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thethirdeyebitch · 11 days ago

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⋆˚✿˖° 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐍 ⋆˚✿˖°

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ➤ Elias “Stack” Moore

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➤ you’re soft-spoken, virgin living with her older sister sibella finally gives in to the persistent, cocky advances of elias “stack” moore—her sister’s boyfriend’s friend.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ➤ something to feed you guys because i’ve became so not active. enjoy!

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ➤ 10.3k

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➤ virginity loss, smut, rough sex, breathplay, choking, dirty talk, praise, overstimulation, black reader (but anyone can imagine themselves), dumbification, fingering, oral (f. receiving), backshots, size kink, modern au, slight pain from first time, post-sex soreness.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

you never really cared when sibella and her man got loud.

they could be in the next room, door cracked open, her voice moaning high-pitched and desperate while his sounded like it came from his chest—gritty and mean like he enjoyed knowing she couldn’t keep quiet. it happened too often for it to phase you. maybe the first time you’d been embarrassed. maybe you’d rolled your eyes, stuffed a pillow over your head, huffed loud enough for them to hear. but now? you were used to it. background noise. like the heater kicking on or a pot boiling over.

sibella had always been the wild one. you were soft. quiet. watched and listened more than you spoke. you liked your room, your books, your own air. sibella, on the other hand, liked attention, chaos, dick. she’d tell you things you never asked to hear—how good it felt when he held her neck, how she liked it rough, how you were too uptight for your own good.

“you gon’ die with that pussy untouched,” she said one night, fresh out the shower in a towel, her eyes still lined in smudged makeup.

you just looked at her from your bed, a little amused. “and?”

“girl,” she laughed, climbing up beside you, “you act like keeping it makes you better. ain’t nobody judging you, but you really ain’t even curious?”

you shrugged. it wasn’t that you thought you were better. you just didn’t want to fake wantin’ something you didn’t feel yet. and maybe it wasn’t even about sex, just the idea of someone close—really close. breath on your skin, hands down your thighs, someone else seeing all of you. you didn’t know what that would feel like, and you didn’t think it was something you wanted to rush. sibella had called you “old-fashioned.” her boyfriend, troy, had called you “uptight” once, but you didn’t care. it was your body. and they could live how they wanted, but so could you.

until he started coming around.

stack.

the first time he showed up at your apartment, you ignored him like you always did with troy’s friends. they’d come in loud, laughing, all of them trying too hard to impress each other. chain-smoking, playing music, shouting about basketball or some shit you didn’t care about. you usually stayed in your room. maybe came out to grab something to drink or use the bathroom. most of the time they barely noticed you. but not stack.

from the second he laid eyes on you, it was like he already knew you were gonna be a problem for him. and he decided to be one right back.

“damn,” he’d said loud, grinning, watching you walk to the fridge in your house shorts. “she don’t say hi? too good to speak?”

you didn’t answer. not even a glance. pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and walked back to your room. door closed behind you.

that was the beginning.

he started showing up more after that. it didn’t matter if troy was around or not. sometimes he’d knock on your front door with food for sibella, claiming she asked him to drop it off. sometimes he’d come by just to talk to troy, linger around the living room even when the conversation dried up. you caught him staring. a lot. and he didn’t try to hide it either.

“yo,” he said one night from the couch while you passed through in leggings and a hoodie, “you ever wear anything that don’t hug that ass?”

you gave him a flat look. “do you ever shut the fuck up?”

he grinned like he liked that answer. like you fed him instead of shut him down. “mmm. lil attitude. i like that. you actin’ mean, but i know that’s just ‘cause you shy.”

you rolled your eyes. sibella laughed from the kitchen.

“you might as well get to know him,” she said later, when y’all were alone. “he not that bad. cocky, yeah. but that’s just how he is. underneath all that extra shit, he cool.”

you weren’t convinced. but three months of him showing up, finding you in whatever room you tried to hide in, cracking jokes, complimenting your skin, your mouth, your shape—he wore you down. maybe it was the way he’d make you laugh without meaning to. or the fact that when you actually sat down and talked to him, he had more to him than you thought. he was smart. surprisingly observant. he’d tell you about his childhood, his mom, his twin brother. and when you spoke, he listened. remembered little things you said in passing and brought them up days later.

“you like strawberry cream in your coffee, right?”

“you said you like sade—put this on.”

“you was talkin’ ‘bout them earrings you saw at the mall. i got you a pair.”

and it started getting harder to treat him like the rest.

you didn’t mean to let your guard down. but it was hard not to with him. stack had a charm about him that crept up slow. he was always touching you. not in ways that crossed lines at first—just light brushes against your waist when he passed behind you in the kitchen, knuckles on your thigh when he leaned too close, fingers tucking a curl behind your ear. at first, you shut it down. pushed his hand off your leg. shifted away from his body. made sure he knew you weren’t that type of girl. but he never got mad. never pushed. he just gave you that same cocky-ass smile like he knew you’d give in eventually.

“you playin’ hard to get,” he said once, his thumb dragging lazy circles across your bare knee. “but you like that i’m on you. you just don’t know what to do with it yet.”

you didn’t even respond. but your breath had caught in your throat when he said it. and he noticed.

he always noticed.

still, you never told him you were a virgin. it wasn’t something you wanted to throw out casually. you figured he probably assumed you were just picky. maybe waiting for the right one. sibella never told him, and you doubted troy knew either. and honestly, you liked keeping that part of you tucked away.

then came that one night.

it was a friday. sibella and troy had gone out, probably wouldn’t be back ‘til the next morning. you were stretched out on the couch in your usual—short shorts, tank top, no bra, nipples pressing faintly through the fabric. you weren’t trying to be sexy, but you weren’t hiding either. you texted elias just outta boredom.

you busy?

he texted back quick.

for you? nah. slide thru? or you want me over there?

come here.

ten minutes later, he was knocking.

he smelled like his cologne, the one you were starting to recognize. brought a little weed with him, a smirk that made your stomach flutter even though you pretended it didn’t. y’all rolled up on the floor first, sitting cross-legged across from each other, talking shit. smoke drifted lazy through the room. the air got thick, quiet between laughs and teasing.

you felt good. loose. warm behind the eyes.

“i don’t get you,” he said low, leaning back on his elbows, watching you from the couch now. “you sexy as hell, smart, got that attitude on you… but you act like you scared of me.”

“i ain’t scared,” you said, biting your lip slightly.

“nah. you are. or maybe you scared of you. ‘cause if i touch you again, you gon’ fold. i see it all on your face.”

you didn’t answer. you were already crawling into his lap, slow and deliberate like your body moved before your brain. the weed had you floatin’. his eyes locked on yours, waiting.

“yeah?” he said, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, fingertips just under the edge of your shorts. “you sure you want me touchin’ you?”

you nodded, heart racing.

you kissed him. for real this time. not like the other stolen little moments when he’d pressed his mouth to yours and you turned your head too quick. this was deep. hot. full of tongue. he gripped your hips tighter, groaning into your mouth like he’d been holding back too long.

his hands moved. over your ass, up your back, fingers gripping the sides of your tank. he kissed your neck, sucked at the curve of your collarbone. heat spilled down your belly. your legs were straddling him now, his dick hard under you through his sweats, pressing up against your core.

he flipped you under him, moving slow like he was waiting for you to say no. one hand slipped down your stomach, toward the waistband of your shorts, and just when he hooked his fingers in—

“wait,” you whispered.

his eyes flicked up.

“what’s up?”

“i’m a virgin.”

his face went blank. still. he blinked, mouth parted just slightly like he didn’t hear you right.

“what?”

you looked away. “i ain’t never… like, at all.”

he sat back on his heels, staring at you for a long second.

“you serious?”

you nodded.

he exhaled slow, ran a hand down his face.

“…fuck.”

his “fuck” lingered in the air like heat.

for a second, you thought he might leave. thought maybe you read it wrong—maybe the way he’d chased you down for months didn’t mean he actually wanted you like that. maybe it was just for show, a game to get you to break. but he didn’t move. didn’t get up. didn’t pull away either.

he just looked at you different now. softer, but still sharp. eyes a little darker. mouth twitching like he had a hundred thoughts moving at once.

“…you shoulda told me that shit,” he muttered, finally. “damn.”

you swallowed, feeling small under him, but not in a bad way. just new. raw. like being seen too clearly.

“you mad?”

he shook his head slowly. “nah. i ain’t mad. just… surprised. you ain’t act like no virgin.”

“how they act?”

he leaned forward again, lips brushing your neck now, voice dropping lower. “not like this. not sittin’ in my lap wit’ no bra on. not kissin’ me like that. shit, i thought you was just takin’ your time. had no idea i was gon’ be the first.”

you shivered under his mouth.

“you want me to stop?”

you shook your head.

“aight then,” he breathed, hands sliding back down your thighs. “you sure, you let me handle it.”

he kissed you again. deeper this time. slower. like he was tasting you different now. his hands didn’t rush, but they didn’t hesitate either. he dragged your shorts down your legs, steady like he was unwrapping something delicate. your tank top went next, peeled off and tossed aside. your whole body burned. you covered your chest at first, instincts kicking in, but he gently pulled your hands down.

“nah. don’t hide all this. lemme see it.”

you looked away, but he tilted your chin back to face him. he stared for a long second, eyes trailing down your curves like he was trying to memorize every line.

“god damn, girl,” he whispered, low and reverent. “you really built like this under all them hoodies?”

you blushed, biting back a laugh.

he moved down your body slow, mouth brushing your collarbone, your chest, your stomach. then he was kneeling between your legs, lifting one over his shoulder, spreading you open like he had all the time in the world.

“shit,” he murmured, thumb dragging over your folds. “so fuckin’ pretty. pussy fat as hell.”

you squirmed under his grip, toes curling.

“you ever play wit’ it before?” he asked.

you nodded. “sometimes.”

“show me.”

you hesitated, but he gave you a look that melted any doubt in your chest. you brought your fingers to your slit, shy at first, dragging them up the center like you were doing it in secret. he watched you like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. eyes locked. jaw tight.

“mmm. there you go. you wet already?”

he ran his fingers over yours, dipped one between your lips and brought it up to your mouth.

“taste that shit.”

you sucked his finger slow, your own breath catching as you did.

he groaned. “fuck, you nasty already. i like that.”

then he lowered his head.

his tongue was slow at first. wide, wet licks that made your whole body tremble. he took his time, holding your thighs open, lips sealed around your clit, tongue dragging figure eights against it ‘til you moaned out loud without meaning to.

“don’t hold it in,” he said against you. “i wanna hear that shit.”

he sucked harder. circled your clit faster. then slid a single finger inside you and your hips jerked up from the bed.

“tight,” he growled. “fuckin’ gripping me.”

you grabbed at his hair, breathing fast now, your whole body winding tighter and tighter until everything snapped. your legs shook around his head, mouth open but nothing coming out except a breathy sob as you came for the first time with somebody else’s mouth on you.

he pulled away slow, lips shiny, licking his bottom one like he’d just finished dessert.

“damn. you taste like peaches or some shit,” he said, laughing low. “sweet ass pussy.”

you were still trembling when he moved back up your body, kissing you deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue.

then he pulled his sweats off.

your eyes widened.

“…elias.”

he smirked. “yeah?”

you didn’t even know what to say. he was thick. long. heavy. it curved up slightly, veins bulging down the shaft, head dark and already leaking. he stroked it slow, watching your face like he wanted to see your brain short-circuit.

“this too much for you?”

you nodded, honestly. “i dunno if it’ll fit.”

“it will,” he said, voice low and certain. “i’m gon’ go slow, baby. i got you.”

he kissed you again, then guided the head to your entrance, rubbing it through your folds.

“just breathe. let me in a lil at a time.”

he pushed slow. real slow. and it still burned. you winced, grabbing onto his arm, and he stilled right away.

“you good?”

“keep goin’,” you whispered, nails digging into his skin.

he went deeper. inch by inch, until your eyes rolled back and your breath caught. he filled you completely, bottomed out with a groan in your ear.

“fuck,” he muttered. “you tight as a fuckin’ vice. shit.”

he stayed there for a second, letting you adjust. kissed the side of your neck, your shoulder, your cheek.

“you takin’ it so good, baby. ain’t even cryin’. first dick and you already built for it.”

he moved his hips slow, dragging out, then back in, just enough for you to feel the stretch again. it was painful, but the pain faded quick. pleasure started creeping in, humming low in your belly.

“see that? told you i’d make it fit.”

you whined beneath him, eyes fluttering.

“that’s it,” he said, fucking you a little deeper now. “let me ruin you.”

your fingers gripped the sheets. he held your throat lightly—not tight yet, just enough to feel the pressure. his other hand cupped your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple.

“feel good?” he asked. “you like this dick, don’t you?”

you nodded, breathless.

he tightened his grip on your neck just enough to make your head float.

“say it.”

“i—i like it,” you stammered, brain going fuzzy from the pressure, the stretch, the sound of his voice in your ear.

“yeah you do. got that virgin pussy dumb already.”

you moaned louder.

“you ain’t never gon’ forget this dick,” he said, cock driving deeper now, hips smacking yours. “first one in it, first one to stretch it, first one to own it.”

you couldn’t even speak.

he flipped you over, pulled your hips up and fucked you from behind now, one hand on the small of your back, the other gripping your hair.

“this the angle that’ll fuck the innocence out you,” he muttered, dragging his dick slow then slamming back in, making you scream into the mattress. “you feel that in your gut?”

your whole body shook. you were drooling on the sheets, eyes wet, legs trembling.

“lemme see that face,” he said, pulling you back by your hair. “look at me while i break you in.”

you glanced over your shoulder, mouth parted, and he almost came right then.

“beautiful ass girl. i swear to god, i’m gon’ fuck you stupid.”

and he did.

he didn’t stop. kept going, made you cum again—twice, maybe three times. you couldn’t keep track. everything was wet. the sheets. his chest. your face. your thighs. he lifted your leg, drilled into you from the side, choked you through another orgasm. your moans turned into sobs. pleasure ate your brain alive.

“stack—fuck—i can’t—”

“yes you can,” he growled, pounding into you. “you takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ.”

your nails raked his back. his hand squeezed your throat again, hard enough to make the edges of your vision blur.

you came one more time, back arched, toes curling, legs locked around his waist.

he groaned deep, spilling inside you with a twitch.

everything went still.

all you heard was your heartbeat. your breath. his deep, ragged one against your skin.

you were ruined. for real.

he kissed your forehead after, gently. ran his hand up and down your back.

“you good?”

you nodded, tears drying on your cheeks.

“…i ain’t never lettin’ nobody else touch you,” he said, voice low, possessive. “you mine now. you know that, right?”

you just nodded again.

because deep down, you already knew.

you woke up before him.

barely. the sun hadn’t even fully crept through the curtains yet. just a strip of light cut across your comforter, hitting the edge of the bed where elias was sprawled out, ass-naked, sleeping like he’d just come home from war. one arm slung over his eyes, the other draped where your body had been. the sheets were a mess. the air still smelled like sex, weed, and sweat.

your thighs ached.

you groaned softly when you moved, careful not to wake him. every inch of you felt sore—inside, outside, places you didn’t even know could hurt. your hips were tender. your legs had that heavy, overworked kind of weight to them. and your pussy? bruised. not in a bad way. but like it remembered every single stroke.

you held onto the edge of the dresser for balance while you stood up, wobbling a little. took a second to catch your breath. your legs did not feel normal.

“damn…” you muttered, barely able to walk straight as you grabbed a towel and slipped out the room.

the water in the shower hit different. you stood there for a minute, letting it run over your body, steam curling around your face while you leaned a hand against the tile. your whole body was humming—raw, open, still floating a little from the night before. flashes kept replaying in your head. his hands on your throat. the way he moaned your name against your ear. how many times you came. how he kept going even after you said you couldn’t take it.

you touched between your legs under the water and winced.

he really meant that shit when he said he was gon’ ruin you.

by the time you dried off and wrapped up in a big t-shirt, your legs were moving better. you still had a little limp, but nothing dramatic. the hallway felt quieter than usual. you figured sibella and troy hadn’t come back yet. probably stayed at his place.

you walked out into the kitchen, yawning, about to fix some eggs or something light, when you saw her.

bella.

sitting on the couch in her work clothes, sipping a mug of coffee and staring right at you.

your stomach dropped.

“…you back already?”

she didn’t even blink. didn’t even answer.

just smirked.

“…you got your lil virgin ass fucked, huh?”

you blinked, froze by the fridge.

“what—?”

“don’t even try it,” she said, standing up slow, walking over to lean against the counter across from you. “we came back early. me and troy. around two. figured we’d crash here instead. we wasn’t even gon’ bother you—until we heard you screamin’.”

your face heated instantly.

“bella—”

“nah,” she cut you off, wide-eyed and laughing, “nah, girl. you was in there hollerin’ like somebody took the damn soul out your body. like—goddamn. i was impressed! my lil sis got some lungs on her!”

you groaned, turning around to hide your face behind the fridge door. “please shut the fuck up.”

“you shut the fuck up,” she cackled, sipping her coffee louder. “you had my man like, ‘ayo, is that stack in there?’ i said, ‘who else would it be?’ you know he ain’t never quiet. i shoulda known from the second he started comin’ over too often. he was locked in on you. and you was playin’ all innocent.”

you mumbled under your breath, grabbing eggs from the fridge.

“girl, spill the damn tea,” she leaned closer. “was it good? how big was it? that man fine as hell. look like he dickin’ every bitch down, and now he got you stuck.”

you refused to give her full details. your body still felt too open, too exposed from what happened just hours ago. like your skin still remembered his hands. like it wasn’t meant to be talked about yet.

so you gave her one thing.

you looked up at her, dead in the face.

then held your hands apart, slow.

a little bigger.

then a little bigger.

then wider.

her mouth dropped.

“…bitch.”

you smirked. “exactly.”

bella screamed into the kitchen towel, spinning in a circle like she just heard the juiciest gossip in her life.

“i knew it! oh my god. no wonder you limp-walkin’. ohhhh, he really broke you in!”

“bella, please go to work.”

“no, bitch, you need to call out. i know you not sittin’ in no office chair today.”

you shook your head, laughing quietly, cheeks hot, chest fluttering at the memory. she eventually left, still shaking her head and giggling like she’d just found out her favorite show got renewed. and as soon as the door clicked behind her, you walked back to your room.

he was awake.

half-sitting up on your bed now, chest bare, sheets low on his waist. eyes still a little heavy but locked on you the second you walked in.

“where you go?” he mumbled, voice thick and scratchy.

“shower.”

he yawned, then grinned slowly as his eyes trailed down your body again.

“how you feel?”

you climbed back into the bed, under the covers. still warm from where he’d been laying.

“…sore.”

he smirked, proud. “good.”

you gave him a look, rolling your eyes.

“what?”

“you proud of yourself or something?”

he pulled you in, kissed your neck slow.

“yeah,” he muttered. “you still here, ain’t you?”

you didn’t say anything. just buried your face in his chest and let your limbs tangle into his. his fingers found your thigh again. light, lazy touches.

you already knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

not even close.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐕𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀.

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thethirdeyebitch · 21 days ago

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꣑ৎ 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒

note: make sure your twitter is up and running smoothly and there's no one beside you ofc. if the links stop working i won't be updating

satoru gojo: how he sounds

☆ favourite type of foreplay

☆ when you cook him his favourite food

☆ he couldn't wait 'till you got home

nanami kento: how he sounds

☆ loves being welcomed home like this

☆ looked like it needed the attention

☆ how he spends his off days

suguru geto: how he sounds

☆ loves to spend his morning fingering you

☆ he couldn't resist. they just look so pretty

☆ he wants to go at it for hours

toji fushiguro: how he sounds

☆ he loves to see you spread out like that for him

☆ favourite dessert after dinner

☆ your pyjamas just looked so adorable

sukuna ryomen: how he sounds

☆ punishing you just because he can

☆ he's feelin' nice today

☆ be a good girl and scream his name

choso kamo: how he sounds

☆ he comes home after such a long and tiring day

☆ the movie's long forgotten

☆ promised he was only gonna hold your hand

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thethirdeyebitch · 22 days ago

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suguru geto links // mdni

size difference when you ride him

he's an insane eater

he could do that for hours

he loves to cum inside :'((

he loves taking care of you

he loves to take it slow with you

he goes insane when you ride him

he's so big and mean

he loves taking you from behind

cute lingerie will make him go insane

he always cums so much when with you <3

he loves you so much when you blow him

and even more loves you for this

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thethirdeyebitch · 28 days ago

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𝐃𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 ⵑ 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐏ⵑ𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 | 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓.

before anyone says “dad bf?! gross!!” dadbf! is simply a term for an olderman that gives a role like of authority / figure for their partner !

must have or / be logged into twitter to access the videos.

these videos are based on my interpretation of smoke.

most videos are black men but other videos of different races simply bc i think it’s something stack would do :3

papa smoke giving you backshots ! ( non black man )

camping trip with smoke !

making your mark on smoke !

riding smoke until your legs shake !

mirror sex with smoke !

smoke handling your attitude !

smoke making your squirt for the first time && talking you through it !

deep strokes and eye contact with smoke !

car sex with smoke !

smoke face fucking you until you make a mess !

smoke eating you out !

smoke making you choke on it ! ( non black man )

smoke making you go dumb and brain dead ! ( non black man )

👩🏽‍🍳 : @prettyfilmz , @hallucinagin , @woahitslucyylu , @queenofklonnie22 , @cafeluvs , @earthreturn , @bl3ssyn , @michifilmz , @tonichildsdaughterduh , @thebumbqueen , @tojisteddy , @nahimjustfeelingit-writes , @christinabae , @ami-s-k , @pinkkycherrish, @decayingearf

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thethirdeyebitch · 2 months ago

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School Daze’

Sammie Moore x reader.

Modern 90s/2000s College AU!

Wrd count; 12,440

Warnings: come on yall know me by now 😏(smut) Sammie Moore……

——————————

Back in school, you wasn’t ever that girl folks looked twice at. Glasses too big, always ducked off somewhere, eyes to the floor like you was scared to be seen. You kept to yourself mostly. Not all the way solo—you had a lil crew. Two, maybe three homegirls, but y’all was all on the same wave. Quiet. Closed off. Real lowkey.

But your girls started poppin’ over time—glowin’ up for real. Got they first lil boyfriends. Started rockin’ with dance teams, joinin’ clubs, throwin’ on them cheer uniforms. Meanwhile, you stayed tucked in. No boyfriend, no flings, no nothin’. Head always in a book, studyin’ for some exam that wasn’t even on the radar yet. Two semesters ahead, tryna be grown before you had to be.You did have one lil crush though—if that’s what you could even call it that.

His name stayed floatin’ down them hallways like the beat of a marching band on game day. He had that kinda presence—loud without even sayin’ nothin’. You used to tag along to his games with your girls, sittin’ up in them bleachers pretendin’ like you was there for the team. But truth was, you barely even cheered. Just watched. Quiet. Nervous. Lowkey fascinated.

You liked Sammie in that way where just hearin’ his voice made your heart do flips. Couldn’t even look him in the eye. That country accent? Whew. Only ever caught it when he passed by, talkin’ to his boys or flirtin’ with some girl in 3rd period.

Then one day he was gone. Transferred schools—somethin’ about bigger chances, better shine. You ain’t ask too many questions.

And just like that, the crush faded. So did that version of you.

Your girls held you down, pulled you outta that shell. Got you dressin’ different. Walkin’ different. Laughin’ louder. You was still shy, yeah, but you had a lil swag now. Started feelin’ yourself. Steppin’ into that new vibe. That grown woman glow-up.

And for the first time… you was feelin’ real good. Like, damn, this might be my season.

Delta U had that feel to it. That’s why you chose it.

Like somethin’ out a Spike Lee joint or a Jill Scott song—Black, loud, full of soul. First week on campus was like a block party and a family reunion all wrapped in one. Greek orgs out on the yard strollin’, grills fired up on the lawn, somebody’s cousin tryna DJ off a Bluetooth speaker while the Ques already sweatin’ through they shirts. Whole campus smelled like shea butter and BBQ chicken. It was Welcome Day. And your dorm? A whole mess of chaos and lip gloss. You was posted up on the edge of your bed, half-dressed, heart racin’. “I don’t think I wanna go, y’all,” you mumbled, barely audible over the music comin’ from the hallway.

