#basketball elements | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thecoochiefairy · 5 months ago

Text

nola. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 18.0K word count. blackfem!character, college football coded! onyankopon, grumpy! onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, third person omniscient, dominant!onyankopon, friends to lovers trope, sandbox love, black woman, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, oral [f] [m], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, squirting, riding, backshots, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ so, i know i was been supposed to give y’all an official onyankopon fic. i’m sorry it took so long. i changed the entire idea i had, and honestly? i enjoyed writing this one so much better. haven’t been able to dip my toe into strictly black characters since my actual book new salem, and i missed pure nigga-try! also, thank y’all for 3K followers. i love every single one of you. enjoy! 🫶🏽

visual. visual. visual.

BENEATH THE LIGHTS WAS WHERE SHE BELONGED. The squeaking of her feet scuffled along the shined mahogany wood as she tuned out the many voices—from cheering, to the coach calling out plays, or pure enjoyment from the game. This was her element.

Scrimmages were just as important to her, the bleachers filling with college students as if it were a regular game. Eyes watched the most valuable player move across the court with a choreography more beautiful than a dancer—their point guard.

The ball was like metal—a magnet in her fingers as she passed it to the next player, awaiting for it to somehow appear back in her palms. But she couldn’t stop her eyes from traveling up to the bleachers. She always searched for his figure to be seated in between his friend group, watching her just as much as she waited for him.

Black leather varsity jacket with yellow embroidery, his name and number on the back like a symbol—‘ONYANKOPON.’

Golden grills shone beneath the light of his full goatee and dark pink lips, bone straight smile more flattering than the devils. His durag tied into a knot along the back of his head, his outfit more relaxed as he’d just come from practice—He’d never miss her games.

He sat there amongst the many of his own teammates. His gaze was focused on her, following her movements as they were almost seductive.

It never failed that she’d eventually look in his direction. It was always a battle between who would look away first—This time, it was her. Her eyes glanced over him every so often, her heart racing whenever their gazes met. But the game was as vital as the air that filled her nostrils, and no amount of admiring him could pull her from it.

Her fingers grip the basketball that’s thrown back into her palms, having to quickly regain control before it went straight into the opposing team’s hands. She was like the cherry on top, gliding through bodies along the court as she made her way closer to the edge, her low height more powerful than the taller women as she tossed the ball towards the hoop.

The crowd was watching poetry in the making, the way her legs pushed against the floor and the ball leaving her fingers in an effortless arc that sailed through the basket. Flawless.

The suppression of her smile finally shined through her bratz shaped lips, listening to the crowd cheer as her team had won the scrimmage. Her eyes move over as she watches that varsity jacket beginning to stand from the bleachers, following behind his group of friends as they begin exiting the building. Something in her feels dejected.

But as the swarm of her other teammates come crowding her in an excited hug, she’s pulled back into the reality of her win—she could deal with that later.

She stands in the locker room as she’d just gotten out of the shower, kneeling her body against the bench as she searches her pale pink NIKE bag for her sweatshirt. She can feel a presence appear next to her, eyes turning up to her teammate—who was also her cousin and roommate—Peanut, smirking down at her.

“If you’ coming over here to talk shit, please find somebody else to play with.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Peanut hides her smirk, “What? You’ all mad that your man didn’t stay until the end of the game?”

“You know that’s not my man,” she mutters, “I’m good. Why you’ in my business right now?”

“I’m in your business ‘cause I know you,” Peanut rolled her eyes, chocolate brown skin shining under the lights as she crossed her arms, “You wanna say that’s not your nigga while you’re over here moping cause he didn’t stay behind. Please.”

She begins pulling the black sweatshirt over her head, XAVIER UNIVERSITY OF LOUISIANA labeled in bold yellow beneath the material. Her curls are drenched from the shower, eyes tired as she looks to her cousin, “Are you done? Don’t you have somewhere else to be other than in my ass?”

“Not my fault you’re always so interesting,” Peanut teased, her body leaning against the locker next to her, “You’ve been playing basketball all day and still have the energy to be mean?”

“You’ right, I should be tired from carrying your plays. That’s why you have so much energy to come talk hot shit, none of that was focused on the court,” she zips up her bag, throwing it along her shoulder as she slips on her soft pink New Balances 9060 sneakers.

“I’d say that’s a little disrespectful,” Peanut grins, crossing her arms across her chest, “You only have the energy to play so well ‘cause I let you. Coach was paying attention to you, though. Did you see?”

She sighs, “I want her to pay enough attention that she has a scout come watch our games, Peanut. This shit is starting to feel like high school.”

Peanut scoffed, “I heard you got offers from LSU, Bama, and Howard, yet you chose to stay in New Orleans,” she said, “This? Ain’t high school.”

“I just wanted to be close to my mom,” she reminds her, “You know that.”

“Or did you wanna be close to that childhood crush of yours?”

Her eyes narrow into a glare, closing her locker as she warns, “Don’t start again, Peanut.”

Yet, it was true. Her and Onyankopon had grown up together due to their families both being from 9th Ward. It was to her dismay that she was in love with him.

Peanut put her hands up in surrender, “Chill. Chill,” she warns, “I’m just saying. Why’d he leave anyways? Doesn't he stay after?”

She could admit to herself that she wanted to hear how she looked on the court. Maybe she just wanted to hear it from someone’s opinion she always trusted—his.

She sighs, running her fingers through her hair as she replies, “I don’t know. Prolly’ still fuckin’ that big booty bitch on the Majorette team.”

“Oh girl, Ashleigh? Yeah—nah.”

She raised an eyebrow, “You’ got tea?”

This childhood crush of hers was stereotypically wandering with his eyes, able to accept the advances of any woman that came his way. His current flavor of the month was a brown skinned, extremely curvaceous girl on the college's Majorette team, swinging her hips at all of his games.

Peanut smirked, grabbing her own bag and began walking out of the locker room with her. A group of other girls on the team passed, waving goodbye to the two cousins.

“Tea?” She echoed, “I got a whole story on that nigga. Apparently him and Ashleigh off again—he pissed her off, so she threatened to fuck one of his friends.”

That caused her to softly laugh, following beside Peanut as they began walking towards the dorms, “Whatever he did, he probably deserved to be threatened.”

“I love when I get you to actually laugh. You’re too serious these days.”

They walked past the main library of the school which was always packed with students, the yellow and white building gleaming in the night. Their dorm was just past it.

“Why don’t you wanna fuck him again? The boy is 90s fine.”

“Cause I’m not big booty Ashleigh,” she retorts, “To deal with him and his flock of hoes? I’d kill that nigga before he ever played with me.”

“I’d kill him too, I ain’t judging,” Peanut said, “But I’ll tell you what, you’re not big booty Ashleigh—you’re just a big booty, and that’s why he actually looks at you. You know those flocks of hoes are just a front, right? Those girls don’t mean anything to him,” She looked over at her again, “You do.”

“Here you go—talking again,” she mutters, “You’ watch too many of them’ K-Dramas.”

“This ain’t no K-Drama—it’s real life!” Peanut protested, her hand waving in the air, “You’re the only one he doesn’t treat like a passing phase. He’s been ‘round you for what? Fifteen years?”

“Because he knows our family, Peanut. My uncle—your father—would shoot his ass on sight if he played with me the way he plays with girls on campus. I’m good on that. I got WNBA to get into,” she shrugs, circling her body around, childishly throwing an air ball into the sky.

“Yeah, Yeah—All that is cool. Is that what’s holding you back from liking a nigga?”

“I’d fuck a ball before I fucked him,” she finalizes, “I wanna go ice my ankle. You’ cooking tonight?”

“Sorry, cousin. I’m actually going over to my niggas house,” she playfully mocks the air ball she threw, beginning to back her way towards the other dorms, “Gon’ head and order something for me, though!”

She frowns, a bit bummed since this was her cousin's third night being out of their dorm, leaving her to either study, or watch K-Dramas by herself. She could admit that she was a bit lonely.

“You ain’t getting shit!” She called back, “Have your nigga feed you!”

“You have a nigga feed you, lonely ass!” She yelled back, causing a few students to glance towards them, “Don’t be mad ‘cause you don’t know what a relationship feels like!”

Peanut continued to walk away, tossing a hand over her shoulder to wave, “Love you, Sweetpea!”

She’s suffocated by that nickname, following her from elementary school to college. This was her senior year, and she still couldn’t get away from it. Her shoulders fall a bit as she waves back to her, acrylic nails glittering under the streetlights hovered over the dorms, her tattooed fingers and emerald golden ring glinting with it.

Her eyes turn as she sees a familiar figure walking towards the dorms with his friends—he was finer up close. The yellow embroidery on his varsity jacket went well with his brown skin, facial hair, grills partnering with his sharp jawline. The tattoos along his face should’ve been intimidating, but made him scarily more attractive. He was tall, always slouching to make her more comfortable. She tries to turn as if she didn’t see him, beginning to make her way towards the stairs of the dorm.

“For real? You’ finna’ ignore a nigga?”

She tongues the inside of her cheek, turning back as she eyes him up and down. She then says, “Just tryna’ get inside and start on this homework.”

His eyes followed every movement of hers, the way the dim light of the evening casted a hazy hue across her caramel skin, her onyx hair swaying along her body as she turned towards him.

“Homework, huh?” He echoed, walking up the last of the stairs to meet her at the top, “I been waiting to see you all day, you ain’t even gon’ say wassup?”

“Wrong,” she corrects, “If you wanted to see me, you would’ve waited until the game was over, Onyankopon.”

“My lil’ grumpy ass Sweetpea…” He chided, a smirk playing on his full lips as he stepped in front of her, “Don’t act like I wasn’t in the bleachers for the whole game. Coach called for a meeting.”

She narrows her eyes, “Uh-huh. Why don’t you go back to your friends?”

“Ain’t never see you so eager to get rid of me,” He said through a deep chuckle, “You mad for real?”

She doesn’t want to admit why she’s actually upset. But if she doesn’t, he’s gonna pry it out of her anyways. Her voice is still rough around the edges as she states, “You didn’t tell me how I played today. That’s why I wanted you there after.”

“You played good as fuck like you always do,” He began, taking another step into her personal space, “Them’ other girls ain’t shit. You ain’t need me to tell you that, though.”

She tightens her fingers around her duffle as she releases a breath, “You mean that? Good enough for a scout?”

“Girl, ain’t no question about that,” He smacks his lips, “You’ so good they’d be stupid not to sign you. Them’ bitches were tryna’ play catch-up the whole time. WNBA can’t wait for your ass to drop.”

“Ony,” she warns his language as he refers to the other girls. She takes his words to heart as she always did—he was the one person that she valued in their opinion.

“My fault. But you know I’d never bullshit you,” he murmured, his other hand coming forward to grab the nape of her neck, “You finna’ go far.”

A pressure in her chest appears at his large palm against her neck—it feels warm. Good.

Sweetpea smacks her lips as she pulls his arm down, “Where yo’ lil’ girlfriend at, Onyankopon?”

He raises an eyebrow, “You keepin’ tabs on me now?” He questioned, a smirk forming, “Thought you were just focused on the court and your homework. Why you worried about who I got?”

“You’ think I’m worried about a hoe ass nigga? ‘Forget I asked,” she scrunches her nose, returning to making her way fully up the steps.

“Nah nah, you brought it up,” He followed a step behind her, “Why’ you even wanna know ‘bout me and whoever I’m talkin to?”

She pushes the entrance to her dorm, looking back to his group of friends that begin walking away as she changes the subject, “Your friends are leaving, Onyankopon. Can I go inside?”

“You got questions about me and other girls—now you tryna’ run inside,” He pointed out, “Can’t you just say that you missed me?”

“Girls?” She repeats, “Huh. I don’t need my question answered then.”

The minute she passes by a couple of people with a polite wave, she’s unable to escape the large arm that traps her along the wall just before she can make it to her room door. He places it against the wall, stopping her from walking which makes her back press against it. His cologne hovers over her body as he leans down towards her, making Sweetpea somehow back herself into the wall she was already against.

“Why you always runnin’ away?” He asked, his voice deep, “You think you got a nigga all figured out?”

He chuckled, the low noise filling her ears. He moved forward, the heat of his body close enough for her to feel it against his own, “Or you don’t like bein’ reminded that you care what I do?”

She can’t admit to him that she’s…the least bit curious for her own entertainment. It wasn’t because of anything else.

….It wasn’t.

She blinks, “I actually don’t care. Peanut told me your lil’ big booty girl threatened to fuck one of your friends. What’d you do to piss her off?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Damn Peanut,” He muttered,, “I knew I shouldn’t’ve let her know I hooked up with Ashleigh.”

He rolled his tongue out his mouth,“You wanna know why she was mad at me?”

“Answer the question or I go inside. I’m getting impatient,” she reminds, placing her weight along her feet as she prepares to move his arm, watching as he places his palm right beside her head now. She lets out a heavy sigh.

“She’ mad I’m not acting like her nigga,” He smirked at the way her face scrunched up slightly in frustration, “She’s too obsessed with me.”

“Oh? The world is still Onyankopon Land in that head of yours?” She raises an eyebrow, sarcastically smiling at him.

He looked down with a smile, finding her scowl endearing somehow.

“I get it now. I know you don’t like me havin’ girlfriends'. My bad, Mama.”

That nickname. And that sentence. It makes a chill rush down her spine. But instead, she pushes out a laugh with her eyebrows raised, pushing past his arm as she begins unlocking her door, “Boy, go home. You’re playing bad as fuck right now.”

His eyes move as she opens her door and steps in, preparing to close it as he then places a sneaker in between the opening before suddenly asking, “Your’ ankle hurt?”

She doesn’t expect the question as she frowns, “Is that your way of asking to come inside? I’m good,” she attempts to close the door.

“It’s a way of sayin’ a nigga worried ‘bout you,” he frowned back, “You can’t blame me after I saw you limp on that ankle during the game.”

She flutters her lashes up, searching around his face as she reads the more serious tone of his expression. Her ankle had been a little weak with all the practices and games, but it was nothing she worried too much about.

She slides her fingers against the door as she repeats more softly, “I’m fine, Ony. For real.”

“Lemme look at it,” He said, “I can see how swollen it’s gettin’.”

The tone of his voice was soft, but there was also a sternness to it. This nigga was worried about her ankle, forreal.

She glances around her empty apartment before she exhales, opening the door wider to let him in. She places her bag against the kitchen island as she grabs her Hello Kitty ice packet, making her way towards the sofa to sit.

He follows her inside, hands stuffed into the pockets of his varsity jacket. He sits down on the sofa beside her, the soft cushion dipping under his large frame as he eyes her ankle.

“C’mon,” he gruffs, motioning for her to place her leg on his lap.

She places her leg against his lap, beginning to feel the curls of her hair drying up, blowing a tendril out of her face as she fully plopped down next to him. She says, “I think I was just moving too fast.”

He gently holds onto her ankle as she rests it across his lap, his large palm wrapping completely around it. His dark lashes lowered over his eyes as he examined the ankle, his expression neutral.

“You been doin’ a lot lately,” he lightly touched certain areas on her foot, “The coach got you runnin’ too many drills or somethin’?”

“I just wanna be ready for the game coming up. Coach might bring scouts, you know?” She brings her eyes up to him, “I can take a lil’ pain in that case.”

“And if that pain turns into a damn injury ‘cause your dumbass wanna push too hard,” He challenged, “Then what?”

She gives him a deadpan look, “Now you sound like Peanut.”

When he twists the ankle around, something in her body alarms itself in a sharp pain, which makes her inhale a breath, attempting to jerk her leg back from him as she piercingly inhales.

“Nah, don’t do that,” he said with a grunt, his thumb and index finger feeling around for the source of her wince, “What’d ‘you just feel?”

“You’re making it hurt,” pushing his hand away, she tried to stop herself from panicking at the small pain.

He ignored her hand as he continued to hold her ankle, looking up at her face with a serious tone, “Chill out. I need you to tell me exactly where the pain is. You can’t just be playin’ with your fuckin’ ankle.”

As much as he clowned around, she wasn’t the one to bite when he got serious. She points towards the back of her ankle as she softly replies, “Here.”

“You know you gotta ice that more,” he scolded, “Bein’ stubborn all the time ain’t gonna’ get you ‘round the court faster.“

“I know,” she nods, relaxing more as she allows him to lightly massage the area. Her toes nearly curled as it felt so good, she had to dig her fingers in her thigh a bit not to react.

She tries to bring up the subject again, “You’ really like Ashleigh?”

His fingers paused as she asked the question, his honey eyes looking up at her.

“You still worried ‘bout that?” He shook his head before he began massaging the area again, “She a lil’ too extra.”

“Maybe you should be nicer to her. That way she isn’t always screaming at you,” Sweetpea suggests, “You’ be having them girls losing their minds. I too would crash out on you.”

Despite what she might think of him, he could tell she was actually being serious. He was used to all the jokes, the sarcasm, and the usual smartass replies she always fired back with.

He rolled his tongue along his lower lip again with a smirk, “You’d crash out over me, huh?”

“I’m serious, Ony.”

She ignores the way her face goes warm, “You’ve had your attention on her for more than a month now—which is longer than your attentiveness with any girl. So don’t mess that up by…being you.”

A low chuckle slips from his full lips, “You tellin’ me to stop bein’ too cool for my own good? Since when you’ start liking Ashleigh?”

“I ain’t saying I like her—I’m just saying.”

He leans back a little more on the sofa, his hands pausing their working on her ankle. He raises an eyebrow at her, a smile on his face, “You worried about me, huh?”

“You say me playing around on the court won’t get me anywhere but an injury, I could say the same for you. Quit playing with that girl's heart if you don’t actually like her. Somebody’s gonna come along that you might actually like, and when they pull a you on you, it’s gonna hurt.”

He kept his eyes on her ankle, silently nodding as she lectured him. This would be the one time he didn’t want to fire back with a smart remark as the seriousness in her voice made him feel a bit scolded.

“You ever think you were made for some sorta advice hotline?” he finally mumbled, “You tryna’ be my life coach now?”

She rolled her eyes, giving a soft giggle as she replied, “Being a good person is free as fuck.”

He let out another low chuckle, his expression softening a bit at the sound of her laugh.

“You ain’t wrong,” he says quietly, his large fingers continuing to massage her ankle, “But she knew I didn’t want nothin’ serious with her from the jump. Not my fault if she got it twisted somewhere in the process. She just started saying I was her nigga.”

“Well, did you make her feel like you were?” She raises an eyebrow, “Did you say no when she called you that?”

He shrugged his shoulders indifferently, a nonchalant look on his face, “I don’t take it seriously when a girl calls me they’ boyfriend. Probably be fuckin’ them too good.”

She tilts her head, “Boy, bye. You ain’t giving bitches that type of dick—And maybe you should clarify you’re not their boyfriend? Don’t leave the door revolving, otherwise it causes miscommunication.”

“Shiiidd, I be havin’ them like—Oooohshit, Daddy,” he mockingly moans, tickling her ankle which makes her giggle again.

She shakes her head, “I didn’t need to know all that. But I meant what I said—if you don’t want them seriously, tell them that, Ony. That’s all.”

