𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ if someone asked the cannon: ‘cameron, is there anything better than boxing?’, he would have knocked them clean out and spit over their withering body. because how dare they? how dare they even assume there be an answer? the question had not once, in his entire six-year professional career, even occurred to him. boxing was the absolute core of his identity, down to the most microscopic parts of his being . . .

just ten minutes ago, his boxing mitts and robe were the largest gift. his world began and ended in the squared circle; twenty-three feet by twenty-three feet, sixteen ropes parallel, four fucking posts . . .

but he’s found a new love. a love that’s been in his life far longer than boxing. a love that’s always stared up at him with goggly eyes set behind massive lenses and chunky, dorky frames. a love he’ll curse himself for rejecting and swatting off, like one pesky mosquito. a love he never saw himself indulging; frequently assuring his closest brother — who was presently demoted to stupid-fucking-opponent — that he would never make any advancements, “wouldn’t touch that girl wit’a ten foot pole. trus’me.”

and almost ten years later, he is touching. touching all over. and licking and biting and kissing and grunting and moaning and trying his very best to calm it. he hasn’t had a hard-on this severe since the night he lost his virginity. those light-green eyes were watery, and very blood hot, but cameron ‘the cannon’ cade would have sworn on a stack of bibles that they were also the eyes of a sober man . . . of a man who only had his fiancée on his mind. he looks to his opponent’s sister and desperately wants to see his fiancée . . . but his brain won’t let him. she didn’t feel like this- and she damn sure didn’t smell like this either.

there’s a different sort of sweetness in the air. a homey, secure smell. a smell that when his eyes flutter shut from pleasure, his pussy-drunk brain presents a paradise his younger-self would hurl at. somehow, this smell completely overpowered the unpleasant stench of him . . . totally shocking, given the sweat hanging at his hairline, behind his steaming neck, along his tensed arms and hands (still wrapped in reddened bandages), between his straining fat thighs, and the dried blood below his nostrils and at his busted lips . . . the cannon feels stupefied.

another girly, futile whine spills and his weighty cock is twitching. it burns having to go soooo slow, but he doesn’t want to cause pain. not any more than what he was already inflicting on such a precious body. and he wasn’t even all the way in, just barely a full quarter. every-time cameron pulled back, stopping before his plump, glossy tip — deep pink in shade — could plop out . . . he’d push back to feed more of his delicious cock in— “‘s t-too m-mucch- “

shit- what a voice. “it’s not- stop sayin’ that shit.” but there wasn’t much else to do. cameron was holding both arms back, using one large hand as a makeshift-cuff. “wish i had a camera . . . let you hear how fuckin’ ungrateful you sound.” because yeah, most girls would kill to be in this position: pressed against a chilly locker with their flowery top bunched at the waist, polka-dot skirt hiked and few-of-a-kind undershorts torn through. “no more runnin’. jus’ let’me fuck you open- c’mon . . . trus’me.”

and if you weren’t so absolutely smitten by cameron cade . . . you would’ve stopped this right here. he was going against about five of your ‘non-negotiable’ boundaries during sexy-time. “you trust me, righ’?” with that free hand of his, he snakes around your waist and clamps his palm over your shivering abdomen, that dangling jewellery marking your brown skin. “i’ll make us feel good- i promise.”

“i promise,” he whispers against your neck, “i’ve got’chu.” and kisses and nibbles and licks. “know you’wanna make this dick nut- “ cameron dropped your hands and swooped around, collecting one soft boob. he squeezed and tweaked at your nipple, slowly wiggling his hefty hips, digging that huge cock a little further. there was a hole to be pierced and molded; to the shape of him. “no more cryin’ . . . le’me do ‘t all, yeaah . . .”

your face, all flush and livid pallor, blazed . . . glittery lips drawn back from your teeth in a mini pout . . . is enough to make the cannon explode. cameron bends in, hot breath fanning over your parted lips, “i’m gon’a nut insid’a you, ‘kay?” more of a declaration than a warning. a sure-thing. almost guaranteed. nothing would stop him from cumming in your tummy, not even you.

he’s in. “ooooh . . .” all the way. “shit.” you’re shuddering wrackingly, legs feeling rubbery and unreliable. “. . . doesn’t that feel soooo much better?” cameron pecks the salty patches of your cheek. “say it- tell me ‘t’s my dick makin’ this sloppy pussy feel good . . .” cameron pleads through aggressive munches.

after so long, yeah, it had been him. finally. your college-self wouldn’t believe this to be true. the boy you had a gigantic crush on throughout your child, pre-teen, and teen years? wanting to make you feel good? you? the girl cameron cade pinched and tripped and plucked and shoved and teased and mocked . . . currently being forced to take the entirety of his curvy cock.

thwack thwack thwack! seemingly, all those years of unnecessary mistreatment has . . . gone out the window. faded out into nothing. to darkness with each thwack thwack thwack. how could you still be upset when this was the outcome? frankly, you’d experience it all over again if it meant having cameron cade’s dick so far up your pussy — it was a miracle to be so incredibly lengthy and girthy and know just how to use it . . . shining pearls of wetness bubble over his happy trail and pubes.

shlap shlap shlap! “you-you’re being . . . so . . . rough!” huffing, puffing. and cameron doesn’t take that as a cry to stop. he doesn’t even ease up. again, your arm swings back to try and stop his mean ramming, but he just forces you away — changing his mind, cameron clutched a hand around your bicep, which made fucking you that much smoother.

“nuh-uh. stay here,” he chokes out, “you got it. you got it. you got it.” cameron’s voice significantly pitches and he’s so into it that he doesn’t even realize that you’re squirming . . . yet splashing and dribbling juices over your pretty, velvety ballet flats.

with the other hand, he lets go of your wobbly hip and grips the front of your neck, snatching you into his torso— “ahhn-gh~!” —so beefy. and so insanely sweaty.

plapplapplap! plap . . . plap . . . plap . . . cameron’s slowing down just so he could pant mumble in your ear, rude and annoyingly, “anyone fuckin’ this at home? hmm? who better? me or him? say th’ truth” he’s such a boy. you swallow thickly despite having an awfully dry throat, voice all raspy and strained for the very obvious reason: “nno,” you hiccuped.

cameron hums and leans his head in. like he didn’t hear you the first time. “no h-him.” and cameron feels butterflies. for a reason he can’t yet pinpoint. with a sly smile, “yea’?” well . . . this just got far more intimate. you’re nodding against him, cunt leaking a bunch more — even with sluggish, mindful plunges, he was still so deep. so so deep. sooooo deep. he didn’t have to try. he just was. that. big. and fat. for no reason at all. small amounts of slippery arousal that oozed from his tip painted your cervix.

“mggh~!” and his pace has quickened. the cannon could practically taste his oncoming load. cameron drawls, “ohhhh fucccccck,” listening to the way your gooey pussy peels away from his soaked thighs; a slich slich slich! clicky noise as he sinks back into your ribbed, silken walls. his eyes snap shut and both of his hot hands grab onto your shoulders.

with unbelievable power, cameron is banging you backbackback onto his cock. “fnh-hnnnh! cam- fucc-ah!!” and he continues to grunt out curses, knees starting to buckle. the way your pussy slurps him in, ass clapping at his pelvis, you’re short-circuiting: tearing and drooling and squirting a-fucking-gain. he keeps at it; taking you upupup to that orgasm cliff and harshly bringing you back down.

“‘m bouta busss~” cameron chortles, tugging and slamming you back and forth, just jackhammering without a single care in the world. filthy words leave his mouth, ones he could never imagine saying to you if he weren't so gone and not so damn pussy whipped. “mmm-righ’there. uurrgh!” his chest’s ballooning and you could feel how fast his heart’s beating from his palms, how careless he’s becoming from his strenuous efforts.

tongue lolled out like some stupid doll, you don’t think you’ve ever been fucked like this before. ever. and after this evening, would you ever get this back? this dick? probably not. a new bar’s been impossibly set. cameron’s ruined everything for the next man —

GASP. there’s an explosion: “hnnht!” and another sticky spurt: “hnht!” and another splash: “fuck!” syrupy ribbons of sweltry white seed trickles from your walls. to cameron, it feels like the winds been knocked right outta him. and you . . . you are suffocating. roasting from the inside out. he keeps his arms around you, worried he may collapse.

adonis is going to kill you. cameron first.

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ hello. it is currently 4:40am edt (the birds are chirping) and this took approximately 2days. i have genuinely been busy with my summer career class, job, & trying to make time for personal relationships. i do get creative writing ideas often, but i’ve been lacking the brain power to push forward. i have NAAWT dropped from the ‘tyriq withers’ wagon. i’m still at the party literally. + wondering what else i could share with this univerrssseeee!!!!!

it’s 4:52am & my period has started. perfect

There wasn’t a name for whatever Smoke and Capri were. Not one that fit, anyway. He wasn’t her man, and she wasn’t his girl, but every time that eighteen-wheeler rumbled down the long dirt path to her house, she’d leave the front door unlocked and a clean towel on the bed like he belonged there. A toothbrush sat in her bathroom with bristles softened from use, his scent hung in her laundry like cologne caught in cotton, and her fridge always had his favorite kind of sweet tea tucked in the back. When he left again, she’d find one of his shirts folded on her porch swing, still warm from his back. It wasn’t love. But it wasn’t nothing either.

They met in a dive bar on a humid night that smelled like rain and spilled bourbon. The kind of spot with too many mounted deer heads and not enough respect. Capri had been going off on the bartender about a charge she never made, voice raised and one hand waving wild, the other planted on a hip. The whole room had turned to watch, but nobody stepped in. Not until Smoke. He slid up beside her like a shadow gaining shape, said, “Don’t talk to my girl like that,” in a voice low and rough like gravel soaked in honey. She wasn’t his. But when he said it, she believed him. The bartender backed off. Capri turned her head slow and looked him up and down, bold and unbothered. They didn’t make it past the alley behind the bar before he had her bent over his rig’s side step, dress hiked, mouth biting moans into his shoulder.

After that, it became routine. Smoke routed his hauls through her nowhere town, dry, windy, quiet except for cicadas and the creak of her porch swing. He never told her that’s why he passed through so often, but she knew. And every time that truck rolled up coated in road dust and heat, Capri was already out there pretending to check on her greenhouse, sipping lemonade, ass sittin’ pretty like temptation itself, tucked in them sinful little shorts that looked painted on by the devil’s own brush. She was 25, all sunlight and smart-ass, with that slick mouth full of dad jokes and a body made for trouble. Loved her garden, her pond, the space. Loved barefoot mornings and stargazing nights. Smoke was 38, thick-set and quiet, built like a man born from red clay and hard work, the kind who knew the weight of hay bales, engine blocks, and promises he never made out loud. He had that tired man charm—dry humor, hands that looked better dirty, and a stare that made her thighs clench.

When he was "home"—if you could call her ass that—he parked the rig like it had seniority and settled in like he never meant to leave. She cooked. He fixed shit. They’d bicker, fuck, fall asleep in twisted sheets, and wake up as if nothing happened. He never stayed too long. But while he was there, he was hers. She kept a pair of his drawers tucked in her drawer and wouldn’t admit how often she pulled them out just to hold.

They didn’t say I miss you. Didn’t label it. Didn’t ask about other people. But when they were apart too long, it showed. She got restless and rearranged her entire greenhouse twice. He gripped the wheel tighter, snapped at dispatch, and drove harder just to get back to her dirt road. It wasn’t love. But it damn sure felt like something dangerous.

The sun was slipping low over the horizon when Capri heard the familiar hum of Smoke’s rig easing down her drive. Long and slow, that deep diesel growl rolled over the brittle grass like thunder dragged through molasses. She was barefoot on the porch, watering her gardenias in cut-off shorts and a tank top, pretending like her heart hadn’t just kicked into a sprint the second she heard that engine turn off the main road.

She didn’t look right away.

Didn’t give him the satisfaction.

But she grinned. Wide. Real wide.

Smoke killed the engine, opened the door with that slow, heavy movement she knew by heart. He climbed down, boots hitting the ground with a familiar weight, then stretched—arms high, back arching, shirt riding just enough to show the hard curve of his belly and the thick line of his waist. Sweat already darkened the collar, clung to the crease of his spine. He looked like a problem she was ready to cause again.

“You gon’ stand there starin’ or say somethin’?” she called, not looking up.

“You the one grinnin’ like you saw Jesus,” he rumbled.

“Nah,” she drawled, flicking water toward the grass. “I was just wonderin’ if my tomatoes were finally gettin’ ripe. But look at that—my favorite overgrown traffic violation just pulled up.”

His lip twitched. That was her game. He wouldn’t give her a full smile, not yet. He liked to act unbothered, like he didn’t miss her. But that twitch? That was her win.

She finally turned, leaned her elbows on the porch railing, head tilted just enough to make the sweat bead at her neck roll down her collarbone. “You hungry, old man?”

“Only if you cookin’.”

“I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout food.”

He didn’t answer, just adjusted his belt like it was a problem solver and started walking—slow, deliberate, steps heavy with heat and history. His eyes dragged over her bare thighs, her exposed collarbone, the sway of her hips like he was doing the math on how long it’d take to put her through the mattress again.

Capri didn’t wait. She turned on her heel, let the screen door creak open behind her, and stepped inside, leaving it cracked, just enough.

She already knew he’d follow.

And he already knew what was waiting on the other side of that door.

He just had to walk through it.

That door barely had time to sway before he stepped through it, boots dragging the scent of asphalt and heat across her hardwood floor. The air shifted like it recognized him, clung to him. Leather and engine grease wrapped around his frame, carried in with the weight of long miles and longer nights. The screen snapped shut behind him, sharp as a switch crackin’ in quiet air. He stood still just a second, letting the house settle around him like it always did, like it missed him too. Capri didn’t turn to look. She didn’t have to. She could feel him in her skin.

She walked slowly toward the kitchen, barefoot and loose-limbed, like the house was a stage and she already knew her audience was glued to every step. Her hips rolled smooth beneath those cut-off shorts, tank top barely hanging on, the curve of her back catching the last lick of sun pouring through the windows. The sway in her walk wasn’t exaggerated, but it wasn’t subtle either. She was sending messages with the weight of her steps, and Smoke read every one.

The house smelled like basil and sugar, with a whisper of sweat and soil from her greenhouse clinging to the corners. It smelled like her, bright and wild with something grounding underneath. But even all that sweetness couldn’t cover the heat settling thick between them. That tension didn’t whisper. It roared.

Smoke trailed behind her, watching how the cotton clung to her lower back, how the light made a halo of the sweat sheen just under her neck. She was doin’ it on purpose. He knew. And still, he followed like a man who’d been starvin’ since the last time he saw her.

Capri made it to the counter and poured herself a glass of water, slow and unbothered like her heart wasn’t knockin’ against her ribs. She could feel his eyes. Could feel that body behind her—too big, too hot, too damn still. The clink of ice in her glass cut through the quiet. She took a slow sip and turned, one hip cocked against the sink like she wasn’t trying to look delicious.

“You drivin’ all day just to lurk in my doorway?” she asked, eyebrows lifted, voice sugary with something sharp underneath.

Smoke’s gaze crawled from her knees to her collarbone, landing heavy on her mouth. "I was waitin’ to see if you’d greet me proper, but you too busy struttin’ around like a dare."

She smiled, lazy and proud. "I watered my garden. Ain’t that proper enough for a guest?"

"Mm,” he said low, stepping in. His voice hit like low thunder, rumblin’ up from somewhere deep. “That ain’t what needs waterin’.”

Capri’s breath stuttered for just a second, chest rising like her lungs had to catch up. But she didn’t blink. She kept his gaze, chin high, lips just parted. Her hands gripped the edge of the sink behind her like it’d keep her from throwin’ herself into him. She loved this part, the tension that danced, the pull that begged for someone to snap it.

Smoke lifted his hand slow, rough fingertips brushing the shell of her jaw, dragging down until he cupped her face like it belonged to him. He tilted her head just enough to force her to look at him full-on.

“You miss me?” he asked, voice dipped in molasses.

Capri rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed hot. “You askin’ ‘cause you wanna hear the truth, or just cause you like the sound of me lyin’ to you?”

He leaned closer, breath warm on her lips. “Either one’ll do. Long as it’s your mouth sayin’ it.”

She didn’t give him a single word.

Instead, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt, yanked him in like gravity owed her a favor, and kissed him like she meant to leave marks on his tongue. It was thick and hot, full of memory and want. His mouth moved slow, but his hands moved like he’d been waitin’ months to touch her again. One gripped her waist, fingers digging into the dip where her back curved sweetly, the other ghosted up her spine before fisting the back of her tank. Their tongues moved like old friends, like enemies, too. The kind that knew just where to press to make the other one beg.

When they pulled apart, her lips were glossy, eyes wide and wicked.

“That proper enough for you?” she asked, voice husky.

Smoke looked at her like she was the last drink of water he’d get ‘til next summer. He stayed quiet a second too long, then bent his head low to her ear, voice deep and thick with intent.

“Not even close.”

His hand slid down, palming her ass, squeezing once, slow and deliberate, like he was measuring how long he could hold out. Capri’s smirk faded into something softer, more dangerous. They weren’t done. Hell, they hadn’t even started.

Capri didn’t give him a chance to reconsider. She grabbed his belt as she backed down the hallway, leading him like a bad idea she knew he couldn’t resist. The dim light stretched long over hardwood and shadow, her bedroom glowing ahead like a promise wrapped in moonlight. Every sway of her hips whispered a dare, and Smoke followed with that slow, looming stride, boots echoing like thunder on a distant stormfront. The scent of jasmine thickened in the air as they passed her open windows, carried on the breeze that kissed bare skin.

The room met them like it already knew what they came for. The moonlight spilled in silver and blue over tangled white sheets, over a sprawl of pillows and the vines curling down her walls like they were eavesdropping. The air hung heavy, warm, electric, full of everything unsaid. Smoke stood at the edge of the bed, gaze slow, devouring the sight of her.

Capri raised her arms, peeling her tank up inch by inch, bare breasts bouncing free with the motion, nipples already hard from the rush of cool air and heat beneath his stare. Her skin caught the light like honey, and Smoke’s breath thickened in his throat. She tossed the shirt aside without care, then slid her thumbs into her panties and began lowering them with a smirk that could start a war.

He didn’t wait long. His hands gripped her hips and guided her the rest of the way, rough fingers digging in just enough to leave ghosts behind. He dragged her panties the rest of the way, hard, like they’d personally offended him, snapping them past her knees and tossing them somewhere behind him. Then he leaned in, dragging his mouth up her stomach to the underside of her breast, kissing the curve before biting it softly, just to hear her gasp.

“You stay runnin’ that mouth,” he growled against her skin, kneeling to kiss the inside of her thigh. “But you always end up cryin’ when I get between these legs.”

