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2neaky · 2 months ago

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🎤 Thank U 4 The Dono! 💿 P.2

12k words! 𝑹𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓𝑶𝒏𝒚! ♡ 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝑶𝑪! | 𝑴𝑫𝑵𝑰 -> 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: size k*nk, or*al (m recieving), p in v s*x (use of a condom), tricking/“paying for p*ssy,” power-imbalance (financial), dr*g use (w*ed), heavy drinking, drunk s*x, morally grey ethics concerning modern-day s*x work and “buying” one’s consent, basically pr*stitution, objectification, egotistical Onyankopon, body mods (n*pple piercings), specific descriptions of body types, use of n-word (characters & writer are Black), roughly edited

Part 1

Finally, the last part! Warning, this fic isn’t the most ethically sound and I, as the writer, can recognize that. I don’t necessarily condone all concepts portrayed in this fic, but it’s just for the plot. Sometimes, I like morally grey shit. If you unable to separate this fictional story from real life, I advise against reading this. Enjoy & reblog! <3

“Right this way! Please follow the signs!”

Standing in a dimly lit corridor, the attendant is dressed in a prim suit as they shout directions to the attendees.

Echoes of sound check bounce off of the walls of the large stadium. At times, there are minutes of silence before they’re interjected by brief clips of music or even someone speaking into the mic.

This place is massive, built to house thousands of screaming fans at a time.

All of it piques Bliss’s interest as she’s guided along by security. Some part of her wishes she could stay and watch the onstage preparation up close.

However, she forgets about all of that as she travels up a steep flight of stairs, away from the stadium’s general seating.

Tiny lights, embedded along the sides of each step, light the way through the dark staircase. Kitten heels click softly as she slowly climbs, in line behind another guest. She neglects to hold the railing, preferring instead to latch onto her phone.

Her other hand grips the wooden baton handles of her newest purchase: a Goyard Saïgon mini bag.

Truthfully, it was an impulsive purchase made with just a fraction of the money she received from her Halloween Stream—and, speaking of, her bank account has never been healthier.

That stream has upped the quality of her life, undoubtedly. Not that she wasn’t living comfortably before, but her world has been opened to new experiences.

For instance, premium seating at a concert of her favorite artist. She’s in a space where she can afford this experience probably three times over. Yet, she didn’t even have to spend a dime to get it.

She can hardly contain a tiny grin with the flash of a memory—a conversation between her and Onyankopon over messages. Just a casual discussion, going in-depth about this entire arrangement.

Anyway, as the little quirk disappears from her face, a burst of light washes over her. She’s finally reached the top of that long staircase. Just a few feet away is the enclosed balcony, cased off behind glass so clean that she’s sure she would’ve walked right into it.

A “Luxury Box” is what they called it—an exclusive lounge, secluded to a balcony room above the stage. There’s a different attendant at its door, greeting each guest as they enter.

“Good evening, enjoy the show,” the young woman greets with a pleasant smile and gentle nod.

Bliss can’t help but to show teeth, the apples of her cheeks even aching. “Hi, thank you.”

As she spills into the room with the other guests, her eyes are everywhere. The Luxury Box is spacious, considering that there are about thirty people here.

Her first observation is that this place is comfortable. Cushioned chairs positioned before a large glass—it’s the perfect seating arrangement with an excellent view of the stage from its left.

The floor below the seats is glass, too. The sight gives way to a sea of empty chairs, hundreds of feet below. Soon, they’ll be filled with excited fans.

To the right of the viewing area is the bar, decked out in expensive, unopened bottles. There’s already a bartender behind the counter, wiping down the dark marble.

And by the looks of it, they’re fully stocked: wine, champagne, beer, juice, water—anything a patron could desire.

That’ll be the first spot she hits up.

On the room’s opposite side is an array of food spread out amongst a long, cloth-covered table. From hors d'oeuvres to dessert, they have everything. Behind the table, caterers attend to the food, ensuring its presentation is on point.

She needs no more convincing. Whipping out her phone, Bliss is quick to record the sights surrounding her. She slowly pans the camera, trying to catch everything in the video.

She hadn’t known what to expect before coming, however, Bliss had to give herself props. She managed to dress perfectly for the occasion, blending seamlessly with the lounge’s modern chic decor.

Jean Paul Gaultier hugs her body tonight as a black maxi dress with small grey dots that outline the feminine shape. The dramatic curves and slopes of her body stretch it out in a way that elevates the dress.

No doubt, it’s a wonderful look. However, it’s also a rather sheer piece, as its material is comprised of a thin, but tiny netting. Several times throughout her journey here, she’s had to pull her bundles to the front, having them fall over her chest.

It’s her fault she hadn’t tried on the dress before packing it, she realizes. If she had, she would’ve known to buy some pasties beforehand.

Peering around the room one more time, Bliss seems to recognize a few faces—well known influencers, and even a couple of celebrities.

Be calm, she reminds herself. She’s blended in so far.

A nervous tick, she glances at the time on her phone. She exhales with the realization that it’s only about an hour and a half more before the show is scheduled to start.

She’s closer to seeing Onyankopon live. Closer to meeting him in person for the first time. The thought has her queasy and excited all at once. She presses a manicured hand to her stomach.

God, she wishes she knew someone here, just so that they may distract her from the “what-if’s” and “maybe’s” running through her mind.

But, really? Who needs friends when there’s a bar just a few feet away?

Especially when there’s a cute ass nigga behind it?

She just found her newest distraction to take the edge off of things.

•

The stadium’s lights have lowered to pitch-black, darkness, allowing the stage’s to shine. Shades of purple bleeding into white beam brightly.

The DJ, propped farther back on the large stage, plays tracks that only hype up the audience.

Below the balcony, through the glass flooring, Bliss watches fans flood the stadium. They almost perfectly resemble waves of the sea. Even their cheers can be heard from up here.

As it gets closer to that time, they grow louder. They almost compete with the music.

Nursing her second drink of the night (if she doesn’t count the shot she has in between this and her first), Bliss sits plum in her seat. There’s a pleasant buzz running throughout her, and obviously it’s the liquor.

Just a little bit tipsy, more and more things seem to catch her attention as her body and mind ease up. So many distractions around her, she almost didn’t realize that someone’s come onstage if it weren’t for the screams of the fans beneath them: the show’s opener—Connie Springer.

She makes a quiet gasp around her straw, eyes wide as she leans forward in her chair.

Bliss has a couple of his songs in her rap playlist. He’s not nearly played as much as Onyankopon is in her household. Still though, the support is there.

She actually found Connie through him. Seeing as they’re closely affiliated and under the same label, his music was recommended after Ony’s.

Even in a couple of Ony’s Instagram posts, she can spot the other man in the background. She must admit, the rapper keeps a couple of fine ass niggas around him—hence why she follows Connie, too.

She only hopes Ony doesn’t look too deeply into that.

But, coming back to reality, Bliss can see why Ony had picked the man to be his opener.

He’s getting the crowd hype, and they’re rapping the lyrics right along with him. By the time his set ends—an unforgettable forty minutes—the audience is even livelier than before.

It’s astounding, really. She didn’t think they could get any louder. And the energy is coming off of the crowd in waves. She can’t be the only one in the lounge affected by it, her skin covered in goosebumps.

“I appreciate y’all tonight!”

The crowd cheers after Connie. His image is blown up on the Jumbotrons, giving every onlooker a view of his gemmed smile.

“I know y’all loud for me, but I’ma need y’all to be even louder for my brother, Onyankopon!”

Deafening shrieks fill the stadium. And Bliss is sure that if she were on the ground, her eardrums would’ve been ruptured.

Even the other guests in the lounge cheer loudly. And she’s thankful, knowing that she won’t have to hide her excitement when the time comes.

As Connie leaves the stage, the crowd chants: “Ony! Ony! Ony!”

With the stage now empty, its lights dim and the music almost completely fades. For a moment, everything seems to still.

The fans grow quieter—even if it’s just by a fraction. But, it’s safe to say that everyone in the stadium is watching the stage closely with bated breath. Waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Then, music strikes with volume that reignites the crowd.

Almost everyone around her shows their enthusiasm, tempting her to do the same. So, Bliss cups a hand near her mouth, letting out a resounding “wooh” from her seat.

“ATL, you ready?”

The voice, deep and amplified by the mic, sends a chill through her. For about ten seconds, the music is completely drowned out by the fans’ screams.

Her eyes scour the stage, not finding a single soul on it. It’s still dark, too.

Then, there’s another sound: a low chuckle.

Her stomach drops. She never thought she’d be so attracted to the sound of someone’s laughter. She’s sure that there are at least a thousand other fans that are sharing the very same experience. She can’t be the only one.

“Nah, I’on think y’all heard me—“

Purple streaks of light shoot down onto the stage. Flames, rigged at the perimeters of the platform, burst out as the man of the hour runs out onto the stage.

Any music is drowned out by the fans.

The stage’s backdrop illuminates the entire platform as a spinning graphic of the letter “O,” wrapped in barbed wire, displays on the screen.

“Y’all niggas ready?”

She finally sees him as his image is blown up on the Jumbotrons. It’s not the clearest resolution, but she can tell just how fine he is.

Mic held to his lips, the lower half of his face is hidden. A baggy, black zip up covers his upper half. He’s even got his hoodie up, sadly, obscuring the rest of his face.

But, as she stares at his image, she notices the flashes of light catching on the cloth. Squinting just a little, she catches sight of the tiny crystals dotting the dark fabric.

As Onyankopon moves about, he glitters underneath the stage lights. Tiny, rain-bowed streaks of light are caught by the cameras, projecting his image.

But that isn’t the only thing on him that shines. Coming around his neck and resting on his chest, is a tangle of thick, heavy looking chains.

His microphone picks up every clank they make. They don’t even need light to shine, his diamonds still dance in the dark. It’s almost blinding.

Large, baggy black cargoes cover his strong legs. However, it’s only the base for the shiny, silver and purple, jeweled buckles strapped all down the length of the fabric.

“Y’all turnt up in here, tonight!”

There’s a slight breathlessness to his voice, and it makes her body clench. If she could bottle up the sound and keep it to herself, she would.

Or is that the liquor talking?

As Onyankopon pulls the purple mic away from his face, a camera picks up on him. The closeup of his face is blown up all over the Jumbotrons.

As the crowd cries out for him, he shows them a perfect smile. His bottom row of teeth covered in VVS diamond lined, opal grillz.

It’s almost too much, the sight threatening to turn Bliss into a puddle right in her seat.

He lifts the mic to his mouth again, just as laughter tumbles out past his lips. “Y’all right up there with Chicago! Think you could do better than ‘em tonight?”

Fans are going ballistic, jumping and cheering even louder. They begin to chant again, repeating his name over and over.

All of these people, screaming his name, are here to see him. She can’t fathom how he does it.

But watching him, seeing how his smile stretches wider and the apples of his cheeks swell, she sees that he’s in his element.

“Yeah … y’all niggas some real competition!”

More screams. She almost wishes she was amongst the crowd, free to go as crazy as the other fans.

“Do me a favor: keep this energy the whole night! Nothing less—only up from here!”

Those were his last words as the beat to one of his songs begins, and the stadium dissolves into madness. The heavy base punches through every body filling it.

Bliss can feel it in her chest. Even the luxury box’s glass has the faintest tremor to it.

Ony runs down the middle of the stage, where it stretches out into the crowd. Mic to mouth, he’s on it, rapping over the track with passion.

A nasty mug contorts his face as he performs, clearly feeling the lyrics. And the fans are rapping right along with him.

One in particular, a young, scrawny man with big glasses, is caught on camera. His body is pressed to the metal barrier, he’s leaning over, gazing up at the rapper as his mouth moves along to every word.

Stepping closer to the area, Ony points a gloved hand at the young fan, making sure everyone—even the cameras—are paying him close attention.

Bliss’s heart swells at the sight of the endearing moment.

Running back to the main stage’s middle, Ony jumps up and down with the song’s beat. The pyrotechnics go off once again as the song’s hook comes up.

The energy consuming this stadium is too powerful to ignore. Bliss loses herself to it. After the first two songs, she can’t even find it in herself to care how crazy she looks—losing herself to the energy of the performance.

Halfway through the show, Onyankopon loses his hoodie.

She remembers it so clearly, when he had unzipped it. The dark fabric parted and gave way to shiny, deep brown abs, littered with tattoos of all sizes.

