prettydiaaa

[prettydiaaa]

how i feel opening up tumblr to read x reader ffs at my big age

[prettydiaaa]

mannnn😩

the act of dry humping is so sexy to me like, gripping one another, pulling at layers of clothes and biting one another’s lips while you grind against each other. moaning into parted lips, sucking on tongues, soaking through your underwear. hips smooshed against one another, rolling them back and forth with no real goal except for making each other feel good, just wanting to be close. maybe you cum, maybe you don’t but it’s all so desperate and dizzying..

[prettydiaaa]

Under Your Skin

Masterlist | AO3

Tags: 18+, Nsfw, Smut, Oneshot, Timeskip!Bakugou, Female!Reader, Pro Hero!Reader, Frenemies to lovers, Sharing physical sensations, Explicit sexual content, Phone Sex, Masturbation, PiV sex, Jealousy, 5.8k

When you and Dynamight get hit by a quirk that forces you to share all your physical sensations, you learn a bit too much about the bastard… and yourself.

There’s a throbbing in your head, and your arm, and your neck. And when you finally start to regain consciousness, you feel there’s an even worse throbbing resting on your legs. Something weighted, pressing you down, only when you open your eyes do you finally realise—

It’s Dynamight, Bakugou, Katsuki— whatever. Splayed out so you're trapped underneath the lug of him. He starts to wake, and you see that as enough reason for him to be off, so you kick out and try to stand.

“Oi.” He groans, gripping onto your ankle before you can kick him again. “Stop that.”

“Get off me.” You don’t listen and try to whack him anyway. It’s the wrong response, he just grips harder.

“Fuckin— alright!” Bakugou scowls, his head clearly still pounding as he tries to move.

You pull away from him, shifting against the rubble and attempt to take in your surroundings. 

“Are you guys okay?!” A sudden brightness interrupts your vision, Red Riot, standing over the two of you, practically shouting. 

“Yes!” Both you and Bakugou hiss back, ears ringing at the sudden volume. 

“Took quite the fall there.” Kirishima reaches out to help you stand. Already sensing Bakugou ready to jump, he quickly adds “Don’t worry! We caught the villain. Everything’s fine, just gotta get you two checked up.” 

Bakugou stands on his own, refusing Kirishima’s hand, which the redhead just shrugs at. Instead, you thank Kirishima and let him assist you to the paramedics. 

Though the extra stability helps, your legs still ache and you watch Bakugou try mask a similar struggle. His teeth clench with each hobble and you feel a little bad, reaching out to him in pity… but you miscalculate your own balance and find yourself falling to the ground, scraping your knee against the concrete, hard. And that’s when something odd happens. 

Bakugou hisses out in pain too. 

He actually clutches his left knee, where yours bleeds. Really the pain isn’t anything new, nothing compared to what you’ve taken before, but for Bakugou to react to it.

The two of you lock eyes, for far too many seconds, not saying a word.

Then quickly and without warning— you both begin to hit and punch at your own bodies, looking for something . Kirishima watches, baffled, clearly having no clue at what the two of you are doing. 

“Close your fucking eyes” Bakugou orders and you listen, scrunching up. “Kirishima hit me.”

Kirishima doesn’t even get the opportunity to challenge as Bakugou demands him again to comply. Before you even hear the noise Bakugou lets out, you feel a hard fist thump into you. 

“I can feel it.” Your eyes snap open and you gasp, raising your left arm. “Holy shit. I can feel it.”

Bakugou stares back at you, eyes equally as wide as yours. 

You both shout simultaneously—

“FUCK!”

After patching you up, the health team run a few more tests, mostly just tapping away at random parts of your bodies and taking notes on your reactions. All it really does is confirm that yes, you and Bakugou Katsuki are sharing an entire nervous system. Down to each breath you take.

And because of that, you’re both given (forced in Bakugou’s case) two weeks off, trusted to deal with the quirk’s effects sensibly, like adults— heroes, should. 

It's quite strange, feeling parts of yourself move in ways they aren’t, but it isn’t the absolute worst. The smaller things, like the action of walking, are easy to ignore. It’s mainly the random pops of his quirk that gets to you, but even then it’s just a little twitch. 

The first time he showers, however, you let out a shriek. It’s completely cold and although you know there’s nothing on you, you feel drenched to the bone. 

You call him instantly and he laughs into your ear. 

“Fuck am I meant to do?” He snorts. “Not shower?”

“You could’ve at least texted!” You huff, shoving your key into the lock. “I was still on the way home, the whole street heard me scream.”

That’s what really gets him going, laughing so loud he drowns out the sound of his shower still hammering down in the background. His laugh is so rambunctious you don’t realise he’s walking back in, until you feel the waves of icy cold water crashing over you, again. 

“Katsuki!!!”

You’re lucky enough that Bakugou is meticulous, obsessive even, with a routine that never seems to waver. You’re quick to follow it, countering his insane 5am showers with your own warm and comfortable ones. 

He did text you once about it though, telling you to “Turn the fucking heat down,” and spamming some jabber about you being a “Damn demon” from the “Depths of hell.”

You also find he’s absolutely restless. When he isn’t pattering about cooking— you assume from the heat, or paperwork— you can tell by the familiarly repetitive motions, he’s exercising. All the damn time. It’s a little condescending actually. While you spend your break how it should be spent, being a lazy fuck, he’s up and doing too many crunches to count. And what’s worse is that you can more than feel the lunges and squats, it actually tires you out. Even though you know you won’t reap any of the benefits, you have to lay down and catch your breath.

The first time you texted him a stern “I’m going to sleep. Don’t do anything to wake me up.” But by the third day it seems he’d figured out your routine and was surprisingly respecting it. 

Maybe you give him too much credit.

Too hot. Everything is too hot. You’re not even awake enough to realise it’s your own skin that burns harshly, blood pumping wildly through your veins. Instead you go to kick off your blanket and attempt to roll out of bed.

And that’s when you feel it. 

It’s fucking bizarre . Although there’s nothing there you can feel exactly where a dick should be. You can feel how his hand slides up and down. You can feel the knot in his stomach. Everything is too real. 

You pray to yourself he’ll remember that his body isn’t just his right now! That you can feel each stroke of his thick fingers moving up and down. But he doesn’t stop, in anything he gets a little faster. 

Then comes the second sensation. The feeling is unmistakable. It’s a warm, wet, human mouth. Around you— or the phantom appendage— sucking gently and that’s when you know you have to stop it.

It's pretty hard to walk, when you’re practically being sucked off, but you manage to grab your phone and dial his number furiously. 

It rings once, then twice, and by the third time you know he’s ignoring you because the mouth stops and he smacks his own thigh, in turn yours .

The mouth resumes, and you’ve had enough. Grabbing your keys, trying your best not to keel over, you’re set on getting to his apartment, which for the first time you’re glad is actually nearby. 

The drive is torturous. Really, you know you shouldn’t be driving at all, not as you have to grip the steering wheel tight, in fear if you let go you’d spasm wildly. Whoever Bakugou had on their knees, was doing a really good fucking job. The bastard was seeing heaven while you were trying your very best not to land yourself in hell, because of the sin of mass murdering late night pedestrians you only just swerve by. 

Even the sporadic pinches to your thigh don’t deter him, instead he returns them with his own. All you can do is curse and hope the ceiling caves in. Or maybe the floor under him opens up— better yet if his dick were to entirely explode.

You’re utterly winded when you do finally reach his flat, knees nearly having buckled on the stairs up. When you get to his front door, you slam down hard.

“Katsuki, open the fucking door.” You knock without restraint, not caring for the neighbors. “I swear to god if you don’t-“ 

The door opens just as you're about to thrash it again, almost having you topple in. You catch yourself, of course, but Bakugou snorts at the sight. 

“You couldn’t wait a fucking week?!” You shout before he can speak. 

You look at him, shirtless, skin flushed and dewy. His sweats hang low, just barely fumbled on, revealing the sharp muscles under his skin, and a little trail of light brown hair that you have to force your eyes to stop following.

If you weren’t so mad you’d probably enjoy the sight. That somehow ticks you off even more. 

“You seriously came all this way?” 

“You weren’t picking up your calls!” You huff. “And it’s not like you forgot about the quirk.” You gesture wildly to your thigh, probably purple from all the pinching. “You prick!”

“And what do you want me to do.” Bakugou gives you a look of annoyance, as if he was the one inconvenienced. “Stop everything because of you?”

“Yes?!” 

Bakugou then takes a step forward, suddenly looking taller. He towers over your form, with an intimidation you’re not often on the other side of. 

“Tough shit princess.” You feel the words against you. “Just ‘cause you’re not getting any, doesn’t mean I’m not.” 

You have to hold your tongue, clench your fists, and tense your arms, just so you don’t push him. Even without the quirk you were sure he could probably sense the anger building inside you. 

But then a thought hits you. 

Without saying a word, you slip your phone out your pocket and dial a number. Bakugou watches, confused but slightly curious. 

The phone only rings once before the call is picked up. Your face lightens animatedly, losing its scowl and turning into something dramatically sweet. 

“Izu…” You practically coo. “Are you free tonight?”

Bakugou’s face immediately drops at the name.

“Mhmm…” You hum. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

You’re sure Bakugou can hear the man on the other end fluster but agree to what you’ve not-so subtly proposed. You give him a smug look before continuing. 

“That’s good to know…” You give Bakugou a smile, just to be dramatic. “I could wear that dress you really-“ 

You’re cut off as Bakugou grabs your wrist, pressing end call and glaring at you. 

“You wouldn’t.” He growls.

“Oh but I would.” You smile back, making sure to bare your teeth.

The two of you come to a standstill, waiting for the other to break the silence. It’s actually Bakugou who speaks first, finally yielding. 

“Fucking fine!” Exasperated, he huffs. “Fuck, I’ll send her home.”

The smug look on your face comes to a quick halt as a realisation dawns upon you.

“I don’t know her do I?” You grab him and ask with genuine dread. “Katsuki, tell me I don’t know her.”

He doesn’t respond for a few seconds, enjoying the sight of you panicked.

“Katsuki!!”

“You don’t.” He waves you off. “Just a hookup.”

That surprises you. “Didn’t know you do hookups.”

“Didn’t know you were fucking Deku.” He spits it out like a slur. You’re not quite sure why though, you could’ve sworn they’d gotten over their childhood beef. 

“I’m not.” You shrug. “But I could.” 

Bakugou runs a hand through his hair, defeated and ready to kick the girl out. It’s a bit awkward now that you think of it. Neither him nor whoever was in his room right now had… gotten their release. 

Not enthusiastic about watching him break a poor girl's heart, you turn to leave, it’s at the exact same time Bakugou goes to return, and brushes his— still very much sensitive— dick against the door. 

“Shit.” You gasp as your legs jelly. It’s like a punch to the gut, sending shockwaves through your stomach. 

Bakugou catches you by the arm before you can fall, then sighs.“Come inside. You can’t drive home like that.” 

You follow him in, not making a fight,  as if you could with the way your legs had weakened. You’ve been to his apartment before, many times, but mostly with others. So you’re not sure why there’s a sudden tension that doesn’t feel like frustration anymore. You just hope Bakugou can’t feel the way your tummy continues to flutter. 

Bakugou returns, and there’s a twitch of something green in your chest when you see the women beside him. You don’t mean to stare, she’s decent at least, but you can’t help it. You try not to acknowledge that one of your first thoughts is to compare her to yourself, and feel disappointed at the lack of similarity. 

You stop mentally analysing her when she shies away from your gaze. She looks guilty. And although, yes the situation is mortifying, you’re not sure why she looks so terribly remorseful. If anything it’s you that should be apologetic— and Bakugou most certainly. 

She squeaks out a quick “Sorry” alongside a “I didn’t know” as she gathers up her stuff. Then she glares straight at Bakugou and flicks him off. That’s when it registers. 

“Oh god no, not his girlfriend!” You correct quickly. “Definitely not the girlfriend.”

You don’t notice how Bakugou’s resting frown deepens. 

The woman looks perplexed, but decides not to question it. You hear Bakugou give his own apology as he takes her to the door, attesting to the fact he wasn’t cheating. Still you feel a little bad watching her leave. 

“Make sure to call her back and explain okay?” You’re a moralist, what can you say.

“Shut up.” Bakugou groans, making his way to his open kitchen. “Catch.” He throws you a bottle of water, still cold from the fridge. “Drink and rest a bit.”

You eye him cautiously. Why is he showing courtesy now.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Bakugou huffs, then turns his head away. There’s an expression you just about catch, that seems kind of… does he feel bad?

And for some reason that just makes you feel sheepish. Enough so that you have to turn away and focus on your water instead. 

“Thought you were asleep at first.” There’s foreign sounding guilt in his voice. “And the quirk should’ve worn down by now.”

“Well it hasn’t.” You scoff, pointing a finger directly at him. “Don’t pull any shit like that again.”

Bakugou keeps to his word. He doesn’t fuck— or half fuck anyone else. Instead, his workouts become harsher, his routine now erratic. You can’t keep countering his cold morning showers, when he’s taking three a day and going straight back to the cardio as soon as he’s out. But you don’t dare ask him to cool it, you were the reason for all his pent up energy after all. 

When your knuckles start to ache due to his new found interest in boxing, he at least has the decency to text you a blunt sorry. 

“Don’t you have any other hobbies you can waste your time with.” With your phone lodged between your head and shoulder, you scold him. “I started cooking— ah !” You hiss as some oil spits at you.

“You’re lucky I’m used to explosions.” Bakugou snorts, amused. “You’re clearly doing a shit job, turn the fucking heat down.”

“Fuck off.” You turn the heat down. “My food’s gonna be perfect!”

“Hah, doubt it.”

“You can taste it yourself!” You say with a pop, licking some sauce that had gotten on your finger. “Already so good! You’ll see.”

You feel him suck in a breath but stay silent on the line. 

“Why’d you call if you were gonna ignore me.”

“M’not.” His words come out a little mumbled. “Just, gonna go take a shower.”

“Oh!” You shove a lid onto your pan. “Let me get in too!”

He kisses his teeth at that. You don’t question why he’s annoyed. 

The water hums comfortably over you. It’s nice and warm— not too warm, rather not risk another spam of texts— and it’s exactly what you needed after a day of dealing with Bakugou’s intense workouts. 

You can vaguely feel his own cold shower under yours, but for the most part, the heat does well to cancel it out. You’re used to ignoring when Bakugou cleans his thighs. Even if you can feel his thick fingers like they’re actually on you. The same way the hot water counters his cold, you clean alongside him, to pretend all you can feel is your own hands. Brushing your fingers through your hair, you go through the rest of your routine. Making sure to thoroughly scrub at all your curves.

He’s out before you are, telling by the way your water suddenly feels much warmer. Your phone flashes from the counter, Bakugou texting you to hurry the hell up, and you take that as cue to finish. 

You’re slow with your moisturising, slathering it on and massaging it into your skin. Bakugou pinches you through himself. You wonder why but ignore it and just get dressed. 

He doesn’t text you again, instead feeling uncharacteristically still. Perhaps he’d gone to sleep? You snap him a picture of your dish anyways, if he won’t taste it he can get a good look at least. You’re about to dig in when a familiar sensation builds between your legs.

He’s— he’s fucking touching himself again—

Immediately, you go to text him, but his contact pops up first. 

Bakugou [work]: It’s okay. 

Bakugou [work]: It’s just me.

Bakugou [work]: Let me have this

You’re not even sure how to respond, but you do end up abandoning your meal and take seat on your sofa. 

Me: it’s so weird 

Me: I can feel everything 

He spits on his hand, the wetness gross. Yet you can’t seem to hate it. 

Bakugou [work]: you think I can’t feel you?

Bakugou [work]: soaping yourself up? Touching your fucking tits?

You’re lucky he can’t see you. You’d be embarrassed out of your mind. Maybe because it was nothing unusual to you, you had forgotten it would feel different to a man. 

His text bubble appears once, then disappears and appears again. Finally he continues.

Bakugou [work]: just go to sleep if it bothers you so much

His hands still stroke himself but a little languidly, as if to give you option to ignore it. You don’t. 

Me: how am I supposed to sleep if you’re doing that!

His hands still, you can just imagine his laugh. 

Bakugou [work]: think of it like a massage 

He starts up again.

Bakugou [work]: I can tell you like it

Your body betrays you and he knows.

Me: you’re an asshole

Just as you send the message you feel his hands thumb his tip and the sharp feeling of pleasure that comes with it. It’s embarrassing that your first thought is so that’s how he likes it.  

Bakugou does it once more before returning back to stroke his shaft. The pace he sets is dangerously addictive. It works him up and in turn you. You’re almost keeling when you send your next text. 

Me: Fuck it

He types again but you pay no mind, shoving your free hand down your trousers and brushing over your clit. You rub gently for a second but with your slick having gathered and spread, you realise it’s not enough. 

