"A star can never die. It just turns into a smile and melts back into the cosmic music, the dance of life"
Destiny has a cruel way of making us come to reality, and leaving us without you is that hurtful reality. It pains me, but I know you're at peace now, the one that you deserved for so long, the one that was taken away from you since you were a child. We try to make your legacy a beautiful thing, even when others try to take it down; your memory lives in our minds and hearts. You make the sky sparkle, and now I celebrate you. I love you, applehead.
🏁 pit stop ! 𖦹 for weeks, your favourite jock boyfriend has been dying to know what its like to have his girlfriend sit on his face. its haunted his every waking moment, during classes, games and even practises! so after a little pep-talk, you decide to make his dreams come true (8.4K) | magnetic - jock bf yuuji masterlist.
🏁 safety car ! ⋆ not safe for work ⋆ smut ⋆ eighteen plus only. college au, not canon compliant, characters are in their twenties, established relationships, insecurity, overstimulation, fingering (f!recieving), pure oral sex (f!recieving), face sitting, strength kink, size kink, cumming untouched, reader is significantly inexperienced, yuuji is very experienced ( point of insecurity ), reader wears glasses, yuuji pro eater lolol. not beta read sorry its 5:30 am! jock bf yuuji itadori, weird girl & fem reader. part of a series but can be read as a stand alone.
🏁 team radio ! ⋆ happy belated valentines? at least from my timezone!! it's vday somewhere!! another installment to the jock bf yuuji series hehe! brain rot is strong lolol pls tell me u get the title!! i sincerley hope you enjoy!! i love u all !! click for more.
the lecture theatre stays quiet aside from the steady drone of your professor’s voice — going on and on about pathogens and how they spread between your cells. it’s nothing you haven’t heard before, a recap of content for an upcoming practise exam — so your attention wavers between each slide on the powerpoint presentation. just when you think you’re about to pass out from boredom, your boyfriends smooth and honey-like voice filters through your frame, sending a shiver down your spine.
biting your lip to keep yourself from squealing and disrupting the class, your head whips round to your left — leaving you eye to eye with yuuji itadori himself. “what? itadori how did you even get in here?” your voice is hushed and surprised, but it doesn’t phase him, the jock simply leans into your sphere or space like he belongs there — pink hair tickling your cheeks as he throws an arm around your shoulders an nuzzles into you affectionately.
the pens on your desk clatter against your laptop whilst itadori leans into you and the fellow students around you cast you both a brief stare before turning back to the lecture at hand. where you shrink in your seat, your boyfriend shines — hardly paying anyone attention with his focus entirely on you.
“what happened to yuuji, aren’t i your boyfriend?” the pink haired jock whines like a child seeking attention, words warm as they coast along the pocket of skin between your neck and shoulders. you roll them as he clings to you, as if trying to rid the heated flush that flashes through your body against his. “snuck in through the doors at the back. did you hear me babe? sit on my face?”
the way he asks is enough to make the room spin and something dangerous twist in your gut. yuuji asks like it’s nothing, unaware of the effect he has on you on a day to day let alone when he gets like this. needy, hungry for it. you can tell he’s been waiting for it from the way one hand smooths over the swell of your thigh underneath the lecture theatre’s pew. his nose nudging the sensitive spot underneath your ear.
swallowing thickly, you push your laptop further away before itadori can knock it over. subconsciously, your head tilts back to make room for him, even though you want the ground to swallow you up — afraid of being noticed. “h-here? in front of all these people?”
“no, honey,” yuuji laughs softly under his breath, squeezing you closer. “course not, i was just thinkin’ i’d pick you up from class — i got you somethin’ sweet on the way here by the way. then you could come over to my place after! then we’d watch a movie or something.” animatedly, he details your plans and earns himself a shush from those in the very back row. with a wince and sheepish smile as apology, he quietens down. “i miss you, coach gojo finally let us go early for once and i’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“thinking about me sitting on your face?” you squeak, acutely aware that your oversized, muscular, puppy-dog-like boyfriend was about two seconds away from mauling you in front of a bunch of third year biomed students. “all day?”
he pauses for a second and when you look down, brown eyes are locked on your face and burn brightly with unspoken desire. you’ve seen him look at you like that before, right after a game when he comes looking for a kiss. the first time you went down on him and the first time you let his fingers stretch you open in his lap. to others, yuuji may seem like a cool and calm guy — keeping it level headed on the field and when it really counts… but with you, he’s able to unravel.
show the parts of himself that need hiding from the light, yearning without shame — a type of yearning that surprises you everyday with how much he wants you. how he chose you over all the people that want him so.
itadori’s gaze on you never wavers, there’s a confidence that shimmers beneath the surface. one that knows what you want, that you’re curious and that you heard him. “well i was thinking about how your thighs looked in that cute little skirt you wore to the library the other night and yeah, then i started thinking about eating you out,” he muses simply, quiet enough not to disturb the other students around you. low enough to get you worked up. “but that’s besides the point — do you want to or nah?”
“oh…yuuji, i don’t know,” guilt starts to bubble up inside, and warp the cadence of your hushed voice. your inexperience in comparison to yuuji has always been a point of insecurity for you. you’re not even sure you could ever live up to standards already set by the people and partners itadori’s had before you. they don’t matter, you know that – but a slight sense of insecurity always bites at you whenever you think about how much better he is at this sex thing compared to you. it’s not yuuji’s fault, he’s nothing but reassuring, always making sure you know you’re his number one. you just can’t help but worry. so you hesitate. “i know we’ve done stuff together and…you’re more experienced than i am but i—”
itadori jumps into action. quick to comfort you. “hey, hey look, if you don’t want me to touch you, i won’t. alright? i’m not that kind of guy,” he expresses sweetly, pulling back on his flirtations to give you some breathing room. “there’s absolutely no pressure or anything. i just really, really want to make you feel good. though, if you’re not ready, that’s okay too. i’ll wait until you are.”
with that, he kisses the side of your head and leans back into the lecture seat he’s taken residence in — digging out his phone to play some games and pass the time. “you’re not leaving?”
“why would i?” the pink haired jock laughs, pressing his lips to the back of your shoulder in a quick attempt to reassure you. “i said i wanted to pick you up from class, so i can wait! besides, i really did miss you, practice has been killing me lately and i hate being away from you.”
itadori’s so sweet it rots you from the inside, like a toothache you can’t seem to get rid of. you feel giddy that he likes you the way that you like him.
all you can do is smile at him, turning back to the lecture playing out before you — reminded of how wonderful your boyfriend is, how patient he can be when it comes to anything you’re unsure of. dating, your experience, your sex life. fucking you isn’t at the top of yuuji itadori’s bucket list, simply being with you is.
that thought alone is enough to make your stomach swim with need.
—
no matter how you feel, you end up at yuuji’s dorm anyways.
the strawberry blonde, pink haired boy of your dreams rewards you with your favourite muffin for attending class as a treat. then later thumbs away any crumbs on your cheek as you walk back to his place. it’s a simple gesture that ties your tummy up in delightful knots, especially when he sucks what remains from the tip of said digit. slow, tongue swirling over it — lips pulling into a pleased grin….
you’re distracted. you have been for the entire morning and afternoon. ever since he brought it up, casually as though he were asking you for a favour, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about the very idea of sitting on yuuji’s handsome face. you picture it while staring at his back while he unlocks his dorm for you — he’s strong, he could take it. it crosses your mind when you catch a glimpse of his golden skin whilst changing clothes in front of you — getting cosy, tossing you a pair of his boxers and a clean jersey of his if you want it. he’d look good, naked and wet and soaked around the face if you did it.
even now, when you’re innocently snuggled into his side, your head tucked underneath itadori’s chin whilst you lay on the broad firmness of his chest and his arm slung lazily over your waist to keep you close. you can’t help but mull over his proposal from earlier, how it might feel to sit on his face. how it would feel to look down at him while he sent you higher than heaven.
“hey, yuuji?”
you breach the surface of silence with as much confidence as you can muster — toying with a hangnail on your thumb as you speak.
“yeah, honey?” yuuji responds instantly, in tune with your thinking even though he’s got his brown eyes trained on a movie playing from his laptop — you put it on half an hour ago. some action-romance coach gojo had suggested would be good for date night. what did he know?
without thinking, the jock grasps the hand that you fiddle with and presses a soothing kiss to the slopes of your knuckles — as if he knows you’re nervous without even looking at you. he slows his own breathing, giving you something to follow and calm yourself down with. you match it before you move.
carefully, you hook a thigh over his waist and shift into his lap to straddle him. instinctively, yuuji’s grip jumps to the warm flesh at your hips in order to steady you above him like he’s done a thousand times before — still, the gesture makes your heart and stomach swim.
his head full of soft pink-milk hair swerves just a tad, gaze curving around you in order to remain on the movie. “baby,” itadori laughs without knowing the affect the sound has on you, rumbling through your frame hotly. “kinda can’t see with you sitting on me like this, we’re just getting to the good part!” nevertheless, his calloused palms smooth over the apex of your thighs, running downward from their place settled on your hips — giving them an affection squeeze. itadori doesn’t look away from his movie.
deciding that now is the time to be bold and brave, you wind your hips down against the loose and silky material of your boyfriend’s basketball shorts experimentally. giving him a hint without words. momentarily, there’s a catch to the way he exhales through his nose and a flicker in his amber eyes that never hold any judgement. nothing but unadulterated love for you. they darken as yuuji turns rigid underneath you — unsure of what you’re asking for or weary in regard to crossing a boundary of yours.
“y-yeah but i kinda thought that we’d um…” taking a deep breath, you lean forward until you’re chest to chest — you lips a breath away from your boyfriend’s earlobe as you whisper to him as seductively as you can. “i thought that you’d let me…sit on your face.”
“oh…” yuuji mumbles to himself quietly, as if the words are processing in his mind — he tilts his head, much like a puppy confused by a command and causes your breathy laughter to filter over the film in the background. his gaze is still focused on the scenes flickering behind you suddenly shoots to your face, intense. he’s always had had a way of looking at you, yuuji does, dissecting you underneath brown-ish amber pools until you fall apart and your heart opens up for him, revealing how you truly feel. the nerves, the need. itadori sees it all, in every colour and every shade.
he doesn’t judge, pass on the ugly insecurities that rest between your heart and lungs — he accepts, simply because he loves all of you; wants every bit of you too.
“ohh!” then it hits him, like a light bulb moment above his head, not too overwhelming and bright. just a quiet realisation. big brown eyes shoot across your face in the dim lighting much faster now, holding rays of excitement between their amber flecks. your boyfriend’s grip on you tightens a pinch, as if to hold you steady and stop you from running. slowly, carefully, yuuji begins pulling you back and forth against the familiar hardness that begins to grow between his legs, concealed by the thin layer of his shorts. “you really want to? you’re gonna let me make you cum on my tongue?”
“yuuji.” something familiar and heated begins to trickle down your spine, his eagerness sending a twinge of pleasure through your empty center. trickles of arousal leak through the gusset ot your underwear, giving away just how turned on you are by his words, by the idea.
your boyfriend’s voice turns low, gravelly as if he’s fighting the lust catching in the ridges of his throat. “sorry… too much?” you shake your head his grin widens like he’s proud. “fuck, you’re so cute. especially when you’re shy like this. got no idea what you do to me, do you?” yuuji used his grip on your ass to pull you further forward to rest on his stomach, hissing through a laugh when your warm cunt that spasms around nothing catches on his erection. “oh baby. seriously, i can’t wait… been thinking about having you like this for… for ages.”
“the noises you’d make, the way you’d pull on my hair.” with every breath he takes, yuuji’s diaphragm rises and falls between your thighs as you straddle his body – causing a subtle shift, a slight drag of your warming epicentre along his rigid and brawny torso. the sensation against your clit as your heartbeat thumps within is enough to send a hazy veil over your mind and a wobble in your posture as you sit atop yuuji. you don’t miss the streak of amusement that flashes through his amber eyes, the slight slant of enjoyment that weighs down the corner of his scarred lips - but he’s quiet with his voice when he uses it. “oh honey…” yuuji’s tone stays mellow and chocolatey as the pet name slips out from underneath his fidgety tongue, the sound running through you like it's turned molten after being a solid thought in his mind for too long, dipping low by an octave or two whilst wandering into a dangerous, lustful territory.
he’s taunting you without saying much, pupils dilating like a wild wolf that’s spotted its prey meandering meekly through ferns and tree fall and your chest heaves. your breath hitches and a freshly lit fire sets your lungs alight. the bronchi acting like paper kindle as it menacingly spreads through every vein in your body, boiling your blood to new and high temperatures. itadori peels back your layers, your fears and in response – your expression twists into one of agonising need, especially when thick fingers – dexterous, skilled and callused from sport pinch your waistline.
“yuuji, please.” you drawl, much whinier than you expect yourself to sound. your lower lip bounces between the anxious grip of your teeth, tongue darting out to wet their surface out of habit. your gaze lowers, shying away from the intensity of his own.
as though he can tell that you’re getting restless – the pink haired jock sits up just a tad, head diving down to kiss you tentatively, lips moving slow like your boyfriend is trying to coax you from your shell and remind you – he is your safe space. “hey, it’s okay, pretty. i gotcha. it's just me…” yuuji murmurs, one hand moving up to cup the back of your neck and pull you into his orbit – fingertips looping through the curly baby hairs that lie at your nape in a soothing manner. “let’s not get too worked up, don’t want you gettin’ psyched out.” your forehead rolls against itadori’s, the space between you both limitless and non-existent at the same time..
it’s like you’re frozen against him. yuuji asked for this, waited for it too – but now you feel out of your depth. swimming with the sharks and other creatures that target what you think are your shortcomings and flaws. your brain lags behind your physical reality, sitting on top of the beefy and powerful jock – half way up to his chest and closer to his hungry mouth than a few minutes prior. you know that he can feel your sweet cunt clench over and grind down on his chiselled and firm frame – the want that you feel raising the temperature in his dorm room, in a way that’s real and makes your heart start to rattle out of its place and –
and you’re so scared. of disappointing him, of being nothing like what yuuji expects. you don’t doubt him, he’s been the most loving and doting first boyfriend, you count your lucky stars that he’s yours just as he does when it comes to you. though, even still, you worry that if this intimate act goes wrong… you won’t be able to satisfy him.
but then he’s there, squeezing you, lips under your ear – wet, demanding your attention. “stop getting in your head,” yuuji breathes hotly, offering you something to float on. keep you above the murky surface waters of your doubts. “stop gettin’ in your head… and stay here with me.”
it’s not said to pressure you, just a quiet confession of love. one that reads, i’ll wait if you’re not ready and we can stop here if you want to.
you shake your head, tilting it to kiss itadori again. hot tongue brazenly licking over the swell of his lip and your delicate hands looping around his strong neck. he lets you fall in love with him and the moment once again, this little intimate bubble created just for two where he swallows your simpering sighs licks into your mouth just to taste your burning soul.
your boyfriend treats you gently, like you’re something precious, something sentimental and when you keen into him – the pink haired jock follows, pressing his forehead back against yours, nose nudging your own. his lashes flutter against your temperate skin and he casts a glance down to your boxers. “how about we start with somethin’ easy,” he states, firm but kind. the way yuuji exhales each word is rugged, meant to ground you and you can taste the desire on his breath as it coasts over your damp cupid’s bow. “can you take these off for me?” the thumb at your hip sinks beneath the elasticated waistband of his boxers. which look way too fucking good on you, by the way. a dream come true. a secret he’ll giddily let slip to fushiguro or todo later. yuuji scorches loving circles into the flesh hidden beneath them, eyes burning equally hot into your soul. “i want you to keep my jersey on though, wanna see what it looks like from down here.”
“y-yeah, okay,” you don’t even attempt to seem cool nor collected, voice wavering cutely with nerves and wanton. “i can… i can do that.”
“‘course you can. you’re my good girl, my pretty girl,” awe weaves its way through yuuji’s cadence, cross stitched between every phrase and syllable as if to pull all the praise together. nice and tight. he watches you, waits with the patience of a saint as you nervously shimmy out of the boxers he’d loaned to you. “don’t care what anyone says, what nasty thoughts make their way into your head… you’re so fucking perfect. even if we stop here, i’ll be happy. just love having my baby on me…”
even still, you fail to miss the way that yuuji’s hip jumps from underneath your comforting weight, they rise from his ruffled and blue stripped bed-sheets, seeking the friction needed to alleviate the ache throbbing through his thickness. on shaky legs, you stand and kick the undergarment off – pulling a low, greedy groan from yuuji, like he’s starved. like his stomach is being tugged and jerked about by sharp talons of hunger, turning him hollow.
with him above you like this, he’s able to get a bird’s eye view of your perfect cunt. they way it shines with arousal and twitches around nothing. the tightness in his muscles liquifies at the sight of you, wet and waiting, and his fingertips inch up your calves, reaching up to the curve where your ass meets your thighs to pull you down onto his abdomen again. “fuck, honey. you’re drippin’,” yuuji laughs, but it isn’t mean. it’s airless and ruined, like he can’t believe how aroused you are already. he sits up quick, tucking his face into your neck with his lashes fluttering against your skin — as if he needs a moment to cope or breathe. “and you smell so good, like a confetti cake. how are you so perfect, i’m literally gonna go insane.”
he nuzzles into you to the point where it’s almost comical, trying to become one with your skin
“yuuji, oh my gosh.” grasping at strawberry pink hair with a giggle, you push itadori onto his back once more — grinning ear to ear. it’s almost crazy how comfortable he’s able to make you feel in a matter of seconds. he loves you so much it burns through you like a solar flare hanging amongst the stars — an all consuming ball of gas that remains entirely within your orbit instead of a million light years away. yuuji loves you and only you — putting you at the centre of his universe every time.
“what?” he whines and pretends you’ve got the force of a brute — dramatising the way his torso falls back to his sheets. the palm of his hand tenderly squishes the meat of your bare thigh, grazing it without rush. it a moment of confidence, you scoot forward enough for his lips to graze you, the sharp edge of his teeth nipping your thigh. “what’s so funny?”
“nothing it’s just—” for a moment, you flounder – unsure of your next words or what to say. there’s this warm, mushy feeling that settles in between your lungs and syncs with the rapid pulse of your heartbeat. yuuji has always made intimacy look effortless, made it feel like you’re floating through the clouds and like there’s nothing to fear. you’re grateful, that he’s kind and patient and understanding. though you’re sure he’d say he’s the one that should be grateful. after all, you chose him too. “i love you.”
scarred lips split into a wider smile, born like a star in a distant galaxy, accompanied by warmed breath that ghosts tenderly over the expanse of your flesh.. “oh, baby,” he croons, worshipfully, brown eyes big and earnest. “i love you so much. you have no idea how lucky i feel… being the person who gets to call you mine. i feel like i was created to love you and only you. ‘m sorry it took me so long to find you, but all of me is yours now…” yuuji confesses with slow, delicate cadence as if to let each word absorb into your mind and become your reality. there isn’t anyone who he wants aside from you, no one to worry about. no one he would run to the second you found yourself to be scared.
he checks in one last time, the hands on your thighs reaching further up, squeezing you in the right places and inching towards the center of his earth, the very mid point of your being where your core burns hot with lust. “you ready? don’t worry… i’ll go slow…” the jock swallows thick, each syllable catching on the ardour lodged in his throat as you involuntarily press down into him. itadori lets out a shuddering breath at the welcomed weight and pressure, all the want and need he’s been holding back for the last few weeks finally coming to a head.
yuuji slips underneath the jersey draped over your frame and drags the pad of his thumb, rough from sports, over the hood of your clit – drawing it back just enough to make you jolt. this desire, hankering hunger to eat you out hasn’t just come from nowhere, weeks of seeing you flit around in cute skirts and nerdy, dark academia outfits accompanied by those sinful thigh high socks that hug you just right… they’ve driven him to this very point. practises haunted by visions of you squealing and shaking on top of him, your thighs almost appearing as ear-muffs – the jock has surely gone insane.
he’s more pent up than he cares to admit, not wanting to pressure you into something you’re not ready for. if only you could see yourself the way itadori did, this adorably shy, sexy little thing that makes him feel like his heart is going to stop right there in his chest. today will be about you, showing you that you’re the only thing on his mind. he’ll worship you until even you believe you’re the most precious thing on this earth.
