Mxch

🐆🪩🎱🥂

[princesswansblog]

3:00 a.m

My college girls invited me out for dinner.

My husband got home from work around 7:00 p.m., completely exhausted, starving, and just wanting to stay in and spend the night with me. I told him I was going out with my friends, but he kept begging me to stay. I stood my ground and said no, and he got a little annoyed.

Honestly, I didn’t think much of it. I just told him to order some takeout and promised I’d be home by 10:00 p.m.

I was wearing a short, tight black dress with a pair of heels. I looked absolutely stunning—like, ridiculously gorgeous—and I had a feeling that only made him more annoyed.

I met up with my girls at this new restaurant, and we were all looking amazing. We ordered drinks first. I had a couple of margaritas and a gin and tonic. When it was time to order food, I got a medium steak with fries.

A little while later, one of the girls suggested we go clubbing. At first, I said no because my husband was waiting for me at home, and I wanted to get back to him. But I’d already had a few drinks, and after everyone kept convincing me, I gave in.

We went to the club, ordered more drinks, danced, and I completely lost track of time.

The next time I looked at my phone, it was 3:00 a.m.

Twenty unread texts.

Ten missed calls.

I literally froze.

I rushed home, praying he was already asleep.

I quietly unlocked the front door and slipped inside. The living room was completely dark, and I finally let out a relieved sigh.

I walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and sober up a little.

Click.

The lights came on.

There he was.

Standing there.

Looking absolutely furious.

In a low, tired voice, he asked,

“Where have you been?”

I walked over and tried to hug him and kiss him, because that usually worked.

Not tonight.

He shoved me away without hesitation, his expression only getting colder.

“I asked you a question.”

I swallowed hard.

“After dinner… the girls wanted to go to a club for a few drinks.”

He stared at me for a second before speaking.

“So why didn’t you text me? Why didn’t you answer any of my calls or messages?”

“Babe, my phone was on silent. I swear I didn’t hear anything.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

His voice stayed calm, but somehow that made it worse.

“You seriously think this is an acceptable time to come home?”

I looked down.

“No… I’m so sorry. I promise it won’t happen again.”

A humorless smile crossed his face.

“Oh, it won’t.”

He held my gaze.

“I can promise you that.”

[lingeriae]

when connie wants to take a nap and you're doing something, he walks up to you and waits for five minutes --like some warning or sum- and then hauls your ass over his shoulder with a yawn.

like...

You're sitting on the couch with your laptop in your lap, watching spongebob wit a bag of tostitos in your hand. While you're about to place one of the chips in your mouth you hear footsteps, you lean your head over the couch back to see connie dragging his big ass feet through the house, lips pushed out in a pout with his hands shoved in the pocket of his sweatpants and his shirt that he took off hangs from his shoulder. your eyes meet and he doesn't say anything as he walks up to you, stopping right at your feet.

Raising an eyebrow at him you drag you eyes to the bag of chips in your hand, taking out one and offering it to him. he takes it and places it into his mouth, looking at you with a blank stare and his hands still shoved into his pocket. "what?" you mumble, kissing your teeth when he rolls his eyes.

You turn your eyes back to your laptop screen, giggling as you watch squidward get chased by a jellyfish, you're about to push another chip in your mouth when everything is turned upside down.

Gripping unto connies shoulder you let out loud curses. "Bitch are you fucking crazy!?" you scream slapping his chest, connie only continues walking slapping your ass and telling you to watch your mouth before he drops you.

He doesn't even give you a warning before throwing you unto the bed, a gasp falling from your lips as you bounce on the mattress.

Connie only spreads your legs before crawling in between them and resting his head on your chest, grabbing your wrists and pulling them towards his head. "Bro you're so annoying." you huff before scratching his head feeling him shudder when your nails brush over his nape, you smile as he pecks your chest and mumbles an "love you, mami."

Kissing his head before telling him you love him too.

He's so annoying but that's your (my) man frlllll

[krys4h-deactivated20260517]

bimbo black readers i love you

shy black readers i love you

insecure black readers i love you

baddie black readers i love you

hood/"ghetto" black readers i love you

chubby black readers i love you

weird black readers i love you

nerdy black readers i love you

neurodivergent black readers i love you

mentally ill black readers i love you

they could never make me hate you <3

[introvertedbae]

[afro-diety]

i love women, i love femininity.. i love cleavage, the sway of women’s hips, sweet scents, soft skin. i love how we romanticize life, errands for women is get shit done but add coffee and shopping in. also errands may mean maintenance days: waxes, lashes, hair, nails. being a woman is almost poetic, being a woman is like taking the scenic route, being a woman is everything.

[whoevenisthiz]

my man my man my man 😮‍💨

[princesswansblog]

Cause there are not enough fics about this man like broooo, I mean GOD.

[t1red-twilight]

“english isn’t my first language-“

stfu and let me read the art you’ve written

[maisy1111]

me staring at the search bar trying to decide which fictional man I’ll read about tonight:

[scftangl]

Me searching for fanfics after watching a series/film/videogame/reading a book and becoming obsessed with that character:

[cvpidzcvrse]

𝔄𝔯𝔢 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔉'𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩?

MDNI, skadaddle nigga

✦A/N: i swear i try to post more but like but sitting on my ass is just rlly fun to do. BUT OFC I CANT BE GONE FOR LONGG!! also i didn’t proofread so ignore typos. here’s an ony fic that i pushed out my pussy bc i’m hot like that. ENJOY!

⋆.ೃ࿔*･Synopsis: You and ony have been fwb for a few months now. On a strict “no emotions involved” type of situation. But he can’t help it if he gets jealous when you start talking to someone else. Your famous last words? "Make me, nigga."

⋆.ೃ࿔*･Wc: 2,233

⋆.ೃ࿔*･Warnings: Mdom, argument, jealous ony, degradation, light choking, oral male!receiving, manhandling, spanking, face fucking, orgasm denial, fingering, very little praise, he’s mean asf, p in v, and finishing inside (practice safe sex)

(reader is black)

You and Onyankapon have been friends with benefits for a couple of months now. It all started because you wanted to lose your virginity badly. You were gnawing at the bars of your enclosure, being that dick hungry you put pornstars to shame. But you didn’t want to lose something so special to someone you barely knew. So you went down a line of people you knew, most of them you immediately shot down. Connie was a whore, Armin had a girlfriend, Jean is…Jean, so what was left was your best friend. He took the opportunity and ran with it, now you guys fuck at least twice a week.

Ony made the sex strictly just sex, with no relationship or strings attached. Just adults blowing off steam almost every weekend. He said it was ok to talk to other people, that’s where Eren comes in. You met him through Armin 2 weeks ago and you guys haven't stopped talking since. Even now, you’re at Ony’s house watching a movie but you can’t separate your eyes from your screen. He invited you over with the notion of just “watching a movie” but he just wanted to fuck, and you knew that. 

“Me Personally, I’d definitely survive in the quiet place. Like all you have to do is be quiet, it’s easy.”

You nod your head slowly, paying no attention to Ony’s statement. Your fingers are flying across your phone, you’re having a deep conversation with Eren. Ony looks over at you and rolls his eyes, you can feel his attitude radiating off of him and steam coming out of his ears.

“My nigga, you’re not even listening to me,” 

“First, I’m not ‘your nigga’. Secondly, I am listening…”

You trail off after hearing your phone go off with a ding. You snatch your phone out of your lap quickly and start typing away. He gives you the most crazed look he can muster. 

“Nigga, are you f’real?”

You look over at Ony’s reaction and the fact that he’s acting like such a drama queen right now. There’s no way he’s hurt by the fact that you’re talking to other people. He’s the one who made the rules in the first place, so why does he care who you talk to? He’s starting to regret his rule-making skills. Your flawless brown skin-pops with your white hoodie and sweatpants to match. Even before y’all started hooking up he thought you were the most beautiful person ever. 

“Damn, what the fuck are you talking about? Are you good?”

You frowned at his outburst, confused by the sudden change in tone. You finally put your phone to the side and put your attention on Ony. 

“You’ve been on your phone this whole fucking time. Paying absolutely no attention to me or the movie. Who are you even texting?”

“No One-” 

Ding..

Ony groans before snatching your phone out of your lap and softly pushing you back from getting it. You get up from your position on the couch and start reaching over his head but his grip on your wrist won’t budge. 

“Let’s see who you’re so fucking focused on…”

He looks at the screen and goes silent before turning his head at you. You’re standing there with an overly irked look, hands on your hips, and eyeing him up and down.

“...Eren!? Eren fucking Jeager!? Don’t tell me you’re actually talking to that sorry ass nigga?’

You roll your eyes at his possessiveness. There’s no reason why he should be concerned about who you text and who you decide to mingle with. It’s your pussy and can determine who it wants, right? 

“It’s not something you should be concerned about. Shit, just give me the dick so I can leave, that’s why you called me over right?”

His eyes go wide at your boldness. He can’t tell if you’re upset or just trying to rile him up—either way, it’s making him go insane. 

