zharia/zha 🦢 23. black & country af. vulgar venusian princess (taurus). yapping, reblogging & writing sometimes. *clicks heels* tyriq withers tyriq withers tyriq withers. if i were a color i’d be purple. sci-fi, psychological horror and romance books are my jam!. i’m a slut for anything strawberry flavored.
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{ authors note: hey my shaylassssssss! PLEASEEEEE do not beat me up! 🧍🏿♀️i just graduated college with my bachelor’s degree in health scienceeeee 🤭. i’m sorry for the delay, life after college is crazy and the job market is shit 😭. i really need to be writing more since im unemployed, but i be having laziness and writers block badddd. but im back :) a surprise series otw! probably tonight 😁 <3 ~ K 💋 }
⤥ ☜♡☞ ☜♡☞ s͙y͙n͙o͙p͙s͙i͙s͙: A viral tweet pulls Kynadi into Tyriq’s orbit after he sees it during an interview. What starts as a funny moment spirals into follows, lurking, and a DM that changes everything. As their chemistry unfolds in real time, the internet watches closely—while something genuine begins to build beneath the attention.
⤥taglist: @coochieruntz @moodymp4 @gyattttsblog @kaylalb @luv4kyky @In4president @marvel-dork98 @imanaged @rejithink @slowaache @manitsunamii @brains-2-beauty @kissmyteef @sofia-da-1st @sp4nishj0int @khaos99 (comment to be added next time, also for some ppl it wouldn’t let me tag :/)
⤥ word count: 4.3k+ or something like that irdk 🧍🏿♀️kind of proofread, excuse mistakes!
The apartment is quiet in that soft, late-morning way where time feels slower than it actually is.
Sunlight filters in through the large windows and curtains in thin, uneven lines, stretching across the hardwood floors and climbing lazily up the side of the couch where Kynadi is curled under a blanket. The air still holds onto the faint trace of outside from earlier—cool, clean, mixed with whatever candle she burned the night before.
Willow is tucked comfortably between her legs, warm and unmoving, completely settled in like she has no plans of getting up anytime soon.
Kynadi had already done what she needed to do for the day—fed her, walked her, let her burn off just enough energy before bringing her back inside. That small sense of productivity was what made the nap hit harder than expected.
Now she’s just waking up from it.
Her body is still heavy, her mind somewhere in between rest and awareness as she shifts slightly under the blanket. Her bonnet has slipped back just enough to expose the edges of her hair and scarf, and her face still carries that soft, unguarded look people only have when they’ve just woken up.
She reaches for her phone without thinking, fingers brushing against it where it rests near her hip. The screen lights up instantly, too bright for her liking, and she squints as she unlocks it, thumb dragging across the screen until Twitter opens out of pure muscle memory.
She doesn’t have a reason. She never really does. It’s just… a habit.
Her lips press together as she stares at the blank tweet screen, thinking for a moment. Not too hard—just enough to land somewhere in that space between honest and unserious.
Her thumbs start moving.
Pause.
Delete.
Start again.
She reads it once, expression barely changing, then locks her phone and tosses it onto the couch beside her like it doesn’t matter.
Like none of this matters. Like the past 24 hours didn’t just happen and like she definitely didn’t fall asleep with a quiet smile she couldn’t fully explain.
Like she didn’t wake up and, for a split second, wonder when he had texted her was it real.
Willow shifts slightly, pressing closer into her legs, and Kynadi exhales softly as she sinks deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket up just a little higher.
For a moment, everything feels normal again.
Uncomplicated.
—
ACROSS THE COUNTRY — LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
11:34 AM — HIS BEDROOM
Tyriq’s space carries a different kind of quiet.
Not empty—just controlled.
Sunlight pours through the wide windows of his apartment, sharp and uninterrupted, casting long, clean shadows across the floor and stretching toward the bed where he sits. The room is spacious, minimal, the kind of place that looks put together even when it isn’t.
On the wall across from him, his mounted TV plays reruns of Teen Titans, the volume low but steady—background noise more than anything else.
He isn’t watching it.
His attention is already elsewhere. His phone in hand.
Scrolling. Per usual, he’s chronically online.
Shirtless, with grey sweats sitting low on his waist, he leans back against the headboard, one long leg stretched out across the mattress while the other bends slightly, foot planted into the sheets. He looks relaxed, but there’s something deliberate in the way his thumb moves across the screen—unhurried, but not careless.
There she is. Again.
Right at the top of his timeline like she’s been waiting for him.
He reads the tweet once, eyes narrowing slightly as the corner of his mouth lifts.
Then again. Letting it sit.
A quiet smirk settles in.
“Why is she like this?,” he murmurs under his breath, voice low, almost absentminded.
There’s no overthinking it. No second-guessing.
His fingers move before he can even talk himself out of it, tapping into the reply bar like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He hits post. Just like that.
Then leans back a little further into his pillows, phone still in his hand, gaze lingering on the screen a second longer than necessary.