“o-oh my god!”
you squeak in a way that makes his burly body bristle with an intense affection. yuuji presses harder against your naked mound and his digits draw the delicate kanji of his name over the little nub tucked between your folds. his touch is electrified as pleasure zaps through your clit and crackles in the bone at your pelvis – making you waver above him.
“yeah i know, feels so good, right?” he praises you gently as you begin to rock your pussy against the seat of his palm, juices spilling warmly against it. all a result of the jock’s candied cadence and obvious desire tangled within his darkening, russet coloured eyes. “god, soaked already. you’re like a dream, baby.” yuuji’s freehand skims over the red and navy nylon mesh at your back, forming a fist in the material. it’s almost as if he’s holding back, all forms of restraint evident in both his tone and the quick swipes he makes against your cunt, teasing what’s to come. he can’t give in, reward you with an orgasm or more than his simple touch until you’re rutting against his silky tongue and cumming against his lips.
the slow strokes to your warm wetness, mouth falling open as you try and fail to hold back a loud, echoing wail that brews on the dampening seam of your slightly chapped lips – you’re already starting to feel it, the poke to the flames sparked in your lower belly. prodded and poked and stoked by your boyfriend’s deft digits that know you so well. the jock beneath you laughs dotingly, mirroring your expression of bewildered lickerishness and love. eyebrows pinched and lips parted.
because yuuji itadori gains his own pleasure from watching you descend into an ocean of your own, he’d be willing to drown in it if you asked. sink to the bottom of the salacious sea floor with just one pleading look from you. there isn’t anywhere he wouldn’t follow you, that’s how much he loves you.
“up you go,” yuuji pushes you forwards with a little less tolerance, using his strength and grip to haul you onto your knees – biceps bulging as manhandles you into a position that has you hovering above his watering mouth. he suppresses a starved growl, tongue writhing behind his pearlescent perfect teeth. “come on, baby. sit on my face, don’t be shy. i’m a big boy, i can handle it.” his patient gentle fascade starts to wither away, replaced by an awful greed that winds around his internal organs. “please? you’re killin’ me here, wanna show you how much i adore you..”
“but yuu… i–”
plush pink curls bounce when itadori shakes his head defiantly, even as his gut seizes at the way you whimper the nickname like you can’t even think to form proper words. its cute, how nervy and needy you are all at once… but he has to taste you. can’t wait anymore. “promise i’ll be okay, swear on it… just…” he starts to lose his train of thought, watching as you tenderly lower your weeping slit down to his face.
“promise?” you ask shakily, swallowing down the desire that bubbles up to the surface. “y-you’ll say if it’s too much.”
It's almost comical how itadori goes from shaking his head to nodding it furiously, so hard you’re afraid he might get whiplash. “swear on my life. no – on my scholarship. fuck, baby, my team–” comes his desperate ramble to reassure you. “yes, pretty girl. i promise… fuckin’ promise. holy shit–!” the jock cuts himself off when you finally lean low enough for his running mouth to press a sloppy kiss to your dewy sex. his gaze upon you as he begins to feast turns predatory – voracious as if he’s become undernourished without having you and there’s a hollow hole in his stomach from not tasting you. he licks the crease of your thigh, tasting the salt and sweat that begins to gather there from your lustful fever, trailing back to the point at which you leak sweet arousal.
yuuji basks happily in the way your hips delightfully twitch downwards to meet him, as if your body is aware of the heavens it’s about to reach. he’s close to where you need him, where he’s been begging to be lately, dreaming of, even – you’re so perfect. wonderful even. everything about you, not just your body but the way you search for him and trust him in everything that you do. “you know, you smell so good? fuck, like you wouldn’t believe…” the jersey that you wear, rustles around your frame as a mop of rosy pale pink sinks beneath it and large palms settle on the globes of your pert ass to bring you down onto his chiselled features. the manner in which yuuji speaks is nearly thoughtless, his brain lagging centuries behind his actions, shoving his face deep into the blazing heat of your throbbing mound. inhaling as though he’s addicted to your smell and what you drip.
he begins by opening wide and running the tip of his tongue through the length between your puffy pussy lips – its a slow, tantalising drag that pulls a veil of darkness over your mind and wilting thoughts. yuuji immediately sucks, slurping on all of the delectable essence gathered there, nearly glueing you together despite how you’re practically spread across his face. your boyfriend releases a longing, yearning sigh that sends a snowballing vibration echoing through the bones assembled to form your body, starting between your legs – it makes you spiral, arching away from the eager mouth that laps at you like a piece of hard candy on a stick. you reach for the stars yuuji hangs for you in the evening sky but winds down to the headboard instead – so that you can steady yourself.
“fuck…that’s… so hot,” drawling, yuuji tilts his head to an angle – bobs it up and down in a nodding fashion in order to circle the tip of his nose into the sticky surface of your clit. wetness smears across it, the weight of the gesture being enough to make you cry out like a lamb headed towards the slaughter house. “just dripping into my mouth, needed this. needed you.” your flavour spreads like wildfire across the palette of yuuji’s tongue as it easily plunges into you, guided by the slickness clinging to your quivering entrance clamping around it’s thick base. he swipes soothingly over the ribbed nature of your insides – soothing you where you’re unable to do so yourself.
lewd suckling and popping sounds fill the ambience in the room, layering over your waxing and waning angelic wails – spurring the jock on, he eats you out rabid and hungry, practically scooping your arousal into his mouth in an attempt to drink you dry. he would if he had to. if you let him. strings of saliva are pushed deep into the impatient throb of your insides. blood rushes to the tips of his ears, warmed by your thighs that bracket them comfortably – like they belong there.
if your nails were sharp enough, they would draw claw marks against the headboard you cling to for stability taking the form of a stark contrast against the white wood. you need something even more grounding, because you suddenly find the urge to rut keenly against yuuji’s handsome face – essentially covering his swollen lips in your syrupy juices, the mess running down to the point of his chin as well. your own face begins to grow messy with tears, tight and hot because you’re nearly embarrassed from how high your mewls are becoming. turning your throat ruined and raw.
it doesn’t help that the sight of yuuji underneath you, ravaging you like it's where he’s meant to be… is one completely new to you. the lilt of his voice as he groans and grips into your hot cunt is fattened up with an air of cupidity to the point where each word turns rough, cheeks and nosebridge struck with an intense shade of carmine which contrasts complimentarily against his golden skin. not to mention the way the pitch black of his pupils eclipse all colour in his eyes. you like this side of him, unabashed and avid – ready to devour you whole.
itadori moans with you in tandem, pleased by the seemingly instinctive and eager roll of your hips that come in manic, miry waves. “y-yuuji, it feels… god, it feels like i’m,” you struggle to finish your sentences – feeling his tongue wriggle deeper inside and streak along the pleasure spots only his fingers are capable of finding usually. the jock’s mouth briefly sweeps upwards, the top row of his teeth rolling against your clit until you shake with agony like bliss. merciless until you’re gargling on your own spit and saliva, nearly biting the damn wall to cope.
there’s no room to breathe, each swish and sweep of his tongue raising you higher and higher towards the pinnacle of ecstasy. you simply crumble from the attention he pays to every inch of your soaked slit, tongue swirling loops around your entrance that locks and unlocks around nothing – pushing out a dribble of slick. sometimes your clit falls victim, pinned to it with his content hums only worsening the way your soiled and shiny thighs tremble.
briefly, yuuji pulls his mouth off of you, lips rimmed with a cherry shade, before he quickly replaces them with three of his dexterous fingers. thick, rugged, like a man hard at work. he remains tied to you by warmed, clear strings of slick that only snap when the pink haired jock licks it up. he rubs at you frenziedly, the creaminess of your cunt fills the pocket of silence that had once only been interrupted by the way the two of you panted. your thighs twitch further apart to make room for the action, more webs of your arousal forming and breaking apart over him. “so messy, honey,,.” the jock goads you, offering up a toothy smirk to your wet stare. “you havin’ fun up there? know i am…” he pinches your folds together just to watch you leak, gushing a bubbly mix of essence and spit. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this, how perfect you are. bet the guys on the team would kill for a chance to see my pretty girl like this…”
the idea alone has you nodding tearily, brainless and away with the fairies. perhaps one day, you might enjoy being watched by the likes of fushiguro – and yuuji whimpers dreamily, at how you jolt at the mention too, brimming with pride that rises in his damp shorts. your mound glistens under the artificial light of his dorm, making your desires obvious. “you’d like that, baby?” yuuji croons whilst he leans back up to licks you up and down with fever and newfound vigor. “too bad, kinda wanna keep you all to myself.”
gentle taps land on your swollen folds, turning to smacks against your pulsating pussy. the action renders you weak, thoughts becoming jumbled up in your mind. your grip on the headboard slips due to the ill-like sweat that overtakes you, luckily, yuuji holds you tight by the tacky and bouncy meat of your ass. “love this pussy too much. she’s all mine, just like you are.” the jock snarls, voice so deep you almost fail to recognize it. it lacks his usual chipperness and warmth, replaced only by possession that has you breathless. “just like ‘m yours…”
“y-yes! mine…” you shriek sweetly, followed by a mumble of his name for the nth time that night as your head hangs low. positively flustered and a teary mess. “fuck, yuu. yuuji please keep going. i wanna, fuck, i wanna cum on your tongue.”
it’s getting harder to keep yourself up, pain stinging in your knees despite how they kneel against a plush feather filled duvet – though its almost as though that had been yuuji;s plan all along. to have eaten you out to the point where every part of you trembles and your muscles feel like nothing but wobbly jello. what he really wants, is for you to let it all go completely and trust in him to get you to the peak of pleasure like you rightfully deserve. it’s like you’re still not quite getting it, still hovering above his earnest mouth like you’re unsure of how much itadori can take, ignoring what he’s willing to do for you. to you. this is more than just sex to him, its about soothing your wounds left so doubt and making you feel so good that you forget they ever existed.
no longer in the mood to tease, itadori lines his mouth up with your sluice center once again – the warmth of his breath only adding a layer of sensitivity of it all. and you realise, that somehow, somewhere there is some kind of higher being that has gifted you this man. the one with the gentle soul and bright smile that lives to devote himself to you – you bucks his hips upwards for some kind of friction against his erection, because he gets so turned on just from you gushing into his mouth like a fruitful stream. yuuji whimpers like a kicked puppy as your taste coats his tongue once again, tangy and sweetly addictive in a way that makes him feel high. dopamine crackles along the tiny gap between skulls and brains a he’s drawn into the succulent delicacy of your pussy. you’re like that first sip of an iced beverage on a hot day, and yuuji must admit – he enjoys the humid atmosphere from underneath tour jersey. small jolts of felicity leap across your synapses like an eclectic current, puling you away from the self doubt that plagues you. leading you into a world where you know that you will always be it, for yuuji itadori.
it helps that the tip of the pink haired jock’s tongue squirms against the pleasure spots you can’t typically reach on your own. crying to the high heavens for a bit of mercy, you feel walls contract around the base of his pink muscle, stretching to accommodate the thickness there before he wags it back and forth eagerly. committing to memory each ridge or spot within your silken walls puts you on the verge of exploding. the more itadori takes care of you, the easier it is to succumb to him. trust him. still, your head rolls forward against the small slab of wood that makes up the dorm’s headboards in some form of respite and an attempt to cool yourself down from all the sucking and humping and whining. nonetheless, a trickle of hot desire slips into your system and only itadori can calm it.
yuuji’s movements grow sloppier and pace at which you grind your hips starts to turn uncoordinated, as though you can’t keep up. the whole ordeal remains a mess – like a snake, your boyfriend relaxes his jaw and greedily sucks one of your pussy lips into his saliva packed mouth before offering up the same treatment to the other. he shakes his head between your thighs as he laps at your cute, prominent clit – tongue taut against the overstimulated bundle of nerves. yuuji licks you until you’re practically clean, but then your hips jerk and your eyes roll back and you;re spewing copious amounts of honeyed nectar down his chin once again. from below, he works you up to the highest point of satisfaction, using teeth and tongue in coordinated attacks as though he’s tearing through his final meal. an orgasm slowly begins to cement inside of you, curated perfectly by tactical flicks agianst your gooey g-spot deep within. yuuji gives and gives until he’s able consume you like an unrelenting forrest fire that swallows up every living thing in it’s bath – be burns through you with a bright orange flame and fries every single nerve ending you possess until you;re left a tingling, gasping mess. the jock is so lost in you, carried away between your godly thighs that he doesn’t even realise how much of you covers him.
he doesn’t seem to mind much, big arms flexing around your middle – one large palm splaying up your spine to bring you downwards. there’s so much slick and arousal in between you, that as his mouth tirelessly works you towards release – it smears along your inner thighs like a crystalised sugar glaze. his cheeks are in no better state with his cheeks and chin in a shimmering whilst cloudy white keeps his lips connected to your slit.
if you’re being honest, you feel so good that it almost seems like the end of the world. everything tilts slightly on his axis – you can barely hear yourself snivel and sob with the blood rushing through your ears and the loud slurps coming from your boyfriend underneath you. exuberance and delectation curdle viscously in your bloodstream, especially when itadori uses his strong grip on you to start bouncing you up and down on the thick circumference of his tongue – thrusting it up into your welcoming little hole as though it were is rock hard dick. the one that you’ve taken so many times now and had to prep yourself for weeks prior in order to swallow every inch down and fully seat yourself on. the sick ‘schlick’ of your pussy increases crudely in volume the harder yuuji laps at you in rapid circles twisting inside – earning him a squeeze to the head with your thighs.
and of course, a precious shout of his name. “y-yuu, yuuji please. t-think ‘m getting close…” you whinge, recognising the rapturous rip through your gut. you still on top of him after a shockwave runs through you, attempting to calm your overwhelmed senses and get back the breath you’ve lost from moaning in whistle tones.
the blush-pink haired jock is also familiar with the signs of your orgasm and suddenly switches tactics. as you, without noticing, rise on your knees to escape the final notes of pleasure – yuuji grabs both of your ass cheeks in bare, veiny hands harshly bringing you down onto his face and yanks you back and forth across his wet, panting mouth. “please sit on my fucking face, baby. ride my tongue like you own it,” yuuji begs like he’s a man pleading for his life that hangs in the balance. “i know… god, i know that you’re scared…but you won’t suffocate me. hell, even if you did, i wouldn’t care. wanna die here, between these pretty thighs tasting this… gorgeous pussy.” maybe it’s the desperation that liters his town like treefall and kindling for the fire of lust crackling within him, but you turn wobbly and limp, unable to resist for much longer. “holy fuck, so sweet. mnnmm so fuckin’ sweet, honey. taste amazing. can’t even—” the needy groan the jock lets out as you finally, completely sit on his face, inches down your spine deliciously and drowns you in deep depths of ravishment.
all that wetness, all those juices – you pour them directly into yuuji’s mouth, which overflows like a chalice full of only the finest of wines. he avariciously gulps them down – not even daring to waste a drop as you begin to put your trust in his strength – rapidly rocking yourself back and forth over the swell of his tongue. simpering like an angel, your hand shoots down to scratch at yuuj’s fresh undercut – mussing up the curls of his hair. “yuu, right there. k-keep it there… feels so hot. can’t…” you blubber like a baby, the jock’s cherished baby girl. you sit right there on the edge – the fact glaringly obvious in the quiver of your laments, doused in euphoria and sprinkled with salaciousness. his response is muffled, a howl of idulgence causing a twinge in your pussy when you rut down on his tongue that flickers brutally in and out of your turbidly sticky hole.. “oh my god, your tongue… fuck, yuuji!”
“that’s more like it, baby. s-scream for me, let them hear how good you feel.” he pulls and gulps down some air – spitting onto your sex only just to selfishly suck it up from between your folds. “ride it like it’s yours honey, don’t stop fucking my face until you cum.” he looks just as wrecked as you are, riding his mouth like its meaty cock. yuuji’s cheeks redden even further, the blush spreading like water colour down his neck and chest, indicating how flustered he is by the sway and bounce of your hips. underneath his short, his shaft kicks, coated with so much precum that it might as well have been encapsulated in a white, seedy mess. this is the reality of what you make him feel. his own version of paradise. so turned on by you in the same, delirious state that he’s on the verge of cumming too. brown eyes disappear into the dark depths of his skull, but his grip traverses your body since it knows the way off by heart — hands reaching up through his navy and ruby sports jersey to fondle the soft sway of your breasts and hopefully drag you closer to the edge. “don’t care if i can’t breathe, keep it going. you’re doing so well on top of me. so pretty, shit.”
praise seems to be your final straw, yuuji’s warm complement whispered into your abused and ruined pussy being the only thing needed to send you hurtling off the cliff and into your high. static rings true in your ears, a familiar tune that only itadori is able to play for you ad your body succumbs to every lick, suck, kiss and touch it’s received over the course of the evening. all that tense, wound up pressure coiled within your lower belly releases all at once, rendering you a lank and floppy mess above your boyfriend who zealously works to sip and guzzle down the scorching outpour liquor that rains down on him from your palpitating pussy. every doubt and insecutiy you’d felt, about not being good enough to sexually please yuuji is quickly cast away as though it meant nothing. you can’t ignore that yuuji loses himself and his way at the very vision of you fucked out like this.
so drunk on you that he can barely hold back his own orgasm as the first taste of your orgasm hits him. sugary and slightly musky as it splashes across his lips and face. yuuji bursts then and there, following suit. he creams the inside of his shorts with a few shots of white hot seed, a strangled moan vibrating against your sensitive core as he cums with you, his sturdy and well-built body breaking out into its own set of mind-numbing shakes and shivers – moans almost incredulous.
“my fuckin’ god, I love it when you cum. all over me, all. over. me.” yuuji huffs and punctuates his words with a final lovetap of his tongue against your viscid pulsing mound, not even caring that his lungs are dying for a hit of oxygen from the sex-tainted air. his mouth returns to you, eagerly pressing kisses to your swollen and abused nub in the hopes of making you cum just like that all over again. “fuck baby, just wanna—“ he hisses, feeling your pretty smaller-than-his fingers tug hard at his mussed orchid coloured locks.
“n-no yuuji! too much.” comes your soft whiny complaint as you tiredly push him back by the roots of his hair. when he lets go, you immediately collapse to his side, breathing uneven but your face completely at ease. relaxed and love struck, until you perk up with realisation. “w-wait! yuu! did you want – um…”
carefully, your hand inches down the swell of his thigh but a calloused and larger one is quick to snap it up at the wrist. “did i need your help?” itadori asks softly, overcome with simple affection at your large doe-like eyes searching his face. “nuh uh baby, came already.”
“you…did?” you blink.
“in my shorts,” itadori bashfully responds. “you’re just that sexy and hot and pretty when you’re on top of me, honey. can’t help it, you make me so hard.”
“oh…” looking down at the now prominent wet patch at the crotch of his loose basket ball shorts, you squeak in surprise – part satisfied and part shocked that your boyfriend was able to cum untouched, right alongside you. your heart sings. yuuji itadori really does love you.
