Dry humping. Titty fucking. Thigh gap fucking, thigh riding. Mutual Masturbation. Solo Masturbation. Just making out without an escalation to sex. I will be bringing it.
you were like a vixen straight out of a 80’s porno. always had curtain bangs, hair black with streaks of blonde or pink. lips puckered with a dark brown lip liner and nude pink in the middle glossed up. eyeshadow always sparkled with glitter, body always sparkled in glitter. and Jesus you smelled so good.
looked even better with your black lace bralette and black lace panty, thong so skinny it almost looked like you had nothing on if it wasn’t for what’s between your legs getting hidden by that exact lace. top and bottom belly pierced with a tattoo that reached the top of your ribs all the way to your ankle.
gosh, to say onyankapon was infatuated would be an understatement.
“so you the birthday boy?” you questioned, walking up to him where he was seated in the private room. “friends out there hollering about you, how you deserve this cause you just won a football game, what? last thursday?” you smirk at him, you tease him.
he’s never felt so stuck before, not when he was on the field, not when he had to talk in front of damn near millions of people when he lost a game, and never when he talking to some female. his lips curl as if he was mad at her for even given him a reason to stutter on his words.
he bite his lips, diamond grills showing slightly “yeah, that’s me.” he eyes your feet first when you get closer, cute, feminine with black frenchtip. he eyes trail higher when he sees the long straps on your heels that reaches below your knee, you so fucking captivating. the hell you doing at a strip club?
his eyes meet your pelvic bone, looks at you petite waist and ribcage and he can tell you been working hard on that pole. your body just shows it, faint muscles in your arm, ass so plump and he bet he can sit a cup on it if he concentrated hard enough. “yea that’s you?” you bite your lip back at him, all white straight teeth.
you get even closer, one heeled foot going between his man-spreaded legs. and with that he leans back, gets more comfortable. arms behind the seated area. you tuck your head to the side as you inspect him, designer baggy pants and chrome heart long sleeve, he has a hat on but you can tell he got a fresh cut with some braids underneath. Silver Cuban link chain around his neck and an even big Cuban link bracelet over his wrist that matches perfectly with a blinged out Rolex.
you can’t say the money he obviously has wasn’t making your pussy a little wet, you loved when men came in, and they looked as good as they money. but you can tell onyankapon is different, he’s a little calm, he looks like he was forced into this but possibly has taken a interest in you. and another thing you absolutely loved more than a cute face with money is someone you can get over.
the way he flinches a little, you can tell even though bitches probably flaunt they way at him he ain used to someone like you, and that makes him…cute.
“you cute onyankapon.” and just as he was about to question you with a eyebrow up, you plop on his lap. “can tell you never did nothing like this before huh? even though football filled with niggas that ain shit, you a good boy.” you lean closer to his ear and ony swears his spine tingles and straightens.
his fist balled up and he leaned his head to the side as if it was an invitation. you don’t take the invitation though, you lean back and look at his face, your hands going behind you to lean or his knees, covered pussy in the front of his zipper.
“I-it, what?” it’s like he wanted to confess but a cat caught his tongue telling him no. One hand from his knee moves to grab on his jaw, his breath is caught up and staggered. “usually men aren’t supposed to be touching on the girls, not supposed to be doing more than giving money and watching,” you lean closer to his face, teeth softly biting at his bottom lip, he groans almost pathetically. “I can tell though ony, you might be my favorite.”
your hips grind once against his, and his hands find your thigh, not giving in all the way.
ony was frustrated to say the least, though you had something so skimpy on, his jeans was making it hard.
and speaking of hard he can feel his shit twitching more, the more he smelt you, the more you body moved, the more your fingers touched over his face and under his undercut, the more you fucking breath against his ears.
he was a sensitive man, barely fucking anyone because that’s just not his style. he aware of gold diggers and money hungry girls, which is ironic because he at a strip club where the reside at but fuck he was forced her and fuck did you change every thought process he had.
his friends told him about you, how you move, how you laugh and just how sexy you are. they always said how strict you are about the touching policy, about how you barely even give them more then a 5 minute lap dance before you requesting the money.
he doesn’t know nor you, but you end up on your back.
his jeans still on but dick so hard it’s form against his thigh and he’s getting so fucking greedy he just jumping against your thigh and covered pussy like his famous career doesn’t even exist. like she can’t go and rat him out for actually being a loser.
but you would never, because this is exactly how you like em.
“f-fuck sorry I just….oh god.” he moans softly. his hands grip the underside of your thighs and your hands follow his shoulders. “it’s okay ony, you can take it out though.”
he pauses, breathing heavy as fuck and eyebrows furrowed. “you can’t put it in, but I’ll give you a little something more for your birthday.”
and he does, his thick tip sliding against the pudge of your pussy that’s now poking outside of your panties.
he feels the wetness, he feels the lace and he so turned on he feels like a teenager.
you can tell he’s getting into it, your biting your lips and your pussy is fucking throbbing cause it all just feels so good. he smells so good, and he’s doing so good.
“mm, my- I’ve never did this before.” you mumble and moan, watching him bring your legs up and over one of his shoulder so your thighs close better around his dick and he goes deeper like that, balls squished against where your hole is pulsating and the top of his dick covering almost your whole belly button. “just like that ony.”
“uhn fuck! mama, I think I can nut just like this.” he half way laughs and groans. and now he’s unstrapping your heels to digs his nose in your ankle, to suck and lick on the heel of your feet all the way to the tip of your toes.
you moan out in shock, back arching off the couch.
yes, this is exactly your type.
his hips go sharper, but sloppy nonetheless, it makes him tremble and he’s not even sure what he’s doing anymore, “ima become a regular. I swear, you gon give me this treatment everytime?” he questions and oh he’s the cutest with the way he’s absolutely deadass.
you smile behind a moan and you nod.
you’d give him everything he wants.
A/N: lowkey y’all im finna drop drafts because why not. I’ve been MIA ASF, i edit a little of em but not all. I have so many drafts. (Should I start finishing them? I lowkey lost motivation, I feel like a Wattpad author when they ghost their audience lmao)
𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵 before he sent that message, she could hear it; the low rumble of the engine. An S58 she remembers him saying—whatever the fuck that means.
His vehicle haunts her property.
She should be worried. She should be scared.
Instead, all she can feel is a poorly timed ego boost; she smirked when she read the message.
What kind of a man shows up to your house, unannounced, begging for a sexual favor? And what kind of a woman is she to be excited by something like that?
She only has the answer to one of those questions.
Either way, there’s no guilt regarding her feelings towards this situation. She’s already decided that he gets a pass—just because she likes him.
Patience is embedded in her pace. So much so, that it can almost be mistaken for a lack of care.
Before she lifts a finger to respond to his text, there’s a list of chores she must run through; There’s grabbing herself a midday snack. Afterwards, it’s studying herself in the mirror, trying to decide if she should get that extra syringe of filler in her lips this month or not. And lastly, she has to freshen up in the bathroom.
All the while, the steady purr of that engine awaits outside. And when she finally remembers that it’s there, that’s when she seems to muster up enough consideration to respond to his message:
Ok
It takes almost another thirty minutes to make it out of the house. She can’t go out there with her hair out of place. He’ll appreciate the effort when he sees it. She knows he will.
And she’s pleased to see that she wasn’t wrong when she pulls that car door open.
He’s sitting up, alert and body turned in her direction. He could’ve fallen asleep by now with all of the waiting she had him doing.
But, she knows he wouldn’t. He’s proven himself too desperate for even a sprinkle of her time.
Fucking loser, she thinks with a scoff.
“Hey.”
His voice wavers with thinly veiled excitement. Even as he smiles, the expression twitches with a weak attempt at keeping one’s face under control.
She—successfully—fights the urge to grimace.
"Your hair is pretty," he speaks softly, eyeing the lengthy loose-deep wave bundles sitting over her shoulders.
For what seems like the the longest five seconds in her entire life, she stares at him quietly. “Let’s make this quick, I have things to do.”
That isn’t the first time she’s said that, yet … there’s never an explanation for the “things” she mentions. Then again, he never asks. He knows better than to question her.
His nod is too hasty. She allows her upper lip to curl in distaste.
His seat lowers at a pace she can tell is too slow for him. Like, if he could, she swears he would have his seat lower at break-neck speed. She finds it so pathetic.
It’s almost a big enough deal to ruminate on—almost. Until her attention is snatched up, so quickly she doesn’t even get the chance to be disgusted within herself for being so … easy.
The flame of her usual candor is snuffed out. Black baggy sweatpants, structured with fabric thick enough to hide the general shape of his legs, folds and bends around what’s between his thighs.
It hides so little yet so much; the general shape of an untouched dick as it firms up in her presence. Wrinkles pull around her nose with the scrunch of her face.
“God, did u even put on underwear?” Her lashes bat beautifully with every irritated blink.
It takes seconds for her to return eye contact, having to drag her eyes away from his lap. When she does, she only rolls them as he leers at her like a poor man who’s just found gold.
He shakes his head in answer.
“Whatever.”
She doesn’t move with haste, nor deliberate slowness, as she pulls her shorts and underwear off. She moves with a normal pace, in fact. However, in his eyes, she might as well have been losing a race against molasses.
His fingers curl, bend, and snap with the cracking of his knuckles, a habit of restlessness within him she’s come to know. She bites her tongue to keep from lashing out at him for the incessant sound.
She comes to her knees, just seconds away from crawling over to his side when she halts in place. She shoves an accusatory finger in his face. Yet, he doesn’t break eye contact, only gazing into her big, gorgeous brown, irate eyes.
“And don’t fuck around this time—none of that extra shit. You said you wanted to eat, so eat. No fucking talking or praise or—or whatever the fuck it is that you like to do. I’m not your bitch. I just want to get off, that’s all.”
Lower lip caught between his teeth, he nods like an eager dog.
Her warning glare lasts but so long before she folds herself in half on his seat, pulling her knees to her chest. Baby blue shorts have made their way up by her ass, coming to hide between the full cheeks.
That doesn’t distract him from the stretch of the skimpy fabric over her cunt. The curves of her lips, the fullness of her clit—he should be the one asking if she’s wearing any underwear.
Immediately, he gets an answer when she drags the shorts off, tossing them onto the car floor.
Nope.
Shifting an inch lower in his seat as she climbs onto his side, he’s already got a hand in his lap, pushing his dick to sit more comfortably. Every movement she makes as she situates herself atop his chest is punctuated by a jiggle.
It makes his mouth water. And as she moved higher up his body, he sticks his tongue out for a taste. The wet muscle waits for her as she lowers herself right over his face, fat pussy spread for him.
“Fuck,” he groans out from beneath her thighs, voiced muffled. “Been waiting for this.”
“Couldn’t even f-fucking wait.”
Blindly, he squeezes himself through the thick sweats that start to feel more like suffocation than warmth. His hips stutter.
“Stop—fucking moving so much.”
Her words send a straight shot of blood down to his dick. He doesn’t wait for her to tell him when to start. He already knows how this goes. His free hand comes down on a dimples ass cheek with a smack, gripping the fat.
“Hey—”
His tongue slides through her lips with no hesitation, wetting them up and getting them even slicker with his spit. The sound of her breath hitching in her chest is heard, even as he’s under her water.
He smiles against her before he can stop himself. Because no matter how bad she curses him out, he knows that she loves this. All of it. Even the parts she claims to hate.
The muscles in his upper arm flex as his hand travels higher to hold the small of her back, providing strong support as he tongues her clit.
It’s been so long since he’s last tasted her. A week was absolutely ridiculous.
“Fuuuck, I—mmph … missed this,” he mumbles, gently wagging his head beneath her as he burrows his nose in her lips. “Missed kissing … your pussy—“
“Sshut the fuck up.”
The arch in her back deepens with the rocking of her hips. Her knuckles pale as her grip on the top of the backseats harden.
He doesn’t even remember getting his hand in his pants, but that’s the least of his worries as he shakes his head faster.
“Love this—“ he moans out, cutting himself off.
She chews at her bottom lip as she tries to concentrate on the swivel of her own hips. The dense muscles in her thighs clench and unclench as she moves back and forth, dragging her pussy over his face.
“S-so stop talking, a-and fucking eat,” she says through gritted teeth, breath hitching as he plunges his tongue inside.
A deep groan shakes her to her core as his mouth widens to take more of her in. His hand moves beneath the cover of his pants, pumping slow and steady, squeezing just enough to mimic how he thinks she’d feel on the inside.
God only knows she would never let him get the chance to experience the real thing.
A hand lets go of the leather seat to sink between her legs. Her fingers—skinny and prettied up with long acrylics his money paid for—snake through his soft, chestnut curls.
“Mmh,” he moans, humping up into his own hand as the pads of her fingers kneed at his scalp.
She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of moaning out for him, letting him know verbally how much she’s enjoying this. All she gives him is the relentless roll of her hips, her ass dimpeling over his chin as her pussy is smushed all over his face.
He feels blessed, truly.
Blessed to bury his nose within her fat pillowy lips, slicked up with her own juices and his spit.
Blessed to feel her walls squeeze around his tongue and try to milk it like it were his dick, desperate to be filled with his nut—or he wishes, at least.
Blessed to feel the firm pumping of blood to her swollen clit against his upper lip as he plays with it.
“O-oh, God—“ He inhales so sharply, his chest locking up beneath her body, as those fingers coil tight with his curls and tug.
“You’re getting greedy.”
“H-hm?” His hips stutter.
“Moving like … you always have access to me … to th-this,” she pants.
He shakes his head against her, brushing his lips against her clit—unwilling to even pull away for just a second to respond.
She tugs harder.
“Agh—fuck—“
“Should be fucking thankful … even giving you the time of f-fucking day.”
He twitches in his hand, a dribble of precum slipping out and soaking his boxers.
“Y-you’re right—“
She readjusts her seating, dragging her cunt and ass against his face.
His hand falls from the small of her back down to an ass cheek. His fingers grip it tight, just imagining the way the fat spills through them.
“Fuck, I’m sorry … I-I’m sorry.” His voice is muffled against her hot, wet skin. He releases the tight grip on her to rub at the supple skin, feeling the cellulite and stretch marks beneath his palm. “M’sorry … s-so sorry.”
His licks turn tentative, moving with the purpose of enjoying everything that she gives him. Everything. There isn’t a single part of her that he rejects. He licks her down like a plate.
A weak shudder trickles down her spine, eyes shutting for half-a-second as she almost lets a tiny mewl slip.
“Sorry,” he croaks. His lips press an apologetic smooch to her clit, feeling it thump against him. “I’m Sorry.” His words blur into a mumble as he nuzzle into her cunt again, feeling her honey drip and glaze over his face.
She’s all he smells, feels, and tastes. She’s all around him, his atmosphere.
“I don’t wanna fucking apology,” she murmurs, eyes low and unfocused as she uses his face to reach her peak. “Tell me … what it felt like, waiting a-all week for me.”
His eyes roll back. His brain short circuits, moving on the first, stupid thought it spits out. He lifts his hips to blindly push his pants further down. He pulls his dick out, exposing it to the car’s moist and heated air.
“Tell me,” she grits out, pulling at his hair again.
“Yes, baby—shit,” he moans, eyes closed and mouth open. “It was … s-so hard.”
His voice cracks. Her thighs tremble around his head and his hand steadies her at her back again.
“Kept … kept remembering the way you … way you tasted...”
His hand passes back and forth over his dick, spreading his precum over his taught skin. If they listened hard enough, they could hear the soft squidge of his slicked up skin as he beat his dick.
“Could feel you … o-on my tongue, I …” His tongue finds her clit and suckles at it, completely forgetting what he was saying.
She not so much as allowed it as she is desperate for her own climax.
He lets her pearl go with a quiet pop. “Was going crazy, baby. Could smell you everywhere … missed you.” His voice is almost a cry. “Missed you so bad, I … mmph!”
Cum spills down his dick in a messy dribble, slipping over wet skin and his fist as he continues to tug.
“So hard … was so hard anyt-time—thought about you.”
His words melt into a slurred mess.
“Wish you could see me, huh?” she pants. “Have me cum all over you, h-hm?”
“Mmh—fuck, yes, Mommy,” he mumbles breathlessly into her.
Her walls flutter at the word and her eyes threaten to roll back. The drop she feels in her lower tummy is steep.
why not make reader not black? no offence at all but the point of x reader is so that everyone could feel included not excluded. some of us are asian, mexican, or arab. not everyone on tumblr is black, please be mindful of that!! i love ur stories but it doesn’t feel like x reader to those who don’t share those traits! ;((
im going to say this with all due respect: i don't care if you don't feel included with my black readers. black women are constantly overlooked in fandoms. the majority of x reader fanfics are written with white readers in mind, which is why we read "you blushed" or "he ran his hand through your hair" in them.
black readers are not a majority at all. there are plenty of fanfics for non-black people, so i don't understand why you're coming to my inbox crying.
you sound like you're forced to read my work. if that bothers you, you can make your own fanfics with asian/latina/arab readers or read someone else's work. im not going to censor myself for a stranger.
we can do whatever we want with readers! plus-size, black, shy, baddie... just because one person doesn't like it, i'm not going to stop. if i hadn't specified that it was a black reader, i would have understood that it bothered you, but it's stated at the beginning of the fanfic.
black women deserve their safe place too. we wouldn't have needed to create black readers if white people didn't think they were the center of the universe and forgot everyone else when they wrote.
not everyone is black, so not everybody needs to read my fics. so no, i will not "be mindful" of that, like you said. stop forcing writers to suit your tastes and look for writers who suit you, thank you.
y’all be so worried about everything but making your own craft. if you don’t like niggas’ pages, write your own shit or shut the fuck up. if we wanna write for our own people, we ABSOLUTELY CAN ! THE FUCK.
sum. fucking clark kent back and he loses his composure!
cw. backshots. size difference/kink. kinda self-insert so thick brownskin!reader. and in this case let’s call it a day and say reader has curly hair. rough sēx. slight hyperspermia. he’s a loser here but wdc! switch!reader & slight sub!clark. overstimulation. creampie. clark also swears for the first time in here. . .
note. new layout but it’s only temporary because i’m indecisive af. only did this for clarkie i love my 6’4 loser journalist FUCK!
clark feels too good right now.
it’s in the way his chest rises too fast, the way his glasses are already fogged, slipping down the bridge of his nose. the way his mouth hangs open, soft whimpers slipping out even though he’s trying so hard to bite them back.
his brows are furrowed tight, forehead damp with sweat, cheeks flushed pink like he’s embarrassed at how quickly he’s unraveling.
his hands are on your hips, gripping, squeezing, trying to ground himself. and he fails miserably.
it doesn’t work at all.
not when you’re on all fours in front of him, ass bouncing back into his lap over and over, each smack of your hips making his dick sink deeper than he can handle.
the position is brutal on him.
your upper body slanted forward into the mattress, back arched so deep it curves beautifully.
your curls spill around your face, some sticking to your sweaty skin, some bouncing with every harsh slap of your hips against his. and every time you push back, your ass jiggles, fat and plush, clapping against his thighs so loud that it fills the room. your thighs shake with effort but you don’t stop, not even for a second.
and he’s fucking big.
his cock is thick, stretching you wide, making you gasp as it bullies its way deep. you can feel the fat tip press against your cervix every time you slam back onto him, and instead of pulling away, you push harder, chasing that ache.
he’s throbbing inside you, twitching every time you squeeze around him, and the sound that leaves his throat is nothing short of pathetic.
clark can’t stop thinking about how hot you look from behind. he hasn’t even dared to look down—he knows if he watches the way your ass swallows his cock, if he sees your tits swinging underneath you, heavy and bouncing with the rhythm, he’ll cum right then and there.
and so he squeezes his eyes shut, throws his head back, and moans through clenched teeth.
“don’t… g-gosh—don’t stop,” he whimpers, voice cracking, forehead shiny with sweat.
you moan out, low and breathy, rocking your hips back even harder. “nngh—y’feel so good, clark…” you sigh, glancing back at him through half-lidded eyes.
there’s a smirk tugging at your lips, sweat dripping down your cheek, but you don’t falter—you grind back with even more force, making him choke on a moan.
his glasses are slipping lower.
his lip is red and swollen from biting it so hard, trying to hold back the words spilling out. you know he’s fighting it, trying not to lose control too fast.
he’s thinking of everything but this euphoric feeling to prevent him from painting your walls white prematurely. from nasty food, to vomit, to crime, to perry and his ridiculous white hair—anything to stop you from milking him early.
none of it is working, though. he could feel himself climbing closer to that beautiful release, and he’s panicking inside. eyes shut, head thrown back, and brows furrowed.
you notice it. notice how he’s downright refusing to look down—because if he did, he’ll never forgive himself from cumming before you. but it only riles you up even more.
seeing the perfect strong man who protects the city from danger—reduced to a whimpering wet mess just because of you makes you clench harder on him. and it’d only be a matter of time before you break your kansas boy.
so you ground harder, pushing your hips back on his, sappy walls smothering him as you do so.
and when you bat your lashes, half-lidded and glossy eyes locked on him as you part your lips, sultry voice speaking—“you like that, baby? like what ‘m—f-fuck—doin’ to you?”—it ruins him.
his lashes flutter. his head lulls again. his grip on your hips tightens so much you swear he’s trembling. and then, soft and broken, the word slips out of him for the first time in all his twenty-years on this planet—
“f-fuck…”
jackpot.
you grin. that’s how you know you’ve got him.
with a small giggle-turned-moan from how good his fat angry tip kissed your cervix, you ground your knees into the mattress.
you slam your hips back harder, faster, the sound of skin clapping echoing off the walls. clark can’t take it—he’s babbling now, voice shaky, whimpering into the air like he’s begging you not to stop.