Capri shuddered, but the fire in her voice didn’t die. “Maybe I cry ‘cause you talk so much shit I run outta ways to shut you up.”

Smoke’s eyes lifted, gleaming. 

Before she could blink, he grabbed behind her knees and yanked her down onto the bed, her back hitting the mattress with a soft bounce. Her thighs spread instinctively, wet and ready, and he was there, mouth open, tongue already dragging slow from her entrance to her clit.

He didn’t ease in. He devoured. Tongue thick and wet, lips sealing around her clit as he sucked hard, drawing a deep, guttural moan from her chest. He mouthed her like he paid for the privilege, slow circles, soft flicks, then hard, purposeful strokes that had her toes curling. He growled into her pussy, low and constant, like it helped him taste her better.

“Damn, girl,” he muttered, licking deep, beard slick with her arousal. “Always this fuckin’ sweet”

She tried to throw a comeback, but it died halfway in her throat as he slid a thick finger in, curling it just right while his tongue teased the swollen hood of her clit. Her hips jerked, legs trembling, and he pinned her down, forearms braced across her thighs. She was shaking, squirming, gasping.

"Smoke—shit—I swear—"

"Yeah, say it,” he growled. “Say it like you mean it."

Her fingers tangled in the soft hair at the back of his low-cut fade, pulling hard as her orgasm broke, her thighs shaking violently around his head. He didn’t stop, just licked her through it, collecting every drop, murmuring filth against her until she sagged into the mattress.

Only then did he rise.

He stripped without rush, peeling his shirt off slow, revealing a thick, solid chest dusted with sweat. His stomach wasn’t sculpted but strong, built from real work, heavy-handed labor. His jeans dropped next, and his dick swung up thick and pulsing against his belly.

Capri bit her lip and reached out, but he was already grabbing her ankles, dragging her back down the bed like she was his to claim.

“Don’t run,” he warned, voice low.

“I ain’t runnin’,” she whispered. “I’m spreadin’.”

He laughed once, dark and low, then guided himself in.

The first thrust stole the breath from her lungs. Long and slow, thick and filling, stretching her walls until her back arched. Her nails clawed the sheets. Then he pulled back and slammed in again.

He set a rhythm that didn’t waver, steady and brutal, relentless like a storm building over open land. Holding her ankles high, elbows locked, he drove into her with precision, his hips snapping forward with the kind of force that left her gasping. Every thrust sent the soft clap of skin meeting skin ricocheting through the room, a sound so slick and obscene it could’ve made the walls blush. Her pussy was soaked, greedy, sucking him in with each push, squelching loudly from the mess he was making between her thighs. The bed beneath them rocked with every movement, creaking like it was struggling to hold on, the headboard slamming in staccato bursts against the wall. Sheets twisted and bunched beneath her spine, catching the sweat that slicked her body and the evidence of everything he poured into her. And still he didn’t slow, his grip tightening, his jaw clenched, fucking her like she was his salvation and sin all at once.

“This mine,” he gritted through his teeth. “You feel that? You hear that?”

Capri tried to talk. Tried to match him. But her voice broke every time he bottomed out, her moans turning into whimpers, fingers digging into the mattress for something to hold.

She started sliding up the bed, body trying to flee the relentless assault. But Smoke wasn’t havin’ it. He caught her hips and yanked her back down like a ragdoll.

“Nah,” he growled. “You knew what this was.”

She came hard, body locking, eyes rolling, mouth open and silent as the orgasm slammed through her. He fucked her through it, then flipped her without pause—face down, ass up, her body limp but needy.

He slid back in with a hunger that made his breath hitch, grabbed her ass with both hands, spreading her cheeks wide as he buried himself deep again, balls slapping against the soaked swell of her folds. Each stroke landed harder than the last, his hips snapping with a force that made her ass ripple beneath the impact like water catching a hard wind. He watched the way her skin trembled with each slam, mesmerized by the waves he sent through her body. Her pussy clung to him like it didn’t want to let go, drawing every inch of his dick deeper with greedy, rhythmic pulses pulls that only made him growl lower. Her moans were thick and desperate, muffled by the pillow she bit down on, fingers clawing into the fabric like she needed something to hold onto before she shattered completely. She arched into him, trying to meet each thrust, but her legs were jelly, trembling under the pressure of the pace he set. She couldn’t keep up—didn’t need to. He had her. He was fucking her deep enough to leave echoes.

His name spilled from her mouth over and over.

“Take it,” he groaned. “Take all this fuckin’ dick, girl. You wanted it. Now wear it.”

He came deep, shuddering as his hips ground into her, spilling so much she could feel it leak out, heat pooling between her thighs. But he didn’t move far. Instead, he kept his chest pressed against her back, the sweat between them making their skin stick. His hand slid down, slow and deliberate, rubbing her spine with the kind of gentleness that belied the filth of what just happened. Then his fingers slipped between her thighs to feel the mess he’d made, her slick and his cum mixing, dripping.

"Still warm," he muttered, more to himself than her, then dipped his fingers back in, teasing her with the same stretch he'd just filled. She twitched, whimpered, trying to pull away—but he held her still with one arm across her waist.

Capri moaned, limp and panting, body already overstimulated.

And Smoke just smiled, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he felt himself stiffen again against her ass.

“Hope you ain’t in a rush,” he murmured, voice low and gritty. “We just gettin’ started.”

He slid out slowly, watching more of his cum spill from her, then guided her to lie on her side, facing the window. The moonlight spilled in through the cracked blinds, painting her curves in silver. He moved behind her, spooning her close, thick dick sliding between her thighs until it nestled right against her soaked entrance.

She reached back, hooking her leg over his, guiding him in.

“Don’t be gentle now,” she breathed.

Smoke kissed the back of her neck, lined up, and pushed in again, inch by inch, stretching her open all over. This position hit different—deeper, slower. He gripped her thigh and started to move, hips rolling, dragging his dick in and out with unhurried thrusts meant to make her feel every single inch.

Capri gasped, reaching for the sheets, the new angle making her whole body tremble. He slid his arm under her head, cradling her, his other hand squeezing her breast, thumb brushing her nipple as he fucked her slow and filthy.

"Yeah... just like that,” she whispered, grinding her hips back. “Give it to me. Fill me up again."

Smoke groaned behind her, biting down on her shoulder, his voice hoarse. “You gon’ keep beggin’ like that, I’ma give you every fuckin’ drop I got.”

And he did—fucking her through the aftershocks until they weren’t aftershocks anymore, just a second wave building on the wreckage of the first. Their bodies tangled tighter, her leg hitched high over his hip as he drove into her from behind on their sides, the grind deep and filthy, his dick dragging slow and thick through her mess. She whimpered, overstimulated and feral, biting her own wrist to keep from screaming as he hit the spot again and again like he was carving his name into her from the inside out. Capri reached behind her, desperate to touch, to grab whatever part of him she could—his thigh, his hand, his ass, anything to anchor herself as he pushed her closer to the edge.

He bit down on her shoulder and snapped his hips harder, voice right at her ear, breath warm and filthy.

“Keep takin’ it. You feel me buried in this pussy? I’m fuckin’ you straight through this goddamn mattress.”

The bed frame groaned beneath them, the sound of wood straining and protesting with every punishing thrust. Sweat soaked the sheets, slicked their skin, and turned every movement into a slippery grind of bodies fighting for release. Her cries pitched higher. His name tore from her mouth like a plea and a curse.

Capri came again, body locking up as her legs kicked against the sheets, and still he didn’t stop. He chased it, the clench of her pussy drawing him in deeper, until he came with a guttural moan, spilling inside her with a twitch that left his whole body shaking.

Even then, he kept rocking slow, making sure she felt every drop. Making sure she knew he meant it.

She was wrecked. And he was still hard.

Outside, the wind rustled through the trees, and somewhere far off, a porch light flicked on. But in that room, it was just them—wet, tangled, and fucking like it was the only thing keeping them alive.

Smoke pulled out slow, watching his cum spill from her like he was hypnotized. Capri’s thighs were slick, trembling, her whole body humming with the aftermath. Her chest rose and fell in rapid waves, her mouth parted as she tried to catch her breath. But before she could recover, he was already moving—already shifting her body beneath him.

He hooked both her legs and dragged her flat onto her back, crawling over her with the hunger of a man possessed. His dick was still rock hard, gleaming with her mess and his, and aching for more.

“This the one, ain’t it?” he muttered, eyes locked on hers as he lined himself back up. “Missionary. Where I get to look at you while I ruin you.”

Capri didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Her legs wrapped around his back, her hands clutched his face, and she nodded, biting her lip like the taste of him was still stuck to her tongue.

He sank back in with a groan, eyes locked on hers the whole way. It was different this time—deeper, slower, but no less filthy. He fucked her like he needed to see every flicker of reaction on her face, every flutter of her lashes, every twist of her mouth when he hit that spot that made her moan from her gut.

“Look at you,” he whispered, lips brushing hers, voice thick with possession and lust. “Leakin’ my nut and still beggin’ for more. You know you mine, right?”

Capri let out a breathy laugh between moans, nodding as her arms looped tighter around his shoulders. “You feel how I grip you? This pussy been waitin’ on you. It remembers every inch, every stroke. You made it yours, baby.”

He kissed her then—deep, tongue tangled with hers, a wet, filthy kiss that matched the rhythm of his hips. He was grinding into her, dragging his dick slow, then snapping his hips fast, over and over. Their bodies slapped together in rhythm, hot and raw and endless.

“You keep talkin’ to me like that,” he growled, “I’ma fuck you till you can’t walk straight ‘til Tuesday.”

“You already did that,” she moaned, nails raking his back. “Now do it again.”

He buried his face in her neck, whispering filthy praises with every stroke. “So fuckin’ wet... so tight... so perfect. This mine. This all mine. You gon’ cum for me again, baby? Let me feel you lose it.”

And she did—legs locked around him, voice gone hoarse, body lifting off the bed as she shattered for the third time.

Smoke followed, groaning so deep it sounded like it came from his chest, filling her again until they were both soaked in each other’s mess. But even as they collapsed together, bodies heaving, the heat between them didn’t break.

Not yet.

The morning didn’t come so much as it melted in, slow and sticky, golden light spilling across the bed like it knew it wasn’t welcome yet. Capri lay stretched out, one leg slung over Smoke’s thick thigh, her fingers tangled lazily in his beard. She rubbed slow, soft circles at his jaw, tracing the curve of his chin, watching his lashes flutter like he might drift off again. Her nails barely scratched the spot just under his ear, the one that always made him hum low in his chest like a truck engine idling.

Smoke had one of her fingers in his mouth, lips wrapped around it, tongue dragging down the pad like he was still tasting last night. Every lick was slow, deliberate, his other hand resting low on her hip, thumb brushing lazy over the curve of her ass. They weren’t talking—just breathing in rhythm, limbs knotted, skin still damp with sweat, sleep, and the weight of what they'd done to each other. The room still smelled like sex and summer air.

“I swear we said we was gonna rest,” Capri mumbled, voice rough from screaming, eyelids low but smug.

“We tried,” Smoke replied around her finger, voice thick and heavy. “You the one kept grindin’ that lil’ ass on me like you was tryna start somethin’.”

“I was asleep.”

“You was dreamin’ ‘bout dick.”

She snorted and rolled onto her back, arms stretched above her head, breasts rising with every breath. Her nipple brushed his chest and his eyes darkened instantly. Smoke leaned over, kissed her stomach, then lower. They almost made it to sunrise without fucking again. Almost. Her thighs spread like muscle memory.

They didn’t crawl out of bed until the light had fully spilled across the floors, casting everything in that soft, guilty glow. Their bodies were heavy, limbs sore and satisfied, but the kind of ache that begged for more. The shower was quick but not clean, hands everywhere, water hot, steam curling up the walls while Smoke pressed her to the tile like she was something rare he had to stake a claim on before the steam could carry her away. He slid in slow and deep, letting the weight of his hips press her into the cool ceramic, mouth against her shoulder, teeth grazing soft as he whispered filth in her ear, each word drawing shivers down her spine.

She gripped the back of his neck, fingers in damp hair, trying to steady herself against the way he moved, rolling, steady thrusts that had her eyes rolling back and her thighs trembling again. The steam clung to their skin, fogging the mirror, turning the whole room into a private sauna thick with moans and low, dirty talk. Even when the water started to run cold, neither of them moved. Her moans echoed off the walls like confessions, answered by the deep, guttural groans that rumbled up from his chest. Every time she gasped his name, he only drove deeper, lips dragging along her jaw, promising more before the day was even done.

Breakfast came after, if you could call it that. Smoke leaned back against the kitchen counter, shirtless, legs spread wide, his heavy dick resting against Capri’s lips as she licked slow, tasting him like he was made of bourbon heat and Sunday morning regrets. Her tongue traced the thick vein along the underside, flicking over the tip before taking him back into her mouth with a hum that made his stomach clench. Her lips were slick, her mouth hot and wet, swallowing him inch by inch with a hunger that made his legs tremble.

She moaned around him, low and sinful, like she loved the weight of him on her tongue, loved how he twitched every time she sucked just right. Her hand massaged his balls, fingers working him slow, while the other gripped his thigh like she was holding him in place, making sure he didn’t run. Smoke’s jaw was clenched, his hand in her curls, not guiding, just hanging on, like he needed something to ground himself.

He gripped the edge of the table with his other hand, knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to thrust deeper. His breath came in short bursts, chest rising and falling fast, head tipped back. She popped him out of her mouth, spit trailing from her lips to the tip, and licked him slow from base to crown with a lazy grin before swallowing him again, deeper this time.

His voice broke on a curse, hips jerking forward, and she let him, let him fuck into her mouth just a little, her eyes locked on his, daring him. He came with a low, guttural grunt, dick pulsing as he spilled down her throat, and she didn’t flinch, just sucked him through it, moaning as he filled her mouth like she’d been starving for it all night.

He came with a grunt, head tipped back, jaw tight, beard damp with sweat again. Capri wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and kissed his navel with a grin.

“Still say we need a breakfast nook,” she said, standing and kissing his jaw, voice syrupy sweet.

“Long as you keep usin’ it like that, I’ll build you one myself. Hell, I’ll paint it whatever color you want.”

Now, the sun was higher and hotter, burning off the dew and painting everything in that unforgiving light. They sat outside, barefoot and quiet, the porch shaded by the creak of old beams and the hum of bugs in the distance. Even the breeze seemed tired.

Smoke leaned on the railing, still shirtless, a Black & Mild between his lips, his jeans hanging loose on his hips, belt unbuckled, scratches down his back. He took a slow drag, exhaled thick smoke, and watched Capri with that deadpan look that said everything he wouldn’t.

She sat on the bottom step, legs wide open, her tank top barely covering her, sipping Gatorade like she’d just finished a marathon. Her inner thighs were still sticky. Her hair was wild, and her face wore that satisfied glow that came after being thoroughly fucked. And in a way, she had been. Again. And again.

“You broke my damn back,” she muttered, stretching her neck.

“You broke your bed,” he shot back, tapping ash off the end of his smoke.

She reached behind her and tossed a garden glove at him. He caught it without looking, a smirk spreading lazily across his face.

“Reckon you gon’ fix it, Mr. Handyman?” she asked.

“Reckon you keep spreadin’ like that, I’ma break it again before I fix it.”

She twisted to glance over her shoulder, ass still perched high from the way she leaned, glistening just a little in the sun like she’d been oiled up. Capri didn’t hide the way she posed, didn’t mask the way she still wanted more. Her grin was shameless.

“So… how long till you gotta hit the road?” she asked, sipping from the bottle, eyes cutting to his mouth.

Smoke exhaled slow, eyes dragging down her spine like a weight. He looked like he was considering fuckin’ her again right there in the dirt, her ass up in the garden bed, bees and all.

“Soon as I can walk straight,” he said, voice low and hoarse.

Capri grinned wider, licking her lips.

Smoke sighed like a man on his last leg, dragging his gaze away from the porch and toward the truck like it physically hurt to leave her orbit. He moved slow, each step heavy with the weight of too many nights on the road and not enough of her between them. He popped the cab door, yanked his duffel from the passenger seat, and slung it over one broad shoulder, muscles flexing under sun-warmed skin as he shut the door with his hip.

But then Capri moved like sugar catching flame, stepping in close, chest brushing his arm, voice low and sticky sweet as molasses when she whispered, "Bet you won’t take me on the road with you."

He froze. Just for a second. The duffel hit the porch with a thud like it had been ripped out his hand. Smoke turned slow, jaw clenched, eyes burning with something half-wild, half-done. He looked at her like she was the only thing in the world he hadn't figured out how to leave behind.

And when he stepped toward her again, it wasn’t over. Not even close.

(Author’s note: My first time writing a complete smut scene—go easy on me lol. I’ve had this idea on my mind for ages, so I was like let me go ahead and write while inspiration is here. Let me know what y’all think!🫶🏽)

You loved Stack. 

You really did. You loved him more than you’ve loved any man walking on this Earth. He made you feel things—excitement, danger, adventure. Each day with him was like discovering some new hidden gem, and you were addicted to the feeling. 

He was charming. Granted, that was one of the first things that set off alarm bells for you. Your grandmama had always told you to watch out for those charming, sly mouth men. 

“They’ll talk you right on out ya’ panties if you ain’t too careful. Next thing you know, you sitting there with a baby while he’s warmin’ the next woman’s bed.”

Unfortunately, you hadn’t heeded your grandmama’s warnings and you ended right up in bed with the same man that she warned you about. But you loved Elias. That was another thing, you never called him Stack. He was so insistent on people calling him Stack, but you never would. 

You remember the first time that he introduced himself, all dressed in swagger and sin. “Name’s Stack, sugar. And what might I call you?” 

You remembering frowning at him in displeasure, “Your mama named you Stack?”

Stack had smiled at you that day. That gold grill glimmering in the sunlight and practically begging you to give in. “Naw, my mama named me Elias, but everyone else ‘round here calls me Stack.” 

“Well I’m not everybody else, so I’ll call you Elias, just like God and ya mama intended.” 

From that day forward, he was Elias. Your Elias. You had allowed yourself to be sucked in more when it came to Stack’s world. You were completely and utterly entranced by him. The crazy thing was, Stack seemed to have that effect on lots of people. You would watch as women swooned at his feet, hoping for a chance to get with it. Hell, even men wanted a piece of your man. 

Which was another thing. You and Stack had never actually put a title on things. It was just kind of an unspoken agreement that he was yours and you were his. He’d always hold you close whenever you were in public, which automatically let people know that you were with him, but he had never gone as far as calling you “his lady.” 

You loved Stack. 

You really did. 

But he liked to play games. It was an annoyance to yourself and his twin brother, Smoke. You had met Smoke a month into your little situationship with Stack. With Smoke….he scared you a little. His quiet disposition was enough to throw anybody off, but the more you were able to spend time around him, the more you grew to like him. 

