JJ Daddy

“You always say it’s the last time,” He began whispering, loud enough for you to hear him. He has one hand on your hip, tracing small circles where a hickey from last week was starting to fade, while the his other arm rested behind his head, “..yet you always come back, more desperate than last time.”

Bishop sits up and places both his hands on your waist, looking at your face closely, almost as if he was studying every little expression you did.

Eyebrows furrowed, mouth open letting out all those moans and whimpers he secretly loved to hear, your lips were still puffy from him fucking your mouth the minute you walked in.

A quick smack landed on your butt, getting a gasp out of you.

“Speak.”

You moaned moving faster, gripping his shoulders, definitely leaving your nail marks. “You always let me in.” You whimpered looking into his dark brown eyes, “You can’t lie, you love my pussy.”

And you were right. Sure, Bishop had his fine experience with women before, but when you came in, his life changed. It was something about you that made him want to have you. Especially just him alone. He wouldn’t say it out loud because that’s not the type of person he is, but he wanted you to be his, only his.

After snapping back in, he moved his hands to your hips, a tight grip with how you started bouncing on top of him, feeling his whole dick push into you and hitting that spot inside that made you tremble. “Yeah, this pussy real good.” Bishop spoke looking down through gritted teeth, hiding his groans.

Beneath the two of you, Bishop saw how good you were taking him, you always did. And that’s when he saw it, that bulge poking through your lower stomach.

He couldn’t hold it anymore, he pulled his dick out earning a whine from you. “Please— more please please—” “Shut it.” Bishop cut you off while he placed you on top of his pillows.

He positions himself in between your legs, putting them on top of his thighs. “Listen to what’s going to happen.” He placed his thumb on your clit, rubbing it while he pushed three fingers in your wet cunt.

You moaned, putting yourself on your elbows to see. You saw how shiny and wet his fingers were coming in and out of you, his other hand stroking his long hard cock. “I’m going to fuck you, you can cum as many times as you want, as long as you ask me to.” Bishop said looking directly into your lustful eyes.

“Okay…ohh..okay.” You were so horny, you were moving your hips to get more friction. “I’m not stopping till’ I nut… don’t want you to be whining or crying saying it’s too much,” He took his fingers out of you and lined himself up, rubbing and slapping his fat head onto your clit.

“Tell me you’ll be a good girl and not whine.”

You had become a mess, so lost in the feeling to even keep your eyes open and look at him. “B, I promise I’ll be a good girl. Daddy I’ll be soo good for you.” You slipped in that nickname you loved calling him, looking into his eyes.

“Say it again.”

“Daddy—” Bishop pushed all nine inches of him inside you, grabbing the back of your knees, he pushed them up to your chest. “Daddy! I’ll be so good! Oh! Oh—” Bishop always kept the same rhythm when he fucked you like this, long and hard strokes.

“You gonna take my dick?” “Yes! Yes B, I will— I want to.” Your hands were gripping the sheets beneath you, each time he thrusted back in, the headboard of the bed would hit the wall behind. “Take it baby..” Bishop moaned low, looking down to see how his dick was already getting that creamy ring you always gave him.

He kept fucking you like this, having you moan and roll your eyes each time he pushed inside, deep enough to hit your g-spot. “You’re doing so good baby…you hear that pussy? You hear how good she’s being for daddy?” And you did. You cunt had gotten so wet, it was squelching with each thrust Bishop gave you, you could feel it leak out of you.

You nodded to his answer, “B, I wanna cum..” You whimpered feeling your orgasm start to build up inside of you. “B, please can I cum? I’ll be so good Daddy— so good, please let me cum.” You were slurring your words, fucked out and full of lust. And so was Bishop.

Bishop hasn’t really notice, but he gets quite expressive when the two of you have sex. He’ll furrows his eyebrows like he’s angry, starts huffing low when he’s getting close and gets a light shed of sweat on his face.

He let go of the grip he had on your legs to lean down and kiss you. You quickly wrapped your legs around his hips and gripped his biceps. Your faces inches away from each other, you were feeling each other’s heavy breaths.

“You wanna cum baby?” “Yes..yes! Daddy please- make me cum please..please—” You always begged, I mean, how could you not when Bishop was the most perfect man you’d been with.

He slid one leg on top of his shoulder, his hand reaching down to rub your puffy clit. He leans to your cheek to give it a quick kiss while you were practically already screaming. “Cum baby, cum— show Daddy who’s making you feel this good.” Bishop groaned against your ear, his thrusts becoming quicker, sharper.

It hits you right there, your eyes shut tight, drool leaving off the corner of your mouth and legs trembling. “Tha…Daddy— Oh! Oh!” “Yeah— who’s making you cum baby— tell me.” Bishop was growling, feeling the way your cunt was starting to squeeze him so hard, he couldn’t even control the rhythm of his thrusts. “You! You daddy..you’re making me cum.” You sobbed, tears coming out of your eyes.

But you had to keep your promise, you couldn’t tell Bishop to stop or to go slow like other times before. So you did your next step, you encourage him to cum.

“B…” You grabbed his face with both your hands, slowly caressing his cheeks. “Please cum in me..” You whispered, clearly fucked out, your brain getting mushy. Bishop groaned pushing his face to your neck. He was getting close, you could feel it. His thrusts quick and losing rhythm, chasing his high.

“Daddy I- I know you want to.” You hiccuped, having him moan in response. “Keep my pussy warm, baby..keep it full B, please..please—” Bishop groaned putting his hand around your throat gently, pushing you down to the pillow.

“Take it baby— fuck— take it.” Thick hot spurts of cum were shooting inside of you, you felt your cunt overflow, felt some of already dripping out of you.

“Say thank you,…thank me right fucking now baby.” “Thank you! Daddy thank you! Oh! Ohh— I want more! Please— please I want more.” It’s like you couldn’t hear yourself. You had no idea why you were begging for anymore. It didn’t hit you until now that you were approaching a second orgasm, harder than the first one.

But with how you gripped your legs tighter around Bishop and how you were practically sobbing and crying, he knew exactly why you were still begging.

“More baby? You want it all don’t you…you’re such a slut. All you come over for is for me to fuck you till’ pass out, till’ you can’t walk or think straight.” Even though his message was to degrade you, you felt nothing but praised, which it quite literally isn’t, but that’s how Bishop was with you sometimes, you couldn’t control that you loved it.

Your voice was gone at this point, eyes rolled back for what felt like the million time when your second orgasm came. The only thing you could hear in the room was the slow skin slapping as the two of you came down from your high, yours and Bishop’s heavy breathing and moans, and some guns going off at the western movie that was still playing in the background.

Without a word, Bishop started to pull out as slowly as he could, knowing you were overly sensitive. “Shh..shh, breath baby, just breath.” Bishop hushed your sobs, glancing to see your face for a minute before looking down again at your shaking thighs.

As soon as his head left your fluttering cunt, Bishop’s cum started to drip out, almost looking like a fountain falling out.

“Should’ve put a towel.” He muttered, getting off the bed and going go the bathroom. You sit up and look over. You see Bishop wetting the towel he always cleans you up with. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand, turning off your do not disturb and seeing some notifications pop, but you focused on the time, 2:16am.

“Someone call?” You look up, Bishop wearing his sweatpants that hung slightly loose and a sweater. It was always weird not seeing him in his full attire, but it felt special knowing you were one of the few people that got to see him like this.

“No..just checking the time.” You whispered laying back down and spreading your legs. It was a quiet agreement. Bishop rearranged your guts and then cleaned you.

“I have your panties from last week. You can take any shirt.” Bishop spoke while he went back to the bathroom to drop the towel and come back with your panties in hand.

“Thank you.” You said softly, suddenly feeling shy. “Do you want water?” He asked opening his door to head to the kitchen. “Yes please.” He nodded slowly leaving. However, he knew that the moment he’d be back to the bedroom, you’d already be knocked out asleep, of course on his side of the bed. Placing the cup of water on the nightstand, he got in bed to continue watching what was 30 minutes left of the movie.

“B…” You mumble, reaching for him but only receiving a low hum. “This is the last time.” You said in a soft tone, opening your eyes to look up at him. Slowly he looked down at you, studying your resting figure.

And there you were, on your stomach hugging the pillow underneath you, wearing his shirt, slightly closing your eyes, fighting your sleep just to wait his response. He reached to caress the back of head, as if he was soothing you to sleep, and looked back at the TV screen.

“Last time.”

.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲܀.𓈒𓂂𓏲

It’s been a couple of days since Soldier Boy has been staying with us. I was really excited at first because everyone looked up to Soldier Boy growing up. He was cool, funny, and was a good man. Or so I thought…

He was a sexist asshole! It’s exhausting having to deal with him 24/7. And today of all days, Butcher makes me watch Ben (Soldier Boy) like I’m his damn babysitter or something. Ben is a grown man who is very much capable of taking care of himself. But nooo, Butcher says I have to do whatever Ben wants me too to do.

Ben is also a raging coke addict. In the past 3 days I’ve known him, all he does is snort coke, down pills and beer like it’s nothing. It was around and the boys still weren’t back so I decided to get started on dinner. I got all my ingredients out to make pasta and went to go boil a pot of water. As I started on making my sauce, I heard Ben come up behind me.

“This is what a real woman does.” His voice boomed throughout the small kitchen. “Do you ever shut up.” I groaned as I rolled my eyes. I felt him come up beside me before speaking up again. “We used to slap women back in the day for speaking to their husbands like that.” He said. My eyes widened before turning around to look at him. “Excuse me?!” My voice was louder than before. Why on earth would he say something like that?!

“I’m just saying.” He said with a shrug. “Well you’re not my husband.” I sassed. “Not yet.” Ben smirked before going back to the couch and drinking his beer. Ugh! The nerve of this man. And I hate how attractive he is. Ben has such a shitty personality but man, is he so hot. His tall muscular frame, those large veiny hands, and his beard. I remember the first time I saw in person was a couple of days ago. He came out his tank naked and hairy. I even got a glimpse of his dick and he was huge. Of course he was huge, he’s Soldier Boy.

I grew up watching him on tv, thought he was cute and funny. But when you meet him in person..you’d wish he’d just shut the fuck up. I finally got dinner with dinner and made both of our plates. I went to the living room and leaned over to place both of our plates down on the coffee table as he whistled at me. I stood back up all the way before turning around to look at him. “Really?” I flatly asked with my arms crossed.

“Your ass looks amazing in those jeans.” He smirked while taking a sip of his beer. I sighed and rolled my eyes before heading back into the kitchen to grab a water. I can’t lie..I sort of do like the attention I get from him. My cheeks were heating up and my face kept cracking a smile but I kept making myself to stop.

I grabbed a water from the fridge and headed back to the living room where Ben was. He was already eating his food and I sat down on the couch. When I sat down he paused and looked at me. I side eyed him before speaking up. “What?” “What’s the deal with you and Butcher?” He asked as I damn near choked on my water. “What?!” I choked.

He slightly tilted his head while still talking with a mouth full of food. “You two are awfully close.” I shook my head and laughed at him. His brows raised up in confusion. “Butcher is like a brother to me, that man practically raised me as his own.” I replied. Ben nodded his head slowly as he took the information in. I’ve never once looked at Butcher in a sexual way. He took me in when I was a teenager, I was homeless.

“So that means you’re single..?” He teased as I scoffed. He chuckled and went back to eating his food.

…

We both finally got done with eating and I took both of our plates to the sink to wash them. He was still sitting down on the couch loudly laughing at whatever was playing on the tv. After I got done with washing our plates, I moved on to placing leftovers into the fridge and washing whatever pots I used to cook dinner. His laughter from the living room eventually stopped which made me pause for a bit. Butcher did say that Ben might try to leave and explore the city himself. Just as I turned around he was right behind me.

I let out a relived sigh as he smirked. “What? Ya’ missed me?” He teasingly asked. And just like that I was annoyed by him again. “You’re obnoxious.” I simply said. He scoffed while looking down at me. “Me?” He asked in disbelief as I nodded my head. I hate that I love how deep his voice is. I turned back around and started moving dry dishes into the cabinet and that’s when I felt his hands on my waist. My body stiffened at his touch.

“Most women would’ve folded sooner.” He lowly said with his mouth hovering over my ear. My breath hitched at his closeness. I tried to speak but nothing could come out. I was frozen under his touch. “It’s been almost 40 years..please sweetheart.” He mumbled in my ear. My legs became weak at his nickname. Something came over me when I felt his hands squeeze my ass. I immediately turned around and reached my hands up to his collar and pulled him into a kiss.

We were both desperate and hungry for the kiss. His large, rough hands scooped me up and placed me on the counter. My hands pulled at his brown locks as his large hands squeezed my inner thighs. He grunted when I pulled at his hair. I was now reaching for his zipper on his jeans but I fumbled with zipper and I couldn’t even unzip it. Ben broke away from the kiss breathless while helping me and unzipped his jeans and pulled them down. I already saw his cock once but it’s so breath taking. It’s massive. He smirked as I gawked at his cock.

I then felt his hands roughly tug my jeans and panties off. He scooted me towards the edge of the counter and I wrapped my legs around his waist. I was needing him desperately so I took it upon myself to grab his cock and slide it up and down my wet folds. Ben’s eyes closed as he sharply sucked a breath of air in at the feeling. I gripped his arm with one hand while the other pushed his cock inside me. I squealed at how big he was as he let out a deep grunt. Poor man hasn’t had sex for 40 years.

He finally opened his eyes again and looked down at where we connected before pulling out and pushing back in. My head flew back while my hand was still gripping his biceps. He was so big. “Ben!” I whined as he started to thrust. “So tight.” He muttered to hisself. His thrusts were quick, he needed this, nothing intimate, just something to relive himself. “Oh my goshhh!” I loudly moaned. I’ve never had a man this big before. “How are you this wet?” He groaned as his rough hands began to knead the fat on my thighs. “I don’t knowww.” I whined.

His thrusts were getting faster, he was needing to cum. His balls were slapping against my pelvis and I moved my other hand to try to push him away but he quickly grabbed it. “Fuckin’ take it.” He grunted. My lips went into a pout at his actions. His dick was poking that spot inside me that could just make me cum instantly. “I can’t take it!” I choked out. “Yes you can.” He whispered as his hand squeezed mines tightly. My pussy was pulsing around his cock which made him bite his lip.

“So close.” He said. Ben’s cock was twitching inside me, signaling that he was about to cum. “Cum inside me.” I breathlessly said as his face landed in the crook of my neck. “Shit!” He said into my neck. He did a deep stroke and that’s when I came on him. “Yes! Fuck!” I shouted as my orgasm washed over me.

Ben soon came in me and when I tell you it was a lot..it was a LOT! Loads of his cum dripping out my leg and onto the kitchen floor, it was like he shot water inside me or something. His cock was twitching like crazy, he grunting loudly along with squeezing my hand tightly.

My head dropped back on the counter. I was breathless and pussy was sore from how big he is. He pulled his cock out and his cum was dribbling out my sopping hole.

The hardest part about moving into the off campus housing for Ashley was the fact that she had to pay for laundry. 

Back in DuBois Hall, where she'd lived for the past two years, there was free laundry. It was one of the few perks she liked, other than her friends always being within arm’s reach. Now, she lived in a small studio apartment just ten minutes away from D-Hall and she had to be scrounging up quarters for her to be able to wash her damn clothes. 

Therefore, she was happy most of her friends had remained in the dorms and were more than happy to let her swipe their student IDs so she could get into the laundry room on her old floor and take care of business. Every Thursday, she'd roll her little wheel-y hamper over to the U-shaped building, enter on the left side, and ride the elevator to the ninth floor where she would spend three hours with her friends while she waited for her shit to wash and then dry. 

This Sunday was no different, other than that it was a little later in the evening than usual. It was only nine o'clock when she'd thrown her clothes into the dryer and was walking back toward her friends Imani & Serena’s room. Suddenly, a group of giggling girls ran in before her. When Ashley turned the corner, there were about ten girls in the room, all gathered around the large window on the other side of the room. 

“What are y'all doing?” Ashley pushed through the crowd, standing next to Imani who had a pair of binoculars, of all things. 

“You know Nikki?” Imani asked. 

“Ugh, of course I know Nikki.” Nikki was a cheerleader. Nikki had a slim little body with an ass that turned heads. Nikki had fucked almost half of all the frats on campus. Ashley usually wasn't in the business of slutshaming but when you made it a point to brag about sleeping with other girls’ men in their faces like it was a prize, she was more than okay laughing at the jokes made about you. 

“Well, her room this year is across the courtyard, a couple floors down. We think it’s a single and her bed is right next to the window.” Imani held out the binoculars to Ashley, who had to smack away some girl’s hand so she could take it. “And it looks like she's got Tre in there right now.”

“Tre? Trevante Tre?” Ashley hurriedly looked through the binoculars and couldn't help the gasp she let out. 

Tre was the captain of the school’s football team, the quarterback, in a prominent frat, and by far, the finest nigga at Laurent U -- and it looked like he was tearing Nikki apart. 

She was on her knees with him behind her, face mushed into the mattress as he went to town on her. His dark body was muscly and glistening, sweat dripping down his body. The way his hips were pistoning into her, the way his hands gripped her hips, one of them rising up to smack her ass once, twice - it was far too much. His pearly white teeth bit down on his bottom lip before he slowed himself down, drawing himself almost completely out of her and then ramming himself back in. The gold chain around his neck glimmered in the light. The other girls made various noises of approval and Ashley hadn't realized it but she did too. 

“He's way too fuckin’ good at this. He just had practice like, two hours ago! How does he have the damn strength?” Serena stood on the other side of Ashley, fully leaning on the window glass. 

“He's a goddamn superhero, sis. He ain't letting up either, she’s barely hanging on.” Imani replied. 

She wasn't wrong. From what Ashley could see, Nikki was gripping the sheets like she was holding on for dear life and if she'd had any arch in her back before, it was gone now. She went to place her hand on his lower stomach but he caught her wrist and lifted her upper body so his chest was pressed to her back. He said something to her as he rolled his hips up, holding her in that position for a minute as she nodded. Then he let her fall forward, pulling out of her but only long enough for him to flip her onto her back and reinsert himself. He placed both her feet onto his shoulders as he turned them on her daybed so he was standing beside it, now facing the window. 

“Oop, he switched positions. Gimme my shit back!” Imani snatched the binoculars back from Ashley, who just sucked her teeth. 

“Y'all are so nasty. This is such an invasion of privacy.” She shook her head, the black curly tendrils from her simple high ponytail bouncing around on top of her slick hair. She crossed her arms over her chest, still not taking her eyes off the window. 

“Stop watching it then.” Serena pursed her lips. 

There was a beat. 

“I ain’t say all that now.” The other girls chuckled at that. For a couple minutes, they all stood at the window, heads slightly tilted, mouths a bit ajar, as they watched Tre drive himself into Nikki over and over again. There was almost complete silence in the room. Ashley pressed her thighs together slightly, the denim from her jeans rubbing against her cotton thong. It was entrancing. 

Tre seemed to finally finish (“he was going for at least thirty minutes” said Serena) and he pulled out of her, taking off the full condom and throwing it into a trashcan. He grabbed a couple of wet wipes from Nikki’s dresser and helped wipe her down (“what a true southern gentleman” said Imani). Nikki was seemingly in a state of bliss, just smiling up at the ceiling. Just as he was finishing sliding his grey sweatpants up over his boxer briefs, he looked up and out the window, directly at theirs. 

All of the girls shrieked and ducked, including Ashley who hid right underneath the windowsill next to a cackling Imani. Some of the girls ran out of the room. 

“This ain't funny, Mani! We look like perverts!” Ashley scolded her. 

“We are! But that nigga was putting on a whole show. A performance, if you will. Matter of fact ...” She grabbed a nearby notebook and Sharpie, quickly writing down 10/10 on it. She pressed it against the window while still laughing her ass off. 

“You are too damn much. I'm leaving!” Ashley couldn't help but laugh too, along with Serena, as she duck-walked out of the room, still afraid of Tre seeing her. “Goodnight, ya nasties!”

Quickly, Ashley walked over to the laundry room, gathered all her now dry clothes into the hamper, grabbed her keys out of Imani & Serena’s room, and rolled her hamper into the elevator. Once she got onto the main floor, she headed out onto the courtyard and checked her phone. It was nearing 9:45. 

Damn, he had been going for a while. She thought to herself as she walked towards the parking lot. 

She hadn't even noticed the figure sitting on the bench to her right until he spoke. 

“Enjoy the show?”

She nearly jumped out her slides at the sound of his voice, turning her head only to come face to face with the man himself, Tre. 

“I - I - I -” She stuttered and looked up at him, seemingly losing the ability to speak. He stepped towards her, the smell of sweat mixed with deodorant and some bomb ass cologne invading her senses. 

“Front row seat, huh?” He had the nerve to have a little smirk on his face as he said it. He looked down at her, eyes raking over her tank top and blue jeans, an otherwise normal outfit for the middle of September in the Louisiana heat. Yet, a shiver ran through her spine, despite the humidity in the air. She cursed her decision to go without a bra as she could feel her nipples hardening. He hadn't so much as looked her over and here Ashley was, nearly standing in a puddle. “Imagine my surprise when I finish with ol’ girl, I look up and the cute shorty from my econ class is staring dead at me. Had a nigga gassed.”

He licked his lips and circled around her, stopping behind her, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “Next time, if you wanna be the star, come and find me. I got you, baby.”

His Louisiana accent shone through on that last part and it nearly had Ashley weak in the knees. He walked away, toward the parking lot, leaving a very turned on Ashley standing in that courtyard with her little hamper and a whole lot of dirty thoughts. 

Ashley’s tiny little studio apartment was starting to sound like a barbershop. 

It had been three days since The Perving™️ ( mani had named it that) and Ashley hadn't been able to stop thinking about Tre since. Between the memories of him naked and their little conversation afterwards, she had plenty of ideas that kept her little vibrator going. She'd already had to change out the batteries and it was during said change that she realized, maybe this shit was getting ridiculous. 

As the weekend came to an end and Ashley was forced to leave her dorm on Sunday night to return to the girls’ room, she recounted the story to both of her best friends. 

“Wait wait wait - he said this to you and you didn't IMMEDIATELY jump that nigga’s bones? Are you dumb?” Imani exclaimed, sitting up in her twin sized bed. Serena pushed Ashley’s head in disbelief. 

“Ow! No, I didn't! I was shocked, I just kinda stood there and didn't say nothing. I'm pretty sure I lost all ability to speak.” Ashley played with the fringes of her shorts to avoid looking at Imani, who was staring her down in complete disappointment. 

“You gotta fuck him. Do it for us, in our honor. We gotta know if Nikki was just over exaggerating or if that man truly is that talented.” Serena spoke up from her bed.

