𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count— 5.4K, southern coded!black characters, houston nightlife vibes!, club!vibes, birthday!themed, original!blackfemreader, pouty!blackfemreader, shy!femreader, rappergirlfriend!blackfemreader, rapperboyfriend!onyankopon, southerncoded!onyankopon, aggressive!onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, drunk sex!, dirty talk, rough sex, kinda mean ony in the bedroom?, aggressive pet names, pussy eating, squirting, creaming, missionary, doggy style, minors are not welcome! 𓊇ྀི
メモ。— just wanted to say i appreciate all the love you guys are sending me, god bless. wanted to do something in celebration of being back home—and appreciating my city/the south for what it is. enjoy, muah. ✰
CHOPPED ‘N SCREWED BLARES FROM THE SPEAKERS OF A PARKED 1989 CADILLAC DEVILLE COUPE, THRUMMING YOUR HEARTBEAT MORE THAN YOU INTENDED FOR IT TO—yup, that was Houston for you.
Heat clings to your skin like honey as you stand outside the club clutching an oversized bouquet of pink roses, each petal cradling crisp one hundred dollar bills like secrets. Candied painted vehicles bounce on hydraulics not too far away, rattling your ribs as they swang by, each driver’s golden grills flashing under streetlights as they swerve the block. The line stretches down the street in anticipation—full of southern attitudes sucking teeth at the velvet ropes and fingers adjusting diamond encrusted Jesus pieces, all waiting to get a taste of your night.
Women in bandage dresses and sky high lashes shout “Happy birthday, baby girl!” while men nod at you with respect—knowing you’re his.
It’s overwhelming, really ; the way the city moves for your boyfriend. You’ve seen it before—arenas screaming his name, groupies slipping numbers in his pocket when they think you’re not looking, the way his crew forms a wall of muscle and laughter around him. But tonight? Tonight, the chaos is yours.
“ONYANKOPON! ONYANKOPON! ONYANKOPON!”
The screams rip through the humid air like gunshots, raw and hungry. Security arms barricade the crowd, pushing back eager hands reaching for him—always reaching—but your eyes lock onto him like a magnet. Even in the sea of his crew, all thick-necked and draped in ice, he drowns them out.
That 74 piece on his neck swings heavy, silver so deep it looks liquid under the club lights. His black long sleeve hugs every ridge of muscle, letterman jacket hiding the ink you know maps his body—and there it is, your name curled in delicate cursive above his eyebrow, etched into his skin like a prayer. Those cornrows and facial hair frames his face just right, and when he smirks—God—those diamond-capped grills flash, arrogant and knowing.
He lifts his chain between two fingers, nodding at the crowd like yeah, y’all know who I am, and your stomach flips. Because through all the chaos, the women biting their lips at him, the city screaming his name…tonight, that smirk? It’s all for you. Always is.
But you—always the quiet storm in the middle of his hurricane. The diamond in the rough he pulled from New Orleans back when he was just another hungry artist looking for their break. You were the girl who brought him red beans and rice in a Tupperware after long studio nights, who rolled your eyes when he bragged too loud, who made him feel human when the world started treating him like a god.
And he knows you—knows the way your fingers twist together when cameras swarm, the soft “Thank you," you murmur when someone compliments your outfit like you’re still not used to it. Knows how your cheeks flush rose gold when you see yourself trending on Twitter, your face plastered across blogs with captions of your celebration.
But tonight? You’re glowing. Bubblegum pink curls cascade down your back, framing a face dusted with freckles like constellations against caramel skin. Your lashes—thick, dark, feline—flutter over your eyes, lips painted a brown mixed with deep rouge so rich it looks like you’ve been biting guava fruit. That tiny heart pendant rests in the valley of your heavy tits, right above the plunge of your halter romper—black, clinging, backless—cut so low at the front it kisses your bellybutton. The fabric hugs every curve—the swell of your hips, the jut of your ass peeking beneath the hem, down to those platform heels adding inches you don’t even need. And there he is—the proof etched into your own skin. Onyankopon in delicate cursive on the side of your neck, a claim and a promise all at once. His. Always his.
"Damn, shawty fine—fine!"
Someone hollers this from the crowd, and you giggle—a soft, flustered sound—as fans erupt in whistles. Onyankopon’s crew ain’t helping either, hyping you up like you’re the main event, because you absolutely are.
“Pose for us, girl! C’mon, let ‘em see dat!"
They chant continuously, clapping like uncles at a family cookout. Onyankopon then cuts in with a low, “Aight, chill. Y’all gon’ have my baby blushin’ to the floor.”
Security moves quickly—one of them plucks the bouquet from your grip before you can protest, knowing Onyankopon runs a tight ship when it comes to you. No heavy lifting, no stress, no bullshit. Then he’s there, his big hands sliding up your throat, thumbs brushing your jaw as he tugs your forehead against his. The scent of his cologne—something smoky, expensive—wraps around you.
"Sa a pi gwo pase mwen te panse li ta dwe," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.
This is bigger than I thought it’d be.
He grins—those diamond grills catch the light instantly, his palms sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him.
“Ain’t nun’ too big for my lady," he rumbles back in English, deep enough to vibrate through your chest. When he sees your face—eyes wide, lips parted—he chuckles, shaking his head, “‘You so ‘shy, girl."
“Sorry," you whisper.
Instantly? He’s smacking his lips, tilting your chin up.
“Ain’t shit to apologize for."
His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, smudging your lipstick just a little—“You ready to go in?"
You nod, and his monstrous hand swallows yours whole as he leads you inside, the crowd parting like the Red Sea. The club pulses with neon and bass, but all you feel is him—solid, unshakable, yours—guiding you through the chaos like he always does.
The club is dripping in your essence—pink neon lights bleed into black velvet drapes, silver glitter raining from the ceiling like rockstar confetti. Ice sculptures glisten near the VIP carved into your initials, while larger-than-life prints of your sexiest photoshoots line the walls—that one where you wore nothing but a leather harness, that one with your curls wild and lips parted like a sigh.
Then the DJ scratches the beat—“Ayo, put yo’ hands up for the birthday girl!”
And of course, the crowd explodes. Onyankopon guides you to center stage, and you follow with a giggle, hips already swaying to the bassline thumping through the floor. The energy is electric, contagious—strangers and friends screaming, "Happy birthday, mama!" like they’ve known you forever.
For a moment you forget to be shy. You drop Onyankopon’s hand, turning to face the crowd with a smirk. Nail between your teeth, you bend over slow—ass out, back arched—then pop back up with a wink. The room loses it. You’re grinning now, covering your face as you dart back to Onyankopon, burying your head against his chest like you can hide from the attention.
But he won’t let you, of course.
“Nah, nah—let ‘em see you," he growls, spinning you back around as the crowd roars—“This shit mine. Y’all better muhfuckin’ know!”
The moment his lips press against your temple, the crowd Awww’s! like they’re watching a rom-com. You retaliate by pecking his jaw, and the reaction is even louder, making you shake your head with a shy smile.
“Aight, aight—y’all ready to turn this bitch up?”
What follows is pure, glittering chaos—a montage of you shedding every last bit of shyness.
Dark liquor burns your throat as you pour shots straight into people’s mouths, laughing when they cough. You twirl with the bottle girls, hips swinging in sync, their sequin bikinis catching the light as they hype you up. Cameras flash everywhere—you pout in one, bite your lip in another, then flip your curls over your shoulder in a third, each shot sexier than the last.
Onyankopon’s watching, always watching. He takes pics with fans, dapping up homies, but his eyes keep finding you—checking. And when you finally collide for your own photos, the chemistry is stupid.
He drags you into a gentle headlock, his diamond grills gleaming as you stick your tongue out playfully. The next shot? Your tongue slides against his, slow and teasing, the camera catching the exact moment he grunts, pulling back to warn you.
“Chill, girl. You tryna make me act up in here?"
Your giggle is the only answer he gets before you’re whisked away by the next wave of celebration—but his hand stays locked with yours, a tether in the storm.
The liquor has fully seeped into your veins now, transforming you into something else—something bolder, wilder, dripping with a different kind of magnetism. Your curls are tousled, framing a face where freckles pop against flushed skin, your dark eyes glaring at Onyankopon from across the room like a challenge. You’re even touchy now—fingers tracing the thick veins in his arms, dragging his palms to your ass with a smirk, even rubbing his ears the way you do when y’all are alone, just to watch his jaw tighten.
Then the DJ cuts into his music—Onyankopon’s got the mic now, voice rough as he spits bars over his own beat. The club knows every word, screaming them back, but you? You’re swaying in that gentle headlock of his, hips rolling against him like you’re trying to start a fire.
The music quickly swirls back into a playlist of other artists—back of the club by kwn slithering through the speakers, and the lights bleed deep pink.
Onyankopon’s hand now slides to the back of your neck, possessive, commanding, as he bends you over slow. Your ass grinds against him in perfect sync with the beat, your curls tumbling forward as you glance back at him over your shoulder—eyes locked. The crowd loses it, phones raised, but it’s just you and him in this moment.
“Goddamn," he mutters, low enough for only you to hear, before yanking you upright and into a kiss that’s more claim than anything else. The club erupts once more, but all you taste is him—whiskey, arrogance, and something dangerously close to adoration.
The energy shifts again—now you're fully in your element, drunk and free, leaning against the railing with your ass throwing back against Onyankopon as he performs again. His voice is rough, commanding, lyrics dripping with that signature arrogance that always makes your stomach flip. And he knows it—grinning down at you with those diamond grills flashing, his brown skin glistening under the club lights.
The final hour of the party is pure Houston chaos—bass rattling chests, drinks splashing, laughter ringing over chopped and screwed beats. But then your mood shifts one more time. The liquor, the heat, the way his hands keep finding your waist—it all boils over into a needy, whiny pout as you press yourself against him.
"I’m hot.”
Your voice is dripping with that drunk, sexy irritation only he gets to hear. Your fingers dig into his arms, lips brushing his ear—“And I wanna be alone with you, Ony.”
He grunts—“Behave," though there’s no real bite to it. Then, softer, lips grazing your temple, “We ‘bout to leave. ‘Got a surprise for you."
A few minutes later, he’s on the mic, thanking everyone for coming, telling them to head outside. The crowd follows, buzzing with curiosity, until they see it—an all white Rolls Royce Cullinan parked at the curb, massive bow on top, stacks of cash arranged in the trunk like a damn art piece. Designer purses, jewelry boxes, and other expensive gifts spill out from the backseat. Your hands fly to your mouth, pout trembling as you try so hard not to cry. But when you turn to him? He’s already smirking—like he knew this would wreck you.
The moment you swing open the car door, a squeak slips past your lips—girlish, giddy—at the sight of the custom interior. Soft pink leather seats, silver trim, even your initials stitched into the headrests. The crowd erupts again, phones snapping rapid fire pictures as you lean against the car, hips cocked, lips parted in a sultry smirk.
Onyankopon howls from the sidelines, hyping you up with every pose—“There go my baby! Yeah, do that lil’ twist again!", as you pop your ass out just a little more, smiling when the cameras go wild.
But as the chaos finally starts to fade? Your hands find his neck, fingers tracing the tattoos there—your name in cursive once more, forever inked into his skin in different parts of his body.
“Do you know how much I love you?"
He smirks. Those diamond grills catch the streetlight as he murmurs, “Enough to have a nigga name tatted where you always want my hand at."
“I’m serious, Onyankopon.”
For once, the cockiness flickers. His eyes soften just for a second before he pulls you closer, lips grazing your ear—
“I know."
Then, quieter, rougher, like it’s a secret just for you—
“A nigga love you ‘sum dangerous, girl."
The night had already been everything—the club, the gifts, the way the city screamed your name like you were royalty. But now? A different kind of heat pulses through you, thick and sweet, settling low between your thighs as Onyankopon carries you over his shoulder into the condo.
Downtown Houston glitters beneath you from the floor-to-ceiling windows of your penthouse, the city lights painting streaks of gold across the marble floors. You’re giggling, drunk and giddy, your bubblegum pink curls tumbling around your face as he strides through the living room. Your ass bounces over his shoulder, heels pointed to the ceiling—he holds you like you weigh nothing, like you’re his to carry, his to keep.
Then he tosses his keys onto the counter with a clatter, and you finally see it—the bedroom.
Balloons float near the ceiling, rose petals scattered across the silk sheets, stacks of cash arranged in neat rows on the nightstand like some kind of decadent altar. LED lights bathe everything in a deep, sultry pink, and you shriek, kicking your legs excitedly as he finally deposits you onto the bed.
Onyankopon chuckles as you immediately reach for him, fingers clutching his shirt—“Don’t leave," you whine, voice thick with liquor and lust.
He leans down, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose—"I’m ‘finna get you some water, yo’ ass turnt up.”
“I’m not drunk," you lie, even as the room spins just a little when you sit up.
"Yeah? Then tell me what my middle name is."
You blink. Shit.
“Lay here, imma’ be quick.”
The seconds stretch into eternity as you wait for him, sprawled across the silk sheets like a painting—your fingers tracing idle, teasing paths along your own curves, drunk in a way that even your own touch feels electric tonight. Every brush of fabric, every shift of your hips sends sparks through you, your senses dialed up to ten under the haze of liquor and desire.
“You aight in there?"
You whine in response, dragging out the sound like a spoiled child—"I wanna hear some music, Ony…”— voice dripping with a pout so thick it could drown him.
And of course, he obliges. The smooth bass of Let em’ know by Bryson Tiller slinks through the speakers seconds later, the rhythm slow, seductive—perfect. When he reappears in the doorway, water bottle in hand, your breath catches. He’s all possessive energy now—shoulders broad, jaw set, eyes dark as they rake over you.
“Sit up. Drink this,” he orders, voice gruff but edged with something softer.
You wiggle deeper into the sheets, shaking your head—"Nooo."
His brow arches, and that’s all you needed to know he wasn’t repeating himself. You huff but obey, pushing yourself up on shaky arms—he brings the bottle to your lips, and you sip obediently, your eyes locked on his the entire time.
You must look ridiculous—curls tangled around your face, freckles standing out against the deep flush of your cheeks, those feline lashes batting up at him like you’re not the one who just spent the last hour grinding on him in front of half of Houston.
But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease.
He just watches—like you’re the only thing in the world worth seeing.
“Tonight was so...so sweet, Ony.”
“Mhm.”
“Like—the gifts? The way everybody was screaming for me?”
“Mhm.”
“The way you looked at me when I was dancing—"
Onyankopon just nods, chuckling low in his chest as he watches you, his dark eyes tracing every animated expression that crosses your face. You’re drunk, so drunk, but he lets you talk—lets you relive every second of the night with that dreamy, intoxicated glee.
Then he reaches for your ankles, and you instinctively tilt your leg back, pouting.
"You don’t like them?"
You wiggle your feet, showcasing the platform stilettos—black, strappy, with a heart-shaped heel that glimmers under the soft pink LED lights.
"Nah, shawty. ‘They sexy as hell," he admits, voice rough, "But you ‘been dancin’ all night. Let a nigga rub yo’ feet."
You bite your lip, considering—then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, you spread your legs wider, leaning back against the pillows as you click your heels together playfully.
“Mmm...but the music’s still on," you murmur, swaying your legs in a slow, teasing rhythm—hips rolling just slightly, like you’re still dancing even lying down.
Onyankopon’s jaw clenches.
You giggle—sultry, knowing—as you arch your back just a little, letting the dress ride up your thighs.
“…I wanna perform for you…”
And just like that?
The game changes.
“"I’m right here, watchin’."
That’s all the permission you need.
Your body moves effortlessly—liquid, sinful— you’re even rolling onto your knees, crawling toward him with a smirk. Your fingers trail up his thighs before slipping beneath his shirt, tracing the hard ridges of his tattooed abs. He exhales sharply as you peel the fabric off him, leaving him bare chested—nothing but chains, diamond-studded jewelry, and those gleaming grills between his lips. You then turn around, arching yourself against the bed, ass high in the air as you start bouncing—slow at first, then faster, your hips rolling in perfect rhythm.
"You playin’.”
His palm cracks against your ass—hard.
You gasp, giggling and whining, your hips jerking forward from the sting. He doesn’t let up, spanking you again and again, each slap punctuated by his rough voice—
“‘This what you wanted, huh? Actin’ like shit sweet—"
Smack!
“—Knowin’ imma’ fuck yo’ ass up.”
The final one has you collapsing onto the bed, breathless, legs instinctively spreading—just like before. But this time?
Your fingers hook into the thin straps of your pink thong, tugging it to the side to reveal the drenched folds of your pussy, glistening under the dim light.
“Ony..."
You whimper, voice pitiful, desperate.
“I’m so wet. Come eat your pussy, Papa.”
And just like that?
He moves.
Onyankopon is a man of many talents—fiery with his words, lethal with his rhymes—but this? This is where he truly masters you.
The moment his mouth crashes between your thighs, it’s sloppy, messy, all wet heat and hungry suction. His tongue laps at you like he’s starved, his lips sealing around your clit as he shakes his head in it, making your back arch off the bed. Your legs spread wider, knees trembling, toes curling into your heels as your pussy squelches around his tongue—loud, obscene, the kind of sound that would make you blush if you weren’t so fucking lost in it.
“Fuck—" you gasp, your pout deepening, lips parted in a breathy moan.
“Soundin’ like a whole fuckin’ meal,” he taunts, tongue dragging a slow, torturous line up your slit—“This lil’ shit drippin’ all on my mouth—you hear that? Huh?”
You whimper, nodding frantically, hips rolling up to meet his face.
“S’yours, baby," you slur, voice drunk on pleasure, fingers tangling in his cornrows to keep him right where you need him.
“This sobbin’ ass pussy mine?”
He’s feral between your thighs—a beast unleashed, feasting on you like he’s been starved for centuries. His mouth is everywhere, messy and relentless, tongue plunging deep before swirling in tight, greedy circles that make your pussy weep around him. The sounds are downright nasty—wet, sloppy squelches, the slick drag of his lips against your swollen folds, the obscene pop of his mouth pulling back just to dive in again.
You’re a wreck, hands clutching your own ankles, bubblegum pink curls sticking to your flushed face as you stare down at him with the most pitiful pout. Drunk, dazed, ruined—your words come out in weak, slurred whimpers.
“S’your pussy... s’—s’your pussy…”
Onyankopon snarls against you, pulling back just enough to glare up at you through hooded eyes, his mouth glossy with your arousal.
“Keep sayin’ that shit,” he growls, voice thick with satisfaction, “Look at you—fuckin’ drownin’ me, actin’ all pathetic like you ain’t the one who asked for this."
Another spasm—your hips jerk, another rush of slick coating his tongue as you sob, overstimulated but needing more. Your thighs shake under the brutal grip of his hands, still slick from his mouth as he drags himself up your body in one smooth motion. His lips crash against yours—filthy, possessive—and you taste yourself on his tongue, that dark, musky sweetness that makes you whimper before you even feel him.
Then—God—the thick, veiny press of his dick slaps against your soaked folds. It’s monstrous, ridged and heavy, the tip already glistening with your arousal as he rubs it against your clit, teasing, torturing you with the promise of what’s to come. Onyankopon hooks your legs over his arms, spreading you wider, his voice a rough, arrogant growl against your lips—
“You gon’ run from this dick, or you gon’ take it?"
Your cheeks flush, heat pooling in your stomach because fuck, you know how hard he is to take. But the liquor in your veins, the ache between your thighs—you want that edge of pain, that delicious stretch that borders on too much.
You shake your head, forehead knocking against his as you pant, “N—No...won’t run..."
He grunts, low and approving, before snarling—“Then watch my shit go in."
Your eyes flicker down just in time to see that fat tip pressing against your entrance, stretching you apart with a slow, merciless push. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, pout trembling as your walls flutter to accommodate him.
“O—Ony—fuck—" you whimper, surrendering to the burn, the fullness as he sinks deeper, your slick gushing around him so messily it nearly pushes him back out. Then, there—the sharp, blissful pinch of him curving against your cervix, forcing a broken cry from your lips.
Onyankopon glowers down at you, his breath hot against your mouth as he mutters, “That’s my spot. My shit. You feel that?"
Your head falls back against the pillows, a breathless gasp tearing from your throat as Onyankopon drops his dick into you with one brutal, claiming thrust. The smack of his hips against the backs of your thighs echoes through the room—loud, obscene—as he buries himself to the hilt, your walls fluttering around him in helpless, overstimulated spasms.
His mouth crashes against your ear, hot breath spilling filthy promises as he grunt, “Know you hearin’ me.”
Your pout trembles, lips parted in a silent moan as your eyes roll back, pleasure and pain twisting together in a dizzying spiral. Your fingers drag through the nape of his neck, nails scraping lightly against his skin before tangling in his cornrows, tugging just enough to make him growl.
“I—I feel you, Papa.”
Your eyes flicker down to his—dark, possessive, unrelenting—and your voice cracks into the softest, most pitiful sob.
“You’re so deep.”
You cream on him, your orgasm crashing over you in violent, uncontrollable waves, your pussy clenching around his dick like it never wants to let go. Missionary with Onyankopon is always intimate—always raw. His large body looms over you, casting you in shadow, his muscles flexing with every merciless thrust. He’s aggressive in his tenderness, one hand gripping your hip hard while the other wipes away your tears, his thumb brushing your cheekbone even as he ruins you.
“My fuckin’ pussy," he snarls, hips pistoning, driving himself deeper with every snap of his waist—“All fuckin’ mine."
The rush of orgasms should have left you spent. But somehow? It only fuels you, turns you into something hungrier, a lust-drunk incubus with a mouth made for sin.
Now you’re on your knees, fully naked except for those fuck me heels still strapped to your feet—your curls cascade around your curvy silhouette as you take him into your mouth with a greedy moan. His dick is thick, heavy on your tongue, the musky scent of him filling your senses as you swirl your tongue around his tip, whimpering around him like the desperate little thing you are.
And Onyankopon?
He’s unfazed, lazily rolling a blunt between his fingers as he watches you suck him off with hooded, arrogant eyes.
“That’s all you got?" he taunts, voice rough with amusement, “Thought you ‘was hungry, mama."
You whimper around him, hollowing your cheeks as you try to take him deeper, but God, he’s too much—your lips stretch obscenely around his girth, drool spilling down your chin as you struggle to fit even half of him in your mouth.
Then—smack—his palm cracks against your cheek, stinging, forcing a gasp from your lips as you pull back, eyes watering. He grips your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he leans down and spits right onto your tongue.
“Swallow.”
You do—immediately—before jerking him off with both hands, twisting sloppily, kitten-licking at his tip like you’re starved for him.
Onyankopon chuckles low, "You cute as hell, girl.”
The flick of his lighter is sinful, the flame catching the blunt between his lips as he takes a slow, deliberate drag. His head tilts back, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke towards the ceiling, the muscles in his neck flexing beneath his tattoos—he looks good like this, all lazy dominance and effortless control.
Then his dark eyes slide back down to you, watching with amused arrogance as your heavy, fat tits press against his thighs, your desperate attempts to titty-fuck him messy and uncoordinated. Your mouth is still locked around his tip, sucking like you’re trying to milk him dry, your lips glossy with spit, your eyes pleading even as you choke around his size.
“You want this shit bad," he taunts.
You whimper around him, your tongue still swirling, all while your hands squeeze your own tits together, trying—failing—to take more of him, proving that you do.
He watches you struggle for another moment before finally murmuring, "Gon’ back onna’ bed and put that ass up. Need you bouncin’ on my shit."
And just like that?
You obey.
This position always breaks you—always has you tapping out, whimpering, or collapsing into the sheets like a ragdoll. But tonight? You’re determined to take it. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he slides in fully—thick, veiny length curving inside you in a way that makes your vision blur.
“Hands down, mama."
You whimper, tucking your palms beneath your body, surrendering to the stretch as he soothes you with a dark, approving murmur—“Good lil’ bitch."
You arch your back just a little, sinking down onto him further until your pussy ppffts around his dick, the obscene sound making your cheeks burn even as you wiggle yourself down until his abdomen presses against your ass.
“Onyo…”
And just like that? His hand clasps against the back of your neck—right where his name is inked into your skin—claiming you, owning you.
He’s still smoking the blunt, the other hand gripping your throat as he begins stroking up into you, feeding his dick into your tight, dripping pussy with slow, deliberate thrusts.
"S’yo’ birthday, mama,” he murmurs, voice thick with smoke, "Gotta let Papa give you them ‘good girl strokes."
You arch further, your pussy clenching around him as a high-pitched whimper tears from your throat—“Oooohhh—"
“You better open this shit up—ion’ wanna hear none of that."
But you can’t help it—your body betrays you, your voice cracking into a desperate whine as you gasp out in broken Creole, "M’pa ka pran li…!”
I can’t take it.
The clap of your ass against his abdomen is obscene, each impact forcing another punched out “Oooh,” from your lips—“Oooh," “Oooh,"—your pussy farting in messy, wet echoes around his dick, the sound humiliating in the best way.
“Imma’ keep you on this dick forever if you don’t shut that shit up."
You bite into the sheets, your whimpers turning into defeated little moans as pleasure fully courses through you, turning your limbs to liquid.
But he doesn’t let up.
Your sounds grow dragged out— whiney, babbling, your curls spilling around your face as your head goes slack—your eyes roll back so far you’re seeing stars. He’s tugging you down harder, forcing you to take every inch, your words slurring into full nonsense as your pussy squirts around him—gushing, your mind fogging over as pleasure obliterates your thoughts.
Yeah, you’re gone.
Onyankopon’s pounding into you with precision, bouncing you down onto his dick so hard that he hits that squishy spot deep inside you—you’re lost, ruined, your voice cracking into a weak, broken mewl as you say—
“You’re so fucking mean..."
"Yeah?” He murmurs, “I’m mean, huh?”
Your ass claps in a slow, sinful rhythm, your fingers biting into the sheets beneath you as you drag out a weak, trembling—"Yeaahhhhhhhh..."—your body convulsing around him.
“You forgettin’? That Rolls Royce outside? Allem’ Telfars? Birkins?” he growls, his thrusts becoming deeper, his grip on your hips bruising as he taunts—“You want them other niggas out there?"
The thought alone makes him possessive, strokes turning punishing as he demands your answer.
“No,” you’re sobbing—“‘Want you forevverrrr..."
“That’s what the fuck I thought."
Then, "S’ still yo’ day—cum on the fuckin’ dick like you ain’t never did before."
And God, you do.
The orgasm rips through you—long, intense and merciless—your body convulses as pleasure floods through every nerve. Onyankopon holds you in place, his grip ironclad, keeping you from squirming away as the sensations become too much. You try to fight it—hips jerking weakly, hands scrambling against the sheets—but he growls, pressing you down harder as he grunts through his own release.
The warmth of him filling you makes you tremble, your pussy fluttering around his dick in helpless, overstimulated pulses. But hell, he’s an animal—still attempting to stroke into you, his hips rolling lazily even as you tap out, your hand slapping weakly against his thigh in surrender.
A shiver wracks your spine as he finally pulls out, his low chuckle vibrating against your skin as he soothes a large palm over your ass, kneading the flesh gently.
"Stop, Ony…”
Onyankopon chuckles, “Relax, girl. You ain’t gon’ let a nigga hold you?”
Your legs shake as you climb onto him, your face burning with embarrassment as you tuck yourself into the crook of his neck—a shy, overwhelmed little thing you are.
And he lets you— his arms wrap around you, lips pressing against the top of your head as he murmurs, "My fuckin’ baby."
His large hand cradles your head, rough fingers pressing gently against your cheeks as he tilts your chin up. The bottom half of your face disappears beneath his palm—all he can see now are your eyes—those deep, soulful brown pools he fell helplessly in love with.
His thumb strokes your cheekbone, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it—“You sleep yet?"
You shake your head, lips brushing against his calloused skin as you exhale a quiet no.
He hums, satisfied, before murmuring—“Did you enjoy yo’ birthday?"
A beat.
“…It was more than what I could’ve ever wanted. So much more than I needed.”
“Nah, we ain’t finna’ do that—“ he cuts in, voice firm but loving, “You deserve everything I give you. Ain’t nothin’ too much for my fuckin’ woman.”
His gaze burns into yours, “A nigga would buy you the world if I could put that shit in a gift box."
You giggle, warmth flooding your chest as you reach up, rubbing at his ear affectionately, your fingers tracing the curve of it like you’re memorizing him.
“You already gave me the world, Ony. You.”
Onyankopon’s jaw ticks. His grip tightens just a fraction—like he’s fighting the urge to ruin you all over again— he then grunts, pressing a rough kiss to your forehead.
“Too fuckin’ sweet,” he mutters—but the way he holds you after?
