i used to write a very very very long time ago (i was probably 13-15 yrs old lol) and well, I’ve been flirting with the idea of getting back into it & it just happened.
idk if i'll ever open this up to requests or not cause its a cute lil hobby right now, nothing too crazy.
who do I write for? whoever tickles my fancy lol right now? that's anthony joshua. maybe i'll flirt with the idea of some others 👀
Summary: Terry letting you wear yourself out on that thang. That’s it, that’s all.
Warning(s): riding, sexual innuendos, dirty talk, mentions of oral (f receiving), may be some errors
The day started off great, just as any other day would. You woke up to an empty bed, which was normal considering you were married to a damn lark. Terry always rose before the sun for whatever reason, but that never stopped you from getting your full eight hours worth of beauty rest.
You’d entered the kitchen to see your usual morning sight: Terry, shirtless and sweaty after his morning run. Though you tried to keep your footsteps soft, Terry and his super marine hearing sensed you coming from a mile away. He peered over his shoulder with his cloudy green eyes and flashed a rarely seen smile— well, rare to everyone but you— before scooping up the fresh cup of coffee he’d always have ready for you whenever you decide to grace the world with your presence.
Silently reminding yourself that it was too damn early to be horny, you kept your eyes above the neckline and accepted your cup of joe and one of many morning kisses. You spent the next ten minutes of leisure time as you normally did: Smiling at the sweet and expected gesture, giggling at the compliments and complimentary kisses that came along with your coffee, and squealing when Terry’s hands would roam and squeeze at some of his favorite parts of your body.
You’d left home some time later with a smile on your face as Terry always made sure you did, but just when you thought the exceptional morning meant your day would be perfect, here came your fucking boss.
Rude, loud, and disrespectful. Commanding and demanding the most ridiculous things as soon as the damn office opened. You’d always tried your best to stay respectful and hold your tongue when came at crazy, and today was no different. You’d just constantly remind yourself that this was your boss, and as much as you couldn’t stand her ass, you still loved your job and didn’t want to risk losing it over a boss doing what bosses do.
Then came your coworker Sandra, who also happens to be the bosses daughter. Rude and entitled much like her mother, Sandra always knew how to push just about everyone in the offices buttons, but for some odd reason yours were her favorite to push. You’d trained yourself not to give her the reaction she so desperately tried to get from you, but that still didn’t mean she didn’t get under your skin from time to time.
By the time the end of the day rolled around, Sandra and her mother had worked together to make today the day from hell. Two caseloads, another cup of coffee, and three near blowups later, you’d finally made it back home. The smile you once had on your face when you left was long and gone when you returned, and Terry noticed immediately. From his spot on the couch, he watched you toss your keys onto the kitchen counter and kick your shoes off much harder than necessary. Though your shoulders should’ve relaxed after the long breath you released, they remained tight and tense, telling Terry more than he knew you probably would.
You tended to shut down when frustrated, a bad habit that Terry had both picked up on and learned to remain patient with. However, knowing this wouldn’t stop him from coaxing as much information as he could out of you.
Terry pushed himself up from his seated position and began his path toward you. His long legs got him there in milliseconds, standing tall and protective in front of you. The crisp new wife beater he wore clung to his torso like you did when you would hug him and the dark grey sweats he wore hung low on his hips just how you liked it. His unintentional sexiness almost made you forget why you were mad. Almost.
He remained silent for a moment, watching intently as you looked everywhere but at him. Then, his left hand raised to your hip giving it a double tap with his index and middle fingers. You took that nonverbal command for what it was and finally looked up at him, his stormy eyes already meeting yours halfway.
For a second he still said nothing. He just stood still and examined your expression as much as you’d allow him to. The slight pout on your lips and semi-wet eyes told him enough, prompting him to finally speak.
“Talk to me.”
The words were simple, but when you have a day like you just had, it’s enough to damn near cause a break down. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from crying and lowered your head, shaking it just enough for the gesture to be noticeable.
“I’m fine,” you muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.
But you should’ve known that wouldn’t be good enough for him. You did know it wasn’t good enough for him. That’s why it was no shock when his hand came to cup your chin and gently forced your head up to meet his gaze again. There was silence once again from him as he scanned your face for another read. This time your mood was clear. Your face held a plethora of emotions. Frustration, anger, and a hint of sadness all at once.
“You’re not upset for nothing, Peach.”
The patience he had with you was evident in both his tone and the use of your pet name. He’d given it to you when the two of you had just began dating many years ago. He said the name reflected your personality and common mood. As sweet as could be. An alternative meaning for that nickname came a bit later in the relationship when the two of you had been intimate for the first time. He said the chosen name was perfect because you in the bedroom mirrored a Peach perfectly: sweet, sticky, thick, and pretty. But that was beside the point. The fact of the matter was that right now, your mood was anything but sweet.
A sigh slipped past your lips as you once again averted your gaze from his, afraid that he’d read too deep into you and cause you to break down in the middle of the living room. “It’s just work, T,” you muttered a tad bit lower than before. “Nothing serious.”
“I think it is serious if it’s got you this upset,” Terry argued. Not in an ill intended way. Just in a way that let you know he wasn’t buying the watered down story you were selling. Hand still cupping your chin, Terry nudged upward just a tad bit higher in an attempt to get your attention back on him. “Look at me.”
You reluctantly obliged and once again locked eyes with Terry, only this time, there was no reading. He’d already put it together. “Your boss?”
Just the mention of that bitch had you fighting the urge to roll your eyes, but to answer your husband’s question, you nodded.
“She frustratin’ you again?”
You mimicked your earlier action once more, nodding as you again bit down on your cheek. “Yeah, Sandra, too.”
Though your voice was barely above a whisper, Terry heard you loud and clear. He kept his stance just a few moments more before relaxing, his hands falling unoccupied at his side before they snaked around your waist. His thumb rubbed soothing circles around your lower back in an effort to get you to relax even a bit. Yeah sure, your boss and her gnat of a daughter pissed you off today. But you were home now, with him.
“You gotta stop doing that, Peach,” Terry murmured, arms wrapping tighter around you as he pulled you closer.
Now chest to chest, your dainty hands came to rest on his biceps. “Doing what?”
“Shutting down,” he elaborated, index finger drumming your hip. “You always shut down when you’re upset and you leave me out the mix. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s goin’ on.”
You nodded in response, head lowering in shame. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Mm-mm, don’t do that,” Terry hummed, immediately following up with a kiss to your forehead, then one to your cheek, then one to your jawline, then multiple to your neck as you giggled lowly. “I’m not mad at you, baby. I just want you to be happy. And I want you to be comfortable telling me when something is botherin’ you. Even if it’s not me, alright?”
With a nod and a muttered agreement, you took the time to appreciate Terry’s effort at getting you to open up. Although you appreciated it, that still didn’t remove the effects of today’s ware and tear from your body. You were still frustrated. Still annoyed. Still tense. But that wasn’t a problem for Terry. All he needed you to do was tell him what was bothering you. He was down to handle the rest.
And that’s what got you to where you are now.
Bare and hot on top of him, knees working overtime to keep you upright as you bounced up and down at the same breathtaking pace. Not too idle. Not too brisk. It was somewhere perfectly in between. Terry watched comfortably beneath you, hands folded and tucked behind his head as he remained still, careful not to disturb your rhythm.
Your bottom lip had to be tired of you biting it, but that seemed to be the only way you could keep your sounds under control and keep the two of you from receiving a noise complaint in a few hours time. Your hands assisted in keeping you steady with their resting spot being on Terry’s abdomen, fingers dragging through the creases of his abs when you felt them flex under the pressure of you repeatedly landing in his lap.
Tongue darting out to moisten your parched lips, you let a whine slip past the barrier you’d tried your hardest to build. “Terryyy…”
He looked up at you, expression stoic and emotionless besides the lust clouding his already piercing eyes. “What you callin’ me for? You doin’ that shit to yourself.”
Brows furrowed and mouth hanging ajar, you looked down to where the two of you connected. You watched your fluids pile up at the base of his phallus in near disbelief. Almost as though you couldn’t believe what you were making yourself do. Like him saying it out loud was what made you realize it. Even still, it was partly his fault. Nobody told him to have all that dick.
Another sound slipped past your lips, this time resembling more of a squeal as the angle of your hips made it nearly impossible for his throbbing tip to miss your spot. “Fuuuckkk!”, you slurred through a moan, head falling backward and eyes rolling to a close.
“Mhm, there you go,” Terry cooed while simultaneously reaching out to you, hand wrapping snug around your throat. “Keep that shit movin’. Just like that.”
The sudden air restriction caused you to gasp, hand coming up to wrap around Terry’s wrist. The grip you had on his hand matched the grip you had on his dick, your walls contracting around his girth at the depth of his voice and commands. There was something about the two of you being in a position where you had the opportunity to be in full control, yet Terry still finding a way to be in charge. Your body’s response to his commands showed exactly how you felt about them, your walls gushing with arousal.
Your internal temperature grew hotter with every passing minute, the aching in your legs contributing to your thermal increase. But unfortunately, that wasn’t stopping shit. You were gonna get your nut even if it meant riding this Harley until your legs gave clean out. Well, your third nut. Terry had already coaxed two out of you with that talented mouth of his, eating away half the frustration you’d returned home with. He left it up to you to ride out the rest.
“Fuck…why you so wet, Peach?” Fingers tightening around your throat, Terry bit down on his bottom lip as his free hand came up to strike your ass cheek. “Hm?”
There were so many answers to that question. Maybe because you had a fine ass man beneath you letting you use him for your pleasure with no consequences. Or maybe it was because you had a big ass dick invading the deepest part of you, pulsing and throbbing against your wetness to cause almost euphoric sensations. Or maybe it was just because you were in love. It didn’t matter which response was most fitting, because you couldn’t even muster up the strength to give him one.
Instead you peeled your eyes open, gaze immediately connecting with his. The two of you watched each other through different eyes: yours soft and submissive, his hard and dominant. “You so fuckin’ pretty.”
You moaned in response, stomach swarming with butterflies at him somehow always knowing what to say and when to say it. Eyes fluttering shut, your head had almost fallen back again before Terry’s hand moved to cup your jaw. “Mm-mm, keep them eyes on me.”
You obliged, eyes opening to find his. You watched as his lip found its way between his teeth again, his thumb stroking your cheek as soft as could be. Then the pad of his thumb found its way to your bottom lip, rubbing across it a few times. “Open…”
Following instructions with a submissive moan, your semi-parted lips opened wider to allow his thumb entry, and you made sure to give it a warm welcome with your tongue and lips. A slick thrust from below had your teeth nearly sinking into the flesh, but you’d managed to hold back before continuing to suck on his thumb.
“So beautiful…”, Terry muttered, watching as your eyes rolled to a close and you moaned around his thumb, the throbbing of his phallus causing your stomach muscles to tighten. “and so fuckin’ nasty.”
How could he say that when he was the one who made you this way? You can confidently say you had never been this nasty until you got with Terry. This motherfucker had you doing shit you would’ve never even thought to do with anyone else, but you’d be lying straight through your teeth if you said you didn’t love it.
He pulled his thumb away and you released it with a ‘pop’, then watched with doe eyes as he used that same saliva covered thumb to rub your clit in slow, sloppy circles. But you were the nasty one? Yeah, okay.
The new sensation caused a buck in your hips, a sound of louder pitch escaping your lips as your eyes did yet another roll inward. “Babyyy…s-shit!”, you whined as you tried to keep your pace through the tightening of your walls and flexing of your stomach muscles. The sensation omitted a groan from Terry, but nothing more than that as he kept his eyes trained on you.
It’s not that he wasn’t feeling good, because he damn sure was. It was just the fact that tonight was your night. Y’all could worry about him later. Right now, it was all about you.
“You look so good up there, Peach. You don’t even understand,” he cooed, tongue slowly protruding to wet his lips as he watched you slowly but surely unravel.
You’d call him a damn lie if you weren’t in your current position. You could just feel that you looked a mess. Hair puffy and wild, lips parched and dry, skin hot and tacky. Terry didn’t give a fuck. “Them hips, them thighs, your face…”, he murmured, the rotation of his thumb staying constant. “Can’t even keep your fuckin’ eyes open. I got you feelin’ good, huh, baby?”
“Yesss, oh my god!”, you squealed, head lolling back as your toes began to curl against the mattress.
Hissing at your sudden tighter grip, Terry’s brows furrowed a tad deeper. “Why you grippin’ me like that? Hm?” You knew the answer, and so did he. But your almost non-coherent words made it hard to give him one. “You finna cum? Is that what it is?”
You nodded frantically, the pace of your bounces starting to increase. “You gon’ cum for me, mama? You gon’ show me how wet you can get for me?”
“Y-yesss, fuck! I’m gon’ cum for you, daddy!”, you moaned, toes curling tighter as you grabbed his free hand and interlocked your fingers. The speed of his thumb started to increase to match the pace of your bounces, your sounds now being full on pornstar moans.
“Chase that shit then, Peach. Show me how wet this pretty pussy can get for me.”
He didn’t need to tell you twice because you already felt it coming. Nails clawing at his chest, your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth hung ajar as your walls closed as tight as they could. The groans omitted from him only assisted with your heavenly climax, thighs trembling as you tried your hardest not to wake the neighbors, though both you and Terry were sure you had probably already done that.
“There you go. Get what you need, pretty girl,” Terry cooed, thumb still rotating on your sensitive center even though your bouncing had come to a steady halt. “Let that shit out.”
Chest heavy with pants, you absentmindedly wound your hips against his thumb, riding out your high to its highest potential. When you were done, you and your throbbing center had had enough. Your hand had quickly found Terry’s, grabbing hold of his wrist. “Mm, fuck, okay…I’m tapped out,” you huffed through short breaths, pushing his thumb away from your now sore pleasure point.
You lifted yourself off of his length with a wince before collapsing back onto his chest. “You good?”
Fuck no you weren’t good. Your body may as well been filled with noodles. Your legs and back were as good as gone, and don’t even get started on your knees. “Don’t even think about touching me for the next two weeks.”
You weren’t sure yet if you were joking or not, and neither was Terry, but for now you’d just go to sleep, good, fucked, and happy.
I'm glad to see that you're back, but on a serious note, though, are you taking any requests? If so, anything with Anthony Joshua
when the gloves come off.
an anthony joshua fic
summary ~ request!
includes ~ fluff, no warnings.
word count ~ 3,050
a/n ~ this is such a cutsie one. i hope you enjoy love :3
————————————————————————
The first time you met Anthony, you were standing in the middle of a small bookstore café in London, holding a cup of chai that had already gone lukewarm because you were too busy arguing with the cashier about your missing loyalty points.
“I’m not saying you personally stole them,” you said, trying to keep your voice polite even though your patience was already fading. “I’m just saying they were there yesterday, and now suddenly, they’re not.”
The cashier looked like she wanted to disappear. “I can call my manager?”
Before you could answer, a deep voice behind you said, “I can cover it.”
You turned around slowly, already prepared to reject the offer, because that was not the point. You didn’t need saving. You needed justice. But the second you saw him, the words got stuck somewhere between your throat and your pride.
Anthony Joshua stood behind you in a black hoodie, matching joggers, and sneakers that looked too clean for the rainy London pavement outside. He was tall enough to make the cozy café feel smaller, broad enough that people naturally moved around him, and handsome in a way that was honestly inconvenient. His expression was calm, amused, and polite, like he hadn’t just stepped into your very serious financial dispute over café rewards.
You blinked. “That’s not the point.”
His mouth curved slightly. “I figured.”
“So why offer?”
“Because you looked like you were about to fight over a cappuccino.”
“It’s chai.”
“My mistake.”
