Note: I'm feral for this man and this song + struggling w my writing format ( im new to this omg )
JADED | AARON PIERRE.
Toxic!Terry Richmond x Black!Female Reader.
warnings: MNDI!! this story is 18+ with depictions of but not limited to; sexual content ( finger!ng), extreme language (cursing, use of n-word, use of b-word), talking you through it. lil bit of exhibitionism if you squint, mild daddy k!nk.
summary: in which you decide to end the toxic situation-ship you share with Terry— except this man only know how to suck you back in.
tell me that we locked in, locked in, look in my eyes.
tell me that you mine and we ain't just fuckin, ain't just vibin.
Why were you nervous? It wasn't like you'd never been in the very same GMC pickup before—oh you'd been in here plenty times, plenty times. Your eyes flickered to whatever they could, other than him.
The backseat.
The same backseat you'd been folded. flipped, and fucked out on. It was clean now, he'd definitely had some detailing done, the remnants of how he made you squirt only two weeks earlier had vanished, once etched into the seat itself.
And why were you sad about that?
You averted your eyes away from the backseat, firmly turning straight forward in the passenger seat, teeth nervously gnawing at the skin in your jaw. It was way too silent and tense in the truck. Way too silent. "Hi..” you sheepishly muttered, tucking a stray curl from your wash and go behind your ear, eyes darting around the parking lot of your apartment complex. The parking lot was the safest option for you, you knew how incredibly intoxicating Terry was, which meant the more space from your bedroom, the better.
Out of your peripheral, you could see Terry's face contorted into a twisted mix of confusion anger. His brows furrowed together, a mug presenting itself on his face. "What the fuck?" He spat. "Wassup?" He asked, his tone more accusatory than anything.
Where the fuck did he get off acting hurt and confused? That was supposed to be your stance in this whole thing, hurt and confused. And most of the time it was. But tonight, it was a nice change of pace, the hurt and confusion lingered on Terry instead—in which you could finally take on the nonchalant and curt demeanor. It felt so good too. So good to finally not be the one with the lump in their throat, eyes burning from blinking back tears. This felt, good.
"Nothin', just chillin," you simply responded, playing with the smartphone in your lap, acrylic nails tapping at the casing.
"Fuck you mean just chillin?" He asked his brows furrowed as he tried to catch your darting eyes. "You ain't been seein' me text you?"
"Yeah?" You responded slowly in a questioning tone, as you focused on the ASICS on your feet. "Been busy lately."
You seen Terry texts. Shit, the past couple of days he'd been the one blowing you up. It started the other night when he rung your bell and you didn't answer, you knew it was him, and he knew you were home. Lights still on and bright in the kitchen.
Private Ryan: Just rung the bell
Private Ryan: Come out.
Private Ryan: I'm sorry for the way I acted the other night. I ain't handle that situation like a man. Lemme make it up to u
It was so hard ignoring Terry, he made it hard. He didn't text or call often, he wasn't hardcore into his phone like the rest of the generation, maybe the marines played a part in that? Hell, he made sure to stay active in an effort not to get addicted to his cellular device—that's why when he texted it was a big deal.
But no way this nigga thought that you'd be at his every beck and call when he couldn't even solidify a title between the two of you? Casual sex and jealousy gets old—especially when it isn't under the terms of a relationship.
It was fun at first, linking up and sneaking off. Getting folded like a lawn chair when you least expected it, but there was something about Terry that brung the strings to a no-strings-attached situation. You started craving him, wanting him, and you made that very clear, but Terry made his intentions crystal clear from the beginning. How could you fault him for not wanting what you want? But how he could he also fault you for the change in your attitude?
"Busy?" He repeated the word like it disgusted him. His burning gaze tore through you, you could feel the heat radiating from his glare. Terry let out a heavy breath, gently tapping his fist against the staring wheel as he finally averted his gaze to the windshield. Thank Q!
But as he tore his gaze away from you, you centered yours on him. And why the fuck would you go and do that? Knowing how gorgeous he was, especially when he was pissed off? Clenching and unclenching his jaw. He had some nerve coming over here with a fresh cut. Everything so lined up and sexy—
"I came over here, a few days ago," he sternly spoke, the rough edge to his voice only setting off the throbbing in your pussy, "and you know that 'cause you was home, lights on and shit, I'm textin' you and you reading the shit in real time. What the fuck?" He repeated the three words once again. His voice growing rougher by the second.
"Two weeks ago, I'm fillin' you up and today you actin' cold as hell? Fuck is goin on?"
And why did he keep saying all the wrong shit? Filling you up was an understatement, he was stuffing you to the brim quite literally, to the point where he had bottomed out and was still tryna give you more. Filling you up, ha.
"I can't do this anymore, Terry," the words came out of your mouth abruptly, almost like you could trust yourself to say them. Terry sat there unwavering, he didn't speak, he didn't move. This only prompted you to continue. "It's too much, we both want...different things. And I'm tired of feeling like I'm overextending myself to you, being too available for you. I can't do...whatever this is anymore."
"Pea..”
"Don't do that," you firmly responded. The direct eye contact didn't seem to deter you this time. There he went. Playing those mind games. Calling you that nickname. Pea. A shorter version of the popular nickname your grandfather frequently referred to you as, sweet pea.
Terry kissed his teeth. Oh he thought he knew what was up. It'd became clear as a day. "You fuckin' somebody else." The words came out soft, quiet almost as if there had been a realization.
You let out a heavy sigh, your eyes rolling at the comment, " I'm not having sex with anyone, Terry." You spoke truthfully. As if you could. He made that hard enough, he stuffed you perfectly. He knew how to find that spot inside of you so easily, almost like he vacationed there in his spare time. He knew exactly what made your eyes roll back, what made that squeal in the back of your throat come barreling out, he knew your body too well to let anyone else come and have a gander.
"But I am dating," you said more quietly than you anticipated. Maybe it's because the recent dates haven't been anything to brag about. Not that your online dating profile and messages to your homegirl hadn't been highly specific, you've been attracting the same types. Baby daddies and men way too old to still be trying to just hook up. "And I know what I want, and it's not this...anymore. I wanna be able to climb in bed with a man and wake up beside him too, and not worry about him being hot or cold, or when I'll see him again," yuck. Why did you feel that damn lump in your throat again?
"I'm so tired of feeling disposable." You finalized. Flashing your watery eyes to the window adjacent to you. You weren't gonna cry in front of him. Shit, you weren't that tender. But all your feelings hitting you at once in this situation made you more emotional than you gambled for. You knew the nonchalant facade would only last so long on you. Terry was trained in that shit. He had a poker face like no other.
Terry didn't deter his gaze from you, his gorgeous eyes soft and lingering. "I don't try to make you feel disposable, Pea."
"Yeah, well, you don't have to try. You just do." You mumbled quietly. "That's why I don't wanna do this shit anymore."
Terry kept his eyes on you, reaching his large hand out to grasp your smaller one at a failed attempt at interlacing your fingers when you snatched away.
"Stop, Terry!" You frowned folding your arms. "I'm serious. No more calling, and texting, and popping up at my place."
He barely acknowledged you, kissing his teeth and leaning over the center console to rub his hand across your tummy, gripping your sides. "Why you actin' like that? Like you don't miss daddy?" He mumbled softly, pressing soft kisses to your temple.
This man didn't give up. Your restraint was at zero, and just like that you were putty.
You shook your head, arms still crossed as you let out a small whimper in which you claimed to be a protest. Eyes lowering at his wandering hands. "Hm, you don't miss daddy?" He asked in response, his hand sliding back over your tummy, fingers fondling with the button on your shorts.
This is exactly what you wanted to avoid, that was the whole point of the parking lot. Far away from a bed. But you should've known that you didn't need a bed with Terry.
And yet, just like a dumb bitch you shook your head once again. Playing into his sick little game.
He trailed his soft, teasing lips down your cheek until he reached your neck, leaving a searing trail behind on the skin there. You sucked your bottom lip in, a solid attempt at trying to keep whatever moans he was pulling out of you at bay. You couldn't betray yourself even more than you had already done. You came down here to end things, and instead you were about to get folded in half once again. The circle of life if you will.
"You don't miss me? So why you lettin' me take these off you right now?" He asked. Oh he was soo condescending. He tugged on the bottom of your shorts, and look at you, lifting up to help him earning a chuckle. You were so easy. "Nipples been hard ever since I touched you," he mumbled in between kisses to your neck, his hand busying itself up to your breast while your shorts slid down your legs, rubbing your hardened nipple through the thin fabric of your tank top.
You suck in a sharp breath. Your body was on fire. You felt like you were on fire. Every kiss made you hotter, and the way he was touching you had your pussy fluttering. You had to be ovulating, this shit wasn't normal.
"That pussy so wet, I know it," he spoke, his voice lower, lips sucking on the thin flesh on the side of your neck, hand roughly parting your thighs earning another isolated whimper from you. His hand rubbing the inside of your thighs, leaving a lingering tingle behind. He was such a fucking tease sometimes.
He kissed his way back to your cheek, all the while his hands left soft slaps, and grips to your inner thigh. Your eyes fluttered closed at his constant teasing, breathing uneven as hell. You felt like you were swelling with need.
"Look at you, baby," he hummed against your ear, "you a horny fuckin' mess," he tsk'd in your ear, fingers dancing over to your pussy. Fingers lazing dancing over your slit through the thin fabric of your panties. A shaky breath slipped past your lips a soft drawn out moan following. Hell, the betrayal was already done.
"Niggas not treatin' my bitch right, huh?" He rhetorically asked referring to your dates, his own eyes focusing on the lazy dance his fingers were doing on your barely exposed pussy, until he quickly got bored and used those same fingers to move the fabric aside. "Can't be, otherwise you wouldn't be this fuckin' turned on right now." He answered his own questions, fingers immediately doing slow, hypnotizing circles on your clit.
"Fuhhh," you moaned out in response, arms immediately parting so that you could grip onto the sides of your seat for a sense of stability.
"Mhm," he hummed in response, "pussy wet just like I thought," he mumbled dragging his pointer and middle finger up and down your pussy a few times before slowly slipping the both of them in your heated core at once earning a choked out moan from you. You fit around his fingers so perfectly, almost as if he'd molded your pussy to do so.
His brows furrowed as his fingers searched inside of her, knuckle deep, "fuck," he cursed, "look how you suckin' my fingers in you like that. You missed daddy, this fuckin' pussy missed me."
It wasn't like you could respond at all, he was literally pulling your moans out of you with his fingers. His free hand had busied itself with pulling up your tank top and exposing your braless titties.
"Look how you came out here," he kissed his teeth, fingers massaging your slippery insides, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching on his fingers filled the pickup truck, his other fingers pulling and tugging on your hardened nipples, squeezing softly before quickly pulling away. "Barely fuckin' dressed, you wanted this. You wanted daddy to get you right, huh?"
"Talkin' about' dates, you don't want them fuckin' clowns," he hummed peppering soft kisses on your cheek, his fingers attacking that delicious spot inside of you. "You just want daddy to flood that pussy again? Make you his bitch?"
"Oouu shit, daddy!" You moaned out, eyes squeezing shut as your head lazily fell against his shoulder. Him humming in agreement to your moans followed by a cocky chuckle. "Right there, right there!" You rushed out. Your resolve had slipped away a long time ago.
"Where baby?" He cooed,his tone condescending. "Right here?" He asked his fingers never deterring from the spot, instead he pushed them deeper, faster.
Your eyes rolled back into your head as his fingers continued to work inside of you, he whispered other obscenities to you as he finger fucked you good. Deliciously good. So good that you couldn't decipher or comprehend anything he'd been saying. The sound of your pussy around his fingers was sending you to another bliss you didn't know you could reach.
"Listen to how messy that pussy sound on my fingers, baby," he groaned, his free hand gripping your face firmly, tilting your head up from his shoulder so that he could watch your facial expressions closely. He smiled as he watched you; eyes squeezed shut, lips forming into that familiar frown he knew so well, a long whine following suit.
"Yeah, that pussy wanna cum for daddy don't she?" He asked placing a sloppy kiss on your parted lips.
"Oh my god," you whined your brows furrowing as you opened your watery eyes to Terry looking down right at you.
"Yeah, she do," he mumbled nodding his eyes focusing in on the assault his fingers were doing to your pussy before slipping them out slowly, rubbing the stickiness he accumulated on his fingers onto your clit in slow, agonizing circles earning a whine from you. "You better not fuckin' cum though," he mumbled quietly to you, hand softly tapping against your cheek.
"Don't..cum?" You slurred through a moan for confirmation. You could barely comprehend what he was saying, you were so deliciously close. So close.
"Don't cum," he slapped his finger against your pussy lightly, the wet plaps almost enough to send you over the edge. Only almost though. "Get in the backseat, I wanna get in that pussy." He spoke hand slapping down on your sensitive pussy once again, sending trembles to your already weakened legs.
—
cheers to my first fanfic on here lolz! feedback and criticism always welcome 💗💕 hope you enjoyed xx!
Loud music, smoked dusted walls and people to fill out rooms. And there he was, your best friend, Cameron Cade. The golden boy himself. Everybody thought yall was dating and you both, always denied it. What's the problem with being just friends?
Thats what you would always say.
Friends. Just friends. You didn't see him like that (or so you thought)
You were chilling at some party, a mixture of his friends and yours were there. They were smoking, you weren't, neither was he. You just watched out of boredom. You talked with your friends quietly, some of them talked about him. You lightly pull your hoodie sleeve down, adjusting to the seat. You ate some of your candy that you got from one of the snack corners.
"Well if you like him so much, you go talk to him," You tell your friend.
She laughs quietly while shaking her head, "Nah that's all yours girl" she says nudging you.
"When yall gonna...you know?" She asks smiling. I lightly scoff, the rest of the group laughed.
"Girl please, been his friend for how long? Ion want none of that." You replied, "Not like he can handle me anyways"
"Well girl go test it out then." The teasing continued and you just rolled your eyes. Sure, Cam was sweet on you, but it's because you were his best friend. Years of connection between yall. A few simple hugs, some forehead kisses, it's not what you think.
Cameron was on the other side of house. He would look over, eyeing you from time to time.
"You sure you dont wanna?" One of his friends asked. He removed the blunt from his mouth and passed it over to him. Cameron glanced at the blunt making its way around the circle, watching it pass from hand to hand before it finally reached him. He barely hesitated before shaking his head, leaning back into the couch instead.
“Nah,” he muttered, waving it off.
“C’mon, Cade,” someone groaned, holding it out toward him again. “Just one.”
He huffed a quiet laugh under his breath, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Coach would kill me, bad enough im around all this"
A few of the guys chuckled. “Man, you’re no fun,” another voice said from somewhere across the room. Cameron only smirked, stretching his legs out in front of him as he let the blunt pass to the next person.
“I like winning more,” he said simply. For a moment the conversation drifts, music thumping low through the speakers, someone arguing about last week’s game. Then one of the guys nudges Cameron’s shoe with his own.
“Aight, Mr. Discipline,” he says, squinting at him. “So if you ain’t smoking, why you even here?”
Cameron shrugs, gaze drifting toward the window. “Just came through.”
“Man, stop lying,” another voice cuts in with a laugh. “You only showed up ’cause y/n was supposed to be here.”
Cam stops and a couple of the guys snicker. Cam's head tilts slightly. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you ain’t deny it either,” someone adds. He lets out a quiet breath through his nose, shaking his head a little, but the corner of his mouth lifts. “Y’all talk too much.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the first guy grins. “So what is it with you and her anyway?”
Cameron leans back deeper into the couch, eyes dropping to the floor for a second like he’s thinking about the answer longer than he should. “Nothing,” he says finally. "Same shit I tell yall, just came through"
They let the convo die down, for a bit. On your side, you still heard a little bit of this and that with your friends, but mostly tuned it out. Another topic got brought up, the conversations kept shifting every few minutes. Someone starts talking about classes, another person jumps in complaining about a professor. You hear pieces of it, laughs, someone arguing about a game, a couple people debating where to go after this, but most of it fades into background noise.
You nod when someone looks your way, half-smiling at the right moments, but your mind isn’t really there anymore.
It keeps drifting.
Back toward the couch across the room.
Back toward Cameron.
You don’t mean to look, but your eyes slide over anyway, catching the sight of him leaning back like he always does, calm, relaxed. One arm draped over the couch, while the guys around him talk over each other. He looked like he was trying to get into it, but seemed unbothered by it all.
For a second, you watch him longer than you should, studying the way he laughs at something someone says, or the small shake of his head after.
Then you quickly look away, pretending to focus on the conversation in front of you again.
You could admit he was handsome, too damn handsome. Funny, and smart.
There was this time at his house, he had just gotten off practice. So, being bored you decided to come over. You were sprawled out on his couch in your college hoodie, half listening to him talk about some girl he used to date. Some pretty girl from the dance team, you knew that wasn't gonna last long. He went on about, why it didn't work out, something about her being too busy, or him caring too much about football. It seemed like background noise at first, you've heard it time again and again. But, the more you heard, the more your chest felt tight.
Was it jealously? Couldn't be.
You didn't like him like that you kept repeating to yourself. So why is him talking about another girl bothering you to the bone? Why does it matter who he dates? Why can't you even focus on what he's saying right now? You were staring at him, but weren't even listening.
Unfortuatly, that feeling grew. But all you could do, was suppress it.
You finally remember you're at a party, but your thoughts are already somewhere else. Why am I even here? You already know the answer. It’s stupid, honestly. You told yourself you were just stopping by for a bit, that you weren’t coming to see anyone in particular. But your eyes had found him the second he walked in.
You drag your stare away quickly, pretending to pay attention to the conversation again. Occasionally looking at your short french tips, but the words barely register. All you can think about is the way he’s sitting over there, like nothing’s changed, like he hasn’t noticed you at all.
Maybe that’s what bothers you the most.
You shift in your seat, tugging lightly at the sleeve of your hoodie before finally exhaling under your breath. Hours went. Games and drinking followed. Your head pounded with thoughts.
“I think I’m gonna head home,” you say suddenly.
Your friend glances over. “Already, you ain't been here long"
You shrug, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’m kinda tired, all the smoke n stuff."
But the truth is, you just don’t feel like sitting across the room pretending you’re not thinking about him anymore. And before you can second-guess it, you’re already standing up. A couple people glance up when you move, conversations dipping for a second before picking back up again. You tug lightly at the sleeve and step away from the group, weaving through the living room.
You can feel a few eyes following you.
But you don’t slow down. Your gaze is already fixed on the couch across the room, on him.
Cam’s still there, leaning back with the guys. One arm rests along the back of the couch, his head tilted slightly while someone beside him talks. His hair low cut and jaw lightly flexed, clearly not interested in the conversation.
Then he notices you.
His eyes lift, locking onto you as you get closer.
He straightens just a little.
You stop in front of him.
“Hey,” you say, keeping your voice casual.
“Hey,” Cameron replies, brows pulling together slightly like he’s trying to read your expression. "You good?"
You shift your weight. “You mind taking me home?” you ask. “I’m ready to go.” He doesn’t hesitate, as if he was ready to leave himself.
“Yeah,” he says, already leaning forward, grabbing his hoodie from the arm of the couch.
Someone nearby lets out a quiet laugh. “Damn, Cade.”
Cam ignores it, pulling the hoodie over his head before standing up. He glances down at you. “You good?” he asks again.
You nod. “Yeah. Just tired.”
He studies your face for a second like he’s deciding whether to ask more, but then he jerks his head toward the door.
“C’mon.”
And just like that, he’s walking out with you, with no problem. Cam walks out first holding the door open for you. You give a small nod and start walking to his car. “Thanks,” you say, giving a small nod, your hands tucked into your hoodie pockets.
“Anything for you,” he says casually, tilting his head just enough to meet your eyes. That wasn't helping your thoughts. Each one of them getting louder and clearer. He stood taller than you. His tone lightly tired, but there’s that quiet weight behind it that makes your heart skip.
You fall into step beside him, the cool night air brushing past. “Long night,” you mutter, more to yourself than him.
He glances at you, one eyebrow just slightly raised. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you say again, shrugging. “Thought I’d get out before it got later than I already feel.” Cam didn't answer right away. He just keeps walking, silent but aware, like he’s cataloging every little thing about how you move, how you breathe, how you’re holding yourself.
After a moment, he says softly, “Smart.” You glance at him sideways, almost catching the corner of a smirk.
“You’re always so… you know,” you lightly tease.
"Like what?" He asks looking at you.
“Like nothing can shake you.”
He shrugs, opening the door. “Not always” he says. The answer of it makes it feel heavier than just words. You slide into the passenger seat, and he closes the door behind you with a quiet click. The engine hums to life, and suddenly it’s just the two of you. You both sat in silence, the radio played quietly.
But there it was. The feelings swirling over you. The thoughts of him, and you. Together in ways that definitely weren't for just friends. The tension—, the tension that’s been simmering under the surface for years. And you wonder if he ever felt it too. It seemed ridiculous to ask, because you knew how he was, but maybe, just maybe it was different with you. The drive is quiet, the streetlights passing overhead in slow streaks. You’re tucked into the passenger seat, hoodie pulled a little tighter around yourself, while Cameron keeps his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel.
˖ ᡣ𐭩
He pulls into your driveway. The engine hums low as he kills it, and for a moment, neither of you moves. The quiet is comfortable, but it makes your heart beat faster than usual.
“So…” you start, glancing at him sideways, “what are you gonna do now?”
More of like, "I don't really wanna leave yet"
He shrugs, one corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Probably head home. Do practice … or, I dunno, watch something.” You can feel the unspoken tension in the way he looks at you.
You felt like the words spoken were enough, so you reach for the door, pulling the seatbelt free. As you're about to go, he gently lays a hand on your wrist. “Hold up for a second, we gotta talk,” he says, and suddenly there’s a shift in the energy of the car.
"Wassup?" You ask him a lil confused. He leans over just slightly, tilting his head with that quiet, teasing expression he always wears, and taps his cheek gently. Not demanding, but just enough to make it obvious what he wanted.
You blink, then let out a soft laugh, shaking your head a little. “You’re ridiculous, like actually ” you murmur.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning just slightly closer, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s enjoying himself, “You love me.”
Your chest tightens. “I do not,” you snap softly, though you can’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.
“Uh-huh, cmon now” he murmurs, voice dropping low, quiet enough that it feels like it’s meant just for you. His hand shifts a fraction on the console between you, brushing close to yours without actually touching, just enough to make your fingers itch to reach for him. You wanted to, but didn't.
You lean in, pressing your lips to his cheek. Soft and cute. Like normal. The sound of your laugh mixes with the quiet night outside. Neither of you moves to leave just yet. You pull back slightly, still smiling, and your eyes meet his. His gaze locks onto yours and for the first time tonight, it feels like all the tension that’s been building between you, has a chance to breathe.
"Happy?" You asks chuckling.
He nods, giving that smile that you like. You bite on your tongue, trying to stop anything wrong from leaving your lips.
Friends. Thats it.
"Why"d you wanna leave?" He asks suddenly.
"Told you, just tired" you replied, hoping he would leave it at that. But he knew you, he knew it was something else.
"Nah, cmon tell me y/n" he asks you again staring. He had a feeling of what it was, but he wanted you to say it. You rolled your eyes lightly, "You know what it is, about us, being friends"
“Friends, huh?” he says, the corner of his mouth pulling into a small smirk. “Just friends?”
“Yeah… friends.” He watches you for a second, quiet like he’s turning the words over in his head. Then he leans a little closer in his seat, not crowding you, just enough that you notice. “Yeah?” he says softly. “That what you call it?”
You stare at him, little caught off. “What else would it be?”
Cam lets out a small breath through his nose, almost amused. “I mean… yeah,” he says. “We are friends.”
You nod, a little surprised he didn’t argue. “But,” he continues, tilting his head slightly, “you and I both know we close.”
Your fingers fidget in your lap. “Friends can be close.”
“Sure,” he says easily. “Ain’t saying they can’t.” His eyes flick over your face again, like he’s catching every little reaction.
“Just feels like lately it’s been… different.”
You look away. “Different how?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Just different.”
The corner of his mouth lifts again. “And you know what I mean.”
"Well that's not helping is it?" you say rolling your eyes.
But you did know. You’ve felt it too—the small pauses, the looks that last a little longer than they used to, the way sitting next to him suddenly makes you more aware of everything, even the subtle touches with him. But you keep telling yourself it’s nothing. Just friends. But here he was, singing a whole new tune.
“Look,” he says after a moment, voice calm. “I ain’t trying to make it weird or nothing.” Your eyes flick back to him.
“We friends,” he repeats simply. “That’s not changing.” Then he adds, a little quieter, “Just saying… sometimes stuff shifts.”
There’s a short silence.
Then he glances at you again, that easy smirk coming back. “And if I’m wrong, I’m wrong.”
He leans back slightly in his seat after that, like the conversation doesn’t bother him either way, but the way he looks at you says he definitely noticed something. You take in everything, so, clearly he's noticed it too. Way to go y/n for trynna be subtle.
"I dont like you, like that. I could kiss you and id be fine."
You didn't think the words would come out that fast, but they did. You wish you could take them back but they were already out.
Cameron’s eyebrows lift a little, the first real break in his calm expression. “You could what?”
You curse calmly, trying to act normal. “I’m just saying. It wouldn’t mean anything. We’re friends.”
He looks at you for a second, quiet, then the corner of his mouth pulls into a slow smile. “Wouldn’t mean anything, huh?”
You shake your head, staring out the windshield. “Nope.”
“That’s a crazy thing to say,” he mutters.
"Why?”
He shifts back in his seat, one arm resting along the console, still relaxed. “’Cause now I’m tryna figure out if you serious… or just talking.”
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah?” he says, tilting his head slightly.
You nod once. “Yeah.”
He lets out a quiet breath through his nose. “Aight.”
You blink at him. “That’s it?”
Cam glances back at you, calm as ever. “What you want me to do?” he says. “You the one said it wouldn’t mean nothing.”
“I didn’t say you had to do anything.”
He shrugs. “Exactly, and I told you already… I ain’t doing nothing unless you do something.”
The silence after that feels heavier than before.
You look at him for a second too long. He doesn’t move, just watches you like he’s got all the patience in the world.
“You serious?” you mutter.
“Yeah,” he says simply. “Dead serious.”
You hesitate, then lean over before you can think too hard about it.
You glance down to his lips, his mouth in a small smirk.
"Stop smiling" you tell him, he smirks wider. You press your glossy lips to his, kissing him quick.
You pull back fast, sitting straight again like nothing happened.
“See?” you say, trying to sound casual. “Told you.”
For a moment Cameron doesn’t say anything.
“Nothing?” he repeats.
“Yeah.”
He studies your face for a second, quiet again. The car feels smaller somehow. “You sure about that?” he says.
You shrug. “Pretty sure.”
Cameron lets out a small breath through his nose, like he doesn’t believe you for a second. “Aight,” he says again, nodding slowly.
You start to slowly open the door, again. You figured you had embarrassed yourself enough. Perhaps you could distract yourself from this whole day or maybe sleep the feelings off. But, before you can, his hand lightly taps the side of your knee, stopping you. “C’mere a second.”
You glance at him. “Why?”
He tilts his head slightly, that calm look still on his face. “Just come here.”
Your heart starts beating fast, but you lean a little closer. For a moment he just looks at you, like he’s deciding something.
“Yeah,” he murmurs.
“Yeah what?” you ask.
Then he leans in and kisses you. Warm and slow, in a way perfect, giving the smallest bit of attention to your bottom lip. Like he’s actually trying it, instead of proving a point.
When he pulls back, he watches your reaction for a second. You sat there, staring him. He actually kissed you. Not a cheek kiss, not a forehead kiss, but a kiss that you've thought about multiple times. A small part of you felt a small relief and a sudden finally. But the other part shot up fast and went straight to the warmest parts of your body. Your eyes tried focusing on him while your hands fixed to stay in your lap and not pull him close. And he noticed.
“Yeah,” he says casually low. “That definitely wasn't nothing.”
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and questioning. You didn't stop him. You couldn't. You needed this, craved this.
"You want another one?" He asked quiet.
Maybe the smell of his cologne was getting to you, or maybe the taste of his fainted peppermint gum from the kiss. Or maybe how he always cared about you, busting his ass for you like it was no problem.
You liked it. You liked him. You then slowly nod your head at him.
He listened and leaned in again to kiss you. It was gentle. A soft brush, barely there, then gone. Then some more.
Kiss—stop—kiss—stop
Each brush of his lips sent another confirmation to yourself, your mind started to stutter, trying to process the sensation. That familiar sweetness from his gum, felt so intimate. Your own lips tingled, wanting more from him. He watched you the whole time with that calm look in his eyes, as if he knew exactly the chaos he was pouring inside you.
જ pairing:Toji Fushiguro x Onyankopon x Black!reader
જwarningノtags:cowboy!Ony◞ cowboy!Toji◞ my boys are both country as hell!◞ brat!reader, grumpy!Ony◞ Megumi & Shiu mentioned◞ Megumi Thee Stallion [ literally ]◞ poly relationship [ m+f+m ]◞ reader has a pixie cut [ briefly mentioned ]◞ pet names [ SweetheartノDarlin’ノPeachノLove ]◞ fluff◞ suggestive in some parts but doesn’t cross the line.
જwc:4k
જan:just spending time with your rootin tootin cowboy lovers. No smut unfortunately, wanted to explore my fluffiness to the fullest. this is kinda a soft launch for my pending series, an intro post if you will…bye.
Sometimes the southern heat was just overbearing; if another layer of clothing wasn't peeled away quickly, you swore you could burst into flames like an unlucky vampire caught in the deadly webs of sunrise. Heatless copper dyed spirals laid obediently in gel—a white scarf tied around the surrounding area as a fashion statement while matching swirls curled at your temples. Cinnamon tinted moles sprinkled across your cheeks sparkled with sweat as you tried oh-so desperately to ignore the sun devilish presence. Dark washed and dirt stained overalls sat loosely on the crisp white tee that soaked in sorrow.
Another annoyed groan vibrated deep in your chest. Frustration wasn't even the word for what creeped deep beneath your bones.
You huffed in defeat, almond shaped manicure glistening under the sun's harsh rays once your bubble gum pink gardening gloves were flung from your palms. Your breathing starts to stutter as you try to keep your tears from bleeding through the concrete dam hidden behind your eyes.
You've been sweating buckets since you stepped foot from your wooden porch. Uprooting those invading, stubborn weeds from your stubborn Pentas has officially worn you out. Hours of hard labor for your garden to still look untouched—almost like you never stepped foot outside in the first place. Your beautiful star shaped flowers that attracted the most vibrant, joyful butterflies and hummingbirds weren't what they used to be; once full of life became an eyesore for anyone that analyzed your plants.
As much as the beautiful array of flowers shaped your garden, the pests and weeds that hounded were burdensome—damaging months of hard work in mere seconds. The forest green foliage might seem appealing to the naked eye, but spider mites lurked deeply in the cracks of the crops and damaged any and everything in sight.
Standing with a groan and an alarming sound of your joints popping, you watched your pedicured feet take turns on the freshly cut grass that led back to your porch. Defeat laid comfortably on your shoulders, tear ducts swollen from pending tears.
Stupid plants.
Distant clouds held the weight of a thunderstorm, the smell of the breeze carrying the scent of rain and sadness; the sun was oblivious to the storm brewing. The wind blew, but not the kind you wanted—it blew hot and sticky, like the first few seconds of an oven opening, making you feel more icky. Trees waved at you in the distance while the cries of your wind chimes touched gave subtle a warning.
"I know you're not sheddin' tears over those flowers, Sweets." Toji could read you like a book even if it was sealed shut and buried six feet under. He emerged from the darkness of the house like a DC villain, the screen door clapped loudly behind him; your furry pets tilted their heads in confusion when they weren't immediately let out.
Full lashes kissed at his cheeks—heavy eyelids making his appearance more intimidating. Even with half his eyesight, his shaded gaze weighed heavily on your figure. A half smoked cigarette slept lazily between his lips, glowing a deep crimson before grey smoke poured from his nose.
You jumped at the sudden noise; a sniffle and a quick wipe to your swollen eyes later and you almost looked normal. To whom? You don't know.
"M'not," You lie, avoiding his siren stare.
"Don't bullshit me, woman. Jus' watched it happen with my own two eyes." Toji wore the sweat on his temple proudly, the absence of his hat being the sole reason why he came back to the house and found you whimpering over plants. The metal porch railing held his tilted weight with ease.
A dark brown cowboy hat with his initials scorched deeply into the side casted a ominous shadow on his face, making his stare more menacing.
"If you knew then why'd you ask?" You followed his bulky shadow as it loomed over you like bad news. With the cigarette tucked between his pink lips he mumbled "watch that mouth," before blowing smoke in your direction.
"Asked to see if you would lie. And you did. 'Told you about that."
You rolled your eyes mumbling a quiet apology while your arms crossed over your chest. "Just upset right now, Toj’."
Silver poured like a fountain from his lips as he eyed you from afar. Clouded rings floated from his face as he squinted, his heavy head tilting to the left.
"Didn't we tell you to stop poutin' over those plants or am I goin’ crazy?” As he awaited your answer another wave of smoke surrounded you.
“You did.”
“We also told you we'd get someone out here to look at 'em because it somethin' out of your control. Did we not?”
He searched heavily for your downward gaze, that bitter, toxic stench of his cigarette curling into you like bumped ends. You sighed into a nod, slowly unbuttoning the jean deathtrap you wore to create some type of air circulation through your clothes. Still, your eyebrows touched and your lip poked out.
“Yes, Toji. I remember.”
"Clearly not if I just found you, not even two weeks later, doin' the same thing.” He inhales again, this time the smoke pouring from his nose like an angry bull.
"I knoww, m'sorry. It’s jus' that I watched another video and thought it looked easy enough to try. It sucks that my green thumb was lost in transit while I was bein' brought into this cruel, cruel world…”
He watched as you explained your reasoning with a grin clawing at his lips. He could never take you seriously when you're being this dramatic. The way you flung your arms in exaggeration and how your pout deepened as the urge to cry was a blink away—it was cute.
“'Nd now you're laughin' at me! This is why I only discuss my feelings with Ony!" You wiped at the heavy, hot tears that managed to escape down your cheeks.
Toji sucked the remaining cigarette dry and tossed it behind him, his frame becoming larger then shrinking—he was now crouching and eye to eye with his pouting woman.
"Look," he sighed, "I'm not laughin’ at you or tellin' you to stop gardening—l love seein' you in your own world, but you need guidance. Even if it wasn't something out of your control, you can't just start somethin' and expect to be a master at it in a few seconds. 'Shit takes time, Darlin’. Rome wasn’t built in a day."
Well…It's true.
With every new money sucking hobby you joined overnight, there were a good three seconds where you thought you knew exactly what you were doing from just watching a single video—that is before you're bulldozed with a reality check.
Baking? Served poison on porcelain with a toothy grin and it took Onyankopon one bite into your crack brownies before telling you the harsh truth about your skills, or lack of. Crocheting? Oh gosh. If Toji wasn't holding your tablet, the comically large aluminum crochet hook would've been lodged up his nose somewhere.
From accidentally downloading a virus onto your PC from downloading links you mistaken for Sim mods, to unknowingly buying knockoff anime figures from a sketchy website that really didn't seem that sketchy, but now that you looked back it definitely looked questionable. It was all trial and error.
You lived and learned.
“Understood?”
You nodded, untying the scarf from your scalp and throwing it to the swinging bench that sat adjacent. You sigh, "Sorry for my attitude, Toji. Still workin' on my snappiness."
He flashes a grin, rough palms rubbing tight circles on the soles of your feet,"I see that and 'm proud of you. "Lots of progress is happenin’. 'Bout three years ago we would've been barkin' back and forth like dogs."
"Yea," you both shared a chuckle, "Thanks, Toji-Bear. You're too sweet to me. Even when I'm cranky and bein’ a drama queen." Dark lashes that shaped your eyes something sinister fanned in his direction, blinking slowly like a cat admiring its owner.
He grinned at his nickname, sharp canines peeking through his pink scarred lips. A soft breeze teased at the spiral ends that peeked from his hat.
"S my pleasure, Love. You know that." Toji's voice matched yours: lust-heavy, his whispered words were deeper, more core stimulating. His finger lifted the tip of his hat, allowing his features to be visible and less insidious.
"Wipe your face 'nd give me a kiss?"
"Please?" You challenged, eyebrows arching to your forehead.
He eased his body slowly between your legs like a predator stalking its prey: too slow to notice until it was too late. The heat that radiated from his torso was almost torturous between your clothed thighs. Your breath hitched as you whispered, "Say please, Toji."
"Please, Darlin?"
Before he even finished begging, his tongue was already miles ahead, meeting you halfway. Kisses from Toji were always over the top—he couldn't keep his tongue hidden behind his teeth if he tried. His heavy head tilted, desperate to get closer—deeper between your plump lips. Your squeaks are muffled and immediately swallowed and before you know it, you’re unintentionally pulling back from him. Toji's weighted, calloused palm gripped at your throat, squeezing just enough to assert dominance and to keep you anchored.
"Toji," you warned behind whimpers, "We're outside."
