#( oni. )

[uncanines]

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃           ˃˃           𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚂𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 _ 𝙿𝚄𝙻𝚂𝙴 & 𝙾𝙽𝙸           ˂˂           another   day,   another   back   -   breaking   training   regimen.   hell   week   might   be   over,   but   the   weight   of   it   hadn't   at   all   left   aleki's   muscles,   the   trace   of   every   hit   still   echoing   in   his   bones⸻   the   kind   of   ache   that   made   rest   feel   like   a   punishment.   but   he   pushed   on,   wasn't   wired   for   stillness   anyway.   especially   not   now.   not   when   enemies   were   sharpening   their   knives   in   the   dark,   waiting   for   the   next   opportunity   to   carve   them   open. steam   rolled   heavy   through   the   shower,   thickening   the   air,   pressing   close.   water   pounded   against   aleki's   back   in   steady   percussion,   sliding   down   the   ridges   of   his   shoulders,   and   every   drop   burning   hot,   though   not   hotter   than   the   pulse   under   his   skin.   not   not   hotter   than   the   impulse   in   his   gut   as   he   looked   at   the   man   in   front   of   him.   he   might   be   tired,   he   might   be   aching,   but   still   human   at   the   end   of   the   day.   and   aleki   let   his   hands   wander   before   his   mind   could   think   too   hard   about   it   ;   touch   first,   words   later. calloused   fingers   traced   the   curve   of   forest's   back,   wet   skin   under   his   palms.   he   felt   the   tension   here   and   there—   the   tightness   in   his   shoulders,   in   his   traps,   pressing   down   harder   to   undo   the   knots.   he   kept   going,   smoothing   down   his   spine,   slow   and   deliberate,   mapping   the   bruises   that   hadn't   healed   yet.   then   aleki's   lips   found   forest's   neck,   open   -   mouthed,   dragging   teeth   just   enough   to   make   him   feel   it.   something   solid.   something   real.   not   a   hit,   not   a   wound,   just   pressure,   closeness.   his   breath   ghosted   against   wet   skin,   and   when   he   reached   lower⸻   fingertips   tracing   the   curve   of   his   ass   before   gripping   firm   and   pulling   him   in,   their   cocks   against   each   other,   heat   against   heat. a   sharp   inhale,   a   half   -   swallowed   sound   between   them.   aleki   grinned   against   forest's   skin,   his   own   breath   coming   heavier   now.   fuck.   it   was   instinct,   the   way   his   hips   pressed   forward,   how   easily   their   bodies   slotted   together,   sweat   and   water   and   muscle   flush   in   a   way   that   made   his   pulse   hammer.   and   still,   his   mind   wasn't   on   himself.   not   fully.   never   was.             "             tell   me   how   to   help.             "             his   voice   came   rough,   low,   the   kind   that   carried   even   over   the   rushing   water.   his   hands   didn't   stop   moving,   kneading   into   forest's   ass,   thumbs   pressing   slow   circles   into   his   lower   back.             "             you’re   stiff.   could   stretch   you   out.             "             another   squeeze.             "             or   we   could   do   something   better.             "             his   lips   brushed   just   beneath   forest's   jaw,   waiting,   always   waiting—   for   permission,   for   direction,   for   whatever   forest   wanted.   just   wanted   to   be   useful.   even   now.

@yokaisblade sent 18 / forest & aleki !

[fleshinstinct]

ao oni comic

[biblical-figures]

cream soda if i put a friend in it

[lowpawly]

I have been trying to make this post since yesterday. I have tried to send it at least 4 times and every single time it doesn't work. its not that it doesn't send because of the internet or it crashes or whatever it just doesn't fucking work. like it for real just disappears ive never had a glitch like this on tumblr before. all of my other posts send fine even when they have images attached. what the fuck is wrong with this ao oni png

[beastsoulart]

would you kiss him? :v

[yagithegoat]

Soukaku, a blue oni girl

[cathianemelian]

~A deity not to mess with~ It's always so much fun to draw in Hades style

[captainzigo]

everyone forgets her massive, beautiful, clean, decorated (decently atleast. those curtains! ugh) house. it’s fair i think because she herself seems to forget also

[st4rbwrry]

𝓒𝓞𝓒𝓞𝓐 𝓑𝓤𝓣𝓣𝓔𝓡 𝓚𝓘𝓢𝓢𝓔𝓢.    onyankopon.

ᰔᩚ . . .8.5k. fem!reader, lowercase intended, set in university, relationship building, barista!reader, football player/scholar!ony, fluff, strangers to lovers, cabin sex, oral ꒰ f.꒱ , kinda slow burn?, teasing, foreplay, some ass eating, choking, dirty talk, biting, pet names ꒰ ex. mama, ma, baby ꒱, usage of aave, size kink, spanking, dacryphilia, heavyy dirty talk, minors aren’t welcomed! reblogs + comments are appreciated. <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . took me absolutely forever to finish this fic so i hope yall rlly enjoy it. here’s some grown folk links. <3 visual. visual. visual. this is also ony’s redemption fic from the bullshit in why don’t you love me lmao.

you got it by bryson tiller thumped loudly from his airpod max’s, orangish-red leaves scattered and scrunching beneath his heavy black timberlands as he strolled along the sidewalk of the town heading to his destination; the cafe. a newfound obsession with the tranquility of studying there. the weather is fairly cold, a slight breeze making his nose wrinkle and sniffle, fighting any threat of sickness. this cozy little cafe was his haven, a place he escaped to when he needed to clear his head. or in this case, injure his brain by studying two weeks ahead of finals for the fall semester. 

the warm aroma of brewed coffee and soft lo-fi music enveloped him once he pushed open the front door. the cafe is somewhat occupied, with very few seats stuffed with students gossiping or discussing daily topics of the world. the scent of freshly ground coffee beans and baked goods wafts through the air, his tummy growling at the allure. comfortable armchairs and plush sofas are arranged in cozy nooks, perfect for curling up with a book or engaging in intimate conversations. natural light streams in through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the space and highlighting the rich, earthy tones of the wooden decor. despite the bustling activity, the atmosphere remains relaxed and unhurried. 

within his deepest of graces, he spots you behind the counter, a tug of a smile breaching onto his face. you’re moving around the cafe, refilling drinks, and chatting with regular customers. little did you know, your presence is a comforting constant in his increasingly chaotic life. clearing his throat, onyankopon approaches you.

“hey, handsome," you say with a warm smile, your voice smooth like honey. "it’s nice seeing your face. what can i get started for you today?"

as you speak, you continue expertly frothing milk for a customer's latte, the sound of the steam hissing filling the air between you. “hey, pretty. i’ll just take my matcha latte with one pump of syrup, cold foam, and cinnamon. lemme try the avocado toast with bacon today, please.” 

“sure thing, love. the bacon is pork, will that be okay?” he watches the fluff of your falsies blink up at him, deep brown eyes glowing from the soothing lighting of the cafe, accentuating your features. freckles sprawled along the bridge of your nose, black hair styled in a cute pixie cut with soft waves. jewelry on your nose, ears, neck, and henna-tatted fingers. there’s red ink on the side of your neck of a dragon he always admired. full lips outlined with dark liner and smeared with gloss. a pretty little thing. 

“yup, that’s cool,” he digs into his pocket for his phone, double clicking the button on the side to access his digital card as you tap quickly on the touchscreen to ring up his order. 

“okay! your total’s g’na be twelve sixty-four.”

“thank you,” he nods appreciatively.

“i’ll bring it over to you when it’s ready.” 

onyankopon’s making his way to his usual spot by the window, a comfy corner with views of brightly lit shops, couples holding hands, and trees dancing in the window. the sun had set, and the street lamps flicker on. he adjusted into his seat, pulling his sleek macbook from his black jansport backpack along with notebooks with different colors and sizes, a pen and pencil, and lots of sticky notes. in his palm where he held his iphone, he switches the music to his ‘unwind’ playlist, needing zero distractions. 

the past two months have been tough for him. a lot of things happened that pushed him to second guess not only the way his life was playing out, but the people he chose to surround himself with. a lot of heavy influence gets to those who are weak and in desperate need of escape. he’s never been a big fan of peer pressure, and college is full of it. after winning the homecoming game, being betrayed by someone he had deep feelings for on top of getting into an almost-brawl. . a lot of things started altering the way he thought and carried himself. onyankopon’s always been a mature person. coming from a family of doctors, athletes, and gentle, loving parents. for the most part always laid back, concise, and respectful. so when people brought him out of character to become someone he wasn’t, it frustrated him and made him go into isolation mode where he did nothing but refocus on himself and his goals—leaving behind all the immature, childish shit. 

glancing up from his laptop, he can hear you approaching, catching your gaze and giving a gentle smile as you set his beverage and food on the table, your eyes sparkling with kindness. “here you go, love.” 

“thanks again.” 

“you’re welcome.” 

the vibrant green matcha mixture soothes him after he takes a well-needed sip, savoring the creamy texture and subtle bitterness. the hint of cinnamon adding a pleasant warmth that spreads through his chest. you always know just how to make his drink. 

he’s always stuck in the cafe for about five hours, drowning in his studies. it’s become his routine now. right after practice he freshens up and makes his way over here. usually, when it’s short-staffed, he notices you closing the shop alone. as the hours tick by, the cafe gradually empties, leaving only a handful of people scattered throughout the space. he remains hunched over his laptop, concentration unwavering, but interrupted when he notices the lights beginning to dim, the soft jazz giving way to silence. realizing the cafe must be closing, he suddenly yawns, arms stretching above his head and shoulders rolling to release the tension from sitting in one spot. going to stand and gather his things, he spots you crouching behind the counter, wiping down surfaces, and organizing supplies.

“hey, need a hand wrapping things up? i didn't realize we were the last ones here."

your smile brightens as ony approaches, his tall frame looming over the counter. “oh, you don't have to do that, i can’t let you work for free.” 

"nah, i insist. i can finish up. hand me a broom or sum,” he suggested, that charming smile making your heart flutter nonstop. 

“okay, here,” you nod, retrieving a broom from the storage closet to hand him. 

the soft swish of the broom against the hardwood floor provides a rhythmic accompaniment to the quiet intimacy of the moment. onyankopon steals glances at you, watching you count the register with a few peeps of your own, smiling to yourself when he notices. his face lights up, shaking his head as he maintains his focus on his chore. as he continues, you try your best to stop blushing, your attraction for this man strong ever since you laid eyes on him. the two of you never hung out. he attended your finance class and you’ve held a minor conversation, but that was all. of course, since he was the quarterback for the panthers, you’d catch a game now and then and see him. you didn’t do parties, mostly stayed to yourself. 

considering his chaotic schedule, when he finally started coming into your job for drinks, that’s the best time to see him. he began as an acquaintance, having casual talks while doing your job. but then he started asking you about your day, complimenting your tattoos, giving you tips, calling you pretty . . now we’re here. you’re locking up the shop after cutting off the lights and calling it a night.

standing idly by, onyankopon’s got one hand on his backpack strap while the other nestled warmly into his black northface parka’s pocket. his teeth are pearl white as he smiles, a dimple on his cheek sinking in. it’s pure, and cute. his body is looming over your own, the moonlight casting across his chiseled features, emphasizing the sharp lines of his jaw and the intensity in his dark eyes, your eyes glossing over the silver stud he has pierced into his left ear. a faint mustache above his dark, full lips and a small goatee on his chin. he’s attractive as hell.

“c’mon, lemme walk you to your dorm. it’s too dark out to be alone.” 

the gentlemanly gesture sends a flutter through your chest, the cool air brisking over your face as you bury your chin into your cocoa brown scarf shyly. “okay.” 

together, you stroll along the quiet campus path, your black telfar decorated with keychains stacked with hot wheels and sonny angels hitting against your thigh as you walk, arms folded. usually, you’re not a person to be nervous about speaking to a boy, but something about him felt completely different from others. he’s calm, respectful, and friendly. and not to be stereotypical, you figured he’d be the opposite considering he’s an athlete. their factors consist of being hard-headed, loud . . whores. granted, you didn’t fully know him as a person. it felt nice to flirt with someone grounded. 

“so, got any plans for fall break?” 

“nah, not much,” onyankopon shakes his head, wrinkling his nose. “i’m taking these two weeks to focus on studying for finals. my birthday’s coming up, so i'm sure my family has sum planned for me. i don’t care for it much.”

“like every man in the world,” you joke.

he chuckles. “yeah, i used to like all that party shit, but i ain’t in the mood for it, at least not now. i’m good for sum low key.” 

“that's understandable. i’m not doing much for break besides thanksgiving. my family and i usually do it big. watch the game, get tipsy, shit like that.” 

“yeah? maybe me and you can hang out then. i w’na talk to you more.” 

a shy smile spreads across your face as you consider the possibility. "yeah, sure. i’d love to.” 

the two of you depart after saying goodnight, ony making sure you’re safely into your dorm before leaving to sleep in his. days past and the routine continues. as the semester winds down, ony finds himself relying more and more on the comforting routine of visiting the cafe, knowing that amidst the chaos of finals prep, he can count on seeing you. your conversations grow longer, less about schoolwork and more about shared interests, inside jokes, and subtle flirtation. finally, the day arrives when he can breathe a sigh of relief. finals are done, and he’s aced his tests. that heavy weight on his chest dissipating. walking into the cafe, he’s greeted by the familiar warmth you bring, a smile spread over your face when you lock eyes.  

