bunnyboo

tia • 24 • blk • she/her/hers

[tiazvni]

navi ♡

tia • 23 • blk • she / her • exhausted grad student by day, whore smut writer by night

my favs // fire force, my hero academia, attack on titan, jujutsu kaisen, demon slayer, blue lock, chainsaw man, buddy daddies + many others.

what i won’t write // incest + step-cest, ddlg, ageplay, non-con, piss + scat play. any others i think of will be added.

talk to me bby — my requests are open !

masterlist — smut city

this blog is nsfw. minors + ageless blogs dni - you will be blocked.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Good With His Hands

MASTERLIST HERE!

Pairing: Farm Boy!Choso x Popular Girl/Bestie!Reader

Synopsis: You and Choso have been friends for years, but as time passed on, you two started to drift apart. So you haven’t actually seen him or spoken to him since you departed your hometown to attend school in the city. Now that you’ve graduated and you’re back in your hometown, something is different about him. He’s still the shy, nerdy farm boy he’s always been, but he’s a lot more attractive to you. So when a hot summer day leads to a swim at the lake (and some impromptu skinny dipping), what will that mean for your friendship? And what is your deal with Choso’s damn hands?! 

Warnings: 18+ (MNDI); No Curse AU; Shy/Nerdy!Choso x Popular Girl!Reader; He Falls First Trope; Social Class Difference; Childhood Friends Trope; Hand Kink; Lowkey Flirting; Sexual Tension; Friends to Lovers; Skinny Dipping; Crush/Love Confession; First Time PIV; Virgin!Choso x Experienced!Reader; Mild Sweat Play; Switch!Choso x Switch!Reader; Sloppy Toppy; Spitting; Sneaky Outdoor Sex; Pussy Eating; Fingering; Standing Missionary; One Leg Up; Almost Caught; Mild Choking; Tongue Piercing; Raw Creampie; Aftercare

Word Count: 13.1k

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you! 

Writer's Note: Second installment to my Good Belle series is finally here!! I always wanted to do a Farm Boy!Choso fic & I'm hype as fuck that I was able to do it for this series! I hope y'all enjoy!! -love, Jazz

Credits: Choso fanart above made by aransmind!

READ ON AO3 HERE!

On a lovely summer day like this one, you would rather take a nice cool dip in the pool or get a nice tan…or do literally anything else but pour tea. 

But alas, your aunt has different plans. “Slower,” she snaps. “You must correct the act of pourin’ tea, my dear. How will you ever impress your suitors if you cannot hold a simple cup?!” She gives you a pinched expression sitting across from you in her embroidered armchair in her floral dress and gaudy pearls.

You sit in a matching armchair adjacent to hers, your arms aching from holding the teapot and your saucer balancing the cup of fine China. You had to stop mid-pour to avoid another lecture about being a “proper Southern woman” from your aunt for the fifth time since you began this little lesson. 

“Applogies, Auntie. I’m just hot. Is the AC still broken?” You lower the teapot and saucer on the coffee table with the delicate lace cover, fanning yourself with your hand. Despite the lace sundress your aunt made you put on and the windows being wide open to allow the fans to circulate air, all that you feel is pure, unbearable summer heat. You forgot how awful the summers could be in your small hometown. 

Your aunt rolls her eyes as if you’re being her young, dramatic niece and takes a sip of her hot tea as if she isn’t boiling in her lavender-scented living room designed with tasteful furniture, art, and collectibles worth thousands now. “You know it is. The maintenance man is supposed to arrive soon.” 

She lays a hand on her forehead before taking a neatly-folded handkerchief near the tea set and dabbing at her neck where sweat beads across her skin. If you had known that the AC would be broken this time around, you would’ve politely declined your aunt’s offer to stay the summer with her at her estate to learn how to find a suitor. In her humble opinion, she believes it’s time you’ve found a husband.

Well, not exactly “humble”. More like she has lectured you on the subject many times before you moved away to go to school in the city at the prestigious university she helped pay for.

“When you come home with that degree, you’re sure to get yourself a ring, my dear,” she giggled to you at your graduation ceremony. Now, you were back after so many years away, and though not much has changed, many things have.

Including one man in particular that you were anxious to see again while you were here.

Knock-knock! 

Instantly, your auntie stands from her chair, relief in her eyes. “Oh, that must be him. Get me his tip by the glass ballerinas, would you, dear?” You unstick yourself from your chair and slowly walk in your wedges—since your aunt forbids bare feet in her home—to the cabinet holding her collectible glass ballerina figurines to get the $20 tip from the top of the shelf. 

As you do, you hear the front door creek open, and your aunt does her signature huff in disappointment and irritation, ever the grumpy, rich Southern belle. “You’re five minutes late. I cannot stand a lack of punctuality.” 

You hear the soft, sheepish chuckle coming from a young man standing there, evidently nervous. “Sorry, ma’am. My car broke down so my big bro had to give me a ride.” Big bro. Your heart begins palpitating, beating so fast that you’re afraid you’ll tip over and die if you don’t calm yourself down. 

With the money tip, you round the corner into the small hallway leading to the front door and sure enough, there stands your childhood friend’s little brother. But he isn’t so little anymore—Yuuji Itadori has sprouted overnight it seems, standing as tall as you in his denim shorts and T-shirt drenched in sweat, wearing a smile as bright as his pink hair and the red toolbox dangling in his hand. 

“Oh, Yuuji, hi!” you chirp at him, giving him a big, beautiful smile. “Auntie, you remember Choso’s baby brother, right?”

Yuuji beams back at you a little too wide, his cheeks flushed from more than just the heat. “H-Hi, Y/N! Wow, you’ve got quite the place here!” He peers his head in and looks around the spacious living room in an effort to hide the fact that he was checking you out, his bicep bulging as he rubs the back of his neck.

“I have quite the place,” your aunt corrects him. You roll your eyes standing behind her even as she smiles, pleased at the pink-haired teen. “Thank you, young man. Now come along so I can show you the AC.” She shoos you out of the way and waltzes back into her oven of a house, humming to yourself. 

You scoot aside to let Yuuji in, giggling when he has to duck to avoid hitting his head. You remember when he was just a little thing clutching onto his big brother’s muscular legs and begging you to come outside to play with him. “Don’t mind her,” you murmur to him. “She’s a bitch to everyone.” 

Yuuji quietly laughs, shutting the screen door behind him. “Your brother here?” you ask, hoping that you don’t sound as desperate to see him as you feel. Unfortunately, he has been all you can think about since you ran into him a week ago at your town’s annual summer farmer’s market. 

You had attended with your closest friend Shoko, another native in your small town who immediately kidnapped you from your aunt’s house as soon as you arrived on the train just a week ago. You had always loved the farmer’s markets in your hometown, popular for its fresh produce, beautiful flowers, and homemade goods, like rosemary and lavender soaps, buttercream lotions, and those sweet-smelling candles that you– 

“Oh!” you shouted as you smacked right into the hard chest of a stranger. You nearly fell and dropped your tote bag full of goodies you spent too much money on and your cup of homemade vanilla bean ice cream. You didn’t drop anything, but you made the stranger drop his paper bags of fresh fruit and vegetables.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” you gasped, immediately bending down to pick up the carton of strawberries and the granny smith apples. 

“I-It’s fine,” the stranger stammered, bending down to help you. All you saw were his cowboy boots and a pair of very sexy, calloused, veiny hands painted with black nail polish. “I was lookin’ where I was…Y/N?” 

Immediately, you looked up and found yourself staring into the familiar, smokey eyes of your childhood friend. 

“Choso?!” you gasped, so shocked to see him that you covered your mouth. Mostly to hide how gobsmacked his new appearance made you as you took him in. All of him, from the tips of his spiked black ponytails that you always used to decorate in barrettes and bows to the belt buckle hanging on his jeans right down to his cowboy boots. 

The red V-neck he wore stuck to his muscular body, his pecs and abs on full display against the thin fabric, and his muscular thighs practically pushed against his jeans. His hair grew longer—you can tell from how his ponytails are at shoulder length even high on his head—and he had grown much taller too, standing at six-foot something now, towering over you. 

You couldn’t help but think about how much he changed over the years you grew apart once you moved away. But you always thought about how much of your type he was now. It was a forbidden thought spurred by the sudden differences you saw in him (very obvious, sexy differences, mind you) and the heat of the sun beaming down onto your face and neck…at least that was what you told yourself.

But despite how much Choso had changed, you still saw that same boyish face and those familiar eyes widened to drink you in, almost like you were a ghost. “Jesus,” he whispered, taken aback at the sight of you. “Fuck, is that really you? You’re back?” 

At the sound of his voice, so deep and velvety, you tossed your bag down in excitement. “Oh, my God!” you squealed, instantly tossing your arms over him. “Surprise! I wasn’t expectin’ to see you here!”

Choso staggered a bit, struggling to hold your full weight, but then easily righting himself on his feet as you squeezed him tight. “M-Me either,” he stammered, a hot blush coating his cheeks that you didn’t catch. 

When you pulled away, he gave you that shy little smile that was always so Choso. So shy, so awkward, and so quiet…quieter than you, at least. You had always been way more outgoing and bubbly than him, becoming his friend only because you initiated it after sharing his fruit snacks with him at lunch when the other kids made fun of him for not having one. 

After that, you became closer than closer. In the summers, you’d hit the creek together and in the winters, you’d spend the snowy days making snow angels and having snowball fights. You’d defend him from the bitchy little girls who made fun of him for his ponytails, glasses, and scrawniness while he’d help you with your math homework. 

Even in high school, when you became the popular girl in school and he was just the nerdy farm boy, you stayed friends. You’d come over to babysit Yuuji for him while he was doing shifts at his local farm helping with the animals and mowing the lawn. Choso would repay you by secretly doing your Algebra homework for you, telling you that he’d only do it for you, nobody else. 

You didn’t care that your friends and the jocks you dated laughed in disbelief at the fact that you, the pretty, rich girl, was buddies with a guy who came in with mud on his kicks and sometimes smelled like manure. And every single time, you’d clock them for disrespecting your friend, hating how egotistical and one-track-minded high schoolers could be. 

You thought that you and Choso would eventually go to college together, but after you got your acceptance letter back from university in the city and Choso wanted to stay back to care for Yuuji, those plans were shot down. 

The last time you saw each other after graduation was at an end-of-the-summer party thrown by one of your fellow rich, preppy high schoolers in their mansions. You sat outside with him on the veranda overlooking the forest, a cup of lukewarm beer in your hand. 

You don’t remember much from that night. Just Choso’s dark eyes in the twilight as he stared deep into yours; his husky voice asking you, “Just don’t forget ‘bout me when you’re in the city?”; and then his soft lips on yours as his hand laid on your waist in your sundress and– 

“Y/N!” Instantly, you were yanked out of the memories years before college and adulthood when Shoko comes running over with her cigarette and mint chocolate ice cream. “You alright over here, girl? You were on the ground.” 

But you didn’t even mention your fall, too overjoyed to see your childhood bestie again. “Hey, you remember my friend Shoko, right?”

Choso nodded, smirking at Shoko who was about a grade over you both in HS. “‘Course. She used to sneak me cigarettes when I was a teen.” Shoko gave him a shrug, smirking as she blew smoke from between her lips. “Gave ya a habit. My bad.”

Choso rolled his grey eyes, looking so different without his glasses. When did he ditch them? “So you’re back in town?” he asked, blushing when you gave him back his fresh fruit.

You nodded, smiling at him, unbeknownst that it was brighter than the sun to him. “My aunt insisted I come through for the summer after graduation. Guess she missed me.” 

You didn’t tell him at the time that it was really just to find a suitor for you, but he didn’t need to know that. “Congrats on that, by the way,” he said with a smile. “I saw that on IG.”

He paused, blushing a hot red, and instantly shifted back into typically awkward and flustered Choso mode. “N-not that I’m followin’ you or anythin’. I don’t even have an account, but I happened to see it…not that I’m, like, stalkin’ you or whatever, but my brother saw it and–”  

“Choso, I found the watermelon stand!” Yuuji yelled from up the road, standing near a fruit vendor in a sunhat. “C’mon, I’m starvin’!” You were glad Choso’s little brother interrupted his big bro’s stammering session because you were about to do it yourself, like you used to. You always thought it was funny, but now, you just thought it was adorable and endearing.

Choso sheepishly smiled, scratching his chin as he stuck a bag under his buff arm. “W-Well, I’ll see ya around? We can hang out while you’re here…if you want.” 

You nodded, grinning up at your old friend despite his shyness. “Sure thing! What’s your number now? I can text you.” After busting out into a huge grin, Choso gave you his number and then left to meet Yuuji at the fruit stand with a departing wave, leaving you and Shoko alone. “That man is smitten for you,” Shoko said with a smirk. 

You gaped at her, confused at her knowing smile as she licked ice cream off of her spoon. “What? You can’t see it? He was ready to stare ya out of that sundress..and probably rip it off of ya.”

You swatted at her arm, making her laugh. “You’re insane. Me and Choso have been friends for years! We' d never do somethin’ like that!” 

You were so sure of yourself then. But the more you texted Choso over the next week, trying to get a good time and day to hang out, the more you started second-guessing that statement.

Choso didn’t have any kind of social media, so texting, calls, and photos you made him send you sufficed. Photos of him on his own farm, muscles glistening as he picks apples, milks cows, and volunteers to put on summer events and petting zoos for the kids. 

You may have saved a few of the photos where he is doing hard labor and saved them to a secret folder, but it’s only because he’s your friend! Why wouldn’t you save his photos? 

After a week of conversing and trying not to melt over his voice in your ear over the phone, you told Choso that your aunt’s AC had broken and he suggested bringing Yuuji over to fix it. While Choso was good at farm labor, his little brother was good at maintenance—both often helped out with the town locals, fixing up leaky pipes or tending to farm animals. 

Yuuji gives you a smirk now when you ask about his older brother, who is not only protective but also gravitates towards farms. Your aunt has one just across the way so you know he’d show up. “You already know he’s here,” he chuckles. “He’s outside botherin’ with the cows. Hope your aunt won’t be mad.” 

You thank him and leave him to deal with your aunt’s shenanigans as you venture outside to find the farm boy. Your aunt’s estate also came with a little farmhouse that she painted bright red and acres of fruit orchards that are withering away in the heat, their hanging fruit becoming too ripe to hang onto the branches. You start to feel overripe yourself as you walk across the road to the barn, spotting Choso from a mile away.

He is bent down in the grass of long, green blades, murmuring and sweet-talking Lucy, one of your aunt’s many cows that she bought to give her fresh milk in the mornings…even though she doesn’t milk them. She often has Choso come over to tend to the animals, gathering eggs from the chicken coop and picking her crops while your aunt busies with watering her prized-winning flowers and calling people up to repaint her barn.

Choso has no problem with that or getting dirt, evident by his knee in the dirt despite his jeans. His white wife beater sticks to his muscular, lean form, his skin tanned from the sun and glistening in sweat. 

You try not to salivate at the sight of his back muscles flexing, reminding yourself that he is your friend. You clear your throat, startling the farm boy enough to stagger away from the cow, surprised to see you. “Already botherin’ the cows? What are you, a cow whisperer?” 

Choso blushes and wipes his hands off on his jeans, Lucy the cow mooing beside him. “She needs milkin’. Your aunt keep a bucket ‘round here or…?” He suddenly stops talking, his eyes plastered on your dress. You look down, realizing that you’re still wearing the over-the-top sundress your aunt insisted you put on for your tea lesson. “Oh, this thing? My aunt made me wear it. I know, it’s stupid.” 

But the farm boy slowly shakes his head, grimacing in the bright sun rays at you underneath his cowboy hat…his very sexy cowboy hat. “No, it’s fine. You just look hot. I-I mean hot like sweaty! With the weather! It’d be weird for me to call you hot since we’re friends s-so—“ 

“Choso, breathe. I got what you meant.” You giggle at him, making him blush a lot more than the summer heat ever could. You smile at him, his familiarity comforting you, making you feel like everything is right with the world. “It’s so good to see you again.” 

Choso’s lips, the bottom one pierced so seductively with a ring, stretch into a smile. “You too. You have no idea.” You smile, walking up to him in the grass, not caring if you ruin your wedges, and wrapping your arms tight around him despite the sweat. He tenses a bit, not expecting the embrace, but he should know you: you love hugs!

So he hugs you back, his muscular arms making you feel so safe and supremely cared for. After a beat, he clears his throat and pulls away, placing his big hands in the pockets of his jeans. “So what’s the city girl up to today?” he asks, raising a brow at you in that joking manner he always used to do. 

“My aunt was invited to some summer cookout later, so she’s tryin’ to groom me for a man.” You roll your eyes, quoting your aunt’s exact words. This cookout is being thrown by the mayor, apparently, so it is crucial to her that you are the portrait of a young Southern woman. Choso’s expression is equal parts hilarious and offensive. “Sorry, what? Like a husband?” 

You shrug, shaking your head at your aunt’s antics. “That’s why she invited me for the summer. My folks swear up and down that I need to get married by next year. Why not score my hometown for a rich bachelor?” 

Choso is still blinking at you as if he is trying to figure out if you’re serious or not. Before he can put his input on it, your aunt comes rushing over to the farm, bringing with her a handheld fan that she briskly and vigorously fans in her face. “Ah, Choso! Perfect timing! Would you mind givin’ my grass a trim?”

Choso, ever the gentleman, nods and tips his hat to her. “Sure thing, ma’am. How ‘bout them cows too? They look like they need milkin’.” He gently pats Lucy’s butt, making her swing her tail into his arm to swat him away. “And the vegetables need to be picked.” He motions one muscular arm towards the neatly plowed rows of tomatoes, cucumbers, sweet corn, and peppers growing next to the red barn where the sheep and horses are grazing. 

“I can do the vegetables,” you chirp, but your aunt is having none of it. She immediately smacks you with her fan, making you flinch at the tiny sting on your arm. “Y/N, please don’t say such nonsense! What about your dress? And you’ll get dirt under your nails!” She picks up your hand, showing her your flamingo-pink manicure.

You roll your eyes, not feeling like hearing her lecture you or complain about your attire. “Auntie, the cookout isn’t until 7 PM! I can be dressed and fresh as a daisy by then!” You turn to Choso and wink at him, silently betting that your aunt will agree. He raises an eyebrow, a slight smirk on his face, obviously begging to differ.

But your aunt just heaves a tired sigh and wipes at her forehead. “It’s too hot to argue. Just don’t be late. And if you are to fool around in the dirt, take off your dress and shoes.” You smile at her and vigorously nod. “Yes, ma’am! You won’t be disappointed! Thank you, Auntie!” 

Your aunt just hums in exhaustion before giving Choso the keys to the toolshed and walking off back to her house to check on Yuuji. You turn to Choso with a grin, overjoyed to be doing anything except pour tea. “Just like old times,” the farm boy chuckles, arms crossed over his broad chest. Thanks for agreein’ to let me bring Yuuji over.” 

“Nonsense! You’re family to me.” You give him an endearing smile and though he returns it, you can’t help but feel like it isn’t as natural. It seems forced. Almost as if he is trying to prove to you that he feels the same way…but why are you thinking that? Choso IS family to you! He’s like your brother. 

Not wanting to dive too deep into such complicated thoughts, you bump your hip with Choso’s and pat Lucy’s side. “Now let’s get to milkin’, farmer boy,” you joke. “Daylight’s a-wastin’!” 

The farm boy gives you another panty-dropping smirk and lowers his cowboy hat on his head to block out the sun before you twist around to leave and change your clothes. “Yes, ma’am.” 

After an hour of chores in the hot sun, you find yourself in the passenger’s seat of Choso’s pickup truck with your feet up on the dash, your pink-painted toes glistening in the sun. 

Choso sits next to you at the wheel, one hand gripping the wheel to steer on the bumpy, dirt roads and the other with his arm slung out the window. The image is undeniably attractive, but you ignore the thought AND the view of his hands. 

Instead, you admire the beautiful, homely views of your little town and wiping your hair out of your face when the wind blows it. 

“AC on too high?” Choso asks, ticking his eyes over at you. He is still wearing his wife beater and jeans despite the patches of brown dirt and green grass stains staining the fabric. He was put through the wringer today, only stopping to take your offer for some iced water in between mowing your aunt’s humongous lawn. 

You grunt, peeling your back off of the leather seat. “Not high enough.” 

Even with the cool air blasting you dead in the face from the air vents, you barely feel anything. Your friend snorts, rolling up his window to avoid the cool air going out. “Roll the window up then.” You shake your head, admiring the rush of trees passing you by. “Can’t. I love the smell of the open air. It’s so different in the city.” 