On the other hand, Smoke liked you too. He thought you were a smart woman with a good head on your shoulders, which is why he couldn’t understand why you were wasting your time on his brother. 

He knew that Stack didn’t have any serious plans of settling down with you, and he also knew that Stack didn’t have any plans of telling you that. His twin could often be so careless when it came to women.

Apart of you suspected that Elias wasn’t as serious about your relationship like you were. You wanted to believe that he was being faithful, but without that title and reassurance, it was all just smoke and mirrors. 

You should’ve known that something was going on. Your intuition practically screamed at you to wake up. The late nights. The phone being flipped over. Coming home late smellin’ of perfume that you knew that you didn’t wear. 

Your man had been creepin’ but you didn’t have any solid evidence to back it up. 

Well not at first….not until recently. 

It was a hot, humid day in the Mississippi Delta. You had just got off from a long day at work and you decided to surprise Elias with a home cooked meal and maybe….dessert after. Arriving at the house that he and Smoke shared, you had gotten out of your own car and walked to the porch. You saw Elias’s car parked in the yard, so you knew he was home. Plus, you were often privy to the details of his schedule. 

You used the spare key that was under the potted plant that Smoke was keeping alive. Letting yourself into the house, you were greeted with a wave of cold air from the air conditioner. You set the bags of groceries on the counter and walked through the house. 

Walking down the hallway, you passed by Smoke’s closed bedroom door. You had never seen the inside of his room, but you always imagined that it was very minimalist and sterile. Smoke was the strict twin, and you figured that he held that same rigid regimen in all other areas of his life, including his bedroom. 

You walked further down the hallway until you were standing in front of Elias’s bedroom door. You were about to knock and call out his name until you heard the sounds of his bed creaking and subtly slamming against the wall.

That sound was ingrained in your head from the numerous times when you and Elias would make love here. 

You heard the pleasured moans of a woman combined with Stack’s own groans of pleasure. 

Slowly, your hand moved to the doorknob and twisted. You opened the door and felt a rise of bile in your throat. It burned like fresh acid. The sight you were greeted with was Elias thrusting away in between the legs of a pale woman. 

You recognized her as Mary. 

The same Mary that you knew was a married woman. The same woman that Stack had told you not to worry about. 

Both of their bodies were drenched in sweat, which let you know that their copulation had been going on for a while. Mary, who’s head was thrown back in pleasure, suddenly looked towards your direction and gasped. 

“Stack.” She said, worry filling her voice. 

Stack stopped his movements and looked back and locked eyes with you. He even had the nerve to look guilty. You were the tears stinging at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Red hot anger consumed your being and for a second, you thought that you might snap. 

However, your body moved and you turned on your heel to exit the room. Walking quickly up the hallway, you grabbed your keys and made your way out the door. You heard Stack’s rushed footsteps behind you, but you were hellbent on leaving. 

You were greeted with the Mississippi sun beating down on your skin again. 

“Baby wait.” You heard Stack saying, but your footsteps never faltered. Another car pulled up in the driveway, which you knew was Smoke’s. He quickly exited his car upon seeing Stack running behind you. 

As you reached your car door, you felt Stack grasp your wrist in an attempt to stop you. You don’t remember exactly how it happened, but it all happened so quickly. One minute, you were facing your car and the next, your fist was meeting Stack’s nose.

The man let out a yelp of pain as your knuckles met the bridge of his nose. Blood quickly shot out of the orifice, and you felt pain radiate through your hand. 

You didn’t even realize that tears had began streaming down your face. You weren’t sure if it was from the cheating or punching Stack—but you were leaning heavily to the former. 

A pair of gentle hands grabbed your wounded hand and you looked into Smoke’s eyes. The other man’s eyes held a lot of sadness and empathy for you. 

Your rage overcame you again and you snatched your hand away from him. Getting into your car, you quickly reversed and maneuvered out of the yard. Before you could speed off, you gripped tightly at the necklace, which had been a gift from Stack, and roughly ripped it from around your neck. 

Letting down the passenger window, you chucked the necklace back into the yard before speeding off. You didn’t care about getting a ticket for speeding, you just needed to get far away from the Moore twins.

__________________

In the South, your business is never really private or sacred. Oh no, word gets around faster than a preacher giving a sermon on Easter Sunday. 

Word travelled fast throughout your town about Stack’s infidelity with a married woman, nonetheless. My Lord, the older women in town clutched at their pearls upon hearing the news. 

At work, many of your coworkers gave you looks of sympathy. 

“Bless her heart. Po’girl. She know better than goin’ and gettin’ with that Moore boy. He always been trouble.”

“Girl, I heard she found him with that white girl. You know her, Carol Johnson’s daughter….that’s the one!!”

“Mmm..mmm…mm! That’s a crying shame! I heard they had to call the police cause Mary’s husband was acting up somethin’ awful. You know him and his daddy own that general sto’ down by Mill Creek. I heard them boys was clowin’ him, and they had to stop him from goin’ to beat the girl!” 

“My boy, Bobby Lee, said he saw Stack walkin’ round with his nose all bandaged. You don’t reckon Mary’s husband paid him a visit?”

“No girl! That lil’ girl in there whacked him somethin’ awful. That’s why her hands all bruised up.”

“Mmm mmm mmm…..Bless her heart.”

Despite the fact that you heard everyone whispering and muttering around you, you never said a word. You kept things going, business as usual. In fact, on the outside, it appeared like nothing had ever happened. But on the inside, you were an absolute wreck. 

When you had got home that day, you had broken down, harder than you ever have before. Sobs tore through your body and you swore that you experienced a moment of hysteria. 

You had tore through everything in your house that had Stack’s signature on it. His clothes that he left were torn up and ripped to shreds. Those gifts and teddy bears won at carnivals had met your sudden female rage. Pictures of you together were ripped apart. 

You didn’t know what had overcome you, but you found yourself throwing all of the things–his things–in a pile and setting fire to it. As you watched the fire consume the remnants of your relationship, you found one of his cigars that he liked to smoke. Cuban blend. 

Lighting the cigar with a match, you placed it to your mouth and took a drag. Bitter smoke filled your lungs and you welcomed the pain. You sat back in your lawn chair and watched it all burn. If anybody were to find you, they would absolutely believe that you had lost your mind. 

And maybe you did. 

But for now, you’d smoke this cigar and pick up the ashes later.

_____________________

Two weeks later, you waltzed your pretty self into the office like nothing that happened. It was almost scary to your coworkers how good you looked. 

You were pristine, like a carefully crafted china doll. Still everyone maneuvered around you like they were scared of you breaking. 

During your lunch break, you had decided to take a walk and go pick up lunch from Annie’s Cafe. The woman greeted you and looked you up and down.

“My..my…you sho’ll look good sugar.” Annie said. She made you do a little turn for her, “You even still got some booty back there.” 

The two of you laughed, as she packed your lunch. The doorbell jingled and the air shifted around you. You knew that it meant that Stack was here. You saw Smoke walking next to him and both men passed by you. You could tell the other patrons were waiting with held breaths to see if you would acknowledge Stack. 

As Stack passed by you, a part of him longed to reach out and talk to you. Smoke grabbed him before he could approach you and subtly shook his head. Now was definitely not the time, especially with all these eyes watching. 

You grabbed your plate from Annie and thanked her. You waltzed out the door without sparing a single glance at Stack. 

That was the part that hurt him the most. 

___________________

It started off small, and increased in grandiose. With Stack, he never knew how to do things small.

He was sending small gifts to your office. Bouquets of your favorite flowers. Your favorite candy. Teddy bears. Next, it was jewelry. Cartier bracelets. Tennis necklaces. Expensive heels and purses. 

All which ended up right back on his and Smoke’s front porch. Even the small cards that he had wrote notes on went unopened. 

He had started calling your office, only to be met with your receptionist, “I’m sorry Mr. Moore, she can’t come to the phone now, but I can take a message.” 

Even with him popping up at your job, he was being denied entrance. He had tried his luck at calling you, only to find out that you had blocked his number and all of his social media. 

He had tried the ole method of just popping up at your house, but you always left him knocking at the door. 

You had gone complete ghost. 

Your presence had become so scarce that Stack would’ve believed that you were gone had it not been for the numerous whispers of people seeing you around town. 

He just wanted to talk to you. To make it all better. To tell you that he was sorry and that he loved you. That the sex with Mary meant nothing.

But you had cut the man out of your life. Even Smoke was refusing to help him. 

“Now why would I help you after the mess you pulled? Her breaking your nose wasn’t answer enough that she don’t wanna talk to you?” 

But still, Stack was insistent on winning you back. 

_________________

A month later, people around town noticed a change in you. They couldn’t quite put a finger on it, bug they chalked it up to you being healed from the mess with Stack. 

You were like a brand new woman. If it was possible, it looked like you had gotten even more beautiful. Maybe you had gotten some of that hoodoo from Annie. 

Looking good was an understatement. 

You walked with a new swagger in your step. You had gotten thicker and curvier in all the areas that mattered. Skin was glowing. Word spread through the town like a wildfire.

“She been looking good girl! I’m talkin’ booty and titties been sittin’ nice. You don’t think she got them done?”

“Naw girl! That’s all homegrown right there!”

“I heard that she may be seeing a new man. Cheryl said that some mystery man been sending her flowers and lunch.”

“You don’t think it’s Stack, do you?”

“Can’t be Stack. Word is, he been still trynna get back with her.” 

“Well whoever it is, they got her glowing.” 

Stack wasn’t a fool. He knew that women tended to glow up after a breakup. However, he couldn’t help but get a little bitter upon hearing rumors of you having a new nigga. How had you moved on so fast from him? 

Sure, he messed up and he was fully owning up to it, but he wasn’t expecting another man to swoop in and steal you. He tried to get info from the neighborhood gossips, but nobody had seen sight of your new mystery beau. 

Stack started to doubt that the mystery man was real, but his suspicions were confirmed. It happened on a random Wednesday when he saw you walking into a clothing store. He followed you into the store, figuring that this was finally his chance to talk to you.

He found you browsing in the lingerie section. He saw you admiring a midnight blue lace two piece with garters. 

“That’d look real nice on your skin.” He said.

You looked over to him, blankly. You turned and continued to browse through the pieces. He opened his mouth to try to make another joke, “Stack, I don’t have time for your jokes. I’d rather you not talk to me at all.” 

He stopped and stared at you. You never called him Stack. He was always Elias to you. He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat.

He leaned forward and caught sight of a purple bruise on your collarbone. He quickly turned you to him and examined the mark closer. He felt fury enter his chest, “It ain’t been nothin’ but a month, and you already openin’ yo’ legs for another nigga?!” 

A sharp sting crossed his cheek until his brain processed that you had slapped him. You stepped closer to him and lowered your voice, “You think you get to question who I’m spreading my legs for? You lost that right when I caught you with your dick in another woman’s snatch! You wanna play the jealous boyfriend? Miss me with that, Stack. You lost that right when you betrayed me. And I’ll make sure that I let my new man break my back in a little harder tonight, so you can get it through your head that you and I are no longer an item.”

With one last cold look, you turned and made your way to the counter—with that midnight blue set in your hand. 

Stack was left standing there, heartbroken and humiliated. 

__________________

Stack needed to get out of town for the weekend. He had packed an overnight bag and let his brother know that he’d be gone for the weekend.

Smoke regarded him simply and told him to stay safe. On the drive away, Stack reflected. 

Really sat and reflected. On everything. 

He thought about you. How you were always there to hold him down. He thought on the tender moments shared between the two of you. He loves you. He really does. He just had a habit of sabotaging good things in his life. He was always the more impulsive one between himself and Smoke.

Even growing up, he was always the one getting in trouble. Smoke would often take a lot of the punishment meant for Stack to keep him safe. He knew how their father’s temper could get. 

He thought about the scars that littered his body from their father’s anger. He remembered the moments where you would be laying beside him, and you would take special care to kiss each and every scar. 

You’d make sure that none of them were neglected. You would whisper affirmations of love to Stack, and remind him that he was worthy of love. 

God, you were so patient with him. And how did he repay you? By cheating with the one woman that he always told you not to worry about. 

He would use this time to reflect. 

Maybe he could try again to win you back.

__________________

A day later, Stack was traveling back to his and Smoke’s house. He had done his reflecting and he decided to cut his little weekend getaway short. 

Pulling up into the yard, he parked behind Smoke’s car. All of the lights were off in the house so he assumed that Smoke was sleeping. 

The illumination from the moon was the only source of light. 

Stack unlocked the door and dropped his bag on the floor. He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and sipped on it. He made the journey back to his room, until he noticed that Smoke’s door was slightly open. 

Stack would’ve kept walking, but the sounds of moans and feminine gasps caught his attention. Tentatively, he crept closer to the closer, making sure to keep his footsteps lights. He peered through the door. He wasn’t able to see clearly through the door, but the moonlight assisted in seeing the outline of Smoke’s body. 

Truthfully, there was a slightly curious and perverted part of Stack that wanted to know what Smoke looked like when he was having sex. He and Smoke were mirrors of each other, so in a way, it was like he would be watching himself. 

He and Smoke often didn’t talk about their sexual exploits. Even when Smoke lost his virginity, he wouldn’t give any details to Stack. Whereas, Stack, was like a leaking faucet with sharing his story with Smoke. 

Even as they grew, Smoke wouldn’t share that information with him. Smoke rarely brought women to the house, so for him to have a woman in there now, meant that he really liked her. 

Stack had to hear second-hand accounts from women in town about what an amazing lover that Smoke was. He remembered being in the club and passing by two women. The beautiful dark skinned woman was talking to her friend, “Girl yes. I’m telling you, I know Smoke is the quiet one, but that quiet act is all a front. That man had me seeing stars. I was crying through at one point from all that pleasure and he talked me through it. I’m sure my toes was in there doing gang signs.” 

The other woman laughed loudly. 

Stack peered closer and was able to see Smoke’s head between the mystery woman’s legs. The woman had her back arched off the bed and she rolling her hips against Smoke’s mouth. Stack could see her hands clasping tightly at Smoke’s head. In return, Smoke threw his arm across her waist to hold her still. His head moved deeper in her core and her moans pitched higher. 

“Right there baby..” she moaned before she let out a high pitched squeal. Smoke continued to move his head and helped her ride her high out. 

Moving his head from her core, he moved his head up until him and the women were kissing. 

“You taste how you sweet you are.” Smoke’s voice rang out in the room. 

Smoke rose and picked the woman up in his arms. Immediately, the woman wrapped her limbs around him. Stack could see her kissing and biting at Smoke’s neck. Smoke set the dresser across the room and moved her body closer to the edge.

Stack could see Smoke start to stroke his length and heard a sharp gasp in the room. He assumed that Smoke was now entering her. The woman looped her arms around Smoke’s neck as the man began to thrust between her thighs. Loud pleasured cries filled the room along with smacking of skin against skin. 

“Harder baby,” the woman pleaded to Smoke. 

Smoke, ever the soldier, obeyed the woman’s request and placed her legs in the crook of his arms. The items on the dresser clattered loudly as Smoke delivered harsh thrusts to the woman. The woman’s moans intensified and she appeared to be matching Smoke in his movements. The woman’s nails raked roughly down Smoke’s back, which seemed to spur him on.

Smoke’s groans echoed through the room.

Stack felt his throat drying and swallowed deeply at free show that he was witnessing. 

There was something that unsettled him, the moans and cries sounded vaguely familiar to him. 

He looked back at Smoke and the mystery women, who had her forehead placed on Smoke’s. The two lovers appeared to be holding eye contact while their bodies bounced against each other. Wet squelches added to the ambiance of the room. 

Suddenly the woman spoke, “I want you to cum inside of me, Elijah.”

Stack froze.

He knew that voice. He peered at the mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman’s reflection. He pushed the door open slightly and the sliver of moonlight finally shone on the woman’s face. 

Stack felt his whole world crash down as he saw your face. Your pleasured and ruined face. 

Suddenly, you let out a long moan, which Stack was familiar with. It was that same moan that always told him that you were cumming. Smoke followed behind you and let out a long groan. He held your body closer to his, no doubt spilling his release inside of you as you had asked for. 

You moved your head to Smoke’s ear, “It’s all yours, daddy.”

You lifted your head and locked eyes directly with Stack. 

Checkmate.

From the book of young hoe: Thou shan’t wear a coat if it doesn’t match the fit.

When most people met Smoke, they automatically assumed that they knew what type of woman he would gravitate towards. When they envisioned Smoke’s significant other, they pictured a woman who was modest, quiet, and poised. What they weren’t expecting was you. 

Now, no one would ever step to Smoke and openly say anything unkind about you. Not unless they wanted to be packed up like a can of sardines. Because one thing Smoke didn’t play about was you. 

Smoke meets you at the gas station of all places. He notices you almost immediately. It’s really hard not to notice you in your short dress that clings to your curves like it’s painted on, or the loud clacking from your heels that are definitely a safety hazard. 

Or maybe it’s the warm and sweet vanilla perfume that wafts past his nose and lingers in the aisle as you pick up snacks. Smoke assumes that you must be coming back from a night out based on how you look. Your movements are a bit sluggish, but still graceful as you pick up a bag of Hot Cheetos. 

You seemingly don’t pay attention to any of the patrons inside the gas station, whose eyes follow you like bugs to a porch light. You blow large bubbles with the gum in your mouth before popping it to repeat the cycle. 

Smoke hates the way that his body instantly reacts to feeling your presence behind him. Your scent overwhelms his senses like you’re imprinting yourself into every atom of his being. 

He spares a glance at you once he pays for his things. He finds that you’re already staring at him with a pretty smile and mischievous eyes. You wave your pretty manicured hand at him before stepping up to the counter. Smoke chuckles lowly before waving back to you and heading outside to pump his gas.

You slide the snacks across the counter as you smile flirtatiously at the associate, “Azim, how you doing, baby?”

Azim blushes under your gaze, “I’m doing good, my darling. Was it a good night out?”

“It was amazing, my girls and I danced all night. Free drinks too,” you reply, blowing another bubble. 

Azim starts bagging up your items before peeking back up at you, “I’m glad to hear you had such a good time. Anything else you need, my dear?”

“Let me get $20 on pump five.” 

Azim types the amount in the register before giving you your total, “That’ll be $21.00, my love.” 

You smile at him, “Azim, I know you’re undercharging me.” 

Azim waves you off with a soft chuckle, “You know you’re one of my favorite customers. I have to take care of you. Family discount.” 

You tap your card on the reader before smiling and blowing a kiss to Azim, “You’re the best, Azim. Let me know when your wife is making some more of that baklava, so I can come through.” 

“I’ll have her make you a special batch. Come by on Sunday,” Azim calls out to you. You reply with a quick ‘thank you’ before walking out to your car. You spot Smoke standing at his car, pumping gas, along with a few other guys who are crowded around one car. 

