knsecretary

[knsecretary]

is it bad i wanna write another trackathlete ony fic? SOMEBODY SEDATE ME I'm supposed to be working

[knsecretary]

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.

[knsecretary]

[knsecretary]

Fall in Love

trackathlete ony x reader

Warnings: Not proofread, slightly suggestive.

─knsays゛⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ was having very serious ony brainrot and then it didn't help that I went to a jouvert last night and got inspired to write this. hope yall lovies enjoy𖹭𖹭

Onyankopon Kode had a very particular schedule.

At 5:30 a.m. he would be at the stadium or the athlete's gym

At 7:30 a.m. he would be back at his apartment, heating up the breakfast sandwiches he'd frozen several nights ago.

From 9:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. he'd go to the two to three classes he strategically registered for. Then later at 5:00p.m. he'd bore himself with the lecture he did not willingly sign up for.

The nights he reserved himself to stay in the students' library or his apartment's study room. Maybe if he was feeling a bit adventurous, he'd walk to the nearby bar to pick up the stewed oxtails he knew the chef would put away in a take-away box just for him.

Shutting his eyes, he'd do it all over again. And he was perfectly content with it.

Maybe he would spend a Thursday night at the local bar and indulge in the discounted booze that the student body would flock too with a quickness that rivalled electromagnetic speeds.

He'd listen to his friends chat over the weekly events the university held and never grew tired of saying he wasn't in the mood for a fête he was 55% sure he may not enjoy.

"Imma come next time though, trust" and would quirk his lips when Connie rolled his eyes, all too familiar with the routine excuses his friend constantly gave him.

Sometimes his friends would win, or rather, he would concede. Oftentimes when the pounding headache from a midterm paper didn't go away. Or when he would get invited out by someone that fancied him. He wouldn't say no to those things. Stress kills! And Ony loved his youth, even when it was used on the simple life he created the past 3 years.

Tonight was different though. Tonight he was way too close to the stage. So close that he could see the guest artist's detailed outfit. He was even able to grab the free water bottles given out at the wet fête. This was too close for comfort. At least it would've been if he was paying attention to any of those things.

By now he would've checked the time, scoped out for Connie and danced on pretty faces that looked back and grabbed him toward them in the crowd. That- in fact- was how he ended up behind you. It was not the reason why he stayed behind you though. That was entirely his fault. He wouldn't admit that. Not sober and definitely not in the inebriated state was in; when his held felt light and he was a bit more pliant than he would like to be.

Now, it started off as it usually did. He had stationed himself by the bar, indulging in a rum and coke and moving (or rather shoving) past the multitude of other students that had the same goal in mind as he did. The speakers produced a bass that rattled his bones. His clothes were wet and splattered in paint, coating him a multitude of colours that winked in the neon lights from the stage.

He'd gathered himself to stay a bit further from the crowd. Connie had slapped his shoulder and disappeared for the next 2 hours. The grinding of bodies against each other, coupled with the several glasses circulating through his system made Ony feel a lot looser than what his daily inhibitions would allow.

His gaze shifted to you in the crowd, braids held up in a top bun above your head with shorts that left little to the imagination, rising just a bit to let your ass peek out to tease. Especially when you bent over. Your eyes met his and you tilted your head slightly, almost in greeting before walking over to him.

"What's in your cup?" You tip-toed to speak in his ear over the noise of the crowd. "Is it a rum and coke?"

Ony nodded before gesturing to the bar, "I can get one for you if you'd like" A small shake of your head before you plucked the cup out of his hands and sipped the mixture, only breaking eye contact for a short moment to gaze down at the chain that rested on his chest.

The Djs shifted and with that a new song came on,. Right then and there, your hands made way to twirl the gold chain around his neck, brow quirked in a silent invitation, open for him to take.

Onyankopon took his cup from you with little hesitation before pulling you in from your waist, watching the way your hips rolled back on him, a movement he returned eagerly with the now empty cup held between his teeth. He watched in hungry anticipation as you grabbed his shirt from behind for stability, arching and pushing your ass back on him, never breaking eye contact.

Ony would explain that it would be one dance for the night and try to assure himself it was never something that serious- that he'd certainly not be that interested in a woman he'd only known for 3 hours.

That would be if he hadn't followed you to the front of the crowd, right below the stage. It would definitely be before he pulled your hips back to him as you danced together to the slowed beat, bodies never breaking apart from each other. Moreover, it would most certainly be before Connie clapped him on his shoulder in his drunken state with a shit eating grin.

No, it certainly was not that serious, he would rationalise. Even when he watched you put your Instagram handle for him to follow. He didn't even entertain Connie on the walk back to his car. He simply sucked his teeth at the teasing and dropped the conversation right then and there.

He definitely just thought you were interesting. That's why his lip quirked up seeing that you followed him back the next day, right after getting off of practice.

Yes indeed. Onkyankopon Kode had a very particular routine. Though- hypothetically- one small addition wouldn't hurt.

─knsays゛⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ a cute little blurb. #essited

[knsecretary]

Poor Sammie played literally his first gig and immediately got the worst fan to ever exist

[knsecretary]

[knsecretary]

Somewhere soft

Eren Yeager x black reader (part 1)

Pilot <———🩷

What we finna read?: Eren Yeager was supposed to end the world. Instead, he wakes up in one that doesn't need saving. No Titans. No walls. No war. Just strangers with kind eyes, quiet apartments, and a girl who looks at him like he's more than the destruction he's caused.

Warnings: none that I know of

The grass is too green. The sky is too blue. The people are too calm.

Eren staggers to his feet like a wild animal, barefoot, bloodstained, panting. His body still buzzes with the echo of the Founder’s power, but it’s slipping. Fading. Gone.

He whips his head around. Skyscrapers stretch into the sky like unbroken Wall Maria. Trees sway with the breeze, not the stomp of Titans. A group of teenagers laugh near a fountain. A jogger runs past with something in her ears. No one’s screaming. No one’s dying. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

“WHERE AM I?!”

His voice cuts through the air like a gunshot. People stop. Stare. Step back.

Eren’s chest heaves. His fists clench. He spins in a circle, searching—there has to be something, anything—an enemy, a clue, a reason why he’s still breathing.