“god, you’re so stinkin’ cute!” yuuji rolls onto his side to face you, peppering it with kisses and linking your fingers tightly. “i could just eat you up!”
this time, you duck your head into his neck – much shier than before. “lets wait a little bit, yuuji. ‘m sensitive.”
“so i’m not hearing a no…” your boyfriend pipes up. “how long is a little bit, exactly?”
he’s rolling his massive frame on top of you before you can even blink – arms either side of your head as airy light laughter bubbling up on your lips when you realise he’s half hard against your thigh and his damp puce pink hair is tickling at your neck ever so slightly. itadori already leaving an array of possessive hickies along the column of it.
“yuuji! gosh, you just ate!”
end. reblogs and comments are always appreciated! just liking doesn't do anything. so leave a comment to motivate this writer if you'd like to see more!!
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."
𐔌 17.9K 𐦯 • 𝘕𝘖 𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘖𝘙𝘚.ᐟ | 𝑷𝒍𝒖𝒈.ᐟ𝑶𝒏𝒚, CollegeAU, drug use (weed), intoxication, s*x under the influence, or*l (fem. receiving), f*ngering, p -> v (missionary, sideways, backshots), dirty talk, safe s*x (condom use) “good girl” trope, virgin mc (she can’t take dick), shy/awkward mc, inexperienced mc, subtle size k*nk, gentle/caring Ony, nonchalant Ony, teasing Ony, hoe Ony, slow-build interest, light mention of him fucking other women, explicit language, use of the n-word (all characters & Author are Black)
pronounced (awe • meh • ray) | never did one of these, so here’s my take on it—enjoy & don’t forget to reblog/like/comment directly from this post <𝟑 .ᐟ
ᝰ♡.ᐟANYWHERE ELSE. SHE WOULD RATHER BE ANYWHERE ELSE THAN THIS ROOM. It could be the highlighter fumes. It could be the blue light radiating from their laptops—Solayne’s screen is a hell of a lot brighter than hers. It could even be the extra fine print of these textbooks.
All she knows is that her capacity to be here is dwindling by the second.
“This is frying me.”
From the corner of her eye, she sees those deep orange braids slide over Solayne's hiked up shoulders as she throws her head down on the desk. Her hands over her eyes cushion her fall.
She doesn't need to outwardly acknowledge the other woman's dramatics, but she definitely resonates with them; Being stuck in this small room—that can stand to be a few degrees warmer—with its shitty fluorescent lighting, rereading the same chapter and still not understanding the concept, has her feeling dumber and dumber.
It’s probably not even her fault, maybe it’s the arbitrary way of teaching her professor has that makes it so difficult for her to understand his notes. Either way, she's ridiculously close to throwing in the towel. Who needs to stress over words when she could be relaxing with a self-care day or going to parties like her other peers?
The thought of her parents hearing that is enough to snap her back to reality.
“Ámerei, I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
She blows out a breath, tucking a couple loose strands of her sew-in behind her ear. “Me neither.”
Sitting up with the rush of a new idea, Solayne's eyes widen with excitement. “You tryna eat? Matcha and brownies on me!”
It’s a tempting offer. Too tempting. An immediate ‘yes’ comes into her mind before she can even think twice about it … until she does.
Her teeth gnaw at her bottom lip, the last smudges of her lipgloss stuck to the pink skin despite having licked most of it off in the stress of studying.
She can’t take another “study break.” Messing around with Solayne, she’s already pushed this off more than she should have. And now, her midterm for Qualitative Analysis is just two days away and she’s nearly clueless about the most heavily covered chapter on the test. This could make or break her grade for this class, and a dropped class is not something her parents can afford.
Solayne’s face falls before she can even break the news of this truth to her.
Worry folds creases in her forehead and drags the corners of her lips downward. “I want to, Sol', but I can’t.”
A groan. “I knew you were gonna say that.”
“I’m sorry!” A remorseful laugh tumbles out of her. “I can’t fail this midterm. That’s gonna be my ass if my parents see that.”
A second is spared by the other woman to dwell on the misfortune, only for her sadness to vanish within a second, leaving behind a look of indifference.
“Well!” She shrugs. “I know how I’m going to spend the rest of this study sesh.”
And with that, Solayne stretches across the table to collect her books, notes, laptop, and any pen or highlighter left behind—likely even sneaking some of Ámerei’s.
“Enjoy one for me,” Ámerei smiles sadly.
"Of course.” As she stands to shove her laptop into her purse, Solayne looks to her. "But, seriously, don't stress yourself out too much. You've been studying for this test for like a week straight now, and that class is notoriously hard. I'm sure your professor's gonna give y'all a curve."
Leaning back in her chair, butt aching from how long she's been sitting, Ámerei exhales softly. "I hope so. I could honestly really use it, because the way I've been failing these quizzes is ridiculous."
Solayne purses her lips with the shake of her head, zipping up her tote bag. "You'll be fine, you always are."
"I don't think so, Sol'." Her lips twist into a frown. "I've really been stressing—"
"And that's your problem right there," she announces as she throws the hefty bag over a shoulder. "You're stressing when you don't need to. If you've already done all that you can, there's nothing left for you to do but trust yourself."
There’s not much Ámerei can say to that. All she can do is bring her laptop close to continue studying.
Solayne scoffs. “You need to relax. You don’t gotta stop studying now, but at the very least, let tomorrow be your day off. You can’t cram the day before the test.”
“No … but I can review.”
“Review my ass,” she rolls her eyes. “What you need to do is have a nice, good smoke sesh. Use that to calm your ass down.”
Ámerei kisses her teeth, the sound slipping out before she can stop it. “Or I can use that valuable time to study some more, so I can boost my chances of passing this midterm.”
Dismissively, Solayne waves a hand, turning for the study room’s door. “Blazè-blah. Good luck with that,” she shrugs. “And, by the way, access to this room expires at four, so make sure you’re out of here before one of those fucking monitors catch you. They are not about to fine me for this.”
Chin resting in her palm, Ámerei doesn’t spare her a glance. Instead, she squints her strained eyes at the small text on her screen. “Stay safe.”
“You too, text you later!”
A second later comes the abrupt shut of the study room’s heavy door. Alone in peace and quiet, she lets out a sigh.
‘Time to take this chapter from the top.’
ᝰ
TRUE TO SOLAYNE’S IMPRESSION OF HER, Ámerei is cramming the day before the test. Or at least, she’s trying to.
A set alarm had her up by seven, and after rushing to get ready, she raced her way to the campus library to snag a room before they were booked out.
Now, it’s almost half-past 10, and she hasn’t been able to retain a single word of information splayed across her screen.
She pulls her scrunchie free from her hair to retie her ponytail for about the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. Her eyes steal yet another glance at the time. She’s been here for almost two hours, and it’s starting to scare her how hard it is for her to focus.
Honestly, she’s starting to get the idea that Solayne was onto something. But, she can’t prove her right just yet.
So she thinks.
As she stares at the laptop, the words begin to swirl and the sentences stop making sense. Her eyes jump from line to line, unable to keep their spot. And the diagrams? They’re complete nonsense.
“Fuck me,” she mumbles, dropping her head into her hands.
For a moment, she stays frozen in that position, her mind searching itself for a solution to this madness. Her notes are useless, all the tutors for this class are booked up, and clearly reviewing this chapter isn’t doing anything.
She’s ready to admit it.
Picking her head up and out of her hands, Ámerei reaches for her phone with bleary vision. It only gets to ring once.
“Well if it isn’t my gorgeous friend! What can I do for you, my love?”
Her eyes flutter shut, holding back a sigh. “You were right—”
“Oouu!”
She squeezes her eyes tight, the shrill sound of Solayne’s voice piercing her ears.
“If those aren’t my favorite words to hear—so what does this mean?”
Peeling her eyes open, Ámerei peers down as she toys with the small, pink Tiffany pendant resting on her chest. “It means … I think I wanna take the edge off.”
Boisterous cackles fill her ears, the corners of her mouth rising.
“You so fucking dramatic,” Solayne muses, her laughter dying down into an easy chuckle. “But, I got just the thing for you.”
She shifts in her seat, eager to hear her suggestion.
“Now, unfortunately, I am busy today.”
The easy smile that graced her lips is wiped off in an instant as her spine straightens. “What?” She glares at her phone in betrayal.
“I know, I’m sorry! I owed Malaysia a favor, and she chose to cash it in today: I gotta drive her to and back from the mall.”
A soft groan leaves her as she throws her head back.
“Don’t worry, though. A nice smoke by yourself every once in a while is the best thing you can do for yourself, swear. Just spark up, play some music or watch a show, eat some good food—you’re lit!”
Thinking about it for longer than a second, Ámerei finds herself taking to the idea. Smoking will definitely take her mind off of the stress of this midterm. And with that weight off of her shoulders, she can probably catch up on some of her hobbies. Like, playing in her makeup. It’s been too long since she last got cute or even played The Sims.
“M’kay.”
A squeal has her flinching. “Perfect! You’re gonna have so much fun. I know a guy that sells on campus. Good shit, too. He’s cool with Eren.”
“Who’s Eren?”
“You don’t remember? That one guy on the swim team Aneesa used to fuck with?”
Her face screws up in confusion, threaded brows pulling together. “No?”
“Uh—anyway—he’s friends with Eren, I bought from him a couple of times. Y’know, supporting a Black-owned business ‘n’ all that. But … y’know, I am loyal to my plug.”
Staring ahead at nothing in particular, Ámerei raises a brow as one corner of her lips quirk up. “Connie?”
“Well … yes!”
She laughs at her friend.
“And speaking of, I might link him tonight—y’know … for weed.”
“Weed, yeah, right,” she giggles.
“Mhm, anyway, I’ll send you his Insta when I find it. It’s the only way to cop from him.”
“Thanks, Sol’.”
“No problem,” she sings. “Let me know how the high goes. Kisses!”
“Bye.”
With a clear decision made, Ámerei wastes no time in packing her belongings and freeing up this room for the next suffering soul.
When she returns to her dorm, empty of Solayne’s presence, she picks out a simple outfit: black capri leggings and a cropped white tank top.
As she pulls the skimpy top over her head, her phone pings with a notification from Instagram. Shirt on, she smooths the soft wrinkles out of it before grabbing up the device from her bed.
It was DM from Solayne—a shared profile. Before she can even respond, her phone buzzes with a new message:
His name is Onyankopon btw
Ámerei ‘hearts’ the message before clicking onto his page. There isn’t a face present anywhere on it, and no highlights to skim through. No tagged posts or even a name in the bio. There’s only one post up: a three photo carousel.
The first photo is of his hand, the dark skin marked heavily with ink. One finger is adorned in a glistening ring and a tennis bracelet on his wrist.
‘Well … at least he takes care of himself,’ she thinks, noting his clean nails and trimmed cuticles.
The second photo is an interior shot of a car, the model she isn’t sure of. All she recognizes is the sleek emblem that glints on the steering wheel—Genesis.
‘Expensive.’
The last photo is a perfect “off-guard.” A clear shot of his outfit. It’s crisp definition and high quality tells of the use of a professional camera. He had turned his face away just in time for it not to be caught in the photo.
His arms were hidden by a Pelle Pelle jacket, but from the peak of his wrist, she can tell he’s covered in ink. At least his arms are.
‘Mysterious … okay, sure.’
The ‘like’ count on the post is off, and the comments are tame—limited, too. But, she can only imagine what the counts for each would be, seeing as he has a little over a thousand followers. She presses her lips together, telling herself that these little details about his account shouldn’t matter.
It’s not like she needs to know much about his morals or his character anyway, however, he does seem like the flashy type. She’s only hitting him up for a service—a product, really.
Heading to his chat, she shoots him a quick message:
Hey, I was told you sell
Crashing onto her bed, she chews on her lip as she watches the chat. She’s not sure why she decides to wait on a response. Maybe it’s a testament to how much she needs this.
But luck is on her side. As she blinks, a new message appears in their chat:
Yea
She swallows, trying to think of what will be enough to cover her. She doesn’t buy often, and she definitely isn’t a casual smoker. After about a minute, her fingers type quickly.
How much for a gram?
Don’t sell less than a dub
Her head jerks back, stumped. What the hell is she going to do with all of that weed? Sure, it isn’t necessarily a huge amount, but she's definitely not going to make more than one blunt any time soon.
She guesses she’ll just have to leave the rest for Solayne. It’s that girl’s lucky day.
But Ima let it slide for uu
First time client deal
An unexpected scoff burst from her lips. A crinkle becomes evident in her brows as she ‘hearts’ his message.
Ty
This time, he ‘hearts’ her message.
Whn uu want it ?
Today
Soon if you can, lol
2 ,by the big fountain statue ?
That's good, thank you
Aii
With just a small bit of time before their meetup, Ámerei does the next best thing to distract herself from the fate of her Qualitative Analysis grade: scroll through her TikTok’s 'For You' page.
ᝰ
THE SUN HANGS HIGH IN THE SKY, partly obscured by thick clouds. Crisp yet light winds blow gently, pushing around any stray leaves that have fallen to the ground.
It isn’t too cold, the slight breeze is something that Onyankopon doesn’t mind. He’s more concerned with the punctuality of this customer.
Her name, he doesn’t quite remember. Something with an ‘A.’ When he skimmed through her profile, he remembers thinking that it had a pretty spelling—that’s about as much as he recalls.
His saving grace will be recognizing her once he sees her, he’s always been good at remembering faces. That, and he doesn’t think he could forget hers.
She’s pretty from what he saw. Cute. But, that’s about as extreme as his thoughts went. A girl with a simple look, not that there’s anything wrong with that. Clean and minimal makeup, hair neatly styled and out of her face, and an affinity with the color blush pink.
A well-curated aesthetic to fit that of an influencer. If he has to bet, she probably has a sizable following on TikTok, posting content of her getting all done up for her viewers: “Get Ready With Me to Run Some Errands;” “Outfit of the day;” “Come With Me to Try This New Matcha Drink—”shit like that.
He doesn’t have a strong opinion regarding that. Just a blanket assumption regarding the information he was able to garner from her page.
It’s funny; when she first messaged him, part of him thought it was someone else talking to him through her account. Simply using her face to lower his guard—possibly a nigga trying to set him up for something petty like another woman.
Then she asked him how much for a gram, and he went scouring through her account. It started making sense. It’s likely that she doesn’t smoke much, she doesn’t look like the type. And he doesn’t remember ever talking to her, so it couldn’t be a set-up … not from another man, at least.
So, he chose to be nice—this once. A first-time deal for a new client, even if this little $10 transaction is a waste of his time. His weed is good, he’s got confidence in his product. And hopefully, in seeing that he’s a business man willing to cater to any type of customer, she’ll admire that enough to become a regular.
For a split second, he’s adverse to his own idea; A pretty girl like her doesn’t need to be facing blunts like that. Yet, just as quickly, the thought evaporates, because how much she smokes simply isn’t his business. And if she wants to smoke more of his weed, then that’s just more money for him.
His useless hypotheticals are put to stop when he notices movement in the near-distance; A sort of rushed walk of determination, heading in his direction.
For some reason, Onyankopon bites back a scoff. Everything about the way she is dressed confirms the character he’s created of her in his head.
‘Come With Me to Buy A Gram On My Way to Pilates!’
He almost laughs at the thought.
Glancing at the time on his phone, he notes that she’s almost ten minutes late. He’ll let it go just this once; “first-time client deal” and all. She’s just lucky today is one of his slower days.
Black hair, pressed flat and shining under the sun, sways with body behind her. It’s tucked behind her ears, showing off dangling earrings. A cropped, half-zipped sweater hangs boxy on her smaller frame and off of one shoulder, keeping her upper-half somewhat warm in this breeze.
As she gets closer, he notices the finer details of her. Like the subtle dewiness of her skin, the quiet definition of muscle beneath her moisturized skin, and the wispy lashes that perfectly frame her slender eyes.
Her pace slows as she comes to a pause before him, apprehension covering her like a shroud. Onyankopon relaxes his stance, trying to give off an air of gentleness so as to not spook her off. Then, he reminds himself that she’s not some deer in the forest that’ll run off at the faintest sound of a twig snapping.
“H-hi, Onyankopon? Did I say it right?”
Of course, her voice is soft. Real gentle, like … plush mink fabric.
The blow of wind barely shifts in direction, yet that’s all he needs to smell the clean scent wafting off of her; warm and spicy, with an overall powdery essence. Not an overbearing smell. In fact, its projection is personal. She’d have to let him get close to smell more of it.
Admittedly, it’s enticing enough to lure him in.
“Yeah,” he half-nods, staring down at her, conscious of making no sudden movements.
“Okay.” A shy piece of laughter breaks from her, the corners of her eyes crinkling as her mouth opens to let the airy sound free.
He gets a generous peak of her pink tongue and gums, and her white teeth—a “perfection” in hygiene that seems naturally characteristic of her.
“I was scared I approached the wrong person,” she says, laughter dying off.
He wonders if she practiced this interaction. If she thought more than twice about what she’d ask him and how she’d ask it. Then, he tells himself to stop being a dickhead.
She’s not doing too bad. Someone like her—if she’s not smoking often—likely doesn’t get her own weed. She probably doesn’t even roll her own blunt, let alone crush the bud.
No, she can’t risk getting anything under her nails or having her fingertips stink. Unless she uses a crusher, and not just any old crusher. It has to be cute, something pink to match her aesthetic.
“Nah, you good.”
His gaze dips below her face for a split second, stealing a peak at her hands. As he suspected; a soft, milky pink color is painted over square-shaped nails that barely reach over the tips of her fingers.
She nods, glancing off to the side before clearing her throat. “Um—how much?”
“Ten.”
He sees the minuscule jump in her brows as she tries to conceal her shock.
‘How much did she think it would cost?’
Nodding, she reaches for the tiny purse he hadn’t even seen tucked beneath her right arm. She barely rifles through it for more than a second.
“You don’t gotta give cash, just Zelle it.”
She freezes, eyes wide as she looks up at him. “Oh,” she mumbles. She fumbles to readjust the purse on her shoulder before getting her phone out.
The large iPhone is adorned in a powder-pink case. Her thumb does a great deal of stretching across the screen as she tries to type one-handed. She eventually gives up, using both hands.
“What’s your, um, number?” She stares down at her screen, thumbs hovering over the glass as they wait to enter his digits.
“You don’t wanna see the weed first?”
That same caught look returns to her face as she picks her head up. “Oh—shit. Sorry—”
A dry, amused snort leaves him as he finally allows himself to smile—albeit, a faint one. “I’m just fucking with you.”
“Oh, alright,” she snorts. The tense energy in her shoulders releases a bit.
“It’s in my car, can’t do this out in the open.”
She nods quickly, like she suddenly remembered the nature of this exchange. He turns to head to his car, silently calling for her to follow along. And she does.
Just a few inches from his side, he watches her from his peripheral vision. Another new thing he notices: the simplistic, earthy green slides on her feet, showing off her toes that match her nail set.
When they reach his car, he isn’t surprised that she’s stopped a few feet from it. He takes no offense to it, either. Instead, he opens his door, sliding into the driver’s seat. He does a quick reach over the console to retrieve a small dime bag from the glove box.
Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he toys with its seal as he nods over to her. “Take my number.”
Springing into action, she opens her phone back up to enter his number for the transaction. As he recites it, her fingers move quickly.
“I’m sending a dollar first.” She peers up to look at him, her shiny lips parting as she inhales. “Just to make sure it’s the right … thing.”
“Do what you gotta do.”
He turns his head away to survey the scene—campus is quieter than usual, most students crowding the libraries or indoor lounge spaces to study for midterms.
It’s silent for a minute before his phone pings with a deposit notice. He gives her a confirming nod when she looks at him. Soon, she sends the remaining balance, asking him “ten dollars, right,” as if she didn’t remember the total. He answers her anyway, unsurprised by her trepid thoroughness.