"hey, you," he says, gripping the corners of the counter, shoulders popping forward as he arches over to find you searching for oat milk. 

“heyyy,” you upturn your neck, the giddy on your face evident. “i figured you’d be on your way home by now, the campus is practically dead.” 

his jaw shifts as he chews his gum, fresh peppermint flavor flowing through his nostrils. “wanted to come see you first. also to let you know that i passed my tests.” 

you gasp, springing up in an excited leap. “oh my god, that’s so good, ony! congratulations.”

“thank you, love,” he bows his head appreciatively. “what about you? what’d you get?” 

“hmm, did really well for microbiology. passed everything else but math. it’s never been my strong suit,” you pout, ony humming apologetically. 

“it’s okay, as long as you did well for everything else, that’s still something to be proud of. i know you’ll get back up.” 

you bat your lashes, digging your chin into your shoulder. “thanks, ony. you’re the sweetest. becoming a vet is harder than i thought, but i know i can do it.” 

“good thing is we can finally relax, my brain's been fuckin’ killing me,” he rolls his neck, your eyes falling to the adam’s apple in his throat. 

"literally. i'm definitely looking forward to some downtime. finals were brutal this semester.” 

a sudden realization dawns on you, and you feel a rush of nervousness pass through. you’ve been wanting to ask him something, needing to express the feelings you’ve been harboring subtly. "listen, i was thinking ‘cause i remember you saying your parents are gonna be at a banquet for the holiday . . if you wanted to join me and my family for thanksgiving? my mom’s make the best everything ‘n there’s always leftovers.” 

a slow, pleased smile spreads across his face at the invitation, eyes crinkling at the corners. "i’m down as fuck, that sounds good. your place sounds like a better alternative.” 

you grin, twisting in your spot. “great, my mom’s would love to meet you. they’re very sweet. you have any allergies? i’ll make sure they’re careful.” 

“nah, baby. i eat everything,” onyankopon responds, the rasp in his tone suddenly making your skin hot, his comment on top of the pet name abruptly short-circuiting your brain.

“ ‘kay,” you play it off, gathering yourself quickly from your perverted thoughts. “i’ll text you when they’re ready to have guests over.” 

“cool. need me to bring anything? a pie? some drinks?” 

“i like stella rosè.” 

on the morning of thanksgiving, onyankopon arrives at your doorstep, a handful of red roses in one hand and your bottle of wine in the other. surprisingly, your parents wanted him to come over early, really so they could have a helping hand with prepping. he awaits in front of your house, a beautiful cape cod style surrounded by bushes and tall gates. he sees the silhouette of your shape approaching the door, pulling it open to find you smiling wide. ony clears his throat, scanning you from head to toe with adornment. you’re dressed in an espresso sweater dress with sheer tights and doc martens. there’s light makeup on your face, and you smell like tom ford’s lost cherry. the smell of pinewood and soulful music coming from within the home alongside laughter immediately has his brain conjuring up a future with you. you’re breathtaking, and you can say the same for him. 

“hi,” you breathe out, gnawing at your darkly lined lips. 

onyankopon’s attired in a black knit sweater that’s almost loosely fitted, his muscles daring to make it fit tightly. baggy, chocolate cargo pants, and black new balance 550s. a gold chain sits around his neck and a brown fossil outlet watch on his wrist. he smelled really good, dolce and gabbana’s the one lingering on his body. you could fall out, really. 

ony extends the flowers for you to grab. “happy thanksgiving. i got these for you. you look real pretty.” 

you giggle from how fast he rushed that sentence. “thank you, i love them. you look real good, too. come in.” 

he takes a step inside, taking in the cozy atmosphere of your home. the aroma of roasting turkey and savory spices fills the air, marvin gaye’s ‘i want you’ bumping from the surround sound along with the thanksgiving parade playing soundly on the mounted television. you guide him through the archway, setting the roses into a vase at the entryway table before entwining his hand with yours and pulling him towards the grandeur kitchen. in it stands both of your mother’s, the clinking of wine glasses, and slow dancing. the sight makes ony’s heart thump, it’s adorable, to say the least. now he understands why you smile so much. 

“mom’s! ony’s here!” 

turning in your direction, the two women greet him with loving smiles, your birth mother gasping at his gorgeousness, placing a hand over her heart with bulging eyes. you already caught on to what she was thinking, shaking your head. 

“oh my god, hi! you’re handsome!” 

your birth mother is the spitting image of you, the thick, luscious blowout curls the only difference in appearance aside from tattoos. she’s petite like you are, brown eyes and earthy-like jewelry. a pale green hippy skirt and tight black long-sleeve her attire. her wife contrasts her perfectly with a slighter darker edge. tall, slim, forest green faux locs that graze her shoulders and full sleeve tats. dressed in a dark sweater like ony is, skinny jeans, and loafers. they looked like the richest, happiest couple. 

after proper greetings and conversations, a few more family members pour into the home as hours pass, mingling in the living room to watch the football game. cheers and groans emanating from uncles as you and ony stand side by side in the kitchen fixing up the last dish for the table. you’re flirting more, leaving teasing touches as you work. sipping wine with your parents before they dispersed into another part of the house. the smell of apple pie baking in the oven, the slight buzz from the wine, and the warmth of everyone together makes him feel special. it felt intimate being here with you on such a special day. onyankopon turns to face you, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that makes your face hot. unfortunately, something you won’t be able to change. 

"can i ask you something?"

you pause mid-chop, turning to face him fully. his proximity makes you acutely aware of the space between you, the heat radiating off his body.

"sure, what's up?" your voice is a little softer than usual, butterflies in your stomach. 

the kitchen had long cleared out, occasional bodies flowing in and out to dig in the fridge after waiting impatiently for food, but the way he stared at you made you feel like it was just the two of you. the abrupt sensation of his fingers caressing your cheek stuns you, his face inching closer while carefully observing the surroundings, flickering his eyes back to yours. 

“ony?” 

“i really like you,” the admission burns your stomach, his full lips brushing amongst yours erotically slow, damn near kissing you. it feels somewhat inappropriate given your family was around, but he kept it cute. he intakes air, sucking in your own before speaking again. “my parents gave me the keys to this cabin for my birthday. my dad has some kind of partnership with this guy or whatever. i want you to spend the weekend with me.” 

the intensity of the moment makes you swallow. he’s so close to your face it makes you scared to back away. luckily, no one’s around. you could hear your own heart pound. hesitation sits in your chest. it sounds romantic, and of course you like him too, but a man asking you to come to a cabin in the woods with him seems a little . . scary? or maybe you’re being dramatic.

“u-uh, um . . a cabin? in the woods? i watch a lot of crime documentaries, mister,” you whispered, threatening jokingly to ignore the way he was making you feel.

he bursts out laughing at your comment, immediately putting you at ease. “pretty, i would never. you don’t have to say yes right away. i just thought it’d be a good way for us to spend more time together. have that low-key birthday i wanted. i promise i have no ulterior motive. scouts honor.” 

you nod, biting your lip and cocking your head back to catch your breath. “yeah, i’ll think on it.”

“okay,” he pressed his forehead to yours, noticing you were deliberately trying to move back. “your mood changed. what you thinkin’, ma?” 

“thought you were g’na kiss me,” you admit, picking at the hem of your dress.

“you want me to kiss you? i was waitin’ on you,” ony replies slyly, licking his lips. 

a thumb comes up to trace the line of your jaw before he’s finally pressing his full lips to yours, and it’s deep. jaw locking and bottom lip falling to catch your own in a passionate, slow kiss. your hips prickle with heat the instant his hand goes to squeeze you there, ony breathing you in while covering your mouth with his. he’s inhaling the air from you, your hand coming up to cup his jaw to pull him away, the disconnect leaving both of you breathless. he licks your gloss off his lips with a clench of his jaw and dilated pupils. 

“hey, what y'all doin’ in here?” your mother's voice interrupts, ony pulling away to hide the smirk on his face. 

you step back, trying to compose yourself as your mother enters the kitchen. momentarily, you're at a loss for words. you offer a casual shrug. “just chatting, mom. nothing too serious.”

she observes the two of you, squinting her eyes knowingly. “unh huh. my pasta salad done?”

“yes ma’am. i’ll pop it in the fridge right now,” onyankopon speaks up, holding up the huge serving bowl proudly. 

“aweee, such a sweetie bean,” she coed. you roll your eyes. “we can start gathering to eat. g’na say a prayer then dig in ‘cause i’m starving and my body hurt.”

you and ony share a glance before he bumps your shoulder, laughing in sync.

dinner goes more than well. your entire family adored ony, and it put this feeling in your chest that goes far beyond just a crush. everyone crowds the long dining table, passing food while conversing and laughing. he felt comfortable, and more than anything, safe. sitting next to you, he holds your hand under the table, and after everyone’s tummies are full, leftovers are taken and goodbyes are said, that’s when you and ony find yourselves sitting peacefully on a hammock out back to watch the stars. 

“i’d love to come to the cabin with you.” 

and just like that, the next day hits, and he’s pulling up to your house in his black jeep wrangler waiting for you to come out. when he sees you, his chest warms up like clockwork, your nike duffle bag packed heavy as you wave excitedly, comfortably dressed in a blood-red tube top, gray sweatpants, uggs, and a black hoodie. the weather wasn't too bad today, warm enough for you to only hold your coat. onyankopon hops out of the car to properly greet you, his brooding body in a simple black crewneck, sweats, and a matching hoodie. 

“hi, pretty. you look gorgeous,” he lowers his head to kiss your cheek, taking your bag from you to carry to the truck. 

you giggle, raising your brow. “in sweats ‘n oversized clothing?” 

“your face is everything i need to see, mama.” 

you smile. “you love to call me that.” 

“you don’t like it? i can stop,” he says seriously.

“no, i love it. it’s very endearing.” 

“mhm. c’mon, the cabin awaits!” ony exclaims, following you to the vehicle to hold open the door for you. 

you slide into the passenger seat, feeling the supple leather conform to your body as you buckle up, the scent of black ice engulfing the truck. after tossing your bag in the backseat, he settles in beside you, giving you a wink as you giggle and kick your feet together.

“ready?” he asks. 

“ready.” 

the anticipation builds with each passing mile, the promise of a romantic escape bubbling in your stomach. the woods are dense, driving further away from civilization. hold on by the internet plays quietly from the car's speaker, air blowing in from the tiny cracks of the window. the scent he gives makes you sink comfortably into your spot, seat pulled back with your knees to your chest and a book on your lap as your soothing voice reads sentences aloud to him, his interest in the african mythology cultivating. 

"keep going," he urges, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he navigates the winding roads. the rhythmic cadence of your voice is like music to his ears, and he relishes every syllable spoken, available hand gripping onto your thigh. 

the ride carries on for almost two hours, and the tranquility of each other's presence is palpable. as he reaches the top of the hill, ony kills the engine, sitting back into his seat while the two of you admire the area. it’s quaint, trees enveloping the dark oak cabin, the sun painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. the cabin's exterior exudes rustic charm, but the inside is sleek and modern. polished hardwood floors, a small kitchen, a two-seat table, and a large window that overlooks the surrounding forest with a queen-sized bed pushed up against it. there's a walk-in rainfall shower with multiple jets, and a fire pit directly outside where you were dying to make s’mores. it’s like a mini home, and you both loved it. 

the night air is crisp and cool, carrying the scent of pine and wood smoke as you lounge on the outside chairs, firelight dancing across your faces. after settling in, the two of you ran to a small grocery store in town to get a few things ony could throw on the grill. seasoning the burgers and chicken skewers together before playing music from your speaker and watching him work. he sips a beer, a few specks of sweat on his forehead but luckily as it got dark, the coolness dried them away. 

“y’know, i always think about the possibility of being mauled by wolves when i come up here.”

stopping from taking a sip out of your drink, you stare blankly at him. “now why the hell would you put that in my head.”

“my bad, my intrusive thoughts got to me. i promise there aren’t any around here. it gives real forks washington vibes up here.”

“not a twilight reference,” you giggle. “you don’t give me someone who’s into stuff like that.”

