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🍸 welcome back to solè’s bar🍸
tonight’s special: onyankopon, wings, weed & revenge dick that feels like love.
→ onyankopon x black!reader
→ angst to comfort | smut | ex’s homeboy | slow strokes & soft kisses | “you feel this? this how you supposed to be loved.” | petty ending lmfao
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betrayal.
that’s all you feel right now, standing in the middle of his room, staring at your supposed boyfriend’s phone like it’s a slap in the face.
this nigga really played you.
after everything you did for him after all the love, the loyalty, the late-night crying sessions when he was the one stressing he still had the nerve to go behind your back and text other girls.
you feel sick. disgusted.
it’s like the whole relationship was a lie.
“so what do you have to say for yourself?” you ask, voice low and deadly.
he doesn’t even meet your eyes. just sits on the edge of the bed, phone still in his lap like he’s ashamed to touch it.
“…i’m sorry,” he mumbles.
you laugh. you actually laugh.
“you’re sorry?” you scoff. “that’s all you got? ‘i’m sorry’?”
you shake your head, pacing the floor like you can’t sit still or you’ll explode.
“nah, that’s crazy. i gave you everything, and you out here entertaining bitches like i’m not enough? like i wasn’t holding you down through everything?”
he starts to say something but you cut him off.
“you’re a joke. a big one. i should’ve never wasted my time on your sorry ass.”
he opens his mouth again, but you keep going.
“since you wanna be texting other bitches so bad? i’m fucking your best friend.”
that shuts him up.
his whole body stills. eyes wide.
it takes him a second to even process what you said.
“…what the fuck did you just say?”
you look him dead in his face. “you heard me.”
he blinks, like he’s not sure you’re serious. “nah. stop playin’ with me.”
“watch me, nigga,” you snap.
he shoots up from the bed, angry now. “yo, don’t disrespect me like that.”
“me disrespect you?” you step closer, heart racing. “boy, you lucky all i did was go through your phone. you been disrespecting me this whole time.”
he runs a hand down his face, pacing now. “you really gon’ throw everything away over some dumb messages?”
you fold your arms. “nah. you threw it away. the second you thought i wouldn’t find out.”
“and now you gon’ go fuck my best friend? that’s wild as hell.”
“wild? please. he actually treats me like i matter. and guess what he been eyein’ me for a minute. don’t act brand new.”
“man, you foul.”
“no, you are. i gave you a chance. multiple chances. and you blew every one.”
your words echo in the room like a bomb just dropped.
his face shifts, jaw tight, nostrils flaringlike he’s just now realizing you’re serious.
“you really gon’ say some shit like that?” he steps toward you, trying to play alpha now, voice low and bitter. “you really gon’ threaten to fuck onyankopon like he ain’t one of my closest boys?”
you fold your arms, eyes cold. “nah. i ain’t threaten nothing. i’m letting you know.”
“you’re crazy as fuck.”
you laugh, dry and sharp. “and you’re a fucking cheater. don’t play victim now.”
he shakes his head, rubbing his hand over his face. “ony would never do that to me. he wouldn’t even look at you like that. you just saying shit.”
you raise a brow. “oh, really? you don’t know what he be saying in my DMs, huh?”
that shuts him up real quick.
mouth open slightly, trying to process what you just said.
you don’t even give him the satisfaction of explaining further.
you walk over to the door and swing it open.
“get out.”
he blinks. “what?”
you point, lips pursed. “get. the fuck. outta my house.”
“man, whatever,” he mutters, grabbing his keys. “you ain’t gon’ find better than me.”
“i already did,” you snap. “he just ain’t you.”
he hesitates like he wants to say more, but he knows it’s over.
he walks out, slamming the door behind him.
you stand there for a second, chest rising and falling fast, hands still clenched in fists. your whole body is shaking.
and then ding.
your phone lights up.
ony 😃:
“i already know what happened. i’m omw.”
you kinda giggle to yourself, like how does he know? and why does your heart do a little thing when you see his name?
twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.
you open it, and whew. you could almost cream your panties right there. because damn. were you really crying over the wrong homeboy? onyankopon looks too good standing there grey sweats, black tee, chain on, and that smile.
“hey,” you say, soft.
he pulls you into a hug like he’s been waiting all day to hold you. and why does a hug feel like this? like something you didn’t know you needed until it was wrapped around you?
“i brought you some stuff,” he mumbles into your hair, voice low. he hands you a bag.
you open it. wings. your favorite flavor.
“aww, you know me so well,” you coo, teasing a little.
he smirks. “i know my lady. of course.”
you both settle on the couch. the tv plays in the background but neither of you are really paying attention. his eyes are low, watching you.
“you brought weed?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.
he nods once. “you know i did.”
“what kind?” you grin.
“gelato mixed with a lil pink runtz. got you the good stuff,” he says, pulling it out like it’s something sacred.
