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)
(Armin Arlert x reader — 18+, smut, fingering, praise kink, light corruption, bratty teasing from reader, Armin being shy but bold, slight overstim , Black!reader implied. Minors DNI.)
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Armin wasn’t supposed to be this bold. Not with you. Not with the way you treated him — soft when you wanted, sharp when you didn’t. But tonight was different.
You’d stormed in, still dressed from the night out, lip gloss smudged, legs crossed tight like you were wound up. You complained, loud, about men not knowing how to touch you, how to listen, how to even look at you right.
That’s when Armin made the mistake of looking at you too long.
There was heat in his eyes. A warning you ignored. The kind that said he’d been paying attention. That if you pushed him, if you called him “sweet” one more time, he’d snap and show you how dirty he really was.
You threw yourself onto the couch beside him, huffing. “Why’s it so damn hard for men to figure me out? Like, it’s not that complicated.”
Armin’s lips curved, just barely. “It’s not complicated at all.”
You turned, brow arched. “Oh? And you’d know?”
That little smirk deepened, and before you could blink, Armin’s hand was circling your wrist, tugging you into his lap. The sharp gasp you let out only made his confidence settle in further. You felt him — hard, insistent, straining against his sweats under you.
“You don’t even have to ask,” he said, voice a little rougher than usual, words brushing your jaw as he leaned in. “I’ve been watching you for years. I know exactly what you like.”
You wanted to laugh it off, but his hand was already pushing up your skirt, his fingers sliding between your thighs like he’d been rehearsing it. He had. A thousand times.
“Armin—”
“Shh,” he hushed, lips grazing your ear, the tips of his fingers already circling the damp spot on your panties. “Let me prove it.”
And God, he did. He hooked the fabric to the side and pushed two fingers into you slow, deliberate, curling them just right until your mouth fell open.
“Mmhm,” he hummed against your neck, watching you squirm. “I knew it. Always imagined you’d be so tight for me.”
Your hand grabbed his shoulder for balance as your hips betrayed you, grinding down into his palm. “You’re too—”
“Too good?” His grin was wicked now, his blue eyes darker than you’d ever seen. “That’s because I pay attention. Good boys always do.”
Your thighs clenched as he pressed his thumb to your clit, rubbing soft circles in time with his strokes. Each pump dragged a needy moan out of you until your head tipped back against his shoulder.
“Armin—fuck—”
“That’s it,” he coaxed, breath warm against your cheek. “Let me hear it. Let me know how good I’m making you feel.”
His pace quickened, fingers pumping into you faster, wetter, until you were a mess against him. Your nails dug crescents into his arm, your body trembling, the slick sounds of his hand filling the room.
“Cum for me,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Be my good girl and let go.”
You shattered. Your body jerked, thighs trembling as the orgasm ripped through you, leaving you gasping in his lap. He didn’t stop until you were whining, pushing weakly at his wrist, and only then did he ease off — his lips ghosting over your jawline, smug and sweet all at once.
Armin smiled, eyes soft and wicked at once. “Told you I had my tricks.”
And deep down, you knew this was only the beginning.
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a/n — i’m back! (maybe lol), mb yall for the disappearance i got depressed out of no where😭
The house was already packed when you and your girls got there. Music blaring, drinks flowing, sweat in the air. Sasha had dragged you out of the Uber, Mikasa trailing close behind with her usual unreadable stare.
“Okay but tonight? We’re having fun,” Sasha insisted, sliding her arm through yours as you pushed through the crowd.
You spotted Ony almost instantly. He wasn’t hard to miss—white tee hugging his frame, chain catching the light, that calm, watchful energy that made people gravitate to him. He was leaned up against the wall with Connie, Eren, and Armin, laughing about something stupid.
And of course, his eyes found you.
That heavy look he always gave you when he caught sight of you in a room—like you belonged to him whether anyone else knew it or not.
You tried to play it cool, sipping your drink while Sasha pulled you toward the dance floor.
At first it was fun. Dancing with your girls, letting the bass roll through you, just feeling good in your skin. But when you looked up again, Ony wasn’t watching you anymore. Some girl was standing way too close to him, hand brushing his arm like she owned the right. And he didn’t move. Didn’t check her.
Your stomach dropped.
Mikasa caught it. “You good?”
“Yeah.” You lied.
But it only got worse when Connie noticed the look on your face and shouted across the room, “Damn Ony, your lil’ boo jealous!”
Heat flushed through you. You grabbed Sasha’s hand. “C’mon. I need some air.”
Outside, the night air was cooler, but your chest was still hot. You leaned against the porch railing, trying to swallow it down. But before long, Ony stepped out too.
“You good?” His voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp.
“Don’t.” You turned away.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t come out here acting like you didn’t just let some girl all in your face like I’m invisible.”
His jaw tightened. “So that’s what this is.”
“What else would it be?” you snapped. “You couldn’t even move her hand, Ony? You couldn’t say nothing? You just let me stand there like an idiot.”
He laughed—short, bitter. “That’s crazy. You really think I’m tryna play you out here? After everything I do to make sure you straight?”
“You didn’t look real concerned about me being straight two minutes ago.”
That cracked his patience. He stepped in close, voice low. “You so quick to assume the worst. You don’t even realize I’m only here ‘cause you are. You think I give a fuck about anybody else in that room?”
You stared up at him, chest tight, hurt twisting with something heavier.
“You sure got a funny way of showing it,” you whispered.
The air between you turned sharp. He ran a hand down his face, exhaling. “Man, let’s go.”
⸻
The ride home was silent. He didn’t even look at you when you got out the car. Just unlocked the door and walked in first.
You followed, slamming the door harder than you meant to.
“Don’t start throwing shit around now,” Ony warned, dropping his keys on the counter.
“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t make me feel like—” Your voice cracked. You hated that it cracked. “Like I don’t matter to you.”
That stopped him cold.
He turned slow, eyes dark. “Don’t you ever say that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
Two steps and he was in your face, his hand gripping your chin, forcing your eyes up to his. “You matter more than anybody. But you keep letting your insecurities talk louder than me.” His voice was low, sharp. “You don’t believe me when I tell you you mine. That’s the problem.”
Your lips parted, chest heaving, tears threatening. “Then show me.”
