nysrage

[nysrage]

you so real for this!

inside me are two wolves. one is ovulating so badly, I wanna c*me so many times, my toes curl up like the wicked witch underneath that damn house. the other wants to curl up with my stuffed animals, eat cookies and binge a good series.

[nysrage]

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’s 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 them 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.

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.

[nysrage]

oh bby this fed meeeeee, need more of these two!!

cybersex. onyankopon.

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

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

visual. visual. visual. visual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Onyankopon. 

Licensed massage therapist. Top .015% on OnlyFans. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

onyo: hey. yeah, i do. why?

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

onyo: user is typing…

And then—

onyo: hollon’. i know you. 

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

bimbopiscesprincess: oh. you do? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He types a couple minutes after.

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

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

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

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

‘bout it if you’d like.

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

bimbopiscesprincess: right now?

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

Ring. Ring. Ring.

And then he answered, voice heavy and smooth.

“Hey, mama. How you’ doin’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You think to yourself—this is your line of work. You didn’t have to be nervous or scared. This could bring in more attention to your page, and you could get a new experience out of it. 

Your voice is a bit softer as you reply, “I’m open to anything.” 

Another chuckle. It’s heavier this time. 

“You sure?” 

You nod your head, “I’m sure. I’ll see you then, Onyankopon.” 

Then was sooner than you’d expected it to be. Two weeks had gone by, officially making a date after you’d both gotten tested. Your eyes flicked up to the high rise condos glowing into the starry night of the sky, coaxing you into the entrance. You almost couldn’t feel your legs from the moment you stepped into the lobby to show your ID to the receptionist, your lower body numb as you stood outside the door to his apartment. 888 was his door number. Figures. 

With a small breath, your fingers tightened along your baby pink Telfar tote, other hand raising up to the door as you knocked. You waited.

When the door opened, you couldn’t even think to prepare yourself. 

He was tall, even taller than on videos. But it was in a more muscular, wider way. He wore a fitted black tee that showed the extent of his broad shoulders, with a pair of sweatpants. It was casual, but he looked like he’d just rolled out of a photoshoot, durag shining in the light as he towered over you. 

“Hey, baby.”

His voice was deeper in person, something you didn’t expect, your fingers tightening around the handles of your bag.

You’d always been confident in yourself. In your body, your shape— Your hips were as full as a woman who’d given birth, ass and thighs almost preposterous in curves. It showed under the BODYBYRAVEN teal set you wear—the yoga pants and jacket hugging your frame, your curls draping over your body in lazy waves, black furry boots covering your feet. You were cute to him, but in a way that had him glaring at the sight of you. 

“Hi,” you gently greet back, “I hope I didn’t knock too loud,” your fingers tug a curl behind your ear.

“I told yo’ ass about allat’ apologizing. Come on.” 

He moves to the side, the aroma of his body oil wafting through your nose—something sweet, musky and spicy. You felt yourself almost wanting to taste him, your stomach fluttering by the time you’d made it inside.

The condo is large, high-end, yet it carries a homey touch to it. A large glass window overlooks the view of the river and city. You weren’t that nervous—until you saw the maple wood of the massage table, the plush material atop for comfort making your heart pound in your chest—and then, the blaring sight of the professional lights tilting directly onto the furniture, camera stands holding the perfect angle of the scenery.

You drop your bag beside the sofa, running your fingers through your hair as you ask, “You were um—setting up?”

“Wanted to get it out the way ‘cause I knew it’d take yo’ ass a while to get here,” he pokes fun, “You’ hungry? A nigga been cravin’ pasta like a muhfucka’.” 

 You can’t help the way your face flushes—his voice was just as sweet as it was heavy. You didn’t expect him to be so—real?

The question was genuine, as if he’d sensed your nervousness. It reminded you that you needed to answer.

“You don’t have to do that,” you shake your head, “I don’t wanna’ impose or—make you feel like you have to make me comfortable.”

“Why you bein’ like this, huh? I stink or sum’?” 

He goes to sniff under his arms, and it makes you giggle a bit at the sight.

You sigh, “No, no. I’m—I’m sorry, okay? You’re being very sweet— I’m being weird, aren’t I?”

You lean against the counter, “I just haven’t done this before, Onyankopon. That’s all.”

“Ony. You can call me that.” 

His jaw shifts, “Come here. You’ nervous for no reason.”

Your lips part a bit, but you don’t move forward. 

“I guess I just didn’t expect you to be so—normal.” 

“Normal,” he repeats, a light chuckle rumbling in his throat. It was deep, chest vibrating within your ear, “I can’t be nothin’ else. You ain’t gotta be different either.”

You nod your head, taking in his words. Your eyes fall behind him as you notice the array of snacks in his open pantry, eyebrow raising as you flick your vision back to him, “Oatmeal Cream Pies? Really?”

“You judgin’ me, huh?” he grins down at you, “What, I gotta’ be all high end ‘cause I do what I do?”

“Nah. I’m judging ‘cause they’re nasty,” you retorted back, finding a seat on one of the stools, “Just a lil’ surprised is all.”

“I could say the same about you, girl— Actin’ all shy in person when you be goin’ crazy on camera.”

Your eyebrows raise, your face flushed once again, “How bout’ you focus on that pasta you supposed to be makin’ me? ‘Cause you just wanna talk!” 

“A nigga must’ve hit a nerve,” he chuckles, but steps away to rummage further into the kitchen. 

"What I do, what you do—same difference." 

 His voice is muffled under the sound of the stove, but he continues, "You gon’ tell me it’s not?”

“It’s not. Self pleasure versus connecting with someone else is two completely different things,” you point out, leaning your head in your palms as you watch him move around the kitchen, back flexing in return.

He looks down at you with a smirk, hand reaching up to grab two plates from the cabinet above with ease. Something about that made you tug at your lip.

“What? You ain’t gon’ argue back with me?” You question.

“Nah,” he shrugs. 

”Don’t gotta’ argue what I know is right.” 

“I think I’d like it better if a man didn’t argue anyways,” you confess, another small giggle falling from your lips.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “You like a nigga that’s gon’ tell you sum’. Ion’ believe that.”

“If that was the case, I might’ve done a collab a long time ago. So wrong. Feed me, now?” 

“See. You ain’t that shy. Lyin’ ass.”

This man couldn’t have been good at everything. You had to keep your reactions to yourself as the pasta melted in your mouth, warm and just the right amount of flavor. The minute you placed your fork on the plate, you sighed, “Now I’m gonna’ be bloated on camera.”

“You got a pretty ass shape, girl. Niggas gon’ kill to see you in any state.” 

 He picks a noodle from his plate, leaning over to you. His eyes are hooded, brown and pretty. He nudged the fork to your lips, “Open.”

That compliment—it throws you off a bit. A part of you almost had to remember this was a part of a job, and nowhere near a date. 

So your voice is soft as you lean back, “I should probably get dressed.”

Your lashes are fluttering in a way that’s returning to nervousness, so he steps back. 

“You’ right. But if you need anythin’, let me know—You got a preferred kind of music you want? Imma’ go start settin’ up.”

“PARTYNEXTDOOR is always good,” you hum, “I’ll be back.”

You should’ve had a glass of wine to cure your nerves. You make your way into your bag, sifting through the contents to find the perfect lingerie set. But then you thought—you had to push yourself in some way. 

So you retouch your makeup, fix your hair, and slip on the deep blue of a satin robe you owned. The material was short, nearly teasing the cheeks of your ass, your body completely bare as your breasts loosely moved beneath the top. Your honey freckles appear lighter under the complexion of your robe, and you exhale, feet paddling along the floor as you make your way back into the living room. 

You slow down as you see him—now shirtless, and as your eyes continue to travel down, you can also see the bulge pushing through his sweats as he adjusts the lights against the table.

“Need any help?”

He looks up at you, brown eyes narrowing the moment he catches your appearance. You were pretty, pretty in a way that felt different from anyone else. 

“I’m good. C’mere, though.” 

His voice—heavy and dark, beckoned you over to him. He was like a dog under your gaze.

You move the moment he asks you to. You come forward, somehow keeping your face away from the camera as you hide your expression with your hair, “Should I change?”

He steps into your space, the scent of you making him move in closer—it’s milky, musky—fingers brush under your chin with ease to capture your attention. Tilting your face upwards, Onyankopon’s eyes lower into yours. It felt invasive, in a way that made your stomach twist. 

“Ain’t no words to compare how fuckin’ pretty you’ look. You’ ready?”

You nod, sitting yourself along the massage table, the tip of your toes just barely reaching the floor as you keep your eyes on him. It’s a scene you’d seen before—the rose petals, the candles, the music almost has your shoulders hike up. The plush of your lips pressed together, your breasts spilling slightly from the soft fabric. 

“Do I look nervous?” you try to whisper, the chuckle he gives in return making you release a light giggle.

He moves to sit against the end of the table, his back still to you as he reaches for one of the cabinets, picking a few oils out before placing them beside the massage bed. 

“You can be nervous. You wanna tell me why?” 

It’s all he questions, his gaze still on the items in front of him. You felt your heart rate pick up a bit when he looked behind him, eyes peering over you.

“…I’ve never had a man—well, anyone, make me—you know,” you admit to him, “I’m nervous about that, I guess.”

“That ain’t a bad thing, Mama. Ain’t gotta’ be embarrassed about nothin’ with me.” 

 You can feel his presence now towering over you from behind, his voice vibrating through the music fading within the background as he finds a clasp of your curls, gently pulling you enough for your eyes to meet his. 

“Imma’ take care of you. You’d like that?”

The question itself, you’re unsure why, but it instantly makes you horny. To make matters worse, he brings his face lower, looming his lips above yours. The moment feels heavy, and it makes your chest rise a bit, your lips patting a soft exhale as you hear him say, “Gotta let me know if I can touch you, baby. C’mon.”

