BLACK OC!(Clover.) x Joey Bada$$ as "Unique" from Raising Kanan.
(A/N: I don't condone sex in the church. I intended to completely revamp this story, enhancing it overall, even the detailed smut section. However, I hope you enjoy it!❤️🫡🤣)
Summary: You were a churchgoer to your aunt's church on Sundays, until Unique took over as the new pastor, His arrival brought a wave of change, including a growing attraction between you and him. As you confessed your feelings to him, a scandalous affair you had to hide, threatening to tear apart the church and your faith.
Warnings: praise, dirty talk, in the church, slow seduction, spanking, choking/breathplay, head (male receiving) teasing, rough sex.
His back leaned against the crimson-cushioned armchair with his deep brown eyes fixed on the group of churchgoers leaving from the pews as their hushed chatter filled the spacious sanctuary, the double doors closed behind the two black women standing between the pews, inviting the silence in the church. The scent of his cologne filled the air, a mix of musk and sandalwood that added to his allure. The four walls are painted in a vanilla cream hue adorned with stained glass windows, the sunlight peeks through casting a warm orange glow.
"Clov' can you believe that 'Nique is the new custodian/minister of the church?" Simone whispered softly, her eyebrows raised in confusion.
"Nope, I can't believe it at all.." Clover whispered back, shaking her head from side to side.
Ever since the moment Unique engaged in a persuasive conversation with Clover's aunt, Athena Clark, the notorious kingpin of New York, he maintained his henchmen actively working on the streets, while he effortlessly accumulated wealth. With his loyal right-hand man Worrell by his side, Unique's suave demeanor and irresistible charm managed to win over Athena's trust.
Clover sported a sleek black knee-length dress that hugged her curves perfectly paired with matching heels adorning her feet, her dark brown skin with her brown eyes on display, and her honey brown tresses swayed gently at her shoulders with a gold heart-shaped necklace hung around her neck and her small gold hoop earrings swung from her ears.
Although the members of the church were less than thrilled, Athena silenced their criticisms and transformed Unique's involvement into a profitable venture. Surprisingly, the church harbored a greater number of drug addicts than Unique had anticipated. Consequently, he assumed the roles of both custodian and chairman for the church situated in Aristoa Queens.
But ever since Unique took over, something had shifted within her. His sermons were captivating, his words resonating deep within her soul. There was an undeniable connection between them, one that went beyond the realm of spirituality.
The churchgoers didn't say anything but only kept it to themselves. Worrell wasn't too convinced that Kadeem changed his ways from the start, but Unique had had his eyes on Clover for some time now, and their attraction toward each other grew deeper.
"Yo, I'll be headin' to the stash house for the night 'Nique. I'll page you if anythin' goes down or when Raq is workin' her way up." Worrell mentioned, he steps off the stage.
His boss gave him a subtle nod with a hint of authority, "A'ight then, Thank you Worrell.." Unique replied, standing up from the chair.
Unique sported a black fur coat paired with a matching black tee shirt, his deep ebony skin and glinting gold herringbone chain shone underneath the crescent moon-hued lights, and black dress pants pooled around his legs as his sly grin showed his gold fronts along with a single gold hoop earring dangling from his right ear. His freshly cut low fade is on display.
"Miss Clover," he called out, his voice smooth as silk. "Would you care to join me in the pews?"
Her heart raced at the invitation, a mix of excitement and guilt flooding through her. She hesitated for a moment, however, her desire overpowered any sense of rationality. "Yes Kadeem.." Clover finally spoke up, giving him a nod.
As Worrell and Simone filed out, Clover found herself lingering, unable to tear her gaze away from Unique. His eyes met her, a knowing smile playing on his lips. It was as if he could sense the turmoil within her, the desires that she had kept hidden for so long. The doors closed behind them, leaving the two of them alone in the church.
Kadeem took a seat in the front row of the crimson-cushioned russet brown pews with Clover settling beside him, his arms resting on the headrest of the pews, their eyes locked on each other as the tension filled the air.
"Is there anythin' you want to talk to me about Clov'?" Kadeem asked her, tilting his head toward her as he caught a glimpse of her shy smile.
She exhaled a soft breath from her lips as Clover gathered her thoughts in the depths of her mind, and mustered up the courage to tell him.
"I came here today because I have these desires and feelings for you.." Clover confessed, her teeth tucked between her lips.
"As the new pastor of this church, I'm here to tell you that there's nothin' to be ashamed of baby. We all have desires..." He added with a grin, gently twisting his thick gold rings adorning his fingers.
"So tell me, what do I do with these desires Kadeem?" Clover asked softly, her heart beating out of her chest.
His devilish smirk etched on his attractive face, "We can explore them together, Clover." He replied, his voice laced with mischief.
The naughty thoughts of doing such salacious acts in the church made her feel nervous, She had never imagined herself in such a scandalous situation, but there was something about Kadeem that drew her in, something she couldn't resist.
"Let me show you a different kind of worship."
Clover gently caressed Kadeem's face, her touch sending shivers down his spine.
"You are so beautiful. And I want to worship every inch of you," he murmured, his lips brushing against hers.
He captured her lips in a passionate kiss with the soft smack of their lips filling the empty church. "Worship me then.." She whispered, her lips brushed his.
She bashfully scoots closer to him, her knees touching his. She gently stood up from the couch and crouched between his legs, "Can I touch you baby?" she asked softly. He nodded in response, his teeth tucked underneath his bottom lip. Showing off his glinting gold fronts.
Her hands deftly unbuckled his black belt with her cheeks growing hot at the sound of his zipper unzipping, gently sliding down his pants and grey boxers. His dick sprung free from the deep green fabric and stood at attention, "Kadeem, you're so big.." Clover cooed, she pecked the tip of his dick, Clover heard him say 'fuck' under his breath.
"Is this dick all mine?" Clover hummed with a sly smirk, her hand stroking his dick gently. Hearing him grunt deeply in response.
Her hand stroked his length with the veins of his dick protruding against her fingerprints, Kadeem threw his head back onto the plush pillow as his large hands instinctively gripped the headrest of the pews, "Damn Clov'. It's all yours baby.." he moaned raspily, He thrusts his hips into her hand. In desperate need of friction.
She watched his glossy precum seep from his tip, and her tongue eagerly tasted it that flowed, eliciting a moan of pleasure from her.
Clover skillfully took his length in her mouth with her head bopping up and down on his dick, eliciting deep grunts from the young male. "fuck, that's my girl" he praised, his hand resting on the crown of her head.
Clover's eyes watered slightly as she fought against her gag reflex, her tongue traced across the veins of his dick. She relaxed her throat, allowing him to slide deeper, the sensation both overwhelming and exhilarating. Kadeem's grip tightened in her hair, his hips thrusting gently as he guided her rhythm.
He softly nudged her head, causing the tip of his dick to brush against the back of her throat, while he tilted his head backward. "Use that pretty mouth baby..." Clover's moans were muffled by his length, her hands gripping the pews for support. She could feel the heat building within her, her panties pooled with her essence. Staining the red carpet underneath them.
"You look so pretty like this.."
Without a utter from him, "f-fuck..i'm-" he moaned loudly, his gold rings brushed across her dark brown skin, "Come then, baby.." she muttered, as he poured his thick warm jets of cum into her mouth. She swallowed every drop of him and he gently pulled her off of him before giving her a passionate kiss on the lips.
"I think you deserve a reward for that baby girl.."
Clover had a smirk adorned on her face, "Worship me Kadeem.." Clover whispered, gently taking off her black lace panties as she flung them at him.
Kadeem caught them in his hand and passed them back to her, "You're such a bad girl..." he cooed, pecking her forehead. He pulled up his boxers and pants.
"Hello? Pastor Kadeem?" a fellow pastor named Joesph called out. His voice echoed upstairs and stepped closer to the balcony.
Clover's eyes widened for a bit from hearing Joseph's voice before Kadeem quickly carried her to the back of the church, Kadeem carried her through the dimly lit narrow hallway of the holy sanctuary, his steps echoed off the walls as he unlocked the door in front of her.
————
He opened the door as he strode through the threshold, entering the brightly lit spacious room as he closed the door behind them with a gentle click.
"That was a close one huh?" Clover joked, bursting into laughter.
Kareem playfully rolled his eyes at her and he gently laid her on her back on the plush chocolate brown leather couch, his gaze never leaving hers.
"Yeah it was..." he chuckled lightly, his fingers traced patterns on her bare thighs.
"You ready?" He asked gently, pecking her lips twice.
"Yes.."
Clover gently parted her legs for him revealing her glistening pussy, Kadeem pulled his pants and boxers down a bit as he gently rolled his tip across her wet folds and throbbing clit, "Look at you, already fuckin' wet for me.." Kadeem teased, his teeth tucked between his lips.
He leaned in gradually as she did the same action, his lips pressed onto her lips, he tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss as their tongues swirled in different directions, "please...i need your dick..." she mumbled, their kisses both stifled their moans, as he delicately guided his dick between her wet folds, causing her mouth to part slightly.
"yes..just like that.." Clover moaned softy, throwing her arms over his shoulders.
Kadeem pushed his hips forward, slowly sliding his length into her tight, wet walls. Clover gasped at the feeling of him filling her up, "I-i love this dick baby..." she gasped, her walls clenching around him. He groaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he began to move, setting at a steady pace.
"And I love this wet pussy..." he praised, his eyes locked on her face twisting up in pleasure. The sounds of their moans and skin slapping together filling the room. His large hand wrapped her throat as he gently applied pressure, forcing her gaze on his.
Kadeem's thrusts grew harder and faster, his hips meeting hers with each powerful movement. "Oh fuck! Kadeem!" Clover chanted, her nails dug into his back, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as she felt his tip kiss her cervix.
The couch creaked beneath them, deepening their connection. Her wet walls clenched around his dick as he moaned again, "You're taking this dick so well baby.." he grunted deeply, her moans growing louder and more desperate, he reached down between her legs and rubbed her clit in tight circles, his thumb covered in her juices, pushing her closer to the edge.
"Oh—shit! I-I'm cumming..." Clover announced, her nails scratching onto his back, leaving new welts on his deep ebony skin, their melanated skin glistening with beads of swear underneath the lights.
"Let it all out baby..." He praised through her climax, passionately kissing her lips.
Her juices gushed all over his dick completely with their lips breaking apart, Clover's orgasm washed over her as she cried out loudly, her her body trembling beneath him. Kadeem gently pulled out of her right on time before he too reached his peak. He came on her stomach and the young male stood up from the couch. He grabbed her hand and pecked the back of her palm.
Kadeem pulled up his boxers and black pants with his eyes on Clover getting dressed before the night time arrived. "So tell me did I fulfill your desires baby?" He asked gently, buckling his belt together.
"Yes you did, I'm impressed Pastor Kadeem." Clover chuckled lightly, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress.
"I never knew worship could feel this good," she whispered, her teeth tucked between her lips.
Clover and Kadeem walked out of his office as they smiled at Joseph with fake smiles, Kadeem closed the door behind him. Greeting the young brown-skinned man with kindness.
"Is everything alright down there?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at them.
"Yes, everything is just fine Joseph. Just discussing sermons with Kadeem.." Clover chuckled lightly,
"Oh, that's great. Have a great and safe night out there.." Joseph told them, giving them a warm smile. He stepped out of the church.
They exchanged pleasantries with Joseph, making small talk about church events and upcoming sermons. Clover feel a rush of excitement and guilt as she maintained her composure, knowing what had just happened between her and Kadeem in the sacred space of the church.
Once they were alone in Kadeem's car, Clover turned to him with a serious expression on her face. "Kadeem, what we just did...it was incredible, but we can't let it happen again."
"You're right, Clover. We crossed a line today, and it's important that we keep it ourselves..."
"Why the fuck were you stayin' out so gotdamn late at night again hm?"
With an air of elegance, she perched on the plush chocolate-brown couch, her arms and legs crossed in an unwavering stance. Her stubborn gaze bore into her husband as he puffed on a blunt, exhaling thick clouds of smoke into the air. The scent of jasmine perfume and weed mingled together, filling the room. The soft sound of Faith Evans' "Soon As I Get Home" drifted from the radio, barely audible as she turned down the volume with her delicate fingertips. The medium-sized living room was adorned with coffee-cream walls, adorned with frames of the couple's wedding day and a few works of art. The bright orange recessed lights shone down on their melanated skin, heightening the tension in the room. The thick, heavy atmosphere was palpable enough to cut with a knife.
"Lanae you know damn well why I'm always out of this fuckin' house so late, I'm workin' on these streets to provide for you! When I'm busy, You can call Worrell, Donnie and Tyree on what the fuck I'm doin' for our family yo!" Unique spat, frustrated, pointing to the phone on the answering machine that wasn't glowing red.
As Unique's gaze narrowed, he crushed the blunt into the ashtray, the drug coursing through his veins. Despite the temporary calmness it brought, his nerves remained frayed by the ongoing argument.
"If you need proof, just give Worrell, Donnie, or Tyree a call and ask them what I'm doing for us. It's frustratin' to see that red light on the answering machine not blinking, telling me that you haven't even bothered to check for my messages Nae." Unique spat with intensity, his finger pointing toward the silent machine.
"I'm not calling them niggas, I'm pagin' you! Then why the hell I'm smellin' perfume on you, Kadeem? Are you cheatin' on me? 'cause I swear I'll knock that grill out of yo' mouth and make sure that bitch never sees the light of day nigga!" Lanae exclaimed, her voice laced with anger and frustration.
Lanae stood up from the couch, her black slippers gliding over the polished hardwood floors, her hands planted firmly on her hips. Getting closer to his face, It was just another day, another argument.
Lanae draped herself in a sleek jet-black silk robe, hugging her curvaceous body while the soft fabric rubbed against her thick thighs. The sleeves stopped at her elbows, allowing her to flaunt her soft melanated skin. To complete her look, she adorned a black paisley banana on her dark brown curls, which bounced gracefully at her shoulders. Her thick glasses rested behind her dark brown pupils, and she kept her feet cozy with black slippers and black tube socks. A shimmering gold necklace around her neck with the initial 'L', sent a slight shiver down her spine from the cold metal.
"First of all, I ain't fuckin' no other bitch and I was workin' with Raquel this mornin' second of all, I'm not a bum ass nigga who cheats on his wife! This is the seventh time with this bullshit Nae Nae!" Unique shot back, pinching his forehead. He regretted putting out his blunt just now, realizing he relied on marijuana to soothe his nerves.
For the last few weeks, Unique and Lanae have been constantly at odds with each other. Their relationship had become quite toxic, with pointless arguments leading to more fights. However, the constant bickering had taken a toll on both of them, leaving them feeling drained and exhausted.
"I knew it! I knew that old bitch liked young niggas like you! Matter of fact, if you're partnerin' with Raquel so much then why don't you just leave with her hard-headed ass son!"
Unique glared at his wife with a mean mug, a deep exhale escaped from his nostrils. He took a step back from her, his anger simmering inside. all he did was take deep breaths to calm his temper down because It seemed like they were on the brink of a breaking point, and Lanae's accusations were only adding fuel to the fire.
Unique knew that he needed to keep his cool, but it was getting harder and harder to do so. He took a deep breath and he couldn't explain himself again.
With his beige timberlands firmly planted on the brown hardwood floor, Unique spun on his heels and strode towards the door. Without a word to his wife, he swung the door open and stormed out of the house, the sound of his footsteps clicking on the concrete.
Lanae slumped onto the couch, tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched him go. Her heart sank as she heard the car doors slam and the engine revving, the sound of tires screeching as he tore out of the quiet neighborhood, leaving her alone with her tears.
———-
After a few hours of him being gone, Nae realized that the argument was stupid. She understood that Unique has been toiling tirelessly to provide for her and she knew he wouldn't cheat on her.
Just as Unique swung the door open and stepped back into the house, the realization hit her like a ton of bricks. He shut the door behind him and he locked eyes with his wife, Lanae, who promptly stood up from the couch. The couple made their way towards each other, their gazes locked in an intense embrace.
"Kadeem, I'm sorr—" but he interrupted her with a rough kiss, his hands tenderly cupping her face. They locked lips messily while Lanae's soft moans were stifled with each brush of his plump lips. Despite the ash and liquor on his breath, his enticing lips were just as intoxicating.
The throbbing sensation between her folds drove her wild, while Kadeem's twitching member in his pants caused a low groan to emit from him.