"Mhm," He hummed, seemingly acknowledging your concerns. He tugged at your bottom lip asking, "Who's goin' to stop me from showin' love to my woman?" He cocked his thin eyebrow, waiting on an answer to his rhetorical question then continued his pleasurable assault between your lips, his thick tongue dancing around yours. You melted into his touch, muscles relaxed and meshed into him like soft wax. Finally, he pulled away for good—lips swollen and glossed from spit.
"So pretty. 'Taste sweet, Peach"
You fake gasped, your palms hiding your gaped mouth, “Don’t be stealin’ Ony’s pet names. You know how he gets!”
He chuckles, aged joints popping as he stands at full height. “You’ right about that. Speakin’ of—Ony had his panties in a bunch since we woke up. ‘Don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
“Maybe he’s tired of dealin’ with you and Megumi and wants to see me.”
Onyankopon was definitely tired of dealing with Toji. Him and his nonstop jokes and childish antics under this type of heat? Nah. Nothing was funny in this bipolar weather.
His grin widened.
“‘S ironic that you brought him up, you know,” you quirked an eyebrow as Toji continued, “We’re about to bring Megumi out to the round pen before we’re done out here. Put some clothes on and meet us in the field.”
If your eyes got any wider, they would be rolling around on the porch. “Uh No, Toji. My time in the sun is over. I just want a bubble bath and to lay around inside with Salem and Boa. Maybe even pick back up crocheting. Plus the sky looks like it wants to open up and flood everything in sight!”
“Ten minutes,” He held his palm to you, his thick fingers urging you to stand. You didn’t want to, but the menacing look in his eyes showed that that there were no jokes behind his statements. “That’s the lowest I’m goin’ so you better get up before it jumps to twenty.”
“But I’ve been out here all day!” You whine, your hand falling on top of his. He tugged you up with ease and held you upright while you continued protested.
“You’ve been out here for not even five minutes, ⧼★⧽. Stop bein’ dramatic,” Toji deadpanned, officially leaving you by yourself on warm wood.
“Oh whatever—!” Before you could counter, he was already states away from you and towards the field. Even his jog was attractive—heavy muscles flexing under his shadow shaded clothes. He turned to find you still standing and chuckled. Cupping his hands around his lips he yelled, “Bring your ass before I get Onyankopon to sic you!”
You grinned, wiping the pending sweat puddling at your hairline. Ten more minutes.
It wasn’t ten minutes. Let’s try an hour and twenty minutes.
With the sun shining, still etching itself deep into your skin like a scar, the last thing you wanted to be doing was getting acquainted with a horse who couldn’t care less about your existence. Toji sits behind you, his weighted pelvis rocking against yours with the slow and steady stride of his horse—the metal plate of his sizzling belt buckle knocking against the top of your clothed ass crack. An earthly, tobacco scent mixed with a hint of sweetness from your vanilla perfume, that hadn’t melted off, trailing behind closely like a cape.
Wearing black in the sun’s presence was a disaster just itching to happen, so questioning Toji’s motives for wearing not only a long sleeved black tee, but jeans to match wasn’t frowned upon. His top hugged tightly against his sweat glazed tanned skin, threatening to rip with any sudden movement. Heavy strokes from his tattoos peeked just under the neckline of his shirt—almost giving the illusion that it was an extension of his top. If you were being honest, his poor choice of an outfit just brought extra heat, and it was being placed directly on your shoulders.
"Hol' on tight to the reins, Sweets. Take control. Meg’s not goin’ to take you seriously if ya’ scared of him.”
Barking orders around wasn’t anything new, these animals would walk all over him if authority wasn’t latched on to his voice—doing it for hours on end with cigarettes being chain-smoked in between is what’s fucking him up. Anytime he spoke, it felt like a microphone needed to be lodged down his throat to chase each whispered word. It’s only getting worse with each passing minute.
"There you go. Good joooob,” He praised, voice coming out winded, “You’re gettin' better at this, you ain't ridin’ while we sleepin'? Sure seems like it."
Rough hands were tight around your waist, giving you reassuring squeezes whenever you whimpered in doubt, which was every other second. Toji felt the fear latching onto your bones under your embrace—he could see the worry painted on your face from the moon, but the only thing to shake that said fear was to face it head on.
"M'sure..."
Stallions were naturally aggressive and not easy going with new people, especially Toji’s furry friend here. You’ve witnessed Megumi take that extra mile to be by himself—stationed in the corner glaring menacingly at the town below. And doing something he didn’t want to do sparked pure chaos.
You knew it was a pending problem with him when both Onyankopon and Toji had to stand close while Dr. Shiu performed his first of many monthly routine exams.
Megumi stomped his heavy hooves with anger at every gloved touch that graced his silky black fur, nipped at the doctor whenever he was in view, and whipped his tail when he was certain something was there to be strucked—almost like a child throwing a tantrum. You've seen plenty of horses come and go, all with different personalities that molded them differently from their counterparts—but none as special as Megumi.
With checkups becoming increasingly common, Megumi no longer acted an ass when it was time to be examined, but that day has been stamped into your brain like a tattoo. Being on the receiving end of his violence was not on your to-do list. Not not. Not ever.
"Toji-Bear?"
With your voice soft as a pillow, below a whisper and coiled tight in concern, you almost mirrored Toji’s hoarseness. He replied with a curious hum, pierced ear pressing against your warm cheek to better understand what you were saying. "He's not gonna hurt me, right?"
Toji confidently reassured you, replying in a hum, "He ain't gonna hurt you, Sweetheart. Pon and I trained him well since that day. Ain't that right?"
"Mhm," Onyankopon responded with a confident hum, "He's only aggressive with male horses and red balloons, Peach," A thin piece of hay dangled from his plump two toned lips. He stood leaning against the wooden fence— tone, tatted arms peaked from his white tea. His dark brown eyes stalked you like a hawk from afar. "If you’ ain’t either of those things then you'll be juuus' fine."
"’Kay... if you say so," Unsureness intertwined tightly around your words—in result, your grip on the reins were much tighter.
Riding around in circles with heavy supervision was a traditional practice that happened roughly twice a week. Sometimes it was your personal horses from the stable, others it was mounts who needed temporary assistance while they healed from minor surgeries. From what Onyokapon told you, doing this was beneficial and helped you get comfortable enough to ride on your own— climbing your way up to possibly helping out in the field if needed. You, on the other hand, hated it. Horses were their thing, not yours.
Whenever Toji received the horse as a gift, the handler informed him about his aggression towards all other animals and humans. Although he didn't specify on why, Toji assumed it had something to do with his previous owners mistreating him.
"Let's just say Megumi had a hard upbringing..." The handler expressed, eyebrows folded across his forehead. He was cautious with his brushing, afraid of any sudden movements from the horse.
Heavy hands weighed at Onyokopon's hips, chocolate dipped eyes squinting from the sun, "You don't say. ‘Boy can barely stop shakin’, Toj’,"
Toji gave a nod, eyeing the handler. “I see. Shakin’ like a rookie stripper.”
Toji hesitated touching Megumi, his covered fiery gaze turning Toji’s movements into stone. Scarred whip marks littered his backside and sides. The supposed silky black mane was a complete overgrown mess covering his curious eyes. Each sudden movement caused the colt to jerk in fear—sometimes going as far as lunging towards you as an act to protect himself. Megumi’s ribs were prominent from a skyscraper with mountains of flies dancing on his sunken stomach. He limped when he walked, overgrown hooves making it impossible for comfort.
“—Y’all don’t take care of him? Seems like y’all contributin’ to the rough upbringin’ if you ask me.” Onyankopon couldn’t help the anger in his voice. Still, he kept his voice level down to keep the horse at bay.
“Well, we have. He’s just… well— aggressive.” As if on que, the horse jumped forward causing the handler to quite literally jump into Onyakopon’s arms for protection.
For a good three years Onyankopon, Toji, and Dr. Shiu were the only people the horse became accustomed to. Building trust and loyalty took time and effort, but it was worth it in the long run. Your lovers took time to learn their pet, informing themselves about what Megumi adorned and highly disliked.
It came as little surprise that he disliked almost everything.
Except brushes.
Megumi became accustomed to his daily brushes—looked forward to them, actually. Onyankopon thinks it's a sensory thing, the bristles bringing a sense of peace to melt throughout his body.
"Give it 'bout three more months and Megumi will be out there with all the mares. Maybe get some kids out of ‘em. Hopefully make some profit."
"Yeah," Ony agreed, feeding a fistful of hay to Megumi, "Maybe even introduce him to Peach, see how he responds to her."
You rejected immediately, bringing up the situation with Shiu and how uncomfortable it made you feel. They understood, Onyokopon even considered postponing the meeting to a couple months later, but of course that didn’t happen. You were face to face with him ten minutes later. You could’ve sworn Megumi rolled his eyes when Toji was introducing him to you.
“He looks so angry, Ony-baby.” looking up through your lashes usually got you out of situations you didn’t want to be in. You swayed your hips more, even sticking your lip out a little far to catch his attention. He didn’t crack—not even a twitch in his tired eyes. His scold deepened as he rolled his eyes.
“Girl, please. ‘M not Toji. That shit didn’t work on me. Hop on.”You groaned dramatically as you were helped onto the animal.
All was well. The key word was. Not even two minutes and Megumi was already rising on his hind legs in an attempt to get you to unattached.
You thought it was your time, that he was going to somehow do a backflip and crush you to death under his weight. You yelped loudly, only adding fuel to the growing flames. Ony was quick on his feet, speaking slowly and softly to the horse as Toji pried you from his back.
The incident was brought up to Shiu and he said that you were still a stranger to him—He wasn’t familiar enough with you therefore he didn’t trust you. From that day forth, anytime Megumi was brought out, you were there.
His feedings? You were stuffing handfuls of hay in his puffy cheeks. You lead him with Toji but refuse to hold the reins and kept your distance.
What really got Megumi to gradually grow interested in you was your brushes. Really, it was your nails raking up and down his fur. You did it absentmindedly when feeding him—your finger tickled the spot just between his eyes. Up and down, up and down.
You didn’t notice that he was enjoying it until Toji pointed out that he leaned his head towards you.
“R-really? Thought he was jus’ rushing me.” You turned to the horse as he eyed the hay in your palm, “You like my nails, Megumi?” As if he could respond.
You shifted your body slightly, your legs becoming static from the extended horse ride. The clouds containing the storm were now minutes away, the smell of rain overpowering the scattered horse poop.
"I think she's 'bout ready to ride by herself, Toj’. Whatchu’ think?"
Toji hums, his fingers drumming at your hips, "You can think about it all you want, it's her that has the final say.”
"I can handle it," you answered, "I'm pretty confident... I think."
“You think?”
“Maybe a few more weeks, Peach.”
The wind picked up, the trees in the distance almost uprooting from the soil. Thunder cracked in the distance causing some of the horses to find shelter.
"Ooh, it’s startin' t'get dark Toj". Let's wrap this shit up. Fuckin’ mosquitoes 'bout to suck me dry!" Smacks to his dark skin followed after his complaints, his whacks echoing throughout the open field. Just as Toji was about to mumble something slick, a lightning bolt flickered through the clouded sky too close for comfort, followed by a thunderclap that made Megumi jump from beneath you. The nightmare of the last encounter with Megumi raising on his hind legs flashed through your mind like a premonition. This was going to take longer than expected.
𐔌 5.9K 𐦯 • 𝘕𝘖 𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘖𝘙𝘚.ᐟ | 𝑷𝒍𝒖𝒈.ᐟ𝑶𝒏𝒚, CollegeAU, mention of drugs (weed), or*l (m. receiving), face-f*cking (slightly rough, lots of gagging, very messy—does this count as oral fixation?), f*ngering, implied p -> v s*x, dirty talk, slight degradation, corruption of mc, inexperienced mc, mc goes in sub-space (unknowingly), mc gets d*ck-drunk, minor BDSM dynamics, subtle size k*nk, gentle/caring Ony, nonchalant Ony, teasing Ony, slow-build interest, nicknames (Mama & Princess), explicit language, use of the n-word (all characters & Author are Black)
PART 1
decided to be nice & give y'all a mini drabble of them. enjoy .ᐟ <3
ᝰ♡.ᐟ IT ISN'T COMPLETELY DARK OUT YET AS THE GOLDEN ORANGE hue of the setting sun splashes across the entire campus.
Even with the significant lack of people strolling the brick-laid pathways, Onyankopon doesn't neglect to keep an eye out for campus officers. He doesn't need anything on his record, not when the semester's just begun.
He figured he would be back in his car by now, speeding off to his apartment. Not still standing here.
This was supposed to be quick.
“A'ight man, how much I owe you again?” Standing about two feet in front of him, his customer glances up, tearing his vision away from the crumpled bills in his hands.
Onyankopon almost kisses his teeth.
"Seventy-five."
He swears he said that number about five times since this interaction began.
"A'ight, got you…"
Crumpled paper flicks noisily as the client thumbs through the stack of random bills; fives, tens, and a whole lot of ones.
There's a faint, sour scent emanating off of the guy whenever he sways just a bit too much in his spot; dried sweat. It only adds to Onyankopon's growing irritation.
"Y-yo … I, uh … only got about forty-three cash, bro."
The feeble way in which he looks at him almost makes Onyankopon irate.
'This nigga,' he thinks.
A heavy sigh pushes past his lips, an urge he could no longer resist. "Just send the rest through Zelle or Cash App."
"Bet," the man says as he shoves the hand full of money his way.
Onyankopon gingerly takes the damp cash and pockets it quickly. With free hands, his customer frantically pulls out his phone to continue the transaction.
"Uh—h-how much?"
Onyankopon stares at him square in the face. "Whatever's left after forty-three dollars."
“Chill,” his client says with a shaky chuckle.
He's trying, he really is. Annoying clients come with the territory, especially when it comes down to dealing with a bunch of smokers.
Usually, he'd have more patience for this kind of thing. But, today he's pressed for time. Especially since he's got royalty blowing up his line, demanding his presence. 'Her impatient ass,' he thinks as his phone buzzes in his pocket, getting it's second message within the last hour.
Since their first time hooking up, Onyankopon won't deny the fact that Ámerei has been his main fix—on campus, at least.
After finals, they exchanged numbers, but it was radio silence between them during summer break. Understandably. She had her own life outside of school, and he had his own shit to take care of back home.
There were no ill sentiments between the two, just a mutual understanding of where this situation of theirs starts and ends: at school.
So, he wasn't surprised when she hit him up within the first month of this fall semester. He had stopped by at her new dorm—a single—and gave her what she timidly asked for.
And he gave it to her good. Maybe seeing her brought it out of him or maybe it was just the perfect chance to release some built up pressure.
Admittedly, when it comes to messing around with Ámerei, Onyankopon can appreciate the ease that comes with her. There weren't sneaking around anyone's back to do this. Additionally, the clarity she possesses regarding this entire thing is a breath of fresh air. She isn't blowing up his phone, demanding him to do things that fall within the realm of being a "significant other."
Honestly, she doesn't even ask him much about himself. Neither does he.
Compared to some of the other girls he's been with, she's definitely someone he doesn't have to stress out over.
However, even with the general ease of their situation-ship, it seems that he's created a little bit of a monster.
Are you busy?
Onyankopon..
I want to see you
He was in the car, on the way to this deal when the first message was read aloud to him.
She has a habit of hitting him up while he's in the middle of doing something or just so happens to be on his way out of the door. And despite being a recurring interruption to his plans, it always brings him a sense of fondness.
Despite the growing frequency of their meetups, Onyankopon believes that Ámerei isn't someone he'll grow tired of. He can't explain it, but he knows that she's just nice to be around. Cool.
His brain was silent while he tried to decide if he wanted to do this today.
He did.
It wasn't until he reached a red light, that he picked up his phone, allowing himself a weak smirk as he typed a response.
Uu wanna see my dicc
Her reply was instant:
That's not the same thing?
A small scoff left him as the traffic light ahead changed. Against his better judgment, he elected to split his attention in two places: the road and his phone.
Making plays rn
Uu cld wait ?
I'm with the girls at the apartment
Let me know when you get back
He loved the message, quickly dropping his phone in his lap.
Although, unlike other times, his brain didn't immediately drop the conversation. Rather, he kind of toiled over it for a minute or two, sparing an unnecessary amount of time on a particular idea: being considerate.
But, was it consideration? Or was that just his usual standard about punctuality?
Come another red light, Onyankopon chose to put those thoughts to rest. He never liked being in his head about someone for too long. When it comes to matters regarding people, it's either you do or you don’t.
So, he did.
Picking up his phone, his thumb slid across his keyboard in a quick pattern. He didn't even have to glance at the screen to send the short message.
Gimme a hr
She loved the message.
That conversation was definitely had over an hour ago and he's still not back home, at no fault of his own.
"I think the money sent."
Hands buried in the pockets of his sweats, Onyankopon gives the man a brief "Mhm," as he stares him down. He waits patiently for his phone to buzz with the notification of the money entering his account.
And when it does—because he needs to make sure that he's not being cheated put of his product, no matter how many times this guy has bought from him—only then does he give him what they came here for: the weed.
"Thank you so much, bro," he rushes out.
Onyankopon doesn't spare a word, let alone a glance, as he heads back to his car thinking:
'Finally.'
Hopping back in the driver's seat, he pulls the car door shut after him. He wastes no time in pulling out his phone.
So ... it's been an hour.
K...
His fingers move quick.
My fault ik
Nigga was moving slow
Im comin dnt trip
He scoffs at his last message. When has he ever explained himself this much?
The trip back to his apartment is faster than it took for him to go out and meet his customer.
Comin up rn be at the door
It takes all of six minutes for him to enter the building to reach his floor. Leaving the elevators behind, he turns down the long hallway, already seeing the short and slim figure waiting at his door.
Phone in hand, too concerned with whatever it is on her screen to watch her surroundings, she doesn't even notice him coming.
Ámerei stands with majority of her weight on one leg, her hip poking out to accentuate her subtle curves. There's a disruption on her face; a wrinkle of her brows.
She looks upset.
She looks good.
"Y'know, I could'a been anybody walking up on you."
Her head snaps up. The sable strands of her silk press falls away from her face to showcase the moment of recognition that flashes across it, just before it's overtaken by irritation. She opens her mouth.
"Before you even start, it wasn't me." He's already fishing for his apartment keys.
"What does that mean?" She raises a perfectly trimmed brow, eyeing him with skepticism.
“The nigga was doing too much," he says, glancing back at her over his shoulder. "I'm here though, so we not tripping'.”
He pushes the door open, allowing her first, as always. Ámerei's lips are sealed shut, shooting him a glare as she slips past him.
“Mhm.”
Just as she turns her head forward, Onyankopon leaving her line of sight, a heavy hand pops her on the left side of her ass.
"What the fuck," she yelps, whipping around to face him. The sharp sting blooms into a hallow ache beneath her skin as she rubs the spot.
He tries to stifle the growing smirk on his face as he kicks the door shut behind him. “Got too much attitude."
“You were late, mind you,” she sneers, pointing a square acrylic nail into the bed of his chest.
"Eager, ain't you?"
She notices the strong arms circling her waist, yet neglects to acknowledge them.
Arms crossed, she's the epitome of a pretty girl with an attitude. Hair done, nails perfect, and a fresh set of lashes decorating her pretty brown eyes.
And, irritated or not, her gaze is a lot more seductive. He knows that if he makes mention of her saditty demeanor, he'll only rile her up more.
“I can go."
His eyes narrow by a fraction as he stares down at her. “But—" his hands slip from her waist to the perch of her ass. “You gon' stay.”
Her mouth opens to spit back a retort.
"And lose that attitude, 'cause you still getting what you want."
Before she can even think of a response to that one, Onyankopon drops his lips on hers; that conversation is done. In his grasp, she practically melts. The familiarity of his lips is too comforting for her to resist.
He has to admit, Ámerei has gotten better at kissing. A lot better. His favorite thing about that is her newfound affinity for sucking.
In fact, his tongue is almost always the first thing she goes for.
One last peck on the lips precedes a swipe over his bottom lip, coaxing him into a deeper kiss. Before he can even realize it, she's pushing her tongue into his mouth in search of his.
Her hands, soft and reaching, find the sides of his face to keep his head tilted so that she may get more access. He taught her that one.
To his own demise (benefit), every time she's got her lips wrapped around his tongue, it puts a fire in him that wakes him up below the belt. They're moving before he can even comprehend this, too busy feeling on her ass.
"—damn."
His body drops to the couch, slightly bouncing against the cushions. He barely manages to look up at her when she's climbing into his lap. Her eyes burn with lust.
"You moving like you … controlling shit." He's breathless watching her, hands coming to rest on her hips as she takes her seat.
Speaking of hands, hers press to his chest as she leans in for another kiss. His breath is stolen away for the second time in just two minutes.
"Mh … you smelled good," she moans against his mouth.
"I—"
She leaps at the chance to get to his tongue. And—unsurprisingly—she's sucking at him again, like he's a ripe berry, full of juice and ready to burst in her mouth.
His spit is sweet.
"'Preciate—" The half of his sentence that comes out is garbled by their kiss.
She only pulls away to whisper in his ear. "Taste good, Ony."
When she pulls back, and he can finally look her in the eyes, he's almost—scared?
This is not the shy virgin he met only a handful of months ago.
"Yeah?" He shifts upwards a bit, thinking of a way to regain control over this situation.
"Mhm," she nods. The hum is practically a moan, heavy and dragging.
Onyankopon takes this moment to look over her body.
It's just dipping back into the cooler seasons, on the cusp of fall. Yet, enough of her skin is exposed by an off-the-shoulder cropped crew-neck that it can make anyone think otherwise. And not to mention, the ridiculously thin gray leggings that don't hide much.
"I got something that taste better."
Her vixen-like demeanor flickers as her thoughts flash across her face. "What's that?" she asks.
"Ms. 4.0 GPA, c'mon now." A grin spreads across his face.
She rolls her eyes, but the heat has been snuffed out. "And if I'm not good at it?"
He scoffs. "You wasn't good at kissing, neither."
She scowls.
"You getting better every time." Amusement is written all over his face. It's almost irritating. "This gon' be the same thing, I promise you."
She averts her eyes as she starts thinking; this isn't the first time he's alluded to wanting head. It's not like she doesn't want to give it. It's more of a question of, can she?
Probably.
But, can she do it as well as the other girls he's been with?
Definitely not.
That's always a looming fear of hers.
She can hardly bear the thought of performing poorly, and being dubbed the one who "couldn't give good head" or who "had weak pussy;" a story to tell his friends in the group chat.
For the most part, that fear is quelled, just on account of him not really being a piece of shit.
An asshole at times, sure. But, not a douche-bag. And, save for their first time ever doing something together, Onyankopon has never directly spoke about other women he's been with. He doesn't even speak about people he knows.
She can respect the fact that he's not a pillow-talker. But she can only hope that he's not just trying to put on an act.
She tries not to worry too much about it. Outside of these links, their lives are completely detached. They don't even run in the same circles.
"Why you scared? I ain't been a good teacher?"
"Shut up," she laughs, giving him a gentle push to the chest.
For a moment, she's quiet as she thinks to herself, chewing on her bottom lip as she does so.
"We can try," she nods. "But, don't expect me to be amazing," she says as she starts sinking to the ground between his thighs.
"Woah, wait—" he catches her by the waist, stopping her just before her knees hit the floor.
"Wha—d-don't I have to get on my knees?"
"Do you wanna be on your knees?"
She blinks, stunted by the question. "I … don't I have to?"
His brows lift by a fraction. "You don't have to do nothing. I asked if you wanna be. It's other positions."
"Um…" She glances at the hardwood floor beneath them, weighing her options. "Y-yeah. Yes, I do."
He shrugs, gently removing his hands from her to sit back. "A'ight then."
Carefully, she makes contact with the ground, her kneecaps pressing into the floor. Lengthy, strong legs cage her in, but it doesn't feel like a trap.
Before she has to ask, he's pushing his pants down some. But, of course, he's not going to do everything for her.
Not even when she stares up at him, expecting him to pull down his boxers, too, and whip it out for her. She looks perfect down there.
"What you staring for?"
She glances at his lap, eye-level with his print as it strains against the breathable fabric, pressed to the inner wall of his right thigh. She looks back up at him, like she expects something new. Like she doesn't know what comes next.
"Take it out for me, Ámerei."
The firm tone of his voice makes her stomach flutter.
Without a word, both her hands snake up the stalks of his calves, past his knees, and over his thighs. Her fingers are soft, the pads of them tickling his skin as she nears the object of her desire.
With a quick swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip, Onyankopon pushes his hips forward as she finally hooks onto the waistband of his underwear.
Inwardly, Ámerei prays that he doesn't notice the excited tremor of her hands as she pulls the fabric back to reach inside.
The skin there is warm, hot blood racing just beneath its surface to fatten up his dick. She traces one finger down to the middle of his shaft, where she weakly curls her hand around him. She barely squeezes as she picks him up, revealing just a little more past the fat tip.
She isn't surprised by the heaviness, but it does make her rethink her ability to swallow him down.
"Why you so focused already?"
His chuckle pulls her gaze upwards, seeing the entertained look on his face. She crumbles into awkward laughter. "I wanna make sure I'm doing it right."
"Ain't no wrong way to pull my dick out." He sniffs, shifting his hips in a way that pushes his dick further in her face. Her eyes slightly cross trying to keep him in her line of sight. "You doing good, Ami. Quit all that thinking, don't freeze up on me now."
His words, spoken to her low and slow, make her heart beat quicken. She nods loosely, staring up at him with eyes that don't conceal the dazed look in them.
Every time they're together, he notices that after a certain point, it's like a switch flips off in her head. It gets more noticeable every time.
Encouraged by him, she pulls him out of his boxers entirely. The familiar sight never fails to make her drool.
So thick in her hand, she runs her thumb over the web of veins pumping beneath his skin—more visible as it's pulled taut by his arousal. He isn't leaking yet, like his body is waiting on her touch. She can feel his pulse faintly. Tiffany blue acrylic nails compliment his deep brown skin as it fades from a blushing brown to a solid, deep umber.
Every moment she gets to witness him up close, Ámerei can't help but to think that he's just so … pretty.
She's always wanted to kiss it. To feel him throb against her lips.
Her thoughts are interrupted when there's a gentle squeeze of her jaw.
"Missed this shit, didn't you?"
She nods.
"Mhm," he hums, noting how she gazes at him with a renewed sense of hunger. "Go on, eat the dick up." He pulls his hand away.
Without a second thought, she leans forward and plants a gentle smooch on the fat head. He's hot against her skin. Even though she had imagined this happening, surprise takes her when he twitches against her. In her hand, he stiffens further.
A pleased hum leaves her. Tepid, she pushes her tongue past her lips to finally get a taste. His skin is silk soft on her taste buds. He has a mild taste, barely sweet.
That makes it too easy to have more of him in her mouth; she goes for another lick, this one bolder in action as she tastes more of the skin covering his crown. It was all she needed to gain the confidence to take him into her mouth, closing her lips around the swollen head.
"A natural, already," he exhales.
She peers up at him through those perfect, wispy lashes. Her mouth sinks slightly lower. The slippery muscle of her tongue curls around the tip before she traps him between the bed of it and the roof of her mouth to suck. Her usually round, soft cheeks hallow out.
"Good job, mama."
Her eyes flutter shut as her mouth sinks lower around him, a quiet hum of contentment coming from the back of her throat.
The ghost of a smirk haunts his lips. "You like that?"
Peeling her eyes open, Onyankopon immediately notices how they look glossed over. Her full lips are stretched around his thickness, unable to stop the drool escaping past their corners. With a stuffed mouth, she only nods.
"Talk to me."
For a moment, he thought she would have attempted to speak around him. The thought makes him twitch in her mouth.
Except, Ámerei pulls off of him, the softness of her hand replacing the wet heat of her mouth as she jerks him off.
"I liked it," she breathes out. Her hand moves at a slightly rushed pace, gliding over the tight skin. He keeps twitching. It makes her giddy, taking this as a good sign.
Yet, her elation is cut short when she sees a wrinkle forming between his brows. Dread takes seed in her chest.
"So, why you not swallowing my shit?"
Oh.
The corners of her lips twitch as she tries to keep herself from smiling. Her lips part. "Sorr—"
"I'm not tryma hear nothing when my dick should be in your throat." A heavy hand finds its way into her hair, firmly grasping it near the base of her skull. "Need to be gagging on my shit."
Her pussy clenches. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, pushing her face closer to him. She tongue-kisses his tip, humming when it jumps in her mouth.
"Mhm … show me how much you want this."
She rests her hands on his thighs, descending onto him again. Her eyes squeeze shut as she pushes herself to go lower than previous. As she lowers, it gets harder to breathe, her mouth stretching wider and wider.
"Hurgh—"
She pushes through the gag that rips through her. Her head grows fuzzy at the feeling of the slow suffocation.
Onyankopon groans, "Fuck … open up." His hand grips her hair tighter. "Relax your throat."
He hits the back of her tongue. The muscles of her neck constrict.
"Aarck—"
Her shoulders hike up, another sharp gag moving through her.
"Easy, easy."
She pulls off, a beaded string of her own spit leading from the depths of her mouth to his dripping tip. Her stomach is turning.
"You good," he tells her, petting her head.
She nods, swallowing a loose glob of spit to calm her throat.
"C'mon, you good."
She considers the truth of his words before her own thoughts, taking him back in her mouth.
"Mmph," he moans, pressing his lips together to catch the sound.
His head rolls back, but before it lands against the couch cushion, it bounces back up. Her lips kiss the base of him, his hips jumping in shock.
"Huarc—"
"Shit, my fault, my fault."
His breathing is rushed and unsteady as he exhales through his nose, staring down at the mess she's making between his legs.
Spit pours almost freely down his dick, pooling into a thick, frothy puddle of her saliva and his precum in his lap.
"God … damn," he groans, tilting his head some, wishing he could take a picture of this moment to keep forever.
Her lips pucker around him, like they're desperately trying to keep anymore spit from inevitably leaking out. Like they're tired of being stretched open by his dick.
She looks so pretty like this.
"How you take it better this way?"
She sniffles weakly. As her mouth is still full of him, Ámerei gently rests her head against a thigh of his. Her lashes sweep against the hills of her cheekbones as her eyes flutter shut, a gentle sigh leaving through her nose.
"Hm?"
He reaches down to cup her chin, and as soon as their skin makes contact, those pretty brown eyes are open again. Just barely. They're glazed over, not present.
At that moment, something clicks within him. His brain runs with a prediction.
"Should fuck this like your pussy."
He watches her face for any twitch in her brows, some sign of objection. But, there's only a look of sedation. His hand slips from her jaw, he smooths his thumb over an eyebrow before pushing a rogue couple of strands of hair back.
She swallows around him again, closing her eyes.
"Aye, talk to me." Onyankopon lays two quick taps to her cheek, the action gaining her attention. "Ami. Make a sound or something."
A tiny whine comes from the back of her throat. He twitches in the chamber of his neck.
"Want me to move?"
She blinks slowly.
"A'ight," he whispers.
Gently, he takes her head in his hands and carefully pulls her off of him. Loose webs of spit and precum fall around his dick. He's a glistening mess as it falls against his inner thigh, heavy and sopping wet.
A couple of coughs and few hiccups leave her as she wipes at her face with the back of her hand. "W-what?"
"You enjoying this, I could see it in your face."
The corners of her lips lift without restraint.
"But, you gotta communicate with me. Don't go silent."
Just as fast, they drop into a frown, feeling that hint of dread again. "Okay," she nods.
"Even when your mouth is full like that, or you can't talk; tap me."
Her face scrunches up in mild confusion. "Tap?"
His hand slides over her shoulder, the tips of his fingers just at her back, and taps once. "Like that if you want me to pause. Twice if you good," he performing the second gesture. "And—" then taps her three times in succession, "—to tell me to stop."
She blinks at him, cementing the code in her head.
"How you feeling? Show me."
She lifts a hand to rest on his naked thigh and taps him twice.
"Good," he tells her. "Now c'mon."
She's too eager to get him back in her mouth, swallowing him up with blinding ease each time.
"Mhm, look at you… Like you starving."
She pushes her face against his thighs, smiling around his dick. And Onyankopon thinks it's the sweetest, sexiest thing ever. Holding the back of her head, the pads of his fingers rub into her skull.
"You want more?"
She nods as her tongue laves at the underside of him.
"S'what I thought," he mumbles before that hand of his moves to grip her jaw.
Pushing her head up just a bit, Onyankopon holds himself at the base to pull out, earning a deep gag from her. And he loves that sound.
He's dripping in her slobber. The head is where most of her spit collects, a web of it connected to her bottom lip.
Taking himself in hand, he rubs it like a wand and swabs it against her lips. The sloppy, uncoordinated push of his dick against her face makes her flinch here and there. But she doesn't pull away in the slightest when he smears their mess all over the lower half of her face.
His hand shifts to hook a thumb between her lips and push down.
"Open."
The hinge of her jaw slackens with ease.
"Stick that pretty tongue out."
She does exactly what he says, and within that second, the fat head of his dick is slapping against her taste buds.
"Mhm, look real good like this."
He can already imagine himself bursting on her tongue. He glances up from her mouth to see the stars in her glistening eyes.
"Should bust all over you right now," he rasps. "You want that?"
She nods eagerly, tongue sticking out of her mouth like a panting dog. The fruity hue of the muscle is too similar to the inside of her pussy.
"Suck it outta me, then. The fuck?"
He angles his hips to push back into her throat. The suction of her mouth is unmistakable, he knows she sucked him in. The feeling of that wet, slippery warmth traveling down his dick, swooping him up into a tight hold pulls a breathy moan out of him.
"Greedy ass … tryna suck me up, and I'm a-already giving it t'you—" He grasps the back of her head again as rolls his hips smooth and slow. "F … fuck," he groans out.
Her throat jumps around him, desperate to accommodate the moving length throughout it.
"Taking it real good, Princess."
Her eyes flutter, and he catches the way they slightly roll back before she blinks.
Too experienced, it doesn't take long for him to find a shallow but steady rhythm, picking up the pace. As his dick bullies its way in and out, past the walls of her tonsils, a faint clicking sound is made.
"You like this?"
His voice wavers, the sound shooting straight to her clit. Her hand that rests on his muscular thighs, rises and falls twice: one-two.
"I know … kn-know you do…"
His breathing grows heavier and heavier, balls tightening some as they tap at her chin with each thrust.
"Smartest girl I ever met … but you go fucking stupid when you got dick in your mouth."
A mewl vibrates in her throat. He looks down to see her eyes roll to the back of her head.
"You like me talking to you like that?"
One-two.
She's an image of corruption: one of her eyes is only half-open, both showcasing the whites of them as his dick pushes in-and-out past her lips. Spit oozes and froths up at the seams of her lips.
"L-look at you … blowing bubbles on my shit," he grunts. "You wanna play with your pussy?"
A moan, real and solid, gurgles from her throat. The air coming out of her mouth pushes out more balloons of spit along the rim of her mouth.
"Shit—go 'head."
Fireworks go off in her head at his given permission, like this moment is the kind of joy she's been waiting to experience for the last few years. Ámerei is quick to shove a hand down the front of her leggings, pushing past the hem of her panties to rub at her clit.
She feels like she's gone sky-high, completely relinquishing all control to him as he fucks her mouth good and thoroughly.
"S-said you could touch yourself … don't hold out on me."
His words kick something alive in her head. She begins to move herself, bobbing her head up and down. As she does so, she's only able to go halfway down at this faster speed.
Onyankopon's hips stutter. "Aye—watch the teeth. Watch the teeth, Ami."
She squeezes her eyes shut, making a conscious effort to tuck her lips over them. The change grants him unfettered access to her mouth, carving a way for itself in her throat.
"Oh … fuuck, keep … keep swallowing my shit, Mama."
Her fingers work in fast, tight circles over her clit. This is a wet dream for her.
"Make me nut," he pants, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.
At that, she shoves two fingers in herself, the intrusion creating a soft squidge between her thighs. At every swallow of his dick, she's pushing her fingers in. The penetration from both ends gets her sopping wet, the seat of her panties soaked through.
"Make me nut on that tongue."
At that particular command, she swallows him an inch deeper, a strong gag ripping through her.
"Mhm, just like that," he sneers as he moves his hips to meet her half-way.
Her eyes squeeze shut, wringing tears from them as she falls in-line with his thrusts. She keeps her head still, allowing him to throat fuck her, even as she chokes on him.
Hand buried in her hair, Onyankopon lets his head fall back against the couch, losing it in her mouth.
"Mh—fuck," he whimpers, chest pumping as he gulps down air. "I-I'm 'bout to cum."
She loves it when he says those words.
She pulls off of him messily, replacing her mouth with a loose fist. She moves quickly over his dick to uphold the pace. His hips buck, stomach sucking in with every pull.
"Want it," she utters breathlessly as spit drips from her face, tongue half sticking out to catch his cum just in case. "Want it—want it on my tongue, Ony."
He musters enough strength to pull his head back up, eyelids heavy as he gazes down at her: tears crystallize along her lash-line, looking like gems against her slender eyes.
His stomach swoops, his balls tightening.
"You …fuck—you gon' swallow it all?" he slurs.
"Mhm," she says, desperation all over her face as she nods. "A-all of it."
His other hand grips at the couch cushion beneath him as he holds back on cumming all over her face.
"Put my dick back in your mouth."
