ryn :3

The elder’s breaths were slowing, the chest rising more from will than its usual habit. A man held together by tendon, and even those were loosening.

You lifted your gaze to her, a soft frown creasing your features.

“It’s time.”

Those two words carried the finality of the situation. The kind that meant a soul would not return through the roots of the Tree, not tonight, not ever. Time meant the moment Eywa reclaimed what was left—unless, as in Sapok’s case, He refused. 

Sapok had been split open long before his body began to fail—grief hollowing him when fire took his children, then his grandchildren, then the home his mothers grandmother had woven and built. Some wounds refused to close.

Grief had rotted him from the inside, until madness carved out his eyes with his own hands.

“I curse Eywa,” he’d spat at Varang once, voice shredded. “Do not let me return. Let my energy be mine, and mine alone.”

And she had promised.

Varang lowered herself beside you, knees against the soft earth. With deliberate care she drew her blades—curved shypers that caught what little light seeped through the smoke. Sapok could not see her, could not know whose hand would free him—but she swore his breath steadied, as if some part of him knew she was there.

She angled the blade.

Then she opened his throat.

With a second practiced motion, she severed his queue. The neural tendrils sparked with a frantic, chaotic flutter before collapsing.

Varang laid the queue against her hip, another to the collection.

“To the fires we will see you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the cooling skin of his brow, “and in the ash of your remains, we will carry you.”

You joined her in the ritual. Together you washed his body in ash, coating every wound, every ridge, every piece of him that grief had kept. You bound the flesh with cloth and quiet hands, sealing him for the journey he had chosen.

Tradition demanded quiet before the flames rose, and so you held your breath. Thinking.

Varang leaned in first (she always did) and brushed a soft kiss to the curve of your neck. You shifted, shy. “Not now,” you muttered.

But she only hummed and wrapped an arm around your waist anyway.

“Why not?” she whispered against your skin. “Life should be savored when death sits so close, no?”

You shot her a look. Annoying. So annoying. You gathered your tools, bowls—your things, and packed them into a hollowed gourd. “Do not be like this.”

One ear flicked. “Like what?”

“Crude,” you snapped.

Varang smiled. She always smiled. It never meant anything except whatever she wanted it to.

“You’re angry,” she said. She caught your hand and pressed her mouth to each knuckle, slow, though her eyes never left yours. “Tell me. What have I done?”

Your lips thinned. Your tail gave you away.

“The sky-person,” you grumbled. “The one with the strange voice and the uglier face.”

Varang paused. And for the first time, her smile shifted into something fond. Now that angered you. You pulled your hand away and turned, jaw tight.

“Oh. Him?” she said at last. “Miles Quaritch.”

She reached for you again, palms gliding up your forearms, barely touching. She tried to catch your eye again.

“Him?” you mimicked her airy tone. “Yes. Him.” With a sudden twitch to your tail you groaned. “Eywa preserve me. I will not have a lovers quarrel beside Sapok’s dead body.”

“He would laugh,” she offered lightly.

You hissed and shoved her back with a flat hand. She pouted, and somehow that made it worse. “I need to do some things.”

You slipped out of the hut, brushing past the hanging beads. Of course she followed. Her stride matched yours.

“That is very vague, Y/n,” she said, tone almost sing-song.

You turned your head back, hands failing about. “Oh that's very vague?! You-”

You suddenly hit someone's chest. “Oh!”

Your eyes looked up. Golden eyes, hair along the brows and a meatier, softer impact. Who else other then:

“Miles Quaritch.” You said his name clumsily. It was the demon language, English. But it earned something of a smile from him. Like Varangs, cocky. Unlike Varangs, surprisingly warm.

“Watch where you’re going, cupcake.”

You barely understood him. Varang seemed to, though. Her demeanor changed, she tilted her head. “Demon.” She briefed a nod, and he tilted his head back, gesturing to a nearby Yurt.

“We got some things to discuss.” He grumbled.

Varang soothed a hum, before gently taking a strand of your hair and pinching it. “I’ll see you in the evening.”

You watched as she led him, and glared at Miles Quaritch, who eyed you before following her.

Great.

.

.

.

You had seen death stare at you.

It wore a woman’s face—pleasant, almost gentle. Golden-amber eyes that caught the light, hatred folded neatly behind patient lips. Black against black: wax-dark hair braided with bones of past loves.

Death came as kisses pressed to your cheek, as queues offered in submission, heads bowed. Death had a name here.

Varang.

Quaritch was not death, but the feeling curled similar in your chest. It lodged beneath your ribs and dragged its way down your spine, coiling into your legs until instinct screamed. Move, idiot. Move until he catches you.

You stared at him as he stared at you, the bonfire crackling between. Varang had told you his story: human once, died, reborn na'vi. That's why the pair made sense together, you supposed—he'd crossed the threshold and returned, and if Varang was death itself, then he must be the one who guards her door. Gatekeeper. Guardian. Something worse.

Now the spirit would not stop looking.

You turned away first, fixing your attention anywhere but him. Your mouth pulled into a soft pout as you drank from the skull-cup—nectar cut with water. Too sweet, you felt your teeth ache.

“Your pet has a staring problem.” You grumbled. 

Varang lifted an eye, her smile widened, and she played with your beaded top. “He is curious.”

“He should be curious somewhere else.”

“Now, Y/N,” Varang chided softly, “do not be hostile.”

You almost laughed at that. Do not be hostile. When has Varang ever uttered such words?

You flickered back at him, and he winked. His lips quirked up at your sneer, too-perfect-teeth reflecting the orange of the fire. Like stained blood. Then he drank from his cup, and then lifted up.

You had actually flinched at the movement, cocked your head to Varang in slight panic, but she only laughed. He moved, settling heavy beside her. “Evenin’, girls.” He tipped his head in your direction. You scowled back. “Mhm, not so touchy huh?”

“She does not understand you, Quaritch.”

He paused, cup halfway to his mouth. "Huh." A beat, then that grin widened. "Well. Guess I oughta teach her. She'll be talkin' to human grunts soon enough."

Varang's grin widened. She glanced at you, and you felt the weight of her attention like a hand at your throat. "He says he will teach you the demon language, Y/n." You knew that tone. "Take it."

"But Varang—"

And there it was. 

The shift. The moment her eyes turned sharp and her smile crooked just enough to bare a hint of fang.

Your ears flattened. You looked at Quaritch—that stupid, shit-eating grin still plastered across his face—and swallowed every word clawing up your throat. Barely managed it. 

Varang's fingers—meanwhile, found your hip, she dug in hard enough that tomorrow you'd wear the shape of them in bruises and adorn them like a kiss. That’s all you could do, anyway. She wouldn’t allow for anything else.

You bowed your head before you could stop it, face twisting despite yourself.

"F-Fine."

You turned the glare on Quaritch instead. Poured every drop of frustration and helpless fury into it, let it burn there where Varang couldn't track it. Never at her. Never where she could see. She wouldn't forgive that.

Her grip released. She rose—graceful and already dismissing you. She shoved you toward him with one careless hand. The push sent you stumbling forward before you caught yourself with Quaritch’s bicep.

"She'll do it, Quaritch."

"Atta girl," he drawled around a mouthful of meat.

You hissed at him. “Teylupil,”

.

.

.

Quaritch was everything you'd imagined and worse—arrogant, obtuse, swaggering through life with the blissful ignorance of someone who’d never met a problem his fists couldn’t solve. Worst of all, though? The man was charming, and with the several weeks spent between you two… fond.

You'd never say it aloud. Eywa could strike you down first. His ego needed no more compliments, it was swollen enough to crowd a room. Yet there it was: he made you laugh.

"Aww, c'mon. Like this." His tongue curled with exaggerated precision. "Patient. Pati-eee-nt. Feel that? The tongue goes up, not back."

You mimicked the shape of his mouth, lips pulling awkwardly. "Pati-eee-nt."

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. His palm landed twice against your thigh—approving pats. "That's right. Good job."

Your ears flicked traitorously forward. Heat crept beneath your skin as a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Varang had never been this patient, this rewarding. Good things from her meant extra morsels of food. But Quaritch kept a pocket full of those wrapped things—candy, he called them, and handed out those small, colorful spheres when you or another na’vi did something good. 

"Patiee-nt. Patiee-nt," you murmured again, testing it.

One brow arched. His mouth quirked. "You're picking up my accent. That's a Kansa's special right there."

"Accent?" The word felt strange on your tongue. Your grasp on this language remained amature at best. You frowned. "Accent... what?"

"What's an accent," he corrected, softening his tone. "What is an accent, you mean, doll."

You tipped your head forward, eyes wide, a question within the angle. Something in that expression pleased him—his thumb caught your chin, tugging playfully. "It's like... hm. Well, not everyone talks the way I do." A laugh escaped him, warm like the sun. "S'funny, actually. You and the other Na'vi pickin’ up my way of speaking. All of you runnin’ around sounding like cowboys. The guys'll lose their minds if they hear you."

"Funny." You paused, tail curling uncertainly behind you. "Not... normal?"

He nodded, something careful entering his expression. "You ever listen to Wainfleet talk?"

"Bald one?"

Quaritch barked a laugh. “Yeah, the bald one. But don't let him hear you say that or he'll yank your tail."

That drew a smile, even if you struggled processing the words.

"Speak—" your tongue was slow and clumsy against the language. "—sloowwwlly." You tapped at your flickering ears. "Hear. Is trying to."

He hummed, tilting his head in consideration. "Yeah, that's right. Alright, I think that's done for the day." He lifted himself up and carefully reached for your hand.

The fourth finger still felt strange against your palm—foreign in the way the knuckle was twice your size. But it was nice, too. Bigger than any of the other males in your clan. No wonder Varang liked holding it. She always liked different.

"You're a quick learner, cupcake. Better than I ever was learnin' Na'vi." His voice carried some old frustration. "My boy, Spider—he tried getting it through my thick skull. An' I could barely string a sentence together."

"Spider. Son." You gave a distant nod. Varang had mentioned him once. He had a son. Wanted him back. No harm to come to him, you remembered that much.

"Mhm." His gaze drifted somewhere past your shoulder, through the woven walls to a place you couldn't follow. For once the mask of bravado slipped, and beneath it was grief of missing someone.

You didn’t really care. That was his business. And yours…

Your lower lip jutted forward in a small pout. Hand reaching out, expectant.

That snapped him back. The grin returned, easier now, and he dug into his cargo pants before pulling out the small bag. "You really like Skittles, huh?" He poured a few into his palm, fingers sorting through the colors before plucking out the red ones. You seemed to really like those. "There you go, little lady."

The taste was different from anything on Pandora, but you liked it. "Mh, good." You nodded. You immediately plopped them into your mouth and chewed. Yum.

He watched you for a long moment—longer than necessary—then bit his lower lip and reached over to tug gently at your cheek. "You're the cutest of the bunch, y'know that? Not so bad when you're like this." His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw, voice dropping quieter. "No wonder Varang keeps you around."

"She is, isn't she."

Varang sauntered through. Her body shifted like the dancing of flame, but you knew her enough. You saw her for the fire, not the warmth. You bowed your head and drew your shoulders in. Small gestures for necessary ones.

Varang's mouth was a thin, bloodless line—aimed directly at Quaritch.

She stepped to your side and pressed her hip against yours. You felt the decorative bones pricking your side, stabbing your soft skin. The contact pinned you there while her gaze carved into him. "I told you to teach her."

"And what am I doing?" Quaritch's head canted, dismissive. He wasn't the yielding type.

“Making her weak.”

He scoffed—an amused sound that bubbled into genuine exasperation. His hand found your forearm. “Hm? And how am I makin’ her weak, buttercup?”

Varang hissed.

That surprised you both. 

She hauled you back, fingers tight enough to bruise. "You may see. Not touch." Then she stepped closer to him, and the tension in her shoulders melted into something silk-smooth. Run, Quaritch. You tried telling him with your eyes. You are prey. But Varang had a way about her, captivating.

"Besides," Varang murmured, trailing one finger along the freckles of his throat, "you already have me." her lips ghosted over his pulse, and her fingers trailed down to cup the front of his pants. He hissed, a different one—a pleased one. "Do well to remember that."

She turned then, and the sultriness drained from her the moment her back faced him. Her hands found your arm again and you winced as she dragged you forward. 

You cast one glance back at Quaritch. His face had gone stony.

Her grip on your arm tightened and you winced, allowed yourself to be turned.

"Varang—" you began, stumbling to keep pace.

She didn’t slow. She dragged you into her yurt, shoving you down onto the woven mat with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. Firelight dnced along the walls, casting her in molten gold as she paced before you.

You breathed slowly, words aching to come, yet withheld under her stare.

She paced forward, steady. You lowered your head, looking anywhere but her—the woven floor, the yurt’s wooden beams, the way ash fell between the light. Her fingers found your chin, and forced your face upward. "See me."

You did. You looked up. "I... I do see you."

That made her calm, just a bit. Her heart gentled and her expression softened into something sweet. She tilted her head, studying you with the intensity of someone memorizing a dying lover, before pressing a kiss against your lips. Her eyes never shut. They watched for your reaction, golden and unblinking, and you knew exactly which one to give.

You closed your own eyes, kissing her back, hands gripping her shoulders. Warmth bloomed where skin met skin—hers fever-hot, yours clammy. "You make me weak," she finally whispered against your mouth.

That gave you pause. She either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Varang." You tilted your head up, felt her lips brush underneath your jaw, trailing heat. Your eyes felt particularly hazy—fatigue, pain, something else entirely. She slowly brought her own queue over her shoulder, and your eyes caught the restrictive tie wrapped around the tendrils.

You glanced, freckles flashing in slight embarrassment. "R-Right now...?"

She gave a nod.

You brought your own queue forward with trembling fingers, a headache already forming. She let the tendrils bond together. The both of you shuddered. Her anger crashed over you first—the frequent memory of the volcano. The screams of her mother, the passive voice of her father: “If it is Eywa’s will, Varang… be like your sister, Varang.” Then her hate followed, the taste of salt and rock.

But underneath it lay something girlishly needy, embarrassingly seeking. A vulnerability she showed no one else. Only you were allowed such a look into her soul.

"Hm."

She walked backward then, pulling you with her until she hit the hammock. It swayed under the combined weight as she settled, then drew you into her lap, tugging at your hair. “Shhh,” She cooed.

Varang pressed a hand underneath the wrapping of your top, lifting it to kiss the skin there. You’d pierce your nipples months ago, and the bone that settled between the nubs made her mouth water. “Such fear,” she whispered against your damp skin. “But you love me. I see it. I know it.”

She licked a broad wet stripe across the sensitive areola, then drew the tight bud between her mouth, swirling her tongue around the piercing and faintly tugged. 

You whined, frowning, fingers finding the ridges of her collarbone. "You always question it."

"Naturally." She nuzzled your shoulder, breathing in the ash still clinging to your skin. Her lips switched to its twin, finally fluttering her eyes close to gently suck, saliva coating your breasts. You grinded against her thigh, pressing your face against her shoulder. “Such a needy little thing, come—”

“Tsahik,”

Yepa stood where the privacy cloth was, eyes cast down. He knew better than to interrupt Varang when she kept you to herself. Her eyes sharpened, fingers pausing where they'd been toying with the piercing.  Heat crawled up your neck. You looked away, cheeks burning. 

"Speak." She said.

Her hand drifted lower, tracing the edge of your loincloth, circling just above your mound while her mouth pressed dizzying kisses along the curve of your cheek. "Forgive me, Tsahìk," Yepa murmured. "We've spotted a new caravan. The windtraders."

Varang exhaled through her nose. Her touch stilled. For one fleeting moment, she looked at you—something almost apologetic flickering behind her eyes.

Then it was gone.

You made a soft, plaintive sound, fingers curling around her wrist. "Stay." The word came out smaller than you meant it to, and you hated yourself for it. Varang despised weakness. You were weakness.

She pushed your hand away with her usual ease. "Others hunt the meat you eat, Y/n." She didn't look at you again, said it in a cooing tone that made it all the worse.

You rewrapped your chest with fumbling hands, tail lashing hard enough snap at the air. You shoved past Yepa without meeting his eyes, head bowed low.

Not fair. The thought curled bitter in your head. She could refuse you. You could never refuse her.

Around you, the clan stirred with new activity. Warriors readied their ikran, voices risingto prepare. Blades were sharpened, the new demon-weapons brandished with eager hands. 

You weren't allowed on raids. Varang forbade it.

So instead you sat on the edge of camp and kicked rocks, watching them disappear into the embers of the sun.

"You're not going?"

You froze mid-motion, glancing back.

Quaritch.

Your frown deepened.

"Varang angry," you said quietly. She’s angry, and doesn’t want you near me. Is what you meant to say. But how could you? He was an idiot. Or maybe it was you, for not knowing how to say it.

You moved to walk past him, but his hand caught your shoulder—firm, four fingers pressing and encompassing most of it.

"So?" He snorted. "She throws a hissy fit and what? Law doesn't apply to me."

They do. Your eyes narrowed. You are one of us now. They apply.

But you didn't say it. Instead, you sighed and looked away, fingers tapping absently against the skin where your heart was underneath. "I…" You hesitated. "Weak. Not strong. Varang worry."

A pause.

"Don't tell," you grumbled.

Quaritch gave a slow nod, tail tracing a lazy arc. He leaned forward, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet. "You ever use a gun?"

You blinked. "Gun…?"

He lifted one of those compact metal bows from his holster, blocky and compact—nothing like the carved wood your people used. "Yeah. A gun. You've seen Varang use it." He jerked his chin toward the distant yurts. "Come on. I'll show you. Just don't blow my tail off."

Your gaze drifted to Varang's yurt, then skyward where the war party had departed hours ago, her Ska'avum among them. She'd be gone until dusk at least. You pressed your lips together.

"Yes. Okay."

.

.

.

The first shot made you jump, ears pressing flat against your head.

"Yeah! Booyah!" Quaritch's hands landed on your shoulders, shaking hard into your frame. "Clear damn shot. You're a natural at this, kid."

He thrust his palm upward, some human gesture you'd never seen before. 

You stared at it, confused.

Then lifted yours suspiciously, mirroring the angle.

His hand met yours with a sharp smack.

"High-five. Well—high-four," he amended, grinning wide enough to show molars. His palm found your spine, a push that was encouraging and commanding. "Come on. Again. Let's see if it was a fluke."

He was close now. Close enough that if Varang were here, if she saw—

You swallowed the thought. No. This isn't about Varang.

You adjusted your stance the way he'd shown you: shoulders angled, weight forward, breath held. The target swam into focus. You squeezed.

Bullseye.

Your tail betrayed you, wagging before you could stop it—then his hand cracked against your ass and you squealed. "Ngh!" The hiss tore from your throat, glaring at him. You almost forgot he was an asshole first, friend second.

He was already moving past you, plucking the gun from your slack grip. "And she calls you weak." A scoff.  He studied the target, grinning like some prideful mentor. "Feel pretty powerful, huh?"

You nodded slowly, studying the cluster of holes punched through the painted target. When you glanced back, he was counting the rounds with his usual efficiency.

"Think we'll add firearms to your training rotation." He didn't look up. "No point wasting time on that bow sissy-shit when you've got real stopping power available."

You stepped closer, watching his hands work. "What doing?"

"What are you doing," he corrected. "Grammar, kid. Makes me sound like some kind of assh-shat teacher." He whistled. "Anyway, I’m cleanin’ and reassembling. Maintenance. All this volcanic shit clogs the mechanisms. Messes with the equipment."

This was news to you. You paused.  "Varang…knows?"

The question landed betwene you two.

His lips peeled back—too much teeth. "Nah." He didn't look up. "Keep it that way."

A secret. You had a secret now. The thought bloomed warm, and Quaritch must have seen it written plain across your face because he chuckled, low and knowing. "You're a little minx, aren't'cha?"

You didn't know what that was, but nodded anyway.

He dug into his pockets again, fingers closing around the crinkled bag. Your hand shot out before you could think to stop it, palm up, giddy. 

He caught your wrist to steady it—the tips of his fingers padded in callouses. “You’re spoiled, you know that?” He shook the bag near your ear, grinning. "Never had much of a sweet tooth myself. Spider did, though." A pause. His jaw worked. "I traded my good socks for this."

The silence came. Then he pressed the entire bag into your palm, closing your fingers around it like it was something precious.

"Just keep it." It came out rough, almost embarrassed. "And don’t let the others see." He looked away.

You stared at the bag. Bright red plastic stamped with the strange alien letters from his world. Red. Yellow. Orange. Green. Purple. You traced each color with your eyes before lifting your gaze back at him.

You didn't know what you were thinking.

You kissed his cheek.

Quaritch actually stumbled back half a step. His ears snapped forward, eyes gone wide and startled as a spooked hexapede's. Before he could recover, you pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. You felt reckless, daring. The power that Varang held, you wield it now.

You skittered backward, clutching the candy to your chest, a shy smile blooming despite yourself.

"Thank you, Quaritch," you whispered.

His lips quirked, just a bit. He tilted his head back, pushed air between his teeth in a low whistle that might've been a laugh. "Yeah," he muttered, but you think it was more to himself than you. "Yeah, alright."

You left then, the bag pressed tight against your chest, tail swaying in wide arcs all the way back to the yurt.

Another secret.

.

.

.

Things were different now. You felt different, you supposed.

This shared secret between you and Quaritch had festered into something physical. It lived in the space between breaths, in the pause before he spoke your name.

And Quaritch? Quaritch was all physical.

You couldn't walk past him without a slap to the rear or a pinch to your side, something too boyish for a man his size (and his age, as you liked to remind him). But there it was anyway, that grin splitting his face, the wink that followed. "That's it, baby girl." The words dripped easy, thick as the molasses you once tasted.

The lessons were no different. Or rather—no different in how he touched you now. Instead of sweet candy he'd nudge your lips apart and kiss.

"Say it. Patient."

"Patient."

Quaritch just grinned against your mouth. "Still got that accent. It's cute." Your eyes fluttered shut. You licked away the chapness of his lips, tasted salt and something faintly bitter.

Evening meals were distant, of course. Formal. When Varang sat beside you, eating whatever meal she'd presented—she’d present a kuru, sometimes several, gifts of power and affection—you'd accept with the usual grace. The usual smiles.

And later, after you'd ignored him through dinner and feigned disinterest, Quaritch would return. That all-too-easy smile waiting for you in the dark.

Varang wouldn't know. You were happy with that.

"Stop moving," you grumbled.

You painted the whites and reds against his face in careful strokes, slapping his hands when they wandered.

"It's damn cold," he hissed. But he remained still, huffing through his nose. The pigment was thick, it had to be. Smelling just a bit of crushed minerals, rendered fat, and berries. You had to change the recipe for him, he sweat too much and smeared it everywhere—too impatient to let it dry.

You rolled your eyes. The two of you were tucked beneath the newly constructed yurt. Varang had moved everyone to the RDA base, and Quaritch had been more than eager to accommodate the clan into the facility's sprawling guts. If he wasn't with her, or the strange pink-skins, then he was with you.

"It's cold because you take too long." You swept your thumbs in parallel lines along his cheeks, forming a sharp V that cascaded down the bridge of his nose. The pattern was traditional, though your hand trembled slightly as you worked. 

You watched him through your lashes, heat creeping up your neck when you realized he'd been staring back. "What?"

Quaritch clicked his tongue, angling his head low. He pressed his cheek against your palm, the paint smudged just a bit, but you didn’t correct him. "Nothin'... just—sweet is all. You're sweet."

Your fingers drifted to your songcord almost unconsciously, tracing the amber bead you'd added most recently. Inside, suspended in golden resin, a single red skittle.

"I didn't think you'd be so sappy," you murmured, a smile tugging at your mouth.

"Sappy? Now where'd you learn that word?"

"Lyle." You said innocently. “The bald one."

Quaritch grinned, and his hand found your back—thumb pressing the base of your tail. "Course it was. The bastard—"

"Do you think I am a fool?"

Your tail went rigid mid-sway, ears swiveling before the rest of you caught up. You turned, careful, already knowing what you'd find.

Varang stood at the threshold, stripped of her usual paint and accessories. She looked exactly as she had when you were both girls and the forest still held its green—Vulnerable.

"Varang," you started, placating. "We were almost—"

A hiss tore from her throat. Her nose wrinkled, lips peeling back from her teeth. "Do not." She lifted one hand, fingers curling through the air in a white-knuckled clench.

You'd never seen her this furious. Not even since—

Your ears flattened against your skull.

"You do not ask permission, sky-man." She began to circle Quaritch now, and her hands drifted to the twin buugeng blades strapped at her hips. 

Quaritch's expression didn't shift. If anything, it settled into something lazier. Bored, almost. He tracked her with his eyes, then let out a low chuckle that rumbled through his chest. "And when have you?"

He rose slowly, joints popping, and your handprint still blazed red across his cheek.

Varang faltered as she eyed the paint. For just a heartbeat—her brows pinched into something wounded—but then she shook her head, and the mask slammed back into place.

"Seems to me, cupcake," Quaritch drawled, stepping into her space, "that you and I are too similar."

His gaze slid to you.

Then his hands found Varang's shoulders, turning her to face you instead. "She don't seem too concerned." His voice dropped rough, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "And I bet she'd take both of us sweetly. Hm?"

Varang stared. Her expression smoothed into something unreadable, eerily calm, yellow eyes locked on yours.

"Have you two bonded?"

Your stomach dropped. "No. Varang, we—"

"Nah." Quaritch's answer came quicker than yours, easier. "We haven't. You can keep that if you want." His lips grazed the curve of Varang's neck, breath hot against the delicate skin there. His hands slid lower, palms molding to her waist, then dipping to the swell of her hips. "If it makes you feel special."

He grinned.

Varang twisted free in one fluid motion, closing the distance between you in two strides. Her hand fisted in your hair, dragging you close enough that you could see every fleck of amber in her yellow eyes. "You smell like him."

Then she kissed you.

Hard. 

Her canines caught your lower lip, tugging until you tasted copper. A sound escaped you, swallowed just before it turned pitiful..

Behind you, Quaritch shifted closer. You couldn't see him, but you felt the heat of him, the broad wall of his chest almost brushing your shoulder blades. His hand came down heavy on the curve of your ass, grabbing an absolute fistful.

And you, you felt multiple hands now. Varang's fingers worked the braided top, peeling it free until your breasts were bare beneath her palms. They bounced just a bit, purple nipples perking. Behind you, Quaritch's thumbs traced the curve of your ass before lifting the weight of each cheek. He let them plop down, and groaned.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice dropping to gravel. "Won't you look at that." His knuckles grazed the stripes that contoured around the flesh, mesmerized.

Miles…" You turned your head, the syllable half-formed. Instinct seeked his face, but Varang's fist caught your braids and wrenched you back. 

Her teeth found your lower lip.

"Not at him." The growl rumbled against your mouth. "Me."

Quaritch's laugh was low, almost lazy. "Think she likes me better. I ain't so punishing." His palm cracked against your rear—only once, but something purple was already forming. "Say my name again, doll."

"Miles—" But Varang swallowed it, mouth sealing over yours, and she shot him a look that could've drawn blood.

"You ain't playing fair," He had that smile, you knew he did even if you couldn’t see it.

Both hands rose to cradle your jaw, now. Thumbs stroking the jaw where tension pooled. She pressed kisses all over—the corner of your lips, the hollow of your throat, the slope of your shoulder where your scent glands were located. Marking you with her own scent.

"If you can only win by fairness," she whispered, lips brushing your shoulders "you are no true warrior."

Then she kissed you again

Quaritch's mouth twitched. Without warning, he hauled you back against him, fingers sinking into your hips, grinding you into the hard line of his pelvis. "So you wanna play like that?"

Varang pulled back with a hiss, chest rising. She looked at you—just once—then stepped forward. She wore seduction in her hips now, curling her lips, tasting her skin. "Only if you think yourself capable."

"Hm. Challenge accepted." His attention dropped to your chest, dismissive for just a moment before he took another look. He pinched a nub. "Fuck, baby girl. You had these the whole time?"

He flicked the other with his thumb, feeling the bone piercing. Your body jerked, a gasp wriggling out. “O-Oh…” His mouth went lower, descending a hot trail while his hands lazily hooked your loincloth to the side. His calloused fingers found your clit, the rough pad of his thumb circling.

"Miles, please…" Your head fell forward, brows pinching together, and the sound that left you was barely coherent.

