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injellyfish1218 · 7 days ago

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pistachios. toji + onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 12.9K word count. blackfemoriginal!reader, crossover!fic, best friends!tojixonyankopon, contractors!tojixonyankopon, husband!tojifushiguro, countryboycoded!toji, contractor!toji, grumpy!toji, sweet!toji, dominant!toji, countryboycoded!onyankopon, contractor!onyankopon, grumpy!onyankapon, sweet!onyankapon, dominant!onyankapon, threesome, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough sex, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, choking, squirting, praising, LOTS of dirty talk/aggressive dirty talk, size kink, condomless sex, creaming, slapping ass/face, kissing, just a fine ass black + japanese man, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ hi, it’s your favorite pisces’ favorite pisces—teehee. hope you missed me. anyways, just gonna’ say right now this isn’t a nascar fic, i trashed the idea and just came up w/ something more—me, i guess? i think i like this one. i felt a lil’ rusty, so idk what nasty factor it might hit. but both my men in the same universe? oh yeah. oh yeah. anyways, i will also say the link/visuals are unfortunately not black links in specific, but it does a good job of conceptualizing what i envisioned in my mind. and if you’re nasty, you’re fully aware of who owen grey + small hands are ;) LMAO. aight, i kept thinking of deeper by PARTYNEXTDOOR, so you can put that on a loop if you’d like. enjoy. love you.

visual.

HOW DID YOU END UP HERE?

You kept asking yourself that question as your puffy lips poked in a pout, round eyes flickering in between the looming frames above you. Your freckled cheeks flushed as they glared in return of your angelic face—and then, impurely so, you crawled to them.

You couldn’t have been that naive. Not to realize their plan, or how long they’d been onto you. But none of this was your plan at all. It just—happened.

You’d been married to Toji for four years now, falling in love the moment he approached you in the streets of Tokyo, Japan. You were studying abroad in grad school, telling him that you’d been working on your masters degree within Administration, to which he replied that he shared a business with his partner—a contractor, he was.

You would never forget that initial interaction. The onyx of his hair tousled in a flawless way, matching the natural frown of his full eyebrows each time he watched you speak.

He allowed you to ramble off with low hums of ’Mmm’, even with it being the first conversation between the two of you. And to be honest, it made you nervous. From the warm ivory of his complexion that was coated with tattoos, being so many that they traveled beneath the white tee he wore, to his frame that was tall, lean, and built—the cadence of his deep voice, a gruffness to his tone as a cigarette sunk between the side of his full lips—He was like no other.

But you feigned an innocence he couldn’t pull from. The deep ginger curls draping around your freckled cheeks flushed as he spoke to you, round eyes beaming from beneath your lashes—you wore a cherry blossom within your tresses, pale pink mini dress clad around your curvy figure as you held textbooks beneath your arms. Your giggles, your smile, all those things made you like no other even more so.

He wanted you.

You both resided in New Orleans as his business was the most successful there, receiving a multitude of clients after Hurricane Katrina hit the city years before. Behind that scary demeanor was a man with wholehearted compassion—He helped others create their new homes after losing their old ones, becoming known as the most popular contractor along the West Bank. But of course, he had a little help along the way.

He offered you a job as his business’ consultant manager, able to give feedback on their personal brand as contractors, as well as answering emails and phone calls—but here’s where the issue began.

Onyankopon.

The first time meeting him was entirely friendly, even when his looks might’ve had your stomach do a flip. To the heavy New Orleans twang that slipped between a few creole words as he spoke to you, to the strength of his hand when he shook yours. The sepia of his smooth skin complexion shined in cocoa butter, strident jaw clenching as he shook the small frame of your palm.

You’ little as hell, you remember him telling you.

He was an extreme contrast to Toji—open faced grills within his mouth, teeth straight and white each time he smiled or laughed. His lips were a deep pink, full, kissabl—

Teeth. His teeth were nice.

Your eyes ran across the neatly braided cornrows, broad frame covered in tattoos that moved when he flexed his muscles. In that moment, he’d lifted his shirt to wipe the moisture of sweat from his forehead, goatee wafting a shea butter scent from the follicles—but you couldn’t even finish reading his body over, as your eyes fell right at the sculpt of his abs, Bible scriptures thumping across the flesh as he grunted from the heat of outside. And like an idiot, your reply was—

You have big hands.

Yeah, you were fucked.

Well, at first you weren’t. Onyankopon had been the best man in your wedding, constantly coming over to the house, even dozing off on the sofa as you laid a blanket over him. You and him had a good enough rapport with Toji being the common denominator—so the question was, why did you have the inkling to fuck him?

This wasn’t cheating, right?

Regardless of Toji and Onyankopon growing up together, they were extremely different—Toji was more aggressive, outspoken, able to soften his hard corners the minute he was with you. On the other hand, Onyankopon was sweet, observant, quiet, and stoic—he was the action, while Toji was the mouth piece.

So back to the point—this definitely wasn’t cheating, right?

Okay, but you loved your husband. He was there for you throughout all your highs and lows—He was patient, affectionate, hard-working, all the things you wanted within a man. He was the only man you’d ever been with—sexually, romantically—so you couldn’t understand why your brain was thinking about how big Onyankopon’s hands were—

Anyway, this was your husband’s fault. You couldn’t blame him for loving Onyankopon like a brother, but you could blame him for bringing him around more than he should have. He was like a villain to your origin story. Working out with the both of you at the gym, going out with you late at night, hanging around you just as much as your husband did. To make things worse? He was so. Damn. Nice. Opening the door for you, taking your hand as you needed to walk up the stairs, always asking how you felt throughout the day when your husband wasn’t able to do so.

It’s not that you wanted him, per se. It was the mixture of both your husband and him within the same room, deep voices talking shit to one another, laughing, eyeing you as you walked past, made dinner, giggled shyly when they both called for your attention—you weren’t trying to make it obvious that he made you a little fuzzy, but the narrow of your husband's eyes might’ve said otherwise.

Now? You were fucked.

Here you were now, sitting along your miniature desk as you did emails during the business’ new project. Both men were working on a house within Uptown, a two story home where the family wanted an all white kitchen. You were in between phone calls and looking over shop drawings to make sure the infrastructure was to the family’s desires, claw clip within your curls as they draped in between your fingers, sighing as the paper work had you a bit tired.

Your eyes wandered over to your husband standing on the opposite side of the room, ear leaning into the screen of his phone as he tugged construction gloves from his large palms—Onyankopon on the opposite side of him, plummeting his hammer into the wall above. You watched both men for a brief moment, as they both wore forest green long sleeves, tugging to the muscular frame of their shoulders and abdomen.

When you heard the click of Toji’s lighter, your eyes rolled.

“Please don’t smoke in someone else’s house, Fushiguro.”

Of course, that natural frown appeared seconds later. Your husband’s eyebrows lowered, wrist knocking down as he shook off the ash collecting at the tip of his cigar.

“‘Bout to go outside” he grunts to you, “The wife said she wants white oak instead of maple for the counter.”

Onyankopon hadn’t turned towards either of you, but he did stop his hammering, a low breath huffing from his lips as he grunted in return, “Why she ain’t say that shit earlier? I’m finna’ get started on the window.”

Toji releases a puff of smoke, “Husband said he��ll pay double.”

“That don’t’ make it any less work.”

Your husband’s grey eyes peered over his slightly irritated friend, a glint within them as he leaned forward, blowing smoke towards Onyankopon.

He now fully turned from where he stood, brown eyes stabbing every inch of Toji’s body—his low voice warns, “Chill out, nigga. You see I’m tryna’ figure out what I need to do.”

Both men always had an interesting dynamic—one could be playful, while the other couldn’t be at all. It was always easy for Toji to rile up Onyankopon.

“You’re mad ‘cause more money ‘bout to go in your pocket?” Toji raises an eyebrow, “Quit whinin’.”

Onyankopop turns to face the wall, hand holding onto the hammer, “Ain’t nobody whinin’. Stop talkin’ to me.”

Toji glances back at you from the other side of the room, a wink being sent in your direction.

You roll your eyes at the both of them, “And where does she think we’re gonna find White Oak at nearly six in the afternoon?”

“She’s tryna’ change everything to white oak,” Toji clarified, “Countertops to white granite, cabinets to off white.”

That’s when Onyankopon tosses the hammer beside his boot. He crosses his arms to lean his back along the wall, face hard from this conversation.

“She might as well do a whole new renovation,” he mutters.

“You’ the only one complaining.”

“Don’t mean I ain’t right,” Onyankopon counters, “Shit don’t’ make sense. We got three more days before the contract is up, and now she on some’ HGTV bullshit.”

“‘Can’t complain if that’s what they want.”

Onyankopon turns towards you.

“How’ you feelin’ about this?”

You blink at the question, not wanting to be in the middle of one of their usual disputes. You tug a ginger curl behind your ear, scrunching your nose to adjust the tip of your glasses.

Your voice is soft, “Onyankopon’s right, baby. I think it’s a little late for changes in renovations when you’re already halfway done with the kitchen.”

You see your husband's jaw tighten at your confirmation, his back straightening as he glances between the two of you. Even if he didn’t agree, he had to understand his partner's point of view.

“I hear both of you,” Toji glances at Onyankopon, “What you wanna’ tell them?”

“Finish the current cabinet set up, make the kitchen white, and she can set another appointment if she wanna add other shit.”

You glance down to the paper beneath you, pen flicking beneath your fingers, “We still need more maple—think you can make it to Home Depot before they close?”

Toji gives a nod of approval, stomping on the butt of the cigar he was trying to finish, “I got it. Gonna’ head that way.”

Onyankopon's eyebrows raise in surprise, “You goin’ by yo’self?”

“Why? You gonna’ kiss and make up with me now?”

Onyankopons’ eyes narrow, “Ain’t nobody kissin’ yo’ overgrown ass, nigga.”

“You sound like a damn teenager.”

“‘Cause I’m arguin’ with one.”

“Can you tell me you love me and stop arguing, please?” you tilt your head, “Come gimme’ some love.”

The smallest smile might’ve found Toji’s mouth.

“You want love?” His footsteps approach your desk, heavy on the wooden floor, “You want some love, huh?”

His large hand runs up the length of your shoulder, fingers finding your neck as he pushes your chin up, “You hearin’ me?”

“Mhm,” you hum, pulling him lower by the bicep of his arm, “Don’t be long,” You rub your nose against his, “You love me?”

Toji brings his other hand to the other side of your neck, thumbs grazing your cheeks with that signature smirk on his lips, “You know I do.”

He pulls your face towards his, gruff as he questions, “You like when I tell you that?”

You’re met with the familiar taste of his mouth, tongue exploring yours as he sighs through his nose, hushing your small giggle through the kiss.

“Aight,” Onyankopon interrupts, “Y’all know Home Depot finna’ close, huh?”

Toji raises his middle finger in the direction of the other man, giving you a couple more pecks—his hand lingers along your neck when he turns back to his friend, “You’re still over there cryin’? Let me kiss my woman.”

He then stands to his full height, “‘Need anything from me before I leave, wifey?” he sarcastically questions Onyankopon.

Onyankopons’ eyes roll up in the direction of the ceiling, hand moving to rub the bridge of his nose. “Just gon’ head, Fushiguro.”

“Have those emails ready for me,” He gives a kiss to your forehead, “Behave.”

He then extends back up once more, “Watch my woman for me, bastard.”

“I always do,” Onyankopon murmurs, “She’ good with me.”

And with that, the door closed.

You didn’t expect your husband to be gone for almost two hours. He wasn’t answering the phone, and the heat seeping into the home had you ready to call it quits. Your fingers were lazily typing across the keyboard, flickering up to Onyankopon every once in a while.

You softly ask, “Did he text you back?”

Onyankopons’ brown eyes glance up from his own set of papers.

“Nah,” he replies, “I called him, ain’t answer.”

You pout your lips at the news, now knowing Toji was really taking his time.

Onyankopon notices your face.

“He ain’t dead, shawty. Nigga prolly’ searchin’ for the best maple wood in all of New Orleans. He’d overwork himself before givin’ a bad service.”

The words make you smile a bit, knowing your husband just as much as he did.

You say, “I’m sorry. I just hate when he goes awol—I probably sound annoying.”

Onyankopon lets out a low chuckle, one that rumbles through the release of his chest. His attention was now on you instead of those papers, leaned forward in his chair. His shoulders seemed to expand in size.

“Youn’ sound annoying, just worried,” He leans forward more, “He ain’t good at checkin’ the time when he be runnin’ errands.“

He looks back down at his work, a moment of silence passing before he glances up again,

“You ain’t hungry, are you?”

Your eyes find themselves back to his face, realizing how long you’d glance over his muscular frame.

“Hm?” You process the question, “Um—no, I’m fine. I don’t like to bother you guys about food while you’re working and I’m just sitting, y’know?”

You adjust your glasses once more, “I’m fine, really.”

Onyankopon squinted his eyes in the direction of you, eyebrows cocking up when he asked, “You ain’t eat nothin’ today?”

His voice was like honey. Sweet, with a deep rumble, and it didn’t help the fact that he was giving you his full attention.

“You know you ain’t no bother to me. I can go grab you sum’.”

The thing was, you were hungry. Toji was sweet enough to have pack you a lunch earlier, one that you’d already scarfed down and hadn’t thought about until this moment. You weren’t sure why you couldn’t just say all that, but maybe it had to do with the way he looked at you.

Something him and your husband had in common—it was that damn glare they kept upon their faces, whether they were happy, upset, or just fixated on something. You hated to say that the sight had you shifting within your chair.

Your face flushes a bit, “I’m okay, Ony. Thank you.”

You might’ve been crazy. You swear you saw the corner of his mouth lifting at the nickname, but it happened too fast— it had to be a trick of the sunlight.

“You sure?”

The concern he displayed was always so pure, it made you wanna kill him.

You nod, “Promise. I’m just gonna finish my emails,” you nearly fumbled your words, “I have a couple more to do.”

“Youn’ gotta overwork yo’self, Mama. You can stop if you’ exhausted,” he gently adds, “Toji gon’ be out for a minute.”

There was that look again, the one that felt deep within your body, like you were entirely naked in front of him.

There was also the fact that your heart was pounding. It was either a heart attack, or you were going to spontaneously combust—

“You’ warm?” He questions, “You sweatin’.”

You quickly glance down your body, noticing the sheen of your skin. The soft yellow halter dress you wore hugged along your wide hips with the mixture of sweat—but nothing was worse when you realized your nipples seeping through the fabric up top. You weren’t even cold.

You run your fingers through your hair, pulling your curls farther away from the back of your neck. You awkwardly giggle, “‘S just really hot in here.”

The corner of his mouth definitely twitched up that time, like he had an idea of what was happening to you right now. He probably didn’t. You hoped he didn’t.

You could see the muscles of his arms flex when he shifted in his chair, fingers of his left hand scratching along his facial hair.

“It is,” he agrees, “Imma’ finish up this window.“

When he stands from his seat, you then hear, “You need me?”

You blink, eyes flickering over him as your mouth goes dry, “Huh?”

“I said, you lemme’ know if you need anything, aight?”

You were losing it.

“Okay,” you force the most normal smile, “Got it.”

This had to be your personal hell. It might’ve been enjoyable for anyone else, but this was the worst thing you could’ve witnessed. You were trying to finish your work, but you found yourself…glancing above your computer.

Onyankopons’ hands were rough, strong with large palms as he held up the thick glass window, the muscles within his arms flexing from the power of it. A few beads of sweat fell within the crevasses of his chest, dripping down and soaking into his shirt, tight from how it stretched across his body. His dark brows were focused, tongue running across his lips as his jaw was set, feet were slightly spread apart, like a soldier, stance strong—God, he was so strong.

His hair was braided back, sweat beading and traveling down his temples, face focused on the work in front of him. He gave a loud huff as he nailed in the window frame, face scowling as his biceps flexed.

Lord Jesus.

But oh, you must’ve been in the seventh ring of hell when he tugged that shirt off of his body. He’d begun playing music to keep himself distracted, but if only he knew.

The tattoos that lined his arms and chest were now on full display, shiny with the sweat. His chest and abs flexed from the work of lifting heavy objects, the thick length of his tatted neck and shoulders flexing from the movements.

And then, so attractively, he rolled his neck back, grunting as he lifted the weight of the glass once more.

You felt dizzy.

Your cheeks flushed as you watched him, eyes staring almost dreamily. There was nothing more attractive than a man working hard, sweat pouring down his body as he pushed his strength to the limits. It made you—imagine things. Your body throbbed at your thoughts, a small frown coming between your lips at the sight.

But that frown quickly erased, as your heart nearly dropped into your ass the moment you heard the door unlock. You hiked your body up to the perfect sitting position, scattering your fingers for your pen as you scribbled random words along the bottom of your papers.

You couldn’t even look in Toji’s direction.

Your husband could’ve called out your name, but you still wouldn’t have looked over. So when Toji appeared beside your desk, his strong arm draping over your shoulders, the weight nearly startled you.

“Babydoll,” he rasped, “What’s goin’ on? You need some water?”

Your eyes glanced at Onyankopon.

Kissing Toji’s jaw, your face flushed as you deflected, “The Louisiana heat is dire—what took you so long, baby?”

Toji’s eyebrows quirked up at your sudden affection, catching the tense in your body. However, being your easily distracted husband, he loved when you wanted to be on him. His hands rubbed over your arms, attempting to soothe you a bit.

“The closest Home Depot didn’t have the wood in stock,” he murmured, “Damn near traveled the entire state.”

Your hips had always been your sensitive spot, lower body shivering a bit as he began to rub there. You found yourself wanting to hold his face, tugging his body to be closer as you told him, “‘Missed you, Toji.”

His grip was light, a thumb brushing along the curve of one of your eyebrows.

“Yeah?” he murmured back.

He noticed the way you tried to look elsewhere.

His fingers came to grip beneath your chin, gently forcing your attention back to him.

“Eyes,” he reminded, “Need em’ here.”

Your husband was a lot of things, but oblivious wasn’t one of them.

“I’m just a little tired,” you found something to say, your hands rubbing at the smoothness of his jaw, rubbing his neck, rubbing everywhere to distract him.

Toji leaned into your touch, but not much. It made your heart beat more.

“You sure that’s the only thing?”

You nod, “Mhm.”

His frown flickers your face once more, but the warmth of your palms was all too soothing. His mouth grunted along your throat, “Missed you too,” kissing pecks along the warm flesh. Your fingers sunk into his hair as you giggled a bit, leaning your head back for him to keep his affection going. But in that moment, your eyes might’ve glanced at Onyankopon once more.

If only you’d realized that your husband noticed.

Finishing off the night was another hour later, as you’d both said your goodbyes to Onyankopon, quickly making it home to wash off the heat of the day. You sat in the vanity your husband had built for you, angles carved within the gold trim of the mirror, lights attached to the surface below to do your skincare or makeup.

As your husband was within the shower, your mind wandered. You’d hoped today’s little hiccup was a spur of the moment, and that you’d become a bit delirious from the heat. However, you still thought about the way Onyankopon looked at you, and something in that still had your thighs squeezing together.

“Pretty girl,” you hear your husband call, the bathroom door opening to reveal him within a towel—it hangs low on his muscular hips, abs sweltering in water, upper body flexing as he dries the damp of his hair.

“You finished up those emails earlier?”

Shit.

The tips of your fingers swiped along your cheek with oil, your eyes briefly finding his as you replied, “Um—No, I didn’t.”

Toji raised an eyebrow in your direction, not used to hearing your denial of finished work.

“What happened?”

Your body shivered under the intensity of his gaze, the heat of the shower steam slowly crawling into the room.

“Got distracted with a couple of phone calls,” was your lie, “Want me to finish them before bed?”

“You seem distracted now,” he points out, “‘Can barely make eye contact with me.”

“You’re the most handsome man in the world,” you hum, “What can I say?”

Toji huffs a chuckle.

His gaze still hardened on you, studying you with those all-seeing eyes of his. You kept your head turned, face flushing again, fingers moving along your facial products as you pretended not to feel it. That’s when you hear him again.

“Let me ask you somethin’.”

Your heart immediately started beating, turning towards him with raised eyebrows.

You tug a curl behind your ear, “Yeah?”

Toji leaned his hip along the edge of the sink, towering over you even with feet away.

“How you feelin’ ‘bout Onyankopon?” he flatly questions, “You like him?”

Your eyes blink at the question. You tilt your head, “You’ve been friends for years. Why wouldn’t I?”

Toji lets a low hum escape his chest while his thumbs hooked at the hips of his towel. His biceps flexed from the position.

“That’s not what I asked.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral.

“What are you asking, then?”

“To be honest with me.”

Onyankopon wasn’t a topic he treaded lightly on, especially when it concerned you. He wasn’t a possessive man by any means, but any question he asked, he wanted the truth.

He repeats, “You like him?”

“I don’t—“ you went to argue, but his eyes stopped you.

So you try again.

“That’s a bit of a weird question to ask, Fushiguro.”

The corner of Toji’s mouth twitched with a frown at you dodging the question. His eyes, however, kept you in a hold.

“Nah,” he disagreed, “It ain’t.”

You sat there quietly, thinking about lying like you’d been doing all day. But the guilt of lying to him felt heavy in your chest.

So, with the slightest of hesitance, you softly admitted, “I do.”

You then follow up with, “But it’s not…like that.”

“Make me understand.”

You shifted in your chair, legs crossing as you attempted to keep your gaze from drifting.

You replied, “I don’t like him in a romantic way. I just—“

Your teeth scrape at your lip a bit, “It’s just a little fantasy, you know? That’s all. I would never act on any of my emotions, Toji. You know that.”

His expression was unreadable.

“Right?”

You wanted that confirmation, swallowing hard. Toji studied you, jaw shifting in the silence that fell.

You then added, “You’re the one I married.”

He replied, “That don’t’ answer my next question.”

“What question?”

His next words had the silence in the room deafening.

“Your fantasy. Talk me through it.”

Your mouth parts to speak, but no words escape you.

“What?”

“Tell me about your fantasy,” Toji repeated, “Don’t act like you don’t understand what I’m askin’ you.”

You felt heat creep back up your body, your cheeks practically on fire.

“There’s nothing to tell, baby. It’s—silly.”

Toji’s jaw ticked.

“You think I’m mad at you?”

You question, “Are you?”

“I’m not. Shit ain’t silly if you’re flustered like this.”

He then repeats, “Tell me.”

You swallowed, fiddling with your manicured fingers.

“Promise you won’t be mad?”

He huffs, “I just told you I wasn’t, babydoll. C’mon.”

Your legs moved together awkwardly, fingers still fiddling, “When I see the two of you being together, working, just—doing stuff, I imagine…”

Toji waited, watching you fidget.

“Sexual stuff, Y’know? My mind just gets a little dirty.”

“You think ‘bout him fuckin’ you?”

“Toji.”

“You think ‘bout him fuckin’ you while I watch?”

“Fushiguro!” you squeaked, “Jesus, no. I think about the both of you,” you clarify, “That’s all!”

You stand from the chair, going over to lightly wrap your arms around his neck—you’re breathless as you whimper, “Please stop asking me this. It’s a stupid thing, okay? I love you. I’d never do anything with anyone else.”

“Is that somethin’ you want?”

“What?” you frown, “What do you mean?”

“You want me and him? You wanna take that?”

You knock your head into his chest, throwing your hands over your face as you squeak again, “Baby!”

The corner of Toji’s mouth lifted with amusement, “I’m just askin’ a question.”

You felt mortified.

You were stubborn in keeping your face covered, muttering out, “No, Fushiguro. Please. Stop.”

You could feel his chuckle against your head, deep within his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist.

“You’re so shy, woman.”

“You’re insane,” you murmur, heart thumping in your chest, “Why aren’t you mad? How aren’t you mad?”

“Don’t really have anythin’ to be mad ‘bout,” Toji murmured, squeezing at your waist, “You like the idea of it; ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

“I feel insane,” You reply.

“Shit is kinda’ cute, honestly.”

“Toji,” You smack his bicep, “Stop.”

“Ouch.”

His hands gripped at the full flesh of your ass, forcing you to hold around his neck as you sat on the sink countertop.

“You done with your lil’ tantrum?”

You roll your eyes, “My husband is tryna’ have me admit to wanting to fuck his best friend. I think my reaction is pretty valid.”

His lips brushed up your neck, voice deep, gruff with his reply, “Ain’t nobody said nothin’ ‘bout all that, huh?” Your legs hooking at either side of his hips, holding him between the warmth of your thighs.

“Can we stop talking about this?” you question, “Why can’t you just say I’m pretty and that you love me? Why do you have to make my life harder?”

He smirked at your complaint. He then responded with, “I think you’re the prettiest thing in the South; you know that.”

His strong hands were already tugging the fabric of your night gown, palming at the soft flesh up your thigh. You grip at his hair, fingers twisting within it.

“You know I love you so damn much,” he grunts, nose running along the curve of your neck, “You’re mine.”

You pucker your lips out, awaiting a kiss.

Toji gives you what you want, of course. He groaned from the sensation of you tugging down on his bottom lip, sucking on it with a pop as he pulled away.

You run your tongue along your lips as you giggle, “Mkay.”

You then sigh, “Wanna go to bed? Get a little—freaky?” you playfully wiggle your brows.

“Yeah. Lemme’ call up Onyankopon first—“

You smack his chest again.

The next couple of days were better than you imagined. It was a resting period, both you and Toji spending most of your time sleeping, cuddling, watching shows, and overall rejuvenating one another in preparation for work the next week.

Your time off had gotten infinitely better when your husband received a phone call from a client within the Garden District—who he thought wasn’t interested in his services—but when he offered triple Toji and Onyankopon’s pay rate, it seemed otherwise. You whisper screamed as you jumped on the bed above him, your feet thumping on either side of his legs as he talked business, watching as he tried to hold off his chuckle.

Here’s when things got weird. Later that morning, Onyankopon planned to come over for a football game, as you’d also agreed to cook in celebration of your big contract coming up. It was a usual routine—football, gym, coming back home to cook.

But something about today’s routine felt…different.

Toji and Onyankopon. The combination of the two was something you could usually handle, but when you came downstairs that morning for coffee, you felt an energy coming off of them. You were usually comfortable in their company. Toji was his rough, crass self, but nonetheless a loving husband. And then there was Onyankapon, who was usually the sweetheart.

But now, you felt as if their attitudes had shifted. They’d been quiet and watchful since you’d entered the kitchen, eyes following your every single move. That’s when you realize—they were watching you like you were their prey.

“Good morning?”

Your voice was sweet, nervous. You waved as if they weren’t ten feet away.

Both men replied with their own version of a greeting, their eyes locked on your form as you moved to grab a cup of coffee. You could feel the heat of their stares.

It was almost—too silent.

If that wasn’t weird, this definitely was. The energy picked up around the afternoon, both men gulping down a beer together as their low tones barked at the television, watching the game at its peak. You’d finished up with those emails you were supposed to finalize, snuggling yourself into your husband as you leaned your upper body into his, Onyankopon beside you while continuously watching the game. Your eyes were a bit droopy as you weren’t as interested, sinking your face deeper into Toji’s abdomen. And that’s when it happened—you felt Onyankopon graze his fingers along your hip as he spoke to your husband about the game. Your eyes went wide.

Onyankopon’s voice was gruff from football games and beers, but his fingers were steady as ever against your skin. Both men were locked onto the screen as if your reaction was nothing important—All the while, you felt your heart thumping under your rib cage.

Your clit throbbed.

Then, it was your husband's turn. Toji’s hand was a stark contrast to Onyankopon’s; rough, large, calloused, and much thicker. His fingers cladded onto your ass, pulling your body back so you were nestled further between the two.

“You think LSU’s gonna’ make an upset today?”

“Ain’t no way them’ niggas beatin’ Georgia,” Onyankopon shook his head, “I’m reppin’ my state, but they’ be drawlin’.”

“You always goin’ too hard for the opposition,” Toji countered, “Gotta’ be more confident in the home team.”

“You ain’t even from Louisiana,” Onyankopon sucked his teeth, “Why you defendin’ niggas like they’ payin’ you to say allat’?”

“I ‘been here for sixteen years now. Chill.”

They’re both touching. Again.

Your heart felt as if it was being squeezed between two giant fingers. You’d tried so hard to keep your focus on the game, but Onyankopon shifted forward in his seat, leaning more of his body closer to your ass. Toji shifted his legs apart, forcing you to lean a bit more onto Onyankopon.

Your heart palpitated.

“You wanna’ go against this bet or not?”

Onyankopon was still rubbing at your hip. He grunted at Toji’s response, “Don’t get yo’ ass beat.”

“Beat this bet, Pussy.”

“Who’ the pussy?”

“I’d say the man who’s ‘bouta lose fifty dollars.”

Your ass was right on top of Onyankopon’s thigh at this point.

You inhaled a shaky breath, feeling a bit dizzy at the scent of them. Toji smelled like nature; earthy, woodsy. Onyankopon, however, smelled like musk and some type of cologne. You weren’t sure which one you liked more, their argument now completely muffled to your ears.

They were trying to kill you.

Maybe it didn’t actually happen that way. Your mind fed on those delusions as you stood within the gym later that day, zoning out each time you waited to do your rep behind both men. You’d always worked out with them, learning different techniques that left your body sore afterwards—but once again, today was different.

They were both rough with their work outs, grunting whenever they’d throw down a set of weights. Chests’ heaving, sweat collecting, they were hot. But today, the attention was on you.

To top it off, they were still touching.

The way Onyankopons’ fingers would graze over your waist as he helped you with your sets, how Toji’s hand smacked your ass as you walked past them—You couldn’t handle them.

It all led into the night—once everyone was refreshed and showered, you were within the kitchen cooking one of their favorite meals—steak, loaded potatoes and broccoli. You were comforted by the candles lit along the house, a glass of wine easing your nerves from the entire day. Your ginger curls draped around your face and past your hips, pale yellow halter top and matching capris hugging the fat of your ass, frilly sock beneath your golden heels to match the jewelry on your caramel skin. You were currently seasoning your steak, eyes briefly flickering to the patio door halfway open as both men smoked a blunt together. You watched them.

Toji was dressed in those loose, dark cargos that hung off of his hips for dear life, a white muscle shirt stretched to its limit across his biceps and over the chest. Onyankopons’ pants were black, and his shirt was navy blue. They're both huge.

A slight breeze drifted through the cracked patio door, blowing into the house and mixing with the scents of Toji’s—and now their—smoke.

Their shoulders flexed as they passed the blunt back and forth, laughter and low conversation heard through the glass. They were both so handsome, so attractive, so rough compared to you.

Your eyes briefly met theirs from the doorway, Toji’s eyes that dark grey, Onyankopons’ a lighter brown.

They were looking at you. No other way to describe it. They were looking at you.

The sight made you a bit wobbly. Nonetheless, you waved through the window at the two, dimple poking with the soft smile you gave them.

Your husbands’ fingers rubbed at his jaw while Onyankopon cracked a smirk, waving back at you in return.

Okay.

When they made it back inside, you were in the middle of cutting your potatoes up—you hummed, “Everything okay?”

Toji’s gaze was focused on your hands as you chopped the vegetables, but it eventually flickered to your face as he replied, "Good, just missed you out there.”

Onyankopons’ head tilted your direction too, eyes scanning you from head to toe, “You look good,” He complimented, voice raspy.

You blushed at his compliment. Accepting the kiss Toji gave along your cheek, you’re distracted as he tugs his finger through your curls—you giggle a bit, “Just wanted to look pretty for tonight—you guys look nice too,” you turn your face to kiss at your husbands lips, “You guys hungry?”

Toji leaned in for another kiss, sucking your lower lip between his teeth as he multiplied his pecks. You rubbed your fingers along his shoulder, turning your face up for his mouth to find your jaw. You weren’t used to your husband giving this kind of affection in front of his friend.

“Starvin’,” Toji grunted.

Onyankopons’ eyes stayed on you, tongue running along those large lips of his, “You always lookin’ pretty, Mama. You know that?”

The pet name made your thighs want to clench.

“Um—“ you giggled once more, holding Toji’s jaw to keep him in place, “Thank you, Ony. I should be done with dinner soon, okay?”

“Don’t take too long,” Toji murmured along your neck, “Can’t keep my mouth off’ you.”

His hand smacked the fuller portion of your ass, sending it jiggling beneath your capris.

Onyankopons’ tongue ran along his lips, “Aight. I’m waitin’ on you, girl.”

That sentence weighed in your chest.

Toji went upstairs to find another lighter, leaving the two of you downstairs—alone. You hummed the low instrumentals of your music, beginning to slice the stems of your broccoli. You gave Onyankopon a small smile as his eyes found yours every so often, tugging your hair out of your face as a way to distract how anxious you felt.

You softly ask, “How’d you spend your days off?”

Onyankopons’ eyes followed the movement of your fingers through your hair, watching the way your neck exposed when you threw it back. His arms folded over his chest, the veins within his forearms prominent from the action.

