on, Ama finalizing her words as she agreed, “That part.”
Everyone watches as the younger men make their way towards the basketball court within the driveway, Blue’s attention pulling back to that damn smile as Onyankopon’s silhouette moves past her.
He questions, “We finna’ hoop. You gon’ watch yo’ man?”
“Who?” She scrunches her nose.
“You heard me, girl. Quit playin’.”
Blue turns to Ama, “Why yo’ brother won’t get off me? Didn’t you say he got bitches to choose from?”
Ama shrugs, “He tryna’ be cute, and you blushing—I’m mindin’ my business.”
She then stands from the table, a mischievous smile across her face, “I gotta make sure my uncle doesn't break his hip on this court. You comin’?”
“Watchin’ yo’ uncle possibly fall and break all his ligaments? Lemme’ grab my cake,” Blue chuckles, standing with her food as she follows behind.
Everyone crowds around the court as the family game begins, but it’s unfortunate that Blue can’t stop watching Onyankopon—especially when he keeps howling each time he makes a shot.
This was her first time seeing him on the court, and to say that he played how he looked on TV was an understatement. To her dismay, he had bragging rights. The way he easily dodged and maneuvered around the court, his height gave him a slight advantage as he easily made shots to the rim.
“You see me? You like that?” he calls, his attractive face more threatening each time he calls out to her, “You gon’ have a seat right up in the boxes watchin’ me!”
Ama replies back, “She don’t’ see shit but yo’ hoe ass bullying your family on the court. Stop playing like this a championship, stupid!”
Onyankopon smacks his lips at his sister, catching the ball before dribbling up the court again. But the person he was up against this time, was not as easy—the cousin he always played with, who was just as good as him. He had quick reflexes, almost magic as he stole the ball out of Onyankopon’s palms, making his way towards the rim, dunking the ball against it.
“Oh—we playin’ forreal? Aight.”
They’re still playful with one another along the court, but that didn’t make the game any less serious. Both men were good at stealing the ball from each other. The family watched in entertainment, yelling and calling out moves as if it were a real game. Blue couldn’t help the small laugh she released. Damn, he was good.
Everything was going well—until it wasn’t. Onyankopon’s cousin shifted his body a little too quickly into him, harshly knocking his shoulder to where he tripped over his own legs, crashing into the ground before he could catch himself. Everyone knew something was wrong the moment he grabbed his knee, a pained look against his face.
It’s as if Blue sobered up in that moment, her eyes widening slightly as his cousin bent down in front of him with panic, “Yo—Ony, you good? Shit—I’m sorry.”
“Fuck—” Onyankopon groans, clenching his jaw as he attempts to sit up. He wanted to hide the immense burn he felt rushing through his entire leg, but he was in pain— His knee was locked.
The entire court was immobile. It’s as if no one wanted to panic, but panic all at the same time. A single voice called over the silence as Ama exclaimed, “Blue!”, rushing around the court towards her brother.
Blue was right behind her, dropping herself towards the ground as she immediately reached for his knee. He jerked at the touch as she softly whispered, “I’m sorry,” keeping her palms in place, even as he tried to push her away.
“You have to tell me what hurts, Onyankopon.”
“It’s—” He starts, hissing between his teeth as she kept her hand on the swollen part of his leg, “—Fuck, it’s my entire leg. From the top, to the ankle.”
Everyone around them grew nervous. She could hear the worry in Ama’s voice, and she could see tears forming in her eyes as she called for her father.
Blue didn’t need anyone to freak out. She turns towards her friend, “Ama—go inside with Shaun and grab an ice pack, okay?”
If Ama’s panic wasn’t helping the situation, a shriek coming from the front of the house makes it all
the more worse—Onyankopon’s mother tosses the pan of meatballs within her hands, nearly falling down the stairs as she rushes over to the court, “Oh my goodness, my baby! Oh lawd—What happened?—Who hurt my baby?!”
“I did something stupid, Ma’! Quit fussin’. Lawd, I’m fine,” He manages to groan out.
His body was sweating, the veins in his neck going rigid as he fought to keep his composure—each time Blue’s palm slid across his skin, he wanted to scream.
Blue places his arm on her shoulder, huffing as she lifts herself and his weight along her body. She manages to say at the same time, “Just lean on me, okay? Don’t put any weight on it.”
Onyankopon could hear the slight wheeze in Blue’s breath as his mother started to yell, “Get him on the bench! Where’s the ice pack—Where’s Ama?!”
“I can try to walk, Blue—ion’ need you hurting yourself tryna’ help me.”
“What happened to all that flirting you was’ doing earlier—You don’t wanna be close to me no’ more?” She questions, distracting him as she takes another step towards the house.
A painful chuckle pushes from his lips. He had been trying to show off—and look where that got him. It was almost pathetic.
“Your name really Blue, forreal’?”
Her lashes flick up to him, the sunlight cascading within the ocean of her pupils. She then raises an eyebrow, “You’ really injured yourself tryna’ impress a girl?”
It wasn’t supposed to happen—but it did. Onyankopon blushes, the warmth across his face growing with embarrassment as she calls him out.
Finally, he answers, “Yeah, aight. You got it.”
When they finally get him inside, the previous outburst of Onyankopon’s mother turns into an all out tantrum, up to the point where she kicks everyone out. Throughout the chaos, all Onyankopon could think about was the softness of Blue’s hand in his—the way each time he looked back at her, she squeezed his fingers, giving a soft smile. He thought about her as she sat across from him, and even at the hospital when she’d already left.
Why couldn’t he get this girl off his mind?
Standing in front of his condo the next day wasn’t in Blue’s original plans. When Ama told her that his condition wasn’t looking too good, regardless of how overly flirtatious he was—she felt bad. And being the empath she unfortunately was, she was now standing in front of his door, bifold glass seeing right into the tinted foyer of his home as she stepped in.
Sleek black interior accompanied paintings hung above the minimalist styled furniture. Her curiosity came to a halt as she heard a couple of voices at the end of the hall, making her way to where they followed, but slowing down when she heard the conversation.
Onyankopon sat along the bench of his indoor gym, frown locked down to his knee wrapped in gauze as the doctor continued to speak to him.
“It seems you’ve torn your PCL.”
“And what does that injury intel?” His father questions, “Is that the same as tearing your ACL?”
“Not as severe, but still just as bad. With rest and rehabilitation, you could be back playing within the next two months.”
Two months?
His father shakes his head, “Hollon’—He has playoffs in four weeks. He just signed a contract with the Pelicans, he can’t miss that. Two months isn’t plausible—Is there any way we can speed up the process?”
“Pops.”
Onyankopon’s voice is a warning, already frustrated with the news he receives. His father wasn’t helping that.
The doctor sighs, “Well, it’s not that easy. Onyankopon would need extensive physical therapy if he wants to be ready for the playoffs. If he doesn’t take the right precautions, he could risk tearing his ACL, and he’ll have to sit out for a lot longer—or in the worst case, have a career ending injury. If he listens—”
His father cuts him off.
“I’ll get him in the best goddamn rehab in Louisiana—We’ll make it work.”
That’s when they all hear a phone ringing. Blue curses, immediately cutting off the sound as she looks down to her screen. She blows out a breath as she peeks to the other side of the wall, seeing all three men looking over at her.
“Sorry,” she softly greets, “I um—was just bringing Ony something—I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“You can come in. It’s aight,” He tells her, his gaze flickering over her form.
She notices a scowl along his face, seemingly irritated from this conversation. She couldn’t help but take account of his shirtless appearance, eyes wavering over the strength he holds in the broad frame of his back, muscles structured beneath his intricate tattoos.
The doctor looks away from his father, looking back to Onyankopon as he questions, “Do you want to take that risk?”
His jaw flexes at the question. He didn’t want to ruin his career by possibly hurting himself more, but he also had a family to be successful for. He didn’t have a choice.
“I’ll be ready by’ playoffs.”
The doctor sighs, unable to argue with his decision. He then says, “We’ll find the best athletic trainer for you. But if you feel your knee worsening—you’ll have to consider sitting out.”
That’s when Onyankopon catches sight of Blue again. She looks as if she’d just come from the gym— indigo baby tee and yoga pants hugging her curvy figure. Square glasses tip on her freckles nose, curls out her face from a matching headband.
That’s when he says, “I want her.”
Her eyebrows raise. Blue frowns, “What?”
Onyankopon looks at his father as he continues, “She used to hoop back in college. Now she works with athletes— I need to play shit safe and get someone good.”
Blue’s frown deepens, “Onyankopon—I can’t accept that. I’ve only worked with college athletes—I don’t even have my masters!—“
“I trust you.”
His voice holds no hesitation, his piercing gaze meeting her eyes as he promises, “I will do what I have to do. But I want you to be the one to get me there—can you do that?”
He can see the hesitance along her face, the baby pink box she holds tightening under her fingers.
Onyankopon looks towards his father as he dismisses, “Lemme’ talk to her, Pops.”
Both men exit, their footsteps growing quiet as they leave them in silence, Blue’s face nowhere near convinced on this idea. But instead of him immediately reeling back the conversation, he scoots off the bench as he questions, “What you’ got me?”
She looks down to the box, now feeling a little childish.
“Oh—um—I knew you were upset with everything that happened yesterday, so—I got you a lil’ cupcake at this bakery by my house. They put a basketball on it?”
She lifts the box towards him, “I just…wanted to make you feel better,” she nervously giggles, lifting the desert towards him.
A grin slowly curls onto his full lips. He chuckles for a second, “You only being nice to a nigga ‘cause he hurt—that’s cold,” He shakes his head, standing to his feet, the muscles in his arms flexing with each motion.
She notices that as he makes his way over to her, Onyankopon places his weight on one leg, limping on the other. He takes the box from her fingers, his hand grazing Blue’s in the exchange, catching the softness of her palm again. Warm. That usual blush appears along her face as he opens the box, staring down at the small cupcake topped with a basketball.
“You should be using your crutches,” she looks behind him, seeing as they lean along the bench.
“C’mon, Mama. I ain’t even hired you yet and you trippin’—quit all that,” he smacks his lips, “I’m tryna’ have you feed me.”
She looks around, “Feed who? The grown man standing across from me?”
“Lawd, here you go with that attitude. I liked when you was playin’ soft,” He murmurs, breaking the cupcake in half, reaching a piece out to her.
She looks down at his hand, sighing as she reluctantly takes the other half from him. Her lashes flutter as she blinks, “You’ serious about this? Me getting you ready for ‘playoffs?”
“Yeah.”
This close, Blue can smell his cologne again—the mixture of spice and cocoa. His cologne combined with his natural musk was intoxicating. He notices how she swallowed her nervousness, his lip tipping upwards for a moment before he asks, “I make you nervous or sum?’”
“Save that for your groupies,” she dismisses, “I’m not here to fuck around with you, Ony. You’re not gonna blame me for making your injury worse, meaning you need to be serious about wanting to be back on the court by playoffs.”
He hums at that, “I like when you tryna’ be all professional. It’s cute. What you’ need me to do? Beg? Get on my knees?”
“The knee you don’t have?” She fires back, “Yeah—aight. I’m gone,” she grabs for her bag, “You’re not taking this shit seriously.”
“Blue,” He calls, letting out a long sigh as she begins making her way out, “C’mon, girl. What I’ need to do?”
“Call your father and have him find you a rehab center.”
She disappears behind the wall—but the front door shutting is what really signifies that the conversation had ended.
“Blue—Yo!”
She was gone.
He groans, sucking his teeth as he grabs one of the crutches in the corner. This was gonna be a long four weeks.