Before you, Varang sank to her knees.

You'd never seen her like this—all that fierce pride folded into something softer, reflective of her soul. Her palms smoothed up your thighs, reverent. When she looked up at you through dark lashes, blinking slow, you blushed.

“You beg for him,” She undid your loincloth properly now, throwing it over her shoulder to the fire nearby. “Now you will beg for me” She simply lowered her mouth and licked—a long, flat, possessive stripe from your entrance to your clit, pushing Quaritch’s thumb aside with the force of it. 

He only grunted. His fingers traced your ribs, mapping each curve, each rise of skin. Up, then down. Feeling. Always feeling. He nudged your legs apart. Varang needed room, afterall.

She took it.

Varang nudged her face, nuzzling the purple flesh and mouthing your pussy. Suckling the flesh. When she looked up, her eyes were hazy with peace—and if you dared to call it—love. You watched her tail sway behind her. A soft huff escaped you.

She spread your pretty pussy lips with her thumbs, then spat. You watched the silver strand descend, sliding down your slit in complete arousal.

“So pretty,” she cooed. “You like this, yes?”

Her finger brisked along the opening, pinching your folds together. They were undeniably swollen, plump. She always liked how engorged they became when you were aroused. Like a dumpling. She thought.

She pressed one fingertip to the left lip, and watched it bounce back. “Varang.” You pushed your hips forward, pouting.

Both chuckled. “What did I say?” Quaritch mused. “Spoiled. Absolutely spoiled.”

He lifted you—just slightly—and chucked his loincloth aside. You glanced down.

Your mind emptied of everything but his cock.

Your hands flew to his forearms, fingers digging into the muscle there just as your legs kicked in a brief instinctive pedal. “Wait—wait!”

He went still, swallowing. “Somethin’ the matter?” He glanced over your shoulder to look at Varang, who now leaned back on her hands, head cocked into something teasing.

He settled you on his thick thigh instead, tracing numbers over your stomach. 

You dragged your gaze back down, helpless. It was… big. Long, thick, veined with ridges that made your mouth water and your lips tremble all the same. The head was a broad, blunt crown, flushed a deep, violent purple, and below, his balls were heavy and full. 

A low, involuntary sound escaped you as you gave a tiny, shameful shuffle, the slick heat of you grinding against the muscle of his thigh. You bit your lower lip until you tasted the copper hint of blood.

“Well… it’s…”

“She’s never taken a man.” Varang’s murmur was matter-of-fact. Her eyes shifted to you, her smile softening.

For once, he seemed surprised. “What? But you and her have—”

“I have never allowed a man to touch her.” Varang’s scoffed, as if the idea was ridiculous. “Any who’ve tried I’ve killed myself.” She leaned forward now, before going on a crawl. Her eyes, now heavy-lidded, inspected his cock. 

She bit her own plump lip, then leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to the tip. Her eyes fluttered shut as she did it, and above you, Quaritch hissed—no doubt pleased.

“It doesn’t bite, Y/n.” Varang stroked your trembling thigh, her touch gentling, before she turned back. She opened her mouth, suckling the broad head, wetting it thoroughly, then licked a long, torturous stripe from root to tip. The sound was obscenely wet.

“Ngh, fuck…” The groan was torn from Quaritch’s chest, you never thought you’d hear such a sound from him.

It felt right, strangely.

He buried his face against the junction of your neck and shoulder, his arms locking around you, binding you to the solid wall of his heat. His breaths came in uneven puffs. His large, warm hands splayed across your stomach, fingers pressing in rhythmic, almost absent-minded taps. “Not so much now…” he managed, voice strangled.

Varang only scoffed around him, the vibration earning another jerk of his hips. She bobbed her head, taking him deeper, her cheeks hollowing. “This is not for you,” she shot back, pulling off with a wet sound. “So weak. Cannot even last.”

That earned a guttural grunt. He fluttered his eyes open, the yellow within them hollowed by the black of his pupil.

He turned his head and bit the shell of your ear. “You listenin’ to her?” he hummed. You felt his pout. “So mean to me. But you ain’t, darlin’. You’re good. All good and sweet stuff.” He nuzzled, then placed a softer, startling kiss on your cheek.

You both watched, mesmerized, as Varang returned to her work. Your own hands reached and took what she couldn’t. He groaned then, thighs bouncing, dragging against your clit. 

“Ngh,” You whined.

Finally, she withdrew with a slick, echoing pop. She slowly unraveled her tongue, giving one last lon lick from across his shaft.

“There.” Her cooed. “Nice and wet for you to sit on, my beloved. A proper throne.”

“T_Thank you, Varang.”

You thought it was so strange, how someone like Quaritch could be so… gentle at times. His hands found the back of your knees, planting a squeeze against the delicate hinge. Then, he pressed your cheek against his.

“You ready, buttercup?”

You felt the vibration of his voice against your back, rumbling from his chest to your bones. He was like that, of course—all consuming.

Your eyes found themselves downward before you managed the smallest nod. “Y-Yes.”

It was all he needed. “Good girl.” The praise sent warmth all around your body. “Knew you could.” He pat your thighs.

Then he lifted. It was an easy strength he had, lifting as if it were nothing. He shuffled, bringing your knees to your breasts, cocking his head to the side to see. Instinctively, your hands flew behind you, fingers searching for the anchor of his shoulders.

You felt it first, the wet head jutting against your cunt. The broad slick head grazing your slit, parting it just enough to make it audible. Your pussy clenched, and you drew in your breath. 

“Shh… relax.” He cooed. “I won’t move until you want to.” 

He began the slow work of getting you used to it. His hips rolled in a shallow, circular tease, moving his hips so his dick coated itself with your slick. 

Then, with a controlled shift, he gathered both your knees in the vice of one formidable arm, the other hand wrapping around the base of his shaft. 

A groan, raw and deep, tore from his chest as he notched himself at your entrance.

Varang watched, transfixed at the sight.

He pushed.

The burn was instant.

Your eyes flew wide, seeing nothing and everything. “Big—it’s big, Miles—” You babbled, already trying to claw away.

He grunted, and his teeth found the end of your flickering ear.  “The more you squirm, the more it’ll hurt. Shh… shh, it’ll be okay, sugar.”

You tried to obey—really you did, but you couldn’t help the tears that flowed down in wet fat blobs. “Thats it.” He settled you down slow, inch by inch. “See? Its not so—Fuck!”

Varang pushed your hips down, and naturally you screamed, suddenly impaled. Miles, caught off guard, bucked upward with a startled hiss, his ears pinning flat against his skull. Varang’s giggle was a light, airy thing that quickly boiled over into a full-throated laugh.

“So weak,” she snarled, the sweetness evaporating. She patted your trembling thighs before pushing them wider, folding you open and giving herself a perfect, obscene view of either sex.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy,” Miles breathed.

Your belly was full of him. A distinct, visible bulge swelled at your lower tummy. Your cunt was stretched to a painful pink halo around the thick blue of his cock. You just breathed, glancing down—at her, at him.

“Ngh… j-just go…. Please, Miles.”

The words left you in spent sigh, so fragile.

He shuddered where he held you—and nodded. “Alright, buttercup.” He pressed a single fat kiss to the crown of your head, then moved.

Miles Quaritch did nothing by half-measures. His hands locked around the curve of your hips, fingers biting into flesh as he pulled you down and drove himself up. You swore you could feel the tip bristle against your cervix. 

“Oh… fuck.” The curse was low, a rumble you absorbed through your spine. “So fuckin’ tight.”

The force of him made your world condense to sensation. To the deep, stretching fullness, the slap of skin, the dizzying bounce of your breasts. One of his palms slid up to capture a peak—holding it to a squeeze.

And then, because he relished in it, he buried his face against your shoulder, his breath coming in delicious puffs. You could feel every stifled groan turn into a grunt, only to dissolve into a moan.

He likes this. He likes me. You blushed.

Varang shifted closer. Her cool fingers traced the sweat-slicked tension of his balls, cupping the heavy weight before her tongue swept over your clit.

You squealed. “Oh!” You pressed both hands over her head, eyes wide. 

“You look so pretty, Y/N,” she murmured, her voice a honeyed smoke against your fevered skin. “So perfect, split open like this.” You heard the rustle of her loincloth, the wet sound of her own fingers working between her legs, the slick rhythm of her thumb on her clit. 

Her moan was low, and the vibration of it against your most sensitive nerve sent pure pleasure tearing through your core.

“I love you—” The confession was a needy thing, meant for both, owned by neither. But they knew, you were sure they did. “I’m…ah…!”

Miles stole most of your speech, dragging your hips to meet his punishing pace, folding your body to fit him deeper. The angle was brutal, perfect. “Fuck. Gonna cum inside this pussy,” he growled. “Gonna flood you.”

Varang’s mouth left you with a soft pop. “No,” she hissed. “You will not.”

He laughed, somehow teasing and joyful…maybe a bit disbelieving. “Fuck yeah, I will. Gonna pump this tight cunt full. Gonna fuck a baby right into her.” He was sneering at her, a direct challenge even as his hips began to lose their rhythm, succumbing to a ragged, urgent pounding.

“Thrones do not talk, Quaritch.”

“T-This one does.” A stutter from him, a victory for her.

You could feel it. The ache of release. His balls drew up tight against you. Varang felt it too. Her hand tightened around a ball sack, vise-like warning.

He hissed. “Agh—Shit! Woman, don’t you—!”

And then you clenched. Not a voluntary act, your inner muscles clenching around him in a series of frantic, milking pulses. 

A broken yelp escaped you as you came, turning liquid and mindless around his huge dick. Now he was trapped: between Varang’s iron hand and your sweet, convulsing vice.

“Ngh—Christ!” His whole body locked, eyes rolling back in a spasm.

Varang moved, she wouldn’t allow him. She hauled you off him, a gasp torn from your lips at the sudden emptiness, and her fist was around him, stroking, pumping, directing. His release shot in thick, pearlescent ropes across her cheek, her chin, the proud arch of her neck.

She blinked slowly, unimpressed. A single, sticky strand dripped onto her collarbone. She caught it on a finger, flicked it away with utter disdain. “You will not get her pregnant,” she stated, and it was final.

Miles was a spent force, chest heaving. He let out a winded puff, then a low, sated laugh. One eye slid open, crinkled with admiration. “You’re evil,” he rasped, pulling your boneless form against his solid thigh. He nuzzled into your hair, both hands coming up to weigh your breasts, holding you to him as if claiming spoils. 

You on the other hand were dazed, trying to remember how to breathe.

Varang scoffed. “Well.” In one smooth motion, she took your wrists, pulling you from Mile’s slackened grip toward her. He yielded with a grunt, shifting heavily on the mat, already feeling exhaustion in his bones.

“Our turn,” Varang said. And she smiled, a true sweet thing.

You blinked. “...Uh… What?”

She laid you back on the woven mat, the fibers imprinting on your sweat-slick skin. Her loincloth fell away. “You haven’t made me come yet,” she pouted. “It’s no fair.”

You offered a weak, sheepish smile. “Let me—Oofmp!”

She pushed you flat, and climbed over you. “Shhh…” Her thigh brushed your cheek, then she settled her weight, the hot, musky scent of her arousal enveloping you. She sank down onto your waiting mouth with a soft, shuddering moan.

Then she glanced over at Miles, already snoring softly. She scoffed, rolling her eyes, and her hips began a slow, commanding grind against your lips.

“Weak.”

Nevertheless, the end result is all the same to Toji. 

Even a rash decision like you eloping with Sukuna couldn’t stop Toji now—though it would complicate things should he make good on his promise to put a bullet in Sukuna if necessary. 

But until that time comes, Toji will continue playing his cards slow and steady.

Good things come to those who wait right?

The delicate balance of events, taking his time over the last 3 months, had proven necessary.

Your fate wasn’t just in his hands alone after all. It also—

“THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO WOMAN!?”

Severing Toji’s thoughts, Sukuna's voice thundered from inside of the condo, his ire penetrating every word like a dagger.

Retreating back inside, the balcony door is left wide open in your wake as your voices echo into the night. 

Toji is sure the whole fuckin’ neighborhood hears your fight at this point.

“RECIPROCIATING ENERGY, RYO! YOU WANNA DOG ME THE FUCK OUT!? THEN YOU SHOULDN’T MIND PLAYING FETCH!”  

Toji chuckles, you may not be an assassin, but your slick ass mouth certainly could fire enough shots to be deemed a deadly weapon—something he has first hand knowledge of thanks to your last encounter.

In the past, Toji often wondered how Yuji—despite having a front-row seat to your and Sukuna’s constant bickering—remained such a cheerful, boisterous kid.

“GODDAMN IT! Crazy ass woman, that’s ¥3,500,000 you just fucked away!”    

However, it wasn’t until recently that Toji discovered the noise-canceling headphones you bought for Yuji—the kind designed for babies at loud events—shielding him from his parents' arguments, keeping him blissfully unaware.

“OH LIKE YOU FUCKED AWAY OUR FUTURE BY GETTING ANOTHER WOMAN PREGNANT…THEN HAD THE FUCKING AUDACITY TO SUGGEST BOTH OF US LIVE WITH YOU IN ITALY LIKE WE’RE GODDAMN SISTERWIVES?!”

Toji muses. With him, those headphones will become unnecessary. 

He’d never give you the need to have an argument like this with him.

Precisely because he’d never even look at another woman again if he had you.

Toji wants nothing outside of you as his wife.

He also knows it’s what you want too, deep down—even if you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.

You were so close to doing so last time though, admitting it to both yourself and to Toji—tsk, but you ran.

Exactly two weeks had passed since then though, and in that time he’s barely seen you. 

You’ve been dodging him.

Groceries delivered to your door and your mail brought up by the concierge. 

The only interactions between you two as of late are those fake-polite, rushed smiles—the kind you give someone you’d rather not talk to when you just so happen to cross paths. 

Not that any of his run-ins with you ever just so happen. 

Of course, you have no clue the building’s security cameras are synced to his phone.

But the most unforgivable part? 

You miss playdates. 

Fuck—after all those weeks of letting Megumi and Yuji play together like the brothers they’d soon become too.

Toji’s patience has nearly reached its limits, but he knows you just need time to catch up to what he can plainly see coming.

To what is inevitable. 

You damn near fell for him right then and there that night.

Toji takes you not informing Sukuna of what happened last time Toji saw you as a good sign.

Sukuna would have tried to kill Toji himself had you told. 

Although it's a given that Sukuna will catch on eventually, Toji expects it will be far too late by then to do anything about what’s already been set in motion.

Chain-smoking, Toji flicks away a cigarette butt only to light another as his thoughts effortlessly drift back to that decisive encounter two weeks ago.

⟡

Toji returned home late that night to The Nursery. One hand kneaded the knots in the back of his neck while the other braced against the wall, steadying himself as he kicked off his oxfords in the entryway—half-laced and haphazard, just like his thoughts.

Exhaling hard, he cursed. His age was showing. 

A younger version of him wouldn’t have even yawned at that hour—even after being up for nearly two days straight. 

Yet, with the organization in disarray, Toji felt the weariness of pointless conflict. Especially since he’d been given the “honor” of playing a glorified elderly caretaker for the big boss in the form of a bodyguard. 

Who would’ve thought the assassination of an executive—overseas, in Italy no less—could stir so much shit back in Japan?

But three months in and zero results to show, outside involvement had been officially ruled out. 

The inner organization subsequently appeared weakened.

Power struggles had begun to boil, and the internal war Toji had long dreaded was no longer hypothetical.

It was imminent.

While others took this opportunity to curry favor or stage power plays, Toji only sees it for what it is—a pain in the ass.

All it amounted to was wasted hours that could’ve been spent making you his.

Toji missed your presence, your laugh.

You no longer flinched when he got too close, when his shoulder would brush against yours or when his hand would press against the small of your back in passing.

You saw him as dependable, even dare he say—gentle. 

The kind of man who could be a good father and husband.

Toji snorted.

Well, better than Sukuna at any damn rate and that’s all that really mattered.

Yet those interactions were brief when you’d pick up or drop off Yuji from a playdate. 

You never lingered too long though and Toji couldn’t risk keeping you and having Sukuna catch on and retaliate again—fucking you just to prove a point. 

Even though Toji knew you were on birth control from tracking the pharmacy deliveries—the thought of you accidentally having Sukuna’s kid again before his own makes his blood boil. 

Nevertheless, Toji made plans to see you that night. 

Well—his own plans. You didn’t know about them yet.  

Toji knew for a fact that Sukuna had been suddenly occupied that night—his contact had given him those assurances, and he expected you to be alone with the kids.

What Toji didn’t anticipate though was to see you in his condo when he walked through the hallway and into the living room.

Like some kinda divine intervention delivered you to him personally. 

Sarcastically blowing a kiss to the sky, Toji would give the credit to whatever God that wanted it.

A sight for sore eyes, you instantly energized Toji, grounding something restless in him. He took his time loosening his tie as he made his way towards you, savoring the view: you fast asleep on the sofa with Megumi and Yuji nestled against you.

His chest warmed at the sight of Megumi’s tiny fist curled tightly around the fabric of your dress—even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go. Toji exhaled slow, chest tight with something damn near primal—because the kid wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

The soft glow of the TV flickered, playing My Neighbor Totoro on a low volume and casting a comforting light around the dimly lit room.

How sweet—did you all stay up as long as you could waiting for ‘daddy’ to come home? 

His vision so close to being reality, he could taste it.

Close enough to really get a good look at you, Toji’s eyes roamed over your relaxed features, taking in all the little details. Your slightly disheveled hair and smudged makeup only added to your allure somehow. 

Although, too done up for just a playdate. It was clear to Toji you were meant to be somewhere else that night before Sukuna had been preoccupied. 

The elegant black plunge-neck gown you wore elevated your soft curves in all the right ways. Especially in your sleep as the silky straps slipped off your shoulders, seductively baring most of your breasts and the diamond-drop necklace nestled between them. 

Well, they would be barred—if not for the two boys snuggled against your chest covering them up, the tiny milk rings on their mouths evidence of their satisfaction.

Heh, so even Megumi had gotten a sip directly from your sweet tits before him? 

Lucky little bastard.

Not that Toji hadn’t tried your milk before, well—indirectly. 

After Megumi’s mother passed, he’d refused formula, surviving off of hospital donations. But when the nanny mentioned a hospital shortage, you offered your extra supply without a second thought. You already were already dumping a wasteful amount thanks to Yuji’s hearty appetite, your overactive mommy milkers had plenty to spare.

Toji’s freezer was overflowing with bags of your sweet overstock. 

Too damn kind for your own good, ma.

Admittedly, the more Toji thought of your selfless donation, the harder the brick-like urge hit him to taste the creamy delicacy. 

And like the fiend he is, Toji was hooked from the first drip of bottle-warmed breast milk onto his tongue. Toji had to suppress a deep groan from gurgling up his throat at the taste. 

A good thing Megumi’s nanny walked in when she did or he’d have been tempted to down the whole damn bottle.

After that Toji made a habit out of “testing” Megumi’s bottles, always indulging in a few stolen sips. He reasoned it’s better to put on his tongue than waste a single precious drop on his forearm.

But soon, Toji would fix that. 

He’d gorge on his fill—directly from the source.

Tearing his gaze away from your chest, Toji’s eyes trailed lower, lingering on your fleshy hips exposed by the high-cut slits of your dress. The airy fabric bunched between your legs, inguinal crease exposed and tempting him as it revealed damn near everything but your pussy lips.

Toji couldn’t confirm back at the grocery store, but you definitely did not have panties on that night.

Still… The idea of you dressing up like a doll in something expensive—looking as fuckin’ drop dead gorgeous as you did—just to sit across from that smug bastard Sukuna, left Toji’s jaw clenching.

Especially when you got yourself all dolled up and went through all that effort for a man who didn’t even bother to show.

Toji didn’t need to hear the soft sniffs woven between your shallow snores to know you’d been crying. The faint darkness under your eyes, the puffiness in your cheeks were fresh. He’d know as he’d memorized every detail of how you looked over these past few months.

But fuck Sukuna, because now you were on his sofa, waiting for him.

Feeling a wave of conflicting emotions overtake him, Toji was unsure if he wanted to palm the heavy chub forming in his slacks at your disheveled state or snap a photo of you to commemorate the moment of just how perfect you looked holding the kids, like you were Megumi’s mother too.

Heh, a video would probably be best… he could jerk off later…two birds, one stone…

Eh, on second thought, maybe he could even slightly nudge Megumi's head out of the way and get a full glimpse of those fat puffy areolas of yours.

“She’s so pretty, isn’t she?”

A heavy, yet feminine voice oozed with amusement from the shadows. With her comes a proverbial storm cloud raining over the erotic yet wholesome image of you Toji had formed in his mind.

Nevertheless, Toji’s no top assassin for nothing—his gun spun out and leveled, silencer in place, before the tall, raven-haired woman’s words even finished echoing down the hall.

Toji gritted—The Nursery whore you befriended.

Fuck, she’d been in here the entire time and he hadn’t noticed.

If she were anyone else, Toji would have thought he’d been getting rusty…

Tsk—why did you have to go and make fucking friends with a bitch like her?

“I hate to admit it, but I see the appeal—I mean, if you aren’t being too picky, I suppose.”

Your friend simpered.

Clad in a lacquer-tight red mini-dress, she clicked across the hardwood, matte-black nails raised in mock surrender—her heels and haughty strut a loud declaration of audacity, disrespect, and complete disregard for Toji’s home.

“Easy tiger…wouldn’t want to wake their precious sleep, no?” 

Toji didn’t lower the gun. He didn’t even speak.

Not intimidated in the least, your friend sauntered closer, hips swaying deliberately. 

Defiantly, she leaned, centering the barrel perfectly between her tits. There’s a sick glint in her eyes like she gets off on the sensation of death pressed against her sternum.

“Go ahead, Fushiguro. I dare you.”

With no fear she grabbed Toji’s wrist, slowly dragging the barrel beneath her chin.

The stare down is intense.

Fucking crazy ass bitch belongs in a padded cell.

Yet Toji was the one with everything to lose and after what seemed like ages he finally broke the silence, gritting the words out as not to wake you.

“Are you fucking stupid? I told you to stay the fuck away from me…. and her.” 

His head tipped to you, and your friend’s eyes narrowed with venom.

“I know I don’t need to remind you, Fushiguro—but I can go anywhere in this building I damn well please.”

Anger flashes in Toji’s eyes. If looks could kill, Toji surely would have repainted the living room with her blood.

“Ha! Don’t tell me you're serious! Oh, puh-lease Fushigro!”

Snorting the woman eyed Toji like he’s a sulking child prone to theatrics.

“C’mon. I was just checking in on our little mama, hm? Poor thing got stood up after all. Then had to come n’ play nanny after yours had a lil ‘accident’—but you wouldn’t know anything about that right, hm?”

Ignoring her annoying ass prattling, Toji muttered a string of curses before reholstering his pistol with a reluctant clink.

Your friend simply giggled, unceremoniously dropping onto the sofa beside you—nestling into the spot that should have been his.

Fuckin’ bitch.

Toji couldn’t stand the way she looked at you.

Like she was deciding what kind of game she’d play with you as you stirred in your sleep.

This is why Toji warned you not to make friends here… and of all the whores in this building too.

Not that you know who she really is—she plays a role well, when she wants.

Anxious, Toji’s other hand twitched at his side. 

Although his gun is lowered, his killer instincts are still gnawing at him to ‘neutralize the threat’. 

It wouldn’t take but a moment to slide the blade from his pocket and chuck it straight between her eyes while the bitch dared to brush your baby hairs back with mock affection. 

Toji wouldn’t miss, yet wouldn’t dare risk it while you were so close.

"Touch her again and I’ll take your fucking hand off—that’s a promise."

Toji’s protectful gaze shifted to you,then to the boys—both still asleep and cuddled into your warmth like tiny animals burrowed-in for safety.

Your friend didn’t respond, only leaned back and exhaled a dreamy little sigh, letting her hand drift dangerously close to Yuji now. 

Toji sneered, a loophole since he clearly told her not to touch you, yet before Toji can say more, that’s when you finally began to stir.

Call it mother’s intuition at a sign of danger or whatever the fuck, but Toji was thankful for it nonetheless as the woman pulled back with a frown.

A haze of exhaustion clouded your features, but you still identified Toji through your disorientation, blinking your sleep away.

“F-F-Fushiguro… you’re—*yawns* back?”

Toji didn’t answer immediately, simultaneously realizing he still had the pistol in his hand and holstering it behind his back in a swift fluid motion.

“Yeah, ma. I’m home.” 

Toji’s reply is clipped but he’s focused on suppressing the scowl on his face before you realize something is wrong.

“I—I’m sorry. I know it must be a bit of a shock to see us here, but I scheduled a playdate with the nanny last minute so, me and Su—um, well…uh, so I could go out. But then she cut her hand and had to rush to the hospital…”

Toji tensed watching  you fumble over your explanation, catching yourself before you mentioned Sukuna—why?

“—and I came to help!”

Interjecting with a bright smile that Toji saw straight through, your friend plucked Yuji out of your arms, bouncing him on her knee. 

“Couldn’t let her handle this all alone after the night she’s had, so I came to help with lil’ Yu-Yu!”

Toji watched as Yuji squirms, fussing as he’s clearly not a fan of the nickname given to him either. Smart kid.

You, on the other hand, were too frazzled to notice—cheeks burning as you finally registered just how exposed you were. Tugging your dress down and smoothing your hair in flustered strokes, you multitasked with as much grace as you could, all while gently rocking Megumi to keep him from waking.

“What a horrible accident, all that blood too! Although nothing Ji-Ji would ever bat an eye at.”

Nothing that bitch would fuckin’ bat an eye at either, but Toji couldn’t be concerned with that when he could practically see the phantom question marks pop over your head as a revelation sinks in. 

“Oh, um…but you two know each other?” 

Your attempts to ask casually might have fooled less astute individuals but your true question is obvious. 

Motherfucker.

Given his less-than-stellar reputation around The Nursery, Toji could already picture the conclusions you were jumping to. 

“I didn’t realize…”

Your friend's smarmy smile made Toji’s skin crawl.

“Who, Ji-Ji?” 

She cooed obnoxiously at Toji in the same sickly sweet tone she used with Yuji. 

“We go way back.”

Your friend flipped her long raven hair and laughed.

“We practically grew up together! Didn’t we, Ji-Ji?”

If Toji’s jaw got any tighter his teeth might’ve cracked.

“Yeah—sumthin’ like that.”

Toji wanted to leave it there and not elaborate—truthfully there was nothing to even elaborate on—but the way you looked between them, he knew you likely assumed the worst.

Fuck…there’s no getting around this now.

“Tch, she’s the big boss’s daughter.” 

Toji revealed as his eyes meet yours. 

Damn—he should have warned you when you told him about her at the grocery store. 

Yet he thought it was too suspicious and couldn’t risk you misinterpreting it as him being controlling—what with your uber controlled relationship with Sukuna completely on his terms. 

And given how you reacted to him paying for your groceries? Toji didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to know he would have crashed and burned that landing.

“Illegitimate daughter—yet still a legitimate pain in my ass after all these years.” 

Toji’s voice stays flat, offering no affection for your friend—now revealed to be the boss’s daughter. Toji knew she had no designs on him other than to be a nuisance, so he didn’t bother sparing her feelings. 

His focus stayed on you, watching as your brows knitted, struggling to process the flood of information hitting all at once.

“Oh, don’t be like that Ji-Ji, we used to be so close before I moved to Italy!”

She winked, but Toji ignored it, outwardly unmoved but inside he was raging.

She was simply toying with you for sport—no other reason for her to be here.  

Ultimately he didn’t fuckin’ care whose daughter she was or how long he’d known her for—if she tried to stand in his way when it came to you, he’d deal with her. 

“Psh, ya n’ haven’t seen or heard from ya in fuckin’ years…”

Toji scoffed, making his way to the bar cart on the other side of the room. He needed to occupy his hands with something, less he did something explosive like actually put a bullet in the yakuza slut’s skull.

“Aw, don’t act like a stranger now. It's only been two years and we recently reconnected, haven't  we?”

Glass clinking against wood and the sound of dark liquor pouring were the only answers she received as Toji downed the fiery substance like medicine. 

That much is true—Toji had known her for years, and it'd been two years since she’s been away—but their relationship was nothing like she was inferring it to be. 