Not waiting in an obvious way. Not checking. Just… aware.
Because whether either of them wants to admit it that
this isn’t random anymore.
And somewhere underneath the humor, underneath the ease of it— there’s something starting to take shape.
Something people are already beginning to notice.
Even if they haven’t said it out loud yet.
THURSDAY, OCT 23
By the next morning, it’s not subtle anymore.
What started as a couple replies has turned into a full conversation people feel invited into. Not because either of them said much—but because of how it looked. The tone. The timing. The way neither of them backed off.
Now? The internet has decided and once the internet decides something, it doesn’t let it go.
It starts with a repost.
A Tyriq updates page—one of the bigger ones—throws the interaction up on Instagram. Clean screenshots, both tweets stacked, usernames bold, captions already framing the narrative before anyone even opens the comments.
Within minutes, the comment section is flooded.
@/jaylovesrih:
nahhh he be ON her 😭
@/imaniarchive:
this not even funny no more… link up already
@/zayfrmthe6:
i’m calling it now they gon date idc
@/niawrld:
the tension??? HELLO???
@/tyfanpage23:
he don’t reply to nobody like this btw
@/ari2pretty:
oh they definitely talking off here…
@/marcus.m0v:
oh i’m so sat for this. i hope they link 🤭
—
And that’s just Instagram.
Twitter is worse. Because Twitter was even more parasocial.
Every quote tweet adds another layer. Another assumption and another reason to keep watching.
—
Under Tyriq’s most recent reply, the comments are moving too fast to keep up with:
@/desssdiaries:
LINK UPPPP
@/twinempress:
we see what’s going on don’t play with us 🌚
@/jordynswrld:
just date already damn
@/kingzayyy:
bro flirting in 4K
@/niahluvrr:
he not slick 😭
@/tayy2fine:
and she keep responding too … yeah they locked in 💔
—
And somewhere in the middle of all that— Tyriq is scrolling through it and fans know it. He’s very guilty of being chronically online lately.
Laid back in the same spot as yesterday, one hand behind his head, the other holding his phone just above his face. His expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a quiet amusement sitting in his eyes now.
He taps a tweet.
Likes it.
Scrolls.
Another one.
Likes that too.
A small smirk pulls at his mouth as he exhales softly through his nose.
“…they too bored,” he mutters amused.
But he doesn’t stop.
Doesn’t ignore it.
If anything— he leans into it just a little. He’s definitely enjoying this.
Across the country, Kynadi is staring at the exact same thing.
The same clips.
The same screenshots.
The same people dissecting every interaction like they’re piecing together a relationship in real time.
Only unlike him, she handles it differently.
She doesn’t like a single post.
Doesn’t repost anything.
Doesn’t quote tweet, doesn’t feed into the chaos, doesn’t give people even the slightest confirmation that she’s entertained by any of it.
Instead, she scrolls past everything with practiced indifference, her face unreadable as she lays against the pillows of her bed. To anyone watching, she’d look completely unaffected. Like none of it matters enough for her attention.
But she reads every single tweet.
Every “LINK UP” buried in the replies.
Every “we know what’s going on.”
Every “just date already.”
Every overly invested parasocial stranger speaking about them with the confidence of someone who actually knows them. Her thumb slows at certain ones though.
Pauses just a second too long before moving again. Like she’s trying not to linger.
Like she notices herself doing it and corrects it immediately after.
A quiet scoff leaves her as she tosses her phone onto the bed beside her, shaking her head despite the faint smile threatening the corner of her mouth.
“They’re so annoying,” she mutters under her breath.
The room falls quiet again. But she doesn’t mute the threads.
Doesn’t turn the notifications off. She doesn’t stop checking.
And when her screen lights up again only seconds later, her eyes flick toward it instantly—almost instinctively.
That’s the shift. Not the tweets. Not the attention.
Not even the people online turning them into something bigger than what it is.
It’s this.
The awareness settling between them now. The fact that they both feel it. And the fact that neither of them is walking away from it.
—
iMessages
3:04 PM — Later On That Day
It doesn’t stay public for long. Not completely.
Because somewhere between the viral tweets, the endless replies, and the nonstop notifications flooding both of their phones… they start texting.
For real this time. Not just reacting to posts.
Not just joking publicly for everyone else to watch. Actually talking and at first, it stays light. Easy. Safe.
The kind of conversation that doesn’t ask for too much. The kind that lets them test the waters without admitting they’re doing it.
—
But it doesn’t stay surface-level. Not for long. Because after a while the replies come quicker. No more long pauses. No more overthinking.
Just… good conversation, great even. They start filling in the gaps.
Where they’re from and what their days look like. What they do when they’re not online.
—
She stares at that message a second longer than she should.
Time starts moving without them noticing, messages stack, and minutes blur. They turn to hours, days even.
They talk about random things—food, routines, what they hate, what they avoid, what they actually enjoy when nobody’s watching.
He tells her about filming, how repetitive promo gets.
She tells him about editing, how long she sits in front of her laptop trying to get everything perfect.
