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𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 14.5K word count. blackfem!original character, onyankopon, basketball player!onyankopon, sweet!onyakopon, dominant!onyankapon, arrogant!onyankopon, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, kinda aggressive dirty talk, oral [f], nasty sex chile, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!
━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ i think i like this one. i’m not sure yet, hehe. inspired by one of my fav comfort movies, just wright. + i think of it won’t stop by sevyn streeter when i think of this fic. love you. bye.
(was having a hard time w/ nasty links this time w/ black couples so sorry for that. you get the point. visual. visual. visual. )
HEARTBREAK ANNIVERSARY PLAYED ON A LOOP WITHIN HER SPEAKERS. Being stuck under the covers was never the plan for today—but she was in a funk.
Her eyes peered over the olive green plush of her comforter, acrylic nail swiping across the screen of her phone as she mindlessly scrolled on social media. She refused to do what became a habit at this point—but damn, did she want to.
It’s unfortunate that she did it anyway.
Clicking on the previously searched profile, she goes onto the page to see a new picture had been uploaded. That familiar smile, arm wrapped around a faceless figure, dark hair spilling through his fingers as his hand sat on her lower back.
ALL MINE, it captioned.
Her vision locked along the screen, noticing that her sight began to blur. She hated crying. She felt like her tears weren’t deserved, yet she wanted to release them anyways—she felt weak.
When the phone suddenly buzzed, her eyes caught sight of a familiar number. She couldn’t keep ignoring calls. Parting out a sigh, she pressed the phone to her ear.
“Yeah?”
She tried to sound as normal as possible, wiping her eyes with a quiet sniffle. Allergies were her planned excuse if she was questioned.
“I know you’re not crying right now.”
That’s exactly how she expected her friend to respond. But she wasn’t going to give the satisfaction of admitting how embarrassed she was. So she replied with, “Allergies.”
A long, exasperated sigh echoed before the feminine voice replied, “You should know by now that I know when you’re lying”
Ama.
“You’ve been out of it for weeks—Cooped up in your apartment, calling into work. You’ hiding from that nigga or something?”
She rolls her glossy eyes, deepening herself within the covers as she mutters, “No.”
“You can’t stay in bed forever,” Ama sterns, “How long has it been since you ate? Look—I know you’ over there with that cornfed ass, but that doesn’t mean you can’t eat a lil’ more!”
That actually gets a weak laugh from her. She runs a palm along her cheek as she sighs, “I’m not too hungry, Ama.”
“So you’re really not finna’ come to my momma’s barbecue?”
“You want me to come to your momma’s barbecue all sad and shit? Yeah, no. I’m good on’ that.”
“You know my momma gon’ kill you if you don’t show up. So I suggest you get off your ass, fix your face and—don’t make me grow wings and fly into that window.“
She could hear Ama shuffling in the background, meaning she was on the way. Her friend was entirely serious about dragging her out of bed, and Ama’s mom would kill her for not showing up.
She adjusts her body to sit up against the bed, sighing as she replied, “So you tellin’ me I gotta get cute? Who gon’ be there—Lance Gross? Jalen Hurts?”
Ama sighs, “Unfortunately, no. You’d think Usher was coming with the way my momma set shit up. I think she’s all excited for Onyankopon to be back home.”
Onyankopon.
That wasn’t a name she heard too often. Ama made it a habit not to mention her brother, as she spent years behind his shadow, always being known as his sister and nothing more. He was the star of the family. It didn’t help that he was recently signed to New Orleans’ basketball team, and a well known face within the city. She was the only girl that didn’t squeal when Ama mentioned who her sibling was—but it might’ve helped that she also had never met Onyankopon.
She raises an eyebrow, “Your brothers back in town? I thought the Pelicans had a press run?”
Ama sighs, “Chile, they did. But he told me that they’re having playoffs down here in a couple weeks— he’s been craving to play a game in the boot. I’m sure he also can’t wait to tap some southern ass. Slut.”
She chuckles, “Don’t act like you ain’t excited to see yo’ brother, Ms. Fraternal Twin.”
“If I wasn’t driving, I would smack you. You’ always tryna use our bond against me. Point is, you better be standing outside your door in the next forty-five minutes or I will get violent.“
“That’s why I’m finna’ get back in bed.”
“Yeah, okay. Do that and see what happens.”
“Bye, Ama.”
“Bye!”
If one thing Ama was right about, she did need to get out of bed. The time rushed by as Ama yapped while she got dressed, talking all the way up until they made it back to her mom’s place. It was exactly how a family cookout would look—two story house, a baby blue color painted along the wooden roof and walls. The smell of hot dogs, burgers and fries wafted in her nose as she squinted from the sunlight, standing next to the bucket of drinks as she waited for it to be refilled with bottles of water. The longer she went without eating, her stomach growled.
Seeing her friend's family was different from her own—playing card games, from old jams to bounce remixes, to routined line dances—the energy was enjoyable, and she didn’t have the urge to check her phone again. She felt at ease.
“You still ain’t finna’ eat?” Ama questions, holding a plate up to her face as she stood beside her friend, nose deep into a plate of jambalaya.
She shakes her head, “I need water. It’s hot as hell,” she huffs, fanning a hand above her face.
“You’ so dramatic—“ Ama starts, halting as she follows the sound of tires screeching in front of the house, “—Oh, there he go’ with the water.”
Their eyes follow to the blacked out H2 Hummer, large wheels rumbling the ground as it leans atop of the curb. Two bodies step out of the car, her eyes familiar with one of Ama’s cousins, Shaun—but seeing her brother was a different story.
Neatly braided cornows to the back of his head was the first thing she noticed, his lineup as sharp as his jaw. Brown skin shined under the sun like iridescent honey, tattoos cascading across his muscular frame, all the way up to his cheekbones. Love was written in cursive above his eyebrow, full lips a dark pink beneath his goatee and facial hair. Rings cladded along his thick fingers, muscles flexing beneath the fitted white tee he wore with navy blue basketball shorts. 74 glittered around his neck, his number meaningful in every room he walked in—he was fine.
“Took you long enough,” Ama rolled her eyes, “Everybody finna’ die of dehydration!”
He’s already walking towards the cooler, effortlessly dropping bottles into the ice water. A slight smirk curls from his lips as he replied, “You’ aight. Me and Shaun’ was tryna’ roll up before we got back, you know momma don’t play that shit.”
His voice was deep, yet smooth—velvet almost.
“You ain’t supposed to be smoking anyways!” Ama reminds, “You’ got playoffs in a couple of weeks—they don’t drug test y’all?”
“Yeah,” He starts, plopping a few more bottles into the ice, “I got the next two weeks to do that, you act like I won’t be straight by then.”
He glances beside Ama, raising an eyebrow as he questions, “You don’t speak or sum’?”
She blinks in reply, realizing the question was for her. Her eyes travel down to the cooler before she points to herself—“Me?”
“Nah, the nigga standin’ by the tree—Yeah, you.”
His sister then scoffs, “She’s just not used to seeing big ass niggas like you.”
“Bro—stop talkin’ to me,” He warns. His glare stays in Ama’s direction before softening his gaze back onto her friend, “You got a name, you?”
“Nuh-Uh! Nope. She don’t! Don’t be tryna’ push up on my friend. You got bitches all over New Orleans for that,” Ama interrupts.
She scolds in reply, “Ama—lawd, I’m good. Chill.”
She then scans him up and down, noticing how big he was in comparison to her. She’d only seen him on TV, and only ever heard the amount of shit his sister talked about him. She honestly didn’t think she’d ever meet him, and maybe that’s why she suddenly felt so insecure.
But if only she could see herself.
Her bistre skin was like chocolate melting beneath the sun, midnight black hair slicked back into a low bun out of her face—edges styled along her forehead in perfection, small flyaways curled along the back of her neck. Feline eyes tilted above her full lips and freckles he could only notice as he observed her. But the star of the show was her eyes—a deep cobalt, giving her an almost villainous look. But nothing was more pure than her angelic face.
She gives a small wave, wanting to smack herself at the childish gesture as she softly introduces, “I’m Blue.”
Her voice was quiet, but sweet.
“Blue. I like that.”
Ama interrupts the moment, “Don’t be complimenting her, my friend know’ she's bad!”
The way her name rolled off his tongue made a chill run through her spine—she had to pull it together.
Onyankopon steps closer to the cooler, his eyes flickering back to hers as he questions,”You don’t drink?”
“Hm?” Blue raises an eyebrow, “Oh— No, I don’t. It’s easier to drink water. I mean, you should always drink water— If you’re dehydrated, of course. but if you’re hydrated you should be fine—“
She stops herself, realizing that she’s rambling.
Blue clears her throat, playing with a curl along the side of her face as she blows out a flushed smile, “…Yeah.”
God—she wanted to dig herself into the nearest hole.
Blue adjusts herself a bit, now feeling entirely naked under the snug white tee she wears, showing off her midriff and heart shaped nipple piercings, denim washed jeans that clung to the harsh curve of her ass, orchid sandals along her French tipped toes. She was pretty.
“Oh hell,” Ama groans, “I thought you said you wasn’t’ a fan?”
“I’m not—“
Ama shakes her head, “Anyways, Blue’s an athletic trainer—she be around you niggas all the time. So I don’t know why she even actin’ like this. You’ making my friend uncomfortable, Onyankopon!”
Her rambling was cute—refreshing, to say the least. He lets out a small chuckle, finding it a bit endearing as her brown cheeks went warm.
“Oh? You’ an athletic trainer?”
“I just work with college students,” Blue shakes her head, “I’m still working on my masters to move into professional athletes.”
“She used to play ball too,” Ama adds, “Better than yo’ ugly ass.”
He subtly flexes his jaw in annoyance of his sister, but the mention of her playing ball piqued his interest.
“What position?”
“Um—point guard. Like you,” she clears her throat, “It was back before I graduated,” she ends with a weak smile.
He raises an eyebrow, his fingers itching towards the silver piece around his neck.
“Why you’ all shy about it? Don’t be, I like that shit. You was nice onna’ court?”
It seems like the conversation becomes more intimate. As Ama gets distracted with her cousin that walks up, Onyankopon leans closer—Blue has to tilt her head up to get a good angle of him.
His body smells of a cocoa musk, and the scent clings along her senses, almost trying to coax her in. She was never this silent with anyone, her chest feeling heavier by the second.
Blue then replies, “Are you?”
His teeth flash a bit with the question. Her words were just a slight jab, but he appreciated it.
“I’m him, ain’t I?”
His fingers finally make their way to his necklace, pulling the silver up a bit, the numbers glistening in the sun as it reflected into her eyes.
“You tryna’ front like you ain’t never seen my games?”
“Ain’t nobody tryna’ front,” she confirms, “I watch more of the WNBA—you niggas get whatever y’all want even if you play around on the court.”
He shakes his head, a faint grin stretching from ear to ear, “You’ cute. You know that?”
His compliment makes her go stiff. Her lips part open a bit, but she doesn’t speak, unable to find any words to say back.
“You ain’t watching the right niggas,” He smacks his lips, “So what—a nigga gotta’ play for yo’ heart or sum’?”
Don’t get her wrong—Blue enjoyed a little flirting. But just in that millisecond, her mind trails back to someone else charming her with just their words, and that’s how she ended up with her first heartbreak.
She shakes her head, “I heard you got plenty to choose from—you should be fine getting benched by me.”
He narrows his lids, noticing that her expression grew more distant. There was a shift. An airy chuckle escapes his throat, glancing down at her with low eyes.
“You’ cold as hell. That’s cool.”
“I know it is. Can you back up off me now, 74?” she raises an eyebrow, azul vision flickering along his face.
He takes a second, staring at her facial features to memorize them. She was interesting to say the least.
Finally, he steps back, “My fault, Mama.”
Ama interrupts at the perfect time as she calls, “Yo’! Momma wants you to come carry the other grill outside, Ony!—And I told you leave my damn friend alone—fifty feet, nigga!”
“Damn—Fifty feet is crazy,” Onyankopon chuckles, glancing down at Blue, “We was’ just talkin’, huh?”
Blue tilts her head a bit, trying to push down the smile that wants to grow on her face as she replies, “…Mhm.”
“I’m finna’ start counting!” Ama threatens, her hands now on her hips.
“You gotta’ calm down,” Onyankopon groans to his sister, looking back once more, “Let me know when you tryna’ have me as yo’ point guard, Blue.”
Before she could respond, he was already walking away. She’s able to see his full frame—the muscles in his back flexing within his arms, leaving Blue just how she introduced herself—Quiet.
She tries to distract herself for the next hour. Her eyes glanced over to Onyankopon every few seconds, noticing something new about him each time. The open faced grills within his mouth, the stud within his nose, the lyrics and verses along his neck and arms. Fuck.
Her eyes couldn’t help but trail back to her screen, absentmindedly clicking onto social media. That was until her phone was snatched from her fingers.
“Ama!”
“I’m saving your mental, girl,” Ama replies, holding the phone up to her face as she types, “Don’t make me delete Instagram.”
Blue sighs, “You know that nigga is in a new relationship already?”
Ama sighs, tapping on the picture of him with a nameless figure wrapped around his arm.
“He never had loyalty, you know that. Stop fuckin’ with these ball players and find you a lawyer or some shit.”
Blue felt stupid. To have fallen for someone she knew had the reputation of careless acts—what else did she expect? But he made her feel like she was important. That she was different.
“I’d rather be by myself. A lawyer might lie even better than a ball player,” Blue murmurs, digging her fork into the piece of cake she’d had her attention on, Ama finalizing her words as she agreed, “That part.”
Everyone watches as the younger men make their way towards the basketball court within the driveway, Blue’s attention pulling back to that damn smile as Onyankopon’s silhouette moves past her.
He questions, “We finna’ hoop. You gon’ watch yo’ man?”
“Who?” She scrunches her nose.
“You heard me, girl. Quit playin’.”
Blue turns to Ama, “Why yo’ brother won’t get off me? Didn’t you say he got bitches to choose from?”
Ama shrugs, “He tryna’ be cute, and you blushing—I’m mindin’ my business.”
She then stands from the table, a mischievous smile across her face, “I gotta make sure my uncle doesn't break his hip on this court. You comin’?”
“Watchin’ yo’ uncle possibly fall and break all his ligaments? Lemme’ grab my cake,” Blue chuckles, standing with her food as she follows behind.
Everyone crowds around the court as the family game begins, but it’s unfortunate that Blue can’t stop watching Onyankopon—especially when he keeps howling each time he makes a shot.
This was her first time seeing him on the court, and to say that he played how he looked on TV was an understatement. To her dismay, he had bragging rights. The way he easily dodged and maneuvered around the court, his height gave him a slight advantage as he easily made shots to the rim.
“You see me? You like that?” he calls, his attractive face more threatening each time he calls out to her, “You gon’ have a seat right up in the boxes watchin’ me!”
Ama replies back, “She don’t’ see shit but yo’ hoe ass bullying your family on the court. Stop playing like this a championship, stupid!”
Onyankopon smacks his lips at his sister, catching the ball before dribbling up the court again. But the person he was up against this time, was not as easy—the cousin he always played with, who was just as good as him. He had quick reflexes, almost magic as he stole the ball out of Onyankopon’s palms, making his way towards the rim, dunking the ball against it.
“Oh—we playin’ forreal? Aight.”
They’re still playful with one another along the court, but that didn’t make the game any less serious. Both men were good at stealing the ball from each other. The family watched in entertainment, yelling and calling out moves as if it were a real game. Blue couldn’t help the small laugh she released. Damn, he was good.
Everything was going well—until it wasn’t. Onyankopon’s cousin shifted his body a little too quickly into him, harshly knocking his shoulder to where he tripped over his own legs, crashing into the ground before he could catch himself. Everyone knew something was wrong the moment he grabbed his knee, a pained look against his face.
It’s as if Blue sobered up in that moment, her eyes widening slightly as his cousin bent down in front of him with panic, “Yo—Ony, you good? Shit—I’m sorry.”
“Fuck—” Onyankopon groans, clenching his jaw as he attempts to sit up. He wanted to hide the immense burn he felt rushing through his entire leg, but he was in pain— His knee was locked.
The entire court was immobile. It’s as if no one wanted to panic, but panic all at the same time. A single voice called over the silence as Ama exclaimed, “Blue!”, rushing around the court towards her brother.
Blue was right behind her, dropping herself towards the ground as she immediately reached for his knee. He jerked at the touch as she softly whispered, “I’m sorry,” keeping her palms in place, even as he tried to push her away.
“You have to tell me what hurts, Onyankopon.”
“It’s—” He starts, hissing between his teeth as she kept her hand on the swollen part of his leg, “—Fuck, it’s my entire leg. From the top, to the ankle.”
Everyone around them grew nervous. She could hear the worry in Ama’s voice, and she could see tears forming in her eyes as she called for her father.
Blue didn’t need anyone to freak out. She turns towards her friend, “Ama—go inside with Shaun and grab an ice pack, okay?”
If Ama’s panic wasn’t helping the situation, a shriek coming from the front of the house makes it all
the more worse—Onyankopon’s mother tosses the pan of meatballs within her hands, nearly falling down the stairs as she rushes over to the court, “Oh my goodness, my baby! Oh lawd—What happened?—Who hurt my baby?!”
“I did something stupid, Ma’! Quit fussin’. Lawd, I’m fine,” He manages to groan out.
His body was sweating, the veins in his neck going rigid as he fought to keep his composure—each time Blue’s palm slid across his skin, he wanted to scream.
Blue places his arm on her shoulder, huffing as she lifts herself and his weight along her body. She manages to say at the same time, “Just lean on me, okay? Don’t put any weight on it.”
Onyankopon could hear the slight wheeze in Blue’s breath as his mother started to yell, “Get him on the bench! Where’s the ice pack—Where’s Ama?!”
“I can try to walk, Blue—ion’ need you hurting yourself tryna’ help me.”
“What happened to all that flirting you was’ doing earlier—You don’t wanna be close to me no’ more?” She questions, distracting him as she takes another step towards the house.
A painful chuckle pushes from his lips. He had been trying to show off—and look where that got him. It was almost pathetic.
“Your name really Blue, forreal’?”
Her lashes flick up to him, the sunlight cascading within the ocean of her pupils. She then raises an eyebrow, “You’ really injured yourself tryna’ impress a girl?”
It wasn’t supposed to happen—but it did. Onyankopon blushes, the warmth across his face growing with embarrassment as she calls him out.
Finally, he answers, “Yeah, aight. You got it.”
When they finally get him inside, the previous outburst of Onyankopon’s mother turns into an all out tantrum, up to the point where she kicks everyone out. Throughout the chaos, all Onyankopon could think about was the softness of Blue’s hand in his—the way each time he looked back at her, she squeezed his fingers, giving a soft smile. He thought about her as she sat across from him, and even at the hospital when she’d already left.
Why couldn’t he get this girl off his mind?
Standing in front of his condo the next day wasn’t in Blue’s original plans. When Ama told her that his condition wasn’t looking too good, regardless of how overly flirtatious he was—she felt bad. And being the empath she unfortunately was, she was now standing in front of his door, bifold glass seeing right into the tinted foyer of his home as she stepped in.
Sleek black interior accompanied paintings hung above the minimalist styled furniture. Her curiosity came to a halt as she heard a couple of voices at the end of the hall, making her way to where they followed, but slowing down when she heard the conversation.
Onyankopon sat along the bench of his indoor gym, frown locked down to his knee wrapped in gauze as the doctor continued to speak to him.
“It seems you’ve torn your PCL.”
“And what does that injury intel?” His father questions, “Is that the same as tearing your ACL?”
“Not as severe, but still just as bad. With rest and rehabilitation, you could be back playing within the next two months.”
Two months?
His father shakes his head, “Hollon’—He has playoffs in four weeks. He just signed a contract with the Pelicans, he can’t miss that. Two months isn’t plausible—Is there any way we can speed up the process?”
“Pops.”
Onyankopon’s voice is a warning, already frustrated with the news he receives. His father wasn’t helping that.
The doctor sighs, “Well, it’s not that easy. Onyankopon would need extensive physical therapy if he wants to be ready for the playoffs. If he doesn’t take the right precautions, he could risk tearing his ACL, and he’ll have to sit out for a lot longer—or in the worst case, have a career ending injury. If he listens—”
His father cuts him off.
“I’ll get him in the best goddamn rehab in Louisiana—We’ll make it work.”
That’s when they all hear a phone ringing. Blue curses, immediately cutting off the sound as she looks down to her screen. She blows out a breath as she peeks to the other side of the wall, seeing all three men looking over at her.
“Sorry,” she softly greets, “I um—was just bringing Ony something—I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“You can come in. It’s aight,” He tells her, his gaze flickering over her form.
She notices a scowl along his face, seemingly irritated from this conversation. She couldn’t help but take account of his shirtless appearance, eyes wavering over the strength he holds in the broad frame of his back, muscles structured beneath his intricate tattoos.
The doctor looks away from his father, looking back to Onyankopon as he questions, “Do you want to take that risk?”
His jaw flexes at the question. He didn’t want to ruin his career by possibly hurting himself more, but he also had a family to be successful for. He didn’t have a choice.
“I’ll be ready by’ playoffs.”
The doctor sighs, unable to argue with his decision. He then says, “We’ll find the best athletic trainer for you. But if you feel your knee worsening—you’ll have to consider sitting out.”
That’s when Onyankopon catches sight of Blue again. She looks as if she’d just come from the gym— indigo baby tee and yoga pants hugging her curvy figure. Square glasses tip on her freckles nose, curls out her face from a matching headband.
That’s when he says, “I want her.”
Her eyebrows raise. Blue frowns, “What?”
Onyankopon looks at his father as he continues, “She used to hoop back in college. Now she works with athletes— I need to play shit safe and get someone good.”
Blue’s frown deepens, “Onyankopon—I can’t accept that. I’ve only worked with college athletes—I don’t even have my masters!—“
“I trust you.”
His voice holds no hesitation, his piercing gaze meeting her eyes as he promises, “I will do what I have to do. But I want you to be the one to get me there—can you do that?”
He can see the hesitance along her face, the baby pink box she holds tightening under her fingers.
Onyankopon looks towards his father as he dismisses, “Lemme’ talk to her, Pops.”
Both men exit, their footsteps growing quiet as they leave them in silence, Blue’s face nowhere near convinced on this idea. But instead of him immediately reeling back the conversation, he scoots off the bench as he questions, “What you’ got me?”
She looks down to the box, now feeling a little childish.
“Oh—um—I knew you were upset with everything that happened yesterday, so—I got you a lil’ cupcake at this bakery by my house. They put a basketball on it?”
She lifts the box towards him, “I just…wanted to make you feel better,” she nervously giggles, lifting the desert towards him.
A grin slowly curls onto his full lips. He chuckles for a second, “You only being nice to a nigga ‘cause he hurt—that’s cold,” He shakes his head, standing to his feet, the muscles in his arms flexing with each motion.
She notices that as he makes his way over to her, Onyankopon places his weight on one leg, limping on the other. He takes the box from her fingers, his hand grazing Blue’s in the exchange, catching the softness of her palm again. Warm. That usual blush appears along her face as he opens the box, staring down at the small cupcake topped with a basketball.
“You should be using your crutches,” she looks behind him, seeing as they lean along the bench.
“C’mon, Mama. I ain’t even hired you yet and you trippin’—quit all that,” he smacks his lips, “I’m tryna’ have you feed me.”
She looks around, “Feed who? The grown man standing across from me?”
“Lawd, here you go with that attitude. I liked when you was playin’ soft,” He murmurs, breaking the cupcake in half, reaching a piece out to her.
She looks down at his hand, sighing as she reluctantly takes the other half from him. Her lashes flutter as she blinks, “You’ serious about this? Me getting you ready for ‘playoffs?”
“Yeah.”
This close, Blue can smell his cologne again—the mixture of spice and cocoa. His cologne combined with his natural musk was intoxicating. He notices how she swallowed her nervousness, his lip tipping upwards for a moment before he asks, “I make you nervous or sum?’”
“Save that for your groupies,” she dismisses, “I’m not here to fuck around with you, Ony. You’re not gonna blame me for making your injury worse, meaning you need to be serious about wanting to be back on the court by playoffs.”
He hums at that, “I like when you tryna’ be all professional. It’s cute. What you’ need me to do? Beg? Get on my knees?”
“The knee you don’t have?” She fires back, “Yeah—aight. I’m gone,” she grabs for her bag, “You’re not taking this shit seriously.”
“Blue,” He calls, letting out a long sigh as she begins making her way out, “C’mon, girl. What I’ need to do?”
“Call your father and have him find you a rehab center.”
She disappears behind the wall—but the front door shutting is what really signifies that the conversation had ended.
“Blue—Yo!”
She was gone.
He groans, sucking his teeth as he grabs one of the crutches in the corner. This was gonna be a long four weeks.
𝓐ᥫ᭡
THE SUNLIGHT WAS PEACEFUL AS SHE SAT ON THE BLEACHERS. Blue was finishing off another week in her work schedule, ending a therapy session with one of her students who was now scattering across the court at practice with the rest of his team. Multiple men passed the ball, talked shit to each other, pushing and shoving along the court as they played an unserious game. Seeing the smile along their faces made her realize how important this sport was to someone like them—how important it was to her.
Her phone buzzes. Ama, as she expected. Blue sighs, pressing the phone to her ear as she greets, “I hope you ain’t calling to cuss me out ‘cause I didn’t take the job your brother offered.”
“I come in peace, promise. I know his big headed ass is hard to deal with,” her friend chuckles, “Are you at work?”
“Yeah. Just finished a session with one of my ball players. He’s doing really good— ecstatic to be back on the court,” a small smile comes to her face. She can’t help but ask, “How’s Ony doing?”
“He’s…okay? Off the crutches, been doing a lot of PT, even shuffled around the court this morning.”
“But?”
Blue could hear the uncertainty in her friend's voice, hearing a sigh come through the phone as Ama continues, “But—he’s not himself. Kinda hurts to see my twin moping around, y’know? Look, don’t get mad but…he really needs you, Blue.”
She sighed, “Don’t start, Ama.”
“I’m being serious!,” She exclaims, “I don’t know how, but…Blue—He’s different since you’ve been around. After you left his house, the nigga started PT that same day! I ain’t never seen him be so on top of something since his Nike had a sale,” She takes a breath, “Please? It’s just for the playoffs. Just three more weeks and then you’re done. My twin is all sad, and if he’s sad, I’m sad, and you don’t want me to be sad, right? ‘Cause you love me. Exactly.”
Blue rolls her eyes, giving a soft laugh in response. She’d never heard Ama be so adamant when it came to Onyankopon, meaning she was entirely serious. She hoped that their last interaction put a fire under his ass, and gave him the encouragement to get himself together in time for his next game. Being there for him wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
She finalizes, “I’ll go back over there tomorrow.”
And she did. Blue was up early the next morning, already pushing her way into the glass panel of his front door, two machas within a cup holder as she quietly entered the condo. It was more peaceful in the morning, the sunlight tilting into the windows—but she was distracted by the sound of a bear growling.
It in fact wasn’t a bear, but Onyankopon passed out along the sofa as he slept. Blue thought Ama was exaggerating when she said that her brother was in a funk—but when she saw the open box of pizza beside his head, his pillows fallen all over the ground, and his body wrapped up in a hoodie—she might’ve been right.
Blue glanced over to the TV that played cartoons, looking back down to him as she called, “Onyankopon.”
Nothing.
His snores nearly bounced off the walls, rumbling the bottom of her feet as if he were an animal. She rolled her eyes, leaning down as she shoved his shoulder, “Onyankopon.”
Still nothing.
Okay. She sat the matcha down, going into the kitchen as her eyes searched around his cabinets. Retrieving a bowl, she went over to his fridge as she filled it with cold water, adding ice within the mixture before making her way back into the living room. And without another thought—she tossed the contents on top of him.
“Nigga—”
His voice sounded like a low growl, his large body jolting as he felt the water on his skin. He blinked the moisture from his eyes, slowly becoming conscious as the room came into focus, “The fuck?!”
“Get up,” she demands, raising the bowl as if she were going to toss it, “You better—“
“Don’t you see me up?!”
“No! I see a nigga hibernating on the couch!”
“I was asleep!”
He grunts, shifting himself to sit up before the coldness settles onto his chest. His brows furrow, glaring at the bowl in her hand before he stood.
“You better back yo’ ass up before I come over there.”
“That’s if you could limp over here in time!”
She raises the bowl again, Onyankopon flinching as he says, “Aight! Damn. I’m up, I’m up.”
“You up?” she questions, bucking the bowl one more time.
"Blue—"
He groans, "Get yo' lil' ass out the way with that bowl, forreal. 'Cause if I get over there, imma’ have you runnin.’ Swear to god.”
Blue narrows her eyes, taking a step back as she lowers her hand. She then smiles, “Meet me in the gym after you shower—and drink your matcha!” She calls, disappearing into the hallway.
“This girl here, man.”
After Onyankopon cleans the living room, he quickly takes a shower, making his way towards the gym—music is already humming along the room, catching sight of Blue who stands in the middle of his miniature court. The architecture was a matte black, matching equipment with silver linings all across the floor. His eyes lower to Blue’s ass as she stretches, too distracted to hear him entering.
“You know what you’ doing, Ms. Trainer?”
She turns her head, looking across the entrance as she sees Onyankopon, Nike long sleeve hugging his muscles, his team's sweatpants matching the navy blue top he wears.
She pulls her eyes away from how big he was, reaching for a ball along the wall as she says, “C’mon.”
“C’mon, what?”
“We finna’ hoop.”
He doesn’t budge from his spot, raising an eyebrow.
“You think I’m joking?”
Blue locks her fingers at the edge of her sweatshirt, pulling the oversized material off her body and tossing it on the ground. She begins to clip her hair up in her orchid comb, “They’ told me you’re off the crutches— I wanna see how comfortable you are on the court.”
A smirk curves along his lips when she removes her shirt—the baby pink workout set she wore hugs her body perfectly.
“Yo’ mama know you got that ass?”
The moment he comes closer, she’s quick. She opens her palms, tossing the ball towards him with a tilt to her head, “Quit distracting. Show me why they made you’ point guard.”
Blue takes a step back, squatting herself down a bit. Her eyes watch as he steps forward, but she catches the light limp he does as he begins dribbling.
She points out, “You’ll have to put your weight on it eventually.”
“You gotta’ let a nigga warm up.”
He’s making his way towards the rim—but he was slower—he couldn’t use his speed to his advantage like he usually did.
The moment she’s close to him, Blue snatches the ball from his hands, hugging the object within her fingers. Onyankopon backs up.
She raises an eyebrow, “What are you doing?—I know you ain’t scared to hoop.”
He scoffs, “Nah, it’s just—you got that pretty face. Ion’ wanna’ bump you.”
“I play with niggas all the time,” she re-ties her hair, “C’mon. Play like you forreal’, pussy.”
It was like a switch went off in his body at the insult. Onyankopon gave her a warning, “Watch yo’ mouth, Blue.”
“Come take the ball from me then.”
“I heard you’ the first time.”
He was more focused this time around, hand swiping the ball from her fingers before she could blink. Blue let out a grunt as he easily moved around her, and that’s when he shoved her body to the side— Blue stumbling back, watching as he took long strides towards the basket—But before he could even attempt his shot, her hand interfered, breathlessly swatting the ball out his hand and taking it into her own.
“I thought we was’ playing forreal’?” He retorts.
As Blue begins sprinting, Onyankopon catches the back of her sweatpants, yanking her back as he grunts, “Where you goin’?”
Blue shrieks, dropping the ball as she smacks his hand away, “That’s a foul, dipshit!”
“You on my basketball court,” He replies, lifting his hand to snatch the ball before it touches the ground, “Foul my ass. I thought you wanted to see some real effort?”
He grips her forearm as he pulls her back beside him, turning her body as he places the ball within her palm, “Show me that college ball player shit. You’ wastin’ my time.”
“Oh?” She glares, “Okay—Guard me from shooting then.”
“Ion’ need to guard you,” He steps to the side, leaving the rim wide open, “Shoot. Gon’ head.”
And as soon as she did, he was quick in interfering with her motion, his long arm palming the basketball. She let out a small huff in defeat—but she could be faster. Blue manages to retrieve the ball in time and the moment she turns, her body slams into his.
His towering frame blocked her pathway to the rim as she tried to move in another direction, but her hands couldn't catch the ball—Onyankopon now had it back within his grasp. They both give each other a breathless laugh, and despite this moment being important—they were having fun.
As Onyankopon goes to take another step, he stops, sucking in a breath as he places a hand along his knee. A sharp pain shoots through his entire leg.
Blue immediately pauses, “You okay?”
At first, he wanted to deny, ignore the pain—but it was evident along his face. His voice lowers, “I’m good—I, damn—“
He’s unable to finish his sentence, gritting his teeth as he tries to move towards the bench—but he’s unable to. After another moment, Blue’s shoulder presses under his arm as she murmurs, “Lean on me, alright? We’re both done playing.”
“I’m good,” he brushes off, “I’m tryna’ do some training.”
She kept him leaning against her, even if he was trying to move away. Blue questions, “You sure? We can just play it safe—do a couple stretches, Ony.”
His head tilts down at her, his hand gripping the curve of her shoulder as he answers, “Play it safe for what? I was just runnin’ around with you on the court—I gotta’ be back up in three weeks, Blue. I can’t do safe,” his voice is harsh, “I’m good.”
Blue pulls away from him as she relents, “Okay.”
After a while, they began moving into a couple of exercises—one of them being where Onyankopon had to lay along a yoga mat as he raised his knee a couple inches off the ground, attempting to reach Blue’s finger tips. While that might’ve sounded easy, he was huffing through the tightness within his leg, trying to shove down the uncomfortable position.
Blue’s touch might’ve been a helpful factor to each movement. Her warm palms gripped along his ankle, guiding him in the correct angle.
“Three more,” she promises, “Just gimme’ those, and we’ll move on.”
Onyankopon is quiet during their session, his grunts sounding with each new exercise they’d done. It wasn’t until he was on his feet, doing a movement that called for a slow squat where his groans began.
At the same time, Blue stands across from him as she makes sure his form is correct. She had to stop him a couple times to show the proper stance, squatting herself down for demonstration. She could feel his eyes.
“You’ good at doing that.“
Blue’s sighs, “Focus, please. Let’s try this again—I’ll do it with you.”
There was one thing that Onyankopon hadn’t mentioned in this entire process. In between each set, Blue would glance at her phone. She wasn’t distracted to a point that interfered with her work, but her attention was …diverted.
It wasn’t until he was doing his final exercise that he said something. He sat upright along the floor as a towel wrapped around the base of his foot, both palms grasping the ends of the material as he slowly pulled his leg back and forth.
Blue’s gaze wavers against the screen of her phone, her attention being pulled away as she hears him say, “Who’s the nigga you over there so worried about?”
Her brows furrow at the question. She places her phone down, raising her palm over his, “You’re supposed to be pulling with your hands, your leg shouldn’t be doing the work.”
She then decides to respond, “Who said I was worried about a nigga?”
“You just seem distracted.”
He continues the movement, following her instructions as he grunts, “He must’ve done somethin’ to get all that attention I’m not gettin’. What if my knee shatters right now?”
“Ony,” she flinches, “Don’t say that. I’m sorry, okay? No more phone.”
“I didn’t say to blow off my question.”
Blue blinks at him, annoyed with his pressing. She then says, “You wanna hear that I’m stalking my ex and his new bitch?”
“There we go,” He answers, his leg returning down towards the floor as he begins the set again, “That’s what you should’ve been said.”
He looks up as he questions, “Why is he yo’ ex?”
She doesn’t expect him to be curious. Blue waits a couple moments, not entirely comfortable as she flatly says, “He played ball like you, was better at playing me.”
“I’m sure it’s more than that,” his brow quirks, “Keep talkin’. I’m tryna’ hear your mouth run.”
“And why do you care?” She adjusts the towel under his foot, “None of that matters. He’s in a relationship, and I can’t be mad at that.”
“But you’ mad cause he fucked you over.”
“Did I say all that or were you just listening too hard?”
“You don’t have to,” He counters, raising his leg back down for one final set, “I already know.”
His brows knit together as he grunts, his body tensing as he forces his knee back.
Once he’s done, he continues, “And what you talkin’ bout? He could be the President, don’t matter—the fact you can’t get over it tells me he must’ve hurt you.”
“People get hurt all the time, Onyankopon,” Blue reminds him, “I’m a big girl, I survived. I just—need to get over the situation like he did.”
“And how you gon’ do that?” he questions, sitting back up straight, his hand throwing the towel beside him.
He was looking at her. Studying the way each curl fell along her face, “By being on your phone at every break? Don’t sound like you’ tryna’ get over it to me.”
“Do I tell you how to handle the relationship aspect of your life?” She squints, “You and your groupies have a very close bond—I’m sure. Ain’t nobody tryna’ sit there and tell you how to stop fuckin’ around on multiple bitches.”
“Whoa,” He raises both palms, a soft chuckle coming from his lips as he says, “Aight, aight. Sensitive topic, I see.”
There’s a moment of silence as he stares down at his fingers, “My groupies ain’t the problem. Can’t compare that to your cheating ass nigga.”
“I think sometimes you just like to hear yourself talk,” Blue mutters, “Get in the crocodile stretch so I can massage your knee, please.”
“I like hearing you talk more.”
He scoots down along the floor, using his hands to slowly roll himself onto his chest. He grunts as he continues, reaching his arms above his head and hiding his face within both of them.
Onyankopon’s jaw tenses, his brows pinching together. But soon enough, a small sigh leaves his lips as he feels her fingers run along his knee. She takes her thumb as she digs it into the muscle, deeply knotting her bone into a specific spot on his leg.
Blue then admits, “…I didn’t mean to snap on you. I just—hate that I’m not over the situation. That’s all.”
Her touch was so gentle.
He let out a grunt of relief, lifting his head off his forearms to look back to her. His eyes narrow, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he murmurs, “You gettin’ soft on me, Mama.”
She rolls her eyes, “Are you listening, or is this you just wanting to hear my voice again?”
“Both. Yo’ voice pretty as fuck.”
He sees the glimmer of freckles on her umber complexion, watching the way she nibbles along her lower lip, lowering her lashes. Shy. That’s the word he could think of.
“Are you ever gonna keep it professional with me?” She questions, glancing up to the TV that plays along the wall from across, the smallest smile along her face.
“Don’t wanna’. I can’t lie to you.”
He then catches her smile, and that’s when he says, “See. You know what it is.”
His tone lowers as he questions, “Why you gotta’ be so scared of a nigga trying to get to know you?”
“You beggin’ me now?” she raises an eyebrow, pulling herself back from his leg.
“Damn.”
He rolls over on his back, sitting up straight as he reaches for the towel beside him, wiping the sweat from his chest as he concludes, “Can’t do nothin’. You’ cold again.”
When she glances back up to the TV, she slows her movements as she sees a familiar face—his to be exact, different cuts from Onyankopon’s seasonal journey. He’s rushing across the court at one of his games, smiling ear to ear as he’s being interviewed.
”The star player was just signed to the Pelicans two months ago, and is already facing a career-threatening injury. Will he power through back in time for playoffs?
“I certainly hope so. Otherwise, he’ll be forgotten like anyone else just starting up.”
“Can you turn that off?”
His voice was stern, a glare on the screen as highlights continued playing. Every layup, every block, every dunk—it was a reel of everything he couldn’t do right now.
She reached for the remote as she shut it off, standing from the position she was in, “Earlier when we played—I could tell you were scared to move around the court. You can’t be afraid to do that.”
“Ain’t nobody scared.”
She crosses her arms at that, seeing that he’s growing irritated at her words.
“You can be mad. That’s fine.”
“Why you tryna’ make me mad?”
The frustration was evident in his tone, his eyes narrowing as he continued, “You think you got a nigga figured out when you just met me a week ago.”
“This coming from the same nigga that said he trusted me a day after meeting?” she reminds, “I’m not here to make you feel worse. I’m here because I know how you feel— Nobody is gonna believe in you if you don’t believe in you.”
And that made his expression falter.
He couldn’t speak. Onyankopon stares for a few moments until he lets out a heavy breath, his head shaking as he says, “I’m just mad.”
“I know that.”
Blue scans his face, seeing an uncomfortable sense within it. She then says, “Your progress is better than any patient I’ve had. You love the court, I can see that. You’ll be there by the playoffs.”
He stays silent at that, her words filling his head before he murmurs, “Yeah— Thank you.”
“You also need some milk,” she adds on, “Your bones feel brittle as hell.”
He lets out a low chuckle, staring down at her hands. His large palms could cover both of them. He then pushes back the vulnerable side that wants to come out, “You’ hungry?”
“I am,” she sighs, walking over to the court as she pulls her sweatshirt back on, “I was gonna eat once I got home. You did good today— we can start back up tomorrow.”
“Stay and eat, then.”
She looks back at him, her hand halting along her duffle bag. His smile grows, “Got shit in the kitchen, we just needa’ run to the store for a couple ingredients—I’m more than protein shakes and smoothies.”
“You need rest, Onyankopon. You ain’t finna’ sleep if we’ playing around in the grocery store,” she reminds, placing her duffle over her shoulder.
“C’mon,” He smacks his lips, taking long strides to stand in front of her. His broad shoulders blocked her path to the door, “Tell me you ain’t craving some food-food. What you’ want? Dirty rice, red beans? Let me know sum.’”
Blue looks up at him, the height gap so evident as he finalizes, “You’ll sleep good as fuck after. Promise.”
“This your way of tryna’ get me to stay?” She sighs, “You’ sure you can cook anything without burning the house down?”