She chases after him with her mouth open, head bobbing awkwardly before finally catching him, without the help of her hands. Her cheeks cave in, pushing further down to get him to the back of her throat. She flexes around him, coaxing his impending orgasm out of him.
The simple action has his mind submitting to the desires of his body. His hips move thoughtlessly, unrestrained and sharp as they pump shallowly into her mouth.
"Fuc— … s-swallow that shit—"
"Hic—"
He busts in her mouth, the alkaline taste of his thick, viscous cum painting her tongue and throat. It's hard to swallow all of it down in one go.
"Oh … fuck," he shudders, chest rising and falling rather quickly as he swallows down whatever air is available. The exposed parts of his skin are dewy with sweat. Before his body is able to even fully relax, it tenses up with overstimulation.
She's still sucking.
"Aye—"
Grasping her head on both sides, he pulls her off. There's a bit of resistance, but when he finally gets her off of him, he sees in her eyes that she's completely gone.
"Tryna suck my soul out," he weakly jokes, though she doesn't laugh back. She only gives him a dreamy smile.
He grasps the underside of her jaw. "Lemme see."
Without a word, Ámerei sticks her tongue out to show him how she managed to swallow it all. He looks at her, knowing that she's desperately waiting for a form of praise for her work.
"Good job."
Her smile only grows.
"Come up," he says, already pulling her back up on the couch.
Scooting further back from him, she spreads her thighs to show him the darkened patch of gray fabric at the seat of her leggings.
His legs feel like Jell-O. Yet, despite this, he pushes through it to stand on his feet before her.
"That's how you feeling?"
She bites her bottom lip before turning away from him. Burying her chest into the couch cushions, Ámerei pushes her ass high in the air to present.
Looking back at him, the spit quickly drying on the lower-half of her face, she eagerly pushes her leggings and panties down her ass in one fell-swoop. Her back bows she reaches back to pull her cheeks apart, her wetness winking back at him. Creamy and dripping.
He kisses his teeth as another wave of arousal shoots through him, fatigue be damned. "Quit playing with me."
She mewls, eyes falling closed. "Want it in here, too," she mumbles thoughtlessly.
Blowing out a breath, Onyankopon takes his hardening dick in hand, starting with a few slow pumps.
"Yeah, dick really got you acting dumb now."
She shakes her ass side-to-side, taunting him.
"I'ma give it to you … just don't be running this time."
⤷ ❝ {cw: nsfw mentioned, secret relationship trope, mentions of smoking and drinking, slight! mean connie, clubbing, cheating} ¡! ❞
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
the party was packed, bass rattling the floors and the air thick with weed, liquor, and sweat. your boyfriend had been texting nonstop since you left the crib but you put that shit on DND the second you walked in. you’d come out on purpose in your tiny leather dress that barely covered your ass and lifted your tits like a push up bra. you knew exactly whose party this was.
connie ran this spot, which meant free entry, free bottles, and vip like clockwork for you and your girl. having a promoter on speed dial — especially one you were fucking — came with perks the average bitch in line didn’t get.
sasha didn’t even have to drag you as you walked straight to the vip rope like you belonged there. “connie! let us up,” sasha called as you both approached the vip section that was closed off to everyone connie didn’t know.
he was leaned against the railing like he owned the city, skin glowing under the neon, fresh fade, neat goatee, and tattoos running down both arms. his eyes dragged over you slow, taking in the dress like he was already picturing it on his floor as a smirk tugged at his mouth.
“bet. y’all good,” he said, voice low as he unclipped the rope. when you brushed past he leaned in, cologne and weed hitting you. “damn… you look good as hell.”
you never blush or play shy with connie. you just smirked back and let your hand graze his chest on the way through. loyalty to your boyfriend? you’d stopped pretending it mattered the first night you let connie take you home.
connie got the bottle service popping quick and slid right into the booth next to you, arm slung behind your shoulders, fingers brushing your bare shoulder like it was already his. you flirted heavy, bold as hell, biting your lip while your hand rested on his chest, nails lightly dragging.
“you always come through dressed like you tryna start problems?” he asked, lips close to your ear. you turned, brushing your mouth against his jaw. “only when i know i’ll get handled right. i’m goin’ with you tonight or what?”
he chuckled, low and quick. “you already know the answer to that.”
the night got blurry in the best way. you danced on him in vip, back to his chest, ass grinding slow and deliberate while his hands gripped your hips like he was holding on for dear life. his goatee brushed your naked shoulder as he muttered, “keep doing that and we not making it out this club.”
you laughed, turned in his arms, and looked him dead in the eyes. “then stop playing and take me now.”
by 2 a.m. you were in the backseat of his black bmw, windows fogged the fuck up. dress shoved around your waist, riding him deep and nasty while the muffled bass from the club thumped outside. his hands squeezed your ass hard, pulling you down on every stroke. “shit… just like that,” he groaned, goatee brushing your collarbone. “you tryna drain me tonight?”
you smirked, nails digging into his shoulders. “thought you could keep up, con.”
he flipped you quick, stroking harder and meaner. “keep talking shit then.”
after you both came, legs shaky, he drove you straight back to his spot. the second the door closed he had you bent over the kitchen island, dress still bunched around your waist, fucking you hard and fast. then he carried you to his bed and took his time, going slower, deeper, until the sky started turning gray.
morning came too fast as he dropped you a couple blocks from home, tinted windows hiding everything. your phone was blowing up the whole ride and when he asked about it, you let him know with zero hesitation about the man waiting for you inside.
connie just smirked. “it’s cool. i ain’t the police.”
that was y’all’s routine. late night “you up?” texts. quickies in the bmw when you lied about being out with the girls. drunken words while he had you spread in the passenger seat. “i got a boyfriend, connie… this shit is fucked up.”
he never stopped stroking, just gripped your thighs tighter. “then stop texting me when you wet, ma. or don’t. i’m not complainin’.” he had other women he fucked and didn’t give a single fuck if any of them found out about each other . if they started tweaking he’d call them lame to their face and shut it down quick. “you knew what this was. don’t act stupid now.”
you kept coming back anyway, because you liked the game. liked the perks. liked how he didn’t pretend to be anybody’s boyfriend.
a couple weeks in the guilt finally cracked you. you ended things with your boyfriend for good, no explanation about connie. the same night you were right back in his passenger seat like nothing had changed, heart racing as he smirked at you in the dark. he didn’t ask questions when you told him, just reached over, gripped your thigh, and said, “good. now you can stop pretending you don’t belong over here.”
tonight, the club lights flash across your skin as you straddle his lap in the dim corner of vip. the leather booth sticks to the back of your thighs from the heat. bass vibrates through your body while connie’s hands slide under your dress, gripping your bare ass with zero shame, fingers digging in possessively. his goatee brushes your jaw as he leans in, voice low and rough against your ear.
“so you really single now?” he murmurs, that mean little smirk on his lips. “no more running to answer his texts while my dick still in you?”
you grind down slow against the hard bulge in his jeans, feeling him twitch. the crowded club feels miles away. “yeah,” you breathe, nails dragging up the back of his neck. “and i want this dick whenever i feel like it.”
connie’s grip tightens, pulling you harder against him. “that’s what the fuck i’m talkin’ about.” his thumb slips between your thighs, teasing right where you’re already soaked. “let’s get the fuck out of here before i bend you over this booth.”
back at his place later, the lights are dim and the room smells like weed and sex. he’s got you on your back in his bed, legs wrapped tight around his waist while he strokes deep and steady. you’re being extra nasty tonight — back arching off the mattress, nails raking down his back, and moaning his name every time he hits it right.
connie’s eyes are low and dark, watching you like he’s enjoying the show. in his head the thought hits clear: wanna thank the last man… taught my bitch what she know. might have to send him a thank you card.
he reaches over to the nightstand without missing a stroke, grabs the half smoked blunt, and lights it. takes a long pull, cherry glowing, then leans down and blows the smoke straight into your mouth. you inhale deep, eyes locked on his, letting the haze hit while he keeps fucking you slow and deliberate.
“fuck… that’s it,” he mutters, voice rough, smoke curling between you. “keep takin’ this dick just like that. loud as you want, baby. ain’t nobody here but me.”
you moan into the next kiss, tasting weed and henny on his tongue, hips rolling up to meet every thrust. connie chuckles against your lips and grips your thigh harder, spreading you wider.
“you gettin’ greedy on me already?” he teases, thrusting deeper just to watch your eyes flutter. “good. i like when you act like you can’t get enough.”
a/n: connie with a goatee has been on my mind and i couldn’t help it 😩
𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫 ◞ 𝐬 strawberry ⧽ vanilla ⧽ chocolate
𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 40k
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 farmer armin 〆 black fem reader 〆 black fem oc
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥 dark content . fauxcest . ddlg . porn with plot . eventual established polyamorous relationship . childhood friends to lovers . strangers to lovers . childhood abuse mentions , not very explicit . age gap . heavy pet name usage . love confessions . lots of feelings . reader has pubes ℘ a big clit ! fingering . oral sex . filmed during sex . dad kink . ass eating . cum swallowing .
⠀⠀ : ¨·.·¨ :ㅤ
⠀ ⠀ `· .⠀ 𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓀 𝓅𝑜𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 . . . plz heed warningzzz ! ! i don’t want anybody surprised by the contents of this fic n decidin 2 lose their minds in m inbox , tanku . hv fun . dis fic took me so long </3 i wuz inspired 2 write dis by a friend who gave me da idea 2 pair dad armin wif two precious lil girlz ♥︎ . everybody say thanku 2 dem ! minors do not interact ! ! ! !
July has the best sunsets.
That’s what Armin thinks.
Cerulean skies are free from cloud wisps, no indication of a mean storm that usually chase after the notes of spring with lengthy streaks of peach, gold, and pink that bleed onto the straight lined horizon during the calm hours of six pm to seven. They appear as though they’ve been hand brushed by someone who was particularly lazy today, strokes long and uneven, albeit beautiful even so.
Staring out at it behind dark tinted sunglasses with one hand wrapped around the base of his steering wheel and the other outstretched outside of the opened window to idly ash his cigarette, Armin soon pulls the burning stick up to his lips to pull in a slow drag.
Missouri.
The dirt road ahead of him stretches for what looks like miles. Flanked on either side of his rolling truck and tilted towards the fading rays of the sun are fields of tall grass and blades of it dance within the gaps of the decades old, wooden fencing when the back wind of his truck forces them to as he zips by. The air smells like hay, dust, and heat as paper bags toppled to their brim with groceries rattle within the bed of his old, dark green ‘72 Ford 250. And from the speakers, over the rumbling engine, drawls a smooth, yacht rock tune — Minnie Riperton’s Take a Little Trip.
His black leathered cowboy hat is tipped low and his sunglasses shield his eyes but the strong line of his scruffy jaw, slope of his nose, and creases of crows feet reveal to most that this is a man used to long, tiring days working underneath the sun. His hands are beefy and calloused, dusted with wispy blond hairs that runs along the backs of them all the way up to the knuckle. They’re strong and steady as one of them continues gripping at the wheel while the other brings his cig up towards two, pink, faintly chapped lips for another drag, this one shorter than the previous.
Languidly, he hums along to Minnie’s melodies as he pulls it away, drapes his arm back out of the window and spots a faint dot way out where nearly the sky and land touch.
It immediately catches his attention because it’s odd.
He’s driven this same road nearly twice every other day for the past eight years. Most people know that this stretch of dirt, as quiet and predictable it may be, sometimes features nothing but the occasional wandering, hungry mutt or tumbleweed. A person is a rarity out here.
Armin’s gaze lingers on that speck as he eases his toe from off the gas pedal just a bit. The closer he gets, the larger that dot grows until it morphs around the silhouette of a person, a girl.
You’re small against the backdrop of the melting sky — nearly get swallowed up by the grass that line the fencing you walk beside. On your back bounces a pink, daisy printed backpack whose straps you hold between your fists as you keep your head lowered while you walk to occasionally kick at a small pebble with a sneaker. Armin’s eyebrows push in.
“What in the god damned hell . . .”
The sight doesn’t sit right. Evening’s nearing, he still has about a fifteen minute drive so he could truly only imagine just how long that’d be in your steps, not to mention, before the road splits off to his acreage of land, first is Mr. Beauregard’s and God knows what the man and his group of slick tongued, dirt fingered farmhands would do to you if they got their hands on you. Armin’s jaw clicks at the simple thought. Folks around here drive, they don’t walk. Especially not this far from town.
Flicking his cigarette out of the window, he lets the wheels of his truck roll him just a little bit closer. He’s sure you hear him but you don’t look up. Head down, you keep on walking — right foot then left, slow and steady. Up close, even with you not looking directly at him, Armin can tell that you’re young. Your hair sits in a big puff atop of your head and sunlight catches on the sweated out, intricate swirls of your edges that are now lifting at your hairline. Yeah, he can’t leave you out here on your own. Not you. With a small sigh through his nose, he eases up just alongside of you to gruffly call out through his opened passenger window, “. . You lost, lil’ miss?”
Head still lowered, you keep walking and don’t respond.
Armin can’t be too mad at that. Who knows what kind of man you think he is — some stranger slowing his truck down next to a young lady walking down a quiet road. Ain’t a nice picture.
Still.
You just keep moving, toe of a sneaker lightly kicking a fair sized pebble some feet ahead of you as if it were the only thing keeping your attention.
The engine of Armin’s truck rumbles on before he blows out a breath, rolls the vehicle forward some, then angles the front end of it right into your path. You hardly even notice. Nearly almost run into the passenger door before you look up to find yourself standing right in front of it.
You’re frowning when you lift your chin. Your eyes are big and brown, bordered with long, thick, pretty lashes that any other lassie you meet around here would probably kill for. Nevertheless, seconds pass and not a word is said. You stare at him as if he were something strange that just rolled into your view, like something you knew not to trust yet.
“Y’got somewhere ya headed?”
Your grip tightens around the straps of your backpack as you take a tiny step back. “. . . Town, sir.”
Pretty, little voice. It fits you. However, Armin knows you’re lying to him. A thick, blond brow lifts beneath the brim of his hat to show his skepticism, “Town’s in the other direction.”
You press your lips together in a firm line, shifting your gaze behind him to take in the vast, empty fields on each side of you. Silence stretches again, only broken by the buzzing of mosquitos and flies. Armin takes in the sweat that glistens at your collarbones that are exposed beneath the tight, blue and white gingham patterned tank top you wear that also sticks to your stomach from the heat. One look up at your face again and he sees the exhaustion that sheathes your features, not from walking in this blazing warmth, but just in general . . . you’re tired.
His thumb taps against his steering wheel a few times as if he were deciding something before he drawls out, “Look, I ain’t gon’ grill you ‘bout it. Ain’t my business, but if you keep walkin’ this way, you bound to run into Beauregard’s land ‘fore long. An’ them boys he keep around ain’t particularly a nice bunch.”
You start to chew on the inside of your cheek as a flicker of worry sparks within the depths of your eyes. Yeah, you’re not from here. It’s obvious due to the fact that everyone who’s actually from this town or even only one or two over knows just how those boys are.
“Hop in.”
“ ‘m okay.”
Armin shrugs, “I ain’t say you weren’t.” His tone reveals that it isn’t something he’ll ask again. “. . . My lil girl will have my hind if I left you out here all night. Do me the favor, please.”
You debate it over in your brain as your eyes scan the interior of his truck. There’s nothing out of the ordinary. A glass bottle of flat coke held in the single cup holder underneath the old radio and some fresh cigarette butts decorate the dash, but other than that, the seat is clean and nothing on the floor.
The handle creaks when you finally pull the door open. Armin watches you slowly take your backpack off, brush some dust off of your bottom, then use the roof handle to climb in, take a seat and slam the door behind yourself.
With a rough sigh, he uses the stick to put his Ford back in reverse and return back to the road. One glance over, “. . Seatbelt, please an’ thank you.”
“O-Oh.”
With fumbling fingers, you reach behind yourself to grab it, stretch it over your abdomen then click the buckle into place. Armin gives a single nod, thumb resuming a slow tap on the wheel, “Your name, miss?”
The question sags within the interior of his truck and settles between the hum of the engine and rattling of a loose item in the glove department. Outside, across the skies, pink and gold are deepening into a navy blue. You nibble on your bottom lip, staring at your folded hands that sit atop of your backpack which rests on your lap and for a moment, one may think you’re ignoring him.
Then, you tell him. Soft and timidly as if you were afraid.
“Hm.” He hums and tests it quietly on his tongue to commit it to his memory. “Armin.”
Minnie Riperton’s voice continues to float through the small speakers of the truck, sweet and dreamy as you begin to glance out of the window at the rear view mirror to watch the road disappear behind you both. Your unease is palpable — sits in between you and him as if it were another passenger. It makes Armin shift a bit in his seat as he continues staring straight forward out of the windshield. He’s not a grimy man. Never has been, never will be. He was brought up with respect for God, women, less fortunate, then animals, in that order. Making ladies uncomfortable, especially pretty, little ones like you, unnerves him a bit, he’ll be honest, disregarding him being a man not usually moved by shit else.
“. . You from ‘round here?”
Head shake. His attempt at easing the ever growing tension is smashed into pieces.
He thought so.
A tensed minute passes however you soon build up the courage to ask, small and quiet, “Do you got a farm o-or somethin’, sir?”
“Mhm.”
“. . . What kind?”
Armin breathes out a slow breath through his nose while lazily flipping his blinker before turning down a curve, “Bit a’everythin. Uh, some sugarcane. Corn. Couple barns. Got some chickens, goats, cows, and three horses . . . that ‘bout covers it.”
You blink a few times, “Oh,” you whisper. Just picturing yourself taking care of all that is enough to send your head in a tizzy. “ ‘s a lot.”
“Damn straight.”
“You jus’ . . take care of all that by yourself?”
He shrugs one shoulder, “Mostly. I got some help at home.”
My lil girl will have my hind if I left you out here all night. Your lips round in understanding as his previous words clicks into place within your brain, “Your daughter?”
It’s faint, extremely faint, but a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “She likes helpin’ out sometimes. I let ‘er . . . helps get all that damn energy out, I find.”
He notices that at the mention of her, you seem to disarm a bit. Your shoulders loosen up and hands relax from squeezing the other in your lap as his truck splits down the more tougher road once it forks. The dirt has been roughly paved and rolled over with tractor tires and bigger pebbles. You guys are nearly there, that, you realize. You can feel it. The fencing changes first — they’re more clean and paralleled as opposed to the old, shabby ones on the road leaving white vinyl to glisten beneath the setting sun. Miles of greenery span out into the beautiful landscape of sloping mountains as the truck keeps on carrying you out. Then suddenly, the greenery is cut by rows and rows of corn stalks that seem to stand tall like soldiers in formation with their green and gold leaves waving you hello.
A breeze drifts along your nose, scented of fertilizer and warm soil.
Afterwards, abruptly, following a firmer press of the gas to force the truck higher up a small hill is a farmhouse. It’s a large, two storied structure with a wide, wrap around porch hugged around it, decorated with a swaying porch swing, few rocking chairs scattered along the edges, hanging plants, and clusters of potted flowers near the small staircase that leads up to the front door. Atop of the house stands a stone chimney which light smoke curls from, indicating someone’s cooking inside.
“Geez . . .”
You’re amazed.
About fifty feet away from the house, on its right is a wide, sloping barn with a rusted, yellow tractor parked near its doors. Its large tires are still caked in fresh mud from the fields. Beside the barn is a chicken coop where soft clucks of a few hens conversations echo, sometimes punctuated by a low, drawn out ‘moo’ from a cow inside the barn. Further out, three horses walk along a fenced off paddock and then the acreage never seems to end. It seems to span out further and further until you can see the field of sugarcane and goats peppered on low hills as they chew on weeds and brush. Fences crisscross like veins, meticulous and orderly, some electric, some piped, few wooden. Even from your seat in the truck, you can tell that there’s structure here, regulation . . . plenty of peace, too.
Everything has its place, its purpose.
Grass isn’t grown wild or bleached dry. Animals aren’t wandering loose. Gates are locked and shut. Fields straight lined and planted with little to no gaps. There’s some discipline to it all, too.
It’s obvious that whoever runs this land has had his fair share in hard work and making sure that things are exactly how they’re meant to be.
When the engine cuts, Armin leans back in his seat with a sigh. It sounds tired but . . also threaded with notes of comfort. Like, he’s finally made it home.
Without the rumbling, the sounds of the farm are a little bit louder now — stomps of horse hooves as they graze, rustle of corn, and chicken clucks.
Then . . . the quick padding of footsteps inside the house.
“Brace yer’self, lil miss,” Armin mumbles as he opens his door. “She can be excitable.”
You hear his boots his the gravel, heavy and sure, therefore quickly, you open your door to hop out as well. The evening air feels humid and thick, scented of hay and sunbaked soil. You’re just rounding the front of the truck when Armin unhooks the tailgate to gather paper bags of groceries into his broad chest.
Then, the screen door is pushed open with a creak and a girl steps out onto the steps, seemingly your age, barefoot and small, wearing a pretty, dandelion yellow sundress whose hemming skims up against her upper thighs when a soft breeze catches on it. Tight, coiled curls spill down her back, full, dark, and shining with health as she pauses upon seeing you with a small hand on the porch staircase’s banister. She’d been smiling, though it goes a little frayed when she meets your eye.
At first, it’s casual. Just some curiosity as she tilts her head.
Then she takes a step lower and something on her face crosses between disbelief and confusion. You blink, once, twice, letting your irises catch on the deep dimple that craters into her cheek . . . the monolids framed around her big, brown eyes . . and curls that frame her face like a lion’s mane.
You’ve seen this face before.
Years ago. Younger.
Your heart lurches in your throat as your next inhale shudders. The name slips out before you can reel it back in, “. . . J-Jubie?”
She goes completely still, as if her world has been completely shifted on its axis and for a long moment, neither of you say anything, only stare.
“꒰ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꒱ . . .?”
As if saying your name confirms it all, she slaps her hands over her plump lips and widens her hands with an, “Oh my God.”
Her voice is softer than you remember. Quieter, too. But it’s her. Uncaring of the gravel biting within the soles of her bare feet, she inches closer to you as her eyes wildly flick over the features of your face and body, searching, taking in every detail as though she’s trying to piece back a memory that was torn into shreds. “It’s you, oh my God.”
And as if magnet particles were swimming in your blood, distance closes and your bodies collide together for a sudden, bone crushing hug. Air leaves your lungs as her arms wrap around the back of your neck, yours around her waist, as you both squeeze like you’re afraid the other will seize to exist within the next moment. “J-Jubie?” You’re in utter disbelief as you bury your face into her shoulder, finding that somehow, she still even smells the same . . . like warm oats and roses. “Y-You left, I thought . . thought I’d n-never see you again.”
You feel her shoulders shudder as her fingernails bite into your skin.
For just a split second, those memories between ages six to thirteen arrive — the bike rides to school, scraped knees covered in hello kitty bandages, whispered secrets at sleepovers, pinky promises underneath the apparatus — and flood your brain. The years between then and now suddenly feel short, like they were just yesterday.
Behind you both, you hear the rustling of paper bags.
Armin doesn’t say much when you both finally pull away with tear glistening eyes and trembling fingers. But he sees it . . . the history radiating off of you both. It's evident in the way you both whisper one another's names, how you squeezed each other tight enough to cut off the other's airflow. He studies it for a moment, carefully before gently clearing his throat.“Alright, now. These bags gon’ burst if we all keep standin’ here.”
Warmth spreads beneath Jubie’s soft, light brown skin, a bright coral shade that spreads across her nose. “Oh — yeah. C’mon.”
Without a second thought, she’s reaching for your hand to interlace her fingers between the spaces of yours, just like she’s done a thousand times before and then begins tugging you towards the porch stairs. Armin trails a few steps behind, eyes taking in the picture behind his sunglasses, “. . . Hm.”
She never lets it go as the two of you move together, steps a little shaky and uneven, due to the fact that neither of you can stop glancing at the other with shy smiles still painted in disbelief playing on your lips. This close, you can see her better. Her skin glows beneath the warm, bright bulb of the porch light and a fair dusting of beauty marks pepper the middle of her forehead, down to her nose, and cheeks. The mole that dots the edge of her upper, heart shaped lip, on the left side is still prominent. You’d always thought it made her look so pretty . . majestic even. And, she is. She’s grown to be . . . stunning, you find. With her sundress shifting softly across her thick thighs and skin moisturized with body butter that makes her soft to the touch.
And she keeps looking at you, too.
No longer quick glances, but full on staring like she’s trying to catalogue every inch of you into her brain.
Your face. Your puff. The lace that trims along the edges of the little, jean shorts you wear. Your heart thuds beneath her attention.
“You’re so pretty,” she suddenly blurts out with a cute laugh of marvel following her words. The sudden compliment makes you cover your mouth to hide your shy, wide smile at the sight of her dimples.
“You are, too.”
She ducks her head, curls slipping over her shoulder as her blush deepens until her face is nearly the shade of a ripe cherry.
“The door, baby.”
Jubie startles again, once more forgetting about the towering, six foot four man behind you both that holds five bags of groceries in his arms and goes to open the screen door then main. The hinges creak as warm air from inside the house smacks you all in the face, scented of caramelized onions, herbs, and something savory warming in the oven. When you step inside, you aren’t surprised to find the interior to be just as big as the outside. The foyer is pretty long with a coat rack hanging right beside the door, and boots, sandals, and flats stacked neatly on a rack near it too.
And as Armin steps around you two to presumably head for the kitchen, some hanging, framed pictures that hang on the walls on either side of it catch your eye. Most of scenery or animals, though one stands out from the rest . . . Jubie and Armin standing beside his truck, her with a big, dimpled grin, engulfed back to chest within his beefy arms and him, handsomely stoic faced.
Something clicks.
Jubie notices which one that catches your attention then smiles and nervously tucks a curl behind her ear that seems to be covered in more piercings than you recall. “ ‘s been me and him for a good while now.”
“Oh,” your lips round in understanding. “. . That’s sweet, Jubie.”
The nickname makes her intertwine her hands and pull them to her chest. Her voice is breathy and her tone is full of sweet awe when she says, “You still call me that.”
You let out a soft, shy laugh and look down at your shoes, “U-Uhm, yeah. You’ve always been Jubie to me.”
“Hmm,” she’s still smiling though it goes a little wary upon her mumbling, “I thought . . I thought if we ever s-saw each other again, you’d like . . run the other way.”
Her words make something in your chest grow dark. They make you feel like the air has been punched out of you in disbelief. “No. Gosh, no. Why?”
She hesitates, bites down on her bottom lip and looks down at her hand as she starts to rub at her knuckles. “For jus’ . . leavin’ you. Without sayin’ goodbye. I thought you’d be angry with me.”
For a moment, the air prickles with all the words unsaid you’ve both been meaning to express to one another after all these years if you ever saw each other. You’re pouting a little when you utter, “I mean . . I was . . . and for a long time, but . . I think I missed you, more than I was angry.”
Something crumples along the pretty features of her face, something crossed between tearful, soft, and soothed, “Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
“You gonna keep ‘er standin' in the foyer all night, doll?”
The bass sitting within Armin’s voice makes the both of you jump. Jubie huffs a small snicker, “Dang it. Sorry, c’mon.”
Somehow, the farmhouse opens up wider the deeper inside you walk. To the right is the living room as soon as you emerge from the foyer. A thick woven rug, occasionally stamped with a muddy boot print stretches along the dark wooden flooring beneath a large glass coffee table where a small platter of hard candies and a half burnt candle, scented of cashmere and vanilla, sit within the middle of. A record player has its own little corner near a shelf of vinyls about as tall as the both of you, spines worn from use and titles fading. Facing the stone fireplace is a large, soft L shaped sofa and a worn out armchair that’s been overstuffed and seemingly claimed by one person.
Likely Armin.
A faded pair of black work gloves and glass of lemonade with the ice cubes melting in it rest on the little table near the arm of it as though they’d been recently forgotten about proves so.
Jubie takes you to the open spaced kitchen. It’s bigger than the living room with its own door and screen that leads to the back of the house. Armin stands with his back facing you both, stacking some cans in the pantry. His hat has been tossed onto the table, revealing a mop of thick, sun-dark blond waves slightly dampened with sweat that stop near the nape of his neck.
He glances over his shoulder when he hears you two. Piercing blue eyes catch you, calm and measuring. They linger on yours long enough to make something in your throat knot before shifting to Jubie. “Gonna tell me how you girls know each other?”
His voice is low and sprinkled in a thick southern drawl, not full of suspicion, but just . . observance, like he simply just wants to know. Jubie shifts her weight to lightly bump her hip against yours. You bite down on a small smile. “We grew up together.”
Armin turns to face you, “In what way.”
“We were neighbors since we were six.”
A slow whistle slips out past his lips, “. . ‘s that right?”
“Mhm.”
“Y’never mentioned her, why?”
Jubie’s lips curl to the side as she pauses for a moment, “. . ‘Cause I didn’t think I’d ever see her again.”
The honesty lands in your chest similar to a knife being stabbed into a cutting board. You’d thought the same. Spent so many nights fighting to remember the features of her face if you were to see her again, so many diary entries featuring her name with the ink smudged and paper dotted in your salty tears.
The thought makes you shaky.
Armin studies you both, deep, blue eyes shifting between your faces as though he’s piecing together something unsaid before he shuts the pantry door to walk over to the sink. “Best friends, I assume.”
“Bestest friends.”
“Mmm.”
The quiet rush of running water fills the kitchen as he washes his hands. When he’s done, he shakes them out, once, before folding his arms and leaning back against the large, farmhouse sink. “You got a place you headed?”
The question is innocent but his stare is back on you again. You find it immobilizing, not to mention, how handsome he is underneath the warm, overhead lighting, standing only some feet away is enough to make your knees feel like jelly. Up close, free from his hat and sunglasses, he looks older than you first thought, too. In a way that only sharpens his rugged features in the best way possible. The small wrinkles of crows feet and rough shadow decorating his jaw makes him look seasoned. Cultivated. You pause, “U-Uhm, not . . really, sir. No.”
His eyes squint, just barely. “. . Not really.”
You look down at the kitchen flooring, “I was jus’ walking.” Your voice somehow becomes even softer upon revealing it, like saying it out loud makes it sound more senseless than it had in your brain.
You feel Jubie’s arm interlock with yours, “What?" Her voice is breathless come the new information you reveal. "You was walking out there?”
You nod while watching her eyebrows pull together, showcasing her concern. “That’s miles, ꒰ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꒱.”
“I-I know.”
Armin exhales through his nose while straightening himself back out, “Alright, take a seat. You hungry?”
The last meal you ate was nearly twenty six hours ago, you feel like you can eat an entire bison. “Yes, sir.”
He gestures to one of the seats that surround a large, wooden, oval shaped dining room table. Four seats facing each other, one at the head. No need to question who occupies that one. “Sit.” He says it this time with a bit more firmness, leaving no room for refusal or question.
Swiftly complying, you take one of the seats next to the head and let your backpack fall off of your arm to the floor against the leg of the chair. Armin grabs a lone dish rag hanging off of the oven’s door to open it and use one strong hand to grab the heavy pan from inside and let it fall against the counter with a solid thunk as steam rises from the contents inside. The scent of something savory wafts against your nose not long after and your stomach responds with a deep grumble. You watch Jubie stand on her tiptoes to grab three plates from a cabinet, hand them over to him, then walk to the fridge whose doors were embellished in colorful letter magnets, a few blurry landscape photos, and a chart . . . dotted with sparkling, star shaped stickers. You're unable to get a good look at what the chart specifically tracks because after producing a glass pitcher of lemonade from inside of it, Jubie’s closing the door back shut leaving it out of your immediate eye sight
Within a mere minute, the table is full and a plate toppled with a thick slice of cheesy, meat filled casserole, scoop of mixed vegetables, and a golden, buttered roll is sat down in front of you. For some strange reason, you find yourself wanting to cry. The scents of everything is rich, homey. You suppose Jubie’s presence only intensifies the feeling. Everything about her feels familiar, like a memory that’s been tucked away for years, nearly a decade, has been flattened back open and pressed straight.
The soft way she says your name, like she’s a bit shy to even mumble it, the cute cadence of her voice, the dimples that cave into the soft skin of her cheeks whenever she smiles at you as though she’s unable to grasp the fact that you’re really here, seated at the table, sharing a meal with her and Armin.
You both haven’t been reunited for more than fifteen minutes . . . however, the feeling of something old and dear slipping quietly back into place is hard to shake.
Neither of you really notice Armin’s observance of you both come him taking his seat at the head of the table. The minute that first bite of casserole hits your tongue has your shoulders loosening. You pull the fork from between your lips slow, letting the flavor sit there on it for a second before beginning to chew, eyes downcast on your plate.
You’ve been hungry for so long.
“You still eat so slow,” Jubie suddenly mumbles.
When you look up at her across the table, she’s smiling into her glass of lemonade prior to taking a sip.
You swallow your mouthful, “I do?”
“Mhm . . . little bites.”
“Makes it—“
“—last longer.”
A sheepish smile tugs at the corners of your soft lips before you mutter, “Shush.”
Quietly, Armin observes with his eyes drawn to the both of you, watching how you slightly lean closer to the table when speaking to Jubie, how both your voices stay soft as if you were sharing secrets instead of talking about vegetables and what your favorite kinds are now. The two of your hands reach for a napkin at the same time, and come your fingers colliding, you’re quickly pulling yours away, mumbling for her to go first.
History is threaded between you two. Deep and thorough.
Years of it.
It shows in how Jubie silently piles two more buttered rolls on your plate and how you don’t fight her about it.
Two girls. Barely grown.
The tension that was sitting in your shoulders — Armin could see it from nearly a mile away from where you were walking alongside that road, it remained there as you stood in front of his passenger door, debating on taking the ride, and even as you sat there in his seat, however now . . .
Now it's entirely gone.
He studies how you reach for your glass of lemonade with a little more purpose, how your shoulders rest, no longer curled inwards as though you were preparing for someone, anyone, to run you off, your hands are no longer balled into little, tensed fists within your lap neither. There resides something new within Jubie, too. Having been with her nearly three years now, Armin's familiarized himself with her tells. He can read the girl like a well worn book — spine cracked, ink fading, and pages softened at the edges — everything about her has been memorized by heart. Those exact tells of a small head tilt when she's watching you look away before saying something and the intense gaze of her eyes as you smile reveals that she's excited . . captivated . . curious.
He'd be blowing out smoke if he said he wasn't either.
"You said you don't have anywhere you're headin' tonight . ." Jubie nibbles on her bottom lip, eyes wide and brows softened as she looks into your own. "Y-You can sleep here . . . I mean, i-if you want. Right?" Looking over to Armin for his grace, you follow her stare to watch the man slowly cross his arms over his strong chest while leaning back within his chair.
"Ain't no sense in sendin' 'er back out there this late."
When a big, bright smile overcomes Jubie’s soft lips, you're quick to rectify, "I promise I w-won't impose. I'll do m'best to be gone by sunrise—"
"—Nonsense," slowly, he rolls his tongue across the inside of his cheek, taking heed of the exhaustion that takes physical form beneath your eyes. When you reach up to rub one with the heel of your small palm, he glances down at your plate then at Jubie’s. The both of you have already ate a good amount so he goes on to roughly utter, "You look just 'bout ready to fall over."
You do your best to straighten up, " 'm okay."
"No you ain't."
Armin jerks his chin towards the hall before speaking to Jubie, "Want you to give 'er the grand tour, show 'er the guest room. Come back down then me an' you can work on this kitchen together."
Doused in excitement and slight nerves, Jubie’s mono-lidded eyes widen before she nods, stands, and grabs your wrist. "C'mon, lemme show you."
Rising from your chair, you grab the back strap of your backpack as powder blue eyes watches the both of you move. Armin's jaw is tight, nonetheless, relaxed as he commits the picture to his memory — the bounce in Jubie’s steps, the heaviness in yours, how the two of your fingers brush against one another's as you walk beside each other. The distant feeling of this making sense crosses his mind. Jubie’s shy. Always has been since he was first introduced to her by Mrs. Loretta Bellflower, co owner of one of the best diner's these here parts have heard about, Loretta's Kitchen. She'd been a waitress there, only for a mere, few weeks before Loretta pulled Armin to the side as he was exiting the diner with his styrofoam plate in hand, heavy with three pieces of chicken fried steak, grits, and eggs.
"The girl is lost, mista Arlert," Loretta had told him with sympathy swimming within the dark pools of her eyes. She'd explained to him that Jubie’d used to be a shoe shiner for the town's parlor before Loretta's husband got her out of that, finding the job all too demeaning for a young thing like her. "I suppose now that's prob'ly why she was a shoeshiner. She's good with her hands, that's for damn sure, but she won't talk to anybody. Barely even talks to me. I can't have a waitress workin' here that can't speak."
Armin'd sucked his teeth, "Whaddya askin' me, Missus Loretta."
". . . Maybe she'd be better on the farm with you—"
"—Awe, nah—"
Loretta's gaze had turned sharp, "—You can't keep managin' all them damn acres by y'self, Armin. Gon' run y'self dry. I'm tellin' ya, she's good with her hands. I watched the girl fix a dishwasher under ten minutes. Jus' give 'er a chance."