A text flashes on screen as you press finger into yourself. You feel Katsuki tense. 

Bakugou [work]: easy pr incess

You don’t go easy. Instead you rub at your clit faster, one finger still dipping into you. Katsuki pinches his thigh, which you ignore and continue.

Then your screen flashes a different image. A picture of Dynamight, ripped straight from your company’s website, his contact photo. 

“Fuck-“ You sigh, picking up the call. “What is it.”

“You complain and then start touching yourself?” Bakugou accuses, not letting up his own pumps.

The faint slick noises in the background of his words, makes your stomach do flips. The sudden image of his cock wet and dripping now at the forefront of your mind. You don’t realise how your own moments get faster, but Bakugou does. 

“Oi.” He pants. “Slow the fuck down.”

“Are you about to come?” You let out a breathy laugh. “So fast?”

The reply you get is a harsh pinch to your nipple, one that makes you arch a little. It feels good. 

“Shit, you liked that?” Bakugou says, in a voice that practically speaks his smirk. He pinches again and this time you really moan.

“Stop it.” you whine, pushing your fingers in again, rutting against your hand. 

“Why?” Bakugou does it again and again, making you push into your hand, deeper. “You— fuck— you really like it.”

“Katsuki.”

You feel a sharp tug of pleasure, from him. 

“Oh…” you giggle. “And do you like it when I call your n-name?”

“Shut—“ he hisses, thumbing his tip, “—the fuck up.”

“Are you sure you want that?” You tease, touching yourself the way you know your body, and his, will enjoy. “Ka-tsu-ki.” 

He only responds with a deep groan, something that edges a whine. You didn’t think you could get more turned on.

“Like you’re not getting wet when I talk to you, princess .”

Now that has your tummy twisting, stomach sinking with growing lust. Your body clenches around your fingers without permission, and you can’t even attempt to hold the moan. 

“Shit,that made you fuckin’ squeeze .” He huffs, hands getting faster. “Ke-keep doing that.” He says as you work your fingers well. “Fuck . Feels so fucking good sweetheart.”

You comply, fully knowing you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. Each stroke of his, paired with your indulgence, just brings you closer and closer to—

“Kats’— I’m gonna—“

“Fuck, me too [Name], me too .” His breaths are erratic and so are the wet sounds of his cock. 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to come. Especially with how pent up he, and evidently you had been. It’s sort of magic, how you can feel the exact moment where the coil in him snaps, and how it dominoes onto you, forcing you to come with him. 

So blissed out, it takes a while for everything to catch up with you. The same goes for Bakugou.

“We shoul…” 

“Do you want to…”

You both start at the same time, and stop, embarrassed by what you want to suggest. 

There’s silence that feels like it burns, you’re not used to the heat like he is. You need it gone.

“Can I come over tomorrow?”

As you drive the nerves start to rise. Perhaps it’s knowing you’re going over for sex . It isn’t like the random visits you’ve made before that end in you staying a little longer, this is specific. 

You’re going over to have sex with Bakugou Katsuki.

Standing in front of his apartment you nearly turn back, his door somehow intimidatingly tall, too hard to knock. 

You don’t get to run however, not when Bakugou opens it immediately. 

He stands there, freshly showered, in only a tank and shorts. He looks fucking good.

“You just gonna stand there?” 

“Shut up” You push past him and take off your coat. He watches, entertained by your familiarity and the polite way you take off your shoes and line them up neatly.

“Youre being weird” Bakugou observes. “Its just me”

It ticks you off a little how casual he’s being. As if it means nothing, that the night before meant nothing, that what you’re about to do means nothing. 

“Oi, what is it?” Bakugou is quick to sense your apprehension.

“How are you being so normal about this,” you hiss. “do you even want to…” It’s hard to admit you’re nervous. “Do it…”

Bakugou looks at you, baffled. Which you return with a scowl. It’s like he can see the wheels turning in your head because before you can even open your mouth to speak, he's kissing you. 

His mouth is warm against yours, surprisingly soft for all the venom that leaves it. It’s also surprisingly sweet, he kisses you like it would hurt to pull away. 

“Been thinking about you all day,” he groans with the breath he takes. “All fucking day, Angel”

His hands roam and squeeze and when you place yours on him he almost whines. Mouthing at your neck, his fingers trail downwards, to cup you through your skirt. 

“You think I don’t want this?”

There’s a second where he stills, asking for your silent go ahead, and when you push into his hands he takes that glady. His fingers rub over your underwear, easily finding your clit and pressing firmly. He feels it in him, how sensitive you are, and he has to take a breath to calm down. 

Slowly you feel him pull away, and he has to gently shush you before continuing.

“Why are you teasing me.” You don’t mean to pout.

“M’not.” He hums, lowering down your body with kisses over your clothes. “Just let me taste you.” 

He’s on his knees before you can dispute, pushing his way under your skirt and ripping straight through your underwear. Bakugou just nips at your thigh when you give him a reprimanding tug. 

You’re swollen and wet, pulsing in front of his eyes. Slick clings to your folds and he stares at the way your pussy almost glimmers for him. 

And when you look down, he’s his own sight to behold.

Dynamight, on his knees, flushed with kiss swollen lips. His hair is messy, sticking to his forehead, a debauched reminder of the moisture that clings to him. His eyes are blown out, only a small ring of red circling his glittering pupils. You can see all of desire in him. You think you could stare at him forever.

But Bakugou has never been a patient man, and he doesn’t let you any longer. He attaches his mouth over you without warning. 

There isn’t the soft beginnings of timid kisses and shy licks, he is indulgent. Voracious in the way he eats you out. It’s selfish. He seeks his own pleasure through you. 

 “You like this more than me.”

He winks an eye open and then rolls it.

 “If I knew this shit felt so good I’d do it more.” He murmurs before diving straight back in.

Knowing exactly how and where it feels good, Bakugou had been given the ultimate cheat sheet to a woman’s body. The first cheat sheet he was ever intent on using.

“Kats…” You still hold reservations, not wanting to admit you’re getting close. “If you keep…”

He moans into you. “I know.”

He speeds up, disregarding any of your pleas to slow down. You realise he wants you to come. All over his face, all over him . He doesn’t hesitate in making it clear that he’ll have you coming undone right here, right now.

You can feel it in your own hair, how tightly you pull on his. It's masochistic how that makes the coil in you wind even worse. Katsuki takes that as encouragement to continue. 

It hits you quickly, and it’s embarrassing how you gush all over him. Without shame, Bakugou smiles into your still spasming pussy.

“Fuck.” Finally steadying his breaths, Bakugou groans. Still on his knees, you’re afraid to look down at the mess you’ve made. 

“Did you…” you ask, feeling a little selfish. 

“No.” He shakes his head, scrambling up to stand. “But I gotta be inside of you, now.”

Not another word can be said before he hoists you up onto his shoulder. You can’t even fathom the sudden change in height as he barrages through his flat and throws you, albeit gently, onto his bed. You nearly kick him at the audacity until you catch the darkening reds of his eyes.

Oh he’s going to ruin you. 

Bakugou pulls off his shirt, body overrun with heat, and is on top of you almost instantly. His kiss this time is heavy and hot and everything but gentle. There’s something disgustingly erotic about being able to taste yourself on his tongue. It makes you crave him. 

“In. Kats, in .” You can't even speak full sentences, only one thing on your mind. “In!”

“Yeah, okay— fuck okay” he huffs, pulling his dick out and palming it. Like the rest of his body, his cock stands with a pink flush. You’d call it pretty to tease if you weren't salivating at the sight. Instead you grab at him, to help line him up. 

He holds it there for a moment. Just outside your pulsing entrance. You reach out to rub his arm, hoping to ease his hesitance. 

It’s utterly confusing.  

Feeling him enter you, from both your perspective and his. In fact it’s a little frightening. Neither of you can hide how much it fucks with your heads.Your eyes squeeze shut and you can feel his hands fist the sheet beside you. There's a wetness along your eyelashes, a stutter in his breath. It’s all too much. 

A warm hand upon your forehead brings you back to reality. Katsuki pushes your hair out the way, and brings his lips down to kiss you. If you weren’t already in tears, you’d probably start crying all over again. It’s too sweet of a gesture. A kiss to the forehead. Something hidden begins to warm in your chest. 

“Don’t…” You gasp. “Don’t fuck me like it means something.”

His expression shifts into something pitiful. 

“You’re an idiot.” He says through kisses. “If you can’t see it, you’re an idiot.”

“What.” You whine. 

“You think I don’t care for you?” Kissing a tear away, he explains. “You think I’d do this shit for anyone?”

“[Name]” He kisses off the pout that forms on your lips. “I fucking like you.”

Its like everything stops. Then everything bursts. Fuck . He likes you. The same way you’ve been pretending you don’t this whole time.

“Shit.” Katsuki recoils at the silence. “I shouldn’t—”

This time it's you who cuts him off from spiralling, kissing him and pushing your hips closer. He reaches deeper and though it’s so so much, you wouldn’t trade the feeling for the world. 

The two of you are quick to find a rhythm, intrinsically linked and sickeningly pleasurable. It should be overwhelming, but his hand in yours keeps you grounded. His presence protects you. 

When he hits a particular spot inside you, you jolt in surprise. And Katsuki whines. Actually whines. His voice at a foreign pitch. He doesn’t let you anticipate his next thrust, for he pushes back instantly, hitting that spot over and over again. 

It’s a sticky mess of needy sobs and heavy breaths, bodies pressed together with heavy desire. He doesn’t have to wonder how good you feel, he knows . So when something bubbles up inside of you, he’s quick to chase it. 

“Gonna…” You can hardly get the words out, not that you need to. 

He responds by letting his fingers trail down and over your clit. His circles are impatient, taking, and you’d laugh at how spoilt he was, if you weren’t enjoying it so badly yourself. 

It’s when he brings his lips down to yours one last time, does everything finally topple over. 

It absolutely shatters you. 

One orgasm alone is enough, but having two? Of both male and female? It’s devastating. It whites out your vision, blocks out any sound— all you can feel is the rapture that comes from the two of you. 

It takes a good few minutes for either of you to calm down and unattach yourselves. But even then you cling to him, wanting him as close as possible. He gives in despite his own fatigue, holding you while his fingers run up and down your arm to soothe. You don’t even realise the quirk has faded, your bodies in sync with or without. 

“Could get addicted…” Katsuki breaks the silence first, a small chuckle in his words. “Women are fucking lucky.”

You’re finally starting to notice the way you can no longer feel your own body through his and look at him with sympathy. You give him a pitiful pat— the wonders of the female body, he would never forget it.

You sit in his embrace a little longer, ignoring him shuffle about when your phone starts to ring. The screen lights up to his contact, but before you can question why, he speaks.

“I’m still ‘Bakugou [work]?’” 

It takes a moment for you to understand what he’s talking about and when you do, you laugh. 

“And a picture from the site?” He frowns, pinching your cheek. “Seriously?”

“Bet you don’t even have one for me.” 

“Yes I fucking do.” Katsuki shoves his phone in your face. 

And true to his word, he does in fact have a photo for you. It’s one you’re surprised he even has. It isn’t snagged off a news article, or even one of those fansites that for some reason existed— it’s a picture of the two of you, a candid Kirishima was probably responsible for.

“Why’d you pick that.” You snort, zooming into the photo. “You can barely see me.”

Katsuki shoves his chin down to your shoulder before snatching back his phone. “You looked cute.” He mumbles. “Tha’s all.”

There’s a conversation to be had, even if you’re hesitant. You put on a brave face and ask.

“You really like me, don’t you?”

“Shut up.” 

“Fine I won’t tell you how I really like you.”

Katsuki nudges you with his cheek, and when you peek over at him, there’s a resting pink under his skin. 

He can be so cute sometimes. You wonder if anyone else has seen him like this. 

Then you remember. 

“What about that girl?!” You don’t mean to sound accusatory, but you’re sure the unprompted pout that comes with your words says enough.

“You’re jealous?” Katsuki teases, you feel the smile against your skin. Then it turns into a little frown. “What about you and…” He can’t even say it. 

“We haven’t done anything!” You correct him immediately. “We’ve only made out.” 

“Oh shut up, don’t tell me.” He grumbles, grabbing your chin to guide your mouth to his. “You’re mine now.” He’s asking, begging even, you can tell. “Okay?””

You smile and swerve his next kiss, shaking your head. “Maybe take me on a date first.” 

“I was going to—” He looks a bit scandalised, you didn’t realise he could be so traditional. “Fuck off I was.”

“So what made you wait.” You shouldn’t push, but it’s fun to watch his fluster. “The sex?”

“Could feel you doing everything.” Katsuki rolls his eyes, realising your game. “Like you were under my fuckin’ skin.”

“And that turned you on?” 

He reaches out to cup your breasts. “Of course that shit turned me on. ‘Was like my own hand.” He squeezes. “Cant blame a man.”

You realise only now is he finally touching you on his own. Without your sensations overriding his. You let him have his fascination. You don’t stop his hands from exploring.

Instead you sink into his curiosity, a little interested yourself to see how far it’ll go.

Haiii I hope the concept isn’t confusing, tried to make it make sense 🤾🏽

[prettydiaaa]

bed rotting and playing sims as the good lord intended

[prettydiaaa]

sheesh😮‍💨

grillz. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 8.0K word count. wifeblackfem!reader, husband! onyankapon, football! onyankopon, grumpy!onyankapon, sweet!onyankapon, dominant!onyankapon, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, squirting, pussy eating, choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk/aggressive dirty talk, condomless sex, creaming, slapping ass/face, kissing, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

𝓐ᥫ᭡

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ y’all already know what it is, it’s yo’ favorite couple. i just hope you like this one. ony is very grillz by nelly + paul wall coded, idk. anyways. lemme hush. for reference, my girl’s hair is in that curly/braids jayda-wayda hairstyle if it seemed confusing ! aight, love y’all. bye. teehee.

visual. visual. visual. visual.

𝓐ᥫ᭡:: your husband is invited to a basketball game.

YOU MIGHT’VE BEEN MORE NEUROTIC THAN YOUR MOTHER IN LAW. You came to that conclusion as you sprinted through the house, the scent of vanilla and jasmine wafting through the air each time you found something else to fixate on. 

You were supposed to be ready an hour ago. Your husband had been invited to a Lakers VS Pelicans game—and if being honest, this might’ve been your first outing since you had your third baby. 

Saint, you’d named him. A little too on the nose, but Onyankopon wanted to keep the tradition of your children’s names going. This pregnancy had been entirely different than Salem or Sage—pains, sickness, barely able to walk, accidents on yourself—you 

endured all the worst parts within your trimesters, but you were so blessed to have a healthy five month old boy. 

Now having three children, life was a lot different than you prepared for it to be. You were a full time stay at home wife. But it came with a price—being without Onyankopon for weeks at a time as he traveled, the overwhelming amount of time that you spent taking care of your children alone—not to mention the lack of dates, and sex. Hard to believe that you hadn’t hunched on your husband in six months. But having children all close in age required an extensive amount of attention, and although you’d die for them, a small part of you just missed being alone with your husband. And now, you had the opportunity—you were just a little too anxious. 

“Papa? Do you wanna pack your football?” 

Your eldest was now three, Salem being the sweetest baby boy you could ask for—he was always helpful with his one year old sister, being the big brother he was always excited to be. You were currently trying to pack up all three of your children for their grandma's house, while you were supposed to be getting ready. Onyankopon was too busy with a conference call to notice your hysteria.

“Yes, mommy. Can I pack my Legos?” 

“Of course, Papa—“ your eyes flick around the bed, noticing that something was missing. You scratch at the bonnet atop of your head, a sigh passing your lips as you question, “You wanna be a big boy and go find Sage’s binky for me? Did she drop it in the toy box?” 

He’s already running out. You turned around to look at the packed suitcases, eyes narrowing as you tried to think if you were missing anything. 

“Say-Say?—did we pack your baby brother’s socks and diaper bag? I know I put down Sage’s—“

Speaking of Sage, your one year old sits on the bed, previously focused on a fruit pouch that’s now drained—Her miniature fingers wave up for your attention. 

“Mommmma—Abu.”

You exhale, “You want your apple slices, pretty girl?” 

She nods, hands clapping together, 

“Yes, yes.” 

She looks around the room, seemingly waiting for the magical fruit that she wants to appear out of thin air—and at this point, you might’ve needed to be a magician.

“Okay,” you huff softly, “Just—okay.”

You place her on your hip as you throw on your house slippers, quickly padding your feet down the sleek stairs of your condo. The open kitchen nearly takes up the downstairs area, your hand reaching for the miniature fridge where you keep Sage’s snacks refrigerated. 

That’s when you stop. Your eyes flick over to your husband as he stands on the porch—you’re able to hear the baritone of his voice as he has the door cracked, pouring food into the bowls of your two Dobermans. You weren’t trying to run into him before you weren’t ready, but it was unfortunate that you lived together—and that Sage wanted those damn Apple slices.

