#aot oneshots

[2neaky]

—𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝜗ৎ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

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 ୨ৎ PART 3

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)

[iwanty0uu]

His thick cock thumped ferociously into your pretty pink pussy as his plump lips kissed your ankle over his shoulder. You clenched around him, squriming under his firm hold while being suffocated by euphoria. Orgasm after orgasm, he shoved his dick back into you, ramming into your cervix as tears fell down your wispy lashes. He stretched your brown leg over his shoulder, gripping the other with a tatted muscular arm around his waist.

“Allat fuckin back talk… -tss fuck”

He hissed hardly able to finish his sentence, your tight hole kept him from being able to fully pull out, not that he’d ever even wanna. The thought of being hit with the cool air of his apartment after being inside his warm, soft girl sent a shudder through his spine. Nah fuck allat..So to compensate, he slowed down feeding deep passionate strokes cus he wasn’t finished jussttt yet. He let go of your legs finally, then slowly lowered himself to your pierced ear.

“Keep giving me attitude infront of them bitches ion like n you gon feel it mama.”

“Fuckkkk Daddy I’m sorr-ughhhh”

He shoved his dick alllll the way into you, feeling your gummy walls enclose him as you came..again.He felt your body spasm, watching your eyes close while your back arched. You looked like art.

“Sorry not gon do it this time Y/n” he grunted, slowly hovering his thumb over your puffy nipples.

“Hmmmmphhh ‘s too muchhh m tired baby—AH!” He pinched the small bud between his index and thumb.

“Shut that shit up”, he readily eased out of you, sitting up on his mattress, low eyes staring into your soul.

“You gon gimmie one more…”

hii chat I think I’m a lil rusty but i hope you like!~𝓵𝓮

[plussypop]

౨𑄺. onyankopon's slutty college girl ஜ 18+ only ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ minors, do not interact ࿐ྂ .

"baby – slow down." onyankopon's fingers are digging into your hips and stopping your movements.

just from the sheer look on his face, you could see he was nearly fucked out. eye's lidded, staring at you. his eyes tracked to your swollen nipples, he had been sucking on to get you this horny. the tank top that was drawing his attention to them is now thrown on the floor of his bedroom. your caramel skin is turning a deep red from his grip on your thighs. his masterpiece about to make him cum faster than he'd like. "but daddy." you whined out, breathy moans coming from your brown, plump lips. and it's his fault to blame. he knew you got crazy on top, and still allowed you to ride him each time. he loved making you happy, even if it caused him to suffer of immense pleasure. it's like when you saw how needy he was for you, you couldn't stop. not until he was begging you to. it turned you on so much, to the point your wetness is dripping down his thighs. "i know baby, i know." he cooed to you, pecking your lips and moving to your collarbone, causing you to shudder. "just let me do it," he placed a firm smack onto your right cheek. his tip, poking right at that spot, but you knew better to move, to push him.

when he began fucking you from underneath, your moans got louder. "please! please! babyy–" his grip bruising, and holding you to bounce you atop him. "please what?" but your words were incoherent now. exceedingly loud breathy moans, right into his ear. he had to take a deep breath, your wet pussy squeezing around him had him losing his mind. "you feel so good mama – shit!" he kissed your cheek. "it's mine?" you tried to move to grab his wrist to slow his movements, and he just smacked your ass again. "you can move and not talk? y/n." moans never stop leaving your mouth. "o-ony, i can't." you shook your head. voice high and whiny, "you're too deep, baby! please," onyankopon’s lips brushed your shoulder, and a shiver ran straight down your spine. you hated how easy it was to fall back into him. you broke up with him for a reason—you left for college, and he stayed behind chasing that entrepreneur grind you couldn’t trust anymore. you needed stability and he was all impulse and obsession. but he was still crazy over you, your pussy. and you were weak for the way he touched you. it’s finals week, stress is eating you alive, and honestly… a girl just needed to breathe. needed a break. needed something. and somehow, it ended up being him again.

"fuck that, i said is it mine?"

© plussypop — do not plagiarize, translate, or post my works to other sites.

[arminslutss]

Reiner Braun who pays special attention to your tits when he helps you put on sunscreen

Shivers run up your spine as you stand around your chilly hotel room, waiting for Reiner to emerge from the bathroom so he can help you put on your sunscreen before the beach.

Your legs, arms, stomach, and chest are already coated in a thin layer, your back at risk of sunburn due to you being unable to reach behind you and apply an even amount.

Reiner comes out of the bathroom, his own sunscreen bottle in hand. "Alright, I'm here. Just your back?"

You nod, pulling your hair to the side to give Reiner full access to your back. He squirts some sunscreen onto his hands, steady touch rubbing it in circles all over your upper and lower back.

"Almost feels like a massage," you comment, closing your eyes as if it truly was one. When Reiner removes his hands from your back, you almost think he's done.

But you knew him better than that.

Reiner spins you to face him, ogling the sight of your full tits in your tiny little bikini top, the pale blue color of the fabric beautiful on your skin.

He squirts more sunscreen into his hand, a devilish smirk tugging at his lips as his hands find your breasts. "Just gotta make sure your chest doesn't burn, sweetheart," he chuckles, though his true intents are painfully obvious.

You laugh in response, going along with his playfulness as he hands dip under the triangle fabric, calloused fingers rolling over your hard nipples. He cocks a brow, yet his hands don't stop.

"It's because it's cold in here, dumbass." You roll your eyes, but there isn't any anger behind your tone or your actions. After a few more unnecessary minutes of kneading your flesh, Reiner lets go.

"You ready?" He asks, grabbing the beach bag he had packed earlier this morning, simultaneously watching you readjust your bikini top with a proud grin.

Nodding, you reach for your bikini cover up, holding it safe in your arms. "As ready as ever. Let's go before I start to get hot."

"You are hot," Reiner says, earning himself another eye roll. "Don't forget, I'm going to have to help you reapply later at the beach."

[souljakitty]

𑣲║ ¡Loser Armin! x ¡Popular Reader!

Part 1 ↠ Part 2

𝑀𝑒𝓃𝓊

Warnings: submissive/inexperience Armin, more experienced reader, sucking on breast, suggestive language, no explicit penetrative sex, reader is kinda mean

────────────୨ৎ────────────

¡Loser Armin! who was basically outcasted all throughout high school. He managed to gain a close knit of two or three friends, but that's about all he has.

When he got to college he really thought maybe it'd be different: new city, new people, new him. However, apparently switching scenery won't change who he is so he's still outcasted and fit into the 'nerd' stereotype.