“Shit was aight,” he replied evenly, “‘Nigga just caught up on some sleep. You?”

You hummed, attempting to look for another cutting board, “We caught up on a couple of shows, cuddled, mushy shit that married couples do,” you shake your head.

You then ask, “How ‘you feel about the contract in the Garden District?”

The corner of Onyankopons’ mouth twitched with a small smile, eyes lingering on the way your hips shifted.

“Feels good to have contracts comin’ left and right,” he replied, “Blessed, essentially. Y’all’ been on my ass since the last project, so I’m ready to start sum’ new.”

You turn your head towards him, hair draping over your shoulder. You roll your eyes, musing, “Y’know it’s not like that, Onyankopon. Toji is just—despite the things clients ask for, he wants to go above and beyond that. Not saying you don’t, he’s just—particular, you know?”

Onyankopons’ eyes were practically glued to you as he replied, “Yeah, nah, I ain’t mean it like that. I know how Toji gets, that’s just part of the process,” His head cocked, “He just get’ too caught up sometimes.”

Onyankopons’ eyebrows lifted, “How you’ be puttin’ up wit’ him?”

“The same way you do,” you softly giggle, “We both love him. It’s a thing we seem to have in common.”

He chuckled in return, your attention moving back to finish cutting your broccoli. After a few moments of silence, your eyes flick back up to him—you call, “Ony?”

You think on your words.

“I just wanted to say—thank you, for being such a good friend to him. He doesn’t have anyone in his life outside of me, and having such amazing emotional support, he’s happier when you’re around. It means the world.”

Onyankopons’ expression changed with the way your voice softened, something warm, comfortable, almost intimate coming from the way you talked about his friend, his best friend for that matter.

His voice was softer in reply, “Of course, Mama. Toji’s family to me. Couldn’t ask a nigga for a better person to have in my corner.”

After a moment, he then questions, “What ‘bout you?”

You blink at the question, “What about me?”

“You’ happy to have me around?”

The question makes your heart thump. You sigh, “I’m always happy to have you around, Ony. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Ion’ make you feel no type of way?”

You blink.

“Of course not.”

There was something about his tone that made your nerves tighten. The way he looked at you was different from the way Toji did, but it had your heart thumping the same.

“No,” You reply, “You’ve been nothing but sweet to me since day one.”

He spread his legs a bit, abdomen flexing as he did so.

Onyankopons’ head tilted, “Just sweet?”

You swallowed, nodding.

“Yeah.”

His fingers flexed as they rested in his lap. You turned your back to him, beginning to cut the remaining broccoli.

“Nothin’ else?”

Your neck prickled at the way his voice dropped.

You shook your head, keeping your eyes locked below. But that’s when you hear—

“I see how you be lookin’ at me, girl.”

Your hands clenched around the knife.

When your eyes find his, that’s when your body tensed—your hands quickly dropping the knife as you feel a slice along your index finger. You held your hand towards your body, scrunching your face at the discomfort.

Onyankopons’ chair made an obnoxious noise as he shot up from his seat—It seemed he was across the room in a second, towering over your body as he took hold of your injured hand. His hands were large, long fingers circling all the way to your wrist as he assessed the wound.

“I—I wasn’t paying attention,” You murmured, “I got distracted. You—“

And then, he’s sucking.

Your eyes widened as Onyankopons’ lips engulfed the wound on your index finger, tongue licking the area with zero hesitance. It was the last thing you expected him to do.

“Ony—“

“‘Gotta be more careful, Mama.”

His tongue runs across his mouth as he pulls back, as if savoring the taste of you. Your lips parted, your chest heaving as his lips hovered along yours.

“You got a taste on you, girl.”

You could’ve died right there. That’s when you hear the heavy thumps of your husband coming downstairs, your face hot as he eyes the two of you in closer vicinity.

He questions, “You good, baby? What happened?”

You felt dizzy under both of their heavy gazes. You swallowed again, nodding.

“She cut her finger,” Onyankopons’ replied evenly, “She wasn’t payin’ attention.”

And as both men conversed normally after that, that’s when you realized—they were in fact trying to get you.

Your mind was elsewhere during dinner. The wine had your brain fuzzy, keeping yourself quiet as you watched both men talk shit between one another, per usual. Everything up in this moment began to click—the day you watched Onyankopon, the conversation with Toji, the weird interactions between the two all day—at this point, you were just waiting for something to happen.

“Yo’, you remember when we went into that adult store up on Bourbon street? Niggas was weird,” Onyankopon chuckle, “Never went back after that.”

Toji huffed, nodding in agreement, “Dude was tellin’ us ‘bout wantin’ to be a dog. I’m not judgin’, but I didn’t wanna hear all that.”

Both men laughed. Your fingers tapped against your glass nervously.

Toji then turns, “We went to one a couple years ago, huh, babydoll?”

You blink at Toji’s words, snapping out of your thoughts when your husband addresses you.

“Yeah,” you laugh a bit, “Yeah, we did.”

Toji chuckled once more, “We were in there for hours.”

Your eyes widened, “We were not in there for that long!”

Onyankopons’ head tilted, “What were y’all doin’ in there, applyin’ for the job?”

You roll your eyes, “Funny, but no. I just wanted to find something—sorry, you don’t wanna hear all that,” you shook your head, “It’s a little TMI.”

Onyankopon raised an eyebrow.

“Try me, I ain’t gon’ freak out.”

You inhaled a deep breath, giving in. You sat up in your seat, clearing your throat as you fiddled with the stem of your glass.

“I was just—browsing,” you giggle, “I was looking for a dildo, but the ones they had were a little too big for me. Like, seven or eight inches.”

Toji and Onyankopons’ heads tilted, expressions staying the same, but you could see it within their eyes that there was a change. Toji’s eyes darkened, lips pressed together. Onyankopons’ jaw flexed a bit.

And then, Onyankopon chuckles.

It sends a chill through your spine, one where you didn’t understand what was exactly funny. Your eyes run across him the same way you did a couple days ago—cornrows, strident face, full goatee. You almost missed his next set of words as he looked at Toji.

“She ain’t gon’ be able to fit me.”

You felt your entire body freeze.

Toji’s jaw clicked in return, “Nah, she will. She be takin’ my shit real good now.”

Were you going into shock?

You could’ve melted into the chair. Toji murmured, “My pretty ass woman. Always so shy.”

“She’ more than shy,” Onyankopon murmured in return, his tone low, “Ain’t that right, pretty girl?”

Your body felt like it was about to light on fire from the inside out.

“I—“

“What’s wrong, Mama?” Onyankopon questions, “Youn’ want me no’ more?”

Your mouth dropped open.

Toji grunted, “Words, baby. We need to hear you.”

And there it was. The arousal in your body ignited like a flame in that very second, becoming wet. You looked between the both of them, and suddenly, you were trying desperately not to break.

“Toji,” you pouted, “I—“

“Nuh-uh,” Toji clicked his teeth, “We don’t pout. You gotta’ speak up, don’t you?”

His gaze was intense, his lips slightly upturning as he watched you flounder around yourself. You had never felt so vulnerable in your life as both men’s eyes kept you locked on the chair—no escape.

Onyankopon gave a low groan in return, “Use your words, Mama. I love hearin’ that voice.”

Your chest rose and fell faster, feeling like you wanted to rip your skin off.

Moral to the story? You were absolutely, positively fucked.

Your round eyes stared from above, fluttering between two looming frames that glared back down at you—the difference now? They were naked, and so were you. Your palms covered the swell of your nipples, ginger curls draping over your curvy body in a way that almost made you look otherworldly. You chewed at your baby pink lips, horny, curious.

They were so big.

Even within the bedroom, both men shared many differences—Onyankopons’ dick was massive, thick and veined at the top, long from the base. The complexion of his skin was beautiful and even, all the way down to his deep pink tip. Toji’s, however, was a bit more manageable—he wasn’t as wide, but was about a bit longer, his tip a softer pink as his chest rose and fell in a harsh manner, watching you.

“Show how pretty your shit is, baby.”

Toji’s voice. It echoes in your mind, low, gruff, and rumbling.

But that didn’t keep you from listening—even if you were a bit shy, you turn yourself to face the opposite of them—your back perfectly arches lower onto the bed, cheek pressed into the sheets as you spread your pussy open—your folds were in fact pretty, rougè, glistening beneath the dim lights of the room.

“There we go,” Onyankopons murmured, fingers moving to grip at the full bottom of one of your ass cheeks. When he spanked there, your body trembled in return, folds clenching around nothing,

“Look how muhfuckin’ pretty you are.”

You whimpered into the sheets. Toji gave a low grunt of his own, hand coming up to grip at your other cheek harshly, spreading you open more for them to see, “Fuckin’ hell, baby.”

Your back arched a bit more at the feel of your husband, stomach pressed into the mattress as your body quivered.

That’s when you felt a thick, heat prodding at your entrance. He’s slapping his tip on your folds.

You clenched once more—your nerves were on fire from just the sensation alone, feeling of his thick, slick head smacking down.

“Which one’ you feelin’, huh?”

“Toji,” you whimpered quickly, “Feel you, baby.”

“Just me,” Toji rasped, “Always mine. Ain’t she?”

Onyankopons’ voice was behind you, “Yours entirely.”

You felt your back stiffen to keep in the mewl you were about to let out—your eyes continuously fluttered, cheek still smashed against the sheets.

“Now you listenin’,” Toji murmured, “All good girls do that, huh?”

Onyankopon chuckled behind you; the bed shifted as he spread you even further.

“C’mere. Show me some love,” your husband husked.

That's why it was your favorite term—it was something you both used, as you either wanted the sweetest affection possible—or he was planning to rut his dick at the back of your throat. Your body was still shivering as you turned, your teeth grazing over your bottom lip as his hand found your chin.

Your round eyes glaze up, “Lemme’ have a kiss, baby.”

“Needy ass.”

His thumb swiped over your mouth, pulling your bottom lip with him as he watched your lips pucker, waiting for him to meet you.

“Just pretty as hell.”

His lips touched yours for a second, his tongue sliding inside your mouth to taste you. You returned the kiss, sliding your tongue around his mouth messily, panting when you pulled back—it made you throb everywhere, your mouth then lowering itself to latch onto the edge of his tip. The scent of him, the flex of his pelvic bone, you moan against him, sliding your fingers across his muscular abdomen.

“I know you’re excited baby—watch them’ teeth,” He growled, his head tilting back as the grip in your hair yanked your head further down his length, “Careful.”

You moaned around Toji’s dick once more, taking him just a little bit deeper into the confines of your mouth as he huffed. You could barely get halfway, your hands moving from his abdomen to rest on his muscular thighs, nails biting into his skin as his fingers kept you moving, the schluck of your mouth already creating a sound within the room. Your eyes cast to Onyankopon who watches, keeping his palm steady around his own dick, vision narrowing at the sight.

A string of saliva follows your full lips, your mouth pulling halfway off as your fingers wrap at the base of him, rotating your palm. Your voice, it’s higher in this scenario—your curls drape your body as you mewled, “Didn’t mean to hurt you, Daddy.”

Toji’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle, his hands gripping at your hair as you ran your tongue across his slit, spreading pre-cum across his tip before your mouth sucks, “You’re fine, baby. ‘Know you ain’t mean it.”

Toji then grunts, his face twisted back in pure pleasure, “Wanna’ see that pretty face a lil’ more.”

His other hand came down to grip along the side of your cheek, running his thumb along your jaw, “Tongue out at me. Show me how good my girl is.”

You didn’t hesitate to do as you were told, your mouth sliding backwards off of his length, tongue poking out to press just below his head.

Toji groaned, “Shit.”

You moaned in return, the sound muffling around him as your eyes locked on his. Your husband wasn’t always the most vocal man, letting you do most of the talking in bed—but to see how elated you were to have an audience, Toji let out a deep moan once you began to take him again, sliding him all the way to the back of your throat.

His hips pushed forward, slapping up against your chin as your mouth worked him—You looked up from beneath your eyelashes, eyes growing watery with the back of his tip hitting your throat. Your eyes found Onyankopon’s again, giving him a show.

Onyankopon’s jaw clicked at the sight.

Toji’s hands grip onto you, his face almost viscous in the look he gave. His voice came out in a hiss, “She ain’t stoppin’ no time soon.”

Onyankopon grunts at Toji’s words, the veins in his hands becoming more visible, “You’ doin’ a good job, girl—shit.”

“She’s doin’ a good job, huh?” Toji repeated, his free hand raking into your hair again, “You see that? My baby givin’ her all right now.”

All you could do under his grip was moan, nodding your head through its back and forth.

“I’m watchin’,” Onyankopons replied, his neck flexing from how he held himself. His fingers wrapped tightly around the base of his length, “I see you real good. Pretty ass bitch.”

Your face was a mess at this point. The makeup you had on earlier was smeared all across your mouth, your eyes still holding Onyankopons’ while Toji continued to move your head with his strong, large hands.

He grunted through his teeth, “She gettin’ better?”

“Yeah. Her mouth’ good as hell—I’m tryna’ feel that shit.”

Onyankopon wags his dick beneath his palm, “You gon’ let me?”

That’s when you slow your movements—your eyes peer back to the heft of his length, nearly the size of a monster you weren’t sure you could manage. At the same time, there was a slight hesitance in your eyes—simply because of who he was to you, and the last thing you wanted was to make your husband jealous.

Your lips swelled as you ran your tongue against them, eyes flickering up to Toji—your voice is soft, “Can I?”

Toji’s face flickered with something, but it quickly smoothed once he met Onyankopon’s dark eyes. A moment passed between them—a beat, or maybe two—your husband inhaled then exhaled, his features smirking slightly as he gave a single nod, “Go ‘head.”

“I love you,” you moan, sliding your tongue across Toji’s tip once more, “So much.”

It was a reassurance for him.

“I know you do,” Toji replied gruffly, his grip in your hair slackening once you move towards Onyankopons’ now exerted dick—it nearly slaps you in the face. You tugged at your lip once more, eyes eagerly facing up to him.

You weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Your fingers didn’t even wrap around him all the way.

Your hands come up to grip at the flesh of his quads, fingers digging into his skin as you flattened your tongue over the sides of Onyankopons’ dick, “Gon’ make me feel good, Mama? This what you been wantin’?”

You nod eagerly, feeling the way it twitched against your face. It jumped, too.

Your eyes widened. Your mouth was almost too small, or he was too thick. You moaned around his tip, sucking through the immediate fullness of your cheeks. Somehow, this felt rewarding.

You bobbed your head once, twice—He groans, his hands twitching against his thighs as he lets you try and take him, “There you go—that fuckin’ mouth.”

Onyankopon gritted his teeth; your tongue continued to slide up and down his length, sucking and swirling at his tip, wanting all of him in your mouth. Toji watched you, and he noticed something—the way your eyes rolled, as if this was in fact all you wanted. You were nastier, sloppier with the man opposite of him.

You moaned around his head, loudly, and Toji’s jaw clicked. You were careless—filthier with Onyankopon.

“Keep talkin’ to her,” Toji grunts, “That’s the shit she likes.”

Onyankopons’ hands finally settled on both sides of your throat, a rough grip on your chin with his thumbs—he moaned heavily, eyes flickering down towards you, “Pretty ass face, Mama. You suckin’ me up like a fuckin’ pro.”

You moaned in response, “Tastes so good.”

“Keep takin’ that shit, baby.”

Toji’s voice was all around you.

Onyankopon pushed his hips forward, a small shlupp was heard as you gagged. His fingers pressed against your cheek, feeling the curve of your stuffed mouth when he ran his thumb over the flesh, “Yeah? How it’ look?”

Without a second to waste, you let his tip pop out of your mouth, tongue poking out as you moaned, “‘Look so good. So handsome, Papa.”

You could hear him growl at the pet name, your face becoming more of a mess from how spit dripped over your chin. You were in a daze.

“Look in her eyes,” Toji instructs, “Look into them when you speak, too.”

Onyankopons’ eyes flicker down to meet your own once more, “Like that?”

You nod eagerly, lips swollen and puffy as you nod, “Mhm.”

“Always keep them’ eyes on her.”

Onyankopons’ mouth twitched into a smirk. They were brown; dark, a color you could get lost in if you looked long enough. They were bright despite the dimness of the room, holding nothing else but you.

His grip on your face got tighter as you slid your mouth back onto his length. You moaned again, feeling so full, “So big, Ony.”

You were becoming confident, a point you hit when you were so horny that it made you delirious—here it was. The sight of you was blinding—your mouth was engorged with the space of his dick, cheeks bulging as your eyes rolled shut blissfully. That's when you tugged Onyankopon from your mouth, tongue lolling out as you mewled, “Spit on it.”

And he did—he lowered his mouth, dropping saliva between your lips—he found himself kissing you seconds later, feigning to taste you. It was good, so good. Your body rose up to press against his as your fingers found his shoulders, nails digging into the skin as you moved forward on your knees to get closer to him, your head tilting further back so he could slide his tongue into your mouth. You sucked each other’s mouths.

That’s when it happens—when you lower back down to find the fat of Onyankopon’s dick, you slap it on your tongue so loudly that it echoes—Toji grunts in an irritation, “Don’t be fuckin’ cute.”

You giggled, running your tongue over Onyankopon’s length, sucking his balls into your mouth.

“Just wanted to taste him, Daddy.”

Onyankopon darkly chuckled.

That's when you hear Toji’s, “Yeah?”

He grunts, “Quit playing. Lay on your back, miss your pussy in my mouth.”

Onyankopons’ voice cut through the room, “Lay that ass down.”

At both of their commands, you listen. Your heart thumped within your chest as your back made contact with the bed—you hear Toji’s, “Come hold her legs—she be runnin’ from my mouth,” he grunts.

You whimper, “Sensitive, baby.”

Regardless, Onyankopon was behind your head—he hovered over to pull your legs back, holding you by your ankles as he spread you apart.

Your fingers were already sinking in your husband's hair below, clenching the tresses between your fingers—his tongue spread across your folds, sliding saliva all across the flesh.

Toji groaned as he felt your legs already trembling, your eyes rolling as Onyankopon kept your legs open. You tug at your lower lip, voice high pitched, “F—fuck, baby. Missed your mouth so much.”

He grunts, his mouth still pressed against your clit. Your legs squirmed, toes clenching as his tongue slid across your entrance, “Taste so good.”

You moaned in response, writhing—you were more sensitive the more his tongue slipped against your clit, swirling around it in slow motions. Your chest rose and fell, feeling the heat of both men’s touch. You whimpered again, hips wriggling under the pressure of Toji’s hands over your pelvis, “Toji,” you moaned, “It—ooh.”

He warned against your folds, “Stop movin’.”

Onyankopons’ grip on your ankles was borderline bruising, his dark eyes flickering down to watch how Toji’s mouth lapped at you. Each time you moved, he spread your ankles even farther.

“Look at the way he just in yo’ pussy,” Onyankopon grunts in your ear, “Bouta’ have a nigga drownin’ in yo’ shit.”

Your thighs trembled like crazy at the sounds your pussy made, almost as if Toji were blowing bubbles across the flesh. You pouted beneath yourself, “Fuck,” you mewl, “That feels so good.”

Toji’s took one long, slow, lick over your clit. He grumbled in return, “Pussy messy as fuck, baby.”

Your back arches. You lift above to take a look—Onyankopons’ eyes were staring down, watching. You could see the veins in his arms throbbing as he gripped your ankles.

“God damn,” Onyankopon murmured, “Yo’ pussy finna’ get sucked up by my mouth. That shit lookin’ edible.”

The combination of Toji’s mouth and Onyankopon’s words, your pout deepened on your face.

Toji didn’t hesitate to bury his face all into your folds. Your legs were trembling dangerously at this point, watching as he ate you like a starved man. To make matters worse, Onyankopons’ breath was hot in your ear as he continued to hold your ankles, eyes still locked on your husband between your legs—your chest rose and fell, the sensation of Toji’s mouth against you becoming almost too much to handle. You groaned, “Oooh,” legs trying to snap closed, head falling back against Onyankopon’s shoulder, just moaning within his ear.

“You smell so sweet,” Onyankopon murmured, “He eatin’ that pussy,” Onyankopons growled in your ear, “Shit look’ good as hell with his face in it.”

You whimpered at his words.

Onyankopons leaned forward just a bit, mouth almost pressed against your ear, “I’m missin’ yo’ mouth, babydoll.”

He tugs your hair from around your cheeks, looming above you as his dick slapped across your entire face—his tip is sliding between your mouth, making you whimper even deeper as Toji continued eating at you from below.

Onyankopons’ dick was bigger upside down. You moaned around it, making it hit the back of your throat with every quick thrust he made—he grunted, “You doin’ so good, pretty mama. Finna’ have a nigga put his shit in you.”

Your hands reached back, digging into his hips so you could pull him all the way in, “Fuck, girl, Yo’ throat bulgin’.”

Toji continued eating you from below; the mixture of him and Onyankopons had your eyes watery, legs shaking as if you’d been tased. Every other word out of your mouth was a moan that went directly onto Onyankopon’s dick.

That’s when you pull him from your mouth, sliding your tongue on the sides of his length—you whimper below him, “Want it in me, Ony.”

He pulled you down to where your nose was pressed to his pelvis—he groaned within your mouth, “That ain’t how you beg,” he grunts.

“Please, Ony. Please.”

He growled from the sound of your begging, “You want it that bad?”

You whined onto his dick, “‘So bad.”

A smirk appeared across Onyankopons’ face. You could hear Toji’s slurrpp between your legs, still tongue deep along your pussy. But the moment he heard you begging from below, his mouth pulled away, leaving you cold. It had you whimpering at the loss.

But then, Onyankopon’s mouth was on you. And it was nowhere near the same.

He wasn’t as soft as Toji. His long tongue swirled around your clit—you moaned again, feeling it slide against the flesh harshly.

You gripped at his cornrows, legs shaking in his grip again, “Oh, Ony.”

He lapped at your clit, “Can’t hear you,” he muffled.

Toji was behind you now, holding your legs in place of Onyankopon. He moaned in your ear, “You look so good, baby, spread all open like that.”

“I can’t,” you whined, “Put it in me.”

Onyankopon’s head dipped lower, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking. You were practically vibrating. You lean your head on your husband's shoulder, accepting the kiss he gives you, whimpers muffling into his mouth.

“I love you,” you kept whimpering, “Love you so much, Fushiguro.”

“I love you,” he murmured back onto your lips, “I know.”

Your body tensed the moment you felt Onyankopon’s tip sliding across your folds—you’d wanted it so bad, but actually feeling him weigh against your lower body, you shivered. His upper body loomed above your own as Toji stayed behind, Onyankopon’s lips coming to slide his tongue into your mouth, both men close to your face now.

His dick is sliding between your folds again, again, making them spread apart every few seconds. His forehead presses to yours in such a domineering way—the silence that falls between the two of you feels heavy as his tip begins nudging into your opening—it swallows itself inside, your mouth immediately frowning at the discomfort you feel. Onyankopon sucks the softest kiss on your mouth, grunting as he sinks even deeper. Your eyes rolled, body trembling as you pressed your forehead farther into his. Your fingers found his upper back, nails digging into the flesh as your body responds in all different ways—but it was so good, the tiniest whimper parts from your lips as you lightly squirt on his tip. You’d never done that before, as you creamed more than anything.

“Pussy tryna’ push me out,” Onyankopon grunts on your lips, moaning into another kiss, “That’s how you cummin’?”

“Baby,” Toji moaned, “That was so fuckin’ good. Ain’t even started yet,” he tugs your hair from your face, sucking his mouth against your throat. Your body shakes, gasping as tears seeped from your eyes. You whimpered to Onyankopon, “Oh my god.”

You could hear yourself—you were whiny, sensitive and too full. You mewled again, feeling your stomach clenching as your eyes rolled back. Onyankopons’ face was dark, “You tight as hell,” pressing his forehead more into yours, “You gon’ open up for me?”

A weak, “Uh huh,” comes from your lips.

You could feel him trying to be steady, not wanting to hurt you, but at the same time, his eyes were hooded, lust within them—“Tryin’,” he murmured. His hips stilled for a moment as he slowly, gently slid more of his length deeper into you. You moaned, loud enough to echo off of the wall, “Ugh, fuck.”

Your mind was going blank. His head fell back, “You takin’ me so good,” Your back kept arching, legs quaking. Toji was right there, caressing your scalp to soothe you. You were releasing sounds you’d never made before, moaning deeper each time Onyankopon pulled out to slide himself in more—the slap of his hips against the back of your thighs has your eyes rolling, your face screwed up in pleasure, nodding against his forehead as all you could do was cry for him.

Your legs were shaking too much, to the point Toji gave Onyankopon a glare, “Slow down.”

Onyankopon gritted his teeth as if to focus, trying to not give in to all of the sounds you were making.

“Can’t,” he grunted—Your body kept squirming, legs spreading themselves more open for him, “F—fuck,” he cursed. He was grunting and moaning just as much as you were now.

“Talk to me, Mama. I’m hurtin’ you?” Onyankopon gruffs at you. You find your hand at the nape of his neck, lips closer together—you mewl to him, “Feels sooo good,” your voice was soft, “‘M okay,” you promised to both of them.

Toji was trying to spread some comfort for you, “Look at me, breathe,” his voice was low, his hand reaching forward to touch your cheek. He gave you what you wanted; he leaned his face against your own, “Look at me, pretty baby. Breathe.”

Your entire body listened to your husband’s commands. You took in a deep breath in response, your body calming a bit as he murmured sweetly against your face, “That’s it, good girl.”

A little easier to process with your husbands’ fingers caressing your cheek, you whimpered, “Please,” you whispered on his lips, “Don’t stop him.”

You spread your legs wider—your eyes rolled at the sensation, reaching your hand up to Onyankopon’s face to pull him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth.

Onyankopon growled, holding onto your chin so he could suck on your bottom lip. Toji’s thumb was wiping at your cheek, swiping away tears that you didn’t even realize you were shedding.

He pressed his forehead back to your own, mouth still connected in a sloppy kiss, “Don’t move,” Onyankopon murmured against your face. You felt both mouths kissing somewhere along your body, and that pleasure could’ve engulfed you into an explosion.

But oh, they had so much more to give.

Maybe you did too. Your shaken legs had found themselves crawling along the bed, doe eyes becoming a sultry slender as you crawled towards your husband— your curls evaded your entire body as you slid your hands across his chest, grinding yourself along his lap to gain his attention—you tell him, “I missed you, baby.”

“Missed you too,” Toji murmured in return, unable to keep his eyes off of you. His large palm slid across your hips, another palm reaching around to smack his tip between your folds from behind. You giggled, hair swinging to one side of your body as you circled your hips atop of him, “You wanna put it in me?”

Your hands slide across your nipples, making sure to keep Onyankopon’s attention as your hand finds the tip of his dick beside your body—you whimper to your husband, “Want you so much, Toji. Talk to me.”

Onyankopons’ hands found their way to your arms and shoulders, squeezing the flesh there—One of your hands reached up onto Onyankopons’ face, running your fingers against his facial hair, moving to slide your index finger onto his lips.

“You been’ havin’ fun,” Toji grunted to you, “Come fuck me.”

“Always thinkin’ ‘bout you,” you moaned, your hands leaving behind Onyankopons’ face to slide back onto Toji’s shoulders. Onyankopon grunted, “She need’ you—Drippin’ all over the sheets and shit.”

You’re guiding yourself down, sinking onto his dick in a way that has your husband leaning his head back onto the bed, clutching your hips within his palms. Toji’s groaning through full lips, eyes narrowing up to you as you’re already bouncing your ass down onto his abdomen. You giggle through a moan, leaning towards Onyankopon with angelic eyes, sticking your tongue out to await for his mouth.

Toji growled from below, “Look at you,” while Onyankopons’ hand pushed a few of your curls aside with a low chuckle, “Cute as hell.”

Onyankopon’s tongue slithered within the confines of your mouth, hand sliding behind your neck to keep your face close to his—your attention went onto your husband, your hips rotating, circling above him—you take one of his palms, sliding it up your body as you suck his index finger into your mouth, moaning around it.

“Jesus,” Toji growled, “‘Gonna’ have me bust early, baby,” He grunted out, “Keep it up.”

You shake your head, “Don’t wanna cum without you,” you whimper—so you lean back to your side, finding Onyankopon’s dick between your lips—you’re sucking, keeping your hips moving for Toji, but your attention elsewhere.

Onyankopons’ hand was resting atop of your forehead, his fingers buried into your hair. You moaned around him again, one hand wrapped around his length and the other caressing Toji’s chest. Your husband was becoming more aggressive below you, his hands finding themselves beneath your thighs to guide you.

He takes one hand to find your throat, snatching your face in his direction. He grunts to you, “I know you’re hearin’ me. Come fuck me, girl. Bounce on my dick like you missed me.”

You have your attention fully on him now—you whimper, “Sorry,” all while you press your feet flat along the bed, tossing your hair along one side of your body as your palms pressed against his chest—your ass trembles each time it claps along his abdomen, a wetness drenching his flesh, the sight of you like hell wrapped up in beauty.

“I love your dick sooo much,” you promised to him, ass clapping at this point, “Love you, Fushiguro,” you whimper, spreading your cheeks from behind, wanting him deeper each time you dropped down.

“I know you fuckin’ do.”

His palm spanks against your asscheek. It jiggles beneath the impact, Toji’s hands finding your hips again to hold you in place.

“Keep fuckin’ me like that.”

Your legs were shaking as Toji’s hips moved to meet your own, bouncing you up and down himself.

Onyankopon was behind you, finding his palms along your hips as he helped you—your eyes rolled, mewling as you allowed him to guide your body down.

Your fingers found your clit below, shoulder shivering as Onyankopon licked up the back of your neck, “O—Ooh,” you moaned, “Please.”

You mewled at both men, your body quaking as your hands slid up behind you, fingers grazing over Onyankopon’s hair. You sloppily slow your tongue in and out his mouth, tugging his head back as you whimper to him, “Put it back in.”

You lean down to find Toji’s

mouth within a deep kiss, hearing his murmur of, “‘Go head, wanna watch you cum.”

Your curls draped across his chest as you tugged his dick from your folds, back arching as you grind your lower body for Onyankopon to take you from behind—you whimper to him, “Want it. ‘Want it, Ony.”

“Been patient,” Onyankopons’ husked, “Come drop that shit on me.”

His hands found both of your asscheeks again, spreading them open. You moaned over your shoulder, the taste of your own skin delicious as he slid himself between your folds, deeper than he’d been before. The giggle you give is elated, eyes rolling as you’re messily bouncing your ass back onto his dick, you’re groaning, “Fuckkk.”

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Toji groaned from below, watching you take it from behind, “Greedy as fuck.”

Onyankopon collected your hair beneath his fist, tugging you back gently while allowing you to fuck yourself onto him—he glares down, “You’ loud.”

“You feel so good,” you couldn’t stop repeating, your hands pressed into Toji’s shoulders to lean back more, arching as you continued to take Onyankopon as deep as you could, “Feelssogood.”

“Givin’ you what you been wantin’,” Onyankopon growled behind you, "Look how good you look takin’ this dick, pretty mama.”

You tried to keep your eyes open, but each time you moved with him, pleasure was rising from somewhere deep within you that had your vision becoming blurry. You were drunk at this point.

“You feel so good in me,” you repeated one more time—it’s the softest you’ve ever spoken, squealing in a way that your body showed exhaustion. You were just taking him now, Onyankopon’s dick becoming drenched in your cream. You pouted, sobbing lowly through your sniffles.

Neither of them had ever seen a reaction out of you like this—you were so sensitive, too sensitive, too open. Onyankopon pounded into your messy, soaking wet pussy from behind, “You gone. Takin’ my dick without even askin’ for it.”

His palm slides along your neck, gently tugging your face back to look into his eyes—you could hear Toji’s grunt of, “So proud of you, baby.”

You sob softly in return again, keeping your eyes against Onyankopon’s as he tugs you back and forth—you’re so full of him, you can barely feel it anymore. Your voice was deeper, an inhale shaky in your throat, exhaled as you cried real tears.

You were so far gone. Toji’s one hand fisted the tip of his dick, other fingers running through your hair, giving you a gentle pull to keep your face from hiding.

“How you feelin’, baby?” he keeps his voice low, gentle.

You could barely speak—you were so busy crying from pleasure, your hands found his face as you whimpered through tears, “I’m gonna cum,” you trembled, “Gonnacum.”

You were so beautiful like this. Crying and whimpering for them in such an exhausted state, so full that they were ready to cum with you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You gon’ cum all on me, Mama?”

Onyankopon’s voice.

You nod again, breathless, “Mmm-hmm,” through tears. Toji presses his forehead against your own, allowing you to respond any way you needed to.

Toji pressed a small kiss onto your face, “Good girl. Keep goin’. Almost,” he encouraged you in the most gentle tone possible.

