Synopsis: After three months of exclusive dating, Zuko finally earns himself an invite to your place for Black Cinema 101. It's a night of movies, take-out, and sexual restraint that finally shatters.
Tags: p in v, dirty talk, oral ( f receiving) bigdick Zuko, mostly plot/ smut, manhandling, fluff, swearing, modern au, fem!reader , pet names, soft dom!Zuko, first time sleeping together.
Author note: This is apart of a miniseries but can be read as a stand alone! If you'd like to catch up on the xbaddiereader miniseries here you go: Best Behavior
not proofread
‘Call your partners, whoever's person answers first keeps the card’
Liz looks up from the bright pink dare card—hair wrapped in a heatless curl rod, eyes squinted, and head tilted as she looks around the room. Suki is engaged. Sophie is in a relationship. Liz is in a relationship too, but then her gaze stops on you, wrist-deep in the popcorn bowl hunting for M&Ms.
“Let me pull another card,” Liz states, reaching forward to grab another off the top.
Suki, who’s lying on her stomach, phone already in hand, pauses. “Why? Scared you’ll have to take the shot?”
Liz and Sophie giggle at the accusation. Liz turns her gaze back to you, “Never, he’ll answer. But your snookums over there, last I heard she wasn’t dating anyone.”
You freeze in your conquest, cheeks growing warm. Your eyes snap shut, not wanting to look at the 'what the fuck' expression you just know Suki is wearing.
“OH! She hasn’t told you ladies yet huh? Your own family, girl? You’re sick,” Suki points out, playfully pinching the closest thing on you she could grab which happens to be the side of your thigh.
You cut your eyes at her, a pout forming on your full lips. “I didn’t want to jinx it. I tell my family, they expect to meet him, and what if things hit the fan before then? Now I gotta explain that if they mention him in my presence I’m liable to spazz out so bad they’ll have to call them people on me. Now I’m in grippy socks, eating nasty ass chocolate pudding, because I couldn’t hold water,” you rant, your eyebrow twitching in annoyance as you rile yourself up with the sheer thought of this being a possibility.
Suki rolls her eyes. Your older cousins look at you with expectancy and wide eyes.
“Well shit, how long have you been dating,” Sophie questions, throwing a roller at your chest. You watch as it lands in your popcorn bowl, picking it up and throwing it back at her, but she catches it with ease and uses it in her next section.
“Mmm, three months. We’re taking it slow, so there’s no title yet, but we are exclusive,” you explain. Your fingers wrap around your mocktail, taking a large gulp of the sugary substance with a private smile. It’s been a lovely three months. “He’s really fucking kind. Patient. Funny, in this dry humor, sarcastic way. And God, he’s so fucking handsome y’all with a voice that could melt panties. And did I say he was kind and patient? And funny?”
Liz lets out a light laugh, nodding.
Sophie hums, popping a freshly baked cookie off the plate on the coffee table. “That’s nice. So, you’ve mentioned his personality and looks. What about his dick game? Not good?”
Suki chokes on a piece of popcorn at the brutally blunt question. As she coughs up a lung, you half-heartedly pat her back. “It wasn't funny enough to almost die by popcorn,” you mumble. Your attention then turns back to your oldest cousin. “I—I, we haven't had sex. Like I said, taking it slow. I don’t want a fuck-buddy, a situationship, or anything of that nature, and I told him that. I told him I want this to be old-school dating and he just smiled and said, 'Sounds great.’ ”
“Wowwwww,” Liz mutters, utterly shocked at the commitment. “And he’s been okay with that? The no sex? Are y’all kissing? Just holding hands? I don’t think I could go without sex that long if I’m dating fine shit.”
You exhale dramatically, wiping your hands on a napkin. “Bitch… I’m literally starting to hear colors and see sounds. And I just know—Heavens, I know—he’s packing. I can feel it when we’re making out. I want that man to bend me in half and make it worth my while, but I can’t give it up until I’m sure this is going to be something more. You know? Although, I have a really good feeling about him. Now, enough with my chit-chat. This is game night, not let’s-talk-about-our-men night. Whip out those phones, whores. Let's see who’s gonna be needing a trashcan next to them tonight,” you cackle.
“Need a trashcan my ass,” Suki grumbles, her finger hovering over Sokka’s call button. “I’m not new to this, I’m true to this—always remember that pumpkin.”