Truthfully, Smoke could’ve been done pumping his gas, but he chose to pump slower in hopes of catching you coming out of the store. 

You open the door to your car to throw the snack bag on the seat before moving to start pumping your gas. It’s not lost on Smoke how cold it is outside, and you, in your tiny dress, don’t even seem to be phased by it. 

In fact, you keep pumping your gas and blowing bubbles like everything is copacetic. 

Unfortunately, Smoke’s not the only one who notices how pretty you look tonight. The guys surrounding the car all wolf-whistle and make noise as they catch you passing by. Smoke can see the predatory look in their eyes as they drink in your appearance. 

His body immediately goes into protector mode. Feeling bold, one of the guys starts to yell out in your direction, “Aye ma! Aye ma! Lemme holla’ at you!”

You roll your eyes and keep pumping your gas. You chose to ignore the ignorant man, who clearly doesn’t have any home training. 

It appears that audacity is on sale as the man yells out to you again, “Aye, girl! I know you hear me talking to you!” 

Still, no response from you. 

“Well, fuck you too then, you stuck up bitch!” 

Smoke doesn’t know whose head snaps over quicker—his or yours. He can see the anger filling your pretty face as you finally stop chewing your gum. 

“Boy, if you don’t get the fuck out of my face with them cheap ass clothes and that fake-ass Cuban link. Wanna-be-rap-ass nigga,” you yell back. Smoke and all of the other men are stunned momentarily by the ruthlessness of your words. 

The wanna be who you just insulted doesn’t take the lashing well. Smoke catches the ugly expression that overtakes the man’s face as he moves around the car to start making his way to you. His homeboys have enough sense to try to stop him, but he roughly shrugs them off. 

Just as he’s about to make his way to you, Smoke stands directly in his path. The older man squares his shoulders and glares down at the younger man. The height difference, combined with Smoke’s quiet disposition, creates a sense of unease in the young man’s demeanor. 

“Nah, don’t get shy now. Whatchu’ was planning on doing, young buck? You thought you were about to put your hands on her?” Smoke questions, stepping up to crowd the boy’s space. 

The man in question opens his mouth to start stuttering. Smoke frowns, “Nah, don’t start stuttering on me now, boy. Tell me whatchu’ was planning. You wanna act bad in front of your boys, so let’s talk man to man. You wanna press her? Nah, you press me now, nigga.”

The man swallows harshly as Smoke can see the tremors racking through his body as he finally starts to recognize Smoke.

He holds his hands up, “S-Smoke, I ain’t meant nothin’ by it, man.”

“You ain’t mean nothing by it? Seems like you had your mind set before I stepped in front of you. You wanted to be a man when you were about to put your hands on her, but you ain’t a man now that I’m in front of you.” Smoke steps forward so the only thing that the young man can feel is his presence. 

He lowers his voice, “You listen to me, and I want you to listen real good because I don’t repeat myself. You ever talk to a woman like that or approach her like that again, ima beat yo’ ass as yo daddy should’ve. If I see you planning on pressin’ another woman, I’ll break every bone in your fuckin’ body and have you sippin’ on yogurt for the rest of your life. Don’t get yourself put on a t-shirt, boy. I’m sure Ms. Coretta ain’t prepared to put you in a casket. We clear?”

The young man is now openly shaking as he sees the darkness in Smoke’s eyes. It’s like he’s looking at something inhuman. He nods his head, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Smoke,” He responds, fear lacing the edge of his tone.

Smoke nods, “Now, I believe you owe her an apology.”

The boy looks in your direction, “I’m sorry, Miss. It won’t happen again.”

Smoke looks at him again, “Now, get the fuck out of here.” The young man scurries away with his homeboys in tow. Anyone in town knows that the Smokestack twins are the last men that you want to have beef with. 

Smoke turns to you before walking over. You blow a bubble before popping it, “Thank you, you didn’t have to do that.”

Smoke smirks, “Yes, I did. What were you planning on doing if I hadn’t stepped in or been around?” 

You shrug, “I was planning on getting him with this bear mace.”

Smoke lifts his eyebrows, “You know that’s illegal.”

You blow another bubble. Pop! “So is harassment, but these niggas act like the First Amendment entitles them to a response from me.” Smoke chuckles in response. 

You look at him, “So it’s Smoke, I reckon?”

He nods, “S’just a nickname. My real name is Elijah.” You hum while still chewing on your gum. You’d vaguely heard of the Smokestack twins. Anybody this side of the Delta had heard about the two men, but you rarely paid attention when people would go into detail about them. 

You only cared for gossip when it was something that intrigued you. Two men who put fear in the hearts of men in the South didn’t intrigue you. Yet, with Smoke standing in front of you, smelling like a grown man, you were now thoroughly intrigued. It didn’t help the fact that he was fine in a way that gave 90s. 

Smoke catches your hand on the gas pump, “Let me finish pumping your gas for you. It’s freezing out here.” 

You step to the side and let Smoke take over. Who were you to deny the services of a man being courteous to you? Smoke takes a moment to look at you up close. 

You smile before leaning on your car, “You wanted to pump my gas so you could stare at me?”

“M’just wondering where your jacket is,” Smoke comments. 

“At home, it didn’t go with my outfit,” you respond as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“So catching pneumonia in the ass is worth the fit?”

“Yep, you haven’t ever heard the saying ‘fashion is sacrifice’?”

Smoke chuckles, “Can’t say I have. Now, would you pretty please go sit in the car while I finish pumping your gas?” 

You roll your eyes before smacking your glossed lips, “Fine, since you’re so worried that I’ll turn into a popsicle.” You open your door before sliding into the seat. From his view, Smoke can see you typing on your phone. He finishes pumping your gas and places the gas pump back on the handle.

He closes the cap as you turn on your car. You roll down the window just as Smoke steps closer to lean down. You flash another pretty smile at him, “Thank you again for your help, Mr. Smoke.”

“Just Smoke for you, sugar. Or Elijah. Whichever you prefer.”

“Hmm..I guess I’ll call you, Elijah, then,” You said, still chewing on your gum. There’s a beat of silence that’s filled with your soft chewing and music from your radio. 

You lean closer to him, “Are you going to ask for my number now?”

“You know I’m too old for you, right?”

You blow another big bubble and pop it, “So? I like my men a little seasoned. Just hand me your phone.” Smoke slides his phone from his pocket and unlocks it. You start typing your number in before calling yourself. You save his contact and slide his phone back into his hand. 

“Do you always give your number away at the gas station?” Smoke questions. 

“I give my fake number out all the time. You should feel lucky that you have my real number,” You respond, flashing another cute smile at him. Smoke admires the way that the light dances across your skin and the faint glitter that he assumes is from some lotion. 

“Consider me honored. Drive safely and let me know when you make it home,” Smoke states, looking you straight in the eye. 

You smack your lips, “You checking for me already, old man?” 

“I’d just feel a lot better knowing that you got home safely.” 

“I’ll text you then, Elijah.” With that, you smile before rolling your window up. You drive out of the parking lot with Smoke watching your car. 

He enters his own car and sets off to go home.

Later in the night, when he makes it home and showers, he’s lying in bed, and he hates to admit that he’s waiting for the text from you. Finally, his phone vibrates in his hand, and he sees your name appear on the screen. 

You

*image attached*

I made it home safely

Smoke eyes the picture for far longer than he’ll ever admit. His gaze scans across your baby blue pajamas and the matching bonnet. A cute smile graces your lips as you snap the picture. 

Elijah

Let me take you out tomorrow for brunch.

You

Straight to the point, I like you. 

I guess I can clear some time in my very busy schedule for you😉

Elijah

I promise it’ll be worth it. 

You

It better be. I’m not afraid to leave you at the table by yourself.

From that moment, you became Smoke’s old lady, and everybody knew not to cross you unless they wanted him on their necks.

From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt take the clothes from the dryer and put it in a pile; you’ll get to it later

The age difference between you and Smoke takes a little bit to get used to on both of your ends, but honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. In fact, you keep Smoke on his toes every day that you’re together. It’s within the second month of your relationship that he learns that you’re a “young ho” as you had so affectionately put it. 

“Why you calling yourself a hoe?” He asked, a frown covering his handsome face.

You roll your eyes, “It’s not like that, Elijah. It’s more of a reclamation of a word for a positive cause.” 

“What I tell you about rolling your eyes?” 

You resisted the urge to do it again. The last time that you’d rolled your eyes at Smoke, he’d turnt you every way but loose in the bedroom. 

He chose not to elaborate on your new self-proclaimed title. He learned very early in your relationship that you were a real stubborn brat when you wanted to be. He liked to play the part of annoyed, but inwardly, he loved how much you tested his patience. 

Smoke was one of those guys who had a real strict program, and that program was applied to you, but he often let you off scot free most of the time. Stack would even fuss at him because of how spoiled Smoke had you. 

The next day, Stack and Smoke are sitting at the kitchen table together while you’re vacuuming in the living room. You cut the vacuum off, and Smoke expects you to walk up to the wall to take the cord out. 

But you don’t. Because young hoes don’t do that. Instead, you grip the cord and rip it out of the socket before dragging the piece over to you. 

Smoke and Stack both watch you. 

“Aye, why didn’t you just go pull it out?” Stack asks.

You smack your lips, “Why would I make all of those unnecessary steps when I can just do it my way?” You wrap the cord up and hook it onto the vacuum before leaving the living room.

Stack turns to Smoke, “You would end up with a young hoe.”

“So you know about it too?” 

“Yeah, it’s this new thing on Twitter and TikTok. Girls talking about stuff that young hoes typically do. Her ripping that cord out of the wall was a prime example.”

Smoke does typically watch you. It’s a habit, really, but now, he watches you closer for your young hoe habits. 

He comes over to your house on a Sunday and finds that you’re finishing up your laundry. You grab the warm clothes from the dryer in one big swoop and deposit them on the chair in the corner of your room. Smoke watches as you walk away without folding the clothes. 

“Baby, you just gone leave them right there?” He questions, looking between you and the pile. 

“Yes, Papa Bear, I’ll fold them later,” you respond. He wants to give you the benefit of the doubt and trust that you’ll fold them, but he has to keep an eye on you. 

Turns out, he should’ve let the doubt win.

When he comes back over the following day, the clothes are still sitting in the chair. Wordlessly, he goes over to the pile to start folding the clothes into neat sections for you. He even goes the extra mile to place them in their appropriate places. 

You give him a surprised look when you come into the room, “Aww, Papa Bear, you didn’t have to do that.” You press a big kiss against his lips, your lip gloss staining his lips, but quite frankly, he loves the sensation. 

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Smoke is able to catch more of your young hoe antics when it comes to clothing. You volunteer to put his clothes in the washer because you love taking care of your old man. 

To his honest defense, Smoke believed that you could handle the task, and truthfully, you could, but just in your own way. He stands up from the couch to go grab a water from the fridge. Once inside the kitchen, he catches sight of you in the laundry room with his dirty basket of clothes.

Now, Smoke is a man of habit. There’s a precise way that he likes to have things done. Which is why he’s honestly gobsmacked when he watches you load the clothes into the washer without separating any of them by color.

To top it off, you grab his expensive laundry detergent and pour way more than what’s required into the washing machine. You turn the machine on, step back with your hands on your hips, and have the nerve to look proud. 

You turn and catch sight of him staring at you in the kitchen. He fixes his mouth to comment, but chooses not to when he sees the bright smile on your face. 

You point at the washer, “Look, I got you all fixed up.” 

Smoke can’t find it in his heart to take this moment from you, so he just smiles in response before walking over to press a long kiss against your lips. 

“Thank you, baby.” 

Now, Smoke is old, but he didn’t think he was that old. But by the way that you’re looking at him and the ironing board, the nigga starts to feel like Morgan Freeman. 

“You don’t know what an ironing board is?” 

“Nigga, I’m not daft, I know what an ironing board is. I’m just trying to figure out why you would need one. Just iron on the bed.”

Smoke cuts his eyes in your direction, “No, the creases won’t hit the same.”

“Anyways. So what do you need this disinfectant spray for?” You ask, holding up the white bottle. 

“Baby, that’s starch.”

You frown and turn the bottle in your direction before reading it. You try to hide the embarrassed look that crosses your face before you hand the bottle back to him. You walk over to the ironing board that is still folded and fumble with it. 

You look genuinely perplexed by the fact that it won’t stand up. Anyone else would be annoyed, but Smoke finds it cute. You look at him with that whiny pout on your face, “Your ironing board is broken. Probably because it’s from the 90s.” 

Smoke chuckles before taking the ironing board from your hand and standing it up correctly. You look at each other in silence before you nod, “I got it loosened up for you. You’re welcome.”

With that, you walk out of the room, and Smoke figures it’s best to just let you have the win. 

Besides, his baby girl gets whatever she wants when she’s with him. 

From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt use Apple Pay for literally every expense. We don’t use physical cards or cash anymore.

Smoke is old school.

He still carries around a wallet of cash and his debit cards. He only sets up Apple Pay on his phone because you insisted that it was more convenient. 

It is, but he won’t admit that to you. For you, you never have to pay for things when you’re with Smoke. In fact, he finds the audacity of you paying for anything outrageous. On the small chance that he isn’t there with you, he makes sure that you have the funds available for your needs. 

When he tries to hand you his card, you genuinely look perplexed, “What’s this for?”

He squints, “For you to buy your stuff. No limit.”

“That’s cute, Papa Bear, but I don’t even carry my own card around. I use Apple Pay for everything,” You said. 

“Just add my card to your Apple Pay, then baby,” Smoke orders, sliding the card in your hands. 

“Okay, thanks, baby,” you said, kissing his lips a few times. In response, Smoke slides your body into his lap and watches as you type the card into your Apple Pay and save it. 

This isn’t the only incident involving money with you and Smoke. You’re about to head out for a night with your girls when he stops you. 

“Come here before you leave, baby,” He demands from the couch. He and Stack are watching the finals while you go out.

“Sup ugly,” You state, slapping Stack on the neck. He frowns and twists around to pop you back when you step out of the way. 

Y’all are about to engage in another childish fight until Smoke glares at you both. Stack smacks his lips, “You better get yo girl before we be outside tussling.” 

“Ima mace you too,” You quip, as you walk to Smoke’s side of the couch. 

“See, I don’t even wanna play with you because I know you’re serious,” Stack states before turning his attention back to the TV. 

Smoke runs his eyes up and down your body in the two-piece set. Your body shines from your rigorous body care routine. He grips your waist, “You look good, babygirl.” 

“Thank you, Papa Bear,” you respond, leaning down to kiss him. From behind him, Stack makes gagging noises while you stick your finger up at him. 

As you pull away from the kiss, Smoke grabs a couple of bills from his wallet and slides them over to you. 

“Uh, I don’t need this,” You said, a faint whine at the end of your tone. 

“Yes, you do. Your little Apple Pay can’t cover everything. What if your phone dies? You need to be prepared just in case. Here. Take a few quarters, you might need to call me from a pay phone,” Smoke explains. 

All of the argument leaves your body because he’s right and you know it. You slide the bills and change in your purse before leaning down to press your lips against his again. This time, however, you slide your tongue inside of Smoke’s mouth while his hand goes to your neck. 

“Man! Y’all gone with all of that,” Stack yells from his end of the couch. 

You and Smoke part with a few additional pecks. A honk from outside lets you know that your friends are here. As you go to leave, you peck Smoke’s lips again, “I love you, Papa Bear. I’ll text you updates throughout the night.” 

You start walking towards the door until Smoke clears his throat, “Grab that coat on the way out, babygirl.”

You huff and throw your head back, “Elijah..it doesn’t go with my outfit!” 

He gives you a hard look, and you stare back. For a solid minute, you both keep the staring contest going as Stack moves his head back and forth between the two of you.

Smoke goes to stand when you hold your hands up, “Chill! Chill! I’m getting it.” You grab the jacket and hold it up as if to say, “See.” 

In return, Smoke smiles at you, “Good girl. I love you too. Make sure that you text me.” 

Stack laughs, “Aha…my brother got you in check.” He turns and feels like he has the last word. He doesn’t catch you creeping up behind him until you lean down to whisper, “stupid hoe” in his ear and slap the back of his neck again. You’re already out the door by the time that Stack gets off the couch. 

He frowns and crosses his arms. 

Smoke takes a sip from his drink, “Y’all are some children.”

Later in the night, Smoke periodically gets updates from you about your location and condition. You send him tipsy pictures from the club bathroom. It’s not too long before he gets a notification from your Instagram saying that you’ve posted to your stories. 

Smoke chuckles at the picture, but he’s glad to see that you’re having a good time with your girls. Some people assumed that since you liked to go outside, it would be a turn-off for Smoke, but it was quite the opposite. 

He liked the fact that you were young, carefree, and enjoying your life. He’d never try to nag or change who you were. In fact, being with you taught Smoke that he needed to let loose a lot more and enjoy the moment. 

Hours later, he hears the sound of a car door closing and watches from the porch as you walk back to the house. You pout pathetically upon seeing him, “My feet hurt. Can you carry me, Papa Bear?”

Without hassle, Smoke scoops you up into his arms and carries you into the house. He waves at your friends as he closes the door. Your head lolls to the side as you lie on his shoulder. 

Smoke looks down at you, “You still with me, baby?”

“Mhmm.”

He raises an eyebrow, “So you gonna carry me up these stairs?” 

“Yeah, I got you, baby,” you grumble back. Smoke laughs to himself at your antics. Even in your tipsy state, you still swore up and down that you were the Incredible Hulk. 

Arriving inside the bedroom, Smoke gently sets you down while grabbing a big t-shirt for you. 

He helps you with getting out of the heels and your set. “Lift your arms for me, baby.”

You oblige as he slips his t-shirt over your head. He goes to the bathroom to grab some micellar water to help you remove your makeup. 

You grumble in sleepiness. 

“I know, baby, just a little bit more,” He coos to you gently. Once he’s finished cleaning your face, he tucks you away under the blankets. He slips your bonnet over your hair.

“It’s hot,” you whine from beneath the covers. Smoke walks over to the fan, flicks it on, and turns it in your direction. He’d never heard of someone sleeping with a fan on until he started dating you. 

He slips beneath the covers and pulls your body into his side. You cuddle your body more into his hold, “Thank you, Papa Bear. I love you.” 

“I love you too, babygirl,” Smoke replies, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

As he listens to your steady breath, Smoke rationalizes that there’s nothing better than being here with you.

If Stack were here, he’d clown him real bad, but Smoke doesn’t care. He’d gladly go out and get your name tatted to show how down bad he is for you.

From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt play the music about the guns and drugs, but shalt not participate in said activities

Smoke watches you in amusement as you pretend to shimmy in the living room, as “Off the Leash” by Gucci Mane blasts through the space. When he first met you, he’d assumed that you would like a lot of lover girl music, which you did. 