“Yeah, that'll happen. Keep dreaming y'all.” And that was the end of that, as far as Ashley was concerned. She had decided that she was just going to keep to herself, mind her business, and keep it pushing. Tre was a nonfactor in her life, just another part of her spank bank. He hadn't mattered before, he wasn't gonna matter now. 

Still, when Tuesday came around and the reminder that she had their shared econ class that afternoon at one dawned on her, Ashley may have decided to put a little extra effort into her appearance. She swore, to herself, that the Fenty body lava she was applying was so she could take cute pictures later. That the neon pink bodycon tank dress paired with the long white cardigan she fished out from the back of her closet were simply cute clothes and not because they accentuated her skin tone like nothing else. It also definitely wasn't because she'd spent the last six months in the gym doing squats so she knew she looked good as hell in the damn outfit. It wasn't none of that. The girl was simply going to econ, like she had already for weeks and like she would until the end of the semester. 

After properly doing her hair and applying minimal makeup, Ashley was slipping on her white slip on Vans and throwing her big ass snakeskin purse onto her shoulder. She drove the five minutes back to campus where she bought herself an iced tea from the cafe & quickly headed over to the class, taking her regular seat in the back left hand corner. 

She was fifteen minutes early but that was good. That meant she wouldn't have to run into him and could instead keep a watchful eye for the six foot two masterpiece as he walked in. She was sitting there, one AirPod in, sipping her tea when the sound of raucous laughter from the hallway seeped into the room and she knew he had arrived. He seemed to go everywhere with an entourage - a side effect of being that well known, Ash supposed. 

Turning to face forward so she wouldn't appear like she had been door watching, she quickly inserted the other AirPod and turned up the volume on her Megan the Stallion while flipping through her textbook. The act seemed to work for a minute or two before two thick ass arms caged her in from behind. She removed her headphones. 

“Excuse me, can I help you?” Ash turned her head to look up at him and immediately, the smell of his cologne invaded her senses. It was the same smell from the other night except now even stronger, though she couldn’t decide if it was better or worse when mixed with sweat. What a freak ass thought.

“I was wondering if you was gonna show up today - was tryna see if you got scared.” His voice was low in her ear and when she turned more, they were face to face, noses practically touching. 

“And what was I supposed to be scared of, exactly?” 

“I think I got an idea of what you might be scared of.” He answered with a smirk and then a lick of his lips. Jesus, be a fence. 

Still, Ashley played it cool, rolling her eyes. “I ain’t scared of you or what you got in ya pants, sir. Don't you have to find your seat?”

“Oh but I already got one?” At her raised eyebrow, his mouth broke out into a full on grin, white teeth and all. “If you wanna lift up, I can slide on under you and we can get this class crackin’.”

Ashley couldn’t help the laugh she let out and he chuckled with her. She turned back, waving her hand at him. “Boy, good-bye. Get to your seat Trevante.”

There was a beat then regrettably his arms lifted from around her and his smell already started to fade away. “Aight, I'll get to my seat.” With that, he slid from behind her chair and situated himself to the right of her. 

Ashley had picked this spot because while there were nearly fifty people in the class, it was a huge lecture hall and most everyone was seated in the middle or right sections. Up here in her corner, she was all alone, with no one behind her. The people in front of her were several rows down. It had been just her while Tre typically sat in the middle sections, front & center. They were far too alone up here. This was not good. 

Class had started and Tre hadn't moved and Ashley was sure she was gonna die. He had gotten very comfortable, leaning back in his chair, worksheets out and his textbook open in front of him as the professor droned on & on. It was boring as hell, as per usual, but Ashley was so hyper aware of Tre’s presence that she couldn't focus on anything else. She hadn't even looked at him since he sat down next to her. 

She could see him moving out the corner of her eye, leaning forward onto the desk with his left arm. He whispered low enough for only her to hear. 

“You look like somebody finna bust down them doors and hurt you, shawty. You needa calm down. Relax.” Slowly, Ash felt his big ass hand slide up her calf and over her knee, stopping right at the end of her thigh, millimeters away from where her dress ended. 

He was sitting up straighter now and she was holding her breath, unable to speak. To anyone else, they looked like two students patiently listening to their professor but one look at the way Ashley was gripping her pen and you could tell something was amiss. 

It was only when he slid his chair closer to hers and his fingers slipped under the material of her dress that she moved. Her hand clamped down his thick ass forearms, freezing his fingers where they were - right on her inner thigh. 

“What the fuck do you think you doing?” She gritted out, her teeth clenched together. 

He waited until she made direct eye contact with him and then whispered. “Making you relax.”

Her grip loosened out of shock and his fingers continued on their path, the heat coming from between her thighs seeming to call to him. She bit her lip in anticipation before jumping a little when his middle finger swiped gently over her pussy through the material covering it. 

“Is that lace? Hm, I bet that shit looks amazing on you. What color is it?” He whispered, letting his finger continue to stroke over her mound. “Hm? Can you even remember right now?”

“Green. It's green.” Ashley managed to breathe out. 

“I like green. Almost as much as I like pink on you.” Now, his index finger had joined his middle in the stroking and Ashley could feel the material of her panties getting wetter by the second, so she knew he could too. “You like this huh? You got these big innocent eyes and got everyone fooled into thinking you're some little angel but clearly, you a little freak like me. Look at you, wet already and I ain't even get to the good part.”

Ashley closed her eyes for a second, still lightly gripping his forearm before she reopened them to look him directly in his again. “So get to the good part.”

His jaw clenched and they continued their eye contact for a second before Ashley looked back at the professor. “Aight then, but you asked for this, remember that.”

First, his thumb rubbed her clit through the material, causing Ashley's thighs to clench together for a second before Tre pushed them apart again. She felt his two fingers from before push the lace to the side and make direct contact with her lips, running over the slick that now covered it. They were thick as hell so when he finally dipped his fingers in past the lips, it felt like she was already filled up to the max. 

Her mouth opened in a near perfect O and Tre kept his eyes on her lips as he slowly pumped in & out of her. She closed her mouth after a second but the grip on his arm tightened. That seemed to only encourage him forward, fingers picking up pace as his thumb now rubbed that little bundle of nerves that sat tight at the top. When he curled his fingers inside her, Ashley could feel her stomach coil. Her gaze was still on the professor, who was giving his closing remarks. 

“Oh, you finna cum huh? You gonna cum all over my fingers, right here in the middle of class?” Tre picked up the pace of his fingers, now driving into her at an almost brutally slow but deliberate pace, watching her bite down on her lip so hard he was sure she was going to draw blood. 

She nodded meekly and held back a whimper, nails digging into his arm while she clenched her thighs together as much as they could go with his hand between them. He watched her close her eyes and twitch once, twice, three times, her walls gripping his fingers in a vice. Now all he could imagine was her pussy doing that to his dick and he didn't think it was possible, but his shit got harder. 

Her nipples were hard, her legs were shaking slightly, her pupils dilated - if this was how she reacted to just his fingers, he couldn't wait to see her after a good three or four rounds with Junior. 

While she was still catching her breath and the class was starting to pack up their things, he slipped his finger out from in her, sliding her panties back into place. She quickly gathered her materials into her purse before they both stood up, chest to chest, hers still heaving slightly. He looked down at her with a smirk as he sucked his index finger into his mouth. 

“Just like a good cobbler.” He went to do the same to his middle finger but she grabbed his wrist before he could and sucked the finger herself, letting her tongue roll over the top of the finger before she let it go with a pop & a smirk. 

“See you Thursday.”

She wasn't going to see him on Thursday, Ashley remembered as she ate dinner while watching TV in her apartment. Tre was the quarterback and as the quarterback, he had to lead his team to a win against their rival, across the state that same week. The only way she was gonna see Tre that weekend was if she joined the rest of the school to watch the game live on Friday night. 

Which she did. 

Imani and Serena had dragged her down to the local bar where they were airing the game & had a five dollar deal for 15 wings. A two for one deal as far as Ashley was concerned. She opted to not tell the girls about what happened in class, instead wanting to keep it to herself for just a little bit longer. Not forever, just until she could figure out what the fuck she was even doing with this nigga. 

Come Saturday morning, all Ashley could think about was going out that night and getting drunk. Drunk her always managed to figure shit out for sober her anyway. 

There were three frats on campus but Rho Nu Tau always put on the best parties, even more so now that they had the three star players on the football team as official brothers. Ashley’s first real college party way back during her freshman year had been a Rho party and she remembers a tiny pledge named Tre running around being an errand boy as a part of his initiation. Clearly, he wasn't taking orders no more. 

Imani and Serena were standing beside Ashley in the backyard as they shared a blunt with two boys she recognized from the dorms, damn near freezing their asses off in their little FashionNova fits when there was a cheer from inside the house. Ash almost went to check out what was going on when the blunt was passed to her and she was heartily distracted. 

It took only a couple more minutes for her to get tired of shivering and walk back into the kitchen, eyes low & mink lashes fluttering. A vodka and pink lemonade was calling her name. After fixing herself the drink, she began to wade through the crowd before bumping shoulders with a familiar face.

“Ashley, you always bumping into me, damn!”

She looked up to see her bio lab partner, Alex, smiling down at her. He was cute, in a nerdy type of way, and totally not her type but he always made her laugh in class. She let her lips spread into a small grin before play shoving him back.

“I know you not talking, clown. What’re you even doing here, I thought you’d be locked in your room binge watching some new anime or something?”

“Oh, you got jokes? Nah, Rho’s game celebration parties always be the best ones, you know that.”

They stood talking to one another for a couple more seconds before You by Lola Brooke & Bryson Tiller started playing overhead. Ashley started bopping her head on beat and Alex raised his eyebrow at her, smiling all wide & shit. She rolled her eyes, finishing off her drink and pulling him further onto the makeshift dance floor where all the bodies were grinding against one another. She turned around, pressing her ass right up against his crotch and began moving her hips and her ass in accordance with the beat. Now, she wasn’t no expert but all those years of high school cheerleading and dancing in the mirror did have their payoffs.

Alex’s hands remained on her hips and as the song progressed, Ashley could feel eyes on her. She looked up at the top of the staircase where Tre was standing with two more of the team’s players, his eyes trained on her and Alex. His jaw was clenched tight from what she could see and the veins in his arms were bulging as he death gripped that railing. 

Now, Alex had always made it very clear that his type of woman was always more the Dua Lipa type than the Rihanna so Ashley knew he wasn’t interested in her like that but damn it if it didn’t amuse her a little to see Tre standing up there all jealous while she threw it back for another man. If anything, the sight of him reinvigorated her and suddenly, she was putting a lot more work into her dance with Alex. The song did come to an end, however, and JT Coming filtered through the speakers which meant that Imani would be in Ashley’s face within the second. 

Like clockwork, right on time for JT’s verse, Imani pushed through the crowd to get to Ashley as they screamed the lyrics in each other’s faces. Alex had disappeared at the beginning of the song but returned with a closed bottle of water for both himself and Ashley. Serena was not far behind and soon the four of them were dancing around one another with the music. It didn’t take long for Serena and Alex to start dancing together instead. As much fun as she was having, Ashley couldn’t help but let her thoughts drift off to Tre, who had vanished from his post at the top of the steps.

Role Model by Brent Faiyez was playing as Ashley looked around for a bathroom half an hour later, her high slowly wearing off and the two bottles of water plus her cups of alcohol finally getting to her. The bathroom downstairs had a line wrapped down the hallways but luckily for her, she knew that there were several upstairs. Unluckily, all the ones in the hallways were also sporting lines so that left her to seek out one of the en suites. Almost every one of the doors were locked except for the one at the far end of the hall. She’d never been this far into the house before but she need to pee so she said fuck it and pushed open the door. 

The bathroom was on the other side of the darkened room, lit up only by the moonlight filtering in through the windows. She rushed over, locked the door behind her, and took care of her business. As she was washing her hands, Ash looked over her hair and makeup, surprised to see both in pretty good condition considering she was sweating like a whore in church. She figured at the very least, she’d be dealing with excessive frizz or her eyelashes falling off but she was all set. Ain’t God good?

Stepping out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, she took in where she was. There was a little desk to her left and a bookshelf to her right. Looking at the shelves, she noticed trophies, ribbons, medals, certificates - all the clear signs of a winner. There was a picture of a beautiful woman holding a precious little black boy and then another of a family standing with a tall young man wearing a football helmet. Her eyes focused, however, on the number six on his jersey and then subsequently, the sign the woman was holding: “Congrats Trevante!” She gasped and stepped away from the shelf, accidentally falling backwards onto the queen sized bed just as the door opened and in came Trevante himself.

It was awkward for a moment, but he quickly let a smirk take over his features as he closed the door behind him and crossed his arms over his chest to look down at her. From this angle, staring up at him, she was almost face to face with his crotch. She had to refrain from biting her lip. 

“Now, how’d you manage to find my room of all the rooms in the house?” He licked his lips, unmoving from the position and ever so slightly thrusting his hips forward. 

“Completely by accident, don’t get too excited.” She answered, sitting up and twisting her body to face his. “I was looking for the bathroom.”

“There are three public bathrooms in the house.”

“With lines damn near going out the door. I figured one of the big guys would have an en suite and I was right.”

“Oh so I’m a big guy now?”

Yes sir, you definitely are. “You know what I meant.”

“Well, why didn’t you ask that nigga you were dancing with if he had a bathroom at his place? It seemed like y’all were having a good time.” His smirk dropped and he crossed over to the desk, sitting on the spinning chair. Ashley's head tilted and she let out a small laugh.

“Is Trevante jealous? Oh my my!” He rolled his eyes as she got up from the bed, dancing over to him while singing “Tre’s jealous! He’s jealous! Very jealous!”

He stood back up and they were suddenly chest to chest, abruptly putting an end to her singing. His large fingers gripped her wrist tightly, and she looked up at his beautiful face. She was physically closer to him at this moment than ever before, even in the courtyard and in the classroom. 

“Why would I be jealous? That nigga can’t make you cum like I did, in a public place, with two fingers. He ain't the one you think about when you in bed late at night, right? That’s me, all in your dreams, in your head - that’s Tre right?”

For a second, she lost her breath but she could see that smirk creeping back onto his lips and a part of her snapped.

“What about you Tre? You been thinking about me?” She trailed her hand down his pants to the waistband of his jeans, letting her fingers play with the button for a second. “When you in this bed at night, playing with this big dick of yours -” her fingers wrapped around his growing bulge through the denim and she heard his breath hitch. “- are you thinking about this pussy? How tight it was? How wet it was? Thinking about how many rounds you’d last with me?”

He didn’t answer, instead wrapping one large hand around her throat and letting it slide around to the back of her neck, pulling her face to his in a fierce kiss that took her breath away. She let out a sigh, one hand still on his dick and the other on his neck. Their tongues fought for dominance for a minute before Tre bent down to pick her up, wrapping her legs around his waist and easing them both onto the bed. His lips made their way from her lips to her throat, her legs tightening around him as he hit her sweet spot at the part where her ears met her neck.

His hands were moving at a pace so slow, Ash almost screamed. He was ghosting over her tits, fingers almost brushing against her nipples but not quite yet. It wasn’t until he pulled the neckline of the shirt down to reveal her pretty blue bra did he finally pinch her nipples through the material. Her hips bucked up at that and she could feel him smirk against her throat before he sat up a little to help her pull off the shirt. He pulled the cups down and immediately dove in, pulling one of the hard buds into his mouth as she let out a groan of pleasure. He knew exactly what he was doing, his finger expertly twisting the other one.

“You’re way too good at this.” She managed to get out and he chuckled, letting her go with a pop. 

“I’m good at a lot of things.” He bit his lips, kissing down her bare skin as he unbuttoned her jeans. “Wanna see what else I’m good at?”

If she wasn’t wet already, she was sure that the combo of how he was looking up at her along with those words would’ve flooded her panties anyways. He pulled her pants down and off, throwing them on to the floor before sliding a finger over the material covering her pussy. She held back a whimper, which proved to be even harder when he gently pushed it to the side and blew on her weeping slit. 

Her matching blue thong was the next thing to come off and he looked up at her with a smile, pushing her legs up so they were bent. “Hold onto the back of your knees for me, sweetheart, and don’t let go. If you let go, I’mma stop. We clear?”

She couldn’t formulate words at that moment so he would have to do with her following his instructions and nodding her head yes, letting out a little ‘mhm’ through bitten lips.

“That’s a good girl. You a good girl right?” She jumped as he lightly smacked her clit, almost letting go of her legs but not quite yet. “Answer me, Ashley.”

“Yes, I’m a good girl.” She managed to grit out.

“Good girls get rewarded, don’t they?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead diving straight into to put his oh so talented mouth on her pussy. She was biting her lip again, holding back the moans trying to claw their way out. He paused for a moment, spreading her lips with his fingers as he did so. “Uh-uh. I wanna hear you. Let that shit out shawty.”

He went right back to it, thrusting his tongue in & out of her with a force. She could feel one of his thick fingers playing with her clit and she was sure she was letting out noises but honestly, the whole thing was starting to feel like an out of body experience. Her hands gripped the backs of her thighs even tighter as her back arched up. His tongue replaced his finger on her clit and then he inserted that finger into her pussy, followed by a second one. The two together were driving her insane and causing small sweat beads to formulate on her stomach and chest.

“Oh fuck, Tre, I’m gonna cum, oh fuck fuck fuck!” Her moans were breathy, her legs beginning to shake in her hands as she could feel the coil start in her stomach. He nodded his head as he sucked her clit into his mouth and picked up the pace of his fingers. When his fingers curled upwards into her, tapping the roof of her pussy, she dropped her legs on his shoulders and let out a small scream, cumming right into his mouth. He didn’t stop as she was cumming, lapping her up like some whipped cream. He finally pulled away a couple seconds after she finished, sliding back up her body to give a wet kiss on the lips, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

Ash ran her fingers over his defined abs, popping open the button on his jeans and pushing the pants down with her feet. He was practically bursting out of his briefs at that point but she made quick work of those too. 

“Condom, condom - get a condom Tre.” She managed to squeak out in between kisses and he pulled away, looking at her for a moment. “What?”

It took him a second but he shook his head. “Nothing. I got you.” He pulled open the bedside drawer, pulling out a Magnum from an already open box. “I’mma finish this box with you, trust me.”

“It’d be my pleasure.” She smirked, biting her bottom lip as he tore open the wrapper with his teeth. “Here, let me.”

Tre closed his eyes as she stroked his member, using the precum at the tip to lubricate the nine inches of him she could. Her hand tightened a bit at the base before sliding back up to slip the condom over him. She was still stroking him as she led him toward her opening, spreading her legs wider for him.

Now, Ash had had sex with a total of two people in her life but neither of them had ever been as big as Tre. Just the tip of him was enough for her to let her mouth open into a perfect ‘O’. She wasn't even sure he could fit all of himself in there but Lord knows, he was gonna give it the good ol’ college try. She moaned as he pushed through, pleasure ripping through every part of her, and kept going until he was fully inside of her. 

“Please fuckin’ move, Tre.” She whimpered. 

“Gimme a fuckin’ minute, sweetheart. If I move right now, I ain't gonna give you that show you wanted.” His lips connected with hers and then his hips began to thrust into her, rolling. She sighed into the kiss and tried to meet him thrust for thrust. He pulled his head away to bury into her neck. “Fuck, you feel good girl. You been hidin’ this shit from me?”

She wanted to respond smartly but her brain wasn’t formulating cohesive thoughts at the moment. Instead, she dragged her nails down his glistening back and moaned out his name like a chant - “Tre, Tre, Tres, yesssss.”

“S’tight, oh my fucking -” His own thoughts were jumbled as he drove in to her, winding his hips, trying to prolong the moment. He knew that, with the way shit was going, he was gonna have to make her cum at least once more and fast or else he was gonna ruin his own reputation and leave her hanging.

“Right there, yes!” Ashley exclaimed as his thick finger came down to rub her clit again, which paired with the motions of his hips extremely well. Her hands had slid down to his side as he lifted himself up on his arms and she let her nails dig into his skin, creating little marks there he’d probably get whistles about in the locker room tomorrow. “You’re so good, Tre, yes, yes, yes!” 

Her last yes came out as a squeal as he picked up his pace, rubbing faster and thrusting without abandon. She could feel that coil in her stomach again, moaning over and over again. Tre felt her tighten around him and let her ride out her second orgasm of the night before his hips began to stutter. He groaned out his release, nearly collapsing on top of her.

“Gahdamn!” He exclaimed, which made her laugh. She whined a bit as he pulled out of her, taking the condom off and climbing out of the bed to walk into the bathroom. He returned moments later, prompting her to rush in after him to clean herself up. When she came back, he’d pulled back the covers and was laying beneath them. She looked at him for a minute with her head tilted. “What?”

“I don’t know, I was expecting for you to make a run for it like ...” Ashley trailed off but he caught her drift. 

“Like with Nikki? Well first of all, this is my room this time so not really any option.” He laughed when she scoffed and held up the blanket, patting the spot next to him. She hurried to get under the covers, still naked like he was. “I also kinda wanna keep you around ... to finish off the box, of course.”

“Of course.” She smirked, tucking into his side. 

“So?” He inquired. She raised her eyebrow. “Was it as good as it looked from across the courtyard?”

“Hmm ... I think I might need a couple more encores to truly decide.” She tapped her chin like she was deliberating and he rolled his eyes.

although you couldn't help him out that morning, mumbling something about back to back early morning meetings that you absolutely could not miss or else your boss would have your 'head served on a platter', your words, steve let you go, figuring he needed a few extra minutes of sleep anyway.

with that, you were gone for the day.

he tried to distract himself-- to continue with his shower like he'd intended so he could make *somewhat* of an attempt to make it to work on time; but then his big, brown, damn cursed eyes - like they were taunting him, like they had a mind of their own - found your baby pink silk panties, the ones you'd taken your sweet time sewing steve's initials into, dangling off the edge of the tub as if you'd left them there for him to find. it made him drool like a tormented, starving animal being handed their first meal in weeks.

just like that, his hand snuck below the waistband of his sweats, thankful he'd been too lazy to slip back on the boxers you'd torn off of him the night before. palm and fingers wrapped shamelessly tight around himself.

and there you were in his head. his girl. his sunshine.

the taste of your pussy, that was always so wet for him, dancing across his tongue as he licked you doggedly.

the feeling of the plush of your ass bouncing off of the pit of his stomach as he pounded into you from behind. headboard banging against the wall with every move he made.

the way your back arched so deep for him, like your body was showing him just how trusted he was with it.

the sweat dripping off of his body and mingling with yours with every hard thrust he could muster.

your mouth pressed right up against the shell of his ear when he pulled you flush against his chest, finger frantically strumming your clit as your piercing moans and whimpers echoed off the walls of his brain, struggling to tell him that you were about to cum. your tits recoiling so much it was hypnotizing.

