Stepping into Eren’s room always felt like a sensory overload: Metallica, KISS and whatever other posters of bands on his walls, some mixtape of his playing loud as hell and the smell of Marlboro smoke hanging thick in the dark room.
“Ugh–open the fucking window or something” you dramatically coughed, swatting the air with your hand and praying the smoke wouldn’t stick to your new pink jaded London set.
Eren yanked out his earphones and set his drum sticks aside, a devilish grin spreading across his face, his lip ring glinted when he smirked, the one on his eyebrow twitching just slightly.“Msorry pretty princess, didn’t know you were coming” he reached forward and grabbed your thighs, pulling you in closer.
You scuffed “Didn’t see you in class today…”
“Aww, missed me, pretty girl?” His eyes practically sparkled as he tugged at your thighs, forcing you to straddle him.
“Shut up, loser” you face palmed him, falling backward onto the bed. Eren ended up on his back, sprawled across the mattress, and you landed chest to chest on top of him. He grinned up at you, clearly enjoying the closeness, his thumbs rubbing lazy circles against your thighs like he wasn’t in any rush to move.
This was only the third time you and Eren had been alone together. You never even acknowledged him in public hell, you’d laughed about him with your friends before, in his face. The tattoos, the chipped black nail polish, the eyeliner, the rings, the spiked pants, he was everything you swore you’d never touch.
But he liked that. Liked how you pretended you didn’t see him in the halls, then ended up here, melting against him like this. Because when it was just you and him, all that “too good for him” attitude didn’t mean much.
“You so pretty, baby” Eren smiled, wrapping his cybersigil-style tattooed arms around you, thrusting his hips forward “fuck, just looking at you got me hard” he grinned, watching you hold back your whimpers. Eren gently wrapped his hands around your neck, pulling you down to kiss you. You moaned as his tongue slipped past your lips, twirling with yours as his hips kept thrusting upwards, his clothed hard on rubbing up against your clit.
“Mmfuck…” you couldn’t help but audibly moan when he started going faster, grabbing your ass, cold silver rings sending shivers up your spine “Haaa-Ren!” You cried out, rocking your hips back and forth.
“Feels good, baby?” He chuckles, watching the girl who used to make fun of him with her girlfriends aka his crush since forever , griding her pussy on his cock trying to reach her high “Hm, pretty girl gon get her new cute clothes dirty” the boy teased, a breathy moan escaping when you purposely rocked your hips harder
“Ughh–I told you to keep quiet” you covered his mouth with your freshly manicured hands. You could feel that annoying smirk agains the palm of your hand. You stared down at the boy as you rode him, moving your hips faster and faster, enjoying the needy look in Eren’s eyes as he tried to desperately slow you down but it was too late. You watched his eyes roll back, feeling the growing wet spot of his cum agains your clit “Ew..so embarrassing” you got off him and grabbed your little vintage Dior bag.
Eren sat up, still a little dazed, his grin lazy and crooked “Gonna see you at my concert tonight?” he asked, tilting his head, lip ring catching the light.
You paused at the door, adjusting your bag without looking at him.“Maybe,” you said, voice flat but eyes giving you away for half a second.
He watched you walk out, still smiling to himself, the room smelling like smoke and your perfume long after you were gone. Fuck, he was absolutely and ridiculously obsessed with you.
𐔌 17.9K 𐦯 • 𝘕𝘖 𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘖𝘙𝘚.ᐟ | 𝑷𝒍𝒖𝒈.ᐟ𝑶𝒏𝒚, CollegeAU, drug use (weed), intoxication, s*x under the influence, or*l (fem. receiving), f*ngering, p -> v (missionary, sideways, backshots), dirty talk, safe s*x (condom use) “good girl” trope, virgin mc (she can’t take dick), shy/awkward mc, inexperienced mc, subtle size k*nk, gentle/caring Ony, nonchalant Ony, teasing Ony, hoe Ony, slow-build interest, light mention of him fucking other women, explicit language, use of the n-word (all characters & Author are Black)
Part 2
pronounced (awe • meh • ray) | never did one of these, so here’s my take on it—enjoy & don’t forget to reblog/like/comment directly from this post <𝟑 .ᐟ
ᝰ♡.ᐟANYWHERE ELSE. SHE WOULD RATHER BE ANYWHERE ELSE THAN THIS ROOM. It could be the highlighter fumes. It could be the blue light radiating from their laptops—Solayne’s screen is a hell of a lot brighter than hers. It could even be the extra fine print of these textbooks.
All she knows is that her capacity to be here is dwindling by the second.
“This is frying me.”
From the corner of her eye, she sees those deep orange braids slide over Solayne's hiked up shoulders as she throws her head down on the desk. Her hands over her eyes cushion her fall.
She doesn't need to outwardly acknowledge the other woman's dramatics, but she definitely resonates with them; Being stuck in this small room—that can stand to be a few degrees warmer—with its shitty fluorescent lighting, rereading the same chapter and still not understanding the concept, has her feeling dumber and dumber.
It’s probably not even her fault, maybe it’s the arbitrary way of teaching her professor has that makes it so difficult for her to understand his notes. Either way, she's ridiculously close to throwing in the towel. Who needs to stress over words when she could be relaxing with a self-care day or going to parties like her other peers?
The thought of her parents hearing that is enough to snap her back to reality.
“Ámerei, I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
She blows out a breath, tucking a couple loose strands of her sew-in behind her ear. “Me neither.”
Sitting up with the rush of a new idea, Solayne's eyes widen with excitement. “You tryna eat? Matcha and brownies on me!”
It’s a tempting offer. Too tempting. An immediate ‘yes’ comes into her mind before she can even think twice about it … until she does.
Her teeth gnaw at her bottom lip, the last smudges of her lipgloss stuck to the pink skin despite having licked most of it off in the stress of studying.
She can’t take another “study break.” Messing around with Solayne, she’s already pushed this off more than she should have. And now, her midterm for Qualitative Analysis is just two days away and she’s nearly clueless about the most heavily covered chapter on the test. This could make or break her grade for this class, and a dropped class is not something her parents can afford.
Solayne’s face falls before she can even break the news of this truth to her.
Worry folds creases in her forehead and drags the corners of her lips downward. “I want to, Sol', but I can’t.”
A groan. “I knew you were gonna say that.”
“I’m sorry!” A remorseful laugh tumbles out of her. “I can’t fail this midterm. That’s gonna be my ass if my parents see that.”
A second is spared by the other woman to dwell on the misfortune, only for her sadness to vanish within a second, leaving behind a look of indifference.
“Well!” She shrugs. “I know how I’m going to spend the rest of this study sesh.”
And with that, Solayne stretches across the table to collect her books, notes, laptop, and any pen or highlighter left behind—likely even sneaking some of Ámerei’s.
“Enjoy one for me,” Ámerei smiles sadly.
"Of course.” As she stands to shove her laptop into her purse, Solayne looks to her. "But, seriously, don't stress yourself out too much. You've been studying for this test for like a week straight now, and that class is notoriously hard. I'm sure your professor's gonna give y'all a curve."
Leaning back in her chair, butt aching from how long she's been sitting, Ámerei exhales softly. "I hope so. I could honestly really use it, because the way I've been failing these quizzes is ridiculous."
Solayne purses her lips with the shake of her head, zipping up her tote bag. "You'll be fine, you always are."
"I don't think so, Sol'." Her lips twist into a frown. "I've really been stressing—"
"And that's your problem right there," she announces as she throws the hefty bag over a shoulder. "You're stressing when you don't need to. If you've already done all that you can, there's nothing left for you to do but trust yourself."
There’s not much Ámerei can say to that. All she can do is bring her laptop close to continue studying.
Solayne scoffs. “You need to relax. You don’t gotta stop studying now, but at the very least, let tomorrow be your day off. You can’t cram the day before the test.”
“No … but I can review.”
“Review my ass,” she rolls her eyes. “What you need to do is have a nice, good smoke sesh. Use that to calm your ass down.”
Ámerei kisses her teeth, the sound slipping out before she can stop it. “Or I can use that valuable time to study some more, so I can boost my chances of passing this midterm.”
Dismissively, Solayne waves a hand, turning for the study room’s door. “Blazè-blah. Good luck with that,” she shrugs. “And, by the way, access to this room expires at four, so make sure you’re out of here before one of those fucking monitors catch you. They are not about to fine me for this.”
Chin resting in her palm, Ámerei doesn’t spare her a glance. Instead, she squints her strained eyes at the small text on her screen. “Stay safe.”
“You too, text you later!”
A second later comes the abrupt shut of the study room’s heavy door. Alone in peace and quiet, she lets out a sigh.
‘Time to take this chapter from the top.’
ᝰ
TRUE TO SOLAYNE’S IMPRESSION OF HER, Ámerei is cramming the day before the test. Or at least, she’s trying to.
A set alarm had her up by seven, and after rushing to get ready, she raced her way to the campus library to snag a room before they were booked out.
Now, it’s almost half-past 10, and she hasn’t been able to retain a single word of information splayed across her screen.
She pulls her scrunchie free from her hair to retie her ponytail for about the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. Her eyes steal yet another glance at the time. She’s been here for almost two hours, and it’s starting to scare her how hard it is for her to focus.
Honestly, she’s starting to get the idea that Solayne was onto something. But, she can’t prove her right just yet.
So she thinks.
As she stares at the laptop, the words begin to swirl and the sentences stop making sense. Her eyes jump from line to line, unable to keep their spot. And the diagrams? They’re complete nonsense.
“Fuck me,” she mumbles, dropping her head into her hands.
For a moment, she stays frozen in that position, her mind searching itself for a solution to this madness. Her notes are useless, all the tutors for this class are booked up, and clearly reviewing this chapter isn’t doing anything.
She’s ready to admit it.
Picking her head up and out of her hands, Ámerei reaches for her phone with bleary vision. It only gets to ring once.
“Well if it isn’t my gorgeous friend! What can I do for you, my love?”
Her eyes flutter shut, holding back a sigh. “You were right—”
“Oouu!”
She squeezes her eyes tight, the shrill sound of Solayne’s voice piercing her ears.
“If those aren’t my favorite words to hear—so what does this mean?”
Peeling her eyes open, Ámerei peers down as she toys with the small, pink Tiffany pendant resting on her chest. “It means … I think I wanna take the edge off.”
Boisterous cackles fill her ears, the corners of her mouth rising.
“You so fucking dramatic,” Solayne muses, her laughter dying down into an easy chuckle. “But, I got just the thing for you.”
She shifts in her seat, eager to hear her suggestion.
“Now, unfortunately, I am busy today.”
The easy smile that graced her lips is wiped off in an instant as her spine straightens. “What?” She glares at her phone in betrayal.
“I know, I’m sorry! I owed Malaysia a favor, and she chose to cash it in today: I gotta drive her to and back from the mall.”
A soft groan leaves her as she throws her head back.
“Don’t worry, though. A nice smoke by yourself every once in a while is the best thing you can do for yourself, swear. Just spark up, play some music or watch a show, eat some good food—you’re lit!”
Thinking about it for longer than a second, Ámerei finds herself taking to the idea. Smoking will definitely take her mind off of the stress of this midterm. And with that weight off of her shoulders, she can probably catch up on some of her hobbies. Like, playing in her makeup. It’s been too long since she last got cute or even played The Sims.
“M’kay.”
A squeal has her flinching. “Perfect! You’re gonna have so much fun. I know a guy that sells on campus. Good shit, too. He’s cool with Eren.”
“Who’s Eren?”
“You don’t remember? That one guy on the swim team Aneesa used to fuck with?”
Her face screws up in confusion, threaded brows pulling together. “No?”
“Uh—anyway—he’s friends with Eren, I bought from him a couple of times. Y’know, supporting a Black-owned business ‘n’ all that. But … y’know, I am loyal to my plug.”
Staring ahead at nothing in particular, Ámerei raises a brow as one corner of her lips quirk up. “Connie?”
“Well … yes!”
She laughs at her friend.
“And speaking of, I might link him tonight—y’know … for weed.”
“Weed, yeah, right,” she giggles.
“Mhm, anyway, I’ll send you his Insta when I find it. It’s the only way to cop from him.”
“Thanks, Sol’.”
“No problem,” she sings. “Let me know how the high goes. Kisses!”
“Bye.”
With a clear decision made, Ámerei wastes no time in packing her belongings and freeing up this room for the next suffering soul.
When she returns to her dorm, empty of Solayne’s presence, she picks out a simple outfit: black capri leggings and a cropped white tank top.
As she pulls the skimpy top over her head, her phone pings with a notification from Instagram. Shirt on, she smooths the soft wrinkles out of it before grabbing up the device from her bed.
It was DM from Solayne—a shared profile. Before she can even respond, her phone buzzes with a new message:
His name is Onyankopon btw
Ámerei ‘hearts’ the message before clicking onto his page. There isn’t a face present anywhere on it, and no highlights to skim through. No tagged posts or even a name in the bio. There’s only one post up: a three photo carousel.
The first photo is of his hand, the dark skin marked heavily with ink. One finger is adorned in a glistening ring and a tennis bracelet on his wrist.
‘Well … at least he takes care of himself,’ she thinks, noting his clean nails and trimmed cuticles.
The second photo is an interior shot of a car, the model she isn’t sure of. All she recognizes is the sleek emblem that glints on the steering wheel—Genesis.
‘Expensive.’
The last photo is a perfect “off-guard.” A clear shot of his outfit. It’s crisp definition and high quality tells of the use of a professional camera. He had turned his face away just in time for it not to be caught in the photo.
His arms were hidden by a Pelle Pelle jacket, but from the peak of his wrist, she can tell he’s covered in ink. At least his arms are.
‘Mysterious … okay, sure.’
The ‘like’ count on the post is off, and the comments are tame—limited, too. But, she can only imagine what the counts for each would be, seeing as he has a little over a thousand followers. She presses her lips together, telling herself that these little details about his account shouldn’t matter.
It’s not like she needs to know much about his morals or his character anyway, however, he does seem like the flashy type. She’s only hitting him up for a service—a product, really.
Heading to his chat, she shoots him a quick message:
Hey, I was told you sell
Crashing onto her bed, she chews on her lip as she watches the chat. She’s not sure why she decides to wait on a response. Maybe it’s a testament to how much she needs this.
But luck is on her side. As she blinks, a new message appears in their chat:
Yea
She swallows, trying to think of what will be enough to cover her. She doesn’t buy often, and she definitely isn’t a casual smoker. After about a minute, her fingers type quickly.
How much for a gram?
Don’t sell less than a dub
Her head jerks back, stumped. What the hell is she going to do with all of that weed? Sure, it isn’t necessarily a huge amount, but she's definitely not going to make more than one blunt any time soon.
She guesses she’ll just have to leave the rest for Solayne. It’s that girl’s lucky day.
But Ima let it slide for uu
First time client deal
An unexpected scoff burst from her lips. A crinkle becomes evident in her brows as she ‘hearts’ his message.
Ty
This time, he ‘hearts’ her message.
Whn uu want it ?
Today
Soon if you can, lol
2 ,by the big fountain statue ?
That's good, thank you
Aii
With just a small bit of time before their meetup, Ámerei does the next best thing to distract herself from the fate of her Qualitative Analysis grade: scroll through her TikTok’s 'For You' page.
ᝰ
THE SUN HANGS HIGH IN THE SKY, partly obscured by thick clouds. Crisp yet light winds blow gently, pushing around any stray leaves that have fallen to the ground.
It isn’t too cold, the slight breeze is something that Onyankopon doesn’t mind. He’s more concerned with the punctuality of this customer.
Her name, he doesn’t quite remember. Something with an ‘A.’ When he skimmed through her profile, he remembers thinking that it had a pretty spelling—that’s about as much as he recalls.
His saving grace will be recognizing her once he sees her, he’s always been good at remembering faces. That, and he doesn’t think he could forget hers.
She’s pretty from what he saw. Cute. But, that’s about as extreme as his thoughts went. A girl with a simple look, not that there’s anything wrong with that. Clean and minimal makeup, hair neatly styled and out of her face, and an affinity with the color blush pink.
A well-curated aesthetic to fit that of an influencer. If he has to bet, she probably has a sizable following on TikTok, posting content of her getting all done up for her viewers: “Get Ready With Me to Run Some Errands;” “Outfit of the day;” “Come With Me to Try This New Matcha Drink—”shit like that.
He doesn’t have a strong opinion regarding that. Just a blanket assumption regarding the information he was able to garner from her page.
It’s funny; when she first messaged him, part of him thought it was someone else talking to him through her account. Simply using her face to lower his guard—possibly a nigga trying to set him up for something petty like another woman.
Then she asked him how much for a gram, and he went scouring through her account. It started making sense. It’s likely that she doesn’t smoke much, she doesn’t look like the type. And he doesn’t remember ever talking to her, so it couldn’t be a set-up … not from another man, at least.
So, he chose to be nice—this once. A first-time deal for a new client, even if this little $10 transaction is a waste of his time. His weed is good, he’s got confidence in his product. And hopefully, in seeing that he’s a business man willing to cater to any type of customer, she’ll admire that enough to become a regular.
For a split second, he’s adverse to his own idea; A pretty girl like her doesn’t need to be facing blunts like that. Yet, just as quickly, the thought evaporates, because how much she smokes simply isn’t his business. And if she wants to smoke more of his weed, then that’s just more money for him.
His useless hypotheticals are put to stop when he notices movement in the near-distance; A sort of rushed walk of determination, heading in his direction.
For some reason, Onyankopon bites back a scoff. Everything about the way she is dressed confirms the character he’s created of her in his head.
‘Come With Me to Buy A Gram On My Way to Pilates!’
He almost laughs at the thought.
Glancing at the time on his phone, he notes that she’s almost ten minutes late. He’ll let it go just this once; “first-time client deal” and all. She’s just lucky today is one of his slower days.