Something snapped in his gaze.
Next thing you knew, your back hit the wall, his mouth crashing onto yours, hot and demanding. You gasped against his lips, clutching his shirt as he pressed his body to yours, hands roaming rough, claiming every inch.
He dragged you toward the couch, barely breaking the kiss, pushing you down until you fell back against the cushions. His hands tugged at your top, sliding it over your head, leaving you bare under his heavy stare.
“You so damn beautiful,” he muttered, low like a prayer. “you be trippin’ over nothin’.”
You whimpered as his mouth found your neck, sucking, biting, leaving his mark. His hands slid under your skirt, fingers teasing over your soaked panties until you were trembling.
“Ony—”
“You want me to show you?” he growled, sliding the fabric aside. “Then take it.”
And you did.
He pushed into you slow, deep, filling you until you cried out, nails raking down his back. His thrusts were rough, desperate, each one grounding the words he’d spoken earlier. You’re mine. You matter. Don’t ever question it.
Your moans filled the room, tangled with his low groans as he pounded into you, forehead pressed to yours, sweat slicking your skin.
“You feel that?” His voice was strained, breaking. “That’s me proving it to you. Nobody else—just me. Always me.”
Tears spilled as pleasure ripped through you, body clenching around him, the release shattering every ounce of doubt you’d carried. He followed, spilling deep inside you with a guttural moan, holding you tight like he couldn’t let go.
After, he kissed your temple soft, still buried in you, still trembling.
“You ain’t ever invisible to me,” he whispered. “You the only thing I see.”
summary: things get steamy while you and your boyfriend, connie, hot-boxed his car late night.
wc: 2.0k
cw: connie springer x black!fem reader, bratty!reader, softdom!connie, could be plug!connie (??), car sex, porn with little/no plot, established situationship, smut (mdni), sexual tension, casual sex, soft brat taming, weed usage, creampie, riding, casual intimacy, raw (use protection), sex while on the phone, getting interrupted but continuing
The car smells like smoke and leather, thick and heavy in the heat of the night. The bass from Connie’s playlist thumped softly through the speakers of his matte black dodge charger, mixing with the faint hum of the streetlights outside your apartment.
His seat was leaned back as your legs are draped over his, he kneads the soles of your feet while you take a pull of the blunt he rolled just for you and him to share. You love Connie because he’s always so attentive, earlier you mentioned him that your feet were hurting from the heels you were wearing from your recent date night. You’re always just blabbering, barely listening to yourself, so it shocks you when he brings up things you mentioned during conversations. As soon as you got in the passenger seat, he tells you to put your feet up so he can give you a foot massage. How closely he listens to you all the time turns you on more than you’d like to admit.
“You ready to go, baby?” he ask, eyes low and red as both of you were feeling the effects of the weed in the air. You guys planned to go to get something to eat after you smoked and then go back to his place.
You smirk at him, a little bratty just because you could. “Mmm, depends. You gon’ make it worth my while?” You teased.
Connie’s lips curve upward in that crooked smile you love. “Y’know I always do.”
Your soft grey shorts were already riding high on your hips, the oversized true-religion hoodie you’ve stolen from him a few days ago from when you slept over his house barely covering your thighs.
The windows are cracked just enough to let the smoke swirl around you guys in lazy circles. You love nights like this, the smoke, the RNB playlist he would always put on and the dark night pressed against the glass of his tinted windows.
He reaches over to take the blunt from your fingers, eyes never leaving yours as he took a slow pull. He looks down, you caught how his eyes dip down your body and pause at your thighs. He eyes the purple marks he left in between your thighs from the night you slept over, making him slightly horny all over again. The overall sight of you made him horny, the way your skin glowed under the light of the dashboard, you plump glossed two-toned lips glistening under the light, the way your curls framed your face, the tooth-gems on your teeth shining as you smiled, you’re so perfect to him.
“Why you sitting so far like ‘m one of your lil friends? C’mere.” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, like he knows what it does to you.
You raise an eyebrow. “We not goin’ yet?”
“Didn’t say that,” he exhales the smoke through his nose, placing the blunt between his lips again as he opens his lap up wider. “I just want you closer first. Let me feel you.” He says as he puts out the blunt.
You crawl over the center console, straddling him with ease. His your hoodie slid up just a little more as your soft shorts clung to your skin. His hands immediately go up under, finding the bare skin of your waist, palms resting on the curve of your hips as his thumbs start rubbing lazy circles onto your sides like he’d done it a million times before—and he has. His hands sneak down and start rubbing your ass, he can tell you’re not wearing underwear under the thin fabric of your shorts. You learned to always wear easy access clothing around Connie pretty early in you guys’ relationship.
“Where’s your underwear, baby?” He questioned.
You throw him an “innocent” smile in response. “What if I didn’t wanna wear any, Con’?”
His hands make his way back under your hoodie and start rubbing up your stomach, making deep eye contact. “When you gon’ stop acting like you’n know what you doing?” he mutters, dragging his hands down to squeeze the underside of your thighs. “Wearing my shit like this.”
“You like it,” you whisper, leaning back, letting him get a full look at you, you 100% knew what you were doing.
He hums as he bit his lip, nodding like it wasn’t even a question.
The song shifted—‘What you need’ by The Weeknd starts moving through the speakers—and the air got heavier, as both of your eyes were locked on to eachother. You lean forward, soft lips kissing along his jaw, something you’d usually do just to be sweet (again, you knew what you were doing). Your body immediately started melting into his. You could feel the outline of him pressing right where your body met his, even through your shorts. You faintly smirk to yourself as you let your hips rock just slightly to “adjust yourself”.
He caught that.
“Oh, so you want some dick tonight,” he murmur, grabbing your chin gently to bring your face to his. “You must want me to do somethin’ about it.”
You scoff through a smile, shameless now. “You always say that… then you don’t do nothin’.” You know damn well that was a bold-face lie, you just wanted to get a rise out of him every once in a while so he can fuck you. He knows that, he wasn’t born yesterday, but it somehow still works everytime.
You been wanting dick ever since your high crept up on you, if you being honest. Smoking always made you horny, especially with Connie. When you were single, every time you smoked alone, you would have to pull out your bright pink vibrator to get yourself off, luckily, that vibrator has been collecting dust ever since you’ve been with Connie.