“fu-fuck, please—s’too much, feels so good—hnng, s-slow down—!” his words tumble out without control, stuttered and desperate.
you laugh, “sl-slow down? haah—but ‘m enjoying this soooo well, you don’ wan’ me t’slow down.”
you were so right—he’d rather let five airplanes fall on him before he ever lets you slow down.
your ass shakes against his thighs, breasts swaying beneath you, curls bouncing as you moan into the mattress. the pressure is unbearable, the way his dick hits that spot over and over, thick and heavy inside you, your walls clenching down on him like you’re trying to milk every drop.
and clark? he’s gone.
his abs are tense, muscles straining, his glasses slipping until they’re crooked on his face. his jaw drops, letting out high, cracked whimpers that don’t sound like him at all.
“sh-shit—baby pl-please, i—“ but you clench around him, slick walls choking him out. “haah—fuck me, please—“
you know he’s close.
you can feel it in the way he twitches inside you, the way his rhythm falters even though you’re the one driving it. so you press him harder, clapping back rougher, moaning his name like you’re coaxing him.
clark can barely hold back; flushed tip getting more sensitive by the second. his moans are getting higher, more pathetic, and it’s turning you on even more just knowing you could turn the biggest and baddest into the weakest and pathetic with just you.
it only takes so much for the kryptonian to come undone.
your eyes land back on him, head tilting down slightly as you land the last hit on him. your own strokes get messier and nastier, like you were waiting for him to combust. “c-cum for me, clark. wan’ it—auhhn—wan’ it so bad. fill me up, please?”
homerun.
clark’s eyes snap open, his body jolts forward, and the sound that tears out of him is so loud and broken it almost shocks you.
“haah—‘m cu—cumming!”
he cums hard, so hard his whole frame shakes behind you. his hips stutter and slam forward, burying himself deep as hot, long, thick spurts flood your cunt. he’s moaning, whimpering, babbling your name as he fills you, clinging to your hips and ass like you’re the only thing keeping him from collapsing.
and you can’t hold back either.
the second you feel the warmth flood your insides, hear his pathetic cries, your walls clamp down tight.
your orgasm crashes over you, thighs trembling violently, body jerking as you cum all around him. the sheets muffle your moans, your curls sticking to your damp face as you choke out his name.
it’s messy. wet.
your arousal dripping down your thighs, mixing with his cum as it spills out around the base of his dick. clark’s chest is pressed to your back now, his glasses crooked, breath hot against your neck as he shudders through the last pulses of release.
his voice is a wreck, hoarse and sweet as he whispers, “sh-shit…” over and over, like he still can’t believe how hard you just broke him.
and you? you just smile through your ragged breaths, ass still twitching from aftershocks, satisfied knowing you made superman crumble under you.
well. . . hopefully this is alright cuz good lord did it take me a hot min to write this.
I know I said I quit but u need to get this little Drabble off my mind 😩
“Baby please let me touch”
Your boyfriend was hovering over you, on your shared bed, spreading your legs for you, and all while he couldn’t do anything but look.
His hands were sliding up and down your quaking thighs begging for a feel, a taste, anything.
“Mhm-mhp Eren no”
You look up at his face he’s pleading with eyes.
He knows you said don’t touch just watch you abuse you pussy until your creaming around your fingers, and he really thought he could do it.
But the way your pussy was squelching around your own digits and you thumb effortlessly rubbing your sensitive clit, oh and that face.
That beautiful doll-like face was looking so fucked out and so ready too cum, yea he couldn’t keep his promise at all.
“I can’t baby you’re begging me touch you” he was actually begging you with his hands rubbing faster on your thighs as he spoke. “I just wanna touch it baby cmon let me touch this needy pussy”
And you so desperately wanted to say no, just stand your ground and make him accept his punishment, but you also wanted him to touch you.
“Y-you can control yourself?”
“Yes baby I won’t do to much and I won’t lick”
and you know this won’t be true considering the fact that he’s not even looking you in the eye, but instead starting at the way your creme was oozing out onto your fingers. He didn’t even sound an inch of convincing.
“P-promise baby”
“I promise ma, can I touch?” He finally looks up at you with those puppy eyes
You move his hand to create space for his.
“Go ahead”
When his 2 fingers entered you, it created a fullness that you couldn’t reach.
He was forcing your legs open while digging you out with his hands. It had you already about to come undone for him.
“Huf-f-fuck!”
Barely able to form a coherent sentence he was in you so good your mind was running blanks.
The more the moans poured out of you, the more Eren babbled arrogant bullshit.
“Yea? You feel good mama? I told you just let me make you nut”
“Haven’t even been in you for 5 fucking minutes and you’re already about to cum all over my fingers”
“Mhm give it to me, I love this slutty little pussy, it’s mine? Tell me it’s mine baby”
Still unable to speak you squeal and nod your head and look up at him grabbing his wrist
He didn’t need words to know what you were implying
toji who jerks off in front of his pretty younger girlfriend because she asked all sweet. fuck, she bothered him really.
you would whine “oh toji bear please! I just wanna see you dripping for me.”
god! for someone wearing pretty little pink skirts and white bows in their hair, you had a fucking filthy mouth. & fortunately for him, he loved that shit.
his sweats are lowered on his muscular thighs, waist band to his boxers peaking on top while his big balls pulsed and quivered while his rough hands both wrapped around his large dick.
and you sat there, thighs pressed together, legs under your butt, only in your pink and white striped panties with a cute mini 3d rose right in the middle hem matched with your bra. “just like that papa.” you murmured.
his eyes roll back slightly, they quickly focus to look at you though, the way your hands find their way to your bra covered tits to give it a tight squeeze, glossed big lips pouting and then getting bit on by white straight teeth. you look at him then…big eyes and long lashes with a fair share of bottoms, “want you to cum on them daddy, right here.” you fingers grazed the top of your tits that poked out the bra in such a pornography way.
“shit baby, look so pretty. love hearing your v-voice too.” he wasn’t lying, everytime you sent naughty videos of yourself, you always had loose lips, you would chat and chat and fucking chat about the most devious and disgusting things you want him to do with you. he’s pretty sure once just by listening he has came untouched.
“yea toji bear? you gonna cum on em?” his hands get sloppier, but not sloppier then his hips as he swings them back and forth, imagining it’s your pussy now, even though nothing can come close. “yes mama, shit come closer. let me put my tip on it.” you answered innocently with a quick “kay.”
you’re still staring at him too, pouty lips, awareness in your eyes and once you seen his lips start to open letting out ridiculous groans you open yours too. “yes daddy, cum on your pretty girl tits. please? I need it.” your hips start to involuntarily rock against nothing.
“yeahhh shit! fuck I’m cumming baby.”
and he does cum, more on your face then tits.
“you gotta lick it off now toji bear! I’m all dirty.” you all but whine.
“okay baby.”
a/n: sorry for any typos I’m sleepy. I might get back into writing, I got a fic up my sleeve
𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 12.9K word count. blackfemoriginal!reader, crossover!fic, best friends!tojixonyankopon, contractors!tojixonyankopon, husband!tojifushiguro, countryboycoded!toji, contractor!toji, grumpy!toji, sweet!toji, dominant!toji, countryboycoded!onyankopon, contractor!onyankopon, grumpy!onyankapon, sweet!onyankapon, dominant!onyankapon, threesome, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough sex, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, choking, squirting, praising, LOTS of dirty talk/aggressive dirty talk, size kink, condomless sex, creaming, slapping ass/face, kissing, just a fine ass black + japanese man, minors aren’t welcome!
━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ hi, it’s your favorite pisces’ favorite pisces—teehee. hope you missed me. anyways, just gonna’ say right now this isn’t a nascar fic, i trashed the idea and just came up w/ something more—me, i guess? i think i like this one. i felt a lil’ rusty, so idk what nasty factor it might hit. but both my men in the same universe? oh yeah. oh yeah. anyways, i will also say the link/visuals are unfortunately not black links in specific, but it does a good job of conceptualizing what i envisioned in my mind. and if you’re nasty, you’re fully aware of who owen grey + small hands are ;) LMAO. aight, i kept thinking of deeper by PARTYNEXTDOOR, so you can put that on a loop if you’d like. enjoy. love you.
visual.
HOW DID YOU END UP HERE?
You kept asking yourself that question as your puffy lips poked in a pout, round eyes flickering in between the looming frames above you. Your freckled cheeks flushed as they glared in return of your angelic face—and then, impurely so, you crawled to them.
You couldn’t have been that naive. Not to realize their plan, or how long they’d been onto you. But none of this was your plan at all. It just—happened.
You’d been married to Toji for four years now, falling in love the moment he approached you in the streets of Tokyo, Japan. You were studying abroad in grad school, telling him that you’d been working on your masters degree within Administration, to which he replied that he shared a business with his partner—a contractor, he was.
You would never forget that initial interaction. The onyx of his hair tousled in a flawless way, matching the natural frown of his full eyebrows each time he watched you speak.
He allowed you to ramble off with low hums of ’Mmm’, even with it being the first conversation between the two of you. And to be honest, it made you nervous. From the warm ivory of his complexion that was coated with tattoos, being so many that they traveled beneath the white tee he wore, to his frame that was tall, lean, and built—the cadence of his deep voice, a gruffness to his tone as a cigarette sunk between the side of his full lips—He was like no other.
But you feigned an innocence he couldn’t pull from. The deep ginger curls draping around your freckled cheeks flushed as he spoke to you, round eyes beaming from beneath your lashes—you wore a cherry blossom within your tresses, pale pink mini dress clad around your curvy figure as you held textbooks beneath your arms. Your giggles, your smile, all those things made you like no other even more so.
He wanted you.
You both resided in New Orleans as his business was the most successful there, receiving a multitude of clients after Hurricane Katrina hit the city years before. Behind that scary demeanor was a man with wholehearted compassion—He helped others create their new homes after losing their old ones, becoming known as the most popular contractor along the West Bank. But of course, he had a little help along the way.
He offered you a job as his business’ consultant manager, able to give feedback on their personal brand as contractors, as well as answering emails and phone calls—but here’s where the issue began.
Onyankopon.
The first time meeting him was entirely friendly, even when his looks might’ve had your stomach do a flip. To the heavy New Orleans twang that slipped between a few creole words as he spoke to you, to the strength of his hand when he shook yours. The sepia of his smooth skin complexion shined in cocoa butter, strident jaw clenching as he shook the small frame of your palm.
You’ little as hell, you remember him telling you.
He was an extreme contrast to Toji—open faced grills within his mouth, teeth straight and white each time he smiled or laughed. His lips were a deep pink, full, kissabl—
Teeth. His teeth were nice.
Your eyes ran across the neatly braided cornrows, broad frame covered in tattoos that moved when he flexed his muscles. In that moment, he’d lifted his shirt to wipe the moisture of sweat from his forehead, goatee wafting a shea butter scent from the follicles—but you couldn’t even finish reading his body over, as your eyes fell right at the sculpt of his abs, Bible scriptures thumping across the flesh as he grunted from the heat of outside. And like an idiot, your reply was—
You have big hands.
Yeah, you were fucked.
Well, at first you weren’t. Onyankopon had been the best man in your wedding, constantly coming over to the house, even dozing off on the sofa as you laid a blanket over him. You and him had a good enough rapport with Toji being the common denominator—so the question was, why did you have the inkling to fuck him?
This wasn’t cheating, right?
Regardless of Toji and Onyankopon growing up together, they were extremely different—Toji was more aggressive, outspoken, able to soften his hard corners the minute he was with you. On the other hand, Onyankopon was sweet, observant, quiet, and stoic—he was the action, while Toji was the mouth piece.
So back to the point—this definitely wasn’t cheating, right?
Okay, but you loved your husband. He was there for you throughout all your highs and lows—He was patient, affectionate, hard-working, all the things you wanted within a man. He was the only man you’d ever been with—sexually, romantically—so you couldn’t understand why your brain was thinking about how big Onyankopon’s hands were—
Anyway, this was your husband’s fault. You couldn’t blame him for loving Onyankopon like a brother, but you could blame him for bringing him around more than he should have. He was like a villain to your origin story. Working out with the both of you at the gym, going out with you late at night, hanging around you just as much as your husband did. To make things worse? He was so. Damn. Nice. Opening the door for you, taking your hand as you needed to walk up the stairs, always asking how you felt throughout the day when your husband wasn’t able to do so.
It’s not that you wanted him, per se. It was the mixture of both your husband and him within the same room, deep voices talking shit to one another, laughing, eyeing you as you walked past, made dinner, giggled shyly when they both called for your attention—you weren’t trying to make it obvious that he made you a little fuzzy, but the narrow of your husband's eyes might’ve said otherwise.
Now? You were fucked.
Here you were now, sitting along your miniature desk as you did emails during the business’ new project. Both men were working on a house within Uptown, a two story home where the family wanted an all white kitchen. You were in between phone calls and looking over shop drawings to make sure the infrastructure was to the family’s desires, claw clip within your curls as they draped in between your fingers, sighing as the paper work had you a bit tired.
Your eyes wandered over to your husband standing on the opposite side of the room, ear leaning into the screen of his phone as he tugged construction gloves from his large palms—Onyankopon on the opposite side of him, plummeting his hammer into the wall above. You watched both men for a brief moment, as they both wore forest green long sleeves, tugging to the muscular frame of their shoulders and abdomen.
When you heard the click of Toji’s lighter, your eyes rolled.
“Please don’t smoke in someone else’s house, Fushiguro.”
Of course, that natural frown appeared seconds later. Your husband’s eyebrows lowered, wrist knocking down as he shook off the ash collecting at the tip of his cigar.
“‘Bout to go outside” he grunts to you, “The wife said she wants white oak instead of maple for the counter.”
Onyankopon hadn’t turned towards either of you, but he did stop his hammering, a low breath huffing from his lips as he grunted in return, “Why she ain’t say that shit earlier? I’m finna’ get started on the window.”
Toji releases a puff of smoke, “Husband said he’ll pay double.”
“That don’t’ make it any less work.”
Your husband’s grey eyes peered over his slightly irritated friend, a glint within them as he leaned forward, blowing smoke towards Onyankopon.
He now fully turned from where he stood, brown eyes stabbing every inch of Toji’s body—his low voice warns, “Chill out, nigga. You see I’m tryna’ figure out what I need to do.”
Both men always had an interesting dynamic—one could be playful, while the other couldn’t be at all. It was always easy for Toji to rile up Onyankopon.
“You’re mad ‘cause more money ‘bout to go in your pocket?” Toji raises an eyebrow, “Quit whinin’.”
Onyankopop turns to face the wall, hand holding onto the hammer, “Ain’t nobody whinin’. Stop talkin’ to me.”
Toji glances back at you from the other side of the room, a wink being sent in your direction.
You roll your eyes at the both of them, “And where does she think we’re gonna find White Oak at nearly six in the afternoon?”
“She’s tryna’ change everything to white oak,” Toji clarified, “Countertops to white granite, cabinets to off white.”
That’s when Onyankopon tosses the hammer beside his boot. He crosses his arms to lean his back along the wall, face hard from this conversation.
“She might as well do a whole new renovation,” he mutters.
“You’ the only one complaining.”
“Don’t mean I ain’t right,” Onyankopon counters, “Shit don’t’ make sense. We got three more days before the contract is up, and now she on some’ HGTV bullshit.”
“‘Can’t complain if that’s what they want.”
Onyankopon turns towards you.
“How’ you feelin’ about this?”
You blink at the question, not wanting to be in the middle of one of their usual disputes. You tug a ginger curl behind your ear, scrunching your nose to adjust the tip of your glasses.
Your voice is soft, “Onyankopon’s right, baby. I think it’s a little late for changes in renovations when you’re already halfway done with the kitchen.”
You see your husband's jaw tighten at your confirmation, his back straightening as he glances between the two of you. Even if he didn’t agree, he had to understand his partner's point of view.
“I hear both of you,” Toji glances at Onyankopon, “What you wanna’ tell them?”
“Finish the current cabinet set up, make the kitchen white, and she can set another appointment if she wanna add other shit.”
You glance down to the paper beneath you, pen flicking beneath your fingers, “We still need more maple—think you can make it to Home Depot before they close?”
Toji gives a nod of approval, stomping on the butt of the cigar he was trying to finish, “I got it. Gonna’ head that way.”
Onyankopon's eyebrows raise in surprise, “You goin’ by yo’self?”
“Why? You gonna’ kiss and make up with me now?”
Onyankopons’ eyes narrow, “Ain’t nobody kissin’ yo’ overgrown ass, nigga.”
“You sound like a damn teenager.”
“‘Cause I’m arguin’ with one.”
“Can you tell me you love me and stop arguing, please?” you tilt your head, “Come gimme’ some love.”
The smallest smile might’ve found Toji’s mouth.
“You want love?” His footsteps approach your desk, heavy on the wooden floor, “You want some love, huh?”
His large hand runs up the length of your shoulder, fingers finding your neck as he pushes your chin up, “You hearin’ me?”
“Mhm,” you hum, pulling him lower by the bicep of his arm, “Don’t be long,” You rub your nose against his, “You love me?”
Toji brings his other hand to the other side of your neck, thumbs grazing your cheeks with that signature smirk on his lips, “You know I do.”
He pulls your face towards his, gruff as he questions, “You like when I tell you that?”
You’re met with the familiar taste of his mouth, tongue exploring yours as he sighs through his nose, hushing your small giggle through the kiss.
“Aight,” Onyankopon interrupts, “Y’all know Home Depot finna’ close, huh?”
Toji raises his middle finger in the direction of the other man, giving you a couple more pecks—his hand lingers along your neck when he turns back to his friend, “You’re still over there cryin’? Let me kiss my woman.”
He then stands to his full height, “‘Need anything from me before I leave, wifey?” he sarcastically questions Onyankopon.
Onyankopons’ eyes roll up in the direction of the ceiling, hand moving to rub the bridge of his nose. “Just gon’ head, Fushiguro.”
“Have those emails ready for me,” He gives a kiss to your forehead, “Behave.”
He then extends back up once more, “Watch my woman for me, bastard.”
“I always do,” Onyankopon murmurs, “She’ good with me.”
And with that, the door closed.
You didn’t expect your husband to be gone for almost two hours. He wasn’t answering the phone, and the heat seeping into the home had you ready to call it quits. Your fingers were lazily typing across the keyboard, flickering up to Onyankopon every once in a while.
You softly ask, “Did he text you back?”
Onyankopons’ brown eyes glance up from his own set of papers.
“Nah,” he replies, “I called him, ain’t answer.”
You pout your lips at the news, now knowing Toji was really taking his time.
Onyankopon notices your face.
“He ain’t dead, shawty. Nigga prolly’ searchin’ for the best maple wood in all of New Orleans. He’d overwork himself before givin’ a bad service.”
The words make you smile a bit, knowing your husband just as much as he did.
You say, “I’m sorry. I just hate when he goes awol—I probably sound annoying.”
Onyankopon lets out a low chuckle, one that rumbles through the release of his chest. His attention was now on you instead of those papers, leaned forward in his chair. His shoulders seemed to expand in size.
“Youn’ sound annoying, just worried,” He leans forward more, “He ain’t good at checkin’ the time when he be runnin’ errands.“
He looks back down at his work, a moment of silence passing before he glances up again,
“You ain’t hungry, are you?”
Your eyes find themselves back to his face, realizing how long you’d glance over his muscular frame.
“Hm?” You process the question, “Um—no, I’m fine. I don’t like to bother you guys about food while you’re working and I’m just sitting, y’know?”
You adjust your glasses once more, “I’m fine, really.”
Onyankopon squinted his eyes in the direction of you, eyebrows cocking up when he asked, “You ain’t eat nothin’ today?”
His voice was like honey. Sweet, with a deep rumble, and it didn’t help the fact that he was giving you his full attention.
“You know you ain’t no bother to me. I can go grab you sum’.”
The thing was, you were hungry. Toji was sweet enough to have pack you a lunch earlier, one that you’d already scarfed down and hadn’t thought about until this moment. You weren’t sure why you couldn’t just say all that, but maybe it had to do with the way he looked at you.
Something him and your husband had in common—it was that damn glare they kept upon their faces, whether they were happy, upset, or just fixated on something. You hated to say that the sight had you shifting within your chair.
Your face flushes a bit, “I’m okay, Ony. Thank you.”
You might’ve been crazy. You swear you saw the corner of his mouth lifting at the nickname, but it happened too fast— it had to be a trick of the sunlight.
“You sure?”
The concern he displayed was always so pure, it made you wanna kill him.
You nod, “Promise. I’m just gonna finish my emails,” you nearly fumbled your words, “I have a couple more to do.”
“Youn’ gotta overwork yo’self, Mama. You can stop if you’ exhausted,” he gently adds, “Toji gon’ be out for a minute.”
There was that look again, the one that felt deep within your body, like you were entirely naked in front of him.