And for some reason— that sits with her.
LATER — FIRST CALL
It’s not planned. It just… happened.
Kynadi is outside when her phone rings.
The sky is shifting into that soft evening blue, the air cooler now, brushing lightly against her skin as Willow moves ahead of her on the leash, nose low to the ground like she’s investigating something important.
Kynadi is dressed comfortably—gray fitted romper, slightly oversized hoodie thrown over it, bonnet still on she didn’t even consider taking it off.
Her phone buzzes in her hand.
She glances down.
Pauses.
Because it’s him.
FaceTime.
Her stomach flips instantly.
“…bro,” she mutters under her breath, stopping mid-step.
Willow tugs slightly at the leash, but Kynadi doesn’t move.
She just stares at the screen for a second.
Then answers.
—
On the other side, Tyriq is laid back against his headboard again, one arm resting behind his head, the other holding his ipad up. He’s in a black hoodie layered over a white tee, grey sweats low on his waist again, his facial hair just starting to come in enough to soften his jaw.
The call connects. And for a second— neither of them says anything.
Just looking.
Taking each other in for the first time like this. Unfiltered. Unedited. Very much real.
Tyriq had seen pictures of her before, obviously.
Seen the Instagram posts everyone obsessed over. The selfies that pulled hundreds of thousands of likes in minutes. The candid clips people reposted on TikTok with dramatic music behind them like she wasn’t a real person.
He knew she was beautiful.
Everybody did. But FaceTime is different. Pictures don’t move.
Pictures don’t blink slowly when they’re tired or laugh mid-sentence and tilt their head afterward like they’re trying to hide it. Pictures don’t capture the softness in someone’s voice or the way their eyes shift when they’re caught staring back too long.
And the second Kynadi’s face appears on his screen, Tyriq feels his entire body tense.
It catches him completely off guard.
Because she’s prettier than he expected somehow.
Not in an overly done, intimidating way either.
Pretty in a way that feels dangerous because it’s effortless.
Her skims set swallowing her frame while warm sun that spills across deep brown skin that looks unreal even through an iPhone camera. Her lips are glossy like she’d applied something absentmindedly, and her lashes cast faint shadows beneath her eyes every time she looks down.
Tyriq forgets how to speak for a full two seconds.
Which never happens to him.
Usually he’s smooth naturally. Confident. Quick with words. But now his brain is short-circuiting over the fact that she’s real. Moving. Smiling at him in real time.
Not a post. Not a picture. Him. Yet somehow that makes him more nervous than he already was..
Kynadi answered after the third ring, the camera angled toward the sky for a second before her face finally appears on screen. Dim lighting from the setting sun, soft city sounds and her Bare face.
Tyriq stares a little too long. And she notices immediately.
“You gonna say something,” she asks softly, trying not to smile, “or just look at me weird?”
“…hey,” he says first, voice low, a small smile pulling at his mouth. he got up to walk in his kitchen.
Kynadi shifts slightly, adjusting her grip on the leash as she glances away for half a second before looking back at the screen.
“…hi.” Her voice is softer than usual. Quieter. There’s a pause. Like the kind where both people suddenly forget how to act the second the call connects.
A quiet laugh leaves him, low through the speaker.
“My bad,” he says, leaning his back against his marble countertop. “You just look different on FaceTime.”
Her eyebrow lifts instantly. “Different bad orr…?”
“Nah.” His grin spreads slowly. “Different good.”
“What you outside?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
She nods slightly, pushing a loose strand of hair back. “Um, I’m walking Willow for the night.”
He watches her for a second, smiling a little wider.
“Let me see her.”
Kynadi turns the camera toward Willow, who barely acknowledges it, still focused on the ground.
“She’s so cute. Let me babysit.” He said all up in the camera.
“You know what actually? yeah, come on.” she says.
The silence after that is brief but warm.
Kynadi looks down for a second, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear before glancing back at the screen.
“You nervous?” he asks suddenly.
She scoffs. “Please.”
“You are.”
“I’m literally not.”
“You keep fixing your hair.”
Her hand freezes halfway to her curls.
Tyriq starts laughing immediately.
“Oh my God,” she mutters, covering part of her face. “You’re irritating already, been aggravating me all day foreal.”
“But you answered though.”
That shuts her up for a second.
And he notices that too.
He laughs softly.
“Did you eat today?”
She looks back at the screen, brows lifting slightly.
“What?”
“Did you? Yesterday you said you was editing and you barely ate. That’s why yo’ head be hurting.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a small smile there.
“Please.. but yes i ate Tyriq.”
The smile on his face softens as he watches her look away from the camera again, suddenly shy in a way she hasn’t been over text all week.
“Why you smiling like that?” she asks quietly.
“‘Cause,” he says easily, eyes staying on her, “I was tryna figure out if we talked this good off messages too.”
Kynadi bites back a smile. “…and?”
“And I fear you might actually like me a little.” Tyriq said adjusting his ipad.