But more often than not, you were listening to music about drugs and guns, even though you were hands down a law-abiding citizen. The song changes to “All There” by Jeezy, and you start hyping yourself up more. 

You walk over to Smoke and start rapping the lyrics in his face, while grabbing money from his wallet to spread it down your arm. 

“So you’re a dope boy now?” Smoke asks, subtly nodding his head along to the music. 

“I’ve been trappin’ out here, Smoke,” You respond. He raises his eyebrows at the change of name, but continues chuckling as you make gun gestures with your hands. 

“So that means I should go get you a gun of your own now?”

You ball your face up, “No, thank you. You know I don’t like guns. Plus, I’d just be a menace if these niggas tried me.” You prove your point by making gun noises like you’re shooting

You really weren’t a big fan of guns. Even with the gun that Smoke kept in his house, you always made sure that he had it locked away, far from your sight. You didn’t even like the idea of him being near a gun, and he was a whole trained veteran. 

You take your phone out and start typing. You glance back at him, “I have a hair appointment tomorrow, so I may be MIA for a while.” 

He nods, “Okay, I’ll send you the money to cover it.” 

You lean down to press a kiss against his cheeks, “Thanks, Papa Bear.” 

When you mentioned getting your hair done to Smoke, he doesn’t expect you to be gone for that long. He checks your location, which states that you’re still at your braider’s house. 

His phone buzzes with a text from you. 

Babygirl♥️

Be home soon. 

I can’t wait for you to see my braids🙂‍↔️

He lets out a sigh of relief at the message. One thing that was always true, Smoke could be a bit overprotective, but it was only because he knew how the world operated. He knew how cruel people could be, especially to someone like you. 

You were smart and observant, but Smoke just preferred to be around to look out for you. In his mind, you were all bubble gum, sunshine, and sweetness. He’d hate to see someone trying to snuff that light out of you. 

Thirty minutes later, Smoke hears your car pulling into the yard. You get out, casually sipping on your Stanley Cup and walking to the house. 

He opens the door to greet you. You connect your lips to his while gripping his shirt, “Hey, Papa Bear. I hope you weren’t waiting up for me.”

“I was,” Smoke said, closing the door behind you. 

He goes to sit on the couch and crosses his arms, “What took you so long?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “It was mostly the braid length. You know I like to get my braids long.” You do a quick turn to show the braids off, and Smoke’s gaze travels down to how long they are. The braids’ length ends just below your butt. 

You turn back to him with a wide smile, “Do you like them?”

“Yeah, babygirl, I love them. You look beautiful as always.” He means it. There’s not one moment when Smoke isn’t thinking about how beautiful you are. 

Later in the night, he oils your scalp at bedtime. In return, you apply a clay mask to his face as he waits for it to dry. 

Quite honestly, Smoke had never been well-versed in skincare. That just wasn’t his thing. Now, he kept himself up and always kept his skin moisturized, but stuff like skincare was more up Stack’s alley. 

Since dating you, Smoke has a whole skincare routine that you and he do every night. He’s always had pretty good skin, but since being with you, you've elevated his skin to a new level. You both stand side-by-side at the sink, washing the masks from your faces. Smoke scoops you up to sit on the counter and grips your backside in his hand as you apply his serums and moisturizer for the night. 

You peek up at him through your lashes, “You so handsome, Papa Bear.” 

You grab his chin in your hand and pull his face down towards yours. Smoke’s lips engulf yours in a passionate kiss as he tongues you down. He slides your body closer to his as he fully steps between your legs. You roll your hips into his as his bulge presses against your wet core. When he steps back slightly, you whine in response while pouting. Smoke chuckles darkly before gripping your thighs to pull you off the counter. He effortlessly carries you from the bathroom to the bedroom and deposits you on the bed. 

He leans down on the bed to cover your body with his. He grabs both of your wrists in his hands and pins you to the top of the bed. He frowns when he moves one of his hands and hears a crinkle. Smoke looks up and grabs the item. A bag of Hot Cheetos crunches in his hands. 

He looks down at you while you give him an innocent grin. It’s only when he looks up that he notices all of the extra items in the bed like candy, your iPad, both of your chargers, and your Stanley. 

He’s about to open his mouth to comment when you stop him, “Before you start with all of that, I need this. These are my essentials. Don’t be trynna reach across me to eat my snacks either.”

He gives you a blank look, “I’m trynna eat you now, but if you want to keep the snacks on the bed…”

You move quickly to put the snacks and other items on the nightstand. 

You open your legs with a soft smile, “Okay, I’m ready.”

The only thing Smoke can do is chuckle, but he still gets on his knees regardless. His back may protest, but he’ll never give up the chance to put his mouth on you.

From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt not take any BS.

It didn’t take Smoke a long time to figure out that you were a bit of a hot head. In your honest defense, you just weren’t the type to hold your tongue, especially when something felt like disrespect. Which is why he often found it amusing when you and Stack would argue because you’d match his brother bar for bar with insults. 

However, it was all love between you and Stack. You were the younger sister he always craved having, so he’s delighted to have you around more often. 

As Smoke’s old lady, as he likes to refer to you as, your invitation to any family functions is automatically secured. You knew your spot was secured when all of Smoke’s aunts and uncles hit him with the famous, “That’s you, nephew?” 

You stood in the kitchen with Ardelia, Smoke, and Stack’s mother as you both conversed. 

“I’m so happy that you could come today, and you look so pretty,” Ardelia said, nodding her head in appreciation.

“Thank you, Mrs. Moore,” You said, grinning widely. 

“Ah, now what I tell you about that. None of that, you can call me mama.” 

You smiled even brighter at her comment. Ardelia had been nothing but welcoming to you since Smoke introduced you for the first time. You were nervous that she wouldn’t be accepting of you, especially with the age gap, but she referred to you as her daughter-in-law all over town. Now, a few of Smoke’s other family members weren’t as accepting of you, but they wouldn’t ever say it aloud. But you were well aware of the whispered comments.

‘He’s bringing that lil’ girl all up in here. She still got milk behind her ears.’

“He outta be ashamed. Bringing her around here when he could be back with Annie.’

‘Look at her outfit. Any shorter and them shorts will be some panties.’

’I heard she just with him for the money. Jill from down the street said she got a pattern of jumping from man to man and using them for money.’

‘Lord, that’s a shame!”

You rolled your eyes and took it on the chin. The last thing you were about to do was start an argument with Smoke’s folks, especially in his mama’s house. You knew how a lot of people viewed you, especially with how you carried yourself. There’d been rumors all over the place that you were a relationship hopper, which was far from the truth. You just weren’t the type to stick around in a relationship, especially if it didn’t serve you. 

Growing up as a little black girl in the South, you recognized that many black girls weren’t taught how to date. Most girls here felt that if they dated someone, they had to tie themselves down to the person forever. It was often frowned upon if you were dating more than one person or exploring your options. 

No, exploring your options was only something that was reserved for men. 

The fact that you weren’t the type to stick around in dead situations or entertain men made you stick out like a sore thumb in the community. They couldn’t stand to see a black woman standing strong in her boundaries. They would never catch you apologizing for that. 

You walk outside and sit next to Smoke, who is surrounded by a few of his uncles and cousins. It’s at that point in the evening when the conversations shift to more controversial topics, and the new school vs old school duke it out. 

You were already rolling your eyes as Marvin, one of Smoke’s cousins, opened his mouth to speak. He was the physical embodiment of red pill alpha male content. 

“I’m just saying, I wouldn’t want my Queen out here degrading herself on these apps by posting seductive pictures and doing OnlyFans. I mean, look at the state of female rap, all they talk about is their pussy and what they can get from men.”

A few of the older traditional men hum in agreement. 

You frown, “Well, isn’t that a bit contradictory, Marvin? Men rap about pussy all the time. There isn’t one rap song that you can give me that doesn’t consist of some line of a man talking about all of the women that he’s slept with or the degrading acts that he makes her perform. To add onto your point, you’re complaining about the women making content, but you fail to realize that there wouldn’t be a market if men weren’t paying for it. Sounds like smart business women capitalizing on a rising market.”

Marvin cuts his eyes at you. You can see the irritation rising in his eyes, “See, I’d expect you to say that. You’re one of those new school women. You don’t have traditional values. A real woman knows her place in the home. She should be preparing the home for her King to come home to. She shouldn’t be out here selling pussy.” He glances over in Smoke’s direction, “Dang, cuz, you really switched things up with this one. At least Annie was taking care of her man.”

Marvin sits back in the chair, clearly pleased with himself. Beside you, Smoke hardens, and everyone can catch that look of murder in his eye. He’s about to address the situation when you place a hand on his chest. 

“It’s okay, baby, I got it. Marvin, I don’t take pseudo-intellectual men like you seriously. You be the same niggas hollering about being an Alpha male and you ain’t even graduated from community college. Last time I looked in the mirror, my breasts and vagina were still there, so I think we got the real woman part covered. You keep trying to take jabs at me about being a low-value woman when, last time I checked, I got two degrees under my name, and I’m well on my way to my third. Let’s not forget the high-paying job, and I own my house. We can go band for band if you want to.” 

You pause and snap your fingers, “I forgot, you don’t have a job, so your bands wouldn’t even match mine. What’s your occupation again? Wait…you’re still building your little YouTube with the ten subscribers, all of whom are your homeboys who can’t keep your dick out of their mouths. You keep talking about pussy, but baby boy, you wake up every day and look at a pussy in the mirror.”

You sit back in your chair with a demure smile. The backyard is silent as everyone turns to look at Marvin. He storms from the chair and walks towards the door. You all listen as his car pulls out of the driveway. 

“I like this one, nephew,” Tony, Smoke’s uncle, comments as he clinks his cup with yours. 

Smoke looks over at you in concern, “Baby, you good?” 

“Yeah, ain’t nobody stressin’ over Marvin. I know my worth, and I know what I bring to the table. I’m not about to let anyone feel like they pressin’ me.”

“Good, but I’ma still beat his ass later on for talking to you like that,” Smoke states, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. 

“Thanks, Papa Bear.” You lean over to press your lips against his. You resist the urge to deepen the kiss because you still have to be respectful in front of his family. 

“Anytime, baby, you know you mean the world to me. Nobody in this world is ever gonna disrespect you while I’m around.”

Before you can comment, Stack leans over to dap you up, “That last line was a bar. Let’s go put that down in the studio.”

From the book of women: Always show respect where respect is due.

Annie Boudreaux. Formely Annie Moore. 

You’d met Annie in passing a few times, and you liked her well enough. You both got along, seeing as you were both important women in Smoke’s life. To others, they wondered if it bothered you that Smoke’s ex-wife still came around to family functions, but truthfully, it didn’t. 

You understood how important Annie was to Smoke and their shared history. It’d be selfish if you asked him to stay away from her. That didn’t mean that Smoke was taking advantage of the situation and disrespecting you. He’d always be open and let you know that he was going to see Annie. You’d always kiss him and bid him on his way. 

Today was the first time that you’ve ever set foot in Annie’s yard.  

You walk slowly towards the side of the house where baby Anais Moore’s headstone sits. You note the fresh flowers sitting at the headstone, no doubt from Smoke’s earlier visit in the week. You set down your own bouquet before willing away the tears that follow. 

Smoke talks about his and Annie’s little girl from time to time, but only when the moon shines low in the room, and you can’t see his tears falling. He’d laid his head on your chest and whispered all about his daughter, while you remained silent and rubbed at his head. 

“She was so beautiful and tiny. I was scared of holding her the first time,” He laments. 

Your heart clenches painfully in your chest. You wish that you could take away all of the pain, but you know that nothing ever quite soothes the ache of losing a child. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here today,” Annie comments from her place on the steps. You catch her eyes as they clock the flowers that you placed at the baby’s grave.

“I wanted to come visit you, and I needed to ask for your help with something.”

Annie gives you a long look before ushering you inside the house. She pours you a glass of tea as you sit across from each other on the couch. 

“So what brings you by?” Annie questions. 

“Can you teach me how to make that gumbo dish that Elijah likes. He mentioned that it’s one of his favorite meals, and I wanted to do something nice for him,” You said, nerves coloring your voice. 

Your wide eyes meet Annie’s, and you’re honestly scared that she’ll tell you no. Instead, she chuckles, “You came all this way to ask me how to make a pot of gumbo for Elijah? Come on, silly girl. You must really be in love.”

“I am.” 

For another beat, you both look at each other, and Annie runs her eyes across you. Unbeknownst to you, she can see the pink swirls radiating around your body with all of the love that you have for Elijah. 

She gestures for you to follow her to the kitchen, where she begins taking out all of the ingredients. She turns to you, “Go pick me some of those bell peppers from the garden.” 

You nod before setting out to the garden, where Annie has an assortment of fruit and vegetables. You navigate towards the bell peppers as you pick out the best ones. Inside the house, you hand the peppers to Annie as she washes them off. 

“I love your garden. I always wanted to grow one,” You said, leaning against the counter. 

“Tell Elijah. He’s good at starting a garden,” Annie responds. She ushers you forward as she grabs the flour and cast-iron skillet. 

“Now the roux is the most essential part of the gumbo. You mess up the roux, you might as well throw the whole pot away.” 

Together, you and Annie work hand in hand to craft the gumbo the way that Smoke likes it. Annie lets you take over for the most part, while she gently guides you. Soon, you’re both sitting at the table sharing a bowl of gumbo over rice and laughing like old friends. 

“Next thing I know, Stack is running out of the house. Yellin’ about some voodoo,” Annie states, to which you laugh loudly. 

Your laugh calms after a few minutes when you catch Annie staring at you. 

“Thank you,” She states. 

She doesn’t have to explain what she’s thanking you for. You already know. You slide a hand across the table as you tangle your fingers together. 

“I really appreciate you, Annie.”

“Likewise.”

She doesn’t mention that she can read your palms with your hands touching like this. She chuckles internally. She hopes that you’re ready for some twins in the future.

When Smoke gets home later in the day, he’s surprised at the familiar scent that wafts across his nose. For a minute, he wonders if Annie is inside the house with you. He walks inside the kitchen and takes note of you standing in front of the stove, stirring away at a familiar pot. 

You and Smoke are so in tune with each other that you sense him as soon as he enters the house. You turn around, “Hey, Papa Bear, take a seat.” 

Smoke sets his work bag down and takes a seat at the table. You fix his bowl of gumbo just the way that Annie mentioned he likes, along with a piece of cornbread on the side and a glass of tea. He takes a second to look between you and the bowl of gumbo. He notes the similarities in the gumbo, “You makin’ gumbo now, babygirl?”

“Mhmm..I had a little help from Annie today. I wanted to get it just the way that you like it,” You said, moving to fix your own bowl. 

“You visited Annie today?” 

“Yeah, you mentioned that her gumbo was always your favorite, so I went by to ask her how to make it for you.” You shrug at the end of your sentence like it’s no big deal, but to Smoke, it means the world. 

Before you can take a bite of your gumbo, he grabs your hand in his. 

“Thank you. You know I love you, right?” He said, eyes glistening under the light. It means a lot that you went out of your way to ask Annie how to make his favorite meal. 

“I love you, too, Elijah,” You respond before connecting your lips to his. 

As you both eat, Smoke eyes your empty ring finger and figures that he may need to change that pretty soon.

After the meal, Smoke offers to wash dishes, but you shoo him away.

“Just sit down, you’ve been working hard all day. It’s just a few dishes,” You said, turning the water on. 

Smoke expects you to plug the sink and let it fill up with soap and water, but you do the exact opposite. You keep the water running as you wash each dish one by one under the hot water. 

“Baby, you could’ve just filled the sink up,” Smoke comments. 

“Ew, I don’t want all of that food touching my hands,” You shoot back. 

Smoke decides to drop it and continues watching you wash the dishes. He already knows that he should expect the water bill to be higher this month. From the looks of the empty paper towel roll, he might have to just invest in the big pack from Costco.

From the book of young hoe: Always listen to Papa Bear.

It’s one of those nights when you and your girls are going out again. Smoke opts to stay in, but he’s already made sure that your purse is packed with all of the essentials. He knows how forgetful you can be. 

The sound of your heels clicking brings his attention to you as you walk into the bedroom. He hadn’t paid much attention to your outfit. You always did your makeup first before putting on your outfit, and then you’d give him a little show before leaving. 

Now, Smoke’s gotten used to some of your more risque clothing choices. Shoot, when he first met you, you were wearing a dress that had him drooling. He isn’t one of those guys who likes to police his woman on what she’s wearing, but he is very possessive of you. Smoke knows that you’re a baddie, so why would he stop you from being that?

However, he has to draw a line with this outfit, if you can even call it that. 

Smoke coughs past the smoke and snuffs out the joint that you rolled for him. “What you got on?”

You smile at him through the mirror, “It’s cute, right? I found it the other day!”

You had taken the definition of mini skirt to a whole other level. You’re well endowed in your backside, which hangs out of the skirt. You bend forward to check your makeup, and Smoke almost falls out. 

He frowns at you, “Go change. You ain’t leavin’ the house with that on.”

Naturally, the pout crosses your lips, “But why?” 

“Baby, I ain’t finna have these niggas out here eyeing my woman, and I’m not around.”

You huff in annoyance, “Elijah, it’s not that deep. It’s not even that short.”

He eyes the skirt again with a glare on his face. If he could set the skirt on fire, he would. 

“It’s not up for discussion. Go change into something else.”

“No.”

Smoke’s head whips around so fast that you’re surprised that his neck doesn’t break. That dark look crosses his face, “Babygirl, you sure you wanna cross that bridge with me? Take yo’ pretty ass back in there and get changed.” 

The urge to be a brat weighs heavily on you tonight. You square your shoulders and look him dead in the eye, “Nope, I’m wearing this.”

A honk sounds from outside, and you move to grab your purse. Smoke is openly glaring at you and challenging you, “You leave out of this house, I hope you prepared for the consequences later.” 

You shrug, “I’ll be back later on. I love you, Papa Bear.” 

With that, you walk your pretty self out the door, even though your stomach tingles with anxiety. As you step into the car, your homegirls turn to look at you. 

“Girl, Big Daddy Smoke let you out of the house wearing that,” your friend, Leilani, asks. 

You smack your lips, “He was making a big deal of it at first. Telling me that I need to go change. He don’t run me.”

Your friend, Omi, smacks her lips, “Sis, he gone tear you up when you get back. You know them old heads don’t play about all that.”

“It’s fine, y’all. He’ll be okay when I get back.”

“He gone kill her when she gets back. I’m puttin’ a sign on you that says ‘Dead lady walking.’ You might as well gone get your coochie ready,” your friend, Keisha, quips. 