𝓐ᥫ᭡
THE SUNLIGHT WAS PEACEFUL AS SHE SAT ON THE BLEACHERS. Blue was finishing off another week in her work schedule, ending a therapy session with one of her students who was now scattering across the court at practice with the rest of his team. Multiple men passed the ball, talked shit to each other, pushing and shoving along the court as they played an unserious game. Seeing the smile along their faces made her realize how important this sport was to someone like them—how important it was to her.
Her phone buzzes. Ama, as she expected. Blue sighs, pressing the phone to her ear as she greets, “I hope you ain’t calling to cuss me out ‘cause I didn’t take the job your brother offered.”
“I come in peace, promise. I know his big headed ass is hard to deal with,” her friend chuckles, “Are you at work?”
“Yeah. Just finished a session with one of my ball players. He’s doing really good— ecstatic to be back on the court,” a small smile comes to her face. She can’t help but ask, “How’s Ony doing?”
“He’s…okay? Off the crutches, been doing a lot of PT, even shuffled around the court this morning.”
“But?”
Blue could hear the uncertainty in her friend's voice, hearing a sigh come through the phone as Ama continues, “But—he’s not himself. Kinda hurts to see my twin moping around, y’know? Look, don’t get mad but…he really needs you, Blue.”
She sighed, “Don’t start, Ama.”
“I’m being serious!,” She exclaims, “I don’t know how, but…Blue—He’s different since you’ve been around. After you left his house, the nigga started PT that same day! I ain’t never seen him be so on top of something since his Nike had a sale,” She takes a breath, “Please? It’s just for the playoffs. Just three more weeks and then you’re done. My twin is all sad, and if he’s sad, I’m sad, and you don’t want me to be sad, right? ‘Cause you love me. Exactly.”
Blue rolls her eyes, giving a soft laugh in response. She’d never heard Ama be so adamant when it came to Onyankopon, meaning she was entirely serious. She hoped that their last interaction put a fire under his ass, and gave him the encouragement to get himself together in time for his next game. Being there for him wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
She finalizes, “I’ll go back over there tomorrow.”
And she did. Blue was up early the next morning, already pushing her way into the glass panel of his front door, two machas within a cup holder as she quietly entered the condo. It was more peaceful in the morning, the sunlight tilting into the windows—but she was distracted by the sound of a bear growling.
It in fact wasn’t a bear, but Onyankopon passed out along the sofa as he slept. Blue thought Ama was exaggerating when she said that her brother was in a funk—but when she saw the open box of pizza beside his head, his pillows fallen all over the ground, and his body wrapped up in a hoodie—she might’ve been right.
Blue glanced over to the TV that played cartoons, looking back down to him as she called, “Onyankopon.”
Nothing.
His snores nearly bounced off the walls, rumbling the bottom of her feet as if he were an animal. She rolled her eyes, leaning down as she shoved his shoulder, “Onyankopon.”
Still nothing.
Okay. She sat the matcha down, going into the kitchen as her eyes searched around his cabinets. Retrieving a bowl, she went over to his fridge as she filled it with cold water, adding ice within the mixture before making her way back into the living room. And without another thought—she tossed the contents on top of him.
“Nigga—”
His voice sounded like a low growl, his large body jolting as he felt the water on his skin. He blinked the moisture from his eyes, slowly becoming conscious as the room came into focus, “The fuck?!”
“Get up,” she demands, raising the bowl as if she were going to toss it, “You better—“
“Don’t you see me up?!”
“No! I see a nigga hibernating on the couch!”
“I was asleep!”
He grunts, shifting himself to sit up before the coldness settles onto his chest. His brows furrow, glaring at the bowl in her hand before he stood.
“You better back yo’ ass up before I come over there.”
“That’s if you could limp over here in time!”
She raises the bowl again, Onyankopon flinching as he says, “Aight! Damn. I’m up, I’m up.”
“You up?” she questions, bucking the bowl one more time.
"Blue—"
He groans, "Get yo' lil' ass out the way with that bowl, forreal. 'Cause if I get over there, imma’ have you runnin.’ Swear to god.”
Blue narrows her eyes, taking a step back as she lowers her hand. She then smiles, “Meet me in the gym after you shower—and drink your matcha!” She calls, disappearing into the hallway.
“This girl here, man.”
After Onyankopon cleans the living room, he quickly takes a shower, making his way towards the gym—music is already humming along the room, catching sight of Blue who stands in the middle of his miniature court. The architecture was a matte black, matching equipment with silver linings all across the floor. His eyes lower to Blue’s ass as she stretches, too distracted to hear him entering.
“You know what you’ doing, Ms. Trainer?”
She turns her head, looking across the entrance as she sees Onyankopon, Nike long sleeve hugging his muscles, his team's sweatpants matching the navy blue top he wears.
She pulls her eyes away from how big he was, reaching for a ball along the wall as she says, “C’mon.”
“C’mon, what?”
“We finna’ hoop.”
He doesn’t budge from his spot, raising an eyebrow.
“You think I’m joking?”
Blue locks her fingers at the edge of her sweatshirt, pulling the oversized material off her body and tossing it on the ground. She begins to clip her hair up in her orchid comb, “They’ told me you’re off the crutches— I wanna see how comfortable you are on the court.”
A smirk curves along his lips when she removes her shirt—the baby pink workout set she wore hugs her body perfectly.
“Yo’ mama know you got that ass?”
The moment he comes closer, she’s quick. She opens her palms, tossing the ball towards him with a tilt to her head, “Quit distracting. Show me why they made you’ point guard.”
Blue takes a step back, squatting herself down a bit. Her eyes watch as he steps forward, but she catches the light limp he does as he begins dribbling.
She points out, “You’ll have to put your weight on it eventually.”
“You gotta’ let a nigga warm up.”
He’s making his way towards the rim—but he was slower—he couldn’t use his speed to his advantage like he usually did.
The moment she’s close to him, Blue snatches the ball from his hands, hugging the object within her fingers. Onyankopon backs up.
She raises an eyebrow, “What are you doing?—I know you ain’t scared to hoop.”
He scoffs, “Nah, it’s just—you got that pretty face. Ion’ wanna’ bump you.”
“I play with niggas all the time,” she re-ties her hair, “C’mon. Play like you forreal’, pussy.”
It was like a switch went off in his body at the insult. Onyankopon gave her a warning, “Watch yo’ mouth, Blue.”
“Come take the ball from me then.”
“I heard you’ the first time.”
He was more focused this time around, hand swiping the ball from her fingers before she could blink. Blue let out a grunt as he easily moved around her, and that’s when he shoved her body to the side— Blue stumbling back, watching as he took long strides towards the basket—But before he could even attempt his shot, her hand interfered, breathlessly swatting the ball out his hand and taking it into her own.
“I thought we was’ playing forreal’?” He retorts.
As Blue begins sprinting, Onyankopon catches the back of her sweatpants, yanking her back as he grunts, “Where you goin’?”
Blue shrieks, dropping the ball as she smacks his hand away, “That’s a foul, dipshit!”
“You on my basketball court,” He replies, lifting his hand to snatch the ball before it touches the ground, “Foul my ass. I thought you wanted to see some real effort?”
He grips her forearm as he pulls her back beside him, turning her body as he places the ball within her palm, “Show me that college ball player shit. You’ wastin’ my time.”
“Oh?” She glares, “Okay—Guard me from shooting then.”
“Ion’ need to guard you,” He steps to the side, leaving the rim wide open, “Shoot. Gon’ head.”
And as soon as she did, he was quick in interfering with her motion, his long arm palming the basketball. She let out a small huff in defeat—but she could be faster. Blue manages to retrieve the ball in time and the moment she turns, her body slams into his.
His towering frame blocked her pathway to the rim as she tried to move in another direction, but her hands couldn't catch the ball—Onyankopon now had it back within his grasp. They both give each other a breathless laugh, and despite this moment being important—they were having fun.
As Onyankopon goes to take another step, he stops, sucking in a breath as he places a hand along his knee. A sharp pain shoots through his entire leg.
Blue immediately pauses, “You okay?”
At first, he wanted to deny, ignore the pain—but it was evident along his face. His voice lowers, “I’m good—I, damn—“
He’s unable to finish his sentence, gritting his teeth as he tries to move towards the bench—but he’s unable to. After another moment, Blue’s shoulder presses under his arm as she murmurs, “Lean on me, alright? We’re both done playing.”
“I’m good,” he brushes off, “I’m tryna’ do some training.”
She kept him leaning against her, even if he was trying to move away. Blue questions, “You sure? We can just play it safe—do a couple stretches, Ony.”
His head tilts down at her, his hand gripping the curve of her shoulder as he answers, “Play it safe for what? I was just runnin’ around with you on the court—I gotta’ be back up in three weeks, Blue. I can’t do safe,” his voice is harsh, “I’m good.”
Blue pulls away from him as she relents, “Okay.”
After a while, they began moving into a couple of exercises—one of them being where Onyankopon had to lay along a yoga mat as he raised his knee a couple inches off the ground, attempting to reach Blue’s finger tips. While that might’ve sounded easy, he was huffing through the tightness within his leg, trying to shove down the uncomfortable position.
Blue’s touch might’ve been a helpful factor to each movement. Her warm palms gripped along his ankle, guiding him in the correct angle.
“Three more,” she promises, “Just gimme’ those, and we’ll move on.”
Onyankopon is quiet during their session, his grunts sounding with each new exercise they’d done. It wasn’t until he was on his feet, doing a movement that called for a slow squat where his groans began.
At the same time, Blue stands across from him as she makes sure his form is correct. She had to stop him a couple times to show the proper stance, squatting herself down for demonstration. She could feel his eyes.
“You’ good at doing that.“
Blue’s sighs, “Focus, please. Let’s try this again—I’ll do it with you.”
There was one thing that Onyankopon hadn’t mentioned in this entire process. In between each set, Blue would glance at her phone. She wasn’t distracted to a point that interfered with her work, but her attention was …diverted.
It wasn’t until he was doing his final exercise that he said something. He sat upright along the floor as a towel wrapped around the base of his foot, both palms grasping the ends of the material as he slowly pulled his leg back and forth.
Blue’s gaze wavers against the screen of her phone, her attention being pulled away as she hears him say, “Who’s the nigga you over there so worried about?”
Her brows furrow at the question. She places her phone down, raising her palm over his, “You’re supposed to be pulling with your hands, your leg shouldn’t be doing the work.”
She then decides to respond, “Who said I was worried about a nigga?”
“You just seem distracted.”
He continues the movement, following her instructions as he grunts, “He must’ve done somethin’ to get all that attention I’m not gettin’. What if my knee shatters right now?”
“Ony,” she flinches, “Don’t say that. I’m sorry, okay? No more phone.”
“I didn’t say to blow off my question.”
Blue blinks at him, annoyed with his pressing. She then says, “You wanna hear that I’m stalking my ex and his new bitch?”
“There we go,” He answers, his leg returning down towards the floor as he begins the set again, “That’s what you should’ve been said.”
He looks up as he questions, “Why is he yo’ ex?”
She doesn’t expect him to be curious. Blue waits a couple moments, not entirely comfortable as she flatly says, “He played ball like you, was better at playing me.”
“I’m sure it’s more than that,” his brow quirks, “Keep talkin’. I’m tryna’ hear your mouth run.”
“And why do you care?” She adjusts the towel under his foot, “None of that matters. He’s in a relationship, and I can’t be mad at that.”
“But you’ mad cause he fucked you over.”
“Did I say all that or were you just listening too hard?”
“You don’t have to,” He counters, raising his leg back down for one final set, “I already know.”
His brows knit together as he grunts, his body tensing as he forces his knee back.