They all groaned in unison like a tired choir. “Here she go again, y’all,” one said, floppin’ down on the bed across from you.

“Girl, don’t piss me off tonight,” your other homegirl snapped, already halfway through her winged eyeliner.

Then the ringleader of the crew—the bold one with the rat tail comb always ready to check somebody—got dead in your face. Eye to eye. That comb damn near touched your nose.

“Look, bitch,” she said real calm, too calm. “It’s fine-ass niggas outside. The sun out. You thick as hell. And guess what? We in college now. Not high school. Not church. College. So guess what we doin’? We goin’ out.”

She spun away like she dropped the mic. You sighed, stood up, and turned to the mirror. Took yourself in.

Them little jean shorts was hangin’ on by faith and friction. Your thighs was thangin’. Your chest sittin’ real proper thanks to the double-bra combo your homegirl swore by. You turned side to side, let out a tiny smile.

You knew you looked good.

“Aight, y’all… I’m ready.”

You turned back to face the room, grinnin’ from ear to ear.

The whole squad paused for half a second—then exploded. Screamin', tongues out, feet stompin', hypin’ you like you just stepped on stage at Homecoming.

“OKAY MISS MA’AM!”

“YES THICKNESS!”

“We outside tonight!”

Y’all laughed, yellin' over each other, snatchin’ purses and keys, lip glosses flyin'.

Ready for whatever the night was gonna bring.

And in that moment? You wasn’t shy no more.

You was just her.

Y’all finally hit the yard, and it felt like the ground was vibrating beneath your feet. Bass thumpin’ so hard your chest caught the beat before your ears did. Speakers stacked on folding tables, Greek letters spray-painted on bedsheets hangin' off dorm windows.

Boys in jerseys sweatin’ and flexin’. Girls in sundresses glistening in the heat, edges laid, gold hoops swingin’. DJ shoutin’ over the mic, “WELCOME TO DELTA U, CLASS OF LEGENDS!” and the crowd goin’ stupid.

Y’all walked through like you owned the place, hips swayin’, laughs high-pitched, bodies glistening in that 5 p.m. sun. Somebody handed you a red cup—pink punch with that bite in it. You took a sip and coughed low, but didn’t let it show. Your girls was already two-steppin’ near the speakers, hips rollin’ to the beat. Dudes slid up behind ‘em, tryna catch a vibe.

“Ayo, ma, you got a man?” one dude tried, leanin' in a lil too close.

Your homegirl turned around slow, gave him a once-over. “I got three. All of 'em crazy.”

“Damn, you can’t just say no?”

“I did say no,” she said, turning right back to the beat like he ain’t exist.

Another boy tried your other friend: “You dance like that in church too?”

“Only if Jesus show up wearin’ grey sweatpants.”

He stood there stunned while she twirled away, drink in hand, and you laughed—finally loosening up.

You were buzzed just enough to stop overthinking, but not enough to stop squintin'. Your lashes too long for your glasses, so everything looked like it had that soft blur to it.

You kept glancing around the yard, eyes skimming faces. Not really lookin’ for nobody… just watchin’. Floatin’

Then—bump.

Hard shoulder to your arm. Your drink flew out your hand like it got snatched by the air.

“Shit—!”

Your cup hit the grass with a soft splat, pink liquid staining the blades.

Your girls turned fast.

“Damn! You can’t say ‘scuse me, nigga?” your girl barked, already turnin’ up.

His boys stepped forward like what’s up then, all arms folded and necks cocked.

“Man, y’all too loud for no reason. It was an accident.”

“Accident is trippin’ over a curb. He bodied her like she ain’t got bones!”

“Nah, y’all better back up ‘fore we get un-Christian out here.”

You stayed quiet, eyes still low, focused on that cup layin’ sideways in the grass. Lips pressed tight.

You didn’t like scenes.

Didn’t like heat that wasn’t from the sun.

Then you heard it.

“I’m sorry ma.”

“I ain’t mean to.”

That voice.

Soft drawl. Familiar rhythm. Sounded like old gum wrappers and middle school yearbooks. Like gym bleachers and hallway whispers.

You blinked.

A hand—big, warm, steady—came into view. Reached down, picked up your cup like it was glass instead of plastic. And as your eyes followed his fingers up to his wrist, to his arm, to his—

“...Sammie.”

You said it out loud before you could catch yourself.

All your girls paused mid-argument. Froze. One even blinked twice like she needed confirmation.

“Oh mf! Why didn’t you say it was you?” your homegirl shouted at him, pushing her lipgloss back into her purse.

He looked at her for a second, then back at you. Smiling like trouble you knew better than to want.

“I remember you,” he said, voice low, rich.

“Quiet lil thang.”

He stepped back just a bit, eyes dragging over you real slow. Licked his lips. That old

Sammie habit.

You tried to hold it in, but your smile betrayed you. It was comin’ anyway, soft and shiny like the gloss your girl put on you.

Your girls noticed. Of course they did.

They looked at each other eyebrows raised, hands covering grins, whisperin' fast.

You panicked. Had to say something.

You cleared your throat. “I remember you too… benchwarmer.”

“Oooooooohh!”

His boys hollered behind him, all hands to their mouths, jokin’ like they was on the schoolyard again. Sammie dropped his head, one hand rubbin' over his waves, that crooked smile sneakin’ back out.

“It’s like that, ma?” he said, eyes locked on you.

“Maybe,” you replied, real smooth. Then turned around like it was nothin’.

You walked off, hips steady, heart doin’ flips. Your girls followed close behind, mouths pressed shut just enough to stop screamin’. Y’all didn’t have to say it—but they knew.

You wasn’t just out here now.

You was in it.

The party was long gone, the music a ghost now, just bass memories still rattlin' in your chest.

Your dorm was dim, lit only by the soft blue TV glow and a phone light somebody forgot to turn off. One of your girls was already knocked out across her bed, one shoe still on. The other halfway under the covers, lashes askew, mouth wide open. They didn’t even bother changin’.

You laid there for a second, buzz finally faded, makeup itchin', body tired but restless.

So you got up. Showered slow. Let the heat wash over you until the bass left your bones.

Now you were in your real skin. No lashes, no gloss. Just you. Clean. Barefaced. Sports bra, cotton shorts, big t-shirt. Edges puffed up, bonnet tied loose. Slippers slid on, keycard in hand.

You went lookin' for a snack—first the mini fridge, then the cabinets. Nothin’ but dry-ass ramen, ketchup packets, and your roommate’s suspicious yogurt.

You sighed, tugged your t-shirt lower, and shuffled down the hall to the vending machines.

The hallway was quiet, just the hum of old AC and the click of your steps.

You stood there, starin' through the glass like it was gonna speak to you. Your finger hovered over the buttons. Hot Cheetos? Snickers? Twix?

“Damn, the machine got you stuck like that?”

You turned, slow.

Sammie.

Leanin' in the doorway like he belonged there, hoodie half-zipped, white tee underneath, chain glintin’ under the cheap fluorescent lights. Eyes real low. Smile even lower.

You rolled your eyes. “Why are you even in here?”

He stepped forward with a smirk.

“Co-ed, baby.”

You sighed and pressed B7. The machine groaned, then thunked out your Twix. You bent to grab it, not even thinkin’ about it.

Sammie thought about it though. Thought about it real hard.

His eyes trailed up from your calves, slow like honey. To the curve of your thighs. To the way them shorts barely held on. He bit the inside of his cheek.

Cornbread-fed. Just how he liked ‘em. He was from the South—he didn’t believe in women who couldn’t hold a plate or carry a man’s whole attention without even trying.

You stood back up, unbothered. Turned to him.

“Get a good look, pervert?”

You slid past him.

“I don’t know… let me see again,” he

grinned.

You smacked his arm lightly. “Horny lil’ boy.”

“I was jokin’, you know that, mama,” he said, stepping up close behind you. His arms slid over your shoulders like he done it before.

“Boy, if you don’t get off me—”

He laughed but held on tighter. “Why you bein’ like that?”

“I ain’t bein’ like nothing. Boy, you got all these girls on you already. Drama ain’t for me.”

He leaned back, blinked like you just told him the sky was purple. “And it’s for me?”

You gave him that be serious look. Chin tilted, eyes narrowed.

“I’m serious,” he said, voice low now. “Them girls just… girls. That’s it.”

You looked at him like he was wearin’ stupidity on his chest instead of that chain.

“Boy, you don’t even make sense.”

You didn’t wait for him to try again. You turned. Walked.

“Goodnight, Moore.”

Back in your dorm, you slipped into bed, pulled the blanket up, popped a DVD into your player— Brown Sugar—just somethin’ soft and familiar.

You watched the screen flicker, eyes growin’ heavy.

He wasn’t in the room.

But he was in your head now.

And you hated that.

The dining hall was loud like always—linoleum floors, the smell of syrup and turkey bacon mixin' with cheap coffee and last night’s regrets. You sat at your usual table, bonnet still on, hoodie zipped, tray full of breakfast you barely picked at. Your girls were all around you, gigglin' between bites, still full off last night’s turn-up.

“I know you not gon’ sit there and act like that ain’t Sammie Moore had you stuck at the vending machine like a redbone deer in headlights,” one of your girls said, grinnin’ wide.

“I was not stuck. I was mindin’ my business.”

“Chile please,” another said, mouth full of biscuit, “you was starin’ like he had a scholarship between his lips.”

You rolled your eyes, sippin’ your orange juice. “I don’t even like what he stand for. He drama. I ain’t come to college for all that. I’m tryna keep it cute, keep it clean, get my degree.”

“Cute and clean, huh?” your friend teased.

“Is that what they call that ass you had out last night?”

You swatted her with a napkin, smilin’ despite yourself.

That’s when some boys walked over—three of them, tall and lookin’ like trouble dressed in varsity jackets and gold chains. One had dreads, the other two low fades. But it was the one in the black tank and Cuban link that caught your attention first.

He locked eyes with you like he already knew your name.

“’Scuse me,” he said, voice low and syrupy, “didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m Smoke.”

You raised a brow, not budgin’. “I don’t do nicknames.”

He smiled slow, head tilt slight. “Then let’s get it right. Elias.”

That name sat nice on his lips.

You felt your spine react before your mouth even moved.

You cleared your throat, coolin’ the smile that wanted to creep. “Okay then, Elias.”

“Okay then,” he said back, eyes takin’ you in respectful—but not shy.

He turned a little so he wasn’t blockin’ your homegirls. “Y’all should come out tonight. We throwin’ somethin’ over on Palmer. Real easy. Just vibes.”

He looked back to you. “Be good to see you there.”

Then just like that, he turned and walked off, smooth like the song playin’ low from somebody’s speaker nearby. You blinked, caught off guard.

“Uhhh–HELLO?” your girls said in unison, smacking the table.

“You better get your ass in formation!”

“Girl, who was THAT?”

“Baby I’m wearin’ heels tonight—I don’t care if my ankles bleed.”

You laughed, tray forgotten, heart a lil' fluttery. “I mean… why not?”

And right on cue—like somebody summoned him with your thoughts—Sammie walked up, his boys trailing behind, chain swayin’ over his chest, durag tied down, eyes already scanning the table.

“What y’all so juiced about?” he asked, a lazy grin on his face.

You didn’t even flinch. “Elias invited us to his party.”

His smile dipped, just a second. He looked off to where Elias and his boys were posted up.

“Word?”

“Mhm. Said it’d be good to see me there.”

You said it calm. But your girls caught the shift—Sammie’s jaw tightenin’, the light in his eyes dimmin’ just a touch. He played it off though, noddin' once.

You tilted your head, leaned forward just a little.

“You jealous?”

He looked down at you, lips pressed but still smirkin’.

“Nah. Ain’t no reason to be.”

You stood up, the air thick now, the table quiet like the cafeteria just paused for y’all.

“You want me,” you said, eyes never leavin’ his.

He stepped up, close, eye to eye. He was taller, but you ain’t back down.

“I do,” he said, noddin’ once.

That heat was back—heavy like the Delta sun in July. You felt it, and you liked it.

You looked in each of his eyes slow, readin’ the want sittin' behind them lids.

“Drop the hoes then, Moore.”

You popped your gum, eyes draggin’ down his chest and back up like you were takin' inventory. Then you turned and walked off with your girls, hips swingin’, all of them whisper-screamin’ behind you like high school all over again.

Sammie and his boys were still there, stuck in place.

One of his boys leaned close, clapped his shoulder.

“Better get busy, my boy.”

He didn’t say nothin’, just smiled slow, hands in his pockets as he watched you leave.

He had a type, sure.

But you weren’t a type. You were a whole damn category.

And Sammie Moore wanted all of it.

Music knockin’ low from the speaker—some classic R&B remix with a new-school beat. Perfume in the air. Heat from flat irons and the smell of edge control mixin’ with laughter. You and your girls were in full formation, baddie-mode activated.

Legs out, arms oiled, bangles singin’ every time y’all moved. Lip gloss poppin’, shades sittin’ right on top of your brows. You had on a lil Baby Phat-style jean romper, hugging every curve like it got hands.

Pumps to the sky. Hair curled up with that midnight bounce—your mama would’ve smiled seein’ them braids had finally done what they was supposed to.

You posed in the mirror, tongue peeking between your teeth, adjusting your hoops.

“Damn, I love college,” one of your girls said, doing a slow turn in the mirror.

Another smacked her gum, tossing her curls. “Both them boy crews? Whew. It's like God dropped fine into the registration office.”

“Okay, but who you tryna lock in with?” they asked, looking right at you.

You smirked, sliding your shades down your nose.

“Let’s see who show up tonight.”

They screamed. Laughed loud. Even the shy one was gigglin’. You all looked too good to be humble.

You raised your arm up, gold bracelet catchin’ the light.

“TO COLLEGE!”

They all clinked their red cups with yours. “TO COLLEGE!”

The energy was different on this side—lower, smokier, but just as electric. Loud bass thumped from a Bluetooth speaker, weed smoke curling up to the ceiling fan.

Sammie was leaned back on the futon, durag hangin’ off, T-shirt stretched over his chest, black jeans crisp. One of his boys rollin’ a blunt, another lined himself up in the mirror with a phone flashlight.

“Bro…” one of them said, already crackin’ up.

Sammie looked up, raising a brow.

“You really gon’ act like we ain’t watch ole girl stiff-arm you in the caf this morning?”

The whole room broke out laughin’.

Sammie shook his head, grinnin'. He could take it.

“Aye, man…” he exhaled, takin’ the blunt slow. “Y’all wild. I ain’t even on that lil groupie run no more. I’m tryna make her mine. Real talk.”

One of his boys mugged up, snatching the blunt.

“Man, here you go with that soft shit again.”

He hit it, exhaled deep, voice cuttin' through the smoke.

“All I know is—her girls? Man... them girls look like they stepped out a Vibe magazine.”

The room lit up with head nods, somebody clappin’.

“They bad bad.” “I’m talkin’ curated bad.”

“Shit,” another said, sittin’ up, “we could all lock in tonight.”

The whole room paused, lookin’ around.

“Oh nah, y’all niggas trippin’,” one laughed.

Sammie stood, brushing his shirt off, lookin’ in the mirror like he was about to sign a deal. Ran his hand over his waves, durag in one hand, gold watch glintin’ under the light.

He looked through the mirror at his boys, confidence written all over his face.

“Let’s roll.”

They stood like a unit—too loud, too good-lookin’ for their own good.

The four of you stepped out that car like destiny walkin’ on heels. Laughter on your lips, gloss shinin’ under the porch lights, hips swayin’ to the beat echoing out the open doors.

Elias was the first to greet y’all.

“Whewww—look at this,” he said, leanin’ against the porch post like he been waitin’ all night. “If y’all was any finer, I’d need a warning label just to breathe.”

You smiled without tryin’, lookin’ away as your girls giggled. His boys peeled off fast, gravitatin’ toward your crew like bees to fresh honey.

Elias took a step closer, hand brushing the small of your back.

“You came,” he said, voice low and smooth.

“I said I would,” you replied, tryin’ like hell not to let his cologne live rent-free in your chest.

“Come on, let’s grab a drink.”

He led you through the crowd, shoulder to shoulder with strangers, the house alive with bass and bodies. Somewhere between the kitchen and hallway, a Soul Train line was tryin’ to start.

Girls were twerkin’ like it paid the rent. Air hot. Thick with weed. Full of life.

Y’all stopped at the drink table—red cups stacked, Jungle Juice swirling in a Gatorade cooler.

“You want sweet or strong?” Elias asked, already pourin’.

“Strong,” you said, takin’ the cup from him—fingers brushing, eyes meeting.

Leanin’ against the counter, y’all fell into that low talk. He told you about his major, his plans, how he liked how you carried yourself. Quiet confidence, he called it.

You were just startin’ to let your smile relax when—

He walked in.

Sammie Moore.

Black tee clingin’ to his chest, pants sittin’ grown-man low, chain swayin’ like a whisper.

That smirk already cocked on his lips like he knew the script before the scene started. His eyes scanned the room once—twice—

Then locked on you.

You. And Elias.

You felt it in your neck, your spine, the base of your stomach.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t speak. Just dipped his chin, gave you that look, and walked deeper into the crowd—dap-tappin’, noddin’ to the beat like it was just another Friday night.

But it wasn’t.

Elias leaned close, voice soft in your ear.

“That your man or somethin’?”

You shook your head, steadyin’ yourself.

“No.”

He grinned. “Good. Come dance with me then.”

You followed him to the living room-turned-dancefloor, Jungle Juice in hand. The song shifted—Aaliyah’s “One in a Million” remix slid in low and sensual.

Y’all moved close. That slow grind—just enough to spark heat but not burn. Elias knew how to move. Hand on your waist. Breath near your ear.

But your eyes kept driftin’.

Across the room—Sammie, posted on the wall. Watchin’. Not hiding it. Jaw tight. Eyes hard.

He wasn’t sayin’ a word, but his body was yelling loud.

That look? That look said you had no damn business lookin’ that good with somebody else.

The song faded. Elias leaned back just a little, like he might say something deeper.

But then—

You felt it.

A hand on your wrist.

“Lemme borrow her real quick,” Sammie said, low and gravelly, eyes never leavin’ yours.

Elias raised his brows, but you already knew. You nodded at Elias, heart thumpin', and let Sammie guide you away.

He pulled you down a short hallway, the noise behind y’all fading into a hum.

“Boy, what the hell is wrong with you?” you said, tryin’ to snatch your arm back—but not really.

Sammie turned, steppin’ close ‘til the wall kissed your back.

“You was lookin’ too good to be up on him like that,” he muttered, voice thick.

You blinked at him, lips parted, chest tight.

“Elias don’t got nothin’ to do with you.”

He smirked, leanin’ in, his breath all up in your space.

“Then why you keep lookin’ at me like he do?”

No answer. Not with his hand braced beside your head, not with that fire in his eyes like he was daring you to lie.

Your breath caught. His face inched closer.

“You know I want you.”

You swallowed, eyes lockin’ with his.

“I told you,” you whispered. “Drop the hoes, Sammie.”

He paused.

Then smiled.

“Watch me.”

Next day, class hit—but your mind was somewhere else. Still buzzin’ from the party, from the hallway, from the way Sammie looked at you like you was the only thing in that room.

 You slid into your usual seat in the back of the lecture hall. Hoodie on, lips glossed, eyes low. Tryna stay out the way.

Then the door opened—and the whispers started before you even turned around. It was him. Sammie Moore.

 Steppin’ in like the whole classroom was his stage.

Girls straightened in their chairs. You could hear the lil, “Hey Sammie,” “Oh my God he in this class?” floatin’ through the air like perfume.

 He didn’t give none of ’em no play. Just scanned the room, eyes movin’—’til they locked on you like a bullseye. Then he grinned.

Next thing you know, he joggin’ up the stairs—loud, on purpose—then flopped down next to you like he’d been doin’ it all semester. His arm slid over the back of your chair, all casual, like it belonged there.

You ain’t say nothin’ at first. Just stared straight ahead, pretendin’ like your heart wasn’t thumpin’ out your chest.

“Morning,” he said, voice low and lazy—like y’all just rolled outta bed together. “You miss me?”

You sucked your teeth, tryna hide your smile. “Boy, get on.”

He chuckled, leaned back, spread his legs wider like he paid rent in the seat.

That’s when they walked up—two girls in Fashion Nova fits, tryin’ to play it off like they needed help with the syllabus.

 One leaned in too close, eyes skippin’ past you like you ain’t even there.

“You really not gon’ say hey to nobody now?” she said, twisting her mouth. “You actin’ brand new, Sammie.”

He didn’t even blink. Didn’t shift. Didn’t smile.

 “Nah. I’m good.”

The other girl gave you the slow once-over, nose turned up. “You ain’t even all that. He gon’ treat you the same way he did the rest of us.”

This was exactly what you meant. You wasn’t even gon’ say nothin’. You ain’t need to.

But Sammie turned—slow. Looked her dead in the face.

 And when he spoke? His voice dropped into somethin’ you hadn’t heard before—deep, steady, real.

“I don’t talk to girls like this,” he said, jaw tight. “But for her? I will. So back the fuck up.”

Silence.

You blinked. Looked at him like… who is this?

He was still watchin’ them, unblinking. Daring one of ’em to say something.

 They didn’t. Just rolled their eyes and stomped off, heels clackin’ down the stairs.

You turned back to him, still lowkey stunned.

“You don’t talk to girls like that?” you said quiet, voice almost teasing.

He leaned in, looked you dead in the eye.

“Nah. Never had a reason to.”

Your heart dipped, flipped, did all types of flips.

You looked at him like you wanted to be mad… but you wasn’t. Not even close.

Class started. Professor talkin’ about somethin’ you couldn’t even pretend to care about.

 ‘Cause next to you? Sammie’s knee kept brushin’ yours. His arm still draped behind you. And that look on his face?

Like you was already his.

Professor Davis was old-school. Always came in wearin’ some too-tight slacks, cologne from the ‘70s, and vibes like he been waitin’ all year to catch somebody slippin’.

 He clapped his hands once—loud—snappin’ everybody out they whisperin’ and giggling ’.

“Aight class, listen up. Time to separate the passers from the repeaters. First project of the semester starts today. Two-person teams. Full breakdown due in three weeks. I’m assigning partners—don’t come cryin’ to me.”

You sat up straight. That anxious flutter startin’ in your chest.

 You always took school serious. GPA clean. Ain’t no way you was about to let some random boy mess that up.

Professor started callin’ names off his clipboard, pairin’ folks up one by one. “Danielle and Marcus… Tiffany and Kayla…”

You tuned most of it out, until— he looked up pen pointing through the seats before his eyes landed on you.

“You… and Sammie Moore.”

The whole row went: “Ooooooooh.”

You closed your eyes, breathed deep. Lord, why me?

Sammie? Of all people?

You turned your head slow, like maybe you heard it wrong.

But there he was—grinnin’ like he just won a Grammy.

 Mouth wide open. Gold flashin’.

He slapped the desk once and leaned into your space, breath smellin’ like spearmint and sin.

“Oh, this gone be fun,” he said, teeth gleamin’.

You sighed. Loud.

“I ain’t never even seen you with a syllabus, Sammie.”

He threw his head back laughin’. “Ayo chill on me! I’m tryna turn over a new leaf. Be a scholar n’ whatnot.”

You side-eyed him. “You ever even own a textbook?”

He pointed at your bag. “Nah… but you do. And since we partners… closed mouths don’t get honor roll.”

You blinked, jaw tight. “Lord.”

He leaned closer, voice low, smooth. “What? You don’t trust me?”

You crossed your arms.

“I don’t even know you.”

He grinned wider, tapped the desk twice. “Well. Guess that’s what the project’s for.”

Sammie kept it one hundred. He said he’d put in work—and he did. Showin’ up every day like clockwork. Sometimes early, posted up outside the library like he belonged there.

“Thought I’d get a head start,” he’d say, flashin’ that cocky half-smile.

 “Or maybe I just like lookin’ at you tryna act like you ain’t impressed by a nigga.”

You’d scoff, but you never sent him away. Truth was—he was tryin’. Hard.

He’d sit across from you, brow furrowed, tryna follow your notes while low-key givin’ you his own kind of test.

“Yo, derivatives?” he said one day, flippin’ his notebook around with dramatic flair. “These just wild disrespectful.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself—and he grinned like he just won the championship game.

“There she go,” he said. “Knew I could crack that mean girl shit eventually.”