You nod, “You can touch me, Ony…” 

He moves to the front of you, sliding your lower body off of the table as he holds you by the arch of your foot. His thumbs dig into the muscle, and the feeling rushes along your entire body, making a chill graze down your spine. It makes your hips visibly tense. The warmth from the oil makes it no better. 

“Sorry,” you mindlessly part from your lips, an awkward giggle after. 

You see that he muses at the reaction, eyes flickering with that sensuality you couldn’t place. 

“What you’ apologizin’ for?”

His hands move up the leg he holds, palms gripping, large and strong. He’s deliberate in every move he makes. Every touch. 

As his hands travel farther up your left thigh, he places it along his shoulder, the arch of your toes directly besides his ear. A pressure begins to develop at your inner thigh. When he stretches your leg even farther, his bulge presses right against your clit—the warmth has your nails digging into his bicep.

“You flexin’. That feels good for you, huh? Want me to stay here?”

When you go to find your words, Onyankopon presses a sweet kiss to the side of your foot—Then, his tongue is grazing the flesh, lips wrapping along your toes, sucking. 

This was one of your spots. 

You nearly jump out of his hold, your thighs trembling as your eyes flutter shut. You gasp, “O—Ony…” 

“There we fuckin’ go. How’ you holdin’ up, baby?”

He’s soothing you, still sucking your toes. 

It makes you reach up for his shoulder, pulling him closer by the nape of his neck. You’re bad at saying what you want, so you rub your lips against his, breath shuddering in return. They were soft. 

“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles against you, pulling back enough for him to give you a look, “Gotta’ ask for it. I wanna’ hear you.”

Your slender eyes flicker up, lips pouting for him to take yours. 

“Wanna kiss, Ony.”

“Yeah? Where? Here?”

Onyankopon tugs you, gripping you by your jaw so he could give you a taste of his lips, a smacking sound swelling as he quickly pulls his mouth away. 

He repeats it along your throat, your head knocking down as you pant, sticking your tongue out as you whimper, “My mouth.” 

His lips press against your collarbone, then your shoulder—slower this time, almost teasing you along the stretch of your neck before he gives you that taste of his lips again—it’s all you’ve been waiting for. His tongue dips in and out of your mouth, nearly dragging against your lips—he’s sinful in his kisses. 

After minutes of him devouring you, he pulls away, a string of spit bridging you both together as his dark gaze finds your eyes. You’re drooling. 

“Imma’ need that pussy droolin’ on my mouth next. You gon’ let me eat her?” 

His lips are sucking the skin of your stomach into his mouth, trailing lower—you squeak as he tugs you further off the table, your legs in the perfect angle above his shoulders to see everything within the camera. 

He’s bringing it closer, and your face flushes as you whimper, “Ony—I’ve never—“ 

“I know. Just need you to keep talkin’ to me.” 

When he speaks, you can feel his words caress your folds—they glisten under the lights of the camera, his hands gripping the soft of your thighs as his eyes find yours. His face is handsome, yet so different from this angle. Your lips part to speak, but his thumbs rubbing along your inner thighs—your words turn into a soft mewl.

That’s when you feel it—his tongue drags along the entirety of your pussy, his groan muffled, “Knew this shit was gon’ taste good as fuck. You finna’ be a problem.”

Your fingers are knotted in the braids of his hair, legs quivering at the first contact. 

You hate yourself for it, but you turn your head away from the camera as you whimper again, knocking your eyes down as you stutter, “Ohmygo-Ony.”

He groans at the sight of you hiding from the lens, his mouth kissing at your clit, “You cute as hell,” his full lips wrapping against the pink bud, vibrating as it’s being sucked up by his mouth. Slurps fill your ears, and your thighs are back to trembling. 

“You doin’ good, baby. Shit.”

He pulls your legs wider apart, giving the camera an unobstructed view of your body. You whimper even more, mortified, but he doesn't relent. With a swift motion, he raises his palm against your folds, massaging your pelvic, fingers splayed on your pussy—he’s rubbing, teasing.

You’re holding your breath, slender eyes flickering down to watch his palm graze your clit each time his fingers move. His voice is low, “Keep them’ muscles relaxed, baby. That’s how we finna’ get you to cum.”

Then, he’s taking his index and middle finger—it’s rubbing directly on your clit, and instead of tensing up, you moan softly. He’s continuously grinding his fingers around your clit, slowly, your breath steady as you softly whimper, “Okay.”

You can see him directly into the camera—his beard begins to glisten as he lowers his mouth back down—he’s making out with your pussy, tongue wagging as if he’s lapping to drink you. His eyes find yours, grunting at the sight of your face screwed up.

Slurps echo through the room louder as Onyankopon dives deeper between your thighs, his tongue flattening against your clit, lapping in long strokes. His free hand comes to grip your hip as he eats you out, groaning in appreciation of your flavor .When he glances back up at you, his eyes are dark with lust, and he grins, showing you the wetness coating his beard.

"You' taste so fuckin’ good, baby," he growls, “Like you' been savin’ this shit just for me."

Your eyes roll, your back arching up from the table as you squeeze his hair under your fingers. You give a low whine, “O—Ooh.”

It’s as if your every reaction makes him go more, and you can feel the flesh of your thighs becoming drenched in your own arousal. It’s when he sucks your clit up into his mouth, shaking his head side to side into your folds, the schlick of your pussy nearly making music against his mouth. That’s when you really tremble, your thighs vibrating on their own as you whimper, “Ooh-oohshit.”

Onyankopon’s tongue continues to stroke on your clit, the pulse intensifying with each passing second. His grip tightens on your hip, fingers digging in as he uses his other hand to spread your pussy open for him, exposing more of your slick flesh to his eager mouth.

“Gimme’ this shit," he grunts, fucking your clit with his tongue in a rapid, filthy rhythm. Up and down, up and down.

He’s nothing you’ve ever dealt with before. Onyankopon raises his mouth, drooling saliva onto your pussy and letting it drip in between your folds, coating the increasing slick of your pussy. You’re already shuddering, but that just made it worse.

“A nigga need you gushin’ on his fingers.” 

 Onyankopon brings his forehead up to yours— not before sucking your perked nipples into his mouth roughly, then taking his fingers as he grazes them back up your folds, continuously rubbing—he’s rubbing. 

You could’ve blacked out. Your palm clings onto his jaw the moment his fingers nudge in between your folds, sinking in so easily that you barely feel them. But when you do, they’re deep, and your eyes roll as you clutch the nape of his neck—you messily whine,  “Ohfuck—O—Ony…” 

He gives a sharp grunt through his nose as he feels your walls tighten around his fingers,"Come on, baby," he murmurs, slowly pumping them in and out of your soaking folds, “Let it happen. I know you cum so muhfuckin’ pretty.” 

The sound of squelching flesh fills the room as he works you over. Your eyes shut, holding him so tight as if to gain some control in your body. Your eyes roll as you cry a moan—Onyankopon groans, “Shit, you tremblin’." 

He watches your face contort with pleasure, claiming your lips in a dominating kiss, tongue plundering your mouth as he fucks you harder with his fingers. Onyankopon breaks the kiss, looking down at where he's buried to the knuckle inside you. 

“Look how muhfuckin’ wet you are. Pretty lil’ bitch— you finna’ milk my fingers.”

It just happens—your stomach coils the deepest groan, your entire body trembling as the vibration flows to your lips—tears lightly puncture your eyes as you lean yourself farther into his forehead, a whine shakily gasping from your lips as you squeal, “Onnnnyyy-fuckkk.” 

You’re squirting, the arousal drowning his fingers as your lower body convulses onto his palm. 

“Ohmygoddd.”

You tense, Onyankopon’s other hand tugging up at the back of your neck as he holds you up more into the camera. 

You don’t stop—it’s everywhere, the groans releasing from your lips whiney as he’s practically milking your squirt, his voice rumbling with approval, “Thereee’ you go. You soakin' my fuckin' hand. Look at that shit."

His mouth is back on your pussy, nodding up and down into your folds, tongue fucking your opening, coaxing more gush from your between your legs. 

Your fingers grip onto his shoulders as you whimper, “O—Onyyyy…fuck, baby.” 

You're shaking, tears streaming down your face—Onyankopon laps his tongue once more against your clit as you coat his mouth and chin. His thrusts become irregular, shallow, lazily curling inside you—he’s like a demon. But finally, he stops.

Your legs are still over his shoulders, panting, your palms sliding along the swell of your breasts as you just breathe. 

“You aight, baby?”

Your eyes are shut. You move your palm up to your face, covering yourself along the camera as you nod your head.

He doesn’t mean to. But he chuckles, fingers sliding up along your stomach to help you breathe, “Yeah? You wanna take a lil’ break?”

You nod your head again. You’re dazed. 

“Yeah. I—I need a minute,” you mutter. 

He’s already helping you straighten up, sliding your legs off his shoulders as he asks you softly, “Want some water? Tea? I know it’s too late for coffee, but we got another hour of filmin’.”

You want to answer. You really do, but your body is still trembling a bit, your legs buzzing—you lean your forehead into his chest, a flushed giggle releasing from your lips as you whisper, “Tea, please.”

He chuckles in return, hand caressing along your shoulder—it’s the first time you noticed the rosary tattooed on it, complimenting his brown skin.

“Aight. You’ want it sweet? Sugar—“

Before you can answer, you feel something press into your neck—his forehead. He leans against you, almost in a cuddling manner, lowering his height for you to relax. 

“You gon’ be good while I go make it? Not gon’ fall asleep?”

“Camera is still rolling, Ony. I’m fine,” you promise, “I like my tea sweet, yeah. Thank you.” 

He gives you a soft tap on the chin, his eyes lowering along your form before he makes his way into the kitchen. You find yourself fixing your hair, adjusting the robe along your body before you exhale—You were still shaky, but it didn’t make your heart race the way it did before.