With lightning speed, Unique lifted his beloved and placed her on his shoulder, his lips curling into a seductive smirk. "If we fight then we can make up right baby?" He grinned, strutting confidently down the hallway and into their bedroom, closing the door with a thud.
—————
His bare back lay flat against the red silk sheets, Kadeem's strong right hand gripped the sides of her neck while his left hand held onto her wide hips, keeping her in place. He pressed her naked back against his broad chest as his slim hips swiveled with a rampant rhythm, driving into her with precision. Her eyes rolled back as his large hand kneaded her C-cup breast, his fingertip slightly pinching her erect nipple. "Fuckk! Kadeem!!" she moaned out, unable to contain her pleasure as her body shook and bounced under his rough touch.
At this point, these two had already forgotten what they were arguing about in the first place when they were in the moment right now, Unique was such a tease during sex, he can rough, fast or slow whichever she wanted. He will deliver. "You love this dick?" he groaned lowly, He rammed upwards into her with a steady and powerful rhythm, hitting her favorite spot that made her see stars.
She felt his hot breath on her neck, urging her to come undone with him. "Y-Yesss! I love that dick! Daddy!" Lanae sobbed out, tears of pleasure rolling down her rosy red cheeks, She arched her back while pressing her body closer to his as she felt the heat building up inside her. The wet noises of her pussy swallowing his dick aired out in the bedroom.
Kadeem moves his hand from Lanae's breast and slowly moved it down to her clit, his middle finger gently massaging it in fast circles. "I love this pussy...Don't you forget that.." Unique moaned, She let out a soft moan, her wide hips moving in rhythm with his touch as they continued to move together, the sound of their skin slapping filled the room, building the intensity of their passion.
Unique watched in awe as Lanae's body tensed up, signaling her impending climax. With a few more thrusts, their movements became more frantic, leaving a mess of sheets beneath them. "You're makin' a mess Nae Nae," Unique cooed, her delicate hands gripping the silk sheets. "I-i'm cummin—"Lanae was cut off by the sudden rush of her climax, her white creamy essence spilling over his thick manhood. He was in a trace as his dick glistened under the dim lights before he too reached his peak, filling Lanae with his hot cum.
With a swift motion, Unique pulled out of her wet core, his hand gripping the sides of her neck and demanded, "Open wide for me, my baby girl." He released his hold on her neck as she opened her mouth wide while sticking her tongue out and angling his member at her mouth. Meanwhile, her lover pumped himself quickly, "Lanae..fuckk" He deeply grunted as he climaxed, spilling his warm cum onto her tongue. She moaned lewdly at the taste of him as Unique watched with a satisfied smirk. He pulled her chin towards him, planting a messy kiss on her lips.
The married couple fell onto the bed with their bodies entangled, their shoulders touching as they tried to catch their breath. The argument they had earlier seemed like a distant memory now. Unique pulled Lanae closer, holding her in his loving arms, planting gentle kisses on her forehead. "I'm sorry Nae Nae..." he apologized softly, brushing her raven curls away from her face as he pecked her lips twice. Lanae giggled, her heart swelling with love for him.
"I love that gorgeous face," he beamed with a smile. His New York accent slipped from his lips, They both knew that their bond was too precious to be ruined by a petty argument. They were blessed to have each other, and nothing could ever change that.
The road trip had dragged into its fifth day, and Andrew was starting to feel the miles in his bones.
He’d been in Denver for a back-to-back—two hard-fought games, one win, one gut-punch loss—and now the team was in Utah, prepping for tomorrow night’s matchup. Hotel rooms always felt too quiet after games. Too clean. Too empty.
He missed you.
Not just the sex (well yeah, that too). He missed the way you hogged the blankets, the way you talked through movies and made him laugh when he was trying to be serious, the way you looked at him like he was still the skinny kid from Aurora who used to shoot hoops in your driveway instead of an NBA starter.
It was 11:42 p.m. when he finally gave in.
He locked the door, killed the lights except for the bedside lamp, stripped down to his boxers, and FaceTimed you.
You answered on the second ring.
Your face filled the screen—braids in a bun, no makeup, wearing one of his old Purdue hoodies that swallowed you. You were curled on your couch in Indianapolis, a blanket over your lap, glass of wine in hand. The second you saw him your whole face lit up.
“Hey, stranger,” you said, voice soft and teasing. “Thought you forgot about me.”
Andrew groaned, already half-hard just from your smile.
“Never. Been thinking about you all day. Couldn’t focus in shootaround.”
You laughed—low, knowing. “Poor baby. What’s got you so distracted?”
He angled the phone down just enough to show the obvious tent in his boxers.
“This.”
Your eyes darkened instantly. You bit your lip.
“Show me.”
He didn’t hesitate. Shoved the waistband down. His cock sprang free—heavy, thick, already leaking at the tip.
You inhaled sharply. Shifted on the couch. The blanket slipped off your lap.
“Fuck,” you breathed. “Look at you. Already dripping for me.”
Andrew wrapped his hand around himself—slow stroke from base to tip.
“Been hard since the plane landed. Kept thinking about how you taste. How you sound when I’m deep inside you. How you look when you come on my tongue.”
You set the wine glass down. Reached under your shorts. Your breath hitched when your fingers found your clit.
“Tell me what you’d do if you were here,” you whispered.
He stroked faster. “I’d have you on your back already. Legs over my shoulders. Face buried in your pussy. Licking you slow until you’re shaking, begging me to fuck you.”
You moaned—soft, needy—fingers circling faster.
“Then what?”
“I’d tease you with the tip,” he said, voice rough. “Rub it against your clit. Make you whine. Then I’d slide in slow… inch by inch… until I’m so deep you can feel me in your stomach.”
Your head fell back against the couch. “Keep going.”
He groaned—low, broken—hand moving faster.
“I’d fuck you deep and slow at first. Let you feel every ridge. Then harder. Faster. Hitting that spot that makes you scream my name. I’d rub your clit while I pound into you. Tell you how fucking perfect you feel. How wet you are for me. How you’re mine.”
You whimpered. “I’m close.”
“Me too,” he rasped. “Gonna come thinking about filling you up. About watching it drip out of you after. About licking it off your thighs.”
Your breath hitched. Fingers moving frantically.
“Come with me,” you gasped. “Please—come for me, baby.”
He did—back arching off the hotel mattress, low groan ripping from his throat as he spilled over his fist, thick ropes landing on his abs.
You followed right after—shaking, moaning his name, thighs trembling as your orgasm rolled through you.
For a long minute you both just breathed—panting, staring at each other through the screen.
He laughed—soft, wrecked.
“Miss you so fucking much.”
You smiled—still flushed, eyes glassy.
“Miss you more.”
He wiped his hand on a towel. Looked at you like he was trying to memorize every pixel.
“Three more days,” he said. “Then I’m home. And I’m not letting you leave the bed for a week.”
You bit your lip. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
He kissed the screen—slow, deliberate—like he could reach through and touch you.
“Love you,” he whispered.
You kissed the screen back.
“Love you too.”
And as the call ended—both of you still catching your breath, still smiling like idiots—you knew:
Some nights were lonely.
Some nights were long.
But every night ended with him coming home to you.
can you write a Cade smut smut maybe celebrating a game winner
buzzer
a cade cunningham fic.
summary ~ as stated in request.
includes ~ public sex // smut (under 18 dni)
a/n ~ i hope you loveee!
————————————————————————
The buzzer sounded like a gunshot in the arena.
The ball was still rattling the net when the crowd erupted—40,000 people losing their minds at once. Cade had just hit a step-back three from damn near the logo with 0.8 seconds left. Pistons up by one. Game over. Season-high 38 points. The kind of shot that gets replayed for years.
He jogged back down the court, arms out, head tilted back, letting the roar wash over him. The jumbotron kept replaying it: the crossover, the step-back, the release, the follow-through. Perfect form. Ice in his veins.
You were courtside—row 3, black leather jacket, a dainty #2 chain tucked under your shirt, legs crossed like you weren’t internally screaming. You’d been watching him all night: the way he controlled tempo, the quiet trash talk to the bench, the little glances he threw your way after every big play. Like you were the only person he was performing for.
When the final horn went off, he found you instantly.
Didn’t celebrate with the team first.
Didn’t dap up the coaches.
He jogged straight to the sideline, leaned over, grabbed your face with both hands—sweaty, calloused palms—and kissed you deep. Right there. Cameras everywhere. Crowd still roaring. Didn’t care.
You kissed him back like the arena was empty.
When he pulled away his forehead rested against yours for half a second.
“Meet me in the tunnel,” he said against your lips. Voice low, wrecked from shouting. “Now.”
You didn’t argue.
The tunnel was chaos—reporters, staff, teammates hyped and yelling—but Cade moved through it like he owned the place. He found you near the locker room entrance, grabbed your hand, pulled you past security without a word. Straight into the players’ family lounge. Door shut. Locked.
The second the lock clicked he had you against the wall.
Mouth on yours—hard, urgent, still tasting like Gatorade and adrenaline. His jersey was half-off already, sweat-soaked, clinging to every line of muscle. You yanked it the rest of the way off. Hands roaming his chest, and his abs.
“Been thinking about this since the third quarter,” he rasped, hands shoving your skirt up to your hips. “Every time I hit a shot I pictured bending you over right here.”
You moaned into his mouth when his fingers found you—already soaked through your panties.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You were wet watching me play?”
“Whole game,” you breathed. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you fucking me after you won.”
He growled low. Ripped your panties to the side—no patience tonight. Dropped to his knees right there on the carpet.
Spread you with both thumbs. Looked up at you like you were his trophy.
Then his mouth was on you.
No teasing. Tongue flat against your clit, licking hard and fast. Sucking. Two fingers plunging in deep—curling immediately. You gasped—head hitting the wall, fingers fisting his braids.
“Quiet,” he warned against you, even though his own groans were loud enough to echo. “Don’t want the team hearing how wet my girl gets when I win.”
You tried. Failed. Moaned his name when he sucked harder, fingers pumping faster.
He pulled back just long enough to rasp, “Come on my tongue. Right now. Let me taste how proud you are.”
You shattered, thighs shaking around his head, crying out into your own palm, walls pulsing against his fingers.
He stood. Kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself, while he shoved his shorts down. Cock springing free, thick, hard, already leaking.
He lifted you, legs around his waist, back against the wall.
Pushed in hard—one deep thrust that made you both groan.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “So tight. So fucking wet for me.”
He didn’t go slow.
Snapped his hips forward—brutal, relentless. Fucking you against the wall like he needed to prove something. One hand under your ass, the other braced beside your head.
“Tell me who made that shot,” he growled.
“You,” you gasped.
“Louder.”
“You, baby—fuck—you did.”
He angled deeper—hitting that spot that made your vision blur.
“Who’s this pussy for?”
“You,” you moaned. “Only you.”
He kissed you messy—teeth clashing, tongues fighting—while he pounded into you harder.
“Gonna come,” he rasped. “Gonna fill you up right here. Gonna send you back out there dripping with me.”
The thought sent you over.
You came hard—clenching around him, crying his name, thighs shaking against his hips.
He followed right after—deep groan, hips grinding, spilling hot inside you while he held you tight against the wall.
He didn’t pull out right away.
Just stayed buried—forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged.
“Happy game-winner,” you whispered, still trembling.
He laughed—low, wrecked—kissed you soft.
“Best one yet.”
He finally set you down. Fixed your skirt. Fixed his shorts. Kissed you one more time—slow, sweet.
“Gotta go do media,” he said reluctantly. “But I’m not done with you.”
You smirked, thighs still slick.
“Good. Because I’m not done celebrating.”
He kissed your forehead.
“Love you.”
“Love you more.”
He left first—composure back on, ready for cameras.
You waited a minute. Fixed your lipstick in the mirror. Smoothed your skirt. Felt him still dripping down your thighs as you walked back out to the tunnel.
The team was waiting—high-fiving, yelling, hyping him up.
You slipped into the crowd like nothing happened.
But when he looked over—eyes finding yours through the chaos—he smirked.
includes ~ sub jared // dom reader // mommy kink // smut (under 18 dni)
a/n ~ yall liked the last sub jared fic huh?
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The first time Jared McCain called you “mommy,” it slipped out like an accident.
He was sprawled across your bed in the off-campus apartment you shared with two grad students (who conveniently had night classes on Thursdays). Freshman year at Duke had him running on fumes—practices, games, study halls, the constant pressure of being the shiny new five-star recruit everyone expected to be perfect. You were finishing your bachelor’s in sports psych, a few years older, already working part-time with the team’s mental performance staff. That’s how you met: him in your office for mandated “stress management” sessions that quickly turned into something else.
He’d come over after a bad loss, still in his practice shorts and hoodie, shoulders slumped, eyes tired. You’d let him in, lock the door, pull him onto your lap like he weighed nothing even though he was 6’3” and solid muscle.
“Rough night?” you’d asked, fingers carding through his curls.
He’d nodded against your chest. “Can’t turn my brain off.”
So you took over.
Told him to lie back. Stripped him slow—jersey first, then shorts, then boxers—kissing every inch of skin you uncovered. Whispered “good boy” when he shivered. Called him “baby” when he whined. And when you finally sank down on him, riding him slow and deep while he gripped your hips like a lifeline, he’d gasped it out without thinking.
“Fuck—mommy—”
You both froze for half a second.
His eyes went wide, cheeks flushed darker than the post-game adrenaline ever made them. He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him.
You didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease.
You just leaned down, kissed him slow and filthy, rolled your hips harder, and whispered against his lips:
“Say it again.”
He did.
“Mommy… please…”
That was six months ago.
Now it’s routine.
He shows up after late practices or road losses, still in his Duke gear, backpack slung over one shoulder like he’s just a regular college kid. You lock the door, dim the lights, and take control.
Tonight he’s on his knees in front of your desk chair.
You’re still in your work clothes—tailored blazer open, blouse unbuttoned to show the black lace bra underneath, pencil skirt hiked to your thighs. He’s shirtless, shorts pushed down just enough, hands obediently clasped behind his back like you taught him.
You stroke his jaw with your knuckles. Tilt his chin up.
“Look at me when you beg.”
His eyes are glassy, pupils blown. Lips parted. Already leaking against his stomach.
“Please, mommy,” he whispers. Voice wrecked. “Need you so bad. Been thinking about you all practice. Coach yelled at me ‘cause I couldn’t focus. Kept getting hard thinking about your mouth.”
You smile—slow, indulgent.
“Poor baby.” You spread your thighs wider. “Show me how much you missed me.”
He dives in like he’s starving.
Tongue flat against your clit through the lace at first—teasing, tasting—then pushing the fabric aside to lick you properly. Slow circles, then fast flicks, then sucking hard enough to make your hips buck. Two fingers slide inside you—curling deep, pumping while his tongue works you over.
You thread your fingers through his curls. Guide him exactly where you want.
“Good boy,” you praise. “Just like that. Make mommy feel good.”
He moans against you—vibration straight to your core. The sound alone almost sends you over.
You come hard—thighs clamping around his head, back arching, quiet but sharp cry of his name muffled by your own hand so the neighbors don’t hear.
He doesn’t stop until you push his head away—oversensitive, trembling.
He rises slowly, lips shiny, eyes dazed and needy.
You pull him down for a kiss—taste yourself on his tongue, feel how hard he is against your thigh.
“Want your reward?” you ask softly.
He nods frantically. “Please.”
You push him back onto the bed. Climb over him. Straddle his hips.
Guide him inside you, slowly, watching his face the whole time.
He groans—low, broken—hands flying to your hips.
“Mommy—fuck—”
You ride him slow at first—deep rolls that make him whimper. Then faster. Harder. Hands braced on his chest.
“Look at me,” you order.
His eyes snap to yours—wide, desperate, completely gone.
“You’re mine,” you say, clenching around him on every downstroke. “This dick is mine. This body is mine. Say it.”
“Yours,” he gasps. “All yours—fuck—mommy, please—”
You lean down. Kiss him messy while you grind harder.
“Come for me,” you whisper. “Fill mommy up. Show me how much you love me.”
He breaks—back arching, hips bucking, crying your name as he comes hard, spilling deep inside you while his whole body shakes.
You follow right after—clenching around him, moaning into his mouth, thighs trembling.
You collapse on his chest—both of you panting, sweaty, tangled.
He wraps both arms around you—tight, possessive—kisses your hair.
“I love you,” he whispers. Voice small. Vulnerable.