When you all make it to the club, it’s turnt as usual. You and Stack lock eyes as you pass his section.  His eyes flicker down to your skirt before he starts shaking his head. He ushers you over, “You gotta be one of the craziest people that I’ve ever met. Does my brotha’ know you outside like this?”

“Yes, Smoke doesn’t run me. I can wear what I want,” You state, a frown crossing your face. 

Stack laughs. Not one of those low laughs, but the loud and annoying types. 

“Whew, I’m scared for you, girl. But I’ll keep an eye on you. Have fun now before you get home,” Stack said, continuing to laugh. He lets you and your girls come into the section with him and his boys. You know that it’s so he can carefully watch you. 

Whenever you go to get a drink, Stack stops you and goes to the bar himself. You and your friends go to hit the dance floor when Stack holds his hand up. 

“Oh my gosh, Stack, move!” 

Stack smacks his lips, “I’m just looking out for you. Gone dance, but if I see any nigga gettin’ too friendly with you, I’m on him like white on rice.” 

You give him a thumbs-up before following your friends to the middle of the floor. You’re having the time of your life and twerking like you aren’t on borrowed time. Stack keeps his eyes on you at all times like he’s watching a toddler, which he thinks may be true. He takes his phone out to record a video of you to send to Smoke.

Stack

*video attached* 

Don’t stress yourself out. I’m keepin’ an eye on her.

But I know you got something planned when she gets home.

*Smoke liked your message*

Stack takes a sip from his whiskey, “Lord, she in danger.” 

By the end of the night, you’re all danced out and sweaty, but overall, you consider the night a win. Stack offers to take you home and ushers you into the car. Your friends snicker because they know that Smoke is punishing you tonight. The only one oblivious to the fact is you. 

Pulling into the driveway, Stack turns to you with a smirk, “Good luck.” 

The lights are all off in the house except the porch light. Smoke stands under the porch light like a serial killer. You turn to Stack with a grim look, “Maybe, we should back out of the driveway really slowly.” 

“Nope. You wanted to be grown. Now, you gotta face your actions like a big girl,” Stack said. 

“I’m blinking twice for help. I’m telling a trusted adult!”

Stack shrugs, “Too bad I’m not a trusted adult.”

“Trick..” you mutter before opening the door to exit the car. Smoke nods his head at Stack, who reciprocates. 

“I’ll see you in a week,” Stack jokes, before backing out of the driveway. 

Like a scared deer, you walk unevenly to the porch where Smoke is still standing. As you approach, he blows out a big cloud of smoke before throwing the joint down and stubbing it out. You stand in front of him, “Hey…”

Smoke doesn’t say anything, but simply steps to the side to let you inside the house. You swallow loudly as you walk inside the house. The only sounds are the distinct chirps from the crickets outside, along with the subtle clicks of your heels. You and Smoke make your way to the bedroom. You go to grab your pajamas when Smoke stops you, “Didn’t I tell you to change earlier?”

You turn slowly to face him, “Yes, you did.” 

“And I told you that if you left this house, there would be consequences, but you didn’t listen, did you?”

“No….”

“Come here,” Smoke demands, voice soft. He doesn’t have to raise his voice to get his point across. 

You stay rooted in the same spot, partially aroused and partially scared. Smoke chuckles darkly, “You still ain’t learned? You know I don’t like to repeat myself.” You scurry over to stand in front of Smoke as you look up at him with wide eyes.

“Stand right there,” Smoke orders. He walks off to rummage through one of the drawers. Your eyes widen as you see him procure one of his good ties. The heat from his body wafts onto yours as you become hyperaware of him standing behind you. Smoke grabs your hands in his and skillfully wraps the tie around your wrists so that your hands are bound behind your back. He tugs at the knot and hums in satisfaction. 

You try your hand at seeing if you can move and find that you can’t. Smoke moves to stand in front of you as he glowers down at you. He steps closer to press his chest against yours. For a moment, a soft look crosses his face as he cups your face in his hands. He leans down to connect your lips, and you moan at the taste of whiskey that lingers on his tongue. 

Smoke pulls back from the kiss as his eyes run across you. He trails his hands down your form until his cupping your backside in his hands. “You could’ve stayed home and modeled this lil’ skirt for me, but you wanted to go and show off what’s mine.”

You go to open your mouth to protest, but Smoke stops you, “I didn’t say I was done talking. Since you wanted to be a brat, I’ll treat you like one.” You let out a squeak when Smoke grabs you to throw you on the bed. Your body bounces before it settles. 

Gripping the corset in his hands, he cleanly tears it down the middle until the material falls away. You gasp in surprise as the cool air hits your nipples. Flipping you onto your stomach, Smoke hikes your hips up and flips the skirt over. 

He tugs your head back, “You owe me. You can either take my hand or something else.” 

The last time Smoke spanked you, you were left shaking on the bed. It was either his hand or one of those leather belts with his name on it. You were screwed either way.

“Your hand,” You said. 

Smoke nods, “Let’s tally up how much you owe me. 10 for the outfit plus 10 because I told you to take it off and you back-talked. Also, an additional 10 because you still left.” Your wide eyes meet his as you turn to face him, “But daddy, that’s thirty.”

Smoke chuckles, “Glad to see you can count, darlin’.” 

The first hit sends heat flooding through your body, along with feeling your cheek ripple under his hand. The second hit sends a flood of wetness to your panties. By the tenth hit, the tears are already running down your face. How were you supposed to count through twenty more?

Your entire backside is on fire once Smoke delivers the last hit. You’re fully shaking and hiccuping into the sheets, but you can’t deny how turned on you are. By now, you’ve soaked completely through your panties, which Smoke clocks. 

He takes two fingers and runs them up and down the soiled material, “My dirty baby. What am I gonna do with you, baby? You don’t know how to listen now.” 

“M’Sorry, Papa. I’ll listen to you next time.”

“I know you will because I’m gonna make sure that you do.” He flips your body around and grips your panties as he tears them clean from your body. Smoke maneuvers your body to the headboard before going to grab another tie. He loops the tie through the bedpost before securing your hands to it. 

Smoke walks over to the closet and rifles through it for a few seconds. You lift your head to get a good look, but his shoulders block your view. He walks over with a long metal rod in hand, “Do you know what this is?”

You shake your head. He laughs lowly, “It’s a spreader bar. I’m gonna put your legs in these cuffs, and you won’t be able to move.” Sitting at the edge of the bed, he removes your heels one by one before throwing them carelessly to the floor. He places your ankles in the cuffs and secures them. Smoke moves to stand in front of the bed as he grabs the metal in his hands. He can already see your glistening folds as your slick pools beneath you. 

He moves your legs from side to side, “See, this is a special bar, I made it myself. Every time you move babygirl, it’ll spread your legs more.” He jerks the rod, which loudly clicks as your spread apart more. You look at him in surprise. 

He grabs the box that he set on the bed and opens it. Your old man is a sex fiend, apparently, as he lifts various forms of vibrators out of the box. Smoke moves to your open legs and dips his fingers inside of you to collect your slick. 

He brings his wet fingers up to his mouth to suck your juices from his fingers. He takes one of the vibrators in his hand before the tip across through your wet center. You shiver at the sensation of the tip dipping into your entrance. 

“This one is special, babygirl. That special spot that I’m always hitting…well my little friend is made to specifically reach that spot.” He pushes the toy inside of you as you gasp at the fullness of it. 

Smoke coos gently at you as your wet eyes meet his, “There we go, baby.” He clicks a button, which brings the vibrator to life inside you. Smoke pushes the toy in and out of you as your walls cling to it. 

Your eyes widen when he holds up another toy, “My other friend is for that lil’ pearl up there.” He trails his fingers through the curls that cover young mound until he reaches your clit. Your body arches into his touch as he casually rubs small circles around your clit. 

“Please…” you whine into the room. 

“Please what, darlin’? I need you to be more specific,” Smoke said condescendingly. 

Your mind is venturing into that mushy territory where you don’t know what you’re asking the man for. 

He smirks, “You don’t even know what you’re asking me for. That’s alright. Take care of my other friend for me while I get done smoking.” 

He attaches the curved toy to your clit and clicks a button, and it buzzes to life. Your first reaction is to move your body. You wither across the mattress, pleasure consuming every inch of you. You go to move your legs, only for the spreader to click and spread your legs further. 

You gasp. 

Smoke chuckles before moving to sit in the chair in the bedroom. He grabs his early discarded blunt to relight. He inhales the smoke into his lungs as he casually watches you suffer. 

Smoke casually taps the button on his phone, which increases the vibrations on your clit and inside of you. Your back arches from the bed as your release climbs higher. 

Just as you’re reaching that sweet release, Smoke taps the button and turns the vibrators off. A loud whine leaves your mouth, “Please let me cum, Papa.” 

Smoke blows the smoke from his nose, “Since you asked so nicely…”

He eases up the level of the vibrators to the fullest level. A loud screams erupts from your mouth as your walls clasp around the toy and your orgasm consumes your body. 

Smoke leans forward, “That’s one. Give me about four more and we’ll call it even.”

You turn your head to him in disbelief. Before you can protest, he turns the vibrators back on. 

You’re a mess of cum, sweat, and tears. Exactly how Smoke prefers you. 

Your brain is complete mush at this point and you can feel the puddle that had formed beneath you. Somewhere between the second and third orgasm, you’d squirted. 

Smoke turns the vibrators off and throws his phone on the chair. He walks over to you and pulls your ruined face to his. Your expression shows how far gone you are. He lightly taps your face, “You still with me, babygirl?” 

Your tongue lolls around in your mouth, “Mhmm, Papa.” 

“So you can give me one more?” 

“Mhmm.”

He unties your hands from the bed. He runs his hand across your wrists and kisses them gently. Smoke pulls the vibrator from your core and observes the cream that forms around the base of the toy. He flicks his tongue out to slurp some in his mouth. 

Smoke pulls his shirt over his head before dropping his boxers. You eye his hardened dick and as tired as you are, you still need to feel him inside of you. 

Smoke lays down on the bed next to you and pulls your pliant body across his lap. He points his tip at your swollen entrance, “Go slow, baby. Papa will take care of the rest.”

You lower your pussy down onto his dick as you whine into his shoulder. You shudder as you feel his large tip brushing against that spot inside you. 

Smoke grabs your hips in his hand as he gently bounces you up and down on his dick. You turn your head to connect his your lips to his. Smoke slides his tongue into your mouth and gently sucks at your tongue. 

He gives a particular thrust that sends fresh tears to your eyes. “I know, it’s too much baby, but you’re doing so good for me. Cum for me one more time, babygirl.”

You nod weakly. 

Smoke plants his feet on the bed and starts thrusting roughly into your body. Loud, wet noises fill the bedroom as your walls clench around his length. 

“M’coming Papa. Right there..”

Smoke feels his own balls tightening as his release nears. He smashes his lips onto yours as your orgasm hits. He swallows your moans into his mouth as his own orgasm starts.

Smoke holds your hips firmly to his as he fills you up.

You shiver at the feeling of his cum splashing against your womb. 

For a second, you both breathe in tandem as your heart calms down. Smoke runs a soothing hand up your back, “You good, Princess?”

“Mhmm, m’good Papa. I’m sorry.” 

Smoke chuckles, “I forgive you, baby. Let’s get you ready for bed.”

He gently slides from inside of you as you whimper softly. A wave of Smoke’s cum slides from you as it lands on the bed. Scooping you into his arms, Smoke walks into the bathroom and sits you on the toilet. 

You’d long since passed the stage of your relationship where you were shy of going to the bathroom in front of him. As wipe and flush the toilet, you raise your arms for Smoke to pick you up. 

He grabs a towel and applies warm water to it before wiping at your face and between your legs. Back inside the bedroom, Smoke gives you a pair of his boxers before sliding his shirt over your head. He slides a pair of briefs on before he tucks you into bed. 

He grabs a bottle of water before offering it to you. Once you’re done, you flop back on the pillow. Smoke slides in beside you as he pulls your body closer to his. 

“I love you, babygirl.”

“I love you too, Papa Bear.”

He presses a kiss to your neck as he closes his eyes. 

“Elijah?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you turn on the fan?”

He chuckles, “Course I can baby.”

End.

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@tyinek @bananajoeclone @diamadozen

Before you can even think to shrill out an answer, Toji’s squeezing his thick, reddened tip allllll the way near the back of your slick-covered walls. Just so big that you can feel the globed end of his shaft probe into your cervix, “Fuh-fuck! Again, Toji?”

“Blame the- the…” He’s strangling out a dark chuckle, scarred lips curling. And oh- to have the Toji Fushiguro stuttering? 

You had him ruined. 

“The mating press?” You’re mewling in answer. 

Only to have his entire sculptured body wrack with a visceral shiver- Toji’s hunching his weight on top of yours until you’re being crushed, until your hamstrings scream, until he’s biting his canines down on the side of your neck just to stop himself from whimpering. “Fucking love it when you s-say that, mama.”

One of his roaming hands nestles on the top of your sweaty scalp, and he grumbles, “Yeah a mating press.” Caging you in. Making you feel every tense n’ twitch of his glissading abs. “A fucking mating press. It makes me wanna fill this hah- pretty pussy with my cum up just ooooonce more.” The other still glues to your tummy, feeling for the bumpy outline of his thrusting cock. “Makes me wanna make ‘er leak.”

“B-but I’m already so full.” You’re whining out through wobbly lips, and you swear that his bulbous mushroom tip only grows fatter at the state of your voice. 

“Mmm—” You knew that lil’ hint of greed in his tone didn’t bode well. You knew that it would have his right hand pushin’ down on your stomach until he’s making his knotted white cum leak out of your pussy like a fountain. Sheening the inner parts of your cute thighs and soaking his happy trail - you just feel so filthy. “H-heh, not anymore…”

“Ngh, oh- oh my god.”

And his strokes are vulgar, like he’s knocking that weepy orifice of his against every sweet spot of yours just to fill you back up again. You were so sensitive after all these hours that only a few whack-whack-whacks of Toji’s long, vein-covered cock makes you drool.

A slimy line of pre glues right near your g-spot and makes him giggle at the mess. “C’moooon, mama, stop makin’ such a oh- mess.” Ruthless, Toji’s thumb snakes down from your temple to push between your swollen lips. “M’just trying to make sure that this…mating press really works, heh.”

Just saying those words makes his ravenous cock throb even harder - what have you done to him?

“B-but I think it already works, Toji—” Case in point; each heavy, sensual pump of his inches only makes your walls splosh ‘round with both cum and slick. Utterly full. Utterly ruined. 

“That’s cute.” He simply states, hazy green eyes on the verge of rolling. Toji plants a ruthless smack on the side of your left thigh, “Now hold up those legs f’me, doll.”

As if you could be bent even further- but Toji Fushiguro finds a way. He always finds a way. Even if his rough, knobbly fingertips are trembling as he’s gripping each underside of your legs. 

Overstimulated, Toji’s veiny biceps flex once he’s folding you straight in half with the curves of your knees hitting your tits. Your face pushing into the crook of his neck, his cock stirrin’ up your insides.

Chanting out like mantra—“Up, up, up, aaaand up-”

Jostling you around like some glorified doll, you’re sure that the globes of your ass don’t even touch the bedsheets at this point. He’s just so big that you can barely even clench - the bubblegummy texture of your walls was damn near rubbed raw on each of his prominent veins. Drilling inside over and over and over-

“Cute—soooo fuckin’ cute how she talks back.” As if to prove his point even further, Toji thumbs down your slivery slit and lets off a noisy slurp. Huffing with primal desire, “Gonna be e-even cuter when I fuck her stupid, though. When I feel- my-” Punctuating each word with a bashing strike into your depths, the flared ridge of his cockhead kisses your g-spot and you bawl. “-doll’s cervix get hit alllll the way from the back.”

Your head throws back with a pitched trill, “T-Tooooji–! Don’t talk like that…”

“Why? Feeling shy, mama?” He’s snickering, “How can you even think of feeling- fuck! shy when I have you like this? In this…this…” 

Mating press…fuck, he couldn’t even say those two words anymore. Trailing off. Eyes glazed. 

He’s jackhammerin’ the prolonged inches of his girth into you like it was the only thing he knew how to do at this point, and Toji’s tough fingerpads wield down on your pussy with a solid spank. “D’you even know what you’re doing to me?” Then he’s spanking your treacly cunt three more repeated times like it’s her fault.

“I- ngh, oh-” All that you can babble by now, your pupils are swirling in comical circles inside the whites of your eyes. 

Each one follows the crazed patterns of his crashing cocktip, bashing in the sponged layer of your cervix. Toji’s deltoids bulge as he bullies your body down just a bit further, and lets his rovering cock smooch the door to your womb—thud!

Fuck. 

Instantly throwing his hazy head back, murmuring something intelligible underneath his breath-

“Wh-what was that–?” You’re panting, eyelids fluttering as you try to steady your vision. Toji was just so pussydrunk that he could barely string together his slurring syllables, he could barely even stop the sloppy slamming of his hips to speak-

“I-I said–” Toji drawls out, and he’s bent so low in this mating press - his all-knew favorite position - that he can kiss your forehead sweetly. Whispering in your ear, “-that Shiu’s gonna be the fucking godfather after this.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Shibuya “Incident”

“Legs here and…your pretty pussy- hah- here-” Rattling off, it was almost sexily methodical the way that he was moving your shaky limbs ‘round with no strain at all. “And I’m…”

A mating press.

Nanami Kento had you pressed into a mating press- and the only thing you can do is arch your back upwards into his dewy touch- he’s just so messy like this. Glasses crushed against your body, blond hair falling over his forehead. Your husband hunches his hulking body into you so that he could suckle on your tits like his favorite candy. “Wh-why the sudden mating- ngh, press, Ken?”

“Because, please-” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging into the skin of your chest, clammy mouth gluing to the nubs of your nipples. “Please- we hafta make sure, my love.”

You’re whimpering, “F-fuck! Make sure of what–?”

And his response is muffled, pearly whites snagged on your areolas, “Have to make sure it takes.”

“Oh.”

Truthfully, Nanami had been restless. Ever since he’d come back from Shibuya all bruised n’ battered, he’d simply bent you into your marital bed and folded your legs in half like he hadn’t even realized what he was doing just yet. 

Like he couldn’t think of anything to say but a low, growling—“C-can’t even control it, sweetheart.” His handsome cheekbones blush all crimson, “Somehow I just want to get you…” Hesitating. Rugged. “-pregnant.”

Oh, he’d been struck with some sort of babyfever.

Still in the half-opened uniform of his suit, he was taken over by some sort of madness that made you trill at the top of your lungs every single time Nanami’s rovering cockhead bludgeoned against the back of your pussy. He might have been gentle, but his aching, red length surely wasn’t.