Before his phone can even sound with the confirmation of the remaining money sent, he outstretches his hand, offering the baggy.
She blinks, going “O-oh,” before gingerly taking it.
“‘Preciate it,” he nods.
“Thank you.”
She gives him a genial, close-lipped smile before tucking the baggy away in one of her sweater pockets and turning to leave. He doesn’t check to see where she’s going or to even watch her go.
The encounter went just about how he expected it to.
He can’t tell if she’d be back, though it’s not something he’d take to heart if she doesn’t. Girls like her are usually one-time customers, just from experience.
As he shuts his door, his phone pings with the notice of the rest of his money. He doesn’t check it, sure that she’d sent him those nine dollars, just like she was supposed to.
He turns on the engine, shortly pulling out of the parking space to continue the rest of his day.
WARM VANILLA, SUGARY CHOCOLATE, AND ANY OTHER GOURMAND SCENT she can think of, fills the small off-campus apartment, courtesy of the women present. There isn’t a moment of silence here.
And it helps, not having to think too hard about how she’s still barely afloat in that class (which shall not be named); head just above water. All Ámerei wants to think about is how lit she can get tonight with her friends.
“And you’re sure y’all won’t get a violation for this?”
Resting across the short length of the olive green couch, Solayne watches the next woman closely, seated on the floor before her.
“Girl, yes,” Aneesa responds. Face buried in her phone, she doesn’t even spare a glance. “You know how many times me and My-My smoked in here?”
“Nah, facts,” Malaysia backs up, showing all thirty-two teeth as she recounts the many times they’ve gotten away with breaking the strict off-campus apartment rules. “We just gotta stick a towel under the front door and open some windows, we’ll be good!”
Her boisterous, raspy confirmation brings Solayne and Ámerei peace.
“Oh, then, say less,” Solayne sighs out in relief.
“Yeah, and no one’s gonna snitch, even if they do smell it,” Aneesa adds.
Seated at the small kitchen island, Ámerei pulls an open bottle of a cranberry Prosecco wine closer to her as she watches her friends work out the plans for the night. Grabbing her cup, she replenishes on the bubbly drink as conversation continues amongst them.
“Only thing is … I'm out.” She bares her teeth in an expression of awkwardness, sucking in a breath of air. “All I got is papers."
Aneesa's confession comes out with apprehension. Quickly, Solayne turns to Malaysia for hope.
"Facts," the second choice frowns, reaching to tug on a stray curl at the nape of her neck. "I do got cones, though."
"Fuck!" Solayne groans out. However, she quickly remembers Ámerei, looking to her roommate.
"Mei, you have any left?"
Malaysia and Aneesa look at their quiet friend in mild shock.
The unsuspecting business major gawks at them with wide eyes, like she'd been caught in headlights.
"Left? Girl, since when have you ever got any?" Malaysia asks, an incredulous smile on her face.
"I hooked her up with a plug," Solayne answers, popping out her tongue as she flips a good amount of braids over her shoulders.
With pursed lips, Aneesa looks her up and down, holding back a laugh. "And you look proud of it."
"Look at you," Malaysia shakes her head. "Corrupting the poor girl."
Swallowing a sip, Ámerei shakes her head, holding a hand out to catch their attention. "Hold on, she didn't corrupt me. I wanted to smoke—"
"Tell 'em," Solayne defends.
Ignoring the interjection, Ámerei continues smoothly. "And I only bought a gram, anyway. It was supposed to be a once in a blue moon type of thing."
Malaysia raises an eyebrow, watching the other woman with skepticism as she moves to the kitchen for a drink of her own. "You rolled?"
As Ámerei turns her head away to hide the growing smirk on her glossy pink lips, the others burst out into laughter.
"Right," Aneesa laughs.
"Girl, you know she had me roll that shit for her when we came back from the mall,” Solayne confesses.
"I'm crying," Malaysia says, grabbing herself a cup and stealing the bottle of Prosecco.
"Well, I hope you still got that dealer's number, 'cause he's about to make a cute coin tonight." Pushing herself up from the ground, Aneesa heads for her room.
"But was his shit was good, though?" Cradling her cup, Malaysia reenters the living room space.
Ámerei nods. "Yeah, I liked it. Pretty smooth."
Solayne scoffs. "Girl, of course it was good. She got her shit from Onyankopon."
Just as those words had left her mouth, Aneesa emerged from her room, her wallet in hand. She pauses in her tracks. "Onyankopon?"
All heads turn to her, seeing the way her face screws up.
"Yeah, what's wrong?" Solayne asks, eyeing the woman as she rejoins their circle.
She offers a weak eye roll. "Nothing, I just hate hearing about anything or anyone related to Eren." Her legs fold under her body as she takes her seat on the floor near the couch, wallet in-lap. "And what about Connie? We can't just get from him? I'm sure he'll give us, like, a discount—y'know, off the strength that it's you."
Both Ámerei and Malaysia glance at each other, cracking twin smiles as they catch the subtle shade.
Solayne only waves her off. "Oh, girl—please! And Connie not even on campus right now. He went home for the weekend."
Malaysia scoffs, lifting her cup to her mouth. "Yeah, your ass would know," she mumbles into it.
Solayne looks at her with faux confusion. "Something was said?"
Ámerei giggles at the two. "Guys, it's fine. I can text, um, Onyankopon." Licking her lips, a bad habit of hers whenever she gets tipsy, she plucks up her phone to go straight to Instagram.
"How much should I ask for?" she asks as she taps around on the screen, brain lagging for a micro-second between each one.
"A quarter," Solayne offers.
"Bitch—no. Ask for a half, please, Ámerei."
Solayne scowls at Malaysia. "Fucking druggie."
A mini debate over the desired quantity breaks out amongst the women. One side argues that it'd be too much—after all, they're only going to be smoking for the night. The other proposes that they must consider the varying tolerance of the rest.
"Guys, c'mon," Ámerei cuts in. "I don't wanna text him then leave him hanging—"
"Relax, cry baby" Aneesa placates. "Just get the half. We'll split it, and whatever's leftover, whoever wants can get it."
Licking her lips, Ámerei begins to type in hers and Onyankopon's shared chat:
Hey
Can I get a half?
As she waits for his response, she chews at her bottom lip, careful to keep their chat open and her phone on.
"What did he say?" Malaysia questions, leaning over her shoulder to see.
"He didn't respond yet," she mumbles as she picks up her cup. A shallow wave of dizziness hits her, but that only tells her to drink more.
Aneesa scoffs, folding her arms across her chest. "He must not want this money then."
Solayne smirks at her. "You don't wanna buy from this man so bad."
"Ou, he just texted back!" Malaysia announces. Turning back to look at the phone, she tells Ámerei: "Tell him we want it tonight."
"Calm down, you fein," Solayne says.
Blocking out the noise around her, Ámerei reads his response.
Whn uu want it
Tonight, pls
He 'hearts' her message before shooting back a reply.
Gotchu in 20
That's good, how much is it?
Once she sees the bubbles bounce on his side of their chat, she expects to see a response half-a-second later. So, she's a little bit surprised when it doesn't come.
In fact, her surprise morphs into confusion when the bubble disappears and reappears, repeating this dance for about a minute.
"The fuck? He don't know his own prices?" Malaysia says.
Aneesa rolls her eyes. "And this is who we're supposed to be buying from?"
"Shut up," Solayne groans.
Ámerei is about to swipe out of their chat when his message finally pops in.
Picking her head up from the phone, she earns the girls' attention. "He said it's $120."
"That's not too bad," Malaysia says.
The others agree, Aneesa with less enthusiasm than the others.
"Thirty each, okaaay," Solayne nods, a growing smile on her face.
Garnering the responses, Ámerei types back.
That's good. Are we meeting at the same spot?
Yh
"Okay, it's set," she announces, much to the others' relief. "I just have to go pick it up by the statue on campus."
Aneesa blinks. "The statue? On campus?"
"Right, girl that's a cute … twenty-minute walk right there," Malaysia adds.
"Not only that—what do you mean you have to go pick it up? I hope you don't think we're letting you go out there by yourself?"
Ámerei glances around at her friends, noting the shift in energy. "I went by myself last time—"
"Mei, that was during the day," Solayne interjects, though she's careful to keep her voice light.
"Facts, you not about to get snatched up for some weed, going out there by yourself," Malaysia says.
Refraining from rolling her eyes—all too used to the protective nature of her friends regarding anyone belonging to their tight-knit group—she relents: "Okay, we'll all go, I don't care."
She utilizes a tired laugh to disguise her slight irritation, but it doesn't go unnoticed, not by Solayne. However, it's ignored in favor of keeping the mood high. Besides, she doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions just yet.
ᝰ
THE AIR IS PERFECT TONIGHT, far warmer than the night of their last exchange—more humid, too. Her baby tee clings to her skin. With every step, the air brushes against her legs like the smooth pass of a blanket.
Her friends cling to her, their natural conversation floating around them. However, she doesn’t give much of her attention to their words. Instead, the brief memory of her last encounter with Onyankopon keeps her mind busy.
She questions why she was so nervous the first time. It was a simple transaction. Yet, it was all too easy for her to second-guess herself when it came to asking the right questions. She’s sure he could sense her nervousness, too. She likes to think that this time will be different.
As they round the corner on the path leading across the campus yard, Ámerei sees that tall figure leaning against the University’s trademark statue.
The others spot him, too.
“Ugh,” Aneesa groans softly.
“Oh, hush,” Solayne butts in.
As they near him, Ámerei clutches the money tighter in hand, the folded bills soft in her grasp.
Tall street lamps line the path, casting soft warm spotlights around the manicured lawn. The closer they get, she notes how his body seems to evade most of it by where he stands.
Her feet pick up in stride, thong-slippers slapping the concrete as she's pushed to the front of the group as their new lead. Eventually, space grows between her and the girls. To which they don’t fail to notice, of course.
“Girl, where are you going?” Solayne asks.
A half-hearted motion is thrown in the general direction of the man, some odd-feet away, as Ámerei glances back at her. “He’s right there!”
They finally get within a good enough range of him, and a bolt of courage strikes throughout her.
“Hi,” she waves, coming to a stop before him, an easygoing smile on her lips.
Unlike last time, a durag covers the inky black waves on his head—royal blue. He looks every bit as comfortable as he portrays himself to be: Chrome Hearts hoodie, baggy sweats, and slides on his feet.
She wonders if her request had stolen him from the comfort of his bed.
A quick nod is sent her way as he pushes himself off of the statue. “Wassup.”
Going half-a-step closer, she looks up at him with low eyes. Her nose picks up the faint scent of his cologne, something she’s never smelt before; clean, floral yet woody—even a hint of amber.
It almost makes her mouth water. She squeezes the money tighter. Before she lets her mouth run unfiltered, she chooses instead to lick her lips and swallow her spit.
“You bought your friends?”
The question sounds like an after-thought as he reaches down to retrieve a book bag by his feet, which she hadn’t noticed.
“Huh?” She glances back at the girls, seeing them converse amongst themselves, the occasional glance shot her way. “Oh, yeah,” she giggles.
As he reaches into his bag, he’s sure to keep his eyes on her.
“They, um, they didn’t want me to come alone … said it was dangerous.”
A half-hearted snort comes out of him. “They not wrong.” He pulls out a decently sized bag full of his product. The smell hits them immediately. “But how I know y’all not here to rob me?”
As the question leaves his mouth, he hands her the bag, a faint one-sided smirk on his lips.
A laugh bursts free from her. “I’m in flip-flops. I can’t run, even if I wanted to … I’m not fast.”
He hums in thought, glancing down at her toes so quick she almost misses it. “Could’a fooled me … would’a thought you did track or something,” he mumbles, analyzing her figure.
At the confession, her eyes almost bulge out of her head. “Track? I wish!”
If his growing smile is anything to go by, he’s definitely amused.
“I, um, I-I do Pilates.” There’s an attempt to hide her own grin; she chews at her bottom lip.
“Yeah?”
She nods. “I wish I was more consistent, but yeah… I’m sorry, you didn’t ask that.”
Her laugh is awkward, to say the least, yet she tries to quickly move past that; outstretching a hand, she offers him the money.
“You cool.” He takes the rolled up bills, quickly counting the cash before shoving it in the pocket of his sweats.
She nods, clutching the bag to her chest.
For a moment, they stare back at each other, waiting for the next prompt. He goes first.
“Y’all stay safe.”
She blinks, the corners of her mouth dropping just a fraction as she realizes this interaction is over.
“You, too,” she nods before leaving first, heading back to her friends. She doesn’t glance back at him.
As she returns to the group, Solayne is the first one she makes eye contact with.
“Finally, I thought that shit would never end,” Aneesa starts.
Malaysia rubs her hands together, shoulders bouncing with glee. “Ouu, I can already smell it. Tonight’s gonna be so good!”
The journey back to the apartment doesn’t feel as long.
ᝰ
THERE’S A REASON WHY he tries to be on campus as little as possible. The slow-walkers and corny people, the dick-riding ass security guards, the useless administration, and overall atmosphere of the school is too much for him at times.
To make a long story short, Onyankopon doesn’t have the patience for this.
His body twists, narrowly avoiding colliding shoulders with another student. With the quiet kiss of his teeth, he shakes his head, thinking, ‘This exactly why I scheduled these classes back to back.’
He readjusts his grip on the cool grey metal of his laptop, clutching it to his chest.
“Stupid ass nigga,” he mutters with the curl of his upper lip.
Outside’s cool breeze is shut out as he finally enters the second campus building—the location of his next class. He reaches up, readjusting his headphones over his skull-cap.
The journey to his next class is a short one, thankfully: a quick ride up the escalator to the second floor, a walk down the west hall to room 158, and he’s there. Nothing longer than two minutes … usually.
However, this time is an exception.
As he steps off of the escalator, eyes scanning the large hall as they typically do, his attention catches on something.
Someone.
In a small area off to the side is a cul-de-sac of benches for student seating. And it seems that he’s just caught Ámerei getting up from the bench, as she hangs her purse over her shoulder.
He’s not sure how to describe the emotion that fills him as he sees her glance back—in the midst of flipping her hair over her shoulder—at a guy just inches from her.
Mild shock? Surprise?
None of those words seem to qualify, because this is definitely something he should’ve expected.
But, he doesn’t remember seeing a post about a man or even a story-post involving one when he last saw her page—about two weeks ago when he was just curious about remembering her actual name.
Her glossed lips move at an excited pace as she turns to speak to the man, the apples of her cheeks rounded and high with a smile.
His attention flicks over to the man himself, who stares in her face like it would kill him to not pay attention to her for even a second.
Onyankopon’s left brow twitches.
It’s not unusual for people to not post their significant other. But, it makes sense that she has a nigga, he thinks.
A pretty girl that keeps up with herself at all times. Her vibe gives off that she’s a woman of—at the very least—some kind of class, and she’s got money. She keeps herself healthy, dresses good, has good hygiene, nails done, hair done—overall, highly attractive.
And his type.
He blinks, swallowing back at the realization. Once more, he looks at the pair, catching them at the tail-end of a hug.
‘Noted.’
With practiced ease, Onyankopon turns the other way to head to class, right down the west hall.
Hey
Can I get a gram pls
THE MESSAGE FALLS DOWN ON HIS SCREEN AS HE SCROLLS THROUGH TIKTOK, currently in the middle of a compilation of basketball highlights—his idea of decompressing after finals. As soon as it was over, he raced back to his apartment, situated off of the campus.
Onyankopon isn’t too concerned about how he performed on the test. He did too well in that class to even think he could possibly fail.
It took him a moment to recognize the username, confused as to who would be asking him for a gram—especially knowing he doesn’t sell such a small amount. His lips press together with faint irritation as he views their chat.
He hasn’t seen Ámerei around campus since that day … almost two months ago. Nor has he heard from her. Understandable. He doesn’t expect to hear back from or even frequently see the people he deals to often.
Admittedly, after seeing her with that other guy, he decided to keep his eyes to himself. Even if he wasn’t really looking that hard. He’s had enough of the drama that comes with people, especially when it comes to women.
Making money and finishing college, that’s his top priority.
was a new client deal
1 time only
Immediately after sending the message, he swipes back over to TikTok to resume his video. He’s only granted a few seconds of peace when a new message pops up:
Oh right, sorry
An eighth then
Whn uu want it
Rn...
At the sight of the message, Onyankopon squeezes his eyes shut and releases a deep sigh.
So much for decompressing.
ᝰ
ONYANKOPON FINDS HER at the usual pick up location, looking the most stressed he’s ever seen her. He has to admit, he’d much rather see a smile on that face instead of a pout.
With furrowed brows, she stares off at nothing in particular. All the while, the tip of her thumb is pushed in between her lips, jaw working as she nibbles on her manicure.
He doesn’t announce his presence, only walks up to her. And upon seeing him, the tension in her narrow shoulders eases some.
“Hey,” she breathes out, taking a half-step towards him.
His hand clutches the strap of his book bag a bit tighter. “Wassup.”
A tiny sigh falls from her lips as she looks off to the side. “Nothing, really … just stress, honestly.”
A curt hum leaves him as he brings his bag around to his front to get out the baggy.
“Y’know, with, like … finals, and everything…”
He nods. “Felt that.”
She peers up at Onyankopon, watching his face closely for any small signs of irritation. He shows none. However, she does notice something she’d never seen before—the small tattoo printed near his left ear.
“It was just so hard this semester, like…” she groans, looking off to the side again. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I’m not cut for this college stuff.”
She chews at her bottom lip, partly noting his silence.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Ain’t nothing new, though.” Casually, he hands off the weed.
“No, I know, but…” Another sigh. “But this—it’s too much. Especially this round of finals. I honestly felt like … no matter how hard I studied, I still couldn’t understand anything. Like … my professor was so terrible! I just—ugh. I honestly want to get so fucking high I can’t even remember how bad I just bombed this final. I know I failed it.”
Her head drops in her hands, and Onyankopon is at a loss for words. The corners of his lips twitch as he’s actively trying to decide whether he should laugh or at least attempt to console her.
“I mean … you can’t be talking like that … or thinking like that.”
His voice picks her head up out of her hands.
They stare at each other, each waiting to see who will move the ball first. Onyankopon almost cracks first.
Almost.
“Do … do you smoke?”
Confusion flashes across his face as the topic switch almost throws him off.
“Uh … occasionally?”
She nods, staring up at him with big eyes that seem to be soaking up everything in her line of sight—him.
“I only asked because … y’know, you … do this—” She gestures to the baggy in her grasp. “H-how often do you do it—smoke?”
He shrugs again. “Not much...”
Another nod, and it’s quiet again, but only for a very brief bit of time.
“Sorry—do you—did you have finals?”
He makes a face, brows scrunching up as the corners of his lips quirk up.
“I know you sell to people on campus, so—” She shakes her head. “That was a stupid question. I meant, what class did you have finals for?”
Hands in his pockets now, Onyankopon looks down at her. Eye contact is sparse at this point. Her fingers comb through the ends of her hair.
“Why you asking all these questions?”
That gets her attention; Her eyes bulge out of her head as she gawks up at him, seemingly having forgotten herself.
“Sorry, I was just curious—you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to!”
Under his stare, she shrinks in on herself, even begins to create a bit of space between them.
“I didn’t mean to, like, pry into your business—”
“You smoking alone?”
The question is enough to throw her off. Her brain shoots off about a hundred different thoughts before she’s able to stammer out an answer.
“Yeah … w-why?”
He’s quiet for a while, but it’s obvious that an idea has been set in motion. She can see it in his eyes.
“Tryna chill with me?”
ᝰ
‘YOU DIDN’T SAY YOU LIVED HERE, my friends live in this building.’