He moves towards the double glass of his front doors, “It’s my way of apologizing to you, aight? I was kinda’ a dick head earlier, forreal’—my food’ good as hell, Mama. You gon’ be beggin’ for more.”
“Wrong. I don’t beg.”
They make it to the nearest Whole Foods, Onyankopon protesting as Blue forces him to push the cart, wanting him to have something to put his weight on. She walks slowly as she glances through the aisle, “What you’ in the mood for?”
“You.”
There’s a small smirk along his lips as she glares at him, his tone growing low again as he murmurs, “My bad, my bad. Whatever you want, I’m not trippin’.”
She keeps walking, now ending up towards the produce aisle. She scans the selections, “You’ got enough fruit for your smoothies? I may need to grab some for mine,” she mutters, leaning over as she scans the basket of bananas.
“Are you a banana?”
She turns her head, frowning at the question, “What?”
Onyankopon leans towards her, “‘Cause I find you real’ a—peel—ling.”
Blue’s entire expression drops, “Oh no—We’ve moved into bad pick up lines. Jesus Christ. Please don’t—“
“Ooh, girl. You must be a strawberry or sum’,” He interrupts, tossing the items within the basket, “‘Cause you’re berry beautiful to me!”
“Is this my personal hell? I’m walking away from you!”
“Chill! Chill! I have one more—”
He lets out a laugh as he follows behind her, still leaning against the cart’s edge as he looks over to the section of pineapples.
“If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple!”
“How about you make like them’ bananas you was talking about earlier, and split?”
Onyankopon’s mouth drops open, watching as Blue waltz further away from the basket, playfully twisting her hips with each step she takes.
She turns back to him, “Oh you liked that one, huh? That was good?”
A man walks past the both of them, Onyankopon leaning towards him as he questions, “Nigga—you heard that? How she came back at me with my own puns? You hear them’ wedding bells? Do you?”
She giggles, seeing the man’s frown as she exclaims, “Please ignore him—I’m sorry!”
When they go into the aisle of pastries, a gasp falters Blue’s lips as she speeds around a table full of cupcakes, “You think they have—“
Her eyes search, her face dropping in disappointment, “Ugh—They don’t have them,” a pout almost comes to her lips, deciding to look along the other options of cakes and bread.
“What you’ lookin’ for, Mama?”
She sighs, “They usually have these red velvet cupcakes I like. They have frosting on the inside of them!—“
She halts, realizing she’s a little too excited, “Sorry. Yeah, they’re good.”
“Stop apologizin’. They don’t got’ them?”
“No,” she’s now pouting, genuinely disappointed.
“We can go to every Whole Foods in the city until we find em’. Quit allat’ pouting.”
She rolls her eyes, “You wouldn’t do that.”
“You think I’m playin’?” he questions, eyes narrowing at her, “I’ll take my ass to muhfuckin’ Mississippi if you need me to.”
She hates that her heart flutters. Blue then shakes her head, voice soft, “It’s fine—I’ll go look in another aisle, okay?”
She goes to the next area of snacks, trying to find a sweet substitute for her cravings. She ends up finding a pack of Oreos, seeing a red velvet flavor at the top of the aisle, unable to reach it due to her height.
“Hell,” she mutters.
“Need help?”
The voice is…familiar. It’s as if her entire body goes cold, and immediately recognizes the tone without him having to say anything else. When her face turns towards him—there he is.
Hazel brown eyes, only made of the devil if she had a comparison. Light brown skin, his dark hair in waves, as handsome as he wanted to be. Fuck, why were evil men so fine?
To make matters worse, that faceless body that was within the picture she constantly stared at now had a face—she was the complete opposite of Blue. Tan skin, close to an olive tone. Her hair was more wavy than curly, a smaller frame, as if she were able to slip in anything and look good. She was perfect.
“Trey—Uh—hey?”
“Wassup, Blue?”
Something in her body flinched at the sound of him saying her name.
A smirk grows along his lips as he looks down to the cookies in her hand, “I remember these were your favorite.”
His voice was the same, smooth.
His eyes linger on the length of her, “How you’ been?”
How have I been?
She wanted to smack him, get violent. Maybe even smack the woman next to him.
“I’m good,” she pushes out, “Who’s this?” She looks at the woman, giving her best attempt of a polite smile.
“This is Nia,” he introduces, his arm now circling around the woman as he pulls her close, “My fiancè.”
Nia smiles, “It’s really nice to meet you, Trey’s told me so much about you!”
Blue could have cried on the spot. Her face felt entirely warm, and something in her was starting to become extremely upset.
“It’s uh…nice to meet you too. I hope all good things were said.”
Onyankopon turns down the aisle in search of her, finding Blue interacting with two strangers—but just by the look on her face, he knew exactly who they were. You could say he had a flair for the dramatics.
“Yo’, baby, you found what you was’ looking for?”
Blue frowns, “Huh?”
He walks up to her, “Why you’ always tryna’ do shit by yoself’ when you know you got me? C’mon,” he reaches up for the sweet treat, tossing it in the basket.
“Who’s this?”
Trey’s question felt a little sharp. Nia on the other hand, looks entirely starstruck. A blush comes along her fair skin as she swats Trey’s arm, “Honey, this is the new player on the Pelicans—Onyankopon, right?”
Onyankopon nods, his arm now going to mirror Trey’s action of holding his girl by the waist. But instead of going for Blue’s hip, his palm latches onto her ass, squeezing the flesh under his fingers, tugging her closer to his large frame.
“You gon’ introduce me, huh?” Her murmurs, mouth hovering along hers, Blue able to feel the warmth of his breath.
Her cheeks feel detached from her face. She stutters, “U—Um, this is Onyankopon, my—“
“Her husband,” he finishes, “Baby always being shy on shit. She ‘real adamant on getting our rings cleaned every other week, so she can’t show off that rock that be’ on her finger right now.”
His face is centimeters from hers. Onyankopon’s voice is low as he questions, “You’ got everything you need?”
Blue’s lashes flutter, trying to hold her composure as she nods, “Yeah—“
And then, he kisses her.
Their lips smush together, a low groan coming from his throat as she lets him taste her.
Blue tries to pull back, but Onyankopon's hand wraps along the back of her neck, holding her in place as he keeps going. His tongue slides along her own, sinking in and out of her mouth. It sends a jolt all the way between her thighs, Blue lightly panting in a way she didn’t expect herself to.
When he pulls back, she exhales, pressing her hand against his chest as her face went from warm to entirely hot. Her face pulls back to the couple across from them, both her ex and his fiancè shocked at their affection towards each other. They’re almost bothered at the sight.
“Um—“ a nervous giggle releases from Blue’s lips, “It was nice seeing you, Trey. We um, we have to go. Yeah?” She turns her face back to Onyankopon.
He presses one last kiss to her lips, a look of irritation on Trey's face he glares daggers.
Blue was officially red, Onyankopon's arm going around her waist as he said, "I’m hungry as hell. Finna’ fuck around and eat you. C’mon."
She politely waved to the couple, tugging at Onyankopon's arm, dragging him around the corner towards the check-out lanes.
That’s when Blue finally released an actual giggle, the sound unfamiliar to Onyankopon as she whispered, “Why did you do that?!”
“To piss him off,” He answers, “And it worked. I hope that nigga’s jaw is clenched as hell right now.”
He slows down the cart as he then asks, “You aight, though? You look like you seen’ a ghost earlier.”
“I’m okay—I just didn’t expect to see him out of all’ people. Not to mention that he’s engaged,” she places the items atop of the lane, pushing them forward with a soft frown along her face.
“You thought I was gon’ let that nigga just embarrass you? Fuck allat.’”
“Why did you go as far as to say we were married?”
Onyankopon shrugs, “Manifestation?”
And once again, Blue laughs.
Two weeks had gone by. Intense Physical therapy, exercising, and training was the only thing filling Onyankopon’s schedule. His family was shocked to hear how miraculous his recovery was—and he had no one to thank except Blue.
It was now the night before playoffs, Blue coming over to drop off the new knee brace she’d bought for him. She closes the door behind herself softly as he’d told her that he’d be going to bed early, trying to tip toe towards his gym. But when she sees the kitchen lights on—she halts.
She looks along the marble counter, seeing different ingredients from flour, sugar, eggs, butter, and oil. A frown came along her face at the cupcake pans next to the supplies.
She slowly walks forward as she questions, “Ony?”
A figure appears from the bathroom. Her mouth immediately parts open, a palm going over her lips as she sees him shirtless, a chef's hat slanting on top of his head.
She giggles, “What are you doing?”
“You thought I was just bullshitting about finding you them’ red velvet cupcakes?” He questions, going to stand in front of the kitchen’s island, “Imma’ make them for you.”
Dammit. There goes her heart fluttering again. She rolls her eyes as she goes over to him, pulling the hat off his head while wiping the flour along his nose, “Maybe I can help with that. What do you need me to do, chef?”
Spending time with him outside of PT was different. Seeing him go as far as to make the dessert she’d wanted weeks ago, made her realize how much he’d actually been thinking about her.
Blue watched as he stood on the other side of the counter, rolling up a blunt they’d agreed on smoking together. Her eyes might’ve been…drifting at him doing such a simple task, palm slow in mixing the batter.
“You gon’ have to keep them’ pretty ass eyes off me, Blue. Unless you tryna’ have a nigga come over there.”
Onyankopon eyes are still down. His tongue rolls across the blunt, sealing the object.
A small smile comes along her face, placing her focus back along the batter as she replies, “Sorry.”
He chuckles, placing the end between his lips before igniting the blunt—taking a long drag, smoke wafting out his nose as he questioned, “Yo’ momma named you that ‘cause of them’ oceans you got for eyes?”
She softly laughs, “No. I was stuck in the hospital a couple weeks after she gave birth to me—premature, less than five pounds. My mom said I cried like hell in that incubator, and it made her cry. Gave her the blues. My eyes are on the account of my grandfather who had some syndrome, passed it down to me. I guess it just felt appropriate.”
Her voice was smooth. His eyes watched as she moved, trying to keep her composure as she poured her batter into the cupcake liners. It had to be the smoke, or the fact that he liked her, as his mind began to wander on how she’d sound moaning in his ear. He takes another hit, the blunt still between his fingers as he exhales, passing the object over to her.
She reaches over, pressing the brown bud in between her dark pink lips. She then questions, “Why you’ so interested in me? You ain’t got a bunch of bitches lined up to play basketball wife?”
“And I know you got a lot more niggas than me tryna’ talk to you, but who’s the only one making you them’ cupcakes?” He questions, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Still not you. I’m the one mixing the batter,” she points out.
She looks up to see the instant irritation on his face.
He eases up as he leans forward, “Pass that shit back, you blowin’ me. Throw a nigga a bone. Somethin’.”
Her eyes are still against the burgundy contents of the batter, thinking of his words. It was hard for her to open up at times—but she’d spent a lot of time with Onyankopon at this point, and she couldn’t deny the feelings developing for him. It was time to give him some vulnerability.
“I um—I tore my ACL back in college.”
Blue can see the frown that comes to his face. She hates that she can feel a heaviness within her chest, pushing herself to continue, “Had a girl off another team push me the wrong way, and my knee shattered when I stumbled. I mean—I still do something I love, but I loved playing ball more. I think that’s why I tend to be so hard on you about your recovery. You still have the opportunity to play—so play.”
He remains quiet as he digests what she tells him. Going from knowing nothing about this girl, to knowing all of the shit she’d been through—it made him want her more.
She notices his face, releasing her hands from the bowl as she apologizes, “I wasn’t tryna’ fuck up the mood.”
“You didn’t,” he says, his words a low murmur, “All that shit you went through made you who you are now. You tough as fuck, Blue. Selfless as hell, too. Nobody could take that shit from you.”
Her heart beats as he comes around the counter, distracting herself as she steals the blunt from his fingers, “You just sayin’ all that cause I got you ready for playoffs.”
“You hear me, right?”
He was so close, tilting his head down, keeping his face close to hers.
She blinks slowly, exhaling the smoke from her lips as she nods, “I hear you, Ony.”
“So why you actin’ like you don’t believe that a nigga got feelings for you?”
“Cause you’re sayin’ all this when you’re high.”
“I’m barely high,” his eyes wandered down to her lips, “Why you frontin’?”
Her high was now hitting her, creating a buzz along her body, her lids a little heavier than before. She turns towards the counter, grabbing for the frosting bag as she grins, “You ain’t finish making my cupcakes. I thought you said you liked me?” She tilts her head, eyes glowing a slight shade of red.
“I like you like hell,” he grunts, latching a kiss along her cheek, it makes her giggle and push at his chest. He notices the way she relaxes, “How’ you feelin’, Mama—you good?” His tone was sensual, but genuine, “You wanna’ lay down?”
“You think I can’t handle myself?” She frowns, “I’m good, boy. Want some frosting? I hope it’s buttercream!”
She wraps her arms around his neck, “Put me on the counter. My feet hurt.”
He chuckles, grabbing her by the waist as he sits her atop the island, sliding both her legs apart.
“Better?”
“Mhm,” she nods, beginning to rub her palms along the sides of his neck, “You’re so sweet.”
“You the sweetest thing on this island,” he counters, sliding her lower along the edge. He stands in between her legs, palms along her thighs.
“Sweeter than the frosting?” She questions, squeezing some along her finger, wrapping her lips along the tip of her index.
“You playin’.”
Onyankopon’s large hand wraps around her wrist, pulling her finger out of her mouth. He then takes her digits in between his own lips, tongue dragging along the frosting.
Blue takes more frosting along her free hand, plopping some on the edge of his chin. Her giggles aren’t something he’s used to yet. He could replay them over and over. Now seeing her like this—floaty, flirty, it might’ve had his mind elsewhere.
She blows out a breath, eyes boring into his as she pouts, “You gotta re-light the blunt, it went out.”
She was seated on the island, and yet his head was still level with her own. His voice was a low rumble as he continued, “Why you’ worried about that? Youn’ want my tongue instead?”
“On me?”
“All over you, girl,” his voice drops further, lips inches from her own, “Where ‘you want me?”
She searches around his face, lightly pressing her teeth along the plush of her lip. Squeezing out more frosting, Blue swipes it along the side of her neck, her voice soft as she sighs, “…Here.”
“On that pretty ass neck,” he murmurs against her skin, lips dragging as close as possible. His kiss was light, teasing as he slowly made his way back up. Her neck smelled of cinnamon.
She was within his grasp, tongue coating along her skin, the frosting smearing across her throat. Onyankopon could feel a shiver vibrating throughout her spine at the contact, Blue’s thighs squeezing together in response.
Her giggles lessen as his tongue drags all along the length of her neck, softening into breathy inhales. When she goes to pull her face down—his fingers dig into her curls, yanking her head back. Blue’s eyes roll back in response.
“It t—tickles, Ony…”
He chuckles against her neck, his tongue coiling around the inside of her ear. It goes down, gliding past her jawline, lightly rushing across her lips.
The moment she feels his mouth along her own, her entire body tenses, thinking back to the kiss he’d given her in the store. Her palm slides to the back of his neck, breath wafting along his mouth as her thighs repeated in squeezing together. It’s as if she’s anticipating his next move, more needy than she expected herself to be.
She lets it slip out as she whimpers, “Why won’t you kiss me…”
He pulls away, leaving only an inch of space between them, “Thought you didn’t believe a nigga liked you?”
The grip at the back of her curls loosen only slightly, his voice a husk as he grunts, “Open.”
A small giggle falls from her lips as she sticks out her tongue in response, rims of her eyes a dark azure. He lets out a low groan, tongue plunging deep within her mouth, twisting around her own. Their kiss makes her eyes feel heavier, her brain emptier, her thoughts—hornier. The frosting along her skin smudges everywhere as they move together, dropping along her thighs, sliding lower on her legs. Without another thought, Blue’s shriek echoes the walls as he locks her legs around his hips, carrying her onto the sofa.
Her back lays atop of the pillows, eyes flicking over to the mirror giving a perfect view of their bodies—The balls of her feet slide against his chest as she keeps her legs up, Onyankopon hovered above her, pressing the blunt back between his lips, swiping the lighter across his thumb.
Blue’s low eyes watch him. He pulls the bud from his mouth, pressing a kiss to the side of her foot, pecking his lips towards her French tipped toes.
“We were supposed to be baking,” she huffs in annoyance, but yet, she lightly rotates her hips at the sensation of his mouth.
When the blunt is lit, he drags his tongue along her calves.
He then questions, “What were we makin’ again? Tell me.”
Her legs shake as he snatches the skin going up her leg in between his lips, “T—Those cupcakes you promised to make me, Ony…”
“That’s what you want right now?”
She wanted to answer back—she really did. She just couldn’t.
Onyankopon hands her back the blunt, Blue watching how his lips went from the back of her knees, to now meeting at her thighs, tongue gliding across any part of her skin he could reach.
When he drags more upward, there’s a smack when his lips meet her own. He watches as she pulls smoke into her mouth, holding it there until he grunts, “Give it to me.”
She pushes the smoke out, silence between the two as their lips seal together cohesively.
His lips suck against hers, the kiss loud and sloppy. Blue softly whines. Her head nearly falls back to keep up with him, thighs opening, hung along the broad frame of his back. Onyankopon’s head was beginning to fuzz, which coaxed his head to duck down, tongue swirling, dancing along the inside of her thigh.
“Talk to me,” his voice mutters a seductive rasp against her skin, nose and mouth smushing against the warmth, “Whatchu’ thinkin’ about?”
She doesn’t wanna admit to what she’s actually thinking. But with his lips everywhere as he’d promised, smoking, and suppressing the tension she’d felt the moment she’d met this man—she couldn’t help it anymore.
“Want you in me, Ony.”
Her voice is pleading. Blue tugs the fabric of her panties to the side of her pelvic, too impatient to actually remove them, spreading her legs a bit wider.
He groans at the sight. His eyes drop down as he grunts, “Lemme’ see that pretty ass pussy.”
Blue snatches the material farther, showing off the glistening sight of her bubblegum pink core, delectable under the lights of his home.
Onyankopon places the blunt on his glass coffee table, lips moving back up her skin until he meets her own again. He was already tugging down his sweatpants, hand coming up to the back of her neck as he kept her lips locked against his own. His tone was lowered.
“You sure?”
She nods her head, using her own hand to swipe along her pussy. She’s twisting her lower half a bit, “C’mon, Ony.”
The sight of his tip was—not what she expected. It was a darkened pink, weighted, long as it smushed along her wet folds, kissing at the hidden part of her clit— Heavy, was all she could think.
His voice is a grunt while he speaks, “I’m not gon’ fit like that. Lemme’ eat you.”
“Make it fit,” she whimpers, splaying her fingers along the back of her thighs, spreading herself even more.
His jaw clenched at her words. Onyankopon was practically glaring down at her. He grunts into a soft kiss as he leans down, capturing their lips together. He takes her legs, pressing her knees beneath his chest, ankles against the sides of his head as he has her trapped.
The moment she feels herself within this position, she rethinks all of her pleading. But it’s too late—Blue’s eyes lock down to watch his tip sink between her folds, an ache throbbing against her entire lower half. Her hips tense, but as that discomfort wafts through her entire body in waves, another ocean arises— a sense of pleasure meeting with that. Her mouth lightly parts as Onyankopon keeps his face close, Blue quietly inhaling, a long exhale panting from her lips.
She places her hand to the back of his neck, a frown coming against her lips as she shudders, “O—oh shit…”
His mouth covers all of her own, muffling her whimpers as he holds himself by the base, pushing in farther. His words are a low rumble, “You know I wanna hear you. Get loud.”
Blue clutches the back of his head, eyes rolling back as he still hadn’t really moved, yet she felt everything. Their foreheads meet as she gives him another gasp, thighs trembling in response to his words.
“Ain’t no one ever took you this deep?” He grunts, his lips dragging to meet her neck, “Told you’ you wasn’t ready for allat.’”
He presses his mouth down to her throat, Blue’s bottom lip drooping even lower, her eyes screwing shut, feeling a rapture of pleasurable tears wanting to form. He still hadn’t moved.
“You gon’ take me, ain’t you?”
His tongue rolls along the skin closest to her shoulders.
Her legs vibrate in between their bodies, arousal creating a tiny puddle against the furniture, Blue knocking her head back along the sofa, trying to find words—she can’t.
“S—shit, Ony,” she trembles, “Wait…”
“Nah,” he grunts, his voice a low growl.
Deeper.
“You can,” His eyes burn into her own, tip kissing at her opening as he drags out, sopping the warm skin of her pussy.
His voice is taunting.
“This’ what you wanted, huh?”
“Ony.”
He gives a low groan when she says his name, pressing their lips together as hips sinks back in.
When their lips pull apart, his eyes lock on hers, “You so muhfuckin’ pretty, Mama.”
The compliment, his glare—it’s all too much. When she realizes she has no way out of this position, she raises her mouth up in the want of another kiss, her voice soft as she gives him a breathy whine, pouting along her mouth, moaning pitifully against Onyankopon’s lips.
His tongue coils along her own, sucking at each corner of her mouth, “Why you pouting’?”
She wraps an arm along the top of his back, pulling his face closer within her neck, allowing his nose to nudge against the warm flesh. His mouth is directly next to her ear, as hers is equally close to his own. She finds her words in a whine.
“Stretching me, baby…”
She clutches him closer in, her eyes fully rolling back as she hides her face within his shoulder, “So full…” she whimpers.
The sensation had her eyes watering, and it made her shake against his body. Onyankopon lets out a low snarl. Hearing her right beside his ear was driving him insane.
“Look how you takin’ allat’,” he murmurs, giving her a slow grind, lips dragging along her temple, “You’ hear allat’ noise?”
The noise she heard was wet—schluck, schluck, her walls bear hugging the stretch of his dick, practically sucking him farther in.
A moan. It was vulnerable, a pure sound of pleasure. She hides her face within his shoulder, opening her legs a little more, keeping his nose against her throat.
His hips now sling forward, a loud clap resounding as their thighs met. His hand grabs her thighs, pushing them upward, the new angle allowing him to go deeper inside.
“…Fuck,” she groans, placing the back of her palm against her mouth, her other fingers imbedded into his skin, “Ony, baby.”
“Ony nothin’,” he snatches a kiss from her mouth, tugging her face back to his, “Look at me.”
Her face is on fire, but she could care less. Blue’s mouth unlatched from its lock, moaning in repetitions, “Keep going. Fuck me, Fuck me, baby. F—fuck me.”
“You gon’ keep moanin’ for me like that?”
She nods, giving him a soft peck, one that made him lowly laugh along her mouth.
She pouts, “Don’t laugh.”
“Ain’t laughin’ at you, Mama. You’ just cute.”
He brings his hand up to clasp along her throat, keeping himself chest to chest with her, gyrating his hips— It makes Blue shudder, attempting to keep her eyes against his.
“Had all that fuckin’ attitude when you first met me.”
His hand clasped tighter with his words, making Blue clutch her fingers around his wrist that held her throat, whimpering, “Ony.”
“You ain’t believe a nigga when I said I liked you,” he grunts, tugging her face closer, “You got me showin’ that shit.”
“I’m sorry,” she whines, her eyes flicking back to the mirror, seeing her body folded beneath him. Her eyes are low as she’s in a pleasured haze, looking back at him as she says, “I like you so much, baby…”
“You just talkin’,” his abdomen bumps harshly with the back of her thighs, drenched in her own wetness, “We still gon’ have them’ problems when I’m done with you?”
The smack of skin against skin was soaked, Onyankopon going so deep it sent Blue’s eyes back. He could only chuckle at the sight of her, voice a low grunt against her ear, “What you gon’ say?”
He slides one arm beneath the back of her neck, the other hand going along the front of her throat. Their lips pressed together in a kiss as he murmured, “You gonna’ be my girl?” Blue’s lips trembling against his own, “You mine after this?”
It’s a particularly harsh thrust that has Blue gasp, gripping along the top of his back. Her mouth quivers, her legs mimicking as if she’d been tased.
She could only get out, “Y—yeah! Ony…”
His mouth slides down her jaw. He growls, “That nigga wasn’t doing all this to you, huh?”
Now he’s being petty. Her mind rushes to her ex, and she whimpers, “Stop it.”
The pressure from his hands has her mouth open. His low grunts were loud, a clack sounding as he pressed his forehead against her own.
Even deeper.
“You’ doing good, baby. That’s my fuckin’ big girl.”
She doesn’t know what’s happening—what she’s feeling. Her stomach coils within itself, lower body rapturing in a sense of pleasure she’s never felt before, almost to a point where it feels violent. The moan that comes from her lips is louder than she expects it to be, to a point where she grips onto him for dear life, trying to relax her body as she orgasms. Onyankopon leans himself down, capturing her clit within his mouth as he just couldn’t help himself—he eats away at her, letting the gush fall straight onto his tongue, shaking his head between the folds of her pussy to drown in the taste of her.
“Shit tastes better than that fuckin’ icing.”
Blue’s gasping.
But she doesn’t expect what he does next. Throughout her entire body responding to each touch, sound, affection he gives, Onyankopon flips her, to where she’s now on her stomach against the sofa, his chest against her back. He slaps his tip in between the parted space of her ass, nudging it between her folds all while sinking back in—When she feels her ass clap against his hips in the middle of her orgasm, Blue moans, desperately trying to pull away from him, curls falling along her face as he snatches her back.
It was an animalistic motion, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck, shoving her face into the corner of the couch.
“You runnin’ from me?”
He’s using his elbow to slam her down, her pussy squelching with each pull. Blue can see herself from the mirror, and it makes her pout, looking directly at Onyankopon, reaching her arm back as she whimpered, “N—no, B—baby…”
“You tryna’ take my pussy away?”
“No, Ony.”
His mouth goes back down to her skin, breath hot against her spine, “You want it slower?”
She adjusts her legs, arching her back as she turns her head to meet his. She begs, “Slower, yeah, need to feel it like that.”
The hand she places along his abdomen, he catches, using that as leverage to give her the slow pound she was looking for. His hips slowly pull back, rocking forward.
Blue hisses, going back to the mirror, “Just like that, baby...”
Onyankopon could feel Blue fluttering around him, he groaned against her ear, “Just like this?”
The question alone makes her nod, his groans making her stomach twist.
“You hear me, Mama?”
Her back arches more, her face shoving into the sofa’s material to release a loud moan that's muffled within the pillows. Her eyes screwed shut as he clutched her hair, tugging her face upwards.
His voice was low, “Look at us.”
Blue’s eyes come open, seeing their frames colliding together. She’s able to tug his upper half down, twisting her body to somewhat face him, wrapping her hand along the back of his neck as she pulls his face close to hers.
“Stay here,” she lightly gasps, “Here.”
One of his hands is tangled in her curls, the other hand clamping her face, lips a mere inch between each other. This way, he could watch her. Blue’s eyes looked over him, and she watched back.
“Spank me,” she whimpered, “Please.”
“I thought you ain’t beg?”
That question.
Her freckled cheeks return to warmth. She gives him a soft kiss, “Please, Ony. Please.”
His smirk grows, Onyankopon slamming his hand against the skin of her ass, shaking the ripping flesh, the sound reverberating against the walls. Blue sultrily giggles, her eyes narrowing, hips beginning to fuck him back, wanting him to receive the pleasure he’d been giving her. He was rocking along with her, hand gripping onto her ass with the other hand pushing against her back.
His voice was low when he spoke, “You know I love how you look at me, right?”
Blue’s eyes were a haze, a small breath coming out while swirling her hips, “So handsome, baby. Can’t help it,” her curls hang along her face, Blue mindlessly blowing them out the way.
“What’ I do to deserve you?”
That’s when he places a foot along the couch for a better grip, keeping Blue’s legs straight below him, once again having her stuck—His hips are dropping down, the sound of her ass applauding back on his dick so loud that it causes her mouth to completely part open. She’s unable to hold herself back, face twisted within the mirror as she released, “Ungh, fuck—baby, Ony…I’m cumming…”
“You ain’t gotta’ tell me,” he hushes, biting down on her shoulder, nearly sinking his entire bottom lip into her skin, “I know. Cum all on this muhfuckin’ dick.”
His palm clasps along her mouth, sounds still pushing out between his fingers, her face drenched with tears, eyes rolling back as she sobbed beneath him. She couldn’t stop looking within the mirror at him, pleasure, an admiration too full to hide.
He made her watch, his hand gripping under her chin, forcing her head upward to watch their bodies connect. It made him grip her hair tighter.
“You watchin’?”
“I’m watching.”
The mirror showed everything—Onyankopon had her in a complete lock.
His toned was breathless as he moaned, “Fuck, I’m finna’ bust.”
Their lips met, tongues tangling together, groans coming from deep within their throats.
Her scream swallows down his mouth, his deep moan hidden under the skin of her throat as he places his face there, the warmth of his cum spurting the tightness of her walls. It felt all the more real, the symphony of their bodies coming together like a song on loop—never ending.
The music humming along the room returns to her ears, the scent of icing all along her skin. Blue tries to control her breathing as she drags his palm to gently hang along her face, glancing around his chest as she sees the scratches against his skin.
“…Sorry.”
Her voice is breathless, wanting to pull him down for another kiss.
“What’chu apologizing for?” His voice is a low husk, eyes piercing into her own, “You got me good.”
Blue’s chest heaved, Onyankopon’s thumb pushing down against the swell of her bottom lip. He grunts, “You need a minute.”
“No,” She’s wiggling, “Wanna’ keep going.”
His eyebrows raise, “I ain’t do you in like I needed to?”
That’s when she gives a tired giggle. She might’ve lied, as her eyes feel extremely heavy. Her palm grazes his chin, “I’m not gonna’ admit to that.”
“Still stubborn as hell,” he murmurs, catching her lips within his.
He scans her eyes, seeing that they’ve become lighter now. He couldn’t stop looking at her.
He then says, “Ion’ think I ever said thank you for helping me out.”
Blue runs her thumb along his mouth, her voice soft, “It’s my job. You don’t have to thank me.”
He stares at her, “Nah.”
His fingers sink into her hair, “You had my back,” He continues, “You meant it when you said you was gon’ make sure I was good. I’d never had someone like that before,” His voice is a hushed whisper, “So thank you, forreal’.”
He leans down, pressing his lips along her own again, “Imma’ make sure to have yours, Blue.”
Instead of her heart fluttering this time, it explodes. To think she hadn’t taken this man seriously before, she had no reason to not to take her chance with him.
She gives a soft smile, “You’re such a lil’ sweetie. You wanna go finish baking?”
He shakes his head, “I’m comfortable,” he murmurs, “Just lemme’ be here like this. I’ll buy the whole muhfuckin’ Whole Foods for you when I wake up.”
Her giggle is like a lullaby, pretty, which makes him chuckle.
But of course, Onyankopon had to ruin the moment.
“So you my girl now, huh? I mean—you said it while I was in your shit. You was like ‘Yeah, Ony, Ugnh!’—“
“Onyankopon!”
“Imma’ love hearing that all the time,” he sighs, “Night, Mama.”
Tying up loose ends with your ex boyfriend Toji ends up in a threesome with your new boyfriend Choso?!
ಇ.content & warnings: porn with no plot :: threesome activity :: some toji x choso action :: older toji :: sub cho :: dominant reader & toji :: oral m. rec :: p in v :: dp :: both in the v :: at the same damn time :: c-pied :: kissing ::
ಇ.author's note: i have a few more drabbles with this paring - so yes more to cum in the future!
The apartment door barely clicked shut before the air thickened, heavy with the kind of tension that made your pulse stutter and your thighs press together on instinct.
Toji Fushiguro stood in your living room like he still owned the place, broad shoulders filling out that worn black shirt, scarred lips curled in that same cocky smirk you’d tried so hard to forget.
Months since you’d walked out on him, and yet here he was, invited in under the flimsiest excuse after he’d spotted you and Choso at that dimly lit bar earlier tonight. Now Choso lingered just behind you, quiet as always, dark eyes flicking between the two of you with a mix of wariness and something softer, something that still made your stomach flip.
Toji didn’t waste time. His large hand caught your wrist, tugging you forward until your chest bumped his. “Missed this pretty little body,” he rumbled, voice low and mean, the way it always got when he wanted something. His other palm slid down your side, fingers digging into your hip hard enough to bruise, yanking your shirt up without asking. Choso stepped closer too, hesitant at first, but when you didn’t pull away his hands joined in, gentler but just as eager, peeling the fabric over your head until cool air kissed your bare skin.
Clothes came off in a messy rush. Toji ripped your bra down your arms with a grunt, tossing it aside like it offended him, while Choso’s fingers worked your jeans open, pushing them down your legs along with your panties in one careful tug. You were naked between them in seconds, skin prickling under their stares.
Toji’s gaze dragged over you slow and possessive, grumpy old bastard that he was, muttering, “Still lookin’ like you were made for me, huh?” Choso said nothing, just pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his long hair brushing your cheek as his hands roamed your waist.
They walked you backward through the hallway, Toji’s bulk guiding the way with that dominant swagger he never lost, one arm hooked around your middle while Choso followed close on your other side.
The bedroom door swung open and they pushed you inside, the backs of your knees hitting the mattress before you even realized. Toji shoved you down onto the edge of the bed, standing tall over you, already palming the thick bulge straining his pants. “On your knees, sweetheart. Been thinkin’ about that mouth wrapin’ around me all night.”
You sank down obediently, the carpet soft under your knees, and tilted your head up at him with a sweet little smile that made his green eyes narrow. “Choso,” you called softly, patting the spot beside you. “Come here, baby.”
Toji’s brows shot up. “Wait, what the fuck? You ain’t callin’ him over to suck my cock or watch like some this is some goddamn show. This ain’t—”
“Shut up, Toji,” you cut in, voice calm but firm, the same tone you used when he used to push too far back when he was yours. He actually paused, jaw ticking, that scowl deepening, but he didn’t stop you.
Choso knelt beside you without hesitation, cheeks faintly pink under the dim lamp light, his dark eyes flicking up to yours for approval. You turned to him first, cupping his face and pulling him into a slow, deep kiss, tongues sliding lazy and wet while your hand drifted down to palm Toji’s cock through his unzipped pants.
You freed him, thick and heavy and already leaking at the tip, stroking him firm and steady as you made sure Toji watched every second of the kiss— the way Choso melted into it, soft little hum vibrating against your lips.
When you finally broke the kiss, a string of spit connecting you both for a moment, you smiled at Choso and murmured, “Be a good boy for me. Suck him.”
Toji barked a laugh, rough and disbelieving. “Fuck no. You serious? He ain’t—”
You shot him a look. “I said shut up and let him.”
Choso was shy about it at first, hesitating as he leaned in, but the second his pretty mouth wrapped around the head of Toji’s cock, the older man’s hips jerked and a low, shocked groan tore from his throat. “Oh my fuck…” Toji’s hand came down to tangle in Choso’s long hair, not guiding yet, just holding on as that warm, wet heat enveloped him.
Choso’s mouth was perfect— soft lips stretching around the girth, tongue swirling, lazy circles over the swollen head, lapping at the precum like he was savouring it. He took more, cheeks hollowing as he bobbed slowly, one hand braced on Toji’s thick thigh while the other came up to gently roll and tug at his heavy balls.
You watched with a satisfied little smile, still kneeling right there beside him, your hand resting on Choso’s back in quiet praise. “That’s it, good boy,” you cooed softly, voice dripping honey. “Just like that. Use your tongue more on the head, baby— he likes that.”
Toji’s head fell back for a second, a guttural curse spilling out as Choso obeyed instantly, licking broad stripes up the underside before sucking the tip back into that slick heat, eyes fluttering half-closed like he was lost in it. The contrast hit Toji hard— the way Choso moved so obediently, no backtalk, no attitude, just pure eager submission. He looked almost like a well-trained pet, kneeling there pretty and focused, long hair spilling over his shoulders while he worked Toji’s cock deeper into his throat with wet, obscene sounds.
“Fuck, ma,” Toji grunted, voice rougher now, hips twitching as he stared down at the scene. His free hand reached out to grip your chin, tilting your face up so he could see your smile. “You got him well trained like a dog. This the kinda shit you’re into now? Lettin’ your new boytoy slobber all over your ex’s dick just ‘cause you say so?”
You leaned into his touch, still smiling, eyes sparkling with that quiet triumph. “Yeah,” you said simply, voice soft and warm as you stroked Choso’s hair. “Choso listens. He’s good for me. Never argued or made everything a fight… unlike someone.”
Toji’s laugh came out breathless, a mix of annoyance and reluctant heat, his cock twitching hard between Choso’s lips as the younger man hollowed his cheeks again, taking him even deeper with a soft, muffled moan.
Choso’s tongue pressed flat against the vein running underneath, swirling and teasing, while his fingers continued their gentle massage on Toji’s balls, coaxing more precum to leak onto his tongue.
Toji’s grip tightened in Choso’s dark hair, but he didn’t force the pace— couldn’t, not when it felt this fucking good, that shy obedience wrapping around him tighter than any attitude ever had.
You stayed right there, naked and kneeling between them, one hand on Choso’s thigh for balance and the other occasionally reaching up to trace Toji’s abs, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch.
The bedroom filled with the wet sounds of Choso’s mouth, Toji’s low grunts, and your quiet praises whispered like secrets. “Good boy, Choso… swallow around him, just like that. See how much he likes it when you’re sweet for him?”
Choso hummed in response, the vibration making Toji hiss through his teeth, green eyes narrowing down at you with that familiar mean edge softened by raw pleasure. “You’re enjoyin’ this way too much, brat,” he muttered, but there was no real bite left in it— not when his cock was buried in that perfect, warm mouth and you were watching him unravel with that knowing little smile.
Toji’s hips twitched again, thicker veins pulsing against Choso’s tongue as the younger man kept working him slow and deep, cheeks hollowed, lashes fluttering like he was lost in the taste.
That wet heat dragged along every inch, tongue pressing flat and swirling lazy circles around the swollen head before sliding back down until the tip nudged the back of Choso’s throat.
Choso didn’t gag, didn’t pull away— just swallowed around him with a soft, obedient little sound that had Toji’s abs tightening, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
The older man’s hand stayed tangled in all that dark hair, fingers flexing like he wanted to fist it tight and fuck into that pretty mouth until tears spilled down Choso’s cheeks, but he held back, jaw clenched, breathing rough through his nose. Cocky bastard that he was, even he could feel how perfectly Choso was sucking him off, all shy devotion and slick warmth that made his balls draw up tighter with every pass.
You stayed kneeling right beside them, naked skin flushed warm, smiling that soft, satisfied smile while your hand rested on Choso’s thigh, thumb stroking gentle circles of praise. The sight of Toji trying so hard to keep control, hips barely rocking forward instead of slamming deep, sent a sweet thrill curling low in your belly.
Choso’s mouth made the filthiest sounds— wet slurps and quiet gulps, saliva already dripping down his chin and coating Toji’s heavy length in shiny streaks.
Toji’s gaze finally snapped to you, green eyes dark and hungry, his free hand shot out fast, fingers threading rough through your hair and yanking your head back so you had no choice but to look up at him.
The pull stung just enough to make you gasp, lips parting on a soft breath. “Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he growled, voice gravel-rough and mean. “You’re smilin’ like you won somethin’. Wet those pretty lips for me.”
He pulled out of Choso’s mouth with a wet pop, the thick head glistening, strings of saliva and precum webbing between Choso’s swollen lips and Toji’s cock like glistening threads that stretched and broke as he moved. Choso stayed kneeling there, breathing hard, lips shiny and parted, a faint blush high on his cheeks as he looked at you both with those dark, obedient eyes.
You swallowed once, throat bobbing, and Toji’s smirk sharpened, cock twitching in the cool air. “Come on, you little brat,” he said, low and taunting, tugging your hair again to tilt your face exactly where he wanted it. “Put that evil little mouth to work. Been watchin’ you direct your pet like a fuckin’ conductor— now show me what that smart mouth can really do.”
Your smile never faded, only curved wider as you leaned in, tongue darting out to trace the messy trail of spit and precum still clinging to him. Choso watched quietly from beside you, one hand resting lightly on your knee like he was waiting for whatever you’d tell him next. Toji’s grip in your hair stayed firm, guiding you closer until your lips brushed the slick head, the salty taste blooming across your tongue as you opened for him.
The bedroom air felt thicker now, heavy with the scent of skin and want, the three of you tangled in that messy heat where Toji’s dominance clashed against Choso’s sweet obedience and your quiet control. You took him in slow at first, lips stretching around his girth, tongue swirling just like you’d told Choso to do, while Toji’s low groan filled the room and his fingers tightened in your hair, hips finally giving one shallow thrust forward.
A low sound slipped from your throat as Toji pulled free and slapped his thick, spit-slick cock against your parted lips, the heavy weight of it landing wet and deliberate, smearing more of that messy mix of precum and Choso’s saliva across your mouth.
He did it again, harder this time, the wet smack echoing soft in the quiet bedroom while his scarred lips pulled into that mean, cocky grin. “That’s it, open wider, brat. Gonna fuck this throat pretty tonight— been thinkin’ about shuttin’ you up like this for months.”
He despised you, or at least that’s what the rough grip in your hair said, the way his fingers twisted tighter like he wanted to punish you for walking out, for replacing him with someone so sweetly obedient. But underneath scowl and the low growl in his chest, Toji knew you could take it. You always had. His hips rolled forward slow at first, feeding you inch after thick inch until the head nudged the back of your throat and your eyes watered just a little.
You swallowed around him anyway, lips stretched wide, tongue pressing flat along the underside as he started to thrust deeper, setting a steady, punishing rhythm that made your throat bulge faintly with every push.