“Oh- fuck-” You’re sobbing out, legs twitching on top of his shoulders with each passing second. “Th-that explains the hck! mating press-”

“Mating press, huh?” Long, golden lashes blink up blearily at you, he was still tuggin’ on your cute nipples until the skin of your chest was all sensitive. A slight brush of his textured taste buds make you buck- and he’s only pressing a forearm to your throat. “S-so that’s what s’called.”

Naturally, Nanami was leaning his entire carnal weight on top of you until you were manhandled like some lawnchair. 

Until your feet were dangling in the air and he was pushing you into a mating press so sloppy that you’re hearing your dripping cunt squelch from below. Slurp after slurp. The reddened, globular crown of his tip nudged against your cervix and made you sob. “Like this-” Extra tight, his vein-decorated hands lace on top of your scalp. “Like this like this. Fuck! A mating press…s’like this?”

“Y-yes, ngh- oh my god-” You didn’t have enough brain capacity right now to tell him that this was more than just your average mating press. 

This pliable position had his hips spanking down on yours until the skin of Nanami’s pelvis turned red. 

He’s snapping his head down with a slight gasp at the slamming impact, molten eyes widening and widening. “O-oh.” Hard, the lines of his v-line thrash down once more. Probin’ his sultry wet tip so deep between your pussylips that you swear you can feel him enter your very lungs. “Oh, m’in love with this position. In love with how deep it makes you take me- how f-fucking tight you squeeze each time.”

Then it’s like he was insatiable - getting such a gooood look at the way your puffy folds expanded with each inch you swallowed, the way your pussy glistened with each spurt of slick, the way you quivered like you wanted more, more, more-

“Y-you’re in so deep- hck!” You can’t help but wrap your fingers into the silken fabric of your husband’s tie and tug-

And that makes him gasp, it makes him pant. Nanami’s slimy tip wallops the roof of your cunt and twitches—“Yes—!” He keens, guttural and raw. “Like that- roughen me up like that, darlin’.”

You’re gaping- because you’ve never heard your beloved husband speak to you like this before. 

He was at the mercy of your pussy.

It’s as if this all-new, lecherous position had loosened his stern mouth, and now it was slick with slobber that gushed every single time your cervix was being bruised by his impressive circumference. A thin line slips from the side of his lips that he smears between the valley of your chest.

“S’gonna take-” He hiccups, pumping you oh-so-full that your ears pop. “Gonna take gonna take gonna take- fuck! Gonna be a-all round and glowing.” Blond brows furrowing, teeth grit. “And m’gonna take suuuuch good care of you, my love. Can be the hah- pretty lil’ mother of my kids, while I take care of eeeeverything for ya.”

His crowned shaft scrapes all the way near the entrance to your womb and you find yourself seeing stars. “Sh-shit, oh, Kento-” Clawing onto his tie, the attire tightens enough to squeeze his airway and make your husband gasp-

“Mmm, spit in my mouth.”

You gape, “Wh-what-”

Oh, you couldn’t hear him? No problem - because all those years of Nanami’s battle-training goes directly into reflexively bending down, down, down until your body n’ cunt scream at the stretch.

His perspired forehead rests on yours, tonality dripping with need. “Spit in my mouth.”

And how could you not?

Not when he was asking you like that. Not when his glassy peripherals were staring into your own like he could just eat you alive. 

Nanami’s parched throat hums at the splatter of your webbed wad of saliva, wetting his taste buds properly. And once you do as he says, his roaming cock twitches- “F-feels like m’gonna cum inside.” Immediately burrowing those cracked moans of his back into your tits.

You’re whimpering, mouth lolling at the feeling of his canines gnawing your nipples raw. “Mmm, oh my god- what’s gotten into you with that today, Ken?”

“Well…” He gruffly admits, the fringes of his teeth trapping your left nipple and tuggin’, “-m’practising for when these tits have actual milk soon, my love.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - FLEXXX

“You- bend- so- well-” Your fuzzy brain barely even has the time to register Geto’s words before he’s drilling each of them in with a rough thrust of his swollen, ruby-red cock. 

Just so fat n’ aching to claim every secret ridge inside of your pussy, he’s not sunken even halfway in before he’s rutting. Furiously. Like he didn’t even care for the way his girthy length was struggling against your tight ring of muscle, Geto pushes down on the undersides of your thighs further and makes you shrill.

He’s marvelling, amethyst eyes flickering at the way this mating press had your pussy all smeared open. All ready. It didn’t matter how much your body stretched and stretched, Geto was just so strong that he had you pliably thrown around like some ragdoll. “You bend so, so well.” 

“Fuck, ngh, Suguru-”

And it was your fault - yours. You were the one to challenge him into folding you into a mating press, and he was more than happy to deliver.

In fact, Geto’s just so impatient that he’s feeling your snug hole clench ‘round his shaft and bucks- knees anchoring down on the springy mattress to get his slick length tunneling deeper. “It’s like you’re- fuck- like-”

Gaze slightly glassy. Expression slightly crazed. 

Geto has to force himself to pull out his entire sloppy cock before he can even manage to speak.

Hot breath heating up your awed features- “S’like this pretty pussy’s been wantin’ to be folded into a mating press for aaaaages, gorgeous.”

And then he’s slamming his rugged, rock-hard girth until the patterns of his veins brand on your cervix. Letting it fill you up till he’s bottomed out, Geto’s dark happy trail rubs the poor folds of your cunt raw, dragging his vulgar strokes out until you’re keening—

“Oh- oh my god-” You’re babbling, tears crinkling from the edges of your eyelids. You’re scrambling to hold onto your trembling thighs, “This position makes me feel so- so…”

“S’okay- s’okay, your Suguru has you.” He snickers from above, the contents of his sentence were gentle but the way he was saying them was utterly mean. 

Just like the way Geto was stickin’ his bulbous tip into you, pouring out drops of pre into each crevice. The squirting sensation makes your poor cunt quiver, wads of syrup oozing out of your entrance and making your pussy weep. You don’t even think twice before roaming your unsteady dominant hand down to toy with your neglected clit-

SPANK!

Only to have it swatted rudely away by Geto’s own.

“S-Suguru- what are you-” Before you know it, one of his knees comes crashing down to pin your hand to the creaking mattress. 

Leaning his weight down even more into the mating press until all the blood in your lower half was rushing to your head, “What did I hngh- tell you, gorgeous?” He purrs, lips twitching into a grin. And every massed inch of his body was collapsing into you, to further bend you cutely. Twisting his thumb ‘round to graze your perked nub, “I said I’ve got you. Look at thaaaat—I can even toy with your p-pretty clit like this, gorgeous.” 

And fuck- did he like seeing that cockdrunk expression on your face.

Did he like having your mouth drop agape with each thump-thump-thump speared way into the back of your cunt. Geto was both long and girthy, and it was maddening to have his curvaceous length molding your walls to his exact measurements - especially in this mating press, that had him filling up nooks and crannies that you didn’t even know you had. 

Your gummy walls clench like you were trying to keep him there- “A-and you’ve got me too now, huh? Locked all in this…fucking mating press- fuck!” Crazed. 

Chuckling.

You’re trying hard to whimper out a response - botched and half-nonsense at this point - when it suddenly hits you that Geto wasn’t even talking to you. 

“That’s right-” He coos, leaning even closer to hear the soft wafting squelches let out from your dripping wet pussy. “That’s right that’s right, you’ve got me- and m’- haaah- sorry for not putting you into a cute lil’ mating press earlier like you deserve.”

And you’re almost shocked because Geto rarely apologizes even to you - rather, focusing on actions and comfort than words. But right now he was pleading to your smeared-open cunt like he’d no sooner be on his damn knees.

“Because you really, really like it- don’tcha?” The sleazy smile slashed across his lips was twitchy, “Like being fucked by me with your legs up? Ngh- this lil’ position to have this cute cunt bred?”

Thrust after thrust, he’s poking your dewy insides with the length of his cock. Letting the bloated ridge of his slit scrape against your g-spot, it makes the man titter to watch you gasp. It makes him groan. It makes his own husky voice crack- “Please- please, Suguru.”

“Don’t you worry now, pretty lady.” The fatness of his thumb bullies between your folds, and before long he’s pressin’ doooown on your clit like some pretty, wet button. The motion lets out such sappy background music- “It’s all that you deserve, isn’t it? All that you- you-”

Splat—! 

You’re looking up through the long, inky strands of Geto’s hair just to find that- oh, he was tearing up now. 

The cadence of his cock was burrowing between your folds at a blurring speed, and each slight thrust with you in this position ran him ragged. Harder. Sloppier. So far gone on your softened cunt, the eager embrace of your walls was enough to make him throw his head backwards and bite down on yet another sob. 

“I-I’m always gonna put you into a mating press from now on, gorgeous.” He fucks you into the exhausted bedsprings until one breaks. Meaning it. “Always.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Fever

“Woah…I can see her so clearly like this, baby.” Choso’s mere words make him blush, a lewd scorching rouge that accompanies each flick of his gaze up n’ down your cunt. “It makes me feel…shy.”

And you can barely even breathe around the fatness of his mushroomy tip, teasingly entered between your folds. Your boyfriend lets out a low, grumbling whine just as soon as he pulls back and looks at you in all your entirety - legs on his shoulders, knees hitting your tits, pussy stuffed. 

“Oh- oh!” Choso seems to snap out of his little reverie just as soon as your hips start squirming, and he’s using his superhuman strength to clasp onto your waist and draaaag you backwards into his body. “B-but don’t worry, that doesn’t mean m’gonna- hah- stop.” He looks almost sheepish as he admits, “In fact…I don’t think I even can ngh- stop.”

And he meant it.

“Fuck- fuck, baby—” Oh, you could feel it with each punishing strike of his rock-hard length. 

Choso wasn’t even bottomed out, but you could still feel the throbbing crown of his shaft swat your inner walls. Deeper. Harder. 

With you all laid out, he could see exactly what he was doing to you - and that pretty pussy of yours. With your puffy core stretched oh-so-widely ‘round his girth, “Shit—” Your entrance glistens each time his length was mazing between your clingy walls. “Sh-shiiit, I really don’t think I can ngh- stop, baby.”

Hit after hit, the globe of your ass cheeks now felt permanently plastered to Choso’s v-line. “H-hah, guess I should mention more ‘human sex things’ more- hngh- often, huh?”

He pleads, bottom lip jutting out adorably, “My baby, if you do that I might just die.”

And Choso’s cock was looong- a pretty pink, with a few curly veins down the sides that were burrowing into your gooey walls. The weepy divot of his orifice bludgeons your cervix like his very personal target, and it makes him tug your legs further ‘round his shoulders with a groan.

“Wait, ngh, oh my-” You’re gasping for air- and you swear his strawberry tip was tuggin’ down the sides of your channel. Was growing even bigger—“Cho…” You’re tasting the familiar metallic tang of cursed energy in the air, “-your hck! Powers–!”

“O-oh, sorry, baby–” He tries to reel his hips back, watching all the while. “Let me just-”

Only to rut all the way back in again.

It’s as if he couldn’t last a single nanosecond without your dewy cunt, steadily getting addicted to the glissading texture of your walls. Choso can feel his skin spark, he can feel the way his blood manipulation technique was going out of control to hone in on the blushin’ crown of his shaft and prolong his inches.

You’re shrilling, feeling his bloated cock swell up even further inside of you. Scouring your snug folds until you nearly couldn’t even take it any more- “It’s just- just this position.”

“The…mating press?”

“Fuck! D-don’t even say the words, please.”

Harder.

Bigger - his aching hot cock was probing your deepest innards like never before. Grunting, “I can s-see you and that preeeetty pussy and- and-” Mashing the thick crown of his cockhead, he can’t control his speed. His thoughts. Not even the way he’s speaking by now. “-and I think m’addicted to mating presses now.”

In the end, the only thing you can do is open your mouth to formulate a quiet coo at your pussydrunk boyfriend- only to have him slam one clammy, open palm down on your neck to stop you from talking.

Choking you. 

“S-sorry, baby, it’s just that your pretty hck! voice makes me…” He’s trailing off with an utterly gaped maw, saliva leaking in excess from one side of his mouth. And you can feel him throb ragingly near your cervix, “-get even harder.”

Somehow managing to wheeze out, “But- ngh- I like that, Cho.” Your hamstrings ache once your ankles pull him in by the back of his sweaty neck, crushing him to you. “Like that you’re inside so deeeep.”

“You…you like it?” Another whiff of jujutsu, another few thwacks of his ever-growing cock.

“Mhm—” You jerk your hips crazily, “More-”

The only response you’re getting for the moment is Choso’s lithe, toned body bending over until his forehead plasters against your own. Staring deeply into your dizzy peripherals when he mutters, “Then- then take it. Take it all.”

It’s an orgasm you didn’t even see coming - just one, two, three sloppy thwacks of his curved cockhead against your g-spot. Even harder.

And he can see the precise moment your high takes over; with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, toes curling, mouth agape. “Oh- oh my god, nghhh, m’cumming m’cumming—Cho-!”

Having you cream all ‘round his length with your quivering walls was simply heaven. 

Each peak n’ explosion of white-hot pleasure made Choso rover his lengthy shaft, dragging out your high until your throat was hoarse with moans. And just when you thought you couldn’t be even more cockdrunk- he’s bursting into his own high.

Hard. Fast.

Stark ivory bliss flashing behind his eyelids the very second that your treacly cunt’s being painted in the same color. And it was so hot, too, practically taking over your body from the inside out with his webbed wads gluing your walls together. “O-oh.” He crouches back just a bit - for just a second - before spitting straight down your soppy slit.

It adds onto the ropes upon ropes of scalding syrup spraying between your legs, trickling down onto the bedsheets in a puddle.

“Look at that-” Choso rasps out, still jackhammering away like he would die if he spent a second without pounding you through the mattress. 

Sensually, he sticks the pulsating, reddened crown of his cock way past the line of your womb. And you’re just starting to ponder that you should ask him to fold you into a mating press more often when his voice trembles - octaves higher, cracking at the back of his throat. “Do you think it took, baby? Or…do I need to try again?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Jet TWO!

“Heh…?” Sukuna had raised an impish pink brow when you’d started describing your ideal sex position. And the longer you’d gone on, the more parched his second mouth had gotten - flicking his monstrous tongue, salivating. “Humans and their filthy creations.”

Rolling both sets of his crimson eyes, he was then easily picking you up in his arms to sprawl you across the ancient bed. 

“Oh well.” He’s forced to hunch more so than he normally would with his hulking figure, and the King of Curses is just so big that your ankles can barely even lock ‘round the back of his neck.

Two arms keeping them spread, the other two bringing your treacly cunt down to kiss his weepy mushroom tips. He grins, “Guess you’re my filthy human.”

And fuck- Sukuna would never fucking admit it, but it just felt so right to have his thick, probing cocks enter you like this. To have you so whiny and helpless pinned underneath his body, he barely even has to try to slip in a few staggering inches that scrape your walls. 

Puffy pussylips spread allll wide open by his circumferences, there was more resistance than usual and that only made it sweeter. Usually having you ride him with his sheer size meant he didn’t get to see you all squirming and bucking out-of-control like this…

Fuck- just then, Sukuna gasps.

He falters. 

Feeling his throbbing lengths spurt out in thin ribbons of ivory sap, he had barely even put it in before cumming. “Goddammit-” Grumbling, “God-goddammit, s’all because of you- because of this damn position.”

“You’re blaming that?” You’re whining, almost smugly. It feels like a whirlwind to have his dewy webs of cum swirlin’ around your insides - you’d just made the big, bad Ryomen Sukuna cum early. Just from a mating press. 

And then he’s pumping a few of his clingy ounces past your walls with a swat of his girths. Flooding your inner thighs with glistening seed that sticks to your skin, “Oh, Kuna-”

Snickering, one of his cursed fingers flick right where your throbbing cunt was all presented for him like a gift. Your lower half was just so limp that it’s all he has to do to make you gush out in a waterfall of slick - loudly. “Kehhh, like this, huh? So this ‘mating press’ is about heh- mating, isn’t it, brat?” Another one of his four hands smush your cheeks together into such an embarrassing pout, “Then you better take it like a champ, ma.”

You’re all at Sukuna’s mercy, and he was rude about it.

Using the plump, pre-sheened crowns of his cocks like headlights- each mazing pump of his girths have your walls revealing hidden nooks n’ crannies you didn’t even know existed. To fill you up. “F-fuck–!” So sloppy that the wads of his cum mix with your slick to let off slurp-slurp-sluuuurps.

“Oh? So you agree?” For a split-second, you think he’s talking to you- 

And you’re blubbering out something that halfway resembled an answer- “I- it’s-”

“Not you. Her.”

Before the cavern of his second mouth licks its lips and snickers. Sukuna stares down at your wet cunt after a few more lecherous squelches, “See? She agrees?”

Clawing down his bulky deltoids, “Fuh-fuuuuck! Just like that- just like that, Kuna—”

“Hah! The entire castle’s gonna know that they’re getting a fuckin’ heir soon, mama.” Rolling his eyes, he’s gifting your humid pussy with a few more inches. “Well…not that I mind.”

With a few more jabs until the strawberry-shaded globes of his tips were burrowing deeply into the back of your cervix with a splat. It was a stretch so good that you find yourself sobbing, your thighs twitchin’ weakly over his shoulders. You couldn’t even escape if you wanted to- 

Your chin hits the front of your chest and you sniffle, being manhandled all out of shape by his arms meant that you could see your front clearly. Especially the large, thick bulge that was taking shape. “O-oh my god…”

“Huh?” He’s catching sight of it too - that cute lil’ tummy bulge his cocks were fucking into you. Each pap! of skin-on-skin leaving your stomach all bumpy with his sheer size, “Jeez…this- this fucking position. Hell, it’s driving me crazy.”

The slivery slit of your cunt weeps the very second that Sukuna’s cursed tongue slithers out n’ laps at your pussy. Just teasing your bloated folds with the rough texture of his taste buds.

Tittering, “S’drivin’ you crazy too, huh?” Nodding along as if he was just thoroughly in conversation with your pussy, the King swats his rugged fingertips back down on your clit and watches you weep. “Yeahhh—I can tell. So talkative, mama, always so chatty when I hah- fuck you.” From both sets of your pretty lips.

And then he’s turning to you - all wrecked n’ trembling. The lengthy muscle of Sukuna’s second tongue has the audacity to trek up your body and lick at the clogged mess of drool leaving your mouth.

Sensually, lazily, he’s stirrin’ around his pummeling cocks just so. Letting wisps of cum stick against the roof of your cunt, your cervix, every spot in-between. 

Sukuna’s leaning over in the mating press to juuust let his cum-glossed tips poke against your womb, letting out such a noisy squelch from below. “Mmm.” He hums, watching as you struggle to take it all. “Y’know why she’s so chatty right- hah- now, brat?”

“Wh-why?”

“Because she know m’just getting started.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - BIG BOYYY

SMACK–!

