❥ — 𝒮𝒴𝒞𝒜ℳ𝒪ℛℰ 𝒯ℛℰℰ . . .
ᘏ ⑅ ᘏ ⌒ ‧₊˚ w a r n i n g s ﹒﹒4.8kay word count , black fem reader , usage of aave , lotsa flirting , drug usage [ weed — jus by ony ] , mentions of reader blushing [ you can feel it , not visibly described ! ] , backseat frisking , daddy kink , oral sex [ r. receiving ] , pussy spanks , some ass eating [ r. receiving ] , fingering , set in university .
꒰ྀི b e l l a d o n n a 's n o t e ꒱ྀི ﹒﹒dis is set in da same universe as rebuke though dis piece takes place before it ! i luv ony ૮ ๑´ `๑ ྀིა he makez my heart mushy + my * gushy . minors | ageless blogs Do Not Interact ! !
“so, you don’t smoke.”
you’ve been asked the question around four times by now, though this time, you suppose that it’s finally gotten through his head and he’s simply reassuring the fact through a statement.
your responding nod is almost unnoticeable as you try hold in a smile by hiding your mouth within your shoulder.
onyankopon can only gaze fondly at you, slight smirk playing upon his own lips as he tries to focus on rolling a neat blunt on the canvas of his lap. “mm,” he hums quietly after a sniff, averting his gaze to his fingers. you both watch the way his digits move — brisk and swift . . expertly. his thumbs and index hold the paper while simultaneously rolling it into a cylinder as his middles work on tucking and pressing, making sure not a shred of weed tumbled from the open ends. “i like that.”
you wouldn’t have heard his mumble if not for the enclosed space you both find yourselves in — his car.
admittedly, a roaring loud, glorious thing with five percent tinted windows, sparkling, black rims, and smoked out tail lights, you’ll be honest, at first sight of his hellcat parked outside at the curb in front of your apartment, it intimidated you.
ony intimidates you.
and he shouldn’t. you know that he shouldn’t and you know that if you were to tell him that he’d take it to offense more than anything because, simply, that’s just the type of guy he is, he never wants to scare you or hurt you in any type of way, howbeit . . you can’t help it.
you think it’s his beauty, above all — above his towering, six foot three stature, his broad shoulders, and the heavy paws of hands.
it’s the way his skin, dark and smooth, not a blemish, scar, or bruise in plain sight obscuring your vision from the way it glistens beneath the rays of the sun and moon alike, bathing him golden then blue. it’s the thick pillows of his lips, top the same shade as the rest of him though the bottom . . a gorgeous, dark pink — reminding you of the sweet insides of a ripened lychee and the brindled bristles of his straight eyebrows.
naturally, below them are his eyes. you find that they’re actually quite big . . however, lazy. the lids fall halfway into them, partially shielding two, bottomless pools of dark brown where stars and suns dance beneath. your own grow a bit heavy, watching his hands pull the blunt closer up to his mouth so that the tip of his tongue can primly graze the edge of the paper — back and forth . . back and forth.
it’s sudden.
there’s a moment when his eyes shift to the right so that he can look at you, directly into yours while he does so.
you think it’s only right that you look away once those butterflies in your tummy rouse and their wings begin to flap near the speed of light. you think one manages to flutter all the way up from the chasm of your stomach to your throat — makes you have to softly clear it, during which the same time you attempt to busy your brain by focusing on something else.
the waves, you think.
watch the waves.
the car is parked on the peak of a hill — overlooking the shore. you love the beach. you love the ocean.
when getting the call from ony over two hours ago that he was coming to pick you up, for no reason at all either, you both hadn’t planned a date this week, but just because he wanted to see you . . . you suppose that the feelings for the boy sitting beside you finally had cemented.
scented of sweet cocoa butter and vetiver, his aroma had hit you the moment you clicked yourself into the seatbelt and you presume that was what also cemented them, as well.
however, now coming to think of it, it could be the way his hand slips inside of yours so that he can interlace his fingers within the spaces of your own come any time the two of you are walking alongside each other. it could be the way his lips peck sweet kisses along your temple when he pulls you into his arms every morning as a greeting when picking you up for class. it could be the lingering stares across the field as he takes a breather while seated upon a bench as you pull an arm across your chest during cheer practice.
it could be a lot of things, you realize.