One look at her through the diner's window and Armin had immediately sensed that there was more to the tiny, quiet thing standing behind the bar counter. He watched her stack about a dozen plates in her hands like it was nothing, noticed how she mouthed the words of a customer's order back to herself when she thought no one was watching. Yeah, she was shy, definitely — barely made eye contact with Armin for the first time after the two of them'd been working together after nearly five weeks — but there was also something else to it. She was careful . . observant . . cautious.
Watching her guide you through the hall, a hand on your bicep, careful not to jostle you too much however with just enough pressure to sweetly nudge you forward, it's obvious to many that, although small, Jubie is fiercely protective of who and what she cares about. This, the two of you, makes sense because after only having been around you for about an hour and a half now, Armin can tell that you're just as shy. And like Jubie, it's clear that you happened to stumble across this little town in Missouri unintentionally.
Whether destiny brought you here or not, Armin knows one thing is for certain: you're not walking back out of their lives tonight. Not when the weariness settled so deep within your bones makes your vulnerability as obvious as the nose on your face and surely not while Jubie’s here. Armin doesn't even think she'd let you.
"Down there is Armin's office. Boring stuff. Farm paperwork."
He watches from his position still seated at the table as you both slowly round the staircase. You listen closely, sometimes tilting your head as Jubie explains all of the quirks of their home — the cute, little reading nook beside the mud room's door, how this closet is stacked with spare pillows and blankets, and that bathroom has a window that can never fully close shut so it gets really cold in there during the winter. Obediently, you follow her around, nodding most times, before occasionally asking a small question with both hesitation and wonder coating the cadence of your voice. In turn, Jubie patiently answers them all — there's a certain rhythm to you both. Quiet and intimate.
"Send 'er to bed, sweetheart," Armin calls out when you're both finally upstairs.
"Okay!" Jubie’s voice quiets back down when speaking to you, "Guess I'll show you the rest tomorrow. This is the guest room."
When she opens the door, the faint scent of lavender and warm wood greets you both. The room is small, cozy with a pillow topped queen sized bed centered against the far wall beside a window. Its frame is made entirely out of hardwood and catches your attention first. A thick quilt, hand stitched in muted patterns printed with fern leaves and suns, covers the entire mattress and adds a rustic charm. In front of the bed, against its own wall is a simple dresser made of the same wood of the headboard. A small ceramic lamp with its shade decorated with hopping hares sits on top of it.
There's an old chair sitting in front of the long, narrow window near the foot of the bed as well and holds a thin blanket that's been draped over the back of it. The air feels calm . . safe, almost as if its been waiting for you.
"I think I have . . ." Jubie never finishes her sentence because after sliding open one of the dresser's drawers and shuffling through it for a moment, she produces a thin, pink pair of shorts and loose t shirt, about two sizes bigger than your regular. "Here. You can keep them too, if you want."
"Oh," tenderly, you take them with a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Jubie."
She watches you slowly walk over to the bed to take a seat and instantly, your body sinks into the mattress, making her suddenly giggle, "Okay, yeah. You're super tired. I'll leave you be." Stepping within the doorway, for a second, she hesitates and lingers within it to watch you rub your hand over the material of the quilt, finding it to be much softer than it appeared.
"Uhm . ."
When your eyes snap back up to hers, fingers still delicately tracing the scalloped stitching, she closes her mouth then gives a small shake of her head, leaving her curls crushing up against her mole dotted cheeks as she does. "We'll see you in the mornin', 'kay? . . Gnight."
Still smiling, you nod while clutching the fabric of the t shirt and shorts in your hand, "Okay. Sleep well."
She lingers for a bit longer, just enough to give you a final warm glance before she fully exits while softly shutting the door behind herself. The faint click of the latch fastening makes you sigh and fall back against the pillows. You allow the weight of the day to melt within your bones as the strange comfort being here, near Jubie . . near Armin, underneath their roof, become a gentle reminder that you're fed and safe. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, after you've gotten undressed and into the pajamas Jubie had given you then bury yourself beneath the quilt in bed, you think that you can hear the distant mutter of their voices downstairs, nonetheless, exhaustion overtakes you, leaving the world to darken.
・・・・・
Sunlight streams in through lacy, white curtains the next morning which paints the guest room in shades of amber.
And sweet scents of yeast and wood waft about the farmhouse as you stir beneath the comforter that's somehow gotten itself tangled around your limbs. Your eyelids are heavy with sticky remnants of tears that cling on tight to the wisps of your lashes as you fight to open them. Nightmares. They've been reoccurring since the day you turned eight. And while some nights are better than others, waking up only once from them has become a victory . . some are worse. Last night'd been moderate. Only three times did you gasp yourself conscious, only to find yourself here in this room, on Armin's farm, with him and Jubie only two rooms away . . . and the thought of them had been calming enough to lull you back into a slumber each time.
One look at the alarm clock on the nightstand beside the bed and upon reading 10:37 am, the time makes you sit up slowly while rubbing your hands over your face, trying your best to fight off the drowsiness that still stubbornly lingers through your veins while fishing through your backpack for your toothbrush.
You didn't mean to sleep so late. You're not even supposed to still be here.
After brushing your teeth in the tiny guest bathroom across the hall from the bedroom, peeling your pajamas off and sliding into the only other outfit your bag holds, which is another pair of shorts, this pair a bubblegum pink, with a flowy white top, you're quick to redo your hair, and make your way downstairs where Al Green's Let's Stay Together drifts from an old, radio speaker and meets you halfway towards the kitchen.
The warm smell of biscuits and sausage makes your tummy rumble. And standing in front of the stove, in a pair of dark denim overalls, tiny strapless crop top, and boots is Jubie. She hums softly to the song while standing on her tip toes to grab a specific biscuit from off the pan with a pair of steel tongs. Her head of curls are pulled up today in a large ponytail with a claw clip. The sight of her makes something in your chest constrict. Bathed within the morning sun, she somehow looks even prettier.
At the sound of your footsteps, she turns her head, eyes widening just for a moment before a big, bright smile overtakes her glossy lips, "Mornin'."
"Good morning," your cheeks feel warm as you walk over to the table. "I . . I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake up so late."
You take a seat as she slides a plate of scrambled eggs, biscuits, and sausage on over to you, " 's okay, ꒰ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꒱ ," her voice is soft while she walks over to the fridge. "We don't mind. We hope you slept well."
We.
Your eyes scan the kitchen and hallway as your ears tune in more intensely for a sound of a gruff, deep Mississippi drawl or grumble, but nothing. You gather that he must be out working. "Oh." Jubie’s setting a cold jar of grape jelly beside your plate alongside a pitcher of what appears to be fresh squeezed apple juice. "Y-Yeah, I slept fine."
You can feel her staring at you as she takes the seat beside you today with a biscuit held between her fingers. You only manage to take a bite of your sausage link and chew three times before she's suddenly giving a small gasp, ". . You still have those nightmares?"
Instincts scream at you to deny her claim so you do, "No. I don't, I swear—"
"—Don't lie," she's coo'ing in soft consolation while scooting closer to the edge of her seat to somehow get a better look at your face now that you won't make eye contact. "See? You're still tired."
The pout she wears only makes you want to do the same. "Jubie, 'm fine—"
"—You are not." Her voice is soft but there remains a certain layer of firmness that makes your chest grow tight. One of her hands reach out, and her fingers hesitate before she ultimately decides to touch your forearm. ". . You're clammy. You were sweatin' in your sleep . . . You're worn out, ꒰ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꒱ ."
"That's okay—"
The huff of a man clearing his throat from debris breaks the conversation in two. Both of your heads lift to watch Armin walk down the hall with the screen door slamming shut behind him. The closer he gets, the more you tense. When he's standing within the arched threshold of the kitchen, large, stocky frame nearly spanning from edge to edge, you can hardly swallow your last bite of biscuit. He has on another cowboy hat today, this one a deep, chocolate brown, some spots of it well worn where his fingers have gripped it too much over the years. He looks at you two girls while pulling off of his work gloves slowly. "Mornin', lil miss," He soon mumbles while walking closer to the table. "Sleep alright?"
The biscuit is forced down your esophagus by your tongue, "Y-Yes sir."
Jubie doesn't say much but you can feel some disappointment radiating off of her in small waves.
Licking your lips, you suddenly stand which takes the both of them by slight surprise. Armin's hand finds a grip on one of the chairs' back while Jubie straightens her spine, "Thank you both for allowin' me to spend the night, I really appreciate it."
When you grab your bag, Jubie’s bolting up on her feet. "W . . Wait. Where are you goin'?"
". . 'm not sure yet, but—"
"—You don't have to leave so soon," she gently interrupts with the springs of her hair bouncing slightly as she takes a step closer your way. "C'mon, ꒰ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꒱ . Please? You jus' woke up, ain't even had a chance to breathe yet. Eat . . . S-Stay a little longer."
You won't lie. A large part of you is startled by the insistence layered beneath her tone. Her words aren't demanding, but there's a small edge — one she's only ever used with you. Tenderness intertwined tightly with tenacious care. And it's always been hard to deny her when she looks at you like that. Feline shaped eyes somehow wide and full of hope with her dimples forming in the soft dough of her cheeks.
You nibble on your bottom lip, "I—"
Armin's voice cuts through, deep and quiet, "Jubie’s jus' worried about ya', 's all. And she's got a point, too. Ain't no shame in stayin' till y'ready to move. You must've been walkin' a long time yesterday."
His words land heavy within you all. Part of you still wants to protest. You never want to be that person who overstays their welcome. But, your body feels like lead. The muscles of your calves still strain, shoulders ache, and spine feels taut — you're tired.
Jubie doesn't give you a chance to make a decision. Quickly, she interlocks her arm within yours to lead you towards the hall, "C'mon. I'll show you the rest of the house and then I'll give you a tour of the farm. You'll love it, I promise. The animals love meetin' new people. I think you'll like Junebug the most . . ."
・・・・・
Somehow, in some way, Armin’s farm is more beautiful than it appears.
After the rest of the house tour is completed, Jubie’s leading you out of the back door first, down a smooth, dirt path. The late morning air is warm and carries the scent of damp earth and hay as you silently follow behind her while twisting at the small, gold bracelet encircled around your wrist. Your eyes dart about, taking in the world around you that appears both wild yet meticulously cared for. The barns are first — both sets of doors wide open as if they were welcoming you two in. Pointing up at the hayloft of the bigger one, Jubie spins on her heels with a sweet giggle, “I like to nap up there sometimes. ‘s peaceful.”
You can picture her, curled up on a cushion, eyes closed, lips parted as sparkles of dust dance within the golden beams of sunlight squeezing in through the barn’s narrow slats. She takes you to the chicken coop after where the hens cluck hello and pick at the feed she holds out in her palm. You smile with your hands interlocked in front of your lips, amazed at how calm she is surrounded by nearly a dozen of them. “They’re sweet, but not as sweet as m’Junebug.” Junebug turns out to be a young goat. Happily he bleats while nudging into her touch as the three of you stand within a field of bright, green grass. You can’t help but to kneel and give him a soft pet which he responds sweetly too — a louder bleat, turns away from Jubie and pushes more into your hand.
Showing you the horses is next. They graze about a wide fenced paddock beside the barn and she points towards the more leaner one with a shiny, chestnut colored coat and dark mane. “Sonnet’s mine.” The other is more broad through the chest, strong, with a deeper, chocolate tone. “That’s Claude. Armin’s. He’s . . . mean and stubborn, only ever listens to Armin, but he’s loyal.”
As if to prove a point, Claude gives a small wuffle while continuing to chew on a handful of hay like the interaction with you both is barely worth his time. You can’t help but softly snicker. “He’s handsome.”
Jubie giggles, “Yeah, he is . . . such a meanie though.”
Further down the paddock is a third horse. You can tell he’s younger than the other two almost immediately. Body not quite proportioned yet, with long legs and a little less muscular than Claude. He seems strong, even so. Anyone looking at him can see that he’ll grow into a lot of power.
“That’s Samson,” Jubie murmurs with a soft smile as you both walk a little closer to him. “Armin brought him home, like . . eight months ago. Someone was sellin’ him for dirt cheap ‘cause he’s too erratic for work.”
He takes a few, curious steps closer to the fence. His golden coat shines like honey beneath the sunlight as he breathes a warm puff of air towards you while lowering his head over the rail. Hesitatingly, you reach out . . and he doesn’t flinch when your fingertips brush over the long bridge of his nose. “Hi Samson,” you whisper. “He’s so sweet.” Erratic. You don’t see it one bit as he nudges his face into your hand for another loving stroke.
Jubie’s wearing a wide grin while flicking her eyes between you both, “Maybe he’s found his rider, finally.”
The corn field, sugarcanes, then beyond them, nestled between rolling hills of green is a small forest. Jubie tells you that a creek runs through it, shallow but beautiful, and while staring off at it, you feel the gravitating pull — knowing that it promises hidden nooks and sweet solitude when needed. When you both make it back towards the house, she casually calls your attention to the two, long rows of clothesline strung between strong posts. Your eyes denote the fabrics gently swaying on a breeze. Soft cottons and linens, in between them, some daintier, frilly, and threaded with bows and lace. Warmth floods your cheeks as you quickly look away towards Armin’s plaid flannels and sun faded jeans. What’s more interesting are the stuffed animals, clipped by their ears as they also swing softly in the wind — a plush, white bunny, chubby, pink pig, and classic soft brown teddy bear. “Armin’s up usually super early in the mornin’,” Jubie softly says when you’re both entering the house’s back door again. “Usually five, four if he got enough sleep. He feeds everybody, makes sure that they have fresh water, makes a round through the fields to also make sure nobody or nothin’ got in durin’ the night.
“Then, he usually heads down the hill to check the mailbox, talk t’a few of our neighbors if he’s in the mood. Makes a cup of coffee, reads the paper, sits out on the porch and smokes after he’s done. He don’t talk much in them moments but . . if y’ever happen to wake up with him then jus’ . . watch. You’ll find that it’s nice.”
You both have stopped in the hall, next to the stairwell. She stands on the second step, arms on the banister, chin resting on them. The tour’d been long, you have no doubt that she’s a little bit winded because you are too. Her words make you hesitate. She speaks like there’s a chance that ever could happen.
“After that, he’s usually patchin up the barns, fixin’ fences, checkin’ irrigation an’ stuff. He’s always busy, always movin’. But he always has an eye out and his ears open too. He’s amazin’.”
The way her voice drifts off on a sweet tilt makes your heart thud a little harder in your chest. Hearing her talk about him is sweet. It reminds you that this is their life. This home, this farm — it’s all something that’s been built, long before you winded up on their porch. Before you can say anything else, Jubie perks up with her eyes wide, “Ooh, hold on a second — I gotta, uhm, I gotta pee.”
You listen to her boots scamper upstairs which leaves you still standing there beside the banister. For a moment, you don’t move. You gather in a long, deep breath through your nose then blow it out of your mouth. Nine years.
Nine years and Jubie has managed to build a safe, secure life.
A life you’re only peeking your head in to admire before you exit again. Your eyes slowly scale along the dark walls, framed photos, and soft hum of the whirling ceiling fan in the living room. Jubie’s touch is everywhere — in some of the vinyls by artists you know she’s always loved that play peekaboo between the others, the cute, worn sandals lined beside the door, and hand stitched, decor pillows that have been attentively placed in a specific order on the couch. As much as you see her in the home, you see Armin as well. The wallet and truck keys tossed carelessly on a side table, messy notebooks full of quickly scrawled measurements and sketches of some barn renovations prove so.
The delicate scent of tobacco smoke carries the weight of him too. All of the tiny imperfections and purposeful placements tell stories of a man and girl in love and maintaining a sweet, peaceful life together.
Maybe you should leave now. Maybe it’s better to before your yearning gets worse. Whether said yearning is in regards to the stability and calmness that’s maintained here, their life, or something even deeper — you shake your head before your brain starts to spiral.
You walk to the door, bend to grab your bag from beside it, push a hand out on the screen and step outside.
Soft, healthy grass brush against your ankles as you track your way across the yard towards the driveway after hopping off of the porch. Distantly, you think about the route you saw Armin drive to get here. Maybe there will be a rest stop somewhere out there if you start walking now.
Nevertheless, you don’t make it far.
Near the parked truck, leaned against the fence with a boot on the lower post behind him, Armin slowly wraps a long, tattered rope around his palm. The material of his gloves creak between each completed loop as ice blue eyes watch you from beneath the shadow of his hat that’s been pulled a little bit lower on his forehead. You’re whispering something to yourself, something he can’t really hear.
“Headin ‘ out already?”
His voice makes you startle and freeze about ten feet away from the truck within that field of grass. He watches your hands tighten around the should straps of your backpack. “U-Uhm,” your voice is soft. He can barely hear it over the breeze. “Yeah.”
You watch him finish that last loop of the rope around his hand before he rings the completed pile of it on one of the fence’s wooden posts. He straightens out then, starts to take his gloves off, “. . Does Jubie know that?”
A twist in your gut tells you not to lie to him, so you don’t. “No, sir.”
He hums, walking over to you slow while snatching the other glove off, “Yeah,” he inhales a breath, reaches behind him to shove them in his back pocket. “Funny thing about boltin’ . . folks usually do it before settlin’ in.”Armin looks down at the picture you make when he’s standing about two feet away from you. Posture slumped over, big, brown eyes locked somewhere on his chest to avoid his own. “House this big, only two people livin’ in it . . . plenty a’room f’a third pair of boots by the door,” a sharp, blue eyed gaze flicks across the pretty features of your face. “You ain’t exactly crowdin’ nobody.”
Your eyes fall down to your shoes before you slowly begin to rock from left to right on them, “. . ‘s not that simple,” is your mumbled reply.
“Most things ain’t, lil lady.”
For a moment, you two stand there, bathed in silence. You listen to the wind whistle against your ears, feeling Armin’s unmoving gaze locked on every little movement you make. Your brain fights to compartmentalize his words. Stay . . . It’s while you’re asking yourself ‘why should you?’ when the house’s front, screen door suddenly is pushed open. You hear the swift pats of bare feet slapping against the porch steps before they’re moving across the grass.
“What’re you doin . . .”
Jubie’s voice is soft, but hearing it still makes something in your heart pang.
Halfway, you turn to look at her taking in how she stands about six feet away with her arm hugged across her stomach, eyes wide as she stares into your own before they flick towards Armin then back at you. She looks scared . . confused, taken aback. All three. Especially upon noticing the backpack you carry. Quieter, she asks, “You leavin’?”
You swallow. Standing between them both makes you feel like you’ve been caught in the middle of something that wasn’t even supposed to be disturbed. “. . I feel like ‘ve stayed for too long already, Jules.”
Owlishly, she blinks at that, “Stayed too long?”
Armin knows not to interrupt. He folds his arms while taking in the picture of two girls standing a few yards apart on his field. One frozen, nearly halfway gone, the other who’s appearance and voice makes it seem as though the ground is halfway close to crumbling beneath her feet without warning. He watches Jubie take two steps forward, “B-But you jus’ got here yesterday. That ain’t too long.”
“I jus’,” you’re looking down at your feet again while moving some grass around with one. “I don’t wanna get used to this, that’s all.”
Your words hang between the three of you — dense and honest.
“This is your life. Your home. And I jus’ . . showed up outta nowhere—“
Jubie’s lips are beginning to pull with a frown, “—You didn’t jus’ show up. You found me.”
“Jubie—“
“—Did I s-say or do somethin’ wrong?”
“No,” is quickly said as you shake your head. “You didn’t. Cross m’heart.” She didn’t.
“Then why are you runnin’?”
That word makes you tense, “ ‘m not runnin’.”
Armin drags out a quiet, dry hum that reveals to you he doesn’t quite believe that either.
Jubie steps all the way forward until only about two are left between you both. Her eyes are searching yours for something when she says, “I used to sleep over at your house every weekend . . .” Memories of you both laying side by side on your tiny, twin sized mattress snap through your brain — nuzzled up against each other for warmth as you whispered into the dark, long after your bedtimes. The hum of your old box fan and venom filled spats drifting from underneath the crack of your door from your parents’ room acting as a backdrop. “We used to make plans at lunch about runnin’ away . . to somewhere safe. This is safe. Here with Armin is safe. Jus’ stay.” She’s reaching for your backpack strap to slowly begin to peel it off of your shoulder. “I can show you the creek—“
You’re pulling yourself away with a soft, nervous smile pulling at your lips, “I jus’ don’t wanna overstay, Jubie.”
Armin finds himself staring at it. That warbled smile . . . before his eyes shift down to the new, exposed skin of your back through your top where an old splotch of blue and purple decorate the soft, brown skin near the bone of your shoulder. It’s pure coincidence that when the pieces align, you end up mumbling, “I h-have people lookin’ for me.” Your voice is thin. “I think he’s still tryin’ to find me.”
Jubie blinks, “. . . What do you mean?”
Armin hums, eyes fixed on that bruise for a second longer before he utters, “That so.”
“I left about . . eight days ago now,” you reply, voice quiet.
“Boyfriend?” Jubie asks.
“Barely.”
Armin’s tone remains calm yet you can still hear that something beneath it has shifted when he questions, “That fella the one that put that color on your shoulder?”
Instinctively, you reach to touch it while those big, brown eyes flutter up to his in shock. The question isn’t harsh . . just unexpected. A deep frown overtakes Jubie’s lips as the familiar sheen of tears begin to gloss the surface of her eyes, “. . He hurt you?” Her voice cracks. “W-Why didn’t you tell me?”
You don’t know what to say, so you don’t utter a word. Denying their claims would be foolish when it’s obvious what’s going on. Jubie could always read your flimsy, little tells anyhow.
Armin exhales slowly through his nose, hands settling on his hips as he looks out towards the sloping, dirt road behind you. His eyes cling onto the landscape as though he’s measuring the distance . . like he’s imagining someone stupid enough to come slugging up here. “Been alone this whole time?”
After a few seconds, you give a timid nod.
He scratches slowly at the scruff of his jaw before saying one, simple word, “Alright.”
It’s in the manner of how he says it which makes you and Jubie look up at him. Like something’s been decided.
You opt to take a chance by taking one step back as your nervous systems still screams at you to bolt however, before your foot can even settle completely in the grass, pinning, blue eyes settle on yours beneath the shadow of his hat brim. Silently, he shakes his head. Don’t. “Somebody comes sniffin’ around here lookin’ for a girl who don’t wanna be found, they gonna have a real hard time doin’ so.”
Something cracks opens within your chest, something akin to hope — a feeling you haven’t felt in a long, long time. It spills over into places that have been dark within you for years.
“Ain’t many folks daft enough to come pokin’ ‘round on my land uninvited anyhow.”
His statement isn’t loud. Doesn’t need to be. He doesn’t ask neither. His boots crush over loose pebbles as he starts his trek towards his truck, “Sandwiches for you girls’ll be ready in an hour.” He opens the driver door. “. . Take ya’ over to the creek afterwards.”
The realization settles in slowly. For both you and Jubie. He isn’t asking, he isn’t offering. You’ve been decided for and he’s making room.
You hear Jubie breathe out a shaky breath. When you look at her, she’s covering a big smile with trembling fingers. You can practically feel the happiness beaming off of her and waves. “. .You hear that?”
Your heart thuds against your chest.
“You’re stayin’.”
Disbelief cradles your voice as you weakly ask, “. . I am?”
“Uh huh,” she mumbles while inching closer to you. A sweet pout overtakes your lips. This feeling . . .
It’s strange and unfamiliar. But it’s warm and overpowering, too. For so long, you’ve been feeling displaced. Never stopping long enough to keep a fulfilling connection with anyone — always moving. Always running. And now here you are. Standing here on the massive acres of a quiet farm in rural Missouri while your childhood best friend gazes at you as if she’d just received something precious back that she lost years ago. Your eyes drift towards Armin’s truck when you hear the engine purr to life. He doesn’t look back again. He doesn’t need to. He knows what and who will be waiting for him when he gets back.
“C’mere.” Jubie’s gently squeezing your hand before tugging you back towards the house. “Let’s go get you settled in.”
・・・・・
When the sun has finally settled beneath the horizon, the moon hangs high within the sky, and dinner has been made, served, and ate, Jubie finds herself seated on the kitchen counter. The farm is quiet. The house is too.
You retired off to bed early — finished eating, took a long shower, then let the guest bedroom door close behind you with a soft click. Jubie had done the same. Only instead of slipping off to bed, she’d tip toe downstairs, around the banister, down the hall, to head to the kitchen where she’d found her lover pouring a glass half full of whisky with two ice cubes in it. He’s still the only one dressed, only now, without his hat. Jubie can’t help but admire him as he takes a gulp to the head — tilting his own back with the strong etch of his jaw flexing as he clamps his mouth closed, swallows, then breathes out a slow, deep breath after.
She picks at the frayed hem of one of his old wife beaters she’s stolen for the night as neither of them speak for a while. Serenity. That’s what Armin brings. Being with him has taught her what quiet is supposed to feel like when it isn’t dangerous — not the kind that makes her listen for footsteps creeping towards her door or the kind that culminates into something horrible happening next.
Just sweet silence. Heavy in the best way.
Jubie lets her eyes drag up the strong line of his body slowly. It’s what she always does when she thinks he isn’t looking.
But Armin feels it. He knows. He always does.
His steps toward her are unhurried and slow. He’s taking another sip from his glass when he stops directly in front of her. While swallowing, the ice clinks softly as he lowers his hand then utters, “You shouldn’t be up.”
Jubie hums, “I know.”
“Mm.”
The wind whistles outside, in between the wooden chimes hanging from a hook near the kitchen’s back door. “. . Thank you, Papa” she soon says while her fingers tug at the shirt hem again. “For lettin’ her stay.”
Armin’s hand falls flat upon the counter near her hip. “Ain’t nothin’ I had to think too much about.” He reads the softness that sits on her pretty, feline like features, not surprised to watch her soon say, “She feels . . more fragile.”
It’s a conversation that’s been waiting to happen. Armin knows that Jubie’s been watching you like a hawk for he has too. That’s why he doesn’t deny it.
He nods, once. Slowly. “She does.”
Jubie’s lips scrunch to the side as her eyes flick quickly from side to side behind Armin as if her thoughts were caught up in a whirlwind. “She kept sayin’ that she doesn’t wanna overstay . . . ‘s like she’s waitin’ to get told to leave or something.”
Armin exhales slowly through his nose, looks down at his glass, before pulling it towards his lips, “She remind me a’you.”
Jubie blinks and refocuses her sight back to him. “. . Me?”
“Mhm. Shy . . . Cautious. Too soft for a world that don’t care if ya’ soft or not.”
He says it like it’s not an observation but recognition. A pause settles between them again as Jubie takes it in.
“World eats up girls like that,” He continues on a gruff drawl. “Quiet ones. Sweet ones. The ones that don’t raise hell when they should . . . and I don’t like watchin’ it happen.”
His words land heavily. It makes her breathe out a small, shaky breath which makes his arm loop around her waist to tug her closer to him. “We have a lotta history, Pa,” she mewls with her eyes fixed on a button of his flannel that she fiddles with. “Me and her . . we grew up together. And her parents . . . weren’t good to her. Like, ever. Was always fightin’, always loud, only paid her attention when they had to. I’d go to her house sometimes just so that she wouldn’t be alone. Sometimes she came to mine, but it was always durin’ the day ‘cause I didn’t want her around . . when m’stepdad . . .” She suddenly stops, swallows, and shakes her head. Armin sets his glass down.
“Hey,” he drags out lowly. “ ‘s okay, lil one.”
“ ‘m sorry—“
Armin’s fitting the bottom of her jaw between the web of his index and thumb to pull her face up for deep, slow pecks to her lips. That apology dies on her tongue because it isn’t needed. The sound of the sets of them meeting then pulling away are sticky and loud within the calmness of the kitchen. He doesn’t want her to think about it. And truth be told, he doesn’t want to think about it. The rage he’s susceptible to feeling each time he’s reminded of what his girl has gone through is enough to have Armin seeing red behind his eyes.
The anger crawling up his spine is something old yet violent however he inhales slowly while pulling away, brushing his forehead against hers to force the feeling back down where it belongs. Because Jubie deserves calm more than she deserves vengeance.
“None a’that was your fault,” he mumbles, eyes closed while breathing her in. “. . Understand me? Don’t apologize for nothin’ like that.”
He feels her faint nod, “I know.”
But the frailty that underlines her tone tells him that knowing and believing are two different things. He tilts his head down once more, brushing a smaller kiss against that pretty mole that sits upon the line of her upper lip, near her cupids bow.
“I never wanted her t’see that part of my life back then,” she says. “She used to ask me to sleep over sometimes . . and I used t’make a bunch of excuses . . she probably knew I was lying.”
Jubie nods with a sad frown pulling at her lips before her gaze drifts out towards the hall. “I liked bein’ there for her . . more than she knew. She always had these nightmares. Real bad ones. Would wake up breathin’ like she ran a mile . . sometimes I’d wake up to her sobbin’ in ‘er sleep and I’d make her listen to m’heartbeat jus’ to calm ‘er down.”
Armin pictures that — a younger Jubie and you. Two small girls crammed side by side on a tiny mattress somewhere in a house that never felt safe enough. Jubie’s little arms wrapped around you with your face pressed against her chest as the two of you breathed together. He imagines you clutching her shirt in your sleep. Jubie coo’ing against your bonnet until your crying stopped. His jaw tightens.
“. . That right?”
Jubie’s fingers pick at his flannel again, “She used to say that m’house felt calmer. And I mean . . it wasn’t. Not really. But our days were quieter. My momma would be sleepin’ off whatever she drank the night before, brother out ditchin’ with his no good friends, and uhm, he’d be at work so . .” she huffs a quiet, timid breath. “For a few hours, me and her could pretend that our lives were normal.”
Deep, blue eyes study her face. “Sometimes that’s enough.”
Jubie processes that while looking down at her small, nimble fingers, “. . Yeah. It was.”Quieter, she whispers, “. . . I want her to stay, Dad.” The words come out as though she’s been dying to finally say them. She sounds exhausted. “F-Feels like if she leaves . . I won’t ever see her again. Again.”
“I know, honeybee,” Armin leans in to press a long kiss against her forehead. “I know.”
And upstairs, the quiet guest room echos with your deep, sleeping breaths — completely unaware to the two people downstairs are already quietly deciding on molding their lives to fit you in it.
・・・・・
Learning to live with Armin and Jubie on the farm is quieter than you expected.
Not an empty, aching quiet. Just . . . steady.
Out here, the silence breathes — sweet and peaceful so at first, you simply wait for it. A slammed door or harsh curse so that you can bolt first thing. But neither happens. Mornings start early . . mostly for Armin, that is. Usually, he’s waking up before the sun . . his footsteps heavy and slow as he lugs himself around the bedroom. Sometimes you hear the pipes groan as he gets a shower going. He’s always in there for about fifteen minutes tops before their bedroom door is opening. What’s odd . . is sometimes you can hear his footsteps stop for a split second before he walks downstairs.
Near your door. Like he’s listening for your breathing through the walls — checking to see if you’re still here.
You suppose that whenever he’s satisfied with whatever it is he’s doing, he then carries on down the staircase.
Jubie’s different in the mornings.
Quieter, softer. She’s up about an hour later. Hour and a half is she stayed up longer the night before. On a rare morning when the both of you happen to open your doors at the same time, you found her standing at the top of the staircase, preparing to walk down. Her curvy, little frame sheathed by a thin nightgown as she held a stuffed bunny within the crook of her elbow. Its fur curly, worn soft, and eggshell white with beady black eyes and a pink, triangular shaped nose. Sticking out of her silk, baby blue bonnet were her curls as she rubbed her eye with a fist.
Something about the sight had made your heart stutter on its next beat. During the days, Jubie’s shy. She’s shy yet giggly and spirited and vibrant. During the nights she becomes quieter, a little more reflective as though she’s sorting through pieces of the day and things she doesn’t yet know how to say out loud. But the mornings, you think the mornings house your favorite version of Jubie.
“Mornin’,” she had smiled softly. Mole dotted lips, bleary brown eyes, and dimples. You swallowed, “Gmorning.”
She always asks . . . “You sleep okay?”
“Mhm. I t-think so.”
And then she always studies you for a few seconds — you suppose to make sure that you aren’t lying to her. It’s when your stay with them inches into nearly eight later when you gently ask Jubie, “Do you think that I can help out with the farm, too . . ?”
She’d been curled up on the couch, knitting a blanket with that same, familiar bunny tucked in close beside her folded knees. You learned that its, her, name was Babs. “I dunno,” her lips quirked up with a small, cute smile as she kept her eyes focused on her swift moving fingers. “You’d have to ask Armin.”
Armin.
“Oh.” Suddenly your body feels like an olive being held up on only two toothpicks. That. You picked up on it, instantly — how she says his name like it’s both a boundary and permission slip. Jubie’s aware that Armin intimidates you. She knows without you having to say it. Your sentences so far have been curt when speaking to him and eye contact is barely made. When the two of you happen to be in a room alone, you’re quick to suddenly dismiss yourself up to your own or outside to sit upon the porch. It bothers Jubie a bit, she’ll be honest.
That’s why she glances up at you to softly say, “He’s not mean, ꒰ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꒱. Jus’ particular. Especially ‘bout the farm. ‘Bout things bein’ done right.”
You shake your head quickly with the lie already sitting on your tongue, “I don’t think he’s mean.”
Jubie’s head tilts. She doesn’t say much, only gives a look that rather reveals her true, obvious thought before softly sighing and leaning bank further against the couch cushions while pulling Babs closer to her chest. “He’ll say yes.”
“Really?”
“Mhm,” she hums. “He watches you a lot.”
That single sentence makes your heart drop in a way you can’t fully explain as she continues with, “Not in a bad way . . jus’ . .” softly, “his way.”
Your fingers pull at the hem of the loose nightshirt you still wear as you shift your foot to curl your toes over the top of your opposite one. You’re not sure the statement comforts you. Intuitively, you turn your head to look out towards the living room’s entry, down the hall, thinking that Armin might just appear from inside the walls at the sheer mention of his name. Jubie giggles softly, “He’s not inside.”
Shyly, you stammer, “I wasn’t—“
“—He checks on you too. In the early mornings sometimes.”
Your heart skips as you go to softly press your lips together at the confirmation of your thoughts being true. Jubie’s only glancing at you now as she works her needles a bit slower. “He doesn’t . . think I notice, I guess,” she continues quietly. Beneath her tone reads fondness — like she’s been wanting to say this for quite a little bit now. “But I do.”
You think about those heavy footsteps and how still the house goes in between those long pauses. “W-Why?”
“He wants to be careful, I think,” she says. The answer feels incomplete, as though there’s more to it but Jubie decides to leave it there for now. You’re made to stand there with your mind silently racing as the distant crunch of boots against dirt and pebbles grows closer and closer towards the front door. They make it towards the end of the trail and up the porch steps before the screen door is being pulled open with a creak and the front is pushed.
Armin steps inside the house carrying the scent of sun warmed leather, grass, and something like gasoline with him when he slowly exits the foyer to stand there within the living room’s large, curved threshold. A cream, suede cowboy hat’s brim shadows his eyes for a split second before he knocks it up to really get a look at you two girls. Jubie curled up on the couch, you standing beside the arm of it like you’d been caught doing something wrong. Arctic blue eyes settle on you as he slowly pulls off one of his gloves, finger by finger, to then hold in his hand while reaching his new, bare one towards his back pocket.
“Was thinkin’ me and you girls head off into town,” he mumbles while opening a box of marlboros to pull a stick out with practiced ease without looking at his hands. “Two a’you can’t share a wardrobe forever.”
Gently, Jubie gasps as her face instantly brightens, “Shoppin’?”
“Mhm,” he pulls it to his lips along with a hand cupped around the flame emitting from the valve of a gold zippo held between his fingers. “Truck. Outside. Fi’teen minutes.”
He begins the trek down the hall towards his office near the back of the house and you can’t help but let your stare linger on the wide span of his shoulders stretching the black fabric of a nicely fitted button down whose sleeves have been pulled halfway up the strong line of his arms dusted in dark blond hair. Built like an ox. You’ve heard the saying before but have never seen someone who fit it until him. The attractive taper off his waist is more pronounced due to a brown, leather belt being pulled through the loops of his tailored levis that hug the firm shape of his glutes.
You like the way he walks.
Not particularly lazy when it comes to his speed, just . . unhurried. A quiet kind of saunter. There’s heavy weight transferred into each long stride of his legs as his hips naturally sway — not in an exaggerated way. It’s a movement that’s simply hard not to notice when the person’s wearing well fitted denim. When he suddenly turns his head over his shoulder to look at you, your gaze clashes with his, causing you to lightly startle.
On a low drawl he says,“Got you some boots too, sweetheart. By the front door.” Before he’s opening his office door to step inside then close it behind himself.
When he’s gone, you suddenly feel like you can breathe again.
And twenty minutes later, per his instructions, you and Jubie are seated upon the cracked vinyl of his Ford’s bench seat, you in the middle, Jubie passenger, as four wheels roll you all closer and closer to town. Your toes slowly wiggle within your new boots as tall rows of wheat lazily sway as Armin drives with one of his hands resting high on the wheel and his other arm hanging out of the window. Ever so often you feel his gaze, covered by his black tinted, aviator sunglasses, drift towards your face within the rear view mirror. Not long enough to completely be a stare, not short enough to be only a glance either.