Her fingers itched to run down the rigid surface of abs.

Free from the heavy material, his head is fully visible. His typical inky black waves are sheathed by an equally black, velvet durag. And she’s almost 100% sure that it’s real velvet—none of that suede shit.

What catches her eyes the most is his nickname, “Ony,” spelled with beaded gems in Old English font on the back of the fabric.

One of the cameras, currently projecting his image onto the Jumbotrons, shows the audience the glistening skin of his back as he walks back to the main stage. His tattoos only continue to bleed into the expanse of the dark skin. Strong muscles ripple beneath the smooth skin.

She pulls out her phone, recording yet another clip of the shirtless man as he performs on the stage below. Without a second thought, she posts it to her Instagram story.

He just looked too fucking good for her not to capture. Without a doubt, Onyankopon is putting on a show.

Bliss can die happy right now…

Except, she can’t.

Not when the starting melody of her favorite song, catches her ears. She gasps, freezing in her seat.

At the center of the stage, Ony’s pacing slows to a stop. He stares out at the jumping crowd, a smile slowly climbing onto his face. The crowd is in a frenzy.

“What y’all know ‘bout this one?”

They roar louder as he continues to search the stadium, not looking for anyone in particular. Not yet.

“Wasn’t even gon’ perform this one, I ain’t gon’ hold you,” he chuckles.

He begins to pace again, thinking with amusement of just how much shit he makes his DJ put up with—what with him prolonging this track just to speak to the fans.

Bringing the mic to his lips, Onyankopon finally looks up at the large luxury box to the left of the stage.

“But, I know you like it.”

A camera catches a closeup of him just as he shoots a quick wink. It’s all over the Jumbotrons, and the crowd goes wild.

As the song finally begins, Bliss’ body catches a chill. She has no choice but to get up for this one, it is her favorite song after all.

It’s definitely a turn up song, and she does just that. Rapping along, she earns the attention of others around her. So entranced by the music, she doesn’t even realize how they begin to hype her up. And she doesn’t miss a word.

Without a thought, Bliss kicks off her short heels. Holding onto the back of her chair, she bends over and throws her ass in a circle.

Hoots and hollers from a few of the women around her goad her on, she sticks her tongue out. One or two of them even give her a couple of taps.

There’s lights shining on her, and she’ll have to remember to ask them for the videos. The dress is doing absolutely nothing to constrict the way her body moves, despite how tight it is.

Standing up straight, she does a full body whine, mouthing her favorite part of the song. Without a doubt, this is a highlight of her concert experience.

Sadly, just as quickly as the song had started, it ends. But, Bliss is only smiling, laughing too hard with the other guests.

Now she can die happy.

•

Three hours of performing—it was a dream to witness. And to think, that after all of that, she’s going to meet the artist.

How this can possibly go, she’s can’t imagine. Well—realistically, it can go one of two ways.

He flew her out for tonight’s show, put her up in one of the best hotels in the city, and even assigned a personal driver to her for the time being that she was here—a big bodied, black truck, of course.

So, there’s only one thing he wants. Bliss knew that coming into this. And she agreed, didn’t she?

The attendants assigned to this luxury box had made the announcement minutes ago to follow the signage for a swift exit, seeing as the show’s over.

Of course, there were a few stragglers—her included. Head buried in her phone, she swipes through the videos she was able to get from the other guests of her “mini performance.”

She’ll definitely have to post these later.

With a ring-dressed middle finger, she’s trimming one of the videos, far too focused to notice the two men approaching her.

“Ms. Bliss?”

Blinking, her head shoots up as her inky black inches fall over her face. She pushes the strands out of the way.

“Yes?”

“Onyankopon’s ready for you.”

Her face blanks as she looks back and forth between the two. Her tongue fumbles in her mouth. So, she remains wordless as she nods.

Coming to her feet, she pulls down her dress and smooths out any wrinkles. Swiping up her mini Saïgon, she follows after the men as they take her to the performer.

•

“Another city finished,” Connie smirks, dapping him up.

Slumped in a chair of his own, Ony laughs. “Yeah, and I’m ‘bout tired as Hell.”

Connie plops down on the futon pushed against the wall of Ony’s dressing room—just a few feet across from the man himself.

“You definitely gonna crash after this,” he laughs, pulling out one of his phones from his pants pocket.

“Nah,” Ony shakes his head. Licking his bottom lip, he tries to conceal a smile as Connie glances at him. “Actually … I got shit to do after.”

Raising a brow, Connie looks at him fully this time. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They both share a knowing look, which only makes this all the more funnier.

“How you meet her?”

Glancing away, Ony bats him off as he sucks his teeth. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“Nah, it better not be ole’ girl—“

“Chill,” Ony quickly looks his way. “Told you I was done with that. This a new vibe. Trust.”

Connie looks him up and down, ultimately deciding to trust his friend. “Alright…”

“Yeah, and speaking of—you gotta get the fuck up outta here.”

Connie makes a face. The question “why” is on the tip of his tongue, ready to fall from his lips, when a knock sounds at the door.

“Shit,” Ony mumbles, slowly getting up on sore feet.

Connie chooses to laugh this time. “Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, twisting the doorknob just before pulling it open.

“Ony,” Mitch, one of the security guards on his team greets.

“Wassup, man,” he nods.

Quietly, Mitch shifts to the side to allow him to see the short woman behind him: Bliss.

Ony’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. Like he’s just been served the tastiest looking platter in the world; The finest piece of steak from STK Steakhouse.

“Hey.” The corner of his lips upturn.

“Hi.” Bliss had seemed to breathe the word out.

Without thinking, Ony outstretches an arm to pull her in for a side hug.

“‘Preciate it, y’all,” he says to the guards.

The two men turn away, returning to their stations at the end of the hallway.

Ony opens the door wider, allowing Bliss to slip past him and into the comfortably sized room. As she makes her way past him, he doesn’t stop his eyes from falling below her waist to check out her body.

Her ass moves like water in that dress. And the perfume wafting off of her, mingled with her body’s natural scent, is rich and warm. Luxurious, even. An expensive one for sure.

“Hey,” Bliss waves shyly, meeting Connie’s eyes.

The man with the bleached, shaved head makes a strong effort to keep eye contact. And if Onyankopon weren’t watching him closely from behind her, he would’ve broken it. If only to admire how her body stretches the fabric out—and how terribly it hides her nipples.

“Wassup, how you doing?” Connie smiles kindly. Standing up, he pockets his phone while outstretching a hand to her.

Politely, Bliss gives him a gentle shake before letting her hand fall back to the wooden handle of her purse.

“Ony,” Connie moves over to the man, dapping him up.

“We talk soon,” he nods.

As soon as the door shuts, with Connie’s departure, it’s like all of the air in the room has been sucked out.

Slowly, Bliss turns to face him. He’s already staring her down.

“It’s good seeing you in person.”

His voice is low, but soft.

Her body is covered in goosebumps within seconds. She gives a shaky smile, showing off that cute gap between her two front teeth.

“You, too,” she says.

“You nervous?” He smiles as he heads over to the room’s large vanity.

It allows her the space needed to breathe as she watches him retie the loosened strings of his durag.

“I am,” she giggles, wanting to cover her mouth. “The show was really good, though. I had fun.”

“I’m glad.” He turns back around, leaning against the vanity to stare at her. “Hope you appreciated the song.”

Her smile only grows. “I did, thank you. You don’t even know, I was dancing and everything.”

“Oh yeah?” He raises his brows, watching her beam.

“Yes, it’s my favorite!” She remembers telling him in their DMs that it was her favorite song of his.

However, that definitely isn’t how he learned that fact.

Almost bowing her head, Bliss looks up at him through her thick lash set. “Thank you for performing it.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He looks her up and down.

He might be exhausted, but he can definitely squeeze out one more performance for the night.

After all, his body is still running off of the adrenaline from the show.

“How was everything? The hotel good?”

She perks up at that. “Hm? Oh—yes!” She nods.

He thinks it’s cute.

“The hotel is very nice, and thanks for the driver.”

“Anything to make you comfortable.” He licks his lips. His eyes flick down for half of a second, catching a peak of her pierced nipples through the dress.

Of course, she notices.

“I’ma ride with you back to the hotel, take a quick shower, then we out for dinner. That’s cool with you?”

Her matte lips roll into her mouth and she nods. It’s a weak attempt at hiding an excited smile. They discussed this before—spending the night out together. Yet, Bliss still finds herself unable to really believe it.

His well-groomed brows lift just an inch. “That’s not a answer.”

She breaks into laughter, feeling silly. “Yes, Ony.”

“Aight. Lemme grab my shit and we could leave together.”

She nods, heading over to the vanity on her own accord as Ony moves about to gather his items.

As he packs his black, Margiela backpack, she tweaks her appearance in the brightly lit mirror. Smoothing down flyaways, fixing her lip combo—she does it all.

Being the great multitasker he is, Onyakopon sneaks glances at her from behind.

This view is everything: The only thing “covering” her ass in that dress is a tiny, black G-string that disappears between the globes of her cheeks anyway. Her honey-brown skin is dimpled but mark-free. And her narrow waist tempts him to grab it from behind.

If tonight goes as planned, backshots are definitely going to be on the agenda. Now, he’ll eventually flip her over on her back, because that face and those titties are too pretty for that position alone.

The mental imagine is enough to make his dick twitch. If he didn’t have any sense, he’d fuck her raw. Just to make her feel every inch and vein, and for him to feel the wet heat of her walls.

But before he gets too carried away with his own thoughts, Onyankopon blinks them away. Slipping into his jacket, he throws his backpack over a shoulder.

“Aight, let’s go.”

Nodding, Bliss returns to his side. Ony is quick to hold out a hand, which she takes.

“When we leave, it might be some fans and paps outside. I can’t control that, I’m sorry. But, I got my people with us, so you should be good.”

Bliss nods, only able to quietly take it all in. She’s never been in the spotlight before. She only hopes that they aren’t too crazy.

“Oh, wait—“

Quickly, she drops his hand to search through her purse. A couple of seconds later, she’s pulling out a pair of designer shades. They’re huge with blacked out lenses, perfect for hiding her face.

Ony laughs. “You got it.”

•

As they’re just a few feet from the exit, body guards at all of their sides, Bliss anticipates Ony dropping her hand, just to keep anymore rumors at bay.

However, as they pass through the threshold of the stadium and the cool, outside air hits them, her hand is still heavy with his.

“Ony!”

“Onyankopon, look this way!”

“Who’s this that you brought out tonight?”

“Is that your girlfriend, Ony?”

Using her purse, Bliss blocks the other side of her face, hoping the cameras don’t catch anything. Her lips tremble as she tries to keep from laughing at the obscene and invasive questions.

Their driver plucks the back door of their car open—a Rolls Royce. Ony lets go of her hand to let her in first.

Just as he climbs in, the driver shuts the door behind them. The second his security backs away from the car, paparazzi and a few fans close-in on the vehicle, trying to snap pictures through the tinted windows.

“Wow,” Bliss laughs, breathlessly. She pulls the large shades off of her face, allowing him to seeing her beautiful face.

“My bad ‘bout that. Should’ve prepared you more.”

“It was actually tamer than I thought,” she smiles.

“Shit, my bad. Ain’t know you had it like that.”

She only laughs at his joke, and he can only think about how much he likes the sound.

As the driver pulls off, heading towards Onyankopon’s hotel, Bliss opens up her camera. She records a couple of clips here and there of herself in the car, careful to keep Ony out of it.

It’s cute, he thinks, how she doesn’t try to take advantage of such a moment. Even more, it allows him to worry less about putting a guard up; He pulls out his phone.

On Twitter and TikTok, he catches posts of his concert, liking and reposting his favorite ones. All of the love from his fans makes his chest swell with pride.

ATL definitely showed out tonight. A contender with Chicago, for sure.

Shutting his phone off, Ony drops it into his lap and leans back in his seat. His gaze is attracted to the woman beside him.

In the low lighting, she’s gorgeous. As the driver narrowly avoids the greater part of a pothole in the street, the car is unstable for a second or two.

In that time, his eyes fall to her chest, seeing how it bounces even under the confines of her dress.

It triggers multiple images in his brain—memories of her past streams.

Finally shutting off her phone, Bliss does a quiet sigh as she pushes her hair over one shoulder, exposing more of her upper half.

Blinking, she finally takes a look at him, and they make eye contact. Off of instinct, she laughs nervously.

“Hi.”