“And I wasn’t about to fight,” you said, lifting your chin. “I was about to advocate.”
That made him laugh, low and warm, the sound rolling out of him so naturally that you almost forgot to keep your face serious. The cashier quickly fixed the issue, probably grateful that the extremely tall man had distracted you long enough for her to sort it out, and after your points were restored, you stepped aside with your drink and your book tucked under your arm.
Anthony ended up beside you at the pickup counter a moment later, still smiling to himself.
“You always that passionate?” he asked.
“Only when justice is involved.”
“Loyalty points are justice?”
“In this economy? Absolutely.”
He laughed again, and this time you smiled before you could stop yourself. That was the first thing that annoyed you about him. He was too easy to smile around. He didn’t have the loud, performative energy you expected from someone so famous. He wasn’t trying to own the room, even though he easily could have. He simply stood there, calm and grounded, like a man who knew his size but didn’t need to use it.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
You told him, and he repeated it carefully, like he wanted to make sure it sounded right.
“I’m Anthony,” he said.
You gave him a look. “I know.”
He dipped his head, smiling. “Had to check.”
Your drinks came up at the same time, and for a second, it felt like the moment was supposed to end there. You were supposed to take your chai, find a corner table, open your book, and pretend you hadn’t just been flirting with Anthony Joshua over a rewards balance. But then his eyes dropped to the novel tucked under your arm.
“What are you reading?”
You held it up. “A romance novel.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Any good?”
“So far, the male lead is emotionally unavailable, rich, stubborn, and annoying.”
He nodded like he was seriously considering it. “Sounds realistic.”
You laughed before you could catch it, and his expression softened as if the sound pleased him more than he expected. That was the moment something shifted. Not dramatically, not like fireworks or music swelling in the background, but quietly. Like a door opening just enough for light to get through.
He asked if he could sit with you. You told him he could, but only if he didn’t talk during the good parts of your book. He promised, then immediately broke the promise five minutes later by asking whether the male lead deserved forgiveness.
“He hasn’t done enough groveling yet,” you said, turning a page.
“How much groveling is enough?”
“That depends on the offense.”
“What did he do?”
“He pushed her away because he was scared of his feelings.”
Anthony leaned back, thinking. “Common mistake.”
You peered at him over the top of your book. “That sounded personal.”
He smiled into his cup. “Maybe I’ve seen things.”
“Or maybe you are things.”
“Am I on trial now?”
“You interrupted my reading. This is the consequence.”
Somehow, that was how you spent the next hour: him asking about fictional drama, you pretending to be annoyed, both of you laughing into your drinks like you had known each other for months instead of minutes. He asked you what you did for work, and you told him you worked in marketing and community outreach for an arts nonprofit, helping young Black and brown creatives get access to resources, funding, and mentorship. When you tried to brush it off as “just work,” he shook his head.
“That’s not just work,” he said. “That’s impact.”
You looked down at your cup, suddenly shy in a way you didn’t like. “It’s exhausting impact.”
“I can imagine.”
“No, you can’t. You punch people for a living.”
He smiled. “And somehow you sound scarier than half the men I’ve fought.”
You pointed at him. “Good. Respect that.”
“I do.”
The way he said it was simple, but it landed somewhere soft. He listened like he actually cared. He didn’t check his phone every thirty seconds or turn every answer into a story about himself. He was thoughtful, funny in a dry way, and strangely gentle for someone whose profession revolved around controlled violence.
By the time you finally left, the sky had turned dark gray, and rain was sliding down the windows in silver streaks. Anthony walked you to your car with his umbrella held mostly over you, even though the rain was soaking one side of his hoodie.
“You know you’re getting rained on, right?” you said.
“I’ll survive.”
“You box professionally, but rain is where you draw the line?”
“No,” he said, glancing down at you. “But you looked like you cared.”
That quieted you. He noticed, but he didn’t tease. He just opened your car door and waited while you got in.
Before you could close it, he said, “Would it be too forward if I asked to see you again?”
You looked up at him through the rain-softened light. “Depends. Are you going to interrupt my reading again?”
“Probably.”
“Then I should say no.”
“But?”
You tried not to smile. “But I might not.”
His grin came slow, pleased and warm, and you exchanged numbers right there in the rain. When you got home that night, his name popped up on your phone before you even took off your coat.
Anthony:
Did you make it home safe?
You stared at the message longer than necessary, smiling like somebody’s fool.
You:
Yes. Did you survive the rain?
Anthony:
Barely. Very traumatic.
You:
Thoughts and prayers.
Anthony:
Appreciated. So when can I interrupt your reading again?
You should have waited to respond. You should have let the message breathe. Instead, you sat on the edge of your bed in your coat, grinning down at your phone.
You:
You’re persistent.
Anthony:
Disciplined.
You:
That’s one way to put it.
Anthony:
Saturday?
You stared at the word and felt that nervous, fluttery feeling return. Saturday felt intentional. Saturday felt like a date. Saturday felt like the beginning of something you had no business entertaining, because men like Anthony Joshua did not casually enter your life without disrupting everything.
But then again, maybe a little disruption wouldn’t hurt.
You:
Saturday works.
From there, it became dangerously easy. Your second date was dinner at a quiet restaurant with warm lighting, low music, and a corner table that made the world feel far away. Anthony arrived before you did, stood when you reached the table, and pulled your chair out like it was the most natural thing in the world. He complimented your dress with such quiet sincerity that you almost forgot how to speak.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
You glanced down, smoothing your hands over the fabric. “You say that to all the women you interrupt in cafés?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” he repeated, eyes steady on yours. “Just you.”
You had to take a sip of water immediately.
Dinner stretched for hours. You talked about childhood, family, ambition, fear, and the strange pressure of being the person other people expected to have everything handled. He told you about boxing, not the glamorous part, but the lonely part. The early mornings, the discipline, the pressure, the way people expected him to be strong even when he was tired.
“You ever get scared?” you asked him.
He didn’t answer quickly. You liked that. He didn’t perform bravery for you.
“Yeah,” he said eventually. “But fear doesn’t mean stop. Sometimes it just means pay attention.”
You nodded slowly. “That’s actually beautiful.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m adjusting.”
“To what?”
“You being more than big arms and a nice smile.”
He laughed, but there was a softness in his eyes. “Nice smile, yeah?”
“Don’t get distracted.”
“Too late.”
After dinner, he walked you to your car again, and this time, he didn’t ask to kiss you. You could tell he wanted to. You could feel it in the pause, in the way his eyes dropped to your mouth for half a second before returning to yours. But he only hugged you goodnight, warm and careful, his hand resting respectfully at your back.
It made you like him more.
The third date was the one that ruined you.
He invited you to a community boxing event at his gym, warning you that it wasn’t fancy. You told him you didn’t need fancy. When you arrived, the gym was buzzing with life. Kids ran around in sneakers, parents chatted near folding tables stacked with food, teenagers shadowboxed in corners, and music played low through the speakers. The air smelled like sweat, fried plantain, and something sweet from the dessert table.
You found Anthony near the ring, crouched in front of a little boy whose gloves were almost too big for his hands. The boy was throwing tiny punches with all the seriousness in the world, and Anthony watched him like he was studying a future champion.
“Balance first,” he said gently. “Power means nothing if you don’t have control.”
The boy nodded hard, like he had just received wisdom from a superhero.
A little girl tugged on Anthony’s sleeve a minute later and demanded he watch her jump rope. Without hesitation, he turned, gave her his full attention, and clapped every time she made it past ten. When she got to twenty-three, he looked more excited than she did.
You stood near the doorway, holding the tray of patties you had brought from your favorite Caribbean bakery, and felt something inside you get dangerously soft.
He saw you then.
His whole face changed.
Not dramatically, but enough. Enough for you to notice that his smile was different when it was for you. He said something to one of the coaches, then came toward you with that smooth, unhurried walk that made your stomach act up.
“You came,” he said.
“I said I would.”
“I know.” His eyes moved over your face gently. “Still happy you did.”
You looked away before your expression embarrassed you. “I brought food.”
“For me?”
“For the event.”
“So partly for me.”
“Barely.”
He reached for the tray, and his fingers brushed yours. It was quick, accidental maybe, but heat still rushed through your hand.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome.”
For the next couple of hours, you watched him move through the room. Everyone knew him, but he didn’t act above anyone. He shook hands with fathers, hugged aunties, listened to teenagers, carried chairs, wiped tables, posed for pictures, and still somehow kept checking on you from across the room. Every time your eyes met, he smiled a little, like he was making sure you were okay.
An older woman beside you leaned in and said, “He likes you.”
You almost choked on your ginger beer. “Oh, we’re just—”
“Mm-hmm.”
You laughed nervously. “No, really, we’re just getting to know each other.”
“That man has been looking for you every three minutes.”
You glanced across the gym just as Anthony looked up from a conversation and found you again. His face softened immediately.
The woman patted your arm. “See?”
You had no defense.
Later, after the event ended and the gym quieted down, you found him stacking chairs. You tried to help, but he looked offended.
“You’re a guest.”
“I have hands.”
“And I have longer arms. Sit down.”
“Bossy.”
“Efficient.”
You sat near the ring with a paper plate balanced on your lap while he finished cleaning up. When he finally joined you, he lowered himself beside you with a tired sigh.
“You’ve been quiet,” he said.
“I’ve been observing.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Maybe.”
He leaned back, amused. “What did you observe?”
You looked at him for a moment, deciding whether to be honest. Then you said, “You’re softer than people probably think.”
His expression shifted. Not offended. Not embarrassed. Just touched in a way he didn’t seem prepared for.
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
The gym lights hummed above you. Rain tapped against the windows. Somewhere in the back, someone laughed while carrying out trash bags. But the space between you felt still.
“I don’t get to be that with everybody,” he said quietly.
Your chest tightened. “You can be that with me.”
He looked at you then, really looked at you, and something unspoken passed between you. He had been patient from the beginning. Respectful. Careful. He never rushed you, never pushed, never acted like access to you was guaranteed. But right then, in that dim gym, both of you seemed to understand that this had become more than flirting.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked.
Your heart tripped over itself.
“Yes.”
He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, but you didn’t. His hand came to your cheek, warm and gentle, and then his mouth was on yours.
The kiss was soft at first. Careful. Almost questioning. Then you sighed against him, and his hand at your cheek slid slightly closer to your jaw. The kiss deepened, still tender but fuller now, carrying every text message, every laugh, every almost-moment since the café. You forgot the paper plate in your lap. You forgot the rain. You forgot that he was Anthony Joshua and remembered only that he was Anthony, the man who held umbrellas over you and listened when you spoke and made you feel seen in ways you hadn’t expected.
When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the café,” he admitted.
You smiled. “Since I was arguing over loyalty points?”
“Especially then.”
“You’re strange.”
“Maybe.”
“But sweet.”
His thumb brushed your cheek. “Only for you.”
That was the beginning for real.
Dating Anthony felt like being loved in details. He learned how you liked your tea, how you liked your eggs, how you got quiet when you were overwhelmed, and how your “I’m fine” usually meant you were two inconveniences away from crying in the shower. He remembered that you hated answering the phone while eating, that you needed at least twenty minutes of silence after work sometimes, and that flowers made you happy even though you always said they were “unnecessary.”
He sent them anyway.
Sometimes to your office, where your coworkers crowded around your desk and screamed over the card.
Proud of you. Always. — A
Sometimes to your flat, when you had a hard week.
Sometimes just because.
You tried not to let it go to your head. You failed.
He wasn’t perfect. Neither were you. Sometimes his schedule frustrated you. Training camp could swallow him whole, and there were days when his exhaustion made him quiet in a way that scared you. Not because he was cruel, but because silence had always made you nervous. You were used to people pulling away before they left.
One night, after he canceled dinner for the second time that week because camp had run late, you told him you understood, but your voice came out too flat.
He noticed immediately.
“Talk to me,” he said over the phone.
“I said it’s fine.”
“Yeah, but you said it like you were putting a period at the end of a sentence you don’t want to finish.”
You hated how well he read you.
“I just…” You sighed, sitting on your bed with your knees pulled to your chest. “I know your life is busy. I knew that before this started. I’m not trying to be unfair.”
“But?”
“But sometimes I feel like I’m waiting around for space in it.”
He was quiet for a second. Not defensive. Listening.
“That’s fair,” he said.
You blinked. “That’s it?”
“What, you wanted me to argue?”
“No. I just expected…”
“For me to explain why you shouldn’t feel that way?”
You didn’t answer.
His voice softened. “I don’t want you feeling like you’re begging for my time. You’re not. And I’m sorry I made you feel like that.”
Your throat tightened.
“I know I can’t always control camp,” he continued, “but I can communicate better. I can plan better. You deserve that.”
It was such a simple response, but it nearly undid you. No ego. No guilt-tripping. No making you feel needy for wanting consistency.
The next morning, breakfast arrived at your door with a note.
Not a replacement for my time. Just a reminder I’m thinking of you. Dinner Friday, no canceling. — A
And he didn’t cancel.
That Friday, he showed up at your door in a dark sweater, holding your favorite flowers and wearing the most apologetic expression you had ever seen on a man that large.
“You look like you’re about to ask my father for my hand,” you said.
“Would he say yes?”
You froze.
Anthony’s eyes widened slightly, like he realized how serious that sounded.
“I mean—eventually. Not now. Unless—no, not unless. I’m just saying—”
You burst out laughing.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “That came out wrong.”
“You got nervous?”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
He tried to look stern. It did not work.
You stepped closer and took the flowers from him. “For the record, he would probably say yes. My mother would interrogate you first.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
You smiled. “Come in, Joshua.”
He kissed your forehead as he passed you. “Yes, ma’am.”
The first time he met your family properly, he was more nervous than he had been before major fights. He changed shirts three times, asked if he should bring anything besides flowers, and kept checking whether your mother preferred “ma’am” or “Miss.”
“You’re being dramatic,” you told him in the car.
“I’m being respectful.”
“My aunties are going to flirt with you either way.”
He looked mildly alarmed. “Should I prepare?”
“No. That makes it worse.”
Your family loved him, of course. Your mother tried to act unimpressed for the first twenty minutes, but Anthony ruined her plan by greeting her so politely and complimenting her cooking with such sincerity that she visibly softened. Your aunties asked him questions they had no business asking. Your cousins begged for pictures. Your uncle challenged him to dominoes and talked trash the entire time.
Anthony lost on purpose once.
Your uncle noticed.
“Don’t insult me, young man,” he said.
Anthony laughed, held up his hands, and then proceeded to win the next round so cleanly that your uncle accused him of being too competitive.
You watched from the kitchen doorway, heart full.
Later that night, while everyone was still talking and laughing in the living room, you found Anthony outside on the porch, leaning against the railing. The night air was cool, and the warm light from inside spilled across his face.
“You okay?” you asked.
He looked over and smiled. “Yeah. Just taking it in.”
“My family?”
“Your world.”
You stepped beside him. “Scared yet?”
“No.” He reached for your hand. “I like seeing where your love comes from.”
That sentence went straight through you.
You looked down at your joined hands. “You always know what to say.”
“Nah. Sometimes I get lucky.”
“No, you mean things. That’s different.”
He brought your hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. “I mean you.”
There were moments like that constantly, moments that made you want to scream into a pillow because how were you supposed to stay normal around a man who said things like that and looked at you like you hung the moon?
The first time he told you he loved you, it wasn’t during a grand dinner or under some dramatic skyline. It happened in his kitchen while you were wearing one of his hoodies and dancing barefoot to a song playing from your phone. You were supposed to be helping him cook dinner, but you had turned a wooden spoon into a microphone and were performing like your life depended on it.
Anthony was supposed to be chopping vegetables. Instead, he just watched you.