There weren’t many kids actually a part of the yakuza and not coddled in traditional homes or outside of The Nursery. Of course they knew each other. Honestly as both the bosses’ daughter and being completely batshit herself, Toji kept his distance from her unless absolutely necessary—even as a child. 

An awkward silence ensued, the accusation lingering thickly as all eyes in the room were on Toji.

The tension was palpable, but Toji simply swirled a newly poured glass of whiskey, smelling it briefly before chugging it down and pouring another. 

Toji’s only viable answer was a non-answer—he wouldn’t fall into her trap.

“Huh… a yakuza boss' daughter…”

After a few minutes, you found your voice and attempted to ease the strain saturating the room, your attention back on your friend.

“Well, I guess that also explains why the other women here now avoid me entirely since they’ve seen me with you.”

‘Yeah cause she’s the most fucking insane of the bunch.’ Toji wants to say, but he was well aware of the catch-22 he was in. 

There wasn’t much he could get away with at the moment without looking even more guilty for knowing her and not mentioning it, especially since you’d probably try to play it off as none of your business. 

Presently, this is the only moment in Toji’s long life of sin he has ever rued his slutty reputation. 

“Power has its privileges, my love~!”

Your friend sing-songed, and she looked as if she was about to launch into a particularly annoying self-serving monologue before a loud ding interrupted her.

Yuji continued to squirm in her arms as she rummaged through her matching red clutch until she found her phone.

“Ah ha! That’s my fiancé texting me! He sent a car for me—he just can’t stay away”

Likewise Toji, in considering himself your future husband, couldn’t keep his eyes from you. Not paying the boss's daughter any mind as he took note of the way your face crumbled at the mention of fiancé. 

Fiancé…ya gotta be fucking kidding. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” 

She noticed it too—your friend’s condensing comfort confirming Toji’s suspicions.

Consequently, Toji forced himself to ease up on the empty glass of whiskey he held, lest he crush it under his grip—because then he knew.

So is that what the hell tonight was supposed to be about—you being all dolled up?

Did that motherfucker Sukuna actually propose to you?

Or did the asshole simply promise you he’d marry you—stringing you along again and throwing just enough scraps—to state you…to keep you imprisoned in his orbit.

Fiancé or husband though—it didn’t fuckin’ matter. 

Sukuna could slap any title he wanted on you—you’d still be Toji’s in the end.

“Now, now. Don’t be sad, angel. You’ll find the right one meant for you—we all do eventually. You know, I’d think you’d fare better with a nice salaryman than a yakuza.”

It was crystal fucking clear the bitch was patronizing you, yet you still tried to give your ‘friend’ a genuine smile.

Shit, you must be particularly hard-up for company if you’re willing to humor a bitch like her. 

The boss’s daughter always loved her games and how blatantly tactless she could be once one of her cards had been revealed. 

But she wasn’t sitting at a table where she could win here. 

Toji wasn’t about to let anyone else dictate how this would play out when it came to you.

Right then, Yuji began to cry in full force and Toji moved before you could, lifting Megumi into his arms and clearing the way without a word—forcing your friend’s hand.

Your friend rolled her eyes at Yuji's tantrum, plopping him back into your lap and brushing off her palms as if he left something on her.

It’s clear the boss's daughter has zero maternal bones in her body the way Yuji quiets once he’s back in your arms where he belonged. 

“Welp, off I go! He has a bit of a temper and hates when I keep him waiting, ya know~ciao bella!”

She blew a kiss to the room and sauntered out like a queen off to better things than toiling around with mere subjects.

The door slammed shut behind her.

In her absence the leftover tension clung to the air like humidity. Toji cursed the heavy revelations she stirred up and left for the two of you to choke on.

Your friend who you now know to be the illegitimate daughter of a yakuza boss—also Toji’s childhood acquaintance. 

And Sukuna’s proposal… or just the promise of one? 

Fuck.

How did the perfect situation Toji walk into turn into this mess?! He didn’t think Sukuna would be so desperate to keep you as to propose.

Your sigh caught Toji’s attention.

Tsk, Toji resents them both—your “friend” for toying with you and Sukuna for building up your hopes to something he could never be for you—something that Toji could fulfill so much better.

“You know…She’s..She’s been kind overall, even if she can be a lot.”

Your gaze stayed fixed on the door, shoulders slumping under the weight of not only being stood up but mocked.

It pissed Toji off—so he said the only thing he could. He’s not good with words, but he could at least give you honesty.

“She’s a cunt.”

You quickly shot Toji an admonishing look as if you were about to tell him to ‘watch his mouth in front of the kids’, yet you relaxed once you realized both kids were knocked out again. 

“Yeah, but I can’t deny she’s looked after me, getting those other women off my back without expecting anything in return—”

Mama, you had no fuckin’ idea what she expects. But Toji kept that to himself for now.

“Fuck her, ma.”

You rolled your eyes, continuing.

“—and while it hurts to hear, she’s right about Sukuna.”

“Yeah? Well, fuck him too.”

You snorted sharply at that, no longer able to hide your amusement at Toji’s overt bluntness.

“Ha! Now, that’s no good either—how do you think I got stuck with him in the first damn place, Fushiguro?”

Toji couldn’t stop the devilish grin that formed at seeing a bit of your fire return. 

“It’s Toji, ma...”

You threw him some side eye before conceding with a small laugh—bright and genuine, and for a brief moment it looked as if you had another slick comeback prepared, but then your face fell back somber. 

Truly, Toji was hanging on by a fuckin’ thread not going on a suicide mission to take down the whole damn organization. None of them deserved to even know you.

“I don’t know, everything has been so different since becoming a mom—I’m different.”

Confiding in Toji, you softly smooth down Yuji’s hair.

“Perhaps if I looked that good in a mini dress again…I used to wear stuff like that all the time, but Sukuna thinks it's too revealing now…even this dress he’d probably think is too much.”

You trailed off, and there was a beat of silence before Toji spoke, he’d been successful at calming himself about your supposed engagement, but your admission of Sukuna and that whore making you insecure when you were so fucking perfect was making him murderous.

“Look at me.”

The authority in his voice startled you but Toji didn’t regret it, he needed to ensure you heard him on this.

“Ya look fuckin’ beautiful tonight, mama. Better than any woman in this building, all of fuckin’ Tokyo. Motherhood, when y’er meant to be one, when y’er good at it—is sexy on it’s own…”

Toji paused, and the weight of his smolder made you shift in your seat.

“...and y’er damned good at it ma.”

Your eyes widen and a deep flush sweeps over your body. 

Toji almost thought he said the wrong thing again until your smile returned as you lightly chewed your lip—unable to mumble out anything but a small ‘thanks’ before quickly shifting your focus to check if Yuji needed a diaper change.

Toji’s chest puffed in pride. For all his scheming, in the moment he simply spoke his truth. 

If anything you should be wearing less—well, if he had any say in it you’d be wearing nothing at all right now.

“Heh ya know mama, you doll up real nice. Be a real shame to take it all off without having dinner first…” 

Toji casually stepped forward, looming over you until you were forced to look away from Yuji and up at him.

“So how bout it? I’ll cook.”

You looked at Toji like he sprouted two more heads.

“You? Cook?!”

You were looking at him like you didn’t think he could even boil water.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve ever done.. ‘sides you deserve it, eh?”

Toji loves how your eyes sparkled, even if you tried to reign it in after a few moments.

Just say yes.

“Tsk, I know this isn’t the night ya wanted but… y’er the only other person I trust with Gumi. This is just my way of sayin’ thanks.”

Toji rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool—but when your face lit up, unabashed this time, he couldn't help but grin too.

“Well, okay, yeah I am a bit hungry now that you mention it…but I’m at least supervising! I’m not sure if I trust you just yet in the kitchen, Fushiguro.”

“Ya got it and—it’s Toji, ma.”

The decision was quick—Toji would cook dinner, and you’dl finally make good on your promise of matcha brownies.

As much as he hated the boss’s daughter barging in, Toji couldn’t deny that her interruption left you more willing to stay—more open to letting him salvage the night.Rough beginnings to be sure, but Toji wasn’t about to let this opportunity for a ‘first date’ pass nonetheless.

“Ya can put Yuji in Megumi’s crib. Plenty room.”

You nodded, adjusted Yuji in your arms, and followed Toji into the hall. Toji slowed to your pace, matching your small strides so you could keep up. There was something wholly familiar about you both walking like this to Megumi’s room, and an intense flash of deja vu triggered in his mind.

He’s in a house. It’s homey, well lived in. 

The air smells of simple comforts like miso and laundry softener. 

Megumi and Yuji are clonked out on the floor. The cushy living room rug being an impromptu bed as the two caused utter mayhem until they tired themselves out.

You step past Toji as you bend down to pick up Megumi and in turn he holds Yuji, a large protective hand on his back. Somehow it’s too easy to have love for the boisterous little boy who has all the best parts of you.

Walking into the children’s bedroom there’s a lone crib there. Too big for any of the boys but it's not meant for them.

There’s another baby, already tucked away asleep.

Toji steps closer to get a better look...

The vision ended there, leaving him standing in front of Megumi’s crib—empty.

Toji closed his eyes, trying to hold on to the sight, yet the last remnants were gone and he’s ushered back into reality. You brushed past him, laying Yuji in Megumi’s crib. Swaddling Yuji’s sides with the blanket, you plant a kiss on the forehead. His tiny fists twitched once, then went slack—out like a light. 

Following your lead, Toji places Megumi on the opposite end,Yet to no surprise to Toji, Megumi's small face scrunches in protest, a fuss well on its way to starting.

Shit kid usually has a pacifier or something when he sleeps, huh?

Toji turned to a nearby nightstand but to his surprise, you were already on it.

“Shhh, baby... I know.” Murmuring sweetly, you brushed the spikey hairs from Megumi’s face. “...rest easy now.”

The floor creaked as Toji leaned in to appraise the gentle way you rubbed soothing circles on Megumi’s back, pacified, but your touch quickly sank him into a peaceful slumber before it was no longer needed.Toji hummed, pleased, and he placed Megumi’s binky into the crib. A simple, routine motion—until your fingers gently curled around his wrist.

The contact was only meant to steady yourself as you leaned to kiss Megumi’s temple, but to Toji, it was anything but insignificant.

His arm tingled under your soft grip, the faintest brush of your thumb skating across the inside of his wrist. It was unconscious. Familiar. The kind of touch given by someone who expected you to be there—who didn’t doubt your presence.

And fuck, maybe that’s what undoes him most.

You didn’t even realize what you did. He stayed silent, struck dumb as your hand slipped away, returning to the crib to tuck Megumi’s blanket tighter under his chin like nothing happened. But Toji was still reeling, the heat of your touch lingering like a brand.

“There! All tucked in… g’nite, sweet babies,” 

Your voice was full of warmth as you turned around, only to collide into Toji’s chest.

He hadn’t moved. Not an inch since your hand left his.

“Oh, I’m—”

The apology faltered on your tongue when you realized just how close the two of you were—so close you had to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. 

Your gaze, wide and shimmering with caution. Not quite matching the way your lips part instinctively like your body already made a decision your brain scrambled to rationalize.

The air hummed between you both, a current of electricity that had every nerve in Toji coiled tight. They screamed at him to pounce, because goddamn if he didn’t want to kiss you—slide his tongue into the depths of your mouth and finally taste you. To make you gag on every last bit of longing he’s been holding in all this time.

His instincts told him you’d let him too. 

Did you both share the same dreamy domesticated deja vu? 

Did you think of him and Megumi as yours already?

Close enough to smell you, the sweet intoxicating florals of your perfumed scent swirled around his senses, tempting him like a siren call.

If Toji took one step forward, he could pin you between the crib.

Be that as it may, Toji’s astute perception also alerted him to how desperately you grasped the railing of the crib. Terrified of your own desires, your knuckles bulging from how tight you gripped the wood.

Look at you so eager, and yet so nervous. 

It practically oozed out of every pore. 

Toji practically salivated at the circumstance—he had you where he wanted you for so long now.

You gasped, involuntarily moving forward to press against his hulking frame as his hand slid over your waist. 

Toji moved down—

—right past you to turn on the baby monitor attached to the side of the crib.

Grabbing the receiver in the holster next to it, Toji stood up, putting enough space between you so your lungs could start functioning again. 

Tsk, you weren’t quite there yet though.

Toji was completely, as evidenced by his cock—half hard in his pant and throbbing—all while warring with his mind that decided at the last minute you weren’t ready.

You had to want it more.

There would be no misunderstandings, no turning back when Toji finally kissed you.

“Well, let’s get t’cookin’ then. Ya like yakiniku, ma?”

The sheer amount of bashful bewilderment radiating off of you made Toji smirk. He lets you marinate in the aftermath as he quickly leaves the room. He didn’t look back, but knew you started to follow by the pap pap pap sounds of your feet trailing behind him. 

“Uh-I, um gotta go—go and get the ingredients for the brownies!”

Your announcement came as soon as the two of you were back in the living room, and didn’t wait for his acknowledgement before you booked it out of the door. 

Toji waved you off, chuckling as he entered his kitchen.

If you’d hadn’t just put Yuji down, Toji would almost bet your embarrassment wouldn’t let you return. He was sure his casual reaction threw you for a loop. It took every bit of restraint he had to behave, but Toji was playing the long game.

By the time you came back, composure settled and ingredients in hand, Toji was already deep into prepping dinner, the entire ensemble atop the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“You actually own an apron?”

Toji didn’t look up, but a cheeky grin pulled at the rough scar on his lip. It wasn’t really anything fancy, just a simple white canvas material, folded in half and wrapped around Toji’s muscled waist. 

“Well it ain’t a skirt, mama.”

Toji threw you one too causing you to giggle softly.

“Multiple at that!?”

Toji knows your eyes on him, but remains focused on the task in front of him. Having you observe him with interest like the many times he observed you honestly thrilled him—to be the object of your study for once. 

You gazed at his arms, bulky, bare, as he discarded his suit jacket, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. A sweep of dark inks snakes up his forearms—coiling waves and windbars rippled when he flexes. The color is rich, old-school and bold with no outlines—just intricate patterns branded on his skin like the stories they tell are in his very blood. Toji feels they are at least, so it only affirms your assumed appreciation of his appearance.

Toji lets you linger, savoring the moment. No need to ruin it by making you self-conscious about just how hard you’re staring at him now.

Nah, better to keep it casual for now.

“Might not look like it mama, but I know my way around a kitchen at least when it comes t’meat. If ya cut it right, hard to fuck up yakiniku—even for me.”

Toji produced an impressive slab of beef from the fridge, eliciting an amazed ‘woah’ from your side of the kitchen. The cooking knife he held shone sharply, almost as much as the marbling on the meat itself.

Truthfully, Toji couldn’t remember how long it’d been since he even cut meat for someone, let alone cooked. Still, the motions came back like second nature.

Drawing the knife. Diagonial strokes. Quick, uniform and methodical.

Under his knife, the wagyu seemed to melt off for Toji, who laid the tender cuts out in a circle formation on a platter already filled with cabbage, mushroom and pumpkin chunks. 

Toji was already anticipating how good it would sizzle once it hit the pan, and your awes were palpitable.

“Wait..hello?! Do you moonlight as an Iron Chef or something?”

Toji barked with laughter and showing off extravagantly, he flipped the last slice of meat onto the plate, and you couldn’t help but clap in amusement.

Toji is an assassin afterall, of course he’d be good with knives—but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t going to showboat a little, and he gave you a wink for your applause..

“You’re full of surprises, Fushiguro.”

“—Toji, mama,” Toji corrects without thinking. It's second nature now. 

You’d made your way to his side of the island, Toji’s tattoos and skills with a knife dazzling you like a lure. Your bodies were almost touching again as Toji turned, towering over you for the second time that night. A soft, humming charge of anticipation that seemed to radiate from you, growing stronger with each inch he leaned in. 

You’re trapped in the flame of his aura again but this time there's more calm about you. 

Your hand on the counter supports rather than braces.

Your chin tipped back, your eyes locking with his.

Look at you… coy, inviting. Irresistible. 

Still not enough.

“Pass the shoyu, ma?”

The relaxed request snaps you out of your daze. 

“O-Of course!”

Nearly knocking over the bottle in your haste, you practically toss it at him before scurrying back to your bag at the far end of the island. 

The brownie ingredients rustle as you dig furiously through them, looking everywhere but at Toji. 

“Thanks, mama,” Toji grinned, catching the bottle with ease. 

For all the fire and sass you have in you, you’re pretty soft under the surface. He likes seeing that part, the innocence you try to keep hidden. The very opposite of the man he just can’t wrap his mind around believing you’re with.

Sukuna’s no saint—you had to know he killed men. 

But Toji? He’s lost count. 

And he wondered—how much of him could you actually accept if you really knew him? 

What he’s done.

What he’s yet to do, just to have you.

Would you hate him for it?

“But don’t let the setup fool ya, ma. I ain’t no cook. Just…when ya grow up workin’ in a butcher shop, you pick up a thing or two about meat. I had to learn how to prep bodies for disposal before I learned how to take ‘em out.”

Toji poured the soy sauce into the marinade, sneaking a glance at you over his shoulder. 

Your brow lifts, unconvinced. 

“Uh-huh.”

Toji was baiting you with his yakuza affiliations—and you were taking it, just like he knew you would.

“Nah, ya know I’m fuckin’ with you, mama,” 

His grin still plastered on his scarred lips.

“C’mon, what’s the look for, ma? We kept it all separate. No mixing people with the food…” 

Toji paused but you didn't interject. You listened, and like a sponge you soaked up every dark little drip of his past he fed you under the guise of his jokes.

“…but when ya work in a butcher shop, no one questions bloody bags in the dumpster.”

Your eyes rolled as you shook your head, but Toji caught a twitch of a smile. 

You weren’t squeamish. Good. 

“I guess it was too much to hope you’d just taken a cooking class.” 

Although you could take a joke well, your sighs betrayed you were clearly unimpressed.

“You yakuza men…”

That hits a nerve.

Yakuza men.

You just compared them. You had to have—what other yakuza did you know but Sukuna?

Toji knew what he was doing. Dangling the most unsavory parts of himself with a grin, just to see if you’d flinch.

So maybe he deserved that.

But hearing it out loud—having it confirmed that you might see him the same way you see Sukuna—hit like a bullet between the ribs.

Yeah, Toji is a yakuza through and through—never tried to be anything else.

But he’s not Sukuna.

And the idea of you thinking he was?

That’s the one thing he can’t stomach.

Not when he’s clawing so desperately for something different.

Something better with you.

“Gumi will get real cookin’ lessons when he’s older though.” 

Toji tossed the words out like they’re nothing, but the implication is obvious.

“Wanna give the kid a shot at least. Hard, though…when this is the safest place for ‘em.”

That might’ve been the most honest thing he’d ever said to you, and it spilled out before he could even dress it up with his usual bullshit. 

Toji knew you didn’t want this life Yuji either—but kids like them don’t just inherit yakuza legacies, they get swallowed by them.

Yet with you, for some reason Toji saw the blocks lifted and pathforward to end the cycle of chaos. 

He’d always be tied to yakuza, but his kid? 

Gumi could be normal—especially, with you as his mom.

“And what about Megumi’s mother? Is it not safe with her?”

Toji froze.

It was a reasonable question given the turn of conversation, but it unexpectedly sliced through Toji all the same. 

For once, he was the one to look away. No clever quip, no smirk to hide behind. 

Toji crouched low, reaching into the cupboard beneath the counter to retrieve the portable grill.

“She’s dead.”

Zero pleasantries cushioned his words, so your shock and the subsequent sounds of spilled ingredients weren’t surprising to Toji who rummaged deep in the cabinets.

You scrambled to grab a rag, mumbling something about being sorry and not meaning to pry.

But Toji barely listened, craving a cigarette he couldn’t have with you and the kids around, so he’d settle for another whiskey instead. When he stood, your eyes found him instantly—soft and full of concern. 

He didn’t deserve your sympathy, but like hell if he didn’t crave it all the same.

Thank fuck you were still on the other side of the island, because this time? 

Toji wouldn’t have resisted. He’d have kissed you.

The aching for what he’s lost and what he then hungered for slammed together like a 6 car pile up. He knew he had to keep it cool before every piece of fragmented emotion in his life scattered across the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about it. Just childbirth complications. No one’s fault—you know the risks.”

The words came out easily, but they tasted like rust on Toji’s tongue as he set the grill on the kitchen table.

The silence that followed the intense revelation wasn’t cold—but it was still a bit awkward nonetheless. 

For once, Toji was off his game. 

Floundering in the weight of shit he didn’t usually let in. 

Unforgiven emotions seem to crawl out whenever you’re near.

But you stayed. 

You cleaned up the milk. 

You didn’t run—even though Toji knew you probably considered it over a dozen times by then.

And that fucking had to mean something, he knows it does.

Thankfully, the kitchen is a more forgiving environment and it wasn't long before a homey routine took over, softening the aftermath of your conversation. 

Flicking on the grill, the iron hummed as flames licked across metal. Toji finished setting the table, but his eyes stayed on you. Cocoa and matcha thickened the air as you turned on the oven, moving gracefully as if this kitchen was your own.

You hypnotized Toji, your hips swaying to the beat of your hum, lost in some tune only you could hear.

You were oblivious to how much of your bare back you were showing him, the thin fabric clinging to your waist and pulling taut over your ass when you leaned over the counter.

His gaze followed the curve of your spine, more hungry for your tender flesh to be on his tongue than any rare cut of meat he could have prepared, and Toji carelessly fell back into the well-practiced pattern of watching you when you didn’t know he was looking. 

“Here...”

Heh, or maybe you did that time?

You finally broke the silence, extending the mixing spoon behind you without turning around. 

“...come and taste it. Tell me if it’s too sweet.”

Toji didn’t bother with any damn spoon though, closing the distance, his broad chest brushed against the bare skin of your back. 

With a sharp inhale, you immediately straightened, yet Toji remained unfazed as he leaned over you. 

Peering into the dark thick mixture, Toji didn’t hesitate to slide two fingers knuckle-deep into the mixing bowl.The languid yet intentional swirl of his digits scooped up the batter in one steady flick, like he was  well familiar with stirring up something else that could be just as sticky and sweet.

Careful to collect every last drop, Toji brought the batter to his lips and devoured it completely.

“Mmmmm.”

Toji lets out a low, drawn-out groan that rumbles deep from his chest, the sound warm and heavy as it fans down the back of your neck—making you squirm. And if the way your thighs instinctively press together is any indication, that heat is pooling in your pussy too.

The taste is utter perfection.

But instead of saying so, he let the gluttonous slurps and wet, lewd smacks of him so crudely polishing his fingers clean fill the air between you—each obscene sound making it harder for you to stay still.

From his angle, Toji had a perfect view of your chest, watching the supple jiggle of your pretty mommy tits when a shiver rolled through you.

Toji couldn’t wait to eat you just as nasty, and he imagined that you must be thinking about it too the way you bullied the brownie batter with flustered, over-eager whisks.

“So I take all of that means you like it then, hm Fushiguro?” 

Your sass was back, quicker than usual, yet you still didn’t dare look at him.

Still embarrassed, huh?

“...It’s Toji…”

Toji smirked, quickly dipping his pinky as you tried to bat his hand away, but he managed to grab some regardless, popping it into his mouth as he dodged the hand towel you threw at him.

He chuckled. Although he enjoyed the taste, Toji would’ve rather had you straddling his face right then, letting him lick your creamy pussy batter straight from the source.

But your delectable desert would do for now. Toji wants the tension to keep piling, to wind you tighter until you finally pop.

It’ll be worth the wait.

“Oi!”

Toji’s brow quivered as you spun around to face him.

“You never gave me an answer. No complaining once it’s done if you don’t like it—”

But your scolding fizzled as you closed the distance, noticing the mess all over his face.

“Tsk, oh look at you!”

Huffing, you march towards him.

“You’ve got more batter around your mouth than in it, ya know?”

Toji shrugged, the dark smear of batter still glistening over his scar in the light as the corner of his lips twitched in amusement.

There’s no second guessing in your demeanor as you stand toe-to-toe with him. 

“Seriously—what are you, an infant? Jeez, even Yuji’s not this messy!”

Toji let you scold him. He wants this part too—having someone care about him enough to nag.

But then you did something neither of you expected.

You wet your thumb on your tongue and leaned in, swiftly swiping across his lips and still without thinking, you brought your thumb to your lips to quickly lick it clean.

“There! I—”

The words died in your throat.

Toji reveled in the way the realization flickered across your face, syncing perfectly with the sharp hitch of your breath the moment it dawned on you.

For once, you were the one who crossed the line.

Not only did you step into his territory, but you groomed him so intimately without even realizing.

Yeah, there it fucking is.

The initiative Toji was looking for. When you’d be the one to willingly wander a little too close to the edge, not knowing he was waiting in the shadows to pull you all the way in. 

Toji is glad he’s waited until this moment to tear you apart.

Ding!

The motherfucking rice cooker timer. 

“Ah! R-Rice is ready, and I should really get these in the oven, you whispered quickly, and while Toji didn’t stop you, he did track every step you took.

Oh you’ve unleashed him now, mama.

Toji’s jaw tightened, pulse hammering.

He’d been patient. He’d laid his traps. 

But that night? That was where the chase ended.

It wasn’t a matter of if you’d be his. 

It was a matter of when you’d stop pretending you weren’t already.

However, the least he could do was give you the courtesy of a meal. 

You’d need your stamina for how hard he was about to fuck you. 

Sleeves rolled to his elbows, tongs in hand, Toji’s forearms flexed as he worked the grill. The first round of marinated meat and vegetables gently sizzled on the tabletop flame.

“Ooh, that smells so good even from here!” 

Your voice gets closer as you make your way back to the table, taking the seat across from him.

The kitchen table is made for four, but with the grill and accompaniments taking over, it was the perfect size for two. Toji was thankful he never bothered with trifling things like a table cloth, which meant he could see everything beneath the smooth crystal top.

The moment you sat down, the high-slit dress revealed your thighs. Despite how you innocuously tried to equalize the hem back into place your attempted modesty did nothing but ensure Toji’s appetite was no longer for the food.

Toji manspread into his seat further and your eyes deliberately avoided looking at the impressive bulge resting shamelessly between his manspread legs.

He wasn’t even hard. 

With a nervous laugh, you started with small talk, trying to look anywhere but at Toji’s cock.

Toji knew you were trying to act like this was normal. 

Like this was just a casual dinner between neighbors. 

But the sparks, the chemistry brewing between the two of you when finally alone was more than just an elephant in the room—it might as well have been  Godzilla.

“Ya want some whiskey, mama? Goes well with meat… all kinds, ya know.”

Your eyes flicker upward as you shift, placing the napkin in your lap—more for a last ditch attempt at attempted modesty than manners, but Toji didn’t hide the way his eyes lingered on your thighs nonetheless.

“I wish.” 

Your sigh is weary.

“But strong stuff means dumping milk, and with how much these boys eat…I can have a little sake though,if you’ve got it.”

Good. Toji hoped it would loosen you up again. He wouldn’t let you slip away next time.

“Coming right up—anything or my #1 supplier.”

“Fushiguro—when you say it like that, you make it sound like a drug deal!”

Thankfully this time there's a playful mirth in your tone.

Oh your milk? Might as well be a drug—it’s like straight crack to Toji. 

You didn’t need to know that though, so Toji only reminded you for the hundredth time to call him ‘Toji’ as he chuckled, sharing in your amusement for an entirely different reason.  

Retrieving the sake, Toji poured you a generous cup and slid a piece of grilled wagyu onto your plate, standing close like a chef awaiting judgment.

“G’on try it, ma. Lemme how I did, eh? Shouldn’t kill ya.”

You nodded, a coy smile on your lips as you picked up the wagyu with the chopsticks, balking only when Toji told you the nama tamago, raw egg, on the side wasn’t meant for the grill but to dip the meat in.  

Skepticism took over your face until you brought it to your lips for the first bite—the rich creaminess of the egg cooled and balanced the umami of the meat perfectly—and your eyes instantly closed as you savored it.

“Mmmmm.”

Your moan made Toji grip the tongs tighter. 

Fuck.

That wasn’t the way he imagined first making you moan for the first time, but he’d take it. You’d soon be moaning even more deliciously for him once he had you the way he really wanted you.

“Good?”

You nodded obliviously, mouth full and humming in approval.

Feeling confident, Toji brandished a fanged smile. “Heh, wit ya moanin’ like that I bet it is—knew you’d like it raw.”