You tried to play it cool. “Focus, Samuel.”

“I am focused,” he said, eyes lockin’ on you just long enough to make your heart skip.

 “On the sexiest tutor on campus. Don’t blame a nigga if you distractin’.”

Every time he talked slick like that, you swore you wouldn’t react.

 But your cheeks always gave you away—heat risin’ like you caught a sunburn indoors.

“That a blush?” he teased, leanin’ in like he tryna get a better look. “Don’t start fallin’ for me now.”

“In your dreams,” you shot back. But even you heard the smile in your voice.

From then on, study sessions were never just about the project.

 He’d pass you a highlighter and let his fingers graze yours.

 Let y’all knees touch under the table like it wasn’t on purpose.

 Lean over your shoulder like he tryna read the worksheet—when really, he just wanted to breathe you in.

“Okay, brainiac,” he’d say when you breezed through a problem. “You really just be out here rememberin’ formulas off the dome like that? You sexy as hell.”

You froze. “Sammie.”

“What?” He shrugged, all fake innocence. Eyes scanning you full of anything but. “I’m just sayin’— brains and looks? That’s dangerous.”

It wasn’t long before you started leanin’ in too.

 Not ‘cause you had to. But because you wanted to.

Little things added up.

 A hand on your back when he leaned closer. The way his eyes tracked every word when you explained something. Really listened.

 Like you was the only person in the room.

He still messed up equations. Still talked too much. Still flirted like it was second nature.

But he was showin’ up. Every time. 

For you.

And somewhere between late-night study grinds and lowkey heart flutters… Sammie Moore stopped bein’ the boy from the back of the class and started becoming the one who had you smilin’ between blinks, blushin’ between smile lines and fallin’ just a little harder every time he cracked a joke.

College life meant party life—and here y’all go again.

Your girls talkin’ you into steppin’ out with ’em.

 You was easier to convince than usual. All it took was them bringin’ up Sammie.

“How close is close?” one of ’em asked, nudgin’ you.

 You tried to play it off, but that blush crept up quick.

“He just… I mean…”

 You rolled your eyes, but you told ’em. How fine he was. How deep his voice got when he was focused. How you couldn’t hold out much longer.

“Who said you had to?” one of them smirked.

Another girl leaned in, fanning herself. “I bet he talk you through it too,” she said, and y’all lost it, laughin’ all over again.

You grabbed your gloss, touched up in the mirror, and tried not to smile so hard. You was feelin’ yourself tonight. And you should.

Y’all finally headed out—heels clickin’, perfume thick in the air, dressed like you had something to prove. Which maybe you did.

Or maybe… you just knew Sammie was gon’ be there.

 And tonight, you was gon’ let him see it.

The party started before y’all even hit the door. Lights low. Bass heavy. Air thick with perfume, weed, and sweat. Everything bathed in that purple-blue glow like a dream you wasn’t supposed to wake up from.

Y’all pulled up together—but separate. You and your girls all sharp edges and lip gloss, heels clickin’, skin glistenin’ like honey under neon.

 Them and Sammie? Posted on the opposite sidewalk, black tees, gold chains, eyes cuttin’ through the dark like heat.

It was automatic.

 You stepped out the car and locked eyes with him.

 Sammie already waitin’. Already smilin’.

“Damn,” he said under his breath, loud enough for the fellas to hear. “Y’all see this?”

You tried not to, but you blushed. Again.

Your girls noticed. Teased you. One popped your arm with her clutch, whisperin’, “Girl, if you don’t go say hey—”

But you ain’t have to.

 Sammie was already crossin’ the street. Already comin’ to get you.

He stopped in front of you, the world hummin’ low behind his eyes.

“You wear that for me?” His voice hit your chest first, then your knees.

 You looked him up and down—black denim, clean kicks, rings on his fingers, that gold chain you always noticed when he was leanin’ over your notes.

“You think everything for you,” you murmured, tryin’ to sound unaffected.

He just grinned. “Only the good shit.”

Your girls and his boys fell into that easy, flirty back-and-forth.

 Laughin’, flirtin’, dappin’ each other up like this was just another night. But you and Sammie?

 Y’all was in your own bubble. One step slower. One look longer.

And when the door to the club cracked open, that bassline slid out like smoke—and Sammie turned to you.

“Aight,” he said, reaching for you smooth and easy, like he already had the right. 

Arm slid over your shoulder. Firm. Warm. Protective.

 “Come on. You wit’ me.”

And just like that, you let him guide you in.

Walkin’ through that crowd like you was made for it.

 Shoulder to chest, his hand droppin’ to your hip when somebody brushed too close. Eyes on the DJ, the dancers, the lights—but always comin’ back to you.

Inside, it was wall-to-wall heat.

 Bodies movin’. Drinks spillin’. Hooks loopin’. Lights stutterin’ like camera flashes in slow motion.

Sammie leaned down, lips close to your ear. “You good?”

You nodded, barely able to hear yourself think.

 But his arm didn’t move. Stayed locked around you like it belonged there. And for the first time… you let it. Let yourself settle into it.

Let yourself feel how good it felt to be next to him—not just in study halls or library booths, but here.

 In the lights. In the noise. In his world.

Some girl tried to come up. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

 Just kept his body turned toward you like she wasn’t even there.

“You drink?” he asked, mouth back at your ear. You nodded again. And just like that—he was leading you through the crowd, still holdin’ you close.

You felt eyes. Felt envy.

 Felt the beat thumpin’ in your chest.

But most of all—you felt safe.

Like maybe, just maybe… this boy was serious.

Like maybe… you was ready to find out.

Sammie didn’t say nothin’—just nodded toward the back, hand still resting heavy on your waist as he guided you through the bodies like he had a key to every room in the house.

Past the living room speakers, past the swayin’ couples, past the girl in red heels dancin’ like she ain’t have a care in the world.

The kitchen was cooler, quieter. Dim light from the stove clock. Ice clinkin’ in cheap glass cups.

 Somebody’s cousin passed by with a bottle tucked under his arm and a blunt behind his ear. Didn’t even look twice at y’all.

Sammie stepped to the counter, opened the fridge like it was his place.

“What you drink?” he asked, back still to you.

You shrugged, leanin’ against the island. “Pick for me.”

He turned, brow raised. “You don’t drink like I do.”

You tilted your head, smirkin’ just a lil. “Try me.”

He chuckled—low, lazy. “This gone be funny,” he said, grabbing a red bottle and somethin’ brown from the corner.

 Poured heavy in two cups, eyes low from the weed hummin’ through his system.

Then he took a sip.

 Slow.

 Eyes on you the whole time.

Mouth still on the rim when your gaze dropped—followin’ the line of his throat, the way he pulled back from the cup slow, lips glossy, glistening under the overhead light.

He wiped his hand down his mouth, rings glintin’, and your eyes tracked every. damn. move.

Then—he licked his lips. Just once.

Your gaze dropped there, couldn’t help it. You watched his tongue slide across those thick lips, the gold of his slugs lookin at you.

He stepped in closer, the space between y’all shrinkin’ like breath in cold air.

 Held your cup in one hand, lifted your chin just a touch with the other.

“Go 'head,” he said, voice dipped in honey and dare. “Let’s see if you real.”

You opened your mouth, and he pushed the cup to your lips—fingers gentle, but sure. His other hand slid back, found the nape of your neck, thumb pressin’ just enough to ground you.

You drank.

All the while, his eyes never left you—low, watchful, wantin’.

 That tilted POV got you dizzy, heat spreadin’ slow down your spine.

 He smelled like kush and cologne and the sweat on his skin. You looked up from under your lashes, caught his mouth twitchin’ like he was thinkin’ somethin’ he couldn’t say out loud.

You dropped the cup without speakin’.

He let it fall—plastic, not glass—no spill. No need to say nothin’.

His thumb brushed your bottom lip, slow. Wet. Glossy. Warm.

He hummed low in his throat. “Sweet,” he said. Could’ve meant the drink. Could’ve meant you. Didn’t matter.

Then he pulled back, just enough to breathe, fingers curlin’ around yours. Didn’t tug. Didn’t pull. Just led.

Back through the smoke and color. Back to the music, where it was louder, hotter.

 Back to the floor, where the bass made your bones hum and the lights turned his eyes to fire.

Hand in hand.

You and him.

And this time… you didn’t let go.

AYEEE my first req of many whoever requested this it got too long baby this coming in parts but enjoy thiss one 😏

Pt2 here😫

Next up is : @yourm0mish0t Sammie x Reader cause yall can’t get enough. It’ll come soon so here’s a title ‘songbird sins’ #staytuned #stayloyal #stayfreaky

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thethirdeyebitch · 2 months ago

Text

Meddle about

Summary: Rockstar Eren AU; You were devoted, his biggest fan. So, of course, you'd jump at the chance to meet him even if it meant you'd just be another notch on his belt. ۶ৎ Eren x black fem reader ۶ৎ

Context: Studio sex, name calling (daddy, ma, slut) protected sex, rough, oral (f receiving), choking, spanking, fingering, doggy, recorded (?)

Word count— 3.5k

Babble: This is Lust for @merakidoll's Ten Desires event

No one really understood your level of devotion when it came to Eren Yeager. To them, he was just another reckless R&B artist with too many tattoos and too much sex appeal. But to you? He was everything.

You remember when you first heard one of his songs, and you could swear it changed every course of your life.

You remember when it happened as well, you had broke up with some dumb ex and was trying to find any breakup song to ease your pain but Eren Yeager singing how he could wreak your pussy seamed to ease your pain just fine.

You searched him up right away, found his Instagram, Twitter, TikTok and any other social media platforms he was connected to. He was toxic, some of the world seemed to think so, but of course, girls loved him. He was fucking sexy.

He had danger in his eyes that had your panties pooling every time you saw a new picture of him.

You had become quite dedicated to him when you listened to the rest of his album 'Free,' he had touched your heart and pussy. Yeah most of his songs revolved around fucking and slutting girls out but there were some deep ones in there.

You had become a fan of his very quick, went to every concert you could, festivals, gigs. You knew about his close circle, how his very first albulm was about his ex girlfriend, Mikasa and how most of his deep songs were about the rest of his close knit friends.

You had followed them, too, anything to keep you close to him.

It had been some time since you went to one of his concerts, not because you didn't want to but because Eren had taken a small break which broke his fans hearts but he made it up to you all with a contest.

A contest that you had won. You didn't think you would have, but you did. Stayed up all night just to call in when his song played on spotify radio.

You don't even remember calling in, delirious from the lack of sleep but you did, you called. Answered all the questions in under 30 seconds and won.

And you won big, having won an exclusive look at his new album. You had won a chance to watch him in the studio, an official VIP meet-and-greet.

Now here you are, aggressively rubbing body oil on your body as you continue to overthink your outfit for the third time.

"I think I'm gonna throw up."

"Girl if you don't shut the fuck up, I will happily take your place."

You kissed your teeth as you continued to get ready, you had called your bestfriend for moral support but she was not helping at all. You didn't have time to be nervous, the clock was running and they were sending a car to pick you up at 7 and it was 10 to.

"Fuck, okay." You took a shot of tequila before you finished touching up your hair. You shimmied into your leather mini skirt and clipped your corset together. The brown corset hugged your boobs nicely as it tucked into the black mini skirt that hugged your curves.

"Bitch lemme see, need to see what I'm sending you off in."

You took some quick pictures of yourself, ignoring her completely before you got a notification on youir phone.

"Sorry girl, I'll send pics, the cars here."

"Bitch, don't do anything I wouldn't do."

You didn't expect the studio to be here; it was in a penthouse suite, one only his people knew about of course. And now, you.

The driver had told you that he'd be here to pick you up in three hours before handing you off to his security and manager.

"It's nice to meet you Miss, Eren is already upstairs and expecting you. You can have your phone with you but Eren has asked for you not to post anything on social media about his new albulm."

You nodded as you continued to listen to his manager, you could feel the nerves bubble up into you as the elevator reached closer and closer to the top floor.

"Congratulations again for winning and enjoy."

A soft chime rang out as the elevator doors slid open, revealing a dimly lit hallway with thick carpet, moody lights, and gold-trimmed doors. It was silent, except for the low thrum of bass coming from behind the very last door.

You hesitated for only a second before walking toward it, heels muffled against the floor.

You stood in front of the studio door, heart hammering, then raised your hand and pushed it open.

The scent hit first, weed, and expensive cologne—followed by the low hum of his album vibrating through the speakers.

The room was spacious and intimate, more like a luxury lounge than a studio. Plush couches. Vinyl panels. Soft LED lighting set to a lazy purple glow.

You had to hold your scream as your eyes landed on him; his back was to you, but even from behind, he looked like a fucking sin. Shoulders littered in tattoos that tensed beneath a white tank that clung to every muscle, sweatpants slung low on his hips, and a hoodie tossed carelessly over one shoulder. He moved in time with the beat, head bobbing as he studied the sound.

“Damn ma…” he muttered, you were startled, not realising that he had noticed you.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Fuck, fuck. He was soooo much sexier up close.

"You're the contest winner, y/n, right?" His voice was raspy. Like velvet laced with smoke.

You swallowed, nerves buzzing like static in your chest. “Yeah. That’s me.”

He looked you over again, slower this time. You noticed how his eyes stayed on your chest for a little longer but Eren Yeager had no shame.

"You nervous?”

“Just a little,” you admitted with a laugh, hugging your arms around yourself.

“Don’t be.” He took a drag, blew smoke toward the ceiling. “Come here.”

You took a cautious step forward.

“You ever been in a studio before?” he asked, nodding toward the equipment.

“Never. First time.” He gestured towards the couch, you wracked up enough courage to move closer to him. You were suprised you hadn’t combust form all the nerves. Those tequila shots did nothing to ease you.

Eren tilted his head as he watched you tug against your skirt. A smirk pulled against his lips as he continued to take a drag from his blunt.

"So, wanna tell me something about you before I play you something?"

"Like what?"

"Anything." He shrugged, "You already know everything about me, probably got some topless photos of me pinned in your room or summin but yet I don't know anything about you."

He grinned when your jaw dropped slightly. You felt your face heat up.

“Okay, wow,” you muttered with a laugh, shaking your head. “Cocky much?”

"Am I wrong?" You didn't even bother answering, smiling softly as you thought about the question.

“I’m a journalism major, full-time server, and part-time Eren Yeager enthusiast,” you said with a little smile. “And yeah… maybe I’m obsessed. But at least I’m not a sellout like that one song you tried to put on Delirium. That bridge was trash.”

Eren blinked.

Then threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh shit,” he said, sitting up straighter, his grin widening. “So you really listen.”

“I don’t play about my music,” you said, lifting a brow.

He stared at you again—this time a little longer, like he was genuinely impressed. He handed you his blunt, biting your lip softly you took a drag before blowing the smoke from your brown painted lips.

Eren wasn't hiding the fact that he was staring; he was shameless, as he followed the way your lips wrapped around the blunt.

"You wanna hear something?"

You nodded enthusiastically, almost burning a hole in the carpet. Eren chuckled at your energy. He gestured for you to stand, his hand wrapping around your waist as he guided you towards the dashboard.

"I want you to press this button when I give you a thumbs up, okay?" Your breathing laboured as his hands gripped your waist once more before stepping into the booth.

You watched as his fingers ran through his hair, he fixed the mic before slipping on the headphones. And then when his eyes met yours, he sent you a thumbs up.

You hit the button, welcoming the soft beat rolled out. The beat already had you swaying your hips softly, and then came his voice. The one you’d heard through blown-out speakers in your room, whispering through your headphones at 3 a.m., echoing across stadium crowds. But this time? It was just for you.

And it went straight to your pussy.

The raspiness of his voice broke out through the speakers of the studio, his eyes never left yours as he sang like he was singing to you.

“You showed up wearin' nothin' but sin on your skin And I ain’t slept since you walked in Say you like it slow, but girl you tempt fate— Now I’m tryna fuck the pretty off your face.”

Your lips parted on instinct, thighs pressing tight together as the words crawled up your spine and lit every nerve. You were literally clutching the edge of the panel like it could ground you—but it didn’t.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the way he looked at you from behind that glass.

Eren watched your reaction with a satisfied smirk from behind the glass. He didn’t break eye contact once.

“So,” his voice crackled through, “what’d you think?”

You cleared your throat—barely. “You—um… you made that for the album?”

He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Yeah, but my inspiration was your Instagram.”

Your brain stalled. “Wait—what?”

Eren’s chuckle ran through the studio, “C’mere.”

Your legs moved before your brain could catch up, like they were synced to his voice. You opened the booth door, stepped inside.

He was still standing near the mic, head slightly cocked, that lazy heat in his eyes on full blast now.

"When I found out who'd won I had to see what I was getting into, and colour me surprised when I saw how fucking sexy you are."

Eren…” your voice was a little breathless now.

He stopped right in front of you. His presence was overwhelming.

"I know you like the song, but you know what's missing from my album?" he asked, voice dropping to a whisper.

You blinked up at him, lips parting again. “What?”

His lips grazed your ear as he leaned into you, "Your moans as my backing track."

Your stomach dropped. Your thighs clenched again on instinct. You didn't even have a minute to grasp before his lips met yours in a bruising kiss.

Your hands flew to his chest, grasping against the material of his wife-beater. You couldn't believe this was happening, you touched yourself countless of times to the fantasy of him fucking you and it wasn't just a fantasy anymore.

He growled into your mouth, hands sliding down to grab your hips, dragging you flush against him. You could feel everything—his heat, his hunger, the bulge pressing right into your lower stomach.

“You taste even better than I thought,” he muttered, lips trailing down your jaw.

You gasped when he sucked a bruise into your neck, hips twitching into his. Your fingers pulled against his brown locs, pulling him further into your skin as he continued to mark up your neck.

You moaned softly in his ear as his hands squeezed the fat of your ass underneath your skirt.

"You sound so fucking good, but need you to be louder for the track baby."

He spun you gently but firmly around, pressing your front against the glass. His hand came up to rest on your lower back, the other sliding your hair off your neck.

"You wanna be on a track?" he asked, lips brushing your ear again. “Say my name.”

“Eren…” you breathed.

“Nah, say it.” He pushed his hips forward, just enough to feel him grind against your ass.

“Eren,” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s it.” He kissed down your neck again, hand sliding between your thighs, fingers playing with the edge of your thong before they grazed the outline of your clit.

You whined, pressing your hips back against him. “Eren, please…”

That did something to him, the shift was instant. The way his hands gripped tighter, rougher. His fingers dragged your panties to the side like they offended him.

“Fuck,” he hissed as his fingers found you. “You’re already soaked.”

You couldn’t even answer—your breathing hitched as he slid two fingers between your folds, dragging them up with agonising slowness before circling your clit just once.

“Y’know how hard it was not to pull up to your DMs?” he muttered, curling his fingers so they pressed deep, making you moan into the glass. “Watching all those thirst traps like you weren’t asking to get ruined…”

His fingers worked you open, scissoring just enough to stretch you. Then he curled them again—right there—and you cried out, thighs shaking as you tried not to collapse.

“Say my name again,” he growled, lips hot on your neck.

“Eren—f-fuck, Eren—”

“There she goes.” He smirked, fingers curling just right that it tore a whimper right from your pretty brown lips.

You whined as you clenched around nothing once he took his fingers away from your sopping wet cunt. You watched him from over your shoulder as he dropped to his knees behind you, dragging your skirt up to your waist, licking his lips as he stared at your dripping cunt. “Gotta taste it. Can’t not taste it.”

You gasped when his tongue slid between your folds, flat against your slit as he licked up through your folds, groaning like he was getting high off your taste. He spat on your pussy and licked it right back up, slurping you like it was soup and he hadn’t eaten in days.

“Oh my God—” You gasped, fingers gripping the glass.

He smirked, lips already glossy with your slick. “God ain’t here, baby. Just me and this nasty little pussy.”

His nose pressed into your ass while his tongue slipped inside you, flicking and curling like he was trying to taste your soul. You cried out, legs trembling, and he laughed into your cunt.

“Yeah, run from it—see where that gets you.”

His grip on your thighs tightened as he buried his face deeper, switching from tongue-fucking to devouring your clit. His lips had wrapped around your swollen bud, causing you to scream; he hummed like it was a normal Friday. And it probably was, you knew how he was, but you didn't care. You had Eren Yeager sucking on your clit like his life depended on it.

"Eren, fuck—!" Your head dropped against the glass, one arm reaching up to steady yourself as he licked you deep, tongue curling into your heat while his nose nudged your clit.

He moaned again—loudly—like he couldn’t get enough, the vibrations making you jerk. “Shit, you taste so good baby. Like sin.”

You were gasping, hips twitching, trying to get away and chase more all at once. But he wasn't done. Not even close.

“Gimme that nut,” he muttered against your clit, "be a good girl and cum on my fuckin’ face. C’mon—make it messy.”

Your thighs clenched around his head, pussy gushing all over his tongue—and Eren groaned like it was the best part. He didn’t stop either. Kept slurping through it, chin drenched, letting your slick run down his throat while he sucked every last drop.

Eren stood behind you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, lips still glistening with your cum. His eyes were dark as he licked one last drop from his thumb.

"Sweetest fuckin' thing I've ever had." He rasped.

You barely had a second to breathe before he grabbed your hips causing your back to arch, hands still planted against the glass. One hand slid down the curve of your spine while the other reached between your legs, two fingers sliding through your fold.

“Still fuckin’ leaking,” he groaned. “You want me to ruin you, huh?”

“Yes—fuck, yes,” you gasped, arching back into him.

You heard the sound of his zipper, the rustle of his sweats dropping, you felt his heavy cock landed between your cheeks, already hard, thick, and dripping precum onto your ass. He slid it through your folds--getting it soaked.

You barely heard the sound of the condom wrapper tearing before he lined himself back up, moaning softly at the feeling of his covered cock sliding between your folds.

But Eren didn't give you anytime to adjust before he bullied his way into your cunt.

You screamed, your nails scratching against the glass as his dick split you open in one rough stroke.

“Shit—shit, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he hissed through gritted teeth, gripping your hips like he was trying not to lose it. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

Eren started moving, slamming into you, hips clapping against your ass in loud, filthy smacks that echoed off the soundbooth walls. Your moans spilled out wild and raw, head spinning as he fucked you like he was tryna rearrange your guts.

“That’s it—take this dick,” he grunted, pounding into you. “Been thinking ‘bout this pussy since I saw your fuckin’ photos. You knew what you were doing. Lookin’ that pretty—like you needed someone to come fuck it outta you.”

Your legs shook, body bouncing with every thrust. He slapped your ass hard, then again, leaving his handprint glowing red before gripping your hair and yanking your head back.

“Yeah, look at you,” he breathed in your ear. “Face all fucked out and I just started.”

He pulled out just enough to see your pussy stretch, glistening and swollen, then shoved it back in with a filthy slap that made you scream.

“That feel good, baby? Huh? You like getting fucked like a slut in my booth?”

“Yes, oh my God, yes, daddy—please,” you cried, eyes rolling back.

He reached around and slapped your clit, rubbing it in tight circles while his dick drove into you with reckless, brutal rhythm. You let out a choked moan at the feeling of tatted his hand around your neck, pulling your head back into an uncomfortable position, but you didn't care.

“Gimme that nut again. Squirt on this dick—I wanna feel it drip down my balls.”

You were already there—legs trembling, throat raw from moaning, and when he delivered another bruising thrust to you, your pussy clenched so hard around him it dragged a growl from his chest. You soaked his cock, your cum spraying down your thighs as he fucked you through it.

“Fuuuck, that’s it, baby, that’s the shit I wanted,” he groaned, hips stuttering.

He grabbed both sides of your ass and snapped his hips forward one last time—deep, so deep—and came with a choked moan, thick ropes of cum filling up the condom. He stayed buried, twitching inside, breath ragged against your shoulder.

Your body sagged against him, eyes fluttering as you came down from your high. Eren left a soft kiss against your neck before pulling out of you.

Your breathing laboured as you felt him pull your skirt back down, turning you over, his fingers ran over your lips before giving you a soft kiss.

"How about I roll another blunt and you ride my dick baby." You looked up at the brunette, knowing that you'd do anything he'd ask. Because how could you say no to Eren Yeager?

Girl, oh my God—his new album just dropped. Go listen to ‘LUST’ like now!!!

Your jaw dropped at the message, fingers fumbling as you unlocked your phone and pulled up Spotify. Sure enough, there it was: Eren Yeager — Sin. Brand new. Top of the charts. And the cover?