“whatttt, girl bye. team jacob all the way,” he playfully sways his hand, cracking a smile from your outburst of a laugh, playfully pushing at his arm.

the weather began to grow colder, onyankopon noticing the sluggishness in your tone as you speak, eyes low meaning it was time for bed. he let’s you head inside while he tidied up, the tranquility of you snuggled up in bed closest to the window sprawled out as he quietly cleans the dishes makes him smile. not long after he brushes his teeth and cuts off all the lights, he slides into the bed beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and snuggling his face within the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as you snore lightly.

as the morning approaches, the two of you awaken to find yourselves entwined with one another. legs tangled and skin close to skin. the morning light filters through the glass window, casting a soft glow over the entire cabin and your bodies. you softly mewl, not wanting to move an inch, savoring the comforting scent of his body and the warmth of his pressed against yours.

the two of you lay in bed for another hour, occasionally in and out of sleep before onyankopon makes a suggestion of starting the day with a hike to enjoy the nature. after getting ready and dressing comfortably, the two of you stroll along the winding trail, the path following through dense forests, trees filtering some of the sunlight and casting dappled shadows on the ground beneath your feet.

the silence is comfortable, punctuated only by the rustling of leaves and the distant call of birds as onyankopon holds your hand in his, swinging your arms and giggling like lovesick teenagers. as the trees thin out, then reveals a sparkling lake in the distance. you gasp at the sight of a waterfall beating down on rocks, the lake flowing heavily. it feels just like a disney film.

you’ve noticed something about ony. he was extremely affectionate in ways of kisses and hugs, currently holding your face within his palms to press his lips to yours, the soothing sound of the waterfall in the background making this all perfect. outside of that, he wasn’t super physical in terms of intimate touch. from his end, he’s afraid to do anything that would perceive him differently. he genuinely enjoyed your company, your personality, and you overall. physical intimacy was the last thing on his mind, but you wanted that from him including everything else. part of you didn’t want to blatantly say it, more so wanting him to make the first move so you could feel that pull from him.

he breaks away from the kiss, staring at your face intensely for a few seconds, wondering what’s on his mind. clearing his throat he says, “let’s go make some breakfast.”

after a nice breakfast of classic scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and home fries, you spend the afternoon engaging in cute activities such as painting. you’d brought some of your crafts figuring it’d be a nice way to connect more. a paint and sip date. your playlist titled cocoa butter streams out of your speaker, playing mellow rnb tunes while you sip on stella rose and unwind. this was what he needed. he feels like he spent so much time thinking toxicity was necessary in a relationship to keep it alive. but being in this moment with you, coloring with crayons in a spider-man book while you paint on construction paper, listening to music and yapping about whatever — he felt happy.

ony finishes a random portrait he drew after getting tired of the coloring book, drawing you a giant pink heart with vines and roses, sliding it towards you shyly, and hiding his face. you laugh at his reaction, praising him for how good it looks and giving him a kiss on the cheek, telling him you’d admire it forever, even frame it.

hours slip by unnoticed, the two of you now standing side by side in the small kitchen to cook dinner. you decided on something simple; ribeye steak and broccolini. a voice in your head tells you to make ony feel more at ease with you, even if he did. caressing his arm as he sears the steaks, resting your head on the hollow of his back and chatting. you even guide him to grab your waist as you prepare a chimichurri sauce to pour over the steak. little things to give him a sign that it was okay.

once the night began to die down, ony opted to clean up since check out was in the morning. as he tidied up, you decided to take a shower to wash off the steak smell and grease on your clothing and skin. classic oldies still play lowly from your speaker, finding himself humming along to ‘good luck charm’ by jagged edge as he wipes down the stove with cleaner. ony turns his head when he hears a thud, a silent cuss, and a painful whine from you following.

he raised his head in curiosity, wanting to make sure you were okay. “aye, you good?”

he didn’t mean to push the door further open given it was cracked to make sure the bathroom wouldn’t fully fog up. but his elbow hits the door and he catches a glimpse of your entire figure. hot steam illuminating your skin and swirling around you like a mystical aura, water enhancing the pigment of your skin.

“ah, shit . . my fault. sorry,” he stumbles out, ducking his head to block his view of you.

“it’s okay!” you softly announced. “just dropped my bar, it hit my toe but i'm okay!”

“coo’, coo’. ”

clearing his throat, he closes the door to give you privacy, rubbing the back of his neck before tossing his head back and sighing. instead of letting his mind run, he jerks his attention back to the task at hand, tidying up the rest of the area. once the cabin is spotless, onyankopon gets comfortable in bed, waiting for you to finish in the bathroom so he can have his turn. when you exit, the room is filled with an awkward silence, the noticeable tension palpable.

ony catches you standing at the doorway, only dressed in one of his shirts. he’s lying on his back in the bed, legs spread as he holds the mythology book in his hands. turning to face you, he looks at you curiously, the sudden darkness in your eyes making his dick ache. he lays the open book flat on his chest, eyes never leaving yours. 

“what’s wrong?” ony asks, but your silence remains, biting at your lip before glancing at his toned v-line. only one thing on your mind. “talk to me, mama.” 

swallowing, you fold your arms in front of you, toes indented atop your other foot.  “i . . noticed you haven’t really touched me the way i want you to.”

you didn’t mean to say it with insecurity, having this stupid feeling that he didn’t want you in a way you thought he did. obviously that wasn’t true, you just needed him to physically be infatuated with you.

ony sits up, confusion etched into his features, immediately attending to your needs. his hands resting on his knees as he looks at you intently. "i’m sorry if it came off like that. i just didn’t want you to think of me that way. like, i didn’t want you to think that’s the only reason i wanted to bring you up here.”

“oh . . .” you bite your lip, feeling a mixture of relief and higher attraction. “that’s sweet of you, i appreciate you for being a gentleman. i don’t know, i had this stupid thought that maybe you were holding back because. . well, because you weren't sexually attracted to me." you admit quietly, chest tightening at the possibility.

the look on his face looks painful, like he was in disbelief that you could even say such a thing. ony stands immediately, the quickness almost scaring you as he approaches you with an intense demeanor. glaring up at his towering figure, you gasp when he backs you up against the wall, his nose molding to yours.

"never that.”

ony inhales sharply, your scent intoxicating him. he brushes his lips against your earlobe as he whispers, "i am so fuckin' attracted to you,” his hands roam around your hips, fingers softly indenting in the soft flesh covered by fabric. his touch makes your face heat up and the throb between your thighs worse, his lips trailing down to hover over your own. "i was scared, yeah, but not because i don't want you. it's ‘cause i want you too fuckin’ much."

mewling, you drunkenly press your chest to his, your horniness on top of the few glasses of wine in your system craving him horribly. it’s bad the thoughts you’ve been having. his knee finds its way between your legs where you press yourself down slightly, dragging your hand to grip the back of his neck and he copies by doing the same.

“i w’na fuck you,” you mumble against his lips, kissing him gently, the soft peck growing rougher when you go for another one and this time it sounds wet. “you w’na fuck me too?”

ony grunts, his fingers digging into your hips harder as he grinds himself against your stomach. “fuck yes, mama. ima show you how bad i want you.”

finally, he captures your mouth in a kiss, lips smacking with greedy attention. moaning into each other's mouths in heat, your shirt raising high as his hands smooth along your body, aching to touch the softness of your skin. rubbing the sides of your thighs before sliding them to your ass where he gropes and spanks you, a sound you’ve never made before falling from you when his fingers spread your ass cheeks apart with a bit of your pussy.

groaning in your mouth, he goes to grab your wrists and pins them above your head, raising you higher to grind his hips against your pussy, feeling the outline of him in his sweats. ony kisses your neck, open mouthed and following with tongue after gently nipping at your skin with his teeth. you feel like you’re going to faint from how aroused you were.

he breaks his mouth away after a few minutes, gazing down at you with lust-filled eyes. "gotta get you naked, mama. need to feel that pussy on me.”

with a swift motion, he drags the shirt you wear above your chest, maintaining the grip he has on your wrists, his gaze devouring every inch of your curves.

“fuck,” he utters, groaning before opening his mouth to lick and suck at your tits, gasping and grinding as you push yourself closer to him. each suck is lewd, loud in the quiet space, pulling your areolas into his mouth and sliding his tongue between the valley.

his mouth comes back to your neck, kissing once more before he’s fully pulling off the fabric so you’re completely bare. picking you up, he carries you towards the bed, giggling as he lays you onto the plush mattress, instantly bending you over and rubbing his hands over your ass after climbing behind you. reaching under your left thigh with his forearm, he drags your body on the bed so you’re facing the headboard, pressing the dip of your back further down, clothed dick against your core.

“can you show her to me, baby?” ony whispers, licking his lips as he lowers his face, your back arching and ass high up. his palm lands on it, a whimper flowing from you, expressing a needy pout on your lips.

“mm hm,” you nod, goosebumps on your skin. his voice makes your clit throb harder.

onyankopon inhales sharply as your hand reaches under yourself to spread your folds apart with two of your fingers, pussy drenched and waiting for his mouth to eat it. your hips stir in desperation as you rub at your clit, waiting for him to hurry. his jaw clenches, humming to himself as the ache in his dick grows painful, leveling his face and covering your pussy with his mouth. your hand drops, ony resting his wrist in your palm you grip as your mouth falls open. brows furrowed, he grunts and drags his tongue along your slit, savoring your taste as your wetness sticks to your thighs like honey. the vibrations from his throat causes you to clench, shakily moaning and softly rocking your ass back on his face, the scratch of his facial hair making you wetter.

"ony, shitt,” you moan, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he devours you. "like that, baby.”

he’s leaving heavy licks and targeted flicks against your clit, his nose nudges your perineum, suckling your folds into his mouth before grunting and digging for your nub, flattening his tongue and rocking his head up and down along with each of your movements. moans break out in shudders, ony trailing his free hand to slowly spank you in iterations, juices coating his chin, your voice getting louder.

“ooh, fuck mama. that’s what you needed, right? you like my tongue?” the harsh licks of ony’s tongue urges your toes to curl, throwing your ass back on his face in a quicker pace, thighs shaking violently.

“unh h-huh, baby — yess.”

"you taste so muhfuckin’ good," he growls, his breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. "love having this pretty pussy in my fuckin’ mouth."

you cry out in ecstasy, hips bucking wildly as ony dips his tongue inside you relentlessly. your shoulders fall into the bed as you reach back to grab the top of his head, soft textured waves on your palm as you pull him deeper into your heat. combinations of squeals and whines spewing as he curls it within you while kissing your folds with his thick lips. "f-fuck, ony! t-there, oh my god don’t — mmgh stop!"

“stop?” he hums condescendingly, spanking you again. now he’s reaching under to lock his forearms on your thighs and lifting you up so you’re sitting on his face while he raises up on his knees.

“n-noo,” fisting the sheets, your mouth remains open as he lifts you like a dumbbell at the gym and rocks you up and down on his face, your slickness mixed with his salvia trailing down your mound to the pudge of your tummy. “ony. you eat it so good. s’too good.”

“ooh, you my bad girl,” ony hissed, landing a hard smack on your ass again, sliding his tongue over your puckered hole, refusing to miss a spot tasting you. “you turn me on so much you bad fuckin’ girl.”

he’s almost got you in a full sixty-nine position, your stomach touching the abs on his body, the heat radiating onto you. you grab his thigh, the blood rushing to your head and you feel yourself getting dizzy.

“onya,” whimpering, you crawl forward so you can breathe, escaping his aggressive hold on you, not wanting you to move but allowing you to.

“come taste it off me.”

his love taps on your thigh ease you, flipping yourself onto your back to pick yourself up. you crawl to him, eyes low and kissing his stomach, working your way up to his neck and then his mouth, molding his lips with yours. moaning, you suck on his lips greedily, taking your hands to tug down his sweats on either side of his hips, gasping when his dick smacks his thigh. you break the kiss, his eyes damn near shut as he glares at you, keeping back a grin as you stare in between where you meet to see the heavy girth of his dick. it’s curved downwards from the weight of it, two toned at the base and an angry vein wide on the side.

“mmm,” you audibly moan, brows furrowing and lips pouting. it’s obvious how horny you were by the expressions you make.

ony grabs your ass when you don’t waste any time spitting on it from where you stand, hitting his base and taking your hand to spread it over him. twisting your palm around the tip and grabbing his neck with your other hand, watching each other, concentrating on the noise of you stroking his dick.

“spit on it,” you plead softly, lips kissing his, biting his bottom.

the stir in his stomach is something he hadn’t felt in a while, finding himself obeying you, lowering his head slightly to spit over his own dick, covering your fingers and pumping your fist faster. your hand instinctively tightens around his neck when he latched his mouth on yours, biting at the flesh and dragging his tongue along your skin. you pull him in, moaning in his ear while he moans on your neck. his tongue is fat, tracing every inch of your skin with noises erupting deep within his throat, kissing and sucking and it makes you insanely wet.

“lemme beat that pussy, ꒰♡꒱. lemme take it.”

the eye contact is deadly, ony growing impatient and pining you on your back. with your head nestled between full feathered pillows, you raise your knees to your chest without help, opening yourself to him and dragging your acrylics down the front of his muscular thighs after he tosses his sweatpants fully off.

ony goes to grab behind your neck, pressing his mouth to yours once more, tapping the head of his dick on your clit a few times before rubbing it against your folds and ever so slowly sinking into you. both of you gasp in sync, ony keeping his hand around the base as he thrusts steadily to let you adjust. he’s pushing in halfway before pulling out and slipping in further. removing his hand, he groans with his head tossed back. locking his hand on the back of your left knee to fully pin your leg to the bed, your stomach caving in from the fullness he gives you, biting your lip hard.

“talk to me, lemme know when it’s safe.”

you can tell he’s trying to hold back, pushing his hips forward till they’re touching yours. you whine pathetically, feeling so good just from minimal strokes. your pussy flutters around him with praise, watching him disappear entirely inside of you and come back out coated in your arousal.