“you think too much.”
“. . huh?”
you look back over at him and to his hands once more. holding a matte black lighter, his thumb flicks across the spark wheel — once, twice — until a tall, wading flame lurches from the valve. “gotta get outta’ y’head, mama,” he mumbles while stroking the blaze to and fro over the chubby end of the blunt until the drug and paper begin to blacken over as they burn. he eyes it the entire time. “. . or let me in there sometimes.”
when it’s lit, he pulls it up to his lips and takes a long drag, redirecting his sight back onto you.
you’re fascinated, attentive and keen, eyeing the way a stream of grey smoke, seemingly encompassing the texture of water pours from his mouth until his nostrils are quickly pulling it back in. “i don’t think you’d like it in here,” you quietly respond, turning your body more towards his way while folding a leg underneath your butt.
ony tosses the lighter within an empty cup holder, now using his free hand to rub across the plum colored, crushed velvet fabric of his durag. “i doubt that.” he sniffs again, reclines his seat back a little more, then spreads his legs wider when more space is provided. “c’mon . . wassup.”
you can’t tell him what you’re really thinking — about how you’ve been stroking your stupid, little fingers over your throbbing clit every night . . a hoodie of his that he gave you, threads still holding traces of his body wash and cologne, pulled up to your nose as you imagined his body on top of yours. you can’t tell him just how needy you’ve been — how one evening you’ve cried because of just how empty your poor, little cunt was and how you’d been two seconds away from calling him in the dead of the night, blubbering about how bad you just wanted him to touch you.
“football’s fun, right?”
it’s the first subject your frenzied brain landed upon. you can tell you catch him a little bit by surprise because his eyebrows lift, prior to them folding in.
you feel your cheeks burning, “it makes you happy?”
his returned smile is bright and pretty. he chuckles, “shit, i mean . . yeah. it does.” he takes another drag, a shorter one.
“yeah?” you lay the side of your head against the seat’s upper cushion. “you’re gonna make it pro,” you mumble. “i see it.”
“don’t gas my head up, lil girl,” he utters in reply, fingers pushing a button on the door on his side to crack his window and ventilate the car. he doesn’t need you getting high, you have a quiz tomorrow.
your giggle is sweet and soft, “mm-mm, i see those recruiters in the stands at almost every game. you’re gonna be in the big leagues soon, ony.”
“hopefully.”
“undoubtedly.”
ony shakes his head slowly, slight smirk pulling at his lips. you’re so fucking cute to him. “speakin’ of the games,” he starts, tone, as always, quiet and low. “you let me know if somebody botherin’ you, alright?”
you’re twirling a braid around your finger and you nod your head immediately come his question, “mhm . . why you say that?”
once more, he shakes his head, taking a hit with his eyes focused outside of the windshield at the glistening ocean, “. . i be seein’ how some people look at you, ‘s all,” he mutters over the smoke in his chest. “they ain’t never said somethin’ slick towards you, right?”
you genuinely think it over, glossy lips pouted and eyes focused upwards as your fingers lace a few of your braids between them. so fucking cute. “mm, no,” you whisper. “no, they jus’ . .” you snort a little laugh here. “stare.”
you make the corner of ony’s lips rise after he blows out the smoke, “why you laugh?”
you snicker, “ ‘cause it’s all they ever do. it’s all you ever did.”
at the slow sound of him smacking his lips and sucking some air between his teeth, you only giggle louder. “man.” quietly, ony drags the word out underneath his breath. “you tryna’ say ion got game or some’n?”
“no, no. i mean,” you smile and shyly shrug. “ ‘m in your car, right?”
that’s true.
ony thinks he has to owe it all to the shots of hennessy and ciroc that allowed him to finally build up the courage and talk to you that night two months ago at a friend’s kickback. mixing dark and light liquor, he should’ve known better, albeit, you looked too good that night — cozy and cute in a tight, white short romper, crocheted, pink shrug cover up and your chestnut toned, platform uggs.
he wanted to approach you more suavely . . nice and calm.
but that fucking liquor . . .