Your eyes follow him over to the kitchen, watching the way his muscles flex with every movement he makes. The silence is comforting, but you somehow still feel awkward around him.

Your voice is soft as you ask, “How come you never left New Orleans?” 

He leans over the counter to turn the stove on, the candles in the room making his eyes look darker. 

“I wanna’ protect it. Not only my family—but my people. When it got rough, my brothers moved to Texas for better opportunities, started their careers—I was cool makin’ a name for myself here.” 

When he turns back around, his face is a bit softer, almost innocent. He moves his shoulders a bit. 

“Why’ you ask that?”

You press the fullness of your lips together, “You just—seem like you have it all together. A huge fanbase, and there aren't many of us who reside here. L.A or Houston is more on the nose—I just figured maybe you’d fit in there too.”

“My manager been pushin’ for it, but the people in L.A are superficial as hell—I got fans here, and that’s enough. Ain’t always about the money.” 

He looks back at you. 

“And what about you? You want a bigger fanbase?” 

You think about that question. 

“Well—don’t get me wrong—I love being in front of the camera, but my dream has always been to get my life together and move to Tokyo,” you giggle a bit, “Sounds silly, I know. Plus—I’m close to thirty, and I don’t know how okay my future husband is gonna be with me showing myself online for money.” 

He chuckles when you giggle, coming over to hand you the tea before he takes a seat next to you. When you move to sit beside him, you still feel vulnerable—but at ease.

“It’s doable—All in how you plan. You’ want the family, the white picket fence too—allat’?”

You hold the mug in your palms, letting it warm up your hands for a moment. You then look up at him, nodding  your head.

“I do. The way you’re talking— I guess it’s safe to assume that’s not what you have in mind?” 

“It’s the end goal, but nah. I got a long while ‘til that,” he responds, reaching his hand out to caress your shoulder when he sees you shiver. 

When you’re quiet for a moment, he clears his throat.

“You gotta’ nigga?”

Your eyebrow raises, “That’s a serious question?”

“It can’t be?” 

His gaze is musing on you, eyes flickering to the way you press your body closer to his palm. 

“If you do, this shit could get you into some trouble with yo’ nigga.”

It’s a teasing tone, but it holds a little weight. He wanted a direct answer.

You throw it back to him, “Do you got a bitch?” 

“If I say yes, you gone’ be mad?” 

“I’m not, I’d actually feel bad for her—cause I’d lose my mind if you was doin’ shit the way you do on camera—and I’m sitting at home—yeah, hell no.”

“So you’ the jealous type. Interesting,” He responds, lifting his own mug of tea to his lips. 

“I don’t,” he then confirms, “You still ain’t answering my question, girl.”

“My nigga would either be doing this with me as a couples content channel, or I wouldn’t be doing it at all. So no,” you shrug, “And I’m not jealous. But I’d kill a man if he was eating my pussy the way you did and then doing it to every other bitch across the state for a couple dollars,” you sip your coffee, “Jealous? I guess.”

His lips are smiling against the rim of his mug, giving you a look from the corner of his eye, “Sounds like you tryna’ be a nigga ole’ lady.”

That’s how you were making it sound. Dammit. 

You play it off, “Maybe you want me to be your ole’ lady, and this is reverse psychology, hm? Right. And even if I was sayin’ that, it looks like you gon’ have to clear all them’ messages in your phone first.”

His laugh is loud, like music to your ears. It makes that tingly feeling in your stomach tighten the more you hear it. It’s different from the ones you hear in his other videos. He seems more genuine, more personal with you. 

He reaches a hand out to nudge you with his shoulder, “You gon’ be mean to me like this now? Ion’ like that shi’, girl.”

“You laughin’, but I’m serious.”

“I heard you, Mama. Chill.” 

You take the final sip of your tea, placing it down on the table behind the camera. You question, “You’ ready to massage me now?”

“You ain’t ready,” he shoots back, “Gon’ head and take that robe off—Need you naked as fuck.” 

The command makes your body thrum—you’re surprised, but after he makes you smile, it somehow makes it so easy to listen to him. Maybe hornier than before. 

The moment he takes both mugs into the kitchen to wash off, you press your body into the soft material of the massage table, kneeling yourself on your knees as you slowly drag the silk of your robe off your shoulders. 

You dig your teeth into the plush of your lip as you question, “Like that?” more playful, a giggle sounding through your mouth as you purr directly into the camera. 

You can hear him hum his approval, placing the mugs down in the sink before turning around to watch you get in position— His footsteps grow closer as he heads into the living room, the camera now following his footsteps to stand by your side as he admires your form. 

“You’ a good ass girl.”

Maybe it’s the sugar rush—but your toes point as you sit further on your knees, coming closer to him as you run your tongue over your lips, “I like that. Say that again,” you giggle sultrily.

His fingers move forward to slide against the sides of your neck, his thumbs digging slightly along the bone as he tugs you closer, face stopping just before your own, eyes flickering along your lips. 

“You a good ass girl,” His voice is raspy with his words this time, his lips grazing yours.

That’s all you needed. 

He’s putting you in different positions as he stretches you, your body relaxing in each way your limbs fold. You’re now flat on your stomach, your back arching, a huff passing your lips as he holds your lower body up by his hands, thumbs digging into your back. 

His words were heavy, “How’ you doin’?”

Your lips part the sound of a deep exhale, a soft “Good,” passing your lips as you feel his fingers trail along your spine. His hands were strong, large, long—talented.

“You lyin’?” he mumbles, “Or I’m that good for you?”

Another giggle—but it’s more shy this time.

“You smell so sweet, Mama.” 

You sigh when you feel him lower your pelvic back down to meet the table, taking your ankles as he folds them, allowing the balls of your feet to meet with the back of your thighs. The warmth of the oil on your body makes you tingle, and every touch keeps you shivering at this point. 

His hands were now slow, his touches a mixture of pressure from his fingertips and the strength of his palms—it had your eyes flickering shut, head lowering a bit more as you found your hands gripping the table. 

“Don’t tense up,” he warns, “You got it.” 

It felt heavier than it looked from pictures—his tip felt weighted, the dark pink of it flushing against your puffy folds, slapping against your pussy. 

You suck in a breath.

A long lick along your back—your jaw kisses the material of the table as you tug your bottom lip again. He’s groaning, “Keep yo’ back like that,” another lick. 

Onyankopon’s fingers are still folding the balls of your feet as you lay on your stomach—but it’s a distraction—a new pressure overwhelms your lower body, it has your mouth slightly drop, unexpected of his tip stretching your folds open. Your back fully arches, fingers digging into the table as you frown, a whirlwind of pleasure and pain throwing you into overdrive. One of your hands goes to immediately reach back, a whimper dropping from your lips as you feel Onyankopon gently trap your arm behind your back. 

“You got a pretty ass back, baby. You know that?” 

You know the question is another distraction, Onyankopon reaching for the back of your neck, beginning to leave the gentlest kisses there. You’re still lost within the feeling, your lips releasing a pant as you then tremble a soft whine, “Ohmygod…Ony…” 

Your free hand finds a hold of him as he’s close, holding him by the side of his ear from below. Your eyes roll. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice raspy, “That’s it.”

His head was in the crook of your neck, kissing in an almost slow, lazy way, yet there was a ferocity to them. 

“Good girl,” he hums, hands moving lower along your neck, “Yo’ shit opening up for me. I can feel her.”

“N—Onyankopon…” 

His nose nudges along your ear, his whisper deep, “Let it out.” 

Your pussy gushes out air, making the loudest sound each time he slowly fucks himself back into you. It’s like he wants you to listen. 

“Ohshit,” your voice warns, “Shit,” you tremble. You could feel every. Single. Thing. 

“Hold my hands.”

When you find his hands, your arms are now pulled behind yourself, chest inches above the table. Your eyes flicker towards the camera—it makes your body arch more for him, a pleasured pout pulling at your lips as you murmur to yourself, “U—Uhn…”

“You sound pretty, Mama.” 

Onyankopon’s voice—it makes your brain so jumbled, so messy, that you can’t find the words to respond.

 “You want me to stay like this? This shit deep enough for you?”

“S—stay just like this…” 

Your hips slowly begin to move, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you allow him to use you, dropping you up and down onto his abdomen from behind. The specific angle hits your spot, one that you could only reach while filming yourself. But you felt it now, and you can feel your eyes watering with how good it feels. 

“Ughn,” you whine louder, “Shit.”

His hands are strong, and they’re now holding you by your hair, pulling back—it makes you frown a little more, “Your balls feel so good hittin’ my pussy, baby.” 

It’s hard to talk with him moving behind you, his hips snapping to the bounce of your ass, a soft clap that sounds in the room.

He grunts, “You’ a nasty ass bitch— pussy talkin’ to a nigga. They’ hittin’ yo’ clit, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whine in return. 

“Mmh,” he softly groans, “Look at that pussy. She’ so pretty and creamy.” 

The soft clap of your skin resounds as he slows himself, almost giving you a deeper, more intense wave of strokes. You gasp, reaching for the side of his hip, pulling him in as you whimper, “Right there…”  

“This yo’ world, Mama. You want me to stay right here?” he keeps himself angled, hitting exactly where you leaned him towards.

You give him a breathless squeal, “Yes, baby.”

“You been waitin’ all day to feel me, huh?” he asks, the corner of his lips moving in a teasing grin. He knew. 

Your nod is thoughtless. Your eyes are watery, and you’re almost in a state of confusion on how your body responds in a way it never has. 

Your voice tells him, “Itfeelssoogood,” whiney as ever. 

“C’mere,” he mumbles, turning your face behind, his lips smacking against yours. 

He lets out a small grunt, “This some good muhfuckin’ pussy.” 