Onyankopons’ breathing was a lot rougher now, the sound of his pelvis smacking against your ass filling the room. He was holding onto your hip with one hand, while the other held the back of your neck, watching his dick being coated by your cream.

You moaned between your tears, voice hiccupping with every pound he delivered. He kept mumbling words from above you that couldn’t decipher, but Toji was still there to calm you.

The room was a chorus of skin against skin, your mewls getting even higher in pitch with how full you felt at Toji’s hands on your face—the warmth of his own cum spurted on your stomach— you were babbling, your body wilder, your toes curling. You squirt again, gasping into a rough kiss with your husband. Onyankopon’s tongue is sliding across your lower back, moaning as you feel a warmth in your pussy—he cums with you.

Your body feels sore, as if you’d just ran a marathon. You quiver when Onyankopon pulls himself out, feeling the cum dripping from your pussy—and somehow, through everything you’d just done, that makes you bury your face within Toji’s shoulder, cheeks flushed as you masked your face.

When your brain sobered over the events of the past couple of days, you still couldn’t believe it—Would it happen again? Was this a one time thing? Only the future could tell.

As your round eyes glanced between both men, the only answer you received was a deep, low, chuckle.

And that’s how you ended up here.

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injellyfish1218 · 9 days ago

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I sincerely hope in your heart, that you don’t believe all white people hate black people, cause that’s 100% not true. You can’t group a whole race together. Some white people are emotionally immature and trashy with that, but a lot of us are full of love for yall, and want the best for you, respectfully! I wouldn’t give a shit if someone was purple or pink, it’s a skin tone. I want everyone to win and be at peace

oh goodness gracious me. i don’t think anywhere in that post that i said ALL white people hate black women… you don’t know me! so you don’t know that i know not all white people are like that. i grew up in pwi schools all my life. i danced and was the only black person in dance studio’s for all my life as well. even if all white people aren’t bad they surely are ignorant (that’s the assumption i’ve gathered from my own experience). being in those spaces definitely taught me that and your paragraph of nothingness also proves that. we acknowledge the bad so that it changes. what are you doing to help black women? are you holding your fellow race accountable or are you too busy defending them to me and other black women??? take this energy somewhere else. my experience is real you and no i do not feel bad for you. none of you get a pass because even if it is “just a skin tone” to you (also a very ignorant statement) i’m sure you’ve already done something that quite literally proves my point. i shouldn’t have to explain myself. period. i reblogged something i related to. something i’ve experienced and that’s it. so mind your business. thank you and have a blessed day.

#the fastest way to piss me off #correct me if i'm wrong #but i didn’t all whites #just the whites…#oh okay #anyways #i love black women #never let anyone make you explain yourself!!!

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injellyfish1218 · 13 days ago

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NOBODY TOLD ME HOW HOT CODY RHODES IS FUCCCCKKKKK him with that fuck ass blonde was blinding me from seeing it

#i’m so jealous of his wife #wwe #wrestling

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injellyfish1218 · 23 days ago

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i just love black girls and yet we’re stuck in a world that hates us☹️

I just want all the black girls in the world to be happy

#the whites hate us #but so do black men #constantly slut shamed #yet oversexualized by others #too ghetto #too proper #too mean #too loud #we can never win😩

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injellyfish1218 · 27 days ago

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🜼 ⋆ nanami kento trying to hold it in but ends up breaking down while you’re riding him

guys i love nanami so much this just hurts, im not ok

his hands are resting on your hips, heavy and sure, but trembling just slightly—just enough that you might think it’s the aftershocks of your rhythm. but you’ve been riding him slow for minutes now, your knees on either side of his hips, thighs aching, spine curving into the soft arch that makes his breath catch each time you grind down. it’s not a frantic fuck. it’s not desperate.

it’s the kind of movement that says i want you to feel this—each inch, each wet, sweet clench, each time your body opens around him like it knows his name.

nanami’s head is tilted back against the pillow, throat flushed, golden skin glowing in the amber haze of the bedside lamp. he hasn’t opened his eyes in a while—like if he does, the spell might break. you’re bent over him slightly, hands planted on his chest, the soft drag of your pelvis against his keeping the pace low and warm and intimate.

his breath comes in quiet gasps. not harsh, not needy. just overwhelmed. like this—this exact rhythm, your skin on his, your fingers tracing down his neck—is too much. not from lust. from love.

you notice the shift when his hands move—not to guide your hips, not to speed you up, but to pull you down, gently, into his chest. one palm flattens between your shoulder blades. the other presses at the small of your back, urging you to lean into him. you do. your bare chest presses against his, your heartbeat loud in your own ears.

his mouth finds the crook of your neck like he’s seeking shelter there. not to kiss. not to bite. he just breathes you in—deep, like you’re the only thing tethering him to this moment.

and then you feel it.

not from his breath. not from his body.

from the slow, sudden warmth that seeps into your skin.

your movement falters, just slightly. you don’t ask. not yet. your hand slides up, cradling the back of his head, fingertips threading through sweat-damp hair.

“kento…?”

he doesn’t answer right away. doesn’t lift his head. he just stays there, arms wrapped around you, cock still seated deep inside you—so snug, so full, like you were made to hold him.

but the wetness spreads. soft. persistent. and your heart twists.

you shift just enough to pull back, hand slipping to his cheek, your thumb brushing gently under his eye.

his eyes are open now.

and they’re full. not just with tears, but with everything. pain. relief. awe. something ancient and breaking apart like waves finally reaching shore.

“you’re crying,” you whisper. not accusatory. just gentle. worried.

he blinks, and another tear falls. his voice, when it finally comes, is wrecked—quiet and cracked at the edges.

“i didn’t mean to,” he breathes. “i just… i don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.”

you brush your thumb over his cheek again. “nothing’s wrong.”

he exhales, jaw tightening like he’s fighting a thousand things he can’t name.

“you love me like i’m not broken,” he says softly, like he’s ashamed of the truth. “like i’m not exhausted. like i didn’t give up on myself years ago.”

you don’t speak. you just kiss him. soft. slow. with your body still wrapped around his, like you can pour all your love into him that way. like if you kiss him deep enough, he’ll finally believe you.

and he melts.

right there beneath you.

arms curling tighter around your waist, lips parting against yours, tears slipping freely down his temples now as you begin to move again—slow, slow, like the pace you started with.

like you’re telling him i’m here. i’m not letting go.

he sobs once. just once. not loud. not harsh. a small, broken thing that escapes against your shoulder, and then—

“i love you,” he chokes out. “god, i love you. i didn’t think i was allowed to have this.”

you pause, breath catching. your hips grind down, slow, deep, pressing your foreheads together.

“you are,” you whisper. “you are.”

his hands hold your face now, trembling slightly as he kisses you again, tears wetting both your cheeks. and still—you’re joined. still, you move together. no thrusting. no hurry. just the soft slide of your bodies in sync, like he’s being reborn between your thighs.

his voice cracks again.

“you’re my everything,” he whispers. “you’re the only thing that makes me feel like a man. not a weapon. not a machine. just… someone worthy.”

you cry too, then.

not loud. not messy. just tears against his skin, mouths pressed together, arms wrapped tight like if you hold each other hard enough, the world might stop spinning.

and in that room—low lit, hot skin on hot skin, your name tangled in his lips and his love spilling raw from his chest—you both stop pretending.

he’s yours.

you’re his.

and the tears? they’re just proof he finally believes it.

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injellyfish1218 · 1 month ago

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so good!!!!

GIRLAAA i just noticed we are moots… im freaking out when was this???😭😭😭 where have i been😭😭😭 anyways… hey hi how are you😝🤭

Lmaoo hiiiiiii I’m good hbuu booo😭😭😭🩷🩷

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injellyfish1218 · 1 month ago

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𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 | 𝚎. 𝚓𝚊𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚛

studying has been taking up a lot of your time (and mental energy) as of late. Your boyfriend has just the plan to shut your brain off for the night.

black nurse!reader (fem descriptors), eren is a nursing student (a few years younger than reader also) fingering, neck kissing, choking, facefucking, rough-ish sex, squirting, missionary, slightly aggressive rennie 🫠, daddy is used once, nipple play, calls reader slut, spit play, fingers in mouth, creampie, multiple orgasms

word count: 5.3K

🎙️: some of y’all might remember this AU from Wattpad and I’m officially restarting it bc my muse for the others are shot right now. If you’re not familiar with it, I apologize in advance bc I promise it’s not this smutty and juicy in the slightest ☠️ I’m just in a mood. Also, this is my first fic in almost two months, please be nice or I’ll cry!

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

“You know you play too fucking much, right?”

“Mmmm..nah, I don’t think I’ve played enough. Look at you. All tense and shit.”

if there was one word in the entire English language that you could use to describe your mood at the moment, it’d most certainly be irritable. To the highest degree..and granted, that could have been chocked up to the fact that you hadn’t eaten in hours, you’d been staring at textbooks and computer screens since four in the afternoon and your phone screen read nine thirty..and to really add the proverbial icing atop the cake, this annoying ass man would not leave you alone! Here it was only a week away from your BSN final; two from his N-CLEX exam and here he was bullshitting as per usual. It was how he approached most things in life, his mantra if you will. No need to stress, what’s meant to be will happen.

too bad, you couldn’t take on those sorts of ideologies when so much was at stake! Not when the results of these tests would determine your future as an RN and instructor, and his career as a nurse in general. You’d met Eren Jaeger almost three years ago when he was merely a patient at the office you worked for during your initial internship..earning clinical hours and experience in the field. He was most certainly the liveliest one you’d seen in Dr. Smith’s office and there was never an appointment where you didn’t leave in stitches because he’d made you laugh so hard. However, you pegged him as the rich kid, the son of a doctor with no ambition or common sense...always looking to make a joke out of everything.

so imagine your surprise when you were tasked with not only supervising an entire floor but the local nursing school recruits as well and the first person to come traipsing through those heavy double doors was him! And even more so, in six months time, he’d have you wooed and swept off your feet. That same charm and wit that had you cackling during his appointments were the same ones that made you nearly spit your drink out when you were on a date and eased serious tension among your staff after a rough night on the floor. Just being in his presence brought you immense comfort. However, at the moment…

“Look, Eren. I’m busy, find sum’ else to do, for real.”

you weren’t in the mood for any of it! This exam had been causing you immense stress and it seemed that no matter how hard you studied, retaining information was impossible. Nothing stuck and you were at your wits end..certainly not in the mood for childish antics.

”I’m trying but you don’t want to stop—“

“Maybe because everything isn’t a goddamn joke to me.”

Eren could see the frustration, hence why he had come up behind you, in a half assed attempt to make you scared and somehow wound up groping your chest in the process. Admittedly, he’d never seen you act like this..never even so much as raise your voice at him and here you were, lashing out. Part of him understood your feelings. He knew how important this was and although he wasn’t showing it, he was equally as nervous for his own test. But regardless, nothing was going to change tonight and especially by sitting here irate and snappy. The only thing he wanted to do was shut his brain off and wanted his beloved (y/n) to follow suit..and he was willing to make it happen by any means!

“Eren, what did I just say—“

one thing that he had learned since being together was that once your mind was resigned to something..there was no changing it. So rather than spend time arguing with you, he had another solution!

“..I heard you, I don’t give a fuck about all that right now…’just trying to help..”

“You’re trying to help me by fucking me? Righttt.”

“Yes, I think it’s a very helpful tool for relieving stress. Seen that somewhere in my text book or sum’..”

“Mmm, I think me and you were studying different materials..but sure, why not.”

seconds later, his hand was snaking around your upper body, clutching your throat with the other steadily pulling the chair back and his lips marking your neck with soft kisses. He was adamant in making sure that you got proper rest and a distraction. What better way to do so than to wear you down? Eventually, you’d find those large hands of his snaking around to the front, making home back on your plump breasts..soft, voluptuous and perky as they sat up in your tank top. He could see you visibly enjoying this little tease, indicative by the way your muscles relaxed. He’d continue to massage them until your legs almost instinctively parted.

That’s when, before you even had time to react, he’d spin you around to face him. His grasp still firm around your throat as he moved in for a kiss. Your tongues collided in a steamy clash; smacking against one another as you attempted to catch your breath. But he wasn’t leaving you much room to do so, less known, attest him right now.

“Exactly..now keep those legs spread and don’t move.”

the command was so absolute and matter of fact, it damn near caught you off guard! He’d never spoken to you in such a manner. It was always so playful, jovial and even a bit needy during times like this. But alas, you’d awoken this side of him and you were going to have a hell of a time ‘calming’ him down. Even so, you’d follow his order just this once and part those thick thighs until that plump center, sheathed by the smallest pair of shorts he’d ever seen. Your physique truly was something special…thick in all of the correct areas with stretch marks and a semi-pudgy tummy to match. Your belly ring dangled from the gentle force of him maneuvering you around.

“Eren..I—“

“Whatever you’re about to say, save it…you don’t always have to handle shit alone. I got you..just let me help, okay? I promise, you can trust me..”

he was aware of your past..how mean and cruel previous partners had been so he was very careful in how he approached you. He understood all too well that being overly aggressive would only prove to make you anxious or even shut down entirely. His intention was never to make you uncomfortable. Even so, he wanted to see you give yourself to him fully…trust that he would do right by you and not take advantage of the precious gift that was your love.

he would take great care of you to not only relax but feel pleasure like you’d never experienced it. Although you seemed a bit reluctant, you were ready for whatever he was going to toss your way! Assuring him that you were all his for the taking..

“Fineee…I trust you..”

without a moment of hesitation, he’d detach from your own mouth and move down your neck. Whilst those tits remained exposed, he’d prompt you to give each of those nipples a light squeeze in his place. Meanwhile, his own hands were busy gliding into your underwear, trying to locate that aching bud. That long, tattooed forearm gliding down the center of your torso as a result. It would also serve as a semblance of comfort when he inevitably brought you to ecstasy..

“Mmm..there we go, baby..fuck, you’re so wet already.”

“That’s because you were grabbing on my neck..”

“Oh you like that, huh? I’ll keep it in mind..”

you wouldn’t know it but when you first began dating Eren, he was completely inexperienced. Although he wore his confidence like a lapel pin, he was incredibly timid, shy and nervous when it came to intimacy. The first time you two actually had sex, he lasted all of three minutes before he forced himself to pull out and splatter you with a heavy load. Left a trembling mess, his entire face turned beet red as he just glared at you. He was certain you were going to leave him right then and there; flustered and apologetic, he’d try to make up an excuse as to why he couldn’t satisfy you to your full potential. However, you thought it was adorable! He’d worked up all of his courage to give you a night filled with pleasure and even though it didn’t pan out quite the way he imagined, he had made a complete turnaround since that night and had done good to broaden his sexual horizons. You grew together; learning one another’s ticks and desires, which he knew each of yours to a science. So much so, you practically melted within his grasp and wanted to see just how far he’d take it!

“Open your mouth f’r me, princess…” prompting you as he causally glided those fingers across your tongue. Your gorgeous brown eyes fixated on him in a lustful gaze..by this time, you’d come to completely face him with that tall, lanky frame hovering above. You were all but level with that rising tent within his sweats. Meanwhile, his opposite set of digits were good and preoccupied with your juicy cunt; tightening around the base of the knuckles and then releasing once he’d use the thumb to stroke your swollen clit. Such an awkward position to be in at the moment but it was well worth it for the amount of pleasure both of you were about to receive. Finally retracting the ones in your mouth, Eren would leave you with a trail of drool seeping down your lips and chest in the process. Looking fucked out and starved already without so much as even a single thrust yet..that was the type of desperation and submission he wanted to see from you..

“ ‘ren…lemme suck on that dick..”

although he was trying to maintain control, who was he to deny your very blunt request? After all, he knew if you were dripping now, this would inevitably have you overflowing. Just as the first hand did, he’d slowly withdraw from those tight folds and allow you to clean up the remnants before tugging at that elastic waistband. “oh shit..I knew you’d come around. Here, baby..”

suddenly, you’d feel that same grasp on the back of your head, tugging you forward so that he could align himself with the rim of those pretty lips. The softness brushing against the tip as he rubbed them around…teasing you. “There you go..kiss it—stick your tongue out..that’s it..” from there, (y/n) needed no further instruction. Without the guidance of your own hands, you’d take his entire tip into your mouth and begin to suckle. Suctioning in, enclosing the silkiness of those jaws around his cock. “Fuck..you don’t need me to tell you anything..just make me feel good, princess..like you always do—“

he was well aware of how deviant you truly could become when the need arised. From outside appearances, you always looked so poised and proper..never getting out of character and to some, you’d even come off as ‘boujie’. However, Eren got to see the multitude of your complex layers; dispelling the notion that you were dull or boring. Including this one..the very promiscuous side that would do whatever it took to get hers and make him climax too! When it came to the bedroom, you were adamant and steadfast in what you wanted and he had no issue fulfilling those requests. Eventually, you’d take another couple of inches before establishing a rhythm. It didn’t take long for the very audible sounds of slurping and gagging to emit as a result. You’d gaze up to see Eren’s head resting back on his shoulder blades; groans spilling out in a whiny huff as a result of it all. You could be rather relentless when it came to pleasuring him but he didn’t mind it one single bit, of course!

“Oh my—shit, baby. You take me so good..fucking your own face like that. I love it..”

those words only served as further encouragement and inevitably prompted you to cradle his balls in addition, knowing how sensitive they were. Giving them a light squeeze, you’d continue forcing his shaft between your jaws; the sloppy wet strings of drool pooling down your chest serving as a testament to how much you were enjoying yourself. Where limits should have existed, there were none and it wasn’t long before he’d find himself buried to the hilt of your throat with your forehead scraping his pelvis. With that salacious gaze fixated on him, Eren had to all but restrain himself from forcing a load down your esophagus. But to be fair, this was the outcome he desired so badly and kept pestering you for.

“F—fuck! You’re not playing fair, baby.. ‘gonna make me come if you don’t stop..”

that deep tone with breathy whimpers cried out as he struggled to maintain his composure. However, you weren’t interested in letting up when he so rudely disturbed your study session. He was going to pay for breaking your focus! In a quick slight of hand, you’d shift his member into your palm and his sack in between your lips. Making slow jerking motions until you’d lean back up and coat both with exorbitant amounts of saliva. Seeing how filthy and unabashed you had become for him was causing Eren to lose his mind. Sometimes, he felt as though he couldn’t keep up with you and this was one of those moments. Although this little sexual escapade was his idea, you’d seem to have taken full, unequivocal control of the situation.

“That’s exactly what I want…”

“Then gag yourself on this dick, baby..let that stress out.”

that look in your eyes screaming for him to give you every ounce of his creamy nut…wanting to swallow every drop. Eventually, you’d begin to writhe around against the desk chair, attempting to create friction and stimulation for your clit. Your nipples had once again become extremely hard and the slightest brush was driving you crazy. Eren had heard your response loud and clear, which led him to sandwiching your head between those same fingers that had once curled up inside of you. He’d prompt you to take his cock back into your mouth so that he could work out all of that cum of his own accord.

the pace mirrored that of heavy, rough strokes..ones you’d get to experience soon enough. Gag spit along with loud moans poured out as a result of his brutal pounding but you welcomed the sensation..even increasing it by reaching down and fingering yourself in his place. “..yeah, play with your pussy, baby..” It wasn’t even a full five minutes before you noticed his stride beginning to break and his toned legs trembling. The last couple movements were off kilter and choppy but soon, you’d have your reward in the form of his seed. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, damn—‘coming—“

in that very moment, (y/n) would find yourself held in place by the tight grasp of his palms as he allowed that thick cock to pulsate in the back of your throat. The warm fluid filled your oral cavity until he could muster another drop. The entire time, his loud groaning was permeating the room as well. Once he was able to regain his senses, Eren would slowly withdraw and examine the aftermath. That towering six foot something frame would take a step back to truly take in the beautiful sight in front of him. You were drenched from the neck to your belly button in silky fluids…that wrung out tank top sat idly underneath your breasts and those shorts were halfway around your thighs at this point. To say he’d make an absolute wreck of you would be an understatement.

“Lemme look at you…”

proudly displaying his work of ‘art’, you’d cup those saliva laden tits and squeeze them together with your tongue dangling. By the look on your face, something told him that you were more than happy he’d interrupted you! “Yeah..that’s how you should look. Happy as fuck.” Shoving his thumb between your puckered lips, he’d then bend down to shove his tongue into your mouth for a sloppy peck.

but something also told him that you couldn’t be satisfied with merely sucking him off. You needed—no, you deserved more.

“Are we done? If so, imma be disappointed.”

“Of course not, baby..I got you.”

Regardless of how lightheaded that orgasm had made him, he leaned forward and took you into his grasp. Hoisting you up in one fell swoop to carry you to the bed that was a mere ten feet away. Once he had you flat against the mattress, he’d make haste in disrobing you of those clothes to render you completely naked. He’d follow suit and tug his sweats until they reached his ankles so he could kick them off. Once the two of you were left with only your bare flesh, Eren wasted no time in pinning both your wrists and ankles behind your head. But not before propping your head up with a pillow. A position that led to excitement riddling your face. From this angle, you could watch it go in and out together. With you exactly where he wanted, your boyfriend began the descent down your torso to that plump center. Those fat lips drenched in slick whilst that aching bud protruded between them. He knew you were already overly sensitive so he didn’t want to keep you waiting for much longer but the selfish glutton in him just had to have a taste of that divine nectar.

“Just be patient with me..’need to make sure you’re good and ready first..”

immediately, your eyes would roll to the back of your skull and a nervous giggle arose as well. Make no mistake, he allowed you to have your fun but it was his turn to take control now. Delving headfirst between your thighs, Eren began his quick descent onto that swollen pearl and lapped around it. You’d immediately grasp at the sheets, eyes trailing to the back of your skull as those feet dangled in the air. He’d keep you at bay with a hand clutched around your throat as he continued exploring those folds with his tongue. For a split second, his head would raise to make eye contact with you.

“Fuck..you really needed this, huh? You’re already starting to come..” alluding to the fact that your juices were spurting out as he scooped his tongue inside of your hole and rubbed that sensitive clit. It seemed his skills grew better and better each time you two had sex. He was far more attune to your needs and desires, even more aware of them than you were sometimes.

“Y-yeah!..how’d you learn to do that?” “What can I say? I got a hell of a teacher...” tossing you a wink and a smirk because you truly did turn him out when it came to the bedroom. He’d continue lapping and tracing his tongue intricately throughout your folds until he received the beautiful payout of you squirting all over his face. Try as you might to harbor restraint, it was to no avail and of no use…that tight entrance would spasm before more would spill forth. Just to increase that pleasure, Eren added a finger in hopes of coaxing more out.

“Give me that cum, baby..that’s it. Make a fucking mess for me..” and you certainly didn’t disappoint. The shower of sweet juices continued for another minute or so before you’d lie there, spent and breathless from such an amazing orgasm. Once he’d gotten his fill, your boyfriend would return to the surface for air and to get a good look at your current state. “You taste so good..love making you squirt in my fucking face..” Breaking into a sadistic chuckle, he’d readjust so that his palms were stationed firmly on the backs of your thighs and that he was centered right between them..in that moment, he’d slide his throbbing member across the sensitive core and tease it for a moment. But you couldn’t handle that at the moment.

“Eren, please don’t play..I need you so fucking bad right now..”

nearly in tears from the pending overstimulation and the overwhelming need to be stuffed full of his cock. Your walls would ache and spasm in anticipation; so much so, he’d watch you reach for his hips to guide him in. But naturally, nothing with this man came completely easy…he had to mess with you a bit for all of the resistance earlier. Just as you went to grab him, he’d pin those wrists back in one fell swoop with one hand and use the other to press into your stomach.

“I know you do…that’s why you’re gonna beg me for it.” Immediately being met with a look of shock and a bit of infuriation. Even so, you’d remain there, lying in wait until he got what he wanted.

“I mean, you were being all fussy earlier..I’m not convinced you really deserve it..c'mon, princess…change my mind.” he was so assured of himself and honestly, you were in no position to attest. The desire grew stronger with every passing moment and if he didn’t deliver soon, you were bound to implode. “Fuuuck, Eren! Please—“ “That’s better but not quite..tell me how badly you need me to fuck you.” Besides, when he hovered above you like this, looking so fucking attractive and domineering, you felt no other choice but to submit. So setting your pride aside, (y/n) began to grovel..whimpering and bucking your hips to meet the friction of his shaft rubbing against your wet folds. You’d tell him how good he made you feel and that your body was his for the taking, unequivocally. Finally, that submission and trust he had craved..best believe, he was going to take care not to break it. After your speech, he’d seem content and proceeded to tap the head of that appendage against you before gripping the base and making one full glide across the outside and shoving it inside. Sucking his teeth and moaning as he made place between that flesh.

“Oh fuck…that’s it, gorgeous. Right there..”

you’d release a whimper of your own as you became acclimated to that thick shape. You’d clench around him once before releasing and he knew he couldn’t sit idle for long. With haste, he’d begin slamming his hips forward, quickly trying to establish some semblance of a rhythm so that he didn’t blow his load too quickly. Upon being immersed in that juicy cunt, he’d find his knees buckling from the sensation.

“..pussy’s so fucking tight..and warm..oh God, I love you so much..” his whiny yet deep moans complimented by the sounds of smacking flesh. With your hands now planted firmly on your asscheeks, per his instructions, you’d keep it spread open so that he had ample room to give you both the satisfaction you both desired. Suddenly, his strokes would increase in speed and depth; really stretching you out. Jolting that body around as those perky tits bounced from the force. “Fuck!… babyyyy…” “I know, baby. I know..you just look so pretty when I’m digging you out. I can’t help but fuck you this hard.” Cooing to you as he bent down to plant soft kisses along your forehead. You’d cry out, maneuvering your hands to his back, digging your nails into it..you’d never felt pleasure like this with anyone else. The way he made love to you was incomparable. Even when you fought against it, he knew your body’s needs and wanted more than anything to satisfy them.

“That’s right, princess..let me fuck that stress out of you..let that mind go blank. Just focus on taking this dick.” Whispering in your ear as you held him close.

eventually, your legs would coil around his waist and your eyes would trail to the back of your skull in a haze of sheer ecstasy. You didn’t know what to do with yourself..all except fall apart underneath him. Your body was a bundle of tight nerves, bound together by the building ecstasy and you were bound to explode any minute. Unfortunately for you, he wasn’t done teasing quite yet..instead, he had one more move he just had to try in hopes of sending you over the edge.

“Eyes on me, baby..yeah, I need to see that pretty face right now.”

garnering a smile as he leaned back up and maneuvered his arms to fall into the center of your torso. Suddenly, you’d feel a slight pinch of your nipples before he began to rub them slowly. Tracing tiny circles as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. It was very apparent you couldn’t handle it by the way that cunt twitched around his shaft..you were bound to explode at any moment. Mouthing off about how good it feels as he made alternating motions on those sensitive buds; rolling them between his fingertips, squeezing and even leaning down to suckle them for a brief moment. The sensation lasted for a few minutes before he’d return his attention back to ensuring you got your well deserved orgasm. This time, with a bit more aggression because he recalled how excited you’d gotten when he grasped your throat.

“Oh my God…fuck! ‘m gonna come—“

“Then do it..come f’r me, slut..give me what I want.”

the name sending you into an absolute spiral as he never spoke that way on a regular basis and would never think to disrespect you. But this was exactly what you craved. To be used and made devoid of all feelings except pleasure. Suddenly, you’d feel his fingertips squeezing your jaws as he increased his speed yet again..this time, feeding you the deepest, longest strokes he could muster. The two of you would spout off filthy, steamy remarks at one another through gritted teeth, intense glares and breathy moans as you reached down to aid him by stroking your aching bud.

“ ‘m so fucking close, baby. I don’t think I can hold it..”

“Fuck yes you are..that pussy’s gripping me so tight right now..goddamn.”

Eventually, those thrusts became rather sporadic and Eren was rapidly losing both his composure and stamina. The both of you were so near your peaks that it was only a matter of time before you exploded. You’d try to outlast him but as he maintained that clutch on your jaw, he’d lean down to spit into your mouth, letting that trail drip down onto your tongue as you stuck it out. He knew what was coming and he couldn’t be vexed to continue anticipating it so your boyfriend decided to assist with a little extra lubrication.

“Get yourself off..I’m not fucking waiting..” Without hesitation, (y/n) scooped that saliva out your mouth and onto your fingertips to massage that clit once more. You were rubbing so fast, your head began to grow fuzzy and soon, nothing but an image of static and blackness would fill your vision as you released all over him; voiding yourself of all those warm, sweet sticky juices as they sprayed his abdomen. Right above the incisions from some prior operations..he wore it as a badge of honor quite frankly. That a woman who once took care of him, was now having all of her wants and needs fulfilled. His cock sat idly inside of you until that stream became too powerful and all but pushed him out. That’s when he’d simply grasp the base of his throbbing member and tap against your slit.

“Shit! Oh my gosh..”

“Ahhh..fuck. That’s it..I knew if I got in it deep enough, you’d squirt for me again, baby. That’s my girl..”

“Fuuuck, it feels so good!”

You’d continue spraying until you convulsed uncontrollably. He was still in awe of the mess you’d made but there was still the task of releasing his own. Although he loved the sight of you in such a vulnerable state, he couldn’t let up. Grasping your hips once more, he’d tug you down onto it and continue drilling you with his cock. This time, to relieve himself.

“Hold still, I’m not yet…need to..come inside of you..”

clutching the backs of your thighs, Eren relentlessly shoved that thick cock back inside of you, pumping sporadically until he felt his own legs begin to quiver. It wouldn’t be long before his stride broke so he’d bend down to grant you one last kiss and sweet nothing. Cradling the side of your head into his palms in an intimate manner. With baited, sporadic breath and whiny cries, he’d pour his soul out to you. Becoming almost obiedient and subservient himself.

“I love you! fuck…I love you so much...”

“I love you too..”

“Am I making you feel good? Did I do a good job? Can I come inside of you..please, baby. Can I?”

and without hesitation, you’d nod your head profusely and grant him his wish. But not without sending him spiraling with your last statement.

“Yes, please! Come in this pussy, daddy..I need it.” And from that moment on, Eren fell to pieces. Collapsing his entire body weight onto your own as your legs coiled around his waist, ensuring he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted. His final thrust came in a sharp, forceful thud before he’d begin to pulsate and eventually, release every last drop of remaining semen he had to offer. Emptying his balls inside of you shamelessly. Already spent from his earlier orgasm, he’d let out an ear curdling grunt, allowing you to claw into his back because he knew he’d lost all semblance of control and had probably been a bit rough. However, none of that mattered..you both were utterly satisfied and it was apparent by the puddle of tears streaming down each of your faces. Never had either of you experienced lovemaking so powerful that it reduced you to literal tears.

eventually, he’d finish pumping the remnants into you and soon, find the strength to pull out. Once he was able to gather his own bearings, he’d turn his attention to you.

“Are you okay, princess? I'm gonna go grab you some water and a towel real quick—“

even insisting he’d help you to the bathroom afterwards to avoid an infection and get cleaned up properly. However, he was shocked to find that his words were falling completely on deaf ears! That’s when he’d turn around to see you sound asleep..completely knocked from the events that just transpired. All he could do was laugh to himself not only out of pure pride but the fact that you truly needed this reset. Although he admired and looked up to your hard work ethic, even the most brilliant of brains needed rest. Those test materials, patients and everything else would be there when you awoke..but for now, you could focus on yourself!

taglist: idenwhims @blaxcunicorn @valentineluvu @cocoacunt @charminstasia @star0bsessi0n @mrsackermanfeed @aquabby21

#i missed cherry’s writing #gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

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injellyfish1218 · 1 month ago

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ony who grew out his waves into a fro. he loved when you would do feed ins for him. his eyes glued to the tv that showed an old cartoon, making his husky chuckle come out at the most childish moments. the intimacy in the room was loud but oh so quiet. you both jittered, adjusting yourselves to cover the need. the swipe of your squared nails moving down his neat part, applying the cool grease sent a shiver down ony’s spin.

how your legs were over his broad shoulders holding him still and tilting his head when it needed to be, to make sure the braid was straight. you both said nothing the entire time. just onyankopon rubbing your feet, and kissing your calf.

and you pushing him back more to be right by the place that needed him most. pussy smell strong and making ony’s adam’s apple bob; spit being swallowed trying to not be scent dumb. as the last braid wrapped up and the motions of mousse, oil sheen, and wrapping the black durga on his head left the air tense. unspoken needs bubbling in the air that onyankpop was immediate to act on. on the same couch where you were once braiding his hair, now his face was barried deep into your pussy. hands cuffing your ass and holding you up to bounce you back and fourth on his thick tounge.

he growled and moaned in your pussy, chocolate skin glistening in your sweetness while his eyes held so much love and respect. your nails raked over his durga, moans and eye rolls being the only thing you could do. ony ate you as if he was starving. and he was, only for you. as you came all over his face that night his own dick let out ropes, but not too many. just enough to satisfy until he could slid deep in you.