Those words almost tumbled their way out of her mouth. Until she overthought it and predicted his “would-be” response: ‘Why would I tell you where I lived?’ That was enough to keep her quiet.
Oblivious to the metaphorical cloud hanging over Ámerei’s head, Onyankopon leads the way into his apartment.
His stature—tall with broad shoulders—hides her view of his place for a moment. In that very short period of time, the pleasant scent of his home hits her nose.
The layout is similar to Malaysia and Aneesa’s apartment. The familiarity offers a bit of comfort.
Yet, it’s not enough to push her shoulders down or take the stiffness out of her gait. Following behind him, she is the living definition of meekness. Her palms sweat as they hold on tight to the baggy of weed she has yet to pay for.
“No shoes in the house,” he says, veering off to the side to toe-off his own.
Silently, she nods, removing her sneakers and setting them down near the door.
“You could sit on the couch if you want.”
She glances over at the short sofa, littered with two small stuffed toys—a mini Mario and Luigi pair—sitting at opposite ends.
"Oh, that's cute." The words slip from her mouth without much of a thought.
"Huh?" He glances back to see her heading for the couch, reaching out for one of the stuffed toys. "Oh, shit, yeah," Onyankopon chuckles.
Stealing a spot, Ámerei easily plops down with the tiny Luigi in her hands. And she doesn't plan on letting him go any time soon. She pinches and twists at his little arms, even rubbing the pads of her thumbs over his smooth felt, as she watches Onyankopon move with absolutely no hurry around his home.
She keeps trying to predict when he'll join her on the couch. Whenever he gets close enough for her to think so, her heart rate spikes, before she's flooded with both relief and disappointment as he walks away.
"You want something to drink?"
A light hum leaves her as she pretends to think. "What do you have?"
"Orange juice, water ... some orange Fanta."
"Um..." She rubs her lips together in thought, refusing to look up at him. "Mh ... no. It's okay."
"A'ight."
The soft padding of his feet melts away as he leaves the living room. In his time of absence, Ámerei wills herself to relax, even by just a little bit.
As she’s caught in the throes of trying to get her shoulders to—at the very least—not to hike up, Onyankopon reemerges with full hands.
"You could sit back, y'know. You not gon' get in trouble."
It takes half of a second for the joke to get to her. When it finally does, the corners of her eyes wrinkle as a gentle smile pulls at her face. "Oh, okay, sorry," she laughs lightly, pushing herself back onto the couch.
"You good," he mumbles, making his way over.
On the short coffee table between the couch and TV, he sets down a rolling tray holding the necessary supplies needed for a smoke session.
Although the couch is short, Onyankopon makes an effort to keep some distance between them, trying his best to give her a comfortable amount of space.
"You could roll?" He asks, bringing the tray into his lap and grabbing his crusher.
She glances down at his hands as he prepares his weed. "No. I just have my friends do it."
A scoff, partnered with the gentle shake of his head. "Knew it." A faint smirk lines his lips.
"Shut up.”
She tries not to let her laughter linger for too long, however, her overthinking is done in vain as Onyankopon mumbles out yet another line.
“You and them girly-ass nails … can’t mess ‘em up, right?”
She blinks, her brain making an effort to keep up with this newfound trait of playful teasing within the stoic man. “W-well, of course not.”
His eyes stay glued to the paper in his fingers as he packs it with the crushed weed. “Yeah, they too … expensive, right? Just like all the other … shit you got on.”
Her glossy lips are parted, and they remain that way. Her gaze is no longer passive, but searching now. Searching for some kind of a reason for this teasing, and if it is truly playful.
A quiet scoff comes from him, just before he rolls the paper to form the first blunt.
“You pay for all that yourself?”
The rise and fall of her chest is more noticeable in the quiet that settles between them; him waiting on her answer, and her waiting on him to announce that he’s just playing with her.
“Are you trying to ask if I have my own money?”
His lips press together in a simple smile, almost like he’s laughing with himself, just before he lifts the blunt to his mouth to lick.
“That ain’t what I asked.”
It’s quiet as he finally seals the blunt.
Their eyes meet.
He catches a flash of recognition across her face.
‘There she go,’ he thinks, suppressing a smirk.
“I do…”
Onyankopon grabs the lighter before reaching forward to place the tray down on the table. Sitting back on the couch, he rolls the flame beneath the blunt, turning it over the tiny fire.
She expects him to say something, another response to her answer, maybe? A new topic?
But, nothing comes.
All discussion goes out of the window as Onyankopon lights the packed blunt. He takes the first hit with ease. He only needs about two more pulls before he leaves it hanging between his lips to outstretch a hand her way.
“Hm.”
She looks down, seeing his palm open for something. She glances back up to catch him nodding towards the baggy beneath her arm.
“Oh…” She passes the bag over to him.
Wordlessly, she watches him take out the bud he’d sold her to crush down. It sort of impresses her, how fast he’s able to roll a blunt. And when it’s done, he lights it before carefully handing it over to her.
“Thank you.”
He nods lazily as she takes her first puff.
“‘Thank you.’”
The soft, high-pitched voice almost makes her choke. She pulls the blunt from her lips, face twisted in a mixture of confused amusement. “Did you just … mock me?”
A small grunt leaves him as he readjusts to sit more comfortably on the couch and face her. He’s got an arm resting atop the back cushion, blunt in hand. He exhales the smoke through his nose.
“You got some good manners.”
There’s a calmness present in his voice that makes goosebumps rise on her skin.
His legs are spread wider. If he were to move by just an inch, their knees would bump together. The proximity alone is enough to make her slightly dizzy.
“‘Can I get a gram, please?’” He takes a pull. “‘Onyankopon—did I say it right?’”
A chuckle brews in his chest as her own embarrassment makes itself known on her face.
“Oh my gosh,” she laughs shyly, hiding the lower half of her face behind a hand. “Stop, I was being polite.”
He scratches at his chin, blunt dangling between his plump lips.
“Yeah … you a good girl.”
A gentle wrinkle disturbs the smoothness between her brows. The urge to disprove him rears its head within her. She opens her mouth to retort, but he stops her before she can get the chance.
“Don’t gotta deny it,” he shrugs with the simple shake of his head. “It’s cool …”
Weakly, she rolls her eyes. “But why do I have to be that, though? I can’t just be normal?”
“You is. You a normal … good girl.” As he emphasized the word, Onyankopon made sure to keep eye contact.
Her upper lip twists ever so slightly. It almost makes him laugh. Even her most sour face is polite—hardly offending. Even just chilling on his couch, her poster is straight and her head is held high.
“Nah, matter fact—you more like a princess.”
Ámerei gawks at the word. “A princess?”
His lips twitch into a smirk, clearly having fun with this.
“Stop—” She outstretches a hand towards him. “Stop playing with me.” But her attempt at strict delivery falls flat as a giggle bubbles out of her.
Onyankopon kisses his teeth, taking a hit as he turns his head away. “Acting all proper…” He exhales a thin cloud of smoke.
“Bet you always follow the rules and shit … handing in your homework on time, studying for tests—”
“Like a regular student,” she defends.
Nevertheless, he continues: “Parents don’t even gotta worry about you going away for college.”
“I’m grown?” She raises a brow, a half-smile on her lips.
“Right, a ‘grown,’ goody-two-shoes … probably can’t even take dick.”
The statement almost feels like a stab to the chest—unexpected. Tingles echo through her skin. Those soft-spoken words shut her up immediately, and any semblance of a smile is wiped off of her face.
“Matter fact…” Onyankopon rasps. He reaches forward to ash his blunt on the tray, moving at a relaxed, unrushed pace. “I know you can’t take dick.”
When he sits back, his eyes bore into her again. “Too good to just fuck on any random ass nigga, right?”
She peers down at her hands as she plays with a ring on one of her fingers. For a moment, she loses herself in thought as she twists the dainty metal around.
“Well … I’m glad it’s so obvious that I don’t have sex.”
The words come out in almost a soft mumble. Yet, they’re loud enough to break him out of his weed-induced spell as he sits up just a little bit straighter, a rift appearing between his brows seconds before they lift up high.
“What you mean?”
A quiet groan slips from her. “I’m a virgin … duh.”
For his reaction, she watches him closely out of the corner of her eye. And she can’t lie to herself, what she notices gives her a sense of … disappointment?
Onyankopon sits up entirely, turning his body away from her to look forward. His legs no longer spread as wide as before, increasing the amount of space between them.
‘Is he … not interested anymore?’
It throws her brain for a loop how quick he switched up on her. Was she not supposed to say that? It’s not like she was broadcasting the news to him—he started it!
Her chest caves in the longer she sits in this suffocating silence. She doesn’t even know what to say.
The blunt is fizzling out between her fingers, the paper itself growing damp from how much her hand sweats.
“Um—”
“You watching any shows right now?”
Ámerei doesn’t allow herself to remain stunned for longer than a second before she’s giving a nonverbal response; a shake of the head.
“A’ight,” he groans, reaching forward to grab the remote.
He goes silent as he sifts through his Hulu account, flipping through titles to see what can best fit the vibe for this hangout (and even resuscitate it).
“I-is there a problem?”
His eyes don’t stray from the screen before them, the TV speaker emitting low clicks as he moves onto the next title. “Nah…”
Her eyes narrow. “Why’d you get quiet when I said I’m a virgin, then?”
He takes a slow inhale, finger freezing on the remote. There’s a handful of seconds before he spares her a brief sideways glance.
“You not watching any shows right now?”
Confusion and irritation twists her face up as she glares at him. “So, you’re just gonna be weird now?”
The sigh that leaves Onyankopon only offends her further. “I’m just tryna find something to watch. We don’t gotta talk about nothing—”
“Bullshit.” She sits up straighter in her spot on the couch, leaning over to get in his face. “I know I’m a virgin, but I’m not stupid. I know you’re interested in me … kind of. At least, I am. Obviously, that’s why I came over here, and it’s probably why you invited me over here, too.”
“Listen—”
“Like, why would I come to a random guy’s apartment just to smoke with him? I know what the fuck people do in situations like these.”
He refrains from showing his mild shock at her change in demeanor. Nevertheless, he faces her as he tries his best attempt at showing remorse. “You seemed cool, maybe I was just tryna chill with you. That’s what you came over here to do?”
Her gaze falters under his own, and her shoulders curl in tighter around her. With a shrug, Ámerei confesses, “I just wanted to … try something new.”
His “guilt” melts into something else: amusement. All there is to show for it is the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Try something new? That’s … funny.”
His words regain her eye contact, and just as easily she shrugs off her humility for anger. “I’m just going to leave.” Ámerei puts out her blunt and pockets it before reaching for what’s left of her uncrushed weed. “Clearly you think … I’m some little fucking girl, and I’m not gonna sit here and be treated like that—”
“Hol’on—”
“No, I’ll just go—”
As she prepares to stand, he reaches out an arm to keep her in her seat.
“Calm down, just—” Yet another sigh is released as he assesses the situation. “You being a virgin isn’t … a issue. I just … I’m not tryna be the guy that you get first—”
“Why? Because I’ll get attached?” She says the words with air quotes. “Please,” she scoffs. Her arms cross over her chest as she falls back against the couch cushions.
Staring at her, Onyankopon licks at his back molars as he weighs his options with this situation. Catching his eyes, Ámerei staunchly raises a brow in question—in challenge, actually.
“A’ight, you wanna fuck?” He nods to himself, shifting in his seat. “Fine, we could do that.”
It takes a second too long for her brain to get a firm grasp of his words. “Wha—a-are you—really?”
An unflinching stare is the only answer he gives her.
With apprehension, her arms unfold to push herself up higher. “O-okay … um.” She swallows. “A-are you clean?”
He wants to laugh, but keeps it at bay. “No, I don’t got nothing. You wanna get tested before we do something?”
“No…?” She doesn’t acknowledge his sarcasm, she doesn’t think she can. “If that’s fine with you?”
He shrugs, eyes softening as he looks at her changing demeanor. “I’m cool.”
The gentle sound of his voice and the heat of his stare boils her in her seat. “Where … should we start?”
His eyes travel to the object of his thoughts: her lips. “I could kiss you?”
Her mouth parts with a silent stutter of words she has yet to mumble. “Y-yeah,” she nods.
Turning his head, Onyankopon ducks in to press his lips against hers. It almost makes her dizzy—them finally touching. Not too wet, his lips are perfectly moist as they slide over her own.
Whereas he moves smooth and fluid, her lips remain pursed against his own, frozen with timidity. And then the wet smooches of each kiss are so loud in her ears, it’s all she can hear.
As he opens his mouth further, he lightly laughs against her. “You gotta kiss back.”
“I am.”
He pulls back to stare at her fully. “You not.”
Brows pulling together, she looks off to the side with a frown and a huff. “Well … it’s awkward.”
“Wha—how you expect to fuck if you can’t handle this?”
Her eyes dart back over to him, growing wide. “I can handle a kiss! It’s just quiet as hell, and I don’t only wanna hear us kissing! Then, it’s just awkward only using our … lips, like—ugh. Can’t we just use tongue?”
“A’ight, if that’s what you wanna do,” he scoffs. “Was tryna ease you into it.”
She doesn’t say anything as she rolls her eyes. Instead, she surges forward to smash her lips against his. This time, she moves with an eagerness that screams she’s trying to prove herself.
And, honestly … she uses just a little too much teeth.
Yet … Onyankopon can’t find it in himself to be annoyed or even the slightest bit peeved. Instead, it’s kind of cute to him how … not great she is at this.
But, of course, he’s still a man; His cradle of her jaw is light, yet guiding as he tilts her head and holds it in its new position, granting him the perfect access to slip his tongue inside.
The muscle is velvety smooth and wet; addicting. Her fingers clutch awkwardly at the closest parts of his shirt, eyes fluttering shut as she loses herself in the action of sucking on him.
Maybe she knew what she was talking about. Onyankopon revels in feeling her body sag against his, the warmth of her more apparent the longer they continue. Even her kissing is more relaxed, slow and perfect.
His hand sinks to her neck—not squeezing. Just ... holding. He pulls back by just a fraction, peeling his dark brown eyes open to stare down at her through his lashes as he laves at her bottom lip.
The pretty pink skin glistens with their spit, bouncing with the release of pressure as he lifts his tongue. As she opens her eyes, the fresh wispy set of lashes framing them so perfectly, the kiss drunk gaze she's got makes something in his stomach drop.
'Fuck it,' is all he thinks before dragging her light frame on top of him. Their lips are back on each other without another thought. In fact, their brains buzz with excitement.
Neither of them can stop.
The only coherent thought he formulates, is the realization of her heartbeat. Her pulse beats like a bunny rabbit's beneath his thumb. His fingers twitch as he barely stops himself from squeezing any tighter.
He's moving purely off of instinct, already knowing which actions to take; his lips veer off of hers, traveling down to the side of her face, underneath her ear, and the column of her neck.
Her mouth hangs open, puffing out swathes of air; it feels empty, missing the feel of something in it.
The hand at her neck slides behind her to cup the back of her head. He pushes her body closer into his. Ámerei's hands clutch his shirt tighter when his lips press firm into the heat of her skin and suck, pulling a hoard of blood just beneath the thin skin.
Yet, the pull isn't strong enough, and she catches herself almost whining out in complaint. When he releases her from his mouth with a weak pop, he licks over the clean skin, pleased that he hadn't left a mark.
In his arms, Ámerei shifts ever so slightly, but it's enough for her to feel him beneath his pants, pressing into the seat of her ass.
'Fuck, I'm really gonna do this,' she thinks to herself.
"Your heart beating fast," he whispers in her ear, his voice sounding distant.
She swallows. "Sorry."
"Don't be."
Before she can think of a response, his hands grip her thighs firmly. In the blink of an eye, she's suspended in the air, held up in his arms as her feet dangle at his sides.
She doesn't ask anything as he whisks her away from the living room, the couch shrinking over his shoulder as they head down the short but dark hallway and towards another room.
The bedroom.
It smells just as good as the living room, but a different scent. One softer, cleaner. The only messy thing in here is his bed, as it was left unmade.
She doesn't judge him, though. She can't remember the last time she's made hers either.
Those thoughts are quieted as she's set down on the pillowy bundle of his comforter. As her back sinks into the gentle warmth, she's engulfed in his natural scent: a faint, manly musk with an air of powdery cleanliness.
She half expects his body to already be on top of hers. Instead, he's standing over her, looking down at her with eyes full of an alertness she hadn't expected.
"What happened?"
"You wanna do this? Like, actually?"
She's nodding, sitting up on her elbows to get a better look at him. "Yes, I want to ... you don't?" The beginnings of her brows itch to pull to each other.
"Nah, I do. I'm just making sure ... don't need nobody crying 'cause I took they virginity—"
"Which is a social construct," she sasses, softly jerking her neck as she does so. "And you’re not taking anything. So stop talking about it, and let's go."
He can't lie, she got that one. All he can offer is a scoff and the shake of his head. "You keep talking like you Billy Badass."
A grin teases at her lips. "Then shut me up."
He pauses for a moment, staring at her as he decides on what he should do to her first. One hand at the hem of his pants, his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. "You just let me know when it gets too much."
His hushed tone gets her wetter, she can feel it. All she gives is a nod of her head.
"Take your clothes off for me."
"Okay," she breathes out, pushing herself to sit up on her knees.
Her capris came off first, leaving her in the pistachio green panties she decided to throw on today. Next is her sweater, which she throws softly to the floor. And then, it's her camisole.
Onyankopon doesn't try to be polite or chivalrous, there's no reason to hide how he feels; his gaze is exactly where he wants it to be.
He reaches out a hand before he can think, warm fingers cradling the side of her ribcage as he runs his thumb over the pert hill of her left boob, lazily playing with the taut, almost maroon nipple.
"Perky ass lil' titties."
Her spine bows, pushing them further into his touch. "Shut up," she mumbles, her lips pulling around her pretty teeth as she can’t keep herself from spilling a smile.
“Mhm,” he hums, moving his hand to hold her jaw and angle her chin up.
His low-lid stare has her feeling stuck in the spotlight. Ámerei can’t tell if she loves all of the attention or if she’s too shy for it.
“Why you still got them fucking panties on?”
Her breath hitches, hearing his soft voice harden around the profanity.
“I-I thought you were gonna take them off,” she says softly.
Kissing his teeth, his hand falls away from her face, leaving the skin cold. “You really think you a fucking princess.”
There was no malice in his tone at all.
Before she can even fake a frown, he gently pushes her back down on the bed. Her mouth hangs open, speechlessly watching as he softly hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of her underwear. He stares for a moment, before he even thinks to pull them down.
Between her legs, he takes heed to how the thin fabric sticks to the curves of her pussy, showing what usually goes unseen. Only slightly does he pull them up, just to further pronounce the outline of her folds. And that’s when he sees the small wet spot previously hidden.
“What’s wrong?”
The fear in her voice is poorly hidden.
“Nothing, you good.”
His smile matches that of his tone: plain and simple.
Without much more delay, Onyankopon takes great care in ridding her of her underwear. The small garment in his hands, he begins folding it with the tips of his fingers, like it’ll rip if he pulls at them too hard.
“Scoot back,” he nods in the direction he wants her to go, just before placing the folded underwear on his dresser.
Ámerei shifts to the middle of the bed, Onyankopon moving into the new space she made for him.
His hands get her by the underside of her legs, pushing them back against her stomach. As he lowers himself between them, she doesn’t lean back, only staying on her elbows to watch with … morbid curiosity.
Once again, he halts, concern befalling his face. “You good with this?”
She nods, chewing at her bottom lip as worry brings her brows together. “Y-yeah, I’m just … kinda scared? Not of you, but, like … w-what if I, like …. stink?”