You sat her on the counter as you pulled open the container of freshly cut fruit, putting one in her hand as your voice softly replied, “You’re welcome,” to her babble of “Thanyou.” 

Seeing Onyankopon reminded you of all the reasons you’d married him. The sable shirt he wears hugs the sculpt of his muscular frame, covered by an oversized varsity jacket that fits his broad shoulders perfectly. His cargo pants and forest green Nike dunks pull the entire outfit together, chain heavy on his neck as it shows his jersey number on the pendant. You’d redone his cornrows for tonight, neatly braided as he cleaned up his hairline, crawling all the way down to his facial hair around his lips and jawline. But the current star of the show was the glitter in his mouth, nearly ten bands of fully diamond encrusted grills he’d bought for the both of you—you just hadn’t worn yours yet. He was erotically intimidating at times, your eyes falling to the band on his ring finger. He was yours. 

“Baby,” his deep voice catches your attention, now realizing he was walking back into the house, “I know a nigga ain’t losin’ his mind—why you ain’t dressed?” 

The moment you go to answer, Salem comes flying downstairs. 

“Mommy! I can’t find Sage’s binky!”

Your eyes flicker back to your husband, pulling Sage onto your hip as you confirm, “That’s why.” 

“Why you ain’t come tell me, huh? I would’ve helped you. I was just talkin’ to coach about our last game.”

He looks good up close—smells good too, the scent of his cologne pulls you closer as you breathe in the aroma. 

You shake your head, “You know how I get before they go off to your mom’s house. I wanna make sure Salem has all of his favorite toys, Sage has her snacks and—“

You stop yourself, “Do you remember if I pumped milk for Saint? I fed him before I put him down for a nap, I just—“

And in that exact moment, the baby monitor goes off. Saint weeps through the microphone, wanting the attention of his momma. 

You dig your nails into the top of your bonnet, scratching away your anxieties as you sigh, “Maybe you should just go, Ony. The Pelicans gave you front row seats, I don’t want you to miss that.” 

You weren’t the only one stressed. Onyankopon had been having a hard time balancing football and family life, but he’d been there every second since the season was close to being over. He knew you needed time with him—you’d been cooped up for months.

He raises an eyebrow, “And leave you here? I thought you was tryna’ have a night out with yo’ nigga— I’m tryna’ show you off to the whole world tonight, I ain’t goin’ nowhere until you ready—C’mon, Imma’ help you find lil’ mama’s binky.” 

“Ony—“

“Mama, c’mon now. I wanna make this easier on the both of us.”

He takes Sage into his arms, the one year old babbling giggles as he blows his lips onto her cheek, “You act like you the only girl inna’ house that need attention, huh? Let yo’ momma breathe.” 

You sigh, “I’m not even close to being ready, baby. Don’t we still gotta’ drop them off to your mom’s—“

“My momma gon’ come finish packing them up. You tryna’ find another reason to skip out on this date?”

Okay, maybe you felt a little bad. He was already dressed, up and ready to get out the house without the tribulation of three little ones. This would be an adult night. 

You lean your head into his shoulder as you murmur, “I’m actin’ like my damn momma.” 

A soft chuckle passes Onyankopon’s lips, a hand reaching down to cradle the back of your neck, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

 “Sum’ like that.”

“Don’t be funny, nigga. I ain’t asking for commentary.”

“Aight, Aight. Forreal’—Imma’ make sure they all packed up and go change Saint. I know he givin’ that diaper the business while he sleep.”

He nudges you softly—your arms crossed, eyes looking down to the floor. He knew that you were overwhelmed, and a date didn’t even seem practical at this point. A hand rubs your chin as he tilts your face towards him, a finger curling under your jaw, “You gon’ give up on me now?”

You hated how sweet he could be at times. You pout a bit, “I’m sorry. I’m going, okay? You love me?” 

Onyankopon’s hand cups your cheek, pulling you into a kiss, his lips a bit harsh as he whispers against them. 

“You just askin’ to hear me say it. You already know what it is.”

A smile finds a way to your lips, hands wrapping around his neck while standing on your tippy toes, pressing pecks into his jawline, ”I love you too.”

“Hurry up. Gon’ make that ass clean so I can put my tongue in it—“

“Onyankopon!”

“See? You already gettin’ me started. Should’ve been ready, I wouldn’t have said allat’.”

Here was something else new that came with your third child. Your body. You’d always been curvier in your hips and thighs, but after Saint, that seemed to tenfold. 

The black mini skirt you wore was now was smaller than mini, the poke of your ass nearly peeking from the bottom of your girlishly pink thong. Your matching black baby tee clung around the full weight of your breast, going from a C to a Double D in the span of six months. 

You’d braided the front of your hair and perfected the swoop of your edges, the rest of your tresses bouncing in wand curls above your shoulders. Your lashes darkened your slender eyes, honey freckles bouncing off the complexion of your caramel skin, heart shaped lips coated in brown liner. You weren’t used to heavy jewelry, as Onyankopon had bought you a real anklet—it was weighted, cold around your skin, matching the silver sparkles in the pink platform sandals you wore. 

Your lips parted a sigh as you turned to the side—you weren’t insecure, but seeing the full figure that motherhood had given you in tight material was a bit nerve wracking, especially after months of only oversized clothing. 

 “I don’t look—different, do I?” 

Onyankopon’s eyes narrow at you, chin hovering over your body as he wraps his arm around your neck, gently putting you within a headlock. You smelled good, a bit sweeter. 

”Different,” he repeats, licking his lips, “You look like a muhfuckin’ meal, baby. A nigga might have to keep you inside.” 

You hum a soft laugh, trailing your French tips against the arm that wraps around your neck, “I told you about puttin’ me in these headlocks like I’m one of your teammates,” you roll your eyes. 

He presses a kiss to your cheek, watching you through the mirror, “What’chu’ mean? Thought you liked this shit, it be makin’ you blush like a lil’ school girl.”

He lets go of the pressure, but not the arm around you, “You look gorgeous, Mama. You gon’ stop all that overthinkin’ now?”

“Maybe.” 

You pull his arm down as you turn, running your fingers over the shown tattoos on his neck and face. You hum, “You look good,” sticking your tongue out as you await for his mouth to follow. His grills shine within your vision.

He grunts into a chuckle, leaning down to press his lips against yours. His tongue is cold from the ice he chews, lips always softer than they appeared. His mouth pops from yours as mutters, “You tryna’ distract me.”

You give him a smile, showing off the pure shine of the matching ones he’d bought you. The heart shape of your lips made them look perfect, sultry even. 

“You like em’?”

“You know I like em’,” he rasps. 

His hands are harsh, grabbing onto the sides of your small face as he pulls you back in for another kiss. His lips suck on the plush of yours, “Matchin’ a nigga fly.” 

“You better like them for ten bands, nigga. You be gettin’ real besides yourself cause you got money.” 

“You talkin’, but that money takes care of this family, and be buyin’ yo’ ass allem’ bags, perfumes, and shoes. Daddy be takin’ care of you, huh?” 

His eyes narrow into a snarl, smacking one hand against the plump of your ass, watching it bounce through the skirt it’s hidden behind, making you giggle as he grunts, “I don’t?” 

“You do,” you kiss at his jaw, “Did Saint wake up when you changed him?”

“Nah, I just put him in my momma car. Sage was good too, you know crybaby quick to start screamin’ if she don’t get that binky—and Salem, he just excited to go to grandmas. You know we’ a team, right? I always got you, girl.” 

You sigh, “I know. You um—got his diaper bag?”

“Nah.” 

He smacks your ass again, “Goddamn, girl—Ion’ even know what you just asked me.“ 

You giggle, “The diaper bag, dork.” 

“Can’t hear you. Yo’ ass covering all the sound in the room.” 

“Onyankopon.” 

“Aight, lawd. You ain’t no fun.” 

In this moment, you almost felt similar to a baby—like you’d just gotten thrown into the world without any preparation. You forgot how much you hated the spotlight that was required being married to your husband—this was a Pelicans basketball game, and he somehow got more attention just being there as the New Orleans Saints’ quarterback. Your nerves got the best of you as you pulled up to the front of the stadium, seeing the valet workers prepare to open your passenger door. It was—chaos.

“You’ straight?” 

You give him a nod, knowing you weren’t entirely.

The paparazzi was always a nuisance, and even more so with the news of your newly born baby—Onyankopon could tell that he was being watched as you step out of the car, the flash of  light going off as his hand holds on to your hand firmly, pressing your body into his, as if he was shielding you. You lower your head as you hear him politely answering questions, cameras flashing in every direction—you hated this part every time.

“I’m excited to be able to come to a Pelicans game close to our off season, they been on a roll lately—and Zion, that nigga crazy onna’ court. We gon’ make it a close game tonight—hopefully.” 

The questions were quick to come up, “You have any bets on who’s winning tonight?” 

“Bets? Nah, ion’ do that shit,” he turns to you, “My wife my lil’ good luck charm—she gon’ be the reason they win tonight.”

You lean your head into his shoulder, a shy smile finding its way to your lips as you squeeze his hand a little tighter. He pulls you into a small kiss, the cameras flashing from the showmance between the two of you. 

It was quieter on the inside, the amount of people, security, and other familiar faces crowding the arena as you’re guided to the front row of the court. It was a couple minutes before the game started, and you already knew the drill—you crossed your leg over the other as you fixed your hair, re-touched your lip liner, sprayed yourself of perfume—all the awkward ways you could distract yourself as Onyankopon socialized with others sitting in the row next to you. Unlike you, he was extremely friendly. You would give a soft smile each time he introduced you to someone, but that was about it. You were more comfortable talking to your three year old than most adults.

He’d kissed your cheek multiple times, trying to coax you out of your shell as your eyes stayed transfixed onto the players practicing on the court. He could sense that you were trying your hardest to fit in, but he didn’t want that. He just wanted you to be yourself. 

“You want anything to drink, baby?” He leans down, lips close to your ear as he holds your thigh, “They got food too—it’s gon’ take a minute to get to you, might as well see what you want now.”

You shake your head, eyes flickering up to him, “I’m okay.”

“Don’t be lyin’. I know them’ lil’ apple slices you be stealin’ off our daughter ain’t that good—“

Onyankopon cuts himself off when he sees you smile. He’d always been good at making you laugh, and it wasn’t any different now. 

Your voice is soft as you ask, “They got Sangria? And loaded fries?”

“Oh aight, you tryna’ turn up tonight? You’ scandalous,” which makes you giggle as he continues, “Heard you. I’ll be back.” 

The moment he began walking away, the stadium camera seemed to find him— your husband appeared directly onto the Jumbotron—it showed a quick reel of him on the field, the crowd creating an echo as they cheered. His grills shine under the camera as he smiles, throwing up his fingers as he greets the cheers—It makes you blush. 

The game officially starts. Right on time, a hand rubs at the back of your neck, Onyankopon sitting next to you as he presses a cold drink into your hands, “You need me to turn on yo’ seat fan?”

You lean closer to him as you steal the fries out of his hands, “Nope. Just want you to enjoy the game, baby. I don’t wanna see you cry when the Lakers put belt to ass on the Pelicans,” you giggle.

“I ain’t even gon’ put that Lakers blasphemy into the universe. You actin’ bad.” 

“And you’ delusional.”

“Call it what you want!” 

The game is a brawl. Cheers take over the stadium as the Pelicans manage to get a few points over the Lakers, who are just barely in the lead. You hold back your laugh as you watch Onyankopon lean into the court, eyes narrowing as his voice carries, “What you doin’, nigga? You’ gon’ let him take the ball from you? Ref—you gon’ call that foul? Nigga tripped his feet clear as day!”

You sigh as you take a sip of the sweet alcohol flowing between your lips—this was your husband. 

It was now half time, and you couldn’t lie—you were feeling the effects of your Sangria. You might’ve become a little mouthy as you watched fouls or unfair calls of the ball, nearly as into it as your husband was. When they were back to showing familiar faces against the Jumbotron, your eyes flickered up as you heard the crowd go back to roaring, seeing yourself and Onyankopon in your seats as you watched the game. You gave a shy wave into the screen, giggling as your husband childishly pecked your cheek repeatedly along the Jumbotron. 

“You prettier on the big screen—shy ass,” he nudges your shoulder, “You still good?”

You nod, “I might order another Sangria—or a Margarita, or—one of those. What’s in Sangria, baby?” You tug at his letterman, humming through your question as you lean into his lap. 

A chuckle leaves his lips, “What I’m gon’ do with you, girl? You’ tipsy already.”

And although you were a little tipsy, this was the most laid back you’d ever been in a while. He missed your playful attitude, and even more so when you were comfortable. 

His hand rubs at your shoulder, pecking your cheek as he says, “Ion’ know. How bout’ we order both and mix ‘em into one cup?”

“You’re so smart,” you sigh, “My sexy, smart man.” 

Yup. That was it—you were now drunk.

Well, blame the Sangria-rita you’d just made. You were always able to hold yourself together in an environment where you couldn’t show just how intoxicated you were. But being around your husband without your kids, it might’ve had you a little more relaxed. And horny. When the game ended—and the Pelicans won, of course—instead of going home, Onyankopon had gotten a call from one of his teammates, mentioning that they would all be out at the club for another teammate's birthday, their wives joining in at the section as well. And of course, Onyankopon's friendly ass just couldn’t say no.

He could see the nerves in your face as you arrived at the club. Your eyes scan around, seeing familiar teammates with their wives and girlfriends. You’d never met half of these girls, and the ones you had met already seemed to be having fun together. 

Onyankopon leaned down, lips near your ear as he gently said, “We can go home, Mama. I can go pick up the kids on the way back—“

Were you giving off that you weren’t enjoying yourself? Hell. The Sangria might’ve worn off and made you a little sleepy, but you really weren’t ready to go home. You pull him down by his jaw as you interrupt,“I’m fine, baby. Promise—just need to hear a lil’ music. I want you to have fun.” 

His nose nuzzles against your hair, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he pulls you into his side, “I’m always gon’ have fun if I’m with you, girl. Come on.”

A hand comes down to the lower part of your back, leading you right into a VIP section. Onyankopon was greeting his teammates, a soft wave pulling at your fingers as you greeted the wives and girlfriends. You could be friendly—they just weren’t your type of crowd. 

But of course, you loved your husband enough to try something once. You took a couple of shots with them, Hennessy their choice of drink. When you mentioned that you didn’t enjoy the taste of more common brown liquors, one of them gave you an eye roll, and that was your cue to head back over to your husband. Maybe it was the liquor in your system, but you might’ve been a little irritated from that interaction. 

You wrapped your arms around Onyankopon’s neck as you sat on his lap, trying to hide the annoyance in your face—Too bad you weren’t good with that.

“I see that face you makin’. What happened?” 

You try to shake it off, “I be tryna’ be cool with them hoes. They’ weird,” your murmur to him, going into your purse as you search for your phone.

“You gettin’ mad for no reason,” he holds your phone out for you, “They just be tryna’ fit in with the crowd.” 

“You don’t need to give me explanations for bitches you don’t even know,” you flick your eyes back up to him, “Ain’t nobody mad. If I was, I would’ve said that.”

He raises an eyebrow. Onyankopon leans down into your ear, a hand pulling you in by the cradle of your neck as he questions, “What ‘you gettin’ an attitude with me for?”

“What I look like startin’ an argument with you in front of everybody? I’m just sayin’, I don’t like them girls.” 

“You don’t like nobody. Yo’ ass mean.”  

You narrow your eyes at that. You then wrap your arms further around his neck as you smile, “I like you, Daddy.”

Your eyes. He could see it all in your eyes. 

He raises an eyebrow, pressing a kiss to your lips before pulling you into another one, a bit more harsh as you feel his hand caress across the bottom of your thigh, a thumb stroking against your skin. 

“Keep behavin’, girl. You gon’ let a nigga dance wit’ you, or you gon’ have an attitude about that too?”

“You gon’ throw some ones on me if I dance?” 

You move your hips along his lap, giggling through the shots you were beginning to feel in your system.

“I’m throwin’ hundreds out this bitch if it’s you.” 

Onyankopon’s hand smacks at the side of your thigh, “You talkin’ too much. C’mon.”

You stand in front of him, your eyes a bit blurry from the lowlights of the club, which somehow makes your tipsiness worse—This was a side of you that hadn’t shown in months, the arch of your silhouette drowning in his sight as you hold the edge of your skirt, ass shaking within his face. You dip your head down to watch him from behind, teeth sinking into the plush of your lip.

“That’s how you feelin’?”

Swat, his hand palms your ass hard. The sting rushes into a pleasure you hadn’t expected, making the skin flush.

The mixture of a giggle and whimper passes your lips, barely audible as you hear the music thumping around you. You’re really horny now.