You caught him staring. “What?”
He shook his head, smiling softly. “Nothing.”
“No, tell me.”
He put the knife down carefully, walked over, and rested his hands at your waist. His eyes were warm, almost disbelieving, like he was looking at something precious he still couldn’t believe he got to hold.
“I love you,” he said.
The room went quiet.
Your smile faded, not because you didn’t feel the same, but because the words hit you so deeply that you needed a second to breathe. Anthony looked calm, but you felt the tension in his hands, the quiet vulnerability of a man who had faced punches for a living but was terrified of your silence.
You reached up and touched his face.
“I love you too.”
His whole expression changed. The relief, the joy, the tenderness of it almost made you cry. He pulled you into him, lifting you slightly off the floor as you laughed into his neck.
“Say it again,” he murmured.
“I love you.”
He closed his eyes. “Again.”
You laughed softly. “Anthony.”
“Please.”
So you said it again, quieter this time, right against his mouth. “I love you.”
He kissed you after that, sweet and passionate, smiling between kisses like he couldn’t help it. Dinner nearly burned, but neither of you cared. You ate late, standing barefoot in the kitchen, feeding each other bites from the pan and laughing like two people who had found something rare.
Months passed, and the love deepened. It wasn’t always perfect. Love never is. There were misunderstandings, tired conversations, moments when outside pressure crept into your private world. Sometimes people online were cruel. Sometimes they made comments about you that Anthony wanted to respond to immediately, but you would take his phone and shake your head.
“Don’t feed it.”
“They don’t get to speak about you like that.”
“They don’t know me.”
“I do.”
You’d look at him then, and all his anger would soften into concern.
“I know,” you’d say. “That’s what matters.”
But later, when the comments hurt more than you wanted to admit, he would know. He would find you sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, pretending to scroll, and he would kneel in front of you.
“Talk to me.”
“I’m fine.”
His face would say he didn’t believe you, but his voice stayed gentle. “I know you’re strong. I’m not asking because I think you’re weak. I’m asking because you shouldn’t have to hold it by yourself.”
That always got you.
One night, after a particularly harsh wave of attention, you finally broke down. You hated crying in front of people. Hated feeling exposed. But Anthony didn’t make it awkward. He sat beside you, pulled you into his lap, and held you while you cried against his chest.
“I don’t want to make your life harder,” you whispered.
He pulled back just enough to look at you. “You don’t.”
“But all of this—”
“All of this is noise.” His thumb brushed under your eye. “You are not noise. You’re the clearest thing in my life.”
Your tears started again immediately.
He gave a soft, almost helpless laugh. “I was trying to help.”
“You did,” you said, wiping your face. “You’re just too sweet and it’s annoying.”
He smiled. “I’ll work on being less sweet.”
“Don’t you dare.”
He kissed your forehead. “Wasn’t planning to.”
By the time your anniversary came around, you thought you understood how loved you were. Then Anthony proved you wrong.
He told you to dress comfortably, which immediately made you suspicious.
“Comfortably as in cute comfortable or actually comfortable?” you asked over the phone.
“Both.”
“That is not helpful.”
“Trust me.”
“I do. That’s the problem.”
He picked you up that afternoon with a smile he kept trying to hide. When you asked where you were going, he only said, “Somewhere familiar.”
You realized where he was taking you when the car pulled onto the street of the bookstore café.
Your mouth fell open.
“Anthony.”
He looked over, suddenly shy. “Too much?”
You shook your head, already emotional. “No.”
He had reserved the back corner of the café. The same corner where you had first sat together. The table was decorated with small flowers, two cups of chai, and a copy of the romance novel you had been reading the day you met. Inside the book was a card.
You picked it up with shaking hands.
One year since you advocated for justice and ruined my peace in the best way. I’d choose that café, that rain, and that moment again every time. — A
You covered your mouth.
Anthony stood beside you quietly, giving you space to take it in.
“You did all this?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
His brows pulled together slightly, like the answer was obvious. “Because you deserve to be loved out loud sometimes.”
You turned to him, tears already slipping down your cheeks. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“I mean it.”
“I know. That’s the problem.”
He smiled softly and reached for your hands. “This year with you has been the calmest and most terrifying year of my life.”
You laughed through your tears. “That sounds awful.”
“It’s not. It’s just…” He rubbed his thumb across your knuckles. “I’m used to pressure. I’m used to risk. But loving you made me want to be better in ways I couldn’t hide from. It made me want to come home softer. Listen better. Show up fully. Not as the boxer. Not as the name. Just me.”
“You do,” you whispered.
“I’m trying.”
“You do,” you said again, firmer this time.
He lifted your hands and kissed them. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He pulled you into his arms, and you stood there in the little café where it all began, surrounded by the quiet proof of a love that had grown from one ridiculous argument into something steady and beautiful.
Later, you sat together at the same corner table from your first meeting. Anthony flipped through the romance novel and shook his head.
“You know,” he said, “the male lead did not grovel enough.”
You nearly dropped your chai.
“Excuse me?”
“He didn’t. You were right.”
You stared at him. “Anthony Joshua, romance critic.”
“I’ve learned from the best.”
“And who is that?”
“You.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.
He reached across the table and took your hand. His thumb moved slowly over your skin, steady and familiar.
“When I saw you that first day,” he said, “I thought you were beautiful.”
“You thought I was about to fight a cashier.”
“Both can be true.”
You laughed.
“But then you sat with me,” he continued, “and you talked to me like I was just a man in a café. Not a headline. Not a fighter. Just me. I don’t think you know how much that meant.”
Your teasing faded.
“I liked just you,” you said softly.
His eyes warmed. “Still do?”
You squeezed his hand. “Very much.”
He smiled, and there it was again. That private smile. The one that had become yours.
A year ago, he had interrupted your afternoon. He had walked into your life with an umbrella, a calm voice, and the kind of patience that made softness feel safe. You hadn’t known then that love could feel like this. Not perfect. Not effortless. But intentional. Gentle. Passionate in quiet ways and loud ways. Sweet enough to make your chest ache.
You hadn’t known a man could make you feel protected without making you feel small. Desired without making you feel consumed. Loved without making you feel like you had to earn it every day.
But Anthony did.
He held your hand across the table like he knew exactly what he had found.
And you held his right back.
Because when the gloves came off, when the lights dimmed, when the cameras stopped flashing and the world stopped watching, he was not the champion, not the headlines, not the man everyone thought they knew.
He was Anthony.
Your Anthony.
The man who interrupted your reading, ruined your peace, learned your tea order, held you through your worst days, kissed you like he meant every promise, and loved you with the kind of sweetness that made people believe in romance again.
And somehow, beautifully, softly, completely, he had become home.
warnings: no actual smut but descriptions of sexual activity
pairing: Tyriq Withers x Black female reader
summary: when it’s time to have the long awaited sex talk, neither of you are too shy to share.
note: hiii babies!! it’s been a long while and im kinda rusty but here’s the tyriq fic i promised:) i had a dream about this so in true notdeonn fashion, i had a write something about it. y’all i used my school knowledge and i had to do RESEARCH for this😭 so please enjoy and as always tell me what you think🤍!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“So you’re telling me, you’re not good at roleplay?” you ask with a surprised laugh, the sound warm and bright as it slips into the evening air.
“It’s hard to get into character when it’s not for a professional reason,” he laughs back.
The two of you sit side by side on the balcony of his Los Angeles apartment, shoulders nearly touching, close enough that every subtle movement is noticed. This is your fifth date, though it feels like something deeper than numbers now—something settled and growing roots.
The city stretches out beneath you in ribbons of amber light, traffic humming far below like a distant tide. A soft breeze rolls through, carrying the scent of weed from somewhere unseen, mixing with melted mozzarella, basil, and the earthy richness of truffle oil rising from the table between you. Overhead, the sky is painted in bruised purples and fading gold, the last of the sun melting behind glass towers.
Things had gone better than you ever expected.
You had a history of being deceived by evil, tall biracials, to say the least, and because of that, your caution had become second nature. You wore it like armor. Sharp edges, narrowed eyes, measured words. But he had never tried to bulldoze through your walls. He had simply stood there, patient and steady, until you chose to crack the door open yourself.
And once you did, he proved to be genuine. Sincere. Sensitive in the most endearing way. The kind of sensitive that noticed when your smile was forced, when your voice dropped half an octave because something was wrong, when you pretended to be fine but twisted your rings with restless fingers. He was relatable too—easy in the way your dearest friend would be, someone who made silence feel comfortable instead of heavy.
He hadn’t been completely sure about you at first, either.
He liked friendly women, women who smiled easily and welcomed warmth without suspicion. You, on the other hand, had met him with a cool stare and answers clipped short enough to end conversations before they began. Rightfully so. But he had seen behind your crumbly exterior. Bit away at it day by day with patience, humor, and those earnest eyes that always seemed to look a little deeper than most people bothered to.
And eventually, he found the soft center that was truly you.
Now he glances over at you, smiling to himself as if he knows exactly how far you’ve both come. His knee brushes yours for a fleeting second, then stays there. Casual enough to deny on paper, international enough to make your pulse skip.
Although the two of you haven’t hit all the milestones he wants to before officially popping the big boyfriend question, he knows his heart is leading him to the right place. There’s a certainty in the way he looks at you now, a quiet confidence that doesn’t need to announce itself.
There is only one thing you haven’t done together.
During the past two months of getting to know each other, intimacy has not been at the forefront. There have been kisses that lingered long after goodbye. Make outs that left lipstick smudged and breathing uneven. Touches that started innocent and turned charged. Caresses slow enough to memorize skin. Grips and grabs that said what mouths politely withheld.
But nothing full out.
He preferred to take things slow, and truthfully, that patience had only made everything between you burn hotter. Every delayed moment became its own kind of foreplay.
And you’d told him that you always liked to have a conversation beforehand. Just to know what he likes and what you like. Like an introductory thesis, but for sex.
You’d had one very brief conversation where you found out he has a soft foot fetish.
“I don’t wanna see not one of my toes in that mouth boy. I’m serious,” you say as he laughed over FaceTime.
The memory makes you smirk now, and he catches it instantly.
He didn’t want that to be the only conversation had, so he planned a date. A sex talk date.
He called it “Intro to WGFT (we getting fucked tonight) 101” in the text he sent five days ago.
Just you and him on the balcony of his LA apartment. Mocktails sweating beads of condensation onto the table. Margherita pizzas with cheese still stretching in delicate strings. Truffle fries dusted in parmesan and rosemary. The clink of ice in glasses. The low music spilling from inside the apartment. His cologne warm and woodsy every time the breeze shifts your way.
And beneath all of it, humming quietly between each shared glance and teasing smile. Anticipation.
“Aight but you haven’t told me anything about you,” he says, shifting his body slightly to the right so he can look at you fully.
The movement is small, but it changes everything. His knee presses firmer against yours, his shoulder angled toward you now, attention sharpened like a blade. The city noise below fades into a distant murmur.
You try to hide your smile by biting your lip, but it only makes him pay more attention.
His eyes drop to your mouth instantly, lingering there for a beat too long. You can practically feel the warmth of his gaze tracing the curve of your lip, the faint indent your teeth leave behind. It sends a pulse low through your stomach.
“Nah nah, don’t get shy on me now.” he says, gently grabbing your chin to face him again.
His fingers are warm, calloused just enough to feel masculine against your skin. He turns your face back toward him with surprising tenderness, thumb brushing once along your jaw. The touch is light, but possessive enough to make your breath catch.
“Okay well I don’t know where to start.”
Your pupils enlarge immediately. A nervous giggle slips out of you, airy and bright. You’re suddenly too excited to tell him about any of your fantasies from memory, thoughts crowding over each other so fast they tangle together.
“Mmm, what’s your favorite three positions?” he asks, genuinely curious but still trying to tease you.
The corner of his mouth lifts. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Uuum…” You look up for a second to think. “Depends what on what kind of sex I’m having.”
He doesn’t say anything back, just raises his eyebrows, wanting you to elaborate, while resting his hand on your upper thigh.
The weight of it nearly steals your train of thought.
His palm is broad and heavy through the fabric, thumb idly stroking once near the seam. Heat blooms beneath his touch, spreading inward. You glance down at his hand, then back up at him.
You look him in the eyes and exhale with a flirty grin.
“Regular ‘routine’ sex? Speedbump, missionary and spooning,” you say, trying your hardest not to release the tension building between your legs.
His expression darkens with interest, lips parting slightly as if he’s filing each word away.
“But for special occasions—”
“What’s considered a special occasion?” he interrupts.
“Date night, after a formal event, anniversary, holidays……” you look him in the eye as he nods in understanding.
“Bear hug, slope, kneeling saint,” you almost whisper, getting lost in the thoughts of him doing exactly that to you.
The names alone feel decadent leaving your mouth. His hand stills on your thigh.
“I’m gonna be so honest—don’t know none of them except bear hug baby,” he chuckles slightly.
You suck your teeth shortly. “Tyriq.”
You look at him with a straight face to try and get a real laugh out of him, but he was dead serious.
His face remains calm, brows lifted like he’s waiting for a lecture.
“Oh you’re for real?” you ask.
“Deadass,” he responds back.
You lift your legs to rest atop his thicker, longer ones and move his hand up on your hip. You want to get closer while you explain. Try and make him sweat a little bit.
The new position brings you flush against him. His body heat surrounds you immediately. Your calf brushes his shin; the muscles in his thigh tense beneath your legs. His hand spreads wider over your hip like it belongs there.
“Slope is…..kinda like missionary but instead of you laying between my legs, you’re kneeling in front of me, I’m laying knees to chest with my feet resting on your abdomen. And your hands on my knees.”
He begins to rub at your hip, staring deeply at you, taking in all that you’re saying.
It turns you on how you can tell he’s taking notes for future reference.
His gaze doesn’t waver once. Focused. Intent. Like every detail matters.
“And where are your hands?” he asks, also imagining himself inside of you like this.
His voice has dropped lower now, roughened at the edges.
“Any part of you I can reach,” you respond, trying to calm your heart to not seem too eager.
Truthfully, you wanted to skip the convo now and show him exactly how you wanted him.
“I like that one more after my second orgasm. Makes me finish fast,” you continue as your core begins to burn with desire.
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“Kneeling saint?” he asks, wanting to hear your voice say more erotic things to get his mind going again.
Your eyes travel down to his legs.
“You’re um—kneeling, behind me and I’m sitting on top of you. Facing the same way. Maybe a bicep around my neck,” you say as you lick your lips, and your gaze and soft hand finds his swollen arms.
Your fingertips skim over the firmness there, tracing the line of muscle beneath his shirt. He inhales sharply through his nose.
“You like that?” he asks.
“Yeah. I love that,” you say, finding his entranced eyes again.
Something electric passes between you in the silence after.
“And bear hug?” he finally asks.
“You said you know bear hug?” you respond.
“But I don’t know how you like it,” he replied back.
This makes both of your heartbeats flush with arousal.
If you were more into public sex, you’d have him bend you over on this balcony.
“Okay well obviously I’m on top but you gotta have a strong hold on me. Both arms squeezing me close to your chest so I can’t go anywhere. And my ear close to your mouth so I can hear everything—”
“You talk dirty?” he interrupts calmly.
“Filthy,” you say back sharply, not breaking eye contact for a second.
The moment sends shivers down his back.
He’s growing hard underneath your legs, but he’s not ashamed about it. You both knew how much this was turning him on, and he wanted you to know he desired to please you in any way you wanted him to.
His hand tightens once on your hip, almost involuntarily.
“That’s also why I like speedbump so much much. I want you in my ear.”
You pause to let your desires linger in the air.