So what if he likes layered graphic shirts he found at a local thrift shop? What does it matter if he wears the shirt Eren, one of his few friends, gifted him with symbols of elements on the periodic table that spelled something corny? Clothes are clothes so of course he'll wear whatever.

Maybe he also had stereotypical rectangular glasses matched with a haircut that hadn't changed since his youth.

Maybe he has an obsession with collecting figures and would study in the library for ungodly amounts of time, but there's nothing wrong with that. He cares about his grades and he has special interests— shouldn't everyone?

He wasn't a complete recluse and would sometimes attend his friend's frat parties; then again, he often stayed awkwardly in the corner with a red solo cup. It was his effort to connect with others that mattered, and he put in a lot of effort.

Still, most people just saw him as a kinda weird guy who was still pretty sweet. Some whispered about him being a pervert with maid girl figures lining the bookshelves in his room, but others would defend him and say he did give them a pencil one time.

¡Loser Armin! who was always first at his biology lab and never skipped a day of class. Well never skipped besides the one day Eren had him play beer pong and poor Armin just couldn't keep up. He woke up with a horrific hangover because his body wasn't use to alcohol nor did he even like beer much. Though he just emailed his teacher despite his headache and lied about having a random migraine— his teacher believing it an instantly pouring out heartfelt wishes for his recovery. Armin felt like an ass and was ashamed the next day the woman came up to him and talked all about her migraines and offered him a doctor to speak with about medication.

Nevertheless, Armin was usually front and center in his classes.

So when a pretty girl he's never seen before comes into his class and sits right beside him, he's awe struck. He could smell your fragrant perfume and shampoo as you sat down and he tried to subtly watch the way your hair fell over your shoulder.

Though when you glance over at him and see he's already staring at you, he quickly looks away as his cheeks heat up in mortification. The next twenty minutes he spends desperately trying to not look your way, as to not weird you out.

Eventually the professor decides to have the class 'turn and talk,' like it's still high school. Armin hated when professors did this mostly because the person next to him would awkwardly avoid eye contact or just all together ignore him. However, you already turned towards him and began to talk about the question the teacher wrote on the chalk board.

After the two of you discussed something about abiogenesis, he decided to try and have a casual conversation.

"So are you new?" he asked since he hasn't noticed you before.

"No. I've been here the whole semester."

"Oh," Armin paused as all social skills he has required fly out the window. How the hell hasn't he noticed you? Nevermind that, what does he say to make this less embarrassing?

Meanwhile your eyes stay just trained on the man as his face and neck turned a light shade of pink. You didn't bother saving him from embarrassment by adding you maybe attended class 40% of the time, and when you did you just sat in the back row.

He was somewhat cute as he nervously began fidgeting with the hem of his shirt that had oxygen and magnesium symbols on it: spelling out 'OMg.'

Finally the professor began to talk and Armin took that opportunity to snap his head to the front of the room and try to forget what happened.

¡Loser Armin! who, like many introverted shy people, hated group projects. He always seemed to be stuck doing the brunt of the work as his partner just slapped on their name at the end and got the same grade.

That's not to say he'd particularly like someone trying to do the work— he's quite specific and controlling when it comes to projects. Although he does get upset to see his group members boasting about the perfect score they received, he's slowly learned to just tune it out.

Again, after leaving high school he assumed the whole 'group project' thing would die out. However like his other hopeful wishes, they did not come to fruition as he's stuck partnering with people often now.

It was even worse that even though people called him nerdy and picked fun at how serious he was about things, they wouldn't choose to be his partner. So whenever the professor asked everyone to find one, he was left sitting anxiously and just waiting for the professor to ignore him or assign him to someone.

It wasn't until one day you walked in way too late and the professor told you to find someone to partner with. Glancing around the room, you saw a variety of people.

There were the stereotypical frat boys you knew wouldn't get the project done, even if they did it would suck, and likely just be focused on hitting on you.

There were your sorority sisters who could be nice, but at the same time you wouldn't say they were the sharpest tools in the shed. Besides, it looked like they were already partnered up.

There were some people you hadn't seen before, or the only time you had seen them was when they were smoking way too much weed at a frat party.

Eventually your eyes land on the blonde headed man in the front row whom you sat beside not long ago when your original seat was taken. He seemed to be just staring at his lap and praying for this to be over, so you walked over and plopped down next to him.

"Do you still need a partner?"

His widened eyes looked over to you once he smelled the familiar perfume once again: "Yes, I do," he mumbled back while sitting up a bit straighter.

"Great," you reply as you glance at the chalk board to see what it was you even needed a partner for. Finally you look back to him, but see he's been staring at you since you looked away. Unintentionally, you must've given him a weird look because his eyes shifted away and you could've sworn you heard him mumble 'I'm sorry.'

¡Loser Armin! who is naturally more nervous when it comes to talking to women. Literally any woman and he's fumbling over words more than usual and glancing away.

"Dude you've gotta get over that shit," his friend Eren says while he's reclined on the sofa in the frat house. Armin usually didn't like going over there because, well, it's filthy. He just sat on the edge of some cushioned chair that he didn't even want to think about what could've happened on it.

"Yeah," comes from Jean who sits on the other side of the couch, "It kinda kills the vibe sometimes. How are we supposed to hang out with you when you start tripping if we bring a chick?"

Armin readjusts his glasses while contemplating what to even say. Was it that noticeable? He knew he got a bit more self conscious when a girl was around, but he always had a stutter for the most part.

"But I think I act normal?" well, he doesn't have to mention 'normal' means normal for him.

"Well you don't," Jean quipped.

"Look, man to man, I'm trying to help you. You're never going to pick up women if you keep being a stereotypical geek," the dark brown haired man reasons.

However, Armin pushes this conversation to the back of his mind for the most part. It's not like women glance his way anyways, so what does it matter? It's not like he was a weirdo who purposefully gawked, so as long as he didn't make them uncomfortable then whatever.

Though as he sat in your dorm, in your sorority house, and heard you talk about the project he couldn't feel more stupid. He should've listened to his friends and figured out how to not turn into a mess anytime a girls attention was on him; now, he's practically immobile.

"I was thinking maybe the second point could be about the evolution and maybe environmental modification? I mean I can't think of what else to do," you talked, though it sounded like white noise to Armin.

Was that a natural tint to your lips, or did you have lipgloss on?

Did all girls rooms smell this good? Was it the candle in the corner or just your perfume?

Was this his first time even in a girls room? Can he count the time he walked into his friend's older sister's room?

"Armin?" his name falling from your lips snap him out of it.

"O-oh yeah, good idea. I'd rather do a powerpoint than docs," he stutters out as his eyes fix on you.