Choso nods, thumping his fingers against the wheel at the music playing from his radio. “I bet—all that smog and sewage pipe shit. I’m shocked you ain’t sick.” He turns a short left, putting himself on the road headed to his farm. 

You forgot how breathtaking your hometown is—no tall buildings to block out the sun or speeding cars in traffic or concrete streets on every corner. While you love the hustle and bustle of the city, you missed the quiet summer nights and peaceful afternoons in your little Southern town. The green trees sway in the summer breeze, the roads are bumpy yet exciting, and the only buildings are quaint boutiques, shops, diners, bars, farms, and ranches. It feels so good to be home. 

And to be here with Choso. “You sure your aunt won’t be mad that you’re goin’ to my place for a shower?” he asks, obviously still nervous about not telling your aunt of your whereabouts.

You just told her you were going shopping for another dress after Yuuji accidentally bursted a pipe trying to fix your aunt’s leaky sink after he fixed up the AC for an extra dollar. Your aunt was VERY angry about her floors getting wet, to put it lightly, and especially since this particular pipe also connected to the shower. Meaning you had no way to wash the dirt and sweat off of your skin after picking vegetables.  

“Well, since Yuuji accidentally blew out a pipe, I’m gonna have to,” you chuckle, peeling your tank top away from your skin and shifting in your cut-offs. You never noticed Choso’s blush looking at your little outfit today. “She’ll for sure be heated, but we’ve known each other since pre-K! She knows we’re good friends.”

You give Choso a beaming, easy-going smile to confirm that yes, you are good friends. The farm boy keeps his eyes trained on the road, his jaw popping on some gum. “Yeah. Friends. Right.” 

He swears when he comes to a sudden stop, letting a skunk cross the street. You haven’t seen one in years. “So what’s this ‘bout your folks send in’ you here to find a man? I thought you were just comin’ for a break from the city.” 

He gives you a teasing smirk, earning himself a smack on the arm. You ignore how hard his bicep is and how much you want to feel him up. “Both. My aunt is primin’ me for Southern society so I got a better chance at marryin’ into more money.” “It’s a joke, right? Like we don’t have enough money as it is!” 

Choso nods, pressing the gas once the skunk is across the street. “That’s why you had on the dress. Figures. Well, let’s hope it goes well for ya.” You scoff to yourself, not exactly hyped to meet a bunch of stuffy politicians and businessmen over BBQ and champagne. “So what’s your dream girl, huh?” you curiously ask, turning to Choso. “What would you look for in a girlfriend or wife?” 

The farm boy quirks that damn pierced brow, confused at the random question. “M-Me? I dunno.” He blushes, averting his eyes from you, and you poke him in the side. “C’moooon, Cho, you’ve gotta gimme somethin’!” you groan. “You dated once we graduated from high school didn’t ya?” 

Choso doesn’t verbally answer; only grumbles something to himself. You don’t know if that’s a yes or a no…and you certainly don’t know why you feel such a strange tug in your tummy at the thought of him dating someone else. “I guess someone sweet,” he finally replies. “Kindhearted. Funny. Generous. Knows her way ‘round a farm and is good with animals. That sorta thang.” 

You giggle at the Southern twang sweetening his tongue. If he ever came to the city, the girls would LOVE that. “And what about looks wise? Do you look for attractiveness like that?” Your friend glances at you, disturbed. “Why are you askin’ me this?” he asks, narrowing his brows at you. But you push, poking him hard in the side. “Just answer!” 

He sighs, but goes on explaining, telling you what you want to hear. “Guess just a bright smile that lights up a room. Cute laugh. Pretty eyes you can see stars in. Smooth skin. I think birthmarks are pretty cute too…” He trails off, glancing at you, and oblivious to his intimate stare, you cheekily giggle. “So like mine?” you ask, glancing down at the birthmark on the side of your neck–just a mole shaped like a heart. 

Choso doesn’t answer, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows hard. You’re afraid he’s also swallowed his gum. “Y-Yeah, so that’s my answer,” he stammers, abruptly turning back to the road. “What about you? What d’you look for in a man?” You take a moment to think about this, having dated so many boys during your time at uni, but never a man. “Well—”  

BAAAAAAAAA! 

You gasp at the sudden loud call of a sheep, turning from Choso to the road to see a barrage of fluffy, white sheep herded on the road. Down the road is Choso’s home: an adorable little cottage with yellow buttercream walls and a brick chimney with a red-brick barn behind it. Choso groans as he slows to a stop, rolling his eyes. “Damn sheep got out again,” he sighs. “Stay here.” 

You stay put as he unbuckles himself and hops out of the truck, leaving the door ajar. He shifts right into Farmer Choso mode: cropper, planter, cow milker, and sheep herder while also being a part-time older brother and a full-time businessman in his early 20s. His voice is loud and clear, grabbing the sheep’s attention. “Alright, alright, y’all, off the street! C’mon before y’all are roadkill!” 

He raises his muscular arms as he begins to potion for the sheep to get on the grass, whistling and clucking his tongue to get them to follow. The sheep are slow at first, but then listen, waddling across the street like lost children. As they disperse, a black-and-white Border Collie appears from behind them, fluffy ears up and tail wagging at the sight of Choso. She barks, running over to Choso with an eager tongue wag. 

You visibly coo at the fluffy baby, remembering when she was a pup before you left town. You always missed her and you’re glad Choso kept her to tend to his farm animals. “Hey, Lucy girl,” he coos, bending down to pet her. “You went after ‘em, hm? That’s my good girl.” He scratches behind her ears, earning an excited “Woof, woof!” in reply.

You try not to melt watching Choso pet his dog. The universe knows you’re a slut for a man who is good with animals and kids, so why must it punish you so?

After Choso is done petting Lucy and directs her to stay with the sheep on the grass, he hops back in the truck. “I’ll lead ‘em back to the barn with my car. Bear with me now.” You nod and sit in silence, letting him work. He drives slowly, leading the sheep back to the barn with Lucy in tow, until he makes it up the hill on the road to his house with his little barn attached to it.

After parking the truck behind the barn, you busy yourself petting Lucy and saying hello to the cows, horses, pigs, and chickens while Choso puts your bag in the house and locks the sheep back up in their pens. When he comes back to you, he finds you peering into the chicken coop to see some nests hot with fresh eggs. “Looks like you’ve got some eggs in here. I’ll get ‘em for ya.” 

You turn to Choso who is already in work mode, having grabbed a shovel while he was away for a couple minutes. He blushes red at your offer, looking quite embarrassed that you want to help.

“O-Oh, you don’t have to. Soon as I’m done here, I’ll—“ 

“Choso, I know how to gather eggs. I ain’t that much of a city girl OR a princess.” You put your hands on your hips, angling them in a way that Choso follows. Your friend blushes even more, his entire neck turning pink. “That’s not what I…” He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Fine, ya got me. Just make sure you call me if they get rowdy. I’ll be right around here.” 

He points around the back where some stacks of hay are, needing to be gathered for the horses. You nod and get to work, glad to have a little bit of time away from your friend so you don’t feel so…nervous? No, it isn’t just that. There is an edge to it; something skating between arousal and attraction.

And you don’t like it. Yes, Choso is definitely hot now, but he’s still your friend! You can’t be thinking these thoughts about him! To take your mind off of his muscles glistening with sweat and those pornographic grunts as he throws each bail of hay into a heap together, you get knee deep into the chicken coop with a basket for the eggs. “Sorry, ladies,” you chirp to the clucking hens. “I just need your eggs for my omelettes.” 

Gathering eggs among the flurry of feathers and chicken feed helps a bunch. Once you gather them, you walk around the back of the barn to tell Choso, hearing the sound of the hose spraying. Maybe he’s cleaning the pig pen or watering the crops. “Choso, I’ve got the…” 

Your words fall off a fucking cliff the very moment you see your friend in all of his glory…or almost rather, if it isn’t for the belt holding up the rest of his jeans that are just slipping down his narrow hips and toned stomach sinewy with a black happy tail. He is shirtless, his tan skin glistens with water dripping down his muscles built from years of hard work, kissed by the sun. 

He has lowered his hair, the black locks kissing his broad shoulders. When he suddenly turns, you notice that his nipples are pierced, four balls squeezing the sexy pink peaks. Heat pools into your core, but you can’t thirst too long when Choso jumps, startled to see you. “What the fuck!” he gasps. 

“Shit, sorry!” you gasp, nearly dropping the eggs. You immediately turn around even though you’ve seen Choso shirtless plenty of times before. But this…this feels different. Probably because you almost saw his dick. 

“W-What are you doin’?!” he stammers, looking behind his shoulder at you to hide his front. “I told you I was changin’!” You try to remember when he said that, opting for when you were busy hunting for eggs in the chicken coop. “I didn’t hear you! I was in the chicken coop, remember?” 

“Just put ‘em inside on the counter,” he rasps, immediately shutting off the water. You hear a rustle and turn back around to see him pulling on a fresh shirt. It doesn’t help that it clings to his wet skin, outlining his muscles. He is blushing hard, averting his eyes from your face. “Uh, if you take a shower, there’s fresh towels in there. Homemade mint soap too.” 

You nod, muttering a thanks, and quickly high tail it inside of his house. Your heart is pounding and your hands are shaking, your head full of naughty images of your friend’s happy trail and the V-line trailing down, down, down to his– 

You grunt, shoving the thoughts aside, and quickly making a beeline for the shower with your bag after dropping off the eggs in the kitchen. You strip off your sweaty clothes, turn on the hot water, and let yourself be alone with your thoughts for the next ten minutes. The scent of mint from the soap Choso made fills your nostrils, not at all filling your brain with how he’d smell in your sheets…how he’d smell kissing you, just like all those years ago. 

To find your friend so damn sexy should be liable for a lock-up, you think. You need to be found and put in jail. Or maybe a mental institution. You really should leave, but instead, after pulling on your favorite blue sundress and some flip flops, you go to the kitchen and busy yourself again: this time making lemonade. You find the lemons, sugar, sprigs of mint, and a big pitcher under the sink. 

It’s the perfect distraction from Choso walking back and forth in front of the kitchen window, letting the horses graze and playing with Lucy with a stick. By the time he finishes, it’s mid-afternoon. He comes into the kitchen, sticky with sweat, but stops dead in his tracks when he sees you in your skimpy little dress. You turn to him, holding a pitcher of lemonade topped high with ice, shivering from his eyes full of heat. “Made ya some lemonade.” 

You’re silent as you pour him a glass, doing your best to not shake. He tentatively takes it in his big hand. “Thanks. You shower?” His eyes stay put on your wet hair, never faltering. “Yeah, but I wanted to go to the lake and take a dip.” You grin at him, your eyes sparkling. 

Choso’s brows crease at you. “The lake? But it’s…” He pauses, checking his watch. “3 PM. Don’t you have to get ready for that cookout?” 

You tsk, rolling your eyes in that stubborn way you always have. “I will, but I need a cool dip first! It’s so hot out here and we’ve been workin’ hard! C’mon, Cho, you remember all those summer days swimmin’ in the lakes and creeks, right?” 

Your friend sighs, craning his neck up as if asking God for help. “Alright, fine, but no trackin’ water in my car. You got your swimsuit?” You smirk at him, the sparkle in your eyes growing. “Who said anythin’ about a swimsuit? Grab some tequila for that lemonade and let’s get outta here!”  

“Cannonball!” you drunkenly shout before SPLASH! You hit the water in a perfect cannonball, sending water spraying everywhere. 

Choso stands at the brink of the lake, right beside the wooden boardwalk, wearing a tee and some cargo shorts, his pickup truck parked a little ways behind the trees. When you pop back up, you smile at him, giggling, immediately refreshed from the cold water. He crosses his arms and shakes his head at you, a slight smile on his face. “You’re insane.” 

You wave him in, doing your best to not flash him your bra. He argued you down earlier about skinny-dipping, wanting to take you to get your swimsuit, but you refused, reminding him that he’s seen you in your undies before. “C’mon in, friend! The water is amazin’!” you shout, keeping yourself afloat by kicking your feet.

The creek glitters with the afternoon sun, surrounded by green trees and brush. There is only the sound of birds chirping, making for a beautiful symphony for your swim. The water is cold enough for a shock but not enough to give you hypothermia. You consumed a good portion of tequila-mixed lemonade in the car-ride here, so you’re good and tipsy. Everything feels amazing. 

Tempted by the water (and you), Choso gives in and strips, giving you an impromptu strip show as you try not to flush hot, watching him. But dammit, does he make it hard for you! ‘The same you wanna make him hard,’ the devil on your shoulder sings to you. 

You turn away from Choso’s gorgeous body as he pulls down his pants, leaving himself in his boxers. You struggle not to look down, not realizing your friend was carrying around a bulge like THAT. This is insane and so not appropriate. You should tell him you change your mind and go home like a respectable lady.

But that plan flies when Choso jumps from the deck and jumps into the water, splashing water all over you. When he comes up, his wet hair sticks to his head and he looks supremely relaxed. “Ah,” he exhales, staring up at the blue sky. You giggle, paddling over to him. “Right?! See what happens when you listen to me? This is perfect for a hot summer day!” 

He suddenly turns to you, wearing a sly, secretive smile on his handsome face. “So is this.” SPLASH! You squeal as he splashes water at you, turning your head to avoid getting it in your eyes. “Oh, you asshole! You never splash a lady!” You splash him back and soon, you’re in the middle of a splash fight, laughing like kids. 

Then comes Choso and those fingers tickling your neck and sides, making you snort with laughter. “No, Choso, stop! Not the tickles!” He yanks you over to him despite you trying to squirm away, but he’s just too strong. “C’mere!” he chuckles. “You started this!” His smile glimmers in the sun, breathtaking and blinding. 

It’s the same smile he used to make when you were kids, but this time, it leaves your heart pounding. You finally manage to break away from him after squirming in the water, still giggling. “God, I missed you, but I did NOT miss that. Curse you for knowin’ all my weak spots.” 

But Choso isn’t smiling anymore. Instead, he’s staring down at you, somewhere at your shoulders. “What?” you ask. He blushes a hot red, averting his gaze from below. “Y-Your bra. It’s, uh…” He trails off, flustered, and you look down to see that your bra is missing, your tits just barely covered by the water. 

You shriek, hiding under the water and crossing your arms to hide your bobbs. “Oh, no!” you squeal. “My bra! Where’d it go?! It’s Savage X Fenty!” You try to dive under, but Choso stops you. “I’ll look. You stay up here. Go up on the deck.” And then he inhales and dives under the water, leaving you alone.

Quickly, you swim to the lakeside and pull yourself up before waddling onto the deck, wet. You use one of the towels Choso brought with him to wrap around your chest, hiding yourself. Worrying for Choso doesn’t cross your mind; he’s an excellent swimmer. He pops up a few times, gathering air before going back down, determined to find your precious bra.

Finally, he finds it and holds it up like a trophy, hair and face drenched in water. When he comes up to you soaking wet, he awkwardly hands you your bra, still blushing and looking off to the side. “Thanks,” you whisper, taking your bra and turning to place it firmly on your chest.

However, you were never skilled in hooking your shit from the back, so you awkwardly gaze at Choso for help. “Uh…c-could you, um…” Now it’s your burn to blush, face as hot as the sun’s rays. Silently, only aided by the sounds of the sloshing water and the chirping birds, Choso carefully hooks your bra for you…. 

With those hands. Those beautiful, rough, capable hands of his. His calloused fingers brush against your skin, making electricity pop over your wet skin. You bite your lip, trying not to think of those hands being somewhere else instead of at your spine, but you can’t help it! Your obsession with his hands should be studied. 

Finally, he finishes the job and you turn to face him. “Thanks,” you awkwardly say. He is looking everywhere but at you, his cheeks a rosy pink under the golden sun. “No problem. Sorry ‘bout that.” 

“S’fine. Serves me right for not packin’ a bathin’ suit.” You give an awkward little giggle that he doesn’t return and you feel like dunking yourself back in the water with the intention of drowning yourself. Quickly, you backtrack and start to head to the truck to gather your clothes. “C’mon, we should be headin’ back before…” You pause, turning to see Choso still silently standing there on the deck. 

“Choso?” you ask. “What’s the matter?” He stands there, staring at you so intently that you begin to grow nervous. Is he angry? Could he realize the weird attraction you have towards him now? Then he smiles, but it’s dry and doesn’t quite fit his face. 

“You really wanna know?” he chuckles. You don’t know why, but your heart begins to race, anticipating his answer. He turns to you fully, illuminated by the golden rays of the sun. “You. You’re what’s the matter with me.”

Oh. You weren’t expecting this answer at all. Or the firmness of his tone that makes you tingle from down below. “W-What?” you gasp, taken aback. Quickly, Choso breaks and runs frustrated hands over his face. “I don’t mean that the way it sounds. Sorry, but…y-you just make it hard to fuckin’ talk.” 

As he begins to slowly walk towards you, you stay put, unable to move. It is as if your legs have turned to ice. Choso swallows hard, physically preparing himself for what he’s about to say next. “I’ve always stayed your friend 'cause you're at the top of the social ladder and me? I’m just the farm boy...but now that you're here, there ain't nothin' stoppin' me from tellin' you how I feel.”  

He takes your hands in his and you nearly melt on the spot. “The day you left, you kissed me,” he sighs. “And I never forgot about it. I held onto it for years after you left, hopin’ for the chance to do it right the next time I saw you.” 

And there it is: the truth. Hanging in the air like smoke. “Choso…” You pause, unsure of what to say. But he takes this the wrong way; as rejection. Like he was anticipating this. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammers. “But I just didn’t wanna keep lyin’ to you and hidin’ from you like I…like I don’t want to…ah, Jesus.” 

He drops your hands and forces his own behind his back, looking like he wants to die. “C-Can we just forget everything that I just said? I-It’s just the tequila talkin’. God, why did I let you give me that when it makes me–” 

But you shut him up by cupping his face in your hands and kissing him before he can continue babbling. “Mmph!” he moans into the kiss, eyes wide in shock while yours are closed. Slowly but surely, Choso melts into your touch and the softness of your lips, his eyes fluttering shut as you take him on a magic carpet right with your soft, gloss-sticky lips, flavored with cherry lipgloss and tequila-infused lemonade.

You have kissed many guys back in college: jocks, preppy, rich boys in your dorms, science geeks, future lawyers…but none of them measure up to your childhood friend. Choso kisses like a dream, the coolness of his metal snake bites combined with the heat of his soft lips and tongue making you melt. The towel falls and his arms replace it, wrapping you up tight, keeping you warm against him. 

You share moans with each other, longing and needy, that sexual tension and chemistry finally free. When you pull away, you’re panting and his eyes are hazy, unfocused…not to mention the tent in his trunks. “I feel the same,” you exhale against his lips. 

He blinks at you, the drunkenness from your kiss fading into shock. “Y-You do?” he whispers, eyes wide with shock. You nod, having never been more sure of anything in your life—not school or your career or anything. “There is nobody else for me but you,” you softly confess. “I want you. Only you.” 

Choso instantly tugs you closer, meshing your body against his, and kisses you again. This one is deeper and personal, stealing your breath away. The soft smack of his lips leaving yours travels straight between your thighs. “Jesus, baby,” he murmurs. “You keep talkin’ like that and I can’t promise I’ll be a gentleman.” 

His cock concurs, throbbing against your tummy. Heat pools into your lower stomach, making you hot with need. “Then don’t be,” you softly keen. “Put your hands on me, Cho. I want it.” Locking your eyes with his, you unhook your wet lace bra and let it hit the wooden planes below, forgotten. It means nothing to you now. Not with the way Choso is staring at your tits. 

Taking your request, he puts his hands on them, gently massaging each one until your moans drive him up the brink. He tweaks and pinches each nipple with his fingers before tasting them, sucking on each one like he’s trying to draw milk out of them. You moan and whine from his ministrations, your fingers tangled in his wet locks. 

“How do you feel this fuckin’ good?” he pants against your tits. “I always wanted to touch you…feel you like this…” He lets out breathy moans and hums of pleasure as he continues to suck your tits, his nimble fingers, calloused from farmwork, making you dizzy with lust. “This okay?” he murmurs, his eyes ticking up to meet yours. “You like this, darlin’?” 

The pet name sets you on fire and you can’t deny your want for the hard bulge rubbing against your panties anymore. “I love it, but…I wanna please you too.”

Choso stares at you, confused, until your hand snakes down to grab his cock. He swallows hard, his eyes widening at your bold hand gripping him in his briefs. “W-Wait, baby, hang on,” he murmurs. “Anyone could see us like this.” He looks around the perimeter of the lake and the woods, nervous, only to softly moan as you stroke him through his undies. 