"fuck-- you sound so pretty, baby," he babbled into the thick air of the bathroom, not even having enough room in his head to care that he was babbling into emptiness. that it was his own hand he was fucking, and not really you. he was so far gone, so quickly.

"my perfect girl--fucking hell. you're so good." he retrieved your underwear from where it'd been laying for however long now, trapping it between his teeth as he used both hands to pleasure himself. watching himself in the mirror, he wished he could take a picture with his eyes and send it to you right now, some way, somehow.

god, he was so close.

steve's whimpers ricocheted off the thin walls, filling his ears as quickly as they left his mouth. he was fully aware his neighbors who were just a few feet away could hear him as if they were in the same room. but how could he bring himself to give a shit when it was you, his sunshine, who was clouding his brain like a thunderous storm he didn't want any shelter from? he wanted needed to bask in you, and he'd be damned if he didn't.

he pumped himself with long, tight strokes, thumb brushing over the slit of his tip the same way you do, when you get so bored you can't help but to play with his dick, in all your bright-eyed and fluttering lashes glory.

steve's brain seemed to be playing ping pong, springing back and forth between thoughts of your mouth or your pussy working his cock like this. because while you could make a man cry with your mouth and hand alone, your pussy was the epitome of nirvana. fuck.

his eyes screwed shut, imagining the racy polaroid he had of you in his wallet, too enthralled in the moment to actually go get the damn thing. you were in nothing but a mangled thong pushed to the side of your sloppy slit. steve's cum like spilled paint across your core and lower belly. some of it even found solace in the valley of your breasts. your face was hidden behind your hands, but the smile on your face was anything but shy. your mascara was anywhere but your eyelashes anymore. you looked so fucked out. so beautiful. so his.

his hand found the perfect rhythm. the perfect pressure. he couldn't stop even if he wanted to.

he almost felt pathetic, fucking his own hand, humping the edge of his own sink, face buried in your underwear, moaning and whining profusely. but he knew if he told you about it, you'd love every detail of it. you'd probably even want him to recreate it right then and there in front of you. so, naturally, he felt justified.

in his head he heard you saying all the little mumbled praises and pleads you've always said to him on an almost nightly basis. your voice, forever airy and light for him:

"you're so deep, stevie."

"please don't stop."

"shit, you're fucking me so good."

"please, don't fucking stop."

"i need your cum."

you were so perfect. always. fuck.

"f- fuck, sunny--," he was gonna cum for you. so fucking hard. even if you weren't here.

he pulled your panties from his mouth, spurting his warm, thick, milky ropes of cum all over the front where his "S.H." lied. his head fell back, jaw slack as short, strained groans ripping out of his throat, while his release spewed out of him. he was seeing nothing but stars and that proud smirk you never failed to have whenever you made him cum like this. his finishing thrusts were lazy yet uncontrolled, the last bits of his seed flying onto the faucet and dripping off the edge of the mirror.

his heart was racing, chest heaving as he came down. he used your underwear to clean off the sink that fell victim to his very much needed orgasm, now fully equipped to start his day.

💌 1 new message from jojo: wrote this last night while i was drunk and ovulating. i also haven't written in just about two years, so i'm rusty i fear! but writing this made me realize how much i love and miss writing so i think i'm back?? idk but i hope you enjoy this regardless! i've missed my steve and sunshine 🙃 inbox is open!

You never would’ve thought that Toru Gojo, famous for always getting outstanding grades and being the twin brother to campus-famous frat boy and college football teammate Sato Gojo, would be so good with his mouth. Not just in the debate club or giving answers to in-depth, complicated questions, but also between your thighs.

The same soft, creamy, vanilla body cream-scented thighs that he is nestled between now, kneeling before you while you’re sprawled out on your cozy couch, your moans bouncing off of the walls. Your roommate is gone for the evening, getting plowed into the bed by her boyfriend, so you have plenty of time to spend with your good ol’, reliable eater. 

“Mmmm!” you loudly hum, lacing your fingers through the hot nerd’s white locks. The same silvery, stark white hair that your boyfriend has…in addition to the same juicy, pink lips currently slurping and sucking on your needy clit. “That’s it, Toru,” you moan. “Fuck, you’re so good at this!”

He mumbles and moans something into your dripping hole as he continues to greedily eat you out, your juices sliding down his throat and chin as his jaw quickly works like it isn’t aching. But Toru NEVER complains, even if he’s in pain or discomfort. He always pleases you to the best of ability, letting you use his mouth and grind on his abs, thighs, and cock without complaint or protest. 

Plus, you can’t get enough of the way he moans and whimpers when you suck him off. He always acts as if he’s never gotten head before no matter how many times you give him sloppy toppy! Always curling his toes, fogging up his glasses, and cumming in ropes down your throat or on your tits while you stroke his balls. 

And then you leave him on read for a few days after. You love toying with that man, making him beg on his knees for one taste of your pussy or sniff of your panties (which he’s done MANY times before). Toru is as subby as a subby boy can come, dropping every study guide and book to come please you. 

But he’s never, ever fucked you. And he won’t be. His twin is the only one reserved for that. But he can absolutely shove his tongue inside you whenever you see fit. It’s impossible to resist, especially now as you edge closer and closer to your blissful end, gripping Toru’s soft hair tighter and tighter to shove his face deeper into you. “Fuuuck yes, Toru! I’m gonna cum! Y-You’re gonna make me—” 

Your words are abruptly cut off as the pleasure builds and suddenly explodes like a firework in your core. With a loud moan of release, you cream all over Toru’s face, making him splutter between your thighs, nearly suffocating him with that pussy, but he still lets you ride his face until you’re spent, your moans dying down to soft whimpers. With a smile, you giggle, spent and satisfied. 

“Damn,” you sigh, your body relaxed and skin aglow. Toru pulls away, his pink, plush lips glistening with your honey, and licks it away before dabbing at his chin with the tissues left aside. Then he climbs onto the couch beside you and leans back into the cushions, out of breath and visibly hard. But he doesn’t ask for head. He knows you won’t give it to him unless YOU want to. It’s all about you and that’s how you like it. 

You give him a quick peck on cheek, leaving a ring of sparkly, red gloss there, before you re-button the cropped, fuzzy pink cardigan with the low V-neck that exposes your perfectly soft titties. You pull up your lace panties and yank down your plaid skirt, fixing yourself up in time for a party tonight that you’re supposed to be going with your roomie to around 9PM. “That was really good, baby. Same time next week, right?”

You give him a glossy-lipped smile as you rise from the couch to flatten your skirt over your perfect, round ass. Toru just sits there on the couch, his head hanging slightly off of the back of it, his hair unruly and eyes closed. “For the study session or for more head?” he asks. His voice is surprisingly deep and silky given his appearance; he’s all about the glasses, sweater vests, and hoodies. 

You giggle, rolling your eyes at him. “Both. Not my fault you know how to move that tongue. You are a threat, y’know?” You always have a code with Toru about study sessions to avoid suspicion from other people, including Sato. The last thing you need is someone catching wind that you’re sleeping with your boyfriend’s brother. 

You expect him to give you that signature eye roll and some smart ass remark, but instead, he quietly slips his spectacles back on and sits up with his head hanging between his legs. You pause from primping yourself, confused. “What’s wrong, babe?” you coo, pouting your lips at him. 

Toru is still quiet, his back muscles outlined by his thin blue sweater. “I….don’t think I wanna do this anymore. This whole sneaky link thing. I mean, we’re not even dating…are we?” He looks up at you then, his blue eyes so soulful and hopeful. It pains you…but not enough to lie to him.

“Oh, Toru,” you sigh, plopping down next to him. “You know that can’t happen since I’m dating Sato.” 

Despite Sato’s cocky and flirtatious ways, you can’t just give him up. He may be annoying, but he is also irresistibly hot and great in bed. You can’t get enough of his big dick and immaculate stroke game that leaves you dizzy and feeling good the next morning! It’s just that you can't give either of them up. How often does a girl receive not one but TWO hotties who are total opposites but equally as sexy and hung?

You may be called a greedy bitch, but you don’t care. You want the best of both worlds. You want both of your cakes and to eat them too! And you won’t stop until you get tired or one of them happens to get sick of you…which you suppose is happening now. You’ve been sneaking around with Toru for three months now, so you didn’t think he’d get tired of it so quickly. 

“Is it about that? That you’re sneaking around with your brother’s girl?” 

Toru stays quiet, his expression pinched as he stares at his big hands. You place a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. “He won’t find out, baby. I promise. We’re too careful.” You actually don’t know that, but you also know that you’ve been doing a good job when you’re around Sato. 

But Toru shakes his head, still looking like a kicked puppy. “Not just that,” he admits. “I-I just…wanted to be something more than just a face you sit on. I want to—” 

“We can’t,” you abruptly reply, firm and final. "You know that, Toru! And if you’re scared to fuck around with me behind your bro’s back, how do you think he’d feel about you dating me?” Toru’s cheeks grow pink, probably out of embarrassment or humiliation for being so foolish to even suggest such a thing.

While you know Toru has an undying crush on you, and has since his twin started dating you. So maybe you took advantage of that for more sex with him, but he also had the choice to refuse you! He never did. “I guess you’re right. Then maybe I should just…end this.” He says it so quietly that you almost miss it. 

“End what? This?” You tick a pink, manicured finger between the both of you. Toru looks at you then, appearing pissed. “Well, why not? You already said we’d never happen but you’re always lettin’ me eat you out like my brother doesn’t do it for you. You barely even returned the favor!” 

You cock your head to the side in that sexy way that makes him stop short, his cheeks growing rosy. “Do you what me to?” you ask, your voice silky and airy. It is your weapon and his weakness. “Is this what this is about? I haven’t let you fuck yet?” The hot nerd looks away from you, picking at a thin thread on his sleeve. "I’m sorry, baby. I was just getting you save yourself for your girlfriend.”

Toru currently doesn’t have a girlfriend and has had no luck in the dating department on campus. Most girls at your uni love the big, buff, confident, jocky kind. While Toru is very big and buff, he lacks confidence and he isn’t a jock in the slightest. He loves comics, books, and anything related to math. He is also very shy, awkward, and somewhat antisocial which puts a lot of girls off. 

You feel bad for the guy, but you also didn’t want to let him hit since you’re not his partner. He should reserve his first time for an actual girlfriend, not a fuck buddy! But seeing him so wounded and sad now, it pulls on your heartstrings. So you begin to unbutton your cardigan again, freeing your breasts in your lacy bra cups from it. “I’ll give you what you need,” you purr. 

“Y/N, c’mon,” Toru protests, but it comes out shaky. “T-That’s not what I meant.” But his eyes are stuck to your tits, so full and pretty in those pink lacy cups. You pull them down to expose your hard, brown nipples, so enticing and full, to him.

He doesn’t stop you when you get on your knees and reach for his belt, unbuckling it, and yanking down his zipper. “This’ll do the trick,” you sigh. “This will make you see things my way.”

You give him a sexy smirk as you reach into his pants and take his hard cock out. So veiny, thick, and heavy in your palm. Heavy on your tongue as you smack it so wetly against it, making a plap-plap-plap sound that makes Toru softly groan and blush. This is the only hole he’ll ever get to fuck of yours. Your pussy can only be reserved for one man and that’s Sato…unless you decide to eventually dump him. 

One of your hands slides up Toru’s toned stomach, causing his shirt to peel up to expose his abs and V-line pebbled with fine, white hair. “Just relax. I’ll take care of you.” The nerd blushes red as you begin to stroke his thick shaft up and down, holding it against your face. “C’mon, don’t. It’s not about tha-a-ah, shit!” His words are rudely cut off when you wrap your wet, glossy, soft lips around his hard cock. 

You begin to work your magic, sliding your mouth up and down his hard, thick cock, pausing to slide off of it and coat his dick head in your spit. “Oh, f-fuck, that’s…God, how do you do that with your tongue?” Toru asks, his blue eyes squinted behind his spectacles that have begun to fog. It is as if he can hardly stand to watch such a scene as your tongue slides up and down the ridges of his cock before you envelope him again in your mouth. 

“Fuck!” Toru moans, tilting his head back against the couch. His fists ball up at his sides, turning white as you take him deeeeep down your throat. You don’t have a gag reflex. Sato’s big cock helped you with that and it definitely helps that he and Toru are around the same size. You will say that Toru is a lot girthier compared to Sato though; you can already tell he’ll stretch out your pussy the same way he does your throat.

You sloppily gag, squelching, wet sounds leaving your throat as you push him down your tight throat, fucking it with his fat cock. Toru is a whimpering, moaning mess as he usually is, boosting your ego about tenfold. But then he does something that leaves you shoot and stops you short: he takes his hand and grips your hair, pushing you down farther onto his cock. “Such a good little slut”, he then utters. 

You splutter, causing Toru to loosen his grip and allow you to lift your head up. His wet cock slides out of your mouth and plops against his stomach, heavy and hard. You gape at the nerd, noticing the darkening look in his blue eyes. “What?” you dumbly ask. You’ve never heard him say such a degrading thing before…especially to you! Toru isn’t like that. 

He isn’t like this brother who calls you a greedy, sloppy slut as he plunges his long dick down your throat or deep in your pussy, smiling when you moan and sob and beg, pinning you down to the bed or forcing you to— 

Click. 

Abruptly, you turn to face your closet right next to the front door on your side of the dorm. You keep yourself pink and cutesy, your bed covered in plushies, most of them from Sato and Toru. “What was that?” you ask. Toru scowls at the closet, confused. "What was what?” You don’t reply, your heart hammering in your chest at the sudden sound. It was probably just something falling in your closet, but still, you can’t calm your body down. 

And then you see the shuttered door open, revealing none other than your tall, buff frat boy boyfriend in his backwards cap and jeans. Sato stands there with a grin and a phone in his big hand, the white flash of it blinding you. “Surprise! Gotcha, bitch!” he cackles.

You squeal and quickly jump away from Toru, your mouth still coated in your spit and his pre-cum, your tits still out on display. “Sato?! What are you…why are you…what the fuck?!”

You can’t focus. Your brain is moving a million times a minute trying to make sense of this. Why is your boyfriend and your sneaky link’s twin in YOUR dorm hiding in OUR closet with his phone out? You try to scramble away to cover yourself, but Toru snatches a hand out to stop you. “Ah-ah. Don’t move. You stay right there where you belong.” His voice is deep and stern, making you freeze. Why is he acting like this? 

There is a dark look in Toru’s eyes that frightens you, as if a switch has been flipped inside of him. Gone is the shy, bashful, awkward nerd you’ve been using for your own pleasure. Standing in his place is someone else. "What is this?” you ask, looking at Sato for answers. You regret it instantly when he flashes the white light from his phone again at you, making you put a hand out to shield your eyes. “Buuuusted! You were so slutted out that you didn’t even see the flash.”

His cheeky grin and the hot flush of the white light helps you piece everything together. “You’ve been in there the whole time?! Recording me?!” You are angry. Enraged. And embarrassed. 

Sato is not moved or swayed by your anger, especially with your soft tits and hard nipples out. Not to mention the panty flash you’re giving him. "Not the whole time. Just while my little brother was sucking the soul outta that pussy…the pussy you haven’t been giving him at all or me lately.” His expression is pinched with irritation even as he continues to smirk at you. 

You flush with embarrassment, realizing that he has caught onto your scheming ways. You thought that you were more careful, but maybe refusing Sato’s dick for the past couple of weeks and using classes and work as excuses weren’t ideal. But how did he find out? Did Toru tell him? Did he find out on his own? “I-I...Sato, I—“

Sato puts a hand up, silencing you. “Save it. I don't need your BS excuses for me 'cause I've been known you've been fucking my brother behind my back. Makes sense for a slut like you to do me so dirty.” His blue eyes tick towards his twin sitting on the couch, his dick still hard. “Do both of us dirty, actually. He thought you were gonna leave me for him, but it was just a ploy to get him to keep comin' back. To keep gettin' him to give you head without any reciprocation, huh?” 

His smirk is sharp and taunting, leaving you feeling hot and prickly with shame. “I….I…”

“Oh, he told me everything, so don't bother explaining,” your boyfriend (or ex now, rather) continues. "There’s nothin' to explain. You're just a dirty little slut, ain’tcha?” He continues to record you, getting a good view of your tits and panties. Quickly, you cover your breasts with your hands and close your thighs. ”Fuck you," you hiss. "You've had your dick in every girl on campus, but I'm the bad guy?” 

Sato’s smirk fades, replaced with a frown that pulls his plump, pink lip down, a lip ring dangling from it. “For two timin' us and taking advantage of my twin? Yeah, you are,” he scoffs. “And for the record, I wasn’t fuckin’ anybody when we were dating. Only you. But lucky for us, everybody else will know that you’re for the streets too.”

Your blood boils, mostly due to your ego being bruised, and you throw Toru’s hand off of you. You quickly stand, buttoning your cardigan, and hurry by Sato for the door. ”I’m not doing this shit," you huff. “I'm leaving. You two will never see me again." 

But to your shock, Toru stops you. He is quicker than you, jumping off of the couch and grabbing your arm. “Sit down," he demands. "You're not leaving till I get what I want.” There is a demanding, intense look in his eyes, one that scares you more. “What?” you blurt. 

Sato chuckles, now standing by the door and locking it before blocking it with his big body. You couldn’t move him even if you tried. “I don't know if you realized it, baby girl, but my little bro is also an even bigger freak than I am. Why do you think he’s so good at eating pussy?” You turn to face Toru and his alarmingly lustful gaze, his cock still out and pulsing. “I-I don’t know,” you stammer. 

Sato is happy to fill you in. “We share our girls, baby,” he purrs. “Just not you…yet, but it’s always been in the plan. We just didn’t realize you were two timin’ us, so now makes the perfect opportunity.” You gape at the both of them, the gears in your head slowly turning. The idea that these two have always been planning on eventually fucking you at the same time makes you feel ill. You’ve always been a conquest to them and you never realized it. 

Toru yanks you towards the couch, forcing you to sit down. “I was saving myself for you,” he admits. “Hoping you’d give me a chance to prove to you that I’m worthy to let me inside you…” He pauses, white teeth digging into his bottom lip. “But you never even looked my way,” he growls. “Not till you got drunk at the party and begged for me to eat your pussy.”

You remember that party well: it was thrown by Geto Suguru, one of Sato’s frat brothers and besties, and you had gotten pissy drunk off jello shots right after a fight with Sato about talking to other girls. You found Toru upstairs hiding from the crowd and dragged him into the bathroom where he ate you out over the sink, giving you an orgasm like you hadn’t had in weeks. 

“All while I was lookin’ all over for ya,” Sato tsks, shaking his head at you. “Greedy little whore, ain’t she, bro?” Toru silently agrees, his expression nothing short of betrayal and irritation. Your heart pummels in your chest and your stomach does somer salts as you’re forced to sit there, Toru’s fingers digging into your thighs. 

“So if don’t want everyone to find out about your slutty ass ways,” Sato continues, “I suggest you do as we say.” He pauses, his smile stretching across his handsome face, making his dimples pop. “Or we airplay this to every guy in my fraternity. And they know people, baby. This shit will spread faster than gonorrhea.”

Fear grips you tighter than a fist. “You wouldn’t!” you hiss, but the twins’ expressions don’t change. They’re dead serious. “No, you can’t! Please, Sato, I’m sorry!” Tears spring into your eyes, no doubt about to ruin your pretty, shimmery eyeshadow and mascara. Sato shakes his head, indifferent and cold. “Ah-ah, the time for sorry is over. You can use that mouth to do somethin’ else.”

He then comes sauntering over to stand beside his twin and holds his phone in one hand to record you while he toys with his fly.

Zzzzzip.

Your eyes widen as he pulls his cock out, hard, long, pierced, and hooked to brush your G-spot whenever he pounds you into the bed. You can’t imagine how hard he was standing in your closet, perhaps stroking it while you sucked off his twin. He groans as he wraps a hand around it, the same as Toru, and moves closer to you.

“C’mon,” he grunts, taking your hair and forcing you to sit up. You hiss at the sting, but you’re quickly distracted by his cock suddenly smacking you against your cheek. You like that?” he hums, his eyes growing lustful at the soft, satiny skin of your cheek brushing against his pierced cock head. 

The video captures all of it, including the strands of spit that stick to his cock head and your plushy lips as he rubs his cock against them, trying to invade your mouth. Toru watches, his glasses damn near coated in condescension from the hot scene. He begins to stroke his cock at the sight, his lips quivering with soft groans. “Fuck….I wanna try that.”

Sato smiles and allows his twin to mirror his movements until both cocks are smacking you dead in the face: on your cheeks, chin, and soft lips, humiliating you even further. “Fuck me, that’s good!” Sato groans, grinning behind his phone. “You like that, slut? What, it’s not like anything you haven’t done before, right? Taking two cocks at once. Only this time, we’re in one place.” 

What luck for them. And what fucking hell for you. You don’t respond, but you’re also unable to. Toru is plugging your mouth up with his cock, his tip just passing the threshold of your soft, wet lips. Both of their thick fingers lace through your hair, gripping the strands. “Take us both, bitch,” Sato orders. “And do it like we know you can do it. No teeth.” 

Toru slips his cock away from your lips to furiously jerk it in an effort to keep himself hard, just as Sato begins to take the first stab at your throat. You put your hands up to press against his toned stomach, stopping him. “Sato, please,” you beg. “I-I’m sorr—“ 

But your weak apology is cut off by Toru’s big hand wrapping around your throat, choking you. “Did you hear what he fuckin’ said?” Toru growls. “Shut the fuck up and use that mouth like you were told. C’mon, you wanna act like you don’t know what to do with it now?” Sato grins at his twin with pride as he pushes his cock inside of your mouth, forcing it open. “Ple—mmrph!” 

Your pleas are immediately vanquished and silenced then Sato grips your hair and begins to use your mouth like it’s his personal fleshlight. He fucks it deep, deep, deep down your esophagus, causing you to gag and choke on his length, only giving him heightened pleasure. “Mmm, that’s a—oh, shit— good girl. You take this, mmm, fuckin’ cock so well. I can—ohhh, fuck yes—see why my twin is so obsessed with you.” 

Toru glares at him despite his blush and leaking dick. “Fuck you. So are you.” Sato grins, his teeth slightly bared as he continues to plow your mouth like it’s your pussy, which he has also begun to rub without your permission through your panties. “Yeah, well, I’m her boyfriend…or I was. I’m just the dude fuckin’ her with my baby bro now.” 