“ugh,” you laugh. “you know me too well, it’s scary.”
he shrugs, smiling soft. “i pay attention.”
you’re quiet for a second, then you ask, “how did you even know?”
he leans back against the couch. “your ex been moving sloppy for a minute. seen how he looked at other girls. how he talked about you like you weren’t the best thing that ever happened to him.”
your jaw clenches. you swallow.
he goes on, voice lower now. “i knew it was gon’ happen eventually. just didn’t think he’d fumble you this fast.”
you shake your head. “he really had me out here looking stupid.”
ony’s eyes don’t leave you. “nah. he’s the stupid one. you? you golden, mama. been golden. i been knew it. just had to wait till you saw it too.”
and just like that, your brain short circuits.
because he’s always been there. always been fine. always looked at you like this. always knew what you liked, what you needed, how to calm you down without even trying.
and now you’re looking at him like… damn. maybe you were definitely with the wrong homeboy.
“ony…”
he tilts his head, waiting.
you don’t even realize how close y’all are until your knees are touching and his hand is resting against your thigh. and then he leans in just a little. not too fast. not too cocky. like he’s giving you time to pull back if you want to.
but you don’t.
you meet him halfway. and when his lips touch yours, it’s soft at first. like a promise.
but then it deepens. his hand moves to your waist. your fingers curl into his shirt. and the room melts away.
your breath catches.
and just like that, he lays you back on the couch slow, careful, like you’re something precious. his hands trail down your waist, his mouth leaving kisses on your belly as he sinks to his knees, eyes never leaving yours.
he slides your sweatpants down, dragging your panties with them, lips brushing the inside of your thigh like a promise.
then he starts.
his tongue licks a slow stripe up your slit, warm and deliberate, and you swear your soul leaves your body for a second. he hums like he likes the way you taste, like he’s been craving this.
he flattens his tongue against you, licking deep and slow, then sucks your clit into his mouth.
you moan loud.
hips bucking, fingers tangling in his hair as he wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you there.
he suckles your clit, tongue circling, lips tight, pulling soft, breathy gasps out of you like it’s nothing. like he knows exactly how to break you down.
then two fingers slide inside you slow, careful, curling just right—and your legs tremble around his head.
“relax, baby,” he murmurs against your pussy, his voice low and hot.
“let me take care of you.”
he sucks again, this time harder, his fingers working you open in perfect rhythm, and your whole body arches off the couch.
“yeah, just like that,” he breathes.
“you feel that? this how you supposed to be treated.”
“you deserve this. not that lame-ass nigga.”
your body’s gone limp, mind blank, moans spilling from your lips without a filter. you’re gripping the cushions like they’ll hold you together. your thighs start to shake.
and he still doesn’t stop.
he sucks you through it, fingers still working, tongue sucking over your clit until your eyes roll back and your moans break into a cry.
you come so hard, so deep, you forget your name. your past. your ex. everything but the man between your thighs.
he finally pulls back lips shiny, beard damp, eyes locked on yours.
like he’s proud of what he just did.
like he already knows this is just the beginning.
your breath catches.
and just like that, he lays you back on the couch, gentle but firm, like he’s handling something precious.
you’re still trying to process what’s happening your body sensitive, your head spinning but then he leans down and kisses you. slow. deep. no rush. no pressure. like he’s asking for permission.
you kiss him back.
he makes a soft sound against your lips, and his hand trails down your body, fingertips gliding over skin he already touched like he’s rediscovering you. learning you all over again.
you shiver.
“you good?” he asks, voice low, lips brushing your cheek.
you nod, just barely. “yeah.”
he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. then presses another kiss to your inner thigh, your hip, your belly. and then he stands, slow and steady, pushing his sweats down with zero urgency. no showboating. just confidence. comfort. like this was always supposed to happen.
your eyes widen.
because oh. my. god.
you blink. once. twice. that’s… a lot of dick.
thick. long. veiny. with a slight curve that’s already making your stomach turn in anticipation.
“you’re joking,” you whisper, mouth slightly open.
he grins, stroking himself lazily. “nah. you got it, though. i’ll go slow.”
“slow?” you glance down again. “you sure that thing even goes slow?”
he laughs, then crawls back over you, positioning himself between your thighs like it’s second nature. like your body belongs to him and he’s just returning home.
you’re still watching him when he strokes the tip against your folds lazy, teasing, dragging it back and forth like he’s painting you.
and god, the sound.
your breath hitches.
every glide of him against you is loud. sticky. wet. embarrassingly so. you weren’t even this wet earlier, but now? he hasn’t even slid in and you’re already leaking down your thighs.
“you hear that?” he murmurs, glancing down between your legs. “that’s all you.”
you cover your face. “oh my god.”
he nudges your hand away. “nah. don’t hide from me. this shit’s beautiful.”
he does it again drags the thick head of his cock up and down your soaked entrance. You twitch, your legs trying to close, but he keeps them spread. watches you squirm.