You kiss his collarbone. His throat. His lips—soft now.
aaron gordon getting jealous. it leads to a huge argument which then leads to make up shmex. 🫶🏽
only yours
an aaron gordon fic.
summary ~ as stated in request .
includes ~ jealous aaron // angst to smut.
a/n ~ tysm for the request! i hope you love.
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The argument started over something small. Too small, really.
You were at a team dinner—fancy spot downtown, long table, everyone in attendance. Aaron had been quiet most of the night, which wasn’t unusual. He’s never been the loudest in the room. But you’d noticed the way his jaw kept ticking every time one of the newer guys on the team (a rookie guard with too much charm and not enough filter) leaned over to talk to you. The kid was harmless—asking about your job, complimenting your dress, laughing a little too hard at your jokes—but Aaron’s grip on his fork tightened with every word.
By dessert he was silent. Stone-faced. Eyes fixed on his plate like it had personally offended him.
You tried to brush it off in the car on the way home. Reached over to squeeze his thigh.
“You okay?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just stared out the windshield, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
“Fine.”
You sighed. “You’re not fine. You’ve been glaring at the table since the appetizers.”
He flexed his jaw. “That rookie was all over you.”
You almost laughed. “He was being friendly. He’s twenty-one. He talks to everyone like that.”
Aaron’s eyes flicked to you—dark, stormy. “Not everyone. Just you.”
The car went quiet except for the low hum of the engine and the rain starting to patter against the windshield.
You turned in your seat. “Are you serious right now?”
He didn’t respond. Just kept driving.
By the time you pulled into the garage you were both simmering.
The second the door closed behind you in the house, it boiled over.
“You really think I’m out here flirting with some kid in front of the whole team?” you snapped, kicking off your heels. “In front of you?”
Aaron tossed his keys on the counter—harder than necessary. “I think he was all up in your space, touching your arm, calling you beautiful every five seconds, and you were smiling like it was nothing.”
“I was being polite!” Your voice rose. “That’s what you do at team dinners. You talk to people. You laugh. You don’t sit there looking like you want to murder someone.”
“Maybe I did want to murder someone,” he shot back. “Maybe I wanted to drag him outside and remind him who you go home to every night.”
You stared at him. “You’re jealous.”
He didn’t deny it. Just crossed his arms. “Yeah. I’m jealous. Sue me.”
The room went quiet except for the rain hitting the windows.
You stepped closer. Voice lower now, but sharp. “You think I want anyone else? After everything we’ve built? After I’ve watched you fight through injuries, watched you come home exhausted and still kiss me like I’m the only thing that matters? You think some rookie with a baby face and too much cologne is gonna change that?”
Aaron’s eyes flickered—hurt mixing with the anger.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Sometimes I look at you and I still can’t believe you picked me. And then I see some kid half my size smiling at you like he’s got a shot and it… it fucks with me.”
Your chest ached.
You stepped right into his space. Close enough to feel the heat coming off him.
“I picked you,” you said softly. “I pick you every single day. I’ve got your last name on the back of my jersey in my closet. I’m yours, Aaron. Completely.”
His throat worked. Eyes dropped to your lips, then back up.
“Then why does it feel like I’m still competing?”
You reached up. Cupped his face. Made him look at you.
“Because you’re human. And because I love you enough to fight with you when you’re being stupid.”
He exhaled—shaky. Leaned into your touch.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know you’re mine. I just… I get scared sometimes. That someone’s gonna see what I see and try to take it.”
You kissed him then—slow, deep, pouring everything into it. Forgiveness. Love. Reassurance.
He kissed you back like he was starving—hands sliding to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss turned hungry fast. Teeth. Tongue. His fingers digging into your hips like he needed to feel you were real.
You tugged at his shirt. He yanked it over his head. Your dress came next—pooling at your feet, leaving you in black lace and heels. His pants hit the floor.
He lifted you onto the kitchen island—cold granite against your skin making you gasp. Spread your thighs with his hips. Kissed down your neck, your collarbone, your chest—sucking hard enough to leave marks.
“Mine,” he growled against your skin. “Say it.”
“Yours,” you gasped. “Only yours.”
He shoved your panties aside. Fingers sliding through your wetness—groaning when he felt how ready you were.
“Fuck… already soaked for me.”
“Always,” you breathed.
He didn’t tease. Just lined up and pushed in—deep, hard, one stroke that made you both moan.
He didn’t go slow.
Snapped his hips forward—brutal, possessive. Fucking you like he needed to erase every doubt, every second he’d felt threatened. One hand braced beside your head. The other gripping your thigh, holding you open.
“Look at me,” he rasped. “Look at who’s fucking you. Who you belong to.”
You locked eyes—tears pricking from the intensity, the love, the rawness.
“You,” you moaned. “Always you, baby.”
He angled deeper—hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
“Say it louder.”
“You—fuck—only you, Aaron!”
He reached between you—thumb finding your clit—rubbing fast, rough circles.
“Come for me,” he ordered. “Come on this dick. Show me you’re mine.”
You shattered—back arching, crying his name, walls pulsing around him, thighs shaking against his hips.
He fucked you through it—harder—until his rhythm broke.
“Gonna come—”
“Inside,” you begged. “Please—inside of me—”
He slammed in deep—groaning your name—hips grinding, spilling hot inside you while he held you like he’d never let go.
He stayed buried—forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “For doubting. For getting jealous. For making you feel like you’re not enough.”
You cupped his face. Kissed him soft.
“You’re enough,” you said. “More than enough. I’m yours. No one else’s.”
He kissed you back—gentle now, reverent.
“I love you,” he murmured. “So fucking much.”
You smiled against his lips.
“I love you too.”
He pulled out slowly. Carried you to the bedroom. Laid you down. Climbed in beside you. Pulled you into his chest.
Held you close.
No more words needed.
Just the two of you—tangled together, hearts slowing in sync, the fight behind you.
bestieeee can i request skepta absolutely blowing your back out before or after some fancy and VERY public event like a red carpet/award show type thing, and you have to be all normal when he’s literally dripping down your thighs
drip
a skepta fic
summary ~ as stated in request.
includes ~ public sex // smut (under 18 dni)
a/n ~ thank you all for your patience, been going thru it but i can’t leave yall hanging.
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The red carpet for the BRIT Awards was still buzzing when you slipped away from the main press line.
You’d worn the dress on purpose: deep emerald satin, floor-length but slit high enough to show leg with every step, back completely open from your nape down to the dimples above your ass. The fabric clung like it was painted on, and the second Jo saw you step out of the car he’d muttered “you’re trying to end me tonight” under his breath before plastering on his public smile for the cameras.
All night he’d been restrained—hand low on your back for photos, thumb brushing bare skin just enough to remind you he was thinking about peeling the dress off, lips grazing your ear when he leaned in to whisper something that sounded innocent to everyone else but made heat pool between your thighs.
“Keep looking at me like that and I’m dragging you to the nearest bathroom,” he’d said during a quiet moment between interviews.
You’d smiled for the flashing cameras and answered: “Try me.”
He did.
Half an hour before the awards ceremony was due to start, he caught your wrist while the rest of your team was distracted with touch-ups and publicists. No words—just a look that said now. You followed him through a side corridor the venue staff used, past security who knew better than to question Joseph Adenuga when he moved with purpose.
The green room he pulled you into was empty, door locked behind you in the same motion he pressed you against it.
Mouth on yours instantly—hard, claiming. One hand already shoving the slit of your dress aside, the other cupping your jaw so he could kiss you deeper.
“Been hard since I saw you in this fucking dress,” he growled against your lips. “You knew what you were doing.”
You laughed breathlessly, fingers already working his belt open. “You looked too good in that suit. Had to balance it out.”
He didn’t waste time.
Dress hiked to your hips, your thong shoved to the side, his trousers pushed down just enough. He lifted your left leg, hooked it over his hip, and thrust in deep in one smooth stroke.
You gasped—sharp, bitten-off—nails digging into his shoulders through his blazer. He groaned low against your neck, hips snapping forward immediately, setting a brutal rhythm.
“Quiet,” he rasped, even though his own breathing was ragged. “Don’t want them hearing how good you take this dick before we go sit pretty for the cameras.”
You tried—God, you tried—but every thrust punched a sound out of you. The door at your back rattled faintly with each stroke. His hand clamped over your mouth, palm warm and firm.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
You did. Eyes locked while he fucked you hard and fast against the door, free hand gripping your thigh so tightly you knew you’d have fingerprints tomorrow.
“Gonna fill you up,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “Gonna send you back out there dripping with me. Let ‘em wonder why you’re walking funny.”
The words sent you over.
You came clenching around him, eyes rolling back, muffled moan vibrating against his palm. He followed right after—deep groan buried in your neck, hips grinding as he spilled inside you, hot and thick.
He stayed buried for a long moment, breathing hard against your throat.
Then he pulled out slowly, carefully. Fixed your thong back into place with gentle fingers. Let your dress fall. Smoothed the fabric over your hips like nothing had happened.
You were still trembling when he kissed you—soft this time, almost sweet.
“Fix your lipstick,” he murmured, thumb swiping under your bottom lip. “Can’t have ‘em knowing I just fucked my girl stupid in a green room.”
You laughed—shaky, dazed—and reached for your clutch.
He tucked himself back in, zipped up, ran a hand over his fade. Looked perfectly composed except for the slight flush on his cheekbones and the way his eyes still burned when they landed on you.
He opened the door. Offered his arm like a gentleman.
“Ready to go smile for the cameras, love?”
You slipped your hand through his elbow, thighs slick, core still pulsing with aftershocks.
“Always ready.”
He leaned down as you stepped back into the corridor, lips brushing your ear one last time.
“Feel me dripping down your thighs the whole show,” he whispered. “That’s your reminder who you belong to.”
You shivered. Smiled for the photographers waiting at the end of the hall.
“Wouldn’t forget if I tried.”
The rest of the night you sat beside him in the audience—perfect posture, perfect smile, perfect poise—while his cum slowly leaked out of you, soaking into the lace between your legs.
Every time the cameras panned to your section, you felt it.
Every time he leaned over to whisper something that looked innocent to the crowd, you felt his breath against your ear and remembered exactly what he’d done to you twenty minutes earlier.
And every time the host asked the room to give it up for “one of the UK’s finest couples,” he squeezed your thigh under the table—firm, possessive—and you smiled wider for the cameras.
Because the whole world could see the glamour.
But only he knew what was dripping down your thighs under the satin.
Only he knew you were walking around with his cum inside you while the world watched.
Summary: On a regular Friday after work before waiting for one of his latest videos, your neighbor Kadeem brought you a package until you found out that your fine ass neighbor was your favorite adult flim star, Unique.
A/N: it's been a minute since I wrote about Joey, enjoy! don't forget to leave comments, likes to support, drop a request if you like.
Warnings: dirty talk, praise, orgasm denial, fingering, use of AAVE, cussing, tapes. rough sex, choking kink, protected sex, consensual for both parties, AU where Unique is in the modern day world, pet names.
It was a typical Friday night, the kind where the world outside felt like a distant echo while you nestled into your cozy apartment with a bag of snacks and a comfy pink blanket in your bedroom. The smell of something sweet and lavender wafted in the room.
The flickering light from your TV danced across the four on your brown skin as you scrolled through your favorite adult site, your heart racing with anticipation for the latest video featuring Unique.
Your freshly two-strand twisted locs hung in front of your face, your fingers carefully pulled out the black rubber bands.
The black screen with red trims displayed a white loading icon that was frustrating, while the message read, "New video arriving soon—don't miss out on UniqueDaDon!"
With a deep sigh, your face contorted in frustration as you rolled your eyes, the weight of impatience settling heavily in you. Your thumb angrily swiped up the screen, dismissing the page with a flick that felt almost like a release.
You shut your phone off and tossed it onto the pillow, the device landing with a soft thud, mirroring your exasperation.
Where was Unique? Your favorite porn star, Friday, Wednesday and Monday nights before 11pm were his usual scheduling time on the adult site. He was never late either, this was new.
A sudden yet alarming knock on your door jolted you back to reality. You glanced at the time—11 PM. Who the hell could it be?
Your heart raced for a different reason now, but as the doorbell chimed, your phone's camera revealed Kadeem's familiar face. You sighed in relief, putting down the gun that had been your recent purchase.
"Y/N, you've got a package! It's a crockpot, right?" His voice was teasing, laced with that signature charm that made your heart flutter.
Damn it. They accidentally sent your purple crockpot to him. That was the last time you ordered anything online without double-checking the delivery address.
"Uh, yeah! Just, uh, some... new cooking material for my collection!" You called back, trying to play it cool, but the heat creeping up your cheeks gave you away.
You opened the door, your heart racing as you took in his appearance. He wore a black tee, paired with sweatpants. and those dark brown eyes of his sparkled under the orange hallway lights.
Kadeem chuckled, his laughter deep and rich, echoing through the thin walls between your apartments. "Cookin' material, huh? What'chu cooking tonight?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed casually.
"Maybe some beef stew this time, hopefully it turns out good, not too soft, if not, i'll just order take out," You replied with a nod.
"I always smell something good from your apartment, I know you're good at what you do," He said, smiling a bit.
He resided directly opposite you in the upscale, five-story apartment complex located in the suburbs, where both of you occupied units on the first floor. This location suited you due to your job at the nearby library, which provided a tranquil environment.
Kadeem resided in apartment 102 while you were in apartment 101; the building was quiet and uneventful, mostly occupied by residents or college students who minded their own business.
You tried to play it cool, but the heat creeping up your cheeks betrayed you. "Uh, thanks for bringing it over," you said, trying to sound casual.
He leaned against the doorframe, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "You know I got you, Y/N. Just doin' my neighborly duties," he replied, stepping a little closer. He leaned casually against the doorframe, the air thick with unspoken tension.
"So, what you into these days? Besides, ya know, cookin'?" His gaze dropped to your box, and you felt your heart skip a beat, knowing he couldn't see the website you had been on.
You smirk, trying to deflect. "Oh, you know, just the usual. Binge-watching, and the occasional art pieces of mine." You shot back, trying to keep it light-hearted, but the heat of the moment was palpable.
You wanted to be done with this conversation quickly before you missed a notification, pursuing your lips. Especially testing out your new crockpot.
"Well, thanks again Kadeem, I'll be sure to let know you if I need to smoke weed," You quickly said, eyeing him up and down.
"Anytime, Y/N," Kadeem replied back, as he walked away from the door and toward his apartment door.
"Bye Kadeem," You sang playfully with a smile, waving back to him before closing the door.
He sold marijuana to nearby residents while working as a full-time adult film actor to cover his expenses, on a reputable black-owned porn site that strictly filtered out unsavory characters, minimized ads.
He exclusively showcased black women or curvy black women in his content. In their mid-twenties and some older, in their early thirties. From this very neighborhood.
His work wasn't much vanilla, nor too many hardcore videos, if there was a fantasy from the woman then Unique would fulfill it. He was always at the top row of the home page, verified with five stars.
After work, you would smoke weed with him since he was your plug, chatting about your day, and you always made a point to pay him. However, Kadeem consistently reminded you that it was free of charge.
Your heart raced as you clicked on the notification, the familiar thrill coursing through you.
"Oh shit, I can't be late," you whispered quickly, grabbing your phone with ease.
You ran inside of your bedroom and grabbed your laptop, putting it on the charger, you flipped the light switch and the darkness filled the room.
You snuggled into the blankets of your bed to get comfy, grabbing your earbuds and plugged it in your phone below, the timer on the adult site went to 10 seconds, as the logo of the website flickered on the black ink screen.
"Five...four...three..." You mumbled under your breath, your eyes glued to the screen.
"Now Unique wants to post on time, huh?" You sang lowly but smirked a bit, biting down on your lip.
The intro music softly faded in and out, and suddenly there he was Unique displaying that signature smirk that made your stomach flip. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks. Good thing this video wasn't recent either.
The video began with Kadeem showed off that signature smirking, lying down at the front of his bed with his hands behind his head, a smirk on his face and while the black woman with the same dark brown complexion as him, crawled toward him with the dim light of the room that felt as intimate as your own.
Your mouth went agape once the video faded out, and you quickly came to a sudden realization, the same man who was your plug, lived across from you was your favorite porn star? How the hell did you not see that?
His hands adorned gripped her throat, momentarily constricting her airflow, eliciting a soft harsh gasp from the woman, passing the condom to him, her hands rested on the headboard as he lifted her and settled down onto his dick. She began riding him with a steady pace.