You nearly choked, coughing into your napkin as a bit of sauce dribbled from your chin. 

You shot him a glare.

“Don’t ruin dinner.”

Ruin dinner? Toji?

What was with you? 

As much as Toji enjoyed the chase—he’d follow you right into hell if you led him there—he was beginning to tire of your hot and cold act.

“What, like Sukuna did?”  

Toji returned to his seat across from you. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You went quiet at that.

Toji had no intentions of hurting your feelings nor did he want to mention Sukuna again for comparisons, but he did want you to get a little perspective on what actually ruined the night.

“You’re right…We were supposed to be celebrating our engagement, but here I am having dinner with another man.”

The chopsticks cracked in Toji’s hand. He deduced as much, but it still felt like a slap in the face hearing you confirm it aloud.

“Not only did Sukuna stand me up, I think…”

Delaying, you locked eyes with Toji. He could tell you were coming to terms with the words you were about to say.

“I think he might be cheating on me.”

Toji asked plainly.

“And if he is?”

Of course, Toji didn't realize just how loaded the question was until he said it. He meant it as ‘would you stay’, yet it has so many deeper indications, he felt your walls start to go up again.

“Then he’d be like every other man I know.”

Toji frowned at you lumping him in with Sukuna again—are you not past this already? Perhaps he had to take a stronger hand with you.

“Do ya not know me then ma?”

You blink at Toji before your face crunched-up in sarcastic disbelief.

“Ha! C’mon now Fushiguro, I know you’ve slept with more than half the women in this building. You’re hardly one to value monogamous relationships.”

Toji clicked his tongue, scoffing.

“Well, sure as fuck not someone else’s.”

“That much is obvious.” 

Your eyes alighted with challenge as you dared to meet his own, the implications clear. 

Touche.

Toji stewed as you returned to the meal in silence. His fingers curled tight around the edges of the table. It wasn’t rage stirring in his chest—just a swell of emotion he couldn’t easily name. 

Frustration, maybe. Restlessness. 

He wasn’t used to being provoked like this.

Never has he been so desperate for someone to understand him—not even his late wife, back when things were simpler. She never challenged him, never pushed. She accepted what he gave her at face value, took his truths as they came. 

But you? You couldn’t. Not when you’d be damaged so badly by Sukuna.

It frustrated Toji as much as it turned him on. 

But the gloves were off now.

You needed to know who he was and what he could give you.

“But I haven’t slept with her—that’s what you really wanted to know tho, right ma?”

Toji’s scarred lip upturns triumphantly when your eyes snapped to him. Your face says it all. 

Bingo.

“That’s…”

You started in a rush, but slowed your words, choosing them carefully.

“That’s…really none of my business.”

Bullshit. 

Toji huffed.

“So ya just care so much ‘bout the rest of the women here then, the ones who hate you?”

You bristled as your eyes flashed with indignation. 

“Look, Fushiguro… not everyone is lyin’. With your rap sheet, someone could claim you slept with half of Tokyo last week and I would be inclined to believe them.”

Your words had more bite to them this time, but Toji heard enough of your arguing with Sukuna to know when you were baiting an argument. 

Toji was no pushover, but he’d show you he could handle ya without all the screamin’, well screaming from fighting at least.

“Sure, okay ma, n’while they might have been telling the truth in the past, they would be lyin’ now. I haven’t slept with anyone in… months.”

You looked more than skeptical at Toji’s admission.

“Months?”

“Exactly 3 months, if ya wanna be technical, mama.”

Toji chuckled. He could see you do the math in your head that ‘3 months’ was how long you’ve been neighbors.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing another piece of meat off the grill.

“Again, that has nothing to do with me…”

Toji didn’t miss a beat. 

“And if it did?” 

The new look on Toji’s face was absolutely predatory in its lust. He saw your breath stutter as his fingers reached yours on the table. 

Toji stopped just short of touching you. 

“If it did have something—everything to do with ya…then what, ma?”

You didn’t pull away, but as you looked up to him, the look in your eyes was painful. Like he was the one who’d been causing all your hurt—when all he wants to do is give you everything.

“I-...it’s just—what are we doing here?”

Your voice was low this time, like you spent so much time arguing with Sukuna, you forgot how to have conflict any other way. 

“Having a nice dinner that ya deserved tonight.”

Toji responded easily, but you were clearly done with games, pulling your hand away and placing it into your lap.

“That’s not what—look Fushiguro. I’m not sleeping with you.”

Toji’s chopsticks were ruined but that didn’t stop him from reaching over bare handed to pick a piece of meat off the grill and pop it into his mouth, smug.

“Did I ask ya to?” 

Your brow furrowed, but your anger was defused, more exasperated than anything.

“You always are…well, suggesting it, in so many words.”

Toji couldn’t argue that. He was and he made that obvious enough to you. 

But you weren’t the perfect picture of innocence yourself. You wouldn’t be sitting across from him right now if you were.

Either way, Toji is fed up with the cat and mouse tonight. 

You wanted him to be that guy? Alright then. 

If you needed another reality check, he’d give it to you—one you couldn’t deny.

Leaning forward Toji looked you dead in the eye.

“Ya know how many times I coulda fucked you already tonight ma? If all I really wanted was to wet my dick?”

Toji had to dig deep not to laugh then. The look you gave him like was like he was out of his fucking mind and had grown another head.

Toji didn’t say it to make you feel like a conquest though, he said it because it was true. 

Toji could tell you were seething, fixing to launch into an argument again so he grabbed you for real this time. Anchored in place, Toji wound his hold tight enough around your wrist he felt your pulse race under his fingers.

“All this time—ya honestly think that's all I want?”

You gasped. He could tell you weren’t expecting him to follow up with that. 

Toji could see your brain trying to process it all before you follow up with—

“What do you want then?”

Toji answered immediately, his hand left your wrist to interlace his fingers with yours. 

“A wife.”

An answer that clearly caught you off guard, your face unreadable—though after a few moments, you simply shook your head.

“I’m getting married to Sukuna.”

You said it with such an air of finality—or were you just testing him?

Toji tried not to be mad at you. And he wasn’t. Not exactly.

It wasn’t your fault. Not when you were just holding on to the only guarantee you had left.

Maybe Toji was wrong—perhaps it was too early to lay his cards out on the table like that.

But Toji didn’t have the luxury of time with how things were going down in the organization.

Your overthinking is apparent as you seemed to be fighting an internal battle with yourself.

Fighting him, fighting Sukuna too. 

But Toji wasn’t the enemy here.

Your hand still in his grasp, Toji ghosted over the indent on your ring finger. You had been wearing it for a while now if the tan surrounding the deep impression in your skin told him anything.

“Then why did ya take off y’er ring before ya came over?”

The look Toji gave you was piercing and from the way your eyes widened in horror, you likely hadn’t even realized you weren’t even wearing it. 

Abruptly, you snatched your hand back as you rose from the table, nails splayed across the glass top to steady yourself before collecting your plate. 

“Are you finished? It’s getting late, you cooked, I’ll do the dishes and… I’ll head out.”

You’d both barely ate.

Definitely running.

Toji got up but you stopped him before he could make a move towards you. 

“Go.. just go clean up, okay? Take a shower Fushiguro, there’s still blood on your collar after all.”

Toji's head turned to the distant mirror on the wall. 

Two specks? Fuck, he forgot about that. 

Not prepared to see you just yet upon walking into his apartment. You’d seen it there all this time though and didn’t say anything…?

An unfamiliar moisture slicked Toji’s palms. Not even the first time he killed a man did he feel this anxious.

He did need a shower—a cold one, to cool off. 

Maybe jack off too since he had just talked his way out of pussy tonight.

Or did he? 

Regardless, he needed to regroup. Plan B for a dinner date went to shit…but he wasn’t done with you yet.

Toji kept his shower quick—he’d rather skip it entirely if you weren’t gonna be in it with him. But if following your orders proves he could listen, like a good husband would, then so be it.

Still, he didn’t want you gone before he saw you again. You owed him dessert—and one way or another, Toji was determined to get his piece of you tonight.

Yet despite all his trained instincts, panic gripped Toji when his own thoughts grew too loud—so loud he couldn't hear the subtle sounds of you still moving through his condo. It wasn’t until he finally exited the bathroom did the small clink of dishes in the sink cut through the silence was he sure you were still here.

With your back to him, it took little effort for Toji to slip behind you—quiet as a shadow as he approached.

You crouched low on your knees, reaching for an open cabinet where you were debating where to put the pot in your hands.

Toji crouched close behind you, his heady voice tickling your ears.

“Ya can just toss it in there, ma.”

With a cry, you jumped up too quickly, dropping the dish and losing your own balance in the process, but Toji was already anticipating this reaction. Reflexes quick as ever, Toji caught you, brawny hands around your waist.

His fingers splayed wide across your ribs, holding firm as the backs of his thumbs brushed just beneath the swell of your chest. Your tits hung heavy over the ledge of his knuckles, and Toji had to force himself not to slide his hands up just a little bit more—he was dying to feel how deep his fingers would sink into your jiggly mommy milkers if he squeezed them.

“Wha– Fushiguro! You scared the shi– oop, daylights out of me!”

“To-ji, ma.”

Toji lingered over the syllables, simmering in dark seduction as he hunched over you with his muscular arms taut like bars to cage you in at the sink. 

Not even bothering to towel off completely, his slick raven strands stuck to his temples, its wetness shining under the kitchen lights. Water droplets were still rolling off of him, and Toji was amused by the way your gaze helplessly followed one slowly trailing down his tatted collarbone.

His upper body was on full display, and it was clear you were in awe of his sleeved tatts connecting across his chest—culminating in elaborate breastplates. Twin dragons dance over the hard plane of his chest, scales gleaming dangerously. Toji tattoos wrap around him boldly like armor, or rather chains, collaring him to his yakuza affiliations. 

There was a small swell in your throat as your eyes continued lower, far further than the drop of water skimming down his torso. Toji followed how your eyes lingered on the ridges of his abs and traced the sharp V cut lines until they disappeared into the waistband of his grey sweats —shamlessly worn far too low on his hips. 

Toji was never one for modesty, and he knew what he was doing, what effect his body has on women, and he was pleased to confirm you weren't immune. Although never in any of those times had he been so turned on by someone eyefucking him as he was then.

Towering with a dark predatory glare, he knew he was close enough for you to feel the steam still rolling from his body.

“Time t’pay up, ma,”

The threats in his words weren’t ones of violence, his lecherous intentions clear. 

“Three months is a long time t’owe a yakuza. But I’d wait longer for ya…even if y’er killin’ me here.”

You bit your lip, eyes narrowed in a way that said you want to be annoyed. But Toji’s seen that look too many times.  You were trying to keep your footing—still pretending.

“T-Toji, stop playin’, move. I gotta finish these dishes.”

You tried to brush him aside but Toji didn’t budge—nothing but muscles, heat and cocky defiance filling every inch of space between you.

As far as he was concerned, Toji hadn’t even begun to play with you yet.

“Dessert first, mamas.”

You arched a brow at him with a small laugh. 

“Y-You’re doing the most. T-They’re right there.”

Your hand gestured lazily toward the cooling tray of matcha brownies on the counter, just within arms reach. 

Toji didn’t even glance over. He was too busy watching the way your mouth curved when you tease him. 

You actually thought you were still in control, that there was still an escape option—it was fuckin’ adorable.

“C’mon chef, present y’er dish, ya?”

The brief staredown ended in a dramatic sigh as you conceded. It was pure entertainment for Toji how you forcibly stretched yourself to the side, unwilling to turn at all with him over you lest you push yourself right onto him. 

You slid the pan between the two of you like a shield,brownies already cut into neat little squares. 12 in total, the dark brownies had a greenish hue to them dusted in powdered sugar. You presented them with a smug little look that says, here you go, clearly hoping it’d force some space between the two of you. 

But Toji didn’t budge—not even a little. 

Instead, he hums confidently, pressing the pan’s edges flush between your bodies with a grin that was all teeth and dark promises.

“Nah. Feed me.”

He opened his mouth wide, lolling out with an ‘ah’ sound.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m starvin’, actually. Someone ended dinner early before I got t’eat.”

Rolling your eyes with a huff, one hand braced the pan between your bodies as you plucked out a brownie square with the other, bringing the sweet treat close to Toji’s mouth. 

Toji leaned in slowly, savoring the stubborn little pout tugging at your lips from having to feed him as much as the bite itself. His leg slipped between yours, not pushing in yet, just enough so you’d feel the promise of tension winding tight between your thighs. 

Toji’s eyes stay locked on yours, unblinking—drinking in every flicker of your lashes, every labored breath you took beneath the weight of his presence. He felt the tremor in your hand as he took the first taste, mouth enveloping the treat like he was tasting something decadent and forbidden.

His lips dragged against your fingertips, tongue curling to greedily lap at the lingering sweetness as he chewed.

Toji smirked to himself looking at your frozen state—like you’ve forgotten how to breathe, let alone resist.

About fuckin’ time too.

“Mmm…” 

His groans rubbled deep in his chest when he took the last bite of brownie from your trembling hand.

“Fuckin’ delicious mama.”

Sniggers erupted from Toji as you attempted to snatch your hand back, but his fingers caught your wrist mid-flight and you yelped.

“Aht-aht,” 

Murmuring, grip was tight and unyielding as he dragged your hand back toward his mouth. 

“We ain’t done yet. Look at this dirty lil’ hand, ma.”

And before you can protest that it was Toji’s fault your hand was covered in fudge and crumbs—Toji’s thick tongue slid over your palm.

Wet and hot, the bumpy texture drug over the dips of your hand, curling into the creases like Toji was trying to memorize the shape of you with his mouth. His tongue snakes down to your wrist then licked his way back up and over your palm—tracing each knuckle and suckling at the space between your fingers with lewd, open-mouthed kisses.

You gasped, thighs clenching salaciously around his thigh that had now wedged itself right up against your cunt.

When Toji was deemed himself done cleaning your fingers his eyes didn’t miss a beat, zeroing in on your lips—still looking famished for more. An insatiable hunger in him that could only be filled by devouring every part of you. 

Toji dipped in closer—so close that the water still clinging to his bangs began to drip.

“A-Ah, step back—you're getting me all wet!”

You jerked in surprise when a few cold droplets hit you, pan tilting like it would spill as a few brownies tumbled out of place. 

“Heh, is that right, mamas?”

You squeaked upon realizing your phrasing. Toji just looks all the more devilishly smug and determined. He took the pan from your hands and tossed it on the counter.

“Well then mama—”

Toji’s eyes cascaded down the low halter of your dress, spying the crumbs that had tumbled down to collect between the swells of your breasts. The fudgy matcha stuck to your skin, along with more water droplets from Toji’s hair, making more of a mess Toji took delight in having to clean up for you.

“—let’s just see how wet she can get, hm?”

Not giving you a chance to object then, his arms left the counter to wrap around you. Groping your hips, his errant hands sunk into the sides of your high slits, eagerly landscaping across your flesh until he’s palming your bare ass cheeks apart. 

Toji’s touch rendering you defenseless, your legs followed, opening wider to grind against his brawny thigh. Toji was pleased to find you pantiless like he thought—he could feel the soft squish of your fatma leaking, already soaking through his sweats.

Lowering to your chest, your scent hit him all over again, that warm vanilla mix he’s come to crave as he dragged his tongue through the valley of your breasts. Toji lost himself, chasing the taste of sugar and salt on your skin.

It was like music to Toji’s ears when you sighed, crying out as you arched to press yourself deeper into his mouth that worshipped the tender uncovered skin on the side of your breast like a sinner saved. 

Eye level with your nipples, he pulled back only to savor the beads of milk pebbling through your thin silk dress, stimulated by your arousal.  

Heh, you got wet for him in more ways than one. How good of your body to prepare him another meal.

He had to get you outta this dress first though. On a mission, Toji traced the stripe up the curve of your breast right up to your throat. Your fingers twisted into his damp hair, spurring him on with the green light he’d desperately been seeking for months.

“How could ya ever think y’er anything but fuckin’ perfect?”

Toji growls ragged against your neck. The comment was more for himself than you. He didn’t expect you to say anything right then anyway by how nicely you were quivering against him.

All Toji wanted to hear from you were your moans.

“You know, ma…” 

Releasing one of your cheeks, his hand greedily palmed its way higher to cup the soft swell of your leaky tit. Toji’s thumb possessively swirled over your aroused nipple through the thin silk of your dress, now clinging like plastic to the wet lil nub, flicking it just enough to make your knees go weak and your thighs tighten around his own as you hump against him.

“I still don’t think you’re showin’ enough skin f’er my tastes...”

Leaving your breast, his thumb skated over to the seam of your dress, teasing the skin up to your shoulders before it hooked beneath the fabric strap to slide it down.

Your breath stuttered, hands leaving his hair to frame his face now millimeters away from yours.

“Wait, F-Fush-ii—”

Molded against him, your dress hung perilously off your body, silk catching on every curve as Toji dragged the second strap down slowly—exposing more of you with every inch.

“It’s Toji,”

He breathed huskily onto the shell of your ear.

“C’mon, be a good lil wifey f’er me, mamas…” 

Nibbling from your earlobe down your neck, Toji’s feral lust boils to its peak at the thought of you finally uttering his name out of your lips.

 “...and say it for me, yeah?”

His hot breath teased at your pulse, Toji gently planted a kiss before, slightly breaking skin and you cry out as he slurps at your skin until a bruise that, if you couldn’t see you sure as fuck would feel the next day, formed..

When Toji pulled back, he couldn’t tell if you were hesitating, or just too dazed to speak. Hips now eagerly reciprocating against his thigh, a trail of slick glued his soaked sweats to his skin.

Shit. 

Looking at you lose yourself in pleasure just from his thigh, his cock throbbed angrily. Toji was quick to move, digging his fingers back into your hips as he hiked your leg over his hip, repositioning you so your sloppy lil pussy could then rut obscenely against the very stiff protrusion in his sweatpants. 

The elicited pleasure-filled moans from you both, echoed off the tile as you very shamelessly dry humped in the middle of the kitchen against the sink.

Sweet fuck—everything feels good with you. Toji imagined fucking you for so long he’d thought he’d long have you bent over the counter, shoving all of his many inches into you as soon as he got the chance that night. Instead he was rubbing his cock on you like some fuckin’ horny loser ass teenager.

But Toji would bust right in his sweats soon if he didn't stop. Your eyes were already shut, lip bitten up in concentration and focusing all your efforts on getting off. 

With a string of curses, Toji pulled away, propping you up on the sink and crouching on his knees between your spread legs, ruined silk fabric barely hiding your pussy from him.

His eyes rolled back at the scent of you. Your pheromones were potent and Toji licked his lips in anticipation.

Dry humping wouldn’t be enough if he had to prep you to take him.

But first…

“Say it, mama.”

You shivered, whining sweetly through shallow breaths, hands braced on either side of the sink to keep from collapsing. Still dazed, still aching, your hips kept rocking toward him, chasing release even as he denied you—until Toji wrapped his arms around your thighs and tilted you closer to his mouth.

“Say my name...then I swear I’ll make you feel so good you won’t stop fuckin’ screamin’ it.”

You nodded dumbly. So sweetly did your perfect lips part to say the two syllables he'd been dying to hear for the last 3 months. 

“Pleaseee To—”

Click.

The door opened.

“Hello? You home? Fushiguro-san?!”

Toji froze as he heard the nanny in the entry way.

You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’.

So much for being at the fuckin’ hospital, spry old cockblockin’ bat.

And just like that, like a cold bucket of water doused on your form, you instantly snapped out of Toji’s trance. Reluctantly, Toji lets you untangle yourself from him, sparing you modesty then in the meantime. 

He’d send the nanny on her way and then you both could get back to it.

Toji hid the absolute look of displeasure that threatened his features at the annoyance of being interrupted, feigning as much concern as he could muster as the nanny walked into the kitchen, hand all bandaged up.

“There you are! Oh and Fushiguro-san too!”

The sweet old woman didn’t seem to question Toji’s state of undress or why half your dress was wet. 

Toji knows she’s walked into him doing worse before. 

“Heard ya had an accident, thought ya be at the hospital still.”

The nanny explained how she unexpectedly ran into the organization's head doctor. They had done a house call for one of the pregnant women here who then suggested the doctor take the nanny to their office in Shinjuku to get patched up rather than spend hours in the ER.

Toji repressed an eye roll. Great. Just his fuckin’ luck.

Yet his mood only fully turned sour once you announced how late it was and that you needed to be heading back. Before he could even stop you, the nanny thanked you, saying she would head over with you to grab more milk for Megumi.

He was so close too. 

Not all for naught though, the main plans were still on track. Moving pieces that would soon settle all into place, as long as he could keep certain players in check, he had failed in doing so multiple times that night though. 

⟡

A sharp trill cuts through the fog of Toji’s thoughts.

This time it’s Sukuna's phone that is blowing up. Calls Toji knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore as the ringing abruptly ends your dispute. 

No other noise is heard from inside your apartment.

Riiiiing…

Riiiiing…

Sukuna growls.

“Don’t—”

Toji still can’t see you from outside, but the defeat cracking in your voice is unmistakable. 

“Don’t answer it. Ryo, please. Stay just here with us, with me?”

There’s a long pause, long enough for the persistent ringing to seem like a metronome to the exact moments that everything you were trying to hold onto would either crumble or be secured.

“I-I don’t even care you got some woman pregnant—I…shit I mean, of course I-I fucking do, I’m fucking livid! It’s just… we can figure it out—but only if you stay in Japan. Don’t go to Italy, they don’t need you like we do… Yuji and I need you here.”

Motherfucker.

All that time in the shadows, watching, waiting. 

All that delicate orchestration—

And you still gave Sukuna a choice.

Despite everything Toij’s done over the past few months, all that’s been set in motion.

Everything still comes down to Sukuna.

God, you’d stay tangled with a man who never deserved you, a man who you don’t really love, simply because you’re too good of a woman not to try for the sake of your son—because maybe if Sukuna used even half of his determination for power and control to care for his family, he might be deserving of you both.

Toji knows he doesn’t have a perfect vision of what love is supposed to look like.

But this surely isn’t fucking it.

Fuck if your loyalty isn’t something holy though.

All of his senses honed, Toji’s mind is ready to pivot to a number of contingency plans at the drop of a hat, many that end with Sukuna’s blood painting the walls like he’s imagined doing many times previously. 

However, when heavy footsteps clack across the marble flooring followed by the sound of the front door slamming shut, a decisive finality echoes through the silence, and Toji finally exhales.

You offered Sukuna your entire world—and the bastard still didn’t choose you.

He left you. 

Something Toji vows to never do.

Toji wants to race over to your door, hell he’d jump over the balcony to get to you. But all that becomes unnecessary as you step outside onto your balcony again. 

Barefoot and clearly not dressed for the chilly night air, you cross your arms tight—like if you hold yourself together hard enough, you won’t crack open completely—too lost in your thoughts to register the cold or even notice Toji watching you. He’s not even hiding this time.

Your gaze is solely locked on the sleek Mercedes idling on the curb, and it's not long before Sukuna appears, barking orders over the phone as he strides to meet Uraume who exits the drivers side, bowing low at his approach before opening the rear passenger door.

Yet just as Toji is about to claim victory, Sukuna pauses. 

Sukuna’s hand clutches aggressively on the roof of the vehicle while the phone temporarily falls away from his ear. Toji’s eyes narrow as yours fill with specks of foolish hope—like you think he’d actually reconsidered that quickly and turn around. 

But Toji knows better, this is no change of heart.

Toji can’t see Sukuna’s face, but he knows the gears are turning, contemplating what's before him and behind him.

Fucking bastard, get in the damn car.

Mere moments seem like an eternity to an assassin's eye who analyzes every detail of the scene before him in painful slow motion. Toji’s lungs burn with the need for a breath he doesn’t dare take as his fingers twitch anxiously around the cigarette in his hand.

Time finally resumes when Sukuna relents, swiftly entering and resuming his conversation. 

Not sparing you a backwards glance as Uraume closes the door.

Toji waits for you to react, scream, shout after the car that quickly zooms off into the night—but you don’t.

You just stand there. 

Empty.

Utterly defeated.

Toji hates seeing you like this. That’s not who you are.

Not the sharp-tongued girl who once shoved Yuji into his arms without even asking, not the woman who walked into a building full of vipers like you owned the damn place, who didn’t let anything slide, couldn’t be bought—and who for damn sure was anything but an easy fucking lay.

Giving you space to process, Toji simply watches you.

And you? 

Where’s your head after all of this? 

Well, you can’t remember a time you felt more unsure about where the fuck your life is going. 

Even more than when you first told Sukuna, technically your employer at the time, that you were pregnant. 

He’d never given you any promises of love or devotion, from the beginning, but he did say he’d take care of you. 

Sukuna promised you wouldn’t have to worry about anything.

Yet all you find yourself doing lately is worrying.

Fuck this.

No sooner do you resolve those thoughts than the cold hits you all at once, carving sharp trails down your cheeks and dragging you back to reality. The ache in your chest threatens to pull you into despair. You shiver, breath catching—only then realizing how hard you’ve been crying.

A flicker of light catches your eye—the soft glow of a cigarette, its ember burning steady in the dark, drawing your gaze to Toji’s silhouette waiting silently in the shadows.

He’s staring at you intently—no doubt had been witness to the spectacle you just made of yourself, but his eyes hold none of the pity nor the resentment you expect after how you’d just ghosted him over the past two weeks after nearly fucking him in his kitchen. 

The only thing you see is curiosity on his features, like he’s looking to you to give him the next play.

“Ma… ya alright?”

The ball, as it had always been, is in your court. 

You sigh. 

No, you weren’t. You were tired.

Tired of fighting and tired of feeling isolated. 

Tired of giving everything and it still not being enough.

All to raise a well-adjusted non-criminal child—something you are doing all by yourself even with his father around. 

You just wanted something that felt good. 

Something you didn’t have to fight for, that came easy.

You simply shrug in response to Toji, wiping your tears away.Although his presence now is oddly comforting, you still didn’t want to cry in front of him. This wasn’t his burden, and you’d unfairly flirted with the idea of giving into his many advances—even if you’d only really recently started believing in his sincerity. 

It wouldn’t be fair to lean on him now, now that you’d didn’t know where to turn. Especially, when you knew what he wanted.

Honestly, you had no idea if you even had the capacity to give that much in a relationship to anyone anymore—much less than if he still wants it with you.

And yet all things considering, the very last thing you want right now is to be alone. 

“Um, but I could be okay—if you still have some of that whiskey for me that is?” 

You take stock of Toji, who looks particularly cunning draped in shadows and cigarette smoke. Wholly unable to read him now when he’d been so transparent with you before. More anxiety builds as you don’t know what to do in the moment but ramble on.

“I-I have a lot of milk saved for Megumi so, um, I mean, I won’t fall short if I have to dump for a few days. I just need something stronger than sake this time ya know?”

Outwardly stoic, inside Toji is fucking buzzing as he tries to retain his cool but this moment is like the sun coming up after the longest fucking night in the world.

He doesn’t mean to make you spiral but he’s fighting the urge to let out a victorious warcry.

“It’s got y’er name on it mama, c’mon over. Bring the kiddo too, o’course.”

Relief is all over your face when he does speak and you spare Toji a timid smile. 

“I’ll just be a few minutes, okay?”

Toji tips his head in acknowledgement.

“I’ll be here whenever y’er ready, ma.”

You nod, hanging back before going inside, bouncing once on your heels and lightly chewing your lip as you stare right at Toji. 

“Thanks…ah, I…um, I really appreciate you being here for me... Toji.”

Toji billows out the last of the smoke as he exhales, flicking the dead filter over the balcony edge.

“Don’t mention it, ma. Anything ya need. I got ya. Always.”

Cheeks flushed as you nod, the door slides shut behind you a second later, leaving the balcony empty.

The grin Toji wears is wider than a Cheshire cat and his heart-pounds with a feral thrill of a hunter who’d been chasing at the heels of his prey that finally lay at his feet at long last. 

Satisfaction uncoils through him more than the smoke coiling in his lungs. Your voice still lingers in the air, and he’s replaying it in his head.

‘...Toji.’

You said his name.

You finally said his fucking name and it sounded better anything he’s ever heard in his life coming off that sassy lil tongue of yours.  

Just like that, everything locks into place as the weight of the longing in his chest dissolves.