Choso stayed knelt right beside you the whole time, dark eyes wide and fixed on the way your mouth worked Toji’s cock, the wet gluck-gluck sounds filling the room as spit dribbled down your chin and onto your bare tits. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched with that shy heat blooming across his cheeks, his own cock hard and untouched between his thighs.
Toji noticed. Of course he did. Without missing a single thrust into your throat, he reached down with his free hand and caught Choso under the chin, tilting that pretty face up towards him. “C’mere, pet,” he rumbled, voice rough but almost amused. “Give me a kiss while your girl chokes on me.”
You tried to pull back just enough to say something, a soft protest bubbling up around his cock, but Toji yanked your head forward again, burying himself deeper until your nose pressed against his pelvis and your words dissolved into a muffled gag. “Shut up and keep suckin’,” he snapped down at you, green eyes flashing with that familiar mean edge. “And watch. Eyes open, sweetheart. Don’t you dare look away.”
Choso hesitated for half a second, shy as always, but when Toji’s thumb brushed his bottom lip he leaned in obediently. Toji grabbed him harder then, fingers sliding into that long dark hair as he crushed their mouths together in a deep, filthy kiss. It wasn’t soft.
It was all tongue and teeth and dominance, Toji’s jaw working as he licked into Choso’s mouth like he owned it, swallowing the soft, surprised whimper that spilled from the younger man. Choso melted almost instantly, shoulders slumping, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed back with that quiet eagerness he always gave you— hands coming up to rest lightly on Toji’s broad chest, body leaning closer like he couldn’t help it.
You watched every second of it, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the relentless pace Toji set in your throat, but the sight burned hotter than anything.
Choso’s lashes trembling against his cheeks, a faint moan vibrating between their locked lips as Toji kissed him harder, tongue stroking deep and possessive while his hips kept snapping forward into your mouth.
Spit trailed from the corner of Choso’s lips, his cheeks flushed darker, and when Toji finally pulled back just enough for them to breathe, a thin string of saliva still connected them for a moment before breaking.
Toji’s laugh came out low and breathless, thumb swiping over Choso’s swollen bottom lip as he looked down at you. “Fuck, look at him. So damn well-trained. One kiss and he’s already drippin’ for it.” His cock twitched hard against your tongue, the praise mixed with taunt making your stomach twist in the best way.
You kept sucking through it all, hollowing your cheeks, swallowing around every thick thrust while your eyes stayed locked on the way Choso stayed pliant and open, lips parted and shiny, waiting for whatever came next.
Toji’s green eyes flicked between the two of you, that mean smirk deepening as he kept his hips rolling slow and deep into your throat. “She has you so fuckin’ obedient, huh?” he rumbled, voice thick with gravel and heat. “Bet you never fucked her throat like this. She’s a little brat, don’t let her fool ya. Acts all sweet and in control, but look at her— mouth stuffed full and still smilin’ around my cock.”
You tried to pull back just enough to say something, a soft protest bubbling up, but Toji didn’t let you. He fucked forward harder instead, burying himself to the hilt until your nose pressed flush against his pelvis and your throat convulsed around him. “See?” he growled, holding you there, eyes narrowing with dark satisfaction. “She doesn’t even fuckin’ gag anymore. Loves this shit. Been cravin’ it since she left my sorry ass, I bet.”
The stretch burned so good, spit dripping down your chin in messy rivulets as you breathed hard through your nose, tears clinging to your lashes. Toji kept you pinned like that for a long moment, savouring the tight heat, before he finally pulled out with a wet, obscene pop.
Thick strings of saliva and precum connected your swollen lips to his glistening cock before they broke, and you gasped for air, chest heaving, throat raw and tingling.
Toji stepped back, cock heavy and slick between his thighs, and dropped onto the bed with a grunt, sprawling out on his back like he owned the damn mattress. His muscles flexing under scarred skin as he stroked himself once, slow and lazy, green eyes locked on you with that cocky, command. “Get your ass up here, sweetheart. You're gonna take all of this cock. Now.”
You were still catching your breath, lips shiny and parted, but you moved anyway, crawling up the bed on shaky knees. Choso was right there, gentle hands sliding under your arms to help you up, supporting your weight with that quiet care he always gave you. His touch was soft against your flushed skin, thumb brushing your side like a silent promise as he guided you over Toji’s lap.
As you crawled forward, knees bracketing Toji’s thick thighs, hovering just above his heavy, leaking cock, Toji’s gaze shifted to Choso. “Come on, don’t just stand there like a lost puppy,” he said, voice low and rough, one hand reaching out to pat the bed beside him. “You don’t mind fuckin’ her pussy right? While she’s sittin’ on me, fuckin’ get over here.”
Choso’s cheeks flushed darker, shy with hesitation flickering across his face for half a second, but he obeyed like always, climbing onto the bed without a word. You felt the mattress dip under his weight as he settled close, one hand resting on your lower back, warm and steady. Toji’s palms gripped your hips hard, fingers digging in with that possessive meanness as he yanked you down just enough for the blunt head of his cock to nudge against your dripping entrance, teasing, waiting.
Toji didn’t wait long. With a low grunt he bucked his hips up, thick cock pressing into your cunt in one slow, relentless push. The stretch was brutal and perfect, that fat length splitting you open until your walls fluttered tight around every veined inch. You sank all the way down until your ass met his pelvis, a broken moan spilling from your raw throat as he bottomed out deep inside you.
Toji’s scarred hands stayed locked on your hips, holding you there, grinding you down harder so you felt every thick inch pulsing against your sensitive walls.
“Fuck, still so goddamn tight,” he muttered, voice rough and mean, green eyes half-lidded as he looked up at you. “Missed this greedy little pussy. Swallowing me like it never forgot who it belongs to.”
You rocked your hips experimentally, a soft gasp escaping as the head of his cock nudged that spot inside you that made your toes curl. Choso stayed right behind you, quiet and watchful, his warm palm sliding up your spine in gentle strokes while his other hand rested lightly on your hip. His dark eyes were fixed on where you and Toji were joined, lips still swollen from that shared kiss earlier, a faint flush creeping down his neck.
Toji noticed the way Choso hovered, all shy obedience and quiet heat. His smirk sharpened, one hand leaving your hip to reach over and tug Choso closer by the back of his neck. “Don’t just sit there starin’, pet. Get in her. You heard me earlier— you’re fuckin’ her pussy too.”
Choso’s breath hitched, shy as always, but he moved without argument, shifting until he was kneeling behind you on the bed. His long hair brushed your bare back as he leaned in, chest pressing warm against you, cock hard and leaking as it nestled against the curve of your ass.
Toji kept you pinned down on his thick length, hips giving lazy little rolls that made you whimper, while Choso’s hands settled on your waist, gentle and careful like he was afraid to break you.
You felt Choso’s fingers first, tentative as they slid between your spread thighs, brushing where Toji’s cock was already stretching you wide.
He traced the slick stretch of your cunt with soft fingertips, collecting the mess of your arousal before wrapping his hand around his own cock, guiding the head to nudge right beside Toji’s.
The pressure was overwhelming— two thick cocks pressing against your entrance at once, Choso’s shy hesitation making him pause until you reached back and squeezed his thigh in encouragement.
Toji laughed under his breath, that low, cocky sound. “That’s it. Push in slow, kid. She can take it. Little brat’s already drippin’ down my balls thinkin’ about both of us stretchin’ her.”
Choso obeyed, pressing forward with a soft, shaky exhale. The blunt head of his cock slipped in alongside Toji’s, the burn intense and delicious as your walls stretched even wider to take them both. Inch by inch he sank deeper, his cock sliding against Toji’s inside your tight heat, the friction making both men groan low and heavy.
You cried out, head falling back against Choso’s shoulder, body trembling between them as they filled you completely— Toji’s girthy thickness and Choso’s warm length buried deep together.
Toji’s hands gripped your hips harder, holding you still while he gave one experimental thrust up, making both cocks shift inside you and drag against every sensitive spot.
Choso stayed mostly still at first, arms wrapped around your middle, face buried in the crook of your neck as he breathed hot against your skin, letting you adjust to the overwhelming fullness.
“Fuck… so tight,” Toji grunted, voice strained with pleasure, hips rolling up again in a deeper thrust that made you see stars. “Look at her, takin’ us both like she was made for it. You feel that, pet? How she’s squeezin’ around us?”
Choso nodded against your neck, a soft whimper escaping him as he started to move too— slow, careful rolls of his hips that matched Toji’s rhythm, their cocks sliding together inside your slick cunt.
The wet, filthy sounds of skin against skin and the slick drag of two thick lengths stretching you open filled the bedroom, your moans mixing with their low grunts as they fucked you together.
Toji’s large, rough hands slid up from your hips, palms rough and calloused as they cupped your tits, squeezing the soft flesh with that familiar possessive grip. He pinched your nipples between his thick fingers, rolling them until they pebbled hard under his touch, a mean little smirk tugging at his scarred lips when you arched into it with a broken cry. “These pretty tits always did look best when they’re bouncin’ for me,” he growled, voice low and pleased, green eyes dark with heat as he lifted his head from the pillow just enough to latch his mouth onto one swollen nipple.
He sucked hard, tongue swirling hot and wet around the sensitive bud, teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt between them. The wet pull of his mouth sent sparks straight down to where both cocks were buried deep inside your stretched pussy, your walls fluttering tight around the overwhelming fullness.
Choso kept fucking you from behind with those gentle, obedient thrusts, his cock sliding slick alongside Toji’s, every slow drag pressing them both against that perfect spot inside you that made your thighs tremble uncontrollably.
Toji switched to your other tit, sucking it into the heat of his mouth with a low, satisfied hum, his free hand still kneading the first one, thumb flicking over the spit-slick nipple he’d just released. He loved having you like this— caught between them, body trembling and moaning, that quiet control of yours fraying at the edges while two fat cocks stretched your pretty little cunt wide open.
Toji’s hips snapped up harder, driving his thick length deeper with every thrust, the lewd squelch of your arousal coating both of them growing louder as he fucked up into you with that cocky, relentless rhythm.
“Look at you,” Toji muttered against your skin, lips brushing your nipple as he spoke, voice muffled and rough. “Takin’ two cocks like a good girl. Your pussy’s so fuckin’ greedy, squeezin’ us both so tight. Bet you missed this, huh? Missed gettin’ split open by somethin’ real after playin’ house with your obedient puppy.”
You moaned louder, head falling back against Choso’s shoulder, body rocking between their thrusts as the pleasure built heavy and overwhelming.
Choso’s arms stayed wrapped around your waist, holding you steady while he fucked into you with that same shy care, his breath hot and ragged against your neck, soft whimpers spilling from him every time your walls clenched around their joined lengths.
Toji kept sucking on your tits, alternating between them with wet, obscene sounds, biting down gently before soothing the sting with his tongue, his free hand sliding down to rub rough circles over your swollen clit.
The stretch was so much— both fat cocks dragging together inside your slick heat, Toji’s dominance pinning you from below and Choso supporting you from behind, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge.
Toji pulled off your nipple with a wet pop, lips shiny with spit, and grinned up at you with a cocky smirk. “That’s it, moan for us, sweetheart. Let me hear how much you love bein’ stuffed full. Choso’s bein’ so good for you, fuckin’ this pussy nice and deep just like I told him to. But me? I’m gonna make sure you feel every inch tomorrow.”
He thrust up harder, grinding his cock against Choso’s inside you, the friction making stars burst behind your eyes as your moans turned into desperate little cries.
Choso pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck, murmuring your name quietly, his hips never stopping their steady rhythm while Toji’s rough hands and hungry mouth worked your tits until they ached with pleasure.
You were lost between them, body trembling and slick with sweat, pussy clenching tight around the two thick lengths stretching you so perfectly, the heat building slow and relentless as Toji teased you with every filthy word and every deep, claiming thrust.
Toji loved every second of it— the way you fell apart so beautifully, the way Choso stayed so sweet even while buried deep inside the same cunt, the way your quiet little smile had turned into open-mouthed moans that filled the room.
He kept sucking and biting at your tits, fingers rolling your nipples, hips snapping up to meet Choso’s thrusts until the three of you moved in one messy, heated rhythm, the night stretching long and filthy with the sounds of skin slapping, wet squelches, and your broken cries echoing between the walls.
A broken little sound tore from your throat as both thick cocks dragged together inside your stretched pussy, the relentless push and pull making your walls flutter and clench around the overwhelming fullness.
Toji’s hips snapped up harder from below, driving his fat length deeper with every thrust while Choso kept that steady rhythm from behind, their cocks sliding slick and hot against each other in the tight heat of your cunt. The wet, filthy squelch filled the room, your arousal dripping down their shafts and coating their balls as they fucked you open so good.
Toji’s mouth was still latched onto your tit, sucking hard enough to leave marks before he pulled off with a wet pop, lips shiny and swollen as he grinned up at you with that mean, cocky smirk.
His rough hand slid up to cup your jaw, forcing your head down so you had no choice but to meet his dark green eyes while he kept pounding up into you. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he growled, voice low and gravel-rough, thumb pressing against your bottom lip. “Admit it. Tell me what you are. A little brat who wants these cocks stretchin’ your greedy cunt. Say it.”
You tried to bite back the words, a soft whimper escaping instead as another deep thrust from both of them made your eyes roll back, but Toji wasn’t having it. He pinched your nipple hard, twisting just enough to make you cry out, his other hand gripping your hip tighter to hold you down on their joined lengths. “Don’t play shy now. You’re drippin’ all over us, pussy clenchin’ like it’s beggin’ for more. Tell me you want our cocks. Tell me you want our cum fillin’ this sloppy little hole.”
Choso stayed quiet behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, his breath hot and shaky against your neck as he fucked into you with those gentle rolls of his hips, letting Toji take the lead like always. His cock throbbed alongside Toji’s, the friction delicious and overwhelming, every slow drag pressing right against that spot that made sparks shoot up your spine. He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, shy and sweet, but didn’t stop moving, loving even in the middle of all this heat.
The stretch was so good it hurt, both fat cocks splitting your cunt wide open, dragging against every sensitive inch until you felt impossibly full, impossibly owned. Your tits bounced with every thrust, still slick from Toji’s mouth, nipples aching from his teeth and fingers. Toji’s hand slid down between your bodies, rough fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, mean circles that had your thighs shaking uncontrollably.
“Say it,” Toji demanded again, voice dropping lower, hips slamming up harder so the head of his cock bullied that perfect spot inside you while Choso’s length rubbed right alongside it. “You’re my little brat— our little brat. You want these cocks stretchin’ you good. You want us to fill your pussy with cum until it’s leakin’ out for days. Admit it, brat. Loud and clear.”
Your moans turned into desperate little cries, body trembling between them as the pleasure built hotter and heavier, walls squeezing tight around both thick shafts. Toji’s smirk widened, that cockiness flashing in his eyes as he felt you clench harder, knowing he was winning. Choso whimpered softly against your skin, his thrusts growing a little deeper, a little faster, following every cue you’d ever given him because he always listened, always gave you exactly what you needed.
You finally broke, voice wrecked and breathy as the words spilled out between moans. “I’m… I’m a-a brat… I want your cocks… both of you stretching my cunt so good… I want your cum… please…”
Toji laughed low and rough, satisfaction dripping from every syllable as he thrust up harder, grinding their cocks together inside your fluttering pussy. “That’s my girl. Keep sayin’ it while we fuck you full. Gonna fill this greedy hole until you’re drippin’ with both of us.”
The bedroom echoed with the wet slap of skin, your broken admissions, and the low grunts from both men as they kept fucking you together— Toji and Choso turning your body into a trembling, moaning mess caught right between them, the stretch so perfect and filthy that all you could do was take it and beg for more.
Together they fucked you deeper and harder, hips snapping in a messy, unrelenting rhythm that had both thick cocks driving into your stretched cunt at once. Toji thrusting up slamming his fat length as deep as it would go while Choso followed from behind with those steady rolls that somehow made everything feel even fuller, your arousal coating their shafts and dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you as they stretched your pussy so wide it ached in the best way.
You could feel the bulge in your tummy every time they bottomed out together, the outline of their cocks pressing visibly against your lower belly, shifting and dragging with every thrust. Toji’s rough hand slid down to press against that spot, palm flat and heavy as he growled against your tit, “Fuck, feel that? That’s us, sweetheart. Both cocks bulgin’ out your pretty tummy like you were made to take this.”
The pressure built fast and overwhelming, your walls fluttering tighter and tighter around them until you couldn’t hold back anymore. Your orgasm crashed over you hard, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as you clenched down violently around both cocks, milking them with rhythmic, desperate pulses.
Your whole body shook between them, thighs trembling, back arching as wave after wave rolled through you, pussy gushing slick and hot around their joined lengths while the bulge in your tummy twitched and tightened with every spasm.
Choso whimpered softly against your neck, his hips stuttering as your clenching cunt squeezed him so perfectly. “Ah—fuck… you’re squeezin’ so tight,” he breathed, voice shy and wrecked, and then he was cumming too, thick ropes of warm cum spilling deep inside you in pulsing spurts. He kept thrusting through it, slow and careful even as he filled you, his cock throbbing alongside Toji’s while he painted your walls white, the added heat and slickness making the stretch feel even messier, even better.
Toji groaned low and rough at the feeling, his scarred hands gripping your hips bruisingly tight as he fucked up into the slick, cum-filled heat of your pussy. “That’s it, milk us, you little brat,” he grunted, green eyes dark with raw pleasure as he watched your face contort in bliss. “Clenchin’ so good around both of us— fuck, take it all.”
He didn’t last much longer after that. With a deep, guttural growl he slammed up one final time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pulsed hard and started to cum, thick, heavy spurts of cum flooding your already full cunt right alongside Choso’s. The warmth spread deep inside you, both loads mixing together in messy, overflowing pulses that leaked out around their cocks with every shallow grind of their hips, dripping down your thighs and soaking their balls.
They stayed buried inside you even as they came down, chests heaving, bodies pressed tight around yours in a sweaty, trembling tangle. Toji’s hand stayed pressed to the bulge in your tummy, feeling the way it softened just a little with every twitch of your walls, while Choso nuzzled softly into the crook of your neck, pressing lazy kisses to your damp skin and murmuring quiet praises against you.
The bedroom air hung heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, the three of you locked together in that filthy, heated aftermath— your pussy still clenching weakly around their spent cocks, cum slowly leaking out in warm rivulets, Toji’s mean little smirk still playing on his lips even as his breathing evened out, and Choso’s gentle hold never loosening because he always stayed right where you wanted him.
They stayed buried deep for a long, lazy moment, cocks still twitching inside your fluttering cunt as the last weak spurts of cum leaked from them both. Then, slowly, Toji gave a low grunt and started to pull out first, his thick length dragging against Choso’s as he eased free with a wet, obscene sound.
Choso followed right after, gentler, his cock sliding out inch by inch until both heavy shafts slipped from your stretched hole completely. A thick rush of their mixed cum immediately dripped out of you, warm and pearly white, sliding down your thighs in slow, messy rivulets and pooling on the sheets beneath your trembling body.
You collapsed forward onto Toji’s broad chest with a soft, exhausted sigh, cheek pressing against the hard muscle slick with sweat. His skin was warm, scarred, rising and falling with heavy breaths as one of his large arms wrapped around your back, holding you there like he still had every right to. Choso stayed close behind you, his gentle hands smoothing over your hips and lower back, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder blade while his long hair tickled your skin.
Toji’s free hand slid down between your legs without warning, two thick fingers pushing back into your ruined pussy. The stretch was easy now, your walls loose and slick from taking both of them, and he scooped up the warm mixture of their cum that was still leaking out. With a lazy, filthy motion he fingered it all back inside you, slow and deliberate, pushing every drop deeper while his palm pressed firm against your swollen clit. The wet squelch of his fingers working their combined loads back into your cunt filled the quiet room, obscene and intimate all at once.
“Look at that,” Toji muttered, voice low and rough, smirk tugging at his scarred lips as he watched his fingers disappear inside you again and again. “Such a messy girl. Can’t even keep our cum inside this greedy pussy without help. Need to push it all back in where it belongs… bet you love feelin’ us drippin’ out of you, don’t you?”
You whimpered softly against his chest, hips twitching weakly as his thick fingers curled and stroked, making sure every thick rope of their release stayed buried deep. Choso’s hand joined Toji’s for a moment, tentative fingers brushing alongside as he helped press the cum back inside you, his touch so much gentler but just as eager to keep you full. The feeling of both their hands between your legs, fingers sliding through the slick mess they’d made, had fresh heat curling low in your belly even though your body felt spent and boneless.
Toji kept fingering their cum back into you, lazily, occasionally pulling his fingers out just enough to watch more of it drip before pushing it right back in with a low chuckle. “There we go… nice and full again. Gonna keep you leakin’ our loads all night, sweetheart. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Both of us markin’ up this tight little cunt.”
Choso stayed pressed against your back, arms wrapped around your waist now, murmuring quiet, sweet words against your skin while Toji’s fingers continued their slow, filthy work. You lay there between them, cheek on Toji’s warm chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart as the cum slowly settled deep inside you, warm and heavy, a constant reminder of how thoroughly they’d claimed you tonight.
The bedroom felt heavy and quiet now, bodies tangled and slick with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction. Toji’s fingers eventually slowed but didn’t leave you completely, still lazily stroking through the mess as if he couldn’t quite stop touching what was his again, even for a little while.
Choso’s gentle hold never loosened, his breath warm against your neck, and you smiled softly against Toji’s skin, that quiet little smile that said you were exactly where you wanted to be— caught between your mean ex and your sweet boy, full of both of them, leaking and claimed and perfectly satisfied.
Synopsis: After three months of exclusive dating, Zuko finally earns himself an invite to your place for Black Cinema 101. It's a night of movies, take-out, and sexual restraint that finally shatters.
Tags: p in v, dirty talk, oral ( f receiving) bigdick Zuko, mostly plot/ smut, manhandling, fluff, swearing, modern au, fem!reader , pet names, soft dom!Zuko, first time sleeping together.
Author note: This is apart of a miniseries but can be read as a stand alone! If you'd like to catch up on the xbaddiereader miniseries here you go: Best Behavior
not proofread
‘Call your partners, whoever's person answers first keeps the card’
Liz looks up from the bright pink dare card—hair wrapped in a heatless curl rod, eyes squinted, and head tilted as she looks around the room. Suki is engaged. Sophie is in a relationship. Liz is in a relationship too, but then her gaze stops on you, wrist-deep in the popcorn bowl hunting for M&Ms.
“Let me pull another card,” Liz states, reaching forward to grab another off the top.
Suki, who’s lying on her stomach, phone already in hand, pauses. “Why? Scared you’ll have to take the shot?”
Liz and Sophie giggle at the accusation. Liz turns her gaze back to you, “Never, he’ll answer. But your snookums over there, last I heard she wasn’t dating anyone.”
You freeze in your conquest, cheeks growing warm. Your eyes snap shut, not wanting to look at the 'what the fuck' expression you just know Suki is wearing.
“OH! She hasn’t told you ladies yet huh? Your own family, girl? You’re sick,” Suki points out, playfully pinching the closest thing on you she could grab which happens to be the side of your thigh.
You cut your eyes at her, a pout forming on your full lips. “I didn’t want to jinx it. I tell my family, they expect to meet him, and what if things hit the fan before then? Now I gotta explain that if they mention him in my presence I’m liable to spazz out so bad they’ll have to call them people on me. Now I’m in grippy socks, eating nasty ass chocolate pudding, because I couldn’t hold water,” you rant, your eyebrow twitching in annoyance as you rile yourself up with the sheer thought of this being a possibility.
Suki rolls her eyes. Your older cousins look at you with expectancy and wide eyes.
“Well shit, how long have you been dating,” Sophie questions, throwing a roller at your chest. You watch as it lands in your popcorn bowl, picking it up and throwing it back at her, but she catches it with ease and uses it in her next section.
“Mmm, three months. We’re taking it slow, so there’s no title yet, but we are exclusive,” you explain. Your fingers wrap around your mocktail, taking a large gulp of the sugary substance with a private smile. It’s been a lovely three months. “He’s really fucking kind. Patient. Funny, in this dry humor, sarcastic way. And God, he’s so fucking handsome y’all with a voice that could melt panties. And did I say he was kind and patient? And funny?”
Liz lets out a light laugh, nodding.
Sophie hums, popping a freshly baked cookie off the plate on the coffee table. “That’s nice. So, you’ve mentioned his personality and looks. What about his dick game? Not good?”
Suki chokes on a piece of popcorn at the brutally blunt question. As she coughs up a lung, you half-heartedly pat her back. “It wasn't funny enough to almost die by popcorn,” you mumble. Your attention then turns back to your oldest cousin. “I—I, we haven't had sex. Like I said, taking it slow. I don’t want a fuck-buddy, a situationship, or anything of that nature, and I told him that. I told him I want this to be old-school dating and he just smiled and said, 'Sounds great.’ ”
“Wowwwww,” Liz mutters, utterly shocked at the commitment. “And he’s been okay with that? The no sex? Are y’all kissing? Just holding hands? I don’t think I could go without sex that long if I’m dating fine shit.”
You exhale dramatically, wiping your hands on a napkin. “Bitch… I’m literally starting to hear colors and see sounds. And I just know—Heavens, I know—he’s packing. I can feel it when we’re making out. I want that man to bend me in half and make it worth my while, but I can’t give it up until I’m sure this is going to be something more. You know? Although, I have a really good feeling about him. Now, enough with my chit-chat. This is game night, not let’s-talk-about-our-men night. Whip out those phones, whores. Let's see who’s gonna be needing a trashcan next to them tonight,” you cackle.
“Need a trashcan my ass,” Suki grumbles, her finger hovering over Sokka’s call button. “I’m not new to this, I’m true to this—always remember that pumpkin.”
“Hello!” Sophie calls out, her phone at the ready.
You pull up Zuko’s contact number with ease, but your thumb trembles a bit over the call button. He really has been a doll these past three months. And as you take a moment to reflect, your stomach flutters with an ounce of anxiety. It’s roughly 7pm, so not too late. When you spoke with him this morning, he gave you a rough draft of his schedule while he’s out of the state for work and right about now he should be in his hotel room watching some random nature documentary.
“1…2…3!” Liz shouts.
The two shots in your system don't allow you to overthink the situation further, you click his contact and place it on speaker. The room breaks out into a synchronization of the FaceTime ringtone blasting throughout the cozy space of your living room, over the sound of the shared group playlist playing softly in the background.
Your heart practically stops as he answers on the third ring. Before he can even say anything you’re a cackling mess. “Start drinking ladies! He answered,” you order, pointing a pretty pink manicured nail at the three of them.
“He’s on probation of course he answered first,” Sophie whines.
“Sokka, you’re literally a ring too late,” Suki chastises, rolling her eyes.
“I’m gonna have to cuss him out when I get home,” Liz mutters, eyes glued to the still ringing phone.
There’s the quiet sound of Morgan Freeman coming through your speakers, and then, so does Zuko. His hair, which he’s been growing out since your first meeting, is in a messy bun and his long sleeve crewneck is doing wonders for his shoulders. “Hi beautiful, everything okay?”
“Oh,” Liz and Sophie’s voices harmonize as they hear his voice.
You give them an I told you so look, before glancing back down at your phone. “Everything is quite splendid! Thank you so much for answering so swiftly, it’s saved me from joining the loser circle,” you tease.
He chuckles quietly, a singular eyebrow raised in curiosity, “I’m confused, but nonetheless happy I can be of service to you—”
“Y/n, turn your phone I need to see what this man looks like when he sounds like that,” Sophie instructs. She’s already moving across the plush rug that’s piled with all of the extra blankets in your house and making her way to your phone.
“I am not—you sucker give that back,” You reach to grab the phone she’s slipped from your hands, eyes wide in shock. Liz looks over Sophie's shoulder and Suki joins in for the hell of it; while Sokka is still expressing his apologies.
Zuko looks completely unfazed by the sudden influx of dynamic energy invading his screen.
Instead of holding a phone, he’s actually looking slightly downward, the sharp angle of his jawline lit by the crisp, blue-white glow of his laptop screen. In the background, the plush headboard of his hotel bed and a neatly stacked pile of work documents are visible. He reaches up, his long fingers adjusting the built-in webcam on his laptop to get a better angle of the three faces currently crowding into your phone frame.
Up close, the intense, dark depth of his eyes and the distinct, faded burn scar tracing the left side of his face are on full display, making him look completely breathtaking.
"Hi," Zuko says smoothly, his deep voice carrying that signature dry, calm tone. "Pleasure to see you ladies, and Suki, hello.”
Sophie’s jaw literally drops. Liz grips Sophie’s shoulder, blinking rapidly. "Oh, wow," Liz breathes out, completely losing her composure. "Okay. Okay, Y/n. I see you."
Suki, however, just bursts out laughing, leaning directly into your phone’s camera. "Sup workaholic,” she takes note of the papers on his lap and the tablet sitting on the nightstand beside him.
“Suki, good to see you—”
“Is that Zuko! Tell him to log in to—”
“Please tell your fiancee that yelling at this time of night isn’t healthy and that the answer is no,” Zuko states, cutting Sokka off before he can even finish his sentence.
Suki cackles, dropping her phone onto her lap as she yells back at her fiancé, “He said no, babe! And he said you're a loud mouth!”
Liz and Sophie are still hovering over your screen like two hyper-focused hawks. "Wait, so you guys already know each other?" Sophie asks, her eyes darting between Suki and the gorgeous man on your screen. "Why am I always the last to find out when Y/n is pulling a literal prince?"
"Because you talk too much," you mumble from your spot on the floor, your face still buried in a pillow to hide the intense heat rushing to your cheeks.
Zuko clears his throat softly, the sound a quiet, velvet vibration coming through your phone speaker. He casually stacks a few of his work documents on the bed beside him, his laptop camera capturing the relaxed, easy way he leans back against the headboard. "Sokka and I went to college together," he explains smoothly to the cousins, entirely polite but with a faint, amused smirk playing on his full lips. "And Suki is the only reason I know how to assemble a three-hundred-piece bedframe at ten at night."
Hey, it was a crisis!" Suki defends herself, though she’s grinning ear to ear. "But he really is a lifesaver, y'all. And because he did a good deed, he was able to miss his hair appointment that was scheduled for early the next morning. Which—” she pauses for dramatic effect, turning her gaze to you with a twinkle in her eye, “is what allowed him to get the attention of a baddie like y/n to be calling his phone at seven at night on a Saturday. So, y’all are so welcome.”
Your head snaps up from the pillow so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. Your eyes wide, you mouth shut the fuck up at Suki, but she just blows you a kiss, completely unbothered.
Sophie finally takes pity on you, tossing the phone back onto your lap. You scramble to grab it, flipping the FaceTime view back to just your face and turning the volume down. You pull the phone close, trying to smooth down your hair.
"I am so, so sorry," you groan, looking at him through the screen. "They are feral. I should have warned you."
Zuko just smiles, leaning back against his pillows as he looks at you through his laptop monitor, his gold-flecked eyes entirely soft. "Don't worry about it. It’s good to see Suki isn't forcing you all to build furniture. But..." He pauses and a warmth settles into his gaze. "I did catch something about a 'loser circle' before they hijacked the call. Care to explain what exactly I just saved you from?"
You glance over your shoulder to see Liz answering her own phone as her boyfriend returns her call, Suki is still chatting to Sokka, and Sophie is making another phone call. You push yourself off of the floor, carefully walking over the magazines, take-out, and board games spread out everywhere. You navigate to your kitchen, putting a bit of privacy between your conversation and the girls.
“We’re playing a game called For The Girls and Liz pulled a card that instructed us to call our mans and whoever’s call is answered first wins the card and doesn’t have to take a shot. So, winner-winner,” you explain, grinning as you take him in. Even when he’s not doing much, he’s simply too good looking to not stare at. “How is work going? This is the end of week one, yes?”
He exhales roughly, closing his eyes for a moment. “It is indeed the end of week one, and it’s going incredibly slow. I’d love nothing more than to be back in the city and taking you out on dates or just being in your presence,” his gaze softens as he opens his eyes, and a breathtaking smile spreads across his lips. “ I miss you.”
Your heart skips a beat at the raw honesty in his voice. You send a quick thank you to the powers above; somehow, someway, you’ve found a chalant man. “One more week and then we can do whatever you like! Oh, but earlier, we were playing this other game called We’re Not Really Strangers, it’s the one I brought over on our picnic date last month , and I got such a great idea from Liz. I know you like learning about my culture and Liz did this thing with her partner where she planned a movie night of all her favorite Black classic films. So, I was thinking of doing that with you! You can come over to my place and spend the night and we can have a movie marathon where you can ask all the questions you’d like, but also get a really cool look at what Black cinema and Black culture looks like in mainstream media!”
His head tilts as he watches you animatedly explain your date idea, usually he plans them, mainly because he likes to surprise you and it gives him something to do while he looks forward to the next time he sees you. “I’d like that a lot, but just to clarify, beautiful, you’re inviting me to your Baddie’s Headquarters?”
Your cheeks grow warm at the realization. All sleepovers have been at his place, due to the anxiety of a man having your address and you not being sure if it was going to stick or not. However, with him looking like that and with a voice of that nature, the chances of him slipping out of your grasp anytime soon is becoming slim. You nod slowly. “I–I would really like to host you, if you’re up for it! It’s okay if you’re not. We can easily have the movie night at your place. I know our other movie nights have been there and there’s nothing wrong with that…” your words drone on as you ramble, clearly flustered at offering the invitation.
“Baby, breathe,” he interrupts, letting out a light chuckle. “You tell me when and I’m there. I would be incredibly honored to see the place you disappear to when you’re outside of my orbit.”
You practically melt at his reassurance, a breathy, okay slipping past your lips as you swoon.
Now the countdown begins.
—
“Suki, you’re not listening to meeee,” you whine, aggressively pushing the TJMaxx cart through the store as you head towards the pajamas aisle.
She snorts loudly, “You right, because what are you talking about girl?”
You groan.
Your grip tightens around the handle and you sigh dramatically. You really feel as if she’s not understanding the magnitude of what this day means for you and the relationship you’re currently building. “I’m talking about the fact that he’s coming to my house! After three months and eight days, he’s stepping into THEE Baddie’s Headquarters—my paradise. And I’m nervous girl, real fucking nervous,” you confess, voice shaking towards the end as the realization hits you all over again.
Your stomach does a mild flutter and you’re not entirely sure if you’re going to throw up before seven o’clock comes or if you’re going to pass out—it’s a fifty-fifty shot of either happening today.
She hums, fingers flipping through the early fall loungewear. You told her you were looking for maximum comfort and cuteness, but in an enticing kind of way; and that’s exactly what she’s browsing for while hearing you whine and vent. “I think you’re overthinking it as well as looking at it the wrong way. I don’t think you’re nervous about him coming over into your space, I think you’re worried about what’s going to happen in your space. We both know you’re more comfortable in your house than his, and with comfortability comes lower guard, and you’re worried you’re gonna fucking fold like a lawn chair and make it rain on him.”
You freeze in your tracks. Her words act as a lighter to your powder keg—she’s fucking right. Suki casually alternates between holding two different loungewear sets up to your frame to see which she likes best, acting as if she hasn't just completely altered your brain chemistry with her read of the situation.
“I think this yellow looks stunning, but I noticed you’ve been wearing a lot of pink recently,” she notes casually.
Your thoughts are still all over the place, trying to come to terms with the sudden realization of what you’ve been experiencing for the past eight days. “I–uh, he…he makes me feel soft…and pink…pink makes me feel as if I’m reinforcing that,” you mutter. Your fingers twiddle with the two piece set. The fabric is incredibly soft, the shorts are anything but modest and the top without a bra could be dangerous. You want it.
Suki smiles warmly, setting the outfit into the shopping cart. Now this trip makes sense. When you had called and told her to pick you up because you needed an outlet, an outfit, and an objective opinion, she just agreed without thinking much of it. But now? It’s all lining up. You, realizing it or not, are head over heels falling for this man—to the point where you want to step into the feminine aspects of yourself outside of coordinated girls nights and friendships. You want to be soft for him and the fact that you’re leaning into it without pushing back, without coming up with an excuse, and without finding flaws in him, just further proves it. Her best friend is free falling into love.
“I can’t wait to hear all about how the date tonight goes tomorrow over our double date,” she states softly.
A small smile pulls at your cheeks, “I’m excited for that too! Brunch never disappoints, especially when there’s bottomless mimosas and endless french toast involved.”
She giggles, nodding, “ Exactly that! Oh! Add that too!”
You raise an eyebrow at what she’s pointing at. Following the angle of her finger, your gaze lands on a lingerie set. You roll your eyes. “Absolutely not. Besides, you said after we’re done with the boy we’d go catch the sale at Savage. No take backsies,” you remind, navigating the both of you to the candle section.
You pick up anything that says strawberry or vanilla scented, until something speaks to you. And once you have Suki’s approval on three new candles, the two of you simply peruse the store. Chatting about her bridal shower that just passed, your desire to take a few art classes at one of the universities nearby, and deciding on the cookies you want to bake and the chocolate covered strawberries you want to make.
Returning back to your apartment turns into absolute game time. With exactly three hours to ensure your cozy abode is in top-notch shape, the cookies are cooled, and the strawberries are set, y’all get to work.
The apartment becomes a whirlwind of movement. The loud, heavy bass of Latto and the City Girls blasts through your speakers, turning a standard straightening-up session into a high-stakes, high-energy military operation.
You find yourself dusting baseboards you haven't looked at since move-in day, scrubbing them with a ferocity that defies logic. Meanwhile, Suki is completely horizontal on your kitchen floor, reorganizing the cleaning supplies underneath your sink. She’s aggressively lining up the multi-surface sprays by height and label direction, as if Zuko is going to launch a full-scale investigation under the plumbing just to ensure it’s not a wreck.
“Suki, get out from under there! He is not checking my Fabuloso stash!” you shout over Rihanna’s Sex With Me, frantically fanning a tray of cookies to speed up the cooling process.
“You don't know his life, girl!” Suki yells back, her voice echoing from inside the cabinet as she fiercely wipes down a stray sponge. “He’s a corporate workaholic. Attention to detail is in his DNA! If he opens this door to throw away a napkin and sees chaos, the vibes are compromised!”
You groan, wiping your brow as you rush to the living room to fluff pillows that are already perfectly round. By the time the playlist transitions into a fast City Girls track, your paradise smells like a violent collision of Bath & Body Works vanilla, lemon bleach, and warm sugar. It is chaotic, it is completely unnecessary, but with the clock ticking closer to seven, you're grateful to have your best friend helping you secure the perimeter of Thee Baddie's Headquarters.
As you place the strawberries to set in the fridge, you inhale deeply before turning your head to look at Suki. Call it telepathy, call it women's intuition, but she nods and heads in the direction of your bedroom. You follow accordingly.
“All your sex toys clean and in their proper locations?” She questions, wiping down your nightstand that’s mostly spotless already from your frantic clean last night.
You choke on a little bit of air at the question. You pause in your goal of reorganizing your mini bookshelf that’s placed by your windowsill to give her a hard stare down. “If I tell you yes, you’ll tell me I’m planning to fuck him tonight. If I tell you no, you’ll clean them yourself and that feels like a step too far, so I’m just gonna say don’t worry about it,” you state sassily, returning to your task with a renewed vengeance.
She simply cackles behind you.Your response was a yes, and the attitude was pure defense—but who was she to call you out on it? The two of you move through your bedroom with coordinated efficiency. The pillows are fluffed, the freshly washed sheets are practically doused in your favorite linen spray, and your room is perfect.
You raise your hand and she slams hers into it with unbridled excitement. Y’all fucking did that.
Knock. Knock.
Your eyes slant to the clock.
6:45.
Of course he’s fifteen minutes early.
“I’m going to throw up in his lap,” you whisper, your feet suddenly glued to the plush rug that sits at the end of your bed. “You think that’ll make him block me? It will, won’t it? I’m going to be fucking sick. Do I smell? Do I look okay? Am I okay—”
Suki raises her hand and places it firmly over your mouth.
“I’m going to open the door. By the time I make it past the living room, you better have whatever this little moment is over with,” she instructs, turning on her heels.
“N-no, no,” you take big strides to catch up to her in the middle of the hallway. “I—I can do this. I am doing this. This is happening, and it’s okay, right?”
Suki stops dead in her tracks in the middle of the hallway, turning around to grab you by the shoulders. She gives you a firm, grounding shake, her eyes locking onto yours with total best-friend intensity.
"Listen to me," she commands, her voice leaving absolutely no room for doubt. "You look damn good. You smell like a decadent dessert, your hair looks phenomenal, and you got this. Remember, this is Thee Baddie Headquarters because a baddie walks these halls"
Her words instantly punch a hole through your mounting panic, the fierce validation acting like a heavy dose of smelling salts to your frayed nerves. Before you can even stammer out a reply, Suki breaks away, smoothly spinning on her heel as she heads into the living room. She quickly grabs her bag off the couch, slinging it over her shoulder in one fluid motion as she guides you toward the foyer.
With your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, your fingers wrap around the cold metal of the doorknob. You take one deep, sharp breath, force your shoulders back to lock into your inner baddie, and swing the door open.
Zuko is standing under the warm light of your apartment hallway. He looks completely breathtaking—clad in a heavy black hoodie that makes his broad shoulders look massive, perfectly offset by a pair of tailored, cream-colored lounge pants that pool slightly over his sneakers. His thick, dark hair is pulled back, and those intense, gold-flecked eyes soften the exact second they land on you. His bag is slung over his shoulders and a gift bag is in his hand.