It says everything his words can’t. You fall asleep together in a chaotic city that couldn’t take away the one thing you had for each other—your love.
| — .✦ ݁˖ synopsis; getting high with geto + sex = lazy sex
| — .✦ ݁˖ cw; mdni, smut dabble, black!reader, slightly rushed, p in v, dirty talk, smoking, unprotected sex
how you ended up in geto’s bed, face down ass up? you don’t know, it all happened so fast. one moment you’re smoking a blunt with geto in his room, the next? you’re making out.
geto’s hips stay idle as he takes a hit of the blunt, watching your hips slowly push back on his flush, hard dick with low eyes. he blows the smoke into the air, one large thick hand stays sprawled against your lower back, guiding you back and forth on his dick.
you let out a tiny, breathy moan into his pillow as his tip hits that gushy spot inside you. you lift your head off the pillow and look back at him, your heavy lidded eyes meet his hazy, red ones.
“stop hogging the blunt.” you groan as you watch him take another slow hit—blowing it into the air again—unbothered.
your body jerks forward as a loud moan is drawn from your plump, swollen lips when geto’s hips snap against yours. the low sound of his chuckling fills your ears. “wanna try that again?” his tone low and cocky, pulling you back against his dick.
“mmngh—you’re so—“ your words die in your throat when geto’s long, slim fingers feel up your thigh, finding your aching clit and starts rubbing slow, agonizing circles around the bundle of nerves causing you to cry out his name.
“mm, you’re so reactive,” he grunts, fingers quicken when you clench around him again. “this pretty little pussy milkin’ me so well.. so greedy.” he groans as he watches himself drag against your gushy folds.
“hgn!—f-fuck,” your head falls back onto his pillow that smells like cigarette smoke and something uniquely him. your hands pull at the sheets as your thighs start to shake more aggressively.
the blunt? forgotten. geto stubbed it out on a random ashtray, his full attention solely on him disappearing inside your dripping, needy pussy.
the sound of your wet, gushing pussy fills the dimly lit room every time geto slides between your glistening folds. your pretty little moans and whimpers are music to his ears as he watches your desperate attempts to make him go faster.
“tell me how much you want it,” he grunts, his hand sprawled against your lower back glides up your back until he’s gripping your nape, pulling you up into a mean arch. “tell me.”
in one sharp motion, his hips snap against your ass, pace picking up as his hand moves to grip your jaw, your ass pushed firmly against his pelvis, deepening you into a meaner arch.
“i want it s-so bad,” you whine as geto starts to kiss down your neck, the sensitive skin hot with a glint of sweat. “p-please.. i want you.”
a loud yelp leaves your lips when he pushes you back into the sheets, his pace causing your body to jerk violently against the creaking mattress. his pace is animalistic, like you giving him permission to ruin you unleashed something primal in him.
your cries and whimpers get lost in you throat from the overwhelming feeling of his tip repeatedly kissing your cervix, abusing your gummy walls.
“fuck—think I’m in love with this pussy,” he grits through his teeth, watching the way your plump, juicy ass ripples everytime his hips meet yours.
you feel your inner muscles spasm around him, pulling a high pitch whine from your lips. you’re so close and geto knows it too by the way his hand pushes you harder into the mattress. “m’gonna.. gonna—“ your words get caught in your throat as your orgasm hits you like a brick. your body shake violently as you cum around his dick with a loud scream.
“yeaaa, that’s right. cum on this dick, baby,” he coaxes as he feels his own release building. geto works you through your orgasm with long, deep strokes, grunting, watching the way your white cream coats him. your breathing is heavy as you come down from your high, limbs going limp as geto uses you like a toy.
geto keeps his trust slow as he releases into your sopping, oversensitive pussy. he fills you up so nicely, his release mixing with your sweet nectar, his cum stuffs you full before seeping out the sides of your stretched out pussy before pulling out, collapsing next to you on his back.
you collapse onto your stomach with a heavy sigh. the sticky sensation of the your mixed releases dripping out of you makes your nose scrunch up.
plop. plop. plop.
“you’re dripping all over my bed, sweetheart,” geto teases with a lazy smirk as he watches the slow rise of your chest against his pillow, your limp, ruined figure.
your hair is a mess, salvia smeared against your face, the mess between your legs. “mm, it’s your fault.. so shut it.” you mumble into the bed, eliciting a deep, sexy chuckle from his lips.
“yes, ma’am.” his gaze never leaves your face as he watches the way your eyelashes flutter, the heaviness of your lidded eyes, those juicy, plump lips, the dim light of his room reflecting on your perfect, chocolate skin.
..he’s never letting you go.
| — .✦ ݁˖ I’ll try to post more since it’s summer, and as always feedback and critique is welcomed. ﾒ𝟶
SUMMARY!!! yn goes back to visit what once was her home 15 years ago, only to meet a new face.
WARNINGS!!! 18+!!! high sexual themes! oral (f receiving), penetration, slow burn before smut
a part of you missed it. waking up to the fresh smell of sausage sizzling in hot grease while grits simmered on a burner next to it. feeling the cool summer breeze whip around your sweltering body from playing kickball in the large mowed field with some of the towns kids. drinking freshly squeezed lemonade your grandmother made before tending to her garden.
as the driver slowly approaches your grandparents estate, your heart couldn’t help but to let up a little. the large white house still sat perfectly on their plot of land.
“yn, sweetheart!” the houses screen door flys open with a screech. your grandmother dressed in a flowing white dress, tan beach hat, arm decorated with small gold bangles and her wedding band catching rays of sun.
the driver places his car in park, opening his door to retrieve your suitcase from the trunk. hopping out of the yellow vehicle, the older lady meets you halfway. wrinkled hands caressing your face, she smiles.
“it’s been too long. you’re all grown up on us!”
before anything could leave your lips, a grunt comes from around the bend of the house. your grandfather, covered in motor oil and dirt caked overalls. he removes his gloves, walking towards you and his wife, smile reaching his ears.
“ah i would hug ya honey but im dirtier than the pigs!”
your grandparents liked the life they lived away from the city. the way they could sit on the wrap around porch, grandfather sipping a beer and grandmother some lemonade, their towns newspaper tucked in their palms. watching as the sun ducked their bright red barn, casting a golden glow over the crops and animals grazing on the lush landscape. the stars peeking through transparent clouds, moon creating its atmosphere in the sky.
your grandmother enjoyed picking fresh fruits from her orchard, baking pies and making jams with the delectable fruits. your grandfather loved the lake that sat on the other side of the large property. growing up you’d grown to love these things about them.
as for yourself? you wouldn’t be caught dead doing half the things they do.
your career path led you to pharmaceutical consulting. working for one of the biggest companies in the world. it wasn’t something you enjoyed, but it funded the life you wanted.
living in a penthouse, well off from the city below you. the work was intense, demanding, and you needed to stay on top of it. anyone is replaceable in jobs such as those.
which is why you put in every single pto hour you had into a month long vacation.
to the middle of nowhere.
the wheels of the suitcase clank against the wooden stairs as your grandfather lugs it up the flight. following behind the older lady, excitement bubbles out of your grandmother while she quickens her pace, rushing to the door at the end of the hallway.
when she pushes the door open, it gives way easily, the hinges murmuring softly. the air that greets you is faintly cool, laced with the sweet scent of spring. someone had left the large french windows cracked open, the lace curtains drifting in slow, ghostly ripples.
“just like you left it, darlin’!” the lady says cheerfully.
stepping in feels like stepping back into a memory too fragile to hold in your hands. the room is pale, almost dreamlike. soft white walls, still wearing faint shadows of posters long torn away, frame the space. A canopy bed sits against the far wall, its sheer, pastel pink and ivory drapes spilling down like delicate water, pooled at the floor as if waiting for someone to step through them. the bed itself is made, layered with quilts of faint creams and frilly edges, whispering of afternoons spent sprawled on its surface with a book or diary.
“mary anne, we gotta get back to town to pick up some more feed for the chickens! ‘for the sun go down! i ain’t got my glasses either.” after placing your suitcase inside the threshold, your grandfather gives the back of your head a slight hold before placing a small kiss to the top.
“okay! okay! you ain’t gotta rush, clyde!” the two eventually leave you alone to unpack and do as you need.
to the right, a dresser waits, its porcelain knobs cool and familiar, though you can see chips where small hands must have struck too hard, too often. a vintage vanity mirrors the scene beside it, its surface cluttered with an array of glass perfume bottles, now dulled with dust. the mirror above has started to haze, its edges flecked with age, but you can still catch glimpses of yourself. a cushioned stool still sits beneath, its ruffled seat faded and threadbare.
the light here is alive. golden and warm, it pours through the cracked windows, catching on floating dust motes that swirl like restless fireflies. outside, unseen branches scratch faintly against the frame, their new leaves brushing with the weightlessness of spring. the breeze curls in through the cracks, carrying the faintest hints of magnolia and freshly turned earth, slipping beneath the canopy and rustling the skirts of the curtains.
there’s a rug in the center of the room, its edges frayed, and around it—near bookshelves that haven’t been touched in years—small details stand out like relics: a porcelain music box with its lid still half-open, a stuffed rabbit missing one eye perched on the window seat. all of it feels caught in a quiet kind of waiting.
your footsteps are softened by the wooden floor beneath, the boards groaning faintly under your weight. you look around and inhale deeply. it smells faintly of lavender, of clean linens, freshly cut grass, and mahogany wood.
the hot water washes away the weight of the morning and plane rides, the steam curling in soft, misty clouds that cling to the glass. you stand under the spray longer than you need to, letting it loosen muscles you hadn’t realized were tight, letting it strip the last remnants of dust from your skin. when you finally step out, the room feels cooler, the steam clinging to the mirror and walls in beads of condensation.
lathing your body in cocoa butter and applying a fair amount of lip balm.
you pull on something simple: a soft white tank top and a pair of loose cerulean cotton shorts, light enough to let the sun find your skin. carefully pulling your shower cap off, the water droplets falling down to your shoulders, running off your moisturized skin. you grab a new bottle of sunscreen from your spwarled out suitcase, the book ‘if cats disappeared from the world’, and your black chanel sunglasses.
as you make your way barefoot down the creaking staircase, everything tucked in between your arm. the house warm and bright in a way that feels both lived-in and empty. you’re halfway to the back porch when the front door swings open, and your grandparents call for your attention.
“hey, hold up a minute-” your grandfather says, pausing just inside the doorway, his hat in one hand and the keys to the truck jangling in the other. Your grandmother lingers behind him, hands resting on her hips, her face soft but serious.
“-we’re headed into town for a bit.” she says. “need some supplies for the farm and a few other things.”
you nod, shifting your weight onto one foot as you glance toward the back porch, toward the promise of sun and quiet.
“‘fore you run off-” your grandfather adds, pulling the hat onto his head.
“one of the town boys is ‘posed to be stoppin’ by. hes gone take a look at the barn, see about fixin’ up some of the beams we been neglectin’.”
“you’ll know him when you see him.” she says, a touch warily.
“so just keep an eye out. he’s probably fine, but you know how folks can be.”
something about their tone. half warning, half habit. makes you bristle. you know how quickly people judge someone based on a name, a family, a shadow cast long before them.
“all right.” you say lightly, hoping to end the conversation before it becomes something heavier.
“i’ll be outside if he shows up.”
your grandmother nods, giving you one last lingering look, and then they’re gone—boots on the porch steps, the truck’s engine growling to life and disappearing down the road. you linger by the door for a moment, watching the dust settle in the empty yard. the house feels quieter now, a little too still.
when you turn toward the back porch, the sunlight calls to you again, warm and golden, a balm for whatever comes next.
the back door opens swiftly, letting in gusts of spring air to sweep across the floors. trudging through the plains of grass tickling your thighs, you find yourself at the small floating pond your grandfather built. it sat in front of the large red barn, creating a scene of what farm living actually is.
the pond is fairly quiet, except for the hum of cicadas and the faint lapping of water against its banks. the cows deep moo a little in the distance. the sun hangs high, drenching everything in gold, and the heat wraps around you like a second skin.
you’re stretched out on a reclined lawn chair, a thin towel draped beneath you to catch the sweat. your sunglasses shield your eyes, and a book rests open in your hands, though the words blur a little under the laziness of the afternoon. a half eaten sandwich and a glass of fresh strawberry lemonade sweats beside you, the condensation leaving rings of water on the tiny wooden table. it’s sweet and cold against your tongue, a small relief in the heaviness of the heat.
your top is flung casually over the back of the chair, leaving you in a white bathing suit, comfortable and unbothered as you let the sun soak into your skin. the soft breeze off the water kisses your shoulders every now and then, rustling the pages of your book.
it isn’t until the sharp, uneven sound of boots on gravel carries over the quiet that you lift your sunglasses, brow pinching.
at first, you only catch a shadow moving toward you from the far side of the reservoir. someone tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly not your grandparents.
“hey!” the voice calls, deep but rough, like he hasn’t spoken much today.
you sit up a little straighter, your sunglasses slipping down the bridge of your nose as you look him over. he’s closer now, close enough for you to see the sharp lines of his face, the way dark hair falls a little too messily over his forehead. he’s wearing a plain t-shirt, worn jeans stained at the knees, and scuffed boots that kick up small puffs of dirt as he moves. there’s a toolbox in his hand, which he sets down carelessly at his feet.
“you’re, uh…-” he trails off, scanning you quickly before looking away, his jaw tight. he was issued to seeing old people on this property. but you were a sight for sore eyes. he couldn’t help but fixate his green eyes back onto you. watching as the beads of condensation dripped from the glass to your exposed cleavage, sliding down between your moisturized boobs. that were too big for the swim top your sported. his eyes fed off the way your e/c* eyes shined in the light under the black shields, lips glistening under the rays.
“im here for the barn. your grandparents said someone would be around.” his words are tight and frigid.
you blink, caught between annoyance and curiosity.
“yeah, they mentioned you.” you let your sunglasses slide back into place, leaning back in the chair as if his presence hasn’t disrupted anything.
“didn’t realize you’d be here so soon.”
“you’re welcome.” he mutters, a hint of sarcasm threading through the words as he squats to grab the toolbox.
you raise a brow, bristling.
“didn’t say i was thanking you.”
that makes him pause, glancing up through his lashes like he can’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed. a scoff releases from his lips.
“you sure are a real warm welcome, huh? and you’re reading a book about.. cats?”
“and you’re a little grumpy for someone who just got here. not that it’s any of your concern, i prefer cats over mutts.”
he huffs out a breath, maybe a laugh, but it’s hard to tell, and shakes his head, muttering something you can’t quite hear. you watch as he straightens up again, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead as if to dismiss you entirely.
“look, i’ll stay outta your way. just here to fix the barn, ma’am.” he says, nodding toward the distant structure.
“you can go back to… whatever this is.” his gaze flickers briefly over your lemonade, the book, your sprawled-out figure in the sun, before he turns on his heel and starts walking toward the barn.
you glare after him, irritation bubbling to the surface. the nerve of him, showing up out of nowhere with a chip on his shoulder like you’re the one invading his day.
“you’re welcome.” you call after him pointedly, though he doesn’t stop, just throws a hand up in a half-hearted wave of dismissal.
the barn door groans open in the distance, and you sink back into your chair with a huff, flipping your book shut. for the first time all day, the quiet doesn’t feel so peaceful anymore.
he had been long gone by the time your grandparents arrived back at the house. watching the sun set on the horizon out of the kitchen windows, casting a warm orange and pink hue to the house. you couldn’t help but to think about how strange of an interaction that was today.
“some’ wrong, darlin’?” your grandfather asks, pulling apart a small peice of his dinner roll, slipping it into his mouth.
“nothing papa. just tired i think. not really used to the time difference again.”
-
the kitchen smells like sugar, butter, and lemon zest. thick and warm in the morning light streaming through the windows. you stand beside your grandmother at the granite counter, your hands dusted in flour as you work a soft, pliable ball of dough, rolling it carefully under her watchful gaze. the little puffs of flour catch the light as they float lazily to the counter, turning the morning into something hazy and dreamlike. outside, the morning doves are already humming, and the breeze carries the faintest whiff of honeysuckle through the cracked window above the sink.
“not too thin now, dear.” your grandmother says gently, leaning over to inspect your work. her hair is pinned back neatly, and there’s a streak of flour on her cheek that she hasn’t noticed.
“these tarts need some structure, or they’ll fall apart ‘fore they make it to the church. we can’t have a lock in with no tarts, honey.”
“yes, ma’am.” you mutter, suppressing a small smile as you focus on the dough, guiding it into perfect little circles for the tart shells.
the table is cluttered with bowls and ingredients. deep red raspberries, bright and glistening, piled in a pale ceramic dish; a glass juicer with lemon pulp still clinging to its grooves; a small jar of sugar, the lid left slightly askew. your grandmother moves around the kitchen like she always has. calm, methodical, humming a hymn under her breath as she fills the air with the scent of baking pastry. you help her spoon the tart mixture into the shells, carefully pressing a few raspberries into each before she slides them into the oven, her hands covered in oven mitts patterned with sunflowers.
while the tarts bake, she chats softly about who will be at the church service, about old friends and new faces, her voice lilting as if trying to bridge the years that you’ve been gone. it’s comforting, her easy way of speaking, and you let it wash over you as you wipe down the counters, the scent of caramelizing sugar growing richer by the minute.
“i really appreciate your help this mornin’.” her sweet voice fills the silence.
your grandfather appears in the doorway just as you’re checking the tarts, a small grin tucked beneath his mustache. hes holding a set of keys. old, scratched, and gleaming faintly in his calloused hand.
“got something for ya.” he says, the words light but carrying a weight that makes you stop mid-step.
your grandmother glances over her shoulder, smiling softly as if she’s been expecting this.
“go on, now. see what he’s got.”
you follow your grandfather outside, the morning sun already high and hot, the light pooling across the gravel driveway. parked just off to the side of the house is a truck—not new by any stretch of the imagination, but clean, its pale blue paint shining faintly in the sunlight. it’s an older model, rounded and boxy in that classic way, and you can see where he’s spent hours tinkering with it. fresh tires, a polished hood, the faint scent of oil and steel lingering in the air.
“you’re givin’ me this?” you ask, a little breathless.
“sure am.” he replies, pressing the keys into your palm with a nod that’s gruff but affectionate.
“i’ve been workin’ on it a few months now. runs smooth s’ever. figured you might want somethin’ to get around while you’re here.”
the gesture hits you harder than you expect, and you swallow against the sudden warmth building in your chest.
“thank you,” you say softly, running your fingers over the keys before looking back at him.
he pats your shoulder in that firm, no-nonsense way of his.
“you go on, take her for a spin. just don’t let it sit idle too long, y’hear?”
you decide you can’t possibly drive your new truck around town in the same pajama bottoms and rumpled tank top you’ve been in since morning. after a quick shower, you stand in front of the mirror in your childhood bedroom, brushing your hair as the sun filters softly through the lace curtains. you choose something easy. a flowy white sundress, the fabric soft against your skin, cinched at the waist, flaring out below. it’s the kind of dress that moves when you walk, catching the breeze and making you feel like youre floating. slipping on tan sandals and grabbing your sunglasses.
sliding into the truck feels surreal, the leather of the driver’s seat warm beneath your legs as you turn the ignition. the engine rumbles to life with a satisfying purr, and you grip the wheel with a grin you can’t quite suppress.
the drive into town is nothing short of idyllic. the windows are rolled down, the warm breeze tugging at your hair and the hem of your dress as you cruise past fields of tall grass and wildflowers. radio crackles softly, static giving way to an old country song you don’t recognize but hum along to anyway. the town comes into view slowly. a handful of streets lined with brick buildings, white picket fences, and storefronts with painted signs. it’s small and familiar, a place where everyone knows everyone, and yet it feels entirely new through your eyes.
you park the truck just off the main street, slipping the keys into your bag before heading toward the square. the town is quiet, but there’s enough movement to remind you that life trickles on here. people chatting on porches, kids weaving through alleys on their bikes, a group of guys sitting on the bed of an old truck parked near the general store.
you don’t notice them at first, too busy taking in the details of the place. but their voices, loud and lazy—drift over as you pass.
“well, well.” one of them drawls, amusement curling through the words.
“ain’t expect to see you all the way out here.”
you glance over sharply, your gaze landing on none other than him. eren jaeger. leaned back against the tailgate of the truck, his arms crossed and a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. his friends exchange looks that border on curious and entertained.
“didn’t expect you to talk to me.” you shoot back without missing a beat, stopping just a few feet away.
eren raises a brow, clearly enjoying this already.
“oh, don’t worry. i’m just surprised you’re not still sunbathing by the pond, princess.”
“princess? it’s yn to you. and all of you.” you repeat, folding your arms across your chest.
“also, big talk for someone who can’t even find full jeans.” your acrylic points to the dirty man-made holes decorating the boys jeans.
that earns you a snort of laughter from one of his friends, but eren just tilts his head slightly, the smirk never faltering.
“guess you’re still mad about yesterday. why you so upset at me, darlin’?”
“mad? please.” you say, rolling your eyes. “nothing even happened.”
“mmh. sure you aren’t.” he says, pushing off the tailgate to stand up fully, his height a little more imposing up close. there’s something sharp about him. his voice, his gaze, but beneath it is something else, something less certain. you get the feeling he’s used to being looked at sideways, just like your grandparents warned you about.
“you always this charming, or is it just for me?” you ask, tipping your chin up slightly. eyes meeting his low green ones.
he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as his friends snicker quietly behind him.
“you’re somethin’ else.” he mutters, more to himself than to you. turning on your heels, you rush to excape the uncomfortable encounter.
“see you around, princess.”
-
the next day stretches out slow and quiet. the house feels bigger without your grandparents, their absence leaving a stillness that clings to every corner. you’ve taken full advantage of the solitude, padding barefoot through the rooms in an oversized t-shirt and little else. the fabric brushes against your thighs as you move, worn soft with age, like an old friend. the back of the shirt reads something about a fishing derby from a year that predates you, and you’ve rolled the sleeves haphazardly up your shoulders, letting the collar slip wide against your collarbone.
you spend the morning lazing on the couch, your legs sprawled across the cushions as you flip halfheartedly through a book you aren’t really reading. somewhere outside, birds chatter, and the cicadas hum their slow, pulsing chorus.
it’s the kind of day where time feels like it doesn’t exist. you shuffle into the kitchen whenever you’re hungry, toast a bagel you don’t finish, drink lemonade straight from the pitcher, and leave the radio on low just to fill the silence. some soft, crooning voice filters through the speakers, adding to the lazy weight of the afternoon.
you’re perched on the arm of the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, flipping through an old fashion magazine you found tucked in a drawer when the knock comes, sharp and sudden against the door.
it startles you, your head snapping up as the noise echoes through the quiet house. the second knock follows quickly, impatient this time. you glance toward the clock on the wall, but it’s no help, just another reminder that time isn’t real today.
frowning, you slide off the couch, tugging the hem of your t-shirt self-consciously as you head toward the door. the knob feels cool beneath your fingers as you pull it open just far enough to see who it is.
and there he is.
eren, standing on your grandparents’ front porch like he belongs there, though his posture suggests otherwise. hes got one hand braced against the doorframe, his other hooked loosely in the pocket of his jeans. a thin white t-shirt clings to him in the heat, faint smudges of dirt streaked across the fabric like he’s been working outside all day. his dark hair looks even messier than it did before. some tucked into the cowboy hat, other strands falling over his forehead and curling faintly from the humidity.
for a moment, he doesn’t say anything, his gaze catching on your bare legs before he flicks his eyes up to meet yours. his expression shifts, something unreadable dancing just beneath the surface. you realize too late how you must look: hair messy, t-shirt oversized and sliding off your shoulder, a little breathless from having rushed to the door.
“what?” you say finally, crossing your arms over your chest as if that might protect you from the way he’s looking at you.
“nice greeting.” he says dryly, his voice low and a little rough around the edges.
“well, you did show up uninvited.” you shoot back, arching a brow.
“what do you want?”
eren exhales through his nose, almost like he’s amused but trying not to show it.
“your grandparents asked me to stop by. said there’s a busted pipe in the barn and they didn’t want to wait until they got back to fix it.”
you frown, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe.
“and they sent you?”
“clearly.” his lips twitch, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
“believe it or not, i know how to do more than just piss you off.”
you roll your eyes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.
“well, the barn’s out back. you know where it is. the big. red. building.”
“i do. smartass.” he says, but he doesn’t move, and there’s a spark of something in his eyes. mischief, maybe. that makes you suddenly aware of just how much skin your t-shirt doesn’t cover.
“what?” you ask again, sharper this time.
“nothing.” he shrugs, the movement lazy as he pushes off the doorframe and takes a step back.
“just didn’t peg you for the type to lounge around in your underwear all day. but what do i know? you wore a bikini outside.”
heat flashes across your cheeks instantly, and you grip the edge of the door tighter.
“it’s not underwear, creep. it’s comfortable.”
“sure.” he says, smirk fully formed now as he starts toward the barn, hands tucked into his pockets.
“looks real… comfortable.”
you slam the door before he can say anything else, the wood rattling in the frame.
“asshole.” you mutter under your breath, but your voice is drowned out by the sound of his boots on the gravel, his laughter carrying faintly through the cracked window.
the hum of the radio drifts on, and sunlight still slants through the windows, but something about the space feels restless now. like the air has been disturbed and won’t settle again. you find yourself standing by the door, chewing your lip and staring at nothing in particular.
it’s curiosity, you decide. that’s all it is. you’re just curious about him. about the boy who showed up at your door unannounced, dripping sarcasm like it’s second nature, as though he thrives on pressing your buttons. that’s why, after pacing the kitchen once or twice, you tug on a pair of shoes and head outside.
the barn stands at the back of the property, worn and familiar, its paint faded and roof patched with tin that glints under the afternoon sun. the gravel crunches beneath your feet as you cross the yard, your shadow stretching long ahead of you. you can hear him before you see him. something clattering against metal, followed by a low muttered curse that drifts out through the open barn doors.
you pause just outside, peeking around the corner. eren is crouched low near the base of a wooden post, his toolbox spread out beside him, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. sweat glistens faintly along the line of his neck, dark hair curling slightly against his temple, though he seems too focused on whatever he’s fixing to notice you.
“i hope you don’t talk to the pipes like that.” you say, stepping into the doorway.
eren glances up sharply, his eyes narrowing as soon as he sees you.
“what are you doing in here?”
“just checking on you.” you lean against the frame, arms crossed, the hem of your t-shirt fluttering faintly in the breeze.
“you could be in here stealing, for all I know.”
he snorts, turning back to the pipe.
“yeah, im gonna steal an old tractor and a pile’a hay. that’ll really set me up for life.”
“you’ve got the attitude for it.” you shoot back.
eren doesn’t respond right away, just reaches into his toolbox and pulls out a wrench, testing the pipe with a faint metallic screech. you take the opportunity to wander further into the barn, your bare legs brushing against the dust-speckled air, the smell of earth and old wood thick in your nose.
“don’t distract me.” he mutters after a moment, though there’s no real heat in it.
“distract you from what?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him.
“you seem like you know what you’re doing.”
“i do.” he replies quickly, then pauses to glance up at you again, that familiar edge of sarcasm tugging at his voice.
“but I don’t need you hovering over me like a supervisor.”
“im not hovering.” you say, wandering toward the ladder that leads up to the loft. You trail your fingers along a beam as you go, the wood rough and splintered beneath your touch.
“im just… observing.”
“observing me.” he corrects, the corner of his mouth twitching.
you shrug, tilting your head to look at him.
“maybe. you’re hard to figure out.”
“well… why are ya tryin’ t’figure me out?” he fires back, turning his full attention to you now. his gaze is sharp, but there’s something behind it. something curious, like he’s trying to pick you apart the same way you’re doing to him.
you hesitate, feeling your face heat up despite yourself.
“im just bored.”
“bored ?” eren repeats, his voice dry.
“well, sorry im not here to entertain you, princess.”
you bristle at the nickname, pushing off the beam to face him fully.
“will you quit calling me that?”
“what?” he says, smirking now. “does it bother you?”
“obviously.”
“good.” he huffs a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he goes back to the pipe, adjusting the wrench with a sharp twist. the muscles in his forearm flex with the movement, beads of sweat dripping from his body.
“you’re insufferable.” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you turn and start to climb the ladder to the loft. the wood creaks faintly under your hands and feet, but you ignore it, needing to put a little distance between you and him.
“where are you going?” he calls from below, sounding more amused than anything.
“away from you!” you shout back, hoisting yourself onto the loft and brushing the dust from your knees. the space is dim, beams of sunlight filtering through the slats in the walls, catching on cobwebs and hay strewn across the floor. you sink down near the edge, letting your legs dangle as you glance back down at him.
“don’t worry. i won’t distract you from all your hard work.”
eren glances up at you with a look that’s half exasperation, half something else. he stands, tossing the wrench back into his toolbox with a faint clatter.
“or you could just gone back in the house. you’re a real piece’a work, you know that?”
“you’re one to talk.” you shoot back, swinging your feet slightly.
“you act like you hate me, but you keep showing up.”
“i don’t hate you and i keep showing up for your folks, not you.” he mutters, scrubbing the back of his hand across his forehead as he looks away.