He groans, the video picking up the noise along with the salacious, lewd sounds of his cock wetly fucking your mouth, forcing drool to spill down your chin and onto your soft tits. Toru watches on, his cock visibly twitching in his hand. “She’s not gagging as much. Not like she does with me.” Sato senses the challenge there and raises his pierced brow at his twin. “Ohhh, forreal? Wanna show me how you fuck her throat then, Mr. Big Dick?” 

Toru’s eyes flash with a daring, lustful glint as he turns to you and grabs a fistful of your hair. Sato groans as he slides his cock out of your mouth only for the emptiness to be filled by his twin’s dick. Toru groans as he bottoms out in your mouth, pushing past the tight threshold of your throat. “C’mon, beauty, don’t embarrass me. Show him what you’ve been doing with me.” 

Your throat is forced to open up as if you’re yawning, filling with Toru’s thick cock that brushes the back of your throat. You gag, your walls massaging his shaft, and he groans once more, his grip on your hair tightening. Sato watches with interest, stroking his dick in time with his brother’s thrusts into your mouth. “Yeah, slutty girl, show me. Show your boyfriend how you suck off his brother.”

He begins to roughly palm your tits, tweaking your nipples and making you flinch with discomfort at the sharp pain that explodes through your titties. Toru can’t keep his eyes off of your tits or your pretty face, your lips stretched around his cock, cheeks hollow. “Toru, no,” you whine around his dick, spit sliding down your chin and neck to coat your tits. 

But your pleas and begs fall on deaf ears as Toru continues to force himself in your mouth, fucking your jaw off of its hinges. He takes his glasses off once they begin sliding down his face from how hard he’s fucking your mouth, making it raw. “C’mon now, baby,” Sato Don’t act all innocent now. You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing all this time? Lyin’ to my face?”

SMACK!

His hand slaps you hard against your cheek, making Toru groan. Compared to the sharp sting, the assault massaging Toru’s cock from inside your throat, making him fuck your hole harder and faster. “That’s so fucking good, baby,” he groans. “You like takin’ me deep down your whore throat? C’mon, gag on it.” He’s doing it so roughly, if he wanted to, he could just shove his cock all the way down and cum right down your throat. No condom needed. 

Sato watches his twin in awe, still fisting his dick as he records Toru pounding your throat. "Jesus, man…never heard you talk like that before. C’mon, pass her back to me.” Though his twin groans in protest, Toru passes you over to his older twin like a blunt and lets Sato fuck your throat, slick, tight, and wet. He is rough and ruthless, making you gag and your eyes burn with tears. “That’s it, take it!” he hisses. “Take all of that dick!”

He directs Toru to take his phone and record you, turning your cheek to look right into the harsh, blinding light. “And look into the camera. C’mon, show the audience how hot you look suckin’ twin cock.”

You are resorted to being nothing but a fuck hole as the two twins fuck your mouth and throat one at a time, using you over and over again. Your hair is a wreck, your makeup is ruined, and the spit running down your chin has soaked your tits in a wet mess. They roughly palm your tits, thighs, and stomach as they plow and pound your throat, pumping in and out, their groans and gasps filling the tight space of your dorm. 

Finally fed up and impatient, Toru turns to his brother with a flushed face and pouty, pink lips. “I wanna fuck her now, Sato. I can’t wait anymore.” Your eyes widen as Sato pulls his cock out of your mouth, a grin on his face. You know what this means now. “W-Wait—“ 

But Toru silences you by forcing you on your back, greed and lust in his blue eyes. “Wait nothing. You’ve been leading me on and teasing me for three months. But not anymore; I deserve to fuck you now.” He grips your wrists and pins them above his head, forcing you down. “Wait, wait!” you plea. “I can’t…I don’t—” 

“Want to?” Sato asks, grinning down at you with his phone. “Frankly, we don’t give a fuck, sweetie. We didn’t get a say when you decided to lie to us, so you don’t get a say in this.” He zooms in on you, making sure to get your big, soft, jiggly tits and short skirt hiked up over your hips as Toru your lace panties down your ankles with one hand, keeping his other locked around your wrists. 

He groans at the sight of your gorgeous, puffy cunt which, despite your fear and apprehension, is glistening with wetness. You feel like a horny, depraved slut, your body betraying you at the slightest moan and slice of cock from two hot guys.

Hungrily, Toru turns to his brother. “You got a rubber?” he pants. Sato grins, digging into his pocket and passing him a gold Magnum wrapper. “You know I do. Go in slow so you don’t blow your load too quick.”

Sato replaces Toru’s hand on your wrists for a moment while the nerd busies himself getting the condom on his big, hard dick. He listens to Sato’s instructions and fumbles for a bit before finally slipping the condom on his cock.

He then splits your thighs apart and settles between them, hungrily staring down at your leaking pussy. You swallow roughly, your heart in your stomach and your head dizzy. “T-Toru—”

But you have no change to finish—Toru is already slowly sliding his hard cock inside of you, opening you up with his thickness. You gasp as your body is invaded with him, your hole having no choice but to stretch around him, your teeth gritting at the change in girth compared to Sato’s cock. Toru is a lot thicker than you realized, making you feel fully just from the tip. 

The nerd gasps above you, his face flushed and screwed in pleasure. “O-Oh, my God, fuck!” he moans, digging his dull nails into the flesh of your thighs. “So fuckin’ tight! Jeez, is this what you deal with every night, Sato?” 

Your boyfriend grins, sitting at the other end of the couch above your head, still holding you down and recording at the same time. “When she gives it up to me, hell yes. Fuck…you’re doin’ her real good, bro.” His sapphire-blue eyes widen at the sight of Toru slowly rutting into you, trying to get himself used to the foreign feeling of your tight, wet, satiny walls squeezing around him. 

You just lie there between them, split and stretched open on Toru’s big, thick, nerdy cock, taking it inch by inch that he bullies into your pussy as if he’s trying to punish you for not giving it up to him sooner “Isn’t this great, b-baby?” be stammers. “Don’t you love your munch and little sneaky link finally fucking you like this?” 

Then he begins snapping his hips, pounding you into the couch cushions, making the springs creak beneath you. Your tits start to jiggle and your moans, whines, and gasps grow loud as his cock pumps in and out, in and out at a pace that makes his thighs slap against yours. “Toru!” you whimper. “Please slow down! I-It’s too much!” 

Toru just smiles, sweat glistening along his flushed forehead and thick neck, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he furiously fucks you. “Aww, but you feel so good, baby girl,” he groans. “This pussy is takin’ me in sooo well. You’ve been needing this, I know.”

He then snatches a hand out to wrap around your throat. You gasp as his hold tightens around your neck, choking you. “But you just kept playing with me,” he growls. “You didn’t think I was good enough to fuck this slutty pussy…but now, I can show you.”

He goes faster. Harder. Rougher. He fucks you like he would a fleshlight, snapping his hips in and out, fucking you up against the couch while Sato watches on, his cock throbbing against your cheek. At some point, he forces you to turn your face and suck him off, forcing his cock between your plush, wet lips. “C’mon, baby, suck it good,” he purrs. “I need to fuck on somethin’ while your pussy is occupied.” 

As his brother fucks your mouth, Toru continues to enjoy your cunt, his groans and gasps damn near slutty. “S-So good,” he whimpers, his bottom lip quivering at the feeling of being gripped tighter than a vice with your pussy. “You, hgnh, you’re so tight! Such a good slut! My good little fuckin’ whore, fuck!”

He is so verbal and expressive, unable to shut up about how good your pussy feels hugging his cock. 

Sato throbs in your mouth, even more aroused by your“Goddamn, bro,” he groans. “Not to blow up your spot, but I need to fuck this slut now too.” The whimper that leaves his mouth is damn near pitiful and so sexy as he strokes his cock with your mouth in an effort to relieve himself. “C’mon, cut me some slack, twin. This dick is fuckin’ achin’ for it.”

Surprisingly, Toru is down for this and luckily slows his pounding, allowing you time to recover. “We can both give it to her,” he pants. “One at a time. One goes in, one goes out.”

As your eyes widen in horror, Sato cackles, high-fiving his twin. “Fuckin’ A! Let’s tag team this nasty girl!” He slides his cock out of your throat and smacks it up against your face, humiliating and degrading you before slipping a condom on himself. “And you’d better do a good job takin’ these dicks,” he growls. “Give a good show for our audience.” 

Audience? Is he serious?

You can only wonder as Sato’s cock suddenly replaces Toru’s, sliding deep inside your body and filling you up to the brim. “Hold this,” he tells his twin, shoving the phone at him. “I wanna hold her open. You take one ankle and I’ll take the other.”

Toru gets a good shot of his brother sliding home inside of you, not even giving you a chance to breathe before he’s giving you deep, deep, deep dick. The air is knocked out of your lungs as he fucks you roughly, jackhammering into you like a machine. 

“Oh, my God!” you gasp. “W-Wait, ple…oh, fuck! Ah, Sato, shit!” Your boyfriend cheekily grins at you, cocky as fuck as you squirm and writhe on his dick. “Yeah?” he pants, a teasing lilt in his silky voice. “This is how you need it? This is how slutty girls like to be fucked, right?” 

One hand is clasped around your ankle, holding you open, while the other is pinning your wrists down. Sato is rough with you, having no problem smacking you in the face, choking you, and spitting in your mouth when he leans down for a sloppy kiss. “Tell me you like this dick,” he grunts, staring deep into your eyes. “Tell me you fuckin’ love it like this. When I told you open and fuck this pussy.” 

Maybe it’s his eyes, so full of demand, or maybe his cock bullying your insides that makes you grovel. Whatever it is, you feel your quivering lips form to fulfill his order: “I-I love it,” you whimper. Sato grins, leaning down to open-mouth kiss you again. “Good girl. Now tell my brother you like him fuckin’ you too.” 

His hips then snap forward at a quicker pace, plap-pla-plapping against your thighs, creating a symphony of sex in the air. You turn to his twin, still holding Sato’s phone to record his brother fucking you dumb on your couch. “I love it when you fuck me, Toru,” you whine, and you see Toru’s cock twitch. Sato grins, pleased with your submission. “Now show her how you do it, bro,” he growls to his brother. “Help me fill this pretty hole up.”

Toru doesn’t need to be told twice. Together, the two brothers begin to take turns fucking your dripping, gushy hole, recording you getting filled up by each of their cocks. Satoru is nonverbal but still moans and whines when he’s in it, fucking you until you’re seeing stars. “Such a tight fuckin’ hole!” Sato groans, filled with all kinds of dirty degradation and words that would make even the nastiest, freakiest girl blush. 

They are both equally as rough, gripping your hips, palming your tits, and even smacking your pussy in between fucks. Suddenly, Sato looks over at Toru and grins, frightening you. It’s an evil, playful grin that doesn’t mean good things for you. “Ya know what else she really likes?” he slyly asks. “Gettin’ fat dick in her ass. She’s always wanted to be DP-ed, but you know I don’t share with nobody but you.” 

Toru stops short, slowing his quick-packed thrusts down to slow rolls of his hips, one hand gripping the edge of the couch above your head. “You want me to fuck her ass?” he asks, just as confused and shocked as you. Sato’s grin widens. “Hell yeah! I said we need to tag team her, so let’s go all the way. You down for it?” 

Before you know it, you’re being forced on top of Sato, straddling him with your skirt hiked up and your ass fully exposed. Your hands lay flat on his toned chest and you stare into his lust-filled eyes, pleading with him. “Please,” you whisper. “Don’t do this. I’m not ready.” Toru stands behind you with the phone, roughly palming your ass, muttering about how good it looks. No doubt he’s getting your cheeks on camera, recording the very moment his cock will stretch you open. 

You don’t even know why you try to reason with Sato. There is no reasoning or pleading or begging. “Awww, but you will be, cutie pie.” He licks his fingers before reaching down to rub your clit, opening you up for the both of them. “Just relax for my brother now. Don’t embarrass me like that.”

Toru pries your cheeks apart and spits on your asshole, making it drip. You whine as he begins to tongue-fuck your asshole, greedily eating you out. “I’m sure Toru’s eaten that slutty asshole before,” Sato chuckles. “Now you’re gonna get it fucked. Get ready to feel real full, babydoll.” 

And as Sato groans when he slides his cock back inside your pussy, Toru stands up and presses his cock against your asshole. You gasp, jumping at the contact, but the twins’ big hands hold you down on Sato’s lap, keeping you locked there. “I’m goin’ in now,” he warns you.

“Toru, no!” you sob, but you’re abruptly cut off when you feel his bulbous tip passing the threshold of your rim. Your eyes widen at the burn and you try to escape him, but the twins are too strong. You are forced to take every inch of Toru inside of your tight, un-fucked hole.

“A-Ah!” you brokenly yelp, digging your nails into Sato’s shoulders. He doesn’t mind, his cock twitching as he stares at your face screwed in discomfort. “How’s she feel, bro?” he asks his brother. 

Toru is struggling to hold on and not blow his load right there. He grips your ass tight as he invades your hole with his cock, biting his lip. “S-So fuckin’ tight,” he pants. “I…oh, my God, I don’t think I can push in.” Sato continues to fuck up into you, giving you sweet strokes of his dick that make you dizzy. “Just a little more, baby. C’mon, open up for him while you take me.” 

You think it’s impossible, but for some odd reason, your muscles turn to mush and you slump against Sato like a rag doll, still whimpering and moaning. Tears spring into your eyes and drip down your cheeks, fat droplets of salt water plopping onto Sato’s chest. But still, the twins push into your body. Using you. Filling you. Taking you. “That’s it, girl, relax,” Sato moans. “Just let us do this. C’mon, you know you want it.”

And to your surprise, you feel the hard cock in your ass push more and more inside of you, making you scream. Sato abruptly covers your mouth, muffling your cries as his twin streeeetches you wide open. “Fuck, I’m in!” Toru gasps. “I’m inside her!” Sato’s blue eyes roll to the back of his head, exposing the whites of his eyeballs as his twin sinks into your tight, velvety asshole. “I-I know…shhhhit, I can feel you, Toru.” 

And you can feel them both. They stretch and fuck you in tandem, completely molding your holes into theirs. “Then what are you waitin’ for?” Toru asks, gripping your ass with one hand as he zooms the phone in on your holes stretched open around two hard, fat dicks. "Help me fuck her holes.” 

He then circles a hand around your throat and squeezes, cutting off your air for just a single second. “Teach you a fuckin’ lesson,” he grunts. “This is what you get for bein’ a greedy little dick tease.”

You might as well be a rag-doll with how limp and lifeless you are, slumped against Sato as the two grip your hips and asscheeks, forcing their cocks in and out of your dripping holes. Their moans and grunts fill the sex-scented air as they pound into your body, making you bounce like a little bunny in Sato’s lap as you’re trapped between their big, hard, muscular bodies. 

Soon, Toru’s cock in your ass starts to feel rather nice, massaging your walls the same way Sato does your pussy, every part of your body stimulated. It doesn’t take long for that pressure in your core to build, making both of your holes squeeze tight around their dicks, stroking the cum out of them. “I’m cumming!” you sob, every muscle in your body tightening. “”I’m…I’m—“ 

“Fuck, she’s cumming,” Toru grunts, laying harsh smacks on your ass that echo throughout the dorm. “God, she got so tight! I’mma cum too!” Desperate whimpers leave his lips as he pumps himself with your hole, using you to get himself closer and closer to a fat nut. Sato does the same, forcing you up and down on his dick, using your pussy like a toy. “Do it, bro. Fill this stupid bitch up with me. Teach her a fuckin’ lesson.” 

The two twins chase their orgasms without abandon, their moans growing louder and thrusts growing harder until finally, the pull out and explode like rockets. You feel hot gushes and ropes of creamy spunk coat your pussy and your ass, dripping down to stain your inner thighs and Sato’s lap. As they cum, you completely lose yourself. Your body feels lighter than feather and you float through the ceiling, experiencing an out-of-body experience on camera. 

Toru watches in surprise, you squirt all over Sato’s cock and the couch, feeling your pussy gush and gush rivers of honey all over yourself. Toru gets wet too, his balls sprayed by your squirt. He stares at you whining and bucking in Sato’s lap, astonished yet confused. “What is this?” he wonders. 

“That’s fuckin’ squirt, bro!” Sato laughs, his face glistening in wet. “Daaaamn, you did all of that with one stroke! Proud of ya!” He grins wildly at his twin panting and recovering behind you, his cock still in your ass. “So how was your first time fuckin’ pussy and ass, bro? A nice ride, right?” 

He takes the phone and records Toru, getting every bead of sweat sliding down his flushed face. He doesn’t answer, instead focusing on you lying limp against Sato’s chest. “You did so well for us, baby,” he coos, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You took my cum so good. Such a good baby girl.” 

Sato hums in agreement. “The audience agrees,” he chuckles. 

And that’s when he turns his phone to show you that, in fact, there is an audience. About 500 people watching a Twitch stream of you in Sato’s lap with Toru plugging his cock behind you. “Now everybody knows exactly what you are,” he whispers, malice in his tone. “But only we get to fuck your greedy, slutty ass.” 

Fear and doom grips your gut when you realize that you’ve been played this entire time. And now everybody knows your dirty little secret. Everybody knows that you’re nothing but a two-timin’ slut. 

And the Gojo twins’ new plaything. 

The creak of Asaud’s bedroom door—always shut now—grates against your nerves like a splinter you can’t dig out. Two weeks straight of it. No more sprawled across the couch with his cleats kicked up, no more leaning over your shoulder while you cooked just to steal a taste. Just that door locked tight as a vault, the muffled bass of his music throbbing through the wood like a pulse you weren’t invited to hear.  

He used to be yours—your baby, even when he hit six feet tall. The boy who’d press his forehead to yours after bad games and whisper, “I’m sorry, Momma,” like your disappointment cut deeper than any coach’s scream. 

Now? His “Cool,” lands like a slap when you ask about practice. His backpack stays slumped by the door, untouched since yesterday. Homework? Done. Dinner? Not hungry. 

And sleep—Lord, the sleeping. You catch him slumped over his desk sometimes when you dare to knock, cheek smushed against his physics textbook, lashes fluttering like he’s fighting to stay awake even in dreams. Other days he doesn’t stir ‘til noon, blankets twisted around his waist, phone clutched in his palm like it holds answers.  

Onyankopon misses it. Not because he doesn’t care—hell no. That man breathes for his son. But between welding shifts at the shipyard—arms streaked with soot, muscles aching from hauling steel—he comes home too exhausted to see past Asaud’s “I’m straight, Pops.” 

And you? You’re softer. Always have been. The one who smooths his edges when Ony’s tough love ain’t the fix. But lately…  

When your hand hovers over Asaud’s door? The wood feels colder than it should.

Your phone buzzes against the countertop, pulling you from your thoughts. The screen lights up with a text from Papa—your husband's contact name forever unchanged since the day he programmed it himself. 

Shipyard lettin’ us slide early. Gon’ grab some crawfish, swing by Nana’s for y’all. You want extra butter? 

A slow smile curls your lips. You’re halfway through typing your response—but that’s when the screen flashes again. Not another text.  

An incoming call.  

Principal Guidry—Bonnabel High. 

“…Hello?” 

“Hey, baby.”

Principal Guidry’s voice is honey thick Creole, the same one that used to holler at y’all for cutting class back in tenth grade. Now it’s laced with something heavy. 

“I’m real sorry to call like this—”

Your grip tightens. 

“Cherise, what’s wrong? Is Asaud—“

“He’s fine.”

She hesitates before correcting, “Physically, leastways. But…” 

A pause. The shuffle of papers. 

“My office chair ain’t never felt this heavy. Got yo’ boy sittin’ right here lookin’ like he wanna disappear into the floor. Suspended. Three days.” 

Suspended? The word doesn’t even sound right in the air.  

“Black eye and all,” she adds softly.  

Your breath catches. Asaud? Your gentle giant? Fighting? 

“What happened?” 

Cherise exhales hard, “Let him tell it. ‘Need you to come get him.” 

The kitchen suddenly feels too hot. 

"I’m on my way." 

The tires of your truck screech against cracked asphalt as you fishtail into the Bonnabel High parking lot, heart hammering against your ribs. You should text Onyankopon—should—but even thinking about it makes your stomach twist. The man would burn down the entire Eastbank if he heard his son was hurt, the welding torch still in hand, fury hotter than molten steel. No, better to handle this first.  

The school looms ahead, its faded maroon bricks and rusted Saints banners looking harsher under the afternoon sun. Then—movement. The double doors swing open, and there’s Asaud, flanked by two security guards, his broad frame hunched like he’s trying to fold into himself.  

You don’t even cut the engine before you’re out the car, bare feet slapping against hot concrete.  

“Mon bébé—oh my God, look at your face!” 

Your hands flutter over his swollen eye, fingers trembling as you trace the bruise purpling his caramel skin. It’s deep, angry—someone hit him hard. The Creole spills out of you unfiltered, a storm of “Qui t'a fait ça?!” and “Let me see, cher—” 

Asaud exhales sharply, catching your wrists with a gentleness that belies his size.  

“Chill, Momma. I’m fine.” 

One of the guards—a thick necked man with a walkie crackling at his hip—clears his throat. 

“Ma’am, ‘you gotta clear the lot.” 

The dismissal in his tone snaps something in you. 

“Clear the—do you see my child’s face? Who did this? Who—” 

“Momma.” 

Asaud’s grip firms, steering you back toward the car with a nudge. The kids pressed against the cafeteria windows don’t make it any better. He just climbs into the passenger seat without another word, jaw set.  

And so, you follow.

The air inside the truck is thick with unspoken words, the only sound is the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of Asaud shifting in his seat. His profile is sharp against the afternoon light streaming through the window—jaw clenched, lashes lowered—a portrait of quiet defiance.  

“…Are you alright?” 

“Yeah.”

One word, clipped.  

“Does Coach know what happened?”

“Not yet.” 

That stings. Asaud loves football—loves his team, loves the way his daddy’s face lights up when he makes a play. If he’s keeping this from Coach? Something serious must’ve happened.

“Ti-Loup… are you really okay?”

Little wolf—the childhood nickname slips out before you can stop it, tender as a bruise.  

His broad shoulders slump as he leans his temple against the glass.  

“…Head hurts.” 

“Baby, if you hit your head, you can’t sleep—” 

Your hand lifts instinctively, reaching to brush his temple, check for fever—but he tilts away before you can make contact. Your fingers hover in the air for a heartbeat before dropping back to the wheel. 

The moment the truck rolls to a stop in the driveway, Asaud is already moving—door swinging open before you even cut the engine, his long legs carrying him toward the house in quick strides. You barely have time to gather your purse before he’s halfway up the porch steps.  