You listen to Jubie softly hum along to the music he plays as she walks her pretty, manicured fingers up and down the length of your palm that she holds in her lap out of boredom. Whenever the truck hits a small bump in the road, it subtly knocks the three of your bodies against each other though no one makes an effort to adjust or even acknowledge. You recognize when town is getting closer because about fifteen minutes later, Armin’s pulling his Ford over the gravel of an old gas station before he parks by a pump.
“Ol’ girl needs gas.”
Jubie perks up beside you, “May I go pay, please? They have those caramel apple suckers I like here.”
Armin cuts his eyes towards the little convenience store, spotting not another soul but the cashier inside before he’s slipping a fifty dollar bill from his thick, rubber banded wallet and into the small palm of Jubie’s hand.
“Twenty five on one. Don’t wander.”
When Jubie reaches for the door handle without responding to his words, interestingly enough, Armin’s voice has to grow softer for her to suddenly tense and pause to look at him. “Hey,” he hums, eyes piercing through hers through the lenses of his shades. “You say what? Yes . .”
Jubie nibbles on her bottom lip then quietly, “Yes, sir. I won’t wander. Pinkie promise.”
“That’s right,” he mumbles then juts his chin towards the store. “Go on now.”
Jubie’s opening the door and giving a small hop to land on her feet from the high risen truck. You swallow, watching her cutely skip towards the doors, cocoa butter scented curls bouncing behind her. Then you realize . . .
It’s just you and him.
The world feels smaller now. And he doesn’t move right away. The thumb on the wheel begins to lightly tap at it as the both of you stare out of the windshield listening to the door jingles when she disappears inside. When everything else goes quiet, you listen to him inhale a small breath and squeeze your hands into fists come his incoming question, “You always watch her like that?”
Your mouth dries, “. . L-Like what?”
The side of his mouth dips to respond with an expression saying ‘Who knows?’ “Like she might float away if you don’t.”
Your chin dips close to your chest. “I jus’ . .” you pause, trying to look for words to say but find them all inadequate to describe your feelings. “I don’t know . . .”
Silence settles for a little bit. You feel him turn his head an inch to look at you. “. . Y’nervous ‘round me?”
The question makes you instinctively shake your head, “No, sir.”
He waits. And you feel it — the ever growing pressure of someone who knows that you’re not telling the full truth.
You remain staring at your hands. “. . Jus’ a little.”
A small breath is puffed through his nose — not a sound of amusement, something more like recognition. “Tell me why.”
“You’re . .” once more, your brain scrambles while trying to search for the correct word — the perfect one that describes the sheer density that caves into your chest each time you happen to meet his eye. “Y-You’re really big.”
The minute the sentence leaves your mouth, you want to disappear into the seats.
Armin’s hums, expression remaining even, “Big.”
Delicately, almost weakly, you nod.
“Can’t help that,” he says with a small twitch of his lips.
“I didn’t mean—“
“—Y’aint got to apologize.” He watches your lips close as you go to give a small sigh and slump against the seat. “Up. Spine straight.” Without having to be told again, you straighten the length of your upper body. “You scare easily, lil miss.”
Your lips pull down into a frown, “I do not.”
“You do. An’ it ain’t necessarily a bad thing.” He turns his head back towards the windshield with a small suck to his teeth. “Means you pay attention.”
Studying his magnificent side profile for a moment, you recall Jubie’s words. ‘He watches you a lot. Not in a bad way . . jus . . his way.’ Unable to keep the words bottled down when they start to climb up your throat, you find yourself softly blurting out, “Do I make you nervous?” Maybe that’s why he’s always watching you, why every morning he stands by your door to listen for you. Maybe you unnerve him. Maybe this gives you an opening, an excuse, to leave.
However, your question seems to surprise him. Only for a millisecond. His thumb taps against the steering wheel, slow and contemplative. “No.”
Something in your gut flips from the quickness of his answer.
“. . No?”
A tinted gaze is turned and angled back down towards you. Calmly, he replies, “. . Naw. Ain’t nervous,” he drawls, steady and unrushed. His voice is gruff — raspy. It makes your skin break out in goosebumps. “I know what t’do with nervous things.”
The door bell jingles again as Jubie comes skipping past it while holding a handful of green wrapped lollipops. You feel his eyes slowly scan the features of your face before he’s shifting in his seat to push open the driver’s door and climb out. The truck rocks slightly when his boots his the gravel and proudly, as Armin’s unscrewing the cap from the gas chamber, she’s sliding into the seat beside you while announcing, “I got six! Hm.” She gives you one.
Inhaling a small, trembling breath, you pull the wrapper off to lay the oval shaped candy against your tongue. Sharp yet sweet. It makes the glands of your saliva water as you go to suck on it — green apple lollipops have always been yours and Jubie’s favorite candy. She’d already been suckling on hers while walking to the car, now that she’s seated with the door closed, she goes to pull hers free from her lips while looking at you before murmuring, “What’s wrong? . . You look nervous.”
You blink a few times before pulling yours away too, “‘m okay.”
Her head tilts, “Did you and Armin talk?”
“N-Not really.”
“Mmm.”
You look out of the rear view mirror.
He stands with one hand holding the pump, the other’s arm resting on the ledge of the truck bed. The beaming afternoon sun catches on the brim of his hat which obscures the upper half of his face — you can really only see the scruff of his jaw and lips. He looks calm . . . entirely unbothered. ‘I know what t’do with nervous things.’ It feels like out of a dozen cocoons, butterflies have erupted and made a home within your stomach. Jubie’s eyes are big and full of sweet innocence when she asks, “Did he say somethin’ you ain’t like?” upon following your gaze.
Quite the opposite. “. . N-Not that.”
“What he say?”
“That I scare easily.”
You watch a big smile creep up her soft, glossy lips. “Well . .” she giggles. “You do. You always have.”
“You do, too.” The pout you now wear is precious.
She’s giggling while leaning in to bump her shoulder against yours, “He didn’t mean that in a bad way, lovey . . I think all it means,” you find that she makes a cute pondering expression — eyes shift downward as her cheeks puff up as she scrunches her lips to the side. “I think it means that he likes that you pay attention.”
The both of you look at him.
The pump is pulled from the chamber after the tank tops it all off to the brim before a heavy clunk is heard. He returns the nozzle back to its cradle then takes his time twisting the cap back on. For a moment, he just stands there after that, looking out across the road while reaching into his back pocket — this time, for a small pack of gum. He’s thinking about something. Silently, you watch him unwrap a stick without looking at it to then fold it once between his fingers to then press upon his tongue. Then his head turns. He’s looking at you both.
Quickly, you turn your own back forward and pop your lollipop back in your mouth. Jubie grins, watching him start to walk back over. “You girls got everything you needed?” He asks after opening the driver’s door. Jubie chirps a soft, “Mhm!”
You simply nod.
The truck dips with his weight once he slides in beside you. “Alright then.”
・・・・・
The town of Cotter’s Mill only has a population of five hundred and eighty two. It’s a small dot on the map, located some miles away from Marlow River with mountains bordering it that seem to roll on forever. Most people pass through it without meaning to and there’s only about four conjoined roads that cut through the middle of town. You hear how Armin’s truck rumbles as it rolls down the main stretch. You and Jubie gaze at the old, tall brick buildings passing by — Cotter’s Feed & Supply, Dahlia’s Cafe, followed by a barber shop then hardware store. You watch Jubie press her finger against the window, “There’s Missus Loretta’s diner. I used to work there when I first got here. She serves peach cobbler on Saturdays.”
Your lips wrap around a coo as you picture it — Jubie in a cute, waitress uniform with a notepad and pen in hand as she jots down orders. “You used to work there?”
Armin hums as Jubie nods. “Yeah . .” she says as her eyes glaze over in melancholy. Softer, she finishes with, “I didn’t like it that much though.”
Watching a few people walking on the sidewalk lift their heads to glance at the vehicle you’re all in, you’re a bit surprised to see Armin lazily lift two of his fingers from off of the steering wheel to greet a few. Jubie’s voice is now a whisper when she tells you, “Everybody knows him.”
Cotter’s Mill General.
The engine rumbles to a still when the truck is parked out front. “Oh!” Jubie’s eyes are wide. “They got new skirts and dresses last week—”
“—Hold it,” Armin calmly cuts through. Her hand freezes on the door handle and both of you give him your attention. “Need you both to stay where I can keep an eye on you when we get in there, alright?”
You nod, “Mhm.”
“We will.”
When he’s satisfied with your answers, he climbs out first. You watch him round the front to the passenger door, jaw flexing as he slowly chews on his gum to then open the passenger’s. Jubie hops out first, waits for you to do the same, then takes your hand to gleefully pull you in the direction of the store’s doors. A bell jingles when you both walk inside. The AC has been cranked up high. You can smell cotton fabric, wood polish, and lemon scented floor cleaner as your eyes scan the place. It’s bigger than how the outside makes it appear. Full of racks and racks of clothing near the front of the store while shelves of household goods and items are assembled towards the back. Lining the walls are shelves full of boots and shoes as well.
Not a lot of people roam the inside. A mother and daughter here, elderly woman there, and a lone farmhand scratching his head while staring at the two dozen pair of work boots while trying to decide which he prefers.
It’s quiet, comfortably quiet, with only an old radio on the cashier’s counter breaking through the silence to play 54 Ultra’s I’m Hooked. The man standing behind the counter looks up over his newspaper through thin, wiry glasses before he’s dropping his hands to give a smile, “Well I’ll be,” he folds the paper. “Haven’t seen you two in a while.”
Armin stands behind you and Jubie, his stature easily towering over the both of yours as he gives a chin tilt, “Joseph.”
Joseph does the same, “Mister Arlert,” then his eyes slide down to Jubie. “How y’doin’, Miss Jubilee?”
She coyly smiles, “Hi, Joseph, ‘m doin’ swell, thank you.”
Then his gaze lands on you — curious and friendly. You squeeze Jubie’s hand a little bit tighter. “Don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”
Instinctively, you glance up, but Armin doesn’t step forward. He looks down at you through his sunglasses with his jaw still slowly working on that piece of gum. His voice is low yet soft when he says, “Go on. Introduce y’self, sweetheart.”
Something in the way he says so, cool and certain, makes your shoulders ease. Joseph’s obviously good in his book, so he’ll be good in yours too. “. . Hi,” you gently say. “ ‘m ꒰ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꒱.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you Miss ꒰ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꒱. Name’s Joseph.”
Armin gives a squeeze to Jubie’s waist. “I’ll be up front right here.”
She immediately lights up with a soft squeak, as if she’s been waiting to hear those exact words all day and starts to pull you in the direction of the racks. “I always find the cutest stuff in this area right here — ooh, see?”
She holds a thick, brown knitted cardigan up to your chest and you glance at the tag. “J-Jules, that’s expensive.”
She pouts, “So?”
“I can’t really let Armin buy me a whole, new wardrobe—“
“—He’d tell you that you aren’t lettin’ him do nothin’,” she pulls out a hanger holding a pink, polka dotted, lace trimmed top and pushes it into your hands without question. “He already decided.”
Gently frowning, you look down at the clothes already starting to pile up in your arms. Jubie’s eyes soften. She knows what you’re thinking about. “꒰ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꒱, you deserve nice things.” The words hit you hard. “You always have.”
The next half hour passes by in a blur of babydoll dresses, gingham tops, tiny, jean shorts, overalls, and airy, short sleeved blouses. You end up with an armful before Jubie’s leading you to the dressing room, not too far away from the cashier’s counter, so that you both can get a look at how it all fits on you. From his position, leaning on a support beam with his arms folded while softly talking to Joseph, Armin has taken off of his glasses and holds them in one of his hands. Every now and again, you saw him watching you and Jubie maneuver through the racks — his stare piercing yet soft. The dressing room’s door is directly in his line of sight now. Therefore, when you emerge from it while dressed in a cute, red and white, sleeveless, gingham patterned romper, you’re able to catch the way he suddenly halts mid sentence while talking to Joseph.
The fabric is a snug fit. The hem sits a bit higher than clothes you’re used to wearing, however, you’re not uncomfortable with it . . just slightly more exposed than you’re used to. The bodice of it clings at your waist before slightly, barely, flaring out at your hips.
And for a second, you simply stand there . . unsure of how to stand or what to even do with your hands.
“I dunno, Jubie. Is it too short?”
She’s quiet now, too. You watch her eyes trace down your bosom, hips, thighs, and legs before she slowly drags them back up while inching a little closer to you, “No,” she murmurs quietly.
Her sharp stare makes you swallow as she steps closer to softly take you by the hips. You understand to give a small turn, feeling her eyes track every slight movement.
“Wow,” She mumbles when your back is facing her. Pauses.“. . Geez, ꒰ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꒱.”
“W-What?” You turn your head over your shoulder, feeling jittery with nerves. “ ‘s it that bad?”
She exhales a small breath through her nose then you both are facing each other again. Quietly, shyly, she shakes her head, “No. You jus’ . . You look so pretty.”
Oh.
Your cheeks warm.
But before you can even respond, you feel something shift. When Armin pushed himself off of leaning against that beam? You don’t know. Nevertheless, the linoleum beneath his boots creak as he stops a couple feet away from you and Jubie with his gaze flicking over you — once, twice. It’s a stare of focus, only slightly hazed over with something darker. His voice sounds lower when he utters, “. . . Turn around again.”
Your breath catches.
Jubie glances between the two of you while biting down on a small smile like she’s trying not to make this into something bigger than what is.
Slowly, you obey.
Then for a moment, no one speaks. Armin’s eyes follow you closely, waiting until you’re facing him again before he breathes out a breath through his nose.
“Mm.”
That’s all he gives afterwards and you don’t know how to take that. His fingers flex around his glasses as Teddy tilts her head with her own held behind her back, “Looks pretty huh, Papa.”
Papa.
He doesn’t look away from you for a beat. “Yeah,” he simply responds. “Get it.”
Then he’s taking a step back and already turning back towards Joseph as though this slight exchange has been filed away into something fairly normal. With your brain still reeling, you watch Jubie lift her chin with a proud smile and half lidded eyes, “See?” she hums. “Told you.”
Another half hour later, after trying on basically everything plus finding three pair of new shoes, another pair of boots, satin mary janes, and bow adorned flats, the three of you watch Joseph ring everything up at the counter. Guilt chips away at your conscience, watching the total rise well into the three digits. He hasn’t even made a dent into the pile sitting in front of him yet. You glance up at Armin, finding him patiently standing a step behind you and Jubie with his hands on his hips. He’d been staring at the shelf of stuffed animals and novelties behind the front counter before his eyes suddenly shift downward for a second to meet your stare.
You quickly look away.
“Alright.” Joseph tells him the total and you turn towards Jubie.
“I can put some stuff back—“
“—Mm mm. Look.” The both of you watch Armin pull out his worn down, brown, leather wallet again. Casually, he peels off a small stack of hundreds and places them into Joseph’s hand without much of a thought given.
“I’ll meet you two in the truck, hm?” he hums while sliding it back into his pocket. “Say goodbye to Joseph.”
“See you later, Joseph,” Jubie smiles with a wave. “Thank you.”
He smiles, “Pleasure’s all mine, Jubilee. And it was mighty fine to meet you too, ꒰ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꒱.”
Respectfully, you wave goodbye, “Thank you.” and follow Jubie out of the front door, leaving Armin inside. You think about the reasons why he’d be staying in, if it’s anything bad regarding you, but, shockingly enough, only seconds after you and Jubie are situated in your seats, he’s pushing open the door with one arm full of paper bags and the other’s hand holding a stuffed lamb.
Its fur is curly, soft, and the color of muted cream. Your chest tightens the second you see it, already knowing that it was purchased for Jubie.
And after placing the bags within the trunk bed, he’s climbing it to surprisingly hold it out towards you. “For you.”
Your eyes widen, “Me?”
“Jubie has Babs. Figured you needed your own. Saw you glancin’ at it, too.”
You hadn’t even realized you were. Slowly, you reach out to take the lamb from his hand finding that the fur has warmed within his hold. You run your fingers across it as a soft smile pulls up the corners of your lips. Shes pretty. Black, beady eyes, floppy ears, and a small, stitched smile. Armin’s hand had dwarfed her completely, on your lap, her size is nearly the length of your wrist up a little ways past your elbow.
“Thank you . .” you bite down on your bottom lip, eyes wide and glistening when you look into his. “so much.”
Armin hums, “Wun’t nothin’, doll.” He hands over a paper wrapped bundle to Jubie, making her gasp. “And for you.”
Unwrapping the twine carefully, she soon emits a small squeal upon seeing what lies inside, “Eek!” A pair of small, gold hoops that dangle precious, vintage hearts. “Oh my gosh — thank you, thank you, thank you, Pa.”
It’s when you’re all back on the road, headed towards the farm when you let yourself relax. Really relax. Jubie hums along to the music again while admiring the new earrings now dangling from her ears in the side view mirror. You sit beside her quietly, fingers rubbing at the ear of the new friend in your lap, finding a sense of comfort in the repetition as calmness swathes over your usual overactive nervous system. For once in your life, you feel good. Nothing’s screaming at you to bolt or hide or cry. Then you feel Jubie’s fingers on your forearm. They slide down your skin until she’s able to press her palm flat against your own to then slowly, naturally, fit her small fingers between the spaces of yours.
You blush.
“What are you gonna name her?”
“Uhm,” you hesitate then shrug. “. . I dunno.”
You look at Armin. His gaze remains steady on the road as you timidly ask, “Do you have a name for her?”
There’s a brief pause. Jubie’s thumbs stroke across your knuckles while the both of you wait for his answer. He clicks his tongue after a while, “Lily.”
“Lily?” you look down at the stuffed animal as he nods.
“She seems like a Lily.”
Jubie smiles, “Lily and Babs. I like it.”
Lily. You smooth your fingers over the fur between her ears as the road curves towards the familiar stretch leading to the farm. “Hi, Lily.”
・・・・・
A month passes by.
Slowly.
You’re granted permission to work on the farm alongside Armin and Jubie the next day after being gifted your new boots. It’s honest work . . gives you purpose. Neither you or Jubie do as much work as Armin, but it’s enough to have you winded by noon. The two of you alternate days doing certain duties. Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and sometimes Sundays, you feed the chickens and collect their eggs. Jubie does so on the others, though the two of you often end up helping one another anyway, giggling quietly when one of the hens peck at one of your boots or hands to make the other hiss in irritation.
Armin also has you and her brushing out the horses’ manes in the afternoons. It’s a chore that requires a lot of patience. Very meticulous. Jubie talks to them softly all the while she does so, tells you that it’s nice to tell them her secrets and you should try. You gravitate towards Samson, naturally . . finding him all too sweet and take her advice. Gently, you like to mumble to him about your day — little thoughts and small fragments of things you aren’t too sure of where to put sometimes. Some days, when he’s really busy, Armin sends you both out to refill the water troughs. It takes the two of you together to drag the hose out far enough, due to the rubber being so heavy and both your sets of hands being too small, to get the water in the basins.
Sweeping up the barn aisles, pulling weeds, milking the cows, and herding up the goats — doing it all with Jubie is the best. You’re reminded of your times as kids again — shared laughter and quiet teamwork. Only this time, something new is threaded within it all . . structure and stability. Something neither of you truly had back then. That chart stuck to the refrigerator with sparkling stickers dotted all over it? Armin placed another one, decorated with your name on top of the paper, written in his beautiful, olden cursive-like handwriting next to it. The feeling had been so robust — seeing that pink, glittery, star shaped sticker next to each chore you’d done . . the first time had rendered you still. Completely immobile while reaching for the handle to grab the pitcher of milk one morning.
Armin, standing with his coffee mug in hand and a burning cig between his fingers caught your stare, “Helps keep things in order,” he mumbled while lifting the mug up to his lips, eyes penetrating. “Lil girls need . . .” He paused for a moment. “Structure.”
You hadn’t known how to really reply, so you only nodded.
You don’t know when he adds the stickers to the chart and you don’t try to catch him, but nearly every night you find your eyes drifting to it as you all eat dinner. Sometimes, when it’s just Jubie and you alone, sitting on the porch, she’ll nudge you with her shoulder, “We’re doin’ good, huh?”
You are. You both really are.
You catch the things he says to Jubie in passing sometimes. Each word gruff, drawled in his thick Mississippi accent, “C’mere, pumpkin’. Lemme get a look at’cha.” “Slow down, baby. It ain’t a race.” “Who wanted those goats . . . Naw, tell me — Right. Right. It was you. Go fetch ‘em.”
They all make your stomach flip.
Armin exudes an air you’ve never been around before. All the men you’ve happened to know in your life have all been somewhat the same. If they weren’t liars, they were lazy, and if they weren’t physically hurting you, they were disappearing on you instead. Eventually, they’ve all slipped out of your life the minute something became inconvenient. Whether your feelings became too much or if they figured they’d be better off somewhere else. None of them have ever felt steady.
There’s something gentle laced beneath the firmness of Armin. He never raises his voice. Not with Jubie. Not with you. When he speaks, the world seems to know to listen.
Sometimes he even says things like that to you, too.
“Finish your food ‘fore it gets cold.”
“Get your jacket, sweetheart. Mornin’s chilly today.”
“Mm-mm. Sit up straight, shoulders back. There you go.”
Each sentence invokes a warm fuzz beneath your chest. Even more so when he’s speaking to both you and Jubie at once, “You two stick together out there.”
“You girls eat yet?”
“ C’mon now. Y’all bet not make me repeat myself.”
Little moments like that stack up over the weeks. You’ve realized somewhere down the line that it’s simply natural for him. Being authoritative, that pillar of stability and quiet control that catalyzes everything to lean against him. The farm, the animals . . Jubie. You think about one, certain evening.
You hadn’t mean to eavesdrop . . it’d just been something that happened. You’d been walking up the back trail from the creek — lately, you’ve been finding yourself spending time near it to pick up an old hobby, journaling. Back when you were younger, you’d do it often. It helped you sort through things. Your feelings and thoughts that were much too tangled to be spoken out loud.
You saw the kitchen’s back door was propped open . . something they do when they know you’re out, however that night, you heard it — Jubie’s voice drifting out into the warm, mid August air. It’d been different than usual, still sweet and gentle as always, though . . warbly. Pitched only slightly higher, too. Armin never interrupted her as she spoke. You watched him lean against the sink with his buff arms folded as she stood in front of him already showered with her bonnet on and in a pretty, pj set. Their size difference was stark — that’s what you remembered most. She only barely reached the middle of his chest.
So that’s how you look standing next to him too?
When she was done speaking, there’d been a calm pause. Then, finally Armin said something. “Alright.”
A beat.
“An’ what do you want Dad to do about that, hm?”
The word had made you completely halt in your steps towards the porch. Dad. There wasn’t a smile on neither of their faces. It wasn’t said jokingly or even casually. It was said as if it was always meant to be there. You recall the way Jubie sniffled and shuffled on her feet.
“You don’t get to stand here in front of me and act like you ain’t do nothin’, Jubilee,” Armin’s voice was calm and contained yet she still gave a small, barely visible flinch at the sound of her full name leaving his lips. “I know you better than that, you know yer’self better than that. Now get on up them stairs—“
“—B-But—“
“—Hey.” Not loud. Just firm. He straightened himself up prior to leaning forward. The air settles around them both.“You had your say. I listened.” His fingers grabbed her chin to pull her face up to his. “It’s your turn to listen to me.”
Her shoulders had dropped before she sniffled again. No more back talk. You heard her mumble a small, “Yes, sir,” before slowly turning to walk out into the hall.
Maybe you should have moved then — continued up the porch steps or rather even walked around the house to enter through the front door in efforts to be less inconspicuous. But, you remained standing there, doe eyed and stuck, watching Armin remain in front of the counter like nothing had changed at all. That’s what glued itself to your psyche. The naturalness of the conversation.
Then, shockingly, after settling himself back leaning against it with a low sigh, he turned his head towards the back screen door. “You can gon’ head and come on in now, missy.”
Your heart drops.
He doesn’t seem the slightest bit surprised to see you when you pull open the screen door and slowly step inside. He just looks at you — icy blue eyes evaluating the pink and cream striped tube top with matching fold-over shorts you wear down to the dirty Reeboks on your feet then the lace trimmed journal clutched between your little fingers. “. . Enjoyed y’self out there?”
A small pause before you end up nodding.
“Nothin’ bite on ya’, right? Put on that repellant like I asked?”
“Mhm,” one more nod. “No bites.”
He hums. You watch his eyes trail again, somehow even slower this time. His stare drags across your bare collarbones, to the slope of your shoulders, down to the gold bracelet on your wrist. “ ‘m thinkin’ about breakfast for dinner, what d’ya say, dollface . .” Then they slowly drag back up into your own.
The surface of your cheeks warm as you clutch your journal a little bit tighter. “French toast.”
A thick, blond brow raises as he folds him arms, prior to reaching up to scratch at the scruff of his jaw. “Probably . . . but I thought we were workin’ on manners, me and you. Sounds more like a demand.”
You hiccup on a breath, “Oh.” Armin could tell that you’ve gotten so used to being quiet and staying out of the way that whenever you do get the chance to use your words, most of your sentences are curt, short, and to the point. Not a lot of ‘please’s or ‘can I’s. He doesn’t like that too much. He watches you nibble on your bottom lip, words seemingly dancing on your tongue before you softly ask, “May we have french toast?”
“Better.”
He notices how your shoulders relax. Pushing himself off of leaning upon the counter, Armin brushes past you to close the wooden door, lock it, then open the pantry. “You been down by that creek a good while today. Go wash up.”
Your sneakers scuff against the floor as you go to head towards the hall, “Yes, sir.”
However, the conversation you just happened to overhear replays in your mind — Jubie’s soft, whimpery voice echos the loudest, therefore you halt. “Uhm . .”
“Hm?” Armin murmurs with his back towards you while untwisting the plastic around a loaf of bread.
“. . Did Jubie do somethin’ wrong?”
You watch him pause. For a moment, you anticipate him simply brushing you off, maybe even blatantly ignoring your question entirely to continue sending you off upstairs. You’re unready to hear him huff a sound, though — something akin to a small chuckle. “Naw,” he quietly replies. “Not nothin’ wrong. Jus’ somethin’ I told her not to.”
You linger in the doorway with your fingers clutched around the frame of it. “Was it bad?”
“She’ll live,” he responds while opening the fridge to grab a basket full of brown and white eggs, followed by a carton of milk. “Girl jus’ needs remindin’ sometimes. Ain’t gotta like or understand my rules but they will be respected.”
The crack of an egg shell against the rim of a porcelain bowl forces you on your way, but you can hear it as you walk upstairs . . . the words he didn’t say.
And that goes for the both a’ya.
・・・・・
While scrubbing your skin clean free from the smell of creek water and grass with strawberries and cream scented body wash beneath the firm pressured beads of water pouring from the head of the shower, the word Dad slowly finds its way looping throughout your usual thoughts. It’s not something you misheard, you know that. There’s a weird feeling stirring in your gut. Something crossed between inquisition and something else you can’t quite name. When you picture the scene again — Armin standing there, big arms folded, voice low and steady as Jubie sniffled in front of him . . your chest tightens a little. You don’t know why.
You’ve never seen Jubie like that before. You’ve never seen her stand so small in front of someone . . never seen it . . fit so naturally either. You think about what if it were you . . moreso, what if it were you standing beside her, meek and soft too, listening to Armin’s low, gruff voice drawl out his words, coated in a certain type of patience that makes his disappointment feel all the more worse. His gaze moving between the two of you.
Your heart skips.
You blow out a heavy breath and turn the shower knob with a little more force than needed to cut it off. No, is what you tell yourself. You can’t. You won’t.
Cool air wafts against your skin when you open the bathroom door after wrapping a fluffy, white towel around your body. You’re prepared to simply cross the short distance to your room to continue your nightly routine when you see it . . . Armin and Jubie’s bedroom door left slightly ajar. Wide eyed, you blink softly at it. You shouldn’t. You know it. But you walk on over and carefully push it open anyway.
It creaks when you do.
The room smells like fresh laundry detergent and, interestingly enough, pipe tobacco. It’s bigger than the one you occupy, completed with three, long rectangular windows behind their large, king sized farmhouse bed that’s layered with quilts and half a dozen pillows where Jubie lies on her stomach, legs crossed at the ankles and swaying in the air. She’s rubbing one of Babs’ floppy ears between her small, nimble fingers, deep pout on her lips before looking up to see you. Instantly, her eyes widen.
“Oh,” quickly, she pushes herself up to take a seat upon her butt. “I t-thought you were Armin.”
“Sorry,” you mutter as you slowly step inside. “I wanted to check on you. Uhm . . he’s makin’ french toast.”
Steam still emits off of your skin in pale clouds as Jubie’s eyes flicker over your face before down at the towel wrapped around your body. “Come sit,” she whispers with two soft pats to the cushiony comforter she sits upon. Hesitating, you eventually walk over to do so. She’s been making you more nervous lately, you don’t understand it. “So,” your eyes are big and unguarded when you gently ask, “Why’d you get in trouble?”
You watch her hesitate. Then surprisingly, a deep coral shade starts to blossom beneath the light brown skin of her dimpled cheeks. “It’s kinda dumb,” she mumbles back.
You give a little smile and head shake. “No, tell me.”
Jubie shakes hers too, “No, no . . he jus’ . . caught me doin’ somethin’, takin’ somethin’ I wasn’t supposed to.”
“Ohhh,” slowly, you nod. “. . So, you got sent upstairs.”
“Mhm,” she’s reverted back to looking back down at Babs before her voice gets a little quieter. “Sometimes I’d jus’ rather deal with the spankins.”
The words dwindle . . soft yet impactful. It makes your breath hitch at the sheer picture of it . . Jubie bent over a short gate, outside probably, with one of her cute, polka dotted sundresses flipped up to expose the soft cheeks of her plump, heart shaped butt. Armin’s palm, his belt, or a switch, cracking down on them, left then right . . turning them that same coral shade of the blush painted across her face, then red, maybe even a soft mauve if pushed to that point.
“Oh my gosh — No, I mean . .—“ Jubie must have realized what she said. But quickly, softly, you interrupt, “ ‘s okay.” Your voice is quieter than expected. It swiftly makes Jubie’s words die out upon her tongue, leaving her to simply stare at you.
It’s a different stare.
One you’ve never seen from her. She’s staring at you the way one would daydream — sleek, cat like monolids relaxed yet . . dazed over . . . like she’s thinking about something. It’s heavy for you, thus, you look away with your cheeks burning warm to take a better look around their room. Wallpaper the color of neutral brown with vintage flowers printed all over it invokes a sort of cozy feeling within you. More landscape paintings and a few framed pictures cover it. You spot Jubie’s vanity flushed against the wall between the closet and bathroom door, surface dotted with glass bottles of perfumes, hair care items, and cosmetics. A large wooden dresser’s top holds a small, ceramic tray filled with rings, next to it is an opened music box that showcases her necklaces and earrings.
A box of cigarettes and a lamp sits on Armin’s nightstand, a packet of candy on Jubie’s. There’s a softness to everything. More specifically, a small corner, not too far from the bed, beside the large bookcase. It catches your eye because the circular, fuzzy, pink rug there stands out a bit more compared to the neutrals of the rest of the room. Closer, you look to see a large basket of plush toys, the small stack of children’s books on the lower shelf, the few toys.
“I get small sometimes . . . most times . .” Jubie utters when she follows your stare. Quickly, you look back at her, unable to feel like you’ve walked in on something far too intimate now. “That’s all.”
“Oh,” is all you can breathe out.
The sentence had been six words long but . . somehow it completes the puzzle that’s been quietly forming in your brain since you stepped foot over their front door’s threshold. Jubie’s softness, the way Armin handles her, it all settles into place. “. . You call him Dad?”
Slowly, she nods as her fingers fidget with her nightshirt now, “Sometimes . . He takes care of me in that way, too.”
The gentle honesty makes your stomach flip. You’re nodding softly when you whisper, “That’s good, Jubie.”
She glances up at you then. She seems part relieved and part . . enamored. “You’ve always understood me.”
You can’t help giggling, “You’ve always understood me too, silly.”
For a moment neither of you say much else. You’ve come to realize that you two are seated pretty close. Her soft, painted toes brush up against your thigh when she slowly wiggles them while letting eyes drift down from your own to the curve of your neck. Heart thudding, you watch her lean in closer to you, eyes halfway closed to then breathe in through her nose, “. . . You smell like strawberries.”
You take the chance of leaning in too. It leaves only a sliver of space between your bodies at this point when you shyly angle your nose for the pocket of her neck. “You smell like . . roses.”
Softly, she giggles, her breath soft and warm against your cheek, “Really?”
“Mhm.”
The air between you both prickles with emotion when you pull back to look into her eyes once more. She’s staring at you . . in that way again — that faraway kind of stare. Timidly, you smile, “. . . Hi.”
Her lips quirk, “. . Hi, ꒰ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꒱.”
Then, without saying much else, she leans forward.
She doesn’t press her lips against yours . . not yet. Softly, she brushes them across the plump petals of your own, slow and uncertain as if she were feeling the moment out, feeling you out before taking the chance. Instantaneously, your hands fly to her knees to squeeze at them in quivering shock, needing to steady yourself. The both of your breathing grows shaky. “You’re so pretty,” Jubie mumbles, her voice barely even a pitch louder than the droning hum of the ceiling fan whirling away up above. The compliment gives you enough confidence to tentatively take the chance at pecking hers. She gasps softly at the small contact, “C-Can I . . ?”
In the same instance, you both deepen the kiss.
Jubie’s hands lift to delicately cup your face as your grip remains tightened at her knees before it slowly softens once your lips begin to move with a sweet kind of eagerness that makes your heart flutter in your chest.
The pace isn’t rushed. Not at all. It’s just a slow pressure as you both try to figure out the rhythm together. You feel her mouth part open wider when you tilt your head, the angle shifting just enough to make your noses brush against one another’s. The scent of her fills your senses, mixing well with the sweet, clean scent of your showered skin . . it feels intimate as your soft, plush lips move against each other in slow, graceful harmony.
Distantly, you find this to be releasing. You think Jubie does, too — you feel it when she sighs into your mouth before pushing in closer to you. Because, in a way, Jubie’s always been pretty . . she’s always made your heart thud . . she’s always made you feel things you never quite knew how to properly explain. And when the both of you finally pull apart and you see the emotion swimming deep within the dark browns of her eyes, you realize that maybe you’ve always done the same to her.
For a while, neither of you speak.
But something anew has blossomed.
Downstairs, the faint clatter of a pot causes your heads to turn towards the door. “He’s probably almost done,” Jubie says with color flourishing up to her cheeks again.
You nod, but you don’t move. She doesn’t either. Instead, her hand slowly pushes across the quilt to gently lace her index finger around yours. Her touch makes you close your eyes and sigh. “. . You should go put on your pjs.”
Right.
“Yeah.” Slowly, you stand to adjust the towel around your body. “ ‘ll come get you when dinner’s ready, okay?”
Jubie nods, “Yeah.”
・・・・・
One would think you and Jubie’s friendship would grow awkward after that. She’s in a relationship, you know that. She’s in love with Armin, Armin’s in love with her, you know that . . however, interestingly enough, you both become somehow even more in tuned to one another — like a new undercurrent beneath your already strong baseline has been established. Farm duties are still completed, for the most part, together. But it’s not just that anymore.
When the both of you sit on the couch during the evening for a period of relaxation with a cute cartoon or an old, 60s romantic film playing on the television screen, Jubie’s legs are naturally draping over your lap. You rub your fingers against her soft calves as you two quietly speak and giggle. She does your hair one day — washes it in the kitchen sink, detangles, finger curls each coil and zigzags a part down the middle to give you two, big, cute puffs. The whole ordeal took about three hours, however you never once felt restless.
Instead, you sat patiently on a chair she sat out on the porch, feeling her fingers weaving softly through your hair while watching Armin push bales of hay across the field. You start to recognize the subtle signs Jubie shows when she’s slipping a little bit smaller now, too. How her voice softens, how she grows a little more quieter, and needy. It takes a lot of self restraint in you to not want to follow her there. Each time it happens, there’s a small part of you that wants to let go — sink into that same sweet softness and stop thinking so hard about everything, about everyone, about those bad memories.
But, you don’t.
You watch her sit on the porch, legs criss crossed as she carefully colors in a butterfly within a page of a coloring book with an array of about fifty crayons beside her thigh, watch her doodle cute drawings on the slab of concrete out near the back field with fat pieces of pastel chalk whose dye gets all over her legs, arms and face, nap on the hayloft with Babs after a particular long day, and fall into Armin when that same sweet softness gets to be all consuming.
Armin.
You try not to freak out too much when you find his icy blue stare lingering on the way you and Jubie hold hands while walking to the barn to brush the horses or when the two of you are doing anything else together for that matter. He knows. You know that he knows, you just aren’t too sure if he knows the sheer extent of what he knows. It drives you crazy.
He hasn’t said anything.
He won’t say anything . . . not yet.
But you catch him looking, really looking at the two of you now, and each time it happens, you’re quick to drop Jubie’s hand or straighten your posture or add some type of distance between the two of you . . out of respect. There’d been a particular, blazing hot afternoon where you and Jubie had been playing with the hose — both of you dressed in tiny, denim daisy dukes, tied tops, barefoot, and sparkly eyed. You both were screaming and giggling, fighting to pull the hose out of the other’s hand, chasing each other across the bright green field and spraying each other until you were completely soaked.