Your brain is foggy—so foggy that you tug your panties to the side for a millisecond, letting him see the glisten of your pussy. You feel his palm latch along your throat from behind, tugging you back onto his lap. 

He grunts, “You tryna’ have me kill a nigga in here.”

“I think that Hennessy’ talking,” you giggle to him.

His hand smacks your ass harder, the sound piercing the atmosphere. The music wasn’t going hard enough to mask it. 

“Yo’ ass gon’ be the reason we leave. Keep fuckin’ playin’.”

“Okay—down, boy. You got a teammate to celebrate his birthday with. Go, imma’ babysit another drink.”

“You gon’ behave?”  he tilts your chin up, finding your eyes in his.

“I always do. Kiss?”

Onyankopon’s lips are on yours in seconds. He knocks your head up as he taps your chin, grills shining a blue tint under the lights of the club before he leaves you alone. 

The thing is, you didn’t exactly do what you’d told him you would.

You’d ordered a lemon drop martini, doing the opposite of babysitting your drink as you consumed it in minutes. A small smile spread across your lips as your mother-in-law sent pictures of your babies enjoying their time at grandmas, and although you missed your kids—the sight of your husband across the club had your attention. 

You could admit it now—you were fully drunk. The club was closing, and you were entirely too far away from home for Onyankopon to drive back. So you’d both decided on a hotel for the night—and with your intoxicated minds, you might’ve chosen the nicest one in New Orleans, booking the rooftop of the tallest building. 

You giggle as he carries you bridal style, using his foot to open the door to the room—and it’s a sight to see.

The floor is marbled, an expensive crystal chandelier casting warm shades of orange and gold across the room. The walls were high, mirrors reflecting the lights from the chandelier. The bed is huge, with a golden, lacy canopy.

You gasp, “Baby—there’s a pool!” 

An infinity pool to be specific—it was beautiful, lit up against the night skyline, the sounds of jazz music faint in the background from the echoes of downtown. 

“Baby. Be care—“  

You almost fall, saved by Onyankopon as he lifts you up by the back of your thighs, holding you in front of him as your legs wrapped around his waist, throat giggling as you hold onto him, “Oops.”

“You drunk as hell, Mama.” 

He tosses you onto the bed before you can answer—And you squeal, drunk laughter passing your lips as you bounce up once, eyes still on the man in front of you—and God, he was your everything. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol you’d been drinking all night, but you missed him—and now, you wanted him all over you.

You watch him undress himself—that jacket hits the floor, tattoos on his arms and biceps beginning to outline underneath the lights.

You groan, “I’m hot, baby. I wanna go swimming.” 

“Ion’ know,” he’s slow with his words, easing out of his pants, “I could just rub up on you, baby. Let you fall asleep in my arms.”

“That’s boring,” your eyes wander his body as you bite your bottom lip. Your legs spread a bit on the bed, “Can I go look at it?”

You were a drunken mess, your words slurred, your sentences a bit incoherent as he shakes his head, chuckling at the sight. 

“You can’t even think straight, girl. Just lay yo’ ass down.”

You roll your eyes, huffing, “Whatever. I gotta go pee.” 

You didn’t give him time to answer. 

Your body was stumbling off of the bed—but instead of the bathroom, you made your way directly towards the pool. You’re tugging off the material of your clothes, stepping out of the skirt you wear, pulling the baby tee over your head effortlessly—you’re bare up top, nipples shining a pretty brown under the lights, your thong molding along your hips at the bottom.

“You’ hard headed.”

His voice is a chuckle, but his eyes glare at you. He watches your body dive into the pool. 

“I thought you was usin’ the bathroom,” His voice is low, eyes at your figure that flows beneath the water as his feet begin to follow you outside. 

And then you come up—Your eyes are the only thing above water, slender as you swim to the edge. 

“It feels good, baby. You wanna feel?” 

You come up more the moment your fingers fall around the flesh of your breasts, squeezing at your hardened  nipples as you whimper, “C’mon, Ony…”

His voice gets lower, “Goddamn. Aight.”  

Your eyes flick down to his dick that slaps his abdomen the moment he pulls it from his boxers, a sultry smile on your face as you swim to the side of the pool where he’s fully undressed, his body towering above you as he steps in.

The minute he steps in, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down within the water as you lift yourself against him. Your eyes glow, your tongue dragging against his lips as you giggle, “I missed you, Daddy.”

Onyankopon chuckles, lips brushing against yours, “What you miss about me?”

“Being alone with you. Touchin’ on you—“

You’re softly whining, your tongue swirling along his throat, meeting him in a filthy kiss as you come up. And of course, he’s kissing you back even worse—tongue invading your lips, drowning you under his mouth. You allow your body to sway its way towards the edge of the water, turning as you lean yourself against the glass of it, back now facing him. Your little show from the club returns, and under perfect lighting? Your pussy was even prettier. It’s pink as you spread it in his face, glistening to coax him even further.

You whimper, “—The way you fuck me. Come take me, Ony.”

Onyankopon grunts at the sight.

Being drunk brought out a whole different side of you—but your husband was no better. It was the way he ate your pussy when intoxicated—his tongue wagged up against the soft flesh of your folds, the soppy arousal drenching his facial hair each time his full lips sucked your clit up into his mouth. He can’t help it—he’s dipping his tongue in between your opening and hole up top, your fingers tightening along his braids as you whimper in return. But you’re worse—you’re twisting your hips from side to side, riding his face to meet his tongue that sucks your clit from behind. Your ass is all in his face, but he loves it, spanking you with rumbles vibrating against your flesh. 

You always got what you were asking for, but you were needy regardless. You didn’t expect your back to arch any further than it was, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his fingers tightened within your curls, fucking you in a way you’d missed in months. Your ass bounces onto his creamy dick by the pull of his strength—your lips releasing giggles, squealing in between your moans as he takes you from behind. 

“This’ how you missed me, huh? Boucin’ back on my dick like a muhfuckin’ slut? Look at you.” 

You were so drowned in him, you were hardly paying attention to where you were. The marble was cold on the edge of the pool, and with the tiniest bit of sense you had, you whined, “It’ssogood, baby.” 

A low groan leaves his lips, the sound vibrating against your neck. 

“You loud. Finna’ wake up the whole neighborhood.” 

You’re too drunk to listen, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you place your arm behind your back, waiting for him to grab ahold of it. Your moans are long, whiney as you’re somehow still giggling, so elated from how good every stroke feels. His tip is becoming lost in your pussy, your intoxication making you wetter by the second. 

His hand wraps against your arm, your leg going further over the edge, your back in the perfect arch as you mewl. Your eyes roll as he snakes his other hand to the front of you, clutching your jaw to snap your face behind to look into his—That’s when you sling your hips back, fucking yourself on his dick, a hazy smile on your face, screwed with a mixture of pleasure. 

“Ony…” 

You’re squealing to him.

“You still miss a nigga, huh? My shit deep enough for you to remember?”

Onyankopon’s hand tightens along your neck, his fingers gripping the bottom of your chin to bring your face closer to his. You squirm at the change in angle.

One of your hands slides against the side of his head, fingers running across the length of his cornrows. Your lashes are heavy, fluttering as you plead, “It’s deep,” your voice hardly audible over the sounds of your skip clapping together. 

“Feel so full when you’re in me,” you whimper along his mouth.

Your voice was music to his ears. 

The wet flesh sends echoes against the marble, your moans loud in his ear. But everything you were giving him was worth the wait of you being pregnant. He’d taken care of you, babied you. And now, he fucked you like you were his again. 

He could be sweet, sensual—but he could also be a demon. You’re out of the pool now, close to the bed—but you couldn’t make it there on time. Your fingers clutched

along his shoulder as he carries you with no effort, legs held by his arms as he’s lifting you up, tip slapping the sensitivity of your puffy folds, dropping you down in seconds. A squelch comes in return from the curve of his dick reaching inside. 

“Ion’ wanna hear nothin’,” he grunts to you, “Just listen to us.” 

You knock your forehead against his, eyes watering as you tremble whimpers, cradling the nape of his neck in your fingers. Your mind is hazy.

His gaze pierces yours, your lips barely hovering above his as he grunts, “You hear that? That’s the sound of you leakin’ all on my shit. Just droolin’.” 

Your face screws into a pout as you whimper, “Ohmygod, baby. You’re so strong. Oh my goddd. Ughn. F—fuck,” your nails sink into his skin. 

“The fuck did I say, huh?”  

A swat comes to your face, and your eyes flutter, sinking your fingers between your lips as you hush the noises from your mouth. There’s tears in your eyes, thighs trembling as he continues to hold you in the air. Plop, plop, schluck. 

“That’s my good lil’ bitch. Open.” 

He spits in your mouth, gripping your neck tighter as he speaks.

“Tongue.” 

When you do, he spits again. 

“Goodbaby.”  

Your whimper is a high-pitched sound, your teeth nibbling against his bottom—but that’s when he releases you onto your feet—your legs instantly trembling, and he can tell you won’t be able to keep this up. 

“On that bed,” his voice is low. 

“Knees first.”

The moment you crawl onto the bed, you drop your face onto the sheets, back still arched, spreading your reddened pussy as you gently rotate your hips for him. 

“C’mon, Daddy.” 

The arrogance pours from his body as he slaps his tip against your folds, your hips jolting at the feeling. His dick is sliding in, sinking every gifted inch he has for you—It’s even deeper this time, a pinch coursing through your lower stomach the moment the back of your thighs clap with his abdomen, tearing away like Velcro each time. 

You’re mewling, “Damn, baby. I love you so much—why you fuckin’ me like this…”  

You’re babbling, asking nonsensical questions. You knew that.

He finds a grip in your curls, tugging you onto him. His eyes are low as he grunts, “I’m fuckin’ you like this ‘cause you want me to. Look at that pussy. Look at that shit. Pretty lil’ bitch I got.” 

Your eyes are watering heavily. You’re nearly silent for a while, just feeling everything he has to give you. Your body shakes, and you let out the deepest gasp, your exhale a low sob. 

“Keep goin’.” 

It came out a grunt, his voice cracking through the thickness of his Southern drawl. His words are nearly harsh—he craved you—but he meant it, “That’s so muhfuckin’ pretty, Mama. That cream you givin’ me. Yo’ cum is so pretty.” 

And he’s right—you’re cumming, the creamy release of your pussy painting his balls in your affection. Onyankopon’s fingers are tucked along the back of your neck, tattooed frame large above your smaller figure. 

You don’t mean for your mouth to unlatch a loud, “Ughn—Ooshit, baby…”

But it does. 

His body slaps against your round ass, “You been goin’ through it—You coulda’ just came and sat on this dick, Mama. Know you’ been thinkin’ about it. Know you been needin’ it.” 

Your fingers slip in between your lips, sucking lightly to muffle your sounds. You whimper, “Sorry, baby,” as you go back to dropping your hips down to meet his body. You imagine how that looks from behind—how your walls just suck him in, a whiney mess that you are, becoming needier by the second. 

“Uh-huh,” He groans, “Yeah—you been missing your nigga, huh?”

“Mhmm.”

That’s all you can manage to get out—your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, but you try your best to keep them open.

“Missed you so—muc—ugh—much, daddy.”

Seeing you this way was always rewarding. It was like all the senses in your brain went fuzzy, and you’re swirling your hips in a circle, throwing your ass back to meet his body. Fingers still tucked in between your mouth, you’re groaning. 

“See’—there you fuckin’ go. That’s my girl—“

His equal groan is deep and husky—loud, almost guttural.  It makes you shake, “You my good girl, ain’t you? You gon’ start acting right, huh?”

You had no thoughts within your mind.

“I’m your good girl,” you whimper, “See, baby—just wanted you,” your siren eyes peer behind your shoulder to watch your ass bounce. One of your arms reaches back—but Onyankopon’s already there again, snatching your wrist behind your back. 

“That’s all it was? You just wanted me?”

He leans his body down, pushing himself deeper into you. With your arms held, he’s got you locked—helpless.

Your face was red, eyes cloudy. You nod in answer, not trusting your own voice. 

Onyankopon’s hand releases the one held behind your back, his fingers wrapping around your throat from behind instead. His hips are going, heavy body throwing you onto his dick. 

His groan is a low hum, “Daddy’s here now, Mama. That’s all you needed.”

You can’t help the sound that comes from your lips—the whine that’s loud, a shaky breath being sucked into the air. His words, his affirmations to you—your eyes water again, and you give him a continuous nod as you watch your ass go up and down. Your feminine tone cries softly, body quivering as his words echo in your brain. 

He wants to mean every word he says. The way he grips your throat is a sign, the way he’s dropping you down, holding you in place.

Your sobs come out in low gasps,“Ohhh my god—“ 

You’re getting lightheaded.

“O—Oh—Oh, baby…” your brain’s getting foggy—no wonder you see dots.

You moan, “Oh, God. I love you so…much.”

“Yeah?” He grunts, “You mean that?” 

His body makes it hard for you to answer—and his words,  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you, baby. You forgivin’ me, huh?” 

“Uh-huh,” You nod, “I forgive you. I’m so sorry,” you whine, “S’much, baby.”

You were being honest. Although, you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for. 

You can barely even see, mouth parting as you’re going to speak again, eyes rolling back. It’s silent. But that’s when your voice gets louder—even though it doesn’t seem possible, “Please forgive me, baby. Just needed you, Ony.” 

You give him a shaky nod, trying to focus on your breathing. He grips your throat harder, just the way you like, “I hear you, Mama. You hear me?” 

You gasp,  “Yes—Oohgod, baby.” 

“We ain’t finna’ have these problems no more?” 

“No—I love you—love you so much,” you sob again, body beginning to give. You’re shaking harder, you know you’re crying, but it only makes him go faster, a loud groan coming from his lips.

“That’s how you feelin’?”

“Uh-huhhhh,” you moan, lips quivering, “I forgive you—I always forgive you, Ony.”

Your nails dig at his skin, the sounds you’re making being loud enough to wake the dead. You moan, “I’d never—ooh—doubt you, I was jus—just—“ 

Your brain gives up—you can’t make sentences.

Maybe you shouldn’t have been so sorry. You now have to prove your own words, curls hanging above your face as you’re exhausted from now being on top—Onyankopon’s large hands unfortunately have you trapped, your whimpers seeping through the walls as he’s constantly bouncing you down against his lap. This is the sight you’d been looking for—that glare, that growl from his lips, your smaller frame being swallowed by his—even if you were above him. Your thighs burned, your hips ached. 

His hand lifts your body by your throat.

“You know how I feel?”

His hips thrust upward, “I gotta be here for you a lil’ more,” His deep groan makes your legs jolt, “That’s on me, aight? Imma’ make up fo’ that, I promise.” 

His tone goes dark. 

"I love you, Mama," He grunts, "And my kids—I haven’t been a good husband, have I?”

You shake your head, finding your own rhythm within your hips as you rotate above him, “It’s okay, baby—“ you breath hitches, “Such a good h—husband, Ony…” 

His hand around your neck loosens—his thumb rubs against the pulse beneath your jaw, “You promise?” 

His lips suck on your bottom lip, his hips moving against yours now—slowing.

You nod. Onyankopon’s other hand cups beneath your thigh, guiding your body—up and down, your head lolls to the side, curls draping along your hand as your eyes roll, “Baby, I c—can’t…” 

“Yeah?” He grunts, “You can’t—lemme’ hold you then. C’mere.” 

His kiss is soft—he’s tasting you, groaning through a snarl of his lip, “Uh—uh-huh—“ His hips aren’t slowing, “I feel you, mama.”

You’re crying softly as you hold onto him,

“O—Ony…”

“I’m a good husband, ain’t I? Talk to me.” 

He’s begging, his voice deep, “Please don’t be mad at me, baby. I’m already mad at myself because I’m not there for you no’ more.”

This bastard was evil. 

The tears in your eyes aren’t helping your case, your arms wrapping around his neck as you shakily sob out in return, cumming again, holding onto him for dear life as you cry, “Not m—mad at you, Daddy…” 

His tongue slides down to your neck, sucking on the skin, leaving bruises. 

With the sudden touch of cold metal against your thigh, your body shivers, mind entirely fuzzy at this point. 

“That’s yo’ niggas ring,” He hushes you with a light grunt, his hips going—”You feel it, mama? You feel it on me?”

“I feel all of you,” you moan, hands scratching his back, “And I love you so much, baby—feel you so deep—oh god—don’t—stop, baby.”

His tongue swirls on your throat, and it makes your head fuzzy, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“I hear you, baby,” you whimper in his own words he spoke earlier, “It don’t matt—oh, matter, anymore, baby. I’m yours, Ony.” 

Your back arches—but he’s still holding your throat. Onyankopon grins at the sight, his head leaned into your neck—grunting and groaning while his large hands help you move. Faster.

“I’ll always be there fo’ my kids—But, you my baby—I’ll never leave you when you need me. And you gon’ need Daddy, huh? Just like now.” 