“i’m good,” pawing at his chest, you silently beg for him to bring his body closer, needing his skin on yours.

ony rests his chest on yours, noses mushed together as he locks your smaller frame beneath him, the hand behind your neck now clasping your throat where blushes of purple begin to form. the pretty waves of your pixie cut grows disheveled from this heat that you go into when he starts fucking you rough. the nasty slosh of your pussy drenching his dick in the quiet cabin. only mellow music playing and the disgusting grunts and filthy moans you equally make in each others faces.

ony’s hips smack into yours relentlessly, his jaw wide as he breathlessly grunts while pressing his forehead to yours. squeezing his eyes shut while yours weakly fail to stay open, drunk on his dick as he fucks you harder the louder you get.

“f-fuck, onyaa, shitt. feel so good.”

“ooh, it does for me too. shit, it does for me too,” his voice cracks, a throaty hum he releases vibrating against your chest.

“your dick is s-so . . . big,” you cry out, voice becoming unrecognizable from how broken it is. every pound makes you vocally recite, its needy, and its sexy as fuck. ony can’t bare to hear it, fearing he’d bust too quickly from how you sound alone.

“shit, girl,” ony shakily inhales before laying his palm over your mouth to muffle you, his eyes scrolling into the back of his skull as he balanced himself on the tips of his toes and drives his dick into you harder. “ugh, fuuck, fuck fuck.”

screaming in his palm, you somehow get so loud it didn’t matter if he gagged you quiet. your tongue lolls out on his hand, eyes crossed and breathing heavily. you hold on to his arm, chest bouncing from every hard hit, sticky skin clapping and the feeling of ony in your stomach completely fogs up your brain.

“sloppy ass fuckin’ pussy. pretty ass face, too baby. fuck, gimme this shit. shit talkin’ to me ‘n takin’ my dick so good.”

turning your head to the side, you break away from his palm on your mouth, collecting air in harsh pants and crying out his name in long streams.

“say that shit again, ma’.”

sniffling, you claw at his strong waist, helping him fuck you by yanking him forward, curling your toes and straightening your legs so your pussy clamps tighter around him when they nearly reconnect.

“onyaaa.”

“mm hmm. atta girl.”

keeping your legs to your stomach, they bury the sight of your face, onyankapon entwining his fingers on top of your head that he cradles, holding your face to his chest as he fucks you harder. he sounds ridiculously sexy, growling in the air as you hold the back of his thighs and jerk beneath him from the intensity of his aggression. grinding his dick in you, pressing on the spongy spot deep inside and you can instantly feel the warmth of nearing your orgasm.

“c-cumminn’, ony . . . fuck.”

“cum on this dick, mama. get it all over me.”

it was by far the most intense orgasm you’ve had in your entire life. the aggressive pulse on your clit as you cum, tightening on his dick which he feels it all. the broken symphonies of whines streaming along with pleasurable sobs. it felt so goddamn good.

“good girl, you so pretty when you cum.”

the drunken smile on your face makes ony smile back, kissing your forehead before lifting himself off of you. inhaling, he regains his composure, lifting your ankle to kiss before he’s turning you on your stomach and shoving a pillow under to toot you up at a good angle.

you manage to snort when he kisses the back of your neck, feeling ticklish. his kisses follow down the path of your spine, the tingles in your hips and chest arise again, grinding your ass back when his mouth finds its way there again. nipping at your ass cheeks gently with his teeth. “love all of you, baby. hold that pretty ass open for me.”

“yes, baby.”

the muscles in the back of your shoulders dance as you reach behind yourself to spread your ass apart for him to see, gasping softly when you feel a glob of spit hit your hole and trail down your entrance.

“yeah, keep ‘em there.”

the fat tip of his dick slides it’s way back into you, ony’s brows knitting together as he watches the ring of your cunt grip on him after he pulls back. your black stilettos look good on the pigment of your skin, looking back at him deviously, dark lashes with spikes on the bottom row batting in slow motion it felt like. you kiss your own shoulder, humming elatedly when he begins to fill you up with his whole dick, pouty lips parting to moan softly.

dawn was near, the light in the sky beaming into the glass windows overtime and over your gorgeous figure. his feelings for you grow stronger. he needed you in his life. needed you crying on his dick forever. needed to kiss you all the time and even laugh like idiots. his head was filled with multiple layers of emotions. you could hear the birds chirp outside as ony lifts his body in push-up form to slam into you with all the strength he had left.

your hands stay where they are, body knocking down from every rough, steady, and needy pound. your skin hitting his loudly, ony choking on his moans while you whimper his name.

“g’na fuckin’ . . bust, baby. you want dis’ nut?”

“i want it. do it, ony. i want you.”

“you want me?” he heaves.

“mhm, want you.”

wrapping his forearm around you neck, he drops his weight on you, rutting into you, easing his pace when he finally feels that buildup rush in his abdomen. balls jumping and quickly sliding his dick out to nut over your ass, shooting out in long strings of white up to your backside. onyankopon drags out a grunt, fisting his dick and pumping it to get out every ounce, tightening his palm towards the head and patting your ass with it.

smiling, you drop your arms and bring them to the pillow your head rests on, gripping tight and nuzzling your face into it. ony kisses your cheek, lingering for a few seconds before he’s picking himself up to head to the bathroom to retrieve a warm soapy washcloth. he cleans himself up with a separate one before slipping on his sweats again when he comes back.

you feel the dip in the bed where he sits, his hand on the middle of your back he rubs soothing circles into while proceeding to clean you up with the rag. he took everything out of you, turning your head in his direction to watch him with lazy eyes.

ony clears his throat, smoothing his hand over his waves. “was that . . good for you? you enjoyed it, yeah?”

his anxiousness made you giggle, nodding slowly. “i enjoyed it. yeah. did you?”

“i think i enjoyed it too much,” he admits, swallowing before giving you that serious stare again, wondering what else he had to say. “you were serious about wanting me, like for real?”

you blink, feeling yourself grow extremely tired, but wanting to give him reassurance. “mm hm, i want you.”

and that makes his heart warm, leaning down to kiss your forehead as you try your hardest to fight sleep.

“yeah. i want you too, mama.”

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[w-ony]

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀: •̩̩͙ ໋ ⠀soft user ideas ! ❀᭢᜴꤬⠀

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[thecoochiefairy]

warm bodies. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 10.5K word count. post apocalyptic au! zombie au! original!blackcharacter, southern!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, gruff! onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, size kink, black woman, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, aggressive talk, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, sensual sex, condomless sex, missionary, sensual doggy style, kissing, spanking, violence between two characters, violence in general, gore, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ idk? i just wanted to do something different. i think i liked it? i also kept humming sucker for pain for some reason. let’s hope y’all do too. oh! for reference, pronunciation of name in this fic is sah—faye—yah. aight, teehee. bye.

visual. visual. visual.

FUCK. THAT’S ALL SHE COULD THINK AS HER FINGERS CLASPED THE GRIP OF HER PISTOL, continuously tapping at the magazine in hoping that it’d work again. She digs her boot deeper into the dirt of the ground, flicking her index on the trigger three more times—nothing.

“Fuck,” she actually sneers out loud, tossing the weapon against the ground, entirely frustrated after standing there for almost thirty minutes. She didn’t have time to be in one place—she had to move. 

Traveling through the wastelands of the French Quarter almost felt like a reward at this moment. She’d been moving for ten days—two-hundred and sixty hours to be exact—but she never expected it to be that simple walking on foot back into her home of New Orleans. Her arms ached from continuously pulling herself over fences, her legs throbbed from squatting down from the sight of others—whether that was guards of the Embassy, other Rouges, or even worse—Hollows. 

Empty, a missing soul, no pulse. The mutilation of their skin appeared a dull grey, deepening with every step, every snarl of their jaw, every bite of their teeth. Their limbs dragged through the city, groaning as they searched for their next victim—she just hoped it would never be her. 

But there was something she might’ve had in common with them—her fingers were sticky, able to get her palms on anything she needed—desired—food, money, weapons—it nearly made her smile at the sight of confused expressions when their items went missing, and she was already onto her next part of the city. 

But this time around—she might’ve made the wrong decision. 

Her eyes glanced up to the sky, seeing the mixture of pink and orange hues clinging to one another as a sign of the sun being tugged away by the moon. 

Close to nightfall. 

She adjusts the tactical slung across her shoulder and hip, the material swaying with each step of her curved frame—shredded flags hung from discolored buildings, molded beads sunken under the murky waters along the ground. The sight is nearly a leeway to a neighborhood—she stops.

Maybe she was just lucky. Maybe she wasn’t. Her eyes peer over a gated house—no, a castle of sorts. 

A once majestic Southern mansion, now a fortress. A wrought chained fence surrounds the perimeter, punctuated by razor wires atop the high stone walls and a sturdy wooden gate being the only entry point. A faint glow emerges from the cracked windows to show a sense of humanity—yet an ominous silence permeates the area.

She’s quick to move. Her fingers sting as she climbs along the metal, grunting as makes it to the curve of the barbed wire—she feels a light sting on her thigh, dropping down with the hold of her backpack still within her clutched palm. The light she’d taken attention to earlier shines from a window towards the back of the home, wood covering atop of it to block entryway. Of course, this looked like green signs pointing to come in for her. 

She’s quieter than before, taking soft steps towards the window—her eyes fixated through the dirtied glass to get any signs of lifeform—but it’s only a singular candle flickering against the wall. 

She pulls her head back, digging her fingers down and slowly pulling up to crack the window—it opens without much struggle. Using the ledge of the window to hoist herself in, she drops herself down to the wooden ground a few feet below. It was nicer than she’d presume—a golden mirror from across the bed, more candles planted across the vintage dresser, but that’s when her eyes halted. Snacks, jewelry, weapons everywhere—she was like a kid in a candy store. 

The clicking of her flashlight echoes throughout the room as she rummages through the drawers, throwing aside useless items in search for something more—satisfying. She throws her hand into the drawer, pulling out a gold watch that shined along the candles flame. She holds it up to the light, admiring the piece of jewelry in the mirror—a small smirk appears on her face. 

But that succession didn’t last long.

The smile on her face might’ve been wiped off. Not literally, but the weight of metal connecting to her skull might’ve had her entire body freeze.

“I suggest you move when I say move— unless you want this bullet in the back of yo’ skull.”

It was the baritone voice of a man; it was low, stern. His finger pressed tightly on the trigger.

“Turn.” 

She doesn’t move. After the metal pushes further into her curls, she slowly turns on her left side, keeping her arms at her sides—that’s when she meets his face.

His form was big, broad-shouldered and muscular, to the extent his bicep flexed with the tension of the weapon, dirt smeared muscle tee hugging his sculpted abdomen. He was intimidating—the furrow of his thick eyebrows narrowed down like his eyes—his brown skin glows beneath the candles within the room, cornrows tight and neat despite the jagged energy he carried. Tattoos cascade his body, never stopping until they reach his cheek—a cross beneath his right eye.

She didn’t have time to be gawking. 

So, she swipes the weapon out of his palm as she reaches for her pistol, the other hand gripping his arm as she attempts to twist it behind his back—of course, that didn’t work in her favor.

His palm latches around her neck and forces her body to the ground. He uses one hand to keep her throat in place, using the other to rip the handgun away from her grip. Fingers dig into the crevasses of her throat. 

She grunts, “Let go of me!—“ 

He tightens his grip, “Or what? You finna’ call yo’ people?” 

Click on the side of her temple.

“You gon’ give me a reason why I shouldn’t pull this shit?” 

His strength irritated her. So she does what she can—she spits in his face. 

“Fuck you.”

“Yo’, Ony—What’s going on?—“

Footsteps come trampling down the hallway—That’s when they all see the scene in front of them. More guns now point in her direction—but a pair of feminine eyes outside of the three men within the room question, “Onyankopon, what the hell are you doing?!” 

“This one’s Rouge.”

She was pretty. The woman that spoke before takes softer steps into the room, her grip loosening on her handgun. Her hair was braided similarly in cornrows, brown skin and full lips glowing under the lights—a baby was strapped to her chest.

“Onyankopon, get off of her.”

The woman comes closer, “Are you alright?”

“Fuck off,” she spits in return, eyes narrowing as the man’s strength doesn’t let up.

The woman takes another step closer, the other two men following closely—a dark-skinned man with an unbuttoned shirt, followed by a lighter skinned man with glasses and a buttoned-up tee. 

The lighter man spoke, “Onyankopon, bro—get off of her, she’s not a threat—“

“You finna’ act stupid?” his deep voice cuts off, “Youn’ see what’s in her hand?”

His free hand grips her wrist, forcing the girl to open up her clenched fist—the watch. 

They all stare. 

That’s when the dark skinned man speaks up, “Nigga, c’mon—“ 

“She coulda’ been bit.”

“You gon’ give her the opportunity to tell us that?” the lighter skin man counters.

A slight frown rests on the woman’s face, “Onyankopon—just let her explain herself, please?” 

A couple of seconds pass—Onyankopon slowly releases her throat from his palm. She immediately yanks at the gun in his other hand, pointing it at all four people staring at her. Her fingers tremble a bit, but she doesn’t loosen her hold nonetheless.

“We’ not tryna’ hurt you, aight?” the darker man speaks up, “You gon’ tell us why you broke in?” 

She doesn’t answer, just letting her eyes shift to the woman’s again—she was the most calm, even with a gun pointed at her. 

“You’re bleeding.”

The girl's eyes fall to her own body—that’s when she sees the gash at the top of her thigh, the olive green of her shorts oxidizing a dark hue from the blood. Her head flicks back up, adjusting her fingers along the weapon as the woman questions, “Were you bit?” 