You stare at him and look at his blue eyes that darted around your room, his rigid posture, and pink hue to his cheeks. Slowly, your lips pull back into a smile: "That's not what I was talking about just now? Are you nervous or something, Armin?"

His eyes darted to his lap as he fidgeted with his hands, "What? No—"

"Am I making you nervous?"

The two of you sit on your bed with your backs pressed against the wall and his feet dangle off the side of it. Being shoulder to shoulder with your MacBook resting on your thighs, you could see each other's expression clearly. You watch his adam apple bob as he clears his throat.

"Not at all," he manages to murmur without even looking at you. You just shove your MacBook off your lap and let it lay discarded towards the side of the bed.

"Really? Then why won't you look at me?"

His eyes move back towards yours in an instant, but they quickly fell down to your lips. He stared when you casually licked your lips to wet them before talking more.

"If you're nervous that's fine— I think it's cute."

"Cute?" Armin knew Eren would cackle if he ever knew the blonde man was described as 'cute' from a girl.

"Totally," your body leans into him as you turn a bit to face him more. He could feel when the curve of your tit pressed against his arm; instinctively making him tense and his eyes dart down before returning to your face. You talked a bit quieter, "I'm into cute guys though. Are you into girls like me?"

He feels his breath pick up and his blood rushing to a particular part: "I do think you're pretty."

"Yeah? Have you even been this close to a woman?"

His mind flips to his memories during the summer before university where he played spin the bottle once at Eren's party. It landed on a girl who awkwardly glanced at Armin before leaning over and giving him a quick peck— so quick that Armin didn't even have time to reciprocate.

"..Yeah, I have," he mumbled since it wasn't technically a lie. He did count that experience as his first kiss.

"Have you ever touched one?"

He's consciously aware of the natural rise and fall of your chest while you breathe. He notices how you subtly bite your bottom lip while waiting for a response. He observes how your hands twitch at your side, then begin reaching to his own hands.

"Do you want to?" you ask when he didn't reply.

He feels his throat go dry while you grip his wrist and pull his hand to cup your breast.

"Yes," he finally whispers: immediately prompting you to smile and swing your leg over his hip to straddle him. You wasted no time using your other hand to tangle in his hair and force his head to tilt upwards as your lips crashed against his.

The kiss was messy as he went into sensory overload from your sweet lips meeting his, his hand softly finding the courage to feel your tit, and your hips grinding down into his in short waves. His free hand finds comfort just settling on your waist.

Your tongue ran over the roof of his mouth as you took the initiative. The hand in his hair curls into it more while fingertips scrape against his scalp and causes him to finally let out a little groan.

When you pull away, you see how swollen and pink his lips became after a small makeout session; though it just excites you. You let go of his hand and swiftly take your shirt off so he's now just face to face with your lace bra— you'd specifically worn it in hopes this might happen.

"Take my bra off," you said. You damn well could've slipped it off yourself, but it would be fun to watch him fumble.

"Oh, okay," he breathes out while his eyes darted down to your chest. He tried to keep his eyes on yours when you began to strip, but when you gave him the command he just stared at you.

His shaky hands lifted to behind your back as he ran them up it until they came in contact with your bra. Dumbly, his fingers fiddle with the clasp as it. They tug up, then down, then attempt to just pry it apart which makes you laugh.

"You've seriously never even gotten a girls bra off?" you ask while reaching your hands back and unclasping it yourself. You just throw it to somewhere else in your room. Maybe someone would say it was cruel, but when you saw his red face and him seemingly in a trance, you add: "What? You going to suck on them for me?"

"Can I?" he quickly replies without the hesitation you'd seen earlier. You were just joking because surely a guy like Armin, whom hasn't gotten his rocks off to an actual woman, would want to rush everything.

That wasn't on Armins mind at all though. Well, it is, but not his first concern! No one can really blame a guy if after seeing his first pair of tits, he's just itching to get a taste like all his fantasies promised.

"Hm," you paused and thought. An idea just pops into your head when you picked up on his desperate tone: "Yeah? You wanna do that?"

His eyes travel to yours while both hands, which were planted on your waist, slowly feel up your torso.

"Mhm, yes," he mumbles with a nod— knowing how frantic he probably sounds. He really just couldn't help it! All his logic and reasoning he relied on was thrown out the window the moment he saw how pretty you looked on his lap.

"Ask nicely," you retorted.

"Can I please do it?"

"Do what?" you really plan on making him beg a bit. He knows you could feel the tent in his pants practically jump at your question.

"Can I please suck on your... breast," consciously trying to not be that crude and say tits.

"Kinda pathetic," you comment while feeling how his thumbs slid right under your chest and rubbed smooth circles right below them. Though, your lips slowly tugged into a smile when you felt his dick twitch in his pants under you. "Just do it already," you finally said.

Instantly, his lips are around your nipple as he closes his eyes and suckles on them. Both of his hands cup under both tits to squeeze them gently and then alternate between sucking on either one. His mind goes back to any porn video he's ever seen, not the best examples, but he does try to replicate the tonguing motions. He knew all those late nights would pay off one day.

Meanwhile, you softly gasp when his hot mouth wraps around your hardened nipple. One hand cups his nape to keep him close and the other remains on his shoulder. In comparison to any other person you've let suck on you, he's by far the messiest and most enthusiastic.

"Just like that," you whispered while he experimentally nipped at your skin while it glistens with his spit.

Suddenly, your hand in his hair tightens and rips him off of you before you swiftly kiss him again. You can just feel the small trail of spit dribbling down his chin from how much he'd been salivating on your breast.

When you pulled away, both of you were breathless as he stared into your eyes with a somewhat vulnerable expression. Your hand just left his nape and instead cradled his jaw— phony sweetness.

"You wanna put that tongue to work in other places for me?"

¡Loser Armin! who now gets to 'hang out' with you more often as you two chose to be partners for most assignments. It worked out: he did the work, you slapped your name on the project, and during breaks he'd eat you out wonderfully.

At first he was a bit rusty with trying to find some technique, but you easily guided him. In no time he was suckling on your clit while two fingers relentlessly curled into your g spot that had your back arching.

Armin didn't care that you weren't too interested on returning the favor and sucking him off. He got off enough on just pleasuring you, so it would've been embarrassing for you to pull down his pants and see he already made a mess on himself.

He was happy with the arrangement. For the most part he was, but he couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to be with you outside of just the privacy of your bedroom. He wanted to walk around campus or be able to approach you whenever he saw you around. When you finally suggested you two go to a frat party, he was ecstatic. He didn't even question your change of heart considering last time he asked to meet you at a cafe, you laughed and said you weren't interested in commiting social suicide.