“i can’t go two more fuckin’ semesters without makin’ you mine.”
your eyes had widened when the abrupt statement left his lips and the friends flanked at your sides quickly dispersed, leaving the both of you alone at the bottom of the staircase, shrouded within your own little bubble.
from then on, he’s carved a hole in the shape of you within his life, within his everyday routine, and you, him.
“c’mere.”
ony pats his lap while stubbing out the blunt within his car’s constituted ashtray. he watches you hesitate — your eyes flick over his loose, black cargos and the zip up he wears before you begin to move, slow and careful. ony helps you crawl over, making sure you don’t bump your head or break a nail, goodness knows he’s hyperaware of the latter . . he doesn’t want to see you cry tonight, and when you’re nice and situated, he relaxes and folds an arm behind his head, simply staring up at you.
he has no real reason for pulling you over here . . . he just wants a closer look at your pretty face.
and when he sees that familiar, shy smile start to spread across your lips, his own follows. you hide your laugh behind a hand, “you look so high.”
it’s true. his eyes are heavily rimmed with a ring of pink and they’re heavy, they make his blinks slow and gentle. “yeah?” he rubs a dense hand down across his face.
“mhm,” you hum and he feels you leaning in closer. “you okay, onya’?”
“mmm.” he groans, low and long after inhaling a breath through his nose. “. . say it again.”
lazily, his arm now drapes over his eyes. “hm?” your fingers toy with the gold, rope chain he wears that dangles a rectangular emblem with an engraved ‘ O ‘ within it. tenderly, you rub your thumb across it while asking, “say what? . . your name?”
“mhm.”
you like to tease. you always have. you’re giggling when you sweetly sing, “ony, ony, ony. onyaaa . . . onyankopon — mmph!”
how swiftly he manages to wrap his hand around your throat and pull you in until the rounded peak of your nose halts only an inch before his is staggering. your eyes are wide, plump lips popped open, and voice caught in your chest — ony adores it all. he bites his bottom lip while smirking a bit. “yeah,” he mumbles underneath his breath, giving one, nice squeeze then you a little shake before letting go. “keep playin’.”
distantly, you can hear the steady, calming melody of lauryn hill’s the sweetest thing playing feeble and small from the car’s speakers, lyrics all but hushed mumbles. beneath them is your next inhale, trembly and quiet.
across your body, a rushing heat travels south. warmth pools within your panties, sticky and wet and the feeling makes you give a slight mewl while shifting, hoping he hadn’t felt it.
ony adjusts his legs when you do, the both of you looking down watching you sink a little lower in his lap as he widens them just a bit more. “you straight?” he asks softly. “wanna move back—“
“—no, no,” you shake your head, cheeks heating up at the rate of how fast you blurted out the two lettered word. “ ‘m . . ‘m comfy.”
“mm.” his hands slide up your thighs to your waist. he admires your fit — a pink oversized crewneck, white biker shorts, and pair of ‘ barbie ‘ ones. large, gold, heart shaped hoops dangle from your ears and a layer of gold chains hang from your neck. you’re so pretty. he likes how glittering tinsel had been intertwined within your braiding hair . . it makes them shimmer beneath the silver moonlight and he revels in how your long, wispy lashes induces your eyes to appear more flirtatious. “i’d fuckin’ kill for you, man,” he utters against the skin of your collar bone.
he feels his heart pounding in his chest when you press yourself closer.
“mm, yeah?” you whisper, all coy and sweet . . like you don’t know just how much ony adores you. “you would?”
his tone is near the same volume as yours when he retorts, “yeah . . — i really like you.”
your small palm rubs over his durag and he shivers at the feel of your nails beginning to scratch along his nape. “really like you too, ony,” he can hear the pout in your voice. “like you so much.”
“ ‘s that right?”