“and i think the feeling is mutual.” he replied.
He leans back casually to hide it, rubbing a hand across his jaw while trying not to stare too hard at the screen. He’s trying not to blush, but shit he is anyway. It’s impossible not to.
Especially when she laughs softly at something he says.
Especially when her face relaxes and he catches the smallest glimpse of shyness underneath all her “attitude” through texts and occasional voice notes.
That’s the part that gets him, not even just how beautiful she is.
It’s how soft she seems underneath it.
Tyriq realizes very quickly that this is already becoming more than what he planned for it to be.
Because now he wants to keep calling her.
He wants to learn her expressions. He wants to know what makes her laugh harder. He wants to see that look on her face again when she gets flustered and tries to hide it by acting irritated.
And honestly? That realization makes him even more nervous than the call itself. The conversation starts slow. Small.
Pieces of silence slipping in between sentences.
But it doesn’t stay like that because he doesn’t let it. He fills the gaps easily asking questions of all sorts. Tyriq teases her just enough while keeping her talking.
And slowly— she completely relaxes, she’s more comfortable.
She leans against the side of the sidewalk now, Willow sitting beside her. He shifts slightly in his bed, adjusting his hoodie. Their eye contact lingers longer.
Their smiles come easier. At one point, she laughs—actually laughs—and covers her mouth like she didn’t mean to.
He notices. Of course he does. “Why you do that?” he asks.
“Do what?”
“Hide your laugh.”
She shrugs slightly, looking away. “I don’t know.”
He studies her for a second. Then shakes his head, smiling.
“Don’t do that. It’s cute and I like it when you laugh..” Her cheeks warm slightly, if she was a lightskin she’d be cherry red.
She doesn’t respond to that. She just looks down for a second, then back up. And something settles right there in that moment.
Real enough to feel. Because now— it’s not just tweets. Not just jokes.
Not just people watching from the outside trying to piece something together, It’s this.
A conversation that flows too easily. Eye contact that lingers a second too long. Smiles that come without thinking. And whether they say it or not— they both feel it. Something starting. Something quiet.
THURSDAY, OCT 23
The next morning:
YOUTUBE — @kynadiswrld
The thumbnail is simple.
title: “WEEKLY VLOG: life lately… + addressing him 😭”
The video opens softly with a trending hip hop song mashup and a flash of montages.
Camera slightly angled, natural lighting pouring in through her window, her room clean but lived-in—LED lights dim, vanity behind her, products scattered like she had been getting ready but stopped halfway through.
She’s in a loose tee, glasses, hair out this time, freshly done.
“Hey y’all…” she starts, adjusting the camera slightly, lips pressing together like she’s debating how she wants to do this.
A pause.
Then a small smile.
“Okay… first of all, I wasn’t gonna say nothing.”
She exhales through her nose, already shaking her head.
“But y’all are actually insane.”
She cuts to clips.
Her tweets.
His replies.
Screenshots flashing on the screen.
The comment sections.
The edits.
The “LINK UP” spam.
She comes back on screen, eyebrows raised.
“Like… y’all don’t have jobs?? School?? Responsibilities??”
A beat.
“…because why am I waking up to think pieces about a reply??”
She laughs, covering her mouth briefly, then dropping her hand.
“But I will say this—” she leans forward slightly, tone shifting just enough to make it feel intentional, “—he is funny.”
Another pause.
Smaller.
“…I’ll give him that.”
The video flows into a vlog.
Her walking Willow.
Editing at her desk.
Talking about her routine.
But there are small mentions sprinkled in—
Little comments.
Throwaway lines that don’t feel throwaway at all.
“Yeah, I gotta finish editing this before I… get distracted again.”
Cut.
—
“Don’t ask me nothing else about them tweets either ‘cause I’m not explaining nothing.”
Cut.
—
“…and no, we’re not dating. Y’all need to relax.”
She says it quickly. Too quickly. The comments? Instantly flooded.
MEANWHILE — THAT SAME NIGHT
Tyriq is bored.
That’s really what it comes down to. That’s normally what it comes down too.
He’s back in his room, hoodie on, hood half up now, leaning forward in his chair this time instead of laying down. His laptop is open in front of him, YouTube pulled up, and for a second he just stares at the screen like he’s debating whether he’s actually about to do this.
“…finally,” he mutters, rubbing his jaw.
Then he clicks.
YOUTUBE — @TyriqTV (REACTING LIVE) !
The channel is old.
You can tell— all his videos were privately except like one.
Random videos from years ago, inconsistent uploads, thumbnails that don’t match his current image at all.
But that doesn’t matter.
Because the second he goes live— people find it. He was surprised because he hadn’t been on his channel in almost four years.
The viewer count jumps.
100K.
101K.
102K.
200K.
Climbing wayy faster than he expected.
“What is up YouTube! It is… ya boy TyriqTv mannnn!” He laughs as he does a little dance.
The chat starts moving immediately.
“IS THIS REAL???”