And he just stood there off by his truck with one arm hooked over the bed of it, cigarette burning slow between his fingers.
Watching.
You saw it in the way his eyes trailed after you both beneath his hat, how the corner of his mouth slightly twitched as if he were storing the sight for something private to remember later on. It’s not just that neither. You and Jubie would be lazing together on the couch before you suddenly feel that familiar feeling of prickles crawling across the back of your neck. You’d look behind you to see him leaning against the archway, arms folded, studying the two of you like he’s trying to work out the last few letters of a crossword that’s already ninety percent completed.
It makes you nervous . . definitely.
However . . . you’ve come to realize that something else within your heart, mind, and soul has started to happen. Your feelings for Jubie deepen more and more by the day. You find yourself noticing the shape of her smile a bit too much, needy for the warmth of her lithe body against yours when you’re in bed, and feel the way butterflies flutter about your stomach when she stares at you for a beat longer than usual. Surely, what you feel for her no longer walks the line of platonic.
And then there’s Armin.
If it’s guilt you feel when you find yourself thinking about Jubie while around him, it’s pure shame when you catch yourself thinking about him, admiring him when she’s standing right beside you.
It’s difficult to try to ignore the way he moves about the farm, about life. The weight behind each of his steps, broad swell of his biceps when he bends his arms to snatch off his work gloves, the calm, deep croon of his voice when he’s speaking to you or Jubie or giving instructions. And it’s unfortunate to realize, but ignoring doesn’t stop the feelings from growing.
When you catch him reclined back in his chair, Jubie fast asleep on his lap, as he nurses a glass of whisky and watches a court show, you’re aware of his stare dragging on over to you sitting curled up on the sofa with Lily clutched between your fingers like a lifeline. Not cold or even inquiring, but . . thoughtful. Like, he’s thinking about something. Taking note of something.
Heat crawls up your spine and blossoms across your face each time you catch that look because the actual truth of the matter is, your feelings for Armin and Jubie are separate, nonetheless, they grow side by side, inching up your heart to tighten around it like a noose.
It becomes difficult to sleep most nights because of them.
But tonight’s just one of those nights where you’ve found yourself drained. Mentally, physically, emotionally, so after eating and showering, you shut your door, climb into bed and pass out. Then the nightmare comes — this one the most terrifying one you’ve experienced in a long time. It all seems to happen in quick bursts. You discovering Armin and Jubie standing out by the barn one early morning, the two of them hesitating for a second before telling you that they didn’t mean for things to get so confusing, that it’s best if you leave and found your own slice of happiness. Suddenly the farmhouse wasn’t the farmhouse, but your tiny, two bedroom duplex you grew up in. Doors slamming, screams echoing, your chest cracks open.
That awful feeling of not belonging anywhere, like you’re always too much — it spans over your entire body, leaving your eyes to suddenly burst open as your chest quickly rises and falls.
Your fingers are trembling when you lift them to your face only to pull them back and see the salt traced wetness glistening faintly against the pads of them through the bright moonlight spilling in through the curtains. For a moment, you don’t move. You remain lying there, fighting to even out your fast, quivering breaths as a deep hollow caves itself within your heart . . . remnants that some of these dreams can’t help but leave behind. Squeezing your eyes shut before pressing the heels of your palms against them, you try to forget about it.
In, out. In, out. In, out.
But you still see it — Jubie stepping behind Armin, Armin’s gruff voice telling you that you’ll be alright. Unthinking, you push your quilt from off of your body to swing your legs over and press your feet against the cool, hardwood. The house is completely silent, you’re aware that the two of them may be sleeping, therefore, you try your best to be as silent as possible upon opening your door and slipping past their own for the staircase. Some water and fresh air, that’s all you need. You’ll calm down in no time.
However, you’re halfway down the hall to the kitchen when you notice that the amber glow of the stove light is on. You pause halfway and look behind you at the front door, only to see it still closed and locked — same way it’s been since six o clock when Armin called you and Jubie in for the evening. Carefully, you round the kitchen doorway’s corner to see him . . . standing in front of the stove, broad back facing you, as he stirs something in a small sauce pan with a wooden spoon.
Your barefoot touching the tile of the kitchen is loud enough to have him look over his shoulder to see you standing there, dressed in a butter yellow, thin strapped babydoll slip. You’re wide eyed as you go to subconsciously cross your arms over your tummy, even as your chest still rises and falls with shaky, shallow breaths and your cheeks are sticky with dried tears.
Armin’s gaze lingers on the picture you make before he asks, “Feelin’ alright?”
He wears a pair of plaid, navy and red pajama pants and white undershirt. His hair’s loose tonight in a way you’ve never seen — dirty blond waves fluffy and sticking up this way and that. You inch towards the table, “J-Jus’ a bad dream.”
“Mmm,” he hums while turning back forward and clicking off the burner. “I heard you cryin’.”
Your eyes grow a bit bigger, “Really? — Oh, I’m . . I’m sorry.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to apologize for.”
You watch him open a cabinet. His fingers had paused while reaching for a plain, pink ceramic mug before he extends his arm further in to pull free a thicker, plastic one from behind it — clear with cute strawberries printed all over it. One of those that you have to manually open with the push of a button on the lid that pops a straw out. Outside, you hear the faint chirping of crickets and the hum of cicadas as he unscrews the top, lifts the pan off of the oven, and slowly pours in the milk that’s been warmed until it nearly touches the brim.
Each step is slow and unhurried as he walks over to you while twisting the lid back on. When he stops in front of you, you’re left simply standing there, head lifted to watch him look back down at you, eyes heavy lidded, “. . Drink it ‘fore it cools.”
Delicately, you take the cup from his hands, your fingers brushing against one another’s for a split second. The warmth of the milk immediately seeps against your palms. You take a small, tentative sip, surprised to taste vanilla and a splash of cinnamon against your tongue.
“M’grandmother used to make me this ‘fore bed sometimes,” he mutters with his eyes fastened on your lips wrapped around that jumbo straw. “. . Tell me about the dream.”
You swallow and pull it away as the sharp feeling of embarrassment crawls its fingers up your spine, “ ‘s stupid.”
“Tell me.”
You pause as your eyes fall to his chest while looking for the right words. Silence feels long and heavy until you break it with, “I dreamt . . that you and Jubie sent me away.”
You don’t look up at him again, but you hear him inhale a breath through his nose. “ ‘s that right.”
Slowly, you nod. Your voice is quieter when you say, “Told you it was stupid.”
“Ain’t stupid. You jus’ scared you don’t belong here wit’ us, that’s all.”
You didn’t say that part out loud, however, somehow he gets it. Glancing up at him, you notice that he hasn’t pulled his ardent, blue gaze away from your face. He doesn’t make a move to add some distance between your bodies neither, no, he remains standing only about a step and a half away from you with his arms folded. “Shouldn’t bother stressin’ yer’self with matters like that, sweetheart. You ain’t goin’ anywhere. Jubie and I both know that.”
The certainty traced beneath his words are absolute. They make you shiver. One nudge beneath the bottom of your cup from him and you’re understanding that he wants you to drink some more.
“Atta girl,” he mumbles. The praise slips in casually, almost an absentminded thing it sounds like, yet something in you blooms all the more.
Eyes drifting downward, Armin takes in your still quivering fingers, strap of your babydoll hanging off of your shoulder . . . such a pretty thing you are, it’s downright criminal. “You an’ Jubie . . . the two a’ya remind me a lot of each other,” he hums, low and thoughtful. “Both sweet as sugar. Real soft hearts. Carryin’ the same kinda hurt.”
Your stomach flips, listening to him speak like he’s been plagued with this conception for a while now. “You girls get that same kinda look, too.”
“What look?”
“Dazed,” he answers back, voice quiet but matter-of-fact. “Doe eyed . . . Like y’close to slippin’ back into somethin’ small but you keep fightin’ it.”
As you stand there, heart racing and shocked, Armin scratches at his scruff. “Don’t know why you girls do that . . man like me has always been more than capable of takin’ care’a things like that.”
You hadn’t realized that you were that obvious. You hadn’t realized that he noticed. “I don’t . . . I didn’t . .” you can’t find the words.
“You ain’t gotta hide that part a’ya is all I’m sayin’,” Armin finishes as his voice dips slightly deeper. “It don’t bother me none. I take care of what’s mine.”
Blinking, you watch him take a couple steps away to reach up and flick off the stovetop light. For a moment, it leaves the both of you enshrouded in nothing but the moonlight pouring in through the windows. You feel him staring at you, even as he starts on his way towards the hall, “C’mon.”
“Hm?”
“Back upstairs. You shouldn’t be by y’self after a dream like that.”
Oh.
“I-I’ll be o—“
He’s shaking his head after a quick suckle to his canine tooth, “Nah, nah. I don’t wanna hear that. Honey bee’s already sleep, we got plenty a’room for you. C’mon.”
You’re aware that he isn’t really giving you a choice. Still, you waver. He’s already halfway down the hall when he stops then glances back at you over his shoulder. Leaving your half full cup on the table, your feet move on their own. As he leads you throughout the house, towards the staircase, you can’t help but take in how different he looks at night opposed to day. Still solid, still steady, just . . slightly softer around the edges. He smells like soap and smoke.
Their bedroom door is already cracked open when his palm pushes it wider. You’re thumbing with your fingers, looking up at him for permission when your foot crosses the threshold. He’s right. Jubie’s asleep. You spot her immediately, curled beneath the comforters, curls spilling from her silk scarf upon her pillow as she sleeps with her lips parted and fists curled beneath her cheek.
She looks small. At ease.
The sight makes you smile a bit. “I don’t wanna wake her,” you whisper softly to Armin as he nudges you on closer with his fingers on your hips.
“She’ll be okay. Jus’ climb in.”
You move slowly as you climb onto the mattress like you’re afraid you might break something. Heart fluttering, you lift the cover to slide in beside Jubie, not surprised to watch her eyebrows furrow in her sleep before she slowly stirs awake.
She blinks, bleary eyes focusing on you laying your head on the same pillow beneath her head. It takes her a longer couple of seconds, but once fully conscious, a small, sleepy smile overtakes her lips, “. . Hi.”
Your responding smile is shy, “Hi.”
Her voice is lighter yet still thick with sleep, “Bad dream?”
“. . Yeah.”
She doesn’t ask anymore questions. Instantly, she scoots closer, draping one arm lazily over your waist while nuzzling her face into your shoulder. The position is nostalgic. Instincts let you tuck your face into her own, close your eyes and breathe. “ ‘s okay,” Jubie sleepily murmurs. “ ‘ll make you waffles in the mornin’.”
Seated at the edge of the bed, Armin watches the whole thing. A quiet exhale leaves him as his stare moves between how naturally the two of you curl into each other, like pieces of a puzzle. He noticed down there in the kitchen how your body had been tensed tight, full of leftover fear and panic from that nightmare, however now, the warmth of Jubie seems to be easing it all away.
Slow and careful, he shifts forward, feeling the mattress dip as he settles in behind Jubie, not surprised to feel her relax against him, even in her sleep, like she’s done a thousand times before. Armin’s arm lifts, settling it across her waist which only nudges you closer to her. And without waking, your fingers search, slow and twitchy, until they catch on Armin’s fingers. You wrap your hand around his middle and ring, squeezing on them softly.
Armin doesn’t react. If anything, his thumb moves to stroke careful brushes across your inner wrist.
There’s no separation between the three of you. Just warmth, comfort, and quiet.
Eyes blinking for just a couple seconds longer, he takes in the scene with a quiet shake of his head. The two of you are going to be the death of him.
・・・・・
“You wanna have a picnic out in the backyard? . . Jus’ you and me?”
Jubie had asked you the question about an hour ago. It’s been a couple days since your whole nightmare ordeal and nothing has changed — neither for better or worse. Life with them goes on about the same but you think about Armin’s words more than anything.
”You ain’t going anywhere. Jubie and I both know that.”
”Like y’close to slippin’ back into somethin’ small but you keep fightin’ it.”
”It don’t bother me none. I take care of what’s mine.”
Part of you doesn’t really know what to do with the feelings they invoke inside of you. They don’t feel like a threat . . . but they don’t feel light either. Had he meant to insinuate that you’re . . his? Does that mean, in some sort of twisted way that he’s yours? Is Jubie yours, too? It’s all sort of confusing. It doesn’t help that he seemingly doesn’t care to explain neither.
It feels good to sunbathe on a quilt within the mid October sun nonetheless. The leaves are starting to brown, same with the grass. Humidity is switched out for a cool, refreshing breeze. Some of the bugs are retiring back from which they came after their short lived summer. Both you and Jubie are barefoot in flowy, pretty sundresses. You watch her unpack the little, wicker basket she’d brought from the kitchen, seeing that its contents included a few, plastic wrapped sandwiches, platter of fruit, and a couple juice boxes.
You listen to her softly hum a tune to herself as she arranges everything neatly. “Hungry?”
“Mmm,” you shrug and fold your legs butterfly style. “Not super. Think ‘m jus’ snack hungry.”
“Eat some,” she coaxes with gestures to the fruit. She takes a fat piece of a pineapple spear and bites into it first. You take your chance with a couple of cold, green grapes.
And for a while, you both sit there within the calm, farm silence, listening to the wind, cows, and horses sing.
“You ever gonna give me a peek . .?”
Looking over at Jubie, you find that her eyes are stuck on your journal that lays between the space of your legs. Your words have always flowed best when you’re out in fresh air — it’s why you brought it outside with you today. Cheeks warm, you sway from left to right on your butt, “I dunnooo . .” you softly say. “Mostly jus’ poems in here . . and some sad thoughts.”
“Yeah?” her lips pout. “Do you feel sad often?”
The question stumps you for a second. Reason being, when asked this six months ago, you would’ve told her that you’ve only ever felt sad for the majority of your life so far. However, as of late . . “Not really. I’ve been okay.”
“Good, that makes me happy.”
Another comfortable silence. You finish your handful of grapes, look around you, then ask, “. . I never got to ask you how you got here . . . or why you left Georgia.” You’ve always wondered. For weeks and months and years. Why she suddenly up and left, why she never told you . . or took you with her.
Jubie squints up at the sun, nose cutely wrinkled, “Jus’ got tired of it . .” she retorts after a moment. “Of him, you know? ‘Member I told you about m’auntie in Tennessee?” When you nod, Jubie does too. “Well, she always told me her door was open for me. She hated m’mom . . for good reason, obviously. I managed to hitchhike my way to her old trailer park, lived with her ‘til I was eighteen, then I left there too. She was good to me but, stayin’ there jus’ wasn’t the life for me, I could feel it. So somehow, after some more hitchhikin’ . . I ended up here, got a lil gig as a shoe shiner in town, lived in a motel for a bit, eventually took up that waitress job, then . .” Her lips curl up. “Armin came.”
“Oh,” you thumb with the pages of your journal. Jubie leans in closer to you, “How’d you get here?”
“I left home when I was sixteen,” you gently reply, unsurprised to watch her lips pop open in awe. “Yeah . . . Got put in foster care not too long after you left, hopped around from home to home until I ended up a few cities away from here. I lived in a few motels too, before I met this . . guy when I turned twenty.” Jubie notices how you start to fidget and scratch at your shoulder. Whatever memories that are currently flying through your brain aren’t any good ones. “Stayed with him for two years until I finally decided to buy a random bus ticket and get away from ‘im.”
Softly, Jubie hums. Her eyes slowly scan your face before she reaches to interlace her fingers within the spaces of yours. “And that random bus ticket landed you here . . .”
“Isn’t that insane?”
The two of you giggle. It’s a shared laugh full of disbelief on how all the pieces managed to fall into place the way that they did. “Tell me . .” you look away to the blanket, nibble on your bottom lip then look back up at Jubie. She can’t help but notice how bashful you seem now. “Tell me how you and Armin . . how you guys came to be.”
Jubie grins, peers down at your conjoined hands then squeezes yours. “Well . . .” she cutely drags. “I guess you can say I had a teensie crush on him for weeks before the two of us even talked. He used to come to the diner all the time and order the same thing — country fried steak, eggs, and a coffee. Comes up to me one day and tells me that he’s takin’ me to his farm, that he needs some help so . . I go. I worked with him for about . . a month before he jus, drove me to m’motel one night, grabbed all m’stuff, then basically moved me in.”
Your eyebrows lift, “Jus’ like that?”
Jubie nods, once and firm, “Crazy, isn’t he? . . Well, I thought so. I dunno. I lived in the room you’re stayin’ in for a couple a’months. And for a while, we were jus’ . . farmer and his lil farmhand, I guess.”
She suddenly trails off yet doesn’t continue. You watch her cheeks burn bright as she continues to smile while playing with your fingers. Bending your neck, you try to meet her eye again, “And then?”
She covers her face, “Then I let him slide his fingers down m’knickers on the porch one night.”
You gasp. Jubie squeaks.
“I jus’ . . let him. I wanted him to,” she pouts as you begin to giggle. “That next mornin’, I got real shy and curt with him. But he asked if I felt safe here, with him, I told him yes, then he said good, because he didn’t have plans on lettin’ me leave.”
You’re still softly laughing as you cover your smile with a few fingers, “That’s . . . really romantic, I think.”
Jubie huffs through her nose, “I think so too.”
“How does he make you feel?”
She doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, she looks out into the distance at the barn while the wind dances through her long, dark curls that are a bit more frizzy today. You like it like this. “So good,” she finally sighs back. “He sees me . . for me. Understands me. He takes care of me like no one has before.”
Your chest warms, watching her turn back to face you. Her expression shifts into one much softer yet . . elfish. You don’t know how to read it until she whispers, “How does he make you feel?”
Your smile fades as the thudding of your heart picks up. “Me? . . .” You wonder if you should just book it for the house, if she would catch you. “Uhm, good . .? Yeah, good. He’s . . . nicer than I thought.”
“Mm, yeah?” Jubie’s eyebrows lift as you nod. “. . . Such a liar.”
“What?”
She’s smirking now. “You’ve always been a bad liar.”
Swallowing, you shake your head, “ ‘m . . ‘m not lyin’ about anythin’ Jubie—“
“—Yes, you are.”
“I’m not—“
“—Yes, you areee-eeee,” she falls back onto the blanket, leaving you to sit there while feeling like your heart is going to come coughing up your throat. She rests her interlocked fingers upon the surface of her tummy, still smiling while gazing up at you with those sharp, almond eyes that always felt like they could read into your soul. “. . He likes you, too . . . A lot. More than I think you know.”
Your eyes drop to your hands as you begin to shake your head. “No. That doesn’t make any sense, Jules.”
She scoffs a soft laugh of shock, “And why not? You don’t think that you’re likeable?”
“I t-think that he’s in a relationship . . with you.”
She’s quickly sitting up again, this time, closer to you. “Back when I first left . . I thought about you a lot. I’d lie awake sometimes wonderin’ what you were doin’, if you were okay.” Your throat tightens as you continue to trace the lace around the cover of your journal with your finger. “I always hoped you got out, too. Was like, a dream come true to see you again that day, I almost didn’t believe it.”
You glance up just in time to see that her eyes have fallen to your lips. When they snap back up into yours, they’re warm and bright . . full of so much emotion when she simply says, “I adore you.”
The words come out delicately — like she’s placing something small and precious between the two of you.
Your lips part but not a word slips from between them. You feel stuck.
A soft smile she wears as Jubie goes on to say, “I always did. Since we were six.” The wind picks up, blowing both your curls across your cheeks. “And lately . . . uhm. I t-think things have been feelin’ different for me.”
You hear your blood rushing through your ears. “D-Different how?”
“I jus’ notice things now. Little things.”
“. . Yeah?”
“Mhm,” she traces her finger in shy circles upon your knee. “Like, how you look when you’re concentratin’ on somethin’. Or when you whisper stuff you wanna ask me or Armin to yourself first before you do. How cute you look when you’re full and sleepy.”
Heat slowly crawls up your face.
You watch her scoot a bit closer to mumble, “You feel it too, don’t you?”
“I . . d-don’t know what I feel.”
“ ‘s okay.” Her voice is gentle and reassuring and something in you absolutely caves upon the realization of Jubie not being scared of this . . of you. Therefore, before your nerves start to over activate themselves again, you suddenly lean forward to press your lips against hers.
The moment is soft again. Warm. You feel how Jubie freezes in shock for a second until it all settles in. She returns the kiss slowly with a soft sigh as you push deeper, a little less careful, feeling her hands slide up your thighs to the dip of your waist. You pull her closer by the neckline of her dress, tongue swiping against the seam of her lips to taste pineapple as she tilts her head, opens her mouth, and welcomes it in.
The tiny, breathy sound you make shoots right through Jubie and down to the bud of her clit. Closer, she pulls you until she lands on her back, you above her with your hands cradling her face as the kiss grows more eager, warmer, sloppier. Neither of you barely notice the world around you at this point until,
Clap!
The sharp sound of the screen door slamming forces you both away from one another to see Armin standing there, arm resting on one of the porch beams as he watches . . quietly. It seems he must’ve been there for a couple seconds longer than what either of you may think because his posture is settled — shoulders relaxed beneath his fitted flannel and hat brim raised to get a better look at two girls kissing on a blanket in his backyard.
Your stomach drops. You feel how still Jubie grows beneath you.
Even from feet away, you feel his his gaze slowly drift from you . . back to Jubie . . then back to you again.
Nobody says anything for a long while. Then he pushes off the frame and says, “Get y’selves situated then meet me in the living room. Five minutes.”
And with that, he turns and carries himself back on in the house.
“. . . Jubie . .”
“Oh my God,” she breathes.
You scramble upright first while smoothing your hands down the fabric of your dress. A million thoughts race throughout your brain — most of them including you being sent away. “I-Is he mad? Do you think he’s mad?”
Jubie realizes exactly what you’re thinking. Slowly sitting up, she presses her hand against your chest, “No, no. Jus’ breathe, lovie. Okay? It’ll be okay.”
Exhaling a shaky breath, together, the two of you work on gathering the blanket and scattered food, working in nervous silence. You follow behind her across the grass, up the porch, and inside the house. Its okay. Jubie said it’ll be okay so it’s okay. You repeat the mantra to yourself the entire walk down the hall towards the living room, trying to keep your hands from trembling to much upon finally seeing him, standing beside the mantle with a glass of ice water tilted at his lips. His hat is off . . seemed to be tossed upon the couch, leaving his waves loose and free.
You and Jubie stand there quietly, within the archway, watching him slowly take the glass of water to the head . . slow and easy, bit by bit until it’s completely gone. And with a languid, deep breath released from his chest after swallowing, he firmly sits the cup upon the mantle with a thick clunk. Silence stretches . . . He doesn’t look angry. It eases your worries a bit.
“Two a’you girls feel like explainin’?”
Your throat feels like it’s being squeezed between someone’s fingers. Looking down at your feet, you shuffle back and forth on them while hearing Jubie speak, “W-We didn’t mean—“
His voice cuts in, calm but blunt, “—How long’s this been goin’ on?”
She shakes her head quickly, “Not long, Papa, I promise. We jus’ . . kissed once before . . like, t-three weeks ago now.”
One of his eyebrows lift, “Three weeks.”
Timidly, Jubie nods. Studying her, Armin tries to catch tale of a lie however, upon finding himself unable to, he looks at you. You remain quietly standing beside her, head bowed, and fidgeting with your fingers like you’ve just been caught with your fingers inside his cookie jar.
“Mm,” he rubs his tongue against his cheek with his hands on his hips. “. . You ain’t tell me about no kiss.”
“I t-told you about the other stuff.”
“About your feelins for ‘er, yes, but you left that other part out.”
“I thought . . you’d be mad at me . . .”
“Mad,” is spoken candidly like he’s thinking about that specific word.
Slowly, you pick your head up the longer their conversation continues. Other stuff? Feelings? Upon you glancing at Jubie, you’re able to discern that now is not a good time to ask her about it. For a moment, Armin’s quiet again. He just stands there with his icy blue gaze slowly moving between the two of you as he works his jaw back and forth. “C’mere. Both a’you.”
Jubie immediately obeys. You slowly follow — bare feet soft against the rug as the both of you find yourselves standing directly in front of his large stature, letting Armin continue to survey you as though he’s finally clicked the last lock into place. “. . I’ve been watchin’ the two a’you.”
When your gaze falls again, you suddenly feel a rough hand beneath your chin, forcing your chin back into place. Armin’s voice is gruff when he demands, “Eyes up.”
You gulp. He drops his hand.
“You mean a lot to Jubilee here,” he begins softly with a simple tilt of his head in her direction. “And you’ve grown to mean a lot to me, too.” Your breath hitches. “Now, I’m gonna explain how this here situation’s gone work and I ain ’t interested in hearin’ any slick talk from either a’you, understand me?”
You and Jubie nod with little ‘yes sir’s mumbled.
Armin nods once. “Alright, now. From this day forward, I take care a’both you girls.” His voice is low and steady. “That means you live here,” he turns towards you. “With us. Ain’t no runnin’, ain’t no leavin’. I also expect you to listen when I tell ya’ somethin’.”
Quickly, you nod.
He folds his arms, sated. “You two look after each other. An’ I know you’ve already been doin’ that, I ain’t gotta worry about it too much, but from here on out . . you both might as well be sisters. One a’you gets upset, the other bet not ignore it. An’ if the two a’you start fussin’ or carryin’ on about somethin’, I’ll handle it. I don’t tolerate poison under my roof.”
Second by second, you feel something inside of you loosening. Rules, stability, structure. Somehow it feels like solid ground has been finally placed beneath your feet.
“The three of us look after each other. That’s the only way this gon’ work . . hm?”
Shyly, you nod. Jubie does the same with a small, “Mhm.”
Content with your answers, Armin’s big hand reaches out, cups the back of Jubie’s head then brings her closer to press a rough, scratchy kiss against her forehead. “Need you t’go check on Sam, Sonnet, and Claude f’me.”
“. . . Pa—“
“—Gone. I need to talk to ꒰ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ꒱ f’a moment then we’ll come and get you in a bit, baby girl.”
Theres no harshness to his tone, he speaks like it’s a quiet promise. Wordlessly, upon realizing she’s not going to walk herself, he spins then nudges her towards the front door with a few fingers to her hip. Jubie hesitates as big, brown eyes flicker between the two of you, flashing some reluctance but mostly full of trust. Therefore, she gives you a small nod and reassuring smile, You’ll be okay, before she’s continuing on her way outside. You and Armin listen to the door creak before it slams closed and her footsteps get fainter and fainter the further she gets.
Suddenly, the house is silent.
He doesn’t move for a moment. He simply stands there, watching you. The weight of his attention makes you want to burrow deep down in a hole somewhere.
“Lemme see those eyes.”
He lifts your chin again, hand loosely clutched beneath your jaw. You’re forced to peer up into his as your chin wobbles, thinking that what you’re going to read in them would be disgust or anger. Nonetheless, you don’t see that . . there’s something deeper swimming in them, something steady and tender. His thumb strokes over your cheek, you breathe out a shaky breath of content. “Couple things I ain’t say while Jubie was standin’ here.”
Your body somehow grows more tensed, Armin notices.
“Relax, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ bad, I promise,” he mumbles. “You gotta know this, though. Need this to stick to that hyperactive brain a’yours. You’re safe here. The two a’ya belong here. Yeah?”
Softly, you nod. Your voice is small when you mewl, “ Y-Yeah.”
His gaze lingers on your face as his thumb continues to slowly stroke your cheek. His touch renders you calm. “Alright, now. Secondly . . you don’t go lettin’ anybody else get ideas about you. Some of these fellas out here . . don’t entertain ‘im. No wanderin’ off wit’ ‘im. Don’t go thinkin’ you owe anybody outside’a this house a damn thing.”
“Okay,” once more, you nod.
Armin’s expression softens a bit — eyebrows relax, eyes grow slightly more gentle. “. . You know why?”
This time, you slowly shake your head.
“ ‘Cause you’re mine.”
There’s some possession underlying his tone, definitely, but mostly . . devotion. Like that word mine means something kept safe and close more than just owned . . . only slightly.
“Both you girls are . . And the two a’you are each other’s.”
Armin watches the way your breath catches, how your shoulders ease. You’re doing so good — listening to him. He appreciates that. “Last thing . .” His hand slides away, down to your chest. Your face grows warm at the feel of his wide, calloused palm pressing flat up against it, directly over your pounding heart. “This right here belongs to this one here,” He removes it to tap two fingers against his own. “And that one out there.”
A big, shy smile can’t help spreading across your lips. The slightest smirk pulls at Armin’s.
“Don’t act surprised. Been seein’ it for a while now.” He saw it the minute Jubie stepped her foot off the porch to meet you halfway for that first hug. Now, when you started looking that same way at him? Armin isn’t too sure but he thinks it happened some time after that drive into town . . when he purchased Lily for you. All these feelings inside of you, they’ve been brewing for too long on a body wound tight . . akin to a shaken can of pop. He’s hoping that you finally let go . . finally allow him to take care of you the way a little thing like you should be. “C’mere.”
Like he did Jubie, you hiccup a little when he slowly pulls you in to press a kiss against the center of your forehead. Oh. Something inside of you absolutely brightens. You’re trembling a little when he pulls away.
❀~900 words, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), dirty talk, overstimulation, pet names/name calling(e.g., slut, sweetheart, and baby), condomless sex (wrap it), etc❀
💌: I like the first version I wrote more... might not be the same next time you see it.
་༘࿐18+ 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓓𝓸 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽་༘࿐
You try to tilt your hips, a desperate, fluttering movement intended to throw him off—to angle away so he stops hitting that spot, the one that’s got your legs shaking and your brain buzzing with a static charge.
But he catches it. Of course he does.
"Where you runnin’ to?" he rasps, his voice a low, vibrating growl that shivers through your spine like a physical blow. His fingers—calloused, thick, and mapped with those heavy, prominent veins—dig into the soft meat of your hips, squeezing the skin as he anchors you to the mattress.
"Thought you liked it right there." He slams back in, a deliberate, bone-deep thrust that drives his entire weight into that tender, aching spot that’s already got you fucked dumb.
You gasp, your hands scrabbling for something to hold, anything, but he’s relentless. He keeps your hips locked down under the crushing pressure of his palms and grinds into it like he’s trying to ruin you from the inside out.
The sound of your joining is obscene—a wet, rhythmic slap slap slap of skin meeting skin. The friction has turned the slick heat of your arousal into a thick, creamy lather that smears across your thighs and webs between you with every stroke.
"You think I didn’t notice? How you squeeze me every time I hit it? Thought you could hide that?" The words are hot and filthy against your neck. "Nah. That spot's mine now. You hear me? I’m gonna keep hitting it until you can’t remember your own name."
He pulls back just a fraction, the wet, suctioning plop of the air hitting your joining echoing in the room. He leans back on his heels, a dark, amused smirk etching on his face as he looks down at where he’s buried. The thick, pale cream of your arousal is lathered white against his shaft, dripping in heavy, slow beads onto the rumpled sheets.
"Look at that," he coos, his voice dripping with sweet condescension as he reaches down to trace the mess. "Look how messy you are for me. Just a little puddle of need, aren't you? All that talk, and you’re already out of it. Poor thing... you can't help yourself when I'm inside you, can you?"
He doesn't wait for an answer. He leans forward, threading his hand into your hair and yanking your head back to force your eyes to meet his. His eyes are hooded, dark and heavy with a terrifyingly deep sort of hunger. He crushes his mouth against yours in a sloppy, open-mouthed make-out, his tongue clashing with yours as his hips resume their brutal work.
The kiss tastes of salt and heat, his saliva mixing with yours in a messy, desperate exchange. The wet, squelching sounds of him fucking you fill the quiet room, a rhythmic, suctioning squelch that matches the frantic pace of your heart. He fucks you deep and mean, his heavy length stretching you until your vision flares white at the edges.
“Mghn—ahh!” you gasp into his mouth, nails digging into the hard planes of his shoulders while you writhe.
He breaks the kiss, a thin string of saliva connecting you for a heartbeat before it snaps. He watches it break with a slow, mean grin. “You keep trying to run, I’m just gonna chase you deeper. You want me to stop hitting it?” He lets out a dark, breathless laugh, his chest heaving against yours. “Then stop clenching around my dick like a slut.”
You can’t. And he knows it.
He shifts his weight, his arms bracing on either side of your head, and grinds forward in those slow circles again. The head of his dick strikes that spot again, and again, and again. Your mouth hangs open on a silent cry, eyes rolling back as the pressure mounts.
“Oh, you like that,” he says, his mouth twisting into that sharp, condescending smirk that always makes your skin burn. “Course you do. No idea what you’re doing, but your body knows exactly how to take it. Look at you, shaking like a leaf just because I'm giving you what you asked for.”
You whimper, your voice a broken thread. “Mmm—fuck... please…”
“Right there?” he mocks, his voice dripping with derision. “Is that the spot, pretty? You want me to keep fucking you until you cum again?”
You nod, crying now, trembling under the sheer volume of him. He gives it to you—pounding into that same sensitive nerve until you’re sobbing from the overload. Each thrust sends a shockwave through you, thick and heavy, pushing your limits until your legs shake and your mind goes blank.
Another inch. Another thrust. Stretching you open until it burns—until you feel like you’re splitting in two. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you squirm away. He holds you there, breath hot against your neck, whispering how small and helpless you feel under him. You come apart again, sobbing as the orgasm tears through you, leaving your legs useless.
Even as the aftershocks rack your frame, he doesn’t let up. He keeps pounding into you, making sure you’re so full of him that you can’t think of anything else.
“Still with me, sweetheart?”
You nod through the haze of exhaustion. Your body is still twitching, mouth open in a sob you can’t quite finish.
He hasn’t pulled out; he stays buried deep, thick and pulsing in the mess he’s made inside you. He stays there, enjoying the way your walls flutter and seize around him.
He brushes his fingers down your cheek, pulling them away wet with your tears. “You’re still crying” he mutters, his voice dark and low. “Thought you were done. What’s the matter, baby? Too much for you?”
“I—I can’t stop…” you whimper, blinking up at him.
He doesn’t coo. He doesn’t tell you it’s okay. He just presses in deeper, using his weight to anchor you to the bed, his chest a solid wall against your own.
“Too full? Too deep?”
You let out a broken noise of agreement, your head tossing on the pillow. He hums, a low vibration in his chest that you feel in your teeth, then grinds into you again—slow, heavy, and mean. “Good. Stay right there and take every bit of it. I want to feel you try to swallow all of me.”
A cry rips out of you, your back bowing off the mattress as your core clamps down around him in a final, desperate clench. He groans like it’s killing him, his jaw ticking as he drives through the tightness to chase his own edge.
One hand stays locked on your hip, while the other grips your face—not gently. His thumb presses into your cheek, forcing you to look at him. “Eyes on me,” he commands, his voice a fractured, rasp. “I wanna see you.”
You try to focus, blinking hard against the tears. He buries himself one last time, bottoming out with a force that makes you sob, and shudders.
His whole body goes rigid, his muscles turning to stone under your hands as he spills into you, a hot, heavy flood that you feel reaching your very chest. He drops his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and broken, and you feel the heavy, grounding weight of him settle over you.
description - you enjoy being a secretary, it’s nice being able to help out as much as you can, even with your slightly absurd boss, who is extremely serious about grammar. you know better, sometmes.
featuring [separated] - shoko ieiri x plus size-fem!reader, utahime iori plus size-fem!reader, yuki tsukumo x plus size-fem!reader, butch!gojo satoru x plus size-fem!reader, fem!suguru geto x plus size-fem!reader, butch!sukuna ryomen x plus size-fem!reader
warning(s) - profanity, slight plot with some, spanking, she/her pronouns (gojo, suguru, sukuna), orgasm denial, biting, spitting, overstimulation, squirting, sadomasochism, dacryphilia, nipple/breast play, pet names (baby, sweet girl, baby girl, doll, pretty girl, angel, honey, good girl), light choking, headIocks, thigh riding, panties as a gag, teasing, pussy eating, pussy smacking, pillow humping, fingering, slight humiliation kink, bondage, praise kink, degradation, dirty talk(?). 18+ only, minors & men dni.
my letter 💌 - i always thought that secretary (2002) and stoker (2013) were my little niche/weird films. they still are, and i’m so happy more and more people are becoming obsessed with lee holloway.
☆SHOKO IEIRI
𝒯here is an unsettling silence between the two of you, one you’ve desperately found uncomfortable.
Her dark brown eyes would stay locked on you whenever you walked into her office.
Sitting behind her desk, her fingers occupied with tracing over the words you wrote, many errors in almost every sentence.
Over the past few weeks, her eyes have skipped over them; a part of her did not care to correct them. Did not care to express how it looked on her as a brand; she let you have your errors, your ignorance, so blinding that Shoko felt as if she had become a prisoner to your actions. Actions you are unaware of.
Things have changed; her calm tone has grown stricter, making you see your wrongdoing and driving you to pledge never to repeat it.
Tapping your foot excessively fast on the carpet, you brush your tongue against your inner cheek.
Blocking out a bit of your thoughts as music plays on low from your thin stereo headphones.
Typing somewhat quickly on the typewriter, you jump as Shoko slams a paper on the typewriter.
Errors circled in her red marker, her lips pursed as she stared at you.
You take your headphones off, placing them against your neck as you glance up at her. “What did I tell you about mistakes?” She whispers sternly; the many whiteouts on your desk shake a little from her moving her hand against the typewriter.