"Faster, you pretty slut,"
His eyes flickered back to the camera with a playfully glint as if he was looking at you through the screen, letting low groan from the warmth of her walls gripping his dick tightly, "Talk to me, baby. Tell me how good you're feeling,"
Every moan, grunt, thrust spurred you on, the ache in your stomach made you squirm underneath the blankets, and your tiny whimper left your lips.
"Lord, help me," you whispered, sinking deeper into the pillow as you tried to ignore the ache building inside you.
You knew you shouldn't be watching this, especially when you had just seen him a few moments ago, but here you were, it felt all too real. Your breath hitched and panted heavily.
And then he did that one thing you liked, talking to the wrong through her climax.
"There you go, let me have it,"
Once the video was over and swiped up to exit, you quickly ran toward the bathroom and accidentally knocked over your small dresser, the thud noise echoed through the walls. You screamed out loudly.
"Shit, all this fucking time, it was him," You mumbled to yourself, wondering how you did not see it.
You were still bewildered by the fact that it was really him, and you imagined how it would feel to be in her place, to have those hands on you, to feel that body against yours. That friction with him.
Just then, the doorbell rang again, pulling you from your reverie. You cursed out loud, but curiosity got the better of you. You cleaned up mess, and threw the glass in the trash. "Who the fuck could it be now?"
You quickly paused the video and tossed your phone aside, throwing on a hoodie to cover up as you made your way to the door, your heart racing once again.
"Y/N, you good in there? I heard you scream and a loud thud. You alright?" Kadeem's voice echoed through the door, concern lacing his tone.
"Yeah, just uh...tripped over something! I'm good!" you called back, trying to sound nonchalant, but the slight tremor in your voice betrayed your nerves.
"Alright, just checking on you," he replied, and you could hear the concern in his voice. "You know I'm just across the hall if you need anything. Like...you know, a good smoke or a good meal."
You chuckled awkwardly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks again, but it wasn't just from embarrassment anymore. It was that undeniable attraction you felt toward him, mixed with the knowledge of what he did for a living, that sent your heart racing.
You stood at the door, then opened it revealing Kadeem there. Still dressed in the same attire, while you exhaled a blissful sigh. "Actually, I don't feel like cooking tonight, I could use a good meal,"
"Dinner is on me, I got you. What do you want to eat?" Kadeem asked in a warm tone, his eyes on you, you felt the heat rush in your cheeks again.
"I'll just take some wings and fries, my drink can be a fruit punch, ranch on the side too by the way," You added, batting your eyelashes at him.
"Done," he said, pulling out his phone, scrolling through the DoorDash app, typing in the food, the drinks and the sauce.
"While we wait, can I ask you something Kadeem?" you said softly, your tone a bit nervous yet steady. You walked over to the light purple couch with him, you took a seat on the left side.
He looked up from his plate, his eyes flickered back to you, while he gently plopped onto the couch beside you, "Of course you can, what's on your mind?"
You hesitated briefly, but the moment felt right. "So, um... this might sound a bit weird, but I've been watching a lot of your content online. Like, you know, Unique? Your videos? I'm a fan."
"You're a fan of my videos?" he asked in a soft tone like he was surprised a bit. His body shifted toward you and his knees brushed against yours.
"Yeah, you're good at what you do,"
Kadeem smiled at what you said to him, "I appreciate that, but you know, I could tell you were a fan. Your comments always stood out, they were always so funny, and clever,"
Your heart raced as you processed his words, feeling exposed yet thrilled. "So you've been watching me watch you?" you teased, your voice playful despite the heat washing over you.
"Can you blame me? You're kinda hard to miss. Cute as hell, smart, sexy, funny, beautiful, always with that smile," he replied, leaning back against the couch, as he flashed that charming grin. "And trust me, I've got fantasies of my own about you."
You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. "Are you serious?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the way he looked at you made it hard to concentrate.
"Let's just say, I've imagined what it'd be like to have you in many positions," he said, his voice low and smooth, sending shivers down your spine.
Kadeem had a crush on you, and those feelings surpassed into something deeper, but your imagination did run wild.
"I've had a few of the same." You could hardly believe the words spilling from his mouth, it made your heart race.
"But honestly, I'd rather just have you all to myself, no cameras," he admitted, his tone shifting to something more intimate.
You tried to speak but the words caught in your throat. You weren't sure how to respond.
"Tell me what you want, Y/N. Don't hold back," he replied, his voice a tempting whisper.
"No cameras. Just us, I want it to be real, you know?" you confirmed, your voice steady with sudden confidence.
Kadeem's expression softened, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "I like the sound of that."
You took a deep breath, the weight of his question hanging in the air. "So you want me to fuck you Y/N?" he asked you with a smile on his face.
You nodded nervously yet spoke up, "Yes, I do. But fuck me like you hate me yet you can't resist me, spank my ass, gently choke me, praise but without the word good girl, and edging, give me some direction, like that rough edge in your videos,"
"I can definitely do that. But I'll make sure it's all about your pleasure too. I want to know what makes you feel good but just say no when you want to stop" he mused, nodding at you.
Before you could respond, the doorbell rang again, breaking the moment. You shot him an apologetic smile and jumped up, He rushed to the door.
As Kadeem opened it, the delivery driver stood there with the food, the aroma of garlic parmesan wings and fries wafting in, making your stomach growl. You couldn't wait to eat.
"Perfect timing!" you exclaimed, he grabbed the bags from the driver and tipping him generously before closing the door. He hurried back to the couch, where you were already eyeing the spread eagerly.
He placed the bags on the brown polished coffee table, hissed from the heat touching your skin.
"So you like garlic parmesan?" he asked, opening the containers to reveal the steaming wings and crispy fries, each accompanied by little cups of ranch.
"I like what I like, so how have you been?" you replied, your heart still racing from the earlier conversation as you settled back next to him, the food between you both.
"I've been good, this is the kind of night I can get behind—good food, good company," he replied with a smile, picking up a wing and taking a bite, savoring the flavor.
You laughed softly, feeling the playful energy between you both. "And you enjoy my company?" you suggested, dipping a fry in ranch and offering it to him.
"Absolutely," he replied, leaning in to take the fry from your fingers, his lips brushing against your fingers. The simple action sent a thrill through you, igniting the chemistry that simmered beneath the surface.
After your food was finished, thrown in the trash and both of you washed your washes your hands, you grabbed his hands and led him to your bedroom, nudging the door open to the room that was neat. The walls were painted a soft lilac, a comforting hue.
Thankfully you did some spring cleaning this morning, so the vibrant floral sheets and candles gave the room a cozy feel. The smell of fresh linen and lavender filled the air.
The bed was in the middle of your bedroom, with the dresser in the corner and a small bookshelf beside it overflowing with novels and trinkets collected over the years. The vibe Kadeem got from it was one of warmth and personality.
"Nice place you got here," he remarked, taking in the surroundings with appreciation. He stood in the middle of the room with his
"Thank you, I try to keep it comfortable and inviting," you replied with a grateful smile. Was this man trying to steal your secrets on interior decorating, or was he just being polite?
You grabbed a condom from the dresser and passed it to him. "Will it fit you?" you asked him, a teasing glint in your eye, though your voice carried a hint of genuine curiosity as well.
"Trust me, it'll fit," he said with a wink, taking off his shirt while unwrapping the condom and tossing it onto the bed. "Now, you ready for this?"
Your eyes almost sparkled with lust as you nodded, you felt the lust building up inside. His dark brown skin was beautiful, and his chest was toned, each muscle defined under the soft glow of the candles.
"More than ready," you breathed, your heart racing in rhythm with the pounding of your pulse. You tugged at the edge of your shirt, pulling it over your head to reveal your breasts.
After taking off your shorts and panties, you wiped your sweaty hands on the towel you had used before tossing it into the hamper. You were so damn nervous but took a few breaths to keep your cool.
You bent over onto the bed and wiggled your ass at Kadeem, he responds by giving it a rough smack, you stifled a moan while he towers over you.
With that, you pushed him gently back onto the bed, the soft mattress cradling you as he hovered over you. His chain dangling in your face and kissed your lips again, pulling down his sweatpants and boxers, his dick was thick and hung near his thigh. That was a monster.
"Damn," you mumbled to yourself, your jaw hung low. You were damn speechless for the first time but you swallowed quickly.
"Like what'chu see beautiful?" Kadeem asked with a grin, flipping the light switch, the darkness filled the room but he turned on the other light switch to dim.
It wasn't too dark in the room but just enough light to see both of you, he kneeled onto the bed and hovered over you again.
You almost covered your face until he grabbed them, your cheeks heating again like a blushing bride getting ready for her wedding day, "Don't hide that pretty face from me," he added.
He stepped closer, his hands framing your face as he leaned in to capture your lips in a heated kiss. You melted into him, the soft pressure of his mouth against yours made you moan.
Your legs spread open for him, his eyes on your pussy then flickered back to you, his fingers gently fingered your pussy, you gasped softly, "Shit, no teasing, Kadeem please..." you whimpered biting your lip, he definitely wanted to do that first.
He chuckled darkly at your quick reply, his mouth wrapped around your nipple and kept pumping his fingers in and out of you at a tortuous, fast pace. He loved every moment of his, the faces you made and the way your moans echoed through the walls, alerting the residents Kadeem fucking you good.
Your essence spread all over the bedsheets, driving you wild in pleasure. "Fuck..m-more," you babbled softly, moving your hips to his fingers. Kadeem smirked at you while picking up the pace. You were a wet whimpering mess, legs shaking as he watched you break apart underneath him.
"Fuck Kadeem, just like that!" You reached for him desperately, when his fingers curled up inside you with reckless abandon, your back arched and your hands clutched his shoulders.
His hand grasped and kissed your breasts, releasing your wrists while your hands rested on his neck. His mouth sucked your nipple and his fingers kept that pace, "You better not cum till I say so," he said with his voice raised an octave.
"Ohh...fuck! Fuck! Kadeem!" You moaned again, catching the faint squeaks from your bed as you scoot away, "No runnin' from me, that's the rule," he replied as he grabbed your wrists again. All you could was scream loudly in pleasure from his other finger pinching your clit again.
"I-i need y-your d-dick, Kadeem," You lamented in between sentences, feeling that familiar knot tightening in your stomach, his lips slotting against yours, your mouth parted for a scream of pleasure. That had his dick harden from you.
His tongue explored your mouth and twirled with yours. swapping spit in the deep kiss and leaving a spit chain as he pulled away from you. you were so tired of the damn teasing, your hands squirming in his clutch.
"Look at you, all lost in it," Kadeem spoke up, feeling the pleasure from you, the heat raised, his thumb swiveling onto your clit and essence pooling around his finger.
"That feels too good!"
You were betrayed by your pussy, every thrust of his finger made your body scoot across the bed and you shifted and turned, and your skin began to heat up. You essence gushed onto his fingers, he stopped immediately and withdrew his fingers from your pussy. You couldn't help what body knew what to do, he released your wrists and spanked your ass roughly.
"What did I say? You don't listen..." Kadeem barked at you, his nose rubbed against yours.
Your chest rose and fell as you took a moment to compose yourself after nodding at him. You clenched the bedsheets while he enveloped your body, directing his thick dick towards your wet entrance.
His half-lidded eyes watches how your mouth parted for a slut like moan when he shoved himself inside you, pleading the man to fuck you harder. Bullying his dick deep inside to fit every inch, fulfills that craving of friction. "Already so fucking wet-damn.." he muttered.
"Kadeem, you're soo big," You trailed off after a plethora of moans, he knew that you were speechless and only answered with a wild moan or two. Kneading your other breast while giving long, deep strokes that go dizzy and dumb, He likes this side of you, the way your body responds to him. He was definitely gonna make you his.
"You're mine," He whispered in your ear, digging deeper into you again as he watched himself go in and out effortlessly, your wetness coating his dick like a blanket. He wanted to get every drop, he moaned at the sight.
He brought his body closer to yours, your arms wrapped around his neck and his thrusts went sporadic, the gold chain touched your collarbone and you shook from the cold metal, "M-mine, you're all mine," you trailed off
Nails scratching relentlessly onto his back with every ruthless thrust, Kadeem kept grunting and raspily moaning from that, he was spurred on from the way you bounced under him to your moans, this was better than his video, you were finally filled up to the brim by him. "Keep scratching me up pretty girl, I'll fuck you harder," he groaned lowly.
The sounds of skin slapping against skin and your breathless moans, echoing off the walls as you saw the colors of the room blurring from your tear-filled eyes. As if the room was spinning, the bed creaked from the movement from when he picked up the pace again, thrusting deeper and harder, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "That's my girl, you're doing so good, baby,"
"That's it, let it build. You can do it," he encouraged, his voice a low growl that resonated within you.You felt your swollen pussy clench around his dick tighter. "Let me cum, Kadeem,"
"You can cum now,"
With that, you came undone immediately. Your essence left a big mess on his dick and bedding, He followed suit by filling you up and you screamed loudly, the soft glow of the lights casting light onto your bodies. Kadeem collapsed beside you.
"You good?" he asked in concern with his eyes flickering toward you, you nodded weakly. "I'll run you a hot bath,"
"Damn girl, you're something else," Kadeem panted lowly, looking at you while kissing your lips.
"I can definitely say that same thing about you, baby," You chuckled lightly.
He picked you up and carried you into the bathroom, running a hot bath for you while he gently settled you into the foamy bath, sighing in bliss at the touch of the warm water on your skin. He pulled up his sweatpants, then crouched near the tub. He looked like he had something on his mind.
"Can I take you out for a date?" He asked you with a steady tone, his eyes locked with yours.
You smiled at the man and nodded in agreement, bringing your legs close to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. "Yes, you can, you remember what's my favorite place?" you asked him, heat in your cheeks.
"Yeah, that Italian restaurant around the corner. I can pick you up around 8? This weekend?" he asked you with a gentle tone, smiling at you.
"It's a date then," You replied with a warm smile. Feeling that warm fuzzy feeling in your stomach. This was a great Friday night, now he was all yours.
Since nobody is requesting here’s mine: Jude is her brother’s best friend and they have been talking/dating secretly for almost a year but they can’t “date” bc of her brother like she’s off limits, so one day he sneaks into her bedroom and like they were doin it, then her brother or parent start knocking at her door for dinner and she was struggling to answer (u can continue the rest). Also you can add were like then Jude joins them for dinner as if he came for her “brother” or wtv
Sorry if it’s too long😭😭😭 p.s love ur writing 🫶🏻
worth it
a jude bellingham fic
summary ~ as stated in request !
includes ~ brothers best friend jude // smut (multiple times… literally bang central)
a/n ~ all i gotta say is… whew.
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The house was quiet except for the low hum of the ceiling fan in your room and the faint clatter of pots downstairs. Your mom was already yelling up the stairs about dinner being ready “in ten minutes, no excuses,” but you barely heard her.
Jude was already inside.
He’d climbed the trellis like he’d done a hundred times before—quiet, practiced, the same route he used back when you were just sneaking snacks and gossip after midnight. Except now it wasn’t snacks. Now it was him pressing you against your bedroom door the second the window slid shut behind him, mouth hot on yours, hands already sliding under your oversized sleep shirt.
“Missed you,” he breathed between kisses, voice rough and low like he’d been holding it in all day. “Been thinking about this since I left practice.”
You laughed—soft, breathless—fingers threading through his curls. “You saw me at breakfast this morning.”
“Not like this.” He lifted you easily, legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you toward the bed. “Not with my hands on you. Not hearing you say my name like that.”
Clothes came off fast. His hoodie hit the floor. Your shorts followed. He kissed down your neck, teeth grazing the spot that always made your hips roll, while his hand slipped between your thighs—two fingers sliding in without warning, curling just right. You bit your lip hard to muffle the moan.
“Quiet, baby,” he whispered, smirking against your skin. “Your brother’s downstairs. Don’t want him hearing how wet you get for his best friend.”
You glared up at him, but it melted into a gasp when he added a third finger, thumb circling your clit in slow, torturous strokes.
“Jude—”
“Shh.” He kissed you deep, swallowing every sound, free hand pinning your wrist above your head. “You’re gonna take it just like this. Then I’m gonna fuck you so good you forget your own name.”
He pulled his fingers out only to replace them with his mouth—tongue flat and greedy, licking slow circles around your clit before sucking hard. Your hips bucked; he pinned them down with one forearm across your stomach, holding you open while he devoured you like he was starving.