Once he’s done, he continues, “And what you talkin’ bout? He could be the President, don’t matter—the fact you can’t get over it tells me he must’ve hurt you.”
“People get hurt all the time, Onyankopon,” Blue reminds him, “I’m a big girl, I survived. I just—need to get over the situation like he did.”
“And how you gon’ do that?” he questions, sitting back up straight, his hand throwing the towel beside him.
He was looking at her. Studying the way each curl fell along her face, “By being on your phone at every break? Don’t sound like you’ tryna’ get over it to me.”
“Do I tell you how to handle the relationship aspect of your life?” She squints, “You and your groupies have a very close bond—I’m sure. Ain’t nobody tryna’ sit there and tell you how to stop fuckin’ around on multiple bitches.”
“Whoa,” He raises both palms, a soft chuckle coming from his lips as he says, “Aight, aight. Sensitive topic, I see.”
There’s a moment of silence as he stares down at his fingers, “My groupies ain’t the problem. Can’t compare that to your cheating ass nigga.”
“I think sometimes you just like to hear yourself talk,” Blue mutters, “Get in the crocodile stretch so I can massage your knee, please.”
“I like hearing you talk more.”
He scoots down along the floor, using his hands to slowly roll himself onto his chest. He grunts as he continues, reaching his arms above his head and hiding his face within both of them.
Onyankopon’s jaw tenses, his brows pinching together. But soon enough, a small sigh leaves his lips as he feels her fingers run along his knee. She takes her thumb as she digs it into the muscle, deeply knotting her bone into a specific spot on his leg.
Blue then admits, “…I didn’t mean to snap on you. I just—hate that I’m not over the situation. That’s all.”
Her touch was so gentle.
He let out a grunt of relief, lifting his head off his forearms to look back to her. His eyes narrow, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he murmurs, “You gettin’ soft on me, Mama.”
She rolls her eyes, “Are you listening, or is this you just wanting to hear my voice again?”
“Both. Yo’ voice pretty as fuck.”
He sees the glimmer of freckles on her umber complexion, watching the way she nibbles along her lower lip, lowering her lashes. Shy. That’s the word he could think of.
“Are you ever gonna keep it professional with me?” She questions, glancing up to the TV that plays along the wall from across, the smallest smile along her face.
“Don’t wanna’. I can’t lie to you.”
He then catches her smile, and that’s when he says, “See. You know what it is.”
His tone lowers as he questions, “Why you gotta’ be so scared of a nigga trying to get to know you?”
“You beggin’ me now?” she raises an eyebrow, pulling herself back from his leg.
“Damn.”
He rolls over on his back, sitting up straight as he reaches for the towel beside him, wiping the sweat from his chest as he concludes, “Can’t do nothin’. You’ cold again.”
When she glances back up to the TV, she slows her movements as she sees a familiar face—his to be exact, different cuts from Onyankopon’s seasonal journey. He’s rushing across the court at one of his games, smiling ear to ear as he’s being interviewed.
”The star player was just signed to the Pelicans two months ago, and is already facing a career-threatening injury. Will he power through back in time for playoffs?
“I certainly hope so. Otherwise, he’ll be forgotten like anyone else just starting up.”
“Can you turn that off?”
His voice was stern, a glare on the screen as highlights continued playing. Every layup, every block, every dunk—it was a reel of everything he couldn’t do right now.
She reached for the remote as she shut it off, standing from the position she was in, “Earlier when we played—I could tell you were scared to move around the court. You can’t be afraid to do that.”
“Ain’t nobody scared.”
She crosses her arms at that, seeing that he’s growing irritated at her words.
“You can be mad. That’s fine.”
“Why you tryna’ make me mad?”
The frustration was evident in his tone, his eyes narrowing as he continued, “You think you got a nigga figured out when you just met me a week ago.”
“This coming from the same nigga that said he trusted me a day after meeting?” she reminds, “I’m not here to make you feel worse. I’m here because I know how you feel— Nobody is gonna believe in you if you don’t believe in you.”
And that made his expression falter.
He couldn’t speak. Onyankopon stares for a few moments until he lets out a heavy breath, his head shaking as he says, “I’m just mad.”
“I know that.”
Blue scans his face, seeing an uncomfortable sense within it. She then says, “Your progress is better than any patient I’ve had. You love the court, I can see that. You’ll be there by the playoffs.”
He stays silent at that, her words filling his head before he murmurs, “Yeah— Thank you.”
“You also need some milk,” she adds on, “Your bones feel brittle as hell.”
He lets out a low chuckle, staring down at her hands. His large palms could cover both of them. He then pushes back the vulnerable side that wants to come out, “You’ hungry?”
“I am,” she sighs, walking over to the court as she pulls her sweatshirt back on, “I was gonna eat once I got home. You did good today— we can start back up tomorrow.”
“Stay and eat, then.”
She looks back at him, her hand halting along her duffle bag. His smile grows, “Got shit in the kitchen, we just needa’ run to the store for a couple ingredients—I’m more than protein shakes and smoothies.”
“You need rest, Onyankopon. You ain’t finna’ sleep if we’ playing around in the grocery store,” she reminds, placing her duffle over her shoulder.
“C’mon,” He smacks his lips, taking long strides to stand in front of her. His broad shoulders blocked her path to the door, “Tell me you ain’t craving some food-food. What you’ want? Dirty rice, red beans? Let me know sum.’”
Blue looks up at him, the height gap so evident as he finalizes, “You’ll sleep good as fuck after. Promise.”
“This your way of tryna’ get me to stay?” She sighs, “You’ sure you can cook anything without burning the house down?”
He moves towards the double glass of his front doors, “It’s my way of apologizing to you, aight? I was kinda’ a dick head earlier, forreal’—my food’ good as hell, Mama. You gon’ be beggin’ for more.”
“Wrong. I don’t beg.”
They make it to the nearest Whole Foods, Onyankopon protesting as Blue forces him to push the cart, wanting him to have something to put his weight on. She walks slowly as she glances through the aisle, “What you’ in the mood for?”
“You.”
There’s a small smirk along his lips as she glares at him, his tone growing low again as he murmurs, “My bad, my bad. Whatever you want, I’m not trippin’.”
She keeps walking, now ending up towards the produce aisle. She scans the selections, “You’ got enough fruit for your smoothies? I may need to grab some for mine,” she mutters, leaning over as she scans the basket of bananas.
“Are you a banana?”
She turns her head, frowning at the question, “What?”
Onyankopon leans towards her, “‘Cause I find you real’ a—peel—ling.”
Blue’s entire expression drops, “Oh no—We’ve moved into bad pick up lines. Jesus Christ. Please don’t—“
“Ooh, girl. You must be a strawberry or sum’,” He interrupts, tossing the items within the basket, “‘Cause you’re berry beautiful to me!”
“Is this my personal hell? I’m walking away from you!”
“Chill! Chill! I have one more—”
He lets out a laugh as he follows behind her, still leaning against the cart’s edge as he looks over to the section of pineapples.
“If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple!”
“How about you make like them’ bananas you was talking about earlier, and split?”
Onyankopon’s mouth drops open, watching as Blue waltz further away from the basket, playfully twisting her hips with each step she takes.
She turns back to him, “Oh you liked that one, huh? That was good?”
A man walks past the both of them, Onyankopon leaning towards him as he questions, “Nigga—you heard that? How she came back at me with my own puns? You hear them’ wedding bells? Do you?”
She giggles, seeing the man’s frown as she exclaims, “Please ignore him—I’m sorry!”
When they go into the aisle of pastries, a gasp falters Blue’s lips as she speeds around a table full of cupcakes, “You think they have—“
Her eyes search, her face dropping in disappointment, “Ugh—They don’t have them,” a pout almost comes to her lips, deciding to look along the other options of cakes and bread.
“What you’ lookin’ for, Mama?”
She sighs, “They usually have these red velvet cupcakes I like. They have frosting on the inside of them!—“
She halts, realizing she’s a little too excited, “Sorry. Yeah, they’re good.”
“Stop apologizin’. They don’t got’ them?”
“No,” she’s now pouting, genuinely disappointed.
“We can go to every Whole Foods in the city until we find em’. Quit allat’ pouting.”
She rolls her eyes, “You wouldn’t do that.”
“You think I’m playin’?” he questions, eyes narrowing at her, “I’ll take my ass to muhfuckin’ Mississippi if you need me to.”
She hates that her heart flutters. Blue then shakes her head, voice soft, “It’s fine—I’ll go look in another aisle, okay?”
She goes to the next area of snacks, trying to find a sweet substitute for her cravings. She ends up finding a pack of Oreos, seeing a red velvet flavor at the top of the aisle, unable to reach it due to her height.
“Hell,” she mutters.
“Need help?”
The voice is…familiar. It’s as if her entire body goes cold, and immediately recognizes the tone without him having to say anything else. When her face turns towards him—there he is.
Hazel brown eyes, only made of the devil if she had a comparison. Light brown skin, his dark hair in waves, as handsome as he wanted to be. Fuck, why were evil men so fine?
To make matters worse, that faceless body that was within the picture she constantly stared at now had a face—she was the complete opposite of Blue. Tan skin, close to an olive tone. Her hair was more wavy than curly, a smaller frame, as if she were able to slip in anything and look good. She was perfect.
“Trey—Uh—hey?”
“Wassup, Blue?”
Something in her body flinched at the sound of him saying her name.
A smirk grows along his lips as he looks down to the cookies in her hand, “I remember these were your favorite.”
His voice was the same, smooth.
His eyes linger on the length of her, “How you’ been?”
How have I been?
She wanted to smack him, get violent. Maybe even smack the woman next to him.
“I’m good,” she pushes out, “Who’s this?” She looks at the woman, giving her best attempt of a polite smile.
“This is Nia,” he introduces, his arm now circling around the woman as he pulls her close, “My fiancè.”
Nia smiles, “It’s really nice to meet you, Trey’s told me so much about you!”
Blue could have cried on the spot. Her face felt entirely warm, and something in her was starting to become extremely upset.
“It’s uh…nice to meet you too. I hope all good things were said.”
Onyankopon turns down the aisle in search of her, finding Blue interacting with two strangers—but just by the look on her face, he knew exactly who they were. You could say he had a flair for the dramatics.
“Yo’, baby, you found what you was’ looking for?”
Blue frowns, “Huh?”
He walks up to her, “Why you’ always tryna’ do shit by yoself’ when you know you got me? C’mon,” he reaches up for the sweet treat, tossing it in the basket.
“Who’s this?”
Trey’s question felt a little sharp. Nia on the other hand, looks entirely starstruck. A blush comes along her fair skin as she swats Trey’s arm, “Honey, this is the new player on the Pelicans—Onyankopon, right?”
Onyankopon nods, his arm now going to mirror Trey’s action of holding his girl by the waist. But instead of going for Blue’s hip, his palm latches onto her ass, squeezing the flesh under his fingers, tugging her closer to his large frame.
“You gon’ introduce me, huh?” Her murmurs, mouth hovering along hers, Blue able to feel the warmth of his breath.
Her cheeks feel detached from her face. She stutters, “U—Um, this is Onyankopon, my—“
“Her husband,” he finishes, “Baby always being shy on shit. She ‘real adamant on getting our rings cleaned every other week, so she can’t show off that rock that be’ on her finger right now.”
His face is centimeters from hers. Onyankopon’s voice is low as he questions, “You’ got everything you need?”
Blue’s lashes flutter, trying to hold her composure as she nods, “Yeah—“
And then, he kisses her.
Their lips smush together, a low groan coming from his throat as she lets him taste her.