The breeze moves around you both, carrying the scent of basil, salt, and city heat, but neither of you notices anything except the charged silence now living inches between your mouths.
“You gon wear me out! I can tell already,” he laughs, making you laugh too.
The sound of it is rich and easy, rolling out of him so naturally it pulls the same from you. His shoulders shake, eyes crinkling at the corners, dimples cutting deep into his cheeks. The city lights behind him blur for a second because all you can focus on is how handsome he looks when he laughs without restraint.
“Why would you say that oh my god,” you laugh back.
“The way your eyes just lit up? I’m gettin scared a little bit,” he laughs into your neck.
He leans forward as he says it, voice muffled against your skin, warm breath fanning over the sensitive spot below your ear. The scrape of his stubble sends a shiver racing down your spine. His nose brushes lightly along your throat as if he’s smelling your perfume, your lotion, you. It’s teasing, but intimate enough to make your thighs press together.
“Don’t be scared of me baby, I just know what makes me feel good,” you say back softly, rubbing the back of his head.
Your fingers slide into the short curls at his nape, nails grazing lightly across his scalp. He hums at the touch—low and pleased—leaning into your hand for a second before sitting back up.
He straightens to ask another question, but his eyes linger on your mouth first.
“No backshots?” he asks, surprised.
“Mm no, not for me. Not unless I’m getting bent over a surface of some kind. Like a counter or table,” you explain, sipping your maracaibo mocktail “But you like em though don’t you?” you ask, smirking.
“For special occasions,” he smirks and winks, showing his dimples.
You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself.
“Would you let me choke you?” he asks, making you giggle with joy.
The question leaves him calmer than expected, almost casual, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his expression. Like he’s trying to learn every language your body speaks.
“I’m so glad you asked that. I love teaching guys how to choke me correctly.”
“Oh there’s a wrong way?”
“Absolutely. Let me show you first and then you can try it on me,” you say softly, putting your hand around his neck.
He looks surprised that you’re going to show him on his own neck, but he enjoys this more than he wants to admit. Truthfully, he’s fantasized about you riding him while choking him. He had grown very fond of your hands, to say the least. You always wondered why he’d ask for hand jobs a lot.
That’s why.
“Okay, so here’s what you don’t do,” you say as you squeeze all of your fingers around all sides of his neck for two seconds, making him turn red a bit and let out a small cough.
“That is strangulation. That’s brain damage. That’s serious injury. That’s death,” you say seriously, easing your eyebrows to let him know you were serious.
He nods immediately, eyes wide, fully attentive now.
“In the middle here—” you say, tracing a line down the center of his neck.
Your fingertip glides over warm skin, and his throat bobs beneath your touch.
“That’s your trachea. If you squeeze that too hard, I can’t breathe. No oxygen to my brain, I’m dead.”
“And here on the sides,” you touch both sides of his large neck.
“Carotid artery. If you squeeze that too hard, no blood to my brain. I’m dead again,” you say, giggling a bit at your own dry humor.
But he doesn’t laugh.
He is fully paying attention, jaw set, eyes moving between your hand and your face to make sure he knows exactly how to please you when the time comes.
“Here’s what you do—apply very light pressure with your thumb and middle finger. Only enough to where you can feel my pulse. The rest of your fingers are just resting.”
“Okay now try on me,” you say, releasing his neck and grabbing his hand.
His palm is warm and broad inside yours. Bigger than your hand by enough to make your stomach flip.
“It’s okay, don’t be scared,” you say as you see him hesitate a bit before placing his hand around your neck.
Your chest rises and falls quickly. You try your very best not to let out a soft moan as you feel his fingers cover nearly the entire curve of your neck. His touch is cautious, almost reverent.
“Okay now squeeze,” you direct him, knowing he wouldn’t do it himself.
He stops squeezing abruptly when he feels your pulse, just like you said.
“How does that feel baby?” he asks, never looking away from your eyes.
His voice is quieter now. Rougher.
“Perfect. So good,” you respond, licking your lips.
His gaze follows the movement of your tongue.
He keeps his hand there and slowly pulls you onto his lips.
He couldn’t wait another second.
The kiss lands deep and hungry, mouths meeting with the kind of urgency that had been building all night. His lips are soft but insistent, parting yours immediately as he angles his head to taste you better. The hand at your throat loosens into a cradle, thumb resting under your jaw while he kisses you like he’s been imagining it for weeks.
A raspy groan spills from him into your mouth, vibrating against your lips.
You grip his shirt tight in your fists and kiss him back just as hard.
The fabric bunches beneath your fingers as he deepens the kiss, tongue brushing against yours in slow, intoxicating strokes. He nibbles and massages at your bottom lip the way you like, catching it gently between his teeth before soothing it with another kiss. Every pause lasts only long enough to breathe before he comes back for more.
His other hand slides over your thigh, rubbing slow circles that make your skin spark beneath your clothes. The warmth of his palm contrasts the cool night air. Your body leans into his without thinking, chasing more of him.
The world around you disappears—the traffic below, the breeze, the music inside, the food cooling untouched on the table.
There is only the taste of him, the scent of his cologne and skin, the sound of his breathing mixing with yours, the way he keeps kissing you like he has something to prove.
For you to have almost hated him at first, you sure could not wait to fuck him now.
MAYBE a cameron fic whenever i remember my password of this account again and MAYYBEEEE i’ll do a part two where they actually get into it yuhhhhh😛
I just know Terry's got the type of dick where he needs to force you to sit on it. You're just hovering over a few inches, baby so big you don't got the strength in you to willingly take him fully.
First, he'll tell you nicely "C'mon, sit on it baby. You got it. What you can't ride your dick?"
But he won't ask again. If you don't get it right after that, he's placing his hands on your hips and lowering you onto him. He'll go slow, though. Rest assured. If you're in reverse, he'll praise you in silent, wet kisses on you back.
He's a soul snatcher, I just know it. And until you've a little limp in your step the next morning? A random smile on your face everytime you think of him. He's doing it again, and again and again.
Shit, I need to lay of the wine. It's really gets me to thinking😭
-🌹
A/N: I can never write a drabble for this man, I fear 😪 But I appreciate your faith in me to deliver a little sumn 🥵
The Little Death
Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Fluff, cursing, smut, PIV, sweet and possessive Terry, oral (female receiving), teasing, dirty talk, established relationship, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.
Summary: After an incredible date night out, you can no longer stick to the six-month no sex rule you have in place. Terry makes it extremely difficult to think of anything other than him and the sexy promise in those beautiful eyes of his.
Word Count: 4,287k
AO3 Link
A/N: I may have mixed feelings on the actor, but baby, I am still over the moon for Terry. Thank you for rocking with the new way of doing things. I've been missing that man so I hope a few others have been as well. I've been busy revamping this novel so it's something I'm proud of. I swear it's coming LOL. But that's where my focus has been. This will be the last regular one-shot for a while so I can dive into my 14 series.
PSA, I no longer have a taglist for Terry fics. Please follow the side blog @lost-lovers-club and turn on all notifications. The only ones still tagged are part of my permanent list. Please don't ask to be on the permanent list just to get tagged for Terry. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.
Terry Richmond would likely be the death of you.
Not for any violent reason; the rough pads of his fingers just felt heavenly against your skin as he idly rubbed them across your neck. He sat behind you on a stool and had you tucked in front of him, so that the heat of his chest seeped through your back and warmed you in all of the right places. All of them.
A soft rock band called Infinity Song was on a small stage belting out their most popular song, Hater's Anthem. The sibling quartet had a vibrancy on stage as they danced along with the music, played instruments, and engaged back and forth with the intimate audience.
When Terry suggested that you go to a distillery for a date…yeah, you had reservations. But it surprised you with the wide open patio behind the distillery's bar that had a roof so you weren't getting burnt by the setting sun, a food truck that made the most delicious pizza you'd ever had outside of Italy itself, and plenty of wooden benches, tables, and stools to linger around. Plus, the smell from the grains used to make the whiskey was absolutely divine and you wished you had a candle to capture it. The music had a folksy, almost R&B kind of feel that made you sway your shoulders.
The middle of the floor was kept open for people who wanted to dance and there were plenty of couples both young and old who took advantage. There was an older Black couple on the floor dancing, the man twirling his wife around. His wife had the biggest grin across her face, instantly making her look like she was in her twenties again. The husband only had eyes for her and you had to blink away some unexpected tears.
"You want another drink?" Even sitting down, Terry was a massive giant. His lips pressed against the top of your ear so as he spoke his lips tickled you. His breath fanned across your neck and you suppressed a shiver.
"Yes, please," you said.
"Another Sweet Potato?" He asked. You nodded so he collected the empty glasses on the small, square table and walked towards the bar. He wore light wash denim jeans, a long sleeve white thermal, and thick heavy boots. His gold chain rested on the inside of his shirt, but every now and then, it caught the light and sparkled against his almond colored skin. The bar was located inside the distillery, so he bent to clear the door and then disappeared inside.
You finally had time to breathe and collect yourself. It had been six, long months of not going further than second base. That was your decision and Terry had been nothing but a gentleman, willing to go at your own pace. You started the six month standard because these men out here were absolute dogs.
You'd never met a consistent liar who could be patient for six months and abstain from sex. If you were going to invite someone into your bed, they better have the personality to match the bass in their tone. And so far…Terry most definitely matched it. He was funny with his dry humor, sexy as sin, and was nothing but a gentle giant. Those stormy eyes and secret smirk of his promised there was a whole other side to him you weren't familiar with and you were excited to see where that took you.
But he also frightened the absolute hell out of you. Terry walked like it was heavy with big steps and a slow gait. More than a few times, you felt that monster brush up against your hand while making out or against your ass when he stood behind you. And that was him at rest. You'd never taken someone as big as him and quite frankly, you didn't know what to do with all of that.
You had better learn quick though, because you didn't know how much longer you could hold out. Terry exited the bar with two glasses and he smiled as he walked back to you. Every time you saw him, however brief the absence, he took your damn breath away. He was letting his hair grow out, so he had a neat crop of curls that made your belly flip. He handed the glass to you and you took a sip, letting the whiskey cocktail work its magic. It had a toasted marshmallow as a garnish and you took bites as you sipped the drink.
Terry returned to his seat behind you, tucking you back into his chest. One hand wrapped around your waist possessively, while the other wrapped around his own drink. You weren't typically a whiskey girlie, especially the high proof ones Terry preferred, but this had been one of the best dates you'd ever went on.
"So what did you think about my band?" Terry asked.
"Not bad, not bad," you had to turn to the side just to be heard over the music. Your shirt rode up, exposing your back. Terry adjusted your shirt without prompting, pulling it down to protect your modesty. Your heart and pussy melted even further.
One of the female members, Momo, wore a sparkly blue dress that caught the light from the bulbs around the sign proclaiming them as the headliner for the night. She was in the middle of a solo song, so it was easier to talk, but only just.
"I see why you like them. They have a vibe," you continued.
Terry nodded. "A friend introduced me to them after her wife put her on. I figured you'd like them."
"Oh, you know me like that, huh?" You asked. You grinned at him and he playfully narrowed his eyes.
"I know a lot about you," he said quietly and from the look in his eyes, you wondered just how much he knew. As if he could read your mind, his thumb absently caressed your hip.
"Yeah? Like what?" You asked.
Terry only responded with a smirk. The bastard. He took a sip of his drink and his fingers wrapped around the glass in a way that made it look tiny. His lips wrapped around the edge and you watched, mesmerized, as his throat worked to take a quick sip.
The song ended and everyone began to clap and cheer, pulling you from eye-fucking the man. The oldest band member, Abraham, started talking to the crowd, saying they were going to play one more and then end the night. He thanked everyone for coming out, sounding like he was sixty-seven with his mannerisms and proper way of speaking.
"Dance with me," Terry said.
You turned back to him and nodded. Maybe that was what you needed. Because after sitting and drinking, you were warm and fuzzy all over forgetting why you had the rule in place. You needed some movement, somewhere for all the pent-up energy to go.
Terry stood and held out his hand for you. Other couples had the same idea, getting onto the dance floor as well. You took his hand and let him lead you to a spot and then he drew you closer, pulling you by the waist so that there wasn't an inch of space left to the imagination.
Terry drew you into him and you fit like the last piece of the puzzle. He was able to hold you and make you feel wholly engulfed in him even though your hand was on his shoulder and not round his neck or he had to bend slightly to hold you. He didn't complain, didn't show an ounce of it bothering him, as he carefully maneuvered you around the other dancers flailing their partner around.
Terry's thumb rubbed circles into your back and you kind of regretted the thick, ribbed, mustard colored shirt. You felt his thumb, but you wanted to feel it skin to skin. You shook that errant thought away.
"You are so damn beautiful," Terry said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest and vibrated against yours.
You dipped your head so he wouldn't see the bashful grin on your face. "You are very good for the ego, Mr. Richmond," you giggled. "Thank you."
Terry chuckled, spun you away from him, spun you back, and dipped you slightly. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" You couldn't help but ask. This man was impossible.
Terry righted you and smirked. "Doing what?" He asked, picture of innocence.
"This…you…" You couldn't bring yourself to name it because he had it. He had a presence most people didn't. Intense but not stiff, confident without being cocky, or secure without throwing his weight around. It was honestly a miracle no one had snatched him up by now.
Hell, you were doing the same thing in a way. Keeping him at arm's length because there was no way someone like him could exist. He wasn't perfect, not by a long shot. He had a few habits that bothered you but not enough to kick him to the curb. He was a terrible dancer with any song faster than a slow dance, drank whiskey that could choke a horse, and was an early riser.
None of that lessened the impact he had on you whenever you got around him. Like all of those minor annoyances faded to the background the minute he smirked or joked. And when he gave you a full, unobstructed view of that grin…it fueled plenty of fantasies over the weeks.
It doesn't have to be a fantasy.
Terry spun you again, waiting for your response. But the only thoughts on your mind right now…was filthy and disgusting and you were tired of fighting it. You gave up, gave in, and surrendered.
When you were back against his chest, you looked him in the eye and grinned. "Take me back to your place?" You asked.
His eyebrows shot up in the most adorable way but he recovered enough with a grin. "Are you sure? There's no pressure," he said.
You pressed closer to him, your boobs resting against his chest. "I want you," you said with a low, sultry tone. It'd been long enough. You were God's strongest soldier for six months and now you were beyond denying yourself what was clearly a fun ride. You'd just have to communicate that he had to go extremely slow. Otherwise he'd split you open and you didn't want to explain that to EMT's.
Terry's eyes dipped from your titties and then to your face. Without hesitation, he grabbed your hand and dragged you off of the dance floor. Your giggles were impossible to stop as he grabbed your jacket and helped you into it. He chuckled with you, the both of you acting like you were teenagers off to do something naughty.
Terry pushed the boundaries of speeding as he drove to his place, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh. The casual way he showed his possession was one of the first things that made you fall for the man. Consent was always sexy, but sometimes you wanted to feel wanted. And he made you feel wanted each and every time you were around him.
Terry pulled into his driveway, outside of a modest one story brick house with white trimmings and a black roof. You'd been here plenty of times before over the months you'd started dating, but now practically felt like the first time.
Terry hopped out, coming round to your side to help you out of his colossal truck. Once out, it took no time at all for him to open his door and let you inside. He flipped on a few lights to illuminate the way, but once the door was closed, his lips descended upon yours.
You kissed him back, no longer restricting yourself. No longer holding yourself back. You gave yourself permission to enjoy the way his soft lips crashed to yours, as if should he stop, even for a second, you'd disappear. Your hands wrapped around his shoulders, digging your nails in.