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injellyfish1218 · 2 months ago

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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.

2K notes · View notes

injellyfish1218 · 2 months ago

Text

country slangin’. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 4.4K word count. original!blackfemreader, countryboycoded! onyankopon, farmer!onyankopon, southern!onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, size kink, black woman, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, aggressive talk, creaming, oral [m], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, squirting, riding, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, multiple orgasms, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ after hearing that glorilla sample, it gave me—an idea. so here you go. muah.

visual. visual.

YOUR HUSBAND HAD AN ATTITUDE. It was entirely valid in this case—but you wished that he’d let up just a bit. A small pout formed at the ends of your lips, hand slowing to stir the sugar within your lemonade pitcher as you watched him. You could see it in the way his bicep flexed as he leaned into his Ford F—450, twisting his wrench as he removed and replaced different pieces within the truck's engine.

It wasn’t Onyankopon’s fault—the day before was completely fine. Your husband was a vision of the south—from the mixture of his New Orleans and Mississippi twang, the annoyance of how he was never afraid to get his hands dirty, the smooth umber of his skin from being under the sun at a constant—his dark pink lips—full, soft, the gold of his grills shining with each word falling from his mouth. He was a dream.

The morning started off well. You ran your face beneath the warm water of the shower, grinning the moment you felt his broad body step in with you, his low grunt suffocating the flush of your throat as he sucked at it.

Your affection for each other might’ve…distracted from his work on the farm. It was four acres far out from the city—cows, pigs, horses, chickens— a domesticated life that you enjoyed as a wife, coming to live within the countryside of Mississippi the moment you eloped.

Back to the point of how Onyankopon’s attitude came to fruition—it was still the day before, your French tips pouring soybeans into the bucket of your piglets Love and Bug’s tin for their lunch. The deep ginger of your curls drape along your shoulder as you bend forward, your hand raising over your freckled face to block the sun as you look across the field. Horse shoes gallop from across the field as he tugs at its reins—you were always watching him.

Riding bareback, the horse beneath him continued to gallop—the cowboy hat atop of his head blocked him from the sun, cornrows tight along his scalp, white tee he wore clinging to his tatted figure. The sun beamed against his shown skin, and you can nearly hear the whistles he makes as he guides the cows back into their barn.

The halter romper you wear compliments your caramel complexion, the picnic plaid of it hugging your body in ways it shouldn’t have—the mound of your hips, the fat of your ass—you dig your boots into the sediments of the ground, giving him a soft wave.

“Mornin’, baby.”

His voice is deep, full of grit. It makes your body warm.

His boots fall onto the ground the moment his feet dismount the horse, sizing you up with each step that brings himself closer. Onyankopon’s eyes are on your form—drinking in every inch, your hips, your waist, the full of your ass against the tight fabric of your romper, your blush.

“You know I’m a lil’ dirty, babydoll. My fault.”

His hands go to grip your face regardless, pulling you into his body. His musk surrounds you, all man.

“That’s okay,” your voice is as soft as your wave, “You okay? MooMoo fightin’ you instead of going back to the barn?”

His lips drop onto yours the moment he holds your face, his kiss full of an aggression that makes your thighs clench.

“Mm,” he pulls away a bit, mouth still brushing against yours as his hand strokes your waist, “She mad ‘cause I ain’t give her ass an apple like everybody else. Should’ve been listenin’ when I said take yo’ ass to the barn.”

You giggle, rubbing your cheek into his palm, “She’s stubborn— Gets it from her Daddy.”

“‘Cept my ass still know how to listen,” his hand grips at your ass, “She get’ that sassy shit from you.”

Your eyes flick back to the field, seeing the cow standing within the same spot as all the others had crowded back into the shed. You peck at his chin, “Don’t be talkin’ ‘bout me ‘cause you can’t get your children in check, farmer.”

“I gets’ shit in check—I be havin’ yo’ ass listenin’ pretty good, don’t I?”

“Negative.”

He chuckles at that.

“Go start dinner,” He exhales along your mouth, “I’ll get done with MooMoo and we can finish watchin’ that show from last night. I’ll rub yo’ feet, give you a lil’ massage.”

“‘Kay’,” you pucker your lips, “You’ love me?“

“Yo’ ass cuttin’ up,” Onyankopon grunts, his hand smacking at your ass once more, pecking your lips in return, “You know a nigga love you. Gon’ back in the house.”

And you did—you’d showered, slipped into the soft silk of your nightgown, glasses tipping at your nose as your curls hung beneath your claw clip—you’d prepared brunch for dinner, shrimp ‘n grits with beignets for dessert, your giggles traveling all along the house as he kissed the sugar off your lips. Your fingers played with the coils of his beard, Princess cut diamond ring shining beneath the lights of your home as you watched TV with him—You were in love.

It wasn’t until the end of the night that things changed. He held you as you slept, tattooed fingers splayed along your stomach as he cuddled you to his chest. The fan peacefully strummed a comforting tune into the room—but it was being overshadowed at the moment—a distressed mooing was sounding through the windows, as the only cow that was out of the barn had still been MooMoo.

She enjoyed stargazing, so Onyankopon allowed her to stay outside for this one time, planning to put her up the next morning. She was more of the silent animal, and you knew that only meant two things—that she was actually in distress, or someone had put her in distress. To make matters worse, the motion detectors around your house were going off outside.

Your heart stuttered within your chest as you’d both woken up at the same time, your body turning towards him, clinging to his arm as your first response of fear. But you knew your husband—he was already slipping out of the bed, the darkness only allowing you to hear the click sound of him loading his shotgun.

Your hands cling onto his back as you whimper, “Ony, don’t leave me—“

“I’ll be back,” he presses his mouth against yours, “Lemme’ just go check on my girl, see if all this fuss is over a dog or sum’. Don’t get out of bed, aight? Forreal’.”

He kisses you firmly once more—safe, warm, making your heart slow just a bit.

“Imma’ be back, I promise.”

You could only nod in return.

It could’ve been five minutes, it might’ve even been thirty. But your body tensed the moment you heard the front door slam shut, heavy boots thumping up the stairs before the door opened. Your body relaxed the moment his silhouette came into frame—but just by his energy, you could feel his irritation.

“Baby?” you call, “You okay?”

You could hear the thump of his gun being dropped onto the ground, “I’m good. I just put MooMoo back up—she was layin’ on her side.”

The grunt in his voice makes you frown, “What?”

“Dumbass niggas was prolly’ passin’ through and seen the farm—thought it was funny to be tippin’ cows like some fuckin’ kids.”

You watched as his tattooed figure moved into the bathroom, his fingers lifting to turn on the light as he began to wash his hands.

“Muhfucka’s lucky I ain’t catch they ass—“

“You wouldn’t have shot them, Ony.”

You can feel his eyes narrow at that.

“They was’ on our property, girl. You thought I wasn’t gon’ shoot on sight if I seen’ them?”

You sigh, “Baby—“

“‘Baby,’ nothin’,” he rubs at his face, “Why you actin’ like you okay wit’ some niggas jumpin’ our property like somebody else out here? Where’ you think we at, girl? California?—ain’t no law out here unless it’s me.”

You could see the anger in his eyes, the way his jaw flexes as he stares down at you.

“I don’t wanna talk about this.”

“Aight, well I do.”

“Onyankopon.”

“I ain’t askin’ you to be wit’ me ‘on what I said, but I am askin’ you to understand. ‘Can’t be tellin’ me not to do what needa’ be done when it’s for us. For you.”

“Baby, it’s nearly four in the morning,” you reminded, “You’re making yourself upset—can you come lay down? Please?”

He stares at you for a moment, his lips tight before he inhales, jaw working as he nods.

“Aight,” he exhales, looking up to the ceiling, “Aight, baby. You’ right.”

He slowly eased himself into bed, his arms immediately holding your figure. You can feel the heat of his chest—the thump of his heart. He was worked up.

So here you were now the next morning—Onyankopon was still on ten, and he wasn’t the best at hiding it. You were back outside feeding the pigs, your eyes narrowing beneath the sun as the gallop of his horse rumbled the ground, his deep voice commanding the cows to move in the direction he needed them to.

“Move,” he shouts, clicking at his horse as he rounds them all up, “Y’all know where yo’ asses s’pose to be! Ain’t no apples today!”

Even hours later, he was no better. Agitation was the only word you could think of as you stood in the kitchen, eyes squinted as you watched him from the front door— his large body leaned into the hood of his truck, attempting to fix whatever was wrong with it. He’d just bought the vehicle a couple of months ago, and when a gas station worker made the stupid mistake of pumping it with diesel, it’d been acting strange ever since.

And while you know he’s upset, his irritation is something that he keeps in, something that he tries to hide from your eye with a silence, or a short conversation— but you two had been together five years now, and you knew him inside and out.

“I thought you were gonna’ take it to the shop?” you questioned from inside, raising your voice a bit for him to hear.

“Nah,” he grunts back, “Ain’t about to spend another eight hours at that place bein’ told the same thing I ‘been hearin’ for a week—Nigga said he fixed the leak in the lining and I’m still hearin’ it. Swear to god if I need a new muhfuckin’ truck imma’ kill that nigga.”

Okay—there was something you wanted to admit to yourself, although you shouldn’t have.

Seeing him like this made you kind of—warm?

Okay, fine. It made you hot. Something about the way his muscles flexed to fix the truck—eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his arms—it wasn’t the fact that he was angry—not even that, but instead the deep scowl on his face, grills shining at the flash of his teeth, hefty belt buckle and boots rumbling the ground as he shifted under the hood.

“Don’t overheat yourself out there, baby!”

His shirt comes off his body, and you can see it tossed aside on the ground by his truck, his pants hanging low along his waist from the heat of the day.

“Heard you.”

He doesn’t really bother with looking your way, but he does hear you.

It made you more soft at your core as his tone is gentle. There was no denying the attraction you held for the man—he was your husband after all, and he knew to never focus his energy onto you, especially if he was upset.

A couple of hours had gone by—you now stood within the doorframe, his deep voice calling from within the hood, “You need somethin’, girl?”

You slowly make your way closer, the soft click, clack of your brown boots tapping against the driveway until you finally stand next to him, “I just came out here to check on you.”

Your glasses perch at your nose, curls coiled around the flush of your cheeks as the air of outside brushes against your clothing—the white material only clasped shut by thin strings at the dip of your breasts, able to see the curve of your stomach, matching shorts clinging to the poke of your ass.

Your voice is soft, “Baby?”

“Wassup’, Mama?”

When he replies, his eyes briefly glance at you—then, he’s back into the car, “You lookin’ pretty.”

“Thank you, baby—um, you wanna come inside for a little?” You suggest, “I made lemonade for you.”

Onyankopon sighs—his palm runs along the back of his neck, muscles flexing, sweat cascading down his body.

“Lemme just—finish this first, aight? Imma’ keep fixatin’ on it if I don’t.”

“Hey. You can fixate on it later, yeah?”

Your voice is gentle, hands reaching out and pulling him out of the open hood—his chest is warm.

“You’re just as hot as the sun right now. Come with me, please? Just come sit by the fan in the living room for a couple minutes while I make you a glass?”

He’s silent—but he listens. When you pull him by his wrist, he follows with no fight. His footsteps are heavy, his frame tall— You knew that he wanted to keep going—but he also knew not to disagree when you asked something of him.

Onyankopon now sits in the living room, body leaned back into the sofa, eyes closed while air blows through his face and against his chest. The cartoons you had on play a comforting tune next to the box fan blowing from across the room, instantly beginning to cool his body.

“‘Think you should just take another try at takin’ it down to the shop in Tupelo,” you hum, standing on your toes as you reach for a tall glass, moving around the kitchen to grab your heart shaped ice cubes.

He grunts, arm crossing over his face as he exhales,“I might have to, or imma’ head back in Jackson—Just gotta wait it out, see what the rest of the week lookin’ like.”

You make his glass, the condensation sticking to your fingers—your eyes look towards him now and then as you do so, taking note of how his head leans back along the cushion, eyes closed and mind elsewhere. You can tell that he’s trying to relax, but it’s a hard feat to accomplish after the events of last night.

“You know,” you gently place the lemonade on the table besides the sofa—you then lightly plop down onto his lap, the scent of you instantly hitting his nose as you wrap your body into him, “We had a lil’ scare last night—but you did a good job of takin’ care of me, baby.”

His eyes open the moment he feels your body press into him, his arms instantly beginning to wrap around your figure.

“I had to do sum’,” he grunts, “I ain’t mean’ to make you scared—You know I’d never let anything happen to you, right?”

His palm slides beneath your shorts, holding the flesh of your ass in his hands.

“I know.”

Your voice is even softer than before, body shifting upon his lap as the warmth of your skin pressed further into his. Your fingers slide along his beard, caressing his jaw before you finally leaned forward—your lips suck at his, a giggle masking your whimper as you feel yourself grind along his lap.

Onyankopon’s jaw works, his hand gently gripping at your cheek to hold your face to his—your whimper makes his lips drop open in another grunt—his tongue moving into your mouth, along your teeth, deeper.

“Been missin’ you, Ony. ‘Been so distant,” you tug at the weight of his belt, leaning forward as you suck at his lips again.

“I ‘been thinkin’ ‘bout you too, girl. Don’t get it twisted, aight?” His voice is a husky rasp, breath heavy.

“I know you were still frustrated from last night,” you remind, “But so was I—Could’ve kept you in bed with me, you know? You were so busy bein’ be tough—my tough man. My protector.”

His eyes follow your form as you lower down onto your knees, “Yeah?”

He’s gripping at your neck, his thumb rubbing circles on your jaw at your soft voice—you knew exactly what you were doing.

“This what you wanted?”

His nose practically brushes along yours as you nod—your eyes lower as you suck his bottom lip into your mouth again, dragging it against your teeth, all while your hands slide up the material of his jeans, reaching your hand under the band.

“Look at you,” he rasps, “Already on yo’ fuckin’ knees.”

His fingers are tight under the thick curls of your hair, and it’s as if each tug pulls at your senses. You’re parting your mouth onto his, lightly dragging it against his tongue, the feeling making your thighs clench. You breathily pant.

He’d never seen you like this—so needy, it couldn’t have been from watching him all day, could it?

It’s as if his cologne tickles your stomach, you’re breathless as you give a horny sigh, pulling your mouth back a bit as you whimper in a repeat of, “Missed you, Ony.”

“My baby just wanted this dick, huh?”

He’s nasty.

Onyankopon’s voice is full of grit as his palm slowly slides down your face, his thumb caressing at the soft of your bottom lip. He watches you—a brief flash passes through his eyes of love before they turn hungry, “Show a nigga how much you missed him. Need you throatin’ my shit.”

The sight of him—the gold of his grills melting within your eyes, attractive features and jaw clenching at you from below—you’re tugging his dick from his jeans, tip fat as you wrap your lips around him, flattening your tongue along the flesh as you moan.

“You’re so pretty, Papa.”

He tilts his chin a bit, eyes narrowing.

“You callin’ me Papa now? Huh?” His voice was thick, pulling your hair back even more, “That’s how bad you miss me?”

Your cat eyes taunt him, nodding as you beg, “Spit on it,” lolling your tongue out your mouth, waiting for him.

And he does—he tilts your head back more, dropping saliva into your mouth, groaning at the pure arousal along your face. You spit back onto his tip, wrapping your fingers along the base as you slide him to the back of your throat—when you pull back, a string of saliva connects your lips back to his dick, your tongue sticking out as you giggle at the sight.

Onyankopon glares, his fingers finding your curls as he snatches your head back—his palm slaps your face, “Why you so fuckin’ nasty, girl?”

He’s holding your cheeks with both palms, fucking your mouth, the schluck, schluck of your throat echoing into the ceiling—the whites of your eyes are shown as they rolled back with each movement, enjoying the groans he gave you in return.

You climb back onto his lap more impatiently this time, latching your lips onto the skin of his neck and jaw—your hand is guiding his palm to your shorts as you whimper, “Pull,” still kissing feveredly at his throat.

Onyankopon’s fingers slide along the back of your thigh as he finds a hold of your shorts, pulling, pulling the material to one side of your ass, your glistening folds exposed to the cool air—your body tenses the moment he’s slapping his dick against your pussy, allowing your arousal to coat his tip.

It’s hot—the weight of his tip is being engulfed by your folds all at once—you’re sinking down, back arching as you breathily moan against his face, “You’ need me?”

There’s a growl that leaves his throat, “Fuck. You know I do.”

Your curls drape in front of your face as your vision locks below, rotating your hips down, too distracted by your own actions—your moans are more soft and whiny this time, face slowly turning to a deep pout as your palms reach at the top of the sofa.

“Lift up,” he grunts hoarsely, “Lift up, babydoll.”

You lift up, dropping back down, the feeling making you gasp. Your thighs tremble as you slow down—you take one of Onyankopon’s hands, placing it along the side of your neck, swaying your hips, hair cascading all around your body in a circular flow of curls.

“Look at you,” He grunts, squeezing your throat, “Already goin’ crazy.”

Your face flushes as you can imagine how you look—feet planted along each side of him, dragging yourself up and down—You’re needy.

You move his palm along your breasts as you plead, “Touch me.”

He does as told, moving the other along your waist, along your hips. It was like he was worshipping you, hands wandering along your soft curves, squeezing your hips, back, stomach, ass, thighs, everywhere.

”Pretty ass lil’ bitch.”

It’s like your mouth won't shut. Your aroused haze has you swirling your hips above him, nearly hyperventilating in a high pitched whine, “You feel so good, Ony.”

“You’ so fuckin’ sloppy with this shit,” He grunts through gritted teeth, clutching your throat even tighter, making you look at him, “You’ gettin’ drunk off me, ain’t you?”

Maybe you were—and you loved every second of it. You wanted to blow your curls out your face, but you’re too gone, nearly hitting a sense of delirium. You’re bouncing on his dick, lightly squealing as the skin to skin resounds in claps.

Your eyes roll back as you groan, “Ughn, Yeah…”

It gets worse, your mouth trembling out a prolonged moan of, “Onyyy…”

His head knocks back as he digs his nails into your skin, each sloppy slap of your ass connecting with his abdomen making his jaw clench, feeling the secretion of your folds smearing his thighs.

“Look at them’ muhfuckin’ eyes,” he mutters, squeezing your waist, “You feel that good, huh?”

You’re frowning that it feels so good. You feel his hand slide back to the nape of your neck, leaning your body a bit closer to his, your forehead’s connected as you whimper, “Ohmygodbaby.”

“You gone,” he grunts, “Ain’t even hearin’ me.”

You hear him, but your brain is muffled.

His eyes roam the way sweat glistens along the soft mounds of your chest, how the vein along your throat pulsates a little bit quicker, and the way your walls clenched him for dear life. You looked like you craved him, and only him.

His hand tugs more at your neck, tilting you down to his face.

“You think you miss me?”

“Miss you now,” you whimper in reply, placing your arms behind your back as you beg, “Hold them.”

His fingers are rough, the tips of them digging into your skin as he holds your arms—the veins on his hand are a dark blue, a mixture of his blood pumping with the tattoo of your first initials along his pinkie, symbolizing how much you meant to him, even in these moments.

Onyankopon’s grunt is muffled by the way his hand smacks your ass, the leverage of your arms allowing him to hold you in place—your thighs are plop, plop, continuously plopping onto his abdomen.

Your mouth is directly leaned into his ear as you shake, “S’good, baby—“ but it’s until you can really hear your skin echoing against his, that your eyes roll as you groan.

“You think ion’ miss you too?” He snarls, “I’ll kill a muhfucka’ behind yo’ pussy.”

You don’t do a good job at all in responding—you’re loud. His hold on you is tight, moving you up and down in a rough motion, “Oh my goddd, Ony—fuck,” it’s as if you’re irritated with him, your voice had you practically singing.

Your scent is so feminine that he can almost taste it—brown sugar, amber—the way your pussy squelches, you were the personification of a drug, and he was your junkie.

His voice is deeper, lower, meaner, “C’mere,” he spanks your ass, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he grunts, “Goddamn, baby. She talkin’ right now.”

You were just lucky that all the land around the two of you was your own property—the cows, chicken, farm—and the door was wide open. He slapped your ass even rougher, your whimper muffling his own grunts of, “You got a nigga lost in this shit.”

“Ony—oohshittt, baby.”

You’re both a mess—your curls are a bit wild, your mouth swollen and wet, the softness of your skin against his hands, his neck, lips.

“You gon’ cum on it?”

He’s asking a question, but you can’t necessarily answer—cause you are—you’re painting his dick with coats of cream, the sop of it traveling back to his ears. Onyankopon chuckles arrogantly the moment you sniffle through your pouts, trembling whiny cries as you squirt so messily, so prettily.

“Fuck,” he moans, “That’s my muhfuckin’ baby. You gon’ gimme another one?”

Your little sob is enough to answer—you’re drenching his balls, body shaking atop of his as he’s continuously bouncing you onto his dick that’s still hard as before—it’s when you press your together that he groans, holding you close as a warmth fills your walls, his moan dragging a bit to meet the sounds of yours.

Your face buries into the crook of his neck, your lower body spasming a bit to ground yourself. But that’s when you stop—your eyes flicker to the side of the table, your palm coming along your flushed face as you whimper, “Your lemonade, Ony…”

He’s snorting.

“I was busy,” he jokes, kissing at the edge of your shoulder blade, “I’m sorry, aight? Imma’ go grab me another glass.”

When he goes to move, you don’t.

“You gon’ let me go, or you gon’ hold a nigga hostage?”

He chuckles this time, placing his hands along your sides as he pats you, “Lemme’ up, girl. Can’t even move.”

“No,” you huff, “I don’t wanna let go.”

“Aight— lemme’ hold you for a lil’, let you get yo’ mind right before you make dinner.”

Your eyes peek open, “Did I say I was makin’ dinner, or you tryna’ gaslight me into saying that’s what you want?”

“Chill,” He grins, “Lemme’ get another chance—Baby, you gon’ make dinner for me?”

“You knew the answer already,” you kissed his bicep, “You never had to ask.”

“‘Cause you love me?”

“I always love you.”

“How much?”

You giggle, “More than a country boy loves his farm.”

He’s grinning. His hand is at the soft of your stomach, pulling you against him as his lips find your ears, murmuring, “I can do you better than that,” His nose is now against your skin, “More than a fat kid loves cake.”

“You’re so lame.”

“Huh? You ain’t like that?”

“…Maybe.”

“That’s what I thought.”

#i love country ony

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injellyfish1218 · 2 months ago

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“keep her quiet o” connie mumbled eyes concentrating on the game in front of him. his thumbs moved quickly on the white controller decorated in my melody stickers. “don’t you see i’m trying?” ignoring his character, connie looked back at the scene in front of him a small smirk spreading on his face. ony held your legs up to be pushed against his shoulders while he fucked up into you. your back was against his chest, watered eyes starting at connie’s, while ony’s thick fingers were stuffed in your slobbering mouth to conceale your moans from connie’s friends.

“aye she looks so fucked out” connie’s laughed at you making ony join in. your clit jumped, humiliation creeping up, but it felt good. you loved being the center of your boys attention, pussy clenching down against ony as connie scooted his pink gaming chair back to be close to you. you moaned against ony’s fingers, hearing connie’s friends call for him, but he still kept his focus on you. “you good baby?” his soothing voice with the northern accent had your eyes rolling. ony smirked at his boyfriend, spreading your legs still keeping his hard pace.

connie groaned taking in the way his grith stretched your tiny pink hole. your brown pussy lips were spread, making him see just how wet and sensitive you were. when the controller in his hand vibrated he had the brightest idea ever. feeling the continuous vibrations, he held one handle of his control and placed the other one on your clit so you could feel it. “you like that boo?” by now your ears were ringing. the vibration mixed with ony filling you to the brim, and the watchful eyes was heaven. you pussy continued to clench. cream dripping from you like a water fountain. “stop that” onyankopon order, his dick jerked, toes curling at the feeling of you tighten around him.

“seeee fuckkk!” he moaned abruptly. his dick explored, pink tip getting a little longer to release the ropes- filling you and seeping back onto him with the mix of you two. he used that as leverage, fucking you harder and giving connie a show. his pink durag unraveled against the couch letting his waves free, sweat coming down his face from determination. “yea fuck her o. show her who run shit” connie palmed himself in his boxer, bitting his lips while starting at his lover in his eyes. ony smirked, taking his fingers out of your mouth and ignoring you completely.

“m’sorryyyy! daddy m’sorry ohmygod” your cheeks were wet, overstimulation taking over your body making your skin crawl. your sore pussy took everything though. leaking, every second, clit thumping from the constant vibration, and hole stuffed and fucked. one final scream had you squirting. it went a little high getting on connie’s socked over feet as your cried helplessly while you men egged you on, connie’s even even running the handles against your clit to stimulate you further. “that’s my good girl,” “look at my boo makin a mess for us”

your head pounded, a true feeling of you having no more come to give dawning on you as you passed out on onyankopon’s dick with a heavy sigh. and still being the center of their attention. connie smirked at you two being fucked out, lovingly looking at you both up until someone spoke in his head phones. “we hear you fuck head” gojo groaned into the mic. “now i have to go see were my princess and geto is”

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injellyfish1218 · 2 months ago

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CLOSE ft onyankopon

synopsis - you and your best 'friend' stop speaking due to issues in your relationship...but you're single now, so? or you and ony reminisce about what could've been. warnings - nsfw mdni!! modern au, slightly toxic relationships, reiner hurts reader, reference to reiners mental issues, reiner is queer and had a boyfriend, nicknames,use of aave, use of marijuan + alcohol, hurt +comfort, reference to slight cheating, mention of physical altercations, dirty talk, fingering, slight degradation, praise, spanking, car sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), dom! ony, sub!reader, reader is black and a female! parings - onyankopon x black! fem reader A/N - This fic is slightly inspired by the song sneaky link by stalk ashley. Hope you enjoy 😊

one shot, two shot, four! the liquor in your cup spills on the white sand as you sway from side to side with your eyes closed, relishing the feeling of being drunk. being gone. it's been so long since you allowed yourself to let go, and from the events that took place in the past three months it was much needed. your toes curl into the sand below your barefoot, loose curls fluttering around your head as you tilt it to the side. you felt so euphoric, but it was most likely the alcohol and weed kicking in. a small smile spread across your face as you drag your free hand up your thighs, back arching to give a slow whine to the rhythm of the song that played.

"head just a spin, liquor spill to the floor!" it was sudden when a warm presence suddenly found it's way to your rear end, crotch meeting your ass. a gasp falls from your lips before you quickly spin around to confront the person who decided to invade your personal space. all the breath inside of you is stolen as you make eye contact with the dark skinned man, his eyes searing into your skin and making your body suddenly grow warm. What nelly said? it's gettin hot in here. standing over you in his whole 6'4 glory, onyankopon jackson glares down at you with furrowed brows and an amused smile. your eyes drop to his bare chest gently tracing over the tattoo that rests above his collar bone that reads 'faith' paired with a gold ankh chain. your body's reaction to his presence is astonishing, thick thighs clenching under the material of your shorts, your skin suddenly tingling under the heavy assessment of his eyes and the hairs on your body standing at attention. it's as if your body recognizes his presence—which it does, even when you first met, you were immediately drawn to him. weird. eye contact has always been something you valued, something that ony knows as he continues to peer down at you with his deep bourbon colored eyes. was it possible to get drunk off of eye-contact? as if he knows what he's doing the god-sent man quirks a thick eyebrow at you, flashing you a small smile and allowing you to glimpse at his pearly white teeth, sharp canines slightly teasing you. begging you to run your finger along it's sharp edges. why did everything about him have to be so perfect? "whatchu doing bending all a that ass over in front of these people?" he finally graces you with the deep timbre of his voice, words falling off of his lips like sweet nectar. your eyes immediately drift to his plump lips, handing on to each syllable that leaves his lips as if they could somehow sate your deep desire. suddenly he leans down so his lips are beside your ear, big greedy palms latching unto the naked skin of your waist. "you showin out?" it takes everything in you not to moan at his sultry tone, a shiver racing down your spine and a new wetness pooling in the seat of your bathing suit. ony draws back, smirking at the way your lashes flutter from the effect he has on you. sucking your teeth you fold your arms over your chest, a way to somewhat gain your composure before looking up at the man from beneath your lashes. eyelids dragged down from the effects of mary-jane and brown irises swimming in pink. you're cute trying to act intimidating in this state. "bending what ass—boy please i'm not even doing too much." he hums, amused by your sassy mouth. a hand comes up to toy with the strings of your bikini top that rests between you breast, slightly tugging on them. "mmm, where that demented ass white boy you got?" he means reiner. it's hard not to give a reaction to the nickname that he conjured up from him, but at the same time you don't blame him. reiner is part of the reason why you two stopped speaking, after one too many arguments that revolved around you and ony's closeness. you remembered the day, reiner gripping you too hard and ony seeing the bruise which ended up in a bloody fist fight. after that you had to sit the dark-skinned man down and explain why the friendship wouldn't work out due to the respect you had for your relationship. granted the blond had an abundance of issues but he had every right to feel paranoid about the ‘friendship’ you and ony had. the multiple stolen glances and subtle touches that you two shared when you thought no one was looking, it was enough to drive the man up a wall.

that’s in the past though. you’re broken up now and the man is in therapy—he also has a sweet caring boyfriend.

you hit ony’s in his chest, not moving your hand from the firm muscle after. “that’s ignorant. he has dissociative identity disorder and he’s bipolar, he is not demented.” ony smacks his lips together while rolling his eyes with a nod of his head, not at all interested in a thing that you’re saying.