“HE BOUT TO WATCH HER VIDEO 😭”
“TYRIQ DON’T EMBARRASS US”
“HE LIKE HER BAD”
He leans back slightly, adjusting the camera.
“…y’all be doin’ too much, just chill gangggg!” he says, already smiling.
He clicks her video.
It starts playing. At first, he tries to act normal. Just watching. He was quiet. But that doesn’t last long, per usual.
The moment she says, “y’all are actually insane,” he huffs out a laugh.
“Facts,” he mutters.
Chat SPAMS.
“NOT HE AGREEING WITH HER???”
Then she says it.
“He is funny, i hate to admit. this is so going to boost his big ass head.”
Tyriq pauses the video immediately as he leans back in his rolling chair. Running a hand over his mouth like he’s trying not to react too much.
“…aight that’s it i’m officially a comedian,” he nods as he chuckled.
Chat LOSES it.
“OH HE LIKED THAT 😭”
“REPLAY IT”
“LAUGHING HER OUT THEM DRAWLS, I KNEW IT”
As the vlog continues, he gets more comfortable now talking over parts.
When she says, “I gotta finish editing this before I… get distracted again,”
He tilts his head slightly in the camera, “…what that mean Kyn? Hm?”
“SHE TALKIN ABOUT YO ASS”
“YOU THE DISTRACTION”
“KYNNNN????”
“WAKE IT UP”
He laughs, shaking his head, “Nah, nahh y’all funny as hell.” But he’s still smiling. Still watching. Still… very much invested.
By the end of the video, he’s leaned all the way forward, elbows resting on his knees, completely locked in. Some would say enamored even.
“… 10/10 video! Go watch it, like it, and subscribe to her, allat.” he says cheesing.
Too simply. Like that explains everything or anything.
The stream ends, but it doesn’t stop there.
THE BLOGS
It hits fast. Screenshots. Video clips. Headlines already written before the full context even settles.
“TYRIQ WITHERS REACTS TO INFLUENCER KYNADI’S VIRAL VIDEO 👀”
“FANS THINK THERE’S MORE GOING ON AFTER LIVE REACTION…”
“HE WATCHED THE WHOLE THING… TWICE???”
The Shade Room posts it.
The comments? Some good, some bad.
“my boy said he needs that BADLY iktr 😭”
“he’s sooo invested ❤️😭”
“this not one sided at all 😛”
“writing a fanfic now 🤭”
“chile he’s easy for everyone, mfs just thought he was with quen.”
Now there’s no pretending it’s just jokes anymore because shit just got very real. Her phone flooded with mentions, texts, and even some calls from her friends.
LATER — THAT NIGHT (iMessage)
Her phone buzzes. She already knows it’s Tyriq, who else would it be honestly. Her heart thumps as she clicks their thread.
meaning aka he definitely is about to indeed start.
She laughs softly, still cheesing and blushing as she shook her head.
“you already did”
She bites her lip slightly. Trying not to smile more than she already has been.
The conversation flows easier now, no hesitation and no awkward gaps. Just back and forth, natural and light.
She doesn’t reply immediately, another pause.
Then he sends it casually. Like it’s nothing. Like it definitely didn’t just sit in his mind for longer than it should have.
Kynadi’s thumb stills against the screen as her heart dropped to her ass and her throat felt tight.
The glow from her phone reflects faintly across her face as her eyes lock onto the message, every other sound around her fading into something distant and muffled. For a second, she just stares at it, unmoving, like her brain needs time to catch up to what she’s reading.
She reads it once. Then again. Slower this time. As if the meaning might change between each line.
Oh shit.. OH SHIT! Do I have to throw up? Why do I feel nauseous? She thought to herself panicking internally.
A quiet breath leaves her lips, almost unnoticeable, but her chest tightens anyway. Beneath the steady composure she wears so well, her heart shifts in that subtle, dangerous way it has before—soft enough to ignore if she wanted to.
Except this time, she can’t because it feels more tense now. Heavier. More real.
Up until now, everything existed behind screens and speculation. Rumors. Lingering looks. Strangers online piecing things together like they knew anything about either of them. It had all felt distant enough to deny. Easy enough to pretend none of it mattered.
But this? This steps beyond that. Beyond the safety of keeping things unspoken.
Her fingers tighten slightly around the phone as the realization settles fully into her chest. If she says yes… there’s no pulling back after it. No pretending. No returning to whatever this was before.
s/n: frostbite will be out this week! between packing+moving into my new place and also working, ya girl been stretched a little thin 😭 but im making it extra sweet for y’all i promiseeee !! <3
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theodore spencer is known for many things. well, depending on who you ask at least. some would say the mayor’s delinquent son, all snark and trouble with nothing good to show for it.
others might be a little nicer, simply referring to him as number five: the hotheaded captain of your university’s hockey team. an insanely talented defenseman whose led them through several winning seasons, and never finishes a game without battering something—or more likely someone—in his path.