The cover made your stomach drop.

“What the—is that me?”

You zoomed in, heart pounding. You knew that ass. You could make out the curve of your ass in that leather skirt you wore that night. Fuck it was you.

You didn’t even hesitate. You scrolled straight to Track 6.

‘Lust’

The beat kicked in slow, dark, heavy, sexy. It hit your body like muscle memory. The same one he played for you, your thighs clenched in memory as the lyrics started to roll out.

But your pussy clenched. That was you. Your breathy moans layered behind the beat, harmonising with his voice. The sound of the wet, messy squelch of your pussy as he fucked you. That high-pitched cry? That was when you came on top of him, shaking like a goddamn leaf.

Your mouth went dry. Your ears burned. Your hand hovered over the pause button—but you didn’t stop it. Couldn’t.

His songs always made you wet.

But hearing yourself get fucked to the rhythm of a platinum-level track?

That was a whole different kind of arousal. You bit your lip, legs trembling as the song ended in one last filthy moan.

A ping brought your attention back to your phone, your fingers clicked onto instagram, eyes widned from your recent DM.

[eren.yeager] So… you tryna come help me work on the next one?

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘢𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ©

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thethirdeyebitch · 2 months ago

Text

I Need You…

Imagine: Elias needs comfort. Craves comfort. A bosom to rest his head and a delicate hand to stroke his back.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, short

Knock knock knock

“Effie…”

Stack’s whiskey colored eyes swept the front porch of her home, eye lids rapidly blinking to keep the blood from a gash on his forehead from blinding him. He swayed backward slightly, body consumed with intoxication and the beginnings of lost consciousness.

“Shit,” Stack fumbles, head colliding with her front door, producing a loud thump.

The sound of a door being unlocked caused Stack to brace himself against the doorway. The door swung open, the smell of a cooked meal wafting his nose.

It smelled like black eyed peas.

“Stack?”

Effie Daniels. School Teacher.

Effie removed her reading glasses, a look of immense concern clouding her features. Stack heaves, squinting his eyes against the pain in his head.

“Effie…can…can I come in?”

Effie paused. Her fingers nervously fiddled with the edge of the door painted a forest green. She cast her wary eyes left and right before settling on the gangster before her.

Beaten. Bloody. Drunk.

No surprise there.

That’s Elias for you.

“Why you here, Stack? Where Smoke?” Effie questioned with a faint voice.

“Don’t wanna bother Annie and the baby…”

Effie’s eyelashes fluttered with remorse. She always had remorse for Elias. That ain’t changing.

“Come on,” Effie fisted the front of Stack’s blood–stained button shirt, “Pick up your feet, Stack!”

He obeyed.

Stack almost fell into Effie. She quickly shoved him into an arm chair before hastily shutting her front door and locking it up.

“Wait…wait…”

Stack held up a hand.

“What?” Effie asked with a frustrated crease in her brow.

“Gotcha sum real nice…”

Stack elevated his hips to dig into his back pocket. Effie shifted her stance and her arms slowly came up, folding over her chest.

A tickle formed behind her navel.

Stack flashed Effie a dimpled smile, his chipmunk cheeks highlighting his youthful glow. The golds on his top teeth sparkled.

In his hand was a diamond tennis necklace.

“Saw this and thought about ya’. Figured my girl could use some diamonds. Princess cut ring next on that finger.”

“Stack,” Effie exhaled, shutting her eyes, “I ain’t your woman.”

“Says which?”

Effie’s dejected eyes were glued to Stack’s face.

He had the beginnings of a black eye.

“Effie…C’mere. Let me decorate my angel.”

Stack pushed himself up from the arm chair, wincing in pain. He clutched his ribs on the left side before staring down at his fingers. He focused as much as he could on unclamping the diamond necklace. As soon as he did that, he held it up, locking his eyes with Effie.

“Effie.” Stack called to her with a pleading voice.

Effie released her arms and held them firmly at her sides. She beat her fists against the sides of her thighs, a nervous tick of hers. Effie faced the opposite way, and Stack brought the necklace up and over her head. The diamonds felt cold against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

“There,” Stack used his thick fingers to evenly place the necklace around her, situating it higher over her collarbones, “Turn so I can see you.”

Effie shuffled around until she was staring Stack in the face.

His knees buckled slightly. Stack reached behind him and when his hands felt the arms of the chair, he flopped down. There was a mirror on the wall above the loveseat. Effie walked over steadily, staring at her reflection.

She trailed her fingers over the diamonds.

Stack breathed deeply.

“Where did you get this?”

Stack creased his brows, the action causing his skin to feel tight from the dried blood.

“Don’t matter. It’s yours.”

“It does matter, Elias. You stole them.”

“Behind every successful fortune, there’s a crime, darling.” Stack said.

“I don’t want it,” Effie reached up to take it off, “I don’t want your gifts.”

“Effie, stop it now…”

Stack stood, rushing over to her and gripping her hands before pinning them at her sides. He stared at her through the mirror. He was the vision of a rough character and a frequent brawler. He was a hot-headed, quick-tempered man who seemed to fight his way through life.

“Baby,” Stack licked his lips, “I know I ain’t the best nigga to ever enter ya’ life, but I luv ya’ and I think about ya’ erryday. Ya’ the best thang to ever happen for me. Coming back to ya’, baby…I feel safe. I feel sure of this shit, feel me?”

Effie bowed her head as tears streamed from her eyes. Stack snaked his arms around her waist. Effie fell back against him, releasing a silent sob.

“Baby, baby…”

Stack turned her around and drew Effie into him tightly. He rested his chin atop her curly hair and rubbed her back. Effie cried a while, unable to shake the love she had for Elias. Even knowing his lifestyle was different and dangerous, she adored him. Stack is a sensitive man. Beneath all that darkness was a man that craved love and affection. Adoration.

Effie rubbed her tears away and looked up into Stack’s eyes. He grabbed her face from both sides and pecked her lips softly. Repeatedly.

“I love you, Stack. Even when I shouldn’t.”

Stack blinked at her.

“The fact that ya’ do, baby, shows just how much I don’t deserve ya’. Ya’ a good woman.”

Stack tilted his head down in shame.

“Why you keep getting yourself beat on?”

Stack glanced sideways at her.

“Nigga stepped on my gators…”

Effie scuffed, “Over some shoes, Elias?”

Elias flashed his hysterical eyes at Effie, “These special made, Effie. Ain’t just some shoes.”

Effie stroked Elias' biceps, chuckling softly at his rebuttal.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Effie tugged Stack down the hall of her cottage home towards the bathroom. His gaze fell on her office where she was in the middle of grading schoolwork before he showed up. Effie pointed to the toilet and Stack took a seat. Effie opened her medicine cabinet and retrieved the items she needed to get Stack patched up.

Silenced settled between them. Effie cleaned Stack’s wound above his right brow with soap and water first before using hydrogen peroxide. Afterwards she dabbed on a tiny bit of antiseptic before using sterile strips to keep the gash closed, giving it time to heal properly.

Effie went to fill her tub with water and soap so Stack could take a bath. He undressed, placing his gold watch on the sink. Effie gathered his clothes to wash, and Stack got into the bath. She disappeared and placed his clothes in a laundry bag, planning to clean them properly the next day. He had clean clothes with in her closet folded.

She left to her kitchen and scooped out a bowl of black eyed peas with a thick buttermilk biscuit. Effie made her way down the hall again with Stack’s food on a tray with some water. She entered her bedroom, finding Stack naked and rubbing some cold cream into his brown skin. Effie raked her eyes over his body, unsteady hands gently placing the tray onto her end table.

Stack threw a white T-shirt on that cut into his biceps and stretched across his chest. He then slipped on a pair of boxer shorts. Effie left stack to eat his meal while she disappeared into her office to finish grading the last few papers. While she scribbled A’s and B’s, her mind couldn’t help but drift to Stack.

He mentioned putting a ring on her finger.

How would that look? A respected teacher marrying a known gangster?

Effie wondered if Stack would ever stop. Stop his gambling. Stop his scheming. Stop talking slick and getting stomped on when Smoke wasn’t there to protect him. Just stop and settle.

And she knew deep down, that’s what he wanted.

He wanted to start a family and marry.

Just like Annie and Smoke.

And it’s not like Effie couldn’t give him that. He just had an addiction.

Effie wanted to be Stack’s only addiction.

She turned off her lamp and entered her bedroom. Stack wasn’t there. She could hear him in the kitchen, cleaning his dishes. Effie tied a scarf around her curly updo and sat at her vanity to remove her earrings.

“Keep the necklace on…”

Effie locked eyes with Stack while he was perched in her doorway.

He pushed himself off and reached to take a sip of water. Effie lifted from her bench and went to her closet to grab extra pillows.

“Let me grab these for you—”

Stack reached for Effie’s hand, water in hand, “C’mon over here. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Have a seat for a second.”

Effie flashes Stack a smile before rolling her eyes.

“What?”

Stack smoothed a curl from Effie’s brow and adjusted the straps on her dress, “Kick ya’ feet up now.”

Stack handed Effie his glass of cold water, “Take a sip.”

Effie rolled her eyes heavenward before nudging Stack. She accepted the glass, unable to hid her giggle from the way he was staring at her. He looked a little silly with his cut all bandaged up over his brow.

“It’s nice right…hm?” Stack leaned in to Effie with a grin, “I’m a take care of you…see you run ‘round taking care of errbody else…huh? Who take care of Effie?”

Stack tilted her chin up with his finger. Effie’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. He stroked her bottom lip with his thump and then pointer finger, memorizing the shape of it.

“Me. I do…”

“You take care of me, huh?” Effie blinked away tears, “Not when you got a lot of women.”

“I ain’t got a lot of women. I got you. I know—I know I’m a monfucker…I know ain’t enough sorry in the world to make it up to ya’…but I just…I can’t help myself wit’ ya’, baby…”

Effie lowered her gaze to her lap. Her fingers twitched.

“Elias…ain’t enough gifts in the fucking world gon’ prove it to me. Ya’ gotta show up. Not just on my stoop for a patch up. Be there fa’ me. My happiness…”

Stack snatched up Effie’s hands and held them together with his, peering into her eyes, “I just want ya’ happiness. I’m a ain’t shit, nigga. I know, darling…but I wanna be better wit’ ya. Angel, please…”

Stack dropped his forehead against Effie’s bosom. He rubbed his face between her cleavage, breathing in the scent of almond oil, witch hazel, and glycerin. His strong fists gathered the material of her nightgown, afraid that she’d slip away.

Effie stroked his slicked hair, staring down at him with soft eyes. He shot up, pressing his nose against her cheek.

“Come wit’ me. Come wit’ me to Miami.”

Effie frowned her face, “What?”

“I was thinkin’ to get into real estate. After the collapse in 1925 and the Hurricane in ‘26, I can buy a beach home outright.”

“Stack,” Effie pushed herself up, “I got family here in the Delta. A job. Lessons to teach and a mama to look after. I can’t just pack up and go.”

Effie tossed a pair of pantyhose in her drawer. Stack shot up, wrapping his arms around her from behind. He pressed his lips against the shell of her ear.

“Ya’ can teach down there. We can build a home…have babies…get married on the beach.”

“Stack…”

Effie went to move Stack’s arms, but he was strong.

“Let me go.”

“Ain’t that what you want? A life wit’ me.”

“STOP!”

Stack was paralyzed. His arms slowly dropped away from Effie. She created distance between them, wiping tears from her cheeks.

Between cries, Effie spoke, “Elias! when you gonna get ya’ head outta the clouds!”

Stack cocked his head back, eyes swimming with melancholy.

“You lie to me, you tell me you gon’ stop doing this illegal shit but you don’t. I’m not packing up and skipping town on a dream! I need to know that you mean what you say! Love me! Love ME!”

Effie rammed a finger into her chest for emphasis.

Enraged. Hysterical. Pained.

Stack cut his eyes away, thumbing a single tear that had drifted from his left eye.

“I just wanna be the best version of myself when I’m wit’ ya…I wanna give ya’ the world. Even if that mean taking it.”

“Stack…”

Effie molded her body against his, cuffing his face, forcing him to look at her.

“I don’t know how else to do it, Effie…being a gangster all I know…”

Effie’s lower lip trembled.

“Smoke took care of me…I’m the reason my momma dead…what else I got goin’ for myself? I’m a fuck up…I blow on in like a tornado wreaking havoc, Effie…when I’m wit’ ya…I wanna…I wanna impress ya’. But I know ya’ ain’t like them other gals…ya’ special.”

Effie hugged Stack. He pressed his face into her neck.

“Sorry, Angel…”

“…let’s get some sleep, okay?”

Stack went to grab an extra pillow while Effie pulled the sheets back. They both settled into bed, the lamp light out and cloaking the room in darkness. Stack faced Effie, circling an arm around her waist and drawing her closer. His plump lips kissed along her neck and down to the tops of her breasts.

“No tail tonight, Stack,” Effie told him with a laugh.

“I ain’t asking for pussy. I just wanna hold ya’ close. Cuddle wit’ ya’ til’ I fall asleep. That’s all baby,” Stack gave her a pout with puppy dog eyes, “I promise.”

Effie arched a brow, “Mhm…do ya’ even deserve that, Mr. Moore?”

“I apologize a million times, Angel…”

“You’re forgiven…for now.” Effie whispered before pecking him on the forehead.

Stack drew circles into her back with his thumb.

“I ain’t perfect, Effie. Sinner through and through.”

“Didn’t say ya’ had to be perfect, Stack. Just present.”

Stack trailed his eyes toward Effie’s lips. He leaned in and captured her lips with his. They kissed passionately, Effie bringing her leg over his hip. They rolled over until Effie was beneath him. Stack stared down at her. He stroked her cheek softly.

“I meant what I said…I wanna make ya’ my wife.”

“We got time for proper proposals, Elias.” Effie says with a smile.

Stack chuckled, “And I got time to figure out ya’ ring size for that princess cut,” Stack grabbed Effie’s left hand, admiring her ring finger, “Ya’ gonna be shining, baby. Effie Moore.”

Effie bat her lashes at him and heat crept up her face. He made her feel giddy.

“Got a ring to it,” Effie said.

They kissed again.

Stack snuggled against her, resting his head on her chest. Effie stroked his hair to sleep, his soft snores coming out and blowing cool air against her. She extended her neck to plant a kiss to his head.

“I love you, Elias Moore…everything about you.”

The End.

@eggnox @blackisy2k @thickeeparker @theereinawrites @angelin-dis-guise @thee-germanpeach @harleycativy @alexbabyyyy @readingaddict1290 @thedondada05 @blackamericanprincessy @aristasworld @avoidthings @brownsugarcoffy @ziayamikaelson @kindofaintrovert @raysogroovy @overhere94 @sug3rco0k1es @joysofmyworld @an-ever-evolving-wanderer @starcrossedxwriter @marley1773 @bombshellbre95 @nybearsworld @blossom3010 @kykylovesblog @desthefanfc @jeurden23janise @brincessbarbie @kholdkill @honggihwa @tianna-blanche @wewantsumheaad @goddessofthundathighs @nearsightedbaddie @charmedthoughts @beaboutthataction @mynameisnikkinik @girlsneedlovingfanfics @candelalanegra22 @mrsknowitallll @pinkprincessluminary @rissa21405 @chefjessypooh @sk1121-blog1 @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @bratzlele @massivewolfslimeturtle @kirayuki22 @bxrbie1 @blackerthings @intellectualassholee @angryflowerwitch @baddiegiii @mysteriouslycertaincherrybl-blog @syko-jpg @inkdrippeddreams @rolemodelshit

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thethirdeyebitch · 2 months ago

Text

R&B Breakups

Sammie Moore x Reader Modern Au

Warnings :Makeup smex- uh angst cause it’s me. Reconciliation? (I’m bad at warnings yall please bear with me) messy stack

You’d heard Sammie’s name before — mostly ‘cause of his cousins, them wild-ass Moore twins and that baby record label they got. Folks said he was church-bred, sang in the choir ‘fore he dipped out with his cousins to chase the dream. That’s where that name came from. Preacher Boy. Fit a little too well, considering the way he sang like salvation and rapped like sin.

He had a voice, though. No doubt. Those old clips on his socials? Whew. He ain't sing like his cousins, and they damn sure ain’t rap like him. You remember thinkin’ it was wild — a PK talkin’ nasty on a track like that. But then again, he a Moore. So.

You was up first — body gliding across that stage like smoke on glass. That other dude was rappin’ next to you, but Sammie ain’t hear a word. He was watchin’ you. The way you moved. The way you smiled mid-note and locked eyes with him like, Yeah, I see you too. Left the stage with a little wave like it was just another Tuesday.

Headed to the back where the Moores were posted up like royalty in a hallway too tight for all that ego. And then one of the twins stepped dead in your path.

“Whoa there, pretty thing. Where you rushin’ off to?”

You blinked hard. Couldn’t tell which one it was — Stack or Smoke. Identical and your high ass wasn’t helpin’ either.

“Uhhh... Smo–Stack... which one are you?”

He laughed loud, hand hittin’ his chest like you told the funniest joke of the year. “This Stack, baby. The cute one.”

You smirked, eyes rollin’ like dice. “Well, Stack... I don’t think we got any business, do we?”

You tried to slide past but he eased in your way again.

“Nah, but I ain’t here for me.”

That made you pause. You tilted your head, brows up. “Tell Smoke the same thing.”

Stack gave you that look. That girl, come on now look.

“What do you want, Stack?” you asked, dead in his face.

His grin widened like he had a secret. “Sammie wanna talk to you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Well, just like you found me, Sammie can too. Hmmm?”

You patted his cheek and kept walkin’, hips talkin’ louder than your mouth. But truth be told? You damn near sprinted to the dressing room. Checked your face, fixed your hair, heart doin’ a whole beat set in your chest.

Knock knock.

You froze, whispered “shit” to yourself, then pulled the door open.

There he was. Preacher Boy Moore.

Tall, golden-brown with them locs pulled back just enough to see that smooth-ass hairline. He had a guitar slung on his back, biceps flexin’ like he meant to remind you he could hold more than notes.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He chuckled low. “I said... you told me to come find you. So I did.”

Took a second to process that. Took longer to accept this man was real and talkin’ to you and not one of them thirsty lil girls he sang about.

“That’s ‘cause you sent a walkin’ STD to find me,” you said, turning back toward the couch.

Door shut behind him. He leaned on it like it was part of his act.

“My cousin clean,” he said, laughin’ through it. “Y’all just don’t like his lyrics.”

You smirked. “I don’t like that he got lyrics about every woman in three zip codes.”

He stepped closer. “I ain’t like them dudes, you know.”

You tilted your chin. “Coulda fooled me.”

Didn’t say nothin’ else — just stared like he was seein’ through your whole outfit. That made you shift in your seat.

“What, Preacher Boy?”

He grinned. “Come watch me perform, baby.”

“Boy, I ain’t your baby.”

“You could be.” He stepped in, hand hittin’ your waist real gentle. “I’d treat you reaaaall good... if you let me.”

His fingers rose to your chin, all slow and tender like he was tryna ease you into a spell.

You was already caught. He knew it. He planned it.

“Come on,” he said, slidin’ his fingers through yours.

You wasn’t gonna go, at first.

Was gon’ head home, roll up, forget the way he smelled. That clean-sweat cologne and old incense aura. The way his voice dipped when he called you baby like he meant it. But by the time you hit the sidewalk, you was already textin’ your homegirl like:

"bitch... I think I just met my husband lol"

She texted back:

"U BETTA GET HIS FINE CHOIR-BOY LOOKIN ASS PREGNANT THEN 💅🏾"

Fifteen minutes later, you was back inside, leanin’ in a booth near the stage, and Sammie was up there talkin’ ‘bout, “This next one’s for somebody real special.”

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly popped out.

Stack caught you doin’ it and laughed from across the room.

But when Sammie sang?

Shit.

You ain’t roll nothin’ after that. Just sat there quiet, chin in your hand like a teenager with a crush, watchin’ his mouth shape every damn word like it was yours to memorize.

He didn’t look at nobody else. Not once. Not the girls screamin’ his name. Not the aunties blowin’ kisses from the back. Just you. Like the whole room fell away.

That night, he ain’t ask for your number.

He gave you his. Told you to hit him when you was ready for the real thing.

You waited three days. On purpose. Then you hit him up with just a 👀 emoji.

His response?

“Bout damn time.”

When y’all linked up it wasn’t even supposed to happen.

You was on FaceTime. Choppin’ it up ‘bout old music, ghosts, exes, the church. He was on the road — some baby tour in Little Rock or Baton Rouge. You was laid across your bed in a tank top, bonnet half-on, half-slid to the side.

He was shirtless. Gold chain catchin’ the motel lamplight, locs loose around his shoulders. He started talkin’ low, voice scratchy, like he been smokin’ or singin’ all day.

“Whatchu wearin’?” he asked, already smirkin’.

You looked dead at the screen. “Boy, you see what I got on.”

“Yeah, but what’s under it?”

You tilted your phone just enough to give him somethin’.

Not everything. Just enough.

His eyes dropped. Lips parted like he was gon’ pray. Or sin. Maybe both.

“Come here,” he said.

You laughed. “I’m three states away.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

That man sent a Lyft, a Cash App, and his hotel room number within five minutes.

And you? Packed a weekend bag like your name wasn’t nowhere on that lease.

Yall got close REALLL close so after that night you thought maybe — just maybe — this could be it.

Sammie walked different after y’all hooked up. Spoke softer, texted quicker. You weren’t somebody he was entertaining. You were it. Least, that’s how it felt when he pulled you into his arms at baggage claim, when he posted you with no caption like he ain’t have to explain shit to nobody.

And you ain’t press him about the DMs. About the whispers, the girls with they side eyes and slick tweets. You let it go. 'Cause he looked at you like you mattered. 'Cause you wanted to believe he was different from his cousins.

Different from the Moore boys who treated love like a punchline in a verse.

Stack noticed it first.

“Damn,” he said, grinning, twisted blunt between his fingers. “You really cuffed, huh?”

Sammie just smirked, focused on tunin’ his guitar.

Stack laughed again. “You ain’t been out with us since Houston. You in love or somethin’?”

“I’m chillin’, bro.”

“You actin’ like you scared to slip up.”

“I don’t wanna slip up.”

Stack rolled his eyes. “You actin’ like we back in church.”

That got Sammie’s attention. He looked up. Eyes darker.

“I ain’t no saint,” he said, “but I ain’t stupid either. I know what I got.”

Stack shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Cool. Just don’t let her turn you soft. Bitches love soft n***as... until they don’t.”

Sammie ain’t respond. Just shook his head, focused back on his strings.

But the words stuck. That’s how Stack worked. He ain’t push hard — just enough to leave a crack.

You flew home two days later. Left him with that kiss that lingered, that “I love you” whispered half-sleep into his chest.

You went back to your place. Lit your sage. Put on some Erykah. Started back recording, hummin’ little verses into your phone like maybe this time, love was gon’ be the one to hold you.

He texted. He FaceTimed. Called you “mama” in that lazy, slow drawl that made your knees twitch. Sent you pics from soundcheck. Some nights he was too tired to talk, but he’d still text, "I miss you next to me.”

And for a moment, you felt safe.

Until Saturday.

You were laid up on your couch, bonnet on, roller on the floor, your comfort playlist goin’ when your phone buzzed so hard it slid off the armrest.

Dozens of notifications. Your homegirl texted:

“bitch get off the internet now 💔”

Then:

“I’m so sorry I ain’t wanna be the one”

Your stomach dropped. Cold spread slow.

You opened Instagram.

Right there. Big, bold letters:

@theshaderoom “Preacher Boy or Player? 👀 Sammie Moore seen in ATL last night gettin’ real cozy with someone who def ain’t his ‘main thang’ 👇🏾”

You clicked.

There he was.

In the club.

Sweat glistening on his neck. Lips at some girl’s ear. Hands on her hips. Rockin’ with her from behind like he was keepin’ rhythm with her heartbeat.

Her dress was red. Her smile smug.

You paused the video. Just stared.

Your whole body went still.

You ain’t call him. Not at first.

You waited. An hour. Then two. Then six.

He finally texted at 3:12 AM:

“I’m sorry.”

That’s it.

No explanation. No lie. No voice memo. Just those two damn words. Like sorry could wipe the image of his hands off another woman’s waist.