He smiles, showing off his grills. “Hey.”

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head lazily. So oblivious to just how impatient he is for her.

A date with Onyankopon.

She, Bliss, is on a date with The Onyankopon. Never did she think that would be her reality.

Before they arrived, he did just as promised—stopping by his hotel to get ready. He had her stay in the car, yet he definitely didn’t make her wait too long.

When he got back into the car, keeping his backpack at his feet, he smelled heavenly. His cologne was arousing—something about a good smelling man really just does it for her.

His outfit seemed to match the vibe she had went for: a brown Miu Miu leather and sheepskin jacket with snakeskin and flowers over the shoulders. His pants are a basic black, baggy fit jean with chains dangling from a pocket. His jewelry, of course, is silver.

And without a durag, his shiny waves were out for all to see.

There’s no doubt, he’d chosen the fanciest restaurant out here. It was a two-level establishment, and they have the entire second floor to themselves.

Just three of Ony’s security personnel guard the entrance and exit to the staircase. It’s quiet up here, yet peaceful. However, Bliss feels quite awkward, as all of the attention is on her.

They had gotten through appetizers before the real conversation began. Well, really Ony had gone through it. After a show like that, it’s no wonder that he’s worked up an appetite.

Bliss picked at the food here and there, careful not to get full too fast. She also is still nervous.

“What you do earlier today? Before my show.”

Swallowing her sip of the mixed drink she had ordered, Bliss presses a hand to her chest.

“Just some shopping. This is my first time in Atlanta, so I wanted to take advantage of the malls.” She laughs quietly. “I hope your driver didn’t mind.”

Rubbing at his chin hairs, he glances at her purse set off to the side of the table. It’s crisp and the color is well saturated. There’s not an inch of the bag frayed or faded.

“You got this today?”

She follows his gaze. “Yeah,” she says nervously.

He hums. “How much you pay for it?”

She shrugs. “About 6k.”

He smirks to himself, still eyeing the bag. “That’s light … you want it in cash?”

Her eyes almost bulge out of her head. “What? I don’t—“

“If you don’t take the cash, I’ma find a way to get it to you. So quit all’at stuttering, humble shit.”

His voice is calm, quiet too. Which only astounds her, because there’s nothing calm about someone offering her six grand.

But, she’s not slick. Even as her mouth hangs open, he spots the hint of a smile on her stretched lips.

“It’s … I don’t need it, Ony.”

“Shit, I know.” Huffing out a breath of amusement, he smirks down at her. “But you want it, so just take it.”

She looks off to the side, her hair falling in her face before she pushes it over her shoulder for the umpteenth time tonight.

“Y’know, I knew ‘bout you for a minute.”

That stops her in her tracks.

Her Instagram profile is that of the typical IG model—sponsorships, the occasional risky photo, but overall, pretty moderate.

How long had he known about her page? Was he stalking her profile like she’d done his? Why only now say something?

Her heart races. All of these questions she wants to ask—she opens her mouth to do so.

“Yeah, you cute on ‘em live streams.” He continues rubbing at his chin, still eyeing her.

And as those words left his mouth, her own closes.

Her career as a cam-girl isn’t in the spotlight. It’s no well-kept secret, nor is her page really even hard to find. Still, it’s always jarring when she has to come face-to-face with that in reality.

“W-what?“

Her voice is quiet. The shock on her face is quite apparent, too.

“I catch ‘em when I can.” He sits back in his chair and shrugs.

She knows it’s greedy, but if that’s how she gets her money, then so be it: her streams are only accessible to those subbed to her highest tier on her cam-girl page.

“Oh … my God,” she whispers, putting a hand over her mouth.

He cracks a smile, a small chuckle falling out past his lips.

“How long did you—“ She stops herself, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Couple months,” he says, like it’s no big deal.

Her stomach drops to her ass. And as a new thought emerges in her head, her stomach threatens to fall out of her body.

“What’s your username?”

She almost didn’t even want to ask. Onyankopon can only laugh.

“C’mon, now. Y’know who I am.”

She fears she does. He doesn’t need to say it:

onLyONE1

Falling back in her chair, Bliss covers her face as she groans into her hands.

“Shit was obvious, too—“

“Stop, please!” She laughs, shyly. Pulling her hands away from her face, she reveals a soft pout on her lips. “I can’t believe you saw that,” she whines.

Is it crazy that his eyes seem to sparkle as he smiles? “What? Your body?”

“No! Well—kinda. I mean me crushing over you!”

Now, he’s practically cackling. And Bliss’ face burns with embarrassment.

Calming himself down, Ony sighs. “Relax, I thought it was cute.”

She gives him a weak glance, immediately looking away.

“I can’t believe this.” She groans. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shakes his head. “That’s federal. I wasn’t even gon’ say nothing, ‘til I found out you was a fan—“

“Ugh,” she looks away, a scowl on her lips. “Don’t do that.”

“You right, my fault,” he chuckles. “A supporter,” he corrects.

“Thank you.”

He hums. “But, that shit was sexy, though.” He shrugs. “So, I had to fly you out here, see you in person.”

When she regains the courage to look him in the eyes, she feels small in her seat. His eye contact is unwavering.

“And get you all to myself.” He scoffs as he runs his eyes over her upper body. “Couldn’t stand you paying attention to all them broke ass niggas.”

His lips frown with thinly veiled disgust. It almost makes her laugh. On the other hand, the statement as a whole makes her tummy flutter.

She hates to admit it, but a possessive man will always be her weakness.

“I’ll double what I gave you, just to get you for tonight.”

“I … Ony…“

The offer is tempting, real tempting. But, can she really do this? The whole 'pay-for-pussy' thing?

He senses her apprehension. Wordlessly, he reaches down by his foot.

The low whine of a zipper catches her ears. Before she can question it, three, fat stacks of rubber-banded hundreds are dropped onto the table. Right before her widened eyes.

He pockets his hands, leaning back in his chair once more. “I matched you for the bag, too.” He nods to the stack.

She’s breathless. All of this money, it’s making her head spin. “O-Ony—“

Her resolve is cracking, he can tell. And this has got to be his favorite part about having money—the power it gives him. He widens his legs underneath the table, feeling himself grow stiff already.

“I’ma selfish ass nigga. I know that. And if I see something I want, I’ma get it. All I really need is one night … but, if you fucking with me, I’ll keep you put up.”

Her brain attempts to formulate a coherent thought, yet nothing comes up. This sounds too good to be true.

But, her mind can’t deny what’s in front of her. And, the idea of him spending so much just to have her—even for a night—only gets her wetter by the second.

He stares at her, patiently awaiting an answer he already knows he’ll get.

But, just to get it out of her faster, he turns up the heat: reaching back into his bag, Onyankopon pulls out another fat stack, placing it on top of the others.

Like magic, Bliss finds her mouth moving before she can even really think twice about it.

She’s giggly off the drinks, but she isn’t the only one. As Onyankopon continues ordering more and more alcohol to the table, she can see that he, too, is loosening up.

He’s talking more, a tad bit more touchy, and even bolder in his flirtatiousness.

She likes it.

Another thing about her and alcohol; She gets talkative. Part of her brain is screaming at her to put a sock in it, judging by Ony’s demeanor:

He’s sat back with an arm thrown over the back of the chair, slowly chewing as he stares at her with low eyes. In his hand, his fingers slowly twist a balled up napkin.

But, she just can’t stop talking. Her mouth is running a mile a minute—she doesn’t even remember what she’s talking about.

However, all of her spouting comes to a stop when Ony finally sits up. Looking elsewhere, he throws the napkin down on the table.

Her eyes dart around. “What happened?”

Pulling out a crisp, black card from his wallet, he snaps it down on the cloth-table. “Ready to go.”

“Oh…”

Oh shit.

It takes almost no time at all for the waiter to take Ony’s card. In the blink of an eye, they’re standing on their feet, ready to leave.

“Don’t forget your cash.”

For a split second, Bliss is confused. But, when she follows the direction of where he points to, she’s quickly reminded.

Those large stacks of cash he’d pulled out for her earlier were sitting so casually to the side of the table, next to her purse. Like it wasn’t money itself. And a lot of it.

She slips her purse over her wrist before scooping them up in her arms.

“Yeah, there you go,” Ony nods, smiling at her.

They follow his security team to the elevator. All the while, he’s got an arm thrown over her slender shoulders.

Only two of his staff follow them into the moderately sized shaft. As the two, burly men stand in front of them, hands clasped before them in similar fashion, Ony’s arm remains around her neck, keeping her back pressed against his front.

And, boy, does it make her dizzy. Not only that, but her body buzzes with a renewed sense of energy.

Everything about him, physically, is all encompassing. His cologne is so strong that it’s all she smells. The weight of his body isn’t stifling, but grounding. Even keeping her warm.

And as her body practically melts into his, the fat of her ass is smushed against his front.

The press of his print, which happens to lie perfectly between both cheeks, is impossible to ignore. She won’t even bother shifting around to get comfortable. Instead, she succumbs to his hold—too easily—and releases a shaky sigh.

Turns out her guess was right, he is big.

When they step out of the restaurant, yet again do they have to shield their faces from the barrage of cameras and flashes surrounding them.

This time, they run to the car, hopping in as silly laughter pours from them. God, they’re so drunk.

“C’mere … so fuckin’ far.” Ony seems to breathe out the words.

Even in the darkness, the look of lust is written all over him. It’s even swimming around in the air. Her eyes do a full sweep of his body, noting how wide his thick legs are spread.

Like a minx, she slinks over from her seat and right onto the one he presents to her.

“Mmh,” he hums, immediately snaking his arms around her small waist and dragging her up higher into his lap.

She giggles, feeling all of him beneath her.

“You smell good.” He mumbles the words into the warm skin of her neck.

Bliss bends her head down and even sweeps all of her hair over the other shoulder to give him more access to her.

The kisses he lays there are hot and wet, pressed into her warm and soft skin. She shivers. One of his hands press into her lower stomach, keeping her from moving too much.

The pulse between her legs has grown into an ache. Every clench her pussy does is almost painful with how strong it is, even worse now that he’s hard beneath her.

God, why did she pick such a long dress?

Without thinking, she grounds down onto him, weakly. Onyankopon’s other hand travels upwards the middle of her abdomen.

She doesn’t focus on his lingering touch. She can’t. Not when he’s sucking a pretty bruise into the side of her neck. Her breathing quickens, and slow, tiny pants leave through her parted lips.

His traveling hand slides up between the valley of her boobs and anchors around her neck just as he lifts his mouth off of her. She bites down on her bottom lip, yet another giggle slips through her teeth.

“Thin-ass dress.” He tightens his grip around her neck. “Might as well have not worn anything.”

His deep voice and his rough hand has her pussy leaking into her panties. He lifts his hips by a fraction, and it pushes a small moan from her.

“Freaky ass lil’ bitch. Got ya titties all out—who’s it for?”

Her eyes flutter shut and she swallows thickly.

He squeezes another moan out of her. “Hm?”

“Y-you.”

He chuckles. “Got my dick all hard, starin’ at ‘em.”

His hand finally moves, and the skin on her neck is cold. She misses it. But, that’s forgotten when both of his hands cup her heavy breasts.

Bliss arches her back, pushing them further into his warm hands. And, never one to refuse a gift, Ony squeezes them.

Her body is weak as he plays with them, damn-near juggling them in his hands. And as he laughs, clearly amused by her body’s reaction, she can only try to keep her moans at bay.

“So pretty,” he mumbles before pressing a a kiss to the side of her face. “Pretty ass titties.”

His hands still, only cupping them. Then, his thumbs begin slow circles her pierced nipples through the dress’s thin fabric. Its tiny netting does nothing to shield her body against the gentle caress.

She turns her head to the side, her mouth open and desperate for something to plug it before an embarrassingly loud moan leaves it.

And like her knight in shining armor, Onyankopon indulges her in an open-mouth kiss. He wastes no time, sucking on her tongue.

Around her piercings, his fingers pinch and pull at her nipples. Bliss can’t help it, moaning into his mouth. Her hips rock against his, desperate to finally get on his dick.

When he finally pulls back, they can both breathe. And it’s the first time that they notice music playing through the car’s speakers.

“Mmh, fuck,” he sighs. Ony sits back in his seat.

Breathlessly, Bliss fixes her hair, trying to distract herself from the way her body was lit on fire from just kisses and fondling.

