summary: suguru comes home from a long day at work to you resting after cleaning the entire apartment, not everything stayed clean though.
wc: 2.4k
cw: suguru geto x black!fem reader, soft!dom suguru, established relationship (engaged), oral (f. receiving), fingering, persuading, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, back-to-back squirting, pussy slapping, wet/messy descriptions, use of pet names,, suguru is lowk obsessed.
The sheets were still warm from the dryer when you slipped under them.
Soft. Clean. Tucked so tight the corners looked hotel crisp—just the way you liked them. Silk pillowcases fresh from the wash. Diffuser on. You had wiped down every surface, Swiffered the floor twice, and even finally reorganized the top drawer of your shared nightstand. Candle that you always had to light after cleaning flickering on the counter, just for you to feel complete. You were ready to do nothing for the rest of your night.
And then the door opened.
Keys hit the entry table. His boots landed next. The familiar weight of his presence surrounding the quiet of the shared apartment.
You didn’t look up when he stepped into the bedroom—just kept scrolling on your phone, propped up against your favorite pillow with the throw blanket tucked over your knees. Your body fresh out the shower, oiled, bare under your burgundy silk robe that was slightly open at the chest area. Your mind already clocked out.
Suguru stayed quiet longer than usual. He didn’t give you his usual greeting of asking you how your days was almost immediately, you knew what that meant.
You felt it before you saw it—his attention. Thick. Intentional. The kind that made the air buzz a little different. And when you finally lifted your gaze, his was already on you.
He was still in his slacks and black button-up, sleeves rolled just past his elbows, one hand braced against the doorframe as his eyes locked onto you.
“You cleaned the whole room just for me to mess it up again?” he asked, voice low and even, just this side of teasing. Every time you and Suguru had sex, the sheets were always ruined with either your slick oozing onto them, sweat from how many rounds you guys would go, or if he made you squirt all over the sheets.
You squinted at him. “No. I cleaned it for me. You just live here.”
He chuckled softly but didn’t move.
Just let the silence stretch out long enough for you to feel the weight of his thoughts settling between you both. He stares at the way your lotion gave your collarbone that familiar glow for a little too long.
You lifted an eyebrow. “You good?”
“Mhm,” he said, but his eyes didn’t leave you. “You look too relaxed.”
“I am relaxed.”
“That’s what I mean.”
You stared.
He stared back.
Then slowly, Suguru pushed off the doorframe, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the rest of the day, and crossed the room with the kind of pace that made your breath sit tighter in your chest. It was almost uncomfortable.
“You know,” he said once close enough for you to smell the faint bite of cologne lingering on his shirt, “I like it when you let yourself chill every once in a while. It’s cute.”
“I don’t know if I should say thank you or be offended?”
“You should always say thank you,” he murmured, already reaching for the edge of the blanket. “But I also know you, sweetheart.”
He has that smug tone in his voice that he always had when he wanted you underneath him, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you. You knew that tone too well.
You shifted beneath the covers, hands catching his wrist. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“I know what you’re doing. Don’t mess up the sheets. I just cleaned everything.”
He smiled—the soft, dangerous kind that tells you he already made up his mind.
“I’m not trying to ruin anything,” he said. “I just missed you.”
You gave him a look.
“What? I cant kiss my fiancee no more without her acting like she don’t love me?”
“No, you’re tryna fuck.”
“I haven’t even touched you yet.”
“But you want to.”
He hummed like he was thinking about it. Then leaned in to press a kiss just under your ear.
“You been home all day,” he murmured, dragging his lips down the line of your neck. “Did you think about me at all?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
You were lying. As soon as he left this morning, you touched yourself to the home videos he recorded before rolling out of bed to clean. He didn’t need to know that though.
He slid his hand up your side, light and slow, like he was just exploring. His fingers grazed underneath your robe onto your bare thigh.
You said it again, firmer this time, even if your voice didn’t quite match the tension building in your thighs. You meant it—you always meant it when it came to your space being clean—but the problem was, he knew the difference between your real boundaries and the ones you only said out of stubbornness. Knew it down to the breath you held right before giving into him.
And the way your thighs pressed together just now?
That gave him everything he needed.
“Mmh,” he nodded, dragging a finger down the seam of your thigh like he was agreeing with you. “Of course.”
His voice was too calm. Too agreeable. And when he leaned down to kiss the inside of your knee, the way his eyes flicked up to meet yours said the opposite of of course.
“Don’t ‘of course’ me,” you muttered, shifting slightly, tugging the blanket higher like it was a barrier strong enough to stop him. “I mean it. I just washed everything, Sugu.”
“I hear you sweet girl,” he said, still nodding. Still smiling. That soft, calculated kind of smile he wore when he knew exactly what game he was playing. “I always hear you.”
His lips grazed over your knee again, and then up, brushing just above it, his palm coming to rest on your shin, warm and slow. The weight of it made your skin buzz.
“You know I respect you, right?” he murmured, voice low, slow, like he was trying to lull you out of your own rules. “I know how hard you worked on the place. I really appreciate you.”
You started fidgeting as you stared at him. “….You’re trying to distract me.”
He just grinned, unbothered.
“‘Course I’m distracting you,” he said. “You looked so peaceful when I walked in, all lotioned up with your legs under this soft ass blanket… You were begging me to come touch you.”
You tried to open your mouth to argue, but his hand ran up your leg again, fingers skimming over your calf, then higher, thumb brushing along your inner thigh.
“You’re always so tense after you clean,” he said, like it was just an observation. Like it wasn’t laced with knowing. “All that energy’s still in your body. Gotta let my baby relax.”
Your breath hitched against your will. His mouth was at the top of your thigh now, kissing just at the curve of your hip—slow, coaxing, like a promise. You swallowed.
“Suguru, if you—if you make me—”
“Shh,” he said against your skin. “I won’t. I promise.”
You narrowed your eyes. You don’t believe him at all.
He chuckled, he one-handedly untied the knot holding your robe closed, and exposing you to him. Not touching you yet —just looking.
“I said I missed you,” he said. “And I did. You really gonna make me sleep next to you all night without even tasting you a little?”
Your mouth went dry. The warmth between your legs heated up like it always did when he talked like that—when he used that quiet, confident, reverent tone like you were something to be savored.
You sighed, voice softer than before. “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, Suguru. I know how you are.”
He leaned forward, kissed your cheek, then your jaw.
“‘M not lying,” he whispered. “You know I don’t have to do all that to make you feel good.”
And you hated that he was right.
Because he could absolutely effortlessly make you nut—have you gasping, gripping his arm, coming apart in seconds, all without ever going that far. But you also knew how much he loved watching you lose control. Especially when you swore you couldn’t squirt when you first started dating and he proved you wrong.
And you knew what tonight was.
It was one of those nights.
The ones where he got exactly what he wanted—and what he wanted was to press his lips to the softest part of you until the sheets were soaked with your release and you were whining about how you told him not to.
He kissed the corner of your mouth.
“C’mon,” he murmured, letting his fingers slide across the inside of you thigh. “Let me love on you a little. Just a little.”
Your jaw clenched.
The clean freak in you said no. But your body said yes the moment his thumb grazed that spot you couldn’t ever lie about.
This ‘hard to get’ thing you were trying to do didn’t end up lasting long—it never did. You dont even know how you got here but you ended up under him, legs wide. The wet between your thighs was relentless—loud, sticky, soaking into your pretty new sheets you swore you would keep clean this time like a warning sign. Suguru didn’t care. He was watching it happen now, eyes fixed between your legs like he wanted to memorize how wrecked you looked.
Your thighs trembled, fat jiggling every time his palm met your clit again, and he was still dragging it out—three fingers deep inside, thumb gliding through your slick like it wasn’t pouring out of you with every breath you took.
Your brown skin glistened in the low light, especially where your thighs met—fat folds slick with creamy shine, all that warmth sticky and glossy from the way he was working you.
“Look at this fuckin’ pussy,” he muttered, almost reverent as he licked his lips. “So fuckin’ pretty—shit, I cant get enough of you.”
He’d already made you cum twice, when he ran his tongue through your folds until your clit was engorged and sensitive. You were so overstimulated but you felt another orgasm approaching you. You couldn’t stop it—the wave hit like lightning. Your whole body jerked with it, thighs clapping wet against his wrist, and his hand only moved faster.
“You feel that?” he said low, voice rough and close to a growl. “You hear that shit, doll? My messy girl.”
Schlick-Schlick-schlick-schlick.
Your pussy sounded so sloppy with the way he rubbed you—palming your clit side to side now, not even neat about it. Just messy, just mean.
“Sugu! You’re making me—shit!” Slick gushed out of you as you gasped and his knuckles got drenched. You couldn’t keep your legs still. The sheets underneath were ruined—drenched and sticking to the round curve of your ass and thighs, damp from your sweat, you almost started the way your body just kept letting go.
He didn’t stop. Not even when you whimpered and tried to press your thighs shut.
“Nuh uh,” he murmured, gently pressing a kiss to the crease of your thigh. “Open up f’r me. Lemme see that pretty mess you made.”
You sobbed a little, overwhelmed.
He rubbed your clit in tight circles now—fast, calculated, like he was trying to make you squirt even harder.
And you did.
You didn’t even know you could squirt back to back like that until you met Suguru. This time it sprayed up onto your belly, slick splattering over the robe laid out underneath you and his button up, gliding down into the folds between your waist and thighs. He started slapping your swollen pussy, making your juices spew everywhere, your whole body jerking every slap. He let it coat his hand. Rubbed it in. Slid it all over your pussy and back up the creases of your folds, eyes eating up how wet and glossy you were.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” he groaned, licking his lips again, “I should frame this shit.”
You blinked up at him, dazed and sweaty, lips trembling and slick.
And Suguru just smiled at you, dark and low and satisfied—hand still cupped gently over your throbbing clit, like he didn’t want the moment to end yet.
“Baby,” you whined, “I knew you were gonna ruin the sheets.” you frown, trying to ignore the fact that you were still shaking due to the aftershock of your orgasms.
“I didn’t ruin the sheets,” he said, finally pulling his hand back with a slick sound, palm glistening. “you did.”
You roll your eyes as you lightly push his chest as you get up to tie your robe again. “You’re getting in the shower with me and washing the sheets again, tonight.”
He stares at you as you make your way to the bathroom, already thinking about fucking you in the shower.
୭ৎ doggystyle with husband!toji. thick!woc!reader.
the bedroom is warm. dim.
the lamplight paints gold across the edge of the mattress where your hands are planted, knuckles digging into the sheets. the scent of sweat, sex, and him fills the air—thick, humid, wrapping you in it like a second skin.
you’re on all fours, head tipped low, your spine curving into the perfect arch for him.
every shift makes your hips jiggle, makes your plush ass spread open around the thick, glistening stretch of him as he drives himself back into you.
toji’s got you where he wants you—hips caged in his big hands, fingertips digging deep enough to leave bruises. his strokes are steady but heavy, the kind that makes your eyes roll before you can catch yourself.
the bedframe groans with every push forward, the mattress dipping under the sheer weight of him pressing you down.
he’s already made you cum four times tonight.
each one sharper, messier, wetter than the last—until your thighs were trembling just trying to hold yourself up. but toji doesn’t care that your voice is thin from moaning, that your body keeps shivering in the aftershocks.
“fuuuck, ma—look at’ya. drippin’ aalll over me, yeah? y’hear that? that’s me all in your guts, mama.”
you can hear it. the slick, obscene wetness between your thighs every time he bottoms out, his tip punching deep against that spot that makes you cry out.
“f-fuuck, toji, i c-cant—!” you draw the syllables out, drool slipping past your kiss-swollen lips.
your pussy is a mess—soft walls fluttering around him, so wet that his thrusts feel almost punishing in how easily he slides through. the thick base of him is soaked, a ring of both your orgasms clinging to his skin, dripping down his balls.
“gonna keep pumpin’ you full—make you a m-mama f’r real this time,” he moans pathetically, leaning forward until his chest presses to your back. his breath is warm on your ear, his cock still buried to the hilt. you can feel his heartbeat there, pounding as hard as yours.
your body sways under him with each sharp thrust. “y-yesss—o-oh ffuuck, make me a m-mommy!”
the rhythm is relentless—his hips snapping into you with enough force to make your heavy tits bounce, your soft tummy pressed against the bed with each impact. the heat inside you keeps building, overwhelming, spilling over into a constant hum in your bones.
your breathing is ragged, lashes damp with sweat. full and plush thighs ache but your hips keep rocking back into him, hungry for more. you can feel him—every vein, every pulse—stretching you to the limit.
“mmh—mami, you feel fuckin’ perfect. gonna keep this p-pretty pussy real nice ‘n full for me. gimme a look—look at me when ‘m makin’ you mine.”
and you obeyed him quick. you glance back over your shoulder, half-lidded, lips parted.
the lamplight catches the glint of sweat at your collarbone, the flush high on your cheeks. your voice is low, sultry, and wrecked when you finally speak.
“then f-fuckin’ do it. f-fill me—hah!—up again… wanna make you a—hic!—daddy.”
it’s like you lit a fuse.
his growl rumbles against your back as his pace sharpens, every stroke deeper, heavier—fucking the breath out of your lungs. your nails curl into the sheets, your mouth falling open on a moan you can’t hold back.
“o-oh fuuck, mami. you wanna kill me, huh?” toji rasps, and you could tell it’s taking everything in him not to throw his head back, roll his eyes, and fill you so much your tummy bulges.