Your eyes flicker down back at the letter, seeing them now. School written as Shool, focus written as focs.
“To always keep them in check.” You whisper, and she nods. “To always keep them in check,” Shoko repeats.
There is an eerie silence between the two of you before she speaks again.
“Crawl to my office.” She states, strictly, and her flared, black-striped work pants accentuate her body as she walks away, leaving the paper on your typewriter.
Your eyes followed her until she was out of reach.
You bite your bottom lip, holding in your smile. Your hands feel warm, as the hair on your body stands.
Glancing at the letter, you lean forward and pick it up with your mouth, making sure to have a nice grip as you stand and get on all fours.
Your heart pounds with each movement, crawling down the hallway, your eyes stare at her open door.
Knowing she’s waiting for you, just as you’ve waited for her.
Making it inside, you see her standing in front of her desk, hands clasped and resting in front of her as her brow raises when she sees you.
You stay in front of her, still on all four. Shoko continues to stare at you, her dark brown eyes flicking from your hands to your face, watching you blink before returning to the arch in your back.
Shoko then comes up to you, leaning forward as her hand comes up under your chin, nudging your face to look at her better.
Strands of her hair fall over her shoulders, slightly touching you.
“I want you to get on my desk…pull your skirt up and pull your tights down.” She whispers, the rasp in her voice turning you on.
Shoko takes a step back, and you stand, wiping your hands on your buttoned-up shirt before going over to her desk. Still having the letter in your mouth, you swallow your saliva down, making sure it doesn’t touch the paper.
Pulling your skirt up, Shoko watches intensely, arms crossed, as the muscles from her biceps outline against the tightness of her buttoned-up shirt.
You then slowly move your fingers to the hem of your tights and pull them down slowly, your eyes trailing down Shoko’s body as you do. Once your tights hit your heels, you lean back on your hands planted on the table as you widen your legs, your cotton underwear on display now.
Shoko walks up to you, now standing in front of you. Her fingers reach for the letter, pulling it out of your mouth, and place it on the table beside you.
“Read the words off for me,” She whispers, and her right hand comes up to the valley of your breasts, dragging her fingers to your panties, seeing the way you jerk a little.
You gulp and look to the right, seeing the glaring red marker circled over your errors.
Shoko’s hands come over to your heels, her left hand wrapping over to your ankle as her right hand carefully takes off your right heel. Then, moving over to the left, she does the same, placing them nicely on the floor. Her fingers, warm and soft, drag your tights down all the way off.
“Dear Mr. Nelson-” Your voice gets cut off as Shoko yanks your panties down, the cold air hitting your pussy.
You look at her, and she nudges her head back to the letter, swallowing your saliva. You look back at the letter and continue. “Thank you for taking the time to respond to us.”
A whimper leaves your breath as Shoko’s thumb begins to circle over your clit, she holds in a moan, missing the feeling of you on her skin, missing your scent.
“We understand how much this means to you, as it is important to us too.” You squirm as Shoko slides her middle and ring finger in your hole; you squeeze yourself around her fingers, your mouth becoming coated with your saliva even more.
You see the mistake in the next sentence; your body feels as if it is exceeding normal temperature. “Continue,” Shoko repeats, her eyes on your pretty folds, her thumb still teasing at your clit.
Clearing your throat, “If your still wiling to visit our office on the twenty-seventh of this month, to continue this conversation, we will be happy to provide a time for you. Our office hours are from nine a.m. to four p.m. every Monday through Friday, thank you.” You finish reading, nervous to make a glance at Shoko.
She does not care; however, her fingers curl as she begins to thrust them unhurriedly inside you.
Her pace is torturous to you; you keep your legs open for her, as your hips buck up to feel her deeper. Your arousal coaxes her, making her hand angle in a way that forces a moan out of you.
“Look at me, and reason with me on how you don’t deserve to be punished.” She lets out, your cunt pulsates with each thrust, the squelching sounds coming from your pussy keep the room from being entirely silent.
You whine and squirm around, only for Shoko’s left hand to come around your waist and pull you closer to her.
“Come on, be a good girl for me.” She whispers and gets closer, resting her head against your neck, her lips ghosting over your skin.
Her thumb rubs side to side against your clit, and she holds in a giggle as she feels you try to close your legs on her.
You turn your head forward and sigh as her perfume consumes you.
Your soaking pussy is taking her well as you try and come up with something, an excuse almost. “I didn’t mean to.” You whisper, and Shoko laughs before pressing her lips onto your collarbone.
“You didn’t mean to? That is not a good enough excuse. Try again.” She murmurs, pushing her fingers deeper into your cunt, moaning against your neck as your walls clench harder. She was close to giving you whatever you want, but needed to remind you that life does not work that way.
You bite your bottom lip, the heat in your stomach coming as your nipples feel hard, wishing she would give them a bit of attention, but you know better.
“Come on, doll, talk to me.” She rasps and smirks right after, once she feels you jerk your hip up. Your arousal drips out of your pussy, covering her fingers and her desk now.
“Mmngh– I wasn’t paying attention.” You whine out, tears welling up as you try to move again, needing to cum. Shoko’s nails dig into your skin, stopping you quickly.
“You weren’t paying attention.” She mumbles and clicks her tongue, “I always expect the best from you, and you defy me each time. What am I going to do with you?” She leans back, her hair now in her face as she pouts; she was the victim now.
Your thoughts feel lost, and your words fall flat on your tongue as she hurries her pace up, not giving you a chance to speak.
“Naughty girl, is this what you wanted all along? Your boss's fingers taking care of your sweet pussy?” She giggles, and you nod fast, moans spilling out from your tongue. “Wanna cum.” You whine, trying to blink your tears away, but it only makes them fall to your chin.
Shoko moans at the sight, the lighting in the room capturing the glimmer in your eyes. Your lips quiver while your moans sound like an angel's call to her.
You grind your hips, your pussy, and her fingers go into a natural rhythm. The more you ride her, the more she thrusts into you. “Easy.” Shoko glances at your pussy, soaked and swollen, such a pretty sight.
Before you could let out another moan, Shoko pulls her fingers away from your pussy, stopping the tense feeling of cumming all over her fingers.
Your brows furrow, and you look at her, tears still falling to your chin.
“Why’d you stop?” You pout, Shoko stares at her fingers, and brings them up to her mouth, sucking them, enjoying the taste of you on her. Your scent covers her and the table. She moves to the side, picks up a tissue, and wipes her hand dry.
“You didn’t give me a good reason why I shouldn’t punish you.” She states, staring at you blankly, and the embarrassment for you slowly comes back.
Shoko picks up the letter and hands it to you, “Rewrite this for me and make me a coffee.” Her voice is now monotoned, and she walks behind her desk, now sitting down on her chair as she scoots up to the table.
You blink a couple of times and pull your underwear back up, pulling your skirt down. You stand and grab your heels, tights, and walk out of her room, unsatisfied and annoyed.
☆UTAHIME IORI
𝒴our moans echo through the building, scared that others could hear you from down the hall. Utahime’s lips stayed attached to your right nipple, the tip of her tongue twirling over the bud, her hands staying at your waist, forcing you to stay still on her lap.
Your back pressed against her desk; the files she had gone over were filled with her red marker, circling over your multiple mistakes.
As if you enjoyed causing her problems, each word she read that was written incorrectly made her skin crawl.
Now yours did the same for a whole different reason.
Utahime’s office is cold, making sure your nipples were still hard even if she stopped giving them attention.
“Ms. Iori.” You moan breathlessly, gasping as her teeth drag down the valley of your breasts, your skin covered from her tongue.
Your pussy was soaked, and your panties stuck to it. You tried riding her lap only for her to stop you immediately.
“I taught you better.” Her voice is authoritative, yet so gentle.
Her eyes flicker up to you as she leans back in her chair, her lips glisten from her saliva, and her lipstick covers your skin and her chin.
“I’m so disappointed, don’t think I’m not.” She continues, bringing her right hand up to rest on your cheek, her thumb brushing back and forth, slowly.
Your eyes look down at her shirt, watching her chest move up and down as she breathes steadily.
“I can make it up to you, I promise.” You whisper, and she raises a brow, “By not making any more mistakes?” She quickly responds, and you sit quietly now.
She hums and nods, “Didn’t think so.” She whispers and sighs, resting the nail of her thumb between her teeth as she stares at you.
Her eyes run over to your face, the beauty that you are; she should feel ashamed by her actions, pulling you into her perverse ways. She is ashamed, only a little, but there are times when she looks at you, and she sees the same yearning.
As if you’re water in a drought for her, you’d give to her over and over again, bringing her back to life just by your scent alone.
Tapping her hand on your ass, she sighs, “Get on my desk, sweet girl.” She licks her lips, and you bite your bottom lip, trying your best to hide your smile. “Should I pull my skirt up, ma’am?” You giggle, and her heart beats faster from your words. Utahime swears you’re trying to give her a heart attack, day by day.
She nods and watches you get on the edge of her desk, your heels pressing on her chair, locking her in. Your cotton panties are now ready to be pulled off, soaked with your arousal.
“Take them off.” She whispers, her eyes darker as you listen, sliding them off slowly.
“Good girl.” She mumbles, still having her thumb between her teeth, her skin buzzing, wanting nothing more than to devour you.
She stares at your pulsing pussy, her eyes move up to your face, waiting for whatever. Her hands move your legs closer and pull your panties off from your ankles and toss them on the ground.
“You enjoy being a problem to this company?” She questions, sliding your thighs open, you gulp and shake your head no.
“Then why do you act incompetent?” Utahime mumbles, her thumb sliding down your folds, watching your cunt twitch. You clear your throat, and she glances up at you, giving you a look. You go quiet and watch her still, your eyes on hers, then move to her lips.
“Pick up one of the files and read your mistakes, because clearly you enjoy making me look bad.” Her index finger continues to glide up and down between your folds, loving each twitch and shiver you give her.
Your hand grabs one of the files, and your eyes immediately see the mistakes, from the help of her marker.
“I should have placed a period, there’s an on running sen-” You whimper as Utahime pulls her hand back and slaps your pussy. The pain is aching and vibrating; your cunt pulsates harder now.
“Keep going.” Utahime doesn’t look at you, doesn’t need to because her actions are doing the talking now.
You listen and open your mouth, “The company’s name is spelled incorrectly.” You jump as Utahime slaps your pussy again, this time harder than the first one. Then she slaps it again, the smacking sounds going on repeat.
Your pussy hurts, and your whimpers turn into moans as she slaps your pussy for the eleventh time now.
Your arousal on her hand, your clit swollen and twitching over and over again. You're so sensitive that if she inserts any of her fingers in you, you're sure you’d cum right then and there.
Utahime is mean with her slaps; each one had a reason, berating you to do better, but you both know better. You’ll keep up these mistakes, and she’ll keep implementing barbaric punishments you both look forward to.
“You’re so beautiful, but you really do love causing trouble.” She sighs, mostly saying it to herself.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper, sniffling, and Utahime laughs, shaking her head. “You’re not sorry, baby, cause if you were, you would do better.” She notes and smacks your pussy one more time, making you shut your legs. Utahime hums and opens them back up, her hand rubbing your pussy up and down as she coos at you.
“Just do better for me.” She murmurs, leaning closer and wrapping her lips around your nipple, her thumb now teasing your clit as she bites at your left nipple gently.
You squirm and wrap your arms around her as you whine and cry. “Fuck, that hurts so good.” You gasp, feeling Utahime smirk against you.
Moving her head to your right, she drags her thumb down your pussy, so close to sliding it in your hole, but she does not. Instead, she circles your folds, slightly easing the pain as she sucks on your right nipple. Her lips move up to your shoulder blade, digging her teeth against your skin, leaving many bite marks.
You owned her mind; she owned your body. That’s just how it went between you two.
☆YUKI TSUKUMO
𝒞urrently on a phone call, a mint in her mouth as you sat on her left thigh, skirt on the ground. Your lips ghost over hers, but every time you attempted to kiss, she dismissed you each time.
Her free hand picks up your panties that were on the table behind you, and balls them up before stuffing them in your mouth, making you gag in surprise.
Yuki now placed her left hand on your waist, rubbing the tip of her finger against your skin to coax you to keep riding her thigh. Her pants are ruined already, not that it bothered her; she had more hiding somewhere in the office.
Pulling the phone away from her, she glares at you, “Ride me until you’ve learned your lesson.”
You sigh and watch her place her telephone back against her ear, hearing what her client has to say. You’ve taken calls, taken care of her, but for some odd reason, the letters you typed up always came back incorrect.
She’s reached a new level of tiredness with you, needing you to know that this can’t go on, but it does.
“Yes, Mrs. O’Hara, I’m still here.” She replies to her client, eyes on you as she waits patiently.
You hold back a whine and begin grinding on her, the slick of your pussy covering her pants. She feels it a little, feels the way your pussy squeezes for something as you ride harder.
You try to hide your whimpers, wishing you could bury your face in her neck, but Yuki refrains from letting you do so.
You gasp as Yuki’s fingers trace up your body, moving over to your lips, her thumb brushing over the bottom lip before pressing into your mouth. You suck on her thumb and continue to ride yourself out. Your whimpers are muffled by your panties and her thumb.
Your pussy lips ached for something more than just getting off her thigh; you wanted her lips, marking you all over, like you owed it to her, and maybe you did.
She quickly ends the call and places the telephone down, now giving you her attention. Moving her hands to your waist, she helps you ride yourself on her. “Shit, just like that, honey.” She whines, and you grind harder, the texture of her pants making you a moaning mess.
She keeps the panties in your mouth, forcing you to be confined.
Your clit twitches as you feel yourself so close to cumming now. Yuki can tell by your face and the way your moans become like whimpers.
You jerk your body closer to her, and she wraps her arms around your waist. Then, bringing her right hand up to your mouth, she pulls the panties out and tosses them on your skirt. You moan and whine, “Ah– that feels so good.” You gasp, your eyes on hers still.
Yuki could almost cum at the sight, sweetest moans and eyes gleaming as you reached new levels of ecstasy.
“You just wanted my attention, is that it, angel?” She whispers and smiles at you.
You nod and moan again; you're so close. “Fuck.” You jerk your hips up, and Yuki moves her hand down to your ass, gripping them and leaning closer.
“Open your mouth.” She whispers, and you open wide. Yuki doesn’t take another second, spitting in your mouth. “Close it and swallow.” You close your mouth and swallow hard, the action turning you on even more.
You gasp and jerk again, “That’s it, baby, use my body.” She smirks, and you do as she says.
Relaxing your body, you continue to move your hips back and forth, the folds of your pussy pressed hard against her. Yuki holds you tighter as you jerk your body more, your moans cutting off as you hide yourself in her neck.
Cum spills out of your pussy, covering her work pants, you ride your high out, sighing as you close your eyes tightly.
Your body feels overstimulated while you slow down, and Yuki shushes you kindly. “It’s okay.” She mutters, still holding you as you finally stop.
Your legs are shaky, your skin hot as fire, only slightly cooling down by her comfort.
“That’s my good girl.” She rasps, and you smile, planning your next mistakes.
☆BUTCH!GOJO SATORU
𝐼t had been over a month since the last time she had touched you for your countless mistakes. It was simple, only slapping your ass until you couldn’t sit on it anymore, but that was not enough for you.
You missed the way her veins popped out from her hand with each blow as she held you to keep you still.
You’ve thought about it, dreamt about it, touched yourself about it, but still nothing.
Tapping your foot against the carpet, you organized your desk. Checking the drawers inside, making sure you had everything you needed.
A hall away, her door had been shut, and muffled sounds of conversations on the phone went through the vents.
You couldn’t tell what she was saying, couldn’t tell who she had been cooperating with all this time.
Instead of letting your thoughts of her lips, fingers, and voice take control, you tried your best to find different outlets.
This is a stupid game you’ve been playing for too long now. You’ve tried it all to get her attention, wearing skirts so tight that whenever you bend, it shows your curves. Accidentally messing up her coffee, knowing what she likes, and submitting things to her a day late.
At this point, you were sure Gojo would fire you at least, but no, she kept you in her vicinity. Pulling you closer anytime you seemed to start slipping away.
Gojo felt bad in a way, corrupting your mind and body with her urges. She knows better, or at least she scolds herself into believing.
Throughout that month, Gojo watched you closely. The act you placed on, you acted as if you weren’t causing a problem in the workplace, and she pursued the act.
Yet, when she was alone, at home, or in her office, she pleasured herself to the thoughts of you. Wondering how your lips would feel on her nipples or at the bud of her pussy. Would you be gentle? Would you be rough like her?
Her brain would short-circuit every time as she thought about whether you would smack her. Mostly on her face as you shamed her for everything.
She’s been waiting patiently for an outburst, but nothing.
Little did she know, you had many, mostly to yourself, one of the reasons being scared to lose your job. Guilt is eating you both alive, mostly Gojo.
The funny thing about guilt is that it drives you to do some unthinkable things.
The clock on the wall that had been over the front door ticked, being one of the few things that stopped the silence from suffocating you.
Still organizing the drawers of your desk, you take your time and begin to sharpen your pencils. The fire in your arms and stomach never left, making a home in you, one you tried to light out more times than you could count.
Gojo came out of her office, standing by the wall that curves to the hallway, staring at you.
Biting her bottom lip as she gripped the letters in her hand, she almost crumpled them. You don’t turn, not feeling her presence as you hum away, anything to get you through another day at work.
Stepping away from the walk, she walks over to you, tossing the papers in a nearby trash can and standing in front of your desk now, arms crossed.
You look up from what you’re doing, blinking a bit as you see her, those light blue eyes that always distract you in the best way possible.
“Yes?” You question, Gojo’s breath stops, and she has to clear her throat to not let her voice crack as she speaks. “Can you follow me to my office?” She asks, but more as a statement, you nod and stand.
Your hands shake a little as you wonder if this is it? If you were finally getting fired from this job, scared to ask, you stayed quiet while you walked behind Gojo.
She doesn’t look behind her once; the sounds from your steps and small mutters do enough. Gojo smirks as she pushes her door open and stands against it, watching you small yourself up around her, unknowingly to you.
“You’re thinking loud.” She informs you, you look up at her, and gulp, “Sorry.” You speak up a little as you fully step inside. Gojo shuts the door behind her and walks over to her desk, sitting down in her chair. Her office had a more comfortable feeling to it. Two chairs in front of her table, a bay window behind where she sat, and a white couch that’s pressed against the wall facing her desk.
You stay standing as you look at her. She’s quiet, hands clasped, and on top of the desk, her eyes follow every movement you make.
“Do you like this job?” She asks, genuinely, but it still throws you off. You nod and let out a sigh, “Yes, I like working here if that’s what you’re asking.” You trail off, Gojo glances at your skirt, which stops at your knees, and she can’t help but wonder what color panties you’re wearing today.
“Do you like working with me?” She gets you there, you figured it was a trick question, and it is in a way; you hate how demanding she is at times, though you also seek it out.
“I do, I like it here.” You mutter, and Gojo shakes her head. “Not what I just asked.” It’s silent between you two now, you’re not sure what move to take, and she’s not sure if she should risk it again. Gojo then stands and comes over to you, leaning against her desk, her hands pressed on the edge of it as she stares at you.
“I’ve thought about firing you, not for the reasons you think. You’re good at your job, yet you have started to slip up. Things that should be second nature to you, because you're my secretary, you just seem not to get it through your head.”
Crossing her arms, her muscles flex through her shirt, making your eyes flicker at them before looking back into her eyes.
There’s a glare in them that you have not seen in a while, not until that day.
You take a deep breath as Gojo steps closer to you, her face inches away from yours, and it takes everything in you not to break and kiss her.
“I really am sorry, and I can do better.” You plead. Gojo hums and glances at the couch, “I hope so, but words are never enough for me. You have to show me that you're capable of doing better.” She rasps, stepping closer, you shiver as you feel her nipple brush against yours.
Nodding again, you blink a few times, “I’m willing to do whatever you want.”
Gojo holds in a smile; her pussy throbs at your voice. Taking a step back, she hums and tilts her head.
“Take your skirt and panties off, keep your heels on, and ride one of my pillows.” She rasps out, and your heart beats faster as you watch her sit on her desk, waiting.
Nudging her head up, the smirk finally appears on Gojo’s face as she sees your stunned look. “I thought you were willing to prove you can do better.” She teases, and your heart flips at her tone. You nod and glance at your heels. Clearing your throat, you look back at her, “I did, I am.” You state, and she smiles, fluttering her eyelashes at you.
“Good girl.” She praises, seeing the way your body jerks from that.
You move over to the couch, your back facing it as you unzip your skirt and push it down off you. Gojo licks her bottom lip as she stares at your legs; your cellulite is visible now.
Getting on the couch, you face the right armchair as you sit on your knees, the right side of your body presses into the cushion as you pull a pillow to you. Placing it underneath you, you hover over it as your pussy aches, your hands becoming slightly sweaty as you feel nervous.
Gojo stays quiet as she observes you, “That’s it, babygirl, pleasure yourself on my pillow.” She beckons, her voice sounding like a siren’s call.
Pressing your body on the pillow, you keep one hand on the pillow and the other on the couch to keep yourself somewhat steady.
A part of you feels embarrassed doing this, and excited to do whatever she asks. It’s not physical touch like you wanted, but this works too; Gojo staring at you as you fuck yourself.
You fold the pillow a little with your thighs as you begin to rock your pussy back and forth against it. You look down, taking it slow first, the texture on your cunt slightly rough but not enough to hurt.
Gojo swallows her saliva hard as she watches you, her eyes dark as her hands grip the edge of the desk, licking her bottom as you glance back at her.
Your pussy throbs at the sight. There is no need for words as you look at her, your heart beating faster while you quicken up your grinding. You move your hand that was on the pillow to your clit, rubbing it in circles.
Moaning, you face your head back to the armrest and look down at the cushion. The tension in your body is growing as your nipples get harder.
“That’s it, ride that pretty pussy on my pillow, leave your scent on it, baby.” She rasps, her right hand jerking as she holds back from taking her clothes off and fucking herself to you.
“Shit, don’t say things like that.” You whine, moving your hips back and forth, your pussy wetting the pillow a little now as your clit twitches. Gojo giggles and crosses her arms, “Why not? You look so pretty like this, yeah, that’s it, doll, tap on your clit for me.” She whispers, and you groan, your ring and middle finger begin tapping on your clit repeatedly, which makes you flinch, messing up the rhythm you’ve made on accident.
Gojo’s eyes move over to your legs, down to your heels, the way they press into the couch as you keep grinding harder.
She knows this isn’t enough for you, and truly, it’s not enough for her, too.
“Stop.” She says sternly, and you pause immediately, your brows crease as you turn your head to look at her, trying your best not to pout.
“It was starting to feel good.” You complain, Gojo chuckles and comes up to you, nodding. “I don’t doubt that, but come on, sweet girl. You would rather my mouth than some basic pillow, hm?”
You shiver as Gojo’s right hand comes up from under your chin, smushing your cheeks as she keeps you from looking anywhere else.
You nod and clear your throat, “Yes, please.” Gojo smirks and lets go of your face. “Need you off the pillow then.” She replies, you then move off it, Gojo places it to the side as she watches you sit in front of her now.
Gojo hovers over you, resting her right hand on the wall as she lifts her left leg back and takes her heel off, then her right heel off after.
You stare up at her, admiring the way she looks in the lighting.
Gojo steps back and gets on her knees, her right hand resting on your right ankle, trailing up your body slowly. “How did I get so lucky with a secretary like you?” She whispers, leaning down, her lips pressing on your left thigh, kissing up your skin.
You blink a couple of times, trying to get a word out, but you are unable to.
Gojo’s left hand comes up between your thighs and opens your legs wider for her. Her eyes gleaming at the sight of your pulsing pussy, your clit swollen and so sensitive.
Bringing her thumb to it, her eyes flicker up to your face as she brushes it up and down carefully, watching you squirm.
“I got you, baby, it’s okay.” She whispers, leaning her head down, her tongue licks your pussy lips, moaning at the taste.
The vibration of her moans makes you bring your hand on her shoulder, your legs wrap around her waist, pulling her closer. Gojo smirks and kisses your aching pussy, moving her hands underneath your thighs, she holds you, brushing her fingers side to side on your skin.
Spitting on your pussy she watches it drool down before pressing her tongue against your hole and licking it up.
You moan and gasp, pressing your hand harder on her shoulder, only for Gojo to hold you harder. The sounds of her slurping up your slick that's mixed with her spit make your stomach turn as your legs shake.
“Ah- Gojo, fuck right there!” You whine and grind your hips up; her nose brushes against your clit, sniffing up your scent. “You like this? Hmm?” She moans and keeps sucking at your folds, shoving her mouth more into you. Your fingers dig into her shoulder, and she groans from the pain, her pussy feeling so stimulated.
Thrusting her tongue into your hole now, you gasp and arch your back, moaning louder as you place your free hand on the wall.
Gojo doesn’t let up for air, only curling her tongue and hitting your g-spot, your pants turning her on as your thighs hold her tighter.
“You’re so good to me.” You whine out, pouting, you felt as if you could cry from genuine happiness, but you didn't have it in you, your brain feeling mush as you feel her biceps flex under you. She has you in a grip, and each time you begin to ride her face, Gojo quickly reminds you that she has it under control.
Flickering her eyes up at you, she hums as she sees your face, your mouth open as you let out struggling breaths and incoherent words. Gojo fucks her tongue into you rough, enjoying the way you clench yourself around her.
“That’s it, baby, fuck, you taste so damn good.” Gojo groans and presses her face into your pussy more, not having enough of you.
“Gojo!” You cry out, your legs so close to giving out, your hand on her shoulder moves to her hair, gripping it now as you bop her mouth in and out of you. “You’re so beautiful, baby, I should have done this-” Cutting herself off as she lets you ride yourself on her tongue now, watching you closely.
“Please–please, I’m gonna cum!” You choke out, Gojo then moves her hands to your waist, the warmth of her going through your shirt, making you nervous again.
Gojo feels you slowly down, but she doesn’t. Her tongue moves up to your clit again, wrapping her lips around it as she sucks at your bud, you hold in your tears, struggling to express to tell her how good it feels, but she knows.
“Cum on me, pretty girl, it’s okay. I got you.” She whispers against your folds, her lips glistening from your arousal.
You look at her, so lost in a trance, you whine as Gojo shoves her tongue back into your cunt, beckoning you.
Your pussy grips her tongue, and as she gives you a final thrust, you moan loudly as your body twitches. Spilling out all over Gojo and the couch, you breathe heavily as you continue, drenching her face. She pulls back and smirks, then licks her lips as you push out a little more.
Your legs and hands let go of her body, as yours go limp.
Gojo wipes her face and chuckles as you stare at her with wide eyes, realizing what you did. “Oh.” You whisper, and Gojo laughs even more; her pride becomes bigger. Leaning down, she kisses your burning thighs slowly before looking up at you.
“You, okay?” She mumbles, and you nod, looking around, “Sorry for messing up everything.”
Gojo shrugs and smirks. “We haven’t tried the desk yet.”
You gasp and playfully shove her, your pussy still pulsing as you start to feel cold. Gojo rubs her hands up and down your waist, trying to keep your nerves at ease a little.
☆FEM!SUGURU GETO
𝒫icking up the cup of hot coffee carefully, you stand straight gradually. The bondage collar rig and leather wrist manacles are restricting you from making any actual movement. You walk down the hall, your heels clicking as you reach her office.
Shutting it behind you, Suguru looks up from her desk, pushing her thin black rectangular glasses up her nose bridge.
You come around the left side of the desk and place the coffee on the wooden coaster.
You then get on top of the edge of the counter, watching the way Suguru takes her red marker and circles through your incorrect spelling.
Her free hand comes up under your skirt, resting between the warmth of your thighs, her fingers close to touching your clothed pussy, but don’t.
Placing the marker down, she picks up her coffee and sips on it, humming as she looks at you. “Good girl, so you do know how to follow directions.” You smile and nod, and feel her hand move out from under your skirt.
Suguru brings her hand under the collar of the rig and gently tugs you closer, her lips brush over yours before pressing them on yours. Missing the softness as she drags her lips side to side on yours, opening her mouth a little, Suguru lets you slide your tongue in before pulling back.
You pout and look at her in confusion.
“Why’d you stop me?” You ask, Suguru looks down at your skirt, and brings both of her hands to it, pushing it up until it stuffs up together on your stomach, your panties now exposed.
“You don’t get rewards for half-assed work, you know this.” She tells you and looks up from her glasses that slide down her nose again.
Bringing one of her hands to her face, she pushes it back up and sighs, “Your two recent letters, full of grammatical errors, but of course you don’t care.” She goes on, pulling your underwear down and sliding them off your heels, letting them drop on the floor.
You gulp at her actions, feeling your pussy getting wet, as she rubs her warm hands up and down your thighs.
“Open your legs.” She mumbles, you widen them, and Suguru moves her hand to the handle of the drawer, opening it up. She grabs the key that's in there.
Shutting the drawer, she brings the key to the locks of the bondage rig and unlocks your left manacle first, then moves to the right before unlocking the collar. Taking the bondage rig off you, you sigh and turn your neck from left to right as you ease the stress a little.
Suguru places the bar on her table and scoots you in front of her now, her hands rest on your waist again, and she sighs once her eyes lock with yours.
“You have any shame?” She whispers, a part of her, asking herself the question rather than you. Her fingers go to the buttons on your shirt, unbuttoning one by one unhurriedly.
You nod and lick your bottom lip, “I’m sorry.” You whisper back and catch the smirk on her face, “No, you’re not.” She responds and opens the last button, your body exposed, and her eyes immediately land on your bra. Suguru licks her lip and brings her right hand to the strap of your bra, hooking her fingers underneath, she tugs it down.
You shiver again as your other strap falls by itself, your bra still cupping your breasts, until both of her hands come behind you and unhook your bra.
You let it slip off you as the cold air makes your nipple sting a little and harden. Suguru does not waste any time as you place your bra to the side. Pulling you closer, her right hand picks up your right boob and wraps her mouth around it.
Her tongue flicks up and down, making goosebumps rise on your skin as you squirm a little.
You lean your head back and sigh, “Mmh– right there.” You whimper, and Suguru bops her head up and down as she sucks your nipple.
The taste of your breast turns her on, moving her left hand to her pussy, she grinds herself against the cloth of her panties, and pants as she keeps sucking your bud. Whimpering and whining,
You bring your hand up to Suguru’s hair, itching her scalp. Suguru then moves her mouth to your left nipple and twirls her tongue around your nipple, mimicking it like it’s your clit.
Pulling back from your nipple, she pulls her left hand away from her crotch and sighs, frustrated more than ever, at herself than you.
You keep your legs open, your panties taunting her to suck your pussy through them.
Suguru shakes her head and groans, “You’re not gonna touch me?” You tilt your head and rest your hands on the counter, leaning back. Suguru looks you in the eyes and scoffs, “Told you.” She picks up her coffee and sips on it.
“You don’t get rewarded for half-ass work.” Suguru raises a brow, and you look at her, stunned.
Before you could speak, she placed her cup in her left hand and picked up the letters, placing them on your lap. “Look over these and give me new ones before the end of your shift.” She says sternly, you try and speak but she shakes her head as she keeps sipping on her coffee.
“Fine.” You stand and fix your skirt, picking up your bra, and you place it on. Grabbing your shirt, you place it on, staring at Suguru, who has a smug look on her face as she watches you button up.
Saying nothing, you grab the letters and walk out of her office, slamming the door behind you. Suguru laughs in her cup and imagines your pussy as she goes back to work.
☆BUTCH!SUKUNA RYOMEN
𝐿eaning forward over the desk, your hands planted on top, your eyes scan over your words. The letter that should have been sent out a day ago. “See all those incorrect words?” She voices.
You sniffle as the tears hit your lips, licking them up; the saltness lingers for a little while.
You nod and jerk forward as Sukuna lands her hand hard on your ass again, your skirt, panties, and tights on the ground. Your cheeks are sore from being smacked for the past two minutes now. You yelp and grip the side of the desk as Sukuna lands another blow, your cunt pulsing, waiting for more as your legs feel weak.
“Did you honestly think I would allow this behavior to go on?” Sukuna questions and keeps her hand resting on your ass as she looks at your back.
Sukuna glances at the mirror that is beside her office door, to the right of you both. Her sleeves rolled up, her muscles flexed as her left hand gripped the back of your neck to keep you still.
Raising her right hand, she smacks your right ass cheek hard before slapping your left cheek.
You moan and clench your pussy, leaning more into her desk to get away, but she doesn’t let you.
Her left forearm comes over your neck, pulling you up from the desk, your back hits her body, her breasts pressing into you as Sukuna’s face hides in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.
“I need an answer, doll.”
You shiver and shake your head, “No.” You rasp, and Sukuna brings her right hand up to your chin, turning your face to look at yourself in the mirror.
Your lips open a little at the sight, your lips puffy, eyes red from your tears, your shirt open with just your bra on, and your legs on full display.
“Look at you, a filthy mess for me, and you still want more.” She laughs as she looks at you in the mirror.
Sukuna trails her right hand down to your clit and rubs her middle finger against it. You squirm and whine as she grips her bicep and forearm around your neck, keeping you somewhat still.
“This pretty pussy can’t handle a little attention, is that what this is?” Sukuna mocks, and you cry more, wanting her fingers to plunge inside you rather than tease.
“Please.” You cry out, and Sukuna’s lips brush against your cheek, caressing your skin a little.
Humming, she laughs in your ear, smirking as she starts to stare at herself in the mirror. Then, sitting down on her chair, she makes you sit on her lap, your body shivering and cold from her office.
“You’re so beautiful, baby, I should be saying I have the best secretary ever, but all you ever want is to dumb your mind.” She rambles, and as you try to shut your legs together to start grinding, Sukuna slaps the side of your thigh, forcing you to open back up.
“Why are you being so mean?” You pout, tears still falling, Sukuna brings her lips to your earlobe, nipping at it.
“Cause you deserve it, I can’t have my pretty girl think she can do whatever she wants without repercussions.” Slapping your pussy, you shiver and hitch your hips up. Sukuna’s tongue plays with your earlobe, making you moan.
Slapping your pussy one more time, your clit twitches, and you arch your back. “A-ah, S’too much! Sukuna, please!” Your cries, however, get swallowed up as she makes your head rest on her left shoulder, tilting you a little before pressing her lips on yours.
Sucking your tongue, you groan in the kiss and try to close your legs again, just for Sukuna to open them and thrust her fingers in your dripping cunt.
You moan in the kiss and begin grinding her middle and ring fingers, your walls tighten around her as your clit aches in pain.
Sukuna bites your bottom lip and pulls her fingers out of your pussy. You whine in the kiss as she pulls back to look at you again.
“At some point, you have to realize, you don’t run shit here.” She whispers before pushing her fingers into your hole, curling them, and sliding in and out as you're compelled to sit and take it.
It takes everything in you to behave, your body itching to ride her fingers again.
Sukuna moves her lips down your neck, kissing slowly and leaving a wet trail.
Sukuna stopped being gentle or what was gentle to her, thick fingers pounding into your soaking cunt relentlessly. Hitting your g-spot, you close your eyes and try to stay still, back arching just a little, but not enough for Sukuna to stop.
“Good girl, good girl. Fuck you’re taking me so well.” She purrs, moaning in your ear.
You swear you could cum from that sentence alone. Sukuna smirks and kisses your cheek. This whole thing is a joke to her.
She knows you’ll keep up a good act for a week, maybe less than that, until you’re doing something that warrants a punishment from her.
“Mmmh, that feels good, doesn’t it?” She questions and grinds her fingers into your pussy a bit faster, you nod and moan. “Feel so good.” You let out.
“I know, sweet girl, your pussy is sucking my fingers so good.” Sukuna moans in your ear again, and you give in, bucking your hips back and forth, already spilling cum.
Sukuna feels it drip down to her knuckles, not stopping as she lets you ride yourself out.
Your pleasure is her pleasure.
“Come on, baby, give me something to taste.” She pumps her fingers, your hole gaping as your legs shake.
You cry, your body feeling tense as you cum hard, your pussy feeling so sensitive.
Sukuna smiles at the sight, “There she is.” She mumbles and slides her fingers out of you; you’re a whimpering mess, the favorite look Sukuna has of you.
Tapping your clit, you squirm in her lap, and she chuckles, then brings her fingers to her mouth, licking and sucking your cum.
“Missed this delicious pussy, but you know that already.” She muffles out, still licking you up.
You lie limp on her body, and her left hand rubs your stomach.
Sukuna wipes her fingers dry on her pants, leans her head against the chair, looking back in the mirror, she smirks as her eyes run down your tired body. Finding it so beautiful, you’re calmer now, mind cleared from any stress.
You thank Sukuna in your mind for this, finally getting some sort of relief after a hectic start to the week.
