an. hey here's a on the whim Father's Day drabble. had to write for my baby daddy... also heard there was an only drought.
cw. i didn't proofread sorry... p in v cowgirl, reader and only are married with two daughters, also chubby reader was in mind when writing, uh I feel like this is pretty tame, creampie? slightly sub. ony, I just like men slightly submissive can you tell lol?
Onyankopon was the richest man on earth. Maybe not financially but spiritually? He was full. He had his dream career, two precious baby girls, and he had you. The one who’s been with him through thick thin. The one that loved him at his lowest. The one that was willing to go through the trials of pregnancy and birth–not once, but twice. He doesn’t know what he’d do without his family and he’d do anything for his girls.
So, when father’s day rolls around easily you go above and beyond for your beloved. Your two girls are more than eager to do things for their daddy who spoils them absolutely rotten. You guys started with breakfast in bed. Your daughters, doing their best to stay quiet while they helped you make breakfast. Later on, Ony hears hushed voices outside of the door but he pretends to still be asleep–like he does every year. The door creaks open and he hears little footsteps and then the bed shifts under the weight of two little children.
“Daddy… Daddy, wake up…” Arya, who is seven, whispers.
“Yeah, wake up, Daddy,” Ayla, who is four, whispers after her older sister. Ony smiles before peeking one eye open. The girls squeal and giggle.
“Happy Father’s Day!” They exclaim in unison. Ayla plops down on him to give him a big hug while Arya showers his face with kisses. He chuckles deeply, taking the affection happily.
“Thank you, babies,” He says with a grin. You stand there with the tray that has his breakfast on it. Watching him lovingly listen to your daughters yapping about the plans for the day fills you with a love that’s so strong it makes your heart pound against your chest. You can’t help but think about everything he does for your family. The sacrifices, the late nights, and the undying patience. You couldn’t have picked a better man.
After a day full of fun activities, you come back home. The girls absolutely tuckered out. The usual bedtime routine is much easier with the girls so tired. Onyankopon kisses both of their foreheads, sweet and gentle. Ayla is seconds away from slumber, eyes fluttering shut.
“Goodnight, Daddy. Hope you had a good day,” Arya, mumbles before yawning. Onyankopon smiles big.
“I had a great day. Goodnight, love ya’ll,” He replies, Ayla mumbles something incoherent. He chuckles as he quietly makes his exit and shuts the door. You’re in the bedroom ready for bed. Well… ready for Ony. You can’t let him end Father’s Day without his very deserved and final gift.
So, yes you push on his favorite nightgown you owned. Lilac, borderline sheer and loose in a way that leaves just enough for the imagination. So when he steps foot inside of your shared bedroom, he's pleasantly surprised to see his wife. Freshly showered and dressed in his favorite sleepwear (It could be considered lingerie in his eyes). “What’s the occasion, Baby?” He asks with a slight grin. Eyes gleaming like a kid in a candy store. You saunter your way over to him, hands sliding up his shoulders and back down to his chest.
“You’re such a good daddy to our girls… thought you’d like another gift before bed,” You reply. You swear you hear him stifling giggles. He's so giddy.
“Yeah? For me?” He asks, smiling wide and already starting to undress. You playfully roll your eyes. The way he’s acting, you would think he never gets any.
“Yes, Onyankopon,” You chuckle, He pulls you in close.
“Just don’t take this off,” He mumbles, tugging lightly on the fabric. You nod, feeling up his abs and chest before kissing your way down his neck. His hands circle your waist, gently squeezing before his ducks his head to kiss you deeply. He breaks the kiss. “You know what else I want?” He asks and you hum leaning in for another kiss.
That gets you here, on top of him, riding him like your life depends on it. Ony is in paradise unable to take his eyes off of you. So pretty, tits bouncing underneath sheer fabric and your pussy squeezing snugly around his thick length. You both try to stifle your moans. Your pace only building and building.
“Oh fuck, don’t stop, baby. Riding my shit just right,” He groans as quietly as he can manage and you let out a choked whimper.
“Yeah, you deserve it, daddy,” You reply, breathless and whiny. He groans louder, you shove your middle and ring finger in his mouth to muffle the sound. “Shhh, gotta stay quiet, baby,” You mutter. He nods and sucks on your fingers. Laying back and taking what you give. Building him up and up until you feel the familiar twitch and his face screws up. “You gonna cum? Do it, baby, cum inside me,” You encourage with a breathless moan. That he does spilling inside you, hot and thick. His hands hold your hips for dear life until you stop. You giggle as you watch him pant heavily around your fingers that you so gingerly pull out. You grace him with a gentle kiss and smile.
✉ a collection of blurbs that take place within the ‘return to sender’ universe and after the events of ‘in contempt’ .ᐟ
— READ ‘RETURN TO SENDER’ HERE [ 1 ]
— READ ‘IN CONTEMPT’ HERE [ 2 ]
⤷ NOTE : blurbs intended to be read chronologically ♡
soft!simon | ༝ wedding ring | ༝ mornings | ༝ rules | ༝ kink-sploration | ༝ taking care of you | ༝ taking care of him | ༝ blowjob | ༝ facesitting | ༝ mr. possessive | ༝ marriage | ༝ shelly | ༝ hormones | ༝ full circle/how it started
16k wrds. fem black reader. angst. fluff. plot with smut. MDNI.
warnings: cursing, use of the n word, alcohol, weed, romantic shit, servicedom!ony, sub!reader, pet names, daddy kink, unprotected sex (BE SAFE), pussydrunk!ony, ony’s a talker, ass eating, praise, toe sucking, foot kissing, overstim, pictures during sex (with permission), filthy just how I like ittt, ony really just dotes on you like a lot, aka sluts you out
moodboard
a/n: little late, but I’m feelin pretty good about this one 🤭 buckle up, she’s long. enjoy! <3
as of late, ony’s been busy.
like, I’ll call you later and not call until well into the night, busy.
I have to stay at work late tonight, I need to finish this project, busy.
I’m sorry, baby, can we postpone date night? busy.
fidelity isn’t something you worry about in such a secure relationship, so that’s no issue. you know he’s just working hard to further his career.
regardless, it’s irritating. you miss your man.
his hands, his voice, his laugh. the two of you are very big on quality time and physical touch, and when he gets like this, it’s always an adjustment. you just want to be up under him, snuggled in bed or on the couch and enjoying the little things. his hands rubbing your ass softly, his kisses on your shoulder and neck, the way it feels to lie on his chest as he laughs at something stupid on the tv.
you miss his presence and he knows it– he knows his lady misses him. it wrenches his heart because he hates disappointing you. he can hear the upset in your voice when he postpones something and it just makes him wish he could keep you in his pocket all day long.
he, too, misses your touch. he misses hearing your little satisfied sighs after finally finding a comfortable cuddling position, your sweet face tucked in his neck when you’re feeling particularly clingy, and he especially misses your soothing caresses and kisses.
the feeling of taking care of you, of connecting with you, revitalizes him like no other. going from having that everyday to connecting less and less is haunting his thoughts.
but ony’s very business minded. his work is important to him.
he’s not only focused on career advancement and financial security, he’s focused on financial freedom too. he’s always been the type to provide, the type to work hard and play later. meetings, projects, and late nights at the computer are all very familiar to him. he’s working hard for his future, a future he hopes you’ll both be enjoying together.
because at the end of the day, he wants to come home to you. he wants you to have the ring and wedding of your dreams so you can feel like the princess that you are, the beautiful house that will home so many happy memories, and anything you fucking want. he’s willing to put all this work in for his career and you.
lately, though, ony can tell it’s taking an even heavier toll on you. that’s the opposite of what he wants. he wants you to feel at ease and free and peaceful. supported, loved, spoiled, and so on. it’s only right his baby feels on top of the world.
not neglected or alone, having to ask your friends to go with you to events because the tickets were already purchased but he had some deadline to meet. not being home alone so much, missing your man and his embrace.
and definitely not touching yourself every night because your man hasn’t had the energy and time to indulge in the way you both are used to.
it’s a big thing and he knows that.
his touch is like a balm to you, soothing the inner aches that seem so impossible for others to reach. he knows your body, and mind, and heart, and it shows every time he loves you in that king sized bed.
and the couch.
and the kitchen counter.
and anywhere else.
you’ve always had a healthy sex life, especially with the dynamic that you have, but the well is running dry because of the distance. there’s no connection, no outlet, no bonding. you miss his touch and touching him, and he the same for you. you hate to feel like a star crossed lover, but it’s getting to a point.
you know you have to try to talk to him. and really talk so he can’t just brush you off for work again.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
ony’s been doing a lot of research for a really big project. he’s interviewed people, read a thousand articles, made too many charts and graphs to count. it’s maybe the most important task he’s had to work on in a while since working with this company, so he’s using every last drop of energy to make sure everything’s perfect for the upcoming presentation.
you can see it in the way he barely has the energy to sip at his coffee.
“baby…” you start softly, reaching across the dinner table to hold his hand. it’s one of those nights where he’s attached to his computer, but still near you, wanting to enjoy your presence at the very least.
he immediately knows where this is going. he can hear it in the softness of your voice, the careful way you approach. if he could avoid talking about it, avoid seeing the concern in your eyes without feeling like a damn chump, he would.
“I know, babygirl,” he murmurs tiredly. knowingly. he gives your hand a soft squeeze before retracting his touch, his focus still on his laptop. “I know. but my boss needs this asap for the presentation. I can’t let her down. you know how important it is I get this promotion.”
you can’t help but let out a weary sigh. your hardworking, sweetheart of a man is putting himself through the damn wringer and his boss better appreciate that shit. “it’s important, I know. but everything’s been important. this project, the one before that, the one before that... when are you gonna take a break?”
“I take breaks,” he mumbles. he doesn’t mean to be stubborn. really, he doesn’t. he’s just had this goal in mind for so long, and now he feels like it’s finally in reach and… he can’t give up. he won’t.
“three minute power naps are not breaks. you know that,” you say sternly. “baby, this job is draining you. do they not already see how dedicated you are? if you haven’t earned that promotion by now, I don’t even know if you should work there anymore.”
that catches his attention. if anything, it triggers him, mind worn thin from countless hours of research. “are you kiddin’?” he asks, gaze snapping up to yours. “ain’t no way. all this shit I’m doin’ and you want me to go somewhere else?”
it’d be easy to get frustrated with his tone, but you push through. you’re coming from a place of concern and you want him to know that.
“that’s the point I’m trying to make, ony,” you press. “you’ve earned that position. you earned it months ago. hell, they should’ve given it to you in the first place. do you really wanna work like this for the next– however many years? you don’t think you’ll burn out?”
ony’s eyes close as he lets out a deep breath. knowing he needs to calm down before he releases his tired frustrations out on you, he sits back in his seat and drags his hands down his face. “this job can set me– set us up for life, baby. whether I stay with the company or not.”
you go to speak, but he cuts you off.
“I’m sorry, ᥫ᭡,” he says. his voice is weary, cracks of vulnerability showing in his exhaustion. “I am. I know you miss me and I miss you too. but I gotta do this. I can’t miss this opportunity. I’m doing what I have to for our family, baby. I’m doing all of this for us.”
“that’s the problem right there, ony,” you say, your voice firm but soft. “you think my concern is based on your presence and our time together when I’m concerned about your health. you’re withering away in front of me, and you expect me to think about our future? there won’t be a future if you keep at it like this.”
you can see the immediate reaction in his eyes, the concern filling them makes you want to pull him into bed to sleep for weeks.
“baby, what– what you talkin’ bout?”
“relax, papa,” you murmur, rising from your seat to walk over to his side. you close his laptop and slide into his lap to cradle his face. “I don’t mean it like that. we’re locked in forever, you ain’t gettin’ rid of me.
“I just need you to realize that nothing is more important than your health. not money, not our future, not any of that shit. I want you happy and healthy more than I want a diamond ring too heavy to wear,” you laugh softly.
ony’s eyes shut as he leans into your touch, soothed by your reassurance and concern. he hears you. but the beast that is ambition and anxiety mixed together is too heavy to let go of so easily. he’s so close...
“I’m serious,” you continue tenderly, as if you can read his mind. “this has to stop, ony. please. life’s too short to be neglecting yourself for a future that could change at any moment.”
his chocolate eyes open to meet yours, seeing the full range of your emotions in the pools he loves to get lost in. he wishes he could dive into you, get lost in your healing waters as he just rests. but thoughts of the future come flowing back in, and he can’t push them away.
he has to do more. his work has to be enough, he isn’t enough.
“maybe after this project, baby. they really need me for this one,” he responds.
of course.
the sigh you let out is weighted. your hands drop from his face before you stand from his lap.
“okay, onyankopon,” you murmur, defeat in your voice. he reaches out to stop you, mouth opening to give some empty reassurance you’ve probably already heard, but you’re out of the room before he can say anything.
he wants to groan, fuss, chase after you… but he only has so much energy left and several more spreadsheets to make and check over. so instead, he sighs the deepest sigh he can muster before opening his laptop again.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
another day. wednesday.
ony’s big presentation is today and he’s been spending all week pacing the house as he runs over the numbers repeatedly. he’s got this. he knows the information like the back of his hand and he knows he can give this presentation with full confidence. he’ll prove his value to the company, no doubt about it.
tired from staying up, he pours a strong ass cup of coffee before heading to the conference room.
“good morning, everyone,” he nods to the room. he sees executives and people in the high places he’s trying to reach and he hums lowly to himself as he makes his way to the computer. this is his chance and he’s not going to mess it up.
contrary to his previous anxious thoughts, the computer pulls up his presentation with no difficulties. the remote works fine, laser pointer in function, and speaker notes easy to access. he makes small talk with the people in attendance for the last few minutes before the scheduled start time.
his boss enters then, smiling as she greets everyone before taking her usual seat. she’s the picture of professionalism, and ony can feel the shift in the room as everyone adjusts their posture.
“alright, everyone, lets get started. onyankopon’s one of my best researchers, and I know we’re all excited about this project. he’s been doing amazing work, as always. the floor’s yours,” she says with a wave of her hand. the recognition is encouraging and he gives a small smile and nod.
“thank you, mrs. green. and thanks to everyone for your attention,” he starts. “I’ve prepared an in depth outline for our plan moving forward. please hold questions until the end, your concerns will more than likely be addressed in the following slide.”
he goes on to start the presentation, feeling more than confident. also tired as hell, but you wouldn’t guess it from the outside looking in. it’s engaging and he takes mental note of how focused everyone is. impressed glances, nods of rapt attention, amused smiles at ony’s creative thinking.
everything is going perfectly until the executive assistant enters in a rush.
ony pauses immediately, losing his flow. he can’t help but question the interruption. he takes notice of how the man scrambles over to his boss and talks quietly in her ear. the woman’s face drops in concern, her eyebrows furrowing as she nods along. the bumbling assistant quickly makes his exit.
mrs. green stands with a sigh and straightens her blazer. “I’m so sorry to do this. I know you’ve put in a lot of work, but I have to leave for the day. my child is severely sick and I need to get to them. we’ll reschedule this presentation for a later date, but really amazing work, onyankopon.”
ony’s stomach drops.
did he just hear that correctly? he feels like he has whiplash.
there’s no way he just did all of that preparing for her to just cancel when he’s almost halfway through. he’s having so many thoughts that he can’t even keep up with his own mind.
“um– yeah, of course,” ony nods stiffly. he figures there’s nothing he can do. “sometime this week?”
the woman shakes her head as she grabs her belongings. “my schedule’s too tight. I’ll ask my assistant when works best. again, I’m sorry, but you understand. family’s too important.”
with that, she leaves.
and ony’s stumped.
with his assumptions about the work culture of the company, he fully expected her to ask for a nanny, a babysitter, a someone to help.
but no.
no hesitations, no questions. ony can’t even blame her, but this is a jarring surprise. he’d expected pause or some consideration, but she moved on instinct. and no one’s even reacting, it’s like business as usual. granted, she’s the big boss, but…
ony’s still standing by the presentation screen.
he watches as everyone packs up their stuff and chats casually, speaking of well wishes to their boss as they make their way back to their respective offices. it’s all so relaxed. like ony hasn’t been preparing all week for that damn presentation.
it’s making him reevaluate everything.
after the meeting, he spends the rest of his day asking how his coworkers feel about it. he asks if people ever called out last minute or took extra time off, what the response was, the treatment after, how it affected their job… and he’s surprised that his perspective of his job was so wrong.
work-life balance is encouraged. it’s seen as a right. people have had the freedom to handle family emergencies and such with no affect to their job or how they’re viewed. people have taken mental health days with no problems. they’ve still raised in the ranks, been seen as star employees, gotten raises…
ony had never even considered leaving the office on time, let alone leaving in the middle of the day. he thought he had to hustle, to fight for recognition like most do with other companies. he feels stupid after everything he’s put himself and you through.
fuck. ony can feel his shoulders getting heavier with every realization.
you.
his babygirl, his love, his heart…
he’s driven himself crazy, trying to do everything in his power for the future he hopes to share with you. late nights, early mornings, working weekends… you’ve tried to ground him time after time, tried to get him to rest and relax and focus on the present, but he didn’t listen. he just kept pushing himself, trying to reach a goal that was of his own mental making.
just how much has he missed out on due to his own misunderstandings?
ᥫ᭡
that night, ony comes home only an hour after his scheduled time. he usually stays a few hours past, but he comes home, showers, and crashes right in the bed. you think he’s just exhausted or drained, actually catching up on rest before getting back to the grind, so you say nothing. you caress his back as you fall asleep next to him.
the days after are the same, though.
and the following saturday is a shock.
he’d unsurprisingly been working on the weekends too, sometimes going into the office and others working from home. you expect to hear his alarm ring bright and early, but it never does. he stays right beside you, arms holding you tight.
when you wake up, you think you’re dreaming.
”ony?” you ask groggily as you rub the sleep from your eyes. you‘re resting on his chest, his arms securely wrapped around your waist. he only grumbles incoherently in response and turns his head.
“nigga, I know you hear me,” you huff. “did you turn off your alarm? it’s almost twelve, we overslept. you overslept.”
“ain’t my name and ion care. c’mere and stop allat movin’,” he grumbles as his hand slides just below your butt, pulling you closer. he doesn’t even open his eyes, which shocks the hell out of you. you thought he’d give a bigger reaction.
“hello? did you hear me? you’re late, pa,” you try again, reaching to lightly tug his eyelid up with your finger. his pupil lazily shifts to look at you, an almost disturbing sight, before he reaches up to pull your hand away.
“heard you. I’m stayin’ in today.”
you blink. then you blink again. he just presses a soft kiss to your hand before he closes his eyes again.
“are you sick?” you ask, dumbfounded.
“no,” he grumbles. “baby, go back to sleep.”
“oh my God, you’re sick, aren’t you?” you question as you sit up in bed. “I need to check your temperature. it’s summer, but I can make you some soup. maybe I can make it cold? there are cold soups aren’t the—“
“ᥫ᭡,” he stops you, hand lazily sliding to your back. “I’m not sick, I promise. this project been stressful and I’m exhausted, so can we please go back to sleep?”
you stare at him for a moment, his slightly irritated expression almost making you want to say something slick. your shock should be understandable with the stark difference in his behavior.
but you can see the how weathered he looks. he really is drained and he can probably use all the sleep he can get. you’ll spare him. plus, if you can crawl back up into his side and cuddle the day away after such a long time of being distanced, you’ll jump at the chance.
“…okay. let me go use the bathroom first.”
you almost thought it would be a joke of some kind, but ony stays in bed all day. he goes in and out of sleep, clinging to you and grumbling if either of you have to move for any reason. it’s refreshing. extremely so.
you can’t even find it in you to complain for fear he’ll up and get on the clock again. the two of you just hold each other, basking in the embrace of your lover and soaking up the much needed affection. kisses, caresses, whispers of ”I been missin’ you.” it’s like a dam broke and you’re getting bathed in love and attention.
he’s still so quiet though. you can tell he’s thinking about something by the way he stares off into the distance. the way his brows pull together slightly, the ghost of a frown on his lips... you want to ask about it but don’t want to push. you just fall asleep in his arms again.
sunday comes and it’s the same.
ony stays in bed, going so far as to bring his rolling tray in from the living room to roll a blunt in bed.
when you return from the kitchen with your snack and see what he’s doing, you pause and purse your lips. “okay, what’s up with you? staying in two days in a row? rollin’ in the bedroom? what happened to ‘no smoking in the room’?”
he doesn’t really react. his gaze meets yours as he seals the blunt with a lick, expertly pearling it. the sight alone makes you want to jump his bones, but you’re too focused on figuring out what’s going on.
“come ‘ere, baby,” he mumbles quietly.
your eyebrows furrow, but you walk over to settle at his side. you wipe some lint from his face and caress his cheek, giving him your full attention. “what’s been on your mind, ony? was the presentation okay? you’ve been acting different.”
ony sighs as he lets himself relax at your touch. you’re just so… everything. you’re everything to him and he feels like he’s failed you.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. his voice is full of remorse as he looks down to the blunt in his hands, fiddling. he looks truly sad. the normal confidence and sureness in himself gone. you notice it in the way he won’t even meet your gaze. it’s unlike him.
“pa…” you start tenderly, hand still softly caressing his cheek. “what’s going on?”
his eyes meet yours then, emotions and turmoil apparent in the dark brown irises. “you deserve so much more than what I’ve been giving you the past few months. I haven’t been there for my baby like I promised I would.”
you’re shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence. “no, ony, don’t do that.”
“let me finish, princess. I need to say this. please?” he asks, signaling to you the severity of his feelings. “this ain’t a pity party. it’s a man admitting he fucked up.”
you don’t really have a choice when he uses that tone. you nod silently, choosing instead to rub his knee as a quiet show of support.