“y-y’can’t fuckin’ talk to me like that, ma.”
he’s close. you can feel it in the way his hips jerk, in the way his hands tighten on your waist. his voice is a bit higher, almost desperate—
“yeaah, take it—milk me, baby. squeeze my d-dick just like that. sh-shit, you’re milkin’ me—”
the moment he spills inside you is brutal in its intensity. his thrusts slow but stay deep, grinding his hips against your ass as thick, hot ropes of cum flood you.
and just when you know it, your orgasm comes crashing down on you. “fu-fuck—toji ‘m c-cumming!”
your walls seize around him, your body shuddering with another climax you didn’t expect, pleasure rolling through you in waves. you can feel it. all of him. the pressure, the heat, the mess. it’s so much that it starts to leak out, slipping down your inner thighs in warm trails.
toji stays there—deep, unmoving—for a moment, just breathing hard against your shoulder. one of his hands drags forward, pressing over your lower belly, right where his cock still throbs inside you.
“thaat’s it… keep it in there. that’s my nasty fuckin’ wife.”
your body trembles under him, your voice faint but still laced with heat when you whimper back—
“a-again, toji. really wan’ make you a daddy.”
his laugh is low, dangerous, and before you can brace yourself, he’s already pulling back to give you exactly what you asked for.
😅😅 wrote this in 30 mins so if u see a mistake… ✌🏽
your knees pressed against your breast, your breath was uneasy. you anticipated feeling his textured tounge toying with your fat clit - or even tounge fucking you. after all, the point was for him to get his cream.
eren; just like your other men knew your body well. you shivered whimpering when he blew on your hot pussy, watching closely at the slight movement from your clit. and how you clenched, making ony’s white cun slowly slide from your hole in a thick batch. “pretty stop playing with my baby” ony said, but he could hear the playfulness in his tone. connie snickered beside him, making you whine eyes rolling. “connie shut u-mm” your heart stilled, eren swiping through your fat folds and moaning. it was a breath that he took, a single second to let you marinate into his taste buds. a small amount of time for his self control to deplet and he dive into your pussy like an animal.
eren was the best pussy eater out of all the boys. they each had their own specialty- and each knew one another weaknesses, and eren was just the best. he didn’t just eat your pussy, he savored it. made you cum in his mouth just to drip it back onto your pussy and eat you again. he was quite literally addicted to you. his tounge licked up ony’s cum, his eyes closed and humming in satisfaction against you. he slowly slithered his long muscle into your cunt, making ‘ah’ sounds as he fucked you. “oh goodnes” your body shook, feet digging into the bottom of his back. you hips bucked up into his face, riding the wave of the feeling in your stomach.
you were hot, preying eyes and side comments of how you were a slut, and you were. you pushed his face more into your pussy, his nose bumping against your clit, the rest of ony’s thick cum sliding out of you and into the awaiting mouth. eren pulled back from you, a glistening face and hungry eyes. you finally felt air go through your lungs. you were done- but you weren’t. in quickness your legs were now over you head, eren’s tounge on your ass circling your small pucked hole. “fuckkkk rennieee!” your eyes crossed, teeth chattering together when he slid into your ass humming.
“oh shit” connie breathlessly laughed, from where he and onyankopon stood they could see your ass clench against eren’s tongue. ony watched intensely, your screams of help, how you couldn’t take it going to death ears. he watched you shake and cum, squirt dribbling from you like a water fall getting all into his pretty’s hair. how you pushed at eren’s head, trying to scoot from the pleasureable torture, and finally give up. cream now falling from you hole, to your ass hole that eren gladly ate up. your eyes slowly lost vision, pleasure so much that you lost consciousness and eren was too into it to notice.
onyankopon gently pulled eren from you, he rubbing his cheek seeing the fire in his green orbs from being interrupted. “look pretty you put her to sleep.” eren turned to see you smiling dazed, small snores coming from you. “you did so good for me baby boy, let connie fix that” he jerked his head to the large bulge in his pants. that made connie perk up, walking over to the bed quickly.
the pink fluffy pillow made your knees feel so good! your knees felt great, you couldn’t help but thank your men in your head. your head bobbed and bobbed. sucking and slurping up as much cum as you could. you were so zoned out, so into it that you hadn’t realized it had been hours. hours swallowing connie’s cum and sucking him hard and fast for more. your pretty chubby face was creamy. wet, slimy, spit dripping from the corner of your mouth while your eyes stayed on connie’s tired ones. “c-c’mon mama. you not tired?” you nodded, humming around him making his thighs tenses, balls jumping and cum splatter out of his sore red tip. he groaned head lulling back against the couch.
you were gonna swallow it and keep going, tummy slowly getting full with him but a harsh hand grabbed your head pulling you off the pretty tan dick that fell back against connie’s stomach. “let me see” ony’s deep voice sent a shiver down your body, pussy soaking down onto your fluffy pink pillow. turning you head you made eye contact with the chocolate man, his eyes counting money, tieing it and adding it to the stack that was on the table. when he finally looked up at you he smirked, shaking his head at his messy girl then counted the new money in his hand. “open ya mouth princess” your cheeks were puffy, mouth still savoring the last little load of connie. your tounge came out, white cream all over it. both men laughed at how innocent you looked - and connie groaned.
“this isn’t funny” his eyes were still closed, body tired and almost entering sleep. “i mean ..” eren stated staring down at you, you looked up at him, doe eyes making his own dick jerk. it was sudden - him dropping to your level and kissing you hard. you shared the cum gladly with your rennie, moaning against his lips and trying to pull down his sweats all until ony interrupted- again. “aye no!” he said more to eren; money all counted and now he wanted you. “you got a run to make pretty” pulling back with a pop of his lips; eren rolled his eyes grunting. he stared at your face, kissed you lips and left you there. wet, needy, sad. you watched all his moves. how he walked and grabbed his black bag, dapping onyankopon then softly kissing his lips leaving. he gave you a stubble wink - a wink you knew all about.
once gone it was quiet - all except connie’s snores. your pussy throbbed needing something and ony knew exactly what do to. he whistled, making you look up from the ground to see his curved cock out and waiting. you didn’t even remember when exactly you got up from your knees. but you remember exactly when you slid down onto him - slowly, rotating your hips to fit his curve. the stretch he gave being such a painful pleasure. you moaned loudy forehead falling against his as you bounced. “that’s my girl” he encouraged, lips kissing your neck and slapping your ass. “get whatcha need my baby”
your ass clapped against his thighs. “d-daddyyy” hands rested on his kness, ony bit his lips pulling up your crop top exposing your brown hard nipples. he spit on your left one and pinched your right one. the lawn chair creeking beneath you both, as he bucked up into you meeting you in the middle. his white teeth grazed your left nipple sucking it in. “oh!fuckkk!” you pussy squeezed around him, eyes rolling to the back or your head as your body slightly spasmed. “you there?” he pulled back leaving you nipple cold, his hands moved to your ass, spreading your cheeks and sliding down his chair more taking full control.
your head fell into his neck, weed and cologne making you go dizzy. his dick going deeper touching that spot only your three boys could. you babbled. babbled about nothing, squeezing his tattooed muscular arms in the white shirt while you creamed for what felt like days.white slim made a mess on onyankopon. he gritted his teeth, grunting. his own release being stuffed in your pussy. “love my baby” he mumbled muscles flexing, and his hand patting your back. dick just resting in your tunnel.
“gotta save that cum for rennie” he whispered in your ear, still sending comforting pats to your back making your mind slowly go blank. “daddy gotta make sure all his babies good”
a slap to your cheek brought you back. your eyes zoned in to how fucked out you looked in the mirror. your back arched and face wet with tears and dried cum, your teeth bit and gnawed mindlessly into the big hand that kept you from screaming. all you could feel was pleasure, and it got worse as you made eye contact with the man in the mirror. “c‘mon baby, can’t zone out on me.” toji was mean, a big meany with a even bigger cock. he wasn’t what you needed but wanted so so bad. your body shook beneath him, ass clapping against his cock as he fucked you like a fuck toy. your hands pressed against the cool floor hoping to regain a little piece of your mind but you couldn’t and toji definitely wouldn’t allow you to.
slapping your ass he angled himself, your cunt wet and hot. molding to every vein that he carried on his fat dick. you felt him go deeper, your breath becoming stuck in your throat, ears ringing - and your pudgy stomach poking out a little more as if you were bloated. “that’s my good girl” his rough voice spoke into the air. you moaned loud, a chuckle leaving his raspy throat before a deep growl. “stop squeezing my cock darlin” you stared into the mirror, eyes crossing and pussy clenching over and over. your ass hole puckered and unpuckerd, toji looking at it and spitting on it before easing his chubby thumb in.
“i.said.stop.” using his thumb in your ass he pushed you back on his cock, pretty pussy making noise as he fed it dick and pre cum. he watched as cream dripped onto the floor, your pussy sticky and wet. “messy thing, you love this huh baby?” toji made eye contact with you, staring deep in your soul. you nodded, nodded fast, moaning; voice gone. your eyes could only stay glued to his pretty face, trying to keep consciousness. but you were losing. “c-can’t” you barely whispered, pussy red and sore, filled so much that you couldn’t take anymore. “yes you can.” toji said fucking you harder. “look how this pretty pussy is taking me, she wants it. so do you” he gripped your chin with his unoccupied hand, making you look into the mirror.
“two sluts who are only for my pleasure” toji’s cock jerked inside of you, more cream seeping from between you two. “who’s are you baby?” he said gently, balls slapping against your pussy, and thumb fucking into your ass. he broke you. broke you so bad that you could only whisper his name, your body shaking and eyes rolling to the back of you head. your pussy squirted everywhere and for hours it felt like. the last thing you could hear was toji saying fuck breathlessly, his balls scrunching and his thick cum filling your hole.
Hi girl love your work can you one where modern day smoke overstimulates black reader in a car with a toy
“YOU TIRED NOW?”
thank you boo!! here you gooo,
You’d been acting up all damn day.
Fussin’ about everything. The heat. The long line at the hardware store. The slow-ass cashier at the tire shop. The way Smoke always waved at old ladies. Even the music on the radio — “why you always playin’ the same five songs, Smoke?”
He ain’t say much, just kept driving with that toothpick tucked in the corner of his mouth, hand hanging off the wheel, the thick veins in his forearms twitching every time you huffed. He let you pout, let you cross your thick thighs in that little black tennis skirt, let you roll your eyes every time he said, “We makin’ one more stop.”
And now, hours later — night draped across the windows, air thick with your sass — he’d had enough.
The car was parked outside a dark-ass gas station lot, engine humming low, headlights off. You were curled in the passenger seat with your arms crossed under your tits, still grumbling, barely looking his way.
“I’m tired,” you whined, dragging the word out like it owed you something. Smoke didn’t look at you. Just leaned his tall body back, exhaled through his nose, and reached into the backseat. You heard the sound before you saw it — a soft mechanical whirr, vibrating low and dangerous, making your spine straighten.
You turned your head slow, eyes wide, watching him lift the vibrator out the back like it was a tool he’d been meaning to use all along. The pink one. Thick at the base, tapered, with that silky little nub at the tip you swore he used to torture you with every time you got too mouthy.
“You tired?” he finally said, voice deep and even.
Your thighs pressed together. You didn’t answer.
“I asked you a question, baby.”
“…yes,” you said, barely above a whisper. Smoke smirked. Turned toward you now, spreading his thick legs a little wider as he held the toy in one hand, lazily circling the power button with his thumb. “Mm. Funny how you got all that mouth when the sun up. Now it’s night, you quiet. You know what I think?”
You shifted in your seat, heart thudding. “I think you ain’t tired, you just spoiled. And I need to remind you who’s in charge.” Before you could blink, he nodded toward your lap. “Pull them panties down. Flip that lil skirt up.”
You stared. “Smoke—“ “Now.”
His voice was low. Stern. That heavy tone that vibrated all the way into your ribs. You swallowed hard and obeyed, shifting your hips up to tug the lacy pink panties down your thick thighs. Your skirt bunched up in your lap, soft and wrinkled, and you were already wet — embarrassingly wet — from the slow burn of teasing and denial all damn day.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “Leakin’ from nothin but attitude.” He leaned over, kissed your inner thigh, then pressed the vibrator right to your clit — no warning. The soft buzz hit you like a punch, and your whole body jumped.
“F—fuck, Smoke!”
He grinned and held it steady. “Nah. You gon’ sit there and take it. Put your legs up on the dash. Lemme see that pretty pussy while she cryin’.” You whimpered, obeying, thighs shaking as you spread for him. He didn’t give you time to think. Just moved the toy in lazy circles, watching your slick drip down to the seat.
And then — two fingers.
Right in.
No warning. No mercy.
You screamed.
The stretch was perfect — those thick, calloused fingers curling into your soft walls, dragging slow like he was memorizing the shape of you again. He crooked them just right, rubbed right into that aching spongey spot, and your back arched.
It was too much.
But you needed it.
“Smoke, baby—” “You wanted to act like a brat? Sit in my car actin’ like you run me?” He kept talking, low and nasty, while his fingers moved in and out. “All that complainin’. All that huffin’. Now look at you.” The vibrator hadn’t moved. Still buzzing against your clit, strong and mean. The combo of that and his fingers — it was too much. Your legs twitched. Your vision blurred.
Your first orgasm hit so hard you saw white.
But he didn’t stop.
In fact, he pressed harder.
You tried to jerk away, but his free hand shot out, gripping your thigh with force. “Don’t move. You know better.” You sobbed. “Smoke, I c-can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he growled, watching your cunt flutter around his fingers. “You can take every fuckin’ drop of this, mama.” And you did — your second orgasm rushed up like a tsunami, no pause between the first and the second, your body wracked with heat and trembles.