His eyes lock on a metal pole with a blinking light at the top. A surveillance device? A weapon? He launches toward it. But just before he reaches it—

“Hey! Wait—wait! Stop!” A blur steps between him and the pole. You. “Don’t—don’t do that, you’ll get hurt!” you say, breathless, hands half-raised in defense but not fear. He freezes. You’re not in uniform. You’re not holding a weapon. You’re not from Marley or Eldia or any place he’s ever known. You’re just… there. Concerned. Real.

“What did you just say?” he growls, voice low and dangerous. “I said don’t touch that. It’s electrical.” You point to the pole. “You could’ve shocked yourself. Are you okay?”

He laughs. A short, broken, humorless thing.

“‘Okay?’” His voice cracks. “You think—this—” he gestures wildly at the park, the people, the sky, “—is okay? Where are the Titans? Where’s the war? Where are the walls?!” You blink. “There are… no Titans. Or walls.” He stares at you like you just told him the sky is red.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“This has to be a trick. The Paths. The Founder. Something.” His hands go to his head, fingers digging into his scalp. “I was there—I felt it—I was ending the world…” You step closer slowly, cautiously, like you’re approaching a wounded animal. “What’s your name?” He doesn’t answer. He’s trembling. You lower your voice. “You’re safe. I don’t know where you came from, but… wherever that was, you’re not there anymore.”

“I can’t be safe,” he snarls, and suddenly his eyes flash—green, wild, furious. “People die when I’m safe.” You pause. Let that sink in. Then, softer: “No one’s dying right now.” He falters. The tension in his shoulders shakes.

He looks at your eyes like he’s trying to find proof you’re real.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers.

And just like that, his knees buckle. You lunge forward, catching him as he collapses into the grass, weight trembling against your arms. You don’t know who he is. You don’t know what he’s seen. But for some reason, you can’t let go.

𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪

You should’ve walked away.

Every logical part of you said don’t get involved—but then he looked at you like the world was ending. Like maybe it already had. And maybe… just maybe… you’ve looked that way too.

So here you are, standing on the edge of the sidewalk, one arm around his back, the other hovering nervously by his side. His muscles are coiled tight, like a spring ready to snap.

The blood on his clothes is drying. His eyes won’t stop darting around.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” you say for what must be the fifth time. “You’re bleeding. You’re clearly concussed—or at least dehydrated. Please.”

“No hospitals,” he growls.

You sigh, frustrated but not surprised. “Then where?” He doesn’t answer. Just stares at a passing bus like it’s a monster in disguise.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Okay… okay, fine. You can come to my place. Just for now. It’s cozy, it’s quiet, and there’s water. You need water.” He flinches at the word quiet, but doesn’t protest. That’s the most you’ve gotten from him.

And that’s enough for you.

𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪

It’s not big. Not flashy. Just a one-bedroom above a bookstore with creaky floors, thrifted furniture, and a flickering ceiling light that needs fixing—but it’s yours.

Eren stands frozen in your entryway like he’s expecting the walls to collapse on him.

You close the door gently, then slide the chain lock into place, more out of habit than anything. You glance over your shoulder at him—barefoot, still breathing hard, and looking like he might bolt.

You toe off your shoes. “You can sit. Or stand. Or pace. Whatever works.”

He doesn’t move.

You disappear into the kitchen and fill a glass with cold tap water. When you offer it to him, he eyes it suspiciously, like you handed him a vial of poison.

“It’s just water,” you say. “I’m not trying to drug you.” He takes it slowly, fingertips brushing yours. Then he gulps the water down in three deep swallows.

You exhale and lean against the counter, arms crossed. “I know this is probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” you say out loud, mostly to yourself. “Letting a stranger into my apartment. A bloody stranger. Who growled at me in public and said some real cryptic end-of-the-world shit.”

Eren stiffens, but you hold up a hand.

“I’m not saying I regret it. I’m saying I know it sounds crazy.” He watches you silently. On edge. Waiting for the catch. “I just… saw something in your face,” you admit. “It’s not pity. I’m not even scared of you for some reason. It’s Just… that look. Like you were somewhere you couldn’t get out of. And I’ve been there.”

You push off the counter and move to grab a clean towel from a small laundry basket in the hallway storage closet. “I told myself if you tried anything sketchy, I’d scream, break a lamp over your head, or run to my neighbor’s. She’s a retired cop.”

Eren blinks, almost like that is the part he doesn’t understand. You smirk a little. “See? I’m not totally defenseless.”

He finally lowers himself onto the couch, like his bones are heavier than they should be. You approach slowly, holding out the towel.

“You’re bleeding. Still.”

He hesitates before reaching out and taking it. Doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t need to.

You sit across from him, still tense, but less afraid now. “Do you have a name?” you ask gently. A pause. Then, quiet and rough: “Eren.”

You nod. “I’m [Y/n].” You offer your hand, unsure why. He stares at it for a long second, like the gesture is foreign. Then, slowly, he reaches out and grips it—calloused, steady, warm.

And somehow, that’s the moment something minuscule shifts.

𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪

She offers her hand.

Steady. Calm. No force behind it. No catch.

Eren knows what it means. A greeting. A connection. A small, human ritual. But he doesn't understand why she's offering it to him.

He's a stranger.

He's bloody. Ragged. Barefoot and barely holding it together. And yet here she is-offering her name. Her space. A towel. A place to sit. Water.

And now this.

He stares at her hand, and a dozen thoughts crawl through his mind. What does she want from me?

Is this a test? A trick? A kindness with a hidden cost? Because in his world, no one gives without reason. There's always a price. Loyalty. Obedience. Blood. Something.

Even with Armin. Even with Mikasa.

But she hasn't asked for anything. She hasn't even expected anything. Just handed him a glass of water and said he could sit down. Like it was nothing. Like he's nothing to be afraid of. His fingers wrap around hers slowly-just long enough for the contact to register.

Warm.

Alive.

Real.

He lets go first. Quickly. Before it can settle too deep. And yet—Something does shift. A shift he can't explain. Not in the room. Not in her. In him. And that's what unsettles him the most.

𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪Later That Night 𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. And sleep doesn’t come. Eren moves through the dark hallway like a shadow, steps light on the creaky floor. He stops outside her bedroom door.

It’s closed. Locked.

He doesn’t try to open it. Doesn’t knock.

He just stands there. One hand flexing at his side. His jaw tight. His eyes fixed on nothing. He shifts his weight. Stares at the space beneath the door. Listens for her breathing.