His hand stops rubbing for a split-second. That pretty, lazy smile dropped into something darker, more sinister. Connie tilts his head just a little, eyes narrowing like he was trying to make sure he heard you right.
“Oh yeah?” His hand slid under your ass, grabbed a handful like he owned it . “Cause I swear it sound like you tryna play with me right now.”
You lean forward again, that same bratty grin still on your lips, speaking soft against his jaw. “Maybe I am.”
He doesn’t say anything.
Not at first.
He just slips his hand further down, letting two fingers dip under the hem of your shorts, feeling how warm you were without even needing to look. You’re not just warm—you’re wet. Like, sticky wet. The kind of wet that meant you been thinking about this exact moment since the second he picked you up.
He chuckles low in his chest.
“Yeah… that’s what I thought.” His fingers slip through your slippery folds slowly, like he has all the time in the world. He watches your face, watching your breath hitch when he barely brushed over your pulsing clit. “All that mouth, but your pussy always saying somethin’ different. You could’ve just told me you wanted dick instead of saying slick shit, you always scared to ask.”
He brings his lips up to your ear, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, “I know what your pussy needs before you do. Don’t make me keep your dick from you until you learn how to ask, mama.”
You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when he’s already circling your clit with his two middle fingers, slow and teasing. Enough to make you grind down for more. You let out soft whimpers as your eyes squeezed shut, eyebrows pulling together.
“You close? Hm?” he teases sadistically, other hand gripping your thigh to keep you still. He grins at your needy state.
He quickly pulls his hand out your shorts when he felt like you were gonna cum. You whine at the loss of stimulation, “Nah, you gotta work for it.”
Before you could ask what he meant, he lifts his hips, pulling his sweats down just enough for his dick to spring free. It was thick, hard, and warm against your thigh—you could already feel yourself clenching around nothing.
He doesn’t even bother stripping you—just yanks your shorts down to the top of your thighs, leaving the waistband stretching tight around them while the rest of the fabric bunched up messily between you two. The thin material is twisted and wrinkled against your skin, riding low in the back, exposing the curve of your ass and the slick, desperate, heat between your legs like he knows it was waiting for him.
He smears the bead of pre-cum leaking from his red angry tip of his dick onto your folds. “Put it in, baby.” he said low, tapping your pussy with it. “Ride this dick like you grown, since you got so much to say.”
You don’t hesitate. You rose up just enough to line him up, your slick already dripping down onto him. And when you sank down?
Both of you cussing under your breath in union. You moan at the feeling of him buried so deep into you, you swear you can feel him in your belly. You both felt everything 10x more due to both of you guys still feeling the buzz of your high.
“Mmmmfuck—,” your hands grip his shoulders, head dropping onto his neck.
“Shit,” Connie groaned, breath stuttering. “Tight ass pussy always got something slick to say.”
You rock slowly at first, hips grinding in a slow, teasing rhythm. You wanted him to beg. You wanted to hear his voice break. But Connie wasn’t the only one who had control (at least thats what you told yourself). And with the way his hands clutched your waist and his dick was pulsing inside you, you knew you had the upper hand—for now.
You bite his earlobe, whispering, “Still don’t feel you doin’ nothin’.”
He didn’t say anything, just shook his head at your words, smiling as his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. He wraps his arms tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him so your clit rubbed right against his happy trail with every grind, making you let out a high-pitched scream.
He starts guiding your hips, helping you move faster, harder—until you were bouncing in his lap, ass slapping against his thighs, the car creaking under y’all. The playlist still played low in the background, Care by Sonder now playing under the sound of your slick.
It was getting nasty.
“C-connie, baby,” Your voice going an octave higher, soft and breathy in his ear, whimpering his name, nails digging into his neck as your thighs shake.
“Oh there she is,” he chuckled “my sweet girl.”
He felt you clenching around him as he moved you up and down, pulling a groan from deep in his chest. “You boutta cum already?” he asked, teeth gritted. “Ain’t even been five minutes.”
“Shut up,” you moan, rolling your hips deeper now, chasing that edge with a fever. The feeling of his dick moving deep and steady inside you, and the scratch from his happy trail brushing against your clit had you trembling.
But just as you felt your stomach tighten, the sharp buzz of Connie’s phone, which was connected the car, cut through the air.
It was ringing.
Loud, and vibrating in the cup holder right beside you.
You froze for half a second.
He didn’t.
He turned his head and looked at the caller ID and smirked. “Oh, it’s Jean.”
You gave him a look, still grinding, slow and frustrated. “Don’t answer that shit.”
“Why not? Y’scared he gon’ hear you?” a smirk plastered across his face as he swiped his finger to pick it up.
Before you could protest, Connie slid his hand under your hoodie again, guiding your hips to bounce on him again. He brought the phone to his ear.
“Yo.”
You throw your hand over your mouth, you couldn’t believe you were still bouncing on his dick, but you couldn’t stop, it all felt too good. But this man had the nerve to answer a call while he was balls-deep inside you?
“Nah, chillin,” he said casually, voice steady like you weren’t literally clenching around him with every roll of your hips. “Had to pick up my girl. We just smokin’. You good?”
You narrowed your eyes at him while trying to hold back your moans.
He sent you a lazy grin, hand gripping your ass again, helping you move while keeping his voice even. “Yeah, she here. Hold on.”
He brought it up to your face making you panic, pushing the phone away from you.
“Nah, she bein’ shy,” he laughed, letting out a soft grunt when you clenched hard on him. You’d meant it to punish him, but it backfired— It always does. He just bit his lip and grabbed your hips harder, making you ride faster. “Say wassup, baby. Don’t be shy.” He smugly winks at you as you glared at him.
You mouthed, “I hate you.” Letting out soft whimpers that are just barely audible through the phone.
You open your mouth to say something to actually be respectful and greet Jean, but as soon as you began to speak, Connie slams his hips up into you—ripping a loud moan out your throat. You’re so embarrassed, you were sure Jean knew what you two were doing now.
You turn your face, hiding it in his neck, trying to stiffle the sound of your whimpers.
“Anyway,” he said, still cool on the phone. “I’ll hit you back in like 10. We busy.”