She waits for a second.

“No,” she attempts for her voice to carry, “Cut myself climbing over the fence.” 

The dark skinned man takes another step forward—her fingers tighten, “Stay back—“

“She was a nurse,” he raises his hands in defense, “She just wants to help you.” 

“Put the gun down,” the light skinned man orders, his voice deep and calm. He holds his hand out, waiting for it.

“What group are you with?” The man, Onyankopon, questions. His entire body is still tense. 

“I don’t have one,” she answers, voice pensive.

The baby coos within the woman’s hands—she frowns, “You’re actually Rouge?” 

They stared at one another. 

“How long ‘you been alone?” 

Onyankopon’s questions are aggravated. There’s a silence in the room—her fingers twitch on the piece of metal as the woman speaks again. 

“We can help you—“ 

“I don’t need help.” 

“So what are you gonna’ do? Bleed out?” 

Those words lay heavy on her chest.

That’s when Onyankopon’s low voice questions, “What y’all tryna’ talk her into? We needa’ be takin’ her to the Embassy.”  

“I’m not going to the Embassy.” 

The woman frowns, “Even if we wanted to do that, we can’t. The suns going down.”

“And?”

“Hollows are everywhere, Onyankopon.” 

“And,” the dark skinned man interrupts, “We have no idea where the Embassy even is. She’ll be more useful here than—“ 

“Useful? For all you know she coulda’ been bit!—“

“I already told you I wasn’t,” she snaps. Her eyes flick to everyone in the room—the silence speaks louder than her words. 

That’s when the woman continues, “Are you hungry?” 

She’s hesitant to answer. She is hungry, but she wasn’t going to tell a group of strangers that. 

Her finger falls from the trigger of the weapon slightly, her shoulders beginning to slump as the woman questions again, “Can you just—please let me treat you? I can’t imagine it’s been easy on your own—being Rouge.” 

“She been’ alone this entire time. She’ll be fine.” 

“Onyankopon—that’s enough,” the man with glasses calls, his eyes narrowing on him. 

He turns back to the girl with an assuring voice, “She’s right. It’d be better for you here.”

Still, she doesn’t reply. 

“Please,” the woman repeats, “If you need somewhere to sleep, just—stay for the night, alright? And when the sun rises, you can go—okay?” 

The room was quiet. They waited in anticipation—that’s when she takes in a deep breath, a slow nod in response, and she drops the gun from her hands, kicking it in the direction of the man that attacked her.

His face remained stone like. She could feel his glare burning at her, but she was too invested in the woman moving closer with a soft, faint smile. 

She turns to the dark skinned man, “Elijah, go get me the first-aid kit,” her eyes flicker to the man next to him, “Theo—grab some towels from the upstairs bathroom.”

They both nod, turning to leave the room.

She takes another step, “I’m Emery—your name is?”

She looks unsure about answering.

”Sahfeya.”

Emery grins, “Yeah? That’s pretty.” 

She lowers herself to meet Sahfeya’s body, unstrapping the baby off the front of her—Emery questions, “Hey—Ony? You mind taking Aaila to the living room?”

Onyankopon’s broad stature towered her as he slowly bent over to take the young infant into his arms, the same hand that once held a gun to Sahfeya’s head now securing Aaila’s body. 

He leaves the room silently—but not before giving one more look to her. 

“Alright,” Emery exhales, “Let me take a look, yeah?” 

Sahfeya nods, her body tense—at this very moment she feels the pinch of her injury—She sucks in a breath, mindlessly clutching the hand Emery. 

She mutters, “Sorry.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ve seen worse reactions in my time.” 

The alcohol from the wipes sting the cut on her thigh—a harsh huff comes from Sahfeya’s mouth.

“So,” Emery distracts her, “How long have you been traveling?” 

Sahfeya breathes deeply, “Two months now.”

Emery is quick, already working on the cut along her thigh as she murmurs, “You’re brave—I’d be too scared to take New Orleans on my own.” 

That’s when Elijah peeks his head back in, “You good? Need anything else from me?”

“Wound isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. Thank you, baby,” she mumbles, not looking up from the work she’s doing. 

Sahfeya stares at him for a moment—he warmly grins, making his way out of the room. 

“The other guy—Onyankopon—he’s not your…um…”

“Boyfriend?” 

Emery shakes her head.

“Absolutely not,” she releases a small chuckle, “He’s my older brother, actually. Elijah’s my husband. Theo is Onyankopon’s best friend.” 

She wraps the bandage around Sahfeya’s thigh, the girl letting her eyes follow the work of her hands. 

Emery pauses, “You’re also bleeding on the side of your neck—did my brother do that?”

Sahfeya’s fingers slowly go over her neck, feeling the light cut on her flesh. She shrugs, “I’m not sure. I uh—spit on him, so it wouldn’t surprise me if it was.”

She smiles.

“You’re a ballsy one, huh?”

Sahfeya faintly smiles. Her face falls quickly as the alcohol wipes along her neck, the smaller wound stinging more than the bigger one. 

She softly questions, “How old is your baby?”

“She’s six months,” Emery hums, using the gauze in her palm to dab the blood away. 

Another faint laugh releases, “She’s a big baby, though. I blame Onyankopon—he makes sure to hunt the ends of the earth for baby food.”

Sahfeya hums dryly, “He seems nice.” 

“He can be an ass—but he’s just protective,” she mutters quietly, smiling, “I know that can be hard to believe since you literally just got a gun pulled out on you, but—he means well.” 

Emery then sighs, “You’re all patched up,” she gives a pat to her thigh, “Anything else you need me to look at?”

“No.” 

“Okay,” she doesn’t press it; it’s clear Sahfeya needs a moment to breathe, “You can rest awhile, if you need it. We have a guest bed near the living room—I don’t suggest sleeping in here—this is my brother's room,” she lightly jokes, standing from the floor as she dusts herself off.

When she makes it towards the door, Sahfeya slowly stands up as she calls, “Emery?”

“Yeah?”

“Um—thank you,” she whispers, “Your kindness—it means a lot.”

Emery gives her a soft smile, “You're welcome.” 

She exits the room, leaving Sahfeya filled with only silence. Her fingers trace along the cuts on her neck, her mind filled with the overwhelming thought of—What now?

She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep. When her eyes peered open, her body laid against a twin sized mattress within the guest bedroom. Sahfeya slowly rose up, glancing around the darkened walls—her eyes frantically searching—but when she looked to the dresser, she saw a bar of soap, two towels, and a change of clothes seated next to her backpack. She sighed. 

The feel of hot water along her skin felt like heaven, her fingers dousing the vanilla scented soap everywhere—her large curls, her freckled cheeks, her curvy frame. 

Emery was unfortunately a little smaller than her, so the pale pink tee she gave her fit like a baby tee, her midriff showing above the sweatpants that didn’t even have much room for her ass—she exhales, the full tresses of her curls already drying back up into full waves passing her lower back. She had to dismiss the embarrassment as bunny slippers—also lended by Emery—squeak down the hallway with each step—when her body turns into the kitchen, the familiar three bodies sit at the table.

 Emery’s lips part to greet her, “Oh good! You’re awake, and the slippers fit you—are you still hungry?”

Sahfeyah just stands in her spot, shifting the shirt down her waist as she shrugs, “A little.” 

“Aaila was a little fussy, so Onyankopon made dinner—is meatloaf okay? We have some other vegetables, too,” she takes a moment to breathe, “We don’t have much variety since supply runs get harder so—hopefully you don’t have any allergies.”

Sahfeya glances at Onyankopon—his wife beater is now clean, the back of his muscles flexing as he stands over the stove. She can feel the irritation coming off his body. 

Her voice is soft, “I’ll manage—um, thank you.”

“You were out cold,” Theo mentions, standing from the table as he asks, “Do you wanna’ sit down?” 

When Onyankopon makes his way over, he nearly tosses the plate in her direction. Sahfeya places her palms on the sides of it, glancing back to Emery who gives an apologetic nod. So instead of taking that plate upside his head, she sits down to eat.

She tries her best not to dive into the food, but she can’t help it—she swallows instead of bites, keeping her head down as everyone Emery, Elijah and Theo talk amongst themselves. She also can’t help her eyes stealing glances at Onyankopon on the end of the table, eyes peering away each time he notices her staring.

She figures she could be—polite. 

“Y’all from here?” 

“Yeah,” Elijah replies, “We moved to New York when we got married—Emery picked up on living up north, that’s why she doesn’t have an accent.”

She pouts at her husband, “I do, too! It’s just not as strong.”

Elijah just chuckles, kissing her temple, “Came back to visit Onyankopon and Theo to introduce them to Aaila—that’s when the world went to shit.” 

“What was left of it, anyways,” Theo hums, leaning back into the chair as he flicks his gaze toward Onyankopon, who was looking between everyone at the table, “But it’s livable here, I guess. What are you doing here?” 

“Theo,” Emery scolds, “You can’t just ask the girl questions like that—”

“It’s fine.”

Sahfeya lowers her fork, wondering exactly how to answer this question—she couldn’t lie—her throat felt a little tight already. 

“I lived out in Mississippi with my best friend before everything happened. The Embassy ordered groups, so we just—stuck with some people we’d grown up with. But then she was—um—bit by a Hollow, and when we learned that there was a cure we planned to travel in hopes of finding the Embassy—the group we were in didn’t think it was safe, and just figured it was easier to kill her. So—“

Her throat feels closed. 

“Sorry—“ she politely stands from her chair, feeling her body beginning to shudder, “Would you—excuse me—“

Sahfeya’s already making her way back into the guest room—she didn’t realize that hearing herself say this out loud was harder than watching it happen. She refused to cry in front of a bunch of strangers. The room was perfectly dark as she raised her eyes to the ceiling, holding her fingers over her face as she took a deep breath, feeling her body trembling as she fought the tears attempting to release. 

Her body then jolts, hearing the sound of the door creaking open—when she looks over to the frame, she sees that familiar tatted figure standing in between. He holds out a pair of sweatpants.

“I know Emery’s clothes a lil’ uncomfortable so—here.” 

Her eyes flick down to the pants, going back up to his eyes. 

She asks, “They’re yours?” 

He stands still in the doorway, his fingers clutching the material a bit tighter, “Mhm.” 

His deep voice is softer than before, but his shoulders are still tense, eyes watching her face in silence.

Sahfeya steps forward as she slowly takes the pair from him. Her voice is equally soft as she replies, “Thanks.” 

He nods at the reply, glancing away as he shoves his palm back into his pocket—his shoulders square back, eyebrows pushing together as he stands a bit taller.

“What was yo’ friend’s name?”

She blinks at the question. 

Her throat returns back to that tightness as she replies, “Samira.”

“Samira,” he repeats slowly, his eyebrows loosening just a bit. 

The silence between them is deafening, and he doesn’t realize she has to look up in order to actually see him—her features were soft, eyes big and vulnerable. 

“I’m sorry about yo’ friend, Sahfeya.” 

She stares and stares, her brain trying to process the words coming out of his mouth. 

”I know what it’s like to lose someone close to you, so—I see why you’ so—you.” 

Sahfeya’s eyebrows raise, “So me?” 

“Independent.” 

She’s never been unsure of herself, but maybe it was the face that belonged to this man. It was intimidating. She could see the way he eyed her body and face—like he was trying to read her. 

That’s when she replies, “I’m a little surprised you sayin’ all that after I spit in your face.”

A ghost of a smile appears on his lips.

“You gon’ apologize?”

Her eyebrow raises, “Is that what you’re looking for?”

“I mean, I did bring you a lil’ peace offering, even wit’ them sticky ass fingers you got.” 

She holds the pants up, “Oh—this equates to putting a gun to my head?” 

“I ain’t put no gun to yo’ head,” he corrects, “Just aimed it at you.”

“Same difference.”

She then takes a breath, realizing she might’ve been in the wrong. 

She sighs, “Look—I’m sorry for spitting on you, okay?” 

“And?” 

“And, what?” 

“And you tryna’ steal from me?” 

“I ain’t know it was your room, Onyankopon. Are you gonna accept my apology or not?” 

His eyes graze over her entire body. 

“It’s aight,” he leaves it at that, “You gon’ come eat the rest of yo’ food?“ 

It seemed like they were two sides of the same coin, unable to be entirely vulnerable with each other. So if this was a step—it was better than nothing. 

“I need to change out of these uncomfortable ass pants—but yeah—I’ll be there.” 

Silence—his eyes watch as she turns around, wrapping her fingers beneath the waistband of her pants. 

Sahfeya’s notices him, eyes narrowing, “You just gon’ stand there?”

Her fingers are still hooked under the pants as she turns back around— he’s gone. 

The sun had risen quicker than she expected it to the next morning. Her body had sunken into the bed, it being a while since she’d known the comforts of an actual duvet. She could hear the faint sound of crying within the kitchen, assuming Aaila was fussing as Emery attempted to feed her. 

But what she didn’t expect was to be woken up as abruptly as she was. Her body jolts when she feels something drop down on her—her eyes fly open, looking down to see her clothes from the day before.

When she looks up, the first thing she sees is Onyankopon—bare, a towel wrapped around his lower body as his deep voice greets, “We don’t sleep through the mornin’ ‘round here.” 

