Pairing: Soft dom! Geto x Sub! Gojo x Hard dom! Reader
Summary- After an amazing date at the carnival with your boyfriends, you got ‘excited’ on the car ride home, and once you got inside? Well, none of you could move by morning.
A/n: SOMEONE PLAY HEADSHOT BY RJ PASIN!!! A part of my Gala Of Pride event, you know, cause I'm gay and stuff. WHO LOVES TO PEG A MAN?! MEEEE!!!(I've never been in a sexual situation)
Taglist: @mtcloudsworld, @aizawash0e, & @jellywrites1218. (My beautiful moots who encourage my filthy writing, love them!) Official taglist: here
CW- Mature content, OOC(Geto, I feel), humor(crack), I kinda rush into the smut cause I'm really like that, not much dialogue cause I get into the dets, m/f/m, BLB, intoxication(reader & Gojo), dub-con(drunk sex), fingering through the panties(?), loads of sloppy kissing, spit, strap-on action(reader 2 Gojo), sandwich situation & Eiffel tower situation, oral(Geto receiving), pegging, P in V❥ unprotected(no diy), hands-free cumming(Gojo), several orgams, cum eating(Gojo), praise(Geto) & degradation(reader), gentle ending/aftercare, crying from pleasure(Gojo), ass smacking(reader 2 Gojo), we're going to hell, etc.
Geto watched you two with a grin on his lips—watching Gojo stumble while laughing because of his intoxication and you slurring and drunkenly giggling.
A complete hot mess.
The three of you made your way to the car, moving through the crowded walkways of the carnival. Screams, laughter, and music echoed through the mall parking lot, and the smells of carnival food made your stomachs curl, but your mouths watered.
You lost track of how many rides you and Gojo had been on, then how many drinks you had after them, then how long Gojo was throwing up in a bush because he decided it was a good idea to go on a ride that dropped him down from sixty feet in the air.
Geto watched the whole thing in amusement, you two and your odd behavior enthralled him in ways he wouldn't admit. Geto had no choice but to be the responsible one in the relationship, you were a party girl and so was Gojo. You two could stay up all night bar hopping, recklessly driving, making out, and trying new foods if he didn't step in and make both of you settle down.
Your relationship started around three years ago—a threesome. Something that was supposed to be quick and simple for all of you; however, during the aftermath, you talked and got to know each other.
Gojo and Geto had already been a thing, then you entered the equation. They had kept their relationship under wraps but you stepped in and made them expose their love for each other without shame—oh how you loved to see your sweet boys loving each other.
While a poly wasn't what you expected on your visit to Japan, you weren't mad at it.
“I see three moons…Am I crazy?” Gojo’s head was thrown back, staring up at the night sky full of stars, his eyes drifting back and forth.
“For seeing three moons? No, you're drunk. In general? Yes, you're an egotist psycho.” Geto replied, hands stuffed in his pockets, smug pride all over his face.
“That's hilarious coming from you.” Your sarcasm interrupted their conversation as you jumped on a bench.
“That's exactly what I was thinking.” Gojo agreed, following your footsteps and climbing onto the bench with you.
Geto rolled his eyes at both of you and stopped his steps in front of the bench.
“Can you get off the bench?”
“Nuh uh.” You both replied in sync.
“Please?” Geto's foot tapped impatiently.
“Neh.” Gojo shook his head, going to stand on the arm of the bench.
“Okay.” Geto reluctantly sighed and moved forward.
First, he slid his hand underneath your armpits and lifted you off the bench.
“Ah!” You squealed.
Then as he was going to grab Gojo, the blue-eyed demon leaped onto his back, arms clasped tight under his neck.
“Unhand me you troglodyte.” Geto's eyes slowly twisted to the Gojo whose head was resting on his shoulder.
“You love me.” Gojo replied, teasingly with his obnoxiously boyish grin on his face.
“You're very lucky I do.” Geto signed in annoyance, carrying Gojo on his back and holding the back of your skirt to keep you close.
You two were chaos, pains in the ass, adult children, but in the end, you were his and no matter how badly he wanted to shove melatonin down both of your throats and lock you away in the basement for a day of silence, he loved you two.
—
The car ride was smooth and quiet, just the small hum of the AC and the sound of tires gliding over the roads.
You and Gojo rode in the backseat as Geto drove, and you stared out the window observing each building and piece of woods you sped by. Your body leaned over Gojo’s to get a clear view and Gojo's eyes traveled your body with desire struggling to ignore his growing arousal.
You were immersed in staring until you felt a small graze on your inner thigh, then his fingers inched closer.
You looked back at your boyfriend and his lips curled into a ‘o’ with a small and quiet shush flowing from his lips as his large fingers dragged down your lips.
You compiled and spread your legs for him. A smirk grew on his lips and he pressed the padding of his fingers against your clit, building a slow circular motion.
A cold shock ran through you, causing a jolt from the sudden stimulation. His finger arched in, curling forward and steering against your pulsing clit. You felt your ichorous lubricant pour itself out of you, inundating the thin pink cotton of your panties.
Each gradual stroke of his fingers built your ecstasy and brought those lewd thoughts to your head— oh, the things you would do to him when you got home.
He dragged his digits between your vulva, gathering your dripping excitement that melted down his fingers.
You bit your lip to contain the moans that sat at the tip of your tongue. He hushed you once more before slowly tugging your damp undergarment to the side, little did he know that Geto knew.
He glanced back and forth between you two and the road, pushing his hips forward to handle the bulge pressing the zipper of his jeans that just continued to get tighter.
—
“We're here.” Geto pulled the car to a halt and cut off the engine.
Gojo pushed the door open with ease, and a dried residue was on his fingers as he wrapped them around the handle. You climbed out behind, biting your lip, and a lustful gaze, running over him. Your filthy thoughts grew more intense the closer you approached your house.
Gojo was oblivious to how both of you were looking at him, eyes full of burning desires and minds full of raw thoughts and fantasies that were destined to come true.
Geto wasted no time unlocking the door and moving into the house, he left you to lock the door while he dragged Gojo away to the room to get him ready for both of you.
“Ugh, I'm exhausted-” Geto cut Gojo off with a kiss rich with passion and heat. Gojo involuntarily moaned into the kiss, his hands creeping up Geto’s chest.
You followed into the room and locked the door behind you. Geto broke the kiss, a glint of excitement in his dark eyes, knowing exactly what was about to happen in the room.
He stripped Gojo out of his clothes, jacket, shirt, then pants, then his boxers till his lean body was nude and exposed to both of you and your dirty intentions.
You stripped yourself, leaving your undergarments wrapped around you. After you made your way to the bottom drawer of your dresser to grab your favorite ‘toy’.
“Damn.” Geto huffed, grinning as he observed the two people he got to call his own.
“I see what you two want tonight.” Gojo teased, sitting down on your king-size bed. As if both of you weren't about to engulf him from the inside until he was unable to move.
You stepped into your strap-on and hooked it around your hips. Meanwhile, Geto removed his jacket, then unhooked his pants painfully slow in front of Gojo– a torture tactic to make Gojo pulsate with elation.
Geto spread his legs in a ‘v’ shape, with his knees lifted slightly. Gojo's eyes shifted to his boyfriend's erection, a sudden need to please him running through his mind, and he crawled forward on all fours bending down and dropping his mouth open.
Geto wrapped his cold slender fingers around his throbbing length, the sensation of his fingers sending a jolt through his sensitive cock. He pressed the crown of his shaft against Gojo's pink lips wet with saliva, pushing past them and allowing his tip to enter Gojo's warm mouth:
You stood on your knees behind Gojo, fondling the softness of his ass. Spreading him open, you sent a wad of spit riding down between his ass for lubricant. Then you spit into your hand and stroked your cock, after doing so you teased— rubbed the tip over his hole, pushing the head in then pulling back, teasing his ass with small slaps from your cock.
Gojo's hand reached back, folding around your rod trying to shove it into him. A smug smile of satisfaction filled your lips and you slapped his hand, swaying it away.
“No, you be a good boy and wait until I'm ready.” You hissed, slamming a slap against his ass.
Gojo moaned around Geto's dick, sending twitchings through Geto. His mouth sealed around Geto, deliberate sloppy sucks up and down his cock, the corners of his lips poured out spit that rode down to Geto's sack.
Geto felt sparks watching Gojo become a male slut for his inches, wanting to praise and admire the work his boyfriend was doing.
“Aahh,” Geto released a broken moan, “good, you're doing so well, keep goin’ just like that.” Geto cooed and encouraged his beautiful boyfriend.
You felt a fire ignite in your chest, a dosage of an indubitable power over Gojo, a dosage that gave you a high.
“Fuck, you're such a dirty slut,” you snarled, proceeding to crash your cock into his tight hole, gapping him apart with your six inches of length.
“Mmh!” Gojo’s muffled moans erupted once he felt you plunging inside of him, the warm silicon dragged along in him a sensation that brought out another side of him. With each thrust plowed in him, his hole widened then clasped back around the inches.