He of course instantly obliged and ran to tell his closest friend who was somewhat aware, minus the whole sexual thing, about him and you.

"You can't be serious," the brown haired man mutters while casting a disapproving look at the blonde. He knew Armin didn't even care for parties, but suddenly he was all for them cause some chick wanted him to be?

"Yeah, she asked me. Isn't that great? Like, she's agreeing to arrive with me."

"How do you know she's not just using you for some sick prank?" Eren knew he was coming off harsh, but he was hesitant of this whole thing. Armin, despite his intelligence, could be a bit naive sometimes. The guy just didn't want one of his best friends getting hurt.

"She wouldn't do something like that," he defends.

"Maybe something else then. Shit, if she's living at that damn sorority house it's a long ass walk. Maybe she just needs your car and then will ditch you."

"Shut up," he snaps, "I'm sure it's not like that."

"Hey man, I'm just thinking."

"Well stop or you'll strain yourself."

¡Loser Armin! who, again, wasn't much up for parties. He drove over to your sorority to pick you up at the time you specified, and tried to push any pessimistic feelings away.

Although once he saw you dolled up with a skirt that just hugged your thighs in the perfect way, he only had one thing on his mind. He tries his best to keep his eyes on the road, but every time you shifted and your legs rubbed together he got side tracked.

"Armin?" he hears and his eyes snap back up to the lights at the intersection.

"Yes?" he mumbles back while praying you just thought the red light is what made his face look pink.

"Did you hear me?" though as you looked at his face, you knew he hadn't been focusing on the conversation. You sighed, rolling your eyes before continuing: "I told you I'll talk to a few friends once we get there. You can just find some people you know— aren't you friends with someone who will be there?"

Eren's words pop back into his mind: 'ditch you.' No, certainly you're not that low. He nods as the light turns green and he begins to move again: "I'm alright with that. I know some guys," the man hopes Eren wouldn't be too busy to not talk to him until you're done.

¡Loser Armin! who should've expected things would end out like this.

Upon you two walking in, you split off without a word and headed towards a group of people. Armin, standing in the doorway while surveying the crowd, was just left to pretend he didn't know you and keep walking. His immediate to do list was finding Eren; an easy task since he hears the man's boisterous laugh as he filled up another solo cup with, in Armin's opinion, nauseating beer.

The next thirty minutes was just Armin trying to navigate through the sea of people and attempt to not bump into anyone; a difficult task when considering the amount of limbs flopping around on the dance door.

He couldn't reach Eren and he decided he didn't even want to after watching the man start dancing with some girl and then watched another one attempt to do a body shot— instead just wasting half a bottle of tequila.

You were absolutely no where in sight.

The blue eyed man finally decides enough is enough and starts trying to walk back towards the door. He kept his eyes browsing the crowd so if he saw you he'd just tell you he was leaving now, so you'd need a new ride. Although half way through his voyage to the door, he just decided he'd send you a text and not bother confronting you.

Armin already felt out of place and by some of the glances he got, he knew others felt the same. It wasn't until he brushed against a man's arm that he finally had his first interaction of the night.

"Watch it bitch," snapped the taller man as he turned to look at the culprit who spilled his cup of beer on him. Armin didn't register the man was talking to him at first, since he literally barely touched the guy. It wasn't until the meathead grabbed Armins shoulder and pulled him back: "What? Can you not hear?"

Being yanked back, Armin quickly looks up at the man and realizes he must've accidentally knocked his drink around.

"I'm sorry," he swiftly says while about to over explain how he didn't mean to and just wanted to get to the door.

"Woah!" the man's angry expression disappeared as his eyebrows raise above where his hair fell over his forehead and a smirk appeared. "You're a guy? Damn, with that mop on your head I thought you were some flat ass girl."

"Uh okay," he didn't know what else to say to that as he began to turn around again. Though, like before, the man's grip on his shoulder yanked him back.

"No I'm serious. What's with this whole outfit anyways? Didn't think it was theme night," he continued.

Armin was just becoming increasingly more aware of the eyes falling on him as the man practically yelled every word. He couldn't even reply before the guy was spitting out more insults.

"I mean seriously? Why even come to a party if you're going to look so—"

"Shut the fuck up Floch," a familiar voice snaps close to Armin's side and pushes the man who'd been terrorizing him back. Your voice practically sounded like angels singing a hymn, even if the only reason Armin was getting chewed out was because you invited him here.

"What? I didn't hear you?" the auburn haired man asked while looking around the crowd with a smile; clearly, trying to ensure people were still on his side.

"Oh as if those big ass ears couldn't hear me," you had a drunk slur to your words, "you shouldn't even be talking about hairstyles!"

With Floch's hand off Armin, he's now trying to gently place his hands on your shoulder and push you away from the other man. He could tell you were pretty drunk, and he did not need you starting some altercation.

"Hey, I think it's fine now," he nervously mumbles in your ear as people stared. Armin could feel anxiety creep in as eyes dart from you, to him, then back to you.

"Like hell it is. Only reason that guy comes to these parties is because he's waiting for Eren to give him the opportunity to suck his dick—"

"Okay, let's keep walking," he interrupts while just guiding you to the door to leave. Looking over his shoulder he sees an embarrassed, and fuming, Floch.

"What? It's true," you murmured while stumbling a bit, but he swiftly steadied you. He eventually had you pulled to the side of the room against a wall close to the door. He didn't know if you wanted to leave now, even if it's probably the best choice, but he knew you couldn't be here alone.

"Where'd your friends go?" he asked. Right now, he wasn't even thinking about how you ditched him a hour ago. You didn't seem to hear him, so his hands gently came up and cradled your jaw while reiterating the question. Finally, you noticed his words.

"Oh uh," you glanced around the sea of people and spotted one, "she's over there."

Following your gaze, Armin's eyes land on a woman standing on the frat's pool table while dancing like some gogo dancer.

"Is she the only one?" he hesitantly asks since he could assume the answer.

"No, the rest are around her."

Eyes casting downwards he just sees a crowd that seemed just as far gone as you. Like hell he would knowingly leave you here with friends too drunk to care about you wandering off.

"Right, let's just go," and he began to delicately push you towards the door once more as you complied without protest.

¡Loser Armin! who really is a caring soul. When he saw you belligerently drunk, he couldn't force himself to remain that upset. Even if you did ditch him at the party.

In the car, you reeked of alcohol and laid your head on the center consul as he just began to drive back to your sorority house. A song softly played in the background so it wasn't complete silence, but your voice broke the atmosphere.