“I don’t care. I just want you.” You have become a needy, wanton slut, desperate for him the more he throbs in your palm. Your fingers dip into the waistband of his briefs, tugging them down his hips.

“Let me see you, Cho. Let me please you.” You whisper this as you kiss his neck, sucking on the sweet spot behind his ear. He groans, rutting into your hand as you feel up on his silky, hot, throbbing dick.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers. “Y-You’re makin’ this–oh, fuck–really hard for me.” You smile against his neck, kissing his throat. “I’d hope so,” you giggle. “I’ve been tryin’ not to stare at it all day.”

Choso shivers at your bold, dirty confession, breathy moans and grunts leaving his lips. “C’mon,” you whisper, sucking on his earlobe. “Not here. By the trees.” 

So you go, hand in hand, to a nice canopy of trees that block out the sun and the hiking trails. But before you can kneel before him, he gently stops you. “Hang on…before you do that, I should probably tell you.” He pauses, biting his lip. “I-I never…I mean…I ain’t ever….” 

“You’ve never had a blowjob?” you ask, your brows raising in surprise. Then it clicks. “Choso…have you ever had sex before?” Judging by his red cheeks and averted gaze, you guess your suspicions are correct. 

He chuckles, dry and self-deprecating. “I know, I know: mid-twenties and I’m still a fuckin’ virgin. Typical shy, nerdy, loser farm boy, right?” He says it with so much venom that you flinch. 

“Chosi, no,” you murmur, using your old pet name reserved for him. “There’s nothin’ wrong with you and you’re not a loser. You are the hottest, sexiest man I’ve ever known.” 

You kiss him again, feeling him melt into your kiss as your hand sneaks beneath his briefs and strokes his hard, throbbing cock. “F-Fuck, sweet pea,” he groans against your lips. “Just take it out. I-I want it.” Each word is a hot stammer through his soft lips. You smile at him, teasingly stroking from top to bottom, base to tip. “You want it, Cho? You want me to take you in my mouth?” 

Choso bites his lower lip, the snakebites in the plump flesh glistening in the sun. “Y-Yeah,” he breathes. “Just keep it down, okay? S-Someone might come.” You give him a sultry smirk as you sink down onto your knees, hypnotizing him. “Hopefully, you will.” 

He goes redder than a tomato at your dirty joke. “Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles, but his voice quickly rises on a moan as you pull his wet swimshorts down his hips. His long, thick cock slaps against his stomach and dark happy tail.

He is already dripping with precum for you, the pink, pierced head glistening with it. “Look at you, so hard for me,” you purr. “You got such a pretty cock, Chosi.” You begin to stroke him, pumping him up and down while using your other hand to gently massage his balls. 

Choso instantly reacts to your touch and furrows his brows in pleasure. “Ah, shit,” he hisses, staring at you through slitted eyes. “M’sensitive, sweet pea.” You continue to pump him, pulling delicious whimpers and low moans out of him. You smile, feeling powerful and oh-so sexy. You stare up at him through your lashes, loving how he looks under the afternoon sun. 

“Have you thought about this?” you purr. “Your friend on her knees for you ‘bout to suck your pretty dick?” Choso bites his lip, either because he’s struggling with the thought or because your hand feels too good stroking his hard dick. “S-Shit,” he moans. “Y-Yeah…m’sorry, baby, but I–” 

“I thought about it too,” you admit, your lust making you bold. “Since we’ve been back here, you’re all I could think about.” And then you’re wrapping your lips around Choso and giving him the first blowjob he’s ever had in his life. And it’s fucking amazing. You make sure of it. 

It is sloppy, passionate, and absolutely amazing judging by his facial expressions and the sounds he makes. He watches you suck and slobber eagerly on his cock while your hands pumps him up and down with such eagerness, the sight almost too much for him. His moans are almost high-pitched and slutty, the sounds doing so many delicious things to you. 

You feel yourself soak your panties, your pussy throbbing impatiently, needing to be touched, tasted, and fucked. Especially when Choso throws his head back and lets out a loud moan, not caring about anyone hearing anymore. 

“Mmm, fuck, s-sweet pea, that’s good!” he groans. “Can I fuck your throat?” His hands clench at his sides, desperate to grab your head and force his dick deeper down your throat. You pull away, batting your lashes at him. “I dunno. Can you?” 

Choso bares his teeth, every muscle in his body tensing. “Little brat,” he grunts. “C’mon, please, baby? I need to fuck your pretty mouth so bad.” He gnaws on his bottom lip, a blush on his cheeks. “So you wanna be my good boy, huh?” you giggle. You smile, pleased, as he blushes at your teasing. “Okay,” you giggle. “You can cum if ya want to.” 

He nods, a delighted twinkle in his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.” You then take him back into your mouth and allow him to wrap a hand around your hair before he begins thrusting his hips and fucking your mouth. “Oh, fuck!” he moans, his eyes widening at the feeling of the tight channel of your throat squeezing around him. 

With each thrust, he goes deeper and deeper, his cock quickly filling up your throat. You accommodate to his girth and length by opening your throat up more, breathing through your nostrils as Choso pumps away, using your mouth like he would a pocket pussy. 

You wonder, deliriously, if he has ever pumped a toy or his fist thinking about you, his childhood friend. Has he ever cum to the thought of you? Whispered your name as he blew a load deep in a toy the way he would you? The thought makes you take one hand and rub your pussy through your panties, desperate for stimulation. 

With the other, you hold one of Choso’s hips and drag your nails down his toned thigh, indulging in his muscles. You continue to gag and suck and slurp on his cock, your spit dripping down his balls. 

The sounds coming from Choso’s gorgeous, pink mouth are sluttier than you’ve ever heard a man make. He is loud and unashamed, his face screwed in pleasure and his black locks of shoulder-length hair sticking to his forehead. “Ngh–f-fuck, sweet pea! I-I’m–ah!–m’gonna cum!” he gasps. Your eyes flutter as he grips your hair, forcing you down deeper onto his cock. “Mmm-hmm!” you moan. 

He is losing his self control, his hand sinking into your silky, wet locks, locking you against him. Your pussy grows wetter the closer he gets, his moans and grunts increasing in volume as he strokes away in your mouth. “Fuck!” he moans. “Ngh, b-baby…oh, my God, I’m gonna…ah, fuck!” 

Then you feel it: a shot of warm, salty cum shooting into your mouth down your throat. You gargle and gag as you take it, swallowing him as he moans strings of curses that would make a nun blush. Choso, your sweet farmboy, cussing up a storm as he pumps the rest of his spunk down your throat. Finally, with a soft whistle, he relaxes, finally spent.  

As he pulls away, a string of saliva connects from his cock head to your bottom lip that is coated in spit and pre cum. He begins to slowly stroke his cock, heavy and glistening in his hand, as you wipe your mouth and lick it off your hands. “That was perfect,” he murmurs. “Now let me–” 

But he’s unable to finish because of the sudden rustle in the bushes. You gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth, and freeze like a deer caught in headlights. Though the bush is yards away, you and Choso notice it…and hear the footsteps crunching on leaves. “Shit!” he hisses. “We gotta hide!” 

He yanks you up with ease before pushing his cock back into his briefs. “Where?!” you whisper, your heart hammering. He presses a finger to his lips, his voice hushed. “Shh…follow me. Under here.”

He points at the dock and together, you slink back into the water, hand in hand. Choso leads you under the dock, right against the large rocks below, just as you hear the sound of male laughter from above you. “This looks like the place to fish for a minute!” an old man chirps. “Ron, c’mon! Daylight’s a-wasitin’!” 

There is another voice, just as crackly and old as the first one. “Somebody done left they clothes here, Matt. Think they still there?” You share a look with Choso, both of you sharing the same fearful expression. If they find you, you’re fucked! 

Matt chuckles, the sound of metal clinking resonating in the air by the lakeside. “If they are, we’ll probably reel ‘em in! Don’t worry, we’ll only be here for a couple minutes till dinner’s ready.” There is a sharp THWAP and the line of a fishing pole plopping into the water just a few feet away from you. 

You stare at Choso, damn near about to drop dead. “What do we do now?” you ask, your heart hammering a million times a minute. 

But your friend is calm, pressing you against the rocks with his body. “Just keep quiet f’me,” he whispers. And then you feel his long fingers caressing you through your panties under the water. 

“Wait, wait…mmm, Choso, w-what are you doin’?” It’s hard to focus on anything else around you while your friend is kissing your neck and rubbing your pussy at the same time, making your body tingle with pleasure. The pressure of his fingertips against your clit builds, making your brain foggy. 

“Ya want me to stop?” he asks in your ear. “Just tell me, sweetie, and I’ll do it. Whatever makes you–” 

“Don’t stop,” you quietly moan, rubbing yourself on his fingers. “D-Don’t fuckin’ stop please.” His fingers feel so fucking good! You can’t help my grind on them, trying to keep your movements slow to avoid the water sloshing too much. 

You don’t care about the old fishermen. Or the outdoors. Or the BBQ. All you care about is Choso making you feel good. For a man who’s never had sex before, he’s certainly a natural so far. 

He stares at you, eyes lust-blown and lips parted. “I need to taste you, sweet pea. Is that okay?” You slowly nod, doing your very best to make any kind of noise. “Try to keep quiet, okay?” 

He kneels in the shallow water and props your leg up on a rock, causing you to lean back for him. He pushes your panties aside, groaning at the sight of your puffy, wet pussy.  

And the man damn near dives into it, slurping at your juices and sucking on your clit with his pillowy-soft lips. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your entrance while swiping his nose against your clit and sucking on your sensitive, little button, his hands pinning your thigh apart as far as it will go. 

You are losing it, your voice box turned on autopilot so your mouth makes whatever noises it feels like. The agony though is keeping quiet to not alarm the old men or nature. 

“God, yes, yes, yes!” you quietly whimper. “Right there, Choso, fuck, right there!” His hot tongue, tinged with cool metal from his tongue piercing, swirls about over your slit and pussy lips, making a mess of your oozing hole. 

“Right there?” he teasingly asks. “Or here?” You then feel his finger gently probing you, slowly slipping inside of you and aimed upward to rub against the underside of your clit. “A-Ah!” you gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth. 

Choso pauses and you feel the fear radiating off of him in waves. Shit. “What was that? You hear that, Matthew?” Ron asks. He’s on the far side of the lake, not as close to you as Matthew is with his fishing pole. “Probably was a loon. Ya know they like to roam over here.” 

Then they go right back to fishing as Choso goes right back to licking. Your eyes roll back like you’re possessed as your thigh clamps around his head, desperate to keep him where he is. “Fuck,” you whine. “How the fuck are you soooo good at this?” 

Choso chuckles, feeling cocky and proud at his work. “Only for you,” he hums. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this, sweet pea.” He pauses to spit on your cunt, letting it drip with a copious amount of saliva before slurping it back up. 

You can’t believe how nasty this shy boy is! When he moves his hands under your ass to hold you up and eats your pussy like he would some fruit, you have to clap a hand over your mouth to avoid screaming to the heavens. Shamelessly, you grind your hips against his mouth, riding his face to get you closer. 

He keeps gliding his finger in and out of you while he sucks your clit, quickly bringing you to your peak. “Shit!” you gasp loudly behind your palm. “C-Chosi, baby, you’re gonna make me cum!” 

He pulls away from your clit only to command you to do so. “Do it,” he pleads. “Please cum for me, baby. Please?” 

His eyes lock with yours and you are suddenly put in a trance as you stare into his gaze. “Let go for me,” he purrs, his words just as hypnotizing as his eyes. “I’ve got you now.”

And like a puppet on a string, you do as he commands. With a loud scream-like moan muffled by your hand, you cum all over Choso’s mouth, squirting down his throat and on his pierced tongue. He greedily slurps it all up, teasing your sensitive pussy until he can feel it throb in your mouth, pleading with him to stop. 

But he doesn’t. He makes it a point to continue to eat you out even through your orgasm, making it last longer than it should. Your back arches so hard that you’re afraid that it will snap. Your vision blurs, fat tears sticking to your lash line. 

Fortunately for you, he finally stops and stands before you in the water, his chin and mouth glistening with your cum. He gently takes his finger out of you and sucks on it, staring into your eyes as he does. “Damn,” he pants. 

And though you just came, you know that you won’t be satisfied until he’s inside of you. You take his cock in your hand, now hard and throbbing, and rub it against your soddened, sensitive pussy. “Fuck me, Choso,” you whimper. “Please.” 

Choso’s eyes light up like Christmas trees, but before he can act, the old men speak again. “No such luck over here. Let’s try over here!” You hear Ron’s boots squelching in the grass while Matthew’s footsteps creak on the deck. Right over your head. “You go ‘head. I’m gonna try on the deck.” 

Creeeak-creeeak go the wooden planks overhead as leather boots press against them. ‘Shit, shit shit!’ you think.

You look up, seeing Matthew’s feet through the cracks in the wooden deck. Then you turn to Choso only to get a finger pressed to your lips. “Shhh,” he hushes you. “I’ll just give ya the tip. Keep quiet, ‘kay, sweet pea?” 

He’s kidding. He will wants to fuck you even though you could be caught?! This man must be freakier if not more insane than you realized. 

“Put me where you want me,” he murmurs as he throbs in your hand. Swallowing, you take his cock and press it against your entrance, rubbing it against your clit. You swallow back a moan as Choso lets out a groan stifled by his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He holds your gaze with his, silently asking you if it’s okay to proceed. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “Slide in, baby.” 

And with a gulp, Choso slowly presses forward, pinning one leg up on the rock. You gasp, jumping slightly at the contact as you sink your French tips into his shoulder. You can feel him. All of him. And it’s just the tip! He’s stretching out the slick, tight, silky walls of your pussy, filling you in a way that no other man has ever done to you. 

Choso grunts, his handsome face flushed red and glinting with sweat. “Too much?” he pants. You shake your head, albeit whimpering. “I’ll go slow.” You believe it’s more for himself than it is for you. 

He pauses for a moment, letting you adjust and giving himself time to get used to your tight, wet, velvety pussy squeezing around him. Then he slowly rocks his hips into you and rubs your clit with his thumb, paying attention to your muffled, quiet sounds and your body language. You place your hands on his waist, pulling him closer, making him groan at the contact.

Soon, his fingers on your clit have made you slick and open enough for him to slide in a few more inches, filling you up. You feel so fucking full! Your eyes widen and your mouth forms an O, all of your senses coming to life as you feel Choso stretch you open, molding your insides into its shape. “God, you’re perfect,” he groans, struggling to keep composure and those slow, gentle thrusts. “Y-You–a-ah–you feel so good, sweet pea.” 

“Choso!” you whine, pressing your face into the crook of his neck to hide your moans. The feeling of being filled by a nice, hard cock is an indescribable feeling. Especially by a man who wants nothing more than to please you. You have no choice but to give into that feeling and sink into the bed as Choso sinks into you, pinning you to the rocks with his big, muscular body, slick with sweat and water, smelling of the sun. 

And once he’s fully inside you, bottoming out in your pussy, his mouth stretches into a villainous grin as he forces you to look at him. “Now I can fuck you however I want,” he whispers before swooping down to sweep you up into a sloppy tongue kiss as he ruts into your tight, wet heat. 

And he does. You have no protest or complaint as he fucks you against the rocks under the deck, making the plastic buoy against the rocks clack-clack in the water from his thrusts. He stares into your eyes as he takes you, giving you slow, deep thrusts that make you see stars. “Look at me,” he demands through grunts and pants as he rocks into you. “Wrap your legs ‘round me.” 

You scowl at him, confused. “Just trust me,” he murmurs, his tongue gliding against your throat. How can you possibly resist him? Slowly, you bring one leg up onto his waist and he helps you with the other until you’re dangling from his arms. He adjusts your weight in his arms, trapping you against him, and letting out a groan as you sink deeper onto his cock. 

“O-Oh, fuck, Choso!” you whine, struggling to keep your voice down. “Y-You’re so deep!” Choso nods, feeling it, his eyes briefly rolling back in such a sexy manner than you nearly cum right there. “Keep lookin’ at me, pretty,” he pants. “Want you to watch me fuck this pretty pussy.

And then he’s bouncing you on his cock, slamming your ass down onto him over and over again as your moans and whines are muffled by your face stuffed in his neck, his big, heavy balls slapping against your clit as you drip and spill all over his muscular thighs. The water carries you, splashing softly under your ass as Choso bounces you up and down like a bunny, showcasing his strength, making you take every inch of him. 

He watches back in awe and lust as your luscious ass bounces up and down on him and swirls every time you wind your hips on top of him as if you’re riding a surfboard, your pussy dripping down his thick, fat cock plunged inside of you. 

He looks down at the same time as you, both of your eyes plastered on the way your gushing, dripping pussy repeatedly takes his cock without a fuss, your ass bouncing against his muscular thighs, the heavy clap-clap-clap of skin against skin filling the summer air. 

As you overflow from your pussy onto his cock, coating him in your creamy, sweet honey, you bring a sound out of him–groan of your name, a whimper, or a desperate grunt. When you feel him throb and his thrusts become a little more intense–faster, harder, desperate–, you know that he’s close. “S-So good,” he groans. “S-Shit, sweet pea! I-I’m not gonna last long, m’sorry!”

Your pussy damn near explodes at the sound of his slutty moans in your ear as he gets closer and closer to his end. His first orgasm during sex. You grip his shoulders and begin to grind your pussy down onto him, making him choke. “W-What are you doin’? Wait, baby, I-I don’t have a condom.” 

“I don’t care,” you fiercely whisper. “Just cum for me. Cum inside me, Chosi.” That pet name sets him off and he grips your ass hard as he begins to sloppily kiss you, his tongue sloshing with yours, spit sliding into each other’s mouths. He sucks on your tongue as you moan and whimper from his cock pressing against your G-spot, making your body shake and quiver in pleasure. 

You know that you’re going to throw in the towel when you feel that knot in your core tightening, intensified by the boots creaking overhead and the whistling from the old men. The idea of getting caught fucking excites you. It does the same with Choso, making him whimper and throb in your pussy as he fucks you hard, desperate to make you cum. “Cum with me,” he quietly whines. “C’mon, darlin’, you can do it. Cum with me!” 

And then he goes harder. Faster. Rougher. He wraps a hand around your throat–not enough to choke you but enough to make you feel the power in his fingers–as he pounds his cock into your wet heat with every intention of making you cum your brains out and possibly getting you pregnant. “C’mon, lovely, cum with me! Do it! I need it!”

You have to tell Choso to cover your mouth to hide the moans and gasps that escape your chest when your orgasm slams into you like a truck. You feel like you’re floating, levitating in the air, as you cum around your friend’s cock. A broken moan leaves your lips as he continues to fuck you through your intense orgasm, making your full titties bounce and your eyes roll back into your head. 

Finally, after a few more rough thrusts and pornographic moans, Choso lets out a loud, “Oh, fuck!” and sprays your insides full of his spunk. He presses his muscular body slick and sticky with sweat against yours, forcing you to take every ounce of a fresh load of cum that oozes out of you as soon as it shoots insides of you, your pussy quivering and throbbing around him. 

Choso sticks two fingers in your mouth, letting you suck on the digits as your orgasm rolls through you. Murmurs of “such a pretty pussy” and “you’re fuckin’ mine” fill your ears as 

empties himself inside of you, dumping his cum deep inside of your pussy until you’re near tears and can only whimper in response to his sweet, dirty nothings and proclamations of his love. 

Wait…love?

“I love you,” he murmurs through the last threads of his orgasm, his lips at your ear. You nearly missed it, your ears full of cotton from your orgasm, but when it processes, your heart flips over and your stomach explodes with butterflies. 

As Choso’s heavy creampie floods your hole, your eyelids flutter and your body turns to mush, completely exhausted and spent. He leans in and presses a soft yet possessive kiss against your lips before he sloooowly drags his cock out of you, causing the gush of your cum and his creampie to spill out, drawing weak moans out of you. It’s all swept up by the cool water, cleaning away your activity. 

“D’ya mean it?” you whisper. Choso blinks, confused. “You said you love me. D’you really mean it?” Your friend goes completely red, speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

Luckily, he’s saved by the old fishermen. “Hey, Ron,” Matthew calls. “Let’s get outta here. The damn water keeps sloshin’ ‘round! Must be the fish, but they ain’t budgin’!”  

“Good for us ‘cause dinner’s ready!” Ron cackles. “Just got the call.” Matthew lets out a whoop, walking back from the deck.  “Hell yes! Chilli, here I come!” he cheers. You hold your breath until he’s officially off of the deck and you hear the old men recede into the forest, leaving you and Choso alone. 