He laughs softly. “You don’t.”
“I don’t?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Was you supposed to?”
Her eyes widened. “No—no! I was just—ugh, nevermind, keep going. Sorry.”
For a moment, Onyankopon eyes her, searching for any signs that he should stop. “Do you wanna do this?”
“Yes,” she nods eagerly, never breaking eye contact.
“So lay back, then.” He kisses his teeth, hoping to calm her nerves with a playful tone. “Moving like you supervising me.”
She only rolls her eyes, her back sinking into the sheets.
Face to face with her second set of lips, Onyankopon can’t say that he’s surprised with what he’s seeing, only pleased by the sight of her. A clit, swollen with arousal, heading the curtains of her inner labia which come to peek past her lips.
Right above it, he places a soft smooch on the hill of her mound, feeling the hot and smooth skin under his lips. Then one right beneath it, where her lips part. Just in the crook of her leg and hip, he plants another kiss there.
The hitch in her breath is complimented by a subtle flex of her inner leg muscles.
“You ticklish?”
Her hands, awkwardly tucked at her sides, twist the sheets beneath them as she stares up at the ceiling. “U-um, not really—”
Pressing his tongue to the opening of her pussy, Onyankopon flattens it against her, barely dipping inside. But, he doesn’t let it linger, as he licks a long, wide stripe all the way to her clit.
Her stomach sucks in and her hips press into the bed, thighs fighting to close around him.
“O-oh—”
Another lick pulls his lips over her clit, slowly rolling his tongue over it. “Hm?”
“Mm—I don’t—“ She shakes her head, eyelids lowering by the second.
He pulls back, creating a soft smooch sound, then another lick. All before he pulls her clit back into the warmth of his mouth to suckle on.
“Mh … mmh … mh, uh … uh—”
His lips tighten around her as he holds in a laugh. He readjusts his grip to better handle her hips as they rock against his face.
“Yes … mh—please,” she pants out. She licks at her drying lips, only for her mouth to drop open again as he continues to suck at her clit.
Her knuckles pale, hands twisting and pulling at the sheets as she bears the feeling of his tongue flicking against her clit—each one pushing her towards a familiar feeling.
At the back of her head, the sound of her own voice—moaning in a way that she’s never heard before—is honestly … embarrassing.
But, she can’t bring herself to care. Not with how he has her folded up and shaking against his face.
She can feel his chin moving against her, almost digging into the underside of her thighs, and perfectly so. Right above his head, her ankles cross and her feet arch.
He switches his tempo, tongue swirling circles on it. That pulls a shiver out of her.
“Hmmm, mmh, mh—”
Using all of the strength she can muster, Ámerei pushes her hips upwards to rut against his face, chasing after a fastly impending climax.
And she’s so eager for it, she doesn’t even notice the shifting of his hips against the bed. How contained he’s trying to be. How hard he tries to not to let it be known that he enjoys getting his face fucked by a pretty girl.
Her thighs press harder against the sides of his head, drowning him in the sweet scent of the lotion that coats her skin.
“Ooh—”
Her body jumps, tightening as her body flutters, and her own release leaks down her middle.
As he licks at her, a clammy palm pushes against his forehead. He clutches tighter as she squirms beneath him, broken laughter spilling from her mouth.
“Fuck, stop, stop!” She twists and turns, twisting to slip out of his grasp.
Letting go of a soft chuckle himself, he releases her out of mercy. “You didn’t wanna continue,” he asks, sitting up, a grin on his wet lips.
Through hooded eyes, Ámerei watches him as she tries to regain her composure. She notices a speck of her cum on his chin just before he wipes the bottom half of his face with his shirt.
“That was good for you?” As Onyankopon talks, he comes to stand up.
Immediately, her eyes fall below his waist. Straight to the print in his pants that is impossible to ignore. Wordlessly, she nods, her stare unmoving.
The corners of his mouth raise into a grin as he hooks his thumbs on the waistband of his pants and drags them downwards. It pops out as it's freed from his clothes.
In her eyes, his dick bobs in slow motion, solid and stiff in the air.
She struggles to get a good breath in as he rejoins her back on the bed, his knees sinking into the mattress on either side of her.
“Look at me.”
Her mouth opens, but no words come out. Her attention is wrangled in by the soft grip he adopts on her chin. He tilts her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“Tell me how you felt.”
She blinks herself out of a daze, just barely realizing the soothing rub of his thumb against her chin. “It—I—g-good.”
A soft snort leaves him. “Yeah? It was good?”
She nods, growing bashful again. As she ducks her head, she subtly jerks back, having almost brushed the tip of his dick with her lips. She looks back up at him, noting the almost expectant look on his face.
“You wanna suck it?”
“Mh—I…”
She glances at it again. Sepia blooms over the crown of it. The tip is blunt and wide, a perfect surface just inviting her to curl her tongue around it.
A thought flashes in her mind as she wonders how many women have had him in their mouths. How many women have made him cum, and how fast. How much … better they’d be at it than her.
With a thick swallow, she peers back up at him. “Not—I don’t think I could do it this time.”
He nods, the grin on his face unchanging. “A’ight, that’s okay.”
Bending down, he plants a kiss on her cheek, then, one on her neck. “Lay back, again,” he whispers to her.
“Why,” she questions, leaning back anyway as she watches him lower himself to her side.
“Put your legs up.”
There’s a buzzing present in her brain, like she’s moving on autopilot. And it feels so good. Hence why, she doesn’t think twice when he whispers a command, performing the action as she speaks to fill the space.
She curls her legs into her chest once again, tucking her manicured hands beneath her knees, just to have something to hold onto. Yet still, there’s ample space for him to slide a hand between her thighs. Right where her lips are pushed together.
“G-go slow, please,” she urges timidly.
He doesn’t mind her words as he runs his fingers through the plush skin of her lips. Slow and soft, teasing her as he gets the tips of them wet. They’re relaxed, petting.
Her eyelids start to grow heavy, limbs relaxing into the mattress as he rubs messy circles over the bundle of nerves between her legs. The walls of her pussy hug themselves as they flutter from his touch.
Even as he’s right there—not daring to pull away—her hips chase after his touch. They stutter and roll beneath him.
Her head lolls to the side, eyes barely open as he stares down at her falling apart.
“This good?”
“Mmmhm,” she nods lazily, moaning softly into his arm.
“This how you want it? You gotta tell me.”
Her legs quiver. He feels a trickle further wet his hand.
“Y-yes,” she whispers, the sound barely slipping out past her lips.
“Hm?”
The pads of his fingers rub so perfectly against the small pearl, overwhelming her with their gentle roughness.
“Yesss, Ony,” she weeps, her face contorting in desperate pleasure as she nods against him. “Yess—”
A gentle gasp slices her plea in half; a finger, long and thick, slides through her lips and pushes in, gliding easily. It almost takes another moan from her.
And as that thick, long finger dives deeper, it presses right up against that spot perfectly inside of her. So deep that the knuckle of his hand presses to her opening with a soft squish.
“Mhm,” he hums, peering between her legs as he pulls that finger out. But, only about halfway before he’s pushing back in to hear her body croon around him. He pulls out again.
It doesn’t surprise him, seeing the thin, slimy film coating his skin—viscous and sticky. It’s built up in some spots more than others.
“Creaming already.”
Before she has the chance to get bashful at the off handed comment, he’s sliding his finger right back in, the tip of it just kissing her g-spot.
The pressure is a dull ache that knocks something deep in her tummy.
Her eyes roll shut, shoulders tensing up as her body tries to handle the steady strength of his finger fucking into her. It curls so perfectly in her, pushing against her walls. And yet…
“M-more,” she whimpers.
“More?”
She nods, the crease in her brows deep as her eyes fall closed. She doesn’t even see the way his lips curve upwards as he kisses his teeth.
“Wasn’t you just begging me to go slow?”
His question doesn’t get a real answer, only an irritated whine.
“Huh?” As he works his finger in and out of her, always aiming to hit that one spot, her body gurgles around them, splishing against him. “That wasn’t you?”
There’s an effort to keep her lips pressed together, even as her eyes roll back at the feeling of someone digging her out in the most pleasant way possible. “Mh—Please.” The word drags from her mouth, weighed by an attitude that reeks of entitlement.
He doesn’t mind it. Without a second thought, he gives her just what she asks for, pushing his ring finger in right alongside the middle one. A moan that perfectly encapsulates utmost satisfaction leaves her lungs as her body welcomes him.
She’s sopping, her walls velvety and soft. They mold around his fingers as he presses into the spot right behind her bladder.
“Ouu … shit,” her voice drags, cracked and heavy. Above his head, her feet arch like they’re in Louboutins. Her hips twitch, thighs shuddering perpetually.
She’s a vision that he has to sit up further to see in its entirety. He licks his lips, trying to get a trace of her taste again as her cream seeps around his hand.
“You feel that?”
Bunched up together, her eyebrows don’t separate. She can only manage a weak nod. Her body offers no friction, welcoming him in with weeps of milky arousal all over the intruding fingers.
“Fuck,” he groans to himself, shifting on his knees. “Why you creaming like that?”
His answer is a shaky mewl as her thighs tremble around his wrist. Square acrylics with perfect corners bite into the skin of her legs as her grip only hardens.
His mind is on its own bender, this sight enough of a drug to last him the entire evening. Onyankopon doesn’t question the next thought that pops into his head, he only does it.
With too much ease, he slips a third finger in, curious to see how much she can take.
There is no resistance.
No struggle.
No hiss of pain or tightening to stop him.
Just pretty pink walls, bending and stretching to accommodate the weight and size of three big fingers.
“She greedy like that, huh? Been starving… Why you kept her waiting this long, Ámerei?” He bends down close to push his face into her neck, lips right at her ear. “Hm?” Her pussy spurts around him, the sound of wet clicks accenting his words. “Tell me.”
Her whimpers are too perfect. Anyone could hear them, and here she is, making all of this noise about his fingers. How does she expect to take his dick?
“Wanted to wait until someone could do you right, hm? Give you some princess treatment,” he teases.
He runs his lips, slowly, down her neck and up the hill of a breast. At its peak, he laves at a pearled nipple before suckling. Her hips cant against him, like they’ve been brought back to life.
He’s relentless, fucking her good enough so that she doesn’t even notice when he grabs the condom—only slipping his hand out to tear open the aluminum packet. That’s when she finally has a clear enough head to open her eyes.
To look up.
Her eyes go wide.
“W-woah—wait.”
He freezes, the condom having already been rolled half-way down his dick.
Her eyes flit up to his face, almost shocked by the concern splashed across his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I … I just…”
She takes another peak at him, noting the way the latex stretches thin around his tip. There’s only one hand around himself, but Ámerei can tell that it’s feasible for him to grip it with two. It curves just slightly to the left. A small web of veins, laying just under the skin, ribs the length of his shaft.
“Look, we don’t gotta do this—”
“I do. I … I do, just … please, go slow.”
“Okay, Ámerei. I heard you,” he stresses. “I’m not doing nothing you not okay with, a’ight?”
She nods, still looking between his legs. Her gaze is torn away when there’s a hand at her chin, pushing her head up.
“I hear you.”
She nods again, rather stiffly this time, on account of the hand still at her chin. And yet, he gently squeezes her in reprimand.
“Something hurts, say it. Don’t gimme that fake-moaning shit if you don’t like it, ‘cause I’ma be able to tell.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
He scours her face for a moment.
“Okay.” He releases her face to finish putting the condom on. “Lay back … I ain’t gon’ tell you again,” he mumbles, voice less stern than it had been in the last minute or so.
Swallowing back her fears, Ámerei does as told. He doesn’t give her room to ruminate. Or, he gives her no space to, rather; his face is back in hers.
There are kisses dropped one after the other on her lips, as a knee of hers is lifted and pressed against her stomach.
“Look at you—” a kiss. “—doing all that worrying … Like you don’t got me this fucking hard.”
Ámerei holds in a gasp as the weight of his tip drops against her lips with a firm tap. She jumps at the impact. It surprises her, that’s for sure, feeling how solid he is.
He looks in her eyes seeing the lust bloom behind her shrinking apprehension. Taking his hand off of himself, Onyankopon gently grabs her other hand to place it around his dick, so that she can see for herself.
“Feel that?” he breathes out as she makes a clumsy fist around him. Her hand is so soft. It’s almost a shame. “Ain’t even have you suck my shit, but you got me giving you dick.”
His stare is unflinching. Her hand tingles, like it’s in shock at how he feels in her grasp. It almost makes her head hurt, noting how even if she really tried, one hand won’t be enough to fully hold him.
“That’s what you used to … getting everything you want, w-without having to do nothing for it, hm?”
He can make a comment about how easy it’ll be to split her open—he’s definitely thinking it. But, Onyankopon watches his words. Tries to keep it tame for her sake.
She bites at her lower lip, nodding shyly as she tries to hide her face in her shoulder.
“Don’t get shy, I ain’t shaming you. S’what you used to…” Staring down at her, he licks at his lips before nodding down to where she holds him. “But you gon’ do some work today. Rub it in, c’mon.”
Huffing softly, Ámerei tightens her grip as she takes the reigns. Onyankopon pulls his hand away, using it to aid in his balance above her.
Where she would typically have a comeback, Ámerei keeps her mouth shut. Her thoughts are hazy, body too eager to make contact with him.
Her eyelids lay low, bottom lip tucked neatly between the rows of her teeth as she gently swipes the head of his dick against herself. It brings a shudder out of her, the feeling akin to the licks he’d given her just moments ago.
‘Heavy,’ she thinks. Thick and weighted, like he’s carrying a pipe between his legs.
It’s slow, her movements, as her body gradually wakes to the feeling of his dick against her. But, it’s inevitable that she starts to gain some sort of confidence, especially when he hums in encouragement.
“Mhm.” His breathing is messy and less composed. Louder, too, even as he rolls his lips into his mouth and tries to keep quiet.
Peering up at him, eyes glossed over, Ámerei chews at her lower lip. Her movements grow surer. She doesn’t stop, even as her wrist burns from the angle made by their closeness and his length.
She pulls him further and further, dipping the head past her clit. For a moment, he catches just where she opens. Where her cunt seeps around nothing.
“Shit … you so wet.”
The soft rasp of his voice sends a fluttering feeling down the line of her stomach. Her clit jumps as she clenches.
“S’for you,” she mumbles, still keeping that eye contact.
When his eyes flick upwards to meet hers, his face twitches with the effort of a man close to losing self-restraint.
Kissing his teeth, he squeezes his eyes shut. “Stop t-talkin’ like that.”
Her brain vomits out a response too quick for her liking: ‘Sorry, Daddy.’
But her lips quiver as the words die on her tongue, unspoken. Can she say that yet? Should she? Maybe it’s best to save that for someone who’s more of a permanent fixture.
Instead, she revises the thought.
“Sorry, Ony.”
The tiny pout on her pillowy lips is enough for him to reach for her face—better balance be damned. He squeezes her cheeks, pushing those lips out further to plant his own on them as he leans in.
“Don’t gotta apologize,” he says against her mouth, the words garbled and smushed.
Her shoulders shoot up, body tensing as the weight of his head starts to press heavier against her.
“Ony—”
Her warmth is inviting, his hips stutter. “It hurts?” His lips are still pressed to hers. So close, suffocating either of them in the best way.
She shakes her head.
“Let me in, then.” He kisses her softly. “You was just taking my fingers, I know you could take this.”
One of her hands slip from behind her knees to grip at his upper arm.
“C’mon,” he pants, gently rocking his hips against her, pushing his tip through her lips to spread her arousal. “Be good, you could take this.”
He presses back against her hole, feeling himself inch inside by way of her wetness.
“You know you could take it … know you c-could,” he groans.
“Oh, G-God—”
Her body widens slowly, the feeling foreign as it stretches around the blunt crown of his dick. He pops it in, her walls doing small spasms around him.
“Fuck,” he pants. “It’s hurting?”
A whine is caught in her throat. She tries to swallow it down.
“Keep going,” she messily shakes her head, strands of her hair getting in her line of sight.
Her face is scrunched up. Onyankopon takes heed to go slow. His hand leaves her face to hold himself at the base.
“Keep holding them legs open … fuck, you real pretty.”
Unexpectedly, a nervous chuckle falls out of his mouth as he looks from where they connect to her face. He breezes past the slip up as he starts to use his body weight to push in. Her breath gets caught in her chest for the umpteenth time with him.
“O-oh—ohh—”
The weak, high-pitched whine hits his ears as his dick slowly sinks into soft, wet heat. Pushing, pushing, pushing. It’s a far bigger stretch than just three fingers. And it only gets wider the farther in he goes.
He’s hardly even half-way in when he meets resistance, like he’s hit a wall inside of her.
“Fuck—stop, please—”
He freezes, immediately looking down. Her lips stretch as much as they can around him, gripping the sides of him as her walls try their hardest to take him. Their contractions are weak, her body giving its best effort to take something it’s never experienced before.
But as his eyes move just inches upward, he finds the real source of the issue: the barely noticeable swell in the pit of her stomach.
Right where he is.
Her face contorts in pain, and immediately he takes action to slowly and carefully relieve her of the pressure sitting in her gut.
“M’sorry—fuck, it hurts—”
“Quit that, you good. It’s me, th-that’s my fault,” he grunts, trying to keep his movements slow and controlled.
When he pulls out, he can’t help but to notice the minor stretch he gave her, the opening of her cunt winking back at him. No doubt, she’s a little more open now.
“My fault, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, reaching for her face. “You want me to stop?”
“Uh-uh,” she shakes her head, peering up at him, a wrinkle still in her brows. “Try again, just—”
“I’ma be careful.”
She nods. Beneath him, she shifts to regain a sense of comfort, reaching down to spread herself open.
French shorties frame shiny wet lips that give away to a pink center, coaxing him in with the promise of a gushy hold. Below her pussy, her second hole puckers tightly.
“You look good like this,” he rasps, smiling as he takes his dick in-hand. “You helping me?”
Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she nods. Her toes curl in excitement above her. Her hair is messy, in need of a good brushing. A thin sheen of sweat covers her, adding spots of highlight to the high points of her face. Yet, here she is, still so eager to follow through with this.
He grips his dick tighter as another rush of blood makes him pulse.
“Just like that … keep that shit open…”
He guides himself back to her hole and goes for another try. This time, he’s slower, watching carefully as her body accepts him with an ease of familiarity, right up until that spot where he stopped.
She hisses again, body tensing up as she’s unable to hide her discomfort.
“Ow—s-stop—”
“I’m stopping, you good,” he quickly comforts, stilling his hips.
At his sides, her legs tremble. The pain settles, but not completely.
“You want me to pull out?”
She doesn’t give an immediate answer, eyes and lips sealed shut.
“C’mon, Ámi’, talk to me.”
“I … it’s too mu-uch.”
Her voice waivers.
She half expects him to be pleased hearing those words. Isn’t that what most guys like to hear?
“Want me to put you in a new position?”
Her eyes pop open. His face is close to hers. She gets a front row seat to the concern laced within his features. And, through her pain, manages a shaky but grateful smile.
“Yeah,” she nods.
The room spins as he pulls back out, still careful. “Turn on your side.”
Wordlessly, she does so. Her head rests against the arm she has splayed against the pillow, a sigh of relief leaving her as her eyes fall closed.
Scooting closer to her, he lifts a leg, pulling it straight up as he lowers himself to sit just at her cunt.
“You comfortable?”
She peels her eyes open just to look at him as she nods. Fatigue is written all over her face, what little they’ve done enough to zap her of her energy.
A real pillow princess.
“You ready?”
“Yeah.”
Upon pushing back in, Onyankopon is pleasantly surprised to find that he’s able to do so with ease. In fact, they both are.