It’s there—steady. Calm.

He doesn’t know why that makes his chest feel tight. He turns away and pads quietly into the kitchen, one hand dragging through his hair.

The lights are off. He doesn’t turn them on.

Just stands there, one hand braced against the counter, the other resting on the edge of the sink. His reflection stares back at him faintly from the dark window above the faucet—barely visible. Just a shadow.

He breathes in deep. Out slow. But it doesn’t help. His skin still feels too tight.

𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪𓆩❤︎𓆪

You wake up suddenly.

No sound. No light. Just that feeling.

Like something isn’t sitting right with the night. You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes, and glance at the clock.

2:47 a.m.

Of course.

You pull your blanket around your shoulders and step carefully into the hall, not flipping on the light. Your apartment is quiet—but not empty. The faint sound of the fridge hums through the dark.

You follow it.

The kitchen is cloaked in shadows, lit only by the glow of the city outside—blue moonlight spilling across countertops and cabinets.

And there he is.

Standing near the sink, one hand braced against the counter, the other hanging limp at his side. He’s not moving. Just… there, like a statue set down in the wrong century.

His back is to you, shoulders tense, the soft fabric of your borrowed shirt wrinkled from where he’s been tugging at the hem.

You speak gently. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He flinches—not from fear, but from being pulled too suddenly back into the present. His head turns just slightly, enough to catch your silhouette. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

You step inside, feet bare on cool tile, blanket trailing behind you. You don’t press him. Don’t switch on the light. You just stand with him in the dark. “I’ve never had silence like this before,” he says after a pause, voice low and frayed at the edges.

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He gestures vaguely toward the apartment. The walls. The stillness. “This.” He turns more fully now, but not enough to face you. Just enough for the moonlight to catch in his eyes.

“It’s too quiet. It makes me think.”

You nod, arms folding around yourself. “Thinking can be loud.” He breathes out through his nose, like he didn’t expect you to get it. You let the silence hang, soft and heavy.

Then: “You want tea?”

He hesitates. Like the question doesn’t quite compute.

“Something warm,” you offer. “Helps when the thoughts won’t shut up.”

He doesn’t answer. But when you move to the cabinet and quietly begin boiling water, he doesn’t stop you.

And when you hand him the mug—steam curling up between your fingers, light catching faintly on ceramic—he takes it.

Carefully.

You both linger in the dark kitchen for a while, the world outside muffled and far away, lit only by the soft spill of moonlight through the window.

Eventually, you move toward the table, your bare feet soft against the tile. You pull out one of the wooden chairs and sit, cradling your mug in both hands.

“Sit,” you say gently, motioning to the chair across from you. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t question it. Just moves.

You’re a little surprised by that—not because you expected resistance, but because Eren doesn’t seem like the kind of person who does things just because someone asks.

But you don’t voice it.

You just watch him sit, his movements stiff and tired, like his body’s still running on survival alone.

Then you glance down at your mug—warmth coiling through your fingers like a poor substitute for peace and take a slow breath.

He hasn’t touched his tea.

Just stares at it, like maybe if he glares hard enough, it’ll spill secrets instead of steam.

The silence stretches.

He’s been here almost twenty-four hours now. Given him clothes. A place to rest. But he’s still a stranger. And you don’t do strangers.

You shift slightly in your chair. “I know you said your name is Eren,” you start carefully. “And I get that you’re… not from around here.” He doesn’t look up. “But I need to know more than that.”

Nothing.

Your voice sharpens. Not angry—just firm. “If you’re going to stay here, I need to know who I’m sharing my space with.”

That gets him.

His eyes flick up, guarded, green, a little wild around the edges. “I told you what I can.”

You tilt your head. “That’s not the same as telling the truth.”

He exhales through his nose. “You wouldn’t believe the truth.”

You raise a brow. “Try me.”

His jaw tenses. He looks down at the tea again, fingers curling tighter around the mug.

“You want a name? You have it. Eren. You want details?” His voice tightens. “I don’t have them. Not right now.”

You narrow your eyes. “So what—you just No idea how you got to that park in the middle of day?”

“Yes.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes.”

You stare at him. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

He’s not lying. You can feel it. But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t expect anything from you.”

The words are sharp—colder than the room.

You sit back, mug forgotten. “I’m not asking for your life story, Eren. But if you’re going to keep sleeping on my couch and drinking my tea, I need something.”

He stands abruptly.

Too fast.

The chair legs scrape against the floor, and for a second, it’s not the stranger who calls himself Eren in your kitchen anymore—it’s something wounded, something that doesn’t fit in soft places.

“I don’t know how I got here,” he says, voice low but shaking. “I don’t know why. Or who pulled me out. Or if I’m going to wake up and find out none of this was real.”

You blink.

His chest is rising faster now. Hands clenched. Tea forgotten. The steam spirals between you like breath caught in a throat.

“I’m trying not to fall apart,” he adds. “So if it’s too much—if I’m too much—you can say it. I’ll leave.”

You watch him.

Quiet. Steady.

Your pulse is racing, but your voice is calm when it comes. “I didn’t ask you to leave, Eren.” That seems to knock the wind out of him a little. “I’m asking you to let me in. Just enough to know I’m not letting something dangerous live in my house.”

His eyes flicker—somewhere between offended and ashamed.

You stand, slowly, and take his cup. Still full. Still warm. “Sleep on it,” you say “Tomorrow… maybe you tell me something real.”

You rinse the mug and don’t look back. Behind you, the air is thick with unsaid things.

But he doesn’t leave.

And you don’t make him.