“Wait—" 

Your scramble after him, bare feet slapping against warm wood.  

“Ti-Loup—Asaud!” 

He slows down by a millisecond. 

“I still need to know what happened—“

“Ain’t nothin’.”

“Nothing?” 

You frown, “Look at your damn face!" 

You catch his wrist, forcing him to turn—only for him to yank free with a force that makes you stumble. 

“Why are you being like this? You don’t—you never avoid me.”

This time when he turns, his eyes aren’t just tired. They’re cold.  

“Damn, can’t I just breathe without y’all up my ass?” 

The words hit like a slap.  

For a second you just stand there, the sting of them settling deep beneath your skin. Your chest tightens—but you won’t cry. Not here. 

“Fine.” 

The word comes out quieter than you meant.  

“You can wait ‘til your father gets home to talk about it.”

His whole posture shifts—shoulders stiffening, eyes widening—like the mere mention of that man flipped a switch.  

“Momma—” 

But you’re already walking away.

The tension in the house is thick enough to slice with a butter knife—the kind of quiet that presses against your eardrums, heavy and oppressive. Asaud's bedroom door hasn't budged since you got home, not even when you knocked softly with a plate of food an hour ago. The plate is still sitting untouched outside his door, grits congealing into sad little lumps.  

This is how it always goes when Asaud knows Onyankopon is coming home to discipline him—radio silence, tense shoulders, the boy steeling himself like a soldier bracing for battle. Normally you'd bridge the gap, smooth things over with a joke or a hug. But today? The sting of his dismissal lingers like a bruise, and you can't bring yourself to force it.  

Then—keys. 

The front door swings open, and there he is.  

Dressed in a navy blue shipyard uniform, his sleeves are rolled up to reveal thick forearms corded with veins, tattoos a roadmap of ink against deep brown skin. A faded Saints cap sits low over his cornrows, shadows accentuating the sharp angles of his face—that strong jaw, all the way down to the facial hair coating his chin. The scent of saltwater and engine grease clings to him, mixing with the spicy aroma of the crawfish takeout in his hand. 

“‘Where my baby at?" 

His gaze locks onto you—your bare legs peeking out from under his jersey, your hair still crimped and wild from the kitchen heat—and his glare is all sin. 

“Goddamn,” he grunts—“You been walkin’ ‘round lookin’ like that while I’m gone? Gon’ make me come over there.” 

You huff a weak laugh despite the weight in your chest, watching him flex his fingers like they’re stiff from gripping a welding torch all day.

“Hi, Papa.” 

He grunts again—this one softer—as he stomps toward the kitchen, setting the takeout bag on the counter before peeling off his grease streaked work jacket. The muscles in his back ripple beneath his white tank as he tosses it over a chair, his voice rough but easy as he starts rambling.  

“Shit was a goddamn warzone today—‘foreman got on my nerves ‘bout some pipe measurements, then ‘them Lafitte boys tried to cut in line at Nana’s.” 

He pops the lid off the crawfish, steam billowing up as he scowls—“Like I ain’t gon’ notice they tryna’ snake my order.” 

You lean against the counter, watching him. Normally you’d interject—tease him about being territorial over seasoned crustaceans—but your mind is still tangled up in the quiet rage of your son’s dismissal.  

Onyankopon glances up, finally catching your silence. His dark brows furrow.  

“What’s wrong wit’ you?” 

You pick at the hem of the jersey.  

“‘Had… a day.” 

He murmurs, “I’m knowin’, Mama. A nigga glad to be home. ‘Been thinkin’ bout’ a shower, rubbin’ on yo’ feet—Where ‘Saud at? Lil’ nigga better be hungry ‘cause I got extra sausage just for hi—“ 

“He’s suspended.” 

The moment the words leave your lips, Onyankopon goes still—unnaturally still. Like every muscle in his body locks down at once. The air in the kitchen shifts, thickens. You can practically see the switch flip behind his eyes—the shift from husband to father, from easy laughter to cold calculation.  

“Fuck you mean suspended?”   

You exhale, folding your arms across your chest, suddenly aware of how small you feel beneath his gaze.  

“…I don't know, Ony. He wouldn't tell me."

His nostrils flare—once, twice—before his dark eyes scan your face, picking up the tension in your brow, the way your fingers clutch the jersey fabric too tight.  

“"Y'all got into it?" 

“He didn't want to talk to me." 

A muscle in his temple jumps.  

“He ain't got no choice but to talk to you."

His voice is low, final—“Ain't no option." 

For a moment, silence stretches between you—thick and loaded—before his calloused fingers hook gently under your chin, tilting your face up to his. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, gruff but tender.  

“Gimme’ yo’ mouth first." 

You exhale shakily, leaning in. His lips are warm, firm against yours—brief but grounding—before he pulls back just enough to press his forehead to yours. His breath is hot against your skin, smelling faintly of peppermint and the crawfish he'd been handling.  

And then—  

"ASAUD!" 

His roar shakes the damn house. No hesitation, no preamble. 

“Get yo’ ass out here.” 

You flinch, knowing how quickly Asaud heard him. Even through walls. Even through attitude.  

Silence.  

Then—footsteps. Slow. Reluctant. 

Asaud appears in the doorway, broad shoulders slumped just slightly, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets. His eyes flicker up—just once—to meet his father's gaze before lowering again, careful not to show outright defiance but unable to hold the intensity of that stare for long.  

Onyankopon doesn't speak at first. Just looks at him, eyes raking over the swollen skin, the purple black bruise blooming beneath his son’s eye. Then—movement. 

His hand shoots out, calloused fingers gripping Asaud’s chin with a firmness that isn’t rough but leaves no room for resistance. He tilts his face toward the light, inspecting the damage with the clinical precision of a man who’s seen—and dealt—his share of blows.  

“‘You alright?"

Asaud’s throat bobs.  

“Yes, sir." 

Onyankopon’s grip doesn’t loosen.  

“Then why ain't you tell yo’ momma what happened?" 

Asaud’s jaw flexes beneath his father’s hold, his voice barely above a murmur.  

“...Didn’t wanna talk about it, sir.” 

“What’d you say to her?" 

“I ain’t say nothin’." 

“Tch." 

A sharp click of his tongue.  

“Tête levée quand tu m'parles." 

Head up when you talk to me. 

The Creole rolls off his tongue sharply, and Asaud’s chin lifts almost immediately—eyes snapping to meet his father. The apology spills out before he can stop it—  

“Désolé, Pops—"

“Whatchu’ apologizin’ for if you ain’t say nothin’?"  

The silence in the kitchen turns electric, thick enough to choke on. Onyankopon’s grip loosens just enough to turn Asaud’s face toward you—not rough, but insistent. 

“m‘What he say to you?" 

“He said—" Your voice wavers, but you force it steady. “'Damn, can I breathe without y’all being up my ass?'"  

Onyankopon looks back to Asaud. 

“So we ‘up yo’ ass’ now?"  

He steps into his son's space, forcing his head up again with a rough tap of two fingers beneath his chin.  

"’You think you grown enough to talk to yo’ momma like that?”

Asaud’s lips part—but no sound comes out.  

“I asked you a question." 

“No, sir," Asaud mutters, jaw tight.  

“Nah, see—you acted like it."

 Onyankopon’s voice sharpens, cutting like a blade—“You got one mother. One. The woman who carried yo’ big headed ass for nine months, who still make yo’ plate first even when yo’ dumbass bein’ ungrateful. And ‘this how you talkin’ to her?" 

The words land like bricks.  

"Look at her." 

Asaud’s eyes flicker to you once, then darting away again.  

“Soft as fuck wit’ you," Onyankopon continues—“Always been. ‘You sick? She up all night. ‘You hungry? She cookin’ before you even ask. You ain’t just disrespectin’ yo momma—you disrespecting’ my wife.” 

Asaud swallows hard, his shoulders tightening like he’s bracing for impact. Onyankopon doesn’t let up though, drilling into him with a stare that could crack concrete.  

“Apologize." 

“I’m sorry, Momma." 

Your chest tightens. 

“I’m not upset, baby," you murmur, “It just hurt my feelings—I wanna know what’s going on, okay? That’s all.” 

Finally, Asaud exhales, defeated.  

"...I fought Jamal." 

That catches both of you off guard. Jamal? His wide receiver—his best friend? 

Onyankopon’s brows shoot up, "The hell for?” 

“...Cheer team girl." 

The silence that follows Asaud's confession is deafening. 

“So you gon’ fuck up yo’ throwin’ hand—lose yo’ scholarship—over some girl?” 

The words come out low, measured, but they hit like a sledgehammer. You step forward, hands lifting slightly—  

“Hey, let’s just—" 

”Who the girl?" 

Asaud shifts uncomfortably, shoulders rolling back like he’s preparing for war.  

"Sabine." 

“She ‘bad like yo’ momma?" 

“Onyankopon!” 

He doesn’t even glance your way, his glare still locked onto Asaud.  

“Why you callin’ my name?" ’His voice drops dangerously—“That gotta’ be the reason. Otherwise, I  need yo’ son to explain why he fuckin’ up all his opportunities over some bullshit."

“It ain’t bullshit!" Asaud’s voice booms, raw and defensive—“She’s different.” 

Onyankopon doesn’t laugh—doesn’t even smirk. His expression stays stone-cold as he steps forward, closing the gap between them with a single stride.  

“That’s what you thinkin’ right now,” he growls, “But I promise—she ain’t. You thinkin’ bout some pussy, and that ain’t gon’ get you in the NFL or keep yo’ wide receiver." 

He jabs a thick finger against Asaud’s chest—hard. 

“Yo’ head loose, and I ain’t raisin’ no kids outside of you." 

Asaud’s chest heaves, his nostrils flaring as his temper flares hotter. Then—  

“You were younger than me when you knocked Momma up.” 

The moment those words leave Asaud’s mouth—sharp, deliberate, meant to cut—your stomach drops. Your lips part in quiet disbelief, brows knitting together as hurt flashes hot behind your ribs.  

“Asaud!" 

But Onyankopon is already moving—fast, too fast—his massive hand snatching the front of Asaud’s hoodie, yanking him forward until their faces are inches apart. Asaud’s breath comes ragged, shoulders rising and falling under the strain of his father’s grip, but he doesn’t fight it.  

"You right." 

A pause—sharp, loaded.  

“Here I am sixteen years later—still bustin’ my ass for you the moment I ‘knocked’ yo’ momma up."

His fingers tighten in the fabric, knuckles whitening—" I don’t ever regret havin’ you, and if I can prevent you from goin’ through the same shit me and yo’ momma handled? That’s what Imma’ do." 

Asaud swallows hard, his throat bobbing.  

"Ion’ give a fuck ‘bout no lil’ ass girl," Onyankopon rasps, “Or yo’ feelings just ‘cause you on some puppy love shit. Football. School. That’s yo’ priorities." 

Your fingers curl into Onyankopon’s sleeve, tugging gently—“Baby… let him go." 

Asaud’s voice cracks as he mutters, “Pops—" 

"Pop’s nothin’." 

Onyankopon shoves him back—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make his point. He spits something in Creole—low, guttural—before jerking his chin toward the kitchen.  

“Go eat the food yo’ momma cooked." 

The moment Onyankopon issued that command, Asaud's shoulders slumped—defeated but still simmering with that same stubborn fire his father carried in his bones. His jaw clenched tight, eyes flashing with frustration before he turned on his heel, storming down the hallway. The slam of his bedroom door echoed through the house like a gunshot, rattling the frames on the walls.  

Onyankopon didn’t even flinch.  

“Don’t be slammin’ no doors in this bitch you can’t pay to fix.” 

And all you could do was sigh, pressing your fingertips to your forehead as the weight of the afternoon settled over you like a heavy blanket.  

Hours later, the house was eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes when two prideful men refuse to be the first to break. Nightfall crept in, painting the walls in long shadows as you moved through the dimly lit kitchen, plating a heaping serving of shrimp and grits—still warm, just the way he liked it.  

But Onyankopon was nowhere to be found.  

Not in the living room, not in the bedroom—so you already knew where he was.  

Stepping onto the porch, the humid Louisiana air wrapped around you like a second skin. The cicadas sang their nightly chorus, the scent of magnolias thick in the breeze. And there he was—shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips as his massive frame crouched near the steps.  

The metal bowl in his hands rattled impatiently as he shook it, muttering under his breath.  

“‘What you doin’, Papa?” 

He didn’t even glance up, his deep voice gruff with irritation.  

“…Tryna’ feed this damn cat ‘Saud be so worried about.” 

A soft mrrow sounded from the bushes, and a scruffy orange tabby slinked out, eyeing Onyankopon warily before darting forward to swipe at the bowl.  

Of course he was out here—still pissed, still stubborn—but making sure his son’s stray was fed.  

Some things never changed.

The stray cat—scruffy, wide-eyed, and perpetually suspicious—padded cautiously along the porch railing, its tail flicking with a mix of curiosity and defiance. It sniffed the air, nostrils twitching as it scented Onyankopon instead of Asaud’s familiar presence. With a deliberate hmph, it turned its head away from the bowl, pretending disinterest even as its stomach growled loud enough for you both to hear.  

You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past your lips.  

"You’re mean to him too—that’s why he won’t eat." 

Onyankopon scowled, shaking the bowl harder, the dry kibble rattling like a warning.  

“Yeah? I take care of his ungrateful ass too." 

You sighed dramatically, leaning against the doorframe as you murmured—“The Tin Man does have a heart, it seems."

Onyankopon shot you a look before gruffly calling out, "Aight, Tiger—come get this damn food."*  

“His name is Tango.” 

“Same shit."  

Finally the cat hopped down, sauntering over with an air of reluctant grace. It rubbed its entire body along Onyankopon’s bare calf, purring loud enough to vibrate the porch boards beneath him.  

“Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, nudging the bowl closer with his foot—“Gon’ head." 

You stepped forward then, bringing the plate of shrimp and grits closer, the rich aroma mixing with the warm night air.  

“You need to eat too, baby.” 

Onyankopon’s fingers then curl gently around your throat—not tight, but there, possessive and grounding. He dropped a series of rough, smacking kisses against your lips, each one firm and fleeting before he finally took the plate with his free hand.  

“Aight," he muttered, settling onto the wooden stairs.  

The cat ate. Your husband ate. Now, you could have the real conversation you’d been holding off on.

You settle onto the wooden steps behind him, the worn planks creaking softly under your weight as you wrap your legs around his waist, molding your body against the warm expanse of his back. He’s hot to the touch—always running like a furnace—and you bury your face between his shoulder blades, inhaling the faint lingering scent of his cologne as he eats. 

"Did you check on your son?" 

The fork scrapes against the plate as he chews, his shoulders lifting in a half-shrug.

“Nah. But I know you did." 

A gruff pause, “‘He still alive? Limbs all attached?"

You hum, fingers trailing lazily through the neat rows of his cornrows, tracing the patterns like you’ve done a thousand times before.

 “Funny. He’s asleep.” 

Silence stretches between you, thick with unsaid things. Then, softly—  

“You do know you were wrong, right?" 

“Which part? ‘Cause I ain’t wrong about a lot of shit."  

You exhale through your nose, leaning into his shoulder as you murmur, “Ti tèt di."

 Stubborn man.

He doesn’t respond, just keeps eating—his jaw working methodically, the muscles in his back flexing beneath your touch. You press a kiss to the nape of his neck before continuing—  

”Remember when we found out I was pregnant? How scared you were?"

Silence.  

You then whisper, “He’s got an amazing head on his shoulders, Papa. Just like you. Maybe...he’s serious about this girl." 

“He’s sixteen.” 

“And we were fifteen—sneakin’ into my momma’s house when she went to sleep, havin’ unprotected sex, and then what happened?” 

He leans back into you with a rough huff, his head tilting just enough to bump against yours.

“You tryna be funny.” 

“I’m not."

 Your fingers trail down to his jaw, tracing the line of his beard as you say—“Our parents kicked us out, and we’ve been on our own since then."

The silence between you grows heavier, thick with the weight of memories neither of you ever really talk about—nights spent sleeping in his beat up Chevy, the way his voice had cracked when his own father slammed the door in his face, the quiet tears you'd wiped away when your mama called you a disgrace.  

You press a kiss to his shoulder, soft as a prayer. 

"But we knew our little wolf was special, didn’t we?”  

A beat. 

“Yeah." 

You smile against his skin, “Asaud is yours, but he’s not you. He’s not gonna make the mistakes we did—and shuttin’ him down like our parents did to us? It’d be unfair.”  

Onyankopon exhales—long, slow—his head tipping back against your shoulder.

Your voice is barely above a whisper, soft yet carrying the weight of years as you murmur, "Give him the grace we never got." 

Your husband goes quiet. The cicadas hum in the thick night air, the stray cat now curled on the porch railing, licking its paws as if amused by the whole scene.  

Then—  

“‘Guess I ain't have to yank his ass up like that." 

The admission comes out gruff, and you can't help the faint smile that tugs at your lips. With a playful flick to the side of his head, you tease, "Don’t be puttin’ hands on my baby no more." 

Before you can blink, his massive arm hooks behind you, tugging you effortlessly onto his lap. You let out a surprised squeak of laughter, instantly melting into the familiar warmth of his hold—his thick thighs beneath you, the hard plane of his chest pressed flush against your back. His heat engulfs you, his scent wrapping around your senses like a second skin.  

You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, fingers tracing the shell of his ear as you murmur, "But hey… we didn’t do so bad, did we?" 

His arms tighten around your waist, lips brushing your temple—"Nah. We did better.”  

You giggle as he kisses you, slow at first, then deeper, hotter—your tongue stroking his with a suddenly filthy, practiced familiarity. You pull back just enough to whisper against his lips, “‘Wore your jersey just for you…" 

His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone as he groans, half-amused, half-exasperated. 

“You know I’ll never say no—but a nigga tired as hell." 

You gasp in mock offense, pulling back to squint at him.

 “Oh, so you can yoke up my child— but no dick for me?" 

That deep, rich chuckle vibrates against your ribs as he leans back against the porch railing, pulling you tighter against him.

“Daddy ain’t Superman. One city at a time."

You blow out an exaggerated huff, lips pursed in playful frustration as you mutter, “You're annoying." 

“And you horny." 

You cross your arms over your chest but sink deeper into his embrace anyway, the steady thump of his heartbeat against your back. After a beat, you nudge him with your elbow, voice softening.

 “...You love me?" 

For a moment he says nothing—just holds you there in the quiet, southern night humming around you both. 

Then, sweet as molasses—“When don't I?" 

And yeah. That was your answer.  

The next morning, Asaud wakes up early—his body already braced for a day of grueling chores and another lecture still hanging heavy in the air. He tiptoes down the hallway, bare feet quiet against the hardwood, expecting silence. Instead? The rich, savory scent of butter, garlic, and smoked sausage hits him the moment he steps near the kitchen.  

He pauses. Frowns.  

Spread across the countertop is a full Louisiana-style breakfast—crispy-edged fried eggs, golden-brown grits swimming in cheese, spicy Cajun hash, and fluffy buttermilk biscuits still steaming from the oven. His favorite. 

Confusion knits his brows as he steps further inside, only to freeze at the sight of you and Onyankopon standing near the stove.  

Onyankopon's massive frame is leaned into yours, his head tilted slightly as your fingers glide through his cornrows, re-braiding the edges with careful precision. You're both talking—voices low, words unintelligible from where he stands—but the ease between you is undeniable.  

Then you glance up, spotting him lingering in the doorway.

 "Mornin’, baby," you greet, smiling—“How’d you sleep?" 

Asaud shifts awkwardly, eyes flicking between the food and his father's impassive face. 

“...Good," he mutters—“What's all this?"

“Yo’ momma insisted on makin’ yo’ favorite breakfast," Onyankopon grumbles, voice rough with morning fatigue.  

You flick his ear. 

He then huffs, “Aight, I told her to." 

You’re then crossing the kitchen toward Asaud, your bare feet padding softly against the tile. His eyes flicker with wariness, still bruised from yesterday’s heated exchange—though the mark looks lighter now, less angry. You reach up, fingers ghosting over the spot as you murmur, “Want momma to ice it for you?"  

Asaud ducks his head slightly, but shakes it—“No ma’am, I’m aight." 

You smile, nudging him toward the table where his plate waits. 

“Eat ‘fore it gets cold." 

Hesitant, he sinks into his chair, poking at the food before glancing between you both suspiciously. 

“…Y’all poisoned my food or sum’?" 

"Ain’t I tell you he was finna’ think that?"

“Hush, Ony.”

Your voice softens then as you turn back to Asaud. 

“We had a…revelation last night... and we just want you to know—we love you. All of you. Every stubborn, hardheaded, beautiful part." 

The kitchen falls silent—save for the sizzle of grease in the skillet, the hum of the ceiling fan.  

You take a deep breath, clasping your hands together excitedly. The morning sunlight spills across the kitchen table as you announce, “Me and Daddy have been feeling a little disconnected from you lately, so we came up with an idea—Family Date! Yes Edition.” 

Asaud blinks, fork hovering mid air over his grits.

“…Yes Edition?”

You beam, “Whatever you want to do today—no matter what—we have to say yes to!" 

Asaud's frown deepens, but there's a flicker of something mischievous in his gaze now. 

“Whatever I want?"

You nod enthusiastically. On the other hand, Onyankopon rubs his temple as he mutters, “My damn wallet achin’ already." 

“The sky is the limit, baby. What’d you wanna do?" 

For a long moment, Asaud chews thoughtfully, brow furrowed as he considers his options. Then? It hits him all at once. 

“Aight, bet.” 

He sits up straighter as he lists off, “First—we hittin’ up Bayou Guns for some target practice. Then, monster truck rally tickets—front row. After that, ’whole rack of ribs from Big Mike’s Smokehouse, extra spicy. And,”—he pauses dramatically, eyes flicking to his father—“Pops, you gotta let me drive the truck today." 

Onyankopon almost chokes on his coffee. 

“Hell nah I’m not!" 

You level the look at Onyankopon—the one that makes his jaw twitch because he knows he’s already lost. His dark eyes flick from you to Asaud’s hopeful expression before he exhales sharply through his nose, resigned.  

“It’s yo’ day, Papa. Gon’ head." 

Asaud’s grin is immediate, lighting up his entire face like a kid on Christmas morning.

 This was gonna be an adventure. 

The day starts with everyone scrambling to get ready—you weren’t exactly thrilled about spending hours immersed in testosterone fueled chaos, but the thought of just being with your boys? Had you smiling despite yourself.  