"Hey," he murmurs, his deep, velvet voice instantly sending a pleasant shudder right down your spine.
“Hi, Zuko!” Suki pipes up cheerfully from behind you, effortlessly sliding past your frame before the tension in the doorway can even freeze over. She shoots him a brilliant, knowing wink, then cuts her eyes back to you with a proud grin. “Bye, girl! Y'all have fun watching those movies, but remember it’s okay if they end up watching y’all!”
And with that, your ultimate hype-woman struts down the corridor, leaving the two of you alone at the threshold of the headquarters.
“H-hi,” you clear your throat of the stutter, suddenly hyperaware of the situation at hand. The man you’ve been dating has officially arrived at your sanctuary. You shake your head softly, your smile widening as you wrap your hand around his free one, pulling him inside and into a hug.
As his arms wrap around you, you practically melt into him. He smells like an expensive heaven, and he’s so warm. He presses a tender kiss to your forehead—it’s sweet, but that’s absolutely not all you want from him.
You tilt your head back, lips slightly parted as you stand on your tiptoes, hooking your arms around his neck to bring him lower. He happily obliges, his lips finding yours in a deep, desperate, and passionately fierce kiss. Zuko groans into your mouth, his grip tightening on your hips as he tastes you, matching your frantic hunger with a heavy, possessive rhythm that completely validates Suki’s early read—there’s a dangerously high potential tonight of you folding like a lawn chair.
Zuko doesn’t break the kiss as he sets both bags down by his feet. Once his hands are free, he lifts you up effortlessly. One hand slides to your lower back underneath the thin material of your shirt, and the other goes right underneath your ass, holding you tight against him.
You moan as he nips your bottom lip before giving you a moment to breathe.
You bury your face into his neck, inhaling sharply. “I missed you,” you whisper, voice thick with a sudden rush of emotion.
It feels like a lifetime since you've touched him. He’s been out of the state and country for a relentless tech acquisition in Florida and Tokyo for two whole weeks—an absolute eternity considering the two of you usually see each other at least two to three times a week.
"Yeah?" Zuko hums, pulling his head back just enough to look at you. The sudden proximity of his sharp jawline and those burning gold eyes makes your cheeks burn with a sudden, beautiful warmth.
You nod eagerly, your lower lip slightly pouting as you tighten your grip on his shoulders. "Yes. Extremely. It was awful."
A devastatingly soft, unbothered smile breaks across his face, the fierce corporate legacy completely melting away into the man who belongs entirely to you. He wraps his arms even tighter around you, hoisting you higher against his chest as if he has absolutely no intention of ever setting you down.
"I missed you too," he confesses softly, his husky voice dropping into that quiet, heavy tone that makes your stomach do a lazy flip. He nuzzles his nose against your cheek, his breath hot against your skin. "I really missed your hugs. I missed your sweet kisses... and I definitely missed this lovely scent of yours. You smell incredible, beautiful."
You giggle as he nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck. Those two showers and the slathering of yourself in your favorite oils has successfully paid off.
You run your fingers through the silky strands of his hair, watching as it slides easily between your fingertips. It’s completely loose now, falling free and hitting right in between his shoulder blades in a way that makes him look entirely too devastating.
You grin down at him, your fingers gently combing through the back. "It’s definitely gotten longer since you left. It feels amazing."
Zuko lets out a low, vibrating chuckle against your chest, his eyes slanting up to look at you with a teasing glint. "You just want it to keep growing, don't you? Probably having conversations with my stylist to take me off his books."
"I am not," you giggle, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his sharp jawline. "You just look so incredibly handsome with long hair. It suits you."
You let your fingers tangle a little deeper into the thick strands at the nape of his neck, giving it a playful, incredibly gentle tug. You tilt your head, leaning in until your lips are brushing right against the shell of his ear, and drop your voice to a impish, breathless whisper.
"Besides... I like having something to pull on in bed."
Zuko goes entirely, completely rigid beneath you.
The words catch him entirely off guard. His breath hitches, his large hands locking tight on your waist as his eyes widen. For the past three months, the two of you have kept an incredibly disciplined pace—intense, soul-stealing make-out sessions on his couch or in his car were the absolute furthest you had gone. Hearing you drop a line like that, while wearing a tiny pink lace pajama set and smelling like warm vanilla, completely short-circuits his high-powered executive brain.
Before he can even open his mouth to reply, you let out a bright, victorious giggle. You unravel your legs from around his waist, effortlessly sliding down his large frame until your bare feet hit your plush rug.
"Come on," you beam, completely unbothered by the absolute crisis you just caused in his chest. You wrap your fingers around his large, warm hand, giving it a firm tug. "Let me show you around the estate."
Zuko stands there for a fraction of a second, clearing his throat as a faint, dark flush creeps up the back of his neck. He lets out a low, defeated chuckle, shaking his head as he lets you lead him forward.
"You are such a little troublemaker," he intones softly, his long fingers instantly interlocking with yours as you guide him out of the entryway. "A complete menace."
You grab his bag from the floor, your fingers brushing against his one last time before you turn on your heel to guide him down the short hallway.
"Welcome to the grand tour," you tease, gesturing to the first door on your left. "Guest bathroom, mostly used for emergency outfit changes and midnight skincare routines."
Zuko chuckles quietly behind you, his hand resting casually on the small of your back, his warm palm radiating heat right through the thin material of your lounge set.
You lead him to the next door, pushing it open to reveal the second bedroom. "And this is the command center. I transformed it into an office for my editorial job—where the magic actually happens and where I spend hours judging other people's grammar."
"Impressive," Zuko murmurs, his gold-flecked eyes scanning the organized rows of books, the sleek desk, and the framed prints on the wall. A look of genuine respect crosses his sharp features. "It suits you. Focused, but entirely elegant."
Your heart does a little flutter at the compliment, but you keep your stride moving, finally leading him into your master bedroom. The space absolutely screams your identity—drenched in your favorite colors, perfectly lit, and smelling faintly of the fresh strawberry-vanilla candles you and Suki had just meticulously placed. It is your ultimate sanctuary.
With a fluid, confident stride, you saunter over to your vanity and place his bag right on the plush vanity chair, turning back around to lean against the smooth marble counter.
You clasp your hands behind your back, tilting your head up to meet his intense, steady gaze. "And this is the inner sanctum. You are officially the first man to ever cross this threshold, Zuko. Tread carefully."
His gold eyes are slowly scanning your room; the soft lighting, the stack of notebooks on your nightstand, and the faint scent of linen spray Suki had left behind. A slow, incredibly warm expression softens his sharp features.
"It’s cute, Y/n," he states softly, stepping up beside you and wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. He rests his chin right on your head, inhaling the vanilla from your hair. "It’s very saturated in you. Every corner of it. I like that a lot. And I’m incredibly honored to have this privilege to enter HQ"
Your heart does a happy flip. "Good. Because you're trapped here for the next twelve hours. No corporate escape routes."
"I don't want one," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head before reluctantly letting you go so you can lead him back to the living room.
You guide him over to your sectional, and Zuko slides onto the cushions, looking surprisingly relaxed as he stretches his long legs out toward the tiered coffee table, right next to the massive pink bouquet he sent you earlier today in anticipation of your date. Something he does before every date. You grab the TV remote, a nervous but excited grin breaking across your face as you pull up the streaming dashboard.
"Alright good looking, welcome to Black Cinema 101," you declare, popping down onto the cushion right next to him and curling your legs up under yourself. "I put together the ultimate foundational trilogy, and a bonus watch. No notes allowed, but questions are encouraged."
Zuko turns his head, his hair brushing his shoulders as he gives you his full, undivided attention. "I'm ready. What's the lineup?"
“Alrighty, we’re starting off with a comedic classic: Madea. Except, I’m throwing you into it by showing you a play version first. There’s a lot of singing, fair warning. Lots of biblical references that don’t make sense, and behavior that’s so out of pocket you can’t do anything but just smile and nod,” you explain, counting on your fingers. “Then, we’ll slow things down and I’ll show you what I consider Black cinema horror, but it’s disguised as a ‘love story.’ It’s called Love & Basketball. And then we’ll watch The Player’s Club… I don’t know how to explain this one outside of drama, strippers, titties, and comedy. Lastly, if you can keep up, we’ll end with The Best Man.”
Zuko tracks your fingers, an amused, thoroughly intrigued smirk pulling at his lips. He reaches over, his large hand sliding behind your back and anchoring you closer to his side. He leaves his hand against your back, his thumb drawing a slow circle that sends a shiver straight up your spine.
"A comedy, a horror romance, a drama, and a mystery last genre," Zuko notes smoothly. "Sounds like a comprehensive curriculum. Any quizzes?"
"Perhaps," you laugh, leaning your shoulder against his chest as you hit play on the first recording. "But, if you just sit back, eat what I feed you, and hold me—I can give you all the answers."
"That," Zuko breathes, his hand slipping from your back to wrap around you entirely, "is a study guide I can follow perfectly."
As the first movie plays, Zuko proves to be an incredibly attentive student. He occasionally tilts his head down, his dark hair brushing your shoulder as he asks questions in a low whisper—mostly trying to unpack the sheer, complex velocity of Madea’s dialogue and the specific hierarchy of the family tree on screen. You excitedly answer every single one, gesturing with your hands and leaning into him, completely thrilled by how genuinely invested he is in learning about your world.
By the time the credits roll, your jaw actually aches from laughing so hard at his deadpan commentary on the plot twists.
You pick up the remote and navigate to the streaming menu, clicking on Love & Basketball. The iconic opening notes of the soundtrack start to hum softly through your living room speakers, but before the first scene can really start, you hit the pause button.
You shift your head upward, "Okay, half-time report. Do you want me to order the food now, or do you want to wait until after this one?"
Zuko shifts smoothly, stretching one long arm across the back of your sofa so his hand can rest comfortably near your shoulder. "Whatever you like, beautiful. I'm on your schedule tonight."
"Now," you decide instantly, a mischievous grin breaking across your face. "Because I want to make sure we're completely done with dinner by the time we hit The Players Club. I need full concentration for that one, and I want to be eating the cookies and strawberries I made for us by then."
"Sounds like a strategic masterpiece," Zuko notes, a slow, fond smirk pulling at his lips. He reaches into the pocket of his trousers, pulls out his sleek, matte-black phone, and effortlessly extends it toward you. "Order whatever you want."
You look at the phone, then look up at his face, your lips instantly puckering into a dramatic, stubborn pout. You cross your arms over your chest. "Zuko, no. Put that away. This is my apartment, my movie night, and I am paying for dinner. I already told you I had it covered."
Zuko doesn't lower the phone. He just stares at you, his striking gold eyes glinting with a heavy, utterly unbothered amusement at your defiance. The sharp executive who ruthlessly runs a corporate empire doesn't even blink.
"Give me a kiss," he commands softly, his voice falling into that deep, gravelly register that completely melts your stance.
"Zuko—"
"Y/n," he murmurs, leaning his massive frame into your space until his warm breath brushes your lips. "Give me a kiss, and I’ll even throw in you typing the order yourself."
You let out a helpless, defeated laugh, your pout dissolving into a bright smile. You lean forward, catching his lips in a sweet, lingering kiss that tastes faintly of your vanilla lip oil. Zuko groans softly, his large hand instantly coming up to cup the back of your neck, deepening the kiss for a breathless, possessive second before he slowly pulls back, leaving you slightly dazed.
He presses the phone into your palm, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand. "There. You just paid."
"You are completely impossible," you giggle, shaking your head as you open the food delivery app on his phone. You quickly select the Thai place down the street. “What does my dictator want to eat for dinner?” You adjust so that he can see the phone screen with you.
Zuko doesn’t bother looking at the menu, his gaze remains fixed on the way his phone screen illuminates all of your features in a way that makes his heart skip a beat. “Whatever you order is what I would like to eat, my little tyrant.”
You giggle into his shoulder, adding the pad see ew and a double order of crab rangoon before sliding his phone onto the coffee table next to the pink peonies.
You hit play on Love & Basketball, leaning back into his side as the movie officially begins. Zuko’s arm pulls you securely against his chest, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your bare shoulder over the lace trim of your top.
As the story of Quincy and Monica unfolds, the initial nostalgia of the classic romance gives way to the reality of their relationship. By the time Quincy begins projecting his frustrations onto Monica and pushing her away, you feel Zuko’s entire frame tense up behind you.
"I don't understand this," Zuko grumbles, his deep voice carrying a sharp, critical edge as he stares at the screen. He shifts slightly, tightening his grip on your waist. "He clearly wants her. He's furious and hurting because of his family, but instead of leaning on the person who actually supports him, he pushes her away. Why does he do that?"
You let out a soft, thoughtful sigh, tilting your head up to look at his sharp profile. "It's a defense mechanism, honey. He feels like he's losing control of his life, so he takes control of the one thing he can—which means cutting her out before she can leave him."
Zuko frowns, his eyes narrowing at the TV. "And why does she stay? Why does she keep letting him back in after he treats her like an afterthought? This... this is toxic. It's a struggle."
"You're completely right," you admit softly, running a hand over his forearm, feeling the solid, grounding warmth of his skin. "Honestly, this isn't my favorite film for exactly that reason. The way 'struggle love' is portrayed here—like you have to go through absolute hell and emotional exhaustion just to prove your loyalty—is really toxic. But it's a massive part of the culture. For a long time, this was the standard for cinematic romance in our community. A lot of us grew up thinking that true love meant enduring the pain until the other person finally got it together."
Zuko quiets down for a moment, the heavy weight of your words sinking in. He turns his head, his dark hair brushing your temple as he looks down at you with an expression of absolute, fierce intensity.
"I don't like it," he murmurs, voice low and fiercely protective. He brings his other hand up to gently cup your jaw, his thumb wiping across your cheekbone. "You shouldn't have to fight a war just to be loved, Y/n. Love shouldn't be a struggle."
Your heart swells so painfully tight in your chest that you can barely breathe. The contrast between the chaotic, emotionally draining relationship on the screen and the absolute, unyielding safety of the man holding you in your own living room is dizzying.
"I know," you whisper, a soft, incredibly smitten smile taking over your face as you lean over to press a sweet kiss to the center of his cheek. "That's why I'm glad I have you. You make it easy….really, really easy"
The movie continues, but the deep, grounding weight of Zuko’s words lingers in the warm space between you. As the characters on screen navigate another layer of emotional friction, the urge to be even closer to him completely overrides your attention to the plot.
Halfway through the film, right as the slow jams of the soundtrack begin to swell, you shift your weight. You uncurl your legs from beneath your shorts, twisting your body on the cushions until you are straddling his thighs, sitting completely in his lap.
Zuko doesn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. The moment you move, his large hands automatically slide under the hem of your loose pink top, his warm, calloused palms locking firmly onto your waist to anchor you securely against him. He shifts back slightly against the sofa cushions to give you more room, his eyes darkening instantly as he looks up at you in the flickering light of the TV.
"Everything alright, beautiful?" he questions, voice sitting at an octave that sends a jolt down your spine and to your toes.
"Perfect," you whisper, wrapping your arms comfortably around his broad shoulders. You sink your weight fully into his lap, the soft cotton and lace of your pajamas offering absolutely no barrier against the solid, radiating heat of his body. "I just wanted to be closer to you. The couch was too big."
A quiet, utterly amused chuckle ripples through his chest. Zuko adjusts his grip, his large hands sliding slightly lower to cup the back of your thighs, lifting you just enough to press you even tighter against his torso. He leans forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your warm skin right where you applied the vanilla and amber oil.
"I'm not complaining," he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm. "You can stay right here for the rest of the night."
You let out a soft, contented hum, your fingers tangling into the strands of his hair. On screen, the basketball court fades into the background as you focus entirely on the steady, powerful rhythm of his breathing.
You rest your chin on his shoulder, your fingers lazily alternating between playing with the ends of his hair where it brushes against his hoodie and massaging his scalp lightly. The movie plays on, a background blur of bright court lights and dramatic dialogue, but the real focus of the room has completely shifted to the small space you two share on the velvet cushions.
Zuko’s hands stay firmly stationed on your waist, his thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles against your skin just beneath the lace trim of your top. The warmth radiating from his palms is completely intoxicating, sinking deep into your core. Every time the TV screen flashes a brighter light, you can see the dark, intent look in his gold eyes as he watches you instead of the screen.
"You're missing the pivotal turning point," you tease in a breathless whisper, your lips brushing against his jawline. "Monica is literally playing him for his heart right now."
"I don't care," Zuko rumbles smoothly, his voice dropping into that heavy, husky note that sends a delicious shiver straight down your spine. He tilts his head up, his nose sliding along the column of your neck until his lips are hovering a mere fraction of an inch from yours. "I've already decided how I feel about the movie. I'm much more interested in my tyrant."
You let out a soft, helpless giggle, the vibrations buzzing right against his chest. "Oh, really? And what's your executive assessment, Mr. Dictator?"
"The tyrant is entirely too distracting," he murmurs, his eyes dropping to your lips before locking back onto yours with a sudden, fierce intensity. "She wears pink, she smells like vanilla, and she has me completely at her mercy in a tiny apartment."
Before you can even formulate a snappy retort, the sharp, cheerful buzz of the building's intercom echoes from the kitchen wall, signaling that the Thai food has officially arrived downstairs and is on its way up.
You let out a dramatic, exaggerated groan, resting your forehead against his chest. "No, perfect timing is a myth. The universe hates me."
Zuko lets out a rich, deep chuckle that shakes his entire frame beneath you. He doesn't let go of your waist right away, giving you one last, firm squeeze before pressing a deep, stealing kiss to your mouth that leaves your head spinning.
"Stay put," he commands softly, a lazy, utterly unbothered smirk pulling at his lips as he effortlessly shifts you off his lap and onto the cushion next to him. He stands up, stretching his massive frame and running a hand through his dark hair as he heads toward the entryway. "I’ll grab the food, we’ll eat, and then we start The Players Club."
You stay nestled on the sofa for a brief second, your body instantly missing the radiating heat of his frame the moment he steps away. The movie on the screen is completely forgotten as you listen to the heavy, confident thud of Zuko’s footsteps echoing down your short hallway, followed by the deep rumble of his voice as he opens the front door to thank the delivery driver.
A moment later, he strolls back into the living room, effortlessly carrying the heavy brown paper bag in one hand. The mouth-watering scent of savory garlic, sweet peanut sauce, and fried crab rangoon immediately fills the air, completely overtaking the gentle scent of your vanilla candles.
"Smells incredible," Zuko notes, pausing at the edge of the living room. His eyes sweep over the space, landing on the coffee table stacked with your peonies, the remote, and his phone. He looks down at the floor, then back up at you with a raised eyebrow. "Are we eating at the table, or do you have another strategic masterpiece in mind, beautiful?"
"Floor," you declare instantly, a playful grin lighting up your face. You slide off the velvet cushions, grabbing the extra oversized plush pillows from the armchair and tossing them onto the thick, cream-colored area rug in front of the TV. "It's a movie night law. Couch is for watching, floor is for feasting."
Zuko lets out a quiet amused chuckle, the sound resonating warmly in his chest. "As the princess commands."
He doesn't hesitate to join you, dropping down onto the rug with a fluid, surprising grace for a man of his massive size. He discards the paper bag between you both, immediately kicking off his shoes and loosening the collar of his hoodie to get comfortable. He leans back against the base of the sofa, stretching his long legs out across the rug, creating a perfect, secure little V-shaped nook between his thighs.
"Come here," he murmurs, his voice dropping into that smooth register. He pats the space right in front of him.
You don't need to be told twice. You slide backward into his chest, letting out a contented sigh as Zuko’s large frame instantly wraps around you from behind. He adjusts a plush pillow behind your back, locking his solid arms loosely around your waist to anchor you against him. You are completely enveloped in his warmth, your back pressed flush against his broad chest, your head resting perfectly just below his chin.
"Comfortable?" he questions, his breath stirring the loose hairs at your temple.
"Extremely," you purr, already reaching into the bag to pull out the styrofoam containers.
You pop open the container of pad see ew, steam immediately billowing out, carrying the rich scent of sweet soy sauce and char-grilled noodles. You grab the two pairs of chopsticks, handing one back blindly over your shoulder. Zuko takes them, his large, calloused fingers brushing against yours, sending a familiar, delicious spark straight to your core.
"Here, try the crab rangoon first while it's hot," you say, breaking apart a crispy, golden wonton pouch and holding it up toward him.
Zuko leans forward slightly, his sharp jawline brushing your cheek as he takes a bite straight from your hand. He chews slowly, a look of genuine satisfaction washing over his usually stoic, intense features. "Incredible. Your Thai place down the street might actually be a threat to my favorite spots downtown."
"I told you so," you brag softly, turning your head to flash him a smug, dimpled smile. "Never doubt my executive decisions when it comes to takeout."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he murmurs, his eyes darkening with that heavy, unyielding fondness that always makes your heart skip. He dips his own chopsticks into the container of noodles, expertly gathering a perfect bite of the wide, glossy noodles and tender chicken, guiding it carefully to your lips. "Open up, tyrant."
You giggle, accepting the bite. The savory, slightly sweet flavor is perfect, and you let out a soft groan of pure happiness, melting even deeper back into his solid torso, “A princess and a tyrant, huh?”
He hums, glancing down at you for a moment, not at all surprised to see you staring at him through your lashes, “Mhmm, a rather charming one too. She’s commanding and gets exactly what she wants, with little to no questions asked. Borderline committed a hostile take over earlier when she climbed on top of me, so steer clear of her.”
You cackle, eyes crinkling as you throw your head back in laughter. “ It’s not like you tell me no? So, I think you’re reaping what you sowed, wouldn’t you agree?”
You hold his gaze, beaming up at him with nothing short of pure joy and contentment. Your heart skips a beat and your lips part slightly as you witness his lips pull into a smile that has you thinking about all the positions he could put you in on the floor.
He’s stunning.
“Princess,” he states, his deep, husky voice dipping into an octave so intimate it makes your heart swell. “If being in your presence, holding you in my arms, and getting the chance to simply gaze upon your beauty is a harvest I’ve earned... I’d spend a lifetime reaping what I sowed.”
Your breath catches in your throat. The absolute, fierce pride and sincerity in his gaze is dizzying, completely eclipsing the thoughts that were racing through your mind just a second ago.
He leans down, his sharp jawline brushing against your cheek as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, taking in the sweet scent of your oil before pressing a slow, lingering kiss right against your warm skin.
"I don't say no to you," he confesses softly against your skin, his warm breath sending a delicious shiver straight down your spine, "because giving you everything you want is the easiest thing I've ever done."
You let out a shaky, entirely smitten sigh. You close your eyes to take a moment, allowing yourself to feel the weight of his words—and his actions. He kisses you like you’re the very sustenance providing him with life. He holds you as if you’re the only thing that grounds him. He speaks to you with a sincerity and air that conveys there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing than conversing with you. The flowers he sends before every date. The intentionality in which he plans all of your dates. The way he offers reassurance at every step of the way; paired with the fact that he does check-ins to ensure you’re comfortable with everything he does. How he kisses you, how he touches you, every step of the way he’s making sure everything is alright.
What a man!
“You’re fucking perfect,” you whisper quietly, fluttering your eyes open to see him peering down at you. “I do think you were made for me and I hope that’s not being too forward.”
Zuko freezes against your skin, the powerful, calculated man completely vanishing as your words strike him right in the chest. When he pulls back to look down at you, his gold eyes are burning with an intensity that is almost overwhelming.
"Forward?" he echoes, his voice rough and incredibly thick. His large hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb wiping across your cheekbone with a reverence that borders on worship. "Beautiful, you could demand the world from me right now and I’d figure out a way to hand it to you. You say jump, and I’m happily asking how high. The universe doesn’t get many things right, but with you and I being made for one another? It did phenomenal work.”
A breathless, utterly captivated laugh escapes your throat. You lean your face up into his large palm, kissing the warm meat of his thumb. “Phenomenal work, huh? I guess I’ll have to write a five-star review for the universe.”
You reach up, your fingers tangling into the soft fabric of his hoodie to tug him down just an inch closer. “But since you’re happily asking how high... I demand that you kiss me right now. Because you completely ruined my train of thought and I’m at your mercy on this rug.”
Zuko’s lips pull into a slow, thoroughly pleased smirk, his eyes darkening with a sudden, heavy heat. “Consider it done,” he rumbles.
He doesn't make you move from your spot between his legs. Instead, he leans his massive frame over your shoulder, his large hand sliding from your jaw to cup the back of your neck. His long fingers grip gently but firmly, tilting your head back and up at an angle that exposes the long line of your throat.
The moment his mouth seals over yours, any lingering air in your lungs completely evaporates. It isn't the sweet, tentative kiss from earlier on the couch; this is a deep, intoxicating claim. His lips are warm and firm, parting yours with an unhurried, possessive confidence that makes your head spin instantly. Because you're pressed flush against his broad chest, you can feel the heavy, ragged thud of his heart echoing straight into your back.
He groans softly into the kiss, the low vibration rattling deep in his chest and buzzing right against your tongue. He pulls you even tighter against his torso with his free arm, his solid forearm locking around your waist and lifting you just a fraction against him. The calloused edge of his thumb sweeps along your jawline, pressing just firmly enough to make a soft, helpless whimper escape your throat as he deepens the kiss from above.
Zuko drinks the sound in like a starving man. The scent of him—expensive cedar wood, rich amber, and pure, clean heat, envelops you entirely, erasing the rest of the apartment until the only thing that exists is the sensation of his lips against yours.
When his tongue strokes against yours, it’s slow, rhythmic, and devastatingly thorough, turning your insides into absolute liquid. Your hand reaches blindly backward, your fingers gripping his shoulder and digging into the fabric of his hoodie just to keep yourself grounded as the world tilts on its axis. Every touch of his mouth feels deliberate, a perfect physical translation of the devotion he just promised you.
By the time he slowly pulls back, his breathing is uneven, his breath fanning across your swollen lips. He rests his sharp chin gently on your shoulder, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he takes a deep, stabilizing breath against your skin.
"See?" he murmurs, his voice completely wrecked, deep, and echoing right against your collarbone. "Easiest thing I've ever done. Now eat before the food gets cold, tyrant."
You exhale softly, rolling your eyes playfully, “ahhh, the dictator's back–BUT–lucky for me he’s handsome and fuckable.”
The deep, grounding breath he was just taking hitches sharply in his throat. For a long, heavy second, the only sound in the apartment is the soft hum of the television. Zuko is a man used to being in absolute control of every boardroom and corporate empire he touches, but right now, sitting on your living room floor, you have completely short-circuited his brain.
Slowly, his head lifts from your shoulder. When you glance back, his gold eyes are wide, darkened with a sudden, scorching heat that makes the breath trap in your throat. A flush creeping up his sharp neck proves just how heavily your words landed.
"Y/n," he exhales. His voice has dropped into a dangerously low, gravelly octave, completely stripped of its corporate polish. He swallows hard, his large hands anchoring onto your waist with a sudden, firm grip that presses your back flush against his chest. "You cannot say things like that to me right now."
"Why not?" you tease, your voice a breathless whisper as you turn your head to hold his intense gaze.
"Because I am trying very hard to be a gentleman," Zuko confesses roughly, his thumb twitching against your hip. He looks around your cozy, vanilla-scented apartment, a visual reminder that he is a guest in your sacred space for the very first time. "It’s my first night here. I promised myself I’d be on my best behavior, keep my hands to myself, and commit every movie we watched to memory; which is getting very hard to do with you looking and talking to me like that."
You tsk playfully, pushing the takeout containers away and turning in his hold. He assists you in your adjustment, his large hands instinctively guiding your hips, allowing you to sit completely in his lap.
You wrap your arms around his neck, leaning in until your lips are almost touching his ear. “What if… I said I don’t want you on your best behavior? Or to keep those hands of yours to yourself?”
You pull back just enough to watch his reaction, and the payoff is glorious. The powerful, usually unshakeable man completely freezes beneath you. You can visibly see his brain short-circuiting in real-time, his sharp jaw locking tight as he stares at you, utterly stunned and entirely undone by your boldness.
Your smile widens, a triumphant, rasaclly little grin breaking across your face.
"Cat got your tongue, honey?" you tease in a breathless whisper.
To drive the point home, you slowly roll your hips against his. The sudden friction causes a low, completely involuntary hitch in Zuko’s chest—but the playful smirk on your lips suddenly falters. Because the cotton of your pajama shorts is so thin, the deliberate movement allows you to feel the solid, unmistakable ridge of his rapidly growing erection pressing hard against your center.
You freeze, your breath catching in your own throat this time. The sheer, overwhelming size of him makes you pause, your eyes widening as the reality of what you're playing with sinks in.
You swallow hard, your voice dropping into a stunned, entirely unfiltered whisper. "You're... you're packing, aren't you?"
Zuko practically chokes on air.
A heavy, ragged swallow hitches in Zuko’s throat, his broad chest heaving as he desperately tries to claw back some semblance of his breathing. The hot flush on his neck deepens, burning a fierce red in the dim light of the room. He looks at you, completely flabbergasted, his mouth parting slightly before he clamps it shut again, utterly bewildered by how effortlessly you just flipped the script on him.
When he finally finds his voice, it’s completely ruined—deep, rough, and flourishing with an intense, gravelly heat.
"Y/n," he chokes out, his hands finally moving from where they had frozen mid-air. Instead of pulling away, his large, warm palms slam flat against the floor right behind your hips, bracing his massive frame as if he needs the physical support just to survive your presence. "You... you cannot just say things like that."
A muffled, dark growl builds in the back of his throat as he watches your shocked expression morph right back into a thrilled, highly entertained grin.
"I mean it," he mumurs, leaning forward until his forehead drops right against your shoulder with a defeated, heavy thud. His broad shoulders shake with a breathless, half-strangled laugh against your skin. "I am sitting in your apartment, trying to be the most respectful, well-behaved man on the planet, and you are actively trying to destroy me."
He slowly lifts his head, his gold eyes blazing with a sudden, devastatingly heavy focus that makes your stomach do a delicious flip. The initial shock is fading, replaced by a thick, simmering tension that fills the entire space between your bodies.
His hand leaves the floor, his long fingers wrapping firmly around your hip, squeezing just enough to remind you of the sheer size of the man holding you. He glances down at the paper bag you pushed aside, then looks back up at you, his thumb tracing a heavy, warning circle against your skin.
"Princess... you need to eat," Zuko murmurs, his voice dropping into a dangerously low, tight tone that tells you he is holding onto his control by a literal thread. "Because if you don't start putting that food in your mouth right now, I am going to find a much different use for it, and I can promise you that dinner will be the last thing on your mind."
You simply smile and shift back into place. You’re folding before the night ends and oh how lovely that will be.
For the next twenty minutes, the living room descends into a cozy, perfectly synchronized rhythm. You hit play on the remote, but neither of you is really paying attention to the screen anymore. Instead, you share the food right there on the floor, trading bites of noodles, laughing softly whenever a drop of sauce threatens to ruin your pink top, and enjoying the absolute, unhurried peace of the night. Zuko's large hand occasionally abandons his chopsticks just to rest heavily on your thigh, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles through the soft fabric of your shorts.
As the final contents of the noodle box disappear, you lean your head back against his shoulder, looking up at his sharp profile in the dim, flickering light of the television.
"Alright," you whisper, your voice thick with contentment. "The savory course is officially cleared. Are you ready for the grand finale?"
Zuko sets the empty containers aside, his arms instantly wrapping tightly around your waist again, pulling you so close that you can feel the steady, powerful thumping of his heart against your back. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin right beneath your ear.
"Bring on the cookies and strawberries, beautiful," he purrs against your skin, a low, possessive growl humming through his chest. "And turn on The Players Club. I want to see what requires your full concentration—because right now, all of mine is on you."
You shift slightly against his chest, a soft, thrilled shiver rippling over your skin at the promise in his tone. The warmth of his body acts like a magnet, making it incredibly hard to actually disentangle yourself from the secure nook of his thighs , but the sweet scent of the strawberry cookies and chocolate-covered strawberries waiting in the kitchen provides just enough motivation.
"Get cozy on the couch and start warming the blanket. This is going to be the movie to surpass all movies thus far," you instruct, tilting your head back to press a quick, playful kiss to his jawline before sliding out of his embrace.
He lets out a small laugh, but follows your instructions. He sets the containers back into the bag, efficiently cleaning up the small mess the two of you made.
From around the corner in the kitchen, you can't see him, but you smile as you listen to the familiar, comforting sounds of him carrying the trash to the bin and adjusting the plush pillows on the sectional.
"Blanket is warming, princess," his deep voice calls out, echoing warmly into the kitchen with that signature dry, amused undertone. "Your fortress is secured. Come back and defend it."
You let out a bright giggle , the cool hardwood beneath your bare feet a sharp contrast to the thick rug you just left. You reach into the cabinets and pull out a pretty pink serving tray, arranging everything meticulously. On one side, you set the chilled platter of strawberries—meticulously dipped in milk chocolate and perfectly set in neat, glossy rows. On the other, you arrange the homemade strawberry cookies. The rich, fruity, and buttery scent still hangs faintly in the air , a sweet reminder of how hard you and Suki had worked to get the headquarters ready.
Balancing the pink tray carefully in your hands, you navigate back to the living room. Your heart does a happy little dance when you see him—swallowed up by your blankets and looking entirely at peace , his golden eyes locking onto you the exact second you reappear.
"The grand finale has officially arrived," you announce, stepping over to the couch.
You carefully set the pink tray down on the tiered coffee table right next to your bouquet. Before Zuko can even reach out to pull you down, you take the initiative and shock him completely. With a fluid, confident step, you climb right into his lap yourself, sliding your legs over so you are sitting completely sideways across his broad, solid thighs, your back plush against the sofa.
Zuko’s breath hitches sharply, his entire body going entirely rigid beneath you for a split second. He was fully prepared to play the patient gentleman and let you call all the shots , so your sudden, unprompted boldness completely catches him off guard.
A victorious, playful little smile pulls at your lips as you watch his eyes widen in beautiful, raw surprise. But he recovers with terrifying speed. A fainr, completely captivated chuckle hums deep in his chest , and his large, warm hands instantly lock onto your waist, assisting you in your adjustment and anchoring you tightly against his torso.
He pulls the heavy, warm blanket up and over both of your laps, completely enveloping your smaller frame in his radiating heat. He leans down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his lips lingering against your right where your vanilla and amber oil smells the most potent.
"You are full of surprises tonight, beautiful," he breathes, his grip on your waist giving you a firm, possessive squeeze. "Now hit play. Let's see what requires this legendary level of concentration."
You pick up the remote, navigate to the streaming dashboard, and click on The Players Club. As the iconic, high-energy dramatic music starts to swell through the living room speakers , you reach over to the tray and pick up one of the pink strawberry cookies, taking a soft, sweet bite.
You tilt your head up, holding a cold, chocolate-dipped strawberry up to his lips. "Open up, handsome. Let's see if you can handle Dolla’ Bill and Diamond, or if you're just going to keep staring at me the entire time,” he releases an amused huff as he leans down to take a bite of the delicious treat straight from your fingers. His lips warm as they brush against your hand.
You try your absolute best to keep your eyes locked on the screen, determined to maintain your full concentration as Diamond navigates the chaotic backrooms of the club. But it is proving to be an uphill battle.
Even though you were the one who demanded he pay attention, your mind is currently taking a one-way trip to the deep end of how wonderful this night could go if you end up underneath him by the time this movie finishes.
Because you’re sitting sideways across his lap, you are hyper-aware of every single detail of his body. The broad, immovable expanse of his chest is pressed flush against your side, and you can feel the rigid, unyielding muscle of his thighs beneath you. Worse, every time you shift even a fraction of an inch to take a bite of your strawberry cookie, you can still feel the heavy, solid ridge of him pressing firmly against your hip under the thin blanket. The sheer size of him—paired with the wicked memory of what you just teased him about, is making your core ache with a heavy, needy throb.
Meanwhile, Zuko is actually being a model student. True to his promise to learn more about your culture, his golden eyes are locked onto the screen, his expression a mix of intense focus and utter bewilderment.
“Wait,” Zuko mutters, gesturing towards the TV. “ Dolla’ Bill is supposed to be running a successful club, but you’re telling me he’s not paying the people who loaned the money to him? And now he’s putting his security in trouble because he’s hiding?”
You let out a weak, slightly breathless hum, your mind completely tracking the way his large hand is currently resting flat on your waist, his thumb casually rubbing through the thin cotton of your top. You swallow hard, trying to process his question through the heavy fog of desire settling over your brain. "Uh... yeah. He's greedy. Selfish…very all about him."
You look up at his sharp profile, completely captivated by the crisp line of his jaw and the plush fullness of his lips. Your heart skips a beat, your eyes dropping to his mouth as you imagine exactly what those lips felt like when he was devouring you just minutes ago on the rug. You think about him pinning your wrists above your head, about the weight of his massive frame pressing you down, about how loud he would groan if you rolled your hips against him just one more time.
"Y/n?" Zuko questions softly, breaking the spell.
He turns his head, noticing the quiet stillness that has come over you. When his gold eyes meet yours, he doesn't find the enthusiastic film guide who was loud and proud during the first two films. Instead, he sees your flushed cheeks, your slightly parted lips, and the dark, heavy gaze you're using to track the movement of his throat.
A slow, thoroughly knowing smirk gradually pulls at the corner of his lips. He instantly recognizes that look. The strict gentlemanly restraint he was forcing himself to maintain softens, replaced by a glint of heavy, unbothered amusement.
"Princess," he rasps, his hand on your waist tightening, his fingers digging into your hip just firmly enough to make you gasp. He leans down, nipping your ear lightly with his teeth, his voice dipping into a wickedly quiet pitch. "You're not paying attention to Diamond at all, are you?"
He feels the way you shudder against him and when he pulls away to get a good look at your face, you’re wearing a grin that’s dismantling his composure in every sense of the word. You’re up to no good—and he’s acutely aware of that.
“Give me a kiss,” you demand.
The words leave your lips like an ultimatum, and the effect they have on Zuko is immediate.
The low, knowing smirk on his lips completely vanishes, his mouth parting slightly in a ragged, silent breath as his entire frame locks up under your thighs. He stares down at you, his eyes wide and burning with a dark, electric heat that proves your raw confidence has shattered whatever fragile hold he had left on his composure.
"Y/n," he groans out. It's a warning, a desperate plea for you to stop pushing him, but the way his long fingers effortlessly dig deeper into the meat of your hip entirely betrays him.
You don't back down. Instead, your grin only widens, your hands sliding up the heavy cotton of his hoodie to wrap firmly around the back of his neck, your fingers tangling slightly into the long, loose strands of his hair. You give a deliberate, unyielding tug, pulling his massive frame down until his mouth is a mere breath away from yours.
"I didn't ask you what my name was, Mr. Dictator," you whisper teasingly, holding his scorching gaze through your lashes. "I said, give me a kiss."
"God help me, you are something else," he rasps against your lips.
Before you can even flash a triumphant smile, his large hand flies from your waist to the back of your neck, his fingers locking firmly into your hair to tilt your head back. He claims your mouth with a sudden, bruising certainty that leaves you completely breathless, his lips parting yours in a deep, intoxicating rush that proves he is entirely done trying to be good.
You moan directly into the heavy, intoxicating warmth of his mouth, the soft sound trapped between your lips as you tighten your hold around his neck. The pure intensity of his kiss is dizzying, making your head spin instantly.
Desperate to feel the contrast of his skin, you slide one of your hands down from the silky strands of his hair, tracing the broad line of his shoulder until your fingers find his large hand stationed around your waist. Your palms meet, your fingers loosely interlocking with his over the thin cotton of your top.
But before you can guide his hand anywhere, you force yourself to pull back just a fraction of an inch.
Your breathing is shallow and completely uneven, your lips swollen and tingling from the sheer weight of his claim. You look up at him through your lashes, your heart hammering a frantic, wild rhythm against his chest as you take in his darkened gold eyes and the hot flush creeping up his sharp jawline.
"Zuko," you whisper breathlessly, your thumb tracing a slow, trembling line across the back of his large knuckles. "Can I... can I be forward one more time?"
Zuko lets out a rough exhale, his warm breath fanning across your damp lips. The strict gentlemanly restraint he had been clinging to all night is almost entirely gone, replaced by an unyielding, thorough devotion that burns in his gaze. His hand on your waist tightens, holding your hips so securely against his thighs that you can feel every single inch of him pressing hard against you.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his voice completely undone, gravelly, and scraping heavily against his throat as his long fingers slide up to cup your jawline with a reverence that borders on worship. "You can be as forward as you’d like. I'm entirely at your mercy tonight."
You tilt your head, a sheepish grin playing on your lips as you hold his intense gaze. Slowly, you guide his hand, inching his long fingers down the side of your stomach, letting his warm palm slide over the curve of your hip before you finally pause, resting his hand right against your outer thigh.
"You're always asking me if things are okay and if something is too much," you murmur, your voice dropping into a quiet, tentative whisper that hangs sweetly in the space between your faces. "I'm turning those questions back on to you. How far is too far, and what's okay and not okay?"
Zuko stops breathing entirely for a long second.
For a moment, he simply stares at you, his eyes wide as the weight of your question sinks into his chest. The large hand resting against your thigh tenses slightly, his calloused fingers twitching against the thin fabric of your pink shorts. He is a man who spent the last three months carefully structuring every boundary, entirely intent on keeping his word and ensuring you felt completely safe in his presence. Hearing you offer that same meticulous protection back to him completely shatters his ability to speak.