Blue tries to pull back, but Onyankopon's hand wraps along the back of her neck, holding her in place as he keeps going. His tongue slides along her own, sinking in and out of her mouth. It sends a jolt all the way between her thighs, Blue lightly panting in a way she didn’t expect herself to.
When he pulls back, she exhales, pressing her hand against his chest as her face went from warm to entirely hot. Her face pulls back to the couple across from them, both her ex and his fiancè shocked at their affection towards each other. They’re almost bothered at the sight.
“Um—“ a nervous giggle releases from Blue’s lips, “It was nice seeing you, Trey. We um, we have to go. Yeah?” She turns her face back to Onyankopon.
He presses one last kiss to her lips, a look of irritation on Trey's face he glares daggers.
Blue was officially red, Onyankopon's arm going around her waist as he said, "I’m hungry as hell. Finna’ fuck around and eat you. C’mon."
She politely waved to the couple, tugging at Onyankopon's arm, dragging him around the corner towards the check-out lanes.
That’s when Blue finally released an actual giggle, the sound unfamiliar to Onyankopon as she whispered, “Why did you do that?!”
“To piss him off,” He answers, “And it worked. I hope that nigga’s jaw is clenched as hell right now.”
He slows down the cart as he then asks, “You aight, though? You look like you seen’ a ghost earlier.”
“I’m okay—I just didn’t expect to see him out of all’ people. Not to mention that he’s engaged,” she places the items atop of the lane, pushing them forward with a soft frown along her face.
“You thought I was gon’ let that nigga just embarrass you? Fuck allat.’”
“Why did you go as far as to say we were married?”
Onyankopon shrugs, “Manifestation?”
And once again, Blue laughs.
Two weeks had gone by. Intense Physical therapy, exercising, and training was the only thing filling Onyankopon’s schedule. His family was shocked to hear how miraculous his recovery was—and he had no one to thank except Blue.
It was now the night before playoffs, Blue coming over to drop off the new knee brace she’d bought for him. She closes the door behind herself softly as he’d told her that he’d be going to bed early, trying to tip toe towards his gym. But when she sees the kitchen lights on—she halts.
She looks along the marble counter, seeing different ingredients from flour, sugar, eggs, butter, and oil. A frown came along her face at the cupcake pans next to the supplies.
She slowly walks forward as she questions, “Ony?”
A figure appears from the bathroom. Her mouth immediately parts open, a palm going over her lips as she sees him shirtless, a chef's hat slanting on top of his head.
She giggles, “What are you doing?”
“You thought I was just bullshitting about finding you them’ red velvet cupcakes?” He questions, going to stand in front of the kitchen’s island, “Imma’ make them for you.”
Dammit. There goes her heart fluttering again. She rolls her eyes as she goes over to him, pulling the hat off his head while wiping the flour along his nose, “Maybe I can help with that. What do you need me to do, chef?”
Spending time with him outside of PT was different. Seeing him go as far as to make the dessert she’d wanted weeks ago, made her realize how much he’d actually been thinking about her.
Blue watched as he stood on the other side of the counter, rolling up a blunt they’d agreed on smoking together. Her eyes might’ve been…drifting at him doing such a simple task, palm slow in mixing the batter.
“You gon’ have to keep them’ pretty ass eyes off me, Blue. Unless you tryna’ have a nigga come over there.”
Onyankopon eyes are still down. His tongue rolls across the blunt, sealing the object.
A small smile comes along her face, placing her focus back along the batter as she replies, “Sorry.”
He chuckles, placing the end between his lips before igniting the blunt—taking a long drag, smoke wafting out his nose as he questioned, “Yo’ momma named you that ‘cause of them’ oceans you got for eyes?”
She softly laughs, “No. I was stuck in the hospital a couple weeks after she gave birth to me—premature, less than five pounds. My mom said I cried like hell in that incubator, and it made her cry. Gave her the blues. My eyes are on the account of my grandfather who had some syndrome, passed it down to me. I guess it just felt appropriate.”
Her voice was smooth. His eyes watched as she moved, trying to keep her composure as she poured her batter into the cupcake liners. It had to be the smoke, or the fact that he liked her, as his mind began to wander on how she’d sound moaning in his ear. He takes another hit, the blunt still between his fingers as he exhales, passing the object over to her.
She reaches over, pressing the brown bud in between her dark pink lips. She then questions, “Why you’ so interested in me? You ain’t got a bunch of bitches lined up to play basketball wife?”
“And I know you got a lot more niggas than me tryna’ talk to you, but who’s the only one making you them’ cupcakes?” He questions, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Still not you. I’m the one mixing the batter,” she points out.
She looks up to see the instant irritation on his face.
He eases up as he leans forward, “Pass that shit back, you blowin’ me. Throw a nigga a bone. Somethin’.”
Her eyes are still against the burgundy contents of the batter, thinking of his words. It was hard for her to open up at times—but she’d spent a lot of time with Onyankopon at this point, and she couldn’t deny the feelings developing for him. It was time to give him some vulnerability.
“I um—I tore my ACL back in college.”
Blue can see the frown that comes to his face. She hates that she can feel a heaviness within her chest, pushing herself to continue, “Had a girl off another team push me the wrong way, and my knee shattered when I stumbled. I mean—I still do something I love, but I loved playing ball more. I think that’s why I tend to be so hard on you about your recovery. You still have the opportunity to play—so play.”
He remains quiet as he digests what she tells him. Going from knowing nothing about this girl, to knowing all of the shit she’d been through—it made him want her more.
She notices his face, releasing her hands from the bowl as she apologizes, “I wasn’t tryna’ fuck up the mood.”
“You didn’t,” he says, his words a low murmur, “All that shit you went through made you who you are now. You tough as fuck, Blue. Selfless as hell, too. Nobody could take that shit from you.”
Her heart beats as he comes around the counter, distracting herself as she steals the blunt from his fingers, “You just sayin’ all that cause I got you ready for playoffs.”
“You hear me, right?”
He was so close, tilting his head down, keeping his face close to hers.
She blinks slowly, exhaling the smoke from her lips as she nods, “I hear you, Ony.”
“So why you actin’ like you don’t believe that a nigga got feelings for you?”
“Cause you’re sayin’ all this when you’re high.”
“I’m barely high,” his eyes wandered down to her lips, “Why you frontin’?”
Her high was now hitting her, creating a buzz along her body, her lids a little heavier than before. She turns towards the counter, grabbing for the frosting bag as she grins, “You ain’t finish making my cupcakes. I thought you said you liked me?” She tilts her head, eyes glowing a slight shade of red.
“I like you like hell,” he grunts, latching a kiss along her cheek, it makes her giggle and push at his chest. He notices the way she relaxes, “How’ you feelin’, Mama—you good?” His tone was sensual, but genuine, “You wanna’ lay down?”
“You think I can’t handle myself?” She frowns, “I’m good, boy. Want some frosting? I hope it’s buttercream!”
She wraps her arms around his neck, “Put me on the counter. My feet hurt.”
He chuckles, grabbing her by the waist as he sits her atop the island, sliding both her legs apart.
“Better?”
“Mhm,” she nods, beginning to rub her palms along the sides of his neck, “You’re so sweet.”
“You the sweetest thing on this island,” he counters, sliding her lower along the edge. He stands in between her legs, palms along her thighs.
“Sweeter than the frosting?” She questions, squeezing some along her finger, wrapping her lips along the tip of her index.
“You playin’.”
Onyankopon’s large hand wraps around her wrist, pulling her finger out of her mouth. He then takes her digits in between his own lips, tongue dragging along the frosting.
Blue takes more frosting along her free hand, plopping some on the edge of his chin. Her giggles aren’t something he’s used to yet. He could replay them over and over. Now seeing her like this—floaty, flirty, it might’ve had his mind elsewhere.
She blows out a breath, eyes boring into his as she pouts, “You gotta re-light the blunt, it went out.”
She was seated on the island, and yet his head was still level with her own. His voice was a low rumble as he continued, “Why you’ worried about that? Youn’ want my tongue instead?”
“On me?”
“All over you, girl,” his voice drops further, lips inches from her own, “Where ‘you want me?”
She searches around his face, lightly pressing her teeth along the plush of her lip. Squeezing out more frosting, Blue swipes it along the side of her neck, her voice soft as she sighs, “…Here.”
“On that pretty ass neck,” he murmurs against her skin, lips dragging as close as possible. His kiss was light, teasing as he slowly made his way back up. Her neck smelled of cinnamon.
She was within his grasp, tongue coating along her skin, the frosting smearing across her throat. Onyankopon could feel a shiver vibrating throughout her spine at the contact, Blue’s thighs squeezing together in response.
Her giggles lessen as his tongue drags all along the length of her neck, softening into breathy inhales. When she goes to pull her face down—his fingers dig into her curls, yanking her head back. Blue’s eyes roll back in response.
“It t—tickles, Ony…”
He chuckles against her neck, his tongue coiling around the inside of her ear. It goes down, gliding past her jawline, lightly rushing across her lips.
The moment she feels his mouth along her own, her entire body tenses, thinking back to the kiss he’d given her in the store. Her palm slides to the back of his neck, breath wafting along his mouth as her thighs repeated in squeezing together. It’s as if she’s anticipating his next move, more needy than she expected herself to be.
She lets it slip out as she whimpers, “Why won’t you kiss me…”
He pulls away, leaving only an inch of space between them, “Thought you didn’t believe a nigga liked you?”
The grip at the back of her curls loosen only slightly, his voice a husk as he grunts, “Open.”
A small giggle falls from her lips as she sticks out her tongue in response, rims of her eyes a dark azure. He lets out a low groan, tongue plunging deep within her mouth, twisting around her own. Their kiss makes her eyes feel heavier, her brain emptier, her thoughts—hornier. The frosting along her skin smudges everywhere as they move together, dropping along her thighs, sliding lower on her legs. Without another thought, Blue’s shriek echoes the walls as he locks her legs around his hips, carrying her onto the sofa.
Her back lays atop of the pillows, eyes flicking over to the mirror giving a perfect view of their bodies—The balls of her feet slide against his chest as she keeps her legs up, Onyankopon hovered above her, pressing the blunt back between his lips, swiping the lighter across his thumb.
Blue’s low eyes watch him. He pulls the bud from his mouth, pressing a kiss to the side of her foot, pecking his lips towards her French tipped toes.
“We were supposed to be baking,” she huffs in annoyance, but yet, she lightly rotates her hips at the sensation of his mouth.
When the blunt is lit, he drags his tongue along her calves.
He then questions, “What were we makin’ again? Tell me.”
Her legs shake as he snatches the skin going up her leg in between his lips, “T—Those cupcakes you promised to make me, Ony…”
“That’s what you want right now?”
She wanted to answer back—she really did. She just couldn’t.
Onyankopon hands her back the blunt, Blue watching how his lips went from the back of her knees, to now meeting at her thighs, tongue gliding across any part of her skin he could reach.
When he drags more upward, there’s a smack when his lips meet her own. He watches as she pulls smoke into her mouth, holding it there until he grunts, “Give it to me.”
She pushes the smoke out, silence between the two as their lips seal together cohesively.
His lips suck against hers, the kiss loud and sloppy. Blue softly whines. Her head nearly falls back to keep up with him, thighs opening, hung along the broad frame of his back. Onyankopon’s head was beginning to fuzz, which coaxed his head to duck down, tongue swirling, dancing along the inside of her thigh.
“Talk to me,” his voice mutters a seductive rasp against her skin, nose and mouth smushing against the warmth, “Whatchu’ thinkin’ about?”