Ony looks around the back cavern of the car, quickly finding just what he was looking for: his bottle of Don. It’s stuffed in the side pocket of the car door, calling out for him.

Securing an arm around her waist, Ony leans forward to pick it up out of the car door’s side pocket. When he’s sits back, he pulls the top off the bottle and wastes no time taking a sip.

Busying herself, Bliss grabs her phone from its spot in the cupholder. She opens up Instagram and holds her phone up to snap a couple of clips of herself.

The near darkness of the vehicle is perfect, showing not too much nor too little for the camera to see. And every last clip stays in her drafts.

Still, she’s careful not to get Ony’s face in it, only doing close ups of her face as the music plays.

When Onyankopon finally pulls the bottle away from his face, he sees what she’s doing.

As she records another clip, she zooms in on her body, caressing herself and even showing off her pierced nipples through the dress.

A quick thought puts a smirk on his face. He interrupts, bringing his hand into frame as he squeezes one of her boobs. The ring on his pinky finger glistens under the cameras low flash.

With a surprised gasp, she cuts the clip short.

“Keep recordin’,” he says in her ear, gruffly.

“Why?” She chuckles. “You wanna be seen?”

He scoffs quietly. “That’s cute.” Shifting his hips, he pushes his dick harder against her, just for a bit of spite. “This just for you, though. Don’t post nothing.”

His nose and lips to her neck, his voice in her ear, his hands on her body—she shivers.

Pressing record again. She zooms in on his hand as it gropes her yet again. Very soon after, it slides up and wraps around her neck. She stops the video.

With a giggle, she saves it to her drafts. “Should I send it to you?” She questions, tapping away on her phone.

“Nah, keep that,” he mumbles. Turning his head, Onyankopon peers out of the window, watching the city zoom past them. “Got some other shit planned.”

Thankfully, there’s no paps around. No need for them to rush into the hotel or hide their faces.

As they take their time to get out of the vehicle, Ony’s security surrounds the car.

“Wait—the money,” Bliss worries.

She’s halfway out of the car, a hand in Ony’s clutch as he’s the one helping her out.

“Don’t trip, I’ma have my people get it for you.”

As her feet land on the concrete ground, Onyankopon laces an arm laces around her waist, pulling her in close.

“Okay,” she hums, bringing a hand to his chest.

As she looks up into Onyankopon’s low eyes, the lust in them is undeniable. She practically shivers with excitement.

“You cold?” He chuckles, cracking a grill-decorated smile. His perfectly groomed brows even pull together.

God, she’s never noticed how perfect his face looks up close.

Dumbly, she nods, her lips stretching into a wide smile. She watches his eyes flick downward to glimpse at her lips.

“I’ma get you warm soon, right?”

“Mmh, okay.”

Shaking his head, he allows himself to smile wider as he follows his security team into the hotel.

As he said, two men stay behind to clean up the money at the back of the Rolls Royce. Just for Bliss.

Onyankopon’s room is on the eleventh floor. Normally, one would think that the commute from the hotel lobby to his room—by way of elevator, of course—wouldn’t take much time.

Five minutes, max.

But to Bliss, those five minutes are feeling a lot like thirty, at the very least.

While they waited for the elevator, Onyankopon was all over her. Large hands pulling her in and keeping her close—gripping her ass, too.

She’d whine his name, pushing her face into his chest. Because with the little bit of stragglers lingering in the lobby, there were still wandering eyes.

And he’d tell her, “Let ‘em watch,” because that’s the type of nigga he is.

‘Rapper’ seems like a fitting title for him.

Oh, but when they finally get in the elevator? Not even his security being there was enough to keep him off of her.

He traps her against the back wall of the elevator. His large hand grasps the junction of her neck and jaw.

There’s tongue involved, far sooner than she thought there would be. But, she’s not complaining. Their heads twist as they suck on each other.

She finds herself moaning into his mouth as he applies pressure around her neck.

Bliss is barely able to pull away with the inch of breath that she was able to escape with. Both their lips are glossed over with spit—slimy and sticky. Their rushed pants quickly dry it, however.

Before either of them can say anything, the elevator dings with the announcement of their arrival to the eleventh floor.

Only once the door to Ony’s suite shuts, is when they finally lose his security for the night.

Bliss remains near the door, her first thought to take off her shoes. She keeps a hand on the nearby wall as she unhooks the back of her kitten heel from her foot.

It should take only ten seconds to get both shoes off. Yet, she lingers in that spot well after the time is up. Why?

Well, she’s watching him.

Watching Onyankopon shrug that heavy jacket off of his wide shoulders and throw it down on the mini bar table. Watching him kick off his shoes. Watching him take a seat on a short leather couch, positioned in the middle of the circular shaped living room.

She isn’t quick enough; He catches her staring.

Her second heel finally drops to the ground. It makes a muted thud against the tiled floor—which is cold against her perfectly manicured feet.

With a tired sigh, Ony leans back against the couch, refusing to break eye contact. “Come.”

A faint smile makes the corner of her lips rise, and an amused scoff leaves her.

This time, Onyankopon watches her.

Watches the way her hips seem to perfectly sway—if even unintentional—with each step. Watches how her boobs bounce softly beneath the tight dress. Watches her land softly on his open lap, throwing an arm around his neck, too.

She throws her purse and phone down onto the cushion next to them, completely disregarding the objects.

Softly, he kisses his teeth, his eyes running over her body.

“When you gon’ take this fucking dress off?”

She laughs. “When are you gonna take it off me?”

He licks his lips as he reaches behind her to slide a hand up her back, searching blindly for—he found it.

At the top of her back, at the base of her neck, his fingers collect the small zipper and pulls. He drags it all the way down her spine, until the track stops, right above her ass.

“Now you want me to pull it off or you got that?”

Rolling her eyes, Bliss tugs at the tight sleeves of her dress, pulling her arms out. As she drags the constricting fabric down her body, her boobs spill out.

The piercings immediately catch his attention. He resists the urge to reach out for them and touch.

Pulling back her hair, she tosses the bundles over a shoulder, allowing him to see everything. For a moment, she stands, only to pull the rest of the dress down.

When she finally steps out of the pool of her own clothes, the only thing that covers her is that tiny ass G-string.

“Wish I could’a seen you at the show,” he tells her as she comes to sit back down on his lap.

Bliss licks her lips, looking down into his eyes. She hums, gazing at him. “I was dancing and everything.”

“Oh, yeah?” His voice is soft and hushed, like hers. “Show me how you was dancing.”

She bites down on her lip, trying to stop her smile from growing.

He shifts beneath her, if only to pull out his phone. It’s a seamless process, how he was able to connect his phone to speakers that seem to be connected throughout the entire suite.

She almost laughs, if it weren’t for how serious he is; It’s one of Ony’s songs from his recently released EP.

“Be my dancer,” he says in her ear, smiling wide.

She almost shivers.

Wordlessly, she turns her back to him and puts hands on his spread knees. Leaning forward, she starts a slow whine. And Ony is all too happy to watch her ass move in circles right on his lap.

Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulls out a rubber-banded stack, just a bit thinner than those he had at the restaurant. He pops the elastic binding all of the bills together.

The beat changes, and Bliss shakes her ass side-to-side. Ony stretches an arm over her. The quick flick of his thumb pushes fifties and hundreds fluttering over her.

Entranced by the way the fat of her ass moves, he palms one cheek with the other hand.

As he begins to rub, Bliss returns to a slow whine before dropping it in his lap, earning a grunt from him. When she lifts her ass to do it again, Ony smacks it, gripping her immediately after.

Every time, she bounces her ass harder against him. She fights the urge to stop dancing and just solely grind against him, because at this point it’s getting hard to ignore the way he’s poking through his jeans.

Her bounces grow shorter. The pressure and friction threaten to make her eyes roll back. She’s close to moaning out.

“Shit…” He bites down on his lower lip as he grips the fat of her hip. “Sexy ass lil’ bitch,” he groans.

In all this excitement, he almost forgot what they were doing. Picking the stack back up, he resumes the money shower, allowing the rest of his bills to rain down on her.

She looks back at him over her shoulder, noting the hand in his lap, holding his belt.

Biting down on her lip, Bliss fluidly turns around to get on her knees between his legs. The fallen bills keep her skin from touching the cold tiles.

One hand is positioned on his knee. The other snakes up his other legs, heading towards the buckle of his belt.

“Oh, you wanna get nasty?” His smile is full of mischief.

She nods as she focuses on opening his pants.

“Shiiit, go ‘head.”

And he didn’t need to tell her again.

Manicured hands pull him out of his boxers. Bliss has to take a minute to cement this moment in her brain. Her heart is pounding in his chest.

He’s heavy in her hand. The very tips of her acrylics just barely touch as she’s wrapped around him. His thickness makes her tummy stir. She can’t wait to take him.

All of those nights she’s spent in bed, imagining him buried deep in her guts—now, it won’t be a toy doing the work. It’ll be the real thing.

Leaning forward, Bliss presses a kiss to the underside of his head. Quickly, she stretches out her tongue and laves it.

“Don’t try to be cute,” he says through gritted teeth. Immediately, a hand swabs around the back of her head to gather her bundles in a messy, yet tight ponytail. “Suck me up like you do with them toys.”

She opens her mouth wide. Carefully tucking her teeth, Bliss engulfs his entire tip. She keeps him between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, sucking.

Her pace isn’t necessarily slow, that wasn’t even her intention. But, she’s not fast enough, either.

The hand in her hair guides her, encouraging a smooth push-and-pull of her head.

He sucks in air through his teeth. “Oou, just like that. Yeah—relax that throat.”

Her hands stretch across his denim-dressed knee caps, squeezing tighter as she struggles to keep up.

There’s a soft clinch in her face, eyes watering, as she gently gags.

“M-make sure you get that shit wet—mmh. Get it messy … just like that, get my dick messy.”

His voice softly coaxes her on. The firm grip on her hair paired with his commands has her doing everything he wants, and probably more.

His pace picks up, his force getting rougher. And even beneath the thick fans of her lash extensions, he can see her eyes rolling back.

Her gags are heavier, louder. His dick stabs her throat, causing wet clicks every time he touches the back of it.

He groans out, his stomach clinching, as he feels her tighten around him.

“Sshit!” He laughs, her choking music to his ears. With a hiccup, a large rivulets of spit leak from her puckered lips and drips down his dick. “Yeaaah, just like that!”

As he chuckles over her, her pussy bares down on nothing. Her body is obsessed with the way he sounds.

It’s messy—so messy. Frothy bubbles of spit and cum gather at the rounded corners of her mouth. Thick globs hang from her lips, some of it even rolls down her neck. But all of it drips onto her bare chest, sticking to smooth skin.

And she doesn’t intend to do anything about it. The only goal she aims to accomplish at the moment is taking this dick without throwing up all over it.

Ony hooks a hand on the underside of her jaw as the other only tightens around her hair. All movement of her head is halted and the brief moment of stillness allows her to breathe properly—through her nose, of course.

“You gon’ swallow?”

“Mhm,” she nods eagerly. The fragile hum crackled as it left her.

Ony gazes down into her tear-filled eyes. He notes the mess clouding the bottom of her pretty face

“Sure?”

Her muffled ‘yes’ almost makes him laugh. She can hardly speak around his dick.

“Aight then.”

This time, he’s driving his hips forward, face-fucking her. Bliss lurches forward, hacking as he drills her throat. Yet she doesn’t tell him to stop. Nor does she pull away or even tap his thigh.

“C’mon,” he grunts, the deepest scowl on his face. “Take this dick, take this … f-fucking dick.”

Her body goes pliant as she allows him to use her face like a toy. However, her lips remain tight around him. She doesn’t even try to keep the spit from falling out of her mouth.

The longer he continues, his dick glides in and out of her lips. It’s all so slippery, she gags less and less with every thrust.

There is no announcement of his arrival. Only one more brutal thrust before he presses his hips to her face. They occasionally twitch as he shoots thick ropes of cum down her throat.

She almost chokes. Almost. It’s difficult to swallow his load around his dick, she lets out a gag or two.

When he finally drags himself out of her mouth, webs of spit and cum stretch between his tip and her swollen lips. She heaves, his hanging dick still in her face.

Too focused on gathering her breath, Bliss doesn’t see as he pulls his shirt off.

“Lift ya head,” he says, a soft hand cradling the back of hers.

Bliss looks up, staring into his eyes as he uses his Coogi shirt to wipe the muck off of her face.