“Mmph,” she mewls pleasantly, eyes falling back closed as he slips in further than he was ever able to.
“Fuck … there we go,” he breathes out.
She isn’t too taut around him. It’s a perfect stretch that makes him feel elated, because he can tell she’s enjoying it, too.
It takes a while, but he bottoms out; her stretched cunt pressed flush to his balls. The cool skin paired with the light dusting of hair on his sack makes her shudder. It’s such a pleasant feeling, the fullness. There’s still that ache in her lower tummy, but in the sweetest of ways that only makes her want more.
“Onyy,” she whines softly.
“It’s okay?” He’s almost breathless. In this position, he fits a lot more snuggly within her. No awkward poking.
She nods against the sheets, lips parted.
“I’m moving slow.”
“Okay.”
He starts out with a slow rock. Back and forth, back and forth. Until with each one, he’s pulling out more inches. Yet, his strokes remain slow and soft. Gentle and rolling. Amazing.
“Oh … ohh … o-oh,” she whimpers softly, eyes rolling back as she twists and turns, gripping the sheets.
“You enjoying this?”
He doesn’t even need to ask. Not with the way her pussy squelches like she’s got something to tell him. It’s like every time he pulls out, her body cries, only getting wetter.
He finds that he can hit her deeper. "Feels good, right?”
“Uuuh—!”
“Know it does... Could hear it.”
Plap, plap, plap.
Her body claps against him in applause every time he bottoms out. Still going at a moderate pace, still careful with her.
“Ohh, God!”
“I know, I know.” He reaches down to grip her jaw, turning her head to see that pretty face. How much it twists into an ugly expression, hair all over her face, as he digs her out in the best way.
"Had to get you ready, but I'm not gonna go too hard... Too soft for that, can't break you, hm?”
A shrill whines leaves her lungs, the small peaks of her breasts jumping slightly as he fucks into her. All slow, nice, and polite.
"Gotta ... treat you all nice 'n' soften you up. Like you a princess, huh?”
The teasing only makes her clench up.
"Couldn't fuck you in my car … n-not like them other bitches, right?
Before the words cement themselves in her brain, her body is wonderfully stunned by a stroke just an ounce heavier than the last. Meaner.
“Huh?”
She shakes her head, having barely comprehended anything past the first few words of that sentence. He leans in closer, bucking his hips harder against her. Faster.
PlapPlapPlap!
Her whines get chopped and screwed as she writhes beneath him. They turn into silent moans as her mouth hangs open. The whites of her eyes are what he sees.
“Nah, right?”
Her pussy flutters nonstop, sucking him in, begging him to never leave. He grips her ankle tighter, never putting her leg down for rest.
“You want princess treatment... only want niggas to treat you nice and sweet, huh?”
“Oh … mh—mh—mh—ohhh fuuuuuck—”
“Yeaah, right?” A breath chuckle tumbles out of his lips, even as a bead of sweat rolls down his face. “You … t-taking this shit like a … n-natural.”
He sees it: the way she creams around him. How can he not? All of her arousal packs at the base of his dick, translucence building up until it’s thicker and more solid in color; a tight slip and slide for his dick.
“Taking you home … fucking you in my bed like you my girl... This what you came here for?"
It’s like her heart is fighting to get out of her chest. Ámerei struggles to keep a grip on the reality of the situation at hand. Genuinely, it’s like he’s beating her pussy out of its frame. And yet it feels too good for her to want it any other way.
Then again, what does she know?
As expected, there’s a bit of resistance as Onyankopon pulls out. The mild suction tempts him to stay in.
“Please,” Ámerei croaks as Onyankopon gently puts her leg down to rest.
“Relax, I still got you.”
He sits back on his knees, staring down at her with a lust that overpowers whatever fatigue he might be feeling. He can’t tell if it’s the weed or if he’s actually this horny for her.
He’s putting a pin in that thought for later, in favor of putting her face deep in the sheets and her ass high in the air.
“Arch that shit—c’mon, you know what to do… Bet you studied for this shit, too.” Onyankopon wipes the sweat from his forehead with the corner of his comforter. “Deep, too, I don’t do that shallow shit.”
Shifting on her knees, she spreads her legs wider and sinks her back in. And part of her is thankful, relieved that this is the new position. Because being spread open before him, her most private parts on display for him in this manner, has her growing unbelievably shy—she doesn’t want to think too hard about it.
Or about the fact that he might not achieve what he wanted from this position. She’s never had a fat ass, just a noticeable set of hips on a small frame.
But—see—Onyankopon isn’t worried about that. Not when he’s getting the best view from behind; dribbles of slick ooze from her pulsing cunt. She’s dripping, pussy still wanting more of what he can offer.
“Lil’ thing hungry, hm?”
A lazy slap is dropped on the plane of her right ass cheek, before he softly grips and shakes what little fat is there. The little jiggle is too cute for him, especially when another whine escapes her.
It seems that’s one of the only sounds she’s been able to make lately.
“Speak to me, Ámi… Can’t be the only one talking.”
Blindly, she reaches back for him, searching for his hand.
“Y’know I’m not a talker.” He captures her wrist, gently pressing it to the small of her back. With his free hand, he repositions himself, swiping his tip through her lips. “You supposed to be the one doing all that for me.”
His push back in is one of his biggest highlights of today.
“Th-this shit so … f-ffucking perfect,” he groans out, voice wavering as her walls grip him up in the wettest, warmest way he’s ever felt.
His hips are just seconds from colliding with her ass when he hears it:
Pfft … ppfftt!
“Whew!” He smiles, moving his second hand to grip her hip instead. “Mhm, just like that—that’s the kind’a talking I’m trynna hear.”
That fullness has returned to her. And it’s mind-numbingly amazing. Shaking and sniffling, Ámerei only takes it as Onyankopon pounds into her, just like she wanted.
“Oh God, Oh God, Oh Go—”
She tenses up as he uses his strength to pull her ass back on him as he meets her halfway. Each smack of their skin is sharp and quick.
“Oouuuuuuuu—ahh,” she cries out embarrassingly, feeling herself just leaking around his dick as he slips in and out of her.
“Quit … l-losing that arch—fuck I just tell you?”
Every new stroke felt punishing, and in the best way possible. She wants to cry and rejoice at the same time. Her knuckles pale as she clutches the pillow beneath her tight. Lord knows she needs something to hold on to as she tries to inch up on the bed.
All that achieves is a two second break, Onyankopon pausing to yank her back before he continues.
“A-another thing … that running shit—”
The cracks in his voice make her stomach swoop and her pussy flutter.
"Don't know … why you was asking f-for … all this … C-can’t even f-fucking take it—”
The swing of his hips are so heavy against her. The skin on her ass stings and every thrust has her afraid that she’ll lose control of her bladder.
And yet, it’s bringing her closer to something.
“Why you squeezing me like that? You ‘bout to cum?”
His breathy voice gives her enough of a high to ride off of. But, the timid musk of his sweat is something she hadn’t expected to like; it invades her senses as he leans in over her back, hips still working against her.
“Hm? Y-you ‘bout to cum, Ámi?”
A broken whimper is what she manages, aside from a measly nod of the head.
“C’mon then.”
The hand on her waist slips beneath her body, slithering to a slobbering set of lips between her trembling legs.
For a sobering moment, his hips still. He grunts as her pussy spasms around him, still in shock from the way he worked her.
Reprieve ends as he rubs messy but concentrated circles on her poking clit, careful not to put too much pressure on the sensitive bud.
“Cum on me,” he pants.
Her hips stutter, tummy sucking in as her back arches. “Ony—k-keep doing…”
“Uhuh … cum on my dick. Cum on it—”
A violent shiver nearly takes her out as she lets go around him. His strong arms serve as an anchor for her, as she nearly loses herself in the lasting orgasm.
“Keep—oh fuck,” he shudders, finally letting go himself, emptying into the condom as she milks him dry.
Both bodies twitch against one another, riding out their releases.
It’s after that conclusion, Ámerei learns something new about herself: that sex is definitely an activity to put her to sleep.
As Onyankopon separates from her—making it a point to notify her that he was just going to get some wipes—she finds it difficult to keep herself awake.
It only works but so well.
Succumbing to her body’s wishes, Ámerei’s eyes flutter shut seconds before Onyankopon enters the room, still naked yet condom-free. She wants to get up when she hears the sound of a soft snort.
“You sleeping?”
Largely, Ámerei inhales as she stretches against the sheets, turning her head and peeling her eyes open to look at him. “Mh-mh.”
His grin is faint, yet she can tell it’s a product of fatigue. And she’s not surprised, he did do all of the work.
Onyankopon makes his way over to the bed, a pack of wipes in his hands. Her eyes fall back closed before that first wipe even touches her hot, clammy skin.
“Mhm, bet you tired now, huh?”
“Shut up,” she mumbles.
His hands move as his mouth runs, a cocky smile on his full lips. “Don’t know why, I was putting in that work.”
A dreamy smile is all she can muster, too tired to give a genuine laugh.
“Thank you.”
“That polite shit,” he mutters, that smile of his dimming to a genuine grin that he makes an effort to further hide. “You welcome.”
Chucking a soiled wipe on the ground for later, he exchanges it for a new one to wipe the slick that had run between her ass.
Part of her is caught off guard. She hadn’t expected him to be this … chivalrous. But, she’s not going to deny herself of this service. He was absolutely correct in giving her the ‘Princess’ title. And she is going to play the part.
"Ain’t gon’ lie to you, though…” he licks at his lips, brain producing a line of thoughts that he finds himself happily following. “If you wanna keep doing this … you gotta learn how to take dick."
Without a thought spared, Ámerei sits up on her elbows, pure bliss wiped off of her face in an instant. Mild offense twists her face into a scowl.
“Don’t even trip,” he soothes.
Onyankopon doesn’t spare her a glance as he runs the wipe down an inner thigh.
“We gon’ fix that."
𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔 ᝰ @uzmacchiato @crylynnluv
𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ᝰ @wintrrxxo @vibewshyla @icanmakethedickstandup @toji-dabi-wife @genea-myers @whoareyouuuo @nova2kss @otakufilms @plutobratz @bubblegum-lollipop @junitries @thevelvetwhispers @pussypinkdoll @venusincleo @soupersaldz @synicalslut @nysrevenge @ami-s-k @6slux @hcneymooners @aranisbaee @powdertojinx @thelovewitch2016 @bad4bey @liliacsdelight @cartinextdoor @adoreemxs @phxnomxnal @flyme2plut0 @aizawash0e @tojislittlesluttt @prettypink-princess @asstoofatsworld (message me privately if you'd like to be removed from the taglist)
𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count— 5.4K, southern coded!black characters, houston nightlife vibes!, club!vibes, birthday!themed, original!blackfemreader, pouty!blackfemreader, shy!femreader, rappergirlfriend!blackfemreader, rapperboyfriend!onyankopon, southerncoded!onyankopon, aggressive!onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, drunk sex!, dirty talk, rough sex, kinda mean ony in the bedroom?, aggressive pet names, pussy eating, squirting, creaming, missionary, doggy style, minors are not welcome! 𓊇ྀི
メモ。— just wanted to say i appreciate all the love you guys are sending me, god bless. wanted to do something in celebration of being back home—and appreciating my city/the south for what it is. enjoy, muah. ✰
CHOPPED ‘N SCREWED BLARES FROM THE SPEAKERS OF A PARKED 1989 CADILLAC DEVILLE COUPE, THRUMMING YOUR HEARTBEAT MORE THAN YOU INTENDED FOR IT TO—yup, that was Houston for you.
Heat clings to your skin like honey as you stand outside the club clutching an oversized bouquet of pink roses, each petal cradling crisp one hundred dollar bills like secrets. Candied painted vehicles bounce on hydraulics not too far away, rattling your ribs as they swang by, each driver’s golden grills flashing under streetlights as they swerve the block. The line stretches down the street in anticipation—full of southern attitudes sucking teeth at the velvet ropes and fingers adjusting diamond encrusted Jesus pieces, all waiting to get a taste of your night.
Women in bandage dresses and sky high lashes shout “Happy birthday, baby girl!” while men nod at you with respect—knowing you’re his.
It’s overwhelming, really ; the way the city moves for your boyfriend. You’ve seen it before—arenas screaming his name, groupies slipping numbers in his pocket when they think you’re not looking, the way his crew forms a wall of muscle and laughter around him. But tonight? Tonight, the chaos is yours.
“ONYANKOPON! ONYANKOPON! ONYANKOPON!”
The screams rip through the humid air like gunshots, raw and hungry. Security arms barricade the crowd, pushing back eager hands reaching for him—always reaching—but your eyes lock onto him like a magnet. Even in the sea of his crew, all thick-necked and draped in ice, he drowns them out.
That 74 piece on his neck swings heavy, silver so deep it looks liquid under the club lights. His black long sleeve hugs every ridge of muscle, letterman jacket hiding the ink you know maps his body—and there it is, your name curled in delicate cursive above his eyebrow, etched into his skin like a prayer. Those cornrows and facial hair frames his face just right, and when he smirks—God—those diamond-capped grills flash, arrogant and knowing.
He lifts his chain between two fingers, nodding at the crowd like yeah, y’all know who I am, and your stomach flips. Because through all the chaos, the women biting their lips at him, the city screaming his name…tonight, that smirk? It’s all for you. Always is.
But you—always the quiet storm in the middle of his hurricane. The diamond in the rough he pulled from New Orleans back when he was just another hungry artist looking for their break. You were the girl who brought him red beans and rice in a Tupperware after long studio nights, who rolled your eyes when he bragged too loud, who made him feel human when the world started treating him like a god.
And he knows you—knows the way your fingers twist together when cameras swarm, the soft “Thank you," you murmur when someone compliments your outfit like you’re still not used to it. Knows how your cheeks flush rose gold when you see yourself trending on Twitter, your face plastered across blogs with captions of your celebration.
But tonight? You’re glowing. Bubblegum pink curls cascade down your back, framing a face dusted with freckles like constellations against caramel skin. Your lashes—thick, dark, feline—flutter over your eyes, lips painted a brown mixed with deep rouge so rich it looks like you’ve been biting guava fruit. That tiny heart pendant rests in the valley of your heavy tits, right above the plunge of your halter romper—black, clinging, backless—cut so low at the front it kisses your bellybutton. The fabric hugs every curve—the swell of your hips, the jut of your ass peeking beneath the hem, down to those platform heels adding inches you don’t even need. And there he is—the proof etched into your own skin. Onyankopon in delicate cursive on the side of your neck, a claim and a promise all at once. His. Always his.
"Damn, shawty fine—fine!"
Someone hollers this from the crowd, and you giggle—a soft, flustered sound—as fans erupt in whistles. Onyankopon’s crew ain’t helping either, hyping you up like you’re the main event, because you absolutely are.
“Pose for us, girl! C’mon, let ‘em see dat!"
They chant continuously, clapping like uncles at a family cookout. Onyankopon then cuts in with a low, “Aight, chill. Y’all gon’ have my baby blushin’ to the floor.”
Security moves quickly—one of them plucks the bouquet from your grip before you can protest, knowing Onyankopon runs a tight ship when it comes to you. No heavy lifting, no stress, no bullshit. Then he’s there, his big hands sliding up your throat, thumbs brushing your jaw as he tugs your forehead against his. The scent of his cologne—something smoky, expensive—wraps around you.
"Sa a pi gwo pase mwen te panse li ta dwe," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.
This is bigger than I thought it’d be.
He grins—those diamond grills catch the light instantly, his palms sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him.
“Ain’t nun’ too big for my lady," he rumbles back in English, deep enough to vibrate through your chest. When he sees your face—eyes wide, lips parted—he chuckles, shaking his head, “‘You so ‘shy, girl."
“Sorry," you whisper.
Instantly? He’s smacking his lips, tilting your chin up.
“Ain’t shit to apologize for."
His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, smudging your lipstick just a little—“You ready to go in?"
You nod, and his monstrous hand swallows yours whole as he leads you inside, the crowd parting like the Red Sea. The club pulses with neon and bass, but all you feel is him—solid, unshakable, yours—guiding you through the chaos like he always does.
The club is dripping in your essence—pink neon lights bleed into black velvet drapes, silver glitter raining from the ceiling like rockstar confetti. Ice sculptures glisten near the VIP carved into your initials, while larger-than-life prints of your sexiest photoshoots line the walls—that one where you wore nothing but a leather harness, that one with your curls wild and lips parted like a sigh.
Then the DJ scratches the beat—“Ayo, put yo’ hands up for the birthday girl!”
And of course, the crowd explodes. Onyankopon guides you to center stage, and you follow with a giggle, hips already swaying to the bassline thumping through the floor. The energy is electric, contagious—strangers and friends screaming, "Happy birthday, mama!" like they’ve known you forever.
For a moment you forget to be shy. You drop Onyankopon’s hand, turning to face the crowd with a smirk. Nail between your teeth, you bend over slow—ass out, back arched—then pop back up with a wink. The room loses it. You’re grinning now, covering your face as you dart back to Onyankopon, burying your head against his chest like you can hide from the attention.
But he won’t let you, of course.
“Nah, nah—let ‘em see you," he growls, spinning you back around as the crowd roars—“This shit mine. Y’all better muhfuckin’ know!”
The moment his lips press against your temple, the crowd Awww’s! like they’re watching a rom-com. You retaliate by pecking his jaw, and the reaction is even louder, making you shake your head with a shy smile.
“Aight, aight—y’all ready to turn this bitch up?”
What follows is pure, glittering chaos—a montage of you shedding every last bit of shyness.
Dark liquor burns your throat as you pour shots straight into people’s mouths, laughing when they cough. You twirl with the bottle girls, hips swinging in sync, their sequin bikinis catching the light as they hype you up. Cameras flash everywhere—you pout in one, bite your lip in another, then flip your curls over your shoulder in a third, each shot sexier than the last.
Onyankopon’s watching, always watching. He takes pics with fans, dapping up homies, but his eyes keep finding you—checking. And when you finally collide for your own photos, the chemistry is stupid.
He drags you into a gentle headlock, his diamond grills gleaming as you stick your tongue out playfully. The next shot? Your tongue slides against his, slow and teasing, the camera catching the exact moment he grunts, pulling back to warn you.
“Chill, girl. You tryna make me act up in here?"
Your giggle is the only answer he gets before you’re whisked away by the next wave of celebration—but his hand stays locked with yours, a tether in the storm.
The liquor has fully seeped into your veins now, transforming you into something else—something bolder, wilder, dripping with a different kind of magnetism. Your curls are tousled, framing a face where freckles pop against flushed skin, your dark eyes glaring at Onyankopon from across the room like a challenge. You’re even touchy now—fingers tracing the thick veins in his arms, dragging his palms to your ass with a smirk, even rubbing his ears the way you do when y’all are alone, just to watch his jaw tighten.
Then the DJ cuts into his music—Onyankopon’s got the mic now, voice rough as he spits bars over his own beat. The club knows every word, screaming them back, but you? You’re swaying in that gentle headlock of his, hips rolling against him like you’re trying to start a fire.
The music quickly swirls back into a playlist of other artists—back of the club by kwn slithering through the speakers, and the lights bleed deep pink.
Onyankopon’s hand now slides to the back of your neck, possessive, commanding, as he bends you over slow. Your ass grinds against him in perfect sync with the beat, your curls tumbling forward as you glance back at him over your shoulder—eyes locked. The crowd loses it, phones raised, but it’s just you and him in this moment.
“Goddamn," he mutters, low enough for only you to hear, before yanking you upright and into a kiss that’s more claim than anything else. The club erupts once more, but all you taste is him—whiskey, arrogance, and something dangerously close to adoration.