"Armin?" you mumbled— great, at least you knew you were with him.

"Yeah?" he glanced over to just see you positioned yourself to look up at him despite the seatbelt straining. His eyes revert back to the road.

"Are we going back to mine?" he couldn't help but notice how precious your voices sounded all soft as it slurred slightly.

"Mhm, I'm going to drop you off."

"You can come inside too," you whispered while look at his features: long eyelashes, ocean blue eyes, and soft blonde hair.

"I will to make sure you get to your room," he reasoned without glancing down. From his peripheral vision, he could tell you were staring at him though.

"No, I mean stay there. I like having you around."

He went quiet for a moment while the only noises were the radio and clicking of his blinker while he turned onto the street your sorority was on. Your hand reaches up mindlessly and traces over the curve of his jawline before running down his chest. He couldn't tell if you wanted to touch him, or just entertaining yourself as the alcohol muddied your thoughts.

"I don't think you'd like that," he whispers while parking just outside the house. He looks down at you and his hand tenderly grabs yours that has been resting over his heart.

"But I would. I wanna be with you."

He knew you might've just been babbling from the liquor, but you even saying you want to be with him hit hard. He considered things quietly while reaching to help lift you upwards so you sat properly. He needed you to sit up and then go help you out. Without a word, he started to move.

However, once he looked away and his hand went to the drivers door handle, your arm shot out and held onto the side of his shirt.

"Do you wanna be with me too?"

His head turned and looked into your glossy eyes while admiring the flush your drinks had given you. Armin didn't want to rush into this like he had with being intimate with you. How eager he was without thinking of anything else. He didn't want to blindly trust, but instead build something.

"I can," he paused and found the right wording, "I can stay for tonight."

"Mmh, good," you whispered as your grip loosened so he could get out. He already made a check list of things to do while jumping out of the car and crossing to your door: carefully haul you up the stairs to your room, peel off those heels, and take off your makeup if you're cooperative. He believes he's overheard women talk about not ever sleeping in makeup before.

At the last of his list, it was to simply lay in bed next to you while a bottle of Advil and water laid on your bedside table. He knew you'd wake up with a hangover, but he didn't know if you'd wake up and feel the same way you expressed in his car.

────────────୨ৎ────────────

[fixtionalpromises]

PENT UP ANGER

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐭: 3.3k𐙚

MDNI:| WARNINGS--> 𝒔𝒒ᰔᩚ𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 | 𝒇𝒆𝒎 𝒅𝒐𝒎 | 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒎 | 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒄𝒉ᰔᩚ𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 | 𝒄𝒖𝒏ᰔᩚ𝒊𝒍𝒊ᰔᩚ𝒈𝒖𝒔 | 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 | 𝑷𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒔ᰔᩚ𝒙 | 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚 | 𝑺𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝑫𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒕 | 𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒇𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 | 𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒕ᰔᩚ𝒍𝒌 | 𝒇𝒊𝒏ᰔᩚ𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒇 𝒕ᰔᩚ𝒚 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 | 𝒄ᰔᩚ𝒎 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 |

EAT TS WITH YOUR GRILLS STILL ON

Pairings: Onyankapon x black fem!reader

Notes: I wrote this listening to two songs on repeat😩: Church - Chase Atlantic slowed and Where You belong - The Weekend (Take a listen as you read.ᐟ)

Visuals: { 𐙚 } { 𐙚 }

Storming out of the sleek black car, you slammed the door behind yourself, ignoring the distant sound of another slamming harshly as your feet carried you forward.

You moved swiftly, heels producing a steady beat against the hardwood floor as you sauntered down the long hallway leading toward your shared bedroom. 

The steady steps of your husband grew closer as you approached the master bedroom, black stiletto cladded fingers twisting the metal handle, pulse spiking as you stepped into the dimly lit room. 

A sudden gasp left your throat, lips parting as a veined hand grasped the back of your neck, spinning you toward the source of your anger. 

The cold bite of what you knew as a wedding band pressed against your neck, Umber eyes glaring down at you,  fingers gliding from the base of your neck toward the front. 

Tattooed fingers using the sides as leverage to tilt your view up toward him. 

Onyankapon’s lazy eyes assessed your features, brows furrowed as he spoke.

“Use your words baby, did I upset you?” 

You averted your gaze, breath hitching as he leaned his face closer to yours, enunciating his question with a slight tilt of his head, pointer and thumb releasing its grasp along your throat, instead working to tilt your head closer toward his. 

You watched, waiting, chest rising rapidly — each breath edged with unfathomable irritation — as his eyes flickered between yours, searching, questioning, what the fuck he’d done to upset you. 

“Hm?” He hummed, pink tongue dragging against his bottom lip, granting you a glimpse of the diamond laced grills on the top row of his teeth as he backed you up toward the edge of the bed. 

Your knees buckled at the feeling of the soft mattress behind you, body bouncing slightly as you fell.

A tattooed thumb ran across your lip, smearing the butter gloss you’d applied — mere moments before — as his thumb pushed slightly against them, lips parting at the intrusion.

A slight tilt of his head finalized his previous question.

“Open that pretty little mouth, baby, tell me… How can I make you feel better?”

You swiveled your head to the side, rolling your eyes in aggravation as the recollection of his hand on the gorgeous woman’s waist danced through your head once more. 

The way he clasped the woman’s slim hand, seeming to forget that those freshly manicured fingers had been deep inside you mere moments before. His middle finger — etched with the mesmerizing swirl of your first name, tattooed in fine, cursive letters — swirling around your hard clit as your pussy clenched desperately, around the baby pink vibrator pulsing inside you. 

The way that gorgeous woman batted her perfectly curled lashes at him. Green, doe eyes, much different from your siren-like ones, seeming to encapsulate him; Her long, tan legs, leading up to her ass — perky, tame, just enough — dramatized by the pop of her hips as she spoke meekly to Ony.

“You know what the fuck you did nigga, stop playin’,” You scoffed. 

You were fucking steaming, chest rising rapidly as you clenched your jaw in a futile attempt to halt the disrespectful words threatening to spill from your glossed lips. 

You knew you’d fucked up by the way his left eye seemed to twitch, a slow smile pulling across his face as he chuckled lightly. 

The emerald cut, baguette diamonds sitting pretty atop his teeth glimmered sexily against the darkness, seeming to illuminate his mouth, though no light was present. 

As much as you’d reasoned with yourself while you sat stiffly in the black Maybach seats of his car — or at least tried to — you couldn’t think of any other reason as to why he’d been smiling so damn hard, or why you yourself were so fucking mad. 