“mhm, yeah. crazy-ass. where he at?” the look he gives you after he asks that question makes you know that he knows. he knows that you and reiner broke up—but he's trying to be slick. twisting your lips, you give him a look. sleek eyebrows raised and almond eyes narrowing a bit. the smile that he flashes you, all teeth real pretty, only confirms your assumption. he knows. "don't play onyankopon, you want something ask for it." that's one trait he loves about you, you're bluntness. though it makes you have a bit of a smart mouth, he doesn't love you any less. the grip he has on your hips tighten and he begins to sway you to the music, spinning you around so that your back is to his chest. his crotch in line with your ass. your bodies move in sync, a slow whine slowly turning into desperate grinding. he brings his lips to connect to the side of your neck, trailing kisses up until he reaches the skin just below your ear and sucking. you feel yours knees buckle immediately, acrylic nails pressing into the muscular arm that wrapped itself around your middle, trying your best to stifle the moan that threatens to be released. "tryna love on you tonight, you got let me?" your hips don't stop moving. you can feel how hard he is, how his cock strains against the material of his swimwear, begging to be let free. you push your ass against it deliberately, smiling cutely when you hear his retaliating groan. his hands tightens against your hip. "cut that shit out before I bend you over right here. m' not playing with you." it's a threat but you're pussy gushes at the thought, ony knows as much when you look at him over your shoulder. eyes all bright and shiny, and your plump glossed lips parted like the idea of that wouldn't bother you. 'shit she tryna kill me.' he shakes his head with a scoff, grabbing unto your arm. before you know it you're collecting your things from your friends and waving them a shy goodbye as ony drags you to his car. they give you knowing looks with a cheeky grin, knowing that you have been waiting for this for a long time. you can feel the adrenaline and arousal rush into your veins with each step you take. it makes you feel a bit shy. you don't think you've ever wanted anyone as much as you want ony. when you both reach ony's black mercedes, you're hesitant to go inside. suddenly becoming aware about the things you're about to do after yearning for him for so long. you shift on your feet as ony opens the back door, quickly scrambling to get inside so you don't seem weird. you're suddenly sobering up when he enters the backseat, sliding in beside you and closing the door before looking at you with half lidded eyes that roam your figure. "you good?" "mmm, nervous." if ony wasn't so close to you he would have missed the words that fell from your lips. he's quick to grab your hips and plop you in his lap, squeezing your sides reassuringly. "don't gotta be nervous, mama. we don't have to do anything." you're immediately shaking your head, grabbing onto his shoulders with a pout. you need this. "I want to on'. you're just a lil intimidating." the dark-skinned man sighs as you rub the nape of his neck. your body grows warm as he uses his thumbs to rub circles into your hip, both your nose rubbing as you lean closer. he doesn't make the first move, waiting for you to take the initiative in case you change your mind. it takes you a second before you lean in, connecting your plump lips to his plush brown ones. the high that you felt before doesn't compare to this. you push all your love and devotion into his mouth, opening up so that his wet muscle can explore. sighing when he sucks on your tongue and tilts your head so he can kiss you deeper. so that he can make you feel his passion. you kiss until you're out of breath, moving away from each other with labored breaths, forehead connecting as one. you shift on his lap so you can get comfortable unconsciously rubbing your pussy against his cock, which grows harder by the minute.

the groan he lets out gets you wetter and wetter, it makes you feel a little concerned. ony swears you want to kill him when you bite your lips and grind against him, your pretty breast jiggling slightly as you continue to move against him making his mouth water. "yeahhh. hump that shit, baby." he guides your hips, lifting up to meet you halfway sending a pleasurable shock throughout your body. as you continue to rock ony kisses you. they trail from the corner of your lips, to the plump of your cheeks, your forehead and finally to your lips. you grip his shoulder tightly as his cock bumps into your clit, letting out a broken cry. "on, want you." he chuckles gruffly. weren't you the one who was nervous a minute a go? "m'right here mama." you shake your head, curls bouncing as you continue to move in his lap, connecting your lips to his. "n-no, ony. I want you, inside." ony sucks in a breath suddenly becoming weak to you. he's quick to set you beside him, kissing your sweet mouth when you cry out a protest. his fingers find the band of your shorts, sliding them down your legs with a heavy breath. he can only describe what greets him as heavenly. your thighs spread, and in between them lays your sweet fat pussy puckered up in the material of your bikini bottom. with his bottom lip tucked into the top row of his teeth he slides the material to the side, licking his lips when he finally sees your pussy. it winks at him invitingly, sticky residue pushing out of it slowly as he runs a finger through it, his eyes meeting yours when you let out a pretty gasp. toes curling from the simple touch. "this what you been keeping from me?" he whispers, fingers moving up and down along your slit. hypnotizing him. "fuck, you this wet for me?" you let out a little 'mhm' unable to conjure up any sentence. with a quick move ony has your bottoms off, moving in between your legs so he can have more access in the cramped space. he presses a finger into you and you sigh, body slumping against the seat of his car. your hands move to your breast, removing them from the material of your top to toy with your nipples. "put it inside, ony. please I need it." he's quick to comply, sleeping his finger in with ease and moaning at the warm spongy feeling that greets him. your pussy gushes around his finger as he plunges it in and out, another one moving to rub at your little nub. "you so fucking pretty, shitt look at that." he speeds up all while rubbing your clit, making you let out a breathy moan. the sound causes him to rub at the hard-on that strained against his pants, a raspy groan leaving his lips from how pretty you sound. breaking apart from some simple finger fucking. "you get this wet for that crazy-ass white boy?" he mutters, looking up at you as your face twist in pleasure. if you didn't feel so good you would have smacked him for that comment. a hot mouth find its way to your jaw, nipping at it meanly. "hmm? asked you a question baby." you're shaking your head with a gasp, turning your head so you can kiss him while your fingers twirl your now erected nipples. "mm-mm, only for you on'. p-promise-oh!" you choke on your words, trembling slightly as the brown-eyed man adds another finger to your wet cavern. repeatedly plunging in and out, while his thumb rubs against your clit. instantly your back arches off of the seat. ony feels as if he can cum from this alone. watching you break apart on his fingers, grinding desperately as you chase a relief. his brown eyes darken as he watches the way you squirm, your nipples pulsing under the abuse of your fingers. it makes him smile "mhm. shoulda had you like this when you said that dumb shit about distance. hurt my feelings baby. tell me you sorry?" his name falls from your lips in a whine and gasp, trying to make sense of what he was saying as you feel yourself getting closer and closer. it doesn't help when he manages to speed up his motions again, your hands one preoccupied with your breast now latching onto his arm. "s-shit. ony, please!" a squeak leaves your lips as he br

brings a hand down to swat at your sloppy cunt harshly. teary brown eyes meeting his deep brown bourbon coloured ones as you repeatedly nod your head. “what I say?”

“m’sorry m’sorry m’sorry, baby please!”

you’re body is restless beneath his as you hiccup on moans and grind on his hand. knees knocking against his head as you arch your back the deeper he reaches in your safe heaven, pretty plump lips molding into an ‘o’. it’s beautiful—your beautiful. ony thinks this moment will be stuck in his head forever, how could it not?

a strained breath leaves his lips as he tilts his head down to look at where your leaking all over his fingers. you begin to clench down on them, letting ony know that you’re close. “you there mama, hmm? you so fucking pretty.” his eyes have hearts in them, and his hips twitch against the seat of the car. he needs to be inside you.

“cmon beautiful, know you’re them. lemme see you gush around my fingers.” the heat from his touch burns into you’re skin, almost marking you. you’re desperate to feel it, desperate for him to sink into you and take you.

“I am onya, p-promise you am.” he smiles at that. his beautiful fucked out girl.

it takes one final thrust of his fingers for you to come undone, an addictive moan flying from your lips. broken, beautiful.

you feel as if you could melt into the seat of onyankopon’s car, as if you’re floating away on a cloud of pleasure. your hips lift up into his hand and your nails leave indents in his arm, it’s a wonder they haven’t broken off.

ony moves the curls from your face and leans down to capture your lips in his, breathing you in as he continues to pump his fingers into you. allowing you to ride out your high.

it takes a second for you to recollect yourself, breathing heavily as you come down from your high. you’re suddenly startled when you feel a small tap on your ass, slowly opening your dreary eyes to see ony looming over you.

he’s so beautiful. his forehead shines with sweat as his chocolate eyes meet yours, having you in trance. his gold chain moves with his chest as it heaves and his abs contract with each breath that he takes. “you okay?” your head feels heavy but you nod anyway.

“mhm,” you reach out from him, twisting your fingers into his chain to pull his lips against yours, tapping the back of your foot against his back. “want you to fuck me.” he shivers at that and you smile coyly. blinking up at him through your lashes as he clenches his jaw and exhales through his nose.

with a scoff that sounds dangerously close to a laugh he swats your ass two times which causes you to gasp and giggle. “slow your ass down. this dick ain’t going nowhere but inside you.”

you bite your lip, reaching out your hand to slip it under his swim-shorts until you feel his cock jump against your hands. he says nothing, only watches you through lidded eyes, bucking his hip into your hands.

“you’re so thick, on.”

and he is, you can barely wrap your hands around it. from what you can feel too he’s long, you have to wonder if it doesn’t hurt. will it fit inside you?

your both moving, adjusting your position so it doesn’t feel cramped. ony pulls down his shorts and his dick springs free, slightly twitching when he gives it a pump. you admire it for a second, you're assumptions were right. it is long--but it's pretty. the tip is pink, with angry veins trailing down the pretty brown skin and into a neatly trimmed bush of hair. your mouth salivates at the sight, immediately imagining what he would taste like. before he can catch you quickly avert your eyes, trying your best to hide a smile. he tilts his head against the seat and looks at you. “i don’t have a condom.” suddenly shy from the attention he gives you, look down at your hands in your lap and rub your lips together. “can’t you pull out? i’m clean.”

the man huffs a breath, laughing lowly.he swears that he must be dreaming, there’s no possible way that this could be real. he takes a moment to look at you through narrowed eyes, watching the way your hands twitch as if to reach for him.

“shit…come here.” he reaches for you, smiling prettily at the way your hands eager climb his lap. “ready?” his hands rub your ass comfortingly, deep brown eyes softening as they take you in. you nod reaching for his hand that holds youur waist before you begin to sink down, down. hissing slightly at the stretch.

“fuuuckk.”

pulse racing you look down at the dark-skinned man, his beauty is blinding as his face twitch from the pleasure. your hands latch unto his shoulder to seek some form of solidity before you begin to move, only to be stopped by the firm hand planted on your hip. “gimme a second mama, feel like im bout to nut.” he grumbles, tilting his head back and letting out a deep breath. you giggle at his reaction, watching him smile with his eyes closed and giving you a quick swat to your ass.

“mm, you ain’t gon be laughing when you pop out a baby in nine months.” your giggles cease immediately, and ony lets out a hiss when he feels your cunt clench around him. he opens an eye to look down at you in disbelief. “shit, fucking freak. you like that?” he smirks when you nod your head, leaning down to kiss you at the corner of your lips.

grinding his teeth, ony takes on more deep breath before he shifts his hips, bucking up into you. you’re not given a moment to recover as he holds your hips down and begin fucking up into you. “don’t worry, mama. In due time.” it’s a promise, he’s serious as he seals the deal with a kiss and another thrust of his hips.

your head drops into the junction of his shoulder between his head and neck as you let out siren-like moans and whimpers. you let him know how good your feeling, and claw at his back when he hits a specific spot. “r-right there baby, you feel sooo good.”

his pulse speeds up when you lick his neck, groaning when he feels you beginning to fuck him back, bouncing your body against him. “yeah, making you feel good?”

your tummy clenches with each sharp thrust he delivers, moans never ceasing as he gives you pleasure again and again and again.

“mhm! thank you ony..” you’re babbling now, jerking against him harshly as if you were malfunctioning from all the pleasure you’re receiving. he can’t complain, he isn’t any better with your snug pussy hugging him so tightly.

it was if you were made for him with the way you clamped down on him, allowing him to ravish you the way he pleases. your body is lax in his grip, relaxing under his touch.

he would even go as far as to say it recognizes him.

“fuck, why we wait so long to do this baby? pussy’s immaculate, like you were fucking made for me.” you release a drawn out whine at his words, sucking on his neck while bobbing you head. "mm, just for you o-on. swear-haah." your pussy is getting tighter by the minute and ony can't hold out anymore. your quick to take the initiative, pushing up on your heel and bouncing with all your might. ony looks down at you with a sort of amazement, his jaw slacking as he watches you work for his nut. you're almost like a bunny, never stopping to take a breath, just bouncing. he sucks air through his teeth, trying his best to recollect himself before helping you. "kiss me." you demand it as if it's your right, and like the fool ony is he complies. meshing his lips together with yours desperately as he feels his bawl tighten with the urge to cum, groaning in your mouth when you suck on his tongue. he pulls away and tries to catch his breath, but you keep on bouncing. "s-shit, baby you gotta easy. boutta cum." you don't slow your pace, in fact you hold eye contact with the man and begin to move faster. "m'kay, want it inside." all the twenty three years ony has lived, he has never allowed himself to lose his composure, his logic. except now. his brown eyes screw tight as he lets out a raspy grunt, his hands drawing down to your ass to give it a delightful squeeze. he thrusts up into you wildly, getting off on the sounds of your hiccupy moans and sweet kisses that you reward to his cheeks. the plap plap sounds of your hips meeting each other as well as your heavy breathings fill the air as you both chase the high that you need. ony pants harshly, hugging your body into his. kissing any and every piece of skin he can get his lips on. "I-ima cum, mama. do it with me." you babble out a response that ony doesn't register, his hips twitching as he gives one finally stab before exploding into you. groaning at the way you clench and twitch around him before letting out a small shudder. your legs tightening around one's hips and your breath hitching in his neck. his chest rises and falls against yours as he tries to catch his breath, running a hand down your back and placing a kiss on your cheek. "you good?" you can only give a hum in response, hugging him tighter and sighing happily. his chest rumbles with a laugh before he attempts to move you, pausing when you tighten the hold you have around his neck. "don't go." a warmth spreads throughout him at your quiet plea. voice hoarse with all the moaning you were doing. reassuring he rubs your back again, coaxing you to lift your head off of his shoulder so he can kiss you properly. from the way you sigh into his mouth and rub his cheeks with your thumbs, ony knows you're his. and he doesn't plan on letting you go any time soon.

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injellyfish1218 · 2 months ago

Text

cybersex. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 8.2K word count. camgirl!blackfemreader, original!blackfemreader, contentcreatorcoded! onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, size kink, black woman, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, aggressive talk, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, squirting, riding, missionary, stand n’ carry fucking, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, multiple orgasms, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ reference to the title, this song did inspire this fic. teehee—nasty, okay? that’s all i can say about this one. just nasty. might be one of my faves, idk.

visual. visual. visual. visual.

THE PINK PLUSH OF YOUR DUVET SOFTENS BENEATH YOUR TOES AS YOU LAY ATOP OF IT, curved nails wrapping around the cherry sunken between your heart shaped lips. You didn’t think this would be as hard as it was, but you were now on hour three of scrolling in between OnlyFans and Twitter—you’d found nothing.

Your job wasn’t something anyone expected of you. You were quiet, reserved, introverted—But being in front of a camera? Well, that was different.

A Cam Girl, to be exact. You’d only been in the industry for about a year and a half, but the money you made versus working as a bartender was tenfold— your experience with people was all in the making of your success. Your smile, those slender eyes combative in getting what they wanted, dark curls framing the doll shape of your caramel face.

You leaned into the camera every other night to show off the multitude of lingerie you’d bought, twisting your fingers against the satin bow between your large breasts, comments flooding as your customers waited for an accidental slip to show. Your legs spread open, teeth digging into the plush of your lip as you fucked yourself, moaning blasphemies into the camera—or, a couple scandalous pictures posted if you were working overnight at the bar.

Your customers would ask, Are we ever gonna see a collab?

It’s not that the thought never crossed your mind. But to anyone’s surprise, you’d only known the pleasures of exploring your own body. You’d had sexual partners, but none that ever satisfied you the way you could yourself. Your customers enjoyed watching you indulge yourself, but just like them, something in you might’ve wanted something—different.

So here you were—continuously scrolling through male content creator’s to possibly do a collab with—you just were unsure how comfortable you were with the entire idea. To make matters worse, you couldn’t find anyone that piqued your interest.

You leaned your jaw against your palm as you fell deeper into the bed, a soft sigh parting your lips as your finger flicked the mouse pad down your timeline. Your eyes were practically immune to the nastier side of Twitter. But then—you stopped.

Onyankopon.

Licensed massage therapist. Top .015% on OnlyFans.

His profile picture might’ve gotten your attention. It was simple, but enough. You could tell that he might’ve had a head full of hair, as it was braided to the back in cornrows, clear beads hanging at the end of them. His brown skin almost carried a red undertone beneath the lights, tattoos and silver jewelry complimenting the bistre of his complexion. His lips—full, the perfect shape, coated by the sable of his facial hair. Tattoos scattered all over his body—neck, arms, crawling all the way up to his face—the cross along his cheek twinkling next to the silver stud in his nose. He was pretty.

But as you continued to scroll down…pretty isn't the word you’d use for him. Your eyes nearly widen at the sight of his di—

It’s big. Huge, even. Veins protrude throughout it, the tip as flush as his lips. It nearly reaches his mid thigh. The sculpt of his body was insane, and you felt your mouth watering. You’d never had this reaction before— But your body seems to react worse as you keep scrolling. Videos of him and other women, the darkness of the rooms are curated in candles and roses, lights blaring colors for a sensual environment. Each girl smiles sultrily as they all start the same—he talks with them, has them become comfortable as they sit along the massage table. He touches them in an almost innocent way, keeping their attention—Then, his touches become less innocent, and to see the way he handles them—the squeals, screams, orgasms are like no other. They cum in raptures, squirt all over him—his voice grunts, praises in satisfaction. They made your jaw drop, glasses tipping over your nose.

They might’ve had you squeezing your thighs together, too. So you did what you didn’t expect yourself—You messaged him.

bimbopiscesprincess: hey, um. do you happen to live in new orleans?

You received a response almost immediately. You can see the typing bubble, making your heart skip at how fast he’d seen your message.

onyo: hey. yeah, i do. why?

Before you could even type out your next message, another notification pops up at the corner of your screen.

onyo: user is typing…

And then—

onyo: hollon’. i know you.

Your eyes blink at that. You showed your body to the world on a regular basis, so why did that sentence make your face go warm?

bimbopiscesprincess: oh. you do?

onyo: yeah. the bartender down on canal at the blue bayou. saw you behind the bar a couple of times.

It’s hard to contain the way your heart rate picks up— Your stomach is flipping at the idea. You type back immediately.

bimbopiscesprincess: i guess that’s better than saying you’ve seen my videos, lol.

onyo: i guess i should’ve clarified. i’ve seen your videos. yo’ pussy pretty as hell, face too.

Your eyes go wide. You can’t help but bite the corner of your lip, a light feeling in your chest as your fingers press against the keys.

bimbopiscesprincess: well um—thank you, lol. sorry, i’m a lil’ different when the camera isn’t on.

onyo: don’t gotta apologize, girl. you’ cute regardless.

He types a couple minutes after.

onyo: so what’d you hit me up for? i ain’t tryna’ stop talkin’ to you, just curious.

You stare at the screen, eyes flickering up and down his messages. Did you really want to do this? Could you? The man made you nervous through text.

bimbopiscesprincess: i don’t mean to be forward, i was just curious on how this whole collab thing works? i mean, that’s even if you were interested.

onyo: you don’t gotta be shy. we can call and talk

‘bout it if you’d like.

You go to reach for another cherry, but your fingers can’t seem to find the bowl. Your heart was beating.

bimbopiscesprincess: right now?

He’d messaged you a number, which you assumed was his. Your fingers seemed to dial it on their own, nerves beginning to eat at you as the ringer went off.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

And then he answered, voice heavy and smooth.

“Hey, mama. How you’ doin’?”

Your voice is breathless, “Hi. I’m um—I’m fine. I hope I didn’t wake you?”

He lets out a chuckle. It’s low, deep and gravelly.

“You’ good. I was just scrollin’ on my computer when you decided to hit me up. Glad you did.”

He pauses, “You born and raised in the boot?”

“Uptown,” you hum, “Graduated from Xavier. You?”

“You’ smart, I like that shit. But yeah— I grew up on the Westbank. Did college out in Baton Rouge, came back to work with my momma before I started doing content. She owns a couple shops down here.”

Even when he was just talking, his voice was like velvet, thick, and raspy. It had you unconsciously squeezing your thighs together.

On top of that, you didn’t necessarily expect all this dialogue with him.

You say it before you think, “Are you usually this open in conversation with the girls you collaborate with?”

He chuckles again, the sound vibrating against your ear through the receiver, “Not really, nah. But it’s not hard to have a conversation.”

He lets out a sigh, almost like he’s stretching, “You asked how the collabs worked, right? We ain’t even get to that part.”

“Right,” your voice is soft, “So—you wanna explain it to me? I mean—it’s probably simple, but—I just—“ you stop yourself with an awkward giggle, “Sorry, Go ahead.”

“You good, baby. It’s how it sounds, so I promise you ain’t off with the idea. We’ll just plan out a date and time, you’ll come to mines, and—“ He exhales, like he just realized he was getting off track, “Let me not bore you with extra shit—it all depends what you’ comfortable with, first.”

Your eyebrows raise at that, “What I’m comfortable with? So—it doesn’t necessarily have to be sex? I mean—sorry, that’s a dumb question. I just see that you’re specialized in massaging, so—yeah.”

“You ain’t gotta keep apolgizin’ to a nigga. I swear, you’ good. Sex brings in a bigger payout for the both of us, but I got all types of ways I can service you if you’ not comfortable with that. Just say what it is.”

You think to yourself—this is your line of work. You didn’t have to be nervous or scared. This could bring in more attention to your page, and you could get a new experience out of it.

Your voice is a bit softer as you reply, “I’m open to anything.”

Another chuckle. It’s heavier this time.

“You sure?”

You nod your head, “I’m sure. I’ll see you then, Onyankopon.”

Then was sooner than you’d expected it to be. Two weeks had gone by, officially making a date after you’d both gotten tested. Your eyes flicked up to the high rise condos glowing into the starry night of the sky, coaxing you into the entrance. You almost couldn’t feel your legs from the moment you stepped into the lobby to show your ID to the receptionist, your lower body numb as you stood outside the door to his apartment. 888 was his door number. Figures.

With a small breath, your fingers tightened along your baby pink Telfar tote, other hand raising up to the door as you knocked. You waited.

When the door opened, you couldn’t even think to prepare yourself.

He was tall, even taller than on videos. But it was in a more muscular, wider way. He wore a fitted black tee that showed the extent of his broad shoulders, with a pair of sweatpants. It was casual, but he looked like he’d just rolled out of a photoshoot, durag shining in the light as he towered over you.

“Hey, baby.”

His voice was deeper in person, something you didn’t expect, your fingers tightening around the handles of your bag.

You’d always been confident in yourself. In your body, your shape— Your hips were as full as a woman who’d given birth, ass and thighs almost preposterous in curves. It showed under the BODYBYRAVEN teal set you wear—the yoga pants and jacket hugging your frame, your curls draping over your body in lazy waves, black furry boots covering your feet. You were cute to him, but in a way that had him glaring at the sight of you.

“Hi,” you gently greet back, “I hope I didn’t knock too loud,” your fingers tug a curl behind your ear.

“I told yo’ ass about allat’ apologizing. Come on.”

He moves to the side, the aroma of his body oil wafting through your nose—something sweet, musky and spicy. You felt yourself almost wanting to taste him, your stomach fluttering by the time you’d made it inside.

The condo is large, high-end, yet it carries a homey touch to it. A large glass window overlooks the view of the river and city. You weren’t that nervous—until you saw the maple wood of the massage table, the plush material atop for comfort making your heart pound in your chest—and then, the blaring sight of the professional lights tilting directly onto the furniture, camera stands holding the perfect angle of the scenery.

You drop your bag beside the sofa, running your fingers through your hair as you ask, “You were um—setting up?”

“Wanted to get it out the way ‘cause I knew it’d take yo’ ass a while to get here,” he pokes fun, “You’ hungry? A nigga been cravin’ pasta like a muhfucka’.”

You can’t help the way your face flushes—his voice was just as sweet as it was heavy. You didn’t expect him to be so—real?

The question was genuine, as if he’d sensed your nervousness. It reminded you that you needed to answer.

“You don’t have to do that,” you shake your head, “I don’t wanna’ impose or—make you feel like you have to make me comfortable.”

“Why you bein’ like this, huh? I stink or sum’?”

He goes to sniff under his arms, and it makes you giggle a bit at the sight.

You sigh, “No, no. I’m—I’m sorry, okay? You’re being very sweet— I’m being weird, aren’t I?”

You lean against the counter, “I just haven’t done this before, Onyankopon. That’s all.”

“Ony. You can call me that.”

His jaw shifts, “Come here. You’ nervous for no reason.”

Your lips part a bit, but you don’t move forward.

“I guess I just didn’t expect you to be so—normal.”

“Normal,” he repeats, a light chuckle rumbling in his throat. It was deep, chest vibrating within your ear, “I can’t be nothin’ else. You ain’t gotta be different either.”

You nod your head, taking in his words. Your eyes fall behind him as you notice the array of snacks in his open pantry, eyebrow raising as you flick your vision back to him, “Oatmeal Cream Pies? Really?”

“You judgin’ me, huh?” he grins down at you, “What, I gotta’ be all high end ‘cause I do what I do?”

“Nah. I’m judging ‘cause they’re nasty,” you retorted back, finding a seat on one of the stools, “Just a lil’ surprised is all.”

“I could say the same about you, girl— Actin’ all shy in person when you be goin’ crazy on camera.”

Your eyebrows raise, your face flushed once again, “How bout’ you focus on that pasta you supposed to be makin’ me? ‘Cause you just wanna talk!”

“A nigga must’ve hit a nerve,” he chuckles, but steps away to rummage further into the kitchen.

"What I do, what you do—same difference."

His voice is muffled under the sound of the stove, but he continues, "You gon’ tell me it’s not?”

“It’s not. Self pleasure versus connecting with someone else is two completely different things,” you point out, leaning your head in your palms as you watch him move around the kitchen, back flexing in return.

He looks down at you with a smirk, hand reaching up to grab two plates from the cabinet above with ease. Something about that made you tug at your lip.

“What? You ain’t gon’ argue back with me?” You question.

“Nah,” he shrugs.

”Don’t gotta’ argue what I know is right.”

“I think I’d like it better if a man didn’t argue anyways,” you confess, another small giggle falling from your lips.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “You like a nigga that’s gon’ tell you sum’. Ion’ believe that.”

“If that was the case, I might’ve done a collab a long time ago. So wrong. Feed me, now?”

“See. You ain’t that shy. Lyin’ ass.”

This man couldn’t have been good at everything. You had to keep your reactions to yourself as the pasta melted in your mouth, warm and just the right amount of flavor. The minute you placed your fork on the plate, you sighed, “Now I’m gonna’ be bloated on camera.”

“You got a pretty ass shape, girl. Niggas gon’ kill to see you in any state.”

He picks a noodle from his plate, leaning over to you. His eyes are hooded, brown and pretty. He nudged the fork to your lips, “Open.”

That compliment—it throws you off a bit. A part of you almost had to remember this was a part of a job, and nowhere near a date.

So your voice is soft as you lean back, “I should probably get dressed.”

Your lashes are fluttering in a way that’s returning to nervousness, so he steps back.

“You’ right. But if you need anythin’, let me know—You got a preferred kind of music you want? Imma’ go start settin’ up.”

“PARTYNEXTDOOR is always good,” you hum, “I’ll be back.”

You should’ve had a glass of wine to cure your nerves. You make your way into your bag, sifting through the contents to find the perfect lingerie set. But then you thought—you had to push yourself in some way.

So you retouch your makeup, fix your hair, and slip on the deep blue of a satin robe you owned. The material was short, nearly teasing the cheeks of your ass, your body completely bare as your breasts loosely moved beneath the top. Your honey freckles appear lighter under the complexion of your robe, and you exhale, feet paddling along the floor as you make your way back into the living room.

You slow down as you see him—now shirtless, and as your eyes continue to travel down, you can also see the bulge pushing through his sweats as he adjusts the lights against the table.

“Need any help?”

He looks up at you, brown eyes narrowing the moment he catches your appearance. You were pretty, pretty in a way that felt different from anyone else.

“I’m good. C’mere, though.”

His voice—heavy and dark, beckoned you over to him. He was like a dog under your gaze.

You move the moment he asks you to. You come forward, somehow keeping your face away from the camera as you hide your expression with your hair, “Should I change?”

He steps into your space, the scent of you making him move in closer—it’s milky, musky—fingers brush under your chin with ease to capture your attention. Tilting your face upwards, Onyankopon’s eyes lower into yours. It felt invasive, in a way that made your stomach twist.

“Ain’t no words to compare how fuckin’ pretty you’ look. You’ ready?”

You nod, sitting yourself along the massage table, the tip of your toes just barely reaching the floor as you keep your eyes on him. It’s a scene you’d seen before—the rose petals, the candles, the music almost has your shoulders hike up. The plush of your lips pressed together, your breasts spilling slightly from the soft fabric.

“Do I look nervous?” you try to whisper, the chuckle he gives in return making you release a light giggle.

He moves to sit against the end of the table, his back still to you as he reaches for one of the cabinets, picking a few oils out before placing them beside the massage bed.

“You can be nervous. You wanna tell me why?”

It’s all he questions, his gaze still on the items in front of him. You felt your heart rate pick up a bit when he looked behind him, eyes peering over you.

“…I’ve never had a man—well, anyone, make me—you know,” you admit to him, “I’m nervous about that, I guess.”

“That ain’t a bad thing, Mama. Ain’t gotta’ be embarrassed about nothin’ with me.”

You can feel his presence now towering over you from behind, his voice vibrating through the music fading within the background as he finds a clasp of your curls, gently pulling you enough for your eyes to meet his.

“Imma’ take care of you. You’d like that?”

The question itself, you’re unsure why, but it instantly makes you horny. To make matters worse, he brings his face lower, looming his lips above yours. The moment feels heavy, and it makes your chest rise a bit, your lips patting a soft exhale as you hear him say, “Gotta let me know if I can touch you, baby. C’mon.”

You nod, “You can touch me, Ony…”

He moves to the front of you, sliding your lower body off of the table as he holds you by the arch of your foot. His thumbs dig into the muscle, and the feeling rushes along your entire body, making a chill graze down your spine. It makes your hips visibly tense. The warmth from the oil makes it no better.

“Sorry,” you mindlessly part from your lips, an awkward giggle after.

You see that he muses at the reaction, eyes flickering with that sensuality you couldn’t place.

“What you’ apologizin’ for?”

His hands move up the leg he holds, palms gripping, large and strong. He’s deliberate in every move he makes. Every touch.

As his hands travel farther up your left thigh, he places it along his shoulder, the arch of your toes directly besides his ear. A pressure begins to develop at your inner thigh. When he stretches your leg even farther, his bulge presses right against your clit—the warmth has your nails digging into his bicep.

“You flexin’. That feels good for you, huh? Want me to stay here?”

When you go to find your words, Onyankopon presses a sweet kiss to the side of your foot—Then, his tongue is grazing the flesh, lips wrapping along your toes, sucking.

This was one of your spots.

You nearly jump out of his hold, your thighs trembling as your eyes flutter shut. You gasp, “O—Ony…”

“There we fuckin’ go. How’ you holdin’ up, baby?”

He’s soothing you, still sucking your toes.

It makes you reach up for his shoulder, pulling him closer by the nape of his neck. You’re bad at saying what you want, so you rub your lips against his, breath shuddering in return. They were soft.

“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles against you, pulling back enough for him to give you a look, “Gotta’ ask for it. I wanna’ hear you.”

Your slender eyes flicker up, lips pouting for him to take yours.

“Wanna kiss, Ony.”

“Yeah? Where? Here?”

Onyankopon tugs you, gripping you by your jaw so he could give you a taste of his lips, a smacking sound swelling as he quickly pulls his mouth away.

He repeats it along your throat, your head knocking down as you pant, sticking your tongue out as you whimper, “My mouth.”

His lips press against your collarbone, then your shoulder—slower this time, almost teasing you along the stretch of your neck before he gives you that taste of his lips again—it’s all you’ve been waiting for. His tongue dips in and out of your mouth, nearly dragging against your lips—he’s sinful in his kisses.

After minutes of him devouring you, he pulls away, a string of spit bridging you both together as his dark gaze finds your eyes. You’re drooling.

“Imma’ need that pussy droolin’ on my mouth next. You gon’ let me eat her?”

His lips are sucking the skin of your stomach into his mouth, trailing lower—you squeak as he tugs you further off the table, your legs in the perfect angle above his shoulders to see everything within the camera.

He’s bringing it closer, and your face flushes as you whimper, “Ony—I’ve never—“

“I know. Just need you to keep talkin’ to me.”

When he speaks, you can feel his words caress your folds—they glisten under the lights of the camera, his hands gripping the soft of your thighs as his eyes find yours. His face is handsome, yet so different from this angle. Your lips part to speak, but his thumbs rubbing along your inner thighs—your words turn into a soft mewl.

That’s when you feel it—his tongue drags along the entirety of your pussy, his groan muffled, “Knew this shit was gon’ taste good as fuck. You finna’ be a problem.”

Your fingers are knotted in the braids of his hair, legs quivering at the first contact.

You hate yourself for it, but you turn your head away from the camera as you whimper again, knocking your eyes down as you stutter, “Ohmygo-Ony.”

He groans at the sight of you hiding from the lens, his mouth kissing at your clit, “You cute as hell,” his full lips wrapping against the pink bud, vibrating as it’s being sucked up by his mouth. Slurps fill your ears, and your thighs are back to trembling.

“You doin’ good, baby. Shit.”

He pulls your legs wider apart, giving the camera an unobstructed view of your body. You whimper even more, mortified, but he doesn't relent. With a swift motion, he raises his palm against your folds, massaging your pelvic, fingers splayed on your pussy—he’s rubbing, teasing.

You’re holding your breath, slender eyes flickering down to watch his palm graze your clit each time his fingers move. His voice is low, “Keep them’ muscles relaxed, baby. That’s how we finna’ get you to cum.”

Then, he’s taking his index and middle finger—it’s rubbing directly on your clit, and instead of tensing up, you moan softly. He’s continuously grinding his fingers around your clit, slowly, your breath steady as you softly whimper, “Okay.”

You can see him directly into the camera—his beard begins to glisten as he lowers his mouth back down—he’s making out with your pussy, tongue wagging as if he’s lapping to drink you. His eyes find yours, grunting at the sight of your face screwed up.

Slurps echo through the room louder as Onyankopon dives deeper between your thighs, his tongue flattening against your clit, lapping in long strokes. His free hand comes to grip your hip as he eats you out, groaning in appreciation of your flavor .When he glances back up at you, his eyes are dark with lust, and he grins, showing you the wetness coating his beard.

"You' taste so fuckin’ good, baby," he growls, “Like you' been savin’ this shit just for me."

Your eyes roll, your back arching up from the table as you squeeze his hair under your fingers. You give a low whine, “O—Ooh.”

It’s as if your every reaction makes him go more, and you can feel the flesh of your thighs becoming drenched in your own arousal. It’s when he sucks your clit up into his mouth, shaking his head side to side into your folds, the schlick of your pussy nearly making music against his mouth. That’s when you really tremble, your thighs vibrating on their own as you whimper, “Ooh-oohshit.”

Onyankopon’s tongue continues to stroke on your clit, the pulse intensifying with each passing second. His grip tightens on your hip, fingers digging in as he uses his other hand to spread your pussy open for him, exposing more of your slick flesh to his eager mouth.

“Gimme’ this shit," he grunts, fucking your clit with his tongue in a rapid, filthy rhythm. Up and down, up and down.

He’s nothing you’ve ever dealt with before. Onyankopon raises his mouth, drooling saliva onto your pussy and letting it drip in between your folds, coating the increasing slick of your pussy. You’re already shuddering, but that just made it worse.