“I didn’t get to give my full presentation,” he mumbles with a lazy shrug. “the executive left for a family emergency; didn’t even think about it. she just left. all that work, all that draining myself, just to realize everyone around me don’t even make the same sacrifices. they ain’t got to. they all have balance and are thriving at home and at work. you know I hate comparin’ myself, but damn. knowin’ I’ve been doin’ all this shit, neglectin’ my home life and my love, my heart... it hurt and I needed time to process that.”
your eyebrows raise as you take in the information. you knew something had happened. the sound of regret in his voice, the way you can tell the guilt is weighing him down… it hurts to hear.
“I promised I’d take care of you, and you know I don’t take that lightly. but I’ve been… closed-minded. tunnelvisioned. you were right, baby,” he continues. his hand is now reverently rubbing your thigh, gripping it from time to time to help ground himself. “you tried to get me out of it, and I’m ashamed it had to come to that for me to really open my eyes.
“I let my thoughts of the future fuck with how I meet you now, and I’m ashamed of that. I hid my fear of not being enough, not providing enough, behind my ambition,” he shakes his head remorsefully. ”I wanna be a good man for you, baby. the best man. and sometimes the pressure of that gets to me, no matter how strong I am.
“so I mean it when I say I’m sorry. and thank you for being here, always. I don’t take that shit for granted, ᥫ᭡,” he presses, eyes locked on yours. it’s raw and honest and it’s easy to see he really needed to get it all off of his chest.
before you can even think to say anything, your arms are pulling him close. you feel him return the embrace tight, like he found something he’d lost. “oh, baby,” you murmur.
“you’re always tryin’ to carry the world by yourself, papa. you don’t have to do that. we’re partners,” you reassure him. “I see you, ony. I know you’re working hard for us. but I’m not just dead weight, you know? I ain’t just here to look pretty.”
“but you’re mine,” he murmurs, pulling back to look at you. there’s that stubborn frown again. you just want to massage it away. “I take care of what’s mine. you know that. I’m doing everything I do for us—“
“and you’re mine. or did you forget that part?” you tilt your head. “I say the things I say to you for you, which is ultimately for us. just because you’re my man doesn’t mean you’re running this show alone. I’m honestly starting to feel a bit insulted.”
“…insulted?”
“yes, insulted,” you state. “the fact that you think I’d let the love of my life carry all of our problems and run himself dry is crazy to me. I ain’t goin’ for it anymore. we are a team and I’m always gonna call you on your shit. that’s not just when you’re ‘wrong’ but it’s when you’re not takin’ care of yourself either.
“you said you’re ashamed that it came this far, well, so am I. I should’ve flicked you upside your big ass head when I first saw you headed in this direction. it was hard on all fronts, but the worst was watching you fight by yourself.”
you grab his face with your hands, gently but firm enough to slightly squish his cheeks. “I love you. we are a team. stop being so damn stubborn. shit,” you huff.
he blinks at you, lips puckered with the way you’re holding him. he swears in that moment he’s never wanted to marry you more. you’re a dream but also a beautiful reality, a merging of so much love and perfection that ony still can’t believe you’re his.
“you’re a man, I get it. you want to be this picture perfect image of a man that does all the hard stuff, does everything with no help. but this ain’t that,” you shake your head. “you’re human, papa. you’re not a superhero. you will burn out if you keep holding onto the thought that you’re pullin’ the wagon on your own.
“it’s me and you. this is what I expect from you. partnership. I might be your babygirl, and you might take the lead, but I’m not a trophy wife. I have my own job that I love, and I adore taking care of you just as much as you do me. I need you to understand that, onyankopon.”
ony could cry. he’s starting to see it now.
somewhere along the way, he took up the mantle of being everything. not because you asked him to, not even because he wanted to.
he’s afraid.
he’s afraid of losing you, of not being enough. he began to equate your love for him with how much he can provide. he began to equate his worth with how much he can be of service to others. he never thought that would be his driving force, but he sees now that anxiety can penetrate even the most fortified minds.
but you… you’re his fresh air. you’re as strong as you are beautiful. just because you let him lead, doesn’t mean you’re some damsel waiting in a tower. he always knew that, but it’s a jarring reality when your head’s been stuck up your own ass for several months.
“now. you’re gonna smoke that whole damn blunt by yourself. I’m gonna go cook a shit ton of food and you better eat till you physically can’t anymore. I’m taking care of you now. if you leave this bed, you’ll be fightin’ me. heard me?” you question.
he blinks again. and then nods.
“good. what do you want for dinner?”
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
things have been slowly moving in the right direction since that conversation.
ony’s been coming home at normal times, catching up on rest during the weekends, and making sure he shows love to you every chance he gets. he’s starting to look like himself again, energy levels raising more and more.
you’ve helped him tremendously. cooking his favorite filling meals, uplifting him when he gets those prickly thoughts of not doing enough, reminding him that you’ll always be there. he feels… doted on. it’s different from the usual dynamic between the two of you, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t adore it.
he’s used to being the attentive one. the one that carries the load, the man. but this whole situation has reminded him how intentional you are as a partner. it’s shown him that he can let go and not be perfect, that you’ll have his back when he can’t give the 110% he’s used to. he can depend on you the same way you can with him.
partnership.
that word has been ringing in his head ever since you said it. it fills him with a sense of belonging. relief. happiness. it makes him feel seen. home feels like home again. life isn’t so heavy.
and it looks good on you. you’re happy and looking at him with so much affection that he fights the urge to scoop you into his arms by the hour. you’ve been balanced and steadfast with your support, carrying the extra weight like it’s nothing. you pour from your heart, not from a place of expectation.
he should be recovering from his burn out, focusing on balance and new habits. and he is. but he’s constantly thinking about how much he loves you. how much he appreciates you. how much of an idiot he was to forget who you are.
he thinks about how he’s been through the wringer the past few months, and then smacked with realization after realization. you’ve been there through it all, since day one. he’s always focused on being the best man he can be, and he’s realized that he can only be his best with you. you’ve been there in his corner in ways he can’t let go of.
ever.
though to you, he’s still acting different than what you’re used to. you can tell he’s still in his head. you wonder if it’s because he’s still shaking the last traces of anxiety or if there’s something else on his mind. it’s a reflective state, so you’re giving him a chance to work it out himself before you drag him by his ear back to bed to chill the fuck out.
so when he brings up the idea of a lil weekend trip, just a chance for the both of you to get away after everything that’s happened and spend some quality time together, you jump at the opportunity. he needs it, you need it, everybody needs it. it’ll be a great opportunity to help him fully relax, and maybe you can figure out what’s got him in his head.
he chooses the airbnb and plans the trip, once again not letting you do a single thing. he doesn’t even let you pack. you go to chastise him for it, but he uses the excuse that he’s treating you for the past few weeks you’ve supported him a little extra.
ᥫ᭡
you immediately stretch when you exit the car, limbs reaching for the sky as a small squeak escapes your lips. “ugh, my ass hurts. did you really have to choose one so far away?” you ask brattily.
ony just hands you your purse with a small chuckle, not even mentioning the fact that you were either asleep or just no help the entire ride while he drove. “yeah, baby. I wanted to find a cabin for us. I think you’ll really like it,” he says warmly.
he knows you best, so you trust that this will be a great fucking trip. the smirk that crawls onto your face spells nothing but inappropriate intentions. “yeah? let me go check this shit out. see everything before the damage we’re about to do,” you smirk, making him laugh.
before you can turn to head towards the door, he stops you, voice calling out firmly. “nuh uh, bring that ass back. you know I gotta do my walk through. lemme get these bags first.”
you try not to rush him; he did just drive all the way and he’s being such a gentleman. it’s just hard when you know your vacation’s just on the other side of the door. you look around, already liking the looks of the location he chose. you ask about a cabin trip every time it’s time for a trip, and he chose a nice one.
“grab this for me, love,” he murmurs softly, handing you one of the lighter bags. you take it from his hand and he smiles at you before grabbing your shared suitcase and extra bags. “ready to go see the inside?”
“hell yeah,” you grin. you follow him, eyes scanning the front room as he sets the bags down. he begins his walkthrough, diligently checking every corner and room for a possible person or hidden camera. you follow behind him as he takes his time, admiring how focused he is and the cozy feel of the cabin. “this is perfect, pa. it’s so cozy and cute. hope we don’t get murdered or anything.”
ony lets out a loud laugh at that, always amused by you. “it’s safe here, baby, I promise. you know I brought my gun anyway,” he reassures with a smile. “everything’s good, we can get settled. wanna hear the plan?”
“there’s a plan?” you ask as you flop onto the bed. it’s so cozy, the blankets feather soft. you feel small in the king sized bed and you’re already thinking of the debauchery that’ll happen on it soon. maybe even in the next few minutes. “you’re always plannin’ shit. I thought we came here to relax. especially you.”
ony snorts as he sits next to you, easily tugging your form into his lap. you’re now sitting perpendicular to him, your legs resting over his thick thighs. he murmurs, “I plan so my girl ain’t gotta worry,” before he presses soft kisses to your cheek. you shiver at the tickle of his beard and turn your head so his lips meet yours.
“my man. always going above and beyond.” your voice is tender, your hand raising to softly tug at the hair on his chin. he just looks so good, so tempting. you can feel his hand start to trail up and down your thigh as he chuckles lowly.
his kisses follow the line of your neck until he gently pulls your earlobe between his teeth. you tilt your head with a sigh as he mumbles, “mhm, always for you. wanted to treat you. show my appreciation.
“I was gonna take you shoppin’, but not if you keep bein’ so damn touchable. I’ll put you through this mattress before we can fuckin’ unpack.”
his touch tingles in all the right ways, reminding you of how much you missed the depth of intimacy that used to be a usual routine. his words cause I jump in your gut. before you can fully melt at his touch, you’re quickly distracted. “shopping?” you perk up. “shopping where?”
“mmm, interested in the plan now, huh?” he teases, playfully nipping at your cheek. you lightly shove his face away as you laugh, feeling his arms wrap snugly around your waist. “we’re not far from the strip. figured we can grab somethin’ to eat, check out a couple shops… stretch our legs after that ride.”
“that sounds perfect. damn, you’re always on it, huh?” you smile. arms wrapping around his shoulders, you pull him close, enjoying the relaxing feel. “I’m definitely feeling stir crazy after all of that. let me shower and change and I’m all yours.”
he chuckles before giving you the gentle reminder, “you’re all mine anyway.”
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
it isn’t long before you’re fresh and clean, dressed in one of the pretty numbers that ony packed for you. he’s donned a coordinating outfit, always wanting to leave no room for doubt about who he belongs to. the two of you stroll hand in hand down the street, feeling rejuvenated already.
the weather is beautiful and warm and the sun is shining brightly. the shopping strip is alive with tourists and music and more shops than you would've guessed. homemade candles that fill the room with beautiful aromas, intricately carved crystals and handmade jewelry, a wide variety of restaurants to choose from… and you stick to your man’s side the whole time.
ony’s hand fimly grasps yours as he makes sure you stay on the inside of the sidewalk, away from the street. you both dance as you walk past bands playing live, your man making sure to twirl you around like the princess you are. you try so many different types of food, feeding each other and giggling goofily when the other makes a scrunched face of displeasure.
art galleries, antique shops, clothing stores. you put on fashion shows to show off the clothes for his input, and he the same for you. you both take probably a thousand pictures of everything that catches your eye. it’s everything the two of you need and a great first day of the trip. it feels more than amazing to spend this quality time together.
you feel like the battery for your relationship is charging, and it feels good.
by the time you get to the wine bar, your last stop for the day, ony’s arms are full of shopping bags. you feel bad but the sight of his veins and muscles from the slight strain make your mouth water.
“maybe we should just head back, pa,” you say softly. you rub his back as you gaze up at him, eyes warm but tired. “that’s too much to try to carry around, and I’m getting pretty tired too.”
he hums and bends to press his lips to your cheek. he can tell by your tone that you’re going to sleep good as hell tonight. “okay, pretty, we can come back tomorrow. it’s a bit of a walk back to the car, can you make it?”
“mhm,” you nod as he continues to kiss on you. the intimacy between you two is back on one hundred, and words can’t explain how good it feels. “which way is it?”
“this way,” he murmurs, jutting his head to the right. he guides you in whatever direction, your arm wrapping around his bicep. something catches your attention when you walk past the wine bar.
“is that a spa? shit, I’d love to go there,” you murmur, craning your neck to look inside as you both continue to walk. “look— they have natural springs!”
ony chuckles quietly to himself. hm. “it’s hot springs, baby, that’s kind of their thing. and we already have an appointment for tomorrow.”
“we do?” you beam, turning to look at him. he just knows you so well, it’s almost scary sometimes, but always incredibly endearing. he’s a good man and your man— simple as that.
he once again guides you to his side, away from the street. you grab a couple of the bags on his arms despite his quiet protest. “mhm, it’s set for tomorrow night. imma get your nails done and everything. full treatment for my princess.”
“oh, you must want the freakiest freak outta me that you can get. you really did your big one with this trip, huh? maybe you really did get your shit together.” you tease, lightly bumping his hip with yours. well, best you can with the height difference.
“oh, I want more than a freak, baby,” smirks softly. “but knowing you and everything we did today, you’ll be too tired. don’t even get my hopes up.”
you gasp at that and look at him with your jaw dropped. “don’t do me like that! I take care of you and that big ass d—“
“husshhh, girl,” he laughs, his voice cutting yours short. “we in public, chill. you right, you take care of me.”
you snicker at that. “damn right. don’t play with me like I ain’t got that.”
“oh, I know you got that. but don’t play like I ain’t got it either,” he smirks, raising his eyebrow. “or do you need a reminder real quick? won’t be able to walk tomorrow, though.”
you kiss your teeth and jokingly roll your eyes. “whatever, ony. always gotta make shit about you.” the laugh he lets out is diabolical.
the two of you continue to walk, the only sounds being your steps and the occasional swish or crumple of one of the bags. the sun’s setting in the distance and it’s a beautiful sight, pinks and purples painting the sky.
“I really appreciate all of this, baby,” you speak gently. “I’m glad we can have this time together. everything’s been amazing, but all I really need is you, you know? I missed you even though you were right there.”
his heart clutches in his chest. even as he consistently shows that he’s dedicated to being better with his changed actions, looking back on that time is still a sore spot. he was so misguided. but both the situation and you showed him what he really needed to see.
“I know, sweetheart. I hope you know how important that is to me too,” he expresses. “it’s everything. I didn’t show it in the way I should’ve and I let my fear get to me. but this… this right here is my world.”
him and his words, tugging at your heartstrings and shit. you squeeze his arm tighter and sigh, positively overwhelmed with the day. it feels like a dream. “I love you,” you murmur softly.
“I love you. and I mean that with everything.”
ᥫ᭡
soft silk. skin on skin. gentle, whispered words.
it’s a bubble. a safe haven of warmth and security. ease and peace. it surrounds you in all the best ways, consumes you but doesn’t inspire fear.
it’s just so warm.
and soft.
and it…
smells like bacon?
“wakey, wakey, baby,” ony murmurs, his touch following shortly. with a gentle caress of your cheek, he rouses you from your rest. you groan softly as your eyes flutter open. you’re met with ony’s warm gaze, the man still clad in your matching pajamas from the night before.
“noooo, we’re on vacation, we’re supposed to sleep in,” you mumble before nuzzling your face into your pillow. it’s just so soft you could sink into it, you wonder if the host will tell you what kind they are.
ony lets out an amused snort and turns to the side table. demanding thing you are. “it’s past twelve, baby. I ordered brunch,” he murmurs simply. he lifts a platter and carries it to the bed, placing it on your lap, and your mouth waters at the sight of the food.
“oh,” you murmur, not realizing the time. you guess you had to get up eventually, but you were having a good ass dream. you look at all the food then, taking in the several options before you. “you got me all this? I know I like being spoiled and all but…”
“it’s for both of us, don’t piss me off,” he pinches your cheek. “we did too much fuckin’ walkin’ yesterday. when I get in this bed, I’m stayin’.” you laugh at his words as he slides back into the spot next to you, careful not to jostle the bed too much.
“yeah, whatever. as long as I get to try some of everything,” you say back, bumping your shoulder with his. he bumps you back, but you’re more focused on picking your fork up to try a bite or seven.
just as expected, the food is amazing. you both immediately hum at the taste, nodding in approval. the next few moments are quiet as you both stuff your faces, chewing and crunching in tandem.
“damn…” ony pipes up, a smirk on his slightly greasy face. “know shit good when it get quiet.”
“don’t make me choke on my food,” you laugh as you cover your mouth. he’s right though. the people that live in this town are lucky that they get to eat at whatever restaurant the damn feast is from.
your man chuckles warmly as you reach to wipe his face, turning to ask you, “we got a few hours before we need to head to the spa, and we can go to that wine bar right after. we’ll pack some clothes to change into. anything you wanna do before then or you just wanna chill?”
“hm,” you hum in thought. honestly, you’re still beat from the day before. so many stores, so much walking that your feet are still sore. a spa trip is all that’s on your mind. “nah. do you wanna do anything? I feel like it’s been more about me since we got here.”
ony pauses at that, looking straight at you. you’re serious?
“well, yeah,” he deadpans. it’s almost like that’s the whole point. he can’t help but tease you a bit for what he considers to be a silly thought. “I brought you here to spoil the fuck outta you. issue?”
“okay, don’t get smart. here I am tryna be considerate and shit. I take it back.”
“that ain’t really somethin’ you can take back…”
“well, I’m takin’ it back.”
“no refunds, lady.”
“ony!” you laugh, lightly smacking his arm. “I’m serious! this is about us. quality time and all that. this trip isn’t just for me, it’s for you too. now, speak up. I know there’s somethin’ you wanna do.”
ony laughs, amused by your stubbornness. it’s one of the reasons he loves you so. “okay, okay. uhhh. I’m still tired, to be honest. I just wanna chill with my girl.”
you respond with a satisfied humph and a nod of your head. “then that’s what we’ll do. get cozy, or else.”
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
the next several hours are spent in bed, cuddling in each others arms. it’s a wonderful feeling just to be wrapped up in him, and you can’t help but sit in appreciation for everything. he really planned the trip so perfectly, you have only praises.
ony puts some random show on that captures you both, but only for a while. soon the sound of your voices covers the low volume of the tv as conversation blooms.
you talk about any and everything. from the day you first met, to your favorite childhood memories, to updates in the friend group that you hadn’t talked about in depth yet. you remain wrapped up in each other, touches soft and reverent, as you just enjoy the calming presence of one another.
eventually, you migrate from the bed to the living room, having a quick lunch before getting ready for your joint spa appointment. the thought of a soothing massage, a fresh nail set, and a trip to the wine bar has you damn near bouncing off the walls. your excitement is more than obvious, and ony has to hold back a laugh several times as he packs a bag with fancy clothes for the wine tour.
when you arrive at the spa, it’s much fancier than it seemed from the outside, which is saying a lot. the two of you are immediately and pleasantly greeted and guided to a luxurious room in the back to prepare.
soft robes, slippers, and refreshing water secured, you both meet eyes and playfully grin. it’s not your first couple’s massage, but it’s been a while, so you’re both excited as hell.
everything’s going so smoothly…
until ony’s damn phone rings.
you squint, watching him turn to go back to his locker. you stand in the doorway while he digs in his bag, and notice a nervous change in his face when he sees the screen.
“shit. I’m sorry, baby, I gotta take this. it’s the office,” he murmurs, eyebrows pulling together.
it’s a trigger, almost. not to such an extreme, but you feel a familiar disappointment starting to tug at you. “ony, are you serious? we’re just about to get started,” you frown.
“I know, I know, but it’s urgent,” he presses. “they wouldn’t call if it wasn’t. not after I've made my boundaries clear.”
“ony. you are not leaving to go take a work call,” you fuss, trying to keep your voice down. you watch as he gives a sad frown, almost like he’s holding back. but then his phone rings again and he holds up a finger, walking into the hallway.
“ony. onyankopon,” you whisper yell after him. when the door closes, leaving you alone, you huff a sigh and sit.
this is absolutely ridiculous. everything was literally going so damn perfectly, but here he goes on bullshit again. and only minutes before your spa appointment!
when the door opens and ony slides back into the room, the look you give him is lethal. he can only let out a deep sigh. “I need to go back the the cabin,” he says quietly.
“oh. oh, wow,” you scoff, crossing your arms. “you’re on vacation, ony. what the fuck happened to work/life balance? after everything? I’m not doing this shit with you again—“
“hey, hey,” he says softly, walking over to you. he reaches to cup your cheek with one hand and wraps his other arm around your waist. “I’m not going back to where I was, okay? this is temporary.”
he looks like he wants to say more, but stops himself short. “you’ll see. haven’t I been showing you that I’m dedicated to doing better? than you can trust me to be mindful?”
he’s met with a frown and the crossing of your arms.
“relax, baby, I swear this is it for the whole trip. I don’t use that word lightly. you know that,” he reassures, caressing your cheek soothingly. “I really am sorry, love. I’ll be as quick as I can. how about you stay here, yeah? I’ll get you when I finish up.”
he sees the frustration in your eyes, and he leans to press his lips against your forehead. he feels awful for making you feel this way, regardless of the situation. but it’s necessary. “trust me. I promise you’ll have all of me after this, okay? all of my attention, all of my love, all of my time. I swear.”
you sigh and look to the side, fighting the frustration you feel. you take a moment to mentally acknowledge and appreciate the fact that he really has been stepping back from work like he promised. not staying late, no work on the weekends, taking proper care to do better than the past.
he means what he says, you know that. his actions prove his intentions, that’s just the type of man he is. he just needs to finish something up, and then the vacation can resume like planned. it’s annoying as absolute fuck, and upsetting no matter how mature you try to be, but the main thing is that it’s temporary.