Black hair, pressed flat and shining under the sun, sways with body behind her. It’s tucked behind her ears, showing off dangling earrings. A cropped, half-zipped sweater hangs boxy on her smaller frame and off of one shoulder, keeping her upper-half somewhat warm in this breeze.
As she gets closer, he notices the finer details of her. Like the subtle dewiness of her skin, the quiet definition of muscle beneath her moisturized skin, and the wispy lashes that perfectly frame her slender eyes.
Her pace slows as she comes to a pause before him, apprehension covering her like a shroud. Onyankopon relaxes his stance, trying to give off an air of gentleness so as to not spook her off. Then, he reminds himself that she’s not some deer in the forest that’ll run off at the faintest sound of a twig snapping.
“H-hi, Onyankopon? Did I say it right?”
Of course, her voice is soft. Real gentle, like … plush mink fabric.
The blow of wind barely shifts in direction, yet that’s all he needs to smell the clean scent wafting off of her; warm and spicy, with an overall powdery essence. Not an overbearing smell. In fact, its projection is personal. She’d have to let him get close to smell more of it.
Admittedly, it’s enticing enough to lure him in.
“Yeah,” he half-nods, staring down at her, conscious of making no sudden movements.
“Okay.” A shy piece of laughter breaks from her, the corners of her eyes crinkling as her mouth opens to let the airy sound free.
He gets a generous peak of her pink tongue and gums, and her white teeth—a “perfection” in hygiene that seems naturally characteristic of her.
“I was scared I approached the wrong person,” she says, laughter dying off.
He wonders if she practiced this interaction. If she thought more than twice about what she’d ask him and how she’d ask it. Then, he tells himself to stop being a dickhead.
She’s not doing too bad. Someone like her—if she’s not smoking often—likely doesn’t get her own weed. She probably doesn’t even roll her own blunt, let alone crush the bud.
No, she can’t risk getting anything under her nails or having her fingertips stink. Unless she uses a crusher, and not just any old crusher. It has to be cute, something pink to match her aesthetic.
“Nah, you good.”
His gaze dips below her face for a split second, stealing a peak at her hands. As he suspected; a soft, milky pink color is painted over square-shaped nails that barely reach over the tips of her fingers.
She nods, glancing off to the side before clearing her throat. “Um—how much?”
“Ten.”
He sees the minuscule jump in her brows as she tries to conceal her shock.
‘How much did she think it would cost?’
Nodding, she reaches for the tiny purse he hadn’t even seen tucked beneath her right arm. She barely rifles through it for more than a second.
“You don’t gotta give cash, just Zelle it.”
She freezes, eyes wide as she looks up at him. “Oh,” she mumbles. She fumbles to readjust the purse on her shoulder before getting her phone out.
The large iPhone is adorned in a powder-pink case. Her thumb does a great deal of stretching across the screen as she tries to type one-handed. She eventually gives up, using both hands.
“What’s your, um, number?” She stares down at her screen, thumbs hovering over the glass as they wait to enter his digits.
“You don’t wanna see the weed first?”
That same caught look returns to her face as she picks her head up. “Oh—shit. Sorry—”
A dry, amused snort leaves him as he finally allows himself to smile—albeit, a faint one. “I’m just fucking with you.”
“Oh, alright,” she snorts. The tense energy in her shoulders releases a bit.
“It’s in my car, can’t do this out in the open.”
She nods quickly, like she suddenly remembered the nature of this exchange. He turns to head to his car, silently calling for her to follow along. And she does.
Just a few inches from his side, he watches her from his peripheral vision. Another new thing he notices: the simplistic, earthy green slides on her feet, showing off her toes that match her nail set.
When they reach his car, he isn’t surprised that she’s stopped a few feet from it. He takes no offense to it, either. Instead, he opens his door, sliding into the driver’s seat. He does a quick reach over the console to retrieve a small dime bag from the glove box.
Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he toys with its seal as he nods over to her. “Take my number.”
Springing into action, she opens her phone back up to enter his number for the transaction. As he recites it, her fingers move quickly.
“I’m sending a dollar first.” She peers up to look at him, her shiny lips parting as she inhales. “Just to make sure it’s the right … thing.”
“Do what you gotta do.”
He turns his head away to survey the scene—campus is quieter than usual, most students crowding the libraries or indoor lounge spaces to study for midterms.
It’s silent for a minute before his phone pings with a deposit notice. He gives her a confirming nod when she looks at him. Soon, she sends the remaining balance, asking him “ten dollars, right,” as if she didn’t remember the total. He answers her anyway, unsurprised by her trepid thoroughness.
Before his phone can even sound with the confirmation of the remaining money sent, he outstretches his hand, offering the baggy.
She blinks, going “O-oh,” before gingerly taking it.
“‘Preciate it,” he nods.
“Thank you.”
She gives him a genial, close-lipped smile before tucking the baggy away in one of her sweater pockets and turning to leave. He doesn’t check to see where she’s going or to even watch her go.
The encounter went just about how he expected it to.
He can’t tell if she’d be back, though it’s not something he’d take to heart if she doesn’t. Girls like her are usually one-time customers, just from experience.
As he shuts his door, his phone pings with the notice of the rest of his money. He doesn’t check it, sure that she’d sent him those nine dollars, just like she was supposed to.
He turns on the engine, shortly pulling out of the parking space to continue the rest of his day.
WARM VANILLA, SUGARY CHOCOLATE, AND ANY OTHER GOURMAND SCENT she can think of, fills the small off-campus apartment, courtesy of the women present. There isn’t a moment of silence here.
And it helps, not having to think too hard about how she’s still barely afloat in that class (which shall not be named); head just above water. All Ámerei wants to think about is how lit she can get tonight with her friends.
“And you’re sure y’all won’t get a violation for this?”
Resting across the short length of the olive green couch, Solayne watches the next woman closely, seated on the floor before her.
“Girl, yes,” Aneesa responds. Face buried in her phone, she doesn’t even spare a glance. “You know how many times me and My-My smoked in here?”
“Nah, facts,” Malaysia backs up, showing all thirty-two teeth as she recounts the many times they’ve gotten away with breaking the strict off-campus apartment rules. “We just gotta stick a towel under the front door and open some windows, we’ll be good!”
Her boisterous, raspy confirmation brings Solayne and Ámerei peace.
“Oh, then, say less,” Solayne sighs out in relief.
“Yeah, and no one’s gonna snitch, even if they do smell it,” Aneesa adds.
Seated at the small kitchen island, Ámerei pulls an open bottle of a cranberry Prosecco wine closer to her as she watches her friends work out the plans for the night. Grabbing her cup, she replenishes on the bubbly drink as conversation continues amongst them.
“Only thing is … I'm out.” She bares her teeth in an expression of awkwardness, sucking in a breath of air. “All I got is papers."
Aneesa's confession comes out with apprehension. Quickly, Solayne turns to Malaysia for hope.
"Facts," the second choice frowns, reaching to tug on a stray curl at the nape of her neck. "I do got cones, though."
"Fuck!" Solayne groans out. However, she quickly remembers Ámerei, looking to her roommate.
"Mei, you have any left?"
Malaysia and Aneesa look at their quiet friend in mild shock.
The unsuspecting business major gawks at them with wide eyes, like she'd been caught in headlights.
"Left? Girl, since when have you ever got any?" Malaysia asks, an incredulous smile on her face.
"I hooked her up with a plug," Solayne answers, popping out her tongue as she flips a good amount of braids over her shoulders.
With pursed lips, Aneesa looks her up and down, holding back a laugh. "And you look proud of it."
"Look at you," Malaysia shakes her head. "Corrupting the poor girl."
Swallowing a sip, Ámerei shakes her head, holding a hand out to catch their attention. "Hold on, she didn't corrupt me. I wanted to smoke—"
"Tell 'em," Solayne defends.
Ignoring the interjection, Ámerei continues smoothly. "And I only bought a gram, anyway. It was supposed to be a once in a blue moon type of thing."
Malaysia raises an eyebrow, watching the other woman with skepticism as she moves to the kitchen for a drink of her own. "You rolled?"
As Ámerei turns her head away to hide the growing smirk on her glossy pink lips, the others burst out into laughter.
"Right," Aneesa laughs.
"Girl, you know she had me roll that shit for her when we came back from the mall,” Solayne confesses.
"I'm crying," Malaysia says, grabbing herself a cup and stealing the bottle of Prosecco.
"Well, I hope you still got that dealer's number, 'cause he's about to make a cute coin tonight." Pushing herself up from the ground, Aneesa heads for her room.
"But was his shit was good, though?" Cradling her cup, Malaysia reenters the living room space.
Ámerei nods. "Yeah, I liked it. Pretty smooth."
Solayne scoffs. "Girl, of course it was good. She got her shit from Onyankopon."
Just as those words had left her mouth, Aneesa emerged from her room, her wallet in hand. She pauses in her tracks. "Onyankopon?"
All heads turn to her, seeing the way her face screws up.
"Yeah, what's wrong?" Solayne asks, eyeing the woman as she rejoins their circle.
She offers a weak eye roll. "Nothing, I just hate hearing about anything or anyone related to Eren." Her legs fold under her body as she takes her seat on the floor near the couch, wallet in-lap. "And what about Connie? We can't just get from him? I'm sure he'll give us, like, a discount—y'know, off the strength that it's you."
Both Ámerei and Malaysia glance at each other, cracking twin smiles as they catch the subtle shade.
Solayne only waves her off. "Oh, girl—please! And Connie not even on campus right now. He went home for the weekend."
Malaysia scoffs, lifting her cup to her mouth. "Yeah, your ass would know," she mumbles into it.
Solayne looks at her with faux confusion. "Something was said?"
Ámerei giggles at the two. "Guys, it's fine. I can text, um, Onyankopon." Licking her lips, a bad habit of hers whenever she gets tipsy, she plucks up her phone to go straight to Instagram.
"How much should I ask for?" she asks as she taps around on the screen, brain lagging for a micro-second between each one.
"A quarter," Solayne offers.
"Bitch—no. Ask for a half, please, Ámerei."
Solayne scowls at Malaysia. "Fucking druggie."
A mini debate over the desired quantity breaks out amongst the women. One side argues that it'd be too much—after all, they're only going to be smoking for the night. The other proposes that they must consider the varying tolerance of the rest.
"Guys, c'mon," Ámerei cuts in. "I don't wanna text him then leave him hanging—"
"Relax, cry baby" Aneesa placates. "Just get the half. We'll split it, and whatever's leftover, whoever wants can get it."
Licking her lips, Ámerei begins to type in hers and Onyankopon's shared chat:
Hey
Can I get a half?
As she waits for his response, she chews at her bottom lip, careful to keep their chat open and her phone on.
"What did he say?" Malaysia questions, leaning over her shoulder to see.
"He didn't respond yet," she mumbles as she picks up her cup. A shallow wave of dizziness hits her, but that only tells her to drink more.
Aneesa scoffs, folding her arms across her chest. "He must not want this money then."
Solayne smirks at her. "You don't wanna buy from this man so bad."
"Ou, he just texted back!" Malaysia announces. Turning back to look at the phone, she tells Ámerei: "Tell him we want it tonight."
"Calm down, you fein," Solayne says.
Blocking out the noise around her, Ámerei reads his response.
Whn uu want it
Tonight, pls
He 'hearts' her message before shooting back a reply.
Gotchu in 20
That's good, how much is it?
Once she sees the bubbles bounce on his side of their chat, she expects to see a response half-a-second later. So, she's a little bit surprised when it doesn't come.
In fact, her surprise morphs into confusion when the bubble disappears and reappears, repeating this dance for about a minute.
"The fuck? He don't know his own prices?" Malaysia says.
Aneesa rolls her eyes. "And this is who we're supposed to be buying from?"
"Shut up," Solayne groans.
Ámerei is about to swipe out of their chat when his message finally pops in.
Picking her head up from the phone, she earns the girls' attention. "He said it's $120."
"That's not too bad," Malaysia says.
The others agree, Aneesa with less enthusiasm than the others.
"Thirty each, okaaay," Solayne nods, a growing smile on her face.
Garnering the responses, Ámerei types back.
That's good. Are we meeting at the same spot?
Yh
"Okay, it's set," she announces, much to the others' relief. "I just have to go pick it up by the statue on campus."
Aneesa blinks. "The statue? On campus?"
"Right, girl that's a cute … twenty-minute walk right there," Malaysia adds.
"Not only that—what do you mean you have to go pick it up? I hope you don't think we're letting you go out there by yourself?"
Ámerei glances around at her friends, noting the shift in energy. "I went by myself last time—"
"Mei, that was during the day," Solayne interjects, though she's careful to keep her voice light.
"Facts, you not about to get snatched up for some weed, going out there by yourself," Malaysia says.
Refraining from rolling her eyes—all too used to the protective nature of her friends regarding anyone belonging to their tight-knit group—she relents: "Okay, we'll all go, I don't care."
She utilizes a tired laugh to disguise her slight irritation, but it doesn't go unnoticed, not by Solayne. However, it's ignored in favor of keeping the mood high. Besides, she doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions just yet.
ᝰ
THE AIR IS PERFECT TONIGHT, far warmer than the night of their last exchange—more humid, too. Her baby tee clings to her skin. With every step, the air brushes against her legs like the smooth pass of a blanket.
Her friends cling to her, their natural conversation floating around them. However, she doesn’t give much of her attention to their words. Instead, the brief memory of her last encounter with Onyankopon keeps her mind busy.
She questions why she was so nervous the first time. It was a simple transaction. Yet, it was all too easy for her to second-guess herself when it came to asking the right questions. She’s sure he could sense her nervousness, too. She likes to think that this time will be different.
As they round the corner on the path leading across the campus yard, Ámerei sees that tall figure leaning against the University’s trademark statue.
The others spot him, too.
“Ugh,” Aneesa groans softly.
“Oh, hush,” Solayne butts in.
As they near him, Ámerei clutches the money tighter in hand, the folded bills soft in her grasp.
Tall street lamps line the path, casting soft warm spotlights around the manicured lawn. The closer they get, she notes how his body seems to evade most of it by where he stands.
Her feet pick up in stride, thong-slippers slapping the concrete as she's pushed to the front of the group as their new lead. Eventually, space grows between her and the girls. To which they don’t fail to notice, of course.
“Girl, where are you going?” Solayne asks.
A half-hearted motion is thrown in the general direction of the man, some odd-feet away, as Ámerei glances back at her. “He’s right there!”
They finally get within a good enough range of him, and a bolt of courage strikes throughout her.
“Hi,” she waves, coming to a stop before him, an easygoing smile on her lips.
Unlike last time, a durag covers the inky black waves on his head—royal blue. He looks every bit as comfortable as he portrays himself to be: Chrome Hearts hoodie, baggy sweats, and slides on his feet.
She wonders if her request had stolen him from the comfort of his bed.
A quick nod is sent her way as he pushes himself off of the statue. “Wassup.”
Going half-a-step closer, she looks up at him with low eyes. Her nose picks up the faint scent of his cologne, something she’s never smelt before; clean, floral yet woody—even a hint of amber.
It almost makes her mouth water. She squeezes the money tighter. Before she lets her mouth run unfiltered, she chooses instead to lick her lips and swallow her spit.
“You bought your friends?”
The question sounds like an after-thought as he reaches down to retrieve a book bag by his feet, which she hadn’t noticed.
“Huh?” She glances back at the girls, seeing them converse amongst themselves, the occasional glance shot her way. “Oh, yeah,” she giggles.
As he reaches into his bag, he’s sure to keep his eyes on her.
“They, um, they didn’t want me to come alone … said it was dangerous.”
A half-hearted snort comes out of him. “They not wrong.” He pulls out a decently sized bag full of his product. The smell hits them immediately. “But how I know y’all not here to rob me?”
As the question leaves his mouth, he hands her the bag, a faint one-sided smirk on his lips.
A laugh bursts free from her. “I’m in flip-flops. I can’t run, even if I wanted to … I’m not fast.”
He hums in thought, glancing down at her toes so quick she almost misses it. “Could’a fooled me … would’a thought you did track or something,” he mumbles, analyzing her figure.
At the confession, her eyes almost bulge out of her head. “Track? I wish!”
If his growing smile is anything to go by, he’s definitely amused.
“I, um, I-I do Pilates.” There’s an attempt to hide her own grin; she chews at her bottom lip.
“Yeah?”
She nods. “I wish I was more consistent, but yeah… I’m sorry, you didn’t ask that.”
Her laugh is awkward, to say the least, yet she tries to quickly move past that; outstretching a hand, she offers him the money.
“You cool.” He takes the rolled up bills, quickly counting the cash before shoving it in the pocket of his sweats.
She nods, clutching the bag to her chest.
For a moment, they stare back at each other, waiting for the next prompt. He goes first.
“Y’all stay safe.”
She blinks, the corners of her mouth dropping just a fraction as she realizes this interaction is over.
“You, too,” she nods before leaving first, heading back to her friends. She doesn’t glance back at him.
As she returns to the group, Solayne is the first one she makes eye contact with.
“Finally, I thought that shit would never end,” Aneesa starts.
Malaysia rubs her hands together, shoulders bouncing with glee. “Ouu, I can already smell it. Tonight’s gonna be so good!”
The journey back to the apartment doesn’t feel as long.
ᝰ
THERE’S A REASON WHY he tries to be on campus as little as possible. The slow-walkers and corny people, the dick-riding ass security guards, the useless administration, and overall atmosphere of the school is too much for him at times.
To make a long story short, Onyankopon doesn’t have the patience for this.
His body twists, narrowly avoiding colliding shoulders with another student. With the quiet kiss of his teeth, he shakes his head, thinking, ‘This exactly why I scheduled these classes back to back.’