You rolled your hips with a relentless cadence, the vibration of domination rumbling through you making each thrust harder than the last. Each hammer into Gojo's sensitive dome was made with determination and want of supremacy, you hauled yourself out then back in deeper than the last time.
Geto watched you attentively, each tough plow of your hips against Gojo's pelvis, each huff and pant you released while keeping your eyes on the man you were splitting open, and every smack and rub you brought to Gojo's got him ready to take you and put all of himself in you.
However, the luscious feeling of Gojo's sealed warm mouth around his length, his tongue stroking the underside, and throat closing around his hot tip. His cock twitched, knocking Gojo's throat making him gag, dewy spit gleaming as it rolled down his cock, salty tears soaking the poor man's cheeks as he struggled around his cock and was overstimulated by the overwhelming pleasure.
Gojo’s cock toughened and he felt a buildup in his pelvis, cock leaking small droplets of pre-cum.
“Ahh, fuuck!” Gojo pulled away from Geto's cock and cried from his intense climax, his cum draining and leaking all over the bed.
Geto watched pumping his cock, hands coiled tightly around his hard-on, his pace frenzied, desperate for his building orgasm. Pre slid down his knuckles, the white cream coating over them, and his cockhead. His hips twitched involuntarily, a small pulse in his stomach before he gushed out on his hands and the bed, the milky climax ran down his hands, cock, and thighs.
Gojo's face flushed with heat watching Geto's climax and he excitedly began to lap up all of his milk.
“Good, that's my boy.” Geto praised, running his fingers through Gojo's white locks.
Geto looked up at you, eyes gleaming with exhilaration and ecstasy— obviously not ready to finish just yet.
—
Behind you was Geto, lining himself up with your throbbing hole, and in front of you was Gojo, legs spread apart and a split hole ready for you.
Your wetness from watching the prior activities, leaked down your inner thighs and smothered you completely. Geto towed his long fingers through your folds, scooping up your sappy arousal and rubbing it over his pulsing tip mixed with his remaining cum.
Geto was precise with his thrust, calculated and international. He rode himself in your warmth, a slow deep push inside of your walls, and steady hands clasped around your hips.
“Fffuck.” You released a shuddering breath, his cock filling out your walls making your cilt pump faster.
Gojo spat on his fingertips and rubbed them over his thumbing hole, coating it for you. You slowly pushed your strap back into him, rolling your hips to gain a steady but merciless pace.
Geto drew his cock back, letting you folds tease him then bucked back into, Geto's impact made you propel harder into Gojo, causing both you to shake and quiver.
“Ahh, yes.” Gojo released a frantic moan from his throat, hands curling the sheets into his fist as he bit hard at his lip.
Geto controlled the whole situation, with each pump he made was one you made into Gojo.
A gentle thrust would gain a lazy:
“Yees, baby,” from both of you.
A hard thrust would gain an:
“Fuck, just like that,” from both of you.
Either way, he had control and he loved it. He rocked his hips back and forth, knocking in and out of you hitting your sweet spot on each thrust. Your walls embraced him tightly and icky and wet ‘plaps’ filled the room, his balls slapped against you leaving your dripping all over him.
You could feel his warm breath grazing your face as he stayed silent, focused on a sharp pace destined to bring your orgasm out of.
Meanwhile, Gojo could barely contain himself between the high of his previous position, watching you both, and his climax still hanging. He could feel the pressure hardening him, it made his back arch up, toes curl, and shaky breaths fall from his lips.
Your clit twitched, aching for stimulation and your pending orgasm. You pulsated around him, clasping tightly while your hips jerked from pleasure, you could feel that hot sensation blooming ready to coat Geto's cock white.
Unable to focus on both of your men at once, Geto gained your attention with his calculated and attentive thrust, which you forgot Gojo was squirming from the build-up and didn't realize it until:
“Oooh, yes!” He exclaimed, steamy cream spraying over your thighs and lower stomach. He huffed and rolled over, panting like an exhausted dog while he struggled down from his high.
Your eyes followed your boyfriend who had given up, then you looked at your other one, who was determined to make you reach your high.
“G-Geto—baby, oooh fuck!” You followed behind Gojo, your heat gushing from you and coating Geto's rod. The high made you squirm, hips pulsating, walls streaming out your release while opening and closing, thighs trembling and soaked, and then finally—the collapse.
You fell forward, the mattress sank and creaked from the impact, you curled into the warmth of your damp sheets, and caught your breath.
The aftermath hung over the room, now quiet with pants and huff. The aftermath was heated and intense till Geto gently draped a blanket over both of your bodies, a gentle act of aftercare and intimacy that calmed the air.
You shivered from the sudden cool air that blew from under the sheet but all was at peace once you felt Geto's arms wrap around you and Gojo's hand caressing your stomach gently.
𐔌 5.9K 𐦯 • 𝘕𝘖 𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘖𝘙𝘚.ᐟ | 𝑷𝒍𝒖𝒈.ᐟ𝑶𝒏𝒚, CollegeAU, mention of drugs (weed), or*l (m. receiving), face-f*cking (slightly rough, lots of gagging, very messy—does this count as oral fixation?), f*ngering, implied p -> v s*x, dirty talk, slight degradation, corruption of mc, inexperienced mc, mc goes in sub-space (unknowingly), mc gets d*ck-drunk, minor BDSM dynamics, subtle size k*nk, gentle/caring Ony, nonchalant Ony, teasing Ony, slow-build interest, nicknames (Mama & Princess), explicit language, use of the n-word (all characters & Author are Black)
PART 1
decided to be nice & give y'all a mini drabble of them. enjoy .ᐟ <3
ᝰ♡.ᐟ IT ISN'T COMPLETELY DARK OUT YET AS THE GOLDEN ORANGE hue of the setting sun splashes across the entire campus.
Even with the significant lack of people strolling the brick-laid pathways, Onyankopon doesn't neglect to keep an eye out for campus officers. He doesn't need anything on his record, not when the semester's just begun.
He figured he would be back in his car by now, speeding off to his apartment. Not still standing here.
This was supposed to be quick.
“A'ight man, how much I owe you again?” Standing about two feet in front of him, his customer glances up, tearing his vision away from the crumpled bills in his hands.
Onyankopon almost kisses his teeth.
"Seventy-five."
He swears he said that number about five times since this interaction began.
"A'ight, got you…"
Crumpled paper flicks noisily as the client thumbs through the stack of random bills; fives, tens, and a whole lot of ones.
There's a faint, sour scent emanating off of the guy whenever he sways just a bit too much in his spot; dried sweat. It only adds to Onyankopon's growing irritation.
"Y-yo … I, uh … only got about forty-three cash, bro."
The feeble way in which he looks at him almost makes Onyankopon irate.
'This nigga,' he thinks.
A heavy sigh pushes past his lips, an urge he could no longer resist. "Just send the rest through Zelle or Cash App."
"Bet," the man says as he shoves the hand full of money his way.
Onyankopon gingerly takes the damp cash and pockets it quickly. With free hands, his customer frantically pulls out his phone to continue the transaction.
"Uh—h-how much?"
Onyankopon stares at him square in the face. "Whatever's left after forty-three dollars."
“Chill,” his client says with a shaky chuckle.
He's trying, he really is. Annoying clients come with the territory, especially when it comes down to dealing with a bunch of smokers.
Usually, he'd have more patience for this kind of thing. But, today he's pressed for time. Especially since he's got royalty blowing up his line, demanding his presence. 'Her impatient ass,' he thinks as his phone buzzes in his pocket, getting it's second message within the last hour.
Since their first time hooking up, Onyankopon won't deny the fact that Ámerei has been his main fix—on campus, at least.
After finals, they exchanged numbers, but it was radio silence between them during summer break. Understandably. She had her own life outside of school, and he had his own shit to take care of back home.
There were no ill sentiments between the two, just a mutual understanding of where this situation of theirs starts and ends: at school.
So, he wasn't surprised when she hit him up within the first month of this fall semester. He had stopped by at her new dorm—a single—and gave her what she timidly asked for.
And he gave it to her good. Maybe seeing her brought it out of him or maybe it was just the perfect chance to release some built up pressure.
Admittedly, when it comes to messing around with Ámerei, Onyankopon can appreciate the ease that comes with her. There weren't sneaking around anyone's back to do this. Additionally, the clarity she possesses regarding this entire thing is a breath of fresh air. She isn't blowing up his phone, demanding him to do things that fall within the realm of being a "significant other."
Honestly, she doesn't even ask him much about himself. Neither does he.
Compared to some of the other girls he's been with, she's definitely someone he doesn't have to stress out over.
However, even with the general ease of their situation-ship, it seems that he's created a little bit of a monster.
Are you busy?
Onyankopon..
I want to see you
He was in the car, on the way to this deal when the first message was read aloud to him.
She has a habit of hitting him up while he's in the middle of doing something or just so happens to be on his way out of the door. And despite being a recurring interruption to his plans, it always brings him a sense of fondness.