You were shaking, thighs trembling around his head, so close—
Three sharp knocks on your door.
“Kiddo? Dinner’s ready!”
Your mom’s voice—cheerful, oblivious—cut through the haze like ice water.
You froze.
Jude didn’t.
He kept going—slower now, deliberate, tongue flicking just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and wicked, daring you to stay quiet.
You swallowed hard, voice cracking on the first try.
“Uh—coming! Just… give me a minute!”
Another knock. This time your brother’s voice.
“You good in there? You sound weird.”
Jude pulled back just enough to murmur against your inner thigh, breath hot on your soaked skin. “Answer him, baby. Tell him you’re fine.”
You shot him a death glare. He just grinned—slow, filthy—and dragged his tongue up your slit one long, torturous time.
“I’m—fine!” you called back, voice pitching higher than normal. “Just… changing! Be down in five!”
Silence on the other side. Then your brother: “Alright, weirdo. Mom made lasagna. Don’t make us wait.”
Footsteps retreated down the hall.
Jude laughed low against you—vibration straight to your clit—and went right back to work. You slapped a hand over your mouth, hips grinding against his face as he sucked hard, fingers plunging in deep.
You came fast—hard—thighs clamping around his head, muffled cry swallowed by your palm. He didn’t stop until you were shaking, oversensitive and boneless.
He kissed his way back up your body, slow and easy, until he was hovering over you again. You could taste yourself on his lips when he kissed you.
“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.
“More than okay.” You reached between you, palmed him through his sweats. He was thick, hard, leaking through the fabric. “Your turn.”
He helped you push his sweats down. No underwear. Just him—long, thick, flushed dark at the tip. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slow. He dropped his head to your shoulder, hips jerking into your grip.
“Fuck… baby…”
You guided him to your entrance, rubbing the head through your wetness. He groaned deep in his throat.
“Condom?” you whispered.
“Already on the nightstand,” he said, reaching over without breaking eye contact. He rolled it on quick, then settled back between your thighs.
He pushed in slow—inch by inch—giving you time to adjust. You both moaned at the stretch, the fullness. When he bottomed out, he stilled, forehead pressed to yours.
“You feel…” He swallowed hard. “So fucking perfect.”
Then he started moving—slow, deep rolls of his hips that hit every spot. You wrapped your legs around his waist, nails dragging down his back. He picked up the pace—harder, faster—bed creaking under you, skin slapping skin.
“Jude—harder—”
He obliged. One hand braced beside your head, the other sliding between you to circle your clit. You were climbing again fast—too fast—overstimulated and desperate.
“Come with me,” you gasped. “Please—”
He buried his face in your neck, thrusts turning erratic. “Fuck—yeah—gonna—”
You came first, clenching around him, crying out his name. He followed seconds later with a deep groan muffled against your skin, hips stuttering as he spilled into the condom.
He collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you, breathing hard. You held him close, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back.
After a minute he lifted his head, kissed your temple.
“You okay?” he asked again, softer this time.
You nodded, still catching your breath. “Better than okay.”
He rolled to the side, pulling you with him until you were curled against his chest. His hand slid down your back, rubbing slow circles.
“We should get dressed,” he murmured. “Your mom’s gonna come looking.”
You groaned. “Five more minutes.”
He laughed—quiet, fond—and kissed the top of your head. “Five more minutes.”
But five minutes turned into ten, then fifteen, until your phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Mom: Dinner’s getting cold. Jude’s here too—your brother invited him. Come down when you’re ready.
You both froze.
Jude looked at you. You looked at him.
Then you both burst out laughing—quiet, breathless, trying not to make noise.
He rolled off the bed, grabbed his clothes, started dressing fast.
“Act normal,” you whispered, pulling on fresh leggings and a hoodie.
“Normal,” he repeated, smirking. “Got it.”
You fixed your hair in the mirror. He fixed his hoodie. You both took one last look at each other, flushed, marked up, still glowing—and nodded.
Showtime.
You walked downstairs first. Jude followed a minute later, coming in through the front door like he’d just arrived, greeting your brother with a fist bump and your mom with a hug.
“Hey, everyone. Smells amazing in here.”
Your mom beamed. “Lasagna. Your favorite.”
Your brother slung an arm around Jude’s shoulders. “Good to see you, man. Been too long.”
Jude’s eyes flicked to you across the table—quick, heated, secret.
“Yeah,” he said, voice steady. “Been way too long.”
You sat down. He sat across from you.
Under the table, his foot slid against yours—slow, teasing—then higher, calf hooking around yours, holding you there.
Dinner was torture.
Every time you reached for the garlic bread, his knee pressed against your inner thigh.
Every time your mom asked him a question—“How’s training going, Jude?”—he answered calmly while his fingers brushed yours under the table, thumb stroking your palm in slow circles.
Your brother was oblivious, talking shit about fantasy football.
Your dad asked Jude to pass the salad.
Jude did—hand lingering on yours for one second too long.
You almost dropped the bowl.
By dessert you were soaked again, thighs clenched, trying not to squirm.
When everyone finally started clearing plates, Jude stood. “I’ll help with dishes.”
Your mom waved him off. “No, no—go relax. You boys go play video games or whatever.”
Your brother grinned. “Hell yeah. 2K rematch?”
Jude shot you one last look—quick, burning—then followed your brother toward the living room.
You excused yourself to “grab water.”
The second you stepped into the hallway, a hand wrapped around your wrist and tugged you into the half-bath by the stairs.
Door shut. Locked.
Jude pinned you against the sink, mouth on yours instantly—hard, desperate.
“Been dying to do this all through dinner,” he growled, hand sliding down the front of your leggings, fingers finding you soaked. “You were squirming the whole time. Thought I was gonna lose it right there.”
You gasped as he circled your clit. “You’re gonna get us caught.”
“Then be quiet.” He dropped to his knees, yanked your leggings and panties down just enough, and buried his face between your thighs again—tongue flicking fast, two fingers plunging in deep.
You bit your fist to stay silent, hips rocking against his mouth.
He pulled back just long enough to whisper, “Come for me again. Right here. While your brother’s in the next room.”
You did—fast, hard—legs shaking, vision blurring.
He stood, kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself.
Then he unlocked the door, slipped out first, casual as hell, and rejoined your brother on the couch.
You waited thirty seconds, fixed your clothes, and walked back to the kitchen like your legs weren’t jelly.
Your mom smiled. “Everything okay?”
You nodded, voice steady. “Yeah. Just… needed a second.”
Upstairs, later—after everyone went to bed—you heard the familiar three knocks on your window.
You opened it.
Jude climbed in, hoodie already half-off.
This time he didn’t bother being quiet.
He fucked you slow, deep, hand over your mouth to muffle every moan, whispering filthy praise against your ear the whole time.
“Mine,” he breathed as he came inside you, hips grinding like he wanted to stay there forever. “Even if we hide it. You’re mine.”
You kissed him hard, fingers tangled in his curls.
“Yours.”
And when he finally slipped back out the window at 4 a.m., you lay there—marked, sated, heart racing—already counting down to the next time he’d risk it all just to touch you.
May we get a Skepta fic where it goes from angst to smut 🫣
all in
a skepta fic
summary ~ you and jo have an iffy relationship… after a major argument, jo tries to fix things.
includes ~ soft skeppy // smut (under 18 dni)
a/n ~ i hope this fit you love !!
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The rain in North London never quite knew when to stop.
It had been coming down in sheets for three days straight—cold, relentless, the kind that soaked through trainers and made every street corner smell like wet concrete and exhaust. Skepta—or “your jojo”—hadn’t left his house in two of them. Not because he couldn’t. Because he didn’t want to.
You hadn’t spoken in ten days.
Not a text. Not a voice note. Not even one of those passive-aggressive Instagram story views where you both pretend you’re not checking. Nothing.
The last time you saw each other it wasn’t a fight—not really. It was worse. Quiet. The kind of quiet that happens when two people who’ve been orbiting each other for years finally realise the gravity might not be enough anymore.
He’d said, “I don’t know if I can keep doing this half-in, half-out thing.”
You’d stared at him across the kitchen island in his Highgate house, still holding the mug of tea you’d made for him even though you were angry.
Took your toothbrush, your half of the vinyl collection, the oversized trapstar hoodie he pretended he didn’t notice you stealing every winter. Left the key on the counter like it was nothing. Drove back to your flat in Hackney with the radio off and the windows down, letting the cold slap some sense into you.
He didn’t chase.
You didn’t look back.
But ten days later, at 1:14 a.m., your phone lit up.
Skepta: Can I come over?
You stared at the message until the screen went dark.
Then you typed one word.
You: Yes.
Twenty-eight minutes later he was at your door.
Black tracksuit, hood up, rain dripping from the brim. No jewellery tonight—just him, raw, eyes tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.
You opened the door. Didn’t speak. Just stepped aside.
He walked in. Closed it behind him. The sound of the latch felt louder than it should have.
You both stood there in the hallway—coat dripping, shoes squeaking on the wood floor, air thick with everything you hadn’t said.
He broke first.
“I fucked up.”
You crossed your arms. “Yeah.”
“I thought… I thought if I gave you space, it’d make things clearer. But it just made everything worse.”
You looked at him—really looked. The shadows under his eyes. The way his shoulders were hunched like the weight of the last ten days had settled there permanently.
“You didn’t give me space,” you said quietly. “You gave me silence. There’s a difference.”
He winced. Nodded.
“I know.”
You stepped closer. Close enough to smell rain and him—faint weed, expensive aftershave, the leather of his jacket.
“I missed you,” he said. Voice cracked on the last word. “Every fucking second. Couldn’t write. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think straight. Kept replaying the last thing you said. ‘Pick a side.’ I picked the wrong one.”
Your throat burned.
“Then why are you here now?”
He reached out—slow, careful—like he thought you might flinch. His fingers brushed your cheek.
“Because I’m done pretending I don’t need you.”
You closed your eyes. Let the touch sink in.
“I’m scared,” you whispered. “Scared you’ll disappear again. Scared I’ll let you back in and it’ll hurt worse next time.”
He stepped closer. Forehead resting against yours.
“I’m scared too,” he admitted. “Scared I’ve already lost you. Scared I waited too long to say I’m all in. But I’m here now. And I’m not leaving unless you tell me to.”
Silence.
Then you grabbed his hoodie—hard—and pulled him down.
The kiss was desperate. Messy. All teeth and swallowed apologies. His hands found your waist, lifting you like you weighed nothing. Your legs wrapped around him automatically. He walked you backward until your back hit the hallway wall.
You broke apart just long enough to gasp, “Bedroom.”
He didn’t argue.
Carried you down the hall—mouth on your neck, teeth grazing the spot that always made your hips roll. Kicked your bedroom door open. Dropped you on the bed.
Clothes came off in a frenzy.
Your hoodie. His tracksuit top. Your bra. His joggers. No patience. No teasing. Just need.
He crawled over you, skin hot, tattoos stark in the low light from the streetlamp outside. Kissed down your body—neck, collarbone, breasts—sucking hard enough to leave marks. You arched into his mouth, fingers in his hair, tugging.
When he reached your panties he didn’t pull them off, just shoved them to the side.
“Look at you,” he muttered. “So fucking wet already. All because I showed up at your door?”
You moaned when his tongue flicked your clit—slow, deliberate.
“Been wet since you texted,” you gasped.
He groaned against you, vibration straight to your core, then licked a long stripe from entrance to clit. Sucked hard. Two fingers slid inside, curling immediately.
You cried out—loud, shameless—hips bucking.
He ate you like he was trying to make up for every day he’d been gone, tongue relentless, fingers pumping deep, free hand pinning your thigh open.
“Missed this pussy,” he rasped. “Missed the way you taste. The way you shake when I do this—”
He sucked harder. Curled faster.
You shattered—back arching, thighs clamping around his head, screaming his name into the pillow.
He didn’t stop until you were whimpering, oversensitive, tugging at his hair.
He crawled back up. Kissed you deep—letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Settled between your thighs.
“Look at me,” he said.
You did.
He pushed in slow—inch by inch—watching your face the whole time.
You gasped. Nails digging into his shoulders.
“So fucking tight,” he groaned. “Been dreaming about this every night.”
He bottomed out. Stayed there—foreheads pressed together—then started moving.
Slow at first. Deep. Rolling thrusts that made you feel every inch.
Then faster. Harder. Bed creaking. Skin slapping skin.
You wrapped your legs around his waist. Pulled him deeper.
“Harder,” you begged. “Fuck me harder.”
He did.
Snapped his hips forward—brutal, relentless. One hand braced beside your head. The other gripping your thigh so hard you’d have bruises tomorrow.
“Been dying to fill you up,” he rasped. “Been jerking off to the thought of you every night you were gone.”
You moaned—loud, broken. “Do it. All of it.”
He reached between you. Thumb finding your clit. Rubbing fast, rough circles.
“Come for me again,” he ordered. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it. Let me feel you squeeze me while I fill you up.”
You shattered—harder this time—walls pulsing, thighs shaking, crying his name so loud the neighbours probably heard.
He fucked you through it faster, until his rhythm broke.
“Fuck—gonna come—”
“Inside,” you begged. “Please—fill me up—”
He buried himself deep one last time. Came with a low, guttural groan, hips grinding, spilling hot inside you while he held you like he’d never let go.
He stayed buried for a long minute—forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged against your neck.
When he finally pulled out, he kissed you slow, lazy, sated—hands gentle now, tracing the marks he’d left.
“Still mad at me?” he murmured.
You laughed weakly—still trembling.
“Never was.”
He grinned against your lips.
“Good. Because we’re not done.”
He rolled you both so you were on top—still connected—hands on your hips.
“Ride me,” he said. “Slow. I wanna feel every second.”
You did.
Rolled your hips slow—deep—watching his face the whole time. His hands roamed—breasts, waist, ass, whispering how perfect you were, how much he’d missed you, how he was never letting you go again.
You came again, soft, shuddering, face buried in his neck.
He followed right after, groaning your name, arms locking around you.
Afterward he held you close—sweat-slick skin, hearts pounding in sync.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I ever made you doubt it.”
You kissed his chest. “I love you too.”
He squeezed you tighter.
“No more half-in, half-out,” he said. “All in. From now on.”
You nodded against his skin.
“All in.”
And as you drifted off—tangled together, rain still tapping the window—you knew:
Andrew Nembhard fluff. Andrew being extremely clingy with reader. never wants to leave her side.
at the hip
an andrew nembhard fic
summary ~ as stated in request !
includes ~ clingy andrew // doctor reader // fluff!
a/n ~ wanted to just write something cute, it’s been a bit!
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Andrew had always been the quiet one. Steady. Reliable. The guy who showed up early to shootaround, said what needed to be said, and then went back to work. He didn’t need the spotlight, didn’t chase clout, didn’t fill silence with noise.
But with you?
He turned into the clingiest person alive.
It started small.
The first time you stayed over at his place after a game, he woke up before you and just… stayed. Arm slung over your waist, face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing slow and even like he was trying to memorize the rhythm of your heartbeat. When you finally stirred and tried to slip out of bed to pee, he tightened his grip, mumbling into your skin,
“Nope. Five more minutes.”
You laughed. “I’ll be right back.”
“Five more minutes,” he repeated, voice thick with sleep, pulling you flush against his chest until your back was molded to him. “You smell good. Stay.”
You ended up staying twenty more minutes because he kept pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder every time you tried to move, murmuring things like “you’re warm” and “I like you here” until you gave up and melted back into him.
That became the pattern.
After games—win or lose—he’d find you in the tunnel or the family section, wrap both arms around your waist from behind, and drop his chin on your shoulder like a human weighted blanket.
“Missed you,” he’d say, even though you’d literally seen each other that morning.
You’d tease him. “You were gone for three hours.”
“Longest three hours of my life.”
On road trips, he’d facetime you every night—no matter how late the game ran or how tired he was. He’d prop the phone on the hotel nightstand, lie on his stomach, chin in his hands, and just stare at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.
“Tell me about your day,” he’d say, even when his eyes were half-closed.
You’d ramble about work, about the patient who wouldn’t stop flirting with you at the clinic, about the new coffee spot you tried. He’d listen. Nod. Occasionally interrupt with “I miss your voice” or “come cuddle me through the phone.”
When he was home, he was glued to you.
Cooking dinner? He’d stand behind you at the stove, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder, swaying gently like you were slow-dancing to whatever playlist was on.
Watching TV? He’d pull you into his lap, tuck your head under his chin, and wrap both arms around you like a koala.