He readjusts his grip on the cool grey metal of his laptop, clutching it to his chest.
“Stupid ass nigga,” he mutters with the curl of his upper lip.
Outside’s cool breeze is shut out as he finally enters the second campus building—the location of his next class. He reaches up, readjusting his headphones over his skull-cap.
The journey to his next class is a short one, thankfully: a quick ride up the escalator to the second floor, a walk down the west hall to room 158, and he’s there. Nothing longer than two minutes … usually.
However, this time is an exception.
As he steps off of the escalator, eyes scanning the large hall as they typically do, his attention catches on something.
Someone.
In a small area off to the side is a cul-de-sac of benches for student seating. And it seems that he’s just caught Ámerei getting up from the bench, as she hangs her purse over her shoulder.
He’s not sure how to describe the emotion that fills him as he sees her glance back—in the midst of flipping her hair over her shoulder—at a guy just inches from her.
Mild shock? Surprise?
None of those words seem to qualify, because this is definitely something he should’ve expected.
But, he doesn’t remember seeing a post about a man or even a story-post involving one when he last saw her page—about two weeks ago when he was just curious about remembering her actual name.
Her glossed lips move at an excited pace as she turns to speak to the man, the apples of her cheeks rounded and high with a smile.
His attention flicks over to the man himself, who stares in her face like it would kill him to not pay attention to her for even a second.
Onyankopon’s left brow twitches.
It’s not unusual for people to not post their significant other. But, it makes sense that she has a nigga, he thinks.
A pretty girl that keeps up with herself at all times. Her vibe gives off that she’s a woman of—at the very least—some kind of class, and she’s got money. She keeps herself healthy, dresses good, has good hygiene, nails done, hair done—overall, highly attractive.
And his type.
He blinks, swallowing back at the realization. Once more, he looks at the pair, catching them at the tail-end of a hug.
‘Noted.’
With practiced ease, Onyankopon turns the other way to head to class, right down the west hall.
Hey
Can I get a gram pls
THE MESSAGE FALLS DOWN ON HIS SCREEN AS HE SCROLLS THROUGH TIKTOK, currently in the middle of a compilation of basketball highlights—his idea of decompressing after finals. As soon as it was over, he raced back to his apartment, situated off of the campus.
Onyankopon isn’t too concerned about how he performed on the test. He did too well in that class to even think he could possibly fail.
It took him a moment to recognize the username, confused as to who would be asking him for a gram—especially knowing he doesn’t sell such a small amount. His lips press together with faint irritation as he views their chat.
He hasn’t seen Ámerei around campus since that day … almost two months ago. Nor has he heard from her. Understandable. He doesn’t expect to hear back from or even frequently see the people he deals to often.
Admittedly, after seeing her with that other guy, he decided to keep his eyes to himself. Even if he wasn’t really looking that hard. He’s had enough of the drama that comes with people, especially when it comes to women.
Making money and finishing college, that’s his top priority.
was a new client deal
1 time only
Immediately after sending the message, he swipes back over to TikTok to resume his video. He’s only granted a few seconds of peace when a new message pops up:
Oh right, sorry
An eighth then
Whn uu want it
Rn...
At the sight of the message, Onyankopon squeezes his eyes shut and releases a deep sigh.
So much for decompressing.
ᝰ
ONYANKOPON FINDS HER at the usual pick up location, looking the most stressed he’s ever seen her. He has to admit, he’d much rather see a smile on that face instead of a pout.
With furrowed brows, she stares off at nothing in particular. All the while, the tip of her thumb is pushed in between her lips, jaw working as she nibbles on her manicure.
He doesn’t announce his presence, only walks up to her. And upon seeing him, the tension in her narrow shoulders eases some.
“Hey,” she breathes out, taking a half-step towards him.
His hand clutches the strap of his book bag a bit tighter. “Wassup.”
A tiny sigh falls from her lips as she looks off to the side. “Nothing, really … just stress, honestly.”
A curt hum leaves him as he brings his bag around to his front to get out the baggy.
“Y’know, with, like … finals, and everything…”
He nods. “Felt that.”
She peers up at Onyankopon, watching his face closely for any small signs of irritation. He shows none. However, she does notice something she’d never seen before—the small tattoo printed near his left ear.
“It was just so hard this semester, like…” she groans, looking off to the side again. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I’m not cut for this college stuff.”
She chews at her bottom lip, partly noting his silence.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Ain’t nothing new, though.” Casually, he hands off the weed.
“No, I know, but…” Another sigh. “But this—it’s too much. Especially this round of finals. I honestly felt like … no matter how hard I studied, I still couldn’t understand anything. Like … my professor was so terrible! I just—ugh. I honestly want to get so fucking high I can’t even remember how bad I just bombed this final. I know I failed it.”
Her head drops in her hands, and Onyankopon is at a loss for words. The corners of his lips twitch as he’s actively trying to decide whether he should laugh or at least attempt to console her.
“I mean … you can’t be talking like that … or thinking like that.”
His voice picks her head up out of her hands.
They stare at each other, each waiting to see who will move the ball first. Onyankopon almost cracks first.
Almost.
“Do … do you smoke?”
Confusion flashes across his face as the topic switch almost throws him off.
“Uh … occasionally?”
She nods, staring up at him with big eyes that seem to be soaking up everything in her line of sight—him.
“I only asked because … y’know, you … do this—” She gestures to the baggy in her grasp. “H-how often do you do it—smoke?”
He shrugs again. “Not much...”
Another nod, and it’s quiet again, but only for a very brief bit of time.
“Sorry—do you—did you have finals?”
He makes a face, brows scrunching up as the corners of his lips quirk up.
“I know you sell to people on campus, so—” She shakes her head. “That was a stupid question. I meant, what class did you have finals for?”
Hands in his pockets now, Onyankopon looks down at her. Eye contact is sparse at this point. Her fingers comb through the ends of her hair.
“Why you asking all these questions?”
That gets her attention; Her eyes bulge out of her head as she gawks up at him, seemingly having forgotten herself.
“Sorry, I was just curious—you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to!”
Under his stare, she shrinks in on herself, even begins to create a bit of space between them.
“I didn’t mean to, like, pry into your business—”
“You smoking alone?”
The question is enough to throw her off. Her brain shoots off about a hundred different thoughts before she’s able to stammer out an answer.
“Yeah … w-why?”
He’s quiet for a while, but it’s obvious that an idea has been set in motion. She can see it in his eyes.
“Tryna chill with me?”
ᝰ
‘YOU DIDN’T SAY YOU LIVED HERE, my friends live in this building.’
Those words almost tumbled their way out of her mouth. Until she overthought it and predicted his “would-be” response: ‘Why would I tell you where I lived?’ That was enough to keep her quiet.
Oblivious to the metaphorical cloud hanging over Ámerei’s head, Onyankopon leads the way into his apartment.
His stature—tall with broad shoulders—hides her view of his place for a moment. In that very short period of time, the pleasant scent of his home hits her nose.
The layout is similar to Malaysia and Aneesa’s apartment. The familiarity offers a bit of comfort.
Yet, it’s not enough to push her shoulders down or take the stiffness out of her gait. Following behind him, she is the living definition of meekness. Her palms sweat as they hold on tight to the baggy of weed she has yet to pay for.
“No shoes in the house,” he says, veering off to the side to toe-off his own.
Silently, she nods, removing her sneakers and setting them down near the door.
“You could sit on the couch if you want.”
She glances over at the short sofa, littered with two small stuffed toys—a mini Mario and Luigi pair—sitting at opposite ends.
"Oh, that's cute." The words slip from her mouth without much of a thought.
"Huh?" He glances back to see her heading for the couch, reaching out for one of the stuffed toys. "Oh, shit, yeah," Onyankopon chuckles.
Stealing a spot, Ámerei easily plops down with the tiny Luigi in her hands. And she doesn't plan on letting him go any time soon. She pinches and twists at his little arms, even rubbing the pads of her thumbs over his smooth felt, as she watches Onyankopon move with absolutely no hurry around his home.
She keeps trying to predict when he'll join her on the couch. Whenever he gets close enough for her to think so, her heart rate spikes, before she's flooded with both relief and disappointment as he walks away.
"You want something to drink?"
A light hum leaves her as she pretends to think. "What do you have?"
"Orange juice, water ... some orange Fanta."
"Um..." She rubs her lips together in thought, refusing to look up at him. "Mh ... no. It's okay."
"A'ight."
The soft padding of his feet melts away as he leaves the living room. In his time of absence, Ámerei wills herself to relax, even by just a little bit.
As she’s caught in the throes of trying to get her shoulders to—at the very least—not to hike up, Onyankopon reemerges with full hands.
"You could sit back, y'know. You not gon' get in trouble."
It takes half of a second for the joke to get to her. When it finally does, the corners of her eyes wrinkle as a gentle smile pulls at her face. "Oh, okay, sorry," she laughs lightly, pushing herself back onto the couch.
"You good," he mumbles, making his way over.
On the short coffee table between the couch and TV, he sets down a rolling tray holding the necessary supplies needed for a smoke session.
Although the couch is short, Onyankopon makes an effort to keep some distance between them, trying his best to give her a comfortable amount of space.
"You could roll?" He asks, bringing the tray into his lap and grabbing his crusher.
She glances down at his hands as he prepares his weed. "No. I just have my friends do it."
A scoff, partnered with the gentle shake of his head. "Knew it." A faint smirk lines his lips.
"Shut up.”
She tries not to let her laughter linger for too long, however, her overthinking is done in vain as Onyankopon mumbles out yet another line.
“You and them girly-ass nails … can’t mess ‘em up, right?”
She blinks, her brain making an effort to keep up with this newfound trait of playful teasing within the stoic man. “W-well, of course not.”
His eyes stay glued to the paper in his fingers as he packs it with the crushed weed. “Yeah, they too … expensive, right? Just like all the other … shit you got on.”
Her glossy lips are parted, and they remain that way. Her gaze is no longer passive, but searching now. Searching for some kind of a reason for this teasing, and if it is truly playful.
A quiet scoff comes from him, just before he rolls the paper to form the first blunt.
“You pay for all that yourself?”
The rise and fall of her chest is more noticeable in the quiet that settles between them; him waiting on her answer, and her waiting on him to announce that he’s just playing with her.
“Are you trying to ask if I have my own money?”
His lips press together in a simple smile, almost like he’s laughing with himself, just before he lifts the blunt to his mouth to lick.
“That ain’t what I asked.”
It’s quiet as he finally seals the blunt.
Their eyes meet.
He catches a flash of recognition across her face.
‘There she go,’ he thinks, suppressing a smirk.
“I do…”
Onyankopon grabs the lighter before reaching forward to place the tray down on the table. Sitting back on the couch, he rolls the flame beneath the blunt, turning it over the tiny fire.
She expects him to say something, another response to her answer, maybe? A new topic?
But, nothing comes.
All discussion goes out of the window as Onyankopon lights the packed blunt. He takes the first hit with ease. He only needs about two more pulls before he leaves it hanging between his lips to outstretch a hand her way.
“Hm.”
She looks down, seeing his palm open for something. She glances back up to catch him nodding towards the baggy beneath her arm.
“Oh…” She passes the bag over to him.
Wordlessly, she watches him take out the bud he’d sold her to crush down. It sort of impresses her, how fast he’s able to roll a blunt. And when it’s done, he lights it before carefully handing it over to her.
“Thank you.”
He nods lazily as she takes her first puff.
“‘Thank you.’”
The soft, high-pitched voice almost makes her choke. She pulls the blunt from her lips, face twisted in a mixture of confused amusement. “Did you just … mock me?”
A small grunt leaves him as he readjusts to sit more comfortably on the couch and face her. He’s got an arm resting atop the back cushion, blunt in hand. He exhales the smoke through his nose.
“You got some good manners.”
There’s a calmness present in his voice that makes goosebumps rise on her skin.
His legs are spread wider. If he were to move by just an inch, their knees would bump together. The proximity alone is enough to make her slightly dizzy.
“‘Can I get a gram, please?’” He takes a pull. “‘Onyankopon—did I say it right?’”
A chuckle brews in his chest as her own embarrassment makes itself known on her face.
“Oh my gosh,” she laughs shyly, hiding the lower half of her face behind a hand. “Stop, I was being polite.”
He scratches at his chin, blunt dangling between his plump lips.
“Yeah … you a good girl.”
A gentle wrinkle disturbs the smoothness between her brows. The urge to disprove him rears its head within her. She opens her mouth to retort, but he stops her before she can get the chance.
“Don’t gotta deny it,” he shrugs with the simple shake of his head. “It’s cool …”
Weakly, she rolls her eyes. “But why do I have to be that, though? I can’t just be normal?”
“You is. You a normal … good girl.” As he emphasized the word, Onyankopon made sure to keep eye contact.
Her upper lip twists ever so slightly. It almost makes him laugh. Even her most sour face is polite—hardly offending. Even just chilling on his couch, her poster is straight and her head is held high.
“Nah, matter fact—you more like a princess.”
Ámerei gawks at the word. “A princess?”
His lips twitch into a smirk, clearly having fun with this.
“Stop—” She outstretches a hand towards him. “Stop playing with me.” But her attempt at strict delivery falls flat as a giggle bubbles out of her.
Onyankopon kisses his teeth, taking a hit as he turns his head away. “Acting all proper…” He exhales a thin cloud of smoke.
“Bet you always follow the rules and shit … handing in your homework on time, studying for tests—”
“Like a regular student,” she defends.
Nevertheless, he continues: “Parents don’t even gotta worry about you going away for college.”
“I’m grown?” She raises a brow, a half-smile on her lips.
“Right, a ‘grown,’ goody-two-shoes … probably can’t even take dick.”
The statement almost feels like a stab to the chest—unexpected. Tingles echo through her skin. Those soft-spoken words shut her up immediately, and any semblance of a smile is wiped off of her face.
“Matter fact…” Onyankopon rasps. He reaches forward to ash his blunt on the tray, moving at a relaxed, unrushed pace. “I know you can’t take dick.”
When he sits back, his eyes bore into her again. “Too good to just fuck on any random ass nigga, right?”
She peers down at her hands as she plays with a ring on one of her fingers. For a moment, she loses herself in thought as she twists the dainty metal around.
“Well … I’m glad it’s so obvious that I don’t have sex.”
The words come out in almost a soft mumble. Yet, they’re loud enough to break him out of his weed-induced spell as he sits up just a little bit straighter, a rift appearing between his brows seconds before they lift up high.
“What you mean?”
A quiet groan slips from her. “I’m a virgin … duh.”
For his reaction, she watches him closely out of the corner of her eye. And she can’t lie to herself, what she notices gives her a sense of … disappointment?
Onyankopon sits up entirely, turning his body away from her to look forward. His legs no longer spread as wide as before, increasing the amount of space between them.
‘Is he … not interested anymore?’
It throws her brain for a loop how quick he switched up on her. Was she not supposed to say that? It’s not like she was broadcasting the news to him—he started it!
Her chest caves in the longer she sits in this suffocating silence. She doesn’t even know what to say.
The blunt is fizzling out between her fingers, the paper itself growing damp from how much her hand sweats.
“Um—”
“You watching any shows right now?”
Ámerei doesn’t allow herself to remain stunned for longer than a second before she’s giving a nonverbal response; a shake of the head.
“A’ight,” he groans, reaching forward to grab the remote.
He goes silent as he sifts through his Hulu account, flipping through titles to see what can best fit the vibe for this hangout (and even resuscitate it).
“I-is there a problem?”
His eyes don’t stray from the screen before them, the TV speaker emitting low clicks as he moves onto the next title. “Nah…”
Her eyes narrow. “Why’d you get quiet when I said I’m a virgin, then?”
He takes a slow inhale, finger freezing on the remote. There’s a handful of seconds before he spares her a brief sideways glance.
“You not watching any shows right now?”
Confusion and irritation twists her face up as she glares at him. “So, you’re just gonna be weird now?”
The sigh that leaves Onyankopon only offends her further. “I’m just tryna find something to watch. We don’t gotta talk about nothing—”
“Bullshit.” She sits up straighter in her spot on the couch, leaning over to get in his face. “I know I’m a virgin, but I’m not stupid. I know you’re interested in me … kind of. At least, I am. Obviously, that’s why I came over here, and it’s probably why you invited me over here, too.”
“Listen—”
“Like, why would I come to a random guy’s apartment just to smoke with him? I know what the fuck people do in situations like these.”
He refrains from showing his mild shock at her change in demeanor. Nevertheless, he faces her as he tries his best attempt at showing remorse. “You seemed cool, maybe I was just tryna chill with you. That’s what you came over here to do?”
Her gaze falters under his own, and her shoulders curl in tighter around her. With a shrug, Ámerei confesses, “I just wanted to … try something new.”
His “guilt” melts into something else: amusement. All there is to show for it is the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Try something new? That’s … funny.”
His words regain her eye contact, and just as easily she shrugs off her humility for anger. “I’m just going to leave.” Ámerei puts out her blunt and pockets it before reaching for what’s left of her uncrushed weed. “Clearly you think … I’m some little fucking girl, and I’m not gonna sit here and be treated like that—”
“Hol’on—”
“No, I’ll just go—”
As she prepares to stand, he reaches out an arm to keep her in her seat.
“Calm down, just—” Yet another sigh is released as he assesses the situation. “You being a virgin isn’t … a issue. I just … I’m not tryna be the guy that you get first—”
“Why? Because I’ll get attached?” She says the words with air quotes. “Please,” she scoffs. Her arms cross over her chest as she falls back against the couch cushions.
Staring at her, Onyankopon licks at his back molars as he weighs his options with this situation. Catching his eyes, Ámerei staunchly raises a brow in question—in challenge, actually.