There was also the fact that your heart was pounding. It was either a heart attack, or you were going to spontaneously combust—
“You’ warm?” He questions, “You sweatin’.”
You quickly glance down your body, noticing the sheen of your skin. The soft yellow halter dress you wore hugged along your wide hips with the mixture of sweat—but nothing was worse when you realized your nipples seeping through the fabric up top. You weren’t even cold.
You run your fingers through your hair, pulling your curls farther away from the back of your neck. You awkwardly giggle, “‘S just really hot in here.”
The corner of his mouth definitely twitched up that time, like he had an idea of what was happening to you right now. He probably didn’t. You hoped he didn’t.
You could see the muscles of his arms flex when he shifted in his chair, fingers of his left hand scratching along his facial hair.
“It is,” he agrees, “Imma’ finish up this window.“
When he stands from his seat, you then hear, “You need me?”
You blink, eyes flickering over him as your mouth goes dry, “Huh?”
“I said, you lemme’ know if you need anything, aight?”
You were losing it.
“Okay,” you force the most normal smile, “Got it.”
This had to be your personal hell. It might’ve been enjoyable for anyone else, but this was the worst thing you could’ve witnessed. You were trying to finish your work, but you found yourself…glancing above your computer.
Onyankopons’ hands were rough, strong with large palms as he held up the thick glass window, the muscles within his arms flexing from the power of it. A few beads of sweat fell within the crevasses of his chest, dripping down and soaking into his shirt, tight from how it stretched across his body. His dark brows were focused, tongue running across his lips as his jaw was set, feet were slightly spread apart, like a soldier, stance strong—God, he was so strong.
His hair was braided back, sweat beading and traveling down his temples, face focused on the work in front of him. He gave a loud huff as he nailed in the window frame, face scowling as his biceps flexed.
Lord Jesus.
But oh, you must’ve been in the seventh ring of hell when he tugged that shirt off of his body. He’d begun playing music to keep himself distracted, but if only he knew.
The tattoos that lined his arms and chest were now on full display, shiny with the sweat. His chest and abs flexed from the work of lifting heavy objects, the thick length of his tatted neck and shoulders flexing from the movements.
And then, so attractively, he rolled his neck back, grunting as he lifted the weight of the glass once more.
You felt dizzy.
Your cheeks flushed as you watched him, eyes staring almost dreamily. There was nothing more attractive than a man working hard, sweat pouring down his body as he pushed his strength to the limits. It made you—imagine things. Your body throbbed at your thoughts, a small frown coming between your lips at the sight.
But that frown quickly erased, as your heart nearly dropped into your ass the moment you heard the door unlock. You hiked your body up to the perfect sitting position, scattering your fingers for your pen as you scribbled random words along the bottom of your papers.
You couldn’t even look in Toji’s direction.
Your husband could’ve called out your name, but you still wouldn’t have looked over. So when Toji appeared beside your desk, his strong arm draping over your shoulders, the weight nearly startled you.
“Babydoll,” he rasped, “What’s goin’ on? You need some water?”
Your eyes glanced at Onyankopon.
Kissing Toji’s jaw, your face flushed as you deflected, “The Louisiana heat is dire—what took you so long, baby?”
Toji’s eyebrows quirked up at your sudden affection, catching the tense in your body. However, being your easily distracted husband, he loved when you wanted to be on him. His hands rubbed over your arms, attempting to soothe you a bit.
“The closest Home Depot didn’t have the wood in stock,” he murmured, “Damn near traveled the entire state.”
Your hips had always been your sensitive spot, lower body shivering a bit as he began to rub there. You found yourself wanting to hold his face, tugging his body to be closer as you told him, “‘Missed you, Toji.”
His grip was light, a thumb brushing along the curve of one of your eyebrows.
“Yeah?” he murmured back.
He noticed the way you tried to look elsewhere.
His fingers came to grip beneath your chin, gently forcing your attention back to him.
“Eyes,” he reminded, “Need em’ here.”
Your husband was a lot of things, but oblivious wasn’t one of them.
“I’m just a little tired,” you found something to say, your hands rubbing at the smoothness of his jaw, rubbing his neck, rubbing everywhere to distract him.
Toji leaned into your touch, but not much. It made your heart beat more.
“You sure that’s the only thing?”
You nod, “Mhm.”
His frown flickers your face once more, but the warmth of your palms was all too soothing. His mouth grunted along your throat, “Missed you too,” kissing pecks along the warm flesh. Your fingers sunk into his hair as you giggled a bit, leaning your head back for him to keep his affection going. But in that moment, your eyes might’ve glanced at Onyankopon once more.
If only you’d realized that your husband noticed.
Finishing off the night was another hour later, as you’d both said your goodbyes to Onyankopon, quickly making it home to wash off the heat of the day. You sat in the vanity your husband had built for you, angles carved within the gold trim of the mirror, lights attached to the surface below to do your skincare or makeup.
As your husband was within the shower, your mind wandered. You’d hoped today’s little hiccup was a spur of the moment, and that you’d become a bit delirious from the heat. However, you still thought about the way Onyankopon looked at you, and something in that still had your thighs squeezing together.
“Pretty girl,” you hear your husband call, the bathroom door opening to reveal him within a towel—it hangs low on his muscular hips, abs sweltering in water, upper body flexing as he dries the damp of his hair.
“You finished up those emails earlier?”
Shit.
The tips of your fingers swiped along your cheek with oil, your eyes briefly finding his as you replied, “Um—No, I didn’t.”
Toji raised an eyebrow in your direction, not used to hearing your denial of finished work.
“What happened?”
Your body shivered under the intensity of his gaze, the heat of the shower steam slowly crawling into the room.
“Got distracted with a couple of phone calls,” was your lie, “Want me to finish them before bed?”
“You seem distracted now,” he points out, “‘Can barely make eye contact with me.”
“You’re the most handsome man in the world,” you hum, “What can I say?”
Toji huffs a chuckle.
His gaze still hardened on you, studying you with those all-seeing eyes of his. You kept your head turned, face flushing again, fingers moving along your facial products as you pretended not to feel it. That’s when you hear him again.
“Let me ask you somethin’.”
Your heart immediately started beating, turning towards him with raised eyebrows.
You tug a curl behind your ear, “Yeah?”
Toji leaned his hip along the edge of the sink, towering over you even with feet away.
“How you feelin’ ‘bout Onyankopon?” he flatly questions, “You like him?”
Your eyes blink at the question. You tilt your head, “You’ve been friends for years. Why wouldn’t I?”
Toji lets a low hum escape his chest while his thumbs hooked at the hips of his towel. His biceps flexed from the position.
“That’s not what I asked.”
You tried to keep your expression neutral.
“What are you asking, then?”
“To be honest with me.”
Onyankopon wasn’t a topic he treaded lightly on, especially when it concerned you. He wasn’t a possessive man by any means, but any question he asked, he wanted the truth.
He repeats, “You like him?”
“I don’t—“ you went to argue, but his eyes stopped you.
So you try again.
“That’s a bit of a weird question to ask, Fushiguro.”
The corner of Toji’s mouth twitched with a frown at you dodging the question. His eyes, however, kept you in a hold.
“Nah,” he disagreed, “It ain’t.”
You sat there quietly, thinking about lying like you’d been doing all day. But the guilt of lying to him felt heavy in your chest.
So, with the slightest of hesitance, you softly admitted, “I do.”
You then follow up with, “But it’s not…like that.”
“Make me understand.”
You shifted in your chair, legs crossing as you attempted to keep your gaze from drifting.
You replied, “I don’t like him in a romantic way. I just—“
Your teeth scrape at your lip a bit, “It’s just a little fantasy, you know? That’s all. I would never act on any of my emotions, Toji. You know that.”
His expression was unreadable.
“Right?”
You wanted that confirmation, swallowing hard. Toji studied you, jaw shifting in the silence that fell.
You then added, “You’re the one I married.”
He replied, “That don’t’ answer my next question.”
“What question?”
His next words had the silence in the room deafening.
“Your fantasy. Talk me through it.”
Your mouth parts to speak, but no words escape you.
“What?”
“Tell me about your fantasy,” Toji repeated, “Don’t act like you don’t understand what I’m askin’ you.”
You felt heat creep back up your body, your cheeks practically on fire.
“There’s nothing to tell, baby. It’s—silly.”
Toji’s jaw ticked.
“You think I’m mad at you?”
You question, “Are you?”
“I’m not. Shit ain’t silly if you’re flustered like this.”
He then repeats, “Tell me.”
You swallowed, fiddling with your manicured fingers.
“Promise you won’t be mad?”
He huffs, “I just told you I wasn’t, babydoll. C’mon.”
Your legs moved together awkwardly, fingers still fiddling, “When I see the two of you being together, working, just—doing stuff, I imagine…”
Toji waited, watching you fidget.
“Sexual stuff, Y’know? My mind just gets a little dirty.”
“You think ‘bout him fuckin’ you?”
“Toji.”
“You think ‘bout him fuckin’ you while I watch?”
“Fushiguro!” you squeaked, “Jesus, no. I think about the both of you,” you clarify, “That’s all!”
You stand from the chair, going over to lightly wrap your arms around his neck—you’re breathless as you whimper, “Please stop asking me this. It’s a stupid thing, okay? I love you. I’d never do anything with anyone else.”
“Is that somethin’ you want?”
“What?” you frown, “What do you mean?”
“You want me and him? You wanna take that?”
You knock your head into his chest, throwing your hands over your face as you squeak again, “Baby!”
The corner of Toji’s mouth lifted with amusement, “I’m just askin’ a question.”
You felt mortified.
You were stubborn in keeping your face covered, muttering out, “No, Fushiguro. Please. Stop.”
You could feel his chuckle against your head, deep within his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist.
“You’re so shy, woman.”
“You’re insane,” you murmur, heart thumping in your chest, “Why aren’t you mad? How aren’t you mad?”
“Don’t really have anythin’ to be mad ‘bout,” Toji murmured, squeezing at your waist, “You like the idea of it; ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”
“I feel insane,” You reply.
“Shit is kinda’ cute, honestly.”
“Toji,” You smack his bicep, “Stop.”
“Ouch.”
His hands gripped at the full flesh of your ass, forcing you to hold around his neck as you sat on the sink countertop.
“You done with your lil’ tantrum?”
You roll your eyes, “My husband is tryna’ have me admit to wanting to fuck his best friend. I think my reaction is pretty valid.”
His lips brushed up your neck, voice deep, gruff with his reply, “Ain’t nobody said nothin’ ‘bout all that, huh?” Your legs hooking at either side of his hips, holding him between the warmth of your thighs.
“Can we stop talking about this?” you question, “Why can’t you just say I’m pretty and that you love me? Why do you have to make my life harder?”
He smirked at your complaint. He then responded with, “I think you’re the prettiest thing in the South; you know that.”
His strong hands were already tugging the fabric of your night gown, palming at the soft flesh up your thigh. You grip at his hair, fingers twisting within it.
“You know I love you so damn much,” he grunts, nose running along the curve of your neck, “You’re mine.”
You pucker your lips out, awaiting a kiss.
Toji gives you what you want, of course. He groaned from the sensation of you tugging down on his bottom lip, sucking on it with a pop as he pulled away.
You run your tongue along your lips as you giggle, “Mkay.”
You then sigh, “Wanna go to bed? Get a little—freaky?” you playfully wiggle your brows.
“Yeah. Lemme’ call up Onyankopon first—“
You smack his chest again.
The next couple of days were better than you imagined. It was a resting period, both you and Toji spending most of your time sleeping, cuddling, watching shows, and overall rejuvenating one another in preparation for work the next week.
Your time off had gotten infinitely better when your husband received a phone call from a client within the Garden District—who he thought wasn’t interested in his services—but when he offered triple Toji and Onyankopon’s pay rate, it seemed otherwise. You whisper screamed as you jumped on the bed above him, your feet thumping on either side of his legs as he talked business, watching as he tried to hold off his chuckle.
Here’s when things got weird. Later that morning, Onyankopon planned to come over for a football game, as you’d also agreed to cook in celebration of your big contract coming up. It was a usual routine—football, gym, coming back home to cook.
But something about today’s routine felt…different.
Toji and Onyankopon. The combination of the two was something you could usually handle, but when you came downstairs that morning for coffee, you felt an energy coming off of them. You were usually comfortable in their company. Toji was his rough, crass self, but nonetheless a loving husband. And then there was Onyankapon, who was usually the sweetheart.
But now, you felt as if their attitudes had shifted. They’d been quiet and watchful since you’d entered the kitchen, eyes following your every single move. That’s when you realize—they were watching you like you were their prey.
“Good morning?”
Your voice was sweet, nervous. You waved as if they weren’t ten feet away.
Both men replied with their own version of a greeting, their eyes locked on your form as you moved to grab a cup of coffee. You could feel the heat of their stares.
It was almost—too silent.
If that wasn’t weird, this definitely was. The energy picked up around the afternoon, both men gulping down a beer together as their low tones barked at the television, watching the game at its peak. You’d finished up with those emails you were supposed to finalize, snuggling yourself into your husband as you leaned your upper body into his, Onyankopon beside you while continuously watching the game. Your eyes were a bit droopy as you weren’t as interested, sinking your face deeper into Toji’s abdomen. And that’s when it happened—you felt Onyankopon graze his fingers along your hip as he spoke to your husband about the game. Your eyes went wide.
Onyankopon’s voice was gruff from football games and beers, but his fingers were steady as ever against your skin. Both men were locked onto the screen as if your reaction was nothing important—All the while, you felt your heart thumping under your rib cage.
Your clit throbbed.
Then, it was your husband's turn. Toji’s hand was a stark contrast to Onyankopon’s; rough, large, calloused, and much thicker. His fingers cladded onto your ass, pulling your body back so you were nestled further between the two.
“You think LSU’s gonna’ make an upset today?”
“Ain’t no way them’ niggas beatin’ Georgia,” Onyankopon shook his head, “I’m reppin’ my state, but they’ be drawlin’.”
“You always goin’ too hard for the opposition,” Toji countered, “Gotta’ be more confident in the home team.”
“You ain’t even from Louisiana,” Onyankopon sucked his teeth, “Why you defendin’ niggas like they’ payin’ you to say allat’?”
“I ‘been here for sixteen years now. Chill.”
They’re both touching. Again.
Your heart felt as if it was being squeezed between two giant fingers. You’d tried so hard to keep your focus on the game, but Onyankopon shifted forward in his seat, leaning more of his body closer to your ass. Toji shifted his legs apart, forcing you to lean a bit more onto Onyankopon.
Your heart palpitated.
“You wanna’ go against this bet or not?”
Onyankopon was still rubbing at your hip. He grunted at Toji’s response, “Don’t get yo’ ass beat.”
“Beat this bet, Pussy.”
“Who’ the pussy?”
“I’d say the man who’s ‘bouta lose fifty dollars.”
Your ass was right on top of Onyankopon’s thigh at this point.
You inhaled a shaky breath, feeling a bit dizzy at the scent of them. Toji smelled like nature; earthy, woodsy. Onyankopon, however, smelled like musk and some type of cologne. You weren’t sure which one you liked more, their argument now completely muffled to your ears.
They were trying to kill you.
Maybe it didn’t actually happen that way. Your mind fed on those delusions as you stood within the gym later that day, zoning out each time you waited to do your rep behind both men. You’d always worked out with them, learning different techniques that left your body sore afterwards—but once again, today was different.
They were both rough with their work outs, grunting whenever they’d throw down a set of weights. Chests’ heaving, sweat collecting, they were hot. But today, the attention was on you.
To top it off, they were still touching.
The way Onyankopons’ fingers would graze over your waist as he helped you with your sets, how Toji’s hand smacked your ass as you walked past them—You couldn’t handle them.
It all led into the night—once everyone was refreshed and showered, you were within the kitchen cooking one of their favorite meals—steak, loaded potatoes and broccoli. You were comforted by the candles lit along the house, a glass of wine easing your nerves from the entire day. Your ginger curls draped around your face and past your hips, pale yellow halter top and matching capris hugging the fat of your ass, frilly sock beneath your golden heels to match the jewelry on your caramel skin. You were currently seasoning your steak, eyes briefly flickering to the patio door halfway open as both men smoked a blunt together. You watched them.
Toji was dressed in those loose, dark cargos that hung off of his hips for dear life, a white muscle shirt stretched to its limit across his biceps and over the chest. Onyankopons’ pants were black, and his shirt was navy blue. They're both huge.
A slight breeze drifted through the cracked patio door, blowing into the house and mixing with the scents of Toji’s—and now their—smoke.
Their shoulders flexed as they passed the blunt back and forth, laughter and low conversation heard through the glass. They were both so handsome, so attractive, so rough compared to you.
Your eyes briefly met theirs from the doorway, Toji’s eyes that dark grey, Onyankopons’ a lighter brown.
They were looking at you. No other way to describe it. They were looking at you.
The sight made you a bit wobbly. Nonetheless, you waved through the window at the two, dimple poking with the soft smile you gave them.
Your husbands’ fingers rubbed at his jaw while Onyankopon cracked a smirk, waving back at you in return.
Okay.
When they made it back inside, you were in the middle of cutting your potatoes up—you hummed, “Everything okay?”
Toji’s gaze was focused on your hands as you chopped the vegetables, but it eventually flickered to your face as he replied, "Good, just missed you out there.”
Onyankopons’ head tilted your direction too, eyes scanning you from head to toe, “You look good,” He complimented, voice raspy.
You blushed at his compliment. Accepting the kiss Toji gave along your cheek, you’re distracted as he tugs his finger through your curls—you giggle a bit, “Just wanted to look pretty for tonight—you guys look nice too,” you turn your face to kiss at your husbands lips, “You guys hungry?”
Toji leaned in for another kiss, sucking your lower lip between his teeth as he multiplied his pecks. You rubbed your fingers along his shoulder, turning your face up for his mouth to find your jaw. You weren’t used to your husband giving this kind of affection in front of his friend.
“Starvin’,” Toji grunted.
Onyankopons’ eyes stayed on you, tongue running along those large lips of his, “You always lookin’ pretty, Mama. You know that?”
The pet name made your thighs want to clench.
“Um—“ you giggled once more, holding Toji’s jaw to keep him in place, “Thank you, Ony. I should be done with dinner soon, okay?”
“Don’t take too long,” Toji murmured along your neck, “Can’t keep my mouth off’ you.”
His hand smacked the fuller portion of your ass, sending it jiggling beneath your capris.
Onyankopons’ tongue ran along his lips, “Aight. I’m waitin’ on you, girl.”
That sentence weighed in your chest.
Toji went upstairs to find another lighter, leaving the two of you downstairs—alone. You hummed the low instrumentals of your music, beginning to slice the stems of your broccoli. You gave Onyankopon a small smile as his eyes found yours every so often, tugging your hair out of your face as a way to distract how anxious you felt.
You softly ask, “How’d you spend your days off?”
Onyankopons’ eyes followed the movement of your fingers through your hair, watching the way your neck exposed when you threw it back. His arms folded over his chest, the veins within his forearms prominent from the action.
“Shit was aight,” he replied evenly, “‘Nigga just caught up on some sleep. You?”
You hummed, attempting to look for another cutting board, “We caught up on a couple of shows, cuddled, mushy shit that married couples do,” you shake your head.
You then ask, “How ‘you feel about the contract in the Garden District?”
The corner of Onyankopons’ mouth twitched with a small smile, eyes lingering on the way your hips shifted.
“Feels good to have contracts comin’ left and right,” he replied, “Blessed, essentially. Y’all’ been on my ass since the last project, so I’m ready to start sum’ new.”
You turn your head towards him, hair draping over your shoulder. You roll your eyes, musing, “Y’know it’s not like that, Onyankopon. Toji is just—despite the things clients ask for, he wants to go above and beyond that. Not saying you don’t, he’s just—particular, you know?”
Onyankopons’ eyes were practically glued to you as he replied, “Yeah, nah, I ain’t mean it like that. I know how Toji gets, that’s just part of the process,” His head cocked, “He just get’ too caught up sometimes.”
Onyankopons’ eyebrows lifted, “How you’ be puttin’ up wit’ him?”
“The same way you do,” you softly giggle, “We both love him. It’s a thing we seem to have in common.”
He chuckled in return, your attention moving back to finish cutting your broccoli. After a few moments of silence, your eyes flick back up to him—you call, “Ony?”
You think on your words.
“I just wanted to say—thank you, for being such a good friend to him. He doesn’t have anyone in his life outside of me, and having such amazing emotional support, he’s happier when you’re around. It means the world.”
Onyankopons’ expression changed with the way your voice softened, something warm, comfortable, almost intimate coming from the way you talked about his friend, his best friend for that matter.
His voice was softer in reply, “Of course, Mama. Toji’s family to me. Couldn’t ask a nigga for a better person to have in my corner.”
After a moment, he then questions, “What ‘bout you?”
You blink at the question, “What about me?”
“You’ happy to have me around?”
The question makes your heart thump. You sigh, “I’m always happy to have you around, Ony. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Ion’ make you feel no type of way?”
You blink.
“Of course not.”
There was something about his tone that made your nerves tighten. The way he looked at you was different from the way Toji did, but it had your heart thumping the same.
“No,” You reply, “You’ve been nothing but sweet to me since day one.”