“Hello!” Sophie calls out, her phone at the ready.
You pull up Zuko’s contact number with ease, but your thumb trembles a bit over the call button. He really has been a doll these past three months. And as you take a moment to reflect, your stomach flutters with an ounce of anxiety. It’s roughly 7pm, so not too late. When you spoke with him this morning, he gave you a rough draft of his schedule while he’s out of the state for work and right about now he should be in his hotel room watching some random nature documentary.
“1…2…3!” Liz shouts.
The two shots in your system don't allow you to overthink the situation further, you click his contact and place it on speaker. The room breaks out into a synchronization of the FaceTime ringtone blasting throughout the cozy space of your living room, over the sound of the shared group playlist playing softly in the background.
Your heart practically stops as he answers on the third ring. Before he can even say anything you’re a cackling mess. “Start drinking ladies! He answered,” you order, pointing a pretty pink manicured nail at the three of them.
“He’s on probation of course he answered first,” Sophie whines.
“Sokka, you’re literally a ring too late,” Suki chastises, rolling her eyes.
“I’m gonna have to cuss him out when I get home,” Liz mutters, eyes glued to the still ringing phone.
There’s the quiet sound of Morgan Freeman coming through your speakers, and then, so does Zuko. His hair, which he’s been growing out since your first meeting, is in a messy bun and his long sleeve crewneck is doing wonders for his shoulders. “Hi beautiful, everything okay?”
“Oh,” Liz and Sophie’s voices harmonize as they hear his voice.
You give them an I told you so look, before glancing back down at your phone. “Everything is quite splendid! Thank you so much for answering so swiftly, it’s saved me from joining the loser circle,” you tease.
He chuckles quietly, a singular eyebrow raised in curiosity, “I’m confused, but nonetheless happy I can be of service to you—”
“Y/n, turn your phone I need to see what this man looks like when he sounds like that,” Sophie instructs. She’s already moving across the plush rug that’s piled with all of the extra blankets in your house and making her way to your phone.
“I am not—you sucker give that back,” You reach to grab the phone she’s slipped from your hands, eyes wide in shock. Liz looks over Sophie's shoulder and Suki joins in for the hell of it; while Sokka is still expressing his apologies.
Zuko looks completely unfazed by the sudden influx of dynamic energy invading his screen.
Instead of holding a phone, he’s actually looking slightly downward, the sharp angle of his jawline lit by the crisp, blue-white glow of his laptop screen. In the background, the plush headboard of his hotel bed and a neatly stacked pile of work documents are visible. He reaches up, his long fingers adjusting the built-in webcam on his laptop to get a better angle of the three faces currently crowding into your phone frame.
Up close, the intense, dark depth of his eyes and the distinct, faded burn scar tracing the left side of his face are on full display, making him look completely breathtaking.
"Hi," Zuko says smoothly, his deep voice carrying that signature dry, calm tone. "Pleasure to see you ladies, and Suki, hello.”
Sophie’s jaw literally drops. Liz grips Sophie’s shoulder, blinking rapidly. "Oh, wow," Liz breathes out, completely losing her composure. "Okay. Okay, Y/n. I see you."
Suki, however, just bursts out laughing, leaning directly into your phone’s camera. "Sup workaholic,” she takes note of the papers on his lap and the tablet sitting on the nightstand beside him.
“Suki, good to see you—”
“Is that Zuko! Tell him to log in to—”
“Please tell your fiancee that yelling at this time of night isn’t healthy and that the answer is no,” Zuko states, cutting Sokka off before he can even finish his sentence.
Suki cackles, dropping her phone onto her lap as she yells back at her fiancé, “He said no, babe! And he said you're a loud mouth!”
Liz and Sophie are still hovering over your screen like two hyper-focused hawks. "Wait, so you guys already know each other?" Sophie asks, her eyes darting between Suki and the gorgeous man on your screen. "Why am I always the last to find out when Y/n is pulling a literal prince?"
"Because you talk too much," you mumble from your spot on the floor, your face still buried in a pillow to hide the intense heat rushing to your cheeks.
Zuko clears his throat softly, the sound a quiet, velvet vibration coming through your phone speaker. He casually stacks a few of his work documents on the bed beside him, his laptop camera capturing the relaxed, easy way he leans back against the headboard. "Sokka and I went to college together," he explains smoothly to the cousins, entirely polite but with a faint, amused smirk playing on his full lips. "And Suki is the only reason I know how to assemble a three-hundred-piece bedframe at ten at night."