“you just talk too much.”
“and you’re just cranky.”
he lets out a soft laugh, one that seems to surprise even him. when he looks back at you, his expression is different, though it’s hard to tell in the dappled light of the barn.
“you don’t know anything about me.” he says finally, his voice quieter this time.
you tilt your head, studying the man below you.
“maybe not. but I know you’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”
eren stiffens slightly at that, his jaw ticking as he averts his gaze. for a moment, the only sound is the wind pressing against the barn, rattling the boards, and the distant hum of cicadas.
“you don’t know that either. and what about you, huh? showing’ up outta nowhere. bein’ as bossy as you are?” he says eventually, his tone flat.
“im a pretty good judge of character. and i used to live here. a lot changes in fifteen years.”
he scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it.
“you’re annoying.”
“and yet you’re still here.” you say, letting a smile creep onto your face.
the loft creaks beneath you, but you don’t think much of it at first. it’s old, worn by years of weight and weather, and the barn itself seems to hum with the memory of its age. eren is below, fiddling with his toolbox, muttering curses under his breath as he wrestles with some stubborn pipe or post. you’re perched on the edge of the loft, legs dangling as you watch him, not bothering to hide your smirk.
“you’re taking forever.” you tease, your voice carrying through the barn.
eren pauses, glancing up with an annoyed glare.
“if you think you can do it faster, darlin’ , be my guest.”
“oh, i didn’t say that.” you reply, leaning back with a huff of satisfaction.
“i’m just observing how inefficient you are.”
he mutters something under his breath, shaking his head, and you’re about to push his buttons again when the sharp sound of splintering wood freezes you. the beam beneath you gives a slow, aching groan. erens head shoots up, noticing the lift giving in right where you sat.
you don’t have time to react. the wood cracks loudly, shattering the stillness, and suddenly you’re falling.
it happens in a rush. your stomach lurching, air rushing past you, hands scrambling for anything to grab. you hit something solid but not the ground. the impact knocks the wind out of you, but there are arms around you, holding you tightly.
“jesus christ!” eren’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and alarmed. “are you stupid?”
your brain catches up slowly, heart still slamming against your ribs as you look up to find eren staring down at you. his face is just inches from yours, his arms wrapped firmly around you where he caught you before you could hit the floor.
“i—” you start to say, but the words catch in your throat.
eren lets out a breath, long and shaky, as he lowers you carefully to the barn floor. his hands linger at your sides, steadying you. “are you okay?”
you try to nod, but then you feel it. the sharp, searing pain radiating up your leg. you wince, shifting slightly, and his eyes dart downward.
“you’re hurt.” he says flatly.
“no, i’m fine,” you lie, but as soon as you move your leg, the pain worsens. you look down to see a gash along your shin, blood streaking your skin where the wood must have splintered against you.
eren notices immediately.
“shit-” he mutters, reaching for you before you can protest. “don’t move.”
“eren, i’m fine,” you insist, but your voice wavers when you try to put weight on your leg.
“yeah, sure you are,” he shoots back, already scooping you up before you can argue. his arms slide beneath your knees and back, lifting you effortlessly.
“stop squirming, unless you wanna make this worse.”
you freeze, stunned at the way he carries you, like you weigh nothing at all. his face is set, focused, though you swear you can see a flicker of concern beneath the irritation.
“you don’t have to carry me.” you mumble, feeling heat creep up your neck.
he doesn’t look at you. “and what, let you drag yourself back to the house? don’t be stupid. now imma have to fix up the loft.”
the walk back to the house feels longer than usual, the silence stretching between you save for the crunch of his boots against the dirt. you steal glances at him—at the way his brow furrows in concentration, at the way his arms flex slightly beneath your weight. his grip is careful, like he’s afraid of jostling you too much.
“you’re really dramatic, you know.” you say quietly, trying to lighten the mood.
eren snorts, glancing down at you with a raised brow.
“me? you’re the one who decided to fall through the damn barn.”
“it wasn’t a choice.” you mutter, pouting slightly.
“whatever you say, princess.”
he carries you through the front door like it’s nothing, kicking it open with his boot before setting you down gently on the couch. the shift makes you wince, and he notices, crouching beside you immediately.
“last door on the left, under the sink.”
“stay put.” he says, voice low but firm, before disappearing into the bathroom.
you sigh, leaning your head back against the cushions as the adrenaline starts to wear off, leaving behind nothing but the dull ache in your leg and the embarrassment settling deep in your chest.
when eren comes back, he’s holding the first aid kit and a damp towel. he drops onto the floor in front of you, his knees brushing the edge of the couch as he sets everything down.
“this might sting.” he warns, wetting the towel before carefully pressing it to your shin.
you hiss through your teeth, nails curling into the couch cushion. “you could be a little gentler, you know.”
“i am being gentle.” he says, though his tone lacks its usual bite. he works quickly, cleaning the blood and dirt from the scrape before carefully dabbing it dry.
you watch him quietly as he unwraps a roll of gauze, his movements surprisingly careful, his expression softer than you’ve seen before.
“you didn’t have to do all this.” you say softly.
eren doesn’t look up, focused on securing the bandage.
“yeah, well. you’re not exactly good at taking care of yourself.”
“is that your way of saying you care?”
he pauses for half a second, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. the look he gives you is unreadable, but there’s something there. something warm.
“just… don’t do anything stupid like that again.” he mutters, his gaze dropping back to the bandage.
you bite back a smile, watching as he finishes and sits back on his heels. his hands linger on your leg for a moment, testing to make sure the gauze is secure before he finally stands.
“thanks.” you say quietly, your voice soft.
eren just shrugs, grabbing the first aid kit and standing to his full height. “don’t mention it.”
you try to mimic his movements, grabbing onto the arm of the couch for support until the pain shoots you right back down. eren wastes no time meeting you at eye level again, frowing a little.
“you need to stay put. stop being so damn hardheaded, yn.”
“finally you use my name.” his eyes burn deep holes into yours, brown chunks of hair framing his face.
“eh. i still like princess.”
he pauses, just for a second, as if he’s considering something. then he turns, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.
“both are real pretty though.” he mutters, but his voice is quieter now, softer. there’s an edge of something else there, something that’s hard to place.
you feel your heart pick up, and before you can even process the thought, before you can even think to stop him, he’s closing the space between you. his hand comes to rest gently on the side of your face, and then, with surprising tenderness, he leans in. the kiss is slow, hesitant at first. just a brush of lips against yours. but it deepens quickly, and for a moment, it feels like time itself is holding its breath. maybe you were holding your breath. his hand curls around the back of your neck, and you instinctively lean into him, eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of his lips presses against yours, soft and urgent.
the kiss is over almost as soon as it started, and when he pulls back, his face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your skin. his eyes are dark, a little unsure, but there’s something raw there too.
“eren?” you whisper, breathless, unsure of what to say, what to do with the sudden surge of emotions.
he doesn’t speak at first, just looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out. his fingers linger against your skin for a second too long before he pulls away, stepping back.
“um, guess i’ll get going then.” he says, voice low, almost like he’s unsure of himself for the first time.
he basically rushes out the front door, leaving you with a bloody gauze pad wrapped around your shin and a sense of confusion.
-
the farmer’s market buzzes softly with life. the air smells of ripe peaches and freshly baked bread, and the sunlight filters through the trees, dappled and golden. you weave through the crowd, your basket swinging lightly on your arm, filled with a small loaf of sourdough and a jar of honey. it’s your favorite part of the week, wandering between the stalls, picking out produce and listening to the steady murmur of the townsfolk.
you’ve got a small crumpled list tucked into your hand: oat milk, a jar of honey, maybe some fresh greens, and you’re weaving your way through the market when you spot him. eren. he’s standing with a man you can only assume is his father. the resemblance is impossible to miss: the sharpness of the jawline, the same dark hair, though his father’s is streaked with gray, and the way they both carry themselves. quiet and a little standoffish. they’re posted at a vegetable stand, crates of carrots, onions, and cucumbers spread out before them. eren’s arms are crossed as he listens to something his father says, his brow furrowed like he’s only half paying attention.
something about the way eren glances around, almost restless, makes you hesitate. you watch for a beat longer, tucked slightly behind another booth, debating whether to approach. but then eren looks up, and his gaze lands on you. for a second, he’s still, his face unreadable. then his eyes shift slightly, narrowing, and it almost feels like he’s warning you.
you step forward anyway, hobbling a little on your sore leg.
“eren.” you say, your voice soft but steady. his name feels strangely loud against the background chatter, and both he and his father turn to look at you.
eren’s face tightens slightly, but he doesn’t look away. his father, on the other hand, gives you a long, slow once-over, his sharp green eyes cutting into you with a coolness that makes your chest tighten.
“who’s this?” his father asks, his tone mild but clipped, like the words have edges.
“yn, sir.” you offer quickly, stepping closer and giving him a polite smile.
“i’ve been staying with my grandparents for the spring. i’ve seen eren around, so i thought i’d introduce myself. he helps around a lot.”
you hold out your hand, but his father doesn’t take it. instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the booth’s counter, his gaze steady and unwavering.
“introducing yr’self, huh?” he says, his voice light, almost amused, but there’s something underneath it, something just sharp enough to make your stomach flip.
“not many of the town folk bother to stop by our booth, let’lone introduce themselves. guess you must be curious.”
you pull your hand back awkwardly, your smile faltering as you glance at eren.
“i just thought it would be nice, sir. i apologize.” you reply, trying to keep your voice even.
“your vegetables do look great.”
his father lets out a soft huff of a laugh, barely more than an exhale.
“yeah, they do, don’t they? we put a lotta work into this land. more than most people around here would know.”
eren shifts beside him, his jaw tightening.
“dad.” he mutters under his breath, but his father doesn’t even glance at him.
“you stayin’ with the wrights?” his father asks, tilting his head slightly.
“figured. they’re good people, always minding their own business. shame not everyone in town does the same.”
you blink, the words settling in your chest like stones. there’s no malice in his tone, not directly, but the weight of them is unmistakable.
eren’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, his shoulders tense.
“she’s just trying to be nice.” he says, his voice low, almost resigned, like he knows it won’t make a difference.
his father finally straightens, dusting his hands off on his jeans.
“nice is fine-” he says, glancing at you again. “-but not everyone ‘round here is friendly as they seem. might be worth ‘membering.”
the air between you feels tight, uncomfortable, and you’re not entirely sure if his words are meant as advice or something closer to a warning. you force another smile, even though your face feels stiff, and take a small step back.
“well, it was nice meeting you.” you say, your voice a little quieter now.
“i’ll let you both get back to work.”
eren looks at you then, his lips pressing together like he wants to say something but can’t. his father, however, just gives you a small, curt nod.
“have a good day, darlin’.” he says, the words clipped and formal.
you turn quickly, your cheeks burning, and make your way back into the flow of the market. the cheerful voices and warm sunlight feel duller now, muted by the lingering tension.
it’s not until you’ve stopped by another stall, pretending to inspect a bunch of lavender, that you feel eren’s presence beside you. you glance up, and there he is, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face pulled into a scowl.
“sorry about him.” he mutters, his voice low. “he’s… he’s just like that.”
you shrug, trying to act like it didn’t bother you, though the knot in your stomach hasn’t quite eased.
“it’s fine.” you say softly, but the look he gives you says he doesn’t believe you.
for a moment, neither of you speaks. the market swirls around you, full of life and sound, but between you, there’s only a quiet tension. finally, eren sighs, tilting his head toward the edge of the market.
“come on,” he says. “let’s get out of here.”
-
you’ve learned to move quietly, to slip through the back door of the house when no one’s looking, to meet him at the edge of the woods by the lake when the sun has set and the stars are just beginning to prick the sky. everything feels like it’s wrapped in silence, soft and secretive. even the air between you seems charged with something unspoken, something thrilling. for two weeks.
he was addictive.
soft whispers under your large quilts as his lips traced kisses from your neck to lips. engulfing you in a warm embrace. wind blowing through the windows he snuck into.
he loved seeing you drive past him casually in your truck while picking up groceries for your grandmother. watching your hair whip in the wind and the low hum of the trucks engine passing by.
when you and him sat in his living room, playing with the golden lab he named ‘scout’ when he was four. your fingers comb through his mane, tilting your face upwards to avoid from being licked by the drooling animal.
whenever your grandparents gave him yet another daunting task around the farm, he’d watch as your sprawled out in a bikini. sipping the sweet tea, beach hat shading your face. watching as the droplets of water dripped down your chest. he’d hate to admit how many times he’s almost nailed his hands to the barn.
“you okay over there?” your arm, half up in a wave, drawling his attention from your new position. you lay on your chest, slowly pulling at the strings holding your top up. letting them dangle off the side of the chair, you slide the waistline of your bottoms down a little.
“eren! why don’t you come have some lemonade with me?”
you were driving him nuts.
he loved how lively you would get after spending the afternoons in a tiny, quaint bar located on the outskirts of town.
the drives back usually consisting of you halfway out the passenger window, eyes gazing up at the sky as you took advantage of the open landscape. eren would watch you intensely, eyes bouncing from the road back to you.
pulling into erens dirty path driveway, he pulls your body across the long front seat, carefully tucking his arms under your knees and around your back.
“im not drunkk!” you whine, face buried into the crook of the man’s neck while he places you down softly on the dark leather couch. closing his front door, his hand runs through his brown locs with an exasperated sigh.
“you need to sober up so i can take you home, yn. i ain’t trynna deal with a angry mob of old church people.” his height blinds out everything in your path as he stands over you. his large hands cup your face gently.
“boy im grown, come here.” you whisper, pulling him down by the forearm, eyes never leaving his. green eye flicker from your eyes to your glossed lips. your essence was like a gravitational pull.
lips locked onto one another, you can’t help but to notice he much softer his lips have gotten.
“you been exfoliating?”
“i’on know what that is, shut up and kiss me.”
it was hungry. borderline filthy the way his hands rubbed you down slowly. caressing the dips of your waist, cold jewelry slides across your stomach, hitching your breath. the tank top you wore stood no chance. brown nipples poking through the sheer cotton fabric.
hes smiling. feeling his hands roam you so freely. he couldn’t help but to take his thumbs and pointer fingers, slipping them into his mouth and out with a quick pop! going back under your shirt, he takes your perky buds in between his fingers, rolling them slowly as the rest of his hands cup your breast.
“oh! eren- oh my god.”
his lips pepper kisses all over your exposed skin, nipping at spots before kissing over the pain. hands roam down to your thighs, giving them tight grips before sliding down the couch.
eyes latched onto each other, you can’t help but to whine.
“please eren.”
this was the first time in years you’ve felt this strong of an attraction towards someone else. crazy for it to be eren of all people.
“please, what?” he’s slowly tugging at the drawstrings of the shorts you wore. eyes locked on you with a burning passion. sitting up against the arm of the couch, your shorts make it to the other side of the room.
your jaw is wide , eren hissing when you tug at his long brown locks. the moment he’s sliding his middle fingers into your burning core, stretching you open as his thumb slowly teases your clit. his body proceeding lower, all you can feel is slight gust of air hitting your cunt. his lips wrap gently around the swollen bud, sucking agonizingly slow, saliva and slick stick to the man’s face. he hums into your taste, wrapping his arms around the base of your thighs. he laid fully out on the couch.
instantly, you’re falling apart. moans breaking out in short whimpers and high gasps, grinding into his palm and nose. feeling his tongue slip inside your clenching hole, only to add two of his slender fingers.
his fingers scissor up into your throbbing cunt, hitting your sweet spot.
“babyy” you whimper, barely able to get anything out with the man’s face devouring you below. eyes closed in euphoria and concentration. hands interlocked into his head full of hair, your moans grow louder.
“doin’ such a good fuckin’ job, princess.”
feeling how he used his thumbs to spread open your pussy, using his tongue to penetrate your clenching hole. his tongue dips into you, coating his tongue in your cum, before coming back out and circling your swollen bud. the repetitive sensation sends you into a fit of louder moans, enticing the man to keep going.
“oh! ba- fu,fuck eren! im fucking c-“ the pressure builds, coiling tighter in your abdomen until you can't hold back anymore. not even when you’re cumming all over the man’s face, does he stop. he wants more now. he needs more.
from the first day he saw you out by the water, he knew he wanted you for himself. he watched the way you interacted with the townsfolk and farm animals. how sexy you were effortlessly. walking around your grandparents farm with nothing but a bikini on and practically see through shorts.
he hated to see other men in town look at you. the way the old, decrepit men would sit in the farmers markets and watch you browse around. whispering to each other while you naively chose your fruits and vegetables.
he didn’t want to share you with anyone.
his body jolts to a standing position, with ease he’s dipping down to pick you up off the couch. a large wet spot decorated the leather where you lie. he’s carrying you over his shoulder down the narrow hallway of the house.
“where we goin’?” you ask, eyes low and hazy.
you make it to the well decorated room. posters and band prints scattered on the wall , a radio sat in the corner, humming random songs from the station eren left it on. his bed was royal blue and well kept.
that was until you were being pounded into the bed.
you nails grip for anything they can reach. digging straight into the bed set, while his throbbing cock dips in and out of you. he has your right leg thrown over his shoulder, hands pinned to your waist as he draws out. face twisting in pleasure. his dick coated in the slippery substance, a faint white line forming the base of his cock as he moves in and out of you repeatedly .
“makin’ such a mess on me. pretty fuckin girl.”
he waste no time, throwing your other leg over his shoulder, locking you in as he quickens his pace. shallow breaths escape his mouth, eyes locked in concentration. you’re stuck with your mouth in an -o- shape as the man pounds you relentlessly. with a swift pull out, he taps against your side.
“on your knees, princess.”
on all fours, he wastes no time reinserting himself, bottoming out while his nails dig into the supple skin on your waist. the sound of skin slapping together and the wet squelches of your abused cunt bounce off the walls, filling your ears.
“i’ve wanted you for so long, you’re so good to me- fuck!”
the more your honey coated words fall from your lips, the more the man wants to ruin you. he wants to see you beg for him. he needed to have it.
pulling your arms from under you, he pins them to your back, locking you in an unforgiving arch. he feeds you slow, agonizing pleasing, strokes. loved watching the way your pussy desperately gripped around him as he pulled out.
trying your hardest to escape the abuse of your cervix, you try to pull away, only to receive a fire fueled spank on your ass.
“take this dick, baby. you had all that mouth ‘member? you can do it, i know ya can.”
his pace quickens, yearning for your release. the only thing you can form is small gasps of air as the man shows no mercy on your smaller frame.
“eren! oh shit- im cumming again ple-“
he releases your hands, using his free hand to rub at your clit as he continued fucking into you.
your body goes limp, clear liquid spewing out onto the man’s blankets. he flips you back over, eyes dark and full of hunger still.
“gimme just one more? please, honey. she just so good.”
folded into a middle split off the bed wasn’t something you ever thought you could do. yet here you were, on your back, eren standing in front of you, holding your legs apart.
his hips roll into yours, digging at your inside slowly. head tilted to the side, eyebrows furrowed and eyes low. your hands hold onto his muscular forearm, trying to keep grounded as the man was wearing you out.
with a few more thrust, he pulls out. long white ropes decorate his chest.
“you’re something special, yn.”
-
after your grandparents had gone into town for their usual errands, you find yourself at the edge of the lake, hidden in the soft embrace of the willow trees. the faint glow of fireflies flickers in the warm spring air, and the world feels still, like it’s holding its breath for what’s to come. eren’s there before you, waiting, leaning against a tree with a smile that always makes your stomach flip.
“thought you’d never show up,” he teases, his voice low and smooth, like it’s a secret only meant for you. his eyes flicker over you, and the corner of his mouth pulls into a crooked grin.
“you just like being dramatic,” you reply, though you can feel the flutter in your chest as you walk closer, the pull between you too strong to ignore.
he steps forward, closing the space between you, and before you can say anything else, his lips are on yours. quick, soft, the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless. it’s always like this, quick, a rush of feeling that neither of you can seem to contain. he pulls away just as quickly, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.
“you’re insane.” you whisper, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
he grins, taking your hand and guiding you down the worn path toward the lake. the grass brushes against your bare legs, soft and cool under the fading light. the blanket he’s spread out by the water is a patchwork of colors. faded reds and yellows that look almost too bright against the darkening sky.
you settle down beside him, the scent of wildflowers heavy in the air. the lake reflects the dimming stars, the quiet ripples in the water mirroring the racing of your heart.
“y’know. ive been havin’ a lot of fun with you.” he playfully nudges your body, rocking you to the side.
“i know. imma miss you, country boy.” the fake southern accent rolled off your tongue sarcastically. although the tone was funny, something about erens aura shifted.
“what’s up? why’ve you gone all quiet?” you ask, eyes fixated on the male. the moonlight illuminated his face, exposing every freckle, unshaven parts of his face, and his eyes locked onto yours.
“i jus’ really don’t wanna let you go, princess.”
“don’t go all sappy on me now. i’ll visit when i can, you know that right?” he just nods, taking a drink of the beer he had before your arrival. the air was thick and warm, your knees pressed together, watching the water reflect the bedazzled night sky as eren just shuffles in his spot.
“yn, promise ya wont forget me?”
“eren-“ you try to stop the conversation before it happens. instead ending up in a tight hug from the man. his arms latch around your waist, head resting over your shoulder.
“im serious, yn. i ain’t ever felt this way for nobody.” pulling away, all you can see is his bright green eyes burning into yours.
“how could i ever?”
you lean in, your free hand brushing against his jaw as you kiss him. it’s slow, deliberate, and familiar, yet it feels new in the way it sends warmth flooding through you.
his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his touch firm but gentle as he deepens the kiss, like he’s trying to hold onto the moment for as long as he can. the world around you fades. the quiet lap of the water against the shore, the soft hum of the crickets. until there’s nothing but him.
when you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. eren’s thumb brushes over the curve of your jaw, and his lips curl into a small, almost sheepish smile.
Summary: You and Jabber have had the same friends since Junior High still keeping contact all through out college, but one simple game of Uno changes the entire dynamic. Is it worth it or is he missing out?
!!CW!!: Friends to ???, fingering, mutual masturbation, kinda fluffy, sexual tension, hand job, spit play, reader has locs, sneaky, possible slow burn??
a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble but oh well
Now playing on HNEY RADIO at Playhouse Records..
Ginuwine- In Those Jeans
Jacquees- Bounce
Summerella- 11 Something
Ginuwine- None of your friends business (It’s a must)
Trey Songz- Panty Wetter
** You know what to do ;)
Keeping secrets for a friend is an easy thing to do but keeping secrets from a friend is a entirely different territory especially from a friend group you've known since middle school. It was pointless to keep things put of the loop when everyone was bound to find out anyways and knowing yourself, you couldn't hold water in your mouth so you were the last to find out anything, but that's how the group operated and how you all managed to make it through high school without scandals or rumors breaking you up like all friend groups go through.
Once college came into the picture that's when the group took a slight detour, August went to community college and made his living after forcefully becoming an intern at his favorite mechanic shop in town, Antwan went straight to work at Footlocker at your favorite hangout spot at Remlin Heights and worked his way up to Assistant Manger where he put Jabber on part time while You and him went straight into university with your closest friend Jaida.
Everyone all scattered around doing their own thing yet you all still found time to call each other, set up hangouts at Antwan's spot not too far from campus and the fact that you could confide in everyone about the silliest things and not worry about it tearing the group into shreds.
There was a time Jabber and Jaida tried to date each other in high school which resulted in Jaida coming out and Jabber questioning his sexuality. The group accepted them both simply because you all already had a suspicion, the relationship lasted all of two weeks and everyone forgot about it by the time you all graduated.
Except for August who likes to remind Jabber ever chance he gets.
Now the only issues that seem to arrive the most are time conflicting schedules, Jabber not sliding through for a favor or you doubling down on the money you lent August two weeks ago.
Antwan developing feelings for you? That was something nobody could've saw coming.
"Y/n? You talking bout thick head, bow-legged Y/n with the starter locs?" Jabber snickered, sitting on the kitchen counter eating cereal of the box
"C'mon you being wild.." Antwan groans, throwing up his hands.
"No you not thinking! She cool, nice whatever I just don't see her like that.." Jabber smacks, digging deeper into the box
"What you see her like a sister or something?"
"Nah like a homegirl, like Jaida that's my brother but Y/n? Nigga how that happen?" He questioned, hopping off the counter as Antwan called him over to show him something on his phone.
"She had called the group chat late last night you were slumped on the couch and I had just got out the shower, she needed somebody to you know talk to her while she was driving home so I kept her company."
"Oh nooo this nigga gone tender.."
"No! Man look- she really don't be on anything, this ain't the first time we talked like this either! I've been plotting on this for a minute and I think I might move on her tonight."
"Tonight?" Jabber tilted his head, looking down at Antwon scrolling through your Instagram.
"What you think I should do?"
"Not push up on her heavy! If you "serious" about talking to her like that be cool! Do what you been doing if she's comfortable talking to you like that I'm sure she fucks with you.." He sighed, leaning his head back to pour the rest of the cereal into his mouth. Jabber didn't believe the act coming from his roommate, did he believe that he had a crush 100% but making a move? He knew Antwon to be the type to tell him about a girl he met at work while ignoring the girl he called his wife blowing up his phone.
Jabber wasn't a clean slate himself but with the history the two of you shared he wasn't on the rooting side on Antwon's newest challenge, yet he kept it to himself mentally shaking his head as Antwon showed him a few more pictures of you in college, bringing up old memories.
"Her and Jaida'll be here later you called August?"
"He on the way said he got something new for us to try." Jabber smirked, dusting his hands on his pants as he finished the whole box of cereal.
"Bro that's the 2nd box this week!"
~
You were sitting on the edge of your best friend Jaida's bed rubbing lotion on your legs as she rummaged through her closet to find something to wear. You had your outfit of a light jacket with a fur hood, a cute top and some fitted jeans to go with your your sneakers.
"Okay something simple, we must be coming home."
"I'm not spending the night at Antwans, I talk to him enough.." You chuckle,sliding on your socks. A small silene filled the room with the occasionally click of Jaida hangars smacking together, it wasn;t until you looked up at her giving you a sarcastic look like she was up to something.
"What's that look for?"
"Oh nothing nothing, you seem real excited to see him today." Jaida smirked.
"Who? Antwan? Jaida stop playing what do you know?" You questioned, sliding your pant leg down.
"What are you wearing? I might have something to match that top actually."
"Jaida!"
"I'm not saying nothing!" She smiled, tossing a few shirts onto her bed.
"This is so childish.."
"I think it's funny, hilarious even."
You rolled your tongue inside of your cheek, cutting your eyes at the curly headed asshole still chuckling to herself. Part of you was clueless on who she could be talking about and the other half of you questioned why you were curious in the first place, it felt like high school all over again!
"You and Antwan been talking to each other real often haven't you?"
"Whatchu trying to say?"
"I'm just asking questions!" Jaida threw her hands back, her eyes running around the room as she laughed.
"I talk to Antwan how I talk to Jabber and definitely how I talk to August." You huffed with a small smile only because she kept snickering!
"That's because August can't hear anything when his mouth is open and Jabber's a lost cause, he came through with the answers back in college but a nigga that sells Reggie can't be trusted."
"Me and Jabber wouldn't work I'm sorry, he got too much going on and Antwan? I see him as a friend! Nobody was answering the group call except him so he called me personally!"
"So you don't think Antwan not fine?
"You think Jabber fine? Hmm? Tall Lanky nigga with them thick ass dreads?" You chuckled to yourself with Jaida joining you.
"Fuck you.."
"No more of this Antwan and me mess! Now pick a damn shirt we gotta go, liquor store closes at 7!"
"You rushing over to Antwan's now?? Mmmm…"
The conversation came to a fast halt once you found something to toss at her, missing terribly.
Antwan and you wasn't a thought to begin with, more of a day dream every once in a blue moon when you've had one too many but going past that? He was older by a year and showed some signs of maturity calming you down after a stressful work day at your now old job, it was only these recent calls have the conversations turned into something past just a piece of advice.
You weren't oblivious to the slick remarks Antwan would throw in every now and then, him all of the sudden asking what you're wearing to work and what kinda flowers you enjoy. You've known him for his flirtatious mouth and his ability to get free food at any restaurant he walks in, and you could always spot him out with his hair flowing down his back or his signature ponytail, his brown skin always tanned in the summertime showing off his tattoos each one of telling a story that he could go on for days though you didn't mind his tangents.
Him talking you home shouldn't have changed the dynamic between yall too much and tonight would be no different!
Once you and Jaida made it out of the house, you did your liquor run and set your route to Antwan's place just a few minutes away though you didn't need a GPS, hell your phone automatically asked if you wnted to go to his place which Jaida most definitely pointed out. With your music loud the bass of your car shook your windows as you pulled into Antwan's garage, quickly hopping out to bang on the front door like you were police.
When there was no answer you gave the door another harsh 3 knocks before Jabbber open the door with a cloud of smoke escaping the vents like lost souls trying to go home.