He spread his legs a bit, abdomen flexing as he did so.
Onyankopons’ head tilted, “Just sweet?”
You swallowed, nodding.
“Yeah.”
His fingers flexed as they rested in his lap. You turned your back to him, beginning to cut the remaining broccoli.
“Nothin’ else?”
Your neck prickled at the way his voice dropped.
You shook your head, keeping your eyes locked below. But that’s when you hear—
“I see how you be lookin’ at me, girl.”
Your hands clenched around the knife.
When your eyes find his, that’s when your body tensed—your hands quickly dropping the knife as you feel a slice along your index finger. You held your hand towards your body, scrunching your face at the discomfort.
Onyankopons’ chair made an obnoxious noise as he shot up from his seat—It seemed he was across the room in a second, towering over your body as he took hold of your injured hand. His hands were large, long fingers circling all the way to your wrist as he assessed the wound.
“I—I wasn’t paying attention,” You murmured, “I got distracted. You—“
And then, he’s sucking.
Your eyes widened as Onyankopons’ lips engulfed the wound on your index finger, tongue licking the area with zero hesitance. It was the last thing you expected him to do.
“Ony—“
“‘Gotta be more careful, Mama.”
His tongue runs across his mouth as he pulls back, as if savoring the taste of you. Your lips parted, your chest heaving as his lips hovered along yours.
“You got a taste on you, girl.”
You could’ve died right there. That’s when you hear the heavy thumps of your husband coming downstairs, your face hot as he eyes the two of you in closer vicinity.
He questions, “You good, baby? What happened?”
You felt dizzy under both of their heavy gazes. You swallowed again, nodding.
And as both men conversed normally after that, that’s when you realized—they were in fact trying to get you.
Your mind was elsewhere during dinner. The wine had your brain fuzzy, keeping yourself quiet as you watched both men talk shit between one another, per usual. Everything up in this moment began to click—the day you watched Onyankopon, the conversation with Toji, the weird interactions between the two all day—at this point, you were just waiting for something to happen.
“Yo’, you remember when we went into that adult store up on Bourbon street? Niggas was weird,” Onyankopon chuckle, “Never went back after that.”
Toji huffed, nodding in agreement, “Dude was tellin’ us ‘bout wantin’ to be a dog. I’m not judgin’, but I didn’t wanna hear all that.”
Both men laughed. Your fingers tapped against your glass nervously.
Toji then turns, “We went to one a couple years ago, huh, babydoll?”
You blink at Toji’s words, snapping out of your thoughts when your husband addresses you.
“Yeah,” you laugh a bit, “Yeah, we did.”
Toji chuckled once more, “We were in there for hours.”
Your eyes widened, “We were not in there for that long!”
Onyankopons’ head tilted, “What were y’all doin’ in there, applyin’ for the job?”
You roll your eyes, “Funny, but no. I just wanted to find something—sorry, you don’t wanna hear all that,” you shook your head, “It’s a little TMI.”
Onyankopon raised an eyebrow.
“Try me, I ain’t gon’ freak out.”
You inhaled a deep breath, giving in. You sat up in your seat, clearing your throat as you fiddled with the stem of your glass.
“I was just—browsing,” you giggle, “I was looking for a dildo, but the ones they had were a little too big for me. Like, seven or eight inches.”
Toji and Onyankopons’ heads tilted, expressions staying the same, but you could see it within their eyes that there was a change. Toji’s eyes darkened, lips pressed together. Onyankopons’ jaw flexed a bit.
And then, Onyankopon chuckles.
It sends a chill through your spine, one where you didn’t understand what was exactly funny. Your eyes run across him the same way you did a couple days ago—cornrows, strident face, full goatee. You almost missed his next set of words as he looked at Toji.
“She ain’t gon’ be able to fit me.”
You felt your entire body freeze.
Toji’s jaw clicked in return, “Nah, she will. She be takin’ my shit real good now.”
Were you going into shock?
You could’ve melted into the chair. Toji murmured, “My pretty ass woman. Always so shy.”
“She’ more than shy,” Onyankopon murmured in return, his tone low, “Ain’t that right, pretty girl?”
Your body felt like it was about to light on fire from the inside out.
“I—“
“What’s wrong, Mama?” Onyankopon questions, “Youn’ want me no’ more?”
Your mouth dropped open.
Toji grunted, “Words, baby. We need to hear you.”
And there it was. The arousal in your body ignited like a flame in that very second, becoming wet. You looked between the both of them, and suddenly, you were trying desperately not to break.
“Toji,” you pouted, “I—“
“Nuh-uh,” Toji clicked his teeth, “We don’t pout. You gotta’ speak up, don’t you?”
His gaze was intense, his lips slightly upturning as he watched you flounder around yourself. You had never felt so vulnerable in your life as both men’s eyes kept you locked on the chair—no escape.
Onyankopon gave a low groan in return, “Use your words, Mama. I love hearin’ that voice.”
Your chest rose and fell faster, feeling like you wanted to rip your skin off.
Moral to the story? You were absolutely, positively fucked.
Your round eyes stared from above, fluttering between two looming frames that glared back down at you—the difference now? They were naked, and so were you. Your palms covered the swell of your nipples, ginger curls draping over your curvy body in a way that almost made you look otherworldly. You chewed at your baby pink lips, horny, curious.
They were so big.
Even within the bedroom, both men shared many differences—Onyankopons’ dick was massive, thick and veined at the top, long from the base. The complexion of his skin was beautiful and even, all the way down to his deep pink tip. Toji’s, however, was a bit more manageable—he wasn’t as wide, but was about a bit longer, his tip a softer pink as his chest rose and fell in a harsh manner, watching you.
“Show how pretty your shit is, baby.”
Toji’s voice. It echoes in your mind, low, gruff, and rumbling.
But that didn’t keep you from listening—even if you were a bit shy, you turn yourself to face the opposite of them—your back perfectly arches lower onto the bed, cheek pressed into the sheets as you spread your pussy open—your folds were in fact pretty, rougè, glistening beneath the dim lights of the room.
“There we go,” Onyankopons murmured, fingers moving to grip at the full bottom of one of your ass cheeks. When he spanked there, your body trembled in return, folds clenching around nothing,
“Look how muhfuckin’ pretty you are.”
You whimpered into the sheets. Toji gave a low grunt of his own, hand coming up to grip at your other cheek harshly, spreading you open more for them to see, “Fuckin’ hell, baby.”
Your back arched a bit more at the feel of your husband, stomach pressed into the mattress as your body quivered.
That’s when you felt a thick, heat prodding at your entrance. He’s slapping his tip on your folds.
You clenched once more—your nerves were on fire from just the sensation alone, feeling of his thick, slick head smacking down.
“Which one’ you feelin’, huh?”
“Toji,” you whimpered quickly, “Feel you, baby.”
“Just me,” Toji rasped, “Always mine. Ain’t she?”
Onyankopons’ voice was behind you, “Yours entirely.”
You felt your back stiffen to keep in the mewl you were about to let out—your eyes continuously fluttered, cheek still smashed against the sheets.
“Now you listenin’,” Toji murmured, “All good girls do that, huh?”
Onyankopon chuckled behind you; the bed shifted as he spread you even further.
“C’mere. Show me some love,” your husband husked.
That's why it was your favorite term—it was something you both used, as you either wanted the sweetest affection possible—or he was planning to rut his dick at the back of your throat. Your body was still shivering as you turned, your teeth grazing over your bottom lip as his hand found your chin.
Your round eyes glaze up, “Lemme’ have a kiss, baby.”
“Needy ass.”
His thumb swiped over your mouth, pulling your bottom lip with him as he watched your lips pucker, waiting for him to meet you.
“Just pretty as hell.”
His lips touched yours for a second, his tongue sliding inside your mouth to taste you. You returned the kiss, sliding your tongue around his mouth messily, panting when you pulled back—it made you throb everywhere, your mouth then lowering itself to latch onto the edge of his tip. The scent of him, the flex of his pelvic bone, you moan against him, sliding your fingers across his muscular abdomen.
“I know you’re excited baby—watch them’ teeth,” He growled, his head tilting back as the grip in your hair yanked your head further down his length, “Careful.”
You moaned around Toji’s dick once more, taking him just a little bit deeper into the confines of your mouth as he huffed. You could barely get halfway, your hands moving from his abdomen to rest on his muscular thighs, nails biting into his skin as his fingers kept you moving, the schluck of your mouth already creating a sound within the room. Your eyes cast to Onyankopon who watches, keeping his palm steady around his own dick, vision narrowing at the sight.
A string of saliva follows your full lips, your mouth pulling halfway off as your fingers wrap at the base of him, rotating your palm. Your voice, it’s higher in this scenario—your curls drape your body as you mewled, “Didn’t mean to hurt you, Daddy.”
Toji’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle, his hands gripping at your hair as you ran your tongue across his slit, spreading pre-cum across his tip before your mouth sucks, “You’re fine, baby. ‘Know you ain’t mean it.”
Toji then grunts, his face twisted back in pure pleasure, “Wanna’ see that pretty face a lil’ more.”
His other hand came down to grip along the side of your cheek, running his thumb along your jaw, “Tongue out at me. Show me how good my girl is.”
You didn’t hesitate to do as you were told, your mouth sliding backwards off of his length, tongue poking out to press just below his head.
Toji groaned, “Shit.”
You moaned in return, the sound muffling around him as your eyes locked on his. Your husband wasn’t always the most vocal man, letting you do most of the talking in bed—but to see how elated you were to have an audience, Toji let out a deep moan once you began to take him again, sliding him all the way to the back of your throat.
His hips pushed forward, slapping up against your chin as your mouth worked him—You looked up from beneath your eyelashes, eyes growing watery with the back of his tip hitting your throat. Your eyes found Onyankopon’s again, giving him a show.
Onyankopon’s jaw clicked at the sight.
Toji’s hands grip onto you, his face almost viscous in the look he gave. His voice came out in a hiss, “She ain’t stoppin’ no time soon.”
Onyankopon grunts at Toji’s words, the veins in his hands becoming more visible, “You’ doin’ a good job, girl—shit.”
“She’s doin’ a good job, huh?” Toji repeated, his free hand raking into your hair again, “You see that? My baby givin’ her all right now.”
All you could do under his grip was moan, nodding your head through its back and forth.
“I’m watchin’,” Onyankopons replied, his neck flexing from how he held himself. His fingers wrapped tightly around the base of his length, “I see you real good. Pretty ass bitch.”
Your face was a mess at this point. The makeup you had on earlier was smeared all across your mouth, your eyes still holding Onyankopons’ while Toji continued to move your head with his strong, large hands.
He grunted through his teeth, “She gettin’ better?”
“Yeah. Her mouth’ good as hell—I’m tryna’ feel that shit.”
Onyankopon wags his dick beneath his palm, “You gon’ let me?”
That’s when you slow your movements—your eyes peer back to the heft of his length, nearly the size of a monster you weren’t sure you could manage. At the same time, there was a slight hesitance in your eyes—simply because of who he was to you, and the last thing you wanted was to make your husband jealous.
Your lips swelled as you ran your tongue against them, eyes flickering up to Toji—your voice is soft, “Can I?”
Toji’s face flickered with something, but it quickly smoothed once he met Onyankopon’s dark eyes. A moment passed between them—a beat, or maybe two—your husband inhaled then exhaled, his features smirking slightly as he gave a single nod, “Go ‘head.”
“I love you,” you moan, sliding your tongue across Toji’s tip once more, “So much.”
It was a reassurance for him.
“I know you do,” Toji replied gruffly, his grip in your hair slackening once you move towards Onyankopons’ now exerted dick—it nearly slaps you in the face. You tugged at your lip once more, eyes eagerly facing up to him.
You weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Your fingers didn’t even wrap around him all the way.
Your hands come up to grip at the flesh of his quads, fingers digging into his skin as you flattened your tongue over the sides of Onyankopons’ dick, “Gon’ make me feel good, Mama? This what you been wantin’?”
You nod eagerly, feeling the way it twitched against your face. It jumped, too.
Your eyes widened. Your mouth was almost too small, or he was too thick. You moaned around his tip, sucking through the immediate fullness of your cheeks. Somehow, this felt rewarding.
You bobbed your head once, twice—He groans, his hands twitching against his thighs as he lets you try and take him, “There you go—that fuckin’ mouth.”
Onyankopon gritted his teeth; your tongue continued to slide up and down his length, sucking and swirling at his tip, wanting all of him in your mouth. Toji watched you, and he noticed something—the way your eyes rolled, as if this was in fact all you wanted. You were nastier, sloppier with the man opposite of him.
You moaned around his head, loudly, and Toji’s jaw clicked. You were careless—filthier with Onyankopon.
“Keep talkin’ to her,” Toji grunts, “That’s the shit she likes.”
Onyankopons’ hands finally settled on both sides of your throat, a rough grip on your chin with his thumbs—he moaned heavily, eyes flickering down towards you, “Pretty ass face, Mama. You suckin’ me up like a fuckin’ pro.”
You moaned in response, “Tastes so good.”
“Keep takin’ that shit, baby.”
Toji’s voice was all around you.
Onyankopon pushed his hips forward, a small shlupp was heard as you gagged. His fingers pressed against your cheek, feeling the curve of your stuffed mouth when he ran his thumb over the flesh, “Yeah? How it’ look?”
Without a second to waste, you let his tip pop out of your mouth, tongue poking out as you moaned, “‘Look so good. So handsome, Papa.”
You could hear him growl at the pet name, your face becoming more of a mess from how spit dripped over your chin. You were in a daze.
“Look in her eyes,” Toji instructs, “Look into them when you speak, too.”
Onyankopons’ eyes flicker down to meet your own once more, “Like that?”
You nod eagerly, lips swollen and puffy as you nod, “Mhm.”
“Always keep them’ eyes on her.”
Onyankopons’ mouth twitched into a smirk. They were brown; dark, a color you could get lost in if you looked long enough. They were bright despite the dimness of the room, holding nothing else but you.
His grip on your face got tighter as you slid your mouth back onto his length. You moaned again, feeling so full, “So big, Ony.”
You were becoming confident, a point you hit when you were so horny that it made you delirious—here it was. The sight of you was blinding—your mouth was engorged with the space of his dick, cheeks bulging as your eyes rolled shut blissfully. That's when you tugged Onyankopon from your mouth, tongue lolling out as you mewled, “Spit on it.”
And he did—he lowered his mouth, dropping saliva between your lips—he found himself kissing you seconds later, feigning to taste you. It was good, so good. Your body rose up to press against his as your fingers found his shoulders, nails digging into the skin as you moved forward on your knees to get closer to him, your head tilting further back so he could slide his tongue into your mouth. You sucked each other’s mouths.
That’s when it happens—when you lower back down to find the fat of Onyankopon’s dick, you slap it on your tongue so loudly that it echoes—Toji grunts in an irritation, “Don’t be fuckin’ cute.”
You giggled, running your tongue over Onyankopon’s length, sucking his balls into your mouth.
“Just wanted to taste him, Daddy.”
Onyankopon darkly chuckled.
That's when you hear Toji’s, “Yeah?”
He grunts, “Quit playing. Lay on your back, miss your pussy in my mouth.”
Onyankopons’ voice cut through the room, “Lay that ass down.”
At both of their commands, you listen. Your heart thumped within your chest as your back made contact with the bed—you hear Toji’s, “Come hold her legs—she be runnin’ from my mouth,” he grunts.
You whimper, “Sensitive, baby.”
Regardless, Onyankopon was behind your head—he hovered over to pull your legs back, holding you by your ankles as he spread you apart.
Your fingers were already sinking in your husband's hair below, clenching the tresses between your fingers—his tongue spread across your folds, sliding saliva all across the flesh.
Toji groaned as he felt your legs already trembling, your eyes rolling as Onyankopon kept your legs open. You tug at your lower lip, voice high pitched, “F—fuck, baby. Missed your mouth so much.”
He grunts, his mouth still pressed against your clit. Your legs squirmed, toes clenching as his tongue slid across your entrance, “Taste so good.”
You moaned in response, writhing—you were more sensitive the more his tongue slipped against your clit, swirling around it in slow motions. Your chest rose and fell, feeling the heat of both men’s touch. You whimpered again, hips wriggling under the pressure of Toji’s hands over your pelvis, “Toji,” you moaned, “It—ooh.”
He warned against your folds, “Stop movin’.”
Onyankopons’ grip on your ankles was borderline bruising, his dark eyes flickering down to watch how Toji’s mouth lapped at you. Each time you moved, he spread your ankles even farther.
“Look at the way he just in yo’ pussy,” Onyankopon grunts in your ear, “Bouta’ have a nigga drownin’ in yo’ shit.”
Your thighs trembled like crazy at the sounds your pussy made, almost as if Toji were blowing bubbles across the flesh. You pouted beneath yourself, “Fuck,” you mewl, “That feels so good.”
Toji’s took one long, slow, lick over your clit. He grumbled in return, “Pussy messy as fuck, baby.”
Your back arches. You lift above to take a look—Onyankopons’ eyes were staring down, watching. You could see the veins in his arms throbbing as he gripped your ankles.
“God damn,” Onyankopon murmured, “Yo’ pussy finna’ get sucked up by my mouth. That shit lookin’ edible.”
The combination of Toji’s mouth and Onyankopon’s words, your pout deepened on your face.
Toji didn’t hesitate to bury his face all into your folds. Your legs were trembling dangerously at this point, watching as he ate you like a starved man. To make matters worse, Onyankopons’ breath was hot in your ear as he continued to hold your ankles, eyes still locked on your husband between your legs—your chest rose and fell, the sensation of Toji’s mouth against you becoming almost too much to handle. You groaned, “Oooh,” legs trying to snap closed, head falling back against Onyankopon’s shoulder, just moaning within his ear.
“You smell so sweet,” Onyankopon murmured, “He eatin’ that pussy,” Onyankopons growled in your ear, “Shit look’ good as hell with his face in it.”
You whimpered at his words.
Onyankopons leaned forward just a bit, mouth almost pressed against your ear, “I’m missin’ yo’ mouth, babydoll.”
He tugs your hair from around your cheeks, looming above you as his dick slapped across your entire face—his tip is sliding between your mouth, making you whimper even deeper as Toji continued eating at you from below.
Onyankopons’ dick was bigger upside down. You moaned around it, making it hit the back of your throat with every quick thrust he made—he grunted, “You doin’ so good, pretty mama. Finna’ have a nigga put his shit in you.”
Your hands reached back, digging into his hips so you could pull him all the way in, “Fuck, girl, Yo’ throat bulgin’.”
Toji continued eating you from below; the mixture of him and Onyankopons had your eyes watery, legs shaking as if you’d been tased. Every other word out of your mouth was a moan that went directly onto Onyankopon’s dick.
That’s when you pull him from your mouth, sliding your tongue on the sides of his length—you whimper below him, “Want it in me, Ony.”
He pulled you down to where your nose was pressed to his pelvis—he groaned within your mouth, “That ain’t how you beg,” he grunts.
“Please, Ony. Please.”
He growled from the sound of your begging, “You want it that bad?”
You whined onto his dick, “‘So bad.”
A smirk appeared across Onyankopons’ face. You could hear Toji’s slurrpp between your legs, still tongue deep along your pussy. But the moment he heard you begging from below, his mouth pulled away, leaving you cold. It had you whimpering at the loss.
But then, Onyankopon’s mouth was on you. And it was nowhere near the same.
He wasn’t as soft as Toji. His long tongue swirled around your clit—you moaned again, feeling it slide against the flesh harshly.
You gripped at his cornrows, legs shaking in his grip again, “Oh, Ony.”
He lapped at your clit, “Can’t hear you,” he muffled.
Toji was behind you now, holding your legs in place of Onyankopon. He moaned in your ear, “You look so good, baby, spread all open like that.”
“I can’t,” you whined, “Put it in me.”
Onyankopon’s head dipped lower, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking. You were practically vibrating. You lean your head on your husband's shoulder, accepting the kiss he gives you, whimpers muffling into his mouth.
“I love you,” you kept whimpering, “Love you so much, Fushiguro.”
“I love you,” he murmured back onto your lips, “I know.”
Your body tensed the moment you felt Onyankopon’s tip sliding across your folds—you’d wanted it so bad, but actually feeling him weigh against your lower body, you shivered. His upper body loomed above your own as Toji stayed behind, Onyankopon’s lips coming to slide his tongue into your mouth, both men close to your face now.
His dick is sliding between your folds again, again, making them spread apart every few seconds. His forehead presses to yours in such a domineering way—the silence that falls between the two of you feels heavy as his tip begins nudging into your opening—it swallows itself inside, your mouth immediately frowning at the discomfort you feel. Onyankopon sucks the softest kiss on your mouth, grunting as he sinks even deeper. Your eyes rolled, body trembling as you pressed your forehead farther into his. Your fingers found his upper back, nails digging into the flesh as your body responds in all different ways—but it was so good, the tiniest whimper parts from your lips as you lightly squirt on his tip. You’d never done that before, as you creamed more than anything.
“Pussy tryna’ push me out,” Onyankopon grunts on your lips, moaning into another kiss, “That’s how you cummin’?”
“Baby,” Toji moaned, “That was so fuckin’ good. Ain’t even started yet,” he tugs your hair from your face, sucking his mouth against your throat. Your body shakes, gasping as tears seeped from your eyes. You whimpered to Onyankopon, “Oh my god.”