With every smack of his lips that meets yours, he’s sucking at the same time, and when your mouth pulls for air, it stays directly against his, trembling against it, “Ohhhmygod, Ony. Ony…” 

You don’t realize—but you’re cumming again through his movements, your brain muddled as your eyes roll, teeth sinking into your lip as you moan, drenching his abdomen with that pretty cream he’d been looking for. 

“Yeah,” his grunt is smug, “That’s it, girl. You got it.”

But it didn’t stop there.

He was gonna be the death of you. You knew that, because you’d been more turned on then you’d ever been before. So much that Onyankopon was now beneath you, back flat along the table as you loomed above him. The camera had the perfect angle—your ass jiggles above him, feet flat against the sides of his thighs as you’re bouncing atop of dick. 

Your eyes roll, skin clapping together—you’re moaning, eyes lowering over your shoulder to stare into camera, “Oh my god.”

He’s watching you with a glare. The camera could only hear his voice as he asked, “You know who’s dick you’ takin’ right now?” 

You were lost. 

“Onyankopon, Ony,” you stutter, the words breaking between your breath, the back of your thighs slapping with his. Your cream is beginning to create strings between the flesh of your thighs, splattering down with your movements. 

He gives a smirk, “Good fuckin’ job, baby.” 

You’re breathless, low whimpers as your curls fall along your face.

“Keep that ass bouncin’. Shit lookin’ pretty on my dick.” 

A smack from his palm, like an added punctuation. 

You listen. 

You press your palms along his chest, your eyes still to the camera to watch yourself from behind—You’re dropping, riding, every exhale breathily pushing out another moan in return.

“You like how you look, huh?” 

You found yourself slowly nodding your head, grinding as you came down. Your voice is a whimpering mess,“You’re so big, Daddy. Fuck.” 

“My shit curvin’ inside you, I know. Keep goin’,” the sound of your skin meeting his is loud, as if it were a melody. A piece of music his other hand keeps composing.

You knew you were gone—Your head dropping, your eyes lowering in a pleasured face. Your thighs tremble as you’re squirting for a second time, but you keep going, your eyes rolling as your thighs collide down to his hips— the squelch, squelch, squelch, deafening in your ears. 

You look directly into the camera, watching as you drown his pelvic area, his dick shining into the lens—your eyes roll heavily as your head falls back, “Oooooohshiiittt.” 

“Fuck, girl.”

He groans as his breath starts to hiss, “Just like that. Yo’ pussy so—“

You hear him moan, so softly it’s nearly inaudible, as if he wasn’t used to doing that on video. You watch as his eyes narrow at you from below, smacking your ass assertively. To gain his control back.

And he does—Onyankopon now stands inches away from the table, your legs held up by his arms as he’s carrying you, lifting you up, dropping you back down onto his dick.  Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pouting as your eyes roll at his deep strokes he forces onto you. 

You’re practically being tugged down onto his dick, he’s strong. The strength of him makes your brain fuzzier, your mind nearly gone. You’re groaning, a slurping sound creating as his tongue curls with yours in a hungry kiss. 

”You got another one in you?” 

You mewl in response— shaking your head, your brain nearly short circuits at this point.

“You can.”

He lays you back against the table, his body hovering atop of yours now—he’s rotating his hips, mouth sucking the skin of your neck that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

“Mmh,” he softly grunts, his eyes flickering up to the camera as his expression is a smirk. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, the word soft, yet commanding with every roll he gives, “That’s my baby.”

Your voice squeaks, “Ony.”  

“You’ so shy,“ he huffs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your mouth, your legs tightening around his hips, “Yo’ pussy keep on talkin’ to me. She tellin’ me sum’.” 

Your lips part open as you reach down for the side of his thigh, gripping the flesh as you rock him in the angle you feel the most pleasure.

 You tremble, “Don’t stop…” 

His hand was on the table, steadying himself against it before his head leans against yours, “Yeah?” he repeats, his voice a deep groan, “You need my shit in yo’ stomach?” 

“Please,” you whimper, your nails dragging into the skin of his lower back, tugging his body towards your own. 

He goes deeper, and the change had you grunting. Your mouth is parted, your ankles meeting at the sides of his head, the sight of this position in the camera's eye makes it all the more erotic—you shout a moan. 

He let it out—a deep sound of another snarl, pushing in you even deeper, hands digging into the back of your hair as he held you steady. His lips met yours in a kiss that was hot, heavy—You could feel the way he sucked at your tongue, the wet sound of your lips echoing in the room. 

You sob, “I’m gonna cum, Ony. Don’t move. I need you.” 

“This the best shit I ever had,” he admits, grunting out every word, “Imma’ kill a nigga ‘bout this shit. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.” 

Your eyes widen a bit, but you’re so distracted from the waves of pleasure that rushes across your entire body, you can’t respond properly. Onyankopon groans in your ear, and you clasp him closer, your entire body shaking as you both moan against each other's lips.

You whimper, “You don’t mean that.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. Onyankopon’s fingers find the back of your neck, tugging you closer for him to leave a kiss along your shoulder, “I swear on my momma, you ain’t. You mine now,” he mumbles.

You’re gasping in his ear. 

“You was a problem from the moment I seen you—but now?” 

He’s fucking you with every word. 

“Imma’ need this shit all the muhfuckin’ time. Imma’ need you.” 

That made you weaken.

“I’m’ cumming.”

You hold him.  

“Ony, you got me.”

“I know.” 

It’s like that music from earlier— a symphony, the camera nearly shaking at how hard he’s fucking you, how deep he’s fucking you. You sob—you’re squirting for a final time, your body shaking so much that you had to find his arm to ground you. The warmth of his cum mixtures within your folds, the sight pretty, Onyankopon pulling his dick out as he smacks it along the creamy mess you’ve both made.

And as you look at each other, lips inches apart, a thrum of emotions sitting between two strangers, it happens—you both laugh. 

And that’s when he asks—

“So, how Tokyo soundin’?”

[nysrage]

push da button (pt. 1), elias “stack” moore

it’s your first time back on mississippi soil in three years, but soon as you stepped off the train you knew you’d be singing for trouble..

authors note: I’ve linked the song below & rec listening to the begging of the song then skip to 2:45 for the breakdown of the song! i hope you enjoy, mwah!

you smiled as you stepped down from the whistling train. the all too familiar smell of home flooding your nostrils as you retrieved your suitcase while the station was one of the best places to get a ear full of the blues, the painful hums and strong beats made from our oppressed souls. it’d been about three years since you’d touched mississippi soil, seeking a singing career in a white mans land that didn’t care to listen to understand the bittersweet beauty of the blues.

it was amazing to be home.

as your walking you hear the melodies of a all too familiar instrument. a harmonica. the harmonica’s sound is raw and emotional, like a man crying out his heart and you’d follow it to its very corner it crawled out of but you found it sitting on the cement giving life into the mouth of your drunk old man. there’s was no man who could play like that other than the delta slim, his sound was gritty and full of ache as if he’d been calling out to you. the only other way he’d pour out his emotions other than in the bottom of a whiskey bottle. the melodies creating a mournful sound that pierces straight through your soul.

you answer with the hum of a painful moan, one that was all too painful to slim’s ears. his eyes slowly opening to revealing your towering figure, the two of you continuing to speak in a language of sorrow and survival, a conversation between breath and ache, like an old wound remembered in song. a crowd surrounds the two of you, admiring the smooth yet soulful melodies the two of you shared.

the sound was heavy and full of distance. the harmonica carrying the weight of a father’s longing, each not a memory and a prayer. speaking in fragments like a letter that’d never been sent, your hums answers like the cries of a tired child. like the two of you could reach across time and feel each other in time. Your hum to the dreadful tune, sharing a blue filled melody with the man beside you. the sound of slim’s harmonica drowns out, that heavy tune of you two’s shared melody coming to an end.

the two of you sharing a long overdue hug, it’s quiet with the melodies still ringing between you not just in your ears but in your hearts “oh how i’ve missed my uncle slim..” you giggled, patting softly at his back. “hope you’ve been taking care of yourself more than them bottles of yours..” you lecture, he snickers rubbing guiltily at his neck. “we’ll now, babygirl you know there ain’t no comfort for me like the one of a whiskey bottle..” the crowd disperses except for two people, a man and a boy.

a few coins tossed into the case along the cemented ground. “I thank ya for your generosity—” the drunken man nodding out a pointed finger. words catching in his throat when he recognized the man in front of him. standing tall in a ?? styled suit, grinning with a tooth pick between his glistening grills. “we’ll i guess that chicago wind blew your black ass back in town huh..”

he chuckles to himself, straightening his suit. “that there was a real pretty tune, y’all familiar?”

slim mouth opens to speak but before the words could leave his mouth you speak up, “very..” taking your purse in your hand gloved fingers clutching at its straps. “my uncle slim here taught me everything i could know about the blues..”

“well ain’t that something.” he chuckled, looking at slim with a newfound respect. “slim you’ve held on me..” looking over your curvy body, twisting that pick around in his mouth. “you’ve never introduced me to this soulful thang..”

“i’ll continue to hold her as close as i do my yak!” slim rebuttals, throwing back yet another shot from his flask. confusing along your face, eyes darting between the two men. “excuse me,” you interrupt.

“are we supposed to be acquainted..?”

"shit not of slim can help it..” he snickers, “it’s stack, and this here is my little cousin sammie." Stack gestures to the boy beside him. "Me and my brother smoke opening the finest juke here in mississippi tonight. We been admirin' Slim's playin' for a while now, but we ain't never met you before."

“juke huh?” eyes narrowing with quiet curiosity.

“the smokestack..” he grinned, “no other juke like it, let’s say we pay you twenty dollars.”

“no, no—” slim interrupted, drunkenly waving his finger around in the air. protectively pushing you away from stack. “you ain’t paying no twenty dollars..”