“You done preachin’ to me now?”

“No, I’m not. Since you’ so worried about my health, have you been going to physical therapy Mr. I almost tore my ACL last year? Is it giving you any issues on the field?”

“It happened more than a year and a half ago,” he glares, “Why you’ bringing that up?”

“Cause I know how much it scares you to be without football,” she points out, “And if you can admit to loving something, football is that.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, his dark eyes staring down at her ankle as he massaged it. He didn’t realize that she had known him that well.

He finally sighs, “I go to my physical therapy. I’ve been taking rest days and shit. Happy?”

She could tell he wanted to leave it there. So, she does. When she nods her head, that cocky grin appears back on his face as he asks, “You’ coming to my game tomorrow?”

“I’d never miss it. You know that.”

“Damn right you ain’t,” he responded, the smirk remaining on his lips, “You’ betta’ be in the stands cheerin’ like hell for me.”

“Let’s not say all that,” she laughs, “But I’ll be there.”

His smile widened at the sound of her laugh, his eyes staring at the expression on her face—how her nose would scrunch up a bit when she giggled.

“Damn right you will,” he repeated, suddenly lifting her leg up and placing it back onto his lap, “You can get some special VIP access to my locker room after. I’ll need you to give me some physical therapy.”

“Onyankopon. I will kill you.”

“You’ already got my heart, Mama. Last time I checked, I’m dead.”

“Onyankopon?”

“Huh?”

“Get out.”

𝓐ᥫ᭡

THE EXCITEMENT OF THE NEXT DAY ROLLED INTO THE NIGHT. The sun was beginning to set, lighting a fire amongst the entire campus as it was their favorite time—the football game. Everyone was geared up in their school's attire, or spun the colors within their own style, prideful in representing their HBCU’s team. The bleachers were filled with bodies, a sense of young adult spirit filling the entire stadium. Scents of nachos, pizza and beignets filled Sweetpea’s nostrils, almost more distracting than the thrum in her chest from the band performing loudly, the majorette team equally matching with their performance.

The team all stood in the locker room, many of them pacing while the coach gave his final speech about how he expected them to play. A few guys huddled together in the far corner as they discussed and strategized their plays.

All, except one.

Onyankopon sat on a wooden bench in the corner, his dark eyes staring down at the floor. While everyone else was still gearing up for the game, he was fully dressed in his jersey—his muscular silhouette visible underneath. He always needed this time to himself. To pray, to run the plays within his mind, to think.

The crowd cheered as the team began running out onto the field, Sweetpea standing as she cheered next to Peanut, clapping as cleats sunk into the synthetic grass. Her eyes went straight to the last player that entered, the crowd somehow becoming louder at the entrance of the quarterback.

His blacked out protective gear made him look even bigger, shadows of his tattoos beneath the material of the long-sleeve he wore under his jersey, holding his helmet beneath the bright yellow gloves on his large palms. A chill ran over her body as his teammates hyped themselves up, his arm raising to flex the muscles within, tongue sticking out arrogantly to symbolize his power. She didn’t think he’d actually notice her in the crowd—but she was hard to miss.

Her dark hair was sprawled around her face in soft waves, sheer yellow and black top clinging to her waist, showing the midriff of her belly piercing and stomach. Dark grey wash shorts that showed the harsh poke of her hips and ass that created a Coke bottle silhouette, thin silver heels strapped against her ankles. Her fox eyes were slender with fluffy lashes, brown freckles sprucing along her caramel face, lips outlined with brown liner.

He rarely saw her out of her basketball attire, but when he did, he couldn’t stop looking. She gave him a sweet wave, unaware of how impure she truly looked.

He couldn’t help the smirk that pulled through his full lips, raising his arm to give her a wink before bringing his focus back to the coach, running a few extra laps to warm up.

The XULA football team always played as if they were in the NFL, Onyankopon leading them in ways no one else could. He ran across the field like nothing, a similarity between him and Sweetpea as they had control of the ball at a constant. Touchdown after touchdown, they were whooping the opposing team effortlessly.

Onyankopon ran down the field, achieving another touchdown before making his way over to the sideline, pulling off his helmet as he reached the water table. He grabbed a towel with one hand, dumping water over the other and running it through his tatted face as he looked up, scanning the crowd.

His dark eyes immediately found hers again.

Her cousin was too wrapped up in the attention of her boyfriend to see how they stared at one another. Sweetpea had been around Onyankopon enough to allow her school girl crush to falter, but each time he gave her that look, it’s like all of her emotions appeared again.

The minute she tried to give him another wave, she brought her hand down as she saw his attention on none other than Ashleigh, who was performing within her majorette team on the field. She swung her hips with the choreography, blowing him a kiss as she bent down with her baton. She was every man’s fantasy on campus—silky dark hair, dark grey eyes, chocolate brown skin, body perfect in her yellow one piece, sparkly black headband against her forehead as she danced.

Of course he would be looking at her.

Ashleigh gave him an exaggerated wink as she twirled around the field. It seemed like she made it her priority to give him the most attention whenever she saw him.

Onyankopon finally looked away and brought the towel to his face as a grin tugged at his lips again, his mind drifting. Typical.

“You’ good?” Peanut noticed her cousins’ face, slowing down on the attention of her nachos.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Sweetpea murmured, leaving her thoughts to herself, focusing back on the game itself. She was fine.

Their football team had successfully won in their home field, cheering wildly at their additional victory. With their win, they celebrated as they usually did—a party within a frat house off campus.

It was closer to downtown New Orleans, only blocks away from Bourbon street. It was a city that never slept, a thrive somewhere other than New York could produce. Music blared throughout the mansion—songs like Back That Azz Up by Juvenile, to BOP by Big Boogie— bodies moved to the beat, talking and laughing amongst each other in a happy radiance.

Onyankopon was right in the middle of it all, his team crowded around as they celebrated with him, all the girls at the party practically glued to their hips, Ashleigh being attached to him.

Sweetpea entered the party, clasping the hand of her cousin when she immediately found the eyes of Onyankopon. He had one arm wrapped around the waist of Ashleigh—who was currently wearing his varsity jacket—her hand gently caressing his broad chest as she whispered in his ear. His other hand was around a beer, taking a long drink as his dark eyes scanned the crowd. She pressed her lips together, giving a weak smile as she waved again, before being pulled towards her own group of friends.

He caught sight of her, his eyes glued on her frame as she moved through the crowded mansion. It made him clutch his beer as her hips twisted with each movement, ass shaking beneath her shorts.

“Onyankopon?” Ashleigh whined, pouting her big lips as they curved downwards.

“Huh?”

“You want another beer?” she asks, pulling his mouth down to meet hers.

“Fasho,” he murmurs against her lips, “‘Preciate it, Love.”

Ashleigh wrapped herself tighter against his side, looking up at him as she tried to grab his attention. She then stood up, giving him one more kiss as she was making her way towards the table of drinks, seeing as Sweetpea stood there, trying to mix vanilla Coke with Crown for a richer taste.

Sweetpea glances at the girl, seeing her wearing a short skirt and crop top, body perfectly snug in her outfit under the jacket. Her hair was in curls now, and she looked as pretty as she always did. Pretty enough to always have Onyankopon’s attention.

Ashleigh wasn’t a mean girl—that’d be too typical. However, she was a girl that did…notice the relationship between this girl and her man. She just wanted to check Sweetpea’s temperature.

“Hey, Sweetpea!”

She has to pull back the roll in her eyes, giving her a smile as she greets, “Wassup, Ashleigh?”

“Not much,” Ashleigh makes a point to run a hand over Onyankopon’s jacket, “Grabbing a beer for my man, just saw you and figured I’d say hey!”

Sweetpea instantly notices the movement, clearing her throat as she exhales, “Y’all just got here?”

“Nope. Been here a good twenty minutes,” she responded, watching her closely as she continued to rub her hand against the material.

“Onyankopon is still pretty fired up from the game,” she giggles, “He’s all high and mighty after a win, can’t keep his damn hands off me. But I’m sure you know that.”

Sweetpea gives a small laugh to kill the awkwardness she feels, bringing the drink to her lips in hopes that would help this conversation, “Yeah…he’s uh—something else.”

“But girl, let’s talk about you! I never saw you outside of that basketball jersey. You’re actually passing for a bad bitch tonight!”

She could feel the passive aggression in her tone. She didn’t have to question it. One thing about that nickname of hers, it definitely was a representation of how she presented herself—sweet, not much to say. Just like now.

Her attention is pulled by Onyankopon wrapping an arm over Ashleigh’s shoulders, teasing voice as he questions, “You’ bullying her?”

“Of course not, Daddy. I’m just having a chit chat with my friend,” she responds, giving a flutter of her eyelashes, “But speaking of, I’m finna’ go check on my girls!”

She raises her lips up to give him a peck on the chin, giving Sweetpea another wave as she dismisses, “See you, girl! Watch my man for me!”

Sweetpea gives her an equally fake wave, waiting until she’s away from them before she glances back to Onyankopon, “She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

He shakes his head as he watches Ashleigh’s curvy figure walk over to her own friends. She always knew how to get under someone’s skin.

“Ain’t you finna’ ask me all my stats for the game?” he mutters, smirking down at her as he crosses his arms, leaning over the table beside them.

She tilts her head a bit, the flow of her hair wafting his nose of jasmine and vanilla as she sighs, “Hmm, no. But I bet you’re gonna tell me.”

Her scent makes him want to growl like an animal, but he assumes it’s the beer. It has to be.

“Two-hundred and forty passing yards, three-hundred and fifteen total yards. Four touchdowns, zero turnovers.”

She leans along the table as well, giving him a small smile as she corrects, “Five touchdowns—they tried to foul you, and you almost smacked the referee.”

He smiles like a giddy child, “So you’ was’ watching me.”

“If I say you’re the only reason I come to the games, your ego might put you in cardiac arrest,” she rolls her eyes, “I watch you just as much as you be on my ass during my games. Just returning the favor.”

“Mhm. You look good as fuck tonight.”

She feels her face become a bit warm, taking another sip of her drink, beginning to feel the buzz as she smacks her lips, “Save all that for Ms. Big Booty in your varsity jacket.”

“You’ just as thick,” he responds in a low tone, “Be makin’ the ground shake at every game. You’ can barely fit them shorts.”

That gets her to actually giggle, punching his arm as she says, “Shut the fuck up, and quit staring at my ass. You’ got a whole lil’ girlfriend to be diligent with.”

He chuckles as she hits him, “Who says I be starin’ at your ass? I was starin’ at them thighs, mothafucka’s is colossal.”

“Only thing colossal is that big ass head of yours. If we put you under a satellite, the wifi cranking up in here!” She snaps back, “Yeah, that was good, huh?” She chuckles at his full on laugh. It was deep, genuine. Maybe even sexy.

“Yo’ ass so stupid,” he shakes his head, “Got the nerve to call me the comedian?”

He pauses, his eyes raking over her frame again. He was always looking at her. But this time, he sees her. Her brown freckles, the scrunch she made when she glanced around the room, the way she glowed beneath the dark purple lighting of the party.

“Damn, you really are fine as hell when you don’t have an attitude.”

She rolls her eyes, trying to push away the feeling of her heart fluttering, “There you go talking again.”

“And there you go rolling them’ eyes…” He responds, raising his hand and using his thumb and index finger to tap her chin, “It’s cute.”

She pushes his hand away, “You want another reason for Ashleigh to burn that expensive ass varsity jacket of yours?”

“That girl will find a way to get mad at me even if I look at my shadow,” he smacks his lips, “Maybe I should’ve had you wearing it. You’ the one remembering all my plays.”

His skin equally glows beneath the lights, chains and grills shining against his black shirt, clung to his muscular frame in a way that compliments him, the colorful ink on his body, all of him—she sees him as well. There it was—those emotions returning to her.

Maybe it was time to admit them.

She swallows, holding her cup between her fingers as she whispers, “Ony—“

“Aye, fine shit.”

Her eyes pull back to one of Onyankopon’s friends, a light skinned dreadhead all too familiar on campus. His bright pink lips, full goatee, brown eyes seemingly mischievous.

“Oh, um—hey, Rashaud,” she greets with a weak smile, pushing down everything she wanted to say.

“Come dance with me,” he tells her.

“Me?” She blinks.

Rashaud stands next to Sweetpea, his eyes roaming over her figure for a brief moment before he glances at his friend.

“Yeah, you. You’ the only fine ass honey not on the floor with me,” he responds, his eyes lingering on the smooth tone of her thighs as she shifts them. He looks her up and down again, “Or you gon’ let a bunch of other niggas’ grind all over you?”

Onyankopon’s eyes narrowed at him, a small frown pulling at his brow as he watched the interaction. He was irked.

She’s not used to having someone flirt with her like this. She blinks, “Um—“

“Girl, come dance! My song is on!”

Peanut comes swooping in as well, pulling her towards the crowd as Bring It Back by Travis Porter has everyone swarming towards the dance floor. Sweetpea gives Onyankopon an apologetic look as she’s being pulled away by her cousin and his friend.

Even with Sweetpea’s shy demeanor at times, she knew how to have a good time. Bodies flood around her as she dances with Rashuad, ass pressed up against his hips as she grinds to the beat, eyes low, body intoxicated as he has a grip on her hair, tugging her down to meet his rhythm.

Onyankopon’s eyes narrowed even more, cooling his blood that warms beneath his skin as he takes a sip of his beer.

…Why did he feel some type of way?

His eyes locked onto her hair grasped between Rashaud’s large fingers, her body grinding against him slowly, looking him straight in the eye. Something in his jaw tightened, and maybe his dick jumped.

His attention is pulled away as he feels arms wrap around his waist, Ashleigh interrupting him as she questions, “You’ gon give me some attention or keep watching Sweetpea bounce her ass on Rashaud?”

“I’m focused on you, girl. You’ the one I came with.”

It wasn’t a whole lie, he did come with her. But a sudden possession came over him when he thought about Sweetpea— and it was nothing like a brother, or a friend.

He’s back to glancing down as he hears Ashleigh smack her lips, pulling her arms back as she says, “Yeah, whatever nigga. I’m finna’ fuck around and find somebody else to dance with.”

She doesn’t give him the opportunity to respond as she left him, Onyankopon now actually irritated. But instead of doing anything, he takes another sip of his beer, preparing to grab for another one.

Sweetpea spent the rest of her night accompanied by Rashaud, although he was becoming a bit suffocating. She enjoyed the dance she’d given him, but that’s all she really wanted.

When people begin making their way out the door, his dreads hover over her face as he questions, “You’ finna’ come to my dorm?”

She gives him a light laugh, “Nah, I got a game tomorrow. Need all the rest I can get.”

A frown pulled at his lips, “Aww, really? You gon’ be up by yo’ self when you could be gettin’ company from me? Damn, Mami. You’ heartless.”

She laughs softly, “I’m sure you can find someone else to accompany you. Didn’t Onyankopon ride with you anyways?”

“He did. But I don’t know where that’ nigga at. If you see him, tell him I’m leaving. Otherwise a bitch finna’ be in the passenger,” he dismisses, Sweetpea chuckling, “Noted,” as he walks off.

She pushes her way through the bodies as she finds Ashleigh before Peanut, not wanting to speak to her, but her parental mode is beginning to switch on—where the hell was he?

“Yo’, you’ seen Onyankopon?”

Ashleigh glances at Sweetpea, the irritation clearly present on her face as she answers, “I don’t know. He’ got me tight as hell, left me to talk to some other niggas and never answered my calls or texts when I was looking for him. I assumed he was with you,” she gives her an up and down, still glaring.

“Rashaud says he’s not getting a ride back to his car if he doesn’t leave now,” Sweetpea ignores Ashleigh’s attitude, “Are you taking him home?”

“Tuh! He got legs, he can make it,” she answers, rolling her eyes, “He chose to leave my ass, that’ nigga can find his way home. Matter of fact, you can take him, imma’ ask Rashaud to take me home.”

And with that, she’s already making her way to the exit, lightly bumping Sweetpea on the way out. She raises her eyebrows at the encounter, feeling her cousin come beside her as she mutters, “Ain’t she lovely?”

“Mhm,” Sweetpea murmurs, Peanut adding, “You gon’ be good to get Onyankopon home?”

“If I find him.”

“His ass’ too big to be lost,” Peanut says, shaking her head as she wasn’t surprised.

She spots several of his friends during her search, but no sign of him at all. She does one more search inside the fraternity as she goes upstairs, about to leave when she halts.

She spots him leaned against one of the game rooms couches, snoring like a bear. She has to hold back her laugh—he was like an infant, sleeping anywhere he could.

She sighs, leaning down as she smacks his forehead, “C’mon, boy. I’d like to go home.”

He groans loudly, his eyebrows furrowing as she interrupts his sleep. She’s pretty, even if his vision is blurry.

“Damn, why you smackin’ me?”

“Cause you’ve somehow managed to piss off all the people who would’ve taken you back to your car tonight, and now I have to be a chauffeur for your drunk ass. Get up,” she tugs at his shirt, the action no effort to his weight.

“Ain’t nobody drunk, girl. I’m just sleepy.”

Another trait of his sleepiness—the grumpiness that also consumed it. She knows him.

She exhales a bit as she then asks, “Want tacos?”

He perks up, one eye opening fully as the word leaves her lips, “You buyin’?”

“Yes—“

He shoots up, leaning on her smaller frame to balance himself, almost toppling the both of them over that it causes Sweetpea to squeak.

She places his arm over her shoulders as she helps him walk, “You’re a mess.”

“You’re tiny,” he responds, letting her bear the majority of his weight against her smaller frame, “I ain’t even that heavy—how they’ let your lil’ ass play ball?”

It takes her ten minutes to make it to the taco stand, there to sober up drunk college students like the man sitting in her passenger seat. She could tell his headache was coming on as he covered his face with his hand, Sweetpea giving a kind smile to the worker as she took to-go boxes within her palms, climbing back into the car and placing the styrofoam on his lap.

“I got your birria tacos. And there’s someTylenol packets I grabbed from the corner store. Take those first,” she orders, reaching in her backseat for a bottle of water.

Once he managed to gain control of his headache, he opened his tacos up, the heavenly aroma of birria filling the car as he began eating them immediately. He’s already halfway finished while she hadn’t even pulled away from the stand.

He was a greedy drunk.

She drives down the road back towards her dorm, holding back her giggle as she tells him, “Please don’t suffocate because you’re not swallowing your food.”

“If I die, know that these are good ass tacos.”

He’d practically eaten two, reaching in the container for another one before glancing at her, “How come you ain’t eat none?”

“I’ll eat later. I just didn’t want you to be hungover,” she glances at him, “Your lil’ Ashleigh didn’t seem to care where you ended up tonight. How’d you manage to piss her off again?”

“She got mad when me and Rashaud went to smoke. ‘Thought I was out there with some bitch, had a tantrum and started blowing my shit up, so I had to put my phone on DND.”

He stuffed another bite in his mouth before continuing to talk again.

“Girl gets on all my nerves.”

“You like her,” Sweetpea shrugs, “But next time, at least be nice to her before you gotta leave a party? You’ got my gas tank low because I have to go move your car to make sure you don’t get towed.”