Slowly, the tension in his broad shoulders softens, a look of profound, overwhelming tenderness overtaking his sharp features. He doesn't pull his hands away from your hips. Instead, his fingers simply loosen their grip, his warm palms resting flat against your skin with a reverence that makes your throat tighten.
"Y/n," he murmurs, his voice incredibly thick, heavy, and quiet in the dim light of the television.
He lifts one hand from your hip, his long fingers gently sweeping a stray braid behind your ear, his touch so light and deliberate it makes a soft shiver ripple down your spine. He holds your gaze, ensuring you can see the absolute sincerity and clarity shining in his gold-flecked eyes.
"Nothing you do could ever be 'too much' for me," he confesses quietly, a small, incredibly smitten smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I am completely, entirely yours. If you wanted to take things all the way tonight, I would stay right here on this couch and let you have your way with me until morning. I don't have boundaries when it comes to what I'll give you."
His hand sits warmly against the upper part of your thigh, his thumb tracing a heavy, soothing circle against your skin under the blanket, grounding you both in the quiet safety of the apartment.
"But it’s our very first night in your space," Zuko continues gently, his gaze dropping to your lips before locking back onto yours with an unyielding warmth. "And I know how important it is to you that we take our time and build this right. So, what is okay with me? Anything that makes you feel cherished, beautiful. We can stay right here, tangled up under this blanket, eating strawberry cookies and making out for the next ten hours, and it will still be the best night of my life. You set the line. Wherever you draw it, I'll happily stand right behind it."
Your fingers wrap tightly around his large wrist, breaking the quiet stillness of his speech as you deliberately guide his hand down. You slide his warm palm lower, moving past the edge of your pink shorts until his fingers glide directly beneath the thin material. The second his calloused hand presses against the bare, sensitive skin between your legs, the reality of what you're doing hits him like a physical blow.
You’re pantyless. You’re soaking.
Zuko is utterly paralyzed by the sheer, exhilarating rush of heat greeting his fingertips. You are completely slick, a beautifully warm and heavy mess that you made entirely because of him, and the absolute absence of any panties under your cotton shorts completely short-circuits his mind. He can feel the direct, unshielded pulse of your arousal right against his touch, making him acutely aware of just how deeply his kisses and the heavy weight of his erection have unravelled you.
Your lips part at the delicious sensation of his hands on you without any barrier.
"Y/n," he chokes out. His voice is barely a whisper, completely stripped of its usual weight, sounding entirely undone as he looks up at you through his dark lashes. "You... you aren't wearing—"
"I told you I didn't want you on your best behavior," you murmur, your voice dropping into a daring, flushed confession as you hold his wide, scorching gaze. To drive the point completely home, you gently press down on his hand, shifting your hips just a fraction of an inch sideways across his thighs.
The deliberate movement causes his calloused fingers to slide directly through your slickness, and a sharp, ragged groan rips from Zuko’s throat.
Your restrained gentleman’s control is damn near gone and you aren’t helping, nor do you have any ambitions to.
The large, trembling hand you are holding suddenly takes over entirely, his long fingers parting the thin cotton of your shorts with a sudden, possessive confidence that makes your heart stutter. He doesn't pull away. Instead, his palm cups you entirely, his thumb finding the exact center of your ache and pressing just firmly enough to make your hips hitch off his lap with a sharp, helpless whimper.
A hoarse, dark chuckle resonantes from deep in Zuko’s chest at the soft whimper that slips from your lips, his fingers flexing against your hip to keep you securely aligned with him.
He doesn't rush. Instead, he uses the sleek warmth he’s gathered to glide his thumb up and over your sensitive clit one more time, deliberately testing your responsiveness. Your hips instinctively twitch upward, chasing the contact, and that subtle, desperate movement is all it takes to make his golden eyes darken to near-black.
Slowly, deliberately, Zuko curves his hand, the tip of his long, index finger nudging against your entrance.
He watches you with a rapt, unblinking intensity, his sharp features completely locked onto your face as he pushes past the tight embrace of your muscles and slips a finger inside.
A sharp breath trips in your throat, your eyes fluttering shut as your head drops against his shoulder. A soft, undone moan ripples past your lips, and the sound is music to him. Zuko’s thumb instantly finds your clit, anchoring his hand against you as he stays perfectly still inside your tight, blazingly hot depth, letting you adjust to the sudden thickness of him.
"Look at me, beautiful," he commands softly, his voice dropping into that thick, commanding tone that captivates your attention. He nudges his jaw against your temple, his voice a rough command against your skin. "Open your eyes. Let me see you."
Through a heavy, desire-fueled fog, you force your eyelids open, your gaze instantly colliding with the fierce, burning heat of his gold eyes. He is looking at you with a reverence so profound it makes your throat tighten, tracking the ragged rise and fall of your chest.
Seeing that you're looking right back at him, Zuko hooks his finger slightly, curling upward to find the exact spot that makes your entire body tremble. He curls it again, beginning a slow, agonizingly deep stroke that pulls a loud, high-pitched gasp straight out of your throat.
"There’s my beautiful girl," Zuko exhales, his composure completely fracturing as he watches your lips part, your features twisting into a beautiful expression of pure, unadulterated pleasure. He begins to move his finger in a steady, unhurried rhythm, matching the deliberate press of his thumb against your center. "So warm and wet... and you did all of this just sitting in my lap."
You nod breathlessly, the simple movement feeling heavy and monumental under the weight of his stare. Desperate to get even closer to the heat of his skin, you slide your hands right past the soft cotton collar of his black hoodie, your fingertips sinking directly onto the broad, solid expanse of his shoulders. Your nails catch against the firm shift of his back muscles, anchoring yourself to his massive frame as he continues that agonizingly perfect, rhythmic stroke inside you.
"Just being around you is dangerous," you confess, your voice barely a ragged whisper against his jawline. You tilt your hips just a fraction, leaning into the full thickness of his finger as a delicious, tight ache begins to pull at your lower stomach. Your eyes lock onto his burning gold ones, all your defenses entirely stripped away. "I—I really fucking want you,” you gasp out, legs opening wider as he targets your g-spot with a precision that makes your nails curl deep into his shoulders.
Zuko’s breath hitches sharply at the raw, unshielded curse slipping from your lips, the sheer weight of your confession sending a visible tremor straight through his massive frame. Hearing you completely drop your defenses and admit how badly you want him shatters the final remnants of his restraint.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he growls softly against your mouth, his eyes burning with a dark, unyielding heat as he takes in the sight of your parted legs and the tight, desperate grip of your nails in his shoulders.
He doesn't make you wait. Keeping his first finger buried deep inside you, targeting that perfect spot with a deliberate, agonizing pressure, Zuko coaxes your thighs a fraction wider with his palm. Slowly, relentlessly, he presses a second finger right against your soaked entrance, nudging past the tight, pulsing ring of your muscles before sliding it smoothly inside alongside the first.
The sudden, stretching fullness of him inside you makes the air trap instantly in your throat. Your back arches completely off his chest, your inner walls convulsing in a frantic, tight grip around the added width.
Zuko lets out a low, rough groan at the tight squeeze, his forehead dropping heavily into the crook of your neck as your body frantically tries to adjust to the heat of his hand. His chest heaves against yours, his heart hammering a wild, chaotic rhythm that echoes straight into your ribs.
"Look at me, princess," he murmurs, his voice thick, gravelly, and completely undone as he lifts his head to lock eyes with you again. He doesn't start moving yet, letting you ride out the overwhelming wave of stretch, but his thumb delivers a heavy, crushing press right against your swollen clit. "Take a deep breath for me. That's it... take all of it."
You let out a broken, high-pitched whimper, nodding breathlessly as the heavy ache in your lower stomach tightens into a knot of pure desperation.
Once he feels your muscles reluctantly soften around his fingers, a slow, predatory smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. He hooks both fingers upward, finding that sensitive ridge inside you with a precision that makes your vision go dark around the edges. He begins a heavy, punishingly deep rhythm, driving into you in a slow, unhurried pattern that leaves you completely at his mercy under the blanket.
"Just like that," you gasp out, the words tearing from your throat in a breathless, undone rush as the heavy, rhythmic friction of his fingers threatens to steal your sanity entirely. You throw your head back against the couch, your hips blindly arching up to meet every deep, punishing stroke. "Zuko, please... don't stop. Don't you dare stop."
To emphasize the sheer desperation of your demand, your fingers flex hard against his shoulders, your nails digging significantly deeper into the firm, flexing muscles of his back.
Zuko lets out a low, rough groan at the sharp sting of your nails, his entire frame shuddering against yours. The raw, aggressive drag of your grip doesn't make him pull away; instead, it completely triggers something primal in him. His hands on your waist tighten like steel bands, anchoring your sideways position across his thighs so securely that you can feel the heavy, frantic pulse of his erection throbbing straight through your shorts.
He leans down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, and presses a hot, bruising kiss right over your racing pulse point. The intense, velvety heat of his mouth against your sensitive skin makes a long, trembling whimper ripple down your spine.
But he isn't done testing your limits.
With his fingers still driving relentlessly deep inside your soaked warmth, matching the heavy, crushing rhythm of his thumb against your center, Zuko nips the soft skin of your neck lightly with his teeth.
The sharp, sudden prick of pleasure and pain completely shatters whatever hold you had on your composure. It unravels you in every sense of the word. Your vision goes dark around the edges, your inner muscles convulsing in a violent, desperate squeeze around his fingers as a loud, completely unprompted groan rips straight out of your chest.
"Ohhhh, fuck," you moan out, the curse loud, floating over The Players Club soundtrack.
He drinks in the uninhibited sound like water after a drought , a hushed, deeply captivated rumble stems from his chest directly into yours. He pulls his teeth back just enough to lick over the sensitive mark he just left, his breath fanning scorching hot against your damp skin.
"That's it, beautiful," he rasps, his voice completely ruined, gruff, and thick with a dangerous amount of satisfaction as he speeds up his fingers, driving you mercilessly toward the edge. "Let it out. Let me hear exactly what I'm doing to you."
The sudden increase in speed is the final, devastating blow. Your inner muscles clamp around his fingers in a violent, desperate contraction as a wave of sharp, blinding pleasure crashes over you. You lose all sense of time and space, your back arching off the sofa as you ride out the peak of your orgasm, your helpless whimpers filling the small gap between your faces.
Zuko holds you through every single tremor, his fingers remaining buried deep inside your soaking warmth, pulsing in sync with your walls. He watches your face with an unblinking, profound focus, taking in the burning heat of your cheeks and the sheer beauty of your complete surrender.
As the heavy waves of pleasure slowly begin to recede, leaving your mind completely fried and your body tingling, a sudden surge of raw confidence returns to you.
Before he can even offer a gentle word, your hand flies up, your fingers wrapping firmly around his sharp, masculine jawline. Your thumb digs right into the corner of his cheek, and with an unyielding tug, you pull him down into a soul-snatching kiss.
The collision of your mouths is completely electric. You pour every ounce of your lingering, post-climax desperation into him, your lips parting his in a deep, consuming rush that proves you are nowhere near finished with him tonight. Zuko lets out a muffled, completely staggered groan into your mouth, his large hand on your waist tightening so hard his knuckles go white under the blanket.
Carefully, and albeit, reluctantly, he breaks the kiss, but he doesn't let you escape his personal space. His eyes remain fixed entirely on yours as his hand finally slides out from beneath the hem of your shorts. You let out a soft, helpless moan at the sudden absence of him, the cold air hitting your sensitive skin, but the sound is instantly cut short when his hand rises into the dim light between your faces.
Holding your gaze with a deliberate, unblinking intensity, Zuko brings his wet fingers directly to his lips.
He slowly parts his mouth, his long tongue sweeping across his fingers to taste the thick, glossy evidence of your climax right in front of you. A sharp breath trips in your throat at the sheer audacity of the gesture, your entire body tightening all over again as you watch his throat swallow. An unhurried, thoroughly wicked smirk gradually pulls at the corner of his lips, a flash of heavy, unbothered pride taking over his sharp features.
"You taste absolutely phenomenal," he murmurs, his voice heavily undulating against your lips as he leans in close, his thumb gently catching a stray drop of moisture at the corner of his mouth. "Like the most perfect dessert."
You pull back just a fraction of an inch, your breathing shallow and completely ruined as you hold his gaze through your lashes.
"Bedroom now," you whisper heavily against his swollen lips, your voice a daring, heated command that makes his pulse spike instantly. "Before our first time ends up being on my living room couch... which is much too small for what you're carrying."
The journey from the living room to the bedroom is a blur of shifting shadows and the steady, solid thud of Zuko’s heartbeat against your ear. He carries you effortlessly, his massive arms holding you securely against his chest as if your weight is nothing at all. Your fingers stay tightly tangled in the soft fabric of his black hoodie, your face buried in the warm crook of his neck.
When he steps into the dimness of your room, he doesn’t just drop you on the mattress.
Zuko moves as if he’s carrying one of the most precious pieces of cargo to grace the planet, setting you on the edge of your bed with the utmost care. You watch with wide eyes as he steps back just a bit, putting distance between the two of you. He’s a masterpiece of perfectly tailored loungewear and beauty that echoes the craftsmanship of ancient greek sculptures.
And as you sit on the bed, eyes blown wide and glossy. Lips swollen from kisses and skin glistening from your skincare routine. You’re the living embodiment of temptation and perfection—a dangerous combination to a man trying hard to respect your desire to take things slow.
“Are you sure, beautiful? We can stop right now and finish the movie, or we can just chat and I hold you. We don’t have to do anything beyond what we’ve already done,” he states, voice oozing with reassurance and contentment.
A smile takes over your features, and you fall back, releasing a sigh from the way his words feel just like your duvet; cozy and comforting. Your smile morphs into something else entirely though as the cool air of your room brushes along your skin and brings more awareness to the heat in between your thighs. You lift your legs up, not bothering to glance at him as you lazily wrap them around his small waist.
“See, and that just made me wetter…” you whine, your voice light and airy. “I—I really do want you, Zuko. Badly. Desperately. I want to…. oh wow, here comes the honesty,” your voice drops to a tentative whisper and your cheeks grow warmer. “I want to have sex with you, and not just in an I want to fuck you senseless kind of way, which I’d also like, but also in a sensual kind of way? Like I want to become even more intimate… with you.”
Zuko takes one step closer, his legs grazing the edge of your mattress. He brings his hands up, resting them on your knees, his large palms snug and steady against your skin.
He just looks down at you, searching your face, completely awestruck by the immense trust you are placing in his hands.
Slowly, his hands slide up from your knees, tracing a slow, burning path along the tops of your thighs until he leans over you, pinning his weight onto the mattress on either side of your head with the support of his arms. He doesn't press down on you; instead, he hovers just inches away, creating a warm, private cocoon in the dim light of your room. He reaches out, his long, calloused fingers gently cupping your heated cheek, his thumb catching a loose strand of hair to brush it away from your face.
“Are you sure,” he questions one last time.
You huff playfully. You grab the edge of your shirt, maintaining eye contact with him as you take it off in one smooth motion. “No more questions unless you’re talking me through it and asking who’s is it? Am I understood?”
An entirely captivated chuckle rumbles right against your chest, his shoulders shaking slightly as your specific set of orders hits him. An incredibly smitten smirk pulls at his lips, his gold eyes burning with a sudden, dark intelligence that proves he is more than happy to play by your new rules.
"I understand perfectly, beautiful," he murmurs, his voice entirely undone as his gaze drops down to the bare skin of your chest before locking back onto yours.
He doesn't waste another second. Zuko closes the small distance between your faces, capturing your lips in a deep, consuming kiss that feels entirely different from before. It’s heavy, possessive, and dripping with a sudden, unbothered confidence. His tongue glides smoothly against yours, drinking in your soft whimpers as his large hands slide down the sides of your body to stop right underneath the weight of your breast.
He takes his time breaking the contact of your mouths, but his lips don't go far.
He presses a warm, lingering kiss to your jawline, and then his path moves lower. He trails an agonizingly slow line of damp kisses down the sensitive column of your neck, making your head roll back against the duvet. He moves lower still, past your collarbone, his breath fanning across your bare skin and sending a wave of intense goosebumps rippling down your arms.
As his mouth descends, his large hands slide upward. His palms cup the soft weight of your breasts, his long fingers massaging the sensitive tissue with a heavy, unhurried rhythm that makes your breath hitch sharply.
When his lips finally find the aching curve of your breast, you let out a loud, unrestrained moan.
Zuko sweeps his thumb over one nipple, while his mouth claims the other side. He sucks the soft skin gently into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak before placing a careful, incredibly deliberate, and delicious bite right onto it.
The action sends your back arching into him. The sudden prick of his teeth mixed with the amazing pressure of his hands sends a jolt to your clit that makes it pulse against the thin fabric of your shorts. Your thighs tighten around him, your fingers tangle themselves into his hair as another loud moan slips past your lips.
He moves and handles you as if in the three months, he’s committed everything you’ve ever done to memory. Every kiss that made you stutter, every touch that made you turn into his chest and hide your face; and now he’s behaving as if every ounce of those lessons are being put into practice.
His reward for doing so is your endless praise falling from your lips in reverence. You wiggle and writhe underneath him, hips moving on their own accord to garner some form of friction to satiate and calm your cunt. “Zu–zuko, pleasee,” the plea comes out breathy and more moan than words as he bites a little harder this time.
“Please what, princess?” he breathes against your skin, slowly making his way lower down your body as he leaves a trail of wet kisses.
Your grip tightens in his hair, legs shaking from how tightly you're squeezing around him and the sheer anticipation of everything. “I–I want you and you’re— ooooh,” the words short-circuit as he places a kiss right on your center. You exhale shakily, legs falling from around his waist as you lift your head to look at him.
Lucifer or Michael, you’re not sure which side he falls on yet, but he looks like an angel in between your legs. And as he maintains eye contact with you while slipping your itty bitty shorts off, you start to think he’s falling more on the devilish side than anything else.
“I’m what? Taking my time? Being too rough? Not rough enough? Give me my half-time report,” he demands, adjusting your legs so they rest right back on his shoulders.
You glare down at him through the hazy fog of your arousal, a breathy, frustrated laugh slipping past your lips at his demanding tone.
"You're teasing," you accuse him, your voice shaking slightly as you try to steady your breathing. "That's your report. You are a terrible, wicked tease, Zuko."
Zuko doesn't even blink. His large hands slide down the backs of your calves, keeping your legs securely locked over his broad shoulders as he looks up at you with a calm, unyielding seriousness.
"I'm ensuring I don't hurt you," he informs you smoothly, his voice deep and completely steady despite the wild, chaotic rhythm of his pulse against your shins. "You asked for sensuality, princess. That means we don't rush. I'm making sure your body is ready for all of me.”
A defiant, sassy smirk instantly replaces your dazed expression. You lean back entirely, resting your weight on your hands behind you on the mattress, tilting your chin up in a bold display of confidence despite being completely bare to his gaze.
"I'm not a virgin, Zuko," you fire back, a playful challenge dancing in your eyes. "I know how to handle myself. You don't need to treat me like glass."
At your sass, his eyes darken instantly, a wicked grin pulling at the corner of his lips. He doesn't budge. Instead, he shifts his weight slightly forward, the massive, unyielding width of his shoulders widening your stance just a fraction more as he rests his hands firmly on your hips.
From his position on the floor, the heavy, prominent length of his erection is pressed right against the mattress between your thighs, a blatant visual reminder of the sheer size you're dealing with.
"I know you aren't," he responds snarkily, his gold eyes locking onto yours from below with a dangerous, teasing edge. He leans in just enough for his lips to brush against your inner thigh. "But the way your entire mouth dropped open on the couch the second you felt my print tells me a completely different story, beautiful. It lets me know that you've never slept with anyone my size."
A heavy, sudden surge of heat hits your cheeks at the direct hit, your words instantly trapping themselves behind your teeth. He catches your stunned reaction immediately, a flash of pure, unbothered male pride taking over his sharp features as he watches you struggle for a comeback from his spot between your legs.
Your mouth parts as you scramble to form a sharp, witty rebuttal, your mind racing to find any sort of comeback to salvage your pride. You open your mouth, a sarcastic remark right on the tip of your tongue—
But Zuko doesn't give you the chance to speak.
With his hands firmly anchoring your hips to the edge of the mattress, he leans his head forward and completely intervenes. He slides his tongue out, delivering one slow, incredibly broad stroke from your entrance all the way up to your sensitive clit.
It’s electric, so much so it zaps all coherent thoughts away. Until all you can focus on is the way he’s devouring your cunt with a type of precision you’ve only ever read about in books. Your toes curl and your fingers dig into the comforter as if your life depends on it. Your hips instinctively tilting upward into his face as the delicious ache in your lower stomach tightens into a knot of pure desperation.
"Zuko—ohhhhh god," you cry out, your hands flying down to tangle into his dark hair, not to push him away, but to anchor him right where he is.
He alternates his pace with perfect execution, moving between long, wet licks that coat your center and deep, dragging suctions right against your clit. Every time his tongue swirls around the bundle of nerves, a heavy jolt shoots straight to your core, and every time he uses his lips to gently pull at your sensitive skin, a loud, helpless whine slips past your lips.
Just as the tension in your lower stomach begins to tighten into a knot of pure desperation, Zuko shifts. Keeping his mouth firmly pressed against you, he slides one of his hands down and guides two long fingers directly against your soaked entrance. With one smooth, unhurried push, he slides them both deep inside your cunt, stretching you beautifully.
A loud, unrestrained moan rips from your chest, your head throwing itself back as the double sensation of his mouth and his fingers completely short-circuits your mind. Your inner muscles clamp around the added thickness, pulsing frantically.
Zuko lets out a low, vibration of approval against your skin, instantly obeying. He hooks his fingers upward, finding that perfect, sensitive ridge inside you, and begins a slow, punishingly deep rhythm.
"Keep going," you gasp out, your eyes blowing wide as he targets your sweet spot perfectly. Your back bows off the bed, your heels dig into his back and fingers tighten their hold on the silky strands of his hair. “Y-you’re so fucking perfect, oooo my god.”
The relentless, matching rhythm of his tongue and fingers is too much to bear. Your inner walls tighten into an incredibly fierce, desperate vice around his knuckles, and your breath completely stalls in your chest as the wave finally breaks.
You scream his name into the quiet room, your hips lifting completely off the mattress as a violent, blinding orgasm ripples through you.
Zuko doesn't flinch, and he doesn't pull back. True to your command, he handles you with absolute, unyielding control, riding you through every single contraction. He keeps his two fingers buried deep within your pulsing warmth, moving them in a slow, heavy, grounding stretch that coaxes even more pleasure from your climax. His mouth stays firmly sealed against your clit, his tongue delivering deep, solid strokes that drink in the thick, glossy evidence of your orgasm until your frantic whimpers turn into quiet, exhausted pants.
He presses one last kiss right above your sensitive bundle of nerves and begins to remove his long fingers. You let out a soft, trailing whine at the sudden absence of him.
But before he can fully retract his hand, your hand flies down to catch him by the wrist.
Zuko freezes, kneeling between your thighs as he looks up at you through his lashes, his breathing heavy and uneven. With a slow, thoroughly impish grin spreading across your features, you guide his large hand upward. You lift his wet fingers right to your face, parting your lips to slip his two glistening fingers directly between them.
His eyes widen, darkening to near-black as you hold his unblinking gaze. As you begin to slowly swirl your tongue around his fingers, cleaning the thick, glossy evidence of your own orgasm off his skin, Zuko instinctively shifts. The intense visual forces him forward, his broad chest leaning over the mattress to hover slightly above you, narrowing the space until you can feel the radiating heat of his skin.
Before you can even say a word to break the silence, a thoroughly captivated chuckle rumbles from Zuko's chest. He shakes his head slightly, his eyes glittering with a mix of disbelief and intense affection as you finally let his fingers glide free of your lips.
"You are absolute trouble," he murmurs, his voice entirely kaput as his thumb gently traces the wet contour of your lower lip.
Your grin only widens at the accusation, your eyes flashing with a daring, heated spark as you suddenly sit up. The forward momentum of your body forces him to yield, making him straighten up to his full height as he stands between your parted legs on the edge of the mattress.
You slide your hands forward, your palms resting firmly against the solid, warm span of his hips to anchor him right where he is.
"You like this trouble," you respond smoothly, your voice trickling into a light, airy demand that vibrates with anticipation. "Now clothes off, before I get feral."
Zuko’s smile widens, thoroughly amused and entranced with your ability to be a tease, yet comedic simultaneously. He towers over you, looking down from his full height as your hands grip his hips, the raw hunger in his expression completely sealing his fate.
"As you wish, tyrant," he growls softly.
His hands instantly grip the bottom hem of his black hoodie, pulling it over his head in one swift, fluid motion.
You wolf-whistle, the sharp, playful sound echoing loudly in the quiet room.
The unexpected gesture completely shatters Zuko’s intense expression, pulling another rich, genuine laugh from his chest. His broad shoulders shake as he drops the discarded hoodie onto the floor, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement at your sheer audacity.
Taking full advantage of his distraction, your hands glide smoothly up the firm, defined expanse of his bare chest. You lean forward, maneuvering your body so you are now kneeling right on the very edge of the mattress. The added height brings you perfectly level with him, allowing you to wrap your arms securely around his neck, your fingers tangling into the hairs at the base of his head.
The moment you are within reach, Zuko's large hands slide instantly around your waist. His palms are scorching hot against your bare skin as they travel lower, his long fingers spreading wide to settle firmly over the curve of your ass.
With a sudden, possessive flex of his muscles, he pulls you firmly against him. A soft, breathless moan escapes your lips at the sudden impact. The sensation of being entirely skin-to-skin with him is overwhelming, every single line of your body molded perfectly against the rigid, heavy musculature of his frame.
"You are literally like a heater in human form," you mumble against the warm skin of his shoulder, burying your face in his neck to hide the sheer dizziness of the feeling.
Zuko tilts his head back just enough to look down at you, a soft, incredibly smitten expression melting his sharp features.
"You are adorable," he murmurs, his voice dripping with affection.
You let out a soft giggle, shaking your head against his chest as you look up at him through your lashes. "Stop it. I am supposed to be sexy right now."
A soft, deep rumble ripples through Zuko’s chest as he pulls you just a fraction closer, his large hands anchoring you firmly against his hips. "You're incredibly multitalented," he tells you quietly, his eyes dancing with merriment as he takes in the playful pout on your lips.
You let out another quiet giggle, your fingers lightly tracing the strong line of his collarbone. "You know, you really don't have to compliment me like you're trying to get in my pants. You're already there. Technically, I should be the one complimenting you right now because I am very actively trying to get into yours."
Zuko’s head throws back as a piquant, booming laugh escapes him, the sound filling the quiet space of your bedroom. He shakes his head, looking down at you with pure adoration.
"You are on a serious comedic run with your jokes tonight, princess," he murmurs, his thumbs gently sweeping over the bare skin of your lower back.
"Listen, excitement and nervousness make me the absolute love child of Kevin Hart and Martin Lawrence," you explain smoothly, leaning your weight fully into his solid frame. But then you freeze, your eyes widening slightly as a brilliant realization hits you. You pull back just enough to look him dead in the eye. "Oh, wait. Pause. The very next TV show we are starting together is Martin. You're going to love it."
Zuko doesn't even hesitate. A tender, easy smile graces his features as he nods. "Okay. We'll watch it next."
The sheer readiness of his answer melts something deep inside your chest. A delicate, breathy sigh escapes you, and you lean back in, peppering a flurry of sweet, adoring kisses across his jawline, moving down to the warm, sensitive skin of his neck.
"I love it when you just tell me yes," you murmur against his skin, your lips brushing softly against his pulse point with every word.
He lets out a soft, breathy sigh against your hair, his arms tightening around you as if the admission is the simplest thing in the world. "It's very easy to do," he tells you, his voice steady.
Your grin only widens against his skin at his quick compliance. You pull back just a fraction of an inch to look at him, a sudden, bright twinkle of mischief dancing across your features.
"I think we're stalling because we're nervous," you tease, tilting your head with a challenging little smirk.
Zuko lets out an amused huff, a slow, knowing smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he holds your gaze. "I think we sounds better as you," he counters effortlessly, completely turning the accusation back on you without a single shred of shame.
Indignant, you lean forward and bite the side of his neck, your teeth catching the firm cord of his muscle a little sharply. Zuko lets out a deep, heavy moan directly into your ear, his large hands suddenly flexing to squeeze the soft flesh of your ass with a sudden, bruising grip.
The bite is instantly cut short and turns into a loud, high-pitched gasp.
The raw force of the response sends a wild, electric jolt straight to cunt that makes your walls contract, making your eyes widen in absolute shock as he holds you completely pinned against his rigid frame.
Zuko pulls back just enough to look down at you, a thoroughly satisfied smirk playing on his features as he finds you completely speechless. The smug, unbothered confidence returns to his sharp features in full force. He drags one large hand up the bare skin of your back, his long fingers trailing a line of fire along your spine until they lace firmly into your braids, gently pulling your head back to force you to meet his scorching gold gaze.
"How flexible are you, beautiful?" he asks, his voice thick as he tilts his head, studying the way your breath hitches.
A sharp, matching smile full of pure mischief spreads across your face despite the heavy pulling sensation at your scalp. You tilt your chin up, holding his eyes with an unyielding confidence.
"I think you should find out," you challenge softly, your voice a teasing murmur. "Unless, of course... you're nervous."
Zuko playfully rolls his eyes at the callback, an amused huff escaping his lips, but his expression softens just a fraction with that familiar, protective seriousness. "I'm only nervous that I'm going to hurt you."
You let out a breathy, dramatic laugh, your hands smoothing over his broad shoulders. "Zuko, I am practically a splash pad at the moment. You aren't going to hurt me," you reassure him, before your smirk turns entirely mischievous. "Besides... I like a little pain."
He hums, the deep sound vibrating straight through your chest as his grip on your braids tightens just a fraction, tilting your face up a millimeter more. "Only when you're giving me attitude, princess."
Your mouth drops open in a dramatic gasp, your eyes widening with faux offense. "Why, I would never," you drawl, the sarcasm dripping so heavily from your tone that it makes the corner of his mouth twitch.
Before he can even call you out on it, you suddenly tighten your grip around his neck.
Using your entire body weight, you throw yourself backward onto the mattress, pulling his massive frame straight down on top of you. The sudden shift in momentum sends a wild rush through the air, your bodies hitting the bed in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter. The second your back settles against the sheets, you adjust your hips, wrapping your legs tightly around his firm waist to anchor him.
With a sudden, coordinated surge of energy, you use the leverage of your thighs against his hips and roll, flipping the two of you over in one fluid, chaotic motion until you are sitting triumphantly on top of his chest.
Sitting astride his broad chest feels like an absolute victory. Your braids spill over your shoulders as you look down at him, your hands resting flat against the hard, warm expanse of his pectorals. From this vantage point, you can feel the heavy thud of his heart beneath your palms and the rigid length of his erection pressing firmly against you from beneath his loungewear pants.
Zuko doesn't even look disgruntled about being overpowered. Instead, he lies perfectly still beneath you, his large hands sliding up to grip your outer thighs to keep you balanced. A slow, incredibly indulgent smile spreads across his face as he looks up at you, his gold eyes tracking the triumphant gleam in your expression.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly, affectionate rumble that vibrates right into your thighs. "Sitting up there like you actually own the place."
"I do own the place, we're in my bedroom," you remind him cheekily, leaning down just enough to let your breasts graze his chest. You trace a slow pattern over his collarbone with one finger, your voice dropping into a playful whisper. "And right now, I think I own you, too."
Zuko’s gaze darkens instantly, the indulgent warmth in his eyes turning into something thick and dangerous. His thumbs dig into the sides of your thighs, his grip tightening just enough to let you know exactly how easily he could switch your positions if he wanted to.
"Do you?" he questions softly, a dare dripping from every single syllable. "You're very brave when you're on top, princess. What exactly do you plan on doing with me now that you've got me pinned?”
"Well, first," you murmur, placing open mouth kisses along the column of his throat, "I plan on getting you out of these pants. Because they are currently serving as a barrier between me and the prize, and I am a very impatient woman."
Zuko lets out a low, rough sound that is half-groan, half-laugh, his head tilting back against the pillows to give you better access to his neck. "Is that so?"
You hook your fingers into the band of his loungepants and boxers.
"It is," you whisper, your hands tugging the fabrics down his hips just enough to let the heavy, rigid length of him spring free against your inner thigh.
The direct, searing contact of his bare skin against your soaking cunt makes your entire body shudder, a sharp gasp breaking past your lips. He’s massive. Bigger than any toy you own. Bigger than anyone you’ve slept with before. And it’s pretty. Veiny. Girthy. The tip slightly red and glossy with precum.
He watches with pure mirth as your gaze remains fixed on the prize you’ve been working so hard to acquire. Your mouth opens and then closes. You inhale sharply, before releasing a laugh that’s partially soundless from the shock.
“Yo–you— I–I,” you clear your throat, trying to regain your bearings. “I appreciate you for working me open, you fucking monster. You should’ve just said you had a third leg. I–I we have breakfast plans with Suki and Sokka tomorrow, I’m not gonna make that— we’re not gonna make it,” you ramble, completely abandoning your perch to remove his pants entirely as you shimmy down his frame.
Your gaze never quite leaves the size of him as you move around. Zuko simply lies back and observes you with a potent mix of reverence and amusement, a soft, highly entertained smile tugging at his lips as he listens to you completely unravel over the logistics of tomorrow morning.
“I–I was real confident that I could just take you for a joyride on the first go round, but that—that’s gonna require a slight rain check after you’ve worked me open entirely. Shit. You may actually split me in half. I’m so sorry I doubted you, your worry was based in logic, but—but my mom didn’t raise a quitter and if she did, it’s one of my siblings,” you continue, dropping his pants and boxers on your bedroom floor before climbing back on top of him.
The second your knees settle back on either side of his hips, the hearty laugh that had been building in Zuko’s chest finally breaks free. He shakes his head, his broad shoulders shaking against the mattress as he looks up at you with pure, unadulterated entertainment.
"Good to know your family honor is safe," he cracks, his voice deep and raspy as his large hands immediately fly back to your waist. His fingers dig firmly into your skin, anchoring you right where he wants you. "But for someone who was just begging me to hurry up, you sure have a lot of thoughts about Sokka's breakfast schedule."
The playful mockery in his gold speckled eyes instantly shifts into something dangerous and consuming. With his hands still locked onto your waist, Zuko suddenly sits up, his powerful upper body rising off the mattress until he is looming directly over you, forcing your chest to tilt back. His thumbs sweep over your hip bones, a sudden, firm downwards pressure forcing your pelvis down until your drenched cunt is resting right against the heavy, pulsing crown of his length.
"You're done rambling now, right?" he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave into a low, commanding rumble that vibrates straight through your thighs. He lowers your hips just a fraction of an inch, the blunt, massive head of his erection intentionally nudging against your opening, testing your stretch. "Because you're right. My worry was based in logic. And since you're apparently not a quitter..."
He pauses, a thoroughly wicked, dominant smirk flashing across his face as he locks his gaze onto your wide eyes.
"...let's see how much of this third leg you can actually handle."
You slide your arms over his shoulders, clinging to his upright frame as a shudder of pure anticipation runs down your spine. Keeping his large hands locked tightly on your waist, Zuko begins to lower you down. He moves with an agonizing, meticulous care, taking his sweet time despite the heavy, erratic thud of his own pulse against your thighs.
The sheer width of him breaches your entrance with a thick, relentless pressure that has your nails instantly digging deep into the firm muscles of his bare back. Zuko doesn't even flinch. He hardly registers the sting of your nails as his eyes remain completely fixed on your face, tracking every micro-expression.
Your eyes are blown completely wide, staring at his shoulder as your chest heaves, your bottom lip caught tightly between your teeth as you try to swallow down a wordless cry. Only the broad head of his erection has entered, but the stretching fullness is already overwhelming.
Sensing your distress, Zuko pauses. He freezes your momentum entirely, keeping you pinned at that exact depth. Slowly, he lifts one hand from your waist, his large thumb reaching up to gently press against your chin until he coaxes your trembling bottom lip free from between your teeth.
"Don't do that," he murmurs, his voice a hushed, gravelly caress as his thumb strokes the wet, reddened skin of your lip. He tilts his head, his gaze burning into yours with a fierce, protective intensity. "Bite me instead of yourself. I don't want you hurting yourself, princess."
You blink through the haze of pleasure and friction, a faint pout forming on your lips. "But that'll hurt you," you whisper breathlessly, your fingers flexing against his shoulders.
An unhurried, completely soft look enters his eyes, though his grip on your waist remains utterly unyielding. "I'd much rather prefer that."
"I don't," you protest, your stubbornness making the corner of his mouth twitch.
But the words are instantly stolen from your tongue. Before you can argue any further, Zuko subtly shifts his weight, sliding your hips down just a fraction of an inch deeper onto his massive width. Your mouth drops open even wider at the sudden, mind-melting stretch, a sharp gasp catching in your throat as your inner walls spasms around him.
You stare at him, completely undone by the sheer size of what's currently filling you up, before your head drops against his chest. You give a weak, defeated nod against his warm skin.
"Okay," you whimper out, your voice trembling with a mix of submission and heavy arousal. "You win. I'll bite you."
A rumbling vibration of approval echoes in Zuko’s chest as he hears the surrender in your voice. He doesn't waste a single second. His hand slides right back down to your waist, his long fingers anchoring your hips with an iron grip that makes it very clear who is in control now.
"Good girl," he growls softly against your ear.
The praise has your inner walls clenching automatically. You hum back in response, your thoughts somewhere in the ether as you breathe him in and feel him.
With that same agonizing, controlled power, Zuko lifts his hips, forcing you down another fraction of an inch. The relentless, inch-by-inch stretch is so completely encompassing that your brain short-circuits. True to your promise, you lean forward and bury your face in the crook of his neck, your teeth sinking sharply into the thick, tense muscle where his shoulder meets his neck.
Zuko lets out a sharp, guttural hiss at the sting of your teeth, but instead of pulling away, the pain seems to drive him completely over the edge. His grip on your waist turns bruising, his knuckles turning white against your skin as he deliberately shifts your hips downward, sliding deeper into your soaking, tight warmth.
A muffled, entirely ruined sob is trapped against his skin as your walls frantically flutter, trying to make room for the sheer, impossible volume of him
“You’re doing so good for me, princess,” Zuko praises. He keeps pushing, slow and merciless, until his pelvis hits your bare thighs with a solid, heavy thud.
He is buried entirely inside you. Every single millimeter of his veiny, heavy length is completely sheathed in your heat, filling you so thoroughly that you can barely catch your breath.
Zuko’s head falls back, a ragged, breathless groan tearing from his throat as your tight cunt twitches around him in a vicious, pulsing vice-grip. His chest heaves against yours, his eyes shut tight as he forces himself to hold completely still, giving your body a moment to adapt to the large, welcomed intrusion.
You exhale quietly against his shoulder, letting the hot, trembling breath fan over his skin as the initial shock of his size transitions into a profound, heavy warmth. Your lips linger against his neck for a moment before you press a gentle, apologetic kiss directly over the fresh teeth imprint you just left in his muscle.
You don't move yet. Your body is still adapting to the thick, unyielding fullness stretching you to your absolute limit, so you simply turn your head on his shoulder, resting your cheek against his skin as your gaze tracks the sharp, tense lines of his neck and collarbone.
"Thank you, big monster," you murmur affectionately, your voice a breathless whisper that vibrates directly against his pulse point.
A faint, rough huff of laughter shakes Zuko’s chest beneath yours, the sound rich with a mix of exhaustion and absolute adoration. His large hands remain firmly locked onto your waist, but the bruising grip relaxes just a fraction, his thumbs resuming those small, soothing strokes against your hips to help you stay grounded.
"You're welcome, princess," he replies, his voice incredibly resonant and raspy in the quiet room. He tilts his head slightly, his lips brushing the side of your face as he lets out a long, shuddering breath. "Are you alright? Truly? I'm not going to move until you tell me you're ready."
A bright, delighted laugh breaks from your throat, the sound slightly muffled against his shoulder as your inner walls give another helpless, happy twitch around his length.
"Ah, big and patient," you tease in a winded murmur, your fingers lightly tracing the broad expanse of his chest. "God, did I hit the lottery."
Zuko’s resonant laugh returns in full force, a rumble that you feel completely mirrored in the tightest rings of your core. He shakes his head, the tips of his dark hair brushing your cheek as his hands on your waist give a sudden, firm squeeze that acts as a quiet, protective warning.
"Don't get used to the patient part, princess," he growls dotingly, his eyes flashing with a sudden, mischievous intent as he locks his gaze back onto yours. "You wanted a joyride. Now that you've caught your breath, tell me if you can handle a little speed."
You lift your head off his shoulder, a defiant, wicked smirk flashing across your face despite the ache keeping you anchored to his lap. You slide your hands down to his chest, your palms flat against his warm skin as you lock your gaze with his burning, gold-speckled eyes.
"I told you," you murmur, your voice steadying as you reclaim your confidence. "My mom didn't raise a quitter. But..." You pause, a sudden, playful tilt to your head as your thighs tremble slightly under the strain of keeping yourself balanced over his massive width. "...this third leg is monstrous, big guy. I think I'm gonna need some assistance if I'm gonna take this joyride properly."
Zuko’s gaze darkens instantly, a downright pleased, sinful smile pulling at the corner of his lips at your direct request.
"Always happy to help, princess," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly rumble.
He doesn't need to be told twice. His large hands slide from your waist down to the undersides of your thighs. Hooking his strong fingers firmly under your knees, he lifts your legs slightly, taking the entire burden of your weight onto his own powerful frame and effortlessly stabilizing your balance.