You press your forehead against his, digging your teeth within your lip as your eyes roll—your mouth parts as you shudderingly moan, “Yeah, Daddy. Okay.”

You’re gasping, eyes watering, hips burning. Your entire body trembles as oceans of pleasure crash in violent waves, the mixture of a groan and scream dropping from your lips, panting as you try to control your sounds. You’re squirting. 

His eyes are glaring, tone deep, “Who you gon’ get on the phone and cry to, huh? Who gon’ treat you the way I do? Fuck yo’ ass the way I do? Who gon’ catch all these tears like me?” 

You’re fully sobbing, “Fuuuck, Ony.”

He grunts at your sounds, “Just like that—“ His hand presses on your waist, “Go ‘head baby. You know I’m right behind you.” 

Your body gives for a third time. Onyankopon’s tongue rushes against yours, the warmth of his cum filling you as his large palm cradles you into his body. You don’t know when your eyes closed, or when you stopped breathing. Your vision is a blur when you’re able to see again. 

“Mama—you aight?” 

You give the smallest nod. Your face is flushed, your mind a bit fuzzy as you whimper, “Got too drunk, baby. My head hurts.”

Onyankopon chuckles, the sound low as he’s leaning against the pillows, your smaller figure sinking into his chest.

“Lemme’ get you a warm towel—“

“Nuh-uh,” you mumble, “I’m fine. You stay here.”  

His hand is slow as his palm smoothes along the small of your back, his lips pressing against your cheek, “I told you I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” 

A comforting silence fills the room for a couple of minutes, your body nearly passed out against his. That’s when you feel your husband shift a bit beneath you as he murmurs, “Baby…I wanted to give you sum’ before the end of the night.”

You hum softly, eyes still closed. 

“Can I guess what it is?”

His laugh is low, his hand gently stroking the skin of your lower back. 

”You get one guess,” He murmurs, his other hand finding a grip in your hair.

“A Unicorn,” you softly gasp, eyes still closed as you hum, “Yup. It’s my very own unicorn.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Onyankopon chuckles as he says, “You was’ close, but nah— I know you’ been talkin’ bout how you wanna renew our vows.”

Your head peeks up. 

“And?”

“And—I figured, yo’ nigga can’t re-marry yo’ ass without some new rings.”

He leans over the bed, pulling two small boxes from his pants. It’s brighter than the jewelry within his mouth—a heart shaped diamond crystals within your eyes, the ring larger than the rock you already carried on your finger. 

You gasp, “Ony—are you serious?” 

“Dead serious. I got that lil’ venue you wanted in Rome, too. I’m ready for another lifetime with you,” His fingers find your chin, “You ready for another lifetime with me?”

“You did this all for me?” 

“I’d do anythin’ for you, girl. You my best friend,” He grins, “Can you promise me one thing, though?”

A sigh escapes his lips—you leap into his embrace, hugging him tightly, “That I’ll give you like a million more babies?” 

Onyankopon chuckles at your reaction, his large arm hugging around your frame as he answers, “Nah. Promise you ain’t never gon’ doubt me again. A nigga love you forreal’.” 

Your heart is warm. Your hands graze along his facial hair, looking over the face of the man that truly loved you like no one else would. 

You sigh, “I love you too, Ony. You got a hair tie?”

“Yeah,” he raises an eyebrow, “Whatchu’ need one for?” 

He’s shifting across the bed, digging into an open drawer of the bedside dresser.

“Cause I’m finna’ suck the skin off that di—“

“Girl,” he chuckles, “Lawd. You ain’t tired?

“I’ll never be tired of you. Say you feel the same—and that you love me!”

He chuckles, “I do. Quit playin’.”

And you knew that, because he did.

[prettydiaaa]

thugga. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 2.3K word count. blackfem!reader, drabble, boyfriend! onyankapon, grumpy!onyankapon, sweet!onyankapon, dominant!onyankapon, exhibitionism, couch sex , black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk/aggressive dirty talk, condomless sex, creaming, slapping ass/face, kissing, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ day 484848489 of liyah’s faithful celibacy pact meaning she’s having the most nasty, egregious thoughts. come back to enjoy my black man fantasies. the links inspired this fic ofc, just wanted to put something out while working on an upcoming full fic. aight, bye.

link. link.

YOUR BOYFRIEND WAS A DEMON. And the worst part about it? He didn’t even have to try. 

Those eyes—he gave them to you at the worst times, and this was truly bad timing. Your elbow leans against the pink of your desktop, slender eyes drooping against the screen of your alabaster IMAC. You’d been on a work call for the past hour, and you were already feeling irritable, tired—over it. The only upside was being allowed to have your camera off. 

Your fingers rake through the dark ocean of your curls, a huff blowing through your nose as you unmute your mic to respond to your boss. But before you could—Onyankopon entered the kitchen.

You knew him, loved him, seen him enough times to know what he looked like with your eyes closed. You just couldn’t understand why he looked so good right now. He’d currently been in and out of the living room as he was attempting to fix the sink, on the phone with one of his friends to pass the time. But he made something so simple look so—sexy. His deep voice carries within the ceiling as he sends a voice memo, his big tatted frame turning a deep caramel beneath the lights, grey sweats showing off the print of his bulge. Your eyes watch his full lips move, the shadow of his grill melting in gold, mouth surrounded by the facial hair on his sharp jaw as forest  green gloves cover his palms. 

You were supposed to be focused on the main speaker of the call, watching the mouse move along the shared PowerPoint for new renovations within your company—but your eyes can’t help but peer over your desktop, watching him work. 

He’d move to the left, his toned body contorted in a way that made your tongue dry, your thighs involuntarily squeezing into each other. His back flexed taut as he reached under the cabinets, heavy hands twisting the pipes below, continuously talking within his phone atop of the counter. 

It’s when he begins pacing throughout the kitchen, tool box now in his hand and his phone pressed against the shell of his ear, that he catches a glance of you—his eyes locking onto yours. Despite his neutral expression, it’s clear that he’s caught you, and your slender eyes glazing over his body tells him everything going on in your head. He knew you.

You almost forgot your boss had asked you something.

Your voice is soft as you mindlessly reply to the computer, “Uh—no questions, at this moment. Sorry.” 

Your boyfriend's gaze is now on your figure, taking in the soft slope of your waist, up to the thick swell of your thighs and hips beneath your loose shorts. He admired you just as much as you did him, if not more. 

“Come here.” 

That’s all you hear. 

You quickly mute the microphone, your voice soft as you reply, “Ony—not now, baby.”

An eyebrow raises at your words. Head now tilted to the side, his dark eyes roam your figure as you sit at the desk, taking in his jersey you wear, leering at the way he knows your body becomes tense underneath.

“You tellin’ me no?” 

There’a a pause, and your silence speaks for itself. There it is—his eyes narrow, his jaw clenches, and that glare comes upon his expression. 

You tried. You really did. But listening might’ve been better than telling him no. The sound of the computer chair creaks beneath you, the tips of your toes just barely reaching the floor as your fingers clamp along the ink branded onto his bicep—your face screws into a pout, your whimpers gaining strength with each bounce on his dick. He’s watching, keeping you at one angle from the way he clamps his palm against the back of your neck, helping you come down.

Your boyfriend was strong, weighted in the right places. Every movement is calculated and precise—a machine. He knew your body better than you did yourself, knew what you wanted even if you didn’t say it—just by the way he’s got you pinned down, legs spread around his lap, one heavy palm against the side of your throat—he’s got ownership of you in moments just like this, when you’re at his hands—his mercy. 

Your brain registers the voices along the zoom call, but your sense is gone in the moment. His hand squeezes at the nape of your hair, your palms finding a resting space on his shoulders as you drop your hips down, a huffing whine passing your lips as your thighs ache in discomfort.

His eyes are glued to your face, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed, the way your eyes roll and thighs tremble around him like a vice— he’s proud about it. Onyankopon’s free hand comes under your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he holds you. Plop, plop, plop—you’re light to him, almost effortless, and he moves you with ease, always. 

You’re his toy for the time being.

The sound your skin makes, clapping against his in a wet applause from the cream that mixes along his tip, has you burying your face within his neck as you quietly mewl, “U—Ughn…” 

It’s embarrassing with the way he can have you whining. There’s a low chuckle from him, the grip on your hip tightening as you can feel his breath against your ear. Your boyfriend's eyes are all over you, taking in the way you cling to him—the way he’s got you shaking in his lap. 

“You’ gettin’ tight, Mama.”

He murmurs to you, “Gon’ head and put your mouth by my ear.”

And you do—your lips drag along the brown of his skin, finding his lobe as one of your hands rubs along his facial hair. Your eyes roll back again as you whimper, “Oohshit,” your gasp sucking between your lips as you keep your body moving.

His hand comes down, a resounding smacking sound as it connects with the flesh of your ass— it’s loud enough that in that moment, you worry that they can hear it through your microphone.

“Don’t get loud,” he grunts, “You bein’ too good for allat.” 

His words were always worse than the pleasure he gave you. It ignited something within you, something filthy, something horny. Something that could have you forgetting you were on a work call. 

They make you bring your head up, pressing your hands along each side of his face, rubbing continuously at his ears—your skin resounds a loud secretion against his abdomen as you bounce yourself with more effort, eyes rolling as you rotate your hips, “Ohmyg-Ony.”

His face contorts into a snarl, and you can see the gold chains around his neck shift in a way that leaves you mesmerized.

He’s gripping your flesh like a vice, fingers sinking into the fat of your ass, pulling you down as he takes your own mouth, biting, biting, sucking on your bottom lip while he thrashes you onto his tip—your folds kiss at his balls every millisecond, your clit throbbing in return. 

“Youn’ even care, you’ goin’ crazy on this dick—my good lil’ bitch.”  

He’s holding you by your throat now, squeezing as he knows you’re unable to stop moaning. Your own palm comes over your mouth, trying to muffle the whimpers and cries that spill through as you can still hear the voices from the other side of that computer, though faintly. 

“Yeah,” he spanks you in reward, “That’s a good look on you, pretty girl. You listenin’.” 

“I love this dick, baby.”

You gasp into his ear, “I love it sooomuch…”

His grip on your neck tightens, and his eyes are on you now—completely. 

“That’s what I wanna hear. You love this big ass dick.”

You’re so horny. Your hands reach for the back of the chair to hold onto, placing your feet onto the sides of Onyankopon as you rock yourself down, eyes peering behind your shoulder to watch the way your ass claps on the way down. You groan, the sight making you go harder by the second.

Your boyfriend's eyes are focused on the way he splits you open, his gaze hungry, like a predator looking at his prey. His palm comes up, hand connecting to your face as he grunts, “Keep bouncin’ on my shit,” the sound loud and firm enough that the voices stop completely from the computer.

“Everything okay over there?” 

It takes everything in you to keep quiet, your hand clamping over your mouth as Onyankopon responds, “Everything’s cool. She ran to the bathroom.” 

“Alright…we’ll get back to it then.”

The other voices faded back into conversation, and the attention was now back to you, your boyfriend's gaze locked on your form.

“Keep fuckin’ me like that.”

The words are hushed, inaudible compared to the conversation taking place in your headset. He’s not being gentle with you, he never was, and he didn’t plan to start now. He’s just lifting and dropping you on his lap.

“Feels good, huh?” You can see the look on his face, “Soun’ like you wantin’ it.”

“Feelsgood,” you can only cry back in a whisper, you brain firing off babbles as you drag out, “Mmph-shit-ah—,” clamping your mouth shut as you watch yourself—you won’t stop, your legs shake each time the back of your thighs meet with the front of his.

His own thighs are tense to the touch, Onyankopon’s face flushed the same tone as your cheeks, his jaw clenched. 

“Oh—goddamn, look at you,” he’s watching you, too, the way your body slides against him, and the way his grip has your skin painted red. 

He’s groaning, and you can feel the way he thrusts up into you, his hand reaching up to your face, his thumb sliding across the side of your lips. 

“You bein’ good as fuck right now. Just takin’ this muhfuckin’ dick—I’ll kill a nigga behind this pussy.” 

He’s whispering the words into the shell of your ear now, each breath tickling the hairs along your skin. His face is close, so close to yours that you can feel the heat radiating off of him— you could taste it. 

You whimper so softly to him, “Keep sayin’ that,” bouncing, bouncing away.

He grunts, “You hearin’ me, huh? I’ll kill a nigga bout’ this shit.”

He’s saying it to you like a secret, his hand coming up to your chin, tilting your face towards him.

You frown, tears welling in your eyes as you warm, “Baby—I’m…” you moan to him, pressing your face back into his throat as your entire body vibrates. 

“You finna’ cum, I know. Stay here.” 

Onyankopon’s words are simple, but the command in them is clear. His arms wrap around you, nose pressed into your hair as he huffs, “Stay. Don’t be movin’.” 

It’s easy for him in this position, the way that his hips grind up into you, leaving you unable to move at all. Both hands are wrapped around your throat, keeping you in place as he fucks you through your orgasm.

Your body shudders, throat vibrating a moan. Onyankopon’s grip is as strong as it’s always been, his fingers tight enough on you that it’s beginning to make your skin tingle. 

“You close.” 

He’s not asking a question, but telling you so. He can see that you’re on the edge, the way the tears are welling in your eyes, how your thighs are trembling against his. 

You softly sob, voice whiny as tears shudder your vision, “Gimme’ a kiss, Ony.”

“C’mere then. Like you ’suppose to.” 

He pulls you closer, his lips connecting with yours in a slow, deep kiss. It’s enough to bring another shudder through your body, your own hands grasping at his shoulders in an effort to ground yourself. 

“You got it baby— I know this pussy all for me—Lemme’ feel that shit.”

He’s continuously murmuring against your skin, his hand running down the back of your neck, “Come on now, Mama. You’ right there, I know you’ is.” 

His lips brush over your ear, “Let it out. I’ll listen.”

You gasp, one so deep within your chest you nearly lose your breath. Your toes curl as your body vibrates in violent waves, knocking your face within his as you moan out your sobs, the sound dragging with each syllable of it. Your arms cradle his upper body, shaking so bad that holding onto him keeps you from becoming faint. 

Everything is hazy for a few moments. He holds you against him, arms wrapped tight around you as his lips brush over the side of your face. You’re drenching his tip, thighs soaked from the arousal that slicks along his dick, so wet that you can barely feel him anymore. 

His hands keep you from trembling as he whispers against your skin, “You makin’ a mess all over me, Mama. Pretty ass mess.” 

He’s watching you, taking in the way your face contorts, how your body spasms against him—the way all your words are reduced to nothing but soft sobs and whimpers.

You exhale as you feel your body coming down, keeping yourself held onto him regardless. Your breathing is softer, and your face flushes, a small—embarrassed groan pushing from your lips as you immediately bury your face within his throat.

He can’t help the low chuckle that escapes him, a heavy hand running over the back of your hair, fingers brushing through the tresses of it. 

“You gon’ be all shy now?” 

“Ony,”  you pressed your face under his jaw, grunting as you could feel the vibration of his chuckle, “What if they heard me?”

“Then they heard you. Not my fault you’ loud.”

“Onyankopon.”

“You was’ on some typa’ time, girl.”

“Oh my god. I’m logging off.”

You quickly turn towards your computer, clicking on the exit button of the meeting. You slip off of his lap, “Consider yourself a stranger. I don’t know you! Goodbye!” 

You’re already walking towards the bathroom, ignoring his voice as he smirks, “Ooh, girl—Look at allat’ ass—I’m still feelin’ X—Rated! Come back!” 

“No!” 

Onyankopon chuckles, “Aight. Love you too, then.”

[prettydiaaa]

Greedy Man ft. Onyankopon

A/N: This one is for @merakidoll ten forbidden desires event.

Warnings: p.o.c. fem!reader, doggy style, reverse cowgirl, spanking, choking, getting caught fucking on Connie's bed, Ony does not stop, squirting, exhibition/voyeurism, Ony doesn't share the pussy, he greedy.

WC: 930

Onyankopon was a greedy man… always wanting you right then and there. He doesn't care where you’re at. Which landed you on Connie's bed, ass up and face down with Ony giving you the meanest, nastiest backshots he could muster. Your noises fill the space while the music blasted from the speakers downstairs. No one knows where you two went, they were too busy playing a drinking game to notice you two were gone. 

or, so you thought. Connie had walked into his room, not paying attention. Ony caught him out the side of his eye, but he kept thrusting. one large hand wrapped around your throat, your favorite necklace you like to call it. he squeezed the side of your neck a little harder than before, and whispered to you. “I'm not stopping…” he warned and sent a brutal thrust against her ass. The thrust caused her to squeal and her eyes to roll. That caused a drunk Connie to lift his head. 