“Aye— she was the one who got upset, not me. I wasn’t rude— just ignored that ass,” his head was still pounding, a reminder that he was still pretty wasted, “I can move my own car and fill up your tank. My bad, shawty.”

“You think I’m letting you drive? You’ve been drinking,” she shakes her head, “It’s fine.”

“Don’t act like you ain’t been drinkin’ too. I saw you, bouncing your ass all over Rashaud.”

She could hear the sharpness in his words, raising an eyebrow as she turned the corner, “It was just a dance.”

When he doesn’t respond and glances down at his phone, the both of them go quiet. Onyankopon’s tipsy ears began hearing a familiar instrumental on the radio—Can We Talk by Tevin Campbell—turning up the song as he howled, “Oooh, that’s that shit!”

Sweetpea rolls her eyes, giggling softly as she watches him drunkenly sing along, swinging his arms, clutching her legs to the music.

She smacks him away as she continues, “Anyways, Rashaud just wants somebody to hump on. I want a nigga who’s gonna sing outside my window. Some stupid, cheesy, romantic shit. Not some hookup after a party. However, some head would be nice at the moment,” she shrugs.

He eyes her for a moment, eyes darkening at her words, “You want a simp ass nigga,” he confirms, the word leaving his lips with a slight hint of disdain, “Who gon’ do all that corny, lame bullshit.”

To think that she wanted to confess her feelings to him earlier that night, his tone now irritates her. She parks in front of his shiny black Charger, turning towards him as she narrows her eyes, “Call it what you want. If I dealt with the bullshit you play with Ashleigh, I’d turn your ass every way fuckin’ loose on this campus. I’d never let a nigga play with me. You’ wanna keep fishin’ for pussy, that’s cool. You’ll feel empty later.”

She raises her hand, “Give me your keys.”

He’s silent for a moment, his brain slowly processing her words before he finally realizes what she’s actually upset about. But he couldn’t respond—didn’t really know how to. So instead, his hand reached in his pocket to fish out his keys, placing them in her palm in silence.

She hates that it’s now awkward, but she was annoyed with him. She didn’t need him to like her back. But with a mentality like that, it was telling her everything she needed to know before she got the chance to express herself.

She parked his car in her lot, pulling her Coach purse over her shoulder as they began making their way into her dorm. She was quiet, pushing open the door as she knew Peanut wasn’t home.

He feels guilty. He could try cracking a joke—but he knew her better than that.

She tosses her keys as she makes her way to the sofa, now feeling the ache of her feet in these heels as she bends down to begin untying them. Her light groan fills the room as he soles throb by the second.

When he hears her groan of pain from her sore feet, he can’t help himself. He’s taking a seat on the other side of the sofa, reaching for her foot that she was struggling with.

“C’mere.”

“I’m fine,” she murmurs, beginning to untie them faster, the ribbon becoming more tangled as she does this in frustration.

“Don’t start being stubborn now, shawty,” his large hand grabbing her ankle and tugging her towards him, “I said c’mere. Just lemme help you.”

She rolls her eyes, stopping the fight she wants to give as she allows him to help her. She leans herself on the elbow dug into the sofa’s material, blowing her hair out of her face as a habit. She was the one for silent treatment, but she didn’t have time for that at this moment.

“You’ really meant what you said in the car?”

“What I said about you wantin’ a simp ass nigga?”

He starts massaging the arch of her foot, working his thumb into the tight muscle. The feeling makes her foot twitch, the alcohol in her system making this massage a little too good. She nods her head, adjusting herself as she feels her body throb in lower places.

“You deserve better than a nigga who’s gonna people-please his way into some pussy.”

“I’m not asking for a doormat, Ony. I was just saying I don’t want that bullshit you play on all these girls. Arguing, miscommunication, confusion. It’s too much,” she admits with a shrug, “I don’t know how you do it.”

“I do it cause it’s fun,” he admits, watching his fingers work on massaging her foot, “Ain’t none of my relationships serious. You on the other hand…ain’t never been in a relationship. How you’ know you want all that?”

“How do you know what you’ve never experienced?” She turns the question on him, “Have you ever been in love with someone to know that something serious feels just as good as what you call fun?”

Now that was a question.

“I have been in love with someone, yeah.”

She doesn’t expect that answer. She sighs a bit, leaning herself more on her hand as she says, “I think that being soft isn’t the worst thing in the world. I know I can be…a lil’ rough around the edges. Someone to remind me that it’s okay to be all girly, lovey, corny, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

Her eyes fall to her lap, playing with her fingers at her admission.

“Don’t say that, man. Ain’t no nigga out here would see you as the rough type,” he shakes his head, “You’re the sweetest person I know. You just got’ no filter and you don’t take bullshit. That’s different.”

A soft laugh pulls from her at that, eyes closing as she hums from his hands loosening the tense muscles on her feet. She sighs, “You’re saying that to be nice. You’re a sweetie when you massage my feet.”

“I’m serious. You ain’t rough at all—just my pretty ass girl who plays ball.”

Her eyes come open a bit as she repeats, “My?”

He realizes his mistake, freezing in place before he quickly clarifies, “You know what I meant.”

Another air of silence between them. It’s like a tension is building, and she’s not sure where it’s coming from. They’d been alone many times before, but this was different.

She pulls her leg back a bit as she groans, “Fuckin’ feet still hurt. Maybe I need a shower.”

She goes to stand, when she’s suddenly captured by large arms, cuffed under her ass as she’s lifted within the air. She shrieks, “Onyankopon!”, stifling out a shocked giggle as he travels into her bedroom, flopping them down onto the bed.

“The only thing you need to be doing right now is laying down and lettin’ me take care of yo’ ass for once,” he responds, landing right on top of her, pinning her underneath his body in the process.

She tilts her head a bit, the intoxication of the night's previous drink suddenly catching up to her. She’s floaty as she giggles, “You’re drunk, you can’t take care of me.”

“You think I can’t?” he smacks his lips, “Better than any simp ass nigga ever could.”

“So you wanna take place of my metaphorical nigga?” She blinks, giggling even more.

“No, I’m gon’ be your very literal nigga.”

Fuck, here it was again. That tension she questioned earlier. Their eyes are pouring into another’s, and she can’t help herself at this point.

Sweetpea does it before she thinks—she leans her head up as she gently presses her lips to his, kissing him.

Oh.

He’s caught off guard by this, his brain frozen from processing the small kiss—But the sweetness of her lips are intoxicating. Within seconds, his brain starts to function again and he’s kissing her back, lips moving with hers in a slow, passionate rhythm.

It was nothing like she’d expected. When she feels his tongue in her mouth, heavy, is when she realizes she kissed him.

She pulls back, one hand against the side of his neck as she presses her other fingers to her mouth, warmth against her face as she says softly, “…I’m sorry.”

He’s still hovering over her, his head spinning from the intense kiss. When she pulled away, it was almost like a bucket of ice water was thrown on him, mind racing over what had just happened.

“You don’t gotta—I ain’t mad you did that, Mama,” he responds, trying his best to keep his voice even, “You don’t gotta apologize.”

“I didn’t—“ she pulls herself up a bit, “I’m sorry. I just thought—fuck, I’m stupid. I’m sorry,” she can’t stop apologizing.

“Cut that out,” he grunts, moving one of his arms to take hold of her chin, making her look at him, “Talk to me. Why are you apologizing?”

“Kissing means a lot more to me than what it means to you, Onyankopon,” she narrows her eyes, “I need to go shower, and you’re still drunk.”

Those words sting. A lot.

“You think that meant nothin’ to me?” The grip on her chin becoming tighter, “Like I’m some nigga for shits and giggles?”

She’s full on glaring at him now, “That’s what you make yourself to be. I’m not tryna’ get in your crossfire.”

“You know that’s bullshit. I’m not that nigga I make myself out to be—Not with you.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better? That everything’s suddenly so different with me? If you felt like that, why are you only saying it cause I kissed you?”

She runs her fingers through her hair, sighing with a humorless laugh, “This is stupid.”

“Why’d you do it, then? Huh? Why’d you kiss me if you didn’t want shit to change?”

“We’ve both been drinking.”

He smacks his lips, “I ain’t even drunk no more—be for real with me. I wouldn’t be mad if you felt something for me. If you want me.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I want you—You don’t have to want me because that’s what I’m looking for.”

She’s being deceptive, but it’s better than getting herself hurt.

“You think I don’t want you? You think that I don’t have feelings for you?”

She’s feeling her throat becoming tight, looking him up and down as her voice becomes soft, “…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He’s leaning down so he’s eye level with her, “Damn near twenty years of knowin’ each other and you don’t know?”

She moves her face back a bit, arms crossed over her chest as she feels that pounding return in her ears. She knew there was a possibility of feelings being reciprocated, but to hear it out loud, it’s as if she’d gone deaf.

Her breath comes out uneven as his mouth is closer to hers, pressing her hand against his chest as she repeats, “I don’t.”

“Don’t fuckin’ play with me,” his jaw clenches at her response, leaning even closer as his breath hits her face.

She clutches the material of his shirt as she shudders, “Move, Onyankopon.”

He leans closer, close enough for his lips to almost touch hers. His voice is deep—she can’t think at this point.

He grunts, “Let me have you. You’ being hardheaded.”

It’s as if she’d run a marathon. She clutches his shirt tighter, unsure if she wanted to pull him just a centimeter closer, or fully push him away. Her breathing is unsteady as her eyes falter shut.

She nods her head as she begs, “…Kiss me, please.”

He doesn’t waste another second, bringing his hand to cup around the back of her neck as he roughly crushes his lips into hers.

His mouth feels heavy again, Sweetpea breathless against his lips as he tongues her down, eyes rolling back from something as simple as a kiss—She’s spinning. The strength of his lips travel as they drop down to her throat, her fingers sliding down his back with every movement, grazing her nails into the skin as she softly gasps, “…O—Ony…”

He’s leaving hickeys along her neck, biting and sucking the skin as he moves between each spot. Her nails in his flesh makes him groan.

“You gotta stop digging in my shit like that,” he mutters in between each hickey, licking and soothing the mark he made before sucking another one, “Makes me wanna do sum’ you’ not ready for.”

“I’m—sorry,” she whispers, bringing her fingers to the nape of his neck, pressing him closer to her throat as she embarrassingly pleads, “I…like when you kiss me here…”

He groans again, latching his lips back onto her neck as he sucks on the sensitive skin, leaving hickey after hickey.

“Yeah? Like that?” He can’t help but lowly chuckle, turning it into a grunt, “Where else you’ like me kissin’ you?”

She could feel a throb beginning to form between her legs. Her back shudders into an arch, Onyankopon’s lips catching her nipples nudging through the thin material of her top, roughly kissing at them as his mouth goes down lower, lower…

Her fingers are against his arm as her head comes up, her heart beating within her chest as her cheeks flush, “I—I don’t k—know,” jerking away from him each time he moves.

“You tellin’ me you don’t know where else you want me kissin’ you?” He’s now looking up at her under the shadows of his lashes, tongue running along his lips as if he were preparing for a meal.

His fingers are like Velcro against her skin, sliding beneath her top, clinging against her chest as his lips suck up pieces of her stomach, spreading her legs in between his body. Her ankles slide along his backside, legs dropping against his shoulders as he puts them there—she feels like her heart might start beating outside of her chest.

She grips along his arm as she moves with him, trembling under his touch as she exhales, “I—Ony….” She can’t speak.

“You sound good as fuck sayin’ my name like that,” he huffs as he moves lower, “Like you ain’t never said it before…keep that shit up.”

She catches herself over thinking, knowing that she wasn’t nearly as experienced as him—she really didn’t know what she wanted. She hated how shy she felt, but this moment didn’t feel like it existed in her mind, it was like a hazy dream. Blame it on the alcohol.

With that intoxicated courage, she presses her legs together as she raises her hips, beginning to peel her shorts off her body. Her embarrassment floods the river within her mind as she sees his jaw clench. Pulling him up into a distracting kiss, she closes her eyes to rid the self-consciousness.

The kiss he returns feels impatient. He’s sucking against her tongue, losing to the temptation he’s holding back to devour her— he just can’t help himself.

When her legs spread back open, the caramel skin disappears beneath the bubblegum pink of her pussy, glistening from her arousal. It makes him practically famished.

He pulls himself back, “You’ pretty as fuck, don’t do all that…” placing her legs back over his shoulders, locking his eyes down with an almost awed expression.

“Damn…”

He’s kissing her thighs, voice low into the crook of her inner skin as he compliments, “Pussy pretty as fuck, I gotta give her a kiss.”

He lowers his mouth down to come in contact with how wet she already is, nudging his lips in between the folds. He welcomes the nub into his mouth as he gives it a french kiss, tongue tossing her clit that throbs as he makes contact with it. She whimpers, raising her hand onto his head, sliding against the softness of his braids, wanting to jump out of her skin at this very moment. Why did it already feel so good?

That whimper— It’s the most vulnerable he’s heard her. He grunts, “Ain’t never tasted some pussy like this,” swirling his tongue lower to have it sink in between her folds, the mixture of arousal and saliva beginning to collect in his beard. His jaw is dropping up and down in repetitions, opening his mouth wider to catch every single part of her—she’s like candy, a reward after a game, a prize no one else could receive. Her taste explodes across his senses, making him growl low in his throat.

Her lips part, an almost shocked look on her face as she gasps, chest arching up as she brings her eyes down to watch. It’s almost like a torturous tickle, another shuddering whimper plummeting from her mouth as she frowns, “Agh—Ony…” his tongue dragging every which way on her pussy, hovering over her opening to have another make out session with her clit.

This is his alcohol, his drug of choice. He's giving her slow licks, his hot breath causing her muscles to flutter in a way that has him moan, “Ooh shit, pussy gettin’ tight from my mouth…”

He’s smearing her wetness across her folds and inner thighs, hands gripping her ass firmly, kneading the plump cheeks as he gives the skin a spank, Sweetpea full on moaning in response. Onyankopon looks up at her with lust-filled eyes, "Yeah, I wanna hear that. Keep that the fuck up.”

Her head falls back against the bed as she releases tiny moans, hearing her own voice in her ears making her cheeks hot. He’s relentless, slurping her up so that it creates a loud sound within the room, head swiveling side to side, up and down, in circles, her arousal floods the sheets beneath her body. When his tongue drags down to meet her opening with a filthy kiss, it sinks in all at the same time, making her whine out, “Fuck,” trembling as she gasps, pressing her knees to her chest to hold her shaking legs.

Grunting in satisfaction at her reaction, Onyankopon takes it further, licking her entrance before pushing his tongue back inside, curling it up to stroke her inner walls. He pulls back, letting out a deep rumble, "Damn, you taste so fuckin’ good,” his own eyes nearly rolling back, “Fuck…”

Slurp, slurp, the sounds fill the air in a nasty way, his nose pressed against her swollen lips. He's licking her up and down, from her clit to her entrance, going as deep as possible without pushing back inside, savoring her flavor. She’s clawing at his skin, shaking like a leaf in a way she didn’t expect herself to. He’d never been so fixated on a girl, so enthralled—he couldn't stop himself.

Onyankopon leans up to capture her lips in a rough kiss, swallowing her cries under his tongue as he thrusts in and out, mimicking the act they both crave.

Her fingers go to touch him, palms trembling so much that she can barely get a grip along his skin, kissing him back in such a consuming muddle.

He chuckles darkly, "Look at you, all fucked up,” lips latching back down to her clit, his free hand reaching up to tangle in her hair, tugging her head back to add more pleasure, yanking her down to meet the aching wait of his mouth.

Pleasure wasn’t even the word at this point. She feels faint, spots within her vision as his other fingers press between her plump lips, pulling her by the bite of her teeth to watch him.

She muffles in between her whimpers, “O—Ony—” she feels panicked, as if she doesn’t know how this could feel so good, pressing her hand to his arm to slow him down, “S—Stop, I’m gonna p—pee…”

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, vibrating against her flesh, “You ain’t finna’ pee, Mama,” he murmurs against her, tongue still flicking rapidly over her clit. He adds more pressure, watching her deep inhales, her exhale dragging out into a small sob, tears brimming her eyes as she finds his hair again.

Her ankles are in the air, the slurp of her pussy, his voice, it’s all too much for her. The tears in her eyes are in between harsh waves of pleasure and embarrassment, unable to stop the pressure of release as she unknowingly squirts in his mouth, her moans broken, whining, squealing as she gushes out. She trembles, “O—Oh my god…” the gasps pulling from her mouth are almost dangerous.

“Why you’ squirting like that,” he groans, never pulling away as he delves his mouth deeper, drinking in her essence as her orgasm hits, taste intensifying with each spasm of her pussy.

She whines, “Ony—stoppp,” crying like a baby, a mess at this point. She hiccups in between, trying to latch her legs closed, whimpering at the painful spank she gets in return, his growl almost evil. He just can’t stop.

“Got a nigga thirsty as fuck.”

His tongue is interminable, lapping across her sensitive flesh, coaxing forth new surges of ecstasy. He enjoys the way her whole body vibrates beneath him. His face is drenched, beard shampooed as she’s coating him like a splash of water from the sink—she can’t stop cumming.

He’s in between her legs, pleasuring her in a way she’d never been catered to before. Her legs are shaking, her voice is hoarse as she cries for him, the most vulnerable she’d ever been. She practically begs him to stop, teary eyed and body vibrating from the countless releases as he pulls himself up to her, forehead pressing against her own, her heavy breathing gusting along his face like wind. Her tear stained cheeks are warm, eyes closed as she can’t bring herself to look at him.

He kisses her cheeks, gently brushing away the tears. He’s hovering over her, one hand planted by the side of her head, resting his weight on it as the other strokes the side of her face.

“Open your eyes,” he instructs softly, “Lemme see you.”

After a moment, her wet lashes flutter open. She returns her hand to the back of his neck, noticing the look of amusement on his face. She closes her eyes again, hiding her face somehow as she whimpers, “Don’t laugh.”

There’s a look of almost tenderness on his face as he softly chuckles, taking her wrist to pull it away from her face.

“I ain’t laughin’,” his voice is low, “I just like seein’ you like this…you look cute this way.”

She rolls her eyes, releasing her own small laugh. Her forehead is still pressed against his as she searches his face, seeing the vulnerability he carries in this moment.

Her voice is small as she calls, “…Ony?”

“Yeah, Mama?” He’s got his fingers playing with the strands of her hair, eyes staring straight into hers, “What you need?”

“You don’t have to say you like me back if you really don’t…” her voice is soft, “I just—don’t want anything to feel forced…”

It’s almost painful how hesitant she looks in this moment, and he can’t help but narrow his eyes as if insulted.

“You still deaf as fuck in one ear, huh?” His mouth is back to hovering over her face, lips inches from hers, “I want you.”

She hears his voice—she listens. Nodding her head, she pulls him back into a gentle kiss, lowering her hand as she tugs at the belt on his jeans. Her mouth pulls back as she feels his fingers intertwine in her palms, pressing her hand back onto the bed.

“Hold up,” he murmurs as he pulls back, “I don’t want it like this—a nigga was just hungry and wanted to make you feel good. Couldn’t help but eat that pretty ass pussy. C’mon,” he gently smacks her ass, “You’ got a game tomorrow.”