He had on his glasses and wore a burgundy zip up with black rhinestones in an exaggerated pattern decorating the front of it, his locs fell down his back as he pushed a few out of his face, the glint of his silver rings knocking you in the eye. The black and brown bead bracelets on each of his wrists were new since the combo he had were purple and grey the last time you saw him. It' d be a lie if you said you weren't practically staring him down once your eyes traveled towards his custom made letter "J" belt buckle holding up his baggy jeans piling up on his timbs.
The last time you saw Jabber was around a month ago when graduation pics and parties were going down along with a few face time calls of you or August crying about finals so it had been a while since you saw him in person. You always knew Jabber had a sense of style yet so this little ensemble he threw together shouldn't have shocked you the way that it did.
"Damn we don't speak?" He scoffed, mushing you on the arm playfully mean mugging Jaida who ignored him with a smile.
"Since when do I have to check in?" You chuckled to yourself, looking to Antwan with a warm smile.
"What's up Y/n.." Antwan merged his way in, he went in for a full hug and you reached around his neck with one arm squeezing him.
"Hey ya/'ll" You laughed before pushing past both of them to meet up in the kitchen with August and Jaida
"'Twan told me you were coming through! He got all excited and shit." His little comment made Antwan tap him in the chest causing Jabber to suck his teeth.
"Ya'll missed hanging out with us that bad huh?" Jaida hummed, dapping up August who was blowing smoke from a heavy pull on his bong.
"It's all these two dumbasses been talking about and I thought I ran my mouth.." He coughed, holding his hand out to you. You gave August a hug before setting your bag on the counter making your first move into the refridgerator. You've been in this house more than enough to not act like you live there.
"How ya'll been?" Jabber asked, hopping up on the kitchen counter.
"I'm doing goodd I'm all booked next week at the shop!"
"I thought you saved me a spot!"
"With what payment? Free tattoos are over with Twan I got mouths to feed,"
"Furry mouths.." August chuckled, passing the bong over to Jaida.
"And you? Miss daytime television?"
"The local news ain't all of that..but I managed to grab an internship and the leading news anchor wants me to shadow her for a week."
"I can definitely see you on TV, you might actually make me watch the news." Antwan chuckled.
"So what we doing? Chilling here or we going out to eat?"
"August wanted to order in and I granbed two games from the store so yo options are drunk monopoly or Drunk Uno.."
"I gotta work in the morning we not playing Monopoly.."
"Cuz August likes being the banker stealing extra money and shit!"
"Antwan can't count his money!" August spat back
"Drunk Uno it is, i'll keep the rulles simple. No stacking every plus 2 is 2 shots and a pluck 4 is 4 shots.." Antwan interjected.
"This nigga bugging.." Jabber mumbled, earning a chuckle out of you.
After you all finally agree to a set of Uno rules without cutting each other's heads off, you took a hold of the drinks while August carried his bong towards the living room. The game was simple whoever takes the least amount of shots wins with the player choice of a shot or a hit. Antwan opened up the game and sat on the couch with Jabber and you went to sit on Jaida's lap like usual.
"Woah woah what you doing?" Jaida looked up at you like you were crazy/
"I'm sitting on you whats wrong?"
"Un uh you like looking at cards I'm not getting fucked up because of you, over there." Jaida laughed, pushing you off towards the couch. You had some idea of what she was trying to do knowing that you always sit beside her.
"You can't sit by me I talk too much shit."
"Ain't nobody worried about you Twan.." You chuckled, sitting in between Jabber and him, cracking the bottle of liquor open to pour just a little over two shots to start. Everyone had their cups ready and their lighters by their side as the game started
"Wait wait you said no stacking!" Jaida spat
"That's a plus 2 and a plus 4 that don't make sense!" Antwan groaned
"Now you just cheating!" Your eyes shifting over to Jabber all in your deck
"She only got two cards left nigga think!"
" Uno out!" August cried, resulting in everyone taking a shot.
The first round went easy with August winning the first game and you winning the next two rounds meaning you were playing bartender for Antwan who didn't wanna take his shot and August who kept hiding his shots under the table. Jabber had his own cup and you swore he was taking baby sips judging by the way his cup never needed a refill
"The color is blue.." You hummed.
"Wack ass color.." Twan mumbled.
You felt a nudge from a heavy boot hit your leg as August went to pluck his 4 cards and load up his bong to take his hits.
"Mmccht what you got on you?" Jabber whispered.
"You flashed him a pluck 4 and he nodded his head quick, waiting another round before he dropped it on the table.
"That's on you Twan.." You spoke, laying the your down.
"What you got Twan?" Jaida yelled, a slight slur in her voice holding up a plus four of her own.
"Wait a minute how the fuck y'all do that?"
"That's 8 shots!" You cackled, sitting up to grab the bottle ready to pour.
"Put that down I ain't drinking shit!"
"While he's complaining I played my card it's August's turn!" Jaida blurted as you and Jabber couldn't hold your laughter listening to Antwan lose his mind about rules he made up to begin with. August threw his card on the table sending it to Jabber once again.
"How about this skip you, skip you fuck nigga and Jaida you pluck two now we all take a shot."
Everyone tossed their cards on the table with Antwan cursing at you for not assisting to his side, August felt set up by Jaida and Twan went at Jabber's neck, it was all a bunch of drunk nonsense when the truth was Jabber snuck out a few cards for himself while dealing the deck trying to get everyone fucked up.
"I got another round in me..don't tap now." Jabber laughed, throwing his cards on the table
"Yall got that shit I'm going to bed..y'all can crash here.." Antwan chuckled a yawn shortly following after.
"I'm about to take Jaida home, August you sure you don't wanna ride with us?" You asked, watching him get up and pat around to find his jacket.
"Nah! My girl she- she should be outside actually!"
"Tell Phoenix I said hey!"
You said your goodbyes even going so far as to stepping outside to speak to his girlfriend and making sure August himself made it in to the car. You waved them off, heading back inside to a sleeping Jaida, Jabber cleaning up the messy table and Antwan making his way over to you.
"I'm finna take a shower, you staying over?" Antwan mumbled, giving you another hug before trotting his way up the stairs.
"I gotta work in the morning remember? Plus I gotta get Jaida home before it's gets too late.."
"Alright alright, if you still here when I'm done I gotta talk to you bout something.." The room fell silent which meant Jabber had stopped cleaning or you were a little higher than you thought.
"Just tell me now drunkie " You blinked, crossing your arms from the cool breeze coming from the screen door
"It's something serious so between us alright?"
**
"Okay.." You scrunched your face in slight confusion as he trotted up the stairs. You closed the door and sat back down on the couch with Jabber placing the Uno cards back in the pack, tossing them on the table.
"You sure not spending the night? You can't be driving like that un un give me them keys.." Jabber mumbled, patting you down to find your keys stuffed in your pocket. You weren't putting up much of a fight due to you not having the strength to contribute to his antics.
"Nigga…this ain't the first time.."
"C'mon, I'll let you have the couch come finish Happy Feet with me." He smiled nodding his head towards the TV before picking up a left over blunt in the ash tray, grabbing the lighter laid out on the table to light it smoothly
"Hmm” Jabber hummed, tapping your hand with the lit blunt, blowing smoke in the other direction.
You took his offer holding it up to your mouth to get as much as you could before it burned your lips, thick yellow clouds of smoke surrounding the two of you.
He had his glasses pushed up on his forehead and his jacket unzipped exposing the baggy black shirt laying on his lap covering his belt buckle, you could see his chest softly rise and fall from how still you were, from how long you staring in his face, hard enough for him to swing his head in your direction.
He’s not supposed to look like this, you’ve smoked with Jabber before, plenty of times, spent the night at this exact house sleeping on this exact couch. Nothing had changed! He still talked to you the same, there was no subliminals you were missing right?
“You good? Need a blanket? I’m serious about yo ass not going nowhere. You can leave in the morning.”
“Yeah Antwan always got the AC blowing..” You spat, partially being honest about being cold, you just needed an excuse to snap you out of whatever you were thinking about. You ashed the blunt in the ash tray, scrolling on your phone to distract your mind. This is the same Jabber who clowned you for months after you started your locs saying you wanted to be him for the longest. The same Jabber you got greased up with early in the morning before getting on the bus, the same Jabber that made you laugh on your worst days and somehow getting through all four years of college hell you graduated with him.
What was so special about him tonight?
“Here..” Jabber spoke, tossing a thick comforter from the closet underneath the stairs over your head, closing the door to return back to the couch snatching some of the cover with a playful smile. The movie played on as the high consumed the both of you, you were trapped in your own thoughts and Jabber? His eyes were glued to the movie but the way he was nodding off proved just how bad he lost the Uno Game.
“You not sleeping in your room?” You spoke, tapping him on the head.
“I can’t lay with you? I’ll leave you alone once the movie over my bad..” He said with a snicker
“I’m playing Jay i don’t want you falling asleep on me..”
“You don't remember me falling asleep while your mom was yelling at us? That night we broke your bedroom door playing?”
“Oh my god, i woke you up out of your sleep i threw what was it?”
“A big ass bucket of cold water! Yo mama was pissed! had her floors all fucked up!"
“I aint sorry.” You giggled.
“That ass whopping ya mama gave you made you sorry.”
“That’s my cue to leave, hand me my keys..” You scoffed, rolling your eyes before a laugh snuck its way out of your lips. Jabber paused for a moment watching you giggle while adjusting yourself on the couch, pulling up the blanket to completely cover your lower half.
His glossy eyes glazed over your overgrown locs sitting on your shoulders, carefully watching how you rubbed your lip gloss in and how your nails clacked against each other every time you hit him in his arm or his chest. He liked to stick his finger right underneath your nose just to get you to pop him somewhere on his body. A favorite pastime of his.
He rubbed his head, pushing a few locs out of his face as he leaned back, grabbing the keys off of the end table holding them over his head.
“Oh these?”
“Jabari I'm not in the mood to move around, give me my shit.”
“Come get em..” He chuckled, leaning back as far as he could jiggling them up in the air. You rolled your eyes and indulged yourself into playing with him, reaching up to make the futile attempt to grab your keys.
You looked down at him, the comfortable silence engulfing you two. You studied his piercings, every indent in his skin, every tattoo you thought you knew about analyzing his features and little did you know he was doing the same. Eyeballing your lashes batting so slowly to him, how your perfume and your natural scent of warm amber, honeysuckle and incense it filled his nose with every breath he took.
His pink pupils peered down to your lips then back to your heavy, red eyes then back to your plumps lips cursing himself in his mind. Jabber never imagined seeing you like this, the TV being the only light illuminating the room. You knew the weed had your cunt throbbing like it was the only thing it could do, that had to be the reason Jabber looked this fucking good, the strain, the amount of THC any excuse to justifying borderline eye fucking your best friend.
Soon it became too much.
Jabber leaned in deciding close the heavy thick air surrounding the both of you. His lips tasted sharp like the blunt you smoked settling to something sweet as it mixed in with your gloss and the concoction he was drinking during the game.
You quickly pulled back, your eyes red and wide looking to Jabber just as bug eyed.
“I didn’t mean to-“
“I’m sorry-“ You both stammered over each other.
“Y/n-“
“It’s okay, it’s ight I kissed you back it ain’t like that..”
“I wasn’t supposed to- I wasn’t thinking..”
“I liked it..”
He paused like you uttered something forbidden, like this was the last possibility, Jabber thought he was dreaming.
"Huh?"
"Don't make me repeat it.."
"So if I did it again?"
His question almost didn't make sense, yet nothing felt real in this moment, like white noise filling in your ears. Your heart spoke so loud but something else screamed at you instead.
"What if we get caught Jaida's right there-"
"Who gotta know?" His voice in a hushed tone.
"Nobody.." You whispered, taking a small glance back at Jaida slumped on the recliner, before returning back to him licking his lips, his arm extended out across the back of the chair. The eye contact felt like pressure swelling between the two of you and not just from your thighs tossing each other back and forth to stop that pulsating feeling forming deep within. You always told Jabber he had a pretty ass face and you'd always get a corny response but now it had a whole new meaning, you couldn't hold yourself together.
You leaned back in and Jabber's finger fell right under your chin like he knew you'd give in first, pressing his lips against yours hard, trying with all of his might not to make a sound. His head tilled off to the side to deepen the kiss while you grabbed the blanket to keep your bottom halves covered, hiding his already twitching tip in his jeans.
His bottom lip found it way between your lips and you managed to feel his snake bites softly pinch you as you snuck a bite, earning yourself a satisfied groan. Jabber returned the gift, biting your bottom lip with a soft pull, feeling the coldness of his rings curl around your neck.
Your hand snuck underneath the blanket around his clothed shaft, cupping your hand around his warm dick as he softly huffed air out of his nose to fight the moans but you shushed him quickly by shoving your tongue into his mouth, feeling his hand guiding yours up and down his semi hard length.
"Mm- damn.." Jabber's voice just above a whisper, feeling a soft jerk of his hips trying to get your attention, tightening his grip around your neck. If the sounds of your lips smacking over and over weren't loud enough the noises of the couch of you and him fumbling to get each other pants off almost took the cake. Just as you felt Jabber's fingers trailing up to lift your shirt, a loud shift in the recliner shook the both of you still as Jaida in the recliner turned her body in the opposite direction covering herself with her own cover.
The thudding sound of your heart shattered against your chest and your body began to shiver, snapping your neck back at Jaida before Jabber took your focus back on him, holding his finger to his lips trying to hold back a laugh.
"You don't know how to keep yo voice down.." You whispered, covering your own mouth to keep your high giggles to minimum while he grabbed the remote off of the table still covered with uno cards and half empty cups of liquor to turn up the TV.
"Hadn't even touched you yet," Jabber sucked his teeth leaning back on the couch as he pulled the cover up. "Keep that same energy."
"Yeah?" Your eyes shuffled around your head, tugging him closer to you by his shirt giving him the green light.
"I don't wanna hear shit come out your mouth." He huffed, taking off his glasses and going in for your neck, returning back to his spot of yanking your shirt up to play with your nipples already hard to the touch.
"I promise you won't.." You pursed your lips, leaning your neck to the side to give him more access, feeling his pierced lip lazily leave kisses, distracting your mind with his tongue licking you before taking a chunk out of your skin like he was trying to get you to scream right off the bat. You bit your own lip hard, allowing the sharpness fade into adrenaline pumping straight to your cunt, pounding in between your legs.
His fingers played and tugged on your hardened buds as he repeated the filthy technique, kissing you to soothe the pain, licking to distract and taking any chance he could to sink his teeth in so deep you felt two or three of them break skin, yet you didn't want him to stop.
The smallest whimper escaped while Jabber soothe another bite mark with his lips, snickering to himself as he peppered kisses up to the shell of your ear and his fingers traveled further down to the top button of your jeans.
"What was that? Nah nah come on..I wanna hear what you sound like y/n…" His voice sent a chill down your spine and a stream of your own juices trickling down your leg. You helped him undo your jeans and slipped them off just enough to give him room to keep his promise. Your thumbs were tucked into the sides of your underwear nearly about to pull them down before the palm of his hand slid past the waist band using the pads of his fingers to tease your soaked clit.
You inhaled deeply through your nose, rubbing your lips together to prevent any more sounds to leave you. You didn't want to give him any reason to talk yet you were so close to cumming on his hand from barely anything. His fingers swiped your clit side to side before he slid them up and down, applying pressure on your clit drawing tiny circles. You weren't worried about your moans waking her up and neither was Jabber, you were both focused on the slight slippery sounds of your cunt and his fingers playing with each other.
"Oh my fucking..god…you wetting up the couch.." He huffed, pulling his hand back still coated in your slick, lifting up his shirt with your help. You flung his dick out of his boxers watching precum dribble out of his tip, small semi white beads dripping down his still growing shaft. Your heavy eyes widen at his girth as you stroked him, pasuing your movements to lick your fingers, staring back into Jabbers low lidded pink eyes.
Something clicked, maybe it was the weed or the fact that you couldn't blame any substance for what you were doing. There were no plans of shoving your tongue down your best friend's throat yet you showed no signs of stopping either once you spat on your hand, returning it back to his sticky tip to stroke him carefully, occasionally squeezing tighter in hopes to give him just a glimpse of what you felt like.
The colors of the TV danced on his skin keeping your eyes on Jabber as he leaned back in to peck your lips, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from cursing your name. The air surrounding the two of you grew so heavy and the way your nails damn near looked like decorations on his dick bouncing up and down, it was a shame only you and him could see the sight. Jabber popped his fingers into his mouth to clean the residue stuck on his hand before reaching over back into your underwear, playing with your swollen clit so hot to the touch, he had to suck in air like he burned himself.
You kept your movements at a steady pace up until the sneaky bastard slipped his two fingers past your pussy lips, dipping inside of your slick cunt with no hesitation. Your jaw fell open, slightly dropping as you inhaled sharply, immediately focusing on the meaningless words talking out of the screen as he went deeper.
"…fuck." You breathed, taking your thumb to play with his tip.
His hips snapped upwards, humping into your slippery hand like a sex toy, purposefully leaning closer to your neck releasing heavy breaths and stammers all in your ear while his fingers pumped inside of your pussy, curling up to tease that spot hitting it over and over. It was ridiculous how close you felt your orgasm creeping in, your walls stuttered around his digits and the slight cold pang of his rings brushing your clit ever so often drove your mind insane.
"Get that nut out for me, stroke that…ssssfuck.." Jabber whispered, taking his head from the crook of your neck eye balling you playing with his dick. Your hand sped up and you took the free one to place your finger over your lips, slowing your movements down to see him release more shots of pre staining your nails. His balls were full and his tip twitched with each stroke, it was obvious that he was close yet the more you pumped the faster he moved his fingers inside of your quivering walls.
You turned your head to the side, facing away from him to let your poker face fall, scrunching up your face as you felt that pressure about to burst, slamming your legs together to prevent a bigger mess than then one you already had on Jabber's fingers.
"S-shit..I'm cumming.." You mumbled
"All over my fingers…paint these rings for me ma…don't stop." He smirked against your skin, sliding his nasty fingers out of your cunt to play with your clit, rubbing messy circles to pull more noises out of you.
"Give it to me baby, you like how I'm playing with this pussy..cum for me.."
It was like a command the way your body follow instructions, your legs trembled and your eyes snapped shut as a soft stream of juices leaked out of your throbbing cunt. Your free hand cupped your lips to stop your own gasps feeling Jabber's pace pick up speed, finger fucking your through that harsh orgasm and making you lose focus on his dick at full length twitching in your hand. The thought alone triggered another ball forming inside of your lower stomach.
"Feel..too damn good.."
"I know I do.." His face painted with a smug smile.
Now it was too obvious what the two of you were doing under the blanket with Jabber slamming his knuckles deep inside of your pussy and you pumping him in rough, smooth circles. He took his finger out of your slimy mess one inch at a time, swearing to himself watching you fight to keep him inside. Your juices dribbled down his palm and he couldn't help to sneak a taste before adding to the mix your hand already had, helping you stroke his thick tip.
Jabber tossed his head back and moved his hand to let you finish the job, his dick felt so painfully hard that each throb felt like a cramp. His lower stomach tighten up causing his muscles to flex, prominently showing the sticky mess of your spit and slick staining his skin.9
Your clit shivered and your walls clamped around thin air yearning for something to stuff it full, how could he look this good? Did you miss something after all these years? The way his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, fighting the urge to spill his nut all over your hand, his eyelashes fluttering each time you squeezed his tip it all felt so surreal.
"Where you want it? Where you wanna cum?"
"Ou shit…all over your face.." He whispered back, a tiny laugh trapped in his breath.
"Jay you not finna mess up my hair.."
"I won't I won't…ouu fuck please. Please?" His head popped up to lock his eyes with yours, begging softely without speaking a word. You knew if you went so much as a centimeter closer to his dick it would end up being more than just a quickie, his soft whimpers made the situation no better.
"Shhhh cum on my nails like you promised.." You hummed to him, leaning in to close the heavy air between the two of you. You swirled your tongue around his, releasing one too many moans sending shocks right to his dick. His veins rubbed up against your slick palms as you squeezed your fingers around the tip.
Jabber bucked his hips faster, practically fucking your hand and the only thing you could do was imagine your body riding his dick up and down. You pictured his tip puncturing your cervix and couldn't help but to bite down on his lip harsh to stop yourself from whining into his mouth.
You heard him groan out, swallowing up every syllable he gave feeling his hips stiffen up. You continued your fast movements focusing more on his tip, breaking away from the kiss to keep your eyes on his dick before warm heavy beads of cum spilled out coating your nails just like you envisioned.
"Oh fuck!" You slammed your hand over his mouth not letting up still pumping at full speed and what made matters worse was the flicker of a light upstairs followed by a few footsteps walking around fueling your already anxious thoughts.
"Shit!"
"Bari you sleep?" Antwan's voice boomed from upstairs
"Nah Y/n and nem bout to leave.." He blurted, feeling your hand snatch away. You licked off any evidence on your nails, rubbing your lips together to savor his taste. Without hesitation, Jabber pecked your lips just to sample what you and him would taste like, pulling back to stuff his painfully hard dick back into his pants.
The faster you tried to shuffle, the more you struggled to put your legs back inside of your own pants, you pushed the button through and immediately moved the blanket off of you to sit up straight, hoping the thudding sounds in your head were coming from heart pounding out of your chest and not Antwon walking down the stairs.
You snuck a look behind you before returning back to Jabber rummaging in his pockets for his phone. It would be a lie to say that you wanted to end the night off here. If Antwan wasn't awake, if Jaida wasn't sitting just a few feet away just how far were you planning on going?
He found his phone and went to grab the comforter to place it back into the closet door, tapping away at his phone.
"We still good right? I don't wanna-"
"We cool n/n, get her home I'll see you.." He whispered.
You nodded your head grabbing your keys on the table. You got up and walked over to Jaida in the recliner shaking the piece of furniture to get her up before shaking her body.
"Jai…get up we bout to go.."
"Mmmm!'"
"Un uh! We gotta go home!"
"I'm up I'm up!" She groans, pushing the blanket off of her, placing her feet into her shoes. You watched Jaida prep herself to go while sneaking glances at Jabber trying to shush your cunt from making noise every time you moved your thighs.
"Alright, come on.." She mumbled, rising up out of the chair.
"Get her mean ass on…" Jabber chuckled.
"Night Twon!" You yelled upstairs.
"I'll see you Jabber.."
I’ve seen the requests and i’ve been lurking trust, did not realize it’s been THAT LONG without some Jabari and i do formally apologize, does this make it a little better? (This has a high chance of being a series🤏🏾) Until next time and as always i will imagine with you in the next one
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)
Part 2
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)
•pairing: Fed up Yearner!Eren x Toxic!Black Reader
contains : p in v, toxic reader, tiny bits of fluff, established relationship, unprotected sex, angry sexy, bedroom sex, eren has patience although hes defo ran out of it, porn with a tiny bit of plot, sub reader, dom Eren and sub Reader, big dick Eren, possesive Eren, pet names (princess, baby) , slight angst (i think?) NO aftercare (for a reason).
synopsis: in which you've been fucking around with Eren’s head since high school and he finally decides hes had just about enough of your shit
You and Eren’s relationship was complicated to say the least. Extremely toxic. Except the toxicity never came from him, it was always you. You would kiss and fuck men sometimes doing the exact same with women. And whenever he asked you calmly what the fuck you were doing you simply responded with “I’m not cheating if i’m kissing other women thoughhh?”
He was sick of your shit. But he still stayed, just the loverboy in him. The stupid yearner who’d wanted you since middle school. He stuck by your side like glue and he’d always put up with your shit but today he was over it. He was gonna put you in your place, he had no choice if he wanted you to take him seriously.
But what exactly flipped this switch? Well it wasn’t ideal that you came home at 3 am in the morning, hair messy, tear stained lines imprinted on your face and visible hickeys all over your neck. He was seriously pissed and you had no idea that your games were gonna stop today.
“This what we doing huh Y/N?” He asked with anger laced behind his tone, jaw clenched, muscles flexing.
You giggled, not taking anything seriously as usual but little did you know the Eren that had put up with your shit all this time was long gone.
“What do you mean baby? I haven’t done anything wrong” You huffed as you twirled your fingers through your red lace front, brushing through it in a pathetic attempt to fix your hair, lips forming into a pout. Those big, innocent doe eyes always got the best of him so you assumed it would work again and he’d just ignore your antics as usual. Not this time. Not this time at all. Normally he would just chuckle lowly to himself, not necessarily finding something funny but just laughing it off. But as you looked up at the man in front of you, for the first time in your life you were nervous. You actually had no clue how he would react this time which was strange because you thought you could read him like a book.
“Oh you’re gonna learn today.”
You raised your brow in confusion. What the hell did he mean you were gonna learn? He’d never been this serious before. But when you were thrown on the bed, legs pressed against your chest in the meanest mating press you had finally understood what he meant.
·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ٠✤٠ ٠✤·
“F-fuck Eren i-it’s too much. I-I can’t take anymore.” This was what your 5th orgasm? maybe 6th, you had lost count at this point. You had no clue how long it had even been, you couldn’t even focus on anything other than Eren’s thick cock rearranging your gut.
He grabbed your neck, applying just the right amount of pressure to prove his point as he watched the mixture of his pre and your cum leak out of you just to be stuffed right back in by his girthy cock.
“You’re gonna take it. All. of. it. Until you learn to stop. fucking. playing. with. me.” He thrusted into you through each word, tearing out a series of screams and moans of his name from your pretty lips.
“Tell me who the fuck you belong to. Tell me nobody else fucks you this good.”
He picked up the pace of his thrusts, bringing one hand down from your waist to rub your clit. He had you seeing stars, babbling incoherent nonsense about how big he is and how you cant take anymore.
He slapped your clit irritated by you not responding, causing your body to jolt and the whites of your eyes to roll back.
“I asked you a question princess. You gonna answer or are you still tryna play some game with me.” He pulled out thrusting back into you slow and deep, hitting that spot that made your toes curl.
“Fuck! Y-you Ren. You’re the only ngh person who makes me feel this g-good. I-i’m yours, I-I love y-you so much Rennie!”
He chuckled callously at your pathetic state, feeling you clench around him. He understood exactly what this meant as he picked up his pace, violently rubbing your clit.
“F-Fuck Eren I’m gonna-“
“Cum for me princess, make a mess of things like you always do.”
That sent you over the edge for some sick reason as you came all over his cock, eyes hitting the back of your skull as your legs shook vigorously. He continued his thrusts chasing his own high while fucking you through your own orgasm until he shot his load into you.
You were both out of breath, sweat from Eren’s temple dripped onto your face, chest heaving. You stared him down until he regained the strength to look you in the eye. You both held the most intense eye contact, before you looked away suddenly feeling shy. You had just assumed he’d clean you up and then cuddle you like he always does after you fuck. This time though? Something in the air felt different. It felt harsh, like this was the final time.
It wasn’t until Eren got up, throwing his clothes on in a hurry that you began to latch onto the fact that this was most likely the end for you two.
“Wait where are you going..?” You asked.
He shot you a cold look, “To fuck someone else. Don’t contact me.” He responded harshly, turning away from you and heading towards the door. He slammed it behind him, leaving your fucked out body on the bed exposed. You had finally understood exactly what you had put him through. But you understood too late.
·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ٠✤٠—–•
authors note: it’s been years since i last wrote so sorry this is bad, not proof read at all but credits to the artist of the eren fanart 💞 hope everyone’s healthy and if people like this i’ll consider getting back into writing again
onyankopan was steady. he had a confidence about him that wasn’t subtle, but it also wasn’t arrogant.
he was a dependable man, being the oldest out of 5 siblings. he had a hyper independence factor about him that you tried your best everyday to get him to let go of.
he took care of his people, and had a higher understanding of the way things worked than most people due to experience. he loved in his own unique way.
he was an acts of service man. the kind of man you didn’t even have to ask because he just knew you well. he’s smart and observant, always been the intuitive type.
he’s used to being on his own and doing things alone. he never really minded. there’s been girls he’s courted or try to date but it never really went anywhere and onyakopon couldn’t even try to pretend he cared. he knew he’d be good anyway. until he met you.
the type of man to ask you to be his girlfriend a month in. he knows exactly what he wants and he even waited longer than when he felt like he wanted to ask you because he just wanted you to be just as sure as he was.
the relationship was perfect if you could even believe it. obviously you guys argued or got into tidbits but even those were perfect. onyankopon communicated and you did the same. it made the relationship so much easier.
“come on girl, ain’t got all day.” he was rushing you. you hatedd when he rushed you.
“this my world, we got all day if i say we do.” you challenged him.
he rolled his eyes, “you got 10 minutes. you putting on your setting spray so i know you done with makeup. put that perfume and body oil on and let’s get the hell up outta here. this restaurant strict with late reservations.”
he knew your routine so well, studied every little detail about you.
unfortunately you did as he said and you both walked out the house, with correlating/matching outfits on.
he opened the passenger door for you where there was a big bouquet of flowers waiting.