Hey, it was a crisis!" Suki defends herself, though she’s grinning ear to ear. "But he really is a lifesaver, y'all. And because he did a good deed, he was able to miss his hair appointment that was scheduled for early the next morning. Which—” she pauses for dramatic effect, turning her gaze to you with a twinkle in her eye, “is what allowed him to get the attention of a baddie like y/n to be calling his phone at seven at night on a Saturday. So, y’all are so welcome.”
Your head snaps up from the pillow so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. Your eyes wide, you mouth shut the fuck up at Suki, but she just blows you a kiss, completely unbothered.
Sophie finally takes pity on you, tossing the phone back onto your lap. You scramble to grab it, flipping the FaceTime view back to just your face and turning the volume down. You pull the phone close, trying to smooth down your hair.
"I am so, so sorry," you groan, looking at him through the screen. "They are feral. I should have warned you."
Zuko just smiles, leaning back against his pillows as he looks at you through his laptop monitor, his gold-flecked eyes entirely soft. "Don't worry about it. It’s good to see Suki isn't forcing you all to build furniture. But..." He pauses and a warmth settles into his gaze. "I did catch something about a 'loser circle' before they hijacked the call. Care to explain what exactly I just saved you from?"
You glance over your shoulder to see Liz answering her own phone as her boyfriend returns her call, Suki is still chatting to Sokka, and Sophie is making another phone call. You push yourself off of the floor, carefully walking over the magazines, take-out, and board games spread out everywhere. You navigate to your kitchen, putting a bit of privacy between your conversation and the girls.
“We’re playing a game called For The Girls and Liz pulled a card that instructed us to call our mans and whoever’s call is answered first wins the card and doesn’t have to take a shot. So, winner-winner,” you explain, grinning as you take him in. Even when he’s not doing much, he’s simply too good looking to not stare at. “How is work going? This is the end of week one, yes?”
He exhales roughly, closing his eyes for a moment. “It is indeed the end of week one, and it’s going incredibly slow. I’d love nothing more than to be back in the city and taking you out on dates or just being in your presence,” his gaze softens as he opens his eyes, and a breathtaking smile spreads across his lips. “ I miss you.”
Your heart skips a beat at the raw honesty in his voice. You send a quick thank you to the powers above; somehow, someway, you’ve found a chalant man. “One more week and then we can do whatever you like! Oh, but earlier, we were playing this other game called We’re Not Really Strangers, it’s the one I brought over on our picnic date last month , and I got such a great idea from Liz. I know you like learning about my culture and Liz did this thing with her partner where she planned a movie night of all her favorite Black classic films. So, I was thinking of doing that with you! You can come over to my place and spend the night and we can have a movie marathon where you can ask all the questions you’d like, but also get a really cool look at what Black cinema and Black culture looks like in mainstream media!”
His head tilts as he watches you animatedly explain your date idea, usually he plans them, mainly because he likes to surprise you and it gives him something to do while he looks forward to the next time he sees you. “I’d like that a lot, but just to clarify, beautiful, you’re inviting me to your Baddie’s Headquarters?”
Your cheeks grow warm at the realization. All sleepovers have been at his place, due to the anxiety of a man having your address and you not being sure if it was going to stick or not. However, with him looking like that and with a voice of that nature, the chances of him slipping out of your grasp anytime soon is becoming slim. You nod slowly. “I–I would really like to host you, if you’re up for it! It’s okay if you’re not. We can easily have the movie night at your place. I know our other movie nights have been there and there’s nothing wrong with that…” your words drone on as you ramble, clearly flustered at offering the invitation.
“Baby, breathe,” he interrupts, letting out a light chuckle. “You tell me when and I’m there. I would be incredibly honored to see the place you disappear to when you’re outside of my orbit.”
You practically melt at his reassurance, a breathy, okay slipping past your lips as you swoon.
Now the countdown begins.
—
“Suki, you’re not listening to meeee,” you whine, aggressively pushing the TJMaxx cart through the store as you head towards the pajamas aisle.
She snorts loudly, “You right, because what are you talking about girl?”
You groan.