You could hear yourself—you were whiny, sensitive and too full. You mewled again, feeling your stomach clenching as your eyes rolled back. Onyankopons’ face was dark, “You tight as hell,” pressing his forehead more into yours, “You gon’ open up for me?”
A weak, “Uh huh,” comes from your lips.
You could feel him trying to be steady, not wanting to hurt you, but at the same time, his eyes were hooded, lust within them—“Tryin’,” he murmured. His hips stilled for a moment as he slowly, gently slid more of his length deeper into you. You moaned, loud enough to echo off of the wall, “Ugh, fuck.”
Your mind was going blank. His head fell back, “You takin’ me so good,” Your back kept arching, legs quaking. Toji was right there, caressing your scalp to soothe you. You were releasing sounds you’d never made before, moaning deeper each time Onyankopon pulled out to slide himself in more—the slap of his hips against the back of your thighs has your eyes rolling, your face screwed up in pleasure, nodding against his forehead as all you could do was cry for him.
Your legs were shaking too much, to the point Toji gave Onyankopon a glare, “Slow down.”
Onyankopon gritted his teeth as if to focus, trying to not give in to all of the sounds you were making.
“Can’t,” he grunted—Your body kept squirming, legs spreading themselves more open for him, “F—fuck,” he cursed. He was grunting and moaning just as much as you were now.
“Talk to me, Mama. I’m hurtin’ you?” Onyankopon gruffs at you. You find your hand at the nape of his neck, lips closer together—you mewl to him, “Feels sooo good,” your voice was soft, “‘M okay,” you promised to both of them.
Toji was trying to spread some comfort for you, “Look at me, breathe,” his voice was low, his hand reaching forward to touch your cheek. He gave you what you wanted; he leaned his face against your own, “Look at me, pretty baby. Breathe.”
Your entire body listened to your husband’s commands. You took in a deep breath in response, your body calming a bit as he murmured sweetly against your face, “That’s it, good girl.”
A little easier to process with your husbands’ fingers caressing your cheek, you whimpered, “Please,” you whispered on his lips, “Don’t stop him.”
You spread your legs wider—your eyes rolled at the sensation, reaching your hand up to Onyankopon’s face to pull him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth.
Onyankopon growled, holding onto your chin so he could suck on your bottom lip. Toji’s thumb was wiping at your cheek, swiping away tears that you didn’t even realize you were shedding.
He pressed his forehead back to your own, mouth still connected in a sloppy kiss, “Don’t move,” Onyankopon murmured against your face. You felt both mouths kissing somewhere along your body, and that pleasure could’ve engulfed you into an explosion.
But oh, they had so much more to give.
Maybe you did too. Your shaken legs had found themselves crawling along the bed, doe eyes becoming a sultry slender as you crawled towards your husband— your curls evaded your entire body as you slid your hands across his chest, grinding yourself along his lap to gain his attention—you tell him, “I missed you, baby.”
“Missed you too,” Toji murmured in return, unable to keep his eyes off of you. His large palm slid across your hips, another palm reaching around to smack his tip between your folds from behind. You giggled, hair swinging to one side of your body as you circled your hips atop of him, “You wanna put it in me?”
Your hands slide across your nipples, making sure to keep Onyankopon’s attention as your hand finds the tip of his dick beside your body—you whimper to your husband, “Want you so much, Toji. Talk to me.”
Onyankopons’ hands found their way to your arms and shoulders, squeezing the flesh there—One of your hands reached up onto Onyankopons’ face, running your fingers against his facial hair, moving to slide your index finger onto his lips.
“Always thinkin’ ‘bout you,” you moaned, your hands leaving behind Onyankopons’ face to slide back onto Toji’s shoulders. Onyankopon grunted, “She need’ you—Drippin’ all over the sheets and shit.”
You’re guiding yourself down, sinking onto his dick in a way that has your husband leaning his head back onto the bed, clutching your hips within his palms. Toji’s groaning through full lips, eyes narrowing up to you as you’re already bouncing your ass down onto his abdomen. You giggle through a moan, leaning towards Onyankopon with angelic eyes, sticking your tongue out to await for his mouth.
Toji growled from below, “Look at you,” while Onyankopons’ hand pushed a few of your curls aside with a low chuckle, “Cute as hell.”
Onyankopon’s tongue slithered within the confines of your mouth, hand sliding behind your neck to keep your face close to his—your attention went onto your husband, your hips rotating, circling above him—you take one of his palms, sliding it up your body as you suck his index finger into your mouth, moaning around it.
“Jesus,” Toji growled, “‘Gonna’ have me bust early, baby,” He grunted out, “Keep it up.”
You shake your head, “Don’t wanna cum without you,” you whimper—so you lean back to your side, finding Onyankopon’s dick between your lips—you’re sucking, keeping your hips moving for Toji, but your attention elsewhere.
Onyankopons’ hand was resting atop of your forehead, his fingers buried into your hair. You moaned around him again, one hand wrapped around his length and the other caressing Toji’s chest. Your husband was becoming more aggressive below you, his hands finding themselves beneath your thighs to guide you.
He takes one hand to find your throat, snatching your face in his direction. He grunts to you, “I know you’re hearin’ me. Come fuck me, girl. Bounce on my dick like you missed me.”
You have your attention fully on him now—you whimper, “Sorry,” all while you press your feet flat along the bed, tossing your hair along one side of your body as your palms pressed against his chest—your ass trembles each time it claps along his abdomen, a wetness drenching his flesh, the sight of you like hell wrapped up in beauty.
“I love your dick sooo much,” you promised to him, ass clapping at this point, “Love you, Fushiguro,” you whimper, spreading your cheeks from behind, wanting him deeper each time you dropped down.
“I know you fuckin’ do.”
His palm spanks against your asscheek. It jiggles beneath the impact, Toji’s hands finding your hips again to hold you in place.
“Keep fuckin’ me like that.”
Your legs were shaking as Toji’s hips moved to meet your own, bouncing you up and down himself.
Onyankopon was behind you, finding his palms along your hips as he helped you—your eyes rolled, mewling as you allowed him to guide your body down.
Your fingers found your clit below, shoulder shivering as Onyankopon licked up the back of your neck, “O—Ooh,” you moaned, “Please.”
You mewled at both men, your body quaking as your hands slid up behind you, fingers grazing over Onyankopon’s hair. You sloppily slow your tongue in and out his mouth, tugging his head back as you whimper to him, “Put it back in.”
You lean down to find Toji’s
mouth within a deep kiss, hearing his murmur of, “‘Go head, wanna watch you cum.”
Your curls draped across his chest as you tugged his dick from your folds, back arching as you grind your lower body for Onyankopon to take you from behind—you whimper to him, “Want it. ‘Want it, Ony.”
“Been patient,” Onyankopons’ husked, “Come drop that shit on me.”
His hands found both of your asscheeks again, spreading them open. You moaned over your shoulder, the taste of your own skin delicious as he slid himself between your folds, deeper than he’d been before. The giggle you give is elated, eyes rolling as you’re messily bouncing your ass back onto his dick, you’re groaning, “Fuckkk.”
“Good fuckin’ girl,” Toji groaned from below, watching you take it from behind, “Greedy as fuck.”
Onyankopon collected your hair beneath his fist, tugging you back gently while allowing you to fuck yourself onto him—he glares down, “You’ loud.”
“You feel so good,” you couldn’t stop repeating, your hands pressed into Toji’s shoulders to lean back more, arching as you continued to take Onyankopon as deep as you could, “Feelssogood.”
“Givin’ you what you been wantin’,” Onyankopon growled behind you, "Look how good you look takin’ this dick, pretty mama.”
You tried to keep your eyes open, but each time you moved with him, pleasure was rising from somewhere deep within you that had your vision becoming blurry. You were drunk at this point.
“You feel so good in me,” you repeated one more time—it’s the softest you’ve ever spoken, squealing in a way that your body showed exhaustion. You were just taking him now, Onyankopon’s dick becoming drenched in your cream. You pouted, sobbing lowly through your sniffles.
Neither of them had ever seen a reaction out of you like this—you were so sensitive, too sensitive, too open. Onyankopon pounded into your messy, soaking wet pussy from behind, “You gone. Takin’ my dick without even askin’ for it.”
His palm slides along your neck, gently tugging your face back to look into his eyes—you could hear Toji’s grunt of, “So proud of you, baby.”
You sob softly in return again, keeping your eyes against Onyankopon’s as he tugs you back and forth—you’re so full of him, you can barely feel it anymore. Your voice was deeper, an inhale shaky in your throat, exhaled as you cried real tears.
You were so far gone. Toji’s one hand fisted the tip of his dick, other fingers running through your hair, giving you a gentle pull to keep your face from hiding.
“How you feelin’, baby?” he keeps his voice low, gentle.
You could barely speak—you were so busy crying from pleasure, your hands found his face as you whimpered through tears, “I’m gonna cum,” you trembled, “Gonnacum.”
You were so beautiful like this. Crying and whimpering for them in such an exhausted state, so full that they were ready to cum with you.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You gon’ cum all on me, Mama?”
Onyankopon’s voice.
You nod again, breathless, “Mmm-hmm,” through tears. Toji presses his forehead against your own, allowing you to respond any way you needed to.
Toji pressed a small kiss onto your face, “Good girl. Keep goin’. Almost,” he encouraged you in the most gentle tone possible.
Onyankopons’ breathing was a lot rougher now, the sound of his pelvis smacking against your ass filling the room. He was holding onto your hip with one hand, while the other held the back of your neck, watching his dick being coated by your cream.
You moaned between your tears, voice hiccupping with every pound he delivered. He kept mumbling words from above you that couldn’t decipher, but Toji was still there to calm you.
The room was a chorus of skin against skin, your mewls getting even higher in pitch with how full you felt at Toji’s hands on your face—the warmth of his own cum spurted on your stomach— you were babbling, your body wilder, your toes curling. You squirt again, gasping into a rough kiss with your husband. Onyankopon’s tongue is sliding across your lower back, moaning as you feel a warmth in your pussy—he cums with you.
Your body feels sore, as if you’d just ran a marathon. You quiver when Onyankopon pulls himself out, feeling the cum dripping from your pussy—and somehow, through everything you’d just done, that makes you bury your face within Toji’s shoulder, cheeks flushed as you masked your face.
When your brain sobered over the events of the past couple of days, you still couldn’t believe it—Would it happen again? Was this a one time thing? Only the future could tell.
As your round eyes glanced between both men, the only answer you received was a deep, low, chuckle.
Notes: I wrote this listening to two songs on repeat😩: Church - Chase Atlantic slowed and Where You belong - The Weekend (Take a listen as you read.ᐟ)
Visuals: { 𐙚 } { 𐙚 }
Storming out of the sleek black car, you slammed the door behind yourself, ignoring the distant sound of another slamming harshly as your feet carried you forward.
You moved swiftly, heels producing a steady beat against the hardwood floor as you sauntered down the long hallway leading toward your shared bedroom.
The steady steps of your husband grew closer as you approached the master bedroom, black stiletto cladded fingers twisting the metal handle, pulse spiking as you stepped into the dimly lit room.
A sudden gasp left your throat, lips parting as a veined hand grasped the back of your neck, spinning you toward the source of your anger.
The cold bite of what you knew as a wedding band pressed against your neck, Umber eyes glaring down at you, fingers gliding from the base of your neck toward the front.
Tattooed fingers using the sides as leverage to tilt your view up toward him.
Onyankapon’s lazy eyes assessed your features, brows furrowed as he spoke.
“Use your words baby, did I upset you?”
You averted your gaze, breath hitching as he leaned his face closer to yours, enunciating his question with a slight tilt of his head, pointer and thumb releasing its grasp along your throat, instead working to tilt your head closer toward his.
You watched, waiting, chest rising rapidly — each breath edged with unfathomable irritation — as his eyes flickered between yours, searching, questioning, what the fuck he’d done to upset you.
“Hm?” He hummed, pink tongue dragging against his bottom lip, granting you a glimpse of the diamond laced grills on the top row of his teeth as he backed you up toward the edge of the bed.
Your knees buckled at the feeling of the soft mattress behind you, body bouncing slightly as you fell.
A tattooed thumb ran across your lip, smearing the butter gloss you’d applied — mere moments before — as his thumb pushed slightly against them, lips parting at the intrusion.
A slight tilt of his head finalized his previous question.
“Open that pretty little mouth, baby, tell me… How can I make you feel better?”
You swiveled your head to the side, rolling your eyes in aggravation as the recollection of his hand on the gorgeous woman’s waist danced through your head once more.
The way he clasped the woman’s slim hand, seeming to forget that those freshly manicured fingers had been deep inside you mere moments before. His middle finger — etched with the mesmerizing swirl of your first name, tattooed in fine, cursive letters — swirling around your hard clit as your pussy clenched desperately, around the baby pink vibrator pulsing inside you.
The way that gorgeous woman batted her perfectly curled lashes at him. Green, doe eyes, much different from your siren-like ones, seeming to encapsulate him; Her long, tan legs, leading up to her ass — perky, tame, just enough — dramatized by the pop of her hips as she spoke meekly to Ony.
“You know what the fuck you did nigga, stop playin’,” You scoffed.
You were fucking steaming, chest rising rapidly as you clenched your jaw in a futile attempt to halt the disrespectful words threatening to spill from your glossed lips.
You knew you’d fucked up by the way his left eye seemed to twitch, a slow smile pulling across his face as he chuckled lightly.
The emerald cut, baguette diamonds sitting pretty atop his teeth glimmered sexily against the darkness, seeming to illuminate his mouth, though no light was present.
As much as you’d reasoned with yourself while you sat stiffly in the black Maybach seats of his car — or at least tried to — you couldn’t think of any other reason as to why he’d been smiling so damn hard, or why you yourself were so fucking mad.
You were far from insecure, and Onyankapon, he was far from disrespectful, never leading you to second guess the way he felt about you, not once since you’d met, but something was itching in the depths of your mind today to fuck a bitch up, and if it wasn’t gonna be her…then it’d be him.
Onyankapon didn’t take to disrespect lightly, he expected what was given, and gave more than expected. He knew you were mad, but every attempt he’d taken in comforting you, or trying to work out what was wrong, you’d shut that shit down as quick as it came, instead leaving clues behind for him to pick up.
He didn’t play that shit.
You were his woman, and everything a man wished for in a woman. You were the woman, and in no way whatsoever would he have his woman wallowing in a pool of restless anxiety for as long as he was your man.
He could give zero fucks about what anybody else thought.
So you watched, eyes low, as he rose up from his position above yours on your shared bed, his broad stature consuming your view as he tilted his head, taking his sweet-ass fucking time to unbutton the cuffs of his black dress shirt.
You huffed, tutting as you lifted from your lying position atop the cotton sheets, attempting to raise up from the bed before being stopped short by the rough reminder of his presence.
“Sit.”
Your eyes flickered up quickly, lips parting to cuss him out — snapping them shut at the harsh glare in his eyes.
Fuck.
“How many times did I ask if you were okay, (y/n) hmm?”
You swallowed.
“How many times did I ask you…if I did something wrong?” His hands reached up toward his collar, fingers working to undo each button, slowly, tauntingly… too fucking calm.
You glanced to your left. The steady flame of irritation spreading inside you seemed to grow larger, hotter, at the fact that he was irritated with you for being mad.
Who the fuck was he feeling like?
Sizzling silence drowned the room as Onyankapon stared down at you, noting the way your titties sat, perky, pretty, in your black dress, the cotton seeming to accentuate the softness of your curves as you peered up at him, gorgeous brown eyes peeking from beneath a wispy set he’d dropped 350 for the day before.
“What happened to allat’ fucking attitude, mama?” He was toying with you, smile growing dark at your silence.
“Lemme know wassup’. Tell me. Say dat shit wit’ ya chest.”
He watched, aggravated, a slight mug resting against his face as he slipped his shirt off his shoulders, displaying the slutty tattoos hidden beneath.
Tension curled from the Greek pillars surrounding their room, slithering down the walls as you both stared unblinking at each other.
Seething.
Each begging for the other to make a move, to slip.
Your lips parted — wrong.
With only the quickness that Ony himself possessed, his hands gripped your cheeks, puckering your lips as he stared down at you, brows furrowed as he spoke.
“Stop allat’ disrespect shit, (y/n). You a’ big girl, right?”
“You not gone tell me ma? Hmm?” A slight tilt of his head.
Your thighs pressed together, core tightening at the low rasp of his voice. He nodded, a firm, self-affirming nod.
“Show me.”
That’s all you needed.
Onyankapon released his grasp upon your face, sniffling, palm planting two firm taps against your cheek before stretching his arms up to grasp the pillar above your shared bed as your hands reached out.
You gave no warning.
Silence.
Tension snaked closer.
Your stiletto nails scratched down his abdomen, creating shallow indentations in its path as you worked the Matte Gucci belt buckled around his waist.
Ony watched, sinking his teeth into the plush of his lips as he glared at the soft flutter of your wispy lashes, entrapped by your siren-like beauty.
His head tipped, mind whirling at the tickle of your nails slithering beneath the border of the only thing separating him from your view.
His eyes fluttered shut, abs caving, Adam’s apple bobbing as he fought to control his mind, his heart, from spiraling with every flick of your slick tongue against his mushroom tip—with every swirl of your grip against his dick, every bob of your head.
His eyes rolled, a firm palm planted against the back of your skull as he nudged you further.
“Come onn baby, show me.” Heavy pants slipped his lips, eyes fluttering in an attempt to stay lucid. To keep hold of his sanity.
“Yeahhh, show me dat shit, baby.” A firm bite to his plump, two toned lips finalized his statement, eyes glossed, brows furrowed as he stared down at your bobbing head.
"So fuckin greedy, mama, fuck!"
You were everything he needed, everything he wanted, why the fuck did you think he was boutta hand that over to just anyone? To anyone but you?
You reached your arms up, forcing Ony’s palms away from your cheek as he attempted to push you away, pleasure coiling from the tips of his ears to the soles of his feet as he moaned.
You were sucking the soul out of him, sinking the points of your stilettos into his mind without any intention of letting up.
You were speaking to him in a way only you could—engraving every word within the depths of his heart — with your mouth fucking full.
You popped your head off, hand swirling along the soft curve of his dick as you stared up, anger swimming throughout the depths of your pretty brown eyes.
He watched, taking note of the way your lip gloss seemed to blend within the liquid of your spit, chest sticky, chin dripping with a mix of both his and your essence.
“Give it to me, baby. Please, I want it…let me have it,” you whined.
Onyankapon’s body shuddered, your words cracking every ounce of stability he seemed to have lingering as he came.
“Fuckk baby, I feel you, I fucking hear you.” The bass of his voice seemed to crack, shifting between breathy, needy whimpers, and deep, soul-ridden grunts as he pumped his hips in your hands, aching, listening.
His head swam as he watched you rise to your knees, finger trailing up your chest, leaving a trail of his cum in its wake as you slipped your index and middle finger into your mouth, eyes closing, a greedy moan vibrating from the depths of you as you savored the essence of him.
Rough palms reached out, grasping onto the chub of your neck as he crashed his head down, lips racing against yours with unspoken passion as he flattened his frame along yours.
Your thighs circled his slim waist, hands following as they smoothed up his chest, one palm laying against his upper back, the other running along the back of his head — flattening along the sea of waves rippling across his scalp as you moaned.
The lavish, soft cotton of your black dress rode up as his coarse palms ran up your thigh, squeezing, grazing, clutching as your lips flowed feverishly, never once breaking its harmonized movements as he moved your bodies toward the head of the bed.
Your head tilted, head slouching to the side as your lover trailed kisses down the creamy silk of your collar, each peck sizzling against your skin, tattooing a phrase in its wake.
I love you.
I need you.
Fuck me.
Your eyes rolled as Onyankapon’s lips sketched its way down your chest, fists moving to push the delicate sleeves down your shoulders.
Brown eyes followed, heart stuttering as he shoved the fabric down, freeing the weight of your breasts, fabric pooling around your waist. You watched, noting the way his throat bobbed as he gawked longingly, breath catching as he used the mere moment of sanity to take in your beauty. You were perfect. His.
Puffy, swollen lips parted, releasing a needy whimper as his hands trailed its way up plump thighs, the vanilla oil you’d used just mere hours before steaming off of you with the pour of heat radiating from your skin.
The scent was intoxicating, your skin impossibly warm.
You choked, eyes fluttering as his middle finger pressed softly against the lace atop your clit, the fabric seeming to sink between the fat of your wet folds as he applied slight pressure.
“Come on mama, this what you wanted?” His tongue ran along his lips. “Open dat’ pretty ass mouth and lemme know, baby.”
You gasped, waist whining against the flesh of his fingers as your head drooped back, unleashing the whirlwind of feelings you’d held confined; each emotion voiced itself in its own unique moan as Onyankapon’s fingers yielded to the slickness of his tongue and mouth.
"Jus' like dat' pretty, talk to me."
“Ughnn shittt.” Your body melted, each thought of doubt, worry, insecurity pooling out along your cheeks as he hollowed his lips, sucking the hard nub of your puffy clit into his mouth.