You both turn to each other and instantly break into laughter. The same as you used to. You laugh until you cry, wiping away your tears and rubbing the cramps in your tummy away. You can’t believe you just did this! What is your aunt going to think when you tell her about this…minus the drinking, skinny-dipping, and public sex? 

Choso helps you out from under the deck and on top of it, pulling himself up before pulling you up after him. He wraps a towel around you, making you feel shy and bashful despite feeling the delicious ache of his thrusts in your thighs. 

“We are never doin’ that again,” he huffs. “Not the sex part. Was really, really fuckin’ nice.” He flashes a shy smile that fills you with butterflies as he holds you close, making you feel warmer than the towel. “I just want our next time to be in a bed so I can really fuck you good.” 

You shiver at his deliciously dirty words, still not believing that Choso is filled with such duality. “So there’ll be a next time?” you whisper, running your hands over his arms. You feel him shiver at your touch and instantly, a fiery want for him ignites in your pussy again.

“If that’s what you want,” he purrs, staring down at you in such a lustful yet shy away that nearly makes you yank down his boxers and suck his dick again. 

“Of course, I do. You’re the only one I want, Choso.” You stand up on your toes and kiss him, the sun warming your faces as you do. When you pull away, he holds you close against him, running those hands over your back. “I meant it,” he blurts. “I do love you.” 

You gape at him, nearly rendered speechless. “You do?” you whimper. He slowly nods, blushing. Bashful but confident. “I always have,” he confesses. “Don’t feel pressured to say it back. I know we just reconnected, but I wanna be honest with you this time. Just bein’ with you is enough for me, sweet pea.” 

Unable to stop the burst of joy exploding in you, you press a kiss to his lips again, holding his face in your hands. His hands move to yours ass, groping you, and they nearly would’ve taken off your towel if his phone didn’t ring by the pile of clothes he left on the grass. 

“Dammit,” he groans, looking so irritated that you giggle. “That’s Yuuji callin’. That means he’s either done at your house or your aunt is tryin’ to kill him. We should head back so you can get ready for your cookout.”

You grin, taking your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “And you too,” you purr. “‘Cause you’re goin’ with me. You’ll be my date.” 

Choso blinks at you, his entire face going beet red at your plan. “Me?” he asks, sounding shocked. You nod, discreetly feeling up his bicep as you walk together from the deck, hand in hand, side by side.

“So I take it you don’t want a doctor or a politician on your arm tonight?” he jokes, giving you a smirk that could drop your panties again. 

“Not my type,” you giggle before pressing a sweet kiss to his jawline. “I’ll have to tell my auntie I found my man…and I ain’t even have to pour no tea.” 

THE END.

Taglist: @mimicosmos8, @shrewdreader, @margo-lalam, @tiazvni, @heeknow, @booistoleyou, @birkinzz, @heeknow

[mranttennawireplaytime]

this is the funniest comment ive ever seen on ao3

let your son jack off to spamtenna oviposition, john

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

THAT'S A GOOD BELLE! [18+ SERIES]

Pairing: Southern!JJK Men x Southern Belle!Reader [SEPARATE]

Synopsis: During a particularly steamy summer, you leave the city to spend the summer with your wealthy and dignified aunt when she invites you to her home in the Southern countryside to learn how to be a "dignified woman"...that's codeword for "finding a husband". A woman of your background in the upper crust of Southern society should at least have a suitor, according to your family.

Lucky for you, you'll have your pick of a litter of sexy Southern men of all different flavors. The problem is...you have to choose just one. And they're ALL vying for your attention! What is a dignified Southern belle to do with such temptation?

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); No Curse AU; Summer Vacation/Southern AU; Romance Tropes (Exes to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Second Chance, Forbidden Love, etc.); Cowboy!JJK; Dubcon/R*pe (Sukuna, Higuruma & Shiu); Shotgunning; Public Sex; Pussy Eating; Deepthroating; Big Ol' Dicks; Riding (Horses AND Dick!); Doggystyle; Mating Press; Headlock Fucking; Spanking; Choking; Hair Pulling; Spit Play; Cum Play; Creampie; Dom!JJK Men; sub!JJK Men; Switch!JJK Men; Marriage Proposals?

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you! 

Writer's Note: I've been planning this series since December 2025 & felt like reaching 6k was the PERFECT time to finally write it! So this is a little summer event to celebrate hitting 6k (SOON TO BE 7K!!!) & cuz I'm a slut for Southern!JJK shit. I plan to end this series in September/October but I'll be updating all throughout the summer with new one shots! I hope y'all enjoy it! -Jazz

Credits: Dividers @firefly-graphics & @cursed-carmine!

Gojo Satoru, The Country Star, Makes You Swoon in "Backseat Serenade"!

"Well, well...look who snuck backstage and decided to come crawlin' back to her favorite country boy. Guess city life wasn't as pretty as me, was it, darlin'?"

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); No Curse AU; Second Chance Romance; Unplanned Pregnancy; Famous Ex/Baby Daddy!Gojo x Baby Mama!Reader; Old College Romance; Exes to Lovers; MILF!Reader; Public Sex; Outdoor Sex; Pussy Eating; Gojo is a Munch; Tour Bus Sex; Mating Press; Riding; Tongue Piercing; Dick Piercing; Deepthroat; Breeding Kink; Creampie; Switchy!Gojo x Switchy!Reader

Read On 5/1/26!

Choso Kamo, The Farm Boy, Ruins The Friendship in "Good With His Hands"! CUMMING SOON!

"I've always stayed your friend 'cause you're at the top of the social latter and me? I'm just the farm boy...but now that you're here, there ain't nothin' stoppin' me from tellin' you how I feel."

Warnings: TBA

Nanami Kento, The Rancher, Tastes Your Goodies in "A Sweet Lil' Temptation"! CUMMING SOON!

"I know I shouldn't feel these things for you. This primal need...but God, angel...you just entice me. Your heavenly cookin' don't make it no better for a man like me."

Warnings: TBA

Geto Suguru, The Outlaw, Steals Your Heart in "A Love Outlawed"! CUMMING SOON!

"You ain't a bad lil' rider, partner. Maybe you can teach me some of your tricks sometime? Can't have ya outdoin' the best at his game."

Warnings: TBA

Sukuna Ryomen, The Gangster, Shows You One Hell of a Time in "In the Arms of Sin"! CUMMING SOON!

"You think you can just come here, interrupt my beauty sleep, and order ME around? Nah, angel; ya ain't gettin' whatcha want 'round here till ya give me a reason to give it to ya."

Warnings: TBA

Shiu Kong, The Pimp, Wines n Dines You in "A Price For Paradise"! CUMMING SOON!

"You've got the beauty. The brains. The lifestyle. You're the pinnacle of a Southern belle, my dear...and yet here you are, splittin' those legs for a dirty man like me."

Warnings: TBA

Toji Fushiguro, The Bull Rider, Takes You For a Ride in "Buckle Up, Bunny"! CUMMING SOON!

"Playin' pool and shootin' the shit with the likes me, eh? Ya got a thang for bull riders, lil' darlin'? What ever will your poor auntie think?"

Warnings: TBA

Higuruma Hiromi, The Sheriff, Teases n Disciplines You in "Teachin' The Bratty Belle"! CUMMING SOON!

"I should keep your ass here till you've learned your lesson, but I've got somethin' better for ya. Somethin' a gal like you might enjoy."

Warnings: TBA

Taglist: TBA

[boyloveisnteasy]

HIT THAT POLE.ᐟ

SUMMARY : Higuruma’s colleagues are constantly ragging on him for being such a workaholic. They finally lose it and drag him to the nearest strip club, but once he gets there and sees you, he’s absolutely hooked.

ʚɞ PAIRING : higuruma x strip dancer!reader

⸺ WARNINGS : smut (obviously), p in v, oral sex (f! receiving), age gap, dirty talk, size difference, face sitting, creampie, praise kink, a lot of spit.

⋆ author's note : cr for an amazing art @ ayushnz_

"C’mon, Higuruma, loosen up for once!" his colleagues nagged him. He was about to pull another all-nighter, re-reading witness statements for the hundredth time.

Cold black coffee and printed protocoles. Hiromi Higuruma’s desk was a total wreck.

"I need to finish this analysis," he said flatly, without looking up. "Go without me."

"Dude, it’s Friday! And you look like shit."

"Man I swear I’ll call security and have them carry you out,” the third guy joked, leaning by the door.

Higuruma let out a heavy sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. No point in fighting.

Twenty minutes later, he was already sitting in a smoky, obviously expensive club, feeling like he wasn’t relaxing at all.

The place was drenched in neon lights, full of married guys hiding their rings, and the air felt thick as hell.

Higuruma lazily swirled his glass of whiskey, half-listening to his coworker ramble about finally screwing his wife in the ass.

I’d be better off reading those damn statements, he thought.

He checked the time — 10:30. That was enough. He’d shown up, done his part.

He ran a hand over his face, feeling a vein throbbing at his temple. It was time to leave.

Hiromi had already reached for his coat when he heard the first notes of soft music and a woman’s voice — high, playful.

Then he saw you.

You stepped out slowly, your hips moving with the quiet beat. You didn’t rush, didn’t jump straight to the pole.

Your butterfly beaded top caught the light — gold, white, soft pink. One chain wrapped around your neck, others formed thin straps, crossing over your back.

You looked fucking angelic.

And in that exact moment, Higuruma decided maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay a little longer.

When you walked up to the front row — right where he was sitting — you glanced around, sizing everyone up, figuring out who you could make the most money off tonight.

And then your eyes landed on him.

A ridiculously attractive man in a suit, with sharp jawline, tired eyes and long nose.

A fucking perfect nose that would look so good buried inside you.

He stopped breathing the second you looked straight at him with those big, doe eyes and that sweet, almost innocent smile.

The contrast was almost painful. A mini skirt that barely covered half your ass — and that soft face, dimples showing when you smiled.

You winked, then turned around and walked back to the pole. Your ass was practically spilling out of your panties, your Rene Caovilla heels clicking against the floor, drawing his attention straight to your perfect ankle.

He had a massive problem in his pants — one he was planning to deal with the second he got home.

And no, he definitely wasn’t imagining burying his face between your thighs, breathing you in like a fucking addict while he got himself off for the second time.

When he showed up the very next day — alone — the place was packed. Hiromi sat down, long fingers laced together, staring straight at the steel pole.

He didn’t know your schedule, didn’t even know if you were working that night. But he was gonna wait — and if you didn’t show up, he’d try again tomorrow.

Well, he didn’t have to wait long.

The second a deep rhythm and soft beats started pouring through the speakers, Higuruma leaned forward without even realizing it.

You spotted him instantly, a wide smile spreading across your lips.

Higuruma didn’t move, his back straight, hands resting heavy on the armrests.

When the music dropped into a slower, deeper beat, you slowly lowered yourself to your knees right at the edge of the stage. Then, without breaking eye contact, you started crawling toward him — smooth, slow… like a kitten about to ruin him.

Higuruma stayed still, but you caught the sharp bob of his throat when he swallowed.

You stopped right at the edge, tilting your head slightly, those big eyes looking straight into his soul while your fingers teasingly brushed against the fabric of his expensive pants.

“How much?” he breathed out slowly. His voice was lower than usual, his eyes dark.

You just smiled sweetly.

The next thing you felt was his strong thighs under you, his hands clenched into fists right beside his knees. His jaw was tight, like he was scared to even breathe too hard.

And his dick — hard as rock.

“Wanna tell me your name, handsome?” you whispered, your nails dragging lightly across his chest while he fought the urge to just grab you, drop you onto his cock, and fuck into you until you both turned into a whimpering, pathetic mess.

He lifted his hazy eyes, not taking them off your lips. “Hiromi.”

You smirked.

Slowly, teasingly, you started rolling your hips back and forth, making him tense up even more, a strained little groan slipping out of him.

You leaned in closer, your chest pressed flush against his — you could feel his hard nipples through his shirt. “You’ve got a pretty face.”

“Then sit on it,” slipped out before he could stop himself, his eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck… I'm sorry—”

He looked like he was about to come in his pants right then and there.

You let out a soft giggle, and he felt like he could listen to that sweet sound for the rest of his life.

“I don’t usually do this...” you ground down on his thigh, quiet moans slipping out of you, making his hips jerk up instinctively. “It’s gonna cost you—”

You didn’t even get to finish before he was already pulling out his card and handing it to you. “Twenty-nine, thirteen.”

“…What?”

“My PIN. Twenty-nine, thirteen.”

You blinked.

You were actually about to fuck your client.

You didn’t even know what came over you. You’d never done this before. Usually, you just danced on autopilot, teased a little, took the money, and left — never even remembering their names.

But your panties were already soaked, and he was looking at you like you were the best damn dessert on the menu.

So you pressed your wet pussy right against the bulge straining through his dark trousers. "F-fuuuuck," he groaned, his mouth falling open as you leaned into his lips.

He was devouring your mouth, both your chins were slick with spit, dripping down. That nasty, filthy kiss only turned you both on even more, and you started grinding your hips, desperate to feel him closer.

He suddenly broke away and leaned back, pulling you closer to his face. "Sit," he said, hooking a finger to pull your panties to the side. Now he was positioned right under your dripping pussy.

You looked at him and blinked. He was covered in your spit, the top of his shirt was damp, and he looked like a goddamn animal in heat.

Then you slowly lowered yourself, still hovering a bit because you didn't want to break the poor man's nose.

But Higuruma wasn't having it. He clicked his tongue, his hands tightening on your thighs. "I said sit the fuck down."

Then you finally collapsed onto him with your full weight, stripping him of the ability to see or breathe anything but you.

His wide, hot hands dug into your glutes with such force that the satin lingerie just ripped.

"Mmmnh—! Hiromi!" you screamed, feeling his tongue push so fucking deep. His nose buried itself into your clit as he inhaled you like you were the last goddamn bit of air on earth.

"So fucking sweet, I knew it," his voice came muffled from beneath you; you were practically crushing his face, but he didn't give a shit.

You started moving your hips at the same time he began twisting his face, literally driving himself into your pussy. His mouth was sucking on your swollen clit.

"Hnngh..." you whined, totally losing control of your movements. "So good..."

He shifted you higher, and now his nose was right between your folds as he groaned. "Yeah... just like that, damn it."

He intentionally pushed his face forward, letting your perfect cunt cut off his oxygen. His nose pressed into your slit, and with every move you made back and forth, he inhaled you so deeply his lungs started to burn.

"Look at this pussy... it's gonna soak my whole fucking face, isn't it?"

You felt your orgasm coming and tried to warn him, but he wouldn't let you. "Fu-fuuck, haah-ha, Hiromi I'm..."

"Soak my whole fucking face, baby. Don't you dare pull away. Fuuckk."

Higuruma let out a low, guttural growl right against your skin. His palms were buried so deep into your ass that his knuckles went white, pinning you down so you couldn't move an inch.

A choked-off scream escaped you, dying in your throat as you slammed your weight against his face with animalistic, frantic force. "Mmmnh!"

You couldn't stop.

Your back arched, fingers digging painfully into his shoulders through his blazer, greedily grinding your cunt against his nose and mouth.

His reaction was instant. Instead of backing off to let you catch your breath, he gripped your thighs even tighter, guiding your rhythm back and forth. "That’s it, grind that pretty slit on my chin, baby — it’s all fucking yours."

He groaned as you followed his lead, feeling his cock throb, rock-hard and straining against the fabric of his trousers. It was pulsing, begging for a release.

With an unusual touch of tenderness, he gripped your waist and flipped you over in one powerful move. Now he was on top of you, your back pressed into the soft velvet of the sofa.

He loomed over you, his face totally drenched — from his forehead down to his neck, he was covered in your cream.

He looked like the happiest motherfucker on the planet.

It took you a second to realize he’d crashed his lips onto yours, forcing you to taste yourself as he let out a greedy moan.

His hands dropped to his waist, and in a blur of motion, he ripped off his belt and shoved his pants and boxers down.

God.

He was huge — and you mean fucking huge. You’d had plenty of men, but none of them were built like this.

The head was wide, swollen a deep crimson, and glistening with pre-cum.

One second you were staring at his — absolutely perfect — cock, and the next, he was already burying himself inside you, dragging you into a filthy, tongue-heavy kiss.

You shrieked right into his mouth, and the sound got swallowed deep in his throat.

You felt his heavy, hot-as-hell cock just wrecking you, filling up every inch 'til you couldn't even breathe.

"Hnngh—! F...fuck, Romi! Mmmnh! It’s so good!"

Hearing that nickname made him let out a loud, ragged groan. He started slamming you into the sofa, whispering the filthiest shit in your ear.

"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight."

"I’m gonna make this perfect, sweet little cunt remember me forever."

"Shit, look at how this tiny pussy’s swallowing me whole."

He set a crazy, jagged pace. His cock was swollen with veins and rock-hard, burying itself into you 'til his hips hit yours with a thud. Hiromi didn't give you a second to catch your breath, he’d pull out almost all the way, only to growl and lunge back in, hitting you deep as hell.

"You feel that? Feel how it’s stretching you out? Come on, baby, cum on my cock."

He was hammering in and out so fast that your cream was splashing all over the velvet cushions and his legs.

Your walls started to pulse, clamping down on him and making him groan even harder. His balls slapped heavy against you with every thrust, and you could feel his dick twitching inside, ready to blow.

Suddenly, he leaned down. His voice was low, thick with the smell of sex and hunger. He reached out, and his fingers — still smelling like you — roughly grabbed your chin, making you look him right in the eye.

"Open your mouth for me," he commanded. "Stick your tongue out. All the way."

When you obeyed, sticking your trembling tongue out into his heat, Hiromi let out a low, vibrating groan.

As soon as you gave in, he latched onto it. It was filthy as hell. He was sucking your tongue into his mouth, making a total mess in there. The booth was filled with that sticky, wet slapping sound.

His cheeks hollowed out as he literally sucked your flesh into him. A thick, stringy thread of spit stretched between your lips, glistening in the light, making your pussy clench hard around his cock.

"So fucking sweet... my goddamn dessert."

He started teasing your tongue with his teeth, nipping the sides and the tip so hard it left deep marks, before going right back to those deep, dragging sucks that pulled the moans right out of you.

Watching your eyes roll back and seeing you gasp for air was what finally pushed him over the edge.

When the orgasm finally hit you, and your legs started shaking as you caught a tremor under him, Hiromi let out a crushing, guttural roar. He buried his cock into you as deep as he possibly could and just froze. "F-fuck... Take it... take every fucking drop of me."

The silence in the booth was heavy and sticky, broken only by your shaky sobs and ragged breathing. Higuruma wasn't in a rush to move. He stayed there, slumped over you with all his weight, pinning you down. His cock, still pulsing, slowly went soft inside your worn-out folds.

Hiromi finally pulled back, and the sound of his dick leaving you with a wet, sticky sound was deafening in the quiet. You felt a hot, thick mix — his cum mixed with your slick — leaking down your thighs, staining your panties and the bottom of his shirt.

His face was dripping with sweat, and his shirt collar was a total wreck — all wrinkled and smelling just like you.

He leaned back and just stared at you, lying there with your legs still wide open. Your chin and neck were shiny with his spit, thick strings of it stretching down to your collarbones and messing up your skin. You were breathing hard, gasping for air, and you couldn't even close your mouth after he’d been stretching it out just a second ago.

He looked down lower. Your legs were still shaking from that orgasm. It was a total mess between your thighs: that thick, white mix of his cum and your slick was slowly oozing out of you. It smeared your skin, ran down your swollen folds, and dripped right onto the sofa.

He reached out and gently ran a finger over your folds, pushing the mess back in. He leaned in slow, his hot breath hitting yours, as he kissed you one last time.

"Please, tell me your name," he rasped, his voice suddenly sounding all sweet and desperate at the same time.

You looked at him through heavy eyes, feeling his cum still warm on your inner thighs.

"Loly."

Higuruma closed his eyes, his hand squeezing your thigh a little harder. "I meant your real one. Please."

You just gave him a sweet little giggle, looking at this guy who’d just fucked the brains out of you and only now he finally realized he forgot to even ask for your name.

"Only if you come back tomorrow and catch me," you whispered, licking a drop of moisture off your lip.

And he did. He came back the next day, and every single day after that.

[b44byfr0g]

“Owww, kinktober is over 😔😔😔”

AS IF YOU DIDN’T READ SMUT ALL YEAR ROUND, YOU WHOREEEEEE

[anxious-alto]

With the lack of SNAP benefits in the US hitting in a few days, welcome to No Snitch November. If you see somebody taking food? No you didn't. Taking formula? No you didn't. Taking diapers? No you didn't. When the government turns their back on our neighbors, it's our job to protect them.

[chrollohearttags]

𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔫𝔢, 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔩!….𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔫 𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔰𝔶𝔩𝔲𝔪..