“Take that bass out yo’ voice mama. I’m looking out for you, Eren isn’t the type you want. Stop talking to that nigga”

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue showing clear signs of irritation. His baritone voice sends chills down your spine. Even when he’s irritated he still looks handsome, the warning look in his eyes makes your pussy clench.

“Who are you talking to right now? I ain’t gotta do shit, f’real. I’m not gonna let some Chiptole bag-tatted ass nigga tell me what the fuck to do.” 

Ony’s eyes are bulging out of his head and the vein on his forehead is starting to grow. He isn't fond of your attitude, he snatched you up multiple times because of it. He slowly gets up from his spot on the couch, now looking down at you with a dark look in his eye. 

“Watch your tone…”

He says eerily calm, his low voice coming out as silk to your ears. It’s like he’s talking directly to your pussy and she’s listening to every word he’s saying. Instead of standing down like he said you decide to stand on business, which is one mistake amongst many.

“Make me, nigga..”

You scuffed and rolled your eyes. That statement alone made Ony let out a rich chuckle, his face displaying a cheeky smirk. Before you even have time to gauge his actions you feel his callous hand wrap around your neck, forcing you to look up at him.

“Make you what? Say it again..”

He whispers seductively in your ear. You turn away from him before he roughly drags your face back to his. You shake your head not wanting to even breathe, You started this mess now he has to finish it. 

“The cock slut doesn’t wanna speak, huh? Take off your clothes since you want my dick so badly.”

The tent in his pants is now noticeable. He lets go of your neck and sits back down on the couch. You start untying your sweatpants, then slowly taking over your panties, followed by your hoodie and bra. Now you’re standing in front of him, all dignity stripped away with your clothes. 

“Get on your knees and suck this dick, I’ll show you exactly how to watch that mouth one of yours.” 

You nod before sitting in front of him unbuckling his belt. You slide down his pants to reveal his bulging cock through his underwear. You slowly pull down his underwear, earning a scuff from Ony. He pushes your hand away and pulls his cock out himself. His leaking mushroom tip was just inches away from your face. 

“Open your mouth.”

His passionless voice makes your clit throb and your stomach drop. He’s giving you no mercy tonight and you know that. You open your mouth wide as directed and impatiently wait for his next. He chuckles at how pitiful you look at this moment, taking a mental snapshot in his head. You’re waiting for his next command, your hand in between your thighs as you subtly grind on your hand for some type of friction. He grabs the base of his cock and slaps the tip on your tongue. 

“You like this shit, don’t you? Go on, suck it.”

You wrap your plump lips around his big cock, bobbing your head slowly. You trace circles around his tip with your tongue. He lets out a string of groans, feeling your warm mouth wrapped around his cock. He grabs the back of your neck and pushes you down on his cock roughly. You gag when his cock grazes the back of your throat with force. Tears swell in your eyes as he fucks your face senselessly. The vibrations of your moans drive him crazy, your muffled moans and tears send him over the edge. 

“Mhm…Swallow this cock—fuck”

His head lays on the couch cushion behind him. His hand travels from your neck to the back of your head, gripping your hair harshly. Your faux locs are now scrunched up in his hand. He starts pushing your head down rougher as his pace starts getting sloppy. You feel his cock twitch in your mouth and hot tears flow down your face. 

“Fuck–I’m about to cum. Make me cum, slut.” 

You moan at his command, your fingers travel down to your soaked pussy, and start massaging your aching clit. You hollow your cheeks and bob your head at his messy tempo pushing him closer and closer to his climax. White ropes shoot down your throat, and the warm thick substance slides your throat. His dick flops out your mouth with a ‘pop’. You rub fast circles on your clit wanting to cum as hard as he did. Right before you make it you feel Ony grab your wrist, halting any movement. 

“Who said you could touch yourself? Get up…”

You pout at your ruined orgasm. You get up before he grabs your waist and pulls you onto his lap. Your ass grazes his cock and your back is to his chest. He spreads your legs and hands as he traces small circles on your clit. Your head falls back in satisfaction, he smoothly inserts two of his long fingers inside your damp cunt. You grab his arm roughly, leaving dark nail marks on his tatted skin. His finger moves in and out of you with wet sounds accompanying it. 

“F…fuck…right there..”

You whine into his neck when you feel his pace quicken. He’s knuckles deep inside of you, the speed of his strokes increasing by the second. He chuckles at the sight, you’re drooling, your eyes screwed shut, and pornographic moans flooding the living room.

He groans as you squirm in his lap, your bare ass rubbing against his hard cock. He uses his other hand to rub your sensitive clit. Your grip tightens on his arm, your nail prints getting deeper every time he picks up his pace. His fingers plunging into your cunt with such speed and aggression brings you closer to your orgasm. 

“F—Fuck…s…slow down…I’m about…to—”

Ony chuckles before pausing his movement. He removes his fingers from your sloppy pussy and trails his hand over to your ass and gives it a small squeeze. 

“Only good girls get to cum. C’mon, face down ass up. Right now.” 

You whine at the absence of friction and he gives your ass a hard ‘Smack’ in response. He tossed you over to the other side of the couch before turning you on your stomach. He slides his cock on your warm slit, teasing your greedy pussy. He gives your ass a sharp slap before plunging his cock into your pussy without warning. 

You let out a porno-worthy moan and grab one of the couch cushions for stability. Ony quickly picks up the pace, abusing your cervix with every stroke. He gives your ass a couple of harsh slaps before grabbing the back of your neck and pushing your face into the couch cushion. The living room is overflowing with moans, grunts, and the sound of your sopping wet pussy. You put your hand back to stop Ony’s forceful thrust. 

“S—Shit…slo—ow…down…fuck” 

“Nah, Take this shit…Fuck, you’re such a slut.” 

Ony slaps your hand away before placing both of his hands on your hips, pulling you deeper into every thrust. You stifle your moans with your both as the bully of your pussy continues. 

‘Ding’

‘Ding’

You hear him groan as his strokes cease. He grabs your phone from the other side of the couch before scoffing at the name. 

“What the fuck does this lame ass nigga want?... Hold on.” 

You can hear the smirk in his voice, his cock going at a slower pace than before. You let out a few whimpers that earn you a harsh slap on your already stinging ass. 

“Hush…” 

His monotone voice sends chills down your spine. You have no clue what's going on behind you until you notice the shadow of your silhouette on the neighboring wall. 

‘Is that a flashlight? Wait…is he recording?’

Before you can confirm your answer he goes back to abusing your pussy. You muffle a moan with the pillow in front of you. He presses your body against the couch, the only thing talking is the wetness of your pussy.

“Shit…She’s talking to me, mama. C’mon, tell him who this pussy belongs to.”

You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out but slutty moans. He gives your ass a hard smack, placing his free hand on your lower back. 

“Y-You! F—Fuck!... You do! You own this…mmph…slutty pussy!”

You choke out, completely cock drunk. You hear him chuckle and groan. You pussy turning him into a mess also. His strokes begin to get messy and you feel his cock twitch inside of you. 

“Shit mama…cum on my cock baby .”

He reaches his free hand around to trace circles on your clit.  Almost like clockwork, you leave your juices all over his cock and coat his shaft in a slippery mess. You feel his tip hit your G-spot a few more times before you feel his warm and sticky cum engulf your inside. His cock is covered in both of your juices, a ring of the mix at the base of his cock. 

Your brain is fogged with lust, you can barely think right now. All you can see are stars and darkness before finally feeling him pull out. 

“Did my dick feel good?”

“Mhm…”

“You’re my slut, right?”

“Mhm…” 

“Thank you, mama."

[Sent: 1 Attachment.]

[p-nkgod]

[achillesinhighheels]

[sumbarbietingz]

“Toji is a trad man he wouldn’t do that in these fics 😢😢😡”

That broke ass nigga took his wive’s name, is a gambling addict who sold his son and proceeded to forget his name and existence what’s trad about him besides the fact that he’s old as shit????💀💀💀

Edit for a little bit of context: I’ve seen someone say that he’s always dusty in fics and as someone who grew up in a traditional Japanese family he wouldn’t have this mentality…. yeah…. cause being a whore, a broke bum, and a deadbeat is not dusty at all and very traditional right😭 Did you guys watch jjk on temu?

[princesswansblog]

omg 🤣🤣🤣

[dcminions]

QUEN   BLACKWELL    ,    VS   FASHION   SHOW   2025

[fixtionalpromises]

PENT UP ANGER

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐭: 3.3k𐙚

MDNI:| WARNINGS--> 𝒔𝒒ᰔᩚ𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 | 𝒇𝒆𝒎 𝒅𝒐𝒎 | 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒎 | 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒄𝒉ᰔᩚ𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 | 𝒄𝒖𝒏ᰔᩚ𝒊𝒍𝒊ᰔᩚ𝒈𝒖𝒔 | 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 | 𝑷𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒔ᰔᩚ𝒙 | 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚 | 𝑺𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝑫𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒕 | 𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒇𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 | 𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒕ᰔᩚ𝒍𝒌 | 𝒇𝒊𝒏ᰔᩚ𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒇 𝒕ᰔᩚ𝒚 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 | 𝒄ᰔᩚ𝒎 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 |

EAT TS WITH YOUR GRILLS STILL ON

Pairings: Onyankapon x black fem!reader

Notes: I wrote this listening to two songs on repeat😩: Church - Chase Atlantic slowed and Where You belong - The Weekend (Take a listen as you read.ᐟ)

Visuals: { 𐙚 } { 𐙚 }

Storming out of the sleek black car, you slammed the door behind yourself, ignoring the distant sound of another slamming harshly as your feet carried you forward.