“bro!? y’all really fuckin on my bed?” he stared at them in disbelief. You looked up at Connie with teary eyes. “my bad, bro. she’s too hard to…hmph” Ony paused, sending another rough thrust with a slap to your ass, causing you to whine. “daddy! too much, please~” Ony smirked. “Too hard to resist.” he chuckled. keeping his word about not stopping. Moving his hand from your neck to your lower back, pushing you into a deeper arch. Connie stared in disbelief and walked closer to get a better view, but stopped in his tracks. 

"You step any closer and I'll rock yo shit.” ony grunted, sweat covering his chest. You were teetering on the edge by a thread. Your pussy squeezing ony’s dick like a vice, causing his hips to stutter. Meanwhile, Connie was getting hard. You noticed the tent growing under his sweats, causing you to whimper. “fuck…” Connie groaned under his breath, palming himself. “She pretty..huh?” Ony grunted. “too bad you can’t…fuck, pussy so fucking tight.” Ony’s breath became shallow as he felt his climax nearing.

 Your pussy had his cock in a chokehold. Having to pause his hips, causing you to pout in disdain. “pussy so fucking good yo…” You could’ve sworn you heard Connie whimper. The man now palming himself at through his pants. “You like being watched, baby?” Ony asked, moving your hair out your face. Your pussy fluttered around him at his words. “Huh, since you like being watched so bad. Give him a little show, baby.” Ony pulled you closer to him and smacked your ass before flipping you into a reverse cowgirl position. 

You steadied yourself, palms on Ony’s ankles now coming face to face with Connie. Only gripped your hips and started thrusting into your sloppy cunt slowly. Your jaw dropped open as his tip kissed the entrance to your cervix. “I might put a baby in this..” Ony gasped in a raspy voice. Connie made his way to his desk chair and pulled it to the end of the bed, sitting down. Tugging his waistband down below his balls, wrapping his fist around his leaking cock. Ony sent a smack to your ass and tsked. “Get to bouncing on this dick, babygirl.” You whined, and braced yourself and started to bounce on Ony’s dick. 

Connie stroked his cock at the sight, wanting to touch you so bad, but he knew Ony would never let him. The man was too greedy. Wanting to keep you all to himself. Your orgasm was nearing quick as Ony cock reached the most perfect angles. “Daddy! Gonna cum, please I want to cum!” You whimpered as your cunt spasmed around his cock. “Don’t ask me.” Ony chuckled and pointed to Connie. “Ask him.” Your eyes shot up to Connie’s, he was nearing his own high, cock twitching in his hand. “N-not yet…fuck not yet…just a little more.” Connie grunted and squeezed the tip of his cock. “You heard the man, princess.” Ony had a smirk on his face as he pounded into you. His own cock twitching inside you. “Pl-please~ can’t take it anymore!” you cried, falling forward on the bed. 

Ony held onto you and continued to thrust into you until he couldn’t take it anymore. “fuck, baby. Cum for me, cum on daddy’s cock.” As soon as Ony gave you permission to cum, you did just that, squirting all over Ony’s cock and thighs, wetting the bed below you two. Connie’s couldn’t take it no more, seeing how pretty you looked all fucked out and squirting all over his bed. His own release spurted out onto his hand and lap. “shit…” he grunted, Ony kept thrusting into you. His hips stuttered before he sent a sharp thrust into you. His cum filling up your overused and sensitive cunt. You collapsed onto the bed, all three of you painting and basking in the afterglow.

Ony was the first one to speak up. “yo, Connie… get the fuck out so I can clean up my girl.” Connie looked up and looked at the mess you were. “I know this may be a reach…but, can I eat her out?” The boy asked and Ony laughed. “You nasty as hell, and to answer your question. Hell no.” with one last smack to the bruised globes of your ass, he looked up at Connie and shook his head. “This is my pussy, and mine alone. Only I get to fuck and eat that, got it?” Ony was a greedy man. He may let them watch but he would never let them touch.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ ©ranspuppy do NOT Repost, Copy, or Translate ANY of my works on ANY platform.

[prettydiaaa]

in the vibrant; loud, gentleman’s club were pretty women all shapes and sizes who danced and twirled on the shiny poles, lived an office. the office was just as luxurious, it had a staircase and large clear windows to look down onto the club. in that same office was a bathroom. large, with a clear mirror that saw everything. but onyankopon’s favorite use of the mirror was when he stood and watched you bounce on his dick.

“yea, dance like it’s the pole mama” he slapped your round ass smirking at himself when you cried out bitting his shoulder. he just stood in his nike socks and naked as the day he was born. his chocolate skin glistened and muscles bulged. his tattoo decorated him beautifully. just like the girl who used her strength to bounce on his dick, hands wrapped around his neck, and ass clenching. while her clear stripper heels hung behind ony as all he did was hold her, slap her ass, and whisper nasty ass banter.

her bundles tickled her ass, teeth steady digging into her plump lip while her eyes rolled to the back of her skull. “that’s right baby show me why you my favorite girl” his words sent a strike to her heart. her pussy creamy and dripping down to onyankopon’s balls.“m’your favorite?” her big doe eyes looked into his pretty brown ones. “yea baby,” he kissed her lips. “now. show. me. why.” with his words he fucked his cock up into her going deeper and making her head fall back. he grunted in approval as he immediately got back to work.

his eyes glued to the mirror watching his dick disappear in the creamy goodness that was your pussy. throwing his head back he bit his lip, as your head crashed down into his neck a loud “onyyyyy” coming from you as your squirted all over him. so much so that it dripped down his leg. onyankopon slapped your ass, holding you up more, and finally started to fuck you during your orgasm. “fuckkk!!!” you moanded cunt sensitive but ony didn’t care, his balls tight and dick pulsing. he stuffed you full. not letting up as his ropes painted your pretty insides, solidifying why you are his favorite.

[prettydiaaa]

JAMES JOINT FEATURING EREN JAEGER | REVAMPED

in which your situationship of nearly a year finally makes his way to your city after months of no contact. (18+)

cw & disclaimers sex obviously, mentions of weed/getting high, spit sharing sowwy, this is a true story lowk except we never met or did the domestic shit booooo! this is a written version of the original by me, i promise i didn’t steal anything! 6.9k wk

The soft melody of Summer Walker’s ‘Body’ sang softly from your TV, bouncing off the walls, nothing more than background noise like the static crackling of whatever candle you had lit earlier, the sweet aroma of vanilla birthday cake passing through the air. The untouched assignment drained your MacBook's battery life, serving as an additional light source alongside the dim periwinkle colored lights strung around the corners of your ceiling. The array of pastel colored notebooks and color coded papers cluttered the rest of your bed while you lay sprawled across your comforter, more relaxed than you should have been, given that you were supposed to be studying. You couldn’t help it. The silk pillows and squishmallows propped onto your mattress were too soft for your hazy mind. You knew no real, productive work was getting done the minute you kicked your Crocs off and stepped onto the delicate carpet flooring in your bedroom.

Frankly, getting work done anywhere had been hard for you. You couldn’t recall the last time you had turned in an assignment without it being exceptionally late or half assed, even in the easy classes you minored in. It was unlike you. Your academic life had been one of a kind previously, your name always being at the top of the dean's list or the first called on during an award ceremony. You were in a slump, and anyone could tell from how you dragged your feet around, your confident walk losing its essence day after day, no longer gleefully swinging your braids around or wearing a big, cheeky grin. You tried to deny the reason you’d been feeling so drained. Though you’d never admit it, everyone close to you knew why their friend had lost her gleam.

Eren Jaeger's name had become nothing short of infamous amongst your friends and everything you associated with him. A group of three to four people despised him. But the craziest thing was that they’d never met him in person.

And neither had you.

You lay still on the bed, nearly dozing off into yet another deep sleep, your lashes resting on your droopy cheeks, so relaxed you hadn’t noticed your bonnet sliding off your head. Sighing, your chest rising and falling, beating with your heart that thumped suddenly in a fast, erratic rhythm with your phone, iPad, and Macbook. Gasping faintly, you jumped, manicured hands scurrying to find one of the three devices, eventually landing on your iPad. You squinted, so groggy you hadn’t noticed the buzzing was from an incoming Facetime call that you assumed would be Mikasa or Sasha calling to get you out of your apartment. The second your vision adjusted to the lighting, a pit of anxiety settled inside of your tummy, drying whatever spit pooled in your mouth.

(916)330-0413… (916)330-0413.

The only sound was your faint, heavy breathing. You watched the number run across the screen, the number you knew by heart, the number that called your phone every night and morning until three months ago. The device buzzed furiously in your clammy palms as if screaming at you to answer–daring you.

You had met him about 10 months ago. Well, met was a generous word–heard from him. It was the night of your 20th birthday, a night you would never forget for many reasons, his acknowledgment of you being one of them, much to your dismay. You had posted at least six pictures of your night out, the ones of you receiving the most love from your following. You looked beyond, darling, in your baby pink mini dress, with your white designer heels adding just three inches to your height, which wasn’t much. A tiara sat atop your rose blond install, your favorite hairstyle that year probably, giving off the impression that you were the princess you dressed like. Pretty wasn’t even the word for it.

You’ll never forget how you had climbed into bed wearing nothing but a towel after your shower, beyond tired and too exhausted to slip into some dainty little pajamas but extremely pleased with how your night went, your hot pink bonnet protecting the hair you were so fond of, ready for bed. It was a habit of yours to check your phone before sleeping, just in case you had missed anything aside from the Instagram notifications admiring you popping up every few minutes. However, one of those notifications stood out. The two of you weren’t mutual, nor did either of you follow each other, which wasn’t unusual. People find your account all the time. His username wasn’t familiar, nor did anyone you knew follow him. Yet, there was something so intriguing about the stranger. He hadn’t said anything even remotely memorable.

e.jaegarr._ liked your story

e.jaegarr._ liked your story

e.jaegarr._ replied to your story with: ‘damn am i too late to say happy birthday mama?'

You thought back to how you grinned, typing back a quick ‘no, a happy birthday is always welcome’ before inspecting the account, not having an image of him in your head just yet, but expectations of some basic guy still lingered in the back of your mind. It took a second for his page to load, janky ass student housing wifi, and when it did, there wasn’t much to see at first. Raising an eyebrow and glancing at the photography posts, you clicked through his highlights, quickly admiring his many documented adventures until you found something you could work with.

To say your mouth turned to dry cotton would be an understatement. He was not the average, medium ugly guy who stumbled across your page 99% of the time, not the slightest bit. From what you had gathered after seeing his birthday cake in a previous slide, his name was Eren, and Eren was the embodiment of fine.

His hair was long, possibly exceeding shoulder length, a mere estimate you made based on the way it sat in the messy bun in the back of his head, strands of his chocolate locs framing his handsome face, and the nonchalant expression he wore, which it seemed only he could pull off. The lighting in the pictures wasn’t the best, meaning he sucked at personal pictures outside of his photography hobby, but you could make out the color of his emerald orbs as they almost spoke to you through the phone. Not a lot of guys could pull off piercings and tattoos, art in the form of ink covering his right arm, chest, and neck, but the septum ring that hung from his nose looked too good on him, not to mention how sexy the hoop ring on top of his blush pink bottom lip. You could only imagine how the cool metal would feel against your lips.

Without knowing, you bit down on your bottom lip as you stalked, occasionally allowing your tongue to wet your lips as they grew dry from your teeth piercing them. Startled by the buzzing in your hand, you read the response, a lazy grin spreading across your face at his humor.

It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, given that he was just a random guy from Instagram and that he lived in Sacramento, miles and miles away from you, but damn, did that boy know how to apply pressure. It began with a few texts from your number, as he was so charismatic that he got your number the night he responded to your story. You hadn’t ever talked to a guy like him, a guy with depth, in touch with not only his feelings but the feelings of life all around him. It was hot. Hot as fuck.

Before you knew it, the two of you were calling every day, and if one of you couldn’t sleep on the phone the night before for whatever reason, he was calling the minute you were up. With these calls came intimacy.

Lots of it.

It wasn’t abnormal for you to be complimented and praised after your every move. You were a beautiful, ambitious girl. There was something incredibly addictive about how he spoke to you and admired the little details of your appearance that you shared over the phone. He noticed things, like when you changed the way you styled your edges. All of it went straight to your lower half, something you eventually but shamefully admitted, leading to an entirely different relationship than the one you planned to have with him.

“Your pussy’s so fuckin’ pretty, ma. Spread your legs more, let daddy see how wet that shit is.” he groaned out, his voice so, so raspy and enticing, only adding to the leaking mess your pussy had become from his words alone. You felt your hole clench around your fingers as you opened your legs wider, growing greedier by the minute as you watched him stroke his dick, not paying any mind to how embarrassed you were being this vulnerable for someone. Fuck, it was big. And so pretty. “There you go, baby, good girl.”

You needed him so badly that it had started to hurt. Every movement he made and every word that rolled off of his tongue went straight to your cunt, the aching becoming more and more painful as you pumped two digits in and out of yourself, your slick staining the silk sheets on your bed. The most angelic mewls fell from your mouth, your sounds causing Eren’s dick to twitch in his hand. ‘Daddy, it hurts so bad–f-fuck, I n-need you.” You hiccupped, squeezing your eyes shut.

It was sinful, the way he threw his head back and let out those grunts, cursing under his breath as he increased the speed of his stroking. He swore he’d never been this horny until he met you. “I know baby, daddy knows. ‘m gonna come see you, ma, I promise and I'm gonna fill that pretty pussy up.”

“You got me so, so wet, Eren. Fuckkkk, ‘m close,” you whined as that familiar coil built up in your stomach.

He smiled, taking a mental note of how your body reacted to the experience, every jerk or twitch, or how your eyebrows furrowed when your clit twitched. “Yeah? You close, mama?”

You sloppily pumped your fingers inside of your pussy, your release threatening to gush all down your bed. “So close, ‘ren, please.”

“Cum baby, make a fuckin’ mess for daddy.” He watched as clear liquid sprayed from your pussy, admiring how you knew to keep your fingers inside because he knew that you knew he’d want you to cum for him again. Sweet praises fell off his tongue as you came undone on his phone, not even noticing the white spewing from his angry red tip, staining his boxers.

Things were so domestic with him. His name ran through your head at least a thousand times a day, and it didn’t help that he seemed perfect in your eyes. He liked paying for your hair appointments knowing he’d be the first to see and he loved picking and paying for your nails knowing you’d be spreading your soaked lips open for him later that night. Then there were the random gifts sent, usually something you had mentioned you were saving for. And he cooked! He’d give you cooking lessons in his mom’s kitchen, where he claimed all the good seasonings were while his mom scolded him to not burn anything, always speaking to you sweetly and calling you her daughter. You loved the nights when he’d pull an all night with you while you studied, no matter how busy he was the next day, watching movies high as a kite and eventually distracting you and making you laugh. It was everything to you–he was everything to you. Naturally, you had assumed the two of you were an item, at least boyfriend and girlfriend status because anyone would. Eren was your boyfriend. You were his girlfriend.

Right?

“‘Ren?” you murmured, cozying up in one of your many blankets as you watched him fiddle with his gaming controller, his beautiful eyes immediately leaving the TV screen upon hearing you call his name.

“Yes, baby?” He set the controller down.

You bit down on your bottom lip, the artificial flavoring of your strawberry lip gloss dusting your tongue, exhaling shakily. “What am I to you?”

He grinned, looking down in an attempt to hide how quickly the thought of you made his cheeks warm and pink. “You’re mine, my girl. You know that.” He didn’t give his answer much thought as he didn’t think there was more depth to the question.

“So we’re boyfriend and girlfriend,” you snorted, laughing off how childish the question was even though you were extremely nervous to ask it.

“If we lived closer, of course.”

…Huh?

You sat up, resting your weight on your elbow as you squinted and jerked your neck back. You furrowed your brows, mouth instantly settling into a pout. “What does that mean?” You spat, tone nowhere near as endearing as it was seconds before.

Eren’s brow raised, not liking your tone because it was the tone you spoke in when a nasty attitude was brewing within you. “What do you mean? Baby, we talked about this. Fully committing to something long distance doesn’t work but you know how I feel about you. I didn’t think it was something you still thought about."

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. “Do you mean when we talked about this shit months ago because in that case, we didn’t talk about a fuck thing? Since when were a couple of miles an issue for you?”

He sat up, eyes piercing into you through the phone because one, the two of you did talk about it, and two, he hated it when you spoke to him like you didn’t have any sense. “Watch your mouth, not about to say it again either. We did talk about it, [♡].” Aggravated wasn’t even the word to describe how you were feeling. Long distance wasn’t an issue when he introduced you to his mom or when he promised to take care of you, so why was the label such a big deal?

“Man, whatever, Eren. You think you’re about to lead me on and have me looking stupid and you’re not.”

“Nobody is leading you on or making you look stupid, what the fuck are you talking about? I’ve meant every word I’ve ever said to you. What about a label changes that?” He groaned, growing a bit irritated himself.