Despite the growing frequency of their meetups, Onyankopon believes that Ámerei isn't someone he'll grow tired of. He can't explain it, but he knows that she's just nice to be around. Cool.
His brain was silent while he tried to decide if he wanted to do this today.
He did.
It wasn't until he reached a red light, that he picked up his phone, allowing himself a weak smirk as he typed a response.
Uu wanna see my dicc
Her reply was instant:
That's not the same thing?
A small scoff left him as the traffic light ahead changed. Against his better judgment, he elected to split his attention in two places: the road and his phone.
Making plays rn
Uu cld wait ?
I'm with the girls at the apartment
Let me know when you get back
He loved the message, quickly dropping his phone in his lap.
Although, unlike other times, his brain didn't immediately drop the conversation. Rather, he kind of toiled over it for a minute or two, sparing an unnecessary amount of time on a particular idea: being considerate.
But, was it consideration? Or was that just his usual standard about punctuality?
Come another red light, Onyankopon chose to put those thoughts to rest. He never liked being in his head about someone for too long. When it comes to matters regarding people, it's either you do or you don’t.
So, he did.
Picking up his phone, his thumb slid across his keyboard in a quick pattern. He didn't even have to glance at the screen to send the short message.
Gimme a hr
She loved the message.
That conversation was definitely had over an hour ago and he's still not back home, at no fault of his own.
"I think the money sent."
Hands buried in the pockets of his sweats, Onyankopon gives the man a brief "Mhm," as he stares him down. He waits patiently for his phone to buzz with the notification of the money entering his account.
And when it does—because he needs to make sure that he's not being cheated put of his product, no matter how many times this guy has bought from him—only then does he give him what they came here for: the weed.
"Thank you so much, bro," he rushes out.
Onyankopon doesn't spare a word, let alone a glance, as he heads back to his car thinking:
'Finally.'
Hopping back in the driver's seat, he pulls the car door shut after him. He wastes no time in pulling out his phone.
So ... it's been an hour.
K...
His fingers move quick.
My fault ik
Nigga was moving slow
Im comin dnt trip
He scoffs at his last message. When has he ever explained himself this much?
The trip back to his apartment is faster than it took for him to go out and meet his customer.
Comin up rn be at the door
It takes all of six minutes for him to enter the building to reach his floor. Leaving the elevators behind, he turns down the long hallway, already seeing the short and slim figure waiting at his door.
Phone in hand, too concerned with whatever it is on her screen to watch her surroundings, she doesn't even notice him coming.
Ámerei stands with majority of her weight on one leg, her hip poking out to accentuate her subtle curves. There's a disruption on her face; a wrinkle of her brows.
She looks upset.
She looks good.
"Y'know, I could'a been anybody walking up on you."
Her head snaps up. The sable strands of her silk press falls away from her face to showcase the moment of recognition that flashes across it, just before it's overtaken by irritation. She opens her mouth.
"Before you even start, it wasn't me." He's already fishing for his apartment keys.
"What does that mean?" She raises a perfectly trimmed brow, eyeing him with skepticism.
“The nigga was doing too much," he says, glancing back at her over his shoulder. "I'm here though, so we not tripping'.”
He pushes the door open, allowing her first, as always. Ámerei's lips are sealed shut, shooting him a glare as she slips past him.
“Mhm.”
Just as she turns her head forward, Onyankopon leaving her line of sight, a heavy hand pops her on the left side of her ass.
"What the fuck," she yelps, whipping around to face him. The sharp sting blooms into a hallow ache beneath her skin as she rubs the spot.
He tries to stifle the growing smirk on his face as he kicks the door shut behind him. “Got too much attitude."
“You were late, mind you,” she sneers, pointing a square acrylic nail into the bed of his chest.
"Eager, ain't you?"
She notices the strong arms circling her waist, yet neglects to acknowledge them.
Arms crossed, she's the epitome of a pretty girl with an attitude. Hair done, nails perfect, and a fresh set of lashes decorating her pretty brown eyes.
And, irritated or not, her gaze is a lot more seductive. He knows that if he makes mention of her saditty demeanor, he'll only rile her up more.
“I can go."
His eyes narrow by a fraction as he stares down at her. “But—" his hands slip from her waist to the perch of her ass. “You gon' stay.”
Her mouth opens to spit back a retort.
"And lose that attitude, 'cause you still getting what you want."
Before she can even think of a response to that one, Onyankopon drops his lips on hers; that conversation is done. In his grasp, she practically melts. The familiarity of his lips is too comforting for her to resist.
He has to admit, Ámerei has gotten better at kissing. A lot better. His favorite thing about that is her newfound affinity for sucking.
In fact, his tongue is almost always the first thing she goes for.
One last peck on the lips precedes a swipe over his bottom lip, coaxing him into a deeper kiss. Before he can even realize it, she's pushing her tongue into his mouth in search of his.
Her hands, soft and reaching, find the sides of his face to keep his head tilted so that she may get more access. He taught her that one.
To his own demise (benefit), every time she's got her lips wrapped around his tongue, it puts a fire in him that wakes him up below the belt. They're moving before he can even comprehend this, too busy feeling on her ass.
"—damn."
His body drops to the couch, slightly bouncing against the cushions. He barely manages to look up at her when she's climbing into his lap. Her eyes burn with lust.
"You moving like you … controlling shit." He's breathless watching her, hands coming to rest on her hips as she takes her seat.
Speaking of hands, hers press to his chest as she leans in for another kiss. His breath is stolen away for the second time in just two minutes.
"Mh … you smelled good," she moans against his mouth.
"I—"
She leaps at the chance to get to his tongue. And—unsurprisingly—she's sucking at him again, like he's a ripe berry, full of juice and ready to burst in her mouth.
His spit is sweet.
"'Preciate—" The half of his sentence that comes out is garbled by their kiss.
She only pulls away to whisper in his ear. "Taste good, Ony."
When she pulls back, and he can finally look her in the eyes, he's almost—scared?
This is not the shy virgin he met only a handful of months ago.
"Yeah?" He shifts upwards a bit, thinking of a way to regain control over this situation.
"Mhm," she nods. The hum is practically a moan, heavy and dragging.
Onyankopon takes this moment to look over her body.
It's just dipping back into the cooler seasons, on the cusp of fall. Yet, enough of her skin is exposed by an off-the-shoulder cropped crew-neck that it can make anyone think otherwise. And not to mention, the ridiculously thin gray leggings that don't hide much.
"I got something that taste better."
Her vixen-like demeanor flickers as her thoughts flash across her face. "What's that?" she asks.
"Ms. 4.0 GPA, c'mon now." A grin spreads across his face.
She rolls her eyes, but the heat has been snuffed out. "And if I'm not good at it?"
He scoffs. "You wasn't good at kissing, neither."
She scowls.
"You getting better every time." Amusement is written all over his face. It's almost irritating. "This gon' be the same thing, I promise you."
She averts her eyes as she starts thinking; this isn't the first time he's alluded to wanting head. It's not like she doesn't want to give it. It's more of a question of, can she?
Probably.
But, can she do it as well as the other girls he's been with?
Definitely not.
That's always a looming fear of hers.
She can hardly bear the thought of performing poorly, and being dubbed the one who "couldn't give good head" or who "had weak pussy;" a story to tell his friends in the group chat.
For the most part, that fear is quelled, just on account of him not really being a piece of shit.
An asshole at times, sure. But, not a douche-bag. And, save for their first time ever doing something together, Onyankopon has never directly spoke about other women he's been with. He doesn't even speak about people he knows.
She can respect the fact that he's not a pillow-talker. But she can only hope that he's not just trying to put on an act.
She tries not to worry too much about it. Outside of these links, their lives are completely detached. They don't even run in the same circles.
"Why you scared? I ain't been a good teacher?"
"Shut up," she laughs, giving him a gentle push to the chest.
For a moment, she's quiet as she thinks to herself, chewing on her bottom lip as she does so.
"We can try," she nods. "But, don't expect me to be amazing," she says as she starts sinking to the ground between his thighs.
"Woah, wait—" he catches her by the waist, stopping her just before her knees hit the floor.
"Wha—d-don't I have to get on my knees?"
"Do you wanna be on your knees?"
She blinks, stunted by the question. "I … don't I have to?"
His brows lift by a fraction. "You don't have to do nothing. I asked if you wanna be. It's other positions."
"Um…" She glances at the hardwood floor beneath them, weighing her options. "Y-yeah. Yes, I do."
He shrugs, gently removing his hands from her to sit back. "A'ight then."
Carefully, she makes contact with the ground, her kneecaps pressing into the floor. Lengthy, strong legs cage her in, but it doesn't feel like a trap.
Before she has to ask, he's pushing his pants down some. But, of course, he's not going to do everything for her.
Not even when she stares up at him, expecting him to pull down his boxers, too, and whip it out for her. She looks perfect down there.
"What you staring for?"
She glances at his lap, eye-level with his print as it strains against the breathable fabric, pressed to the inner wall of his right thigh. She looks back up at him, like she expects something new. Like she doesn't know what comes next.