His knee pushed your thighs apart and then he rested it against your pussy, giving you much needed pressure but it wasn't enough for any true relief. His hands grabbed and squeezed your ass, sitting you more fully on his knee. You moaned into his mouth, the whiskey on your tongue dancing with his.
Your brain needed more oxygen so you were forced to break apart to get more air into your lungs. Terry's hands went wandering, unbuttoning your shirt to reveal your brown lacy bra beneath it.
He groaned as he looked his fill. He cupped your breasts, kneading the soft flesh, and ran his thumbs across your nipples.
"Fuuuuck," you moaned.
"So fuckin' beautiful," he murmured.
The alcohol plus his comments made your cheeks turn flaming hot. Sweat beaded against your temple and your rational side fought with your irrational side. You needed to slow down, needed to get a few ground rules out of the way. But your body wanted more, more, more. Your hips canted against his knee, seeking a type of relief that only comes with either his mouth, fingers, or dick.
His juicy big lips returned to yours and he sucked on your bottom lip. You felt the answering tug in your pussy, your clit throbbing for some attention as well.
"Terry, wait," you whispered, so out of breath you were light headed.
Terry immediately stilled, his hands around your waist and he pulled back to look at you. "Talk to me," he said.
You giggled at the seriousness but he was only turning you on more. "I, uh, I should," you started but took a deep breath and started over. "I very much want to have sex with you. But I think we should go slow. You know how big your dick is, right?"
Terry chuckled, closing his eyes to laugh with his full body. He shook in your arms and you couldn't help but join in. When he sobered, he gave you a serious look. "We can go as slow as you want, I promise."
You nodded but you weren't that convinced. After all, that monster pushed against the fabric of his jeans and it looked painful. Something on your face must've given away your thoughts, because Terry retreated.
"Wait, no!" You said.
Terry chuckled and stepped closer once more. The heat of his skin was a balm to your racing heart. The woodsy scent of his soap wrapped around you until that was the only thing you could smell. One of his hands came up to cup your face. His thumb traced a pattern against your jaw and he gave you a kiss so damn tender, you gasped. "We have plenty of time to explore all of the ungodly things I want to do to you. But tonight, we'll take it as slow as you want. Deal?"
"Deal," you said with a grin.
He stepped back so he could untie his boots. You did the same, kicking off your shoes and taking off your jacket. Your shirt hung loose from when he opened it, so you let that fall to the floor as well.
Terry grabbed your hand and led you further into the house, bypassing a cozy living room with the bare essentials and dark, wooden tables and a leather sofa. His kitchen was just as clean, not a fork or cup out of place. At the end of the hallway, Terry turned on the light to his bedroom, dimming it to make it more intimate.
The curtains were drawn and his king-sized bed still looked too small for his big ass. The carpet underneath muffled your footfalls as you joined him at the foot of the bed, reaching for each other at the same time to peel off your clothes.
His shirt went first, his gold chain swinging and then settling back against his broad chest. He had a light smattering of hair dusted around and you greedily ran your hands all over him. He did the same, his hands never lingering anywhere long as if he didn't know where to start.
He opted for your jeans, unbuttoning them and stripping it and your panties in one fell swoop. You stepped out of it, taking your socks off as well. You helped Terry with his pants, giggling as you fought with the button.
"It's a little tricky," he said.
"I can handle a button," you said, tugging the damn thing free and sliding the zipper down. He hissed as your fingers brushed his erection through his boxer briefs, his long eye-lashes fanning across his cheeks as his eyes narrowed with unfiltered lust.
Fully naked, Terry backed you into the bed. Once the back of your legs hit the edge, he pushed you onto it and encouraged you to bare yourself to him. He kept his hands on your knees, looking at the very core of you.
"Terry," you squirmed from his scrutiny.
"You are so damn gorgeous," he said, looking at you like you just presented him with the best gift ever. Yup, this man would be the death of you.
"You're so fuckin' hot, it hurts," you confessed.
Terry gave you a sexy grin and then knelt on the ground. He wrapped his arms beneath your legs and then yanked until your ass half hung off the bed. Without preamble, his lips suckled your clit into his mouth and you screamed from the pressure.
Terry suckled, licked, and kissed on your pussy until his mouth was coated with your juices. Your body flailed on the bed, gripping the berry colored comforter with everything you had. Your nails dragged against the fabric as your body tried to process Terry's wicked machinations.
"Oue shit, oue shit," you moaned, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. His popcorn ceiling winked in and out of view, your mind caught between the physical plane and somewhere else entirely. Somewhere of Terry's own making because all you could hear was him moaning. All you could feel was his tongue lapping up your juices like a man starved. The scent of your essence filled the room quickly; Terry turning you on so much that you'd explode right there on the spot.
One hand kept you open for him while his other arm jerked. You had enough strength to peek and found his arm jerking furiously. You moaned and went off like a firework, building and building, until your body broke apart in a shower of sparks and light and colors.
Terry didn't slow. He kept going, tasting one orgasm with a lick of his lips and a curse and then wrung another one right behind it. "Shiiiiiit," you moaned, your thighs squeezing his head. You didn't mean to, but fuck, you couldn't help yourself. It felt too good. Too amazing. So damn good you feared you died somewhere in the middle of it and his tongue brought you back.
Terry moved both his hands to open you wider while he drowned in your pussy. Your legs shook from being too sensitive. You slapped at his head and whined. He chuckled and then moved to nibble and kiss your thighs.
"I want you to ride me. You can control the pace," he whispered against your slick thighs.
"Can't. Too dead," you panted for air.
Terry chuckled. He nipped your thigh and you jerked, ending it with a giggle. He chuckled again while he stood up. "Dead folk don't giggle."
You groaned but it was time to put your money where your mouth was. You got to your elbows and examined every delicious inch of him. His body was well-honed and chiseled from many hours spent in the gym or hiking. Corded muscle flexed with every movement he made. His dick swung heavily, tapping lightly against his thigh.
You lied. You were not prepared for how big he was. The pants he's worn around you must've been designed to hide it, because there was no way this was the same dick you felt up on earlier.
"You better stop lookin' at me like that," he said with a smirk. He turned to approach his nightstand, pulling out lube and a condom.
"Or what?" You taunted, getting onto your knees to walk across the bed to him. He sighed as you ran your hands over his shoulders, his back, and down his bubble ass. You gripped him tight and he chuckled.
"Or I'ma put you through this mattress," he said. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he turned away to uncap the lube.
"I'm on the pill," you said and kissed his back.
He stilled. "Don't play with me right now." His voice took on a darker, raspier tone that made you shiver.
"I want you. No barriers. If you're comfortable," you said. You waited long enough. You just wanted to feel him in every way you could. Anyone else, you'd tell them to double wrap it. But Terry could have you ten ways from Sunday and you were done denying yourself that.
Terry growled low in his throat. He turned and gave you a scorching kiss, hot enough to make your skin bead with sweat. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself in the middle. He pulled you until you climbed on top of him, reverse cow girl, popping your ass in his face.
He chuckled and gave you a few quick smacks. You moaned while he grabbed the lube and rubbed his dick with it. "We go at your pace, okay?"
"Yes, sir," you said.
"Fuck me, you're perfect," he said. He helped guide you until he was lined up. Then he let you take over as you slowly took him in.
It burned deliciously but it did burn from the stretch. How the hell did women bounce on big dicks like their favorite trampoline? His tip was barely inside you and you were ready to call it quits.
"Nice and slow. There's no rush. Take your time, baby," he encouraged as you slipped further and further down. You leaned up and then slid back down on it, finding a nice, slow rhythm.
He hummed and groaned, digging his thumbs into your back. "Ouue shit," you moaned. Between his fingers and his dick, fuck cloud nine. You were on cloud five hundred.
He gave you wet kisses to your back while you rode him but you couldn't manage to fit all of him inside. It was already too much. He filled you completely, dick throbbing deep inside. You felt every last veiny inch of him sliding against your slick inner walls.
"Sit on it," he demanded.
You shook your head, though he couldn't see your face.
"No fuckin' way," you sighed with a giggle.
Terry chuckled. He gripped your arms and pulled you backwards, opening you in a way that you were able to fit more of him inside. He leaned forward and then trapped your arms when he brought his hands around to cup your breasts and squeeze your nipples.
"Oh fuck," you moaned, your pussy clenching around the length of him.
"Sit your pretty ass on this dick. To the base," he commanded, his deep voice working a spell on you.
"I can't," you whispered. You were too afraid, too nervous to take him fully. You didn't know why. Or perhaps you did and you just didn't want to face the truth. This man was going to ruin you for all others.
He already has.
You whined, but you worked with him, trying to work more of him inside. He retreated so that he could apply more lube, the sweet, sweet man making sure that you were comfortable. Then, he slammed you down in one rough thrust that immediately made you scream, curse, and go cross eyed as another orgasm tore through you. Your nails raked his thighs as the overwhelming pleasure was a little too much. Nothing made sense; you're pretty sure you could taste colors, as Terry fucked you through it.
Nonsense poured from his lips as you took him to the base. The pace was still lazy and slow, but he made you feel it all. He thrust a few more times.
"I'm finna bust," he groaned low in the back of his throat.
He bit your shoulder, fingers pinching your nipples to bring delectable pain, as he finally bust. His hot cum flooded you, gushing out, causing you to smack lewdly against his pelvis. He groaned and jerked, his dick throbbing a steady beat.
"Fuuck," you whined. You couldn't describe how otherwordly it felt while he emptied himself, but it was over too soon as he panted against your damp skin.
"You're fuckin' perfect," he said. He turned your chin so that he could kiss you. It was an awkward angle, but you were already greedy for more. He nibbled on your lower lip before he pulled away to nuzzle your neck.
"Wanna get cleaned up?" He asked.
You already felt him throb once more, his erection was only half mast but seemed to be rising. You chuckled and looked back at him. "You are so damn nasty," you said with a wide grin.
"I can be worse," he promised.
You had no doubt in your mind that he could be. It didn't stop you from following him into the shower where you got all kinds of dirty before you could get cleaned up again.
Yup, Terry Richmond would be the death of you. And that didn't matter one bit to you.
The end.
Thank you so much for reading. There's so much more!
“ i got more than a thing for you, tattoo with the ink for you
right over my heart girl i’ll do the unthinkable. ”
PAIRING brothers bestfriend!tyriq withers x black fem!reader
IN WHICH, you and your brother’s funny, down to earth best friend have secretly been dating for a few months, and he finally works up the courage to make it official.
CASSETTE Unthinkable - Alicia Keys & Drake
¡WARNINGS! cuteness overload
A/N short & sweet! didn’t do really any editing to this, been sitting on the idea for a while and it turned out so much better than i imagined 😭💞 ugh i love love
you land light as a feather.
wide smile, limbs on fire, chest rising and falling quickly as you hold your final pose beneath the stage light that beams down on your mark.
exuberant cheering erupts and the constant blaring of the air horn you warned your family not to bring echoes off of the theater's walls. you lower yourself into a graceful bow, a cascade of flowers being tossed at your feet
you've danced this routine a million times, but tonight feels different. tonight you're finally being rewarded for all of your hard work. the long hours, early mornings. your skin hums with joy and fulfillment, you couldn't be happier.
after exiting the stage you make your way back to the shared dressing room, sending warm smiles and thanks to everyone who congratulates you on your performance in passing.
"there she is! ohhh i'm so proud of you, baby girl!" your mother darts toward you first with tear-filled eyes, taking you into her arms tightly despite the huge bundle of roses she's holding
and then your dad "you did amazing up there sweetheart. your mama hasn't stopped crying since you stepped on that stage" he chuckles some
"thank you mommy and daddy," you smile sheepishly as you take the flowers from her grasp, and then you narrow your eyes at them, "now what did i tell y'all about that horn?!"
they immediately begin placing blame, pointing and talking over each other which earns a giggle from you.
your older brother isn't too far behind, and your stomach flutters at the sight of his longtime friend tyriq beside him. both smiling wide, arms outstretched.
you were under the impression that he couldn't make it tonight due to filming late but alas, here he is. holding a bouquet of lilies (your favorite) and a small box of your favorite chocolates.
"aw, y'all came!" you beam, hugging them both
"duh" your brother says through a chuckle "proud of you, big head" he playfully nudges your head upon release, placing the lei decorated with bills and candy around your neck
you lean into tyriq next
fingers curling into the leather of his jacket, trying to stay in his embrace as long as you can with everyone watching
"you did so good, mama" his velvety voice muffled into your shoulder, low enough that it only reaches you "congratulations"
he thumbs a gentle circle into your waist through the fabric of your forma wrap as he retracts, eyes lingering longer than they should, full of words that have to go unspoken for the time being. you turn your head to hide the blush
"thank you guys, i didn't think you would make it" you say pointedly, mostly to tyriq, "well yeah that's why it's called a 'surprise'" your brother jokes and you suck your teeth before hitting him over the head with the bouquet "shut up, dummy" the three of you laugh amongst each other, just like old times.
meanwhile, tyriq's eyes don't leave you for a second and neither does his wide smile.
he's beyond proud of you. he knows firsthand how hard you've been working, picked you up when you were down, spoke life into you when you were so close to giving up.
and then to see you twirling and dancing so elegantly across the stage like you owned it, looking as enchanting as ever in the baby pink set that compliments your brown skin perfectly.
it makes his heart beat even more for you.
and he knows it's time to do something about it.
you're laid sprawled out on the futon that sits in the corner of your room, scrolling mindlessly on tiktok when a text slides into the screen.
ty 🫶🏾
are u busy?
you
i am not
ty 🫶🏾
come down please?
you peek outside of the sheer curtains on your bedroom window, humming to yourself, watching him climb out of the drivers side of the platinum grey jetta s fumbling with something that looks like a ribbon
you meet him downstairs as he asked, eyes narrowed with curiosity as he inches toward you with his hands behind his back and a playful grin on his face
"you trust me?"
"boy where are you taking me ?" you say through a mouthful of giggles, holding your hands out in front of you, feeling around for any signs that you may need to brace yourself "i'm gonna be so mad if i fall, ty"
"relax, it's okay, i got you" he chuckles warmly, "we almost there i promise" the grip he has on your shoulders tightens a bit
you shuffle a few more steps and he finally removes the cloth from its place over your eyes,
you're met with the most beautiful view.
the ocean in front of you, the sunset stretched across the sky in the prettiest shades of yellow and pink, and then you see a blanket laid out with a spread of finger foods, neatly wrapped gift boxes, flowers and tiny easels with paint waiting
you gasp, eyes widened at the sight
"oh my gosh, tyriq, are you serious?! i-i don't even know what to say" you breathe out, "this is beautiful" you laugh, stunned at the thought he's put into the display. the sound of the waves lapping at the shore mere feet away calms the nerves that begin to swell
you turn a bit to look up at him, and of course he's already staring down at you, that beautiful dimpled smile and perfect teeth, with nothing but stars in his blue eyes
"i know how crazy the last few months been, and i know that we gotta be .. careful" he says quietly, "but i wanna celebrate you. no sneaking, no hiding. just us." he takes a hold of your hand "you deserve it"
your lip trembles at the words, eyes glossy
of all the guys that have courted you, he's the only one who has ever made you feel this way. so wanted. like you're the only girl in the world. even with all of the complications that come with it
"tyriq," you pout "i can't believe you did all of this" you say, still breathless "you better believe it boo" he says in a mock woman's voice with a snap of his fingers and you burst into a laughing fit "you're so annoying!" he joins in as well, pulling you by your arms into his embrace, swaying as he holds you "nah but for real, it's nobody else i'd want to do this with" he rests his chin on your head
nothing but the sounds of the beach cuts through the silence that’s fallen over the two of you. you just stand here, holding eachother, not wanting to let go because you know moments like this have been scarce.
but after a while, the both of you retract
"now come on so i can kick your ass at this painting game" he plants a kiss on your cheek and intertwines your fingers with his, you scoff playfully, following his lead to the blanket
warmness courses through your body and a seemingly permanent smile graces your face.
to see how far things have come since the day that started everything, the day your date stood you up outside of the movie theater and you just so happened to run into tyriq who sat in with you instead, it makes you feel like you’re doing something right.
your brother will just have to understand.
everything was amazing. he snapped pictures with his polaroid as you went through the gifts, capturing your reaction to each one, and by the time you were done opening all of them your cheeks were stained with tears.
now, the both of you are heading to the pier in a comfortable silence, enjoying the scenery. he has an arm draped over your shoulder
and then your eyebrows furrow once you notice that you’re not heading to the pier at all, you’re in the parking lot
“i thought we were going to the pier?” you look up at him, confusion all over your face. “i gotta grab something from the car real quick” he says casually, smirking
you narrow your eyes at him, “you’re acting weird.” you stifle a laugh “me? never” he chuckles too
once you inch closer to the car he releases the hold he has on you and hurriedly retrieves his keys from his pocket before jogging ahead and swinging the passenger door open
“ladies first.” he motions to the seat, and when you lean in—
you freeze.
there’s a small sign sitting on the seat, along with a bouquet of pink roses. your heart beats faster with each word
“Can I Be Your Boyfriend ‘Perchance’?”
a laugh that turns into a gasp explodes from your mouth, your eyes softening and a hand flies to your heart as if to slow its pace
“no way” you say breathlessly, turning to look at him. his hands find his pockets, a sheepish grin on his face “we’ve been sneaking around for a while, and i know how complicated this— he gestures back and forth between you “is, but being with you is so easy. you mean so much to me, girl, and it scares me to feel this way, to know that it’s no going back, but i’m tired of not being able to call you mine. ”
you’re smiling so wide it almost hurts.