She doesn’t wanna admit to what she’s actually thinking. But with his lips everywhere as he’d promised, smoking, and suppressing the tension she’d felt the moment she’d met this man—she couldn’t help it anymore.
“Want you in me, Ony.”
Her voice is pleading. Blue tugs the fabric of her panties to the side of her pelvic, too impatient to actually remove them, spreading her legs a bit wider.
He groans at the sight. His eyes drop down as he grunts, “Lemme’ see that pretty ass pussy.”
Blue snatches the material farther, showing off the glistening sight of her bubblegum pink core, delectable under the lights of his home.
Onyankopon places the blunt on his glass coffee table, lips moving back up her skin until he meets her own again. He was already tugging down his sweatpants, hand coming up to the back of her neck as he kept her lips locked against his own. His tone was lowered.
“You sure?”
She nods her head, using her own hand to swipe along her pussy. She’s twisting her lower half a bit, “C’mon, Ony.”
The sight of his tip was—not what she expected. It was a darkened pink, weighted, long as it smushed along her wet folds, kissing at the hidden part of her clit— Heavy, was all she could think.
His voice is a grunt while he speaks, “I’m not gon’ fit like that. Lemme’ eat you.”
“Make it fit,” she whimpers, splaying her fingers along the back of her thighs, spreading herself even more.
His jaw clenched at her words. Onyankopon was practically glaring down at her. He grunts into a soft kiss as he leans down, capturing their lips together. He takes her legs, pressing her knees beneath his chest, ankles against the sides of his head as he has her trapped.
The moment she feels herself within this position, she rethinks all of her pleading. But it’s too late—Blue’s eyes lock down to watch his tip sink between her folds, an ache throbbing against her entire lower half. Her hips tense, but as that discomfort wafts through her entire body in waves, another ocean arises— a sense of pleasure meeting with that. Her mouth lightly parts as Onyankopon keeps his face close, Blue quietly inhaling, a long exhale panting from her lips.
She places her hand to the back of his neck, a frown coming against her lips as she shudders, “O—oh shit…”
His mouth covers all of her own, muffling her whimpers as he holds himself by the base, pushing in farther. His words are a low rumble, “You know I wanna hear you. Get loud.”
Blue clutches the back of his head, eyes rolling back as he still hadn’t really moved, yet she felt everything. Their foreheads meet as she gives him another gasp, thighs trembling in response to his words.
“Ain’t no one ever took you this deep?” He grunts, his lips dragging to meet her neck, “Told you’ you wasn’t ready for allat.’”
He presses his mouth down to her throat, Blue’s bottom lip drooping even lower, her eyes screwing shut, feeling a rapture of pleasurable tears wanting to form. He still hadn’t moved.
“You gon’ take me, ain’t you?”
His tongue rolls along the skin closest to her shoulders.
Her legs vibrate in between their bodies, arousal creating a tiny puddle against the furniture, Blue knocking her head back along the sofa, trying to find words—she can’t.
“S—shit, Ony,” she trembles, “Wait…”
“Nah,” he grunts, his voice a low growl.
Deeper.
“You can,” His eyes burn into her own, tip kissing at her opening as he drags out, sopping the warm skin of her pussy.
His voice is taunting.
“This’ what you wanted, huh?”
“Ony.”
He gives a low groan when she says his name, pressing their lips together as hips sinks back in.
When their lips pull apart, his eyes lock on hers, “You so muhfuckin’ pretty, Mama.”
The compliment, his glare—it’s all too much. When she realizes she has no way out of this position, she raises her mouth up in the want of another kiss, her voice soft as she gives him a breathy whine, pouting along her mouth, moaning pitifully against Onyankopon’s lips.
His tongue coils along her own, sucking at each corner of her mouth, “Why you pouting’?”
She wraps an arm along the top of his back, pulling his face closer within her neck, allowing his nose to nudge against the warm flesh. His mouth is directly next to her ear, as hers is equally close to his own. She finds her words in a whine.
“Stretching me, baby…”
She clutches him closer in, her eyes fully rolling back as she hides her face within his shoulder, “So full…” she whimpers.
The sensation had her eyes watering, and it made her shake against his body. Onyankopon lets out a low snarl. Hearing her right beside his ear was driving him insane.
“Look how you takin’ allat’,” he murmurs, giving her a slow grind, lips dragging along her temple, “You’ hear allat’ noise?”
The noise she heard was wet—schluck, schluck, her walls bear hugging the stretch of his dick, practically sucking him farther in.
A moan. It was vulnerable, a pure sound of pleasure. She hides her face within his shoulder, opening her legs a little more, keeping his nose against her throat.
His hips now sling forward, a loud clap resounding as their thighs met. His hand grabs her thighs, pushing them upward, the new angle allowing him to go deeper inside.
“…Fuck,” she groans, placing the back of her palm against her mouth, her other fingers imbedded into his skin, “Ony, baby.”
“Ony nothin’,” he snatches a kiss from her mouth, tugging her face back to his, “Look at me.”
Her face is on fire, but she could care less. Blue’s mouth unlatched from its lock, moaning in repetitions, “Keep going. Fuck me, Fuck me, baby. F—fuck me.”
“You gon’ keep moanin’ for me like that?”
She nods, giving him a soft peck, one that made him lowly laugh along her mouth.
She pouts, “Don’t laugh.”
“Ain’t laughin’ at you, Mama. You’ just cute.”
He brings his hand up to clasp along her throat, keeping himself chest to chest with her, gyrating his hips— It makes Blue shudder, attempting to keep her eyes against his.
“Had all that fuckin’ attitude when you first met me.”
His hand clasped tighter with his words, making Blue clutch her fingers around his wrist that held her throat, whimpering, “Ony.”
“You ain’t believe a nigga when I said I liked you,” he grunts, tugging her face closer, “You got me showin’ that shit.”
“I’m sorry,” she whines, her eyes flicking back to the mirror, seeing her body folded beneath him. Her eyes are low as she’s in a pleasured haze, looking back at him as she says, “I like you so much, baby…”
“You just talkin’,” his abdomen bumps harshly with the back of her thighs, drenched in her own wetness, “We still gon’ have them’ problems when I’m done with you?”
The smack of skin against skin was soaked, Onyankopon going so deep it sent Blue’s eyes back. He could only chuckle at the sight of her, voice a low grunt against her ear, “What you gon’ say?”
He slides one arm beneath the back of her neck, the other hand going along the front of her throat. Their lips pressed together in a kiss as he murmured, “You gonna’ be my girl?” Blue’s lips trembling against his own, “You mine after this?”
It’s a particularly harsh thrust that has Blue gasp, gripping along the top of his back. Her mouth quivers, her legs mimicking as if she’d been tased.
She could only get out, “Y—yeah! Ony…”
His mouth slides down her jaw. He growls, “That nigga wasn’t doing all this to you, huh?”
Now he’s being petty. Her mind rushes to her ex, and she whimpers, “Stop it.”
The pressure from his hands has her mouth open. His low grunts were loud, a clack sounding as he pressed his forehead against her own.
Even deeper.
“You’ doing good, baby. That’s my fuckin’ big girl.”
She doesn’t know what’s happening—what she’s feeling. Her stomach coils within itself, lower body rapturing in a sense of pleasure she’s never felt before, almost to a point where it feels violent. The moan that comes from her lips is louder than she expects it to be, to a point where she grips onto him for dear life, trying to relax her body as she orgasms. Onyankopon leans himself down, capturing her clit within his mouth as he just couldn’t help himself—he eats away at her, letting the gush fall straight onto his tongue, shaking his head between the folds of her pussy to drown in the taste of her.
“Shit tastes better than that fuckin’ icing.”
Blue’s gasping.
But she doesn’t expect what he does next. Throughout her entire body responding to each touch, sound, affection he gives, Onyankopon flips her, to where she’s now on her stomach against the sofa, his chest against her back. He slaps his tip in between the parted space of her ass, nudging it between her folds all while sinking back in—When she feels her ass clap against his hips in the middle of her orgasm, Blue moans, desperately trying to pull away from him, curls falling along her face as he snatches her back.
It was an animalistic motion, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck, shoving her face into the corner of the couch.
“You runnin’ from me?”
He’s using his elbow to slam her down, her pussy squelching with each pull. Blue can see herself from the mirror, and it makes her pout, looking directly at Onyankopon, reaching her arm back as she whimpered, “N—no, B—baby…”
“You tryna’ take my pussy away?”
“No, Ony.”
His mouth goes back down to her skin, breath hot against her spine, “You want it slower?”
She adjusts her legs, arching her back as she turns her head to meet his. She begs, “Slower, yeah, need to feel it like that.”
The hand she places along his abdomen, he catches, using that as leverage to give her the slow pound she was looking for. His hips slowly pull back, rocking forward.
Blue hisses, going back to the mirror, “Just like that, baby...”
Onyankopon could feel Blue fluttering around him, he groaned against her ear, “Just like this?”
The question alone makes her nod, his groans making her stomach twist.
“You hear me, Mama?”
Her back arches more, her face shoving into the sofa’s material to release a loud moan that's muffled within the pillows. Her eyes screwed shut as he clutched her hair, tugging her face upwards.
His voice was low, “Look at us.”
Blue’s eyes come open, seeing their frames colliding together. She’s able to tug his upper half down, twisting her body to somewhat face him, wrapping her hand along the back of his neck as she pulls his face close to hers.
“Stay here,” she lightly gasps, “Here.”
One of his hands is tangled in her curls, the other hand clamping her face, lips a mere inch between each other. This way, he could watch her. Blue’s eyes looked over him, and she watched back.
“Spank me,” she whimpered, “Please.”
“I thought you ain’t beg?”
That question.
Her freckled cheeks return to warmth. She gives him a soft kiss, “Please, Ony. Please.”
His smirk grows, Onyankopon slamming his hand against the skin of her ass, shaking the ripping flesh, the sound reverberating against the walls. Blue sultrily giggles, her eyes narrowing, hips beginning to fuck him back, wanting him to receive the pleasure he’d been giving her. He was rocking along with her, hand gripping onto her ass with the other hand pushing against her back.
His voice was low when he spoke, “You know I love how you look at me, right?”
Blue’s eyes were a haze, a small breath coming out while swirling her hips, “So handsome, baby. Can’t help it,” her curls hang along her face, Blue mindlessly blowing them out the way.
“What’ I do to deserve you?”
That’s when he places a foot along the couch for a better grip, keeping Blue’s legs straight below him, once again having her stuck—His hips are dropping down, the sound of her ass applauding back on his dick so loud that it causes her mouth to completely part open. She’s unable to hold herself back, face twisted within the mirror as she released, “Ungh, fuck—baby, Ony…I’m cumming…”
“You ain’t gotta’ tell me,” he hushes, biting down on her shoulder, nearly sinking his entire bottom lip into her skin, “I know. Cum all on this muhfuckin’ dick.”
His palm clasps along her mouth, sounds still pushing out between his fingers, her face drenched with tears, eyes rolling back as she sobbed beneath him. She couldn’t stop looking within the mirror at him, pleasure, an admiration too full to hide.
He made her watch, his hand gripping under her chin, forcing her head upward to watch their bodies connect. It made him grip her hair tighter.
“You watchin’?”
“I’m watching.”
The mirror showed everything—Onyankopon had her in a complete lock.
His toned was breathless as he moaned, “Fuck, I’m finna’ bust.”
Their lips met, tongues tangling together, groans coming from deep within their throats.
Her scream swallows down his mouth, his deep moan hidden under the skin of her throat as he places his face there, the warmth of his cum spurting the tightness of her walls. It felt all the more real, the symphony of their bodies coming together like a song on loop—never ending.