"Take it out for me, Ámerei."
The firm tone of his voice makes her stomach flutter.
Without a word, both her hands snake up the stalks of his calves, past his knees, and over his thighs. Her fingers are soft, the pads of them tickling his skin as she nears the object of her desire.
With a quick swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip, Onyankopon pushes his hips forward as she finally hooks onto the waistband of his underwear.
Inwardly, Ámerei prays that he doesn't notice the excited tremor of her hands as she pulls the fabric back to reach inside.
The skin there is warm, hot blood racing just beneath its surface to fatten up his dick. She traces one finger down to the middle of his shaft, where she weakly curls her hand around him. She barely squeezes as she picks him up, revealing just a little more past the fat tip.
She isn't surprised by the heaviness, but it does make her rethink her ability to swallow him down.
"Why you so focused already?"
His chuckle pulls her gaze upwards, seeing the entertained look on his face. She crumbles into awkward laughter. "I wanna make sure I'm doing it right."
"Ain't no wrong way to pull my dick out." He sniffs, shifting his hips in a way that pushes his dick further in her face. Her eyes slightly cross trying to keep him in her line of sight. "You doing good, Ami. Quit all that thinking, don't freeze up on me now."
His words, spoken to her low and slow, make her heart beat quicken. She nods loosely, staring up at him with eyes that don't conceal the dazed look in them.
Every time they're together, he notices that after a certain point, it's like a switch flips off in her head. It gets more noticeable every time.
Encouraged by him, she pulls him out of his boxers entirely. The familiar sight never fails to make her drool.
So thick in her hand, she runs her thumb over the web of veins pumping beneath his skin—more visible as it's pulled taut by his arousal. He isn't leaking yet, like his body is waiting on her touch. She can feel his pulse faintly. Tiffany blue acrylic nails compliment his deep brown skin as it fades from a blushing brown to a solid, deep umber.
Every moment she gets to witness him up close, Ámerei can't help but to think that he's just so … pretty.
She's always wanted to kiss it. To feel him throb against her lips.
Her thoughts are interrupted when there's a gentle squeeze of her jaw.
"Missed this shit, didn't you?"
She nods.
"Mhm," he hums, noting how she gazes at him with a renewed sense of hunger. "Go on, eat the dick up." He pulls his hand away.
Without a second thought, she leans forward and plants a gentle smooch on the fat head. He's hot against her skin. Even though she had imagined this happening, surprise takes her when he twitches against her. In her hand, he stiffens further.
A pleased hum leaves her. Tepid, she pushes her tongue past her lips to finally get a taste. His skin is silk soft on her taste buds. He has a mild taste, barely sweet.
That makes it too easy to have more of him in her mouth; she goes for another lick, this one bolder in action as she tastes more of the skin covering his crown. It was all she needed to gain the confidence to take him into her mouth, closing her lips around the swollen head.
"A natural, already," he exhales.
She peers up at him through those perfect, wispy lashes. Her mouth sinks slightly lower. The slippery muscle of her tongue curls around the tip before she traps him between the bed of it and the roof of her mouth to suck. Her usually round, soft cheeks hallow out.
"Good job, mama."
Her eyes flutter shut as her mouth sinks lower around him, a quiet hum of contentment coming from the back of her throat.
The ghost of a smirk haunts his lips. "You like that?"
Peeling her eyes open, Onyankopon immediately notices how they look glossed over. Her full lips are stretched around his thickness, unable to stop the drool escaping past their corners. With a stuffed mouth, she only nods.
"Talk to me."
For a moment, he thought she would have attempted to speak around him. The thought makes him twitch in her mouth.
Except, Ámerei pulls off of him, the softness of her hand replacing the wet heat of her mouth as she jerks him off.
"I liked it," she breathes out. Her hand moves at a slightly rushed pace, gliding over the tight skin. He keeps twitching. It makes her giddy, taking this as a good sign.
Yet, her elation is cut short when she sees a wrinkle forming between his brows. Dread takes seed in her chest.
"So, why you not swallowing my shit?"
Oh.
The corners of her lips twitch as she tries to keep herself from smiling. Her lips part. "Sorr—"
"I'm not tryma hear nothing when my dick should be in your throat." A heavy hand finds its way into her hair, firmly grasping it near the base of her skull. "Need to be gagging on my shit."
Her pussy clenches. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, pushing her face closer to him. She tongue-kisses his tip, humming when it jumps in her mouth.
"Mhm … show me how much you want this."
She rests her hands on his thighs, descending onto him again. Her eyes squeeze shut as she pushes herself to go lower than previous. As she lowers, it gets harder to breathe, her mouth stretching wider and wider.
"Hurgh—"
She pushes through the gag that rips through her. Her head grows fuzzy at the feeling of the slow suffocation.
Onyankopon groans, "Fuck … open up." His hand grips her hair tighter. "Relax your throat."
He hits the back of her tongue. The muscles of her neck constrict.
"Aarck—"
Her shoulders hike up, another sharp gag moving through her.
"Easy, easy."
She pulls off, a beaded string of her own spit leading from the depths of her mouth to his dripping tip. Her stomach is turning.
"You good," he tells her, petting her head.
She nods, swallowing a loose glob of spit to calm her throat.
"C'mon, you good."
She considers the truth of his words before her own thoughts, taking him back in her mouth.
"Mmph," he moans, pressing his lips together to catch the sound.
His head rolls back, but before it lands against the couch cushion, it bounces back up. Her lips kiss the base of him, his hips jumping in shock.
"Huarc—"
"Shit, my fault, my fault."
His breathing is rushed and unsteady as he exhales through his nose, staring down at the mess she's making between his legs.
Spit pours almost freely down his dick, pooling into a thick, frothy puddle of her saliva and his precum in his lap.
"God … damn," he groans, tilting his head some, wishing he could take a picture of this moment to keep forever.
Her lips pucker around him, like they're desperately trying to keep anymore spit from inevitably leaking out. Like they're tired of being stretched open by his dick.
She looks so pretty like this.
"How you take it better this way?"
She sniffles weakly. As her mouth is still full of him, Ámerei gently rests her head against a thigh of his. Her lashes sweep against the hills of her cheekbones as her eyes flutter shut, a gentle sigh leaving through her nose.
"Hm?"
He reaches down to cup her chin, and as soon as their skin makes contact, those pretty brown eyes are open again. Just barely. They're glazed over, not present.
At that moment, something clicks within him. His brain runs with a prediction.
"Should fuck this like your pussy."
He watches her face for any twitch in her brows, some sign of objection. But, there's only a look of sedation. His hand slips from her jaw, he smooths his thumb over an eyebrow before pushing a rogue couple of strands of hair back.
She swallows around him again, closing her eyes.
"Aye, talk to me." Onyankopon lays two quick taps to her cheek, the action gaining her attention. "Ami. Make a sound or something."
A tiny whine comes from the back of her throat. He twitches in the chamber of his neck.
"Want me to move?"
She blinks slowly.
"A'ight," he whispers.
Gently, he takes her head in his hands and carefully pulls her off of him. Loose webs of spit and precum fall around his dick. He's a glistening mess as it falls against his inner thigh, heavy and sopping wet.
A couple of coughs and few hiccups leave her as she wipes at her face with the back of her hand. "W-what?"
"You enjoying this, I could see it in your face."
The corners of her lips lift without restraint.
"But, you gotta communicate with me. Don't go silent."
Just as fast, they drop into a frown, feeling that hint of dread again. "Okay," she nods.
"Even when your mouth is full like that, or you can't talk; tap me."
Her face scrunches up in mild confusion. "Tap?"
His hand slides over her shoulder, the tips of his fingers just at her back, and taps once. "Like that if you want me to pause. Twice if you good," he performing the second gesture. "And—" then taps her three times in succession, "—to tell me to stop."
She blinks at him, cementing the code in her head.
"How you feeling? Show me."
She lifts a hand to rest on his naked thigh and taps him twice.
"Good," he tells her. "Now c'mon."
She's too eager to get him back in her mouth, swallowing him up with blinding ease each time.
"Mhm, look at you… Like you starving."
She pushes her face against his thighs, smiling around his dick. And Onyankopon thinks it's the sweetest, sexiest thing ever. Holding the back of her head, the pads of his fingers rub into her skull.
"You want more?"
She nods as her tongue laves at the underside of him.
"S'what I thought," he mumbles before that hand of his moves to grip her jaw.
Pushing her head up just a bit, Onyankopon holds himself at the base to pull out, earning a deep gag from her. And he loves that sound.
He's dripping in her slobber. The head is where most of her spit collects, a web of it connected to her bottom lip.
Taking himself in hand, he rubs it like a wand and swabs it against her lips. The sloppy, uncoordinated push of his dick against her face makes her flinch here and there. But she doesn't pull away in the slightest when he smears their mess all over the lower half of her face.
His hand shifts to hook a thumb between her lips and push down.
"Open."
The hinge of her jaw slackens with ease.
"Stick that pretty tongue out."
She does exactly what he says, and within that second, the fat head of his dick is slapping against her taste buds.