You moved swiftly, heels producing a steady beat against the hardwood floor as you sauntered down the long hallway leading toward your shared bedroom. 

The steady steps of your husband grew closer as you approached the master bedroom, black stiletto cladded fingers twisting the metal handle, pulse spiking as you stepped into the dimly lit room. 

A sudden gasp left your throat, lips parting as a veined hand grasped the back of your neck, spinning you toward the source of your anger. 

The cold bite of what you knew as a wedding band pressed against your neck, Umber eyes glaring down at you,  fingers gliding from the base of your neck toward the front. 

Tattooed fingers using the sides as leverage to tilt your view up toward him. 

Onyankapon’s lazy eyes assessed your features, brows furrowed as he spoke.

“Use your words baby, did I upset you?” 

You averted your gaze, breath hitching as he leaned his face closer to yours, enunciating his question with a slight tilt of his head, pointer and thumb releasing its grasp along your throat, instead working to tilt your head closer toward his. 

You watched, waiting, chest rising rapidly — each breath edged with unfathomable irritation — as his eyes flickered between yours, searching, questioning, what the fuck he’d done to upset you. 

“Hm?” He hummed, pink tongue dragging against his bottom lip, granting you a glimpse of the diamond laced grills on the top row of his teeth as he backed you up toward the edge of the bed. 

Your knees buckled at the feeling of the soft mattress behind you, body bouncing slightly as you fell.

A tattooed thumb ran across your lip, smearing the butter gloss you’d applied — mere moments before — as his thumb pushed slightly against them, lips parting at the intrusion.

A slight tilt of his head finalized his previous question.

“Open that pretty little mouth, baby, tell me… How can I make you feel better?”

You swiveled your head to the side, rolling your eyes in aggravation as the recollection of his hand on the gorgeous woman’s waist danced through your head once more. 

The way he clasped the woman’s slim hand, seeming to forget that those freshly manicured fingers had been deep inside you mere moments before. His middle finger — etched with the mesmerizing swirl of your first name, tattooed in fine, cursive letters — swirling around your hard clit as your pussy clenched desperately, around the baby pink vibrator pulsing inside you. 

The way that gorgeous woman batted her perfectly curled lashes at him. Green, doe eyes, much different from your siren-like ones, seeming to encapsulate him; Her long, tan legs, leading up to her ass — perky, tame, just enough — dramatized by the pop of her hips as she spoke meekly to Ony.

“You know what the fuck you did nigga, stop playin’,” You scoffed. 

You were fucking steaming, chest rising rapidly as you clenched your jaw in a futile attempt to halt the disrespectful words threatening to spill from your glossed lips. 

You knew you’d fucked up by the way his left eye seemed to twitch, a slow smile pulling across his face as he chuckled lightly. 

The emerald cut, baguette diamonds sitting pretty atop his teeth glimmered sexily against the darkness, seeming to illuminate his mouth, though no light was present. 

As much as you’d reasoned with yourself while you sat stiffly in the black Maybach seats of his car — or at least tried to — you couldn’t think of any other reason as to why he’d been smiling so damn hard, or why you yourself were so fucking mad. 

You were far from insecure, and Onyankapon, he was far from disrespectful, never leading you to second guess the way he felt about you, not once since you’d met, but something was itching in the depths of your mind today to fuck a bitch up, and if it wasn’t gonna be her…then it’d be him. 

Onyankapon didn’t take to disrespect lightly, he expected what was given, and gave more than expected. He knew you were mad, but every attempt he’d taken in comforting you, or trying to work out‌ what was wrong, you’d shut that shit down as quick as it came, instead leaving clues behind for him to pick up. 

He didn’t play that shit. 

You were his woman, and everything a man wished for in a woman. You were the woman, and in no way whatsoever would he have his woman wallowing in a pool of restless anxiety for as long as he was your man.

He could give zero fucks about what anybody else thought.

So you watched, eyes low, as he rose up from his position above yours on your shared bed, his broad stature consuming your view as he tilted his head, taking his sweet-ass fucking time to unbutton the cuffs of his black dress shirt.

You huffed, tutting as you lifted from your lying position atop the cotton sheets, attempting to raise up from the bed before being stopped short by the rough reminder of his presence. 

“Sit.”

Your eyes flickered up quickly, lips parting to cuss him out — snapping them shut at the harsh glare in his eyes.  

Fuck. 

“How many times did I ask if you were okay, (y/n) hmm?”

You swallowed.

“How many times did I ask you…if I did something wrong?” His hands reached up toward his collar, fingers working to undo each button, slowly, tauntingly… too fucking calm. 

You glanced to your left. The steady flame of irritation spreading inside you seemed to grow larger, hotter, at the fact that he was irritated with you for being mad. 

Who the fuck was he feeling like? 

Sizzling silence drowned the room as Onyankapon stared down at you, noting the way your titties sat, perky, pretty, in your black dress — the cotton seeming to accentuate the softness of your curves as you peered up at him, gorgeous brown eyes peeking from beneath a wispy set he’d dropped 350 for the day before. 

“What happened to allat’ fucking attitude, mama?” He was toying with you, smile growing dark at your silence. 

“Lemme know wassup’.​​ Tell me. Say dat' shit wit’ ya chest.” 

He watched, aggravated, a slight mug resting against his face as he slipped his shirt off his shoulders, displaying the slutty tattoos hidden beneath.

Tension curled from the Greek pillars surrounding your shared room, slithering down the walls as you both stared unblinking at each other.

Seething.

Each begging for the other to make a move, to slip. 

Your lips parted — wrong.

With only the quickness that Ony himself possessed, his hands gripped your cheeks, puckering your lips as he stared down at you, brows furrowed as he spoke. 

“Stop allat’ disrespect shit, (y/n). You a’ big girl, right?”

“You not gone tell me ma? Hmm?” A slight tilt of his head.

Your thighs pressed together, core tightening at the low rasp of his voice. He nodded, a firm, self-affirming nod.

“Show me.”

That’s all you needed. 

Onyankapon released his grasp upon your face, sniffling, palm planting two firm taps against your cheek before stretching his arms up to grasp the pillar above your shared bed as your hands reached out. 

You gave no warning. 

Silence. 

Tension snaked closer. 

Your stiletto nails scratched down his abdomen, creating shallow indentations in its path as you worked the Matte Gucci belt buckled around his waist. 

Ony watched, sinking his teeth into the plush of his lips as he glared at the soft flutter of your wispy lashes, entrapped by your siren-like beauty. 

His head tipped, mind whirling at the tickle of  your nails slithering beneath the border of the only thing separating him from your view.

His eyes fluttered shut, abs caving, Adam’s apple bobbing as he fought to control his mind, his heart, from spiraling with every flick of your slick tongue against his mushroom tip—with every swirl of your grip against his dick, every bob of your head.

His eyes rolled, a firm palm planted against the back of your skull as he nudged you further.

“Come onn baby, show me.” Heavy pants slipped his lips, eyes fluttering in an attempt to stay lucid. To keep hold of his sanity.

“Yeahhh, show me dat' shit, baby.” A firm bite to his plump, two toned lips finalized his statement, eyes glossed, brows furrowed as he stared down at your bobbing head. 

"So fuckin' greedy, mama, fuck!"

You were everything he needed, everything he wanted, why the fuck did you think he was boutta hand that over to just anyone? To anyone but you?

You reached your arms up, forcing Ony’s palms away from your cheek as he attempted to push you away, pleasure coiling from the tips of his ears to the soles of his feet as he moaned.

You were sucking the soul outta' him, sinking the points of your stilettos into his mind without any intention of letting up.

You were speaking to him in a way only you could—engraving every word within the depths of his heart — with your mouth fucking full. 

You popped your head off, hand swirling along the soft curve of his dick as you stared up, anger swimming throughout the depths of your pretty brown eyes.

He watched, taking note of the way your lip gloss seemed to blend within the drip of your spit, chest sticky, chin dripping with a mix of both his and your essence.

“Give it to me, baby. Please, I want it…let me have it,” you whined. 

Onyankapon’s body shuddered, your words cracking every ounce of stability he seemed to have lingering as he came. 

“Fuckk baby, I feel you, I fucking hear you.” The bass of his voice seemed to crack, shifting between breathy, needy whimpers, and deep, soul-ridden grunts as he pumped his hips in your hands, aching, listening. 