what never occurred to you, though, was that beneath the cockiness, the iron fists, and the layers of gear he wears like impenetrable armor, there was actually something of substance at his core. a heart.
because if you hadn’t been so eager to get out of training early that afternoon, you might have never discovered that it’s teddy who’s responsible for all of the beautifully crafted, anonymous handwritten letters being tucked into the sliver of space between your car window.
dividers by @cursed-carmine
𑣲a/n lmk if you’d like to be tagged! can’t wait for yall to readdd 🤭 we finna get into some thangs. ciao for now! <3
summary: when your friend offers to set you up on another blind date, you reluctantly agree, not knowing what was about to happen would soon change your perspective of a certain basketball player.
pairing: jalen duren x blackfem!reader
warnings: making out, kind of a long fic, descriptions of reader, tall!reader (exact height not specified), reader has a named friend, mentions of allergies, not proofread!
notes: not many people know about him but he's my boyfriend (real) he's just so pretty i had to write for him 😊😊😊😊😊😊 and let's ignore how i so obviously couldn't be bothered to write dialogue for the date LOL this is more so just a fic setting foundations which i hateeee but it's needed i fear. part two w smut? 🤔
One date.
That's what you told yourself. You'd go on one date with him, and make up an excuse to never see him again. Him being the latest person your friend Amirah had taken liberty of setting you up with, Jalen.
Realistically, you knew nothing good would come out of this date, just like the last three blind dates she set you up with. For someone who claimed to know you so well, Amirah had gotten your type horrendously wrong each time.
The first date? Showed up late, got your name wrong twice, was only interested in speaking about himself and asked if you could cover the bill. Second date? He brought you flowers you were allergic to and accidentally kneed you in the nose when you bent down to grab a packet of tissues from your purse. The third date? Didn't bother to show up and tried to "start over" with you once he got a hold of you Instagram from a story Amirah tagged you in.
Safe to say, you probably should've said no to this date too.
"I promise, he is nothing like the last guy," Amirah said to you, both her palms flat on your marble kitchen island as she tried to convince you.
"Remember you said that about the last one? No." You continued cleaning the counters, trying to pay her no mind.
"Okay, I'll hold my hands up, I was wrong about that one. And the ones before that," she continued when she caught the pointed look you gave her.
"Mirah, I love you, but I do not want go on another one of you set ups. I'm perfectly content being single?"
"Is this the same person that cried during Rye Lane last week?"
"... I told you to forget about that."
"Mhm. Anyways, his name is Jalen and he's a basketball player───"
"Immediately no."
Amirah huffed at your interruption. "At least give a man a chance before you pull the stereotype card!"
You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. Part of you wanted to say yes just to get Amirah to leave you alone, whilst a smaller part of you wanted to say yes because of your curiosity.
"How do you know it won't be the same shitshow that the last three have been?"
"Because Jalen is a man," Amirah wiggled her eyebrows at you. "He ain't like none of these other brothers you mess with."
"'I mess with'─── Girl, you set me up with them!" you threw the tea towel that was previously over your shoulder at her as she caught it with one hand.
"Right, my bad forreal. Please, this is the last one, I promise. If you don't like him then I officially resign as your unofficial matchmaker."
Amirah held her hands together, now leaning on the island with her long goddess braids flowing around her.
You rolled your eyes with a groan. "One date. I swear, this is the last one."
Her screams were immediate as she tackled you in a hug, jumping up and down. "You won't regret this one, trust me."
"I hope so."
─── ༉‧₊˚✧ ───
The date with Jalen was more than you expected it to be. You knew how it was with most NBA players. Huge people with even huger egos that thought they were so entitled... at least that's how it's said to be. But from the moment you sat down across Jalen ─── yes, he was at the restaurant before you ─── you knew it was different.
It was something about the way he carried himself that brought truth to Amirah's words. "Jalen's a man." And he sure was.
He took the time to really get to know you, ask what you did or enjoyed doing, about any personal interests you had, your life growing up, all of it. And you did the same with him. The conversation didn't feel forced at all, in fact it flowed so well that the two of you lost track of time until your waitress had circled back to let you know it was closing time.
He walked you out, waited with you for your ride back home. You found yourself staring at him a little, his sharp features, how he looked so much older than his age, in a good way of course. And he was tall. You were on the taller side yourself but definitely not in the same category as Jalen.
He glanced down at you before you could look away, a sheepish smile forming on your lips. "You had a good time?"
You nodded. "Might be the best date I've been on." You weren't lying, no other date would compare to this one.
He smiled, a dimple appearing on the left side of his face. "That's good. At least I ain't gotta worry bout Mirah mauling me in my sleep."
You laughed, knowing that was exactly something that your best friend would threaten someone with.
"No, you're good. I had a great time, wouldn't mind doing it again."
If you weren't already looking at him, you would've missed the way his face ever so slightly lit up. "Yeah?"
You nodded, reaching into your purse for your phone, unlocking it before you handed it to him. Usually, you weren't the one to give out your number first, but this date with Jalen had you filled with many different feelings.