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ── ･

✨ are you a writer looking for a safe space and community to help grow, share ideas and meet others?

✨ are you a reader looking for new authors to support or tips to get into writing?

✨ are you someone looking for an inclusive environment in fandom?

whatever your heart desires, we have it all here. welcome to…

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔶𝔰𝔱 𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫

𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗍: 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗒 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝗑𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗌 🪻🟣

rules: simple…no drama, no one under 18, no bigotry or hatred. We are all adults, act in such a manner and don’t ruin things for others. 🫶🏾

what to expect: join us for an abundance of festivities! Meet up in The Tavern to converse with fellow authors, readers and fandom enthusiasts alike. Looking to sell your art/writing commissions? Maybe even promote your small business or mutual aid? Set up shop in the Merchants Hall. Maybe you’re looking for something a little spicier…😳 join us in The Dungeon and see what lies in store. All that and more awaits you on your journey.

ready to enter? then step right up . Feel free to message as well for more info! 🫧 if you are interested in becoming a mod, please let me know. We need 2 more spots.

[noodles-07]

"what if you regret it" what if I don't?

[trekturtle]

I understand your point, however this maybe wasn't the best post to cross my dash while I'm fighting the temptation to text my ex.

[noodles-07]

this is about transitioning DO NOT TEXT YOUR EX ITS NOT WORTH IT DONT DO IT

[ganjafairyhtx]

WARNING ⚠️

This a pro African American, black, nigga page.

BE ADVISED!

[thecoochiefairy-deactivated2025]

belle. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 15.7K word count. black original character, onyankopon, photogrpaher!onyankopon, sweet!onyakopon, dominant!onyankapon, arrogant!onyankopon, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, aggressive dirty talk, oral [f] [m], slightly tipsy sexy? nasty sex chile, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ had this one in the vault for a minute, and i feel like this tapped more into my romantic side + y’all may find that kinda boring, ugh. sorry. anyways, this is inspired by another black film me + bestie recently watched, the photograph, + i just hope you enjoy. song for this one is fade away, by lucky daye.

visual. visual. visual.

BRENT FAIYAZ’ FUCK THE WORLD ALBUM PROTRUDED ALONG THE PROJECTOR, multicolored lights waking him a minute before his alarm. He raised a tattooed arm over his face, equally greeted by the sunlight coming into his high rise apartment. It was the way he’d always wanted it—a sense of peace he’d perfected—but he couldn’t lie, it was lonely at times. Silent all the time. 

A small grunt falls from his lips as he forces himself out of bed—the warm water of the shower glides down his muscular frame, minty soap sticking to his skin even as he steps out. As he rubs a soft cloth along his dampened face, a ping comes on his phone. 

COLUMN IDEA DUE TODAY. RUN IT BY YOUR BOSS. 

“…Shit.”

Pressing the volume button on his phone to ignite the ceiling speakers, Been Away is the next song on the track list. Leaning closer within the mirror, he cleans up the sides of his hairline, redoing a couple of his cornrows—Another ping on his phone.

GOOD MORNING, ONYANKOPON. I’LL BE READY FOR YOUR COLUMN PRESENTATION TODAY. BRING ME SOMETHING GOOD.

The white tee he pulls over his head clings to his broad frame, leather jacket being paired with cargo shorts, tying the look together with his burgundy Nike dunks. He couldn’t help but to match the vibe of the weather outside, as he always enjoyed autumn in New Orleans—the atmosphere, people, food, it all flourished within October. 

He decided to make a quick stop today. Grabbing a blueberry muffin from the bakery close by his place, his blacked out G—Wagon sped down the road, screeching the tires entirely too early in the morning. 

If Onyankopon’s driving was too early for the bustle of New Orleans’ downtown area, the office he worked in wasn’t anything better—Cheery co-workers, coffee cups within their hands as they tapped along their computers, shifting in and out of the red room to present their ideas to their boss—it’s unfortunate that her attention was on her best editor this morning.

Unlocking the door to his office, he tosses the keys against the table, body thumping into his chair. Fingers running across his braids, he felt for a millisecond that he was in the clear. 

That’s until he heard a voice.

“Onyankopon.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, hand over his mouth to stifle the groan he has to restrain. Guess he wasn’t so lucky this morning. 

“Did you think I didn’t see you coming in?”

Her salt and pepper bob swung with each movement she made, pointed red glasses along her face, a singular eyebrow raised as usual. 

“I was tryna’ avoid you. Not gon’ lie,” he mutters.

“And you thought buying me a muffin would distract that?” 

“Better than all that black ass coffee you be drinkin’,” he retorted, lifting the bag towards her.

She snatches the bag from his hand, “Don’t be cute with me, Onyankopon. Do you have your column idea ready?“

His nervous energy spreads in a way that’s more subtle, his nails scratching at the bottom of his goatee. 

He murmurs, “Not exactly,” eyes shifting to the side as he said it.

She raises both her eyebrows, “I know my editor-in-chief didn’t just say he doesn’t have an idea for this month's column— Clearly his degree wasn’t just for fun?” 

“I—“

He sighs into his hand again, sitting up straight as he speaks, “It’s ain’t a lack of effort, aight?” his hand waves to the side, “I’ve been tryin’ all week—I got nothin’.”

She presses her lips together, giving him a one over. Onyankopon had been one of her best employees, which was why she’d given him the promotion months before. He not only had a degree in journalism, but was caught having an eye for taking pictures, which led him into being the one responsible for not only taking photos, but creating a story behind them. Don’t get him wrong—Onyankopon loved his job, and he loved taking pictures even more—but both could be exhausting, especially when his passions were becoming more of a demand.

She closes the door to his office, making the conversation more intimate as she questions, “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I was tryna’ figure it out myself before talkin’ to you about it. You know I don’t like to ask for help,” His voice was lowered, a whisper of a confession from him, “I’ve never not had an idea. Shit is irritating.”

The older woman sighs, “It’s okay to feel stuck, Onyankopon. Everyone here has gone through it. It’s also okay to say when you need help.” 

“I know. I know that.”

And really, he does know that. It was just the stubborn side of him that didn’t want to ask for it. He’d worked hard enough to even be in this position, and he wasn’t going to mess that up by asking for handouts. 

With a sigh, she says, “Look—we were originally gonna do a piece on black owned businesses last month, but scrapped the idea last minute. How about you do something with that?”

Onyankopon pauses at the idea, his brain turning it over silently. 

“Yeah. I can work with that,” his fingers scratch along the length of his cornrows, “Got sum’ in mind for the photo portion yet?”

She shakes her head, “That’s all the help I can give you. Take today to look around at some places, talk to some business owners, and you can decide what you want to do from there—but I’m counting on you, Onyankopon.”

He nodded in response, forcing a small smirk as he reassured, “I got you. Don’t worry about it.” 

But as quickly as the smirk appeared, it disappeared the minute she was out the door—Hell, this was going to be a pain.

A couple blocks down from the business district sat a cafe right on the corner of Decatur street, planted in the middle of the art district. It was quieter than places like Cafe Du Monde, but just as busy, if not more at times. 

It was the perfect mixture of calm and chaos—customers coming in to sit within the shop’s library to read the books off the shelves, inhale the scent of coffee grounds as they waited for a cup, or enjoy the sugary fluff of beignets—she let out a huff as she held a tray with one hand, going over to a crowded family table.

“Okay, I have a coffee—dark roast, two sugars, one cream?”

The father of the family takes a sip of the coffee she’d previously labeled, a satisfied groan parting from his lips as he compliments, “You are the only person I’ve ever met to get my order correct. You’re amazing.” 

A soft smile comes to her heart shaped lips, “Is there anything else you needed?”

The man shakes his head, his daughter and wife doing the same, too invested into their food to request anything else.

The moment she turns, her smile drops a bit, as she pushes back the wavering exhaustion that wants to hit her body. Her eyes flick to her only employee—seeing him glancing down at his phone per usual. 

“Eros, if it’s something that ain’t emergency related, imma’ need you to get off your phone and act like I pay you to be here—“

He holds up a finger to pause her rant, “Aht—honey ,” he taps on the screen of the phone, “I’m on break.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Oh? Taking a break you decided to go on yourself, nor clock out in the process. You’re nearly employee of the month!” 

Eros huffs in response, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. He questions, “Am I not employee of the month already?”

“In your delusions? Of course,” she pulls the handle from beneath the coffee machine, tipping the pot over into a chocolate brown mug, “Please go check on your tables.”

He calls out over his shoulder, “We’d go out of business without me here!” before disappearing amongst the tables.

Her eyes glance along the rustic interior of her shop—wooden chairs with intricate designs carved into them, round tables with miniature lanterns sat within the middle, green plants hung along different corners of the cafe—this was home to most people that came in and out, a serene place that she couldn’t be more happy to provide to her customers. She places a plate under the cup of coffee she’d just made, carrying it over to one of her favorite customers of all.

“Good morning, Mr. Boudreaux.”

She greets the elderly man, gently sitting the cup of coffee across from him, “How are you feeling today?”

The man’s wrinkly face softened at the sight of her, returning her greeting with a bright smile of his own, “Hello, Darlin’,” he responds, his thick accent slipping into each word that he spoke, “I’m doin’ wonderful. An’ how ‘bout yourself?”

“Tired—but here,” she replies, pulling the towel over her shoulder between her palms, wiping off any stains against her fingers, “You sure you don’t want anything else? I don’t need you just drinking coffee when you come here.”

Mr. Boudreaux chuckles, waving a hand in dismissal at her words, “I’m sure, sweetheart. Just my coffee is fine.” 

He lifts the mug closer to his face, breathing in the strong scent of it, “Wouldn’t want to ruin my waistline with your sweets,” he adds on, winking.

 She gives a soft laugh, “Of course—oh, I’ll bring you your extra sugars.”

 “My extra sugars?”

She pauses. 

Turning back towards him, she says, “Yes, Mr. Boudreaux. You always keep two sugars next to your cup in case your coffee is too bitter, remember?” 

“Oh…yeah. ‘Course. I remember,” the old man murmurs, his voice trailing off, a smile still on his face, but smaller than before. 

“Love? We might need another pitcher of the chicory,” Eros calls from the counter, leaning down to check if they had any more in the front.

“Coming.”

She gives the older man a weak smile, hand against his shoulder as she pulls away from him. Going into the back to grab a bag of the powdery root, she pushes her palm against the door as she’s back in the front to hand the ingredient over to her friend.

Eros questions, “How’s Mr. Bodreaux doing today, more senile than usual?” 

“He’s not senile,” she reminds, “He has Alzheimer’s. Don’t do that.”

Eros sighs, lifting the bag of chicory into the air as he shrugged, “Semantics,” he mutters, “Anyways, that’s not the only thing that’s empty—we need more espresso beans.”

You sigh, “Dammit. I knew I forgot to order something this morning. Uh—you can grab the emergency stash from the back, I’ll order some later tonight—“

She pauses, noticing as the customers within her shop are looking in the direction of outside. Her eyes follow to where they all stare, noticing a tall figure—but she can’t even look at him, all she sees is the camera pointed at her cafe, soundlessly snapping photos from the outside.

“Uh—you know him?” 

Eros squints against the sun outside, standing on his toes as he attempts to get a better look. 

“Don’t think so,” he mutters. 

She watches as he backs onto the curb, camera covering his entire face as he snapped more photos. But when she noticed the uncomfortable looks of her customers—she had to think quickly on her feet. 

Throwing the towel she holds, the bell jingles above the door as she exits the building. She’s a bit breathless as she waves, “Hi—Um, excuse me?”

Even when she tries to go unnoticed, she’s hard to not look at. 

A swirl between cinnamon and burnt orange sprawls around her head, the color outstanding even with being swathed under a loose scarf to pull her curls from her freckled cheeks. 

The pinstripe blouse she wears hugs the curve of her waist, squeezing the poke of her hips beneath the fitted cargo pants that pull the look together. Olive. It had to be one of her favorite colors. Her reddened hair mimicked the color of her eyebrows, equally matching her lashes—she was committed to gingers, browns and greens—pretty. 

But nothing was more pretty than her face. It was round like a doll, eyes feline, the caramel of her skin contrasting with the milky clutter of a birthmark surrounding her left eye, nearly swallowing that entire part of her face. 

She gains his attention as she questions, “Hello? What are you doing?” 

Onyankopon takes the camera away from his face, letting it hang around his neck as his head turns in her direction. His eyes roamed all over, trying to take in the entirety of her form as she stood within his site—The soft shade of her cheeks, the curls that peeked from their silk cloth, the color of her skin. 

He’s at a loss for words. 

Clearing his throat, he runs his fingers along the back of his neck as he replies, “My fault. I’m just—takin’ pictures of the building.”

His voice is low, attractive. Their native accent has his voice by the throat, heavy with every word that drops from his mouth. She’s quick to brief him over—even if she wanted a second longer to stare. There seem to be more tattoos along his body than clothes, even if his arms were covered by the leather jacket he wears. They start from his neck, dancing beneath the cotton material of his shirt. His brown skin is smooth, melting, complimenting the shine of the silver jewelry from his nose, ears and fingers. The cornrows on his head fit his face perfectly, jaw aligned by the goatee on his face—he was finer than fine. 

She clears her throat, crossing her arms, “I see that—But why, is what I’m asking.”

He hums softly, hands within his pant’s pockets as he responds, “You own this place, huh?”, nodding his head in the direction of the cafe.

She turns her head back to look at the building. 

Her breath exhales, “It’s mine, yeah.”

Onyankopon raises his brows, a small smirk crawling along his face as he responds, “Impressive.”

Stepping closer to her, his hands still tucked inside his pockets as he looked up and down her figure, “How long’ you been runnin’ it?”

“Why you’ askin’ so many questions? I’m the one tryna’ figure out why you’re taking pictures of my building.”

He gives a soft chuckle at her defensive tone, “Aight, aight. Chill. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

He tilts his head to the side, “You got a body hidin’ in there or sum’?”

The lower of her eyebrows soften. She flicks her eyes to the bustle of people walking, suppressing the smallest smile. 

She responds, “No, I don’t.”

“The world finna’ go cold—I think that was a smile I almost saw. You gon’ tell me yo’ name, or imma’ have to find it under a crime case?”

The sound of her laugh was soft, sweeter than what he expected. She points up at the sign, “It’s Nola, like the sign up there.”

NOLA’S BREW. 

She pushes a flyaway behind her ear, “My mom was a little too in love with her hometown as you can see.”

He chuckles, “It’s cute though. You was’ born here?”

“9th ward. You?” 

Nola pulls the scarf from around her hair, giving him a chance to see the color frame the shape of her face—she quickly ties it back as he looks a little too closely. 

“7th,” he replies, “You’ a long way from the West Bank. Whatchu doin’ over here?”

“My momma owned this shop since I was a baby, passed it down to me before she died—so…yeah,” she plays with a curl along the side of her shoulder, freckled cheeks flushed in her explanation.

He observes, “You’ gotta’ be a couple years my junior with that accent of yours.”

She raises an eyebrow, “What you’ tryna’ say? I’m twenty-five—although you ain’t supposed to ask a woman’s age. How old are you, stranger? Since you still haven’t told me your name.”

He grins, “Onyankopon. And I’m twenty-nine.”

Twenty-nine. 

It wasn’t anything crazy, but a man four years older than her might’ve been a little intimidating. Nola keeps her composer as she reminds, “You still never told me why you’re taking pictures of my cafe.”

“Imma’ photographer,” he explains, pulling the camera up from his neck, gripping it by the strap as his thumb rubs against the side of the device.

Onyankopon continues, “I’m doing a column on black businesses’ in the city, wanted to find something less local—smaller, ended up finding your shop.” 

His eyes won’t stop boring into her, “I’m glad I did.”

Nola didn’t want to be insecure. But she was, especially with a man staring at her the way this one did. She suddenly wants to swipe the birthmark off her face, shrink her hips to be slimmer, look more presentable then she did at this moment. 

She ignores his last comment, “You write on the column too? Not just take the pictures?”

“Editor-in-chief, unfortunately.”

The height difference between them now becomes a bit more prominent the moment he takes another step towards her. 

He notices the way she starts to shrink, the way she avoids meeting in his eyes—it’s almost cute.  

“You’ nervous or sum’?”

Nola blinks at the question. She twists a curl in her finger, coiling it as she responds, “No, I’m just—cold.”

Onyankopon then lifts his camera from his neck, angling it right on the entirety of her. Her body flares in panic, and she shrieks, “Woah!—What are you doing?”

“I gotta get some shots of the person who runs the place, right?”

“No—no,” she steps forward, pressing her palm along his lens, pulling it down, “Please don’t do that. I’m, um—not a big fan of pictures.”

The smirk on his face drops. The way she reacts has him confused—maybe even a little Concerned. 

His fingers lower the camera away, his voice lowering too as he questions, “What you talkin’ ‘bout? You’ pretty as hell.”

Nola still holds his camera within her fingers, close enough to smell the scent of cocoa musk. Giving a nervous laugh, she gently shakes her head as she replies, “That’s a bit overzealous.”

He frowns, “You serious? You really don’t like gettin’ yo’ picture taken?”

“No.”

Nola clears her throat, birthmark glowing under the sunlight coming from within the clouds as she gives a polite rub to his palm, “Look—um, maybe you should find another business. I can recommend some food trucks, other coffee shops. I don’t think my place fits your column.”

His hand still hadn’t moved from her wrist, the heat seeping through her veins—She smelled of everything that was good. 

Onyankopon rolls his full lips together, “You run a black owned coffee shop on the busiest street in New Orleans—prime real estate—and you’ tellin’ me your place ain’t good enough for my column?”

“Sounds a little local then, don’t you think?” 

She turns his words back on him, gently pulling her hand away from his, “You want something that’s special, Onyankopon.”

“You’ right. So let a nigga take a picture of you, Nola.” 

That causes her mouth to part open a bit. She sighs, “Onyankopon—“

Her eyes glanced back to her shop, “I should go back inside.”

Onyankopon gently finds her wrist before she could take another step, pulling her back into place, “Nah, hollon’. Don’t be tryna’ run from me.” 

He’d be lying if he didn’t enjoy the way the sunlight bounced off her skin, the flush of her cheeks darkening from being nervous. 

“I’ll buy a coffee if you need me to.”

“Now you tryna’ buy a picture of me?” 

“I’m tryna’ get yo’ attention, girl. You’ stubborn as hell.” 

Nola tugs at the dark pink of her lips, tinted with brown as she glances over his face. Her curls fall against her shoulder as she tilts her head, “I’m sure they’ll be another woman’s attention you can find in another coffee shop.”

She hears the jingle of the door, Eros peeking his head out, “Nola! We need that espresso—“

He halts, glancing over his friend standing across from an extremely attractive man. 

“Am I—interrupting something?”

Nola shakes her head, “No, you’re fine. I’m coming.” 

She turns back towards Onyankopon, “I really have to go.”

Her soft spoken—yet stern—voice was like honey. She was a little difficult to figure out, which made her more intriguing in his eyes. 

“I’ll come back tomorrow then.”

She raises an eyebrow, “I never said I’d be in your column, Onyankopon.”

He shrugs, “You didn’t say you wouldn’t, either.”

Now both of her eyebrows raise, “And you think an additional twenty-four hours is gonna change that?” 

“I’ll wait an eternity if that means talkin’ to you.”

The sight of him hovering above her smaller frame has her heart thumping again. His words are stern, meaningful. She hates how they make her feel.

“Nola!” 

Eros becomes impatient this time. She pushes out a huff at the sound of her name, still racking her brain on even agreeing to his words.

She then says, “Tomorrow. But no pictures—you can only pull that camera out if I say so.”

He gives a lopsided smile, his eyes lighting up at her response.

“Aight, Mama. Nothin’ that ain’t on your terms,” he agrees, “Promise.”

The term of endearment makes that thump in her heart jolt. She pulls a curl behind her ear once more as she turns away, “I mean it!”

“Heard you. Imma’ see you—Nola from 9th Ward.” 

Her hand pressing along the door slows as she looks back at him once more, and that’s when the softest giggle pulls from her lips.

“Bye, Onyankopon from 7th.”

                                       𝓐ᥫ᭡

LOOKING WITHIN THE MIRROR WASN’T SOMETHING NOLA DID OFTEN. It became a habit of hers today—from looking into the reflection of the coffee maker, the small mirror on the counter, bathroom breaks—she was unsure why she had prepared for today’s new customer to enter the cafe. Maybe a small part of her was anticipating him to come. 

But as time passed throughout the day, and each jingle of the bell atop of the door wasn’t him, she began to think their entire conversation wasn’t anything she should’ve taken seriously. 

“You okay?”