Like sorry could shut your DMs up, stop your mama from texting asking if “everything okay between y’all.”

You typed a long message. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that one too.

Finally you wrote:

“Don’t worry about it.”

And turned your phone over.

Two weeks passed. Fourteen whole days of silence — but not peace. Not when every app still knew his name. Not when every scroll felt like salt.

Sammie had been calling. Texting. Emailing even. Sent voice notes through people you ain’t even follow no more. You blocked him on Instagram, Twitter, TikTok. You turned off read receipts. You turned off your feelings.

You ain’t owe him a response, and he knew that. But he kept trying anyway. Then it happened again.

Not from TheShadeRoom this time. Nah — one of them side accounts. ShaderoomTeens. Petty, messy, loud as hell.

Your homegirl tagged you before you even saw the post.

@shaderoomteens Artist Sammie Moore spotted with mystery woman in new video 👀

Being a PK, gotta know that he sinning right now, right? Right? He’s known to be in a relationship, even have a few cute collabs. #DoBetter #CheatingRoomies #WhatSheGonDo

You just stared.

No way this was happening to you. Not again.

Hand trembling, you tapped the comments. Shouldn’t have. But you did.

They tore you up.

“What she expect messin’ with a Moore lol “His whole bloodline allergic to loyalty” “Girl just sing and move on 🙄” “He was too fine to keep anyway, sorry not sorry”

Some took pity. Said they felt for you. That made you angrier.

You weren’t a damn victim. You knew who you were dealing with. But you let your guard down. Let him kiss away the doubt. Let him hold your face and promise he wasn’t like them. Swipe.

Next slide?

A still from your first video together. You and Sammie, forehead to forehead, laughing between takes. He had you by the waist. You looked so happy.

Your chest cracked open.

Not a little.

Not manageable.

That deep, whole-body kind. The kind that live in your bones. The kind your mama warned you about when she said “don’t love no man more than you love your damn self.”

Your phone rang. Him.

That same picture flashing up as his contact photo — it made you sick now. You declined.

Then it was Stack. Then Smoke.

Like clockwork. Every hour. Every day.

You ignored them all.

You weren’t bitter. You were hurt. That was the thing. You weren’t even mad at first. You were just gutted. And when that hurt started to rot in your chest, it grew teeth. Turned to something mean.

You wanted him to hurt, too. Just like you did.

That’s when your group chat rang. FaceTime. The real ones.

You stared at the green button. Then pressed it.

Your face hit the screen.

Blank. Skin dull. Eye bags deep and designer.

“Hey girl... we just checkin’ on you, how are you?”

“Yeah, that nigga ain’t shit.”

“What you wanna do?”

They all talked at once, like they’d been waiting to catch you before you fell too far.

You swallowed. Voice small.

“I’m still hurt, y’all... I really wanna beat his ass but I can’t bring myself to fight over a man.”

“You better than me,” one said.

“HELLO?!” another yelled. “Ass woulda been BEAT.”

You cracked a smile. Then a laugh. Shook your head slow.

“I know, y’all. I know.” You looked down, then up.

“Right now... I just wanna be distracted. Not by a nigga. Just wanna have fun.”

They waited. Let you say it.

You leaned closer.

“Shots and studio time?” Head tilting.

“OH BITCH YESS.”

“We makin’ a diss. Yep. Let’s gooo!”

You laughed loud — loud enough to rattle the stillness in your chest.

This was why you answered. They knew how to scoop you off the floor without making it feel like rescue.

“Aight. I’m finna get cute and get ready. Y’all do the same. I’ll send the address.”

You hung up. Headed for the shower.

Steam filled the room slow, thick as your thoughts. You stood under the water long. Let it drip from your lashes. Let it drown the ache.

Music. That was your safe place. Your weapon. Your church.

You thought about him — not just the man but the moment. What he could’ve been thinking. What made him fold.

Was it the club? The women? The spotlight? Or was it just him?

You weren’t stupid. You weren’t naïve. You knew what came with fame. With fine niggas raised in families that never taught 'em how to love without hurting somebody first.

You dried off. Got dressed.

Sat at your vanity. Lip gloss, lashes, liner. Your armor.

Just as you were about to press play on your playlist—

Your phone lit up again.

No Caller ID.

It swirled around your screen like a warning.

Your breath caught. What if someone leaked your number? People were crazy these days. You froze for a beat. Then exhaled.

You answered.

You put the phone to your ear. Didn’t say nothin’ at first.

But then—his voice.

“…Hey.”

Quiet. Raspy. Like it hadn’t been used right in days. Like he ain’t slept either.

You closed your eyes. That tone—it didn’t make you feel bad for him. But it did make your chest tighten. ‘Cause no matter how mad you was, it still hurt to hear him sound like that.

You didn’t say nothin’, just waited.

“I ain’t even gon’ lie to you… I fucked up,” he breathed. “I know what it look like, I do. I just…”

His voice cracked just a little.

“I was drunk. Stack was hypin’ me up, talkin’ ‘bout ‘one dance ain’t gon’ kill nothin.’ Then Smoke started pushin it too, sayin’ I needed to ‘remind the crowd who I was’ or some dumb shit…”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. Your stomach churned. “So you did all that... for them?”

He went quiet.

You leaned forward in your chair, voice cold and clipped. “You mean to tell me you disrespected me—embarrassed me—for some damn cousin validation?”

He exhaled, frustrated. “It ain’t like that—”

“Oh, it ain’t?” you snapped. “You the same man who had me scared to even post you ‘cause I didn’t want the internet in our business. Now you all up in the club tryna be seen, tongue damn near down some girl throat—for what? To look like Smoke?”

“She ain’t even kiss me—”

“Boy, don’t play with me,” you said, voice cracking. “You already played in my face enough.”

Sammie sighed heavy, like he didn’t even have the strength to fight. “I ain’t tryna argue. I just… I miss you, baby. I ain’t slept right since you stopped answerin’.”

You looked at yourself in the mirror, makeup half-done, your gloss untouched. You shook your head.

“You wanna act like them niggas, go be with them niggas,” you muttered, trying to stay calm. “I loved you for you, Sammie. Not for who you was tryna impress.”

“I ain’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered.

“But you did.”

Silence. The kind that says everything.

You checked the clock. “I gotta go.”

“Wait—”

Click.

You let the phone fall on the vanity and stared at your reflection.

This niggas really had you thinking he was different.

But a Moore gon’ Moore.

The studio was already buzzing by the time y’all got there—neon lights low, incense burning in the corner, and bass leaking out the booth like it had a mind of its own.

Your girls followed behind you, all heels and hair and ready-for-war energy.

Soon as y’all walked in, Dre, your producer, spun around in his chair, noddin’ like he already knew the vibe. “Got somethin’ dark cued up. I heard the rumors. Figured you’d want blood on the track tonight.”

You smirked. No lies detected.

Y’all got settled—liquor got poured, joints got lit—and the girls crowded around the couch while you kicked off your shoes and leaned back.

“So,” one of them asked, her eyes sharp, lashes thick. “Did he call?”

You nodded slow, licking your lips before answering. “Yeah.” They all leaned in.

“What he say?” “Chile what?” “I know he ain’t try play victim—”

You sighed nodding , pushing your hair back. “Said it was Stack and Smoke. That they got in his head. Said he was drunk and just tryna prove somethin’.”

They all looked at each other, then back at you, faces twisted like somebody farted.

“Nahhh, see, now I’m mad all over again,” your best friend snapped. “He risked all this—” she gestured at you like you were plated gold, “—for some cousin clout?”

Another girl scoffed, twisting the top off the Casamigos. “And that lil girl in the video? I know she know who you are. Y’all been hella public.”

“For real,” someone else chimed in.

“Y’all did that couple interview for Level Up, had folks screamin’ ‘#RelationshipGoals’ and all that. How she actin’ brand new?”

You shook your head, lips pressed tight.

Then the beat dropped.

It was dark. Angry. Heavy bass, low piano, something sinister underneath like a heartbeat turnin’ sour. You stopped talking.

“Dre…” you said, standing up slow. “Run that back.” He looped it, and the speakers trembled like they were mad too.

You walked toward the mic, paused with your hand on the booth door. “Y’all remember when I first said I loved him?”

They nodded, quiet now.

“Right here,” you said. “In this studio. he pulled me close, said, ‘Damn, I love you girl. I hope you know that.’ And I said it back. Just like that. Whole room smelled like weed him looking at me with them damn eyes.” “That was the first time.” Your voice cracked a little.

“I really thought…” You trailed off. Then shook your head. “Nah. Fuck that.”

You turned back around, picked up a shot glass from the console.

“To dumb bitches,” you said. “May we never be her again.” They all cheered. Glasses clinked. You threw it back. It burned, but not worse than this heartbreak.

Then you stepped into the booth, pulled the headphones on, and closed your eyes.

The beat kicked in again, your voice slid out raw.

All that hurt, rage, betrayal—it spilled into the mic like venom dressed in velvet.

And by the time the track ended… history was made.A hit. A warning. A reminder.

He played in the wrong girl’s face.

Sammie’s sprawled across the couch, scrolling through his phone with dead eyes and clenched teeth. That green bubble on your story stays glowing. Every loop of the video hits him harder.

Stack lounges nearby, dipping room service wings in ranch, TV humming low with a muted basketball game. Smoke’s in the corner on FaceTime with Annie, cracking up about something unrelated, but every so often his eyes slide back to Sammie, watching him stew.

Sammie spoke first voice laced with disbelief. “She made the whole damn thing about me.”

Stack laughed throwing his head back with a lil snort“She made a Billboard hit about your ass. Congrats, heartbreak muse of the year.”

Smoke leaned forward, FaceTime forgotten “What she say again? ‘You gone be with tupac when I come blow up that studio…’ somethin’ like that?”

Sammie shook his head muttering ‘Yeah. That’s about me fasho”

Smoke spoke through a laugh  “She in the booth talkin’ like she the Don, bro. That energy hit different when it’s personal.”

Stack spoke mouthfull with his greedy ass “She out-rappin’ you and outsellin’ you. How’s it feel to get dissed on beat and make her rich?”

Sammie looks at him fast as fuck  “You think this funny?”

 Stack shrugged “A lil’ bit. - “But nah. I get it. She got her lick back. You was in love and fumbled. Ain’t nothin’ new.”

Smoke nodded towards Stack “Like he can talk. Every time he catch feelings, he ghost like he doin’ a magic trick. That girl from Baton Rouge still lightin’ candles for him.

Stack pointed at his twin smirk on his face “Difference is, I ain’t lie to nobody face about bein’ solid. I told her I was no good.”

 “I didn’t lie. I just... I listened to y’all. Let myself get stupid. Tried to play it like I didn’t care when I did.” Sammie spoke looking between the two.

Stack just shrugged his shoulders “You grown, bro. Don’t blame us.”

Sammie swipes again. Next slide.

It’s a video. Your laugh, low and breathy. A flash of your legs, draped over someone else’s lap. A hand—light-skinned, casual, resting on your thigh like it belonged there.

Sammie sat up so fast he almost got vertigo.

“ Them ain’t my hands”

Stack grabbed the phone squinting “That’s not any of our hands.”

Smoke laughed “She out here living soft life. Passenger princess with a new driver.”

One thing sammie hated about these niggas they always had jokes for the wrong occasions. “Nah. That’s my -

Smoke spoke fast cutting him off “Was. She was your girl. Now you just the beat behind a Billboard single.”

Sammie stands, grabbing his keys off the side table. No hesitation.

He speaks low “Fuck this.”

This catches Stacks eye

“Where you goin’?”

Sammie snapped voice angry and sharp

“To my girl nigga”

He slams the door behind him. Silence.

Smoke pops a fry in his mouth, eyes still on the door. “Look what you did.”

Stack just shrugs, licking sauce off his fingers. “If every clover had four leaves they wouldn’t be lucky now would it”

You and your girls are splayed across couches, floor pillows, and a fuzzy throw rug—glasses half-full of rosé from brunch still sweating in your hands. Laughter fills the space, soft R&B spinning low from the speaker.

Someone’s talking about their sneaky link, someone else is scrolling through TikTok showing funny edits of your song. You’re halfway paying attention… until your phone buzzes again.

Your friends speak up hearing it too “Girl, who is blowin’ you up like that?”

You flip the screen toward them. “Sammie. Again. I been ignoring him all week and now he wanna be consistent?”

They lean in. Another buzz. A message pops up

Peekay : Answer or I’m comin’ right in that mf house.

You hold the phone up, jaw dropped. They scream.

 “Oh he real bold—he must really miss you.”

 “Or he real crazy. Ain’t nobody told him we deep in here?”

Just then, another call. FaceTime. His name lit up bold. Your thumb hesitates.

 “Y’all shut up.”

You answer. His face fills the screen—eyes red, jaw tight, lips pressed in that pout you used to kiss when he got like this.

He spoke serious, voice low “Sit the phone up.” 

“…Why?

He sat up readjusting in his seat. “Just sit it up. Let me see.”

You sigh, propping it on a candle jar. Your girls dip out of frame fast like trained soldiers.

He waited his eyes flicking around the background looking for something , you don’t know what “So… ain't no light-skin dude in there imma have to beat the fuck out of right?

You blinked hard

“What?”

He looked at you plainly “You heard me.”

You glance behind the phone—your girls looking shook, mouths open, frozen in place.

You spoke slow, annoyed “There’s nobody here. And even if there was, you don’t get to ask that. I don’t question the girls you been with, apparently.”

Sammie spoke instantly, eyes hard “I ain’t been with nobody but you. Don’t play with me.”

You tilted your head, voice sharp “Play with you? Oh you mean like how you played with me when you let Smoke and Stack gas your ego till you blew up everything we had?”

Silence. His throat works like he wants to say something but can’t.

You spoke final, icy “Don’t FaceTime me with that jealous boyfriend energy when you wasn’t You hang up.

The room’s quiet for a second, the air thick with disbelief soft  “…Did he say light-skin with tats?” “He remembered the hand! This man really clockin’ your stories like it’s his job.”

Sammie’s parked a few houses down, low in the seat, window cracked. His phone’s still glowing in his lap from where you hung up. His jaw ticks. His chest rises, falls. He don’t move at first. Just stares at your contact. Then his fingers move.

Leave it open.

He tosses the phone onto the passenger seat, flips the radio up loud—some old Boosie track—and sparks the blunt he’d rolled on the drive over. Leaning back in the seat, smoke curling from his lips, he watches the house like it’s breathing.

You and your girls are still downstairs, hollering. “Nah, that nigga is unhinged. You really broke him!”

You laughed , mocking him “‘Ain’t no light-skin dude in there with no tats?’ Boy, worry about your own tattoos.”

Y’all fall out laughing again. Then ping. You glance down. It’s him

Leave it open.

Your friends all look at you eyes wide “Oh my God.” “He outside. I know that energy.”

 “Bitch, what do I say?!” You say looking back and forth between them

They all start talking at once, pure chaos: “Say your man just pulled up.” “Tell him the door already open—let him come see!” “Ooooh text something spicy! You know he hate that.”

You nod, fingers flying across the screen.

It’s unlocked anyway. My man will be here soon. Send.

You toss the phone on the couch and throw your head back. “Amen.” “Amen!!”

They scream and cheer, clutching their chests like it’s church.

 “You gon’ die. But you gon’ die legendary.” “Upstairs, now! We gotta get you ready. Just in case he come in here on demon time.”

They usher you up the stairs like you headed to war, grabbing gloss, edge control, and a fresh hoodie from your closet. Your heart beats wild behind your ribs—not

scared, just… alive.

Your bestie speaks smiling while doing your edges. “Smile if you bout to ruin a man’s whole ego tonight.”

You smirk in the mirror. Below the window, a familiar engine cuts.

He’s coming in. You can feel it in your bones.

You’re fresh, feeling like a whole mood with your girls beside you—hair laid, gloss popping, outfit on point. You unlock the door and swing it open.

Sammie is already there, standing firm, hands down by his sides. No anger in the way he raises them, just presence. His eyes lock on you first—hard, serious, and something else you can’t name right away. Then he shifts his gaze to your girls. 

“Wassup y’all.”

Your girls nod respectfully, eyes flicking back to you, silently saying, What now?

You just stand there, taking him in. Mad as hell, yeah. But damn… the way he looks—head to toe in black, gold chains catching the streetlight, that little flash of grill shining when he parts his lips—it’s hard not to soften.

You know he fucked up. But maybe… just maybe, there’s a fix here.

Suddenly, one of your friends clears her throat sharply. You blink, shaking off the moment, and glance at them. “Bye, y’all. Be safe.”

They nod and slip quietly down the steps, leaving you and Sammie alone.

He looks past you, eyes scanning the house like sizing it up “Come on.”

He nods toward the door.

You hesitate—then step inside before your brain can catch up.

He closes the door behind you with a soft click and locks it.

Your heart skips. 

Yo, man would be here soon ? Nah. His ass here now.

Sammie gestures toward the couch.

“Come sit with me.”

You walk over first, careful. He watches every step like he’s memorizing you. You settle on the edge of the couch, keeping space between you—safe distance.

He scoots closer, voice low but commanding. “Quit actin’ scary. Come here.”

You shift, inching your leg closer—now touching his. Your heart skips. It’s been a minute, and that tiny buzz starts crawling up your spine. He pulls his hood off, revealing that sharp, tired look in his eyes. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, eyes heavy-lidded but steady on you.

 “I know I messed up, baby. I did everything you told me not to.”

His hand moves slowly, settling on your leg. You tense for a second, then relax as he straightens his back a little. “I did that shit... bein’ childish. Tryna get approval from two lonely mfs.”

You let out a quiet laugh—half disbelief, half relief.

 “I won’t ever do no shit like that again, baby. I can promise you. I’m sorry.”

He opens his arms slightly, inviting but vulnerable

You meet his eyes, voice steady but serious. “I believe you... but don’t make me have to get outta character, Samuel.”

Your fingers twitch, lightly grabbing his gold chain hanging around his neck. The weight of it feels real—like a reminder. Sammie catches the movement, a flicker of both surprise and respect crossing his face.

He tightens his grip on your leg just a bit, his jaw clenched but his eyes soft. “I ain’t gonna make you do nothin’ you don’t want, baby. I’m here... real this time.”

You don’t pull your hand away from his chain. Instead, you let your fingers linger, a silent test — how much does he really mean it? The room feels smaller somehow, just the two of you and the hum of the city outside.

Sammie leans in a little, voice dropping even lower. “ I done been stupid, but I’m tryin’ to be better — for us, for me. Ain’t just words this time. I’m done lettin’ other people mess with what we had.”

You study him, the weight in his eyes pulling at something inside you. A soft part you’d been trying to guard. “That part of me? When I say ‘get outta character,’ I mean it. don’t want that.”

He smiles then — not the cocky grin, but the kind that reaches his eyes. “Good. ‘Cause I ain’t tryin’ to fight you. Just wanna be right where I belong.”

You shuffle closer, legs brushing, breaths mingling.

You narrow your eyes, the tension thick now. “If you ever — and I mean ever — pull some dumb shit like that again? I’ma beat your ass, then Smoke’s, then Stack’s for hyping you up.”

He throws his head back, laughing. “Damn, all three of us? You on a mission.”

But that smile fades fast.

His eyes lock onto yours, voice low and solid now.”So who’s the nigga?”

Your breath catches. “What?”

He leans in slightly “Don’t play with me. Who. Is. The. Nigga?”

You hesitate. Your girls’ plan echoing in your mind. A distraction. A game. But the heat in his gaze ain’t playful — it’s boiling.

 “Just… some dude.”

He tilts his head slow, like he can see straight through you.”Some dude?”

You nod, swallowing.

He leans back now, arms stretched wide across the couch, legs open, looking fine as hell and dangerous with it. You wish he didn’t look that good — this would be easier.  “So how long you known this dude?”

You look away, nerves buzzing. You answer low, a whisper really. “A year.”

Before you can breathe again, his hand’s on your chin — not rough, but firm. He tilts your face to his, eyes burning through yours. “Say it like you mean it. All that muttering and guessing shit? Pissing me off.”

Your cheeks heat beneath his touch. Your heart races.

 “That girl in the club? A mistake. Drunk. Ain’t even mean nothin’. But you? You doing stupid shit with a clear head. And that’s different.”

You pull back a little, voice rising with your anger. “A mistake? Boy, fuck you. I was hurt! I ain’t no damn robot, Sammie.”

He lets go of your face, rubbing both hands down his own, exhaling like he’s trying not to snap.  “I know that, baby… but come on now. That dude been all up under your posts, sending you eyes, hearts… You ain’t say nothin’?”

You rolled your eyes “I don’t have to, Sammie. You not my daddy. Go worry about your mystery bitch. Don’t come in here tryna check me like you been loyal. I should beat your ass my damn self.”

You shoot to your feet, voice raised, hand on your hip, heat rolling off you in waves.

He stands up slow, towering, unbothered, staring at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

 “Come on then. You bad? Beat my ass.”

You was yellin' now, voice climbin’ with every breath.

“You think just ‘cause you showed up, I’m s’posed to forget all that shit? You think I don’t feel none of this? That I don’t dream 'bout you, cry 'bout you, bleed for you, Sammie?”

He took it. Standin’ there in all black like the funeral you never got to have for what y’all used to be. You stepped forward and pushed at his chest with an open palm. He ain’t move. You did it again—harder this time. Then again. His gold chain swayed with each shove.

“Fuck you, Sammie,” you spit, eyes full and wild.

He caught your wrist the moment your hand flew up toward his face. You watched his jaw lock, tongue pokin’ into his cheek, breath pullin’ heavy through his nose like he was tryna stop from blackin’ out. That look alone could’ve burned your clothes off, but you was too mad to care.

“Fuck me?” he said low, still holdin’ your wrist. His voice ain’t rise—but the heat in it made you pause.

“Yeah,” you said louder, chest heavin’. “Fuck you.”

He nodded slow, grip loosening as he let your arm fall.

“You better watch how you fuckin talkin’ to me,” he said, voice steel-hard. “And if you bold enough to say it, you better be bold enough to make good on it.”

You turned, walkin’ fast toward the bedroom. You ain’t know if you wanted to scream into a pillow or tear the sheets up. You ain’t even hear his footsteps, but you felt him right behind you—tall shadow heat pressin’ close.

“Sammie, fuck you. I hate you nigga deadass. You ain’t shit. Just like the rest of ‘em. Dirty. A liar. I don’t know why I thought you was different. Why I thought you’d love me for real.”

That stopped him cold in the hallway.

You could feel it—the shift.

Then you felt him.

A hand closin’ ‘round your wrist, pullin’ you back, pressin’ you up against the wall in one smooth motion. His palm came up, firm ‘round your throat—not squeezin’ too tight, just holdin’ you in place.

You looked up into eyes that was all storm and no light.

“I know I fucked up,” he said, voice rough. “I been sayin’ that like a broke damn record. But don’t you ever stand here and act like I ain’t never loved you.”

His grip tightened just a little. A soft gasp left your lips. Your smaller hand came up, fingers restin’ over his.

“I love you more than anybody ever could. But you think that give you the right to hit me, disrespect me, throw my name in the dirt like I ain’t bled for you too?”

You swallowed hard, breath catchin’.

“I’m gon’ show you,” he murmured, voice low but heavy. “By the time I’m done, you gon’ feel all the shit I been carryin’. All of it.”

Then he stepped back, hand slidin’ away slow, lettin’ you breathe again. You stayed there, chest risin’ and fallin’, vision blurry—but not from tears this time. From how hot the air between y’all had gotten.

He tilted his head toward the bedroom door.

You was still breathin’ hard when he locked that bedroom door, slow and sure. Always did that. Said it made his nerves settle knowin’ he was closed in with just you.

“Sit down,” he said again, voice low but thick now, dark like syrup.

You ain’t move right away. You just stood there, lips still tinglin’, chest tight, still hearin’ him say he loved you like it was a vow and a warning all at once.

“I said,” he took two steps forward, slow and solid, “sit down, baby.”

You ain’t know if it was the way his gold caught the low light, or the way his drawl wrapped around that word “baby” like he’d never stopped sayin’ it, but your knees moved on their own. You sank onto the edge of the bed, hands in your lap, eyes trackin’ him like prey.

He came closer, pulled his hoodie off, chain swingin’, his whole chest breathin’ deep like he was tryin’ to hold back somethin’ fierce. He stood in front of you, thumb and two fingers slid under your chin, tilted your face up.