"Here," he growls dotingly, his thumbs rubbing reassuring circles into your skin as he manually guides your hips back, tilting your pelvis at a much sharper, devastating angle. "Hold onto my shoulders."
The moment your hands lock onto his frame, you shift your hips, driving yourself down while Zuko simultaneously surges upward.
The coordinated assistance changes everything. The new angle allows his veiny length to slide inside you with an even deeper, more friction-heavy impact, striking your sweet spot so accurately that your vision completely blurs.
You lean forward, entirely overwhelmed by the sheer velocity of the collision, and smash your mouth against his. A loud, completely undone whine is crushed between your lips, turning into a desperate, winded confession against his skin.
"Holy shit," you moan directly into the heat of the kiss, your tongue tangling with his as your inner walls flutter frantically around him. "Zuko—you're massive."
Zuko lets out a deep, guttural grunt straight into your mouth, the raw praise driving him completely wild. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, matching the sudden, relentless increase in his hip speed as the two of you lock into a punishing pace, his pelvis hitting yours with a loud, wet smack.
He swallows your moan, his grip on your thighs tightening to a bruising intensity as he continues to drive upward with an unhurried, devastating power. He breaks the kiss just enough to look at you, his chest heaving violently against yours, his gold-speckled eyes dark with a heavy, consuming possessiveness.
"You're taking me so well, princess," he pants out, his voice a rough, broken growl as he slides nearly all the way out before burying his entire veiny width back inside you to the hilt. "Look at you. You're taking every single inch."
The deep, relentless friction of the impact makes your head roll back, your fingers clawing into the hard muscles of his shoulders as a loud, completely ruined cry rips from your throat. Your inner walls flutter frantically, clamping down around his massive length in a desperate, pulsing squeeze.
You force your eyes open, holding his burning gaze as your hips slam down against his pelvis once more.
"Because you're fucking me so good," you moan back to him, completely unfiltered and breathless from the sheer intensity of it. "Baby, it feels—god, fucking so good."
You start to lose your grip on his shoulders. Your hands slide down, your fingers clawing blindly as your nails drag down the firm, sweaty expanse of his back, leaving a trail of hot, red lines in their wake.
"Z-Zuko—" you whimper out, your head rolling frantically against his neck as the friction inside you reaches a boiling point. Your core is twitching violently, walls clamping around him so hard that his breath hitches with every relentless thrust. "Wait, wait—I'm gonna cum again. Baby, I'm gonna cum!"
"Perfect," Zuko growls, his voice entirely ruined and thick as he wraps one massive arm around your upper back, locking you tight against his chest. His own lower body locks up, his hips hitching as the vice-grip of your climax pushes him right to the absolute precipice. "Do it. I'm right behind you, princess—I'm so close—"
"Finish inside me," you beg breathlessly, your voice a desperate, undone whimper against his skin as you arch your back, grounding your pelvis completely against his. "Please, baby, fill me up. Don't pull out."
A deep, primal groan tears from Zuko's throat at your plea, any remaining restraint shattering completely. He doesn't slow down for a single second. Instead, he drives upward with a sudden, devastating surge of power, burying his full width to the hilt, perfectly targeting that hyper-sensitive spot until your entire body goes completely rigid.
His name falls from your lips like a litany as he fucks you through it, drawing out every tremor of your release while simultaneously spilling his own hot, heavy release inside you. He pumps into you deep and hard, holding you trapped against his chest until you’re both left completely reeling together and panting as the aftershocks roll through you.
The silence that follows is thick, dense, and broken only by the synchronized, ragged sound of your chests heaving against one another.
Zuko doesn't move a muscle. He remains sitting upright, his powerful arms locked around you like a vice, keeping you plastered securely against his torso while his head slumps forward onto your shoulder. His skin is slick with sweat, a profound, radiating heat pulsing off his frame that feels completely consuming in the quiet room. Inside you, the thick, substantial length of him remains buried to the absolute hilt, twitching faintly as the last lingering aftershocks of his release settle profound within your core.
A long, shuddering breath rumbles through his chest, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck where a faint, damp trail of his own breath cools against your skin.
"God," Zuko pants out, his voice a thoroughly wrecked, resonant whisper that vibrates directly against your collarbone. His fingers flex weakly against your lower back, tracing the dip of your spine with lazy, completely satiated affection. "You... you're entirely lethal, you know that?"
You let out a faint, airy puff of a laugh, your forehead resting profoundly against the side of his neck. Your muscles feel completely melted, like jelly, and you lack the energy to even lift your eyelids.
"I told you," you whimper-whisper back, your voice a tiny thread of sound. "Not a quitter."
A faint, thoroughly entertained huff of laughter shakes his broad shoulders. Carefully, slowly, Zuko lifts his head just enough to look at you. His eyes are weighted, dark with a lingering, intense devotion, a tender smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he takes in your utterly flushed, ruined expression.
"Yeah, well, your family honor is definitely intact," he murmurs dotingly, reaching his thumb out to stroke your cheek. "But I think your prediction was accurate."
"Which one?" you mumble, blinking up at him, fighting to clear the post-sex fog from your cognitive functioning.
Zuko’s smile turns into a full grin, a faint, boyish flush creeping up his neck despite the dominant energy he just displayed. He gives your waist a gentle, affectionate squeeze, reminding you of exactly how thoroughly filled up you still are.
"We are definitely not making those breakfast plans with Suki and Sokka."
You grin back at him, nodding in agreement, “Couldn’t agree more, I need to show you how flexible I am.” You pause, moaning as you adjust to sit upright in his lap. “I just know your ass has a long fuse, fucking stallion of a man,” you mumble, staring at him incredulously.
The rich, resonant laugh that rumbles through Zuko’s chest this time is completely unvarnished, his broad shoulders shaking as he tries—and utterly fails—to keep a straight face. The sudden shift from your post-coital haze back into unhinged, competitive rambling catches him completely off guard, the "stallion" comment making a dark flattered flush creep all the way up to his ears.
"A long fuse? A stallion?" he echoes, his voice a highly amused scratch.
Before you can even clarify your incredulous math, his large hands tighten on your waist, and with a sudden, seamless shift of his powerful frame, Zuko completely flips the two of you over.
Your vision spins for a breathless second before your back hits the mattress. The sudden change in gravity forces a sharp, needy gasp from your throat as his massive, substantial length slides deep and re-seats itself inside you from an entirely new, devastating angle. Zuko hovers directly over you, his broad shoulders framing your vision as he traps you beneath his heavy weight, pinning your hands gently beside your head.
"The math is mathing, Zuko. Two rounds back-to-back, you're handling me like I weigh nothing, and you're still sitting inside me like an absolute brick,” you mumble, giving your hips a cautious tilt upward to feel how solid he still is inside of you.
A gratified growl escapes his chest at your unfiltered logic, the dark flush on his neck deepening as your praise hits exactly where it hurts.
"You think you have me figured out, do you?" he murmurs dotingly, his thumbs rubbing firm, warm circles into your wrists where he holds them down.
"I'm just stating facts, big guy," you tease, a sudden, wicked glint cutting through your post-sex fog. "A regular fuse blows under that kind of pressure. Yours just keeps burning. So yeah... stallion behavior. Prove me wrong."
A shadowed, sinful smirk completely replaces the boyish grin on Zuko's face, his gold-speckled eyes clouding over with a sudden, competitive hunger that matches your own. He lets out a low, gravelly chuckle that vibrates right through his broad chest and directly into yours.
"Prove you wrong?" he echoes, his voice dropping into a rough, dominant register that makes your walls give a helpless, frantic twitch around his thick extension.
He releases your wrists, but before you can even think about celebrating your freedom, his large hands slide down the frame of your body. He hooks his strong fingers firmly behind your knees and smoothly drives your legs up toward your chest, folding you completely in half beneath his massive frame. The sudden, extreme change in the angle forces a sharp, completely undone gasp from your throat as his length buries itself even deeper to the hilt, stretching your hyper-sensitive walls to their absolute limit.
Zuko leans down, hovering just millimeters from your lips, his breath fanning across your mouth as he locks his gaze onto your blown-out pupils.
"Can I prove it while testing out exactly how flexible you are, princess?" he breathes dotingly, a confident, predatory smile pulling at his lips.
You might not make it to lunch either.
Fin
I'm currently in the Caribbean visiting family, but I just needed to upload this so I could pivot to my other WIP--- and my apologizes for the delayed upload. My goal is to try to post once a week a least, but we shall see. Writing on the beach distracts me and I'm here for s couple more days 😭.
I don't know if other writers do this; but a lot of what I write is what I want to read. Therefore, when I start something, I have to see it through because I want to read it like everyone else and I get impatient.
Anywho thanks so much for reading! if you asked to be tagged and I missed you, please let me know so I can add it to my documents and not forget for the next post!!!
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬◞﹒୧ . As an nationally renowned attorney married to a wealthy businessman, you have everything you need to be happy. However, you're not. You never wanted this. When your mother wants to force you to have children, you realize your life has been stolen. Depressed, you get drunk in a bar, contemplating the disaster of your life. But everything changes when you meet Eren, a rapper who offers you what you've always wanted: to feel free. The attraction is immediate and Eren turns your daily life upside down. Until everything falls apart because of the most dangerous feeling of all: love.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬◞﹒୧ . 18.8k words, black!fem!reader, plus!size!reader, westafrican!reader, capeverdean!reader, rapper!eren, happens in los angeles, angst, hurt, romance, good girl x bad boy, opposite attract, older!reader, age gap (33 & 24), pet names (baby, ma'am, ma’), forbidden romance, falling in love, christian!reader, cheating, music, trauma, family pressure, fear of abandonment, abortion, smut, oral sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration, degradation, rough sex, hair pulling, spit in mouth, fingers sucking, doggy style, spanking, spoon position, squirting, bittersweet ending.
𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬◞﹒୧ . [repost + edited] i was so embarrassed of this one lmfao, bc tf you mean eren was a jazz rapper, i was CRAZY!!! this version is way better !!! hope you will like it <3
Sade played in the jazz bar, creating a soft and sensual atmosphere. The sound of customers laughing with their friends, the shuffling of wooden stools, and the bartender's shaker with rolled-up sleeves as he poured drinks filled the room. Dim red lights shone across your face as you held your head in your hands, sobbing aloud at a far-flung table, alone.
You weren't the type to let yourself get so overwhelmed by emotions like that. You were a powerful, confident woman who, at 33, was the best attorney in Los Angeles. Everyone was intimidated by you, your quick wit, and your discipline in your work. You inspired respect wherever you went.
You were ashamed. You hated drinking because it made you lose control of your 'proper persona', which you had to maintain for appearances. You sniffled and took another sip of alcohol. The bitter liquid burned your esophagus; you had chosen the strongest liquor to forget your problems.
Your hair slicked back into an afro puff, your mascara dripped down your face and ruined your light, professional makeup. The red blush you had applied this morning had dissipated the second you burst into tears because of your mother.
“We've given you enough time for your career, now you have to have children. You're over thirty! After everything we've done for you, you want to end the family line? You're our only child!”
Your tears intensified as you recalled the scene, and an ungainly trickle of snot slid down your nose. Your curly locks escaped from your bun as your hands clutched your head in despair.
“My life is a disaster, what have I done with my life so far? I’m such a failure,” you muttered, your voice hoarse.
“Can you stop crying? You're not alone here.”
A deep masculine voice made you look up. Tall and muscular, a man was leaning toward you. As if he'd just stepped out of the gym, he wore a compression shirt that hugged the hard planes of his body, and the lines of his abs through the fabric made you wish you didn't already have a husband. His arms and biceps were decorated with black ink, tattoos all the way down to his neck. Your gazes met and your mouth grew dry at the sight of his piercing green eyes. Like a sharp dagger, it was as if his eyes were cutting you in half to find the source of your inner turmoil. His shoulder-length brown hair framed his angular face, and his thick eyebrows were furrowed.
“I’m so sorry.”
“You know you’re not the only one having a bad day?”
His harsh voice grazed your skin like a knife. There was something condescending and grumpy in it that almost made you feel guilty for disturbing him, but because of the alcohol making you emotional, you were unable to stop crying.
Against all odds, the man dragged the chair to sit across from you. In his hands, he held an open notebook and a pen on which were written texts that distantly resembled song lyrics. A deep crease between his brows, he tried to concentrate, but your occasional whimpers and sniffles made his jaw tense.
“Your boyfriend left you? Do you know the planet is full of men? You’re a gorgeous woman, stop crying over some worthless asshole, it’s pathetic.”
“A gorgeous woman?”
You were sure you looked like a nightmare with your runny mascara and snot, but the stranger seemed sincere, his eyes serious and voice firm.
“I’m married,” you cleared your throat. “And that’s exactly the problem.”
He cocked his head to one side.
“Kill that man if he bothers you.”
You let out an incredulous chuckle at his blunt statement. “I wish I could. But it’s not his fault, it’s mine.”
You glanced at his large, tattooed hands that had rings that were silver as well as his chain around his neck. He drew his full, plump lips into a thin line, his face stern as he stared at his notebook while playing with his pen between his middle and index fingers. After a few seconds of silence, he let out a heavy breath.
“Man, where has my inspiration gone? If this keeps up, I'll never release my album on time.”
“Are you a musician?”
For the first time he'd spoken to you, the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile.
“You don't know me?”
“You seem young, I only listen to gospel, I don't know anything about recent music.”
Surprise flashed across his face. “Only gospel?”
“Yeah?” You tilted your head, not understanding what the problem was.
He shook his head, not believing his ears. “Are you an extreme Christian or something?”
“Christian yes, extreme no. My parents just raised me that way.”
“I'm a rapper. You're the first person I meet who tells me they only listen to gospel. Does that mean you only listen to music about God? Not love music, sad music, or ego-trip music to feel confident?”
“I feel pretty confident with gospel. Especially when it's gospel influenced by soul. But I listen to the music of my culture too, like Kizomba and Cabo Zouk.”
The man narrowed his eyes, doubtful. “So you don't have a sex playlist?”
“A what?!”
His smile widened into a full, playful grin. “A sex playlist, miss prude.”
Because of his nonsense, you had almost forgotten why your eyes were itching and why you were there. You sighed, massaging your temples with your fingers.
“My husband isn't into that.”
“I don’t give a damn about your husband who lets you get drunk at 10 p.m. alone.” His face hardened. “I was talking about you.”
“Sex is kind of boring, music would distract me.”
“Are you asexual?”
“No, it’s just… I don’t know… Long and boring…”
“Ma’am, your man sounds lame as hell.”
“Don’t say that…”
A couple walked past you, their children trotting behind them, and it reminded you of the conversation with your mother. You burst into tears again, and the stranger rolled his eyes.
“There.” He handed you a tissue he had taken out of his pocket.
You blew your nose loudly with it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because of you fucking crying, I can't concentrate and this is the only kind of bar where I won't be recognized, so we're both stuck.”
“Are you famous?”
“My last album was in the top ten spots on the Billboard charts for 15 consecutive weeks.”
Since your face showed no reaction, he deduced you knew nothing about the Billboard charts.
“Yeah, I’m famous. It’s a pain in the ass.”
“You should be grateful, God bless you with success. Not everyone has this chance.”
He looked displeased, his features sharpening.
“I haven’t worked since I was 14 for my success to be attributed to a bearded man in the sky.”
You frowned. This man didn’t mince his words.
“You’re right. Sorry to force my beliefs on you.”
His expression relaxed. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”
You stared at your wet handkerchief, feeling the sadness from earlier wash over you like a surging wave drowning you. Unable to survive this deluge alone, you needed to share your pain. Besides, alcohol inhibited you, preventing you from withdrawing into your 'professional mode'.
“If you don't mind, can I talk to you about my life? I don't have any friends.”
“I'm not the most empathetic person in the world. If my friends have problems with their boyfriends, I tell them to beat them.”
You chuckled and sniffled. “Yeah, I noticed.”
“But go ahead, maybe your sob story will give me inspiration for a song.”
You took a deep breath. You didn’t know his name but you were going to tell him your deepest wounds.
“My mom wants me to have kids, but I don't want any.”
“What's the problem? You just don't have to get pregnant.”
You sighed.
“You're used to being able to do what you want, when you want, aren't you?”
“Nah, what makes you say that?” He cocked his head to one side with a smirk.
“You're kinda…”
You weren't sure if it was his neck tattoos, his long dark eyelashes covering his mesmerizing eyes, or his low-octave voice that could send shivers down your spine if he were near your ear, but he exuded an intimidating aura. Something dominant and powerful.
“I'm kinda what?”
“Nevermind.” You looked away, flustered.
“I don't think your husband will appreciate the look on your face, ma'am.”
“I have to have children; no one asks my permission. That's why I'm in this state.”
A shadow passes across the man's face.
“We all have free will. You're a Christian, you're supposed to know that, right?”
“I think God forgot to give me some,” you muttered. “I have no control over anything, I'm so stuck.”
“Okay, stop complaining and tell me the full story.”
“My parents are from Cape Verde, it's an archipelago in West Africa—”
“Ma’am, I didn’t ask for your biography.”
You chuckled, your face lighting up. He was so sassy. “It’s important to my story. Since they’re immigrants, they expect me to have a better life than if they had stayed in Cape Verde. So when I told them I wanted to be a cook, they laughed in my face.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t pursue your dreams because of your parents?”
You drew your lips into a thin line and he shook his head in disbelief.
“You don’t know what it’s like to live with African parents, do you?” You gave him a small smile.
“One of my best friends, Ony, is also Cape Verdean. But he always followed his dreams and became a beatmaker, even though his mother always told him it wasn't a real job.”
“He's just lucky.”
“Or maybe you lack strength and ambition.”
Your gaze challenged for a moment, but you lost the battle as his green irises shone brightly, burning your retina.
“So I became an attorney for them.”
“What else did you do for them?”
“Marry off the son of one of their friends…”
The man paused, wincing. “Are you serious?”
“It's not a big deal, arranged marriages are still a thing in some cultures,” you cleared your throat, feeling uncomfortable.
“I don't want to judge a culture different from mine, but does that mean your current life, being a attorney and married, isn't even what you want? Don't you think it's crazy to live a life that doesn't reflect your own choices?”
You looked away, your shoulders slumping. His face softened.
“Sorry, you're already in a bad mood, I shouldn't say that.”
“It's just… I don't know… My parents left so much behind so I could have a better life, I feel ungrateful for not making them happy.”
“You're not ungrateful, you have the right to do what you want. You know that all the 'I did this for you' that parents do to us is a type of emotional abuse?”
“I get that, but… My parents really worked hard for me. My mother has infertility issues, and I'm her only daughter; I kind of represent their dreams…”
“It's your life, not theirs.”
“You can't understand.”
His eyebrows knitted.
“Don't ‘white people’ me.”
You leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms over your chest. “But it's true, you can't understand.”
“So… Are you going to live the life you want when your parents die?”
“The day they die, I'll be stuck with kids to raise.”
“You know you're going to traumatize your children? A mother who doesn't want to be a parent can't raise her children well.”
Your gaze saddened. “You're right, but…”
“I'm always right,” he cut in, “you're going to be a horrible mother.”
“Okay…”
“Why are you crying anyway? You wanted to be a doormat and do what your parents wanted, so at least do it with a fake smile. You can't be mad at your parents when you're a grown ass woman who could have said no.”
“Are you victim-blaming me?” You let out a sad giggle.
His lips quirked up. “Be happy to be a pretty victim at least.”
A silence fell between you as the man lowered his head to look at his notebook. After a few seconds, he looked back up at you, a vulnerable glint in them.
“Today is the anniversary of the day my dad abandoned me. I wasn't kidding when I said you weren't the only one having a bad day.”
Your lips parted, empathy filling your heart.
“I'm so sorry.”
“Nah, don't give me that pity shit. You don't know me enough to be really sorry,” he huffed, “I just wanted to make the silence less awkward for you.”
“You're really… a strong person. Doing what you want, calling out people's bullshit, asserting yourself, and you're resilient too.”
His lips curved into a playful grin. “Stop flirting with me, baby.”
You stuttered, flustered. “I didn't want to!”
“Yeah, you're married and loyal, I know. You're really good at playing the good girl, but what's behind all that?” He leaned across the table, also crossing his muscular arms on the table. His gaze pierced you, making you feel small. “You can be real with me. I'm just a stranger, you don't even know my name.”
Your heart raced. “Why do you care?”
“Don't know.” His eyes lingered on your gold cross necklace. “I'm attracted to you.”
You didn't know what to say and lowered your head to stare at his notebook.
“I don't have much to say about myself,” you mumbled, “I'm a bit boring.”
“I noticed.”
His blunt self made you laugh. “Sorry, I'm not a rapper who can travel the world and do whatever he wants.”
“Ouch.” He placed his hand over his heart, a mock pain. “You think my life is all about my rap? I'm also a great big brother.”
“You have a sibling?”
“My little sister, Mikasa. She's my biggest fan.”
“I wish I had siblings; growing up alone was so lonely.”
“I swear you don't want her in your life. She's a pain in the ass.”
“It's good that your father's abandonment didn't separate you and made you closer.”
His face darkened. “I had no choice but to look after her; my mother started doing drugs after my father left.”
A gentle look passed across your face. “That's really sad. I hope you can see a psychologist to talk about it. These kinds of things are mentally heavy to bear.”
He shook his face, his features easing at your cute worry. “Nah, I don't need that. Music is enough for me.”
“Want me to listen to it?”
His cheeks turned pinkish. “It's not gospel, you know that, right?”
“I'm aware, but I don't mind. I'm curious.”
He took his phone out of his pocket with wired earphones. His hands were shaking a little as he scrolled through his folders, glancing at you nervously as he searched for his music. Seeing him anxious for you made you shy too. He passed you an earbud, which you slipped into your ear, and you leaned across the table to look at his phone screen, his warm breath caressing your face.
“My genre is more horrorcore, but I do anything with a dark atmosphere,” he warned you. “A fan sent me an incredible instrumental, and I had to rap over it. Some of my fans are also mad that I don't have a specific genre and that I'm hard to categorize and would like a full album of that style. But honestly, I will still do the shit I want.”
As soon as the video began, the heavy bass of the music sent shivers down your spine. Filmed in the middle of the night, he was in a forest, the hood of his black hoodie pulled over his head. The beat was dark, with an almost solemn atmosphere accompanied by a creepy voice in the background that echoed like in a church. Each of his lyrics ended with a clever rhyme that made you press your earbuds to better hear what he was saying because you didn't want to miss a word of his excellent flow.
“That’s… Kinda sexy.” Your drunk mind was saying nonsense.
“What the hell? I’m rapping on a horrorcore beat.”
“I don’t know if it’s your voice, the confidence in your way of being, the roughness of your lyrics but… It’s sexy.”
His tongue began to rub the inside of his cheek and his eyes narrowed. “You really want me to fuck you tonight?”
Your cheeks burned. “No.”
“Because I can, you know.” He smirked.
“Let’s focus on your music…”
“Talk about your fav singers.”
“I thought I was lame because I didn’t have a sex playlist and listened to gospel?”
A low chuckle escaped his mouth. “Don’t do me like that.”
“I don't really follow artists because I avoid worshipping people who shit like us and reserve that treatment for God, so I just have favorite songs.”
“I actually like your mind.” He nodded. “I feel weird when my listeners see me as their favorite human without knowing me personally, but they pay my bills, so I avoid being ungrateful.” He gestured to his phone. “Show me some songs.”
“That’s not aggressive rap like yours, you know.”
He rolled his eyes. “Please, I’m a musician before I’m a rapper. I know how to appreciate good music even if it’s from a religion that’s not mine.”
You searched YouTube for “You Waited” by Travis Greene, and your heart beat a little faster, watching him watch the music video, a little nervous about whether he’d like it.
Surrounded by people but with the lights pointed at him, the black singer began to sing, guitar in hand. The beginning of the song was soft and slow before the drums joined the music. In the second half of the song, everything accelerated, and the singers in the background joined the lead vocalist in a beautiful accumulation of vocals. The audience, some of them feeling emotional, began to cry and raised their arms to move to the beat.
“That’s really beautiful,” he said at the end of the video. “I love all the instruments used. I still don’t believe Jesus is waiting for me somewhere, but he’s very talented.”
“That’s okay, Jesus loves everyone even though you don’t like him.”
“What a great guy,” he teased.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Nah. I’m more into existentialism.”
“What is that?”
His eyes became serious. “It’s the fact of thinking that life has no meaning, and that it’s up to us to give it one. There’s also the absurdism of Albert Camus, which is to accept the absurdity of life and live it anyway, but his philosophy is quite weak to practice. Existentialism is also not believing in the idea that we have a soul, and that therefore human nature doesn’t exist, and that we all have free will. I never believed in God when I see homeless people dying in the streets of Skid Row, or families broken by drugs. I believe that we just live on a huge ball for no reason and that we have two choices: commit suicide because life is unfair, or make our life the best possible experience with the freedom of choice we have. When I wake up in the morning, discouraged by my album sales, although it rarely happens to me because I’m really the shit in the rap game, I tell myself that it’s up to me to make my life better and I shouldn't complain. So yeah, not a Christian, but free will and freedom are very important to me."
“That's really... Interesting,” you offered an impressed smile. “I've never really thought like that. I just… I think everything happens for a reason. In the Bible, there's this concept of predestination, that Jesus has already saved whoever he wanted to save. In fact, there are two Jesuses that exist, two types of Christians. There's the Jesus who punishes, and the one who loves everyone. You'll see the difference in the way some treat homosexuals, for example. Some Christians will see homosexuality as a test to overcome given by God, like in Islam, or a vice of the devil, while others will accept the person's homosexuality, because if that person is like that, it's because God chose them and they deserve to be loved in the way Jesus created them. I think we're born with a set of predestined tests to make us grow, and sometimes a little temptation from the devil to prevent us from being on the right path, but I don't think we really have to ‘change’ to be loved by God.”
“So you’re the good kind of Christians, not like the MAGA kind?”
Your eyes widened. “Please.”
“Just asking.” He grinned, raising his arms to show his innocence.
“If Jesus came back, he would be against them. Jesus was always there and protected the marginalized.”
“You’re really the first Christian who tells me Jesus would be a trans supporter…”
“I told you, Jesus loves everyone.”
Too immersed in your conversation, you hadn’t approached the bartender who had approached your table.
“Excuse me for disturbing you, but we’re closing.”
You looked at your luxury watch and noticed it was past midnight.
“I’m sorry, we’re going out.”
The man you shared the evening with followed you out of the bar, his eyes roaming over the curves of your ass molded into your denim pencil skirt, a glimmer of appreciation in them. Once outside, he took a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. He leaned his back against the wall of a building next to the bar, lit his cigarette, and his gaze fell on you, his mouth forming a small 'o' as he blew out the smoke.
“Do you know the song Slow Down by Bobby Valentino?”
“No?” You tilted your head.
“The singer sings about a beautiful girl he saw on Melrose Avenue and really wants to sex up.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks. “Um, yeah?”
He raised his free hand to point at the 'Melrose' sign not far from them, then pointed at you.
“You really don’t get it?”
You looked away. “Mhm…”
“I saw you walking down on Melrose, you looked like an angel straight out of Heaven, girl. I was blown away by your sexiness, now all I have to do is catch up to you,” he sang, approaching you.
Your cheeks were so hot you could cook eggs on them. “This is so embarrassing, stop!”
The man just made a sly smile.
“Slow down, I just want to know you…”
You turned around, clutching your shoulder bag, ready to escape this horrible situation, but he grabbed your hand behind you.
“But don’t turn around, ‘cause that pretty round looks good to me.” He twirled his hand above your head, his devious grin meeting your shifty eyes. “Now turn around and bless me with your beauty.”
The world stopped as he lowered his head and captured your lips. You didn’t fight, didn’t scream, didn’t react, didn’t do anything! You stayed frozen, kissing a second man after having known only your husband your whole life. And the worst part of this is that you’re this close to fainting for him. Your heart skipped a beat, and you closed your eyes. He didn’t need to cradle your face; his lips already possessed your entire being. And you did something incomprehensible. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the argument with your mother that made you want to break the rules and stop being a good girl. But you kissed him back, gently pressing your mouth against him.
“The church girl wants my dick?” he whispered against you.
“Please don’t say anything and just kiss me.”
“It reminds me of another song my friend Connie loves. Los Infieles by Aventura. It’s about infidelity. At the beginning of the song, they say they commit a sin and are going to hell. I know the words by heart. His hispanic ass can’t stop listening to bachata every day since we were little.”
“You’re really a music nerd.”
“And you, a very sinful girl. Do you think God would still love you after this?”
He deepened his kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you parted your lips.
“In the song, they say ‘how can something so wrong can feel so good,’ don’t you think it applies to us?” He grabbed your throat to press your body against his, his cigarette still lit in his other hand. “You smell so good, what’s your perfume?”
“Her by Burberry,” you breathed. You struggled to think straight every time his tongue flicked against yours, your cunt pulsating, wanting more. “How many girls crying in a bar have you picked up?”
“You’re the first and the prettiest.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t need to.” He nibbled your lower lip. His way of kissing was teasing, playful, sassy, just like him. You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the firm muscles of his chest under your palms. Nothing to do with your older beer-bellied husband.
“I…”
“You look like you’re needing some good dick,” he moved away from you, and his dark gaze with dilated pupils made your body in a liquified mess. You stared at the ground, swallowing hard.
“I don’t want to cheat on my husband but I…” Your voice cracked, tears welled up in your eyes. “I’m just so tired of everything.”
“Where is your husband?”
“In a business trip for a week.”
“Ma’am, I can change your whole view of sex in a week. In just a night, actually.”
“You seem so young, I can’t do that…”
“I’m 24.”
You gulped. “I’m almost 10 years older than you.”
“Sexy.”
You looked up in exasperation. “Please.”
“What? I can’t find you sexy at your age?”
“You need to go home before I make a really big, sinful, and serious mistake.”
“I want you to make that really big, sinful and serious mistake.” He took a drag of his cigarette before exhaling. “Just let me walk you home at least. You’re a lady, I’m not leaving you alone in the street.”
The rest of the walk was silent as you could hear the sound of his exhalations as he smoked. You only spoke to point him in the direction as he walked ahead of you, his hand intertwined in yours. When you reached your apartment, he let out a whistle.
“You live in Pacific Palisades, girl? Am I talking to a simple attorney or Olivia Pope?”
“Why?” You made an awkward expression, taking your keys out of your bag.
“That's like the richest neighborhood in Los Angeles after Bel-Air.”
“You're famous, so you also have money, where do you live?”
“Near Skid Row.”
A deep crease formed between your eyes. Skid Row was known for its serious poverty, with a large community of homeless people living on the streets, accompanied by the overwhelming majority of drug addicts wandering the streets.
“...Why? It's the worst neighborhood in Los Angeles.”
“Your privilege is showing, ma'am.”
“Privilege where? I'm a fucking diaspora kid.”
“Ohhh, the church girl can cuss,” he teased behind you as you entered the building.
In the elevator, he played with the curly locks sticking out of your afro puff.
“You let me in the building, am I to understand that you really want my dick?”
“You still haven't explained to me why you live in the poorest part of town.”
“My mom lives there. I tried to get her into rehab, but she's always trying to kill herself. I finally realized I'd never see my sober mom again, and decided to look out for her when I pass by her street. She's often outside; if you lived there, you'd know her.”
Your features eased. “That's really sad, I don't know what to say.”
“Let's talk about how your professional look like coming straight from a porn video with your curves.”
“Do you watch porn?” You made a disgusted expression.
“Don't need to, if I want to fuck I just need to go to a club. You know that just my name makes panties wet?”
“You really have a filthy mouth.”
“And you want to know what more can this mouth do?” He placed his hands on your ass, gripping the ample flesh. “Does your husband spank you?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Answer it.” He lowered his head to press soft kisses along your neck. “You told me sex was boring with him, I'm trying to figure out how boring.”
“We're never in a position for spanking…” Your body temperature rose at the lips on your throat. You stared at the ceiling and bit your lip, wondering why you liked committing such a serious sin, as if that stranger was the devil in disguise.
“Don't tell me you're only doing missionary. I hope this is a joke.”
“Why would I want my man to hit me? He loves me.”
“Luckily I'm not your man so I can treat you as roughly as I want.” He caught a piece of skin between his teeth and sucked it.
You gently pushed him away to go open the door to your apartment when the elevator stopped. Hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, he followed you. He was so much taller than you, so when he stood behind you as you opened the door, your palms became sweaty, intimidated.
Your apartment had floor-to-ceiling windows with a perfect view of Los Angeles at night. Skyscrapers, tall buildings, and streetlights illuminated the still-dark rooms of your home. When you turned on the light in the entrance hall, the man admired the minimalist decor, which reflected your wealthy lifestyle. There was nothing personal about it except for the obviously well-tended plants and the many black, white, and wooden objects.
“So…” You scratched the back of your head.
“Just show me your room.”
“You don’t want to eat something?”
“For what?” He raised an eyebrow. “My meal is right in front of me.”
Blood rushed to your cheeks. Your heels tapped against the expensive parquet flooring as you walked toward your bedroom. The man glanced at the living room and the kitchen—still minimalist, clean, and rich as fuck.
“Um, I…” You stared at the floor, fidgeting your hands.
He was pulling off his compression shirt without a care in the world, and your jaw dropped. He was built. Ripped. So muscular, as if he had an OnlyFans account and was flexing his abs for his followers. You bit the inside of your cheek. He was the kind of man you had a crush on as a teenager, but you knew your parents would never accept his tattoos.
“Is that you and your husband?” His deep voice made you look up at his face and stop watering at his V-line. He was looking at your wedding photo on the nightstand.
“Yes.”
“Can I say something disrespectful?”
“As if you didn’t have a foul mouth all night.”
“You could do better than him, he looks like he's 10 years older than you, like why he's balding and you're in your thirties?”
“Men are like that in their forties…”
“I will not be like that when I am 40, trust me. Booking a flight to Turkey as soon as I see a bald spot. Gotta keep looking fine for pretty ladies like you.”
You giggled at that and sat on your bed. You really didn't know how to begin this awful idea. You avoided his gaze as you played with your wedding ring on your ring finger. A sinful gesture.
The devil sat next to you, and took your hand.
“You know how to read hand lines?” He stroked the thin creases in your palms.
“No, what about you?”
“Me neither. Just tryin’ to make things less awkward.”
His sentence caused a small quiet laugh to come out of your mouth.
“I really like your laugh, it’s sexy,” he stared at you, his eyes serious.
He made your insides bubble up. “Thank you. I like your voice too.”
“Yeah?” He lowered his head to kiss the back of your hand. “What else do you like about me?”
“Um, you really have pretty eyes.”
His mouth pressed against your wrist in a soft gesture, his hydrated lips smooth against your skin. You struggled to focus because of his gentle way of treating you.
“And I really like your tattoos. You look more intimidating and confident, it’s attractive.”
He smiled against your forearms, and looked up to stare in yours as he caught a piece of flesh between his teeth, sucking. Your eyes wide, you shivered.
“What are you doing?”
“I said you were my meal.” He let his tongue run over your flesh before peppers kisses on your arm and moves up to your shoulder, leaving a wet trail behind him. “You seem to really like me. You would really like a thing between my legs in a few minutes.”
“You're always talking about your penis…”
“That's the best thing about me, ma'am.”
“Actually, I don't think I really like sex, so…”
“I don't know if you're just asexual or if your husband is the shittiest man out here,” he sighed. He placed his hand on your thick thigh, and placed a few kisses along your throat making you erupt goosepumps on your skin. “There are many things you can like during sex.”
“I like it when it’s quick like that, it ends quickly.”
He drew his lips into a thin line. “Yeah, no. That won’t do.”
He undid a few buttons of your shirt, revealing your lacy red set underneath.
“Not very church girl of, huh?”
“My husband offered me this.”
“That bastard has good taste. Too bad I'm the one enjoying it right now.”
He lowered the cup of your arm, and pinched and rolled your brown nipple between his fingers. You bit your lower lip, getting hot.
“I had sex with an autistic woman one day,” he kissed your jaw while toying with your nipple. “She had trouble voicing her needs and desires so we used a color system. Red for stop, orange for slow down, yellow for continue doing it and green for harder, faster or more of it. We can do that for you. I don't mind if you realize mid-sex you're not really enjoying it. I had a good night with you, it was fun.”
Your heart swelled at his caring attention. “So you’re actually a respectful guy?”
“Not you admitting you're seeing me as an asshole-”
“Green,” you cut in.
His lips curved into a grin and he captured your lips for a kiss again as his whole hand fitted your big breast which he squeezed. You didn't get the self-conscious thought about the sagginess of your chest that you had when your husband touched you because that man treated you as if you were the most beautiful woman he had seen in his entire life.
His tongue toyed with yours, sliding against it, and it was the first time a kiss made your cunt throb because your husband didn't do it with real passion. Nah, the man in front of you kissed you with languor, a nasty craving to suck on your tongue while he kneaded your tits.
“Strip,” he commanded against your mouth.
With trembling hands, you undid the belt of your skirt and lifted your ass off the bed, sliding it down your legs until it fell to the floor. Completely in your underwear in front of a stranger whose name you didn't even know, a flustered embarrassment washed over you, and you lowered your head, your thighs tightly closed.
“Don't get shy on me now,” he muttered, his voice dominant and harsh, making you shiver again. “I know you're a freaky-ass person. You like to keep things on the low, right? That's why you invited me over without your husband knowing, and let me flirt with you all night. You're an evil woman.”
Your cheeks heated up, still your head down. He wasn't wrong.
“You know the rapper BeatKing?”
“No?”
“In his song “Smile”, he starts his song directly by saying “let me see that pussy”. Do you really want me to get real corny and rap his verse?”
“N-No!”
“So open these fucking legs.”
He stood up to kneel in front of you. He gripped your knees and forced them apart, accessing your already drenched heat between your legs.
“I hope your lame ass husband eats your pussy at least.”
“He does but I don’t find it very pleasurable so we skip it.”
He let out a sigh. “What good has your husband done in his life?”
“A lot of things, he's a businessman and-”
He tossed your thong to the side, parted your lips and plunged his lower face deep into wet folds. The feeling of his warm mouth on your tight heat made your heart miss a beat, a wave of pleasure taking over you. Usually, your husband did unnecessary foreplay where he spent long minutes kissing your inner thighs, focusing more on the outside of your pussy than the inside, making you bored. So having a man who was going straight to the pussy was a change.
And he wasn't shy at all. Like a real munch, when your taste met his tongue, he hummed against you, the vibrations of his voice making you weak in the knees. His tongue wiggled through the folds, working its way up and up to your clit, so that he can wrap his lips around it and suck it with greed. You clenched your thighs around his head at the sensation, pants coming from your mouth and he wrapped your legs around him, putting them on his shoulders.
He removed his silver rings and shoved two fingers up to your cunt but you tensed.
“I don’t like fingering.”
He paused. “Girl, what do you like about sex?”
“When he does it it’s-”
He rolled his eyes in exasperation, and made a back and forth movement with his digits, dragging them out and in of you. Slicking them with your juices, the motion made a wet noise that made your cheeks burn. When he bottomed out, he curled them to hit that spongey spot in you that you didn't know you had and made your legs shaking.
In an unconscious gesture, you ground your hips around his face. He gripped your love handles to bring you closer to him and help you rock your lower body better. He alternated between eating you out and fingering you, sometimes removing his fingers just to lapping between folds, the dance of his tongue on you exquisite, plunging them back into you, the thrusts of his digits so pleasurable and good. It had nothing to do with your husband.
Brain so fucked out, you chased your high while bucking your hips, not familiar with the coil in your lower belly winding tighter and tighter.
“Is that…”
“Is that what?” He moved away from your clit, his lips glistening with your arousal.
“I never came with him.”
“You married him for your parents, of course you're not attracted to him. But that doesn't apply to me, does it?”
He placed kisses in the crease of your thighs and sucked the skin while the languid pace of fingers gliding against your velvet walls made soft moan coming out of your mouth. He did everything in reverse: coming straight to the pussy, riling you up quickly and while you were just waiting to cum on his face, he teased you, doing foreplay before the big orgasm.
As he kissed you, he came back from time to time near your clit, spreading the lips that hid your sweet spot to blow a soft breath on your throbbing bud. Your head buzzed with arousal as you arched your back, biting your lips at his playful way of pleasing you.
“Green, suck on it, please,” you asked, your voice desperate, hips canting up.
“Your orders are absolute.”
His lips wrapped again around your clit, sucking it with craving, a jolt of pleasure setting you ablaze. The tremor building in your core intensified to the max, your eyes rolling back in pure bliss as your toes curled. As your orgasm rippled through you, the man between your thighs fixed his gaze on the sight of you unraveling.
“Get on all fours.”
You hadn’t even had time to digest the fabulous high you had just experienced with him, the first time you came with a man, before he was already using an almost threatening voice.
“I never did that position…”
“I know that, Miss Church Girl. Now, on all fours.”
You got into position just as he asked, your body tensing as you heard the sound of his jeans falling to the floor behind you. You were scared because he didn’t seem gentle at all, nothing like the loving sex you were used to with your husband. You knew he was going to beat your shit with a straight face, like he's used to doing with other women.
Kneeling on the bed, his tattooed hand ran over the skin of your back, pressing down to make you arch, your face pressed against the sheets as your ass was high up in the air. Your heart pounded in your ribcage as you felt the long drag of his dick sank in your tight heat, his girthy inches disappearing inside you.
“So tight,” he hissed, his cock throbbing, “gonna ruin you.”