“A nigga need you gushin’ on his fingers.”

Onyankopon brings his forehead up to yours— not before sucking your perked nipples into his mouth roughly, then taking his fingers as he grazes them back up your folds, continuously rubbing—he’s rubbing.

You could’ve blacked out. Your palm clings onto his jaw the moment his fingers nudge in between your folds, sinking in so easily that you barely feel them. But when you do, they’re deep, and your eyes roll as you clutch the nape of his neck—you messily whine, “Ohfuck—O—Ony…”

He gives a sharp grunt through his nose as he feels your walls tighten around his fingers,"Come on, baby," he murmurs, slowly pumping them in and out of your soaking folds, “Let it happen. I know you cum so muhfuckin’ pretty.”

The sound of squelching flesh fills the room as he works you over. Your eyes shut, holding him so tight as if to gain some control in your body. Your eyes roll as you cry a moan—Onyankopon groans, “Shit, you tremblin’."

He watches your face contort with pleasure, claiming your lips in a dominating kiss, tongue plundering your mouth as he fucks you harder with his fingers. Onyankopon breaks the kiss, looking down at where he's buried to the knuckle inside you.

“Look how muhfuckin’ wet you are. Pretty lil’ bitch— you finna’ milk my fingers.”

It just happens—your stomach coils the deepest groan, your entire body trembling as the vibration flows to your lips—tears lightly puncture your eyes as you lean yourself farther into his forehead, a whine shakily gasping from your lips as you squeal, “Onnnnyyy-fuckkk.”

You’re squirting, the arousal drowning his fingers as your lower body convulses onto his palm.

“Ohmygoddd.”

You tense, Onyankopon’s other hand tugging up at the back of your neck as he holds you up more into the camera.

You don’t stop—it’s everywhere, the groans releasing from your lips whiney as he’s practically milking your squirt, his voice rumbling with approval, “Thereee’ you go. You soakin' my fuckin' hand. Look at that shit."

His mouth is back on your pussy, nodding up and down into your folds, tongue fucking your opening, coaxing more gush from your between your legs.

Your fingers grip onto his shoulders as you whimper, “O—Onyyyy…fuck, baby.”

You're shaking, tears streaming down your face—Onyankopon laps his tongue once more against your clit as you coat his mouth and chin. His thrusts become irregular, shallow, lazily curling inside you—he’s like a demon. But finally, he stops.

Your legs are still over his shoulders, panting, your palms sliding along the swell of your breasts as you just breathe.

“You aight, baby?”

Your eyes are shut. You move your palm up to your face, covering yourself along the camera as you nod your head.

He doesn’t mean to. But he chuckles, fingers sliding up along your stomach to help you breathe, “Yeah? You wanna take a lil’ break?”

You nod your head again. You’re dazed.

“Yeah. I—I need a minute,” you mutter.

He’s already helping you straighten up, sliding your legs off his shoulders as he asks you softly, “Want some water? Tea? I know it’s too late for coffee, but we got another hour of filmin’.”

You want to answer. You really do, but your body is still trembling a bit, your legs buzzing—you lean your forehead into his chest, a flushed giggle releasing from your lips as you whisper, “Tea, please.”

He chuckles in return, hand caressing along your shoulder—it’s the first time you noticed the rosary tattooed on it, complimenting his brown skin.

“Aight. You’ want it sweet? Sugar—“

Before you can answer, you feel something press into your neck—his forehead. He leans against you, almost in a cuddling manner, lowering his height for you to relax.

“You gon’ be good while I go make it? Not gon’ fall asleep?”

“Camera is still rolling, Ony. I’m fine,” you promise, “I like my tea sweet, yeah. Thank you.”

He gives you a soft tap on the chin, his eyes lowering along your form before he makes his way into the kitchen. You find yourself fixing your hair, adjusting the robe along your body before you exhale—You were still shaky, but it didn’t make your heart race the way it did before.

Your eyes follow him over to the kitchen, watching the way his muscles flex with every movement he makes. The silence is comforting, but you somehow still feel awkward around him.

Your voice is soft as you ask, “How come you never left New Orleans?”

He leans over the counter to turn the stove on, the candles in the room making his eyes look darker.

“I wanna’ protect it. Not only my family—but my people. When it got rough, my brothers moved to Texas for better opportunities, started their careers—I was cool makin’ a name for myself here.”

When he turns back around, his face is a bit softer, almost innocent. He moves his shoulders a bit.

“Why’ you ask that?”

You press the fullness of your lips together, “You just—seem like you have it all together. A huge fanbase, and there aren't many of us who reside here. L.A or Houston is more on the nose—I just figured maybe you’d fit in there too.”

“My manager been pushin’ for it, but the people in L.A are superficial as hell—I got fans here, and that’s enough. Ain’t always about the money.”

He looks back at you.

“And what about you? You want a bigger fanbase?”

You think about that question.

“Well—don’t get me wrong—I love being in front of the camera, but my dream has always been to get my life together and move to Tokyo,” you giggle a bit, “Sounds silly, I know. Plus—I’m close to thirty, and I don’t know how okay my future husband is gonna be with me showing myself online for money.”

He chuckles when you giggle, coming over to hand you the tea before he takes a seat next to you. When you move to sit beside him, you still feel vulnerable—but at ease.

“It’s doable—All in how you plan. You’ want the family, the white picket fence too—allat’?”

You hold the mug in your palms, letting it warm up your hands for a moment. You then look up at him, nodding your head.

“I do. The way you’re talking— I guess it’s safe to assume that’s not what you have in mind?”

“It’s the end goal, but nah. I got a long while ‘til that,” he responds, reaching his hand out to caress your shoulder when he sees you shiver.

When you’re quiet for a moment, he clears his throat.

“You gotta’ nigga?”

Your eyebrow raises, “That’s a serious question?”

“It can’t be?”

His gaze is musing on you, eyes flickering to the way you press your body closer to his palm.

“If you do, this shit could get you into some trouble with yo’ nigga.”

It’s a teasing tone, but it holds a little weight. He wanted a direct answer.

You throw it back to him, “Do you got a bitch?”

“If I say yes, you gone’ be mad?”

“I’m not, I’d actually feel bad for her—cause I’d lose my mind if you was doin’ shit the way you do on camera—and I’m sitting at home—yeah, hell no.”

“So you’ the jealous type. Interesting,” He responds, lifting his own mug of tea to his lips.

“I don’t,” he then confirms, “You still ain’t answering my question, girl.”

“My nigga would either be doing this with me as a couples content channel, or I wouldn’t be doing it at all. So no,” you shrug, “And I’m not jealous. But I’d kill a man if he was eating my pussy the way you did and then doing it to every other bitch across the state for a couple dollars,” you sip your coffee, “Jealous? I guess.”

His lips are smiling against the rim of his mug, giving you a look from the corner of his eye, “Sounds like you tryna’ be a nigga ole’ lady.”

That’s how you were making it sound. Dammit.

You play it off, “Maybe you want me to be your ole’ lady, and this is reverse psychology, hm? Right. And even if I was sayin’ that, it looks like you gon’ have to clear all them’ messages in your phone first.”

His laugh is loud, like music to your ears. It makes that tingly feeling in your stomach tighten the more you hear it. It’s different from the ones you hear in his other videos. He seems more genuine, more personal with you.

He reaches a hand out to nudge you with his shoulder, “You gon’ be mean to me like this now? Ion’ like that shi’, girl.”

“You laughin’, but I’m serious.”

“I heard you, Mama. Chill.”

You take the final sip of your tea, placing it down on the table behind the camera. You question, “You’ ready to massage me now?”

“You ain’t ready,” he shoots back, “Gon’ head and take that robe off—Need you naked as fuck.”

The command makes your body thrum—you’re surprised, but after he makes you smile, it somehow makes it so easy to listen to him. Maybe hornier than before.

The moment he takes both mugs into the kitchen to wash off, you press your body into the soft material of the massage table, kneeling yourself on your knees as you slowly drag the silk of your robe off your shoulders.

You dig your teeth into the plush of your lip as you question, “Like that?” more playful, a giggle sounding through your mouth as you purr directly into the camera.

You can hear him hum his approval, placing the mugs down in the sink before turning around to watch you get in position— His footsteps grow closer as he heads into the living room, the camera now following his footsteps to stand by your side as he admires your form.

“You’ a good ass girl.”

Maybe it’s the sugar rush—but your toes point as you sit further on your knees, coming closer to him as you run your tongue over your lips, “I like that. Say that again,” you giggle sultrily.

His fingers move forward to slide against the sides of your neck, his thumbs digging slightly along the bone as he tugs you closer, face stopping just before your own, eyes flickering along your lips.

“You a good ass girl,” His voice is raspy with his words this time, his lips grazing yours.

That’s all you needed.

He’s putting you in different positions as he stretches you, your body relaxing in each way your limbs fold. You’re now flat on your stomach, your back arching, a huff passing your lips as he holds your lower body up by his hands, thumbs digging into your back.

His words were heavy, “How’ you doin’?”

Your lips part the sound of a deep exhale, a soft “Good,” passing your lips as you feel his fingers trail along your spine. His hands were strong, large, long—talented.

“You lyin’?” he mumbles, “Or I’m that good for you?”

Another giggle—but it’s more shy this time.

“You smell so sweet, Mama.”

You sigh when you feel him lower your pelvic back down to meet the table, taking your ankles as he folds them, allowing the balls of your feet to meet with the back of your thighs. The warmth of the oil on your body makes you tingle, and every touch keeps you shivering at this point.

His hands were now slow, his touches a mixture of pressure from his fingertips and the strength of his palms—it had your eyes flickering shut, head lowering a bit more as you found your hands gripping the table.

“Don’t tense up,” he warns, “You got it.”

It felt heavier than it looked from pictures—his tip felt weighted, the dark pink of it flushing against your puffy folds, slapping against your pussy.

You suck in a breath.

A long lick along your back—your jaw kisses the material of the table as you tug your bottom lip again. He’s groaning, “Keep yo’ back like that,” another lick.

Onyankopon’s fingers are still folding the balls of your feet as you lay on your stomach—but it’s a distraction—a new pressure overwhelms your lower body, it has your mouth slightly drop, unexpected of his tip stretching your folds open. Your back fully arches, fingers digging into the table as you frown, a whirlwind of pleasure and pain throwing you into overdrive. One of your hands goes to immediately reach back, a whimper dropping from your lips as you feel Onyankopon gently trap your arm behind your back.

“You got a pretty ass back, baby. You know that?”

You know the question is another distraction, Onyankopon reaching for the back of your neck, beginning to leave the gentlest kisses there. You’re still lost within the feeling, your lips releasing a pant as you then tremble a soft whine, “Ohmygod…Ony…”

Your free hand finds a hold of him as he’s close, holding him by the side of his ear from below. Your eyes roll.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice raspy, “That’s it.”

His head was in the crook of your neck, kissing in an almost slow, lazy way, yet there was a ferocity to them.

“Good girl,” he hums, hands moving lower along your neck, “Yo’ shit opening up for me. I can feel her.”

“N—Onyankopon…”

His nose nudges along your ear, his whisper deep, “Let it out.”

Your pussy gushes out air, making the loudest sound each time he slowly fucks himself back into you. It’s like he wants you to listen.

“Ohshit,” your voice warns, “Shit,” you tremble. You could feel every. Single. Thing.

“Hold my hands.”

When you find his hands, your arms are now pulled behind yourself, chest inches above the table. Your eyes flicker towards the camera—it makes your body arch more for him, a pleasured pout pulling at your lips as you murmur to yourself, “U—Uhn…”

“You sound pretty, Mama.”

Onyankopon’s voice—it makes your brain so jumbled, so messy, that you can’t find the words to respond.

“You want me to stay like this? This shit deep enough for you?”

“S—stay just like this…”

Your hips slowly begin to move, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you allow him to use you, dropping you up and down onto his abdomen from behind. The specific angle hits your spot, one that you could only reach while filming yourself. But you felt it now, and you can feel your eyes watering with how good it feels.

“Ughn,” you whine louder, “Shit.”

His hands are strong, and they’re now holding you by your hair, pulling back—it makes you frown a little more, “Your balls feel so good hittin’ my pussy, baby.”

It’s hard to talk with him moving behind you, his hips snapping to the bounce of your ass, a soft clap that sounds in the room.

He grunts, “You’ a nasty ass bitch— pussy talkin’ to a nigga. They’ hittin’ yo’ clit, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whine in return.

“Mmh,” he softly groans, “Look at that pussy. She’ so pretty and creamy.”

The soft clap of your skin resounds as he slows himself, almost giving you a deeper, more intense wave of strokes. You gasp, reaching for the side of his hip, pulling him in as you whimper, “Right there…”

“This yo’ world, Mama. You want me to stay right here?” he keeps himself angled, hitting exactly where you leaned him towards.

You give him a breathless squeal, “Yes, baby.”

“You been waitin’ all day to feel me, huh?” he asks, the corner of his lips moving in a teasing grin. He knew.

Your nod is thoughtless. Your eyes are watery, and you’re almost in a state of confusion on how your body responds in a way it never has.

Your voice tells him, “Itfeelssoogood,” whiney as ever.

“C’mere,” he mumbles, turning your face behind, his lips smacking against yours.

He lets out a small grunt, “This some good muhfuckin’ pussy.”

With every smack of his lips that meets yours, he’s sucking at the same time, and when your mouth pulls for air, it stays directly against his, trembling against it, “Ohhhmygod, Ony. Ony…”

You don’t realize—but you’re cumming again through his movements, your brain muddled as your eyes roll, teeth sinking into your lip as you moan, drenching his abdomen with that pretty cream he’d been looking for.

“Yeah,” his grunt is smug, “That’s it, girl. You got it.”

But it didn’t stop there.

He was gonna be the death of you. You knew that, because you’d been more turned on then you’d ever been before. So much that Onyankopon was now beneath you, back flat along the table as you loomed above him. The camera had the perfect angle—your ass jiggles above him, feet flat against the sides of his thighs as you’re bouncing atop of dick.

Your eyes roll, skin clapping together—you’re moaning, eyes lowering over your shoulder to stare into camera, “Oh my god.”

He’s watching you with a glare. The camera could only hear his voice as he asked, “You know who’s dick you’ takin’ right now?”

You were lost.

“Onyankopon, Ony,” you stutter, the words breaking between your breath, the back of your thighs slapping with his. Your cream is beginning to create strings between the flesh of your thighs, splattering down with your movements.

He gives a smirk, “Good fuckin’ job, baby.”

You’re breathless, low whimpers as your curls fall along your face.

“Keep that ass bouncin’. Shit lookin’ pretty on my dick.”

A smack from his palm, like an added punctuation.

You listen.

You press your palms along his chest, your eyes still to the camera to watch yourself from behind—You’re dropping, riding, every exhale breathily pushing out another moan in return.

“You like how you look, huh?”

You found yourself slowly nodding your head, grinding as you came down. Your voice is a whimpering mess,“You’re so big, Daddy. Fuck.”

“My shit curvin’ inside you, I know. Keep goin’,” the sound of your skin meeting his is loud, as if it were a melody. A piece of music his other hand keeps composing.

You knew you were gone—Your head dropping, your eyes lowering in a pleasured face. Your thighs tremble as you’re squirting for a second time, but you keep going, your eyes rolling as your thighs collide down to his hips— the squelch, squelch, squelch, deafening in your ears.

You look directly into the camera, watching as you drown his pelvic area, his dick shining into the lens—your eyes roll heavily as your head falls back, “Oooooohshiiittt.”

“Fuck, girl.”

He groans as his breath starts to hiss, “Just like that. Yo’ pussy so—“

You hear him moan, so softly it’s nearly inaudible, as if he wasn’t used to doing that on video. You watch as his eyes narrow at you from below, smacking your ass assertively. To gain his control back.

And he does—Onyankopon now stands inches away from the table, your legs held up by his arms as he’s carrying you, lifting you up, dropping you back down onto his dick. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pouting as your eyes roll at his deep strokes he forces onto you.

You’re practically being tugged down onto his dick, he’s strong. The strength of him makes your brain fuzzier, your mind nearly gone. You’re groaning, a slurping sound creating as his tongue curls with yours in a hungry kiss.

”You got another one in you?”

You mewl in response— shaking your head, your brain nearly short circuits at this point.

“You can.”

He lays you back against the table, his body hovering atop of yours now—he’s rotating his hips, mouth sucking the skin of your neck that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Mmh,” he softly grunts, his eyes flickering up to the camera as his expression is a smirk.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, the word soft, yet commanding with every roll he gives, “That’s my baby.”

Your voice squeaks, “Ony.”

“You’ so shy,“ he huffs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your mouth, your legs tightening around his hips, “Yo’ pussy keep on talkin’ to me. She tellin’ me sum’.”

Your lips part open as you reach down for the side of his thigh, gripping the flesh as you rock him in the angle you feel the most pleasure.

You tremble, “Don’t stop…”

His hand was on the table, steadying himself against it before his head leans against yours, “Yeah?” he repeats, his voice a deep groan, “You need my shit in yo’ stomach?”

“Please,” you whimper, your nails dragging into the skin of his lower back, tugging his body towards your own.

He goes deeper, and the change had you grunting. Your mouth is parted, your ankles meeting at the sides of his head, the sight of this position in the camera's eye makes it all the more erotic—you shout a moan.

He let it out—a deep sound of another snarl, pushing in you even deeper, hands digging into the back of your hair as he held you steady. His lips met yours in a kiss that was hot, heavy—You could feel the way he sucked at your tongue, the wet sound of your lips echoing in the room.

You sob, “I’m gonna cum, Ony. Don’t move. I need you.”

“This the best shit I ever had,” he admits, grunting out every word, “Imma’ kill a nigga ‘bout this shit. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Your eyes widen a bit, but you’re so distracted from the waves of pleasure that rushes across your entire body, you can’t respond properly. Onyankopon groans in your ear, and you clasp him closer, your entire body shaking as you both moan against each other's lips.

You whimper, “You don’t mean that.”

His eyes flicker up to yours. Onyankopon’s fingers find the back of your neck, tugging you closer for him to leave a kiss along your shoulder, “I swear on my momma, you ain’t. You mine now,” he mumbles.

You’re gasping in his ear.

“You was a problem from the moment I seen you—but now?”

He’s fucking you with every word.

“Imma’ need this shit all the muhfuckin’ time. Imma’ need you.”

That made you weaken.

“I’m’ cumming.”

You hold him.

“Ony, you got me.”

“I know.”

It’s like that music from earlier— a symphony, the camera nearly shaking at how hard he’s fucking you, how deep he’s fucking you. You sob—you’re squirting for a final time, your body shaking so much that you had to find his arm to ground you. The warmth of his cum mixtures within your folds, the sight pretty, Onyankopon pulling his dick out as he smacks it along the creamy mess you’ve both made.

And as you look at each other, lips inches apart, a thrum of emotions sitting between two strangers, it happens—you both laugh.

And that’s when he asks—

“So, how Tokyo soundin’?”

2K notes · View notes

injellyfish1218 · 3 months ago

Text

belle. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 15.7K word count. black original character, onyankopon, photogrpaher!onyankopon, sweet!onyakopon, dominant!onyankapon, arrogant!onyankopon, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, aggressive dirty talk, oral [f] [m], slightly tipsy sexy? nasty sex chile, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ had this one in the vault for a minute, and i feel like this tapped more into my romantic side + y’all may find that kinda boring, ugh. sorry. anyways, this is inspired by another black film me + bestie recently watched, the photograph, + i just hope you enjoy. song for this one is fade away, by lucky daye.

visual. visual. visual.

BRENT FAIYAZ’ FUCK THE WORLD ALBUM PROTRUDED ALONG THE PROJECTOR, multicolored lights waking him a minute before his alarm. He raised a tattooed arm over his face, equally greeted by the sunlight coming into his high rise apartment. It was the way he’d always wanted it—a sense of peace he’d perfected—but he couldn’t lie, it was lonely at times. Silent all the time.

A small grunt falls from his lips as he forces himself out of bed—the warm water of the shower glides down his muscular frame, minty soap sticking to his skin even as he steps out. As he rubs a soft cloth along his dampened face, a ping comes on his phone.

COLUMN IDEA DUE TODAY. RUN IT BY YOUR BOSS.

“…Shit.”

Pressing the volume button on his phone to ignite the ceiling speakers, Been Away is the next song on the track list. Leaning closer within the mirror, he cleans up the sides of his hairline, redoing a couple of his cornrows—Another ping on his phone.

GOOD MORNING, ONYANKOPON. I’LL BE READY FOR YOUR COLUMN PRESENTATION TODAY. BRING ME SOMETHING GOOD.

The white tee he pulls over his head clings to his broad frame, leather jacket being paired with cargo shorts, tying the look together with his burgundy Nike dunks. He couldn’t help but to match the vibe of the weather outside, as he always enjoyed autumn in New Orleans—the atmosphere, people, food, it all flourished within October.

He decided to make a quick stop today. Grabbing a blueberry muffin from the bakery close by his place, his blacked out G—Wagon sped down the road, screeching the tires entirely too early in the morning.

If Onyankopon’s driving was too early for the bustle of New Orleans’ downtown area, the office he worked in wasn’t anything better—Cheery co-workers, coffee cups within their hands as they tapped along their computers, shifting in and out of the red room to present their ideas to their boss—it’s unfortunate that her attention was on her best editor this morning.

Unlocking the door to his office, he tosses the keys against the table, body thumping into his chair. Fingers running across his braids, he felt for a millisecond that he was in the clear.

That’s until he heard a voice.

“Onyankopon.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, hand over his mouth to stifle the groan he has to restrain. Guess he wasn’t so lucky this morning.

“Did you think I didn’t see you coming in?”

Her salt and pepper bob swung with each movement she made, pointed red glasses along her face, a singular eyebrow raised as usual.

“I was tryna’ avoid you. Not gon’ lie,” he mutters.

“And you thought buying me a muffin would distract that?”

“Better than all that black ass coffee you be drinkin’,” he retorted, lifting the bag towards her.

She snatches the bag from his hand, “Don’t be cute with me, Onyankopon. Do you have your column idea ready?“

His nervous energy spreads in a way that’s more subtle, his nails scratching at the bottom of his goatee.

He murmurs, “Not exactly,” eyes shifting to the side as he said it.

She raises both her eyebrows, “I know my editor-in-chief didn’t just say he doesn’t have an idea for this month's column— Clearly his degree wasn’t just for fun?”

“I—“

He sighs into his hand again, sitting up straight as he speaks, “It’s ain’t a lack of effort, aight?” his hand waves to the side, “I’ve been tryin’ all week—I got nothin’.”

She presses her lips together, giving him a one over. Onyankopon had been one of her best employees, which was why she’d given him the promotion months before. He not only had a degree in journalism, but was caught having an eye for taking pictures, which led him into being the one responsible for not only taking photos, but creating a story behind them. Don’t get him wrong—Onyankopon loved his job, and he loved taking pictures even more—but both could be exhausting, especially when his passions were becoming more of a demand.

She closes the door to his office, making the conversation more intimate as she questions, “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I was tryna’ figure it out myself before talkin’ to you about it. You know I don’t like to ask for help,” His voice was lowered, a whisper of a confession from him, “I’ve never not had an idea. Shit is irritating.”

The older woman sighs, “It’s okay to feel stuck, Onyankopon. Everyone here has gone through it. It’s also okay to say when you need help.”

“I know. I know that.”

And really, he does know that. It was just the stubborn side of him that didn’t want to ask for it. He’d worked hard enough to even be in this position, and he wasn’t going to mess that up by asking for handouts.

With a sigh, she says, “Look—we were originally gonna do a piece on black owned businesses last month, but scrapped the idea last minute. How about you do something with that?”

Onyankopon pauses at the idea, his brain turning it over silently.

“Yeah. I can work with that,” his fingers scratch along the length of his cornrows, “Got sum’ in mind for the photo portion yet?”

She shakes her head, “That’s all the help I can give you. Take today to look around at some places, talk to some business owners, and you can decide what you want to do from there—but I’m counting on you, Onyankopon.”

He nodded in response, forcing a small smirk as he reassured, “I got you. Don’t worry about it.”

But as quickly as the smirk appeared, it disappeared the minute she was out the door—Hell, this was going to be a pain.

A couple blocks down from the business district sat a cafe right on the corner of Decatur street, planted in the middle of the art district. It was quieter than places like Cafe Du Monde, but just as busy, if not more at times.

It was the perfect mixture of calm and chaos—customers coming in to sit within the shop’s library to read the books off the shelves, inhale the scent of coffee grounds as they waited for a cup, or enjoy the sugary fluff of beignets—she let out a huff as she held a tray with one hand, going over to a crowded family table.

“Okay, I have a coffee—dark roast, two sugars, one cream?”

The father of the family takes a sip of the coffee she’d previously labeled, a satisfied groan parting from his lips as he compliments, “You are the only person I’ve ever met to get my order correct. You’re amazing.”

A soft smile comes to her heart shaped lips, “Is there anything else you needed?”

The man shakes his head, his daughter and wife doing the same, too invested into their food to request anything else.

The moment she turns, her smile drops a bit, as she pushes back the wavering exhaustion that wants to hit her body. Her eyes flick to her only employee—seeing him glancing down at his phone per usual.

“Eros, if it’s something that ain’t emergency related, imma’ need you to get off your phone and act like I pay you to be here—“

He holds up a finger to pause her rant, “Aht—honey ,” he taps on the screen of the phone, “I’m on break.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Oh? Taking a break you decided to go on yourself, nor clock out in the process. You’re nearly employee of the month!”

Eros huffs in response, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. He questions, “Am I not employee of the month already?”

“In your delusions? Of course,” she pulls the handle from beneath the coffee machine, tipping the pot over into a chocolate brown mug, “Please go check on your tables.”

He calls out over his shoulder, “We’d go out of business without me here!” before disappearing amongst the tables.

Her eyes glance along the rustic interior of her shop—wooden chairs with intricate designs carved into them, round tables with miniature lanterns sat within the middle, green plants hung along different corners of the cafe—this was home to most people that came in and out, a serene place that she couldn’t be more happy to provide to her customers. She places a plate under the cup of coffee she’d just made, carrying it over to one of her favorite customers of all.

“Good morning, Mr. Boudreaux.”

She greets the elderly man, gently sitting the cup of coffee across from him, “How are you feeling today?”

The man’s wrinkly face softened at the sight of her, returning her greeting with a bright smile of his own, “Hello, Darlin’,” he responds, his thick accent slipping into each word that he spoke, “I’m doin’ wonderful. An’ how ‘bout yourself?”

“Tired—but here,” she replies, pulling the towel over her shoulder between her palms, wiping off any stains against her fingers, “You sure you don’t want anything else? I don’t need you just drinking coffee when you come here.”

Mr. Boudreaux chuckles, waving a hand in dismissal at her words, “I’m sure, sweetheart. Just my coffee is fine.”

He lifts the mug closer to his face, breathing in the strong scent of it, “Wouldn’t want to ruin my waistline with your sweets,” he adds on, winking.

She gives a soft laugh, “Of course—oh, I’ll bring you your extra sugars.”

“My extra sugars?”

She pauses.

Turning back towards him, she says, “Yes, Mr. Boudreaux. You always keep two sugars next to your cup in case your coffee is too bitter, remember?”

“Oh…yeah. ‘Course. I remember,” the old man murmurs, his voice trailing off, a smile still on his face, but smaller than before.

“Love? We might need another pitcher of the chicory,” Eros calls from the counter, leaning down to check if they had any more in the front.

“Coming.”

She gives the older man a weak smile, hand against his shoulder as she pulls away from him. Going into the back to grab a bag of the powdery root, she pushes her palm against the door as she’s back in the front to hand the ingredient over to her friend.

Eros questions, “How’s Mr. Bodreaux doing today, more senile than usual?”

“He’s not senile,” she reminds, “He has Alzheimer’s. Don’t do that.”

Eros sighs, lifting the bag of chicory into the air as he shrugged, “Semantics,” he mutters, “Anyways, that’s not the only thing that’s empty—we need more espresso beans.”

You sigh, “Dammit. I knew I forgot to order something this morning. Uh—you can grab the emergency stash from the back, I’ll order some later tonight—“

She pauses, noticing as the customers within her shop are looking in the direction of outside. Her eyes follow to where they all stare, noticing a tall figure—but she can’t even look at him, all she sees is the camera pointed at her cafe, soundlessly snapping photos from the outside.

“Uh—you know him?”

Eros squints against the sun outside, standing on his toes as he attempts to get a better look.

“Don’t think so,” he mutters.

She watches as he backs onto the curb, camera covering his entire face as he snapped more photos. But when she noticed the uncomfortable looks of her customers—she had to think quickly on her feet.

Throwing the towel she holds, the bell jingles above the door as she exits the building. She’s a bit breathless as she waves, “Hi—Um, excuse me?”

Even when she tries to go unnoticed, she’s hard to not look at.

A swirl between cinnamon and burnt orange sprawls around her head, the color outstanding even with being swathed under a loose scarf to pull her curls from her freckled cheeks.

The pinstripe blouse she wears hugs the curve of her waist, squeezing the poke of her hips beneath the fitted cargo pants that pull the look together. Olive. It had to be one of her favorite colors. Her reddened hair mimicked the color of her eyebrows, equally matching her lashes—she was committed to gingers, browns and greens—pretty.

But nothing was more pretty than her face. It was round like a doll, eyes feline, the caramel of her skin contrasting with the milky clutter of a birthmark surrounding her left eye, nearly swallowing that entire part of her face.

She gains his attention as she questions, “Hello? What are you doing?”

Onyankopon takes the camera away from his face, letting it hang around his neck as his head turns in her direction. His eyes roamed all over, trying to take in the entirety of her form as she stood within his site—The soft shade of her cheeks, the curls that peeked from their silk cloth, the color of her skin.

He’s at a loss for words.

Clearing his throat, he runs his fingers along the back of his neck as he replies, “My fault. I’m just—takin’ pictures of the building.”

His voice is low, attractive. Their native accent has his voice by the throat, heavy with every word that drops from his mouth. She’s quick to brief him over—even if she wanted a second longer to stare. There seem to be more tattoos along his body than clothes, even if his arms were covered by the leather jacket he wears. They start from his neck, dancing beneath the cotton material of his shirt. His brown skin is smooth, melting, complimenting the shine of the silver jewelry from his nose, ears and fingers. The cornrows on his head fit his face perfectly, jaw aligned by the goatee on his face—he was finer than fine.

She clears her throat, crossing her arms, “I see that—But why, is what I’m asking.”

He hums softly, hands within his pant’s pockets as he responds, “You own this place, huh?”, nodding his head in the direction of the cafe.

She turns her head back to look at the building.

Her breath exhales, “It’s mine, yeah.”

Onyankopon raises his brows, a small smirk crawling along his face as he responds, “Impressive.”

Stepping closer to her, his hands still tucked inside his pockets as he looked up and down her figure, “How long’ you been runnin’ it?”

“Why you’ askin’ so many questions? I’m the one tryna’ figure out why you’re taking pictures of my building.”

He gives a soft chuckle at her defensive tone, “Aight, aight. Chill. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

He tilts his head to the side, “You got a body hidin’ in there or sum’?”

The lower of her eyebrows soften. She flicks her eyes to the bustle of people walking, suppressing the smallest smile.

She responds, “No, I don’t.”

“The world finna’ go cold—I think that was a smile I almost saw. You gon’ tell me yo’ name, or imma’ have to find it under a crime case?”

The sound of her laugh was soft, sweeter than what he expected. She points up at the sign, “It’s Nola, like the sign up there.”

NOLA’S BREW.

She pushes a flyaway behind her ear, “My mom was a little too in love with her hometown as you can see.”

He chuckles, “It’s cute though. You was’ born here?”

“9th ward. You?”

Nola pulls the scarf from around her hair, giving him a chance to see the color frame the shape of her face—she quickly ties it back as he looks a little too closely.

“7th,” he replies, “You’ a long way from the West Bank. Whatchu doin’ over here?”

“My momma owned this shop since I was a baby, passed it down to me before she died—so…yeah,” she plays with a curl along the side of her shoulder, freckled cheeks flushed in her explanation.

He observes, “You’ gotta’ be a couple years my junior with that accent of yours.”

She raises an eyebrow, “What you’ tryna’ say? I’m twenty-five—although you ain’t supposed to ask a woman’s age. How old are you, stranger? Since you still haven’t told me your name.”

He grins, “Onyankopon. And I’m twenty-nine.”

Twenty-nine.

It wasn’t anything crazy, but a man four years older than her might’ve been a little intimidating. Nola keeps her composer as she reminds, “You still never told me why you’re taking pictures of my cafe.”

“Imma’ photographer,” he explains, pulling the camera up from his neck, gripping it by the strap as his thumb rubs against the side of the device.