Your thighs were shaking uncontrollably now. Eyes glassy. Lips parted. Drool touched the corner of your mouth, and you didn’t even care. The air in the car was thick with sex and sweat and him, his deep, masculine scent grounding you while your body dissolved under his touch.
“Lemme hear that mouth now,” he teased, fucking his fingers into you faster, rubbing the vibe in tighter circles. “Go head. Fuss. Whine. Cuss at me.” You couldn’t. All you could do was moan and cry, your pussy clenching and pulsing, the pleasure turning painful, delirious, addictive.
And that’s when it hit again — a third wave, harder than the last two. You screamed his name, legs twitching violently. Tears streamed down your cheeks. Your voice was raw. “I—I’m gonna pee—!” “No you not,” he growled, fucking the vibrator against your clit now. “You gon’ cum again.”
And you did.
You didn’t know how many times. You lost count after four. Your throat was hoarse. Your thighs burned. Your body slumped against the seat like you’d melted into it. The windows were fogged. Your panties were soaked. You didn’t even remember pulling them off. Your whole body buzzed, and your clit was still twitching, throbbing, overstimulated and so sensitive it felt like it might pop.
But all you could do was look at him with tears in your eyes. And that bastard smiled. “Now you tired.”
Notes: I wrote this listening to two songs on repeat😩: Church - Chase Atlantic slowed and Where You belong - The Weekend (Take a listen as you read.ᐟ)
Visuals: { 𐙚 } { 𐙚 }
Storming out of the sleek black car, you slammed the door behind yourself, ignoring the distant sound of another slamming harshly as your feet carried you forward.
You moved swiftly, heels producing a steady beat against the hardwood floor as you sauntered down the long hallway leading toward your shared bedroom.
The steady steps of your husband grew closer as you approached the master bedroom, black stiletto cladded fingers twisting the metal handle, pulse spiking as you stepped into the dimly lit room.
A sudden gasp left your throat, lips parting as a veined hand grasped the back of your neck, spinning you toward the source of your anger.
The cold bite of what you knew as a wedding band pressed against your neck, Umber eyes glaring down at you, fingers gliding from the base of your neck toward the front.
Tattooed fingers using the sides as leverage to tilt your view up toward him.
Onyankapon’s lazy eyes assessed your features, brows furrowed as he spoke.
“Use your words baby, did I upset you?”
You averted your gaze, breath hitching as he leaned his face closer to yours, enunciating his question with a slight tilt of his head, pointer and thumb releasing its grasp along your throat, instead working to tilt your head closer toward his.
You watched, waiting, chest rising rapidly — each breath edged with unfathomable irritation — as his eyes flickered between yours, searching, questioning, what the fuck he’d done to upset you.
“Hm?” He hummed, pink tongue dragging against his bottom lip, granting you a glimpse of the diamond laced grills on the top row of his teeth as he backed you up toward the edge of the bed.
Your knees buckled at the feeling of the soft mattress behind you, body bouncing slightly as you fell.
A tattooed thumb ran across your lip, smearing the butter gloss you’d applied — mere moments before — as his thumb pushed slightly against them, lips parting at the intrusion.
A slight tilt of his head finalized his previous question.
“Open that pretty little mouth, baby, tell me… How can I make you feel better?”
You swiveled your head to the side, rolling your eyes in aggravation as the recollection of his hand on the gorgeous woman’s waist danced through your head once more.
The way he clasped the woman’s slim hand, seeming to forget that those freshly manicured fingers had been deep inside you mere moments before. His middle finger — etched with the mesmerizing swirl of your first name, tattooed in fine, cursive letters — swirling around your hard clit as your pussy clenched desperately, around the baby pink vibrator pulsing inside you.
The way that gorgeous woman batted her perfectly curled lashes at him. Green, doe eyes, much different from your siren-like ones, seeming to encapsulate him; Her long, tan legs, leading up to her ass — perky, tame, just enough — dramatized by the pop of her hips as she spoke meekly to Ony.
“You know what the fuck you did nigga, stop playin’,” You scoffed.
You were fucking steaming, chest rising rapidly as you clenched your jaw in a futile attempt to halt the disrespectful words threatening to spill from your glossed lips.
You knew you’d fucked up by the way his left eye seemed to twitch, a slow smile pulling across his face as he chuckled lightly.
The emerald cut, baguette diamonds sitting pretty atop his teeth glimmered sexily against the darkness, seeming to illuminate his mouth, though no light was present.
As much as you’d reasoned with yourself while you sat stiffly in the black Maybach seats of his car — or at least tried to — you couldn’t think of any other reason as to why he’d been smiling so damn hard, or why you yourself were so fucking mad.
You were far from insecure, and Onyankapon, he was far from disrespectful, never leading you to second guess the way he felt about you, not once since you’d met, but something was itching in the depths of your mind today to fuck a bitch up, and if it wasn’t gonna be her…then it’d be him.
Onyankapon didn’t take to disrespect lightly, he expected what was given, and gave more than expected. He knew you were mad, but every attempt he’d taken in comforting you, or trying to work out what was wrong, you’d shut that shit down as quick as it came, instead leaving clues behind for him to pick up.
He didn’t play that shit.
You were his woman, and everything a man wished for in a woman. You were the woman, and in no way whatsoever would he have his woman wallowing in a pool of restless anxiety for as long as he was your man.
He could give zero fucks about what anybody else thought.
So you watched, eyes low, as he rose up from his position above yours on your shared bed, his broad stature consuming your view as he tilted his head, taking his sweet-ass fucking time to unbutton the cuffs of his black dress shirt.
You huffed, tutting as you lifted from your lying position atop the cotton sheets, attempting to raise up from the bed before being stopped short by the rough reminder of his presence.
“Sit.”
Your eyes flickered up quickly, lips parting to cuss him out — snapping them shut at the harsh glare in his eyes.
Fuck.
“How many times did I ask if you were okay, (y/n) hmm?”
You swallowed.
“How many times did I ask you…if I did something wrong?” His hands reached up toward his collar, fingers working to undo each button, slowly, tauntingly… too fucking calm.
You glanced to your left. The steady flame of irritation spreading inside you seemed to grow larger, hotter, at the fact that he was irritated with you for being mad.
Who the fuck was he feeling like?
Sizzling silence drowned the room as Onyankapon stared down at you, noting the way your titties sat, perky, pretty, in your black dress, the cotton seeming to accentuate the softness of your curves as you peered up at him, gorgeous brown eyes peeking from beneath a wispy set he’d dropped 350 for the day before.
“What happened to allat’ fucking attitude, mama?” He was toying with you, smile growing dark at your silence.
“Lemme know wassup’. Tell me. Say dat shit wit’ ya chest.”
He watched, aggravated, a slight mug resting against his face as he slipped his shirt off his shoulders, displaying the slutty tattoos hidden beneath.
Tension curled from the Greek pillars surrounding their room, slithering down the walls as you both stared unblinking at each other.
Seething.
Each begging for the other to make a move, to slip.
Your lips parted — wrong.
With only the quickness that Ony himself possessed, his hands gripped your cheeks, puckering your lips as he stared down at you, brows furrowed as he spoke.
“Stop allat’ disrespect shit, (y/n). You a’ big girl, right?”
“You not gone tell me ma? Hmm?” A slight tilt of his head.
Your thighs pressed together, core tightening at the low rasp of his voice. He nodded, a firm, self-affirming nod.
“Show me.”
That’s all you needed.
Onyankapon released his grasp upon your face, sniffling, palm planting two firm taps against your cheek before stretching his arms up to grasp the pillar above your shared bed as your hands reached out.
You gave no warning.
Silence.
Tension snaked closer.
Your stiletto nails scratched down his abdomen, creating shallow indentations in its path as you worked the Matte Gucci belt buckled around his waist.
Ony watched, sinking his teeth into the plush of his lips as he glared at the soft flutter of your wispy lashes, entrapped by your siren-like beauty.
His head tipped, mind whirling at the tickle of your nails slithering beneath the border of the only thing separating him from your view.
His eyes fluttered shut, abs caving, Adam’s apple bobbing as he fought to control his mind, his heart, from spiraling with every flick of your slick tongue against his mushroom tip—with every swirl of your grip against his dick, every bob of your head.
His eyes rolled, a firm palm planted against the back of your skull as he nudged you further.
“Come onn baby, show me.” Heavy pants slipped his lips, eyes fluttering in an attempt to stay lucid. To keep hold of his sanity.
“Yeahhh, show me dat shit, baby.” A firm bite to his plump, two toned lips finalized his statement, eyes glossed, brows furrowed as he stared down at your bobbing head.
"So fuckin greedy, mama, fuck!"
You were everything he needed, everything he wanted, why the fuck did you think he was boutta hand that over to just anyone? To anyone but you?
You reached your arms up, forcing Ony’s palms away from your cheek as he attempted to push you away, pleasure coiling from the tips of his ears to the soles of his feet as he moaned.
You were sucking the soul out of him, sinking the points of your stilettos into his mind without any intention of letting up.
You were speaking to him in a way only you could—engraving every word within the depths of his heart — with your mouth fucking full.
You popped your head off, hand swirling along the soft curve of his dick as you stared up, anger swimming throughout the depths of your pretty brown eyes.
He watched, taking note of the way your lip gloss seemed to blend within the liquid of your spit, chest sticky, chin dripping with a mix of both his and your essence.
“Give it to me, baby. Please, I want it…let me have it,” you whined.
Onyankapon’s body shuddered, your words cracking every ounce of stability he seemed to have lingering as he came.
“Fuckk baby, I feel you, I fucking hear you.” The bass of his voice seemed to crack, shifting between breathy, needy whimpers, and deep, soul-ridden grunts as he pumped his hips in your hands, aching, listening.
His head swam as he watched you rise to your knees, finger trailing up your chest, leaving a trail of his cum in its wake as you slipped your index and middle finger into your mouth, eyes closing, a greedy moan vibrating from the depths of you as you savored the essence of him.
Rough palms reached out, grasping onto the chub of your neck as he crashed his head down, lips racing against yours with unspoken passion as he flattened his frame along yours.
Your thighs circled his slim waist, hands following as they smoothed up his chest, one palm laying against his upper back, the other running along the back of his head — flattening along the sea of waves rippling across his scalp as you moaned.
The lavish, soft cotton of your black dress rode up as his coarse palms ran up your thigh, squeezing, grazing, clutching as your lips flowed feverishly, never once breaking its harmonized movements as he moved your bodies toward the head of the bed.
Your head tilted, head slouching to the side as your lover trailed kisses down the creamy silk of your collar, each peck sizzling against your skin, tattooing a phrase in its wake.
I love you.
I need you.
Fuck me.
Your eyes rolled as Onyankapon’s lips sketched its way down your chest, fists moving to push the delicate sleeves down your shoulders.
Brown eyes followed, heart stuttering as he shoved the fabric down, freeing the weight of your breasts, fabric pooling around your waist. You watched, noting the way his throat bobbed as he gawked longingly, breath catching as he used the mere moment of sanity to take in your beauty. You were perfect. His.
Puffy, swollen lips parted, releasing a needy whimper as his hands trailed its way up plump thighs, the vanilla oil you’d used just mere hours before steaming off of you with the pour of heat radiating from your skin.
The scent was intoxicating, your skin impossibly warm.
You choked, eyes fluttering as his middle finger pressed softly against the lace atop your clit, the fabric seeming to sink between the fat of your wet folds as he applied slight pressure.
“Come on mama, this what you wanted?” His tongue ran along his lips. “Open dat’ pretty ass mouth and lemme know, baby.”
You gasped, waist whining against the flesh of his fingers as your head drooped back, unleashing the whirlwind of feelings you’d held confined; each emotion voiced itself in its own unique moan as Onyankapon’s fingers yielded to the slickness of his tongue and mouth.
"Jus' like dat' pretty, talk to me."
“Ughnn shittt.” Your body melted, each thought of doubt, worry, insecurity pooling out along your cheeks as he hollowed his lips, sucking the hard nub of your puffy clit into his mouth.
“Yeah baby, I hear you, im listenin’ baby. You know dis’.” Your eyes crossed, toes curling within the arch of your Giuseppeas, as your palm slapped repeatedly on the plush of the bed beside you.
“Im cumminnn’ baby, f-fuckkk…yesss!” The hoarseness of your pretty, sultry voice seemed to egg him on, low eyes peeking up beneath long, black lashes as he watched endless bliss rip through you, knowing that he was the sole purpose for your ache-filled tears.
He popped his mouth from the depths of you, diamonds glittering as he bit his lips, the tension in the room replaced with the creamy squelching of your pussy, lips seeming to swallow him as he fucked you.
“There we goo, mama, let it go, let it all go,” His voice grew soft, words spilling in the form of a whisper as his breath grew heavy.
“I love you baby, I’m yours, let go for me, baby. Give it to me.” He said breathlessly.
Your body grew tense, mouth opening in a silent sob as your legs closed in on his hand.
“Breatheee for me baby, breathe, just breathe, feel it.” Your throat stung, fingers clutching onto his forearm as he pumped, shattering you from the inside out.
You let loose, moaning, groaning, sobbing, as your body sang, saturating the room with a song so carnal it’d ring throughout the house for seasons to come.
“Feel that shit baby, I love you (y/n), I’m yours baby, yours, you hear me?” Your eyes crossed.
One could only define Ony as selfish, gluttonous for his pussy as his tongue engraved his name within the depths of you, the way he ate you, chin streamed with your raw essence as he ravaged your pussy.
He was smacking, flicking, sucking — ruthlessly forcing you to your limits.