“ony, you didn’t! these are so prettyyy! thank you baby.” you looked up at him with stars in your eyes and put your hands to his face, giving him a kiss.
“you was meant for me beautiful. you deserve nothing less and everything more. and ima give you that everytime.” he gave you another kiss and moved the flowers to the back so he can guide you into the car.
onyonkapon also knew he was made just as much for you than anything else. and he knows he’ll die a happy man living with that.
—You piss my b°tches off like a potty. Can't keep these nigg°s off of your body. I wanna put it all in your body.
Wanna get in your drawers 'til my d°ck is soft, let my d°ck dissolve in your body.
‘Dunk Contest,’ Cash Cobain
P.2 -> P.1 here, P.3 here
7.9k!Warnings: oral (fem. receiving), p*ssydrunk, filthy talk, *verstimulation, riding c*wgirl, b*ckshots, rough s*x, back-to-back rounds & c*mming, low refr*ctory periods, use of pet names (Mama, Fat Ma), safe & c*ndomless s*x, accidental recording during s*x (caught on security cam), exaggerated descriptions of p*netration, excessive amounts of ej*culation, squ*rting, tummy bulge, qu*efing, cr*ampie, descriptions of character’s body parts (curvaceous/thick/girthy), original characters
ask and you shall recieve (tags, if you want me to remove you, lmk!) @jetlagged5sos @prettypink-princesss @conniesrockstargf | banner @strangergraphics
His dick is way too hard off of just eating the pussy.
Shit’s never gotten him this excited.
Most times, giving head is just a performance of “niceties” to him. If the girl he’s fucking with at the moment wants it, cool. If she doesn’t, that’s cool, too.
But, clearly Diamanté’s something special.
Real special, alright.
He just wants to put his mouth on her and devour her pussy until he passes out from lack of air.
And he couldn’t give a fuck less about the hair-thing—fuck it, he thinks it makes her taste even better. He swears he could cum off of her shit alone.
“‘Jani?”
His daze breaks and he recognizes worry on her face.
“Shit.”
“What?” She tries to sit up straighter. Her eyes search his for any sign of regret.
Did this just ruin things between them? God, she prays it didn’t.
“I wanna eat it again.”
Fear drops from her face as his words set in. It’s too funny for him not to laugh. His head falls into her chest, and as laughter wracks through him, Diamanté finds herself joining in.
“Nah, but … I ain’t joking, though.”
“Shut up,” she smiles, pushing his head back.
“What? You not tryna let me?”
She kisses her perfect teeth with the roll of her eyes.
“Shit was so wet,” he smirks, stretching his hands up her thick thighs. “M’trynna drown in it,” he mumbles into her neck.
“Oh my gosh,” she says softly, feeling her shy nature return.
A soft hum rumbles from his throat as he presses his soft lips to her hot skin. “C’mon, Dia’.”
A clipped gasp leaves her as she jumps. Gentle fingers push softly past her lips to gently stroke her clit.
“Ajani,” she whines with a pout. “I’m sensitive.”
He plants a tiny smooch at the crook of her neck and shoulder. “Want me to stop?”
“Mmh…”
The tip of his tongue kitten-licks her smooth skin. “Tell me to stop.”
Her skinny fingers wrap around the bicep of the hand he’s got between her legs.
“Tell me.”
She mewls, hips twitching shyly.
“Mhm.” He lifts his head to stare at the desperate look on her cute, round face. “Go ‘head.”
Her hips almost do a full rock before she’s stopping herself, trying to hold back. Her lips part with a shaky breath.
“C’mon … get that nut, baby.”
His words place confidence within in her movements. He slides his hand deeper between her legs, offering up more of himself.
She rocks her pussy against the heel of his palm, riding him. His dick pulses, watching her use his hand to get off. Her juices collect all over his fingers.
“Hah—yes … y-yes,” she whines as quiet as possible.
But he can still hear it. And he wants to hear more. He wants her to be louder.
As she shifts against the heel of his palm, he teases her quivering pussy with his fingers. Her lower stomach sucks in as she inches closer to her release.
“Shit so warm,” he says to himself, burying the pads of his fingers into her walls. “Need’a be in that.”
Her thighs clamp around his wrist and her hand squeezes his arm with all its might.
“Need’a be in that pussy so bad.”
A broken moan flutters from her. Her hips stop as her pussy chokes on his fingers. She’s only still for a full second when a harsh shudder wracks throughout her body.
Before he can even ask, he feels her hot, wet milky release dribble down his fingers and hand.
Heavy bouts of air puff out of her as she trembles from her orgasm.
It’s only been the second time, but Ajani can safely admit to himself that he loves watching her cum. He thinks he can become obsessed with it, honestly.
Coming out of his thoughts, he realizes just how quiet she is. Before he gets the chance to comment on it, her smaller arms wrap gently over his shoulders and she rest her head against his chest.
“You good?” He chuckles.
She nods wordlessly, eyes falling closed.
He uses his other hand to rub her back, hoping to soothe her.
“You tired?”
She nods again, much slower this time.
“Aight.”
He pulls away from her only to get out of the pool. And as he walks towards her, he can only laugh at the drowsy look on her face.
But the look only lasts so long when her eyes widen. Against his left leg, his dick print is way too visible. Especially with how his swim trunks cling to his skin.
“What?” He looks down at where her gaze is pointed to and he tucks his lips as an awkward smile pulls at his face. “Shit.”
She points to it. “Are you—“
“Don’t worry ‘bout that. You wanna go to bed?”
She takes one more glance at his erection before nodding.
He holds out a hand and she grabs it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. As she stands, her legs tingle.
For a split second, he catches just a glimpse of her pussy before she shields herself with her hands.
His dick twitches and he’s gotta cover himself, hoping she hadn’t noticed. He even tries pushing it down some.
“Where’s my bottoms?” In all of that craziness, she hadn’t even realized where they’d gone.
When they both look around, they quickly spot it floating in the pool water.
“Shit, my fault,” Ajani says.
She pouts, staring at it.
“I could get ‘em for you,” he offers.
“They’re gonna be cold and wet.”
He almost coos at her frowny face.
“And I hate going commando,” she groans softly. “Damn…”
He’s quiet for a moment, thinking, as she cries over spilled milk.
“I knew I should’ve brought an extra—oh my gosh!”
Her stomach swoops as she’s hoisted up. Instinctively, her legs wrap tight around his waist and her arms do the same around his shoulders.
“Ajani!”
“What? It seemed like the only other option, you was complaining about everything else.”
“I-I’m not even wearing anything.” Her voice is small and she almost wants to hide her face.
“And that’s supposed to matter to me?”
Her back is so straight it’s almost arched, as she’s hyper aware of his hands on her ass to hold her up. That, and the fact that there’s less of an inch of space between his abs and her pussy.
She definitely has to be careful.
“You wanna come down?”
She averts her gaze. “Don’t drop me…”
The corners of his lips rise into a crooked smile before he brings them inside. As they enter the dark house, warm air sheathes them.
“Bedroom’s upstairs,” he breathes out as he nears the staircase.
“Oh, I can come down if you—oh.”
He hoists her up higher right before climbing the steps. His grip on her tightens as he holds her closer.
And, of course, she doesn’t say anything. He won’t either. But, Ajani would be lying if he said that her pussy pressed against his stomach isn’t something that excites him.
With each step, her body does a tiny bounce. And with every bounce, her breathing gets heavier and heavier. Until she lets out a squeak.
When he trumps the final step, she sighs out in relief as the friction between them lessens.
Finally, they enter the bedroom, and she can’t be happier to see a bed. Gently, he sets her down on the large mattress with a grunt.
“Hoo!” he breathes out, hands on his hips. “Shit was a whole workout.”
“Shut up,” she giggles.
Quiet as he tries to regain his breath, he trudges towards the shuttered balcony doors and pushes them open.
A soft breeze shuffles into the room and it feels great on their heated skins.
Practically forgetting his presence in the room, Diamanté stretches against the pristine, white sheets. She practically moans as her back arches deeply, ass sticking up higher than her shoulders.
Standing off to the side, Ajani only watches her with folded arms and low eyes.
She don’t even know how sexy that shit is.
His arms fall to his sides, only for a hand to ghost over his front. Mindlessly, he squeezes his dick through his trunks.
Slowly, she melts into the sheets. Body relaxed, her eyes flutter open to find him still across the room, watching her.
“You wanna go to sleep?”
His voice has got a tired rasp to it. That’s how she knows they’ve been up for too long. And yet, she’s embarrassed about the way her pussy clenches just from the sound of it.
Embarrassed by who? For what?
She only shrugs.
Ajani smiles. She doesn’t hear the tiny breath of amusement that leaves him.
“So what you staying up for? Thought you was tired.”
The bottom of her lip catches between her teeth before she gives a lazy half-shrug.
“Fucking liar.”
She rolls her eyes, a smile pulling her bottom lip from her teeth. Letting the expression speak for itself, she closes her eyes.
The only light in the room is from the moon as it spills in from the open doors.
In such little amount of light, she looks ethereal. Fuck it if that sounds corny, but that’s the only word that comes to mind as he’s looking at her.
“Stop staring at me and come to bed,” she mumbles, eyes still closed.
“My shorts still wet.”
“Take them off.”
She almost didn’t even believe the words that came out of her own mouth. Her eyes open, seeing the smile on his face only deepen.
“Yeah, you keep up that bold shit.”
Only a couple of seconds pass until he pushes himself off of the wall. And just the same, Diamanté’s body moves without thought.
She sits up and her braids fall over her shoulders. An idea spurs in her head, but she second-guesses it. Just do it, her brain whispers to her.
There’s no objection.
As Ajani steps closer, she reaches behind herself to pull at the strings keeping her bikini up.
He halts when her swim top is thrown off of the side of the bed. Her small, perky titties are out for him to see.
His mouth waters, desperate to curl around and suck on one of her chocolate drop nipples.
He can still see the hickie he put near one of them.
“Okay,” he nods.
Maybe it’s the fatigue that’s getting to her brain and swallowing up her usual meek nature.
My turn, he thinks.
He doesn’t break eye contact as he pulls the drawstring on his trunks loose. There’s only so much stalling one can do when it comes to undressing. He peels the shorts off.
As he pushes the wet fabric down his skin, his dick softly bobs in the warm air as it’s released.
She prays he didn’t see the way her eyes widened by a fraction—certainly more awake than she was just a couple of seconds ago.
He’s so thick. She almost winces, thinking about how he’d probably split her open. Her pussy weeps just thinking about it.
A tiny bushel of dark, curly hair lays at the base of his dick, neatly trimmed. And she knows she can hardly see in the relative darkness, but from what the moonlight exposes—his dick is so pretty.
She can’t believe she’d ever think something like that about one of her best friends.
But the smooth, deep brown skin is alluring. His two-toned tip fades from a lush pink to a brown. Not only is he thick, but he’s got a mean curve that will definitely fuck up her walk.
Only a few inches of space separate them as he stands at the edge of the bed, staring down at her. He wets his bottom lip, so tempted to touch her.
“Lemme eat it one more time.”
She doesn’t even nod. She only sits back on her elbows and parts her legs. Beneath her lashes and her glasses, her big doe eyes look up at him.
He has to remind himself to keep his cool.
Carefully, he gets down on his knees before the bed and pulls her closer to the edge by her thighs.
His dick jumps, watching her open up for him again.
This time around, Diamanté keeps a hand on his head, tugging at his braids. It’s enchanting, watching him feast on her.
His jaw works tirelessly to pull every sound and drop out of her.
Her grip on his braids tighten as he turns his head to tongue-kiss her pussy deeper.
“Mmh,” she mewls like a kitten, pushing her hips into his face.
His jaw glistens under the few streaks of moonlight that hit on them. He sounds like he’s in a heated make-out session with someone, and she can’t even believe that she’s that wet.
With her tight grip, she pulls. His spine almost curls and she feels his mouth slacken as he moans into her.
She bites down on her lower lip, liking that he seems to enjoy this treatment. So, she waits another minute before pulling again.
He moans louder. This time, pushing a hand down, between himself and the bed.
She hisses as he laps at her clit. Her pussy only ever clenches, finding it impossible to stop as he pays it so much attention.
She yanks on his hair, and he’s got to squeeze his dick to keep from cumming. But, of course, his eyes roll back until they close.
His mouth never stops, though, buried in her pool of honey.
“‘Jani,” she moans softly.
Her breath hitches cutely. As he holds one of her thighs, he feels it tremble beneath his hand.
Finally, he comes up for air. His eyes are low, stuck in a trance-like state. Pussy-whipped is the better term.
He stares at her messy cunt, dripping with slobber and slick. Pursing his lips, he pushes out frothy bubbles of spit. It drips down on her. When it lands, he’s opening his mouth wide to take her mound in.
Slowly he releases each part of her until her clit is the only thing he’s sucking on. He releases that, too, with a loud pop.
Then she’s right back in his mouth, eyes closed as he runs his wide tongue all through her sopping folds and crevices.
And the taste is so addicting, he can’t stop drinking from her. He hasn’t even noticed the telltale signs of her body tensing. Let alone acknowledged when her pussy was sputtering out a third release for the night.
He only sopped it right up, coaxing for more.
“A-Ajani—oh … fuck,” her voice breaks and her thighs squeeze his head so hard, trapping him in her.
She doesn’t mean to, but she’s yanking on his hair so hard that he’s got no choice but to release her from his mouth.
And that’s only because his lips part to groan out incoherently into her. His dick shoots out thick spurts of cum before he can stop it.
He can’t even breathe, and he doesn’t think he wants to. ‘Cause if he had to choose a way to go out, this would be it; suffocated from being face-deep in Diamanté’s pussy.
When her thighs finally open, she has to push his head back for him to get air.
“No more,” she pleads, believing that round of this would definitely kill her.
His mouth is open, like he’s ready to beg for more. But, as he inhales, the fog over him lifts and his common sense slowly returns.
“My fault,” he croaks.
As he licks his lips, tasting what’s left of her, he gets the urge to go back in for more. But his self-control is just strong enough to hold himself back.
However, nothing stops him from staring as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Tiny bubbles of her leftover release dribble from her slowly clenching hole. The milky essence slides down the valley of her ass cheeks, disappearing between them.
“Your … hair.”
Slowly, he looks up at her. It takes his brain seconds to catch up.
“Oh…” He reaches up to run a hand through the frizz, noting how messy they’ve gotten. “S’cool.”
Dia’ stares at him, eyes wide with concern. But, she cannot stop the laugh that bursts out of her. She tries to stop it up with a hand to the mouth, but it doesn’t work.
Tiredly, he laughs along. But his laughter is quickly intercepted by the words: “Oh … shiiit.”
The mess he made against the bed frame, his thighs, and his hand finally catches his notice.
“What?” She sits up to look where he’s looking, only to give the same reaction. “Oh my gosh,” she whispers, a surprised smile lifting her lips.
“Fuck,” he laughs. “Aw shit…”
She peers down at him from on top of the bed, a mischievous, kitten-like smile on her lips.
“Didn’t know you liked hair pulling.”
He kisses his teeth with the shake of his head, braids flopping around. “Shit, me neither.”
Carefully, Diamanté climbs off of the bed and pads over to the bathroom connected to the room.
The countertop is littered with a couple of Ajani’s toiletries.
She gathers a good enough amount of toilet paper in her hand. But, before she leaves the bathroom, she catches her reflection in the mirror.
Yet another gasp slips past her lips for the night as she finds that huge ass hickey on her chest.
Even against her deep brown skin, the blooming mixture of red and purple is harshly visible.
At least no one else will see it.
She exits the bathroom, running on her tip-toes to get back to Ajani.
“Here.”
She sticks out her hand, offering the toilet paper wad for him to use.
“‘Preciate it.” Gingerly, he takes it and begins wiping up his mess.
Speaking of mess, her eyes really widen when she sees the huge wet spot, soaked into the sheet.
“How are we gonna clean this up?”
“Hm?” He picks his head up to the messy bed. “It’s cool. Long as we throw it in the washer, we good.”
“Oh my God, what about your friend? He’s gonna be so mad we did this in his house.”
The fear on her face is hilarious. He can only laugh.
“Chill, he don’t gotta know.”
“This isn’t funny—this is his bed.”
“One of ‘em.” He stands at full height, almost wincing at the way his knees click. “This just his vacation house, he not even here most’a the year.”
His words do little ease her worries.
“If it makes you feel better …” He quickly dumps the soiled tissue in the bathroom toilet and flushes it. “There’s only cameras in the front yard and back,” he announces as he comes back out.
“The … backyard?”
“Yeah.”
“The backyard? Where we just came from?”
“Yea—oh…”
She stares at him with wide eyes and her mouth agape.
But it’s too late to do some shit about it now.
He releases a sigh. “Let’s hope he don’t look at the footage.”
“This is so bad,” she frowns.
“Relax, okay?”
“We were being fucking recorded.”
And he can’t lie, the thought of that makes his dick just a tiny bit stiff. Admittedly, there’s a teeny, tiny part of him that wishes he could have the footage. But, he has to remain focused.
“If he seen us, I’m sure he would’a called me by now.”
“How would you know? You don’t even have your phone!”
He opens his mouth to object, but he quickly realizes she’s right. Her words remind him that they’d left their devices outside.
“Go check!” she whisper-yells.
“Alright.”
Quickly, he pulls his swim trunks back on to head back out into the backyard. The soft yellow lights and torches are the only things illuminating the rather still space.
Standing in the midst of it all, he peers up to search for the supposed camera out here.
There’s one hidden in one of the palm trees. Another connected to the house, just beneath the part of the roof that juts out.
So they definitely caught that shit.
Inhaling deeply, he forces himself to look away and search for their phones instead. He’d found them on a small side table near the lounge area they’d been seated at.
He double-taps his screen; 3:42 in the morning.
Goddamn.
He swipes at his notifications, finding it empty. Relief floods him.
Before he returns to the house, he swipes up his and Diamanté’s shoes, her biker shorts and sweater, and her swim suit bottoms from the pool.
He makes a pit stop at the laundry room, throwing all of their clothes—his swim trunks included—into the washer before heading back to the bedroom.
Sitting on the bed, chewing one of her nails in worry, is how Ajani finds her.
“Here,” he says, tossing her his phone.
She catches it, opening it to find a couple of messages from their shared group chat and some lone ones from Aleya, telling her to let her know when she gets home.
Clicking off the phone, she rests it face down next to her.
“Did he say anything.”
He shakes his head. “Not a peep. So can we relax now?”
She gives a displeased hum, but doesn’t say anymore regarding the topic after that.
“Where are your pants?”
He glances down at himself. “Oh, yeah—found all our shit outside and I threw the clothes into the washer downstairs.”
She nods.
“I got our shoes, too.” He nods over to their slides near the bedroom door.
“Thank you.”
“Mhm.” He comes to sit at the edge of the bed, sighing out.
“Why didn’t you come get the sheets for the washer?”
“One … I ain’t even think that far,” he laughs, and she gives a small chuckle of her own. “And, two … I’on know, maybe we not … done, yet.” He barely shrugs, keeping his gaze forward.
And Diamanté finds herself getting giddy. As she stares at him from behind, a tiny smile breaks through on her face.
Her lack of a response makes him look back at her, scared that might’ve meant some form of a silent rejection.
But, when he sees that smile on those beautiful lips, he doesn’t have shit to worry about.
Whose idea was it to ride?
Hers?
Or his?
Was he the one that suggested it and she went along with it?
Maybe it was the other way around?
Either way, his back rests against the wooden headboard, head angled up as he watches her hover over his lap.
A hand on his shoulder to balance herself, and the other holding his dick up.
“S’right there,” he whispers softly, a hand on her left thigh and rubbing circles into the smooth skin with his thumb. “You got it.”
Her eyes fall closed as she rubs his fat tip against her clit and drags it to her slick opening.
She hopes to gather as much moisture as possible and to coax herself to relax. Her pussy weeps on his latex-covered head as she presses it in.
A soft cry falls from her as she pushes herself lower, his wide head splitting her open—just as she predicted.
His breath wavers as he’s plunged into her warmth.
“Fuck … so fuckin’ tight,” he whispers. His hand on her thigh grips harder.
“Mmh—I can’t. I can’t, I can’t,” she whines, face screwing up as her hips locks up, thighs burning and shaking.
“Just go slow,” he soothes. “Go slow, baby.”
His hand snakes up her thigh to hold her hip as his other takes ahold of his dick. Catching on, she places both of her hands on each of his shoulders and slowly lifts.
Only the tip of the condom is soaked, clinging to his skin tighter than the rest.
“Try again,” he tells her.
This time, he’s the one to place himself at her entrance, but it’s at an angle. And when he pushes her back down, she glides with ease down what she’d already taken before.
That’s about when the easy part ends.
“Fuck, fuuck,” she trembles.
Peering down between them, she’s got so much more left to take. And he only gets wider towards the base.
Ajani clenches his jaw, trying to keep his hips still. She’s got about three inches down, only a third of the way there.
Her pussy spasms around him, releasing small rivulets of moisture down his length.
“Fu—s-stop doing that.”
She doesn’t respond, only focused on trying to take him. A gentle push from him has her sinking down an inch further; almost halfway there.
“S’too big,” she cries, shaking her head.
If he wasn’t so focused on not losing himself, he would have probably made a joke about that.
She lifts back up, leaving just the tip in. They feel like they can both breathe a little better. Pearlescent slick covers a little less than half of him, like he’d been dipped in vanilla glaze.
Fingers still pressing into his shoulders, Diamanté shifts on her knees before trying for a third time to take him. Still, she only makes it about as far as she’d gotten previously.
“This is taking too long,” she whines.
“I—shit … I might gotta way for you to do it.”
“Hurry.”
He releases himself to bring his hand between her legs.
“Wait—“
Once again, his thumb has found her clit. And he wastes no time rubbing and flicking. Her body ticks and her hips stutter.
“A-oh—“
As she clenches repeatedly around him, she gets another inch in.
The nonstop attention to her clit has her body forgetting all about the thick length it’s split over, and focusing only on the pleasure she receives.
Her pussy keeps clenching and unclenching, and it gets sloppy—oozing all over his dick as it squeezes him.
“I … I think—“
Globs of thick, milky release seep out of her and down his length. As her pussy relaxes, her body slides with far more ease, pulling a moan out of her.
They’ve got just a handful of inches left, and Ajani believes it’s just enough for him to push the last few it.
So he does it.
And she damn near chokes out, spine straightening as a hand pushes at his chest.
“That’s it, you took it,” he whispers to her.
Her head falls to his shoulder as her body tries to adjust to being stretched so wide.
And with every spasm of her walls, he can’t stop himself from twitching, setting off another chain of spasms.
She whines. The muscles in her thighs jump and her ass keeps clenching. Everything about her body is just so tight.
And he needs to get her to loosen up before he releases into this condom.
“Relax,” he hushes her whimpers. “Just relax.”
He’s sure she can hear the strain in his voice. Nevertheless, he rakes his hands up and down her back, rubbing slowly.
“You good.”
Both have caress the expanse of her back, his touch only making her body react more. As his hands come back down, they reach all the way down to her ass. His fingers outstretch to cover the huge globes of fat.
She knows whatever’s she’s feeling won’t reside. He’s touching every spot in her. She’s sure he’s pressed right up against her cervix. And the curve in his dick definitely hits her G-spot dead on.
She can hardly breathe. The ache is so deep, she swears he’s in her stomach.
There’s nowhere left for him to move. Pressed against her walls, she can feel the blood pumping throughout him even through the condom.
A harsh squeeze to her ass pulls a drawn out moan from her. She squeezes impossibly tighter.
“Shit, Dia’.” He squeezes his eyes shut as they almost roll back “Please, tell me I could move.”
He tries not to make the shivering in his arms so obvious, but he’s not sure how much longer he can withstand this.
“Please,” he swallows thickly. “Please.”
His heart beats wildly in his chest, she can feel it against hers.
“So f-fuckin’ deep,” he groans. “Gripping me … so tight,” his breath shudders.
He can barely keep his eyes open.
“Just wanna …”
His hips shift just a tiny bit, and they both can’t hold their moans.
“God—“ He hisses, feeling as though another wave of water just hit him. He’s drowning. He’s fucking drowning and he can’t save himself.
“Fuck—please.”
His hands push at her hips, barely dragging them. As the sensation has him bucking up into her.
She cries out, the sound only making him twitch.
“So good,” he licks his lips.
Slowly, he rocks her against him, taking all the control, even as she whines out.
“Pussy so good … could die in this shit.”
“G-God—“ she claws at his back, but he doesn’t even feel it.
“Fuuuck, Mama” he drags out, using her body like a sleeve to fuck on.
She can only take it, feeling his dick abuse her G-spot and cervix. Hiccups wrack through her.
Ajani’s too gone to even stop. His head has fallen against the headboard, eyes rolled back as he’s balls deep in her.
He only presses her down impossibly harder, digging as deep as humanly possible.
She writhes in his lap, her stomach aching so good. Moans pour out of her. Her clit rubs nonstop over the dark curls at the base of his dick, giving her the perfect amount of friction paired with penetration.
They’re a creamy mess, her pussy sloshing and squishing around him. Together they churn thick, frothy white cream where their bodies meet.
“Hah … hhaah … auuh fuck,” he moans out, getting louder and louder.
There’s no stopping himself. He’s completely gone off of her—pushing and pulling her faster and harder.
“Fuuck! FUUCK!”
“‘Ja—”
Her face clinches and she can’t even take a break as her pushes spews around the dick impaling her guts.
Her squirt stream beats down on him, and yet it’s not enough to push the thick, heavy length out of her.
The repeated stimulation has her release lasting over a minute. His lap is covered in water, completely soaked, only making it easier for her to glide over him.
“Best pussy,” he pants, brain complete mush as he continues.
She squeals out at the overstimulation.
“Best pussy … swear to God,” he cries out, voice scratching his throat.
He doesn’t even realize that he’s cum into the condom, filling it up.
“‘Ja-ani,” she chokes out.
And finally, he begins to slow. The harsh spurts and gurgles her pussy makes are much more pronounced.
“Wanna … give so much,” he babbles, thoughtlessly. “Give you everything … all’a it.”
She thinks she just had another orgasm, she can’t even tell. But the slick, cream beneath her only grows in size.
The force he uses to push her lightens immensely until she’s no longer being moved.
Her chest rises and falls as she gulps down air, him too. They’re immobile, but her cunt still clamps softly around him every now and then.
She swears his dick has made her go numb. Until she feels a twitch, and realizes—
“Y-you’re still hard?”
“Fuck,” he mumbles. “Y-you sure?”
She nods weakly, trying not to move a great deal. Her pussy feels swollen, pulsing around him—lips and all.
He taps her ass. “Up.”
Help is required as she slowly lifts off of him. The ache gets worse and she almost cries when he’s finally out.
He expected to see himself flop out of her, dick completely spent. But the sight of himself still painfully hard and standing at attention gets him.
Not only that, but the mess they’ve made; His lap is covered in her squirt and cream. Frothy white sheathes his entire length, all nine and a half inches completely drenched in her releases. He twitches.
She stares at it, almost unable to believe that was just in her.
“Fuck,” he sighs out, dragging a tired hand down his face.
Carefully, he gets out of bed to pad to the bathroom. She stares at the doorway, hearing him hiss and utter curses.
“D-did you finish?”
“I’on know!”
Diamanté sits, watching and waiting. She hopes he did. She doesn’t know how she’ll feel, knowing she couldn’t even make him finish.
She knows it probably has nothing to do with her, but the fear is still there. She chews on her bottom lip.
“Fuck, I did!” he yells from the bathroom. “Yo, what the fuck!”
He doesn’t come back out until after a minute or two, cleaned off and condom-free. He holds himself down.
“We don’t gotta go again if you not feeling it. I feel like that was a lot for you, not tryna … wear you out.”
She only looks at his dick, noting how hard he is. “What about you?”
He kisses his teeth. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Might just … go in the shower or something,” he points back to the bathroom.
He knows damn well beating his dick won’t do shit, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Well …” she looks off to the side. “I don’t think I wanna stop.”
His brows raise. “You—you wanna go again?”
She nods.
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” she says softly.
God, it’s her fault. This is all her fault. She’s the reason why he’s this hard. That sexy, deviant-ass energy she tries to hide.
“Okay,” he says, breathlessly.
It’s hard for his brain to make connections, but soon he’s at his luggage, rifling through it like he did the first time when he was looking for a condom.
It’s supposed to be quick. Two minutes—at most. But two minutes turn to three. Three becomes four, and four to six.
He’s getting antsy.
“The fuck…?”
“What?”
“I can’t … yo—I can’t find it!”
“Find what?” She shifts, trying to peak and see.
“A rubber!”
He continues to search but comes up empty-handed.
“Fuck, I think I’m outta condoms.” He sucks his teeth, throwing down the balled up shirt in hands. “Fuck.”