Sahfeya’s eyes narrow, “And what time is it now?” 

“Bout’—eight in the morning,” he tells her, “I washed yo’ clothes.” 

With the natural light coming into the window, she’s able to see him—his features were sharper against the morning, the wetness from the shower leaving his skin glistening. His toned shoulders were wide, the tattoos along his body darker than yesterday. 

Her eyes flicker over him as he’s turned away—her voice soft, distracted—she mindlessly murmurs, “Thank you.” 

“You comin’ shortened our food supply, so we gon’ have to hunt—When we’ outside of the house, you gon’ have to listen to everything I say, aight?

Her eyes are still wandering over his body. Her brain is a bit muddled, “Mhm.” 

He pauses, glancing behind himself to realize she had zoned out. His face remains unfazed, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. 

“Mhm? That’s all you got?” 

Sahfeya blinks. 

 “Yeah—heard you.”

“Don’t take too long, then,” he orders, tattooed back flexing, “We’ goin’ in thirty.”

Her eyes might’ve followed him on the way out. 

Sahfeya walks into the kitchen twenty minutes later, seeing Emery who’s feeding Aaila, Theo and Elijah sitting at the table reloading their weapons. 

“Mornin’,” both men greet her. 

She gives them a soft nod, turning towards Emery who’s— smiling? 

Sahfeya hesitantly greets, “Uh—Good morning?” 

“Good morning,” Emery gives her a small wink, “How’d you sleep?”

“Decent—“ 

Emery’s still smiling. 

Sahfeya raises an eyebrow, “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Emery’s voice is giddy, “I heard you and my brother talked last night.”

“We did.”

“And?” 

“We—“ 

Sahfeya sighed, “We might’ve found some common ground.”

That causes the others at the table to snicker, both Elijah and Theo eyeing one another with the same smirk on their face. 

“Common ground?” Emery questions with a hum, “What kind of ground would that be, exactly?”

She shrugs, “I don’t know—we’re both—prideful, I guess.” 

Her words make them all chuckle again. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Emery attempts to reassure, “He’s actually a big softie.” 

“Major,” Elijah adds.

“Expeditiously,” Theo finalizes.

In that moment, Onyankopon turns into the kitchen—he adjusts the chain he wears, muscle tee hugging his abs he tugs it over his body, camouflage printed cargo pants held by his tactical, hefty boots weighing his feet.

He pauses, eyebrows furrowing. 

“We talkin’ ‘bout me?” 

He’s making his way to the window, eyes narrowing through the blinds.

Emery shakes her head, “Just talking about how we hope you find something good out there.” 

Onyankopon lets out a hum before moving, adjusting the pistol at the back of his pants. It’s quiet, the only audible noises being Aaila’s slight coos. He goes over to his sister, pressing a kiss to her forehead and her baby girls, “You good?” 

Emery nods, “Always. You’ll be careful, right? I’m making beef stew for lunch, so please don’t take too long.”

“You already know.”

Sahfeya’s distracted as she props her finger in front of Emery’s six month old, her dark curls sprawling all the way down to her wide hips—the olive green shorts she wears clings to the fat of her ass, the black long sleeve doing no better as it hugs her upper body, showing her midriff—her nipples might’ve been poking through, too. Her paratrooper boots come up, tying all the way to her knees. Maybe this was the first time Onyankopon caught himself looking at this girl in the sunlight. 

However, he dismisses his own thoughts, “You gon’ sit around with the baby all day, or you gon’ come help a nigga hunt?”

Sahfeya’s eyes were round, attempting to be masked by her naturally long lashes, dark pink lips flushed as her freckled face glanced over to him, “Yeah—Where are we going?”

She notices his face. He was glaring. 

His voice is low, “We gon’ hit the forest nearby. Here,” he goes into the corner, the loud click of his shotgun shifting in his palm as he reaches it out to her.

She wraps her fingers around the weapon, “Uh—What am I supposed to do this? I have a pistol.”

He raises a thick eyebrow, “It’s a shotgun. ‘Can’t kill no Hollows with that lil’ ass pistol you got.”

“It ain’t little,” her nose scrunches, “Just ain’t no shotgun.” 

“You done?” He grunts, “I’m tryna’ be back before the sun goes down.” 

“Are you done?”

“I’m not finna’ keep arguing with you, girl—Let’s go.” 

And with that, the door shuts. 

“Lawd—they gon’ kill each other out there.”

Birds soar above the trees, cawing loudly through the clouds as the sky attempts to clear up above. Sahfeya’s body bends as Onyankopon holds a broken part of the gate open, crouching into a walkway that leads towards the forest. 

Her eyes squint as the sun comes out, “You sure there’s no Hollows back here?”

Onyankopon’s steps are long, he takes one stride to her three. His head cranes behind him, “That’s why it’s called a hunt.”

He’s a few steps ahead of her as the foliage becomes thicker, his tone more serious. 

“You got ammo on that shotgun?”

She’s dragging the weapon as it feels heavy in her fingers. Sahfeya glances down, slowing her steps as he’s still walking, “Uh—maybe?” 

“Yours is a pump action,” he calls back, “Put the end of the shotgun against your shoulder.” 

He continues through the thicket of trees, his voice a hiss, “Load and rack it.”

That’s when Sahfeya fully stops. Her expression is a frown, “You’ must be speakin’ creole or something.”

Onyankopon stops—his head turns back to look at her. He slowly walks, moving to stand just a foot ahead as he snatches the weapon from her hands. 

“How you’ been on yo’ own and can’t even use shit like a shotgun?” 

He begins to load the weapon. His movements are swift, showing that he’s done this an effortless amount of times. 

“Look—“ he leans closer, “You pull this lil’ tab here right before you shoot. If you don’t do it right, you’ll know ‘cause the shit gon’ kick right back and break yo’ face—“

“I thought you said we were hunting for food, we huntin’ Hollows or something?” She cuts him off, curls draping over her shoulder, head tilting in confusion.

She has no time to react before he’s lifting the shotgun—he fires, her body flinching at the boom as he takes a shot a couple feet away from her. 

“You ain’t payin’ attention.” 

“I am!” her face almost goes into a pout, “Why can’t I just have your pistol?”

“Hollows ain’t a joke,” he narrows his eyes, “Yo’ lil’ gun like a damn peashooter. You tryna’ die?”

“You ain’t gon’ protect me while we’ out here? What’s all these muscles for? Cuddling?” 

She reaches for the pistol in the back of his pants, shrieking when she feels her knife suddenly tugged from her shorts, pointed directly at her throat.

“What you gon’ do when another Rouge comes at you tryna’ snatch yo’ ass for everything you got?” 

She huffs, “Why are you playing that scenario now?”

“It ain’t playing,” he places it back in her tactical, “You just ain’t ready.” 

The shotgun was unfortunately back in her hand. She’s still dragging it, “Don’t you think we’re far enough?”

“You think far enough gon’ feed us?” 

The sun shines fully, eyes squinting as he looks back to her, “You want me to catch you—what, a rabbit?” 

It’s more of a mossy pond they come upon—and as if on cue, a bunny goes flying past their feet, taking off further into the trees.

Sahfeya’s shakes her head, “I would hope not—where did Emery get beef from if y’all hunt animals too?”

“We gon’ keep walkin’.”

His boots thud against the soft ground, “People got’ meat,” they come upon a lake—a group of deer slowly drinking from the water, “We trade with ‘em sometimes.”

Sahfeya watches the animals, a soft sigh coming from her lips, “We can’t go trade today?”

He raises the shotgun at her, “Just for that—you get the first shot.” 

“I just told you I don’t know how to shoot with  that, Onyankopon.”

“You gon’ learn.” 

That’s all he responds with—he steps closer, taking her small body into his bigger, broader one. He pulls the shotgun over her shoulder, his chest now against her back, “Hold it.”

“Ony—“ 

"Hold it.” 

He places her finger underneath the trigger with his grip firm. His warm breath hits the side of her ear, his voice a deep grunt.

"You gon' have to get comfortable wit' it. This ‘your safety,” his body somehow moves closer, her back pressed firmly into his torso as he points to where he’s referring, “This tab here gon’ eject the bullet when I push it in.” 

She releases a breath, “Push it in?”

"In,” he repeats, slow and deliberate, watching the way she almost flinches at his voice in her ear.

“It’s gon’ release it from the chamber,” he rasps, “Means you still got two more bullets in here.” 

Onyankopon’s thick bicep moves to grip underneath her own, aiming the gun towards a deer. His other arm wraps around her waist to steady the rifle, “You hearin’ me?” 

He slowly shifts his hand around the trigger, moving the tab just like he said—a bullet ejects, causing the deers to scatter at the sound. 

Sahfeya stiffens. 

“Relax,” he grunts.

She lets out another breath, “Okay.” 

“You see the one I’m pointin’ at?” 

One of the deer had a large pair of antlers, standing taller than the others. Sahfeya lets out a soft, “Mhm.” 

“When you actually shoot—the gun gon’ kick back. I’m holdin’ it tight, so it ain’t gon’ hurt you.” 

She can feel his grip tighten around her, “All you gotta do is hollon’ to me, aight?” 

Sahfeya just nods, not trusting her voice.

“Shoot.” 

The shotgun goes off, the deer dropping to the ground with a loud bang—Onyankopon’s grip on her body is the only thing that keeps her from falling backwards. 

Sahfeya’s ear rings as she shrieks, but nothing hurts more than the warmth she feels on her back from him. His face is close to her own, the smell of cedar from his neck filling her nose.

“Sorry.” 

Onyankopon’s grip remains firm. The swell of her ass pressed tightly to his hips, and she was scared that if she moved, she���d feel more than his tactical. 

She smells like vanilla, like everything that was sweet— pretty. 

“My fault,” he murmurs, “You good?”

A rush of adrenaline pours through her body—she leans deeper into his, a breathless giggle falling from her lips, “Think I’d still prefer my pistol.”

It’s like hell had frozen over—Onyankopon chuckles, the sound deep—sexy, “You’ cute.” 

He allows her to step out of his grasp, her body somewhat missing the warmth as soon as she does. He adjusts his cargos with his large palm, “Lemme’ grab the deer. We’ll head back.”

Their eyes seem to linger over each other for a moment—Sahfeya’s face flushes a bit, keeping her eyes focused on the weapon still held within her palm. She smiles. 

But that only lasted for a millisecond.

A groan ceases through the trees. The birds from above begin flying away—Sahfeya frowns, her eyes glancing around the area, her entire body tensing as the deers take off in different directions. 

“Onyankopon?” 

The sound brings a sudden stillness—Onyankopon’s jaw ticks, his movements silent as he looks towards the woods on the other side—He takes a step towards Sahfeya, arm entrapping her behind him. 

They listen. 

Just then, another moan echoes.

“Hollows.” 

And then—they see them.

She counts two. One is a man, his stomach ripped—intestines dangling from his open wounds. His face is scarred, his head a matted mess. 

It’s the sound of his heavy breaths that cause them to tense—but he isn’t alone. Before they can even think, he’s flying towards them—the speed of his body nearly breaking the sound barrier. 

“Move!” 

Onyankopon’s hand grips her shorts, tugging her in the direction back towards the mansion. He yanks his pistol from the back of his pants, already aiming—firing, the sound loud as it bounces off the trees.

Sahfeya takes off, crunching branches beneath her boots as she flurries through the woods—her heart drops the moment another groan surfaces in the direction she’s running—she halts, raising the shotgun towards the feet sloppily trampling towards her—she fires.

The kickback from the shotgun thumps her jaw—it aches, but she doesn’t have time to accept the pain—The Hollow slumps to the ground, dead. 

“Sahfeya!—“ 

She hears Onyankopon call, but a force steps into her path, making her flinch—a Hollow reaches, mouth snapping towards her, only being held back by her arms blocking his bite. It’s strong.

She struggles—the force pushes her onto the ground, snapping teeth just a mere second from her face. She beats at its chest, “Shit!” 

Onyankopon is fast, his hand raising as a bullet flies from the weapon, shooting the Hollow in the head—there’s a moment where it cries, dropping directly next to Sahfeya’s legs. 

The moment she throws her body up, her shoulders nearly jolt as her body is snatched behind a tree—her scream stifles under Onyankopon’s palm, body against the front of his chest as he clasps her mouth shut. 

His large palm is so big compared to her face, completely covering her mouth with a strength that doesn’t take much to keep her in place. Their breathing is harsh, her heart racing—Onyankopon’s muscles on her back aren’t helping to bring her pulse down either. 

Another moan echoes.

Sahfeya’s body stiffens, watching Hollows surfacing from the trees. This was the first time she’d ever been this close to one. Not since—

“Onyankopon,” her voice mewls through his fingers, the warmth of her tears on his skin—she’s reaching back to tug at his shirt. They’re everywhere.

“I’m here.”

His voice is just as low when he finally releases his palm, “I don’t got’ the clips to kill all of them. Go—“ 

“I can’t leave you here—“

“Yes the hell you can,” his voice grows a bit louder, his body hardening against her own, “Imma’ be behind you, girl. I promise.” 

He didn’t lie—he couldn’t lie. He’s tugging her arm as he begins to move, his strides wide. Onyankopon shoves the pistol in his pocket, now pushing his arm in front of her smaller frame as he hastily clears his way forward—she didn’t seem to think of herself as weak and scared, but for the moment, he was using the lightness of her body, pulling her as fast as he could. 