Your grip tightens around the handle and you sigh dramatically. You really feel as if she’s not understanding the magnitude of what this day means for you and the relationship you’re currently building. “I’m talking about the fact that he’s coming to my house! After three months and eight days, he’s stepping into THEE Baddie’s Headquarters—my paradise. And I’m nervous girl, real fucking nervous,” you confess, voice shaking towards the end as the realization hits you all over again.
Your stomach does a mild flutter and you’re not entirely sure if you’re going to throw up before seven o’clock comes or if you’re going to pass out—it’s a fifty-fifty shot of either happening today.
She hums, fingers flipping through the early fall loungewear. You told her you were looking for maximum comfort and cuteness, but in an enticing kind of way; and that’s exactly what she’s browsing for while hearing you whine and vent. “I think you’re overthinking it as well as looking at it the wrong way. I don’t think you’re nervous about him coming over into your space, I think you’re worried about what’s going to happen in your space. We both know you’re more comfortable in your house than his, and with comfortability comes lower guard, and you’re worried you’re gonna fucking fold like a lawn chair and make it rain on him.”
You freeze in your tracks. Her words act as a lighter to your powder keg—she’s fucking right. Suki casually alternates between holding two different loungewear sets up to your frame to see which she likes best, acting as if she hasn't just completely altered your brain chemistry with her read of the situation.
“I think this yellow looks stunning, but I noticed you’ve been wearing a lot of pink recently,” she notes casually.
Your thoughts are still all over the place, trying to come to terms with the sudden realization of what you’ve been experiencing for the past eight days. “I–uh, he…he makes me feel soft…and pink…pink makes me feel as if I’m reinforcing that,” you mutter. Your fingers twiddle with the two piece set. The fabric is incredibly soft, the shorts are anything but modest and the top without a bra could be dangerous. You want it.
Suki smiles warmly, setting the outfit into the shopping cart. Now this trip makes sense. When you had called and told her to pick you up because you needed an outlet, an outfit, and an objective opinion, she just agreed without thinking much of it. But now? It’s all lining up. You, realizing it or not, are head over heels falling for this man—to the point where you want to step into the feminine aspects of yourself outside of coordinated girls nights and friendships. You want to be soft for him and the fact that you’re leaning into it without pushing back, without coming up with an excuse, and without finding flaws in him, just further proves it. Her best friend is free falling into love.
“I can’t wait to hear all about how the date tonight goes tomorrow over our double date,” she states softly.
A small smile pulls at your cheeks, “I’m excited for that too! Brunch never disappoints, especially when there’s bottomless mimosas and endless french toast involved.”
She giggles, nodding, “ Exactly that! Oh! Add that too!”
You raise an eyebrow at what she’s pointing at. Following the angle of her finger, your gaze lands on a lingerie set. You roll your eyes. “Absolutely not. Besides, you said after we’re done with the boy we’d go catch the sale at Savage. No take backsies,” you remind, navigating the both of you to the candle section.
You pick up anything that says strawberry or vanilla scented, until something speaks to you. And once you have Suki’s approval on three new candles, the two of you simply peruse the store. Chatting about her bridal shower that just passed, your desire to take a few art classes at one of the universities nearby, and deciding on the cookies you want to bake and the chocolate covered strawberries you want to make.
Returning back to your apartment turns into absolute game time. With exactly three hours to ensure your cozy abode is in top-notch shape, the cookies are cooled, and the strawberries are set, y’all get to work.
The apartment becomes a whirlwind of movement. The loud, heavy bass of Latto and the City Girls blasts through your speakers, turning a standard straightening-up session into a high-stakes, high-energy military operation.
You find yourself dusting baseboards you haven't looked at since move-in day, scrubbing them with a ferocity that defies logic. Meanwhile, Suki is completely horizontal on your kitchen floor, reorganizing the cleaning supplies underneath your sink. She’s aggressively lining up the multi-surface sprays by height and label direction, as if Zuko is going to launch a full-scale investigation under the plumbing just to ensure it’s not a wreck.
“Suki, get out from under there! He is not checking my Fabuloso stash!” you shout over Rihanna’s Sex With Me, frantically fanning a tray of cookies to speed up the cooling process.
“You don't know his life, girl!” Suki yells back, her voice echoing from inside the cabinet as she fiercely wipes down a stray sponge. “He’s a corporate workaholic. Attention to detail is in his DNA! If he opens this door to throw away a napkin and sees chaos, the vibes are compromised!”