“you did all of this today to ask me, tyriq?” he steps around the door toward you, eyes never leaving yours “i couldn’t half step. not with you”
you don’t respond, just bring him in by the strings of his hoodie, planting a kiss on his lips
“soo..is that a yes?” he asks with a laugh “yes, tyriq” you laugh too “you can be my boyfriend”
“Want to touch you, need to,” Cam begs.
“You need to?” You tease, poking at his chest.
He hates just how good it sounds coming from your beautiful lips.
“Just... wanna hold you, fuck—”
His arms strain against the makeshift ropes. He’s pent up and tired and all kinds of pissed off and you love it.
“Aww, are you mad, Cam?”
“Damn right I'm mad,” he growls at you. His whole body feels sensitive, like one movement from you would send the house of cards that was his current state of mind crashing down.
Or
You take control for once.
A/N: A little smut because I haven't posted any in ages, plus I hardly have any solo Cam fics. Title from Lust by Shreea Kaul, très good song 🙂↕️
***
“Patience.”
“You’re not exactly making it easy.”
You're on top of him, warming his cock like you have been for the past thirty minutes. Cam was starting to lose it.
“You have no idea what I want to do to you.”
“I have a pretty good idea,” you smirk, leaning down to nibble at his ear. Even the smallest touch had him arching up into you.
To have you looking like a dream, wearing nothing but one of his jerseys, but not being able to do a thing about it.
Watching as you ignored him half the time, like a complete brat.
You even took a phone call while on his dick.
“Tonight?” you said into the phone, running your hands over his broad shoulders as if testing their strength.
He watched you, giving you his undivided attention.
“No way! Tell me everything,” you gawked and proceeded to listen to their story for a full ten minutes.
Ten minutes of pure torture.
Ten minutes of you rocking your hips every time you felt him start to get comfortable, like you were testing his willpower.
You were temptation in human form.
He'd find himself getting close wherever he saw you smirk at him struggling to keep quiet.
There were a few times when he was less than quiet and your friend on the phone noticed something but you brushed it off with a quick, “It's just the TV. I'll tell Cam to turn it down.”
He swears if his arms weren't sore from training he'd have ripped the headboard clean off if he could’ve. After your little phone call, you didn't give him a reprieve.
Not one second.
You kept only moving just enough to get him riled up just to stop from after.
“Want to touch you, need to,” Cam begs.
“You need to?” You tease, poking at his chest.
He hates just how good it sounds coming from your beautiful lips.
“Just... wanna hold you, fuck—”
His arms strain against the makeshift ropes. He’s pent up and tired and all kinds of pissed off and you love it.
“Aww, are you mad, Cam?”
“Damn right I'm mad,” he growls at you. His whole body feels sensitive, like one movement from you would send the house of cards that was his current state of mind crashing down.
“Let someone else lead for once, QB,” you muse before suddenly starting to roll your hips. It's damn near hypnotic.
His lips part as he exhales a shaky breath, eyes screwed up as you continue to ride the sense out of him. He doesn't know if this is his saving grace or if you've just condemned him.
“Please…” he begs, sounding more desperate than he ever has. A little more and you think you might make him cry.
“Please? Well, aren't you such a gentleman, hm?"
Your hands travel up and down his body, down his pecs, over his abs, each touch like electricity.
An evil little smirk finds its way onto your face, having him at your mercy was like nothing else. It's almost too good, watching him shake and plead with those pretty eyes of his.
“Stop playing around…”
Hearing his words, you slow your pace down, cupping his face.
“When I finally give it to you the way you want it, you're going to be so grateful. There's beauty in waiting, Cam.”
Despite his discipline, the waiting feels more like madness than anything else, but he trusts you to give him what he needs.
He turns his head to kiss your wrist, whispering, “So grateful,” right against your pulse point.
“That's my Cam,” you coo.
He forgets his arms are tied up and straining against the rope again. If his hands were free…
The thought repeats in his head over and over as he longs to hold you tight, feel your curves under his palms. Paint a picture with your fingers that would make you shake and cry, just like you were doing to him right now.
But he couldn't have that yet. He had to endure, he had to be—
“So good for me,” you praise, lips painting his face in kisses. You knew he needed to hear it, needed to know that it was all worth it.
You feel him twitch inside of you, begging for release wordlessly.
He throws his head back as you move faster, the feeling almost too much for him to bear. But he would anyway, because more than anything, more than that burning need of release was his need to please you.
𝐀/𝐍 ➳ I’m back and I will never abandon this app ever again. Life was AWFUL when I stopped writing lmao.
𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 or I’ll whoop your ass
𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄 (riding/cowgirl)
Absolutely loves it when you ride him. He needs you on top of him at all times so he can stare at your tits all night. Only downside about this position is that he NEVER lasts long. How could he when he’s got the chance to swirl your nipples in his mouth.
PACE ➳ He always makes sure that you ride him nice and slow. Nothing too crazy because he doesn’t want to cum too fast. Your tight walls clenching around him as you slowly move up and down. The way you clench extra hard when you reach the tip because you know it makes him shiver.
BONUS ➳ he HAS to nut in you because of his breeding kink. He just wants to prepare you for the future incase y’all decide to have kids.
𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 (backshots + pronebone + anything that’ll get him to see that ass)
He’s sick and tired of all the attitude you give him while he’s on the job, so he’ll definitely make sure you pay for that shit later. He’ll let it slide, making you think you’ve gotten away with your bratty attitude earlier. But later in the night, he’ll get you when you least expect it. He’ll pin you down on your stomach and force you not to move. This man will talk you through it ALL.
PACE ➳ Fast strokes cause he just can’t help himself. It drives him crazy knowing that he can’t fuck you while he’s on the job.
He’ll also put you in a headlock, forcing you to apologize after talking shit all damn day. Makes it his sole mission to make you cum at least three times. The night ain’t over unless he gets what he wants…
Lastly, he will never NOT cum in you. At the end of the day, he needs to know that you belong to him and ONLY him.
BONUS ➳ On the days that it’s too risky to fuck, then he’ll make you get on your knees and give him head. Ropes of spit dripping down your chest as he fucks your mouth. Pushes your head down and makes you swallow all of his nut without spitting that shit out. He just wants to fix that smart ass mouth you got.
𝐓𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 (missionary)
That goofy persona of his disappears the second he gets you in bed. He needs to kiss you as he gets deeper inside of you. This is his favorite position because he gets the chance to kiss you all over the place. Neck kisses, cheek kisses, jaw kisses, hand wrapped around your throat, etc. The sound of your moans turn him on so fucking much he just can’t get enough of you.
PACE ➳ moderate. Not too hard or fast. Slow enough to where y’all can both see it go in and out.
BONUS ➳ if he’s feeling bold enough, then he’ll put your legs on his shoulders and dig into you. He’ll rock his hips up and down to hit your sweet spot. Or if he’s feeling REALLY bold then he’ll press his hand on your lower stomach and fuck you til your gushing all over him.
𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 (spooning)
He’s a big softie so he doesn’t want to do anything that could hurt you. Rubs your clit with soft, tiny circles as he’s digging in you from the side. Squeezes the FUCK out of your titties. Got his hand on your throat as he kisses your neck too.
PACE ➳ DANGEROUSLY slow strokes that got you begging for him. Chokes you even harder when he’s ready to go faster.
𝐀𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐍 (backshots)
Loves seeing that ass jiggle as he fucks you. Pushes you down into the bed to fuck you even harder. He ain’t done unless he got you screaming and shaking. Makes it his sole mission to make sure you can’t walk after this. Your raspy moans and get louder as he thrusts deeper inside you.
PACE ➳ a rough but steady rhythm. Keeps his grip extra tight on your hips to make sure you ain’t going nowhere.
BONUS ➳ He’ll certainly make you work for your nut. He’ll force you to throw that ass back on him when he knows you’re desperate to cum.
Can you please write an angsty (with a happy ending) AJ fic
hiiii nonny 🥰 hopefully you not too mad with me lol this isn't the happiest ending but it's.........cordial at least lol 😅
who knows what the future holds 👀
hope you enjoy! xx
lost one: anthony joshua x black!fem reader
summary: what happens when you love someone but loving them just isn't enough?
warnings: none? its a little angsty though. not the happiest ending but its a reconciliation.
a/n: be gentle with me lol this is my first long fic + first angsty fic. maybe angst adjacent 🧐
The invite had been sitting on your coffee table for a week. Crrip white envelope with your name across the front in beautiful script. You passed it by everyday for a week leading up to tonight. You wanted to stay at home and crawl into bed, wanting to forget about that chapter of your life. You loved what the gala stood for just hated having to work the room.
That was usually Anthony’s strong suit.
You look at yourself in the floor length mirror tucked in the corner of your room taking in your full appearance. Hair pulled up into a messy updo, a few curly tendrils framing your face softly. Brown skin glowing under the low lights of your room due to the shimmering body oil you used after your shower. A simple black floor length gown is what you opted to wear this evening; sweetheart neckline with a corset like waistline that pulls you in just enough before giving way to your hips. The fabric follows your soft curves before falling into a dangerously high slit, the fabric parting with each step you take.
Your doorbell ringing interrupts your thoughts, right on time. You gather a few more things, throwing them into your clutch, and make your way down. As you open the door, he pauses, taking you in. “You look beautiful tonight,” he says, backing up, giving you space to pass. Your face warms, “Thanks.” You say softly as his hand settles at the small of your back on the short walk back to his car.
Once you are both settled in, he looks over at you, “Ready?”
“As ready as I’m gonna be.” You say with a small chuckle.
The ride to the gala was smooth; easy conversation flowed between the two of you. Making you realize how much you missed the small intimate moments shared between two people. Him just asking about your week and actually listening lands deep for you. It shouldn’t, but it does.
The car slows to a stop in front of the venue for tonight; he’s out speaking to the valet before your door opens good enough. He rounds the car to meet you, again letting his hand settle at the small of your back as you both move towards the controlled chaos of the event. Once inside, the low hum of music and conversations add to the feeling of it all. It’s familiar to say the least.
“We can leave whenever you want, you know.” He says easily, glancing over at you.
“I know,” you start, grinning softly. “I promise, I’m ok.”
Together, you move further into the room, stopping briefly to take two glasses of champagne from a passing server. He hands you one without asking. Finding a quiet corner to settle into away from the hustle and bustle of people, continuing the conversation from the ride over.
He puts the champagne flute down in the middle of the table after finishing it. “I’m going to get something stronger from the bar.”
You laugh, “Already? The night just started.”
He gives a quick shrug, “Want something?”
“Another glass of champagne, please. Thank you.” You say, a small smile gracing your lips.
“Of course.” He says, walking toward the bar.
A few moments after your date left, you pulled out your phone. Sent a few text messages, checked some emails, then tucked it back into your clutch. Your eyes scanned the room out of habit, and that’s when you saw him. In all of his 6’6 glory, tuxedo tailored to perfection, head thrown back in one of his signature laughs. Your ex.
Anthony.
But that isn’t what made you pause. It's who he was talking to that made you do a double-take.
“Just my fuckin’ luck.” You mutter.
You figure it’s best to go ahead and rip the band aid off, instead of dodging him the entire night. You take a deep breath, holding your head high as you start toward both men. As you got closer you caught the tail end of the conversation between the two men, your date praising Anthony about his last fight with Jake Paul.
“I didn't know that I was with a fan.” You say voice teasing as you step into the open space between both men.
“You didn’t ask.” A sheepish laugh escapes your date.
“I guess it didn't come up either.” You hum softly, taking the glass of champagne off the bar.
Bringing the glass to your lips, you take a quick sip of the pale colored liquid. You glance over at Anthony, giving him a subtle head nod. “Anthony.” you say curtly. His eyes meet yours, offering that same nod back to you while saying your name.
There’s a shift between the three of you, but before it becomes any more awkward than it already is, your date breaks the silence with a small laugh. "Wait—” Your date’s eyebrows pinch together. “...this is the Anthony you were talking about?”
“Yeah, that’s him.” You say, taking another sip of the champagne wishing that this moment would end already. You feel Anthony’s eyes on you, and you refuse to look in his direction. You knew you downplayed him and the history between the two of you. He nods, as if that answers enough before clearing his throat, “If you’ll excuse me. Enjoy your night.”
A moment passes between you and him. His eyes look past you in the direction that Anthony disappeared, then back at you.
He exhales softly, thumb brushing against his jaw. “I’d be doing us a disservice. You know that right?” He asks softly.
Your brows knit together. “It’s not—"
“Maybe it’s not,” He cuts in gently. “Maybe I’m reading too much into this. But something is there.” A moment passes between the two of you as he continues. “I’d rather step back now than pretend that I don’t see it...even if you don’t want to.” His voice softer.
“Take a moment, I’ll be around. And when you’re ready to go, just let me know.” A small, polite smile forms on his face before he steps away blending back into the crowd.
You find yourself in the nearest ladies’ room; once the door shuts behind you, you take a moment to center your thoughts; they've been running rampant since you came here. Closing your eyes, you take a few deep breaths just to regroup. You look at your reflection in the mirror—despite how beautiful you look this evening, your eyes tell on you. The sadness and whirlwind of unsaid feelings settle in your brown orbs.
Partially because you knew that you still missed AJ and seeing him tonight was like picking a wound that had finally scarred over, letting the fresh blood spill out.
You thought you made the right decision. You were suffocating in the relationship. Losing yourself in the name of being by his side and supporting him. Constantly coming in second place to his career. Despite it all, it didn’t mean that you ever stopped loving him. Those feelings just didn’t go away.
“I can’t stay hiding out in here forever.” You say, a quick tuft of laughter slipping out.
Digging through your clutch to refresh your make up, fixed a few loose strands of hair and took one final deep breath.
I made it this far tonight, what's a few more hours?