She flinches a bit at his words, “Your mouth is bad,” ignoring the flush that returns in her face. She frowns a bit at his rejection, but she can also appreciate the wait.

She hides the frown as she asks, “…Are you staying here?”

“You need to ask if I’m stayin’ here? Where else am I gon’ go? A nigga ain’t finna’ leave after what we just did.”

Her vulnerability is still there. She glances around his face before she shakes her head, “Sorry.”

She pulls him into another soft kiss, “You wanna come shower with me?”

“You gotta stop apologizin’ to me, Sweetpea. Shit is irritating.”

She scrunches her face up, “Okay, nigga. I’m just making sure. Actually, you ain’t gotta shower with me!”

She stands from the bed with her arms crossed, unable to hide her giggle as he yanks her back towards him.

“Stop playing,” he gruffly mutters, arms wrapping around her smaller frame, nudging a kiss on her throat, “C’mon. I’ll braid yo’ hair up for the game tomorrow.”

She had to surpass the embarrassment of bathing with him, already beneath the shower head as he removed his clothes. Her eyes trail down to his sculpted frame, the ink on his pelvic, glancing at the monster that slaps along his belly button, hanging between his legs.

But even in this steamy environment—It’s sweet, a different Onyankopon that she’d never seen. He stands behind her as he sensually washes her body, trailing kisses against her skin, washing her hair in a way that feels loving. From sitting on the floor with him as he braids her hair back for her game the next day, to her face against his chest as he snored above her. She was in love with this man.

When the next morning comes, her eyes open to find that she was by herself in the bed. She doesn’t know why she becomes a bit worried. But as her eyes find his chain against her dresser, a sticky note beside it reads��

‘COACH CALLED FOR A MEETING. LEFT MY CHAIN SO I HAD A REASON TO COME BACK.’

A small smile comes to her lips at that. Her attention is pulled as she hears her door open, her cousin Peanut leaning into the frame with a raised eyebrow.

Sweetpea scratches her head as she gives an awkward smile, “Uh…hey.”

“Hey. He’s gone I see,” Peanut crosses her arms over her chest, “You two finally did it, huh?”

“No, no. We didn’t. Um—“

She hesitates a bit, “We just…slept off the alcohol,” she shrugs.

“Right. So, is that why he left his chain on your dresser?”

She glances at the dresser before looking back to her cousin, “Girl, shut up. You’ wanna go hoop for a little?”

Peanut snickers, moving out of the door frame, “You know I do. Come on, it’ll be a fun way to blow off your hangover.”

Onyankopon was grown, but why was she so worried when the entire day almost went by, and she hadn’t heard from him?

Her and Peanut practiced for a while, got food, even stopped at another teammate's dorm. Nothing. She’d called him twice with no answer, and hadn’t seen him on campus. She walks back towards her dorm with Peanut, sighing as she glances back down to her phone.

“This nigga better come get his chain before I throw it out,” she mutters in irritation.

Peanut chuckles, walking beside her as she says, “Clinging onto him already? It’s cute. Y’all my couple goals or whatever!”

Sweetpea rolls her eyes, “What if everything last night was just in the moment, Peanut? He was just fuckin’ with Ashleigh not too long ago.”

“Ain’t no nigga leaving his chain at your place if he doesn’t like you. Y’all have known each other for years, Pea. He likes you.”

“Yeah, he likes a lot of bitches. Including Ms. Big Booty Hoe,” she reminds.

Peanut shoves her cousin in the shoulder

as they reach the dorm, pushing her key into the knob as she says, “You really gon’ let your doubt ruin a good thing? Pussy.”

Sweetpea raises an eyebrow, “Pussy? Rude—”

When she opens the door to their dorm, they both halt. It’s a nightmare if Sweetpea had a word for it. Their eyes come into focus on Onyankopon on the couch, Ashleigh along his lap, his varsity jacket on her shoulders as her lipstick smears against his cheek. The both of them have a look on their face as if they didn’t expect to be caught— but there’s not enough time to process anyone’s expression.

Onyankopon was already standing to explain himself, while Sweetpea is lunging forward, her body being caught by her cousin who wraps an arm around her chest to stop her. She practically sees red.

His jaw tenses as he sees her ready to swing, “You’ finna hit me?”

She jerks in her cousins hold, “I’ll hit you and your hoe, nigga! I never gave a fuck— Are you serious?”

“Who are you calling a hoe?” Ashleigh frowns, stepping forward herself, Onyankopon pulling her back.

“Bitch, you!”

It took a lot to get Sweetpea out of character. She’s not even listening to what he has to say, ready to throw hands with the girl on the couch, and him.

“Chill the fuck out, Pea,” he warns, “It’s not even like that.”

“Not like that? It looks like you was finna’ fuck a bitch in my dorm!” She exclaims, “How the fuck else does it look? I should really smack the shit out of you!”

"I said it ain’t even like that, Pea!” he defends, “I called her to get my jacket. That’s all.”

“So why the bitch on your lap?” She frowns, “You think I’m stupid as fuck? Fuckin’ lipstick on your face and shit,” she mushes his face with her palm, unfazed by his glare, “You got the bitch in my dorm—my dorm!”

She hates that there’s angry tears in her eyes, being held even tighter by her cousin, not even focused on the fact that Ashleigh still stands within the room.

"I swear to fuckin’ god bro—It ain’t what it looks like, but you also not finna’ hit me, Pea,” he warns with a step forward, “You need to calm your ass down and let me explain!”

“Nigga—fuck you!” She mushes his face again, “And this bitch! Y’all fuckin’ deserve each other! I hope you know that she was fuckin’ yo’ friend Rashaud last night after that party while you letting the bitch on your lap!”

Her words are sharp, angry, but overall hurt. She’d never planned to admit her feelings to Onyankopon in fear that they’d get thrown back in her face—here it was.

A look comes along his face, as if he was genuinely surprised to hear this information. He has no time to even process that, before he hears Ashleigh go off, “That ain’t your business to be telling, bitch!”

When Sweetpea goes to swing at this girl, Peanut is the one to dismiss the chaos within the room, fully pulling her cousin back to stop this from becoming worse.

“Y’all need to chill the fuck out before the RA hears this bullshit. Onyankopon, you should’ve never brought Ashleigh to our dorm, no matter what the fuck was going on. And you need to get the fuck out. I don’t have any issue with jumping you in this hoe,” Peanut threatens Ashleigh.

Ashleigh sneers, “Fuck all of y’all,” throwing the jacket on the sofa—but she doesn’t leave before giving Sweetpea the finger, moving quick as the girl continues to struggle under her cousins hold.

When Sweetpea brings her eyes back to Onyankopon, there’s less anger in her face. She pushes out of Peanut’s hold as she shuts her emotions down in that exact moment.

“I have a game later—I don’t have time for this shit.”

To see her go from that vulnerability he always chased, showing him a completely different side of her—to this. It was like nothing had changed between them.

“Pea—“

She slams her door, leaving the both of them outside. That was the end of it. At least for now.

𝓐ᥫ᭡

TWO MINUTES LEFT IN THE GAME. The court was where she belonged, but her mind was elsewhere. Her eyes tried their best to pull away from him as he was in the bleachers, watching her every move like he always did. That would never change. But she wasn’t in her element tonight. She’d been missing plays, dropping the ball, foul after foul.

It got to the point where seconds were in the last quarter, and as she took the opportunity to throw the ball into the hoop, she watched as it completely missed, her eyes trailing over to the audience that watched with expressionless faces.

The game ends, her teammates looking at her, Peanut’s expression filled with worry—it was all wrong. As the other team jumped around and cheered for their win, Sweetpea walked over to the bench as she sat herself down, dropping her face into her jersey as she cried. Frustrated with herself, frustrated with this entire day.

Onyankopon watches her shoulders shake beneath her jersey. He wants nothing more than to comfort her, but he knows that will only drive the knife deeper. So he sits there, watching in silence as her teammates pat her on the back, offering their support as their coach talks to them, scolding Sweetpea for her performance.

He had to fix this.

A couple of days had gone by. Sweetpea had trapped herself within her dorm for the weekend, just wanting to get her mind together for the next week. She wanted her mind to be blank— but all she could think about was how having a childhood crush got her into this entire situation. She sits against her bed with one of her textbooks open, body swallowed under her oversized graphic tee and hair sprawled around her face, just freshly showered from bed rotting.

Her eyes glance up to her door peeking open as Peanut appears, “You’ gonna be good before I head out?”

“I’m good, Peanut,” she brushes off, “Where you’ going?”

“Just to a party,” she replies from the doorway, “You sure you don’t want to come? Might cheer you up, you know? Get your mind off everything.”

Peanut's brown eyes move from her cousin towards the floor as she sighs, “…I’m worried about you, Pea.“

“I’m good,” she repeats, “I just…wanna take some time to myself. I got exams to study for—go have fun for me, okay? Send me pictures,” she gives a weak smile, dropping the pen in between her fingers.

She can tell that Sweetpea was lying, but she wasn’t going to force her to go.

“Okay,” she says softly, taking a few steps back, “Call me if you need anything.”

She gives her a wave as she shuts the door. She wasn’t necessarily lying, she did want time to herself— But that didn’t mean the solitude wasn’t lonely.

Her TV was extremely low within its volume setting as she studied. But as she continued to highlight important sections, her attention was caught by the sound of music coming from outside. It’s a familiar song, loud enough that it’s coming from someone’s car, disturbing her studying. If it was bothering her, it definitely bothered others within the complex.

She takes a breath as she pushes herself off the bed, fuzzy socks along the ground as she pulls the blinds of the window to peek outside. And when she does—she’s in for something.

Her eyes watch as Onyankopon is standing on the grass across from her window below, Can We Talk by Tevin Campbell playing loudly with all the windows down on his car, his arms out as he serenades her. Her mouth drops open.

He’s never felt like more of a dumbass than in this moment. Yelling out a love song in the middle of the afternoon just to get a girl to talk to him again. He didn’t care that people were recording him, beginning to open their windows in shock—all he had on his mind was the window to Sweetpea’s dorm. He just hoped it didn’t take her long to open it.

She panics as she pulls her blinds up, opening the actual window as she leans out, “Onyankopon, what the hell are you doing?!”

“The hell it look like?!” he calls out to her, “You’ been avoiding me! You said you wanted a nigga to serenade you!”

“Onyankopon,” her mouth drops open a bit, “You cannot be serious right now!”

“I’m dead serious!” he snaps back, “You won’t talk to me, won’t answer my texts, and don’t answer when I call!” He points his finger up at the dorm, “Get your ass down here before I start doing choreography like New Edition!”

He’s back to singing, people yelling out from their windows, irritated with the interruption he causes. Her mouth drops even lower at this, and to avoid her RA blaming her for this entire mess, she slips on her house shoes as she darts downstairs, opening the double doors of her dorm to see him now standing across from her.

“Can you stop?!” She throws her arm out, wanting him to cut the music playing out of his car, “If I get reported I’m turning your ass loose on this grass!”

“Now see? That’s all you had to do.”

His arms lower as he moves around the front of the car, cutting the music off, “You was’ up there studying?”

She crosses her arms over her chest, “Make your point quick as fuck, Onyankopon. Otherwise I’m going back upstairs.”

“Aight, look—You’ been blowing me off because of a dumb ass fight—That ain’t right, Sweetpea. You can’t just ignore a nigga you care about.”

“Good thing I don’t care, hm?” She raises an eyebrow, attempting to close the door, eyes narrowing as he locks his fingers against the handle.

"Bullshit. I know you better than that, Pea. You’ the type of girl to care.”

“And you the type of nigga to sweeten your way through anything,” she fires back, “Look, man. I gotta finish studying. Are you done?”

“Why you gotta shut me out, Pea? Why ‘you mad at me for caring about you? I know it was my fault, but you didn’t even let me talk to you about it.”

He’s still gripping onto the door, not letting her close it on him.

“Why you’ gotta make things difficult for me? Can’t I love your ass without you avoiding me on some bullshit?”

The word love echoes through her mind. She blinks as she’s thrown off a bit, searching his face through the black sweatshirt and Nike sweatpants he wears, his muscular frame silhouettes beneath it.

Her eyes pull up as she hears a random person from their window, “Talk to that nigga so y’all can stop disturbing the entire complex, niggas is sleep and studying!”

She brings her eyes back to him, contemplating for a moment. She sighs as she rolls her eyes, opening the door into the hallway of the dorms as she says, “Just hurry up and come in.”

He’s a bit relieved that she finally lets him in, shutting the door gently behind himself as soon as he steps into the girls’ dormitory. It’s weird to feel so awkward with her—he’s never felt so off with someone since he was in grade school.

She closes the door to her bedroom, turning towards him as she states, “You’ got five minutes, Onyankopon. Say what you need to say.”

She looks cute as hell in her fuzzy socks and oversized shirt, her hair sprawled around, falling past her shoulders. He has to make a conscious effort of looking into her eyes instead of staring at the way her shirt hides her curves.

He frowns, “Five minutes? That ain’t enough.”

“And now you have four.”

He takes a seat on the edge of her bed, looking around at the mess of textbooks and papers spread out along with her comforter. He’s quiet for a few seconds as he runs his hands over his face, finally looking up at her with a look of sincerity.

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For hurting you.”

He can’t stand that she’s not looking at him as she moves things from the bed, so he stands back up, taking a few steps until he’s standing behind her.

“You ain’t even finna’ look at me?”

She sighs, halting herself as she gives him her undivided attention, “Yeah, okay. You hurt me, Onyankopon. The sky is also still blue. You’ saying shit I’m already aware of.”

“You’ still don’t have anything to say after ignoring me all week? I’d rather you be ready to swing.”

“Swing on you? I only wanted to do that because I was mad. I’m not a bitch who’s gonna keep playing around with you. I’ve known you for years, and you gave me the courage to feel like I could finally admit how I felt about you—How I’ve always felt. But you were too busy worrying about the next bitch, so it was easier to just be cool on you. You then say you feel the same, eat my pussy, and then I catch you with a bitch on your lap the very next day. Tell me, what would you have thought?” She questions, raising an eyebrow.

He can’t deny that she’s right about everything she said, but he never meant to hurt her this much. There was no excuse for what he did, and he’d rather have her scream than give him nothing.

“You’ right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, “You’ completely right. But it wasn’t like that. I was on the way back to come see you—I asked Ashleigh to come bring my jacket back, and I was gonna end shit with her. She tried to make a move, and y’all walked in as I was tryna put her out.”

She searches his face, seeing that he looked to be telling the truth. He doesn’t add too many excuses or go into detail the way he would if he was lying.

She then says, “Even if you were just tryna’ end shit with her, you know the bitch doesn't like me like that. You could’ve met her somewhere else on campus. Meet her at your dorm. It wasn’t cool to bring her here. And you’re grown as fuck, it should’ve never got far enough for her to be in your lap.”

“Yeah,” he replies, “Yeah, I know. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I wasn’t thinking about how it would look to you when you saw it. I can’t take it back, but I can apologize for it. For real—Alana, I love you.”

Hearing her government name fully throws her off. She’s visibly taken back as her arms fall from being crossed, pointing out, “You said you loved me earlier before you walked in. I figured you just meant that you liked me a lot.”

“Nah,” he says firmly, stepping even closer until he’s towering over her again, “I do love you. Hell—I think I have since the moment I met you. I was too busy being dumb and running through bitches because I couldn’t accept that I found someone that actually meant something to me. And I kept telling myself it was just a childhood crush that didn’t mean anything. But it ain’t.”

Sweetpea was unfortunately a softy. Her heart did in fact swell at his words, and something in her became extremely happy to confirm it had always been this way between them. She blinks for a couple of seconds, taking a step forward as she places a hand on his jaw, facial hair smooth beneath her fingers.

“I’m…I’m sorry for overreacting. I just didn’t want to be hurt again. I’ve—loved you for a long time, and I don’t play about my feelings. I wanted them to mean something if I ever admitted them, and at that moment…they didn’t.”

His body visibly relaxes when he sees her softening—especially when he can feel the warmth of her palm against his face.

“Your feelings do mean something. Never think that they didn’t. I promise I’m never gonna hurt you again. I’m done running from you. I’m done being dumb as fuck. I’m yours.”

The swell of her heart thumps against her chest at his words. It makes her gently tug at his jaw to pull him down, close enough for their lips to touch as she suppresses her smile, “Say it again.”

He can’t help the smirk that appears on his face when he hears her, pulling in even closer to where their noses brush against each other’s.

“I’m yours, Sweetpea,” he repeats in a deep tone, “A nigga is in love with your mean ass.”

A soft giggle releases from her lips, her face warm at his words. She sighs a bit as his mouth is close, feeling her breath shuddering the same way it did the night before.

She sighs, “I love you too, Onyankopon.”

His smirk grows even bigger when he hears her finally say the exact words he’d been dying to hear, the feeling of her hot breath against his mouth driving him crazy. He leans himself even closer as she grunts, “I’m missing your mouth bad as fuck.”

This felt like the right moment.

“So kiss me,” her voice is small, but something equally stirs within her. She wants him just as bad.

When he leans himself closer, he lets their lips just barely touch, pulling a breathy whimper from her mouth. She couldn’t hide the need she had for him anymore.

He’s tempted to go even slower and draw the moment out, but that sound against his mouth raises a grunt out of him, roughly locking their lips together. She has to bring her arms over his shoulders to balance herself, taking in a sharp breath as his tongue laps within her mouth, effortlessly lifting her feet off of the ground to travel towards the bed.

When she makes contact with the comforter, her body kneels below him as he stands. She pulls her lips back as her low eyes travel, grazing her fingers down his torso, meeting with the strings of his sweatpants as she pulls at them.

“…Can I?”

“Go ‘head,” his eyes are equally low, knocking down to watch her.

She can see his bulge from beneath the material as she pulls it down, being met with his dark pink tip, heavy as it slaps along his stomach. Her small fingers wrap around the base of him as her eyes flutter up, adjusting herself as she places her tongue along the tip, giving it a kiss. His spine tingles at that. She’s already wrapping her full lips around him, beginning to gently nudge her head back and forth, steadying her pace to become more comfortable.

He groans, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as she takes him into her mouth, eyes rolling back slightly at the sensation of her warm, wet tongue gliding along his length. One of his hands comes up to thread through her hair, gripping it lightly as he guides her movements, “Suck that shit however you want to, baby. Just tryna’ help you.”

She feels nervous about her performance. Continuously adjusting her body in a way that makes her hips sway, her back arching as her curls fall around her face and forehead, Sweetpea opens her mouth wider as she drags her head back and forth, allowing his tip to rock against the back of her mouth. Saliva begins to collect at the sides of her reddening lips as she whines softly against him, twisting her head to take him even deeper.

His grip on her hair tightens, guiding her head further down as he thrusts upwards, hitting the back of her throat with a low growl, "Fuck...that's it, Mama."

He watches her struggle a bit to breathe around him considering his hefty girth, the sight making his dick twitch. She becomes more comfortable by the second, folding her lips more inward as she tightens her mouth, beginning to suck him more towards her throat, creating a wet sound within the room. The walls of her cheeks clamp down against him, coaxing him in each time he pulls halfway out.