“fine,” you mumble. your gaze turns to meet his, firm and steady. “but you’re making this up to me as soon as we get back to the spot. I mean it.”
he smiles in a way that’s so sure. “I was already planning to. don’t let me stress you out. these cucumber slices cost too damn much for you to be worried about me.” the small smile he gets in return smooths over any anxiety of you being upset, despite the fact that you try to hide it.
”take this time for you, okay? just have some time to yourself. rest, recharge, all that without me breathin’ down your neck. you deserve it.” he presses his lips against yours in a loving kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs warmly. “and I appreciate your understanding. I won’t take it for granted.”
“yeah, yeah, whatever,” you mumble before you pull him into another brief kiss. “go handle business. then you can handle me.”
he laughs at that, the sound a deep reverberance from his chest. “and I will. believe that. text me when you finish up, and don’t forget to get all dolled up for me so we can go to the wine bar. call me if you need me, okay?”
ᥫ᭡
the spa appointment was definitely what you needed. your muscles feel loose and relaxed, your skin extra smooth and moisturized from head to toe, and your nails look a bit too good for a nail tech you’ll probably never see again.
it’s hard not to be a bit bitter, just wanting your man by your side. this was supposed to be for you both. but honestly, you have spent a lot of time right up under each other the past couple of days. and there’s always the hot tub back at the cabin.
and even though he left and couldn’t do the spa treatment, you’re still looking forward to this wine bar. you get dressed in yet another pick by ony, and no surprise, it’s gorgeous. the look paired with the way you feel after some quality self care is almost unbeatable.
as you exit the backrooms and pull your phone out to call ony, a voice calls after you, slightly rushed. you’d packed your stuff up so fast, ready to go, and she’d been trying to catch you. “ma’am? ma’am, just a second, please.”
you turn at the sound of her voice and give her your attention. “yeah? did I leave something?” you ask politely.
“no ma’am, I— um, I forgot to offer you some complimentary champagne for your visit. would you like me to pour you a glass?”
your eyebrow raises at that. normally you wouldn’t say no to some bubbly, but the thought of the wine bar is pressing. a fancy space, some time with your man, and some highly rated food and drinks? you’ll pass. “um, I wasn’t aware that was a thing. I think I’ll pass, thank you.”
“are you sure?” she presses. “it’s extremely quality, and you can sit and enjoy it in our lounge. why don’t you come take a look?”
hm. pushy lady. she must get paid well.
“yeah, no thank you,” you repeat. “I appreciate it, I just have plans. thank you for your hospitality, though.”
she falters at your reply, looking as though she wants to say something else. your attention is redirected to your phone as you press ony’s contact.
“pa, I’m done at the spa,” you say when he answers. “come get meee. I wanna go to the wine bar.”
ony almost crashes out, but he keeps himself in line. “shit, already? I didn’t think you’d be done for another half hour. I can’t come get you, baby.” he’s already flinching at just the thought of your response.
the face you make would be funny if the situation wasn’t what it is. “the fuck you can. what’s so damn important that you can’t pause to come get me?” you frown, dropping your bag on one of the lobby seats. you can excuse earlier, but this is too much. he just reassured you that his priorities are in order.
“just— I’m sending a lyft for you, okay? I have to wrap something up.”
“ony—”
“trust me, baby. just let me call a car for you.”
you scoff. it’s actually getting to be a bit much, especially since you just spent all of that time relaxing and letting go. ”this is fuckin’ ridiculous. we didn’t come all this way for your attention to still be on work.”
“baby—“
“just send the damn car, ony. and you better keep an eye on my location,” you huff before hanging up. you turn to the speak to the masseuse, who quickly looks away as she pretends to not be listening. “actually, I would like a glass of champagne, thank you. a bottle if you can spare it.”
you definitely plan to be a brat in the lounge until you see just how nice it is. calming music, a beautiful fountain, a bottle of champagne waiting for you… it’s really hard to be mad when you’re sipping on expensive drinks after your man paid for every single thing, including your dress and nails and hair. you want to pout. if only here were here.
it’s not long before you’re in the uber back to the cabin. you use the ride time to properly gather your words so you can explain to your man everything he did to piss you off in such a short amount of time. this was supposed to be a trip for both of you to relax, and he’s once again letting work get the better of him.
ᥫ᭡
arriving at the cabin, you take a breath. clear communication is the goal. you don’t want to make him feel bad, but you need to express yourself after what just happened. you walk to the front door with a little extra speed in your steps, mumbling under your breath. “nigga better be ready to hear this mouth. done left me at the place by my damn self. on vacation. after everything. damn shame.”
you open the door, fully prepared to call out to him so you can fuss, but stop short when you see a trail of rose petals starting at the doorway. it’s like your brain empties all coherent thoughts. you just freeze in place, looking down at how the petals smush under your feet.
there’s music playing, you notice in your frozen state. it’s you and ony’s song, alex isley’s “love again.” you can hear quiet snaps here and there, and you look up to see a smiling photographer taking picture after picture.
your heart is racing and your brain’s still not working.
“ᥫ᭡,” you hear a voice call from the other side of the room. your gaze slowly follows the flowers below you until they meet ony’s shoes. you look up and up and up and… there he is. standing in the living room, furniture cleared with a pool of rose petals scattered everywhere.
he’s dressed up, looking mouth watering-ly handsome as he holds a big bouquet of red and pink flowers. he’s watching you with eyes filled with a love you can feel from way too many feet away.
love… and nervousness.
what the fuck.
no, what in the actual hell.
“close the door, pretty,” he says warmly, his voice tender and so damn soft. you follow his instruction mindlessly, the cabin door closing behind you. you continue to stare at him with wide eyes, swallowing as realization starts to dawn on you.
your voice is thick with emotion when you speak. “ony…”
he just smiles warmly as he adjusts the flowers in his hand. with all this planning, he tried to keep everything as inconspicuous as he could. redirecting your thoughts of what the trip was really about, pretending to book a couples spa when it was really just for you, roping the spa workers into his plan…
it all worked. he hated lying, it actually made his chest hurt to see the disappointment on your face and hear the frustration in your voice when he “bailed” on you for work, but it worked.
he got you.
“come here,” he says softly, holding a hand out to you.
your heart is still beating, beating, beating in your chest, and you have to force yourself to take a deep breath. “ony…” you repeat, your voice shaky. you’re still frozen in place.
he just continues to smile, endeared as he takes in your surprised demeanor. the taller man takes slow steps towards you without breaking eye contact. the flowers are tight in his nervous grip, but he tries not to show how he’s feeling.
you let out another breath when he reaches you, and he carefully removes your bag from your arm. he sets it down gently before he turns back to you. his arm extends, presenting the giant bouquet to you.
“you gone leave me hangin’?” he asks softly.
“no,” you choke out as your eyes fill with tears. “I—… ony…”
“c’mere, baby.”
you feel yourself being tugged into his arms and you hug him tight as tears start to fall. “I’m sorry I lied to you,” he mumbles softly. “I won’t again, I promise. you’re just too intuitive, you know? I wanted to surprise you but yo ass always catchin’ me before I can, so…”
he lets out a breath as he squeezes you tighter in his arms. “walk with me. I got you,” he says softly. he pulls back to see his pretty girl’s face, taking in how you look up at him with so much love. he gently wipes your fallen tears and reaches for your hand. “ready?” he asks quietly. you nod, sniffling softly.
he walks you down the path of petals, keeping you close to him. the music continues to fill the room and you can smell the candles that you picked out from the small business you both went to the day before. your heart’s racing in your chest and your emotions are overflowing.
he really did get you.
he leads you to the center of the room, hand never leaving yours. you both take a deep breath when you reach a stopping point, looking at each other. he goes to speak, but realizes he still has the flowers in his hand.
“hold on,” he murmurs as he searches for somewhere to set them. you can hear the nerves in his voice and see how he fumbles slightly. it’s cute. heart-warming. eventually he just decides to set them on the kitchen counter.
when he gets back, he takes both of your hands in his. you smile at him, reassuring him as your thumbs caress his hands. it’s a gesture he appreciates, something small to help ease his nerves. he takes another breath to settle himself before he speaks.
“ᥫ᭡,” he starts warmly. his eyes are deep pools of genuine reverence. “the love I have for you can’t really be put into words. it’s why I show you every chance I get. it’s why I do everything that I do. because you deserve to know just how adored you are by me, every second of every day.
“ever since that day you first walked into my life, you’ve had me. it didn’t take me time at all to realize that you’re the only woman I could ever want. you’re the woman I’ve dreamed of, the woman I prayed for. your heart and soul are golden, especially in a word like ours. I see you for who you are. caring, kind, vulnerable… funny, attentive, dedicated, and real. I’ve seen you grow. I’ve seen you love. I’ve seen you cry, and I’ve seen you succeed.
“you’re everything,” his voice cracks. “you’re my sun and stars, my moon and galaxy. you’re a warm hug and an oasis of peace. you’re my laughter, you’re my joy, and you’re my future. you inspire me. you turn everything you touch into gold, baby.
“with you in my life, I feel like I’m being rewarded for something I’m not even aware of. I can’t believe that someone like you could ever exist, let alone want me the way you do. I’ve never felt so seen and I’ve never felt like I fit with a partner so effortlessly. we listen to each other, we communicate, we stick through the tough times, but we have fun through everything.
“I lost sight of that earlier this year, and I can admit that. I forgot that I never have to perform for you, that I don’t have to be on a constant working wheel. I never wanted to neglect you, I’ve just always wanted to give you the absolute best that I can offer because you deserve no less. but you reminded me, love. you reminded me about our foundation of partnership, how I’m not in this alone. and you supported me when I needed to readjust myself. I can never thank you enough for that.
“I can’t explain how at home I feel with you. I feel most myself with my babygirl by my side, and I love how you can be your most genuine, open self with me too. I love being your safe space, your man, and whatever else you want me to be. I want to be all of that for you and more, always. I want to be your shoulder to cry on. I want to carry you through the dark times. and I want to lean on you too.
“I wanna be your husband, baby,” he says softly. “I wanna be yours forever. you’re too good to let go of, and I never intend to do so.”
you’re a mess of tears. you can barely even make out his face as he gets on one knee, hand sliding into his pocket. “oh, ony,” you say softly, one hand raising to land on your beating chest.
“I love you, ᥫ᭡. I want nothing more than to call you my wife,” he says warmly. he opens the box, revealing a gorgeous ring. “will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
you don’t even hesitate.
“yes!” you nod frantically, immediately holding your hand out to him. “God, ony, there was never a doubt in my mind. yes!”
you’re a puddle of sobs as he slides the ring onto your hand. it’s a perfect fit, and you don’t even allow time to wonder how. you just immediately wrap your arms around his shoulders in a hug.
he lifts you into his arms as he stands, holding you close to his heart. “thank you, baby. I promise I’ll love you with everything in me,” he murmurs deeply, voice wavering from the emotions of it all.
“you already do,” you sniffle, pulling back to look at him. he’s still holding you off the ground, tight in his embrace, as you reach to cradle his face. you press your lips to his and pour all of your feelings into it the kiss. he returns it with just as much fervor.
you pull back to look at him adoringly, caressing his cheek. “the love we have is something I’ll never seek to replace. I’m yours, ony,” you whisper softly.
he grins then, his own eyes wet with tears. his arms remain tight around you as he twirls your form around, making you squeal and laugh.
he gently sets you back onto your feet, smiling down at you. “my lady,” he says warmly. after all of this time connecting, learning each other, loving each other, he can finally call you his forever. he leans to press another kiss to your lips as he wraps his arms around your waist.
when you hear the door close, your eyes blink open, turning to look over your shoulder. “s’just the photographer, baby,” he explains, hand rubbing up and down your back.
you hum and turn back to look up at him, smiling as you both enjoy being on cloud 9. he reaches to wipe your remaining tears with a gentle touch. “I can’t believe you actually fucking got me,” you laugh softly.
“shit was hard. know you wanted to beat my ass for leaving you up there,” he snorts. just thinking of your tone when you were talking to him on the phone has him cringing. “but it’s all okay now. I’ve got my fianceé and I don’t really give a shit about anything else.”
“I know that’s right,” you giggle, kissing him softly. “I was gonna come in here and chew you out, but I’m so happy I didn’t have to. I’m so blessed to have you, my ony.”
ony’s heart flutters in his chest. your ony. that’s right. yours and only yours.
“you’re still taking me to the wine bar, though, right?” you ask with a raised brow. he laughs at that, head tilting back, but you’re seriously still thinking about that place. have been since you saw it.
“yes, baby, we have a reservation for tomorrow. I just wanted to spend tonight with just you. that okay?”
you smile, but you’re lowkey irritated. of course he already booked a reservation. he really planned everything to a t and you had not a clue. “‘course it is. I still can’t believe you fuckin’ got me, big head.”
he snickers and pinches your side teasingly. “yeah, I did that shit. got you cryin’ like a baby.”
“alright, that’s enough of that,” you squint up at him. “you cried too.”
“yeah, yeah, whatever,” he chuckles. “c’mon, I know you hungry. I have dinner for us.”
ᥫ᭡
visual. visual. visual.
it’s unreal.
the candles on the table create an intimate vibe, the petals are scattered everywhere, and your man is right across from you, holding your hand as you talk and eat.
it’s beyond intimate. you’ve never felt this way before. the level of dedication between the two of you has deepened in a heavily serious way, and it’s a sensation that‘s so unfamiliar.
you’re engaged.
you have to let that settle. it’s not something you’ve come to terms with. every time you lift your left hand or move it in any way, you feel the weight of the ring. it’s a reminder, a symbol that you get to wear not only for yourself, but for your fiancé. your future husband.*
the love of your life, the man that will hopefully be the father of your kids, the partner you always prayed for but doubted the existence of. it’s heavy, but it’s a weight you carry with pure happiness, adoration, and intention.
ony’s not on cloud nine, he’s in heaven. his lady, his future wife, his world is on the same page as him. partnership. marriage. dedication. he’s so lucky— so blessed to have someone that sees all of him, understands, and is still dedicated beyond belief to loving him forever.
he can’t wait to share this with the world. he’s so excited to marry you. he can’t believe that there were times that he doubted you’d say yes, but your agreement is a testament to where both of you are planning for your future.
the both of you are giddy.
your emotions hit you like a wave over and over as you’re repeatedly overwhelmed with gratitude. this man, the love of your life, is yours. he wants to be yours, not just for now, but for forever.
“baby, don’t cry,” he murmurs warmly, reaching across the table to wipe your tears once again. “my love’s feeling a lot right now, hm?”
you sniffle and nod, leaning into his touch. “I’m just… really happy, pa. that’s all.”
ony hums softly, caressing your cheek. his sweet girl. he’s so grateful that everything went as planned. “you deserve all of this and more. I’m dedicated to loving you like this forever, ᥫ᭡.”
“if you’re trying to stop my crying, you’re doing a bad job,” you laugh through your tears, reaching to softly clear them. he smiles and pulls back to step around the table and slide into the spot next to you. wordlessly, he pulls you to him.
your arms wrap around ony as you rest your head on his shoulder. as your eyes close, you feel him softly rub your back. the silence is soft and welcome, and you could stay like that forever. just being held by your fiancé.
moments later, a kiss is pressed to your forehead. “I’m gonna clean up, baby. why don’t you head to the bedroom and wait for me?”
your breath hitches softly. the mention of the bedroom after the high of the trip, the proposal, the wine, the overwhelming amount of love you feel… your eyes meet his as you pull back, finger softly trailing down his chest. “I can help,” you say softly. ”or you can just… leave it.”
his gaze is low lidded. the corner of his lip tugs upwards just slightly. “we’re in the woods surrounded by all types of wildlife that love leftovers. you stay here and I’m taking you on this counter. not very romantic, hm?”
giggling softly, you feel your face warm. with a shake of your head, you lean to kiss the man tenderly. “I wouldn’t mind,” you say softly. your breath tickles his skin and you can feel how his hand squeezes you just a bit tighter.
“go, princess,” he murmurs lowly, voice slightly quieter. “I won’t say it again. be ready for me.”
your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth and you nod before giving him another simple kiss. you go to pull away, but his hand slides up into the curls at your nape, cradling the back of your head as he deepens the gesture momentarily.
you whimper in surprise as he takes control, tilting your head and taking your breath away. it’s overpowering and raw and sexy. it’s making your stomach swirl with deep arousal.
he pulls back from the kiss, but tugs your bottom lip with his teeth as if he was jealous you did it on your own. you moan and arch into him as he gently sucks until he releases it with a pop.
fuck.
you look to him with labored breathing and he looks at you as if you hung the moon, pleased with how dazed you are.
“go.”
you don’t hesitate to follow instructions. you purse your lips, silent from the kiss, and pull back from him. he watches you closely, like he’s just drinking up your form. you don’t feel his eyes leave you until you’re in the bedroom and out of sight.
“shit,” you mumble to yourself. you can tell where your future is headed, not just for the years coming, but for the night as well.
he’s about to absolutely ruin you, and you’re about to let him. shit, you’ll probably beg him.
you take a deep and begin to undress, revealing the black lace set you are tremendously grateful you wore with the dress. it’s snug and sexy and you know ony’s going to love it.
you sit on the rose petal cover bed and back up to rest in the middle. your heart’s racing— and you can feel your other pulse throbbing between your thighs. you can only imagine how intimate it’s going to be to make love to your fiancé for the first time.
footsteps approach sooner than you thought. you can only guess that it’s the shared anticipation of the night fueling you both.
when you hear the door open, your gaze lifts to meet you lovers. his eyes are dark in the low lighting, and the way they sweep over your form so reverently makes you want to speed things up.
but it’s obvious in the slow way that he approaches— he’s going to take his time tonight. few complaints on your end. the slower he moves, the more your fire burns.
”you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he rasps when he comes to the foot of the bed. it’s like you’re being given to him on a silver platter, his own personal angel.
no, not an angel.
because the things he’s going to do to you tonight… he can never utter them for fear of tainting another’s soul.
he breathes out as he begins to undress, dazed and captivated by you beyond belief. “just… stay there. let me look at you,” he says breathlessly. your face warms in response and you can’t help but look away. he stops you before you can.
“look at me. please,” he murmurs. his desperation is only for your ears, and he wants to see you, see all of you and your reactions when you have each other tonight. he doesn’t want you to look away. you can’t look away.
your gazes meet once more and he crawls onto the bed in his bare state. contrary to your belief, your heart can beat faster. you notice as the distance closes between your bodies.
when your eyes meet his, he has a physical reaction. even with only the touch of your gaze, he feels himself jump. “just like that,” he murmurs lowly. “don’t look away.”
he continues to crawl up the bed until he’s right up against you. he manipulates your body until you’re lying on your back, straddling his waist as he leans his arm on the headboard above you.
“so beautiful,” he whispers, one hand descending to slowly caress from your knee up your thigh. he lets out a soft breath as he presses his pelvis against yours, your underwear separating you from the proximity you really want.
”all mine,” he mumbles. “let me show how grateful I am, yeah?”
you can’t respond because he bends to press his lips to yours. this brings you closer, his chest pressing against yours and his hips pressing harder. the sensation makes you gasp as your hands find purchase on his shoulders.
but when you feel his hips start to wind against yours? you can’t help but moan, your eyebrows pulling together. he’s hard, and you can feel the pressure of it through the thin material of your panties. he tries a few different motions of his hips, searching through the channels of your body until he finds the ones that make you have the biggest reactions.
softer, faster, harder, slower. you can feel the fabric of your bottoms getting wetter and wetter as he teases you. he leans to take your lips, tongue sneaking into your mouth to dance for an intimate moment before he pulls back. he has the audacity to mumble, “look at me.”
a short moan escapes you as your eyes gaze into his, his hips still a constant wave against yours. the look on his face is something you hope to remember for years to come. he already looks so gone. focused on your body so much that it’s all he can think about. all he can feel is you.
“you think I can make you come like this?” he asks huskily. there’s a sound slowly becoming more and more audible, the slickness between the two of you building. “I should. you deserve to come as many times as your body wants to. imma give you that.”
your arms wrap around his shoulders as he continues to grind into you, responding to every breath and moan like he understands a language that only you speak.
“m’talkin’ to you, love,” he breathes, pressing a hand against your back to encourage you to arch against him. “you don’t wanna talk to daddy? m’not doin’ enough? tell me.”
you whine then, your pussy throbbing against him as his words continue to stimulate you. “fuck- just… ah, keep going,” you breathe out, pulling him closer. his lips meet yours briefly before his hand slides to your hip, pressing you against him more.
“whatever you say, mama,” he mumbles, hips slowly moving to keep himself in a constant press against your clit. he moves to have one arm around your neck and the other up your back. his hand finds home in your nape again, holding you to his chest.
“just feel it,” he breathes. “just feel me. you do this to me, baby. no one else. this is yours. I’m yours.”
you take in his words, your eyes fluttering shut. “shit,” you murmur, your legs wrapping around his waist. he’s just so perfect and he knows how to hit all of your spots. the way he talks, the way he feels, everything is just right.
but it’s not enough. it’s not getting you where you need it to reach. “please, I- more. I want more, ony.”
“you want me to eat her? hm?” he asks lowly, hips deepening their waves against you. “wanna put that pretty pussy on my face?” you exhale as he moves against you, nodding quickly.
“come feed her to me then,” he mumbles, using his position to lift you in his arms as he sits back on the bed. the look in his eye is a mix of desire and a subtle determination. ”c’mon, baby. put that ass in my face.”
your breath catches, but you move nonetheless. he leans back to rest against the bed, dark brown eyes staring intently into yours until you move to face away from him, completely bare as you carefully straddle his face. “don’t piss me off,” he mumbles gruffly, moving you by your thighs to bring you close.