Onyankopon continues, “I’m doing a column on black businesses’ in the city, wanted to find something less local—smaller, ended up finding your shop.”

His eyes won’t stop boring into her, “I’m glad I did.”

Nola didn’t want to be insecure. But she was, especially with a man staring at her the way this one did. She suddenly wants to swipe the birthmark off her face, shrink her hips to be slimmer, look more presentable then she did at this moment.

She ignores his last comment, “You write on the column too? Not just take the pictures?”

“Editor-in-chief, unfortunately.”

The height difference between them now becomes a bit more prominent the moment he takes another step towards her.

He notices the way she starts to shrink, the way she avoids meeting in his eyes—it’s almost cute.

“You’ nervous or sum’?”

Nola blinks at the question. She twists a curl in her finger, coiling it as she responds, “No, I’m just—cold.”

Onyankopon then lifts his camera from his neck, angling it right on the entirety of her. Her body flares in panic, and she shrieks, “Woah!—What are you doing?”

“I gotta get some shots of the person who runs the place, right?”

“No—no,” she steps forward, pressing her palm along his lens, pulling it down, “Please don’t do that. I’m, um—not a big fan of pictures.”

The smirk on his face drops. The way she reacts has him confused—maybe even a little Concerned.

His fingers lower the camera away, his voice lowering too as he questions, “What you talkin’ ‘bout? You’ pretty as hell.”

Nola still holds his camera within her fingers, close enough to smell the scent of cocoa musk. Giving a nervous laugh, she gently shakes her head as she replies, “That’s a bit overzealous.”

He frowns, “You serious? You really don’t like gettin’ yo’ picture taken?”

“No.”

Nola clears her throat, birthmark glowing under the sunlight coming from within the clouds as she gives a polite rub to his palm, “Look—um, maybe you should find another business. I can recommend some food trucks, other coffee shops. I don’t think my place fits your column.”

His hand still hadn’t moved from her wrist, the heat seeping through her veins—She smelled of everything that was good.

Onyankopon rolls his full lips together, “You run a black owned coffee shop on the busiest street in New Orleans—prime real estate—and you’ tellin’ me your place ain’t good enough for my column?”

“Sounds a little local then, don’t you think?”

She turns his words back on him, gently pulling her hand away from his, “You want something that’s special, Onyankopon.”

“You’ right. So let a nigga take a picture of you, Nola.”

That causes her mouth to part open a bit. She sighs, “Onyankopon—“

Her eyes glanced back to her shop, “I should go back inside.”

Onyankopon gently finds her wrist before she could take another step, pulling her back into place, “Nah, hollon’. Don’t be tryna’ run from me.”

He’d be lying if he didn’t enjoy the way the sunlight bounced off her skin, the flush of her cheeks darkening from being nervous.

“I’ll buy a coffee if you need me to.”

“Now you tryna’ buy a picture of me?”

“I’m tryna’ get yo’ attention, girl. You’ stubborn as hell.”

Nola tugs at the dark pink of her lips, tinted with brown as she glances over his face. Her curls fall against her shoulder as she tilts her head, “I’m sure they’ll be another woman’s attention you can find in another coffee shop.”

She hears the jingle of the door, Eros peeking his head out, “Nola! We need that espresso—“

He halts, glancing over his friend standing across from an extremely attractive man.

“Am I—interrupting something?”

Nola shakes her head, “No, you’re fine. I’m coming.”

She turns back towards Onyankopon, “I really have to go.”

Her soft spoken—yet stern—voice was like honey. She was a little difficult to figure out, which made her more intriguing in his eyes.

“I’ll come back tomorrow then.”

She raises an eyebrow, “I never said I’d be in your column, Onyankopon.”

He shrugs, “You didn’t say you wouldn’t, either.”

Now both of her eyebrows raise, “And you think an additional twenty-four hours is gonna change that?”

“I’ll wait an eternity if that means talkin’ to you.”

The sight of him hovering above her smaller frame has her heart thumping again. His words are stern, meaningful. She hates how they make her feel.

“Nola!”

Eros becomes impatient this time. She pushes out a huff at the sound of her name, still racking her brain on even agreeing to his words.

She then says, “Tomorrow. But no pictures—you can only pull that camera out if I say so.”

He gives a lopsided smile, his eyes lighting up at her response.

“Aight, Mama. Nothin’ that ain’t on your terms,” he agrees, “Promise.”

The term of endearment makes that thump in her heart jolt. She pulls a curl behind her ear once more as she turns away, “I mean it!”

“Heard you. Imma’ see you—Nola from 9th Ward.”

Her hand pressing along the door slows as she looks back at him once more, and that’s when the softest giggle pulls from her lips.

“Bye, Onyankopon from 7th.”

𝓐ᥫ᭡

LOOKING WITHIN THE MIRROR WASN’T SOMETHING NOLA DID OFTEN. It became a habit of hers today—from looking into the reflection of the coffee maker, the small mirror on the counter, bathroom breaks—she was unsure why she had prepared for today’s new customer to enter the cafe. Maybe a small part of her was anticipating him to come.

But as time passed throughout the day, and each jingle of the bell atop of the door wasn’t him, she began to think their entire conversation wasn’t anything she should’ve taken seriously.

“You okay?”

Eros wipes the toaster on the opposite side of the counter, raising his eyebrow as he looks over at Nola who stares into space.

“Hm?” She turns, “Oh—sorry, yeah,” she looks to the door that opens, seeing as another customer comes in, “I’m fine,” her shoulders deflate a bit.

“You thinkin’ about that boy, ain’t you?”

Nola blinks, “Boy? Who?”

“Come on now,” Eros rolls his eyes, “I see the way you look every time the door opens.”

He comes closer, placing his chin over her shoulder, “I saw the way you were lookin’ at him yesterday. He was foiinneee.”

“He was aight.”

He snorts as she gives her simple reply, “Oh bullshit. You were blushin’.”

His elbow knocks into her side, “What were y’all talking about anyways?”

“Said he’s a journalist—but it seems like his main passion is photography. He’s doing a column on black owned business’, ‘wanted the shop to be a part of it— I didn’t really give him a yes to that idea,” she briefly explained, beginning to brew a mug of coffee written along a sticky note.

Eros’ expression falls with her words, “You tellin’ me a fine ass man like that came in here asking you to be a part of his column— and you said no?”

“He asked for the cafe, Eros. Not me.”

“But he wanted pictures of you.”

“Yeah? What kinda pictures?” she retorts, “I’m good on’ being in his onlyfans portfolio. I told him I’d think about being in it, that’s it.”

Eros rolls his eyes, “You’re killin’ me.”

He leans in closer, “What’s the problem, Nola? Is this about your—“

“Eros,” Nola warns, “I just—let’s not get into that, okay? I’m allowed to say no to someone wanting to take photos of me. Can he just come, propose this column idea, and go about his business? Is that alright with you?”

Eros’ expression becomes solemn. He sighs, “Fine, Fine. I was just saying. But can I ask, when’s the last time you’ve been on a date?”

Nola rolls her eyes, “I went out with that lawyer that came here a month ago!” She points out, giving a polite smile as she hands off the warm mug to a customer, “Beignets, please.”

Eros moves to the display case. He scoffs, “Wrong—That don’t’ count, boo. That man was boring as hell. He talked about the history of coffee for two hours, and the date was here while you were on shift!”

He grabs the beignets from within the glass casing, placing it on the tray.

She shrugs, “He said he was busy that day.”

She sighs, realizing how she sounded. Maybe she did need to loosen up a bit. She needed to give herself the opportunity to flirt with an attractive man—And Onyankopon was attractive.

The moment she goes to reply—the jingle of the door catches her attention.

A plaid black and brown button up covers the wife beater he wears, alabaster cotton clinging to the sculpt of his abs under the patterned material. He wears a pair of brown dunks today, cargos pulling together the entire outfit. His nose ring shines under the light atop of the door, cornrows always looking as if they were freshly done.

Her eyes flicker down to the bouquet of Lilies and delphiniums mixed within his palm, wrapped in sea green paper—Eros’ mouth parts a bit at the sight, “Just pictures, huh?”

Nola was a bit lost for words—Which wasn’t a thing for her.

She looked different today. The sunset ginger of her curls are fuller, flowing down to the hips of her corseted dress she wears. The straps continuously slip from her shoulders, bustier full beneath the sweetheart neckline, lace trimming the drawstring tied between her breast.

Nola’s face is already flushed. She gives him a childish wave as she greets, “…Hi.”

Onyankopon practically glares at the sight of her. He was unsure of what to say, but the feeling of holding the flowers in his hand gives him a bit of courage.

His low voice greets, “You look pretty, Mama.”

Her full lips curl into a nervous smile. With eyes peering down to the flowers, “You forget to drop those off somewhere?”

Onyankopon glances down with her, his lips stretching into the lazy smirk that Nola hated to love, “Nah. They’re for you—Thought you could use some color outside of them’ plants you got around here.”

“Flowers after the second interaction, huh?” Eros questions, “Y’all hear them’ wedding bells?”

Nola flicks her eyes towards her friend, “Eros—go away, yeah?”

He gives a wink, “Already gone,” making his way around the counter, he stops, “You don’t happen to like

men too, do you?”

Onyankopon chuckles, “Nah. Just pretty women, like yo’ shy ass friend.”

He sighs, “Too bad. I’m gone.”

Eros goes to check on customers, blowing a kiss towards Nola’s death glare.

She apologizes, “Sorry about him. Um—thank you, for these,” she gently takes the bouquet into her hands, “Was traffic bad? It’s nearly six.”

Okay, she tried to say that without sounding like she was waiting for him, but she couldn’t help but question his whereabouts.

“Bad as hell. Why you’ askin’? You’ thought I was finna’ stand you up?”

“No!—No. I just—I figured you would come earlier this morning—not around the time I almost close up shop. It’s not my business to know what you were doing,” she shakes her head.

He leans against the counter, watching as she places the flowers onto the edge, “You cute as hell,” he grins, “I just got caught up with some other parts of

the column. I wanted you to be my last stop.”

“What other places did you find?”

She turns towards the sink to fill a jar up with water, bending her body a bit to reach further.

Onyankopon eyes immediately drop down to follow the arch within her back, the way the fabric tightens around her hips, the shape of her ass—

He looks back up to her, biting the inside of his cheek as he forces his eyes back to her face, “Couple food trucks, and some clothing businesses.”

“That’s good. Hopefully you didn’t ambush them like you did me,” she teases, unrolling the flowers from the paper they’re wrapped in, beginning to place them within the water stem by stem.

“They were all friendly enough—One nigga didn’t even want the money I offered, just wanted his pictures taken.”

“Money?” she blinks, “Why the hell you ain’t say that when you first approached me—I would’ve been real friendly if I knew I was getting paid!”

He raises his hand to his chest, “Is that all I’m worth? A dollar sign?”

“I was worth a cup of coffee if you recall,” Nola reminds, leaning herself against the counter, “I’m not pretty enough to be paid off?”

“Hell nah. You’ the prettiest fuckin’ belle in New Orleans.”

“Such a sweet lil’ southern boy you are,” she hums, leaning her face against her palm, “These lines work on all the belles of New Orleans?”

“Nah, they’ reserved just for you.”

Onyankopon watches as Nola smiles, a flush spreading over her cheeks, “You got a cute ass smile. Got a nigga nervous— lawd,” he flaps the wifebeater he wears, making Nola giggle in return.

She shakes her head, “You’re a mess. Want anything to eat?”

“Now you know I ain’t finna’ leave Nola’s Brew without her famous beignets. I asked around the city.”

She dips down to grab for a plate, “You wanted to know about me so bad that you asked around the city? Stalker, much?”

“More like a researcher. I was doin’ what any good journalist would,” He watches her place the pastries from the case onto the plate, “Besides, I ain’t think you’d ever agree to me comin’ back, so the only solution was to ask around.”

“Hm. I guess that’s fair,” Nola slides the plate over to him, “Want me to feed them to you?”

He raises an eyebrow, “That’s what you want? You tryna’ drop sum’ on my tongue already?”

She rolls her eyes, “I was hoping that stuffing your mouth would keep you quiet—Feed yourself.”

Nola takes the vase off the counter, leaving him with that final comment. She begins to circle around the cafe, Onyankopon only able to watch as she hands the flowers out to each woman sitting within the building. He wasn’t used to being so starstruck by a woman, but damn, here she was.

The moment she leaves, Eros comes speed walking in replacement, glancing over the shop before he quickly lowers his voice, “Nola will kill me if she ever knew I told you this—but she seems to like you, and I just don’t want her fight or flight to kick in if you pry on her issues with pictures.”

He makes sure she isn’t looking in their direction before he continues, “She had a girl throw acid on her back when she was a teenager—it caused really bad chemical burns that triggered her vitiligo.”

Onyakopon’s eyebrows lowered, shock within his expression at the words that Eros spoke. Everything was starting to make sense. He glances behind himself, watching her face a customer with a cheerful giggle.

He murmurs, “Is that why she was so uncomfortable? ‘Bout the whole picture thing?”

Eros nods, “She still has a hard time—being okay with the way she looks. So—just be patient with her. She acts like she doesn’t like the sweet stuff, but she’s really softhearted.”

“You over there messing with him?”

Nola brings her attention back to where both men stand, crossing her arms over her chest with a raised eyebrow.

Eros frowns, “Moi? Messing with somebody? Never.”

Onyankopon shakes his head, grinning as she places her vase on the empty table, “He straight lyin’. He was in the middle of sayin’ how cool I was.”

He couldn’t lie, that story was still stuck on his mind. Something in him wanted to make her smile—Make her feel safe.

Nola looks between the two, narrowing her eyes a bit. She says, “Hm. Okay. Anyways, how are you doing, Mr. Boudreaux?”

Sitting next to the elderly man who’s distracted in his own game of solitaire, she leans her curls against his shoulder, “You need another coffee?”

Mr. Boudreaux gives a huff, waving it off, “No, no. I’m fine, darlin’. If I drink anymore, I’ll be up all night.”

Nola giggles, “Understood.”

She then look over to Onyankopon, “This is Mr. Boudreaux—He’s been coming in here since my momma owned the shop, but I’m starting to think he just likes my company,” she hums, wrapping her fingers around his arm, “Mr. Boudreaux, this is Onyankopon—he’s trying to do a column on black businesses in New Orleans, said he wanted to do a section on my cafe.”

Mr. Boudreaux gives a hum, “Nice to meet ya’, young man.”

Onyankopon gives a polite nod, “Nice to meet you, too, sir. How she’ treating you here? ‘She as friendly as they say?”

The older man looks down at Nola, patting her head with a small smile, “That and more.”

“Maybe you can write about Mr. Boudreaux instead? Take the spotlight off me that you wanna shine so badly,” Nola suggests to Onyankopon, playfully spinning one of the cards on the table.

Onyankopon chuckles, “I want the world to know the good things ‘bout this place and the people inside— but you’ ain’t getting off the hook that easy. The owner has their own section.”

Nola sighs, leaning further into the older man as she adds, “It seems he’s also trying to court me, Mr. Boudreaux.”

Mr. Boudreaux chuckles in response, beginning to shuffle his cards as he says to Onyankopon, “I may not remember much, but I do remember one thing—my wife also hated a mass amount of attention. Barely enjoyed mine. She couldn’t see what I saw. You have to be a woman’s mirror sometimes— remind them why you’re always lookin’.”

Onyankopon watches Nola’s expression soften, those pretty freckles on her face shining under the lights of the shop as she listens.

That was definitely sound advice.

The last couple of hours were spent checking on customers that lounged around the cafe before closing, talking to other regulars, and even trying to reach Onyankopon how to make the perfect cup of coffee—Nola giggled as he politely served the cup to a customer, the older woman talking his ear off as she repeated how handsome he was.

She didn’t expect to enjoy his company with the short time of meeting him, but he was—sweet. He knew how to make her laugh, and he seemed to be interested in what she had to say. She might’ve liked him.

Nola hands him a glass cup to wipe, using her own rag to clean the counter as she questions, “Anything you thinkin’ about saying in your column?”

“So now you gon’ let me do it?”

She tilts her head, “Hm—not yet. But if I did let you, what would you say?”

“I would say that you got a real pretty cafe. Good ass beignets, Nice people, better coffee—And a boss who’s real’ easy on the eyes.”

“I’m serious, Ony.”

He chuckles, placing the glass back in the case, “I’m forreal’. Why ‘you always think I’m frontin’?”

“Cause a nigga that wants something will say anything to get it,” she replies, handing him another cup.

“And you’ think I want sum’ from you?”

“You want that picture, right? Maybe you’re all flirty so you can do your job, then suddenly I never hear from you again.”

She goes to place her final cup in the cabinet above the counter—but that’s when it’s snatched from her fingers, Onyankopon placing the cup above her reach, closing the cabinet before she can fully protest.

His eyebrows lower, “Can I just wanna talk to yo’ cute ass cause I want to, or it always gotta be something malicious?”

Nola tilts her head to the side, curls falling against her shoulder as she sees his face. She sighs, “Okay, maybe I’m being presumptuous.”

She pushes a rag towards his free hand, “Wanna wipe down the tables to seem less malicious?”

Onyankopon smacks his lips, “Got a nigga doin’ free labor to prove that I like you? That’s crazy,” He takes the rag into his fingers, nodding nonetheless, “Yeah, aight. You good with sweepin’, or you need me to handle that too?”

“Just the tables.”

Nola watches as he begins wiping down the booths, muscles flexing beneath the plaid button up he wears. She hated how good looking he was.

“So, you actually like this one or you just wanna make him a new employee?”

Eros pushes the door open from the kitchen, gathering all of his stuff within his hands as he prepares to clock out.

Nola keeps her eyes on Onyankopon. She replies, “He’s sweet.”

“Ain’t never heard you say a man was sweet before. He cleans, listens, calls you mama. You sure we can’t keep him?“

Nola nudges her shoulder against his, shaking her head as she mutters, “Get out of here, Eros.”

Eros chuckles, throwing an air kiss to her, turning towards Onyankopon as he winks, “Later, Papi.”

Onyankopon shakes his head, “See you, Eros. Be safe.”

He watches the bell jingle above the door, turning his attention back to Nola, “Yo’ friend is sum’ else.”

“Yeah, he’s a mess.”

Reaching out for the rag, her voice is soft as she tells him, “Listen—I wanted to say thank you for helping me close up tonight. It was kinda busy today—I hope I didn’t hinder any of your plans?”

“You good, Mama. I had this jazz lounge to head to later on—but the owner is on a business trip, so he won’t be able to do the column anyway, said I was more than welcome to go snap a couple photos.”

Nola raises her eyebrows, “A jazz lounge? Don’t think I’ve ever been,” she murmurs, adjusting the seats under the smaller tables, “Sounds cool.”

“You talkin’ ‘bout it sounds cool, you thought you wasn’t’ comin’ with me?”

“Is that your way of asking me?”

“Maybe you was’ right on yo’ lil’ theory about a nigga wanting somethin’ from you, Ms. Nola from’ 9th ward—I might’ve helped you clean up ‘cause I want you to come with me to this lounge—Smart, huh?”

She’s unable to hide the amusement along her face. Nola barely remembered the last time she’d gone out with a man—besides that boring lawyer—and she enjoyed spending time with Onyankopon. A couple more hours wouldn’t hurt.

She glances around the restaurant once more, a sigh passing her lips as she questions, “Do I need to change?”

Onyankopon smiles.

Nola dropped her keys within the miniature purse she carried, tucking it under the seat of Onyankopon’s car as they parked at the end of Bourbon street. Beads hang from the top of multicolored buildings, street performers catching the attention of people walking by—an all around experience awaited each time someone peered at the corner of the French Quarter.

The thinness of her golden heel stumbled as a group of drunken party goers passed by in shrills of laughter, Onyankopon’s attention on his camera, making sure his lens was focused.

Nola’s fingers slipped into the warmth of his palm, leaning a bit closer to calm her nerves. She gives an apologetic exhale of, “Sorry—it’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

Onyankopon adjusts his grip to tighten around Nola’s trembling palm, her skin soft against his rough fingers as he continues to focus on the viewfinder, “You’ fine, Mama. Don’t apologize.”

The beads of the buildings clatter in the distance, her nerves calming slightly when she leaned closer to him. Safe.

“Look.”

She tugs him in the direction she stands, now in front of a painted mural—it’s simpler than the ones planted all around New Orleans— clouded captures of green trees through an arched doorway that represent a forest.

“Tromp l'oeil—means to trick the eye,” the French term rolls off her tongue effortlessly, staring back to the painting.

“You speak French?”

His camera lens focuses on the mural, capturing the trick in the painting, “You full of little surprises, huh?”

Nola giggles a bit, “My momma spoke it fluently— most creole people do. I wasn’t willing to learn it though,” she shrugs, “How’s it showing up on the camera?”

“You’ so interesting,” he murmurs, looking through a different view finder, “I’m tryna’ find the best lens for it.”

His fingers fiddle with the focus, tilting his head back and forth to the painting, “Remind me to ask you to speak some French for me later.”

She rolls her eyes. Turning back to see his focus along the camera, she comes closer as she questions, “Can I see?”

“C’mere.”

He turns the camera towards Nola. The lens captures the vibrant colors of the paint, the illusion creating a deeper archway with trees inside a building. His eyes watch as a slight smile forms on her face, admiring the work.

She clicks through the photos he’d already taken, stopping at a particular one as her acrylic nail gently taps the screen, “I like this one.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. The colors compliment the shadows. Makes it all look like a dream.”

Onyankopon’s chin nearly brushes against her shoulder, but not quite. His voice is a bit huskier than before as he murmurs, “I like it too. Looks good in color.”

When she turns to look at him, their faces are now very close—The heat radiating off Nola’s skin is almost felt. Onyankopon’s eyes flit down to her lips.

Her heart is back to thumping within her chest. A new feeling progresses within their interactions—his glare down to her face makes her clit throb, and she has to blink herself out of the fantasies that course through her mind like a flash.

She clears her throat, pulling her curls behind her ear as she questions, “Wanna try a picture of me?”

His breathing becomes more of a soft, almost deep rasp, but he pulls a smirk as she suggests the picture, “You finally lettin’ me take a picture, huh? That mean you trust me now?”

She leans herself against the brick wall, “Hush. I just—I wanna know how you get people to be comfortable.”

He closes the camera lens, raising an eyebrow at her statement, “Comfortable? Nah— that ain’t my goal.”

Onyankopon moves forward, gently guiding her hands behind her back, his gaze lingering on the curves of her shape.

He murmurs, “I want the people I capture to seduce the camera—not look comfortable.”

Nola frowns, “You want me to fuck the camera is what you’re saying?”

“Nah, no.”

His fingers move to brush over her curls, gently pushing her hair to the side to expose her neck, “I just wanna see you natural—like how you’ be in the cafe—Just keep talkin’ to me.”

There’s a hesitance within her face as Onyankopon pulls the camera back up, Nola glancing around the area, feeling the shyness tensing through her body.

If only she could see herself. Her hair frames her face perfectly, freckles daubed along her cheeks as the neon lanterns glow in between the snowy and caramel mixture of her skin.

She blinks, “Uh—what should I say?”

His camera clicks in her direction, studying each soft feature within her face. The shyness in her expression makes his hands itch—but he wanted to see it. He wanted to capture her most vulnerable moments.

“Lemme’ hear more about yo’ momma.”

His voice was a bit more of a husk, but his focus never once left the lens.

Nola glances at him from behind the lens. She takes a deep breath, looking back at the crowd of people as she responds, “Um—My momma used to take me here when I was younger. She used to get her palm read by the ladies on the street. They terrified me,” she softly giggles.

“Yeah? Why they’ terrified you?”

“I think the idea of someone knowing my life before I did was a little spooky for me—Momma was worse than those women at times. Always telling me what I’d look like, who I’d be in the future.”

The softest smile is along her face, reminiscing at the thought of her mom.

“…She also told me there was gonna’ be a time where I wasn’t gonna have her. I didn’t know she meant so early on in my life—Probably should’ve listened a little harder.”

Her smile goes a little faint, almost forgetting the camera was there.

“You miss her?”

“…It’s hard to miss her when she’s always with me. In my mugs, my books, my plants, my beignets,” she softly laughs, “She’s everywhere with me. So, not too often.”

The cool air of the night begins to wisp around her hair, it’s as if the temperature brings her back to reality—she finally sees the camera.

She walks up to him, covering the lens as she exhales, “Alright, boy. I’m done being your lil’ muse. Ain’t this supposed to be a date?”

“Date?”

He chuckles at the term, “You callin’ this a date? You tryna’ get a nigga’s hopes up?”

She blinks, realizing what she’d just said.

“Did I say date? I meant—you finna’ be late to see this jazz lounge!”

Her heels click against the ground as she walks, “C’mon!”

Onyankopon’s grin follows at her quick attempt to cover her words, letting the camera hang at his side as he follows after her, “Girl—you already called it a date—you can’t take that back now!”

He follows behind as they approach a white-bricked, historic-looking building, a hum of jazz music slipping from inside as it draws them closer. A live band plays on the stage towards the back of the dimly lit lounge—Couples and friends moving to the rhythm, a mixture of flavor scented cigars dancing in the air.

Onyankopon guides Nola to an open table, pulling her chair out for her before sitting across from her. His eyes glance over the interior of the building, the various people of differing ages laughing and socializing. The vibe feels—romantic.

Nola watches his fingers nearly itch for his camera. He peers through the darkness, clicking photos of the art above the walls, the dancing figures, the intimate tone the club sets for itself.

“So,” her eyes flick from the candle in the middle of the table, up to his handsome features, “You never told me how you got into journalism.”

Goddamn her, he thought. Her freckles looked almost like constellations within the candle light, “That’s a bit of a story.”

“Oh. You one of them niggas.”

His eyebrow raises back at her, “What ‘you mean by that?”

“The one that wants to know everything about a woman, but the moment she wants to know something about him—he’s silent.”

“Maybe I’m just not a nigga who likes to talk about himself.”

“Well isn’t that boring?”

Nola’s voice is sarcastic, eyes turning away as she waves for the attention of a waitress. Her shoulders deflate a bit at his vague response, and that small speck of dismissiveness might’ve proved him too good to be true.

“Can I have a frozen sangria?” she politely asks, handing the menu back to the woman as she smiles, “Thank you.”

He watches her order, his eyes narrowing as she avoids his gaze. He was a bit thrown off by how quickly her mood had changed.

The waitress nodded at her drink request, turning to Onyankopon, “And for you, sir?”

He muttered, “A beer. Thank you.”

He waits until the waitress disappears, “So you don’t fuck with me no more?”

“You said you didn’t have anything to say, so why you’ still talkin’ to me?”

Onyankopon’s eyes narrow. His gaze becomes a little cold, “I didn’t say I ain’t wanna’ talk to you, Nola. I just said I wasn’t someone who like talkin’ about themselves—there’s a difference.”

“And if I said some shit like that to you, yo’ ass would’ve been all in my face lookin’ for an answer,” her accent becomes heavier the more she’s annoyed, “But you can say you don’t like talking about yourself and dismiss my question, huh? Yeah— okay.”

“Nah, shawty. I wouldn’t have been all in yo’ face. If you said you weren’t comfortable talkin’ about yourself—I would’ve left you alone. I ain’t pry about them’ pictures, did I?”

She huffs, “Well maybe I just wanna know something about the nigga I like. I ain’t’ think that was a crime.”

His eyebrow raises at her confession. The cocky bastard has a grin along his face, “So that’s why you trippin’. ‘Cause you like me? Why you’ makin’ yourself all frustrated when you could’ve just said that?”

“Why would I boost your big ass ego?”

He can see the way her face flushes despite her attitude. He can’t stop looking at her, Onyankopon’s gaze more serious as he confirms, “I like you too, Nola.”

Yeah, she was blushing. Again. Her eyes watched as people began to flood the dance floor, the band beginning to play a more calming tune rather than the upbeat instrumentals they carried on before.

She reaches for his hand as she questions, “Come dance with me?”

Maybe this was her way of apologizing. She pulls him to a corner of the dance floor, placing his arms to the lower part of her back. Nola giggles as he places her feet along his shoes, noticing that she stood on the tips of her heels to wrap her arms around his neck.

He gives a soft chuckle as he pulls her closer, “You still mad?”

She sighs, “I might’ve been a little mean earlier. I’m sorry. I just—I like you, and I wanna know things about you.”

He didn’t need her to apologize. He wanted to know everything about her, so it wasn’t wrong for her to want the same. Nola leans herself more into him, pressing her curls against his chest as she follows the rhythm of the music.

That’s when Onyankopon says, “Imma’ photographer that went to school for journalism, and my pops thinks I’m wastin’ my life away. That don’t’ sound too interesting to tell anybody.”

“Why does he think that?”

His fingers tightened against her waist a bit, “He wanted me to be a doctor, and all I wanted to do was take pictures. He ain’t’ believe me when I said photojournalism was a real profession—you know how it goes with parents.”

“Are you happy though? That you followed your dreams?”

Onyankopon pulls her even closer, his nose lightly running against her curls as he murmurs, “I wouldn’t be here with you if I ain’t always go’ for what I wanted.”

Nola blushes, covering it with a snort, “You’re so corny.”

He chuckles at her snort, keeping her body close to his, “Corny? Nah. Delusional? Maybe.”

Nola had noticed something about Onyankopon. As the night went on, drinking, dancing, she couldn’t pull away from the look upon his face each time he snapped a photo. He was almost—elated.

It was the same eyes she had each time she opened her cafe, each time she made a customer happy—like she was exactly where she needed to be.

However, being exactly where she needed to be didn’t apply at this moment—as she was now standing at the doorway of Onyankopon’s condo, heart beating within her chest as she’d agreed to come over when the weather began to get bad outside. His place was closer to Bourbon street, and she’d decided to camp out here until he could drive her back home.

It was a modern-styled condo. White walls, leather furniture, and wooden frames throughout the home. He seemed to love the color brown. The coffee table was covered in books and magazines, along with vinyls that he’d collected over years of traveling.

“You want sum’ to drink?”

Nola’s heart continuously thumps in her ears. She gives a weak smile, “Sure—a glass of wine would be nice.”

He gives a nod, his hand gripping her fingers to lead her onto the couch, “I got you. Make yourself comfortable, aight? I’ll be back.”

The silence of the place was almost deafening. The only sounds Nola could focus on were the occasional car passing by outside, the rain, and the clinking of the wine glasses.

She picks up a book off of the glass table, mindlessly flipping through the pages and looking at the pictures, distracting herself. Placing the book back down, she clears her throat as she places her heels next to the door, adjusting her dress as she comes down the foyer leading to the kitchen.

“You have a record player?”

Her eyes caught sight of the machine first, but then she caught sight of him—his back was facing the hallway, plaid button up now removed for her to see the muscular bulge of his arms, coated in tattoos. Nola swallows.

Her gaze scans over his bare skin, his body chiseled, muscular and strong. The black cotton boxers under his cargos ride a little below his hips, showing more of his tattoo work upon his skin. Down, down, down—

“Yeah, my pops said music sounded better on em’. He put me on.”

She needed another distraction. Squatting down, Nola pulls one of the vinyls—Al Green, Love And Happiness—pressing the button up top as she places the disc within the slot.

The needle moves around the record, playing in soft strums, mixing with the sound of the rain falling outside. It fits the moment well, but doesn’t seem to help the tension she feels.

Her eyes fall to the other corner of his living room—a makeshift backdrop hangs from his ceiling, another camera posted on its stick across from the white background.

She calls from down the hallway, “You um—take pictures here, too?”

“Yeah, I do most of my test shoots here—Better than havin’ to rent a studio and the client says they don’t like their pictures.”

He comes out of the kitchen, a bottle of chilled wine in one hand, her glass of Stella Rose Black within the other.

She gives a soft smile as she takes the glass, “Thank you. Um—does that happen a lot? Having clients not like their photos?”

“Unfortunately. Most people think they’ finna’ look exactly like they do in real life, but that’s impossible. They’ just picky sometimes.”

“Well—maybe you don’t know what it’s like to be the one in front of the camera and not behind it.”

She tugs him onto the backdrop, stepping back as she locks her fingers around the camera. She giggles, “Lemme’ get one of you. I’m sure you know how to take the perfect picture.”

Onyankopon stands in the center of the white cloth, his arms folded over his chest as he reminds, “This ain’t ‘bout me. I thought you just wanted me to talk?”

“We can multitask,” she mutters, looking at him through the camera—he seems bigger in the frame, taking up the entirety of it. Nola then prods, “So, tell me something, Onyankopon from 7th Ward, what do you love about photography?”

He keeps his face down, eyes almost glaring as he looks towards the camera, “That’s a broad question.”

Onyankopon’s fingers itch, his expression hardening a bit more, “I like the control I get from behind the camera.“

Oh.

Nola’s smile faintly drops from her face. Her heart was back to thumping in her ears, almost having the skin singed.