As you step out of the ladies' room, you hear applause and cheers. Your eyes move to the stage just as he walks up. Once he thanks the presenter, he settles into speaking like he’s done this hundreds of times. His speech holds a lot of irony in it; giving back, showing up for those who need it, and having opportunities to better oneself. As you listen, it takes you back to a time when you remember standing right next to him. However, tonight you’re just watching. As he wraps up, the crowd cheers and applauds him again. This would be the perfect chance for you to slip out unnoticed.
But something keeps you there, rooted in that one spot. The moment he's off the stage, he’s pulled in different directions for quick conversations, people congratulating him or photo-ops. Only reinforcing the part of his life that you couldn't compete with. The energy shifts, you feel it. You look up and his eyes are on you, already moving towards you.
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” He asks once he’s in front of you.
You take a second before nodding. Taking your hand in his, he leads you to a quieter patio area outside.
“You look nice.” He says, unsure of how he should start this conversation despite wanting to have it.
“Thank you, you also. You always did clean up well.” You say softly.
A few moments of silence pass between the two of you before he starts again. “With a note—”
“After everything I’ve said out loud already,” You take a deep breath. “That note wasn’t me explaining why I did what I did, but more so of me picking me. Being done.” You pause as you look at the skyline. Focusing on the buildings in the distance. “It finally clicked what my future could look like. What our future could look like. So, while you were doing press downstairs, I wrote that note and left it in that hotel room.” You say, turning your attention back to Anthony. “I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you, I left because I loved you at the expense of me.”
For the first time, you see it settle within him. “I didn’t realize that it was costing you that much.”
Silence settles between the two of you once more. “I can’t do that again, I won’t do that again.” You say, voice even.
He nods once, “And I’m not expecting you to,’ He exhales, “My life isn’t slowing down, I can be honest about that.”
“Well, how can we expect—” You start.
“Give me a chance to show you that I’ve learned from it.” He interrupts. “I know what I lost; I’m not taking this opportunity, if you give it to me, lightly.”
You mull over his words. Could you really see yourself back in a relationship with him?
“I’m gonna need time to think.” You whisper.
“Understood.”
You take one last glance at him before turning on your heels to head back inside.
Your date, it doesn’t even feel right calling him that anymore, spots you before you see him. Excusing himself from the conversation he was in, he catches up with you.
“You good?”
A dry laugh leaves your lips. “Right now? I can’t even give you a honest answer.”
“Fair. Things looked pretty intense out there.” He says.
You open your mouth, ready to explain, when he raises his hand to stop you. “I don’t need you to explain to me what it was. My concern for the night is to make sure that you’re ok.”
You give him a faint smile.
“I think I’m gonna head out, stay. Enjoy yourself. I’ll call an Uber or something.”
His eyebrows furrow together, ready to protest.
“I’m fine, I will be fine.” You promise him.
“Text me when you make it home.” He says, leaving no room for pushback.
“Of course, thank you for everything tonight. Seriously.”
He nods once, getting the feeling that you’re not just talking about him physically being there. “Of course.”
You head for the exit, in no rush to call anyone or a ride share. The air feels different this time when you step out. It’s quieter. And for the first time tonight, it was easier to breathe.
a/n pt 2: forgive any mistakes lol my eyes are going cross as I edit this
Can you please write an angsty (with a happy ending) AJ fic
hiiii nonny 🥰 hopefully you not too mad with me lol this isn't the happiest ending but it's.........cordial at least lol 😅
who knows what the future holds 👀
hope you enjoy! xx
lost one: anthony joshua x black!fem reader
summary: what happens when you love someone but loving them just isn't enough?
warnings: none? its a little angsty though. not the happiest ending but its a reconciliation.
a/n: be gentle with me lol this is my first long fic + first angsty fic. maybe angst adjacent 🧐
The invite had been sitting on your coffee table for a week. Crrip white envelope with your name across the front in beautiful script. You passed it by everyday for a week leading up to tonight. You wanted to stay at home and crawl into bed, wanting to forget about that chapter of your life. You loved what the gala stood for just hated having to work the room.
That was usually Anthony’s strong suit.
You look at yourself in the floor length mirror tucked in the corner of your room taking in your full appearance. Hair pulled up into a messy updo, a few curly tendrils framing your face softly. Brown skin glowing under the low lights of your room due to the shimmering body oil you used after your shower. A simple black floor length gown is what you opted to wear this evening; sweetheart neckline with a corset like waistline that pulls you in just enough before giving way to your hips. The fabric follows your soft curves before falling into a dangerously high slit, the fabric parting with each step you take.
Your doorbell ringing interrupts your thoughts, right on time. You gather a few more things, throwing them into your clutch, and make your way down. As you open the door, he pauses, taking you in. “You look beautiful tonight,” he says, backing up, giving you space to pass. Your face warms, “Thanks.” You say softly as his hand settles at the small of your back on the short walk back to his car.
Once you are both settled in, he looks over at you, “Ready?”
“As ready as I’m gonna be.” You say with a small chuckle.
The ride to the gala was smooth; easy conversation flowed between the two of you. Making you realize how much you missed the small intimate moments shared between two people. Him just asking about your week and actually listening lands deep for you. It shouldn’t, but it does.
The car slows to a stop in front of the venue for tonight; he’s out speaking to the valet before your door opens good enough. He rounds the car to meet you, again letting his hand settle at the small of your back as you both move towards the controlled chaos of the event. Once inside, the low hum of music and conversations add to the feeling of it all. It’s familiar to say the least.
“We can leave whenever you want, you know.” He says easily, glancing over at you.
“I know,” you start, grinning softly. “I promise, I’m ok.”
Together, you move further into the room, stopping briefly to take two glasses of champagne from a passing server. He hands you one without asking. Finding a quiet corner to settle into away from the hustle and bustle of people, continuing the conversation from the ride over.
He puts the champagne flute down in the middle of the table after finishing it. “I’m going to get something stronger from the bar.”
You laugh, “Already? The night just started.”
He gives a quick shrug, “Want something?”
“Another glass of champagne, please. Thank you.” You say, a small smile gracing your lips.
“Of course.” He says, walking toward the bar.
A few moments after your date left, you pulled out your phone. Sent a few text messages, checked some emails, then tucked it back into your clutch. Your eyes scanned the room out of habit, and that’s when you saw him. In all of his 6’6 glory, tuxedo tailored to perfection, head thrown back in one of his signature laughs. Your ex.
Anthony.
But that isn’t what made you pause. It's who he was talking to that made you do a double-take.
“Just my fuckin’ luck.” You mutter.
You figure it’s best to go ahead and rip the band aid off, instead of dodging him the entire night. You take a deep breath, holding your head high as you start toward both men. As you got closer you caught the tail end of the conversation between the two men, your date praising Anthony about his last fight with Jake Paul.
“I didn't know that I was with a fan.” You say voice teasing as you step into the open space between both men.
“You didn’t ask.” A sheepish laugh escapes your date.
“I guess it didn't come up either.” You hum softly, taking the glass of champagne off the bar.
Bringing the glass to your lips, you take a quick sip of the pale colored liquid. You glance over at Anthony, giving him a subtle head nod. “Anthony.” you say curtly. His eyes meet yours, offering that same nod back to you while saying your name.
There’s a shift between the three of you, but before it becomes any more awkward than it already is, your date breaks the silence with a small laugh. "Wait—” Your date’s eyebrows pinch together. “...this is the Anthony you were talking about?”
“Yeah, that’s him.” You say, taking another sip of the champagne wishing that this moment would end already. You feel Anthony’s eyes on you, and you refuse to look in his direction. You knew you downplayed him and the history between the two of you. He nods, as if that answers enough before clearing his throat, “If you’ll excuse me. Enjoy your night.”
A moment passes between you and him. His eyes look past you in the direction that Anthony disappeared, then back at you.
He exhales softly, thumb brushing against his jaw. “I’d be doing us a disservice. You know that right?” He asks softly.
Your brows knit together. “It’s not—"
“Maybe it’s not,” He cuts in gently. “Maybe I’m reading too much into this. But something is there.” A moment passes between the two of you as he continues. “I’d rather step back now than pretend that I don’t see it...even if you don’t want to.” His voice softer.
“Take a moment, I’ll be around. And when you’re ready to go, just let me know.” A small, polite smile forms on his face before he steps away blending back into the crowd.
You find yourself in the nearest ladies’ room; once the door shuts behind you, you take a moment to center your thoughts; they've been running rampant since you came here. Closing your eyes, you take a few deep breaths just to regroup. You look at your reflection in the mirror—despite how beautiful you look this evening, your eyes tell on you. The sadness and whirlwind of unsaid feelings settle in your brown orbs.
Partially because you knew that you still missed AJ and seeing him tonight was like picking a wound that had finally scarred over, letting the fresh blood spill out.
You thought you made the right decision. You were suffocating in the relationship. Losing yourself in the name of being by his side and supporting him. Constantly coming in second place to his career. Despite it all, it didn’t mean that you ever stopped loving him. Those feelings just didn’t go away.
“I can’t stay hiding out in here forever.” You say, a quick tuft of laughter slipping out.
Digging through your clutch to refresh your make up, fixed a few loose strands of hair and took one final deep breath.
I made it this far tonight, what's a few more hours?
As you step out of the ladies' room, you hear applause and cheers. Your eyes move to the stage just as he walks up. Once he thanks the presenter, he settles into speaking like he’s done this hundreds of times. His speech holds a lot of irony in it; giving back, showing up for those who need it, and having opportunities to better oneself. As you listen, it takes you back to a time when you remember standing right next to him. However, tonight you’re just watching. As he wraps up, the crowd cheers and applauds him again. This would be the perfect chance for you to slip out unnoticed.
But something keeps you there, rooted in that one spot. The moment he's off the stage, he’s pulled in different directions for quick conversations, people congratulating him or photo-ops. Only reinforcing the part of his life that you couldn't compete with. The energy shifts, you feel it. You look up and his eyes are on you, already moving towards you.
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” He asks once he’s in front of you.
You take a second before nodding. Taking your hand in his, he leads you to a quieter patio area outside.
“You look nice.” He says, unsure of how he should start this conversation despite wanting to have it.
“Thank you, you also. You always did clean up well.” You say softly.
A few moments of silence pass between the two of you before he starts again. “With a note—”
“After everything I’ve said out loud already,” You take a deep breath. “That note wasn’t me explaining why I did what I did, but more so of me picking me. Being done.” You pause as you look at the skyline. Focusing on the buildings in the distance. “It finally clicked what my future could look like. What our future could look like. So, while you were doing press downstairs, I wrote that note and left it in that hotel room.” You say, turning your attention back to Anthony. “I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you, I left because I loved you at the expense of me.”
For the first time, you see it settle within him. “I didn’t realize that it was costing you that much.”
Silence settles between the two of you once more. “I can’t do that again, I won’t do that again.” You say, voice even.
He nods once, “And I’m not expecting you to,’ He exhales, “My life isn’t slowing down, I can be honest about that.”
“Well, how can we expect—” You start.
“Give me a chance to show you that I’ve learned from it.” He interrupts. “I know what I lost; I’m not taking this opportunity, if you give it to me, lightly.”
You mull over his words. Could you really see yourself back in a relationship with him?
“I’m gonna need time to think.” You whisper.
“Understood.”
You take one last glance at him before turning on your heels to head back inside.
Your date, it doesn’t even feel right calling him that anymore, spots you before you see him. Excusing himself from the conversation he was in, he catches up with you.
“You good?”
A dry laugh leaves your lips. “Right now? I can’t even give you a honest answer.”
“Fair. Things looked pretty intense out there.” He says.
You open your mouth, ready to explain, when he raises his hand to stop you. “I don’t need you to explain to me what it was. My concern for the night is to make sure that you’re ok.”
You give him a faint smile.
“I think I’m gonna head out, stay. Enjoy yourself. I’ll call an Uber or something.”
His eyebrows furrow together, ready to protest.
“I’m fine, I will be fine.” You promise him.
“Text me when you make it home.” He says, leaving no room for pushback.
“Of course, thank you for everything tonight. Seriously.”
He nods once, getting the feeling that you’re not just talking about him physically being there. “Of course.”
You head for the exit, in no rush to call anyone or a ride share. The air feels different this time when you step out. It’s quieter. And for the first time tonight, it was easier to breathe.
a/n pt 2: forgive any mistakes lol my eyes are going cross as I edit this
Can you please write an angsty (with a happy ending) AJ fic
hiiii nonny 🥰 hopefully you not too mad with me lol this isn't the happiest ending but it's.........cordial at least lol 😅
who knows what the future holds 👀
hope you enjoy! xx
lost one: anthony joshua x black!fem reader
summary: what happens when you love someone but loving them just isn't enough?
warnings: none? its a little angsty though. not the happiest ending but its a reconciliation.
a/n: be gentle with me lol this is my first long fic + first angsty fic. maybe angst adjacent 🧐
The invite had been sitting on your coffee table for a week. Crrip white envelope with your name across the front in beautiful script. You passed it by everyday for a week leading up to tonight. You wanted to stay at home and crawl into bed, wanting to forget about that chapter of your life. You loved what the gala stood for just hated having to work the room.
That was usually Anthony’s strong suit.
You look at yourself in the floor length mirror tucked in the corner of your room taking in your full appearance. Hair pulled up into a messy updo, a few curly tendrils framing your face softly. Brown skin glowing under the low lights of your room due to the shimmering body oil you used after your shower. A simple black floor length gown is what you opted to wear this evening; sweetheart neckline with a corset like waistline that pulls you in just enough before giving way to your hips. The fabric follows your soft curves before falling into a dangerously high slit, the fabric parting with each step you take.
Your doorbell ringing interrupts your thoughts, right on time. You gather a few more things, throwing them into your clutch, and make your way down. As you open the door, he pauses, taking you in. “You look beautiful tonight,” he says, backing up, giving you space to pass. Your face warms, “Thanks.” You say softly as his hand settles at the small of your back on the short walk back to his car.
Once you are both settled in, he looks over at you, “Ready?”
“As ready as I’m gonna be.” You say with a small chuckle.
The ride to the gala was smooth; easy conversation flowed between the two of you. Making you realize how much you missed the small intimate moments shared between two people. Him just asking about your week and actually listening lands deep for you. It shouldn’t, but it does.
The car slows to a stop in front of the venue for tonight; he’s out speaking to the valet before your door opens good enough. He rounds the car to meet you, again letting his hand settle at the small of your back as you both move towards the controlled chaos of the event. Once inside, the low hum of music and conversations add to the feeling of it all. It’s familiar to say the least.
“We can leave whenever you want, you know.” He says easily, glancing over at you.
“I know,” you start, grinning softly. “I promise, I’m ok.”
Together, you move further into the room, stopping briefly to take two glasses of champagne from a passing server. He hands you one without asking. Finding a quiet corner to settle into away from the hustle and bustle of people, continuing the conversation from the ride over.
He puts the champagne flute down in the middle of the table after finishing it. “I’m going to get something stronger from the bar.”
You laugh, “Already? The night just started.”
He gives a quick shrug, “Want something?”
“Another glass of champagne, please. Thank you.” You say, a small smile gracing your lips.
“Of course.” He says, walking toward the bar.
A few moments after your date left, you pulled out your phone. Sent a few text messages, checked some emails, then tucked it back into your clutch. Your eyes scanned the room out of habit, and that’s when you saw him. In all of his 6’6 glory, tuxedo tailored to perfection, head thrown back in one of his signature laughs. Your ex.
Anthony.
But that isn’t what made you pause. It's who he was talking to that made you do a double-take.
“Just my fuckin’ luck.” You mutter.
You figure it’s best to go ahead and rip the band aid off, instead of dodging him the entire night. You take a deep breath, holding your head high as you start toward both men. As you got closer you caught the tail end of the conversation between the two men, your date praising Anthony about his last fight with Jake Paul.