“ you hate me,” he murmured, brows pullin’ together just a little. “Say it again.”

You opened your mouth, but nothin’ came. Your lips quivered, jaw tight. He looked down at you, real slow, takin’ you in. His hand moved—thumb draggin’ across your bottom lip, just enough pressure to make you tremble.

“That what we on now?” he asked, voice even. “Hatin’ each other?”

You shook your head slow, breath catchin’.

“Nah,” he said, lettin’ go and standin’ tall again, lookin’ down at you like he already knew. “You mad, yeah. Hurt. But hate? That ain’t in you, not for me.”

You couldn’t deny that. Didn’t want to. He leaned down, mouth close to your ear now, lips just brushin’.

“Gone lay back, baby. Let me make it right.”

You hesitated. He waited. Then you did it, breath shaky as your spine hit the sheets.

He peeled his shirt off slow, belt next, every movement deliberate. He wasn’t in no rush. You watched him like a storm was comin’. And it was.

He climbed over you, arms on either side of your head, breath fannin’ across your neck. His voice was lower now, Southern syrup and smoke.

“You gon’ feel me,” he whispered. “Feel every word I couldn’t say right. Feel every time I shoulda chose you louder.”

His hand slid under your shirt, and you gasped—‘cause this wasn’t soft. This wasn’t sorry. This was claimin’. This was a man tryna repent with his whole body.

And baby, you let him.

He slid down slow, mouth still on yours ‘til the last second. His hand pushed your thigh open again, wider this time, and he looked at you—dead in your eyes, like this wasn’t just lust. It was penance. Worship. He kissed the inside of your knee first, then lower, taking his time.

“You been actin’ like I forgot how to treat you,” he muttered, voice thick as molasses. “Let me remind you what it feel like to be taken care of.”

You barely had time to gasp when he pressed his mouth to you. That first pass of his tongue had you archin’ off the couch. He gripped your hips tight, keepin’ you down.

“Nah, don’t run now,” he said low, lips glistening. “You was talkin’ all that shit a minute ago. You gone take this.”

And you did.

He licked slow at first—broad, hungry strokes that made your breath catch. Then faster, tongue focused right where it needed to be, two fingers slid in easy, curling just right. You cried out, and he smiled against you, tongue never leavin’ you.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, voice damn near feral now. “Let me hear that shit. Don’t hold back, not with me.”

Your hands were in his hair, pullin’—not tryna stop him, just needin’ something to hold on to.

He brought you to the edge and over with no hesitation. He wanted you there. Needed to feel it. You shook under him, legs tremblin’, but he didn’t let up, even when you tried to push his head away.

“Sammie—baby I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he said, voice thick with hunger. “You gon’ come again. Open back up for me.”

He spread you with both hands, dove in again like he couldn’t breathe without you on his tongue. This time, he kept his eyes on yours the whole time.

“Don’t look away,” he said, breathin’ against you. “Wanna see your face when you fall apart.”

And you did—again, harder this time, back archin’, his name fallin’ from your lips in broken, breathless moans.

When he came back up, his mouth was wet, and so were his eyes—just a lil’ bit.

“Tell me right now,” he said, leanin’ in close, lips ghostin’ yours, “that you ain’t mine. Say it with a straight face.”

You didn’t say a word. You just pulled him in, kissin’ him deep like you ain’t need no damn words at all.

He lined himself up, slow and steady, slid in deep on the first stroke, and stayed there.

You gasped, grippin’ his shoulders.

He didn’t move at first. Just let you feel it. All of it.

“You feel that?” he whispered against your mouth. “That’s me. I been here. Ain’t never left you, baby. Not really.”

You nodded, eyes damn near rollin’ back.

He started movin’ deep, slow strokes that filled you up and made your toes curl. One hand on your thigh, the other flat on the bed keepin’ him grounded. But his eyes never left your face.

“You still mad?” he asked, voice shaky with restraint.

You shook your head.

“You still hate me?”

“No,” you whispered.

He kissed you again, harder now, hips pickin’ up pace. The couch creaked under y’all but neither of you cared.

“Say you mine.”

“I’m yours, Sammie. Always was.”

“That’s right,” he said, buryin’ his face in your neck. “That’s right, baby.”

And when y’all finally came, it wasn’t just heat—it was every ounce of anger, pain, love, and regret burnin’ out at once. Both of y’all shakin’, holdin’ on like the world might end if you let go.

He didn’t move for a while. Just stayed there, buried deep, head on your chest, heart beatin’ fast against yours.

“I love you,” he said again, voice hoarse.

You kissed his temple, stroked his hair.

“I know, Sammie. You looked at him laughing a little. This made him look at you now “what”. He spoke laughing a little too. “Nothing you just barely made it out PK”. He ain’t say a word just say up looked at you real slow.

Your body was folded under him now—face in the pillow, back arched just right, his weight pressed firm and familiar behind you. Sammie’s hand gripped your hip like he owned it, other one flat on your lower back, steadyin’ you as he moved inside you slow… deep… like he meant every stroke.

“That shit you said…” he muttered, breath hot against your shoulder, “'bout me barely makin’ it out…”

You gasped when he pushed in harder, hittin’ that spot like he been rememberin’ where it was.

“Say some slick shit like that again,” he growled low, “and I’ma show you just how bad I can not make it out.”

He gave a rougher thrust that had you grabbing at the sheets, teeth bitin’ the pillow to keep from cryin’ out too loud. His hand slid up your back, fingers spread, keepin’ you grounded.

“This what you wanted, huh?” he grunted. “Actin’ like you ain’t need me, like you could just walk off and forget—nah. You mine, baby.”

You tried to speak but the rhythm—slow but mean—had you breathless, body trembling under him.

“I’m not gon’ leave you,” he said softer this time, voice thrummin’ deep in your ear. “Don’t care how mad you get, how loud you yell, how many times you hang up on me. I’m not leavin’. I’m here.”

His lips brushed the side of your neck, teeth grazin’, breath hot.

“It’s just us. Always been just us. Can’t no clout, no bitch, no dumb shit change that.”

His strokes slowed down but sank in deeper, hips grindin’ like he was tryna leave pieces of himself inside you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissin’ your spine. “Sorry if I made you feel like it wasn’t you. Like you wasn’t enough. You everything to me.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. The way he was movin’, talkin’, lovin’—it was too much and not enough all at once.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice husky.

You nodded into the pillow.

“That’s all me. And I’m yours too.”

He stayed buried deep, arms wrapping ‘round your waist, chest to your back now, lettin’ y’all melt into each other.

“I ain’t lettin’ go,” he whispered again. “So don’t run no more. Ain’t nowhere to go that I won’t follow.”

A month later, everything had shifted. You were back together—solid this time. Sammie had taken you on the most beautiful date, the Delta sky lit up behind him as he dropped to one knee with a band you damn near cried over.

Of course, the messy-ass Shaderoom posted it too, caught the whole moment in 4K, and while everybody had something to say… you could care less.

It was just you, your man, and music now.

You sat across from each other in the studio, separate mics, hearts synced.

Stack and Smoke were on the other side of the glass, watching like it was a damn movie. Smoke nudged Stack, a smirk on his face.

“See that? That’s how you get your woman back,” Smoke said.

Stack shook his head slow, arms crossed. “Nah, bruh. That’s how you stay soft.”

Smoke laughed, “Yeah, but they soft in love.”

Stack rolled his eyes, leaned forward, and pressed the intercom.

“Aight,” he said, voice dry but eyes warm, “seein’ as this whole thing was kinda my fault… I figured y’all could take it out on the track, leave it in this booth.”

He let go of the button, nodding at Smoke to hit play.

The bass hit like it knew your name, low and dirty and full of space. You closed your eyes and let it pour through you, your voice slipping in smooth—raw, emotional, laced with love and pain. Smoke looked at Stack with a raised brow, Stack just nodded, lips curled up. Sammie watched you, head bobbing slow, admiring the way you moved with the beat, your sound—his favorite place.

Your eyes found his as you sang directly to him now. That verse hit different, full of everything you couldn’t say in the mess. He slid one headphone down, nodding with the beat, then walked up to his mic with that same locked-in look.

The beat dipped darker, slower. He didn’t even glance at the paper—just went in, voice low, controlled. That whole verse sounded like an apology without ever sayin’ the words. Just you and him, pain and promise, trading bars like vows. Music wrapped around y’all like smoke.

You joined in, harmonizing with him—two voices, one body of hurt, healing, and heat. It wasn’t just a song. It was y’all. A reckoning. A release. A hit.

Later that night, Shaderoom posted a snippet of the session:

🎤🔥 Y’ALL HEAR THIS??? That tension in the booth got me sweating. Sammie & his girl locked in again, for real this time. Engagement, a studio session, and now a collab? Whew 😮‍💨

Comments flooded in:

• “They arguing on the beat and I love it 😭”

• “You can HEAR the makeup sex in her vocals.”

• “He really said I’m sorry through a 16-bar verse 🥲”

• “Soft men winning 2025 fr.”

And somewhere under it all, a pinned comment from Sammie’s burner account:

“Only one mic I’m sharing like that. Forever.”

Hit. Made. Hearts mended.

—————————-

Hey yall omg this took a minute- so enjoy this from me on my way home from therapy😏 hopefully it’s all cohesive ngl Im a little high.

Thank yall for reading sexies😏🤞🏾🎀

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thethirdeyebitch · 2 months ago

Text

. ۪ ֗ “ 𝑁𝑜—𝐺𝑒𝑡 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑂𝑛𝑒 ”⋆˚🫧

PART 2 • [this fic has been split into two parts]

21k! CONTENT WARNING (MDNI) • phone s*x (mutual m*sturbation), edg*ng, unprotected s*x, p -> v s*x, b*ckshots, squ*rting, choking, c*rvix kissing, rough consensual s*x, dominating male character, possessive behavior/talk, dummification, foot f*tish, minor size k*nk, tummy bulge, heavy use of dirty talk, use of profanity, nicknames (Mami, Mama, Papa, Pa), use of the n-word (all characters & Author are Black) • INSPIRED BY THIS POST • CHARACTER VISUALZ

PART 1 HERE ->

DRAGGING A HEAVY HAND DOWN HIS FACE, Sito releases a long-held sigh.

Parked up outside of the auto body shop, he sits in his car with heavy eyes. His cousin is still inside, in a screaming-match with the mechanic about a change in the previously discussed price.

He could only last about two minutes before he had to leave the confrontation behind for his peace of mind.

With dead eyes, he stares blankly ahead. The sun has long since went down, leaving the sky a dark blue. He should be in bed right now, laid back, watching Cimani go on and on about some random topic plaguing her mind at the moment.

He hopes she didn’t forget his call.

He kisses his teeth. “Matter fact … ‘cause I know she forgot—“

His fingers move as he speaks to himself, tapping to get to her contact.

For a minute, the FaceTime call rings out until ultimately going unanswered. His face twists up at that.

So, with an even worse attitude, he calls again. Because, who does she think she is, ignoring his call? That is not what they do.

His phone rings out for some time. His frustration is growing. Just as he’s sure the call is about to drop, the phone chimes as it’s answered.

It’s quiet for a few seconds as the call connects, then he hears her shifting around in bed.

“Hello?”

He looks at the screen, her camera turned off.

“So you forgot you had to call me?”

“No?”

Her voice is soft and quiet.

“Why your voice sound like that? You sound like you just waking up.”

There’s a long delay before she answers. “M’not…”

“Yeah, aight.” He stares at the screen, eyes narrowing in a squint. “Why am I looking at myself? I FaceTimed you. This ain’t no regular call.”

A soft, sound comes from her end of the call. He’s not even sure he could tell what kind of sound it was.

“I don’t wanna t-turn it on.”

He lifts a brow. “You want me to hang up? I’m bothering you or something?”

A short breath leaves her. “You’re n-not bothering me.”

“So turn your camera on.”

“Sito—“

“Yo, quit acting like this before I hang up. Forreal, ‘Mani. You sure you not just waking up?”

“Oh my God … I’m not.” There’s some shifting going on, picked up by the mic. It’s about a minute before her camera finally turns on.

Sito finally sees her in her bonneted-glory. And she’s as barefaced as ever, noting in particular how low her eyes are.

“What day you booked the lash appointment for?”

“Um… “ Her eyes flutter as she pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth. She exhales. “S-Saturday.” There’s a tiny inflection in her voice.

He expects her to go on a tangent about the style of lashes she’s getting, even complain about how long it takes to get them done—the usual whenever she was about to get them done.

But, his expectations are subverted with her short answer and lack of an explanation.

“Okay?” He says, brows pulled together in confusion. “How much is it?”

“Mh—I don’t … I-I think $120?”

“You think? What you stuttering so much for?”

“M-m’not,” she—whines? Not only that, but her eyes almost kind of … roll?

What’s going on?

“You good?” He asks, more confused than concerned.

“Yes … J-just … tell me about your—um … your errands.” The last few words were breathed out in a rush, like she couldn’t hold them in anymore.

He kissed his teeth, his gaze switching to somewhere out of the window. “Haircut was cool, not much to complain about. Y’know, Ray did his thing,” he smiles.

But his smile is quickly wiped away by the reminder of his current predicament. “But, Jahmere in there, arguing with the fucking mechanic about the price.”

“Mhm…”

“I’m tryna get the fuck outta here. Granted … the nigga is overcharging him, I’m not even gon’ lie. Like, I’m telling you, ‘Mani, he charged him odee for some crazy ass shit—“

His brows pull together as her breathing grows heavier—louder—in the mic. He has to do a double-take. Nevertheless, he continues with his story.

“Uh, they been screaming in there for about a hour now. I wasn’t even tryna hear all that, forreal. So,” he rubs a hand down his face. “I came in here—“

“Hh—mhm.”

He blinks. Slowly, Sito turns his head to finally look at the screen. Cimani is nowhere in sight. Instead, he’s staring up at her dark ceiling.

He expects a quick apology, an explanation—even a small joke from her about the oddness of her breathing. Yet, for the next few seconds it’s nothing but silence.

That is, until he hears it.

It’s so quiet, it’s really a miracle that the microphone even picked it up; tiny splishes of water growing, almost drowning out the soft squishes of wet, slippery skin.

He angles his phone away from his face, just so she won’t catch it when he hides his mouth with a closed fist. Because there’s no way…

He presses his lips together, trying to keep a grin at bay. His call had definitely interrupted something.

Slowly, he inhales, trying to settle himself. “So, uh … you sure I’m not bothering you?”

Her exhale is loud, he can tell she had breathed out through her mouth. “Hhm—no.”

“I’m not?”

“No, Sito.”

The frail tremble in her voice does something to him. He inhales deeply.

“Aight, I’ma trust you… When you get your lashes done, get that wispy shit. That’s what you had last time, right?”

“Y-yes—“

A whimper hits his ears.

“Aight, I’ma send you the money.” He licks his lips, looking at the still screen. It takes him less than a minute to send the Apple Cash. “You got it?”

“I-I don’t know.” Her voice is soft, almost whiny.

“Just check,” he begs softly.

She whispers something, but he doesn’t hear it too well. What he does hear is a slopping sound, and he can imagine her fingers, decorated with acrylic, pushing through the mess she’s created. Running through her lips to rub at her sensitive clit.

There’s a soft mewl this time.

“O-okay,” she pants. The camera is jostled around before he finally sees a peek of her bonnet again. “I got it.” Her voice wavered. “Thank you, Sito.”

He bites at his bottom lip, trying to stop himself from grinning any harder.

“You good, Mami.”

Another whimper. He can tell that she’s trying to keep quiet.

“You know you deserve it.”

Again, he hears what she tries so hard to hide: Plap, plap, plap. Like she had just laid three, hard slaps on her pussy.

He swallows, instantly reminded of the dryness in his own throat. There’s a hidden desire for a taste of something wetter. His heart is pounding in his chest.

“Lemme see your nails.”

“S-Sito—“

“Nah, you didn’t even show me when you got back in the car. Lemme see.”

It’s quiet on the other line for a few seconds. There’s no movement.

“Cimani.”

No answer.

He kisses his teeth. “Quit making me ask so many times.”

“Shit … h-hold on—“

There’s some fumbling with the phone before it’s finally picked up. Apprehensive, she lifts a hand to the camera, showing off her brand new nails.

And as Sito looks at the deep blue acrylics, he notes how shiny they look.

Glistening, even.

Wet.

He can’t help the sick chuckle that leaves him. “Oh my fucking God,” he mumbles into his hand.

“D-do you see you it?”

He licks his lips, enjoying too much the desperation in her voice. “Yeah… I like ‘em.”

The hand disappears shortly after, and the screen goes dark. It’s quiet once again. Well … almost quiet.

That soft, creamy sound is picked up by the mic again. He can tell her hand is moving slow. Probably rubbing slow circles against her clit.

“You like them?”

“M-mhm … yeah.”

“Knew you would.” He rubs the knuckle of his thumb into his lower lip as he eyes the screen. “Should’a just listened to me when I first told you to get ‘em.”

He wishes she would show him something. Even if it’s just her face.

“But that’s just you being a brat.”

He can hear her breathing pick up. Another minute of silence passes by.

“Your hair.”

“What about it, Mami?”

The broken sound that leaves her makes his dick jump.

“Wanna s-see it.”

Without another word, he clicks on the light for her to see. In the camera, he bows his head to show off the fresh line up.

“It’s good, right?”

“Mhm.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and that creamy sound seems to get a fraction louder.

“L-looks so good, Pa.”

Her words were a soft moan. He knows she didn’t mean for that to slip. She’s caught up in the moment.

And he doesn’t mind one bit, as he’s got a hand gripping on his dick. A quick glance out of the car window ensures him that there isn’t a soul outside to catch him. It’s not like they would see him anyway, not with his tints.

He sits up in his seat, gripping his phone a bit tighter.

“That’s my name now?”

Her breathing is heavy, even if she tries to hide it. “Fuck … s-sorry—“

“Are you?”

No answer.

Softly, he kisses his teeth with the shake of his head. “Stop playing, ‘Mani.”

“W-what?”

“Stop playing with me, Cimani.”

She’s quiet again.

“Answered my phone call while you playing with your pussy.”

He swears he hears a tiny gasp.

“Least you could do is lemme see it … know it’s mine, anyway.”

“Sito—“

“It was just Pa. What happened?”

She doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t get shy on me. You was just playing with her, all loud in the mic,” he chuckles. “Shit was cute, though, I’ll give you that.”

He doesn’t have a hand in his pants yet, but he’s about two seconds away from doing so. “Put her on camera.”

There’s a bit of shuffling, but it only takes a couple of seconds before he sees her: puffy lips taking up his screen. Freshly done fingers spread her open for him to see pretty, gummy pink walls squeezing in on themselves.

Her cunt dribbles a cloudy, sticky sap.

He shifts in his seat, feeling on himself through his pants. “She always pretty like this?”

She only moans in response. Her clit jumps with another clench.

“Them long ass nails, bet you can’t even play with her right.”

There’s a whimper. “I can’t,“ she whines.

Finally, Sito unzips his jeans, slowly slipping a hand underneath his boxers. “Lemme see how you been playing with her.”

Her middle finger dips into her honey pot, swiping up a dabble of her pearlescent goo. It’s sticky, stringing between the opening of her lips and the pad of her finger.

As he watches, he runs his hand down his length before holding himself at the head.

“She drooling, baby.”

He sees her other hand pulling a leg back. Hand between her legs, her fingers pull together. This resume a gentle flow as they rub against her clit.

Which is so small. In fact, by the looks of it, she can really cover her whole pussy with just a hand. And as far as he remembers, Cimani’s hands aren’t big at all.

He almost coos, watching her work her little cunt until it sputters out a release from overstimulation.

His hand tightens around his dick as the thought of him stretching her out plays in his mind.

“Couldn’t wait to mess up them nails, huh?” he asks. “Them nails I just paid for.”

“I’m sorry—“

“Nah, you cool, baby. It’s cool. Lemme see how you did ya toes.”

He swipes his tongue over his plump bottom lip just as he passes his fist over himself.

The camera is pushed further back, probably leaned up against the bulk of her sheets. It happens so fast, it’s like he blinks and she’s back in the screen—legs pulled back and spread once more.

And just above, on either side of her, her toes are curled rather cutely. The fresh acrylic on them is shaped in perfect squares, every last one of them a gentle pink.

“Fuck,” he whispers, twisting a hand over himself as more blood rushes south.

“W-what else, Pa?”

Oh, that got him. Something about that soft voice and her asking him—he’s high off of this fantasy-come-to-life.

“Keep playing with her,” he says, voice ragged.

She listens, no questions asked. As her fingers swipe back and forth over the swollen bud, pushing through puffy lips, he tries his best to mimick the pace at which she goes, on himself.

“You so pretty, Mami. How many times I gotta tell you that?”

The question is rhetorical, his mouth just running as his body breaks down.

His shoulder twitches, he sinks further in his seat. “Pretty ass lil’ pussy.”

With low eyes, he watches her cunt clamp around nothing every few seconds the longer she goes. Her hips twitch as they begin to roll against the air.

“Bet you if was there, I could give her what she really need.”

“Please,” she whines.

“She deserves some good ass dick, don’t she?”

As her fingers flick over herself faster, his hand, too, speeds up.

“Y-yes—“

“How long it’s been? Hm?”

“I … f-fuck—too long,” she hiccups.

Another broken moan falls from her right as her hand freezes. She’s still for a second, before she lays two quick slaps to her clit.

Soft white globs ooze from her, slipping down the terrain of her lips to the stained sheets below.

“U-uh … ffuck!”

She reaches down to scoop up some of her release, spreading it over herself.

Her lips shine like they’ve been glossed, a tantalizing view.

“Keep going for me,” he mumbles, still working himself.

Despite crying out at the overstimulation, she continues. She just keeps rubbing and rubbing.

“Oh, God,” she mewls. Her pussy clenches tighter. “Mh—Sito,” she warns.

“That ain’t my name.”

“I … I—“

She flutters twice, pink walls pushing out for him to see. Then, crystal clear water trickles from her pussy like a water fountain. Her stream gains a bit of height, even hitting the camera as her body bears down.

He can hear the cushioned pattering of her release against the sheets, like rain hitting a roof.

“Shiiit…” He watches in awe. “She get wet like that?”

A soft, broken moan leaves her as she rides out her high, still rubbing her abused clit until the stream dies down.

When she’s finally done, her soft pants are all picked up by the mic.

“Fuck,” he groans out, a lazy smile on his lips. He’s still got a hand on his dick, having stopped to focus on her.

A gentle silence settles over the call. He looks at the screen. For a moment, everything is still.

She’s so quiet, he starts to question their connection.

“Yo, ‘Mani,” he calls out.

No answer.

As he opens his mouth to call her again, a soft chime sounds.

She hung up.

Dick in hand, Sito feels like a clown as his face morphs into an expression of confused irritation.

“The fuck?”

ᥫ᭡

HER HEAD REMAINS DOWN as the pads of her middle and pointer fingers press into her temple. There’s a faint pulse there.

As her other hand cradles the cup of tea she prepared for herself, she struggles to even lift the cup to her lips.

If it isn’t one thing, it’s the next. Last night’s phone call plays over and over in her mind—the second-hand embarrassment paralyzing.

How, in her right mind, could she ever think to do that?

Yeah, he’d caught her at a bad time, but she could’ve hung up. He even asked.

Why couldn’t she just call him back? What about that felt so thrilling to her that she just had to continue?

He enjoyed it, she’s not stupid enough to ignore that part or even pretend to be oblivious to it.

Actually, it’s not even all that hard to see that where they stand is as a little more than just friends.

But she hadn’t wanted that to change. Not so soon. Not with everything so unsure in her life right now.

Can she even handle a relationship with Sito? She knows she likes him, the crush has been there for a long time. Hovering in the near-distance.

Does he feel the same way, is the question.

As she thinks back on how seamlessly he switched up last night, pulling out the dirty talk with no hesitation, it makes her wonder: is this just lust for him?

How seriously does he take her?

Cimani’s never been one to think of Sito as a slut. In fact, the only reason she’ll ever know of a girl he’s talking to or hooking up with is by accident (or snooping). He doesn’t discuss his sexual or romantic life with her, not since high school, honestly.

She can respect that about him, not being a pillow-talker. At the same time, though, Sito doesn’t ever really talk about much that doesn’t pertain to what’s between them.