“A’ight, you wanna fuck?” He nods to himself, shifting in his seat. “Fine, we could do that.”
It takes a second too long for her brain to get a firm grasp of his words. “Wha—a-are you—really?”
An unflinching stare is the only answer he gives her.
With apprehension, her arms unfold to push herself up higher. “O-okay … um.” She swallows. “A-are you clean?”
He wants to laugh, but keeps it at bay. “No, I don’t got nothing. You wanna get tested before we do something?”
“No…?” She doesn’t acknowledge his sarcasm, she doesn’t think she can. “If that’s fine with you?”
He shrugs, eyes softening as he looks at her changing demeanor. “I’m cool.”
The gentle sound of his voice and the heat of his stare boils her in her seat. “Where … should we start?”
His eyes travel to the object of his thoughts: her lips. “I could kiss you?”
Her mouth parts with a silent stutter of words she has yet to mumble. “Y-yeah,” she nods.
Turning his head, Onyankopon ducks in to press his lips against hers. It almost makes her dizzy—them finally touching. Not too wet, his lips are perfectly moist as they slide over her own.
Whereas he moves smooth and fluid, her lips remain pursed against his own, frozen with timidity. And then the wet smooches of each kiss are so loud in her ears, it’s all she can hear.
As he opens his mouth further, he lightly laughs against her. “You gotta kiss back.”
“I am.”
He pulls back to stare at her fully. “You not.”
Brows pulling together, she looks off to the side with a frown and a huff. “Well … it’s awkward.”
“Wha—how you expect to fuck if you can’t handle this?”
Her eyes dart back over to him, growing wide. “I can handle a kiss! It’s just quiet as hell, and I don’t only wanna hear us kissing! Then, it’s just awkward only using our … lips, like—ugh. Can’t we just use tongue?”
“A’ight, if that’s what you wanna do,” he scoffs. “Was tryna ease you into it.”
She doesn’t say anything as she rolls her eyes. Instead, she surges forward to smash her lips against his. This time, she moves with an eagerness that screams she’s trying to prove herself.
And, honestly … she uses just a little too much teeth.
Yet … Onyankopon can’t find it in himself to be annoyed or even the slightest bit peeved. Instead, it’s kind of cute to him how … not great she is at this.
But, of course, he’s still a man; His cradle of her jaw is light, yet guiding as he tilts her head and holds it in its new position, granting him the perfect access to slip his tongue inside.
The muscle is velvety smooth and wet; addicting. Her fingers clutch awkwardly at the closest parts of his shirt, eyes fluttering shut as she loses herself in the action of sucking on him.
Maybe she knew what she was talking about. Onyankopon revels in feeling her body sag against his, the warmth of her more apparent the longer they continue. Even her kissing is more relaxed, slow and perfect.
His hand sinks to her neck—not squeezing. Just ... holding. He pulls back by just a fraction, peeling his dark brown eyes open to stare down at her through his lashes as he laves at her bottom lip.
The pretty pink skin glistens with their spit, bouncing with the release of pressure as he lifts his tongue. As she opens her eyes, the fresh wispy set of lashes framing them so perfectly, the kiss drunk gaze she's got makes something in his stomach drop.
'Fuck it,' is all he thinks before dragging her light frame on top of him. Their lips are back on each other without another thought. In fact, their brains buzz with excitement.
Neither of them can stop.
The only coherent thought he formulates, is the realization of her heartbeat. Her pulse beats like a bunny rabbit's beneath his thumb. His fingers twitch as he barely stops himself from squeezing any tighter.
He's moving purely off of instinct, already knowing which actions to take; his lips veer off of hers, traveling down to the side of her face, underneath her ear, and the column of her neck.
Her mouth hangs open, puffing out swathes of air; it feels empty, missing the feel of something in it.
The hand at her neck slides behind her to cup the back of her head. He pushes her body closer into his. Ámerei's hands clutch his shirt tighter when his lips press firm into the heat of her skin and suck, pulling a hoard of blood just beneath the thin skin.
Yet, the pull isn't strong enough, and she catches herself almost whining out in complaint. When he releases her from his mouth with a weak pop, he licks over the clean skin, pleased that he hadn't left a mark.
In his arms, Ámerei shifts ever so slightly, but it's enough for her to feel him beneath his pants, pressing into the seat of her ass.
'Fuck, I'm really gonna do this,' she thinks to herself.
"Your heart beating fast," he whispers in her ear, his voice sounding distant.
She swallows. "Sorry."
"Don't be."
Before she can think of a response, his hands grip her thighs firmly. In the blink of an eye, she's suspended in the air, held up in his arms as her feet dangle at his sides.
She doesn't ask anything as he whisks her away from the living room, the couch shrinking over his shoulder as they head down the short but dark hallway and towards another room.
The bedroom.
It smells just as good as the living room, but a different scent. One softer, cleaner. The only messy thing in here is his bed, as it was left unmade.
She doesn't judge him, though. She can't remember the last time she's made hers either.
Those thoughts are quieted as she's set down on the pillowy bundle of his comforter. As her back sinks into the gentle warmth, she's engulfed in his natural scent: a faint, manly musk with an air of powdery cleanliness.
She half expects his body to already be on top of hers. Instead, he's standing over her, looking down at her with eyes full of an alertness she hadn't expected.
"What happened?"
"You wanna do this? Like, actually?"
She's nodding, sitting up on her elbows to get a better look at him. "Yes, I want to ... you don't?" The beginnings of her brows itch to pull to each other.
"Nah, I do. I'm just making sure ... don't need nobody crying 'cause I took they virginity—"
"Which is a social construct," she sasses, softly jerking her neck as she does so. "And you’re not taking anything. So stop talking about it, and let's go."
He can't lie, she got that one. All he can offer is a scoff and the shake of his head. "You keep talking like you Billy Badass."
A grin teases at her lips. "Then shut me up."
He pauses for a moment, staring at her as he decides on what he should do to her first. One hand at the hem of his pants, his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. "You just let me know when it gets too much."
His hushed tone gets her wetter, she can feel it. All she gives is a nod of her head.
"Take your clothes off for me."
"Okay," she breathes out, pushing herself to sit up on her knees.
Her capris came off first, leaving her in the pistachio green panties she decided to throw on today. Next is her sweater, which she throws softly to the floor. And then, it's her camisole.
Onyankopon doesn't try to be polite or chivalrous, there's no reason to hide how he feels; his gaze is exactly where he wants it to be.
He reaches out a hand before he can think, warm fingers cradling the side of her ribcage as he runs his thumb over the pert hill of her left boob, lazily playing with the taut, almost maroon nipple.
"Perky ass lil' titties."
Her spine bows, pushing them further into his touch. "Shut up," she mumbles, her lips pulling around her pretty teeth as she can’t keep herself from spilling a smile.
“Mhm,” he hums, moving his hand to hold her jaw and angle her chin up.
His low-lid stare has her feeling stuck in the spotlight. Ámerei can’t tell if she loves all of the attention or if she’s too shy for it.
“Why you still got them fucking panties on?”
Her breath hitches, hearing his soft voice harden around the profanity.
“I-I thought you were gonna take them off,” she says softly.
Kissing his teeth, his hand falls away from her face, leaving the skin cold. “You really think you a fucking princess.”
There was no malice in his tone at all.
Before she can even fake a frown, he gently pushes her back down on the bed. Her mouth hangs open, speechlessly watching as he softly hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of her underwear. He stares for a moment, before he even thinks to pull them down.
Between her legs, he takes heed to how the thin fabric sticks to the curves of her pussy, showing what usually goes unseen. Only slightly does he pull them up, just to further pronounce the outline of her folds. And that’s when he sees the small wet spot previously hidden.
“What’s wrong?”
The fear in her voice is poorly hidden.
“Nothing, you good.”
His smile matches that of his tone: plain and simple.
Without much more delay, Onyankopon takes great care in ridding her of her underwear. The small garment in his hands, he begins folding it with the tips of his fingers, like it’ll rip if he pulls at them too hard.
“Scoot back,” he nods in the direction he wants her to go, just before placing the folded underwear on his dresser.
Ámerei shifts to the middle of the bed, Onyankopon moving into the new space she made for him.
His hands get her by the underside of her legs, pushing them back against her stomach. As he lowers himself between them, she doesn’t lean back, only staying on her elbows to watch with … morbid curiosity.
Once again, he halts, concern befalling his face. “You good with this?”
She nods, chewing at her bottom lip as worry brings her brows together. “Y-yeah, I’m just … kinda scared? Not of you, but, like … w-what if I, like …. stink?”
He laughs softly. “You don’t.”
“I don’t?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Was you supposed to?”
Her eyes widened. “No—no! I was just—ugh, nevermind, keep going. Sorry.”
For a moment, Onyankopon eyes her, searching for any signs that he should stop. “Do you wanna do this?”
“Yes,” she nods eagerly, never breaking eye contact.
“So lay back, then.” He kisses his teeth, hoping to calm her nerves with a playful tone. “Moving like you supervising me.”
She only rolls her eyes, her back sinking into the sheets.
Face to face with her second set of lips, Onyankopon can’t say that he’s surprised with what he’s seeing, only pleased by the sight of her. A clit, swollen with arousal, heading the curtains of her inner labia which come to peek past her lips.
Right above it, he places a soft smooch on the hill of her mound, feeling the hot and smooth skin under his lips. Then one right beneath it, where her lips part. Just in the crook of her leg and hip, he plants another kiss there.
The hitch in her breath is complimented by a subtle flex of her inner leg muscles.
“You ticklish?”
Her hands, awkwardly tucked at her sides, twist the sheets beneath them as she stares up at the ceiling. “U-um, not really—”
Pressing his tongue to the opening of her pussy, Onyankopon flattens it against her, barely dipping inside. But, he doesn’t let it linger, as he licks a long, wide stripe all the way to her clit.
Her stomach sucks in and her hips press into the bed, thighs fighting to close around him.
“O-oh—”
Another lick pulls his lips over her clit, slowly rolling his tongue over it. “Hm?”
“Mm—I don’t—“ She shakes her head, eyelids lowering by the second.
He pulls back, creating a soft smooch sound, then another lick. All before he pulls her clit back into the warmth of his mouth to suckle on.
“Mh … mmh … mh, uh … uh—”
His lips tighten around her as he holds in a laugh. He readjusts his grip to better handle her hips as they rock against his face.
“Yes … mh—please,” she pants out. She licks at her drying lips, only for her mouth to drop open again as he continues to suck at her clit.
Her knuckles pale, hands twisting and pulling at the sheets as she bears the feeling of his tongue flicking against her clit—each one pushing her towards a familiar feeling.
At the back of her head, the sound of her own voice—moaning in a way that she’s never heard before—is honestly … embarrassing.
But, she can’t bring herself to care. Not with how he has her folded up and shaking against his face.
She can feel his chin moving against her, almost digging into the underside of her thighs, and perfectly so. Right above his head, her ankles cross and her feet arch.
He switches his tempo, tongue swirling circles on it. That pulls a shiver out of her.
“Hmmm, mmh, mh—”
Using all of the strength she can muster, Ámerei pushes her hips upwards to rut against his face, chasing after a fastly impending climax.
And she’s so eager for it, she doesn’t even notice the shifting of his hips against the bed. How contained he’s trying to be. How hard he tries to not to let it be known that he enjoys getting his face fucked by a pretty girl.
Her thighs press harder against the sides of his head, drowning him in the sweet scent of the lotion that coats her skin.
“Ooh—”
Her body jumps, tightening as her body flutters, and her own release leaks down her middle.
As he licks at her, a clammy palm pushes against his forehead. He clutches tighter as she squirms beneath him, broken laughter spilling from her mouth.
“Fuck, stop, stop!” She twists and turns, twisting to slip out of his grasp.
Letting go of a soft chuckle himself, he releases her out of mercy. “You didn’t wanna continue,” he asks, sitting up, a grin on his wet lips.
Through hooded eyes, Ámerei watches him as she tries to regain her composure. She notices a speck of her cum on his chin just before he wipes the bottom half of his face with his shirt.
“That was good for you?” As Onyankopon talks, he comes to stand up.
Immediately, her eyes fall below his waist. Straight to the print in his pants that is impossible to ignore. Wordlessly, she nods, her stare unmoving.
The corners of his mouth raise into a grin as he hooks his thumbs on the waistband of his pants and drags them downwards. It pops out as it's freed from his clothes.
In her eyes, his dick bobs in slow motion, solid and stiff in the air.
She struggles to get a good breath in as he rejoins her back on the bed, his knees sinking into the mattress on either side of her.
“Look at me.”
Her mouth opens, but no words come out. Her attention is wrangled in by the soft grip he adopts on her chin. He tilts her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“Tell me how you felt.”
She blinks herself out of a daze, just barely realizing the soothing rub of his thumb against her chin. “It—I—g-good.”
A soft snort leaves him. “Yeah? It was good?”
She nods, growing bashful again. As she ducks her head, she subtly jerks back, having almost brushed the tip of his dick with her lips. She looks back up at him, noting the almost expectant look on his face.
“You wanna suck it?”
“Mh—I…”
She glances at it again. Sepia blooms over the crown of it. The tip is blunt and wide, a perfect surface just inviting her to curl her tongue around it.
A thought flashes in her mind as she wonders how many women have had him in their mouths. How many women have made him cum, and how fast. How much … better they’d be at it than her.
With a thick swallow, she peers back up at him. “Not—I don’t think I could do it this time.”
He nods, the grin on his face unchanging. “A’ight, that’s okay.”
Bending down, he plants a kiss on her cheek, then, one on her neck. “Lay back, again,” he whispers to her.
“Why,” she questions, leaning back anyway as she watches him lower himself to her side.
“Put your legs up.”
There’s a buzzing present in her brain, like she’s moving on autopilot. And it feels so good. Hence why, she doesn’t think twice when he whispers a command, performing the action as she speaks to fill the space.
She curls her legs into her chest once again, tucking her manicured hands beneath her knees, just to have something to hold onto. Yet still, there’s ample space for him to slide a hand between her thighs. Right where her lips are pushed together.
“G-go slow, please,” she urges timidly.
He doesn’t mind her words as he runs his fingers through the plush skin of her lips. Slow and soft, teasing her as he gets the tips of them wet. They’re relaxed, petting.
Her eyelids start to grow heavy, limbs relaxing into the mattress as he rubs messy circles over the bundle of nerves between her legs. The walls of her pussy hug themselves as they flutter from his touch.
Even as he’s right there—not daring to pull away—her hips chase after his touch. They stutter and roll beneath him.
Her head lolls to the side, eyes barely open as he stares down at her falling apart.
“This good?”
“Mmmhm,” she nods lazily, moaning softly into his arm.
“This how you want it? You gotta tell me.”
Her legs quiver. He feels a trickle further wet his hand.
“Y-yes,” she whispers, the sound barely slipping out past her lips.
“Hm?”
The pads of his fingers rub so perfectly against the small pearl, overwhelming her with their gentle roughness.
“Yesss, Ony,” she weeps, her face contorting in desperate pleasure as she nods against him. “Yess—”
A gentle gasp slices her plea in half; a finger, long and thick, slides through her lips and pushes in, gliding easily. It almost takes another moan from her.
And as that thick, long finger dives deeper, it presses right up against that spot perfectly inside of her. So deep that the knuckle of his hand presses to her opening with a soft squish.
“Mhm,” he hums, peering between her legs as he pulls that finger out. But, only about halfway before he’s pushing back in to hear her body croon around him. He pulls out again.
It doesn’t surprise him, seeing the thin, slimy film coating his skin—viscous and sticky. It’s built up in some spots more than others.
“Creaming already.”
Before she has the chance to get bashful at the off handed comment, he’s sliding his finger right back in, the tip of it just kissing her g-spot.
The pressure is a dull ache that knocks something deep in her tummy.
Her eyes roll shut, shoulders tensing up as her body tries to handle the steady strength of his finger fucking into her. It curls so perfectly in her, pushing against her walls. And yet…
“M-more,” she whimpers.
“More?”
She nods, the crease in her brows deep as her eyes fall closed. She doesn’t even see the way his lips curve upwards as he kisses his teeth.
“Wasn’t you just begging me to go slow?”
His question doesn’t get a real answer, only an irritated whine.
“Huh?” As he works his finger in and out of her, always aiming to hit that one spot, her body gurgles around them, splishing against him. “That wasn’t you?”
There’s an effort to keep her lips pressed together, even as her eyes roll back at the feeling of someone digging her out in the most pleasant way possible. “Mh—Please.” The word drags from her mouth, weighed by an attitude that reeks of entitlement.
He doesn’t mind it. Without a second thought, he gives her just what she asks for, pushing his ring finger in right alongside the middle one. A moan that perfectly encapsulates utmost satisfaction leaves her lungs as her body welcomes him.
She’s sopping, her walls velvety and soft. They mold around his fingers as he presses into the spot right behind her bladder.
“Ouu … shit,” her voice drags, cracked and heavy. Above his head, her feet arch like they’re in Louboutins. Her hips twitch, thighs shuddering perpetually.
She’s a vision that he has to sit up further to see in its entirety. He licks his lips, trying to get a trace of her taste again as her cream seeps around his hand.
“You feel that?”
Bunched up together, her eyebrows don’t separate. She can only manage a weak nod. Her body offers no friction, welcoming him in with weeps of milky arousal all over the intruding fingers.
“Fuck,” he groans to himself, shifting on his knees. “Why you creaming like that?”
His answer is a shaky mewl as her thighs tremble around his wrist. Square acrylics with perfect corners bite into the skin of her legs as her grip only hardens.
His mind is on its own bender, this sight enough of a drug to last him the entire evening. Onyankopon doesn’t question the next thought that pops into his head, he only does it.
With too much ease, he slips a third finger in, curious to see how much she can take.
There is no resistance.