His hands clutched your thighs, body moving as he kissed his way back up to your tear stricken face. His lips trailed along your neck, whispering, sealing his words as he drew you from the whirlwind of pleasure you’d experienced sheer moments before.
You sobbed, mind teetering as he reined you back into his world, back to the moment you were sharing.
Your eyes laid heavy, palms drifting along your body as you grasped the meat of your thighs, pulling them up and back without order.
Your breasts shook as he tugged you further downward, trousers long gone as he pressed his weight along your thighs, nudging them further back to settle beside your head as the heavy weight of his dick laid between them.
His dick was thick — fat with arousal — the weight of it substantial between you.
Smooth Walnut skin fused within Cinnamon as his tip leaked, dripping along the folds of your pussy.
Ony moved his left hand, angling himself as he pressed inside you, slowly. He needed you to feel him, every fucking inch of him.
His eyes closed briefly, throat bobbing in an attempt to ground himself as dove into you.
His hips flowed, whining lazily as he forced himself to the hilt, left hand drifting up to wrap around your throat as his head tipped backwards.
“J-jesus fuck.”
Your brows furrowed, watching, as the lowly trimmed hairs along his pelvis grazed against you. Your pussy clamped around him, feeling every vein, every pulse, as your bodies tied.
His hips snapped up, dropping in steady motion as he pushed your thighs into the plush of the mattress, using you, giving you everything he had to offer. Baptising himself within the depths of you.
“Ohhh my g-g-,” your breath stalled, barring the words in its tracks as your body reigned numb.
Onyankapon’s hips plunged, torso clamping as he whimpered, waist pushing passionately as a bead of sweat raced between the curve of his abs and onto the pudgy flesh of your tummy. He sank himself, forehead pressing into yours as he clasped the back of your neck, folding you, forcing you to watch as he surrendered himself within the extents of you, engulfed himself within the bounds of your mind.
Your arms moved up, grasping onto the back of his skull as you gawked up at him, eyes never drifting, body humming as he drove into you. You peeked down, watching as cream glazed the fat of his dick, building along his pelvis with each breathtaking stroke.
“Ba-byyy, so fuckin',” you cried, deep and gluttonous, “d-eep baby, oohhh.” Your nails scratched along his hips, fingers grasping the fat of his ass as you creamed.
“I love youuu, shitt,” you were hysterical, mouth slacking open, drool staining your chin.
He was driving you fucking mad.
Onyankapon’s brows furrowed, repetitive whimpers painting the air as he chased his orgasm, pounding, ignoring the burn of his thighs as the fat of your ass ricocheted off his hips.
Smack!
The sting from his palms flattening against the swell of your thighs was all you needed as your body convulsed.
“Ughnn, Oh my-fuckkkk”. Your eyes rolled, barely registering your body’s doing as a stream of arousal sprayed across Ony’s chest. Your pussy clamped, sucking, feeding upon the meat of his dick as he drove himself impossibly deeper.
You could feel him, throat clogging as your stomach burned; he was so fucking deep. Too fucking deep.
So deep within the depths of you, you couldn’t identify where you ended, and he began.
You couldn’t stop fucking cumming. What the fuck?
“Give it to me baby, fuck, fuck, fuckkk.” Your gasp planted heavily against his lips.
Onyankapon’s body grew tense as he dragged himself upright, sweat dripping along the curve of his nose as he gripped your hips.
“Mmm, you feel me, baby? This’ my fucking pussy, (y/fn). All. Fucking. Mine.” With a harsh snap of his hips, he punctuated each word.
“Yeahh look at me baby, you so fucking pretty.” His statement faltered, head slipping back as he burrowed himself into you, grinding, babbling, hips sputtering as he came.
“I’m nuttin' all in this pussy baby, fuckkk.” His eyes rolled, hips still rolling as he came with such intensity he thought he’d be sucked up by fucking darkness itself.
Heavy, rampant pants filled the now quiet room as he looked down at his lady, his woman, his love.
His form sank as he helped you move your legs toward the bed, caressing the fat as your lips connected in a slow, sensual kiss.
“I love you ma, this love ain’t come easy, I need you to talk to me, baby.” His fingers nuzzled the sweaty arch of your cheeks as you peered up at him.
“Let me know when I’ve upset you. Talk to me, don’t hold that shit in baby. Next time you feel like I’m oversteppin’, lemme know. I'm never gonna just rule off ya feelings, baby. Let me know.” His voice lagged, gaze flitting between your view as you nodded—Dazed.
“Aight, come on, lemme run ya pretty ass a bath.” His head lowered, a sultry smile tearing from his lips as he pecked your lips once more.
Note: long awaited!! This was not supposed to take that long but life got me caught allll the way uppppp. I promise I'll be way more consistent now that I'm finally healed of my devious case of writers block.
"There are legends of people born with the gift of making music so true, it can pierce the veil between life and death. Conjuring spirits from the past and the future."
SINNERS (2025) dir. Ryan Coogler
According to costume designer, Ruth E Carter, the assorted ancestors and descendants present are linked/related/assigned to various actors/characters with in the scene, most obviously with the Chows.
The elderly man with the kora and the copyright friendly Bootsy Collins are both related to Sammy (gifs 1+2) and Pearline's ancestor is the Zulu dancer who can be seen to her right in gif 3.
innocent virgin reader this, sweet virgin reader that
how about virgin reader whos far from innocent, you probably know more about sex than toji - just no hands on experience. you are the filthiest person on earth!! you have a sex drive that flys off the charts, constantly rubbing at your poor hole, pinching your clit and nipples.
you're also far from sweet, you're crude and cruel. that's why toji was so drawn to you. when he discovered you were a virgin, he couldn't believe it honestly. he didn't ask any questions, didn't care. he just knew he had to have you.
he expected you to be shy during your first time, but no, you were a filthy fucking mess.
sprawled out beneath him, his tip entering your tight cunt. you moan loud, meeting his eyes. toji groaned out, a strained, growl. your eyes lock with his, direct eye contact as he shoves his dick further into you. deep breaths swarm the sticky room.
the pace picks up, you had complained it wasn't fast enough so fuck, he would show you. you're gripping tight onto the bedsheets, spurting everywhere as drool runs out from your lips. he thrusts into you with a fury, stretching your virgin hole in a harsh way. but you loved it. you open your mouth and he spits into it. you swallow instantly, he didn't even need to tell you. toji frees a hand and lowers himself onto you, trapping you with his body and his heat. your body smushed by his larger one, his free hand runs a thumb over your cheek.
you grin at him. "that all you got?" you challenge, smirk plastered over your satified expression. and just as those wods utter out, a slap is brought to your cheek. well ,fuck.
you cum right there, cream ringing around his dick as you clench like a fist around him. he groans out and his breath stutters. hips copying his lungs and stuttering too.
toji lets out a hot load, deep inside of you. his body twitching and shaking as if it was his first time. he had expected you to be the same, fucked out, passed out possibly, from the intense orgasm you just had. but no, you were smiling sweetly at him, "round two?"
. ۫ ꣑ৎ . nanami kento doesn’t argue… except this time he does. and he fucks you while he does it.
18+ MDNI, nanami is kind of a meanie :(
nanami kento is a man of undeniable patience and unwavering calm. a think-first, speak-later kind of man—never quick to argue, and always one to listen attentively before offering his own thoughts.
but when you “accidentally” forget to tell him that you’re going out with your friends after work, and spend hours worrying him sick and not answering your phone? now that really pisses him off.
clearly, you had forgotten to follow one of the most important, fundamental rules the two of you had set for each other—always let the other know of your whereabouts.
seems like nanami had to remind you somehow. and today, his method of choice was fucking it into you.
“you just can’t” thrust. “do” thrust. “what” thrust. “i tell you” thrust. “huh?” he drives each word into you, his thick cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside—making sure you feel exactly how much he means it.
your face is buried in the sheets of your shared bed, tears staining the pristine white bedsheets. nanami has been at this for hours now, pounding into you—every thrust harder and more punishing than the last.
“ ‘m sorry k-kento please” you sob pathetically into the wet sheets, voice barely audible in your helpless position. a strong hand fists a handful of your hair, pulling your head up closer to his.
kento leans over, his warm, ragged breath brushing the tip of your ear, staying buried deep in your quivering, tight walls.
“what was that?” he whispers, keeping a strong—almost painful grip on your hair.
“i’m s-sorryyy kento i forgot”
“mmm sweetheart” he murmurs, his voice a low, husky, whisper “that just won’t do.” he finishes, deliberately moving his other hand from your waist up to your sensitive, hardened nipples. you let out a mewl of pleasure as he rolls one between his fingers—the sound quickly turning into a breathy whine when he pinches down.
“please” you barely choke out the plea between sharp sobs.
“please what? use your words baby” he mutters, hands now kneading the soft flesh of your tits.
“i’m s-sorry” is the only thing you can manage to say—pathetic and ruined in your fucked out state.
kento frees you from his grasp, letting your head fall back down into the mattress. his bruising grip on your waist returns, and he slowly starts moving his hips again.
“i don’t think you are” is all he says, before quickening his already harsh pace. kento fucks you like this—like he’s trying to make you understand—for the rest of the night.
and you do understand. you understand that you’ll never make nanami mad again.
cw: MINORS DNI—explicit sexual content, gn!+afab!reader, a lot of anonymous sex, dirty talk, BIG DICK MEN, probably a good amount of ooc, some questionable dynamics/dubcon that can be read through the lens of roleplay and/or prior consent. character-specific warnings—chuuya: public sex, penetration; dazai: penetration, riding, creampie; kunikida: professor/student, oral (m!receiving); fukuzawa: secretary/boss, office sex, oral (m!receiving), facefucking; atsushi: HEAVY DUBCON WARNING, stuck, perv atsushi, penetration; akutagawa: blackmailing if you squint, degradation, choking, penetration; oda: penetration; ango: public sex, penetration, riding; nikolai: dubcon, home intruder f!masturbation, penetration; sigma: a tiny bit of perv sigma, oral (f!receiving); fyodor: priest!fyodor, religion/blasphemy kink, christianity-specific, oral (m!receiving)
reid: putting my dual major in journalism to work by subtitling these like bad porn videos. little not so thought out drabbles many with no definitive ending just silly whore thoughts. some are more stupid than sexy but either way i hope you enjoy because this was a blast to write HAHAHAHA
⊹ ⊹ ⊹
⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA—HOT GYM BUDDIES CAN’T WAIT UNTIL AFTER THEIR WORKOUT TO FUCK!
“Yeah, that’s a lot better. Look at you, you got it,” the pretty redhead mutters, his hands still firmly on your hips as he spots your squat. “Give me one more, I know you can.”
The praise prompts you to draw in a deep breath that has nothing to do with your next squat; anyway, this gorgeous man, kind enough to help you with your form, believes in you. So you bend once more, squatting down, down, and pushing back up—until on your way back up, you feel your legs begin to buckle.
“Woah, woah.” It’s sweet how concerned he sounds as his hands fly up to the bar and his feet nudge you forward to help you replace the weight on the rack, but his hips end up pressed to yours, and you’re gasping. “You okay?”
You’re fine, caged between him and the bar as he leans over your shoulder to glimpse your face that’s flushed from exertion. Only exertion, surely, even though your ass is pressed firmly to his pelvis. He doesn’t seem hard, but you can still feel it, and it feels big.
“Yeah,” you breathe, moving to duck under the bar, but it’s low and you’re feeling a little dizzy, so you teeter backwards into him, and as his hands find your waist again. “Yeah, I’m about to be done anyway.”
“You should really stretch after maxing out like that,” he suggests, turning you around. “Don’t wanna be hurting, do you?”
But you can only look into his intense eyes and shake your head lightly before he’s easing you to the ground on your back, settling each of his knees over one of your thighs, and slotting his shoulder beneath your hamstring. He pushes forward, gently, slowly, looking to you for anything wrong; and there isn’t.
There’s nothing wrong, except for the fact that you can feel his huge dick against your pussy through both of your shorts.
It’s all you need to start moving blindly, reaching down for his waistband, pawing at his neck, mashing his lips to yours, and he doesn’t hesitate to do it back—he lets up on your leg only to slip your shorts off before your ankle is back over his shoulder and he’s grinding the head of his cock into your wetness.
“You gonna let me in, baby?” he pants hotly, looking down at you squirming beneath him. “Yeah, I know you will—you’re strong, you can take it.”
His tip catches on your clit, and you gasp before he’s plunging into you, setting a brutal pace. “Oh, fuck!”
“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he groans. “So fuckin’ tight.”
He hits the inside of you perfectly, his soft ginger hair falling loose from its low pony—you wish you knew his name so you could scream it, but you settle for moaning, panting, cussing, as he throws your other leg over his shoulder and drills into you on the gym mat. ⊹
⊹ OSAMU DAZAI—MY OLDER BROTHER ALMOST CAUGHT ME FUCKING HIS BEST FRIEND!
“Shit—I’ll be back, gonna go shower this off. Asshole.”
That was what your older brother, Chuuya, grumbled at Dazai before scurrying off to the bathroom. The three of you had just gotten back from getting ice cream, and Dazai had the brilliant idea of snatching Chuuya’s cone from him and sticking it in his hair. Cursing ensued the entire walk home.
And Dazai popped the tail end of his cone in his mouth and grabbed for your wrists as soon as your brother was out of sight, which leads you to now—in the living room, on the couch, bouncing furiously on his cock as he grunts.
“Osamu—be quiet!” you plead with him, but you’re moaning, too.