A tiny pout befalls her lips as she watches him.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Mama.” He makes his wake back over to the bed, sitting at the edge, his head in his hands. “Think that’s it for the night.”
She looks down at the mess between her thighs. The faint pulse in her pussy is still there, and she knows it’s not going away any time soon.
“We … we can do it.”
He picks his head up to peer back at her with furrowed brows.
“Just pull out … if you want to.” She tries to do a little shrug.
It was a measly attempt at trying to come off as some small idea she’d just thought up on the spot.
But she can’t lie to him. Not like this.
He’s known her for too long to know that she doesn’t make decisions without some ounce of heavy overthought.
His eyes squint. “If I want to pull out or if I wanna fuck raw?”
She shrugs, resting her chin on her knees as she hugs her legs.
“You need’a stop doing this to me.”
She smiles, noting the playful warning.
“You on anything?”
“The shot.”
And that was all he needed to know.
He’s got her on her back, legs pulled up to her chest, the view of her ‘5☆’ tattoo between her thick ass thighs.
Five star for sure.
Jewelry dangles from her ankles. And her pointed, square-acrylic toes curl cutely above her pussy.
The shiny lips are puffy from the beating his dick gave her. And her clit is almost engorged.
She’s the perfect picture, staring up at him and spread open. If she wanted him to, he would put every part of her body in his mouth.
But that’s for another time.
He positions his tip at her entrance and immediately her pussy kisses his tip, her insides playing peek-a-boo with him. His braids hang in his face, too far away for her to pull on.
“Fat ma’ missed me?”
She whines softly, her toes curling up some.
Leaning down, he’s got one hand at the beside her head. “Yeah … I know she did.”
He drops his dick in her, driving the heavy weight through her tight warmth. Her mouth pulls open, eyes closing as she lets out a moan.
“Know she did,” he says through gritted teeth. “Look how she’s fucking taking me.”
Her cunt is stretched wide open, pulled around his girth. And watching it from this angle only makes him want to ruin her pussy further.
A harsh whimper and a hand pressed to his lower stomach stops him.
“Y-you’re on my spot,” her voice shakes.
He’s just a little more than halfway, and he’s still got more dick to give. Much more stretch, too.
“You could take it.”
The hand on his stomach retreats to hover over her pussy.
“O-oh God—”
He pulls out by just an inch before bullying his dick all the way in.
She babbles out sounds that he can’t quite piece together. And he’s not sure what’s got her feeling so different this time, when he peers down and sees the faint outline of himself in her stomach.
“Awe shit,” he laughs.
He delivers shallow strokes that make her writhe beneath him, just to see himself move inside of her.
Her mewls are so cute, and he loves hearing her react.
“I’m in your stomach?”
She nods, face clenched tight.
“Yeah?”
Just as she’s about to nod, she freezes as his strokes hit deeper and harder.
“Fuck … all in it … fuckin’ you so deep,” he mumbles, eyes right on her stomach.
Her body trembles. Every inch he pushes in, globs of honey spurt out as she creams around him.
“Pussy s-so good t’me—fuck.”
His dick twitches and he has to stop himself from releasing. She’s so much wetter, allowing him to glide with a bit more ease.
“Creamin’ all on my shit.”
His hands move to grip underneath her knees and push them all the way back to her ears.
A sharp squeal pushes out of her lungs as he slams all 9 1/2 inches in and out of her. Over and over, never letting up.
Her cream splashes back on him, making his lower half filthy. Every thrust has his heavy balls smacking against her ass.
“Fuuuck,” he groans, eyes rolling back. He buries his head in her neck, rolling his hips into her.
Her pussy bubbles and froths around him, being gagged by his dick. The smack of their bodies colliding is music to his ears, paired with her moans, only spurring him on more.
“So good … so good. Wanna give it t’you. Gi’ you everything … my f-fuckin’ kids—“
She hiccups, arms shivering as they’re thrown over his shoulders.
He presses sloppy, open-mouth kisses to her neck. The feeling makes her shudder.
“Lemme—“ he swallows. “Cum in this pussy.”
She whimpers. “Mm-yours!”
“S’mine?”
She cries out what is her best attempt at shouting ‘yes!’
“This pussy all mine, Mama?”
She nods eagerly. “Y-yes!”
Ajani releases one of her knees and pulls up enough just to grab her in the space between her jaw and neck.
He drops a kiss on her lips, sucking on her bottom lip. His hand tightens around her neck as he plunges his tongue in her mouth.
He moves at a languid pace, dragging out each and every stroke. His hips press all the way in stopping only to move in circles against her.
Her lips slacken in the kiss and he’s in full control as she’s momentarily paralyzed by his dick, mixing her guts.
When he comes up for air, pulling out of her, too, he marvels at the sight between them. Solid white strings of her cum create webs connecting them. The farther he pulls away, the gooey ropes sink as they’re weighed down by gravity.
His dick and balls are covered in his frothy cream once again. But as he looks at her clenching pussy, it forces out thick globs of the matching substance onto the sheets.
Staring at Diamanté feels like sucking on a honey pack, because he just can’t stop. He’s so hard for her.
Dick twitching, he grabs himself, running a tight fist along his length at he stares at her. He really only meant to do a couple of pulls. But as he stares at her, almost passed out, pussy gaping and weeping for him, he can’t seem to stop.
His hand just keeps going, and going, and going and—
“Fuuuck … aah … shit,” he hisses, shooting out thick ropes of cum right on her clit.
It drips, mixing with her release. Some even dips in the cavern of her pussy, swallowed by the rhythmic contractions her body makes.
And he almost wishes that was the end of it, because it’s beginning to get ridiculous. But his dick barely softens in his hand.
“What the fuck,” he whispers, staring down at himself.
“You didn’t … cum inside.”
He looks up, seeing her low eyes staring back at him. She’s got a lazy hand between her legs, fingers caressing her sloppy pussy and mixing their cum together.
She pushes three fingers in, reaching quite far. He watches with curiosity, waiting for something—he doesn’t know what—to happen.
Then she plunges her fingers in yet again and a loud, wet pffft escapes from her pussy. A moan follows after. And finally, a new bout of cream pours from around her fingers.
And she just keeps going, whimpering like a wounded animal as she digs into her G-spot.
How he’s able to get any harder is beyond him. But he’s got to do something about this.
Grabbing her wrist softly, he pulls her fingers out. She whines, desperate to be filled.
“I’ma get you … relax.”
In just one night, she’s been reduced to a moaning mess, unable to even form full sentences.
He flips her on her stomach, bringing her hips up, her knees buried into the mattress.
Her ass is heavenly from this view. Spread hips and cheeks plump and bubbly. All of her stretch mark and cellulite has him wanting to cop a feel.
So he does. His hands spread over one cheek, rubbing circles into it. Only to lift a hand and drop it back down with a heavy smack.
She cries out, back arching. That’s all he wanted—bracing either sides of her waist with his hands, he presses most of his body weight down onto her, deepening her arch.
Keeping one hand in the middle of her back, he uses the other to line himself up with her. Then, he pushes in.
“Augh—shiiiiit!” She moans, pussy spasming.
He returns his other hand to her back as he drops his dick into her stomach.
The most pathetic sounds come out of her as she reaches back to push at his stomach. That doesn’t last long, as he’s grabbing her arms and twisting them behind her back.
“Want me to pull out?”
Her back expands and shrinks with every deep breath. But he hasn’t seen her nod her head yes (even as it’s buried in the sheets).
“Hm?”
She groans deeply into the comforter. Her pussy clenched tightly around him.
“That’s a ‘yes’?” He begins to pull out.
“No,” she sobs.
He smirks, before shoving back in. His thrusts keeps her quiet as he beats her walls down. Her body jerks harshly against the sheets, ass clapping back against him.
The recoil has him in a trance. And he’s losing his fucking mind over it.
“Pussy huggin’ me … she don’t want me t-to leave.”
Hips make heavy smacks against cheeks, piercing their ears.
“Oh God … o-oh—GOD—“ Her stomach aches as her pussy convulses around him.
“Gonna put a baby in this shit … swear to God,” he moans, gripping her waist tight.
He props one leg up, foot to the mattress, to get more leverage. His braids dangle over his eyes, but that doesn’t stop him from digging in her shit. Almost like he’s angry.
“Been wanting you … s-so long,” he grunts.
With one last stroke, he punches his hips into her and keeps them pressed to her ass.
“Never wanna leave this shit … just wanna—stay in it.”
Labored breaths leave him as he bucks his hips into her, never pulling out.
He stills, allowing either of them to really feel each other. Where they’re conjoined, cum drips from them onto the sheets below. It’s a sopping puddle.
Her legs are trembling so much, he almost laughs. Instead, he licks his lips. His hands move on their own accord, rubbing and spreading her cheeks.
Her little, puckered hole winks at him, untouched.
So he spits on it, loving the way her she twitches. He rubs his spit into the hole, threatening to push the tip of his thumb in.
“Please,” she whimpers. “C-can’t take it…”
“No thumb?”
She shakes her head into the sheets. He delivers another blow to her ass, making her whine out.
“Aight, then. Ride yo dick.”
She whimpers, but he doesn’t accept that.
“C’mon. You a big girl, D’.”
His hands leave her body.
“Work for this nut.”
Her arms are sore, however, she braces herself by gripping onto the sheets. The muscles in her legs burn so bad, it’s a struggle to move her hips.
But she starts off slow, fucking him back. It doesn’t take her long to gain a good pace.
Ajani feels a sadistic pleasure watching her fucking herself on his dick. The typical shy Diamanté, throwing it back on him.
“That’s right … work for it.”
Her quiet mewls dissolve into wails and sobs. The claps of her ass get harder and rougher. She’s squeezing him like a vice, pussy splishing around his dick.
“Fuck! S-so good,” she weeps.
“It’s good?”
“Yyess!” She gasps for air as if her lungs are getting crushed. “Love this dick!”
“You love it, huh?” he laughs, breathlessly.
“M-mhm!”
“It’s yours.”
He grabs a hip, taking over once more.
“It’s yours baby.”
Leaning all his body weight on her, he pushes her deep into the mattress. A hand wraps around her neck as he delivers deep and hard strokes to her cervix.
“Take it,” he grunts in her ear. “Take this dick, baby.”
Tears streak her face as she claws at the sheets. He’s so deep, refusing to pull out even an inch as he keeps rolling into her. The whites of her eyes are all that’s visible.
His hips stutter and his balls tighten. “Fuck, ‘m ‘bout to cum,” his voice wavers.
The admitted words make her moan.
“Wanna finish in it—“
She clamps down on him tight, never wanting him to pull out. His breaths fan out against her neck, each out growing heavier than the last. As they reach the home stretch his hips slow, dragging out every thrust.
Every time he pushes in, her pussy talks back, weeping for him. It goes: Pfft … pfft … pfft.
“A-auh fuuck—“
Ribbons of cum fill her tightness, painting her walls white. And the feeling is enough to trigger her release.
Diamanté shakes beneath him as she erupts around his dick.
Even as she’s stuffed, filled to the brim, their cum it leaks out in thick lumps. He twitches, buried within her, still cumming.
“Shit, Dia’,” he groans into her neck, swirling his hips to ride out his orgasm.
She shivers, weakened by everything.
“So good…”
Neither of them can tell how long their orgasms last. But they both know that they’re floating on Cloud-Nine. And after everything, it would be too easy to fall asleep right here, just like this.
𐔌 5.9K 𐦯 • 𝘕𝘖 𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘖𝘙𝘚.ᐟ | 𝑷𝒍𝒖𝒈.ᐟ𝑶𝒏𝒚, CollegeAU, mention of drugs (weed), or*l (m. receiving), face-f*cking (slightly rough, lots of gagging, very messy—does this count as oral fixation?), f*ngering, implied p -> v s*x, dirty talk, slight degradation, corruption of mc, inexperienced mc, mc goes in sub-space (unknowingly), mc gets d*ck-drunk, minor BDSM dynamics, subtle size k*nk, gentle/caring Ony, nonchalant Ony, teasing Ony, slow-build interest, nicknames (Mama & Princess), explicit language, use of the n-word (all characters & Author are Black)
PART 1
decided to be nice & give y'all a mini drabble of them. enjoy .ᐟ <3
ᝰ♡.ᐟ IT ISN'T COMPLETELY DARK OUT YET AS THE GOLDEN ORANGE hue of the setting sun splashes across the entire campus.
Even with the significant lack of people strolling the brick-laid pathways, Onyankopon doesn't neglect to keep an eye out for campus officers. He doesn't need anything on his record, not when the semester's just begun.
He figured he would be back in his car by now, speeding off to his apartment. Not still standing here.
This was supposed to be quick.
“A'ight man, how much I owe you again?” Standing about two feet in front of him, his customer glances up, tearing his vision away from the crumpled bills in his hands.
Onyankopon almost kisses his teeth.
"Seventy-five."
He swears he said that number about five times since this interaction began.
"A'ight, got you…"
Crumpled paper flicks noisily as the client thumbs through the stack of random bills; fives, tens, and a whole lot of ones.
There's a faint, sour scent emanating off of the guy whenever he sways just a bit too much in his spot; dried sweat. It only adds to Onyankopon's growing irritation.
"Y-yo … I, uh … only got about forty-three cash, bro."
The feeble way in which he looks at him almost makes Onyankopon irate.
'This nigga,' he thinks.
A heavy sigh pushes past his lips, an urge he could no longer resist. "Just send the rest through Zelle or Cash App."
"Bet," the man says as he shoves the hand full of money his way.
Onyankopon gingerly takes the damp cash and pockets it quickly. With free hands, his customer frantically pulls out his phone to continue the transaction.
"Uh—h-how much?"
Onyankopon stares at him square in the face. "Whatever's left after forty-three dollars."
“Chill,” his client says with a shaky chuckle.
He's trying, he really is. Annoying clients come with the territory, especially when it comes down to dealing with a bunch of smokers.
Usually, he'd have more patience for this kind of thing. But, today he's pressed for time. Especially since he's got royalty blowing up his line, demanding his presence. 'Her impatient ass,' he thinks as his phone buzzes in his pocket, getting it's second message within the last hour.
Since their first time hooking up, Onyankopon won't deny the fact that Ámerei has been his main fix—on campus, at least.
After finals, they exchanged numbers, but it was radio silence between them during summer break. Understandably. She had her own life outside of school, and he had his own shit to take care of back home.
There were no ill sentiments between the two, just a mutual understanding of where this situation of theirs starts and ends: at school.
So, he wasn't surprised when she hit him up within the first month of this fall semester. He had stopped by at her new dorm—a single—and gave her what she timidly asked for.
And he gave it to her good. Maybe seeing her brought it out of him or maybe it was just the perfect chance to release some built up pressure.
Admittedly, when it comes to messing around with Ámerei, Onyankopon can appreciate the ease that comes with her. There weren't sneaking around anyone's back to do this. Additionally, the clarity she possesses regarding this entire thing is a breath of fresh air. She isn't blowing up his phone, demanding him to do things that fall within the realm of being a "significant other."
Honestly, she doesn't even ask him much about himself. Neither does he.
Compared to some of the other girls he's been with, she's definitely someone he doesn't have to stress out over.
However, even with the general ease of their situation-ship, it seems that he's created a little bit of a monster.
Are you busy?
Onyankopon..
I want to see you
He was in the car, on the way to this deal when the first message was read aloud to him.
She has a habit of hitting him up while he's in the middle of doing something or just so happens to be on his way out of the door. And despite being a recurring interruption to his plans, it always brings him a sense of fondness.
Despite the growing frequency of their meetups, Onyankopon believes that Ámerei isn't someone he'll grow tired of. He can't explain it, but he knows that she's just nice to be around. Cool.
His brain was silent while he tried to decide if he wanted to do this today.
He did.
It wasn't until he reached a red light, that he picked up his phone, allowing himself a weak smirk as he typed a response.
Uu wanna see my dicc
Her reply was instant:
That's not the same thing?
A small scoff left him as the traffic light ahead changed. Against his better judgment, he elected to split his attention in two places: the road and his phone.
Making plays rn
Uu cld wait ?
I'm with the girls at the apartment
Let me know when you get back
He loved the message, quickly dropping his phone in his lap.
Although, unlike other times, his brain didn't immediately drop the conversation. Rather, he kind of toiled over it for a minute or two, sparing an unnecessary amount of time on a particular idea: being considerate.
But, was it consideration? Or was that just his usual standard about punctuality?
Come another red light, Onyankopon chose to put those thoughts to rest. He never liked being in his head about someone for too long. When it comes to matters regarding people, it's either you do or you don’t.
So, he did.
Picking up his phone, his thumb slid across his keyboard in a quick pattern. He didn't even have to glance at the screen to send the short message.
Gimme a hr
She loved the message.
That conversation was definitely had over an hour ago and he's still not back home, at no fault of his own.
"I think the money sent."
Hands buried in the pockets of his sweats, Onyankopon gives the man a brief "Mhm," as he stares him down. He waits patiently for his phone to buzz with the notification of the money entering his account.
And when it does—because he needs to make sure that he's not being cheated put of his product, no matter how many times this guy has bought from him—only then does he give him what they came here for: the weed.
"Thank you so much, bro," he rushes out.
Onyankopon doesn't spare a word, let alone a glance, as he heads back to his car thinking:
'Finally.'
Hopping back in the driver's seat, he pulls the car door shut after him. He wastes no time in pulling out his phone.
So ... it's been an hour.
K...
His fingers move quick.
My fault ik
Nigga was moving slow
Im comin dnt trip
He scoffs at his last message. When has he ever explained himself this much?
The trip back to his apartment is faster than it took for him to go out and meet his customer.
Comin up rn be at the door
It takes all of six minutes for him to enter the building to reach his floor. Leaving the elevators behind, he turns down the long hallway, already seeing the short and slim figure waiting at his door.
Phone in hand, too concerned with whatever it is on her screen to watch her surroundings, she doesn't even notice him coming.
Ámerei stands with majority of her weight on one leg, her hip poking out to accentuate her subtle curves. There's a disruption on her face; a wrinkle of her brows.
She looks upset.
She looks good.
"Y'know, I could'a been anybody walking up on you."
Her head snaps up. The sable strands of her silk press falls away from her face to showcase the moment of recognition that flashes across it, just before it's overtaken by irritation. She opens her mouth.
"Before you even start, it wasn't me." He's already fishing for his apartment keys.
"What does that mean?" She raises a perfectly trimmed brow, eyeing him with skepticism.
“The nigga was doing too much," he says, glancing back at her over his shoulder. "I'm here though, so we not tripping'.”
He pushes the door open, allowing her first, as always. Ámerei's lips are sealed shut, shooting him a glare as she slips past him.
“Mhm.”
Just as she turns her head forward, Onyankopon leaving her line of sight, a heavy hand pops her on the left side of her ass.
"What the fuck," she yelps, whipping around to face him. The sharp sting blooms into a hallow ache beneath her skin as she rubs the spot.
He tries to stifle the growing smirk on his face as he kicks the door shut behind him. “Got too much attitude."
“You were late, mind you,” she sneers, pointing a square acrylic nail into the bed of his chest.
"Eager, ain't you?"
She notices the strong arms circling her waist, yet neglects to acknowledge them.
Arms crossed, she's the epitome of a pretty girl with an attitude. Hair done, nails perfect, and a fresh set of lashes decorating her pretty brown eyes.
And, irritated or not, her gaze is a lot more seductive. He knows that if he makes mention of her saditty demeanor, he'll only rile her up more.
“I can go."
His eyes narrow by a fraction as he stares down at her. “But—" his hands slip from her waist to the perch of her ass. “You gon' stay.”
Her mouth opens to spit back a retort.
"And lose that attitude, 'cause you still getting what you want."
Before she can even think of a response to that one, Onyankopon drops his lips on hers; that conversation is done. In his grasp, she practically melts. The familiarity of his lips is too comforting for her to resist.
He has to admit, Ámerei has gotten better at kissing. A lot better. His favorite thing about that is her newfound affinity for sucking.
In fact, his tongue is almost always the first thing she goes for.
One last peck on the lips precedes a swipe over his bottom lip, coaxing him into a deeper kiss. Before he can even realize it, she's pushing her tongue into his mouth in search of his.
Her hands, soft and reaching, find the sides of his face to keep his head tilted so that she may get more access. He taught her that one.
To his own demise (benefit), every time she's got her lips wrapped around his tongue, it puts a fire in him that wakes him up below the belt. They're moving before he can even comprehend this, too busy feeling on her ass.
"—damn."
His body drops to the couch, slightly bouncing against the cushions. He barely manages to look up at her when she's climbing into his lap. Her eyes burn with lust.
"You moving like you … controlling shit." He's breathless watching her, hands coming to rest on her hips as she takes her seat.
Speaking of hands, hers press to his chest as she leans in for another kiss. His breath is stolen away for the second time in just two minutes.
"Mh … you smelled good," she moans against his mouth.
"I—"
She leaps at the chance to get to his tongue. And—unsurprisingly—she's sucking at him again, like he's a ripe berry, full of juice and ready to burst in her mouth.
His spit is sweet.
"'Preciate—" The half of his sentence that comes out is garbled by their kiss.
She only pulls away to whisper in his ear. "Taste good, Ony."
When she pulls back, and he can finally look her in the eyes, he's almost—scared?
This is not the shy virgin he met only a handful of months ago.
"Yeah?" He shifts upwards a bit, thinking of a way to regain control over this situation.
"Mhm," she nods. The hum is practically a moan, heavy and dragging.
Onyankopon takes this moment to look over her body.
It's just dipping back into the cooler seasons, on the cusp of fall. Yet, enough of her skin is exposed by an off-the-shoulder cropped crew-neck that it can make anyone think otherwise. And not to mention, the ridiculously thin gray leggings that don't hide much.
"I got something that taste better."
Her vixen-like demeanor flickers as her thoughts flash across her face. "What's that?" she asks.
"Ms. 4.0 GPA, c'mon now." A grin spreads across his face.
She rolls her eyes, but the heat has been snuffed out. "And if I'm not good at it?"
He scoffs. "You wasn't good at kissing, neither."
She scowls.
"You getting better every time." Amusement is written all over his face. It's almost irritating. "This gon' be the same thing, I promise you."
She averts her eyes as she starts thinking; this isn't the first time he's alluded to wanting head. It's not like she doesn't want to give it. It's more of a question of, can she?
Probably.
But, can she do it as well as the other girls he's been with?
Definitely not.
That's always a looming fear of hers.
She can hardly bear the thought of performing poorly, and being dubbed the one who "couldn't give good head" or who "had weak pussy;" a story to tell his friends in the group chat.
For the most part, that fear is quelled, just on account of him not really being a piece of shit.
An asshole at times, sure. But, not a douche-bag. And, save for their first time ever doing something together, Onyankopon has never directly spoke about other women he's been with. He doesn't even speak about people he knows.
She can respect the fact that he's not a pillow-talker. But she can only hope that he's not just trying to put on an act.
She tries not to worry too much about it. Outside of these links, their lives are completely detached. They don't even run in the same circles.
"Why you scared? I ain't been a good teacher?"
"Shut up," she laughs, giving him a gentle push to the chest.
For a moment, she's quiet as she thinks to herself, chewing on her bottom lip as she does so.
"We can try," she nods. "But, don't expect me to be amazing," she says as she starts sinking to the ground between his thighs.
"Woah, wait—" he catches her by the waist, stopping her just before her knees hit the floor.
"Wha—d-don't I have to get on my knees?"
"Do you wanna be on your knees?"
She blinks, stunted by the question. "I … don't I have to?"
His brows lift by a fraction. "You don't have to do nothing. I asked if you wanna be. It's other positions."
"Um…" She glances at the hardwood floor beneath them, weighing her options. "Y-yeah. Yes, I do."
He shrugs, gently removing his hands from her to sit back. "A'ight then."
Carefully, she makes contact with the ground, her kneecaps pressing into the floor. Lengthy, strong legs cage her in, but it doesn't feel like a trap.
Before she has to ask, he's pushing his pants down some. But, of course, he's not going to do everything for her.
Not even when she stares up at him, expecting him to pull down his boxers, too, and whip it out for her. She looks perfect down there.
"What you staring for?"
She glances at his lap, eye-level with his print as it strains against the breathable fabric, pressed to the inner wall of his right thigh. She looks back up at him, like she expects something new. Like she doesn't know what comes next.
"Take it out for me, Ámerei."
The firm tone of his voice makes her stomach flutter.
Without a word, both her hands snake up the stalks of his calves, past his knees, and over his thighs. Her fingers are soft, the pads of them tickling his skin as she nears the object of her desire.
With a quick swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip, Onyankopon pushes his hips forward as she finally hooks onto the waistband of his underwear.
Inwardly, Ámerei prays that he doesn't notice the excited tremor of her hands as she pulls the fabric back to reach inside.
The skin there is warm, hot blood racing just beneath its surface to fatten up his dick. She traces one finger down to the middle of his shaft, where she weakly curls her hand around him. She barely squeezes as she picks him up, revealing just a little more past the fat tip.
She isn't surprised by the heaviness, but it does make her rethink her ability to swallow him down.
"Why you so focused already?"
His chuckle pulls her gaze upwards, seeing the entertained look on his face. She crumbles into awkward laughter. "I wanna make sure I'm doing it right."
"Ain't no wrong way to pull my dick out." He sniffs, shifting his hips in a way that pushes his dick further in her face. Her eyes slightly cross trying to keep him in her line of sight. "You doing good, Ami. Quit all that thinking, don't freeze up on me now."
His words, spoken to her low and slow, make her heart beat quicken. She nods loosely, staring up at him with eyes that don't conceal the dazed look in them.
Every time they're together, he notices that after a certain point, it's like a switch flips off in her head. It gets more noticeable every time.
Encouraged by him, she pulls him out of his boxers entirely. The familiar sight never fails to make her drool.
So thick in her hand, she runs her thumb over the web of veins pumping beneath his skin—more visible as it's pulled taut by his arousal. He isn't leaking yet, like his body is waiting on her touch. She can feel his pulse faintly. Tiffany blue acrylic nails compliment his deep brown skin as it fades from a blushing brown to a solid, deep umber.
Every moment she gets to witness him up close, Ámerei can't help but to think that he's just so … pretty.
She's always wanted to kiss it. To feel him throb against her lips.
Her thoughts are interrupted when there's a gentle squeeze of her jaw.
"Missed this shit, didn't you?"
She nods.
"Mhm," he hums, noting how she gazes at him with a renewed sense of hunger. "Go on, eat the dick up." He pulls his hand away.
Without a second thought, she leans forward and plants a gentle smooch on the fat head. He's hot against her skin. Even though she had imagined this happening, surprise takes her when he twitches against her. In her hand, he stiffens further.
A pleased hum leaves her. Tepid, she pushes her tongue past her lips to finally get a taste. His skin is silk soft on her taste buds. He has a mild taste, barely sweet.
That makes it too easy to have more of him in her mouth; she goes for another lick, this one bolder in action as she tastes more of the skin covering his crown. It was all she needed to gain the confidence to take him into her mouth, closing her lips around the swollen head.
"A natural, already," he exhales.
She peers up at him through those perfect, wispy lashes. Her mouth sinks slightly lower. The slippery muscle of her tongue curls around the tip before she traps him between the bed of it and the roof of her mouth to suck. Her usually round, soft cheeks hallow out.
"Good job, mama."
Her eyes flutter shut as her mouth sinks lower around him, a quiet hum of contentment coming from the back of her throat.
The ghost of a smirk haunts his lips. "You like that?"
Peeling her eyes open, Onyankopon immediately notices how they look glossed over. Her full lips are stretched around his thickness, unable to stop the drool escaping past their corners. With a stuffed mouth, she only nods.
"Talk to me."
For a moment, he thought she would have attempted to speak around him. The thought makes him twitch in her mouth.
Except, Ámerei pulls off of him, the softness of her hand replacing the wet heat of her mouth as she jerks him off.
"I liked it," she breathes out. Her hand moves at a slightly rushed pace, gliding over the tight skin. He keeps twitching. It makes her giddy, taking this as a good sign.
Yet, her elation is cut short when she sees a wrinkle forming between his brows. Dread takes seed in her chest.
"So, why you not swallowing my shit?"
Oh.
The corners of her lips twitch as she tries to keep herself from smiling. Her lips part. "Sorr—"
"I'm not tryma hear nothing when my dick should be in your throat." A heavy hand finds its way into her hair, firmly grasping it near the base of her skull. "Need to be gagging on my shit."
Her pussy clenches. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, pushing her face closer to him. She tongue-kisses his tip, humming when it jumps in her mouth.
"Mhm … show me how much you want this."
She rests her hands on his thighs, descending onto him again. Her eyes squeeze shut as she pushes herself to go lower than previous. As she lowers, it gets harder to breathe, her mouth stretching wider and wider.
"Hurgh—"
She pushes through the gag that rips through her. Her head grows fuzzy at the feeling of the slow suffocation.