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thinking about babydaddy!connie fucking you nice and slow after finding out you got stood up by your date. having little constentina (his idea, but tina for short) for the weekend, your precious angel just couldn’t keep her mouth shut to her daddy when you’d told her you were going on a small ‘dinner’
“she said dinner but that really means date, daddy.”
connie isn’t surprised. no one knew how to handle you beside him. i mean, he’s had your ass in place successfully for nearly ten years; only he was man enough to handle you, your mind, and most of all your body.
you loved connie like no other, you wanted no one else to be the father of your children. but you knew the streets would eventually take him away from you, and you just didn’t wanna stick around for that. not when you had a five year old girl depending on the both of you. connie looked for other ways to make bread without selling or doing anything…illegal but it was hard to match the stacks he was bringing home every weekend.
your separation was a one sided agreement anyways it seems. to you? you two were broken up. to connie delulu ass? you were his wife and you’re ‘smoking dick if you think ion belong to you and you’on belong to me.’
you didn’t even have any words for the absence of your so called ‘date.’. after an hour of waiting, you figured you’d call in to check on tina. ringing connie, your babyfather answered on the first ring, of course with a wood in his mouth and multiple lights on his face, signaling he was watching tv.
“hey,” your voice is solemn and low. you really were tired and ashamed to say anything more.
“hey mama, you okay?” connie’s hazel brown eyes quickly flick over to yours through the screen.
you shrug though he can’t see it. “i’m okay.” you admit. “just callin’ to check on my baby.” the frame was only on your face, but from the small shake of your hand, connie had managed to get a glimpse of a pretty black dress you’d sported, breasts looking three times as big as it usually did because of your sitting position. he could tell you dressed up for the night.
“yeah? she good, just upstairs sleepin’ right now. how was your date, pretty?” you hear connie turn down the tv in the background and give you his full intention.
you furrow your brows. “what? boy, how’d you know about it?”
your baby father blows out a huff of smoke and chuckles, flashing his gold canines. he wasn’t gon snitch on his lil informant princess. “i got my ways. tell me bout it baby.”
with a roll of your eyes, you let out a tired sigh and felt your shoulders sag. “wouldn’t know. the nigga never showed.”
connie furrows his own thick eyebrows. “what you mean? he told you he couldn’t come?” he asked. from the shake of your head, you see his face soften on the screen. “come over n’ smoke with me. lemme make you feel better.”
you kiss your teeth and throw your head back, already knowing where the conversation was headed. embarrassment flooded your expression. “you eating my pussy is not gonna make me feel better, constance.”
connie kissed his teeth and waved you off dismissively. “you’on know that.”
a blush can’t help but creep its way onto your brown cheeks. “i’m supposed to be staying away from you, ya know.”
connie gives you a knowing grin, shamelessly flexing the two deep dimples in his cheeks that constentina inherrited from him. “yeah? how’s that going for you, mama?”
“obviously not good because i’m actually considering your offer of being a booty call tonight?” you laugh.
“come onnn mama, tina’s sleep, i got a wood rolled for you and i want you here.” your ex compromised with a kiss of his teeth. “lemme rub ya feet and all on ya butt i promise you’ll feel better.
“i’m tired and don’t feel like driving, con,” you whine in the same tone. you knew if he didn’t have your daughter he’d already be at your door, but you refused to risk waking her up in a car ride over here.
connie rolls his eyes and puts you on pause for the moment. a minute later he comes back on screen and takes a pull of his backwood. “your uber on the way baby.”
“ooh daddy,” you cried, trying your hardest to breathe straight. “you know i cum fast like this, oh shit,” connie had your legs spread wide open, forcing your huge tits up against the bottom of your face as he pumped in and out of you.
“you like that mama, like when i fuck you nice and slow? all romantic n’ shit?” connie teased. tears streamed down your face and he wasted no time in kissing them from your pretty face.
you’re too far in euphoria to even fully comprehend exactly what he’s saying. “yes, i love when you stroke this pussy so deep daddy.”
connie holds your breasts up damn near to your face and takes his time sucking on each of your nipples, making sure to stretch and pull it all the way back as far as it could go, grinning at the sound of it snapping back toward you. “you’on need no one else to love you like this but me, you heard?”
you can’t help but shake your head, the small responsible part of you left that hadn’t been fucked out by connie yet (though he was close) was slowly bringing you to reality. “no,” you respond.
“nah, nah, dead that shit or imma stop,” your ex threatened, straightening his back out so he stood tall, yet still very deep inside your gummy walls. you can’t help but stare down the tattoos that littered his body; many dedicated to you and your shared daughter. “you grippin’ me so tight baby, boutta make me cum, fuck,” connie throws his head back and whines. “tell me you’re mine n’ we gonna get back together.”
“no, con,” your words were saying one thing, but the cream ring of your arousal forming around connie’s tanned dick was betraying everything leaving your mouth. “w-we’re we’re toxic—oooh, yes, right there right there!”
suddenly, a large pair of hands come to wrap around your neck, gripping lightly. “tell me you’re mine or im not fuckin’ this pussy,” he orders. “you know i don’t be bluffing, mama. ‘specially when it come to your spoiled ass déjame oírte decirlo.”
more tears fall from your eyes as you feel your lower region bubble in evstasy. “con—“
“say it if you wanna cum.” connie’s grip around your neck tightens as he inevitably starts to babble. he was not gonna let up off you no matter what. “come on mama, say it n lemme give you another baby. gonna make you a mama all over again, want you so full of my babies, pretty—fuck,” he breathed out. “you know daddy sorry, you gonna forgive him?”
it wasn’t until connie started to add his thumb rubbing circles around your clit did you finally fold and give in. “oh fuck, yes! yes yes i forgive you con—please—“
“go head and cum mami, te quiero.” connie breathed out, feeling his own orgasm approach. “te amo joder joder por favor dame más hijos mami te estoy rogando déjame correrte dentro de ti,” the man curses into the atmosphere as he strokes himself in you a few more times.
“yes yes,” you nod in response to his pleads of cumming in you. a nanosecond later, connie’s cumming deep into you until he ends up shooting nothing but blanks. you’re full to the brim to the point where drops of his cum couldn’t help but ooze out between your puffy cunt.
I’ve had enough if yall won’t write some Zuko I will got dang it and it’s completely self indulgent because yall don’t wanna help out:
Bad Summary: After a small argument and apology Zuko eats you out yayayayaaya.
CW: Oral, Zuko is obessed with your thick thighs and big butt, Reader has smaller breast, subconscious Praises, Zuko’s a bit shy, but also holding back, BigDickZuzu, Lil angst but gets resolved, unprotected sex, but i don’t tell you to wrap it before you tap it, because it’s stupid to write about unprotected sex then tell u on a fic to wrap it up, rushed PWP, fluff, alotta kissing
It wasn’t an argument neither of you even wanted to have in the first place let alone not apologize for. Dating Zuko and him being the new Firelord held responsibilities you know would separate you both for and you—-Ms. Hornypants could’ve took into consideration how exhausted he must have been.
He however knew he was being more distant and knowing he’s learning how to properly communicate was difficult.
Zuko felt your body shift in the shared bed relentlessly, you couldn’t sleep any better than he could. When he turned over, you felt his body heat even closer to the point you looked up and seen him just inches away from your nose, he was even prettier like this; hair messy, shirtless, and just at his most vulnerable .
For a moment you forgot why you didn’t close the distance from him sooner, you were upset about his absence, but the anger was just a form of missing him, and deep down Zuko knew.
You missed his touches, you missed his banter, his lips, his pretty hair he lets you braid and brush when you’re bored.
You missed him, but he missed you even more.
“I…” His warm palm rubbed your cheek, it was freezing, colder than usual it made his hand jump back a little throwing more of the blanket towards you, a wack excuse to pull you closer to his bare chest.
His hair tickled your nose and neck, you breathed in his scent from his chest and gave his lower neck a kiss out of reflex and he hissed.
“I’m sorry…” You mumbled against his chest, wanting to just stay in this moment as long as you could, it’s only been a few hours, but you know he’ll have to get up soon.
“No I’m…I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been exactly the ideal boyfriend….I…”
He kept stammering and stuttering, not capable of saying much else so out of panic he kissed you, and you nearly melt in his hand.
Zuko was a big moaner when he was like this, making soft pretty noises in your mouth, his tongue having a mind of its own wrapping around yours or even sucking on it. His hand threw your heavy thigh over his hip, slowly grinding his growing hard dick against your lacy panties you wore under his sleep shirt he still managed to give you even when you gave him the silent treatment. Such a sweetheart.
Not now though, right now he’s becoming a horndog.
The charm of Zuko that you loved so much was that you knew when he was holding back. He was a 6’5” 200 pound man of muscle and hair, he knew his strength and he didn’t want to hurt you, ever. Not even with your consent, but times like this made it hard for him not to press you against the mattress and make you take everything he could give you.
Not now, though…right now he’s wants to apologize.
His soft but dryer lips tugged at your bottom lip, nothing but the tussles of the sheets and shared moans filled the master bedroom under the dim lights of the night sky, it was like ecstasy kissing you. His hands kneading your soft butt, giving his a soft smack and grab to massage he couldn’t help, but to feel you all over. his hand rubbing down to your neck and cupping your breast over your shirt you pull back a little,
“Oh I’m sorry did i—“
‘No…” You cut him off, eyes looking at his hand retract away in embarrassment, “These just aren’t uh…you can’t grip much with these.” Making a fake giggle of exposing your slight insecurity, Zuko genuinely had a confused look on his face,
“What do you mean grip?…like this?”
His entire hand practically covers your whole right breast, he gives it a firm squeeze as he kisses your cheek, “T-there…not…big so I—“
Zuko gives you a destained looked, one of slight annoyance as if that was some kind of deal breaker, he always noticed how you never were opened to having tighter tops on or even wore your push up bras during sex, and he carefully rises up your shirt, making sure he can stop whenever you need him to and pulled out one of your breast from your bra.
He rolled his thumb over your perked nipple, hardening from the cool air and now his hotter breath before latching to suckle on, you look down to see both of his eyes looking up at you for a moment them closed softly, and focused,
“I’m aware.” He says with his tongue poked out flicking the sensitive bud, a shiver ran down your spine so abruptly you arched into him, and he used the opportunity to lift you with one arm and lay you back so he can get his fill.
It was nearly obscene seeing his long silk like hair spread all over your body and bed, you pushed a little in the back of his ear to get a better look at him. Your entire tit was in his mouth, so much so drool began to fall, you couldn’t help but get more turned on and grind against his thigh that was in between your weak legs so pathetically you nearly whimper in frustration for more friction, but alas your man knows when his girl is as needy as he is.
“Can I show you how sorry I am?…please?” He was begging in your ear, moving his harder shaft so slowly against your slit you could feel almost every vein and curve he had making you bite your lip, You both were breathless in desperation at this point.
“Yes…” You practically moaned out a response out of breath, just eager for him to do whatever he wanted at this point, your face was hot and you could actually feel how wet you were you knew you could hear it if he just fingered you. “Please yes, Zuku…”
Groaning one last time against you he sits on his knees, about to grab a hair tie from your wrist when a beautiful idea popped up;
“Do me a favor?” Zuko didn’t leave your eyes, he laid on his stomach between your legs and guided both your hands against his hair, “…hold my hair for me?”
Without hesitation you adjusted your position and even opened your legs wider to get your both comfortable, you held as much as his thick hair into one ponytail in your hand as you could, both of you ignoring pieces of it falling down his broad back and shoulder he gives you one last kiss on your upper lips and inner thighs, smelling your scent as he pulls your sticky panties down your ankle. He wasted no time lapping the wet drip coming from your cunt.
The grip on his hair tightened, earning a groan out of him, that wasn’t a means for him to stop, absolutely not he was 10000% becoming more pussy drunk by the second.
“Zu—!…Zuk…Zuko!” Your voice got higher when you felt his tongue press its way inside you, in and out in and out so much you could hear the mess he made with your arousal and his own spit. He was looking up at you for a moment, using his free hand to play with your nipples, flicking and twisting them before closing his eyes again to focus on you cumming.
His head moved back and fourth everything under his nose was wet and messy, Zuko used both his thumbs to spread your further open and spit on your clit, he didn’t care about the mess and it showed from how he rubbed his lips against it and lapped you slowly from the bottom of your ass all the way to your clit to suckle.
All your moans we’re loud enough for at least some of his guard to definitely hear you, usually he’d want you quiet solely out of respect, but you sounded nothing less than beautiful, so whiney and soft. Zuko couldn’t help himself to pull his own dick out his pants to stroke, following the rhythm of your hips against his mouth. When he noticed you coming close he took his other hand to hold yours and watch you.
The orgasm took over your body so suddenly you started to nip and bite at his wrist, you looked beautiful letting yourself go for him? he thought. He couldn’t even contain himself you felt some overstimulation when he ducked down on you harder from his own moaning of your name as he came in his hand.
Catch each others breath he climbs up to reach your mouth, “Taste yourself for me, princess.”
That plus his own saliva tasted nothing above delicious you and him ended up sharing such a sloppy kiss of whimpers, Zuko couldn’t take it anymore and began to slap the tip of his blushing red dick on your slit, “You like this? You do right?”
The urgency in his voice made it crack, you nod breathlessly and he tossed some of his hair to the other side of his shoulder and took both your thighs and held them up.
PLAPLAPLAPPLAP was all you heard when he slapped his tip on your still sensitive clit, such a sweet feeling you hummed in pleasure biting your lip.
Man it took everything in him not to slam himself inside you, but he can already see a blanket of exhaustion on your face. No worries.
“Just lay back…” Zuko opened your legs again to close the distance between you, “Kiss me….please.”
This kisses were merely a distraction, he was extremely thick , and it always was an extra stretch when he was inside you. You heard how wet you were from how much he pushed himself inside you. Zuko made an effort to not stop, he knew doing this just half way would only cause more pain, he can see it in your face you were trying so hard to take it for him,
“Bite me.” You open your eyes to his beside your ear, his shoulder wiggling a little, offering you somewhere to let out what you’ve been holding in. When your teeth locked on his skin he groaned, not wasting another second to bottom out inside you.
A shared noise of pleasure erupted the room, as sturdy as this bed was made it still didn’t stop a few knocks and bangs against the floor and wall when his strokes became deeper and faster.
Anybody that would walk in would just see your legs trying to wrap around his wide back, his butt thrusting in and out, and his hair covering the upper half of you both.
“You feel amazing, I’m —ah—I’m so sorry, Y/n…please…please tell me you forgive me?”
“Please. Please. Please. Please.”
His pleads didn’t stop, they were nearly at the same rate of his thrust. It didn’t help he was right in your ear either crying out and begging.
“I forgive you, Zuko..I—“ Your voice broke into a familiar moan, one he knows your close. He was sure of it by how you got even tighter around him.
Your big strong boyfriend practically had you in a bear hug at this point, his pace got sloppier and faster to the point he was a babbling mess on top of you.
“Your pussy is so good….so…ah so good!”
“I love you…I love you so much I’m so sorry, y/n.”
He was almost as loud as you, moaning your name, not able to keep composure anymore, you felt a little bit of his weight off of you, you opened your eyes to see his sex’ed out face, his eyes droopy, sweaty and cheeks as red as his Firelord uniform. He was so pretty. Even the necklace you made him was dangling over your face perfectly.
“Please…please cum with me I—I can’t— Y/n—“
Cumming together was probably Zuko’s favorite part of sex, to him it just solidified your bond in a way. It was a level of pleasure he couldn’t even describe if he had to. His eyes watch you break down, breast jiggling, thighs getting sore by the second. The orgasm lasted a while, seeing as his hips didn’t wanna stop despite the pain of overstimulation getting to you both.
“I love you…”He breathed into your drooling mouth, Zuko kept repeating the same words and your name a few times as if he needed it to be repeated inside your head.
When he finally slowed down into a full stop he laid on top of you, your arms immediately wrapping around his neck to hold his larger frame, feeling the sweat trickle down it.
It was a moment of unsteady breathing, in the mirror beside the bed you see Zuko covering his face with one hand, confused you ask him what’s wrong.
Not even letting him get embarrassed for doubtful you take his cheek and kiss him , he looks up at you wide eye’d and red before hurrying his face back into your breast. Giggling, you look over to see the sky change colors to the sun beginning to rise, you almost wanted to feel sad, but it was soon forgotten when Zuko spoke up,
“I won’t make the mistake again of making you feel like you’re single in this relationship…I’ll make better effort to—“
“No. Zuko…I understand. I knew what i was getting into …I’m sorry for now acting like I do.”
The rest of the morning went slow, especially considering Zuko allowed himself to sleep in just for a few extra hours. He didn’t mind having to catch up later when he had himself in your arms.
he's supposed to be levelheaded, charming, soft spoken.
when it comes to sex, nanami kento is anything but that. he's loud, passionate, brutish at times. it's like a flip inside is switched, too much blood rushing to his lower regions to think his words through.
but that can't be the case. words as dirty as his, as calculated and mean, phrases that make your toes curl with the simplest utterance have to be purposeful.
"use your words" is his favorite thing to say when he's buried so deep you can hardly breathe.
you're so overstimulated, the low light of the bedside lamp is enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut. all you can feel is him, hot and magnetic.
from his grasp on your neck, to his pelvis flush against you, and most importantly, his mouth by your ear, warm breath fanning against it while he nibbles on the cartilage, it's like his very being is enveloping you.
"theere you go," he says, voice hiccuping from the force of his thrusts, baritone reverberating straight to your core. if only he was making love to you in front of a mirror, then you could see how his eyes roll back, daring to flutter shut from the vice of your pussy. his grip on your neck tightens, tendons in his arm stiffening at the mere thought of making his darling girl cum.
"use your words and you can cum," he groans, struggling to hold himself back. truthfully, he'd love to let you cum right this instant; your orgasm would surely send him over the edge, have him finishing in seconds.
but he can't allow that. patience is a virtue, and he's committed to making you learn it the hard way.
"please, let me cum!"
your every syllable is accentuated by a thrust, turning your plea into staccato babbling.
he's whispering sweet nothings in your ear, free hand gripping your hair so you can't escape. he knows what his voice does to you.
"cum and i'll spank your ass raw," "doesn't that cock feel good?" and "who owns this pussy?" are all things he's groaning into your ear, desperate to make you cum without explicit permission.
he longs to hear that crack in your voice, sanity breaking as you realize you've disobeyed him.
"agh, fuck- pleease, i need it!" you beg, voice becoming hoarse. slick is dripping down your slit, threatening to turn into a messy orgasm with squirt as the cherry on top. he should've said yes by now, but his low laugh is what you hear.
"louder." one word is all he needs to have you whining, kicking your feet against the mattress in frustration.
"i can't-"
"yes, you can."
you damn near finish at those words alone. his thrusts grow meaner, sloppier and barely controlled. he knows you're close, can tell by the way you grip the sheets, same as your pretty pussy. it takes the last of your strength to beg him for release.
with a gasp, you moan it from the rooftops, loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
"please, can i cum, ken?" you wail.
"of course, darling."
who knows if he'll actually give you that sweet release. you may be cumming within the next second, creaming so hard that he follows along with you, or you might not be so lucky.
that's up to him. if you beg a little louder, moan a little harder when he whispers filthy nothings into your ear, maybe then you can cum.
masterlist
a/n: this is more of a headcannon version of nanami than how i actually view him. i originally wanted the fic to be dirty talk, but then it turned into meanie!nanami and here we are >.<
Most days, he carried himself like nothing could shake him—quiet, steady, the type of man who didn’t waste words because he didn’t have to. People listened anyway.
She usually did too.
Usually.
But tonight, something in her just wouldn’t sit still. Maybe it was the way he’d been brushing her off earlier, barely reacting to her running your mouth. Maybe she just wanted attention. Either way… she pushed.
And pushed.
And pushed.
“You act like you ain’t hear me,” she muttered, leaning against the wall with her arms folded.
“I heard you,” he said calmly from across the room, not even looking up at first.
That made it worse.
“Then why you acting like it don’t matter?”
That’s when his eyes lifted.
Slowly.
And there it was—that shift.
Not loud. Just… different.
“You just don’t know when to stop, do you?” His voice stayed even, but it carried weight now.
She rolled your eyes, like that didn’t do anything to her. Like her stomach didn’t just tighten a little.
“I said what I said.”
Silence.
Then he stood up.
The air changed.
He didn’t rush. Didn’t storm over. Just walked toward you with that same steady pace, and somehow that made it worse. Made your heartbeat pick up in a way you refused to acknowledge.
“Say it again,” he said, stopping right in front of you.
Her chin tilted up, stubborn. “You heard me the first—”
Her words cut off when his hand gripped her chin.
Not rough.
But firm enough that it meant something.
“Smoke—”
“Come on.”
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a shout.
But it wasn’t a suggestion either.
Before she could decide if she was going to fight it, he was already guiding her back toward the couch. Each step felt slower than it should’ve, like her body was suddenly too aware of everything—his grip, his presence, the way he wasn’t letting go.
“Still got something to say?” he asked, sitting down and pulling her with him in one smooth motion.
She barely had time to react before she was on his lap, her knees on either side of him, her hands instinctively landing on his shoulders to steady herself.
The position alone knocked the edge off her attitude.
“You real bold over there,” he murmured, his hands settling on your hips like they belonged there. “But now you quiet.”
“I’m not quiet,” she shot back, even though her voice didn’t sound the same.
His thumbs pressed lightly into her hips, just enough pressure to ground her—just enough to remind her exactly where you were.
“Yeah?” His head tilted slightly. “Then why you breathing like that?”
she hadn’t even noticed.
Now she couldn’t ignore it.
“I’m not—” she started, but her words faltered when his grip tightened just a little, pulling her down more firmly against him.
her breath hitched.
There it was.
That reaction she didn’t want to give him.
His eyes darkened just slightly, catching it.
“That’s what I thought,” he said quietly.
She tried to push back, to hold onto whatever attitude she had left. “You doing too much.”
“Or you just not used to a nigga checking you?” he countered, calm as ever.
Her hands tightened on his shoulders, fingers curling into his shirt. She hated how steady he was. How in control he stayed while she felt like she was slipping just a little.
“I don’t need you to check me,” she muttered.
His hand slid up her side, slow, deliberate, before settling on her lower back.
“You sure about that?” he asked, leaning in just enough that his voice dropped lower, closer.
The warmth of his breath brushed her skin, and her body reacted before her pride could catch up.
She shifted slightly—just trying to get comfortable, she told herself.
His hand immediately adjusted, holding you in place.
“Don’t start moving now,” he warned softly. “You weren't moving like that a minute ago.”
Her lips pressed together.
He noticed everything.
“That mouth get real quiet when I get you like this,” he added, almost like he was thinking out loud.
“I’m not quiet,” she repeated, weaker this time.
“Then say something smart.”
She opened her mouth—
Nothing came out.
Because now all she could focus on was the way his hands were moving again. Not rushed. Not grabbing. Just slow, controlled, like he had all the time in the world to let this build.
Her breathing gave her away before she could say anything else.
“Yeah,” he murmured, watching your face closely. “That’s what I thought.”
She looked at him, really looked this time, and there was no teasing in his expression. No rush either. Just that same quiet control that made everything feel heavier than it should’ve.
“You like acting up,” he said, voice low. “But you know exactly what you doing.”
She swallowed, her fingers tightening slightly against his shoulders.
“And you know exactly how this ends,” he added.
Her attitude had slipped somewhere along the way, replaced with something softer. Something quieter.
But not weak.
Just… aware.
“I wasn’t even doing that much,” she muttered, though it barely sounded convincing now.
One of his brows lifted slightly.
“No?” His grip tightened just enough to make her breath catch again. “So this don’t got nothing to do with me?”
She didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because now the tension sitting between them wasn’t just about the argument anymore. It was something else entirely—something heavier, slower, pulling tighter the longer she stayed right there on his lap.
His gaze dropped to her lips for a second, then back to her eyes.
“You done?” he asked quietly.
Her voice came out softer than before.
“…yeah.”
A pause.
Then his hand slid up her back again, slower this time, less about holding her in place and more about keeping you there.
“Good,” he said.
But he didn’t move her.
Didn’t let her go.
Just kept her right there, like he wasn’t in any rush to end it either.
"All fuckin' day, you've been pushin' buttons, mama," he says, his voice gravelly and low, laced with the edge of a man who's on his last nerve . He steps in front of her, his footsteps quiet on the carpet, closing the distance in three long steps. Before she can say something disrespectful, his rough hand wraps around her wrist, yanking her up. He bends her over his lap, her belly pressing into his thighs. Her short skirt comes up immediately, bunching around her waist and showing him her lace panties.
She twists, trying to wriggle free, but his other arm comes across her lower back , pinning her in place. He grunts as he slides you up a bit. "Think you can mouth off to me? Acting like a nigga won´t put you in your place?" He says, making her feel hot all over. He rubs her ass , taunting her or getting her ready, then his hand comes down, smacking her on her ass. It stings, making her yelp, her fingers digging into the couch cushion.
He doesn't give her time to recover. Another slap lands on the left, harder, the impact making her ass turn red. "That's for the attitude at breakfast," he says, each word coming with a smack—smack, smack—alternating sides. Her thighs press together instinctively, but the growing ache between them betrays her, a slick warmth starting to pool between her thighs. She bites her lip, stifling a whimper, but he hears it anyway "you like that, hm? Ms nasty gettin' wet from a spankin'?"
By the fifth hit, her ass is red, each new slap burns her eyes watering. She buck against him, half protest, half plea, but he just tightens his grip on her hip, holding her steady as he delivers two—smack, smack—right where her thighs meet her ass. The pain twists into something hotter, needier, her pussy clenching around nothing as she soaks through her lace panties. "Pa, please—" she whimpers, voice cracking, but he silences her with a firmer swat, his fingers splaying wide to cover more area, his hands rough against her tender skin.
"Please what? You gon apologize for bein' a bad girl hm?" He asks, tilting his head, his hand rubbing slow, circles over her red ass, kneading the soreness in a way that makes her arch into it despite yourself. But mercy's not his style tonight. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pulls them down her legs, the lace catching her knees before coming down to her ankles. She's fully exposed, her wet pussy glistening in the low light, ass cheeks marked with his handprints.
He exhales a low curse, his fingers tracing the evidence of his work before dipping lower. "Fuck, look at this pussy. Drippin' for big pa." His fingers part her lips, sliding through her wetness to circle her swollen clit with agonizing slowness. She whines,her ass pushing back against his hamd for more, but he pulls away just as she starts to grind against his hand. He slapped her inner thigh. Making her yelp "Not yet, baby. You gotta earn it." He manhandles her then, flipping her onto her back, her head on the arm of the couch. Her legs spread open as he kneels between them on the floor, shoving her skirt higher until it's out his way. His hands grip her thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he forces them apart, exposing her pussy to his hungry gaze. His grills showing as he smirks,he leaning close enough for her to feel his nose on her clit.
"Beg for it. Tell me you're sorry for runnin' that mouth." His tongue licks her clit, flat and broad, licking a long stripe from her slit to her clit to her hole. His tongue makes her hips buck,but he pins her hips down with his large hand. "Words, mama'. Don't make pa ask twice."
"I'm sorry, pa," she whimpered, the words tumbling out as his tongue flicks again, his lips sealing around her clit and sucking with just enough pressure to make her toes curl. Pleasure coils tight in her belly, but he nibbles at her sensitive clit, a sharp reminder of his control, before flicking his tongue inside her. He fucks her with it, curling it to the right angle, his free hand squeezed her ass.
She rides his face, her hands holding his head, gripping tightly as she moans his name. He growls against her pussy, the vibration humming on her pussy, he adds a finger—then two—stretching her walls as he sucks at her clit. She can feel the tightness in her belly, her breaths coming in ragged pants. "Fuck, pa... please, I need—"
He pulls away quickly, licking his lips, his eyes filled with lust and anger. "You need to remember who owns this pussy," he says, his voice rough as he unties his sweatpants. The sweats drop, and he shoves his boxers to his knees, his dick hitting his stomach —thick, veined, the head already leaking pre-cum. He wraps a fist around it, stroking once, twice, watching her squirm. "Spread wider. Show me how bad you want pa dick."
She listened, hooking her knees over the couch cushions, baring herself completely. He rubbed his fat head against her hole, teasing her clit with slow rubs before pushing into her slowly. He stretches her, her pussy clenching around his fat dick as he bottoms out, balls pressed against her ass. "That's it—take it like the good girl you can be," he grunts, pulling back only to thrust in again, harder, the couch moving slightly due to his thrust.
He sets a fast pace, his hips snapping forward as he plunges himself in her. Each thrust hits deep, his dick dragging against her walls, his fat tip hitting that perfect spot inside. she cries out, her nails digging in his back, leaving red welts on his chocolate,inked skin. He holds her face with his hand, looking into her eyes as he fuck her, his weight pressing her into the leather. "Say it—tell me this pussy mine. No more actin' up."
"Yours! I'm yours, Pa—oh my goodness" She silently screams as he angles his hips, pounding harder, his free hand sliding between their bodies rubbing her swollen clit. Sweat slicks her skin where they connect, the wet sounds of him fucking her filling the room alongside his groans and her moans. He lets her face go to grab herthroat—not choking, just holding, thumb stroking your pulse as he watches her face twist every time he thrust into her .
The pressure builds, her orgasm comes hard, her pussy fluttering and squeezing him in rhythmic pulses. She screams his name, back arching off the couch as her eyes roll back. He doesn't stop, pushing her through it, his thrusts turning erratic as he chases his own nut. "Gonna fill you up—mark my pussy so you know who it is," he snarls, bottoming out inside her deep one last time. His dick throbs, hot cum flooding her pussy spilling out of him as he grinds against her oversensitive pussy.
Finally done, he lays on top of her his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing heavily. He pulls out slowly, watching his nut drip from her pussy with a satisfied smirk, then pulls her against his chest. His arms wrap around her, one hand gently massaging the lingering ache in your ass while he presses a kiss to her neck. "That's my girl. No more bullshit tomorrow, hm?" His voice softens just a bit, the edge of dominance giving way to that rare tenderness he saves for you.
But as she is on him, the throb between her legs whispers a promise: next time she pushes, it'll be even rougher. And deep down, she knows she'll crave it just the same.
what about introvert but well known connie/ony x social outcast/loser reader idk if u like to write about this but just a idea!!
𝑶𝒏𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒐𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒇𝒆𝒎 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓
𝑡𝑤: 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑠 𝘩𝑒𝑙𝑙
Fuck. You hated this. Honestly, who the hell decides to hand in their share of work less than 3h before the due date.
You stood in front of Onyankopon’s apartments door, pyjama shorts hanging off loosely on your hips and see through wife beater leaving little to the imagination. This was far from the outfit you wanted to be seen in, but a last-minute call at 11 PM had left you with no choice.
As the door swung open, you quickly straightened up. Onyankopon smirked, his eyes raking over your appearance. You did the same, noting that he was fully dressed to go out with a crisp plain white tee, straight jeans, fresh Air Forces and his signature Cuban link. It was a Friday night, after all, and he was the captain of the football team ,being out and about was practically a given.
“My bad, come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let you enter. He seemed to realize he’d been staring a bit too long “I take it you not going out tonight?” he asked, rummaging through his desk drawer to pull out his laptop.
“Nah” you simply replied, still standing by the closed door, as if you couldn’t wait to get out of there.
“What, you don’t fuck with parties?” He turned to flash you a smile as he waited for his documents to open.
“It ain’t like I’ve been invited” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze, slightly embarrassed to admit that you had no one to go out with.
"Hm," he hums, "I'm more of a homebody anyways." He turns back to his laptop, finally able to open his work, and starts typing away. You take a hesitant step forward, feeling a bit out of place in your casual attire.
"for real ?" you ask, genuinely surprised "I thought you'd be out every weekend and shit"
He chuckles, shaking his head "Nah, not every weekend. Sometimes it's nice to just chill, you know?" He glances up at you, his eyes softening "You can sit down, ma. Make yourself comfortable."
You nod and move to sit on the edge of his bed, feeling the awkwardness slowly dissipate "You need help with sum?" you ask, trying to focus on the task at hand.
He shows you the parts he's completed and what still needs to be done. As you both work together, the initial tension fades, replaced by a comfortable silence punctuated by occasional small talk and laughter.
Time passes , and before you know it, the project is nearly complete. You stretch, feeling a sense of accomplishment “Ok we good" you say, smiling at him.
"Yeah, we make a pretty good team after all” he replies, returning your smile "Appreciate you coming over. I know it was last minute and allat." As you headed towards the door, he called out, “you pretty chill, y/n, maybe next time we can hang out without the work” he leans back in his chair.
You paused, turning to look at him “Yeah, I’d like that,” you said, feeling a warmth spread through you “would be cool”
“Actually,” he said, a hint of mischief in his voice, “you’s in a rush ? Why don’t you kick it a bit longer? We can smoke a lil, watch a movie or some.”
You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the invitation “Don’t you have plans?”
He shrugged, a casual smile playing on his lips “Nothing that can’t wait. Besides, I told you, I’m a homebody”
You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Alright”
“That’s what’s up” he said, his face lighting up “Make yourself at home for real”
You settled back onto the bed, feeling more at ease. He returned with a couple of sodas, some henny and a blunt, setting them down on the small table by the bed “Any preferences?” he asked, scrolling through the Netflix home page.
“Surprise me,” you replied, leaning back against the pillows, feeling a bit more confident and what not.
He selected a movie and joined you on the bed, the two of you sitting close but not quite touching. As the movie started, you found yourself relaxing more, the earlier tension completely gone. Ony lit up his blunt, taking a few puffs before passing it to you. You didn’t smoke at all, and so you very much ended up coughing loud as hell trying to act like you did.
“You good?” He looks over, a concerned look on his face. You nod, trying to play it cool. Some more time went by where the two of you silently watched the movie, occasionally laughing and making some commentary but, it was hard to ignore how much his phone was ringing from all the notifications he was receiving “Yo, mind if I change real quick ion think I’m stepping out tonight” he says, glancing at you and licking his lips as he eyes you up and down.
“Onya… you really don’t have to-” you began, turning your head away. But he swiftly cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes bore into yours, and though you’d never seen such an expression before, the raw desire in them was unmistakable.
"Relax," he murmured softly "I want to be here, alright?" His gaze drifted down to your glossy lips, their allure almost overwhelming "I want to be with you" he whispered, his brown eyes locking onto yours once more. The tension is more than palpable and god knows what took over you at that moment.
“Ony..” you whisper, slowly sitting up on the bed “you don’t need to change” you stare down at the man who’s looking at you in anticipation. He quickly understands what you mean when you grab the hem of his shirt and slide it off his head. You’re not quite sure of what you’re doing but it seems to really turn him on, the noticeable bulge in his pants poking at your thigh.
“I really tried to approach you different, ma, I swear” Ony says, kissing down your arm till he reached your hand, grabbing it “but, you’re really hard to get a hold of on campus” he looks up at you, watching your mouth widen when he drags down your hand to his clothed dick “want it inside you, pretty?” his question is so lewd and they way his keeps your hand there, allowing you to feel him twitching gets you instantly wet, a if your shit wasn’t drenched enough from the teasing. Despite being destabilized, you nod earning a grin from him “I’ll do anything you want then” he’s quick to grab your waist and almost slam you down on his bed, back flat against the sheets as he kneels between you spread legs.
Ony can’t help but bite his bottom lip as he slides of your pink and white shorts, they come of so easily it’s like you predicted this was going to happen. And your undies ? Cute white Calvin’s with a nasty wet patch in the middle “Fuck, look at that, ma” he teases, starring at you wet cunt after throwing your panties to the side “She so pretty, just like you” his words aren’t making things better, you’re pussy is pulsating just by looking at him now.
He leans in, spreading your legs so he can properly eat you out to his heart’s content. He’s slurping and sucking away, holding you down no matter how much you’re squirming under him. Fuck, he’s been waiting for this for so long, it was probably bad that he was showing it so much, he thought.
“Ony..please” you cry out, dinging your nails into his shoulder. The feeling is overwhelming but so satisfying, he really was aiming to make you feel so fucking good you could never forget it. Finally you let out a sigh when he pulls back, lips and chin glistening from your wetness. You watch as he unzips his pants, pulling his boxers down just enough for his dick to spring out. His size is ridiculous, more on the girthy side but sure to reach deep enough. His eagerness can be seen by the way his tip is leaking of pre cum.
Ony reaches into his drawer, pulling out a candom. You watch as he swiftly rips it open and slides it onto his hard on. He’s so smooth with it, it’s clear he has a lot of experience “You still with me?” His questions snaps you out of it, quickly making you nod “good” he smiles, leaning in, resting his forearms arms on each sides of your head. Your mouth opens slightly for him to slide his tongue inside before his lips interlock with yours. Fuck, he’s really kissing you right now. It feels so intimate you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck while Ony is rubbing his cock between your folds, slowly, tip hitting your sensitive bud each time as he enjoys you moaning into his mouth.
After a minute of teasing, he grabs the base to line up his tip with your entrance “Fuckk..” he groans, pushing himself inside, stretching you out so nicely “so tight,” he groans, sinking in slowly, your wet walls squeezing him so snug around him he can barely stop himself from cuming on the spot. The way your moans are filling up his ears and the way your scratching at his toned back with your sharp nails, it’s driving him insane yet his thrusts are so precise, abusing your g-spot so perfectly.
Your mind is fuzzy, the nasty sounds of your pussy squelching each time he pulled back and harshly slammed into you again and his grunts being the only things you can register right now. It only takes a few more thrusts from him for the both of you to come undone, his body collapsing on top of yours.
The two of you are trying to catch your breaths in a now completely silent room. The silence wasn’t awkward but reassuring.
He tightly wraps his arms around you, face still buried in your sweaty neck “I guess now is a good time to say I have a lil crush on you, huh?”
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