His head swam as he watched you rise to your knees, finger trailing up your chest, leaving a trail of his cum in its wake as you slipped your index and middle finger into your mouth, eyes closing, a greedy moan vibrating from the depths of you as you savored the essence of him. 

Rough palms reached out, grasping onto the chub of your neck as he crashed his head down, lips racing against yours with unspoken passion as he flattened his frame along yours. 

Your thighs circled his slim waist, hands following as they smoothed up his chest, one palm laying against his upper back, the other running along the back of his head — flattening along the sea of waves rippling across his scalp as you moaned.  

The lavish, soft cotton of your black dress rode up as his coarse palms ran up your thighs, squeezing, grazing, clutching as your lips flowed feverishly, never once breaking its harmonized movements as he moved your bodies toward the head of the bed. 

Your head tilted, head slouching to the side as your lover trailed kisses down the creamy silk of your collar, each peck sizzling against your skin, tattooing a phrase in its wake. 

I love you. 

I need you.

Fuck me. 

Your eyes rolled as Onyankapon’s lips sketched its way down your chest, fists moving to push the delicate sleeves down your shoulders. 

Brown eyes followed, heart stuttering as he shoved the fabric down, freeing the weight of your breasts, fabric pooling around your waist. You watched, noting the way his throat bobbed as he gawked longingly, breath catching as he used the mere moment of sanity to take in your beauty.

You were perfect. His. 

Puffy, swollen lips parted, releasing a needy whimper as his hands trailed its way up plump thighs, the vanilla oil you’d used just mere hours before steaming off of you with the pour of heat radiating from your skin. 

The scent was intoxicating, your skin impossibly warm.

You choked, eyes fluttering as his middle finger pressed softly against the lace atop your clit, the fabric seeming to sink between the fat of your wet folds as he applied slight pressure.

“Come on mama, this what you wanted?” His tongue ran along his lips. “Open dat’ pretty ass mouth and lemme know, baby.” 

You gasped, waist whining against the flesh of his fingers as your head drooped back, unleashing the whirlwind of feelings you’d held confined; each emotion voiced itself in its own unique moan as Onyankapon’s fingers yielded to the slickness of his tongue and mouth.

"Jus' like dat' pretty, talk to me."

“Ughnn shittt.” Your body melted, each thought of doubt, worry, insecurity pooling out along your cheeks as he hollowed his lips, sucking the hard nub of your puffy clit into his mouth.

“Yeah baby, I hear you, im listenin’ baby. You know dis’.” Your eyes crossed, toes curling within the arch of your Giuseppeas, as your palm slapped repeatedly against the plush of the bed beside you. 

“Im cumminnn’ baby, f-fuckkk…yesss!” The hoarseness of your pretty, sultry voice seemed to egg him on, low eyes peeking up beneath long, black lashes as he watched endless bliss rip through you, knowing that he was the sole purpose of your ache-filled tears. 

He popped his mouth from the depths of you, diamonds glittering as he bit his lips, the tension in the room replaced with the creamy squelching of your pussy, lips seeming to swallow him as he fucked you. 

“There we goo, mama, let it go, let it all go,” His voice grew soft, words spilling in the form of a whisper as his breath grew heavy.

“I love you baby, I’m yours, let go for me, baby. Give it to me.” He said breathlessly.

Your body grew tense, mouth opening in a silent sob as your legs closed in on his hand.

“Breatheee for me baby, breathe, just breathe, feel it.” Your throat stung, fingers clutching onto his forearm as he pumped, shattering you from the inside out. 

You let loose, moaning, groaning, sobbing, as your body sang, saturating the room with a song so carnal it’d ring throughout the house for seasons to come.  

“Feel that shit baby, I love you (y/n), I’m yours baby, yours, you hear me?” Your ears rang.

One could only define Ony as selfish, gluttonous for his pussy as his tongue engraved his name within the depths of you; the way he ate you, chin streamed with your raw essence as he ravaged your pussy.

He was smacking, flicking, sucking — ruthlessly forcing you to your limits. 

His hands clutched your thighs, body moving as he kissed his way back up to your tear stricken face. His lips trailed along your neck, whispering, sealing his words as he drew you from the whirlwind of pleasure you’d experienced sheer moments before. 

You sobbed, mind teetering as he reined you back into his world, back to the moment you were sharing. 

Your eyes laid heavy, palms drifting along your body as you  grasped the meat of your thighs, pulling them up and back without order. 

Your breasts shook as he tugged you further downward, trousers long gone as he pressed his weight along your thighs, nudging them further back to settle beside your head as the heavy weight of his dick laid between them. 

His dick was thick — fat with arousal — the weight of it substantial between you. 

Smooth Walnut skin fused within Cinnamon as his tip leaked, dripping along the folds of your pussy. 

Ony moved his left hand, angling himself as he pressed inside you, slowly. He needed you to feel him, every fucking inch of him. 

His eyes closed briefly, throat bobbing in an attempt to ground himself as he dove into you. 

His hips flowed, whining lazily as he forced himself to the hilt, left hand drifting up to wrap around your throat as his head tipped backwards.

“J-jesus fuck.”

Your brows furrowed, watching, as the neatly trimmed hairs along his pelvis grazed against you. Your pussy clamped around him, feeling every vein, every pulse, as your bodies tied. 

His hips snapped up, dropping in steady motion as he pushed your thighs into the plush of the mattress, using you, giving you everything he had to offer. Baptising himself within the depths of you. 

“Ohhh my g-g-,” your breath stalled, barring the words in its tracks as your body reigned numb. 

Onyankapon’s hips plunged, torso clamping as he whimpered, waist pushing passionately as a bead of sweat raced between the curve of his abs and onto the pudgy flesh of your tummy. He sank himself deeper, forehead pressing into yours as he clasped the back of your neck, folding you, forcing you to watch as he surrendered himself within the extents of you, engulfed himself within the bounds of your mind.

Your arms moved up, grasping onto the back of his skull as you gawked up at him, eyes never drifting, body humming as he drove into you. You peeked down, watching as cream glazed the fat of his dick, building along his pelvis with each breathtaking stroke. 

“Ba-byyy, so fuckin',” you cried, deep and gluttonous, “d-eep baby, oohhh.” Your nails scratched along his hips, fingers grasping the fat of his ass as you pulsed. 

“I love youuu, shitt,” you were hysterical, mouth slacking open, drool staining your chin.

He was driving you fucking mad.

Onyankapon’s brows furrowed, repetitive whimpers painting the air as he chased his orgasm, pounding, ignoring the burn of his thighs as the fat of your ass ricocheted off his hips. 

Smack!

The sting from his palms flattening against the swell of your thighs was all you needed as your body convulsed. 

“Ughnn, Oh my-fuckkkk”. Your eyes rolled, barely registering your body’s doing as a stream of arousal sprayed across Ony’s chest. Your pussy clamped, sucking, feeding upon the meat of his dick as he drove himself impossibly deeper. 

You could feel him, throat clogging as your stomach burned; he was so fucking deep. Too fucking deep. 

So deep within the depths of you, you couldn’t identify where you ended, and he began. 

You couldn’t stop fucking cumming. What the fuck? 

“Give it to me baby, fuck, fuck, fuckkk.” Your gasp planted heavily against his lips.

Onyankapon’s body grew tense as he dragged himself upright, sweat dripping along the curve of his nose as he gripped your hips.

“Mmm, you feel me, baby? This’ my fucking pussy, (y/n). All. Fucking. Mine.” With a harsh snap of his hips, he punctuated each word. 

“Yeahh look at me baby, you so fucking pretty.” His statement faltered, head slipping back as he burrowed himself into you, grinding, babbling, hips sputtering as he came. 

“I’m nuttin' all in this pussy baby, fuckkk.” His eyes rolled, hips still rolling as he came with such intensity he thought he’d be sucked up by fucking darkness itself. 

Heavy, rampant pants filled the now quiet room as he looked down at his lady, his woman, his love. 

His form sank as he helped you move your legs toward the bed, caressing the fat as your lips connected in a slow, sensual kiss. 

“I love you ma, this love ain’t come easy, I need you to talk to me, baby.” His fingers nuzzled the sweaty arch of your cheeks as you peered up at him. 

“Let me know when I’ve upset you. Talk to me, don’t hold that shit in baby. Next time you feel like I’m oversteppin’, lemme know. I'm never gonna just rule off ya feelings, baby. Let me know.” His voice lagged, gaze flitting between your view as you nodded—Dazed. 

“Aight, come on, lemme run ya pretty ass a bath.” His head lowered, a sultry smile tearing from his lips as he pecked your lips once more. 

-𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚𝒊𝒔𝒎𝒆౨ৎ

Tags: @ilovefanfictionsm @brownied0ll @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @hxlcster @prettypink-princesss @wettbaby @playgurlxoxo

Note: long awaited!! This was not supposed to take that long but life got me caught allll the way uppppp. I promise I'll be way more consistent now that I'm finally healed of my devious case of writers block.

P.S. My requests are open! I need ideas 💕

[otakufilms]

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

baby makin’. onyankopon.

𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count— 6.7K, original!blackfemreader, husband!onyankopon, mechanic!onyankopon, southerncoded!onyankopon, southernwife!femreader, shy!femreader, jealous!onyankopon, aggressive!onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, ovulation!, dominant!onyankopon, breeding kink!, floor sex, doggy style, pet names, dirty talk, aggressive pet names, squirting, creaming, condomless sex, pussy eating, dick sucking, overstimulation, minors are not welcome! 𓊇ྀི

メモ。— couldn’t even tell you where this one came from, had a lot on my mind. but it’s nasty, real southern, real black, real cutesy. enjoy, teehee.

ビジュアル。ビジュアル。

ASKING YOUR HUSBAND FOR ANOTHER BABY WASN’T ON THE AGENDA TODAY. It happened in the exact way it had the first time—your body trembling and writhing, brainless as you released those three words to him. However, you couldn’t lie to yourself. This was kinda your fault.

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, either. Being fucked so good your mind went blank sounded like a treat, but it wasn’t all in the matter of how you got there, but more so why. 

You’d been with Onyankopon for about three years now, still reeling from the excitement of newlywed bliss each time you stared down at your ring. You had also welcomed your baby boy into the world, Asaan, motherhood bringing you a sense of peace and patience you’d never had your entire life. 

It was perfect, really. You had a modern farmhouse in Arabi, Louisiana. Wrapped in crisp white siding with black trim, surrounded by sprawling land where the sunsets painted the sky in hues of gold and lavender every evening. Close enough to New Orleans for convenience, but far enough to feel like you had your own private paradise. The open concept living space always smelled like vanilla and clean linen from the candles you burned while cleaning—floors so shiny you could see your reflection as you chased after little five month old Asaan crawling around.  

And Onyankopon? God. Even after a long day at his auto shop in the city—grease under his nails, muscles aching from lifting engines all day—he never failed to make sure you felt cherished. He’d walk through that door, drop his bag by the stairs, and immediately scoop up Asaan with one arm while pulling you into his chest with the other. 

His deep voice rumbled against your ear, “Missed y'all like hell.” 

No matter how tired he was, he’d sit at that kitchen island just to watch you move around cooking dinner—his heavy lidded eyes traced every sway of your hips as if he hadn’t memorized them already.  

Even when work drained him dry—Never cold. Never dismissive. Just a kiss pressed to your temple before bed, or calloused fingers grazing over yours when he thought you needed reassurance more than he needed rest—because loving y’all came easy for him, even when life didn't always match up that way.

But today. 

Today had been a little—different.

You had been feeling it all morning. That deep, primal pull—hormones surging, body thrumming with an urgency you couldn’t shake. 

You’d woken up wrapped around Onyankopon like a second skin, breathing in his scent—motor oil and cedar from his cologne still clinging to him despite the shower he took before bed.  

But today? Today wasn’t about you.

Your husband had spent the whole week at the shop—late nights replacing transmissions, arguing with picky customers who didn’t understand why their "quick fix" wasn't actually quick. Then last night? He gave y'all everything he could—dinner downtown where he let you steal bites off his plate while he sipped bourbon as slow as molasses; holding Asaan until the baby boy fell asleep drooling on his shoulder.  

And now? All your man wanted was some peace. His PlayStation controller in hand, headset half-cocked over one ear as Kev from down the way screamed about some nonsense through the speakers. But instead of letting him breathe? You were pouting. Hip cocked against the doorframe of his man cave, you watched him like a stalker. 

“You ain’t hear me calling you?” 

You asked this sweetly—almost too sweetly—fingers tapping along your pendant like a metronome counting down to attitude.

Onyankopon barely glanced up from headshotting some zombie midgame. 

“Nah, baby. ‘You good?”

Even if he asked that, his tone was flat. Finality lacing those couple of words because he’d told you already. Yet here you were, lip poked out thicker than a punished child because ovulation had your brain scrambled and patience nonexistent.

“I’m okay,” you murmur softly, “‘Was gonna’ lay out a little blanket for me and Asaan—have breakfast on the lawn since it isn’t too hot.” 

You continuously rub your fingers against your pendant, “Did you wanna join?”

His shoulders were hunched forward, thick arms flexed and tense as he gripped that controller like a vice. He didn’t look up as he spoke—just responded with a soft grunt, “I’m cool, Mama. Gon’ head and enjoy breakfast without me.” 

Why were you upset? You knew damn well he wouldn’t be leaving the man cave until he finished this round. Then the next round. And the one after that. Because the game? It was his peace. One you hated interrupting.

Onyankopon looked dangerous like this though—shirtless, durag tied over his cornrows, tattoos winding over every inch of his skin. The bold ink along the side of his temple only made him seem more intimidating to anyone who didn’t know him—but you? You knew the truth. That beneath all that muscle and ink was a man who melted when Asaan giggled, who kissed your forehead when he thought you were asleep.  

Your gaze flickered downward for half a second—just long enough to catch that thick outline pressing against those grey sweats before snapping back up just as fast.  

And then there was Asaan—your little caramel drop with chubby cheeks and Onyankopon's deep set eyes, crawling straight toward the man cave like he could sense Daddy was in there avoiding responsibility today. You scooped him up quickly before he got too close to any wires or controllers, balancing him on your hip as you stepped inside fully this time.

"Daddy ain't tryna be bothered right now,” you cooed lowly at Asaan, looking back at Onyankopon with those doe eyes that always worked on him in moments like these. 

You then murmur, “But maybe if we ask real nice, he'll take ten minutes and eat with us—yeah?” 

You saw it before it happened. His jaw tensed just slightly, fingers tightening around that controller again as frustration simmered under his skin because damn, hadn’t he earned some uninterrupted time? 

But Asaan then let out one of those drooly baby laughs and stretched his tiny hands toward him—and just like that, he paused mid game without hesitation—despite Kev yelling through the headset about zombies closing in.

He took Asaan from you effortlessly—the baby immediately gripping onto one of father’s face tats because infants had no concept of pain tolerance—but instead of stepping out behind y'all after kissing his son’s curls? He handed him right back.

“Gon’ eat, I ain’t starvin’.” 

His brown eyes locked onto yours while muscles flexed under tension; not angry, just pleading politely for what should've already been given freely. 

Space.

You allow Asaan to become easily distracted by your necklace, tugging at the golden jewelry under the blares of the TV’s lighting.

“‘You on the phone with Kev?”

Onyankopon let out a slow breath through his nose—the kind that came when he was trying not to let irritation seep into his tone.  

“Yeah,” he clipped, adjusting the headset slightly as Kev’s cackling about some grenade mishap crackled through the speakers. His thumb hovered over the unpause button, but you were still standing there like a lingering shadow—Asaan now gnawing on your necklace like it was a teething ring.  

He finally unpaused the game just to stop Kev from yelling louder and spoke without looking up this time.

“Baby.” 

One word, thick with finality.

You slammed the door behind you with a little more force than intended—Asaan giggling in your arms like getting tossed around was some kind of new game.  

In the kitchen, you juggled Asaan on your hip while yanking open the fridge—the cool air hit your flushed skin as you grabbed raspberries and pomegranates, knife chopping fruit a little harder than necessary before you dumped it into a bowl with some honey drizzled over top.  

Outside, morning sunlight draped over your shoulders as you spread out that quilted picnic blanket—the one Onyankopon’s grandma made you as a wedding gift. You plopped down in the grass, robe slipping dangerously high on caramel thighs while Asaan latched onto your nipple greedily, previously covered by the loose pink silk of your robe. It barely held anything in place after pregnancy did wonders on your body. 

And through all this? That damn window stared right back at you—man cave curtains cracked just enough for Onyankopon to glance outside if he wanted to—but he didn’t.

Until this. 

“Afternoon Mrs—whoa.” 

Mailman Claude nearly dropped his satchel when he hopped out of the truck, rummaging through his bag as he made his way towards your porch—his eyes snagged where silk gapped around milk heavy tits—before snapping up quick like god himself might strike him down for looking too long at something so sacredly tempting. 

You smiled sweetly though; shifting Asaan higher to cover the brown of your nipple. 

“Mornin’, Claude.”

Your voice came out syrup thick without realizing it—Southern hospitality mixed with no awareness made every word drip like molasses off your tongue, dark curls bouncing wild around freckled cheeks. 

Your voice is smooth, entrancing.

“Èske ou oke jodi a? They have you out here pretty early.”

Dear god, was your accent a weapon. 

Those soft, honeyed words had a way of making a man fall hard and fast. Claude shifted under your gaze, the heat in his cheeks having little to do with the humidity already sticking to his skin. He could've sworn he'd heard a voice like that come from heaven; sweet as Tupelo honey, as smooth as the best whiskey. 

“I—uh—” His voice cracked like a teenager, eyes darting everywhere, “Yeah, it’s—it's early, but I—I don’t mind it.”  

You reached up—still oblivious—to push a stray curl behind your ear, giving that warm Southern smile.

“Hopefully the weather stays nice. You want some breakfast to take with you? I have some fruits—milk, fresh to go.”