You were far from insecure, and Onyankapon, he was far from disrespectful, never leading you to second guess the way he felt about you, not once since you’d met, but something was itching in the depths of your mind today to fuck a bitch up, and if it wasn’t gonna be her…then it’d be him. 

Onyankapon didn’t take to disrespect lightly, he expected what was given, and gave more than expected. He knew you were mad, but every attempt he’d taken in comforting you, or trying to work out‌ what was wrong, you’d shut that shit down as quick as it came, instead leaving clues behind for him to pick up. 

He didn’t play that shit. 

You were his woman, and everything a man wished for in a woman. You were the woman, and in no way whatsoever would he have his woman wallowing in a pool of restless anxiety for as long as he was your man.

He could give zero fucks about what anybody else thought.

So you watched, eyes low, as he rose up from his position above yours on your shared bed, his broad stature consuming your view as he tilted his head, taking his sweet-ass fucking time to unbutton the cuffs of his black dress shirt.

You huffed, tutting as you lifted from your lying position atop the cotton sheets, attempting to raise up from the bed before being stopped short by the rough reminder of his presence. 

“Sit.”

Your eyes flickered up quickly, lips parting to cuss him out — snapping them shut at the harsh glare in his eyes.  

Fuck. 

“How many times did I ask if you were okay, (y/n) hmm?”

You swallowed.

“How many times did I ask you…if I did something wrong?” His hands reached up toward his collar, fingers working to undo each button, slowly, tauntingly… too fucking calm. 

You glanced to your left. The steady flame of irritation spreading inside you seemed to grow larger, hotter, at the fact that he was irritated with you for being mad. 

Who the fuck was he feeling like? 

Sizzling silence drowned the room as Onyankapon stared down at you, noting the way your titties sat, perky, pretty, in your black dress — the cotton seeming to accentuate the softness of your curves as you peered up at him, gorgeous brown eyes peeking from beneath a wispy set he’d dropped 350 for the day before. 

“What happened to allat’ fucking attitude, mama?” He was toying with you, smile growing dark at your silence. 

“Lemme know wassup’.​​ Tell me. Say dat' shit wit’ ya chest.” 

He watched, aggravated, a slight mug resting against his face as he slipped his shirt off his shoulders, displaying the slutty tattoos hidden beneath.

Tension curled from the Greek pillars surrounding your shared room, slithering down the walls as you both stared unblinking at each other.

Seething.

Each begging for the other to make a move, to slip. 

Your lips parted — wrong.

With only the quickness that Ony himself possessed, his hands gripped your cheeks, puckering your lips as he stared down at you, brows furrowed as he spoke. 

“Stop allat’ disrespect shit, (y/n). You a’ big girl, right?”

“You not gone tell me ma? Hmm?” A slight tilt of his head.

Your thighs pressed together, core tightening at the low rasp of his voice. He nodded, a firm, self-affirming nod.

“Show me.”

That’s all you needed. 

Onyankapon released his grasp upon your face, sniffling, palm planting two firm taps against your cheek before stretching his arms up to grasp the pillar above your shared bed as your hands reached out. 

You gave no warning. 

Silence. 

Tension snaked closer. 

Your stiletto nails scratched down his abdomen, creating shallow indentations in its path as you worked the Matte Gucci belt buckled around his waist. 

Ony watched, sinking his teeth into the plush of his lips as he glared at the soft flutter of your wispy lashes, entrapped by your siren-like beauty. 

His head tipped, mind whirling at the tickle of  your nails slithering beneath the border of the only thing separating him from your view.

His eyes fluttered shut, abs caving, Adam’s apple bobbing as he fought to control his mind, his heart, from spiraling with every flick of your slick tongue against his mushroom tip—with every swirl of your grip against his dick, every bob of your head.

His eyes rolled, a firm palm planted against the back of your skull as he nudged you further.

“Come onn baby, show me.” Heavy pants slipped his lips, eyes fluttering in an attempt to stay lucid. To keep hold of his sanity.

“Yeahhh, show me dat' shit, baby.” A firm bite to his plump, two toned lips finalized his statement, eyes glossed, brows furrowed as he stared down at your bobbing head. 

"So fuckin' greedy, mama, fuck!"

You were everything he needed, everything he wanted, why the fuck did you think he was boutta hand that over to just anyone? To anyone but you?

You reached your arms up, forcing Ony’s palms away from your cheek as he attempted to push you away, pleasure coiling from the tips of his ears to the soles of his feet as he moaned.

You were sucking the soul outta' him, sinking the points of your stilettos into his mind without any intention of letting up.

You were speaking to him in a way only you could—engraving every word within the depths of his heart — with your mouth fucking full. 

You popped your head off, hand swirling along the soft curve of his dick as you stared up, anger swimming throughout the depths of your pretty brown eyes.

He watched, taking note of the way your lip gloss seemed to blend within the drip of your spit, chest sticky, chin dripping with a mix of both his and your essence.

“Give it to me, baby. Please, I want it…let me have it,” you whined. 

Onyankapon’s body shuddered, your words cracking every ounce of stability he seemed to have lingering as he came. 

“Fuckk baby, I feel you, I fucking hear you.” The bass of his voice seemed to crack, shifting between breathy, needy whimpers, and deep, soul-ridden grunts as he pumped his hips in your hands, aching, listening. 

His head swam as he watched you rise to your knees, finger trailing up your chest, leaving a trail of his cum in its wake as you slipped your index and middle finger into your mouth, eyes closing, a greedy moan vibrating from the depths of you as you savored the essence of him. 

Rough palms reached out, grasping onto the chub of your neck as he crashed his head down, lips racing against yours with unspoken passion as he flattened his frame along yours. 

Your thighs circled his slim waist, hands following as they smoothed up his chest, one palm laying against his upper back, the other running along the back of his head — flattening along the sea of waves rippling across his scalp as you moaned.  

The lavish, soft cotton of your black dress rode up as his coarse palms ran up your thighs, squeezing, grazing, clutching as your lips flowed feverishly, never once breaking its harmonized movements as he moved your bodies toward the head of the bed. 

Your head tilted, head slouching to the side as your lover trailed kisses down the creamy silk of your collar, each peck sizzling against your skin, tattooing a phrase in its wake. 

I love you. 

I need you.

Fuck me. 

Your eyes rolled as Onyankapon’s lips sketched its way down your chest, fists moving to push the delicate sleeves down your shoulders. 

Brown eyes followed, heart stuttering as he shoved the fabric down, freeing the weight of your breasts, fabric pooling around your waist. You watched, noting the way his throat bobbed as he gawked longingly, breath catching as he used the mere moment of sanity to take in your beauty.