He ended the call, causing the music to cut back on. He tossed the phone in the back seat, and finally, finally focused on you again. He thrust his hips up into you, meeting you half-way and you dropped down onto him. Strings of slick clung between you every time you lifted your hips, creamy and wet, connecting you like glue
“That’s what you get,” he murmurs against your neck. “Tryna talk all that shit… look at you now.”
You don’t respond.
You can’t at this point.
Not when you’re right on the edge, body trembling, thighs burning, tears prickling at your eyes from how deep he felt in this angle.
He feels how close you are, he cups your jaw, tilted your face up to look at him. “Cum f’me baby.”
Your body listens to him almost immediately as you start creaming all over his dick.
“Connie—ohmygod!” you cry, shaking almost violently as your orgasm is rushing through you, head thrown back, pussy pulsing around him hard. Milky, white liquid dripping down his balls as you came.
He doesn’t stop moving. Slowed a little, yeah, but didn’t stop moving as he felt his orgasm approaching.
You’re trembling on top of him, breath caught in your throat, still moving even though every shift makes your body jolt
He grunts as he sloppily bucks his hips up into you, held your waist down tight, chasing his own high. Thick ropes of cum shoots up into your pussy with a low groan against your skin, filling you up so warm you shuddered again from the feeling.
Y’all stayed like that as you caught your breath, his arms still around you, your face tucked against his neck.
The air in the car filled with the scent of weed and sex now. The windows were foggy. The playlist still going, but neither of you move.
Eventually, he rubs your back and said, “You good?”
You nod, still catching your breath. “You answered the phone. You’re so insane.”
He laughs. “Yeah. And you kept fuckin’ me. What that say about you?”
You roll your eyes, hitting his chest weakly. “Shut up.”
He looks at you with that crooked-ass smile before grabbing your jaw to kiss you. He smiles into the kiss before pulling away. “Jean 100% knows we were fuckin’ btw, you was not quiet at all.”
“Talk all that shit in front of them, now moan like that for me.”
(Stack x Black reader — 18+ smut, MDNI. Public tension → car sex. Rough backshots, dominance, jealous energy, neck grabbing, forced eye contact, possessive talking, toxic love)
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“You was real bold back there.”
Stack’s voice cuts through the silence as he slams the backdoor shut, trapping you in with him. His gold chain sways over his hoodie, jaw locked, thighs spread wide as he pulls you between them by your waist.
You roll your eyes, still hot with attitude. “You started it.”
He barks out a short laugh — mean and low. “Nah. You raised your voice. In front of people. Thought you was gon’ son me out like I’m soft?”
You suck your teeth, but you’re breathing faster now. ’Cause you know that look in his eyes.
The second you go to speak, his hand wraps around your jaw — gentle, but firm — tilting your face toward his as his thumb brushes your bottom lip.
“You must want me to embarrass you in a different way.”
You don’t even get to respond.
He yanks your shorts down and flips you over onto your stomach, cheek pressed against the leather seats, his knee parting your legs. His other hand grabs your neck from behind and presses you down.
“Lemme see if you got the same energy now.”
He spits on it, spreads you with two fingers, and slides in raw — slow, thick, heavy like he missed this attitude too much not to fuck it out of you.
You moan sharp, caught off guard.
He grins.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Every stroke is deep and possessive, bouncing your ass back into his lap with no room to move. You try to brace yourself but he grabs your wrists and pins them behind your back with one hand.
“Talk now,” he pants. “Go ’head. Run that mouth like you did at the party.”
All you can do is cry out his name.
“Nah, say what you said earlier,” he grunts, fucking into you harder. “You don’t need me? You done wit’ me?”
He drags his dick out slowly… then slams it back in.
You gasp, body arching under the pressure.
“Don’t get shy now,” he growls into your ear, hand snaking around to rub you while he’s still deep. “You had your lil’ audience. Now you gon’ perform for me.”
You’re cumming fast — loud, breathless, choking on your own moans as your pussy clenches around him and he doesn’t even let up.
“You mine. All that mouth, still come for me every time.”
He cums with a low groan, buried deep, his arm wrapping tight around your waist as your body trembles under his. You’re face-down, sweaty, wrecked, but he keeps you there — one hand on your ass, the other rubbing your back like it’s love after war.
“Next time you wanna yell in public,” he mutters, “remember how fast you folded in this backseat.”
Hands trembling. Not from fear — from knowing. From the heat already building between your thighs just off the way he’s breathing. The way he’s holding the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him from doing something stupid. Or something perfect.
You climb into the backseat.
He follows.
Slams the door behind him.
And for a second… it’s dead silent.
All you hear is your own heartbeat, thudding loud in your ears. All you feel is the heat radiating from him across the seat. Not touching yet — but close. Close enough to make your breath catch.
You shift, about to speak—
But he’s on you before you can even inhale.
Big hands slide up your thighs, hoodie bunched around your waist. He kisses you like he’s starving. Like he’s mad at himself for ever letting you doubt what you mean to him.
“Don’t say nothin’,” he murmurs against your lips. “Just let me fix it.”
You try to respond but it comes out a whimper when he pulls you into his lap, thighs straddling his hips, your back pressed to the fogged-up window.
“You think I don’t choose you?” he mutters, kissing down your neck. “You think I could let anybody else touch you and not lose my fuckin’ mind?”
You don’t answer. Can’t.
Because now his hand’s already under your panties, sliding between folds slick with want — like your body was waiting on this. Like the pain in your chest was just foreplay for what’s about to break you.
“Every version of me that existed before you,” he growls low, fingers teasing your clit, “that nigga’s dead now.”
You moan.
“Don’t run from it,” he whispers, feeling you squirm. “Take it. Take all this love you was beggin’ for.”
Your eyes flutter shut.
Then he slides two fingers inside you. Deep. So slow it feels like torture. His thumb still circling your clit. Watching the way your mouth parts, hips twitching in his lap, soft little gasps escaping.
“That’s it, mama. Let me hear you.”
You let out a broken moan, clutching the back of his hoodie.
He groans in your ear.
“I’m not goin’ nowhere. I don’t care how many doors you slam, how loud you get, how hard you try to push me back.”
His fingers curl inside you.