“you blow into town raving ‘bout a juke no nigga cross mississippi heard of”

“money not guaranteed..”

“we got money, and the most authentic irish beer you could ever drink.” he smirk, a quick nod at his cousin and the holy drink was revealed. slim’s eyes focused on the glass bottle. the man’s strong hands holding the bottle out to slim. “you know y’drunk ass wanna try it..”

slim slowly reaches out for the bottle, popping it with a crisp pop. looking over the brown stained glass in his hand.

“what’s the name of this here juke?” you question, arms folded against your body.

“the smokestack.” he cheesed, oozing an charm no other southern man could find within themselves. there’s a soft slurp behind you, slims eyes blown wide as he slowly opens his eyes. “my… goodness..”

“got five hundred mo’ bottles just like that.” stack point out, making a grand proposal that not even you could refuse. “say we give you fourty dollars tonight and all the beer you can drink.”

“no strings.. i’ll even let you finish that bottle in yo hand”

it wasn’t long before slim was playing his little drunken heart out on his harmonica, synchronizing with the youngin’ sammie on the guitar as stack recruited more customers at the station.

“Me and my brother is opening the finest juke here in mississippi! now i know y’all down to have good ole time!” the crowd gathering around with smiles and cheers.

“y’all ready to drink?!” stack questioned, a slight smirk playing on his lips like he’s a step ahead of everyone else. late afternoon sun catching at the gold sitting along his tooth as he invites them into his vision. “y’all ready to swear till y’all drank?”

smoke soaked in the crowd with a grin, his eyes latching onto your once they find you off center within the crowd. not the loudest in the bunch but impossible to ignore.

“yeah!” crowd buzzing with excitement.

“alright,”chuckling as strong hands clutch at his suit collar as he looks over the crowd, “we gone get funky like a mississippi donkey y’all!”

stack soaked in the crowd with a grin, his eyes latching onto your once they find you off center within the crowd. not the loudest in the bunch but impossible to ignore.

he whistles out once more, still standing tall a love the crowd but this time his voice dips into something smoother, more personal, even as he addresses everyone.

“listen ‘fore I let y’all go—yeah the smokestack got the best food and cool drinks but maybe—” his gaze lingers on you, just long enough to make you feel it, “if I’m lucky, a voice worth hearing twice.”

people in the crowd hoot knowingly, catching the shift in his tone. He chuckles, eyes finally breaking from hers, but not without that flicker of intent. The kind that says the night’s just getting started.

“a gorgeous face and beautiful voice shouldn’t be wasted on chump change at the station..”

The crowd is still buzzing—some dispersing in pairs, others lingering in the glow of his words—but he moves with purpose now, weaving through bodies with the kind of ease that turns heads even when he isn’t trying. He stops just a step in front of her, hands casually tucked in his pockets, head tilted like he’s already halfway into a conversation they haven’t started yet.

“so..” he grins, removing that stapled tooth pick from his mouth, eyes studying you as if your the only one that matters now. “you gone waste that pretty voice on chump change at this station? or you gone give the smokestack a shot?”

the noise of the crowd fading behind you two, your eyes finally meeting his sweetly. “a polite applause may be appropriate..”

“seems like that smokestack might just be the place to be..”

“I’ve got a feeling tonight’s gonna be something special,” he adds, that boyish grin returning. “Would be a damn shame if I didn’t get to hear that beautiful voice again… maybe on stage, maybe just in my ear. Either way, I’d count myself lucky.”

stepping forward he closes a bit of space between you, his tall figure towering over yours, dipping down to whisper in your ear. “consider yourself spoken for by me tonight..”

you chuckle to yourself, looking around before letting your eyes fall on his again. “to speak for me..” fingers giving him a loving tap along his jaw. “luck is definitely what y’need..”

gracefully turning away with a sway of your hips, aware—of him, of the moment, of the way his eyes follow the subtle sway of your hips like a rhythm he’s already trying to memorize. heat simmering between you two as you share one last gaze with a sweet smile. stack tilting his hat with a challenging grin. that sizzling tension wafted away by the smell of a familiar drunk, slim pulling your eyes away.

“aye!” slim huffs out, gently taking hold of your arm, as he leads the two of you away to the car waiting for you. his arms crossed with knowing eyes, letting you know he’d seen just enough of that exchange.

“you know i’m never one to pry my ???, but you singing for trouble.”

“Maybe trouble’s got better taste in blues than most,” you reply lightly, the two of you walking in sync towards the dirt road.

he sighs, shaking his head. “That man’s got a reputation smooth enough to sell oil to water. Don’t mean he’s bad… just means he knows how to get what he wants.”

you stop, just for a second, and turns to face your uncle. no defiance in your eyes—only clarity,

“I’m not some wide-eyed girl, unc,” you says gently. “I know what I’m singin’ for.” placing your hand in slims as he helps you settle into the seat of the car.

he studies you, caught between worry and pride, then finally gives a nod—more of a surrender than approval.

“Just make sure you’re leadin’ the song,” he murmurs.

“Not followin’ someone else’s beat.”

——

the smokestack is alive, warm lights swinging from the ceiling casting a golden haze over the wooden room. down below, the floor swells with melaninated bodies—dancing, drinking, laughing like the night owes them something and they’ve come to collect. the scent of whiskey, sweat, and slow cooked meat is thick in the air.

laughter bubbles at every corner, couples pressed close, while others clap and stomp along to the rhythm. everyone so lost in the joy of what friday evening and music could bring.

up above, stack leaned against the balcony rail, one hand cradling a glass and the other casually gripping the wood. sharp eyes taking it all in— the tables packed, the band grooving in the pocket, the bar running hot. this is his kingdom, and tonight, it’s full.

his grin spreads across his lips slow.

“I told you, innit?” grinning from ear to ear, “give it a few week and this place would start breathing on its own.” smoke, leans next to him with a soft nod, sipping quietly from his cup.

“you said that the first time it flooded,” smoke says. “and the time the Klan left us that note out front.”

stack chuckles—dry and smooth. “ain’t no curse strong enough to drown rhythm. you just gotta build it sturdy.”

smoke hums, not disagreeing.

but just as Stack starts to lift his drink again, his gaze shifts—and locks.

he spots you.

down on the floor, slipping through the crowd like the room’s already making space for you, smooth skin glistening beneath the amber lights. kitten heels peaking from that simply deliberate champagne dress, fitted around the waist just enough to show off those chubby curves. shimmering against your brown skin beautifully.

stack’s body straightens—not stiff, just… focused. his grin fades into something quieter. something deeper.

smoke follows his brother’s line of sight, clocking her instantly.

“hm,” he mutters, not loud enough for anyone else to hear. “There it is.”

stack doesn’t answer. doesn’t move. he just watches as she cuts through the bodies like a song making its way to the stage.

smoke glances at him, amused.

“you sure you built this place for music?” he asks.

stack’s voice comes out low. “she is music.”

the crowd below sways. The lights dim slightly, room settling down —like it knows something special’s about to happen.

and stack can’t take his eyes off her.

——

you and pearline sit tucked away by the bar, resting beneath a soft amber glow. drinks sweating on the table beside them, laughter slipping in and out your quiet conversation as pearline fans herself with a folded napkin.

peeking over her shoulder across the room, nodding towards the boy settled along a beam. sleek guitar at his side biting back a smile.

“If that preacher boy keep lookin’ at me like he tryin’ to read my diary, I might just let him walk me home tonight..”

you giggle, lips pressin’ to the wet glass. “mmhm, won’t be no legs onna ground. you done put on that perfume you only touch when you plannin’ to misbehave.”

pearline lets out a laugh, all teeth and heat, slappin’ the table softly. “don’t be puttin’ my business in the wind! that’s between me and the Lord”

“and he know I been good as can be for a man so weak..”

you snort, “weak ain’t the word hunny, that husband of yours is sorry!” the two of huffing out a shared laugh. pearline and sammie sharing ??? stares, your soft brown eyes flickering towards the balcony where the twins lie staring over the crowd.

swirling around the melting cubes in your cup as your mind drifted, a yearning need crossing your face— soft and far away but pearline didn’t miss it.

leaning slightly, “sumn’ onna brain? don’t tell me you got somebody in here got you feelin’ funny?”

“maybe” you shrugged, feigning disinterest. doe eyes, flickering from the crowd to that distant balcony. “ain’t said nothin’ to me. but… I feel ‘im..”

“like a weight in the room..”

pearline hums, eyes narrowing, tryin’ to follow the thread “that weight got a name?”

you sipped from your glass, lips curlin’ into a sly smile. “not yet. might not need one.”

pearline lets out a sharp little laugh, then leans back with a grin that says she knows exactly what’s goin’ on.“whoever he is, I hope he ready. ‘cause if you sing like you got somebody on your mind tonight…?”

“whew.. he gon’ be ruined.”

you clink glasses, the room’s grown louder, like the walls themselves know it’s gettin’ close to showtime. groove is pickin’ up, feet tappin’, heads bobbin’.

pearline catches sammie lookin’ again—only this time, he don’t glance away. “god… that boy lookin’ at me like I’m the answer to a prayer he forgot he said.”

you snort softly, but her eyes are still searching… balcony no longer holding up those familiar bodies.

sammie finally walks over, cool and slow, like the beat itself is under his feet.

“you dancin’ with me tonight or we gon’ keep glancin’ till the sun come up?”

pearline raises an eyebrow, standing with a smirk. “don’t get to trippin’ over your shoes now, these here no gospel songs. turning to you, placing a gentle hand on your arm, mouthing a girly grin.

pearline and sammie slip into the crowd, swallowed by music and movement. the seat beside you goes empty.

letting out a quick huff, before throwing back the rest of that drink. mustering up liquid courage for the performance you’d set on the stage.

that’s when you heard it.