Toji laughs. It’s lighthearted, almost carefree—but there’s a wild edge beneath it, a jagged undertone that’s just a bit too sharp to be sane.

It was bad enough you’d given Sukuna such a heartfelt ultimatum that if he were anything other than the cruel ice king he is he’d have broken. When Sukuna wavered to get in the car after walking out—that should have been the easy part, and yet that was the real test.  

Toji thought she had fucked it all up for him again.

From the balcony’s tall height and the glare of the streetlights bouncing off the shiny black Mercedes, it was difficult to see anything other than Sukuna and Uraume in the dim street lighting. 

Yet, Toji’s keen assassin eyes catch it without trouble—a pale, feminine hand reaching from the depths of the black sedan. 

Your friend.

Her matte black nails flicked towards Sukuna in a flirty, beckoning gesture.

The big boss’s illegitimate daughter and Sukuna’s other woman—Yorzu. 

He’d told her to leave this alone. That was taken care of. 

Sukuna would be meeting her in the mountains before leaving for Italy.

Yet, her overwhelming jealousy and blindness for Sukuna’s affections makes her too reckless. 

She couldn’t just stay in the shadows where she belonged. 

She had to befriend you. 

Had to mock you with her delusions of being pseudo engaged to Sukuna and make you think he was cheating on you.

Just like she had to show up tonight when she was supposed to be hiding away from any ‘assination’ attempts. 

Toji knew Sukuna’s pause was out of surprise, and Sukuna wasn’t stupid.

Bitch just put their entire plan in jeopardy had Sukuna put two and two together right then.

Yet at the end of the day, Sukuna’s choices alone would only serve to prove the ultimate twist of the knife for you. It didn’t matter what the truth was, the reality still is he left you.

It’s the ultimate proof of why Sukuna doesn’t deserve you—and you didn’t need to see Yorozu in the car to know that.

Those two crazy fucks were better suited for each other anyway—who else but a sociopathic bitch would rip a 200 year old organization apart and cause a fucking internal war all for an equally bloodthirsty, psychopathic asshole.

Not that Toji feels bad for keeping all this from you necessarily, he considers it sparing you—just as he’d spared you the day he first met and fell for you.

Yorozu wasn’t happy about that, but ultimately as long as the path for Sukuna was clear, she didn’t care how Toji got you out of the way. 

*ding-dong*

Right on time.

Cracking his neck, Toji makes his way to the door where you are waiting for him.

Fate had already destined your life to be in his hands—who gives a fuck about how it all exactly played out?

Yorozu thinks she’s using him to steal your story, but your ending was never with Sukuna.

Toji knows the endgame was always meant to be with him.

Opening the door, Toji spies you, a nappy bag in one arm andYuji in the other. A tired small smile on your face.

You never looked more ready for him to swoop in.

And if anyone tries to rewrite his ending?

Well, fuck em’.

Toji will gladly rip out the pages. 

Fuck a pen, he’ll start the next chapter with a bullet. 

“Welcome back, mama.”

©𝐛𝐥𝐤𝐤𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐚𝐭 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐟𝐱, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞.

⟢ end credits: please comment, like and reblog and lmk what you think! I'd really appreciate the feedback as this fic has been my baby working on it.

p4, the final chapter next! toji about to fuck you six ways from sunday jchsdfchjsd. i already has 9k worth of notes, dialogue, chucks of written smut, etc to incorporate to tie everything together. so just know i won't have to start from scratch there but because of me shifting gears to kinktober (with the goal of finishing it finally this year lmfao), im planning on releasing p4 on or before Toji's bday this year. however, if you want more yandere in the meantime there is hannibal!nanami and invisible man!gojo to look forward to next month!! xx, kali.

Oh.

You’re left slightly confused by the way he falters, blinking tearily upwards and—oh.

The look on Toji’s ruggedly handsome face was agonized.

Scarred lips slightly parted, eyes falling half-lidded, temple beading with sweat. You’re feeling a sudden thrill run up your spine at just the way he was staring at you through his shaggy, raven bangs. 

Heavy cockhead roverin’ inside you on autopilot, the swollen end of his shaft suddenly twitching. Leaking. Impatiently, you grip onto his wrist, moving Toji’s hand from squeezing your face to your throat. “Like- like this.”

And that just makes his aching cock drool.

That just makes him shove both your useless, limp legs over his shoulders in a startling motion and bend. Down, down, down—it didn’t matter if you weren’t ready for the stretch, it didn’t matter if your head was still laid across the pillows.

Toji’s using his nearly inhuman strength to fold you straight in half like a lawn chair; your knees on top of his deltoids, the backs of your thighs against his abs. You could feel them flex n’ tense as he pushes you into the meanest mating press possible, “Like this, huh?” Breathing out in scorching pants against your face.

And you’re whining, feeling your stomach drop at the feeling of your ass cheeks being lifted cleanly off the bedsheets– fuck, what have you gotten yourself into.

“I dunno, you tell me, doll.” Toji’s grunting, starting to plunge his fattened shaft into you once again. “Don’t hah- tap out now.” Over and over and- shit, had you said that previous thought out loud?

You don’t even have the time to be embarrassed. 

Because just then he’s granting you with the most vicious strokes of his slick-glazed cock, purposefully rubbin’ the zig-zagged patterns of his veins along your tiniest orifices. Once. Twice. Thrice. Pap-pap-papping into each and every spot- Toji crashes the crown of his flared tip against your sweetest area and you sob.

“P-please! Oh my god it feels so- mmpf!”

And he has the audacity to chuckle as he’s halting your shrill noises with the hand ‘round your throat, tightening your airway. “Be careful what’cha ask for, doll—” Toji’s plump lips curve up into a grin, and you can only watch with bated breath as his free hand reaches behind his neck.

Easily finding your jelly-like ankles, he pins them together with only one of his palms. Interlocked. Held tight. The beefy muscles of his biceps bulge at the pure strain of keeping you from moving, “-because it might just- haaaah- get- ya- fucked-”

Each word is ended off with the most vulgar thrust.

From the plump, puckered crown of his shaft, all the way to those curly hairs at his base. All of his solid inches were smushing into your gummy insides, stirrin’ around wildly. 

You’re moaning out a storm, voice reaching a fever pitch at the rude whacks of his cock. “H-how are you reaching so deep-” Because, truly, the flexible angle was slithering his entire length in even deeper. 

And even the probes of his globular, glistening cockhead were so pressurized. Pushin’ against that spongy cervix at the back of your pussy, and sending you careening inches backwards-

Which Toji wasn’t a fan of.

“Ah ah. Didn’t I say no mmm, tapping out?” He’s spitting through his grit teeth, a few veins popping out on his large arms as he brings you right back to him with the hand on your throat. Toji’s manhandling you to strike your hips against his toned pelvis, now moving you just in time with the sloppy cadence of his cock.

Barely even letting himself go a mere split-second without feeling the softness of your cervix, before he’s kissin’ it with his creamy, reddened tip again. “So if ya can’t handle it- don’t ask.”

You watch as a slow line of perspiration drips down the side of his forehead, only growing the faster he’s moving you like a ragdoll. Dragging you. 

And by now the feeling of your dripping wet entrance suctioning up n’ down his cock was just hypnotizing. Was just spurring him to babble with pussydrunken madness, “If ya can’t- hah, handle it- don’t get- fucked- by me.”

“I-I can I can—” You’re wheezing out, the front of your swollen pussylips starting to sting at the slamming staccato. It just felt too good.

Humming, “Ohhh, ya can?”

“Y-yes.”

There’s a particularly loud thwack! of skin on clammy skin, and Toji’s gluing his drivelling tip to your womb. So hard that you can’t help but throw your head back against the soft bed, toes curling upon impact.

“You don’t fuuuucking know what you’ve awoken, doll.” Toji warns, leaning down so that he can bite down on the tender shell of your ear. Leaning down so his bulging erection sags weightily inside of you. “No fucking clue.”

He could almost cum just from that cockdrunk expression on your face; teary pupils criss-crossing, mouth dripping into a soft ‘o’ at the feeling of the stretch each time he slides in.

And oh- he has to stop himself from filling your sugary pussy up already, he has to slam the front of his palm down on the headboard just to pull himself together. White-knuckling the mahogany hard enough that you’re hearing a low—

CRACK!

He’d broken it- straight down the middle. And Toji doesn’t even stop, he doesn’t even slow down as you’re both snapping your heads up at the shattered bedframe. 

Only shoving the thick length of his cock in a lecherous thrust that makes you look back down at him. Grinning, “You’re next.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Gentlemen SNAP-

“My love—” Nanami groans, fighting the urge to let his clammy head fall back against the pillows. “It feels so good…”

You were riding him in sensual, slow motions. Just letting the long, veiny length of his cock rummage around your insides, you let out soft gasps as the curvature of his cock pierces you so perfectly. “Mmm, feels good t’me- hah! too, Kento.”

“That’s it, my darling.” Lovingly gazing into your eyes- you’re just so pretty like this.

With your whirling irises slightly teary, with your pussylips sobbing a glistening wet sheen all down his abs. And once Nanami bashes his swollen cockhead into your cervix, it’s just so soft that he can’t help but perk his hips up a bit and rut—

Both of you gasp.

You’re scrunching your eyes shut, mewling at the sudden feeling of his probin’ thrust. And he’s groaning, pushing his fogged glasses up his nosebridge with apologies on his tongue. “My- my apologies, my wife, I didn’t- ngh, mean to-”

“You can manhandle me if you’d like, baby.” You interrupt him mid-sentence, fluttering your lashes in just the way that made his furious red cocktip weep. 

“B-but-”

“In fact…” Trailing off, you’re then taking his left hand in yours. Guiding it to cling onto your hips, you’re making Nanami move you in just the slight sultry gyration that makes his head throw back. Grunting. Thighs shaking as he fights off the urge to just fuck into you animalistically. “-I’d like it if you manhandled me- oh.”

Sternly, “You know what’ll happen, darling…”

“What?”

“You know.”

And the longer you were keeping him talking, the more n’ more he was being ruined. With his Adam’s apple bobbing in a parched way, his neat crescent fingernails digging into your skin, hips humping up into you in short, jerky grinds.

You’re purring, “Well maybe I forgot- oh, fuck.”

Just then, he’s swervin’ his fat, heavy cock into you like he was trying to brand the feeling inside your pussy. Like he was probing into the very back, sliding a wet stripe of precum down your cervix-

“No-” Nanami rasps out, looking down with partially-lidded eyes between your shaking legs. “No, I don’t think you did.”

“Fuck, Ken-”

“Big girls should stick to their, mm, word. Don’t you think?” Huffing, heaving. He was nearly as ruined as you were when one hand of Nanami’s reaches behind your scalp to hold onto your neck and make you beeeeend your spine backwards.

Another one of his roughened hands reaching for your hips to massage the flesh there, to keep you in place. 

And then, suddenly, he’s the one setting the pace. He’s the one sloppily stirrin’ his hips upwards, bashing the plump end of his shaft into every nook and cranny. 

You whine as you’re jostled on top of his muscular body, the throbbing nub of your clit dragging down his golden happy trail. You chase it, but Nanami catches the act and chuckles, “That goes for you, too, darling. Don’t think you’re hah- getting out of this.”

“I-oh, fuck.” It’s such a primal stretch.

And your husband’s more than happy to use his honed strength to push apart your legs even further. “So open these- a little wider-” To manhandle you on top of him. “Yeahhh, that’s it.”

It makes you shake.

It makes you loll your dizzy head forwards and scrape your walls down every inch he’s providing you with. Again and again. The winding lines of his veins were just opening you up so well, and Nanami knows just the perfect tempo to hammer into you.

So that when you’re clawing down the plush muscles of his pecs, attempting to chase the imminent sparks of your high- he only tuts. “Ah ah-” Squeezing your hips, the movements of his hands only get harder. Faster. “You’ll be cumming because of- hah, because of me, my love.”

“B-but I’m so close-” Lips wobbling out an answer.

“Mhmmm, and you’ll be cumming because of what- fuck- you wanted.” Before you know it, one of his hands slips down to squeeze your clit. Nice n’ puckered for his rude fingertips to hold and pinch and draaaaag. The other physically dragging you up n’ down his upright cock, up n’ down up n’ down.

Until sparks explode behind your eyes and his name is the only thing you can repeat. And the blond-haired man was only smug at the effect this had on you. “Wanted me to rough you up, my lil’ wife? Fuck, I’ll rough you up all you want. Trust me-” 

“Oh please-” Manhandling you to lay down across his chest now, drool seeping out like an ocean. “M’not gonna last- please-”

“I will-” Nanami whispers against your ear, breaths heady. And the murky entrance of your pussy only bawls as his thrusts grow harder. Faster. “-rough- you- up, darling.”

“P-please-”

And then you’re cumming. And Nanami doesn’t waste a second - he doesn’t even waste a fractured moment - before flipping the two of you over, just as you’re hit by your high.

Blinking back tears, body limp underneath his touch.

“M’cumming- cumming, ngh- cumming—” You’re so overcome by the zaps of electricity that run through your body, stemming from your weepy core, that you don’t even realize he’s pushed you into a mating press. 

Blinking your dewy eyes open, you’re gawking at the way he was bending you already- thighs on his shoulders, your knees near your tits. Completely in half and he was barely breaking a sweat. 

“A m-mating press?” Your jaw drops, thighs still shaking from the wave of euphoria. Your husband was fucking you through it perfectly, letting each swab at your insides elongate your high. “Shit- Kento you’re gonna-”

“Inside.”

It’s all that eloquent, sensible Nanami Kento can sputter out. All that he can breathe. All that he can beg before the red, swollen end of his cock bursts with spurts of cum. 

Again and again; hot white ribbons of sap that you find lodged deep inside you, your cervix. And it wasn’t enough that Nanami was filling you until you were starting to draw a ring of juices ‘round his base, he had to glide a hand down your front and push down until you were overspilling. 

Knots of his cum gluing to your thighs, you keen as you feel it drip out- and feel him start to jostle you as he fucks more n’ more in—

“Guess I won’t be able to hah- manhandle you when you’re pregnant, huh, darlin’?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Fight club.

You had your arms pinned down to the bedsprings, your thighs aching with constant movement.

Geto mercilessly leaning his weight down on your shaky body, “Fuck-” Before he’s pursing his cute, rose-pink lips near your mouth and spitting. “The fuck did you- hah, say to me?”

Stubbornly, you’re opening your mouth. “I said fuck y-”

The slew of profanity is fucked out of your mouth by a thorough thrashing of his raged cockhead. Red-hot and swollen enough to make your tiniest nooks open up - it’d been like this ever since the argument.

You don’t even remember how long ago it was by now, you don’t even remember what it was about. But all you knew was that it had you on all fours, pussy weeping at Geto’s vicious pace. 

He’s slapping his hand down over your throat, snickering as you swallow. “Nervous?” Lightly squeezing on your airway, your boyfriend physically pulls you back even further against his toned body. Plastering the front of his washboard abs against your spine as he whispers, “You wanna try that again, gorgeous?”

But you always did like a good fight with him. And he already knew- you could already feel the bulged end of his shaft twitch as you open your mouth, “Said f-fuck-”

And this time he isn’t just tightening his hand, choking you. This time it isn’t a warning. This time, you’re being pushed into the puffy, silken pillows in front of you until your words are muffled. 

Until he has the audacity to look down at the puddle of tears n’ drool you were drenching out and cackle, “Mmm, can’t hear ya, gorgeous.” Before something else catches his attention- “In fact, I think she’s louder.”

‘She’ being your dripping wet pussy.

Practically a waterpark at this point, the insides of your thighs were so incredibly drenched with layers of your slick. Clinging onto you, his legs, his cock- they make the loudest squelches after each plunge.

And Geto takes the opportunity to slow his hips down, sloppy draaaaaagging his thick, vein-covered cock along your walls until the noises sing even louder. Grunting, “And s-sweeter, too.”

“Sweeter?” You’re huffing, “Then talk to her-”

“I think I will-”

Oh. Oh, he was so rough with your body today. Taking out the adrenaline from that argument earlier out on you, Geto’s then planting one of his feet at the top of your scalp. Hunched over you, spearheading the tip-top globe of his cock even deeper at this new angle.

You’re gasping, “S-Sugu, you’re-” Holding onto you so tight, it felt like you were going to burst from all the blood rushing to your head. “-manhandling, ngh.”

“Oh, I am?” And something in his breathy, higher tone sounds gone. Sounds almost…crazed. With widened eyes, he’s taking in the position the two of you were in, the way he was pressing his heel down even harder to make you squirm just the way he liked. “Hah- guess I am.”

He didn’t even realize he was doing it - not until you’d pointed it out. Just so naturally folding you into pliable positions. 

One hand of his wraps around your thighs, pryin’ apart your swollen folds to pinch at your clit meanly. And it makes a splash of wetness drip down his wrist, “Yeah, you like that? Letting me have my- fuck, way with you a lil’?”

Without even waiting for an answer, he’s increasing his movements. Increasing the never-ending rolling of his hips, increasing the sultry pressure being put on your womb. Geto’s fucking you like he’s trying to prove a point, and it’s maddening. 

“P-please-”

“‘Please’ doesn’t cut it.” His long, inky hair tickles your spine as he reaches down even further. You’re crushed like a pretzel underneath him; his foot on your head, his happy trail against your ass cheeks. 

And Geto Suguru couldn’t stop himself from staring. From feeling how absolutely wet you were, soaking the entire front of his reddening pelvis in all your wadded slick. “Look at you d-drooling all over like a silly girl. Should’ve let me- ngh, manhandle you sooner.”

Clawing at the headboard- “I sh-should- oh, Suguru.” Just when his plump tip locates your g-spot perfectly, circling your cute bundle of nerves. “Suguruuu—”

“M’right here, gorgeous.” He’s rasping out underneath you- and Geto finally, finally sets you free from the restraint on top of your head. 

You’re whining as he’s taking his leg off. only having the time to breathe out two heavy pants before he grips onto your arms. Firm. Tight. Geto doesn’t waste a second longer before he’s pulling you up, lifting you completely off of the mattress - still not even pulling out. Fuck, he couldn’t even imagine pulling out right now. 

The top of his slimy, rovering cock heads enters you at an even more lecherous angle, this time heading straight for your womb with a thundering bash. “Riiiight here.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Like-like

You’re being pushed down onto your cold kitchen counter before you know it- though, you certainly do know who’s sidling up behind you.

Who’s pressing his thick, heated erection against your behind, who’s clawing onto each side of your hips as if you were a lifeline. Choso’s pushin’ aside those cotton panties of yours and groaning at the feeling of your slippery slope. “Fuck, I want you.”

You’re mewling at the way his thick, reddened tip sandwiches between your folds—up n’ down, ever-so-slightly. “Mm, I can tell, Cho.”

“F-fuck…” He’s hissing between clenched canines as you perk your hips up, meeting the sultry gyrations of his toned hips. And Choso can’t help but let himself throb at the movement, can’t help but let himself groan.

Can’t help but let himself move a hand onto your neck and pin you down against the frigid counter. His mouth on your spine, his cock sinking in. “Fuck- fuck, I want you bad, baby.”

And he’s not even hesitating. Just kissin’ the lecherous ring of your hole with his leaky orifice, Choso dribbles out a good helping of precum that helps him slip inside. Push after push, just to stuff himself in sinfully deep. “Choso—mmm, you’re being a little- ngh, rough.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmmm-” You’re fluttering your teary eyes behind at him, sending him a smile that easily dissolves his hesitance. “You practically manhandled me there.”

To which he blinks his dark, dewy irises. “Man…handled?” Now, he wasn’t entirely familiar with your modern human vernacular, but he already knew that this particular word was making his cock twitch furiously. 

Something in the tone you said it in makes him pap! his hips up in a stinging rut, meaty thighs pressed against the backs of yours once he’s pressing n’ pressing. 

Manhandled. 

And you’re rattling off some semi-thought definition for him that he’s only halfway listening to. For him, all his popped eardrums heard was the part of roughing you up as he wished, of moving you around and oh—

Before you know it, his ringed, right hand sits underneath your thigh and hikes your leg up onto the counter in a second. “Manhandled…like this?” Questioning, the sudden change in angle was so perfect to lodge a few more syrupy, sap-leaking inches of his cock deep inside of you.

“Yes- yes.” You’re moaning- the stretch was so much. And even worse for your sanity was the way that Choso’s then kissing the line of your spine as he fucks you.

Again and again, in short, jerky thrusts just to leave your innards clenchin’ stupidly for more of him.

His lips depart a slight gasp once another set of his fingers dip downwards to smooth over your wet pussy, pulling away with a few cloying strands of slick that coat him like honey. “Mmmm, yes- and you-” He’s plunging his fingers back in, more in disbelief than anything. “-like it? This fuckin’ much?”

You can only claw at the expanse of your kitchen counter for pure mercy, babbling nonsensically at the feeling of his rovering cockhead until Choso pulls you back to him.

Until his slick-glazed fingers grip both your squirming arms and pin them down until you can’t move. You’re keening, “Yes-” Hips letting off a spanking noise ever-so-slightly when they buck back into his. “I like it a loooot, Cho—”

Fuck.

Fuck.

It’s like something snaps. 

Something breaks inside of Choso- because, before you know it, he suddenly has his v-line slapping yours. His globular tip scraping your cervix, his toned upper body hunching over yours until you were gasping at the weight of his muscles.

And his hands- oh, they were latched onto your hips and pulling you down to spear your walls on all his solid inches. So hard, so strong that your feet were nearly dangling in midair, his split-ended cock probing spots so deep that it makes your mind spin.

“Y-you like it like this, baby?” Choso stutters between his heavy thrusts, the slap of his cock rubbin’ the roof of your pussy raw. “When I…manhandle you like this?”

“Yes- fuck, yes, baby-”

Barely even able to finish your sentence before he’s pinning you down with one hand on your neck and using that leverage, too, to meet his cadence. “Then how about this-” 

“Yes-”

“And this?” With both the gropin’ palm on the side of your hips, the back of your throat- Choso’s beefy biceps bulge as he’s pulling you back down. Rawly letting the globe of his cock fill up every ounce n’ crevice, again. 

And again and again-

And when you’re too far gone to speak, he’s using his inhuman strength to sloppily drag you down even further. Gluing the back of your spine into his ripped front, it’s as if you’re a ragdoll. “D’you like this, baby?” His sticky pants cover the side of your head, “Tell me you like it- fuck, please-” 

“I do- yes yes yes—” Your mouth is leaving a circular puddle of saliva on the counter now. And as soon as you throw your head back, it ends up laid across Choso’s collarbone. 

“Mmm– I’m glad.” Just so fucking lecherous how he was folding you into the most sinful shapes underneath him. Practically strewn across the kitchen counter, he’s pounding his raged, thick shaft into you until it rattles.

Probin’, just your deepest spots being pushed around by the curve of his cock.

And before you know it- you’re not even on the counter anymore. Before you can even register it, you’re on all four lethargic limbs on the floor. Choso had manhandled you down, carnally leaning his weight over the base of your spine.

Just seeing you shakin’ and spraying glittery slick all over the tile makes his cock twitch. The girth of his plump mushroom tip squeezing out a knot of precum.

Choso feels it overspilling out of you, thumbing down the watery line of your slit as he groans. “Mmm, because I reeeeally like this.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - FANTASTIC FOUR

“Cheh-” Sukuna’s mean lips - both sets of them - twitch in amusement as you attempt to ride his matching erections. Sloppy and needy. “S’that all you got, mama?”

And honestly, it wasn’t even your fault.

He was just so big. So plump n’ luscious at the tip, the drivelling spots of his orifices were reaching into the back of your pussy without even trying. It was hard enough to merely even clench let alone ride him wildly like you were, right on top of his ancient throne.

“Wh-what?” Your legs twitch as he just then swerves into a hidden spot inside you that makes you see stars. Holding onto the broad expanse of his shoulders for dear life, “S’not like you can do any hck! better…”

To that, Sukuna takes the time to pretend like he was thinking. One dark-nailed hand tapping at his chin, “Mmm, s’that a challenge, brat?”

Unsurely, you’re staring up into his sleazy grin. “M-maybe?”

“I always do tell ya not to talk outta that pretty pussy.”

What- oh fuck. Before you know it, before you can even register his words, all four of Sukuna’s beefy hands are grabbing onto your sides. Squeezin’ you together like something to play with, his clawed fingers are then moving you. Bodily. 

Up n’ down, up n’ down, up n’ down.

Just spearheading you on his dual lengths, Sukuna physically jostles you to suckle on the vein-decorated shafts of his cocks. Moving you like some ragdoll, he plunges all the way from the thick, throbbing curves of his tips to the bottoms.

“Th-that’s cheating—” You’re blubbering out through your tears, your nails digging into his toned flesh, the tattoos on his shoulders.

“Hah! Cheating? Cheating?” The King looks fit to laugh, and you swear you even hear his monstrous second mouth spit out a snicker. “Oh, sooooorry, let me bow to your- hah- wishes, you puny little human.”

Insulting, and yet you can feel his bulged cockhead stream out in pre. Webbing up your soft insides, he completely disarms you with the feeling.

Enough so that you’re barely registering the way one of his hands lifts off of your body, and you still don’t slow down on your manhandled bounces. “Let this hand-” Swiftly, he’s dipping it down to your perky clit, toyin’ on the cute nub until you’re seeing stars. “-go here…and this hand.” 

And then another one, moving to the left side of your ass. You just register the warm touch of his palm before his fingerpads come down on a mean spank. “Then the third-” Going to grab your tits, he smoothens over your sensitive areolas. “And then my favorite, this one…”

The fourth and final one of Sukuna’s right hands clench your throat. 

Squeezing so hard.

You’ve lost your breath - and your mind. And Sukuna’s usin’ that leverage around your neck to maneuver you on top of his raging cocks, manhandling you smoothly. Pliably. He’s barely even breaking a sweat meanwhile you’re bawling from both pairs of lips. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck– I didn’t think you’d- ngh.”

“This enough?” He’s humming, something deep n’ dark in his tone. “S’this fair enough for you, mama?‘

“Y-yes-”

“Nuh uh, I’ve gotta- ngh, see it to believe it.” Almost as if to prove his point, his thrusts only get wilder. Sticking the curved crowns of his shafts deep against your sweetest spots, you swear you can feel him enter the area of your lungs.

Pushing such pressure on your cervix, as if the feeling of his fat, bruising girths wasn’t enough- he was lifting himself off of the throne to make an even bigger mess of you. To leave two large bruises all the way at the start of your womb that mark you as his.

The King of Curses was ravenous. He was letting his two rock-hard shafts slide against one another, the winding veins between them causing you to whine. “C-close- I don’t think-”

“Ohhh, that would be a good way to- hah, prove it t’me. Great idea, my lil’ human.” Mockingly, Sukuna teases your ruined self. Craning his head close- close enough that only you could hear his single, gravelly word—“Cum.”

You do. Hard.

And he’s just so smug at the feeling of you tumbling over the edge on command, your sultry pussy throbbing after each zap of pleasure. Sukuna’s aching hot lengths pound you through your high until you’re seeing white- “O-oh my god, never felt like- ngh-” Mentally counting, he’s able to predict when exactly each peak of your orgasm was. 

On that exact moment, striking the edge of your pussy with his cockheads. He was targeting your g-spot until you felt raw there, almost like it felt unnatural to have his pinkish tip mushed against the side of your walls. 

And you’re babbling after each flash of your high, body now controlled by the lustful haze. With that, you barely even realize when you’re gyratin’ your hips back in greedy figure eights. 

Back and forth. Back and forth. The neglected tip of your clit brushed against the open maw on Sukuna’s stomach, and the feeling of his slithering tongue makes you moan.

In fact, he realizes before you do - the way you’re moving your body sinfully to grab any carnal pleasure from his cursed mouth. Inches away from damn near riding his devilish tongue. And that makes Ryomen Sukuna gasp.

That makes his sleazy smirk drop. That makes his rosy brows raise.

Breath slightly catching, heart slightly racing- until suddenly he’s grinning wider than he has this entire night. “Oh, you naughty lil’ human.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - ManHANDLED

“Can not.”

“Can too.”

“Can not.”

“Can too.”

“Prove it.” It was a challenge. It was a promise. And it had your poor boyfriend blushing to the roots of his chestnut hair, his pretty lips wobbling at the thought of what you wanted him to do to you - you wanted him to manhandle you.