They make it back towards the broken part of the fence, the sound of bullets zipping past her ears—Onyankopon’s firing off every shot from his pistol, heavier footsteps pounding behind them, spits and groans loud. 

He tugs the bottom of the gate open, still firing off shots with one hand as Sahfeya crawls her way through—when she turns, he’s still on the other side—shooting, shooting.

“Ony—Onyankopon!” Sahfeya calls, fingers brushing the tattoo on the side of his arm, reaching for his body.

Her fingers fumble from the adrenaline coursing through her body—she’s trying to lift the fence, the metal too heavy. 

She’s yelling, “Onyankopon, c’mon!”  

“I can’t let em’ get past—Go!” 

He takes his palm—slamming the gate shut where he stands. Her voice trembles the entire ground as she cries, “No!” 

Onyankopon’s back is pressed to the gate as the grunts of the Hollows become louder—his gun empties, the clips dropping to the ground second after second. He’s breathing hard as his eyes dart, his fingers reaching into his other pocket. 

But the only thing he has is a knife. 

His eyes narrow at the sight of more Hollows emerging, his palm slamming into the chest of the first one who gets within his space—the blade pierces through its throat with a squelch.

But nothing is scarier than his body beginning to be piled by three of them—and that’s when it happens—a loud groan comes from Onyankopon himself, gnashing teeth digging into the flesh of his arm, sinking deeper by the second. 

Sahfeya didn’t know where she’d found this strength, but she yanks the gate up, tugging the knife from his palm as she’s stabbing forcefully, blood splattering all over her body in return. She’s fighting.

One bullet—it surfaces from the end of the shotgun, sending the final Hollow running back into the forest. Sahfeya groans as she drags his body under the gate, clasping it shut into the grass as much as she can—she holds him up, “Hey, Hey—Ony? Are you—hey, look at me!” 

His brown eyes widen, a groan leaving his lips as he stares at the sky, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He tries to push up, but his arm feels like it’s on fire. 

Blood drips down his elbow, pooling on the ground near her fingers, “I’m good,” he pants, “I’m good, Sahfeya.”

“Fuck,” she quivers—her voice rushes, “You’re bit, Onyankopon.”

The adrenaline that fueled his body is beginning to dwindle as she brings him back into the mansion, he’s staggering with every step. He’s trembling as they reach the back door, Sahfeya shoving it open and yanking him inside. 

She’s crying, tears leaving a trail on her cheeks as she begs, “Emery!—Emery!”

Emery runs as soon as she sees them, her body freezing at the sight, Theo and Elijah right behind her. 

“My god,” she gasps, eyes widening as his arm dangles helplessly, “Ony?—what happened?” 

“Them fuckin’ Hollows,” his voice is hard, as if he was running out of oxygen to even talk, his eyes rolling as he pants— he’s fighting the urge to pass out. 

“He was bit—“ Sahfeya expresses, her words scrambled, “He shot all the ones he could—I couldn’t—I couldn’t push the gate up—“

“Hey,” Theo is firm, “It’s gon’ be okay—“

“Get the fuck outta’ here,” Onyankopon’s voice is loud, eyes wide, “Put me outside. I’m not finna’ let myself hurt y’all.”

“What?” 

Theo’s eyes go wide, “What ‘you mean outside? You sayin’ you gon’ just let this happen?” 

Elijah gives Theo a look, "He's gon’ turn—it’s in his body.” 

Emery shakes her head, tears in her eyes, “You can’t do that, I’m not watching you die!”

“You don’t got’ a choice!”

He knocks his head down to Sahfeya as he still holds on, “Let me go.” 

“Onyankopon, please!—“

Onyankopon tries to take another step, but his knees buckle, his hand gripping into the wall beside them—the floor feels close—comfortable. 

He’s falling. 

The fear that grips everyone’s body vibrates the walls—it feels nauseous, a soft sob spilling from Emery’s lips as she watches her brother try to push away from all of them. Her sibling. Elijah’s brother in law. Theo’s

best friend. Sahfeya’s—

He collapses. 

Nothing.

He was nothing.

𝓐ᥫ᭡

FOR IT TO BE NO ELECTRICITY WITHIN THE HOUSE, THE CANDLES ALMOST SEEM LUMINESCENT. Heavy eyelids catch the blur of flames, going from narrowed, to open. 

They try to find some type of focus—the sable duvet of blankets, back to the flames flickering softly—or, the feminine silhouette, darkened curls framing the round face that doesn’t come into full vision yet. However, the faint scent of vanilla comes to fruition. 

“Hey.” 

Was it a dream?

Things become more clear—and seeing those round brown eyes, freckles, soft features—maybe it wasn’t a dream. 

His body jolts—a warm, small palm coming above his, “It’s just me.” 

“Don’t touch me.”

His voice grunts as an effort to raise himself from the bed, “Is everyone okay?” 

“Onyankopon.”

The events of the day begin to flood his memory; he struggles to sit up, but his arms feel weak—he growls, “Don’t lemme’ repeat myself.”

Sahfeya eyes him for a moment. She sighs, “Even almost dying, you’re still stubborn.” 

Her voice is softer, “Everyone’s fine. They’re all resting—Aaila’s been real fussy for the past couple of days—she just misses her uncle,” she lightly pokes.

At the mention of Aaila, his expression softens. But he can’t lie, he’s confused. 

“A couple days? That’s how long I been’ out?”

Sahfeya shakes her head, “Almost a week now,” she corrects, “You’re probably experiencing a bit of soreness.”

His eyes glance down to his arm—the bitten one, his fingers running along the now bandaged skin. At the sight, his eyes narrow.

“I didn't change,” he mutters.

Sahfeya eyes him. 

“Never got the opportunity to use that cure—I figured I’d do some good, put it to better use than using it on myself.”

“The cure?” he frowns, “You had it?”

That’s when she raises her hand, “Sticky fingers, remember? Who knows, I may be on the run from the Embassy.” 

Something in him wants to be amused. But he can’t help but to say, “You ain’t have to do that—that shit could’ve happened to you, Sahfeya.”

Sahfeya shrugs, “It could have. But it didn’t.”

Her fingers brush along his palm, “I gave it to someone who deserved it—Just as much as Samira did.” 

The words she speaks sinks into him. 

"You saved a nigga life.” 

Sahfeya gives a gentle smile, “Call it an actual apology for trying to rob you in the first place.”

Onyankopon just stares at her for a moment—his eyes roaming over her figure with an unreadable expression.

Her shoulders hike up a bit, more tense than she should’ve been as she notices, “Are you feeling okay? Oh god—are you having a stroke or something? Do you need water—“ 

No, he just needed her. 

Onyankopon’s rough palm cradles the smooth flesh at the back of her neck, pulling her mouth against his, kissing her.

It’s slow—his lips soft, gentle, a contrast to everything else about him. He’s warm, fingers wrapping to the back of her neck, taking in every part of her—her eyes flutter shut as she exhales against his mouth, hands trembling a bit as she leans herself against his biceps—she tenses as she feels her fingers along his gauze, pulling back as her face flushed a red, “Um—“ 

She presses her fingers to her mouth, “You should shower.” 

"You sayin’ I stink?" 

“No,” her giggle feels awkward, “I just—you’ve been laying in bed for days—it might clear your head a bit—“

“What you’ sayin’? That I kissed you ‘cause my brain muddled?”

She blinks softly, “Maybe.” 

And to her surprise, he listens. His body might’ve felt a slight soreness, but the hot water against his muscles definitely helped his mind clear, the past couple of days replaying all in a multitude of imagery within his mind. Everything meant something to him. 

Onyankopon steps out of the shower, towel hanging low along his hips, only being held by the clutch of his palm. His durag is tied atop of his head, full lips flushed from the warmth of the shower, the steam hazing into the bedroom as he steps out, catching sight of a silhouette—the bare dip of Sahfeya’s back curves inwards, her ass heavy as she pulls the oversized tee to cover her body—she hears him, pulling the material down as her soft voice questions, “You mind if I sleep in this?”

His eyes had lingered, drinking in his fill of her soft body before looking up to meet her gaze—she’s flustered, body flushed from head to toe as she stood at the edge of the bed. 

His voice is low, “Gon’ head.”

She tugs a curl of her hair, pulling a bit as some type of distraction—her eyes look at him, but she doesn’t make it entirely obvious as she questions, “The shower made you feel any better?” 

His body moves towards the dresser, tattooed chest glistening in the dim light—he leans forward as he pulls out a drawer filled with his clothing, but he doesn’t move to retrieve anything yet.

Onyankopon leans further, “The hot water felt good,” he husks, “Made it easier to think—my mind was all over the place when I first woke up.” 

“And?” 

“And—ion’ remember much now,” he takes a step towards her, Sahfeya’s round eyes blinking in return. 

“You don’t?”

Onyankopon shakes his head, eyes moving over her own, “Nah—Everything before me gettin’ in that shower is kinda blurry.” 

His tone lowers, “But—ion’ know, I might’ve remembered a lil’ kiss or sum’.”

Sahfeya’s face drops, her palm swatting his arm as she whines, “Don’t play like that,” stepping back as he dips his face to meet hers—he’s grunting as he reaches for her waist, “Play like what, huh?”

“Ony.” 

He chuckles, his palms gripping her soft hips, pulling her forward as she attempts to move, “You already forgettin’ me?“

“No,” her arms hesitantly found his shoulders, “I just—wanna make sure it wasn’t a pity kiss—you know, ‘cause I helped you.”

“That shit’ crazy,” he grumbles, “I kissed you ‘cause I can’t get my mind off you, girl.” 

His nose brushes hers—Sahfeya’s body tenses a bit, her nod soft as she glides her teeth along the plush of her bottom lip, “Okay.” 

Through all of that shell she’d protected herself with being here, he feels it being broken down the moment her fingers trail the silk of his durag, her breath hitching as his lips brush against hers. 

“You gon’ let a nigga have you?”

The question makes her body taut in his arms. Her teeth dip lower into her bottom lip, Sahfeya tensing to ground herself, “Ony—”

His voice is gruffer than before as he narrows his eyes down, his lips brushing her own in torturous repetitions,  “Relax yo’ hand.”

Her eyebrows furrow a bit, a throb coming from her clit in a way that it shouldn’t have. She takes another breath, her palm slowly releasing from the nervous hold she had, whimpering the moment his mouth sucks at her lips.

"You’ a good ass girl. Don't tense," he grunts—Sahfeya squeaks softly the moment he grabs her by the thick flesh of her thighs, tossing her down the bed—his shoulders loom the arch of her body. 

Onyankopon’s head then dips, his lips pressing to hers with more force, “You know what you doin’ to me?”

His fingers slip into the intertwine of hers, holding her palms against the bed. It causes her lower body to sway a bit in return, her forehead knocking into his as her face flushes, eyes fluttering shut. 

"Don't do allat’," he rasps, “You a nigga riled up," his fingers trail up her arms, grazing the tips of her knuckles with his thumb. He grips onto her fingers, "Gon' let me see you, girl.“

The kiss he gives her is hard—his mind blank as he comes down onto her plump lips, “Eyes.” 

Her lashes flick up, palms trembling under his—at the same time, his tongue slides deep into her mouth, Onyankopon lowering down to begin sucking up the flesh of her throat. Her eyes clasp shut. 

“Nah,” he growls —his fingers grip onto her jaw with one hand, pulling her gaze up, breath hot against her lips, “Keep them’ eyes up here.” 

It’s as if he commands her attention.

“You gon’ have to relax—my shit ain’t nothin’ nice.” 

If his lower region wasn’t nice, his mouth certainly wasn’t any better. 

He’s tugging off her panties, dragging her to meet his mouth—a slurp resounds against the room as his lips suck at her clit, the facial hair along his face becoming coated with the arousal that glistens on her pussy—Sahfeya hitches a breath, clawing for his shoulder. Her thighs tremble, “Ony—s—shit…” 

“You wet as fuck.” 

He’s giving her a mean showing of pleasure, his tongue lapping between her folds with every shiver of her body—Her thighs trap his head, back arching from every rapture that courses through her stomach. It seems like the words he speaks are laced with fire and truth, a soft shudder making her mind feel fuzzy—his shoulders rise, tongue sweeping across the top of her lips, “Keep them legs up.” 

He’s telling her that, but he’s moving them on his own as  latches her ankles above her head—Sahfeya’s eyes are low, fighting to keep them from closing at the sight of him. The brown of his eyes and skin, his jaw clenched as he watches her, handsome features hard.

Onyankopon’s forehead connects with hers the moment his towel drops, Sahfeya jolting at the feel of his dick smacking her folds, tip rubbing her clit—he was right about something though, his dick was nothing nice. Veiny, girthy, long. But the moment he sinks into her, her mouth parts open at the truth of his words—her fingers clutch, hips unable to move as he holds her down. He grunts when she gives a whimper, her body tugging beneath his—she feels full, a pleasured discomfort. 

“I know,” he rumbles, tightening the hold he had on her hands, “You full, baby. My shit curvin’ in you.”