No struggle.
No hiss of pain or tightening to stop him.
Just pretty pink walls, bending and stretching to accommodate the weight and size of three big fingers.
“She greedy like that, huh? Been starving… Why you kept her waiting this long, Ámerei?” He bends down close to push his face into her neck, lips right at her ear. “Hm?” Her pussy spurts around him, the sound of wet clicks accenting his words. “Tell me.”
Her whimpers are too perfect. Anyone could hear them, and here she is, making all of this noise about his fingers. How does she expect to take his dick?
“Wanted to wait until someone could do you right, hm? Give you some princess treatment,” he teases.
He runs his lips, slowly, down her neck and up the hill of a breast. At its peak, he laves at a pearled nipple before suckling. Her hips cant against him, like they’ve been brought back to life.
He’s relentless, fucking her good enough so that she doesn’t even notice when he grabs the condom—only slipping his hand out to tear open the aluminum packet. That’s when she finally has a clear enough head to open her eyes.
To look up.
Her eyes go wide.
“W-woah—wait.”
He freezes, the condom having already been rolled half-way down his dick.
Her eyes flit up to his face, almost shocked by the concern splashed across his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I … I just…”
She takes another peak at him, noting the way the latex stretches thin around his tip. There’s only one hand around himself, but Ámerei can tell that it’s feasible for him to grip it with two. It curves just slightly to the left. A small web of veins, laying just under the skin, ribs the length of his shaft.
“Look, we don’t gotta do this—”
“I do. I … I do, just … please, go slow.”
“Okay, Ámerei. I heard you,” he stresses. “I’m not doing nothing you not okay with, a’ight?”
She nods, still looking between his legs. Her gaze is torn away when there’s a hand at her chin, pushing her head up.
“I hear you.”
She nods again, rather stiffly this time, on account of the hand still at her chin. And yet, he gently squeezes her in reprimand.
“Something hurts, say it. Don’t gimme that fake-moaning shit if you don’t like it, ‘cause I’ma be able to tell.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
He scours her face for a moment.
“Okay.” He releases her face to finish putting the condom on. “Lay back … I ain’t gon’ tell you again,” he mumbles, voice less stern than it had been in the last minute or so.
Swallowing back her fears, Ámerei does as told. He doesn’t give her room to ruminate. Or, he gives her no space to, rather; his face is back in hers.
There are kisses dropped one after the other on her lips, as a knee of hers is lifted and pressed against her stomach.
“Look at you—” a kiss. “—doing all that worrying … Like you don’t got me this fucking hard.”
Ámerei holds in a gasp as the weight of his tip drops against her lips with a firm tap. She jumps at the impact. It surprises her, that’s for sure, feeling how solid he is.
He looks in her eyes seeing the lust bloom behind her shrinking apprehension. Taking his hand off of himself, Onyankopon gently grabs her other hand to place it around his dick, so that she can see for herself.
“Feel that?” he breathes out as she makes a clumsy fist around him. Her hand is so soft. It’s almost a shame. “Ain’t even have you suck my shit, but you got me giving you dick.”
His stare is unflinching. Her hand tingles, like it’s in shock at how he feels in her grasp. It almost makes her head hurt, noting how even if she really tried, one hand won’t be enough to fully hold him.
“That’s what you used to … getting everything you want, w-without having to do nothing for it, hm?”
He can make a comment about how easy it’ll be to split her open—he’s definitely thinking it. But, Onyankopon watches his words. Tries to keep it tame for her sake.
She bites at her lower lip, nodding shyly as she tries to hide her face in her shoulder.
“Don’t get shy, I ain’t shaming you. S’what you used to…” Staring down at her, he licks at his lips before nodding down to where she holds him. “But you gon’ do some work today. Rub it in, c’mon.”
Huffing softly, Ámerei tightens her grip as she takes the reigns. Onyankopon pulls his hand away, using it to aid in his balance above her.
Where she would typically have a comeback, Ámerei keeps her mouth shut. Her thoughts are hazy, body too eager to make contact with him.
Her eyelids lay low, bottom lip tucked neatly between the rows of her teeth as she gently swipes the head of his dick against herself. It brings a shudder out of her, the feeling akin to the licks he’d given her just moments ago.
‘Heavy,’ she thinks. Thick and weighted, like he’s carrying a pipe between his legs.
It’s slow, her movements, as her body gradually wakes to the feeling of his dick against her. But, it’s inevitable that she starts to gain some sort of confidence, especially when he hums in encouragement.
“Mhm.” His breathing is messy and less composed. Louder, too, even as he rolls his lips into his mouth and tries to keep quiet.
Peering up at him, eyes glossed over, Ámerei chews at her lower lip. Her movements grow surer. She doesn’t stop, even as her wrist burns from the angle made by their closeness and his length.
She pulls him further and further, dipping the head past her clit. For a moment, he catches just where she opens. Where her cunt seeps around nothing.
“Shit … you so wet.”
The soft rasp of his voice sends a fluttering feeling down the line of her stomach. Her clit jumps as she clenches.
“S’for you,” she mumbles, still keeping that eye contact.
When his eyes flick upwards to meet hers, his face twitches with the effort of a man close to losing self-restraint.
Kissing his teeth, he squeezes his eyes shut. “Stop t-talkin’ like that.”
Her brain vomits out a response too quick for her liking: ‘Sorry, Daddy.’
But her lips quiver as the words die on her tongue, unspoken. Can she say that yet? Should she? Maybe it’s best to save that for someone who’s more of a permanent fixture.
Instead, she revises the thought.
“Sorry, Ony.”
The tiny pout on her pillowy lips is enough for him to reach for her face—better balance be damned. He squeezes her cheeks, pushing those lips out further to plant his own on them as he leans in.
“Don’t gotta apologize,” he says against her mouth, the words garbled and smushed.
Her shoulders shoot up, body tensing as the weight of his head starts to press heavier against her.
“Ony—”
Her warmth is inviting, his hips stutter. “It hurts?” His lips are still pressed to hers. So close, suffocating either of them in the best way.
She shakes her head.
“Let me in, then.” He kisses her softly. “You was just taking my fingers, I know you could take this.”
One of her hands slip from behind her knees to grip at his upper arm.
“C’mon,” he pants, gently rocking his hips against her, pushing his tip through her lips to spread her arousal. “Be good, you could take this.”
He presses back against her hole, feeling himself inch inside by way of her wetness.
“You know you could take it … know you c-could,” he groans.
“Oh, G-God—”
Her body widens slowly, the feeling foreign as it stretches around the blunt crown of his dick. He pops it in, her walls doing small spasms around him.
“Fuck,” he pants. “It’s hurting?”
A whine is caught in her throat. She tries to swallow it down.
“Keep going,” she messily shakes her head, strands of her hair getting in her line of sight.
Her face is scrunched up. Onyankopon takes heed to go slow. His hand leaves her face to hold himself at the base.
“Keep holding them legs open … fuck, you real pretty.”
Unexpectedly, a nervous chuckle falls out of his mouth as he looks from where they connect to her face. He breezes past the slip up as he starts to use his body weight to push in. Her breath gets caught in her chest for the umpteenth time with him.
“O-oh—ohh—”
The weak, high-pitched whine hits his ears as his dick slowly sinks into soft, wet heat. Pushing, pushing, pushing. It’s a far bigger stretch than just three fingers. And it only gets wider the farther in he goes.
He’s hardly even half-way in when he meets resistance, like he’s hit a wall inside of her.
“Fuck—stop, please—”
He freezes, immediately looking down. Her lips stretch as much as they can around him, gripping the sides of him as her walls try their hardest to take him. Their contractions are weak, her body giving its best effort to take something it’s never experienced before.
But as his eyes move just inches upward, he finds the real source of the issue: the barely noticeable swell in the pit of her stomach.
Right where he is.
Her face contorts in pain, and immediately he takes action to slowly and carefully relieve her of the pressure sitting in her gut.
“M’sorry—fuck, it hurts—”
“Quit that, you good. It’s me, th-that’s my fault,” he grunts, trying to keep his movements slow and controlled.
When he pulls out, he can’t help but to notice the minor stretch he gave her, the opening of her cunt winking back at him. No doubt, she’s a little more open now.
“My fault, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, reaching for her face. “You want me to stop?”
“Uh-uh,” she shakes her head, peering up at him, a wrinkle still in her brows. “Try again, just—”
“I’ma be careful.”
She nods. Beneath him, she shifts to regain a sense of comfort, reaching down to spread herself open.
French shorties frame shiny wet lips that give away to a pink center, coaxing him in with the promise of a gushy hold. Below her pussy, her second hole puckers tightly.
“You look good like this,” he rasps, smiling as he takes his dick in-hand. “You helping me?”
Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she nods. Her toes curl in excitement above her. Her hair is messy, in need of a good brushing. A thin sheen of sweat covers her, adding spots of highlight to the high points of her face. Yet, here she is, still so eager to follow through with this.
He grips his dick tighter as another rush of blood makes him pulse.
“Just like that … keep that shit open…”
He guides himself back to her hole and goes for another try. This time, he’s slower, watching carefully as her body accepts him with an ease of familiarity, right up until that spot where he stopped.
She hisses again, body tensing up as she’s unable to hide her discomfort.
“Ow—s-stop—”
“I’m stopping, you good,” he quickly comforts, stilling his hips.
At his sides, her legs tremble. The pain settles, but not completely.
“You want me to pull out?”
She doesn’t give an immediate answer, eyes and lips sealed shut.
“C’mon, Ámi’, talk to me.”
“I … it’s too mu-uch.”
Her voice waivers.
She half expects him to be pleased hearing those words. Isn’t that what most guys like to hear?
“Want me to put you in a new position?”
Her eyes pop open. His face is close to hers. She gets a front row seat to the concern laced within his features. And, through her pain, manages a shaky but grateful smile.
“Yeah,” she nods.
The room spins as he pulls back out, still careful. “Turn on your side.”
Wordlessly, she does so. Her head rests against the arm she has splayed against the pillow, a sigh of relief leaving her as her eyes fall closed.
Scooting closer to her, he lifts a leg, pulling it straight up as he lowers himself to sit just at her cunt.
“You comfortable?”
She peels her eyes open just to look at him as she nods. Fatigue is written all over her face, what little they’ve done enough to zap her of her energy.
A real pillow princess.
“You ready?”
“Yeah.”
Upon pushing back in, Onyankopon is pleasantly surprised to find that he’s able to do so with ease. In fact, they both are.
“Mmph,” she mewls pleasantly, eyes falling back closed as he slips in further than he was ever able to.
“Fuck … there we go,” he breathes out.
She isn’t too taut around him. It’s a perfect stretch that makes him feel elated, because he can tell she’s enjoying it, too.
It takes a while, but he bottoms out; her stretched cunt pressed flush to his balls. The cool skin paired with the light dusting of hair on his sack makes her shudder. It’s such a pleasant feeling, the fullness. There’s still that ache in her lower tummy, but in the sweetest of ways that only makes her want more.
“Onyy,” she whines softly.
“It’s okay?” He’s almost breathless. In this position, he fits a lot more snuggly within her. No awkward poking.
She nods against the sheets, lips parted.
“I’m moving slow.”
“Okay.”
He starts out with a slow rock. Back and forth, back and forth. Until with each one, he’s pulling out more inches. Yet, his strokes remain slow and soft. Gentle and rolling. Amazing.
“Oh … ohh … o-oh,” she whimpers softly, eyes rolling back as she twists and turns, gripping the sheets.
“You enjoying this?”
He doesn’t even need to ask. Not with the way her pussy squelches like she’s got something to tell him. It’s like every time he pulls out, her body cries, only getting wetter.
He finds that he can hit her deeper. "Feels good, right?”
“Uuuh—!”
“Know it does... Could hear it.”
Plap, plap, plap.
Her body claps against him in applause every time he bottoms out. Still going at a moderate pace, still careful with her.
“Ohh, God!”
“I know, I know.” He reaches down to grip her jaw, turning her head to see that pretty face. How much it twists into an ugly expression, hair all over her face, as he digs her out in the best way.
"Had to get you ready, but I'm not gonna go too hard... Too soft for that, can't break you, hm?”
A shrill whines leaves her lungs, the small peaks of her breasts jumping slightly as he fucks into her. All slow, nice, and polite.
"Gotta ... treat you all nice 'n' soften you up. Like you a princess, huh?”
The teasing only makes her clench up.
"Couldn't fuck you in my car … n-not like them other bitches, right?
Before the words cement themselves in her brain, her body is wonderfully stunned by a stroke just an ounce heavier than the last. Meaner.
“Huh?”
She shakes her head, having barely comprehended anything past the first few words of that sentence. He leans in closer, bucking his hips harder against her. Faster.
PlapPlapPlap!
Her whines get chopped and screwed as she writhes beneath him. They turn into silent moans as her mouth hangs open. The whites of her eyes are what he sees.
“Nah, right?”
Her pussy flutters nonstop, sucking him in, begging him to never leave. He grips her ankle tighter, never putting her leg down for rest.
“You want princess treatment... only want niggas to treat you nice and sweet, huh?”
“Oh … mh—mh—mh—ohhh fuuuuuck—”
“Yeaah, right?” A breath chuckle tumbles out of his lips, even as a bead of sweat rolls down his face. “You … t-taking this shit like a … n-natural.”
He sees it: the way she creams around him. How can he not? All of her arousal packs at the base of his dick, translucence building up until it’s thicker and more solid in color; a tight slip and slide for his dick.
“Taking you home … fucking you in my bed like you my girl... This what you came here for?"
It’s like her heart is fighting to get out of her chest. Ámerei struggles to keep a grip on the reality of the situation at hand. Genuinely, it’s like he’s beating her pussy out of its frame. And yet it feels too good for her to want it any other way.
Then again, what does she know?
As expected, there’s a bit of resistance as Onyankopon pulls out. The mild suction tempts him to stay in.
“Please,” Ámerei croaks as Onyankopon gently puts her leg down to rest.
“Relax, I still got you.”
He sits back on his knees, staring down at her with a lust that overpowers whatever fatigue he might be feeling. He can’t tell if it’s the weed or if he’s actually this horny for her.
He’s putting a pin in that thought for later, in favor of putting her face deep in the sheets and her ass high in the air.
“Arch that shit—c’mon, you know what to do… Bet you studied for this shit, too.” Onyankopon wipes the sweat from his forehead with the corner of his comforter. “Deep, too, I don’t do that shallow shit.”
Shifting on her knees, she spreads her legs wider and sinks her back in. And part of her is thankful, relieved that this is the new position. Because being spread open before him, her most private parts on display for him in this manner, has her growing unbelievably shy—she doesn’t want to think too hard about it.
Or about the fact that he might not achieve what he wanted from this position. She’s never had a fat ass, just a noticeable set of hips on a small frame.
But—see—Onyankopon isn’t worried about that. Not when he’s getting the best view from behind; dribbles of slick ooze from her pulsing cunt. She’s dripping, pussy still wanting more of what he can offer.
“Lil’ thing hungry, hm?”
A lazy slap is dropped on the plane of her right ass cheek, before he softly grips and shakes what little fat is there. The little jiggle is too cute for him, especially when another whine escapes her.
It seems that’s one of the only sounds she’s been able to make lately.
“Speak to me, Ámi… Can’t be the only one talking.”
Blindly, she reaches back for him, searching for his hand.
“Y’know I’m not a talker.” He captures her wrist, gently pressing it to the small of her back. With his free hand, he repositions himself, swiping his tip through her lips. “You supposed to be the one doing all that for me.”
His push back in is one of his biggest highlights of today.
“Th-this shit so … f-ffucking perfect,” he groans out, voice wavering as her walls grip him up in the wettest, warmest way he’s ever felt.
His hips are just seconds from colliding with her ass when he hears it:
Pfft … ppfftt!
“Whew!” He smiles, moving his second hand to grip her hip instead. “Mhm, just like that—that’s the kind’a talking I’m trynna hear.”
That fullness has returned to her. And it’s mind-numbingly amazing. Shaking and sniffling, Ámerei only takes it as Onyankopon pounds into her, just like she wanted.
“Oh God, Oh God, Oh Go—”
She tenses up as he uses his strength to pull her ass back on him as he meets her halfway. Each smack of their skin is sharp and quick.
“Oouuuuuuuu—ahh,” she cries out embarrassingly, feeling herself just leaking around his dick as he slips in and out of her.
“Quit … l-losing that arch—fuck I just tell you?”
Every new stroke felt punishing, and in the best way possible. She wants to cry and rejoice at the same time. Her knuckles pale as she clutches the pillow beneath her tight. Lord knows she needs something to hold on to as she tries to inch up on the bed.
All that achieves is a two second break, Onyankopon pausing to yank her back before he continues.
“A-another thing … that running shit—”
The cracks in his voice make her stomach swoop and her pussy flutter.
"Don't know … why you was asking f-for … all this … C-can’t even f-fucking take it—”
The swing of his hips are so heavy against her. The skin on her ass stings and every thrust has her afraid that she’ll lose control of her bladder.
And yet, it’s bringing her closer to something.
“Why you squeezing me like that? You ‘bout to cum?”
His breathy voice gives her enough of a high to ride off of. But, the timid musk of his sweat is something she hadn’t expected to like; it invades her senses as he leans in over her back, hips still working against her.
“Hm? Y-you ‘bout to cum, Ámi?”
A broken whimper is what she manages, aside from a measly nod of the head.
“C’mon then.”
The hand on her waist slips beneath her body, slithering to a slobbering set of lips between her trembling legs.
For a sobering moment, his hips still. He grunts as her pussy spasms around him, still in shock from the way he worked her.
Reprieve ends as he rubs messy but concentrated circles on her poking clit, careful not to put too much pressure on the sensitive bud.
“Cum on me,” he pants.