His much larger hand brushed against yours as he took your phone, saving his number and sending himself a text. Just as he handed it back to you, your ride had pulled up.
"See you soon?"
"Yeah," you smiled softly. "See you soon."
─── ༉‧₊˚✧ ───
'Soon' was about three days later. Jalen texted you about an art exhibition happening in Detroit, remembering a part of your conversation on the date where you mentioned wanting to go to more art galleries and such. Your stomach fluttered at his thoughtfulness, agreeing to meet him for another date.
The gallery had a stunning interior, somewhat of a mix between modern and traditional art. And the exhibition itself was captivating. Jalen thought so too, even if he spent more time looking at you than at the work on display.
He took you for dinner too, a quiet Greek restaurant a couple minutes away from the gallery. The tension between you two increased with each minute, never simmering down. With every accidental touch of his knee against yours, you found yourself giving in to something you weren't sure you should be reaching so early.
When he dropped you home that night, there was a brief pause between you two in his car, before you broke it with a smile, saying something along the lines of getting ready for the night before your shift the next day.
If Jalen had wanted to say something in that moment, he chose not to, saying goodnight and letting you leave.
"Bitch? You didn't kiss him?" Amirah groaned over the facetime call, visibly upset yet so interested in you and Jalen.
"Stop, I already can't get that moment out of my head." You didn't know if you wanted to kiss him yet or not, but now that the moment had passed, you knew you should've.
"It's okay, that just means when it does happen, it'll be all the while worth it."
You hoped she was right.
─── ༉‧₊˚✧ ───
Since the art gallery date, you hadn't seen much of Jalen. What with his season starting and your schedule at work, you couldn't seem to find any free time. Until he came up with a proposal.
"Come to my game next Friday." He said to you over facetime. You checked the date on your phone, Tuesday.
"What?" You wanted to make sure you heard that right. Going to his game after almost a month of knowing him felt a little like rushing things, but if he was comfortable with it then you could learn to be too.
"This Friday. We play Atlanta and I want you there," he explained casually as he seemingly threw a ball in his backyard for his dogs to fetch. "Unless you don't want to?"
"No, I do," you answered that surprisingly fast. "It's just... are you sure?"
He nodded. "I'll get you suite seats instead if that's better for you. You can bring Mirah's loud ass too."
You laughed, thankful that he thought about your probable discomfort with being shoved into any sort of spotlight at that stage.
"Okay, I'll be there." you lay on your side, your hand slightly hiding the huge smile on your face, but Jalen could see the way your cheeks raised.
"Good. And bring a bag too, you're spending the night with me. I've missed you."
You could've burst with the way his words tickled your stomach, unable to hide the smile that he now mirrored over the call. "I might've missed you too."
"Might? Okay Miss Double Texting Within The Same Hour."
"Shut up."
─── ༉‧₊˚✧ ───
The crowd at Little Caesar's Arena was alive like it always was. You sat with Amirah in the suite Jalen told you he'd get you both, overlooking the court from a decent view. At Pistons games, you usually sat wherever you could get tickets, but it was nice to be treated on this occasion.
You could see him warming up on the court, focused on nothing but the ball leaving his hands and the words of the coach beside him. You texted him before, wishing him good luck and that you'd see him later. Words couldn't describe the mix of excitement yet slight dread you felt about the upcoming events of the night.
"You're looking cute," Amirah gushed, poking your exposed arm as she took a candid of you. Smiling, you glanced at the outfit you spent hours putting together.
It was simple, yet a statement, something every Pistons fan could relate to. A blue and red gingham patterned short sleeved top, a pair of wide leg jeans that were definitely from Amirah's closet despite the amount of times you denied when she asked you, and a pair of shiny dark red Prada kitten heels on your feet.
"Thank you, gorgeous," you winked at her.
From then til half time, you both spent the majority of the time switching conversing about your lives and the game. Jalen was doing amazing so far, 16 points and 8 rebounds as Detroit led Atlanta 64-42 at the half.
"You're in for a good night," Amirah smirked, taking a sip from her drink.
Your cheeks warmed, images of Jalen flashing in your mind, seemingly trying to create a picture of whatever you could expect to follow the events of the night.
"Ain't you happy you didn't say no to my amazing matchmaking skills?"
"Top 10 lies ever," you rolled your eyes. "But you did do your big one with this one."
"Damn right," Amirah tapped her thumb and pointer fingers together.
The second half was over a lot quicker than the first half was, the Pistons winning 142-119, Jalen ending the night with a beautiful 27-14 double double. He texted you before the game started, letting you know to wait for him outside the players lounge.
Amirah walked with you there, deciding to wait with you for Jalen before leaving with her boyfriend who had come to get her. You spoke in hushed voices, smiling politely every time someone passed.
Soon enough, Jalen had come out of the media room and up the stairs to the players' lounge, dressed in his arrival clothes after a much needed shower. You didn't even hide the fact that you were looking him over, as he did the same with you whilst he walked towards you.