The music humming along the room returns to her ears, the scent of icing all along her skin. Blue tries to control her breathing as she drags his palm to gently hang along her face, glancing around his chest as she sees the scratches against his skin.
“…Sorry.”
Her voice is breathless, wanting to pull him down for another kiss.
“What’chu apologizing for?” His voice is a low husk, eyes piercing into her own, “You got me good.”
Blue’s chest heaved, Onyankopon’s thumb pushing down against the swell of her bottom lip. He grunts, “You need a minute.”
“No,” She’s wiggling, “Wanna’ keep going.”
His eyebrows raise, “I ain’t do you in like I needed to?”
That’s when she gives a tired giggle. She might’ve lied, as her eyes feel extremely heavy. Her palm grazes his chin, “I’m not gonna’ admit to that.”
“Still stubborn as hell,” he murmurs, catching her lips within his.
He scans her eyes, seeing that they’ve become lighter now. He couldn’t stop looking at her.
He then says, “Ion’ think I ever said thank you for helping me out.”
Blue runs her thumb along his mouth, her voice soft, “It’s my job. You don’t have to thank me.”
He stares at her, “Nah.”
His fingers sink into her hair, “You had my back,” He continues, “You meant it when you said you was gon’ make sure I was good. I’d never had someone like that before,” His voice is a hushed whisper, “So thank you, forreal’.”
He leans down, pressing his lips along her own again, “Imma’ make sure to have yours, Blue.”
Instead of her heart fluttering this time, it explodes. To think she hadn’t taken this man seriously before, she had no reason to not to take her chance with him.
She gives a soft smile, “You’re such a lil’ sweetie. You wanna go finish baking?”
He shakes his head, “I’m comfortable,” he murmurs, “Just lemme’ be here like this. I’ll buy the whole muhfuckin’ Whole Foods for you when I wake up.”
Her giggle is like a lullaby, pretty, which makes him chuckle.
But of course, Onyankopon had to ruin the moment.
“So you my girl now, huh? I mean—you said it while I was in your shit. You was like ‘Yeah, Ony, Ugnh!’—“
“Onyankopon!”
“Imma’ love hearing that all the time,” he sighs, “Night, Mama.”
Tying up loose ends with your ex boyfriend Toji ends up in a threesome with your new boyfriend Choso?!
ಇ.content & warnings: porn with no plot :: threesome activity :: some toji x choso action :: older toji :: sub cho :: dominant reader & toji :: oral m. rec :: p in v :: dp :: both in the v :: at the same damn time :: c-pied :: kissing ::
ಇ.author's note: i have a few more drabbles with this paring - so yes more to cum in the future!
The apartment door barely clicked shut before the air thickened, heavy with the kind of tension that made your pulse stutter and your thighs press together on instinct.
Toji Fushiguro stood in your living room like he still owned the place, broad shoulders filling out that worn black shirt, scarred lips curled in that same cocky smirk you’d tried so hard to forget.
Months since you’d walked out on him, and yet here he was, invited in under the flimsiest excuse after he’d spotted you and Choso at that dimly lit bar earlier tonight. Now Choso lingered just behind you, quiet as always, dark eyes flicking between the two of you with a mix of wariness and something softer, something that still made your stomach flip.
Toji didn’t waste time. His large hand caught your wrist, tugging you forward until your chest bumped his. “Missed this pretty little body,” he rumbled, voice low and mean, the way it always got when he wanted something. His other palm slid down your side, fingers digging into your hip hard enough to bruise, yanking your shirt up without asking. Choso stepped closer too, hesitant at first, but when you didn’t pull away his hands joined in, gentler but just as eager, peeling the fabric over your head until cool air kissed your bare skin.
Clothes came off in a messy rush. Toji ripped your bra down your arms with a grunt, tossing it aside like it offended him, while Choso’s fingers worked your jeans open, pushing them down your legs along with your panties in one careful tug. You were naked between them in seconds, skin prickling under their stares.
Toji’s gaze dragged over you slow and possessive, grumpy old bastard that he was, muttering, “Still lookin’ like you were made for me, huh?” Choso said nothing, just pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his long hair brushing your cheek as his hands roamed your waist.
They walked you backward through the hallway, Toji’s bulk guiding the way with that dominant swagger he never lost, one arm hooked around your middle while Choso followed close on your other side.
The bedroom door swung open and they pushed you inside, the backs of your knees hitting the mattress before you even realized. Toji shoved you down onto the edge of the bed, standing tall over you, already palming the thick bulge straining his pants. “On your knees, sweetheart. Been thinkin’ about that mouth wrapin’ around me all night.”
You sank down obediently, the carpet soft under your knees, and tilted your head up at him with a sweet little smile that made his green eyes narrow. “Choso,” you called softly, patting the spot beside you. “Come here, baby.”
Toji’s brows shot up. “Wait, what the fuck? You ain’t callin’ him over to suck my cock or watch like some this is some goddamn show. This ain’t—”
“Shut up, Toji,” you cut in, voice calm but firm, the same tone you used when he used to push too far back when he was yours. He actually paused, jaw ticking, that scowl deepening, but he didn’t stop you.
Choso knelt beside you without hesitation, cheeks faintly pink under the dim lamp light, his dark eyes flicking up to yours for approval. You turned to him first, cupping his face and pulling him into a slow, deep kiss, tongues sliding lazy and wet while your hand drifted down to palm Toji’s cock through his unzipped pants.
You freed him, thick and heavy and already leaking at the tip, stroking him firm and steady as you made sure Toji watched every second of the kiss— the way Choso melted into it, soft little hum vibrating against your lips.
When you finally broke the kiss, a string of spit connecting you both for a moment, you smiled at Choso and murmured, “Be a good boy for me. Suck him.”
Toji barked a laugh, rough and disbelieving. “Fuck no. You serious? He ain’t—”
You shot him a look. “I said shut up and let him.”
Choso was shy about it at first, hesitating as he leaned in, but the second his pretty mouth wrapped around the head of Toji’s cock, the older man’s hips jerked and a low, shocked groan tore from his throat. “Oh my fuck…” Toji’s hand came down to tangle in Choso’s long hair, not guiding yet, just holding on as that warm, wet heat enveloped him.
Choso’s mouth was perfect— soft lips stretching around the girth, tongue swirling, lazy circles over the swollen head, lapping at the precum like he was savouring it. He took more, cheeks hollowing as he bobbed slowly, one hand braced on Toji’s thick thigh while the other came up to gently roll and tug at his heavy balls.
You watched with a satisfied little smile, still kneeling right there beside him, your hand resting on Choso’s back in quiet praise. “That’s it, good boy,” you cooed softly, voice dripping honey. “Just like that. Use your tongue more on the head, baby— he likes that.”
Toji’s head fell back for a second, a guttural curse spilling out as Choso obeyed instantly, licking broad stripes up the underside before sucking the tip back into that slick heat, eyes fluttering half-closed like he was lost in it. The contrast hit Toji hard— the way Choso moved so obediently, no backtalk, no attitude, just pure eager submission. He looked almost like a well-trained pet, kneeling there pretty and focused, long hair spilling over his shoulders while he worked Toji’s cock deeper into his throat with wet, obscene sounds.
“Fuck, ma,” Toji grunted, voice rougher now, hips twitching as he stared down at the scene. His free hand reached out to grip your chin, tilting your face up so he could see your smile. “You got him well trained like a dog. This the kinda shit you’re into now? Lettin’ your new boytoy slobber all over your ex’s dick just ‘cause you say so?”
You leaned into his touch, still smiling, eyes sparkling with that quiet triumph. “Yeah,” you said simply, voice soft and warm as you stroked Choso’s hair. “Choso listens. He’s good for me. Never argued or made everything a fight… unlike someone.”
Toji’s laugh came out breathless, a mix of annoyance and reluctant heat, his cock twitching hard between Choso’s lips as the younger man hollowed his cheeks again, taking him even deeper with a soft, muffled moan.
Choso’s tongue pressed flat against the vein running underneath, swirling and teasing, while his fingers continued their gentle massage on Toji’s balls, coaxing more precum to leak onto his tongue.
Toji’s grip tightened in Choso’s dark hair, but he didn’t force the pace— couldn’t, not when it felt this fucking good, that shy obedience wrapping around him tighter than any attitude ever had.
You stayed right there, naked and kneeling between them, one hand on Choso’s thigh for balance and the other occasionally reaching up to trace Toji’s abs, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch.
The bedroom filled with the wet sounds of Choso’s mouth, Toji’s low grunts, and your quiet praises whispered like secrets. “Good boy, Choso… swallow around him, just like that. See how much he likes it when you’re sweet for him?”
Choso hummed in response, the vibration making Toji hiss through his teeth, green eyes narrowing down at you with that familiar mean edge softened by raw pleasure. “You’re enjoyin’ this way too much, brat,” he muttered, but there was no real bite left in it— not when his cock was buried in that perfect, warm mouth and you were watching him unravel with that knowing little smile.
Toji’s hips twitched again, thicker veins pulsing against Choso’s tongue as the younger man kept working him slow and deep, cheeks hollowed, lashes fluttering like he was lost in the taste.
That wet heat dragged along every inch, tongue pressing flat and swirling lazy circles around the swollen head before sliding back down until the tip nudged the back of Choso’s throat.
Choso didn’t gag, didn’t pull away— just swallowed around him with a soft, obedient little sound that had Toji’s abs tightening, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
The older man’s hand stayed tangled in all that dark hair, fingers flexing like he wanted to fist it tight and fuck into that pretty mouth until tears spilled down Choso’s cheeks, but he held back, jaw clenched, breathing rough through his nose. Cocky bastard that he was, even he could feel how perfectly Choso was sucking him off, all shy devotion and slick warmth that made his balls draw up tighter with every pass.
You stayed kneeling right beside them, naked skin flushed warm, smiling that soft, satisfied smile while your hand rested on Choso’s thigh, thumb stroking gentle circles of praise. The sight of Toji trying so hard to keep control, hips barely rocking forward instead of slamming deep, sent a sweet thrill curling low in your belly.
Choso’s mouth made the filthiest sounds— wet slurps and quiet gulps, saliva already dripping down his chin and coating Toji’s heavy length in shiny streaks.
Toji’s gaze finally snapped to you, green eyes dark and hungry, his free hand shot out fast, fingers threading rough through your hair and yanking your head back so you had no choice but to look up at him.
The pull stung just enough to make you gasp, lips parting on a soft breath. “Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he growled, voice gravel-rough and mean. “You’re smilin’ like you won somethin’. Wet those pretty lips for me.”
He pulled out of Choso’s mouth with a wet pop, the thick head glistening, strings of saliva and precum webbing between Choso’s swollen lips and Toji’s cock like glistening threads that stretched and broke as he moved. Choso stayed kneeling there, breathing hard, lips shiny and parted, a faint blush high on his cheeks as he looked at you both with those dark, obedient eyes.
You swallowed once, throat bobbing, and Toji’s smirk sharpened, cock twitching in the cool air. “Come on, you little brat,” he said, low and taunting, tugging your hair again to tilt your face exactly where he wanted it. “Put that evil little mouth to work. Been watchin’ you direct your pet like a fuckin’ conductor— now show me what that smart mouth can really do.”
Your smile never faded, only curved wider as you leaned in, tongue darting out to trace the messy trail of spit and precum still clinging to him. Choso watched quietly from beside you, one hand resting lightly on your knee like he was waiting for whatever you’d tell him next. Toji’s grip in your hair stayed firm, guiding you closer until your lips brushed the slick head, the salty taste blooming across your tongue as you opened for him.