“s’my shit,” he mumbles. he brings you to smush against him, tongue instantly searching for your bundle of nerves. the tip of his tongue swirls against your clit slowly, an agonizing tease to get your attention.
ah, fuck. you have to prepare yourself. if there’s one thing this man knows how to do, it’s eat some pussy. “ony,” you press, rocking your hips back in a request for more.
“relax,” he mumbles, using his hands to spread your cheeks apart. “take deep breaths and relax your body, baby. let me eat her right.” he flicks a quick few licks against your clit before puckering a kiss against it. you release a deep, long moan as he sucks gently before releasing it with a pop. “slow breathing, princess.”
you force yourself to take deep breaths as you clutch the sheets on either side of you. his hands caress and squeeze your thighs and ass as he pulls you closer and closer against his face. he shakes his head in a quick motion before he gets to work.
the moan that escapes you is more of a squeal as he goes to town, lapping and sucking at your heat like it’s his last meal. he tongue moves in different motions— flicks and circles, as he slurps and spits. it’s sloppy, it’s wet, and your keening above him as he makes your toes curl.
“fuck, papa, you eatin’ me so good,” you pant, starting to rock your hips back and forth. his arms hook under your thighs and wrap around your waist, pressing you even closer as he groans. the vibrations make you squeak, and you lurch forward and away, only to be brought right back.
ony just can’t get enough. he’s sure his eyes are rolled back as he continues to dive in, your juices dripping down the sides of his mouth as he demands more. it’s what he needs, he needs you to give everything to him. he needs to pleasure your body as much as he can, more than he ever has.
your moans are drawn longer and longer as you get closer to the edge. “fuuuck, ony,” you cry out. his hand comes down and slaps against your ass, an action that makes your pussy jump as he continues to eat you up. your hips grind and grind as he slurps and groans.
when he pulls back and licks a stripe from your clit to your ass, you body freezes as your toes curl. he spreads your ass and dives into giving it the same treatment, fingers shifting to circle your clit.
“mmshit—“ you choke, hands moving to grasp his legs below you. “daddy, that’s… haaa, fuck. s’too much! that’s— ngh!”
when your orgasm crashes over you, he drinks it all up as he squeezes your ass, holding you to him as you moan and cry out. “fuck, fuck, fuck,” you ramble, your hand reaching back to press against the back of his head. “ohhhh, my God, ony!”
he shakes his head again, wringing as much pleasure out of you as possible. you pant as your eyes roll back, hips jumping in overstimulation as you fall forward. you’re left bare to him. letting him pull every drop of pleasure from your both with just his mouth and hands.
as you try to catch your breath and your sanity, his hands move over your body, massaging and caressing everywhere he can reach. “fuck,” he rasps. “taste so damn good. I’m damn near addicted to you, baby.”
all you can do is pant, your leg twitching slightly in the aftermath. it’s insane how you feel, so weak-limbed and short of breath and he hasn’t even taken you yet.
he shifts your body again, his touch gentle as he moves with awareness of your sensitive state. he places you on your back and rests between your thighs. he then starts to softly massage your body, hands caressing your arms and hands and thighs. they slide down your legs and to your feet, reaching back to work out the tenseness from your clenching of them.
he holds your body with so much love and care, and as you lay back in the soft comforter and mattress, you feel yourself begin to slip into that sweet feel of submission, of releasing control into the hands you trust the most… it washes over you in waves and it’s like ony can feel it.
“my baby,” he speaks, just barely above a whisper. you limbs are starting to relax more and more and he heightens the strength of his massaging. “keep breathing, love. keep relaxing. just feel.”
you swallow slightly, eyes blinking open to meet his. he smiles down at you and continues to soothe you with his touch. “I love you,” he whispers softly,
“I love you too,” you whisper back, voice just slightly strained. he leans again to press his lips to yours, tongue intimately twirling with yours. he shifts then, and you can feel his length rest between your thighs, reaching to your belly button. it makes your clit jump against him, and he has to breathe out at the sensation.
he reaches down between the both of you, hand lightly tracing down your stomach and to your clit, lightly spanking once, then twice. you hips jump just slightly in response, and then he presses a singular finger between your folds.
he keeps eye contact with you, watching as your lashes flutter in response to his touch. he presses into you then, eyes flicking to catch how you pull your lip between your teeth. he begins to move his finger back and forth, adding another when you’re ready.
one becomes two, and soon your weak, overstimulated whimpers become full blown moans as he brings your arousal back to life. he’s taking his time because he knows your body, and the benefits are showing. he curves his fingers deep, watching as you spread your legs and rock your hips.
the scrunch of your face, the furrow of your brow, the way you call his name, it’s all driving him deeper and deeper into that need to service you, to make you reach your limits of pleasure in unprecedented ways.
and just like that, his fingers are gone. the whimper you let out is shamelessly pathetic, and you blink up at him with wide, questioning eyes. but when he flicks his wrist and lightly plaps his heavy dick against you, your legs can’t help but spread instinctively.
the sight is gold for him, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “good girl,” he drawls, eyes raking over your body. “muscle memory just for papa. you ready for me, baby? ready for me to give you what you need?”
“please,” you murmur. your breathing is labored, skin prickling with desire and anticipation. “I need you.”
he wastes no time then. he presses himself against you, reaching to cup your jaw so that you can keep your eyes locked on his. you drag out a moan as he slips into you, taking advantage of your earlier wetness.
“yeah, that feel good, don’t it?” he grunts out, he himself having to take a breath at the squeeze of your pussy. “mmm, fuck, baby,” he damn near slurs. his eyes are glazed as he starts to rock his hips. “how can I forget how wet you get for me?”
he leans forward to rest his arms on the either side of your head, chest resting against yours as he grinds into you. you feel so full, the way he thrusts slowly pushing air out of you. “oh, fuck,” you whine, arms wrapping around his back. “s’too much,” you pant. “fuck, onyyyy.”
you can’t help but let out deep, pressing breaths and moans as he buries his fat dick into you. “take it, baby. it’s yours,” he pants. if he thought he was in heaven before, he was surely wrong. this is heaven, knee deep in your waters with your whines and moans right next to his ear. it’s a dream.
“you deserve it,” he huffs, leaning to press open mouthed kisses up the column of your neck. he continues to encourage you, staving off his own orgasm even though the grip you have around him has him ready to bust. “every inch, every kiss, everything. you deserve it. drown in it, baby. it’s yours to get lost in.”
he pulls back to rest his weight on his arms, hips rocking deeper and deeper as you open up more for him. your moans are deep, and you’re really trying to keep eye contact despite the fact that every thrust makes your eyes roll.
“pretty ass,” he murmurs softly, watching you closely. he tilts your chin up, pressing kisses to your cheeks, forehead, nose, all while you pant and whine.
“fuck, princess,” he groans throatily, reaching to grip your waist. “grippin’ me so perfectly. we fit like we made for each other, yeah? cause we are. you’re gonna be my wife, baby. my forever. are you happy? tell daddy.”
“I’m happy, ony,” you croak, eyes filling with tears from the pleasure and emotion. “I’m over the moon. fuuuuck, I’m so… so happy.” you’re still panting, trying to breathe deep, when he reaches down to play with your clit.
“good,” he grunts, hips diving deeper and making you cry out. “promise I’ll keep you that way.” it’s heavenly. a perfect view of his handsome face, the look in his eyes, they way he moves against you… it’s a true experience that you wish you could hold onto forever.
“let me see it,” he murmurs breathlessly, hips meeting yours again and again and again. you look up at him, confused in your blissed out state as he continues to ravish you past the point of clarity.
you can’t think about anything but the way grinds into you, a mess forming where you meet.
“your ring, baby,” he explains with a pleasured groan. “grab those pretty titties and let daddy see your ring.”
right. the ring.
just the thought makes you flutter around him, and he groans at the feel as you reach up to follow his direction. “fuck, yeah, mama. wish I could take a picture. I’d frame it and keep it just for me. so fuckin’ perfect.”
you don’t know why it makes you even wetter, the thought of him doing exactly that. having a picture just for him, showing off the ring he worked so hard to get. reminding him of the proposal he worked so hard on, and the fact that you said yes.
“do it,” you rasp.
his hips stutter slightly, and he’s broken out of his daze just a bit to look at you through the haze. “huh?” he asks.
“do it.”
he licks his lips as he blinks. did he hear that right? did you just tell him to—
“do it, papa,” you moan, your legs wrapping tighter around him.
fuck, there’s no way he can deny you when you moan like that, or himself from being able to see you in this position anytime he wants. he pulls back to blindly reach for his phone on the nightstand, and when he grabs it, he holds the camera up to have you in frame.
the look you give him past the camera, the way your ring glistens in the candle light as you grab your chest… it makes ony’s heart stutter. he’s so damn in love with you, it’s almost fucking scary. “God, I love you,” he grunts, tossing the phone away to press kisses up your neck to your lips.
he starts to buck into you again, hips moving expertly, and you feel his fingers at your clit. you can only whine in response as you kick your feet up. you’re at his mercy and there’s nothing you can do but take the loads of pleasure he brings your body. you pant and pant until another orgasm washes over you, small spurts of liquid squirting out of you.
“ohhh, yeah, princess,” he huffs, hips still meeting yours in rhythm. “give it to me. give it to me, just like that.” you can only curl your toes as your eyes roll back, hips jerking. you have to breathe manually after such an intense orgasm.
his hips slow, but don’t stop. he leans back and grabs your leg, shifting to lay on his side with your leg over his arm. he reaches to wrap his hand around your neck as he slowly meets your hips with his over and over.
“one more,” he moans. you can’t tell if it’s an encouragement or a request. “come on, princess, give me one more. make it good.”
ony leans his head down to your ankle, tongue trailing lazily up before he plants kisses to the top of your foot. his hand hooks under your thigh and he presses it up into your chest. he stares down at you with heavy lidded eyes, bottom lip pulling between his deep as his hips rock deeper.
the stretch is almost too much. he’s so deep, touching your heart damn near, and you moan deep as you reach up to grab a pillow tight. “oh my fuck,” you cry out, toes curling as he dives into you.
“uh-uh, open up for me, baby. relax,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your leg. you whimper as you try to breathe, watching him as he presses kisses down your foot and to your toes. “just one more, princess. I need it. c’mon,” he murmurs. he presses another kiss to your toe before pulling it into his mouth.
the moan you let out is sinful, as the sensation in combination with his thrusts is all consuming. “fuck, fuck, fuck. onyyy!”
he hums around your toe, moving to play with your clit again. tears build in your eyes at the sensation and ony can tell by the grip you have on him that you’re close. he pulls back to look at you, your debauched state only bringing him closer to the edge.
“mmm, I love how pretty you look on my dick, baby,” he rasps. “vision ‘a beauty. daddy’s favorite. daddy’s only. I hope you feel that shit in yo soul.”
“I feel it, ony,” you whine, head tilting back. “fuck, papa, I’m gonna make a mess.”
it’s music to his ears. his hips start to move fast at the thought, movements less smooth. he chases his own orgasm as he feels yours wash over you and him, your wetness painting you both. you cry out, reaching out to hold him tight to ground you as wave after wave of sensation hit.
the both of you pant, limbs dropping lazily as you catch your breath. he pulls you close, your back to his chest, and just holds you there. it’s silent except for your breathing and your eyes fall shut as you bask in the after glow.
“holy… fuck…” you say between huffs, your heart starting to slow bit by bit.
“yeah?” ony grunts, eyes peeling open to look at you.
you nod, reaching to lightly smack at him. “yeah. if that’s the sex fiancés have, we’re should’ve gotten engaged a while ago.” he chuckles tiredly and catches your hand, pressing lazy kisses to the skin there. “we should’ve. I had to pay for this trip somehow, though.”
“don’t start that. could’ve proposed with a pizza and I’d still cry,” you snort.
“I ain’t proposin’ to you with no fuckin’ pizza. hell wrong witchu.”
“it’s just an expression.”
“well, stop expressin’ it.”
“do you need that? like are you good?”
“do you need that? cause I can go another round now if you really bout it.”
“…whatever, ony. always makin’ stuff about you.”
he snorts at that, pinching your side, and you both laugh until you fall quiet.
“I love you, ony. so much,” you say softly. he caresses your side and presses a kiss to your head, heart fluttering at your expression.
“I love you too, ᥫ᭡.”
you both stay there a while, just relaxing in each other’s arms as you get your energy back. it’s like old times, but better. the love was always the same, only deeper and more intentional. it’s on a different level now, and neither of you could be happier.
a/n: this was supposed to be short, a lil sum to get me back writing so I can finish the next crys + ony fic… and it took on a life of its own. hope you like! as always, feedback welcome and wanted <3
you think he’s gonna keep his hands off you just because another nigga watchin? hell no. everyone around you is just passing by. you’re his for life and he’ll do what he damn well pleases, especially when it makes you look at him like he hung the moon just for you.
in fact, he’s always touching you in some way. hand on your thigh or resting on the small of your back, arm around your shoulders or waist. he wants you close. for safety, for lovin’ and affection, for… just cause.
like the time you went to go see a play together. you were so tired from work, but reassured him that you wanted to go, especially because you’d already bought the tickets the week before.
of course, you fell asleep halfway through. ony didn’t really think you were missing out on much, anyway. the next one would be better, so in the meantime, he gently directed your head to rest on his shoulder. he rubbed your nape to keep you soothed and kissed your forehead whenever he felt the urge.
he knew the couple behind him was muttering about y’all. something about theatre etiquette and respect, which he absolutely understood. but you were towards the back of the theatre and not bothering anyone, and they were the ones audibly talking. one nasty look over the shoulder shut them the hell up.
or another time when you were at the park for a free concert series. it was a beautiful day out, not too hot with a nice breeze. everyone had their blankets and chairs out to watch the performers, drinks in their hands and food in their laps.
one of the bands started to play your song, and you immediately knew what was about to happen. you playfully fought him as he tried to pull you up into his arms, but ultimately lost. everyone watched with smiling faces as the two of you danced and sang together. some couples even followed suit.
and of course there are times where you have to tell him to chill out. whenever you look too damn good in the back of the club, lights illuminating you like some siren of the sea. it’s so easy for ony to get captivated with kwn playing in the background and the haze he’s feeling from drinking.
he’ll box you in with his arms on either side of your body, press himself against you so you can feel just how affected he is, and let his head rest on your shoulder while he presses wet kisses to your skin.
“why you look so fuckin’ good right now, huh? ass all out like you want me to lose my decorum.”
“you don’t have decorum, ony.”
“fuckin’ right. come to the bathroom real quick.”
“baby, I’m not about to let you fuck me in some nasty ass club.”
“lemme eat that pussy then.”
“ony!”
you always end up compromising. no bathroom sex ever, but if the two of you slip out a lil early, no one’s mad. ony has to keep his hands to himself the whole ride home and if he says anything inappropriate, he has to apologize to the driver immediately.
but when you get home and there’s no one around to interrupt? good luck to you, girl.
˚₊‧꒰ა ✦ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
“why you’n want me to show love to you, huh? why you bein’ like that?” ony grunts. he’s on you, hand wrapped around your throat and voice deep in your ear. he’s working his hips slow, matching the song in the background.
it’s torture.
god, he’s so thick and deep in you. your toes curl with every thrust, moans escaping you every time his hips push into yours, and you’re just gushing. you can both hear your wetness over the music and it makes you hot with arousal.
“wanna be on you all the time,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck. the way you cradle the back of his head has his eyes falling shut. “wanna be damn near in yo skin but you keep pushin’ me back like you ain’t mine. you’n like me no more?”
“that’s…” you start breathily, another moan tumbling from your lips. he’s just all in your space, sucking marks on your body and fucking you without a care in the world. obviously you fucking love him. “that’s not iiiit, ony. you go too far if I don’t- fuck- if I don’t stop you.”
he doesn’t like those words. too far? he’s got a ring in his desk right now ready to make you his forever and you think he can take it too far? nah, he’s gone take it to hell. “so you want me to stop, huh? that what you want?”
when his hips start to slow, you’re almost ashamed of how upset you get. “all I wanna do is love on you, baby. but if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”
“don’t fucking stop, please,” you groan and rake your nails down his back. ony licks his lips at the feel of your legs hugging around his waist. “that’s not what I meant, that’s not what I meant.”
the plan was to be mean, pull out and make you play with that pretty pussy until you apologized enough to his standards. but fuck, the way you clench around him like you just can’t bear to let him leave the depths of you have him melting. he’s no fucking good when it comes to you.
ony groans deep, hand gently squeezing your neck for a moment. thick, warm lips meet yours in a heated kiss as he starts to thrust into your wet heat again. “oughta make you beg for it. been so mean to me, baby, you know I always wanna be deep in my pussy.”
you squeal as he starts to put his weight into his thrusts, pressing into you deeper than you could’ve thought you’d be able to take. it feels so damn good, like he’s reaching your soul. you welcome it with open arms, back arching from the bed.
“but I love my lady too much,” he pants. you feel his body shift and suddenly he’s far enough for you to meet those pretty brown eyes of his but still feel his breath on your skin. his gaze is clouded and you swear you can see every bit of love he has for you in them.
he leans to rest his forehead against yours and he smiles blissfully at the sounds of your uncontrollable whimpers. it’s a tender moment, much different from the way he’s still dropping his fat dick into your gummy walls. “can never deny you. I won’t ever deny you, beautiful.”
𓏲ּ𝄢 𓂃 𓈒 ˖ kento covers himself while eating u out . . ꒰ １８+ ꒱
kento is the biggest munch you've ever been with! he'll eat it for breakfast, lunch, & dinner if he could（and trust me, he absolutely tries to !）
but there's one little peculiar thing he always does . .
he always covers himself with a blanket over him while his face is buried deep in your sweet core. when he did it the first time you two ever got intimate, you just thought it was something he did out of respect for you and you wouldn't put it past him to do something like that so you let it be.
as time went on though, he continued doing this and so you couldn't help wonder why. so today you decide to find out just that.
while he's ever so sweetly lapping at your slicked folds, you very slowly lift up the blanket and peek in to see your beloved. he doesn't seem to notice at first since you're still letting out those cute whimpers of yours. but then, he soon hears a soft giggle from you and that makes his eyes shoot up to look at you.
and gosh, he looks so goddamn cute & sexy at the same time — so greedily suckling on your puffy clit and stretching you out with those thick fingers of his, it's like he's completely lost in the moment. then . . his eyes flit up to meet yours whose peaking so adorably with that pretty smile on your face.
kento stops like he'd just been caught doing something naughty（technically he had been!）and then his entire face flushes a shade of pink, smushing his cheek to your inner thigh. you'd never seen him get flustered like this & you genuinely feel your heart do flips at how cute he looks.
"honey . ." he mutters, squishing his face even more into the plush of your thighs. ". . what are you doing?"
"just looking at my lovely boyfriend." you muse, running your fingers through his hair. "because he's always hiding himself when he's eating me out."
the flush on his face gets darker as he lets out a tiny groan, embarrassed & bashful. ". . i just get shy about it, sweetheart. i don't know why but i just do."
your heart flutters at his adorable admission, and with that, you lower the blanket back down & you can hear kento hum in delight as he dives right back in to devouring you ❤︎ !
You and Toji had been “wrestling” on the living room floor for the last ten minutes, more roughhousing than actual fighting. He’d let you get a few decent shots in—mostly because he enjoyed the way you threw yourself at him like you actually stood a chance.
But Toji was done playing nice. With one smooth motion he hooked a thick arm around your neck from behind, pulling you back against his broad chest and locking you in a headlock. His bicep bulged against the side of your head, veins standing out under sun-tanned skin. “Gotcha’,” he growled roughly in your ear.
You squirmed hard, heart hammering, but the more you struggled the tighter his arm flexed around you. “Let go, you oversized bastard,” you hissed, still trying to pry at his forearm even as slick slipped dripped between your thighs. You turned your head just enough and sank your teeth into the thick meat of his bicep.
Toji grunted, the sound half-pain, half-laugh. “The fuck? You biting me now?” He flexed his arm deliberately, forcing your jaw to open a little wider around the hard muscle. “Keep that up and I’ll make you regret it, you little shit.”
You didn’t let go immediately. Instead you bit down harder, tasting salt and skin, feeling the way his muscle jumped under your teeth. Muffled against his arm, you argued back, “You’re the one cheating with that cheap headlock. Let. Me. Go.”
“Yeah?” His free hand slid down your side, gripping your hip hard as he yanked your ass back against the growing bulge in his sweats. “Make me,” he taunted against your ear. “C’mon. Bite harder if you’re so tough.” He yanked you tighter again, forearm pressing firmly against your throat.
You did. Teeth digging in deeper, tongue pressing against the vein that stood out under the pressure. Toji groaned as he shoved your pants and panties down in one rough tug with his other hand. He freed himself from his sweats, his heavy cock slapping against your ass before he lined up and pushed in.
You moaned around his bicep before he released your hip just long enough to smack your ass hard before he grabbed you again and slammed in deeper. “You bite me, I fuck you stupid. Fair trade.”
Your head was spinning, trapped in the headlock, face pressed into his bulging bicep while he railed you from behind. Drool slipped from the corner of your mouth, mixing with the sweat on his arm.
Toji leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear as he panted. “C’mon, keep fighting me. Makes your pussy squeeze so fucking tight when you’re mad.” He gave a particularly vicious thrust, grinding his cock against your pussy.
You answered by sinking your teeth in even deeper, a muffled “Fuck you,” vibrating against his muscles.
“Already doing that, princess.” He snapped back as his pace turned brutal, arm keeping you pinned exactly where he wanted you. Toji’s grunts and curses filled your ear, his sweat-slick chest pressed tight to your back, the headlock never loosening.
You came hard with his bicep between your teeth, muffling your scream as your pussy clenched around him. Toji followed right after with a guttural groan, burying himself deep and flooding you with hot cum.