His lips fall into a grin. “Don’t worry, cutie, I can still hear the shower—fuck! Just keep—keep doing that, you feel so fucking good.”
So you reinforce your grip on his shoulders and slam your hips down to meet his, over and over, drawing sinful sounds from both of your bodies as you’re separated by a single thin wall from your brother—Dazai’s best friend, who would probably murder both of you if he found out you were fucking.
And then the water turns off. You muffle the choked cry you let out into Dazai’s shoulder, so damn frustrated that you won’t get there, not before Chuuya comes back—but Dazai’s flipping you onto your back, grabbing you by your hips, pulling you into him with such fervor that you almost shout.
“Need it, baby, I need to cum in this pussy—”
“Osamu!”
But even you can’t tell if you’re egging him on or warning him to stop—with no sound buffer and Chuuya undoubtedly coming back any minute, your body decides for you that you need it, too, you need to cum and you will, no matter how much your mind protests; your eyes flick nervously up to the hallway when they’re not rolling back from how Dazai’s rearranging your guts.
“He’s gonna come back—unh—and you’re gonna sit here with my cum in you, and he won’t even fuckin’ know.”
He’s digging his nails into your hips and ass, making you twitch, reaching down to rub your clit hard, and when you cum, clenching around him, he shoves his palm over your mouth and spills into you with a last few wet smacks.
Dazai’s scrambling back into his pants as footsteps pad down the hall; he all but throws himself at the other end of the couch as you curl up, dressed but fucked silly, focused on not letting the evidence of what just happened gush out of you and leak onto the couch.
“Fuck was that noise?” Chuuya mumbles, sauntering out as he’s tying his wet hair up.
“Hm? I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything.”
When Chuuya turns toward the kitchen, Dazai tosses you a wink. Your face burns as you feel yourself leaking. ⊹
⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA—COLLEGE HOTTIE SUCKS DICK FOR EXTRA CREDIT!
"You do realize I'm going to have to fail you," your professor informs you, looking into your eyes with a little regret. Truthfully, you've always been personable in class and shown promise as a student, and he's disappointed. Not in you, just in your poor academic performance during your final semester.
"There has to be something I can do to make up for it," you nearly plead, hands clasped together on the edge of his desk as you look to him with hope. You know you've been slacking, but you need this class to graduate.
"I don't know—" He sighs your name, clearly confliced. Your attendance record is less than impressive these days, and Kunikida's enforced a strict class participation policy throughout his years of teaching—as well as no extra credit—something he makes clear to all of his students in all of his classes, and you especially should know better after taking his classes for four years. "I don't know. Like what?" Maybe you can do a few credits in the summer and still walk at graduation, or pick up an internship. But he wants you to take the initiative and accountability.
He doesn't really know how to protest when you're slipping out of your seat and sinking to your knees as a spark starts to gleam in your eyes. You rattle off a few academic ideas for posterity, but ultimately find your hands sliding up his thighs and fiddling with his belt.
Fuck it, you think, you'll be out of here soon enough. Plus, Kunikida's always been kind, compassionate, understanding, and sexy—too invested in his field to even notice that handfuls of students on campus would throw themselves at him given the chance. Maybe he'll finally understand, you muse to yourself, as you work his hardening cock out of his dress pants.
He chokes out your name when you take his length in both of your hands; he's all the way gone when you're swirling your tongue over his tip, giving in to your little idea for extra credit sooner than he'd ever admit to himself.
"Oh, fuck—" He's staring up at the ceiling of his office in pure bliss because his student is working hot, sloppy kisses down the underside of his cock. His hands twist into your hair, and you gaze up at him, doe-eyed, as his head falls forward and he looks at you through his glasses. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop."
He's trying not to thrust into your mouth when you fondle his balls; his pretty blond bangs are dampening with sweat, and you can't take your eyes off him as you bob your head faster, hollowing your cheeks around him and moaning at the taste of your professor's cock heavy in your mouth. He twitches and jumps at your attention to detail—your fingers raking tracks down his thighs, your frantic tongue, your fluttering lashes and sugary moans, gags, and slurps that are music to him.
You know, as he falls apart more and more by the second, you won't have to worry about this class anymore.
"Unh—uh, yes, oh, fuck, we'll work something out, yeah, gorgeous? Just don't stop—d—don't stop, don't fucking stop, I'm gonna cum down that pretty throat, yeah, and we'll get it all figured out." ⊹
⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA—NAUGHTY SECRETARY SEDUCES HOT BOSS!
You're perched on his desk when he returns from the meeting—Yukichi, your boss, who, lately, you can't stop thinking about climbling like a tree. You're sure your coworkers see it, too, but you're his personal assistant; no one gets to be as close to him as you, and he trusts you.
Which is why you'll put the moves on him today.
He runs a hand through his silver hair—obviously stressed—sighing as he pulls his office door shut and turns to you. He speaks your name, holds a few papers in your direction, begins instructing you on what he needs from you next.
But you know better what he needs. The papers that make their way into your hands are quickly forgotten about on his desk as you uncross your legs and hop down, sauntering up to place on hand on his arm, the other on his chest.
"Sir, you look so tense. Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do?"
He makes his way to sit down in his office chair, disregarding your touch in a way that has you following after him like a puppy in need of attention.
He doesn't answer, but he also doesn't protest when you settle between his knees beneath his desk and push his yukata and haori up to pool around his hips. His dick is thick and veiny, even soft; when you spit in your hand and begin to work him up and down his mouth falls open with a sigh, and he grows at least two inches as he hardens beneath your grip.
You didn't think you'd be able to fit his absolute monster cock in your mouth, but you find yourself, throat open, with your nose pressed to his happy trail as you swirl your tongue and breathe through your nose frantically; he holds your face down, speaking very little but making up for it with the way he grunts hotly in that deep, rough voice as he bucks into the back of your throat.
"Unh—ugh..."
You breathe through your nose as his hips fall into a brutal pace; his hands on either side of your head keep you pinned in place as he uses you, takes his stress out on you. Your fingers massage his balls, and you can't help the way you hum around him when he twitches in your mouth.
Yukichi pulls out of your jaw and you gasp for air, wiping the spit that drips down your chin with the back of your hand, but he's not done. When he does speak, it's demanding, low, and it makes your cunt throb with need.
"Get up. Get up, sit on the desk. 'Need to fuck you."
You do as you’re told, open up for him with no hesitation, smiling as he works his fat cock into you—yeah, his stress will be gone in no time with the way he fucks your hole so hard and fast that you shake with each creak of his desk. ⊹
⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA—STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR WITH MY SEXY NEIGHBOR!
"Ah! Atsushi, open the door!"
"Um," he frets, punching the button until he's sure it'll break. If it's not broken already. "I—I can't, it's not working!"
Not working? Is he fucking serious? You're trapped in the door—all you did was try to reach back out for your bag you'd set by the elevator and now you're stuck, by the waist, between the two sliding maneuvers, your bag dangling from your hands.
"It's supposed to have a sensor! It's not supposed to even close when someone's on the threshold!" you cry through your teeth as you try to squirm out. Atsushi's mind is already working, though, over the way you're pinned in half, wiggling your ass as you struggle against the industrial strength of the elevator door. "Atsushi, help me, please call someone or something—"
But his hands are on your hips, pulling backward, and you can't help the noise of surprise that slips out of you.
"Atsu', I seriously don't think that will work, please, just call—Atsushi!"
His hands shake as he slides your pants and underwear down your thighs, exposing your ass; he tunes out your protesting as he undoes his belt. You hear the clink of it hitting the ground, you feel his fingers dipping into your cunt from behind, and he cannot be fucking serious.
"I'm sorry," he cries like it's out of his control—he feels like it is. "I'm sorry, you're so hot, you're right here, I've wanted this for so long."
And you feel yourself beginning to drip at his desperate tone. You can't fucking believe it—this is depraved. This is some shit you would've never expected from the sweet, cute boy in the apartment across the hall who helped you drag your bedframe and couch from this very elevator to your room but here he is, prodding at you with his pathetically leaky cock while you're stuck in the damn elevator door.
And you'd be frustrated with how your body reacts, but as he slides his dick along your cunt, drenching himself in your wetness, you can't help but arch back into his touch.
"Atsushi, you have to fuck me, please."
And he does, fast and unpracticed—he whimpers for you, tells you you're all he thinks about when he jerks off; he confesses that he looks through his peephole when he knows you're leaving for work or school just to get at least one glimpse of you everyday to fuel his imagination, and you gush around him, the pain of the door trapping you falling irrelevant, drifting out of your mind, as he buries his face in your shoulder and humps into you like an animal, pounding against your cervix.
"Fuck, that's right, so good, so, so good—better than I could've imagined—agh, fuck, that's right, take it all, take it, take it, take it...!" ⊹
⊹ RYUUNOSUKE AKUTAGAWA—HOT BABE HAS NO MONEY, LETS THE DELIVERY BOY DESTROY THAT PUSSY!
You rifle through your wallet and hum when you come up short. "Um, I... know you said you don't have a card reader, but I don't have enough cash."
The delivery boy looks at you with little more than boredom until you invite him in.
"Here, let me look in my room—I might have more stashed somehwere..."
He stands over you, searching you with his curious gray eyes as you dig through a drawer, a bag, another bag, only to come up short again. You even peek under your mattress for good measure, but you're just out. You turn to him sheepishly.
"I, uh... I don't have enough, I'm really sorry."
"Well, I can't leave without some form of payment," he deadpans, and you try to think of something, anything—you have a few giftcards for other delivery services, some jewelry—but he's letting his bag fall off his shoulder and grabbing you by the hips before you can register what he means.
You end up face down, ass up on your bed as a compromise, his hips rutting into you from behind as he holds your wrists behind your back. Ryuunosuke his name tag read—you're quick to adopt a way around that mouthful, moaning out, "Ryuu, Ryuu, please!" as he splits you open and calls you a whore.
"Fuckin' slut—"
When you're able to glance back for a second you can see his pretty black hair swaying with each rough thrust, and you're sure he's hitting your lungs—he's so fucking deep inside you, and you're gasping, moaning for more.
"—so eager to—unh—take this dick. Probably hiding your cash somewhere."
But whether you are or not doesn't matter; your eyes are rolling back to the hard smack of his hips against your ass and the white-hot pleasure that rolls through you every time he plows straight into your g-spot, and he's throbbing inside of you at the way your cunt grips him. Your pizza's getting cold on the counter in your kitchen, but you don't care—not when he bunches his fingers up in your hair to arch you back up to him so he can wrap his other hand around your throat.
You hold onto him as he bends you, pulling air down into your lungs when you can, and his gravelly voice barrages you with more words that make you gush around his cock.
"Gonna let me cum in this pussy so you don't have to fork over a few bucks for a pizza? Pathetic."
His teeth sink into your shoulder, his other hand reaches down to torture your neglected clit, and you're sure he's gonna break you over this, your hot delivery boy who just so happened to have the idea to fill you up as payment. You pant his name desperately between thunderous moans—you're gonna cum soon. ⊹
⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA—THIS PLUMBER FIXED MORE THAN JUST MY PIPES!
"Okay, that should do it." The man stands up, back to a height at which he towers over you, and you lean on the doorframe to the kitchen as he shuts the cabinets beneath your sink. "It's all movin' again."
You were in your robe when you answered the door, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't run to the bathroom to fix your hair and swipe on a little lip balm while he was working. Really, you hadn't meant to try to fuck the plumber. But this man was gorgeous, with his auburn hair, stubble-lined jaw, large hands, broad shoulders. You felt your eyes widen when you first laid eyes on him, and now you'd been throbbing thinking about what those thick fingers could do other than plumbing.
You pull your robe tighter around yourself, hoping to subtly accentuate the outline of your body. "Thank you so much, really, I don't know what I'd have done without the sink."
"Probably used the dishwasher a lot more," he cracked dryly, and your previous words suddenly feel stupid, but it only serves to make him hotter.
"How should I pay you?" You stride over to him. "Cash?"
"You can just pay online." He looks tired, but he has a well-meaning smile on his face.
You look a little incredulous. "Really? I can't—do you accept tips? Seriously, top notch work and super quick. I can't not thank you."
"I'm really not supposed to take tips," he drawls, running a hand through his hair. You find yourself biting your lip; you can't look away from him. You must look like a rabid animal right now, but you can't help it.
He doesn't tear his eyes away from yours.
"I mean, unless..."
Those three words are what find you on your back in your bedroom with your robe thrown open, the sweet and efficient plumber named Sakunosuke standing at the edge as he impales you on his cock. He worked you open with those fingers first, fast and harsh, just how you begged him to, but nothing could've prepared your weeping hole for the stretch of his fat dick—and now he's pounding into you, his hands clutching your waist as you hold your legs open for him to thrust deeper, deeper.
“Oh, shit. Unh—so wet—“
His groans come from his chest, deliciously—he looks a little like he knows he shouldn't be doing this, but your cunt is sucking him in like it was what he was supposed to come here for all along. You spasm and clench around him and he throws his head back, your whole body rippling as his strong hips and heavy balls smack lewdly against your ass with each thrust.
“Mmph—fuck—break that sink of yours more often, alright?” ⊹
⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI—I JOINED THE MILE HIGH CLUB (EXTREMELY RISKY)!
The man you met in the airport bar—oh, he’s pretty.
He's even prettier in your mind when the pilot announces phone permissions now that you're in the air, and the first notification your phone receieves is from him.
I have an open seat next to me in first class. Come visit.
You don't hesitate for a moment. You stride forward from the economy section, past the flight attendants who protest at you flimsily to search for his seat number—you see his unmistakably gorgeous hair, his glasses, his sharp side profile as he speaks to an attendant, catches you in his peripheral, and then shoos her away.