Claude practically choked on air when you leaned forward slightly to wipe Asaan’s mouth with the edge of your finger—your breasts just barely covered as they swayed freely under thin silk, before you tugged the fabric back into place like an afterthought.

“No ma'am! I mean—” He swallowed hard, shaking his head fast enough for his hat to nearly slide off, “Appreciate it but uh—gotta’ finish my route in due time.”

Your brow furrowed slightly—just a hint of confusion playing at the edges of that pretty smile as you tilted your head, robe slipping just a tad lower off one shoulder when you shifted.  

“It’s really no worry," you teased with a little giggle—sweet and light as morning dew— "Don't be shy. Ain't no harm in takin' some fruit or somethin' cold for the road—”  

But then, a voice like the devil had risen. Onyankopon’s deep timbre cut through like thunder rolling across quiet skies. 

“Claude.” 

One word. One warning.

The man nearly tripped backward over his own boots, scrambling away fast enough to leave skid marks in the grass—“Y—Yes sir! I was just leavin’. Right now.” 

His mail bag slapped against his hip as he practically sprinted back to his truck without another glance your way.

You blinked after him, turning toward your husband standing there bare chested in those loose sweats, watching you with an expression carved from pure steel. 

"Bring yo’ ass inside.” 

You scooped up Asaan with one arm, grabbing your bowl of fruit with the other before heading inside—still completely clueless as to why Onyankopon was suddenly looming over you like a storm cloud.  

"What's wrong?" 

You asked this innocently, adjusting the baby on your hip while stepping into the coolness of the house.  

“What’s wrong? ‘You outside in that lil’ ass robe with yo’ fuckin' titties out like it ain't nothin’."  

Your eyes narrowed, “What? I was just feeding ’San, you know that.”

He looked down at that innocent face cradled against your shoulder, that irritation still simmering as he ran a hand over his durag. 

“I know baby, I know. But you ain't even realize just how you’ was lookin’— Like you was tryna’ get the nigga attention.” 

You raise a brow, “You’re mad cause the mailman thinks I’m attractive?”

Onyankopon’s jaw locked tight, nostrils flaring as he exhaled through his nose like a bull about to charge. 

“‘San sleep yet?” He asked instead, ignoring your question completely.  

You hesitated before shaking your head no—because what kind of stupid ass question was that? The baby was wide awake, slapping fat hands against your collarbone like a drum while drool dripped down his chin.  

Onyankopon moved fast then—one tattooed arm snatching Asaan right out of your grip before striding toward the nursery without another word; leaving you standing there holding nothing but attitude and a half-eaten bowl of fruit.

But no, he wasn’t getting off that easy.

Your bare feet slapped against the hardwood as you stormed after him, that silk robe flaring against you like a warning flag.  

“Oh, now you wanna play daddy of the year?” 

Your voice came out sharper than intended—laced with enough venom to make Onyankopon pause mid step at Asaan’s nursery door. 

“You was real quick to ignore me all mornin’—but soon as a nigga look my way, you’re mad?” 

The words tasted childish even as they left your mouth—petty, bratty and deliberately meant to dig under his skin like a splinter. But did you care? Absolutely not. Maybe if he hadn’t been glued to that game for hours, leaving you starved for attention, none of this would’ve happened in the first place. 

Onyankopon turned slow—brown eyes flickering over your face like he could see straight through the act; he could smell the frustration rolling off your skin in waves alongside vanilla perfume and breastmilk.

“Ain’t got time for this back and forth shit,” he muttered, “Either tell me what’s really botherin’ you or drop it.”  

Your lips pressed into a thin line—because no, you weren’t about to admit that your hormones had you climbing the walls, craving him so bad it made you act foolish. Instead, you scooped Asaan right back up and marched out without another word, leaving Onyankopon standing there like a statue carved out of pure irritation.  

An hour passed. 

The house was quiet except for the faint hum of male voices rumbling from the man cave—Kev and whoever else laughing at something dumb through the headset while Onyankopon gave low chuckles in return. 

Asaan was finally asleep in his nursery after fighting naps all morning—leaving you alone with your thoughts, and guilt that felt stupid now that the heat of pettiness had faded.  

So barefoot and silent, you slipped back into the man cave without announcing yourself. Arms looped over his shoulders, face nuzzling into warm brown skin between ink stained neck tattoos as if nothing had even happened between you two earlier in the day. 

And despite himself? He exhaled, leaning himself into your smaller frame.

Your face still hides within the middle of his back—you ask softly, “You winning?”

His broad shoulders rose with a deep, rumbling sigh—all that annoyance from before fading with each second he felt your body pressed against him. Instead of responding to the question, his only answer was an arm stretching back to grab your free hand—long fingers gently lacing between yours before pulling you farther into him like he couldn't get enough.  

You buried your face within his throat opposite of the microphone, softly murmuring, “‘Tried giving Asaan a bottle. He wasn’t too pleased.”

He chuckled at that—low and warm—feeling your lips against his neck, soft as butterfly wings. 

“Lil’ man ain't got a sweet tooth for that plastic shit yet. You know he want’ the real thing.”

You pressed a kiss to the microphone before speaking sweetly into it—voice dripping like honey through its southern lilt, “Y'all better not be feedin’ my man bad ideas while I'm not looking.” 

Kev’s exaggerated cackling crackled through the headset—“Oh shit, we got company. This nigga Onyankopon in trouble!” 

Then you slid right onto his lap, hips rolling slowly against him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Onyankopon groaned immediately, thick fingers gripping your waist to steady you while still trying to focus on the screen.  

“Shawty, c’mon—a nigga can’t see nothin’ like this.” 

His voice was already rough with warning as your lips brushed teasingly against his once…twice…before he deliberately turned his face away with a grunt, “Baby.” 

But when that tongue darted out? Tracing along the seam of his lips before slipping inside? He kissed you back for a short moment, pulling his mouth away as he murmured, “Chill.” 

With a dramatic little huff, you slid off his lap—but not before nipping at his earlobe just to hear him suck his teeth. Plopping down beside him instead, your hands immediately found their way to the rigid tension in his shoulders.  

“Mwen te manke ou anpil jodi a, renmen. Poukisa mwen pa ka manyen ou?”

You murmured that into the curve of his neck, words soft, taunting. 

Kev’s voice crackled through the headset again—this time louder and laced with amusement, "Damn, nigga! ‘What she sayin’?” 

Onyankopon didn’t answer immediately; just tilted his head back slightly against your touch—eyes drifting shut for half a second while he muttered under his breath, “Nothin’, nigga. She talkin’ shit."

Your freckled cheeks flushed pink as your fingers curled around the waistband of his sweats—giving a slow, testing tug while staring up at him with those big brown eyes that knew exactly what they were doing.  

Onyankopon’s grip on the controller tightened—his glare sharp enough to slice through steel as he gave you a warning look.

But even then—you dipped your fingers below the material, tugging the thick tip of him between your fingers. Your eyes awe at the sight, feeling the weight of him in your small palm as he was hard. 

You whimper softly, so low you know the microphone can’t hear—“Lemme’ suck it, baby.”

You didn’t miss the hissing breath through Onyankopon's teeth at that—low and throaty as he shifted slightly in his seat. His voice came out strained under his breath, "Mama.”

"Y'all good over there or what?” 

"’We good," Onyankopon bit out—the tone sharp enough to cut off any other questions from his friend. His eyes were dark as he stared down at you, jaw clenching.

“Quit playin’, girl.”

But you weren’t. And to show you weren’t? You drop your tongue out as you flatten it, stroking along his tip.

The second your tongue flicked out—warm, wet pressure sliding just right along the swollen head of him—his entire body tensed. A deep, growling “Fuck,” rumbled in his chest before he could stop it.  

And his friends? They were immediately back in the chat, voices full of amusement and suspicion. 

“Bruh—‘fuck was that noise?"  

Onyankopon’s fingers tangled roughly in your curls, grip tightening as he tried to keep his breathing steady while glaring down at you.

"Ain't shit.”

He found a way to lower his face just inches away from yours, heat behind his stare as he grunted, “Slurp my shit up since you want a nigga so bad. Make that bitch nasty as fuck.” 

And of course, you obliged as if you hadn’t touched your own husband in centuries. 

You begin by rotating your tongue in gentle circles around his tip, before the swell of your lips suck the thick head within your mouth, tongue grazing his slit each time he slides back in the hallowed confines of your cheeks. Then, you’re opening your throat, shoving him past the back of your tongue, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you gag—you whimper at the vibration rumbling through your entire body, jaw working up and down as you find a rhythm.

He looked like he hated you in the way he stared. His brown eyes locked onto yours like a starving man—watching the flush of your face intensify as you took him deeper. Those pretty lips, they began to swell and slick from drool. 

"Yo, bruh—you’ still there?” 

Onyankopon had to clear his throat before answering—voice thick with strain, “I’m hearin’ you, nigga. Y’all ready for another round?”

His fingers tightened in your hair—not enough to hurt, but enough to control the rhythm as you bobbed your head over his dick—which was beginning to disappear between your lips, schluck, schluck, scluck. 