His brows are furrowed as he concentrates on cleaning her off. “Yeah … can’t have all this shit drying on ya skin.” He even goes as far as to get her neck and chest. “Aight … there. You good now.”

He pats her cheek with a smile, earning a giggle from the woman on her knees.

“Thank you.”

He outstretches a hand, helping her up on her two feet.

“It’s nothing,” he says softly. Using his soiled shirt, he wipes down his dick and inner thighs. And when he’s done, he tosses it aside.

As Ony is pulling up his pants, his dark eyes roaming her bare body, he gets an idea—eager to have her participate in it.

“You tryna smoke?”

•

The blunt shakes between her unsteady fingers. She doesn’t get a good inhale in—can hardly even pass it back to him.

Onyankopon does her a favor, taking the blunt back as he pushes his dick back in.

“Oou—shit.” Her shaky groan is music to his ears.

Holding the thick blunt between his lips, he takes his time bottoming out, both hands on her hips.

Her pussy flutters around him, her stomach stirring. This is the deepest he’s gotten, feeling his tip smushed against her cervix. Her head’s dizzy.

“Fuuuck, Onyy—“ A weak hand, hesitant in nature, cradles her lower tummy,

“I’m deep?”

“Mh—yes.” Her breath hitches.

He lifts a hand from her skin to pluck the blunt from between his lips. A thin cloud of smoke puffs from his nose.

“You could handle it,” he rasps.

The slowly burning blunt dries his throat out, almost makes it scratchy. And yet the wetness between Bliss’ thighs makes it easy to forget the minor discomfort.

A shaky gasp slips from her mouth as he begins a slow stroke. It’s no surprise to her when—even as he’s the one fucking her—he pulls her back by the hips. The quiet clap of her ass against his pelvis and thighs cheers him on. It encourages him.

He wants her to be louder. He wants to hear more.

One minute he’s delivering slow, deep strokes, letting her body sing. Her pussy’s got a vice-like grip around him as it creams around him. Before long, she’s gripping the sheets tight and her legs tremble.

Blunt be damned; Onyankopon drops it onto the floor in favor of focusing on the woman below him.

Her moans are loud and guttural as his dick punches her stomach from the inside. Even as they’re loud, the bed’s pristine, white sheets weaken the sounds.

And that just isn’t doing it for him.

“Nah, c’mere—“

Fingers grip her hair to yank her face out of the sheets. Her neck strains as her head is angled so far back, that she catches sight of something she’d been too horny to even see before: the mirror above the bed.

She’s got a clear eye-view of herself getting fucked as roughly as she’s always dreamed. It makes her clench down on him harder, she even whimpers seeing it. In such a fucked out state, it’s a drug seeing the way her body ricochets against his.

A small part of her is embarrassed seeing the faces she makes, she’s out of it. Yet, she loves it all the same. With Onyankopon as another set of eyes, she loves it even more—being watched while he turns her out.

Moan after moan pours from her lips until her throat is sore, and even then she still continues to yell at the top of her lungs about how good his dick is.

“Yes—yes! So … fuckin’ big—oh fuck!”

It’s impossible to keep her grip on reality. Her knees can barely hold her up. The sweet pain in her lower stomach has her eyes rolling back. Ony tugs at her roots harder.

“Know you see yourself,” he grunts. “Know you see how I’m fuckin’ you.”

His smirk and breathless voice is just the cherry on top—she trembles as she squirts on him. But her release doesn’t make him slow down. In fact, Onyankopon goes harder.

“Mhm … cream on my shit. Squirt on my shit—drown me.”

Every time she tries to look at their reflection her eyes either crossed or she just can’t keep them open. All of her strength is reduced to nothing.

Onyankopon’s strokes, which hold an ungodly amount of force behind them, shakes the woman to her core. It knocks the air from her chest.

A choked noise followed by heavy breathing is all that her body can muster. Seeing his response, Ony does it again, loving how it leaves her breathless and with no sound.

He does it again. And again. And again. The clapping of skin is deafening to Bliss’s ears. Her vision blurs and all her body can do is focus on one thing at a time. All sounds begin to fade out. She can only spotlight the repeating jabs to her insides.

Every time she tightens around him, he finds it harder to hold back. But he keeps up. The faster he goes, the more sloppy and less accurate he becomes.

As they continue on it doesn’t matter, Bliss is so close to another release, that it would only take a couple of these blind thrusts for her to cum again.

“Shiiit!”

“What? It’s not enough?” He pulls out, and quickly thrusts back in, feeling triumphant when she yelps out.

“T-too mu—much,” she hisses.

He pulls out and she gasps, her body clenching around nothing. He takes himself in his hand, rubbing the head against her lips. He smears her cream around with his latex-covered tip.

She’s been stretched open, making it all too easy for him to see the creamy pinkness typically hidden behind brown lips. It’s a sight for sure, one that he can’t look away from as she pushes out some of her previous release.

However, he hadn’t realized that he was pressed for time; Bliss whines out, pushing back on him. Even her cunt clenches down, like it missed the fullness.

“C’mon,” she mumbles into the sheets.

He laughs. “You was just crying it was ’too much.’”

A brief moment of strength strikes her as she pulls her head out of the pillows to look back at him. “Put it in, Ony!”

With little to no effort, on account of how wet she was, he slips right back in, granting her that satisfying feeling of being stuffed.

She moans sweetly and drops her head into the sheets, a long groan moving past her lips and he rolled his hips. The feeling of him stroking her insides, so good, better than good.

It was great, and her eyes rolling back were evidence of that. He pulls out and pushes back in, repeating that movement at a fast pace. She sank her teeth into her lip, trying to stop herself from being too loud.

Bringing her hips up higher, Onyankopon achieves a better angle. She was getting drunk off his strokes, as well as the sound of him blowing her back out.

“Oh—oh… God,” she drawls.

The pleasure is overwhelming and she scoots up, trying to lessen the hits to her guts.

“Oh, so you runnin’? I thought you wanted me to beat it up?”

He pulls her back and holds onto her shoulders. Applying pressure, he uses that leverage to repeatedly bring her back on him, his thrusts hitting harder and deeper..

“Oh fuuuck,” she groaned and gasps, shutting her eyes to stop them from rolling back.

“You confusin’ me, mama.”

He’s reveling in the tight, warm and wet hug her body offers. He looks down, noting how her her body coats his dick in her cum.

“Shit, shit, oh fuck,” she whines.

He smacks her ass and keeps going.

“Oh shit…” he groans. “So… fuckin’ good,” he says under his breath, closing his eyes and getting lost in the feeling.

Bliss’s whimpers bring him back. Her thighs shake and her arch comes undone.

In a flash, the desire to see her face again hits him like a freight train. And what other choice does he have but to do something about it?

It’s hard, but Onyankopon pulls out. Using what’s left of his strength, he flips her over on her back and drags her body to the edge of the bed. He’s wordless in his actions, she’ll see his point very soon.

But, for now, Bliss sits up on her elbows to watch with tired confusion as he moves her.

Strong hands grabs her thighs and pull her flush against his front, eliciting a yelp from her. Instinctively, she wraps her legs around his waist, giving him the perfect opportunity to lift her hips completely off the bed.

“What the fuck?” She laughs, her fatigue so apparent in her hoarse voice.

She has to make a great effort to hold herself up. Of course, Ony holds her, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t doing some type of work.

“Trying something different. You good with this?”

She doesn’t think she’s ever been in such a position. It excites her, makes her giddy. It even brings a renewed sense of excitement and energy to her body. Her hair falls in her face as she gives a loose nod.

The muscles in his bicep flex as he transfers all of her weight to one hand, busying the other as he grabs himself. Just like this, she’s like a five-star meal placed before him, ready for him to demolish.

He gives himself two quick tugs before aligning with her weeping center and slowly pushing back in.

The stretch is wonderful every time, evidenced by the way Bliss throws her head back.

He fucks into her, holding onto her hips so tight that his thumbs press against her hip bones. She writhes, and her legs damn near squeeze the life out of him as he hits spots in her that she didn’t even think to be possible.

“Keep squeezin’ me like that—yeah,” he groans out, throwing his head back as well.

Her moans seem to have run out despite her mouth hanging wide open. She’s completely silent, unable to scream as he digs her out.

“Uh—fuck, I’m ‘bout to c-cum—” Ony’s resolve seems to be cracking as his voice waivers with his moans.

Her legs tremble and her pretty toes curl so tight that her feet almost cramp up.

A burning heat flashes throughout his body as his orgasm catches him by surprise. His mouth drops open and his muscles tense before he leans down, dropping them back onto the mattress as he pushes his face into her neck.

Senselessly, Onyankopon ruts into her, riding out his nut until he stops filling the condom. The overstimulation pushes Bliss over the edge as well.

Her orgasm comes crashing down around them as her pussy clenches down on him, only wetting his dick further. She hugs him close, keeping him from pulling out too soon.

“Awe fuck,” he mumbles. As his lips had moved against the skin of her neck, it tickles her.

She giggles.

“Fuck you laughing for?”

She can hear the smile in his voice.

“Tickles,” she breathes out. Shifting beneath him, she can still feel him inside of her, softening by the minute.

His chest rumbles with a deep sigh. “This shit got me … wantin’ to pass out.”

She hums in agreement, slowly dragging a hand up and down his back. His body is hot, a bit sweaty, too. She doesn’t doubt that hers feels the same way to him.

Movements filled with fatigue, Onyankopon pushes himself up to look down at her. Her makeup is definitely fucked up, courtesy of tonight’s events. And yet, he can’t stop himself from smiling when he stares at her.

“What?” She laughs, growing just a little bit shy.

“You better than a fuckin’ blunt after a show.”

She breaks into a full on laugh, giving him a much clearer view of her cute gap. “Thanks?”

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “I definitely gotta keep you around.”

And even if he didn’t want to, Bliss doesn’t think she’d let him go.

…

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jaegsnicotine · 15 days ago

Text

Ocean Waves,

Sands, and

Kisses. | Eren Jaeger

NSFW — part 2

A/N: if we go down then we’ll go down together baes cuz wtf did i just wrote🥰 as always, hope yall enjoy mwah mwah. comments and likes are sooo much appreciated, i’d looovee to hear your opinions!

PART 2.

You wanna try?”

The question lingers between you, light as the sea breeze yet heavy in your chest.

You stare at him, the man before you, the one with sun-kissed skin and a gaze that mirrors the ocean itself—vast, untamed, impossible to pin down.

You hesitate.

The idea of it—the ocean, the waves, the way the water never stays still—feels daunting. And yet, standing here, with his question hanging in the salty air, it’s not just the ocean you’re unsure of.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

“I don’t think I do,” you finally say, the words slipping out softer than intended, almost like an apology.

He doesn’t react much. There’s no disappointment, no persuasion, no attempt to change your mind. Just a slow blink, a tilt of his head, and then—

“Alright.”

That’s it.

No protest. No lingering look. Just an acceptance as simple as the waves meeting the shore.

And then he turns, his presence retreating just as easily as it had arrived.

Something in your chest pulls tight.

You watch him walk away, the sand shifting beneath his bare feet, his movements effortless, unrushed. The wind plays with his hair, tousling the strands as he makes his way back toward the spot where his dog waits, a border collie bouncing eagerly in another surfboard of his.

It’s as if he never expected you to say yes in the first place.

As if your answer was insignificant.

As if you are.

Your arms wrap around yourself, the sea breeze nipping at your skin. He’s already further now, steps growing smaller in the distance, his figure blending into the vastness of the horizon.

And you—

You remain stuck in place.

Like a wave that never fully crashes.

Like something unfinished.

The weight in your chest shifts, uncertainty pressing against your ribs. There’s a small voice in the back of your mind, one that whispers that maybe—just maybe—you should have said yes.

Not for the ocean.

Not for the surfing.

But for something else entirely.

Your eyes trace the fading imprint of his footsteps, the sand already swallowing them whole. Like he was never here. Like this moment, this fleeting offer will be gone forever if you don’t do something now.

Maybe, just this once…

Maybe you need to feel what it’s like to be weightless, too.

Before you can stop yourself, you take a step forward. Then another.

"Wait."

The word leaves your lips before you can think. Before you can stop yourself.

His steps slow.

You move.

"Excuse me—wait!"

He turns, the dying sunlight catching in his eyes, painting gold into deep green.