[knsecretary]

pairings: bigboy!ony x reader

warnings: smut18+, twt link, shitty writing

a/n: i haven't been on here in so long, let alone written anything. work, life, and school has consumed my entire being, so i apologize that this shit isnt anywhere near what my usual writing is. but i do miss writing, and i do miss being a freak so here you go

Bigboy!Ony is such a motherfuckin talker when he's in that shit.

he'll have you bent over on the bed feedin you slow deep strokes as he admired the way you responded to him in the mirror. “you still with me, ma?” he'll smirk down at you. there was no use hiding how good you felt as you mumbled out barely coherent reassurances, pulling your hips up just slightly to alleviate the intense amount of pleasure. “yeah?” his hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you back “don't run from me, baby.” he'd shake his head slowly “you love me, right? youn run from things you love ma”

you were sure you could cum just off his voice alone. that smooth, tantalizing rich tone making your toes curl the moment it reached your eardrums. ugh lets not even get started on when he falls in love all over again. he'll just be mumbling to himself as he pushed some hair out of your face “fuck my baby so pretty” he'll groan and as if the compliments weren't making your knees weak he'd make you repeat it. “say it back ma, tell me you're pretty” oh, just how his words make the moment so much more intimate.

just when you think he's done he'll pull out and immediately start munchin. your hand instantly reaching behind you to push him back but that doesn't stop him. instead, youll hear him mumble protest into your pussy before he lifts his head up “just lemme eat ma. all you gotta do is breathe nd imma handle the rest” he'll reach for your hand like the loving boyfriend he is and continue to munch.

[knsecretary]

no thoughts. just AϕA ony...💛

notes: idk too much about the divine nine or greek life so please don't slaughter me

alpha!ony who decided to pledge after listening to other alphas speak at a high school assembly

alpha!ony who received a near damn standing ovation at his probate once he took off his mask

alpha!ony who SWEARS he's not into all that publicity and campus fame shit, but can't help basking in the limelight just a lil bit

alpha!ony first noticed you at the "meet the greeks" picnic, watching as you sent q dawg!connie to bring you a drink

alpha!ony who sat mesmerized as he watched the way you licked your glossed lips after taking a sip, the way your tooth gems glistened in the sun as you smiled at his friend, the way your eyes squinted in joy when you laughed at another que who called connie your bitch

alpha!ony who begged connie for the next three days (begged very nonchalantly, if you ask him) for more details about you

you were a sophomore: a real put up homebody who only decided to attend the picnic for the food. connie had gotten to know you in your shared economics class. connie also made sure to mention that you were single, and alpha!ony made it his mission to change that

alpha!ony finally got to speak to you by chance at a volleyball game he decided to swing by just for the hell of it. nobody ever really attended those, so you sat alone, and he made his way over to sit with you and introduce himself

alpha!ony made sure to show you off every chance he got after finally making you his; instantly searching for you after every performance and event to hook his arm around you

alpha!ony NEVER played about you; kissing you deeply in front of the other greeks, making sure they knew who you belonged to

alpha!ony always made time for you despite his hectic college schedule. he always made sure to take you on dates, even if that was just hanging out in his apartment watching him practice

alpha!ony who didn't really like the parties he was forced to attend, and would often sneak you away to a more private room to start the after party early ;)

alpha!ony knew you loved watching him stroll, making sure to shoot you a smile and wink every time they had to stroll into an event

alpha!ony's secret pleasure is definitely seeing you in his black and gold; his favorite outfit of yours being a slim fitting black satin dress paired with a gold necklace that had his initials engraved into it

[knsecretary]

Uh oh! Her online persona might be her personality in real life!

[knsecretary]

request: ‘Y/n showing her ass all on ig and ony fucks her shit up (and records it so he can show all her followers who really run shit🙂‍↔️)’

some more inspo vids: 1 & 2 & 3

ur mind is so powerful and that vid is *chef kiss* here you go nonnie hehe/// cw include: there’s actually a little bit of plot *gasp*, mentions of drinking, reader is a little tipsy throughout the story, protective!ony, oral f!receiving, unprotected sex, slight daddy kink, ony is a tease, dirty talk, praising, rough sex, creampie, rushed ending i’m sawry/// wc: 5.4k

“can you see my thong when i bend over?

ony’s eyes, that were previously fixated on the tv, flicked over to your form, pupils zooming in on the thin fabric of your thong that peeked out over your jeans. his full lips lifted into a smirk, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. “yeah i can see it, don’t do too much bendin’ over.”

“yeah, yeah, whateverrrrr. the fit looks cute though right?” you did a little twirl for him, the obnoxious sounds of your heels clicking against the hardwood floor echoing throughout the room. ony paused his game, his eyes drinking in every inch of your outfit.

his pointer and middle fingers curled, beckoning you over to where he was sitting on the couch. as soon as you were in reach he yanked you onto his lap, your knees on either side of his thick thighs. “where are y’all heading to again?” he asked, tatted fingers trailing along the bare spots on your back.

your hands ran along his toned chest, his thin wife beater making it easy for you to feel every muscle and ridge. he always liked the way your long acrylics felt against his skin, it was almost comforting, in a way.

“we’re just gonna get some drinks, and then maybe go roller skating. nothin’ too crazy baby,” you’d lean in and give him a big smooch, but your lip combo was looking extraaaa perfect tonight.

his big hands cupped your ass over your jeans, before slowly moving up the play with the visible strings of your thong. “gonna be good tonight right? not gonna make me come up there and put nobody on a t-shirt right?”

ony knew you were as faithful as they came, and trusted you with everything in him, but what he did not trust was those thirsty sluts at the roller rink—especially the notorious connie springer. if he had a dollar for every time he heard about connie sweeping some girl off her skates he’d be a goddamn millionaire.

“don’t trip baby, it’s just gonna be me and the girls. if anyone tries it with me you’ll be the first to know,” and with that you were standing up. you bent over to give ony five featherlight kisses, careful not to mess up your lip gloss.

“be safe, i love you mama.”

“i love you more papa ❤︎”

( one mango margarita and three shots of tequila later . . . )

ony clutched his poor phone in irritation as he watched you act a complete fool on your instagram story. it started smooth at first, just a couple boomerangs and videos of you and your friends enjoying your time at the bar, but then he peeped that as he clicked through your story you seemed to be getting more and more lit.

what really did it for him was seeing you hang halfway out your friends car, your hips moving rather seductively as you shook your ass to the trap song that was playing over the stereo.

‘y/n, get your ass back in here! i’m not tryna get pulled over!’ he could hear your friend, who was the designated driver, say in annoyance.

you were already so lit and it’s only been an hour . . . what was he gonna do with you?

“ooou this girl is gonna be the death of me,” ony sighed, swiping over to the phone app. he looked over his contacts before clicking on ‘sun and stars ★’ aka you. the line rung six times before going to voicemail, but did that stop him from calling once more. on the fourth ring the line finally picked up, the sound of loud music and jumbled voices already giving poor ony a headache.