“mhm.”
ony tilts his head up and you’re suddenly hyper aware of just how close the both of your faces are. you can see the tiny hairs that make up his mustache above his upper lip, just how long and pretty his eyelashes were, his fucking eyes. you think you’re holding your breath, watching them shift down to your lips when you unconsciously begin to nibble upon the lower.
you feel his arms envelop you completely. they wrap around your back and he grabs hold of his own elbows to suddenly tug you flushed against him. you both are chest to chest.
“. . don’t do that,” you mumble.
“do what?” he slowly pulls his bottom lip underneath his teeth, gazing at you beneath his lids.
“that.”
“ ‘m chillin’.”
“no, you not—“
“—yeah, yeah.”
he pecks your lips first, quick yet tenderly. it’s enough to quiet you down. “ ‘s what i thought,” he utters, tilting his head to give you another, listening to the way you hiccup. “shut that shit up.”
the speed of which your kissing progresses starts steady until the two of you are a hair away from, what your best friend ymir would describe, sucking each other’s faces off. you’re squirming, lifting up higher on your knees while holding the sides of his face between your two hands. he tilts his head back to accommodate your new height, squeezing your hips within his own hands as your tongues push and pull against one another.
he tastes like weed and peppermint — sharp and dull. you all but sag against him when he pulls you even closer by the fabric of your crewneck as his tongue, warm and soft, beckons your own into his mouth.
you’re aware that you both are inching into a terrain unknown. you’ve kissed before, sure, but never like this.
you can taste how bad ony wants. you feel how he holds himself back, muscles flexing and rippling beneath your fingertips. it only makes your poor clit pound a little harder against the soft cotton of your panties. your mind grows hazy — usual finesse and sense dwindled into nothing.
you hadn’t known when you started rocking your hips along his lap — slowly pushing and pulling them back and forth. “n-nah,” you hear ony swallow. everything sounds muffled. you can only focus on how good it feels to have the button and zipper of his cargos rubbing up against you just right, how nice it felt to feel his hands on you, to touch him as well.
your mind is gone.
ony watches you tilt your head back, eyes still closed as you worked yourself just the slightest bit quicker and — fuck, the sight is beautiful. your chest is heaving and he feels how hard you’re gripping his jacket at his shoulders within your little fists. he can also make out how wet you are . . thinks he fucking hears the slushing soppiness over the music playing. “mama,” he takes your thigh in a death grip. he needs you to stop. “baby . . c’mon.”
“f-feels so,” your tiny gasp is shaky. “good though, ony.”
“yeah,” he breathes and looks down, watching your hips move with the fluidity only found in water. you roll and rock and press . . his dick feels like it’s throbbing. “not here though . . i don’t want our first time to be in my fucking car, baby.” you deserve better than that.
you hear him, you do. “b-but—“
“—but nothin’.” he establishes a firm grip on your lower half, completely stilling you. “chill.”
you’re frowning . . of course you are. you utter out a soft ‘ okay, ‘ leaning back against the steering wheel with your arms folded and subtle amusement dances within the chocolate of ony’s eyes while you do.
you fucking brat.
he feels you still trembling, even given your downturned lips and huffy demeanor, you still ache for him. it wouldn’t be right to drive you back home like this.
“hop in the back.”
your eyes snap from outside the window back to his own, “. . what?”
“we not fuckin’,” he shakes his head and gives two quick taps to your thigh before motioning to his spacious backseat with his thumb. “nah, my ma’ raised me better than that.”
“what are we doin’ then?” you’re turning sheepish again — curling into yourself, biting your lip.
“i can show you better than i could tell you.”
come less than five minutes later, the both of you are nestled within his backseat. your shoes have been kicked off, shorts thrown somewhere up towards the front and your little panties, white with pink, lace trim and printed with fucking teddy bears are pulled to the side. ony has you folded up — actually folded up, knees an inch away from touching the lobes of your ears and your toes grazing the window of the door behind you.
you lay directly upon the seat behind the passenger’s while he sits abaft the driver’s, tilted your way, and head lowered so that he’s able to slip his soft, warm tongue between the thick lips of your pussy with no problem.
you hear bells ringing in your ears.
he works slow — teasing yet thorough, moving his head with his tongue . . softly humming as he breathes and tongue kisses the pearled bud of your clit with slick puckering tenors. your toes curl at the sight of it all. his beard glistens with your wetness and his hands grip the cheeks of your ass, spreading them a bit wider when his tongue slips a bit lower so that he can slowly lave the flat plane of it across the knitted hole, all while his darkened eyes gauge your expression the entire time.
your fingers dig into the cushion of the armrest behind you as you arch your back, voice almost shockingly high.