“I want the messy parts of you. The jealous parts. The insecure shit. All of it.”
You gasp again, voice shaking.
“Ony—please…”
He lifts you gently, slides your panties to the side, and guides his dick against your entrance — thick, hard, leaking at the tip. He doesn’t even rush. Just strokes it against you slow, letting your slick coat him.
“Say it,” he whispers. “Tell me who you belong to.”
“You,” you breathe, barely able to speak. “I belong to you.”
He slides in. All the way.
You both cry out.
Because the stretch is too much. And yet not enough. It’s like he’s claiming you again. Like his body is telling you all the things he doesn’t say with words.
He starts slow.
Rolling his hips up into you while holding your jaw so you can’t look away. His eyes on you the whole time — watching your lips tremble, your body shake.
“You mine,” he whispers. “Say it like you mean it.”
You pant, legs trembling around his waist.
“I’m yours.”
Harder now. The rhythm sharper. Desperate.
He leans in, forehead to yours.
“I’ll never make you feel like second best again. You hear me?”
You nod, eyes glassy.
“I swear to God—” his voice cracks, and he thrusts up harder, deeper. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes.”
You come apart.
Just like that.
Back arching. Nails clawing into his shoulders. Pussy pulsing around him so tight he almost loses it right there.
He groans loud.
Then buries his face in your neck as he pumps a few more times and spills inside you, clutching your waist like you’re the only thing anchoring him to earth.
The silence after is different.
No more turn signal.
No more static between you.
Just heavy breathing, skin to skin, his hands stroking your thighs as you both try to catch your breath.
“I’m not perfect,” he says quietly.
You look down at him. He’s already looking at you.
“But I ain’t ever leaving you. So you better stop acting like you replaceable.”
You were going off — over something small, something stupid — but with you and Eren, stupid arguments always turned into full-blown shouting matches. And he just sat there, chewing the inside of his cheek, staring straight ahead with that slow-building anger in his jaw.
By the time y’all got back to the crib, you slammed the door, cursed under your breath, kicked off your shoes hard enough to bounce off the wall.
He followed you in silence.
Until you turned to him and said, “You never listen. You only hear what you wanna hear.”
That’s when he snapped.
Now you’re pressed into the mattress — one hand flat on your lower back, the other wrapped firm around your throat — while Eren fucks you with slow, mean, purposeful strokes. Not to make you cum. Not to make you beg.
To prove a point.
“You done actin’ like I ain’t the only one that knows how to make you shut the fuck up?” he growls through his teeth, sweat dripping from his temple as he slams into you again. “Keep fuckin’ talkin’, see what happen.”
Your legs are trembling — slick, weak, open — but your mouth? Still reckless.
“I wouldn’t be talking if you wasn’t—”
Smack.
His palm hits your ass hard, and before you can suck in another breath, he grabs your jaw and drags your face back toward his.
“You wasn’t what?” he sneers, hips snapping into you with brutal precision. “Say it. You was loud earlier, right?”
You whimper, eyes fluttering, body bouncing under the force of his thrusts. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make you gasp, then loosens just as quick — making your whole body buzz with heat.
“Keep talkin’,” he spits, slamming into you again, deeper. “I’ll keep fuckin’ you ‘til you forget what we even arguing about.”
You try to keep your head up. Try to keep that attitude. But your body betrays you.
The moment his dick brushes that spot — the one that makes your knees buckle, your back arch, your moans crack in your throat — you fold.
You grip the sheets. Whimper his name. Try to pull away, but he grabs your waist and pulls you right back. “Nah, don’t run now,” he mutters. “You wanted to argue, so argue with this dick.”
He pounds into you harder, the headboard slamming, your voice raw from moaning too loud — and you feel yourself coming undone. The orgasm hits like a wave, crashing through you, pulling the breath from your lungs.
Eren groans — low, possessive, nearly a growl — and finishes deep, staying there, grinding against you, breathing heavy in your ear.
Neither of you speak for a moment.
Your body is still shaking, skin slick, mind blank.
Then Eren leans down and kisses your neck — slow, almost sweet — and mutters:
“You done runnin’ that mouth?”
You let out a weak laugh, voice hoarse: “For now.”
He smirks.
“Good. Now roll over — I ain’t finished with you yet.”
(Connie Springer x Black Female Reader — 18+, explicit sex, oral f. receiving, deep strokes, protected sex, light dirty talk, praise kink, slight breeding talk, Black female reader, weed, Brent Faiyaz, red lights, late-night energy)
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The room glows red.
Soft bass thumping through the Bluetooth speaker. Brent mumbling something sultry about needing someone tonight.
And Connie?
Connie’s looking at you like he ain’t heard a single lyric.
“why you sittin’ like you tryna start somethin’?”
You’re posted at the foot of his bed, legs crossed, little sleep shorts riding up on thick thighs you know he stares at when he thinks you don’t see. Hair still wrapped. Lip gloss poppin’. That sleepy kind of pretty that makes everything feel heavier in the room.
You smirk. “I’m just sitting.”
“Nah.” Connie drops his phone face-down on the nightstand. “You posing.”
He shifts behind you, back against the headboard, shirt off, gray sweats hanging low. That tattoo on his chest rising and falling with every exhale. There’s weed smoke in the air and something in his gaze that’s a little less goofy than usual.
“Come here,” he says.
You roll your eyes. “Say please.”
That gets a laugh—low and thick.
“You gon’ make me beg?”
He leans forward, gripping your wrist. “Aight, bet.”
⸻
You’re straddling him before you know it. Hands flat on his chest, legs wide around his hips. He kisses you with that same “yeah-okay” smirk he always wears, tongue slipping into your mouth like he already knows the ending.
He tastes like backwoods and pink lemonade.
Your hips roll once. Twice. You feel him get hard quick, pressing through the cotton between you both. He groans into your mouth, hands grabbing your ass like he’s trying to hold himself back.
“You always get like this when Brent playing?” he murmurs against your lips. “Or just when you on my bed?”
You kiss him deeper instead of answering. You don’t want to talk.
You want him to prove it.
⸻
Your shorts are gone in seconds—Connie dragging them down slow, eyes locked on your skin, tongue dragging over his bottom lip like he could eat you up right there. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, one hand gripping under your knee to keep your legs open.