Her hips stutter, tummy sucking in as her back arches. “Ony—k-keep doing…”
“Uhuh … cum on my dick. Cum on it—”
A violent shiver nearly takes her out as she lets go around him. His strong arms serve as an anchor for her, as she nearly loses herself in the lasting orgasm.
“Keep—oh fuck,” he shudders, finally letting go himself, emptying into the condom as she milks him dry.
Both bodies twitch against one another, riding out their releases.
It’s after that conclusion, Ámerei learns something new about herself: that sex is definitely an activity to put her to sleep.
As Onyankopon separates from her—making it a point to notify her that he was just going to get some wipes—she finds it difficult to keep herself awake.
It only works but so well.
Succumbing to her body’s wishes, Ámerei’s eyes flutter shut seconds before Onyankopon enters the room, still naked yet condom-free. She wants to get up when she hears the sound of a soft snort.
“You sleeping?”
Largely, Ámerei inhales as she stretches against the sheets, turning her head and peeling her eyes open to look at him. “Mh-mh.”
His grin is faint, yet she can tell it’s a product of fatigue. And she’s not surprised, he did do all of the work.
Onyankopon makes his way over to the bed, a pack of wipes in his hands. Her eyes fall back closed before that first wipe even touches her hot, clammy skin.
“Mhm, bet you tired now, huh?”
“Shut up,” she mumbles.
His hands move as his mouth runs, a cocky smile on his full lips. “Don’t know why, I was putting in that work.”
A dreamy smile is all she can muster, too tired to give a genuine laugh.
“Thank you.”
“That polite shit,” he mutters, that smile of his dimming to a genuine grin that he makes an effort to further hide. “You welcome.”
Chucking a soiled wipe on the ground for later, he exchanges it for a new one to wipe the slick that had run between her ass.
Part of her is caught off guard. She hadn’t expected him to be this … chivalrous. But, she’s not going to deny herself of this service. He was absolutely correct in giving her the ‘Princess’ title. And she is going to play the part.
"Ain’t gon’ lie to you, though…” he licks at his lips, brain producing a line of thoughts that he finds himself happily following. “If you wanna keep doing this … you gotta learn how to take dick."
Without a thought spared, Ámerei sits up on her elbows, pure bliss wiped off of her face in an instant. Mild offense twists her face into a scowl.
“Don’t even trip,” he soothes.
Onyankopon doesn’t spare her a glance as he runs the wipe down an inner thigh.
“We gon’ fix that."
𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔 ᝰ @uzmacchiato @crylynnluv
𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ᝰ @wintrrxxo @vibewshyla @icanmakethedickstandup @toji-dabi-wife @genea-myers @whoareyouuuo @nova2kss @otakufilms @plutobratz @bubblegum-lollipop @junitries @thevelvetwhispers @pussypinkdoll @venusincleo @soupersaldz @synicalslut @nysrevenge @ami-s-k @6slux @hcneymooners @aranisbaee @powdertojinx @thelovewitch2016 @bad4bey @liliacsdelight @cartinextdoor @adoreemxs @phxnomxnal @flyme2plut0 @aizawash0e @tojislittlesluttt @prettypink-princess @asstoofatsworld (message me privately if you'd like to be removed from the taglist)
You met Sukuna through Gojo, because of course you did. Gojo always had a way of dragging you into situations you had no business being in—like that house party in the heart of the city where the music thumped so hard the floor vibrated through your heels. You were supposed to be home by midnight, tucked into your suburban bed like the good girl everyone thought you were. But your crew? They knew better. They knew you liked the edge, the danger, the kind of men who made your mama’s church friends clutch their pearls.
And then there he was.
Sukuna leaned against a leather couch in the back room, two girls on either side of him like ornaments, but his eyes tracked you the second you walked in with Gojo. He didn’t smile. He didn’t have to. The power rolled off him in waves—expensive cologne, gold chains, and a gaze that peeled back every layer of your “sweet suburban princess” act.
“That’s her?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the bass, low and amused.
Gojo clapped you on the shoulder. “Don’t let the skirt fool you. She’s got a taste for trouble.”
You tilted your head, letting your ponytail sway, and gave him that soft smile that always made people underestimate you. “Hi.”
Sukuna’s lips curled. “Cute.”
That was two hours ago. Now the party had thinned out, and you were in his bedroom—his actual bedroom, because the man didn’t mess around. The door clicked shut behind you, and the air changed. Thick. Heavy.
You turned to face him, your pink babydoll dress riding up your thighs. It was short, lace-trimmed, with a plunging neckline that showed off the curve of your tits. Your heels—clear plastic strap-ons—made your legs look miles long. And your skin, rich brown and glowing under the dim gold light, was bare except for the thin strap of your thong, which you’d bought specifically for nights like this.
Sukuna didn’t say a word. He just stalked toward you, slow, deliberate, his pink hair falling over his forehead. He had a look on his face like he was about to tear into a meal. And you? You bit your lip, letting your lashes drop, playing the shy girl.
“I don’t usually do this,” you whispered, voice all honey.
He laughed. A low, rough chuckle that sent a shiver straight to your cunt.
“Yeah, Princess. I bet you don’t.”
His hand came up, grabbing a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. You gasped—half surprise, half pleasure—and he leaned down, mouth hovering over your ear.
“Gojo told me all about you. Sweet girl from the suburbs, hangs with the wrong crowd. Gets off on being bad. But you know what I love?” His tongue traced the shell of your ear. “Fake innocent girls. They always scream the loudest.”
You whimpered. Not a real sound—you wanted this, wanted him to break you open. But you let it slip anyway, because the act was part of the game.
He shoved you backward onto the bed. You bounced, skirt riding up, exposing the damp spot on your thong. Sukuna’s eyes dropped, and he grinned.
“Damn. Already wet, Princess? And I ain’t even touch you yet.”
You spread your legs just a little, letting him see. “Maybe I just… like the atmosphere.”
He unbuckled his belt, slow, the metal jingling. “Nah. You like being told what to do. You like being used.”
Your breath hitched. Because he was right, and he knew it.
He climbed onto the bed, knees on either side of your hips, and yanked down the bodice of your dress. Your tits spilled out, nipples hard, and he didn’t waste time. He leaned down and sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling, teeth grazing until you arched your back and moaned—a real one, this time.
“Mmmph—fuck, ’kuna…”
“Mm. That’s it. Let me hear you.”
His hand slid down your stomach, under the lace of your thong, and two thick fingers pushed inside you without warning. You cried out, back bowing, as he pumped them in and out, curling against that spot that made your vision blur.
“So tight for a ‘good girl,’” he growled. “Bet your little church friends don’t know you like this. Bet they don’t know how you drip when a man tells you to beg.”
“Please—” you gasped, not even sure what you were asking for.
“Please what, Princess?” He pulled his fingers out, shiny with your wetness, and brought them to your mouth. “Clean ‘em.”
You opened your lips, tasting yourself on his fingers, salty and sweet. Your eyes stayed on his the whole time.
He smirked. “Good girl. Now get on your knees.”
You scrambled up, turning around, dropping to your knees on the plush carpet. You heard the zipper of his pants, the rustle of fabric, and then the heavy slap of his cock against his stomach. When you looked back, your mouth went dry.
He was thick. Veiny. The head flushed deep red, already slick with precum. He wrapped his hand around the base and tapped it against your cheek.
“Open up, Princess. Show me how a good girl sucks cock.”
You parted your lips, stuck out your tongue, and let him guide the head past your teeth. The taste hit you—salt, musk, pure male heat—and you moaned as you took him deeper. Your hands gripped his thighs, and you worked your mouth up and down, hollowing your cheeks, letting spit drip down your chin.
“Fuck—yeah, just like that,” he grunted, his hand in your hair, guiding your rhythm. “Look at you. Pretty little suburban princess, gagging on my dick. What would your mama say?”
You couldn’t answer. You were too busy taking him all the way, throat relaxing, tears pricking your eyes. But you didn’t stop. You let him fuck your face, his hips thrusting shallow, his balls slapping against your chin.
“Mm—sh-shit—” The half-finished sounds fell from his lips. “Gonna—you want it, Princess? You want me to—?”
You pulled off with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. “No. Not yet. I want you inside me.”
He hauled you up by the arm, bent you over the edge of the bed, and ripped your thong off. The fabric tore—you didn’t care. He pushed your upper body down, arching your back, your ass in the air. His hand came down on one cheek, a sharp slap that made you yelp.
“That’s for being greedy.”
Then he spread you open, and you felt the head of his cock press against your entrance. He didn’t tease. He shoved in, all at once, a thick, brutal stretch that pulled a scream from your throat.
“Ah—fuck! ‘Kunaa—!”
“Yeah. Take it. Take all of it.”
He started to pound into you, his hips slapping against your ass, the sound wet and obscene. Skin on skin. The bed frame creaked. Your tits swung with every thrust, your nails digging into the duvet.
You couldn’t think. You could only feel—his cock hitting that spot deep inside, his hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, his voice growling in your ear.
“This what you wanted, Princess? This what you came for? To get your tight little pussy wrecked by a plug?”
“Yes—yes—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”
He leaned over, his chest against your back, and reached around to grab your tits, pinching your nipples. “Beg for it. Say my name.”
“Sukuna—Sukuna, please—I need—I’m gonna cum—”
“Not yet.” He pulled out abruptly, leaving you empty, trembling. You whined at the loss.
“Turn over.”
You flipped onto your back, legs open, pussy glistening. He crawled over you, positioned himself, and entered you again in one smooth motion. This time you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
Missionary. Eye contact. His face above yours, those dark eyes burning.
“Look at me when I fuck you, Princess.”
You nodded, unable to speak. He started a slower rhythm, grinding his hips against yours, the friction sending sparks through your whole body. He dipped his head and took your nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, and you bucked against him.
“Cum for me,” he said, his voice a command. “I can feel you throbbing. Let go.”
And you did. Your orgasm ripped through you, your back arching, your walls clenching around him, a scream tearing from your throat. He kept thrusting through it, drawing it out, fucking you through the aftershocks.
“That’s it. Good fucking girl.”
But he wasn’t done. He pulled out again, flipped you over onto your stomach, and yanked your hips up. His cock slid back in, wet with your cum, and he set a punishing pace.
“Gonna fill this ass up, Princess. Gonna—mm—fuck, so tight—can’t—sh-shit—”
He was close. You could hear it in his ragged breathing, in the way his grip tightened on your hips. He leaned forward, his chest on your back, and his hand snaked around to rub your clit.
“One more,” he growled. “One more for me.”
You were oversensitive, but his fingers on your clit pushed you over the edge again. You came with a broken cry, your whole body shaking.
Sukuna pulled out at the last second, his hand wrapping around his cock, a few rapid strokes. Then the first hot rope of cum splashed across your ass. Then another, and another, painting your brown skin white. He groaned, low and long, as he emptied himself onto you.
For a moment, the only sound was your harsh breathing. Then he flopped down beside you, arm over his eyes.
After a second, he said, “You ain’t sweet at all, Princess.”
You smiled, still catching your breath, your ass sticky with his cum.
“Nobody has to know.”
He snorted. “Oh, Gojo knows. He knew exactly what he was dropping off.”
You turned your head to look at him, your mascara smudged, your lipstick wrecked. “And you? You gonna tell?”
He reached over, grabbed your chin, and kissed you hard—a possessive, tongue-twisting kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded.
“Nah. I think I’m gonna keep you.”
You shivered, and not from the cold. Because you knew, right then, that you’d let him.
I’m legit so tired of bitches complaining about black!reader. Tfym all black!reader does is party, smoke, and strip? So many fics of black!reader being a scholar, a bimbo, ex-wife, wifey, wifey to girlfriend, girlfriend to ex girlfriend, tutor, needing a tutor, a baker- i mean the list goes on AND THESE ARE ALL FICS THAT HAVE RECENTLY BEEN RELEASED! Mind you these types of fics have also been released on black!reader tumblr for YEARS! I’ve been on this account for a few years now and black!reader is never just some random ignorant, ass shaking bitch. Even when shaking ass, all of these girlies put in so much work to give her personality, a backstory, and emotions. Not only have I seen one black fic writer write a range of black!reader, I’ve seen MULTIPLE black writers on here write a range of black!reader. It’s not just a matter of you not finding the right account, it’s a matter of you just ignoring the damn fics and not looking for them. DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE FUCKING SINNERS FICS BECAUSE HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT BLACK WRITERS HAVE DONE FOR BLACK!READER WITH SMOKE AND STACK?! Yea stop playing these girlies like that aint put hella time, energy, and thought into these fucking works that they do FOR FREE! Even if they want to only write black!reader as “ghetto” and as someone who shakes ass THEY HAVE EVERY FUCKING RIGHT TO DO WHAT THEY FUCK THEY WANT! If you want something different WRITE IT YOUR FUCKING SELF! Everyone does this shit for FREE and for the damn love of the game. Black women can’t even create in peace without random bitches getting on their ass? Can Black women please just be left the fuck alone ESPECIALLY by their OWN FUCKING PEOPLE?! Damn yall pmo.
To every Black fic writer out there that’s creating for us to enjoy, please continue unapologetically. Please let black!reader shake ass, get degrees, get married, have kids, get divorced. I’ve seen too many black writers leave this platform and deal with constant harassment and negativity. I love you and all of us who are enjoying yout content loves you too!
an. hey guys!!! i literally went beast mode on this fic… guess i missed writing for ony😝 anyway enjoy and happy valentine’s day 💋
cw. it’s a modern au! reader is romantically inexperienced! reader is kinda weird girl coded! reader is also lowkey a self insert gosh guys don’t jump me! don’t worry i tried to make it as broad as possible. some angst some fluff and some smut! ony is a soft dom! i don’t make the rules guys. riding! pinv of course. unprotected sex. creampie. a little bit of spit play. like literally only a little. ony is a freak. and obsessed with his girlfriend. reader is slightly insecure. reader calls ony papa/pa during sex also I didn't properly proofread so if there's mistakes please pretend you don't see it
All of your life you hated Valentine's Day. In elementary, you were rather quiet, shy and quite frankly, you were weird. You were just awkward and you couldn’t really fit in, relate to the other kids, or seem to grasp social cues like everyone else. So whenever your class had those cute little parties and everyone passed out those themed cards with a fun-sized treat, you always got the lamest card. For instance, in third grade a girl passed out barbie themed cards. While everyone got Barbie, Nikki, and Ken, you ended up with the Midge card. I mean, at eight and nine years old who the fuck liked midge? No one did. Not even yourself. So it really sucked when you came to the realization: you got everyone’s least favorite character, you were probably everyone’s least favorite classmate.
Then middle school came along. Probably the most brutal era. Despite the fact that by twelve years old you had managed to shed all the passiveness you once had as a child, your tween years still weren’t the kindest to you. Everyone is kinda awkward at that age. On top of that, it’s like everyone is discovering romance. When you look back at that era as an adult, it was far from romantic. Just hand holding and awkward hugs that would have everyone losing their minds. Still, at that very fragile turning point of your life you wanted it all so badly. You had friends now and when Valentine’s Day rolled around, they all got something from a boy. All except for you. Granted, your whole friend group bought gifts for the group. You got plenty of gifts but you still had the same feeling from elementary: The Least Favorite.
In high school, that feeling shifted. Maybe because unlike in elementary and middle school, romance actually meant something and it also didn’t start and stop on Valentine’s Day. There were school dances, and there was that crippling fear that if it didn’t happen for you now, it would never happen at all. You recall “The Shift”, it was your junior year and you were about sixteen. You had this friend who happened to be a boy. Not a big deal at all. He was kind and respectful and you both had a lot of common interests. It also helped that he was cute. That’s how the crush developed. You genuinely thought he also started to feel the same way. Lingering gazes, touches, smiles. It wasn’t just you that noticed. Your friends noticed, his friends noticed. They would even tease the both of you and jokingly, you’d both gag and act like it was the grossest idea ever. With this crush and the confidence your friends gave you, you decided on Valentine’s Day you would ask him to be your valentine. If no one would come to you then you’d just go to them. Fuck gender norms and whatnot. So that day, right before school actually started, You had bought him his favorite candies and some niche collectibles that he was into as a gift. You confessed your feelings and asked him to be your valentine. He laughed. He laughed right in your face. He laughed so hard it felt like you were missing the punchline to the greatest joke of all time. You remember what he had said. It was so hurtful you could never forget it.
“Sorry, [Y/N]. I’m not into girls like you. I’m not comfortable being friends if you have this crush on me. It’s weird. Not trying to be mean, I’m just telling you the truth,” It wasn’t just the heartbreak of being rejected. It wasn’t even the fact that you had lost him as a friend. It was the “I’m not into girls like you,” comment. What the hell did that even mean? Were you ugly? No, plenty of your friends thought you were pretty. Even strangers would give you random compliments in public. Plus, beauty is a social construct it always has been and you know that. So, no it couldn’t be that. Were you too weird? I mean, he was not Mr. Popular by any means. He also could be awkward and that’s why you guys were good friends. In those few minutes before the bell rang, you spiraled. You didn’t cry until you got home. Your mom had asked you what was wrong. Something about a mother’s instinct. They always know even when you try to hide it. You burst into tears and sobbed like a baby for hours. That Valentine’s day, the feeling from elementary and middle school shifted into something much uglier: The Unlovable.
In your adulthood, you kinda gave up. You didn’t look for love or attention from men. Occasionally, you had talking stages that went absolutely nowhere after the first date. Sometimes, they never even made it to the first date. College was horrid for this reason. It was like every man that approached you, played in your face. You felt maybe you should be grateful they even approached in the first place. Because these flings were always just flings and hookups, you had never been someone’s valentine. Your entire life you wore that title: Unlovable. You genuinely thought that you were just never gonna experience that feeling that everyone else felt. No cute dates. No random bouquets. No sweet kisses. It just wasn’t a part of your story.