You’re unsure who’s whining more at the feeling of Ino’s reddened, scorching hot tip spanking down between your pussylips. 

Letting the treacly syrup of your slick coat his cock till it was all glistening, he’s measuring his fat girth out against your entrance just to make sure you’d be able to take him this way. Because he usually did have you ride, maybe even a sloppy doggy once-in-a-while - but now…

“The- the tiktok said it was like this, pretty. Open those legs up wide f’me.” Your boyfriend’s announcing, throwing your legs over his toned shoulders. 

And you gawk at the way that Ino’s biceps flex as he’s holding onto both your ankles behind his neck. “And then it was like this, and…” Truly, you couldn’t forget that he was so strong- and he barely even realized it. Easily bending you in half like a pretzel, Ino doesn’t even hesitate before making the curves of your knees strike your tits, the ridges of his abs blending against your core. “-I bend you like this. All good, sweetness?”

“Y-yes— fuck!” You don’t know how you’re managing to huff out an answer- but whatever’s left of it is being thrust out of your body the very next second. 

Because Ino can’t stand a single moment seeing you all spread n’ dripping wet for him like this - not a single moment. That is, if he isn’t spreading you with all of his aching hot cock.

And before you can even register it, the probin’ crown of his length finds its way stuffed between your pussylips. Ruby-red tip disappearing past your slick hole, he’s pushing and pushing inside with a strained groan. “F-fuck. I’m not fine- oh, m’not fine, pretty- think m’losing my mind—”

“T-Taku, baby–” Your tongue salivates generously at the ridged lines of his veiny shaft, he was smearing you out so openly without even trying. “-this is called a ‘mating press’, y’know?”

You swear you feel his weepy orifice twitch straight inside you, banging against the sides of your walls filthily. “So…so that’s what it is, sweetness.” Kissing you sweetly, your lips are the perfect way for Ino to muffle his husky whines as he pumps and pumps and pumps. “Whoever created this thing is in fucking hngh- heaven- because I am.”

You’re almost feeling a giggle bubble its way up to your throat, dragging your hand through his tawny locks. “I’m sure.”

“No- no, you don’t get it, pretty.”  He’s pleading with you, almost shellshocked. 

With one hand manhandling your hips to dangle cleanly off of the mattress, the other lacing on top of your scalp to get you to look down where he was burrowing his inches. “Look at me- look at- us.” He’s hissing, hips angling each precise strike to target your sweetest spots. “I can bend you like thiiiis—”

In an instant, the hand at your scalp rovers down to your neck - and he’s draaaagging you up bodily, kissing your mouth. “Or like thiiiis-” Moaning, he’s then instantly changing the pressure on your throat to shove you down deeper into the bedsprings. Curling your spine into the perfect curvature, pinning you down with his bodyweight even further, “E-even like…this.”

He was just so trained with his moves - swift and precise through battle, but right now he was using them to ruin you. Ino was naturally chiselled; all ladder-like abs, firm arms, and a veiny v-line that were all pushing into you right now. 

And with a few more vulgar strokes, you’re yelping as he moves you around- this time, Ino has his meaty thighs coming up to cushion the sides of your hips. 

Blushin’ tip creaming down your cervix, washboard abs glissading down your front. “Oh my god-” You can feel a thrill zing through your body at the blatant show of his strength. He was manhandling you like it was nothing. “Taku- fuck fuck fuck, s’more.”

“More?” His voice cracks, his chocolate irises water at the way your velvety insides keep clinging onto him. “M-more?”

And you could’ve sworn that was a whimper.

Right before his pummeling cock was steeply slamming into you - faster, sloppier. With absolutely no care or rhythm; nothing other than the aim to stir up your insides until each nook n’ cranny was thoroughly stretched. And he was succeeding, too. 

Thrashing the globular crown of his shaft against the very entrance to your womb and hissing out–“More? S’that it? S’this more?” Voice cracked. Tone turning rugged.

“Mmm—” You cup Ino’s blushing cheeks and he whines. Just staring into your eyes leaves the bulbous end of his cockhead weepy, “Harder.”

He echoes, “H-harder?”

“Harder.” 

Grinning, and oh- Ino’s got his hands on you already. It’s like a second, animal instinct the way he’s then clawing down your inner thighs, pushing up your every limb, bending you till your joints were creaking nearly as loud as the bed was right now. 

Thrust after thrust.

He’s gluing the curvature of his mushroom tip against the spongy layer of your g-spot, hard enough that you nearly don’t hear the words that leave his mouth next-

“Next time…” Ino starts off, cute pinkish lips trembling. He stares at you with a dopey grin as his cock stretches you furiously, “-I also saw a hah- tiktok about a thing called a…full nelson, pretty.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Kitty Whisperer

“I-I’m gonna fucking purple hollow whoever came up with the fuck! mating press, sweetheart.” He’s leaning in close- leaning in until you could make out every flicker of blue lightning within Gojo’s eyes, every gleam in his peary white grin. And he hisses, “I can’t fucking stop.”

And he couldn’t - not if he even wanted to.

Though, fuck- Gojo’s thrashing the fat, bludgeoning crown of his cock against your cervix until he’s seeing stars. Until his pale v-line was rubbed all red with slamming impact - Gojo doesn’t think he’d ever want to stop.

It’s like he was in heaven with the way you’re clenchin’ around his throbbing length. Gojo was just so hard that his glazed, bulging tip was bruising your cervix.

And all you can do is drag red, red nailmarks down the expanse of his muscular back. “Oh my god-”

He hums in faux thought, though you could feel the way that Gojo’s strawberry tip was flinching in excitement near your cervix. “Mmmm, I prefer ‘Satoru’, my girl—”

“S-Satoru–!”

“That’s right-” He’s punctuating each n’ every syllable with a hollowing thud! of his shaft, voice running ragged. Pitches lilting. And there’s something in the way he looks at you with widened blue eyes that makes you think he wants to eat you alive. “-that’s right that’s right- say my fuck–ing- name.”

And the thing about the strongest was that he wasn’t just pounding you into the sagging bedsprings - right now, he was sloppily reeling his cock back allll the way until the shiny globe of his tip pulled out with dewy plops! Instead of his usually smooth thrusts- Gojo kept on pumping his long, solid inches from leaking orifice of his length right till his very base. Every single time.

It was simply driving you mad at the carnal stretch, your toes curl every time his vein-covered hilt was stretching out your entrance. “This mating press’s gonna drive me ma-mad.” He’s muttering, teeth grit against your ear. “Gonna drive me fuck! Crazy.”

And several things are happening at once - he’s thumping the spongy layer of your cervix with a particularly rough strike, and your flickering bedside lamp shatters.

“Fuh-fuck–!”

“Shit, your powers…” You’re keening at the shards of glass that are halted in midair - your husband’s limitless was covering the both of you now. “Toru, you’re going out of ngh- control-”

“And how m’I expected to stay in control, sweetheart–?” The white-haired man drawls out, almost mockingly. Pitch finding itself a few octaves higher, he’s dragging the puffy veins of his cock down your walls until you find them helplessly sensitive. 

Trying oh-so-hard to extract yourself from his merciless hold, you’re clamoring your feet off of his shoulders and bucking up the mattress like you didn’t know whether you wanted to run away or slam your hips down for more, more, more. “Not when I- oh! not when I have you like this- fuck! Not when m’fucking you like thiiiiis. You can’t expect me to stay sane when I have you in a fucking mating press, my girl.”

And if you thought that the Gojo Satoru wouldn’t notice your restless little squirming, then you haven’t been married to him long enough.

Because, before you know it, he has both hands glued to your throat pliably draaaaag your body down to thwack against his. Hard. Heaving, “Don’t you dare fucking run.” He mutters, something tremoring in his tone. “I can’t let you run when I have you like hah- this…” Squeezing his eyes shut, lightning flickering behind like it made his body ache animalistically to have you like this. “I should never have let the elders talk me into this- oh, ‘Gojo heir’ my ass- I should n-never…”

He’s trailing off- cutting himself off with a deep groan.

And you’re whining just as soon as his stirrin’ cock pokes against your womb, opening you up in ways that you never thought possible before. “Shit- b-but I like it, Toru.”

“Mmm—” Gojo’s body flinches like he’d just been shocked by a thousand volts- and it takes him a few seconds to register what you just said. “You’re so right.” Raising his bleary eyes to stare dead-on into yours, he’s musing, “Y-you’re soooo right, sweetheart. How else would you have gotten ngh- fucked like this?”

What did he mean by…?

Your husband snickers, rosy lips curling with slight smugness - and it’s only then that you’re realizing you’d just uttered that last sentence out loud. 

Almost predatory, Gojo nuzzles his nose bridge to the crook of your neck. “You wanna fuuuuck- know what it means to be put in a mating press by me, sweetheart?” Slap after slap of his bludgeoning tip left your ears popped, barely able to make out his words. “Means m’gonna fuck a baby into ya.”

“O-oh.” You gape, but the strongest wasn’t done just yet.

“Means m’gonna hngh- reach into your deepest spots.” Right on time, the fatness of his crowned shaft reaches for your cervix and then digs in deep— like he would go even further if he could. “Means m’gonna p-permanently keep ya like ngh- this. L-like—”

And then he’s drooling, mouth open and his lust-filled thoughts trailing off.

Without any warning, Gojo reaches back for a split-second to spit down to your leaking slit. Looking through his long ivory lashes as you gasp, “Don’t act like you don’t like it, my girl.”

“I do I do–” You nod your head fervently- or maybe it was the sheer driving force of each of his thrusts. If it was even possible, your ankles are locking even further surrounding the perspired back of his head. Bliss seeping into your veins. “I like it s’much, want it even more, Toru.”

That renders him speechless. It renders him gawking down at you.

The only thing that Gojo can do is stroke his throbbing cock down your tight channel with drill after drill, “Oh my god-” He’s whispering to himself, pounding into you so hard that your ass cheeks were being pushed cleanly off the bedsheets by now. “Oh my god oh my hah-” 

He’s darting his eyes down to take but a single glimpse of you - all folded in half into his mating press - then averts his gaze the moment his skin starts to prickle with cursed energy. 

“What the…having you like this—” He couldn’t even look at you. “How m’I supposed to even go on?”

The ball of tightness at the pit of your stomach makes you shiver, “Ngh- oh my god…mm, Toru-”

In sensual synchronization with the glutinous swipes of his cock, he’s setting one hand free from your throat. Thumping it against his temple as if to knock some sense back into him- “I-I think m’going insane.” Breathily, he shakes his head, eyes now finally daring to look back at you. “Think m’getting new powers- think she’s…” 

His mouth falls open at the sudden squelch letting out from your soppy pussylips, his dazed eyes focus so intensely that you can feel cursed energy sweep your body. Taking over. 

Until he’s finally muttering, “Y’know what she’s oh- saying to me, sweetheart?”

“What?” You whine, your primal greed getting to the best of you. And now the only thing you can do is perk your hips up to match his feral cadence.

And Gojo cracks such a dangerous, pussydrunk grin. “She says we’re gonna make a baaaaaby—”

With a final, solid spank of his rovering cock, you’re getting run over by your high. And he knew this would happen - he saw it with the power of his Six Eyes - so Gojo wastes no time ramming you through your peaks.

“Cum—ing…” The spheroid end of his shaft makes your toes curl, caressing your every deepest inch through each white-hot spark of pleasure - so hard that your husband barely even realizes when he, too, crashes into his orgasm.

Something bursts. 

Collapsing onto your body with his hulking one, grunt heaving after each splat! of wadded cum leaking into your womb.

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck fuck-” He’s damn-near whimpering in your ear, and the angular position of the mating press made it easy for him to pump your cunt full with as many ounces of seed as possible. Enough so that you’re just spilling ivory syrup from your entrance, forming a ring of sap on his base. “Ohhh yeah, oh yeah, sweetheart.”

Gojo feels the warm, knotted mess and twitches- the bedroom lights had shattered but he could still see. In fact, the entirety of Tokyo didn’t have power right about now. 

He gives an experimental thrust and listens for the sluuuurp- “D’you think if I cum in you again our baby’s gonna be twice as strong, my girl?”

“…”

A/N. I thought I was soooo funny for that jet two joke-

"too-shit—much!" you clawed out, the layered sensation of your previous orgasms making this next one feel so raw, every nerve in your body feeling alight, legs already twitching in anticipation.

"doing so well sweetheart." he moved your hand to let your fingers ghost over your clit, brain taking a moment to catch up before you started to rub messy circles over it, previous release coating your fingers with each swirl.

"just like that." he praised and the words washed over your body like warm water, it only taking a couple more strokes before you gushed all over him, small sob leaving your lips as you leaked out over his length with such an intensity you were worried he might slip right outta you from how wet your walls were. 

"so perfect for me..." his voice wavered a little and you caught it, the way he throbbed against your walls making you moan.

you raked a hand against his stomach, the sensation of your nails trailing over his skin breaking the thin veil of restraint that he was still holding onto, groan deep and guttural when he finally filled you up, sheets stained beyond belief from having been exposed to literally every bodily fluid possible.

he slowly lowered himself onto you, face an inch away from your own as he brushed a hand over your face, pushing away the stray strands. 

"beautiful."

you weakly pushed at his chest. "y'sticky..."

he shook his head in mild amusement. "bath?"

"please."

He was in your living room, playing his game. He was only wearing a pair of grey sweat pants with nothing else on. You bit your bottom lip a litte, God this man was too fine for his own good, you coulda swore he walked around your apartment like this just to tease you.

Okay back on track, you waited patiently for the round he was in to finish. Once he was done you sat on his lap and showed him your computer that showed the tankini.

"Baby," you said with that tone you used whenever you wanted something. "ain't this so cute?"

Ony looked at the computer and let out an approving "mmhm."

"Can you get it for me? I really want it." you began kissing on the side of his neck that was tattooed, trying to coax him into saying yes.

"No," he said calmly, ready to go back to his game.

"What?" you looked at him confused.

"I said no," he replied, gently pushing you off his lap while patting your butt.

"The fuck you mean no!?" you say, looking at him like he just spoke another language. he rarely told you no so why in the hell he chose today to do so!

Present time

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

So now, you were stomping around with an attitude, slamming doors and cabinets, ignoring Ony, and basically just being a brat all day.

Right now, it was currently 11:34pm and Ony came into the room where you were laying in bed, watching a show. He sat on the bed, pulling you towards him, but you pushed him away.

"You still bein' salty?" he asked and you rolled your eyes.

"Fuck you, Ony," you flip him off because yes, you were still very much salty!

"Shit, if you insist ma," he spread his legs and laid back, trying to be funny.

"Onyankopon Kode, I'm not in the mood for your motherfuckin' shit right now."

"Baby, you actin' like I did somethin' wrong, all I said was no."

"That's the problem Ony! You never say no to me!"

"Well I felt like sayin' no today."

"So if I ask you tomorrow you gon' say yes!?"

"Y/n."

You roll your eyes.

Eventually, you calm down and now you were laying on his chest while you both shared a blunt. Ony started getting touchy, grabbing on your butt, kissing on your neck, and his hand kept inching higher up your thigh. You were also getting a little touchy, kissing him and running your hands under his shirt.

"Ony," you whine, grinding against him.

As soon as you whine into his ear, all hell breaks loose and it's over for you. Right now, he got you under him with your legs wrapped around his waist while he pounds the ever loving shit out of you, weed always made this man hornier than ever.

You were completely helpless, all you could do was dig your nails into his back and moan out his name, too overstimulated to do anything other than that.

Ony was so fine like this, his chest glistening with sweat that showcased his chest tattoos, his concentrated face that could've made you cum right then and there, the small chain that was dangling from his neck glistening in the low light, and his quiet grunts in your ear. God, this man was the epitome of perfect.

"Ony, t-too fast, fuck!" you said even as you bucked up against him.

"Shut up." he said as he pulled his dick all the way out of your pussy and slammed back in, making the most obscene squelch ever.

You knew he didn't say shut up to be mean, it was just the, what you called, sex demon in him that took over and he magically didn't give a fuck about whatever came out of his mouth anymore.

He brought his hand down and started toying with your clit, which made you lock your legs and arms around him tighter and squeeze the fuck out of his dick.

"Goddamn, you sensitive as hell." he said as he continued rubbing tight, fast circles on your clit.

"Ony!"

"I know baby, just let go."

You came with a scream, your vision blurred with white heat as you started shaking a little.

When you came down from your high, Ony was already tearing open another condom with his teeth and slidding it on.

He slapped your butt hard and motioned for you to turn over on your stomach. With all the strength you could muster, you turned over, face down ass up.

Ony lined himself up with your entrance and slowly pushed in, somehow it felt like you were tighter than before.

He let out a groan as he buried himself to the hilt, staying like that for a while. Then, he started moving, starting slow but then pounding yo' shit in.

You try to muffle your moans with the pillows, trying not to scar the neighbors, but Ony wasn't having that. He tapped your cheek. "Let me hear you, mama." he said as he started going faster, hitting your g-spot over and over again.

You let out a broken cry, pushing your ass back against him even as you started shaking a little.

The noises that were being made were beyond obscene."You hear that shit, mama?" squelch! squelch! squelch! "she talkin' to me."

A white ring started forming around the base of his dick and he threw his head back, letting out a groan towards the ceiling.

You felt that spring in your tummy tighten again and you squeezed tight around his dick.

"Ony, I- fuck!- I gotta cum!" you hiccup out, voice hoarse from screaming your lungs out.

"Hold that shit in." he said as he started fucking the shit out of you, going absolute feral while chasing his own release.

After a few more strokes, he buried himself deep inside, his fat tip kissing your cervix as you both came together.

A few minutes later, he pulled out and you whined a little at the emptiness. He walked into the bathroom to turn on one of those steaming hot showers that he claimed you made him take with you just so you could burn his skin off, then came back in the room, picked you up, and carried you to the bathroom.

After getting washed up, you put on some cocoa butter, put on some comfortable pjs, and wrapped up your hair while he changed the sheets and blankets on the bed.

You got in bed under the blankets with Ony, laying on his chest.

"Ima get it for you." he says to you as he turns on the TV, putting on the show y'all both love.

"Get what for me?"

"That lil' swimsuit."

"Forreal!?"

"Yeah, I can't have my baby walking 'round all sad, plus you gon' look good as fuck in it."

"Thank you, baby! You the best!" you squeal as you kiss him.

"Tell me something I don't know." he says as he kisses you back.

"Nigga, don't be cocky." you say as he laughs a little.

You two eventually settle down and turn off the lights and turn the tv down low, drifting into sleep.

"Goodnight Ony, I love you." you say sleepily, eyes closing.

"Goodnight mama, I love you too." he falls asleep as well.

The room settled into soft breaths, the tv playing low, and the occasional snore from Ony. If this was how it would end everytime Ony told you no, he needed to do it more often.