You laughed but you were nowhere near amused. “You know what, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’ll talk to you later or somethin’.”

He huffed, reaching for the phone knowing you were about to hang up in his face to piss him off. “Nah, ain’t no later–”

“Goodnight, Eren.”

That was three months ago as of tonight. Eren tried for days to get more than one word responses from you, but everything you said to his paragraphs was nonchalant and cold. No matter how much he called, texted, or emailed you, it didn't make a difference. Nothing seemed to change how you felt about the ordeal. At the time, you didn’t think you were being dramatic. For fucks sake, he had seen your entire body, knew you like the back of his hand, and been the first man you had uttered the words ‘I love you’ to. However, as the messages came, they eventually stopped. He stopped calling, no longer trying all around. As weeks passed, he accepted that things might’ve been over between you guys as much as it hurt him to admit it. You would’ve reached out if he didn’t seem to be doing so fine without you. Just as you had started to get over the issue, he started posting more, traveling to cities with people you had never seen him with, and even getting another tattoo. It was like he didn’t give a fuck, like there wasn’t a girl states away grieving his absence.

Your reminiscing was cut short when the numbers lit up the screen of your iPad once again. It never dawned upon you that you had never officially blocked his number after blocking him everywhere else. You picked up the remote control for your led lights, changing the color from lavender to white. Your fingers shook profusely as you propped your iPad up enough so he’d see nothing past your bonnet. Swiping the phone button to the left, you let out a shaky breath as the connection went through. In seconds, you experienced the same awe as months ago, just as you did when you first saw him.

“Mama,” that familiar yet foreign raspiness making your heart skip a beat. Half of his long hair fell on his broad shoulders that poked through his black t-shirt while the other half was in his usual man bun. He’d never cut it. Those low, piercing eyes focused on whatever he was doing in his lap, his slender fingers likely rolling a blunt. Half his arm sleeve was visible, but it had been touched up. He sat pretty in the driver's seat of his blacked out Jeep, the moonlight bleeding through his cracked windows emphasizing just how stunning he was. “Where you at? I want to see you.”

See you? “Hello to you too, Eren.”

He chuckled, eventually looking up from his la. “Hi, baby. Why can’t I see you? I didn’t call to see your ceiling, lil’ girl.”

You huffed, biting back a smile as you adjusted the angle of your iPad, revealing everything he had missed so dearly. You always looked so pretty, your lips greased up with whatever lip gloss you had in rotation for the month. The wavy curls from your braids that had come out of your bonnet framed your round face, making you look too soft. Your reading glasses were slightly crooked, but it didn’t matter because they still sat adorably on your face like he remembered. He did his best not to look down at your breasts bursting from the little white tank top you wore, but he couldn’t help it.

“Happy now?” You sucked your teeth, avoiding eye contact.

“Very,” He licked his lips. “You didn’t answer my question. Where are you?”

You hadn’t thought about it when you answered, but where Eren lived, the sun didn’t set for another two hours. He looked so good in the moonlight you hadn’t realized that the moonlight was supposed to be a sun setting on his pale skin. “Home… Where are you?”

He laughed softly, grinning. You were a smart girl, he knew you’d figure it out. “You know where I am, mama. I still remember your address.”

“Eren, I know you’re not in my fuckin’ city right now…”

“You know I am. I’m about to be on my way to you. What floor are you on again? That apartment complex is big as hell.” He talked so cooly about coming to see you as if it was something he’d done before as if he didn’t live in California. You knew Eren well, and from what you learned about him, he wasn’t bullshitting, and frankly, that’s what scared you the most about this whole thing. He was serious, maybe more serious than he had ever been.

“Why?” You spoke out, attempting to conceal how nervous he was making you.

“Ain’t no why. You’re lucky I didn’t pull up and knock on every door in that building. You know exactly why, I’m coming to see you. Like I asked you before, what floor do you live on?” You watched as Eren started his car, muscles flexing so deliciously as he moved. Focus. You knew there was no talking him out of his plan, he was stubborn like that and truthfully, you did know why he was asking. You wanted to talk to him, you had for a while now.

Taking one last look around the room and back at Eren, whose wheels were already rolling, you sighed. “The sixth floor.”

The pit in your stomach was something similar to the Mariana trench. It had been around ten minutes since Eren hung up, and it only took fifteen to get to your apartment from where he currently resided in the city. In that ten minutes, you had done a lot. Eren started sharing his location with you again, so you didn’t have any additional time to sit on the bed in disbelief because you knew he was coming, so you did your best to prepare on such short notice.

You lathered your body in an additional layer of cocoa oil and vanilla-scented lotion, reviving that fresh aroma from your shower two hours ago. The bonnet was staying on, but you did your edges to add extra flare and applied a layer of the lipgloss you wore.

Now, you told yourself he wasn’t coming into your room. Whatever talking the two of you would be doing could be done in the living room, on the couch, at a friendly distance. At least, that’s what you repeated to yourself as you straightened up your room, storing away your school supplies and picking up laundry. You didn’t care to change either, not wearing more than some little pink shorts and a white tank top with care bears printed on the fabric. No bra, no panties. Revealing, but Eren could look, not touch.

While making sure your living room was presentable. Three loud knocks echoed through the space, each adding to how intensely your heart thumped against your chest. Your jaw fell slack, hands anxiously gripping the fur on your couch pillows. Another knock. Eren wasn’t supposed to arrive for another five minutes, not to mention the elevator ride and the walk to your unit. The walk towards the door gave you a sense of impending doom if that phrase had a positive connotation. Each step on the cold wood floors sent chills up your spine, and you thought you would fart by the time you got to the front door. With a trembling handle, you flipped the locks, taking a deep breath as you twisted the knob.

You smelled him before you saw him, the scent of his cologne, likely the one you bought him, mixed with a faint trace of weed, overwhelming your sense of smell. He was tall, you knew that, all of him and his lean yet muscular structure standing at an accurate 6'2, but it was different in person. You felt those eyes, his green eyes lined with rings of silver and pools of curiosity and a hint of nervousness. His chest was moving up and down, poking through his shirt, seemingly matching with the black sweatpants that loosely hung on his hips. He was even more attractive in person, all of his features unique.

You stood frozen in the doorway, just like he was. Though he seemed better at concealing his nerves with his body language, he felt just as anxious as you did. He had imagined what it would be like to see you in person a million times, but nothing could compare to how gorgeous you truly were, no matter the circumstances.

“You look pretty, baby.” Eren slurred, shamelessly eyeing you as a predator did its prey, like he wanted to devour you right there. It made you feel small under him. You swallowed the thick pool of spit in your mouth, biting back yet another smile as you shifted your feet. 

“Thank you.”

“Can I come in?” You nodded, stepping aside for him, your legs feeling weak as you inhaled his scent. His head hung low as he walked over to your couch and took a seat. He lowered his gaze, eyes sinfully inviting as he watched your figure as you walked towards him. Eren almost chuckled, remembering that he knew what you looked like underneath those little ass clothes. If the mood were better, he would’ve been six out of eight inches deep into you right now, as he promised.

You sat on the couch, closer than you planned, somewhat avoiding his eyes, folding a leg under your bottom as you stroked the fur on your couch pillows. You were so cute.

“Damn, mama. I know we haven’t talked, but I thought you’d have more to say. What’s wrong, hm?” He teased, twirling a strand of his hair.

You scoffed, jerking your head back. “You’re the one in my city claiming I know why you’re here, so you should be talking. Talk, Eren. Why are you here?” He sucked his teeth, reminding himself to address your little attitude later as if he even played with you like that. Eren sat up, his attention entirely on you. Deep down, he hoped his appearance would settle this little feud once and for all.

“In all honesty,” he started. “I’m here because I took a job at an art gallery in the city. If we’re being real, I only took the job to run into you because I didn’t need it. I knew you wouldn’t have wanted to see me before but I couldn’t take this anymore. I missed you so bad, [♡]. I felt like a piece of my soul was missing without you, I can’t imagine being one of the losers who lost you physically. I understand why you reacted the way you did but I can’t go another fuckin’ day without having you in my life.” Tears welled in your eyes as you listened to him speak, all of your old feelings resurfacing. He scooted closer, taking you by surprise.

“Eren–”

“No, listen. Distance was never in the way of my feelings for you. I just didn’t want to hurt you by not being here with you physically all of the time because I know how you are. You know that was my reason for not making things official, as stupid as it sounds.” You did know that. He had told you that a few times. You felt a little embarrassed listening to him explain things to you because honestly, you hadn't thought of a few points he was making, and you couldn’t help but think that if you did, the entire separation could’ve been avoided. Eren would’ve been yours physically in no time.

During the lengthy conversation, he was so careful with his words, never once invalidating how you felt while ensuring you understood things from his point of view. Whatever question you had, he had an answer for. It was captivating to watch his facial expressions as he spoke, something you had always wanted to experience in person. You noticed how he focused his gaze on you, how he blinked when he was confused, and how quickly his cheeks flushed when he felt strongly about something. “I’m sorry, [♡]. For everything.” His head hung low, the deep brown strands of his hair working as curtains to hide the emotions on his face. Pretty boy, you thought. 

“Eren.” You whispered. His head shot up, eyes full of nothing but guilt he didn’t even need to feel. Your heart felt tight in your chest seeing him like that. “I forgive you. I’m sorry too. It wasn’t right for me to not hear you out.”

“C’mere, mama.” Eren huffed, spreading his legs and opening his arms for you. You didn’t hesitate, moving closer to and straddling him. You smiled and wrapped your arms around the nape of his neck, the same aching between your legs from months ago reappearing as he placed his hands on your lower back, rubbing at the fat right above your ass. He smelled so damn good. His presence alone turned you on. “Let me look at you.”

He grinned as he let his hands roam your waist, not quite touching your ass yet. “I can’t believe I finally got my hands on your pretty ass after all this time. Fuck, you’re so pretty, even when you’re mad at me.” He leaned in, pressing his lips against your own, stealing whatever gloss remained on your lips. You cupped his jaw in your hands, deepening the kiss. It was innocent at first, his lips embracing you and your presence. Stroking your thumbs against his soft cheeks, you hungrily chased his lips, wincing as he bit down on your bottom one. You felt his lips turn up against yours.

At first, you hadn’t realized you were rolling your hips against his, too enticed by the feeling of his lips against yours for the first time. It was when your fingers started to toy with the hairs on the nape of his neck and when his hands had started pawing at the fat of your ass that you knew where things were going. And what did you look like stopping?

“Fuck,” Eren hissed, the movement of your hips applying pressure to his already growing hard-on. “What are you doing, mama?”

You licked your lips, placing a kiss behind his ear. “I need you, ‘ren. Now.”

He pulled back and scanned your features, looking for any signs of doubt on your face before he gave in. “Yeah? Want me to show you how sorry I am, pretty girl?” The smirk that spread on his lips was telling. You shyly nodded, gripping at his shirt. He placed pecks on your jawline, moving down to your neck, every kiss growing sloppier until the angelic moans he missed so much slipped from your lips. Eren’s hands were rough, rocking your hips against his and slapping at your ass every time you moaned in his ear. You knew he had a big dick, but feeling it harden against your cunt, the wet spot in your shorts growing by the second.

His hands slid up the back of your tank top, prompting you to remove it altogether before he did. You sat on his lap, tits in his face, nipples hard from the friction and cold atmosphere in the living room. Eren murmured curses under his breath as he rubbed his thumb across your nipples, sloppily placing his mouth on the left one, and he continued toying with the other. “So fuckin’ beautiful, baby, fuck.” You whimpered, throwing your head back, the pleasure only adding to the pool of arousal you were sure he could feel by now. 

“Feels so good, ‘ren, shit.” He sucked at your nipples like he was starving. He needed to taste them. 

“Let me take you to your room,” He breathed out, voice an octave deeper. “Please.”

Giggling, you stood up, holding your hand out. “Come on.”

“E–eren wait a second–fuck,” you wailed, fingers desperately clutching handfuls of the hair between your legs as you threw your head back. He hummed, attentively observing your face change expressions as he greedily sucked your clit. It had been like this for around thirty minutes now, him sucking your juices out of you until you were pleading for your release. The moment the two of you stepped into your bedroom, he nearly consumed you as you were, his soft pink lips leaving marks from your neck to your thighs as he thrusted three digits into your soaking cunt until you were clenching around his fingers. You barely had time to recover from the intense pleasure, quickly ending up where you were now, about to cum for the second time if he wanted you to. “Too m-much, baby.”

His eyes darkened as he pushed your legs further back, slurping and licking every little bit of slick that dripped out of you as he inserted two of his fingers again. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet, mama. Wait just a little longer for daddy,” he mumbled. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he curled his fingers upwards, hitting every nerve in your walls, making you clench around his fingers so, so tight.

The sounds he made against your pussy were downright filthy as he buried his face in your heat, fingers now coated in a layer of cream. You were so wet for him, at least three times wetter than you were on the phone, and it drove him crazy to see your pussy so nasty for him. Soft whimpers fell from your mouth as you felt your release coming, the feeling seemingly more intense than it was before due to his edging. “Daddy, I can’t hold it, please, I need to c-cum.” With every plea, his tongue swirled so intensely around your clit. He made it so hard to hold it.

“You’ ready to cum for me, pretty girl? Tell me how bad you need to cum, and I’ll let you.” Eren whispered, leaving faint kisses against your throbbing clit as he pumped more of your wetness out of you.

“I need it so bad. Let me be good and cum for you, please, ‘ren.” You wept, legs trembling like leaves in the wind.

He grinned, emerald eyes locking with yours as he nodded. “Atta girl, go ahead, mama.” The nastiest moans came out of you as you finally let go, vision going blurry as your head fell back into the sheets. You ground your cunt against his face, unknowingly adding to the aching in his boxers as you cried out his name. He whispered praises between your legs, biting down on his lip as he watched your body react to the pleasure, taking in every little twitch or jerk your body made.

“You look even sexier doing that shit in person. Come here, [♡],” He sat up, pulling you closer to him by your ankles. You were so fucked out already you hadn’t even realized he hadn’t been inside of you yet. He laughed as he took in your expression, in awe at how beautiful you looked. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Eren pulled his shirt over his head, exposing the tattoos you had longed to see on his toned stomach. His body was so sexy, muscles flexing while doing such a simple task. Spit pooled into the cavern of your mouth as you watched him pull down his sweats and boxers, nearly moaning at the mere sight of his dick springing out. His tip was pretty and an angry shade of red as it slapped against his stomach, making a ‘thud’ sound. He was so big, all eight inches of him falling against his thigh. “Shit,” you whispered. Eren only chuckled as he pulled the rest of his clothes off his ankles. “Eren…”

He rested his big hands on the back of your thighs, thumbs slowly stroking the skin. “You’ gonna be good and take this dick for me like you promised?”

The way he talked alone made your stomach churn. You nodded, tucking your bottom lip under your teeth as you eyed his length. Fuck, that was a lot to take in person. “Yes, ‘ren.”

He leaned in, sucking at the marks he previously left against the canvas of your neck as he positioned himself at your entrance. He was so rough as he licked and tongued the bruises he had left, hoping to distract you from how big the stretch was. With a wet squelch, you felt the thick head of his dick enter you, instantly clenching around what little you were given as you gasped. He groaned against your neck, murmuring curses at the feeling. “Oh my god.”

“Shit, you feel good.” He wasn’t all the way in, maybe four or so inches deep, but the feeling of him sliding into you was already too much. Your arms wrapped around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as your eyes nearly bursted from the sockets. He moved steadily, as he pushed the rest of what could fit into you, the pulsating of your gummy walls driving him mad. God, you felt as good as you looked, all wet and warm like a hug. You cried out his name in response, clit throbbing as you looked down and watched him enter you. It felt incredible, but it was a scene so dirty. You were almost gushing against the veins that decorated his dick, your pussy gripping around the shaft each time he pulled out. “This pussy feels too good, mama, damn.”

He increased the speed of his thrusting, each movement prying those beautiful noises from you as he hit the spots none of your toys had located. You were embarrassingly wet for him, the sounds of your moans clashing with the sound of your cunt greedily sucking him in. He groaned at the feeling and gripped your thighs tighter, watching a white ring form around the base of his dick. “There you go, cream on that shit, good girl.”

“You’re makin’ my pussy feel good, daddy,” you cried as your nails clawed against his back. His balls harshly slapped against your ass, adding to how loud the two of you were. Between his breathy moans and your long, drawn out whimpers, you were sure you’d be getting a noise complaint sooner or later.

“Fuck,” He could feel you getting ready to cum as he pushed in and out of you, pussy making the sweetest mess against him. The feeling of you gripping him like you needed him inside of you was nothing he had ever felt before, causing his hips to stutter. You looked gorgeous as you made those pretty faces, calling out for him as his tip kissed your sweet spot. “You look so pretty right now, mama. Takin’ this shit like a good girl, ‘m so proud of you. I'm so, so sorry for leaving you, ma.”