“a irish beer for the pretty lady.” a muscular silhouette appearing from the side, turning your head slightly giving him half your profile.

half a smile.

annie dips below to reveal a dripping bottle, stack sliding the cool glass towards you. his voice is low and warm, “you got the whole room leanin’ forward, and you ain’t even touched the mic yet.”

you glance at him, slow and measured. “maybe I like the waitin’ part. buildin’ a little tension.”

he chuckles, watching your lips more than those eyes. “tension’s a dangerous thing to play with in a room this hot.”

you face him more directly now. chin tilted, voice softer “maybe I ain’t scared of a little danger.”

stack chuckles, whirling around that trusty toothpick in his mouth. “funny thing about music.”

your eyes flick to him. curious. cautious.

“You can write a song about anything… heartbreak, drinkin’, Sunday rain. But the ones folks remember?”

he leans in slightly, face breathes away from yours. “them the ones that make you feel like somebody touchin’ you without layin’ a finger.”

you hum low, knowingly. “you sayin’ you know somethin’ ‘bout that?”

He smirks, slow.“ i know when it’s happenin’. and I think…”

“it’s just startin’ now..”

you finally turns toward him, not a hesitant flicker in your eyes. “you ever hear a song you ain’t ready fo’ hm?”

stack grins, that golden grill on full display. “from mississippi to chicago. ain’t stopped me from playin’ it..”

you tip your head, voice lowering just enough to make the hairs on his arm rise. “some songs only get good when the right hands push play.”

Stack leans forward, like he’s been drawn in against his will. “and what kinda song you fixin’ to sing tonight?”

She leans in too— just enough that he can smell your perfume, feel your warm breath brushing against his ear, “one that leaves one man wonderin’ if he bold enough to press the button.”

your eyes lock, stack’s plump lips dipping his pretty white as he looks over your pretty face.

Everything unsaid vibrating between you.

The house lights dip a little lower. The band eases into a teasing riff—just enough to make folks lift their heads from their drinks. A man in a slick red vest steps to the mic. The announcer. Loud, loose, and lovin’ the attention. He holds up a hand to quiet the room, pulling you and stack from out your lusting trance.

“now, now, now—y’all been drinkin’, dancin’, runnin’ your mouths all night long. but what I’m ‘bout to give you? this right here?” the announcer grins, “this ain’t your everyday juke singer.”

“nah. this the kinda woman men write verses ‘bout.”

the crowd rumbles—half curious, half skeptical. a few men laugh, already halfway through their whiskey.

“some of y’all didn’t believe me when I said we had a real blues siren in the house. said, ‘ain’t no woman like that slidin’ through this dusty little town.” leaning a little closer towards the crowd. “well… y’all ‘bout to find out just how wrong a man can be.”

a few hoots go up. some yelling out their drunken demands, “she better be worth the wait!”

you giggle to yourself, standing from your seat. sending stack a wink before swaying towards the stage, walking like the floor owes you something. wooden floors creaking beneath your kitten heels as you step onto the stage.

eyes track you without blinkin’. cigarettes stop halfway to lips. even the band seems to play quieter, waitin’ for her breath to sync with the beat.

the announcer steps back, gesturing grand with a grin like he just pulled off the biggest trick in town. “ladies and gents… y’all welcome to the stage our shugga’ for the night.”

the room dips into a hush, thick with anticipation. the band waits, fingers hovering. you don’t speak nor smile, just holding up your arm silently, snapping those soft manicured fingers before following with a few strong stomps. repeating the rythm until the band plays along.

, your lips part, voice slices clean through the air.

‘now there’s something ‘bout good lovin’ that all you ladies should know’

crowd slowly leanin in.

stack, circles around the stage, settling against a beams perfectly built into the middle of the juke. giving him a easy view of the stage.

‘if ya’ wanna lightcha man on fire, you gotta start it real slow…”

running your fingers down her body all slow and intentional, a smirk pulling at your lips as you sing. hips begging to sway to the additive beat.

‘keep on turning up the voltage till that man begin to glow like your switchin’ on a lightbulb

watch the juice begin to flow..’

velvety voice, dragging low over the words like she’s tasting every line. walking the stage like a slow-dancing flame. biting down on your lips as you drop down into a seductive dance.

the band kicking in harder, rhythm swelling as the crowd breaks out into cheers.

‘now that i’ve got your attention! here’s what you men need to hear!

you want your lady racin’ with you

you got to get her in gear’

walking the stage like a slow-dancing flame, swirling and twirling around the piano, hips keeping time. folks jump to their feet. tables shake as bodies find rhythm. women laugh, men holler, the whole juke joint comes alive like someone pulled the lever on desire itself.

‘find the spot she loves the best, if you don’t know where it is.

give’er the stick, ha! she’ll do the resttt

push the button. push the button!

you gotta push it if you wanna come on in!’

down below, the crowd claps in rhythm, shouting back lines, stomping their feet. A woman from the corner yells out, “sang it, baby!” and gets a high-five from her neighbor.

she owns it—dancing now, not just performing. you spin, dropping low, the hem of her dress catching light. sweat beads on her collarbone, your smile wide and reckless.

stack, still watching from the middle of the room, all the charm’s drained from his grin—it’s something heavier now. he’s not just listening; he’s feeling you. every note. every dare. his body growing hot, removing his blazer and revealing his tailored red vest that lay beneath that tweeded italian suit. you lookup again, eyes meeting the lighter to your flame.

jaw tight, biting down on this pump brown lips. hands clutching tight as his vest as if he’s holding himself in place. and he knows.

The button’s already been pushed.

you throw your arms up, throwing your whiney voice into it. eyes locked on his as your dip and grind your body along the stage. the rhythmic break down beginning, nothing but the stomps and drums echoing as the trumpets weave themselves in. harmonizing a breathy moans as you sing.

‘now ladies i need you to work a little harder, okay?

i want you to reach down and find your inner shug’ baby

there it go, there it go!’

the rhythmic moans from the woman harmonizing as they lose themselves in the song, men and women grinding around every corner. intertwined with their lovers and flames.

‘push the button! push that button!

give me something!

to let your baby know it ain’t no sin..”

you hold that last note, hips still, breath low. the band landing its final beat like a lover dropping to his knees. for a beat—

silence.

and then, like thunder rolling from the floorboards—the room erupts.

whistles, stomps, screams. Hands pounding on tables. women fanning themselves, men on their feet—sweat on their brows and heat in their bones. you smile softly, eyes sweeping the room one last time… before settling on him.

dropping into a classy curtsey taking it all in.

[nysrage]

happy juneteenth beautiful black people!

[nysrage]

this new fic is not lengthy with the buildup but i’m enjoying writing up to the climatic experience so muchhhh

[nysrage]

connie, connie, connie… i’ll be giving y’all a good missed you fic for our papí.

[nysrage]

Nobody can serve like his crazy ass

[nysrage]

GOOD MOANING, Ekko.

synopsis: get ready to rise and whine! or however that saying goes, ekko never really thought about it much..

the bedroom was wrapped in a quiet, moonlit glow, the soft lights of the city filter through the loft's wide window. beyond the glass lay the skyline, stretched out in a breathtaking display— buildings stood tall against the night sky, windows flickering like distant stars. the moon was low, casting a shimmering glow over everything, from the rooftops below to the ruffled sheets on the bed.

but tonight, the city felt different.

rain pattered against the window, a steady rhythm that filled the space with something soothing, intimate, hypnotic. behind the glass, the room inside carried warmth. there was a faint scent of mahogany teakwood and something distinctly him in the air, mingling with the cool breeze that whispered beneath the cracked window. the bed, a sanctuary of soft blankets and plush pillows, just big enough for the two of you to tangle into one another. heavy curtains framed the window, allowing just enough of the outside world to spill in without disturbing the cocoon of comfort that the two of you built inside.

the rhythmic tap of rain against the glass melted into the slow, steady rise and fall of your breaths. against a dim glow, your bodies we’re shadowed in a soft light, warmth pressed to warmth beneath the covers. your body curled instinctively into ekko, cheek against his warm chest, lulled by the soft drum of his heartbeat.

outside, the rain continued—soft, endless, a perfect melody for the night.

but soon, the stillness would be broken. because beneath the cocoon of blankets, beneath the hush of the rain, a dream was beginning to take hold—one that would make the night anything but quiet.

something had changed.

the sheets ruffled as you shifted in your sleep, dream obviously pulling you deeper. your breathes came in slow, unsteady waves. your body instinctively pressed back into his. that sweet voice of yours letting out breathy mumbles— ghosting out of those soft lips of yours. a sigh passed your lips, barely audible— but he heard it.

it wasn’t unusual for you to move around at night. You always seeked out his warmth in your sleep, wanting to be inside his skin if you could. ekko didn’t move, voice heavy with sleep, “c’mere baby, i got you..” his strong hand drifted beneath the covers, taking hold of your hip and pulling you in closer. pulling a soft and breathless moan out of you.

his eyes blinked open, heavy with sleep. bushy brows furrowed, still caught in the haze of sleep. your fingers curled into the sheets, body arching ever so slightly as you chased his touch. body pressing back into him, drawn to his warmth even in your sleep. his fingers still rested along your hip, tensing when a breathy moan of his name broke past your lips. translating beautifully in that disgusting dream that lay behind your eyes.

a slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he exhaled through his nose, suddenly wide awake. his body grew hot, becoming much more intentional with his touches. he leaned in, letting his fingers explore your body. all soft, curvy, and blue beneath the moonlight, squeezing at those chubby thighs. a shaky whine slipped past your lips, “Ko— pleasee”

ekko buried himself into your neck, drowning himself in that flirty perfume you wore. Pressing himself against you with his already half-hard dick, strained against his sweats that rested against your ass.He groaned to himself, “I know pretty girl, I know..” wrapping himself around you swiftly, one hand working its way up to your pert nipples while the other dipped beneath your night slip and cupped your warm pussy.