Eros wipes the toaster on the opposite side of the counter, raising his eyebrow as he looks over at Nola who stares into space.

“Hm?” She turns, “Oh—sorry, yeah,” she looks to the door that opens, seeing as another customer comes in, “I’m fine,” her shoulders deflate a bit. 

“You thinkin’ about that boy, ain’t you?”

Nola blinks, “Boy? Who?” 

“Come on now,” Eros rolls his eyes, “I see the way you look every time the door opens.”

He comes closer, placing his chin over her shoulder, “I saw the way you were lookin’ at him yesterday. He was foiinneee.” 

“He was aight.”

He snorts as she gives her simple reply, “Oh bullshit. You were blushin’.”

His elbow knocks into her side, “What were y’all talking about anyways?”

“Said he’s a journalist—but it seems like his main passion is photography. He’s doing a column on black owned business’, ‘wanted the shop to be a part of it— I didn’t really give him a yes to that idea,” she briefly explained, beginning to brew a mug of coffee written along a sticky note.

Eros’ expression falls with her words, “You tellin’ me a fine ass man like that came in here asking you to be a part of his column— and you said no?”

“He asked for the cafe, Eros. Not me.”

“But he wanted pictures of you.”

“Yeah? What kinda pictures?” she retorts, “I’m good on’ being in his onlyfans portfolio. I told him I’d think about being in it, that’s it.”

Eros rolls his eyes, “You’re killin’ me.”

He leans in closer, “What’s the problem, Nola? Is this about your—“

“Eros,” Nola warns, “I just—let’s not get into that, okay? I’m allowed to say no to someone wanting to take photos of me. Can he just come, propose this column idea, and go about his business? Is that alright with you?”

Eros’ expression becomes solemn. He sighs, “Fine, Fine. I was just saying. But can I ask, when’s the last time you’ve been on a date?”

Nola rolls her eyes, “I went out with that lawyer that came here a month ago!” She points out, giving a polite smile as she hands off the warm mug to a customer, “Beignets, please.”

Eros moves to the display case. He scoffs, “Wrong—That don’t’ count, boo. That man was boring as hell. He talked about the history of coffee for two hours, and the date was here while you were on shift!” 

He grabs the beignets from within the glass casing, placing it on the tray.

She shrugs, “He said he was busy that day.”

She sighs, realizing how she sounded. Maybe she did need to loosen up a bit. She needed to give herself the opportunity to flirt with an attractive man—And Onyankopon was attractive. 

The moment she goes to reply—the jingle of the door catches her attention. 

A plaid black and brown button up covers the wife beater he wears, alabaster cotton clinging to the sculpt of his abs under the patterned material. He wears a pair of brown dunks today, cargos pulling together the entire outfit. His nose ring shines under the light atop of the door, cornrows always looking as if they were freshly done.

Her eyes flicker down to the bouquet of Lilies and delphiniums mixed within his palm, wrapped in sea green paper—Eros’ mouth parts a bit at the sight, “Just pictures, huh?”

Nola was a bit lost for words—Which wasn’t a thing for her. 

She looked different today. The sunset ginger of her curls are fuller, flowing down to the hips of her corseted dress she wears. The straps continuously slip from her shoulders, bustier full beneath the sweetheart neckline, lace trimming the drawstring tied between her breast. 

Nola’s face is already flushed. She gives him a childish wave as she greets, “…Hi.”

Onyankopon practically glares at the sight of her. He was unsure of what to say, but the feeling of holding the flowers in his hand gives him a bit of courage.

 His low voice greets, “You look pretty, Mama.”

Her full lips curl into a nervous smile. With eyes peering down to the flowers, “You forget to drop those off somewhere?”

Onyankopon glances down with her, his lips stretching into the lazy smirk that Nola hated to love, “Nah. They’re for you—Thought you could use some color outside of them’ plants you got around here.”

“Flowers after the second interaction, huh?” Eros questions, “Y’all hear them’ wedding bells?” 

Nola flicks her eyes towards her friend, “Eros—go away, yeah?” 

He gives a wink, “Already gone,” making his way around the counter, he stops, “You don’t happen to like

men too, do you?”

Onyankopon chuckles, “Nah. Just pretty women, like yo’ shy ass friend.” 

He sighs, “Too bad. I’m gone.” 

Eros goes to check on customers, blowing a kiss towards Nola’s death glare.

She apologizes, “Sorry about him. Um—thank you, for these,” she gently takes the bouquet into her hands, “Was traffic bad? It’s nearly six.”

Okay, she tried to say that without sounding like she was waiting for him, but she couldn’t help but question his whereabouts.

“Bad as hell. Why you’ askin’? You’ thought I was finna’ stand you up?”

“No!—No. I just—I figured you would come earlier this morning—not around the time I almost close up shop. It’s not my business to know what you were doing,” she shakes her head.

He leans against the counter, watching as she places the flowers onto the edge, “You cute as hell,” he grins, “I just got caught up with some other parts of

the column. I wanted you to be my last stop.”

“What other places did you find?” 

She turns towards the sink to fill a jar up with water, bending her body a bit to reach further.

Onyankopon eyes immediately drop down to follow the arch within her back, the way the fabric tightens around her hips, the shape of her ass—

He looks back up to her, biting the inside of his cheek as he forces his eyes back to her face, “Couple food trucks, and some clothing businesses.”

“That’s good. Hopefully you didn’t ambush them like you did me,” she teases, unrolling the flowers from the paper they’re wrapped in, beginning to place them within the water stem by stem.

“They were all friendly enough—One nigga didn’t even want the money I offered, just wanted his pictures taken.”

“Money?” she blinks, “Why the hell you ain’t say that when you first approached me—I would’ve been real friendly if I knew I was getting paid!” 

He raises his hand to his chest, “Is that all I’m worth? A dollar sign?”

“I was worth a cup of coffee if you recall,” Nola reminds, leaning herself against the counter, “I’m not pretty enough to be paid off?”

“Hell nah. You’ the prettiest fuckin’ belle in New Orleans.”

“Such a sweet lil’ southern boy you are,” she hums, leaning her face against her palm, “These lines work on all the belles of New Orleans?”

“Nah, they’ reserved just for you.” 

Onyankopon watches as Nola smiles, a flush spreading over her cheeks, “You got a cute ass smile. Got a nigga nervous— lawd,” he flaps the wifebeater he wears, making Nola giggle in return. 

She shakes her head, “You’re a mess. Want anything to eat?”

“Now you know I ain’t finna’ leave Nola’s Brew without her famous beignets. I asked around the city.”

She dips down to grab for a plate, “You wanted to know about me so bad that you asked around the city? Stalker, much?”

“More like a researcher. I was doin’ what any good journalist would,” He watches her place the pastries from the case onto the plate, “Besides, I ain’t think you’d ever agree to me comin’ back, so the only solution was to ask around.”

“Hm. I guess that’s fair,” Nola slides the plate over to him, “Want me to feed them to you?”

He raises an eyebrow, “That’s what you want? You tryna’ drop sum’ on my tongue already?” 

She rolls her eyes, “I was hoping that stuffing your mouth would keep you quiet—Feed yourself.”

Nola takes the vase off the counter, leaving him with that final comment. She begins to circle around the cafe, Onyankopon only able to watch as she hands the flowers out to each woman sitting within the building. He wasn’t used to being so starstruck by a woman, but damn, here she was. 

The moment she leaves, Eros comes speed walking in replacement, glancing over the shop before he quickly lowers his voice, “Nola will kill me if she ever knew I told you this—but she seems to like you, and I just don’t want her fight or flight to kick in if you pry on her issues with pictures.”

He makes sure she isn’t looking in their direction before he continues, “She had a girl throw acid on her back when she was a teenager—it caused really bad chemical burns that triggered her vitiligo.” 

Onyakopon’s eyebrows lowered, shock within his expression at the words that Eros spoke. Everything was starting to make sense. He glances behind himself, watching her face a customer with a cheerful giggle. 

He murmurs, “Is that why she was so uncomfortable? ‘Bout the whole picture thing?”

Eros nods, “She still has a hard time—being okay with the way she looks. So—just be patient with her. She acts like she doesn’t like the sweet stuff, but she’s really softhearted.”

“You over there messing with him?” 

Nola brings her attention back to where both men stand, crossing her arms over her chest with a raised eyebrow. 

Eros frowns, “Moi? Messing with somebody? Never.” 

Onyankopon shakes his head, grinning as she places her vase on the empty table, “He straight lyin’. He was in the middle of sayin’ how cool I was.”

He couldn’t lie, that story was still stuck on his mind. Something in him wanted to make her smile—Make her feel safe. 

Nola looks between the two, narrowing her eyes a bit. She says, “Hm. Okay. Anyways, how are you doing, Mr. Boudreaux?”

Sitting next to the elderly man who’s distracted in his own game of solitaire, she leans her curls against his shoulder, “You need another coffee?”

Mr. Boudreaux gives a huff, waving it off, “No, no. I’m fine, darlin’. If I drink anymore, I’ll be up all night.” 

Nola giggles, “Understood.”

She then look over to Onyankopon, “This is Mr. Boudreaux—He’s been coming in here since my momma owned the shop, but I’m starting to think he just likes my company,” she hums, wrapping her fingers around his arm, “Mr. Boudreaux, this is Onyankopon—he’s trying to do a column on black businesses in New Orleans, said he wanted to do a section on my cafe.” 

Mr. Boudreaux gives a hum, “Nice to meet ya’, young man.” 

Onyankopon gives a polite nod, “Nice to meet you, too, sir. How she’ treating you here? ‘She as friendly as they say?” 

The older man looks down at Nola, patting her head with a small smile, “That and more.”

“Maybe you can write about Mr. Boudreaux instead? Take the spotlight off me that you wanna shine so badly,” Nola suggests to Onyankopon, playfully spinning one of the cards on the table.

Onyankopon chuckles, “I want the world to know the good things ‘bout this place and the people inside— but you’ ain’t getting off the hook that easy. The owner has their own section.” 

Nola sighs, leaning further into the older man as she adds, “It seems he’s also trying to court me, Mr. Boudreaux.” 

Mr. Boudreaux chuckles in response, beginning to shuffle his cards as he says to Onyankopon, “I may not remember much, but I do remember one thing—my wife also hated a mass amount of attention. Barely enjoyed mine. She couldn’t see what I saw. You have to be a woman’s mirror sometimes— remind them why you’re always lookin’.”

Onyankopon watches Nola’s expression soften, those pretty freckles on her face shining under the lights of the shop as she listens.

That was definitely sound advice.

The last couple of hours were spent checking on customers that lounged around the cafe before closing, talking to other regulars, and even trying to reach Onyankopon how to make the perfect cup of coffee—Nola giggled as he politely served the cup to a customer, the older woman talking his ear off as she repeated how handsome he was.

She didn’t expect to enjoy his company with the short time of meeting him, but he was—sweet. He knew how to make her laugh, and he seemed to be interested in what she had to say. She might’ve liked him. 

Nola hands him a glass cup to wipe, using her own rag to clean the counter as she questions, “Anything you thinkin’ about saying in your column?”

“So now you gon’ let me do it?” 

She tilts her head, “Hm—not yet. But if I did let you, what would you say?”

“I would say that you got a real pretty cafe. Good ass beignets, Nice people, better coffee—And a boss who’s real’ easy on the eyes.”

“I’m serious, Ony.”

He chuckles, placing the glass back in the case, “I’m forreal’. Why ‘you always think I’m frontin’?”

“Cause a nigga that wants something will say anything to get it,” she replies, handing him another cup.

“And you’ think I want sum’ from you?”

“You want that picture, right? Maybe you’re all flirty so you can do your job, then suddenly I never hear from you again.”

She goes to place her final cup in the cabinet above the counter—but that’s when it’s snatched from her fingers, Onyankopon placing the cup above her reach, closing the cabinet before she can fully protest. 

His eyebrows lower, “Can I just wanna talk to yo’ cute ass cause I want to, or it always gotta be something malicious?”

Nola tilts her head to the side, curls falling against her shoulder as she sees his face. She sighs, “Okay, maybe I’m being presumptuous.”

She pushes a rag towards his free hand, “Wanna wipe down the tables to seem less malicious?”

Onyankopon smacks his lips, “Got a nigga doin’ free labor to prove that I like you? That’s crazy,” He takes the rag into his fingers, nodding nonetheless, “Yeah, aight. You good with sweepin’, or you need me to handle that too?”

“Just the tables.”

Nola watches as he begins wiping down the booths, muscles flexing beneath the plaid button up he wears. She hated how good looking he was. 

“So, you actually like this one or you just wanna make him a new employee?” 

Eros pushes the door open from the kitchen, gathering all of his stuff within his hands as he prepares to clock out. 

Nola keeps her eyes on Onyankopon. She replies, “He’s sweet.”

“Ain’t never heard you say a man was sweet before. He cleans, listens, calls you mama. You sure we can’t keep him?“

Nola nudges her shoulder against his, shaking her head as she mutters, “Get out of here, Eros.” 

Eros chuckles, throwing an air kiss to her, turning towards Onyankopon as he winks, “Later, Papi.”

Onyankopon shakes his head, “See you, Eros. Be safe.” 

He watches the bell jingle above the door, turning his attention back to Nola, “Yo’ friend is sum’ else.”

“Yeah, he’s a mess.” 

Reaching out for the rag, her voice is soft as she tells him,  “Listen—I wanted to say thank you for helping me close up tonight. It was kinda busy today—I hope I didn’t hinder any of your plans?”

“You good, Mama. I had this jazz lounge to head to later on—but the owner is on a business trip, so he won’t be able to do the column anyway, said I was more than welcome to go snap a couple photos.” 

Nola raises her eyebrows, “A jazz lounge? Don’t think I’ve ever been,” she murmurs, adjusting the seats under the smaller tables, “Sounds cool.”

“You talkin’ ‘bout it sounds cool, you thought you wasn’t’ comin’ with me?”

“Is that your way of asking me?”

“Maybe you was’ right on yo’ lil’ theory about a nigga wanting somethin’ from you, Ms. Nola from’ 9th ward—I might’ve helped you clean up ‘cause I want you to come with me to this lounge—Smart, huh?”

She’s unable to hide the amusement along her face. Nola barely remembered the last time she’d gone out with a man—besides that boring lawyer—and she enjoyed spending time with Onyankopon. A couple more hours wouldn’t hurt. 

She glances around the restaurant once more, a sigh passing her lips as she questions, “Do I need to change?” 

Onyankopon smiles. 

 Nola dropped her keys within the miniature purse she carried, tucking it under the seat of Onyankopon’s car as they parked at the end of Bourbon street. Beads hang from the top of multicolored buildings, street performers catching the attention of people walking by—an all around experience awaited each time someone peered at the corner of the French Quarter. 

The thinness of her golden heel stumbled as a group of drunken party goers passed by in shrills of laughter, Onyankopon’s attention on his camera, making sure his lens was focused. 

Nola’s fingers slipped into the warmth of his palm, leaning a bit closer to calm her nerves. She gives an apologetic exhale of, “Sorry—it’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

Onyankopon adjusts his grip to tighten around Nola’s trembling palm, her skin soft against his rough fingers as he continues to focus on the viewfinder, “You’ fine, Mama. Don’t apologize.” 

The beads of the buildings clatter in the distance, her nerves calming slightly when she leaned closer to him. Safe.

“Look.”

She tugs him in the direction she stands, now in front of a painted mural—it’s simpler than the ones planted all around New Orleans— clouded captures of green trees through an arched doorway that represent a forest. 

“Tromp l'oeil—means to trick the eye,” the French term rolls off her tongue effortlessly, staring back to the painting.

“You speak French?” 

 His camera lens focuses on the mural, capturing the trick in the painting, “You full of little surprises, huh?”

Nola giggles a bit, “My momma spoke it fluently— most creole people do. I wasn’t willing to learn it though,” she shrugs, “How’s it showing up on the camera?”

“You’ so interesting,” he murmurs, looking through a different view finder, “I’m tryna’ find the best lens for it.” 

His fingers fiddle with the focus, tilting his head back and forth to the painting, “Remind me to ask you to speak some French for me later.”

She rolls her eyes. Turning back to see his focus along the camera, she comes closer as she questions, “Can I see?”

“C’mere.” 

He turns the camera towards Nola. The lens captures the vibrant colors of the paint, the illusion creating a deeper archway with trees inside a building. His eyes watch as a slight smile forms on her face, admiring the work.

She clicks through the photos he’d already taken, stopping at a particular one as her acrylic nail gently taps the screen, “I like this one.”

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm. The colors compliment the shadows. Makes it all look like a dream.” 

Onyankopon’s chin nearly brushes against her shoulder, but not quite. His voice is a bit huskier than before as he murmurs, “I like it too. Looks good in color.”

When she turns to look at him, their faces are now very close—The heat radiating off Nola’s skin is almost felt. Onyankopon’s eyes flit down to her lips.

Her heart is back to thumping within her chest. A new feeling progresses within their interactions—his glare down to her face makes her clit throb, and she has to blink herself out of the fantasies that course through her mind like a flash. 

She clears her throat, pulling her curls behind her ear as she questions, “Wanna try a picture of me?”

His breathing becomes more of a soft, almost deep rasp, but he pulls a smirk as she suggests the picture, “You finally lettin’ me take a picture, huh? That mean you trust me now?”

She leans herself against the brick wall, “Hush. I just—I wanna know how you get people to be comfortable.”

He closes the camera lens, raising an eyebrow at her statement, “Comfortable? Nah— that ain’t my goal.”

Onyankopon moves forward, gently guiding her hands behind her back, his gaze lingering on the curves of her shape. 

He murmurs, “I want the people I capture to seduce the camera—not look comfortable.”

Nola frowns, “You want me to fuck the camera is what you’re saying?”

“Nah, no.” 

His fingers move to brush over her curls, gently pushing her hair to the side to expose her neck, “I just wanna see you natural—like how you’ be in the cafe—Just keep talkin’ to me.”

There’s a hesitance within her face as Onyankopon pulls the camera back up, Nola glancing around the area, feeling the shyness tensing through her body. 

If only she could see herself. Her hair frames her face perfectly, freckles daubed along her cheeks as the neon lanterns glow in between the snowy and caramel mixture of her skin. 

She blinks, “Uh—what should I say?”

His camera clicks in her direction, studying each soft feature within her face. The shyness in her expression makes his hands itch—but he wanted to see it. He wanted to capture her most vulnerable moments. 

“Lemme’ hear more about yo’ momma.” 

His voice was a bit more of a husk, but his focus never once left the lens.

Nola glances at him from behind the lens. She takes a deep breath, looking back at the crowd of people as she responds, “Um—My momma used to take me here when I was younger. She used to get her palm read by the ladies on the street. They terrified me,” she softly giggles.

“Yeah? Why they’ terrified you?”

“I think the idea of someone knowing my life before I did was a little spooky for me—Momma was worse than those women at times. Always telling me what I’d look like, who I’d be in the future.”

The softest smile is along her face, reminiscing at the thought of her mom. 

“…She also told me there was gonna’ be a time where I wasn’t gonna have her. I didn’t know she meant so early on in my life—Probably should’ve listened a little harder.” 

Her smile goes a little faint, almost forgetting the camera was there.

“You miss her?”

“…It’s hard to miss her when she’s always with me. In my mugs, my books, my plants, my beignets,” she softly laughs, “She’s everywhere with me. So, not too often.” 

The cool air of the night begins to wisp around her hair, it’s as if the temperature brings her back to reality—she finally sees the camera.

She walks up to him, covering the lens as she exhales, “Alright, boy. I’m done being your lil’ muse. Ain’t this supposed to be a date?”

“Date?” 

He chuckles at the term, “You callin’ this a date? You tryna’ get a nigga’s hopes up?”

She blinks, realizing what she’d just said.

“Did I say date? I meant—you finna’ be late to see this jazz lounge!” 

Her heels click against the ground as she walks, “C’mon!”

Onyankopon’s grin follows at her quick attempt to cover her words, letting the camera hang at his side as he follows after her, “Girl—you already called it a date—you can’t take that back now!” 

He follows behind as they approach a white-bricked, historic-looking building, a hum of jazz music slipping from inside as it draws them closer. A live band plays on the stage towards the back of the dimly lit lounge—Couples and friends moving to the rhythm, a mixture of flavor scented cigars dancing in the air.  

Onyankopon guides Nola to an open table, pulling her chair out for her before sitting across from her. His eyes glance over the interior of the building, the various people of differing ages laughing and socializing. The vibe feels—romantic.

Nola watches his fingers nearly itch for his camera. He peers through the darkness, clicking photos of the art above the walls, the dancing figures, the intimate tone the club sets for itself. 