And you wanted him to prove that you could manhandle him.

With only a few sultry seconds of shyness, Ino then immediately grasps onto both your thighs, easily folding them in half underneath him. Within mere moments, you’re being pushed into a mating press, and he’s sliding his cock between the sultry lips of your folds.

Feeling your treacly pussy stretch with you, it’s like your walls were desperately tryin’ to cling onto him the further you were bent. The further you felt his reddened tip probe into you n’ add onto the stretch- “F-fuck me, pretty…”

He finds himself murmuring without even realizing it, a slow line of drool starting to formulate at the edge of his lip. 

And you can’t help but giggle as you swipe at it with your thumb, making the bulbous mushroom tip inside of you twitch. “I thought you were supposed to- hah, fuck me.”

“It’s a figure of- fuck! speech.” He’s snapping without any real rage, taking it out on the puffy core of your cunt. Slamming it with a thorough few thrusts as punishment.

It’s like you were slowly ebbing him towards a fever pitch, with every squelch, with every clench. And his hips were hungry—carnally scraping towards the bottom of your pussy with his curved crown. “Shut me up then.”

“Fuck-”

Fuck.

You were ruining him.

And you were making him part his mouth open with a string of profanities, you were making him choke out something primal and husky in response. Something that sounded like an utter whine—

As you stare up at him, you muse whether he might choke you- make you shut up by squeezing that neck of yours- but, instead, what you get is Ino reaching over to your bedside table in a flash. Grabbing that freshly-laundered ski mask of his and gagging your mouth with its velvety fabric. 

“M-mmpf, Taku—” You’re trying to babble through the few gaps there are. But you barely make a dent, you can barely put together a sentence before he’s surging his bulging cockhead against your cervix.

In one, straight jackhammer that leaves you reeling. His drivelling orifices leaks down your womb n’ fills you up animalistically, then he does it again. And again. And again and again and again-

“Fuh-fuuuuck…” He’s tilting his head down, staring at you through long, half-lidded lashes. Voice breathy, strokes vicious. “Suuuuch a mouthy girl. Let your ‘Taku’ take c-care of you now.”

And you’re whining, feeling the slender edge of his thumb slip between your pussylips and press on your clit like a damn button. “And, first order of business.” He doesn’t even flinch as you buck up with a plea. And where your sweet boyfriend might have usually slowed down, where he might have let you take control- right now he was pulling you in with a hand glued to your hips.

Even harder, Ino bends his toned body down with a snap. Flexibly pressing his sweaty forehead into yours, mouth spitting between your own. Rasping, “Y’know, I’ve always wanted to try this—”

Wanted to try bending you like a lawnchair - at this point you could barely even feel the bedsprings underneath your asscheeks. You’re mewling, “Sh-shit, you’re so filthy–”

“Learned it from you, sweetness.” He’s hissing, teeth bared in a snarl at the gummy clamp of your walls. You were so far gone, making it hard for him to even pull back after each thrust. “Learned everything from- oh, fuck.”

And he can’t even bear to look at you. 

Not when you’re salivating so sweetly all over his mask, not when you’re squelching from between your legs after each ram.

Ino can’t help but drag up a hand to squeeze your airway, using that leverage to pluck you off of the lengthy expanse of his cock. All the way up to circle his mushroomy tip with your slit, before bodily pulling you back down till his bulky hilt lodges past your folds. “Look what you’ve- fuck! made me do.”

His voice crackles on that last note, and before either of you know it- Ino’s spurting out thick, wiry ribbons of his cum.

Reaching his high prematurely, just from the mere sensation of having you jostled by his very own strength. “I-I’m…cumming?” He’s breathlessly asking himself, letting the mazing tip of his cock swab tiny pinpricks of cum inside, he was stuffing you with so many knots of ivory sap that you can feel it leaking out. “I’m cumming- fuck! N’ it’s all your- f-fault, pretty.”

“Mhmmm–?” You can barely even manage out the teasing tone of your voice, it just felt too good to have him swirlin’ around his slimy length. Filling even your tiniest orifices with speckles of creamy white cum. 

But it’s enough to get Ino raising his head, blush furious on his face- “Th-this proves nothing.”

With feral fervor, he throws your legs even higher over his shoulder- this time, using one of his toned hands to reach behind him and hold your ankles in place. Hold you in place. 

To pin you into an even meaner mating press, and to tighten his chokehold on your neck. “Want me to prove it, pretty?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Strongest.

“Well, how’d you expect the strongest to fuck?”

Gojo’s teasing, sing-song tone would have almost been infuriating- if you weren’t wrecked so stupidly on his cock, that is. 

If he just wasn’t pressing into you with his hefty muscles from behind, the loooong, achin’ glides of his shaft probing into your very cervix. He sees you zoning out with your criss-crossed pupils, and decides to lean in and blow against the side of your face. “Helloooo—? How did you, sweetheart?”

“I don’t- I don’t know!” You’re crying out stupidly - it’s been hours by now. And the wet crown of his length throbs even harder at your ruined tone. How cute. 

And he wasn’t even trying to be mean - that’s just how Gojo fucked. With his abs to your spine, and his pale happy trail scraping your ass cheeks, the front of his pelvis turned red with slamming impact. “What d’you mean you don’t know~? You’re being- hah, fucked by the strongest right now—”

To prove his point, drags you back down and- 

Oh, it was so cute how your knees were flattening upon the king-sized mattress, hands jerking out in front of you and attempting to claw for the headboard. The Strongest doesn’t even realize that your pretty, shakin’ body was torn between running away and more, more, more. But luckily, he’s there to make the decision for you.

He’s there to hook one of his pale fingers in the fabric of his blindfold, now dangling from your neck. And with an arm reached out, he’s draaaagging you right back down to him. “Look at this- c’mere.” Other hand reaching over to press down on your stomach. “Come back down on my ngh, cock sweetheart. Look at this.”

And then you’re feeling the wetness - the streams of creamy white cum that drip-drip-drip out of you in pearly beads. It’s clinging onto your slit, forming a sheen down your thighs. “Yeah?”

With the rawest slurp Gojo’s hand snakes from your front to your smearing mess, “Didn’t even need to- ngh- manhandle you for all this.” He’s hissing, that familiar topic of interest being brought up once more. “I don’t have to.”

His inhuman strength was already enough. And it was making you slide halfway down the silken bedsheets—up n’ down, up n’ down. 

Puffing out in a murky pant, “I don’t need to-” Your legs finally give way and start to slide uselessly down the bed, to which Gojo responds by curling a hand under your front and supporting your entire weight. With just one beefy arm. He’s throwing you around like you’re weightless, moving you on his cock like you’re weightless. “But, oh…”

Azure eyes half-lidded, his rosy lips parting with a line of slick.

Gojo then proceeds to- not just hold, but to entwine the ribbon of his blindfold ‘round his palm, tightening and tightening. And throughout it all, the bludgeoning tip of his shaft just kept on probing. Harder. Faster- until he’s hauling your face up to his. “-it’s so fun, my wife.”

Immediately, he’s thrusting up until the fatness of his girth wedges against your cervix with a whack.

Drenched happy trail irritating your skin, throbbing veins massaging your innards in ways only The Strongest ever could. Until he was red and raw.

“Oh god, ngh- Satoru I won’t-”

“C’mere, sweetheart.” And though he’s begging you to come here, he’s the one actually motioning you like a ragdoll. 

He’s the one who feels you squirming, Six Eyes working overtime to tell him that you were edging closer n’ closer to your high. One of his rude feet then plants straight down on the crown of your head, plastering you down into the bedsprings. Pressurizing you.

Gojo feels it snap inside you - like a band - and your high’s taking over in an instant. Flooding your veins with bubbling euphoria, making your vision flash behind your lids. It wasn’t just enough to have you fucked through your orgasm, he needed to reel you back- he needed to let his cursed energy go into overdrive and zap through your body, draaaaaagging out your bliss until it felt impossible.

Toes curled, the ridges of his shaft slot into your sweetest spots.

And your husband’s managing to get through one–two–three vulgar strikes to the bashed spot of your pussy, before he’s throwing his head back with a whine. “Gonna- gonna cum.”

You’ve barely just registered those words inside your sticky mind before it hits you like a tidal wave- sloshing deep inside of you, coating your walls like a gluey lacquer. Gojo thinks he’s cumming harder than he has in his entire life- “F-fuck, it’s so much, Toru.” Webbing up your innards with the lines of his cum. 

Again and again, you feel tendrils of his cursed energy take over each of your limbs until they’re shakin’ cutely. Somehow - you don’t even know what his powers consisted of anymore - they’re still manhandling you.

Still holding you back until you were pressed against the line of his happy trail, with his greedy cock pushing more of his wads of cum inside. 

“That was so- s-so good.” He’s breathing out, hollow and high-pitched. If you didn’t know any better, then you’d have said that he sounded crazed right about now.

He sounded out hoarse groans from the back of his throat, feeling his rovering cock plummet against your womb. You were throbbing just so well, squeezing around him like you didn’t want him to leave and…

And he just couldn’t.

The ladder-like ridges of his abs melt against your spine, letting go of the blindfold to then use his very own hands to lift you up into him. Whispering, “But I don’t feel like it was a- a career best…y’know, for the…” And he damn near giggles, “-The Strongest.”

Oh fuck.

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - “Missed you.”

And your dark-haired husband chuckles at your little confession, barely done tugging off his silken work tie. “Missed me, angel?”

You can only nod, to which he’s juuuust lazily tuggin’ aside your pyjama short- pantiless, underneath. Already glistening wet with so much slick that he’s smearing with one thumb, then sucking off the glaze on top. 

“Why, I was only gone for work.” He’s groaning as he slips n’ slides his bulging cockhead in-between. He was ruby red and puckered just past your tight hole, wads of slick dribble down the veins on his length and he sighs. “And- and fuuuuuck, how I missed you.”

“Ngh, missed you, too, Hiromi-”

Higuruma was so far gone already. Itching to take over. You could feel his very fingertips trembling, you could feel the way that his oversensitive tip was flinching at even the slightest clench.

Teasingly, you dare to squirm your hips further backwards- where he was plastering his rock-hard erection against your folds. And you’re barely getting down an inch, barely even a centimeter before he’s clawing onto both sides of your hips and pinning you down.

“Now now,” Suddenly, your knees are giving out. Suddenly, he’s pressing his full weight onto you just so that your lower half is plastered against the bedsheets, sticking to them. 

With his toned v-line gyrating up and down, “Hope you don’t mind, sugar-” With a guttural noise at the back of his throat, he’s reeling his back down just a few inches. Pursing those stern lips of his and spitting- a great, glittering glob of spit that accurately targets your pussy. “-but m’not gonna be hah- nice right now.”

Higuruma was definitely not going to be nice.

He wasn’t even going to try- before you know it, your husband grabs you by the back of the neck and uses it as an anchor to strike the back of your cunt with his cock. “Oh, p-please!” Babbling away once the plump edge of his cock swerves ‘round, “You can- hck! manhandle me if you’d like, baby.”

“O-oh.” Something at the back of his throat cracks, and you look right over your shoulder to realize that he was grinning. He was seething. “Perfect.”

And for just then, Higuruma doesn’t make a move. Higuruma doesn’t do anything but reach a hand up for the knot of his dark tie, almost like he was going to take it off, like he was going to choke you with it- but in a split-second, he has the fabric looped around your wrists and capturing you.

Holding you tight, he ties that lil’ constraint in a second. 

You’re gasping, “Wh-what are you-”

“Just you watch.” Cutting you off- with both his baritone, and the thorough pummeling of his cockhead. He swipes just down your cunt, pinching your cute clit until you can’t help but fasten your legs and wish to run—

Only to not move a single millimeter. Not with him holding onto you by the tie on your wrists, veins bulging on his massive hands as he holds you to his ravenous cock. “Ohhh, just you watch- I need to f-fuck this stress outta me.”

“Y-yes, Hiromi.” You can’t help but answer, not when he was using that lawyer voice on you. 

Stern, smoky. Practically making your cunt flutter without even trying—it was just so cute how affected you were so easily. How you were falling right into his hands.

Higuruma slaps the forefront of your treacly pussy with his fingertips, watching as you squirm with nothing else to do. “Can’t run, can ya?” Again. Harder, this time. “Can’t do anything but- hah- take- it-”

“Please- please please please, Hiromi–”

If this was any other time, then you’d have been embarrassed by the sheer trill tone of your voice. The way it was breaking upon each impact with the fat, bludgeoning end of his shaft- and you’re letting him manhandle you?

Oh, he wasn’t going to let you down.

He was going to push a meaty knee against your inner thighs, leaving you unsteadily tumbling into the mattress. Into him. He was going to tug on the fabric around your wrists until it left you twitching at the slamming cadence, skin rubbing raw.

Higuruma angles you slightly to the side, perfectly enough so that the flared ridge of his slit tap-tap-taps against your g-spot. Plump n’ probing. “Yeah- yeahhhh, I really won’t be n-nice on this pretty pussy, angel. My apologies.”

“It- it’s-” He doesn’t even wait for your response before just then bashing a slippery glide from the splotchy orifice of your nerves. Then allllll the way down to bump against your cervix, your womb.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

Again and again, he’s pounding you into the springy mattress like he hated you. He’s dragging the ridged lines of his veins, and each thrust had you pulled in back to meet the next one. Sticky, pre-glazed tip gluing to the end of your pussy, barely even breaking apart after the recoils of each jackhammer. 

Once. Twice. Thrice.

“Mhmmm—-” Higuruma drawls out from behind you, and there’s a slight rustling of fabric as he slides off the rest of his suit. “Better prepare, sugar.” And before you know it, your sight’s been engulfed by darkness - by his neat laundered handkerchief.

“Wh-why- oh, fuck.”

“It’s going to be a loooong night.”

♡ ZENIN NAOYA - Deserved!

“B-baby…can you manhandle me?” You’re blinking your tear-glittered lashes, staring up into Naoya’s smirking face. He was hovering above you, snobby nose upturned into the air in the way it usually did, even more so now that you’d asked him to put his full masculine strength on full display.

He sniffs, gleaming teeth bared down at you, the veneers weren’t doing him much justice. Neither was the e-boy hair, but you decide to keep it to yourself. “Do it yourself, woman. You think I live to serve?”

And so you do it. You do manhandle him - you punch him so hard that he dies. 

Congratulations. 

A/N. Did y’all like the surprise heheheh? Also funny story but in the middle of writing this I went to go play football, ended up in the hospital with an injury, and still came back to finish it- the power of gooning compels me.

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

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

But today? Today wasn’t about you.

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

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

“You ain’t hear me calling you?” 

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

Onyankopon barely glanced up from headshotting some zombie midgame. 

“Nah, baby. ‘You good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gon’ eat, I ain’t starvin’.” 

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

Space.

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

“‘You on the phone with Kev?”

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

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

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

“Baby.” 

One word, thick with finality.

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

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

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

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

Until this. 

“Afternoon Mrs—whoa.” 

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

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

“Mornin’, Claude.”

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

Your voice is smooth, entrancing.

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

Dear god, was your accent a weapon. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Claude.” 

One word. One warning.

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

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

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

"Bring yo’ ass inside.” 

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

"What's wrong?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An hour passed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y'all good over there or what?” 

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

“Quit playin’, girl.”

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

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

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

“Bruh—‘fuck was that noise?"  

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

"Ain't shit.”

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

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

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

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

"Yo, bruh—you’ still there?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Goddamn.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you did. You wanted it bad.

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Keep yo’ mouth open.” 

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

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

Maybe you weren’t paying enough attention, though. 

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

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

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

“Baby—“

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

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

“Goddamn, girl.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t ask things twice. 

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

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

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

You nod frantically, breath hitching as his mouth 

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

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

“…Y—yeah, feelsgood, baby.” 

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

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

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

"Ony—Ony, wait—"  

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

He knows.  

“Nuh Uh, C’mon.” 

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

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

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

Onyankopon doesn't let you hide, of course. 

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

"’Gon head an’ take this dick now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And oh, you were losing it.  

"Ony—Ony. Mmmphfuck, baby.” 

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

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

“Pussy talkin’ so much shit, huh?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You hear that?” 

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

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

“Relax, Mama. Damn.” 

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

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

“I love you, Ony…”

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

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

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

“Cum in me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I love yo’ ass too.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatchu smilin’ at?” 

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

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

“Ain’t never a bother, Mama.”

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

Then, hesitantly—

“You sure about wanting another baby?" 

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

"Baby. Look at me." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Onyankopon scowls instantly at the mention of Claude.

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

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

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

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

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

It's ridiculous.

you sniffle as you think back to the last time you talked to onyankopon. he had been driving you home after a long day of running errands. they were more so his errands than yours but you just wanted to be around him so you begged him to let you come with. the day has started off great. the two of you laughed, rapped and sung songs together, the vibes were just right. it was nearing night when onyankopon had gone inside the wingstop to order the two of you food as a completion of the day. while he was inside the restaurant, you were on his phone; scrolling on his facebook. you always claimed his facebook is way more interesting than yours which is why you lurked on people’s accounts through his. as you were reading facebook drama in a very messy comment section, onyankopon’s phone suddenly gets a notification from instagram.

‘you’re welcome handsome’. almost instantly, your hands begin to shake as you press the notification tab. you watch, breathless, as messages pop up from onyankopon and the mystery woman. onyankopon had posted a video of himself on his story. of course he looked good, your man always does. he’s an attractive guy so you had prepared yourself from the beginning to witness women texting and complimenting him. which is fine, but you would've never thought he’d disrespect you by responding back. with a shaky finger, you scrolled to the beginning of the message thread which wasn’t very far.

‘you so fine omggg’ which is something you’ve seen many girls telling him. your eyes focus on what the man had said back, 

‘lol preciate it ma’ you didn’t know if you wanted to scream or cry. ma? a red heart? you couldn’t understand why he decided to respond to her in the first place. taking an uneven breath, you locked his phone and threw it down into the cupholder. tears form in your eyes as you stare out of the window, watching as cars of various sizes and colors zoom past the parked car. so many thoughts were racing through your head, you’ve never felt so much betrayal in your life. you sniffle as a few spare tears roll down your face.

when onyankopon returns with two wingstop bags and a holder that had two large cups sitting in it, he’s all smiles. his gold grills glint under the streetlight. he opens the door and sees right away that your attitude has completely changed. he can’t stop the confused expression from forming on his face. he sets the cups into the cupholders and the wingstop bag onto your lap. he doesn’t pull off right away. instead, he sits there for a few moments trying to wreck his brain on what could have possibly gone wrong in the span of about ten minutes. 

“what’s wrong, mama?” he asks, cautiously. 

you don’t respond, vocally. instead of using your words you just twist your body towards the door and tilt your head completely towards the window. you were so upset with him, just hearing his voice caused you to grow ten times more upset. your sniffles fill the quiet car while onyankopon waits for you to reply to him.

he raises an eyebrow as he comes to the realization that you’re not going to respond to him. “you don’t hear me talkin’ to you?” you were being disrespectful right now and this isn’t like you. he attempts to give you leeway because you have never behaved in such a way before. “talk to me, baby..” he pleads.

and god, when his voice deepens like that and he sounds so needy一you have to remind yourself to stay mad at him. you let out a loud sigh when you decide to look at him. 

onyankopon’s heart almost skips a beat when the two of you finally make eye contact and he sees that your eyes are bloodshot red and there are stray tears still threatening to spill. he asks in a tone that shakes, “why you cryin’, mama?”

“c-cause you’re fucking disrespectful.” you cry out. the dam that was straining to hold up broke just by you looking at him. 

onyankopon looks at you with wide eyes. he’s never once disrespected you. he’s never called you out of your name, mocked you, spoke condescendingly to you. you two have barely been together for an entire year and he had already gifted you everything and more. he tries to not be offended by your accusation.

“how am i disrespectful?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“how are you not? why the fuck ar-” you’re cut off from onyankopon kissing his teeth. 

“stop cursin’, deadass. you can explain yourself without cursin’ like a damn sailor.” his tone doesn't make room for discussion. 

you roll your eyes at his statement. onyankopon has always been firm when it comes to your habit of cursing, he always says ‘pretty girls don’t curse’ and tries to catch you every time you let a curse word slip out. right now, you didn’t have the time or patience for his lecturing.

but still, you rephrased yourself. “why are you replying to girls on instagram?” you ask in the most composed manner you can manage.

onyankopon gives you a confused mean mug, “what girls?”

you breath roughly through your nose. “you know what girls, onyankopon.” 

onyankopon sighs, “i genuinely don’t, mama.”

you felt like crying from annoyance, why did he feel like now was the time to play? “look on instagram.” 

ony grabs his phone and opens instagram. he sees that you had already opened his most recent chat. he reread the messages and viewed the account and quickly realized why you were upset. he stays quiet because he genuinely had no explanation on why he decided to respond to her. of course, he didn’t see her as attractive or anything. he had eyes for you and only you, no other woman could get in between that.

sighing, he set his phone down. he bit down on his lip as he tried to gather the words to tell you. he didn’t compliment her back or completely indulge in her, all he said was that he appreciated the compliment. he didn’t see what was wrong with that. 

“look, i know-” he cut himself off as he continued to struggle.

“look at you, fucking struggling to talk cause you know you fucked up.” you spat the words out angrily. your pretty glossy lips are frowned up and onyankopon didn’t like that one bit.

“stop cursin.” he muttered.

“i’m fucking grown, nigga. just like you chose to respond to that bitch, i choose to curse whenever the fuck i want.” you were talking recklessly because you were mad. on an average day, those ugly words would never be spewing from your pretty mouth. also, you would never be talking to your man like this. 

“bro chill with yo fuckin’ mouth!” onyankopon ‘s tone rises by a lot. there’s a pointed look in his eyes as he tries to put you in your place.

“me chill? you chill, nigga! fucking disrespectful ass! texting bitches back and calling them ma and shit.. fuck you, nigga!” your voice cracks at the end of your sentence. you weren’t crying out of sadness, you were crying out of anger. truthfully, you wanted to swing off on him but you’ve never thrown a punch in your life and onyankopon would probably choke you the fuck out.

“’m not puttin’ up wit’ dis shit.” onyankopon grumbles. he presses the start button and his car roars to life. “ain’t never called you out yo’ name. ain’t never did shit to hurt you, man. i try to give you the damn world.” your eyes widen when you hear onyankopon’s voice crack throughout his rant, you throw a quick glance at him and have to fight the surprised look on your face when you see his pretty brown eyes glossed over.

you can’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth. “texting other girls and calling them ma is giving me the world?” you chuckle sarcastically. “there’s no telling how many girls you entertain behind my back.” 

onyankopon shakes his head while listening to you accuse him. “you can go through my entire fuckin’ phone right now and you ain’t gon’ find shit besides that. i ain’t talk to no other girls since i’ve been knowin’ you.” 

“i can’t trust anything you say anymore.” you mutter.

“really? i’ve told you shit about me that i ain’t told no one else. shit about my childhood, about my life, how i became me ‘nd now you can’t trust me..” he lets out a breath that resembles a chuckle while shaking his head. “you’re my world, you’re my fresh breath of air from the streets, ‘nd now the reason why i’m going so hard. pickin’ up new clients, ‘nd putting my life at risk so i can buy you shit ‘nd now you’re sayin’ you can’t trust me anymore. alright, bro.” 

you don’t say anything, you only turn your head and look out of the passenger seat window for the remainder of the drive. 

onyankopon puts the car in park once he arrives in your driveway. you’re quick to hop out grabbing only your purse. you skim the driveway and realize that your parents aren’t home which you’re grateful for. you don’t have time to be bombarded with questions. while you’re unlocking the front door, you could hear onyankopon’s feet traveling behind you. you almost felt bad for leaving him to carry the bags and cups alone but in the moment of anger, you couldn’t care less if he needed help or not.

you open the door wide enough so that the two of you could step in. you kick your shoes off by the front door while he walks into the dining room and sets the food onto the table. the silence between the two of you is tense, you’ve never been so quiet around him and vice versa.

“‘mma go.” onyankopon suddenly says while looking down at his phone. he’s tapping furiously and his eyebrows are clenched in a way that shows annoyance.

“what? what about our food?” you ask with a frown. you go to stand in front of him. his towering height causes butterflies in your stomach whenever you stand near him. 

“eat it or somethin’. i don’t care what you do with it.” he shrugs, finally looking away from his phone. you almost want to cry again. you’ve never heard onyankopon be so disinterested with you. he’s usually always so soft and understanding when he’s around you, so to hear him talk to you like you’re some stranger off the street; more than you'd want to admit, hurts your feelings.

“okay..” you sigh, obviously defeated. 

usually, when he’s leaving out he’d litter your face and lips with kisses while telling you he’d be back. but this time he only gives you a brief side hug. “i’ll see you around, ___.” your heart absolutely hurts when he uses your government name. when you hear the front door slam shut and the loud cranking from his car, you instantly burst into tears.

“three days ago.” you tell zinnia as your sudden flashback leaves your head. just thinking about what happens causes your eyes to go glossy. you’ve been crying ever since he left you standing in your dining room. 

“after that incident?” zinnia asks, nosily. 

“i messaged him an hour later.” you tell her. “i-i told him i loved him.. and he.. he just left me on read.” your shoulders shake as you clutch your face, you were so tired of crying but you didn’t know what else to do. 

“awe, boo..” zinnia says sympathetically. she quickly clutches you into a hug. the smell of  her perfume fills your nostrils as you cry onto her.

“i.. should’ve never said anything.. i should’ve j-just pretended i didn’t see it.” you say through sniffles. regret has been lingering on your heart a lot lately. you’ve been filled with should've, could’ve, and would’ves. your life has consisted of moping around the house and crying in bed. 

onyankopon wasn’t exactly giving you the reassurance you desperately needed at the moment and it was causing you to absolutely spiral. you just wished he would at least text you a simple ‘i’m not mad at you’ or something of that sort. you’re aware of the type of lifestyle he lives on a day to day basis, you’re always making sure to pray for him asking for him to be protected as he gets his money in the only way he knows how. and for his location to suddenly go off has you on the absolute edge.

“nah, snookie.” the childhood nickname has you momentarily cringing. “you did the right thing by speakin’ up, boo. you seen bullshit so you spoke on it. what he did was that.. uhm.. what they call it…” she pauses and seems to be deep in thought. “ohh! that manipulation shit.”

you instantly sit up from her arms. “nah, zinnia ‘m not getting manipulated.” your soft voice has a defensive edge to it. “he just felt some type of way ‘cause he does so much for me and i called him out of his name and stuff.” you defend onyankopon way too quickly for someone that ghosted you.

zinnia gives you a look that you can’t exactly read. “whatever you say, boo.” she says. it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you from the way she shakes her while saying it. 

“can you just..” you sigh out, the way you were feeling over onyankopon was a feeling you have never felt in your life before. it felt as if your heart was tearing into two pieces and no matter how much you tried to take your mind off of him and the situation, it still replays in your head. “can we cuddle?” 

“awe, snooks, of course, boo.” she makes quick work of ashing her blunt and shuffling the two of you so that she could hold you comfortably.

the two of you lay there, silently. your head is adjusted onto her chest, the sound of her heart thumping fills your ears as you lose yourself to your thoughts. so many what ifs are running through your head. your overthinking is almost suffocating you in a way. as you lay there, thinking of the worst you try to rationalize and also think of the good. that was a habit you tended to do. you always tried to see the good in people and every situation. because of your optimism, you were often taken advantage of.

you didn’t purposely upset onyankopon. you felt hurt and as a result you felt the need to hurt. if you had known that bringing up the message, you would have never brought it up. you would rather suffer and not speak on it than to fully stop speaking to onyankopon. it was different, going from spending all your time with someone to not talking for three days straight. this being your first ever serious relationship, you didn’t know what to do. you weren’t sure if you were supposed to blow up his phone or give him time to cool off. all you want is to speak with him and hear his voice, to get reassurance that he’s well and alive, to hear him admit that he isn't angry with you.

you don’t realize it but you somehow doze off in zinnia’s embrace. your soft snores fill her ears and she coos out a soft “awee” while rubbing your back. with her being the older cousin and you not having any siblings, she felt as if it is her duty to help you get through your first heartbreak. she’s been through your shoes many times before; overthinking, crying, getting upset, getting manipulated, she’s gone through it all. as much as she wants to just shake your shoulders and scream for you to gain some sense, she won’t. she has to allow you to maneuver through life with firsthand experience, that includes getting your heartbroken. she’s known onyankopon for many years, since middle school to be exact. she witnessed the man mature and adopt his doggish ways. to her, you’re too naive for ony. since you’re an only child your parents tended to shield you away from just about everything during your childhood and teen years. their overbearingness has rubbed off on you giving you this innocent curious nature. of course, you get upset and curse but every threat you give off is empty. she knows onyankopon, and she knows that he likes girls like you. girls who are easy to manipulate and have access to. she regrets deeply advising you to come to the party with her. if she would’ve let you stay home, you would’ve never met him. 

you’re suddenly awakened by a phone buzzing. you yawn and stretch, your eyes dart to your window and you could see the light from the moon peeking through your opened blinds. you rub your eyes and stretch once more before looking at zinnia’s phone that’s ringing on your nightstand. you reach over her and grab it, once you see that it’s sasha you press the answer button. 