He didn’t release the headlock as he held you there, panting against your neck, cock still twitching inside you. “Round two?” he murmured, flexing his arm again making you choke as it wrapped tighter around your throat. “Or you tapping out already, princess?”
This bastard, as if a little headlock was going to make you tap out. You twisted your head as much as the headlock allowed and sank your teeth back into his bicep, right over the fresh bite mark you’d already left. You bit down hard, making him grunt.
“Motherf—alright, that’s it,” Toji growled, but there was clear delight in his tone. He yanked you tighter against him, hips snapping forward as you moaned “That all you—ah—got? Gonna have to do better if you want me to—fuck—tap out Ji…”
a/n: toji can keep me in a headlock till I pass out on his dick
𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count— 9.3K, original!blackfemreader, boyfriend!onyankopon, plug!onyankopon, fresh out the pen!onyankopon, southerncoded!onyankopon, femreader, shy!femreader, giggly!femreader, aggressive!onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, car sex, doggy style, missionary, pet names, dirty talk, aggressive pet names, squirting, creaming, condomless sex, pussy eating, dick sucking, overstimulation, minors are not welcome! 𓊇ྀི
メモ。— inspired by the destiny’s child song. i just live for a wattpad hood love story, so here’s mine. love y’all.
YOU HADN’T BEEN THIS NERVOUS IN A WHILE. You wanted to gnaw at your heart shaped pendant sunken between heavy tits, deep plum gloss outlining your full lips that you’d chewed to a swell just minutes before. This moment didn’t feel real—and yet, it was. He was coming home.
Thick Louisiana heat presses against your skin like a lover’s embrace, sprawled across the king sized bed in the heart of the 7th Ward—a place where shotgun houses and Creole cottages line the streets like old friends. The walls of your shared home hum with memories, the scent of cayenne and slow cooked roux lingering in the air from last night’s gumbo. The bedroom is a sanctuary—mahogany furniture polished to a shine, silk sheets the color of midnight draped over the mattress, and gold framed photos of y’all’s happiest moments catching the dim glow of the sunset through half closed blinds.
But something’s missing.
You bury your face into his pillow, inhaling deeply—or trying to. His scent, that intoxicating mix of sandalwood and blunt smoke, has faded to a ghost of what it once was. Three months without him sleeping beside you, without his deep voice grumbling nonsense in your ear as he pulls you closer. The emptiness is heavy.
Your massive pitbull, Bear, stretches across the bed like a living shadow, his muscular frame pressed against your thigh as if sensing your longing.
You run your fingers through his coarse fur, murmuring, “You ready for Papa to come home?”
Bear’s ears twitch at the mention of him, dark eyes flickering with something like understanding. Even the house feels quieter without his presence—no bass rattling the windows, no deep laugh shaking the walls, no rough hands tugging you into his lap just because.
Onyankopon.
Deep brown skin kissed by the Louisiana sun, glowing like polished syrup under the streetlights. His cornrows are always fresh, laid to perfection, trailing down to the nape of his neck with a crisp lineup sharp enough to cut glass. That mouth of his—shiny grills flashing when he smirks, a warning disguised as charm. His beard-goatee combo is always kept tight, framing full lips that can curse a man into the ground or praise you so sweetly it makes your knees weak.
And his body. Lord. Broad shoulders, thick arms wrapped in ink—every tattoo telling a story. The fleur-de-lis stamped near his left temple, a silent declaration of loyalty to the soil that raised him. More Louisiana love etched into his skin— oak trees, 504 in bold script. His knuckles say NO LOVE, but you know better—know the way those same hands cradle your face like you’re the air he breathes.
You’ve seen him in business mode. Jaw clenched, voice dropping to something low and lethal, a Glock tucked in the back of his waistband like a second shadow. He didn’t play—not when it came to money, not when it came to respect.
But you know the truth.
That same man who’ll put a bullet in somebody’s kneecaps over disrespect is the one slipping Mrs.LeBlanc a stack of bills every month so her lights stay on—the one who refuses to sell to fiends nodding out on the corner. The one who bought the whole block Thanksgiving turkeys last year just because.
A good man with rough edges. Yours.
Your heart aches with the knowing—the kind that lives in the quiet spaces between his laughter and the way his eyes get distant sometimes, staring out at the horizon like he’s searching for something just out of reach.
You’ve seen the flicker in his gaze when y’all pass a college campus, when he watches old men playing chess in the park with no worries weighing them down. You know he dreams of something else—legitimate money, a life where he doesn’t have to look over his shoulder every five seconds. But survival mode is a beast he can’t shake, not when the streets raised him harsher than any parent ever did.
Your mind flashes back to that night—the night.
The way his face twisted in fury as the cops swarmed, their boots kicking up gravel as they yanked his arms behind his back too rough, too eager. You remember screaming his name, lunging forward only for his voice to cut through the chaos like a blade—Go back in the fuckin’ house!—and the way your legs shook as you obeyed, tears blurring your vision until all you saw were flashing red and blue lights swallowing him whole.
Three months.
Three months of letters tucked into envelopes smelling like your perfume, of collect calls where his voice was gruff but his words were soft—“How you holdin’ up, baby?"
Three months of praying the charges wouldn’t stick, of begging your parents to understand why you couldn’t—wouldn’t—walk away.
You think God would approve of this, child? Running with a man who feeds poison to his own people?
Their words stung, but not as much as the truth burning in your chest—you loved him anyway. Loved him when he came home smelling like gunpowder and regret, loved him when he held you so tight it felt like an apology.
But still, there’s a part of you that dreams too—of lazy Sunday mornings without fear, of a future where his hands are stained with paint instead of blood. A future where he chooses differently.
You sigh, pressing your face into Bear’s fur as if he can absorb the weight of your thoughts.
Soon.
Your dark curls lay across the pillow like spilled ink as you sink deeper into Bear’s warmth, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath your fingertips lulling you into a false sense of calm.
Then—movement.
Bear tenses beneath you, his massive body going rigid before he suddenly hikes up with a deep, rumbling growl—not the dangerous kind, but the kind that vibrates with recognition. In an instant, he’s off the bed, paws thudding against hardwood as he bolts toward the living room.
Then—the creak of the front door.
You left it unlocked. You knew.
Before you can even sit up fully, you hear Bear’s excited whines, the frantic scratch of his claws against the floor as he launches himself at someone—at him. Your pulse thunders in your ears as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting the floor before you even realize you’re moving.
And there he is.
Standing in the doorway like a storm, shoulders bigger than you remember, muscles straining against the thin fabric of his white muscle tee like he outgrew it in just three months. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, the same pair he’d left in before they took him, but now they cling to thighs that look harder, more defined.
His cornrows are freshly done, edges sharp enough to draw blood, that damn fleur-de-lis tattoo peeking out from beneath the slant of his brow. But it’s his eyes that grip you—dark, calculating, hungry—as they rake over you like he’s memorizing every inch.
“The fuck you leave the door unlocked for?”
Your lips part—but the second his voice hits you, really hits you, something inside cracks wide open.
“…I—I knew it was you,” you whimper, voice trembling like a leaf in the wind.
Onyankopon knows you.
‘Knows the way your bottom lip trembles right before the tears fall. ‘Knows how your voice gets small and shaky when you’re trying—and failing—to hold it together. ‘Knows that no matter how spicy your mouth gets, that tender heart of yours spills over first.
And right now?
His dark eyes drink you in all of you.
Your caramel skin glows under the dim lights, bare except for the tiniest rebellion inked along your ribs—his name, etched in delicate script, hidden beneath the swell of your tits like a secret only he’s allowed to touch.
Those freckles—god, those freckles—dusting your cheeks and the bridge of your nose like constellations. Your round face flushed, slender eyes shimmering with tears, long dark curls tumbling wildly over your shoulders as you try to hide the way your body shakes.
Hips fuller, ass heavier, waist somehow even smaller than he remembered, all wrapped up in that deep plum babydoll dress that barely covers your thighs. His gaze drags lower—no bra, just the thin lace of your panties peeking beneath the hem, your brown nipples stiff and visible through the fabric.
And then—
“You left me.”
Your tits bounce heavily as you hiccup, hands flying up to cover your face in that adorably flustered way you do when you’re overwhelmed.
“Aight, Mama—lemme’ hold you," he murmurs, voice thick with that gravelly warmth that usually melts you right where you stand. But not today.
You shake your head hard, curls whipping against your cheeks, suddenly furious—at him, at the streets, at the damn system that keeps snatching him away from you.
“No," you snap, voice wobbling despite yourself.
This is your routine.
The one where you unleash every pent up ache—where you sob about how Mrs. LeBlanc asked about him at the store last Tuesday, how you burned the first pot of gumbo because he wasn’t there to taste test it, how Bear whined at the door every night for a week after they took him.
“You missed—you missed everything—"
Onyankopon exhales through his nose, patience wearing thin. He reaches for you again, fingers brushing your waist, but you smack his hand away—or try to. Your tiny slap barely fazes him, and the way his jaw tightens tells you his sympathy’s run out.
One large hand fists into the back of your dress, yanking you against him so hard your breath whooshes out of you. His other arm bands around your waist, locking you in place as your tits press flush against his chest.
“Ony—!"
“Nah," he growls, “You done?"
And just like that—you crack.
Your fingers claw into his shirt as you bury your face into his neck, inhaling that familiar scent—jailhouse soap, and him. A choked sob escapes you as he grunts, adjusting his grip to cradle you tighter.
“Yeah," he mutters, lips brushing your temple—“That’s what I thought.”
His nose drags along the curve of your neck—inhaling deep—like he’s trying to drown himself in you. Vanilla. Spiced cinnamon. Caramel. Your scent clings to his senses, and a rough groan vibrates against your skin before he cups your face in his big, calloused hands.
Then—his mouth crashes into yours.
Not soft. Not sweet.
Claiming.
His tongue strokes against yours, hot and demanding, before he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth—sharp, just how you like it. The sound of his grunts fills the space between kisses—“Goddamn, you smell so good—” his palm smacks against your ass with a sharp CLAP!, making the flesh quiver beneath his grip as he kneads it possessively.
“Why you doin’ allat’, huh?” His voice is gruff but softer now, forehead pressed to yours—“A nigga was gon’ find his way back to you.”
“Your lawyer said…” your voice cracks, fingers tightening in his shirt—“‘Said they coulda’ gave you more time…”
His jaw ticks—once, twice—before he exhales hard through his nose.
“Look at me.”
When you do, his eyes burn with something fierce.
“Ain’t no cage gon’ keep me from you.”
And just like that—his mouth is on yours again, swallowing your whimpers, his grip tightening like he’s determined to erase every second of those three months apart.
Your whimper melts into something hotter, needier—tongue sliding bold and filthy against his, dragging slowly before plunging back in, tasting the mint on his breath mixed with something darker, smokier. Onyankopon growls against your lips, tongue stroking yours with a rhythm that makes your thighs clench.
“Greedy ass," he rumbles, voice thick with amusement—"Threw that lil’ tongue at me like you ain’t just been cryin’."
“‘Want you, Papa…" you pant this, rocking your hips against the hard ridge of him, shameless.
His hands tighten on your face—rough but reverent—as he pulls back just enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze burning through you.
“Three months, baby. Three months ‘I been dreamin’ ‘bout my pussy," he grits out—“But nah, we gon’ do this right."
Your brows knit—confused, frustrated—until his thumb swipes over your bottom lip, smug as hell.
“A nigga got a whole garden in the Hummer for you," he admits lowly, "Tulips, roses, shit you like—whole backseat covered."
That freckled smile of yours spreads slowly across your face, until you realize something.
“Wait—you got your car back?"
His smirk doesn’t falter, but something shifts behind his gaze—hooded, calculated.
“Handled it."
You blink once. Twice. Then deadpan, “I won’t even ask."
“You already knowin’," he chuckles, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip one last time like he’s erasing the question altogether.
“Go ‘head, start gettin’ yo’self pretty. Imma’ run some plays by these niggas, handle some business ‘fore we head out."
Your stomach knots. Already?
Three months gone, and the streets demand his presence before the sheets even lose your warmth. You bite your protest back regardless, swallowing it down with a soft “Okay," that barely fills the space between you.
Onyankopon studies you for half a breath—like he sees it, the tension in your jaw—before gruffly adding, “Aight? I’m happy to be home."
And just like that he’s turning away, crouching to ruffle Bear’s ears as the dog practically vibrates with joy. You watch them—the way his tattooed hands roughhouse with the beast who missed him just as much as you did—and exhale.
“Yeah," you murmur, touching the heart pendant at your throat.
“…Me too."
The afternoon light slants through sheer curtains as the scene shifts to another familiar rhythm—Onyankopon planted on the bedroom bench like a king holding court. His muscular thighs spread wide, fresh out of the shower but already dressed in that effortless urban elegance—crisp black tee straining across his chest, black Amiri cargos, icy AP watch glinting at his wrist. Cuban links drip down his neck as he barks into his phone, voice sandpaper rough—“Nah, that product ‘move different now. ‘Tell them lil’ niggas to tighten up or get got."
Meanwhile, you exist in your own world mere feet away—naked as the day you were born, lost in the ritual of getting ready.
Your reflection in the vanity mirror is sinful—that waist cutting in like an hourglass before flaring out into heavy hips and that ass he can’t stop smacking. Oversized tits sway as you lean forward to dab blush over freckled cheeks, brown nipples stiff from the breeze drifting through the window. Between your thighs—pretty pink folds glistening with arousal, still tender from the thought of him earlier.
You’re so engrossed in blending highlighter along your collarbones that you don’t notice his approach—until thick fingers suddenly part you from behind.
“Papa—!”
Your giggle bubbles up as his calloused thumb swipes through slick heat, inspecting you with a low hum of approval.
"Fuck you laughin’ for?" he grunts, still half distracted by his phone conversation—“‘Just checkin’ my property."
The juxtaposition is ridiculous—him murmuring “Two keys max,” into the receiver while his other hand teases your clit—until you slap his wrist away, cheeks burning.
"Stop it!”
“‘You the one bent over lookin’ like dessert."
Sigh. Business and pleasure, always intertwined.
Now fully dressed, you feel every bit the masterpiece you’ve crafted—your curls styled in a voluminous flip over cascading like spilled ink down your back. Dark, feathery lashes make your almond shaped eyes look bigger, doe like, while deep brown lips—blended with a hint of plum—give your mouth a sultry, kissable pout.
The outfit is pure temptation—tall, strappy heels that add inches to your shorter frame, black capris clinging to every curve of your full hips and round ass like they were painted on. The lace trimmed camisole is sinful, its sweetheart neckline framing the swell of your breasts, the sheer fabric teasing glimpses of skin beneath. Your small Coach purse twinkles with playful keychains dangling from it, a hint of softness against the fierce femininity of your look.
You do a slow, deliberate spin for him—hips swaying, lashes fluttering—before rolling your eyes dramatically when he barely glances up, his big hand absently rubbing the side of your hip as he continues growling into the phone, “Nah, lil’ bruh, that’s not how we move.”
Frustration flickers.
With a huff, you drop onto his lap without warning, your weight forcing his thighs to adjust beneath you. His free arm instinctively wraps around your waist as you play with the coarse strands of his beard, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw while he keeps talking.
You murmur against his ear, “I got all pretty for you, y’know.”
“Aight, Imma’ see you in twenty.”
You blink.
“Twenty minutes? Where?"
“Across the Westbank," he replies smoothly, fingers trailing up the curve of your thigh where the capris hug tightest—“‘Told you I had business to handle."
Your arms cross over your chest, “This was supposed to be our time."
“Youn’ think I know that? I got shit to do."
“Yeah, ‘cause a drug dealer has way less free time than the average working man."
The words hang in the air—sharp, but edged with truth. His brows lift, a silent challenge, and you bite your lip before melting back against him with a soft “Sorry…”
Your voice dropped to a whisper, “I just want you to myself today."
Onyankopon exhales through his nose, the tension in his shoulders loosening as his hands slide up your back.
“You got me," he murmurs, lips brushing the slope of your bare shoulder.
“But I got a whole neighborhood to take care of—including buyin’ everythin’ yo’ greedy lil’ ass wanna see under the sun."
His mouth trails up your neck, each kiss a quiet apology, a silent promise. You sigh, tilting your head to give him more access, your resolve crumbling beneath his touch.
“Fine," you concede, “But hurry, please?”
“Ain’t gon’ be long enough for you to miss me."
And just like that, he had you under his spell.
The first time you rode shotgun on one of his business runs, your pulse had thrummed with something illicit—the thrill of danger, the heat of rebellion licking at your skin like a forbidden flame. Back then, watching him command respect with just the tilt of his chin felt electric, his dominance a live wire beneath your fingertips.
Now?
Now you slump in the passenger seat of his freshly detailed Hummer, fingers drumming against the leather as you stare determinedly out the window. His employees—lean, hungry looking young men with eyes too old for their faces—nod at you with careful respect, like you’re some kind of queen they’re afraid to glance at too long. You offer weak smiles in return, teeth digging into your plum stained bottom lip.
Onyankopon moves like a storm—methodical, unhurried—handing off product wrapped in crisp bills, exchanging terse words with buyers who swear they can handle weight they clearly can’t. Every so often his palm lands heavy on your thigh—reassuring, possessive—but your skin feels too tight today.
Your gaze flicks to the Glock tucked between his seat and the console, the .45 holstered at his ankle, the AR barely hidden beneath the flower blankets in the back. The arsenal used to make you feel safe. Now it just makes your stomach twist.
“Can we go?"
He pauses mid sentence, dark eyes cutting to you—reading the tension in your jaw, the way your fingers twist the rings on your hands.
“Five minutes," he grunts.
Onyankopon’s jaw ticks as he leans out the driver’s side window, his deep voice dropping to a lethal calm—
“Nigga, you movin’ like you want problems.”
The young boy couldn’t be older than nineteen—puffs his chest out, fingers twitching near his waistband like he’s itching to prove something.
“I ain’t scared—”
“That’s yo’ first fuckin’ problem.”
Before the kid can retort, Onyankopon shoves the car door open and steps out, looming over him like a shadow. Even from the passenger seat, you can see the moment the boy realizes his mistake—how his shoulders tense, how his eyes dart sideways for backup that ain’t coming.
“You gon’ get smoked actin’ like this,” Onyankopon growls, jabbing a finger into the boy’s chest—“Get yo’ shit together ‘fore I help you.”
“Aight, Onyo’. Damn. My bad—”
“Get the fuck on.”
He dismisses him before sliding back into the driver’s seat, his energy crackling like live wire. You don’t say a word—just shift in your seat, crossing your legs tight, lips pressed together.
The engine roars as he peels off, tires biting pavement. At the first red light, his hand cups the back of your neck, dragging you into a kiss so filthy your toes curl in your heels.
“Good girl,” he murmurs against your lips, “Appreciate you holdin’ me down.”
You nod, still quiet, but your fingers tighten on his wrist—Where are we going?
“Yo’ lil’ candy ass arcade on Canal.”
Your frown melts instantly—the one with the vintage Pac-Man machine and strawberry mochi. A grin tugs at your lips despite yourself.
“…’Kay.”
Once again? Under his spell.
The neon glow of Canal Street buzzed around you as you stepped into the old-timey arcade, its retro facade hiding a freshly renovated interior that smelled faintly of buttered popcorn and digital nostalgia. The weekend crowd pulsed around you—laughing teenagers, couples locked in competitive banter, families chasing kids hyped up on sugar—all seeking the same escape from reality. Your fingers tightened around Onyankopon’s large hand as you tugged him inside, watching his sharp gaze flick over the space—new LED lights where flickering fluorescents once hung, sleek game consoles replacing the creaky ones he remembered.
“Ain’t been gone that long,” he muttered, but there was no real irritation in it, just the low rumble of a man recalibrating.
“Three months can feel like a sentence, Papa.”
He thinks on your words for a moment.
“‘C’mon, then. I’m tryna put ‘belt to ass in Mortal Kombat.”
“In your dreams!”
You darted away with a giggle, weaving through the crowd as his deep chuckle chased you. The sound was rare enough to make your chest ache—he was letting his guard down.
And when he did?
It was like the sun breaking through a storm.
At the game station, he was ferocious—button mashing with the precision of a man who took everything seriously, even play. His victorious howls shook your ribs where you stood pressed against him, his arm slung around your waist as he crowed about flawless victories. But then—your turn. His competitive edge melted into something softer, his hands guiding yours over the controls when you pouted about losing.
“Like this, mama—time it right.”
It was a quiet parallel to his life—his instinct to protect, to guide, even in something as trivial as a game.
Later at a secluded lounge area tucked in the back of the arcade, you both shared strawberry mochi and sweet wine. The other couples around you laughed easily—holding hands, stealing kisses without glancing over their shoulders first. Your fingers traced the rim of your glass as the thought settled heavy—Did they have regular lives? Were they happier?
Onyankopon’s voice cut through the haze.
“You been thinkin’ on somethin’ since we left the house."
His voice is low, steady—a statement, not a question.
“Hm?”
“Hm?” he repeats, “Yeah, you."
You swirl the sweet wine in your glass, avoiding his gaze for just a beat too long before answering, “I’m just happy to have you home."
He leans back in his chair, arms folding across his broad chest.
“‘You want me to believe that?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
A beat passes. Then another. His expression doesn’t change—just that same quiet intensity, like he’s reading every flicker of hesitation in your body language.
He stands, the chair scraping against the floor.
“We gon’ talk over dinner," he confirms, “It’s aight."
And just like that, the conversation is postponed—but not forgotten. You exhale softly, nodding as you rise to grab his hand, the unspoken weight of your thoughts lingering between you like an extra shadow.
The restaurant hums with the soul of New Orleans—exposed brick walls draped in vintage jazz posters, flickering candlelight glinting off brass fixtures, the rich scent of gumbo and buttery cornbread hanging thick in the air. Live piano notes drift from the corner, smooth and lazy like the Mississippi at dusk.