“Yeah baby, I hear you, im listenin’ baby. You know dis’.” Your eyes crossed, toes curling within the arch of your Giuseppeas, as your palm slapped repeatedly on the plush of the bed beside you.
“Im cumminnn’ baby, f-fuckkk…yesss!” The hoarseness of your pretty, sultry voice seemed to egg him on, low eyes peeking up beneath long, black lashes as he watched endless bliss rip through you, knowing that he was the sole purpose for your ache-filled tears.
He popped his mouth from the depths of you, diamonds glittering as he bit his lips, the tension in the room replaced with the creamy squelching of your pussy, lips seeming to swallow him as he fucked you.
“There we goo, mama, let it go, let it all go,” His voice grew soft, words spilling in the form of a whisper as his breath grew heavy.
“I love you baby, I’m yours, let go for me, baby. Give it to me.” He said breathlessly.
Your body grew tense, mouth opening in a silent sob as your legs closed in on his hand.
“Breatheee for me baby, breathe, just breathe, feel it.” Your throat stung, fingers clutching onto his forearm as he pumped, shattering you from the inside out.
You let loose, moaning, groaning, sobbing, as your body sang, saturating the room with a song so carnal it’d ring throughout the house for seasons to come.
“Feel that shit baby, I love you (y/n), I’m yours baby, yours, you hear me?” Your eyes crossed.
One could only define Ony as selfish, gluttonous for his pussy as his tongue engraved his name within the depths of you, the way he ate you, chin streamed with your raw essence as he ravaged your pussy.
He was smacking, flicking, sucking — ruthlessly forcing you to your limits.
His hands clutched your thighs, body moving as he kissed his way back up to your tear stricken face. His lips trailed along your neck, whispering, sealing his words as he drew you from the whirlwind of pleasure you’d experienced sheer moments before.
You sobbed, mind teetering as he reined you back into his world, back to the moment you were sharing.
Your eyes laid heavy, palms drifting along your body as you grasped the meat of your thighs, pulling them up and back without order.
Your breasts shook as he tugged you further downward, trousers long gone as he pressed his weight along your thighs, nudging them further back to settle beside your head as the heavy weight of his dick laid between them.
His dick was thick — fat with arousal — the weight of it substantial between you.
Smooth Walnut skin fused within Cinnamon as his tip leaked, dripping along the folds of your pussy.
Ony moved his left hand, angling himself as he pressed inside you, slowly. He needed you to feel him, every fucking inch of him.
His eyes closed briefly, throat bobbing in an attempt to ground himself as dove into you.
His hips flowed, whining lazily as he forced himself to the hilt, left hand drifting up to wrap around your throat as his head tipped backwards.
“J-jesus fuck.”
Your brows furrowed, watching, as the lowly trimmed hairs along his pelvis grazed against you. Your pussy clamped around him, feeling every vein, every pulse, as your bodies tied.
His hips snapped up, dropping in steady motion as he pushed your thighs into the plush of the mattress, using you, giving you everything he had to offer. Baptising himself within the depths of you.
“Ohhh my g-g-,” your breath stalled, barring the words in its tracks as your body reigned numb.
Onyankapon’s hips plunged, torso clamping as he whimpered, waist pushing passionately as a bead of sweat raced between the curve of his abs and onto the pudgy flesh of your tummy. He sank himself, forehead pressing into yours as he clasped the back of your neck, folding you, forcing you to watch as he surrendered himself within the extents of you, engulfed himself within the bounds of your mind.
Your arms moved up, grasping onto the back of his skull as you gawked up at him, eyes never drifting, body humming as he drove into you. You peeked down, watching as cream glazed the fat of his dick, building along his pelvis with each breathtaking stroke.
“Ba-byyy, so fuckin',” you cried, deep and gluttonous, “d-eep baby, oohhh.” Your nails scratched along his hips, fingers grasping the fat of his ass as you creamed.
“I love youuu, shitt,” you were hysterical, mouth slacking open, drool staining your chin.
He was driving you fucking mad.
Onyankapon’s brows furrowed, repetitive whimpers painting the air as he chased his orgasm, pounding, ignoring the burn of his thighs as the fat of your ass ricocheted off his hips.
Smack!
The sting from his palms flattening against the swell of your thighs was all you needed as your body convulsed.
“Ughnn, Oh my-fuckkkk”. Your eyes rolled, barely registering your body’s doing as a stream of arousal sprayed across Ony’s chest. Your pussy clamped, sucking, feeding upon the meat of his dick as he drove himself impossibly deeper.
You could feel him, throat clogging as your stomach burned; he was so fucking deep. Too fucking deep.
So deep within the depths of you, you couldn’t identify where you ended, and he began.
You couldn’t stop fucking cumming. What the fuck?
“Give it to me baby, fuck, fuck, fuckkk.” Your gasp planted heavily against his lips.
Onyankapon’s body grew tense as he dragged himself upright, sweat dripping along the curve of his nose as he gripped your hips.
“Mmm, you feel me, baby? This’ my fucking pussy, (y/fn). All. Fucking. Mine.” With a harsh snap of his hips, he punctuated each word.
“Yeahh look at me baby, you so fucking pretty.” His statement faltered, head slipping back as he burrowed himself into you, grinding, babbling, hips sputtering as he came.
“I’m nuttin' all in this pussy baby, fuckkk.” His eyes rolled, hips still rolling as he came with such intensity he thought he’d be sucked up by fucking darkness itself.
Heavy, rampant pants filled the now quiet room as he looked down at his lady, his woman, his love.
His form sank as he helped you move your legs toward the bed, caressing the fat as your lips connected in a slow, sensual kiss.
“I love you ma, this love ain’t come easy, I need you to talk to me, baby.” His fingers nuzzled the sweaty arch of your cheeks as you peered up at him.
“Let me know when I’ve upset you. Talk to me, don’t hold that shit in baby. Next time you feel like I’m oversteppin’, lemme know. I'm never gonna just rule off ya feelings, baby. Let me know.” His voice lagged, gaze flitting between your view as you nodded—Dazed.
“Aight, come on, lemme run ya pretty ass a bath.” His head lowered, a sultry smile tearing from his lips as he pecked your lips once more.
Note: long awaited!! This was not supposed to take that long but life got me caught allll the way uppppp. I promise I'll be way more consistent now that I'm finally healed of my devious case of writers block.
𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 10.5K word count. post apocalyptic au! zombie au! original!blackcharacter, southern!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, gruff! onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, size kink, black woman, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, aggressive talk, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, sensual sex, condomless sex, missionary, sensual doggy style, kissing, spanking, violence between two characters, violence in general, gore, minors aren’t welcome!
━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ idk? i just wanted to do something different. i think i liked it? i also kept humming sucker for pain for some reason. let’s hope y’all do too. oh! for reference, pronunciation of name in this fic is sah—faye—yah. aight, teehee. bye.
visual. visual. visual.
FUCK. THAT’S ALL SHE COULD THINK AS HER FINGERS CLASPED THE GRIP OF HER PISTOL, continuously tapping at the magazine in hoping that it’d work again. She digs her boot deeper into the dirt of the ground, flicking her index on the trigger three more times—nothing.
“Fuck,” she actually sneers out loud, tossing the weapon against the ground, entirely frustrated after standing there for almost thirty minutes. She didn’t have time to be in one place—she had to move.
Traveling through the wastelands of the French Quarter almost felt like a reward at this moment. She’d been moving for ten days—two-hundred and sixty hours to be exact—but she never expected it to be that simple walking on foot back into her home of New Orleans. Her arms ached from continuously pulling herself over fences, her legs throbbed from squatting down from the sight of others—whether that was guards of the Embassy, other Rouges, or even worse—Hollows.
Empty, a missing soul, no pulse. The mutilation of their skin appeared a dull grey, deepening with every step, every snarl of their jaw, every bite of their teeth. Their limbs dragged through the city, groaning as they searched for their next victim—she just hoped it would never be her.
But there was something she might’ve had in common with them—her fingers were sticky, able to get her palms on anything she needed—desired—food, money, weapons—it nearly made her smile at the sight of confused expressions when their items went missing, and she was already onto her next part of the city.
But this time around—she might’ve made the wrong decision.
Her eyes glanced up to the sky, seeing the mixture of pink and orange hues clinging to one another as a sign of the sun being tugged away by the moon.
Close to nightfall.
She adjusts the tactical slung across her shoulder and hip, the material swaying with each step of her curved frame—shredded flags hung from discolored buildings, molded beads sunken under the murky waters along the ground. The sight is nearly a leeway to a neighborhood—she stops.
Maybe she was just lucky. Maybe she wasn’t. Her eyes peer over a gated house—no, a castle of sorts.
A once majestic Southern mansion, now a fortress. A wrought chained fence surrounds the perimeter, punctuated by razor wires atop the high stone walls and a sturdy wooden gate being the only entry point. A faint glow emerges from the cracked windows to show a sense of humanity—yet an ominous silence permeates the area.
She’s quick to move. Her fingers sting as she climbs along the metal, grunting as makes it to the curve of the barbed wire—she feels a light sting on her thigh, dropping down with the hold of her backpack still within her clutched palm. The light she’d taken attention to earlier shines from a window towards the back of the home, wood covering atop of it to block entryway. Of course, this looked like green signs pointing to come in for her.
She’s quieter than before, taking soft steps towards the window—her eyes fixated through the dirtied glass to get any signs of lifeform—but it’s only a singular candle flickering against the wall.
She pulls her head back, digging her fingers down and slowly pulling up to crack the window—it opens without much struggle. Using the ledge of the window to hoist herself in, she drops herself down to the wooden ground a few feet below. It was nicer than she’d presume—a golden mirror from across the bed, more candles planted across the vintage dresser, but that’s when her eyes halted. Snacks, jewelry, weapons everywhere—she was like a kid in a candy store.
The clicking of her flashlight echoes throughout the room as she rummages through the drawers, throwing aside useless items in search for something more—satisfying. She throws her hand into the drawer, pulling out a gold watch that shined along the candles flame. She holds it up to the light, admiring the piece of jewelry in the mirror—a small smirk appears on her face.
But that succession didn’t last long.
The smile on her face might’ve been wiped off. Not literally, but the weight of metal connecting to her skull might’ve had her entire body freeze.
“I suggest you move when I say move— unless you want this bullet in the back of yo’ skull.”
It was the baritone voice of a man; it was low, stern. His finger pressed tightly on the trigger.
“Turn.”
She doesn’t move. After the metal pushes further into her curls, she slowly turns on her left side, keeping her arms at her sides—that’s when she meets his face.
His form was big, broad-shouldered and muscular, to the extent his bicep flexed with the tension of the weapon, dirt smeared muscle tee hugging his sculpted abdomen. He was intimidating—the furrow of his thick eyebrows narrowed down like his eyes—his brown skin glows beneath the candles within the room, cornrows tight and neat despite the jagged energy he carried. Tattoos cascade his body, never stopping until they reach his cheek—a cross beneath his right eye.
She didn’t have time to be gawking.
So, she swipes the weapon out of his palm as she reaches for her pistol, the other hand gripping his arm as she attempts to twist it behind his back—of course, that didn’t work in her favor.
His palm latches around her neck and forces her body to the ground. He uses one hand to keep her throat in place, using the other to rip the handgun away from her grip. Fingers dig into the crevasses of her throat.
She grunts, “Let go of me!—“
He tightens his grip, “Or what? You finna’ call yo’ people?”
Click on the side of her temple.
“You gon’ give me a reason why I shouldn’t pull this shit?”
His strength irritated her. So she does what she can—she spits in his face.
“Fuck you.”
“Yo’, Ony—What’s going on?—“
Footsteps come trampling down the hallway—That’s when they all see the scene in front of them. More guns now point in her direction—but a pair of feminine eyes outside of the three men within the room question, “Onyankopon, what the hell are you doing?!”
“This one’s Rouge.”
She was pretty. The woman that spoke before takes softer steps into the room, her grip loosening on her handgun. Her hair was braided similarly in cornrows, brown skin and full lips glowing under the lights—a baby was strapped to her chest.
“Onyankopon, get off of her.”
The woman comes closer, “Are you alright?”
“Fuck off,” she spits in return, eyes narrowing as the man’s strength doesn’t let up.
The woman takes another step closer, the other two men following closely—a dark-skinned man with an unbuttoned shirt, followed by a lighter skinned man with glasses and a buttoned-up tee.
The lighter man spoke, “Onyankopon, bro—get off of her, she’s not a threat—“
“You finna’ act stupid?” his deep voice cuts off, “Youn’ see what’s in her hand?”
His free hand grips her wrist, forcing the girl to open up her clenched fist—the watch.
They all stare.
That’s when the dark skinned man speaks up, “Nigga, c’mon—“
“She coulda’ been bit.”
“You gon’ give her the opportunity to tell us that?” the lighter skin man counters.
A slight frown rests on the woman’s face, “Onyankopon—just let her explain herself, please?”
A couple of seconds pass—Onyankopon slowly releases her throat from his palm. She immediately yanks at the gun in his other hand, pointing it at all four people staring at her. Her fingers tremble a bit, but she doesn’t loosen her hold nonetheless.
“We’ not tryna’ hurt you, aight?” the darker man speaks up, “You gon’ tell us why you broke in?”
She doesn’t answer, just letting her eyes shift to the woman’s again—she was the most calm, even with a gun pointed at her.
“You’re bleeding.”
The girl's eyes fall to her own body—that’s when she sees the gash at the top of her thigh, the olive green of her shorts oxidizing a dark hue from the blood. Her head flicks back up, adjusting her fingers along the weapon as the woman questions, “Were you bit?”
She waits for a second.
“No,” she attempts for her voice to carry, “Cut myself climbing over the fence.”
The dark skinned man takes another step forward—her fingers tighten, “Stay back—“
“She was a nurse,” he raises his hands in defense, “She just wants to help you.”
“Put the gun down,” the light skinned man orders, his voice deep and calm. He holds his hand out, waiting for it.
“What group are you with?” The man, Onyankopon, questions. His entire body is still tense.
“I don’t have one,” she answers, voice pensive.
The baby coos within the woman’s hands—she frowns, “You’re actually Rouge?”
They stared at one another.
“How long ‘you been alone?”
Onyankopon’s questions are aggravated. There’s a silence in the room—her fingers twitch on the piece of metal as the woman speaks again.
“We can help you—“
“I don’t need help.”
“So what are you gonna’ do? Bleed out?”
Those words lay heavy on her chest.
That’s when Onyankopon’s low voice questions, “What y’all tryna’ talk her into? We needa’ be takin’ her to the Embassy.”
“I’m not going to the Embassy.”
The woman frowns, “Even if we wanted to do that, we can’t. The suns going down.”
“And?”
“Hollows are everywhere, Onyankopon.”
“And,” the dark skinned man interrupts, “We have no idea where the Embassy even is. She’ll be more useful here than—“
“Useful? For all you know she coulda’ been bit!—“
“I already told you I wasn’t,” she snaps. Her eyes flick to everyone in the room—the silence speaks louder than her words.
That’s when the woman continues, “Are you hungry?”
She’s hesitant to answer. She is hungry, but she wasn’t going to tell a group of strangers that.
Her finger falls from the trigger of the weapon slightly, her shoulders beginning to slump as the woman questions again, “Can you just—please let me treat you? I can’t imagine it’s been easy on your own—being Rouge.”
“She been’ alone this entire time. She’ll be fine.”
“Onyankopon—that’s enough,” the man with glasses calls, his eyes narrowing on him.
He turns back to the girl with an assuring voice, “She’s right. It’d be better for you here.”
Still, she doesn’t reply.
“Please,” the woman repeats, “If you need somewhere to sleep, just—stay for the night, alright? And when the sun rises, you can go—okay?”
The room was quiet. They waited in anticipation—that’s when she takes in a deep breath, a slow nod in response, and she drops the gun from her hands, kicking it in the direction of the man that attacked her.
His face remained stone like. She could feel his glare burning at her, but she was too invested in the woman moving closer with a soft, faint smile.
She turns to the dark skinned man, “Elijah, go get me the first-aid kit,” her eyes flicker to the man next to him, “Theo—grab some towels from the upstairs bathroom.”
They both nod, turning to leave the room.
She takes another step, “I’m Emery—your name is?”
She looks unsure about answering.
”Sahfeya.”
Emery grins, “Yeah? That’s pretty.”
She lowers herself to meet Sahfeya’s body, unstrapping the baby off the front of her—Emery questions, “Hey—Ony? You mind taking Aaila to the living room?”
Onyankopon’s broad stature towered her as he slowly bent over to take the young infant into his arms, the same hand that once held a gun to Sahfeya’s head now securing Aaila’s body.
He leaves the room silently—but not before giving one more look to her.
“Alright,” Emery exhales, “Let me take a look, yeah?”
Sahfeya nods, her body tense—at this very moment she feels the pinch of her injury—She sucks in a breath, mindlessly clutching the hand Emery.
She mutters, “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve seen worse reactions in my time.”
The alcohol from the wipes sting the cut on her thigh—a harsh huff comes from Sahfeya’s mouth.
“So,” Emery distracts her, “How long have you been traveling?”
Sahfeya breathes deeply, “Two months now.”
Emery is quick, already working on the cut along her thigh as she murmurs, “You’re brave—I’d be too scared to take New Orleans on my own.”
That’s when Elijah peeks his head back in, “You good? Need anything else from me?”
“Wound isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. Thank you, baby,” she mumbles, not looking up from the work she’s doing.
Sahfeya stares at him for a moment—he warmly grins, making his way out of the room.
“The other guy—Onyankopon—he’s not your…um…”
“Boyfriend?”
Emery shakes her head.
“Absolutely not,” she releases a small chuckle, “He’s my older brother, actually. Elijah’s my husband. Theo is Onyankopon’s best friend.”
She wraps the bandage around Sahfeya’s thigh, the girl letting her eyes follow the work of her hands.
Emery pauses, “You’re also bleeding on the side of your neck—did my brother do that?”
Sahfeya’s fingers slowly go over her neck, feeling the light cut on her flesh. She shrugs, “I’m not sure. I uh—spit on him, so it wouldn’t surprise me if it was.”
She smiles.
“You’re a ballsy one, huh?”
Sahfeya faintly smiles. Her face falls quickly as the alcohol wipes along her neck, the smaller wound stinging more than the bigger one.
She softly questions, “How old is your baby?”
“She’s six months,” Emery hums, using the gauze in her palm to dab the blood away.
Another faint laugh releases, “She’s a big baby, though. I blame Onyankopon—he makes sure to hunt the ends of the earth for baby food.”
Sahfeya hums dryly, “He seems nice.”
“He can be an ass—but he’s just protective,” she mutters quietly, smiling, “I know that can be hard to believe since you literally just got a gun pulled out on you, but—he means well.”
Emery then sighs, “You’re all patched up,” she gives a pat to her thigh, “Anything else you need me to look at?”
“No.”
“Okay,” she doesn’t press it; it’s clear Sahfeya needs a moment to breathe, “You can rest awhile, if you need it. We have a guest bed near the living room—I don’t suggest sleeping in here—this is my brother's room,” she lightly jokes, standing from the floor as she dusts herself off.
When she makes it towards the door, Sahfeya slowly stands up as she calls, “Emery?”
“Yeah?”
“Um—thank you,” she whispers, “Your kindness—it means a lot.”
Emery gives her a soft smile, “You're welcome.”
She exits the room, leaving Sahfeya filled with only silence. Her fingers trace along the cuts on her neck, her mind filled with the overwhelming thought of—What now?
She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep. When her eyes peered open, her body laid against a twin sized mattress within the guest bedroom. Sahfeya slowly rose up, glancing around the darkened walls—her eyes frantically searching—but when she looked to the dresser, she saw a bar of soap, two towels, and a change of clothes seated next to her backpack. She sighed.
The feel of hot water along her skin felt like heaven, her fingers dousing the vanilla scented soap everywhere—her large curls, her freckled cheeks, her curvy frame.
Emery was unfortunately a little smaller than her, so the pale pink tee she gave her fit like a baby tee, her midriff showing above the sweatpants that didn’t even have much room for her ass—she exhales, the full tresses of her curls already drying back up into full waves passing her lower back. She had to dismiss the embarrassment as bunny slippers—also lended by Emery—squeak down the hallway with each step—when her body turns into the kitchen, the familiar three bodies sit at the table.
Emery’s lips part to greet her, “Oh good! You’re awake, and the slippers fit you—are you still hungry?”
Sahfeyah just stands in her spot, shifting the shirt down her waist as she shrugs, “A little.”
“Aaila was a little fussy, so Onyankopon made dinner—is meatloaf okay? We have some other vegetables, too,” she takes a moment to breathe, “We don’t have much variety since supply runs get harder so—hopefully you don’t have any allergies.”
Sahfeya glances at Onyankopon—his wife beater is now clean, the back of his muscles flexing as he stands over the stove. She can feel the irritation coming off his body.
Her voice is soft, “I’ll manage—um, thank you.”
“You were out cold,” Theo mentions, standing from the table as he asks, “Do you wanna’ sit down?”
When Onyankopon makes his way over, he nearly tosses the plate in her direction. Sahfeya places her palms on the sides of it, glancing back to Emery who gives an apologetic nod. So instead of taking that plate upside his head, she sits down to eat.