“hello?” your voice is scratchy from the hours you went without water. 

“snookie?” she asks. by her tone you could tell she’s upset and that causes you to fully wake up. an angry sasha is a scary sasha.

“hi, sash. it’s me.” 

“hey, boo. where’s zinnia?” she seems impatient, her words are rushed out.

“beside me, sleeping.” your eyes do a once over on zinnia who’s drooling onto your pillow. her chest heaves while heavy breaths escape through her nose.

“yeah, no. wake her up for me.” 

“sash, you kno-” you’re cut off by sasha’s loud sighing into the phone.

“snookie, boo, just listen to me. wake zinnia up and put her on the phone.” she says.

without another word, your hand lands onto her side and you begin shaking zinnia awake. after a minute of repeating her name and shaking her, she finally wakes up. a mean mug is immediately on her face as she rises up from her sleeping position. she stretches, letting out a loud dramatic moan.

“whatchu shaking me for?” her tone is hostile. zinnia absolutely hates being woken up which is why you were hesitant from the beginning.

“sasha wants you.” you hand her her phone, watching as she rolls her eyes before speaking up.

“girl, what you want?” her full lips are pulled into a frown as she listens to whatever sasha says. “wait, who’s story?” she asks while opening instagram. she types on her keyboard for a few seconds and then stops. she goes quiet as she watches whatever sasha told her to watch. you could hear multiple voices and the sound of loud music coming from her phone, you curiously lean over to see and that’s when zinnia quickly tilts her phone. she ignores the confused look you throw to her.

“bro.. ’m gonna fuckin’ kill dis nigga.” zinnia says after a few moments of silence. she puts the phone back up to her ear, her hazel eyes dart to you a few times and then they look away. “brooo, we’re about to throw something cute on. come scoop.” at those words, you’re entirely intrigued. you mouth at her ‘what’ and she only shakes her head and ignores you. “yeah, i thought i saw connie’s baldheaded ass in the background. ‘mma get his ass too.”

once zinnia says her goodbyes, she hangs up and lets out a heavy breath. “snookie, y’know i love you right?” she asks, suddenly.

“yeah. i love you too.” you giggle nervously. 

“‘nd i just want you to know you don’t need a nigga for shit as long as i’m livin’ and breathin’.” she continues.

“i hear you.” you reply.

“what ‘m about to show you, you gotta practice me you’re not gonna cry.” she negotiates. 

“you know ‘m a crybaby!” you groan with a smile. “i promise you i’ll try to not cry.”

she deems that good enough because she’s hesitantly showing you her phone.

some might think you’re being dramatic if they were to hear you say you physically felt your heart break. and you could understand, heartbreak is a literary term and not literal one. however, you were experiencing a heartache at that exact moment. gasping was all you could do as your breathing became trapped in your chest. because you couldn't, you didn't cry. in total shock, you were motionless. you could feel zinnia’s arms wrap around you but it’s almost like a barrier was completely stopping her from touching you, or that’s what it felt like anyway. 

your eyes rewatch the screen for what felt like the 100th time. your ony is right there, but so is a woman. she’s bent over in front of him, her ass is pressed against his pelvis. she’s shaking her ass to the beat of the song that’s playing and onyankopon’s hands are clutching her wide hips while she twerks. they both have a big smile on their faces while people in the background hype them. you watch in horror as onyankopon brings a hand up only to quickly bring it down onto her ass. as the video comes to an end, the camera darts to connie who’s obviously drunk, hyping them up the most. he’s pouring a half full bottle of hennessy into onyankopon’s mouth while screaming absolute nonsense out. 

“we’re going to get dressed and we’re going to that party. we’re gonna whoop onyankopon, that bitch, and connie’s ass.” zinnia says. her tone is serious and the glare in her eyes tell you that she means every word she’s saying.

“there’s no point, zinnia.” you shrug as tears race down your face. “he’s single, he can do whatever he wants.”

zinnia gives you a look of confusion and irritation. “girl, to hell with that. y’all get into one big augment and now he’s moving like this. we’re not letting this shit slide, bro.” her tone excludes any kind of debate.

it doesn’t feel like you’re there physically when zinnia urges you into the bathroom to clean yourself up a little. you’re zoned out the entire time while brushing your teeth and applying light makeup. your eyes stay glossed over but tears don’t fall. your legs shake like jelly, you feel weak; emotionally and physically. you didn’t know where to go from here. all you wanted at the moment was for ony to come over and hold you while kissing your head and promising you everything would be alright like he usually does. the person that hurt you is the person you’re craving the most.

zinnia is sympathetic the entire time the two of you get dressed. you didn’t want to go confront ony, honestly. you just wanted to lay in bed and rot away. the thought of being in an outside setting at this current moment seemed draining. what would you even say to him? there isn’t even anything to say to him. 

everything moves too fast and sasha pulls up in front of your house sooner than you wanted her to. an uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you look over your outfit. a pink spaghetti strap sleeveless dress hugs your figure, loudly emphasizing every curve you have. you couldn’t even feel pretty if you wanted to, your mind goes back to the woman that was twerking on ony and your heart quivers. the way he grabbed her hips, the same way he did that one night where he had you chanting his name like a prayer. you let out a breath and quickly look away from the mirror.

zinnia leads you through the living room where your mother is sitting in the living room watching judge judy in a nightgown she's had since you were born. meanwhile, your father sits exactly beside her, playing pool on his phone. “ohh, where y’all going?” your mother asks.

you can’t find it in you to talk and zinnia seems to quickly catch on to that. “we’re gonna go pop at this party right quick.” she tells her.

your mother’s eyes dart from your head to your toes. her eyes go back to your face and she can instantly tell something isn’t right with her daughter. she decides she’ll wait until it’s just the two of you to comment on it. “y’all be safe ‘nd stay together. if one has to go to the bathroom, the other follows in tow.” your mother lectures.

you both agree to her words and walk out of the house. you could feel her eyes burning a hole into your back but you refuse to turn around. if you were to break down crying, she would immediately forbid you from going out tonight. that’s one of the difficult parts of being an only child. your parents sometimes get too overbearing without even meaning to. privacy is something you just started getting once you turned 18. you still remember the way your mother almost fainted when the two of you were having girl talk and you had admitted that you and ony had sex for the first time. you still haven’t forgiven her for running back to your father and telling her, he had given you the cold shoulder for two weeks. as much as your parents could be a handful, their intentions were never bad. you’re their only child so they tend to shield you a bit too much because of that.

when you enter the backseat of sash’s pink wrapped dodge charger, the smell of weed immediately hits your nose. your nose scrunches in reflex. you absolutely despise the smell of weed, it’s too strong for your liking. 

“wassup, bitches!” sasha greets the two of you. sexyy red plays lowly, she had gotten those overdramatic speakers installed so the bass was almost overpowering. 

“pass the blunt, hoe.” zinnia rolls her eyes.

“hi, sasha.” you greet with a slight smile that almost hurts to put on your face.

“you okay, bookie?” she tilts all the way in her seat so that she could make eye contact with you. her almost cracks seeing the redness in your eyes. “we gon’ get shit straight. trust. when i see connie and ony ‘m punching them dead in their shit.”

zinnia quickly agrees as she lights the blunt up. you let out a soft laugh, “y’all there’s no reason to get violent.”

she inhales for a few seconds before letting out a large cloud of smoke. “yeah, okay.” she says sarcastically.

sasha pulls off, the song f my baby dad and instantly sasha turns the music up. both her and zinnia begin screaming the lyrics. 

“my nigga actin’ up so you know ‘m finna pop it!” zinnia screams to no one in particular.

“y’all,” sasha turns the music down once she gets to a red light, “me and connie had our first pregnancy scare some weeks ago.” 

both you and zinnia shook your heads at her words. you truthfully were surprised that sasha wasn’t on her second child with connie, from the extreme stories she told the two of you about her love life, it’s only a wonder that she isn’t carrying.

“girl! why you shaking your head?! a lil’ birdie told me that ony had to buy your lil ass a plan b!” sasha looks at you through the rearview mirror. 

your eyes immediately dart towards zinnia, she’s the only person you disclosed that information to. zinnia quickly turns the music up, pretending she didn’t hear sasha’s accusation.

when sasha parks near the house that’s throwing the party, you feel so afraid that you immediately want to throw up. you were doing good not crying but reality seems to settle in and you realize you’re actually about to confront ony. a lump forms in your throat that you struggle to swallow down. you’re looking out of the window, at the house. you’re so caught up in your head that you don’t realize both zinnia and sasha are looking at you in worry. 

you’ve been anxious since a child. you’re the ‘come with me’ friend. it’s something you hated. there’s been numerous times you’ve wished and prayed that anxiety didn’t control your life. you struggled extremely with confrontation. maybe that’s why you and ony got along so well. you never questioned him or any of that sort. you prefer to sit back and watch rather than being in the spotlight, being perceived. that goes for family, friends, and strangers. you weren’t even tearing up from what ony did, while that did have a part in your tears, you were more so dreading the thought of speaking up to him.

“you okay, snookie?” zinnia asks, worriedly.

you inhale sharply, “y-yeah. can we just.. get this over with, please?” 

they both share a glance before agreeing. the three of you exit the car, the sounds of purses, bracelets and y’all’s slide sandals sync as you walk towards the house.

“we’re so bad.” sasha sighs while looking over the three of you to make sure you all looked good. 

once you enter the house, you’re immediately blinded by flashing lights. the air is hot and humid as numerous people rub against each other. loud speakers blast rap music and you could faintly hear people rapping along with the rapper. alcohol, weed, and sweat fills your nose making you internally gag. this is the second party you’ve ever came to and you want to leave right away. sasha grabs zinnia’s hand, and zinnia grabs your hand. sasha leads you three to the kitchen that’s only filled with a few people. out of the corner of your eye, you could see a couple sloppily making out against the refrigerator.

“here.” sasha hands you a small glass that is filled with something clear. “take a shot or two and loosen up.”

following her instructions, you take two shots straight. bile rises and you have to swallow it causing you to gag. you feel your body shiver as you attempt to digest the alcohol. you take a gulp from the red bull that zinnia gives you, trying to ease the burning sensation in your throat.

“they’re all in the livin’ room, i seen them all huddled up and shit.” sasha comments while holding a cup in her hand.

“les go.” zinnia doesn’t waste any time making her way over to them.

you follow the girls along with legs that feel like jelly. the closer you come to the group, the faster your heart beats inside your chest. when you're just a few steps away, the scent of weed hits you powerfully.

“ohhh!” connie screams once he sees the three of you walk up. “we got zinnia in da housseeeeeee! ohhh shitttt! y’all don’ got itty bitty’s ass to get out of daaa houseeee! whaaaatttt! oh, ‘nd sasha is here too.. i guesssss.” connie is obviously intoxicated as he slurs over his words. 

immediately, the rest of the guys' heads snap in y'all's direction. you somehow hear armin let out a “oh lord” once he sees the expressions on sasha and zinnia’s faces.

“connie shut that shit up, boy! what that hell are you screaming for?!” sasha wastes no time grabbing connie by his shirt.

“unhand me you beast!” connie screams dramatically. 

sasha rolls her eyes at connie’s antics. her eyes dart from face to face until they land on ony, who’s sitting there manspreading. there’s an uninterested look on his face as he views your trio before his eyes locate onto you and you only. eye contact that you haven’t held in three days. that lazy head tilt and seeing his full lips pressed straight, you have to force yourself to look elsewhere. you refuse to get sucked into his hypnotizing eyes once again.

“you. stand up, i wanna fight.” she tells ony. 

ony looks at her boredly, his eyes are glossed and lidded. “sasha, gone somewhere, man.”

“beat her ass, ony. ‘m too scared t’do it.” connie says from his grasp in sasha’s hand.

sasha continues to hawk ony down. her piercing stare made even you feel uncomfortable and you weren’t even on the receiving end. “no, you think you’re bigger than the program and today you’re gonna learn you’re not.” you’ve always admired sasha’s ability to speak on what was on her mind regardless of the outcome. she didn’t believe in indulging in bullshit especially from a man. a lot of people found her ways of standing her ground unbearable, but truthfully you’ve always enjoyed it. it made you feel empowered, it made you look up to her even more. you truly hoped one day you could be as no nonsense as she is.

ony’s eyebrows does that little furrow he usually does when he’s growing agitated. his thick lips slowly begin to pursue into a frown that doesn’t look right sitting on his handsome face. his usual voided expression is beginning to leave and replace one he rarely liked to show you. 

“sasha, deadass, stay ou–” ony’s deep voice is suddenly cut off when an angry zinnia suddenly charges at him.

you would’ve stopped her, honestly. if it wasn’t for her moving at the speed of light and practically teleporting in front of him. you could only watch with wide eyes as your cousin, who’s just as short as you, lifts her hand and punches onyankopon right in his jaw.

a series of gasps escapes not only your throat but others also. you can’t tell if someone paused the music or if you just managed to tune the music out due to shock. your feet feel planted to the ground, you don’t know if you should hold back your cousin or check on him. your ears ring as she begins to swing her arms wildly.

you would’ve stopped her, honestly. if it wasn’t for her moving at the speed of light and practically teleporting in front of him. you could only watch with wide eyes as your cousin, who’s just as short as you, lifts her hand and punches onyankopon right in his jaw.

a series of gasps escapes not only your throat but others also. you can’t tell if someone paused the music or if you just managed to tune the music out due to shock. your feet feel planted to the ground, you don’t know if you should hold back your cousin or check on him. your ears ring as she begins to swing her arms wildly.

“yo, zi, chill!” someone screams. instantly, people are trying to pull the two apart. more so, zinnia away from ony.

ony isn’t exactly fighting back if anything he’s trying to grab her wrists to detain her.

as the scene unfolded, you felt your chest tighten, and your breathing became short. the room seemed to spin around you, and the voices of your friends and strangers became distant echoes. panic surged through your veins like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf you in its overwhelming grip.

there’s so much going on, you feel sick. the urge to throw up courses through your body.  

you clutch at your chest, trying to slow your racing heart, but it only seemed to beat faster. your thoughts spiral out of control, a mixture of fear and uncertainty. you struggle to make sense of what was happening, but the panic consumes you, clouding your mind with irrational thoughts.

then, in a moment of clarity, you recognize the familiar signs. this wasn't just nerves or stress—it was a full-blown panic attack. the realization hit you like a ton of bricks, sending a fresh wave of terror coursing through your veins.

the panic was relentless, its grip tightening with each passing moment. tears stung your eyes as you struggle to hold back the rising tide of emotion.

“yo itty bitty’s trippin’!” someone screams. you feel woozy and uncertain on your feet. everyone is packed so tightly, there’s barely any room to just breathe. you struggle to make sense of anything.

everyone froze in their spots when a sudden series of three shots rang through the air. for a moment no one in the house moved until one girl let out a gruesome scream and bolted towards the front door. and like the domino effect, everyone began rushing towards exits. panic ignites like wildfire, spreading through the room in a frenzy of desperate flight. you couldn’t find zinnia or sasha, not even ony. your legs struggle to keep up with the rapid running and rushing. you close your eyes and just move with the crowd, praying that you’ll be freed from the madness sooner than later.

the night air gushes against your face the second you get outside. desperately, your lungs begin sucking in the much-needed air. you’re stumbling around, trying to find your cousin, a friend, an acquaintance, anything.

as you struggle to look around outside, you’re suddenly pushed onto the ground by a strong force. a deafening scream escapes your throat as you fall face first onto the ground. you instantly ball up into a ball and begin sobbing. you regret coming, you should’ve just told zinnia no and stood on that. your face is both burning and aching, you can’t think clearly, and you’re still trying to recover from a panic attack. you began pleading for any God that’s listening to you to give you the strength to get up and walk, but it feels impossible to do so.

you don’t know if seconds or minutes pass but suddenly you’re picked up into strong arms. you continue to squeeze your eyes shut, you refuse to open your eyes and accept what was happening. weakly, you try to fight out of the person’s arms, hitting whatever you can.

“chill, mama. ‘s me. it’s your ony.” instantly your eyes are snapping open and you’re looking at the familiar brown eyes you fell in love with. his chocolate brown eyes are laced with concern. “fuck, we needa go.” you can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself.

a heartfelt sob spews from deep in your chest. it’s so loud and powerful that it makes even ony stumble a bit.

he begins walking, he never once loosens his grip around your body. he speeds walk you to his car, looking behind his direction every other second. truthfully, he’s not worried about his own safety. he wishes someone would have the courage to pull out a gun on him. it’s your safety he’s stressing about. even though he can try with all of his might to protect you, life is spontaneous, and he doesn’t know what could happen in the next few seconds.

he sets you down in the passenger seat, he would’ve usually made sure you were all the way strapped in your seatbelt, but with the uncertainty that you were safe he just closes the door and makes a straight line to the driver’s side. he doesn’t waste time pulling his car away from the house. he speeds down the street, not bothering to stress about the speed limit.

you’re still crying.adrenaline is still coursing through you, but not as strong as before. suddenly, you begin to feel everything. your head is pounding, your face feels like it’s on fire, and your back is aching slightly. you’re hesitant to look at yourself in the mirror. your shaky hand reaches for the mirror but ony quickly stops you by grabbing your hand and mixing his fingers with yours.

“stop. just chill. we’ll worry about that when we get to the crib.” he tells you. his voice is steady, and he hardly looks affected by being punched.

you look down at your entwined hands with widened eyes. it’s been days since you felt any sense of affection from him and it feels foreign in a way. you don’t know if you want to push his hand off of yours or welcome it with relieved tears.

“jus’ keep breathin’ for me. ‘mma get you straight.” he promises.

you don’t say anything. you plop your pounding head against the headrest. you feel utterly exhausted. along with exhaustion, you feel guilt. you know you’re safe with ony but you have no idea where sasha or zinnia is.

the realization knocks the wind out of your chest, and you perk up instantly.

“i don’t know where they are.” your voice is hoarse.

ony doesn’t need you to clarify who you’re talking about because he already knows. “they’re safe.” he tells you simply.

“how am i supposed to know that?” you snap back.

ony squints his eyes at your attitude. he doesn’t comment on it nor does he respond back to you. the two of you weren’t exactly on good terms and with what just happened he knows you’re talking with emotion and not logic.

even while snapping at him, you don’t let his hand go. if anything, you squeeze it a little tighter as you try to calm your nerves.

minutes later, he’s pulling up to his apartment complex.

“i wanna go home, not here.” you tell him stubbornly.

“your face is fucked up, you really wanna scare your momma by coming home all bloody?” he asks sarcastically. dropping your hand from his. “‘m not gonna touch you. i jus’ wanna make sure your mental is alright.” he tells you before turning his car off and opening the driver’s door.

he helps you out of his car. he assists you out of the car, his eyes track every move you make. he makes sure you can actually walk and not stumbling like he assumed you would be. he makes quick work of guiding you through the lobby and into the elevator. you both ignore the worried look the receptionist gives you two. while not knowing the backstory, it does look fucked up from an outside perspective. the two of you are deathly silent as you stand beside each other. there’s a look of irritation on your face while ony looks like he’s barely concealing his stress.

you’ve been to his apartment a plethora of times, so many times that you don’t wait for him to guide you to his doorstep. you walk in front of him, making sure to stomp your feet a little. you make it to his door before he does. you stand in front of it with your arms crossed, a look of impatience is etched onto your bruised face.

while you should be thanking him for picking you up instead of leaving you to die, memories of what he’s been doing and what he’s been putting you through flutter through your mind. days prior, you had daydreamed how you were gonna approach him and apologize, and hopefully get back onto good terms with the male. it all felt good in your head but as you stand beside him you can feel nothing but hate and resentment.

your face is on fire, it still hurts to even frown. you don’t even have to look at it to know it’s bruised. it takes everything in you to not cry again.

ony smoothly grabs guides his key through the lock and turns it to unlock the door. when the familiar unlocked noise fills the silence between you two, he twists the knob and opens the door. he allows you to walk in first before following you in.

it’s almost robotic, the way you step out of your shoes and place them beside onyankopon’s expensive shoes. just like you have many times before. the two of you move through his apartment in silence, a hurtful but obvious factor that things aren’t the same. just three weeks ago you were here, laughing and joking with him. just three weeks ago, this apartment was your safe place whenever your parents got too overbearing, just three weeks ago your moans were ringing throughout the rooms as he brought you to mind-buzzing orgasms over and over. 

you let out a breath as memories begin hitting you like bricks. you shuffle into his living room, it looks exactly the same it did weeks ago. even down to the lego set you begged him to buy so that you two could build it together. you continue walking through the apartment, there’s no confidence in your steps like previously, only uncertainty. you walk into the bathroom and cut the lights on.

finally, you’re able to get a good look at your face. your heart skips in your chest as you observe the bruises. your entire left eye is swollen and irritated, there’s a bit of skin missing on the tip of your nose, and your lips are bruised with hues of blood still remaining. there’s some skin missing around your lips, and minor scratches littering your face in general. at the sight, you burst into tears. you took your appearance extremely serious and to see something so horrifying on your face一something everyone could see has you feeling sick.

it almost hurts to cry but you can’t stop the pity tears from escaping. what were you going to tell your parents? how could you manage walking out in public looking so bruised? you struggle to catch your breath as self deprecating thoughts race through your head. you can’t stop looking at yourself. you refuse to accept that this is your face. just a few hours ago you looked all dolled up and now this? you feel so disgusted and angry with yourself. disgusted with your appearance, and angry that you agreed to go to that party.

onyankopon rushes into the bathroom when he hears your wails. when he sees you looking at yourself he automatically sighs and reaches for you. he takes you into his arms and holds you against his chest. he lets out soft “shhs’” and “i knows’” in an attempt to calm you down. he knows you, he knows that you would have reacted this exact way the second he saw your face at the party. 

even when you were being a brat towards him, he still made sure to be caring towards you. “i told you to chill, mama.” his voice, devoid of any anger. it carried a tone of genuine empathy rather than sarcasm, or anger. it holds a warmth that seemed to embrace rather than accuse. there was a familiar softness to his words.

you can’t respond to him due to how hard you’re crying. whatever he’s saying goes in one ear and out of the other. all you can think about is the current state of your face, and the events that took place before it.

“n-need to make sure zinnia ‘s okay.” you sniffle into his shirt.

“i need you to trust me when i tell you zinnia is safe, a’ight? i watched her with my own two eyes get somewhere safe, baby.” he reassures you.

“what about sasha?”

“she’s with connie.” he responds. he keeps his voice steady and every word he says is full of certainty.

you stay quiet at his responses. knowing that your girls are okay does take a little edge off of your shoulders. your mind feels less clouded and you can breathe just a bit better, now. 

he continues to hold you, not letting his grasp go. it feels good to have you in his arms again. it sucks because it’s under unfortunate circumstances, but he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been needing this一needing you. there’s so much to discuss with you, so much to apologize about, so much to own up to. those things can wait, though. so much has happened to you and he somewhat suspects the adrenaline is still pumping through your veins just a bit.

he wants to fuss at you for coming to the party anyway, but he knows that it wasn’t your idea to come. you’re too much of an anxious person to suggest coming to a party. the likeliness of the two girls dragging you with them to the party is higher than you dragging them. he doesn’t even know if it’s his place to get on you for coming anymore. he hates knowing that you were in a circumstance that a stray bullet could have hit you, and not to mention your face connecting with the ground and bruising you. he doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not he didn’t see the person that pushed you because he probably would have acted with emotion rather than logic at that very moment.

“let’s put somethin’ on your pretty face, mama.” he’s pulling you from his chest and guiding you to sit down on the toilet seat.

he washes his hands before squatting in front of you. the bathroom becomes silent besides your occasional sniffles. he softly rubs the cream on bruised spots on your face, you bite down on your lip as you examine his face. flawless mocha brown skin, his skin seemed to glow with an inner radiance, as if kissed by the sun itself. his fox shaped eyes, a mesmerizing shade of chocolate-like brown, held a depth that drew you in, they reflected a world of untold stories and hidden emotions. his full, pink lips, delicately glossed from the habitual swipe of his tongue. he looks like he was personally crafted, as if god took his time shaping and mapping every area of him. even just his natural resting face is fierce and attractive.

as his fingertips grazed delicately around your eye, a sudden involuntary twitch rippled through your body, a sharp intake of breath escaped your lips, along with a hiss of discomfort spilling into the air. he withdrew, his gaze flickering with concern as he studied your face intently. lines of worry furrowed his brow.

“can i continue?” he asks after a few seconds of waiting for the pained look to etch off of your face.

you nod your head and he resumes to softly apply it on your face. occasionally, you jolt or let out a soft when he touches a spot that’s still burning. once he finishes doing so, he drops his hand and just takes a moment to look at you. your eyes flutter as the two of you make eye contact. time seems to still as you two wait for the other to do something, anything.

nothing happens. he looks away a few seconds later, and stands up to walk out of the bathroom. he quickly comes back with a towel and two rags for you.

“‘mma set some clothes on you on the sink. they’ll be there before you get out.” he tells you as he turns on the shower head and adjusts it to the temperature that he knows you prefer. 

he’s quick to walk out again and you’d be lying if you said a pang in your chest didn’t come to you. usually, he would have undressed the both of you and coaxed you to get into the shower with him. but that's the past, and you have to remind yourself of that. 

you undress yourself and step into the shower. your eyes widen when you realize onyankopon kept all of your products inside of his shower. you blink back the tears and instead focus on washing yourself.

it’s a struggle to not think about everything that has happened to you so far. you have never felt so stressed in your life. with you and onyankopon going through an undeclared break up, zinnia punching him, you having a panic attack, and you getting pushed and bruised. you quite frankly feel you’re on the verge of going insane. it feels like bad things keep happening over and over, not giving you the time to recover from what happened previously before something else happens. 

you find yourself standing within the confines of the apartment you once envisioned as a sanctuary, now transformed into a box of discomfort and unease. the air feels heavy with unresolved tension, each corner of the room echoing with the weight of unspoken words. every familiar object seems to taunt you with its silent witness to the downfall in your relationship. everything feels different and awkward and it makes you want to scream and pull out your hair. you two keep skipping over the elephant in the room instead of being adults and just discussing what happened.

you lose time on how long you stay in the shower. you scrub your body until it burns. by the time you step out, the water is no longer as hot and your fingertips have wrinkled. just as he promised, there’s clothes sitting on the sink, waiting to be used. you dry yourself off and use the lotion that he keeps on the counter. 

once you’re clothed, you step out of the bathroom. you follow the sounds of shuffling and rummaging in the kitchen. ony is standing there, eating something out of a tupperware bowl. when he sees your figure coming closer to him, he looks up from his phone.

“you good?” he asks, observing your face for any signs of uncomfort. 

“yeah.” you nod your head as you come closer to the island top. “‘m thirsty.” you comment.

ony is quick to move from his spot and grab a glass cup. he fills it up with cold water before handing you the glass. he watches you as you practically drink it all with three gulps. “wan’ some more?” he asks, an amused smile finds its way on his lips. when you nod your head once more he fills it up and just watches you. 

you don’t finish it all like you did previously. you drink a good amount before you’re pushing the glass away. now that you're hydrated and less sweaty, it feels like you can actually think and make sense of things.

“what time is it?” you ask him.

onyankopon looks down at his screen, “12:27.” your eyes widened, you didn’t realize it had gotten so late so quickly. “you hungry?” he asks, gesturing towards his food.

“‘m okay. i wanna sleep.” you tell him. you stand there awkwardly, unsure of where to go. do you sleep on the couch? his bed? maybe he’ll even book you a room.