Onyankopon emerges looking stupidly fine—his black long sleeve clinging to every defined ridge of muscle, the ink snaking down his arms and neck peeking out from beneath the fabric. Camo pants hang low on his hips, black Dunks laced tight on his feet, and those damn chains glinting against his chest like he stepped straight out of some high end streetwear ad. His face—God—those sharp tattoos along his cheekbones contrasting his deep brown skin, that signature don’t fuck with me glare permanently etched into his expression.  

You keep poking at it as you all get ready, making him swat your hand away with a grunt.  

Asaud mirrors his energy effortlessly—hoodie layered over his own fitted tee, shoes swapped for something sleeker, but the same vibe radiating off him. Like father, like son.  

You press kisses to both their cheeks before stepping back, smoothing down the backless top and capris hugging your curves—classy enough to turn heads, erotic enough to have Onyankopon’s fingers twitching. His dark gaze drops to your chest where your nipples press visibly against the fabric.  

“‘You cold?” he rumbles, dragging a single fingertip over one peaked bud.  

You pout, swatting his hand away—“It’s just chilly!" 

Now, here was the card ride. Pure chaos as you’d imagined—Onyankopon gripping the passenger side handle like he was seconds from yanking the wheel himself every time Asaud hit the gas too hard or took a turn a little too sharp.

“Nigga, I swear—if you don’t slow down, Imma’ have you pull over right here and make you ride in the back like the toddler you actin’ like." 

Asaud just smirked, glancing at you in the rearview before purposefully tapping the accelerator again—just to watch his father’s eye twitch.  

The gun range parking lot was packed, buzzing with the low hum of engines and the occasional pop of gunfire in the distance. Stepping out of the truck, you immediately felt that familiar dread creep in—not from the firearms, but from the eyes. The looks. The inevitable moment when someone would glance between you, Onyankopon, and Asaud, their brows furrowing as they tried to piece together your dynamic.  

Were you his older siblings? Friends?  

Then—the shock when they realized—Oh. You were his mother. 

Being a parent had never forced you to dress older than you were, never dulled your vibrancy to fit some matronly mold. Even now, trailing behind Onyankopon and Asaud—both towering over you, broad shouldered and imposing—you looked every bit the effortlessly sensual, youthful woman you were. Your deep merlot Coach purse swung at your hip, charms jingling with each step, your jet black curls bouncing against your back. Meanwhile, Onyankopon moved like he owned the ground beneath him, all quiet power and simmering dominance—a kingpin with his diamond in tow. 

The inside smelled like gunpowder, leather, and faintly of the fried catfish wafting from the snack bar in the corner. The air was thick with humidity, clinging to your skin as soon as you stepped inside—sharp cracks of gunfire echoed off the concrete walls, making your shoulders tense involuntarily. Each shot sounded like a miniature explosion—too loud, too sudden—and you instinctively pressed closer to Onyankopon's side, fingers tightening around his hand as if anchoring yourself to him.

The man behind the register gruffly asked, “What’chu wanna shoot with today?” 

Asaud’s eyes flickered toward the glass case displaying an array of firearms—some sleek and modern, others heavy and intimidating. His gaze lingered on the biggest one—a monstrous, black tactical shotgun that looked like it could knock a grown man flat on his back.  

Onyankopon didn’t even blink, “That one."

Asaud's eyes widened, “Forreal’?"

“Yo’ day, right?"

You retreated to the far back of the room, perched on a worn leather bench like a reluctant cheerleader. Your knees pressed together, hands folded in your lap as you watched them gear up—ear protection, gloves, safety glasses.  

Onyankopon looked illegal—his black sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, tattooed forearms as he handled the firearm with the kind of casual expertise that made your stomach flip. The range owner walked him through the basics—not that he needed it—but Onyankopon nodded along anyway, his deep voice rumbling something low in response.  

The sight before you had your lips parting slightly—Onyankopon lifting that heavy shotgun like it weighed nothing, his massive frame balanced with effortless precision. The first BOOM of his test shot rattled through the private room, the recoil absorbed effortlessly by his broad shoulders. Smoke curled from the barrel as he exhaled, lowering the gun and turning to Asaud with that same unreadable expression—except you knew him, knew the subtle pride in the tilt of his chin, the patience in his stance as he prepared to teach his son the way his own father had taught him.  

“Regarde,” he murmured, shifting fluidly between English and Creole as he adjusted Asaud’s grip. 

“Firme, yeah? Shoulder tight—non, like this.” 

His large hands guided Asaud's calloused fingers, pressing the younger man’s palm flush against the stock.

“You feel that? That’s control. ‘You nervous, ‘that gun know.” 

And just like that—Asaud shifted. His spine straightened, shoulders squaring under his father’s approval. The next shot he took wasn’t perfect—but it was strong, the kickback barely rocking him as the target downrange splintered at the edge.  

“Decent,” Onyankopon conceded, “For yo’ first try.” 

Your hands shot up in excited applause, curls tumbling over your freckled cheeks as you cheered, “Yay!”—you then blew a stubborn strand out of your face with a playful huff, watching as Asaud wandered over to stand beside you, wiping his palms on his hoodie.  

"Gon’ head, Pops," he called out, nodding toward the range.  

Onyankopon stepped up, and suddenly, the gun in his hands wasn’t just a weapon. It was an extension of him. Each shot boomed like thunder, paper targets shredding into confetti under his relentless precision. He moved like liquid—fluid, deadly—twisting the gun with an assassin’s grace, reloading without breaking rhythm. The sheer power radiating off him had your pulse thrumming in your throat.  

Asaud whistled low under his breath.  

“Aight, Sergeant! ‘Where you learn that from?" 

“He wanted to be one, actually.” 

Asaud turned to you, brow arched. 

"Pops wanted to be in the army?”   

Your gaze lingered on your husband, watching the way his shoulders flexed as he fired off another perfect shot—the way his focus never wavered, even now.  

"Higher up in the Navy, actually," you murmured. “‘Wanted to follow in his father’s path… before I got pregnant with you." 

A beat of silence. Then—  

“What happened?" 

Your fingers toyed with the charms on your purse, but your eyes stayed on Onyankopon. You exhale, “He disowned him. Hasn’t spoken to his father since I was in my first trimester." 

The words hung heavy between you.  

“He would’ve found a way to go overseas," you continued softly—"But he didn’t want to leave me. Or you. ‘Wanted to watch you grow up." 

Asaud’s voice was quieter now, “So…he never went for what he really wanted?” 

You turned to him then, smiling—really smiling—despite the ache in your chest.  

“You became our first priority the moment I held you in my arms, baby.”

Your voice dipped into honeyed warmth, "And you cried, cried, cried.” 

A dreamy little smile tugged at your lips, the memory of tiny fists gripping your finger, Onyankopon's unreadable mask cracking just once as he pressed his lips to your sweaty forehead in that delivery room.  

You blinked back to the present, tilting your head toward Asaud. 

“Your father can be…difficult," you admitted, “But know this—he loves you more than anything in this world. Everything he does, every hard lesson...it's because he wants everything for you." 

Asaud scuffed his shoe against the concrete floor, "I know that, Momma.” 

Just then, Onyankopon's shadow fell over you both, smelling like gunpowder and that stupidly expensive cologne he only wore on special occasions. 

“Y’all talkin’ ‘bout me?" he rumbled, slinging an arm around your shoulders.  

You batted your lashes up at him innocently—“Just tellin’ our son where he gets his handsome features from." 

Onyankopon's nostrils flared, “Don’t be flirtin’ with me in front of our child, girl," he muttered, the heat in his low voice betraying him.  

Your giggle spilled freely as you leaned even more into him, “Too late." 

“Aight, Aight,”  Asaud groaned, “Y’all weird. Monster trucks next—before y’start kissin’ or sum’." 

And just like that? You were onto the next.

The monster truck show was deafening, and entirely too boyish for your liking. You spent most of it grimacing, and hiding behind Onyankopon’s shoulder each time you thought you were gonna witness a crime scene explosion. From the activities today? You were sure to be rewarded by this meal. 

The scent of hickory smoke and sizzling meat hits you the moment you step into Big Mike’s Smokehouse—a cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and bluesy guitar riffs pouring from the jukebox in the corner. The worn wooden booth creaks as you slide in beside Onyankopon, your thighs pressing together beneath the checkered tablecloth. Across from you, Asaud taps his fingers against the menu, though all three of you already know what you’re ordering—extra spicy ribs, collard greens swimming in pot liquor, and cornbread so buttery it melts on contact.  

Your fingers trace idle circles over Onyankopon’s knuckles where his hand rests in your lap, his rough skin warm against your touch. You take a breath, leaning into his shoulder before murmuring, “Did you enjoy yourself today, baby?" 

Asaud nods, a rare softness in his expression. 

“I did. ‘Preciate y’all." 

You smile, cheeks flushing—but then you straighten slightly, catching Onyankopon’s eye. 

“Well—now that we’ve played—let’s have a serious conversation, yeah?" 

Asaud’s shoulders tense almost imperceptibly, but he nods.

“Yes, ma’am." 

“Jamal," Onyankopon starts, “What really happened between y’all?" 

Asaud exhales through his nose, dragging a hand over his locs.

 "I…always liked Sabine. Jamal knew that. ‘Still tried to get at her." 

You hum, tilting your head.

 “I don’t doubt she’d like you, baby. But—“ You choose your words carefully, "Did she seem…responsive to your feelings? Or does she actually like Jamal?" 

Asaud’s jaw works before he mutters, “She do like me. ‘Told me my dreads was cool last week." 

Onyankopon blinks. Slowly. 

Then turns to you, one brow arched—“‘That’s how the lil’ girls get niggas’ attention?"

Your shoulders lift in a helpless shrug, “I guess?” 

Asaud frowns, “Why y’all actin’ like confused old people right now?” 

You bite your lip, exhaling through your nose—“I’m sorry, baby. Y’all’s generation is just…different in courting each other. The only way you know how is to—” 

Then—it hits you. Like a freight train.  

Your spine stiffens. Eyes widening, you lean halfway across the table, gripping Asaud’s hands tight enough to make him blink.  

“Asaud?” 

He freezes.

 “Lawd, Momma. You scarin’ me. What’s wrong?” 

“This…Sabine girl…you haven’t…?” 

“Haven’t what?”  

Onyankopon leans back, raising a brow. 

Asaud’s gaze darts between you both before he huffs, “Contrary to stereotypes with bein’ quarterback—yes, Momma—I’m still a virgin. Damn.” 

The breath you’d been holding whooshes out of you. Your head drops forward, curls spilling over your shoulders as you clutch your chest. 

“Thank God! Okay, I just…whew,” You fan yourself dramatically, “I almost fainted.” 

Asaud shifts in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck before he drops the bombshell. 

“Despite y’all thinkin’ my head is loose, I plan on waitin’ ‘til marriage." 

“Mon chéri!” you squeal in Creole, launching yourself forward as you kiss his forehead no less than three times as he groans, trying to duck away.

“Mwen si fiè de ou! Oh, mon bébé!” 

Onyankopon watches, amusement lacing his voice as he mutters, “She finna’ start speakin’ in tongues—don’t say shit else, boy."

You're still catching your breath from the emotional high when you lean forward, smoothing Asaud’s shirt before saying with earnest warmth, “Okay—well, although that’s amazing to hear—don’t be afraid to ask questions, baby. I know sex education isn’t the best in schools, so…anything in that aspect, you know you can always come to us, right?" 

Onyankopon clears his throat, "I think you gotta leave that conversation for me, shawty—" 

You wave a hand dismissively, “We’re supposed to be bonding! Don’t leave me out of it.” 

Onyankopon exhales through his nose. He then says,  “‘You right. Yo’ pops an open book, ‘Saud.”

Asaud’s gaze darts between you both, hesitating. 

Then? 

“Does the pull out method really work?" 

Your mouth drops. Of all the questions—  

Heat floods your cheeks as your brain short-circuits. Before you can even think of a diplomatic answer, Onyankopon leans back, arms crossed, and says completely deadpan—

“Ion’ know. I nut in yo’ momma everytime—" 

“OHMYGOD—“

 You shriek in Creole,  “Pouki ou fè sa nan piblik?!”

“So how come ion’ got a sibling?”

You’re so disturbed by Onyankopon who nonchalantly begins eating his food, taking a moment to process Asaud’s other question. You take a slow breath, fingers tightening around your napkin. 

"I got my tubes tied after I had you, baby. You’re my lifeline—but it was a horrible pregnancy."

 Your hand drifts unconsciously to your lower stomach, remembering the months of bed rest, the way your ankles swelled like overripe fruit.  

Then, shooting Onyankopon a look, you point a stern finger at Asaud—“Had your father answered educationally, you would’ve known why we can have unprotected sex—but you should not! Condoms. Every. Time."

Onyankopon interjects, "Unless y’all in love. Then? ‘Make yo’ wife a twinkie’.” 

Your fingers clutch desperately at the diner table as you squeak, “Let’s move on!”—voice pitching high like a deflating balloon. You clear your throat, smoothing a hand over your top as you force yourself back into Mom Mode. 

“What do you really like about this girl?”

Asaud pauses, staring down at his half-eaten ribs as if the bones might spell out the answer for him. For a moment, there’s nothing but the clatter of silverware and Big Mike’s raspy laugh booming from the kitchen. 

“She got this…quiet way ’bout her," he starts, voice lower than usual. 

“Like, she don’t gotta laugh loud to be heard. And when she do smile—" He shakes his head, a faint grin tugging at his lips—“Man, it’s like she savin’ it just for you. Makes you feel…special, I guess."

You reach across the table, squeezing his wrist. 

“That’s sweet, baby. Real sweet. But…" You hesitate, exchanging a glance with Onyankopon before continuing gently, “Are you willing to pursue this girl and lose your best friend over it?"

Asaud’s jaw hardens, “Jamal clearly ain’t my friend." 

Onyankopon shakes his head, “Nah. He’s a boy on some puppy love shit—just like you.”

You now rub at Asaud’s knuckles.

“Baby, think about it. Jamal stayed at our house more nights than you did sometimes. Went to your cousins cookouts, helped your daddy fix up the car—" 

“Even came to yo’ grandma’s funeral," Onyankopon cuts in, dead serious—“That’s family shit." 

Your voice softens, “A real friend would’ve stepped back the moment he knew how you felt. But love makes people act stupid—especially at y’all’s age. You sure this girl worth torching that bridge?" 

Asaud’s throat bobs.

The diner’s chatter fades into a dull hum as Asaud sits back, shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his thoughts. His fingers fiddle with the condensation on his sweet tea glass, tracing idle circles as he chews on his bottom lip—the same nervous habit he’s had since he was a toddler.  

Then, finally, he exhales sharply through his nose.  

“A girl ain’t finna’ have me lose my wide receiver," he mutters, shaking his head. 

“But that ‘don’t mean I ain’t got feelin’s, Momma."

He thinks on his words for a moment. 

Asaud’s voice then drops lower, “A lot of my friends’ parents don’t get along—divorced, fightin’, separated, only cordial ‘cause they made a mistake back in the day. I know I clown on y’all’s gushiness…” he continues, waving a hand at the way you’re still practically draped over Onyankopon’s arm, “But…I’m glad I got parents that love each other. And I just—" He hesitates, eyes flickering down before meeting yours again—“I want somethin’ like that. Somethin’ real." 

A whimpery giggle escapes you as tears well in your eyes—hot, stinging—before spilling over.  

“Shit, here ‘she go," Onyankopon mutters, already rubbing at your hip affectionately.

Your heart swells so big it feels like it might burst right out of your chest. You slide out of the booth in one fluid motion, your hands cupping your son's face—rough stubble scratching your palms, his locs soft against your forearms.

“Do you know how much we love you, sweet boy?" 

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it.  

“I’m knowin’, Momma."  

Then, quieter—“Look…I’m sorry for bein’ mean to you yesterday. And…"

He glances at Onyankopon who’s watching with his usual stoic expression, though his dark eyes hold a warmth only you and Asaud ever really see—“Sorry to you too, Pops." 

That’s all it takes.  

You squeak, pulling him into a crushing embrace, smothering his face in kisses—his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose—while rapid-fire Creole endearments spill from your lips like a prayer.  

“Mon petit roi! Mon cœur! Bondye beni ou, mwen renmen ou tout bagay!" 

My little king ! God bless you, I love you with all my heart !

Asaud groans, half-heartedly trying to squirm away—"Damn, Momma—I said I was sorry—" 

“Non, non! Mwen pa fini ak ou!" 

I’m not done with you! 

Onyankopon watches, shaking his head—but when Asaud shoots him a pleading look, he just smirks and shrugs.  

“Take yo’ medicine, boy."

Your bottom lip juts out in an exaggerated pout as you turn pleading eyes toward Onyankopon, fingers still tangled in Asaud's locs.  

"Be sweet, Papa!" you urge, batting your lashes dramatically—“Tell your son you love him—none of that manly grunting stuff!" 

Onyankopon exhales through his nose, but after a beat, his deep voice rumbles—low, rough, but undeniably fond—  

“I love you, ‘Saud. Even when you actin’ dumb."

Asaud snorts, but the corner of his mouth lifts as he mutters back, “Love you too, Pops." 

You sigh happily, finally releasing Asaud—only to immediately eye his half-finished ribs. 

“Baby, lemme get a bite of—" 

“Nuh uh!" Asaud yanks his plate away, nodding toward Onyankopon. 

“You better ask yo’ husband!" 

Onyankopon slides his own plate toward you without a word, smirk smug as you stick your tongue out at Asaud.  

“Haters," you mumble around a mouthful of smoky, tender meat.  

Later, you’re curled into Onyankopon’s side on the couch, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm as some old cartoon flickers across the TV. The peace is shattered by Asaud’s bedroom door creaking open. He steps out fully dressed—hoodie, sneakers laced tight—and your head lifts from Onyankopon’s chest.  

“You okay, baby?" 

Asaud shifts on his feet, avoiding eye contact.

“I’m straight. Uh…Jamal finna’ be here in a couple minutes." 

You and Onyankopon exchange frowns—just as a knock echoes through the house.  

Jamal now stands on the threshold when Asaud opens the door, hands shoved in his pockets, head slightly bowed. 

“Evenin’, Mr. and Mrs. Osei.”

You blink, glancing between him and Asaud—who’s now lurking awkwardly by the foyer.  

“Uh…are y’all…okay now?"

“We talked. It's straight," Asaud mutters, shifting his weight as he glances between you and Jamal.  

Your eyes narrow slightly.  

“So that's it? Y’all ain’t fighting over this girl no more?" 

“This my ‘quarterback, Momma—“ Jamal chuckles, “Beta to his alpha—even though we both run shit, you know how it go."

“Language, ‘Mal." 

Jamal dips his head immediately at Onyankopon’s voice—“My fault, Mr. Osei." 

You exhale, shaking your head as you sink back against Onyankopon’s side.  

“You men are so strange." 

Then, glancing back at Jamal with a small smile, you add, “Well—are you staying to hang out, Jamal?" 

Before Jamal can answer, Asaud slips in smoothly—too smoothly—“Nah, we headed to a party." 

Onyankopon’s arm tenses beneath you, his jaw tightening. 

“Did you ask if you could go to a party?"

You press your palm gently against Onyankopon’s chest, “Ony, c’mon.” 

He exhales through his nose. 

“Curfew at eleven. Not a minute later. And both of y’all better answer yo’ phones when I call.” 

Asaud nods quickly, relief flashing in his eyes—“Got it." 

"We out, then. Love y’all!” 

You wave them off with a smile, “Be safe!" 

Your lashes flutter slightly as you watch Onyankopon’s sharp side profile an hour after they leave—the strong line of his jaw, the way braids shape out his face, his deep set eyes locked onto the TV screen like he’s studying every frame. You trace idle circles over his chest with your fingertips, admiring the way the dim lamplight catches the faint sheen of his skin.  

"What you starin’ at, girl?" 

You grin, pressing a kiss just above his heart.  

“My amazing husband." 

“Mmm”, he rumbles, “You just love flirtin’ with a nigga.”

You murmur, “Maybe," in a playful tone—then, with a gentle tug at his chin, you guide his face toward yours.

“You haven’t kissed your wife all day."

“Damn,” he grips at your waist, “A nigga finna’ get locked up, huh?" 

You giggle close to his lips, “Life with no parole." 

And then his mouth crashes into yours—full, warm, tasting like sweet tea and the lingering smokiness of barbecue. His kiss is slow at first, until you smoothly climb onto his lap, knees pressing into the couch cushions on either side of his hips. Your fingers tangle at the nape of his neck as you deepen the kiss, your tongue teasing his bottom lip until a rough grunt vibrates against your mouth.  

“Why you feenin’?” 

You don’t answer—too busy loosening his belt with practiced ease, your lips trailing down his neck as you palm him through his pants, earning another gravelly curse through your husband's mouth. 

“Saud’ could walk back in this house at any moment, girl—" 

Your laughter spills against his collarbone in breathy giggles, warm and honeyed, as your fingers hook into the waistband of his pants—finally freeing him into your grip. The moment his tip springs free, your breath catches—a sharp, needy whine escaping your throat as your eyes drink in the sight of him—thick, flushed, veins straining against heated skin, the tip already glistening with his impatience.  

“‘M hungry, Papa. Can I?” 

You mewl these words so desperately, lips brushing the twitching head as you gaze up at him through fluttering lashes.  

Onyankopon’s grip tightens in your curls—not pulling, just holding—as he rasps, “Goddamn. Aight.” 

Your tongue then darts out, tracing the swollen ridge beneath his crown, relishing the salt-sweet taste of him before dipping into his slit. His hips jerk—hard—knocking a choke from your lungs, but you don’t relent. Instead, you press open-mouthed kisses along his shaft, nuzzling into the thatch of coarse hair at the base before swirling your tongue around the tip again.  

“Hollon’, Mama—” he grits out, fingers flexing in your hair, but you’re already sinking down, taking him halfway with a blissful whimper. The stretch burns sweetly, your lips sealing around him as hollowed cheeks suck him deeper. His thighs tremble beneath you, a ragged, “Fuck—” tearing from his chest as your tongue swirls along his length on the upstroke.  

You pull off with a lewd pop, running your tongue viciously against your puffy lips at the way his stomach muscles clench. 

“Missed this,” you purr, licking a stripe from root to tip before swallowing him down again—deeper this time—until your nose brushes his skin. His groan is filthy, echoing through the living room as his head thuds back against the couch.  

“Gon’ make me act up,” he warns, voice dark with promise—but you just whimper again around him, eyes fluttering shut as you bob faster, hungrier. The wet sounds of your mouth on him mix with his ragged breaths, the cartoon still playing forgotten in the background. 