Running errands? He’d hold your hand the entire time—grocery store, post office, dry cleaners—like letting go might make you disappear.
One Sunday afternoon you tried to get some work done at the kitchen table. He walked in wearing nothing but basketball shorts, saw you focused on your laptop, and immediately slid into the chair behind you.
Arms around your waist.
Chin on your shoulder.
Legs bracketing yours.
You laughed. “I’m trying to work.”
“I’m helping.”
“You’re distracting.”
“I’m supporting.”
You tried to type. His hands started wandering—slow, absentminded strokes up your sides, under your shirt, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.
“Drew.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re not helping.”
He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck. “I’m keeping you company.”
You sighed—half exasperated, half melting.
“You’re so clingy.”
He nuzzled closer. “Only with you.”
You gave up on work ten minutes later.
He pulled you onto his lap, turned your chair so you were facing him, and kissed you slow—lazy, deep, hands sliding under your shirt to trace your spine.
“I love you,” he murmured against your lips. “Like… stupid amounts.”
You smiled. “I know.”
“No, like… can’t breathe when you’re not around. Can’t sleep. Can’t focus. I’m obsessed with you.”
You cupped his face. “I’m right here.”
“Stay here,” he said, almost pleading. “Don’t ever leave.”
♡(Requested By @caashmoneynae \/ her writing is amazing! )♡
Black Fem! Plus Size Reader x Joey Bada$$ as “Unique” from Raising Kanan.
Summary: You and Unique had a toxic relationship, after the two of you moved on. He decided that it was time to get you back.
(Warnings: a toxic relationship, spanking, PWP, dirty talk, unprotected sex,)
—————
The man leaned back on the plush grey suede couch, listening to the muffled conversations of his bodyguards and crew. Laughter filled the spacious room, adorned with palazzo red and gold wallpaper, and the scent of marijuana lingered in the air. His attention was solely focused on the ten stacks of cash arranged neatly on the mahogany coffee table, held together by red rubber bands. His dark brown eyes remained fixed on the pile of money, contemplating his next move.
Unique was finishing up a few deals in his stash house around Queens late at night, the corners through the block weren't useful anymore but Unique made sure to add more customers using his stash house and his plan was successful by being one step ahead before anyone else.
"Any new word on the street Worrell?" Unique inquired of him, taking a long drag from the blunt in between his fingers.
Worrell's ears perked at the question his boss asked him, besides crime, corruption, and violence lastly Raquel working her way up, the new word on the street was about you, your new boyfriend. His right-hand man had let him know of any news to Unique. It didn't matter what it was, as long as the news is valuable for his knowledge.
Nervously, he discreetly cleared his throat while maintaining a composed expression, directing his words at Unique. "Uh, well, there are a few baseheads on the corner and Raquel been trying to get her spot. oh, and Y\/N has recently started dating someone new," Worrell muttered quietly, as if not wanting those last few words to be heard.
Unique quickly rose from the couch shooting a mean mug at Worrell, his face was written with anger and jealousy but mostly jealousy clouded his mind. He heard it clearly despite him talking under his breath, this wasn't even close to being bad. Shoving the blunt into the ashtray on the square-shaped coffee table while strolling toward Worrell.
Unique's hands gripped the collar of Worrell's black jacket while roughly shoving Worrell into the wall "The fuck you heard on the street nigga? Speak the fuck up man!" Unique spat harshly, his eyes had rage in them.
"Nique you ain't gon' like it—" Unique interrupted him with a loud tsk and evil grin, "Don't make me repeat myself unless yo' ass is ready to eat a bullet Worrell.." He threatened him coldly, meaning every word.
Another fight with his boss would painfully extricating not just physically but mentally exhausting for Worrell, there was no use to keep it silent.
"I–word on the street is Y\/N got a new nigga yo.." Worrell confessed, keeping his hands to his sides while sighing in defeat.
His face switched from jealousy to livid when he heard the truth, letting go of his collar. Taking in the information about his ex but her new man can't be in the picture either, not on his watch.
You and Unique's relationship was toxic, it wasn't just the late nights alone in your shared house waiting by the phone, paging him all night for an answer and never picking up. He didn't cheat on you but you knew he wasn't that stupid.
You knew from the jump that his line of work would keep him occupied in the streets, you broke up with him last year for the sake of your peace, and your mental health. You moved on to better things, got your own money, your own house and was an author.
"Who's the new nigga and what's his name yo?" Unique spat coldly, wanting who the man was with his ex.
"His name is Divine, they're living at her crib but he's in his office in Brooklyn that's all I know Nique." Worrell explained, held his hands up defensively. Nothing wanting more tension clouding the room.
"Maybe next time if you got info for me, don't hesitate nigga. Matter of fact when Divine gets off work, send my people over there and pay him a lil visit." Unique spat with ice-cold revenge laced on his lips, bringing frostbite to those who stood in his way.
——————
His balled-up fist banged on her front green door with flared nostrils and knocked like he was the police, frantically tapping his shoe on the porch, "Y\/N open the fuckin' door yo! I know yo' ass hear me knockin' girl!" Unique spat furiously, halting his knocks causing people to stare but quickly mind their business 'cause they didn't want any smoke with Unique.
The green door swung open to reveal the brown-skinned woman with your scrunched-up face. "Yo! Who the fuck—" you spat harshly until she saw him at her door, your eyelids squinting with irritation.
What the hell does he want this time? You mentally thought to yourself, sighing in annoyance.
"What the fuck do you want Kadeem? It's my day off from work and I'm not in the mood for your bullshit today." You spat severely, your hand resting on your hip.
For more than a moment, Unique was distracted by your beauty which he was always paid attention to until this time he had a good look at you. Her thighs, your wide hips and your brown skin, the scrunched-up face that he found adorable.
You sported a black silk robe that hugged your curvaceous body with your burgundy tresses laid behind your ears and covered by a black paisley pattern bandanna.
"I came here for a talk Y\/N." Unique spat, using your name that mad butterflies swarm in your stomach when he called you that. Jealously clouded his mind and his eyes were still on your curves for a bit.
Earning an annoyed groan from you while he strolled his way into the medium-sized furnished living room, brushing past you with the smell of his strong cologne and weed invading your nostrils, smacking your lips and shutting the door behind him. He needed a real answer from you, not Worrell.
Unique turned around on the heels of his timberlands with his steps getting closer to her, towering over you shooting a scowl at you. "So when the fuck was you gon' tell me about this new nigga named Divine? Is he wit' you now or what?" He questioned furiously, clenching his jaw.
"First of all, since when do I have to tell you about my man Kadeem hm? It's none of your business who's giving me some dick and hitting it right!" you spat defensively, holding your hands up in disbelief. Shooting straight at his fury.
Unique slowly shook his head in disbelief with a loud tsk, you had the nerve to rub this relationship in his face yet he didn't give up so easily when it came to anything including you.
"Y\/N if it's about you then that shit is my business and you're my girl, yo' ass know damn well I'm better than him. Better than anyone else you've dated after me you heard?" Unique spat with venom, his New York slipped from his lips.
You almost couldn't believe what you wer hearing from him, shaking your head in disbelief while your arms crossed, he was possessive at the worst times, the tension between the past lovers flooded the room with your brows knitted together.
"So is Donald the bitch ass nigga here or at work? 'cause whatever you two got. That shit is dead just like he is, baby." Unique grinned devilishly, his straight face on cue. meaning every word sparks a flame inside his ex.
You felt a shot of anger from what he told you, spewing profanity at him while pushing him but it wasn't effective, "So you have him killed 'cause you can't let me go?" You shot back, you stared into his eyes, smacking your lips in irritation.
Unique would do something like that to keep you all to himself, even if you were all his or not. All mine, he thought to himself.
"You're leavin' my house right now! I didn't miss you then and didn't miss you now." you spat at him angrily, telling him to leave your house over and over again but he wasn't listening.
You scurried to the door gesturing your hands to the front door watching Unique stand still in the same spot where they were talking in the middle of the medium-sized furnished living room, not budging despite you telling him to leave, why didn't he?
"Kadeem, I'm not your girl anymore yet you say that shit like I'm still yours." you grumbled, sauntered back to him. using the last ounce of your wrath.
Unique sauntered slowly towards her with his plump lips curled up in a grin while getting closer to your face causing your back to hit the wall and his minty fresh warm breath tickled your skin, sending chills down with a low shudder. "Why are you so quiet now hm?" Unique hummed softly, his thumb tracing your bottom lips.
His index finger resting underneath you chin and lifting it up forcing you to gaze up his dark brown eyes, "I call yo' bluff when you say you don't miss me when I know you actually do baby."
Those set of words were true it was like he could see right through her, "Why tell me that you ain't my girl anymore? Ain't you still mine Y\/N? Unique questioned flirtatiously, ducking his head in the crook of your neck while pecking your brown skin using his plump lips.
His hand gently latched on the sides of her neck with his knee parting your legs, "You thought I forgot about how good I make you feel?" He teased playfully, earning a soft whine from you, "Kadeem please.." you whined, Your bottom lip is submerged by your teeth, while your panties gather together due to the playful actions, not only because of the gradual allure, but solely because of Unique.
A dark chuckle from Unique against your skin, "Please what? Talk to me yo." He went on, his left hand pulling the drawstrings revealing your naked body. The sight of your nude curves made his dick twitch in his pants earning a groan from him.
"Please just fuck me.." You pleaded, your hand grabbing his hand and placing it on your black lace panties, he slowly slide past the hem of your panties with a soft gasp leaving your lips, his finger rubbed your clit in slow circles.
"Let's head upstairs to yo' room then."
—————
His naked back rested against the red slik sheets with his right hand latched around the sides of her neck and his left hand gripped your wide hips holding them in place, your back pressed against his chest while his hips relentlessly rocked into you, your eyes rolled back from his hand roughly kneading your breast with his finger grazing your erect nipple, "Kadeem Shitt!" you chanted loudly, giving your body time to shake, bounce underneath him with the excessive pleasure you received.
Your hands balled up the sheets from your walls tightening around his thick dick, "Still don't miss me baby?" Unique teased playfully, biting your earlobe. You nodded frantically, unable to speak from taking so much dick. "Use yo' words beautiful." he cooed, reeling you in with a pet name. "I missed you so much! fuckk!!" He lets loose vindictive yet ruthless thrusts as if your pussy was calling out to him encouraging Unique's dick to hit it harder till it was swollen, "I missed you too." He grunted huskily, his grip tightened around your neck.
His thumb grazed your throbbing clit while he roughly rammed into you sending you into heaven on earth except it was erotic and only them in this bed, you were moaning like a porn star, tearing the sheets apart, your legs must've gone numb when his tip kissed your cervix. "Say you're mine." he groaned, throwing his head back from the immense pleasure.
"F-fuckk! I'm yours!" you sobbed out, tears trickling down your cheeks. Your climax peaking early. "I-i'm cummin—oh shit..i can't hold it...i'm yourss." you panted softly in between his sloppy, slow thrusts. "Let it out." The lovers moaned and came in sync, kissing messily with a thin line of spit in between your lips, you squirted on his abdomen while coming undone on his dick, soaking the sheets.
"So that's how you feel about me baby? You made a big mess. You wanna another round baby?" Unique cooed, slowly pulling out but your palm touched the girth of his dick earning a groan from her man, "Yes please.." You moaned weakly, under his spell.
Unique quickly pushed your body forward so you can be on all fours, submissively arching your back in the air in a slutty way, the skin-to-skin slapping and the wet squelching noises flooding the room, "I love this pussy, gettin' so wet for me..fuck." He rasped in between his low grunts, his palm smacking her ass, leaving his handprint on you as he saw it turn red, watching his dick go in and out effortlessly, "I-i love that dick..i missed you being inside of me," you slurred out, sounding like you were drunk off his dick.
The right side of your face was mushed against the red satin sheets taking every inch of his dick from behind growing more wetter from their hot sex with your voice getting low and raspy when he rolled his hips into you, latching his hand around your neck to bring her face in, kissing your lips sloppily."I'm better than him, better than anyone else. I'm all you need." Unique grunted, his hips slowly gyrated becoming sloppier after each stroke.
"I'm the only one who fucks you better, gets this pussy wetter and knows how to handle you." Unique went on, giving more than a few strokes in. Your knees buckled while falling flat on the mattress.
"I'm cummin' again..." You let out raspily, throwing it back on him trying to match the slow motion in his thrusts. Your backside clapped against his pelvis, your juices gushed on his dick a bunch of times while unleashing his nut through your warm sticky walls, "Oh shit!" They moaned in sync, filling her up to the brim as both of them enjoyed their climax. Swiftly pulling out of you.
Your bodies flopped on the bed while laying side by side, Unique pulled her in kissing her temple. reeling the covers over their naked bodies and watching you softly sleep peacefully.
———————
♡♥︎♡
♡♥︎♡
He’s Back.
Black Fem! Reader x Rio. (from Good Girls.)
Summary: You decided to start over in a new town with your daughter until your ex-boyfriend Rio shows up to make peace, you're weren't convinced.
-—————
"What's up mama?"
Your gazes intertwined, your warm brown eyes connecting with his in a powerful exchange. The sound of his raspy voice sent a shiver down your spine, filling you with unease. He leaned against the booth's neutral beige seat, he sat with his daughter by his side, cradling a stuffed teddy bear in her tiny arms. Observing him scoop up a spoonful of vanilla ice cream and delicately guide it into his daughter's mouth, her laughter filled the air, bringing a genuine smile to his face. The low murmurs of conversation blended with the clinking of silverware against the pristine white porcelain plates, enveloping the entire restaurant. The beige-painted walls enclosed them in a tranquil ambiance, creating a serene silence that permeated the room.
"What are you doing here Rio?" you asked him, your voice shaky.
You and Rio shared a complex history, stemming from your great partnership within his crew and casual friends-with-benefits. You had sought only temporary pleasure, but your captivating persona as a former ruthless gang leader unexpectedly captured Rio's heart.
Your connection surpassed sheer physicality, evolving into something far deeper, especially for Rio, who fell deeply in love with her. Your straightforward nature, intellect, and cunning ways only added to your allure. Eventually, their love bore fruit in the form of their precious daughter, Sage.
However, life took an unexpected turn for you, prompting you to leave everything behind, including Rio, and taking Sage with you. Settling in a quiet town, you found solace working as a waitress while Sage was in preschool.
Still, you couldn't shake the certainty that Rio would eventually track them down, his longing for their reunion or even the possibility of building a family weighing heavy on your mind.
His sly smirk curled upon his face as Rio carefully wiped the traces of vanilla ice cream from the corners of Sage's mouth using a napkin, "Thank you, Daddy..." she said gently.
Rio nodded in response, "You're welcome princess.." he replied, Rio shifted his gaze toward the brown-skinned woman standing before him, his eyes raking down the curves of your body through your uniform.
"I just wanted to see my two favorite girls.." He smirked, his eyes filled with adoration as he met your gaze once again.
You felt your heart skip a beat, a mix of emotions flooding you. You couldn't deny the undeniable chemistry that still crackled between them, despite the distance and time apart.
Your voice slightly shaky as she replied, "We've been doing just fine without you, Rio. You can't just waltz back into our lives whenever you please." Her words held a hint of bitterness, a defense mechanism she had built to protect herself and Sage.
Rio's smile faded, his gaze softening. "I know, Y\/N. I messed up, But I never stopped loving you and our daughter. I want to be there for both of you, to make things right." His voice was filled with sincerity, his eyes pleading for a chance to prove himself.
You clenched your jaw, torn between your own desires and the fear of getting hurt again. You had worked so hard to create a stable life for your daughter, shielding her from the dangerous world she once knew. Could you risk it all for a second chance at love?
Sage tugged at your hand, your innocent eyes looking up at her mother and brown skin glowed. "Mommy, is he my daddy?" shd asked, her voice filled with curiosity and hope. Your heart ached at the question, realizing the impact your decision would have on your daughter's life.
Taking a deep breath, you mustered up the strength to respond. "Yes, Sage. Rio is your daddy." you glanced at Rio.
"But that doesn't mean things will go back to the way they were. We need to take things slow and rebuild the trust that was broken."
He nodded, a determined look crossing his face. "I understand, Tiana. I will do whatever it takes to earn your trust again. I want to be a father to Sage, and I want to be by your side, supporting you."
"When my shift is over, I'll go home and then we'll talk."