The energy shifts again—now you're fully in your element, drunk and free, leaning against the railing with your ass throwing back against Onyankopon as he performs again. His voice is rough, commanding, lyrics dripping with that signature arrogance that always makes your stomach flip. And he knows it—grinning down at you with those diamond grills flashing, his brown skin glistening under the club lights.
The final hour of the party is pure Houston chaos—bass rattling chests, drinks splashing, laughter ringing over chopped and screwed beats. But then your mood shifts one more time. The liquor, the heat, the way his hands keep finding your waist—it all boils over into a needy, whiny pout as you press yourself against him.
"I’m hot.”
Your voice is dripping with that drunk, sexy irritation only he gets to hear. Your fingers dig into his arms, lips brushing his ear—“And I wanna be alone with you, Ony.”
He grunts—“Behave," though there’s no real bite to it. Then, softer, lips grazing your temple, “We ‘bout to leave. ‘Got a surprise for you."
A few minutes later, he’s on the mic, thanking everyone for coming, telling them to head outside. The crowd follows, buzzing with curiosity, until they see it—an all white Rolls Royce Cullinan parked at the curb, massive bow on top, stacks of cash arranged in the trunk like a damn art piece. Designer purses, jewelry boxes, and other expensive gifts spill out from the backseat. Your hands fly to your mouth, pout trembling as you try so hard not to cry. But when you turn to him? He’s already smirking—like he knew this would wreck you.
The moment you swing open the car door, a squeak slips past your lips—girlish, giddy—at the sight of the custom interior. Soft pink leather seats, silver trim, even your initials stitched into the headrests. The crowd erupts again, phones snapping rapid fire pictures as you lean against the car, hips cocked, lips parted in a sultry smirk.
Onyankopon howls from the sidelines, hyping you up with every pose—“There go my baby! Yeah, do that lil’ twist again!", as you pop your ass out just a little more, smiling when the cameras go wild.
But as the chaos finally starts to fade? Your hands find his neck, fingers tracing the tattoos there—your name in cursive once more, forever inked into his skin in different parts of his body.
“Do you know how much I love you?"
He smirks. Those diamond grills catch the streetlight as he murmurs, “Enough to have a nigga name tatted where you always want my hand at."
“I’m serious, Onyankopon.”
For once, the cockiness flickers. His eyes soften just for a second before he pulls you closer, lips grazing your ear—
“I know."
Then, quieter, rougher, like it’s a secret just for you—
“A nigga love you ‘sum dangerous, girl."
The night had already been everything—the club, the gifts, the way the city screamed your name like you were royalty. But now? A different kind of heat pulses through you, thick and sweet, settling low between your thighs as Onyankopon carries you over his shoulder into the condo.
Downtown Houston glitters beneath you from the floor-to-ceiling windows of your penthouse, the city lights painting streaks of gold across the marble floors. You’re giggling, drunk and giddy, your bubblegum pink curls tumbling around your face as he strides through the living room. Your ass bounces over his shoulder, heels pointed to the ceiling—he holds you like you weigh nothing, like you’re his to carry, his to keep.
Then he tosses his keys onto the counter with a clatter, and you finally see it—the bedroom.
Balloons float near the ceiling, rose petals scattered across the silk sheets, stacks of cash arranged in neat rows on the nightstand like some kind of decadent altar. LED lights bathe everything in a deep, sultry pink, and you shriek, kicking your legs excitedly as he finally deposits you onto the bed.
Onyankopon chuckles as you immediately reach for him, fingers clutching his shirt—“Don’t leave," you whine, voice thick with liquor and lust.
He leans down, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose—"I’m ‘finna get you some water, yo’ ass turnt up.”
“I’m not drunk," you lie, even as the room spins just a little when you sit up.
"Yeah? Then tell me what my middle name is."
You blink. Shit.
“Lay here, imma’ be quick.”
The seconds stretch into eternity as you wait for him, sprawled across the silk sheets like a painting—your fingers tracing idle, teasing paths along your own curves, drunk in a way that even your own touch feels electric tonight. Every brush of fabric, every shift of your hips sends sparks through you, your senses dialed up to ten under the haze of liquor and desire.
“You aight in there?"
You whine in response, dragging out the sound like a spoiled child—"I wanna hear some music, Ony…”— voice dripping with a pout so thick it could drown him.
And of course, he obliges. The smooth bass of Let em’ know by Bryson Tiller slinks through the speakers seconds later, the rhythm slow, seductive—perfect. When he reappears in the doorway, water bottle in hand, your breath catches. He’s all possessive energy now—shoulders broad, jaw set, eyes dark as they rake over you.
“Sit up. Drink this,” he orders, voice gruff but edged with something softer.
You wiggle deeper into the sheets, shaking your head—"Nooo."
His brow arches, and that’s all you needed to know he wasn’t repeating himself. You huff but obey, pushing yourself up on shaky arms—he brings the bottle to your lips, and you sip obediently, your eyes locked on his the entire time.
You must look ridiculous—curls tangled around your face, freckles standing out against the deep flush of your cheeks, those feline lashes batting up at him like you’re not the one who just spent the last hour grinding on him in front of half of Houston.
But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease.
He just watches—like you’re the only thing in the world worth seeing.
“Tonight was so...so sweet, Ony.”
“Mhm.”
“Like—the gifts? The way everybody was screaming for me?”
“Mhm.”
“The way you looked at me when I was dancing—"
Onyankopon just nods, chuckling low in his chest as he watches you, his dark eyes tracing every animated expression that crosses your face. You’re drunk, so drunk, but he lets you talk—lets you relive every second of the night with that dreamy, intoxicated glee.
Then he reaches for your ankles, and you instinctively tilt your leg back, pouting.
"You don’t like them?"
You wiggle your feet, showcasing the platform stilettos—black, strappy, with a heart-shaped heel that glimmers under the soft pink LED lights.
"Nah, shawty. ‘They sexy as hell," he admits, voice rough, "But you ‘been dancin’ all night. Let a nigga rub yo’ feet."
You bite your lip, considering—then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, you spread your legs wider, leaning back against the pillows as you click your heels together playfully.
“Mmm...but the music’s still on," you murmur, swaying your legs in a slow, teasing rhythm—hips rolling just slightly, like you’re still dancing even lying down.
Onyankopon’s jaw clenches.
You giggle—sultry, knowing—as you arch your back just a little, letting the dress ride up your thighs.
“…I wanna perform for you…”
And just like that?
The game changes.
“"I’m right here, watchin’."
That’s all the permission you need.
Your body moves effortlessly—liquid, sinful— you’re even rolling onto your knees, crawling toward him with a smirk. Your fingers trail up his thighs before slipping beneath his shirt, tracing the hard ridges of his tattooed abs. He exhales sharply as you peel the fabric off him, leaving him bare chested—nothing but chains, diamond-studded jewelry, and those gleaming grills between his lips. You then turn around, arching yourself against the bed, ass high in the air as you start bouncing—slow at first, then faster, your hips rolling in perfect rhythm.
"You playin’.”
His palm cracks against your ass—hard.
You gasp, giggling and whining, your hips jerking forward from the sting. He doesn’t let up, spanking you again and again, each slap punctuated by his rough voice—
“‘This what you wanted, huh? Actin’ like shit sweet—"
Smack!
“—Knowin’ imma’ fuck yo’ ass up.”
The final one has you collapsing onto the bed, breathless, legs instinctively spreading—just like before. But this time?
Your fingers hook into the thin straps of your pink thong, tugging it to the side to reveal the drenched folds of your pussy, glistening under the dim light.
“Ony..."
You whimper, voice pitiful, desperate.
“I’m so wet. Come eat your pussy, Papa.”
And just like that?
He moves.
Onyankopon is a man of many talents—fiery with his words, lethal with his rhymes—but this? This is where he truly masters you.
The moment his mouth crashes between your thighs, it’s sloppy, messy, all wet heat and hungry suction. His tongue laps at you like he’s starved, his lips sealing around your clit as he shakes his head in it, making your back arch off the bed. Your legs spread wider, knees trembling, toes curling into your heels as your pussy squelches around his tongue—loud, obscene, the kind of sound that would make you blush if you weren’t so fucking lost in it.
“Fuck—" you gasp, your pout deepening, lips parted in a breathy moan.
“Soundin’ like a whole fuckin’ meal,” he taunts, tongue dragging a slow, torturous line up your slit—“This lil’ shit drippin’ all on my mouth—you hear that? Huh?”
You whimper, nodding frantically, hips rolling up to meet his face.
“S’yours, baby," you slur, voice drunk on pleasure, fingers tangling in his cornrows to keep him right where you need him.
“This sobbin’ ass pussy mine?”
He’s feral between your thighs—a beast unleashed, feasting on you like he’s been starved for centuries. His mouth is everywhere, messy and relentless, tongue plunging deep before swirling in tight, greedy circles that make your pussy weep around him. The sounds are downright nasty—wet, sloppy squelches, the slick drag of his lips against your swollen folds, the obscene pop of his mouth pulling back just to dive in again.
You’re a wreck, hands clutching your own ankles, bubblegum pink curls sticking to your flushed face as you stare down at him with the most pitiful pout. Drunk, dazed, ruined—your words come out in weak, slurred whimpers.
“S’your pussy... s’—s’your pussy…”
Onyankopon snarls against you, pulling back just enough to glare up at you through hooded eyes, his mouth glossy with your arousal.
“Keep sayin’ that shit,” he growls, voice thick with satisfaction, “Look at you—fuckin’ drownin’ me, actin’ all pathetic like you ain’t the one who asked for this."
Another spasm—your hips jerk, another rush of slick coating his tongue as you sob, overstimulated but needing more. Your thighs shake under the brutal grip of his hands, still slick from his mouth as he drags himself up your body in one smooth motion. His lips crash against yours—filthy, possessive—and you taste yourself on his tongue, that dark, musky sweetness that makes you whimper before you even feel him.
Then—God—the thick, veiny press of his dick slaps against your soaked folds. It’s monstrous, ridged and heavy, the tip already glistening with your arousal as he rubs it against your clit, teasing, torturing you with the promise of what’s to come. Onyankopon hooks your legs over his arms, spreading you wider, his voice a rough, arrogant growl against your lips—
“You gon’ run from this dick, or you gon’ take it?"
Your cheeks flush, heat pooling in your stomach because fuck, you know how hard he is to take. But the liquor in your veins, the ache between your thighs—you want that edge of pain, that delicious stretch that borders on too much.
You shake your head, forehead knocking against his as you pant, “N—No...won’t run..."
He grunts, low and approving, before snarling—“Then watch my shit go in."
Your eyes flicker down just in time to see that fat tip pressing against your entrance, stretching you apart with a slow, merciless push. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, pout trembling as your walls flutter to accommodate him.
“O—Ony—fuck—" you whimper, surrendering to the burn, the fullness as he sinks deeper, your slick gushing around him so messily it nearly pushes him back out. Then, there—the sharp, blissful pinch of him curving against your cervix, forcing a broken cry from your lips.
Onyankopon glowers down at you, his breath hot against your mouth as he mutters, “That’s my spot. My shit. You feel that?"
Your head falls back against the pillows, a breathless gasp tearing from your throat as Onyankopon drops his dick into you with one brutal, claiming thrust. The smack of his hips against the backs of your thighs echoes through the room—loud, obscene—as he buries himself to the hilt, your walls fluttering around him in helpless, overstimulated spasms.
His mouth crashes against your ear, hot breath spilling filthy promises as he grunt, “Know you hearin’ me.”
Your pout trembles, lips parted in a silent moan as your eyes roll back, pleasure and pain twisting together in a dizzying spiral. Your fingers drag through the nape of his neck, nails scraping lightly against his skin before tangling in his cornrows, tugging just enough to make him growl.
“I—I feel you, Papa.”
Your eyes flicker down to his—dark, possessive, unrelenting—and your voice cracks into the softest, most pitiful sob.
“You’re so deep.”
You cream on him, your orgasm crashing over you in violent, uncontrollable waves, your pussy clenching around his dick like it never wants to let go. Missionary with Onyankopon is always intimate—always raw. His large body looms over you, casting you in shadow, his muscles flexing with every merciless thrust. He’s aggressive in his tenderness, one hand gripping your hip hard while the other wipes away your tears, his thumb brushing your cheekbone even as he ruins you.
“My fuckin’ pussy," he snarls, hips pistoning, driving himself deeper with every snap of his waist—“All fuckin’ mine."
The rush of orgasms should have left you spent. But somehow? It only fuels you, turns you into something hungrier, a lust-drunk incubus with a mouth made for sin.
Now you’re on your knees, fully naked except for those fuck me heels still strapped to your feet—your curls cascade around your curvy silhouette as you take him into your mouth with a greedy moan. His dick is thick, heavy on your tongue, the musky scent of him filling your senses as you swirl your tongue around his tip, whimpering around him like the desperate little thing you are.
And Onyankopon?
He’s unfazed, lazily rolling a blunt between his fingers as he watches you suck him off with hooded, arrogant eyes.
“That’s all you got?" he taunts, voice rough with amusement, “Thought you ‘was hungry, mama."
You whimper around him, hollowing your cheeks as you try to take him deeper, but God, he’s too much—your lips stretch obscenely around his girth, drool spilling down your chin as you struggle to fit even half of him in your mouth.
Then—smack—his palm cracks against your cheek, stinging, forcing a gasp from your lips as you pull back, eyes watering. He grips your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he leans down and spits right onto your tongue.
“Swallow.”
You do—immediately—before jerking him off with both hands, twisting sloppily, kitten-licking at his tip like you’re starved for him.
Onyankopon chuckles low, "You cute as hell, girl.”
The flick of his lighter is sinful, the flame catching the blunt between his lips as he takes a slow, deliberate drag. His head tilts back, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke towards the ceiling, the muscles in his neck flexing beneath his tattoos—he looks good like this, all lazy dominance and effortless control.
Then his dark eyes slide back down to you, watching with amused arrogance as your heavy, fat tits press against his thighs, your desperate attempts to titty-fuck him messy and uncoordinated. Your mouth is still locked around his tip, sucking like you’re trying to milk him dry, your lips glossy with spit, your eyes pleading even as you choke around his size.
“You want this shit bad," he taunts.
You whimper around him, your tongue still swirling, all while your hands squeeze your own tits together, trying—failing—to take more of him, proving that you do.
He watches you struggle for another moment before finally murmuring, "Gon’ back onna’ bed and put that ass up. Need you bouncin’ on my shit."
And just like that?
You obey.
This position always breaks you—always has you tapping out, whimpering, or collapsing into the sheets like a ragdoll. But tonight? You’re determined to take it. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he slides in fully—thick, veiny length curving inside you in a way that makes your vision blur.
“Hands down, mama."
You whimper, tucking your palms beneath your body, surrendering to the stretch as he soothes you with a dark, approving murmur—“Good lil’ bitch."
You arch your back just a little, sinking down onto him further until your pussy ppffts around his dick, the obscene sound making your cheeks burn even as you wiggle yourself down until his abdomen presses against your ass.
“Onyo…”
And just like that? His hand clasps against the back of your neck—right where his name is inked into your skin—claiming you, owning you.
He’s still smoking the blunt, the other hand gripping your throat as he begins stroking up into you, feeding his dick into your tight, dripping pussy with slow, deliberate thrusts.
"S’yo’ birthday, mama,” he murmurs, voice thick with smoke, "Gotta let Papa give you them ‘good girl strokes."
You arch further, your pussy clenching around him as a high-pitched whimper tears from your throat—“Oooohhh—"
“You better open this shit up—ion’ wanna hear none of that."
But you can’t help it—your body betrays you, your voice cracking into a desperate whine as you gasp out in broken Creole, "M’pa ka pran li…!”
I can’t take it.
The clap of your ass against his abdomen is obscene, each impact forcing another punched out “Oooh,” from your lips—“Oooh," “Oooh,"—your pussy farting in messy, wet echoes around his dick, the sound humiliating in the best way.
“Imma’ keep you on this dick forever if you don’t shut that shit up."
You bite into the sheets, your whimpers turning into defeated little moans as pleasure fully courses through you, turning your limbs to liquid.
But he doesn’t let up.
Your sounds grow dragged out— whiney, babbling, your curls spilling around your face as your head goes slack—your eyes roll back so far you’re seeing stars. He’s tugging you down harder, forcing you to take every inch, your words slurring into full nonsense as your pussy squirts around him—gushing, your mind fogging over as pleasure obliterates your thoughts.
Yeah, you’re gone.
Onyankopon’s pounding into you with precision, bouncing you down onto his dick so hard that he hits that squishy spot deep inside you—you’re lost, ruined, your voice cracking into a weak, broken mewl as you say—
“You’re so fucking mean..."
"Yeah?” He murmurs, “I’m mean, huh?”
Your ass claps in a slow, sinful rhythm, your fingers biting into the sheets beneath you as you drag out a weak, trembling—"Yeaahhhhhhhh..."—your body convulsing around him.
“You forgettin’? That Rolls Royce outside? Allem’ Telfars? Birkins?” he growls, his thrusts becoming deeper, his grip on your hips bruising as he taunts—“You want them other niggas out there?"
The thought alone makes him possessive, strokes turning punishing as he demands your answer.
“No,” you’re sobbing—“‘Want you forevverrrr..."
“That’s what the fuck I thought."
Then, "S’ still yo’ day—cum on the fuckin’ dick like you ain’t never did before."
And God, you do.
The orgasm rips through you—long, intense and merciless—your body convulses as pleasure floods through every nerve. Onyankopon holds you in place, his grip ironclad, keeping you from squirming away as the sensations become too much. You try to fight it—hips jerking weakly, hands scrambling against the sheets—but he growls, pressing you down harder as he grunts through his own release.
The warmth of him filling you makes you tremble, your pussy fluttering around his dick in helpless, overstimulated pulses. But hell, he’s an animal—still attempting to stroke into you, his hips rolling lazily even as you tap out, your hand slapping weakly against his thigh in surrender.
A shiver wracks your spine as he finally pulls out, his low chuckle vibrating against your skin as he soothes a large palm over your ass, kneading the flesh gently.
"Stop, Ony…”
Onyankopon chuckles, “Relax, girl. You ain’t gon’ let a nigga hold you?”
Your legs shake as you climb onto him, your face burning with embarrassment as you tuck yourself into the crook of his neck—a shy, overwhelmed little thing you are.
And he lets you— his arms wrap around you, lips pressing against the top of your head as he murmurs, "My fuckin’ baby."
His large hand cradles your head, rough fingers pressing gently against your cheeks as he tilts your chin up. The bottom half of your face disappears beneath his palm—all he can see now are your eyes—those deep, soulful brown pools he fell helplessly in love with.
His thumb strokes your cheekbone, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it—“You sleep yet?"
You shake your head, lips brushing against his calloused skin as you exhale a quiet no.
He hums, satisfied, before murmuring—“Did you enjoy yo’ birthday?"
A beat.
“…It was more than what I could’ve ever wanted. So much more than I needed.”
“Nah, we ain’t finna’ do that—“ he cuts in, voice firm but loving, “You deserve everything I give you. Ain’t nothin’ too much for my fuckin’ woman.”
His gaze burns into yours, “A nigga would buy you the world if I could put that shit in a gift box."
You giggle, warmth flooding your chest as you reach up, rubbing at his ear affectionately, your fingers tracing the curve of it like you’re memorizing him.
“You already gave me the world, Ony. You.”
Onyankopon’s jaw ticks. His grip tightens just a fraction—like he’s fighting the urge to ruin you all over again— he then grunts, pressing a rough kiss to your forehead.
“Too fuckin’ sweet,” he mutters—but the way he holds you after?
It says everything his words can’t. You fall asleep together in a chaotic city that couldn’t take away the one thing you had for each other—your love.
theartofmadeline
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