You sit across from him, legs crossed just so, your lace camisole dipping to frame the heavy swell of your breasts. Small dimples flash as you press your lips together, watching him watch you with that quiet, unnerving focus of his—like he’s peeling back every layer you’ve carefully stacked since this morning.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” you murmur, fingers tracing the rim of your water glass.
His response is a low rumble—“Ain’t gotta thank me for doin’ shit a nigga supposed to do."
Silence stretches between you. You know that look—chin tilted down, thick brows slightly furrowed—he’s turning something over in his mind.
Then, out of nowhere—“How yo’ mama doin’?"
You smile, soft and genuine.
“Still prayin’ for you."
His lips quirk—“‘Wouldn’t want it any other way. She give a nigga ‘travelin’ grace."
You tug a curl behind your ear, exhaling softly.
“Well…" You reach for your purse, heart skipping—“I got you somethin’."
Your fingers tremble slightly as you pull out the blue velvet box—small, unassuming, but holding all the hope you've tucked away.
His lips quirk before he even opens it, that deep voice laced with mischief—“Lemme’ guess—is it you, butt ass naked on top of a second Hummer? ‘Cause I was already plannin’ on makin’ that happen."
You roll your eyes, “No, boy."
He flips the lid open, thick fingers pausing as he pulls out the sleek, leather bound planner—matte black with silver detailing, masculine but refined. The attached pen glints under the soft restaurant lighting.
“i got you a planner!" you squeak, suddenly nervous.
His brow arches, thumb tracing the edge of the booklet before he meets your eyes—“That’s sweet, baby. But why?"
You fidget, twisting a curl around your finger—“Well…I thought maybe it could be a new bonding experience for us?"
Your voice is softer now—"You know…we could journal on Sundays during online sermons, make grocery lists, plan things together…"
Your next words come out in a rush—“I thought…maybe even show your parole officer that you do want more in life, you know?"
The air between you shifts.
His expression hardens, “Youn’ think I want more in life?"
"I didn’t mean it like that, I just—"
“So what you sayin’?"
His voice is calm, but there’s an edge beneath it—the kind that makes your pulse stutter. You swallow, choosing your next words carefully.
"I just…want you to try something new, On’."
Your gaze lifts, meeting his—“There are these moments where you talk about your future—goin’ to trade school, gettin’ off the streets, somethin’…practical. You’re just too smart for that to go to waste."
A beat passes. Then his lips curl—not quite a smile—“You think bein’ pragmatic gon’ pay the bills?"
"Ony—"
“Niggas out here with degrees still hustlin’ backwards. You think a planner gon’ change the fact that this city don’t give a fuck about no trade school paperwork?"
His voice drops low, gravel rough with conviction—“I got half a fuckin’ city to feed, ion’ do this shit ‘cause I like tellin’ niggas what to do. The side of town we stay on? You still there ‘cause you refuse to leave yo’ family, and I respect that."
His jaw flexes, thumb brushing over the planner still in his hand—“But I should get the same in return."
He’s right. He’s always talked about putting you up somewhere better—somewhere with gates and quiet streets, or even leaving New Orleans altogether—but he’s never pushed you. Never made you choose when you never agreed to that.
And now here you are, handing him a planner like it’s an ultimatum, like paper could fix the jagged edges of the life he’s built.
You blink hard, swallowing the lump forming—“I’m sorry…”
Fingers trembling, you reach to take the planner back, but his hand closes gently over yours before you can.
“Don’t do allat’," he murmurs, voice softer now. The planner stays in his grip—not rejected, not dismissed—just held.
“‘This the shit that’s been weighin’ on yo’ heart all day?”
The question hangs between you, raw and exposed.
“…I talked to your parole officer,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper—““Before your release.”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“He said if you get caught again…it’s twenty-five to life, Onyankopon. No parole.”
A single tear escapes before you can stop it, sliding hot down your cheek. You swipe at it fast, but the damage is done—your face is warm, your lips trembling as you whisper, “I can’t lose you again.”
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
His voice is gruff, thick with something that makes your chest ache. He doesn’t promise miracles. Doesn’t swear he’ll change overnight. But the look in his eyes—the vow in them—says more than words ever could.
“You have to be here, y’know?”
His thumb swipes under your eye, rough but tender.
“I’m knowin’, baby.”
But you can’t stop now—the words spill out like a confession, shaky and raw—
“When we have our first lil’ Papa…when we get married…when you finally graduate…”
Your breath hitches, lips quivering as you grip his wrist, needing him to hear this, to feel it like you do.
“You can’t leave me like that again.”
The words break on the last syllable, “You just can’t.”
That’s all it takes.
In one swift movement, he’s out of his seat, leaning across the table, his big hands cradling your face—not gentle, not this time—commanding your attention.
“Stop that fuckin’ cryin’,” he growls, “I’m never leavin’ you again.”
You whimper—half protest, half relief—but before you can speak, his mouth crashes into yours, stealing your breath along with the last of your tears. It’s not a sweet kiss—it’s desperate, possessive, a promise sealed in salt and heat.
The waitress approaches with a tray piled high with steaming Creole dishes—crispy fried catfish, creamy shrimp étouffée, golden cornbread muffins—but freezes mid step when she catches sight of you two, your faces still inches apart.
Her voice squeaks out, “I’ll—uh—‘come back!”
Onyankopon doesn’t even flinch, just leans back slightly, his deep voice smooth as molasses—“Nah, you good, love. We ain’t mean to stop what you gotta do.”
You quickly wipe your face with the back of your hand, giggling apologetically at her, your earlier tears replaced by a warm, flustered grin.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” you murmur as she carefully sets the plates down.
“Is there anything else y’all need?” she asks, glancing between you two like she’s half-expecting another emotional hurricane.
Onyankopon settles into his seat, stretching his long legs out before casually dropping the bomb—“Can you box her up as a to-go entrée?”
Your mouth falls open before you snatch a fry off his plate and flick it at him. He catches it between his teeth, smirk victorious as he chews.
“Damn. Nevermind then,” he murmurs, low and playful, making the waitress bite back a laugh before she scurries off.
The rest of the night feels good—normal in a way that makes your chest ache with gratitude. Before leaving, you drag him into the restaurant’s vintage black and white photo booth, cramming yourselves into the tiny space. He grumbles “This shit for teenagers,” but still lets you pose him—gruff, sexy glares mixed with moments where he suddenly pulls you in, his lips at your neck, his hands possessive on your hips while the flash captures it all.
And when you climb back into the Hummer later, the LED lights inside now glow a soft violet—you can’t help but watch him with quiet fascination.
He’s on the phone with one of his men, voice a low, authoritative rumble—“Nah, don’t move ‘til I say so”—while his free hand rolls a blunt with effortless precision, his thick fingers crimping the paper just right.
The Hummer idles softly outside your apartment building, the engine a quiet purr beneath the hum of the city at night. The LED glow from the dashboard paints his sharp features in an otherworldly hue—high cheekbones catching the light, the flicker of his chains as he moves.
You sit curled in the passenger seat, cradling the bouquet of flowers he’d surprised you with earlier—roses, peonies, all lush and fragrant. You press your nose into the petals, inhaling deeply as your lashes flutter shut for just a second. Sweet. Just like him when he wanted to be.
Across from you, Onyankopon flicks his lighter—the flame casting brief, dancing shadows across his deep brown skin, his tattoos momentarily illuminated like ancient script. He takes a long pull from the blunt, smoke curling from his nostrils in smooth, practiced streams.
“Non, fais pas ça—Nah, don’t do that. Li pa bon pou biznis.”
You watch as he takes another hit, the ember glowing bright before he exhales again, smoke filling the space between you.
“Mwen pral rele ou pli ta,” he murmurs into the phone before ending the call.
Silence settles, but it’s comfortable—heavy with the scent of weed and flowers, the quiet understanding between you two thicker than the smoke.
You reach over, brushing a thumb over his knuckles.
“Teach me,” you murmur.
He arches a brow.
“Creole?”
You nod.
His lips curl into that half smirk that always makes your stomach flutter as he nudges the blunt between his fingers and murmurs, "Say ‘Mwen renmen w’."
I love you.
You bite your lip to suppress the grin threatening to take over your face—you know what it means—but you play along anyway, voice lilting sweetly, “Mwen renmen w."
His eyes darken, the low purple light catching the flecks of gold in them as he exhales smoke and leans closer, rough palm cradling your jaw.
“I love you so much fuckin’ more, girl."
You only took two hits, but it’s enough—your body melts against his side, pliant and warm, your cheek pressing into the firm curve of his shoulder as he scrolls through his phone with one hand, the other absently tracing circles on your thigh.
Messages light up the screen—coordinates, confirmations, the usual—but you’re too busy nuzzling into the scruff along his jaw, breathing in the mix of his cologne and weed. You press a feather light kiss there, right where his beard meets his cheekbone.
“Thank you, mama," he murmurs, voice gravel rough but tender.
You go in for another, but this time he turns his head just enough to meet you halfway—a quick peck at first, teasing. But when you chase his lips, he hums low in his throat and suddenly it’s not quick anymore.
His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, demanding entry, and you part for him with a breathy sigh. The kiss deepens—slow, filthy, calculated—until you’re squirming in your seat, your fingers tangled in his chains.
“Aight," he growls against your mouth, one hand already on the door handle—“"We takin’ this shit upstairs."
The kiss is molten, unhurried but heavy with intent—your foreheads bump together, lips slanting clumsily as you whimper into his mouth, needier than usual. Your heel slides up over the center console, legs spreading just enough in that shy, wordless way of yours—can’t wait, don’t make me wait.
Then—there—the rough pad of his middle finger swiping over your clothed folds, and fuck, the fabric is already damp, sticking to your skin. Your tongue stutters against his, a broken huff catching in your throat as your head falls back against the seat.
“….Ain’t even touched yo’ ass yet,” he murmurs, but his finger circles again, mimicking the lazy thrust of his tongue—slow, then slower—until you’re squirming, your hips canting up into his touch.
“Mwen renmen w,” you mewl, and his fingers curl, gripping your thigh as he licks into your mouth like he’s trying to taste the words.
“‘Fuckin’ right you do.”
The air in the Hummer is thick—hot with the weight of desperate breaths and the slick, sinful sound of his fingers teasing you through damp fabric. Your hands fist gently in his beard, the coarse strands scraping against your palms, sending a shiver down your spine. You can’t help it—you nuzzle against the roughness, craving the friction, the burn of it against your skin before dragging him down into another filthy, open mouthed kiss.
Your legs spread wider—so fucking wide—knees falling slack against the leather seats, silently begging.
His fingers then hook into the waistband of your capris, dipping just beneath. He doesn’t even push inside yet, just swipes slow along your soaked folds, gathering the slick there before dragging back up. Your hips jerk, but he pins you with a glare, forehead pressed hard against yours as his breath fans over your parted lips.
“M’gonna cum if you put ‘em in,” you whimper, voice trembling, weak.
You squirm, biting your lip—“Ony…I’m so wet.”
His nostrils flare, eyes narrowing as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear—“I’mma put ‘em in. You ‘bet not fuckin’ cum.”
The moment his thick fingers slide inside you, deep, your body betrays you in the most obscene way—your pussy clenches around him with a wet, shuddering pfft as his knuckles sink into your swollen folds.
A weak, desperate sob tears from your throat, your voice breaking high and needy like you haven’t been touched in years, like his fingers are the only thing keeping you sane. Worse? You gush around him instantly, soaking his hand in a humiliating rush of slick, your hips jerking helplessly.
“Fuck,” he growls, dragging the word out low and rough as your eyes roll back. He’s fucking you with his fingers, slow and deep, curling them just right to make your back arch off the seat.
“Ughn—ohmygod—“ you slur, voice wrecked, your mouth falling slack as he pistons his fingers in and out, your wetness squelching around them with every thrust.
He leans in, his breath hot against your ear—“Soundin’ like a fuckin’ baby.”
And you do—whimpering, gasping, your pussy clenching around his fingers like it’s trying to milk them for more.
“Ain’t even fucked you yet,” he murmurs, cruel, twisting his fingers just to hear you sob again.
A desperate whimper claws its way up your throat as you crash your mouth against his in a messy, open mouthed kiss—tongue sliding filthy against his, lips smearing wet and frantic. Your brows knit together, a tight little frown creasing your forehead as his fingers bury themselves even deeper, stretching you with that perfect, brutal coil that makes your toes curl.
“Onyo’—fuhh—!"
The words dissolve into a senseless slur, your voice cracking as your legs hike higher, knees pressing into your chest, showing him—begging him—just how badly you need it.
Your mind hazes, drifting back to those long nights alone—phone pressed to your ear, his voice rough through the receiver as he talked you through it, murmuring filthy promises while you rubbed your clit with trembling fingers, tears streaking your cheeks.
And now? You can’t even handle the real thing.
His fingers withdraw with a wet pop, leaving you empty and whimpering—until his rough grip tangles in your hair, yanking your face toward his lap with a throaty command.
“Gon’ eat this dick up," he grunts, voice dripping with dominance—“Actin’ like you can’t even take my fingers."
You surge forward, pressing a sloppy, desperate kiss against his lips—“M’sorry—"
“Ion’ wanna hear allat’,” he growls, "On yo’ knees."
He shoves the console back with one hand, his other hand still fisted in your curls, guiding you down. The sight of you beneath him is obscenely perfect—your large, teary eyes peering up through your lashes, lips parted and puffy, freckled cheeks flushed.
With trembling hands, you tug his sweats down just enough to free him—his dick springs out, thick and angry, the tip already glistening. It’s bigger than your face, heavy in your small hands, veins prominent under your fingertips.
"Fuck," you whimper—you can’t help yourself, smacking the swollen head against your tongue before licking a kittenish stripe up his shaft.
His rough palm cups the side of your face, calloused fingers pressing into your soft skin before delivering a dominant smack—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you whimper and redden under his touch.
“How much you missed this dick?" He growls, watching with hooded eyes as you bob your head messily, spit and pre-cum slicking your lips.
Your answer comes in slurred, desperate sucks—“Mmmhh—mmph!"—the vibration of your whimpers traveling up his length. You've always struggled to take him fully, but you try so hard, your throat fluttering around the head as you choke back tears.
He chuckles darkly, reaching for the blunt still smoldering in the ashtray. Onyankopon takes a slow drag, exhaling smoke through his nose like some kind of arrogant god watching his worshipper struggle.
“Pull them pretty ass titties out," he commands, "You know what a nigga like."
With shaky hands, you tug your top down, letting your heavy breasts spill free. Your nipples are already peaked and sensitive, and when your fingers brush over them, you jolt with a breathy gasp.
“Ah—!"
“Keep goin'," he rumbles, sinking deeper into his seat, blunt dangling between his fingers as he watches you with lazy hunger.
“‘Ain't tell you to stop."
You press your tits together around his thick length, the head of his dick peeking out between the softness of your cleavage. You begin rocking your body, fucking him with your tits in slow, worshipful strokes—
"Mwen renmen w," you mewl again, voice weak and trembling, your swollen lips forming the words between gasps.
“Say that shit again.”
“Mwen renmen w!" you mewl even deeper, your hips jerking uselessly as your arousal drips down your thighs.
He grunts, finally tossing the blunt aside—“Fuck it. A nigga need yo’ pussy now."
Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, pulling him down as your back hits the leather seat—his massive frame hovers over you, swallowing you in shadow except for the violet glow of the LED lights streaking across his sweat-slicked skin. Your lips find him again in a weak, sloppy kiss, your mind too fogged with lust to form coherent thoughts—just need, just heat, just him.
“Show a nigga what he been missin’.”
Your thighs tremble as you slowly spread your legs wider beneath him, presenting your soaked folds—puffy and glistening under the dim light.
“Been waitin’ for you," you whimper, voice cracking with desperation.
The words hit him like a match to gasoline.
He crashes his mouth back onto yours in a searing kiss before trailing his lips down—lower—licking a hot stripe down your neck, sucking bruises into your throat, teeth scraping over your collarbone. Your back arches when his tongue swirls around one taut nipple, then the other, pulling whines from your chest as pleasure spikes through you.
But he doesn’t stop there.
Strong hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider as he licks his lips—"Fuck, look at you."
And then he dives in.
His tongue drags slow and filthy up your slit, savoring you before he buries his face between your legs, nose nudging your clit as he devours—deep, hungry strokes of his tongue, curling just right inside you.
Your hands fly to his braids, gripping tight as your hips jerk—
"Fuck, baby.”
His response? A low, vibrating growl against your pussy, his fingers digging into your thighs to hold you still as he feasts.
Onyankopon’s mouth is filthy—so loud, messy and wet, lips sealing around your clit with a suck that makes your whole body jerk. Saliva and arousal mix in obscene, sloppy sounds, his tongue working you open with rough, languid strokes like he's savoring every damn second.
You tuck your chin shyly, peeking down at him through fluttering lashes—his face buried between your thighs, eyes hooded with satisfaction as he eats you like his last meal. Your fingers tangle in his braids, twisting gently, playing with the silky strands as a soft pout forms on your lips.
“…Missed playin’ in your hair," you whimper, voice thick with emotion—almost fragile, like admitting it out loud makes it more real.
“Ain’t gotta miss it,” he rasps, his tongue plunging deep—"Keep playin’ in my shit. Gon’ let you braid me up again after you make a fuckin’ mess on me."
Your breath hitches, fingers tightening in his hair as you nod frantically, spreading your legs even wider—"Uh-huh—y-yeah—!"
Your words dissolve into stupid, slurred nonsense—"Ony—fuhh—I’mgonnac—“ as your pussy gushes against his mouth, the lewd squelch of his tongue working you over drowning out your weak cries. Your cheeks burn hot, embarrassment and pleasure twisting together as you feel everything—his nose grinding against your clit, his lips sucking your folds, his tongue fucking into you in slow, filthy circles.
“Taste so fuckin’ good," he growls against your skin, the vibration making you squeal peevishly.
“Mwen renmen w..."
And just like that? Switch flipped.
His grip tightens, lifting your legs effortlessly over his broad shoulders, thumbs rubbing slow circles into the arches of your feet like he’s savoring the feel of you.
“Keep tellin’ a nigga you love him,” he grunts, voice low and rough—"Let’s have a conversation."
You whimper, arms looping around his neck, pulling him closer until his forehead presses against yours—breaths mingling, hearts pounding.
“Mwen renmen w," you whisper again, barely audible, lips brushing his with each syllable.
And then—oh God—you feel him. His thick length slaps against your soaked folds, the blunt head nudging at your entrance, already making your body tense in anticipation.
“Yeah, huh? Talk to me."
You nod frantically, pliant eyes struggling to focus as he starts to sink in—slow, so damn slow—stretching you in a way you haven’t felt in too long.
Your face twists—lips parting around a shaky gasp—as the fullness steals your breath. And then? Emotion hits you like a tidal wave.
Tears prick at your eyes, your chest swelling with something so big it hurts. You feel connected—like his soul is pressing into yours with every inch.
“Mwen renmen w," you sob—weakest yet, voice cracking—as he finally bottoms out, his hips flush against your ass.
His groan is guttural, hands tightening on your thighs—“Fuck, mama—I know."
And then he moves.
His strokes are borderline punishing—each thrust forcing a choked gasp from your throat, the stretch of him bordering on too much, too deep, too everything. Yet your body clings to him greedily, walls fluttering around his length like it’s been starved—rewarding him for every inch he takes, every brutal snap of his hips that leaves you whimpering.
Your toes curl, thighs trembling where they’re hooked over his shoulders. One large hand fists at the nape of your hair, yanking your face close to his until your foreheads knock together—your head jerks back with each rough thrust, lips parted in a shaky pout, tears spilling over your flushed cheeks.
Weak little sobs hitch in your chest with every drive of his hips, your nails digging crescent moons into the sweat-slick muscles of his back. Between broken moans, your voice cracks—soft, vulnerable—
“Hurts—seein’ you leave," you sniffle, brows knitting together, “D—don’t…wanna do that again…”
His glare darkens, jaw tightening as he rams into you harder—deeper—a grunt tearing from his chest as his breath fans hot over your face.
“Then don’t," he snarls, voice raw with possessiveness, "Ain’t goin’ nowhere if you keep takin’ dick like this.”
Your next cry is swallowed by his mouth—his kiss bruising, tongue forcing its way past your lips as if to silence your doubts. And god help you, you let him—melting into the pain, the pleasure, the promise in every snap of his hips.
You’re silent now—past words, past whimpers—just taking him, your body trembling under the sheer weight of his dominance. The only sound is the obscene squelch of your pussy creaming around him, gushing embarrassingly with every withdrawal of his thick length.
“That’s it—take this shit. Ain’t no runnin’ now,” he growls, watching your teary eyes roll back as your walls clench around him.
A surrendering little sob escapes you once more—weak, broken—your hands limply gripping his shoulders as he fucks you through it, his pace never faltering.
“Fuck, girl—you drippin’ all on me."
And you are—soaking his thighs, the leather seats, everything. Your orgasm wrings you out in slow, torturous waves as he uses you, claims you, ruins you.
His touch softens just enough to soothe—calloused fingers brushing away your tears as he kisses you through your cries, lips lingering against yours in a rare moment of tenderness.
“M’sorry,” he just grunts, voice rough with sincerity.
“Ain’t leavin’ you again."
Your nods and whimpers dissolve into another aching climax, your pussy pulsing around him as you drown in the love, the passion, the need. It’s a moment that could last forever.
But just like that? The mood shifts.
His grip tightens, flipping you effortlessly onto your knees, face pressed into the leather as he drags you back onto his lap—ass up, his dick buried to the hilt inside you. Your feet tuck atop his thighs, heels digging in as you let out a tiny, shuddering “O—Ooh—!"