“i got my bed ready for you.” he goes back to eating his food.

you freeze up in your spot. you weren’t sure if you were ready to share a bed with him at the moment. too much has happened today, also you two are practically broken up. you suppose he could see the discomfort filling your body because he begins explaining his words.

“i’m sleepin’ on the couch.” he explains. “my door has a lock on it too if you feel the need to use it.”

you blink at him. once, twice, three times before you’re nodding your head at his words. “goodnight.” you say. you don’t walk away for a few seconds. you just stare at him, in total disbelief that this is how you’re treating each other now. you have so much to say as well as so much to ask. the words die quickly in your throat just as fast as they ignite.

the second your back touches the soft, black silk sheets that adorn his bed; you immediately relax. your shoulders slack and you can’t stop the little yawn from escaping your mouth.

you look over on his nightstand and you’re surprised to see your phone sitting there charging. you’re quick to pick it up. hundreds of notifications sit on your notification bar, you decide you’ll look deeper into those in the morning. you search for zinnia’s contact and when you finally find it, you press it.

the line rings for a few seconds, you assume she isn’t going to answer until it suddenly picks up.

“snookie.” she says the second it connects. you could hear the relief in her voice.

“it’s me.” you confirm. “you alright?”

“yeah. i just—i fuckin’ blacked out at that party.” she’s chuckling like it’s the most humorous thing in the world. “i bet his ass ain’t never been punched like that.”

you can’t stop the giggle from escaping your throat. zinnia has always been a wild card, especially when she thought with her emotions. that’s how she became known in your city, she was always fighting at one point in middle school and up until her junior year in high school. she had a bad habit of spazzing out whenever someone told her what to do, or when someone messed with someone she loved. while people outside of your family just saw her as a troubled instigator, you and your family knew she was an aggressive person, she’s just big on respect.

“i.. i kinda wish you didn’t punch him.” you admit. you could hear her smack her teeth through the phone. you’re sure she’s also rolling her eyes too. “i don’t want things to be bad blood between you and ony. you guys have known each other for years.”

“snookie, you’re my cousin. you’re basically lil sister. i would never put a nigga before you. and i know how the game goes, i won’t allow some random ass boy to play in your face.” she tells you. her voice is sincere. she wants so much for you. she knows you were sheltered and haven’t had much of a chance to actually spread your wings and fly without someone looking over you. she also knows how possessive ony get, it doesn’t take much to see that he has you wrapped around his finger. it bothers her in a sense. she’s afraid you’ll continue to fail to set boundaries and allow him to do as he pleases.

you bite down on your lip as you listen to her words. “i know. i just—” you’re cut off by her loudly sighing.

“just nothing. i punched that nigga in his shit and i’d do it again if i need to.”

you know how zinnia gets. instead of arguing with her or begging to change her mind, you just accept it. “i hear you.” is all you can say.

the two of you sit in silence for a few seconds. you can’t think of anything to say to keep the conversation going. after such a draining day, you just wanted to sleep for months. your mind goes back to your face, which is still aching a little. you should’ve just told zinnia no, you wished sasha didn’t call and wake up zinnia. if none of that would have happened, there wouldn’t be a wedge between zinnia and ony, and your face wouldn’t be bruised.

“where are you?” she asks.

you hesitate on your answer. she’s going to be pissed when you say your location, you can feel it. you stare at the wall ahead, trying to think of a coverup. when nothing comes to mind, you sigh in defeat.

“onyankopon’s house.” you admit. 

“girl.” she practically yells into the phone. “how the hell did you get with him? how-what.. girl. i’m about to come get you.” you could shuffling in the background and the faint sound of the mattress crinkling. 

“no! zinnia, no. your voice trembles with urgency, reverberating through the phone. “i’m safe. way safer with him than anywhere else right now.” you try to explain, your breath quickening as you search for the right words. The silence on the other end is heavy before she lets out a breath.

“bullshit. i knew something was up when i asked eren if he saw you. i fuckin’ knew it, he was too calm when he said you’re good.” she begins rambling on how she’s going to punch eren next and onyankopon again. 

“z, i was literally having a panic attack when he found me. he’s been patient and careful with me this whole time. it’s just one night and then i’m goin’ right back to my house.”

zinnia sighs as she stops in her tracks. she could hear the begging and sincerity in your voice and it crushes her. you’re grown, she has to remind herself.

“alright. snooks. alright. just.. just stay safe, okay?” zinnia plops back down onto the bed.

“i will.” there was no one safer than ony. even if you guys were going through an unofficial breakup, you’re positive he still wouldn’t let anything happen to you. “where are you?” you ask when you faintly hear a voice in the background.

“eren’s.” she says quietly.

“and you’re mad at me?!” you exclaim with a laugh.

her and eren have been on and off for years now. most of the time their relationship ends because zinnia gets irritated or overwhelmed by eren and calls it quits. their little breakups barely last a week before they’re seeing each other again. this time’s no different.

“i think the line is breaking up. i-oops-bye!” she says before hanging up on you. i stare at your phone in shock, did she really hang up on you? you can’t do anything but laugh to yourself.

you decide to call sasha too, who answers on the first ring.

“about to get dick. i’m safe, are you safe?” she asks hurriedly. you could hear r&b music blaring in the background and the sound of connie’s singing.

“yeah, just was calling to make sure everything was alright.” you explain to her.

“more than alright. i’ll call you tomorrow, snooks. gotta go.” you usher her a quick bye before ending the call.

there’s no one to distract your thoughts, now. you’re forced to look around in the room you lost your virginity in, the room it felt like you were just in. memories of you and onyankopon stumbling through the door, his hands planted on your waist as he guided you to his bed. other times you two would be laughing while carrying a bag from your comfort fast food place. you’d be discussing the new episode of the tv show you two enjoyed watching together. you don’t even realize your eyes were watering until one of your tears ran down your cheek. you let out a huff as you wiped it away only to hiss in pain when you accidentally touch a bruised spot.

there’s no telling how long you lay in bed staring blankly at the walls and ceilings. your thoughts are so loud that you can’t even find it in you to get on your phone. there’s memories of him there too. thankfully, you doze off and the stress from today is something to worry about when you wake up.

₊˚⊹ ♡ ʚ🎀ɞ ♡ ⊹˚

“you sure you're straight?” onyankopon asks. his brown eyes take in your bruised face. even through all of the marks and bruises, you’re still so beautiful. he had made sure you were fed and that he put cream on your face before you two made the journey back to your house.

you stare out of the passenger window. your heart feels heavy, you’re worried that this will be the last time you two officially talk. even though you were so sad and mad at him, you love him. he’s your first everything, and everything he did felt genuine. it was hard to throw something so meaningful behind you. your bottom lip trembles as you try not to cry in front of him. 

“i’ll make it.” is all you say. you try to keep up your disdained front, but onyankopon sees through it. he always does.

“i put the cream in your purse.” he tells you. he had made sure to drop it in while you were finishing the breakfast he bought you. 

“thanks.” you basically whisper out. you should be screaming at him, you should be telling him you hate him, you should be disrespecting him just as much as he did you at the party. but none of those emotions could be forefront at the moment. you’re sad, scared, and confused. you truly don’t want to lose him but you couldn’t just pretend you didn’t see the video and accept the disrespect.

the two of you sit in silence. after what feels like an eternity, onyankopon lets out a long, weary sigh, breaking the awkward stillness that had settled between you. “i know i fucked up. ‘nd i know we need t’talk some shit out. i got some plays to make today, ‘nd ion wanna rush you t’talk to me if you don’t want to.” he’s careful with his words, he doesn’t want to say anything else that would upset you and make you hate him more. “when you’re ready, call or text me.” 

finally, you look over at him. your eyes connect with his instantly and the familiar butterfly feeling returns in your gut. “alright.” you mumble. you pick up your purse and then open the door. you close it and without looking back like you usually would, you walk to your front porch. you could feel his eyes on you as you walked. it took almost all of your willpower to not look back.

you busy yourself with searching in your purse for your house key. he doesn’t pull off until you’re all the way in your eyes and the door is closed behind you. you don’t know how to feel. your relationship could possibly reconcile on your terms. you didn’t know if you wanted to reconcile. you’ve heard zinnia mention many times that she goes to eren’s for closure before they break up permanently, but she never comes back actually single. is that what’s going to happen with you and onyankopon? you’re sure he’s more mature than eren, so what if he decides to end things.

you’re so stuck in your thoughts you don’t realize your mother is calling you until she’s directly in your face. you had meant to rush into your bedroom and show your parents your face hours later. you’re sure your newfound state will be the talk of the house for the rest of the day now. her eyes are wide as she takes in your bruises, without a word her hand grabs your jaw. she assesses how bad things are with sharp eyes. you hold your breath as you wait for her to begin her lecturing. 

“daughter.” she says as she drops her hand.

“hm?” you pretend you don’t notice her mood drop or the fact that you can practically feel the anger radiating off of her.

“before i trip the hell out, you’re an adult. and in a very adult manner, without beating around the bush, you’re going to tell me what the hell happened to your face.” she leaves no room for argument, every word spoken is stoic and firm.

“ma, can i tell you later?” you’re sighing with deflated shoulders. “i need to just be alone right now and think.” you try to explain yourself.

“this is why i’m so protective. i let you go out, and this is how you come back! have you seen your face? do you know you have to go out in public like that?!” 

“please, ma. not right now.” your voice cracks as you plead with her to relax. the last thing you feel like dealing with is her fretting. “i’ll tell you, i just need some time alone.” 

“did that damn boy put his hands on you?! tell me now so we can go to the police!” her accusation has your heart thumping a little faster in your chest.

you quickly grow defensive on onyankopon’s behalf. “he would never! i fell.” you tell her simply. you could tell from the way she rolled her eyes that she didn’t believe you which only irritated you further. 

“you think i haven’t heard that before? that’s what girls always say to protect their boyfriend’s. i refuse to allow you to see him if一”

“he didn’t hit me! i fell! i was at a party, a fight broke out, it escalated into something further, and everyone got scared and started pushing. no one hit me, i was pushed and fell face first.” you make sure to leave out the fact that it was zinnia who got into a fight. 

your mother’s sharp eyes eye you from head to toe. there’s a frown on her face that screams that she still doesn’t believe you. you feel the urge to cry, you were being truthful and telling her what happened from start to finish, and for her to not believe you made you want to scream.

“you’d tell me if he一no, anyone, put their hands on you. right?” her voice is calmer. you assume she’s trying to piece together your words.

“yes. you know i would. i know how crazy you and dad can get.” you try to slip in a joke to ease the tension that was brewing between the two of you. it seemed to work because a small smile cracked onto her lips as she nodded her head in agreement.

“mhm. everybody know we don’t play about our baby.” she chuckles. she gazes intently at your face for a few more seconds, her eyes searching yours as if looking for something unspoken. finally, she lets out a deep, weary sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly with the weight of unvoiced thoughts. “that’s how i know you’re my daughter. still pretty with scratches and shit on your face.”

you can’t stop the laugh from escaping past your lips. “i learned from the best.”

“your daddy’s upstairs. gone and show him you face so that he can get his shock out the way too.” she tells you.

you groan in annoyance at her words. “ma一”

“gone on.” she repeats firmer. 

with hesitant, slow steps you take your time walking up the stairs. you knew your father was going to absolutely lose his shit. and you’re more than positive that he’s going to overreact before you can explain to him what happened. the walk to their bedroom is too short for your liking. you knock twice before you put your hand on the knob and slowly open the door.

“hey babygir一what the hell?! go get the gun!” 

a heavy sigh escapes your lips as the realization hits you. you’re going to have to explain everything and soothe his worries, just as you did with your mother. the weight of the impending conversation settles on your shoulders, and you mentally brace yourself for the emotional rollercoaster ahead.

₊˚⊹ ♡ ʚ🎀ɞ ♡ ⊹˚

it’s been a week since you’ve talked to onyankopon. since the, you’ve been forcing yourself to go out more, regardless of what happened to your face. sasha and zinnia have doing well on keeping you and your mind occupied. the three of you have been going on many nature walks, shopping trips, and road trips. it seems as if love was no longer in the air, as your two ‘sisters’ complained about their failing love life as well. 

you three were walking a popular trail in your city. the path was lined with a diverse array of vibrant plants, their leaves rustling gently in the breeze. every so often, a flash of color would catch your eye as various birds and delicate butterflies flew by. all three of you were wearing pink pilates workout sets that you begged them to wear with you. 

zinnia wiped off the sweat that formed on her forehead. “shit! it’s hot.” 

“i miss my man.” sasha pouts as she lets out a dramatic fake cry.

“bitch, don’t we all.” zinnia rebuttals. she takes a gulps out of her water bottle while sasha begins ranting about connie.

“i didn’t even do shit to him this time! i think he’s on his boy period or something.” sasha groans. 

“eren told me, i’m and i quote, ‘too crazy’.” zinnia’s lips tug into a frown “‘m not crazy, just passionate.” she defends herself.

“nah girl, you’re crazy. but eren is crazy too, so y’all are made for each other.” sasha tells zinnia.

“didn’t you chase connie down when you saw another girl in his car?”

you zone the two girls out. even though you’ve been going out more. it would be a lie to say you haven’t been missing ony, it’s gotten to the point where you find yourself tearing up a little and have to quickly mask it. you absolutely love spending time with your girls, the both of them together always make sure to make you laugh. but there were traits of ony that the two of them didn’t carry and couldn’t make you forget.

the urge to text him and possibly reconcile has been begging you to give in. you should hate him, you should absolutely despise him, but for some reason you don’t. you feel the urge to sit down with him, and simply ask him why. you had never done anything to disrespect him, ever, so why did he feel the need to disrespect you? 

your mind races with a whirlwind of thoughts, each one pulling you in a different direction. part of you craves the closure that a conversation might bring, the chance to understand his actions and perhaps find some peace. yet, there's an undeniable fear that talking to him could reopen old wounds, making it even harder to move on. you find yourself questioning everything—did you miss the signs, were there red flags you ignored, or was it all just a cruel twist of fate? the uncertainty gnaws at you, leaving you torn between the need for answers and the instinct to protect your heart from further pain.

“snookie.” zinnia’s voice calls you out of your thoughts. you slightly flinch and look over at her. “you talked to ony recently?” she asks curiously.

“uh, no. we haven’t spoken since he dropped me off last week.” you tell the two. “he told me to call or text him whenever i’m ready.” 

“are you ready?” sasha asks you. 

you think on your words. you find yourself at a loss of words which causes you to shrug your shoulders unsurely. “i-uhm.. i think i’m kinda ready.” you say hesitantly.

“don’t be in a rush to talk. let him be without your presence for a little.” sasha tells you.

“that’s the thing, we’ve been going without talking for a while. and honestly i miss him, so much, maybe too much.” memories of what he did at the party flashes through your mind which causes you to internally shudder. “i think i might talk to him soon.” you huff. 

the girls give each other a look before they give you any sort of vocal response. “you sure?” zinnia asks worrily. “i don’t want him to just sweet talk you and you instantly give in. we know you, snooks.”

you take in her words. what people don’t understand is that he’s your first everything. he holds a place in your heart that no person will ever compare to. regardless of if you end things with him or not, you’ll forever have love for him.

“i don’t know how it’s going to go, honestly. i’m just ready to talk to him and have a final answer.” 

“well, just know we support whatever you choose.” sasha tells you while giving you a genuine smile. 

 ₊˚⊹ ♡ ʚ🎀ɞ ♡ ⊹˚

the sound of partynextdoor's voice fills onyankopon's car. the smell of weed and a mixture of his strong cologne fills your smell. it's two merged smells that you've grown to miss. you feel strangely nervous to be around him, as if he wasn't just your boyfriend some weeks ago.

you're nervously typing in the three out of three group chat. you're updating the girls about every minor detail that happens. you were beginning to regret agreeing to meet up with him, you thought you would have been more confident and assured but just a lazy glance from his brown eyes had butterflies floating around inside your stomach.

you look down at the cupholder where his phone rests. that's what started it all. him leaving his phone and you taking it upon yourself to pick it up and go through it. you quickly learned your lesson, you probably will never touch anyone else's phone except yours for the rest of your life.

you wouldn't have had time to do it again, anyway. seconds later, onyankopon is approaching his car with both vanilla sundaes in his tattooed hands. he hands you yours before sitting down and making himself comfortable.

"thank you." the words leave your lips stiffly, lacking the warmth they once held. just weeks ago, you might have added a playful nickname, something intimate that rolled off your tongue with ease. now, the air between you feels thick with unspoken tension, making such casual familiarity feel out of place and awkward.

he mutters out a stilted “you’re welcome” before he’s putting his car in reverse and backing out of the parking lot.

he drives in silence, and you make no attempts to spark up a conversation. you have no clue of what to say to him first. occasionally, words bubble in your mouth and as you’re ready to vocalize them, you stop yourself. 

the drive isn’t particularly long. quicker than you expected, ony is pulling into a secluded spot that overlooks the river running through your city. the location is perfect, offering an unobstructed view of the sunset. the sky is awash with warm orange hues, casting a gentle glow over the water, the scene feels almost surreal, the calmness of the view displayed to you wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. it’s short lived when he puts his car into park and turns it off, only the music is running. your heart drops as you realize the inevitable is about to happen.

you focus intently on your sundae, trying to distract yourself. your stomach is doing flips, making it nearly impossible to swallow the sweet, creamy bites. each spoonful feels like an effort, the sugary treat almost too much to handle the turmoil inside you.

“how have you been?” his voice makes you flinch a little. you thought he was going to stay just as quiet as you.

“i’ve been good.” terse and short. you’re not even doing it on purpose, it’s just all you could provide. “how about you?” you add on to seem less rude.

he takes a spoonful of his ice cream before he responds to you. “life has been lifing.” he chuckles but it seems forced.

“oh.” is all you can provide. admittedly, hearing that he’s been going through things and not everything has been peaches and cream for him fulfills some insecure part in your brain.

“snookums.” the nickname he used to call you had your eyes suddenly watering. you pretend to not be affected by his words by inhaling a restricting amount of ice cream. “i’ve never felt like this about anyone, ever. i want us to work, forreal. i don’t think i can continue livin’ my life without you in it. you’re all pink ‘nd glittery ‘nd shit. you deadass walked into my life and brightened shit up. i love it. i love you.” ony finishes off his words with a heavy inhale. the sound of the water clashing against each other fills the silence as you try to collect your words.

tears continue to threaten to spill past your eyes as you stare out of the windshield window. you feel so overwhelmed, there were hundreds—millions of. things you wanted to say to him when you were mad but now that you’re calm and thinking, you have nothing to say. deep down, past your rapidly beating heart, you knew that you didn’t want your relationship to end. but it’s choosing between fighting for your relationship and accepting his wrongdoings or ending things now and keeping some sort of morals.

you don’t even realize tears are dripping down your face until ony’s fingers wipe under your eyes, catching a few stray tears. you turn your head to look at him, his chocolate eyes are only on you. there’s a restless look on his face. was no contact hurting him as much as it was hurting you? you honestly hoped it was.

your words die in your throat every time you try to form a sentence. you could only sniffle and rub at your eyes.

“w-why? just.. why? why’d.. you let her dance on you? why’d you go an-and embarrass me like that?” you barely manage to get everything out without bursting into tears. your voice is wobbly and cracked. you hate feeling like this.

“i was high ‘nd drunk as fuck. but that does not at all excuse my actions. i’m genuinely sorry for my actions and i hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” his voice sounds sincere, and the way he's gazing at you, with his eyes practically begging for a second chance, makes it clear how much he means it.

you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words. the hurt still lingers, but so does the memory of the good times. now’s the time to be an adult, to communicate thoroughly, to set boundaries and not just go with whatever he says.

"what you did.. really hurt me.” you sigh out before continuing. “and it's going to take time to rebuild that trust. but i can see how sorry you are, a-and i want to believe that you can change. i need to know that this won't happen again." you say quietly, your voice trembling slightly. you look into his eyes, searching for the sincerity you hope is there.

“i swear on everything that this won’t happen ever again, i’ll deactivate what ever account, i’ll stop goin’ to parties, all of it. you matter more than any social media page or party, i’ll forever choose your love.” he tells you sincerely. his voice carries a blend of determination and vulnerability. timidly, he reaches for your left hand, his fingers trembling slightly as he gently lifts it. when you allow him to grasp it, he envelops your smaller hand in his larger, warmer grip, a gesture of his earnest plea for forgiveness.

 ₊˚⊹ ♡ ʚ🎀ɞ ♡ ⊹˚

“and yeah.. i took him back.” you finish recalling the events that took place to zinnia and sasha. the three of you are lounging on your bed, spiraled in different positions so that all three of you could fit. the two girls were hanging onto every word you said, nosily. “i know i’m stupid or naive but一” you’re cut off by zinnia talking over you.

“none of that, snookie. you’re young and in love. no one knows you better than you know him and if you want to give him another chance then so be it. don’t block yourself from love worrying about what everyone else is going to say or think.” your cousin’s words are firm and she’s looking directly into your face to let you know she’s serious. “it’s your first serious relationship, not everything’s gonna be perfect.”

“literally. have you seen how many times we went back to these damn men? we might not like them right now, but we do love them.” sasha backs up zinnia’s words.

“well, i wouldn’t say i love eren, but he’s real chill y’know? zinnia's voice trails off as both you and sasha exchange an unimpressed glance. sasha raises an eyebrow, and you stifle a sigh, knowing exactly where this conversation is heading. “what?! i’m serious!” zinnia insists, her tone defensive, but her attempt to convince you two falls flat. “

“your cousin’s a liar, maybe you shouldn’t listen to her advice.” sasha side eyes zinnia some more.

the girls begin bickering while you think back to onyankopon. he has been trying to do better and also get the relationship back to how things were before the argument. he’s constantly checking up on you, making sure you’re still applying cream to your fading bruises, and sending you money whenever you mention the slightest things. the awkwardness that manifests sometimes still lingers between the two of you, but you both try to work around it and adjust.

he’s been having an uproar of clients which means having to stay on the go constantly since he  also delivers. he still makes sure to find time to call you and talk about your day and plans. you feel like a giddy teenager having their first crush.  

“when’s the last time you and connie talked?” zinnia asks sasha.

“while i was driving over here. i had him on bluetooth, and asked him if he still hates me. he told me i ‘ruined his life’. like okay mr.dramatic.” sasha recounts while rolling her eyes and shrugging her shoulders. 

“he might be on to something.” zinnia comments.

“oh, please!” sasha responds defensively.

these two girls have made sure to keep you content and entertained this entire time. they’ve never judged you or made you feel left out and confused. and you’re so grateful for them. you don’t even realize you’re crying until their attention is placed onto you and they’re both gazing at you with confused curiosity. 

“snookie, what’s wrong?” sasha asks worrily. “is it ‘cause i brought up connie? his vibe is negative right now but he’s not that bad of a person.” 

you huff out a laugh at her words. with the end of your shirt, you use it to dab at your eyes. “no it’s not that. i just一i’m so grateful to have you both. y’all have been so supportive and understanding. and i’m so thankful.” you finish off your words weakly. instead of successfully wiping at your tears you’ve only managed to multiply them.

“awe, snookie! you’re gonna make me cry!” zinnia exclaims while wiping at her eyes. “you’re our lil’ sister why wouldn’t we be here for you?” she sniffles.

“you mean the world to us. and you were going through an extremely vulnerable situation, of course we were going to make sure you stayed level headed.” sasha adds on, her voice filled with empathy and concern.

all three of you find yourselves caught in a chorus of sniffles, a harmony of shared vulnerability while comforting each other. the scene is both comical and beautiful. three women that have each other as a solid support system. all three of your personalities are opposite but they still manage to successfully merge and create a beautiful sisterhood.

after the three of you calm down and go back to your usual selves, you decide to spark up the conversation again. “ony wants me to come over his crib tonight.” you tell them nervously. 

they both look up from their phones and look at you. zinnia has a look of hesitance while sasha has a smirk on her lips. 

“snookie’s trying t’get freaky!” sasha laughs. with a sly smile on your lips, you cover your face in embarrassment. she isn’t exactly wrong. it’s been a while. you went from getting some almost everyday, including multiple times a day, to none. late night when it was just you in your room, you get wandering thoughts and memories that are too extreme to ignore. 

“it would be nice.” you giggle shyly.

“don’t think you have to have sex with him, okay? just ‘cus y’all are together again doesn’t mean he needs to be inside you.” zinnia lectures. she really does just want the best for you, and she’s aware that you just want to go out and live. she doesn’t want to be sheltering like your parents, but she does want you to be safe.

“okay.” you nod your head. you’re aware that she just wants the best for you. 

“don’t end up having a mini ony.” sasha warns you.

 ₊˚⊹ ♡ ʚ🎀ɞ ♡ ⊹˚

“ohmygod!” you squeal. your legs are spread open with onyankopon’s broad figure in between them. everything about him is so big, including the fingers that are rubbing at your clit. “baby.” the word escapes from your mouth weakly as your hands clench at the messy covers.

onyankopon busies himself with kissing at your jaw, his full lips leave trails of wet kisses. you felt so full, if you concentrated enough it almost felt like he was going beyond the confines of your walls and into your stomach. 

“missed you, baby.” his tone is soft as he continues his trailing. the sound of his lips smacking against your skin and your body’s merging together to create a lustful harmony echo’s through his bedroom.

“missed you more.” you heave out. he’s taking his time to fuck you. his hips move rhythmically, while his dick digs deep into you. he never skips a beat as he fills you up over and over again. the sound of his heavy balls slapping against your ass almost embarrasses you. 

your pussy’s a sputtering mess, gushes of your arousal continue to coat his dick every time he pushes his thick dick into your warm walls. there’s an embarrassing amount of cream building up from how turned on you are. the only time he’s ever fucked you so slow and sincerely is the night he took your virginity. there’s something about the slow pull of his hips that has you going crazy. he’s moving so slow but it’s enough to fill you up and have you muttering words of love.

“you missed getting fucked like this, baby? hm? missed the way i filled you up?” he moves to your ear to whisper sweet little praises. everything he’s muttering to you sounds good. he hasn’t fucked you to the point that you could feel yourself going dumb. instead, you feel an infinite amount of love for him, with the way he’s slowly moving and talking to you, is this what making love feels like? you can’t help but to wonder to yourself.

“yes, ony, missed it so much!” you moan.

“jus’ love you s’much.” ony mumbles to you. his tongue darts out to trace the shell of your ear. he’s going even slower it feels like. 

“faster, ony.” you whine. you were absolutely enjoying his slow languid thrusts but you were beginning to grow more needy. you wanted him to fuck you like he usually did. rough, unforgiving, and nasty. 

“y’asking or telling, baby?” he taunts. he stops his thrusting all together which draws another whine out of you, this time more frustrated than the other. 

“asking.” you’re pouting and grabbing at his shoulders. you look so small under him, it makes him want to be mean. he knows you can take it, you always do. 

ony moves back to your lips, he doesn’t rush to connect his lips with yours. instead, he lets his linger by yours while looking deeply into your eyes. even after talking and forgiving him, there’s so much left to be said. he knows it’ll take time to rebuild the trust you had in him and plans on making sure to never put you in a predicament like that again. slowly, he leans into you and presses his lips yours.

you get so caught up in the steamy kiss, you don’t realize he had begun to move his hips again. not until, he gives you a particularly hard thrust that has you pulling away from the kiss so that you could moan freely. 

he plows his dick into your creaming pussy causing soft mewls to escape from your mouth. you had started biting down on your lip to silence the noises that you found embarrassing, he realizes. ony smacks his teeth and stops once again. wordlessly, he had leaned up and placed one of your legs on his shoulder.

a loud moan frees itself from you when he suddenly starts pounding your pussy. the rough, firm rhythm is back, just faster.

“‘m sorry.” he repeats to you. he’s letting out moans and huffs himself as he loses himself inside your tight, wet pussy. 

“mmm!” is all you can groan in response. your brain can’t handle words at the moment. your eyes zero in on where the two of you are connected. there’s a thick white coat around his dick and some splatters on his trimmed pubic hair.

“gonna make it up t’you. i love you.” he promises with a desperate whine.

his finger goes back to fondling with your sensitive clit. your back arches up, which only gives a better view at your chest. “love you too—love you more.” you gasp out. 

that night, he makes love to you over and over until the two of you are exhausted. he makes sure to apologize, to make promises he guarantees he’s going to fulfill, and to never hurt you like that ever again.