"Look at you,” he growled low, thumb swiping at a string of spit connecting your mouth to his tip before pushing it back between your lips, “Fuckin’ nasty ass bitch. Why you—doin’ allat’,” he groans, hearing a soft giggle that shudders through his entire body, your little whine thrumming as you begin slamming his tip against the back of your throat. 

You were nasty in fact—you tug him from your mouth as you arch your ass within the air, lapping your tongue against his balls, sucking the veins of his tip between your mouth like a filthy routine. 

You’re lazily rotating your fingers against the heavy length of his dick, a schlack, schlack from the saliva between your palm. You’re stroking your tongue on his balls again, wagging your hips as you whimper, “‘Dick so fuckin’ fat, baby. ‘Taste’s so good.”

Your husband's breathing had gone ragged, his grip on the controller so tight the plastic groaned in protest.

"Goddamn.” 

His voice was a gravel-rough growl, barely above a whisper as he watched you worship him—those plush lips swollen, shiny and wet, drool smeared across your chin and clinging to your collarbones. The way you moaned around him sent vibrations straight up his spine, forcing another curse lowly through his lips, making his dick grow within your mouth. 

"Why yo’ ass just standing there getting shot? MOVE, NIGGA!” 

Onyankopon didn't even blink, too busy staring down at you with half-lidded eyes darkened by pure lust. His free hand tangled possessively in your curls again—forcing eye contact as he dragged you back onto him with a rough grunt, “‘Muhfuckin’ jaw prolly’ hurt, knowin’ my shit too big for you to swallow down. But gon’ do it for me, huh?” 

The wet pop of your lips separating from his tip echoed as you nodded—you’re pouting, but it didn’t stop you from trying either way—you took him deep enough to make tears well in those pretty brown eyes, hollowing your cheeks like a woman starved. You whimper as you feel his palm release from your curls, thumbing the controller to look at if he was doing something. 

All while? His other hand grazes at the fullness of your thighs as you arch into his lap—your body shudders as you feel his palm thwack the flesh of your ass. His fingers tug back the frilly lace at the edges of your robe, eyes rushing across the round globes of your ass cheeks. Onyankopon swipes his entire hand against your folds—and he groans—because he knew you were nearly dripping onto the couch from how wet you were.

The contact has you quivering—you take him deeper into your mouth, the ridges of his tip jerking in and out between your lips—but you can barely focus, as he’s just smacking, smacking your ass with repeated grunts. 

“‘Pussy wet as fuck just from puttin’ a nigga in yo’ mouth,” he sneers, “You ain’t give a fuck how you had this dick. Jus’ wanted it.”

And you did. You wanted it bad.

Your cheeks bulge as your nose brushes at his abdomen—your eyes roll as you gag loudly this time, your mouth quickly tugging him between your flushed lips as you pant. Your doe eyes flicker up to him as you whimper, “‘Want your nut all over my face, Papa.”

The game was forgotten. The controller hit the couch with a thud as Onyankopon's grip in your hair tightened when he found it once more, his other hand sliding down to cup your chin—forcing you to look up at him with those teary, submissive eyes.  

"Yeah?" His voice was a growl, “You want this nut on yo’ pretty ass face?” 

You whimpered around him—nodding as best you could with his dick lodged halfway down your throat for proof of your desires, spit slick lips stretched tight. 

He yanks himself free and drags the swollen head against your cheek—painting streaks of precum across freckled flesh while staring down like he owned every inch of you. 

“‘Keep yo’ mouth open.” 

And when you did—tongue out like some desperate little thing? He pumped himself slowly over your face just to watch the way arousal flickered in equal measure behind those brown irises, letting loose thick ropes of white right onto your waiting tongue.

You didn’t realize how much worse you were making things for yourself. Because then, your husband watched you lick his nut clean off sticky fingers like dessert after dinner. You giggled, rubbing your palms along his stomach affectionately—your mouth was innocent, “Did so good, baby.”

Maybe you weren’t paying enough attention, though. 

Otherwise, you would’ve realized how his dick hardened seconds after he nutted. You were still giggling, the soft kiss you laid against his chin sweet as a doll.

“Aight’, nigga—Imma’ call y’all back.”  

He stands to shut the door fully—seconds later, his monstrous frame looms over you.  

“Baby—“

 “Nah, baby nothin’. Assume that muhfuckin’ position.” 

You knew exactly what he meant—knees sinking onto the plush carpet as you turned around slow; robe slipping off caramel shoulders while hands braced against the floor within an arch so perfect, so familiar, that he groaned just looking at it.

“Goddamn, girl.” 

Cheek pressed against the fluffy rug, you just feel your pussy keening—the gummy folds shine beneath the dim lighting of the loading screen from his game, your thighs nearly quiver as you feel him—heavy, girthy—it smacks on your pussy from behind, making your hips tense, a low whimper passing your swollen lips. 

"Gon’ learn why playin' with me gets yo' ass fucked up.” 

Thankfully, he was nice enough to slide his tongue across your clit for a while. Your eyes flicker over your shoulder as you watch him, able to hear his mouth sucking and lapping at your pussy. 

You, “O—Ooh,” a tremble between the wet noises, sitting yourself up halfway—you wag your folds on his face, a small whine of pleasure releasing as Onyankopon’s head rotates in a circle, dragging his lips all across the entirety of you.

The sound of his tongue on your pussy is filthy. Wet, rhythmic schlick, schlick noises fill the room as his head knocks up and down, lapping from your clit all the way down to your dripping entrance before swirling back up. 

Your quivering thighs squeeze together instinctively, the pleasure too intense—but he doesn’t stop, just groans against you, vibrations making you attempt to lift up—

"Lay yo' ass back down," he grunts, “I ain’t tell you to move.” 

Your arms tremble as you try to lower yourself onto the rug again, hips still raised so you can peer back at him from beneath fluttering lashes. You pant softly—hand reaching behind blindly in a weak attempt to slow his mouth. 

“You ain’t listenin’. Now you gotta’ tuck them hands where they belong.”

He doesn’t ask things twice. 

Your toes curl at the loud slurrrp of his mouth, "Try movin’ me again and see what happens.” 

And god help you if that dominance doesn’t make the heat coil tighter in your stomach—leaving nothing but shaky whimpers and slick thighs pressed together helplessly. But you oblige, tucking your hands between your slightly parted thighs, allowing him to bury his face within your pussy. 

"You feel my tongue workin’ yo’ shit, huh?”

You nod frantically, breath hitching as his mouth 

takes you—but the second your response comes out too quiet, his palm cracks down on your ass hard enough to make you whimper again.  

“‘Hear me talkin’ to you," he growls, dragging his tongue back up in one long, slow stroke that has your thighs shaking.  

“…Y—yeah, feelsgood, baby.” 

You manage to mewl that out, voice shuddering under the weight of pleasure already coiling in your stomach—your legs tremble where they’re pinned beneath, tears gently beginning to well at the corners of your eyes. You were already overstimulated. 

“Ony, ’M sorry—“ The apology spills between whimpers—but he doesn't even let you finish, “Ain't tryna hear all that shit right now. Just keep puttin’ that pussy on my tongue.” 

 You drop your clit across his mouth, sliding and soaking his lips with it—Onyankopon’s tongue strokes until your apologies dissolve into nothing. They’ve dissipated into breathless cries against rug fibers beneath your cheek pressed flush to the floor.

"Ony—Ony, wait—"  

You gasp his name between shuddering breaths, hips instinctively trying to pull away as the pressure builds too fast, thighs clamping around as if that’ll stop him. But he knows.  

He knows.  

“Nuh Uh, C’mon.” 

Your body betrays you—shaking violently, thighs twitching as you clamp your fingers together beneath your own weight, trying to hold back. 

“Give it all to me,” his deep voice echoes in your ears, “Don’t be doin’ allat. ‘Fuck you holdin’ back for? Gimme’ that shit.” 

That's all it takes. The dam breaks—your entire body seizes up before collapsing into violent vibrations, a desperate cry tearing from your throat as warmth gushes uncontrollably over his waiting tongue, squirting all over his goatee. It’s all so loud and wet, you tuck your face within the rug, cheeks hot as you shy away from your own orgasm.

Onyankopon doesn't let you hide, of course. 

His strong palms hold your body with satisfied grunts, keeping you locked in place as he laps up every last drop—his mouth works slow, like he's savoring the taste of your weakness. 

"’Gon head an’ take this dick now.”

His voice is low, "Don't act like it's too much when yo' ass was beggin’ for it earlier."  

He was right and wrong all at once—because yeah, maybe you did start this mess by teasing him first. But now? That thick tip was already pressing blunt against your swollen folds, still throbbing from being tongue-fucked raw—it feels impossible to take. 

Onyankopon leans forward, wrapping his palm against your throat from behind, tugging you backwards to capture soft cries between rough kisses—all the while, he’s sinking himself inside inch by punishing inch. His tip is only in, and you gasp on his mouth, eyes rolling back—you whimper, “UghOny, f—fuck.” 