"Shit, baby. You’ tryna have me nut in that pretty ass mouth," he says, voice thick with lust. He starts fucking her face harder, holding her head still as he goes in and out, watching her throat constrict around him with each thrust. The wet sounds fill the room, accompanied by her muffled whimpers.

He reaches forward as he smacks her ass, “Look at you, takin' every inch like a fuckin’ pro. All that fuckin’ mouth, let’s see if you taking dick like that.”

He pulls himself out until his tip hovers along her lips, saliva connected in between the two, her tongue flat against the top as her breath huffs out a sultry giggle. She drags her tongue on the outside of his dick, reaching down as she laps his balls from beneath, eyes still fluttering to stare up at him. She ached for him.

Something in him becomes irritated at the sight— she looks ethereal, a haunting siren within his mind that dragged him in. He grunts, “You’ nasty as fuck.”

Sweetpea lightly gasps as he turns her the opposite way, pressing her stomach against the sheets while pulling her hands behind her back. Her body jolts as she feels him spank her again, hips arching up as his mouth lowers back down to meet with the entirety of her, sucking her clit in between his lips. She clutches his hand within the fingers he holds, face along the sheets of the bed as she moans softly, beginning to rub her pussy along his face.

He goes in between lapping at her folds while sucking on her clit, flicking it with his tongue as his beard scrapes her sensitive skin. He groans, feeling her juices coating his chin already.

“Needy ass fuckin’ girl,” he spanks her again, “Ride my face slow as fuck. I need a mess in my beard,” He commands, taking his palms against the cheeks of her ass, pacing a torturous rhythm to circle her hips in the air, his mouth catching her pussy back on his tongue.

That slurping sound returns, her teeth digging into her lip, hair falling over her face as she softly moans and whines against him, arching her hips nonetheless.

His hands slide up her thighs, gripping her waist firmly as he tugs her down onto his face, tongue delving deeper inside as his nose buries into her ass.

“Need you soakin’ before I go in,” His words are muffled against her flesh, the vibrations sending shivers through her body as he continues to eat her out recklessly. But she’s wet, so wet that she couldn’t have been more ready. He could tell she’s holding back, moans soft, tiny. He needed a symphony.

His tip is nudging in between her folds, feeling heavy even on the outside of her pussy. It makes her adjust her body as he holds her down with one palm, keeping her body arched to perfection. She then knocks her head to the side, eyes locked into his as she watches him—it was like all time had slowed.

Her wet folds spread apart as her walls began molding around his tip, gripping the flesh and pulling him in inch by inch. Her walls feel swollen, aching as he goes in, fluttering before gripping back around the weight of his girth. She was entirely full, so full that she looked back at him with a pout, whimpering as her back arched through the discomfort, dragging herself forward to pull away. He somehow manages to catch a lock of her hair as he grunts, “Don’t do all that, you better take this fuckin’ dick like you was before,” which makes her deeply gasp, trembling out a whine as his balls slap along her clit, ass clapping along his hips as he’s fully inside. He pulls halfway out before he sinks back in again, a waft of air pushing out her pussy, making a loud squelching sound as her eyes roll to the back of her head, “Oh fuck, Ony…”

“Keep that fuckin’ arch,” he grunts, her inner walls squeezing him like a vice, “I’m stretching your shit, huh? I know, Mama," He taunts, pulling her back again, another gust of air spouting out, her pussy sobbing at this point.

It’s dripping all against his balls, she’s wetter than she’s ever been. He begins dropping her down onto his dick slowly, but his thrusts are hard, each stroke hitting her g-spot dead-on as he pounds her mercilessly.

Her mouth is parted open yet nothing comes out for a while, just feeling the pained-pleasure that vibrates her entire body. It feels good, so fucking good that she’s practically paralyzed—and they’d only just started.

She finally has enough oxygen within her chest to be vocal, her hair falling in front of her face with each stroke, pouting even more as she breathily pants, “All in my pussy, baby…” she doesn’t know where that sentence comes from, but it’s needy, as if she meant every word—She did.

He keeps up that exact pace as her walls tighten second by second, slowly pounding as her needy plea hangs heavy in the air.

“Yeah?" He coos, slapping her ass to gain her attention—even if he already had it, “You’ feeling that shit, huh?”

She tries to stop her eyes from rolling back each time her skin sticks to his, the sound in the room like a gunshot going off every few seconds. She sinks her teeth back into her lip as she nods her head, the agreement dragging itself in a prolonged harmony, turning into a chaotic moan of, “I feel you, Ony…I feel it…”

Onyankopon grins sexily like the bastard he is at her submission, seeing the raw vulnerability in her expression. He’s pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, his balls smacking her clit with each brutal thrust.

He can feel her walls becoming extremely tight, her whines growing louder—he’s starting to learn her body. He releases her hands which allows her to drop them onto the sheets, reaching around to clutch his fingers in between her throat and jaw. He’s picking up the rhythm of his hips, the comparison of gunshots sounding off as if he’d added more magazines, faster, harder.

“Open my pussy up,” he grunts, “You ain’t finna’ cum and be done. Better wait for me.”

But she can’t wait. Between the sound of his voice, the way her ass just drops, drops, drops to meet his dick, her tongue nearly lolls out, drooling as she can feel herself being fucked stupid. Her mind has never been so blank, which makes the words that come out so air-head like, she’s babbling.

“I’m cumming,” she whimpers with a gasp, still being dropped down all the while, turning her head back to face him, tears falling from her eyes in such a rush of pleasure. She has a death grip against the sheets, clawing with her nails as she whines, “I love you, Onyyy… I’m cumming…”

Her walls are fluttering like crazy—Onyankopon’s eyes drop down to see a beautiful coat of white being painted more and more on his dick each time he pulls back out, the arousal splatting against her skin with each stroke.

“You love me, Mama?” He tightens his fingers on her throat, her orgasm spinning her in circles as she trembles, “Mhmmmm.”

“That’s why you creamin’ on my shit like that? Cause you love me?”

She softly cries, “Cause I love you,” her entire body shuddering, eyes white as they’re in the back of her head.

He tightens his hold on her throat further, cutting off some of her airflow. The pressure causes her climax to prolong, her pussy spasming wildly around his dick.

"Love me so much you drenchin' my dick?" He growls, watching the thick stream of her juices coating his shaft, "You gon’ milk my nut dry?”

“Yeah,” she sniffles, “Yes, baby…”

“Come bounce on this dick. That’s how you’ finna cum again.”

She could’ve collapsed at this moment, her body exhausted—he’s pulling her onto his lap, placing her feet flat against the bed, arching her hips up as he’s already sinking her back down. He intertwines their fingers together to hold her up, rocking his hips up for her to catch the rhythm he wants. She’s a whimpering mess as she complies, swirling her hips down, grinding herself in a sloppy choreography.

He takes advantage of her vulnerable state, gripping her hips tightly as he begins pounding up into her. Each thrust sends her breasts bouncing and her ass jiggling.

"You' cummin' again," He growls, his own release beginning to build, “Keep riding my shit like that.”

He's not wrong, her pussy is clamping down on him like a trap, and her entire body is in complete shambles.

She places her hands along his chest, running her fingers across his tattoos as she leans herself forward, rocking her hips down, bouncing just like he wanted—of course, her curls fall on her face, the annoying habit of having to blow them out the way pulls a low chuckle from Onyankopon.

She whimpers to him, “Don’t laugh, Ony…”

His chuckle subsides as quickly as it came, his expression turning serious once more. He grips her hips tighter, his strokes becoming harder and faster. She’s louder, attempting to keep up with him.

"Don't worry 'bout nothin', Mama. Just ride my dick," He commands, his breathing heavy and labored. Seeing her above him, hair cascaded along her freckled face, her soft sounds—she’s so pretty to him.

Onyankopon’s arms wrap along her lower back as he sits up beneath her, guiding her hips down to connect with his. She pulls him into a kiss, holding his face to consume his affection, her face splashed with previous pleasured tears, whispering to him in a tiny gasp, “I—I love you s—somuch, O—Ony…”

His entire body was sensitive to every one of her touches. Feeling like a teenager all over again while they make out, he grunts her name against their mouths, “Alana…”

He feels how easily she moves her hips, rolling them in sync with his movements to send waves of pleasure through them, groaning between their hot kisses, “I love you…fuck…I do…”

She wraps her arms around his neck as she presses her face into his shoulder, nails digging against his skin as she gasps, “I’m—mmph, I—“ she’s gasping, unable to finish as pleasure raptures her entire body again, all the way down to her feet, muscles aching from the constriction.

She’s tight—he can feel every inch of her warmth as he groans in response to the arch of her back, “Goddamn…”

His hands travel down her body until they’re both on her hips, guiding them as he bucks up into her, slowly moving her in the same motion, “…Take your time, baby. I’m finna’ bust…You’ cumming?”

She hiccups, nodding her head feverishly as she holds onto him, dragging her fingers up to his head as she grips there, moaning in a high pitched way as she warns, “I’m c—cumming,” closing her eyes as she brings her hips down faster, “O—oh my god—agh…”

Her voice makes his eyes roll back into his head as he holds onto her hips, bucking his own up more to help her reach the peak, “Shit, I ain’ never wanted be nowhere but right here with you. I’m finna’ bust, baby, I—ohhh…f-fuck, Pea…I love you...so much,” his words are broken into short moans as he holds onto her, pulling her as close as they both release together, a symphony of affection turning into an orchestra, filled with emotions they’d had for one another all along.

She keeps her face within his shoulder as she breathes heavily, still holding onto him as her orgasm subsides. The moment her eyes do come up, she can see the last thing she wanted to envision—that damn smirk on his mouth.

She presses her face into his chest as she grumbles, “Don’t, Onyankopon. I swear to god.”

He grunts as her head presses against him, but a smirk appears all the same, chuckling under his breath as he reaches up to scratch at her scalp.

“Pussy is good as fuck,” he huffs, Sweetpea jumping as she feels his palm slam down on her ass.

She brings her eyes up, “You could’ve said something romantic—yet that’s what you say.”

“I’ll let you hear them’ three words a thousand more times before the nights over, crybaby.”

She pulls herself off of him as she lays against the bed, pressing herself against the pillow as she feels her eyes becoming heavy. Her hair brushes over her face, uncaring of her body being bare under the night light as she sighs, “Mmm, shut up. Lemme’ sleep.”

She can hear him shuffling before his weight comes off of the bed, her body not moving as she mutters, “You’ leaving me? Was all that a lie and you really don’t wanna be with me?”

He’s standing over her, watching the way her body just seems to fit against the sheets effortlessly, her curves like an invitation to come back onto the bed with her.

“Damn, a nigga can’t move without you thinking I’m tryna’ leave? I’m hungry.”

She smacks her lips, turning her face over to meet the wall as she grumbles, “Whatever, lyin’ ass. Get out.”

“I guess that means you don’t want tacos then.”

Her eyes peek open at that. She turns her head a bit as she says, “Them’ birria tacos from the corner?”

“And horchata.”

“Nevermind—You’ cool…or whatever.”

“You gon’ have that ass tooted up for me when I get back?”

“Onyankopon?”

“Huh?”

“Get the fuck out.”

His smirk reappears before he shuts the door behind himself, “Love you too, Mama.”

#onyakapon #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x black reader smut #onyankopon fluff #onyankapon #onyankopon x you #aot onyankopon #onyankopon smut #aot smut

2K notes · View notes

hoshifighting · 11 months ago

Text

Villain! Seungcheol

— Synopsis: After facing constant rejection from your own boyfriend, you discover he’s a superhero flying around the city. Seungcheol, the so-called 'villain,' stepped in when you were left as bait, exposed to your boyfriend's enemies. It turns out, he's the one who truly took care of you. — WC: 13k — WARNINGS: fantasy, angst, smut, crack, cigarettes, stalking (for good), physical fights, injury, murder, death (not the reader, not seungcheol), paranormal elements (superpowers, misshapenness, telepathy, and floating), moral ambiguity (unclear distinctions between "heroes" and "villains"), sex toys, oral (f. & m.), getting caught masturbating, cock riding, edging, creampie, DIRTY TALK.

You’ve dated a guy from the basketball team in high school, a guy from the cafeteria you used to frequent, and had your flings with… normal people. Gym rats or those who sang at the local bar.

But never... a hero?

He was kind, and romantic, and treated you well—in the beginning of your relationship. But then he became distant, always desperate to go home at night, barely sleeping at your apartment. You thought about a whirlwind of things, like a normal person would think of; that he was cheating on you, that he had stopped loving you.

Tonight, you’re making dinner—a last-ditch effort to please him, to make him notice you again. The TV in the living room is tuned to the news, the background noise almost comforting. You chop vegetables with precise, almost robotic movements, your mind drifting.

“He’s probably just busy,” you mutter to yourself, trying to believe it. But it’s hard to ignore the nagging feeling in your chest.

Just then, a headline on the TV catches your attention. You glance up, expecting to see something mundane. Maybe an officer, a firefighter, or even a regular person with good sociology. Instead, you see your boyfriend, wearing a red hero cape, flying around the city. The spatula in your hand falls directly onto the ground, clattering loudly.

[Hero is seen flying between skyscrapers to make the city of Seoul increasingly safer.]

“What the...?” Your heart races as you stare at the screen, unable to believe your eyes.

Your boyfriend, the man you’ve been worrying over, is a fucking superhero? Just like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy?

The front door opens and he walks in, looking tired but carrying the same gentle smile that used to make your heart flutter. Tonight, though, it only fuels your confusion and frustration.

“Hey, babe,” he says, stepping into the kitchen. He pauses when he sees your expression, the dropped spatula. “What’s wrong?”

You point at the TV, unable to form words. He follows your gaze, and his face falls as he sees the news footage.

“Ah, you found out,” he says softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was going to tell you, I swear.”

[...]

This is how it started. It's as if, when you didn't know, he still made a point of being present here and there. But now that you know, he doesn't even care about it anymore. “I have to save the country, love,” you’ve heard this a bunch of times.

So when you turn on the TV, you have to see him flexing those stupid big muscles—that he gained out of nowhere—making you doubt if he’s using padding or prosthetics under that cheesy costume.

He shouldn’t be seen around your house, so the 'villains' don’t know where you live.

You don't recognize him anymore. Was it egotistical to wish that he never had superpowers? That he was just a regular human, just like you?

"Hey," his voice breaks you out of your thoughts. He's standing in the doorway, looking worn out but with a familiar, almost hesitant smile. "I brought takeout. Thought we could have a quiet night in."

You glance at the food in his hands, your heart aching. "A quiet night in? Like the ones we used to have?"

He sighs, setting the bags down on the table. "Yeah, like those. I know things have been... different. But I'm trying, Y/N. I really am."

"Trying?" you repeat, incredulous. "You disappear for days, and when you’re here, it’s like you’re not really here. You're always thinking about the next mission, the next villain."

"I know," he admits, running a hand through his hair. "The powers, the responsibility... it just happened."

"Did it?" you snap, unable to hold back your frustration. "Because it feels like you chose this. Like you chose being a hero over being with me."

His eyes widen, pain flickering across his face. "That's not true. I didn't choose this over you. I chose this because... because I want to make the world a better place. For us."

You shake your head, "But what about making our world better? What about being here, with me? Being present?"

As you sit down to eat, the TV plays in the background, another heroic feat being broadcasted. You hesitate, looking at the man you once knew so well, now feeling like a stranger.

With great insistence, you managed to make him sleep in your bed. When you left the bath to join him in your sheets, he was already sleeping—hibernating, snoring like never before. You sigh, laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. You stayed like this until you saw the perfect clouds through the window, fluffy, looking like cotton candy, with the blue sky painting a canvas behind them. It was a beautiful morning.

You don’t remember leaving the window open, so you get up to close it, stopping the wind from hitting your face. The sun was radiating, and you could see people enjoying their morning. But still... why do you feel this smell of storm coming?

The water started to flow, not from the sky, but from your eyes—your tears. The next storm is the one inside you, making small whirlwinds and huge hurricanes, carrying you and destroying you. Obviously, your boyfriend wasn't home. His smell wasn’t there, his presence was like bills payable, only at the end of the month.

You made your bed, some of your tears ruining the perfect white duvet. You walked around your kitchen, picking up the single coffee mug on your countertop and washing it.

Your coworkers noticed your face—like you had slept nothing last night—and even asked what was happening. How could you explain this? How could you explain that you were dating a guy for some years, and he turned into a superhero—flying around the city with underwear over the costume?

Of course, they would laugh, not only because it's the biggest turnoff they will ever have seen, but also because they would think it's a joke, a badly told joke. It makes you feel even more stupid for being complicit, an extra in his comic book.

You arrive home. You look at the window, open again. You roll your eyes, closing it to prevent the wind from coming in. “Are you flying through my windows now?” you mumble, half expecting an answer.

You wonder if you should watch the news again, and see your boyfriend flex his muscles in front of the pretty journalist, putting out a fire in an establishment, looking at the camera to see if they've captured his heroic act, or when he carried a mail car with one arm in front of a group of girls who were walking on the sidewalk.

You cringe, remembering all of them.

Dropping your bag on the couch, you plop down and grab the remote. You flick through the channels, each news report showing another heroic deed of his. "Great," you mutter sarcastically, landing on a channel where he’s giving an interview, his muscles practically bursting out of his suit.

He’s talking about his latest rescue, grinning at the journalist who’s batting her eyelashes at him. "And what’s next for our hero?" she asks, her voice sugary sweet.

"I’m just here to help," he replies, flashing a charming smile. "Wherever I’m needed."

You snort, turning off the TV. "Right, wherever you're needed. Except here," you say to the empty room.

You wander into the kitchen, the silence pressing in on you. You fill the kettle and set it to boil, needing something warm to soothe your frayed nerves. As you wait, you think about the early days, when he was just a guy you loved. Back when his biggest concern was making you laugh, not saving the world.

The kettle whistles, and you pour yourself a cup of tea, the steam rising in lazy spirals. You take a sip, leaning against the counter. "Why can’t you just be normal?" You whisper to yourself.

A sudden whoosh of air makes you jump, causing your hand to bump into the kettle. The same speed you touched it, you yank your hand back, a little burn forming. It’s nothing too serious, but enough to make you curse under your breath.

Your boyfriend widens his eyes and rushes over. “Let me help you,” he says, reaching for your hand.

“Fuck off,” you snap, pulling away. “I don’t need your help.”

He frowns, clearly hurt. How can someone not want his help? “I’m just trying to help.” his voice laced with exasperation.

Irritated by everything and the little burn on your hand, you cut him off. “What are you going to do, huh? Use lasers from your eyes?” You turn to the sink, running cold water over your hand.

“You’re always complaining,” he starts, his voice rising. “But you’re so difficult to deal with lately.”

You whip around, glaring at him. “Difficult? Do you have any idea how hard this is for me?”

He crosses his arms, his expression turning snobbish. “And it’s a walk in the park for me? I’m out there saving lives.”

“Yeah, and flexing your muscles for the cameras,” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He narrows his eyes. “You’re never supportive. All you do is whine about how hard your life is.”