“babe?” he heard your cheery voice on the other end. wow, he hadn’t even realized how much he missed you until he heard your voice, his heart clenching at your missing presence. “hi baby, everything all right? i saw your story n’ it looks like you’re having a good time.”

“i ammmm, oh my gosh babe we gotta come here together sometime. i think s’like couples night or sum, everybody’s skating together and bein’ all sexy it’s making me miss youuuu.”

ony chuckled at the slurring in your voice, his thumb running over the tattoo of your name on the side of his pointer finger. fuck, he missed you.

it was quieter on your end of the line now, the loud music now nothing but a distant hum in the background. you must’ve went off to the bathroom to hear him better. “i miss you more, mama. n’ you know i can’t skate, i’d bust my ass every time!” he almost wanted to pout when you busted into a fit of giggles. oh how he wished he could hear your laugh in person.

“it’s okay, papa. m’gonna teach you and then we’ll be the sexiest couple in here,” you had a slight purr in your voice, and as shameless as it was, it did make ony’s dick jump a little. before he could say anything else you spoke once more, “i should get goin’ before they start looking for me. i’ll text you when i’m coming home, love you baby.”

ony’s head fell against the plushness of the couch, his lips turning into a frown. “i love you more, be good.” you giggled once more, promising that you’d be on your best behavior before hanging up, leaving onyankopon by himself once again. might as well make a little something for you to eat when you got home.

while ony whipped up something special for you at home, you were skating your heart out, doing all sorts of tricks n’ moves while your friends were fighting for their lives trying to keep from falling.

“yo, you’re pretty good.”

you nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt a hand on your shoulder, your body shrinking away out of instinct. any man’s touch that wasn’t ony made you wanna gag. seriously, like, who did these men think they were putting their grimy hands on you???

the man must’ve thought you were falling, because his grip on your shoulder tightened, pulling you closer to him. you hummed and moved a little to the side, the pace of your legs never faltering. once there was a safe distance between you and the stranger you finally spoke.

“thanks. i used to skate a lot when i was a kid,” your tone was short and dismissive. why was he even talking to you with this loud ass music in the background???you finally looked at him to get a good look at his face, and i’m assuming y’all already know who it is. sigh. you could already feel your buzz fading away.

you couldn’t deny that connie was handsome, but he wasn’t ony. no one could ever compete with your ony. whether it be looks, strength, book smarts, street smarts—anything the average human could do, onyankopon could do it better. at least that’s how it worked in your mind.

connie offered you a sweet smile, “do i know you? you look real familiar.”

“you might. i’m with onyankopon, i know y’all run in the same circles or whatever.” as you and connie talked the flash of someone’s phone hit you both, startling you the tiniest bit. you ignored it, deciding to keep the conversation with connie going until the song ended, but before you could even bid him farewell you heard your name being called numerous times.

your friends were standing at the entrance/exit of the rink, their skates now replaced with heels. you glanced at connie, muttering out a quick ‘see ya around’ before using a nearby railing to get out of the rink.

“that felt like the longest five minutes of my life,” you sighed, sitting on the nearest bench. “why do you guys look like that?” no one said anything, instead your phone was placed in front of your face, and what you saw made you actually gag.

it was a video of everyone in the rink skating to some rnb song, and there you were, front and center with connie by your side, his signature smirk gracing his lips.

“fucking ew! why do they have to get me, of all people, on candid camera with him? disgusting,” your nose was scrunched in disgust as you undid the laces to your skates. “ugh, i know right. let’s go do something else, i heard there’s gonna be a slide show not too far from hereeee. we should go there instead, yeah?” your best friend said, wiggling her phone in front of your face.

“a slide show? i don’t know girl, ony would be pissed. you know he don’t want me around that shit.” you knew your boyfriend well, and anything that had to do with a bunch of charged up men and expensive cars sounded like a bad situation to him, especially if he wasn’t there with you.

“don’t trip it’ll only be for like ten minutes, i promise. unless you wanna be lame and get dropped off”, your friend teased, and that had you pouting. you wanted to be good and listen to your boyfriend, but you also didn’t want the night to end quite yet.

“i got a blunt we can smoke on the way thereee,” your friend added. now that peaked your interest.

“well . . .”

[ 8 missed calls from my love ❤︎ ]

[ 6 new messages from my love ❤︎ ]

my love ❤︎ : please tell me you’re not where i think you are.

my love ❤︎ : baby answer the phone

my love ❤︎ : answer now or i’m coming up there.

my love ❤︎ : i’m omw.

“this fuckin’ girl,” ony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. he knew you wanted to have a fun night with your friends, but this was an absolute no no for him. you not answering your phone, but still posting on your instagram story didn’t make things any better either.

he found the nearest parking spot he could and jumped out of the car, his feet moving before he could even lock the car. it seemed the slide show had turned into a party type of situation, groups of people and nice cars scattered throughout the street. he whipped out his phone, pulling up the find my app to pinpoint your exact location.

after ten minutes of searching and bland, one minute conversations with his friends, onyankopon finally found you. you were dancing to music playing from someone’s car, your behind backed up against your friends front. if he wasn’t so irritated with you, he would’ve stayed a few minutes longer in that spot to watch you dance some more.

you looked breathtaking, per usual. all the gold jewelry you were wearing had you looking like a walking goddess—his goddess.

ony took his time walking over to you. he could feel a smirk fighting its way onto his lips at the thought of your poor little face realizing you were somewhere you certainly shouldn’t be.

“y’all cute,” he called out in his most sarcastic tone. your body froze, panic flooding through your veins. fuck, has it been more than ten minutes?

you stood up straight, your bloodshot eyes connecting with ony’s chocolate ones. “h-hey baby! what’re you doin’ here?” your body was stiff as you walked over to him, careful not to trip over your heels. once he was in arms reach you fell into his chest, his musky, natural scent igniting a warmth in your lower half.

everything around you was muffled, all you could focus on was the steady beat of onyankopon’s heart. suddenly, he pulled away, muttering something about you hopping on his back. with little strength you jumped up, wrapping your arms around his neck, and your legs around his waist.

you turned to your friends, offering them a weak wave as ony carried you away, not saying a word. once you both made it to the car, he carefully set you inside, and adjusted your limbs so he was able to buckle you up.

the second he got in the car you turned to him, your lips pulled into a pout. “how drunk are you right now, babe?” he asked, taking your chin between his fingers to examine your face.