Your lips stretch obscenely, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth as you take him all the way down—nose pressed into his pelvis, throat fluttering wildly around the intrusion. Your eyes roll back slightly at the stretch, tears pricking at the corners as you whimper around his girth again— needy, gagging sound that vibrates against his skin and makes his hips jerk instinctively.  

“Fuck—look at you," Onyankopon growls, fingers tightening in your curls, yanking just enough to make you mmph—air rushing into your lungs before you dive back down, hollowing your cheeks shamelessly.  

You pull off with another wet pop, spit slick lips swollen and glistening as you pant—only to spit directly onto his dick, the glob of saliva trailing thickly down his shaft before you smear it with your mouth. You then smack his length against your tongue, giggling breathlessly.

“Goddamn," he snarls heavier, voice dripping with lust—a vein popping in his neck as he glares down at you like he wants to eat you alive.  

You swirl your tongue around his tip, lapping at the precum beading there before sinking back down—deeper, messier—your throat working in desperate swallows around him. Drool drips down your chin, your brows knitting together in a mix of pleasure and strain as you gag prettily around him—the sounds leaving your mouth absolutely disgusting. 

“Ain’t no way you suckin’ dick this good and actin’ all innocent at the dinner table," he grunts, thrusting shallowly into your throat, his grip on your hair bordering on painful—“Fuckin’ glutton—can’t even breathe right and you still tryna’ swallow my shit whole.” 

You give a desperate moan in response—half-protest, half-agreement—your fingers digging into his thighs as you bob faster, sloppier, spit and precum fully smearing across your lips. His hips buck up violently, forcing himself deeper as he curses under his breath—“Gon’ make this bitch nut all over yo’ pretty ass face.” 

You're drunk off him—every suck, every gag, every slurp of your lips dragging up his shaft leaving you dizzy with greed. Your tongue lolls obscenely along the underside of his cock, spit-slick and desperate, drool dripping in thick strands onto his heavy balls, making them glisten under the dim light. The mess coats your chin, smears across your cheeks—ruins you beautifully—but you don’t care, too lost in the taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue.  

You usually ask—Papa, can I?—but right now, you don’t want permission. You want everything. 

So with an aroused impatience you climb fully into his lap, knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side of his thighs. One hand grips his shoulder for balance as you yank your capris with the other, exposing bare skin—no panties, never panties when you knew he’d be home. His tip slaps wetly against your folds, already soaked just from sucking him off, and you whimper—high and broken—as his thumb ruthlessly circles your clit, sending sparks up your spine.  

His mouth crashes into yours, tongues tangling sloppily, spit mixing between you as he grunts against your lips—  

“I ain’t movin’. Put that bitch in.” 

Your fingers knot in the hair at the nape of his neck as you sink down—slowly, so slowly—stretching around him inch by torturous inch. And the burn? It’s delicious. White-hot and overwhelming, your walls fluttering wildly as you take him deeper. Your eyes even begin to water, lashes sticking together as tears spill over, your mouth trembling against his in a silent sob.  

Then—squelch—a wet, gushing sound punches from your pussy as you bottom out, his hips fully flush against your ass. The obscene noise—like air forced from a tight space—makes you shudder, your thighs shaking violently around him.  

“Fuck—” Onyankopon snarls into your mouth, his grip on your waist bruising, “Tight-ass pussy always tryna act brand new.”

You whimper—pitiful, unable to do nothing else.

His palms cradle the plush underside of your thighs—calloused fingertips digging into soft flesh as he lifts you effortlessly, your body hovering above him for one breathless moment before he drops you back down.  

The descent is slow—agonizing—every inch of him dragging against your walls until you’re whimpering nonsensically, Creole curses and praise tumbling from your lips in a slurred mess—  

“Ah—Mon Dieu—Papa, li two cho—!”

Then—smack—your ass lands heavy against his thighs, skin sticking wetly before peeling apart with a lewd clap that ricochets through the living room. Your vision whites out for a second, mouth falling slack as pleasure crackles up your spine—  

“Shit.”

Your voice fractures, knees trembling where they bracket his hips. His grip tightens—lifting you again—only to drop you back onto him, the force punching the air from your lungs.  

“Fuck,” you sob, nails raking down his chest, “P—Papa, li two gwo—!” 

You’re too big. 

“Talk that shit now,” he taunts, “Thought you was hungry?” 

“O—O bondye—P-Papa—!” 

I can’t.

The fabric of your top crumples violently in Onyankopon’s fists—fingers twisting, yanking the material taut as he uses it like reins to drive you down onto him. Every bounce wrenches a gasp from your lips, your body jolting with each punishing thrust, his dick spearing into you with a relentless, bruising rhythm. Your face crumples, pouting down at him—eyes glazed, lips swollen and trembling—as he growls up at you in thick, guttural Creole.

"Ou vle sa, mm? Ou vle Papa kraze ou?" 

You want me to break yo’ shit, huh?

You nod frantically, a pathetic, shuddering “Mm-hmm—!" hiccuping from your throat as your cream spills obscenely down his shaft, pooling at the base where his balls glisten with your slick.  

“I—I’m gonna’ cum—!" you mewl, voice breaking, thighs quivering as your walls flutter wildly around him.  

But Onyankopon doesn’t speed up—doesn’t slow down—just keeps grinding you onto him at that same, devastating pace, letting you feel every inch as your orgasm crests. Your back arches, a silent scream tearing through you as your pussy gushes—hot, wet pulses of arousal soaking his lap, dripping down his abdomen in sticky rivulets.  

“Regarde ça," Look at that, he mutters, voice rough with lust as he watches you squirt all over him—“Fais un gros désordre, mm?" 

’Made a big fuckin’ mess.

Onyankopon’s grip shifts—his hands cinching around your waist as he stands in one fluid motion, twisting you midair before slamming your back flush against his chest. Your breath hitches, fingers scrambling at his forearms as he bends you forward in the same motion, your spine arching obscenely as he crowds over you.

“Ain’t took my pussy like this inna’ minute. Let a nigga feel you.” 

This position—back arched deep, ass tilted up, your body folded in half—was never one you could handle. He knew it. You knew it. Years of marriage, and he only pulled it out on two occasions: when you’d pissed him off just enough to deserve it—or when he wanted to ruin you so thoroughly you’d forget your own name.  

His dick sinks back into you—slow, sadistic—the stretch bordering on pain as your walls flutter wildly around him. A petulant whimper claws from your throat, your face tucking into your own shoulder as you try to steady yourself.  

Too deep. Too much. 

Before you can adjust, his palm wraps around your throat from behind—his fingers splayed possessively as he jerks his hips forward, bottoming out with a force that makes your vision blur.   

Your cry is muffled against your own skin, tears pricking at your lashes as he starts moving—no build-up, no mercy—just deep, piston-like thrusts that punch the air from your lungs with every snap of his hips.  

“Always actin’ brand new,” he grits out, “Like I ain’t had this pussy a thousand times.” 

Onyankopon yanks your head back as he starts fucking you with those long, slow, punishing strokes, burying himself to the hilt each time with a rough grunt. Your entire body shudders in shock, fingers clawing at your own ankles as you struggle to stay grounded, but there’s no escape—just the relentless drag of him stretching you open, over and over, the obscene squelch of your soaked pussy echoing in the air between you.  

A dumb, pleasure-drunk frown twists your face—eyebrows knitted, lips parted in a silent gasp—before your voice finally shatters into whiny, hiccupping sobs.  

“Ohh my god. Shit. Ughn, fuck—!" 

Your thighs tremble violently, your back bowing even more as pleasure coils tighter in your gut—each thrust dragging you closer to the edge. But he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. Just keeps stroking into you—rough, unhurried, perfect—until your mind whites out completely.

The next shift happens like lightning—his arms wrapping around you, hauling you flush against his chest as he lifts you just enough that your toes barely skim the floor, his strength suspending you effortlessly between his body and the air. His palm presses flat against your throat again—his lips dragging hot against the shell of your ear as his thrusts turn uneven, deeper, desperate. 

“Missed this shit... missed you…” 

You’re too far gone to answer—just weakly nodding, your head lolling back against his shoulder as pleasure crackles through every nerve. Onyankopon’s thrusts turn frantic, his breath ragged against your neck, his voice breaking every snap of his hips—  

“Shit—fuck—gon’ make me—" 

Your body aches—muscles trembling, thighs slick with sweat—but you force yourself to roll your hips back against him anyway, meeting each deep thrust with a weak but determined grind. Your voice is nothing but a breathless whimper, barely audible over the filthy slap of skin, but you need him to hear your words.   

“I love you—love you so much—“ 

Your words dissolve into a gasp as he rams into you again, the force of it making your toes curl against the floor. You tilt your head back, pressing your temple against his, lips brushing his jaw as you whisper—  

“Such a good...good father... takin’ care of us.” 

Onyankopon groans—low, raw—the sound vibrating against your skin as his fingers flex possessively around your throat. 

"Fuck—" he grits out, voice strained—almost shy—as if he’s not used to being unraveled like this.  

You reach back blindly, fingers tangling in his braids, tugging just enough to make him growl.  

“Sound so pretty,” you slur.

He curses again, biting at your shoulder as if you contain his own pleasure. 

“Chill.”

His warning rumbles against your lips, but it's unsteady—almost shaking—his usual arrogance stripped bare as his breath hitches. You don’t listen. Instead, you crash your mouth against his in a sloppy, desperate kiss, swallowing his next groan whole as he thrusts up into you—harder, deeper—his hips pistoning in a rhythm that has you both practically singing into each other’s mouths.  

His moan becomes muffled against your lips—“Oooh, shit—“ low and graveled, his forehead pressing against yours as his pace turns erratic. You nod frantically, whimpering in agreement, your own sounds just as broken as his, your nails scraping down his chest as you begin begging him. 

“Fill me up, baby.” 

And that’s all it takes.  

Onyankopon cums with a ragged groan, his entire body tensing as he spills into you in thick, pulsing waves—hot, endless, like he’s been holding back for weeks. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise as he rides it out, fucking his release even deeper inside you.  

You giggle—weak, breathless, but elated—the sensation of him twitching inside you sending little aftershocks of pleasure through your own trembling body. 

Onyankopon’s chest heaves against your back, his lips still hovering over yours as he mutters—“Goddamn." 

“Mmm,” you arch farther into his touch, “Would’ve gotten that last night if you weren’t so tired…" 

His lips drag slowly along the curve of your ear—hot breath making you shiver as he murmurs, “Patience builds tension, girl.” 

He grinds deep one last time, lazily rocking into you just to feel your walls flutter weakly around him.  

Your fingers tighten around his forearm, a pathetic little “‘M tired now, Papa…" slipping from your lips—weak, whiny, still buzzing from pleasure.  

“Oh, ‘you tired now?”

You twist in his arms, draping yourself fully against him—your arms looping around his neck, forehead pressing to his as you sigh, “C’monn, let's go shower."  

“Aight. We hunchin’ again?" 

“No, boy! I wanna go to bed. It's nearly twelve." 

He smacks his lips, eyes flicking past you to the clock on the wall—then freezes. 

“It's what time?" 

You blink up at him, suddenly aware of the shift in his tone—that dangerous edge creeping in. 

“Um…fifteen minutes to twelve?" you offer hesitantly.  

Onyankopon exhales sharply through his nose, jaw tightening as he looks down at you with narrowed eyes. 

“Imma' kill yo' son." 

Your hands fly up in protest, gripping his shoulders—“Well hold on!—He's a little over curfew, it's fine!”

“So now I'm doin' too much?” He smacks his lips, pulling back just enough to level you with a look—mockingly pitching his voice higher, mimicking your earlier whimpers— “’You’re such a good father’—what happened to allat’, huh?" 

You squeak, cheeks flushing hot as you slap a hand over his mouth, cutting off his teasing. 

“Stop it!” 

He licks your palm—nasty—making you yelp and yank your hand back as he grins, triumphant. 

“So you gon’ need the belt after him, huh?” 

You scrunch your nose.

“No. And you’re grumpy.” 

A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest, but he doesn’t pull away—just tilts his head, pressing his forehead a little harder against yours in that way he does when he’s softening, letting you know he’s conceding.  

“Imma’ let up, aight?" 

Your shoulders relax, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you exhale, melting into him.  

“'…’Kay.” 

His lips brush your temple before he murmurs, “Lemme’ just call and check on ‘em—after that? Imma’ rub on yo’ feet and knock the fuck out."

You exhale as he finally pulls away, shaking your head with a quiet laugh. Always unable to let go of that protective dad instinct, even when he was supposed to be letting up—but that was just him. Overbearing, stubborn, yours.  

The moment settles into something tender as you watch him grab his phone off the coffee table, his heavy silhouette outlined by the dim light of the living room.  

“I love you," you murmur, the words slipping out sweet and easy—like they always did.  

He pauses mid-step, glancing back at you over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth tilting up in that rare, real smile—the one reserved just for you.  

“’Love you more, girl.” 

The edging in your tone is unmistakable though. 

Suguru has been keeping taps on you since the bet on Tuesday—and now, Thursday with Sunday creeping closer, the pressure’s heating up to deliver.

“If you know that much then you should also know business is booming. Like always. Like I told you it would be, duh.”  

You’ve already banked your usual two quota in full—and you did it moving less product. 

That alone should’ve shut him up, you didn’t need him micromanaging you. 

“You run an entire criminal empire Suguru—” 

You take your sass up a notch, feeling confident.

“—and this is what we’re doing now? Gossiping about the latest sorority hookup tea?”

You scoff, “That mid-life crisis is really doing your business dirty, g.”

Suguru doesn’t miss a beat though, his response sharp and immediate.

“Need I remind you, you’re the one doing my business dirty, Bun.”

Your steps break mid-stride coming to a complete stop in the middle of the quad, hood slipping back as the rain starts to fall harder. You don’t even flinch as students rush past you, weaving around your frozen frame with muttered apologies.

But Suguru doesn’t pause for a second—his voice flows through, like silk over steel, reminding you exactly who’s really the ring leader of this little circus act.

“You’re carrying my product. My money. And from how hard the filthy girl between your legs was milking me the other night?” 

Suguru clicks his tongue deviously.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s still leaking me too. Anywhere you are and everything you do is my business.”

Your hand twitches, knuckles straining with the effort it takes not to hurl your phone into the nearest bush. But this burner line might as well be your bible right now on this week to lose time in getting a new one.

Urgh! There’s too much riding on this!

Riding on it. 

Riding…Sugu?—What!? 

No girl focus! Stay hungry!

Despite your hunger for the win, nothing can keep Suguru’s filthy shade from sinking into your brain and melting all the way down into your pussy—making you feel starved for his cock now too. 

“You still there, Bunny?”

You chew on your lip. You had to get your head back in the game, like now.

“Well, gee, appreciate you checking up on me then—Dad.” 

Feeling the energy shift, you’re smirking now as you begin to walk again.

The scoff you’re rewarded with from Suguru is only a tiny victory—but enough to temper the heat curling in your belly.

“FYI—I already hit my usual 2K. So unless you’re calling to congratulate me then…”

Chuckling, Suguru is amused to hear you so fired up. He’d have suggested something like this sooner if he knew it’d get your ass into gear.

“Good girl, Bun. Let’s see if you can keep it up… without resorting to fucking for it.”

Okay, now it’s just getting overplayed. 

“Suguuuuu—” You groan, your pout evident through the line. “I’ve got a drop worth nearly a rack right now. Don’t you have lackeys to micromanage or something else better to do?”

Honestly? No, there’s nothing Suguru enjoyed more than messing with you. His empire could wait.

“Ha, sure Bunny—but with your reputation, can you fault me?”

You huff, finally reaching the athletics building. You don’t have time for his playful moods, you’re trying to make money here! 

Clearly Suguru still doesn’t take you seriously enough.

“Ugh—this isn’t the 90s, old man,” you snap, taking your aggression out on the heavy push-to-open doors of the building as they clank loudly from the impact. 

“Nobody’s fucking for cash behind dumpsters anymore. My OnlyFans makes plenty from the cozy pink comfort of my bedroom.”

“Pause. Your wha—”

“—oop, I’mhereg2gbyeeee!”

Click.

Hanging up, you slide your phone on ‘do not disturb.’

You smirk to yourself. You don’t actually have an OF, of course.

But—you do know that’ll make him spend the next few hours rage-scrolling the app searching for you anyway. 

Sure, you’d likely pay for it when you saw him next, but only if you didn’t come up with the money, so you’d hedge your bets here. 

You’re in this all or nothing.

Besides, you really are on track! Charging extra was easy and you’d even made sure to take larger bills—exact amounts only this time, no change.

Sure, some customers complained. 

But convenience? Convenience is king. 

Andddddd, absolutely no one suspects the chipper little cheerleader with the perfect GPA (on paper, at least) to be slanging weed and party pills across half the student body.

However, just because you don’t look suspicious doesn’t mean there aren’t still risks—especially when you’re not only selling to students, but faculty too.

Extra cautious, your eyes and ears are on high alert as you slip through the quiet halls of the athletics building. 

You check your surroundings—twice—before ducking into the office belonging to the Head of Athletics Toji Fushiguro.

Thankfully, you’re a cheerleader so it’s not necessarily unheard of to be in the building at this hour nor talking to the head of the athletic department—cheer was technically a sport on its own underneath him even if he didn’t coach it himself. 

Plus, you could always spin some bullshit about needing to know about transportation to the next away game. 

Or pretend you’re asking about using the weight room after hours. It’d hold up.

Still, you know how rumors start. 

Especially rumors when it comes to the super sexy Head DILF of Athletics who dances the line of appropriateness with the female student body often enough to earn the side eye of Dean Higuruma. 

Yet he is also the kind of man who gets away with it—because no one really wants him to stop.

Upon entering his office, not seeing Toji here doesn’t necessarily surprise you.

Toji is not only Head of Athletics but Coach of the best D1 Football, Lacrosse, and Rugby teams in their respective leagues.

Coach!Toji is notorious for putting his athletes through hell, but that’s exactly why at least one, if not all, of his teams end up league champions every year. 

Practice likely is running late again, per usual. 

Waiting usually isn’t a problem—but there are still at least a dozen drops left, and cheer already kicked your ass today.

Attempting to stay a yawn, you kill time looking around the well used office. Toji keeps a cluttered desk, full of gameplays spreads, old videotapes from his college days and smudged trophies used as paperweights. 

The air is thick with sweat that offensively strong aftershave he always wears like a signature. It would be unbearable, but somehow mixed with his natural scent it has its own bummy allure.

Then you spot it: a picture frame, tossed behind a bunch of mounted plaques. 

Frowning the first thing you notice is the woman in the picture is absolutely gorgeous of course, laughing with her arms around a young girl and boy.

You recognize the boy as Toji’s son, Megumi, you’ve met him a few times and even babysat a little when Toji would bring him on away games. 

But the woman and lil girl were a mystery. 

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the office door open nor Toji as he enters and slides up behind you.

“That’s my ex-wife, Bunbun.” 

Coach!Toji’s gravely voice drawls against your ear. “And her kid.”

Nearly jumping out of your skin, the frame fumbles in your grasp before Toji catches and tosses it to the side.

“Relax ma—I said ex.”

You roll your eyes as Toji’s heat-soaked frame pulls you in closer, broad chest sealing against your back like a wall. He clearly got a kick out of scaring the shit out of you. 

In less than 10 seconds you went from staring at the photo being caged in by his bulky arms snaking around your waist.

Recoling, your nose wrinkles immediately. Toji’s body is all sweat and turf, fresh off a long day of coaching.

“Ew, you’re all sweaty, lemme go!”

He doesn’t, of course. 

Toji simply chuckles into your skin, rough and sultry. The humid puffs of air sprout goosebumps over your flesh.

“...hmph, and you stink, get off!” you add weakly, squirming in his hold.

Against your better judgement, your clit pulses at the sheer potency of him—raw sweat, testosterone and aftershave wrapping around your senses, the aroma of his physical excretion igniting a primal need to let this clearly dominant man have his way with you. 

Ignoring your half‑hearted protests, Toji doesn’t move an inch. 

If anything, he hauls you tighter into him, big palms spreading over your skirt to knead into the plush of your hips. All that wriggling only makes the thick hardness at the base of your spine swell—his cock pressing harder between you—until it’s obvious you’re not escaping at all. You’re grinding back into him, hips rolling slow and needy, still stubbornly pretending it’s resistance.

“Oh ya?” Toji hums, unbothered. “How about ya just coming from cheer? ‘Suppose ya think ya smell like roses, huh mama?”

Reduced to whining like a brat, your brain short-circuits at the electrifying tingles of his scar dragging a slow path down your neck.

“Nah, ya smell like pom-poms and wet pussy, ya? I know better than most about that water park puss of y’ers,” Toji chuckles vibrate against your skin, “bet if I could guess which mat ya were stretchin’ on just from a sniff.”

The shameless thing about it is you know he could too. 

Dirty old man. 

Even if you don’t fuck Toji, you rarely leave his office without having had his fingers in your pussy for a “athletic inspection” or your cheer panties for that matter—it’s like a toll for his business.

You weren’t about to let that comment slide but Toji cuts you off before you can even start.

“Y’er in luck tho girlie—”

His tongue follows the trail his scar marked back up, flattening shamelessly to lick up the layer of dried salt on your skin before swirling in the nook behind your ear. Toji groans, gluttonously relishing the taste of your sweat with a self-satisfied ‘ahh’.

“—I happen to like my woman a lil’ funky… mmm, and ya got just the right amount of tang on ya today, mamas.”

You shudder. To your disgust, it’s mostly from pleasure.

“God, you’re such a sleazeball, Mr. Fushiguro!”

Well no shit, girl you knew that. 

Just like you knew how weak you were to him regardless. 

All of that makes the fact that you’re now softly moaning as he places wet kisses behind your ear, thighs are already pressing together, hips willingly rolling back into him, even more unbearable to you. 

“Mister?” Toji tuts at your formality, toying with the edges of your cheer skirt. “Funny, how fat ma here never seems to mind, let’s ask her, eh?”

Toji’s lecherous hands breech up underneath your skirt.

“W-Wait, m’too swamped today! I still have deliveries to make!” You warn, attempting to pry his hands off you.

You had to stop this now—Thursday was one of your busiest nights, everyone is getting ready for the weekend!

Hm, and now that you think about it, Toji did have a habit of shortchanging you and was probably one of the main reasons you always ended up coming up short to Suguru anyway. 

You need to keep your wits about you around him—get your money and get the fuck out before you end up fucking him.

You have your eyes on the prize!

You are going to win this bet and prove Suguru wrong!

“I mean it, Coach! I—OW!!”

There’s a sharp bite to your shoulder.

Wait bare shoulder?!

When the fuck did your varsity jacket come off!?