That familiar feeling consumed your lower half for the third time in almost an hour. The assault on Eren’s back only worsened as he fed you those long, deep strokes, your pussy leaking onto the sheets at this point. “D-daddy.”

Eren looked down at your wet eyes, unable to resist the smile on his lips. He could feel you getting close, and he loved it. He loved feeling you so much that it was about to make him cum too. “I feel you, baby. Fuck, this pussy taking me so good, daddy bout’ to cum too.”

You closed your eyes, gripping the hairs on the back of his neck as you came again. “Oh my g-god, Eren.” You cried as your toes curled in the air. His movements grew sloppy as you gush around his dick, making him whine. 

“Come here, ma.” Unexpectedly, he pulls out, a loud ‘pop’ bouncing off the walls as he pats your quivering thigh. He groaned, slowly stroking himself with one hand. His eyes were dark, his hunger for you growing as the two of you locked eyes. You shivered as you sat up into a kneeling position, legs almost giving out on you in the process. He smirked as he removed his hand from his dick, wrapping it around your neck and giving it a good squeeze. “Let me fuck your pretty ass face til’ I cum?”

You nodded eagerly and opened your mouth, letting his sticky shaft fill up your mouth as he kept his grasp on your throat, wasting no time as he bobbed your mouth up and down his wet shaft. The view from above was amazing. You looked divine looking up at him with those big doe eyes as he fucked your throat. A mixture of your cum and spit ran from the sides of your mouth as you hollowed your cheeks and down his balls. Eren moaned loudly as your throat tightened around his tip as it hit the back of your throat. “F-fuck, look at you eating that dick up like a fuckin’ good girl. I love that shit.”

He pulled you off his length, hand still firmly around your neck as he looked down at you. You swallowed, breaths heavy. He tapped your cheek, muttering an ‘open’. His dick visibly twitched when you followed his order and stuck your tongue out. Curling his tongue, he leaned down, a thick glob of his spit sliding off the wet muscle and into your mouth.

“Swallow that shit.” You swallowed, the action adding to the mess between your legs. He smiled and pushed his dick back into your mouth, now thrusting harder than before making thick spit bubbles form around the base. You brought up a shaky hand and stroked whatever didn’t fit in your mouth, not once letting your gag reflex stop you. His chest rapidly moved up and down as he got louder and breathier. Your mouth felt so good around him. “Shit–’m cumming, mama.”

You hummed, closing your eyes as he shot warm, white ropes down your throat, a thousand curses falling from his lips as his hips jerked. The two of you were making a mess as his hips slowed down. Streams of white dripped down your chin as he pulled out of your mouth.

Giggling, you held onto his thigh. “You taste good.” 

His breaths were heavy as he chuckled, leaning down and wrapping his lips around yours, spit and cum making the kiss sloppy. “You did so well for me, you know that?”

“Mhm, ‘m your good girl, daddy.”

“If you keep talking like that, I’ll have you up all night, keep playin’.” You smiled as he cupped your cheeks, peppering kisses across your face. “I’m gonna clean you up and get you some water, okay?”

“Okay, ‘ren.”

“And, [♡]?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.” He said with his chest, attention locked on you as a blush crept onto his cheeks.

You pressed an innocent kiss onto his lips, swirling his neck hairs around your fingers as he gripped the fat of your love handles, deepening the kiss. You sucked on his bottom lip, biting down gently and smiling into the kiss before you pulled away. Your eyes lit up beautifully as you took a long look into his, all of his love behind those green eyes you loved so much. “I love you, too, Eren.”

[prettydiaaa]

Can't Stay Away

Hobie Brown x BlkFemReader 

Summary: It's been three months since you and Hobie broke up. You seemed to have moved on, but has he? 

Content: Teeny bit of angst, previous relationship, trust issues, miscommunication, fluff, swearing, use of y/n, mentions of weed, use of pet names, exes-to-lovers

It's been 3 months. 

12 weeks.

90 days. 

2190 hours. 

Since you last spoke to the man you'd thought to be the love of your life. The man you’d spend the rest of your life with(marriage was in the air because he didn’t believe he needed white man paperwork to prove he loves you). The man you’d thought to be the father to your future children. 

However, all that came to a halt when the lying started. Hobie had begun to keep things from you. Since you started seeing him, Hobie always kept his cards close to his chest. But the mystery is what attracted you to him in the first place. But suddenly, dates started getting missed, lies weren’t adding up, and the mystery lost its initial intrigue. One night, you had enough of all the secrecy and confronted him about it. This resulted in a massive argument between you and Hobie. Tensions rose, words were said, and feelings were hurt. As Hobie turned to storm out of your apartment, you had given him an ultimatum. 

   “I swear to God Hobie if you walk out of this apartment we’re over!”

That was the last time you had seen or heard from him.

That is until right now. It was nearly 1 am and you are currently face to face with the man who had broken your heart.

“Well, aren’t ya gonna let me in, love?” Hobie asked as a smirk began to spread across his face.

You were speechless. Hobie showing up was the last thing you were expecting when you heard a knock on your door.

“ Hello? Anyone home?” he asked as he waved a hand across your face.

This brought you back to reality. “What are you doing here, Hobie?”

“If you let me in, maybe you’ll find out.”

Silently, you moved out of his way and gestured for him to come inside. As he walked past you, you caught a whiff of his signature cologne mixed with the scent of weed that once filled every nook and cranny of your apartment, a scent you’d begun to miss. He took off his shoes at the door, as was routine when you were together, because he knows how much you hate outside shoes on your carpet. Hobie then makes his way over to the couch and takes a seat. Wanting to put as much space between you and your ex-lover as possible, you go and sit on the loveseat that is on the opposite side of the room.

“What ‘cha you doin’ over there babe?” he says with a knowing smirk

“Cut the bullshit Hobie, why are you here?”

“ Is it a crime for a man to visit his girl?” 

“We both know damn well I’m not your girl anymore.”

Hobie looked at you with a raised brow, “ And who’s fault was that? If I recall correctly you ended things with me.” 

“Because you were lying to me. You weren’t honest with me throughout our entire relationship. If you could even call it a relationship, honestly, it felt more like an occasional booty call than a relationship.”

“Occasional booty call? That’s mad! How can you even say that?” 

You look at Hobie with genuine disbelief. You can’t even believe that he can stand there and say that to you. This was your breaking point. You went in on him. 

“Is it? Because all I can recall during our time together were the multitude of canceled dates. The calls that would constantly go unanswered. Not hearing from you for weeks on end for you to magically show up at my doorstep. And at first, I found it endearing, maybe even charming. I thought ‘maybe he’s just playing hard to get”, but no you weren’t playing anything but me. Hobie I loved you, I did, but you made it so hard and I was hurting and you didn't seem to care at all. I can't take all the blame for us breaking up because you walked away from us way before I ended the relationship.” 

He looks at you with guilt in his eyes. He doesn't even know how to tell you what is going through his mind. He knows he hasn't been completely honest with you, but he's been trying to protect you. Hobie would never forgive himself if something happened to you because of him. He sighs deeply and rises from his seat on the couch. 

“It was a mistake to come here. I’m gonna go.”

As you watch him approach the door, you scoff, “Of course, typical Hobie. Leave once the conversation is getting too serious for him. And for a second, I thought we could have an adult conversation.” 

Hobie glances at you and chuckles under his breath, “What do you want from me, Y/N? First, you act like you don't want me here, and now, when I try to respect your space and leave, you get angry with me.” 

“If you really respected my space, you wouldn't have come here in the first place! I was doing perfectly fine before you decided to show up.”

“Exactly, so let me leave before I screw up your life even more than I have.”

“No! You don't get to walk away this time. I want answers, Hobie.”

You move to block the door, your chest rising and falling with emotion. "I want answers, Hobie. Real ones. Not vague deflections or half-truths. I gave you everything I had, and you left me in the dark."

He pauses, his hand still gripping the doorknob, jaw clenched like he's trying to hold something back. His eyes meet yours, softened now, no longer guarded.

"You’re right," he mutters. "I lied to you. I kept things from you. But not because I didn’t care."

"Then why?" you demand, voice breaking slightly. "Why did you treat me like I didn’t matter?"

He steps back from the door, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because I was scared. Scared you’d get hurt—because of me, because of the shit I’m involved in. The people I fight. The enemies I make just by breathing in the same room as them.”

You stare at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

He lets out a low, bitter laugh. “You think I was canceling dates because I didn’t care? I was bleedin’ out half the time, Y/N. Fightin’ for shit I can’t even fully explain to you. And every time I thought about telling you, I’d picture your face—terrified, disappointed. And I couldn’t risk that.”

You step back slightly, processing. “So you thought hurting me emotionally was better than being honest with me?”

“I thought,” he says slowly, “that if you hated me, it’d be easier for you to move on. That you'd be safer away from me. But I was wrong. Because stayin’ away from you? That hurt worse than anything I’ve faced on the streets.”

Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words. You can feel your anger folding in on itself, turning into something softer, but still fragile.

“You broke my heart, Hobie.”

He looks at you, eyes red-rimmed, voice barely above a whisper. “And you’ve been breakin’ mine every day I ain’t been with you.”

That’s when the tears come. Hot, sudden, and angry.

“Then why now?” you ask through clenched teeth. “Why show up at my door after three months? What changed?”

He exhales shakily and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out something small—a photo. It’s worn, folded at the edges. It’s the two of you at a carnival last summer, cheeks flushed, mid-laugh, his arm slung lazily around your shoulder. 

“I carried this with me every day,” he says. “Even when I was tryin’ to forget you. But I realized... I don’t want to forget you. I don’t want to protect you by pushing you away. I want to protect you by standin’ beside you. If that means dragging you into the mess, then I’ll make damn sure you’re never alone in it.”

He steps closer, voice cracking. “I still love you, Y/N. I never stopped. I’m not asking you to forgive me tonight, but I needed you to know that.”

You stare at him, heart pounding so loud you can hardly hear the rain now tapping at your windows.

Your next move is instinct.

You step forward and wrap your arms around him.

He freezes for a second—like he can’t believe this is real—but then his arms fold around you so tightly it’s as if letting go would kill him.

You bury your face into his chest, muffling your words. “You’ve got one more chance, Hobie. Just one.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, voice thick. “That’s all I need.”

[prettydiaaa]

Drunk In Love

A/N: this is my first story, pls leave constructive criticism, enjoy!!!

Drunk In Love

College AU

Word Count:1039

It's Friday Night

It’s almost 1 am.

The function is in full swing. The drinks are flowing, the air is heavy with the scent of weed circling around. You pre-gamed with your girls at your off-campus apartment beforehand, so you were already a little tipsy upon arrival, coupled with 3 lemon drop shots at the door, it's safe to say you were more than faded.

So faded that all you could think about was your man. Well… technically not your man per se. He’s your best friend.

                           Katsuki Bakougo

You've been his best friend since you were 12 years old. Now at 19, you know your feelings for him go far beyond that of friendship. But you know Katsuki, you know how he operates, he will never feel that way about you. He’s introduced you to countless girlfriends without batting an eye. Dropped you for brief periods whenever his girl got too uncomfortable with how close you guys are. 

But he always comes back. 

He always comes back.

And that leads you to the present time. Katsuki had just come back to you after breaking up with his most recent girlfriend, Sienna. But you're tired of the back and forth. You are tired of watching the person you love and care for so deeply leave you if you mean nothing to him. You are tired of waiting patiently for his return. So now you are done waiting. You are gonna put yourself out there, which starts with finding a boo for the night to get your mind off of Katsuki.

Your eyes settle on some guy with black hair. He’s decently attractive, but not quite your type, though. You make eye contact across the room, and you offer him a sultry smile. He seems to catch your drift because he saunters his way across the room to you. 

“Damn girl…you’re fine as fuck” says the guy 

You let out an airy laugh, “Thanks, you're not so bad yourself.” 

The black-haired guy leans in, his hand brushing your waist a little too confidently. He’s saying something—probably more flirtatious nonsense—but you barely register it. Your eyes keep drifting back to the door. 

And then he walks in.

Katsuki Bakugou.

Red-eyed, scowling, and tense in the shoulders. He’s wearing that faded black hoodie you love, sleeves pushed up, jaw clenched. His gaze scans the crowd like he’s already pissed off before he sees you—and when he does see you, talking to mystery guy, laughing, touching—his entire demeanor shifts.

He’s stalking across the room before you can think to move.

“Katsuki?” you say, blinking through the haze of alcohol and bass vibrations as he comes to a halt right in front of you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he growls, eyes burning holes into the poor guy next to you.

You raise a brow, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Katsuki’s lip curls. “It looks like you’re tryin’ to act stupid. You’re out here flirtin’ with some asshole like you forgot who the fuck I am.”

“Oh, so now I need your permission to talk to someone?” you snap, pushing past him. “Why do you even care?”

But he grabs your wrist, not tight, but firm. “We’re leaving.”

You yank your hand back. “No. You don’t get to do that anymore. You don’t get to come in and play protector when it’s convenient for you, Katsuki.”

His eyes flash, but he says nothing. You see it though—his fists clenched, his breathing shallow.

You grab your purse. “I’m going home.”

The walk to your apartment is quiet. You’re angry. You’re confused. And he followed you. Not a word from him as you unlock your door and step inside, but his footsteps echo close behind you.

You kick off your shoes, toss your purse on the counter, and turn to him. “Why are you here, Katsuki?”

He’s standing in your doorway like he owns the place, arms crossed, brows pulled low. And he’s definitely drunk—glass-eyed and swaying slightly, but still trying to act like he’s not.

“You mad at me now?” he slurs.

You scoff. “Why would I be mad? I mean, it’s only been years of you treating me like I’m disposable. And here you go swooping in the minute you see me talking to a guy.”

“I don’t treat you like that.”

“Yes, you do,” you snap. “You disappear whenever you’re in a relationship and come crawling back when they end. Like I’m just… a placeholder. A backup plan.”

Katsuki takes a shaky step forward, face twisted with frustration. “That’s not—Damn it, that’s not what you are to me.”

You cross your arms. “Then what am I, Katsuki?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then another.

And then—

“You’re the fuckin’ reason I can’t keep a girlfriend.”

Your heart skips.

He runs a hand down his face, pacing now. “They always ask me about you. Always. ‘Why are you so close to her?’ ‘Do you have feelings for her?’ And I say no because—because I don’t fuckin’ know how to explain it. Because if I say yes, I lose you. But if I say no, I’m lyin’.”

You stare.

He keeps going, words tumbling faster now, angrier. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, okay? You think I don’t know how fucked up it is? Watching you flirt with guys who don’t know shit about you, while I’m stuck pretending I’m not in love with you?”

Your breath catches.

“I was gonna tell you,” he says, eyes bloodshot, voice thick. “So many times. But every time I got close, I’d think… if you didn’t feel the same, I’d ruin everything. I’d lose the only good thing in my life.”

You blink back tears. “Katsuki…”

He laughs bitterly, swaying again. “ I shouldn’t have come here. Forget I said anything.”

He turns toward the door, but you grab his hoodie.

“Don’t go,” you whisper.

He looks over his shoulder, stunned.

“Don’t leave. Please”

Katsuki exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. “You feel the same?”

You nod slowly. 

He takes one step forward—and then he’s kissing you. It’s messy, heated, and desperate. All the years of silence and stolen glances poured into one drunken, angry, honest kiss.

[prettydiaaa]

Break Up to Make Up(Preview)

This is a preview of my first fic. This is a Hobie BrownxBlkFemReader. Let me know what you all think!

It's been 3 months. 

12 weeks.

90 days. 

2190 hours. 

Since you last spoke to the man you'd thought to be the love of your life. The man you’d spend the rest of your life with(marriage is up in the air because he doesn’t believe he needs white man paperwork to prove he loves you). The man you’d thought to be the father to your future children. 

However, all that came to a halt when the lying started. Hobie had begun to keep things from you. Since you started seeing him, Hobie always kept his cards close to his chest. But the mystery is what attracted you to him in the first place. But suddenly dates started getting missed, lies weren’t adding up, and the mystery lost its initial intrigue. One night you had enough of all the secrecy and confronted him about it. This resulted in a massive argument between you and Hobie. Tensions rose, words were said, and feelings were hurt. As Hobie turned to storm out of your apartment, you had given him an ultimatum. 

   “I swear to God Hobie if you walk out of this apartment we’re over!”

That was the last time you had seen or heard from him.

[prettydiaaa]

Information

About Me

Name: Diamond\\Age:22\\Pronouns: She/Her

About The Blog

I'm an anime fan, so most posts will be fanfics/blurbs/headcanons about anime characters. There WILL be mature content so minors please DNI. Any post I originally create will be xblackfemreader, however, if requested I can write xGNreader. Trigger warnings and content warnings are included before each post

Request Status: OPEN!!