"Mhm, look real good like this."
He can already imagine himself bursting on her tongue. He glances up from her mouth to see the stars in her glistening eyes.
"Should bust all over you right now," he rasps. "You want that?"
She nods eagerly, tongue sticking out of her mouth like a panting dog. The fruity hue of the muscle is too similar to the inside of her pussy.
"Suck it outta me, then. The fuck?"
He angles his hips to push back into her throat. The suction of her mouth is unmistakable, he knows she sucked him in. The feeling of that wet, slippery warmth traveling down his dick, swooping him up into a tight hold pulls a breathy moan out of him.
"Greedy ass … tryna suck me up, and I'm a-already giving it t'you—" He grasps the back of her head again as rolls his hips smooth and slow. "F … fuck," he groans out.
Her throat jumps around him, desperate to accommodate the moving length throughout it.
"Taking it real good, Princess."
Her eyes flutter, and he catches the way they slightly roll back before she blinks.
Too experienced, it doesn't take long for him to find a shallow but steady rhythm, picking up the pace. As his dick bullies its way in and out, past the walls of her tonsils, a faint clicking sound is made.
"You like this?"
His voice wavers, the sound shooting straight to her clit. Her hand that rests on his muscular thighs, rises and falls twice: one-two.
"I know … kn-know you do…"
His breathing grows heavier and heavier, balls tightening some as they tap at her chin with each thrust.
"Smartest girl I ever met … but you go fucking stupid when you got dick in your mouth."
A mewl vibrates in her throat. He looks down to see her eyes roll to the back of her head.
"You like me talking to you like that?"
One-two.
She's an image of corruption: one of her eyes is only half-open, both showcasing the whites of them as his dick pushes in-and-out past her lips. Spit oozes and froths up at the seams of her lips.
"L-look at you … blowing bubbles on my shit," he grunts. "You wanna play with your pussy?"
A moan, real and solid, gurgles from her throat. The air coming out of her mouth pushes out more balloons of spit along the rim of her mouth.
"Shit—go 'head."
Fireworks go off in her head at his given permission, like this moment is the kind of joy she's been waiting to experience for the last few years. Ámerei is quick to shove a hand down the front of her leggings, pushing past the hem of her panties to rub at her clit.
She feels like she's gone sky-high, completely relinquishing all control to him as he fucks her mouth good and thoroughly.
"S-said you could touch yourself … don't hold out on me."
His words kick something alive in her head. She begins to move herself, bobbing her head up and down. As she does so, she's only able to go halfway down at this faster speed.
Onyankopon's hips stutter. "Aye—watch the teeth. Watch the teeth, Ami."
She squeezes her eyes shut, making a conscious effort to tuck her lips over them. The change grants him unfettered access to her mouth, carving a way for itself in her throat.
"Oh … fuuck, keep … keep swallowing my shit, Mama."
Her fingers work in fast, tight circles over her clit. This is a wet dream for her.
"Make me nut," he pants, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.
At that, she shoves two fingers in herself, the intrusion creating a soft squidge between her thighs. At every swallow of his dick, she's pushing her fingers in. The penetration from both ends gets her sopping wet, the seat of her panties soaked through.
"Make me nut on that tongue."
At that particular command, she swallows him an inch deeper, a strong gag ripping through her.
"Mhm, just like that," he sneers as he moves his hips to meet her half-way.
Her eyes squeeze shut, wringing tears from them as she falls in-line with his thrusts. She keeps her head still, allowing him to throat fuck her, even as she chokes on him.
Hand buried in her hair, Onyankopon lets his head fall back against the couch, losing it in her mouth.
"Mh—fuck," he whimpers, chest pumping as he gulps down air. "I-I'm 'bout to cum."
She loves it when he says those words.
She pulls off of him messily, replacing her mouth with a loose fist. She moves quickly over his dick to uphold the pace. His hips buck, stomach sucking in with every pull.
"Want it," she utters breathlessly as spit drips from her face, tongue half sticking out to catch his cum just in case. "Want it—want it on my tongue, Ony."
He musters enough strength to pull his head back up, eyelids heavy as he gazes down at her: tears crystallize along her lash-line, looking like gems against her slender eyes.
His stomach swoops, his balls tightening.
"You …fuck—you gon' swallow it all?" he slurs.
"Mhm," she says, desperation all over her face as she nods. "A-all of it."
His other hand grips at the couch cushion beneath him as he holds back on cumming all over her face.
"Put my dick back in your mouth."
She chases after him with her mouth open, head bobbing awkwardly before finally catching him, without the help of her hands. Her cheeks cave in, pushing further down to get him to the back of her throat. She flexes around him, coaxing his impending orgasm out of him.
The simple action has his mind submitting to the desires of his body. His hips move thoughtlessly, unrestrained and sharp as they pump shallowly into her mouth.
"Fuc— … s-swallow that shit—"
"Hic—"
He busts in her mouth, the alkaline taste of his thick, viscous cum painting her tongue and throat. It's hard to swallow all of it down in one go.
"Oh … fuck," he shudders, chest rising and falling rather quickly as he swallows down whatever air is available. The exposed parts of his skin are dewy with sweat. Before his body is able to even fully relax, it tenses up with overstimulation.
She's still sucking.
"Aye—"
Grasping her head on both sides, he pulls her off. There's a bit of resistance, but when he finally gets her off of him, he sees in her eyes that she's completely gone.
"Tryna suck my soul out," he weakly jokes, though she doesn't laugh back. She only gives him a dreamy smile.
He grasps the underside of her jaw. "Lemme see."
Without a word, Ámerei sticks her tongue out to show him how she managed to swallow it all. He looks at her, knowing that she's desperately waiting for a form of praise for her work.
"Good job."
Her smile only grows.
"Come up," he says, already pulling her back up on the couch.
Scooting further back from him, she spreads her thighs to show him the darkened patch of gray fabric at the seat of her leggings.
His legs feel like Jell-O. Yet, despite this, he pushes through it to stand on his feet before her.
"That's how you feeling?"
She bites her bottom lip before turning away from him. Burying her chest into the couch cushions, Ámerei pushes her ass high in the air to present.
Looking back at him, the spit quickly drying on the lower-half of her face, she eagerly pushes her leggings and panties down her ass in one fell-swoop. Her back bows she reaches back to pull her cheeks apart, her wetness winking back at him. Creamy and dripping.
He kisses his teeth as another wave of arousal shoots through him, fatigue be damned. "Quit playing with me."
She mewls, eyes falling closed. "Want it in here, too," she mumbles thoughtlessly.
Blowing out a breath, Onyankopon takes his hardening dick in hand, starting with a few slow pumps.
"Yeah, dick really got you acting dumb now."
She shakes her ass side-to-side, taunting him.
"I'ma give it to you … just don't be running this time."
You met Sukuna through Gojo, because of course you did. Gojo always had a way of dragging you into situations you had no business being in—like that house party in the heart of the city where the music thumped so hard the floor vibrated through your heels. You were supposed to be home by midnight, tucked into your suburban bed like the good girl everyone thought you were. But your crew? They knew better. They knew you liked the edge, the danger, the kind of men who made your mama’s church friends clutch their pearls.
And then there he was.
Sukuna leaned against a leather couch in the back room, two girls on either side of him like ornaments, but his eyes tracked you the second you walked in with Gojo. He didn’t smile. He didn’t have to. The power rolled off him in waves—expensive cologne, gold chains, and a gaze that peeled back every layer of your “sweet suburban princess” act.
“That’s her?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the bass, low and amused.
Gojo clapped you on the shoulder. “Don’t let the skirt fool you. She’s got a taste for trouble.”
You tilted your head, letting your ponytail sway, and gave him that soft smile that always made people underestimate you. “Hi.”
Sukuna’s lips curled. “Cute.”
That was two hours ago. Now the party had thinned out, and you were in his bedroom—his actual bedroom, because the man didn’t mess around. The door clicked shut behind you, and the air changed. Thick. Heavy.
You turned to face him, your pink babydoll dress riding up your thighs. It was short, lace-trimmed, with a plunging neckline that showed off the curve of your tits. Your heels—clear plastic strap-ons—made your legs look miles long. And your skin, rich brown and glowing under the dim gold light, was bare except for the thin strap of your thong, which you’d bought specifically for nights like this.
Sukuna didn’t say a word. He just stalked toward you, slow, deliberate, his pink hair falling over his forehead. He had a look on his face like he was about to tear into a meal. And you? You bit your lip, letting your lashes drop, playing the shy girl.
“I don’t usually do this,” you whispered, voice all honey.
He laughed. A low, rough chuckle that sent a shiver straight to your cunt.
“Yeah, Princess. I bet you don’t.”
His hand came up, grabbing a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. You gasped—half surprise, half pleasure—and he leaned down, mouth hovering over your ear.
“Gojo told me all about you. Sweet girl from the suburbs, hangs with the wrong crowd. Gets off on being bad. But you know what I love?” His tongue traced the shell of your ear. “Fake innocent girls. They always scream the loudest.”