He kisses higher.
And higher.
Then licks once up your center—slow—and you swear the red light flickers from how hard you twitch.
“Shit,” you gasp, hands flying to his buzzed head.
He grins, already diving back in.
⸻
Connie eats like it’s his favorite meal. Mouth sloppy, fingers teasing, pulling moans out of you so good they echo off the walls. You grind against his face, riding his tongue, his hands gripping your hips tighter, like he loves when you lose control.
And the second he sucks on your clit just right, you fall apart.
Head thrown back.
Eyes rolled.
A moan he swears he’s gonna tease you about later.
You’re still coming down when he grabs a condom from the drawer, sliding it on like muscle memory.
“I ain’t done with you,” he mutters, low.
⸻
He fucks you deep.
Not just fast. Not rough from the jump. He slides in slow—so slow it makes your eyes sting—his mouth dropping open the second he bottoms out.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “You tryna trap me, huh?”
You laugh. Weakly.
“Shut up—”
“Nah, for real.” He leans over you, hips snapping forward, deeper with every thrust. “You feel too good.”
Your arms wrap around his neck. He kisses your jaw, your shoulder, your throat—all while his hips keep hitting just right, the tip grinding into that spot you can’t ever reach alone.
“Connie—”
He looks at you dead in your eyes.
“Yeah, say my name like that again.”
You do.
And when your pussy clamps around him like a vice, he damn near loses it.
⸻
You cum with his name on your lips, breathless and raw, thighs locked around him so tight he groans from the pressure.
He fucks you through it, whispering “that’s it, baby,” “look at me,” “fuck, I love when you do that.”
And when he cums?
It’s hard. Messy. His face buried in your neck, hips jerking against yours, soft curses filling the air as Brent fades out behind you.
⸻
You’re tangled in sheets, sweaty, half on top of him.
And Connie’s smiling.
That real smile. Dimple out. Eyes lazy.
“You gon’ act brand new now?”
You blink up at him.
He laughs again, wraps a hand around your neck gently, pulls your face to his.
“I’m just playin’,” he says, kissing you soft. “But I really do like when you sit like that…”
Are you incapable of tagging properly? It's not going to give your writing more exposure or whatever. Only thing it's doing is making me want to block you the first time I see it.
so do it… i didn’t ask you to read my shit have a good day😛 (and i’ve gotten plenty exposure with the tags i use since you wanna be in my business so bad ho)
(Toji Fushiguro x Black Reader — 18+, explicit sex, Dom!Toji, size kink, deep penetration, silent kink, rough/soft dynamic, mild obsession, dangerous vibes, aftercare, Black female reader)
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He never talks when he fucks you.
No filthy mouth, no praise, no grunts or moans — just sharp, heavy breathing and that stare. That look. The one that pins you open like a dissected animal, like he’s watching your body learn the shape of him.
And you don’t mind.
You don’t need his voice.
Not when the silence says more.
Not when his hands speak for him — heavy on your hips, thumb brushing the pulse at your throat like he’s listening. Not when he presses into you like he’s trying to carve something into your ribs.
Not when he’s Toji Fushiguro, and the only time he’s ever gentle is when he’s inside you.
Tonight, it’s raining.
The kind of cold, slow, steady rain that turns streetlights gold and makes everything too quiet — like the world is holding its breath.
You’re in his apartment. Lights off. He didn’t even lock the door behind you.
You didn’t say anything when you walked in. Just pulled your coat off, kicked your shoes away, and let your bag drop by the couch. The same way you always do.
He was already sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, smoke curling from the ashtray beside him. Scarred hands loose between his knees. Head down. Breathing even.
Waiting.
For you.
You walked up to him slow. Barefoot. Quiet. And when he looked up — only then — he pulled you in.
No “hi.”
No “missed you.”
No “take it off.”
He just hooked two fingers into the waistband of your leggings, dragged them down to your ankles, and pulled you into his lap like you were something warm he was owed.
⸻
Now his tongue is on your neck.
His hands are under your shirt — not rushing, just claiming. Palms wide, sliding up your spine like he’s mapping it. Like it’s been too long. Like he needs to relearn how you breathe.
He presses his mouth to your collarbone. Then lower. Lips hot and slow, dragging down your chest, nosing under your bra. His stubble scratches. His fingers squeeze your thighs just enough to make your stomach jump.
You let him.
You don’t speak either.
There’s something about the quiet — the way it wraps around you both like smoke. No music. No cars. No TV. Just skin and breath and him.
Just Toji.
You slide your fingers into his hair. Curl them against the base of his skull. Tug — just a little — and he groans. Barely audible.
That’s the first sound you get from him tonight.
But it won’t be the last.
⸻
He lifts you easily, sets you on your back like you weigh nothing. His eyes drag down your body in the dimness, slow and hungry. You’re already wet. He hasn’t even touched you yet — not really.
But he sees it.
Of course he does.
He always notices when you ache for him.
He kneels between your thighs, pulls your panties down with two fingers — nothing rough, no teasing, just a slow drag like he’s unwrapping something he already knows by heart.
Then he leans in.
And fuck, his mouth is warm.
He licks up your folds like he’s tasting you for the first time, but you know better. You’ve had him between your legs too many times to count. He knows you. Knows how you gasp when he flattens his tongue. Knows where to flick and suck and pause.
Knows how to ruin you without a sound.
You arch.
He slides one thick finger inside you, slow.
Then two.
Your back hits the mattress, mouth parting on a breathless moan, and he finally lets out a noise — low, in his throat, like he’s enjoying this too much to keep it down.
He curls his fingers.
Finds your spot on the first try.
You jerk. Whisper his name.
Still, he says nothing.
His eyes flick up to yours — green, dark, heavy. Like if you keep looking too long, he’ll drag you under with him.
You bite your lip. Moan into your fist. You don’t wanna cry out yet.
But when he sucks your clit and crooks his fingers at the same time — your legs shake, hard.
You come with a shudder, hips lifting off the bed, breath ragged.
He holds you down.
Doesn’t say a word.
⸻
By the time he pulls off his sweats, you’re still twitching. Barely recovered. But the sight of him — broad chest, cut abs, that thick length already hard in his hand — makes your pulse throb again.