The bedroom air felt thicker now, heavy with the scent of skin and want, the three of you tangled in that messy heat where Toji’s dominance clashed against Choso’s sweet obedience and your quiet control. You took him in slow at first, lips stretching around his girth, tongue swirling just like you’d told Choso to do, while Toji’s low groan filled the room and his fingers tightened in your hair, hips finally giving one shallow thrust forward.
A low sound slipped from your throat as Toji pulled free and slapped his thick, spit-slick cock against your parted lips, the heavy weight of it landing wet and deliberate, smearing more of that messy mix of precum and Choso’s saliva across your mouth.
He did it again, harder this time, the wet smack echoing soft in the quiet bedroom while his scarred lips pulled into that mean, cocky grin. “That’s it, open wider, brat. Gonna fuck this throat pretty tonight— been thinkin’ about shuttin’ you up like this for months.”
He despised you, or at least that’s what the rough grip in your hair said, the way his fingers twisted tighter like he wanted to punish you for walking out, for replacing him with someone so sweetly obedient. But underneath scowl and the low growl in his chest, Toji knew you could take it. You always had. His hips rolled forward slow at first, feeding you inch after thick inch until the head nudged the back of your throat and your eyes watered just a little.
You swallowed around him anyway, lips stretched wide, tongue pressing flat along the underside as he started to thrust deeper, setting a steady, punishing rhythm that made your throat bulge faintly with every push.
Choso stayed knelt right beside you the whole time, dark eyes wide and fixed on the way your mouth worked Toji’s cock, the wet gluck-gluck sounds filling the room as spit dribbled down your chin and onto your bare tits. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched with that shy heat blooming across his cheeks, his own cock hard and untouched between his thighs.
Toji noticed. Of course he did. Without missing a single thrust into your throat, he reached down with his free hand and caught Choso under the chin, tilting that pretty face up towards him. “C’mere, pet,” he rumbled, voice rough but almost amused. “Give me a kiss while your girl chokes on me.”
You tried to pull back just enough to say something, a soft protest bubbling up around his cock, but Toji yanked your head forward again, burying himself deeper until your nose pressed against his pelvis and your words dissolved into a muffled gag. “Shut up and keep suckin’,” he snapped down at you, green eyes flashing with that familiar mean edge. “And watch. Eyes open, sweetheart. Don’t you dare look away.”
Choso hesitated for half a second, shy as always, but when Toji’s thumb brushed his bottom lip he leaned in obediently. Toji grabbed him harder then, fingers sliding into that long dark hair as he crushed their mouths together in a deep, filthy kiss. It wasn’t soft.
It was all tongue and teeth and dominance, Toji’s jaw working as he licked into Choso’s mouth like he owned it, swallowing the soft, surprised whimper that spilled from the younger man. Choso melted almost instantly, shoulders slumping, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed back with that quiet eagerness he always gave you— hands coming up to rest lightly on Toji’s broad chest, body leaning closer like he couldn’t help it.
You watched every second of it, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the relentless pace Toji set in your throat, but the sight burned hotter than anything.
Choso’s lashes trembling against his cheeks, a faint moan vibrating between their locked lips as Toji kissed him harder, tongue stroking deep and possessive while his hips kept snapping forward into your mouth.
Spit trailed from the corner of Choso’s lips, his cheeks flushed darker, and when Toji finally pulled back just enough for them to breathe, a thin string of saliva still connected them for a moment before breaking.
Toji’s laugh came out low and breathless, thumb swiping over Choso’s swollen bottom lip as he looked down at you. “Fuck, look at him. So damn well-trained. One kiss and he’s already drippin’ for it.” His cock twitched hard against your tongue, the praise mixed with taunt making your stomach twist in the best way.
You kept sucking through it all, hollowing your cheeks, swallowing around every thick thrust while your eyes stayed locked on the way Choso stayed pliant and open, lips parted and shiny, waiting for whatever came next.
Toji’s green eyes flicked between the two of you, that mean smirk deepening as he kept his hips rolling slow and deep into your throat. “She has you so fuckin’ obedient, huh?” he rumbled, voice thick with gravel and heat. “Bet you never fucked her throat like this. She’s a little brat, don’t let her fool ya. Acts all sweet and in control, but look at her— mouth stuffed full and still smilin’ around my cock.”
You tried to pull back just enough to say something, a soft protest bubbling up, but Toji didn’t let you. He fucked forward harder instead, burying himself to the hilt until your nose pressed flush against his pelvis and your throat convulsed around him. “See?” he growled, holding you there, eyes narrowing with dark satisfaction. “She doesn’t even fuckin’ gag anymore. Loves this shit. Been cravin’ it since she left my sorry ass, I bet.”
The stretch burned so good, spit dripping down your chin in messy rivulets as you breathed hard through your nose, tears clinging to your lashes. Toji kept you pinned like that for a long moment, savouring the tight heat, before he finally pulled out with a wet, obscene pop.
Thick strings of saliva and precum connected your swollen lips to his glistening cock before they broke, and you gasped for air, chest heaving, throat raw and tingling.
Toji stepped back, cock heavy and slick between his thighs, and dropped onto the bed with a grunt, sprawling out on his back like he owned the damn mattress. His muscles flexing under scarred skin as he stroked himself once, slow and lazy, green eyes locked on you with that cocky, command. “Get your ass up here, sweetheart. You're gonna take all of this cock. Now.”
You were still catching your breath, lips shiny and parted, but you moved anyway, crawling up the bed on shaky knees. Choso was right there, gentle hands sliding under your arms to help you up, supporting your weight with that quiet care he always gave you. His touch was soft against your flushed skin, thumb brushing your side like a silent promise as he guided you over Toji’s lap.
As you crawled forward, knees bracketing Toji’s thick thighs, hovering just above his heavy, leaking cock, Toji’s gaze shifted to Choso. “Come on, don’t just stand there like a lost puppy,” he said, voice low and rough, one hand reaching out to pat the bed beside him. “You don’t mind fuckin’ her pussy right? While she’s sittin’ on me, fuckin’ get over here.”
Choso’s cheeks flushed darker, shy with hesitation flickering across his face for half a second, but he obeyed like always, climbing onto the bed without a word. You felt the mattress dip under his weight as he settled close, one hand resting on your lower back, warm and steady. Toji’s palms gripped your hips hard, fingers digging in with that possessive meanness as he yanked you down just enough for the blunt head of his cock to nudge against your dripping entrance, teasing, waiting.
Toji didn’t wait long. With a low grunt he bucked his hips up, thick cock pressing into your cunt in one slow, relentless push. The stretch was brutal and perfect, that fat length splitting you open until your walls fluttered tight around every veined inch. You sank all the way down until your ass met his pelvis, a broken moan spilling from your raw throat as he bottomed out deep inside you.
Toji’s scarred hands stayed locked on your hips, holding you there, grinding you down harder so you felt every thick inch pulsing against your sensitive walls.
“Fuck, still so goddamn tight,” he muttered, voice rough and mean, green eyes half-lidded as he looked up at you. “Missed this greedy little pussy. Swallowing me like it never forgot who it belongs to.”
You rocked your hips experimentally, a soft gasp escaping as the head of his cock nudged that spot inside you that made your toes curl. Choso stayed right behind you, quiet and watchful, his warm palm sliding up your spine in gentle strokes while his other hand rested lightly on your hip. His dark eyes were fixed on where you and Toji were joined, lips still swollen from that shared kiss earlier, a faint flush creeping down his neck.
Toji noticed the way Choso hovered, all shy obedience and quiet heat. His smirk sharpened, one hand leaving your hip to reach over and tug Choso closer by the back of his neck. “Don’t just sit there starin’, pet. Get in her. You heard me earlier— you’re fuckin’ her pussy too.”
Choso’s breath hitched, shy as always, but he moved without argument, shifting until he was kneeling behind you on the bed. His long hair brushed your bare back as he leaned in, chest pressing warm against you, cock hard and leaking as it nestled against the curve of your ass.
Toji kept you pinned down on his thick length, hips giving lazy little rolls that made you whimper, while Choso’s hands settled on your waist, gentle and careful like he was afraid to break you.
You felt Choso’s fingers first, tentative as they slid between your spread thighs, brushing where Toji’s cock was already stretching you wide.
He traced the slick stretch of your cunt with soft fingertips, collecting the mess of your arousal before wrapping his hand around his own cock, guiding the head to nudge right beside Toji’s.
The pressure was overwhelming— two thick cocks pressing against your entrance at once, Choso’s shy hesitation making him pause until you reached back and squeezed his thigh in encouragement.
Toji laughed under his breath, that low, cocky sound. “That’s it. Push in slow, kid. She can take it. Little brat’s already drippin’ down my balls thinkin’ about both of us stretchin’ her.”
Choso obeyed, pressing forward with a soft, shaky exhale. The blunt head of his cock slipped in alongside Toji’s, the burn intense and delicious as your walls stretched even wider to take them both. Inch by inch he sank deeper, his cock sliding against Toji’s inside your tight heat, the friction making both men groan low and heavy.
You cried out, head falling back against Choso’s shoulder, body trembling between them as they filled you completely— Toji’s girthy thickness and Choso’s warm length buried deep together.
Toji’s hands gripped your hips harder, holding you still while he gave one experimental thrust up, making both cocks shift inside you and drag against every sensitive spot.
Choso stayed mostly still at first, arms wrapped around your middle, face buried in the crook of your neck as he breathed hot against your skin, letting you adjust to the overwhelming fullness.
“Fuck… so tight,” Toji grunted, voice strained with pleasure, hips rolling up again in a deeper thrust that made you see stars. “Look at her, takin’ us both like she was made for it. You feel that, pet? How she’s squeezin’ around us?”
Choso nodded against your neck, a soft whimper escaping him as he started to move too— slow, careful rolls of his hips that matched Toji’s rhythm, their cocks sliding together inside your slick cunt.
The wet, filthy sounds of skin against skin and the slick drag of two thick lengths stretching you open filled the bedroom, your moans mixing with their low grunts as they fucked you together.
Toji’s large, rough hands slid up from your hips, palms rough and calloused as they cupped your tits, squeezing the soft flesh with that familiar possessive grip. He pinched your nipples between his thick fingers, rolling them until they pebbled hard under his touch, a mean little smirk tugging at his scarred lips when you arched into it with a broken cry. “These pretty tits always did look best when they’re bouncin’ for me,” he growled, voice low and pleased, green eyes dark with heat as he lifted his head from the pillow just enough to latch his mouth onto one swollen nipple.
He sucked hard, tongue swirling hot and wet around the sensitive bud, teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt between them. The wet pull of his mouth sent sparks straight down to where both cocks were buried deep inside your stretched pussy, your walls fluttering tight around the overwhelming fullness.
Choso kept fucking you from behind with those gentle, obedient thrusts, his cock sliding slick alongside Toji’s, every slow drag pressing them both against that perfect spot inside you that made your thighs tremble uncontrollably.
Toji switched to your other tit, sucking it into the heat of his mouth with a low, satisfied hum, his free hand still kneading the first one, thumb flicking over the spit-slick nipple he’d just released. He loved having you like this— caught between them, body trembling and moaning, that quiet control of yours fraying at the edges while two fat cocks stretched your pretty little cunt wide open.
Toji’s hips snapped up harder, driving his thick length deeper with every thrust, the lewd squelch of your arousal coating both of them growing louder as he fucked up into you with that cocky, relentless rhythm.
“Look at you,” Toji muttered against your skin, lips brushing your nipple as he spoke, voice muffled and rough. “Takin’ two cocks like a good girl. Your pussy’s so fuckin’ greedy, squeezin’ us both so tight. Bet you missed this, huh? Missed gettin’ split open by somethin’ real after playin’ house with your obedient puppy.”