You were perfect. His. 

Puffy, swollen lips parted, releasing a needy whimper as his hands trailed its way up plump thighs, the vanilla oil you’d used just mere hours before steaming off of you with the pour of heat radiating from your skin. 

The scent was intoxicating, your skin impossibly warm.

You choked, eyes fluttering as his middle finger pressed softly against the lace atop your clit, the fabric seeming to sink between the fat of your wet folds as he applied slight pressure.

“Come on mama, this what you wanted?” His tongue ran along his lips. “Open dat’ pretty ass mouth and lemme know, baby.” 

You gasped, waist whining against the flesh of his fingers as your head drooped back, unleashing the whirlwind of feelings you’d held confined; each emotion voiced itself in its own unique moan as Onyankapon’s fingers yielded to the slickness of his tongue and mouth.

"Jus' like dat' pretty, talk to me."

“Ughnn shittt.” Your body melted, each thought of doubt, worry, insecurity pooling out along your cheeks as he hollowed his lips, sucking the hard nub of your puffy clit into his mouth.

“Yeah baby, I hear you, im listenin’ baby. You know dis’.” Your eyes crossed, toes curling within the arch of your Giuseppeas, as your palm slapped repeatedly against the plush of the bed beside you. 

“Im cumminnn’ baby, f-fuckkk…yesss!” The hoarseness of your pretty, sultry voice seemed to egg him on, low eyes peeking up beneath long, black lashes as he watched endless bliss rip through you, knowing that he was the sole purpose of your ache-filled tears. 

He popped his mouth from the depths of you, diamonds glittering as he bit his lips, the tension in the room replaced with the creamy squelching of your pussy, lips seeming to swallow him as he fucked you. 

“There we goo, mama, let it go, let it all go,” His voice grew soft, words spilling in the form of a whisper as his breath grew heavy.

“I love you baby, I’m yours, let go for me, baby. Give it to me.” He said breathlessly.

Your body grew tense, mouth opening in a silent sob as your legs closed in on his hand.

“Breatheee for me baby, breathe, just breathe, feel it.” Your throat stung, fingers clutching onto his forearm as he pumped, shattering you from the inside out. 

You let loose, moaning, groaning, sobbing, as your body sang, saturating the room with a song so carnal it’d ring throughout the house for seasons to come.  

“Feel that shit baby, I love you (y/n), I’m yours baby, yours, you hear me?” Your ears rang.

One could only define Ony as selfish, gluttonous for his pussy as his tongue engraved his name within the depths of you; the way he ate you, chin streamed with your raw essence as he ravaged your pussy.

He was smacking, flicking, sucking — ruthlessly forcing you to your limits. 

His hands clutched your thighs, body moving as he kissed his way back up to your tear stricken face. His lips trailed along your neck, whispering, sealing his words as he drew you from the whirlwind of pleasure you’d experienced sheer moments before. 

You sobbed, mind teetering as he reined you back into his world, back to the moment you were sharing. 

Your eyes laid heavy, palms drifting along your body as you  grasped the meat of your thighs, pulling them up and back without order. 

Your breasts shook as he tugged you further downward, trousers long gone as he pressed his weight along your thighs, nudging them further back to settle beside your head as the heavy weight of his dick laid between them. 

His dick was thick — fat with arousal — the weight of it substantial between you. 

Smooth Walnut skin fused within Cinnamon as his tip leaked, dripping along the folds of your pussy. 

Ony moved his left hand, angling himself as he pressed inside you, slowly. He needed you to feel him, every fucking inch of him. 

His eyes closed briefly, throat bobbing in an attempt to ground himself as he dove into you. 

His hips flowed, whining lazily as he forced himself to the hilt, left hand drifting up to wrap around your throat as his head tipped backwards.

“J-jesus fuck.”

Your brows furrowed, watching, as the neatly trimmed hairs along his pelvis grazed against you. Your pussy clamped around him, feeling every vein, every pulse, as your bodies tied. 

His hips snapped up, dropping in steady motion as he pushed your thighs into the plush of the mattress, using you, giving you everything he had to offer. Baptising himself within the depths of you. 

“Ohhh my g-g-,” your breath stalled, barring the words in its tracks as your body reigned numb. 

Onyankapon’s hips plunged, torso clamping as he whimpered, waist pushing passionately as a bead of sweat raced between the curve of his abs and onto the pudgy flesh of your tummy. He sank himself deeper, forehead pressing into yours as he clasped the back of your neck, folding you, forcing you to watch as he surrendered himself within the extents of you, engulfed himself within the bounds of your mind.

Your arms moved up, grasping onto the back of his skull as you gawked up at him, eyes never drifting, body humming as he drove into you. You peeked down, watching as cream glazed the fat of his dick, building along his pelvis with each breathtaking stroke. 

“Ba-byyy, so fuckin',” you cried, deep and gluttonous, “d-eep baby, oohhh.” Your nails scratched along his hips, fingers grasping the fat of his ass as you pulsed. 

“I love youuu, shitt,” you were hysterical, mouth slacking open, drool staining your chin.

He was driving you fucking mad.

Onyankapon’s brows furrowed, repetitive whimpers painting the air as he chased his orgasm, pounding, ignoring the burn of his thighs as the fat of your ass ricocheted off his hips. 

Smack!

The sting from his palms flattening against the swell of your thighs was all you needed as your body convulsed. 

“Ughnn, Oh my-fuckkkk”. Your eyes rolled, barely registering your body’s doing as a stream of arousal sprayed across Ony’s chest. Your pussy clamped, sucking, feeding upon the meat of his dick as he drove himself impossibly deeper. 

You could feel him, throat clogging as your stomach burned; he was so fucking deep. Too fucking deep. 

So deep within the depths of you, you couldn’t identify where you ended, and he began. 

You couldn’t stop fucking cumming. What the fuck? 

“Give it to me baby, fuck, fuck, fuckkk.” Your gasp planted heavily against his lips.

Onyankapon’s body grew tense as he dragged himself upright, sweat dripping along the curve of his nose as he gripped your hips.

“Mmm, you feel me, baby? This’ my fucking pussy, (y/n). All. Fucking. Mine.” With a harsh snap of his hips, he punctuated each word. 

“Yeahh look at me baby, you so fucking pretty.” His statement faltered, head slipping back as he burrowed himself into you, grinding, babbling, hips sputtering as he came. 

“I’m nuttin' all in this pussy baby, fuckkk.” His eyes rolled, hips still rolling as he came with such intensity he thought he’d be sucked up by fucking darkness itself. 