You groan, wiping your brow as you rush to the living room to fluff pillows that are already perfectly round. By the time the playlist transitions into a fast City Girls track, your paradise smells like a violent collision of Bath & Body Works vanilla, lemon bleach, and warm sugar. It is chaotic, it is completely unnecessary, but with the clock ticking closer to seven, you're grateful to have your best friend helping you secure the perimeter of Thee Baddie's Headquarters.
As you place the strawberries to set in the fridge, you inhale deeply before turning your head to look at Suki. Call it telepathy, call it women's intuition, but she nods and heads in the direction of your bedroom. You follow accordingly.
“All your sex toys clean and in their proper locations?” She questions, wiping down your nightstand that’s mostly spotless already from your frantic clean last night.
You choke on a little bit of air at the question. You pause in your goal of reorganizing your mini bookshelf that’s placed by your windowsill to give her a hard stare down. “If I tell you yes, you’ll tell me I’m planning to fuck him tonight. If I tell you no, you’ll clean them yourself and that feels like a step too far, so I’m just gonna say don’t worry about it,” you state sassily, returning to your task with a renewed vengeance.
She simply cackles behind you.Your response was a yes, and the attitude was pure defense—but who was she to call you out on it? The two of you move through your bedroom with coordinated efficiency. The pillows are fluffed, the freshly washed sheets are practically doused in your favorite linen spray, and your room is perfect.
You raise your hand and she slams hers into it with unbridled excitement. Y’all fucking did that.
Knock. Knock.
Your eyes slant to the clock.
6:45.
Of course he’s fifteen minutes early.
“I’m going to throw up in his lap,” you whisper, your feet suddenly glued to the plush rug that sits at the end of your bed. “You think that’ll make him block me? It will, won’t it? I’m going to be fucking sick. Do I smell? Do I look okay? Am I okay—”
Suki raises her hand and places it firmly over your mouth.
“I’m going to open the door. By the time I make it past the living room, you better have whatever this little moment is over with,” she instructs, turning on her heels.
“N-no, no,” you take big strides to catch up to her in the middle of the hallway. “I—I can do this. I am doing this. This is happening, and it’s okay, right?”
Suki stops dead in her tracks in the middle of the hallway, turning around to grab you by the shoulders. She gives you a firm, grounding shake, her eyes locking onto yours with total best-friend intensity.
"Listen to me," she commands, her voice leaving absolutely no room for doubt. "You look damn good. You smell like a decadent dessert, your hair looks phenomenal, and you got this. Remember, this is Thee Baddie Headquarters because a baddie walks these halls"
Her words instantly punch a hole through your mounting panic, the fierce validation acting like a heavy dose of smelling salts to your frayed nerves. Before you can even stammer out a reply, Suki breaks away, smoothly spinning on her heel as she heads into the living room. She quickly grabs her bag off the couch, slinging it over her shoulder in one fluid motion as she guides you toward the foyer.
With your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, your fingers wrap around the cold metal of the doorknob. You take one deep, sharp breath, force your shoulders back to lock into your inner baddie, and swing the door open.
Zuko is standing under the warm light of your apartment hallway. He looks completely breathtaking—clad in a heavy black hoodie that makes his broad shoulders look massive, perfectly offset by a pair of tailored, cream-colored lounge pants that pool slightly over his sneakers. His thick, dark hair is pulled back, and those intense, gold-flecked eyes soften the exact second they land on you. His bag is slung over his shoulders and a gift bag is in his hand.
"Hey," he murmurs, his deep, velvet voice instantly sending a pleasant shudder right down your spine.
“Hi, Zuko!” Suki pipes up cheerfully from behind you, effortlessly sliding past your frame before the tension in the doorway can even freeze over. She shoots him a brilliant, knowing wink, then cuts her eyes back to you with a proud grin. “Bye, girl! Y'all have fun watching those movies, but remember it’s okay if they end up watching y’all!”
And with that, your ultimate hype-woman struts down the corridor, leaving the two of you alone at the threshold of the headquarters.
“H-hi,” you clear your throat of the stutter, suddenly hyperaware of the situation at hand. The man you’ve been dating has officially arrived at your sanctuary. You shake your head softly, your smile widening as you wrap your hand around his free one, pulling him inside and into a hug.
As his arms wrap around you, you practically melt into him. He smells like an expensive heaven, and he’s so warm. He presses a tender kiss to your forehead—it’s sweet, but that’s absolutely not all you want from him.