“i’m more high than drunk, but i’m fine, i don’t feel sick or nothin’,” your voice was quiet as you spoke, your hooded eyes looking anywhere but at him. “are you mad at me ony?” your eyes finally locked with his.

ony shook his head, “i am, but it’s okay we’ll get it sorted out at home. drink some of that water for me.” your eyes flicked to the water bottle that was dripping with condensation in the console. it looked heavenly to say the least.

the drive home was quiet besides the music playing quietly in the background, and you taking a few gulps of water every now and again. ony’s hand was glued to the thickness of your thigh the entire time, squeezing the jean covered flesh every couple of minutes.

he was silent when he parked the car in front of your apartment building, and he was silent on the way up to the apartment. he was quiet as church mouse when he helped you take off your heels, his lips pressing soft kisses your ankles when he took each heel off, and he was still silent when he helped you take off your top, leaving you in your bra and jeans.

ony knelt between your spread legs, his hands gripping onto your thighs for stability. “before i go ahead, just tell me one thing, did you have fun, baby?” his eyes softened as he waited for your response. you nodded, a small smile coming onto your lips.

“that’s good, i’m glad you had fun. now can you tell me why you were all the way in the city and not answering your phone?” his thick brow raised up, awaiting your response.

you nibbled on your bottom lip, the lip combo you were so proud of hours ago now smudged away. “we were sick of the roller rink, and jasmine heard about this slide show happening in the city sooo we went down there just to see what was going on. i tried saying no, i really did, baby, but then she bribed me with a blunt and full control of the aux so i caved.” your fingers began to fiddle with his own.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t answer i just a little too, um, immersed in my activities. and i’m sorry about the connie thing—”

“wait. what connie thing?”

your lips pulled into a straight line, your eyes squeezing shut in defeat. why, oh why did you have to bring that up?

“y/n, talk to me. use your words,” ony’s thumbs rubbed little circles into your thighs, silently telling you he’s not angry, and will not get angry at your response. he knew better than to think you tried anything with connie, he just wanted to know out of pure curiosity.

“well, since you asked—that lame came and talked to me. he be acting all nice n’ shit like everybody don’t know how much of a dog he really is.” ony couldn’t help but laugh at the scrunched up look on your face as you talked about it.

“and i guess the roller rink has an insta page or something, because next thing you know there’s a video of me and constance skating together. he followed me and liked everything on my story not even a half hour later—the man has zero shame! like, how’re you gonna waste my friends time, then come onto me like she’s not my friend and i don’t have a boyfriend?! granted, he only did say hi and complimented my skating but—”

ony could only smirk as you tipsily babbled about connie, and eventually moved on to a whole different topic. he didn’t interrupt you, instead he let you ramble on and looked at you with nothing but infatuation in his eyes.

suddenly your phone pinged, a notification from instagram popping up on your lock screen. “mmcht, speak of the devil,” you grabbed your phone, and opened the notification, showing ony exactly what you were talking about.

connie_springer replied to your story: i hope to see u again next time. we barley talked

ony read the message three times, his lips quirking into a playful smile. “‘barley’ . . . illiterate bitch.” it was silent for a few beats before you both burst into giggles.

now, you don’t exactly remember who initiated the kiss, but somehow ony managed to kiss you breathless, pinning you to the bed while his lips hungrily chased your own. his thumb pushed down on your chin, widening your lips just enough for him to slip his tongue inside your mouth.

“missed you baby,” he muttered against your lips. you tasted like spiked lemonade and strawberry gloss, an odd yet, salivating combo. you responded with a moan, your leg lifting up to wrap loosely around his waist.

“i wanna fuck.”

onyankopon grinned, his nose playfully nudging against yours. “all that liquor and weed went straight to your pussy hm?” his tone was teasing as he blindly reached between your bodies to undo the button of your jeans. “turn over, wanna take you from the back.” ony pecked your lips three times before helping you turn over, his strong hands moving towards your hips a second later to lift you to your knees.

the view before ony’s eyes was perfect.

you smiled when you saw a flash behind you—onyankopon loved taking him some pictures of his pretty girlfriend. you whipped your head around, your eyes flicking to ony’s concentrated one’s.

“you still mad at me baby?” you purred, playfully sticking your ass out more. a whine bubbled in your throat when you felt his bulge press right against your ass. ony kissed his teeth, “be quiet, y’know i wasn’t even mad in the first place. now look at the camera.”

you looked directly in the camera, you fluttered your lashes and gave him a tiny smirk before he took at least thirty pics of you in the same position. “beautiful . . .” you heard him mutter. you grinned, your cheeks heating up at the compliment.

“mm, you should post it that. connie follows you right? i think it’ll be funny.”

“what do you think i’m doin’, mama?” ony flashed you a smile, his fingers typing furiously at his phone before tossing it to the side. your phone dinged, a notification from instagram popping up. “d-did you tag me?” your breath hitched when ony tugged your jeans in one swift motion, the waistband now on the backs of your jeans.

ony knelt down, now eye level with your panty clad pussy. “i did, but you can look at that later,” was all he said before tugging your thong to the side, his warm tongue cupping your clit with quickness. you hummed in content, your face nuzzling into the comforter. ony traced slow, gentle circles around your clit, his tongue swiping down every couple of seconds to collect more of your essence on his tongue.

“f-fuck babe.” ony could hear your tiny voice whine, your hips now back and forth. he kissed your clit one last time before kissing his way up your pussy, his tongue slipping into your cunt with ease. his thumb replaced his tongue, rubbing tight, little circles on your clit.

onyankopon wasn’t shy to let you know that he liked giving you head. in just mere minutes he’d be moaning into your pussy and caressing your thighs delicately, mumbling little praises every now and again just to make sure you got the hint hehe.

your back arched when he rubbed the middle of his tongue, the softest part of it in your humble opinion, sloppily against your clit, dribbles of your essence now dripping off his chin and onto his chest. “yeah, y-yeah, keep doing that and i’ma cum,” your breath quickened, your eyes rolling back as the coil in your stomach got tighter n’ tighter.

“mmph, yeah? you gonna cum in my mouth baby? lemme hear you,” ony’s thumb pushed the skin above your clit up, exposing it even more to his skillful tongue. “y-yes on—y!” your kiss bitten lips dropped open, back arching impossibly deep when you felt his fingers pinch your clit.