It sounded terrifying, but your pussy clenched around him, turned on. He gripped your wide, thick hips, pressing your ass against his pelvic bone, as he drove his dick deeper. Your breath caught when he bottomed out, never having been so full in your life.
“W-Wait,” you panicked, needing time to adjust to his size.
“Baby, I’m an asshole, I won’t wait for shit,” he let out a wicked laugh, making you shudder, realizing you were stuck with a psychopath.
“No, wait, I-”
“We have a color system, ma’am. You can say ‘no’ as much as you want, I won’t stop.”
Not really wanting to stop, you were just scared, you kept your lips close.
“That’s what I thought,” he moved his pelvic floor backward, a little relief washing over you as he was no longer deep inside you, but he slammed his hips back against your ass instantly, delivering a particularly harsh thrust.
Your hands clenched into fists as you panted against your pillow, tears already welling up in your eyes at the brutality of his movements. This wasn’t what you were used to, not at all. Your husband treated you like you were a fragile thing, a victim of a Madonna-Whore complex where he was unable to see his wife in a sexy way, because he categorized women into two categories: sensual women among whores and marriageable girls that he could not sexualize. While this man behind you saw you as you really were, a girl who had sexual needs.
You arched better your spine off the bed, wanting to please him and show off your curves, ignoring the voice in your brain that reminded you that you were committing a sin. He smirked seeing how you positioned your back, making your fat ass more round for him. With his head lowered, he had an erotic view of his tattoos on his defined abdomen and the curvature of your ass against him, with the white lines of your stretch marks making you ever more beautiful to him. He raised his hand in the air and delivered a hard spank on one of your asscheeks, making you flinch. He groaned seeing them bounce, the ample flesh moving like water.
“You know, you have the best body I’ve ever seen in my life,” he rasped, rocking his hips with force and aggression, making you cry against your pillow. You couldn't even be flustered by his compliment, your gut twisting in arousal at each of his strokes. His hard length slid easily inside you; you were so wet, your dripping cunt swallowing him with greed. “But I also wonder who you are inside.”
He grabbed your hair, removing the shoe lace that formed your afro puff, freeing it, and grabbed a handful to lift your head from the bed. One hand on the bed, he bent over a little, his rapsy voice close to your ear.
“You see that photo?” He directed your head towards your wedding photo on the bedside table. Your lips parted, trembling. “You’re a cheating whore. You do everything to show everyone that you’re a good girl, but I see through you.” Your pussy pulsed around his cock as he pounded into you, your mouth open as you moaned, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Focus. Look at your husband when I’m fucking you.”
Your vision blurred by tears, you could see the chubby face of your loving husband beaming with happiness while his arms were wrapped around you in your wedding dress. “I’m so sorry,” you sobbed.
“Nah, you’re not,” he chuckled darkly. “You love this dick. See how your pussy is squeezin’ me?”
He let go of your hair to grab your wrists and place them behind your back. The noises coming out of your mouth were almost pornographic with how loud you were. This is what heaven felt like for you. You started babbling nonsense in Kriolu, your native language, your breathing ragged as each brutal thrust made you see stars.
“Verdu,” you whimpered. Green.
“Don’t understand what you’re saying, baby. You want more?”
He picked up the pace, always having more to give you, his stamina frightening. Each roll of his hips fed into you became more aggressive, fucking you as if he hated your gut.
“Oh my god!” you shouted, feeling so much pleasure that the sensation of having to pee made you panic, and forgetting your own faith.
“Not God, just Eren Yeager, baby,” he kept a grip on your wrists with one hand and used his other to stimulate your clit.
“Eren?”
His dick twitched inside you at the sound of you pronouncing his name in your Cape Verdean accent.
“Yeah, it's me, keep saying my name.”
You did what he wanted, moaning his name as he drilled into your shit, your walls fluttering around his girth. His fingers continued to trace circles on your sweet spot. Eren's body was glistening with sweat from the effort and intensity of his movements. He loved seeing your ass bouncing on his dick, but he wanted to be facing you when he came. Your face was too beautiful to just be fucked in doggy-style.
He released your wrists and turned you onto your back, smirking at your dizzy expression. He brought your knees onto his shoulders and pushed his hips back into you, the angle deeper, still at the deadly pace he had when you were on all fours. In a moaning mess, you continued to mumble Kriolu nonsense, and Eren tried to understand what you were saying.
“Your language is pretty, just like you.” He leaned over to kiss you, the wet obscene sounds of your union filling the room.
Your kisses were sloppy and messy, sucking his tongue and letting out soft pants. Your nails dug into his back as you scratched him a little harder when his cock hit that spongey spot inside you.
“Más forti, pur favor.” You held him tightly against you, and he understood what you wanted without speaking your language. Harder, please (literally stronger, but said in a “more intense” way).
One hand on the bedframe, rising a little higher, he dragged his dick deeper, harder, pumping you full as the wet slap of your skin hitting his flesh was so loud.
“Who is fucking you?” he asked, his voice husky.
“Eren,” you breathed, your legs trembling harder.
“I said, who is fucking you?” His voice was threatening and harsh, as he pushed in and out in a frantic pace.
“Eren!”
Fucking you into oblivion, your release was closer and closer but you did everything to prevent it.
“I-It’s weird…”
“What is it, baby?”
“It's like I'm going to pee.”
A low chuckle escaped his mouth. “You husband never brought you to this state? That's a shame. It's okay, you can cum for me.”
"Mhm…"
“Open your mouth.”
You frowned but did what he asked. He spat between your lips, the trickle of saliva sweet in your mouth. Surprise flashed across your face but you swallowed and looked away, flustered.
“Now, cum,” he commanded.
You closed your eyes, focusing on the sensations of your bodies moving together. His cock deeply buried in you, your juices milking him, his warm breath caressing your face… Tremors seized your limbs as you let go, your body racked with spasms of pleasure as you cried out his name, your nails racking his skin.
“Shiiit,” he hissed, his eyes glazed over with lust as your cunt pulsated around him. He joined you in your orgasm as he pulled out of you to cum on your belly.
For a few seconds, neither of you spoke as you realized you'd made a puddle on the bed, his sticky warmth snaking over your skin, his rapid breathing above you. Then, you broke down. Tears streamed even more heavily down your cheeks as you sobbed, the infidelity you'd just committed mortifying you. He took a tissue from the bedside table to wipe the liquid from your flesh.
“It's a little late to cry, ma'am.”
“I've always done things right, so… Why do I have to ruin all my efforts now?” you sniffled.
“Maybe you're tired of being a good girl, you want your freedom.”
He threw the tissue in the trash can next to your bed.
“I had a bad day too,” he began, sitting down next to you. He didn't know how to console crying girls, so he wanted to share a little vulnerability with you so you wouldn't feel alone. “My sister always gets depressed when we're in the period after our father abandoned us. I spent all morning cleaning her apartment because she couldn't do it.”
“You take good care of her. She can count on you; it must be reassuring for her.”
“I try to.” He gave an awkward smile. “I don't think you're wrong for cheating on your husband,” he changed the subject, ultimately not liking to talk about his sister; it made him too vulnerable, and he didn't know you well enough. “He's lame. He doesn't even see that his wife is unhappy. He deserves what you just did.”
“Don't say that, he's a good guy…”
“A good guy?” His eyebrows knitted. “Because not being attentive to his wife, and not knowing that she's unhappy, is being a good guy?”
“He was never abusive, I was lucky.”
“That's like… The bar minimum?”
You shook your head. “I'm still grateful to have a good husband in a loveless marriage.”
He tsked. “Yeah, ‘a good husband,’ I have my own opinion on that…”
A not-so-uncomfortable silence fell between you. You looked down at your thighs twitching from your overwhelming orgasm, something you'd never felt before.
“How come you're younger than me and able to do this?” you murmured, still at a loss for words.
“Experience, baby. Experience.” His lips curled into a sly grin. “Not something your lame ass husband can have.”
“So you admit you’re kind of a whore?”
“Ohhh, so you really can cuss?” His eyes lit up with amusement. “What can I say? I’m hot and famous. I’m just doing what’s expected of me.”
You got out of bed, and Eren’s eyes roamed over your figure, lingering on your heavy breasts, and he regretted being too focused on fucking you than looking at all those curves.
“You can go take a shower, if you want,” you offered, pulling back the sheets from the bed to change them because of your squirting.
“I’m not going to use the clothes of the asshole who’s your husband,” he huffed.
“I have some of my dad’s clothes somewhere, don’t worry.”
You pulled a pair of sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt out of your closet and handed them to Eren. He eyed them suspiciously before taking them.
“Down the hall on the left.”
He nodded, leaving the bedroom, and your eyes lingered on his round ass, his muscular back covered in tattoos. It was the first time that just looking at a man made your pussy hot. You continued changing the sheets on your bed and put on a nightie. The sound of the water running in the shower filled the apartment as you went to your kitchen to heat up some food for him.
There was still food in your fridge. You poured two plates and heated them in the microwave. A few minutes later, while you were filling a bowl of rice with water to remove the dust, Eren came back into the kitchen, shirtless and his sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
“I don't know what the fabric of the thing in your shower is, but my skin is so soft,” he said, coming up next to you.
You turned your head over your shoulder, offering him a soft smile. “It’s an African net washcloth; it exfoliates the skin and removes dead skin. It’s called sapo.”
“That’s why your skin is so glowing. You have to give me one.” He hugged you from behind, pressing his warm body against yours. “You should stop crying and smile more like that.” He kissed your cheek.
The scene was oddly domestic and intimate, even though you’d only known that man for a few hours.
“It smells good, what is it?” He glanced at the plates on the counter.
“Feijoada. It’s a stew of beans, beef, and pork. It’s a recipe known to Brazilians, but all Portuguese-speaking African countries eat it, including Cape Verde.”
He hummed. “I like beans.” He pressed soft kisses on your neck. “It reminds me of a dish from my childhood, kuru fasulye.”
“What country is it from?” You finished washing the rice and placed the pan on the stovetop.
“It’s Turkish. My mom is Turkish.”
“And your dad?”
“Fuck his German ass.”
You giggled. “Sorry.”
You continued talking as the rice cooked, Eren taking his time peppering your neck with kisses. Even though he was basically a stranger, you felt like he was a friend you’d known for years. You felt safe with him. You enjoyed cooking for him; cooking for people was your love language; it was why you wanted to be a cook when you were little. Secretly, you wished you were his little wife. Things would have been so different.
Finally, sitting around the table—on Eren's lap, because he refused to let you leave—you ate in silence.
“It's really good,” he complimented you after a while.
“Thank you, if you come see me often, I can make you taste all the dishes of my culture.”
His arm tightened around you. “Do you really want to have a long-term affair with me?”
“Why not?”
“I feel like there's been a lot of character development since the bar, Miss Church Girl,” he teased.
“It's just…”
You didn't know how to describe what you felt. You felt guilty about cheating on your husband, but on the other hand, having sex with Eren had made you feel alive for the first time in your life. Now you were addicted to the feeling of freedom he gave you. Eren was the Devil, you were sure of it.
“I feel like I need to pray to gather my thoughts.”
A deep chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Yeah, let’s pray while another man’s cum touched the womb that will welcome your husband’s children.”
“Eren…”
“You religious people are truly the most hypocritical people I know,” he sighed. “But it’s okay, in my family there are Muslims who are more concerned about not eating pork while committing plenty of other sins. I guess, these are the ‘trials’ or ‘tests’ of God you often talk about.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in God.”
“I come from a Turkish Muslim family, ma’am. Just because I don’t believe in it doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about it.” He finished his plate of feijoada and buried his head in your neck. “A lot of people in my family don't like me because I do music, and it's forbidden in their religion. Many judge my mother because she does drugs. They are very judgmental of us, even though at the end of our lives, according to their beliefs, it's God who will judge us, not them.”
“I feel like you're really mature.”
“Mhm, someone wants to be fucked again…”
He tickled you as he kissed your flesh, making you giggle. You didn't have that closeness with your husband. He was loving, gentle, but that was it. There wasn't the passion and tension that existed between Eren and you. You looked at the clock, dreading the moment he was going to leave and you would be alone.
“Don't you want to sleep here? It's late.”
“Are you already in love with me?”
“Don’t say that… I just… I don’t know…” You lowered your head. “I don’t want to be alone…”
“It’s okay, I’m your man tonight, don’t worry. You can use me.” He kissed your cheek again.
That night, Eren and you slept in the same bed. Cuddled in his arms, you cried a little while he was already well asleep. You didn’t know if it was joy or sadness, happy to have found a safe place in your daily life where you always had to pretend to be okay, or sad because you had committed a serious sin. All you knew was that no matter what kind of cliff you fell from, you closed your eyes and let the wind carry you away, not thinking about the violent landing.
────────
𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑
“Ren, you’re not focused, you’re pissing me off,” Ony huffed, adjusting his loosely tied navy durag on his head, contrasting with his deep brown skin.
“I’m talking to the baddest girl ever,” Eren said, his eyes glued to his phone. They were alone in the music studio, Armin left to buy food for everyone, and Connie was late, like always.
“I worked my ass off yesterday to finish the beats on time, so you better focus on me, asshole.”
Eren rolled his eyes.
'You're distracting me,' he sent to you. You replied instantly.
'You too. You're lucky I don't have many clients today; I'm mostly doing administrative work.'
'Are you a attorney or a secretary?'
'Do you think client files magically prepare themselves?'
'Sorry, ma'am, I don't know anything about your job. But I wish I were a criminal so you could defend me.'
Ony grabbed the phone from Eren's hands.
'Focus, dummy.'
“Give me back my fucking phone, I'm not playing with you.” Eren tried to get his phone back, but Ony put it back in his pocket. “I'm talking to a girl you only see in your dreams.”
“Your album is due out in a few months, and you still need to record five songs. You're not focused.”
“Five songs for a few months, it's easy, Ony.”
“Yeah, it would be easy if you weren't a little perfectionist shit who was always changing your mind. Recording a single song takes us weeks because of your moody ass. Aren't you tired of the majority of your fans listening to your unreleased tracks?”
“Playboi Carti is the same, and his album sales are still good.” Eren leaned back on the chair where he was sitting, next to Ony, who was working on the computer, using Reaper software. Everyone else was using FL Studio, but Ony had started beatmaking on a budget, and Reaper was an honest company that offered its lifetime services for $60.
All of Eren's fans were shocked at the types of beats Ony was capable of making on software that was less popular than the big names we knew in the music industry. Ony was one of Eren's best friends, but also a musical genius; it was a blessing to be able to work with him.
“Playboi Carti is a lame rapper. Without his beatmakers, he's nothing. You have me, but you're talented without beats. Your freestyles always go viral, don't compare yourself to him. He beat Iggy when she was pregnant.”
“Yeah, I know. I hope he dies.”
Eren and Ony talked for a long time, suggesting artists the young rapper could work with for his soon-to-be-released album. Eren was a very successful rapper who had never been involved in any beef with another artist, so he could feature whomever he wanted; the response would always be positive.
Connie walked into the studio humming along to the music he was listening to in his headphones, his gray beanie on his head, contrasting with his tanned, tattooed skin. Everyone had tattoos, except Armin, who was more reserved. They even shared a tattoo they'd gotten in Atlanta after a show, a testament to their deep connection.
“Man, we need you here at 2 p.m., not 4 p.m. You have no respect,” Ony reprimanded him.
“I was with Sasha,” Connie said, his voice nonchalant.
Eren quirked an eyebrow. “Sasha? The one who cheated on you with Niccolo?”
“Yeah, that one. What about it? I do what I want with my dick. Eren is fucking a married woman!”
“She's a victim,” Eren corrected. “It's a loveless marriage.”
“Right, right, everything is okay as long as you're the one doing it,” Connie grumbled and slumped into one of the chairs. “You constantly criticize me. I find it kind of racist.”
“Man, the fuck are you talking about?” Ony shook his head, focusing on the large computer.
A hard beat filled the room. Connie bobbed his head to the music with an appreciative expression.
“That's really good.”
“Nah,” Eren frowned. “I don't like the hook, changing the gain, or improving the build-up.”
“Always somethin’ to complain, I swear to God.” Ony tensed but made the changes his friend requested.
Eren's phone vibrated in the pocket of Ony's baggy jeans. His friend looked at the notification.
“Your girl is saying she's done today and you can come fuck her early.”
“She'd never say that, you idiot,” he took his phone from Ony and read your message. He wrote a quick reply.
‘Come to the studio.’
‘Isn't that a little risky?’
‘Your husband is at work right now. Come home at the same time as if you'd finished your day as usual.’
‘Okay. Is my work outfit okay?’
‘This is a music studio, not a gangster hangout, baby.’
He sent you the address of the studio, which was near the Top Dawg Entertainment building, Eren's independent label.
'I'll be there in 30 minutes, Carson's not far from L.A.,' you replied.
'No problems, baby.'
“No problems, baby,” Connie repeated in a honeyed voice, his head over Eren's shoulder to check what he was texting. Eren tsked and nudged him.
Armin came back with a plastic bag in each hand, adjusting his glasses as he closed the door.
“I hope you didn't make a mistake and get tostones instead of empanadas like last time. I'll kick your ass,” Connie rubbed his hands together.
“You look like Sasha.” Armin smiled. “Nope, I got the empanadas you wanted.” He gave Ony and Eren a handshake before sitting down and taking the contents out of the bags onto the desk.
“Karibbean Cuisine is the only Dominican food truck in Los Angeles. I'm so mad they're all in New York.”
“There are less Carribean Latinx on the West Coast, that's why,” Ony dropped the computer mouse and began to eat.
“I exist, so everyone should open restaurants for me.”
“Go to New York if you feel too lonely here,” Eren mumbled, his mouth full of food.
“Ew,” Armin winced.
Eren gave him the finger.
They ate while bickering, laughing most of the time. Armin was Eren's manager and Connie was one of his sound engineers, but mostly they were Eren's best friends. His second family.
After a while, there was a soft knock on the door, making everyone freeze. Connie smiled and licked his lips, excited to see Eren's girl, while the rapper gave him a mock-punch, getting up to open the door.
Outside, dressed in your leather trench coat that hid your professional dress, with high heels, your short curly wig that you only reserved for work because Eren messed up your afro yesterday and you couldn't be bothered to redo a neat afro puff, you held your designer bag against you. Nervous, your jaw tensed as you stared at Eren, who was standing in front of you.
With a blue and white NFL jersey, black baggy jeans, and his sneakers the same color, his silver chain glowed in the sun that lit up Carson today. His brown hair was messy, as he often ran his hand through it when he focused on Ony's beats. His emerald eyes lingered on the belt of your trench coat, which created an hourglass illusion on your voluptuous body.
“Yo,” he greeted you, his voice low. “You look good.”
He had spent the entire week your husband was on his business trip fucking you; he still had flashbacks from yesterday, and seeing you still had the same effect on him. He wanted to ravish you.
“You too.”
He took your hand and led you into the studio. The lighting was dim, and the walls were completely black. There was a hallway and two large rooms. One for mixing, and one for recording the rap verses. Eren led you into the mixing room, where all his friends were curious to see that it was the new girl he was obsessed with.
You gave them an awkward smile and took off your trench coat to place it on the back of one of the chairs. Connie's eyes roamed your body and glanced at Eren, giving him a discreet thumbs-up. Eren gestured with his hand in front of his throat that said, "I'm gonna kill you." Ony and Armin were more respectful and avoided staring too much at your ample curves, impossible not to notice in your dress.
“The man in front of the computer is my beatmaker, Ony. He's the Cape Verdean I told you about who isn't a victim to his family compared to you,” Eren smirked, amused by the way your lips drew in a thin line at his mean remark.
“Which island in the archipelago are you from?” you asked softly at Ony.
“Sal. You have the accent of the people from Saõ Vicente.”
Your eyes lit up, happy that he recognized where you were from just by your accent. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I'm from Mindelo. I've never visited Sal.”
Ony offered a polite smile. “The island gets a little annoying with all the tourists, but you're safe once you get away from Santa Maria. I always loved the beaches and—”
“Turkey is cool too,” Eren cut in, jealous that Ony was taking up all your attention.
“I didn't say otherwise,” Ony chuckled.
“You've never been to Turkey, you're American,” Connie teased.
“Do you know what 'diaspora' means, dickhead?” Eren bickered with Connie, their laughter filling the studio.
You sat on one of the chairs and watched the guys work. Ony had two ways of doing things: either he presented beats to Eren, and the rapper chose which of his lyrics best suited the production, or Eren presented his verses to Ony and asked him to create a beat based on the rapper's requests.
Eren was skilled in horrorcore, cloud rap and trap, so Ony had to be versatile in his productions to suit his tastes. The rapper wanted to make aggressive rap for his album, so Ony focused on heavy bass beats.
Having spent every night together last week, you and Eren were closer; he already knew your body by heart, but now, with his friends and in the studio, you saw a more comfortable, natural, and playful Eren. You sometimes exchanged glances, but his eyes quickly darkened, moving down to the neckline of your dress.
“Have you prepared any music videos?”
Eren turned to you, pleased that you were interested in his career. He tapped his lap, and understanding his gesture, you came to sit on him, and he moved closer to the desk.
“Yeah, we have 5 of the 15 tracks on the album.”
“Can I see?”
Eren basically pushed Ony out of the office area. He laughed and moved away so the rapper could show you his MP4 files.
“How long are your songs?” You leaned your back against his firm chest.
“Minimum 3 minutes, but I don't like long songs over 5 minutes.” Eren clicked on the “documents” folder and searched for where the clip shots for his videos were stored on Ony's hard drive.
An MP4 file appeared, showing Eren sitting on a couch surrounded by partying people while he rapped, ignoring the commotion around him. The camera followed him as he walked through the house filled with humans, but still nonchalantly. The lyrics spoke of the dangers of the music industry, like drugs, the industry metaphorically representing the party while Eren, the artist, navigated this world avoiding its vices.
“That's very clever,” you complimented him.
“Mhm, nah. It's kind of corny.”
“You're being hard on yourself. I like the metaphor.”
“You just want my dick like everyone else.”
You tensed. “Don't say things like that, there are your friends here,” you murmured.
He moved his head next to your ear, his voice husky. “Why? You're flustered when we're not alone?”
“It's just not polite.”
“Always so proper as if you weren't crying over my dick, yestereday, telling me to go harder in Creole—”
You pressed his foot with yours and he smiled.
“My bad. I have a foul mouth.” He turned toward his friends. “Can you go smoke outside? I want to be alone with her.”
“It's a studio, not a love hotel,” Ony warned Eren.
Eren's smile expanded. “I will be the first to transform it like that then.”
Ony looked up in exasperation and grabbed Connie's shoulder, who protested but let himself be dragged towards the exit with Armin. Once alone, Eren pressed out kisses on your neck, tightening his arms around you. Your heart racing at the thought of doing anything sexual here, you changed the subject.
“Why are there never women in your music videos?”
“What do you mean?” A deep crease formed between his eyes. “I have plenty of feats with women, I don't discriminate.”
“No, I mean like… A lot of rappers have naked girls in their music videos…”
“Ah.” He buried his head on your neck, nuzzling it. “That's just not my style. I find it cringe.”
“You never rap about women?”
“Of course I do.” His breath caressed your skin. “But I'm just talking about sex. I've never been in a relationship.”
Your eyes widened. “Never? But…”
“But what?”
“I mean, you're obviously a very attractive guy…”
“Yeah, I know.” He nibbled at your flesh. “Handsome, yeah, but pretty fucked up in the head.”
“What do you mean?”
“You think it's easy to trust someone after being abandoned by the one who was supposed to love you forever?”
“Oh.” Your voice softened with empathy. “I didn't think of that, sorry. You seem so confident.”
“Stop that, you're talking as if I said some emo bullshit. I'm just being honest.”
You closed your lips, unsure how to handle such a vulnerable conversation. Eren sensed your conflict and caressed your thighs over your dress to soothe your worry.
“I saw a psychologist a few months ago.”
It was something he'd only told his best friends. You made him feel safe. It was a gift, a gift of himself that he gave you.
“And what did you tell him? Were you able to talk to him about your trust issues?”
“I ghosted him.”
“Eren…”
His tongue ran back and forth across your neck. “What?”
“You're sabotaging yourself.”
“I'm a grown-ass man, I don't have the BPD he wanted to diagnose me with. He should have never said that to me.”
“He was just doing his job.”
“Is this really the woman who's a pathological people pleaser talking to me?”
“I'm not a people pleaser.”
“Right,” he laughed quietly, “and I'm not a traumatized kid. We are just a duo of hot humans, right?”
He sucked on a sensitive spot, making you shiver.
“Is your husband back from his trip?”
“Yes, and I'm a little scared about tonight.”
“Scared of what?”
“I don't want to sleep with him. After what we did… I don't know… I feel weird in my body.”
“Ahhh, you're finally feeling the effect of having good dick? You don't want to touch an inexperienced man after this, do you?” He slid his hands under your dress to reach up to your panties, and rubbed his fingers on your clothed cunt.
“Not here, Rennie.”
The nickname escaped you before you could stop it, and you flinched, waiting for his reaction, but Eren's lips quirked up against your skin, and he continued fake-fingering you through your panties, causing a wet zone to form. His fingers slipped under the fabric to stroke your wet folds.
“Are you going to think of me when your husband fucks you?”
“Don't say things like that…”
“But it's true, am I right? No one knows how to take care of you better than me,” his fingers traced circles on your clit. “Does he make you cry and say ‘o nha mae’ all night like me?” Oh my gosh (literally “oh my mom” but it’s cape verdean slang).
You squirmed on his lap, soft pants escaping your lips. “Rennie, stop, your friends…”
“They know perfectly well what's going on, baby.”
“Even though, I feel uncomfortable.”
“I forgot you were a princess. You have to do it right in a clean bed.” His hand left your warmth and slipped into your mouth as your tongue swirled around his knuckles, tasting yourself. “I will not call you a good girl, you're a cheating whore.”
“I don't want to be your good girl.”
“Ah, it's only for your husband, I know that,” he huffed.
“That's not what I meant—”
His friends came back into the studio, the sound of the door opening making you fix your dress.
“I hope you're not naked!” Connie approached with his hands over his eyes.
“Idiot,” Eren muttered.
You looked at your watch, biting your lower lip because you wanted to stay with Eren, but you had to go home.
“I need to—”
“I know,” Eren kissed your temple. “Have a good evening and think about me a lot.”
You got up from him and leaned down to give him a big hug. You'd only known each other for a week, and you felt like you were already so attached to him. You already missed him when you left the studio to go home.
────────
Eren was a blunt, determined, and confident man, while your confidence was only displayed in the professional sphere. In everyday life, you were a shy, reserved woman who let people walk all over her and was afraid to say 'no'. Your parents had always taught you to obey, to be submissive, and polite.
The difference between you two was obvious when you texted each other. Eren used slang and abbreviations, while you were polite and sophisticated in your replies. You only had a small Facebook account, but Eren had encouraged you to create an Instagram account to follow his stories and posts.
On Twitter, some fans had noticed your mysterious account in his followings, and many simply assumed it was his spam account, without suspecting that it was a woman behind it.
Several weeks had passed since your husband's business trip. The sex between you and Eren was always passionate, aggressive, and oddly vulnerable. There was something intimate about being able to be yourself in front of someone, to drop the social mask, and let yourself be free. With Eren, you discovered sides of yourself you didn't even know existed.
“You like that?” your husband whispered as he thrust into you, your legs around his waist, his beer belly rubbing against your pudgy belly. It was nothing like the feeling of Eren's strong arms encircling you, his defined abs, a hard plane against your softness. You weren't fatphobic, you were plus-size yourself, but Eren was painfully your type as a man, compared to your husband, who was older than you and was losing his attractiveness as the years receded his hairline.
“Mhm,” you struggled to really get in the mood, the friction of his cock inside you too different from Eren's hard pounding, or his hands gently touching your breasts, too soft compared to Eren's hands wrapping around your throat while he was grunting, asking you 'who is fucking you?'.
You weren't very wet, so the action hurt a little, so you stared at the ceiling, waiting for it to end quickly. When your husband was finally asleep, you texted Eren.
'I hate sex.'
'Nah, you hate him. You love sex with me.'
'I feel like something is wrong with me. He's very gentle and loving, but it's not enough.'
'Gentle sex only works when you're in love, not in an arranged marriage.'
'Do you think if you were gentle it would work?'
'Of course, I do.'
'I'm not in love with you.'
'For now. It's only a matter of time before I break up your little union.'
'You're very arrogant.'
'I have to be to get where I am in the music industry.'
'I have something to ask you, but I'm afraid you'll say no.'
'Tell me, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.'
'I sing in a gospel choir, and we're performing at a church next week. I know you don't believe in God, and I know you don't want to get too close to me, but I'd like you to come see me. My husband doesn't care and never comes to see me. I'd be happy if you were here.'
'Your husband is truly the worst guy I know. Of course I'll come. Can I bring my friends? Ony is a Christian.'
'Yes!'
'Why didn't you tell me you sing? We have a lot in common.'
'It didn't cross my mind, I don't know. When I'm with you, my mind forgets the outside world a little.'
'Hahah, that's my charm.'
────────
Nuestra Señora Reina Church of Los Angeles, located in Downtown Los Angeles, was your favorite church because it was the only church in Los Angeles that had helped immigrants, and in 1980 it was a sanctuary for migrants facing deportation. It had values you shared, and you were proud that it partnered with the organization where you sang your gospel choir.
Dressed in a white dress that didn't specifically hug your curves, only slightly revealing your wide hips and ample chest, which were impossible not to notice, you stood in front of the many religious people listening to you. Your hair was pulled back in an afro puff that exposed your face, framed by your large gold hoop earrings.
All your friends were also well-dressed and wore beautiful earrings, but Eren's eyes were fixed on you. Sitting in the aisles of the church pews, enveloped by the solemn atmosphere of the building, he could admire the gold-framed Christian paintings behind you, or gaze at the statue of the crucified Jesus on the wall to his left, but all his attention was focused on you. The sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the wooden pews and tiled floors of the small, packed church.
He was frustrated, a deep crease formed between his eyes.
“Man, you can’t be angry in a church,” Connie leaned over to whisper in Eren’s ear.
“I just don’t care about the rest of her choir, I just want to hear her,” he mumbled.
The melody of the chanting echoed between the walls, the soft female voices, and he could feel the faith and emotions in them without necessarily sharing the same beliefs. Setting a soulful rhythm, your voice rose into the air with the others, the notes rolling out like a prayer.
“It’s beautiful,” Ony declared.
“It’ll be even better if my girl was a soloist,” Eren grumbled, and Connie pressed his foot against his to silence him.
As if God heard his complaints, you stepped forward, the choir stopping singing to let you lead the rest of the song. Eren shuddered at your first notes, your voice rising, with perfect breath control, your vocal cords giving a harmonious sound, like honey to the ears of the audience.
“Hey, it would make a good interlude for your album. Like Yebba’s Heartbreak for Drake,” Ony nudged Eren.
The idea crept into his mind and he nodded, a warmth rising in the pit of his stomach at the thought of collaborating with you.
The music finally ended, the church filled with applause and praise as you smiled at the spectators. Eren wanted to capture this moment, finally a moment where you were doing something you truly enjoyed, and your husband wasn't even there to see how beautiful you looked when you were happy.
With his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, he approached you as you spoke to some Christians.
“Yo.”
“Hey,” you greeted him, your smile widening for him. “I'm really glad you could come.”
“I would never have missed this.” You sweared as his eyes softened with affection for a moment. “What are you doing after this?”
“I'm coming home, my husband is coming home from work, I have to cook for him.”
He frowned. “You work too, why should you be the one cooking for him?”
“That’s how I was raised…”
“And?” An angry expression flashed across his face. “You’re not his servant as far as I know. It’s 2025, not 1960.”
“Cooking is my love language. I’ve always wanted to be a cook, so it makes me happy to cook for the people I love.”
“But you don’t love your husband,” he insisted, “you’re always texting me when you have to sleep with him at night.”
“Can you avoid talking about this in church?” You looked around to see that no one was listening.
A low chuckle rumbled in his throat, sarcasm in his voice. “Because inviting the guy you’re cheating on your husband with to church, isn’t that already a sin?”
You swallowed hard. “You have a point…”
“Your husband is going to cook for himself tonight, I’m taking you out to dinner tonight.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you behind him as you left the church with him, your eyes wide.
“Eren, I can’t-”
“Just tell him your friends wanted to celebrate the choir at church with a restaurant, and send him pictures of what you ate.”
“Are you used to sleeping with married women or something?” Your eyes narrowed with how quickly he had found an excuse.
“Maybe, we don’t know…” A mysterious smile formed on his mouth.
────────
Still in Downton L.A., in the Fashion District, was Connie's favorite restaurant: Dama, a Latin-inspired restaurant. When you walked inside, you were immediately amazed by how the brown color took over the cozy space with numerous plants illuminated by the soft light from the gold ceiling lamps. A square bar in the middle of the room, with dozens of chairs placed around it where you could see the bartenders working, attracted attention. Eren and you sat at a table a little far from the bar, near the windows where the leaves of the outdoor trees brushed against it.
"Connie is sponsored by this restaurant, he talks about it all the time," he teased.
"It's very pretty."
A waiter brought you the menu, and you let your eyes run over the paper. Eren was already a regular, so he already knew he was going to have the fried quesilladas. He stared at you, who had a focused expression.
“You always wear the same blush,” he remarked.
You looked up, your cheeks burning. “Um, yeah. It’s a NARS blush.”
“You say that like I’m going to use it.”
Your eyes lit up with amusement. “You’re right, sorry.”
“Stop apologizing, I’m not your strict parents.”
You chose fried calamari with red onions and tomatoes, and your dish and Eren’s arrived quickly. Eren ordered cocktails for you to try. It was nice to share a friendly moment with him like this, face to face with each other. Eren told you about the progress of his album, while you told him what you could about your job while respecting professional confidentiality. While you were eating, one of the waiters asked Eren for his autograph, which he happily signed, and you realized even more how popular he was.
“What would you do if you could have your own life?” he asked, bringing his glass back to his lips to take a sip of his cocktail. You swallowed the bite you were chewing to answer him.
“I think I would have opened my restaurant in Cape Verde or Brazil.”
“Brazil?” He quirked one of his eyebrows.
“Yeah, I really like Brazilian food. We have a lot in common in our culture with Brazilians, like carnivals. I would have loved to open a restaurant that serves food from all the Portuguese-speaking African countries besides Brazil. We share a similar history with colonization.”
“What is your best childhood memory in Cape Verde?”
Your lips curved into a fond smile. “The nights at the beach where we had barbecues. Seafood is very present in Cape Verde because we're surrounded by water, so I can still taste the shrimp we grilled.” You cocked your head to one side. “And you?”
He looked away, scratching the back of his head. “I think my best memories are when my dad was still here and my mom was still sober, but I don't like them because I feel like they're a big lie.” His voice was low, almost as if he didn't want you to hear the vulnerable tone.
“Tell me a little about your dad.”
His jaw tensed. “That asshole was a doctor. With my mom's job as an English teacher, we had a comfortable life, but everything was ruined around the time I was 13 when he decided to cheat on her for a younger woman.”
“Doesn't the fact that I cheat on my husband trigger you?”
“It wasn't really the infidelity that traumatized me. I think it was more that he completely cut us off from one day to the next. As if we were worthless. That's why I don't like to remember my childhood with him because I know he didn't care about us deep down.”
“I don't know how to answer that,” you choose your next words carefully. “I think telling you he loved you anyway when I don't know him is a bit tone-deaf, but reinforcing your idea that everything was fake doesn't sit right with me. Maybe the moments he shared with you were real, but when he falls in love, his world revolves around his partner and he forgets the rest.”
“Or he’s just a deadbeat dad…”
“Yeah, but… You know, my attorney friends who work for families have already seen fathers who want to have rights back over children they abandoned.”
He shook his head. “They don’t deserve anything. They weren’t there to raise the child, why come back when the mother has already done all the work?”
“You’re right…”
You continue talking, gulping down your desserts. When you get up after finishing eating, you take your wallet out of your bag, and Eren glared at you.
“You’re embarrassing me.” He took his black card out of his pocket and paid your meal bill.
“I’m not used to this. I do 50/50 with my husband.”
He huffed. “You’re going to hurt your body giving him babies, and you want to do 50/50? Men and women aren’t the same. You do so much more than him just to do 50/50.”
You didn’t like what he was saying because just imagining what it would be like to be his wife made your mouth water. He intertwined your hand with his, and the cold air outside made goosebumps rise on your arms as you stepped out. He opened the passenger door of his black luxury car for you, and you sat inside. A scent of vanilla enveloped the vehicle, which was soon overpowered by his expensive cologne when he plopped his ass on the driver’s seat.
“There's still a little time before you go home, it's early. Do you want to go for a car ride? I'll show you some songs you might like.” He started the car.
“Yeah, I would like to.” You grinned, happy to spend more time with him. There was so much you wanted to tell him, learn about him. He became like your best friend in just a few weeks.
Eren connected his Bluetooth to his car and “Too Deep” by dvsn filled the car, the notes soft and sensual.
“What kind of music is it? I like that.”
“It's R&B. There's Christian R&B that exists too, I'll make you a playlist.”
You leaned back against your seat, closing your eyes to listen to the music. PARTYNEXTDOOR, SZA, Jhené Aiko… All the R&B singers were echoing in the car. Eren lowered the cars as a small downpour fell on you, the sound of the misty rain accompanying the atmosphere.
“Have you never been in love?” you asked.
He kept his eyes on the road. “I already told you I don't do relationships.”
“But you must have fallen in love with someone without being able to control it…”
His lips twitched upward. “This isn't a romantic comedy.”
You chuckled. “I know, but it's sad to think you don't know what it's like to be in love.”
“You're literally in a loveless marriage and you're 33. Your situation is much sadder than mine.”
“Mhm, it's true.” You nodded. “I don't know what it's like to be in love and probably never will.”
“Let me show you then. Let's use each other. A real relationship between us is impossible in any case.”
Your eyes fluttered open and you turned your head to admire his handsome profile. “What do you mean by using each other?”
“If we're both incapable of living a love story, let's create one together. But without ever really going beyond the limits of what we truly are: an affair.”
You tilted your head. “And what would we do if we were in love?”
He glanced at you, a smirk on his face. “Exactly what I did tonight. We go to restaurants, we go on dates. We just don't meet up to only fuck.”
“But it's risky…” You flinched.
“Do you want to live your own life, yes or no? It starts like that, you have to take risks. You'll never discover freedom otherwise.”
The rest of the car ride passed in silence, Eren just playing his playlist for you while you noted down a few songs in your phone notes. Arriving near your building, Eren parked. You leaned towards him to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“Think about me a lot.”
“I always think about you,” you replied as you left the vehicle. Eren's eyes followed you until you disappeared into your apartment building.
────────
Eren had never experienced what it was like to be in love, so he was unable to realize that he was sinking into the abyss of love with you. Everything changed one Friday when he called you while you were working from home, weeks after your dinner at the restaurant.
“Rennie, I’m busy, you-”
Your voice stopped when you heard sniffles on the other end of the phone. Your heart tightened.
“Why are you crying?”
“That’s so embarrassing, forget that,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse before hanging up.
You stared at your phone for a few seconds, confused, before calling him back. He only picked up on the third attempt.
“What?”
His voice was harsh; you weren’t used to dealing with an Eren like this. You chose your words carefully.
“It’s okay, you can talk to me.”
“I need more than just to talk to you.”
You glanced at the clock high on the living room wall.
“My husband will be home in two hours, so if you have time to come…”
“Your husband this, your husband that,” he grumbled. “I’m tired of this shit.”
He hung up like that, but you knew he was coming. Thirty minutes later, he knocked on your door. When you opened it, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his reddish-green, puffy eyes. They were still wet, as if he’d been crying throughout the car drive.
“Eren…” You wrapped your arms around him, trying to comfort him with your warmth. His body was stiff, his body suddenly harder than usual.
“I didn’t come for this.”
“Drop the tough boy act,” you chided him. “Hug me too.”
He let out a heavy breath and hugged you too, pressing you against his chest. People were leaving the apartments near yours, and a shiver of fear that someone would find out about your infidelity gripped you. You guided him inside your home, still cuddling him.
“My mom has become a prostitute,” he declared, his voice low, almost inaudible, as if he didn’t want you to hear what he was saying.
“What do you mean?” You frowned.
“There’s a man on the streets of Skid Row. He’s homeless, but he knows everyone in town. I asked him to watch my mom when I’m not there. He just told me she’s started selling her body to get more drugs.”
“Oh,” you breathed, the weight of his confidence heavy in your heart. “I’m really sorry, Eren. You did so much for her, and-”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity. I’m genuinely sad for you.” You tightened your arms around him. “Stop dismissing the emotions I feel for you.”
His heart raced, your cheek pressed just against the skin of his torso, as if your words had a special effect on him.
“I don’t know why I called you, I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You’re not bothering me, Eren.”
“It’s just…” he began, his head lowering to place his mouth on the top of your head. “I felt like you would understand me better than my friends. Men aren’t the best at comforting other men.”
“You did the right thing.” You nuzzled his chest. “We’re friends, we should be able to be vulnerable like this with each other.”
A sarcastic chuckle escaped his mouth. “Right, we are ‘friends’...”
He sat on the sofa, carrying you with him so you could find your place on his lap. Your hands dived into his hair, stroking the soft dark locks, slicking them back to better gaze at his morose face. You tilted your head, your gaze locking.
“Why are you so…” You bit your lower lip, searching for the right word. “Grumpy when you cry?”