————
Even if you desired to, you didn't deny it after coming home, preparing dinner, and putting their daughter to sleep, you and Rio sat on the sofa, conversing about their shared history and potentially their future.
"What do you want Rio?" you asked, fiddling with your gold necklace.
"I want to be with you, baby, I want to be a family again," Rio replied, his voice filled with sincerity.
You looked into his eyes, searching for any signs of deception or insincerity. You saw nothing but genuine love and remorse. A part of you wanted to believe him but was this a trick?
"I want that too," You admitted quietly, your voice laced with vulnerability. "But we can't just ignore the past and pretend like it never happened."
Rio nodded, understanding the weight of your words. "I've got a question though," he said firmly. "Did you ever catch feelings for me?."
You felt your heart soften at his words. "Of course I did, I was trying to hide it but when I ran off, these feelings were still there.." you admitted.
Rio smiled, relief washing over his face. "I'm glad, Y\/N. I've seen that you've changed too, you're still beautiful as always."
Your cheeks grew hot as he reached out and took your hand, their fingers intertwining. "We have to take it slow, Rio."
You cradled his face in your hands with their eyes locked, his lips crashed into yours with unbridled passion.
—————
Your bare back pressed against the crimson couch, your legs hung loosely over his shoulders, his hands held them firmly in place. Your hips rolled with his tongue, He knelt on the carpet, you cursed under your breath, "Rio..shit." you buried her face in the pillow while he pleasured you with his lips on her wet folds. Although your legs tightened around his face, he gently separated them and pinned your legs above your chest.
"How could I forget you taste this good." he whispered, you whimpered from the strokes of his tongue across your folds, your back arched as you moaned loudly. "Fuck! Rio!" you exclaimed, your hand gripping the back of his neck, your nails dug into his shoulders. "I've missed hearing you scream out my name every night, baby," Rio murmured huskily as he kissed your thighs with affection.
"I missed you so much," you gasped as his thumb circled your clit again. He enjoyed the way your moans grew louder with his hand resting over your mouth to hush your cries, He relished the flavor of you as he licked and finger fuck you, enjoying you sweet essence with every movement.
Your stomach tightened and your toes curled. "I'm...I'm..." Your words were cut off as your juices spilled out, caught by him in every your eyelashes gradually fluttering apart while he firmly grasped your chin and passionately kissed you, letting you savor your own essence on his tongue. Instead of uttering words, you expressed your overwhelming pleasure through moans.
You swiftly got out of the couch and promptly changed into your pajamas, observing Rio as he settled down on the couch. You laughed and leaned down to kiss him, your hands roaming over his body.
"You're the best you know that?" he added, his voice raspy with desire, you gripped his chin as you pecked his lips twice. "Yeah, I know.." you replied confidently.
"I love you.." he said, your eyes widened a bit, but you didn't want to hesitate, "I love you too.." you replied, pressing your plump lips against his, warm and soft as you tasted yourself on his lips.
You looked at him with a mischievous glint in her eye. "My turn," you said, and pushed him down onto the couch.
may you write for bad bunny? if you read this or consider, tysm!!
siempre
a bad bunny fic.
summary ~ the story of you and benito.
includes ~ puerto rican reader // childhood best friends to lovers // google translated spanish // a tinge of angst // smut // fluff
a/n ~ this request came in a little while ago and it took me a little while to make it really perfect. I’m from an island that’s about a 15 minute plane ride from Puerto Rico so majority of my childhood friends were Puerto Rican. I really had to scavenge my brain to make sure that I’m saying everything correctly! if something is wrong, please excuse me!! i hope you love.
————————————————————————
The sunsets in Vega Baja always felt like magic when you were kids. You and Benito—back then he was just Benito, the skinny boy from the house down the street with dreams bigger than the island—would climb the old mango tree in your abuela’s backyard and watch the sky turn from blue to burnt orange, sharing stolen guavas and talking about everything. You were nine. He was ten. You told him you wanted to be a nurse like your tía, fixing people when they were broken. He told you he wanted to make music that made people feel alive, like Héctor Lavoe or Vico C.
“Un día voy a ser famoso,” he’d say, grinning with that gap-toothed smile. (One day I’m gonna be famous.)
You’d laugh and shove his shoulder. “Y yo voy a ser tu enfermera personal cuando te caigas del escenario.” (And I’m gonna be your personal nurse when you fall off the stage.)
You believed in him even then. When he started recording freestyles in his bedroom on a busted mic, you were his first listener. When he dropped out of college to chase the dream full-time, you were the one sneaking him food from your house because his fridge was empty from pouring every dollar into studio time. You were best friends. Inseparable. The kind of close where people whispered “¿Son novios?” (Are they dating?) but neither of you ever crossed that line. Not really. There were moments—late nights on the beach, his head in your lap while you messed with his curls, the way his hand lingered too long on your waist when you hugged goodbye—but life kept moving too fast.
You went to nursing school in San Juan, burying yourself in textbooks and clinicals. He started blowing up—first locally, then bigger. “Diles” went viral. Then “Soy Peor.” Tours. Labels. Suddenly he was Bad Bunny, and Vega Baja felt too small for him.
The drift happened slow. Texts went from daily to weekly. Calls turned into voice notes he’d send from planes or green rooms: “Mami, escucha esto nuevo… dime qué piensas.” (Baby, listen to this new one… tell me what you think.) You’d reply with pride—“Eso es fuego, Benito. Sigue así.” (That’s fire, Benito. Keep going.)—but the replies from him got shorter. Sporadic.
The last time you saw him in person was right before he moved to Miami full-time. He showed up at your abuela’s house unannounced, still in sweats from the airport, eyes tired but bright.
“Vine a decir adiós,” he said, pulling you into a hug that lasted too long. (I came to say goodbye.)
You held on tight. “No es adiós. Es hasta luego.” (It’s not goodbye. It’s see you later.)
He kissed your forehead—lingering, warm. “Te quiero, siempre.” (I love you, always.)
Then he was gone.
Years passed. You finished nursing school, got a job in a San Juan ER, saved lives in 12-hour shifts that left you bone-tired but fulfilled. You followed his career from afar—albums dropping, awards stacking, headlines screaming his name. You were proud. Confident he’d make it, just like you always knew. But the texts stopped completely after his third album. No more voice notes. No more check-ins. Life pulled you both under.
Until last month.
Your phone buzzed at 3:17 a.m. during a night shift break.
Unknown number: “Hey… soy yo. Benito. ¿Todavía tienes el mismo número?” (Hey… it’s me. Benito. Still the same number?)
Your heart stopped.
You stared at the screen for a full minute before replying.
You: “Sí. ¿Qué pasa?” (Yes. What’s up?)
Benito: “Estuve pensando en ti. Mucho. ¿Podemos hablar?” (Been thinking about you. A lot. Can we talk?)
You hesitated. Fingers hovering. The old hurt flared up—the way he’d faded out without a real goodbye, the way fame had swallowed him whole and left you as a footnote. But curiosity won.
You: “Llámame.” (Call me.)
He did. Immediately.
His voice hadn’t changed—still that low rasp, still warm like summer rain.
“Hola, mami.” (Hey, baby.)
You leaned against the hospital wall, heart racing. “Hola, Benito.”
The call lasted two hours. He told you about the burnout, the pressure, the way the spotlight felt like a cage sometimes. You told him about the ER chaos, the lives saved and lost, the way you still listened to his old freestyles when nights got long. He laughed—real, nostalgic. Apologized for disappearing. Said fame made him pull away from everyone, but losing touch with you hurt the most.
“Te extraño,” he said quietly. (I miss you.)
You swallowed. “Yo también.” (Me too.)
He flew you out to Miami the next weekend.
No expectations, he promised. Just to catch up. But the second you stepped off the plane and saw him waiting, he pulled you into a hug that felt like coming home.
The weekend was slow. Perfect. Walks on the beach at dawn. Late-night talks on his balcony with the ocean crashing below. He cooked platanos and arroz con gandules like his mom taught him. You laughed until your stomach hurt. And somewhere between the rum punches and the shared joints, the old spark reignited.
The first kiss happened on the third night.
You were on the couch, his arm around your shoulders, watching some old salsa concert on TV. He turned to say something—mid-sentence—and stopped. Looked at you like he’d just realized something.
Then his hand cupped your face. Thumb brushed your bottom lip.
“¿Puedo?” (Can I?)
You nodded.
He kissed you slow—gentle at first, testing. Then deeper. Tongue sliding against yours. Hands sliding under your shirt. You climbed into his lap without thinking—straddling him, hips rolling slow while he groaned into your mouth.
“Coño… me tienes loco desde siempre.” (Damn… you’ve had me crazy forever.)
Clothes came off fast. He carried you to the bedroom—your legs around his waist, his mouth on your neck. Laid you down like something precious.
Then the switch flipped.
He kissed down your body—neck, collarbone, breasts—murmuring low, slipping between English and Spanish as he lost himself.
“So fucking beautiful… you don’t even know what you do to me… mami, te voy a comer entera…” (Baby, I’m gonna eat you whole…)
When he finally slid inside you—slow at first, eyes locked on yours—he groaned low.
“Fuck… you’re so tight… so wet for me… joder, me vas a matar…” (Fuck, you’re gonna kill me…)
Then he fucked you deep—hard, relentless, hips snapping, bed shaking. He loved when you spoke back—when you begged “harder, please… don’t stop.”
He’d answer in that wrecked voice, Spanish spilling out when he couldn’t hold back:
“Así, baby… te voy a dar todo… ¿quieres que te coja más fuerte?” (Like this, baby… I’m gonna give you everything… you want me to fuck you harder?)
You always did.
You came first—clenching around him, nails in his back, crying his name. He followed right after—deep groan, hips grinding, spilling inside you while whispering “te amo… te amo tanto” (I love you… I love you so much) against your neck.
Afterward he held you close, sweat-slick skin, hearts pounding.
“We’re not losing touch again,” he said quietly. “I don’t care how crazy life gets. You’re mine. Always have been.”
You kissed his chest. “Always.”
The promise came easy after that.
He flew you out whenever he could—between tours, award shows, studio sessions. You kept your nursing job in San Juan, but he made sure you had time off when it mattered. Mornings in his Miami house: him making café con leche while you read scripts for his next video, laughing at the ridiculous lines. Nights in Puerto Rico: staying at his mom’s house, eating mofongo she made just for you, walking the beaches where you grew up together.
He proposed a year later—on that same beach at sunset, down on one knee with a simple gold band engraved with “siempre” (always) inside.
You said yes through tears.
The wedding was small—family only, on a private finca in Vega Baja, with Héctor Lavoe playing as you walked down the aisle.
Life after was sweet. Busy, but sweet. You balanced nursing shifts with traveling with him. He dedicated songs to you on stage—subtle shouts like “esta va para mi reina” (this one’s for my queen)—and the fans ate it up. You got your own little following too—people loving the “childhood friends to lovers” story, calling you his good-luck charm.
The sex never faded. Even married, he’d pull you into green rooms before shows, fuck you quick and hard against the door with his hand over your mouth so no one heard. Or slow mornings in hotel beds—him eating you out like breakfast, whispering “tan dulce… mi favorita…” (so sweet… my favorite…) until you came shaking on his tongue.
Softness wrapped around it all: him rubbing your feet after long shifts, you surprising him on tour with homemade pasteles, quiet nights where he’d play you unreleased tracks and ask “what you think, baby? Be honest.”
You built a life together—half in the spotlight, half in the shadows where it started.
The summer heat in Atlanta was unrelenting that year, the kind that made the air feel thick and sticky, clinging to your skin like a second layer. You’d moved down from Chicago six months ago for a job in graphic design, and while the city had its charms—peach cobbler that melted in your mouth, live music spilling out of every corner bar—the humidity was a beast you weren’t used to taming. That’s how the muumuu came into play. Loose, flowy, cotton dresses that your auntie had sent in a care package, insisting “Babygirl, you need something that breathes down there.” They weren’t sexy in the traditional sense—no tight fits, no plunging necklines—but they draped over your curves like a soft whisper, the fabric skimming your hips and thighs in a way that felt freeing, almost sensual when the breeze caught it just right.
Tyriq noticed the first time you wore one.
You’d met him at a neighborhood block party two months in—him fresh off a long day of filming, you nursing a lemonade and trying not to melt into the pavement. Tall, broad-shouldered, with that signature low fade and a smile that started slow and built like a sunrise. He’d asked for your number after making you laugh so hard you spilled your drink, and from there it was easy: late-night texts about nothing and everything, walks through the park, him showing up at your door with takeout because “I know you ain’t cooked yet.”
He loved your body from the start—told you so in hushed whispers during makeout sessions on your couch, hands roaming over your hips, your ass, your thighs like he was memorizing every curve. But the muumuu? That was something else. The first time he saw you in one—a soft yellow number with tiny floral prints, falling just above your knees—he stopped dead in your living room doorway, takeout bags forgotten in his hands.
“Damn,” he breathed, eyes raking over you slow, like he was seeing you for the first time. “You look… comfortable.”
You laughed, spinning once so the fabric flared out around your thighs. “It’s called a muumuu. Auntie sent a whole box. Said Atlanta heat would kill me otherwise.”
He set the bags down. Stepped closer. Hands finding your waist through the thin cotton.
“Nah,” he said, voice dropping low. “This ain’t just comfortable. This is… you. All soft and free. Makes me wanna touch every inch.”
That was the beginning.
He started requesting them. Not outright—Tyriq wasn’t the demanding type—but in small ways: “Wear that blue one tonight?” or “You look so good when you’re relaxed like that.” And every time you did, he lost a little more control. The muumuu became his weakness—the way it hid just enough to tease, the way it moved with you, brushing your skin like a lover’s hand.
Tonight was no different.
You’d slipped into the red one after your shower—a deep crimson that made your skin glow, loose enough to fall off one shoulder if you moved just right. You were in the kitchen, stirring pasta sauce, when he got home from filming. The door clicked open, then shut. Footsteps down the hall. Then silence.
You felt him before you saw him—standing in the doorway, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the room.
“Hey,” you said over your shoulder, casual, like you didn’t know exactly what the dress was doing to him.
He didn’t answer right away. Just walked up behind you, arms sliding around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. His hands splayed wide over your stomach, fingers pressing through the thin fabric like he was trying to feel every inch of you underneath.
“This dress,” he murmured, voice rough already. “You know what it does to me.”
You smiled, stirring the sauce slower. “Remind me.”
He groaned low in his throat. Pressed himself against your back so you could feel how hard he already was. One hand slid up to cup your breast—no bra underneath, just soft cotton and softer skin. He squeezed gently, thumb brushing your nipple until it peaked under his touch.
“Makes me wanna bend you over right here,” he said, lips brushing your ear. “Makes me wanna see how it looks hiked up around your waist while I fuck you from behind.”
Heat pooled low in your stomach. You turned off the stove. Turned in his arms.
"I want it."
He didn’t need more invitation.
His mouth crashed into yours—hungry, deep, tongue sliding against yours like he’d been starving for it all day. You kissed him back just as hard, fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer. He lifted you onto the counter in one smooth motion—dress riding up your thighs, cool granite against your bare skin.
He broke the kiss. Dropped to his knees right there in the kitchen.
Looked up at you—eyes dark, lips parted.
“Spread for me,” he said.
You did. Legs parting wide. The muumuu draped between your thighs like a curtain he was dying to pull back.
He pushed the fabric up slowly—inch by inch—kissing every bit of skin he exposed. Inner thighs. The crease where leg met hip. Then higher.
No panties.
He groaned—loud, wrecked.
“Fuck… you planned this.”
You smiled down at him. “Maybe.”
His mouth was on you in the next second—tongue flat, licking a slow stripe from entrance to clit. You gasped, hands flying to his hair. He sucked gently—then harder—fingers digging into your thighs to keep you open.
“Taste so fucking good,” he muttered against you. “Always so sweet for me.”
He ate you like he was savoring every second—slow circles around your clit, then fast flicks, then sucking until your hips bucked. Two fingers slid inside—curling deep, pumping in time with his tongue.
You were loud—moaning his name, gasping, thighs shaking around his head.
“Tyriq—fuck—right there—”
He added a third finger. Curled faster. Tongue relentless.
You came hard—back arching off the counter, crying out his name, pulsing around his fingers.
He didn’t stop until you were whimpering, oversensitive, tugging at his hair.
He rose. Kissed you deep—letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His cock was straining against his sweats—thick, hard, begging for attention.
You reached down. Palmed him through the fabric.