You start slow. Rolling your hips back tentatively, but he then growls, “Take yo’ time. ‘This dick ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
The command is clear.
You listen, setting a rhythm—slow, deliberate—skin slapping together in a steady, filthy clap that fills the heavy silence. Your thighs tremble, face smushed into the seat as your whimpers grow louder—"O—O-ooh—!"
Onyankopon’s hand cracks down on your ass, “‘There she go’. My lil’ nasty ass bitch."
Your fingers slip between your lips, stifling your moans as you rock back onto him, ass quaking with each bounce.
“I ain’t movin’," he warns, "Give me a fuckin’ show.”
You press a shaky hand against his abdomen for leverage, sitting up just enough to feel him deeper—too deep—hitting a spot so painfully good your body locks up.
His grip tightens around your waist as you whimper—"Ooh, shit!” before desperately bouncing your ass back onto him, the sound of skin slapping skin deafening in the enclosed space.
And then? Your pussy farts around him for the thousandth time, wet and obscene, the vibration dragging a trembling groan from your throat—“Ooooh, mygod—Papa—!"
You were never loud like this.
Your moans drag out—whiny, high-pitched, annoyed with yourself because you can’t stop them, each thrust pulling another pathetic sound from your lips.
Onyankopon’s hand slips around your torso, calloused fingers cupping beneath your breasts where his name brands into your skin—it’s effortless. He’s bouncing you down onto his dick like you weigh nothing, your legs kicking weakly as your cream paints his length.
“You gon’ keep takin’ this muhfucka’ like you missed it.”
And you do—each bounce, each squelch, each fatty noise your pussy makes proving it.
"That’s my muhfuckin’ girl."
Your head falls back against his shoulder, mouth drooling, eyes rolling, body melting. He owns you.
His thick forearm presses against your throat, the pressure just enough to make your vision blur at the edges as he fucks into you with even more brutal, punishing strokes. His jaw rests heavy atop your head, your weak panting the only sound you can manage past the tightness in your windpipe—your body submitting under his dominance.
“Mmmf—hot," you mewl, sweat slicked skin sticking to his, the air in the car suffocating.
Without breaking rhythm, Onyankopon reaches over and rolls the window down, the sudden rush of night air hitting your overheated skin—
Oh God.
Your noises—those pathetic, whimpering, creaming sounds—are now free to echo into the quiet neighborhood.
Panicked, you reach a shaky hand toward the window switch—but his grip tightens around your throat, cutting off your air as he rams up into you, all while tugging you down onto his dick even harder.
“Nngh—!" you choke, humiliation burning through you as you clench around him.
“You whinin’ like a bitch,” he grunts directly into your ear, the vibration shooting straight to your core.
Then, with a final rough tug, he forces your face toward the open window—forcing you to see the dimly lit houses, the quiet streets—his people, his city.
“Let everybody know I’m back home.”
And you scream. His name ripping from your throat, raw and unhinged.
“Mwen renmen w,” he growls between thrusts, the Creole rolling off his tongue like honey mixed with gravel—your words, your love, thrown back at you with the same raw intensity you’d given him all night.
Your body jerks as he nuts—deep, so deep—his release flooding you in thick, pulsing waves that make your thighs quiver.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but heavy breathing—his chest rising and falling against your back, your own breath hitching in your throat as aftershocks ripple through you.
Then, weakly, you tilt your head up, catching his lips in one last, tender kiss—your little cries soft against his mouth, voice trembling with everything—relief, exhaustion, love.
Your body melts back against his chest, muscles lax and satisfied as you peer out through the cracked window at the quiet streets of the 7th Ward. The humid night air carries the distant hum of cicadas and the faint bassline of someone’s music drifting from a porch down the block. His warmth presses into your back, steadying, as you tilt your head to murmur against his skin—
“Where would we go... if we left?"
For a beat, he stills—his breath huffing against your damp shoulder before he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, lips brushing the sensitive skin there.
“Wherever you wanna be, girl. ‘Long as it’s got a bed that can take how I fuck you."
A weak giggle bubbles from your throat—but then you say it, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them.
“‘M serious, Papa. I think it’s time to get out the 7th.”
You feel his surprise, the way his grip tightens reflexively around your waist.
“Where ‘this comin’ from?”
You swallow, suddenly shy.
"Been thinkin’... ’bout quiet. ‘Bout space. ‘Bout you—us—somewhere ain’t nobody knockin’ on the door.”
His fingers trace idle patterns on your hip as he murmurs, “A crib up in the Art District ‘don’t sound bad."
“Gives more space for Bear to run around."
“Yeah," he agrees, "A nigga could look into some trade schools ‘round there too."
Wait.
You turn slightly in his arms, searching his face.
“You’re serious?"
He nods. Then he says it—words heavy with the weight of a future he’s choosing.
“‘Wanna give you a ring. A child. ‘Can’t do allat’ bein’ on the streets.”
Your heart swells.
You clutch his face as you say, “It doesn’t matter who you are to everybody else. You got me. I love you more than life itself, Onyankopon.”
He grunts low in his throat—then crashes his lips against yours in a kiss so deep, so emotional, it makes you giggle against his mouth, cheeks burning.
“We finna’ go get a ring right fuckin’ now.”
You giggle once more, pressing a hand to his chest.
"Let’s make it into the house first, yeah? We need a shower."
"Aight. Imma’ fuck you again in there."
You squeak as he hoists you up, your half naked body tucked tight against his chest as he steps out into the humid night. A few voices call out from porches down the block—“Aye, Ony back home!"—cheery, thick with that Southern lilt.
You nestle your face against the sweat damp skin of his collarbone before murmuring, “…The 7th ain’t so bad with you here."
When you peer up, his gaze is already locked on you—dark, heavy, full of something that makes your stomach flip.
“A nigga couldn’t ask for anythin’ more than yo’ love.”
Before you can respond—scratch scratch scratch—Bear’s massive paws hit the front door, his excited whines vibrating through the wood.
Onyankopon just chuckles, adjusting you in his arms as he kicks the door open. And the last thing the neighborhood hears before it slams shut? Your giggles, his grunt as Bear tackles him, and the thud of all three of you entering inside with a heap.
you were like a vixen straight out of a 80’s porno. always had curtain bangs, hair black with streaks of blonde or pink. lips puckered with a dark brown lip liner and nude pink in the middle glossed up. eyeshadow always sparkled with glitter, body always sparkled in glitter. and Jesus you smelled so good.
looked even better with your black lace bralette and black lace panty, thong so skinny it almost looked like you had nothing on if it wasn’t for what’s between your legs getting hidden by that exact lace. top and bottom belly pierced with a tattoo that reached the top of your ribs all the way to your ankle.
gosh, to say onyankapon was infatuated would be an understatement.
“so you the birthday boy?” you questioned, walking up to him where he was seated in the private room. “friends out there hollering about you, how you deserve this cause you just won a football game, what? last thursday?” you smirk at him, you tease him.
he’s never felt so stuck before, not when he was on the field, not when he had to talk in front of damn near millions of people when he lost a game, and never when he talking to some female. his lips curl as if he was mad at her for even given him a reason to stutter on his words.
he bite his lips, diamond grills showing slightly “yeah, that’s me.” he eyes your feet first when you get closer, cute, feminine with black frenchtip. he eyes trail higher when he sees the long straps on your heels that reaches below your knee, you so fucking captivating. the hell you doing at a strip club?
his eyes meet your pelvic bone, looks at you petite waist and ribcage and he can tell you been working hard on that pole. your body just shows it, faint muscles in your arm, ass so plump and he bet he can sit a cup on it if he concentrated hard enough. “yea that’s you?” you bite your lip back at him, all white straight teeth.
you get even closer, one heeled foot going between his man-spreaded legs. and with that he leans back, gets more comfortable. arms behind the seated area. you tuck your head to the side as you inspect him, designer baggy pants and chrome heart long sleeve, he has a hat on but you can tell he got a fresh cut with some braids underneath. Silver Cuban link chain around his neck and an even big Cuban link bracelet over his wrist that matches perfectly with a blinged out Rolex.
you can’t say the money he obviously has wasn’t making your pussy a little wet, you loved when men came in, and they looked as good as they money. but you can tell onyankapon is different, he’s a little calm, he looks like he was forced into this but possibly has taken a interest in you. and another thing you absolutely loved more than a cute face with money is someone you can get over.
the way he flinches a little, you can tell even though bitches probably flaunt they way at him he ain used to someone like you, and that makes him…cute.
“you cute onyankapon.” and just as he was about to question you with a eyebrow up, you plop on his lap. “can tell you never did nothing like this before huh? even though football filled with niggas that ain shit, you a good boy.” you lean closer to his ear and ony swears his spine tingles and straightens.
his fist balled up and he leaned his head to the side as if it was an invitation. you don’t take the invitation though, you lean back and look at his face, your hands going behind you to lean or his knees, covered pussy in the front of his zipper.
“I-it, what?” it’s like he wanted to confess but a cat caught his tongue telling him no. One hand from his knee moves to grab on his jaw, his breath is caught up and staggered. “usually men aren’t supposed to be touching on the girls, not supposed to be doing more than giving money and watching,” you lean closer to his face, teeth softly biting at his bottom lip, he groans almost pathetically. “I can tell though ony, you might be my favorite.”
your hips grind once against his, and his hands find your thigh, not giving in all the way.
ony was frustrated to say the least, though you had something so skimpy on, his jeans was making it hard.
and speaking of hard he can feel his shit twitching more, the more he smelt you, the more you body moved, the more your fingers touched over his face and under his undercut, the more you fucking breath against his ears.
he was a sensitive man, barely fucking anyone because that’s just not his style. he aware of gold diggers and money hungry girls, which is ironic because he at a strip club where the reside at but fuck he was forced her and fuck did you change every thought process he had.
his friends told him about you, how you move, how you laugh and just how sexy you are. they always said how strict you are about the touching policy, about how you barely even give them more then a 5 minute lap dance before you requesting the money.
he doesn’t know nor you, but you end up on your back.
his jeans still on but dick so hard it’s form against his thigh and he’s getting so fucking greedy he just jumping against your thigh and covered pussy like his famous career doesn’t even exist. like she can’t go and rat him out for actually being a loser.
but you would never, because this is exactly how you like em.
“f-fuck sorry I just….oh god.” he moans softly. his hands grip the underside of your thighs and your hands follow his shoulders. “it’s okay ony, you can take it out though.”
he pauses, breathing heavy as fuck and eyebrows furrowed. “you can’t put it in, but I’ll give you a little something more for your birthday.”
and he does, his thick tip sliding against the pudge of your pussy that’s now poking outside of your panties.
he feels the wetness, he feels the lace and he so turned on he feels like a teenager.
you can tell he’s getting into it, your biting your lips and your pussy is fucking throbbing cause it all just feels so good. he smells so good, and he’s doing so good.
“mm, my- I’ve never did this before.” you mumble and moan, watching him bring your legs up and over one of his shoulder so your thighs close better around his dick and he goes deeper like that, balls squished against where your hole is pulsating and the top of his dick covering almost your whole belly button. “just like that ony.”
“uhn fuck! mama, I think I can nut just like this.” he half way laughs and groans. and now he’s unstrapoibg your heels to digs his nose in your ankle, to suck and lick on the heel of your feet all the way to the tip of your toes.
you moan out in shock, back arching off the couch.
yes, this is exactly your type.
his hips go sharper, but sloppy nonetheless, it makes him tremble and he’s not even sure what he’s doing anymore, “ima become a regular. I swear, you gon give me this treatment everytime?” he questions and oh he’s the cutest with the way he’s absolutely deadass.
you smile behind a moan and you nod.
you’d give him everything he wants.
A/N: lowkey y’all im finna drop drafts because why not. I’ve been MIA ASF, i edit a little of em but not all. I have so many drafts. (Should I start finishing them? I lowkey lost motivation, I feel like a Wattpad author when they ghost their audience lmao)
🪞I was scrolling on reels one day and got to thinking about college fwb Ony who highkey caught feelings and had who knows. He just wanna hug and kiss on his pretty girl, but denies the attempt. ⬇️ *lightly proof read, SMUT!*
https://youtu.be/rLo9bNOUUz0?si=ducLBV8nJobo4FvD
“Onyyy” you cried into his neck as he thrusted into you at a dangerous pace. he made you take all of him. His entire body weight, his entire embrace, was felt in this moment.
You tapped his back a twice in attempt to get him to slow down. Resorting to your acrylic stiletto nails digging into his back when the ma wouldn’t let up. “im so sorryyy! Onyy, please! can’t take .. no more- ouhhh fuck!”
“nah, you got it.” He grunted, not letting you run or tap out.
Ony intertwined his fingers with yours. Wanting to feel as close to you as possible while he admired your pouty face and those big, pretty, watery eyes of yours. “please plea-please forgive me Ony.” You begged in one string of words.
“you really hurt a nigga feelings earlier. Why you wanna hurt me, huh? Why you act like im not the one who be fucking you when you need it.” in display of his feelings, Ony punished you. He made you cum until you were all cried out and feeling as needy as he did when you denied his affection earlier that day.
“I forgive you, baby. but we gone talk about this.” He kissed your lips and started fucking you slowly cause he was close and you’d been streaming literal tears for the past two orgasms. You made him emotional, he couldn’t help it.
`ঔঌ. never did you expect, in all your years married, for your husband, firelord!zuko to have a breeding kink? | 18+
the supporting council of the fire nation, and even several of zuko’s advisors have been adamant on one thing since your marriage to your childhood lover: producing an heir.
“yes… i know. even my ladies in waiting are asking,” you replied. the both of you were in his study, with you lounging on some cushions while he clearly was distracted from his paperwork considering the turn your conversation went.
zuko appeared hesitant, almost antsy. “really? they’re a bit annoying, aren’t they?”
you shrugged, until you just kept talking mindlessly. “it’d be nice though…wouldn’t it?”
your words made your husband furrow his eyebrows in confusion. “what would?”
“having children?” you walked over to him, sitting on his lap as his arms snaked around your waist and held you. “being pregnant…”
“you’d be a great daddy… so why don’t we try?”
“really?” his tone changed, almost laced with a bit of amusement. “are…are you sure?”
“why not?” you leaned towards him and you swore you saw the tips of his ears go red and his face slightly appear flushed.
it was a clear fact that your husband was a fast man, but before you knew it, you were naked before him, warm skin pressed against his cold desk, quills, ink, and paper scattered. he had undressed you quickly—as if you were going to run away.
“you’re sure about this?” zuko asked, beginning to align his cock to your entrance the moment you nodded, and rubbing your arousal around his length before slowly pushing in.
fuck, you really should’ve taken to account just how your husband is… because when he’s serious about something, he’s dead serious.
“mmm—zuko-! please—fuck!”
you felt almost lightheaded, with your cunt squeezing your husband’s cock almost uncontrollably while your clit throbbed immensely. the two of you have been at it for hours, going at it like damn rabbits all over his study. on the desk, the cushions, against the wall. and now? you’re riding him while he’s sat on his chair.
“you—hahhh—said you were sure,” he replied, hands squeezing at your ass and slapping it teasingly.
you could feel his loads of cum spill out of you with every harsh thrust of his hips, with your husband groaning loudly from how tight you felt around him.
it was all too much—so. damn. much. he fucks you so mean…
your arms around his neck only tightened around him the faster you went, pulling on his long hair slightly and eliciting a whine? from your husband.
“you’re gonna—shit—look so damn pretty… so fucking pretty pregnant…” he gazed up at you, almost intoxicated with how you looked riding him, rocking your hips back and forth on his cock while you whined so cutely. your maw was slack while your eyes were glued to the ceiling, and your grip on his hair only tightened (again).
until the two of you heard a knock on the door, and he covered your mouth quickly.
“fire lord zuko, your presence is requested—“
“i’m busy.”
zuko’s hips continued, slower yet still so torturous on you. he bounced you slowly yet harshly, slamming you on his cock. then came that obnoxiously loud squelch! you could cry of embarrassment… but it seemed that your lover was enjoying this.
“w-what was that?” the advisor asked.
and it wasn’t until zuko lifted your hips and slammed you onto him one last time, where you cried out in a octave you’ve never hit ever.
“gotta make sure we have that heir, right?”
.
.
.
had to… i just had to… #leastcanonthingever anyways IM CRINE THIS IS SO OOC BUT ITS OK!! also wtf is it with me and zuko smut in his firelord study
hai mai lob @yailuxe <33
also more zuko i’ve written (prepare to get sick of me)
eight years, twin girls, and a love worth trying again for.
→ black!f reader | angst | ex-husband ony |
a/n: hope you like it @whimpylia
if there’s one thing onyankopon hates, it’s being divorced from you.
he knows it was for the better. he really does. the late nights arguing, the exhaustion, the way everything between you two slowly started to feel heavy instead of warm. separating was the mature decision. the responsible one.
but damn.
that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
because no matter how logical the divorce was, it didn’t make missing you any easier.
he misses the little things the most.
living in the same house as you. waking up in the morning and hearing you already moving around the kitchen. the quiet smile you’d give him when you noticed he was watching you from the doorway. the way you’d mumble at him to stop staring so early in the morning.
he misses falling asleep next to you.
he misses the comfort of knowing you were always just a room away.
and the worst part?
you gave him the most beautiful girls he’s ever laid eyes on.
every time he looks at them, he sees pieces of you. the shape of their smiles. the way their eyes crinkle when they laugh. little reminders of the life you two built together.
how the hell is he supposed to function without you?
sometimes he almost wishes the divorce ended badly.
that you screamed at him.
that you hated him.
because maybe then it would’ve been easier to let go.
but it didn’t end like that.
no shouting.
no slammed doors.
no ugly words.
just two people who loved each other… realizing love alone wasn’t enough anymore.
and somehow that makes it so much harder to move on.
because you’re still you.
still the woman he fell in love with.
still the mother of his daughters.
still the person his heart reaches for out of habit… even when you’re no longer there.
he pulls up to the house to pick up the girls.
and of course… his heart does that little thing.
that stupid little jump in his chest he still hasn’t been able to control, no matter how many times he tells himself to act normal.
it’s just a visit.
just picking up his daughters.
nothing more.
still… he takes a breath before getting out the car.
when he knocks on the door, he’s already bracing himself.
but the second it opens—
there you are.
and wow.
you look beautiful.
like… the kind of beautiful that knocks the air straight out of his lungs. he actually feels a little lightheaded for a second, like his brain forgot how to function.
you smile when you see him.
“hey.”
you lean forward and hug him, and he’s so damn grateful that it’s still something you two do.
“hey,” he says softly, his arms wrapping around you without even thinking.
for a second he just… holds you.
and god, you smell so good.
the same scent you’ve always worn. warm and familiar and dangerously comforting. it almost makes him close his eyes.
then you pull away.
“i’m just finishing up with the girls,” you say. “come in.”
he nods, stepping inside while you walk back into the house.
and he swears he didn’t mean to look.
he really didn’t.
but damn.
the shorts you’re wearing hug your hips perfectly, and when you walk away your ass
he almost groans.
that used to be his.
the thought hits him so fast it almost hurts.
he clears his throat, dragging a hand down his face like maybe that’ll knock some sense back into him.
god.
why does this still affect him like this?
“girls!” you call out from down the hall. “daddy’s here!”
immediately there’s squealing.
little footsteps pounding across the floor as the twins come running full speed.
“daddy!!”
onyankopon barely has time to brace himself before they jump into him, wrapping their little arms around his waist.
he laughs, bending down to scoop them up.
“hey, hey, look at y’all,” he says, hugging them tight. “miss me already?”
they nod dramatically, talking over each other as they cling to him.
and when he glances up—
you’re standing there watching them.
smiling.
soft.
fond.
like this little moment still belongs to both of you.
and for a second…
it almost feels like nothing ever changed.
now you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss onyankopon’s fine ass.
because you do.
and honestly? you feel like he somehow got even hotter after the divorce, which shouldn’t even be possible but apparently life likes to play jokes like that.
something about him now… the way he carries himself, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.
you notice it.
of course you notice it.
the lingering looks.
the way his eyes soften when you smile.
the way he still stands a little too close when he talks to you.
and you try to ignore it.
lowkey.
because if you think about it too much your brain starts going places it really shouldn’t.
but the thing is…
he never stopped doing the little things.
like sending you your favorite flowers out of nowhere.
or picking you up from girls’ night because he “just happened to be in the area.”
you know that man does not just happen to be anywhere.
he be planning that shit.
and every time it happens you try to act normal but it makes you giggle so much.
it’s stupid.
stupid and sweet.
and honestly… you’re grateful.
because if there’s one thing about onyankopon, it’s that he’s an amazing dad.
seeing him with your daughters warms your heart every single time.
the way he listens to them like everything they say matters.(it does)
the way he carries them around like they weigh nothing.
the way he never misses a chance to show up for them.
it reminds you of why you fell in love with him in the first place.
but he’s also real sneaky.
because every now and then he’ll casually ask the girls questions.
“your mama seeing anybody?”
“anyone taking her on dates?”
like he thinks they’re not immediately gonna run back and repeat that to you word for word.
and the truth is…
no.
there’s nobody taking you on dates.
there hasn’t been.
because if you’re being honest with yourself, there’s only ever really been him.
but admitting that feels complicated.
because you’re divorced now.
and the divorce happened for a reason.
it was the right decision.
you both agreed on that.
still…
that doesn’t stop you from missing him.
and sometimes when he looks at you the way he used to…
you can’t help but wonder if he misses you just as much.
well now you’re both at the aquarium.
why?
because your precious daughters begged to go, and honestly you can never say no to them.
it wouldn’t be the first time you and onyankopon had done things together as a family after the divorce. you both agreed that no matter what happened between you two, your girls deserved memories with both their parents.
so here you are.
walking through the huge glass tunnels while fish glide over your heads.
the girls are losing their minds.