He wore a beige bomber jacket with matching coloured cargos and a white tee underneath, paired with his 'Black Cat' Jordan 4's. And it fit him perfectly.
"'Sup, Mirah?" he gave her a side hug as she greeted him back before turning to you, a small on his face.
When he leant in, it took you by surprise, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as your arms held around his waist for a brief moment. Jalen returned your hug, missing the way you slightly lifted one arm to mush Amirah's grinning face away from the two of you.
"Okay, I'ma leave y'all to it, my man's waiting for me downstairs." She blew the two of you a kiss when you pulled away, a chorus of bye's leaving you and Jalen's lips.
Smooth as ever, he took a hold of your hand, leading you to the player and staff car park. "You had a good time?" he echoed his words from the very first date you two shared.
"I did. You played well," you nudged him with your hip and he chuckled. "Were you showing off?"
"Course I had to, I had someone special watching me tonight," he looked at you at the same time you looked at him, the smile on your face refusing to leave.
The drive back to his was a calming one, Erykah Badu playing softly in the back as he talked to you about the game after you asked him a couple of questions.
Arriving at Jalen's house in Grosse Pointe, you admired the details of the home, so thought out and intricate even though all you saw so far was the exterior.
"I think my dogs are still awake," he mumbled as he pushed his keys in. "Gotta warn you, they can be a bit... hyper."
"That's okay," you laughed at the way he went about it, and almost immediately after he pushed the door handle down, you heard the sound of claws against the wooden floor. A black labrador appeared first, jumping on Jalen before turning to you, its nose twitching as he sniffed all around you.
"Let her get in first, damn." Jalen nudged him back a little bit, allowing you to walk into the large home. You couldn't even take it in properly, too engaged in greeting Jalen's excited lab, as well as the cane corso that had made its way to you both.
With your bags in his hand, Jalen led you to the main sitting room, the dogs hot on your tail with every step you took. "They don't even like me that much," he shook his head when he noticed both dogs laying on their sides as you rubbed their bellies.
After getting settled in, Jalen gave you a quick version of a house tour before he let you get changed into more comfortable clothes. You opted to get straight into your pyjamas, not seeing yourself being bothered to get changed yet again when it was time to go to bed.
There you sat with him, grey boyfriend pyjama set on as Everybody Hates Chris played on the TV in front of you both. Jalen sat close to you, to the point where your arm would be right up against his, had it not been for his arm being over the back of the sofa.
He'd gotten changed too, into grey sweatpants and a white tank top, the top of his chest tattoo peaking out on either side of his shoulders.
You weren't even watching the show at this point, your eyes fully and without shame on the man beside you. He caught your gaze after a while, the faintest smirk on his lips.
"You okay?"
You hummed, not a yes but also not a no. Your eyes flickered between his own and his lips, wondering just how much longer you could hold on for. He saw you deep in thought, but didn't press after it.
"Are you sure? Show's over there."
"I think we both know I'm not paying any attention to that."
"Really? Cause Chris 'bout to get blitzed in a minute, that's always fun."
"Jalen."
His laugh stopped then, his eyes back on you, really on you. "Yeah?"
You opened your mouth to say something, only nothing came out because you didn't know how exactly to tell him what you wanted without it coming off weird.
Like he could sense what you wanted to say, Jalen approached you in a different manner, trying to coax it out of you. He brought the arm that was resting on the back of the sofa closer to you, your body leaning against his side.
"Whatchu want? I'm right here," he spoke lowly and your thighs pressed together, a movement that he sure as hell didn't miss.
"You." It came out as nothing more than a whisper, but he heard it. And you knew he did because of the little glimmer in his eyes, the way his face lit up.
"Yeah?" he repeated.
You nodded. "Where about you want me?"
He wasn't going to give in unless you told him exactly what it was you wanted. Or unless you showed him. And that's what you did.
Ever so slightly you lifted yourself up until your lips met his. Holding his face in your hands, you kissed him, a shameless moan leaving you after weeks of dreaming this exact moment. Jalen's hand rested on your back as he kissed you back after the initial surprise of you making the first move.
He sat forward, lips still on yours as he pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist. When his tongue slipped into your mouth, you arched forward into his toned chest, one hand falling from his face as you struggled to keep up with him, eventually letting him lead the kiss. After that? You got greedy, you wanted more than just a taste.
Jalen's hands wandered over your body, palming your ass as he kissed you, his lashes fluttering against your nose as you moaned into his mouth.
You pulled away first, eyes still closed as Jalen left wet kisses down your jaw and neck. When he brought his face back up level to yours, he couldn't help but smile. Your pupils were wide, chest heaving a little against his, silently begging for more.
"You been holdin' out on me," his voice was low as he spoke.
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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
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Same hockey anon but if u need any info or questions about specifics on teams/ players, details on the game in general, I can def lyk about anything
yes maam! i’ve been doing a bit of research myself, but i’d love to get first hand knowledge on everything as well! i appreciate this sm love <3 thank you 🥹