“feels like i already fucked you,” he mutters. “you so wet for me.”
you’re panting, heart racing. you grab his wrist. “stop teasing.”
he smirks. “beg a little.”
you glare at him.
and then gasp.
because he presses in just an inch and holy shit.
your head flies back.
he’s big. really big. you already knew that, but feeling it is something different. your walls stretch around him, clenching hard as he slowly pushes in deeper.
“fuck,” he groans, face dropping into your neck. “you’re squeezing the hell outta me.”
your fingers dig into his shoulders. you can’t even speak. your jaw’s slack, eyes wide, brain half-melting from the slow, heavy slide of him filling you.
and it’s loud. wet. obscene. every time his hips rock forward, it sounds like he’s stirring a bowl of syrup between your legs.
“this should’ve been mine a long time ago,” he mumbles, biting down gently on your shoulder. “i knew your pussy was special.”
you whimper. you’re losing it.
he pulls back just a little, then pushes in again—deep, slow, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you.
“shit, i can feel you,” he groans. “feel you creaming already.”
and you are.
you’re so wet it’s dripping down your ass, slick and sticky and all over him. you glance down, mortified, only to see how messy the two of you look. he’s glistening. coated in you. the base of him shiny and thick and absolutely ruining you.
he brings your legs up, pushing your knees gently to your chest to angle deeper.
you moan.
“oh my—fuck—”
“there it is,” he grunts, locking in and grinding against your spot. “you feel that?”
you nod rapidly, clutching the sheets. “yesyesyesyes—oh my god—”
his thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast, and your entire body jumps. it’s too much. everything’s too much. you’re being stretched and rubbed and stroked from every angle and you can’t even think straight.
your mouth drops open in a silent moan as your orgasm slams into you. not a build. not a rise. just impact. a wave that crashes and takes you under.
you’re shaking. twitching. soaking the sheets. legs trembling as he works you through it.
“fuck, baby,” he growls, watching you. “you made a mess. you dripping all over me.”
you don’t even care. you can’t.
your legs wrap around his waist. you just need him to stay. need more. all of him.
your legs wrap around his waist. you just need him to stay. need more. all of him.
his strokes get deeper. slower. like he’s trying to bury himself in every inch of you. like he wants to leave a mark. and god, it’s working you can’t stop shaking. your body’s curling in on itself, your moans turning breathless.
“that’s it,” he whispers. “take it. take all of me.”
you’re kissing again—messy and desperate—when it happens.
your stomach tightens, your muscles lock, and you snap. it doesn’t feel like the first orgasm it’s sharper, hotter, louder.
and then—
your whole body jerks.
and you squirt.
hard.
it hits his lower stomach, dripping down between you both, soaking the sheets all over again.
he gasps, pulling back just enough to look down—eyes going wide as he watches you gush all over him.
“shit,” he breathes, voice low and reverent. “look at that. you really squirted for me?”
your thighs are still twitching. your mind’s blank. you can’t even be embarrassed.
you just nod, dazed. “yeah. i—I don’t even—”
he leans in again, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder. “you’re insane,” he murmurs, grinning. “you tryna kill me, huh?”
he leans in again, kissing you slowly, while his hips keep moving grinding deeper. rougher. chasing his own high.
and when he comes, it’s with a deep groan into your neck, hips pressed flush, arms tight around your body.
you lay there for a moment.
quiet. breathing heavy. skin buzzing.
then he pulls out slow, and you both glance down at the mess he left behind.
your thighs are shaking. the sheets are done for. and you’re not sure if you can even move.
“you good?” he asks, brushing your hair from your face.
you nod, dazed. “barely.”
he laughs, kisses your forehead, and pulls you into his chest.
“let’s get you cleaned up, mama.”
he carries you to the bathroom and starts the shower, checking the temperature like he’s done this a hundred times. he helps you step in, even gets in behind you, arms wrapping around your waist under the warm water.
he washes you gently.kisses your shoulders. doesn’t let go.
after, he towels you off and pulls you into one of his t-shirts. helps you into bed. brings water. lotion. even lip balm.
and when you finally curl up on his chest, wrapped in the sheets, body warm and soul softer than it’s been in weeks he snaps a quick photo of you sleeping on his chest. he looks at it for a second. smirks.
sends it.
to his ex-best friend.
then tosses his phone face-down on the nightstand and wraps his arm tighter around you. your phone lights up a second later. then his again. notification after notification.
he doesn’t check them.
he just smiles to himself, lets out a little laugh, and pulls the blanket over you both.
“should’ve never played with you,” he whispers.
and the last thing you hear before falling asleep is the beat of his heart and the sound of his voice in your ear:
moral of the story? there’s always a better nigga out there. sometimes, he just your ex’s homeboy💋