You don’t know what you’re expecting to see in his face—surprise, amusement, maybe even mild irritation—but instead, there’s nothing. Not cold, not warm, just unreadable.

It makes your pulse quicken, suddenly unsure what to say now that you have his attention again.

You stop a few feet away, swallowing down the nerves rising in your throat.

"I changed my mind," you say, the admission barely above a breath.

A pause.

Then, with the same quiet acceptance as before, he nods toward the red surfboard he had abandoned earlier. "Alright, then."

No question. No why.

Just alright.

It should be unnerving. It should be frustrating.

Instead, it feels like relief.

—

The ocean is colder than you expected.

It licks at your ankles first, then climbs higher as you follow him into the water, the chill sending a shiver up your spine. The red surfboard bobs lightly in the waves as he drags it along, his hand steady where it grips the edge.

"You alright?"

You glance at him. He’s watching you, not impatient, not expectant—just waiting.

You nod. "Yeah."

A flicker of something crosses his face, too brief to name, before he gestures toward the board. "Get on."

It should be simple. It’s just a surfboard. It’s just water.

But the moment you place your hands on the smooth surface, the weight of it all settles in.

You’re not used to this. To the unpredictability, the lack of solid ground. The ocean shifts beneath you, restless, uncaring of your hesitation.

He notices.

"You don’t have to do this," he says, voice calm, steady.

But you do.

Because if you don’t, you’ll regret it.

Swallowing hard, you push yourself up, chest pressing against the board, legs trailing in the water. The position is awkward, foreign. You grip the edges tightly, heart pounding at how unsteady it all feels.

His voice reaches you again, low and grounding. "We’ll paddle out first. Then, when we get to the right spot, you’ll try to stand."

You nod, though your grip doesn’t loosen.

"You can hold onto me if you need to," he offers.

A part of you bristles at the suggestion, at the idea of needing to rely on someone else. But another part—the one drowning in uncertainty—almost reaches for him.

Instead, you shake your head. "I think I’m okay."

He doesn’t argue.

"Alright."

And then he moves.

The ocean stretches before you, endless and deep. You follow as best you can, paddling through the water, your muscles already aching from the unfamiliar motion. The board wobbles beneath you, the waves rolling beneath its surface, making you hyperaware of every shift, every tilt.

Then—

Your hair whips forward, strands flying into your face, tangling in the wind.

The man exhales sharply. And before you can react, his fingers brush against your skin, tucking the loose strands behind your ear.

You freeze.

Not because of the touch itself, but because of how natural it feels. Quick. Thoughtless. Like he didn’t even need to consider it.

Like it was instinct.

"Better?"

Your throat feels dry. "Yeah."

His voice is steady as he starts explaining. How to balance, how to move with the board, how to stand when the time comes. You listen, trying to take it all in, but there’s something about his voice that keeps pulling you back—deep, slow, deliberate, like the waves themselves.

You fail. Again. And again.

Each time, frustration builds, bubbling in your chest. But before you can even voice it, before you can let the words I’m sorry slip out—

"It’s alright," he says.

Like he knew you were going to say it. Like there was never any need to.

"Try again."

And you do.

Until finally—finally—the sky has begun its descent into gold, the sun dipping lower, the water turning softer, warmer.

And you’re standing.

Shaky, unsteady, but standing.

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, breathless and disbelieving. You barely get to enjoy the moment before a wave comes in, knocking you off balance.

The last thing you hear before you hit the water is a distant shit—

Strong arms pull you up.

You blink up, water dripping down your face, into your eyes. He’s close—closer than before, his hands firm around your waist, keeping you upright as the waves move around you. His body shields you from the worst of it, breaking the force before it can knock you back under.

You should pull away.

But you don’t.

The ocean moves around you both, restless and endless, and yet, in this moment, everything feels still.

You meet his eyes. His face is unreadable, but there’s something in the way he looks at you—something that makes your breath catch.

It takes a second before he finally speaks.

"Anything hurt?"

You shake your head.

He doesn’t move right away. Just stays there, watching you.

Then, gently, he guides you back to the board. Back to the shore.

By the time you reach the sand, the sky has melted into warm hues, the sun almost gone. The others are further down the beach, but here, it’s quiet. Just the two of you.

The two of you sit by the shore, close enough to hear each other over the waves but not close enough to touch. The sand sticks to your damp skin, the sun dipping lower, casting a golden hue over the water. Your legs are stretched out, toes buried in the cool, grainy texture, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you aren’t thinking about anything else.

Just this. Just now.

“You live around here?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence.

He exhales, gaze fixed on the horizon. “No.” A pause. “Wish I did, though.”

You tilt your head slightly, considering that. “Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. For a moment, you think he might not answer at all. Then, with a slow breath, he says, “Feels… open.”

Your brows furrow slightly. Open?

He gestures toward the ocean with a small tilt of his head. “No walls. No borders. Just… space.”

You follow his gaze, watching the way the waves stretch endlessly, no end in sight. You’ve never thought of it that way before. The ocean, to you, has always felt unpredictable, restless, untamed. But to him… it’s something else entirely.

“You don’t like feeling closed in?” you ask carefully.

Something flickers in his expression—just for a second—before it disappears, swallowed up by the dimming light of the setting sun.

“No.”

He doesn’t elaborate. You don’t push.

And yet, somehow, you understand.

A silence settles between you, but it’s not heavy. It’s the kind that lingers when two people are just existing in the same space, watching the same sky turn gold and orange and pink. The ocean hums in the background, waves rolling in steady and slow. You hug your knees to your chest, letting the salty air cling to your skin, your damp hair curling from the sea breeze.

“You surf a lot?” you ask after a while, turning your head slightly toward him.

He hums, as if thinking. “Yeah.”

“That was my first time.”

He glances at you, something amused glinting in his eyes. “Figured.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “I was that bad?”

His lips twitch, almost like he’s fighting a smirk. “You did fine.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway.

You don’t know why, but you like sitting here with him. Talking in slow, careful exchanges, the conversation flowing without ever feeling forced.

You open your mouth, about to ask something else—maybe where he’s from, maybe something else entirely—when a voice calls your name from the distance.

“There you are.”

You turn, finding Historia standing a few feet away, arms crossed. Her gaze flickers between you and the man beside you, brows pinching slightly. “We’re about to eat. Come on.”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the interruption.

When you turn back, he’s already standing. He brushes the sand off his hands, gives you a small nod, and mutters, “See you around,” like this was just another passing moment in his life. Like he was ready to leave without looking back.

And maybe he was.

But for some reason, you’re not.

Before you can second-guess yourself, your hand reaches out. Not for him, not directly—but for the silver chain bracelet around his wrist, fingers lightly catching the cool metal before he can step away.

He stills.

His gaze flicks down to where your fingers barely touch his bracelet, then drags up to meet your eyes. His expression remains unreadable, but there’s something in the way he looks at you, something you can’t quite decipher.

You swallow, suddenly hyper aware of how impulsive this is, but you don’t let go.

Instead, you sit there, still half-turned toward him on the sand, the wind playing with the loose strands of your hair. Your heart beats a little faster.

You don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s something else entirely.

But for whatever reason, you feel like you need to know.

“Your name,” you say, soft but certain. “What is it?”

He watches you for a beat, silent. Like he’s debating whether to answer or not.

Then, finally—

“Eren.”

You repeat it in your head first, then quietly on your tongue. Testing the weight of it, the sound of it. It suits him, you think.

And then, without really thinking, you smile up at him. A real smile, small but genuine, your lips curving before you murmur, “I’m [♡]. Thanks for today, Eren.”

Something shifts in his expression. Subtle, barely there. But for the first time since you met him, his gaze lingers, just for a second too long.

And though he says nothing—deep down—he kind of likes that smile on you. It looks better than your puffy, red eyes.

A small nod. Then he says your name—quiet, gentle, and it somehow sounds so right when he says it. You want to hear it again over and over.

He left the second after, calling out his dog as it followed him away. While you finally also stand up, watching until he’s far enough gone.

—

As you and Historia walk back toward the others, the warm sand shifting beneath your feet, she nudges your shoulder lightly.

“So…” she starts, dragging out the word, a smirk already forming. “Who was that?”

You don’t answer right away. Your gaze flickers toward the ring on your ring finger. For the first time ever, the face flashing on your mind as you do so is not Porco’s, your boyfriend.

“Just someone who helped me out,” you say, voice carefully even.

Historia isn’t buying it. She raises a brow. “Right. Just someone.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t even know him.”

“But you wanted to.”

That makes you pause.

Because it’s true.

Something about him—his presence, the way he carried himself, the way he watched you with that quiet, unreadable gaze—made you *want* to understand him. Made you crave just a little more than what he had given.

Historia must see the way your expression shifts because her smirk softens into something more knowing. “Well,” she says, linking her arm through yours, “he was kinda hot.”

You huff out a small laugh, shaking your head. “That’s not the point.”

“Oh, so there’s a point?”

You sigh, nudging her playfully. “I hate you.”

She grins. “No, you don’t.”

You don’t.

But as you walk, the ocean breeze still clinging to your skin, the weight of his name still lingering in your mind, you realize maybe you’re not done figuring out what exactly the point is.

—

Some weeks have passed and you’re doomed.

No matter how much you try to push him out of your head, he lingers.

Like the scent of salt in your hair after a day at the beach, like the warmth of the sun long after it’s set. His name, his face, the deep, steady timbre of his voice—they’re always there. And it’s starting to drive you insane.

You don’t even know why.

You barely know him.

And yet, he’s been occupying too much space in your mind ever since that day.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so frustrating if things were different. If your life wasn’t already complicated enough. But the thing is—you have a boyfriend.

And that thought alone makes your stomach churn.

It’s not even like you did anything. You just met someone at the beach, and he happened to stay in your thoughts a little longer than you’d like. It doesn’t mean anything. And yet, deep down, it feels like something, and you can’t shake the shame that comes with it.

Because Porco is nothing but good to you.

He treats you like you’re the most precious thing in the world, like you’re his queen, his everything. No one—absolutely no one—would ever believe that he was capable of cheating on you. Not with the way he treats you, not with the way he loves you.

And yet, he did.

The knowledge of it has been eating you alive.

Because you still haven’t broken up with him.

You don’t even know why. Maybe it’s because of the way he holds you, the way he makes you feel special, the way he convinces you that you’re the only one that matters, even when you know it’s a lie.

Or maybe it’s because a part of you is scared to let go.

—

“You want me to take you where?”

Porco glances at you from the driver’s seat, brows furrowed in confusion.

“The beach,” you say again, staring out the window as the buildings blur past.

“The beach?” he repeats, like he didn’t hear you right the first time. “Since when do you like the beach?”

You hesitate.

You don’t.

But for some reason, you need to be there.

“I just… want some fresh air,” you say, keeping your tone light.

Porco is still frowning, but he doesn’t question it further. “Alright, if that’s what you want.”

The drive is quiet, except for the faint hum of the radio playing in the background. Porco holds your hand the entire ride. His fingers are warm, wrapped securely around yours, thumb brushing gently over your skin. Every so often, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing soft kisses to your knuckles like he’s trying to brand the feeling into your bones.

Like he’s never done anything to betray you.

Like he isn’t lying straight to your face.

When you finally arrive, Porco parks near the entrance, cutting the engine.

He turns to you, a small smile playing on his lips. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just needed some time alone.”

He hums, as if considering something, before reaching for you. His hand cups your cheek gently, tilting your face toward his. And then, before you can think, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

It’s slow. Sweet.

Like nothing’s wrong.

Like he never betrayed you.

When he pulls away, his thumb brushes against your cheek, his gaze warm. “I’d stay with you, but I promised my mom I’d be home early.”

You swallow down the bitter laugh threatening to spill out.

His mom. Right.

“I get it,” you say instead, forcing a small smile.

Porco grins, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “Call me if you want me to pick you up, yeah?”

You nod.

And then, just like that, he’s gone.

—

The waves crash rhythmically against the shore, the scent of salt filling the air as you walk along the sand. You hadn’t brought a swimsuit, still dressed in the clothes you wore to class, but you don’t mind. You hadn’t planned on swimming anyway.

You just needed to breath.

Your gaze drifts toward the ocean, and that’s when you see him.

Out there, in the middle of the waves.

His movements are effortless, the water bending to his will as he cuts through it with precision. He looks so at ease, like he belongs there. And maybe he does. The sea is free, untamed, just like him.

You don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until something crashes into you.