Her legs tremble beneath his body, and when his tip lugs  deeper, Sahfeyah’s face hides within her shoulder, tears brimming her eyes as another deep, fiery pinch of pleasure rushes through her body—her voice is soft, “O—Ooh…”

His lips sear into her own, “You gon’ take me?”

She shakes, her nose finding his—she’s mewling, “It’s big, Ony.” 

Onyankopon’s grip tightens on her wrists. He’s grizzled at the plea of a voice, “You wanna see how you takin’ it?”

He releases her hands, cradling both of his palms at the back of her head as he strokes so slowly—he pulls her face up, allowing her eyes to find the connection of their bodies below. She’s watching. 

And just from the sight—her legs slowly spread open in a way that her folds stretch to take more of him in, her forehead pressing further against his as her arms wrap around his back—she whimpers, “Oh my god…” 

He doesn’t stop pounding, the grip on her head possessive, her mouth parted open, yet, nothing comes out. 

“Just keep watchin’ my shit go in—it’s gon’ go deeper every time.”

He’s grunting this to her. 

“OohmygodOny.” 

“You bet’ not fuckin’ move. Keep it up.”

The connection of his palm to her face has Sahfeya moan, Onyankopon groaning to her in repetitions, “Keep it up. Keep it up.” 

Her walls are softening the more his dick encases her folds, it makes her feen for more. Sahfeya takes her ankles, wrapping her palms around the soles of her feet as she spreads her legs completely open—now, they’re to the sides of her head—this angle, her eyes roll—she’s groaning.

The splatter and schluck overwhelm her ears, her cream coating his dick to a discoloration. He has her pressed into the mattress, her face screwing up—she’s loud.

“On—Onyan,” she breathes, a small, soft sob coming from her lips, “My stomach…” 

“Yeah?” The grip he finds on her jaw goes tight, “I’m in there?” 

“You’re in there, baby,” she harshly exhales, “Fuck.” 

“I know. You gettin’ loud, all in a nigga ear.” 

She’s still holding her own legs up, her lower lip bruised as her teeth sink into it. She’s repeating with every move, “Oooh, Oooh, Oooh,” her mouth going. 

“Good girl,” he coos, his hand gripping her chin so her eyes are back on his, “Can a nigga spit in your mouth?”

Sahfeya faintly nods—all of a sudden, she’s shy. 

“Use them’ big girl words, ion’ want that shy shit.” 

Her breathing is hard, panting when she attempts to speak, “Yeah, baby. Lemme’ have it.” 

Onyankopon snarls at her plea, the tip of his fingers sliding along her chin as he re-grips her jaw—his fingers curl, his spit landing on her tongue, jaw flexing at the sight of her—Sahfeya squeezes her eyes, mouth parting to catch his saliva.

“My shit feel that good?” 

“Uh-huhhh,” her eyes rolled back in return. 

She whimpers in such a bimbo way, “Like the way you fuck me, Ony.” 

“Good ass girl—you gone,” his lips are close, breath hot against her own, brown eyes gleaming over her face—Sahfeya sticks her tongue out once more, twisting it around with his—she moans, flicking it up and down against his, just tasting him.

“Ooh,” he groans, “Just like that, girl—Just. Like. That.” 

Onyankopon’s kiss is aggressive, his palms gripping her jaw as his hand slides up her face—his tongue strokes hers, his grip rough as it finds the flesh of her throat. 

His breathing turns sharp, grunting in a way that’s loud, his hips snapping.

“This shit good,” his hips deeply thrust down into her pussy—holding at her cervix—Sahfeya gasps intensely as he tugs back out. 

Onyankopon growls—the grip on her throat tightens. 

“I heard that. Do that shit again.”

“Ony.” 

On the second stroke—Sahfeya’s voice is high, her back arching from the bed—her body shakes against his.

His palm slaps her cheek, "Gimme’ that noise again."

“Oooh,” she moans, fingers still holding her ankles in place, “Onnny.”

She raises her nails up to his abdomen, dragging them along the flesh. She whimpers, “Come’ closer.” 

His groan is gruff, his arms wrapping around her waist as he yanks her close—Her arms latch around his neck in return, holding him tight as she smashes her mouth to his. He feels her. 

This kiss is slow, a contrast to the hard grinding Onyankopon does. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he’s coaxing, his hands sliding up the smooth flesh of her back, “Keep them sounds comin’.” 

They’re nearly seated up at this point, Onyankopon holding her by the flesh of her thighs—Sahfeya’s clinging on, clawing along his back while her other hand rests at the nape of his neck. His groan is low, his hand gripping the back of her curls as he yanks their mouths together, still stroking, “Got a nigga fuckin’ you crazy.”

“A—Agh,” she mewls, knocking her cheek into his jaw, eyes shut as she moans within his ear. 

“O—Ony,” she’s whining, "Oh my god, baby.”

He thrusts deeper, her body shaking in his hands, “You sound so pretty, baby.” 

“You feel good as hell,” he continuously rasps, “You feel so good.” 

Onyankopon is hissing, his lips sucking at the side of her neck—Sahfeya’s whining out, her grip on him tight, fingers holding.  

“There, baby.” 

His dick curves to the angle Sahfeya wants as he slams into her—she cries out— clutching onto him, a rapture of pleasure wafting her entire body. But he wanted more. He then flips her onto her stomach, eyes facing the mirror directly across from the bed. His hand is already clutching her throat, Sahfeya’s eyes rolling as shoves back in, her ass clapping to the gush of his dick returning inside her—She drops her face into the sheets, mewling for the thousandth time. 

“Nah—look,” His hand forces her face to look up, “See how I got you?”

His palm slaps the flesh of her ass, a loud echo coming within the room mixturing with the rhythm of her ass bouncing on his abdomen—Onyankopon’s palm grips her asscheek, his eyes narrowing at the reflection in the mirror, “Look at that.” 

He lays his body atop of hers, face burying into the crook of her neck as his lips rests at the shell of her ear—her face is flushed, cheeks rosy and lips bruised as her low eyes look within his.

But she’s no better than him—she’s taking her lower body, grinding it back. Her head turns to face him, keeping her ear against his mouth as she hears him groan into it. 

She giggles through her whimper, “Lemme’ bounce back on it, baby. Wanna hear you.” 

Onyankopon’s voice is a huff, his teeth sinking into the flesh of Sahfeya’s neck, the hand on her chin yanking her head to the side,  “You don’t gotta’ beg.”

His body sits up, fingers spreading her pussy from behind, “Get close,” he grunts. She’s obedient, grinding her body back against his, whimpering, “Oh my—Ooh—,” her body shaking against him, Onyankopon’s head rolling back.

She’s whiny, voice hiccuping as she just—takes him.

“You got it,” he’s biting his own lip as his curved palm pulls her into each thrust, his eyes narrow as they travel from their reflection back to her—he swats her ass, “You a muhfuckin’ pro. You takin’ this fat ass dick.” 

“Slow down, baby…” 

From the mirror, she watches his palm slide to the right side of her face—he slaps at it, “You gon’ take me like you want it. Don’t be cryin’ now.” 

“Oooh!” she’s groaning, “Fuck, Ony.”

Her lips are parted, a soft gasp coming from her mouth as he keeps. Going. 

 “You gon’ give me all of you?”

He smacks her ass again. 

“Tell a nigga.”

Her pussy rocks back onto his dick—Onyankopon finds her throat from behind as she responds, her voice quiet, “I’m yours, Ony.”

“You gon’ be mine forever, huh?”

He’s sloppily tugging her—his breaths quickening as his palm goes to the back of her neck. 

“Uh-huh,” she’s nodding, “I’m—so close.” 

Sahfeya’s eyes flutter when he lowers himself back into a kiss from behind—a low groan coming from his lips, “Look at me,” he’s coaxing—she’s quick to obey, “That’s it, baby,” his lips sucking at her own, “My fuckin’ girl.”

It’s a rush of emotions between the two— she frowns between her soft sob of, “I’m cumming.”  

She keeps repeating it, holding onto him like she’d never touched him before—like she did when she thought he’d held his last breath. 

There’s a sudden snarl from his chest as he slows—a flash of emotion comes across his features—he moans with her, the final smack of their lips louder than before as he feels her folds drenching his tip feverishly. It doesn’t stop—it doesn’t stop, they’re moving, rocking together—hot, messy, passionate.

Then, they’re silent. 

A moment of peace, of reassurance—Sahfeya is the first one to break the tension, her voice soft, “I’m sorry.” 

He remains in her, his breathing soft as he buries his face in the crook of her neck, “For what?” 

“‘Think I scratched your arm where you were bitten.”

Onyankopon furrows his eyebrows. His lips tug into a small smirk, “You too good.”

“Yo’! Emery’s finally makin’ that beef stew—“

The door swings open, Theo adjusting his glasses as he continues, “She needed to know if—oh shit!” 

Sahfeyah’s body is instantly shielded, her lips squeaking  at the sudden movement.

 “Nigga, you forgot how to fuckin’ knock?”

Theo’s head dips, “My bad, bro,” he’s saying quickly, “Uh—hey, Sahfeya—“

Sahfeya covers her face beneath Onyankopon, “Hi, Theo.”

Onyankopon’s frown deepens, his eyes glaring as Theo takes the hint, “Right—I was gon’ ask if y’all need somethin’ to eat, but it seems like you already ate—“

“Theo, Imma’ knock yo’ ass out. Why you’ still standin’ here?”

“I can’t come check on my bestie? You almost died!” 

Onyankopon’s head shakes as an exhale comes from his lips, “I’m alive,” he rasps, “Leave.”

“I get it, man,” Theo’s smiling, his hands held up in mock defeat, “Pussy prolly’ great after allat’—“

“Theo.”

“You hungry, beautiful?” He directs his question towards the body hiding.

Sahfeyah’s giggles, “I’m fine, Theo. Thank you.”

“What’s happening? Are they gonna come eat? Can Onyankopon come feed Aaila, I need to cook!” 

Emery’s voice is heard all the way from downstairs. 

Onyankopon grunts out, “Where yo’ damn husband, Emery?”

“I’m helpin’ cook!” Elijah shouts.

Theo leans against the door, a smirk on his lips, “So—how’d this happen?”

Onyankopon’s eyes narrow, “Imma’ be worse than a Hollow if I gotta’ get up, Theo. Swear ta’ god.” 

“I’m actually a bit lil’ hungry,” Sahfeya’s voice is soft, her hands over her nipples, “And you’re heavy.” 

“You heard the woman—we comin’. Now getcho’ ass gone.”

Theo smiles, “Aight—Yo’, Em’, they’ in here hunchin’!” 

“What?!” Both Emery and Elijah bleat in return. 

The door slams shut. 

And once more, Sahfeya’s amused in a time where Onyankopon thought nothing was funny. 

“We gon’ have to deal with that every time?” she questions.

“Unfortunately. You ready for allat’?”

Sahfeya sighs, “I don’t know—maybe I should just take my things and leave—” she goes to turn on the bed, a mixture of a shriek and laugh pouring from her lips as he tugs her back. 

“Like hell.” 

He groans when her lips latch onto his, the kiss slow yet warm. Sahfeya’s fingers trace the side of his face, eyes closed as she breathes, “Is this too fast?” 

“Nah,” he’s low, “Nah.” 

“Maybe we should skip dinner then,” Sahfeya sucks at his lips, “Yeah?” 

“We gon’ eat— just lemme’ get a lil’ appetizer in.”

That’s when he tugs the covers over their bodies—and of course, Sahfeya giggles.

[merakidoll]

in the vibrant; loud, gentleman’s club were pretty women all shapes and sizes who danced and twirled on the shiny poles, lived an office. the office was just as luxurious, it had a staircase and large clear windows to look down onto the club. in that same office was a bathroom. large, with a clear mirror that saw everything. but onyankopon’s favorite use of the mirror was when he stood and watched you bounce on his dick.

“yea, dance like it’s the pole mama” he slapped your round ass smirking at himself when you cried out bitting his shoulder. he just stood in his nike socks and naked as the day he was born. his chocolate skin glistened and muscles bulged. his tattoo decorated him beautifully. just like the girl who used her strength to bounce on his dick, hands wrapped around his neck, and ass clenching. while her clear stripper heels hung behind ony as all he did was hold her, slap her ass, and whisper nasty ass banter.

her bundles tickled her ass, teeth steady digging into her plump lip while her eyes rolled to the back of her skull. “that’s right baby show me why you my favorite girl” his words sent a strike to her heart. her pussy creamy and dripping down to onyankopon’s balls.“m’your favorite?” her big doe eyes looked into his pretty brown ones. “yea baby,” he kissed her lips. “now. show. me. why.” with his words he fucked his cock up into her going deeper and making her head fall back. he grunted in approval as he immediately got back to work.

his eyes glued to the mirror watching his dick disappear in the creamy goodness that was your pussy. throwing his head back he bit his lip, as your head crashed down into his neck a loud “onyyyyy” coming from you as your squirted all over him. so much so that it dripped down his leg. onyankopon slapped your ass, holding you up more, and finally started to fuck you during your orgasm. “fuckkk!!!” you moanded cunt sensitive but ony didn’t care, his balls tight and dick pulsing. he stuffed you full. not letting up as his ropes painted your pretty insides, solidifying why you are his favorite.

[fleshinstinct]

happy ao ending

[artpepkin]

Stinker behavior