You whimpered. Not a real sound—you wanted this, wanted him to break you open. But you let it slip anyway, because the act was part of the game.
He shoved you backward onto the bed. You bounced, skirt riding up, exposing the damp spot on your thong. Sukuna’s eyes dropped, and he grinned.
“Damn. Already wet, Princess? And I ain’t even touch you yet.”
You spread your legs just a little, letting him see. “Maybe I just… like the atmosphere.”
He unbuckled his belt, slow, the metal jingling. “Nah. You like being told what to do. You like being used.”
Your breath hitched. Because he was right, and he knew it.
He climbed onto the bed, knees on either side of your hips, and yanked down the bodice of your dress. Your tits spilled out, nipples hard, and he didn’t waste time. He leaned down and sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling, teeth grazing until you arched your back and moaned—a real one, this time.
“Mmmph—fuck, ’kuna…”
“Mm. That’s it. Let me hear you.”
His hand slid down your stomach, under the lace of your thong, and two thick fingers pushed inside you without warning. You cried out, back bowing, as he pumped them in and out, curling against that spot that made your vision blur.
“So tight for a ‘good girl,’” he growled. “Bet your little church friends don’t know you like this. Bet they don’t know how you drip when a man tells you to beg.”
“Please—” you gasped, not even sure what you were asking for.
“Please what, Princess?” He pulled his fingers out, shiny with your wetness, and brought them to your mouth. “Clean ‘em.”
You opened your lips, tasting yourself on his fingers, salty and sweet. Your eyes stayed on his the whole time.
He smirked. “Good girl. Now get on your knees.”
You scrambled up, turning around, dropping to your knees on the plush carpet. You heard the zipper of his pants, the rustle of fabric, and then the heavy slap of his cock against his stomach. When you looked back, your mouth went dry.
He was thick. Veiny. The head flushed deep red, already slick with precum. He wrapped his hand around the base and tapped it against your cheek.
“Open up, Princess. Show me how a good girl sucks cock.”
You parted your lips, stuck out your tongue, and let him guide the head past your teeth. The taste hit you—salt, musk, pure male heat—and you moaned as you took him deeper. Your hands gripped his thighs, and you worked your mouth up and down, hollowing your cheeks, letting spit drip down your chin.
“Fuck—yeah, just like that,” he grunted, his hand in your hair, guiding your rhythm. “Look at you. Pretty little suburban princess, gagging on my dick. What would your mama say?”
You couldn’t answer. You were too busy taking him all the way, throat relaxing, tears pricking your eyes. But you didn’t stop. You let him fuck your face, his hips thrusting shallow, his balls slapping against your chin.
“Mm—sh-shit—” The half-finished sounds fell from his lips. “Gonna—you want it, Princess? You want me to—?”
You pulled off with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. “No. Not yet. I want you inside me.”
He hauled you up by the arm, bent you over the edge of the bed, and ripped your thong off. The fabric tore—you didn’t care. He pushed your upper body down, arching your back, your ass in the air. His hand came down on one cheek, a sharp slap that made you yelp.
“That’s for being greedy.”
Then he spread you open, and you felt the head of his cock press against your entrance. He didn’t tease. He shoved in, all at once, a thick, brutal stretch that pulled a scream from your throat.
“Ah—fuck! ‘Kunaa—!”
“Yeah. Take it. Take all of it.”
He started to pound into you, his hips slapping against your ass, the sound wet and obscene. Skin on skin. The bed frame creaked. Your tits swung with every thrust, your nails digging into the duvet.
You couldn’t think. You could only feel—his cock hitting that spot deep inside, his hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, his voice growling in your ear.
“This what you wanted, Princess? This what you came for? To get your tight little pussy wrecked by a plug?”
“Yes—yes—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”
He leaned over, his chest against your back, and reached around to grab your tits, pinching your nipples. “Beg for it. Say my name.”
“Sukuna—Sukuna, please—I need—I’m gonna cum—”
“Not yet.” He pulled out abruptly, leaving you empty, trembling. You whined at the loss.
“Turn over.”
You flipped onto your back, legs open, pussy glistening. He crawled over you, positioned himself, and entered you again in one smooth motion. This time you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
Missionary. Eye contact. His face above yours, those dark eyes burning.
“Look at me when I fuck you, Princess.”
You nodded, unable to speak. He started a slower rhythm, grinding his hips against yours, the friction sending sparks through your whole body. He dipped his head and took your nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, and you bucked against him.
“Cum for me,” he said, his voice a command. “I can feel you throbbing. Let go.”
And you did. Your orgasm ripped through you, your back arching, your walls clenching around him, a scream tearing from your throat. He kept thrusting through it, drawing it out, fucking you through the aftershocks.
“That’s it. Good fucking girl.”
But he wasn’t done. He pulled out again, flipped you over onto your stomach, and yanked your hips up. His cock slid back in, wet with your cum, and he set a punishing pace.
“Gonna fill this ass up, Princess. Gonna—mm—fuck, so tight—can’t—sh-shit—”
He was close. You could hear it in his ragged breathing, in the way his grip tightened on your hips. He leaned forward, his chest on your back, and his hand snaked around to rub your clit.
“One more,” he growled. “One more for me.”
You were oversensitive, but his fingers on your clit pushed you over the edge again. You came with a broken cry, your whole body shaking.
Sukuna pulled out at the last second, his hand wrapping around his cock, a few rapid strokes. Then the first hot rope of cum splashed across your ass. Then another, and another, painting your brown skin white. He groaned, low and long, as he emptied himself onto you.
For a moment, the only sound was your harsh breathing. Then he flopped down beside you, arm over his eyes.
After a second, he said, “You ain’t sweet at all, Princess.”
You smiled, still catching your breath, your ass sticky with his cum.
“Nobody has to know.”
He snorted. “Oh, Gojo knows. He knew exactly what he was dropping off.”
You turned your head to look at him, your mascara smudged, your lipstick wrecked. “And you? You gonna tell?”
He reached over, grabbed your chin, and kissed you hard—a possessive, tongue-twisting kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded.
“Nah. I think I’m gonna keep you.”
You shivered, and not from the cold. Because you knew, right then, that you’d let him.
“Baby, come on. Don’t do this to me right now.” He groans as your hands slide down his chest. “I haven’t done anything yet.” You say sweetly. He bites down into his bottom lip as his eyes roll back at the gentle feeling of your hands roaming his entire body. “Baby please.” He begs. “We have to meet your parents in like 20 minutes.” He tries his best to reason with you but lust crowds your brain. He knew he shouldn’t have planned meeting your folks during your ovulation period. But leave it to him to not check your schedule beforehand. Now, he is suffering from the consequences of that. “You smell so fucking good.” You say as your nose presses against his neck. He felt his resolve crumbling with every touch, every breath, every gaze. He licks at his lips, swallowing heavy as he forces himself to pull away from you. “Dinner first, okay. Then you can have me. Anyway you want. But I can’t meet your parents right after fucking you.” He expresses. You pout but finally relent. “Fine.” You say with a smirk. “But when we get home, you better be ready.” You say before walking out the door. He releases a breath as he watches you walk away, mentally preparing himself for what’s to come when he gets home.
Hey guys. I’m back lol. Been some SHIT but I miss writing so here’s a little sum sum for you. Match it to your faves. Yall know I love me some Ony, Enjin, Gojo, and Choso. Full fics loading😘
cw: smut(mdni),, p in v, kissing, unprotected sex, mention of drgs (w333d) , soft!connie, crampie, doggy.
plug!connie x black!fem!reader.
The glow of your phone screen was the only light in your dim bedroom, casting a soft blue across your face as you lay sprawled across your sheets. You’d been scrolling for the better part of an hour, bored out of your mind, when the thought hit you—a blunt would make this night actually bearable. Your usual guy was dry, but you knew someone else who always came through.
You tapped open your messages with Connie, the name saved with a little leaf emoji next to it. You’d met him through a mutual friend a few months back, and he’d been your backup plug ever since. Reliable, chill, and never tried to short you. You typed out a quick text:
‘Hey, you around? Need a dub. Can I swing by?’
You hit send and tossed the phone onto the bed, waiting. A few minutes later, it buzzed.
‘Yeah I’m home. You got the cash?’
You bit your lip. That was the thing—you’d spent your last twenty on lunch earlier, and your paycheck wasn’t hitting until tomorrow. You weighed your options, then typed back, trying to keep it light.
‘Actually I’m short rn. Can I get it on credit? I’ll pay you tomorrow for sure.’
The reply came faster than you expected.
‘Lol nah, I don’t do credit. But I got another option for you. Check your messages.’
Your brow furrowed. Another option? Before you could ask, a video popped up. You hesitated for a second, then tapped it.
The video was dark at first, then a familiar figure came into view—Connie, shirt off, phone angled down toward his lap. He was stroking himself slowly, his cock already hard and glistening at the tip. He didn’t say anything, just breathed heavy, his hand moving up and down in a steady rhythm. The video was maybe thirty seconds long, ending with a soft grunt and the camera cutting off.