Toji lewdly laps at the bite, nursing it in the same familiarly savage way he suckles your cunt when he had you laid out over his desk. He doesn’t mind if your squirt soaks his playbooks—in fact he thinks it’s good luck and always makes you christen the new one whenever he gets it.

“Tsk. Coach?” Toji growls, teeth scraping teasingly over your skin like he just might nip you again at any moment. “Ya know what t’call me when we’re alone, ma.”

You attempt to twist around to glare up at him. 

‘Coach’ is a perfectly respectful way you should be addressing a faculty member at your university. 

“I dunno, forgot—Coach.” You sass, feeding right into Toji’s game.

Okay girlypop. You know better. You absolutely know better.

Coach!Toji is worse than Suguru when it comes to not suffering a brat. 

Any sass you ever give to Toji only leads to trouble. In a war of reads, Toji’s mouth is slicker than wet pussy—but you can’t help yourself. Something about Toji’s energy just makes you wanna misbehave even more, even if it's against your better judgement and impulse control.

“Heh, y’er really hurtin’ my feelings here, Bunny.”  

Toji chuckles, clearly unbothered. The deep sound rolls through his chest and into your spine, setting your pulse racing.

You’re quivering, responding so well to his touch as Toji’s hands make their way up under your skirt with practiced ease, dancing over your thighs to grip your bare hips just enough to make your breath hitch in anticipation.

“A-Am I now, old man?”

Toji snorts, at your faltering voice. He doesn’t know why a needy lil’ slut like you likes to be so uppity and give him this much run around when he knows your panties are dripping for him.

“Yeah, ya are,” Toji muses. Still teasing, his fingers glide higher to stroke the soft skin of your stomach, thumb circling your belly button and coaxing soft little coos from your lips.

“Make it up to me, yeah Bunny?” Toji snaps his hips forward, your pussy having a rather palovian response to the stimuli as it clenches at the familiar wave of his hips.

Whimpering, as much as you try to resist Toji every time—it’s so damn hard when a big man like him is all over you, errant fingers snapping the edges of your cheer panties while he gruffly whispers into your ear.

“C’mon Bunny, y’er wastin’ time, baby, I know y’er busy—let’s just clean up n’ shower. Eh? Wash my back?”

Well… maybe—NU-UH! Nope! 

You had to quit thinking with your pussy and resist! Toji did not want you to wash his back.

“...m-m’not taking a shower with you, T-Toji.”

Toji scoffs like he knows from the uncertainty in your voice what’s actually going to happen here.

“Toji, eh? Better. But ya know ma, that’s not my fucking name right now, either...”

You brace for the stinging smack to your ass you knew was coming—Toji’s typical response when you didn’t follow his playbook. 

But instead, he surprises you. 

No sharp reprimand, no rough smack. 

Like the master play caller he is on the field, Toji is switching tactics at your resistance.

With a lazy smirk, the rough pads of his index and middle fingers press together and begin rubbing slow circles over your clit through your cheer panties. It doesn’t take long before a dark damp spot spreads, the thin fabric clinging tight as Toji keeps up his torturous rhythm, shifting pressure just enough that you never settle into it—soaking his fingers in the process.

“That’s fine tho mama…”

Toji presses his face in the crook of your neck, his nostrils slightly suctioning your skin at his feral intensity as his thick fingers keep strumming your swollen clit without mercy.

“...if that pretty pussy of yours wants to be my stinky girl that bad—then just say that, Bun. I’ll eat her up just the same regardless.”

Shit, if this dirty old DILF didn’t turn you on though!

You bite your lip. You couldn’t moan—you wouldn’t.

Yet as always, Toji takes your resistance as a personal challenge, a game—and he rarely loses games as you well know.

Turning up the heat, Toji shoves your cheer panties aside, making a show of his deep rumbly groans as his thick digits play unhindered in between your silky drenched folds—every pass is indulgent as he marinates them in your messy juices.

One arm stays locked around your waist, pinning you tight against the heavy bulge grinding into your backside. Your upper body folds forward from the pressure, hands catching the edge of the metal shelf just in time to keep you from face-planting. The impact sends plaques, medals, and a couple of dusty trophies clattering dangerously close to the edge—but Toji doesn’t give a single fuck about that.

Not when his fingers are working you over like this.

The sinful squelch of your pussy fills the office, clicking louder than the breathy whines that escape against your will.

“Fuck, I don’t even gotta show ya, ma,” Toji rasps against your ear, voice heavy with amusement. “You hear ‘er beggin’, don’t you? Filthy lil’ mess...she’s cryin’ to be cleaned up.”

However, Toji is only teasing you, not giving you the relief of them stuffed inside you yet as his fingers skate across your slit, but never enter. 

The need for him to touch you—for him to be inside, to feel his stupid skeezy magic fingers scrape along the walls of your core is becoming unbearable.

Still, Toji won’t give you what you want—not yet. 

His fingers continue to toy with your entrance, ghosting over the leaky spot where you need him most.

It’s so cruel.

Trembling, every one of your nerves frays under the pressure as you try to center your thoughts to your quota, Suguru, his threats—but it’s no use.

You have 20 minutes to spare right?

Toji’s fingers brush your clit again, just a lazy, cocky swirl—

And your resolve completely shatters.

“F-FUCK IT—fine! Just a quickie though, in and out!”

Toji smirks in triumph, knowing exactly how to get a haughty lil slut like you gushing for it.

Toji rewards your compliance by dipping his heavy middle finger into your pussy, pumping in and out of you with agonizing slowness. Your greedy cunt squeezes his digit as you keen all the same, happy to get any relief but still desperate for more.

“Atta girl momma… ‘sides, we gotta go to the showers anyway, gotta test the goods. Can’t be smokin’ this shit in my office.” Toji huffs, trailing off “...school’s full of snitches.”

You nod and Toji—index finger joining the middle still lodged in your cunny, leads you by the pussy out the back of his office that connects directly into the men’s locker rooms.

He’s supposed to give you $900 for what you brought him today—including the premium you taxed. But Toji insists he’s not paying your shitty 420 tax on a strain he hadn’t even smoked before without trying it first.

Which would be completely fair for any normal customer—not one currently trying to rearrange your guts.

And goddamn it, because right now? He’s got you horny enough to let him.

By the time you reach the showers, Toji finally slips his fingers out—just long enough to pack the bowl. He pauses first, though, dragging them beneath his nose for a deep inhale before sucking them into his mouth and working your taste along his gums like chewing tobacco. 

You grimace.

“Just make this quick, okay?” 

Your words are muffled as you pull your cheer top overhead. 

“And I just did my hair last night—so don’t get it wet!”

However, Bunny, you should have figured from the moment you agreed to a smoke n’ shower session with your dirty DILF of a coach, that all bets were off. 

Because your hair is definitely wet right now.

Great. 

A 3 hour blowout, and $600 completely down the drain. 

Yet it’s getting increasingly harder to give any fucks when Toji is currently sliding you up and down his dummy‑thick cock like a ragdoll.

Standing in the middle of the showers, Toji doesn’t need leverage, just his huge arms. His iron grip dents into the flesh of your ass while the schlick‑schlick of your bodies echoes off tile, louder and faster the harder he moves you on him.

Motherfuck!

Fluids spill from you in waves. Drool, tears, sweat, everything mixing into heat and mess as he fucks you brainless. 

He’s already wrung two back-to-back orgasms out of you without breaking a sweat. With how vulgarly he’s fucking you on him not even the steaming water can make your ruined body feel clean.

Eyes shut tight as you grip him for dear life, you’re not sure how much more of this you could take—and you still have deliveries to make!

“T-t-tojiiiii!! H-Hurry up n’ cum I-I…”

Your protests fade, the thick veins alongside his cock coring you out so deliciously you forget where you are for a moment. 

“What was that, Bunny? Still not sure ya talkin’ to me…” Toji growls, there’s an absolutely deranged look in his eyes that would scare you if they weren’t already shut. “...ya said ya wanted 2 more rounds? Want it harder too, eh?”

“Wait, N-No—I-I—”

Your eyes fly open as Toji bounces you higher than before—right off his heavy cock. 

His grip loosens just long enough to pull back—CRACK—his palms collide with your ass, the sharp sting flaring as he catches you midair and slams you back down onto his cock, spearing you deep with a gut-shattering punch to your womb.

The impact steals every bit of breath and spit from your lungs, the shower spray turning the sting into a vicious, burning throb.

Spasming, your pussy violently sobs around Toji’s girth, lewd sounds gurgling as she squeezes him for more.

Toji whistles, impressed.

“See how she’s movin’ ‘round me? Heh, I imagine trying to tell me how to fuck my favorite lil pussy like I don’t know exactly how she needs it.”

“F-F-FUHHH-HAH!” You’re squeaking out moans as your third orgasm rips through you. 

Your tongue lolls out helplessly, and Toji takes full advantage—spitting straight into your open mouth before dragging you into a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. Spit play isn’t usually your thing, but the way he’s fucking you makes every line blur. You swallow it all down just to breathe, letting him consume your mouth like it’s just another part of you he owns.

Acrylics dig into his shoulders as you cling to him for dear life, already knowing red welts are blooming across his skin—marks Toji will absolutely wear later like a badge of honor. You wouldn’t even be surprised if a nail snaps clean off at this rate.

Shit, you’d have no time to get a fill either before the weekend.

Although at this point you honestly have zero clue how much time has passed. Your phone is probably blowing up somewhere in your bag, but your mind is losing badly to your pussy as she cries her own creamy tears and Toji shows no sign of slowing down.

You need to get out of here while you still can in one piece!

“P-Pleaseee, T-T-Tojiiiiiiisiisi!”

Your body is so hot you swear you could evaporate right along with the steam.

“Toji? Nuh‑uh, Bunny. That’s not gonna cut it when ya cum so freely on my cock. A smelly cock at that since ya think I stink so bad.

He does stink, you both do, probably even worse than when you got in but you have no brain cells functioning to sass him back—especially when the truth was you love Toji’s musky scent and Toji damn well knew as much.

“But I know how much this pussy loves my stink and since y’er my favorite girl so I’ll cut ya a break, Bun.”

The tone in Toji’s voice is absolutely diabolical.

“Beg f’er my cum, real sweet-like baby, just like I taught ya, Bunny. I’ll make ya squirt this time and then set ya loose.”

When you don’t respond, Toji stops. Completely.

The motion dies inside you all at once.

His emerald eyes pin you in place through soaked black strands plastered to his face, water streaming down the sharp planes of his cheekbones as he stares at you like he’s waiting to see if you remember your lines.

It takes a few seconds to register that he’s stopped—your body still trembling, walls fluttering around the phantom glide of him that isn’t there anymore. Smirking down at you, waiting for his bratty lil plug to fall in line Toji lets you catch your breath while you stare up at him, dopey‑eyed and wrecked.

“I know even if my ditzy cockdrunk cheerbrat forgot, her slutty lil’ pussy didn’t, c’mon pretty mama…talk to me nice, yeah?”

In any right state of mind, you may have picked up on the strain at the end of Toji’s demands, but you are too far gone, too well trained by the coach’s cock, not to end up running the exact play he wants.

All you feel is desperation, a searing need eating at you for him to move again and so, just like Coach!Toji expects—you fall in line, your pussy deciding it all for you.

“Mmmhhgh—y-yes D-Daddy! You’re slutty cheerbunny wants ta cum. She wants your cum—please fill me Daddy!”

Toji’s grin is diabolical and you swear you feel his cock swell up more inside you, pushing against the already stressed limits of your walls. 

“Such a good lil slut f’er y’er Coach Daddy, ya?”

Pulling Toji’s face closer to yours, you coyly kiss the scar at the corner of his mouth, looking up at him sweetly with teary eyes shimmering wide like you weren’t just whorishly begging for his cum as your pussy still creams around him, clenching him tighter begging him to move.

“...plwease, Daddy?”

Fuck if Toji isn’t weak for a broken brat with a pussy wetter than the very shower he’s railing you in though.

“Heh, c’mere…”

Pinning you to the wall, your ankles on his shoulders, the second your back hits the tile, Toji pounds into you. Directly under the water now, the warmth cascades over your bodies, splashing water and fluids between you, making the most sensory satisfying smacks, over and over. 

You know you should stop him. 

Tell him to pull out. He’s not even wearing a condom. 

But Toji Fushiguro has the kind of dick that makes reckless thoughts sound like good ideas and the way his massive body swallows your smaller frame whole as he plows you into the wall is making getting knocked up not sound like such a bad idea.

“Shiiit… pussy squeezin’ me like she wanna be a mommy, that right pretty pussy?” Toji’s fucking you like a man possessed, chasing his release with feral urgency—his grip bruising, his thrusts erratic and his filthy words slurring into absolute madness.

“Wanna give Gumi a sibling? Sure ya do slut. Get knocked up, ma… Then c’mon n’ take it. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon….C’MON!” Toji mumbles against your lips, his own eyes clenched as he brings himself right to the edge.

You know Toji is just talking shit but it sounds soooo good listening with your syrupy slick cunny and not your brain.

“Uh-huh D-Daddy, give Bunny’s pussy everythingggg, she’ssss g-gonna make youuuu a g-girl dad.”

And yup, finally fucking your bratty cunt into a submissive breeding hole is what does it for Toji every time.

“s’that r-right? Oh—F-FUUUCK!” 

Tension bursting, Toji’s cock spasms as he floods your womb in vicious spurts of fluid. Your back forcibly arches off the wall from the intensity of the heat sloshing deep in your belly as you shatter once more with him fully pressed into you, the world going white as you try not to drown from the water spilling over you.

You’re not sure how much time passes but when Toji does finally set you down, your legs immediately betray you—pins rushing into them from being so brutally compressed.

Dizzy, you barely manage to stagger out of the stall and onto the nearest bench, gripping it with both hands to stop yourself from puddling right there on the tile. 

Everything’s trembling—your thighs, your core, your dignity.

Clamping your legs together tight, you try to ease yourself down to recline for at least a few minutes, the cooler air soothing your senses.

“That’s it, ma, take a load off. Can’t be spillin’ Gumi’s siblings all over the locker room floor,” Toji grins, cocky as hell, admiring the rivulets of his thick white cum trickle out between your thighs despite them being shut. 

Toji snags two towels on the way back, then closes the distance and crouches in front of you on the bench. Without a word, he hooks his hands behind your knees and eases them apart, settling between your thighs like he has every right to be there.

“Goddamn, look at that,” Toji whistles, like he’s proud of himself, watching a thick stream of his cum ooze out of your puffy pussy. “Leakin’ like a busted pipe.”

Head raised to glare at him, you let it thunk back on the bench with a groan, “You’re disgusting." 

“Guilty,” Toji grins, eyes glinting. “But ya came like 5 times on this disgusting cock, didn’t ya?”

You frown half-heartidly, “I swear… you fuck like you’re trying to give me a concussion.”

Toji chuckles darkly. “Also guilty.”

Somehow mustering the strength to move, you swat Toji’s hand away from running through your ruined folds. The devious look on his face is telling you he wouldn’t mind playing overtime to score just one more time and you know if you stay like this any longer it will be his face between your thighs next.

“Enouuughhh, I gotta bounce, yeah? I still got stops to make, I already told you!”

“Heh…” Toji leans back on his heels, a smirk way too cocky for someone still buttass naked on his face. “Ya know ya could quit runnin’ ‘round f’er that psycho with the god complex and let me take care of ya.”

You blink.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Toji says, standing up, unapologetically naked, in all his adonis glory as he throws you a towel which you quickly wrap around you. Not wanting him to get any more ideas. 

“Y’er always on the run, busy as hell, lookin’ stressed.” He smirks, not missing the way your eyes can't help but to flit to his cock.  “Gumi misses you. C’mon, stay a night. Babysit like ya used to and I’ll fuck you like I use ta—quit all this plug shit.”

Taken aback, the two of you have a mini-stare down. But you’re the first to give, shaking your head. 

“Toji, I am not gonna be your full-time babysitter slash live-in pussy. That’s not a job—that’s a hostage situation.”

Toji grins like he expected that answer but had to shoot his shot anyway.

“Hostage, huh?” He leans back on the wall. “Ya want me to tie ya up next, Bunny?”

You snort, bending to snatch up your top from the floor. Your clothes are scattered across the benches—wrinkles already creasing your cheer skirt. Fantastic.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He shrugs, grin turning lazy, chin nodding towards your thighs.

“If that’s what gets her wet.” 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you untwist your crumpled up bra.

“Look, if you need help with Gumi, talk to Naoya. He’d do it for free—he practically worshi—”

Toji’s lip curls instantly.

“Don’t.”

You bite back a laugh, finishing it anyway.

“—ps you.”

Toji’s jaw tightens as he rubs a hand over his face.

“On second thought, Gumi’s gettin’ kinda old for a sitter.”

A satisfied hum slips from your lips. Got ’em.

Toji hates when his baby cousin Naoya comes up.

The smug, simpering lacrosse golden boy in question just so happens to be your roommate. 

A beast on the field, yeah—but only barely tolerable because he’s lightning-fast and some kind of prodigy, already breaking decades-old records.

Toji claims he can’t stand the kid.

Says Naoya’s a walking reminder of the stuck-up elite family that cut him off for marrying his first wife outside their precious circles.

And yet—Toji still hadn’t blocked his number, or his handle from socials—Naoya was always the first to like or comment under Toji’s school mandated sports posts. Not to mention Naoya transferred from his Ivy League college just to play under Toji. 

Obsessed much?

Like it or not Toji definitely enables the little creep. 

You’re just about to rub that in a little harder too, when suddenly the locker room doors slam open.

“Yo! Coach, you still here!?” 

A flurry of voices echo off the tile—deep, male, and too many of them, yapping about some team meeting. 

Rugby boys. 

Fuck.

“Oh HELL no,” you whisper, frantically grabbing your backpack, stuffing your clothes inside.

“Tsk.“ 

Toji hates to be interrupted, his signature scowl deepening. “I didn’t authorize no damn meeting today.”

Turning, Toji barks over his shoulder, towards the main entrance, his gruff voice booming against the lockers.

“A man can’t even wash his dick in peace these days. Meeting’s tomorrow numbnuts!”

Slicking back his wet hair, Toji thumbs toward his office as he whispers gruffly to you.

“Wait f’er me in my office. Backway is clear, go’on, Bun.”  

You don’t need to be told twice. 

On your way out Toji lightly swats your ass before jogging off himself, his towel slung over one shoulder and his dick still swinging out like an absolute menace.

You bolt through the back locker tunnel toward Toji’s office, not even bothering to towel off properly. Skin still damp, thighs tacky, ass cooling in the draft, still burning from more than just the sprint.

Finally safe.

Plopping into Toji’s chair at his desk, your pulse starts to calm at last. 

Shivering, in his cold office, you towel off as best you can, multitasking, checking your phone’s messages and pulling back on your cheer uniform.

You sigh, tapping through messages and mentally trying to rework what just became a two-hour delay. With over a hundred messages you start triaging—who’ll be mad, who’ll still pay premium, who you'd even get away with charging more just for pesting you about it.

Another five, then ten minutes go by and you’re still waiting on Toji.

Just how long does it take a grown ass man to tell off some dumb jocks!?

Ding.

You hear the arrival of another message before you see the notification pop up on the screen, the tone is a special one for your personal contacts and some vip customers. 

Musing, you wondered at first if Suguru finally figured out you were just yanking his chain about OnlyFans.

Yet to your major irritation you see its Toji of all people.

A quick scan of your backpack tells you Toji had already taken the almost 2 ounces you brought him.

This triflin’ motherfucker.

Bottom drawer? 

Eyes quickly locking onto the drawer in question, you side-eye it might explode if you do open it. 

You sigh, bracing for the explosion as you yank it open. What the hell is a toolie anyway!?

Oh. Toolie.

Sure enough, there’s a shiny black 9mm pistol staring back at you.

You don’t even want to know why Toji has a fucking gun in his office—but you check under it anyway. Careful to do so with his shirt not to get your own prints on the thing and get implicated in whatever the fuck he had going on. 

Of course, there’s no envelope. No cash. 

Just the gun, condoms you know he doesn’t use, old files and some old lottery tickets.

You slam the draw shut, shaking the entire desk.

You nearly throw your phone against the wall. Knowing when Toji starts talking gambling and parleys it was useless trying to reason with him.

The only thing Toji ‘got you’ was fucked up.

Typical. Fucking. Toji.

You sigh, you can’t really be mad if it’s for Megumi, but you do have a sneaking suspicion only a fraction of it went to Megumi’s trip—the rest to Toji’s parley and massive gambling debts. 

Closing your eyes, you take a few cleansing breaths.

It’s okay, this was your first fuck up, you still got this. 

You’d just have to move smarter. A lot smarter.

Hearing your phone ding puts you back into a business mode and you finally stand up, ready to make your next move. Backpack slung over one shoulder, you smooth your skirt down—and freeze.

Wait.

Something feels a litle… off.

A frown curls over your lips as you discreetly pat under your skirt.

No panties.

Shit. You were so distracted with your texts putting on your clothes you must have misplaced them.

Whipping around, you scan the floor, the desk and dig through your backpack but come up empty handed.

You even cautiously pop back in the locker room, looking around on the bench.

Realization hits you as your last memory of them is Toji peeling them off of you with his teeth.

“Goddammit!” you hiss. “He fucking did it again.”

That fucking dead beat, panty thieving, demon dicked bastard!

Furious, you storm out of the athletics building, heading towards the dorms to make your next deliveries.

Why the hell were you letting Toji of all people fuck up your money like this?! 

Are you really that weak willed for a big dick? 

A pigeon suddenly flutters past you on the sidewalk and the irony isn’t lost on you.

Fuck, you’d been a today huh?

You simmer in the realization that maybe Suguru wasn’t exactly, totally wrong. 

You’d been slipping. A little bit at least.

But tomorrow—Friday night— would be your redemption!

You are hitting up the biggest frat on campus. They’d already put in a $1,200 order. You could upsell to $1,800, easily. 

Wear something that hugged your ass. Bat some lashes. Show a little tit.

Frat boys are too simple.

They’d give you their tuition if you asked for it.  

Thankfully it will be enough to float you through and cover most of Toji’s bullshit.

You are still in this.

You are still winning this bet.

Even if you were walking out of Toji’s office with no panties and no cash to show for it.

Yet again.

                        all rights reserved. blkkizzat©2023-2026

an. uh-oh, y/n is gonna be in trouble if she don't get her shit together soon shjbfvhbsd. frat sukuna next, ya think it's gonna go smoothly? still have faith in our girl? jfdjhvb next up. working on a noaya fic, stepdad nanami, invisible man!gojo and caracal sukuna p4 (per sukuna poll it won over elevator and freddy!sukuna) maybe nerd!geto :)