Even if she can say that she’s known him for years, she doesn’t know everything about Sito. The vagueness scares her.

A heavy sighs leaves her as she finally raises the cup to her lips. The taste of lemon barely touches her tongue when there’s a knock at her door. She freezes up, staring at the door with widened eyes.

She’s not expecting anyone, she never really does.

More knocking.

Carefully, she sets down her cup. On her way to the door, the knocks grow hastened. When she gets close enough, she even hears the faint sound of one kissing their teeth.

The word “fuck” is mouthed quietly.

“Don’t act like you not there. You know we still share locations.”

She throws her head back with a silent groan and the roll of her eyes. Regaining composure, Cimani takes a deep breath before finally unlocking her door and pulling it open.

It’s like coming face to face with your worst nightmare and your greatest dream at the same time.

“I was ‘bout to say, I know you not gonna make me start yelling for you out here.”

She blinks, trying to make sense of the visual before her; Sito stands with an arm at his side while the other is curled around a big bouquet of flowers.

Pink peonies—her favorite.

He’s beaming, solid gold fronts cover his top and bottom row of teeth. And at his feet are several brown bags of groceries. She stares at them for a while.

The nearest Trader Joe’s is twenty minutes away from her apartment.

She looks back up at him, unable to even process the wide grin on his face.

“Took me like three trips to bring all these bags here. Y’know, I didn’t wanna—“ he pulls the bouquet from the crook of his arm, showing them off. “—crush the flowers.”

She blinks again.

His smile dims a fraction as he looks off to the side. “So … you gonna let me in or…”

Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“Okay, ‘Mani—at least take the flowers.” His face falls with possible rejection. “I’ll take the groceries back if you don’t want ‘em—“

“Sito,” she exhales.

He stands at attention, elated to at least hear her voice.

“W-why … what is this?”

His groomed brows furrow.

“What you mean?” He looks around at all the things he’s bought, before finally looking back to her. “I’m just making sure you good.”

•

She helped him unpack in silence—or, the other way around. Neither of them were able to say much.

When they had packed the final bag away, Cimani immediately sprung to her electric kettle, starting it to make him a cup of tea.

It’s already half-past eleven, but she needs to keep busy.

She doesn’t even ask him what kind of tea he wants.

No need. She already knows. Black tea with milk, and two tablespoons of sugar.

As she stirs his cup, he watches her from the other side of her small island. Every single movement she makes, he eyes carefully, studying her.

Her skin feels hot under his stare. Clearing her throat, Cimani slowly passes him the cup. She doesn’t look at him.

“You’ll make me tea, but you won’t say nothing to me.” He scoffs. “C’mon, now.”

Finally, she dares to look him in the eyes.

“Are we gonna talk about—“

“I don’t think last night should’ve happened.”

His face alights with shock, brows raised and mouth open. “Oh?”

Inhaling deeply, her eye contact with him falters. “I-I don’t know why I did that. It was—that was wrong, I shouldn’t have even answered the phone.”

The worlds tumble out of her mouth, clumsy and loose.

“And that was weird, I just—I feel like I crossed a line.” Her face contorts in mild discomfort, her body beginning to fold in on itself. “I’m sorry—“

“Hol’on—wait.” A breathy laughter leaves him as he shakes his head. “‘Mani, you making it seem like you just assaulted me or some shit.”

“I technically did.” She frowns.

“I mean—“ He looks around, trying his best to come with a way to word his thoughts properly. “Did I expect that shit? Hell no. Did I enjoy it?” His gaze locks dead center with hers.

“Sito—“

“Yes.” He even nods for emphasis. “I enjoyed it a lot. Matter fact, only thing I didn’t enjoy was you cutting that call short.”

Her heart skips a beat, but still her frown deepens. “You don’t get it.”

His head jerks back, confusion clear on his face? “Get what, ‘Mani? What else is there to get?” He scoffs. “You wanted to put on a show, and I wanted to watch—“

“Oh my God, shut the fuck up,” she groans, hiding her face in her hands.

She takes yet another deep breath, gathering herself to prepare the worst to come. She already fucked things up this bad, there’s really no going back after this. Not with the kind of person Sito is, he’ll never let this shit go.

“I … I feel like that didn’t mean anything to you.” Her brows pull in together, and she looks as if she confused by her own words. “Like, I get that it was … whatever the fuck it was, but like—ugh!”

His face contorts with hers, trying to follow along with her words.

“I-If you just wanna fuck after this, Sito, that’s not what I want. Okay? I don’t just wanna use you, or you use me, for a quick thing whenever we need to get some pressure off. I’m sorry if I even gave you that impression—“

“Woah, woah, woah. What are you talking about?”

She squints at him. “What do you mean what am I talking about? I think I’m making myself pretty clear.”

“Uh—not really. ‘Cause honestly, you bringing claims to the table I ain’t never even claimed!”

She blinks, her face dropping. “Huh?”

For the first time in a few minutes, he actually cracks a smile. “Don’t ‘huh’ me. You heard what I said.”

Slowly, he rounds the island, forgetting all about the drink she had made him.

“Who the fuck told you I only ever wanted to fuck? I give you that vibe?” He gestures between the two of them, his expression teeters the line between confusion and offense.

“Somebody that just wanna fuck, gon’ get you all that shit I bought? They gon’ buy you groceries a-and get you flowers?” He takes slow steps towards her. “They gonna offer to give you rent money and pay to keep you pretty?”

By the time he chooses to stop, her back is pressed against the countertop. Her only option is to remain there, staring up at the man who only leaves a few inches of space between them.

“Cimani,” he chuckles. “Told you, you just like to hear yourself talk, forreal—I’on know what fucking impression I gave you, but I just wanna see you be put up.”

She can hardly swallow with his admission.

“I’on know how many times I gotta say that. I ain’t tryna see you stressed out for nothing. Not when I know I could make it easier.”

His eyes bounce back and forth between her own.

“Do I need to explain myself anymore?”

Chewing at her bottom lip, she tries her hardest to wrestle her facial expressions under control. So far, it’s not working, because he can see the inklings of a smile on her face.

She shakes her head ‘no.’

Peering down at her, his gaze is focused and intense. There really isn’t much of a smile on his anymore.

“Now that we finally got that shit out the way, I’m tryna finish what you started.”

•

“That’s it … that’s all I need you to do,” he pants. “Just need you to take it.”

Her vision clouds as her eyes roll back, before her eyes squeeze shut. A rough groan rips from her chest.

His dick, wide and thick, stretches her out in more ways than one. As he peers down between them, where they connect, his dick twitches from the sight.

Her lips mare fully stretched around him, as she feebly clenches around him. Her body is filled to the brim—stuffed.

“She hugging me tight, huh?” He laughs, holding her open with one hand. “Tryna figure out what to do with all this dick she getting.”

She clenches at his words, earning another chuckle out of him.

It’s not even like she can respond—tell him to shut up … not that she wants to. Stuffing her big, pouting lips are Sito’s big, ringed fingers. Her tongue laves at them.

The only semblance of a response she gives, is a moan.

“Don’t gotta do no more thinking, right?”

“Mm—mmh,” she groans, the sides of her mouth leaking with spit.

Her eyes flutter, only opening when he begins to drag his dick out of her. Her back was barely able to arch against the countertop, body pressed against the cold, hard surface.

“No more thinking,” he coos. “Not when you got all this—dick in you.”

He slides back in, pushing all of those inches up against her cervix. From the small underside of her stomach that he barely catches, he can see himself pressing against the wall of her stomach.

He repeats: pulling out just to push back in. Every revelation of his dick shows him that he’s covered in her glossy slick.

He’s obsessed.

The hand on her left ass cheek grips the little bit of fat tighter as he starts to pull her back against him. And still, he fucks back.

Wet fingers drag from her leaking mouth, to clutch the chamber of her neck. Each heavy stroke punches a new sound out of her.

“Oh—ffuck! … Aauh,” she shudders as he bounces her against him. Her breathing is tight and shaky.

“Pretty ass lil’ bitch,” he grunts. With each movement, he can feel his tip kiss her spongy walls.

She squeals, somehow tightening around him.

“Don’t know … how I let you think you was some fucking bum.”

She’s getting drunk off of his dick and words. Honestly, she can’t get enough of it.

“Just needed me to come remind you, huh?”

“Ye … yes!” she groans out.

“Needed me … to come straighten you out … w-when you was being a fucking brat—“

His voice wavers only slightly as he uses more power in his hips. She spasms around him.

“Oh—fuck, stop doing that shit,” he pants. “Stop—doing. That—“

The sound their bodies make when they collide gets louder as he fucks into her with more pressure. She can hardly keep up.

The buckle of his B.B. belt scrapes against the floor, his jeans pooled at his ankles.

She’s screaming out, her body inching up against the counter.

The hand around her neck tightens as it pulls her back. Her back curls into an arch as he leans forward to crash his lips against hers.

Their kiss is sloppy, lips sliding off of each other’s. Well, it’s more like he’s kissing her. Her lips are parted, moaning in his mouth, loudly.

The sound of her ass clapping against his dick is louder.

“S-so fucking tight,” he gasps against her mouth. His stomach is clenching.

Both of their bodies are covered in a layer of sweat that makes their brown skin shine.

He can’t get enough of her, going back in for another kiss, even when he feels like he’s going to pass out from not breathing.

When he pulls away, their lips smack. He finally releases her neck as he pulls out.

Her body sags against the counter, her toned legs trembling under her own body weight. As her hands feebly grip the counter’s edge, she peers back at him, looking railed. Her slick back bun is past sweated out, decorated with flyaways and frizz. Even her lips are swollen.

Cimani’s blurred vision, mostly full of tears, tracks to between Sito’s legs. She’s staring at the very thing ruining her, wondering how her friend of almost ten years was carrying all this dick around and she hasn’t even known.

Long, thick, and deep brown, with a left curve as it hangs between his tattooed legs. He is, single-handedly, her demise.

He’s saying something, but she can hardly hear him over her own panting.

“You hear me?”

Slowly, she looks up into his lustful eyes.

“Said I’ma show you something,” he repeats.

Before she can ask, a warm hand grasps her inner thigh of her right leg. The warm touch makes her jolt, she’s sensitive.

Carefully, he lifts. And she’s not too sure where this is going, her brain too exhausted to catch on with ease.

In fact, panic doesn’t set in until her knee is put to rest on the cold countertop, level with her hips. A large, warm hand falls back to the junction of her hip and lifted thigh.

This new stretch, he doesn’t even need to hold her open to see the way her pretty pussy drools. Droplets of her wetness dangle from her slickened heat. The leg she balances on, trembles even more.

“It’s good for you?”

She nods, her head dropped between her hiked shoulders.

“Yeah … already knew that.”

He takes ahold of himself, passing over his dick with ease as the skin is slippery. He comes to hold himself towards the tip.

“Already knew … you could handle that,” he exhales

She shivers, feeling the heat of his wide tip, kiss at her opening. It’s wet, gently passing through her lips. Tickling as it travels to her clit.

Stretched, her cunt flutters at the feeling, missing how deep he was. Lost in a trance, he plays with her, slapping the head of his dick against her clit over and over.

Her back barely arches as she tries to push back against him. Holding his dick to her swollen bud, he drags a tight fist up and down himself.

“Shit…”

Slowly, he pulls back to her sopping cunt.

“Know you could take it… Know you could—”

A sharp gasp inflates her chest, body locking up as his dick slides back in with too much ease.

The stretch is greater this time, a stronger burn. She almost taps out.

“Fuck, she squeezing me,” Sito groans out. His fingers grip the fat of her hip tight. “Know you feel that shit,” he hisses.

Her eyes roll back to the whites, feeling him reach even deeper than previous. Before she can even moan out, her head is pushed to counter, held down as she begins to fuck her again.

“This … all I w-was tr-tryna … give you, Mami.”

Her pussy hugs him extra tight at the mention of that name.

“Just some … good. Dick.” Every sentence is punctuated with a sharp thrust. “And … make sure you taken care of.”

Her mouth opens, but there isn’t a sound leaving it.

As he picks back up to a steady pace, her pussy lets go around him. All of the friction has packs her sticky release into a creamy froth at the base of his dick.

A sharp smack is laid to her asscheek, his heavy hand gripping the little bit of fat immediately after.

She doesn’t even have it in her to jump from the rough hit. Instead, she just flutters around him.

“This lil’ shit drive me crazy,” he slurs. “This lil’ ass booty,” he chuckles, breathlessly.

Every time they meet, spurts of her cum splat against his pelvis.

“You’on even know … how—how many times I—“ He presses his hips right up against her. “—times I wanted to fuck ya lil’ ass up—“

Her gasp cuts him off as he straight rolls his hips, digging his dick into her drooling cunt.

“Si—Sito—“

She tries to reach back. She doesn’t even make contact with him; he keeps her wrist against her lower back.

“I know, Mami, I know.”

Slowly, he comes to a stop, pulling out just a few, thick inches. His other hand reaches down to readjust her leg, which had slipped some from the island. He pushes it up higher.

“I know—”

“Augh—FUUUCK!”

Her voice scratches at her throat.

His shoves back in, hitting her g-spot dead-on. She crumbles against the island, gripping onto its edge with everything left in her.

Her ass jiggles cutely every time his pelvis collides with her, bouncing on him.

“All you gotta do is take it … take this dick, ‘Mani. That’s it.”

He raps a hand around her disheveled bun, yanking her head up.

“Don’t even gotta work for it,” he grunts in her ear.

She can feel it, her pussy creaming all around him. He’s slipping and sliding into her walls effortlessly. Every punch his dick gives to her cervix, knocks the wind out of her.

With how fast her heart is beating, she honestly thinks she’s about the faint.

“Ain’t never gonna make you work for it.”

She’s sniffling, her face a mess of tears.

“‘Long as you don’t give my pussy away.”

She shakes her head, lips parted and eyes squeezed shut.

“No, right?”

“N-no Pap-pa—“

“Huh?”

“No!” She wails out, feeling her standing leg shake under her. “Oooohh—uh! Fuuuck!”

“Yeah,” he smiles wildly, grills undoubtedly shining. “Ain’t no nigga giving it to her like this. Ain’t no nigga that’s—dicking her down like this.”

Following every thrust is a spurt of water, splashing down on the hardwood floor.

“Ain’t no one doing it like Sito, right?”

She cries out, unable to even form words as she twitches around him.

“Gonna stamp my name in this shit,” he swears through gritted teeth.

As sweat drips from his forehead, his braids have even started to frizz up.

All of this pleasure, all of this stimulation makes her toes curl cutely. And he catches it, the square shaped acrylics decorating them.

His hand releases her wrist to hold raised foot. He presses his thumb into the sole, immediately triggering another set of kegels off in her.

The pressure of his thumb to her sole, and his dick against her cervix, drives her body insane. Like a reaction set off by pushing two buttons at the same time, she cums yet again.

The sound of water pouring against wood makes his ears perk up. She almost collapses from the pleasure.

“Pretty ass toes.”

He slows his strokes his focus zeroes in on her foot. She can’t even say that he’s giving her mercy at this moment, as each languid drag of his dick against her spot makes her bawl out.

“Cute ass lil’ feet.”

His dick jumps within her, a recent memory flashing within his head.

“When you put ‘em in the camera,” he huffs. “Right above this pretty ass pussy … damn near nutted.”

She only shudders. Her body spasms around him as he continues massaging her feet. And with that, his pace picks back up again.

“Fuuuck,” he groans out. “You so pretty, Mama.”

Releasing her hair, he lets her fall back to the counter, watching how he fucks her deeply. His control is slipping from him, his thrusts getting sloppier by the second.

“This shit all yours,” he pants. “This sh— … shit all yours—f-forrea—uhh—“

He doesn’t even get to prepare for his orgasm, but his body couldn’t hold back anymore. The first few spurts were buried deep in her walls.

His brain buffers before he regains enough sense to pull out, still nutting as he does so.

Laying his dick between her cheeks, it dribbles out the last few drops of cum, softening as he finishes.

“Shit...”

He stares, lost in a trance as he stares down at the beautiful mess they made. Her brown skin glistens with a sheen of sweat and his cum decorating her pussy and cheeks.

But it isn’t until she whimpers that he’s knocked out of it. She doesn’t even have to say anything.

So tired and spent, Cimani barely even registers when she’s placed on her back, her legs wrapped around his waist.

Her eyes are barely open, but Sito is all that she sees. Everything is so hazy.

He leans down, pressing his chest to hers and he holds her close.

And when he puckers his lips to kiss her, her movement is automatic, immediately kissing him back although weakly.

Their pecks are soft and sweet, almost too sentimental for what just happened.

And that makes her giggle.

He cracks a smile. “What?”

“My feet, Sito? What the fuck?” she slurs with breathless laughter.

He kisses his teeth, hiding his face in her neck. “C’mon, now.”

“I just didn’t expect you to have that big of a foot fetish!”

Her giggles are music to his ears, pulling a tired chuckle out of him.

“I don’t ... s’just you,” he mumbles, uncaring of how feindish he sounds. Pulling his body up to look at her, his eyes run over her face. “You knew that, though.”

She hums, a dreamy smile on her lips. But as they stare at each other, her mouth falls into a gentle pout.

“You nutted in me,” she whines.

He pushes her fly-aways off of her face.

“My fault, Mami,” he says softly.

It doesn’t fail to make her pussy flutter again, the action pushing more of his cum out.

“Said I was gonna stamp it, though.”

Her faux pout lightens.

“I’ll get you the Plan B.”

“Thank you,” she smiles.

Before any of them can say more, the ringtone of Cimani’s phone goes off. They jump up at the sound.

“My phone,” she says, sitting up on her elbows.

Reaching over her, Sito grabs it up from its spot on the island, closer to the opposite side. He hands it over to her, carefully.

For a second, confusion takes over her face as she reads the unknown number.

“Who is it?”

She glances up at him. “I don’t know.”

Nevertheless, she decides to answer anyway.

“H-hello?”

Sito watches with great interest, the focused look on her face—threaded brows pulled together in thought.

“This is her.”

As the call continues, that look bleeds off of her face. It’s replaced with a bright smile.

“Yes, yes—I can come by today.” She sits up more, Sito backing up to give her the space.

“Two?” She looks at him.

Confused, he nods nonetheless.

“Y-yeah, two is good for me.”

“What?” he mouths.

But she only looks away. “Alright … yup, that’s perfect … okay. Okay, bye.”

She pulls the phone away, ending the call.

“Who was that?”

She looks up at him. “That was an apartment locator for that place you found. I-I think things fell through with their first option, so they considered me next. They asked to come by for a tour.”

His brows lift. “You deadass?”

“Yes! Oh my God!”

Throwing her phone down on the counter, she jumps on him, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight. Luckily his reflexes are quick enough—he catches her before she falls.

“Oh my God!” she squeals.

She pulls back, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Fuck, what time is it?”

Reaching out with one hand, he double taps her screen to get the time—almost one o’clock.

“How fast you think you could shower?” He asks.

“Fast enough.”

His lips curl upward as he gets an idea.

“Shit, I think if we both get in, we could save some time.”

This sounds like a bad idea.

She can’t help but to mirror his expression.

“I think so, too.”

PART 1 HERE

TAGLIST • @wintrrxxo @vibewshyla @icanmakethedickstandup @toji-dabi-wife @genea-myers @whoareyouuuo @thegoatedaries @nova2kss @thecoochiefairy @plutobratz @levibabymama @bubblegum-lollipop @junitries @thevelvetwhispers @pussypinkdoll @venusincleo @soupersaldz @synicalslut

BANNERS • @cursed-carmine | @adornedwithlight & @cafekitsune

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thethirdeyebitch · 2 months ago

Text

TWITTER LINKS JJK !

☆ cw : nsfw twt links w your favorite jjk men. afab reader. minors do not interact. have your age visible on your blog.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

will it fit?

he loves playing with ur sweet and sensitive pussy

size kink

KENTO NANAMI

gentle fingering

he loves to eat you out

riding his thigh

CHOSO KAMO

he’s so sensitive

loves to worship you

doesn’t admit it but loves teasing

GETO SUGURU

long nights in his room when no one’s around

you’re his good girl

this is soo geto listen to the way he moans

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thethirdeyebitch · 2 months ago

Text

I’m Grown

Sammie/Preacher's Boy x Black Reader

Genre: Smut with plot, Modern AU?(ig)

Warning: Smut, fingering, D in P, unprotected

Word Count: 3.8k+

Summary: You and sammie basically grew up together. Though you were only half a year older, you always treated him like a little kid.

Then college came, and you moved away. Now it's summer, and you start to realize the little preacher's boy you left...is a man now.

Writers note: I’m still new to writing fan fics, so i’m not the best, but i hope y’all still like it! I plan to keep practicing and getting better!!⭐️

In the past…

Your mother and Sammie’s mother were next-door neighbors turned best friends. They did everything together, meaning you and Sammie had to do everything together too. From Sunday school, choir, same school, clubs, sometimes y'all's mom thought it was cute to dress y'all up in matching outfits.

Eventually leading to you and Sammie to become besties.

Now even though you were only a half a year older than him, you made it your soul duty in life to make sure he knew he was the baby. From calling him nicknames like little boy, baby, baby bro, and eventually preacher’s boy.

Sammie had a deep hatred for these lame ass names, but it was you so he let it slide.

Over time as you and Sammie got older and the teasing continued but started to tone down, as your crush on him started to flourish. But you denied it with all your heart.

“He’s too young for me. Plus he’s my best friend… and I doubt he likes me.”, you explain to anyone who’d ask about you and sammies relationship.

But everyone else could see it– how Sammie would zone out to watch your smile across the classroom, the way your lips curl up when you smile at his jokes, how he’d analyze every curl that fell from your hair, the way your skin glistens when you run around the tract for P.E., and the way yall sound beautiful together when harmonizing during choir.

Sammie had feelings for you–no doubt bout it, but both of you had too much pride, and too much love for your friendship to ever say anything.

Jump to the end of Senior year of high school…

You and Sammie are now done with highschool, and now it’s time for you to figure out what the world has to offer you. You and your mother had been going back and forth for months about whether you should go to college near home and out of state. You wanted to stay close to home where your family, friends, and childhood were. But your mother insisted that you’d go much farther in life if you went to a big college some states over.

Eventually, you caved and agreed with your mother’s claims and chose to go to school out of state.

Now, the day you leave for school, and it’s time to tell your friends, family, and the person you dreaded telling the most goodbye… Sammie.

Going from seeing each other everyday to seeing each other for only a few months out of the year was going to be rough. But there was no avoiding it now.

You and your mother walked over to Sammie’s house, greeted by a long hug from his mother and some positive words from his father. You put on a brave face while talking to them all, not wanting them to see the fear of leaving choking you in your chest to show in your face. You barely talked to sammie the whole time you were over, unsure what to say or even how to say it—avoiding conversation with him at all costs.

Before it was time to leave, you slipped away to the bathroom, trying to think of what to say to sammie that won’t leave you in tears.

“He’s my best friend, I’ll know what to say…”, but as soon as you opened the bathroom door, there he was. Sammie. Waiting in the hallway like he knew you were hiding from him.

“Damn you already ignoring me you couldn’t wait til left?”, he says sarcastically, but you can hear the concern underneath it. You froze, caught off guard, not thinking your silence would make him think you were ignoring him. So, you immediately threw your wall up.

“Boy, I didn’t know how to let you down easy without leaving you in tears,” you joked, nudging his side. “Plus, don’t think a little distance could make me forget about my little bestie.” You gave him a warm—if slightly worried—smile.

The tension between you was thick as he stared at you, like he was trying to find the words too.

“Of course not. You know you can’t get rid of me girl”, he says with a smirk on his face. “And stop treating me like a baby, I've been grown. You just won't accept it.”

He nudges you back, making you laugh. “Nah,” you teased. “You’ll always be my little preacher’s boy.”, you pulled him into a hug, holding him tight. He held you back even tighter—like he didn’t want to let go.

You could both feel it—the warmth, the bond, the love between you. But the hug didn’t last forever. The tall, masculine figure in your arms would have to stay behind.

For a second, you wanted to say everything. That you didn’t want to go. That you wished things were different. That maybe, if you both had just been a little braver, things could’ve been more than late-night phone calls and unsent texts.

But instead, you just held him like a memory you didn’t want to let go of.