A sharp yelp leaves your lips as you lose balance, falling onto the sand with a startled gasp.

A dog.

A big, soaking-wet dog.

You blink in surprise before a laugh escapes you. The dog is all over you, its fur damp from the ocean, tail wagging excitedly. Its collar catches your eye, the name ‘Aero’ etched into the metal tag.

“You’re a menace,” you murmur, running a hand through its fur as it licks at your wrist.

“That explains a lot.”

You freeze at the voice.

Glancing up, you find him standing a few feet away, his surfboard tucked under one arm, droplets of seawater trailing down his skin. He’s watching you, one brow slightly raised, expression unreadable.

The last time you saw him, the sun had been setting, casting shadows across his face. Now, with the daylight hitting him directly, you can see him clearly. The sharp angles of his jaw, the striking green of his eyes, the way his damp hair sticks messily to his forehead. The silver chain around his neck.

You suddenly feel very small.

“Hey,” you say, a little awkwardly.

He glances at Aero, who is still all over you. “Didn’t take you for a dog person.”

You huff, pushing Aero off gently before dusting the sand off your clothes. “Didn’t exactly have a choice.”

His lips twitch slightly, like he’s amused. But it disappears just as fast as it came.

“You wanna learn to surf again?” he asks, tilting his head.

You blink. “No.”

That makes him pause. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I just wanted some fresh air,” you admit.

He watches you for a moment, like he’s trying to figure something out. And then, after a beat, he says, “Come on.”

You frown. “What?”

“There’s a beach bar nearby,” he says simply. “Best drinks you’ll ever have.”

You hesitate.

But then, against all logic, you find yourself nodding.

You fall into step beside him, the sand warm beneath your feet as the waves roll lazily against the shore. He walks with an effortless kind of ease, hands tucked into the pockets of his board shorts, his surfboard left behind near where Aero had tackled you. He doesn’t seem in a rush, his strides slow, unbothered.

The silence lingers between you for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable.

It gives you time to think.

Time to acknowledge the way the sun catches in his damp hair, the way his skin glistens with residual saltwater, the way his presence feels strangely grounding despite the turbulence in your own mind.

The fact that you’re even here, walking beside him, still doesn’t make sense to you.

You’re not sure what makes less sense—the fact that you sought him out in the first place or the fact that you feel drawn to him.

And maybe he notices your thoughts straying, because his voice cuts through the quiet.

“So,” he says, glancing at you. “You just happened to end up at the same beach again?”

“Yeah.”

His brows lift slightly, unconvinced.

You exhale, shifting your gaze toward the ocean. “It’s close to my campus.”

“That right?”

“Yeah.”

“Same,” he says.

That makes you stop for a second, turning to look at him properly. “Wait—really?”

“Yeah.” He lifts a brow at your reaction.

“You’re a student?”

He huffs a small laugh. “What, I don’t look like one?”

You hesitate, scanning him over. If you’re being honest, no—he doesn’t. He looks like he belongs here, not in a classroom. You wouldn’t have pegged him as a college student at all.

But now that he’s said it, you’re curious.

“What’s your major?” you ask, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you’ve apparently been on the same campus as him this whole time.

“Architecture.”

That catches you off guard. “Huh.”

“Huh, what?” he teases, arching a brow.

You shrug, smiling slightly. “I just… didn’t expect that.”

His eyes glint with amusement. “And what did you expect?”

You purse your lips, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe a full-time beach bum.”

He lets out a short laugh. “That’s a solid backup plan.”

You shake your head, still in disbelief.

“What’s yours?” he asked.

“Dentistry.”

He nods, whistling. “Figured.”

You raise an eyebrow at his reaction, but chuckle along. “We’re in the same year?”

“Yeah. Graduating next year.”

The realization settles in. You’ve gone your whole time in university without ever noticing him—until now. And now, here he is, walking beside you like you’ve known each other longer than just a few days.

You don’t know why, but it unsettles you a little.

Maybe because deep down, you know this—whatever this is—is something you shouldn’t be doing.

—

The beach bar stands out against the shoreline with its oversized neon sign flashing a name so ridiculous, you almost snort.

The Salty Coconut.

It’s got everything—a giant cartoon coconut wearing sunglasses, a thatched roof that barely looks stable, and a whole wall of surfboards propped up beside the counter.

You follow him inside, taking in the mix of locals and tourists scattered around, some lounging on mismatched stools, others standing by the open windows where the ocean breeze drifts through. The bartender, a guy with a buzzed-cut and an easy grin, perks up the moment he sees him.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again this soon.”

He leans against the counter, nodding toward you. “She’s never been here.”

The bartender’s gaze flickers to you, his grin widening. “That so?”

You shift slightly under his attention, not used to being in places like this.

“Well, in that case, first round’s on me,” the bartender says, already grabbing a couple of glasses. “Best damn drinks on this beach.”

You glance at the boy beside you. He’s watching you, head tilted slightly.

“You don’t have to drink,” he says, like he can sense your hesitation.

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine.”

Because deep down, you want to stay.

The drink arrives, a vibrant mix of tropical colors in a tall glass, the rim coated with sugar. You take a tentative sip, and immediately, your face scrunches up.

You don’t usually drink. Not because of any strong stance against it—you just never liked the taste. But apparently, that’s not the case for him.

He drinks like it’s second nature, taking a long sip before setting his glass down with an easy sigh. When he notices your expression, he lets out a low chuckle.

“Not your thing?”

You shake your head slightly. “Not really.”

He shifts, then lifts a hand toward the bartender. “Connie—”

You stop him before he can order something else. “It’s fine,” you say quickly. “I actually feel like I need it.”

His eyes flick to yours, and for a moment, he just looks at you. Like he’s seeing something past your words, something you’re not outright saying.

Then, he leans back slightly. His gaze turns unreadable, but his next words are careful.

“You can talk.”

And for a second, you almost do.

You almost tell him everything—the way your mind has been a mess ever since that first day, the way guilt gnaws at your stomach even though you know you shouldn’t be the one feeling guilty.

But you don’t.

Instead, you exhale, swirling the drink in your hand. “My boyfriend and I aren’t really… doing well.”

Silence.

Then, he blinks. “You have a boyfriend?”

His tone isn’t angry. It’s just… surprise, disbelief maybe.

You let out an awkward laugh, taking another sip. He watches you carefully. Then, after a moment, his lips part slightly.

“Why the fuck are you here with me, then?”

You pause. You don’t really have an answer to that.

Your fingers tighten around your drink. “I don’t know.”

For the first time tonight, he looks away. Exhales through his nose. Then, after a beat, he shifts slightly, still not meeting your gaze.

“So, I ain’t gonna be the best choice for your problem,” he mutters, voice low. “But I can listen.”

You hum softly, taking another sip. The alcohol sits warm in your chest, and suddenly, everything feels too much.

You exhale, heavier this time. Your eyes burn, throat tightening.

Before you realize it, you’re laying your head down on your arms, voice muffled as you murmur, “I don’t know if the problem is with me or what.”

The words come out quiet. Defeated.

Eren doesn’t say anything. He just listens, drink in hand. You don’t say anything else after that, eyes closed. Your mind starts to wonder if you’re the reason, if maybe you just weren’t enough. Maybe if you were prettier, more fun, less… you, he wouldn’t have—

When you finally lift your head again, your face is hot and damp, cheeks stained with tears.

The moment Eren sees those tears staining your cheeks, your trembling lips, he sighed, rolling his eyes.

You barely even register Eren moving—only that, suddenly, his hand is brushing your face, thumb wiping away the wetness at your cheekbone.

“Don’t,” he mutters. His jaw is tight, eyes darker than before. “Don’t fucking cry.”

You freeze, suddenly thinking he’s mad at you. Your breath catches. “I—I’m sorry—”

He exhales sharply. “That’s not—” He stops himself, running a hand through his hair. Then, lower, rougher, “I’m not mad at you.”

You hesitate. He’s looking at you like he’s warring with himself, like something about your tears is fucking him up just as much as they’re fucking you up.

He leans back slightly, studying you. “I’m not good at comforting people,” he mutters. “So take what you want from me that’ll make you feel better.”

Your breath stutters.

Your chest feels hollow. Your mind is still stuck on Porco, on all the fucking questions swirling in your head, but right now—

Right now, Eren is here.

And you want to forget.

You slip off the stool, moving between his legs. His expression doesn’t change—just watches, eyes hooded, jaw tight.

You can see him up close from here, can sniff his strong cologne—sweet, fresh, and masculine scent blending with the remaining sea water. What is it? Vanilla? White musk? You’re not sure but damn he smells good.

You tilt your head up, voice quieter now.

“Can I kiss you?”

Eren doesn’t answer. Just leans in, closing the distance.

The second his lips touch yours, the world tilts.

It’s not soft. It’s not hesitant.

It’s slow, deep, purposeful.

His hand finds your waist, fingers pressing into your skin, pulling you closer—like he’s taking something from you, like he knows you’ll let him.

And the worst part? You will.

But you’re not just letting him have you.

You press forward, mouth opening against his, tongue teasing at the seam of his lips until he gives in and lets you in.

A deep sound rumbles from his chest as you kiss him deeper, greedier, fingers curling in the front of his shirt to pull him closer.

And fuck, it’s different. It’s not like Porco—not familiar, not safe.

It’s new. It’s intoxicating.

Eren’s fingers trail down your back, gripping your hip, tilting his head to take more of you, and you let him—give it to him, steal it from him, neither of you sure which.

And then—

“Ahem—Jaeger.”

You snap back, breathless, dazed, pulse thrumming in your ears.

The bartender raises a brow. “You do know I rent rooms in the back, right?”

Eren lets out a slow, low chuckle, the sound rumbling through your bones. His lips graze yours, barely touching, making you shiver.

“Yeah?” he murmurs. “You want to?”

Your body burns. Fuck, you’re dying over here.

You hesitate, biting your lip, suddenly silent. It’s too much. He’s too much.

Eren tilts his head, pressing another slow, teasing kiss to your lips—lighter, but somehow more devastating. “You sure?”

You nod slowly, unable to bring yourself to speak.

Still, he doesn’t move. Not convinced by your simple answer.

“C’mon, tell me,” he murmurs.

Your fingers curl against his chest, tugging on his chain. Fuck that voice of his.

“Yeah,” you look up at him, eyes glossy. “want to, Eren.”

That’s all it takes.

Eren tosses cash onto the counter before grabbing your wrist, pulling you through the back door—where a row of small villas waits in the dim light.

The door barely clicks shut before Eren’s hands are on you.

A gasp barely escapes your lips before he shoves you against the wood, the force rattling through your bones, but you don’t care—you barely get the chance to breathe before his mouth crashes onto yours, rough, demanding, stealing the air straight from your lungs.

It’s overwhelming. The way he kisses you, how his hands are already tugging at your clothes, how his body presses so close you can feel every muscle, every hard inch of him against you.

And fuck—this isn’t like before.

Porco had never touched you like this. Never kissed you like he wanted to consume you whole. His hands were never this greedy, his mouth never this filthy. Eren was different—he handled you like he already fucking owned you.

His palms skim up your thighs, pushing your skirt up, fingers teasing at the edge of your panties before yanking them down in one swift motion, leaving them tangled around your knees. His lips are still on yours, his tongue pushing deep, sucking on your bottom lip before he pulls back just enough to mutter against your mouth, “Let me see how fucking wet you are.”

You shudder as his fingers slide between your folds, teasing, pressing. A broken moan slips past your lips when he drags his fingers up your slit, thumb flicking at your clit before dipping two fingers inside without warning.

“Oh my god—” you choke, arching into his touch, your nails digging into his arms.

His fingers fuck into you, deep and slow, stretching you open as the slick, filthy sound of your pussy fills the quiet villa.

“That’s it,” Eren breathes, watching the way your thighs shake, the way you whimper against his lips. “Goddamn, you’re dripping. All this for me?”

“Y-yes,” you whine, hands gripping his shirt.

He chuckles, amused. “That desperate, huh?”

His fingers curl just right, pressing against the spot that makes you shudder, and you don’t even realize the word slipping past your lips until it’s too late.

“D-Daddy—”

Eren freezes. Then—his whole body tenses, his eyes snapping to yours.

A smirk spreads across his lips, slow, wicked. “The fuck did you just call me?”

You suck in a breath, mortified, shaking your head, but he’s already grinning, fingers pumping harder, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Say it again.”