You tilt your head back, lips slightly parted as you stand on your tiptoes, hooking your arms around his neck to bring him lower. He happily obliges, his lips finding yours in a deep, desperate, and passionately fierce kiss. Zuko groans into your mouth, his grip tightening on your hips as he tastes you, matching your frantic hunger with a heavy, possessive rhythm that completely validates Suki’s early read—there’s a dangerously high potential tonight of you folding like a lawn chair.
Zuko doesn’t break the kiss as he sets both bags down by his feet. Once his hands are free, he lifts you up effortlessly. One hand slides to your lower back underneath the thin material of your shirt, and the other goes right underneath your ass, holding you tight against him.
You moan as he nips your bottom lip before giving you a moment to breathe.
You bury your face into his neck, inhaling sharply. “I missed you,” you whisper, voice thick with a sudden rush of emotion.
It feels like a lifetime since you've touched him. He’s been out of the state and country for a relentless tech acquisition in Florida and Tokyo for two whole weeks—an absolute eternity considering the two of you usually see each other at least two to three times a week.
"Yeah?" Zuko hums, pulling his head back just enough to look at you. The sudden proximity of his sharp jawline and those burning gold eyes makes your cheeks burn with a sudden, beautiful warmth.
You nod eagerly, your lower lip slightly pouting as you tighten your grip on his shoulders. "Yes. Extremely. It was awful."
A devastatingly soft, unbothered smile breaks across his face, the fierce corporate legacy completely melting away into the man who belongs entirely to you. He wraps his arms even tighter around you, hoisting you higher against his chest as if he has absolutely no intention of ever setting you down.
"I missed you too," he confesses softly, his husky voice dropping into that quiet, heavy tone that makes your stomach do a lazy flip. He nuzzles his nose against your cheek, his breath hot against your skin. "I really missed your hugs. I missed your sweet kisses... and I definitely missed this lovely scent of yours. You smell incredible, beautiful."
You giggle as he nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck. Those two showers and the slathering of yourself in your favorite oils has successfully paid off.
You run your fingers through the silky strands of his hair, watching as it slides easily between your fingertips. It’s completely loose now, falling free and hitting right in between his shoulder blades in a way that makes him look entirely too devastating.
You grin down at him, your fingers gently combing through the back. "It’s definitely gotten longer since you left. It feels amazing."
Zuko lets out a low, vibrating chuckle against your chest, his eyes slanting up to look at you with a teasing glint. "You just want it to keep growing, don't you? Probably having conversations with my stylist to take me off his books."
"I am not," you giggle, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his sharp jawline. "You just look so incredibly handsome with long hair. It suits you."
You let your fingers tangle a little deeper into the thick strands at the nape of his neck, giving it a playful, incredibly gentle tug. You tilt your head, leaning in until your lips are brushing right against the shell of his ear, and drop your voice to a impish, breathless whisper.
"Besides... I like having something to pull on in bed."
Zuko goes entirely, completely rigid beneath you.
The words catch him entirely off guard. His breath hitches, his large hands locking tight on your waist as his eyes widen. For the past three months, the two of you have kept an incredibly disciplined pace—intense, soul-stealing make-out sessions on his couch or in his car were the absolute furthest you had gone. Hearing you drop a line like that, while wearing a tiny pink lace pajama set and smelling like warm vanilla, completely short-circuits his high-powered executive brain.
Before he can even open his mouth to reply, you let out a bright, victorious giggle. You unravel your legs from around his waist, effortlessly sliding down his large frame until your bare feet hit your plush rug.
"Come on," you beam, completely unbothered by the absolute crisis you just caused in his chest. You wrap your fingers around his large, warm hand, giving it a firm tug. "Let me show you around the estate."
Zuko stands there for a fraction of a second, clearing his throat as a faint, dark flush creeps up the back of his neck. He lets out a low, defeated chuckle, shaking his head as he lets you lead him forward.
"You are such a little troublemaker," he intones softly, his long fingers instantly interlocking with yours as you guide him out of the entryway. "A complete menace."
You grab his bag from the floor, your fingers brushing against his one last time before you turn on your heel to guide him down the short hallway.
"Welcome to the grand tour," you tease, gesturing to the first door on your left. "Guest bathroom, mostly used for emergency outfit changes and midnight skincare routines."