Until Onyankopon came along. You met him at some campus function. You both happened to be standing next to each other when a fight broke out. It was straight chaos and security got involved. And at the exact same time you both muttered “This shit is so ghetto,” then, you both looked at each other in shock before full on belly laughing. You had never seen each other up until that point. Yet, you guys laughed as if you were life long friends.
“You looked at me like you didn’t say the same shit,” He chuckled. He was so sexy. Tall, tatted, and handsome. His hair was cut in a low taper and his waves rippled smoothly. He had the brightest smile. He seemed somehow gentle and rough all at once. Just off of aura alone. His voice was deep. Thick, sweet, and warm like a spoonful of honey down a sore throat. He soothed the ache. You didn’t know that after this little laugh, he would continue to remedy your sore heart.
“Mind you, you looked at me too. You not shit,” You had laughed softly as he smiled at you. You were weak in the knees. You had sparked up a conversation with him. He was easy to talk to. Very charming and naturally flirty. He asked for your number by the end of the event. Then, you both started talking. You were so paranoid. Waiting for the day he’d disappear. The day he’d realize he just wasn’t into you like that. The day when he’d find someone better, not so odd, inexperienced, bitter. That day never came. He’d ask you to be his girlfriend after six months of talking and really he had asked before then. Multiple times actually, but you kept telling him you weren’t ready. You were scared. You never had a boyfriend. What does being someone’s girlfriend even look like? Ony was more than patient with you. Once you were his girlfriend, the patience didn’t run out. When you got frustrated or upset about something and just didn’t have the capacity to explain what you felt and why you were feeling it, he’d wait. When you took a long time to get ready, he’d wait. When you told him you didn’t want to celebrate the first Valentine’s Day you guys were together, he waited.
Approaching a whole two years of being a couple, Onyankopon was not hearing your shit this Valentine’s Day. It was probably a month before, you both were cuddled up and he had absentmindedly asked you why you didn’t like Valentine’s Day. Which ended up in the longest vent session where you told him everything. You had said something so heartbreaking, Ony had to take a few deep breaths to not cry for his poor baby.
“I just thought you would eventually leave. I didn’t want my first Valentine’s day to be with someone who would realize that I’m unlovable,” You said that with a shrug, like it was inevitable. Ony had made up his mind. He was proving he wasn’t going anywhere and he was going to give you the best Valentine’s Day experience ever. You deserved it. After you had finally warmed up into being his, you became the love of his life. You were sweet to him, a great listener, and you just fit with him. Ony likes to think you were his missing rib. He was certain he was gonna marry you one day. You were it for him. Through and through.
That day finally approaches. You had spent the night at Ony’s apartment as per his request. You woke up to the soft sound of R&B playing from one of his speakers and you sigh. You’re not really a morning person but Onyankopon, dreadfully, is. He can wake up and be out of the bed in seconds, all happy and yapping your ear off while you’re struggling to keep your eyes open. You force yourself out of his bed and pad your way to his kitchen. You rub sleep out of your eyes while standing in the entryway to the kitchen. Ony is singing and dancing to “Nothing Even Matters” by Lauryn Hill and D’Angelo. You smile as you watch him. He’s shirtless, sweats hanging low on his hips, his back to you as he stands at the stove, swaying to the smooth, slow melody. His back muscles flex and stretch with every movement. Whatever he’s cooking smells good and his singing isn’t horrendous which means he’s locked in and definitely not goofing around. You stand there for maybe a good minute before he turns around. Your smile widens as he chuckles.
“Yo, Your little sneaky ass scared the fuck out of me,” He says, sauntering over to you to kiss all over your face. You giggle and wrap your arms around his waist. He goes to kiss your lips but you block him with your palm to his puckered lips. He pulls back with an offended frown.
“Ony, I have morning breath,” You mumble groggily, still smiling as he rolls his eyes.
“Girl, I’d wear your morning breath like cologne if I could,” He grins. You gag.
“You’re a fucking freak,” You scoff, face scrunching with disgust.
“Only for you, fat butt,” He retorts. You shove him off of you with a giggle. He laughs before quickly turning to look at the stove. “You about to make me burn breakfast,” He complains, you roll your eyes at his antics.
“Why are you making breakfast anyway? I could’ve made something or we could’ve ordered in-” He cuts you off without even looking at you.
“You questioning a nigga now?” He asks. Your eyes narrow at his back. He has effectively shut you up. It annoys you how he reminds you that you can trust him. It’s sort of dominant in the most quiet and gentle way. Because he’s right. You never question Onyankopon. Not because it’s some rule, but because everything he’s ever done for you has always been in your best interest. So you’re quiet for a few seconds. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I planned a whole day for us,” He says it so nonchalantly. It’s firm like you can’t argue against it. You have mixed feelings. You’re happy, you really are. It’s just that same feeling that has followed you around returns. You think of the worst possible outcome. A bad fight breaks out over a little disagreement, he gets you all the wrong gifts proving he absolutely knows nothing about you, or he takes you to dinner and flirts with the waitress. He notices your silence and looks back at you over his shoulder. He sees that blank stare you have when you start thinking too much and he grunts. Not annoyed with you. Never. But frustrated that you can’t enjoy this because of the bad encounters you’ve had with romance. “Cut that out. I got you. Go get ready so you can go get your nails done,” He says, stern and sweet all at once. You nod and you get ready for your day.
The entire day, Ony treats you like a princess. Spoiling more than he ever has before. You get your nails done while he goes to run “errands” as he called it. When he came back to pick you up, in the passenger seat sat a gorgeous arrangement of your favorite flowers. You frown and whine at how pretty it is and he smiles, satisfied with your reaction.
“Ony, these are so pretty!” You huff out picking up the rather large bouquet to carefully touch the soft petals. He hums.
“All your favorites, right? I didn’t miss any?” He questions and you quickly shake your head. You look at him and smile so brightly his heart skips several beats. “Good,” He mumbles, before having to look away. Seeing you so happy has his heart beating hard. Rattling his chest and making his ribs hurt. “Come on, our day ain’t over yet,” He chuckles softly. You eagerly get in his car. Any weariness you felt before completely fading away.
Ony took you to an aquarium, to dinner, then back to his apartment. The entire adventure was fun and chill, not overly fancy or extravagant, just as you liked. You gasp when his living room is decorated with balloons and heart shaped confetti and more gifts sit waiting for you to open. Everything is red and pink and covered in hearts. It's so cheesy but so sweet. This is just icing on the cake. Today was honestly perfect and Onyankopon did it all for you. Because he loves you. He knew all your favorite places and things. He knew all your quirks and insecurities. He knew your heart and soul. It overwhelmed you.
“Ony…” You whimper before turning to hug him tight and sob into his chest. He chuckles and a large hand cradles the back of your head as support and comfort.
“Baby, don’t cry. You didn’t even open the gifts yet,” He continues to chuckle, kissing the top of your head. You sniffle hard and pout up at him. His smile is as tender as his gaze.
“I feel so bad. I didn’t get you anything,” You say, wiping away your tears. Onyankopon laughs, deep and rich.
“That’s okay, mama. I wasn’t expecting anything. Didn't want anything either,” He says with a smile. You nod and chuckle.
“Next year,” You promise and his smile only gets wider as he nods in agreement.
-
After opening every single gift Ony got you, each gift something you love. The night gets quiet. A few sweet pecks turn into heated lingering kisses which lead straight to the bedroom. Clothes are shed away and you’re skin to skin, breaths mingling in hot heavy passion. Ony lays back and you don’t hesitate to climb on top. Your legs straddle his hips and you grind your soaked heat back and forth on his thick shaft. He lets out a deep groan, his large hands sliding up your soft skin before dragging back down to grip your hips. Your hands planted firmly on his chest you let out a whiney sound that makes his cock throb between your sticky folds.
“Fuck, you so wet, baby. That’s all for me?” He questions, slightly breathless. You nod eagerly, lost in the pleasurable drag of your clit against his hard length and he grunts. His hand comes down on your ass with a resounding smack. You yelp, hips stuttering. The sting has you whining and clenching around nothing. “You know better, use your words,” He tuts, as if disappointed. A pout pulls at your bottom lip.
“Yes, Ony! I’m all wet for you,” You whine, grinding down harder, soaking his dick in your slick arousal. He groans before pulling you into a deep kiss. His tongue swirling around yours. You lift your hips gently guiding his dick to line up with your eager slit. “Can I, pa?” You ask, plump lips barely pulling away from him. He nods.
“Yeah, lemme watch you take this dick,” He mumbles. You don’t hesitate to sink down on his large cock. You gasp at the stretch, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the initial stretch. “Fuck, so tight,” Ony hisses as you slowly sink down to the hilt. You whine, feeling so full, tears well in your eyes.
It’s only a few minutes later when you find a good rhythm that has you making the sweetest noises. You’re soaking wet and coating his dick in thick cream. Your walls are squeezing him so tight, he can’t help the praise and encouragement that tumbles from his lips. He only eggs you on, turning you on and driving you crazy. His hand comes up to cradle your face. His thumb rubs your bottom lip, you moan before sucking his thumb into your mouth.
“Shit, look at you. You're making such a mess on my dick. So good for me, pretty,” He sings your praises as you moan and whine around his thumb. He pulls his thumb out to rub at your swollen clit. You cry out completely folding from the pleasure. He uses his free hand to grip your ass cheek, to keep you bouncing on his length.
“Papa, fuck me!” You whine before kissing him filthily. Your brain is mush from the electric shocks of pleasure that travel up your spine. You can’t think straight. So you can’t stop yourself from pulling back from the kiss to purse your lips and spit in his mouth. The groan he lets out is pornographic. The freak that Onyankopon is, you're really not that surprised that he’s into it. You feel him twitch inside of your snug walls as he swallows. His grip on your ass is bordering on painful as he plants his feet on the mattress to snap his hips up in the most brutal thrusts that have you squealing.
“You so fucking nasty. Fucking love that shit. I fucking love you,” He grunts, every word punctuated by a punishing thrust. The sound of the headboard of his bed post slamming into the wall, the clap of wet skin on skin and your high pitched sounds of pleasure fill the room.
“I’m cumming, pa!” You moan, back arching, toes curling, and your eyes rolling back. You feel the coil in your lower stomach tighten, tighter and tighter. Until, it snaps. You orgasm so hard your vision whites out. Walls milking him so good he follows you right over the edge only a second later. Filling you up with his warm sticky seed with a strained groan
“Fuck,” He grunts. It takes a few seconds for you to come back to yourself and you both make eye contact and laugh. “I never want to hear you call me a freak again. Little freaky ass,” He laughs and you huff.
“Shut up, you're still a freak. You liked it,” You giggle.
“Damn right. I loved it,” He says with the proudest grin. You laugh, rolling your eyes at his antics.
Later that night, you both lay cuddled up in bed. All clean thanks to Ony insisting on taking a shower together. You lay on his chest listening to his heartbeat. The tip of his fingers run soothingly up and down your back.
“Thank you for today, Ony. I really enjoyed myself,” You say softly, pressing a kiss on his pec. He smiles softly.
“Anything for you, baby,” He says with such earnest warmth, it makes you melt.
“I love you, Ony,” You say softly.
“I love you too, [Y/N],” He mumbles, wrapping his thick muscled arm around you tighter. “And Happy Valentine’s Day,” he added. You smile to yourself. This Valentine’s day you wear a new title: Loved By Onyankopon.
this is my own original works do not copy or feed into ai
i think we’ve stopped yearning for gentleman and i wanna bring it back with a darker spin for my cammy baby.
content: explicit sexual content mdni, explicit language, yearning, kissing, dirty talk, pet names, p in v, backshots, cream pie.
you loved how cameron had this elusive restraint about him.
it was so fascinating. how he never overstepped, even while operating inside one of his most forbidden desires. how he wanted you while he stood back and watched his best friend treat you like shit. watched his bestfriend, a sorry excuse of a man talk over you in public like your thoughts were just background noise.
watched him leave you waiting outside restaurants because he was “running late” and never once apologized like it mattered. watched him forget the little things that should’ve been instinct. the way you liked your coffee, the way your voice got quiet when you were hurt, the way your shoulders curled in when you were trying not to cry. watched him take your softness for granted like it was infinite.
and somehow, every single time that man left you in pieces, cameron was there. Not always in obvious ways. Not always loudly.
but there.
maybe that’s what pulled you in first.
cause for once in your life it wasn't the size of the dick of the man in your life or the way their hands felt on your waist.
maybe it was the consistency.
or could it have been the way he brought his own flyness to what being a gentleman meant. how he’d offer you a ride whether you needed one or not, like he simply refused to let you leave alone if he could help it. the way he’d open the passenger door and wait until you were fully inside before shutting it. the way his hand would settle at the small of your back, guiding, never pushing, just enough pressure to let you know he was there.
no it was the way he looked at you.
like he was always clocking something no one else noticed. as if he saw every little shift in your face before you even realized it happened. those stares never felt careless. they lingered. heavy. intentional. like he was memorizing you in real time, the way your face lit up whenever show up unannounced with your favorite food because he remembered you mentioning it once. the way your lashes dipped when you got flustered, the way your body betrayed you long before your words ever could. cameron looked at you like a man already in too deep, but disciplined enough not to drown you with him.
cameron wouldn’t make you choose, though.
no. he wanted the decision to be solely yours.
he’d wait, patiently in that maddening way of his until he saw that you felt the same aching pull he’d been carrying himself. until the wanting in you stopped trying to disguise itself as guilt. until your body leaned before your mind could protest.
because cameron was a man who understood timing. He knew some desires needed to be earned, not forced. And so he waited, not with the desperation of a man who needed you, but with the quiet certainty of someone who already knew you were his.
and when you still weren’t sure about fully crossing that physical line, cameron settled for less in the way only a man like him could make “less” feel devastating.
a soft kiss. one side of your mouth first. then the other.
never quite your lips not all the way. Just the delicate corners of them, where your breath caught and your resolve weakened. slow, lingering brushes of his mouth against skin that felt too sensitive for something so restrained. your lips parted on instinct, glossy and trembling, and he’d only pull back enough to look at them like they were testing his self-control right along with you.
his hand inching up slowly, thumb brushing against your bottom lip this time. a gentle touch that felt like a promise more than anything else. voice was soft when he spoke, almost whispering against your mouth, "when you're ready, pretty girl."
respecting your boundaries like a real man should.
which somehow only made him harder to resist.
it was almost mesmerizing, really, how cameron could be the most menacing sports icon in the world, the kind of man entire industries tried to control and failed…
but to you? he was the sweetest gentleman.
the one that’d pull out your chair, and rung you cell at the most random times to hear your voice. the one carrying your bag over one broad shoulder while tearing a reporter apart in the next breath for crowding too close to you, his voice low and sharp enough to make the entire swarm back up without him ever needing to raise it. the one who made sure you got home safe.
cameron let you choose him a hundred little ways before you ever said his name.
because he always knew exactly how to take care of his sweet girl.
even after giving you exactly what your body had been begging for in the rough, all-consuming way you needed after all these months.
crowded in behind you until there was nowhere left to go. chest flush to your back, the hard line of his body molded against the length of your spine like he meant to remind you exactly who was there and it became harder and harder to remember you were ever trying to resist him at all.
dragging kisses along the sensitive curve beneath your ear, lingering a second too long. all while the chain at his throat brushed cold against the nape of your neck as he dipped lower, the diamond-studded pendant dragging lightly over warm skin before his mouth replaced it.
and every time he shifted, his weight pressed more firmly into your spine, a deep heavy pressure that had you gushing out more of that slick as he slid himself into you. giving you just a few inches to mold around the heavy curve of him as he stretched you out. head tipped back against his shoulder while he kept kissing at the sensitive column of your throat like he had nowhere else he needed to be.
making it almost impossible not to melt back against him.
a shaky sound slipped from you before you could stop it.
then another, quickly silenced by nip of your own lip. trying to hold it between your teeth like it might keep the small sounds from escaping.
"ah-ah, none of that." cameron chided softly, releasing your lip from your teeth with his thumb. holding onto it for a moment before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the spot. “he always kept you so quiet 'bout everything.”
“but i wanna hear everything my sweet girl gotta say...” finally releasing those breathy, broken little exhales that only seemed to encourage him.
cameron’s nose brushed along the side of your throat as he kissed lower, and the low hum that left him sounded almost satisfied. wet lips dragging slow along your throat, teeth grazing the flutter of your pulse before he sucking a blossoming bruise into place.
“stay still,” he murmured against your neck, voice low enough to vibrate through you.
his breath fanning over your damp skin before his lips pressed there again. tightening the hold like he already knew you wouldn’t, strong hands flattening low against your stomach.
the cool metal cascading down your spine as as cameron let you feel the heavy drag of him sliding out of your pussy. the heat of him vanishing all at once, taking it all with him as he eased back to take you in. sliding his hand slow along your chubby side, dragging those pretty blue eyes over every dip and curve of your silhouette.
“so sexy..”
taking his time, savoring the sight of you spread open before him. admiring the way your soft two toned flesh yielded to his thick dick, taking him inch by inch as he buried himself deep inside you. pulling a shaky whimper from your lips, “fuckkk camm—”
"you feel that, mama? that's all me..." low moan escaping his lips once that soft ass finally meets his pelvis. "all this dick, all this attention, all this love—it's all for you. only you."
"you got all of me, baby..."
and it was all him, every part of this feeling, this possession, this slow melt into something you had denied yourself for way too long. curling those fingers around your throat, tilting your head back as he leaned down to capture your mouth in a messy kiss. lips crashing against yours in a desperate, hungry kiss that claimed every inch of your mouth. thumb pressed firmly against your jaw as his tongue slid in deep. scorching as it consumed yours, releasing your lip with a pop.