There's hardly niceties before one of your legs is slung over his knee and he kisses you with fervor. You don't think too hard about the people around you—none of whom can actually see you but without a doubt will know exactly what's happening in a few minutes—as you grind down onto his thigh, bite his lips, draw soft gasps from him when your knee nudges his bulge.
Before you know it, his cock is free and he slides your underwear to the side so you can sink onto him; he groans shamelessly when your wet heat envelops him completely, causing heads to turn in your direction, but you just brace your knees against the airplane seat and your hands on his shoulders make quick work of milking him of everything he has.
He kisses you, hot, heavy; he smells good, he smells expensive, and you tear his dress shirt open to rake your nails down his chest as he grabs your hips, letting his head fall back and a full-bodied moan into the cramped air of the plane as he does so. You lift up to let him thrust, let lewd smacks resonate throughout first class, and with your chest in his face he rides your shirt up to latch his teeth to one of your nipples; you echo him, moaning unabashedly, running your hands through your hair, gripping him as people look on.
"Fuuuck, yeah, feels so good," he praises from beneath you. "Knew I had to fuck you from the second I saw you." His eyebrows draw up in concentration as he looks down at where your bodies meet and continues fucking up into you hard. "Hah—listen to that cunt cry for me. You like being watched, huh? Gonna let me fuck you 'til the plane smells like sex? Huh?"
You nod, messily, desperately, and he quickens his pace ever faster, pulling you back down into a sloppy kiss.
An attendant awkwardly approaches in the aisle, but the gorgeous man who's destroying your insides just holds up a palm, shoos her away again.
"Fuck—so sexy. Keep takin' this dick." ⊹
⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL—LUCKY INTRUDER GETS TO FUCK HORNY VICTIM!
You're splayed out on your bed, two fingers stuffed deep in your cunt—and he's just surprised you didn't hear him breaking the lock on your front door.
When you meet his eyes, you're so glazed over with pleasure that you barely miss a beat, your gaze only blowing wide when he peers around your bedroom doorway. His snowy white hair, his sharp features—you can't find the sense to be alarmed at this unfamiliar man, the one holding your laptop and—is that your wallet?
Doesn't matter—they're clattering to the ground, another factor here you can't find it in yourself to care about as his gray eyes are locked onto you fucking yourself open on your sheets. The sheen of sweat that covers your skin, your desperate moans as you grind your clit against your palm, the obscene squelching that comes from your wet cunt—they all serve to propel him over to you, prompt him to dig his already-hard cock out of his pants as you just watch, beg him with your stare to come fill you up. You're so lucky he's here, really—you look like you're struggling to get deep enough with your pathetic little fingers; he guesses it's only fair that he repay you for the material goods he's about to rob you of and pawn off on whatever sucker will buy them for cash, right?
"Right? I'll help you out—" He gives his cock a few pumps as he positions himself between your legs, "—looks like you need it, sweetheart."
You can only bite your lip to supress the moan that leaves you as he enters your cunt and lifts your fingers up and out of you by your wrist to swirl his tongue around them, lick them clean. He's huge—even your third and fourth fingers weren't enough to prepare you properly for the burglar’s dick in your needy pussy, so you let out strained combinations of gasps and screams when he starts to drill into you mercilessly. You can't help the way your ankles link behind his back, the way you reach for him—and he smiles wickedly when your eyes roll back.
"You like having a stranger's cock deep in your guts, huh?" he speaks between deep sighs and grunts. You can only babble your incoherent agreement, your laptop and wallet forgotten, the actions of this man forgotten, everything but how desperately you need to squirt all over him forgotten—you reach down and rub your clit, play with your nipples as your mouth is frozen open as you moan, moan for this man who's just broken into your home. "Uh—yeah, you're gonna like takin' all my cum, too, I bet." ⊹
⊹ SIGMA—MASSEUR HELPS HIS SEXY CLIENT RELIEVE STRESS!
"Oh, yeah—right there," you groan softly as the heel of his palm meets the center of your back. You've been looking forward to this full-body massage the whole week, and this man was not disappointing.
He works his way down your back, twisting knots out as he goes—his lithe fingers feel like heaven against you, overworked from hours at your desk hunched over your computer.
But it's a full-body massage, as mentioned before; when his fingers dig into the plush of your asscheeks, you can't help the groan that leaves you.
"That okay?" he inquires; you think you hear a shake in his voice.
"More than okay," you reply, thinking you could fall asleep as he works you into relaxation. You could close your eyes from how good it feels, or you could peek behind you and see his face burning with blush at your sounds. You do the former, but smirk a little at how sweet it is of him to check in.
He checks in again when his hands are inching your underwear down, and you tell him of course, he's the professional.
He's still the professional when he climbs up on the table behind you and buries his flushed face into your cunt. You arch up and back, crooning, as his hands stay massaging you, spreading you apart, kneading your ass with career expertise and plunging his tongue into you with enthusiasm.
"Oh! Oh—feels good," you breathe, grinding back into his face, onto his nose. He laps at you happily, this masseur you've barely looked upon for a total of twenty seconds, but you can't lie to yourself and say you didn't think he was pretty when he led you back to his room; he hums into you, sending you shivering, twitching. "Please, more."
"Mhm," he mumbles, releasing one of your asscheeks to lay back beneath you and insert a long, thin finger into your pussy; you sigh, you settle onto his face, and his tongue speeds up in this new position in a way that rips a high moan from your lungs.
Not hunched, but arched, the stretch feels heavenly on your back in combination with the way he pumps another finger into you; you graciously sit up, throwing your head back, begging, pleading for more until his tongue settles into a tight back-and-forth rhythm over your clit. "Please, please, please—"
You grind against his nose, your moans become more erratic, and you dig a hand into his hair as your hips move in dizzying circles over his head.
"Cum for me?" he asks, muffled by your pussy; you'll ride him until his face is soaked. ⊹
⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY—CONFESSING MY SINS ENDS IN HUGE CUMSHOT ALL OVER MY FACE!
“And I’ve been terribly, terribly lustful, Father Fyodor,” you say with regret. “It consumes me. I really never used to be like this."
"Temptation lurks everywhere," the priest sympathizes. You can barely see him through the grate, but his soft, forgiving voice sounds close to you. "The Devil and his army are constantly exploiting our vulnerabilities to try and turn us to sin, but worry not, child of Christ; we're human. I'm here to guide you. Continue."
You shift on the wooden seat in the booth, crossing your hands tighter over your lap. "That's really all. It's been very concerning to me. I think about it... I think about it so much."
"About what?" Father Fyodor prompts, and you bristle even more at being asked to elaborate.
"Sex," it barely comes out as more than a whisper. "I can't help it—it's everywhere. It leaves me feeling so... exhausted and frustrated, and the only thing that helps is... Well..."
But you're met with silence. You know he wants you to go on. You're here to confess, after all.
"...touching myself. I do it at least once a day. It's like a burning within me—nothing helps but—but—cumming all over my fingers." Your voice is laced with shame—the throbbing of your cunt as you talk makes you feel all the more guilty, and you can only imagine how he's shaking his head. "That's all. That's all."
"You'll do penance," he says, comfortingly. "When we bring our sins to the Lord and repent he cleanses us of them."
The grate pops out of the window, and you see the the waist of his alb as he speaks his next words.
"You'll take communion, now—" the cinctures around his waist fall undone beneath his hands, and the alb is hiked up to reveal a leaking cock, pretty and pale and bobbing in the air of the confessional. "—and be saved from the flames of perdition.”
"Yes, Father, please. Anything to be saved." But your mouth waters in a way that you know has little to do with your thirst for salvation.
"Take this; eat. This is my body," he recites the scripture as his length reaches through the window; your hands, eager and already on the threshold, accept him willingly. As you wrap your mouth around him, he groans, and it's like seraphim singing their holy, holy, holy.
"That's it—child of God, follower of Christ; I absolve you of your sins," he gasps as his tip hits the back of your throat which was begging for forgiveness moments ago. His hands reach through the window to stroke either side of your face, and then hold you in place to fuck your throat. "The Lord will forgive you for this." ⊹
Summary: Aaron left your shared apartment in New York three months ago to film the biggest movie of his career, and every day since, the distance between you has grown. When photos surface of him looking a little too comfortable with an actress at an event, you hit your breaking point and decide to give him a taste of his own medicine.
Warnings: smut
Note: Partially inspired by a Terry fic I read on here recently. Link at the end <3
Word Count: 8.5k
The silence in your apartment feels heavier these days.
It used to be filled with his voice—his deep, warm laugh echoing through the space, his teasing remarks as he stole bites of whatever you were cooking.
But now, it’s just you. Just the quiet hum of the city outside your window, the occasional vibration of your phone lighting up with a text that never seems to be from him.
Aaron has been in L.A. for three months now, filming the biggest project of his career. A high-budget action film that is officially making him a "household name" in Hollywood according to the press.
And you? You’re still here in New York. Still in your shared apartment, still going through the motions of your life as an interior designer, still waiting for some sign that you belong in his world now.
You’ve supported him through everything—the auditions, the rejections, the near-misses. You were there when he was barely making rent, when he was working odd jobs between gigs, when he questioned if this dream was even worth it.
Now he’s finally getting everything he ever wanted.
And you’re not sure where that leaves you.
You don’t want to be that girlfriend. The one who demands answers, who needs reassurances, who can’t handle a little distance. But this feels different.
You thought he’d at least ask you to visit him by now. Thought he’d tell you he missed you so much that he couldn’t take another night apart.
Instead, he’s been busier than ever, responding to your texts hours later and giving you clipped responses during your phone calls.
You understood that he was under an immense amount of pressure, trying to carry a film on his back for the first time in his career. You tried your best to not add to his stress by not complaining about any of it.
Your phone vibrates on the kitchen counter, snapping you out of your thoughts.
Aaron.
You let it ring twice before answering, not wanting to seem like you were waiting for it. You know it’s silly this far into your relationship, but you do it anyway.
“Hey,” you say, keeping your voice light.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rich, deep—but tired. He always sounds tired when he calls now. “What are you doing?”
You glance around the kitchen, where your laptop is still open from the project you were reviewing. “Trying to be a responsible adult. What about you?”
Aaron exhales a small laugh. “Trying to not lose my mind, memorizing all these lines.”
You smile despite yourself. “How was set today?” you ask.
“Long,” he sighs. “Good, though. Just… a lot.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t press. He never used to be like this. Before, he would tell you everything—the directors he liked, the actors who annoyed him, the lines he struggled with.
Now, it’s just good, though.
“What’s new in the life of America’s Newest Obsession?” you ask, holding up a copy of GQ with his face on it. You couldn’t resist buying it when you came across it at CVS earlier that day.
Aaron groans, covering his face with his hand. “Don’t start.”
“What? You’re the one out there in L.A. making the whole world fall in love with you.”
There’s a beat of silence, then—softer—“Only care about one person being in love with me.”
“Smooth,” you murmur, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips.
“I try.” he teases.
You shake your head. God, you miss him. But you don’t say that, either. Instead, you exhale, glancing at the time. It’s late for him, even with the three hour time difference. His call time is usually 5:00 am.
“You should get some sleep,” you murmur.
Aaron hesitates. “You trying to get rid of me?”
You chuckle. “Just trying to keep you on track as always.”
A beat. Then—“I miss you.”
Your fingers tighten around the phone. You know he means it. But missing someone and making sure they don’t feel forgotten aren’t the same thing.
“I miss you too,” you admit softly.
Another pause. This one longer.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Aaron murmurs.
You nod, secretly wishing he would ask you to stay on the phone or tell you more about his day. “Okay.”
And then, just like that, the call ends.
You set your phone down on the counter, staring at it for a long moment.
Waiting for the heaviness in your chest to pass.
It doesn’t.
--------
You knew this would happen eventually.
Aaron has always been desirable. He’s talented, charming, and now—famous. The kind of famous that has the internet scrutinizing his every move, every glance, every woman he so much as breathes near.
You’re sitting on your couch, wine glass untouched, staring at the screen.
It’s everywhere.
Aaron, seated next to Emilia Stark at an award show.
She’s beautiful. Confident in a way that commands attention. They’re leaning in close, talking, laughing, her hand resting lightly on his arm. The cameras captured it all.
The headlines are already writing the love story for them:
"Hollywood’s Next Power Couple?"
"Aaron Pierre and Emilia Stark Spark Dating Rumors at Award Show."
Your stomach twists as you scroll through the comments, knowing you shouldn’t, knowing you’re going to hate every word.
You close the app, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts from spiraling.
You’re his woman. Have been for four years. But no one knows that.
Because Aaron wanted privacy. Because you both agreed it wasn’t the world’s business. Because he didn’t want everyone scrutinizing your every move.
But now, with the world watching, you wonder if privacy was just another way to keep you out of his new life.
Aaron doesn’t call that night.
He always calls.
Even when he’s exhausted, even when he’s jet-lagged, even when he’s drunk from whatever post-event party he’s forced to attend. He always finds time for you.
But tonight? Nothing.
You stare at your phone, the screen dark, taunting.
Your stomach is in knots, your mind looping through the possibilities like a film reel stuck on repeat. Did he talk to her all night? Did he think about calling you and decide against it? Did he take her home? Did he notice the internet already crowning her his queen and think—
You squeeze your eyes shut, banishing the thought before it can finish forming.
You shouldn’t feel this way, but you do.
------
The next morning, you wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing against the nightstand.
You scramble for it, heart hammering against your ribs when you see his name on the screen.