“try that again, what’s my name? whose mouth are you gonna cum on?” as tipsy as you were, your cheeks still went hot at the mention of his ‘bedroom name’. truly you weren’t into calling men daddy at first, it put a sour taste in your mouth—but then ony came along. sure you called him ‘pa’ and ‘papa’ occasionally but this just felt . . . different. he didn’t push you into calling him anything during sex, only suggesting it, and you were sure you’d never even think to call him daddy . . . until one night, when he had you folded up, your spent pussy pulsing around his dick as you chanted his new name like a prayer.

“i-i’m, i’m gonna cum on your m-mouth *huff*, daddy.”

“atta girl,” ony hummed, wrapping his lips around your swollen clit. his middle and ring fingers slipped into your clenching entrance, immediately bumping into that spot that had you squealing. he would’ve made you cum whether you called him daddy or not, he just liked to fuck with you when you got like this. so annoying.

your thighs began to shake, your orgasm approaching closer and closer. “hah! hah! f-fuck m’cumminggg.” ony pushed your weight forward, his face burrowing into your pussy as he slurped and sucked up your cum like it was the finest wine he’d even tasted.

he licked you through your orgasm until you were whining oh so cutely in overstimulation. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his tongue running over his lips just to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

“fix that arch,” ony grunted, tugging his sweats down in one swift motion, his achingly hard dick springing free. you mewled, fixing your position as you mentally prepared for the insane dicking you were about to receive.

he bent down, pressing one, two, three soft kisses across your waist. “you’re so pretty, look at me one more time,” you felt his warm hand squeeze your waist as he spoke, his words laced with love and adoration. you slowly craned your neck to look at him. your eye makeup was already becoming a little streaky, and your lips were all swollen—probably from biting them so hard.

“thank you baby, but with all due respect save the sappy shit for the aftercare, i need your dick now,” your tone was playful, but he could tell you really needed it by the way your hips started to shimmy. ony grinned, his hand reaching down to grip his leaking cock. he slapped it against your ass cheeks a few times before slipping himself between your folds, your wetness and warmth embracing him like the universes’ warmest hug.

he hissed, his teeth catching onto his bottom lip when he felt your hand press his cock impossibly close to your pussy. you could feel the dull throb of him against your clit, and it had you feeling dizzier than any liquor ever could.

“put it in, baby. i need it,” you whined into the comforter. your clit had a heartbeat in it so aggressive, it was borderline painful at this point. ony had had just about enough of his teasing too, because he fulfilled your wishes and filled you up with his dick the second you finished speaking. he was in to the hilt, your pussy gripping him like a vice as you tried to adjust to his size.

he pulled out less than halfway before slowly pushing back in. he did that over and over until he began a steady rhythm. “you’d think after all the times we done fucked you wouldn’t be this fuckin’ tight,” he grunted, slapping your right ass cheek with force.

ony noticed you becoming greedy for more, your hips seeming to have a mind of their own as you tried to match his slow strokes with quicker, sloppier movements. he fisted the flimsy of your thong, careful not to rip it. “slow. the fuck. down.” he growled in between strokes, making sure you felt each puncture of his dick against your cervix.

he tongued the inside of his cheek, thinking to himself for a moment before halting his movements. he puckered his lips, letting a glob of spit fall onto your untouched hole. he felt your body tense, a smirk coming onto his lips as he watched the spit trickle down and mix in with the creamy mess that was you.

before you could whine about his lack of thrusts, he started up a steady pace again, eventually getting faster and harder as the minutes ticked by. “you like that?” he grunted, using his free hand to push your head further into the mattress. you nodded as best as you could, “y-yes, daddy, i fu—huckin’ love ittt.”

you felt him in your stomach, your chest, your fucking head. you felt it everywhere—all your senses consumed by him.

in between his brutal strokes ony had a sudden need, he wanted a kiss. without stopping the rolls of his hips, he pushed your lower half down, his arm wrapping itself around your neck to prop your head up. your eyes rolled into the back of your skull, a line of drool slipping from your trembling lips and onto the comfort that was already soaked with your tears.

his pace switched from fast to slow, his hips snapping against your backside rather roughly with each thrust. “kiss me,” you heard him whisper into your ear, his hot tongue lolling out to lick over the shell of your ear.

“come on, baby. you can do it. jus’ turn your head a lil to the left and give your ony a kiss.” it took literally every ounce of strength you had to turn your head, but you succeeded and got rewarded with a very sloppy kiss. he sucked on your bottom lip, and then your tongue. his kisses tasted tart from previously devouring your pussy.

your feet thrashed against the bed, a moan getting caught in your throat as your second orgasm of the night hit you like a semi—unexpectedly mind you. ony pressed his pelvis harshly against your ass, his hips moving in slow circles to draw your orgasm as long as possible.

“can’t— *hiccup* c-can’t take anymore pa,” you sniffled, fat tears rolling your puffy cheeks. ony kissed you, long and slow, before pulling away. “yeah you can, stay like that,” he muttered, pushing himself up. his thighs were on either side of your hips, his dick still snuggly sheathed inside your aching cunt.

his hands squeezed at your ass cheeks, spreading them so he could get a view at the way your pussy gripped him. your mouth parted in a silent scream when he pushed his hips forward, his cock sliding an extra inch deeper. “too deep, ony! t-too deep,” you panted, your manicured hand reaching behind you to slap against his lower stomach.

“keep your hand there, s’not gonna stop me, baby. it never does,” he breathlessly chuckled, rolling his hips. something felt off. very, very off, like you were about to—

ony was slightly taken aback by your force as you pushed his hips back, his soaked cock slipping out as a flood of your cum hit the sheets. he could only watch in awe as your hand reached between your thighs, fingers sloppily rubbing circles around your clit. you didn’t really know were doing in that moment, but it just felt right. the giant coil in your tummy had finally unraveled, leaving you a gasping, sobbing mess as you rode out your second unexpected orgasm.

your body slumped against the mattress, your soaked thighs twitching violently. “what the fuck . . . i didn’t know you could do that,” ony muttered, his fingers swiping against the puddle formed on the sheets. you shrugged and shook your head. shit, you didn’t know you could do that either!

onyankopon scooted off the bed with shaky legs. he gently tugged your jeans off the rest of the way before turning you over. “just need you to hold on a little bit longer, mama. just need to make me cum, n’ then we’re done, okay? use your words so i know you’re good.” his fingers tapped at your jaw, signaling you to speak.