“w-wanted you so badd.” reaching back, spreading that ass wide, sinking slowly, letting him savory how every inch stretch you open.
"mmm, I know, baby, I know..." he groaned against your lips, his hand tightening around your throat as his hips rolled forward, sinking even deeper. "you been lookin' at me sideways for months, tryna pretend you wasn't thinkin' 'bout me. like you ain’t wanna know what i felt like to be treated by somebody like me.”
“like you ain’t know i needed you..”
a deep, grounding pressure barely settling into your belly finally steadying the dizzy ache building inside you. a pressure that had your back bowing deep, just before cameron took it away. leaving behind the aching throb that had your juicy hips chase after it
and he let you chase it let you drop that ass back down until it connected with him again, the wet slap pulling another broken sound from your throat.
“now look at you..” his hard thrust meeting you halfway as he pounded you into the cushions. “you ain’t even tryin’ to hide it no more.”
fingers grazing as they slid to the back of your neck, spreading there as he held you exactly where he wanted. the filthy wet, plop. plop. plop of skin on skin echoing off the walls.
your eyes rolls back, mouth parting with a crackling mewl as he fucked you into the cushions. deep and steady, while those trembling hand kept yourself spread. revealing the way you let him in easily leaving his dick slick and glistening. his grip tightened at the back of your neck, pressing your face deeper into the pillows with every wet pfft of your pussy oozing around his dick. the same throbbing tip that kept slipping free with every retreat, barely staying in it like it wanted you to know what the loss of gentleman truly felt like.
his voice was low and appreciative each time he dropped himself back deep inside “ooh fuck.. she’s talking to me mama..”
those perfectly manicured nails digging into the chubby flesh of your own ass as the filthy slap of skin on skin echoed off the walls as his pace turned punishing—each thrust hitting that exact spot that had a consuming heat rush through your body. broken mewls ripping from your throat, fractured and trembling. too fucked out to give him anything clearer.
“fuckin’ me s-s’gooddd.. nghhh— s’deep in my tummy”
"and you taking that shit too." his hips rolled forward, hitting so deep inside you that made your stomach quiver. "that's where I be, dead in your tummy, stretchin' all that gushy shit out just for me."
sliding those big hands up your waist lifting your hips to meet every stroke, making sure every inch went where it was meant to go. "promise you it ain’t going nowhere mama.”
a promise kept as your body gave out in the prettiest way. trembling like every once of strength was slipping from your fingers. muscles refusing to hold yourself up much longer no matter how badly you wanted to. aching from the heavy pressure of his body colliding against yours.
and all you could do was feel it.
take it.
let yourself fall apart beneath him.
frown etching deep in your soft features as you gushed out a creamy mess, dribbling rhythmically against the cushion. milky ring clinging around his dick as his thrust grow sloppy, grinding in slow circles, moaning as he filled you up with that thick healthy nut.
dipping low to press hot kisses along your spine. the chilled pendent catching on your sweaty back as it swinging between you. tracing his tongue along your shoulder blades, tasting the salt of your sweat mixed with the sweet scent of your arousal. still buried deep inside you, letting your walls flutter around him. using those same hands that the industry deemed as violent to push your coiled strands out of your face. giving him the best view of his good girl.
voice was low and soothing, "you good, pretty girl?"
giving him a weak nod, coils all wild and stuck to your forehead. eyes barely open as you trying to steady your breathing, mumbling out a breathy sigh. “so good..”
“so proud of you.” *he whispers softly, pressing gentle kisses along your neck and jaw. slowly pulling out, watching his dick slip free, connected by the sticky string clinging to his lower stomach. “you did so good for me.”
his thumb ran over your jaw, tilting your face toward his as he leaned down to press a soft kiss against your bruised lips.
the two of you tucked away in your little cocoon of love while the world deemed him as a dangerous, conniving, disloyal man uncapable of softening for anything. but cameron was only cruel where he thought cruelty was earned.
and he decided you were the only place where tenderness belong.
a/n: first fic of 2026!!! yeah so I watched ‘Him' again this week, and felt *inspired*...like #needthat, real bad lol. and tyriq wasn't under my tree so I worked on a fic instead. I have some longer fic/series ideas swirling around in my head…but a one shot shall do for now. This one is just pure smut, utter filth starring loverboy cam. Hope y’all enjoyyy😗🫶🏾
wc: 2.9k
If anyone was ever looking for Cameron, there were only three places he could be. In the gym or out on the football field, constantly (and at times a bit obsessively) wanting to improve his game. In the library, because contrary to popular belief, the football team’s star athlete actually did care about keeping his grades up. Or, he was with you—more like trying to either crawl into your skin, test your patience, or pry your thighs apart. And in true Cam fashion, all three were permanently on his to-do list.
After paying almost no attention to the lecture you were both in earlier in the day, you invited him over to your apartment to hang out while you got as many assignments as possible done before the weekend. Between the home game he was playing in and the festivities following, the last thing you wanted to worry about was a psych paper due at 11:59 pm.
Before his coach could even call the end of practice, Cameron was already sprinting to the locker room. Practice ended at 8:30, and he was knocking at your door by 9. When you open the door, you’re met with the pleasant sight of your boyfriend—who despite leaning against the doorframe, still towered over you, a dopey smile stretched across his face. You two shamelessly took each other in, his eyes stopping right where his hoodie stopped at the tops of your thighs, your eyes getting stuck somewhere between his green eyes and sharp jawline.
“Got it all in, or should I spin for you?” Cam quips, his grin becoming more of a smirk.
“Now I ain’t say all that, pretty boy,” you hit back, stepping aside to let him in. Once the lock on the door clicks, Cameron sweeps you up by the waist and into his arms, a small shout slipping from your mouth at the sudden movement. Holding you tight against his solid front, the familiar mix of Cam’s cologne and body wash invades your senses as he gets a better look at you.
“You the prettiest to ever pretty, pretty girl,” your boyfriend confidently corrects. Your cheeks instantly heat up at his words, and your lips go straight to his.
“Hi,” you whisper to him, swiping your thumb underneath his lower lip to get rid of your transferred lip gloss.
“Hi, baby,” he whispers back, matching your smile and giving you another kiss, placing you back down on the floor. Cameron then kicks off his sneakers and leaves them by the door. He shrugs the bag holding any and everything school-related higher onto his shoulder and leaves the much larger practice duffel behind.
“These are for you,” your boyfriend offers, holding out a small shopping bag filled with some of your favorite study snacks.
“Thanks,” you softly smile back at him, trying your hardest to ignore the heat rushing back to your cheeks. He knew you well; a bit too well. Refusing to give him anymore of a reaction, you grab his much larger hand and pull him with you to your bedroom. And even though the journey wasn’t even 30 steps, Cam still managed to deliver a quick swat to your ass in the process. He just couldn’t help himself.
You took the bed, nestling right back into the heaping pile of pillows and throw blankets you’d left earlier, while Cam sat at the desk. And surprisingly enough, you two were able to go a whole hour before the books were abandoned. Thankfully, you were able to get some work done before he arrived.
“Have you finished the psych paper yet?” you ask, eyes still locked in on the half-written paper in front of you.
“Yeah, had to get that shit done early,” he huffs, smoothing his hand across the top of his head. He turns away from the desk to fully face you, giving up on the assignment he was working on.
“And you didn’t offer to write mine?” You gasp, feigning hurt at the revelation. Your attention is fully his now, giving your eyes a break from the words that were beginning to run together.
“Little Miss Dean’s List asking me for help?” Cam shoots back, mimicking your reaction—ironic considering he made Dean’s List right alongside you last semester.
“Don’t piss me off,” you mutter, sending a pointed look in his direction. But you couldn’t hold up the irritated facade for long. Not when you could see an almost mischievous smile spreading across your boyfriend’s face, all 32 of his teeth on display as he finds delight in your frustration.
“You know I can make it up to you, though,” he hums, that stupidly hot grin still plastered across his face.
Ignoring the fact that he was sitting in your fuzzy baby pink office chair (which he put together for you), you can’t help but stare at him, leaned back with his legs spread unnecessarily wide, bottom lip between his teeth.
“Oh, I’m sure you can,” you reply, playfully rolling your eyes at him before turning back to your unfinished paper on the screen.
Without saying anything further, Cameron stands up from your desk, closing the already small distance between you. Kneeling onto the bed beside you, he gently closes your laptop, sliding it onto your bedside table.
“What if I didn’t save that?” you test, making no moves to stop him.
“You always gotta have an answer for everything, don’t you?” He scoffs, shaking his head at your antics. He not so secretly liked it when you were a little bratty.
“Absolutely,” you confidently return, already knowing his next move.
“Girl, c’mere,” he chuckles, grabbing you by your hips and pulling you down from your upright position so that you’re lying flat against the bed. Cam ducks his head down and kisses you.
Instantly, you’re smiling into it, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him down closer. Your ears fill with the soft smacks of your kisses mixed with Cameron’s airy groans and your own content sighs. His lips dance perfectly with yours, gently taking control over the kiss as you follow his lead.
But even though you let him take control, he was still at your mercy. When your tongue slides against his, softly licking into his mouth, you feel him relax into you, his lips parting for more. Your nails softly drag through the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine and straight into his pants.
He slots one leg in between yours, nudging his knee up just enough to send a jolt through your core. Your lips are clasped around his lower one when a small whimper leaves your lips at the feeling, your hips instinctively bucking upward in search of more.
“You gon’ let me have a taste, baby?” Cam murmurs, voice low, desperate for a taste of the honey pot between your legs. You could feel one of his large calloused hands trailing up your stomach beneath your hoodie. His palm brushes over your pebbled nipples, the roughness of his skin sending shocks through your body. His hand continues upward, stopping at the column of your throat, fingers curling lightly around the area. He could feel your breath hitch, getting more riled up by the second.
“Mhm,” you whimper in response, too engulfed in the flames he’d lit inside you. Your panties were ruined by now, completely drenched in your arousal. And it was only made worse when you could feel your boyfriend’s hold on your throat tighten ever so slightly.
“Uh uh. You know you can speak up any other time. Imma need you to use your words, pretty girl,” he instructs lowly, his green eyes piercing into yours. “Now imma ask you again, am I gonna get a taste of that sweet pussy?”
“Yes! Baby, please,” you sigh, bucking your hips up against his knee for some relief. Like clockwork, his filthy mouth sent shockwaves through your body. A small smirk spreads across his lips, having heard exactly what he wanted from you.
In no time, his fingers are hooked beneath your panties and sleep shorts, tugging them down your thighs and out of sight. He effortlessly pushes you higher onto the bed, claiming his desired spot between your thighs. Before you can even think of a word, his hands are pushing your thighs up and toward your chest. And his mouth is latching right onto you.
“Wait, baby wa-,” you gasp, his tongue already giving you indescribable pleasure. You try to lightly push his head back, unable to keep your moans at bay while you try to pry him away.
“You good?” He asks, his grip on your thighs softening, a little concerned by your sudden switch-up.
“Just wanna try something,” you breathe out, pulling your plump bottom lip between your teeth at the thought.
“Where you want me, mama?” He questions, licking his lips to taste whatever was left of you on them, and his eyes glimmer with curiosity as to what you could possibly want to do.
“I need you up here,” you direct, swinging your leg over him to climb off the bed. “And you can’t keep all them clothes on in my bed,” you pointedly add, sending him into a slight frenzy as he sheds his clothes before lying where you wanted him.
You took a moment to savor the specimen that was lying in your bed, excitedly waiting for your next move. He had on nothing but a gold chain around his neck that never came off, a body that was practically carved by god himself, and a heavy dick resting on his happy trail that made your mouth water. And between your legs, you could feel your slick arousal practically dripping down your thighs. Following your own no-clothes rule, you pull Cam’s stolen hoodie off your body and drop it with the rest of the discarded clothes.
“Shit…you finer than a muhfucka,” Cameron gawks, taking in your completely bare body. The necklace he’d gifted you for your birthday was shining against your chest, right above your milky tits. They sat so full and soft, your darker pebbled nipples just begging to be in his mouth. Every curve of your perfectly soft body is on display. Your body was immediately swarmed with butterflies from his words. Even though he could get quite crude at times, Cam was never afraid to voice his attraction, love, and borderline obsession with you.
Using his muscular thighs for support, you straddle his body reverse cowgirl, spreading your thighs across his chest. As if it were instinctual, Cam delivers a heavy swat to your ass.
“Fat as hell,” he grumbles, in awe, his big hands palming at the plump flesh. “Shake it f’me,” he directs, hands sliding down your thighs to rest on your calves, eagerly anticipating the show. You don’t hesitate to give him a little something. Effortlessly making your ass sway back and forth like it was water. Cam was, without a doubt, enjoying the view. In fact, he was enjoying it so much that you caught his dick jump a bit in response. Between your ass and pussy that was spread and on full display, giving him a perfect view of how drenched you were for him—not to mention, the scent of your arousal clouded him—how could Cam not be excited?
Needing to get his fill, Cam yanks you even closer—you were practically sitting on his face—before diving right into your gooey center. His thick arms wrap around your hips to keep you from running. His tongue skillfully explores you, flattening his tongue against your clit before dragging it up your pussy, stopping halfway to dip inside and prod at your gummy entrance. The most sinful moans spill from your lips. You were so wrapped up in the way his tongue was working you over that you hadn’t even started working on him.
Your cheek rested against his chiseled V-lines with a hand wrapped around his throbbing shaft. For Cam, eating you out was a pleasurable experience in and of itself. Reciprocation was never a requirement. Despite this, though, you couldn’t shake the idea of having your mouth on him while his mouth stayed on you. The only problem was that you slightly underestimated just how good his skills were. You weren’t expecting to have to work up the strength to give him a blowjob. But eventually, you did.
You drag your tongue down his happy trail and through the trimmed hairs at his base, continuing all the way up his shaft until you reach the head, slick with precum. When you give his slit the smallest kitten licks, his arms tighten around you, and a string of deep groans vibrates through your center. Pursing your lips around the swollen head, you hollow your cheeks, and you suckle on him. Slowly, you take him into your mouth—inch by inch. Cam had a vivid image of you in his head, practically unhinging your jaw to take his dick. You had a big mouth—just not for his dick, apparently.
Warm and wet. Those were the only two words floating around in his head. Both apply to your pussy and mouth. You manage to take all of him inside, his thick head hitting the back of your throat, causing a wet gag to leave your throat. At this, Cam's fingers dig into the flesh of your ass, clawing at you right along the stretch marks across your skin.
“Fuck!” He groans into your inner thigh. You come up for air, immediately using both hands to tug at his slick shaft, squeezing around the head every time. He practically loses his mind when you spit on him. “That’s it, baby, wet that dick,” he praises, licking at your arousal-stained thigh. You soaked him so good that he could hear the wetness in your hands and could feel your spit trailing down his balls, his thighs tightening at the sensation.
Keeping your ass in one hand, Cam brings a hand down to your pussy, dragging it through your sopping folds, getting them nice and wet before plunging two into your tight entrance.
“Mmm, shit,” you sigh, feeling the stretch of his thick fingers as he pushes deeper. You liked the slight sting that came along with him being inside of you. So much so that you started pushing back against his hand while you stroked his dick with his throbbing head nestled against your tongue.
“You like when I play wit’ this pretty pussy mama?” He chuckles, letting your hips do the work. Before you could even get an answer out, Cam spits onto your buzzing clit, massaging it in with his thumb. At this, your moans get even louder—even with your mouth being full of him.
As his curved fingers ram into your spot over and over, you push his dick down your throat, gagging a little every time. You knew he liked it when you got sloppy. Together, you and Cam’s moans, along with the slick, drenched sounds of your pleasure, filled the air.
When your walls start fighting his fingers and his hips start bucking up into your throat, you both know the other is close to coming.
Keeping his fingers inside, he replaces his thumb on your clit with his mouth. He sucks at the tingling bundle of nerves as he continues fucking into you. Instantly, you’re clenching even tighter around him, and your thighs are even beginning to shake. You start to suck harder around the head of his cock, hands wrapped around his shaft tightening too. Keeping your mouth wrapped around him, you unwrap your hands from around his shaft. One is planted on his thigh, and the other falls a little lower, taking his heavy and slick balls into your hands. That’s when he loses it. Cam’s hips start bucking up into your mouth, chasing a release. And you let him fuck your mouth, all while massaging his balls in the palm of your hand. Your muffled whimpers getting stronger as you, too, are so close to letting go.
His hips begin to stutter. And with one final jerk, Cam is flooding your mouth with his warm load. As he lets go, his mouth never leaves your clit. When he feels your throat contracting around him as you swallow his nut, he only sucks harder. Satisfied groans shooting right through you. Coupled with his unrelenting mouth on your clit, what sends you over the edge is when he removes a finger from your pussy, dragging it a bit higher to rub your slick into your much tighter entrance. When you feel him push the tip of his finger past your entrance, you’re gone.
Completely gushing on his mouth and fingers. Your thighs were fully quivering from the pleasure, and your moans were uncontrollable. When he feels you rest your head against his thigh, he releases your puffy clit and slowly pulls his remaining finger from your pussy. And without any hesitation, Cam sucks both into his mouth to get a taste of your release. Warm, sticky, and sweet.
The two of you lie there together, not even attempting to move out of the position you were in. After a while, Cam lightly grips your thighs, moving you over to get out from underneath you. Standing up from the bed, your boyfriend scoops you up into his arms and lays you down at the top of the bed in your cloud of pillows. He pulls the comforter over your tired body and joins you underneath, immediately cuddling into his side. Cam wraps an arm around you, holding you nice and tight against him.
Cam knew that you were going to need a little recovery nap, so to pass the time, he opened your laptop to start reading through your paper. That was the least he could do.