Onyankopon groans, "Fuck … open up." His hand grips her hair tighter. "Relax your throat."
He hits the back of her tongue. The muscles of her neck constrict.
"Aarck—"
Her shoulders hike up, another sharp gag moving through her.
"Easy, easy."
She pulls off, a beaded string of her own spit leading from the depths of her mouth to his dripping tip. Her stomach is turning.
"You good," he tells her, petting her head.
She nods, swallowing a loose glob of spit to calm her throat.
"C'mon, you good."
She considers the truth of his words before her own thoughts, taking him back in her mouth.
"Mmph," he moans, pressing his lips together to catch the sound.
His head rolls back, but before it lands against the couch cushion, it bounces back up. Her lips kiss the base of him, his hips jumping in shock.
"Huarc—"
"Shit, my fault, my fault."
His breathing is rushed and unsteady as he exhales through his nose, staring down at the mess she's making between his legs.
Spit pours almost freely down his dick, pooling into a thick, frothy puddle of her saliva and his precum in his lap.
"God … damn," he groans, tilting his head some, wishing he could take a picture of this moment to keep forever.
Her lips pucker around him, like they're desperately trying to keep anymore spit from inevitably leaking out. Like they're tired of being stretched open by his dick.
She looks so pretty like this.
"How you take it better this way?"
She sniffles weakly. As her mouth is still full of him, Ámerei gently rests her head against a thigh of his. Her lashes sweep against the hills of her cheekbones as her eyes flutter shut, a gentle sigh leaving through her nose.
"Hm?"
He reaches down to cup her chin, and as soon as their skin makes contact, those pretty brown eyes are open again. Just barely. They're glazed over, not present.
At that moment, something clicks within him. His brain runs with a prediction.
"Should fuck this like your pussy."
He watches her face for any twitch in her brows, some sign of objection. But, there's only a look of sedation. His hand slips from her jaw, he smooths his thumb over an eyebrow before pushing a rogue couple of strands of hair back.
She swallows around him again, closing her eyes.
"Aye, talk to me." Onyankopon lays two quick taps to her cheek, the action gaining her attention. "Ami. Make a sound or something."
A tiny whine comes from the back of her throat. He twitches in the chamber of his neck.
"Want me to move?"
She blinks slowly.
"A'ight," he whispers.
Gently, he takes her head in his hands and carefully pulls her off of him. Loose webs of spit and precum fall around his dick. He's a glistening mess as it falls against his inner thigh, heavy and sopping wet.
A couple of coughs and few hiccups leave her as she wipes at her face with the back of her hand. "W-what?"
"You enjoying this, I could see it in your face."
The corners of her lips lift without restraint.
"But, you gotta communicate with me. Don't go silent."
Just as fast, they drop into a frown, feeling that hint of dread again. "Okay," she nods.
"Even when your mouth is full like that, or you can't talk; tap me."
Her face scrunches up in mild confusion. "Tap?"
His hand slides over her shoulder, the tips of his fingers just at her back, and taps once. "Like that if you want me to pause. Twice if you good," he performing the second gesture. "And—" then taps her three times in succession, "—to tell me to stop."
She blinks at him, cementing the code in her head.
"How you feeling? Show me."
She lifts a hand to rest on his naked thigh and taps him twice.
"Good," he tells her. "Now c'mon."
She's too eager to get him back in her mouth, swallowing him up with blinding ease each time.
"Mhm, look at you… Like you starving."
She pushes her face against his thighs, smiling around his dick. And Onyankopon thinks it's the sweetest, sexiest thing ever. Holding the back of her head, the pads of his fingers rub into her skull.
"You want more?"
She nods as her tongue laves at the underside of him.
"S'what I thought," he mumbles before that hand of his moves to grip her jaw.
Pushing her head up just a bit, Onyankopon holds himself at the base to pull out, earning a deep gag from her. And he loves that sound.
He's dripping in her slobber. The head is where most of her spit collects, a web of it connected to her bottom lip.
Taking himself in hand, he rubs it like a wand and swabs it against her lips. The sloppy, uncoordinated push of his dick against her face makes her flinch here and there. But she doesn't pull away in the slightest when he smears their mess all over the lower half of her face.
His hand shifts to hook a thumb between her lips and push down.
"Open."
The hinge of her jaw slackens with ease.
"Stick that pretty tongue out."
She does exactly what he says, and within that second, the fat head of his dick is slapping against her taste buds.
"Mhm, look real good like this."
He can already imagine himself bursting on her tongue. He glances up from her mouth to see the stars in her glistening eyes.
"Should bust all over you right now," he rasps. "You want that?"
She nods eagerly, tongue sticking out of her mouth like a panting dog. The fruity hue of the muscle is too similar to the inside of her pussy.
"Suck it outta me, then. The fuck?"
He angles his hips to push back into her throat. The suction of her mouth is unmistakable, he knows she sucked him in. The feeling of that wet, slippery warmth traveling down his dick, swooping him up into a tight hold pulls a breathy moan out of him.
"Greedy ass … tryna suck me up, and I'm a-already giving it t'you—" He grasps the back of her head again as rolls his hips smooth and slow. "F … fuck," he groans out.
Her throat jumps around him, desperate to accommodate the moving length throughout it.
"Taking it real good, Princess."
Her eyes flutter, and he catches the way they slightly roll back before she blinks.
Too experienced, it doesn't take long for him to find a shallow but steady rhythm, picking up the pace. As his dick bullies its way in and out, past the walls of her tonsils, a faint clicking sound is made.
"You like this?"
His voice wavers, the sound shooting straight to her clit. Her hand that rests on his muscular thighs, rises and falls twice: one-two.
"I know … kn-know you do…"
His breathing grows heavier and heavier, balls tightening some as they tap at her chin with each thrust.
"Smartest girl I ever met … but you go fucking stupid when you got dick in your mouth."
A mewl vibrates in her throat. He looks down to see her eyes roll to the back of her head.
"You like me talking to you like that?"
One-two.
She's an image of corruption: one of her eyes is only half-open, both showcasing the whites of them as his dick pushes in-and-out past her lips. Spit oozes and froths up at the seams of her lips.
"L-look at you … blowing bubbles on my shit," he grunts. "You wanna play with your pussy?"
A moan, real and solid, gurgles from her throat. The air coming out of her mouth pushes out more balloons of spit along the rim of her mouth.
"Shit—go 'head."
Fireworks go off in her head at his given permission, like this moment is the kind of joy she's been waiting to experience for the last few years. Ámerei is quick to shove a hand down the front of her leggings, pushing past the hem of her panties to rub at her clit.
She feels like she's gone sky-high, completely relinquishing all control to him as he fucks her mouth good and thoroughly.
"S-said you could touch yourself … don't hold out on me."
His words kick something alive in her head. She begins to move herself, bobbing her head up and down. As she does so, she's only able to go halfway down at this faster speed.
Onyankopon's hips stutter. "Aye—watch the teeth. Watch the teeth, Ami."
She squeezes her eyes shut, making a conscious effort to tuck her lips over them. The change grants him unfettered access to her mouth, carving a way for itself in her throat.
"Oh … fuuck, keep … keep swallowing my shit, Mama."
Her fingers work in fast, tight circles over her clit. This is a wet dream for her.
"Make me nut," he pants, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.
At that, she shoves two fingers in herself, the intrusion creating a soft squidge between her thighs. At every swallow of his dick, she's pushing her fingers in. The penetration from both ends gets her sopping wet, the seat of her panties soaked through.
"Make me nut on that tongue."
At that particular command, she swallows him an inch deeper, a strong gag ripping through her.
"Mhm, just like that," he sneers as he moves his hips to meet her half-way.
Her eyes squeeze shut, wringing tears from them as she falls in-line with his thrusts. She keeps her head still, allowing him to throat fuck her, even as she chokes on him.
Hand buried in her hair, Onyankopon lets his head fall back against the couch, losing it in her mouth.
"Mh—fuck," he whimpers, chest pumping as he gulps down air. "I-I'm 'bout to cum."
She loves it when he says those words.
She pulls off of him messily, replacing her mouth with a loose fist. She moves quickly over his dick to uphold the pace. His hips buck, stomach sucking in with every pull.
"Want it," she utters breathlessly as spit drips from her face, tongue half sticking out to catch his cum just in case. "Want it—want it on my tongue, Ony."
He musters enough strength to pull his head back up, eyelids heavy as he gazes down at her: tears crystallize along her lash-line, looking like gems against her slender eyes.
His stomach swoops, his balls tightening.
"You …fuck—you gon' swallow it all?" he slurs.
"Mhm," she says, desperation all over her face as she nods. "A-all of it."
His other hand grips at the couch cushion beneath him as he holds back on cumming all over her face.
"Put my dick back in your mouth."
She chases after him with her mouth open, head bobbing awkwardly before finally catching him, without the help of her hands. Her cheeks cave in, pushing further down to get him to the back of her throat. She flexes around him, coaxing his impending orgasm out of him.
The simple action has his mind submitting to the desires of his body. His hips move thoughtlessly, unrestrained and sharp as they pump shallowly into her mouth.
"Fuc— … s-swallow that shit—"
"Hic—"
He busts in her mouth, the alkaline taste of his thick, viscous cum painting her tongue and throat. It's hard to swallow all of it down in one go.
"Oh … fuck," he shudders, chest rising and falling rather quickly as he swallows down whatever air is available. The exposed parts of his skin are dewy with sweat. Before his body is able to even fully relax, it tenses up with overstimulation.
She's still sucking.
"Aye—"
Grasping her head on both sides, he pulls her off. There's a bit of resistance, but when he finally gets her off of him, he sees in her eyes that she's completely gone.
"Tryna suck my soul out," he weakly jokes, though she doesn't laugh back. She only gives him a dreamy smile.
He grasps the underside of her jaw. "Lemme see."
Without a word, Ámerei sticks her tongue out to show him how she managed to swallow it all. He looks at her, knowing that she's desperately waiting for a form of praise for her work.
"Good job."
Her smile only grows.
"Come up," he says, already pulling her back up on the couch.
Scooting further back from him, she spreads her thighs to show him the darkened patch of gray fabric at the seat of her leggings.
His legs feel like Jell-O. Yet, despite this, he pushes through it to stand on his feet before her.
"That's how you feeling?"
She bites her bottom lip before turning away from him. Burying her chest into the couch cushions, Ámerei pushes her ass high in the air to present.
Looking back at him, the spit quickly drying on the lower-half of her face, she eagerly pushes her leggings and panties down her ass in one fell-swoop. Her back bows she reaches back to pull her cheeks apart, her wetness winking back at him. Creamy and dripping.
He kisses his teeth as another wave of arousal shoots through him, fatigue be damned. "Quit playing with me."
She mewls, eyes falling closed. "Want it in here, too," she mumbles thoughtlessly.
Blowing out a breath, Onyankopon takes his hardening dick in hand, starting with a few slow pumps.
"Yeah, dick really got you acting dumb now."
She shakes her ass side-to-side, taunting him.
"I'ma give it to you … just don't be running this time."
⤷ ❝ {cw: nsfw mentioned, secret relationship trope, mentions of smoking and drinking, slight! mean connie, clubbing, cheating} ¡! ❞
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
the party was packed, bass rattling the floors and the air thick with weed, liquor, and sweat. your boyfriend had been texting nonstop since you left the crib but you put that shit on DND the second you walked in. you’d come out on purpose in your tiny leather dress that barely covered your ass and lifted your tits like a push up bra. you knew exactly whose party this was.
connie ran this spot, which meant free entry, free bottles, and vip like clockwork for you and your girl. having a promoter on speed dial — especially one you were fucking — came with perks the average bitch in line didn’t get.
sasha didn’t even have to drag you as you walked straight to the vip rope like you belonged there. “connie! let us up,” sasha called as you both approached the vip section that was closed off to everyone connie didn’t know.
he was leaned against the railing like he owned the city, skin glowing under the neon, fresh fade, neat goatee, and tattoos running down both arms. his eyes dragged over you slow, taking in the dress like he was already picturing it on his floor as a smirk tugged at his mouth.
“bet. y’all good,” he said, voice low as he unclipped the rope. when you brushed past he leaned in, cologne and weed hitting you. “damn… you look good as hell.”
you never blush or play shy with connie. you just smirked back and let your hand graze his chest on the way through. loyalty to your boyfriend? you’d stopped pretending it mattered the first night you let connie take you home.
connie got the bottle service popping quick and slid right into the booth next to you, arm slung behind your shoulders, fingers brushing your bare shoulder like it was already his. you flirted heavy, bold as hell, biting your lip while your hand rested on his chest, nails lightly dragging.
“you always come through dressed like you tryna start problems?” he asked, lips close to your ear. you turned, brushing your mouth against his jaw. “only when i know i’ll get handled right. i’m goin’ with you tonight or what?”
he chuckled, low and quick. “you already know the answer to that.”
the night got blurry in the best way. you danced on him in vip, back to his chest, ass grinding slow and deliberate while his hands gripped your hips like he was holding on for dear life. his goatee brushed your naked shoulder as he muttered, “keep doing that and we not making it out this club.”
you laughed, turned in his arms, and looked him dead in the eyes. “then stop playing and take me now.”
by 2 a.m. you were in the backseat of his black bmw, windows fogged the fuck up. dress shoved around your waist, riding him deep and nasty while the muffled bass from the club thumped outside. his hands squeezed your ass hard, pulling you down on every stroke. “shit… just like that,” he groaned, goatee brushing your collarbone. “you tryna drain me tonight?”
you smirked, nails digging into his shoulders. “thought you could keep up, con.”
he flipped you quick, stroking harder and meaner. “keep talking shit then.”
after you both came, legs shaky, he drove you straight back to his spot. the second the door closed he had you bent over the kitchen island, dress still bunched around your waist, fucking you hard and fast. then he carried you to his bed and took his time, going slower, deeper, until the sky started turning gray.
morning came too fast as he dropped you a couple blocks from home, tinted windows hiding everything. your phone was blowing up the whole ride and when he asked about it, you let him know with zero hesitation about the man waiting for you inside.
connie just smirked. “it’s cool. i ain’t the police.”
that was y’all’s routine. late night “you up?” texts. quickies in the bmw when you lied about being out with the girls. drunken words while he had you spread in the passenger seat. “i got a boyfriend, connie… this shit is fucked up.”
he never stopped stroking, just gripped your thighs tighter. “then stop texting me when you wet, ma. or don’t. i’m not complainin’.” he had other women he fucked and didn’t give a single fuck if any of them found out about each other . if they started tweaking he’d call them lame to their face and shut it down quick. “you knew what this was. don’t act stupid now.”
you kept coming back anyway, because you liked the game. liked the perks. liked how he didn’t pretend to be anybody’s boyfriend.
a couple weeks in the guilt finally cracked you. you ended things with your boyfriend for good, no explanation about connie. the same night you were right back in his passenger seat like nothing had changed, heart racing as he smirked at you in the dark. he didn’t ask questions when you told him, just reached over, gripped your thigh, and said, “good. now you can stop pretending you don’t belong over here.”
tonight, the club lights flash across your skin as you straddle his lap in the dim corner of vip. the leather booth sticks to the back of your thighs from the heat. bass vibrates through your body while connie’s hands slide under your dress, gripping your bare ass with zero shame, fingers digging in possessively. his goatee brushes your jaw as he leans in, voice low and rough against your ear.
“so you really single now?” he murmurs, that mean little smirk on his lips. “no more running to answer his texts while my dick still in you?”
you grind down slow against the hard bulge in his jeans, feeling him twitch. the crowded club feels miles away. “yeah,” you breathe, nails dragging up the back of his neck. “and i want this dick whenever i feel like it.”
connie’s grip tightens, pulling you harder against him. “that’s what the fuck i’m talkin’ about.” his thumb slips between your thighs, teasing right where you’re already soaked. “let’s get the fuck out of here before i bend you over this booth.”
back at his place later, the lights are dim and the room smells like weed and sex. he’s got you on your back in his bed, legs wrapped tight around his waist while he strokes deep and steady. you’re being extra nasty tonight — back arching off the mattress, nails raking down his back, and moaning his name every time he hits it right.
connie’s eyes are low and dark, watching you like he’s enjoying the show. in his head the thought hits clear: wanna thank the last man… taught my bitch what she know. might have to send him a thank you card.
he reaches over to the nightstand without missing a stroke, grabs the half smoked blunt, and lights it. takes a long pull, cherry glowing, then leans down and blows the smoke straight into your mouth. you inhale deep, eyes locked on his, letting the haze hit while he keeps fucking you slow and deliberate.
“fuck… that’s it,” he mutters, voice rough, smoke curling between you. “keep takin’ this dick just like that. loud as you want, baby. ain’t nobody here but me.”
you moan into the next kiss, tasting weed and henny on his tongue, hips rolling up to meet every thrust. connie chuckles against your lips and grips your thigh harder, spreading you wider.
“you gettin’ greedy on me already?” he teases, thrusting deeper just to watch your eyes flutter. “good. i like when you act like you can’t get enough.”
a/n: connie with a goatee has been on my mind and i couldn’t help it 😩
Come baby.” He beckoned you to approach him, is words muffled with a circular mint clasped between his teeth.
In times when he was free of gruesome work hours and filing tedious paperwork for every case that greeted his office desk—He prioritized his wife.
Whether he prioritized a night of physical affection or worshipped your sore muscles after a long work day. And oh, when you’d prance around the halls in a skimpy lingerie set…Your deep complexion glistening with rich oils, he couldn’t help but fill your needy cunt with his cock you’d so desperately craved.
He’d stuff you full with his dick dripping of sticky precum till you milked him dry. However, tonight was a real date night, and he’d sure as hell spoil you like a brat, ordering various Hors-d’œurves for the damn thrill of it. His finances were of best use when in your hands of course.
fuck, when your lips closed over the other end of the mint held between his teeth? His legs were mush. You lightly sucked the end in which he reciprocated, the mint fumbling between both of your tongues.
“Better not mess up my lips.” You giggled, remaining cautious with your fresh lip combo, topped with a tinted gloss. He was in the mood to do far more than smudge your lip products. However, he acknowledged the investments you catered to your appearance.
He’d simply grown dizzy with your gourmand fragrances filling his senses. You were a walking meal. “Mhm.” He hummed, nuzzling the crook of your neck with the curved bridge of his nose, inhaling the scent even further as you tightened his tie.
And of course, his hands trailed the back of your glimmering black dress, groping at the tender flesh of your ass. “Hiromi!” You quietly chastised the man after he’d slightly poked his fingers between your legs.
“Let’s make dinner fast tonight, please baby.” He pleaded, Already counting down the seconds till he could stuff your slobbery cunt with his thick digits.
a/n: butt naked in Hiromi’s crib walking comfortablyyy
Hiiii baby! I’m loving the new works&theme especially cabo and meanie! I was wondering if you could do a birthday fic with Nfl!Ony since it’s my birthday today! - 🧸
OFF SEASON
𐙚!!── ony and his fiancée!
⤷ ❝ {a/n: ofcccc my love & i hope you have the happiest birthday today! nfl! ony is a legendary pull so why not bring him back cause ur birthday wish is my command! 😩} ¡! ❞
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
"cheers!"
you and the girls scream as you down the fifth, sixth, or seventh shot tonight? you were keeping count until you believe around your third one. the numbers blurred together, mixing with the bass vibrating through the floor and the neon pink lights reflecting off everyone's faces.
the shot glasses hit the table with a collective clatter and your cousin was already reaching for the bottle for the next round.
"girl, slow down," your sister laughed while grabbing her arm. "we got all night."
"it's her birthday!" your cousin gestured wildly at you while almost knocking over the bottle. "we can do what we want!"
"damn right we can," you slurred while holding up your empty glass like a trophy.
the section ony had rented was huge, it was the entire upper level of the hottest spot in the city; a place that was equal parts restaurant and club, with velvet booths and marble tables. string lights and gold lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting everything in a honeyed glow. the dj was tucked in the corner, spinning a mix of afrobeats and female rap that made your hips move whether you wanted them to or not.
and the food….god, the food.
before the shots started, you'd eaten like a literal queen; oysters on a bed of ice, truffle pasta that cost more than your first car, a charcuterie board the size of your torso, and mini sliders that you'd demolished in three bites. ony had pre ordered everything and the waiters kept bringing out plates you didn't even remember asking for.
but that was hours ago, now it was just bottles on the table, ice melting in buckets, and the faint smell of hookah smoke curling toward the ceiling.
you leaned back against the velvet couch, your light pink mini dress shifting with you as the gold chain across your bare back is cool against your skin. your curls were wild now from hours of dancing and the humidity had them expanding into a cloud around your face. gold cuffs still glinted at your ears and your ring caught the neon lights every time you moved your hand, which was often, because you couldn't stop looking at it.
"let me see it again," your friend demanded while crawling across the couch on her knees.
you held out your hand like a queen presenting her favorite gem. she grabbed your wrist, pulling your ring finger toward the light.
"lawd," she breathed. "it look different every time i see it."
"that's because the lighting keep changing," your sister pointed out.
"girl…don't ruin the magic."
weeks before your birthday, ony had proposed to you at the stadium during the halftime of one of his games. the way he had dropped to one knee in front of fifty thousand people and made you cry so hard you forgot how to speak.
you still watched the video sometimes. late at night, when he was asleep beside you, his arm thrown over your waist, and his breath warm on your neck. you'd pull up the clips on your phone to see the ones that had gone viral, the ones your cousins had sent, even the ones from angles you didn't know existed.
and you'd watch yourself say yes over and over again because it still didn't feel real. but the rock on your finger? that felt real and heavy.
"earth to birthday girl." your friend yells as she waves a hand in front of your face. "you left us again."
"sorry." you blinked while shaking your head. "just thinking."
"about that man, huh?" your cousin said while grinning.
"always about him."
"disgusting. i love it."
"okay, okay," your friend said while clapping her hands to get everyone's attention. "we need to talk about the comments recentlyyyy."
you groaned while throwing your head back against the couch. "do we have to?"
"yes!" your cousin yells while pulling out her phone, already scrolling. "people are obsessed with you. look–" she turned the screen toward you.
it was a post from some sports blog. a picture of you and ony at a game last week— you in his jersey number, him with his arm around your waist, and both of you laughing at something off camera. the caption read: "onyankopon's fiancée continues to steal hearts. who is she?"
"who is she?" your sister read aloud while scoffing. "she's right there, with a name."
"they don't care about your name," your cousin says, echoing her own words from earlier. "they care about the ring."
you held up your hand again while watching the diamond catch the pink neon lights. "can you blame them?"
"no," all three of them said in unison.
after your little proposal debrief, the shots kept coming. someone ordered a round of something blue that tasted like candy and burned like hell. your cousin eventually pulled you up off the couch because your song was playing and suddenly you were shaking ass.
the vip section wasn't huge but it was big enough. your bare feet (you'd kicked your heels off somewhere around shot four) moved across the cool floor, arms raised, curls bouncing, and the gold chain on your back catching the light with every bounce.
your cousin joined you, then your friend, finally your sister was there too, and the four of you were a tangle of limbs and laughter, dancing on each other until you were dizzy.
"this is the best birthday ever!" your cousin shouted over the music.
eventually, you collapsed back onto the couch, chest heaving and dress riding up just a little. you didn't bother pulling it down cause everyone here was family.
"i need water," you announced.
"you need more shots," your friend countered.
"i need both."
your sister flagged down a waiter who looked like he'd been waiting for an excuse to come over and ordered a round of waters and another bottle of something expensive.
"put it on the fiancée’s tab," she added and the waiter nodded like he already knew because of course he knew. ony had probably tipped him a month's rent to make sure you were taken care of.
"speaking of ony," your sister said while sliding closer to you on the couch, "when is he getting here?"
you glanced at your phone that read 1:47 am. he'd texted you an hour ago, “you good?", and you'd replied with a blurry photo of you and your girls making kissy faces at the camera.
come through
bring your friends.
👀
"soon," you said while grinning. "i told him to bring the guys."
your friends eyebrows shot up. "i thought this was girls night?"
"it was but i miss my man." you shrugged, unashamed. "and i needed an excuse to see him without making y'all feel like third wheels."
"and you still made us the third wheels?" your cousin asked while laughing.
"no, i made them the third wheels. now y'all can focus on jean and them."
"you're so calculating," your friend said but she was already reaching for her compact mirror.
"i'm considerate. there's a difference boo."
a couple minutes later your phone buzzed and you snatched it up so fast your cousin laughed.
outside. coming up.
finally.
you miss me?
maybe.
you drunk?
maybe.
send a pic.
you held up your phone and angled it downward so your body was in the frame and snapped a quick photo— you sitting pretty on the velvet seats, dress hitched up on your thighs, curls wild, and ring catching the light. your smile was drunk and happy as you tried your best to get a steady picture.
hurry up.
damn. on my way.
you tossed your phone on the couch, grabbed the nearest shot glass and downed it.
"he's coming," you announced.
the table erupted.
"finally."
“where's my lip gloss?"
"connie better be with him. im getting us out the trenches tonight."
"you're so weird."
"and you're so single. let me live."
you laughed while watching your girls scramble to reapply gloss, fluff their hair, and fix their dresses. they pretended not to care but you saw the way your sister checked her reflection in a spoon and the way your friend suddenly cared about the arrangement of bottles on the table.
you just sat back, heart racing at the thought of your man coming and you couldn't wait to feel his arms around you.
a hour later, the elevator dinged as the doors slid open and there he was.
ony stepped out first and his eyes found you immediately, his eyes scanning the room before landing on your face. behind him came eren, jean, connie, and some teammates you recognized but couldn't name in your drunken state.
the energy in the room shifted as ony crossed to you in six long strides, ignoring everyone else, and pulling you off the couch into his arms.
"hey, mama," he murmured against your hair.
"you took forever," you mumbled as you melted into his chest.
"had to drag these fools out the studio. eren was locked in."
"eren can wait."
"he said the same thing about you."
you rolled your eyes as you pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. his eyes dragged over your face at your wild curls, your smudged lip gloss, and the drunken slant of your smile.
"you look good," he said.
"i look drunk."
"ain’t no difference."
he kissed you while connie whistled and someone yelled "get a room" and you know that was definitely jean but you didn't care.
you had your man. you had your girls. you had the whole city at your feet and a ring on your finger during a birthday night you'd never forget.
and when ony pulled back, breathless and smiling, he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
"happy birthday, mama," he said softly.
"thank you for coming," you replied.
"ain't nowhere else i'd rather be."
you weren't sure exactly when you'd ended up in ony's lap. one minute you were standing and leaning against the couch while your cousin poured another round. the next, ony had grabbed your waist, pulled you down onto his thighs, and wrapped an arm around your stomach to keep you from sliding off.
"you 'bout to fall," he murmured in your ear, his breath warm against your neck.
"i am not," you slurred, even as your body sagged against his chest.
"mmhm."
his hand splayed across your bare back and you shivered, pressing closer. the vip section spun lazily around you, pink and gold lights blurring at the edges. your girls were scattered across the couches now, deep in conversation with the guys.
and you? you were exactly where you wanted to be.
"another shot!" your friend appeared in front of you, holding out a glass. "for the birthday girl!" you reached for it but your hand wobbled and ony plucked it out of the air before you could grab it.
"nah," he said, tossing it back himself. "she done."
"ony–" you started to protest but he was already setting the glass on the table.
"you can barely sit up straight, mama. you ain't takin' no more shots."
"i'm fine–"
"you're drunk." he kissed your temple, soft and firm. "and you're gonna thank me tomorrow."
you wanted to argue but your body betrayed you as you melted further into his chest. his arms tightened around you and you sighed, your head falling back against his shoulder.
"fine," you mumbled. "but you gotta take the rest of 'em for me."
"already planned on it."
and he did.
every time one of your cousins came over with a shot, ony took it. every time someone shouted "birthday girl!" and raised a glass, ony drank it. he didn't even flinch, just tossed them back one after another, his chest rumbling with low laughter every time you whined about it.
"you're gonna be so drunk," you said, watching him down another.
"someone gotta be." he set the glass down while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "can't have you out here actin' up."
"i don't act up."
"you literally tried to climb on the table ten minutes ago."
"i was dancing."
"you were struggling."
you pouted but he just kissed the pout off your lips and you forgot what you were mad about.
somewhere around 2:30, food appeared.
this was drunk food. wings, loaded fries, and mozzarella sticks that stretched for miles when you bit into them. ony must have ordered it at some point because he was the only one coherent enough to use a phone.
"eat," he said while pressing a fry to your lips.
you took a bite, chewing slowly, your eyes half closed.
"'s good," you mumbled.
"eat another one."
"you eat another one."
he shook his head but he was smiling and he fed you three more fries before you turned your face away.
" 'm full."
"you ate like five fries."
" 'm full."
he sighed, setting the plate aside, and pulled you closer. "you impossible."
"you love it."