“Now gon on,” Sammie said, voice low and playful. “Before it gets too late and you miss your train.”. You nodded, eyes a little misty, and started walking toward the front door where your mom was waiting.

“Bye, Sammie. Don’t grow up too fast, now!” you called over your shoulder with a laugh.

He chuckled, just enough to cover up the lump in his throat. “Yeah, yeah. And you don’t get into too much trouble, little girl.”

You turned around one last time and flashed him a mischievous grin.

“Let’s remember who the little one is here.”

Before he could reply, your mom’s voice cut through the moment, calling your name.

And just like that, you were on a train to Georgia… …leaving Sammie back in Mississippi.

Now your back home for summer…

You hadn’t been home for more than 24 hours and already your mama was dragging you around town, making you run errands like you hadn’t just survived your first year of college. Between unpacking, catching up with cousins, and fake-smiling through “You don’ grown up!” comments from nosy church ladies, there hadn’t been time to stop and breathe—let alone see him.

But you finally slipped away… finally getting a moment to go visit your ole best friend.

You walked down the sidewalk in your old neighborhood, past the familiar houses with chipped paint and crooked mailboxes, past the corner where you and Sammie used to race on bikes. Everything felt the same and yet… you didn’t.

And when you turned the corner toward Sammie’s house, you definitely didn’t expect what happened next.

He was outside. Shirtless.

Standing in the driveway like a man who knew damn well he looked good. He was taller, broader, and his skin was glistening from the heat—golden brown, smooth, and definitely not the “little preacher’s boy” you left behind.

He was working on his car, arms flexing just enough to make your breath catch.

You tried to act unfazed...Tried.

“Boy, you still out here pretending to be a mechanic?” you called out, trying to sound playful.

Sammie looked up, wiped sweat from his forehead with a towel, and his lips curled into that familiar smirk—but there was something different behind it this time. Something slower. Deeper. Like he was seeing you for the first time too.

“Well well well…” he said, voice lower than you remembered. “Look who finally decided to come home.”

You swallowed hard.

His voice was deeper too, not just in tone but in presence. He moved slower, more deliberate. Like a man who wasn’t in a rush to prove anything anymore—just sure of himself. Of what he wanted.

He walked up to you, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing every inch.

“You gon' give me a real hug or just stand there lookin’ surprised?”

You blinked, then gave him a tight hug, suddenly hyper aware of how solid his chest felt against yours. He held you for a second longer than expected, pulling back just enough to look down at you.

“I’ve missed you, my little preacher’s boy” you say softly.

He scoffed, stepping back a little, “Still calling me that, huh?”

You nudged his side, now more muscular and lean than you remember, “You know you love it.”

He smirked, wiping his hands on the towel. “Love it? Girl, I barely tolerated it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. You would’ve cried if I ever stopped.”

“Cried? You forget who you talkin’ to.” He squinted at you, leaning in a little. “I’m not that lil boy you used to boss around, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” you said, glancing him up and down. “You done grew up a lil, huh?”

Sammie raised a brow, clearly catching the way your eyes lingered. “You tryna say I look good or something?”

Your throat went dry. You weren’t used to this version of Sammie—direct, confident, making it hard to tell if he was joking or if he really saw you now... like more than a friend and not just the girl who used to beat him in Uno.

“I’m sayin’ you don’t look terrible.” You shrugged casually, biting back a smile.

He stepped closer. “A year away and you still playin’ with me like we kids.”

“You ain’t ready for grown-woman compliments, preacher’s boy,” you teased, folding your arms.

Sammie chuckled and tilted his head. “Oh, so you grown now? One year outta town and you all woman now, huh?”

“Damn straight,” you smirked. “I eat my greens now.”

That made him burst out laughing, deep and from the chest. “Greens? Girl, you used to cry over broccoli.”

“Growth.” You lifted your chin proudly.

“Well, I like this grown-up you,” he said, eyes scanning you again, slower this time. “Confident. Mouth still slick. But I’ma warn you…”

You cocked a brow. “Warn me about what?”

He leaned just a little closer, voice dropping. “Keep teasing me like that and I might start actin’ like I’m grown too.”

You blinked, heart thumping just a little harder.

“Boy, hush,” you muttered, but your voice came out softer than expected.

“Mmhm,” he hummed, backing up toward his car. “That’s what I thought.”

You stared at him, biting your lip before shaking your head.

“Still cocky, I see.”

“And you still love me,” he tossed over his shoulder.

The next morning…

It was barely 10 a.m. and you were still in your pajamas— some old cartoon shorts and a stretched-out tank top—hair in a messy scarf, and attitude already on 10 because somebody was banging on the door, and you wasn’t expecting no guests.

You lazily walked over to the door opening it with frustration all over your face. To your surprise it was Sammie.

White T-shirt clinging to his arms, cargo shorts low on his hips, tool bag in one hand, smug grin in the other. Looking good as hell, unfortunately for you.

You froze.

He didn’t.

His eyes raked over you slowly—taking in your bunny slippers, your tank top with one strap hanging off your shoulder, and your scarf slowly falling off your head.

“Well damn,” he said, cocking his head, “did I catch you fresh out the bed or is this what grown looks like now?”

You crossed your arms instinctively, suddenly aware of every exposed inch of skin and how his eyes didn’t flinch away—not like before. It wasn’t teasing this time. It was... something else. He was really looking.

“Boy, what the hell are you doing here?”

He held up the tool bag. “Your mama told mine y’all kitchen faucet was leakin'. You know how they are. So my momma volunteered me like I’m the damn neighborhood handyman.”

You stepped aside with a sigh.

“She ain’t mention nothing about you coming over.”

“She probably knew you wouldn’t clean up anyway,” he teased, walking past you. “Or put on a bra.”

You threw a couch pillow at the back of his head as he walked past you, mortified. “Don’t play with me this early, Sammie.”

He laughed, easily dodging it. “I’m just sayin’. You had all that grown woman energy yesterday, now I pull up and it look like yo childhood fought you and won.”(damn sis)

“I’m still living out of boxes,” you snapped, following him toward the kitchen. “I couldn’t find my good pajamas, so don’t start.”

“Right, right. Excuses.” He knelt down by the sink, glancing up.

You crossed your arms. “Fix the sink and shut up, Sammie.”

“I will,” he said, reaching under the counter. “Soon as you admit you missed me.” He smirked as he positioned himself under the sink to find the leak.

You rolled your eyes, smirking despite yourself. “Mmm. I missed peace. And silence.”

He chuckled, tools clinking under the cabinet. “Keep lyin’. You couldn’t even open the door right—you was too busy starin’.”

You blinked, your smirk faltering just a bit. He said it differently this time. Lower. Serious.

But before the silence could stretch too long, he flicked a piece of plastic from under the sink at you.

“You gon’ stand there or at least make yourself useful and pass me that wrench?”

Your fingers brushed his when you handed it over, and neither of you commented on how neither of you pulled back right away.

Trying to focus on literally anything except how his shirt lifted just enough to show the waistband of his boxers and the deep V line leading down.

Flashing that cocky grin.

“Dang you not even gon’ offer me a drink or wipe my sweat or somethin’?”

“I didn’t know ‘neighborhood handyman’ came with customer service demands,” you shot back, leaning on the counter.

He slid out from under the sink, sitting up on his knees. His eyes flicked over you again—longer this time. And it wasn’t funny anymore.

“Damn,” he muttered, looking you over like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. “You really grew up, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That surprise or disappointment in your voice?”

“Nah. Just… something i’m taking note of,” he said, standing up slowly. His shirt clung to his chest now, damp from sweat.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

And then— “You missed me, didn’t you,” he said again, stepping closer this time.

You tried to laugh it off, but it came out breathy. “I missed clownin’ you. Big difference.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Nah. You missed me.”

 A beat passed.

 His eyes didn’t leave yours.You didn’t answer at first. You just looked at him—really looked.

“You know I did,” you said finally, your voice lower now, honest in a way it hadn’t been all year.

Sammie stepped closer, “Yeah,” he murmured, “but I wanted to hear you say it.”

 Then his voice dropped, that Southern drawl thick and heavy like honey on your skin. “You just scared.”

That made your head tilt. “Scared?”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer, that cocky smirk returning. “You missed me. You just don’t know what to do with me now that I’m not some lil boy followin’ you around.”

You scoffed. “Ain’t nobody scared of you, Sammie.”

He licked his lips, eyes dragging slow over your body. “You should be,” he murmured. “I ain’t lil no more.”

Your pulse jumped. But your mouth moved before your brain could catch up.

“Then show me how much you’ve grown.”

You reached up, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him in, lips crashing into his like you were done playing games—and he didn’t hesitate, didn’t ease in. He kissed you back like he’d been waiting to shut you up for years.

His hands gripped your waist like he owned it, like they’d been there before in dreams he wouldn’t dare confess. He walked you backward, not even breaking the kiss as you hit the counter behind you, gasping as his mouth dipped to your neck.

“Sammie—wait,” you breathed, your hand curling in his shirt.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his voice a low rumble. “You made me wait long enough.”

Your tank top was halfway up before you could respond, his hands slipping beneath it, thumbs brushing the soft curve of your waist. His lips returned to your throat, to your collarbone, trailing heat with every kiss. One second you were in the kitchen, half-dressed and breathless—and the next?

Your back hit the couch cushions.

He hovered over you, looking down, eyes dark and sure. “Say you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.”

You didn’t say a word.

You just reached for him again, pulled him down by the collar of that stretched white tee, and kissed him like you were starving.

His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, slipping beneath your shorts to grip your thighs. You gasped when he lifted you slightly, adjusting your body beneath his like he knew exactly what he wanted and how he wanted it. You felt him, hard and ready, pressing against the inside of your thigh, and it made your breath catch.

“You still scared?” he asked again, voice brushing the shell of your ear as he rolled his hips slowly into yours.

You tried to keep it playful. “I ain't scared of a little boy who had to listen to lullabies to go to sleep till ninth grade.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous, then caught your chin between his fingers and tilted your face toward him. "That boy’s gone, baby. Been gone. Let me show you what replaced him."

Then he was pulling your tank top the rest of the way off, eyes devouring every inch of skin like it was the first and last time he’d ever see it. His mouth followed, lips and tongue tasting your collarbone, your chest, teeth grazing just enough to make your back arch.

You moaned his name without meaning to. That only made him bolder.

His fingers slid beneath your shorts, teasing the band of your panties until you whimpered, rocking your hips into his touch. “Damn,” he whispered, "You already this wet for me?"

“Shut up,” you panted.

“Nah,” he said, voice dropping, teasing and full of heat. “I gotta teach you sum real quick.”

His fingers slipped between your pussy lips, slow and slick, finding your rhythm like he’d been studying your body in secret. You gasped, gripping the back of his neck.

“Sammie…”

“Now you know damn well I ain’t little no more, but you’re too fucking stubburn.,” he murmured, slipping one finger inside, then two. Curling them. Stroking that spot that made your thighs tighten around his wrist.

“Say it.”

You shook your head, breathless. “Fuck you.”

He smirked. “That’s the plan.”

He kissed you again—messy, possessive—while his fingers worked you open, coaxing soft cries from your throat. When he finally pulled them out, he looked at you like he was weighing a decision.

Then he tugged his shirt off, muscles flexing as he reached for his belt. Your eyes went wide when he freed his dick, thick and hard, no trace of that 'little boy' anywhere. He caught your expression and leaned down, lips brushing your jaw.

“Still think I’m playing?”

You swallowed hard. “Shut up and show me.”

He did.

He eased into your pussy, inch by slow inch, watching your face the whole time. You moaned his name again, louder this time, and his eyes darkened.

“Damn, baby,” he hissed, gripping your hips. “I know you’ve been wanting this.”

He started to move, slow at first, letting you adjust. Each stroke dragged long and deep, the kind that made your eyes roll back. His lips found your neck again, whispering filthy praise between kisses:

“Look at you… takin’ me so good.”

“Still think I’m that lil boy, huh?”

“Say it, baby. Admit it.”

You couldn’t form words at first—just moans and gasps, fingers digging into his back. But he didn’t stop. He rolled his hips with steady purpose, pushing you higher with every thrust.

When he lifted your leg and angled deeper, you nearly screamed.

“Oh my god—Sammie—”

You started to pull back just a little, breath catching, heart racing. It was almost too much—too good, like you couldn’t handle all of him all at once. Your body wanted more, but your mind flickered with the fear of losing control.

“Why you running?” he laughed, dragging you back against him. “Take this dick like the woman you say you are.”

“You gon’ remember this every time you try to play me like I’m still a lil kid,” he growled, sweat dripping onto your chest as he picked up the pace.

Your nails scratched down his back. “Fuck, you’re grown. Fuck—okay?!”

He smiled against your skin, victorious and still not letting up.

“Say my name,” he growls against your lips.

His strokes are slow, deep, and strategic. Every thrust hitting the right spot again and again.

“Preac…” you almost say out of habit, but the way he grips your thighs, the scent of his cologne, the heat in his stare—it’s too much.

He slows just enough to lean down, lips brushing yours. “Say it right.”

You try to sass back, breath hitching. “Please—Preacher’s b—”

He stops.

Just like that.

Your body whines at the sudden emptiness.

He gives you a cold look, jaw clenched, voice low and cocky.

“Try that nickname again, and I’ll leave you right here—dripping and needy.”

You shoot him a look, trying to tell if he’s bluffing. But no—he’s dead serious. That playful glint is gone, replaced with something darker.

Hungrier.

Still clinging to a shred of pride, you whisper, “Okay, Samm…” You pause, catching yourself—desperate to bring back the friction. Trying to grind against him.

He tilts his head, starts to pull out again. “Try. Again.”

You squirm. “Sammie—please Sammie!”

He grins like the devil and slams into you again, making your back arch off the bed.

“That’s more like it. Now keep sayin’ it—so you never forget who you dealin’ with.”

He doesn’t let up. Just deep, calculated strokes. His voice low in your ear. “I’m grown now, baby… and preacher’s boy ain’t round here no more. But Imma help you remember—every damn time I’m diggin’ inside you.”

He fucked you like a man with something to prove—each thrust rougher, wetter, louder. The slap of skin against skin filled the room along with your cries.

You could barely breathe, let alone think, as his dick filled you over and over, your pussy fluttering around him, gripping every inch.

“Who's grown now?” he grunted.

“You,” you gasped. “You are—fuck, Sammie—”

Your orgasm ripped through you, blinding and hot, your body jerking beneath him.

He followed right after, groaning loud and low as he buried himself deep, hips jerking through his release.

For a long minute, the only sound was the rush of breath between you.

Then you whispered, "Told you I wasn’t scared.", as you smirked against his neck.

He kissed your cheek, lips curling. “You're too stubborn to be scared, but it’s alright. Imma break that habit.”

~ i feel like this was a bit out of character for sammie in the movie, but we can play pretend 😉. Hope yall liked it!💫

Taglist:

@heyyimmisunderstood @marley1773 @sajoi

@melaninbabyboo @hauntedfestivalluminary

@blackpinup22 @milesf4vg1rl @pinkpantheris

@iiiheartfayee @cosmicautomatonshark

@bluejay2503 @omgffs @anaiyaflys143

@pinkpillzsworld @jackierose902109

@serenedragonthought @condenhorn

@thesmutconnoisseur @katsleftnip

@sisi-pink0921 @woahthatshitfat

@cocooned-butterfly @motheroffae

@bumgyalworld @queenbumblebee777

@twistedsistas-stuff @ky1le

@kenziiie @queen-stars2 @sammiesprxncess

@ignotusumbra @goddessofthundathighs

@thickemadame

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thethirdeyebitch · 2 months ago

Text

Connie Springer x Shy Reader (smut)

This is entirely self indulgent 🫣 Reader is neurodivergent

Have you ever believed in love at first sight? The mall was bustling with patrons, though it all seemed to fade into nothing when he first laid eyes on you. Pretty and brown, all dolled up in your little outfit. That fitted hello kitty crop top hugged around your chest and waist perfectly, your baggy ripped jeans with the rhinestone back pockets, and those pure white air forces. Your curls framed your face perfectly, bouncing with each step you took. And those lips -the 5% tint lip liner with the clear gloss combo- had Constance Springer hopelessly sprung.

Connie weaseled his way away from his friend's table at the food court, but not without an earful about how he's "always chasing some girl" and "we supposed to be chillen."

You were at GameStop when he saw you, standing there slightly swaying in place as you read the back of a game case. "Scuse me?" He asked politely, his heart pounding out of his chest when you glance up at him for a split second. You quickly turned your attention back to the armful of games that you just couldn't possibly decide between, murmuring a quiet "Oh, I don't work here."

He so stunned by your response that he almost bursts out laughing, but he caught himself and settled for a for a little chuckle and a cute, dimpled smile. "Where do you work?"

Your cheeks began to heat up, heart fluttering in your chest. Being stopped in public always made you a little nervous, especially when it was a man stopping you. But that dopey grin was working its magic on you. And those tattoos. And his pretty lips. Long, dark eyelashes. Deep, piercing eyes. Fuck, he was cute.

"I-I uh, sorry, I get mistaken for an employee sometimes," you explain, bashfully averting your gaze as Connie's smile widens. He nods his head slightly as you speak, finding the whole display pretty adorable. "I'm a nail tech."

"Oh forreal? You do your own nails too?"

"Mhm," you hum. He's cute, but situations like these are usually pretty difficult to navigate when you're neurodivergent. You're not sure what to do with your hands, where to look, or what to say. There's no doubt you're attracted to him, but some things are just a little harder for you sometimes. Luckily, he didn't seem to be too fazed by your lack of eye contact or by your short responses. Something about your body language told him all he needed to know, a skill you desperately wished you also possessed at the moment.

"I like those. That pink looks pretty on you. What's your name?" He's so direct, it's kind of sexy.

"I'm 🩷"

"I'm Connie. So you play Yu-Gi-Oh?" He gestures to the case in your hand, prompting you to nod your head. Connie reached down into his pocket and pulled out a deck of Yu-Gi-Oh cards, each card individually sheathed in its own protective plastic sleeve. Your eyes light up and you finally flash him that smile he's been after, bonus points for the cute little laugh you peppered in for no extra charge. "You know I keep them thangz on me," he joked, joining you in laughter as you reached into your purse and pulled out your own deck. Connie's mouth flew wide open from disbelief, making you hide behind your manicured nails in an attempt to quiet your giggling.

Your new friend escorted you all through the mall and had been learning quite a bit about you; your clientele, your taste in music, the way you like your nachos, the way you leaned your ear in closer when you wanted to hear him better, the way you fidget with your nails, how springy and bouncy you'd suddenly become when you got to talk about one of your interests. Connie could pace around the mall with you until his legs went numb, but as all things do, your impromptu 'date' had come to an end. It was starting to get late and you absolutely loathed being out during night time.

Connie towered over you, peering down at you with those big, pretty, midnight eyes as you made your way to the exit doors. You couldn't take it, the way he looked at you. Like he was missing someone he'd never met before. Despite your nerves, you decide to be bold and offer him your phone. "You wanna hang out again?" That contagious smile spread across Connie's face once more as he saved his number in your contacts, and once he was finished and you'd put your phone away, he offered you his hand. You watched and waited expectantly, until he chuckled and took one of your delicate hands with both of his larger, rougher ones, his thumbs caressing over your soft skin. "I had fun today, 🩷. I hope you did too."

Connie noticed early on that you were a hopeless romantic, albeit inexperienced. You wanted to take things slowly, feel the sparks between the two of you, whereas Connie had been through his fair share of girls and was honestly kind of a fuckboy. But something about you had burrowed its way into the depths of his heart, making him want to abandon his old ways for you. When you spoke about love and what you wanted from a relationship, the sweetness and softness in your point of view was beyond endearing to him. Being a better man for you was no longer a choice to him. He'd give anything to be the man of your dreams.

A few months into your relationship, you decided to finally let Connie stay the night at your apartment. He was laid up in your arms, your bodies tangled up comfortably together as old cartoons played on your TV. Each time to ran your fingers over the scruff of his hair, you coaxed yet another sigh of pleasure from Connie's pretty pink lips. "Feel good, baby?" You asked in that soft little voice that he loved so much, earning yourself a nod from him. Your fingers trailed all over him -his hair, the back of his neck, his ears, throat, shoulder blades- leaving him in a state of bliss in your arms.

Connie's eyes finally opened as he tilted his head back to plant a kiss on your jawline, making your heart skip a beat. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," you answer with zero hesitation, clinging to your man and peppering his face with butterfly kisses.

It all went by in a blur. Your clothes were scattered around the floor, leaving you naked underneath Connie as he ravished your plump lips. "You sure, princess?" he whispered against your lips in between kisses, hips grinding down against yours and making you whine into his mouth. "You gone let me have this pussy?" You nod, rolling your hips upward and sliding your clit against his tip, earning yourself a lewd groan from Connie.

"Mmmm, yeah, baby, I want that dick in my pussy." Connie's ears perked up in surprise. Where the hell did you learn to talk like that? What happened to that shy, romantic lover girl? He licked his lips, catching the lower one in between his teeth as he slowly sank his tip into your sopping, creamy pussy. Your brows are furrowed, eyes locked on Connie's, despite the multiple conversations you'd had about being on the spectrum and having a hard time with eye contact. What happened to all that?

Your mouth hangs open as you turn your attention to your pussy, watching as his big, angry dick squeezes its way deeper and deeper inside you, filling you so completely that your eyes roll back before he even begins to thrust. Connie wasn't doing any better. His eyes rolled back in his head as your pleasured sighs and whimpers cloud his mind. "You lookin' at that shit, baby?" he coos as his hips slowly move on top of you, your pussy making lewd, wet noises around his dick. "Mhm, I'm lookin', Daddy," you answer breathlessly, pouty lips forming a small "O" as you keep your eyes glued to the lascivious display of carnal desire before you. Hearing you call him daddy with that sweet, pretty voice makes him want to jackhammer into you until you cry, but he settles for a slight increase of pressure, fucking himself harder and deeper into you.

Suddenly, Connie lifts your legs, pinning your knees to the mattress, leaving your legs dangling over his shoulders. He drills his hips even harder into you, his lips and teeth latching onto your dark nipples to suck and bite at them at the same time. "Ohmygod, Connie!" You dig your nails into his biceps, that sexy voice moaning his name going straight to his nuts.

"Mhm," he answers, "Daddy dick feel good, baby?"

"Oohh, I love Daddy' dick," you whine, the sound of Connie's guttural, deep groans and his dirty talk making your pussy grip him even tighter. "That's it, baby, squeeze down on that dick." You squeal, unsure of how much more you can take. The way he's talking to you is unlike anything you'd ever imagined, making you gush around him every time he opens his filthy fucking mouth. "Imma milk that dick, baby, I'm milking that fat ass dick with this pussy," you whimper into his neck, sucking and biting at the soft flesh of his throat, Connie's eyes rolling back from the sting. You rake your pretty pink nails down his spine as he mercilessly pistons himself into you at a disrespectful pace, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through your room.

"Oooouhhh, Connie, I'm cumming, I'm cumming all on that big dick!" You squeal as Connie drills into your sweet spot, making you see stars as your orgasm tears through you. "Mmmm, shit, cream all on that fuckin' dick baby, fuck, Imma cum, I'm cummin' baby, milk this fuckin' dick," Connie babbles as he mindlessly thrusts into you, forcing your knees against the mattress with his rough, tattooed hands as he slams his cum into your gushing pussy, fucking you both through your orgasms. He punctuates his every thrust with "Take it, take it, take it, fuckin' take it," until he's spent, and finally releases his iron grip on your poor thighs.

"Want me to roll you a blunt, Daddy?"

"You gone be the death of me, girl."

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thethirdeyebitch · 2 months ago

Text

thugga. onyankopon.

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

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

link. link.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost forgot your boss had asked you something.

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

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

“Come here.”

That’s all you hear.

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

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

“You tellin’ me no?”

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

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

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

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

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

You’re his toy for the time being.

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

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

“You’ gettin’ tight, Mama.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love this dick, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything okay over there?”

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

“Alright…we’ll get back to it then.”

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

“Keep fuckin’ me like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You finna’ cum, I know. Stay here.”

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

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

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

“You close.”

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

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

“C’mere then. Like you ’suppose to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You gon’ be all shy now?”

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

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

“Onyankopon.”

“You was’ on some typa’ time, girl.”

“Oh my god. I’m logging off.”

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

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

“No!”

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

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