You feel your blood boil. “Supportive? How can I be supportive when you’re never here? When you act like being a hero is the only thing that matters?”

He throws his hands up in frustration. “Because it does matter! I’m making a difference.”

“And what about us?” you yell, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “What about making a difference here, with me?”

He looks at you, anger and confusion on his face. “I’m trying to balance it, but you’re making it impossible.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “You know what? I wish you never turned into a hero. I wish you never had these stupid superpowers. I preferred it when you were just human, like me.”

He scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “That’s the thing. I don’t want to be weak like you humans anymore. You’re just jealous when you should be cheering for me.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Jealous? Is that really what he thinks? “Jealous?” you echo. “I’m not jealous. I just miss the person you used to be.”

He shakes his head, looking away. “I’m still that person. You’re just too blind to see it.”

"Blind? Are you fucking serious?" you scoff, turning your back to him. "Leave," you grunt.

He furrows his eyebrows, shocked. Never in your relationship did he think he would see you like this—his cute girlfriend who begged for him to stay just one more minute, asking him to leave?

"I'm not going to repeat it," you say coldly. "You're making me feel sick."

"Fuck you then!" he curses under his breath before he storms out, leaving you stiff in the middle of your kitchen.

"Oof, I wouldn't let him get away with it if I were you."

You turn toward the voice, coming from the window—that one that you had to close again even though you already did in the morning.

A man is sitting there with the help of the fire escape stairs outside the building. He’s dressed all in black, and you can’t even distinguish how many layers of clothing he’s wearing. His hair is black, and he has one eyebrow raised as he smokes a cigarette.

People react differently when scared. Some scream, some run. But you… you feel like your feet are glued to the ground, and from your throat, not a sound escapes. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish as your eyes widen in shock.

He doesn’t seem to care. He drops his cigarette, watching it accidentally fall on someone’s head below.

He hisses, "Ooh, sorry about that." Then he jumps from the window, landing gracefully in your living room as he brushes off his shoulders.

“You know, you should be more careful when locking your windows. You’re the superhero’s girlfriend, I mean—ex-girlfriend now, I suppose. It seems like he didn’t teach you some basic security stuff.” He looks around your apartment, studying it. “I even drank a coffee in your Hello Kitty mug yesterday—”

“Who the fuck are you?” you cut him off, your voice finally finding its strength.

He raises his hand mockingly, rolling his eyes. “Relax, I’m not here to hurt you.” He smirks, glancing at the mug on the counter. “Nice collection, by the way. Just here to talk”

"Talk?" you echo, incredulous. "You break into my apartment, drink my coffee, and now you want to talk?"

He smirks, leaning against the wall. "Yeah, something like that. Seems like your boyfriend left you in quite a state.''’

You cross your arms defensively. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Pity?” he chuckles. “No, I just find it interesting. You’re dating the city’s golden boy, and yet here you are, all alone. Doesn’t quite add up, does it?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Why do you care?”

“Let’s just say I have a vested interest in your boyfriend’s activities. And you,” he says, pointing at you, “are a fascinating part of that equation.”

You scoff, still on edge. “Fascinating? What’s so fascinating about being left behind?”

He smiles, a glint of devilishness in his eyes. “Nothing you need to worry about. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Maybe even... enjoy the freedom a little.” He winks, heading back toward the window.

As he climbs out, he turns back one last time. “Oh, and lock your windows. You never know who might drop by.” With that, he disappears into the night, leaving you standing there, more confused and unsettled than ever.

You move to the window and lock it firmly, your heart pounding.

Your boyfriend had warned you that this might happen, and it happened at the worst time—when he wasn’t there.

Honestly, you couldn’t sleep that night either, now worried that a fucking stranger could break into your apartment, and instead of just drinking a coffee, he might bake a whole cake in your kitchen or, worse, do something to you.

So, you do what a ludic person would do. You start packing an emergency bag and ask to sleep at your friend’s house, using the excuse that you’ve broken up with your boyfriend—when in fact, you were more scared than anything.

[...]

More terrifying was when you needed to return home.

You open your front door, putting the bag on the floor. Before you can turn around to close the door, a hand clasps over your mouth, and the door behind you closes. You feel a warm body pressing against yours as you close your eyes tightly.

It’s your end, you think.

You don’t even dare to open your eyes. When the hand is removed from your mouth, all you can mutter is, “Don’t hurt me, please.”

You hear a scoff, and then you open one eye. The person takes his hood off, revealing the same guy from the window.

“Are you stupid? Why would I want to hurt you? I’m not a coward.” He detaches from you, looking at your still-squeezed form. “Where were you? And you did a great job locking the other windows, but your laundry window was not locked.”

You can only stare at him, your heart racing. He rolls his eyes. “Can you stop being a pissy little girl? You’re a grown woman. I’ve told you I’m not going to hurt you, and if it comforts you, I won’t steal your mug collection either. Maybe some coffee powder—but, well, can you stop?”

You think you’re going crazy. Was all of this supposed to be normal?

He rolls his eyes again and disappears into your kitchen. You take small, shy—and scared—steps toward the kitchen to find him using your coffee machine, watching the coffee brew. His arms are propped on the counter, and he turns his head to look at you.

He sighs, seeing your still-compressed form, like you’re still scared of his presence.

“Seriously,” he says, straightening up. “I’m not here to hurt you. You need to relax.” He takes a mug from your collection and pours himself a coffee, casually leaning against the counter as if he belongs there.

“What do you want from me?” you finally manage to ask, your voice trembling.

He takes a sip of coffee, savoring it before answering. “Just checking in. Making sure you’re okay. Your boyfriend isn’t exactly around to protect you, is he?”

You glare at him. “I don’t need his protection. Or yours.”

He smirks, clearly amused. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.” He sets the mug down and steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “But here’s the thing—you’re involved now, whether you like it or not.”

You swallow hard, trying to hold your ground. “I don’t want any part of this.”

“Too late,” he replies, his tone serious. “You’re already part of it. So, you might as well get used to it.”

You begin to shiver as his words sink in. This is your life now, tangled up with heroes and villains. And there’s no going back.

He sighs, seeing the fear in your eyes. “Look, I know this isn’t what you signed up for. But you’re tougher than you think. Your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, whatever—he’s not around, and that puts you in a vulnerable position.”

“You mean, you’re here to spy on me. To see if you can use me against him.”

He shrugs. “I'm here ensure you’re not caught in the crossfire. Believe it or not, I have some principles.”

You laugh bitterly. “Principles? Breaking into someone’s home and terrorizing them is principled now?”

He sets the cup down and steps closer. “I didn’t mean to scare you. But you need to be more careful. This world you’re tangled in—it’s dangerous.”

You stare at him, unsure whether to believe him. “And you’re what, my guardian angel now?”

He smirks. “Hardly. Think of me as a… concerned party. I don’t want unnecessary casualties.” “Stay out of trouble. Keep your head down.”

With that, he finishes his coffee and heads toward the window. “Remember, I'm not your enemy, but I'm definitely his. Don't make me your enemy too.”

"Wait!" you call out. He stops and turns around slowly, his expression curious. "W-who are you?" you stammer.

He tilts his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Do you really want to know?" he asks, his tone dripping with mocking curiosity.

You nod, trying to keep your voice steady. "You’re practically living here. I should at least know your name."

He chuckles, a low, amused sound. "More like a roommate situation, huh? Alright, if you really want to know, you can call me Seungcheol. And if you’re genuinely interested in what I do, maybe I’ll take you to my HQ someday, show you my plans."

You grimace at his tone, which only makes him laugh harder.

Before heading down the emergency stairs, he looks back at you. "Stay close, alright? I need to keep tabs on you. You’re a bit exposed out here." He winks and disappears, leaving you standing there, more confused than before.

Seungcheol—the window guy, as you’d come to call him—disappeared physically for some days, but his presence lingered in odd, unsettling ways. You started finding pieces of ripped paper around your house, each with a different message.

“Keep your windows locked.”

“Log out of your social media from your home computer.”

“Check your door lock twice before bed.”

“Don’t leave your spare key under the mat.”

And one particularly embarrassing note: “I know you miss your hero-boyfriend, but can you also hide your sex toys? I’m traumatized.”

The embarrassment lasts only a few minutes each time, but then you think, nobody asked him to keep coming into your house. Still, there was a strange sense of security in knowing he was keeping an eye on things, even if his methods were invasive and borderline creepy.

Days turn into a week, and the silence feels heavy.

You find yourself almost missing the bizarre meetings. One night, as you’re cleaning up after dinner, you catch a glimpse of movement outside the window. You draw the curtains aside to find Seungcheol lounging casually on the fire escape, looking like he belonged there.

“Miss me?” he quips, flashing you a smirk.

You roll your eyes, opening the window slightly. “You really need to get a hobby, Seungcheol.”

“This is my hobby,” he says, slipping inside without an invitation. “Keeping tabs on you is surprisingly entertaining.”

“You know, you could at least pretend not to notice my vibrator,” you snap, half-joking, half-mortified.

Seungcheol grins, “Hey, it’s hard to miss when it’s just lying around. You could be more discreet.”

You huff in annoyance, continuing to clean up. He opens your fridge, rummaging around like he owns the place. “Any news?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

He casually bites into an apple. “Yep. One of his enemies is planning to invade your place tomorrow at 7:48 p.m. The exact time you get home from work.”

You spin around, eyes wide. “What?! What do I do?”

“I suggest you stay close to me,” he shrugs. “I can keep you safe, make sure no one uses you as a pawn.”

“You want me to trust you?” you ask, incredulous.

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to be safe, or do you want to have some alien freak shoving its tentacles down your throat?”

You give him an exasperated look. “I knew you’d have this reaction,” he says, shrugging. He places a flash drive on your kitchen counter. “Watch it yourself.”

You close your eyes, massaging your temples. You don’t know if you’re ready to see what’s on that flash drive, much less trust a stranger who claims to be your ex-boyfriend’s enemy.

“I need you to leave. Even if he’s my ex, I still can’t do something like this.”

Seungcheol nods, looking up like he expected this. “Your boyfriend won’t be here to rescue you if that’s what you’re counting on.”

“How can you be so sure of that? I don’t even know you!”

“Because if your stupid boyfriend didn’t buy those superpowers, he’d be nothing. Without that silly red cape and the TV cameras, he’s just an insecure guy who wants to be seen. And— come on, he didn’t care about the girlfriend he had waiting at home. You think he cares about saving random people? Don’t be dumb.”

His words sting, and you feel like you’ve been slapped in the face. He nods negatively as he walks out again, leaving you standing there, the weight of his words sinking in. You don’t want to believe him, but deep down, you know there’s some truth to what he’s saying.

With a sigh, you look at the flash drive on the counter.

The next day was a mess from the moment you woke up. You couldn't find your white shirt, and your baby liss was nowhere to be found. Running late, you had to leave without fixing your hair.

Work was a blur of you staring blankly at your computer screen, your mind preoccupied with the fear that some tentacle monster might actually show up at 7:48 p.m.

Were you being stupid for believing a guy you met barely a week ago? Absolutely. But who wouldn't be a little suspicious?

As you stepped off the bus and walked along the sidewalk toward your building, your watch read 7:58 p.m. You glanced up at your window. The lights were off, and everything looked normal. No way a villain would get you, right?

"I knew he was lying," you mutter quietly to yourself, almost convincing.

But your conviction didn’t last long. A massive purple tentacle exploded through your living room window, sending concrete and bricks crashing to the street. Your eyes widened in disbelief. Was that a person in the middle of those giant tentacles? Were you homeless now?

"Are you gonna hop on or let these ugly tentacles suffocate you?" Seungcheol’s voice cuts through the chaos.

You didn’t need to look to know it was him. You turned to see him in his black outfit, waiting on his motorcycle. Your instinct was to kneel on the ground and cry about your now-destroyed apartment, but you didn't have time for that.

You sulked a bit before grabbing the helmet from his hand and hopping onto the bike, your hands wrapping uncertainly around his waist.

As Seungcheol sped off towards his HQ—or hideout, whatever it was—your tears started to flow. "My apartment... it's ruined. All my stuff, my mug collection, my unicorn pajamas I didn’t even get to wear yet," you whined into his back.

Seungcheol fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Seriously? We're running from a monster, and you're worried about unicorn pajamas?"

“Yes!” you sniffled. “They were so cute. And now I don’t even have a place to sleep. My place is ruined, and all my goods are probably destroyed.”

“Focus on staying alive first,” he said, trying to sound more patient than he felt. “We’ll deal with the rest later.”

“But my mugs… My unicorn pajamas…” you continued, your voice muffled against his back.

“Alright, alright,” he said, trying to placate you.

Seungcheol had to concentrate to keep from crashing as he listened to you cry and whine about your lost belongings. He knew you were overwhelmed, and though it was annoying, he understood. Reaching his hideout, he finally stopped the bike and helped you off, letting you lean on him for support.

Your first instinct is to look around. It’s a large industrial loft, the walls made of bricks, and the long windows hidden behind some opaque plastic.

The place seems to have only the essentials: a large bed with a vintage headboard, a couch, a TV. Turning around, you notice the kitchen has a coffee machine just like yours.

Then your eyes widen as you spot familiar items: the white shirt you were looking for this morning, poking out of a huge black bag, a big box labeled 'mugs’ in bad calligraphy, your hair iron with the princess tape patch on the cord, emerging from another black bag.

Several bags are sprawled on the floor, all looking ready to burst.

"M-my things!" you squeak as Seungcheol looks unbothered, though you can see the faintest hint of a smile at your happiness. You run to him, giving him a clumsy hug that he doesn’t reciprocate, before opening the bags.

"It was very difficult to bring all of your stuff," he says, trying to hide his amusement. "Can I know why you have three... inflatable flamingos all the same color?" he asks, clearly judging the quirky items he found while gathering your things from your dresser.

You don’t respond, too busy rifling through the bags like a kid on Christmas morning.

You open another bag with a big smile on your face, which quickly fades when you see what’s on top: your vibrator, handcuffs, and lube.

You widen your eyes and try to close the bag with an awkward smile, but it’s too late. Seungcheol turns his head to the side, taking a deep breath as if trying to pretend he wasn’t the one who had to gather your spicy stuff.

You clear your throat, standing up and brushing off your knees. “When did you get all of this? I mean—how did you do it so quickly?”

"Some friends helped me," he answers, watching your reaction.

You widened your eyes, and he knew why.

“Chill out, I packed your Christian Grey stuff myself,” he said, looking up as if remembering something. “And what's with that neon green, dildo? Seriously?”

You stuttered, your face flushed. “I-I didn’t use that, it was a gag gift!”

“Trust me, I don’t want to know,” he said, cutting you off with a furrowed brow.

“That’s… oddly considerate of you,” you admitted, still processing everything.

He shrugged again, “Don’t get used to it. I’m not a nice guy.”

“Thanks, Seungcheol.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, turning away. “Just don’t make a big deal out of it.”

You sighed, “Thanks, I guess. It’s just… embarrassing.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’ve seen worse,” he shrugged.

“Worse than a neon green dildo?”

He chuckled, “You’d be surprised.”

You point at the large industrial loft around you. “So, this is your place?”

"Not as fancy as yours, but, yes, it is," Seungcheol responds, shrugging nonchalantly.

You shake your head, still taking in the surroundings. "I wouldn’t call my place fancy. Just... more pink."

He chuckles, nodding. "Yeah, I noticed. You have a thing for unicorns and pastels."

You look around, taking in the mix of sparse furniture and personal touches. "Why do you have my stuff, anyway?"

He leans against the counter, arms crossed. "Had to make sure you had everything. Can't have you running back to your place and getting into trouble."

You shake your head, still in disbelief. "You really don’t look like a villain."

He scoffs, giving you a sideways glance. "That's because I don't have a red cape? You don’t look this naughty either. I discovered it in the worst way."

You try to slap his shoulder playfully, but he catches your hand with his quick reflexes, smirking as he lets go and starts walking toward the loft above. You follow him, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Different from your boyfriend, I don’t need muscle superpowers to be relevant,” he says, glancing back at you as he ascends the stairs.

You glance around as you reach the upper level, which is filled with computers, chemistry equipment, and some jackets thrown randomly around. "So, what exactly do you do here?"

"Let's just say I have my ways of keeping an eye on things," he replies, tapping on one of the computer screens. "Information is power, you know."

You nod slowly. "And what's your plan with all this power?"

He raises an eyebrow, amused by your question. "That depends. What do you think I should do with it?"

You let out a nervous laugh. "I'm not exactly an expert on villainous plots."

Seungcheol chuckles, shaking his head. "Relax, I'm not planning world domination. Just...taking care of some business."

You tilt your head, still trying to piece everything together. "And what kind of business would that be?"

He sighs, looking frustrated at you—but trying to be patient. "Let's just say there are a lot of things that need fixing, and sometimes you have to break a few rules to get it done."

You frown, thinking about his words. "And my ex-boyfriend...does he know about any of this?"

Seungcheol shrugs. "He knows I exist, but he doesn't know the details. Probably too busy flexing for the cameras."

You can’t help but smile. "Yeah, he’s definitely good at that."

Seungcheol looks at you seriously. "Look, I know this is a lot to take in, but trust me, it’s better you know the truth. You can’t go back to being ignorant."

"So, what do we do? I can't just hide forever."

Seungcheol sits on the edge of a desk, looking thoughtful. "You’re here because you’re vulnerable—"

"Vulnerable?" you interrupt, crossing your arms. "You make it sound like I’m helpless."

Seungcheol stops for a moment, looking at you blankly.

"Think fast!" he says suddenly, throwing a sock ball in your direction. You instinctively step back, catching the ball, but your back overtakes the loft railing.

Seungcheol gets up from his chair, moving swiftly to grip you tightly before you fall to the floor below. You go static as you look at him, his hands firm on your waist, grounding you.

"You're good at catching," he says, glancing at the sock in your hand. "But you need to have a better sense of space."

Your heart pounds, both from the near fall and his closeness. "What was that for?"

He releases you, but his eyes stay locked on yours. "Training. If you’re going to stay here, you need to be alert."

You nod. "Okay, but maybe warn me next time?"

He chuckles, stepping back to give you some space. "Where's the fun in that?"

You roll your eyes, tossing the sock ball back at him. He catches it effortlessly. "So, what’s the plan? How do I learn to protect myself?"

Seungcheol tilts his head, considering. "I don't know... Maybe some basic self-defense? For example, if i do this—" He moves quickly, throwing a punch towards you—not to hit, but to test your reaction.

You manage to dodge, but not gracefully. He smiles. "Not bad for a beginner. We'll keep working on that."

[...]

You still miss your apartment, and a lot of your things are still in bags, which you pick through only when you need something. You always wondered what really happened in movies when heroes destroyed the whole city during battles. Now, you’re experiencing it firsthand. Your apartment is being repaired by the building’s construction company, with help from insurance. So, more days living with Seungcheol.

It’s not bad. It’s strange, for someone used to being alone at home. He leaves at night, just like your ex-boyfriend, but spends more of his days in the loft—more than your ex-boyfriend ever did.