He leans over you, his weight caging you in.
His hand cups your face.
Still nothing spoken.
He just slides into you slowly — not with force, but with intention.
And you feel it.
Every. Single. Inch.
The stretch is deep. Hot. Bare. The drag of his cock against your walls makes your head spin, and he hasn’t even moved yet. He just holds there — buried inside — like he needs to memorize this first.
Then he starts to fuck you.
Not rough.
Not slow either.
Just steady. Heavy. Deep enough to make your breath stutter. Like he wants to keep you right on the edge — no mercy, no break, just the rhythm of skin on skin and the wet drag of your body around his.
His mouth finds your neck again. His teeth graze your pulse.
Still quiet.
Still watching.
You whisper his name. Your nails rake down his back. You meet each thrust with shaky hips and half-sobbed breaths.
He presses a hand to your belly. Right where he can feel himself.
Right where you’re stretched tight around him.
And finally — finally — he speaks.
“Too deep?”
Low. Barely more than a breath.
You shake your head.
“Good,” he says, voice ragged. “You can take it.”
Then he pulls your legs higher. Fucks you deeper.
And everything breaks.
⸻
You come again — harder this time. Louder. Legs locked around him, body clenching so hard he grits his teeth.
And this time, he moans.
A soft, fucked-out grunt in your ear. Like he can’t hold it anymore.
Like you’re dragging it out of him.
You feel him twitch inside you — once, twice — and then he pulls out just in time, spilling across your stomach with a groan.
Still heavy. Still breathing like you took something from him.
⸻
He stays there.
Lying beside you, one arm under your neck, the other across your stomach.
He still doesn’t speak.
But the way he presses his face into your hair — the way he drags his fingers along your waist like he needs to ground himself — that says enough.
(Choso Kamo x Black Female Reader — 18+, explicit sex, deep emotional intimacy, soft dom!Choso, oral f. receiving, praise kink, mutual devotion, trauma-safe dynamic, slight blood mention, creampie, Black female reader)
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Choso doesn’t feel much.
Not like humans do. Not in ways you’d understand, not in language people bother writing poetry for.
He was made to bleed.
Made to mourn.
And made to kill.
But with you?
He learns how to need.
⸻
It starts the moment your fingers find the nape of his neck — slow, patient, threading through his braids like you have all the time in the world. It’s a touch that doesn’t expect him to flinch. Doesn’t force him to pretend to be anything gentler than what he is.
You never asked him to be good.
You just said:
“Be mine. Like this.”
And he obeyed.
⸻
Tonight he moves slow.
Kisses your throat without urgency. Lays your body out beneath him like something sacred, worshipped, already forgiven. His hands are rough with calluses, knuckles darkened, arms smeared in half-washed blood.
But when he touches you?
He’s gentle.
Too gentle.
“You’re shaking,” you whisper, hand cradling the side of his face. “Are you okay?”
His lashes lower.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
You do.
Because if you told him to stop, he would.
If you asked him to bleed for you, he would.
⸻
Choso kisses down your chest slowly — one hand under your thigh, lifting it, his mouth dragging across skin the same shade as dusk. Your braids spill across the pillow in coils, haloing you in a frame of softness he doesn’t feel worthy of.
Your thighs part for him without fear.
And when his mouth finds you?
You don’t just moan — you sigh.
Like it’s a relief.
Like his tongue is home.
He eats you like prayer — slow, open-mouthed licks, no rhythm, no rush. Just reverent need. His hands are holding your hips still but not tight, because he’s always afraid to hold too hard. Afraid he’ll bruise what’s precious.
Your fingers curl into his hair.
“Choso—”
He groans against you. The sound rumbles low in his throat — not rough, not demanding, but… starved.
Like the only thing more painful than losing you would be satisfying himself.
Your head falls back.
You say his name again, softer.
“Come here.”
⸻
When he slides inside you, it’s like a weight leaves his chest.
Like his body can finally rest — inside yours.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders. Your legs around his waist. Let him fuck you slow, deep, unshaking. The way his cock drags against your walls makes your breath hitch, and you know he feels it.
His voice cracks:
“You feel—”
He swallows. “You feel… like nothing I deserve.”
You grab his face.
“No,” you whisper. “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”
Choso stills.
And then — without warning — his eyes burn red.
Not out of rage. Not power.
But devotion.
He presses his forehead to yours. Pulls out halfway. Slides back in with a groan so broken it sounds like prayer.
“I’d bleed for you if you asked,” he murmurs.
“I never would,” you say, panting, eyes glassy.
“But you already have.”
⸻
He holds you tighter then. Moves faster.
His hips hit yours again and again — still careful, still too reverent — but deeper now. Your nails dig into his back. His lips kiss every inch of your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder, your jaw.
You come first.
Hard. Quiet. Gasping into his mouth while he fucks you through it, mumbling your name like a promise he’ll never break.
He comes after — with a choked groan and a stuttering thrust, spilling deep inside you and still clinging like he’s afraid you’ll vanish when it’s over.
But you don’t.
You stay.
You always stay.
⸻
Later, when your bodies are tangled and breath slowing, he takes your hand and gently presses it to his heart.
(Gojo Satoru x Black Female Reader — 18+, explicit sex, fingering, teasing dom!Gojo, deep penetration, choking hand placement (not breath play), rough/soft contrast, praise kink, brat taming, Black female reader)
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He should be mad at you.
He wants to be. You threw a mission punch that got way too close to his face, rolled your eyes in front of Nanami, and made him wait forty minutes to leave the restaurant because you “weren’t done with your drink.”
You’ve been testing him all day.
But right now?
Flat on your back, wearing nothing but his shirt and that slick little smirk?
You’re damn lucky he likes you.
“Y’know,” Gojo murmurs, lips dragging along your throat, “anyone else would’ve caught a cursed technique to the chest by now.”
You giggle, fingers curling in his snowy hair. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”
He bites your neck. Just a nibble. Just enough to make you gasp.
“Not seriously,” you add quickly.
He pulls back to look at you — infinity blue eyes heavy-lidded, glittering, full of mischief and heat.
“Yeah,” he says. “You’re lucky.”
Then he pushes your thighs open with his knee and settles between them like he owns the whole damn zip code.