your lashes fluttered open, “m’good ony, wanna make you cum now.” onyankopon gave you a little smile, his eyes never once leaving yours as he set your ankles over his shoulders. he turned his head, giving both of your ankles a kiss. “my pretty baby,” he whispered, his hand reaching down to give his dick a few pumps.

he tapped the tip against your clit, smearing any leaking pre against your folds before slipping in with ease. you both moaned in unison, and funnily enough your noses both scrunched up the same way from being connected once more. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling the tiniest bit to let him know you’d like to be closer.

ony obliged, adjusting himself so he was able to lean down and be closer to you. the new angle had him hitting deeper, each thrust damn near knocking the air out of your poor lungs. “hah, love you, baby,” he panted, messily pressing his lips against yours. you cradled his face in your hands, your legs wrapping tightly around his slim waist. “love you more, daddy.”

ony groaned, his face nuzzling in your neck a second later to contain his whines. “inside? can i?” you heard him whine into your neck, his rhythm getting sloppier each time he pulled out. you nodded furiously, begging and pleading him like a lil slut to cum inside you that moment.

ony let out his first vocal moan of the night, his hand slapping beside your head to fist at the comforter. you felt a sudden warmth inside you and sighed contently, your legs tightening around his waist to keep him in place. he spent the next couple of minutes pathetically humping into your pussy, relishing in the aftershocks of his orgasm.

his grip on the sheets loosened, his body relaxing completely into yours. “ugh, baby, you’re so heavy,” you whined, pushing at his broad shoulders. ony only hummed, not moving an inch, and after multiple attempted to push him off you did the only thing you could do.

“hah! babe, d-don’t do that,” ony hissed, finally lifting his head up. you narrowed your eyes, clenching around his softened dick again, “then get the heck off me.” he sighed dramatically, pressing one last kiss to your neck before pushing himself up.

“all warm, mama?” ony hummed, wrapping your favorite fluffy towel around your bare body. you nodded, your mouth parting in a yawn. man were you ready to go the hell to bed.

after ony found his strength he got up and forced you into the shower with him, despite your whines and protest of being ‘too tired’. he held you for the first ten minutes, clutching onto your body as if you’d slip away while the hot water cascaded down your bodies. he then took his time washing your body, making sure no skin was left untouched before quickly doing himself.

now it was finally time for cuddles and, most importantly, time for bed.

he carried you to bed, of course, carefully laying you down on your side and tucking you in. when he got into bed you immediately latched to his side, your head finding its rightful place on his chest.

“shit, forgot i posted this,” ony chuckled showing you the story he had tagged you in an hour prior to your . . . activities. you examined the picture, a lazy smile making its way into your lips. “my ass looks so fat in this, good job babe.” you pat him on the chest a few times, your lips parting from yet another yawn.

“mm, you’re welcome, baby. not get some sleep, n’ make sure to dream about me,” he chuckled, giving your forehead three kisses.

[knsecretary]

i love the feeling of getting “clearer” as you get older, like with each year there’s less room for messing around or pretending or playing a game with something you know deep in your heart is not right for you. it’s like your brain just gets better and better at cutting you off as you consider something and tells you “no that is not for me” before you can jump in. and it’s not as if things get more serious, but the opposite. you have freedom in giving yourself more and more permission to purposefully live life and go after whatever you want and to love freely knowing that things are secure in your heart and mind.. at least when i am struggling i know that the “clearing” is really what’s happening

[knsecretary]

currently experiencing track ony brain rot. im gonna have to write abt him after this midterm

[knsecretary]

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

[knsecretary]

Wishing financial freedom, good sex, laughter and perfectly seasoned food for everyone reading this

[knsecretary]

ATHELETE! ONYANKOPON X READER SUMMARY: a short piece on if ony was a track star. this is mild self-indulgence WARNINGS: no capitalisation intended ........................................................................................................ trackathlete!ony who loves what he does, but his coach gets on his nerves sometimes trackathlete!ony who SWEARS he doesn't love the attention, but when he wins? Yeah, you gon’ see all 32 of his teeth shining as he takes that victory lap. trackathlete!ony first saw you talking to one of your friends after a track meet.

trackathlete!ony who couldn't help but watch the way the shorts clung on to you, the way your crystal necklace glinted in the sunlight. the way you threw your head back and laughed when sasha almost bust her ass on the hot pitch outside

trackathlete!ony who (very nonchalantly) asked connie and sasha for damn near a whole week when you were gonna come back. when he finally learned you were single? yeah, it was a wrap trackathlete!ony saw you at the fresher's fete, watching you look all pretty dancing to the front of the stage

trackathlete!ony who almost shyly looked away at the video his friends showed of a party promoter capturing him take the most wicked wine of his life from you "cut that shit out. acting like i wasn't there" "you real shy for someone with no behaviour 2 nights ago" Now you were a 2nd year. and fortunately for trackathlete!ony the one night you went out as the night you two got to not so officially meet. it also helped that you and sasha shared the same envi elective

the next thing you knew, you were seeing trackathlete!ony talking to sasha while she (very innocently) asked for a study date. he of course was just there to "drop off something ". "oh [y/n] i didn't know you'd be so early" "sasha you told me 3:30" trackathlete!ony who then took the initiative to introduce himself that day

trackathlete!ony NEVER played about you. he was picking you up every week, an arm wrapped around you at parties. he made sure he was behind you when you were throwing it back. now who else was meant to catch that but him? huh? oh okay...

trackathlete!ony always made time for you. he was always down for a group study session with you. "mama what's all that fancy shit there" "it's an html page ony..."

trackathlete!ony who loved when you came to his track meets. he always made a point to let everyone know you were there. "my girl's here right now." "nigga i don't fucking care" and he'd have the widest smile on his face too.

trackathlete!ony loved driving to the parties with you. it makes it easier for you both to go back to his place without waiting on a shuttle "ony...! baby lemme go shower first" "wan' fuck you right here though mama" "baby i smell like beer and rum..."

trackathlete!ony whose guilty pleasure is watching you in his shirts with nothing else on, especially when you working at your desk with a research paper or just coding. trackathlete!ony who love loves his girl <3

[knsecretary]

the app just refreshed so i lost the best fic i’ve possibly ever read