“N-no, I—”

“C’mon, baby,” he croons, voice low, teasing. His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing tight circles, making you whimper. “Pussy all wet for daddy, huh?”

You’re about to break, your entire body trembling, the pressure in your stomach tightening—

But then he stops.

Pulls his fingers out.

And shoves them straight into your mouth.

Your moan is muffled, eyes wide as he pushes his fingers deeper onto your tongue. “Suck,” he orders.

You do, tongue swirling around his fingers, tasting yourself, moaning as he watches you with those hungry, darkened eyes.

“Fuck,” he groans, yanking his fingers free. Before you can even process the loss, he grabs you, hoisting you up, carrying you straight to the bed before tossing you onto the mattress.

You barely bounce before he’s on you again, yanking your shirt open, buttons flying. It’s tossed to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your skirt and bra.

Eren pulls down his shorts just enough, his cock springing free, and when you reach out, eager to touch him, he slaps your hand away.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts, shaking his head. “Not yet.”

He leans in, lips brushing against your ear. “Fucking show me where you want me.”

You swallow hard, breath shaky, but you do it—you trail your fingers down your stomach, slipping beneath your skirt, spreading your legs wider as you start rubbing yourself, moaning at the sensation.

Eren watches, jaw tight, his fist wrapping around his cock as he strokes himself slowly, eyes dark with lust. “Goddamn,” he breathes, rubbing his thumb over his slit, shuddering. “So fucking pretty.”

You’re getting close again, body trembling, moans getting louder, but just as you’re about to tip over the edge, Eren grabs your wrist, stopping you.

You whimper, eyes glassy with desperation, but he only smirks, dragging your hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around him, his own hand covering yours as he makes you stroke him.

“Feel that?” he growls, guiding your movements. “That’s all for you, baby.”

Your breath stutters, thighs pressing together, so fucking desperate for him.

He leans down, mouth brushing against yours, voice dripping with sin. “Bet your boyfriend never made you feel like this, huh?”

Your stomach clenches, shame and arousal twisting inside you, but you don’t deny it.

Eren chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating through your bones. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

His grip tightens around your wrist, movements rougher now, but you don’t care—you’re too lost in the moment, too lost in the feeling of him.

“Need you,” you beg, voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Eren, need you inside me—”

He curses, pulling away just long enough to reach into his back pocket, pulling out a condom.

But before he can tear it open, you grab his wrist. “No,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Don’t—just, just fuck me raw, please, I—”

Eren groans, his forehead pressing against yours. “Nah, baby,” he murmurs, voice soft but firm. “Can’t risk you anything.”

You pout, frustrated, needy, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, before rolling the condom on.

Then—he slides inside.

Your mouth falls open, eyes rolling back as the stretch burns, just the tip already pushing you to the brink.

Eren groans, watching your face, mesmerized, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still. “Goddamn,” he rasps. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Your nails dig into his arms, tears welling in your eyes. “Eren—”

“I got you, baby,” he murmurs, voice softer, almost sweet as he presses kisses to your jaw. “Just breathe. Let me in.”

Eren stills, letting you adjust, his jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your hips like he’s barely holding himself back.

You’re so full. So stretched. The pressure is overwhelming, and you squirm beneath him, gasping as your walls flutter around him, trying to accommodate the sheer size of him.

His breath is ragged against your skin, his forehead pressing against yours. "Can I move?" His voice is strained, wrecked with restraint. "You okay, baby?"

You nod, a whimper escaping your lips, fingers clenching against his arms. "Y-yeah—"

He pulls back, just a little, and pushes in deeper. You cry out, back arching, legs trembling around him.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his head to your neck. "So fucking tight—"

His hips rock into you, slow at first, rolling against you in deep, deliberate thrusts that have your head spinning. Each drag of his cock along your walls is torturous, spreading fire through your veins.

His hand trails down your stomach, slipping between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. He rubs it in lazy circles, sending jolts of pleasure through you, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

The slow, teasing pace has you on edge, body tensed, desperately needing more. You try to move, to rock your hips against him, but his grip tightens on your waist, pinning you down.

“Nuh-uh,” he murmurs, smirking. "Let me take my time with you."

You whimper, nails raking down his back as he keeps his strokes deep and slow, each thrust pulling a wrecked moan from your lips.

The buildup is agonizing—he keeps you teetering on the edge, bringing you higher and higher, dragging out every second until you're trembling, incoherent, only able to beg for more.

And then—it hits.

A sudden, sharp spike of pleasure coils in your stomach, too intense, too much, and panic seizes you.

"Ren—" Your voice is high, breathless. "Feel something—"

His thrusts don’t falter. "Yeah?" He breathes against your skin. "Give it to me, pretty girl. C’mon."

You gasp, fingers clawing at his shoulders. "Fuck—no, Eren, stop—gonna—"

Your body tenses, legs snapping shut around his waist, trying to fight it—but it’s useless.

Eren just chuckles, amused, his thumb pressing harder against your clit.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Let it out, baby."

And then—you break.

A choked sob escapes your throat as pleasure crashes over you, your body convulsing, thighs shaking, and Eren groans, throwing his head back as you squirt all over him. His hands gripping your thighs as he slows for just a second—before his lips curl into a smirk.

“Holy fuck,” he growls, voice thick with lust.

But he's not done.

Not even close.

He pulls out, flipping you onto your stomach, yanking your ass up, pushing your back into a perfect arch.

"Do that again for me," he murmurs, running his palm over your ass before delivering a sharp slap that makes you jolt.

You whimper, trying to catch your breath, but he’s already pushing back in, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust.

"Fuck—" you cry out, gripping the sheets.

Eren groans, his hands tightening on your hips, pulling you back onto his cock, setting a brutal pace.

"Goddamn," he growls. "Bet your boyfriend doesn’t know his sweet fucking girlfriend is just a slut for me, huh?"

Your breath hitches, heat flashing through you, but before you can react, another sharp slap lands on your ass, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Probably doesn’t even know about me," Eren continues, voice taunting, mean. "Poor bastard."

Tears sting your eyes, the pleasure too much, too overwhelming.

"Eren—"

“What?” He grips your hair, yanking your head back just enough for his lips to brush against your ear. "You can take it, right? Wanna be my good girl?"

You nod frantically, whimpering, mindless. "Yes—yes, please—"

His hand slips between your legs again, fingers rubbing your clit hard and fast, too much, too soon—

You sob, body spasming again as another orgasm rips through you, your vision going white, your legs shaking as you squirt for the second time.

“C’mon,” he growls, snapping his hips harder. “Fucking cum for me again.”

You shake your head, overwhelmed. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he snarls, rubbing faster. “Gimme another one.”

And you do.

Your whole body trembles as you squirt again, pleasure so intense it nearly knocks you out.

Eren groans, his thrusts turning erratic before he curses, slamming deep, spilling into the condom.

Your legs feel weak, your body trembling from the intensity of your last orgasm, but Eren isn’t giving you a break.

“C’mere,” he mutters, sitting back against the headboard, his hands gripping your waist to pull you onto his lap.

Your thighs shake as you straddle him, your hands braced against his shoulders for support. His cock, still hard and slick from fucking you, presses against your entrance, teasing, waiting.

“Go on, baby,” he murmurs, a lazy smirk curling his lips. “Ride me.”

You swallow, already breathless, but you lift your hips, reaching down to guide him to your entrance. The stretch burns all over again as you sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch, your walls struggling to accommodate his thickness.

Eren groans, his fingers digging into your hips. “Fuck,” he mutters, watching as you struggle to take him all the way.

You exhale shakily, adjusting to the stretch, planting your feet more firmly against the bed before you begin to move.

It’s harder than you expected. Your muscles are sore, your legs feel weak, and your movements are shaky as you roll your hips, trying to keep a steady pace. You try your best—bouncing on his cock, grinding down, circling your hips just the way you think he likes it—but it’s messy, your rhythm faltering as you let out little gasps, your thighs burning from the effort.

Eren watches with amusement, his smirk deepening as he lets you struggle for a while.

“Shit,” you pant, frustrated, sweat slicking your skin as you try to keep moving.

“Having trouble?” he teases, his hands coasting up your sides, his thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts.

You shake your head stubbornly, refusing to ask for help. “I can do it,” you mutter, biting your lip.

But your body betrays you. Your pace stutters again, your legs trembling, and Eren chuckles lowly, shaking his head.

“Yeah, sure,” he muses, before gripping your hips tight.

Before you can protest, he thrusts up into you. Hard.

A broken cry rips from your throat as his cock slams deep, your body jerking forward, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Eren—”

“Yeah?” he taunts, snapping his hips up again, forcing a strangled moan from your lips. “What happened, baby? Thought you had it?”

You can’t answer. Can’t do anything but hold onto him as he fucks up into you, setting a brutal, punishing pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, mixed with your desperate moans and his ragged groans.

Your head falls forward, forehead resting against his as you pant, helpless against the way he takes control.

“Feel good?” he murmurs against your lips, voice dark, teasing.

You nod weakly, barely able to think straight, your entire body shaking from the force of his thrusts.

Eren chuckles, dragging his lips along your jaw before whispering in your ear. “Yeahhh, just need me to fuck that pretty cunt right for you, hm?”

You don’t even care. You’re too lost in the pleasure, too fucking close—

And then you’re gone, your orgasm crashing through you, your walls pulsing, your entire body convulsing as you cry out his name, and he soon follows.

You're still trembling when Eren shifts, his grip firm as he pushes you onto your back. Your body is oversensitive, every nerve still buzzing from your last orgasm, but he doesn’t care.

He’s already moving, kissing a path down your body, lingering on your stomach, your hips, before settling between your legs. His breath ghosts over your drenched heat, and you shudder.

“Eren—” your voice is weak, a mix of pleasure and overstimulation.

He hums lazily, fingers sliding up your inner thighs, spreading you wider despite the way you instinctively try to close them. His lips brush over your clit, teasing, just enough to make you jolt.

You gasp, hips twitching away. “Wait, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. “And you will.”

And then his mouth is on you.

A sharp cry leaves your lips as his tongue flicks over your clit, slow and precise, sending a fresh wave of heat through your already wrecked body. You’re still so sensitive, every touch almost too much, and you try to push him away, hands flying to his hair, his shoulders—anything to make him stop.

But Eren doesn’t budge.

His arms loop around your thighs, holding you down with a bruising grip as he eats you out like he’s starving. His tongue dips into you, slow and deep, before dragging up to circle your clit again, his lips sealing around it to suck just hard enough to make your entire body jolt.

“Fuck—” your voice breaks, your back arching off the bed as you writhe beneath him. “Eren, please—”

You don’t even know what you’re begging for. To stop? To keep going? You’re too far gone to tell the difference anymore.

He groans against you, the vibrations sending another shock of pleasure straight through your core. Your hands twist in his hair, pulling, trying to shove him away, but he just growls, tightening his grip, pushing his face even deeper between your legs.

"Stay still, baby," he mutters against your soaked cunt, his voice dark, commanding. "Take it."

You can’t. You really fucking can’t. Your body is twisting, thrashing, trying to escape the relentless pleasure, but he doesn’t give you a choice.

He flicks his tongue over your clit again, faster now, merciless, each movement dragging you closer to that unbearable edge. You sob, pleasure and desperation crashing together in a way that makes you dizzy.

“Eren—Eren, I—”

He chuckles against you, pressing a kiss to your throbbing clit before murmuring:

“C’mon, baby. Fucking give me your cum.”

And you do. You cum so fucking hard.

Your entire body seizes, your orgasm ripping through you with devastating force. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, your thighs trembling, your hands gripping him so tightly you swear you might break him.

Eren groans, licking you through every aftershock, refusing to let up until you’re nothing but a shaking, ruined mess beneath him.

Your body is still trembling, oversensitive and utterly wrecked, when Eren finally pulls away. His hands smooth over your thighs, his breath warm against your skin as he presses one last, lingering kiss between your legs.

You barely have the strength to move, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, your mind foggy with exhaustion. Everything feels heavy—your limbs, your eyelids, the slow, blissful haze settling over your body.

Eren shifts, moving up the bed, his warmth pressing against your side as he leans in, brushing damp hair from your face. The last thing you remember before your vision fades is the sound of his low chuckle, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“I’ll clean you up,” he murmurs, voice thick with something almost tender. “Take a rest.”

And then—darkness.

thank uuuu for commenting on pt 1 <333

@animewhoreswrld @mikazuai