He’s actually teaching you something useful. The two of you spar in the loft, not even needing to move furniture since there isn’t much. And he’s hard on you.

You support your hands on your knees, panting, while he looks untouched. "C’mon! Are you tired already?"

You straighten up, mocking his tone. "Unfortunately, my ex who fights around didn’t give me a preview of how to box."

He puts his hands on his hips. "Your boyfriend doesn’t know how to fight. He only has his powers to his advantage."

“You didn't watch what was on the flash drive, did you?” he asks.

You shake your head.

He sighs and asks you to come up. He sits you in his chair, in front of his computer, and opens a folder. There’s a video of your boyfriend inside a laboratory. It looks very old.

"I need more than just strength and flight," your boyfriend says in the video, addressing what looks like a scientist. "We’ve been studying this for years. My time has come."

“Are you sure? There’s no turning back,” the scientist asks.

“I’m sure. I can’t keep living this mediocre life,” your boyfriend replies.

“But what about the people around you? They’re at risk,” the scientist says.

Your ex-boyfriend's response breaks your heart, though you can’t deny it fits his recent arrogance. "I don’t care. I need this."

The scientist sighs and then injects several different colored serums into your ex’s body. He groans, and as he begins to levitate, the video blurs and turns off.

You stare at the blank screen, processing the information. Seungcheol leans back, giving you space.

"See what I mean?" he says. "He wasn’t thinking about you, or anyone else. Just himself."

“So, he chose this. He actually wanted this.”

Seungcheol nods. “Yeah, he did. It wasn’t some accident or noble cause. He was just desperate to be more than he was.”

You sit back, processing the information. “He used to be so different. I don’t even recognize him anymore.”

“That’s what power does to some people,” Seungcheol says, leaning against the desk. “It changes them.”

Seungcheol’s screens start to beep urgently, pulling his attention away from you. He walks calmly to the other side of the room to grab his jacket. The steady rhythm of his movements contrasts with the beeping noises filling the space.

He’s about to leave again when he pauses, his back facing you.

You watch him, restless, pacing back and forth as your mind churns over the recent revelations. His peripheral vision catches your agitation. He glances sideways, noticing the anxiousness in your steps.

He moves towards the door, then hesitates and turns back. “If you need anything, just—”

“Yeah, I know. Just call you, right?” You finish his sentence, giving him a small, knowing smile.

He smirks, nodding. “Exactly. Stay put. I’ll be back soon.”

With that, he leaves the loft, the door closing behind him.

You knew Seungcheol would arrive home late, and you needed to calm down. Unfortunately, the last bottle of wine was finished yesterday when you couldn't find anything else to drink with your popcorn.

Sweets maybe? Well, a villain’s house would have sweets? No, just as you thought. The only thing left was a pack of cigarettes on the kitchen counter.

You find yourself on the rooftop of Seungcheol's loft, the cigarette smoke filling your lungs and burning your throat. You didn’t like the smell of cigarettes and coughed every time the smoke filled your lungs.

But that’s what you had to dissolve a bit of your anxiety, your last moments with your ex replaying in your mind. So he never cared at all?

Suddenly, your cigarette is slapped out of your hand. You turn around to see your ex, his costume perfect, but his eyes deep and face scarred.

“This is what Seungcheol has taught you then? Aren’t you ashamed?” He sneers.

You open your mouth to answer, but he comes closer, making you flinch.

He scoffs. “What? You’re scared of me? Let me tell you something... He is the villain. And you’ve joined his side, my enemy, after all we had.” He spits the words out with venom.

Rage boils within you, making you feel not like yourself. “Seungcheol took care of me. If I were alone, I would be dead. You don’t know what kind of superpower this is.”

He grabs your arm, making you feel dizzy, your vision cloudy. The pain is intense and senseless.

“What? You thought a villain would help you? You’re fragile. You need attention so bad that I couldn’t even handle you.” You fall to the ground, the pain spreading through your body as you groan.

“You know what? If you think he’s going to be your enchanted prince, you’re wrong. So damn wrong. The chances of him wanting to kill you are greater than that stupid dream of yours—”

You hear an impact, and the dizziness and pain slowly dissipate. You breathe properly again. When you come back to your senses, you look up to see Seungcheol, fighting with your ex. Seungcheol is taking a beating, only advancing when your ex's power falters, like a lag.

You could leave sneakily, but was it right? Seungcheol literally protected you from your own ex, showed you his true colors, and taught you the best of himself. Even though he is cold and "cruel" as they say.

As you're thinking, a glass sound pulls you from your mind. It's an injection.

You see your ex crawling desperately to get it. Seungcheol gives you an exasperated look, signaling for you to pick it up.

You grab it, walking back as your ex roars for you to leave it. You clutch it in your fist and, in a moment of desperation, inject it into your leg.

Your ex widens his eyes. But the substance is too powerful for you. You fall again, the pain overwhelming you.

He laughs, but Seungcheol is on him, beating him relentlessly. The fight intensifies, Seungcheol’s blows becoming more furious. You can barely focus on their struggle, the pain in your leg is consuming your thoughts.

The injection burns through your veins, making you feel like you’re on fire. You clench your teeth, trying to endure it. Your ex's laughter turns into cries of pain as Seungcheol lands a particularly harsh blow.

Seungcheol’s eyes briefly meet yours, and you see the determination in them. He’s fighting for you, protecting you with everything he has.

Seungcheol pauses, turning his attention away from you as the hero rises once more, clearly summoning his last reserves of strength.

Seungcheol stands confidently, knowing he has a chance to defeat him—if only he weren't standing on the edge of the building.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t possess flying superpowers. Instead, he grips the edge of the building with nothing but the strength of his fingers, looking up at the hero who towers above him.

Yet, Seungcheol has one special superpower, the reason he's considered the villain: the ability to listen to those who need help, like an echo in his mind. He hears the calls for aid and responds in his own way, without the expensive, extraneous superpowers the heroes pay billions for.

Unlike them, who need to buy their abilities, Seungcheol was born with his. He helps those living on the margins of society, without seeking fame or recognition. He doesn’t want to appear on TV or in the news.

Inside the heroes' world, he is well recognized, but without the money and science they have.

Seungcheol has nothing in his favor.

Yet, he still manages to help people. They can’t understand him. And hate can come easily to that which is too remembered.

His body can't manage more than this—more than his telepathy.

If it could, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He’s going to end up like this. His death won’t be caused by a big octopus or a giant RoboCop, as other heroes did. But by a great show of charity. He would do it for any citizen, but the fact that it’s you makes him have no regrets at all.

Seungcheol’s fingers start to slip, and he knows his time is running out. The hero stands above him, a look of triumph on his face. But Seungcheol’s mind is calm, even serene. He’s made peace with his fate.

The hero moves closer, ready to deliver the final blow. But in that moment, Seungcheol’s telepathy kicks in stronger than ever. He hears the cries of the people he’s saved, their voices filling his mind.

He has always fought for those who couldn’t fight for themselves, without the need for glory or recognition.

The world may see him as a villain, but he knows the truth.

His life has been a quiet rebellion, a stand against the notion that only the powerful can be heroes.

Seungcheol's mind becomes silent, and he can only hear your groans. His eyes close as he tries to hear from you again.

“Y/N?” he telepathizes, his voice entering your mind, velvet and deep.

You groan again, and he asks. “I’m here... are you alright, my love? Can you walk?”

The affectionate nickname makes your heart flutter. Seungcheol agonizes when the hero's steps on his fingers, but he agonizes more because he can't hear a proper response from you. Desperation sets in.

“Answer me, please. I’m not going to last,” he telepathizes again.

“Seungcheol...” he hears your voice and breathes out, relief washing over him. He looks down, watching the movement on the street below. It was too much of a drop to survive. His fingers were burning with pain.

“Seungcheol...” you call again. He shuts his eyes, clinging to the sound of your voice. “Let go,” you tell him. The words hit him like a jolt. He doesn’t understand. His arms tremble with the effort of holding on.

“Trust me, trust me, trust me.” He hears it like a whisper around his head. The conviction in your voice pierces through his fear.

He loosens his grip, his fingers slipping from the edge.

The air envelops his body like a hug as he falls, the distortion from the speed making the street sounds blur into a cacophony. The only thing he can think of is how you’re going to live by yourself now.

As he falls, memories flash before his eyes. He remembers every face he saved, every life he touched, his quiet acts of heroism, every moment of your brief time together, and then, vividly, your face.

He thinks of your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes light up when you’re happy.

The moment Seungcheol hits the ground, he expects the pain, the end. Instead, he feels a strange warmth spreading through his body. He blinks, realizing he’s lying on a soft cushion of air, suspended just above the pavement. The hero stares down in disbelief.

Seungcheol’s body is gently lowered to the ground. He looks up to see you standing on the rooftop, your hand outstretched, eyes closed in fierce concentration. As his feet touch the ground, your eyes snap open, and you breathe out in relief.

Before Seungcheol can react, you advance on the hero, the two of you disappearing in a blur of motion and light atop the building.

Blinding flashes illuminate the rooftop as Seungcheol scrambles to his feet, urgency driving him forward. He runs into the building, tripping on the flights of stairs in his haste. The sounds of the battle above echo down to him, and he pushes himself harder, every fiber of his being focused on reaching you in time.

Seungcheol bursts onto the rooftop again, his breath ragged and his heart pounding. The sight that greets him makes his blood run cold.

Your ex-boyfriend lies lifeless on the floor, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. In your trembling hand, the hero’s heart reactor device glows faintly, now smeared with blood.

“Y/N!” Seungcheol shouts, rushing to your side as your knees give way, collapsing under the weight of what you’ve done. The powers from the injection still course through your veins, but your energy is completely spent. You tremble in his hands, your body feeling like it’s made of lead.

The weight of what you’ve done hits you like a ton of bricks. You stare down at the reactor in your hand, the blood smeared on your fingers, and a violent shudder runs through you. The metallic smell of blood mingles with the acrid scent of smoke, and it’s all too much.

“I never wanted it to end like this,” you whisper, your voice breaking. Your face is frozen in shock, eyes wide and unseeing as you try to process the magnitude of your actions. “I-I’ve killed someone.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, his grip on your shoulders firm yet gentle. “You did what you had to do,” he says, his voice low and steady. “He would’ve killed you, Y/N.”

You shake your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. “But it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you insist, your voice trembling. “I didn’t want to become a killer.”

Seungcheol’s eyes soften, and he pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth seeping into your cold, shaking body. “Listen to me,” he says firmly, his lips close to your ear. “You’re not a killer. You’re a survivor. He put you in this position, not the other way around.”

You cling to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as you sob uncontrollably. The reactor slips from your grasp, clattering to the ground with a dull thud. “I just wanted to be safe,” you cry, your voice muffled against his chest. “I didn’t want any of this.”

“I know,” Seungcheol murmurs, stroking your hair gently. “I know, Y/N. It’s going to be okay.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him through tear-blurred eyes. “How can you be so sure?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Because you’re strong,” he says simply, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Stronger than you realize. And because I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes your heart ache. Despite everything, there’s a flicker of hope in his gaze that you can’t ignore.

Seungcheol brings you back to his loft, your body feeling heavy and numb. He helps you inside the shower, carefully removing your clothes. You sit on the floor, naked, as the warm water cascades over you, washing away the blood and grime.

There’s no malice or ulterior motive in his actions—only a quiet, pure care. You stare blankly at the tiles of his shower, lost in your thoughts, while his hands work methodically, washing your hair and scrubbing away the blood stains from your skin.

You needed this.

The side effects of the injection, the strain of using powers you didn’t fully understand, have left you weak. So weak that you need him to do something as simple as this for you.

Once you’re clean, Seungcheol wraps you in a fluffy towel, drying you carefully. He dresses you in one of his shirts, the fabric soft and comforting against your skin.

He guides you to his bed, tucking you in. You sink into the mattress, the exhaustion pulling at you like a heavy blanket. Seungcheol sits beside you, watching you for a few minutes. His body aches from the fight, but his concern for you overrides his own pain.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He nods, his eyes never leaving your face. “You need to rest. Let your body recover.”

You nod, closing your eyes. The events of the night replay in your mind, but there’s a strange comfort in knowing Seungcheol is there, watching over you. “You don’t have to stay,” you murmur, feeling a pang of guilt.

“I want to,” he replies softly. “Just sleep, Y/N. I’ll be here.”

As you drift off, the last thing you feel is the warmth of his hand holding yours, grounding you in the midst of the turmoil. The darkness of sleep pulls you under, but for the first time in a long while, you don’t feel completely alone.

He waits for you to fall asleep before quietly moving around the loft, gathering what’s left of your belongings.

With quick, calculated motions, he loads his things, along with yours, into the trunk and backseat of his truck. The apartment, once filled with traces of both your lives, now stands empty, its furniture the only remnants of your presence.

When he looks at the empty space one last time, he takes a deep breath, then returns to the bedroom. Gently, he lifts you into his arms, careful not to disturb your sleep.

You’re so exhausted that you don’t stir as he carries you to the truck. His eyes flicker to you now and then as he drives, taking the road that leads to the other side of the country.

Long hours later, the sun starts to rise, casting a golden hue over the landscape. You wake up, eyes still adjusting to the brightness of the day. You find yourself parked outside a roadside restaurant, the car silent. Seungcheol is nowhere to be seen. Sitting up, you notice a blanket draped over you and realize you’re fully dressed, not just in his shirt anymore.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, fingers curling around the edges of the blanket. The sound of footsteps draws your attention, and you see Seungcheol approaching with a box of food in his hands. He opens the car door and slides into the driver’s seat, placing the food on the console between you.

“Hey,” he says softly, glancing at you. “How are you feeling?”

You blink a few times, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “Tired,” you admit, your voice still groggy. “Where are we?”

“We’re on the road,” he replies, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I thought you could use some breakfast.” He opens the box, revealing a variety of pastries, fruit, and a couple of sandwiches.

You nod, reaching for a piece of fruit. “Thank you,” you say, taking a bite and savoring the sweet taste. “For everything.”

He watches you eat for a moment before responding. “You needed to get away from there. It’s not safe.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice soft. “But where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” he answers, his tone reassuring. "Somewhere, they won’t find us.”

You look at him, studying his face. There’s a determination in his eyes, a resolve that gives you a sense of security despite the uncertainty of your situation. “Okay,” you say, trusting him.

He nods, his eyes softening. “Finish eating. We’ve got a long drive ahead.”

As you pass through small towns and sprawling landscapes, a sense of peace begins to settle over you. The rhythmic hum of the truck and the steady presence of Seungcheol at your side are comforting.

You share the occasional snack with him, your fingers brushing against his lips, eliciting a small smile from him each time.

As the truck continues down the road, the cityscape starts to take shape on the horizon. Tall buildings stand proud, their windows reflecting the sun’s light. It’s a bustling place, full of life and opportunity.

It’s everything you’ve been yearning for—a fresh start, a new chapter.

After you arrive, your legs stretch as you step onto the new asphalt. You look around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, and ask, “Where are we?”

Seungcheol smiles, a hint of mystery in his eyes. “I’m going to show you,” he replies, leading you towards a big, white house. The house stands in stark contrast to the urban scene around it, classic and serene.

You follow him inside, and immediately, you notice people dressed in white moving about with purpose. Some are tending to children, others to elders, each room filled with an atmosphere of care and compassion. It's a place of healing and sanctuary, you realize, a refuge from the chaos you’ve just escaped.

As you walk through the house, you reach a garden at the back. The same people in white are there, playing with the children and dogs, the air filled with laughter and joy.

You notice a girl in white sitting by an easel, her fingers pressed to her temples. To your amazement, the brush on the canvas moves on its own, guided by her powers.

You stare in awe. “She’s painting without touching the brush,” you whisper, your voice filled with wonder.

Seungcheol nods. “Yes, she’s using her powers. This place is a sanctuary for people like her, like us. A safe haven where they can learn to control and use their abilities for good.”

You look around, taking in the peaceful surroundings, the sense of community and support. “It’s beautiful,” you say softly, feeling a sense of hope blossom within you.

The next stop is a small, vintage apartment where you and Seungcheol place your things. The walls are adorned with faded floral wallpaper, and the furniture has a charming, old-fashioned feel. You sit on the living room floor, surrounded by boxes, and trail off, lost in thought.

“So, you’re a hero, not a villain,” you murmur, looking up at Seungcheol.

He pauses, glancing at you with a thoughtful expression. “I guess it’s not that simple,” he says, sitting down across from you. “People see what they want to see. To some, I’m a hero. To others, I’m a villain.”

You nod, digesting his words. “But you saved me. You brought me here. That makes you a hero in my book.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “I just did what needed to be done. Sometimes, the line between hero and villain isn’t so clear.”

You lean back, propping yourself up on your elbows. “It’s strange, you know? All this time, I thought I knew who the good guys and the bad guys were. But now… everything’s different.”

He nods, his eyes distant. “Life isn’t a simple story. It’s messy, complicated. People have layers, motives that aren’t always black and white.”

You turn to Seungcheol, who has laid himself out on the living room floor beside you. The gentle hum of the old radiator fills the silence between you as you finally ask the question that's been on your mind.

“Can I ask you something?” you say, glancing over at him.

He turns his head to face you, nodding slightly. “Sure. What’s up?”

“How did you meet me?” you ask, curiosity lacing your voice.

Seungcheol sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s a bit of a long story,” he begins, his tone thoughtful. “I first heard you every single night in my head before I even knew where you lived. It started with your thoughts and feelings—your fears, your doubts. I heard them all.”

You blink, trying to process what he’s saying. “You heard me in your head?”

He nods. “Yeah. I didn’t know who you were at first, just that there was someone struggling. I could sense your pain and your frustration. It was like an echo in my mind.”

He pauses for a moment, then continues. “When I'vve found you, I started watching the movements in your apartment. I saw you and your boyfriend fighting—a lot. I saw the nights you were left alone...”

You shift uncomfortably, thinking about all the arguments, the hurtful words exchanged. “What did you see?”

“I saw things that were hard to watch. There were nights when your boyfriend would come home drunk, lashing out at you for no reason. I saw him bringing people over, strangers who didn’t have your best interests at heart.”

Your heart aches as you listen. “So, you were watching all of this?”

He nods. “I was. I needed to be sure of what was happening before I intervened. I couldn’t just act without understanding the full picture. He was involved in some dangerous activities, connections with people I didn’t want you to be near.”

He looks at you with a serious expression. “I knew I had to do something. It’s my job, in a way. The place I showed you before, is where people like me come from. We’re spread out across the country, helping those in need.”

You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “So, you felt like you had to save me.”

“Exactly,” he says softly. “It was more than just a job. It was a responsibility. When I saw how much you were suffering, I knew I couldn’t just stand by. I had to step in.”

As you lie there, processing everything Seungcheol has told you, it dawns on you that the man who once seemed so mysterious and distant wasn’t a villain at all. He was the one who sat on your window, smoking and wearing a black outfit, seemingly a shadowy figure.

He was the one who risked falling from a building to ensure your safety, who gathered your belongings—even your mug collection, and your… dildo—before your apartment was destroyed by an alien.