He doesn’t move—just holds you there, his thick girth stretching your walls to the point where you can feel every ridge, every vein pressed against your fluttering insides. Your moans are swallowed by his mouth as he kisses you deep, messy—tongue tangling with yours while your body jerks and twitches around him like a live wire.  

"Shut that shit up,” he growls against your lips when another pathetic whimper slips out, "’S what yo’ lil ass wanted, ain’t no need for all them’ tears now.” 

Then suddenly? You're being manhandled back into that perfect arch—ass up, face down on the rug. One hard smack lands on each cheek before he finally starts moving—“Gon’ take it slow,” He lies, because within seconds those slow rolls of his hips turn ruthless—each snap forward making you gasp louder than before.

Each thrust makes slickness gush out your folds like some kind of floodgate broke open inside of you. To make matters worse, you were loud.

And oh, you were losing it.  

"Ony—Ony. Mmmphfuck, baby.” 

Words dissolved into nonsense slurs against the rug—your entire body jerked with each brutal snap of his hips, all while that thick dick of his pistons inside you ruthlessly. You could feel your own cream coating him messily, your pussy clenching around him in desperate pulses as he forced orgasm after orgasm from your trembling body.  

The sound? Disgusting—wet schlicks, flesh slapping against flesh with every deep stroke, mixed with the obscene squelch of your arousal dripping down his balls and onto your thighs.  

“Pussy talkin’ so much shit, huh?” 

He taunts you in a breathless grunt, delivering another sharp smack to your ass cheek—“The bitch singin’ to me.” 

Each spank only made you cream harder—gushing around him like a broken faucet while nonsensical whimpers spilled past swollen lips—“Fuckkk, Papa. Oh my god.” 

When the pleasure turns too much, your voice cracks into something sweet—tiny, desperate whimpers slipping between shaky breaths. 

"M'sorry, Ony. I love you so much, Papa. Ughn…” 

You mewl it, your body arching prettily—but Onyankopon wasn’t taking any of that softness right now. Not when he knows just how nasty you really are under all those tears.  

"Bounce this big ass back on me,” he growls, “Hands stay where I put ‘em." 

And despite the ache in your thighs? You obey. Your hips roll back against him with slow, deliberate grinds at first—until the pleasure makes you lose control and suddenly? You're fucking yourself desperately onto his dick, bouncing, choked out moans as if he’s splitting you in half every time he bottoms out. Tears well in those round eyes again as another orgasm rips through your core—gushing around him like some broken faucet while drool slips past swollen lips.

Your walls flutter, gushing around him in slick pulses while long, shuddering moans spill from puffy lips. He watches you unravel like it's entertainment for him—not moving an inch except to lazily spank your ass when your rhythm falters. 

“This my muhfuckin’ pussy,” a rough palm smacking down, “Ain’t no nigga alive gon’ touch what belongs to me.”  

The threat is casual, but lethal in its delivery before he clutches the flesh of your ass in his palm, tugging you back on his dick like you weighed nothing—“‘Fuck ‘round and find out how serious I am.”

Your moans tremble out in long, warbling notes—sounding like some broken melody as your body quivers around him. Onyankopon’s gaze burns into where your pussy stretches obscenely around his girth, watching slick drip down his shaft with every sloppy thrust.  

“You hear that?” 

His voice is echoing, taunting as he slows his hips just to make the lewd squelch even louder—your own cream makes a filthy mess between your thighs, “That's yo’ shit talkin’ to me.” 

You squeeze him, as that’s all you can do. 

“Relax, Mama. Damn.” 

His command is harsh but laced with something darker, possessive, “Stop fightin' my dick.” 

And when you finally do? When those tight walls flutter weakly before relaxing, letting him sink balls deep in one brutal stroke? His head tips back with a ragged groan—listening intently as you sob beneath him, taking every inch like it was made for you.

“I love you, Ony…”

It’s muffled between the press of your cheek against the rug—so soft it almost gets lost under the wet slap of skin on skin. Onyankopon doesn’t pause his slow, deep strokes—just tilts his head down to watch where your body takes him so well before grunting out a rough—“I love yo’ ass too, girl.”

And then—just to ruin you further, “‘Always got me, even when you feel like you don’t.” 

The confession hits harder than sex ever could. Tears spill instantly; fat and hot down flushed cheeks as you push your hips back against him desperately, taking him even deeper with a choked sob, bouncing messily against him.

“Cum in me.” 

You whimper this, nails digging into the rug beneath you like it’ll ground you from floating away from pleasure alone, “‘Want another baby—want you.” 

“Gon’ give you a baby,” he grunts, “Ain’t no fuckin' way I'm pullin' out now." 

The words rumble against sweat slicked skin before he buries himself one last time—holding himself inside, unloading deep until warmth spills between trembling thighs and onto shivering stomachs pressed together messily, he’s moaning with you. 

As he was still buried inside you, he suddenly yanks you into a rough kiss—your lips part instinctively as his tongue swipes against yours, swallowing every last one of your breathy apologies like they were sweet nothings.  

You twist in his arms, straddling him with trembling thighs—your hands immediately cup his bearded face as you press desperate kisses to the corners of his mouth between whispered confessions.  

"’Love you so much," your voice is hoarse from crying out earlier—but it doesn’t stop the way those words tumble past your lips as you meant them.

“You know I love yo’ ass too.”  

Then? The baby monitor crackles to life—tiny coos and giggles echo through the speaker.

The both of you burst into exhausted laughter; foreheads pressed together as breathless chuckles fill the air around tangled limbs and messy bodies.

“‘Gonna try giving him another bottle,” you murmur, stroking your tongue along his mouth, “Might put a lil’ milk on his pacifier.”

Onyankopon's rough chuckle vibrates against your lips, “‘Can’t be kissin’ on me like that when we’ supposed to be done.”

Your giggle is soft against his lips as you nudge him playfully, “I need to shower and clean up first before feeding him.”  

“We can shower together,” he murmurs, “Then I’ll handle Asaan ‘fore you come in. Papa might get him to take the bottle, you gon’ see.”

The shared shower is warm—steamy air clinging to your skin as playful kisses are stolen between soapy touches and hushed laughter. But when he steps out first to tend to the baby, you take your time under the water, letting it rinse away the lingering heat of hours before, finally wrapping yourself in an oversized tee before padding toward the nursery.  

When you peek inside? There’s Onyankopon—big hands cradling tiny Asaan with surprising gentleness as he finally gets him to latch onto the bottle after some fussing. The sight nearly makes your heart burst. His broad frame hunched slightly over your son while murmuring low assurances like, “There go my lil’ man. Drink up.”

You lean against the doorframe with an endeared smile, watching them until Onyankopon glances up.

“Whatchu smilin’ at?” 

His tone is all faux grumpiness, but his eyes soften when they meet yours across a dimly lit room; sweet, love filling the air.

"Didn’t mean to interrupt," you reply softly, “Just watchin’ my two boys."  

“Ain’t never a bother, Mama.”

For a moment, silence settles—just the soft suckling of Asaan drinking at his bottle.

Then, hesitantly—

“You sure about wanting another baby?" 

You press, “I know in the moment we say…things. But with your schedule and—and how much you value your space sometimes…I don’t wanna assume—“

"Baby. Look at me." 

When your eyes finally meet his? There's nothing but certainty staring back at you, “If I didn't want our second baby, a nigga would’ve said sum’.”

His thumb brushes over Asaan’s cheek absently as he continues—“Ain't no assumin' when I'm tellin' yo' ass straight up what I want.”  

The reassurance is blunt—so very him. But when his free hand reaches out to tug you closer by the end of your shirt, strong arms wrapping around both your son and you—That says enough on its own, too.

You press soft kisses against his chin—a shy, “Okay,” passing against his skin in return. You press your finger against Asaan’s cheek, smiling at the little gurgle he does as he’s finished off his bottle. 

"You think Papa’s gonna join us outside for lunch this time, hm?” 

“I can't trust yo’ ass outside without me no more. Don't even know why you askin'."

You flick his temple, “That’s not my fault Claude acted like he’s never seen breasts before!” You pout, “They’re just a little bigger.”

Onyankopon scowls instantly at the mention of Claude.

 “Yo’ ass better stop sayin’ that nigga name if you want him to keep breathin’.” 

The growl in his voice is only half serious, before it melts into something teasing—eyes trailing down your chest with a smirk.  

"Can't blame ‘em though. You know what they lookin' like,” he grunts, "'Specially since you’ been wearin' them thin ass robes all week.” 

Asaan babbles suddenly—tiny hands reaching out toward you as if sensing the shift in conversation between his parents. Onyankopon immediately turns competitive again—“Nah, say Papa, lil’ man.”  

You lean in closer—“Nooo, say Momma!”—bouncing on your toes to coax those first syllables from him,  Onyankopon making exaggerated clicking noises near the baby's ear just to distract him from choosing you instead. And just like that, you were a family again. 

It's ridiculous.

But it’s perfect.