Your back curved into a delicious arch against him, you were always so sensitive in the morning, even when he barely touched you. ekko slipped his fingers past your folds, collecting the slick that pooled out of you along his fingertips and spreading it along your clit, swirling his thumb along the sensitive bud with a low groan.

Your lashes fluttered open, body twitching and hot. golden city light, and rain-slicked glass coming into focus but quickly blurred at the strong sensation of buzzing in her clit. “k-ko?” you whined out, turning to be met with his darkened, lust filled eyes.

“what’s goin’ on in that pretty little mind that’s got you so wet hm?” he whispered, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. Fingers never stopping their slow torment as your legs unconsciously spread to give his hand more room, ekko gave you two quick slaps to your clit, “answer me.” biting down on your lip from the shocks of pleasure.

“you ‘ko, fuck it’s youu” you whined you.

with a groan ekko slipped his middle and ring finger into your pussy. Squelching as he curled effortlessly into that spongy spot that had you clamping down on them. Nails digging at his arm as you rolled your hips against his palm. Stroking your gummy walls, until faint squelching of your pussy could be heard above the rain against the window.

hips bucking up against his hand as he brought you closer and closer to that burning feel of ecstasy. slicked walls molding around his fingers as they deepen with every thrust. “pussy always so wet for me.“

“let daddy have it..”

curling his fingers again, hitting that spot inside you that made your eyes widen and your mouth open in a silent cry. cocking your leg back further for him to get deeper. “mhm open her up, just like that pretty girl”

legs shaking uncontrollably as you fished out a creamy mess along his hand. moans bouncing off the walls as he towered over your twitching body, admiring pretty you looked in your orgasmic bliss as his heavy dick sat atop of your gushy folds.

Ekko slapped his head along your clit teasingly, smirking as your body twitched beneath his. covering his throbbing tip with your slick just before sinking himself into your pulsing pussy. the two of you moaning at the pressure, as he bottomed out inside you.

“Good moaning to you too..”

[nysrage]

finally crawling from out my hole and wonder in why no one writes about ekko from arcane????

[nysrage]

In her ear… tellin her who it belongs to..

[nysrage]

hey boo’s hey! how y’all feeling about a fic w/ armando from bad boys 3?!

[nysrage]

MOVIE NIGHT, Connie Springer.

synopsis: you and connie always had an unique friendship, all touch feely with one another, but tensions rise after you two took a detour down lustrous lane.

You and your friends were always known for spontaneously coming up with a move. Basking in the time of some unplanned fun until all of you had to face the real world once you were all out of college. The group of you piled up in the dorms common area, with the projector running after feasting on wings, pizza, and alcohol. Ending the night with a horror movie that was sure to have you all watching your surroundings for the next few days.

“girl come on! the movies starting!” sasha called out to you, dimming the lights in the room while you quickly grabbed a few snacks that’ll last you throughout the film.

Entering the common space just for your spot to be taken by onyankapon. Sprawled out across the floor as if he wasn’t just pushing 6’5. “Now ony you knew that was my spot!” You whined.

Ony brushing you off with a laugh as he typed away in his phone. “shittt you decked the fuck out this cot, and workouts been beating my ass sis.”

You sucked your teeth, trying to find any spot you could until there was a light tug on your arm, turning to face your bestfriend connie. golden eyes low from the edible he indulged himself in earlier, voice all low and deep “c’mere, you know i got you..”

pulling you down to sit in just in front of him between his legs, tucked in the corner of the room. His arms circled around your middle as you shifted around till you were comfortable, resting his chin on your should just as the intro of the movie began. Affection such as this was natural between the two of you, so natural that no one would ever bat an eyelash at the two of you unless they didn’t know your dynamic.

Only it hadn’t been so natural lately, the two of you putting a slight distance in your relationship this past week. It’d all been so tense since that one night the two of you heatedly made out session in the closet at a party. Never speaking on it again. Everyone but the two of you swore there was more to your relationship than you spilled, and they were so wrong until that kiss where the both of you drunkenly revealed the love you had for one another. Causing a slight rift between you, but it was so very short lived after tonight.

Horror was the very thing you steered clear of but who were you to rain on everyones parade. Plus being in the same space as your bestfriend gave you some comfort. He always kept you safe, even if things between the two of you were a bit complicated at the moment.

Within the first fourty minutes of the movie you were practically in his lap. Shifting around quite a bit, glancing behind you at connie whose eyes were focused on the screen. You were a bit uneasy from the jump scares. Yet the thing that had you so bothered had nothing to do with the movie. Being so close to connie felt so different now, and it always left you flustered whenever you were in his presence. Plus the feeling of connie pressed so close to your ass, didn’t help to ease every disgusting thought that through your mind right now. From the way his arms and big hands wrapped around your waist. To the feeling of his body pressed so close against yours, it made you all dizzy.

Little did you know, it was the same effect for connie. You, pressing yourself further into every time you got scared. That soft ass sitting atop his pelvis all heavy and round. Your chubby waist resting in his arms as he caressed your soft, smooth, brown skin of your belly. The two of you just so hot and bothered. Pining for eachother in a suffering silence, until the two of began to break. Not able to take it anymore. Maybe it was the liquor? Shit or the weed? Hell, maybe even the good feeling the two of you gave each other last week but that sexual tension wasn’t something the two of you could fight anymore.

Connie let his hands wander mindlessly over your chubby little body, tracing over the skin of your hips and thighs. Massaging the soft flesh and dipping lower to the creases of your inner thighs. The skin all warm and smooth to the touch, as he gently explores your body. Not missing one reaction you had to his touches, big or small. Burying himself into your neck to drown himself in the seductive ass perfume you always wore, and succumbing to the urge to have that soft skin against his lips again. Placing a soft kiss to your exposed shoulder as he continued to massage the squishy cellulite in your thighs. Your body melts into his as you get all worked up, huffing out a small breathe of air. Body growing hotter by the second from these little minuscule touches.

“I missed you..” you whimper out softly, legs subconsciously spreading to give his hands more freedom to roam. Connie responding with a content hum as he placed a wet kiss against the warm skin of your neck. dipping his hands lower to ghost over the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Dick growing stiff against that soft ass pressed so hard against him. “f-fuck, i missed you too.”

“So much hermosa..”

“Yeah..?” the soft whine from your lips barely audible over the loud cries and thrilled beat of the soundtrack. Connie’s strong hand runs up your waist until meeting that perked nipple hidden by the ribbed fabric of your tank top. Giving your breast a firm squeeze as he indulged himself a deep inhale of your scent.

“Mhm, ” he breathed out, hands coming dangerously close to the mound of your pussy, “Gon’ let me show you how much..?” You breathe hitched, looking up at him through your lashes and meeting his lustrous eyes. All low and red, but those golden irises still glimmered with something you couldn’t quite put a finger on. You nod softly, tucking your bottom lip behind those pretty teeth of yours. “Please..”

Connie discreetly looked around the room, all your friends focused on the movie as the masked killer began slowly picking people off, singaling it was almost to its climax. He eased his hand lower, cupping your pussy just as he turned your face towards his to captured your lips in a slow sensual kiss. Swallowing the low moan breaking past your soft lips. Ghosting his hand over the thin fabric of your thong, already dampened with slick. Running his fingers along your clothed folds until reaching your peeking clit, pressing down on it to release some of that building pressure.

You call out to him in a low whine, “connie stop teasingg.” trying your hardest to be discreet, but that needy feeling of having him touchy how you always wanted was too strong, and you were too drunk off lust to realize the consequences.

“Eyes on the movie princesa, you don’t wanna get caught huh?” Whispering against the shell of your ear. You nod, focusing your eyes back on the film. Connie finally pulled those panties to the side to expose that sensitive skin. Fingers gliding through your folds with a low groan, spreading the pooling slick gathered around your entrance.

“What’s got this pussy all wet?” He hummed, giving your clit a soft slap. “Hm mamí? Thought you didn’t like scary movies..”

Fingers teasing slow circles around your clenching hole, so eager to be filled with his thick fingers. Coating his fingers in that clear sticky slick, just before slipping a fingertip into you barely easing that empty feeling and pulling it back out. Slowly stretching you out until he could fully sink two of them into your tight warm walls. Those thick digits slowly piston in and out of you, curling every so often as your walls gripped them in deeper. Moans growing louder as he scissored you open, “shh, gotta be quiet baby..”

“s-shit, connie I-I’m tryinggg..” biting down on your lip with a whimper, nails digging at his forearms. Body tensing at the quick movement from your bestfriend from afar, clamping down on his fingers hard. Just for her to adjust her pillow and lay back focused on the movieonce more, washing away all that fear of getting caught.

“calm down pretty girl, it’s just us.” connie cooed, placing a kiss behind your ear. Stroking your gummy walls, until faint squelching of your pussy could be heard below the loud screams of the film. That fiery pit set ablaze in your tummy as your clit throbs, grinding your hips down against his palm for any type of friction to ease the sensation. Curling his fingers into the spongey ball that made your hips buck up into his hand. “Yeah? Just like that?” He cooed, working messily on your slicked clit.

Walls swelling around his fingers, moaning out from the building pressure. Connie slipped two fingers in your mouth, pressing them down on your tongue as an attempt to keep you as quiet. “ I know, I know. You like when papí play with that pussy?” Head nodding rapidly, too afraid of what sound might break past your lips if you actually tried to speak with those thick digits pressed down on your tongue. “You so fucking good, so good pretty girl..”

Your eyes rolling back as your body shook in his hold uncontrollably, gushing out a creamy mess onto his fingers. The vibrations of your moans against his fingers had him ready to fuck you on the floor right there but it was about you. Swirling his fingers around your clit until he slowly brought you down from your orgasmic bliss. Your body limp in his hold, all fucked out and breathless.