He was the man who, despite the doubts and fears, saved your life and now laid by your side as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Seungcheol’s presence beside you, so unexpectedly comforting, makes you feel secure in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. His gaze meets yours, a question in his eyes as if trying to decipher the whirlwind of thoughts running through your mind.

Unable to hold back your emotions any longer, you roll over and drape yourself across him like a koala. The sudden weight makes him emit a funny gasp. You both end up laughing, the sound filling the room with warmth. He wraps his arms around you, reciprocating the hug with a soft giggle.

“What?” he asks with a playful smile, his eyes twinkling.

You look up at him, your heart full, and press a soft kiss on his lips. Seungcheol’s eyes flutter closed, and he melts into the kiss, holding your face gently as if he’s been waiting for this moment all along.

But then, he pulls back slightly, his expression thoughtful. "Wait, no, are you sure about this? I mean, you’ve just come out of a… complicated relationship.”

You can see the concern in his eyes, the careful consideration behind his words. “I am sure,” you say softly, pressing another kiss to his cheek. “You’ve been amazing. You’re not a villain, and you’ve shown me what it’s like to be cared for.”

You move to kiss his forehead, then his neck, making him giggle again, his laughter bubbling up despite the seriousness of the conversation. He closes his eyes, savoring each tender kiss, his heart racing with every touch.

“I guess I’m just worried,” he says, his voice a mix of hesitation and affection. “You’ve been through so much. I don’t want you to think that I’m just trying to fill a void or something.”

You shake your head, placing one last kiss on his lips. “You’re not just filling a void. You’re something real and true, and I can feel it.”

“Can you… feel it?” he asks.

You smile against his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to reassure him. “Of course I can,” you reply, your voice barely a whisper.

The moment your lips meet his again, you notice his reaction is less restrained this time. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer as if he’s afraid you might disappear. His kisses grow more passionate, each touch of his lips filled with a desperate need to communicate everything he feels.

You can taste the sweetness of his affection, feel the way he melts into you, and you respond with the same intensity. Your hands explore the familiar contours of his face, as if memorizing every detail, every emotion he's conveying.

His breath quickens, and you can feel the heat of his skin, the way his entire body seems to respond to you, to the connection that’s unfolding between you both.

He pulls away slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes locked onto yours. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could.”

You brush your lips against his once more, a soft, tender caress. “It’s because it’s real,” you whisper. “It’s something I’ve needed for a long time.”

[...]

If you ever thought your life would change drastically, you never imagined it would be like this.

When Seungcheol left to handle his tasks for the night, it felt different. The house, though quiet, seemed fuller now.

His presence lingered in the way he had filled it with his energy, his routines, his little touches that made the space feel like more than just four walls. The absence of his constant presence was noticeable, yet somehow, it felt like a comfort.

You wandered around the house, touching things you hadn’t noticed before. There were small, personal details—like a collection of old vinyl records stacked neatly on a shelf, and a set of quirky, handmade coasters on the coffee table. They made the house feel lived in, like a real home.

In the kitchen, you found a note Seungcheol had left on the counter, scrawled in his familiar handwriting: “Pick a movie tonight. I’ll be back soon.” You smiled at the simple gesture, a small piece of normalcy in the midst of the whirlwind you’d been through.

When he arrives at the apartment, the warm aroma of dinner wafts from the stove. He glances around, noticing that the movie on the TV is paused at the very beginning. It’s strange that you’re not here; usually, you’d be curled up on the couch, waiting for him.

His eyes sweep over the space, and he hangs his jacket on a dining chair, the soft thud of the fabric against the wood mingling with the hum of the refrigerator.

A sudden noise catches his attention—an “Ah!” from somewhere in the apartment.

Seungcheol freezes, his heart rate quickening. He tilts his head, straining to hear again. The sound came from the bedroom. Curiosity and concern propel him forward as he moves cautiously toward the door.

Pushing the door open just a crack, he peeks inside. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the scene before him.

You’re sprawled out on the bed, your legs were spread open in a way that revealed everything.

Your body glistens with a sheen of sweat, and you’re arching back, clearly horny. The vibrator, the very same one he had glimpsed in your old apartment—a sight that had piqued his curiosity—was now pressed tightly against your clit.

He could see the pleasure etched across your face, the way you bit your lip and gripped the sheets. He hesitated at the doorway, not wanting to intrude but unable to tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him.

The sight is so intimate, so raw, that he feels a blend of emotions—desire, awe, and a sense of protectiveness. His initial impulse is to step in, to be there for you, but he’s also painfully aware of how private this moment is.

His own breath hitches as he wrestles with the decision of whether to interrupt or simply stand back. He knows this is a vulnerable part of you, one that you might not be ready to share with him just yet.

Seungcheol takes a deep breath, his desire is real as he steps fully into the room. The bulge in his pants is a constant reminder of just how affected he is by the scene unfolding before him. But he pushes past his own need, focusing on you.

He kneels beside the bed, careful not to make any sudden movements that might pull you from your reverie. His fingers, though trembling slightly, are gentle as he reaches for the vibrator. He eases it away from your clit, the sudden absence making you gasp, a sound that’s part surprise, part frustration.

You blink rapidly, trying to catch your breath as you process his presence. Your cheeks flush a deep red. Just as you begin to open your mouth, ready to speak or perhaps to protest, Seungcheol silences you with a touch.

Without a word, he positions the vibrator back against your wetness, the cool touch of it sending you screaming on your bed. Slowly, he guides it back to your clit, applying a steady pressure as he begins to circle it.

His eyes are locked onto your every reaction, absorbing each tremor and gasp as if they were treasures.

The immediate pleasure that jolts through you is overwhelming. You clench his forearm, your grip desperate and needy as you roll your eyes back in pure, unfiltered sensation. The way he controls the vibrator, the way he’s so deliberately attentive to your body—it drives you wild.

The intensity of your arousal triples, the added thrill of Seungcheol’s touch making it feel like every nerve is on fire. You sob, the sound escaping from you as you struggle to stay grounded amidst the stimulation.

Each circle of the vibrator on your clit feels like an eternity, stretching out the sensation to a nearly unbearable edge.

Seungcheol’s gaze never wavers from you. He watches you with an intense focus and tenderness, his own breath coming in uneven puffs as he fights to keep his own desires in check.

He’s controlling your pleasure with an expert touch, making sure that each movement is precise and perfectly tuned to your reactions.

He knows you’re on the brink, and he’s both savoring and prolonging this moment for you.

The control he exerts is deliberate, his movements are carefully calculated to push you to the edge without letting you fall over just yet.

As your body writhes beneath his touch, Seungcheol’s expression softens. He can see how much you need this, how much his presence, his touch, is amplifying everything you’re feeling. It’s a heady blend of power and vulnerability, and he’s completely consumed by it.

As the waves of pleasure begin to crest, you feel your moans transforming into quieter, breathless gasps. Your body tightens, with every muscle pulling taut as you approach the brink of orgasm.

It’s right there, just a heartbeat away, when Seungcheol suddenly pulls the vibrator away. The abrupt absence of its buzzing sends a shock through you, your body jolting as you let out a delayed cry of frustration.

Seungcheol doesn’t look at you. Rather, he sets the vibrator on the bedside table as if it were a routine, doing so with practiced ease.

Then he gets to his feet and strips off his shirt, baring his chest. Your need is heightened by the sight of him, so masterful and totally devoted to you. You watch him, breathless and with wide eyes, while he dismisses your little cries of protest.

He seems determined to show you something more personal than the toy could ever offer, judging by the steady, unwavering look in his eyes.

He says, taking off his belt, “I want to see you cum for me, not for a toy.” “I want to see you cum in my mouth,” he murmurs.

You swear you see your soul leave your body just like in a cartoon,with his words. He spreads your legs wide, putting himself between them. You can almost feel the need in your body quivering with anticipation.

His mouth feels like fire when it first touches your clit; the buzzing vibrator has made you more sensitive. You gasp, your hips jerking involuntarily. His tongue is moist and warm as it hungersily probes every part of you.

You let out a deep moan as he laps at your entrance, gathering your slick and spreading it over your clit.

He sucks gently, then more firmly, his tongue flicking over your most sensitive spot in a way that has you writhing beneath him. Every nerve ending in the body is hyperaware of intense pleasure.

Your hips are held in place by Seungcheol's hands as he consumes you. You can feel the strength in his hold, the way his fingers dig into your skin just enough to anchor you. His eyes glance up at you, watching your reactions, ensuring he’s giving you exactly what you need.

“Seungcheol,” you gasp, your voice shaky. “I’m so close.”

His response is a deep hum against your clit. He intensifies his efforts, his tongue moving faster, his lips sucking harder. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as you hold on for dear life.

Every muscle in your body tightens, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He doesn’t let up, his focus entirely on you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

When your orgasm finally crashes over you, your back arches off the bed, a loud moan escaping your lips. Seungcheol continues to lick and suck, drawing out every last bit of your pleasure, his eyes locked on your face as you come undone.

You take a deep breath, your vision slowly clearing, and catch sight of Seungcheol gripping his cock through his boxers. The outline looks thick and big, making your mouth water at the sight of it.

“Seungcheol,” you murmur, your voice still shaky from the intensity of your orgasm. His eyes meet yours, dark and round.

“Yes?” he asks, his voice husky.

You reach out, your hand trembling slightly as you press your palm against the bulge in his boxers. He inhales sharply, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as you touch him.

“I want to make you feel good too,” you say, your voice gaining strength.

He groans softly, his restraint slipping. He helps you pull his boxers down, his erection springing free. It looks even more impressive without the fabric, flushed, throbbing, and you can’t help but lick your lips in anticipation.

You lean forward, taking him into your hand, feeling the warmth and the weight of him. He watches you, his breath hitching as you stroke him slowly.

“You’re so big,” you whisper, looking up at him.

He chuckles, the sound low and rough. “And you’re so beautiful.”

You smile. Leaning down, you place a soft kiss on the tip, tasting the salty precum. His reaction is immediate, a shudder running through his body as he groans your name.

Encouraged, you take him deeper into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head. His hand finds your hair, not pushing, just holding you gently as you work him with your mouth.

“Just like that,” he breathes, his voice thick with pleasure. “You’re doing so well.”

You hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, feeling the stretch in your jaw. His size is a challenge, but you’re determined to make him feel as good as he made you feel. His groans and gasps spur you on, each sound a reward for your efforts.

You bob your head, taking him as deep as you can, your hand stroking the base where you can’t reach. His hips begin to move, a slow, careful thrust that shows how close he is to losing control.

“Y/N, I’m close,” he warns, his voice strained.

You look up at him, your eyes locking with his as you continue your movements, letting him know without words that you want this. He curses softly, his grip on your hair tightening just a bit.

One thing he didn’t notice was your sneaky hand grabbing the forgotten vibrator on the bedside table. With a naughty grin, you hold the base of his cock to keep it still, then turn the vibrator on and press it against his length while your mouth sucks on his tip.

Seungcheol lets out a deep grunt, propping himself up on his elbows, his eyes closing tightly. “You little—” he curses, his voice strained. Your smirk widens at his reaction, the vibrations traveling through his body, making him shudder.

“Who’s the villain now?” you tease, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock.

His response is a strangled moan, his hips jerking slightly into your mouth. “You... you’re the villain here,” he groans, his hands gripping the sheets. “Fuck!”

The combination of your mouth and the vibrator makes his body tense. You can feel him throbbing in your hand, his muscles tightening as he gets closer to the edge.

You increase the intensity, your hand moving the vibrator up and down his length while your mouth continues its assault on his tip. His breathing becomes ragged, and he’s practically panting now, his moans growing louder with each passing second.

“Y/N, I’m gonna—” he chokes out, his voice desperate.

You let go of his tip, a knowing smirk playing on your lips as you realize you’re giving him a taste of his own medicine. The vibrator still buzzes in your hand as you reach for his cock, straddling him and slowly sinking down.

The sensation is electric—your drenched, sopping cunt engulfs him almost like a vacuum, drawing a desperate moan from his lips. His eyes flutter shut, and you can tell he’s loving it just as much as you are by the way his face contorts.

When you bottom out, Seungcheol squirms beneath you, his hands gripping your hips. He reaches for your wrist and places the vibrator on your clit, the sudden jolt of pleasure making you clench around his length.

His moan mingles with a teasing smile, his eyes dark with lust. If he wasn’t a villain before, he definitely looks like one now.

You ride his cock in circles, the vibrations on your clit making your body curl inward, your nails digging into his abdomen. The pleasure is overwhelming, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you move faster, chasing the high that’s just within reach.

His grip on your hips tightens, guiding you as you move. “That’s it, baby,” he growls “Just like that.”

Seungcheol sneaks a hand to the vibrator and turns it to the highest level. You grunt, throwing your head back as the intense vibrations radiate through your entire body. He can feel them inside you too, the added stimulation making him groan.

“Fuck, Seungcheol!” you cry out, your voice shaking as you jump up and down on his cock. Your pussy meets his length and then his base, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room.

“Yeah, take it all, baby,” he growls, his eyes locked on yours. “Your pussy is so fucking tight around me.”

You moan louder, the dirty talk driving you wild. “Tell me more,” you gasp, craving more of his words, the filthier, the better.

He thrusts up into you, his own pleasure building as he watches you ride him. “You love this, don’t you? Being my little slut, taking my cock so well,” he says, his voice strained with the effort of speaking through his moans.

“Yes! Oh god, yes!” you reply, your movements becoming more frantic. “I love it, Seungcheol. I love being— Fuck!”

He grins. “You’re so fucking wet for me. Look at you, bouncing on my cock like a desperate little whore.”

You shiver at his words, your body responding eagerly. “Shit, Seungcheol, you feel so good inside me,” you pant. “I want to cum all over your cock.”

“Do it, baby,” he encourages, his voice rough. “Cum for me. Show me how much you love it.”

“I’m gonna cum again, Seungcheol,” you gasp, riding him faster. “I want you to cum with me.”

“Fuck, yes,” he grits out, his hands sliding up to your breasts, squeezing them. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

“Cum inside me,” you moan, your nails digging into his chest. “Fill me up, Seungcheol.”

He thrusts up hard, matching your frantic pace. “You want my cum? You want me to fill you up?”

“Yes, please,” you beg, leaning back to get a better angle, driving him deeper. Your voice breaking with need. “I need it, Seungcheol. I need your cum.”

His grip on you tightens, and you can feel him getting close. “You’re gonna get it,” he promises, his voice rough. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, baby.”

Seungcheol presses the vibrator harder against your swollen clit, and you convulse on him, your body shaking uncontrollably from the combined sensations.

“Fuck,” he growls, “You’re creaming all over my cock. Look at you, so fucking soaked.”

You moan loudly, barely able to respond as the vibrations and his cock drive you wild. “Yes, Seungcheol,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “I’m so wet for you.”

He chuckles darkly, his eyes locked on yours as he continues to thrust upward, hitting every sensitive spot inside you. “Hm… The way you’re dripping all over me. I can feel every drop.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you bounce harder, trying to chase the overwhelming pleasure. “I can’t stop cumming,” you whimper. “It’s too much.”

Seungcheol’s breathing grows ragged, his gaze fixed on the way your pussy pulses around him. “That’s right. Let go for me. I want to see you lose control. You’re such a fucking mess for me.”

The pressure of the vibrator against your clit makes you cry out. “I’m cumming so hard,” you moan. “I can’t handle it.”

He grunts, his voice deep and raw. “That’s it, baby. Cream all over my cock. I love how you’re losing it. I’m gonna make you cum so fucking hard.”

Your eyes roll back. “Seungcheol,” you cry out, your body arching and trembling. “I’m gonna—”

He groans as he feels your inner muscles clench around him, the vibrations making every nerve in your body explode. “Yeah, let it all out,” he commands. “Show me how much you fucking need me.”

You convulse one last time, your vision blurring as the orgasm washes over you. Seungcheol holds you tightly, his cock still buried deep inside you as he continues to grind against your clit, making sure you get every last ounce of pleasure.

Seungcheol wastes no time, flipping you over onto all fours like you're a rag doll. The sudden shift leaves you breathless, your body pliant and obedient to his every move. He quickly turns the vibrator off and tosses it aside, not caring where it lands. His hands find your ass, squeezing and fondling your cheeks.

Without missing a beat, he thrusts his cock back inside you, abusing your sweet spot with relentless precision. You feel the sting of your skin meeting his pelvis with each strong thrust.

You bite down on the pillow, muffling your sobs as your body trembles beneath him. The orgasm still pulses through you, but now Seungcheol is fucking you through it with a ferocity that has you seeing stars.

His grip tightens on your hips, one foot propped up on the mattress to give him more leverage. The bed creaks under you, the mattress springs creaking.

His moans become whiny and throaty. You can feel him getting closer, his cock twitching inside you with every thrust, and the sight of the white ring around his shaft driving him feral.

Summoning strength you didn't know you had, you lift your head and glance over your shoulder. You need to see his 'bad boy' posture crumble.

Seungcheol's face is a picture of raw emotion, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open in a silent cry. His expression is utterly shattered, as if he's about to break down and cry like a boy.

The sight of him like this, so helpless and undone, makes you squeeze harder around him. The reaction is immediate—Seungcheol's eyes roll back, and his hips slam into yours, grinding deep as he reaches he orgasms.

You feel the warmth of his cum filling you completely. He groans as he cums harder than ever before, his hips twitching with each spurt. The room is loaded with the sounds of his heavy breathing and the wet, obscene noises of your bodies joined together.

He stays buried inside you for a moment, savoring the sensation of your bodies connected, his cum still dripping from where he's filled you to the brim.

Seungcheol sleeps soundly, like a baby, his face peaceful and unburdened. In that moment, it doesn't matter who he is or where he is; his mind is completely consumed by thoughts of you.

The room is quiet, the only sound being your synchronized breaths. Exhausted and spent, you don't even have the strength to clean up. You sleep without a care, even as his cum slowly drips down your thighs.

[...]

Morning breaks gently, the soft light of dawn seeping through the curtains. Seungcheol stirs, his senses gradually returning to him. But something feels off. He blinks his eyes open, expecting to see you lying beside him. Instead, he’s met with a sight that jolts him fully awake.

You’re floating.

Your body is hovering a few inches above the bed, suspended in mid-air. Your eyes are wide with shock, mirroring his own as you both take in the surreal scene.

“Seungcheol,” you whisper, your voice tinged with panic. “Lower me down.”

He scrambles out of bed, his mind racing to process what he’s seeing. Without hesitation, he reaches out, his hands gently guiding you back down to the bed. The moment your body touches the mattress, the floating sensation ceases, leaving you both staring at each other in stunned silence.

You sit up slowly, your hands trembling slightly as you brush your hair back. “Wasn’t the injection supposed to last only for a few hours?” you ask.

Seungcheol, still healing from the sight of you floating, nods slowly. “Yeah, that’s what they said. But…maybe there’s more to it. Maybe it’s affected you in ways we didn’t expect.”

“So, does this mean you can fuck me while I'm floating in mid-air?”

Seungcheol's eyes widen, his cheeks flushing a deep red. He laughs, a surprised sound escaping his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, clearly caught off guard by your audacity.

3K notes · View notes