Aaron.
You hesitate—just for a second—before answering.
“Hello?” Your voice is steady, but your fingers grip the phone tight, waiting.
He exhales, slow and groggy. “Hey, baby.”
Baby. The word should soothe you. But it only makes you feel sick.
Because he says it like nothing happened. Like the whole world didn’t spend the last twelve hours pairing him up with someone else. Like he didn’t go radio silent on you for the first time in years.
You swallow, your voice even. “Hey.”
There’s a pause, long enough for your chest to tighten.
Aaron sighs, his voice laced with exhaustion. “Didn’t mean to disappear last night. Got home late, crashed right after.”
That’s it. That’s all he says. No mention of the photos. No mention of her.
Your fingers tighten around the phone. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, like it’s just another day. “You good?”
Am I good?
The words sit heavy in your throat.
You could say yes. Pretend you didn’t see. Pretend you’re not questioning every single thing. Pretend you’re not wondering if he was out all night with someone else.
But you can’t.
You sit up in bed, your free hand pressing against your temple. “I saw the pictures.”
The line goes dead silent.
And just like that, your entire body tenses.
“I figured you would.”
Your stomach drops.
That’s it? No denial, no immediate reassurance, no baby, it’s nothing.
Just I figured you would.
You exhale sharply, swinging your legs out of bed, your heart pounding against your ribs. “And you weren’t going to bring it up?”
“I—” Aaron sighs, slow and measured. “I didn’t think it mattered.”
A bitter laugh pushes past your lips before you can stop it. “Oh, it doesn’t matter?” You shake your head, pressing your palm against your temple. “Well the entire fucking internet thinks you two are Hollywood’s new power couple, and I can’t even blame them with the way you’re whispering in her ear and letting her put her hands all over you.”
Aaron groans. “Come on, it’s not like that.”
You push up from the bed, pacing the length of your bedroom. “Then what is it like, Aaron?”
“Jesus.” His voice drops lower, frustrated now. “It’s a fucking seating arrangement. She was next to me, we talked, cameras flashed. That’s all.”
You clench your jaw. “You definitely seemed to be enjoying yourself with her.”
He exhales, like he’s struggling to stay patient. “I was being polite. What was I supposed to? Just ignore her while she's trying to speak to me? It’s not that deep.”
You scoff. “Right. Gotta keep her comfortable. Wouldn’t want to be rude.”
Aaron exhales sharply. “Are you serious right now?”
Your jaw tightens. “Forget it.”
“No, really.” His voice is sharper, cutting through the phone. “You think I’m—what? Cheating on you?”
You exhale, voice light, careless. “Aaron, I said forget it. You’re a grown man, do what you want.”
Aaron exhales sharply. “Come on, don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like this suddenly isn’t bothering you. I’m trying to talk to you.”
You tilt your head. “You’re right. I was annoyed. And then I realized how stupid it was to waste my energy worrying about things I can’t control.”
Aaron scoffs, his frustration bleeding through. “That’s a real poetic way to say ‘I don’t trust you.’”
You smile tightly, even though he can’t see it. “I trust you to do whatever you want to do.”
Aaron lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Wow. Got it.”
There’s a long pause.
Then, quieter, almost like a plea—“I need you to talk to me, baby.”
Your throat tightens, but you force your voice to stay light. “I am talking.”
“No, you’re shutting me out.” His voice is strained, low. “You do this every time.”
You swallow hard, keeping your expression neutral, even though there’s no one in the room to see it. “Aaron, I promise you—I’m fine. Seriously. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
Another silence. This one feels heavy. Frustrated.
Then, voice tighter now—“Fine.”
“Good.”
A pause. Then—“Are we good?”
You hesitate.
Then, carefully— “We’re good. Have a great day.”
Aaron exhales, like he doesn’t believe you. Like he knows you’re just saying what you think you’re supposed to say.
You hear him shift on the other end of the line, like he wants to say more, but you don’t give him the chance.
“I’ll talk to you later,” you say, already pulling the phone from your ear.
Aaron exhales sharply, but before he can respond, you hang up.
---------
You know it’s toxic. You know.
But desperation makes you reckless.
You don’t trust words—you never have. Promises are just sounds strung together, and you learned a long time ago that actions hold all the weight. And Aaron? He hasn’t done anything to prove you’re still the woman he’d go to war for.
So tonight, you need to know.
You put on the shortest dress you own, something sleek and black that hugs every curve just right, and when you step into the club with your friends, you make sure to look happy. Carefree. Like nothing in the world is eating at you.
The second you walk in, the music vibrates through your bones. Your friends lead you to the VIP section, and within minutes, drinks are flowing, bodies are moving, and the night is alive with laughter.
You pose for group pictures with your friends and some of their male friends. Nothing explicit, nothing outright disrespectful, but just enough. Enough for someone to wonder. Enough for Aaron to see.
You don’t post them yourself. That would be too obvious.
Instead, you make sure your friends do, knowing damn well that Aaron—or someone who knows him—will find them.
And then?
You wait.
You sip your drink, lean into the music, and try to ignore the way your stomach churns with nerves. Because if this backfires, if Aaron doesn’t react at all—
That will tell you everything you need to know.
*One Hour Later*
Your phone vibrates against your thigh.
You knew it was coming.
Still, when you glance down and see Aaron’s name lighting up your screen, a sick sort of satisfaction curls through your chest.
You don’t answer.
He calls again.
Then again.
Then—
Text message after text message.
Aaron: Where the fuck are you?
Aaron: Who are these fucking guys?
Aaron: You think this is funny?
Aaron: Answer your phone.
You hesitate, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He’s pissed.
But that’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?
You: No thanks.
You: Have a great night :)
You lock your phone before he can respond.
Then, you take another sip of your drink, letting the fire burn all the way down.
Your phone vibrates again. Another call.
Aaron’s name glares up at you like a warning.
You let it ring.
Your best friend, Camille, leans in, eyes flicking toward your still-ringing phone. “Are you gonna answer?”
You scoff. “Nope.”
“Seriously, though,” Camille presses. “What’s your endgame here?”
You open your mouth to respond, but your phone dings again—a text.
Aaron: Pick up the fucking phone.
Your stomach clenches.
Camille lets out a low whistle. “Damn. He’s mad mad.”
You roll your eyes, feigning nonchalance. “He’ll get over it.”
Another text comes through.
Aaron: You want my attention, sweetheart? You’ve got it.
Your breath hitches.
Then—one more.
Aaron: Let’s see how you feel when I give you a taste of your own medicine.
Your grip tightens around your phone.
Shit.
Your phone buzzes again. Aaron.
You swipe to accept the call, pressing a finger to your other ear to hear better over the pounding club music.
“You think this is funny?” His voice is low, sharp.
You blink, acting confused. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb,” he mutters. “You’re out at a club, with a bunch of guys around you, drinking, posting shit all over the internet—”
You roll your eyes. “Are you serious? I'm out with my friends for the first time in months. That’s not a crime.”
A harsh exhale. “You didn’t tell me.”
Your brows knit together. “Since when do I have to?”
Aaron lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Since I’m your boyfriend.”
You pause. Your stomach clenches at the word. He’s never been the type to throw that around like a trump card.
“So let me get this straight,” you say, voice cold now. “You can be at all these events and parties every week, surrounded by famous women in gowns, but I can’t go to a club with my friends?”
“That’s different,” he finally says.
You scoff. “How?”
“I don’t go to clubs,” he snaps. “I don’t get drunk out of my mind. I go to work events that I'm contractually obligated to attend. There’s a difference.”
You bite your lip. Because that part is true. You’ve never seen Aaron out at clubs. But who would have the energy to go clubbing after the lineup of events he attends every week?
“I’m not doing anything wrong,” you say. “Those are Camille’s friends, they’re just at the table next to ours.”
Aaron exhales sharply. “I’m sending you a car.”
Your breath catches.
“What?”
“A car,” he repeats, voice tight. “An Uber. A driver. Whatever the fuck you want. Just go home.”
You blink. “Aaron—”
“I mean it,” he says roughly. “I don’t want you there anymore.”
You feel a flicker of irritation. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
His voice is deadly quiet. “No, but I can tell you that I don’t like this. And I know you don’t either.”
You hesitate. Because he’s right. You don’t even want to be here anymore.
Aaron exhales. “Go home, baby.” His voice is softer now, more like himself. “Please.”
Your throat tightens.
You don’t say anything for a long moment.
Then, finally—
“Fine.”
A slow, relieved exhale. “Good girl.”
And with that, he hangs up.
-------
You curl into yourself under the covers, your phone screen still glowing in the dark.
Aaron: Your driver’s outside. Let me know when you’re home.
You never responded.
Now, lying in bed, staring at your ceiling, your chest feels tight, like something is pressing down on it. You hate this. Hate that you feel like you’re losing him.
You squeeze your eyes shut. You won’t cry again.
But then your phone vibrates. The screen lights up.
A FaceTime call.
Aaron. Shocker.
Your fingers hover over the screen, your heart pounding. Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you answer.
Aaron’s face fills the screen. He’s leaning against the headboard, one arm resting on his knee, his expression unreadable. But the moment he sees you, his brows pull together.
"You been crying?"
Your stomach clenches. You hate how well he reads you.
You let out a small scoff, rolling onto your side. "What? No."
Aaron exhales, tilting his head, studying you through the screen. His jaw is tight, his blue-gray eyes sharp and searching.
"You’re lying," he murmurs.
You force a small smile. "I’m just tired."
His lips part slightly, like he wants to push, but instead, he sighs.
"You didn’t text me when you got home," he says.
You shrug. "I forgot."
He doesn’t believe you. You can tell by the way his fingers twitch where they rest on his knee, the way his jaw tenses like he’s biting back a hundred things he wants to say.
Aaron licks his lips, sighing. "You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?"
You keep your face neutral. "Likewise."
Aaron chuckles softly, shaking his head. Then, after a moment—
"What’s going on with you?"
Your breath catches. "Nothing."
His voice is rough now, insistent. "I can tell when something’s wrong. So tell me."
You chew your lip, staring at the screen, at the way his eyes are burning into you. "I just—" You hesitate. "I don’t know."
"Try," he presses.
You swallow hard. "I just feel… weird lately."
Aaron exhales. "Weird how?"
You don’t know how to answer that.
Weird because he’s suddenly everywhere. Weird because for the first time in years, he feels just out of reach. Weird because maybe he was never really yours to lose, and that realization is eating you alive.
Instead, you just shake your head. "I don't know."
His voice is sharper now, more impatient. "You always make me pry everything out of you."
Your throat tightens. "I don’t—"
His voice is insistent. "You’re clearly upset. And I don’t know why. And you’re not gonna sleep tonight if you don’t say it out loud, so—say it."
You shake your head. "Aaron—"
"Say it."
You swallow, staring at him through the screen. He’s watching you carefully, waiting, giving you that look that always makes you fold.
Your chest tightens.
"I just feel like we're drifting apart."
The words slip out before you can stop them.
Aaron stills. His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts behind his eyes.
"You’re in LA," you continue, voice barely above a whisper. "You’re at these big events, with these big names, and I’m here—alone. And it just..." You exhale sharply. "It feels like you’re leaving me behind."
Aaron’s jaw tenses. His fingers twitch slightly where they rest on his knee.
Aaron exhales, rubbing his temples. "Baby..."
"I see the pictures, Aaron," you cut in. "I see how good you fit in there. And I just…" You blink rapidly, fighting the burn in your eyes. "I don’t know if I fit in your life anymore."
Aaron’s face hardens. "Don’t say that."
"But it’s true," you murmur, swallowing the lump in your throat. "And it scares me."
Aaron’s expression softens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Then come here."
Your breath catches.
"What?"
"Come to LA," he says simply.
You stare at him through the screen, your pulse hammering in your ears.
"Aaron…"
"You don’t have to decide to stay right away," he presses, voice rough. "Just come. Let me prove to you that you belong with me, no matter where the fuck I am."
Your throat tightens. "No."
Aaron’s brows furrow. "No?"
You shake your head. "You’re only asking me because you feel bad."
Aaron’s jaw clenches. "That’s not—"
"It is," you say, voice quieter now. "If I hadn’t said anything, you wouldn’t have asked. And I—" You exhale sharply. "I don’t wanna come because you pity me, Aaron. I wanna come because you want me there."
Aaron’s eyes darken,"You think I don’t want you here?"
You don’t answer.
Aaron swallows, staring at you for a long moment. Then, voice raw—
"I fucking hate that you feel like this."
You inhale shakily.
Aaron leans in slightly, his face inches from the screen. "You think I fit in here? You think I want to be at these parties, talking to people I don’t give a fuck about?" He exhales sharply. "I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner."
Aaron studies you, his eyes scanning your face. Then, voice softer, "Just tell me what you need. from me."
You swallow hard. "I don’t know."
Aaron exhales, running a hand through his hair. "Okay."
Silence.
Then, after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper—
"I love you."
Your breath catches.
"I love you, and I’m not leaving you behind," he murmurs. "You belong with me. Always."
Your throat tightens, your vision blurring.
You bite your lip, nodding slightly. "I love you too."
Silence stretches between you as you drift off to sleep.
And for the first time in weeks—you finally feel like you’re not alone.
--------
The next day, your phone buzzes with a text while you're trying to sleep your hangover off.
You groan, blindly reaching for it, already knowing who it is.
Aaron: Check your email.
You swipe out of your messages, opening your inbox. A new email sits at the top of your screen.
You click it, eyes scanning over the subject line.
A flight itinerary.
Your stomach drops.