“So,” her eyes flick from the candle in the middle of the table, up to his handsome features, “You never told me how you got into journalism.”

Goddamn her, he thought. Her freckles looked almost like constellations within the candle light, “That’s a bit of a story.”

“Oh. You one of them niggas.”

His eyebrow raises back at her, “What ‘you mean by that?”

“The one that wants to know everything about a woman, but the moment she wants to know something about him—he’s silent.”

“Maybe I’m just not a nigga who likes to talk about himself.”

“Well isn’t that boring?”

Nola’s voice is sarcastic, eyes turning away as she waves for the attention of a waitress. Her shoulders deflate a bit at his vague response, and that small speck of dismissiveness might’ve proved him too good to be true. 

“Can I have a frozen sangria?” she politely asks, handing the menu back to the woman as she smiles, “Thank you.”

He watches her order, his eyes narrowing as she avoids his gaze. He was a bit thrown off by how quickly her mood had changed. 

The waitress nodded at her drink request, turning to Onyankopon, “And for you, sir?” 

He muttered, “A beer. Thank you.” 

He waits until the waitress disappears, “So you don’t fuck with me no more?”

“You said you didn’t have anything to say, so why you’ still talkin’ to me?”

Onyankopon’s eyes narrow. His gaze becomes a little cold, “I didn’t say I ain’t wanna’ talk to you, Nola. I just said I wasn’t someone who like talkin’ about themselves—there’s a difference.”

“And if I said some shit like that to you, yo’ ass would’ve been all in my face lookin’ for an answer,” her accent becomes heavier the more she’s annoyed, “But you can say you don’t like talking about yourself and dismiss my question, huh? Yeah— okay.”

“Nah, shawty. I wouldn’t have been all in yo’ face. If you said you weren’t comfortable talkin’ about yourself—I would’ve left you alone. I ain’t pry about them’ pictures, did I?” 

She huffs, “Well maybe I just wanna know something about the nigga I like. I ain’t’ think that was a crime.”

His eyebrow raises at her confession. The cocky bastard has a grin along his face, “So that’s why you trippin’. ‘Cause you like me? Why you’ makin’ yourself all frustrated when you could’ve just said that?”

“Why would I boost your big ass ego?” 

He can see the way her face flushes despite her attitude. He can’t stop looking at her, Onyankopon’s gaze more serious as he confirms, “I like you too, Nola.”

Yeah, she was blushing. Again. Her eyes watched as people began to flood the dance floor, the band beginning to play a more calming tune rather than the upbeat instrumentals they carried on before. 

She reaches for his hand as she questions, “Come dance with me?”

Maybe this was her way of apologizing. She pulls him to a corner of the dance floor, placing his arms to the lower part of her back. Nola giggles as he places her feet along his shoes, noticing that she stood on the tips of her heels to wrap her arms around his neck.

He gives a soft chuckle as he pulls her closer, “You still mad?” 

She sighs, “I might’ve been a little mean earlier. I’m sorry. I just—I like you, and I wanna know things about you.”

He didn’t need her to apologize. He wanted to know everything about her, so it wasn’t wrong for her to want the same. Nola leans herself more into him, pressing her curls against his chest as she follows the rhythm of the music. 

That’s when Onyankopon says, “Imma’ photographer that went to school for journalism, and my pops thinks I’m wastin’ my life away. That don’t’ sound too interesting to tell anybody.”

“Why does he think that?”

His fingers tightened against her waist a bit, “He wanted me to be a doctor, and all I wanted to do was take pictures. He ain’t’ believe me when I said photojournalism was a real profession—you know how it goes with parents.”

“Are you happy though? That you followed your dreams?”

Onyankopon pulls her even closer, his nose lightly running against her curls as he murmurs, “I wouldn’t be here with you if I ain’t always go’ for what I wanted.”

Nola blushes, covering it with a snort, “You’re so corny.” 

He chuckles at her snort, keeping her body close to his, “Corny? Nah. Delusional? Maybe.”

Nola had noticed something about Onyankopon. As the night went on, drinking, dancing, she couldn’t pull away from the look upon his face each time he snapped a photo. He was almost—elated. 

It was the same eyes she had each time she opened her cafe, each time she made a customer happy—like she was exactly where she needed to be.

However, being exactly where she needed to be didn’t apply at this moment—as she was now standing at the doorway of Onyankopon’s condo, heart beating within her chest as she’d agreed to come over when the weather began to get bad outside. His place was closer to Bourbon street, and she’d decided to camp out here until he could drive her back home. 

It was a modern-styled condo. White walls, leather furniture, and wooden frames throughout the home. He seemed to love the color brown. The coffee table was covered in books and magazines, along with vinyls that he’d collected over years of traveling. 

“You want sum’ to drink?” 

Nola’s heart continuously thumps in her ears. She gives a weak smile, “Sure—a glass of wine would be nice.”

He gives a nod, his hand gripping her fingers to lead her onto the couch, “I got you. Make yourself comfortable, aight? I’ll be back.” 

The silence of the place was almost deafening. The only sounds Nola could focus on were the occasional car passing by outside, the rain, and the clinking of the wine glasses. 

She picks up a book off of the glass table, mindlessly flipping through the pages and looking at the pictures, distracting herself. Placing the book back down, she clears her throat as she places her heels next to the door, adjusting her dress as she comes down the foyer leading to the kitchen.

“You have a record player?” 

Her eyes caught sight of the machine first, but then she caught sight of him—his back was facing the hallway, plaid button up now removed for her to see the muscular bulge of his arms, coated in tattoos. Nola swallows.

Her gaze scans over his bare skin, his body chiseled,  muscular and strong. The black cotton boxers under his cargos ride a little below his hips, showing more of his tattoo work upon his skin. Down, down, down—

“Yeah, my pops said music sounded better on em’. He put me on.”

She needed another distraction. Squatting down, Nola pulls one of the vinyls—Al Green, Love And Happiness—pressing the button up top as she places the disc within the slot.

The needle moves around the record, playing in soft strums, mixing with the sound of the rain falling outside. It fits the moment well, but doesn’t seem to help the tension she feels.

Her eyes fall to the other corner of his living room—a makeshift backdrop hangs from his ceiling, another camera posted on its stick across from the white background. 

She calls from down the hallway, “You um—take pictures here, too?”

“Yeah, I do most of my test shoots here—Better than havin’ to rent a studio and the client says they don’t like their pictures.” 

He comes out of the kitchen, a bottle of chilled wine in one hand, her glass of Stella Rose Black within the other.

She gives a soft smile as she takes the glass, “Thank you. Um—does that happen a lot? Having clients not like their photos?”

“Unfortunately. Most people think they’ finna’ look exactly like they do in real life, but that’s impossible. They’ just picky sometimes.”

“Well—maybe you don’t know what it’s like to be the one in front of the camera and not behind it.”

She tugs him onto the backdrop, stepping back as she locks her fingers around the camera. She giggles, “Lemme’ get one of you. I’m sure you know how to take the perfect picture.”

Onyankopon stands in the center of the white cloth, his arms folded over his chest as he reminds, “This ain’t ‘bout me. I thought you just wanted me to talk?”

“We can multitask,” she mutters, looking at him through the camera—he seems bigger in the frame, taking up the entirety of it. Nola then prods, “So, tell me something, Onyankopon from 7th Ward, what do you love about photography?”

He keeps his face down, eyes almost glaring as he looks towards the camera, “That’s a broad question.” 

Onyankopon’s fingers itch, his expression hardening a bit more, “I like the control I get from behind the camera.“

Oh.

 Nola’s smile faintly drops from her face. Her heart was back to thumping in her ears, almost having the skin singed.

A photo clicks through her swallow, her eyes still peeking through the camera as she softly replies, “Control is a…word choice.”

He’s focused solely on her. Onyankopon murmurs, “Don’t try to act like you don’t get the same thing from yo’ lil’ cafe.” 

His voice is huskier by the second, “We all like bein’ in charge.”

“So that’s what you want? To be in control of the person you’re taking pictures of?” 

“You sayin’ you don’t want the same thing when you deal with people?” 

His gaze burns into her, “When they walk through yo’ doors, don’t you want them to know that you’re the one controllin’ the place? That you’re the one that runs shit?”

His words make her tense. The darkness of night begins to consume the room a bit, the moonlight coming through as the rain slows down. 

She’s back to playing with the curls of her hair, a nervous giggle spilling from her lips as she says, “I don’t think I’m too good behind the camera,” stepping herself back from the lens.

His eyes follow her every movement, his expression almost dark. 

“Why not?”

She’s unsure of how to answer that. 

“…You said you have a sense of control when doing so, but I feel a little awkward tryna’ take photos of you. So—maybe I’m more submissive, in that sense. Better at taking direction then giving it,” she pulls her hair to one side, coiling a piece beneath her finger.

The words out of her mouth have his eyes lowering to watch the motion of her fingers. He murmurs, “Submissive, huh?”

She wants to facepalm herself. She realizes how she sounds, shaking her head as she corrects, “I just meant—um, you know what I was saying.”

Nola steps forward, keeping her fingers twisted under her curls, “Listen, Ony. I just wanted to say that I—I had a really nice time with you today.”

He watches her stumble over herself, finding an adoration within her nerves. Cute. He steps closer to her. 

“Now she wanna’ be nice, ain’t that sweet?”

Nola softly laughs, “I’m serious. The time I’ve spent around you has been nice, you’re sweet—and—admitting again that I like you was a little embarrassing, so I’m hoping you didn’t say it just because I did— That you meant it.”

Her eyes waver as he’s closing the distance between them, his tall height looming over her frame to look down at her.

“I’d love to be in your column, Onyankopon.” 

He’s close. His breath almost brushed over her skin, “I like you too, witcho’ pretty ass.”

Onyankopon watches her stare up at him, her curls still in her hands, “And I still mean it.” 

That other feeling returns once again, a throb coming between her legs from the vibrations that pool through her lower stomach. Nola flicks her vision from his low eyes, to his lips. The nervous part of her encapsulates her brain, and her face lowers a bit as she nervously giggles, “Um—the rain slowed down—Maybe you should take me home?”

He hears the shudder in her voice, that giggle she does when her nerves get the best of her. His hand finds a tiny curl along the back of her neck, fingers gently placing there. 

“Nah. You’ fine right here.”

Her mind seems to spin like that record playing— Onyankopon lowers his jaw, rubbing his lips onto hers—which makes Nola release the quietest gasp, a small pout forming along her mouth, lashes fluttering in return. 

Her voice is different. 

“…O—Ony…” 

The moment he hears a whimper escape her, his thumb pushes up her chin to meet the pout of her mouth, kissing her. He’s gentle, the tone shifting into something—passionate. He can feel her heart hammering through her chest.

The taste of his tongue makes her feel drunk, almost in a daze. He won’t stop.

Another shift in the air—his tongue is now everywhere it doesn’t need to be—he’s in her ear, gliding along the sensitive shell—then, he’s dragging down her neck, a place that was generally her spot. She reaches up to tug at his cornrows, the sounds pushing from her lips intrusive—louder than she expected, a broken gasp stuttering from her lips as she pleads again, “Ony…”

Her neck is sensitive. The sounds spilling through her mouth are filthy, the way her fingers twist around his hair gives him a small sense of satisfaction. It gets his mind racing, just imagining what kind of sounds he can have her making later on.

“Why you callin’ me like that, huh?” 

He’s snatching pieces of her skin into his mouth.

“You’re making me wanna’ fuck.”

Her voice is a whine, pouty in the full sentence. She didn’t even think about those words before she said them. 

He grunts at that, Nola jolting out another gasp when his free hand spanks her ass from beneath her dress, gripping the flesh with a shake, “You whinin’ like you need this dick. You want it?”

Horny, Horny, Horny. That’s all she can think of. But somewhere, somehow, her senses begin tapping the back of her brain. She didn’t want to make any decisions based on temporary emotions, despite how intense they were—despite how she anticipated that side of him. 

“Wait.”

She tugs at his hair, able to pull his mouth off her skin. 

“S—stop…” she breathlessly instructs, “Hold on.”

“What you’ doin?”

His voice is rougher than usual, like it had been grated and sanded between sheets. But his grip softens on her waist, letting her pull away from him. 

“I’m tryna’ put you on this sofa and eat yo’ pussy the fuck out.”

“Ony, Jesus.” 

She now presses both hands to his chest, her tone still breathless as she admits, “I just— I really don’t wanna fuck this up by moving too fast.” 

Nola presses her forehead to his chest as she squeezes her eyes shut, “I’m sorry.”

Onyankopon stops. His fingers find a way to her hips, holding her in the gentlest way he’d done before. He refused to ruin this moment, and if she wanted to stop, he would. 

He’s looking down at her, a small smile lifting at the corner of his mouth, “Ain’t nothin’ you need to apologize for.” 

Nola’s quiet for a moment. Her voice then whispered, “…I think I should go, since I probably ruined the night.”

“Aye, nah. You ain’t ruin nothin’, girl. Chillout’.”

He takes her chin, lifting her head up to look at him, “Just ‘cause you got boundaries don't mean ruined it. I’m still fine, aight?” 

She nods her head. Her arms slowly make their way around his neck, “Um—well, can I just—we can cuddle, if you want? You’ can give me butt rubs?”

He chuckles. He’s amused by the request, her soft arms wrapped lovingly around his neck—His face is still close to hers, “You’re spoiled, mama.”

“I’m not spoiled,” she frowns, laying herself atop of his body, gently pulling his palm beneath her dress, “Your hands are just warm.”

She’s soft. He can feel her against his chest, sinking into him like she’s meant to be there. His words are rough, but his touch is careful as his palm grips the flesh of her ass, “Just say you wanna’ be spoiled. It sound’ better.”

Her eyes feel a little heavy. She can barely give him a reply, feeling sleepy as she murmurs, “I’m a lil’ spoiled…”

He can’t help the smirk along his face.

 “Spoiled and sleepy, huh?”

He lifts a strand of her hair, curling it between his fingers, “You really finna’ pass out on top of me?”

“Mhm,” she breathily whispers, “Your heartbeat is like a lil’ lullaby—They say if your heart is slowed, it reflects how at peace you are.”

A small laugh escapes from him, “Yeah?”

His body is like an oak tree, hard and sturdy, still.  She’s laying softly over it, almost like a leaf, the beat of his heart slow and steady against her—He murmurs to her, “Lil’ mama owns a shop and apparently got a degree in psychology,” which makes her softly giggle.

“I got a woman, everybody.”

“Onyankopon?”

“Hm?”

“Sleep.”

“Aight.”

Being with Onyankopon was different. He was patient—When she got frustrated, when she got nervous, when she just needed his comfort—he was there. He’d driven Nola to her apartment the next morning to shower and prepare for work, laying against the sofa as he rubbed his palm against her white Persian cat, Snowball, inhaling the scent of vanilla as she got dressed. He was constantly affectionate, pulling her into kisses that made her giggle, holding her hand as she rambled to him, keeping her talking as he snapped photos of her behind the counter of her restaurant. A kiss along her forehead was what he left her with as he had to go back to work—and then, he was gone.

Nola didn’t know she wouldn’t hear from him for the next five days. 

She told herself she shouldn’t have cared, but she did. It was when he didn’t answer the phone the first couple of times, nor a text message—she’d die before leaving a voicemail. 

Her emotions ran through her body as the days passed—from worried, to concerned, to irritated, to pissed off. Nola was trying not to jump to conclusions, but she was two days away from not hearing from Onyankopon for an entire week.

“Why you’ staring in the mirror like that?”

Nola pulled her face towards Eros as she made an espresso, not realizing her eyes peered directly within the small mirror they kept on the counter.

Her voice is soft as she murmurs, “I’m good.”

She didn’t want Eros to dramatize the situation if she’d told him, so she hadn’t. But, this was her closest friend, and she felt like she was going to explode if she didn’t express how she was feeling. Maybe she would only tell him a small part.

“I haven’t heard from Onyankopon in almost a week.”

“What?! That fuck ass nigga bro—“

Nola was pleading with her eyes for him to not make it worse—Eros’ expression softens, knowing Nola well enough that she was probably thinking of the worst case scenario—his anger wouldn’t help. 

He leans against the counter, his expression curious as he gently pries, “You’ve called him? Texted him?”

“Everytime I called it went straight to voicemail.”

She presses her lips together, “I probably should’ve stopped calling after he didn’t answer the first time.”

“You don’t think he blocked you, right?”

That makes her chest feel heavy. 

She admits, “I don’t know, Eros. Maybe? I just—“

She feels her throat becoming tight. She felt stupid to wanna cry, considering she’d known him for less than two weeks. Her fears of something like this happening kept her from saying yes to him, and when she did, it now felt like egg on her face. 

“—I’m fine. You mind bringing these sugars over to Mr. Boudreaux? I need a bathroom break.” 

She drops the sugars within his palm, already walking towards the restrooms placed within the front of the cafe— the moment she turns for the hallway, the bell jingles atop of the door, that cocoa musk scenting the entire shop in milliseconds. 

“Nola.”

There he was. Now, roses appeared within his palms. It wasn’t as sweet as the first time he’d done it. 

That deep voice would’ve made her shiver, would’ve sent warmth through her body—but she felt nothing of the sort. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I needa’ talk to you.”

“About what, Onyankopon? Whatever you wanted to talk about you could’ve said five days ago.” 

She’s already dismissive, flicking her eyes over the cafe to her customers, “I have to get back to work.”

He steps a bit closer, the flowers in his hands hanging low towards the floor, “You ain’t even gon’ hear me out?”

“You were too busy? You didn’t have time to text me back to let me know you were okay? You’re not ready for anything serious? Which one is it?” She crosses her arms, eyes narrowed at him.

Okay, he fucked up. Onyankopon had been working on his column, and when he got into his mode, he was nowhere near his phone—But that wasn’t an excuse to ignore her. 

“What you’ talkin’ bout?” He frowns, “It’s none of that. I just been workin’, Nola—That’s it.”

“How am I supposed to know that, Onyankopon?” She squints, “Look— you don’t owe me any type of loyalty to tell me what you’re doing every millisecond of the day, but if you say you like me as much as I thought you did days ago, a simple text wouldn’t have stopped your fuckin’ paycheck.”

Onyankopon eyebrows lower, “Look— I’m a grown ass nigga, Nola. You know that. I was just handlin’ business, I can’t sit there and be on my phone every five seconds.”

“Did I say that?” She raises an eyebrow, “‘Cause ion’ think I said that. You—“

She stops, realizing she was actually about to get upset.

“You know what? You’ right. I got a shop to run, so gon’ head and be grown, Onyankopon. I gotta go.” 

She attempts to step around him, irritated eyes flickering up the moment he moves in front of her.

His voice is lower, “So you’ done with me?”

“You ‘was done with me the moment you ignored me, Onyankopon. If I ignored you for nearly a week, I would’ve apologized, like a grown ass nigga actually would have!“

“And ain’t that what the fuck I’m doin’ right now?” 

“So you pursue me, decline my calls, don’t text me back—Five days later, you bring some stupid ass flowers and say you a grown nigga that got things to do? That’s your apology?” 

She gives a dry laugh, “Get the fuck out my face, Onyankopon.” 

“You finna’ piss me off, Nola—You know I want you,” he dips his face close enough to catch her scent, “Why you actin’ like this?”

She’s frustrated. Irritated. But ultimately, she was hurt. She hated being emotional, but she felt stupid for being this upset. For liking him. Nola’s throat felt heavy, her fingers trembling as she turned into the hallway leading to the bathroom, a glare of her tears shining as she dismissed, “I’m not finna’ get upset right now.” 

He takes the initiative to grab her hand, pulling her fully behind the wall as he grunts, “Nah, you about to start cryin’,” his expression softens, “Don’t do that, c’mon. I’m sorry, baby. Aight? I’m sorry.”

“No,” she whimpers, placing her palms beneath her eyes, “I shouldn’t even be…c—crying about this…”

“Quit it, Nola. C’mon,” he wraps his fingers along the back of her neck, “Don’t start cryin’ over me. Not over this, baby—please.”

“I just don’t wanna feel stupid, Onyankopon.” 

She can’t help the small cry that escapes from her throat, but she tries her best to keep her tears from spilling—He’s holding her tight, his hand running up and down her back as he murmurs, “You ain’t stupid, Nola. I’m bein’ stupid, and I ain’t tryna’ fuck nothin’ up with you. I promise I won’t do it again, aight?”

Nola takes a deep breath, swiping her fingers beneath her palm as she stops herself from crying. She’s silent for a moment, a deep exhale pushing from her lips. 

“…Sorry.” 

He rubs the tip of his thumb against her cheek, “‘Preciate you apologizin’, but you ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry about, aight? You got’ every right to be mad at my ass.”