Removing his digits and sucking off the creamy white slick with a moan, just as the movies end credits began to roll. Sasha flicking the lamp on with a quick pull at its string,your eyes squinting as they adjust to the sudden change in lighting, body still trembling slightly. Sasha looking over the room with a smile, dropping slightly when he eyes reached you. “You good girl..?”

You nod, mentally cursing yourself as you tried to sit up, cringing at the slicked feeling between your thighs. “She just shaken up, y’know how she get.” Connie snorted , taking all the attention off you.

Sasha giggles, hand on her hips as she teased you about your scary nature.

“c’mon it wasnt even that bad!”

[nysrage]

are the ony and connie lovers still in the building?

[nysrage]

Rollin’ To Love, Onyankapon.

synopsis: you and your friends scheduled a girls night at cascade for valentines & love seemed to roll your way.

content: romance, fluff, hard to get reader, & barely suggestive themes.

ny’s notes: so while taking a short break to reflect & improve my writing i came up with this new au inspired by @kaegetsmewetter. i advise listening to the songs i linked during their little moment to really immerse yourselves & hope you enjoy! happy love day babies! 🏹🩷

“I-I’m going to fall!”

You didn’t think your valentine’s would be going this way but it was debatable that it was better than how you’d normally spend it. This same recycled day had been the same for as long as you could remember. Just you alone in your room eating ice cream and watching your favorite movie— love jones. The few romances you had never made it past this societies ‘talking stage’ or either ended up as one of those emotionally draining situationships. It was as if love and romance never truly worked for you and only brought trouble.

Slowly you’d come to accept it, until there was a ring of your doorbell. Opening the door to your friends holding balloons, roses and some valentines cookies, “HAPPY VALENTINES BOO!” brushing past you and welcoming themselves into your home. The sight putting a smile on your face, it’d been so long that someone had done something so special for you beside your parents. “Awe y’all really didn’t have to do this..” engulfing them into a group hug and holding them tight, grateful for such attentive friends.

“Girl you deserve to feel loved on this special day too! That’s why we decided to spend the night with you.” kyndall reassured, popping one of the pink candies in her mouth.

“So go get dressed loser, we’re going to cascade!” Dallas giggled, pushing you towards your room. Whirling around in her hold with a questioning brow. “Really cascade..?”

“What.? I’m tired of the club scene and we could use some good fun like when we were teens!” Dallas shrugged, with that soft glint of excitement in her eyes. “C’mon it’ll be fun..” kyndall coaxed, fluttering those volume lashes until you gave in. surrendering your hands in the air and walking towards your room.

“Okay, okay! No promises i’m getting in that rink tho!”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Oh my god, i’m never letting yall convince me into coming here againn!” you whined, gripping onto your bestfriend’s jacket for dear life. Legs wobbling from the rolling skates gliding across the smooth floor not seeking to stop anytime soon, especially not with the crowd of people blocking your way to get to that safety wall you could hold onto.

Saturdays were still apparently the hottest for cascade, everyone seeking for fun outlet for the night. The flashing multicolored lights dancing around the walls and floors, as you and your friends entered. A upbeat set of early 2000’s song blasting over the speakers, as you waited in line to secure a pair of skates. “girl, girl girl. the niggas is out, look!” her constant tapping in of your arm made you finally look up. the group of skaters in particular that caught kyndall’s eye, vibing along to ray j’s ‘sex can i’ with their routines. the front two standing out from the rest, one with a colored buzz cut and street wear fashion. The other a fine chocolate man with a white fitted polo tee that hugged his slim-muscular build, and head full of soft deep waves. Beautiful smile still white and flashing even beneath the hues that illuminated the floor.

“Yeah, we got to get to that floor. Now.” kyndall swooned, grabbing her skates and footing towards the nearest bench to get them on.

“Damn bitch. wait for us!” Dallas laughed, the two of you following behind your eager friend.

Leading you right to this moment, settled into an uneasy stance and terrified of the little control you had over your legs right now. Skates clunking against one another as you tried your best to glide smoothly across the floor. “you got it, glide one foot after the other..” Dallas instructed, but it just seemed as if your uncoordinated body just couldn’t get with it. Wobbling above the laminated floor. Hands wrapped tightly around hers as a effort to keep yourself steady and upright, praying that you wouldn’t eat up the floor.

“Okay, m’gonna let go.” Dallas nodded, eyes on yours as she slowly released your hand. “Don’t overthink it boo.” Your body wobbling a little before it steadied as you continued to roll slowly. “I-I think i got it..” you breathed out, hand cautiously out in front of you.

“Think you’ll be good while i take a few quick laps?” She questioned and you nodded, waving her off trying to concentrate on keeping yourself steady. Counting your steps to yourself as you try not to fall on your ass in front of the big ass crowd of people. Smiling to yourself at the slightest improvement and increase in speed until another skater brushed past you, bumping into your side with a scoff. “Girl move your non-skating ass out the rink, tryna be seen n’ shit..”

Tripping over your skates and stumbling forward when suddenly a quick hand caught your arm. One strong hand resting on your waist and steadying your body before your feet could’ve swept up off the ground. “woah, you good ma?” A shaky breath left your lips as you brush your crimped hair from out of your face, “Yea, i-i’m just gonna—” refusing to look up, rolling away with a face full of embarrassment. Strong hand still holding onto your arm until you sat firmly along the bench. “Don’t trip, it’s a lot of people showing out for the crowd.”

“Slow sets the best to roll to.”

If it was even possible you became more embarrassed once your eyes met the person talking to you, The man being one of the smooth skaters that led one of the groups from earlier. Now that he was up close you could take him in fully, from his perfectly sculpted jawline to his tattoo covered arms. Those pearly white canines covered with custom open faced grills on display as he expressed his love for slow sets. barely even realizing you’d been staring awkwardly as you looked him over, but he paid it no mind just properly introducing himself to you. “Shit my bad I’m onyankapon, most just call me ony tho.”

“y/n.” briefly introducing yourself, “i can’t see how y’all do all this without falling on your ass..” you huffed, frustrated from the short time you spent out in the rink.

Ony laughed at your cute little pout, taking a seat next to you. He couldn’t lie you caught his eyes from the moment he saw you. Pretty skin glowing beneath the illuminated lights as you cautiously rolled within the crowd of people, lip tucked behind your pretty teeth with focus in your eyes. “Been doing this since grade school, plenty of practice.”

“but you just feel and move with the beat” he further explained, pointing out the many people that demonstrated his words. “Don’t think just let your body do all the work and it’ll come to you..”

The dj mixed into a slow set, the lights dimming into soft romantic hues as the ‘unthinkable’ remix by alicia keys and drake began blasting through the speakers. Mood quickly setting in as the skaters eased into the tempo, dj extending the intro as he shares his quick sentiment over the mic. “This for all my single people that hadn’t quite found that one, or even haven’t found the right words to say your ready for more. but ima help you get to ‘em tonight!”

Unbeknownst it was a song the both of you found yourselves listening to quite often these days. Not knowing when that right person would come into your life and changing that lonely destiny you found yourself believing more and more. Mindlessly swaying to the beat, ony gave you a quick glance before standing with his hand held out for you. Your eyes widening in panic when he suddenly ask you to skate with him but he wouldn’t take no for an answer, not when this had been that meant to be feeling this exact song had spoken of. Not waiting for him to finally get his one on one time with you eventually while he was in his element, and if he had to take the lead then he’d do exactly that.

“oh, no, no, no.” reaching back for a seat that was no longer in your grasp, ony shooting that same charming smile that caught your sights earlier as he pulled you onto the floor against your will. “i got you pretty, you trust me..?”

A small look of uncertainty occupying your face as you look over the crowd of skaters that vanished as you look back into his sincere eyes, giving in and uneasily skating forward to get closer to his towering form. Ony met you halfway and suavely spun your body into his, arms snaking around your waist as you took a slow unsteady breath as his hands rest just above your inner thighs. Heart thumping wildly in your chest as your body grows warm from those minuscule touches. Mind filled with nothing but him in that moment, that intoxicating jimmy choo cologne took over your senses as his protective arms tightened around you. Body turning to putty as you practically melting into his arms, nothing but a soft whisper leaving your lips.

“ony..”

“just focus on me…” warm breath fanning against your skin as his lip brushed the shell of your ear, keeping you pressed flush against him. Helping guide your movement to the slow rhythmic beat of the song, your small soft hands resting atop of his comfortably. Body submissively relaxing into his as you following his lead, swaying in sync as the two of you lose yourselves in a sensual stroll “there you go, feel the beat.” tapping softly to the beat against your thigh.

Maintaining a steady speed as if there were no one else in the building but the two of you. Strolling together for the rest of the night until the dj came to a satisfied close, happy with the outcome his slow sensual set had for the day of love. The two of you walking out the building together as the muffled music leaking through the doors. “Thank you for tonight.” you smiled, nervously pushing a loose crimp behind your ear. “Your a really good instructor.”

“Well I had a good partner.” he chuckled, that charm of his now in full swing “If you ever wanted to learn some more moves, I could give you my number..”

“Maybe even make into a little weekly date.”

“Maybe..” you hummed, looking him over as you backed away towards your friends. “same day and time next week?”

“bet, I never got your number tho.” reaching for his phone, as you giggled in the distance. Testing his patience on how much time and effort he’d really put into getting to know you, Opening the passenger door with a small smirk. “I know, see you next week ony..”

Leaving ony nothing but the memory of you and a mental note to be here waiting for you the next week.

[nysrage]

i love seeing ony as a alpha, they so groovy and i can just see the reader come home to him mopping the floor like this. like omggg, saurr cute!

[nysrage]

heyy pooks im new here but i already love it here 😫💗 but i do have some thoughts abt plugony if u want me to share 👀

welcome to my luvvv, your so sweet. & feel free to share, give me a peek into that pretty mind of yours! 🤍