You scroll, scanning the details—first class, a direct flight to LA, departing tonight at 7 PM.
You barely have time to process before your phone buzzes again.
Aaron: Pack a bag.
Your pulse spikes.
You type quickly.
Me: Are you insane?
His response is immediate.
Aaron: Sometimes.
You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose.
Me: You really think this is gonna work?
Aaron: Yes.
You shake your head.
Me: What part of “I don’t want to come just because you feel bad” are you not understanding?
Aaron’s typing bubble pops up, then disappears, then pops up again.
Then, finally—
Aaron: If I wanted you here just because I felt bad, I would've just accepted your answer last night.
Your hands shake slightly as you type.
Me: This is crazy.
Aaron: So is pretending we’re fine like this.
You swallow hard.
Aaron: Baby.
Your heart stutters.
Aaron: Please.
Your throat tightens.
You don’t respond.
But you do start to pack.
You could keep fighting this. You could tell him you’re not ready, that you need time, that he needs to earn this.
But then what?
You’d go to bed alone again, your phone face-down on your nightstand, staring at the ceiling, missing him so much it feels like a physical ache in your chest.
And for what?
For pride?
For the illusion of control?
Aaron is home. And the truth is—you just want to go home, too.
-------
LAX – 11:42 PM
You step through the terminal, nerves buzzing under your skin.
Aaron told you he’d send a car. Told you to text when you landed.
But standing here, scanning the crowd—
He’s here.
No car. No driver. Just him.
Black hoodie pulled over his head, hands stuffed in his pockets, leaning against a pillar like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.
Your breath catches, heart hammering against your ribs as his gaze locks onto yours.
He pushes off the pillar, walking toward you—slow, easy, certain.
"Hey, baby," he murmurs when he reaches you, voice low and warm.
You swallow hard. "Hey."
Aaron tilts his head, eyes sweeping over you. "Missed you."
You scoff, shifting your weight. "Yeah, well. You’re annoying."
His lips twitch. "So are you."
You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.
Aaron steps closer, voice dropping. "You know what I think?"
You raise a brow. "Do I want to?"
He smirks. "I think you got on that plane because you couldn’t stand another night without me."
You cross your arms. "I think you should shut up before I get back on another plane."
Aaron chuckles, shaking his head. Then, softer—"Let’s go."
Your chest tightens, the fight in you crumbling piece by piece.
He reaches for your bag, pulling it off your shoulder before you can argue.
You should protest. You should roll your eyes and tell him to quit being so smug.
Instead, you let him take your bag.
And you let him take you home.
The ride to Aaron’s Airbnb is quiet, but the air is thick—heavy with something unspoken.
Your body is still tense, your mind still reeling. The past twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind of emotions. Aaron unlocks the door, stepping inside first, flicking on a few lights.
You hesitate.
This is his space. You’ve never been here before. The place he’s been living while you’ve been in New York, wondering if you even still fit into his life.
Aaron turns around, eyes catching yours. His brow furrows slightly, reading you instantly.
He steps forward, his voice softer now. "Come here."
You don’t move.
So he closes the space himself.
One hand reaches for your wrist, his grip firm but gentle as he pulls you inside, closing the door behind you.
And then, before you can say a single word—
His hands cup your face, his lips crashing onto yours.
Finally.
You gasp into his mouth, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he devours you, like he’s been waiting for this for months.
Aaron presses you back against the door, his body solid and warm against yours, his grip possessive as his fingers tangle in your hair.
"You have no idea," he murmurs against your lips, voice rough, needy, "how much I fucking missed you."
His mouth trails down your jaw, his breath hot, sending a violent shiver through you.
"You could’ve just asked me to come," you manage, barely above a whisper.
Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. "And miss the part where you tried to pretend you didn’t want to?"
You pull back just enough to glare at him. "That's not funny."
He smirks, thumb brushing over your cheek. "You still mad at me?"
You let out a breath, trying so hard to stay indignant, but he’s right here, touching you, kissing you—
And you’ve wanted this too much to stop now.
You forgot what it felt like to be with him.
To be wrapped in him, to feel like this was yours and no one else’s.
Your nails graze his scalp as you sigh against his lips. The past few months of distance, of doubt, of letting your own pride keep you from him—it all feels so stupid now. You hate how easily other women get to be around him, touching him, laughing with him, making the world believe they have a shot.
His free hand roughly palms your breast, kneading the soft flesh as his thumb circles your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra. He can feel it pebbling under his touch, betraying your body's eager response to him.
"You can't resist me, can you, love?" he purrs, nipping at your earlobe. "No matter how mad you are, your body remembers who it belongs to."
"Don't be so sure of yourself," you pant, even as your back arches, pressing your breast more firmly into his palm. "I'm still pissed."
But your words lack conviction, undermined by the breathy quality of your voice and the way your thighs tremble, opening slightly in invitation. Aaron notices, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
"Really?" he murmurs, low and dangerous. In one swift motion, he hikes up your skirt and pushes your panties aside, his thick fingers caressing your folds. "Then why are you so wet for me already, hmm?"
He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips buck. "Stop lying to yourself, love."
Two long fingers suddenly plunge knuckle-deep inside you, curling to stroke that sensitive spot. "Tell me how much you've missed this, baby."
You gasp sharply, head falling back as Aaron's fingers fill and stretch you so perfectly. "Fuck, Aaron…"
Your inner walls flutter and clench around the intrusion, drawing him deeper. "I-I've missed you so much." you admit.
He curls his fingers just right, rubbing insistently against your G-spot as his thumb flicks rapidly over your clit. "I know, baby."
You moan wantonly, grinding down onto Aaron's fingers as they work magic inside you. "Ahhh…f-fuck, just like that…"
He growls lowly as he suddenly withdraws his fingers, leaving you aching and empty right as you were approaching your release. "Not yet, love. Did you think I was gonna let you come that easily after what you pulled last night?"
In one smooth motion, he scoops you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He carries you to his bedroom, and puts you down next to his king sized bed. "Strip for me. Nice and slow."
You slowly remove your disheveled clothing, revealing your curves inch by tantalizing inch. You keep your gaze locked with Aaron's, a defiant glint in your eyes despite the blush coloring your cheeks.
He unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans, freeing his throbbing erection. He strokes himself slowly as he watches you strip. "Fuck, look at you… so fucking sexy. You drive me crazy, you know that?"
He climbs on the bed and leans back against the headboard. Stroking his dick slowly, eyeing you with intense desire and a hint of challenge. "Come here, baby. Show me how much you missed this dick."
You straddle Aaron's lap, positioning yourself over his throbbing erection. You tease him, rubbing the tip along your slick folds. "Like this, baby?"
You sink down slowly, inch by delicious inch, until he's fully seated inside your tight heat. A low moan escapes your lips at the feeling of being so perfectly stretched and filled after so long.
He groans deeply as your tight walls engulf him, gripping his shaft like a velvet vice. "Fuck yes, just like that."
He grips your hips tightly, guiding your movements as you start to roll your hips, riding him slowly. "That's it. Show me how bad you needed this dick."
Your hands rest on his broad chest for leverage, nails lightly scraping his skin. "Mmmnh… I did need this… needed you so badly…"
He grunts and thrusts up into you, meeting you stroke for stroke. One hand moves to your ass, gripping and kneading the soft flesh as he guides your movements.
Your breasts bounce enticingly with each movement, nipples hardened into stiff peaks. You throw your head back in ecstasy, lost in the sensation of being so thoroughly filled and pleased. “Ahhh... fuck Aaron... I missed you so much...”
He groans appreciatively as he watches you lose yourself in pleasure, reveling in the sight of your body moving so beautifully above him. “That's it, baby... let go for me.”
He leans up to capture one of your bouncing nipples in his mouth, suckling and nibbling the sensitive bud as his hand snakes between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit. “Cum for me, darling.”
You cry out sharply as Aaron's skilled fingers find your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Ahhh... fuuuck... I'm gonna cum!”
Your movements become erratic, chasing your impending release. Tears of overwhelming emotion prick at the corners of your eyes. Despite your reluctance to express your feelings, you cant help but say, “I love you. I never want to be apart from you again.”
With a final roll of your hips, your orgasm crashes over you. Your inner muscles clamp down rhythmically on Aaron's dick. “FUCKKK!”
With a few more powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his own release overtaking him.
He holds you tightly against his chest as he pulses and throbs within you, filling you with his hot seed.
Panting heavily, he presses fervent kisses along your neck and jawline, each one searing with need, but also with something else—something deeper, something he’s been holding onto for too long. “God, I love you so fucking much... Never doubt that, okay?” His words are rough, filled with raw emotion, and they send a wave of warmth and longing rushing through you.
He cups your face tenderly, his fingers tracing the delicate contours of your skin, his gaze intense and unwavering. His eyes shine with adoration and lingering passion as he gazes at you, making you feel both vulnerable and cherished in the same breath. “We’re in this together, always. I promise.”
The words hit you harder than you expect, like a rush of relief flooding through your chest. His sincerity washes over you, but you can’t stop the overwhelming emotions threatening to spill out. You pull back slightly to meet his gaze, needing to look him in the eye as your own shimmer with unshed tears and raw emotion.
“I’m sorry I have such a hard time expressing my feelings, I don’t know why I’m like this,” you whisper, the words slipping from your lips before you can even think about holding them back.
He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he wipes a stray tear from your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across the skin, his touch soft, yet grounding. He studies your face with that same loving gaze, his expression soft and understanding, but there’s a hint of something deeper—concern, perhaps, or even a touch of hurt.
“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs, his voice a whisper that feels like the calm after a storm. “I do wish you felt safe enough to tell me anything after all these years. I want to be the person you lean on when you’re struggling with your feelings.”
His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly you’re flooded with guilt. You knew how much he cared, how deeply he loved you, but hearing him say it, hearing him speak of his own pain at the wall you’ve built between you—it hurts. You feel like you’ve let him down, like you’ve betrayed the very trust he’s shown you. He’s right. He’s always been right. And still, you kept walls up like he was the enemy, when he’s only ever reached out with open hands.
You’re horrified that he thinks he doesn’t create an emotionally safe environment for you when that’s so far from the truth. “It’s not your fault at all,” you say, your voice cracking slightly, “I’ve always been this way. I’ve always been so scared of being vulnerable, scared of needing someone too much.” You feel the weight of those words as they leave your mouth, and a part of you knows they’ve been trapped in you for so long that it’s finally time to let them out.
Aaron watches you for a long moment, his thumb still brushing softly across your cheek like he’s trying to calm something in you that’s always been just out of reach.
“You don’t have to be perfect,” he says. “You don’t even have to be ready. But you do have to let me in. That’s the only way this can work.”
You look away, jaw tightening. But he doesn’t let you escape into silence this time.
“Don’t do that,” he says gently. “Don’t shut down. Not now. Talk to me. Say what you’ve been wanting to say since I left.”
You bite your lip, your throat tight.
“I hated waking up alone every day,” you admit. “I hated not knowing if you were thinking about me, not knowing if I still mattered in a world that suddenly couldn’t get enough of you. I hated seeing your name in headlines next to someone else’s face. I hated that I couldn’t tell anyone you were mine. I hated that you didn’t seem to care.”
You pause, breath shaky.
“I used to wait for your name to pop up on my phone like it was oxygen. And when it didn’t... I’d lie to myself. I’d tell myself you were too busy. That I was being needy. That this is what I signed up for. That you already had so much on your plate.”
Aaron’s expression doesn’t waver. He doesn’t flinch or deflect or turn away.
He listens.
And then, he speaks—voice low but firm.
“You should’ve told me all of that the first night you felt it.”
“I know,” you whisper.
“I should’ve done better,” he says. “I should’ve made sure you never had to wonder if you still mattered to me.”
“I got caught up in it all,” he admits. “The press, the schedule, the pressure. I kept telling myself you understood, that you were strong, that you’d wait for me to get my shit together.” His eyes find yours, full of something honest and unguarded. “But that wasn’t fair to you."
You look down, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know how to ask for more without feeling like I was asking for too much.”
His hand lifts to your cheek, tilting your face gently back to him.
“You’re never too much,” he says, his voice soft but laced with that familiar teasing edge. “I love knowing how obsessed you are with me.”
You roll your eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching despite the weight in your chest. “You make it hard to stay mad.”
“Good,” he murmurs.
There’s a silence that settles between you then—not empty, but full. Heavy with all the things that no longer have to be said in the dark, or buried beneath pride.
“I don’t want to live in separate lives anymore,” he says after a beat.
Your heart skips.
“I want you here,” he says. “Permanently. Let’s find a place that’s ours. Start fresh. I know it’s a lot to ask—starting over, uprooting your life. But I’ll support you. If you want to work, work. If you want to take your time, do that too. I just want to know that I get to come home to you.”
You let out a slow breath, all your old defenses still rising like reflexes—but you push through them this time.
“I’m scared,” you whisper.
“I know,” he says. “Do it scared.”
You let out a breath that feels like it’s been caught in your chest for months. “We're being so fucking dramatic right now. Have you been stealing lines from your scripts again?”
He chuckles, sliding his arms around your waist again. “You say that like you didn’t just admit you waited for my texts like oxygen.”
You bury your face into his chest, groaning. “Can we not bring that up ever again?”
There’s still fear threading through your chest, still questions and doubts lingering in the corners of your mind. But for once, they’re not winning. Because he’s here, and you feel something you haven’t in months.
Home.
Not a place. Not a plan.
Just him.
Just you.
Still choosing each other.
Even scared.
Especially then.
------
A/N: Here is the story I mentioned earlier that inspired the club scene a bit: Read Here.
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