She tries her best not to dive into the food, but she can’t help it—she swallows instead of bites, keeping her head down as everyone Emery, Elijah and Theo talk amongst themselves. She also can’t help her eyes stealing glances at Onyankopon on the end of the table, eyes peering away each time he notices her staring.
She figures she could be—polite.
“Y’all from here?”
“Yeah,” Elijah replies, “We moved to New York when we got married—Emery picked up on living up north, that’s why she doesn’t have an accent.”
She pouts at her husband, “I do, too! It’s just not as strong.”
Elijah just chuckles, kissing her temple, “Came back to visit Onyankopon and Theo to introduce them to Aaila—that’s when the world went to shit.”
“What was left of it, anyways,” Theo hums, leaning back into the chair as he flicks his gaze toward Onyankopon, who was looking between everyone at the table, “But it’s livable here, I guess. What are you doing here?”
“Theo,” Emery scolds, “You can’t just ask the girl questions like that—”
“It’s fine.”
Sahfeya lowers her fork, wondering exactly how to answer this question—she couldn’t lie—her throat felt a little tight already.
“I lived out in Mississippi with my best friend before everything happened. The Embassy ordered groups, so we just—stuck with some people we’d grown up with. But then she was—um—bit by a Hollow, and when we learned that there was a cure we planned to travel in hopes of finding the Embassy—the group we were in didn’t think it was safe, and just figured it was easier to kill her. So—“
Her throat feels closed.
“Sorry—“ she politely stands from her chair, feeling her body beginning to shudder, “Would you—excuse me—“
Sahfeya’s already making her way back into the guest room—she didn’t realize that hearing herself say this out loud was harder than watching it happen. She refused to cry in front of a bunch of strangers. The room was perfectly dark as she raised her eyes to the ceiling, holding her fingers over her face as she took a deep breath, feeling her body trembling as she fought the tears attempting to release.
Her body then jolts, hearing the sound of the door creaking open—when she looks over to the frame, she sees that familiar tatted figure standing in between. He holds out a pair of sweatpants.
“I know Emery’s clothes a lil’ uncomfortable so—here.”
Her eyes flick down to the pants, going back up to his eyes.
She asks, “They’re yours?”
He stands still in the doorway, his fingers clutching the material a bit tighter, “Mhm.”
His deep voice is softer than before, but his shoulders are still tense, eyes watching her face in silence.
Sahfeya steps forward as she slowly takes the pair from him. Her voice is equally soft as she replies, “Thanks.”
He nods at the reply, glancing away as he shoves his palm back into his pocket—his shoulders square back, eyebrows pushing together as he stands a bit taller.
“What was yo’ friend’s name?”
She blinks at the question.
Her throat returns back to that tightness as she replies, “Samira.”
“Samira,” he repeats slowly, his eyebrows loosening just a bit.
The silence between them is deafening, and he doesn’t realize she has to look up in order to actually see him—her features were soft, eyes big and vulnerable.
“I’m sorry about yo’ friend, Sahfeya.”
She stares and stares, her brain trying to process the words coming out of his mouth.
”I know what it’s like to lose someone close to you, so—I see why you’ so—you.”
Sahfeya’s eyebrows raise, “So me?”
“Independent.”
She’s never been unsure of herself, but maybe it was the face that belonged to this man. It was intimidating. She could see the way he eyed her body and face—like he was trying to read her.
That’s when she replies, “I’m a little surprised you sayin’ all that after I spit in your face.”
A ghost of a smile appears on his lips.
“You gon’ apologize?”
Her eyebrow raises, “Is that what you’re looking for?”
“I mean, I did bring you a lil’ peace offering, even wit’ them sticky ass fingers you got.”
She holds the pants up, “Oh—this equates to putting a gun to my head?”
“I ain’t put no gun to yo’ head,” he corrects, “Just aimed it at you.”
“Same difference.”
She then takes a breath, realizing she might’ve been in the wrong.
She sighs, “Look—I’m sorry for spitting on you, okay?”
“And?”
“And, what?”
“And you tryna’ steal from me?”
“I ain’t know it was your room, Onyankopon. Are you gonna accept my apology or not?”
His eyes graze over her entire body.
“It’s aight,” he leaves it at that, “You gon’ come eat the rest of yo’ food?“
It seemed like they were two sides of the same coin, unable to be entirely vulnerable with each other. So if this was a step—it was better than nothing.
“I need to change out of these uncomfortable ass pants—but yeah—I’ll be there.”
Silence—his eyes watch as she turns around, wrapping her fingers beneath the waistband of her pants.
Sahfeya’s notices him, eyes narrowing, “You just gon’ stand there?”
Her fingers are still hooked under the pants as she turns back around— he’s gone.
The sun had risen quicker than she expected it to the next morning. Her body had sunken into the bed, it being a while since she’d known the comforts of an actual duvet. She could hear the faint sound of crying within the kitchen, assuming Aaila was fussing as Emery attempted to feed her.
But what she didn’t expect was to be woken up as abruptly as she was. Her body jolts when she feels something drop down on her—her eyes fly open, looking down to see her clothes from the day before.
When she looks up, the first thing she sees is Onyankopon—bare, a towel wrapped around his lower body as his deep voice greets, “We don’t sleep through the mornin’ ‘round here.”
Sahfeya’s eyes narrow, “And what time is it now?”
“Bout’—eight in the morning,” he tells her, “I washed yo’ clothes.”
With the natural light coming into the window, she’s able to see him—his features were sharper against the morning, the wetness from the shower leaving his skin glistening. His toned shoulders were wide, the tattoos along his body darker than yesterday.
Her eyes flicker over him as he’s turned away—her voice soft, distracted—she mindlessly murmurs, “Thank you.”
“You comin’ shortened our food supply, so we gon’ have to hunt—When we’ outside of the house, you gon’ have to listen to everything I say, aight?
Her eyes are still wandering over his body. Her brain is a bit muddled, “Mhm.”
He pauses, glancing behind himself to realize she had zoned out. His face remains unfazed, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
“Mhm? That’s all you got?”
Sahfeya blinks.
“Yeah—heard you.”
“Don’t take too long, then,” he orders, tattooed back flexing, “We’ goin’ in thirty.”
Her eyes might’ve followed him on the way out.
Sahfeya walks into the kitchen twenty minutes later, seeing Emery who’s feeding Aaila, Theo and Elijah sitting at the table reloading their weapons.
“Mornin’,” both men greet her.
She gives them a soft nod, turning towards Emery who’s— smiling?
Sahfeya hesitantly greets, “Uh—Good morning?”
“Good morning,” Emery gives her a small wink, “How’d you sleep?”
“Decent—“
Emery’s still smiling.
Sahfeya raises an eyebrow, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Emery’s voice is giddy, “I heard you and my brother talked last night.”
“We did.”
“And?”
“We—“
Sahfeya sighed, “We might’ve found some common ground.”
That causes the others at the table to snicker, both Elijah and Theo eyeing one another with the same smirk on their face.
“Common ground?” Emery questions with a hum, “What kind of ground would that be, exactly?”
She shrugs, “I don’t know—we’re both—prideful, I guess.”
Her words make them all chuckle again.
“Don’t worry about him,” Emery attempts to reassure, “He’s actually a big softie.”
“Major,” Elijah adds.
“Expeditiously,” Theo finalizes.
In that moment, Onyankopon turns into the kitchen—he adjusts the chain he wears, muscle tee hugging his abs he tugs it over his body, camouflage printed cargo pants held by his tactical, hefty boots weighing his feet.
He pauses, eyebrows furrowing.
“We talkin’ ‘bout me?”
He’s making his way to the window, eyes narrowing through the blinds.
Emery shakes her head, “Just talking about how we hope you find something good out there.”
Onyankopon lets out a hum before moving, adjusting the pistol at the back of his pants. It’s quiet, the only audible noises being Aaila’s slight coos. He goes over to his sister, pressing a kiss to her forehead and her baby girls, “You good?”
Emery nods, “Always. You’ll be careful, right? I’m making beef stew for lunch, so please don’t take too long.”
“You already know.”
Sahfeya’s distracted as she props her finger in front of Emery’s six month old, her dark curls sprawling all the way down to her wide hips—the olive green shorts she wears clings to the fat of her ass, the black long sleeve doing no better as it hugs her upper body, showing her midriff—her nipples might’ve been poking through, too. Her paratrooper boots come up, tying all the way to her knees. Maybe this was the first time Onyankopon caught himself looking at this girl in the sunlight.
However, he dismisses his own thoughts, “You gon’ sit around with the baby all day, or you gon’ come help a nigga hunt?”
Sahfeya’s eyes were round, attempting to be masked by her naturally long lashes, dark pink lips flushed as her freckled face glanced over to him, “Yeah—Where are we going?”
She notices his face. He was glaring.
His voice is low, “We gon’ hit the forest nearby. Here,” he goes into the corner, the loud click of his shotgun shifting in his palm as he reaches it out to her.
She wraps her fingers around the weapon, “Uh—What am I supposed to do this? I have a pistol.”
He raises a thick eyebrow, “It’s a shotgun. ‘Can’t kill no Hollows with that lil’ ass pistol you got.”
“It ain’t little,” her nose scrunches, “Just ain’t no shotgun.”
“You done?” He grunts, “I’m tryna’ be back before the sun goes down.”
“Are you done?”
“I’m not finna’ keep arguing with you, girl—Let’s go.”
And with that, the door shuts.
“Lawd—they gon’ kill each other out there.”
Birds soar above the trees, cawing loudly through the clouds as the sky attempts to clear up above. Sahfeya’s body bends as Onyankopon holds a broken part of the gate open, crouching into a walkway that leads towards the forest.
Her eyes squint as the sun comes out, “You sure there’s no Hollows back here?”
Onyankopon’s steps are long, he takes one stride to her three. His head cranes behind him, “That’s why it’s called a hunt.”
He’s a few steps ahead of her as the foliage becomes thicker, his tone more serious.
“You got ammo on that shotgun?”
She’s dragging the weapon as it feels heavy in her fingers. Sahfeya glances down, slowing her steps as he’s still walking, “Uh—maybe?”
“Yours is a pump action,” he calls back, “Put the end of the shotgun against your shoulder.”
He continues through the thicket of trees, his voice a hiss, “Load and rack it.”
That’s when Sahfeya fully stops. Her expression is a frown, “You’ must be speakin’ creole or something.”
Onyankopon stops—his head turns back to look at her. He slowly walks, moving to stand just a foot ahead as he snatches the weapon from her hands.
“How you’ been on yo’ own and can’t even use shit like a shotgun?”
He begins to load the weapon. His movements are swift, showing that he’s done this an effortless amount of times.
“Look—“ he leans closer, “You pull this lil’ tab here right before you shoot. If you don’t do it right, you’ll know ‘cause the shit gon’ kick right back and break yo’ face—“
“I thought you said we were hunting for food, we huntin’ Hollows or something?” She cuts him off, curls draping over her shoulder, head tilting in confusion.
She has no time to react before he’s lifting the shotgun—he fires, her body flinching at the boom as he takes a shot a couple feet away from her.
“You ain’t payin’ attention.”
“I am!” her face almost goes into a pout, “Why can’t I just have your pistol?”
“Hollows ain’t a joke,” he narrows his eyes, “Yo’ lil’ gun like a damn peashooter. You tryna’ die?”
“You ain’t gon’ protect me while we’ out here? What’s all these muscles for? Cuddling?”
She reaches for the pistol in the back of his pants, shrieking when she feels her knife suddenly tugged from her shorts, pointed directly at her throat.
“What you gon’ do when another Rouge comes at you tryna’ snatch yo’ ass for everything you got?”
She huffs, “Why are you playing that scenario now?”
“It ain’t playing,” he places it back in her tactical, “You just ain’t ready.”
The shotgun was unfortunately back in her hand. She’s still dragging it, “Don’t you think we’re far enough?”
“You think far enough gon’ feed us?”
The sun shines fully, eyes squinting as he looks back to her, “You want me to catch you—what, a rabbit?”
It’s more of a mossy pond they come upon—and as if on cue, a bunny goes flying past their feet, taking off further into the trees.
Sahfeya’s shakes her head, “I would hope not—where did Emery get beef from if y’all hunt animals too?”
“We gon’ keep walkin’.”
His boots thud against the soft ground, “People got’ meat,” they come upon a lake—a group of deer slowly drinking from the water, “We trade with ‘em sometimes.”
Sahfeya watches the animals, a soft sigh coming from her lips, “We can’t go trade today?”
He raises the shotgun at her, “Just for that—you get the first shot.”
“I just told you I don’t know how to shoot with that, Onyankopon.”
“You gon’ learn.”
That’s all he responds with—he steps closer, taking her small body into his bigger, broader one. He pulls the shotgun over her shoulder, his chest now against her back, “Hold it.”
“Ony—“
"Hold it.”
He places her finger underneath the trigger with his grip firm. His warm breath hits the side of her ear, his voice a deep grunt.
"You gon' have to get comfortable wit' it. This ‘your safety,” his body somehow moves closer, her back pressed firmly into his torso as he points to where he’s referring, “This tab here gon’ eject the bullet when I push it in.”
She releases a breath, “Push it in?”
"In,” he repeats, slow and deliberate, watching the way she almost flinches at his voice in her ear.
“It’s gon’ release it from the chamber,” he rasps, “Means you still got two more bullets in here.”
Onyankopon’s thick bicep moves to grip underneath her own, aiming the gun towards a deer. His other arm wraps around her waist to steady the rifle, “You hearin’ me?”
He slowly shifts his hand around the trigger, moving the tab just like he said—a bullet ejects, causing the deers to scatter at the sound.
Sahfeya stiffens.
“Relax,” he grunts.
She lets out another breath, “Okay.”
“You see the one I’m pointin’ at?”
One of the deer had a large pair of antlers, standing taller than the others. Sahfeya lets out a soft, “Mhm.”
“When you actually shoot—the gun gon’ kick back. I’m holdin’ it tight, so it ain’t gon’ hurt you.”
She can feel his grip tighten around her, “All you gotta do is hollon’ to me, aight?”
Sahfeya just nods, not trusting her voice.
“Shoot.”
The shotgun goes off, the deer dropping to the ground with a loud bang—Onyankopon’s grip on her body is the only thing that keeps her from falling backwards.
Sahfeya’s ear rings as she shrieks, but nothing hurts more than the warmth she feels on her back from him. His face is close to her own, the smell of cedar from his neck filling her nose.
“Sorry.”
Onyankopon’s grip remains firm. The swell of her ass pressed tightly to his hips, and she was scared that if she moved, she’d feel more than his tactical.
She smells like vanilla, like everything that was sweet— pretty.
“My fault,” he murmurs, “You good?”
A rush of adrenaline pours through her body—she leans deeper into his, a breathless giggle falling from her lips, “Think I’d still prefer my pistol.”
It’s like hell had frozen over—Onyankopon chuckles, the sound deep—sexy, “You’ cute.”
He allows her to step out of his grasp, her body somewhat missing the warmth as soon as she does. He adjusts his cargos with his large palm, “Lemme’ grab the deer. We’ll head back.”
Their eyes seem to linger over each other for a moment—Sahfeya’s face flushes a bit, keeping her eyes focused on the weapon still held within her palm. She smiles.
But that only lasted for a millisecond.
A groan ceases through the trees. The birds from above begin flying away—Sahfeya frowns, her eyes glancing around the area, her entire body tensing as the deers take off in different directions.
“Onyankopon?”
The sound brings a sudden stillness—Onyankopon’s jaw ticks, his movements silent as he looks towards the woods on the other side—He takes a step towards Sahfeya, arm entrapping her behind him.
They listen.
Just then, another moan echoes.
“Hollows.”
And then—they see them.
She counts two. One is a man, his stomach ripped—intestines dangling from his open wounds. His face is scarred, his head a matted mess.
It’s the sound of his heavy breaths that cause them to tense—but he isn’t alone. Before they can even think, he’s flying towards them—the speed of his body nearly breaking the sound barrier.
“Move!”
Onyankopon’s hand grips her shorts, tugging her in the direction back towards the mansion. He yanks his pistol from the back of his pants, already aiming—firing, the sound loud as it bounces off the trees.
Sahfeya takes off, crunching branches beneath her boots as she flurries through the woods—her heart drops the moment another groan surfaces in the direction she’s running—she halts, raising the shotgun towards the feet sloppily trampling towards her—she fires.
The kickback from the shotgun thumps her jaw—it aches, but she doesn’t have time to accept the pain—The Hollow slumps to the ground, dead.
“Sahfeya!—“
She hears Onyankopon call, but a force steps into her path, making her flinch—a Hollow reaches, mouth snapping towards her, only being held back by her arms blocking his bite. It’s strong.
She struggles—the force pushes her onto the ground, snapping teeth just a mere second from her face. She beats at its chest, “Shit!”
Onyankopon is fast, his hand raising as a bullet flies from the weapon, shooting the Hollow in the head—there’s a moment where it cries, dropping directly next to Sahfeya’s legs.
The moment she throws her body up, her shoulders nearly jolt as her body is snatched behind a tree—her scream stifles under Onyankopon’s palm, body against the front of his chest as he clasps her mouth shut.
His large palm is so big compared to her face, completely covering her mouth with a strength that doesn’t take much to keep her in place. Their breathing is harsh, her heart racing—Onyankopon’s muscles on her back aren’t helping to bring her pulse down either.
Another moan echoes.
Sahfeya’s body stiffens, watching Hollows surfacing from the trees. This was the first time she’d ever been this close to one. Not since—
“Onyankopon,” her voice mewls through his fingers, the warmth of her tears on his skin—she’s reaching back to tug at his shirt. They’re everywhere.
“I’m here.”
His voice is just as low when he finally releases his palm, “I don’t got’ the clips to kill all of them. Go—“
“I can’t leave you here—“
“Yes the hell you can,” his voice grows a bit louder, his body hardening against her own, “Imma’ be behind you, girl. I promise.”
He didn’t lie—he couldn’t lie. He’s tugging her arm as he begins to move, his strides wide. Onyankopon shoves the pistol in his pocket, now pushing his arm in front of her smaller frame as he hastily clears his way forward—she didn’t seem to think of herself as weak and scared, but for the moment, he was using the lightness of her body, pulling her as fast as he could.
They make it back towards the broken part of the fence, the sound of bullets zipping past her ears—Onyankopon’s firing off every shot from his pistol, heavier footsteps pounding behind them, spits and groans loud.
He tugs the bottom of the gate open, still firing off shots with one hand as Sahfeya crawls her way through—when she turns, he’s still on the other side—shooting, shooting.
“Ony—Onyankopon!” Sahfeya calls, fingers brushing the tattoo on the side of his arm, reaching for his body.
Her fingers fumble from the adrenaline coursing through her body—she’s trying to lift the fence, the metal too heavy.
She’s yelling, “Onyankopon, c’mon!”
“I can’t let em’ get past—Go!”
He takes his palm—slamming the gate shut where he stands. Her voice trembles the entire ground as she cries, “No!”
Onyankopon’s back is pressed to the gate as the grunts of the Hollows become louder—his gun empties, the clips dropping to the ground second after second. He’s breathing hard as his eyes dart, his fingers reaching into his other pocket.
But the only thing he has is a knife.
His eyes narrow at the sight of more Hollows emerging, his palm slamming into the chest of the first one who gets within his space—the blade pierces through its throat with a squelch.
But nothing is scarier than his body beginning to be piled by three of them—and that’s when it happens—a loud groan comes from Onyankopon himself, gnashing teeth digging into the flesh of his arm, sinking deeper by the second.
Sahfeya didn’t know where she’d found this strength, but she yanks the gate up, tugging the knife from his palm as she’s stabbing forcefully, blood splattering all over her body in return. She’s fighting.
One bullet—it surfaces from the end of the shotgun, sending the final Hollow running back into the forest. Sahfeya groans as she drags his body under the gate, clasping it shut into the grass as much as she can—she holds him up, “Hey, Hey—Ony? Are you—hey, look at me!”
His brown eyes widen, a groan leaving his lips as he stares at the sky, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He tries to push up, but his arm feels like it’s on fire.
Blood drips down his elbow, pooling on the ground near her fingers, “I’m good,” he pants, “I’m good, Sahfeya.”
“Fuck,” she quivers—her voice rushes, “You’re bit, Onyankopon.”
The adrenaline that fueled his body is beginning to dwindle as she brings him back into the mansion, he’s staggering with every step. He’s trembling as they reach the back door, Sahfeya shoving it open and yanking him inside.
She’s crying, tears leaving a trail on her cheeks as she begs, “Emery!—Emery!”
Emery runs as soon as she sees them, her body freezing at the sight, Theo and Elijah right behind her.
“My god,” she gasps, eyes widening as his arm dangles helplessly, “Ony?—what happened?”
“Them fuckin’ Hollows,” his voice is hard, as if he was running out of oxygen to even talk, his eyes rolling as he pants— he’s fighting the urge to pass out.
“He was bit—“ Sahfeya expresses, her words scrambled, “He shot all the ones he could—I couldn’t—I couldn’t push the gate up—“
“Hey,” Theo is firm, “It’s gon’ be okay—“
“Get the fuck outta’ here,” Onyankopon’s voice is loud, eyes wide, “Put me outside. I’m not finna’ let myself hurt y’all.”
“What?”
Theo’s eyes go wide, “What ‘you mean outside? You sayin’ you gon’ just let this happen?”