"unfortunately."
the night started winding down around 3.
your girls were flagging as your sister was arguing with jean about something neither of them would remember tomorrow and your cousin taking mirror selfies with connie's phone because hers had died.
you were barely awake as your face pressed into ony's neck, your breath warm against his skin.
"i'm ready to go," you whispered.
he turned his head as his lips brushed against your forehead. "yeah?"
"mmhm." you nuzzled closer, your nose grazing his jaw. "carry me?"
he laughed low, his chest vibrating under you. "you want me to carry you out?"
"please." you kissed his neck lazily, your lips dragging against his skin. "and grab my heels, they my favorite."
"which ones are those?"
"the ones i was wearin'. under the table."
he looked down and your bare feet were dangling over his thigh, your gold heels kicked somewhere beneath the velvet couch.
"those?"
"those." you kissed his neck again, slower this time. "please, baby."
he exhaled as he muttered, "you tryna kill me,"
"no." you kissed his jaw. "just tryna go home."
he stood up with you wrapped around him like a koala. your legs hooked around his waist, your arms looped around his neck, and your face buried in the crook of his shoulder. he bent down one handed and scooped your heels off the floor, dangling them from his fingers.
"got 'em," he said.
"you're the best," you mumbled into his neck.
"i know."
your girls called out goodbyes as he carried you toward the elevator and shouting "text me when you get home!" you lifted one hand in a lazy wave, your ring catching the light one last time.
the elevator doors closed, muffling the music, and suddenly it was just the two of you.
"you had fun?" he asked, shifting you higher on his hip.
"the most fun." you kissed his neck again, right below his ear, where his cologne was strongest. "thank you for this."
"didn't do nothin'."
"you rented out a whole club."
"that's just money." the elevator dinged as the doors opened to the parking garage. "you happy. that's what matters."
the cool night air hit you the second he stepped outside. ony’s driver had the blacked out suv waiting at the curb. he opened the door for you as you still held onto him, helping you get in because your legs were a unsteady from all those shots. the second the door shut behind him, the world outside disappeared.
it was just the two of you in the dim glow of the interior lights.
“come here, baby.” his voice had dropped that octave that always made you wet. he pulled you across the seat until you were straddling his lap, your dress bunching up around your thighs. his big hands slid up the backs of your legs, squeezing your ass possessively.
“fuck… you really mine now, huh?” he kissed your neck, then your jaw, then your mouth and he was tasting the candy blue shots still on your tongue. “my fiancée. my wife to be. walking around with that ring on your finger while you twerk to city girls. you know what that does to me?”
you whimpered as one of his hands slipped between your thighs, pushing your lace thong to the side. two thick fingers dragging through your already soaked folds.
“shit, you wet as hell,” he groaned, circling your clit with the pads of his fingers before pushing both digits inside you in one smooth stroke. “this pussy been waiting for me all night?”
your head fell back, a broken moan slipping out as he started pumping his fingers, curling them just right against that spot that made your toes curl. the wet sounds filled the backseat, obscene and loud.
“yes–ony… fuck–”
“that’s right. say my name, baby. my pretty baby.” he sucked on your neck, adding a third finger and stretching you open while his thumb worked your clit. “you’re gonna be my wife. carrying my last name. walking around with my ring and my baby in you one day. and you still out here acting like the baddest in the club. you know how proud that shit makes me?”
your hips rolled down onto his hand, chasing the pleasure as it built fast and hot. the driver was separated by the partition, but you didn’t even care if he could hear you moaning like a slut for your man.
ony pulled his fingers out suddenly, making you whine at the loss. he smirked, bringing them to his mouth to taste you while he used his other hand to free himself from his pants. his dick was hard, thick, and leaking for you.
“turn around for me. hands on the seat.”
you obeyed, facing the front, knees on the leather as he pushed your dress up over your ass. he didn’t even pull your thong all the way off, just yanked it to the side again before lining himself up and sinking into you in one long thrust.
“fuuuck, baby,” he groaned, gripping your hips tight. “so tight and wet. this my pussy, right?”
“yes- yours,” you gasped, pushing back on him.
he started fucking you deep, one hand sliding up your back to grab the gold chain like a leash while the other reached around to rub your clit. the car rocked with every thrust, the windows already fogging up.
“look at you,” he praised, voice strained with pleasure. “my fiancée taking this dick so good in the backseat like a nasty little slut. after all them shots and dancing… still creaming all over me. that’s why i’m marrying you. you perfect for me.”
your orgasm hit you hard as your vision blurred. your thighs shaking and moaning his name loud enough that your throat went raw. ony fucked you through it, then pulled out and flipped you onto your back, spreading your legs wide before sliding back in.
he leaned down, forehead against yours, eyes locked on you as he stroked deep and slow.
“i love you,” he breathed between thrusts. “my beautiful baby. my wife. gonna give you everything. this dick. this ring. my last name. everything.”
you came again with his name on your lips, nails digging into his back. ony followed right after, burying himself deep and groaning as he filled you up, hips stuttering against yours.
he stayed inside you for a long moment, kissing you soft and lazy, thumb stroking the diamond on your finger again.
“best birthday ever?” he asked, smiling against your mouth.
you laughed breathlessly, still pulsing around him. “best birthday ever.”
Come baby.” He beckoned you to approach him, is words muffled with a circular mint clasped between his teeth.
In times when he was free of gruesome work hours and filing tedious paperwork for every case that greeted his office desk—He prioritized his wife.
Whether he prioritized a night of physical affection or worshipped your sore muscles after a long work day. And oh, when you’d prance around the halls in a skimpy lingerie set…Your deep complexion glistening with rich oils, he couldn’t help but fill your needy cunt with his cock you’d so desperately craved.
He’d stuff you full with his dick dripping of sticky precum till you milked him dry. However, tonight was a real date night, and he’d sure as hell spoil you like a brat, ordering various Hors-d’œurves for the damn thrill of it. His finances were of best use when in your hands of course.
fuck, when your lips closed over the other end of the mint held between his teeth? His legs were mush. You lightly sucked the end in which he reciprocated, the mint fumbling between both of your tongues.
“Better not mess up my lips.” You giggled, remaining cautious with your fresh lip combo, topped with a tinted gloss. He was in the mood to do far more than smudge your lip products. However, he acknowledged the investments you catered to your appearance.
He’d simply grown dizzy with your gourmand fragrances filling his senses. You were a walking meal. “Mhm.” He hummed, nuzzling the crook of your neck with the curved bridge of his nose, inhaling the scent even further as you tightened his tie.
And of course, his hands trailed the back of your glimmering black dress, groping at the tender flesh of your ass. “Hiromi!” You quietly chastised the man after he’d slightly poked his fingers between your legs.
“Let’s make dinner fast tonight, please baby.” He pleaded, Already counting down the seconds till he could stuff your slobbery cunt with his thick digits.
a/n: butt naked in Hiromi’s crib walking comfortablyyy
it’s been eight month since you and your husband made the decision to start your family. eight months since he swore to you in the bathtub the you’d never have to have another issue at work because he’d be there to take care of you. and for all those eight months he’s been doing just that. he’s been there through the first trimester morning sickness, which you’d like to point out it last way longer than just the morning; the mood swings, the tears, the doctors appointments, the bodily changes, all of it. in just five more weeks the two of you would be expecting a health baby girl.
…in five weeks, five.
it’s not like the two of you have been fucking around the entirety of your pregnancy, it’s just that there had been different priorities at the time. ones that did not include nursery set up. all her items where tossed into the spare room closed off from the rest of the condo behind a solid white door. the thought of going in there and tackling the hanging of her teeny tiny outfits and assembling the furniture really stressed you out for a long time. so naturally you put it off. onyankopon would try and do what he could, but when his woman calls he always comes.
today he unfortunately couldn’t stay home, something something property site, plumbing, needed a supervisor? whatever he said last night. moral of the story is he’s not here to start the process again. you got out of bed right after he left and started cleaning. but not the baby’s room, no something in your brain told you that before you could start anything in there you had to clean the toaster oven, reorganize all of the cabinets, purge the refrigerator, and change all the lights in the kitchen. he’d kill you if he ever found out you climbed up the ladder with nobody home, but what he don’t know won’t hurt him.
and finally three o’clock shines on the stove in green numbers when you finish. with a sigh of relief you make your way to babygirl’s room taking in the messy scene. diapers staked high in the corner, wooden chunks that were supposed to be her crib lay scattered across the floor, pink and frilly outfits, and bibs from the baby shower still in their gift bags, and so much more you don’t even know where to start!
easy task first you suppose, you drag the ladder from the kitchen to her closet and shove all diapers on the very top shelves that line the walls. all organize by how many months she’d be. you think the blue of the boxes ruins the vibe of the closet but you’ll deal with that later. next is all the tiny baby clothes. you spent 45 minutes ripping off tags alone before you spent another hanging them up sorting them by the month and the shades. you find yourself getting teary eyed when you think about her. so small and sweet. you hold her little knitted booties up and the tears fall leaving you a sniveling mess.
but you must suck it up, this crib won’t build itself! it’s a pretty simple piece to do. most parts are premade you just have to stick them together and make sure that are as safe as can be. it takes no more than 30 uninterrupted minutes to complete. it’s so cute you gush at the thought of her little sleepy self balled up on the cushion. the rug is heavier than you’d like to admit but you’ll deal. it’s large and mostly cream with some accents of the light pink that matches the curtains you’re supposed to be hanging up. you roll it out, shifting the fabric under the crib was quite difficult but if you had left it your spirit would be bothered and nothing else would get done.
the room was coming together but it was missing something. you gasp when the image of the cream colored reclining chair from the living room pops in your head. it’s perfect! it’ll fit right next to the window and you can nurse seated comfortably! you mentally praise yourself for being so smart. time slips away from you though and you don’t seem to notice the lack of energy in the house too focused on the task at hand. you’re mid shuffle with the chair when the door unlocks, leaving you frozen in place.
your husband looks at you looking at him. and then he looks down at the swell of your belly peaking out from the low hanging sweat pants on your waist and the tight wife beater you wear. and then he looks at how you stand there with sweat on your brow line and the recliner halfway across the living room.
“the hell are you doing?” he asks cocking a brow at you. i mean he can clearly see what you’re doing but he wonders what you’ll say.
“hey baby, welcome home! i’m just— you know! i just think this chair would go great in her room and you weren’t home so i, ya know?” you tell him a whole bunch of nothing basically, but the way he drops his keys into the tray on the small table you can tell he’s pissed.
he steps towards you with heavy footsteps watching you like a hawk. he stands there sizing you up before turning his head to the kitchen notice the lights are warmer. he looks back to you and in a low voice he ask.
“did you change the lights?”
you frown knowing he won’t be please with your answer so you do what anybody guilty would do, deflect!
“oh so you get to come home and question me without a greeting? no ‘hey mama how was your day,’” you mock the depth of his voice, “or a hello kiss? nothing?”
his hard expression falters for a moment, he sighs and leans down grabbing your cheeks in one hand and placing a nice sweet kiss on your slightly chapped lips.
“sorry, mama how was your day? did you change the lights?” he asked again. fuck, it didn’t work. you nod in his hand lowering your gaze. he stares at you blankly unsure of how to word whatever he says next.
“i’m assuming you got on that ladder after i told you not to?”
you nod, he takes a deep breath letting your face go.
he doesn’t say a word, just kind of moves you out the way and lifts up the chair without so much as a grunt and taking it to her room. you trail behind him feeling real anxious because you know for a fact that you left the ladder and all other tools out in the open for him to see. you don’t enter the room with him, you hear the chair thud against the ground and his footsteps approaching.
he grabs you by the hands and pulls you to the seat in the corner making you plop down in it.
“you like it here or should i move it?” he ask.
“are you mad at me?”
“do you like the chair here, or should i move it?” he ignores your question asking you again. you can see he is trying to remain calm and patient while he awaits your answer.
“it perfect here, just where i wanted it, thank you.” you mutter looking down at your lap. you’re upset that he ignored your question, you feel the pressure behind your eyes and you try not to cry but you can’t help the tears that slip out onto the fabric of your beater.
“(❤︎︎), stop.” he crouches down infront of you his tone firm.“don’t cry, i ain’t mad at you. i’m just— worried that’s all. i told you i don’t want you on that ladder because you’re very pregnant and it’s not safe. i don’t even let my guys on one without a spot, because i know what could happen, and god forbid it happens to you.” he tells you grabbing your hands in his. “i don’t want to sound harsh but people die, baby. i need you to listen and understand when i tell you these things, seriously.” he stands bringing you up with him.
he has your face in his hands again giving you a soft delicate kiss moving his other hand over the swell of your tummy. “you got my girl in here and i’d raise hell if something happened to any of you.” warm fingers wipe away your tears so gently, the guilt you felt dwindled at his words. he won’t even bother mentioning how you didn’t let him help decorate, that’s for another time.
the two of you call it a night after you calm down. you couldn’t even begin to explain how exhausted you were going the whole day with a nap to distracted by all the task you were stuck on doing.
a warm shower with your husband and simple quality time unwinding was all you needed. your night gown a pretty shade of pink left nothing to the imagination. it clung to every swell, dip, and curve on you. your tummy held up your breast so well that if you moves too much he’d catch a slip of your areola. not the point.
onyankopan sets the bed just how you like it. two pillows acting as a crib on the edge of the bed and the flattest on for your head. his arm was usually used at the cushion anyways and a fat pillow would make it too high giving your a neck ache by morning.
you waddle back to him slowly body feeling so heavy you can’t wait for your body to hit the sheets. and when it does you can’t help but sigh in content. you ask him his thoughts about the nursery in a slow sleepy tone trying to make conversation before bed given you hadn’t really seen him all day. he praises your work, and he’s glad that you’re pleased, but he can hear the tired in your voice. “you ready to sleep, beautiful? we can talk more about it the tomorrow okay? i’ll buy whatever’s left, we can make a list.” his tone so soft and his touch too . and hand holds your belly gently rubbing and running his hands around the circumference. you cup his face tiredly giving him a goodnight kiss whispering hushed ‘i love yous’ and before you know you’re out like a light.
you wake suddenly in a cold sweat. a firm hand still placed on your stomach reminds you where you are. it’s not a bad dream that’s got you choked up. unfortunately, it was worse, a wet one. you found yourself dreaming about the night you had gotten pregnant. dreams of his dirty words in your ear. the ways he touched you. the way his ring felt cold against you skin when he bounced you like a bunny up and down in your bathtub.
fuck. you couldn’t help yourself. your husband laid there behind you so sexy and muscular. tattoos out on display and face so calm and comfortable. his breath hot on your neck and the way he held you— so secure in his arms, you can help but push back against him. but the rolling of you hips wasn’t enough. god, you wish you weren’t so huge you could just turn around with ease and rub your cunt along his length like you use to. not to mention all your energy had been killed earlier doing all the stuff you weren’t supposed to be doing you found it extra difficult to move around. you’d really hate to wake him up over something so stupid, especially after he was at work all day, your poor boy probably really needed his rest. it’s okay, you can fix this. you move slowly trying not to move his hand that lays over your belly and you part your legs just enough you can squeeze your hands between them.
your nighty is short, thank god. you only had to shuffle it up a little before your fingers find your sticky clit. you whimper slightly from the sensation, you feel onyankopan’s breathing pattern change but only for a second before falling back to normal. you continue on, rubbing quick tight circles on your clit. you feel yourself gushing but you can’t quite get your fingers where they need to be. you mewl softly that sensation. a tightness in your throat tells you the waterworks are about to start. you pull your hand away trying to recuperate and definitely trying not to cry.
but ugh! why was this so hard? you’re beyond frustrated and so uncomfortable. you can’t even please yourself properly without feeling pathetic? the tears come before you could stop them and you accidentally let out a broken sob. this has ony snapping his eyes open frantically. he ripped his body away from yours to turn on the dim nightlight before he’s back on you in an instant.
“(❤︎︎), are you okay? what happened baby talk to me.” he panics sitting up and easily turning your body towards him supporting you and the baby. unfortunately this has you crying even harder. “ughhh im s—sorry!” you wail bring your hands to your face “i d—didn’t mean to wake yewwww! i’m just so! i’m so frustrated with myself!” another watery cry. this is so embarrassing you want to curl up in a ball and die.
“okay okay okay, calm down mama,” he soothes you softly. “it’s okay baby, take your time. i just need to know if you’re hurt or in pain, ok? nod yes, shake no.” he’s beyond relieved when you shake your head, letting out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. he waits for you to calm down rubbing your hips and legs which works but at the same time— it’s makes it worse.
you stop your crying after ten minutes. still breathing heavy he sits you up you so you aren’t laying flat on your back. he gets up to grabs tissue from the far side night stand cleaning you up gently. he sits on the edge of the bed so you can look at you. he grabs your left hand silently kissing your wrist up to your ring finger then holding your palm on his face.
“so,” he begins. “you gonna tell me what happened? i don’t like to see my wife upset, gets me real angry. i’d hate to have to fuck someone up bout my baby.” he teases.
clearing your throat you softly begin explaining what had happened. starting from your dirty dream, to trying to touch yourself, and telling him how quickly you became frustrated how pathetic you feel and so forth. he doesn’t talk, he doesn’t interrupt, he doesn’t laugh. he just listen and massages your hand waiting for you to finish.
“and uh yeah.. that’s all really. i’m real sorry for waking you onya, but im better now i promise.” you give him a weak smile.
he doesn’t like the sound of that. and now he talks. “none of that. it sounds to me like i’ve been neglecting my poor poor baby, huh?” he lean in to kiss your puffy lips, distracting you from the shuffling going on around you. he’s adjusted the pillows you gather once you break away from the kiss. “let daddy make it up to you. wish you would’ve woke a nigga up earlier, sweetness.” he move to place kisses on whatever skin he can get his lips on. your neck, the top of your tits, all the way down to the inside of your thighs. he mindfully has your pillows stacked in way why that you can lean back comfortably while still giving his tongue access to you aching core.
already dribbling cream he sticks his tongue right where you need him. he slurps and he sucks his mouthing at your entire cunt drinking you like he’s never had water before.
every slurp has you hazy eyed, and your poor cunny throbbing from stimulation. his head bobs slow literally fucking you with his tongue. you shake and whither away from his mouth pushing him off but also pulling him closer. he loves the sounds you make, how you scratch his scalp under the durug. he’s hard now, his tip pressing hard against the fabric of his pajama pants. you nearly scream if you didn’t slap a hand over your mouth when he takes those thick fingers and pushes them in roughly.
immediately he finds your g-spot give you the twist and suck of a lifetime. you want to see his face. you know his eyes roll back when he eats it nearly drunk off you. your babygirl is in the way, blocking you from your husband. it’s really pissin you off.
he pops your outer thighs bringing you back down to earth as a silent command to focus on cumming in his mouth. it doesn’t take long, he lays his tongue flats moving his head in a circle and bends his fingers just right to have you tensing up around his digits. you squeak when you cum, basically vibrating on the bed.
he won’t speak, he only listens to your ragged breath while he presses soft kitten licks to your most sensitive areas.
he decides that you’ve been leaning back for too long and it’s lowkey giving him anxiety. (he’ll have to eat it when you stand new time). he flips you over to the side, making sure you’re still nice and supported by the pillows. he’s tingling with sensitivity wanting nothing more than to find home inside of you.
he pulls his pants down to rest under where they won’t get in the way, tosses your one leg over his shoulder and rubs the head along your slit. he’s pissin you off too. all you want him to do if fuck you silly and he out here teasing. he see the pout forming on your face turning your head to kiss you while sliding himself in. “mmmh!” you moan into his mouth.
“shh, i know it feels good baby but you have to stay, —fuck you’re squeezing me— quiet.” he says hushed. as much as he wants to fold you up and fuck your lights out he knows that if any of the neighbors heard they’d be giving him specifically dirty looks.
“you only cummin’ if you’re quiet pretty, don’t make me have to stop.” his tone is stern but still light trying his best not to sound to mean. a slow drag had him pulling all the way out before shoving back in roughly. the sound gets caught in your throat it’s almost like you can’t breath. he drops your leg having your thighs pressed together while he fucks you from the side.
he’s starry eyed watching every ripple of your skin ricochet with every bruising snap of his hips on your ass. it’s embarrassing how when you are right now. sticky white strings connecting the two of you in a sloppy mess. “mmm- you real creamy on my shit, mama.” he tugs his plump lip between his teeth. “who got you creamin’ like that, huh? what’s my name?” he’s thrust never falter as he questions you to entrance by the way he’s stretching you out.
he leans down forehead resting on your temple the sudden change in angle has you reaching to grab his wrist sinking your nails into the skin. “you! yan —oh my god you— you’re makin’ me like thissuhh!” you’re whispering between your pants you can’t afford to have him stop he feels so so good.
the straps of your night gown slip down your shoulders exposing you slightly but he wants to see more. his hand grab at the dampened fabric to yank it down right under you chest. the way he has you twisted has them bouncing up and down up and down he’s almost hypnotized. dark full nipples hardened into stiff peaks has his mouth watering. little white dribbles squirt out with every push he can’t help but latch on to the skin. “MMMH!” you squirm at the sensation, it’s not like he’s never sucked them before but now it’s a whole different feeling. sensitive and tender as they can be his mouth has you clenching down unbearably hard.
“baby— daddy— wait! i gotta pee!” he only grins when you push him away pounding into your pussy making sure each thrust reaches deep. “let it out gorgeous, it’s not pee it’ll feel so fuckin good i promise. let me have that shit!” he groans against your tits. who are you to deny him? you’re eyes scroll back and your mouth drops open but no sound leaves your lips. clear streams gush and gush each time he reels his hips back. it creates a lewd PLAP PLAP PLAP every hit.
“ look at that, you squirtin’ on me. never done that before im fucking up you good.” he gloats at the mess he(you) made. you say nothing the ungodly sounds leaving your throat is enough of a reaction. it won’t stop either, continuous streams leave your poor cunny you cant help but bring an open palm pushing at his abdomen.
it’s too weak to stop anything he’s unrelenting in the way he fucks you. you’re withering. the way you were soaking him and the sheets had him leaning back down and grunting in your ear. “gon’nut all in this pretty ass pussy. if i ain’t knock you up already i’d give you another one swear to god—” he babbles on, spewing nasty nonsense as his stomach caves and he pushed in deep. hot sticky cum spurts out in thick ribbon, he rotates his hips into yours not wasting a drop.
hes hot above you basking in the aftershock of his orgasm and on the regular you’d be content with the feeling of his skin on yours, but you’re uncomfortably warm. tapping his bicep, he rolls over on his back keeping a hand on your stomach.
he cranes his neck to the side watching as your eyes flutter shut into a peaceful sleep.
i’m so ass at writing endings but this been in my drafts since have your babies dropped
𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑷𝑺𝑰𝑺 ⋆˚࿔ just me and some of my baby daddy Connie fantasies
Smut 18+
Everybody knew what the business was between you and your baby daddy, Connie. You two took the meaning of toxic to a whole different level — from smashing windows, slashing car tires, and nearly killing eachother.
But one thing that you loved about Connie, was the fact that he was always there for his daughter. And he loved seeing you — even if he sometimes used her as an excuse to stop by.
just like today, when he came over to celebrate your toddler’s 3rd birthday with family and friends…
Which ended with you cussing him out in front of everybody.
After the party little girl ending up saying the night at her cousins house.
You swore you hated that man.
That same man that was eating your pussy like it’s his last meal right now.
“Ouu…fuck con..!” You whined, Victoria’s Secret thongs pulled to the side, as Connie ate you out on your kitchen counter with the lights dimmed. He sucked your clit hard between his between his lips.
“Mmh, where all that attitude you had earlier mama?” He mumbled between licks and slurps as he looked up at you with low eyes. “fuck..! Mmng I don’t know!” You moaned, delirious and out of it, your freshly panted toes curling around his shoulders — he let out a low chuckle into your pussy “what i thought.”
The noises that filled your kitchen were lewd. Connies messy noisy slurping sounds and the wet noises of your messy pussy.
“Connie fuck!.. okayy..!!” He sank two fingers into you as he continued sucking on your clit — you grabbed on the sides of the counter for leverage but it was too much. You tried to push his head away lightly but he quickly pushed your hands back on the counter. His tongue slowly circled down to your puckered hole and back you your pussy.
Connie savored you like you were his last meal, the best thing he’s ever tasted. And trust, he’s tasted a lot of good things in his life but nothing could beat your taste.
His nose bumps against your clit as his fingers are covered in your juices, your pussy made loud obscene noises as Connie’s fingers began to speed up. Your legs shook as he added in a third finger.
His other hand pushed against your stomach — You grabbed his head as he curled his finger upwards inside of you “Ohhmygosh..! Connie I can’ttt!..”
“Yes you can.”
Hot white pleasure took tour over as you squirted all over the countertop and Connie’s goatee. You closed your legs tight as you lad there trying to catch your breath but hear Connie’s deep voice from above you —
“I ain’t done with you yet” he said in a low voice, stroking his dick twice before angling it at your quivering hole. He slowly slid in — both of you letting out a gasp as he bottoms out. “Connieee..” — “I know baby.”
“Fuckkk!..” you whined as Connie pounded deep into you— you squeezed your eyes shut, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure coursing through your body. Connie fucked you like he hated you, your ass rippling against his pelvis with every thrust, tears streaming down your face Connie grabbed your face as he pulled you into a hot sloppy kiss swallowing all your noises.
“There you go baby you kno how to take it.”
“Ungghh… fuckk..!” You let out a ragged moan. Connie’s dick was hitting all the right spots as you creamed all over him. “Fuck..” Connie let out a hiss as he felt you clench around him.
He flipped you over on your hands and knees as he fucked into you from the back, his thumb found your clit and started to run slow agonizing circles on it. You felt another orgasm crashing over you “Connie..mm cummingg…”
“Me too baby fuck..
You were so fucked out you didn’t even realize that he nutted in you, his cum dripped down your leg as he pulled out, using his thumb to push his cum back into you.
𐔌 5.9K 𐦯 • 𝘕𝘖 𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘖𝘙𝘚.ᐟ | 𝑷𝒍𝒖𝒈.ᐟ𝑶𝒏𝒚, CollegeAU, mention of drugs (weed), or*l (m. receiving), face-f*cking (slightly rough, lots of gagging, very messy—does this count as oral fixation?), f*ngering, implied p -> v s*x, dirty talk, slight degradation, corruption of mc, inexperienced mc, mc goes in sub-space (unknowingly), mc gets d*ck-drunk, minor BDSM dynamics, subtle size k*nk, gentle/caring Ony, nonchalant Ony, teasing Ony, slow-build interest, nicknames (Mama & Princess), explicit language, use of the n-word (all characters & Author are Black)
Part 1 Here
Taking himself in hand, he rubs it like a wand and swabs it against her lips. The sloppy, uncoordinated push of his dick against her face makes her flinch here and there. But she doesn't pull away in the slightest when he smears their mess all over the lower half of her face.
His hand shifts to hook a thumb between her lips and push down.
"Open."
The hinge of her jaw slackens with ease.
"Stick that pretty tongue out."
She does exactly what he says, and within that second, the fat head of his dick is slapping against her taste buds.
"Mhm, look real good like this."
He can already imagine himself bursting on her tongue. He glances up from her mouth to see the stars in her glistening eyes.
"Should bust all over you right now," he rasps. "You want that?"
She nods eagerly, tongue sticking out of her mouth like a panting dog. The fruity hue of the muscle is too similar to the inside of her pussy.
Contains: ony x reader, reader lowk just being shy cause she likes ony too much, creampie, ony eating reader out after cumming inside, no use of condom (wrap it before tapping guys, choking?, ony just being a big strong guy who loves reader so much
Ony who wants reader really badly but reader lowk is just shy of being all touchy touchy with him.
Not because reader doesn't like him its just that..hes so fine! How did she manage to pull this sexy man? Whether it be in public or even when they're in private ready is just too shy to even give a glance at him and then one day he just snaps and grabs up reader in the kitchen while she was bending over to get something from under the sink.
One hand around her waist while the other is around her throat just holding it. "You don't love me no more ma? Why you always so shy around me? Acting as if I wasn't in that pussy before" You can't do anything but shake your head and quickly clarify that you still love your man.
"Then act like it ma" He says while tugging down your booty shorts not before asking for permission of course.
Taking his time slowly pushing his thick meaty dick inside you while kissing your neck before turning your head and kissing your plump lips and going deep you swear you feel it in your tummy.
Gripping his arm and babbling nonsense to him as he just goes a little faster to get his baby to cum all on his dick before he finally decides to give himself the pleasure of cumming inside you.
You're so dazed you didn't even realize he pulled out and got on his knees until he licks a long strip up your slit, tasting your mixed flavours.
Yes he's your man and hes quite obsessed with you..pictures of you all over. His homescreen and lockscreen is just cute pictures of you.
Let's not even mention the secret locked folder he has of intimate pictures of you and him in his gallery. His wallet? Polaroid picture of you. His home? Pictures of you framed. He just really loves his future wifey😩