“mm,” he pulls his head back while licking his lips as his fingers reach up to spread your lips apart to have better access to your clit. “taste so fuckin’ good . . why you taste so fuckin’ good?” he rubs it with his thumb, watching the rigid nub press against the pad of it as he works it in steady circles. a tinge of pink peeks out from within the cushion of brown . . it’s so fucking hard, he knows that it hurts. “pretty ass pussy.”
you whine, holding onto the back of your knees, not wanting them in his way. “o-ony.”
he looks down at you, “what?” he whispers, leaning his head back towards your pulsing cunt. “what you wanted, mm?”
you weep when his tongue finds your hole — he slides the tip of it inside . . pulling it out then working it deeper while the peak of his nose bumps against your clit, implanting well needed friction. “o-oh shit,” your voice is so tiny and broken. it’s fucking precious. “o-ony — mm, please.”
your hips are bucking up into his mouth so that you can work your pussy over his tongue, back and forth, back and forth. you’re surprised when a loud smack! suddenly rings throughout the car while a sizzling outline of a handprint begins to form upon the soft skin of your ass cheek.
“stop movin’,” he demands quietly, speaking around a mouthful of your drooling pussy. he wants to indulge because now that he has a taste, he isn’t sure that he wants to give you up anytime soon.
you tilt your head, eyebrows furrowed and mouth wide open, watching him let a frothy dribble of his spit drip from his lips right onto your clit, followed once more by his tongue.
the sounds he makes are filthy.
nothing but slush’s and smacks and puckers and hums. your eyes roll into the back of your head come his fingers digging deep enough into your skin that you’re sure of bruises blossoming come the next morning. “unh, don’t stop,” you grab the cap of his durag, tugging on it incessantly. “daddy, don’t stop.”
another smack . . though this time even harder than the one before.
it makes you choke on an inhale as your body jolts with the impact. you don’t need him to say it because come the next time you look down, ony’s already staring back up at you, eyes knowing albeit fuzzed over. he looks almost as gone as you. “g-god, ‘ve never,” you swallow, eyes closed. “never f-felt so good, onya’.”
even while you talked, little trills and whimpers still bubbled at the back of your throat.
ony sways his head from left to right, slipping his tongue down once more for another taste of your tight rim upon the sight of saliva and your slick dripping from your role, down the seam of your ass. “mhm,” he hums to show that he’s listening. “never got this pretty pussy sucked on the right way, mama?”
“uh - uh,” you sniffle.
“can tell.”
he lets his palm fall down on your clit for a quick swat. both, the sound and feeling makes your body thrash. “eeek — w-why did you . .”
he does it again, holding your legs out of his way when they threaten to fall. it isn’t the sensation of his hand slapping at your clit that makes you blush, it’s more of the sight. your pussy recoils with each spank, weakly gushing out little shots of pearly white cream.
“yeah, you like this shit,” ony mumbles, letting the tip of his middle finger stroke along your hole. “feels good, hm? . . yes or no?”
you feel depraved. you don’t think you should enjoy this so much, nonetheless, you do.
you’re hiding your face behind your knees, eyes tightly shut. ony lets his hand fall down onto your pussy a bit harder, watching the way you jolt once more. “y-yes,” you blubber out, whiny and feeble. “it does, ony.”
“yeah,” he huffs out, enamored by the sight of your thighs, sleek and damp, your ass, your pussy. it’s all fucking beautiful to him. “daddy can tell.”
when his tongue is returned back onto your cunt, you can tell he’s working with more vigor now. both his hands hold onto your calves, pushing them further up and gripping them tight so that they keep out of his way. it makes you hold onto his forearms, little hands locked onto the firm muscle for your own sanity. “ohmygod,” you mewl, arching your back come a new technique that has his tongue sliding down from your clit, into your hole where he pushes it inside for a quick taste then back up so that he’s able to suckle the thumping nub between his soft lips.