“My turn,” you whispered.
He shook his head. Lifted you off the counter. Carried you to the bedroom.
Threw you on the bed. Climbed over you.
“Nah,” he said, voice low. “I need to be inside you. Now.”
He shed his clothes fast, shirt gone, sweats shoved down. No boxers. Just him—thick, hard, leaking at the tip.
You reached for him. Stroked slow—root to tip.
He groaned, eyes fluttering shut.
“Fuck—baby—been thinking about this all day.”
You guided him to your entrance. Rubbed the head through your wetness—teasing, slow.
He pushed in—inch by inch—watching your face the whole time.
You gasped. Nails digging into his shoulders.
“So fucking tight,” he groaned. “Every time… like the first time.”
He bottomed out. Stayed there—foreheads pressed together—then started moving.
Slow at first. Deep. Rolling thrusts that made you feel every inch.
Then faster. Harder. Bed creaking. Skin slapping skin.
The muumuu was bunched around your waist now—fabric whispering against your skin with every thrust. His hands roamed—sliding under it to grip your hips, your breasts, your ass.
“Look at you,” he rasped. “In this dress… taking this dick like it was made for you.”
You moaned—loud, broken. “Harder—please—fuck—”
He flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth motion. Pulled your hips up. Pushed back in—deep, hard—from behind.
The angle was devastating. He hit that spot inside you over and over. One hand fisted in the muumuu fabric at your back—pulling you onto him harder with every thrust. The other slid around to rub your clit—fast, rough circles.
“Fuck—baby—gonna come—”
“Come for me,” he growled. "Let me feel it.”
You shattered—face buried in the pillow, screaming his name, walls pulsing around him, thighs shaking.
He fucked you through it—harder—until his rhythm broke.
“Fuck—gonna come—”
“Inside,” you begged. “Please—fill me up—”
He buried himself deep one last time. Came with a low, guttural groan—hips grinding, spilling hot inside you while he held you like he’d never let go.
He collapsed beside you—pulling you into his chest—both of you panting, sweaty, tangled in the muumuu and sheets.
He kissed your shoulder. Your neck. The spot behind your ear.
“Love this dress on you,” he murmured. “But I love it off you more.”
Can you do one of manny Montana & she’s back from a girls trip & teasing him
temptation
a manny montana fic.
summary ~ as stated in request.
includes ~ bf rio // smut (under 18 dni)
a/n ~ he’s so fine… tysm for the request!
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The flight back from Tulum to LAX was only four hours, but it felt like eight.
You’d spent the entire girls’ trip in barely-there bikinis, linen cover-ups, and strappy sandals—sun-kissed, salt-crusted, laughing until your stomach hurt. But for the red-eye home you’d gone full effort, just for your man.
And you knew Manny would notice every single detail.
You’d been teasing him the whole trip—subtle at first, then less subtle. Mirror selfies in the bathroom with the bikini strings barely tied, captioned “wish you were here to untie them.” A video of you dancing on the beach in nothing but the red two-piece and a sheer sarong, hips rolling slow to “Amorfoda,” captioned “practice for when I get home.” Late-night voice notes of you moaning his name softly while the ocean crashed in the background.
His replies had gotten shorter. Hungrier.
Manny (last night): “you’re killing me. plane lands at 2:47. i’m picking you up. don’t make plans for the next 48 hours.”
You hadn’t answered. Just let him sit with it.
Now you were walking through arrivals at LAX, rolling your suitcase, sunglasses perched on your head, lips curved in a small, knowing smile. He was waiting at the barrier—black hoodie, gray sweats, cap pulled low, arms crossed, jaw tight like he’d been clenching it the whole flight delay.
The second he saw you his whole posture changed.
He pushed off the railing, met you halfway, took the suitcase handle without asking, and pulled you into his chest with his free arm. Kissed you hard—right there in the middle of the terminal—tongue sliding against yours, hand fisting the back of your blouse like he was two seconds from ripping it open.
When he pulled back his eyes were dark, pupils blown.
“You look like you’re trying to get fucked in the parking garage,” he said, voice low and wrecked.
You smiled against his mouth. “Maybe I am.”
He groaned—quiet, guttural—and grabbed your hand. Practically dragged you to short-term parking.
The drive home was torture.
He kept one hand on the wheel, the other high on your thigh, fingers digging in every time you shifted and the silk of your blouse slipped lower. You kept your legs crossed, pretending to scroll your phone, but every few minutes you’d uncross them slowly, letting your thighs part just enough to make him curse under his breath.
“Keep playing,” he warned, voice rough. “See what happens when we get inside.”
You tilted your head, looked at him from under your lashes.
“What happens?”
His jaw ticked. “You’ll find out.”
The second the front door closed he had you against it.
Mouth on yours—hard, claiming. Hands already working the buttons of your blouse. You kissed him back just as hungry, fingers tugging at his hoodie, yanking it over his head. Shirt underneath followed. His skin was warm, tattoos stark under the hallway light.
He shoved your blouse off your shoulders. Bra gone in seconds. Mouth on your neck, your collarbone, lower—sucking a bruise into the swell of your breast while his hands worked the clasp of your trousers.
“Been hard since that last picture,” he muttered against your skin. “Couldn’t even think straight.”
You laughed—breathless—when he finally got the zipper down. Trousers pooled at your ankles. He dropped to his knees right there in the entryway.
Looked up at you, eyes black with want.
“Been dying to taste you all week.”
He hooked his fingers in your panties and yanked them down. Spread your thighs. Buried his face between them.
The first lick made you cry out, sharp, needy. He groaned against you—vibration straight to your core.
“Taste even better than I remembered,” he rasped. Tongue flat, licking slow stripes from entrance to clit. Then pointed, flicking fast. Then sucking hard—lips sealed around you, pulling until your hips bucked.
You fisted his hair. Rode his face. Moaned his name like a chant.
“Manny—fuck—right there—”
He added two fingers—curling deep, pumping fast. Tongue relentless. Free hand gripping your thigh hard enough to leave prints.
You came hard, your back arching against the door, thighs shaking around his head, screaming his name loud enough the neighbors probably heard.
He didn’t stop until you were whimpering, oversensitive, tugging at his hair to pull him up.
He rose. Kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Then lifted you, legs around his waist—and carried you to the bedroom.
Threw you on the bed. Shed his sweats. Cock springing free—thick, hard, leaking.
He crawled over you. Settled between your thighs.
“Look at me,” he said.
You did.
He pushed in slow—inch by inch—watching your face the whole time.
You gasped. Nails digging into his shoulders.
“So fucking tight,” he groaned. “Been dreaming about this pussy every night you were gone.”
He bottomed out. Stayed there—foreheads pressed together—then started moving.
Slow at first. Deep. Rolling thrusts that made you feel every inch.
Then faster. Harder. Bed creaking. Skin slapping skin.
You wrapped your legs around his waist. Pulled him deeper.
“Harder,” you gasped. “Fuck me harder.”
He did.
Snapped his hips forward—brutal, relentless. One hand braced beside your head. The other gripping your thigh so hard you’d have bruises tomorrow.
“Been dying to fill you up,” he rasped. “Been jerking off to those pictures. Imagining bending you over every surface in this house.”
You moaned—loud, broken. “Do it. All of it.”
He reached between you. Thumb finding your clit. Rubbing fast, rough circles.
“Come for me again,” he ordered. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it. Let me feel you squeeze me while I fill you up.”
You shattered, harder this time, walls pulsing, thighs shaking, crying his name so loud the windows probably rattled.
He fucked you through it, faster—until his rhythm broke.
“Fuck—gonna come—”
“Inside,” you begged. “Please—fill me up—”
He buried himself deep one last time. Came with a low, guttural groan—hips grinding, spilling hot inside you while he held you like he’d never let go.
He stayed buried for a long minute—forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged against your neck.
When he finally pulled out, he kissed you slow, hands gentle now, tracing the marks he’d left on your skin.
“Still think teasing me was a good idea?” he murmured.
You laughed weakly—still trembling.
“Best idea I’ve ever had.”
He grinned against your lips.
“Good. Because we’re not done.”
He scooped you up—still naked, still dripping—and carried you to the shower.
Turned the water on hot. Pulled you under with him.
Washed you carefully, hands gentle now, soaping your skin, rinsing your hair, kissing every inch he touched.
Then he dropped to his knees again.
This time slower. Sweeter. Tongue tracing lazy patterns, fingers curling slow and deep, building you up gently until you came again, soft, shuddering, whispering his name like a prayer.
When you finally climbed out, wrapped in towels, still tangled together—he carried you to bed.
a part 2 to that aaron gordon smut. first one was so so good
trust fund baby 2
an aaron gordon fic.
summary ~ how will you and aaron navigate this new found attraction?
includes ~ bf aaron // angst to fluff to implied smut
a/n ~ my fav nba story by far
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The drive back from the Colorado cabin felt like waking from a dream—snowy mountains giving way to flat highways, the group’s rented SUVs caravanning south toward Denver, everyone blasting playlists and trading stories about the weekend. You and Aaron were in the back of one—him driving, you shotgun with your feet up on the dash, his hand resting casually on your thigh like it had always been there. The teasing from the front seats had died down after the first hour (“Finally got over yourselves?” “Took a blizzard to thaw that ice”), but every time he glanced at you, that slow, private smile made your stomach flip. Like the whole world had shifted overnight.
By the time you pulled into your apartment complex, the sun was setting. He carried your bag up the stairs, lingered in the doorway after setting it down.
“So… this is us now?” he asked, voice low, almost hesitant for someone who’d spent the last 48 hours buried inside you.
You stepped closer, fingers tracing the zipper of his hoodie. “Yeah. This is us.”
He kissed you slow—deep, unhurried—then left with a promise to call you after practice tomorrow.
The first few weeks were easy. Almost too easy.
He’d show up at your door after late-night games, still in his warm-ups, smelling like Gatorade and victory. You’d pull him inside, kiss him until his knees buckled, fuck him on the couch because the bed felt too far. Mornings were lazy: him making eggs shirtless in your kitchen, you stealing bites from his plate, laughing about nothing. He’d text during road trips—“miss that ass already”—and you’d send back selfies in his stolen Nuggets jersey, nothing underneath. He’d call at 2 a.m. his time, voice sleepy, telling you about the game while you drifted off to the sound.
But reality crept in slow.
His schedule was brutal. Practices bled into games bled into flights bled into recovery days where he was too sore to do much more than crash on the couch. You worked a 9-to-5 at a marketing firm—steady, demanding in its own way—but nothing like his world. The first fight came three months in, after he cancelled dinner plans for the fourth time because “team meeting ran long.”
You were at his place—modern loft downtown, all glass windows and leather couches—pacing the kitchen while he sat on the counter, looking exhausted in gym shorts and a compression shirt.
“It’s not about the dinner,” you said, voice rising despite your best efforts. “It’s about you blowing me off again. Like I’m an afterthought.”
He rubbed his face. “Baby, it’s not like that. Season’s ramping up. Playoffs are coming. I’m trying.”
“Trying?” You laughed—sharp, bitter. “You didn’t even text me until an hour after you were supposed to be here. I sat at the restaurant alone, looking like an idiot.”
He slid off the counter. Stepped closer. “I’m sorry. I got caught up—”
“Caught up in what? The same shit you’ve been caught up in for weeks? We barely see each other anymore. And when we do, you’re half-asleep or staring at your phone checking stats.”
His jaw tightened. “This is my job. My life. You knew that when we started.”
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I knew. But I didn’t know it’d feel like this. Like I’m competing with a basketball for your time.”
He reached for you. You stepped back.
The hurt flashed in his eyes.
“I’m not choosing the game over you,” he said. “I’m just… trying to balance it all.”
You crossed your arms. “Then try harder.”
The silence stretched heavy.
He exhaled slowly. “Maybe we need space.”
Your chest cracked open. “Space?”
“Yeah.” His voice was flat now. Guarded. “If you think I’m not trying enough, maybe space’ll help.”
Tears burned your eyes. You blinked them back.
“Fine. Take your space.”
You grabbed your bag. Walked out without looking back.
The next two weeks were hell.
No texts. No calls. You threw yourself into work, gym sessions that left you sore and empty, nights scrolling his Instagram like a masochist—photos of him at practice, laughing with teammates, looking fine like nothing was wrong. Your friends dragged you out for drinks, told you to move on, but every time your phone buzzed your heart jumped.
It wasn’t him.
Until it was.
Aaron (2:17 a.m.): “Can we talk?”
You stared at the screen for twenty minutes before replying.
You: “Tomorrow. My place. 7 p.m.”
He showed up at 6:55 with takeout from your favorite Thai spot and a bottle of the cabernet you liked. Looked like he hadn’t slept—dark circles, hoodie rumpled, hands shoved in his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them.
You let him in. Sat on opposite ends of the couch. The food stayed unopened on the coffee table.
“I fucked up,” he said first. No preamble. “I said space because I was scared. Scared you were right. Scared I wasn’t enough for you outside that cabin bubble.”
You swallowed. “You think that’s what this is? A bubble?”
“Maybe.” He rubbed his face. “We started in a snowstorm. Everything intense and close. Now it’s real life—my games, your job, the media starting to notice us together. I didn’t want to drag you into that mess if I couldn’t give you everything.”
Tears pricked your eyes. “I don’t need everything. I need you. Even if it’s just texts during halftime or falling asleep on FaceTime when you’re on the road. I need to know I’m not an afterthought.”
He shifted closer. Took your hand. You let him.
“You’re not,” he said quietly. “You’re the first thought. Every morning. Every win. Every loss. I just… got scared of losing you because of it all.”
You squeezed his hand. “Then don’t push me away. Let me in.”
He nodded. Pulled you into his chest. Held you tight.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “I love you. So fucking much.”
Your heart stuttered. First time he’d said it.
“I love you too.”
He kissed you then—slow, deep, like he was making up for every missed call, every cancelled plan. You kissed him back—forgiving, needing, pulling him closer until you were both tangled on the couch.
The food went cold.
You didn’t care.
That night he stayed. Made love to you slow in your bed—hands gentle, eyes locked on yours, whispering “I love you” every time he thrust deep. You came undone together—quiet gasps, shaking limbs, his face buried in your neck while he spilled inside you.
Afterward he held you close—arms locked around you, chin on your head.
“We’re figuring this out,” he murmured. “Together.”
You nodded against his chest. “Together.”
The next morning he made breakfast—burnt toast and perfect eggs—while you scrolled his schedule on your phone.
“I’m coming to the next home game,” you said.
He grinned over his shoulder. “Wear my jersey?”
“Obviously.”
He did better after that.
Texts during warm-ups. Calls from hotel rooms. Dates squeezed between practices—picnics in the park, late-night drives, quiet dinners where he turned his phone off completely. He introduced you to the team as “my girl.” You wore his jersey to games—front row, screaming his name when he dunked.
The media caught on eventually.
“Gordon’s Mystery Woman?” headlines with blurry photos of you two at a coffee shop. Fans speculated. Haters hated. But he didn’t hide you. Posted a story one night: you asleep on his couch, his hand resting on your thigh, caption “home.”
The tension faded. Not gone—his schedule was still insane, your job still demanding—but you navigated it. Fought fair when things got hard. Made up even better.
Six months after the cabin trip, he took you back to Colorado.
Not the same cabin. A smaller one—just the two of you. Snow falling outside. Fire crackling.
He fucked you on the rug in front of it—slow at first, hands pinning your wrists, eyes locked on yours. Then harder. Deeper. You on top—riding him slow, his hands on your hips guiding you, whispering how beautiful you were, how much he loved watching you take him.
You came first—shaking, moaning his name. He flipped you under him—thrust deep, relentless—until he came inside you with a low groan, hips grinding like he wanted to stay buried forever.
Afterward he held you close—naked, tangled in blankets—firelight flickering over your skin.
“I almost lost you,” he whispered.
You kissed his chest. “You didn’t.”
He reached into his bag on the floor. Pulled out a small velvet box.
Your breath caught.
Opened it.
A simple gold ring. Diamond in the center. Not flashy. Just perfect.
“Marry me,” he said quietly. “Let me spend the rest of my life proving I’m enough.”
Tears spilled over.
“Yes,” you whispered. “Yes.”
He slid the ring on your finger with shaking hands. Kissed you deep—slow, reverent.
Then he made love to you again—gentle this time, hands laced with yours, eyes never leaving your face, whispering “I love you” with every thrust until you both came undone together.