Your heart was thumping. You stared at the screen for a long moment, then your phone buzzed again.
‘Pull up to my house. I got what you need. Both of us.’
You read the message twice, your stomach doing a little flip. Part of you wanted to play it cool, act like you weren’t already wet from that video. But the other part—the part that had been bored and restless and craving something—already knew what you were going to do.
You sat up, typed back a single word:
‘Bet.’
Twenty minutes later, you were pulling into the driveway of his small brick house on the quieter side of town. The porch light was on, and you could see the silhouette of him through the front window, waiting. You killed the engine, grabbed your purse, and walked up to the door.
He opened it before you could knock.
Connie stood there in gray sweats and a loose black hoodie, no shoes, his hair a little messy. He gave you that easy grin, the one that always made you feel like you were in on a joke with him.
“Knew you’d come,” he said, stepping aside to let you in.
“Don’t get too cocky,” you shot back, stepping past him into the living room. It was tidy enough—couch, coffee table with a PlayStation controller on it, a few empty soda cans. The smell of weed lingered faintly, mixing with the scent of his laundry detergent.
He closed the door and leaned against it, arms crossed. “So you saw the video, huh.”
You felt heat creep up your neck, but you kept your voice steady. “Yeah, I saw it. And I’m still here, aren’t I?”
His grin widened. He pushed off the door and walked past you toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink first? Water, soda? Or you wanna cut to the chase?”
You followed him, leaning against the counter. “I mean… I didn’t drive all this way just for a soda.”
He laughed, low and warm, and turned to face you. “Alright then.” He reached into the pocket of his sweats and pulled out a small plastic baggie with weed, tossing it onto the counter between you. “That’s yours. No charge.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he said, stepping closer. “But you gotta earn it.”
You knew what he meant. The air between you thickened, and you didn’t look away. “And how do I do that?”
He reached out, fingers brushing your wrist, then traced a slow line up your arm. “Just let me have you tonight. Simple as that.”
Your breath hitched. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you gently toward him. “You want that?” he asked, voice lower now.
You nodded, and he kissed you.
It wasn’t soft. It was hungry, his mouth pressing against yours, tongue sliding in before you could think. His other hand found your waist, pulling you into him, and you could feel how hard he already was through his sweats. You moaned into his mouth, your fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie.
He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”
You followed him down the hall, past a bathroom, into his room. It was messy—clothes on a chair, unmade bed—but you didn’t care. He turned to you, hands already finding the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head. His eyes ran over your body, taking in your brown skin in the dim lamplight.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his hands cupping your breasts through your bra. “You’re so beautiful.”
You unbuttoned your jeans, pushed them down, and he dropped to his knees, helping you step out of them. He pressed his face against your thigh, kissing the skin, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. He looked up at you, a question in his eyes.
“Yeah,” you said, breathless. “Go ahead.”
He tugged them down slowly, his mouth following the trail of fabric, kissing your hip, your belly, the inside of your thigh. When you were naked except for your bra, he stood up, his hands gripping your ass, pulling you flush against him.
“Lay on the bed,” he said, his voice rough. “On your stomach.”
You did, crawling onto the mattress, your heart pounding. You heard the rustle of fabric—him pulling off his hoodie, his sweats. Then the bed dipped, and his hands were on your hips, lifting them slightly, positioning you.
His cock brushed against your wetness, teasing, and you let out a shaky breath. “Connie…”
“I know,” he murmured, leaning over you, his chest warm against your back. “I got you.”
He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, and you gasped, gripping the sheets. He was thick, filling you up just right, and he groaned as he bottomed out, his forehead pressing against your shoulder.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he whispered, his voice strained.
Then he started to move.
At first it was slow, deep thrusts that had you moaning into the mattress. His hand came around to grip your hip, steadying you, and the other snaked under your body to find your clit, rubbing in tight circles.
“Oh, shit,” you breathed. “Right there.”
“Like that? Yeah?” His voice was right in your ear, his pace picking up.
The sounds filled the room—the wet slap of skin, your gasps, his grunts. He was fucking you harder now, and you couldn’t hold back the noises that escaped you.
“Ah—fuck, Connie, please—”
“Please what?” He drove deeper, hitting a spot that made your vision blur. “Tell me.”
“Don’t stop, don’t—aah—right there, yes—”
He complied, his rhythm turning frantic, his breathing ragged. You could feel the pressure building low in your belly, your toes curling.
“I’m close,” you whimpered.
“Let go,” he grunted, his hand on your clit working softly. “I feel you, come on, let go for me.”
And you did, a moan tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashed through you, your body trembling. He kept fucking you through it, his own breath hitching, and then he was coming too, a low groan as he buried himself deep, his hips stuttering.
He collapsed over you, his weight a comforting pressure, both of you breathing hard. After a moment, he pulled out and rolled onto his back, reaching over to run a hand down your spine.
“That was…” he started, then laughed softly. “Yeah. That was good.”
You turned your head to look at him, a lazy smile on your lips. “The weed better still be on the counter.”
He barked a laugh, pulling you into his side. “It’s yours. And if you want, you can crash here. We can roll one up in a bit.”
You settled against him, your cheek on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. Outside, the night was quiet, and inside, you felt warm and spent and satisfied.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬◞﹒୧. Onyankopon was a bit foolish to introduce his cute autistic sister—you—to Connie. You were a literal princess who deserved all his care. The most beautiful girl ever in his eyes, and he had no shame breaking Ony's rules to make you his girlfriend. Ony thought he had managed to protect you from his criminal friend, but for years Connie had been secretly coming at night to make love to you. Like tonight.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬◞﹒୧ . 2.5k words, black!fem!reader, plus!size!reader, hyperfeminine nonverbal autistic reader, sign langage, hispanic!connie, plug!connie, fluffy smutty fic, established relationship, forbidden love, stoner!connie, tattooed!connie, pierced!connie, affectionate!connie, check ins, sensory seeking needs, hyposensitivity, ‘mami, baby, princesa’ pet names, feet kissing/toes sucking, fingering, cunnilingus, choking, vaginal penetration, missionary with legs on shoulders, kisses.
𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬◞﹒୧ . first mini connie fic, i wanted something cute!!!! i have a longer one in my wips, hehe… hope you will like this <3
The sounds of the game Detroit Become Human lulled Connie into a high. Even Eren's grunts when he made a choice that would negatively impact the story were like a sweet melody accompanying him as he floated, staring at the ceiling with glazed over eyes. Everything was perfect; he was so relaxed he wasn't thinking about the addicted clients he'd have to serve tomorrow, or how hard Ony would beat him if he knew how he was going to make his sister cum tonight.
He glanced down the stairs, alerted by your footsteps, as if you were divinely connected. His eyes followed you down with your tablet, wearing a pale pink leggings and vest set from I AM GIA. No one in your family knew, but Connie had bought it, and he felt hot just thinking you were wearing it on purpose because he was there. You looked like a pilates princess, and your vanilla scent filled the room as you approached your brother's group of friends, making Connie intoxicated, as always.
Everyone greeted you except Connie, who must play it cool as if his dick wasn't making regular in-and-out motions inside you at least four times a week. As if his heart wasn't beating, his body wasn't breathing for your beautiful, sparkling brown eyes.
You glanced at Connie, smiling shyly as if he were a stranger and not your boyfriend of several years. It was a shame your overprotective brother was in the room; you would have loved to get down on your knees to kiss the tattoos on his stomach and take his pierced dick in your mouth, turned on by his dark streetwear outfit, contrasting with your pink one. He looked like a bad boy, but the only bad guy here was Eren; Connie was a loverboy. He returned your small smile by discreetly patting the spot next to him. You sat down next to him, pleased because you thought he was looking at the drawings you were making on your tablet, but the truth was that Connie was staring at your thick thighs, which had tripled in size in your seated position. He remembered what it felt like to have them trembling around his head and adjusted his sweatpants so his erection wouldn't be noticeable. He took out his phone. You had to know.
“I want to be inside you.”
Concentrated in your digital art and oblivious to the tension, your stylus stopped drawing, your eyes rereading the message in confusion.
‘In a food, stabbing, or sexual way?’ You sent.
Connie giggled softly when he received the notification. You and your autistic brain that takes everything literally. Dirty talk was a pain in the ass with you.
“All three. Your beauty stabs me, I want to eat you up to have you inside me, and I want to fuck you.”
“That’s something Chikage from Hakuouki would have said.”
“Who is this nobody from another otome?”
“Speak of my husband with respect.”
“Your real future husband is right here, princesa,” he whispered in your ear. You shivered at the sensual intonation of his voice, as close as you were, your body overheating at the thought of tonight. You checked that no one was looking in your direction so you could sign “I hope so, but you know it’s not possible.”
Connie didn’t lose his sweet expression, still a playful glint in his eyes. He placed his hand on your thigh to grasp the soft flesh. “Ony will have to kill me with his own hands to prevent our future together. Even my spirit will haunt him. He can’t do anything to me.”