Heavy, rampant pants filled the now quiet room as he looked down at his lady, his woman, his love. 

His form sank as he helped you move your legs toward the bed, caressing the fat as your lips connected in a slow, sensual kiss. 

“I love you ma, this love ain’t come easy, I need you to talk to me, baby.” His fingers nuzzled the sweaty arch of your cheeks as you peered up at him. 

“Let me know when I’ve upset you. Talk to me, don’t hold that shit in baby. Next time you feel like I’m oversteppin’, lemme know. I'm never gonna just rule off ya feelings, baby. Let me know.” His voice lagged, gaze flitting between your view as you nodded—Dazed. 

“Aight, come on, lemme run ya pretty ass a bath.” His head lowered, a sultry smile tearing from his lips as he pecked your lips once more. 

-𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚𝒊𝒔𝒎𝒆౨ৎ

Tags: @ilovefanfictionsm @brownied0ll @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @hxlcster @prettypink-princesss @wettbaby @playgurlxoxo

Note: long awaited!! This was not supposed to take that long but life got me caught allll the way uppppp. I promise I'll be way more consistent now that I'm finally healed of my devious case of writers block.

P.S. My requests are open! I need ideas 💕

[lumixnouss]

armin arlert | secret relationship .ᐟ

you and armin have been together for a while now, but none of your friends know...yet.

you and armin have been in a secret relationship for a while now. you two began dating after meeting and hanging out thanks to your friends. but, despite this, the two of you were unsure of how to announce your relationship considering everyone treated each other with so much familiarity. 

it was safe to say that the two of you were stuck in a limbo. but no matter, surely you two will eventually figure it out. for now, you were pretty content with having your relationship all to yourself.

so when your friends dragged both of you out to go clubbing, armin had never had a more difficult time. you just looked so gorgeous in your dress. his eyes lingered on you without meaning to, tracing the delicate curves of your body.

you looked divine. and armin could not just fathom how he pulled someone like you, in secret too. just hearing your laugh from the dance floor had his heart racing inside his chest, begging to be closer to you.

he was leaning against a table, drink untouched in his hand. armin’s eyes locked onto your figure dancing with sasha and the others. you looked as though you were having the time of your life with that big smile plastered on your face and your easy laughter that spilled with the music. 

armin’s eyes darted to a figure approaching you, a guy he’s never seen before. The guy approached you with a sweet smile, leaning down to whisper in your ear. you stepped back, surprised by his intrusion.

just as armin was about to take a step forward, a sudden surge of burning intent coursing through him, your friends had stepped in front of you, waving the guy off. armin paused, watching as sasha and mikasa fussing over you. 

he let out a soft breath of relief, but the burning urge to approach you never dissipated. he wanted nothing more than to tug you out of this place. 

your little group of friends approached the table, “order more drinks!” sasha beamed before sliding into the booth. you followed after her, but armin felt your hand tug against the hem of his top as you sat down.

armin hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside you, putting his drink down. eren had finally returned from his smoke outside and sat down opposite of armin. 

you were talking to sasha, engrossed in a deep conversation about this guy she was crushing on. your hand snuck under the table beside you, searching for armin’s hand, and as soon as you made contact, you simply laced your hand together, letting it rest against his thigh.

you heared a sharp intake of breath from armin but pay it no mind, laughing at something sasha said. but the unmistakable curl of his fingers around yours made your heart race in your chest, a flood of heat rushing to your cheeks.

“are you listening?” eren complained from the other side.

“sorry, what were you saying?” armin asked, mind a little hazy from the way your thumb drew small circles on his skin. but when he looked over to you, you hadn’t glanced at him at all, acting completely indifferent to the warmth you were giving him. god, you would be the end of him.

when eren drops his phone under the table, armin wholly expected for you to untangle your hands. but you only glanced at him, gave him a small smile, and returned to whatever sasha was complaining about. 

your hand only tightened around his as eren bent down to grab his phone. 

“hey, can someone flash a light under here? can’t see shit.” eren muttered, struggling to spot his phone under the dim lights of the club. armin didn’t move an inch, his pulse spiking with every second that passed. 

mikasa rolled her eyes before handing eren her phone, the flash already on. you looked like you weren’t even bothered a single bit, still in your little conversation, hand in his, still brushing those rhythmic circles on his skin.

“hey, are you two—” his sentence abruptly ended when armin kicked a foot forward, striking eren’s leg. armin didn’t know what came over him, but he was not about to disturb you because of his stupid best friend.

“fuck!” eren exclaimed, quickly picking up his phone and rising back to his seat. “what the hell was that?”

armin picked up his glass and took a long sip, his eyes landed on his best friend, giving him a small shrug, “you good?”

but in armin's mind, he was already weighing the variables, wondering if this whole secret thing was even worth it anymore.

"fuck it," he mumbled to himself, his hand tightening around yours, uncaring for the look eren was throwing his way.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ 0.79k wc, @lumixnouss on ao3 and wattpad <3 ℒ ove, lumi.

© lumixnouss, reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[arabella0001]

Levi Ackerman and his subtle loving ways as your man

Levi Ackerman who makes your favorite tea before you even ask, sliding the cup toward you without a word, his gaze lingering just long enough to make you feel noticed.

Levi Ackerman who mutters “tch, you’re hopeless” when you forget your scarf, but wraps his around your neck anyway securely so you don’t catch a cold.

Levi Ackerman who notices the smallest changes in your mood and doesn’t push, but quietly leaves your favorite book or a small note on your desk to cheer you up at least a bit.

Levi Ackerman who calls you “brat” in the softest voice, like it’s his secret way of saying “i love you” without actually saying it.

Levi Ackerman who hates mess but lets you fill his space with your little projects, saying nothing because it reminds him that you feel at home with him.

Levi Ackerman who silently folds your blanket over you when you fall asleep on the couch, even though he acts like it’s no big deal.

Levi Ackerman who quietly refills the pantry with the snacks he’s noticed you like, even though he pretends it’s just coincidence.

Levi Ackerman who doesn’t say much, but his hand always finds yours in a crowded space, pulling you closer to him without hesitation.

Levi Ackerman who brushes his thumb against your knuckles when he sense you are anxious, the smallest gesture to remind you he’s there.

Levi Ackerman who, after a long day, doesn’t ask for much—just sitting beside you in comfortable silence, occasionally stealing glances your way.

Levi Ackerman who tells you to take care of yourself, but checks in on you non-stop when you’re sick or overworking yourself—because he won’t say it directly , but you’re his priority.

another smau with levi

eren one here

A/N: Levi may not be one for grand gestures or long speeches, but his love is always in the details. 🥰