“j-jus’ like that,” you’re babbling and winded, breaths choppy. “oh g-goodness, ony — waitwaitwait.”
your hands go for his shoulders, pushing him back when arrives that familiar plummeting feeling of your gut. his hand smacks your ass . . hard — one, two, three times, prior to that same one grabbing the both of your wrists to squeeze them in his hold. the actions are all so quick, you’d only taken two breaths by the time it’s done.
his eyebrows are lowered when he mumbles, “man, don’t fuckin’ play w’me,” he spanks your clit and you sob. “don’t push me, ma’, are you crazy?”
“i — jus’ . .” you squirm. “ ‘m sorry, feels too—“
“—‘m not stoppin’,” he utters, mouth already occupied by your clit. “not stoppin’ ‘til i’m full.”
you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into. you’re blubbing, voice soft and high at the feel of his middle finger slowly gliding deep inside of your pussy, immediately curling up in search for that one, special spot that he knew’d have you seeing pink suns. “daddy p-please, no —“ you hiccup. “c-can’t take it, wait.”
it’s all so much . . too much. each breath is a gasp, each movement is a shudder. pleasure onslaughts your entire body, taking over your mind and everything within it.
you’re rendered speechless come him moving his head with his tongue once more, up and down while his finger pushes in and out, stroking the inside of your cunt beautifully. cream builds up, cascading out of your hole, sapidity of tart icing.
his eyes are locked on your face the entire time. it seems as though you’re frozen, eyes shut, mouth open, body still, until he sees your eyebrows furrowing in closer and closer as your bod begins to wound tight — similar to a slingshot being pulled further and further back. “mhm,” he hums, encouraging you for what he knows is about to happen. “mhm . . there you go.”
you cum with a hard inhale, fingernails digging deep into your palms as your entire body quivers underneath the pad of his clever tongue. “unh . . hng — oh g-god.”
ony pushes it all out of you quickly, working his digit and his tongue the more he feels your cunt squeezing and releasing. it flows out of you, sticky and wet . . seemingly never ending.
you’re exhausted by the come down, heaving as though you’ve been out of air for hours. you feel ony finally pull back and let your wrists go. you’re thankful, due to the fact that you hadn’t known when tears had fell down your eyes, albeit, you’re glad to finally wipe them away and blink your blurry sight back clear to focus on the boy in front of you.
he’s licking his lips, wiping his chin, already focused on you.
“alright.”
you watch him unzip his jacket, pulling it off of him. you’ve made a mess of him — dewy wetness had managed to even drip down the strong column of his neck to his chest. “c’mon,” when he softly slaps your thigh, you’re perplexed. he reads it all over your face and it makes his own eyebrows pull in close. “. . who told you i was done? . . flip over, hands and knees.”
“w-what?”
ony doesn’t repeat himself. he simply moves you — pulling you up, flipping you over, pushing his hand down onto your back so that your chest presses against the seat with one word uttered, ‘ arch. ‘
your eyes are frenzied. you reach back, hand gripping onto his cargos, “d-daddy, you can’t be serious—“ you thought he’d be done. it’s twelve am.
you can hear him shuffling again as his hands pull off of his plain, black tee. “meant what i said,” is all he mumbles in reply. “you gon’ be good,” he gives two pats to your ass, akin to the way a guy’d pat the hood of a car to signal someone to drive off. he knows you will. you may be tired but your soft, little pussy isn’t and he isn’t neither. “i got you, mama. jus’ relax.”
relax. he wrecks havoc on your mind, body, and soul each time his tongue let alone touches your clit. you want to cry come the sight of an hour inching into two . . then two and a half. sweat glistens upon your body as your knees press into the seat on either sides of ony’s head. one of his hands squeezes your tit while the other has hold of your ass, making you rock yourself along the surface of his tongue.
he can’t feel bad for you come the sounds of your stupid, little babbles and the sight of your tear covered face. ‘cause ain’t this what you wanted?
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