You moaned louder, head falling back against Choso’s shoulder, body rocking between their thrusts as the pleasure built heavy and overwhelming.
Choso’s arms stayed wrapped around your waist, holding you steady while he fucked into you with that same shy care, his breath hot and ragged against your neck, soft whimpers spilling from him every time your walls clenched around their joined lengths.
Toji kept sucking on your tits, alternating between them with wet, obscene sounds, biting down gently before soothing the sting with his tongue, his free hand sliding down to rub rough circles over your swollen clit.
The stretch was so much— both fat cocks dragging together inside your slick heat, Toji’s dominance pinning you from below and Choso supporting you from behind, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge.
Toji pulled off your nipple with a wet pop, lips shiny with spit, and grinned up at you with a cocky smirk. “That’s it, moan for us, sweetheart. Let me hear how much you love bein’ stuffed full. Choso’s bein’ so good for you, fuckin’ this pussy nice and deep just like I told him to. But me? I’m gonna make sure you feel every inch tomorrow.”
He thrust up harder, grinding his cock against Choso’s inside you, the friction making stars burst behind your eyes as your moans turned into desperate little cries.
Choso pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck, murmuring your name quietly, his hips never stopping their steady rhythm while Toji’s rough hands and hungry mouth worked your tits until they ached with pleasure.
You were lost between them, body trembling and slick with sweat, pussy clenching tight around the two thick lengths stretching you so perfectly, the heat building slow and relentless as Toji teased you with every filthy word and every deep, claiming thrust.
Toji loved every second of it— the way you fell apart so beautifully, the way Choso stayed so sweet even while buried deep inside the same cunt, the way your quiet little smile had turned into open-mouthed moans that filled the room.
He kept sucking and biting at your tits, fingers rolling your nipples, hips snapping up to meet Choso’s thrusts until the three of you moved in one messy, heated rhythm, the night stretching long and filthy with the sounds of skin slapping, wet squelches, and your broken cries echoing between the walls.
A broken little sound tore from your throat as both thick cocks dragged together inside your stretched pussy, the relentless push and pull making your walls flutter and clench around the overwhelming fullness.
Toji’s hips snapped up harder from below, driving his fat length deeper with every thrust while Choso kept that steady rhythm from behind, their cocks sliding slick and hot against each other in the tight heat of your cunt. The wet, filthy squelch filled the room, your arousal dripping down their shafts and coating their balls as they fucked you open so good.
Toji’s mouth was still latched onto your tit, sucking hard enough to leave marks before he pulled off with a wet pop, lips shiny and swollen as he grinned up at you with that mean, cocky smirk.
His rough hand slid up to cup your jaw, forcing your head down so you had no choice but to meet his dark green eyes while he kept pounding up into you. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he growled, voice low and gravel-rough, thumb pressing against your bottom lip. “Admit it. Tell me what you are. A little brat who wants these cocks stretchin’ your greedy cunt. Say it.”
You tried to bite back the words, a soft whimper escaping instead as another deep thrust from both of them made your eyes roll back, but Toji wasn’t having it. He pinched your nipple hard, twisting just enough to make you cry out, his other hand gripping your hip tighter to hold you down on their joined lengths. “Don’t play shy now. You’re drippin’ all over us, pussy clenchin’ like it’s beggin’ for more. Tell me you want our cocks. Tell me you want our cum fillin’ this sloppy little hole.”
Choso stayed quiet behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, his breath hot and shaky against your neck as he fucked into you with those gentle rolls of his hips, letting Toji take the lead like always. His cock throbbed alongside Toji’s, the friction delicious and overwhelming, every slow drag pressing right against that spot that made sparks shoot up your spine. He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, shy and sweet, but didn’t stop moving, loving even in the middle of all this heat.
The stretch was so good it hurt, both fat cocks splitting your cunt wide open, dragging against every sensitive inch until you felt impossibly full, impossibly owned. Your tits bounced with every thrust, still slick from Toji’s mouth, nipples aching from his teeth and fingers. Toji’s hand slid down between your bodies, rough fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, mean circles that had your thighs shaking uncontrollably.
“Say it,” Toji demanded again, voice dropping lower, hips slamming up harder so the head of his cock bullied that perfect spot inside you while Choso’s length rubbed right alongside it. “You’re my little brat— our little brat. You want these cocks stretchin’ you good. You want us to fill your pussy with cum until it’s leakin’ out for days. Admit it, brat. Loud and clear.”
Your moans turned into desperate little cries, body trembling between them as the pleasure built hotter and heavier, walls squeezing tight around both thick shafts. Toji’s smirk widened, that cockiness flashing in his eyes as he felt you clench harder, knowing he was winning. Choso whimpered softly against your skin, his thrusts growing a little deeper, a little faster, following every cue you’d ever given him because he always listened, always gave you exactly what you needed.
You finally broke, voice wrecked and breathy as the words spilled out between moans. “I’m… I’m a-a brat… I want your cocks… both of you stretching my cunt so good… I want your cum… please…”
Toji laughed low and rough, satisfaction dripping from every syllable as he thrust up harder, grinding their cocks together inside your fluttering pussy. “That’s my girl. Keep sayin’ it while we fuck you full. Gonna fill this greedy hole until you’re drippin’ with both of us.”
The bedroom echoed with the wet slap of skin, your broken admissions, and the low grunts from both men as they kept fucking you together— Toji and Choso turning your body into a trembling, moaning mess caught right between them, the stretch so perfect and filthy that all you could do was take it and beg for more.
Together they fucked you deeper and harder, hips snapping in a messy, unrelenting rhythm that had both thick cocks driving into your stretched cunt at once. Toji thrusting up slamming his fat length as deep as it would go while Choso followed from behind with those steady rolls that somehow made everything feel even fuller, your arousal coating their shafts and dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you as they stretched your pussy so wide it ached in the best way.
You could feel the bulge in your tummy every time they bottomed out together, the outline of their cocks pressing visibly against your lower belly, shifting and dragging with every thrust. Toji’s rough hand slid down to press against that spot, palm flat and heavy as he growled against your tit, “Fuck, feel that? That’s us, sweetheart. Both cocks bulgin’ out your pretty tummy like you were made to take this.”
The pressure built fast and overwhelming, your walls fluttering tighter and tighter around them until you couldn’t hold back anymore. Your orgasm crashed over you hard, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as you clenched down violently around both cocks, milking them with rhythmic, desperate pulses.
Your whole body shook between them, thighs trembling, back arching as wave after wave rolled through you, pussy gushing slick and hot around their joined lengths while the bulge in your tummy twitched and tightened with every spasm.
Choso whimpered softly against your neck, his hips stuttering as your clenching cunt squeezed him so perfectly. “Ah—fuck… you’re squeezin’ so tight,” he breathed, voice shy and wrecked, and then he was cumming too, thick ropes of warm cum spilling deep inside you in pulsing spurts. He kept thrusting through it, slow and careful even as he filled you, his cock throbbing alongside Toji’s while he painted your walls white, the added heat and slickness making the stretch feel even messier, even better.
Toji groaned low and rough at the feeling, his scarred hands gripping your hips bruisingly tight as he fucked up into the slick, cum-filled heat of your pussy. “That’s it, milk us, you little brat,” he grunted, green eyes dark with raw pleasure as he watched your face contort in bliss. “Clenchin’ so good around both of us— fuck, take it all.”
He didn’t last much longer after that. With a deep, guttural growl he slammed up one final time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pulsed hard and started to cum, thick, heavy spurts of cum flooding your already full cunt right alongside Choso’s. The warmth spread deep inside you, both loads mixing together in messy, overflowing pulses that leaked out around their cocks with every shallow grind of their hips, dripping down your thighs and soaking their balls.
They stayed buried inside you even as they came down, chests heaving, bodies pressed tight around yours in a sweaty, trembling tangle. Toji’s hand stayed pressed to the bulge in your tummy, feeling the way it softened just a little with every twitch of your walls, while Choso nuzzled softly into the crook of your neck, pressing lazy kisses to your damp skin and murmuring quiet praises against you.
The bedroom air hung heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, the three of you locked together in that filthy, heated aftermath— your pussy still clenching weakly around their spent cocks, cum slowly leaking out in warm rivulets, Toji’s mean little smirk still playing on his lips even as his breathing evened out, and Choso’s gentle hold never loosening because he always stayed right where you wanted him.
They stayed buried deep for a long, lazy moment, cocks still twitching inside your fluttering cunt as the last weak spurts of cum leaked from them both. Then, slowly, Toji gave a low grunt and started to pull out first, his thick length dragging against Choso’s as he eased free with a wet, obscene sound.
Choso followed right after, gentler, his cock sliding out inch by inch until both heavy shafts slipped from your stretched hole completely. A thick rush of their mixed cum immediately dripped out of you, warm and pearly white, sliding down your thighs in slow, messy rivulets and pooling on the sheets beneath your trembling body.
You collapsed forward onto Toji’s broad chest with a soft, exhausted sigh, cheek pressing against the hard muscle slick with sweat. His skin was warm, scarred, rising and falling with heavy breaths as one of his large arms wrapped around your back, holding you there like he still had every right to. Choso stayed close behind you, his gentle hands smoothing over your hips and lower back, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder blade while his long hair tickled your skin.
Toji’s free hand slid down between your legs without warning, two thick fingers pushing back into your ruined pussy. The stretch was easy now, your walls loose and slick from taking both of them, and he scooped up the warm mixture of their cum that was still leaking out. With a lazy, filthy motion he fingered it all back inside you, slow and deliberate, pushing every drop deeper while his palm pressed firm against your swollen clit. The wet squelch of his fingers working their combined loads back into your cunt filled the quiet room, obscene and intimate all at once.
“Look at that,” Toji muttered, voice low and rough, smirk tugging at his scarred lips as he watched his fingers disappear inside you again and again. “Such a messy girl. Can’t even keep our cum inside this greedy pussy without help. Need to push it all back in where it belongs… bet you love feelin’ us drippin’ out of you, don’t you?”
You whimpered softly against his chest, hips twitching weakly as his thick fingers curled and stroked, making sure every thick rope of their release stayed buried deep. Choso’s hand joined Toji’s for a moment, tentative fingers brushing alongside as he helped press the cum back inside you, his touch so much gentler but just as eager to keep you full. The feeling of both their hands between your legs, fingers sliding through the slick mess they’d made, had fresh heat curling low in your belly even though your body felt spent and boneless.
Toji kept fingering their cum back into you, lazily, occasionally pulling his fingers out just enough to watch more of it drip before pushing it right back in with a low chuckle. “There we go… nice and full again. Gonna keep you leakin’ our loads all night, sweetheart. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Both of us markin’ up this tight little cunt.”
Choso stayed pressed against your back, arms wrapped around your waist now, murmuring quiet, sweet words against your skin while Toji’s fingers continued their slow, filthy work. You lay there between them, cheek on Toji’s warm chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart as the cum slowly settled deep inside you, warm and heavy, a constant reminder of how thoroughly they’d claimed you tonight.
The bedroom felt heavy and quiet now, bodies tangled and slick with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction. Toji’s fingers eventually slowed but didn’t leave you completely, still lazily stroking through the mess as if he couldn’t quite stop touching what was his again, even for a little while.
Choso’s gentle hold never loosened, his breath warm against your neck, and you smiled softly against Toji’s skin, that quiet little smile that said you were exactly where you wanted to be— caught between your mean ex and your sweet boy, full of both of them, leaking and claimed and perfectly satisfied.
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