“I didn't know that I was with a fan.” You say voice teasing as you step into the open space between both men.
“You didn’t ask.” A sheepish laugh escapes your date.
“I guess it didn't come up either.” You hum softly, taking the glass of champagne off the bar.
Bringing the glass to your lips, you take a quick sip of the pale colored liquid. You glance over at Anthony, giving him a subtle head nod. “Anthony.” you say curtly. His eyes meet yours, offering that same nod back to you while saying your name.
There’s a shift between the three of you, but before it becomes any more awkward than it already is, your date breaks the silence with a small laugh. "Wait—” Your date’s eyebrows pinch together. “...this is the Anthony you were talking about?”
“Yeah, that’s him.” You say, taking another sip of the champagne wishing that this moment would end already. You feel Anthony’s eyes on you, and you refuse to look in his direction. You knew you downplayed him and the history between the two of you. He nods, as if that answers enough before clearing his throat, “If you’ll excuse me. Enjoy your night.”
A moment passes between you and him. His eyes look past you in the direction that Anthony disappeared, then back at you.
He exhales softly, thumb brushing against his jaw. “I’d be doing us a disservice. You know that right?” He asks softly.
Your brows knit together. “It’s not—"
“Maybe it’s not,” He cuts in gently. “Maybe I’m reading too much into this. But something is there.” A moment passes between the two of you as he continues. “I’d rather step back now than pretend that I don’t see it...even if you don’t want to.” His voice softer.
“Take a moment, I’ll be around. And when you’re ready to go, just let me know.” A small, polite smile forms on his face before he steps away blending back into the crowd.
You find yourself in the nearest ladies’ room; once the door shuts behind you, you take a moment to center your thoughts; they've been running rampant since you came here. Closing your eyes, you take a few deep breaths just to regroup. You look at your reflection in the mirror—despite how beautiful you look this evening, your eyes tell on you. The sadness and whirlwind of unsaid feelings settle in your brown orbs.
Partially because you knew that you still missed AJ and seeing him tonight was like picking a wound that had finally scarred over, letting the fresh blood spill out.
You thought you made the right decision. You were suffocating in the relationship. Losing yourself in the name of being by his side and supporting him. Constantly coming in second place to his career. Despite it all, it didn’t mean that you ever stopped loving him. Those feelings just didn’t go away.
“I can’t stay hiding out in here forever.” You say, a quick tuft of laughter slipping out.
Digging through your clutch to refresh your make up, fixed a few loose strands of hair and took one final deep breath.
I made it this far tonight, what's a few more hours?
As you step out of the ladies' room, you hear applause and cheers. Your eyes move to the stage just as he walks up. Once he thanks the presenter, he settles into speaking like he’s done this hundreds of times. His speech holds a lot of irony in it; giving back, showing up for those who need it, and having opportunities to better oneself. As you listen, it takes you back to a time when you remember standing right next to him. However, tonight you’re just watching. As he wraps up, the crowd cheers and applauds him again. This would be the perfect chance for you to slip out unnoticed.
But something keeps you there, rooted in that one spot. The moment he's off the stage, he’s pulled in different directions for quick conversations, people congratulating him or photo-ops. Only reinforcing the part of his life that you couldn't compete with. The energy shifts, you feel it. You look up and his eyes are on you, already moving towards you.
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” He asks once he’s in front of you.
You take a second before nodding. Taking your hand in his, he leads you to a quieter patio area outside.
“You look nice.” He says, unsure of how he should start this conversation despite wanting to have it.
“Thank you, you also. You always did clean up well.” You say softly.
A few moments of silence pass between the two of you before he starts again. “With a note—”
“After everything I’ve said out loud already,” You take a deep breath. “That note wasn’t me explaining why I did what I did, but more so of me picking me. Being done.” You pause as you look at the skyline. Focusing on the buildings in the distance. “It finally clicked what my future could look like. What our future could look like. So, while you were doing press downstairs, I wrote that note and left it in that hotel room.” You say, turning your attention back to Anthony. “I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you, I left because I loved you at the expense of me.”
For the first time, you see it settle within him. “I didn’t realize that it was costing you that much.”
Silence settles between the two of you once more. “I can’t do that again, I won’t do that again.” You say, voice even.
He nods once, “And I’m not expecting you to,’ He exhales, “My life isn’t slowing down, I can be honest about that.”
“Well, how can we expect—” You start.
“Give me a chance to show you that I’ve learned from it.” He interrupts. “I know what I lost; I’m not taking this opportunity, if you give it to me, lightly.”
You mull over his words. Could you really see yourself back in a relationship with him?
“I’m gonna need time to think.” You whisper.
“Understood.”
You take one last glance at him before turning on your heels to head back inside.
Your date, it doesn’t even feel right calling him that anymore, spots you before you see him. Excusing himself from the conversation he was in, he catches up with you.
“You good?”
A dry laugh leaves your lips. “Right now? I can’t even give you a honest answer.”
“Fair. Things looked pretty intense out there.” He says.
You open your mouth, ready to explain, when he raises his hand to stop you. “I don’t need you to explain to me what it was. My concern for the night is to make sure that you’re ok.”
You give him a faint smile.
“I think I’m gonna head out, stay. Enjoy yourself. I’ll call an Uber or something.”
His eyebrows furrow together, ready to protest.
“I’m fine, I will be fine.” You promise him.
“Text me when you make it home.” He says, leaving no room for pushback.
“Of course, thank you for everything tonight. Seriously.”
He nods once, getting the feeling that you’re not just talking about him physically being there. “Of course.”
You head for the exit, in no rush to call anyone or a ride share. The air feels different this time when you step out. It’s quieter. And for the first time tonight, it was easier to breathe.
a/n pt 2: forgive any mistakes lol my eyes are going cross as I edit this
summary: what started off as a friendly check in quickly turned into a messy situation.
warnings: 18+, nsfw, failed situationships (jumpscareeeee), unprotected sex, p in v sex, y'all being toxic? + y'all being nasty 🤭
a/n: this is loosely based on me and my situationship lol like very loosely. one could say i was imagining what would happen *call drops* 🫣😗
The door barely was shut good before you were kicking your shoes off and dropping your bags on the nearby couch. It was a day to say the least—work was irritating; too many questions, too many people, and whatever his name was was on his good bullshit again in your messages about wanting to take you out but has also made zero plans to actually do anything.
You toss your boho braids into a messy bun while walking to your bedroom, digging through your drawers to find something to throw on around the house. “a quick shower, find me something to eat and then light that blunt.” you mumble to yourself going through your after work plans. “Orrrr, I could shower, smoke then eat?” you ponder out loud as you move to the bathroom turning the shower on, letting the steam fill the space around you.
You make quick of undressing, taking a good look at yourself in the mirror; taking note of the dark circles around your eyes & just how tired you look. you shake your head and get in the shower letting the hot water soothe your aching muscles.
Cause is it really a good shower if you aren’t basically boiling yourself?
You finish up your routine with skin care and lotion yourself up before putting a big t-shirt and shorts on. Moving back to your room, you dig out your old stash box from the top of your closet. Opening it, you grab a pre-roll & a lighter. You light the blunt, inhaling deeply letting the smoke fill your lungs. Puffing your cheeks to hold the smoke for a second before slowly exhaling; blowing the smoke along with the stress of the day out.
“Now if only I had some dick waiting for me, that would’ve been great.” you say giggling.
Holding the blunt between your fingers, careful not to burn your nails again. You start walking to the kitchen when your phone’s ringtone stops you mid stride. The eye roll that you unleash came deep from the soul, until you saw the name on the caller ID.
“cam😵💫”
The heaviest sigh comes out but you still answer. While propping your phone up on the counter in your kitchen, the FaceTime call takes a moment to connect, then you’re greeted with his dammed but handsome face.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?” voice syrupy sweet, dripping with sarcasm.
“I can’t just check up on you?” he asks feigning shock.
You take a long pull from the blunt again, mainly to avoid saying something snarky. “It’s never just a check up with you.” You say while letting the smoke out again.
“You right…it ain’t never just that with me.” he chuckles. “But seriously, wassup?”
You shrug, not knowing really where to start; “I’m okay I guess? I don’t know. This job is getting on my nerves, so are these niggas and I don’t know what’s in the air today but it’s like everybody just was being stupid. You take a deep breath after your small rant; taking another hit before asking him, “What about you, what’s going on in your world?”
You really didn’t care to hold back with Cameron at this point. He was what you’d call comfortable. A failed situationship turned friendship? Using the word friend very loosely here. You and him tried to make it work before, the love and feelings were there. He gave you just enough to keep you holding on—never enough to make you stay. Yet, you and him could never really leave each other be.
There wasn’t a big fall out between the two of you, just a mutual agreement. He promised to be there for you—which only muddied up the lingering feelings you had for him—but you had to set a boundary because it’s so easy to fall into those same routines with him. You dated other men sure, they just didn’t do it for you like he did.
Not tall enough.
Too clingy.
Not strong enough.
Didn’t know your body like he did.
All fuck ups.
Or you were just set on finding issues with every man that isn’t him?
You tune back into the conversation catching the tail end of him mentioning some training camp he has coming up before the season starts. You nod slightly, “Another year in the books, you think y’all going all the way?” You say, as you turn around to dig in your fridge for something to eat. The last time you ate plus the weed you’re smoking, it’s like you’re starving.
You moved to your living room after smoking and eating. The stress of your day finally off your shoulders. You and Cameron still were on the phone, the conversation between the two of you still light. Until he asked:
“You dealing with anybody?” he asks.
You pause, shifting against the pillows on the couch to get more comfortable. “Why?”
“I can’t ask?” A moment passes between the two of you before he continues. “Or I can’t do that no more?” he cocked an eyebrow.
You fold your lips in on each other, a small smile forming across your face. “Be my guest…however, that don’t mean I gotta answer.” you reply, voice even.
His eyebrows raise while humming lowly. He’s used to this with you—the push and pull, the hard exterior. It’s what attracted him to you back in college. He knew the real you under the facade—the soft version of yourself. The version he knew he wasn’t worthy of but still received.
“You tryna be funny but it won’t be funny if I pull up and we have this conversation face to face, love.” He says, his attention fixed on you.
“You wouldn’t.” you challenge.
“You know I would.”
Light knocks on your front door bring you out of the light nap you were taking. You sit up, hearing the knocks getting heavier. Taking your time, you walk to the door but before opening it, you pause.
“Cameron, I know damn well—“ you exclaim, opening the door and seeing that shit eating grin on his face.
“You gon let me in? Or I gotta get on my knees and beg?” Same grin on his face.
You fold your arms across your chest, meeting his eyes.
“You ain’t getting on your knees for nothing.” You mumble, stepping aside for him to come in. He brushes past you without a second thought as if this was all a formality.
Once the door shuts, the space between you two feels smaller. You didn’t realize how close he was until you turned around. Your eyes meet his once again, this time you can see the heat smoldering in them.
“Don’t get all quiet on me now…keep that same energy you had on that phone.” he murmured.
You smack your lips, “You drove all the way over here for that? you tryna prove a point to somebody?”
“Yeah…you.” He replies, closing the space between the two of you. You take a step back bumping into the wall. You hate how your breathing changed. And you definitely hate how your heartbeat settles deep between your thighs.
Cameron notices the shift in your body too. “You ain’t gotta keep pushing me away ma,” eyes focused on your mouth.
“it’s only prolonging the inevitable…ain’t it?” his gaze lifts back up to you.
A moment passes, “Just say the word and I’ll give you what you want.”
Your lips part slightly but nothing comes out. Cameron’s hand brushed against your jaw, tilting your head back just enough. You exhale a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. You leaned into him—you wouldn’t dare give him the satisfaction of you saying it—as his lips met yours.
The kiss starts slow, a soft moan slipping out from you. His hands drops to your hips, gripping tightly. You wrap your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes. He pulls you in closer, while deepening the kiss. He picks you up, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. Breaking the kiss fully, he catches his breath before saying
“It was just too much for you to just say it huh? Wouldn’t give me the satisfaction.” He tuts.
Fighting the urge to yet again roll your eyes, grip tightening on him. “Cam…shut up and fuck me.” You whined.
Cameron might not be able to communicate using his words but he definitely was trying to tell you something tonight. Your legs rested on his shoulders while he drove himself deeper into you. This position was always his favorite; he was able to pay attention to every little shift of yours. He pushed your legs back even more, practically folding you in half.
Clearly he thinks you’re a gymnast of some sort.
He must have read your mind, bringing you back to the moment, “Uh uh, stay with me.” swiveling his hips on the last word as he leaned down closer to you. Your moans getting louder now because of the angle. You pulled him closer to you by his signature chains that were in your face. The kiss you shared was messy; the sounds from the each of you mixing together to create a filthy soundtrack to the night.
“You hear how wet she is for me baby?” he murmurs in your ear, lips brushing against the lobe. You moaned in response—the mix of him fucking you and talking to you too much.
“She missed daddy didn’t she?” He continues. This time you nod quickly.
“You missed daddy, huh?” he asks, slowing his hips. “Fuck…yes.” You breathe; your response shocking you.
The dick can’t be that good, it’s just been a while for me.
You try to come up with some sort of reasoning for you to fold that easily. Those words only spurred Cameron on. The break that you thought you were about to get? Gone. Back to proving a point. Sounds were just falling from your lips at this point. He pushed himself up on his knees, looking at where you were connected. An even filthier scene to match the ambiance.
Your legs fell to the bed wide open, giving them a well needed break. You watched him through hooded eyes as he took his thumb after sucking on it to your clit rubbing in small circles in tandem to his strokes. Your moans got higher in pitch. You gripped your breasts, pinching your nipples between your thumb and index fingers; the more stimulation the better.
“You gon cum fa’me?”
“Right fuckin’ there, oh my—“ you moan. Squeezing your eyes shut, that feeling you know all too well washes over you. His name a plea that’s freely flowing from your lips through your whole orgasm.
He’s right behind you: strokes messier, low groans turning into higher pitched ones, a thin sheen of sweat on his skin.
“Where you want it?” he grunts out.
Instead of giving him an answer, you show him by wrapping your legs around his hips, crossing them at your ankles.
“Oh it’s—“ he starts but is quickly interrupted by a long groan as he empties himself inside of you. He takes a moment to catch his breath before he pulls out. You whine from the loss of contact, but that was quickly replaced when he pulled you to the edge of the bed by your ankle.
Cameron’s licked a quick stripe up as he groans directly into you. His eyes trained on yours as he at like a man starved. He pulls back enough for you to see the lower half of his face soaked with the mix of you and him.
“We taste good together.” he groans lowering his head back between your thighs as he works to pull the second orgasm of the night from you. He slides two fingers inside of you and moves them in a ‘come here’ motion. You grip the sheets of ruined bed in your hands trying to keep yourself grounded.
Given how sensitive you were from his previous assault on your pussy, this orgasm didn’t take as long before it crashed into you completely. His fingers slide out easily and you shudder from the loss of contact. He stands in front of you in all his naked glory; dick resting between his thighs. You sit up on one elbow, looking at him with a smug grin on his face as he licks his fingers clean.
“I only got one question for you, who else you been fucking like that?” you muse, cocking an eyebrow at him.
He laughs—genuine one too. “What was it that you said earlier? Be my guest? I ain’t gotta answer?” he asks rhetorically.
You glance around, looking for something to throw at him—only then realizing everything had long since fallen off the bed.
“Ha, ha…but guess what?” You let a beat pass. “You still got on them knees tonight, ain’t you?”
His eyebrows lift slightly, “Touché babygirl, touché.”