A photo clicks through her swallow, her eyes still peeking through the camera as she softly replies, “Control is a…word choice.”

He’s focused solely on her. Onyankopon murmurs, “Don’t try to act like you don’t get the same thing from yo’ lil’ cafe.”

His voice is huskier by the second, “We all like bein’ in charge.”

“So that’s what you want? To be in control of the person you’re taking pictures of?”

“You sayin’ you don’t want the same thing when you deal with people?”

His gaze burns into her, “When they walk through yo’ doors, don’t you want them to know that you’re the one controllin’ the place? That you’re the one that runs shit?”

His words make her tense. The darkness of night begins to consume the room a bit, the moonlight coming through as the rain slows down.

She’s back to playing with the curls of her hair, a nervous giggle spilling from her lips as she says, “I don’t think I’m too good behind the camera,” stepping herself back from the lens.

His eyes follow her every movement, his expression almost dark.

“Why not?”

She’s unsure of how to answer that.

“…You said you have a sense of control when doing so, but I feel a little awkward tryna’ take photos of you. So—maybe I’m more submissive, in that sense. Better at taking direction then giving it,” she pulls her hair to one side, coiling a piece beneath her finger.

The words out of her mouth have his eyes lowering to watch the motion of her fingers. He murmurs, “Submissive, huh?”

She wants to facepalm herself. She realizes how she sounds, shaking her head as she corrects, “I just meant—um, you know what I was saying.”

Nola steps forward, keeping her fingers twisted under her curls, “Listen, Ony. I just wanted to say that I—I had a really nice time with you today.”

He watches her stumble over herself, finding an adoration within her nerves. Cute. He steps closer to her.

“Now she wanna’ be nice, ain’t that sweet?”

Nola softly laughs, “I’m serious. The time I’ve spent around you has been nice, you’re sweet—and—admitting again that I like you was a little embarrassing, so I’m hoping you didn’t say it just because I did— That you meant it.”

Her eyes waver as he’s closing the distance between them, his tall height looming over her frame to look down at her.

“I’d love to be in your column, Onyankopon.”

He’s close. His breath almost brushed over her skin, “I like you too, witcho’ pretty ass.”

Onyankopon watches her stare up at him, her curls still in her hands, “And I still mean it.”

That other feeling returns once again, a throb coming between her legs from the vibrations that pool through her lower stomach. Nola flicks her vision from his low eyes, to his lips. The nervous part of her encapsulates her brain, and her face lowers a bit as she nervously giggles, “Um—the rain slowed down—Maybe you should take me home?”

He hears the shudder in her voice, that giggle she does when her nerves get the best of her. His hand finds a tiny curl along the back of her neck, fingers gently placing there.

“Nah. You’ fine right here.”

Her mind seems to spin like that record playing— Onyankopon lowers his jaw, rubbing his lips onto hers—which makes Nola release the quietest gasp, a small pout forming along her mouth, lashes fluttering in return.

Her voice is different.

“…O—Ony…”

The moment he hears a whimper escape her, his thumb pushes up her chin to meet the pout of her mouth, kissing her. He’s gentle, the tone shifting into something—passionate. He can feel her heart hammering through her chest.

The taste of his tongue makes her feel drunk, almost in a daze. He won’t stop.

Another shift in the air—his tongue is now everywhere it doesn’t need to be—he’s in her ear, gliding along the sensitive shell—then, he’s dragging down her neck, a place that was generally her spot. She reaches up to tug at his cornrows, the sounds pushing from her lips intrusive—louder than she expected, a broken gasp stuttering from her lips as she pleads again, “Ony…”

Her neck is sensitive. The sounds spilling through her mouth are filthy, the way her fingers twist around his hair gives him a small sense of satisfaction. It gets his mind racing, just imagining what kind of sounds he can have her making later on.

“Why you callin’ me like that, huh?”

He’s snatching pieces of her skin into his mouth.

“You’re making me wanna’ fuck.”

Her voice is a whine, pouty in the full sentence. She didn’t even think about those words before she said them.

He grunts at that, Nola jolting out another gasp when his free hand spanks her ass from beneath her dress, gripping the flesh with a shake, “You whinin’ like you need this dick. You want it?”

Horny, Horny, Horny. That’s all she can think of. But somewhere, somehow, her senses begin tapping the back of her brain. She didn’t want to make any decisions based on temporary emotions, despite how intense they were—despite how she anticipated that side of him.

“Wait.”

She tugs at his hair, able to pull his mouth off her skin.

“S—stop…” she breathlessly instructs, “Hold on.”

“What you’ doin?”

His voice is rougher than usual, like it had been grated and sanded between sheets. But his grip softens on her waist, letting her pull away from him.

“I’m tryna’ put you on this sofa and eat yo’ pussy the fuck out.”

“Ony, Jesus.”

She now presses both hands to his chest, her tone still breathless as she admits, “I just— I really don’t wanna fuck this up by moving too fast.”

Nola presses her forehead to his chest as she squeezes her eyes shut, “I’m sorry.”

Onyankopon stops. His fingers find a way to her hips, holding her in the gentlest way he’d done before. He refused to ruin this moment, and if she wanted to stop, he would.

He’s looking down at her, a small smile lifting at the corner of his mouth, “Ain’t nothin’ you need to apologize for.”

Nola’s quiet for a moment. Her voice then whispered, “…I think I should go, since I probably ruined the night.”

“Aye, nah. You ain’t ruin nothin’, girl. Chillout’.”

He takes her chin, lifting her head up to look at him, “Just ‘cause you got boundaries don't mean ruined it. I’m still fine, aight?”

She nods her head. Her arms slowly make their way around his neck, ��Um—well, can I just—we can cuddle, if you want? You’ can give me butt rubs?”

He chuckles. He’s amused by the request, her soft arms wrapped lovingly around his neck—His face is still close to hers, “You’re spoiled, mama.”

“I’m not spoiled,” she frowns, laying herself atop of his body, gently pulling his palm beneath her dress, “Your hands are just warm.”

She’s soft. He can feel her against his chest, sinking into him like she’s meant to be there. His words are rough, but his touch is careful as his palm grips the flesh of her ass, “Just say you wanna’ be spoiled. It sound’ better.”

Her eyes feel a little heavy. She can barely give him a reply, feeling sleepy as she murmurs, “I’m a lil’ spoiled…”

He can’t help the smirk along his face.

“Spoiled and sleepy, huh?”

He lifts a strand of her hair, curling it between his fingers, “You really finna’ pass out on top of me?”

“Mhm,” she breathily whispers, “Your heartbeat is like a lil’ lullaby—They say if your heart is slowed, it reflects how at peace you are.”

A small laugh escapes from him, “Yeah?”

His body is like an oak tree, hard and sturdy, still. She’s laying softly over it, almost like a leaf, the beat of his heart slow and steady against her—He murmurs to her, “Lil’ mama owns a shop and apparently got a degree in psychology,” which makes her softly giggle.

“I got a woman, everybody.”

“Onyankopon?”

“Hm?”

“Sleep.”

“Aight.”

Being with Onyankopon was different. He was patient—When she got frustrated, when she got nervous, when she just needed his comfort—he was there. He’d driven Nola to her apartment the next morning to shower and prepare for work, laying against the sofa as he rubbed his palm against her white Persian cat, Snowball, inhaling the scent of vanilla as she got dressed. He was constantly affectionate, pulling her into kisses that made her giggle, holding her hand as she rambled to him, keeping her talking as he snapped photos of her behind the counter of her restaurant. A kiss along her forehead was what he left her with as he had to go back to work—and then, he was gone.

Nola didn’t know she wouldn’t hear from him for the next five days.

She told herself she shouldn’t have cared, but she did. It was when he didn’t answer the phone the first couple of times, nor a text message—she’d die before leaving a voicemail.

Her emotions ran through her body as the days passed—from worried, to concerned, to irritated, to pissed off. Nola was trying not to jump to conclusions, but she was two days away from not hearing from Onyankopon for an entire week.

“Why you’ staring in the mirror like that?”

Nola pulled her face towards Eros as she made an espresso, not realizing her eyes peered directly within the small mirror they kept on the counter.

Her voice is soft as she murmurs, “I’m good.”

She didn’t want Eros to dramatize the situation if she’d told him, so she hadn’t. But, this was her closest friend, and she felt like she was going to explode if she didn’t express how she was feeling. Maybe she would only tell him a small part.

“I haven’t heard from Onyankopon in almost a week.”

“What?! That fuck ass nigga bro—“

Nola was pleading with her eyes for him to not make it worse—Eros’ expression softens, knowing Nola well enough that she was probably thinking of the worst case scenario—his anger wouldn’t help.

He leans against the counter, his expression curious as he gently pries, “You’ve called him? Texted him?”

“Everytime I called it went straight to voicemail.”

She presses her lips together, “I probably should’ve stopped calling after he didn’t answer the first time.”

“You don’t think he blocked you, right?”

That makes her chest feel heavy.

She admits, “I don’t know, Eros. Maybe? I just—“

She feels her throat becoming tight. She felt stupid to wanna cry, considering she’d known him for less than two weeks. Her fears of something like this happening kept her from saying yes to him, and when she did, it now felt like egg on her face.

“—I’m fine. You mind bringing these sugars over to Mr. Boudreaux? I need a bathroom break.”

She drops the sugars within his palm, already walking towards the restrooms placed within the front of the cafe— the moment she turns for the hallway, the bell jingles atop of the door, that cocoa musk scenting the entire shop in milliseconds.

“Nola.”

There he was. Now, roses appeared within his palms. It wasn’t as sweet as the first time he’d done it.

That deep voice would’ve made her shiver, would’ve sent warmth through her body—but she felt nothing of the sort.

“What are you doing here?”

“I needa’ talk to you.”

“About what, Onyankopon? Whatever you wanted to talk about you could’ve said five days ago.”

She’s already dismissive, flicking her eyes over the cafe to her customers, “I have to get back to work.”

He steps a bit closer, the flowers in his hands hanging low towards the floor, “You ain’t even gon’ hear me out?”

“You were too busy? You didn’t have time to text me back to let me know you were okay? You’re not ready for anything serious? Which one is it?” She crosses her arms, eyes narrowed at him.

Okay, he fucked up. Onyankopon had been working on his column, and when he got into his mode, he was nowhere near his phone—But that wasn’t an excuse to ignore her.

“What you’ talkin’ bout?” He frowns, “It’s none of that. I just been workin’, Nola—That’s it.”

“How am I supposed to know that, Onyankopon?” She squints, “Look— you don’t owe me any type of loyalty to tell me what you’re doing every millisecond of the day, but if you say you like me as much as I thought you did days ago, a simple text wouldn’t have stopped your fuckin’ paycheck.”

Onyankopon eyebrows lower, “Look— I’m a grown ass nigga, Nola. You know that. I was just handlin’ business, I can’t sit there and be on my phone every five seconds.”

“Did I say that?” She raises an eyebrow, “‘Cause ion’ think I said that. You—“

She stops, realizing she was actually about to get upset.

“You know what? You’ right. I got a shop to run, so gon’ head and be grown, Onyankopon. I gotta go.”

She attempts to step around him, irritated eyes flickering up the moment he moves in front of her.

His voice is lower, “So you’ done with me?”

“You ‘was done with me the moment you ignored me, Onyankopon. If I ignored you for nearly a week, I would’ve apologized, like a grown ass nigga actually would have!“

“And ain’t that what the fuck I’m doin’ right now?”

“So you pursue me, decline my calls, don’t text me back—Five days later, you bring some stupid ass flowers and say you a grown nigga that got things to do? That’s your apology?”

She gives a dry laugh, “Get the fuck out my face, Onyankopon.”

“You finna’ piss me off, Nola—You know I want you,” he dips his face close enough to catch her scent, “Why you actin’ like this?”

She’s frustrated. Irritated. But ultimately, she was hurt. She hated being emotional, but she felt stupid for being this upset. For liking him. Nola’s throat felt heavy, her fingers trembling as she turned into the hallway leading to the bathroom, a glare of her tears shining as she dismissed, “I’m not finna’ get upset right now.”

He takes the initiative to grab her hand, pulling her fully behind the wall as he grunts, “Nah, you about to start cryin’,” his expression softens, “Don’t do that, c’mon. I’m sorry, baby. Aight? I’m sorry.”

“No,” she whimpers, placing her palms beneath her eyes, “I shouldn’t even be…c—crying about this…”

“Quit it, Nola. C’mon,” he wraps his fingers along the back of her neck, “Don’t start cryin’ over me. Not over this, baby—please.”

“I just don’t wanna feel stupid, Onyankopon.”

She can’t help the small cry that escapes from her throat, but she tries her best to keep her tears from spilling—He’s holding her tight, his hand running up and down her back as he murmurs, “You ain’t stupid, Nola. I’m bein’ stupid, and I ain’t tryna’ fuck nothin’ up with you. I promise I won’t do it again, aight?”

Nola takes a deep breath, swiping her fingers beneath her palm as she stops herself from crying. She’s silent for a moment, a deep exhale pushing from her lips.

“…Sorry.”

He rubs the tip of his thumb against her cheek, “‘Preciate you apologizin’, but you ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry about, aight? You got’ every right to be mad at my ass.”

She’s still pulling herself together, her face flushed and red. Onyankopon brushes his mouth against her jaw, “You want yo’ stupid ass flowers?”

The smallest giggle falls from her lips. She can hear Onyankopon grin, “A giggle? Hell freezin’ over again?”

She flicks her eyes up to him, “You ain’t funny, Ony.”

“Nahh, don’t be tryna’ front now.”

He lifts his brow, grinning even wider. That’s when his fingers cup her flushed cheeks, his nose brushing against hers as he murmurs, “You missed me, crybaby?”

She shoves his arm, ignoring his chuckle as her entire face is still red. He smelled good—damn, she did miss him.

Onyankopon brings his eyes down, “I was tryna’ come tell you’ the expo for my column comin’ up this weekend.”

“You just now tellin’ me a couple days from it?”

“Three days—and I’m just now tellin’ you ‘cause you ain’t lemme’ talk before.”

She reaches her arms to find the comfort of his shoulders. Nola sighs, “I’m sure you have a million pictures of me for the column—you want me there too?”

“Nah, ion’ just want you there—A nigga need his ole’ lady there.”

Nola tilts her head, a small smile spreading along her face. She rubs her palms against his neck, “I guess I can get pretty and come—Or, maybe I’ll disappear for five days. We’ll see.”

Onyankopon gives her a glare, smacking his lips as he says, “You playin’. You ain’t funny.”

“I’m not?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m a lil’ funny,” she pinches her thumb and index finger together.

“Yeah, aight—disappear and see what happens. Deadass.”

“We’ll see.”

Okay, maybe she was just messing with him. Three days later—her nerves were bundled within the tips of her fingers as she stood in the opening of a matte black building, cream marble floors reflecting the golden melt of her heels.

It was like being in an art museum—multicolored lights blared along the alabaster walls, photos displayed under oversized lamps—colleagues standing around, conversing quietly as wine glasses clinked politely.

Eros adjusts the button up he wears, eyes slightly wide as he exhales, “So—this is an art expo.”

Nola breathily whispers, “…Yeah. It is.”

Eros gives a smile to a waitress passing by, snatching a glass of wine from atop of her platter. The gallery itself held a bit of an intimidating air—the way the people around them held their chin up, the way they carried themselves—it was intimidating.

He murmurs, “I feel undressed.”

“You look nice,” Nola hums, adjusting the silk of his top, “Go find you an artsy cutie. I’m sure he’s in here somewhere.”

He winks, “Will do.”

Eros gives her a hip bump, and the moment he finds his interest in a man standing next to a painting, that’s when the scent hits her—cocoa musk.

There he is. His attire was different from the streetwear he usually sported—the sleek black suit fitted to his muscular frame, watch along his wrist, jewelry along his fingers. His nose ring shines beneath the lights, looking as handsome as ever.

But Nola, she was pretty. God, she was.

Her caramel complexion glowed, contrasting with the dewey shine against the lighter parts of her skin, ginger hair perfectly tousled in a way that was careless yet elegant as is framed down to her hips. The cedar toned dress she wears clung to her curvy silhouette as it flowed to her ankles, sheer that it gives the slightest show of her areolas.

And her eyes—gorgeous, honeyed and captivating to the point of wonder.

Nola’s smile spreads at him, that same breathless, “Hi,” spilling from her lips like the first time they’d met, “You look nice.”

Her scent wafts up his nose like the sweetest perfume. He can’t help but stare at the smooth curves of her hips, the way the dress wrapped perfectly around her body—her brown nipples seeping through the fabric a bit, peeking by the covering of her curls.

Onyankopon leans down to press his mouth to her ear, “You look too muhfuckin’ pretty, love.”

Her face drops down to her hands as she hums, “Thank you. Um—I didn’t wanna come empty handed, and it may seem corny, but—“ she giggles a bit, “You like to bring me flowers, so I thought I’d bring you a lil’ plant.”

Her palms hold the tiniest succulent within a dark green pot, “It’s a jade plant— for good luck.”

Ony’s expression is gentle as he takes the pot within his hand, “Thank you, Mama. Shit is thoughtful—Lemme’ have a kiss, a nigga been thinkin’ about you all day.”

She leans against the tips of her heels as she gives him a peck—but she feels a little strange, as she notices that she has the eyes of other people within the gallery.

People acted as if seeing her vitiligo was like an animal walking on their hind legs—and now, Nola had the urge to cover her face with her hair.

“I wasn’t late for anything, was I?”

His hand drops to the small of her back, fingers lightly rubbing in a circular motion as he can instantly feel her discomfort, “Nah, you ain’t miss me or nothin’. As much as I wanna enjoy this gallery with you—I gotta go find my boss to talk about sum’. You want me to go find Eros? Ion’ wanna leave you alone.”

Nola shakes her head, “I’ll be fine. Go put my plant somewhere safe, and come find me later, yeah?”

“Aight,” he murmurs, placing a final kiss to her forehead—his fingers finding her chin to make her look up at him, “You be good.”

The moment he leaves her, a small exhale passes through her lips. Nola decides to take this moment to explore the gallery alone. It was interesting to see the other presentations, professional pictures under a beautiful capture of words to represent the photos.

Yet, eyes were still on her.

She was used to a strange glance here and there, but this was a little abnormal. She nearly had the urge to go find Eros, but when she turns for the next hallway—she stops.

Her ears catch a familiar voice, replaying on a loop through the static of a television. It’s low, soft, feminine.

“You miss her?”

“It’s hard to miss her when she’s always with me. In my mugs, my books, my plants, my beignets. She’s everywhere. So, not too often.”

That was Nola’s voice.

She picks up her dress as she follows to where the group stands, eyes peering through the ocean of people.

Her fingertips fly to her lips.

“Oh my god.”

She was expecting to see a multitude of other black owned businesses’ within the biggest gallery of Onaynkopon’s expo, but she never expected that she was the muse for this entire column.

Every picture he had taken of her was here. At the cafe, at the jazz lounge—she was everywhere.

Nola’s eyes flicker down to the paragraph written below the TV that repeatedly loops the video. It’s bold, brown.

The essence of a black woman is a unique blend. She is confident but not pretentious, soft on the outside but not a pushover, strong in her convictions, but not harsh. She is gentle with others, but she isn’t meek. She’s humble in her happiness and even in her anger. She’s sensitive. She over-thinks. She’s insecure. She grieves. She cries.

I was lucky enough to capture the essence of what that authenticity had to offer. To my southern belle—a woman who doesn’t even realize the depth of her beauty. Thank you.

The moment she sees Onyankopon, there’s almost a shy look along his face. It was the first time she’d ever seen it. She’s unsure if her feet are still planted along the floor.

Her head turns, voice shaken as her eyes gloss, “How did you—I thought this was a—it’s about me?”

He chuckles, hiding his face a bit as he looks down to her, “You’ been on my mind since I first seen’ you, Mama. You’re my inspiration.”

She doesn’t know how to reply in words. So Nola grasps his chin, kissing him, unable to show her appreciation any other way. Her heart feels full—she can’t describe it.

“…Thank you—for this. For you.”

Onyankopon didn’t expect it—but his heart jolted.

The moment he goes in for another kiss—a coworker apologizes as she interrupts the moment, “Sorry—um, a couple of people want to speak to you, Onyankopon.”

Nola readjusts his tie, wiping the lipstick along his jaw as she nods her head, “Go. Come find me later.”

He takes her chin in the grip of his fingers once more, the expression on his face is one of the softest she’d ever seen.

“Aight’. I’ll find you.”

He gives one last lingering kiss to her cheek, disappearing off into the gallery.

In that same moment, Eros appears—choking on his champagne as he eyes the exhibit, “Holy shit—Is that you?!”

Nola had a confession to make. She was very much someone who enjoyed a man taking action, and this was an overstatement of what she expected of him. Not only did it make her feelings grow, but she couldn’t lie—she was now horny.

She eyed him from across the building, watching his every move—the way he smiled, talked, chuckled, glared. It probably didn’t help that she was on her third glass of champagne, and it was going straight in between her legs.

Onyankopon wasn’t stupid, either. He took her around to meet some of his colleagues, and he could feel her energy. In the way she fixed his clothes for him, rubbed her fingers in his facial hair as he spoke, pecking his mouth every chance she could, rubbing his arm—it was different.

Nola was tipsy by the time they made it back to his place, giggling as Onyankopon carried her bridal style into the house, “You’re so sweeet. My feet were hurting.”

His voice is a low hum as he chuckles, “You tipsy as hell, baby.”

He sets her down against the sofa, Nola groaning, wrapping her arms against his neck so he can’t fully sit her down.

She’s giggly, her face flushed, eyes glossy as she pulls him against her, legs wrapping around his torso to pull him even closer.

“Mama,” he chuckles, gently pulling her legs from around him, “You need some water?”

“No,” she breathily replies, “You actin’ like I’m drunk or sum’.”

“Imma’ get you a bottle.”

Nola rolls her eyes, leaning herself against the sofa as she watches him disappear down the hall. She sighs, “You ain’t take my shoes off, Ony…”

He comes back moments later with a full glass of water; “C’mere—I’m takin’ yo’ shoes off right now, aight?”

He kneels down to her feet and unlaced her heels, sliding the material off, “This how you gon’ act every time you drink?”

Nola leans her chin within her palm, hair sprawling around her body as she exhales, “I’m fine.”

A grin spreads along her face shortly after, “You’re so handsome, hm?”

He rubs her arch with the pad of his thumbs, taking the opportunity to feel the smoothness of her skin, “Yeah? You think so?”

Her eyes are low, lashes nearly covering the brown of her pupils as she nods, “Mhm.”

“You been starin’ me down all night. Why can’t you keep yo’ eyes offa’ nigga, huh?”

He gives her ankle a kiss, which makes Nola giggle again.

She hums, siren eyes searching his face—Nola wraps her fingers along the back of her thighs, pulling her legs up as she sultrily giggles, “You make me horny.”

The smirk on his face is lazy, gaze languid as he rubs her calf, “That’s how you feelin’—You’ crazy.”

He stands above her as he chuckles, beginning to remove the chains around his neck.

She sits up as she pouts, “No, don’t take em’ off,” running her fingers against his abdomen, touching him. She can’t stop touching him.

“Aight,” he grabs for her hand, “You gettin’ touchy.”

Her chest is flushed, fingers running along the cotton material of his shirt, rubbing the muscles of his abdomen.

“Look so good, Ony.”

Yeah—sober Nola was nowhere to be found.

She reaches for his chain as she tugs him down by it, sticking her tongue out with a giggle, awaiting for his mouth.

“Kiss me.”

He was trying to be good. But at the sight of her, Onyankopok licks at her tongue with a groan, fingers wrapping along her chin to keep her in place as he kisses her back.

“Nasty ass.”

He’s murmuring against her mouth, Nola jumping as she gives her ass a harsh spank—he’s tonguing her down all the while, wavering the temptation he’d been holding back.

She’s hornier by the second. Nola’s eyes are like stars the moment she pulls her mouth away from his, breathless as she tugs at his briefs, dipping her fingers beneath the material to brush her palms against the veins of his dick.

“Want your dick in my mouth, baby.”

“Nola—“

She moans as she molds her lips around his tip, eyes fluttering closed as she begins eagerly sucking him into her mouth. She’s lost within a newfound pleasure.

Onyankopon groans, unexpected of her craving for him—he takes a grip of her fiery curls, her mouth spreading around his dick as she bobs her head back and forth—He can hear the wet noises of her saliva sucking him in and out, and it just makes him grunt, “Shit, mama. Hollon—you’ tipsy as fuck.”

He’s throbbing within her mouth, Nola’s tongue massaging the ripples of each vein within his length—she won’t stop.

Her eyes are rolling as she rotates her palm at the base of him, low eyes flickering up as she whimpers, “Fuck my mouth.”

Onyankopon can barely comprehend her words, feeling the intoxication from her voice and the drunkenness of her expression. Her eyes are round, glowing beneath him.

Her throat is hugging his tip at this point, Nola widening her jaw, parting her tongue further away from the roof of her mouth as she drops her nose to nearly kiss his abdomen—his girth knocks the air within her windpipe each millisecond.

His voice is a husky rumble, "God damn," he exhales, "I ain't even got you naked yet."

Nola can feel the cheeks of her face begin to burn, but she can’t focus on the discomfort—the room nearly spins the moment she gags along his dick, sultrily panting as she pulls him halfway from her lips, slapping his tip against her tongue.

She then yanks up at the material of her dress, the brown of her nipples smooth against the lights pouring down onto the sofa.

“Come play with em’.”

Her mouth trembles a gasp the moment his full lips come down to lap at the bulge of her nipples, rotating in his mouth with the nudge of his head.

“You feel so good,” she softly whines, lightly grinding her hips forward to meet his body.

“You look so muhfuckin’ good.”

His hand finds her ankles again, lifting her leg to drape over his shoulder, spreading her legs open for him as he buries kisses at the apex of her thighs—warm.

Nola feels like her entire body is buzzing. Her thighs shudder the moment he spanks the side of her ass, spreading her legs even more—a bubblegum pink shines beneath the caramel brown of her folds.

The sight of her—thighs spread, cheeks flushed, hair framing her blushed face. She’s trembling—Warmer.

“Pussy pretty as fuck, baby. You gon’ lemme’ drop my tongue on this shit?”

“Please.”

Her voice is high, vulnerable.

The sound of it causes Onyankopon’s jaw to lock. He’s unable to help himself as he buries his mouth in between her legs. His tongue drags against her pussy, giving the slowest lick, allowing her to feel every trace of his mouth.

She shivers, Nola pressing her fingers against the back of her thighs to hold them within the air, lips trembling into a pleasurable frown at the sight—Onyankopon’s just slurping her up, head shaking in her folds, nodding up and down as secretion sops against her flesh.

“Ony,” her mouth quivers, “Y—yes…”

His tongue winds around her clit before he sucks it, letting it pop free as he continues eating away at her.

“Shit tastes like muhfuckin’ dessert—a nigga ain’t never had no shit like this,” he muffles, spanking her skin—now, he’s becoming lost within the pleasure of her body.

The wet noises of his mouth against her core is the most erotic thing she’s ever heard—she’s never had anyone taste her, touch her, or even smell her like this.

It’s as if she’s completely intoxicated—Like a bottle of champagne had been doused within her liver—she’s grinding herself against his tongue, placing her fingers along the top of his head to rock herself down to meet his mouth. Seeing her be so shy, sweet—to this, it felt like a dream.

“I’m gonna c—cum,” she softly cries, “Put it in. Come fuck me, baby.”

His tongue nearly wags along her pussy, a glare along his face as he pulls up, “That’s what you want, huh?”

His palm wraps along the base of his dick, smacking his tip along her clit— it makes her whine, “Yes.”

Nola’s lower back hangs off the edge of the sofa, the strength of Onyankopon’s palms holding the back of her thighs to keep her from falling. Her knees press against her chest, head tilted as she watches his body hover above her.

They wanna take their time—but they can’t. It’s a burn at this point.

Onyankopon’s tip slowly sunk in between her folds, spreading her apart, splitting her in a slow drag. Her mouth parts—her eyes lightly roll back as her lower body ignites on fire—it’s a rush of discomfort, mixed with a deep sense of pleasure.

She reaches her hand up for his abdomen, her hips rotating a bit as he spreads her opening farther apart. She groans when he snatches her hand down.

“Ony…”

“What you’ callin’ me for? This how you’ wanted it,” he grunts.

Her body trembles.

“You’re filling me up so fuckin’ good.”

He can’t help himself. He darkly chuckles, “You horny as fuck. Keep lookin’ at me with them fuckin’ eyes.”

He snakes his hand lower to clutch the back of her neck, head knocking down, nearly cradling her by the strength of his arm, dropping her down onto his dick. The back of her thighs clap against his abdomen.

His eyes are locked with hers, and he can see her expression changing—her lips parting, her eyes rolling, her hands reaching for something to grab onto.

Nola’s eyes meet his, she’s whining, “Oohshittt, Ony.”

He pulls his palm away from the back of her neck, finding his fingers swimming back into the ocean of her curls—he yanks her head forward, placing it within a position to give her complete sight of his dick disappearing into her walls.

“Ony what?” he grunts, “You keep callin’ me—Keep whinin’ for me. Open yo’ fuckin’ pussy, watch this shit cum.”

Her mouth drops open, eyes rolling as she does watch—the girth of him somehow becomes swallowed by her walls, the cream of her arousal increasing with each stroke—Nola moans loudly, her hand sliding between her legs, fingers softly rubbing at her clit.

Her eyes are blown, pleasured tears pooling at her brown irises as sniffles, “I’m c—cumming…f—fuck.”

Onyankopon’s tip feels weighted as it’s choked by the snug of her walls, nearly pushing him out as her arousal gushes through the warmth of her folds. His own hand replaces hers as his thumb is lightly playing with her already sensitive clit, watching as her inner thighs fluttered in response. He’s still stroking, “Let it out, baby. Goood muhfuckin’ girl. Keep cummin’’.”

The emotions she feels pooling from her body overwhelms her, arm reaching up as she pulls him down for them to now be chest to chest. Onyankopon buries his face within her neck as she drags her other hand along his back, helping with his continuous thrusts, grinding him forward to go deeper into her.

She clutches along his body, her shoulders trembling as she repeats to him in whiney cries, “I’m cumming…”

She presses her nose against his cheek—her eyes boring into his, her pleasure, her tears, they flush along her face as she whimpers, “I…I need you, Ony…”

Onyankopon growls against her throat, "I need you, too, Mama, “ His thrusts slow, deep, his hips rocking forward, “Youn’ know how bad I need you. A nigga ain’t going nowhere."

He swipes his thumb beneath her cheek, taking in the beauty of her face. Pretty from the moment he met her, pretty from the moment she opened up to him, pretty from the moment he wanted her. He gives her a low moan, his lower abdomen tightening as he glares, “I’m finna’ bust, baby—fuck.”

Nola locks her lips against his, whimpering along his mouth, muttering to him, “Cum in me.”

“Shit got you talkin’ crazy,” his voice is dark, “Quit playin’.”

“Please,” she pressed her forehead to his, her soft cries making Onyankopon grunt at her pleas, “Please, Ony…”

His dick is pulsing, beating inside of her—her voice is like an erotic poison—the warmth of his release makes her feel even more full, moans syncing together in a sultry symphony. Onyankopon presses his nose along her shoulder, latching kisses, giving her an affection he’d never stop giving her.

The pleasure they’d given one another is something neither of them expected. Nola is beneath Onyankopon, staring up at him with that face of hers. The alabaster of her skin is flushed, the caramel mixing between the complexion equally reddened, hair sprawled around the freckles of her cheeks.

He rubs his thumb along the swell of her lip, “You prettier than a muhfuckin’ picture, Nola.”

She digs her face within his palm, shyly giggling, “I probably look a mess.”

“Nah,” he murmurs, “You so fuckin’ beautiful, ain’t no probably.”

His hand drops to the swell of her ass, giving it a squeeze, “Imma’ need you like this all the time.”

Of course, she deflects from his compliments.

“…Wanna cuddle again? And give me butt rubs? I’m sleepy,” her voice is a bit of a murmur, “I wanna talk ‘cause I like you—but I’m sleepy.”

“Aight’—come‘ere.”

He pulls her into his lap, the warmth of his body enveloping her, his hands sliding up and down the smoothness of her thighs.

“You heard me?” Her voice is soft, “I like you, Ony. Youn’ like me?” She questions, face already sunken within his chest, eyes closing at the same time.

“Now you’ all open and shit. You wasn’t like that before—“

A finger flicks on his cheek. He chuckles.

“But forreal’—You know I do,” he murmurs, “You ain’t never gotta’ doubt a nigga again. Go to sleep.”

His fingers brush through her hair, massaging her scalp as she relaxes against him. It’s as if they remake the scene of their first night together—she lays atop of his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat that’s a comforting tune. They seem to have one more thing in common—the want to be like this, again. And again. And again.

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