“look mommy!!” one of them squeals, pressing her little hands against the glass. “that one is HUGE!”
ony laughs beside you. “that’s not huge, baby. wait until you see the sharks.”
both girls gasp dramatically.
“SHARKS???”
you laugh softly, watching them run ahead to the next tank.
and for a moment… it feels normal.
like old times.
but then you notice it.
onyankopon.
he’s too close.
not obvious enough for anyone to call it out, but definitely close enough that you feel the warmth from his arm every time you stop walking.
he leans slightly toward the glass.
“yo, look at that one.”
you squint. “which one?”
“right there.”
“…ony there are like fifty fish in this tank.”
he chuckles.
“nah, the blue one.”
you lean closer to the glass, confused, trying to figure out what he’s pointing at.
“i literally do not see—”
suddenly he steps right behind you.
close.
too close.
his chest almost brushing your back as his arm comes up beside you, pointing directly at the glass.
“that one.”
your breath hitches before you can stop it.
oh.
now you see it.
but honestly you’re not even looking at the fish anymore.
you’re too aware of how close he is.
the warmth of him.
the way his voice dropped a little when he leaned in.
you swallow, stepping forward a little.
“oh,” you mumble. “yeah… i see it.”
he hums behind you like he knows exactly what he just did.
and the worst part?
you let him.
because if you’re being honest…
you kind of wanted him to.
eventually the day continues.
the girls drag both of you around the entire aquarium, running from tank to tank like they’re on a mission.
you all end up laughing, taking pictures, arguing over which fish is the cutest.
later you all sit down at a little café inside the aquarium to eat.
the girls are talking over each other about dolphins and sharks while you try to keep them from spilling their drinks.
ony sits across from you, watching.
quiet.
soft smile on his face.
“mommy mommy,” one of the girls says, “daddy said sharks can smell one drop of blood from like… really far away!”
you raise an eyebrow at him.
“why would you tell them that?”
he shrugs. “it’s educational.”
“they’re gonna start crying in the bathtub tonight.”
“they’ll be fine.”
you roll your eyes, taking a bite of your food.
ony suddenly speaks again.
“you wanna try this?”
you glance up.
“what is it?”
“some shrimp thing.”
you shrug. “sure.”
you expect him to slide the plate toward you.
instead—
he picks up his fork.
and holds it toward you.
you blink.
“…ony.”
he just raises an eyebrow like it’s completely normal.
“what?”
you look at the girls.
they’re too busy arguing about jellyfish to notice.
you sigh.
“…you’re annoying.”
but you lean forward anyway and take the bite.
his eyes stay on you the whole time.
watching.
like he’s studying every little reaction on your face.
you chew.
“…okay wait that’s actually good.”
he grins.
you shake your head, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.
meanwhile he’s just watching you interact with the girls.
the way you wipe their mouths.
the way you laugh when they say something ridiculous.
and the feeling in his chest?
it’s heavy.
full.
like love that never went anywhere.
he honestly doesn’t know what he would do without the three of you.
by the time you leave the aquarium the sky is dark.
and suddenly—
rain.
heavy.
“oh hell nah,” you mutter.
the girls laugh while you rush them to the car.
by the time you get home they’re exhausted.
the aquarium plus the sugar plus the excitement completely knocked them out.
you tuck them into bed while ony helps change them into pajamas.
within minutes they’re asleep.
the house finally quiets.
you walk back into the living room and notice the rain hitting the windows harder now.
ony stands near the door, keys in his hand.
you glance outside.
“…you know you can wait until the rain slows down.”
he pauses.
“you sure?”
you shrug, trying to act casual.
“yeah. it’s pouring.”
he nods slowly.
“aight.”
you walk toward the couch.
“you wanna watch a movie or something?”
he smirks slightly.
“depends.”
you narrow your eyes.
“on what?”
“you picking something good.”
you scoff.
“wow.”
“i’m just saying, last time you picked that sad movie and had everybody crying.”
“it was a good movie!”
“you traumatized the kids.”
you laugh, grabbing the remote.
“they were fine.”
you sit on the couch and he sits beside you.
not super close.
but not far either.
the rain taps against the windows.
the room lit softly by the tv screen.
you scroll through movies while he leans back into the couch.
after a moment he glances at you.
“…you had fun today?”
you look over at him.
soft smile.
“yeah.”
a pause.
“the girls definitely did.”
he nods.
“yeah.”
another quiet moment settles between you.
the kind that feels heavy but comfortable.
then he looks at you again.
“…you look happy today.”
you blink.
“…what?”
he shrugs slightly.
“just saying.”
you stare at the tv again, trying to ignore the way your heart just did a weird little flip.
“you’re weird.”
he chuckles quietly.
but his eyes linger on you just a second longer than they should.
and the tension between you?
yeah.
it’s still very much there.
you guys end up watching the notebook (ony’s idea), which is honestly crazy because you both loved that movie. you’re halfway through it, the room quiet except for the tv, when ony suddenly grabs your attention.
“you remember what today is?”
you freeze a little.
you had been avoiding this day if you’re being honest. trying to act like it didn’t exist, like the date wasn’t sitting in the back of your mind all week.
you sigh softly.
“yeah,” you murmur. “our anniversary.”
today would’ve been eight years.
two years dating. five years married.
then… the divorce.
crazy how life works, right? because today would’ve looked so different if things had gone another way.
ony nods slowly, eyes still on the tv even though he’s clearly not watching it anymore.
“eight years,” he repeats quietly. “that’s… a long time.”
the silence stretches between you two.
then he looks over at you.
“do you miss it?” he asks.
you blink.
“miss what?”
he swallows.
“us.”
your chest tightens.
“ony—”
“just answer me,” he says softly. “please.”
you don’t say anything right away.
and before you can, he lets out a shaky breath.
“i’ll tell you first.”
he shifts on the couch, turning his body toward you completely now.
“i miss you,” he says.
his voice is quiet, but it feels heavy in the room.
“i miss you so much it actually hurts sometimes.”
your heart drops.
“i miss waking up next to you. i miss the way you used to steal the blankets and then pretend you didn’t. i miss the way you used to talk in your sleep.” he lets out a small laugh that quickly fades. “i miss coming home and hearing your voice in the house.”
he looks down at his hands.
“i miss our family.”
your eyes start burning.
“and i know what you’re probably gonna say,” he continues. “that maybe it was for the better. that maybe things had to end the way they did.”
he shakes his head slowly.
“but i regret it.”
his voice cracks slightly.
“every single day.”
he reaches over, taking your hand in his.
“i regret every argument where i chose pride instead of choosing you. every moment where i thought we had more time to fix things. every night i went to sleep angry instead of pulling you close and just… loving you.”
tears start sliding down your cheeks.
ony’s thumb rubs softly over your hand.
“do you know what the worst part is?” he asks quietly.
you shake your head.
“pretending i’m okay without you.”
he lets out a weak laugh.
“everyone thinks i moved on. everyone thinks i’m fine.”
he looks up at you again, eyes glossy.
“but i’m not.”
your breathing becomes uneven.
“i’m not fine without you. i’ve never been fine without you.”
his grip on your hand tightens slightly.
“i tried, you know. i tried to convince myself that what we had wasn’t that special. that maybe one day i’d meet someone else and it would feel the same.”
he shakes his head again.
“but it doesn’t. it never does.”
his voice drops softer.
“because the love i had with you… i don’t think that kind of love happens twice.”
your tears fall faster now.
“you gave me everything,” he continues. “you gave me a home. you gave me memories i’ll carry for the rest of my life. you gave me our daughters.”
his voice breaks.
“the most beautiful girls in the world.”
he squeezes his eyes shut for a second before looking at you again.
“and i lost you.”
you try to speak, but nothing comes out.
“i should’ve fought harder,” he whispers. “for us. for our love. for our marriage.”
his thumb brushes away one of your tears.
“because you were never just my wife.”
he pauses.
“you were my person.”
your chest feels like it’s breaking open.
“you still are.”
the room is so quiet you can hear both of your breathing.
“i love you,” he says softly.
his voice is steady now, like he’s finally letting everything out.
“i loved you then. i love you now. and i’ll love you for the rest of my life.”
another tear slips down your cheek.
“in whatever universe exists… in whatever lifetime we get… i’ll always find my way back to you.”
his forehead lowers slightly toward yours.
“because you’re it for me.”
your lips tremble.
“you’re the love of my life.”
your voice finally comes out, barely above a whisper.
“ony…”
you shake your head a little, overwhelmed.
“i…”
you swallow hard.
“i love you.”
before you can say anything else, ony pulls you into a kiss.
it’s soft at first.
hesitant.
like he’s scared you might disappear.
but when you kiss him back, really kiss him back, the years of distance between you both disappear all at once.
when he pulls away slightly, his forehead rests against yours.
his hand gently cups your cheek.
“you don’t have to explain it, baby.”
his thumb brushes your tear-streaked skin.
“i feel it too.”
you lean forward again, chasing his lips, kissing him like you’ve both been holding it in for year slow at first, then desperate, tongues sliding, breaths mingling like you’re trying to pour every missed second back into each other.
his hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, wiping away the dampness.
when he finally pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead rests against yours, eyes searching, soft and scared all at once.
“i don’t wanna rush you into anything,” he whispers,, thumb tracing your bottom lip.
you shake your head, fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him closer. “i want you,” you say, soft but sure, voice trembling just a little.
his breath catches. something raw flickers in his eyes relief, guilt, love, all tangled up. he lifts you like you weigh nothing,he kicks the bedroom door open gently, lays you back on the bed.he chases your lips again, kissing you deep, languid, like he’s memorizing every taste, every sigh. his hands roam down your sides, under your shirt, peeling it off with reverence, kissing the newly bared skin as it’s revealed collarbone, the dip between your breasts, the soft plane of your stomach.
when he reaches the waistband of your leggings, he pauses, looking up at you. his eyes are dark, pupils blown, but there’s so much tenderness there it makes your chest ache.
you nod, heart hammering. he slides them down with your panties in one slow drag, letting his fingertips trail the entire length of your legs, raising goosebumps. then he’s between your thighs, spreading you open gently, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin at the crease of your hips. he just looks for a second eyes tracing every inch like he’s seeing you for the first time in years.
“still the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before leaning in.
his mouth is warm, soft at first lips brushing your clit in a feather-light kiss that makes you gasp. then he sucks gentle, slow pulls that have your hips lifting off the bed. his tongue circles lazy, deliberate, tasting you like he’s savoring every drop.
two thick fingers slide inside, curling just right, pumping slow while his tongue works your clit in steady, unrelenting strokes.
you’re creaming almost immediately thick, white, coating his fingers. your thighs tremble, breath coming in short, broken whimpers. “ony—” his name leaves you like a plea, fingers threading into his hair, holding him there.
“that’s it, baby,” he murmurs against your pussy, voice muffled.
he doesn’t rush. he takes his time sucking, licking, curling his fingers deeper, finding that spot that makes your back arch and your toes curl. your moans turn into soft sobs, pleasure building slow and overwhelming until it crashes over you.
you cum hard pussy pulsing around his fingers, wetness flooding his mouth, thighs shaking. he laps you through it, slow and greedy, until you’re whimpering from overstimulation, tugging weakly at his hair.
only then does he pull back, sucking his fingers clean, eyes locked on yours the entire time. he strips slow shirt first, then pants, boxers until he’s bare above you, skin warm, muscles flexing under the low light from the bedside lamp. he climbs back over you, pushing your thighs to your chest, folding you open. the thick head of his dick rubs against your clit slow circles, teasing, making you whine and twitch.
“please,” you breathe, voice wrecked.
he pushes in slow, inch by inch both of you moaning at the stretch, the heat, the rightness of it. he bottoms out, hips flush to yours, and for a long moment he just stays there, buried deep, letting you feel him throb inside you.
he starts moving slow, deep thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot, making your toes curl, your breath hitch. the wet sounds of your bodies fill the room slick, obscene, echoing. you hold onto his shoulders, nails digging in, anchoring yourself to him like he’s the only solid thing in the world.
“you feel so good,” he groans, voice breaking a little. “so fuckin’ perfect. missed this missed you.”
your eyes stay locked, love and heat and years of longing pouring between you. every thrust pushes you higher, pleasure building so thick it almost hurts. your hands are everywhere—l gripping his biceps, sliding up to his neck, pulling him closer. he leans down, kissing you messy and deep, tongues tangling, swallowing each other’s moans.
the angle is brutal in the best way he’s stretching you wide, dragging against your front wall on every pull-out, punching your g-spot on every thrust in. your pussy’s a mess creamy, swollen, gripping him like she never wants to let go.
your eyes flutter threatening to roll back again but you fight it, wanting to see him, wanting him to see you fall apart.
mid-thrust—when he grinds in deep and holds it there, letting you feel him throb inside you you surge up suddenly. cup his face with both hands, pull him down, and kiss him like you’re drowning and he’s air. it’s messy tongues sliding, lips crashing, little desperate moans swallowed between you.
your legs tighten around him, heels digging into his back, pulling him closer, deeper, like you can’t get enough. you pull back breathless, foreheads pressed together.
“this my pussy?” he asks, voice wrecked, hips still rolling slow.
“yes,” you nod, tears pricking your eyes—not from pain, from everything. “only yours.”
the grip of your pussy has him biting his lip, eyes squeezing shut for a second. “fuck… missed being inside you so much,” he whispers, voice cracking.
you both climb higher together moans mixing, breaths syncing, bodies trembling. the pleasure coils tighter, unbearable, perfect.
“i love you,” you gasp against his mouth.
“i love you,” he groans back, voice raw.
you cum at the same time your pussy clenching hard around him, milking him as you squirt, soaking his stomach, the sheets. he buries himself deep, groaning low and broken, spilling inside you hot, thick pulses that make you shudder. sweet nothings tumble out between you“i missed you,” “never letting you go again,” “mine,” “yours,” “i’m sorry,” “i know, baby, i know”until you’re both spent, trembling.
he pulls out slow, careful, then collapses beside you, rolling so his head rests on your chest, ear over your racing heart. his arm drapes heavy across your waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.
the room is quiet except for the sound of your breathing slowly calming down.
ony’s head is resting on your chest, his arm wrapped around your waist while your fingers lazily play with the hair at the back of his head. neither of you say anything for a moment, just laying there, letting everything settle.
after a few seconds he lifts his head slightly, looking down at you.
“you okay?” he asks softly.
you nod, still catching your breath a little. “yeah.”
he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder before carefully sitting up.
“stay right there,” he murmurs.
you watch him walk toward the bathroom, still a little dazed, the sheets pulled loosely around your body. you hear the sink run for a moment before he comes back with a damp cloth and a small towel.
ony climbs back onto the bed beside you, his movements gentle.
“c’mere,” he says quietly.
he helps you sit up slightly, the sheet still wrapped around you, and carefully cleans you up, making sure you’re comfortable the whole time. his touch is soft, careful, like you’re something precious.
“you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, glancing at your face.
you smile a little. “i’m good, ony.”
he nods, satisfied, before standing again and grabbing a bottle of water from the nightstand.
“drink,” he says, handing it to you.
you laugh softly but take it, sipping while he takes a few drinks himself before setting it back down.
then he slips back under the covers and immediately pulls you against him.
your head settles against his chest while his arm wraps around you, holding you close like he never wants to let go again.
for a while neither of you speak.
his fingers trace slow circles along your arm while you listen to his heartbeat.
“i missed this,” he whispers eventually.
you tilt your head slightly. “what?”
“this,” he murmurs, squeezing you gently. “holding you.”
your chest warms.
you cuddle closer into him, your leg tangling with his under the blanket.
a few quiet minutes pass before ony suddenly shifts a little.
“wait here,” he says.
you blink. “where are you going now?”
he just smiles a little and leans over to the floor, reaching into the back pocket of his pants.
you watch curiously as he pulls out a small box.
your eyebrows lift.
“ony…?”
he sits back against the headboard beside you, looking slightly nervous now.
“okay so… this was supposed to happen earlier,” he admits.
you sit up a little more, the blanket slipping slightly as you stare at the small box in his hands.
“what do you mean earlier?”
he opens it.
inside is a ring.
your breath catches.
“i was gonna give this to you in the living room,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “and ask if we could try again.”
your eyes widen.
ony glances down at the two of you under the blanket, both of you obviously naked.
he lets out a small laugh.
“but… uh… we kinda got distracted.”
you follow his gaze and then start laughing too.
“ony!”
he grins, shaking his head a little.
“yeah… not exactly how i planned it.”
your eyes move back to the ring, still stunned.
he looks at you again, his expression turning soft.
“but the question’s still the same.”
he gently takes your hand.
“will you try again with me?” he asks quietly. “
your throat tightens.
your eyes fill with tears again, but this time you’re smiling.
“yeah,” you whisper.
ony blinks. “yeah?”
you nod, laughing softly through the emotion.
“yeah, ony. i’ll try again.”
his face immediately lights up in that familiar way you missed so much.
“come here,” he murmurs.
he carefully slides the ring onto your finger.
it fits perfectly.
you both stare at it for a second before you suddenly throw your arms around him.
he laughs softly, hugging you tightly against his chest.
“i love you,” he murmurs into your hair.
you squeeze him back.
“i love you too.”
you stay like that for a moment before a thought suddenly hits you.
you pull back slightly.
“wait.”
ony looks down at you. “what?”
you blink at him.
“we have so much explaining to do to the girls.”
for a second there’s silence.
then both of you burst out laughing.
ony groans playfully, dropping his head back against the headboard.
“yeah… we definitely do.”
you giggle, cuddling back into his chest.
his arm wraps around you again, pulling you close.
“we’ll figure it out,” he says softly.
you smile against his skin.
“together this time.”
and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head as the two of you stay tangled together under the blankets.
This was supposed to be for Ony but it slowly turned into a Male!oc sooo… All you need to know is he’s tall, dark, handsome and covered in tattoos and it curves…
Slightly proofread
An: I might go back edit this. I hate how much I used you and I just realized it. I’m a little rusty
Something Ony had long loved about you, was How feminine and shy you were. Still seeing you blush accompanied with a halted attempt to turn your head away, how you still got nervous around him and especially how soft spoken you were.
He loved everything about the way you spoke, faint accent at your lips when you were upset at something he’d kiss your anger way. Trying to ignore the blood flow rushing to his tip throughout his dick. The softness in your voice when you sang along to one of your favorite songs when you thought he was out of ear shot or gone completely. Your voice could and had put him to sleep along with the gentleness of your fingers running up and down his back, tracing the intricate tattoos on his body.
He loved your voice, but he really loved to make you speechless.
And today he really couldn’t resist, the nostalgic album cover on the screen. Tv playing J. Cole’s “Deja vu”, blunt ashes in the tray somewhere on the balcony, under the deep lights. The splattering sounds of your gushy flesh, skin to skin with his pelvis slamming back into you. Squelching filled the room adding to the harmony of noise the skin slapping and your shaky moans.
Wrists in his larger hand, face still glistening from your essence, biting down on the flesh of his bottom lip, the other meeting the fat of your ass with each thrust. Your mouth stuck in an O shape, squeaking out a string of curses. Feeling the heat get thicker and thicker in your lower belly, feeling your tight walls flutter around his dick sending shockwaves through his body.
Gripping down on your waist fucking you soo deep and soo good, not slowing down as he guided you through the little distance to the edge of the bed. Planting his feet releasing your hands as he flipped you over onto your back. Sliding back in fucking into you deeper than you had ever felt.
“O-oh sshit.” Feeling your loins stir fingers clutching onto the bed sheets. Eyes squeezed shut as you belted out moans egging him on.
“Uh- uh use pretty words, use that pretty mouth.” Relentless fucking into you starting into your deep eyes and you back into his own.
“You feel so good, don’t stop- sharply thrusting into you, groaning you threw your head back against the mattress. Eyes rolling hard.
“Don’t stop? Don’t stop?” Each mocking question punctuated with another overwhelming thrust. One after another. After another.
Your mouth hung open, eyes still squeezed shut. Your ass spread open as he bucked into you. “This pussy feel so good, ma! You taking this dick so good.” Hiking one of his feet on the bed keeping the other planted on the floor drilling mercilessly. Over the edge you slapped on your hand onto his lower tattooed belly. Cream pooling on the base of his dick forming a frothy ring on his chocolate skin.
Running your hands up his tight muscular midsection, lightly pushing on his belly unknowingly sending a deep shiver through his body. Trying to keep himself from cuming he thrusted into you harder ending all attempts to get space. Your eyes rolling deep into your head as your body locked up.
“C’mere, f-fuck this pretty pussy so wet and tight.”
“You feel me all in yo’ shit?” Leaning is body forward trapping you under his weight not yet resting all of it on you. Deciding he wasn’t deep enough, he pulled out leaving a deep pout on your face.
“Whatchu pouting for?” He hummed, his voice adding to your slick.
“Put it back in, please papa” you purred knowing he wanted you to beg, flashing a gold smile his grills adorned under the blue led lights.
Tapping the thick mushroom head on your pussy, the sweet curve of his dick immediately finding your sweet spot. You get out a deep moan and he dropped his weight on you. Trapping you against the bed and under him mouth open.
Plap Plap Plap
Thunderous sounds filled the room, head stuck in the crevasse of his neck taking your fingers on his back.
A symphony of vulgar sounds each ping through the room led by your pretty soft voice as you moaned into his neck stirring his loins again with every sounds and mark from your nails.
“You fucking me so good” you cried out
“Oh papa I love this dick, s-shit! I love you so much papa please don’t stop.” You talked him through his nut as he thrusts got sloppy. Clenching your pussy around him as you started to cum for the third time.
“Gimmie that mouth” barely asking before his big two toned lips engulfed yours in a sloppy kiss. Hot moans into his mouth, digging you out.