His lips twitched upward. “I’m not grumpy.”
“You basically called me a bitch on the phone.”
“That’s a reach.”
“Barely.” You wiped away the tears that continued to fall with your thumbs. “I don’t like seeing you like that. It hurts me when you cry.”
“You’re becoming too attached to me.” You didn’t need to know the feeling was mutual.
“Please.” You looked up in annoyance, and Eren smirked at your sass. “We have a deep bond together.”
“Do we?” He leaned over, his breath caressing your face.
“Don’t flirt with me when you’re crying.”
“I’m a versatile man.” He captured your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Your tongues tangled together for a few moments in languid pace before the salty taste of his tears mingled with your passion.
“I’m just tired of everything,” he murmured. “I don’t even know why I care so much about my mom. I’ve done everything for her these past few years, even though her whole life has been drugs. Mikasa and I haven’t existed in her world since my father left.”
“Why don't you pay someone to take care of her?”
“Take care of her how? She tries to kill herself whenever she doesn't have her drugs. Do you think I'm happy leaving her alone on the street?” His face hardened. “They're writing articles about me, saying I'm abandoning my mother and letting her prostitute herself. They know nothing about my life.”
“You need to sue them, they have no right to defame you like that,” you informed, your voice firm, in your attorney mode.
“You're cute when you're like that.”
He rubbed his nose against yours.
“What are you doing?”
“An Eskimo kiss, didn't you know that?”
“Yes, I know.” You smiled. “I just thought you were too depressed for that.”
“Never too depressed for an Eskimo kiss.” He kissed you again. “I have to go to the studio to see Ony.”
Your eyebrows furrowed in worry. “Are you sure you're okay?”
“Of course not. I feel like shit, but I have no choice. My album is coming out soon.” He pulled his face back to look at you better. “Thanks for listening.”
Your eyes softened with empathy. “No problems, Eren.”
Your heart squeezed painfully as you let him leave your apartment, hands in the pockets of his jeans. You hoped the short time you spent together had soothed the ache in his mind.
In a way, you had succeeded, and Eren was grateful to have you in his life.
────────
Sitting in the waiting room, illuminated by the artificial lights above him, enveloped by the "antiseptic" atmosphere of the abortion center with its blue and white walls, Eren's foot twitched on the floor every few seconds. He bit his lower lip in a nervous gesture, his hands interlaced on his lap, his legs manspreading.
It was two months after he learned his mother was a prostitute. He did what he could to protect her, but it wasn't easy to control someone who dedicated their life to drugs.
One morning, you called him after feeling excruciating pain in your lower abdomen. Your husband was at work, and he accompanied you to the emergency room. Verdict: you were pregnant.
You weren't shocked by the news because for several weeks now, your husband had refused to let you take the contraceptive pill, considering it was the right time to have a child. You hadn't been able to verbalize the fact that you didn't want children for fear of reprisals.
Eren had volunteered to accompany you during the abortion procedure, secretly from your husband. He didn't want you to be forced into motherhood when you didn't want to.
You left the operating room with your head bowed, your left hand holding your right wrist, accompanied by the doctor. Eren immediately stood up to hug you. He knew this was difficult for you because of your religious beliefs, and wanted to show you that he was there for you.
He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead and intertwined his fingers with yours, guiding you toward the exit.
Outside, a group of pro-life people shouted insults at everyone leaving the building, holding fetus signs. You flinched and stared at the ground until you reached his car.
“Don't listen to them, they don't know anything about your life.” He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
You leaned back in the seat, your expression somber as you looked at the road.
“Eren, I think we should stop seeing each other.”
He paused, his heart pounding in his chest. He glanced at you, his eyes searching for the humor in your gaze.
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“I've been committing nothing but sins since I've been with you. I don't recognize myself anymore.”
His heart ached at that. “Look, I understand what you mean. What we're doing goes against your beliefs. But that doesn't mean we should stop. It makes you feel good when I spend time with you, doesn't it? You wouldn't have agreed to the abortion if I wasn't there, right? I'm good for you. Tell me I'm good for you.”
His voice trembled towards the end, as if he was desperately clinging to something that might validate your unhealthy bond. His eyes implored you to confirm what he was saying. You looked away, your gaze lost through the window.
“I think I need some distance, Eren.”
The feeling of being abandoned once again by someone important pierced his heart, like a knife penetrating his organ. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, swallowing hard.
“Okay.”
────────
It had been a month since you and Eren had been in touch. Eren had a hard time getting used to the long days without speaking to you; he missed your sophisticated and polite messages. But he understood. Your life was complicated. He would wait for you to want to talk to him again when it was okay with you.
While he was chatting with his friends about the final preparations before his album release, which was next week, you called him. His heart leaped at the notification, and he rushed out of the studio to take the call. The moon lit up his face, framed by shoulder-length brown hair.
“Hey Rennie,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse from crying.
“What's wrong?” His voice softened.
“My husband is cheating on me. Funny, right? I'm doing the same, but I don't know why it hurts so much. I did everything for him, and this is how he thanks me?”
Eren sent a quick message to his boys, apologizing for leaving, and got into his car.
“Where is he?”
“At the house of the woman he's cheating on me with. He's been saying for weeks that he's going to the bar with friends, but I found some false eyelashes in his pocket. Probably a woman younger than me.”
“That's a good excuse to see me. I'll be right there.”
────────
Eren embraced you the second you opened the door. Kissing your forehead, his hands made soothing circles on your back as his heavy gaze looked over you.
“You need some dick to take your mind off things,” he murmured, his breath brushing your face as he caught sight of you crying, mascara running down your cheeks.
“Make me forget about this day, please.” You pressed yourself against him, your big doe eyes begging him to take you.
His eyes darkened, and he reached under your ass to lift you and carry you to your room.
He peppered your face with kisses during the short walk to where you were sleeping before gently setting you down on the bed. “What You Need” by The Weeknd played in the room, the playlist you'd put on to take your mind off things still playing. It was Eren's recommendation, and he was pleased that you listened to the songs he sent you.
“Don't you think the lyrics suit us well?” He removed your nightie and his own clothes, his hands caressing your flesh all over your body. The 'he's what you want, I'm what you need' filled the room with sensual notes.
You squeezed your eyes shut, letting the frenzy of the sensation of his hands on your skin carry you away. You joined the singer in moaning when his fingers found your core to trace circles on your throbbing bud, his lips trailing feverish kisses down your inner thighs. When his fingers sank into you, curling inside to touch that spongey spot inside you, you arched your spine off the bed, your hands tugging at his hair.
After a month, you missed his dick. In a spoon position, Eren pressed his muscular chest against your back, his hands gripping your pudgy belly as he pushed his girthy inches through your wet folds. He buried his face in your neck, breathing softly as his hips brushed your ass with each of his deep thrusts.
“I missed this, ma’,” he whispered against you, his voice soft and husky.
“I missed you too.”
His hands moved up to knead your breasts while his mouth possessed every bit of skin exposed to it, inflicting torture on your neck. Your walls fluttered around his cock as he plunged in and out of you, his pace slow and gentle, like a secret intimate dance just for the two of you.
In the intimacy of the moment, Eren realized he couldn't let you go back to your husband. He squeezed your breasts forcefully, with greed. Only he could make you happy. Your husband didn't deserve you, and you didn't deserve to end your miserable life with a man who wasn't your soulmate like Eren was.
“You can't go back to him,” he mumbled. “Your place is with me. I'll be the most loyal man you've ever seen, and I'll support you in your dreams. No one will force you to have children; you'll be free and happy. You will be my christian older girl. I will take care of you.”
You flinched. “Eren, I already told you—”
“Told what?” he huffed. “That you're a doormat? I know, thanks. What I mean is, you don't need to stay like this with him. You could be fulfilled with me; I'll do whatever you want. I'll even pay you what it takes to open your restaurant in Cape Verde, just like you wanted.”
It's a good thing you weren't face to face because he couldn't see your eyes welling up.
“Eren, these are just dreams. I'll never achieve them. I'm stuck.”
“You're stuck because you choose to be. You're 33, aren't you tired of having your life dictated to you? Aren't you tired of not having a choice? Are you too scared to disobey your parents? Ask yourself how your inner child must feel about living a future she didn't even decide on.”
“You're mean, Eren.”
“I'm just telling the truth, baby.” He kissed the few tears that rolled down your cheeks. He rolled his hips just right, angled perfectly to brush your g-spot as his elbow was under your knee. Your sniffles mingled with your whimpers as pleasure shook you in intense waves. “Divorce your husband,” he murmured near your ear, his voice rapsy.
Your body shook. “Eren, I can't.”
“Why?” His lips wrapped around your earlobe, sucking it. You struggled to focus on the conversation.
“Divorcing my husband means denying me the life my parents want for me. I can’t do that to them, not after everything they’ve sacrificed for me.”
“So you’re going to accept painful pregnancies to please your parents when you don’t want children? Do you see yourself spending your days changing diapers and breastfeeding your babies? Being a housewife who does all the difficult chores around the house while your ungrateful husband comes home from work only to eat and sleep? Is that your future?”
Your heart gripped with dread as you visualized your everyday future. Losing yourself in motherhood was everything you feared.
“With me, you wouldn’t need to do that,” he continued, “I’ll only be happy if you are. You can be anything you want to be with me.”
“Eren,” you sniffled, “I told you I can’t.”
His jaw tensed. He lifted your leg higher and began to slam his hips against your ass with more harshness and aggression, making your cunt pulsate around him.
“Do you enjoy letting people walk all over you? Are you a masochist? Does it give you pleasure to suffer?”
“N-No…”
“So what? Why are you so attached to other people’s opinions?”
“I want my parents to be proud of me, they did so much for me.”
He looked up in annoyance.
“And I, I want you to be happy,” he rasped against your ear. “Even if it means disappointing your parents.”
You loved Eren so much. He was only interested in your happiness and didn’t care what others expected of you. If nobody had your back, you know Eren would. But your relationship was impossible, and he had to understand that. Even if the words hurt you, sounding false on your tongue, you had to say them.
“We're not a couple, we were only supposed to use each other. There's nothing deep between us.”
His heart squeezed painfully. A quiet, sad laugh escaped his lips.
“And to think I thought we were getting closer, you just see me as a booty call?”
“Eren, that’s not what I said—”
He pulled you out, getting up from the bed to get dressed. You sobbed as you watched him put on his jeans.
“Eren, please—”
He gave you a cold glare before leaving your room. “It’s your husband or me.”
────────
𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄
The room's dim red lights illuminated Eren's face, which was partially hidden by the hood of his black hoodie. Sitting on the brown sofa, manspreading, he listened to his interviewer ask him questions about his album.
“A lot of people are saying that you're one of the most influential rappers on the West Coast, but that your lack of a specific genre is your worst flaw.”
His lips quirked up. “They're kind of right.”
“You don't mind the critics from what I see.”
“You know, a woman that I really loved told me that God granted my wishes, and I should be grateful. So that's the mindset I'm building my career with. Haters can talk, but as Jay Rock said, ‘you ain't gotta like it 'cause the hood gone love it.’”
“Is this the same woman you talk about in your track ‘Poetic Justice’?”
Eren's jaw tightened a bit, but he nodded. “Yeah. Pretty much all my recent music is about her now.”
“What inspired you to write that track? It's very sad.”
“It's about us, so of course it's sad. We didn't have a happy ending.”
“I sense a lot of anger in you, am I wrong?” The interviewer offered a kind smile.
“A bit,” he let out a sigh. “I still resent her.”
“Do you want to talk about her?”
“I don't really know what more I can say about her. She was a woman I loved very much, but love isn't enough sometimes.”
“A lot of your fans were surprised that you talked about a girl. You're kind of seen as a nonchalant artist who's never had a girlfriend before.”
“I'm still surprised that I was attached to her. It wasn't planned.”
“I hate when rappers are mysterious like this, tell us more!”
His lips curved into a smile. “I have a reputation as a nonchalant guy to keep up.”
The interview ended thirty minutes later. With a quick car drive, he arrived at Connie's house. He gave handshakes to all his best friends before sitting down on the couch and lighting his blunt.
Marvins room by Drake played in the living room.
“Fuck that nigga that you love so bad
I know you still think about the times we had
I say fuck that nigga that you think you found
And since you picked up
I know he’s not around.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about you. It's been 3 years since he was in contact with you. He felt like you were a drug and he was going through withdrawal, his hands itching to check your Facebook account and see how you were doing and how capable you were of putting on a fake smile for those around you.
His eyes fluttered open, and he opened the Facebook app, having created an account solely to stalk you. Your twin daughters were now two years old. Everyone complimented your daughters, saying you were cute, just like their mother. Only he knew you must have cried every night.
Drake's son ended so that "Too Fast" by Sonder filled the room.
“Tell me what I got to prove
(While I was working)
I don't mean nothing to you
(I hope you're hurting)
You ain't got nothing to say
(While I was working)
You're too good at walking away
(I hope you're hurting).”
He didn't want you to suffer. He hoped you would always think of him the way he thought of you.
It was him or your husband.
And every day, he mourned the day you chose your husband.
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ೃ1,667 words, excerpt from After Hours, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), fingering, dirty talk, bent over the countertop->standing doggy position, squirting, dity talk, degradation, praise, spanking, making out, petnames/name-calling (e.g., baby, slut¹, bitch¹, baby girl), etcೃ
ೃ࿔ ͙✟ 18+ 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝑫𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕 ✟ೃ࿔ ͙
The humid storm from the night before had left the air inside the diner cloying and thick, smelling of old grease, bleach, and the sharp, clean scent of rain coming off the street. Outside, the early dawn was a low, murky green, the overcast sky pressing against the plate-glass windows and drowning the intersection in a heavy, gloom. Inside, the only light came from the neon sign vibrating in the window and the amber glow of the heat lamps behind the counter, pooling across the laminate surface like spilled syrup.
You were bent over that counter, your chest flat against the cool, smooth surface, your spine arched so high it made your lower back ache. Your skirt—part of the uniform you’d been forced to wear—was bunched up around your waist, leaving your bare hips exposed to the damp chill of the room. Your panties were gone, kicked somewhere into the shadows beneath the stools.
Behind you, she stood firm, her pelvis pressing directly against your ass. She had two thick, long fingers buried deep inside your cunt, her knuckles riding hard against your opening as she worked you with a steady, punishing rhythm. You were so sensitive from what she’d done to you the night before, your internal walls already raw, swollen, and aching with a relentless, throbbing heat. Every micro-movement of her hand felt magnified, a sharp, electric shock that went straight to your thighs.
You were moaning loudly, a constant, breathless stream of noises tearing from your throat, echoing off the empty booths.
Smack. Smack.
The sudden, stinging cracks of her palm against your bare ass cheek cut through the hum of the kitchen. You jolted, your belly scraping against the counter as your thighs trembled violently.
"Keep your fuckin' voice down," she scolded, her tone a low, harsh rumble right against your ear. She didn't pause her fingers; she just dug them in deeper, her thumb rubbing hard against your clit. "You're a noisy little bitch today. Look out there. If someone walks past that glass right now, they’re gonna see you face-down on the counter with my hand between your legs. "
You shook your head frantically, your face pressing into your crossed arms as another wave of pleasure made your thighs tremble. "Y-You didn't... you didn't give me a chance," you stuttered out, your voice trembling as you tried to catch your breath. "You just—ahnn.. grabbed me."
She let out a short, mocking laugh, the sound vibrating through her chest and straight into your back. "Please. If you really cared about anyone seein' you, you wouldn't let me do this to you. You'd be telling me to stop, baby girl."
The squelching, wet sounds of her fingers churning through your natural juices were loud in the silence of the diner, a filthy, steady sliding that made your face burn with a heavy, internal heat. It was embarrassing. Completely exposing. But it felt too good being stretched out and fucked while your insides were still tender and raw from last night was an intoxicating sensation.
"You would've done what I told you to anyway," she murmured, her pace shifting, her fingers curling upward to hook against your internal walls. "Stop actin' like you got any decency. We both know you don't."
You let out a weak whimper, your jaw clenching as you turned your head back to look at her over your shoulder.
She was wearing a fitted black tee that stretched tight across her chest and the thick muscle of her biceps, her dark cargo shorts riding low on her hips. Her locs are down, hanging over her shoulders and framing her face in thick, shadowed ropes. In the dim light of the diner, her brown skin looked incredibly smooth, catching the faint glow along her jawline and the soft, full curve of her lips.
The metal on her face gleamed under the low lighting—the sharp glint of her eyebrow ring, the subtle sparkle of her surface piercing, and the micro-dermal shining against her cheekbone. She was so pretty, so effortless and sexy, it made your chest tight just looking at her. She wasn't even looking at your face; her narrow, feline eyes were fixed entirely on your lap, watching the way your pussy was swallowing her long fingers down to the palm with every stroke.
"Look at you," she said, her voice dropping into that smoky, hypnotic register. Her knuckles pushing their way past your soaking wet lips. "You're so easy... you're dripping down my wrist, all down the inside of your thighs. So nasty."
Then she finally looked up, her dark brown eyes locking onto yours. You were biting your lower lip, trying to stem the noise, and to her, you looked so cute like this—completely ruined and exposed under her gaze. Your eyes were glassy and hooded with a helpless, focused arousal, and the neat, laid edges of your hair were completely frizzy and messy now, baby hairs curling wildly from the sweat tracking down your temples. Your long braids were slipping out of their loose bun, cascading over the side of your face.
The sight of you looking so messy seemed to shift something behind her eyes, a heavy, possessive fondness softening her expression for a fraction of a second.
"C’mere," she murmured.
Before you could answer, she grabbed your left leg, lifting it easily and hooking your knee over the top of the counter, forcing your pelvis to tilt at a sharp angle that laid your swollen pussy completely bare. With her free hand, she reached up and wrapped her fingers around the back of your neck. Her grip was heavy and certain, her thumb pressing into the side of your throat as she pulled you backward, forcing your spine to curve until your back and head were resting flat against her chest.
The heat of her body swallowed you whole. Her hot, tobacco-and-vanilla breath hit the side of your neck in ragged puffs, making your skin break out in goosebumps. The position—the absolute, unyielding restriction of her weight against your back—instantly made you think of how she had you pinned to the prep table last night, holding you down until you forgot your own name.
You let out a loud moan, a sharp curse slipping past your lips as her fingers suddenly hit deeper. The blunt tips of her fingers brushed against the sensitive ring of your cervix, a deep, heavy impact that made your stomach drop. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp, your body automatically trying to jolt away from the pressure. She knew you didn't enjoy that blunt ache, so she seamlessly adjusted her angle, pulling back an inch before driving her fingers upwards, targeting your g-spot with fast, deep pumps.
"O-Ohh—fuuck —" Your hand scrambled backward, your fingers locking onto her forearm, your nails digging into the dark ink of the vines curling across her skin.
"Yeah, right there," she whispered against your ear, her tone a condescending, sultry purr as she kept up the relentless, deep rhythm. "Look how good you take it when you're behaving. Such a good slut for me, aren't you? Keeping my spot warm before the sun's even up."
The degradation mixed with the praise made your head spin, your internal walls contracting violently around her fingers in tight, desperate pulses. You needed her mouth on yours; the distance was making you ache.
"Kiss me," you begged, your voice cracking as you tilted your head back into her shoulder, looking up at her with a needy, desperate expression. "Please... kiss me."
She slowed her fingers for one agonizing second, looking down at your pouty, wet lips. "You gonna cum again if I do?"
"Mghnnm—yes..."
She let out a low, satisfied hum, the sound tickling against your neck before she leaned down and caught your mouth. It was a sloppy make-out, her wet tongue sliding past your teeth to claim yours with a heavy, all consuming hunger. She sucked on your tongue, swallowing your ragged gasps while her lower half quickly picked up the pace again, her fingers churning your slickness into a thick, creamy white foam between your thighs.
The hard, laminate edge of the counter was putting intense pressure directly against your lower stomach as she pulled you back, and the combination of the internal thrusting and the external pressure was driving you crazy. You wanted to come so bad. Your toes curled against the floorboards, your hips involuntarily twitching against her hand.
She broke the kiss, a thick string of spit connecting your mouths before it snapped. Her hand left your throat, sliding down the front of your uniform shirt to grope your breast, her thumb rubbing hard over your stiff nipple through the thin cotton.
"Fuck, you're makin' a mess," she teased against your cheek, her fingers inside you turning into a relentless, blurring hook that hit your spot over and over. "C'mon. Take it. Tell me how it feels."
"It's s-so good—ughnn—I'm gonna—"
"Cum for me, baby girl. Make a mess," she commanded, her voice constantly coaxing. "Mhmm, let it out for me."
You lost it. Your spine arched violently off her chest as a high, broken shriek tearing from your throat as your walls clamped around her fingers like a vice. You squirted, a hot, frantic rush of fluid pulsing straight out of your heat, spraying across her wrist and dripping heavily onto the floorboards below.
She didn't stop.
She kept fucking you straight through the entire orgasm, her fingers relentlessly driving into your pulsing, sensitive walls, wringing every last drop of surrender out of your body while you thrashed helplessly against her grip, your vision whiting out completely, your head lolling back against her shoulder as you panted heavily into the quiet room.
The tempestuous movement finally slowed to a stop, her wet fingers sliding out of you with a soft, plap sound that made your thighs twitch one last time.
She stayed there for a moment, her chest heaving slightly against your back as she let you catch your breath in the dim green light of the dawn. Then, slowly, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your damp cheek, her heavy locs brushing like silk against your shoulder.
"Good girl," she praised, her voice returning to that flat, professional tone as she stepped back, letting your leg drop from the counter. She wiped her hand on a rag from her pocket, her narrow eyes tracking the way you slid down to the floor, your legs barely capable of holding your weight. "Now, get yourself together. You're cleaning that floor before we open."
Depending on your sim's mood, the sleep pose could change from arm under pillow (Happy, Embarrassed, Sad, Shy, Silly, Bored, Depressed) to arms stretched out (Passionate, Dazed, Furious, Flirty, Angry) They can do the same sleep pose if their moods are similar.
DO NOT use this if your sim uses those beds where the blanket doesn't cover your sim. You will be horrified.
Sleeping Animation by Zlostudio: Sleeping Pack
Arm Under Pillow Pose by @herecirmsims: Sleeping Ugly Pose Pack
✨Pillow Talk Override ✨
I really liked this kiss animation by Igor_Santos_Adonai, so cozy after a steamy night. And also Cuddles On The Couch By d'Violet, cute and comforting after giving up the goods.
*Its not perfect but I tried my best with overriding this*😭 (Vid shows both animations)
🚨Take out any other pillow talk mod mod you have if you wish to see theses animations🚨
warnings ⁀➷ semi-public sex, age gap (rafe is in his 40’s, reader is early twenties), cheating, unprotected piv, baby trapping, boob play, oral. 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+
author’s note ⁀➷ fuckkk i wanna lick his bald ass head.
older bf!rafe who would never even think about saying no to you. It doesn’t matter how many of his cards you’ve maxed out, he would never make you unhappy. You never notice it, but his dick twitches at the sight of your happiness. He knows for a fact that no man will ever take care of you like he does, and that’s what makes him sleep better at night.
older bf!rafe who spoils you more than his own wife. Who never fails to pay all of your bills on time and gives you even more money on the side. Who takes you shopping to buy all of the clothes and jewelry that you could ever want.
older bf!rafe who wants to taste you at every chance he gets. If y’all are stuck in traffic, he’ll quickly pull your panties aside to get a good taste of you. He always has a need to dive his head in between your legs and take his sweet time with your pussy.
older bf!rafe who brings you to his yacht to finally get some alone time with you. Whose wife and colleagues stress him out so much that he needs you in order to get some release. Who finally feels a sense of peace whenever you are around him.
older bf!rafe being on an important work call as you’re down on your knees. He puts his fist over his mouth trying not to moan as you shove his dick even deeper in your throat.
His legs shivering and twitching as he’s seconds away from cumming down your throat. Who jerks violently as he reaches his orgasm and tries to push you off of him. Who throws his head back in agony as you have no intention of stopping until you make him cum again.
older bf!rafe who brings you into his house whenever his wife is away at work. Who fucks you hard as he stares at their wedding photos with a wicked grin on his face. Who makes sure that he fucks you on her side of the bed, letting you know that you should be his wife and not her.
older bf!rafe who’s heart swells at the nudes you send him while he’s at work. Who excuses himself from the conference room to jerk off to your pretty pictures. His grip gets tighter around his dick at the reminiscence of your tits in his mouth. Imagining how your tits would squeeze around his length as he fucks them. He cums hard at the thought of your tits in his face.
older bf!rafe who makes sure to breed you each and every single time. Whose thick arms pin you down to stay absolutely still as he cums inside of you. Who makes sure that you will certainly get pregnant so that he will forever be in your life. You will finally be Mrs. Cameron after all.
SYNOPSIS ⨾ no matter how vast his patience, you always manage to find the end of it. but suguru has the sweetest way of breaking a brat.
CONTAINS ⨾ ( 3.5k+ ) words of . . . nsfw, getō suguru x bratty!reader ( hyperfeminine & black coded ), curse-free au, set in modern japan ( may 2018 ), established relationship, size difference, soft dom / brat tamer sugu ( the duality of man lol ), mentions of cunnilingus & fingering, light slapping / clit slapping, folded missionary, tummy bulge, mating press, overstimulation, eventual creampie, use of pet names ( e.g. papa, baby, sweetness, princess, etc. ), explicit language, lowercase intended, minors shoo!
MY LOVE LETTER! ⸻ at long last, i’m posting my first suguru fic ever >.< my love, my muse, my gorgeous male wife!!! i think about this man relentlessly, and the best way to channel it is by pouring my heart into this nasty little piece of work for him (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) this is only the beginning of many more getō fics to come! now please enjoy, and thank you so much for reading! ❤︎
INSPO TRACK: sell me candy, rihanna ⨾ right and a wrong way, keith sweat ⨾ whatever you want, tony! toni! toné! ⨾ the town, the weeknd ⨾
getō suguru’s universe begins and ends with his princess — his sole, decadent fixation. for him, breathing is simply a rhythm meant to keep him alive long enough to spoil you. he moves through the world guided by one sweet, all-consuming obsession: you.
his absolute conviction is that his entire existence was designed to anticipate and deliver your every need — like how he instinctively knows when your spirit yearns to be held, protected . . . or pleased.
there’s this warm gravity in the way he gathers you in his arms; all thick and firm and devastatingly strong. every peak of muscle is concealed beneath the loose, baggy knit of his oversized sweater as his forearms fold completely around your middle.
suguru catches onto all of it, tracking every unvoiced desire that passes through your mind — the way you want your pillowy lips kissed, your waist caressed, your ass grabbed and kneaded in his big, wide palms. it’s all confessed in how you adorably shift, wordlessly nuzzling further into the crevice of his solid chest. he smells of rich sandalwood, smoky traditional incense, and the dewdrops of light spring rain.
it’s an all-day, everyday luxury, being loved by a man who predicts your every want. whenever you ramble about needing a new piece for your wardrobe, he listens with a quiet, indulgent smile before grabbing his keys to start the car for the mall. the very second the quiet rumble of your stomach catches his attention, he’s already drifting into the kitchen, gathering ingredients to whip up a rich, creamy bowl of your favorite white pasta.
he’s the truest provider, down to the very marrow of his bones. even when — especially when — ovulation turns into a throbbing, unbearable ache, and you find yourself craving him more than you can possibly bear, he never fails to take perfect care of you.
suguru stretches you out, sliding in with the circumference of two thick fingers that move in a slow, sweetly maddening deliberation. the sensation builds until he dives and buries his pretty face between your plush thighs, suckling tenderly while you gasp out shakily strung syllables that are meant to shape his name.
but filling you up with sweetness only makes you reckless, turning your soft satisfaction into attitude, entitlement, appetite — until you completely forget where his indulgence ends and his authority begins.
that’s why, even with such a patient, nurturing heart, suguru can be so, so mean when he chooses to be. or perhaps, it’s just that you’re . . . too fucking brattish.
it’s an addictive cycle, the way you endlessly push your luck — becoming greedy with what he gives, cumming without permission, and breathlessly demanding more. he knows exactly when that lack of inhibition needs to be nipped in the bud, and he’s never afraid to resort to a little discipline. suguru loves to spoil you, but he thrives just as much on absolute control.
the second you get too pushy, you show him that he’s spoiled his princess far too much. it’s a rather advantageous mistake, because the sudden, smoky flash of deep indigo in his narrow eyes tells you he’s more than ready to remind you exactly who you belong to. his sweet affection shifts instantly into something darker, so thick and inescapable. he never raises his voice, no — he simply needs to apply the right amount of unyielding pressure:
and it comes in the form of a mean tug at the pretty spirals of your curls. his thick fingers entwine with the pattern, mercilessly tilting your head back to claim your mouth in a deep, bruising kiss, swapping spit until your defiance melts completely on your tongue.
“you're getting a little too bratty for your own good, sweetheart,” he hums against your swollen lips, tugging a little harder on the bunched root at the soft texture of your hair with one large hand, while the other moves up to meltingly squeeze your puffed, pouting cheeks.
to that, you whine, peering up at him from the helpless angle he’s got your head tilted in. your vision swims with nothing but him, imposing and broad like that of a dark-winged angel. you’re quick to try and refute him, tapered pearly-pink nails sinking desperately into the thick, dense meat of his biceps.
“mmph, shuguru! —am not!”
“you are.”
the heavy warmth of his palm meets your cheek in a firm, deliberate pat — a sudden reminder of who you belong to. it isn't meant to hurt, it never is, but it’s just enough to shock the breath right out of your lungs. a delicious pulse instantly rushes straight to your pooling cunt, leaving you with shifting thighs and an aching throb.
“just . . . listen to me.” he watches with a low, satisfied hum as your big, glimmering pupils instantly dilate from the impact, before his large thumb sweeps slowly over your skin to stroke the very cheek he just pawed.
“open up.” suguru claims you without warning, his mouth dropping back down to steep your lips in a deep, wet, melting lock. the slather of his pink muscle slides heavily between them, effortlessly parting you to pry out every ounce of your sweetness. he tongues you open and swallows your mindless sounds, absorbing every sugary, breathless whimper like this one kiss is his most prized indulgence.
when you finally break away in search of oxygen and he leans in to lick after you, a thin, glistening thread of spit lingers between your lips, stretching and snapping as he shifts his broad frame over yours.
suguru follows up with a deft, slow yank, peeling down your gossamer-thin, cotton-candy pink leggings; exposing the lush, supple curve of your round butt to the heavy warmth of his large palm. it connects with a resounding smack, one that brings about his serene, pearly grin, followed by a couple of firm, melting slaps directly over the wettening spot of your mesh, frill-adorned panties whenever you start to writhe too much for his liking.
“keep still for sugu. m’kay, princess?” he murmurs sweetly against your neck, keeping your clothed, needy clit entirely trapped beneath the relentless patter of the thick span of his splayed fingers. he lingers there for a torturous second, letting the friction build a warm, melting pool that completely soaks into your panties. every sweet tap of contact sends a sharp yet delicious ache straight to your core, holding you entirely captive until the exact moment he abandons all that remains of his faux restraint — he doesn’t like it when you call it that. though, you know he’ll end up devouring you regardless.
with an eager, breathless haste, he strips away the last of your barriers — the threaded seam of your creamy-pink camisole, your lacy little panties, his dense fall sweater — until not a thing remains. his irises, dark and orchid-purple, melt into a sweet softness as they drink in every rich, delectable bare curve of your warm brown skin. he scoops you into the comforting span of his steady hands, savoring how incredibly soft and perfectly molded you feel against him.
suguru dips low, lower, until the inky silk of his long black hair spills free from its loose half-bun; cascading over his broad shoulders as he bends his head to bury himself in the crook of your neck. the fine, glossy midnight strands drape down like a cool wave against your feverish skin, tickling mercilessly against the sensitive line of your exposed jugular.
he then languidly takes hold of himself, fingers gliding with every stroke to the base, groaning lowly at his own lazy touch. you let out a soft, appreciative mewl as you watch him. the heavy, teasing tap of the crown of his bobbing cock is dropped right over your pearly bud. warmth and slick spreads he rests the weighty underside upon your clit, even as it pulses for him.
“mm, you're so beautiful, baby . . . let papa look at you,” he gives you the calm flash of his slow, familiarly cattish smile, “i wanna take care of every little thing you need.”
with a final, bone-deep push, suguru delivers a sweeping thrust that melts right through you, driving all the way to your sticky hilt. he tilts his strong hips at just the right angle, plunging deeper into your squelching walls. a saccharine, breathless sound escapes you once he’s successfully filled every last inch of you with dick. stretched so nicely by the intrusion, you rake your precisely filed french tips down the cream-smooth expanse of his broad back.
he settles inside your warmth and rests perfectly still, cock throbbing softly while your trembling thighs bracket the tapered slope of his waist. his sharp violet eyes roll back at the delicious, fluttering squeeze you make around the girth of him.
“mm, s-suguruuu,” a syrupy plea drips from you, knowing he drinks up the sweet sound of your begging. “p—please move, papa . . . you promised you’d make me cum—”
“god, i spoil you too much.” a heavy, almost helpless sigh breaks out of him just before he surrenders completely to your successful pleading. he intended to discipline you, he truly did — but when you're underneath him like this, pussy wrapping around his cock so deliciously tight, staring up at him with expectant glossy eyes and milky-pink gloss-pouted lips, your breasts swaying as your chest heaves from the lingering burn of having to swallow every thick inch of him . . . getō can no longer help himself.
and so, he establishes a relentless rhythm that steals the breath straight from your lungs. every firm drive of his hips echoes densely throughout the atmosphere, like that of a warm heartbeat thump, thump, thumping hard enough to dissolve you entirely against the soft fibres of the cottony futon.
“oh, s-suguru, you're sooo — fucking big,” you coo against the strained cords of his neck, peering down through tear-blurred lashes to watch the thick, heavy shape of him moving so visibly against the pudge of your lower belly. “mmfuck, you feel so good, it's so much . . . l—look, papa, you’re making a mess of meee . . .”
an intoxicating shade of midnight floods his violet eyes, smogged into a blown-out haze of amethyst. tracking your tear-blurred gaze, getō doesn't only look — he reaches down with a heavy, calloused hand, pressing its warmth onto your skin until the width of it covers your stomach, his broad palm flattening right against the thick swell of his own intrusion moving beneath his fingers.
“fuck. fuck, baby . . .” suguru rasps, a gravelly vibration that rolls from the depths of his chest straight against the delicate clavicle of your collarbone. his fingers splay wide, mapping out the delicious way your skin stretches to accommodate him.
“look how deep I am inside you . . .” his thumb traces the distinct swell under your skin. “I can feel it — god, I can feel it. you’re taking every inch of me so well, sweetness . . .”
irregardless to his sugary words of praise, suguru is malicious in the way that he doesn’t allow you even a mere second to gather your breath before his hips tilt sharply, plunging into you with a new, utterly ruthless tempo. such a shoving grind has the swell of his twitching balls pressed completely flush at your helplessly tight pussy until he’s bottomed out against the dripping hole of your slit.
the sheer friction of him sliding all the way in makes your mind fracture into pure, sizzling white noise. his large hands move from your stomach to grip around the soft span your full thighs, bruisingly tight, pinning them right back against your chest to open you up even wider, forcing you into a position where you have no choice but to take him to the absolute hilt as he pounds you sore.
“you want me to fill you up? hmm, sweetness?” he murmurs, his voice a velvety, breathless growl that bleeds straight into your lips as his hair-dusted pelvis knocks against your sensitive bud. his fingers creep down to rub at it, quick and pressured just the way you like, and he revels in the sweet pitch of your feeble scream. “then stay just like this for me. don’t you dare run from it."
the heavy grind of his hips dissolves into a dizzying, frantic pace, the wet friction of your bodies meeting echoing ever so lewdly through the otherwise quiet room as the white quilt of his floor-mattress bunches up beneath you. getō’s chest heaves, his firm peaked nipples brushing the pebbling nerves of your own sensitive ones, breasts full and smushed against the solid wall of him; no matter how your body instinctively flinches from the intensity of the feeling.
he finds sanctuary in the soft slope of your neck, burying his face into the crook of it; inhaling the sweet, sweat-slick scent of your kiss-peppered skin. he can feel the impending pleasure wash over you — your writhing body gradually tensing to a tight, trembling coil beneath the sheet of his own weight.
“sugu—ah, s-suguru, i’m gonna . . !” you cry out, and the fractured wail shoots straight to his aching cock as he fucks you through the approaching high of it. you claw blindly at his broad shoulders, leaving shallow crescents in the smooth skin while your vision spots into a teetering suguru-shaped blur.
the rhythm grows unrefined as his thrusts turn heavier, sloppier, sliding with a slick, heavy nudge of his fat mauve tip to your tender cervix that completely overstimulates your senses. every wet, desperate push into your gushing cunt sparks a current of blinding electricity straight to the nerve-endings of your poor little cockdrunk brain.
your legs tremble uncontrollably where he’s got them pushed up as you drown in the splitting fullness of him. one more pound is enough. a broken, pitched wail is pulled straight from your lungs as your release finally hits — a sweet, crashing wave of a climax that ripples through every nerve of your strung body.
“mm—oh! ohhh, god, suguru,” a futile sob escapes you, your breath coming in shallow, desperate hitches; all as your sadist of a boyfriend eases his full, calculated weight down upon you. he keeps the flat of his palms pressed firmly against the backs of your thighs, ensuring your tautly folded legs remain secure at your buzzing-hot ears as you gaze up at the ethereal sight of him.
“gonna cum, princess,” he grits out a low, strained warning. you brace yourself for the splash of a thick load, eager for the warmth of his seed to claim you completely from the inside out; instead, amidst the blended haze of your orgasm and anticipation alike — suguru pulls out, drawing back enough to jerk his hard cock in an open palm, swirling hastily over the tip until thick ribbons of his cum spurt onto your soft breasts, trembling abdomen and spread thighs — everywhere except for the one place you wanted him.
“suguruuu . . .” you whine, tears threatening to spill over your damp lashline. “w—why’d you pull out?” your sniffle almost has him regret it. “wanted you to fill me up s-so bad . . ugh, you’re always so mean to me . . .” you continue to whimper, cry, ball up your fists to thwack against his chest, all of the above — all the while asking how he could be so, so, mean.
getō strokes himself casually, his eyes dark as he watches you tremble on the futon. “mean, huh?” he echoes in amusement. the audacious man kneeling before you can only bring himself to laugh. peering down through his long black hair, his voice drops to a velvety rasp.
“I was nice enough to let you cum.” he murmurs, stroking down his throbbing shaft before lining the head of his cock with your terribly empty hole. he groans at the sight of you, spread and dripping for him, all as he readies himself to push right back inside your welcoming embrace.
“maybe you’ll earn mine, sweet girl. only if you’re good this time.”
a breathless hiss escapes him the exact second he reunites with the sweet constriction of your walls; the snug intensity of your cunt hugging every pulsing inch of him without even the grace of a mere refractory period.
there’s absolutely no downtime to save either of you from your ebbing orgasms — not when suguru drags you right into another staggering round that leaves both of your bodies trembling uncontrollably. it's pure, mutual overstimulation from the very first sink he made back into you, and he was more than aware that every movement after would be unbearable.
his sculpted, porcelain body shudders violently against yours, his breath coming in ragged grunts into the soft, damp, curling edges of your woven hair. broken sounds draw from your lips, and his residual cum spattered onto your chest smears beneath your dainty hands as you knead your own boobs restlessly, head thrown back while you shake beneath him. suguru trembles with every thrust, rendered just as undone, because he knows damn well that neither one of you are bound to last any more than the next few seconds that follow.
“c—can’t . . nooo, sugu — i can’t t-take it,”
catching wind of you mewling his name so sweetly is what brings him to the absolute brink. getō, in all his entirety, goes completely rigid, the muscles in his broad back locking up like stone as he delivers one, two, three more deep, devastating thrusts that bottom out entirely against the seam of your sopping pussy, stretching you so beautifully that the airiest moan is pulled straight from the depths your lungs.
trapping you beneath the magnificent alabaster of his firm chest, his strong arms, his encompassing love, he pins your writhing hips hard against his own, binding you to him; all while the very universe narrows down to the sweet, awaited moment he finally groans your name aloud and spills over inside of you.
“hold it for me,” he gasps against your sweat-warmed skin, his voice a ruined, trembling whisper as his pulse drums erratically within the hollow canal his gauged ears. he catches hold of your face once more, wearily squeezing your cheeks between the large pads of his fingers as to press your lips into the perfect, sugar-pouted shape for him to kiss.
a low groan is pulled from him as his mouth slants over yours, grinding his hips deep and fucking you full of his warm, syrupy cum with every slick, desperate suck and lick made against your tongue.
"look at me, baby . . gave you what y’wanted — hnngh, t-take it all, right now . . .”
he said you’d have to be good — yet you know down deep down in your heart that your desperate, messy whining didn't earn a single thing. you were completely, entirely bad for him. crying and twisting beneath his weight, begging to milk him until he gave into you. but the truth's as simple as the act of sex itself:
at the end of the day, no matter how spoiled you are or how hard he tries to punish you, your boyfriend simply can’t bring himself to deny his princess, his sweet baby — his spoiled, little brat.
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most swatches:
Please note that these tattoos are placed in a highly sensitive mapping area. Due to different meshing techniques used by shoe creators, you may experience:
Duplication: Tattoos appearing on both sides or doubled.
Disappearance: Tattoos being hidden by the shoe’s skin tght mesh.
Glitching: Partial rendering on certain heel styles.
If you experience any of the above, just change the shoes <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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