You quickly brushed his hand away, heat rising to your neck and burning your cheeks.
Your relationship consisted of three things: acting like goofy fools together, him playing the hero of forbidden romances, and him making love to you passionately and tenderly.
Being with Connie was like living a real rom-com, even though he was a drug dealer.
You were writing a new message. “I’m going to leave you, you make my head boil.”
He laughed softly. “Since when does my girl understand metaphors like that?”
You playfully punched him and signed “I’m not a walking autistic cliché.”
“Yes, you are. Look at what you sent me a few minutes ago.”
You ignored him and went back up to your room and once at the top of the stairs you gave him the finger and he just gave you his stupid smile with his red eyes because of the weed.
──────── 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭,
Connie walked into your room, immediately ripping off his hoodie and t-shirt and throwing them on the floor, revealing his fully tattooed chest and abdomen. Filled with designs you'd done, like the rose that started its stem on his hip and whose petals touched his ribs, the soft style of the tattoo contrasted with the harsh lines of the ink. But Connie loved it. It was like having you and him inside him, on him, for him.
'Heaven or Las Vegas' by Cocteau Twins played softly in your room as you sat at your vanity. The dream pop song made Connie, who was stoned out, drift even further into the psychedelic atmosphere. You detangled your hair with hair milk, separating it into four twists—two in the front on each side, two in the back—so it would be easier to manage tomorrow when you went to get your hair braided by your favorite braider, who didn't charge an entire month's salary for long knotless braids. Connie admired the goddess who was his girlfriend for a long time, licking his lips as he noticed you were wearing that Savage X Fenty pale rose nightgown, which was sheer, with a ribbon bow at the center of your chest.
“Mami, I missed you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your neck and burying his face in your scalp, inhaling the scent of rosemary mint from your Mielle hair oil, castor oil, and shea butter from your Skala leave-in conditioner. He bought that one for you after seeing a TikTok about a Brazilian influencer with the same curl pattern as you recommending it.
With your hands manicured in a French manicure, you used sign language to communicate “We saw each other earlier,” with a roll of your eyes.
“I know, but I’m obsessed with my princess.” He kissed the back of your neck, his cuban accent adding charisma to his voice.
His desire, love, and passion for you, dripping from his voice, made you feel all giddy and fuzzy in your stomach. You smiled shyly at him in the mirror of your heart-shaped vanity.
“Don’t smile like that,” he said softly, almost desperately, his red eyes and dilated pupils even more affected by your little smile. “You’re so gorgeous in this.” He played with the thin straps of your nightgown. “But I’m sure you’re even prettier without them, aren’t you, baby?”
Shyly, you ignored his compliment and finished styling your hair before protecting it with your satin bonnet, the same color as your wardrobe, before getting up to hug Connie. Thinking he wanted to make love now, you led him toward the bed, but Connie spun you around.
Chuckling, you understood he wanted to dance and followed him, as the dream pop song stopped to make way for “Punch Drunk” by Sade. A wordless jazz track, purely instrumental, that made you feel like you were in an old jazz bar with your secret forbidden lover.
His hand on the small of your back, Connie made you dance, roaming around your room, laughing when you bumped into furniture because the space was small, kissing you when the saxophone was more intense than ever. He took advantage of the kisses to move his hands up and caress the voluptuous curves of your chubby body. Your fat ass, which he gripped even though you tried to push him away, the pudginess of your belly that he loved to feel under his fingers, and your ample breasts that rose and fell rapidly before him because of your barely concealed desire.
“Use your voice, what do you want?” he teased, knowing damn well you had nonverbal autism.
You glared at him and tried to push him away, but he threw you onto the bed.
“Aww, I’m such a bad boyfriend, I have to make amends for my crimes.”
He removed the rest of his clothes, keeping his black boxer briefs on for now. He stayed on his knees on the bed as you lay there, resting on your elbows.
You nodded at what he said and lifted your legs to place your French-manicured foot on the center of his collarbones. Connie smirked, knowing what you wanted.
He took your foot in his hands and kissed it all over, from heel to toe, appreciating the softness of your skin as you had just come from the shower where you had exfoliated. He wrapped his tongue around your toes, then sucked on them, his gray eyes fixed on you, a fire igniting from your core and spreading through your body.
You wanted this, you needed this. You gave him your other foot where he did the same, little shivers running through you at the movements of his tongue on your skin. Your breathing quickened as his lips moved up your leg, venturing under your nightgown. You couldn't see Connie because of your chubby belly, so you lay fully on your back, staring up at the ceiling. Not being able to speak or see him should have made your sex life difficult, but it was quite the opposite. Connie regularly checked for your consent and comfort; your nonverbal communication wasn't an issue. You tugged at his hair to let him know you liked what his tongue was doing, and you patted his shoulders to tell him to pause because the wave of overstimulation was near. As for the details—how fast or slow to use his tongue, which spot to lick—Connie paid close attention to your breathing and the way your thighs clenched around his head to gauge whether he was doing a good job.
“I’m gonna keep this on you,” he breathed, liking the lacy pink panties you were wearing. He pushed it to the side, his warm breath on your cunt, in need for attention.
The music switched to “Iceblink Punk” by Cocteau Twins, and the combination of the psychedelic sound and Connie’s tongue plunging into you was surreal. You felt like you were floating high in the sky.
Connie was truly gentle, slow, and calm when he was eating you out. Eating pussy was an art, and he was the Mozart and Shakespeare of the field. He took his time pleasuring you, smiling because even when you couldn’t speak; you didn’t fake your panting. The warm metal ball of his piercing kept rolling around your throbbing bud, just to feel your legs tremble, but his tongue explored every corner, collecting your arousal in his mouth. He was even disappointed you'd just showered, because it lacked flavor. He was a perverted loverboy like that, yeah.
Lapping through wet folds, he groaned every time he felt the pulse of your pussy in his mouth. His hands gripped your thick hips, making them grind against his face, to guide you, to show you it was okay to do that, because your autism sometimes made you a motionless robot during sex.
“You’re okay, baby?” he asked softly, reassured when you stroked his scalp to say yes.
After a comfortable rhythm of hip movements settled in, he removed his hands and sank his fingers inside you, all the while sucking your clit. A searing, burning sensation in your lower abdomen, almost setting your whole being ablaze, as you pulled at his short hair that had grown since his buzzcut to indicate to him that the combination was perfect.
When you reached your peak, there were no dramatic expressions or noises, just Connie nearly choking as you pushed your pelvic floor into his head and painfully squeezed your thighs around him.
“Still in a hyposensitivity mode?” he whispered, as he managed to pull away from your grip.
You nodded, catching your breath. Connie was always attentive to your autistic sensory needs, especially when you were in a sensory-seeking mode, or a mode where your sensitivity was low and you needed a lot of stimulation, like now.
He removed his underwear, nudging your entrance with his pierced tip as he laid down on you, putting all his weight on you. You were crushed by him, but it was perfect. To further satisfy your sensory needs, he wrapped his hand around your neck, squeezing comfortably. It was the perfect combination of pressure for you.
“No tits touching?”
You shook your head. Sometimes, you needed a lot of stimulation while simultaneously hating stimulation somewhere.
He leaned down to kiss your neck. “Okay, mami. Gonna take of you, now. Do you feel my piercing?”
He slid his pierced dick through the folds, still not entering for the moment. Your hands caressed his back, digging your nails into it to communicate that yes, you feel it, and you like it. He groaned, placing more passionate open-mouthed kisses on your skin. He pushed his hips, your warmth welcoming him like a king. He smiled against your skin hearing your usual gasp when his full size was inside you.
“Can’t handle these inches, huh?” he teased, sucking your earlobe. “You’re gonna take this dick anyway. Too bad for you, princesa.”
He leaned back to see your eyes widening every time he penetrated you. He moved his hips backward to let you breathe and pushed back in.
“Why is she wetter than usual?”
He looked at your slick cock, which covered his face with awe.
You pointed at his red eyes. His smile widened.
“Are you turned on by my stoner self? You’re so cute.” He kissed you, his tongue entwined with yours. You breathed softly into the kiss, overwhelmed by him, his dick, his affection.
He slipped his hands under your bent knees and placed them on his shoulders. The position you were in made it impossible for him to hide your belly rolls under your sheer nightgown. He looked terrifying with his low groan and his eyes dilated by weed and your beauty, staring at your curves as if he wanted to devour you whole. He wrapped his hand around your neck again, to your great pleasure. He increased the speed of his thrusts, panting above you, obsessed with the sight of your eyes rolling back when he touched a sensitive spot inside you.
A fever rose in your belly; you were embarrassed to come so quickly again, but every movement of Connie's was precise and deep, so he chuckled when he felt your legs clench his head once more.
He kissed your forehead.
“My baby is needy tonight.”
You nodded, cuddling him, pleading with your eyes to go even faster and harder.
He gladly spent the whole night taking care of you like he always does. Because that’s the thing about Connie: when his princess wants something, he’s going to give it to her. Even if his best friend, your brother, would kill him if he knew.
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