Elijah gives Theo a look, "He's gon’ turn—it’s in his body.”
Emery shakes her head, tears in her eyes, “You can’t do that, I’m not watching you die!”
“You don’t got’ a choice!”
He knocks his head down to Sahfeya as he still holds on, “Let me go.”
“Onyankopon, please!—“
Onyankopon tries to take another step, but his knees buckle, his hand gripping into the wall beside them—the floor feels close—comfortable.
He’s falling.
The fear that grips everyone’s body vibrates the walls—it feels nauseous, a soft sob spilling from Emery’s lips as she watches her brother try to push away from all of them. Her sibling. Elijah’s brother in law. Theo’s
best friend. Sahfeya’s—
He collapses.
Nothing.
He was nothing.
𝓐ᥫ᭡
FOR IT TO BE NO ELECTRICITY WITHIN THE HOUSE, THE CANDLES ALMOST SEEM LUMINESCENT. Heavy eyelids catch the blur of flames, going from narrowed, to open.
They try to find some type of focus—the sable duvet of blankets, back to the flames flickering softly—or, the feminine silhouette, darkened curls framing the round face that doesn’t come into full vision yet. However, the faint scent of vanilla comes to fruition.
“Hey.”
Was it a dream?
Things become more clear—and seeing those round brown eyes, freckles, soft features—maybe it wasn’t a dream.
His body jolts—a warm, small palm coming above his, “It’s just me.”
“Don’t touch me.”
His voice grunts as an effort to raise himself from the bed, “Is everyone okay?”
“Onyankopon.”
The events of the day begin to flood his memory; he struggles to sit up, but his arms feel weak—he growls, “Don’t lemme’ repeat myself.”
Sahfeya eyes him for a moment. She sighs, “Even almost dying, you’re still stubborn.”
Her voice is softer, “Everyone’s fine. They’re all resting—Aaila’s been real fussy for the past couple of days—she just misses her uncle,” she lightly pokes.
At the mention of Aaila, his expression softens. But he can’t lie, he’s confused.
“A couple days? That’s how long I been’ out?”
Sahfeya shakes her head, “Almost a week now,” she corrects, “You’re probably experiencing a bit of soreness.”
His eyes glance down to his arm—the bitten one, his fingers running along the now bandaged skin. At the sight, his eyes narrow.
“I didn't change,” he mutters.
Sahfeya eyes him.
“Never got the opportunity to use that cure—I figured I’d do some good, put it to better use than using it on myself.”
“The cure?” he frowns, “You had it?”
That’s when she raises her hand, “Sticky fingers, remember? Who knows, I may be on the run from the Embassy.”
Something in him wants to be amused. But he can’t help but to say, “You ain’t have to do that—that shit could’ve happened to you, Sahfeya.”
Sahfeya shrugs, “It could have. But it didn’t.”
Her fingers brush along his palm, “I gave it to someone who deserved it—Just as much as Samira did.”
The words she speaks sinks into him.
"You saved a nigga life.”
Sahfeya gives a gentle smile, “Call it an actual apology for trying to rob you in the first place.”
Onyankopon just stares at her for a moment—his eyes roaming over her figure with an unreadable expression.
Her shoulders hike up a bit, more tense than she should’ve been as she notices, “Are you feeling okay? Oh god—are you having a stroke or something? Do you need water—“
No, he just needed her.
Onyankopon’s rough palm cradles the smooth flesh at the back of her neck, pulling her mouth against his, kissing her.
It’s slow—his lips soft, gentle, a contrast to everything else about him. He’s warm, fingers wrapping to the back of her neck, taking in every part of her—her eyes flutter shut as she exhales against his mouth, hands trembling a bit as she leans herself against his biceps—she tenses as she feels her fingers along his gauze, pulling back as her face flushed a red, “Um—“
She presses her fingers to her mouth, “You should shower.”
"You sayin’ I stink?"
“No,” her giggle feels awkward, “I just—you’ve been laying in bed for days—it might clear your head a bit—“
“What you’ sayin’? That I kissed you ‘cause my brain muddled?”
She blinks softly, “Maybe.”
And to her surprise, he listens. His body might’ve felt a slight soreness, but the hot water against his muscles definitely helped his mind clear, the past couple of days replaying all in a multitude of imagery within his mind. Everything meant something to him.
Onyankopon steps out of the shower, towel hanging low along his hips, only being held by the clutch of his palm. His durag is tied atop of his head, full lips flushed from the warmth of the shower, the steam hazing into the bedroom as he steps out, catching sight of a silhouette—the bare dip of Sahfeya’s back curves inwards, her ass heavy as she pulls the oversized tee to cover her body—she hears him, pulling the material down as her soft voice questions, “You mind if I sleep in this?”
His eyes had lingered, drinking in his fill of her soft body before looking up to meet her gaze—she’s flustered, body flushed from head to toe as she stood at the edge of the bed.
His voice is low, “Gon’ head.”
She tugs a curl of her hair, pulling a bit as some type of distraction—her eyes look at him, but she doesn’t make it entirely obvious as she questions, “The shower made you feel any better?”
His body moves towards the dresser, tattooed chest glistening in the dim light—he leans forward as he pulls out a drawer filled with his clothing, but he doesn’t move to retrieve anything yet.
Onyankopon leans further, “The hot water felt good,” he husks, “Made it easier to think—my mind was all over the place when I first woke up.”
“And?”
“And—ion’ remember much now,” he takes a step towards her, Sahfeya’s round eyes blinking in return.
“You don’t?”
Onyankopon shakes his head, eyes moving over her own, “Nah—Everything before me gettin’ in that shower is kinda blurry.”
His tone lowers, “But—ion’ know, I might’ve remembered a lil’ kiss or sum’.”
Sahfeya’s face drops, her palm swatting his arm as she whines, “Don’t play like that,” stepping back as he dips his face to meet hers—he’s grunting as he reaches for her waist, “Play like what, huh?”
“Ony.”
He chuckles, his palms gripping her soft hips, pulling her forward as she attempts to move, “You already forgettin’ me?“
“No,” her arms hesitantly found his shoulders, “I just—wanna make sure it wasn’t a pity kiss—you know, ‘cause I helped you.”
“That shit’ crazy,” he grumbles, “I kissed you ‘cause I can’t get my mind off you, girl.”
His nose brushes hers—Sahfeya’s body tenses a bit, her nod soft as she glides her teeth along the plush of her bottom lip, “Okay.”
Through all of that shell she’d protected herself with being here, he feels it being broken down the moment her fingers trail the silk of his durag, her breath hitching as his lips brush against hers.
“You gon’ let a nigga have you?”
The question makes her body taut in his arms. Her teeth dip lower into her bottom lip, Sahfeya tensing to ground herself, “Ony—”
His voice is gruffer than before as he narrows his eyes down, his lips brushing her own in torturous repetitions, “Relax yo’ hand.”
Her eyebrows furrow a bit, a throb coming from her clit in a way that it shouldn’t have. She takes another breath, her palm slowly releasing from the nervous hold she had, whimpering the moment his mouth sucks at her lips.
"You’ a good ass girl. Don't tense," he grunts—Sahfeya squeaks softly the moment he grabs her by the thick flesh of her thighs, tossing her down the bed—his shoulders loom the arch of her body.
Onyankopon’s head then dips, his lips pressing to hers with more force, “You know what you doin’ to me?”
His fingers slip into the intertwine of hers, holding her palms against the bed. It causes her lower body to sway a bit in return, her forehead knocking into his as her face flushes, eyes fluttering shut.
"Don't do allat’," he rasps, “You a nigga riled up," his fingers trail up her arms, grazing the tips of her knuckles with his thumb. He grips onto her fingers, "Gon' let me see you, girl.“
The kiss he gives her is hard—his mind blank as he comes down onto her plump lips, “Eyes.”
Her lashes flick up, palms trembling under his—at the same time, his tongue slides deep into her mouth, Onyankopon lowering down to begin sucking up the flesh of her throat. Her eyes clasp shut.
“Nah,” he growls —his fingers grip onto her jaw with one hand, pulling her gaze up, breath hot against her lips, “Keep them’ eyes up here.”
It’s as if he commands her attention.
“You gon’ have to relax—my shit ain’t nothin’ nice.”
If his lower region wasn’t nice, his mouth certainly wasn’t any better.
He’s tugging off her panties, dragging her to meet his mouth—a slurp resounds against the room as his lips suck at her clit, the facial hair along his face becoming coated with the arousal that glistens on her pussy—Sahfeya hitches a breath, clawing for his shoulder. Her thighs tremble, “Ony—s—shit…”
“You wet as fuck.”
He’s giving her a mean showing of pleasure, his tongue lapping between her folds with every shiver of her body—Her thighs trap his head, back arching from every rapture that courses through her stomach. It seems like the words he speaks are laced with fire and truth, a soft shudder making her mind feel fuzzy—his shoulders rise, tongue sweeping across the top of her lips, “Keep them legs up.”
He’s telling her that, but he’s moving them on his own as latches her ankles above her head—Sahfeya’s eyes are low, fighting to keep them from closing at the sight of him. The brown of his eyes and skin, his jaw clenched as he watches her, handsome features hard.
Onyankopon’s forehead connects with hers the moment his towel drops, Sahfeya jolting at the feel of his dick smacking her folds, tip rubbing her clit—he was right about something though, his dick was nothing nice. Veiny, girthy, long. But the moment he sinks into her, her mouth parts open at the truth of his words—her fingers clutch, hips unable to move as he holds her down. He grunts when she gives a whimper, her body tugging beneath his—she feels full, a pleasured discomfort.
“I know,” he rumbles, tightening the hold he had on her hands, “You full, baby. My shit curvin’ in you.”
Her legs tremble beneath his body, and when his tip lugs deeper, Sahfeyah’s face hides within her shoulder, tears brimming her eyes as another deep, fiery pinch of pleasure rushes through her body—her voice is soft, “O—Ooh…”
His lips sear into her own, “You gon’ take me?”
She shakes, her nose finding his—she’s mewling, “It’s big, Ony.”
Onyankopon’s grip tightens on her wrists. He’s grizzled at the plea of a voice, “You wanna see how you takin’ it?”
He releases her hands, cradling both of his palms at the back of her head as he strokes so slowly—he pulls her face up, allowing her eyes to find the connection of their bodies below. She’s watching.
And just from the sight—her legs slowly spread open in a way that her folds stretch to take more of him in, her forehead pressing further against his as her arms wrap around his back—she whimpers, “Oh my god…”
He doesn’t stop pounding, the grip on her head possessive, her mouth parted open, yet, nothing comes out.
“Just keep watchin’ my shit go in—it’s gon’ go deeper every time.”
He’s grunting this to her.
“OohmygodOny.”
“You bet’ not fuckin’ move. Keep it up.”
The connection of his palm to her face has Sahfeya moan, Onyankopon groaning to her in repetitions, “Keep it up. Keep it up.”
Her walls are softening the more his dick encases her folds, it makes her feen for more. Sahfeya takes her ankles, wrapping her palms around the soles of her feet as she spreads her legs completely open—now, they’re to the sides of her head—this angle, her eyes roll—she’s groaning.
The splatter and schluck overwhelm her ears, her cream coating his dick to a discoloration. He has her pressed into the mattress, her face screwing up—she’s loud.
“On—Onyan,” she breathes, a small, soft sob coming from her lips, “My stomach…”
“Yeah?” The grip he finds on her jaw goes tight, “I’m in there?”
“You’re in there, baby,” she harshly exhales, “Fuck.”
“I know. You gettin’ loud, all in a nigga ear.”
She’s still holding her own legs up, her lower lip bruised as her teeth sink into it. She’s repeating with every move, “Oooh, Oooh, Oooh,” her mouth going.
“Good girl,” he coos, his hand gripping her chin so her eyes are back on his, “Can a nigga spit in your mouth?”
Sahfeya faintly nods—all of a sudden, she’s shy.
“Use them’ big girl words, ion’ want that shy shit.”
Her breathing is hard, panting when she attempts to speak, “Yeah, baby. Lemme’ have it.”
Onyankopon snarls at her plea, the tip of his fingers sliding along her chin as he re-grips her jaw—his fingers curl, his spit landing on her tongue, jaw flexing at the sight of her—Sahfeya squeezes her eyes, mouth parting to catch his saliva.
“My shit feel that good?”
“Uh-huhhh,” her eyes rolled back in return.
She whimpers in such a bimbo way, “Like the way you fuck me, Ony.”
“Good ass girl—you gone,” his lips are close, breath hot against her own, brown eyes gleaming over her face—Sahfeya sticks her tongue out once more, twisting it around with his—she moans, flicking it up and down against his, just tasting him.
“Ooh,” he groans, “Just like that, girl—Just. Like. That.”
Onyankopon’s kiss is aggressive, his palms gripping her jaw as his hand slides up her face—his tongue strokes hers, his grip rough as it finds the flesh of her throat.
His breathing turns sharp, grunting in a way that’s loud, his hips snapping.
“This shit good,” his hips deeply thrust down into her pussy—holding at her cervix—Sahfeya gasps intensely as he tugs back out.
Onyankopon growls—the grip on her throat tightens.
“I heard that. Do that shit again.”
“Ony.”
On the second stroke—Sahfeya’s voice is high, her back arching from the bed—her body shakes against his.
His palm slaps her cheek, "Gimme’ that noise again."
“Oooh,” she moans, fingers still holding her ankles in place, “Onnny.”
She raises her nails up to his abdomen, dragging them along the flesh. She whimpers, “Come’ closer.”
His groan is gruff, his arms wrapping around her waist as he yanks her close—Her arms latch around his neck in return, holding him tight as she smashes her mouth to his. He feels her.
This kiss is slow, a contrast to the hard grinding Onyankopon does.
“Yeah, yeah,” he’s coaxing, his hands sliding up the smooth flesh of her back, “Keep them sounds comin’.”
They’re nearly seated up at this point, Onyankopon holding her by the flesh of her thighs—Sahfeya’s clinging on, clawing along his back while her other hand rests at the nape of his neck. His groan is low, his hand gripping the back of her curls as he yanks their mouths together, still stroking, “Got a nigga fuckin’ you crazy.”
“A—Agh,” she mewls, knocking her cheek into his jaw, eyes shut as she moans within his ear.
“O—Ony,” she’s whining, "Oh my god, baby.”
He thrusts deeper, her body shaking in his hands, “You sound so pretty, baby.”
“You feel good as hell,” he continuously rasps, “You feel so good.”
Onyankopon is hissing, his lips sucking at the side of her neck—Sahfeya’s whining out, her grip on him tight, fingers holding.
“There, baby.”
His dick curves to the angle Sahfeya wants as he slams into her—she cries out— clutching onto him, a rapture of pleasure wafting her entire body. But he wanted more. He then flips her onto her stomach, eyes facing the mirror directly across from the bed. His hand is already clutching her throat, Sahfeya’s eyes rolling as shoves back in, her ass clapping to the gush of his dick returning inside her—She drops her face into the sheets, mewling for the thousandth time.
“Nah—look,” His hand forces her face to look up, “See how I got you?”
His palm slaps the flesh of her ass, a loud echo coming within the room mixturing with the rhythm of her ass bouncing on his abdomen—Onyankopon’s palm grips her asscheek, his eyes narrowing at the reflection in the mirror, “Look at that.”
He lays his body atop of hers, face burying into the crook of her neck as his lips rests at the shell of her ear—her face is flushed, cheeks rosy and lips bruised as her low eyes look within his.
But she’s no better than him—she’s taking her lower body, grinding it back. Her head turns to face him, keeping her ear against his mouth as she hears him groan into it.
She giggles through her whimper, “Lemme’ bounce back on it, baby. Wanna hear you.”
Onyankopon’s voice is a huff, his teeth sinking into the flesh of Sahfeya’s neck, the hand on her chin yanking her head to the side, “You don’t gotta’ beg.”
His body sits up, fingers spreading her pussy from behind, “Get close,” he grunts. She’s obedient, grinding her body back against his, whimpering, “Oh my—Ooh—,” her body shaking against him, Onyankopon’s head rolling back.
She’s whiny, voice hiccuping as she just—takes him.
“You got it,” he’s biting his own lip as his curved palm pulls her into each thrust, his eyes narrow as they travel from their reflection back to her—he swats her ass, “You a muhfuckin’ pro. You takin’ this fat ass dick.”
“Slow down, baby…”
From the mirror, she watches his palm slide to the right side of her face—he slaps at it, “You gon’ take me like you want it. Don’t be cryin’ now.”
“Oooh!” she’s groaning, “Fuck, Ony.”
Her lips are parted, a soft gasp coming from her mouth as he keeps. Going.
“You gon’ give me all of you?”
He smacks her ass again.
“Tell a nigga.”
Her pussy rocks back onto his dick—Onyankopon finds her throat from behind as she responds, her voice quiet, “I’m yours, Ony.”
“You gon’ be mine forever, huh?”
He’s sloppily tugging her—his breaths quickening as his palm goes to the back of her neck.
“Uh-huh,” she’s nodding, “I’m—so close.”
Sahfeya’s eyes flutter when he lowers himself back into a kiss from behind—a low groan coming from his lips, “Look at me,” he’s coaxing—she’s quick to obey, “That’s it, baby,” his lips sucking at her own, “My fuckin’ girl.”
It’s a rush of emotions between the two— she frowns between her soft sob of, “I’m cumming.”
She keeps repeating it, holding onto him like she’d never touched him before—like she did when she thought he’d held his last breath.
There’s a sudden snarl from his chest as he slows—a flash of emotion comes across his features—he moans with her, the final smack of their lips louder than before as he feels her folds drenching his tip feverishly. It doesn’t stop—it doesn’t stop, they’re moving, rocking together—hot, messy, passionate.
Then, they’re silent.
A moment of peace, of reassurance—Sahfeya is the first one to break the tension, her voice soft, “I’m sorry.”
He remains in her, his breathing soft as he buries his face in the crook of her neck, “For what?”
“‘Think I scratched your arm where you were bitten.”
Onyankopon furrows his eyebrows. His lips tug into a small smirk, “You too good.”
“Yo’! Emery’s finally makin’ that beef stew—“
The door swings open, Theo adjusting his glasses as he continues, “She needed to know if—oh shit!”
Sahfeyah’s body is instantly shielded, her lips squeaking at the sudden movement.
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.
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.
Imma only be reading Sinner fanfics from black people, cos I just saw a remmick fanfic where it's an x reader, but the reader is the daughter of a plantation owner. WTF. This is the straw that broke the camel's back. Between ignoring the black characters of sinners, centring the white ones, unironically making stereotypes of the black characters and misunderstanding the movie entirely, I've just seen so much trifling behaviour from non black sinners fans. This goes without saying, this is obviously not all white white people or non black people.
I love you nerdy black reader I love you ghetto black reader I love you country girl black reader I love you city girl black reader I love you virgin black reader I love you ho black reader I love you weed smoking black reader I love you straight edge black reader I love you black reader and you’re perfect regardless 🫶🏾
a/n: helping toji take a load off… literally ;P 18+
The atmosphere was calm— lights dimmed just enough for you to see, the sweet aroma of your candle burning, and the sound of rain hitting the trees from the nearby open window. You leaned back against your headboard, pillows supporting your back as your man laid down with his back to your chest. The thick blunt left his pillow lips as grey smoke surrounded you.
“Squeeze a lil’ baby.” He commands, shifting slightly.
You tighten the grip around his thick cock turning your wrist counterclockwise, focusing on his tip, while your other hand massaged his balls. Dribbles of precum coat your hand as a thank you. Toji groans as he took another drag from his smoke.
“Like that baby. S-shiiit”
He took another hit of his blunt to hide his moans but you already heard it. His toes start to curl in his socks as he feel himself getting closer to cumming. The hand that was massaging his balls is now stroking his dick clockwise.
“Uugn fuck baby- I’m so fuckin’ close.”
His hips humped your palms meeting the steady rhythm of your stroking. The blunt is long gone as he used his hands to grab the comforter to try and ground himself. He’s almost there he just needs a push. Without missing a beat, your lips kissed and sucked behind his ear, he’s so sensitive there.
“Give it to me daddy, cum for me. I need it so bad.” You purr in between kisses.
“F-fffuuuuucccccckkkkk!” Long groans and curses left his mouth as ropes of his hot cum shoot out, coating your hands and his lower stomach. You continued to milk his orgasm causing his body to jerk as he was starting to get overstimulated.
“Sssss baby- mmmh!”
You stroked faster with the help of his cum acting as a natural lubricant. He groaned loudly in his native language as his palms turned white from the grasp he had on the bed.
“M’cummin’… Fuck- fuck m’cummin’!” Clear-ish liquid dribbled out of his tip before one, two, three shots of his cum decorate your hands once again. You allowed him to catch his breath as you kissed along his sweaty face.
“You did so good baby. M’ proud of you.”
Your hands abandoned his dick as you licked your fingers. Before you could fully swallow his nut, he brought your face to his for a sloppy kiss— wanting to taste himself. You pulled away giggling.
“You’re so nasty!”
“And you love it.”
Fireworks decorated the night sky as distant popping and sizzling could be heard from the open window
“Happy New Year!”
“Yeah, yeah.” he grumbled retrieving the blunt from the nearby ashtray.
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