She’s still pulling herself together, her face flushed and red. Onyankopon brushes his mouth against her jaw, “You want yo’ stupid ass flowers?”

The smallest giggle falls from her lips. She can hear Onyankopon grin, “A giggle? Hell freezin’ over again?”

She flicks her eyes up to him, “You ain’t funny, Ony.”

“Nahh, don’t be tryna’ front now.” 

He lifts his brow, grinning even wider. That’s when his fingers cup her flushed cheeks, his nose brushing against hers as he murmurs, “You missed me, crybaby?”

She shoves his arm, ignoring his chuckle as her entire face is still red. He smelled good—damn, she did miss him.

Onyankopon brings his eyes down, “I was tryna’ come tell you’ the expo for my column comin’ up this weekend.”

“You just now tellin’ me a couple days from it?”

“Three days—and I’m just now tellin’ you ‘cause you ain’t lemme’ talk before.”

She reaches her arms to find the comfort of his shoulders. Nola sighs, “I’m sure you have a million pictures of me for the column—you want me there too?” 

“Nah, ion’ just want you there—A nigga need his ole’ lady there.”

Nola tilts her head, a small smile spreading along her face. She rubs her palms against his neck, “I guess I can get pretty and come—Or, maybe I’ll disappear for five days. We’ll see.” 

Onyankopon gives her a glare, smacking his lips as he says, “You playin’. You ain’t funny.”

“I’m not?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m a lil’ funny,” she pinches her thumb and index finger together. 

“Yeah, aight—disappear and see what happens. Deadass.”

“We’ll see.”

Okay, maybe she was just messing with him. Three days later—her nerves were bundled within the tips of her fingers as she stood in the opening of a matte black building, cream marble floors reflecting the golden melt of her heels. 

It was like being in an art museum—multicolored lights blared along the alabaster walls, photos displayed under oversized lamps—colleagues standing around, conversing quietly as wine glasses clinked politely.

Eros adjusts the button up he wears, eyes slightly wide as he exhales, “So—this is an art expo.” 

Nola breathily whispers, “…Yeah. It is.”

Eros gives a smile to a waitress passing by, snatching a glass of wine from atop of her platter. The gallery itself held a bit of an intimidating air—the way the people around them held their chin up, the way they carried themselves—it was intimidating.

He murmurs, “I feel undressed.”

“You look nice,” Nola hums, adjusting the silk of his top, “Go find you an artsy cutie. I’m sure he’s in here somewhere.”

He winks, “Will do.”

Eros gives her a hip bump, and the moment he finds his interest in a man standing next to a painting, that’s when the scent hits her—cocoa musk. 

There he is. His attire was different from the streetwear he usually sported—the sleek black suit fitted to his muscular frame, watch along his wrist, jewelry along his fingers. His nose ring shines beneath the lights, looking as handsome as ever.

But Nola, she was pretty. God, she was.

Her caramel complexion glowed, contrasting with the dewey shine against the lighter parts of her skin, ginger hair perfectly tousled in a way that was careless yet elegant as is framed down to her hips. The cedar toned dress she wears clung to her curvy silhouette as it flowed to her ankles, sheer that it gives the slightest show of her areolas. 

And her eyes—gorgeous, honeyed and captivating to the point of wonder.

Nola’s smile spreads at him, that same breathless, “Hi,” spilling from her lips like the first time they’d met, “You look nice.”

Her scent wafts up his nose like the sweetest perfume. He can’t help but stare at the smooth curves of her hips, the way the dress wrapped perfectly around her body—her brown nipples seeping through the fabric a bit, peeking by the covering of her curls. 

Onyankopon leans down to press his mouth to her ear, “You look too muhfuckin’ pretty, love.”

Her face drops down to her hands as she hums, “Thank you. Um—I didn’t wanna come empty handed, and it may seem corny, but—“ she giggles a bit, “You like to bring me flowers, so I thought I’d bring you a lil’ plant.”

Her palms hold the tiniest succulent within a dark green pot, “It’s a jade plant— for good luck.”

Ony’s expression is gentle as he takes the pot within his hand, “Thank you, Mama. Shit is thoughtful—Lemme’ have a kiss, a nigga been thinkin’ about you all day.”

She leans against the tips of her heels as she gives him a peck—but she feels a little strange, as she notices that she has the eyes of other people within the gallery.

People acted as if seeing her vitiligo was like an animal walking on their hind legs—and now, Nola had the urge to cover her face with her hair. 

“I wasn’t late for anything, was I?”

His hand drops to the small of her back, fingers lightly rubbing in a circular motion as he can instantly feel her discomfort, “Nah, you ain’t miss me or nothin’. As much as I wanna enjoy this gallery with you—I gotta go find my boss to talk about sum’. You want me to go find Eros? Ion’ wanna leave you alone.”

Nola shakes her head, “I’ll be fine. Go put my plant somewhere safe, and come find me later, yeah?”

“Aight,” he murmurs, placing a final kiss to her forehead—his fingers finding her chin to make her look up at him, “You be good.” 

The moment he leaves her, a small exhale passes through her lips. Nola decides to take this moment to explore the gallery alone. It was interesting to see the other presentations, professional pictures under a beautiful capture of words to represent the photos. 

Yet, eyes were still on her. 

She was used to a strange glance here and there, but this was a little abnormal. She nearly had the urge to go find Eros, but when she turns for the next hallway—she stops.

Her ears catch a familiar voice, replaying on a loop through the static of a television. It’s low, soft, feminine.

“You miss her?” 

“It’s hard to miss her when she’s always with me. In my mugs, my books, my plants, my beignets. She’s everywhere. So, not too often.” 

That was Nola’s voice.

She picks up her dress as she follows to where the group stands, eyes peering through the ocean of people.

Her fingertips fly to her lips. 

“Oh my god.”

She was expecting to see a multitude of other black owned businesses’ within the biggest gallery of Onaynkopon’s expo, but she never expected that she was the muse for this entire column. 

Every picture he had taken of her was here. At the cafe, at the jazz lounge—she was everywhere. 

Nola’s eyes flicker down to the paragraph written below the TV that repeatedly loops the video. It’s bold, brown. 

The essence of a black woman is a unique blend. She is confident but not pretentious, soft on the outside but not a pushover, strong in her convictions, but not harsh. She is gentle with others, but she isn’t meek. She’s humble in her happiness and even in her anger. She’s sensitive. She over-thinks. She’s insecure. She grieves. She cries.

I was lucky enough to capture the essence of what that authenticity had to offer. To my southern belle—a woman who doesn’t even realize the depth of her beauty. Thank you. 

The moment she sees Onyankopon, there’s almost a shy look along his face. It was the first time she’d ever seen it. She’s unsure if her feet are still planted along the floor. 

Her head turns, voice shaken as her eyes gloss, “How did you—I thought this was a—it’s about me?”

He chuckles, hiding his face a bit as he looks down to her, “You’ been on my mind since I first seen’ you, Mama. You’re my inspiration.” 

She doesn’t know how to reply in words. So Nola grasps his chin, kissing him, unable to show her appreciation any other way. Her heart feels full—she can’t describe it.

“…Thank you—for this. For you.”

Onyankopon didn’t expect it—but his heart jolted. 

The moment he goes in for another kiss—a coworker apologizes as she interrupts the moment, “Sorry—um, a couple of people want to speak to you, Onyankopon.”

Nola readjusts his tie, wiping the lipstick along his jaw as she nods her head, “Go. Come find me later.”

He takes her chin in the grip of his fingers once more, the expression on his face is one of the softest she’d ever seen. 

“Aight’. I’ll find you.”

He gives one last lingering kiss to her cheek, disappearing off into the gallery.

In that same moment, Eros appears—choking on his champagne as he eyes the exhibit, “Holy shit—Is that you?!”

Nola had a confession to make. She was very much someone who enjoyed a man taking action, and this was an overstatement of what she expected of him. Not only did it make her feelings grow, but she couldn’t lie—she was now horny. 

She eyed him from across the building, watching his every move—the way he smiled, talked, chuckled, glared. It probably didn’t help that she was on her third glass of champagne, and it was going straight in between her legs. 

Onyankopon wasn’t stupid, either. He took her around to meet some of his colleagues, and he could feel her energy. In the way she fixed his clothes for him, rubbed her fingers in his facial hair as he spoke, pecking his mouth every chance she could, rubbing his arm—it was different.

Nola was tipsy by the time they made it back to his place, giggling as Onyankopon carried her bridal style into the house, “You’re so sweeet. My feet were hurting.” 

His voice is a low hum as he chuckles, “You tipsy as hell, baby.” 

He sets her down against the sofa, Nola groaning, wrapping her arms against his neck so he can’t fully sit her down.

She’s giggly, her face flushed, eyes glossy as she pulls him against her, legs wrapping around his torso to pull him even closer. 

“Mama,” he chuckles, gently pulling her legs from around him, “You need some water?”

“No,” she breathily replies, “You actin’ like I’m drunk or  sum’.”

“Imma’ get you a bottle.”

Nola rolls her eyes, leaning herself against the sofa as she watches him disappear down the hall. She sighs, “You ain’t take my shoes off, Ony…”

He comes back moments later with a full glass of water; “C’mere—I’m takin’ yo’ shoes off right now, aight?”

He kneels down to her feet and unlaced her heels, sliding the material off, “This how you gon’ act every time you drink?”

Nola leans her chin within her palm, hair sprawling around her body as she exhales, “I’m fine.”

A grin spreads along her face shortly after, “You’re so handsome, hm?”

He rubs her arch with the pad of his thumbs, taking the opportunity to feel the smoothness of her skin, “Yeah? You think so?” 

Her eyes are low, lashes nearly covering the brown of her pupils as she nods, “Mhm.”

“You been starin’ me down all night. Why can’t you keep yo’ eyes offa’ nigga, huh?”

He gives her ankle a kiss, which makes Nola giggle again.

She hums, siren eyes searching his face—Nola wraps her fingers along the back of her thighs, pulling her legs up as she sultrily giggles, “You make me horny.” 

The smirk on his face is lazy, gaze languid as he rubs her calf, “That’s how you feelin’—You’ crazy.”

He stands above her as he chuckles, beginning to remove the chains around his neck.

She sits up as she pouts, “No, don’t take em’ off,” running her fingers against his abdomen, touching him. She can’t stop touching him. 

“Aight,” he grabs for her hand, “You gettin’ touchy.” 

Her chest is flushed, fingers running along the cotton material of his shirt, rubbing the muscles of his abdomen. 

“Look so good, Ony.”

Yeah—sober Nola was nowhere to be found. 

She reaches for his chain as she tugs him down by it, sticking her tongue out with a giggle, awaiting for his mouth.

“Kiss me.”

He was trying to be good. But at the sight of her, Onyankopok licks at her tongue with a groan, fingers wrapping along her chin to keep her in place as he kisses her back. 

“Nasty ass.”

He’s murmuring against her mouth, Nola jumping as she gives her ass a harsh spank—he’s tonguing her down all the while, wavering the temptation he’d been holding back.

She’s hornier by the second. Nola’s eyes are like stars the moment she pulls her mouth away from his, breathless as she tugs at his briefs, dipping her fingers beneath the material to brush her palms against the veins of his dick. 

“Want your dick in my mouth, baby.”

“Nola—“

She moans as she molds her lips around his tip, eyes fluttering closed as she begins eagerly sucking him into her mouth. She’s lost within a newfound pleasure. 

Onyankopon groans, unexpected of her craving for him—he takes a grip of her fiery curls, her mouth spreading around his dick as she bobs her head back and forth—He can hear the wet noises of her saliva sucking him in and out, and it just makes him grunt, “Shit, mama. Hollon—you’ tipsy as fuck.”

He’s throbbing within her mouth, Nola’s tongue massaging the ripples of each vein within his length—she won’t stop. 

Her eyes are rolling as she rotates her palm at the base of him, low eyes flickering up as she whimpers, “Fuck my mouth.”

Onyankopon can barely comprehend her words, feeling the intoxication from her voice and the drunkenness of her expression. Her eyes are round, glowing beneath him. 

Her throat is hugging his tip at this point, Nola widening her jaw, parting her tongue further away from the roof of her mouth as she drops her nose to nearly kiss his abdomen—his girth knocks the air within her windpipe each millisecond. 

His voice is a husky rumble, "God damn," he exhales, "I ain't even got you naked yet."

Nola can feel the cheeks of her face begin to burn, but she can’t focus on the discomfort—the room nearly spins the moment she gags along his dick, sultrily panting as she pulls him halfway from her lips, slapping his tip against her tongue.

She then yanks up at the material of her dress, the brown of her nipples smooth against the lights pouring down onto the sofa. 

“Come play with em’.” 

Her mouth trembles a gasp the moment his full lips come down to lap at the bulge of her nipples, rotating in his mouth with the nudge of his head. 

“You feel so good,” she softly whines, lightly grinding her hips forward to meet his body.

“You look so muhfuckin’ good.”

His hand finds her ankles again, lifting her leg to drape over his shoulder, spreading her legs open for him as he buries kisses at the apex of her thighs—warm.

Nola feels like her entire body is buzzing. Her thighs shudder the moment he spanks the side of her ass, spreading her legs even more—a bubblegum pink shines beneath the caramel brown of her folds.

The sight of her—thighs spread, cheeks flushed, hair framing her blushed face. She’s trembling—Warmer.

“Pussy pretty as fuck, baby. You gon’ lemme’ drop my tongue on this shit?”

“Please.”

Her voice is high, vulnerable.

The sound of it causes Onyankopon’s jaw to lock. He’s unable to help himself as he buries his mouth in between her legs. His tongue drags against her pussy, giving the slowest lick, allowing her to feel every trace of his mouth.

She shivers, Nola pressing her fingers against the back of her thighs to hold them within the air, lips trembling into a pleasurable frown at the sight—Onyankopon’s just slurping her up, head shaking in her folds, nodding up and down as secretion sops against her flesh.

“Ony,” her mouth quivers, “Y—yes…”

His tongue winds around her clit before he sucks it, letting it pop free as he continues eating away at her.

“Shit tastes like muhfuckin’ dessert—a nigga ain’t never had no shit like this,” he muffles, spanking her skin—now, he’s becoming lost within the pleasure of her body. 

The wet noises of his mouth against her core is the most erotic thing she’s ever heard—she’s never had anyone taste her, touch her, or even smell her like this.

It’s as if she’s completely intoxicated—Like a bottle of champagne had been doused within her liver—she’s grinding herself against his tongue, placing her fingers along the top of his head to rock herself down to meet his mouth. Seeing her be so shy, sweet—to this, it felt like a dream. 

“I’m gonna c—cum,” she softly cries, “Put it in. Come fuck me, baby.” 

His tongue nearly wags along her pussy, a glare along his face as he pulls up, “That’s what you want, huh?”

His palm wraps along the base of his dick, smacking his tip along her clit— it makes her whine, “Yes.” 

Nola’s lower back hangs off the edge of the sofa, the strength of Onyankopon’s palms holding the back of her thighs to keep her from falling. Her knees press against her chest, head tilted as she watches his body hover above her.

They wanna take their time—but they can’t. It’s a burn at this point. 

Onyankopon’s tip slowly sunk in between her folds, spreading her apart, splitting her in a slow drag. Her mouth parts—her eyes lightly roll back as her lower body ignites on fire—it’s a rush of discomfort, mixed with a deep sense of pleasure. 

She reaches her hand up for his abdomen, her hips rotating a bit as he spreads her opening farther apart. She groans when he snatches her hand down. 

“Ony…”

“What you’ callin’ me for? This how you’ wanted it,” he grunts. 

Her body trembles. 

“You’re filling me up so fuckin’ good.”

He can’t help himself. He darkly chuckles, “You horny as fuck. Keep lookin’ at me with them fuckin’ eyes.” 

He snakes his hand lower to clutch the back of her neck, head knocking down, nearly cradling her by the strength of his arm, dropping her down onto his dick. The back of her thighs clap against his abdomen.

His eyes are locked with hers, and he can see her expression changing—her lips parting, her eyes rolling, her hands reaching for something to grab onto. 

Nola’s eyes meet his, she’s whining, “Oohshittt, Ony.” 

He pulls his palm away from the back of her neck, finding his fingers swimming back into the ocean of her curls—he yanks her head forward, placing it within a position to give her complete sight of his dick disappearing into her walls. 

“Ony what?” he grunts, “You keep callin’ me—Keep whinin’ for me. Open yo’ fuckin’ pussy, watch this shit cum.” 

Her mouth drops open, eyes rolling as she does watch—the girth of him somehow becomes swallowed by her walls, the cream of her arousal increasing with each stroke—Nola moans loudly, her hand sliding between her legs, fingers softly rubbing at her clit. 

Her eyes are blown, pleasured tears pooling at her brown irises as sniffles, “I’m c—cumming…f—fuck.” 

Onyankopon’s tip feels weighted as it’s choked by the snug of her walls, nearly pushing him out as her arousal gushes through the warmth of her folds. His own hand replaces hers as his thumb is lightly playing with her already sensitive clit, watching as her inner thighs fluttered in response. He’s still stroking, “Let it out, baby. Goood muhfuckin’ girl. Keep cummin’’.”

The emotions she feels pooling from her body overwhelms her, arm reaching up as she pulls him down for them to now be chest to chest. Onyankopon buries his face within her neck as she drags her other hand along his back, helping with his continuous thrusts, grinding him forward to go deeper into her. 

She clutches along his body, her shoulders trembling as she repeats to him in whiney cries, “I’m cumming…” 

She presses her nose against his cheek—her eyes boring into his, her pleasure, her tears, they flush along her face as she whimpers, “I…I need you, Ony…” 

Onyankopon growls against her throat, "I need you, too, Mama, “ His thrusts slow, deep, his hips rocking forward, “Youn’ know how bad I need you. A nigga ain’t going nowhere."

He swipes his thumb beneath her cheek, taking in the beauty of her face. Pretty from the moment he met her, pretty from the moment she opened up to him, pretty from the moment he wanted her. He gives her a low moan, his lower abdomen tightening as he glares, “I’m finna’ bust, baby—fuck.” 

Nola locks her lips against his, whimpering along his mouth, muttering to him, “Cum in me.”

“Shit got you talkin’ crazy,” his voice is dark, “Quit playin’.”

“Please,” she pressed her forehead to his, her soft cries making Onyankopon grunt at her pleas, “Please, Ony…” 

His dick is pulsing, beating inside of her—her voice is like an erotic poison—the warmth of his release makes her feel even more full, moans syncing together in a sultry symphony. Onyankopon presses his nose along her shoulder, latching kisses, giving her an affection he’d never stop giving her.

The pleasure they’d given one another is something neither of them expected. Nola is beneath Onyankopon, staring up at him with that face of hers. The alabaster of her skin is flushed, the caramel mixing between the complexion equally reddened, hair sprawled around the freckles of her cheeks. 

He rubs his thumb along the swell of her lip, “You prettier than a muhfuckin’ picture, Nola.”

She digs her face within his palm, shyly giggling, “I probably look a mess.”

“Nah,” he murmurs, “You so fuckin’ beautiful, ain’t no probably.” 

His hand drops to the swell of her ass, giving it a squeeze, “Imma’ need you like this all the time.”

Of course, she deflects from his compliments.

“…Wanna cuddle again? And give me butt rubs? I’m sleepy,” her voice is a bit of a murmur, “I wanna talk ‘cause I like you—but I’m sleepy.”

“Aight’—come‘ere.” 

He pulls her into his lap, the warmth of his body enveloping her, his hands sliding up and down the smoothness of her thighs.

“You heard me?” Her voice is soft, “I like you, Ony. Youn’ like me?” She questions, face already sunken within his chest, eyes closing at the same time.

“Now you’ all open and shit. You wasn’t like that before—“

A finger flicks on his cheek. He chuckles. 

“But forreal’—You know I do,” he murmurs, “You ain’t never gotta’ doubt a nigga again. Go to sleep.”

His fingers brush through her hair, massaging her scalp as she relaxes against him. It’s as if they remake the scene of their first night together—she lays atop of his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat that’s a comforting tune. They seem to have one more thing in common—the want to be like this, again. And again. And again. 

[iguessweallcrazyithinktho]

"x black reader"

[softgayheart]

I for one think the symbiotic relationship between Tumblr and AO3 is beautiful

[tiazvni]

lol just came here to say that Aaron Pierre has single-handedly revived my motivation to write.

time to get back in these trenches lol

[cookieinstinct]

any trans person reading this I love you

any woman reading this I love you

any poc minority reading this I love you

any queer person reading this I love you

[itisformythesis]

Please take this survey for my thesis!

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[uzumaki-rebellion]