⸻
His hands are everywhere.
Long fingers skating up your thighs, kneading at your hips, slipping under his shirt to palm your breasts like he missed them. He tweaks a nipple and watches you twitch.
“Sensitive,” he hums. “Cute.”
You huff, squirming. “Stop playing.”
“I’m not playing.” He grins. “That’s the point.”
You try to sit up, to grab at him, but he pushes you flat with one hand to your chest and stays there. Gentle but heavy.
You blink up at him.
“Gojo—”
He cuts you off with a kiss — one of those deep, melting ones that makes your toes curl and your attitude evaporate. His tongue slides slow against yours. He tastes like sugar and trouble. The kiss ends with a soft pop of your lips, your chest heaving.
He licks his thumb, eyes on you.
Then slides it down between your thighs.
⸻
You moan when he touches you — not rough, not fast, just a slow swirl right over your clit that makes your whole body light up. He’s been here before. Too many times. Knows exactly how to get you there with a few lazy circles and a cocky smirk.
But he doesn’t speed up.
“Gojo—”
“What?” he murmurs. “I thought you said to stop playing.”
“You know what I mean—”
His thumb dips lower. Slides between your folds. Coated instantly.
He raises an eyebrow.
“Damn,” he grins. “You really do like me.”
You slap his chest, weakly. He laughs.
Then slips two fingers inside you without warning.
⸻
It’s too good.
Long, slow strokes, curling just right, rubbing that spot that makes your back arch off the bed and your breath catch in your throat.
His other hand strokes your thigh, soothing. He watches you fall apart with the kind of expression that says he’s gonna remind you of this every time you act up in public.
“You talk all that shit,” he murmurs, fingers moving deeper, “but melt the second I touch you.”
You’re panting now. Clutching the sheets. Moaning his name like a prayer.
He leans close, kisses your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder.
“You’re lucky I like you,” he whispers again, and this time it sounds like a confession.
⸻
When he finally pulls his fingers out, he sucks them clean — slow, with a groan.
“You taste so sweet,” he says, licking his lips. “Should bottle it.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.”
He grins.
Then he pulls his shirt off over his head and pushes your knees to your chest — lining himself up like he’s waited all damn day for this.
“Ready, princess?”
You nod, eyes big.
And when he slides inside — thick and hot and deep — your breath catches completely.
“Fuuuuck,” he hisses. “Tight as always.”
⸻
He starts slow — long strokes that stretch you open, make you feel every inch of him. His hand finds your throat, resting there, not squeezing. Just holding.
“You gonna be good now?” he murmurs.
You try to answer. Fail.
So he fucks you deeper.
“Didn’t catch that.”
You sob his name.
“That’s what I thought.”
⸻
He ruins you just like this:
Soft laugh in your ear, hands everywhere, cock stroking that spot that makes your legs shake.
You cum first — hard. He feels it, groans low and curses, but doesn’t stop. Just pounds you through it, chasing his own finish, sweat dripping down his chest.
He cums deep — one last hard thrust, a low moan in your ear — and collapses half on top of you, breathing heavy.
⸻
Later, when your legs stop twitching and your brain comes back online, you whisper:
(Geto Suguru x Black Female Reader — 18+, explicit sex, toxic exes, emotional manipulation, rough sex, hate sex, face-grabbing, oral sex implied, deep penetration, emotionally wrecked dynamic, Black female reader)
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
You shouldn’t be here.
You said that to yourself at least four times between the bar and his door. But the minute you saw Geto leaning against the wall with that tired smile, that cigarette, that slow blink he only gives you—your legs moved on their own.
Now you’re on his bed again, your shirt halfway off, knees on either side of his hips, and his hand gripping your jaw like he wants to hurt you for ever leaving.
“You’re quiet tonight,” he says, voice low and sharp. “What happened to all that mouth you had the last time?”
You glare down at him. “Fuck you.”
He grins—mean and slow.
“You are.”
⸻
He flips you easy—strong arms, no effort. Your back hits the mattress, your bra’s off before you blink, and his mouth is on your chest like he never lost the taste of you.
“Suguru—” you gasp, fingers in his hair.
He bites. Not gentle.
“Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you miss me.”
Your breath catches.
Because you do.
But you can’t say it. You won’t.
So instead, you dig your nails into his shoulder. Pull his mouth up to yours. Kiss him like a war—tongues clashing, breath ragged, pain in your teeth.
Geto eats it up.
Grabs your jaw harder. Kisses back deeper. He loves this game—the pretending, the lying. The way your body always folds for him even when your voice doesn’t.
He pulls back, panting, forehead pressed to yours.
“You knew what this was,” he murmurs.
“I never said I didn’t.”
His hand drags down your body, rough and reverent. “Then stop acting like you’re owed more than my dick.”
⸻
He fucks you like it’s punishment.
Hard. Deep. Every thrust landing with purpose. No mercy, no romance—just sweat, skin, slick and slap. Your thighs shake around his waist, your head tipped back, your voice cracking on every broken moan.
“Missed this cunt,” he grits. “Tried to forget it. Couldn’t.”
You claw at his back. “Liar.”
He grabs your face again, hips still moving. “I did.”
Then softer—quieter:
“But it didn’t work.”
You go still.
He does too.
And in that space—raw, bare, too real—you almost say the thing you swore you wouldn’t.
I still love you.
But Geto moves again before you can.
Thrusts deeper. Groans low in your throat.
“You take it too good to hate me.”
You don’t respond. Just pull him closer, lips brushing his jaw.
⸻
When you come, it’s rough and fast—his fingers on your clit, your legs locked around his waist, his cock driving you into the mattress with zero rhythm and too much intent.
You cry out his name.
He finishes not long after—gritting his teeth, gasping your name like it’s a secret he’s dying to keep.
He pulls out slowly.
And the silence after is deafening.
⸻
You sit up, grab the sheet.
He watches you without speaking.
You glance at him—tired, bare, the shadow of the man you once knew still sitting in his eyes.
And he says it again.
“You knew what this was.”
You nod.
Then lie.
“I didn’t feel anything.”
⸻
But later, when you leave—when his scent’s still on your body and his cum’s still leaking down your thigh—you press your forehead to the elevator wall…
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