Zuko chuckles quietly behind you, his hand resting casually on the small of your back, his warm palm radiating heat right through the thin material of your lounge set.
You lead him to the next door, pushing it open to reveal the second bedroom. "And this is the command center. I transformed it into an office for my editorial job—where the magic actually happens and where I spend hours judging other people's grammar."
"Impressive," Zuko murmurs, his gold-flecked eyes scanning the organized rows of books, the sleek desk, and the framed prints on the wall. A look of genuine respect crosses his sharp features. "It suits you. Focused, but entirely elegant."
Your heart does a little flutter at the compliment, but you keep your stride moving, finally leading him into your master bedroom. The space absolutely screams your identity—drenched in your favorite colors, perfectly lit, and smelling faintly of the fresh strawberry-vanilla candles you and Suki had just meticulously placed. It is your ultimate sanctuary.
With a fluid, confident stride, you saunter over to your vanity and place his bag right on the plush vanity chair, turning back around to lean against the smooth marble counter.
You clasp your hands behind your back, tilting your head up to meet his intense, steady gaze. "And this is the inner sanctum. You are officially the first man to ever cross this threshold, Zuko. Tread carefully."
His gold eyes are slowly scanning your room; the soft lighting, the stack of notebooks on your nightstand, and the faint scent of linen spray Suki had left behind. A slow, incredibly warm expression softens his sharp features.
"It’s cute, Y/n," he states softly, stepping up beside you and wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. He rests his chin right on your head, inhaling the vanilla from your hair. "It’s very saturated in you. Every corner of it. I like that a lot. And I’m incredibly honored to have this privilege to enter HQ"
Your heart does a happy flip. "Good. Because you're trapped here for the next twelve hours. No corporate escape routes."
"I don't want one," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head before reluctantly letting you go so you can lead him back to the living room.
You guide him over to your sectional, and Zuko slides onto the cushions, looking surprisingly relaxed as he stretches his long legs out toward the tiered coffee table, right next to the massive pink bouquet he sent you earlier today in anticipation of your date. Something he does before every date. You grab the TV remote, a nervous but excited grin breaking across your face as you pull up the streaming dashboard.
"Alright good looking, welcome to Black Cinema 101," you declare, popping down onto the cushion right next to him and curling your legs up under yourself. "I put together the ultimate foundational trilogy, and a bonus watch. No notes allowed, but questions are encouraged."
Zuko turns his head, his hair brushing his shoulders as he gives you his full, undivided attention. "I'm ready. What's the lineup?"
“Alrighty, we’re starting off with a comedic classic: Madea. Except, I’m throwing you into it by showing you a play version first. There’s a lot of singing, fair warning. Lots of biblical references that don’t make sense, and behavior that’s so out of pocket you can’t do anything but just smile and nod,” you explain, counting on your fingers. “Then, we’ll slow things down and I’ll show you what I consider Black cinema horror, but it’s disguised as a ‘love story.’ It’s called Love & Basketball. And then we’ll watch The Player’s Club… I don’t know how to explain this one outside of drama, strippers, titties, and comedy. Lastly, if you can keep up, we’ll end with The Best Man.”
Zuko tracks your fingers, an amused, thoroughly intrigued smirk pulling at his lips. He reaches over, his large hand sliding behind your back and anchoring you closer to his side. He leaves his hand against your back, his thumb drawing a slow circle that sends a shiver straight up your spine.
"A comedy, a horror romance, a drama, and a mystery last genre," Zuko notes smoothly. "Sounds like a comprehensive curriculum. Any quizzes?"
"Perhaps," you laugh, leaning your shoulder against his chest as you hit play on the first recording. "But, if you just sit back, eat what I feed you, and hold me—I can give you all the answers."
"That," Zuko breathes, his hand slipping from your back to wrap around you entirely, "is a study guide I can follow perfectly."
As the first movie plays, Zuko proves to be an incredibly attentive student. He occasionally tilts his head down, his dark hair brushing your shoulder as he asks questions in a low whisper—mostly trying to unpack the sheer, complex velocity of Madea’s dialogue and the specific hierarchy of the family tree on screen. You excitedly answer every single one, gesturing with your hands and leaning into him, completely thrilled by how genuinely invested he is in learning about your world.
By the time the credits roll, your jaw actually aches from laughing so hard at his deadpan commentary on the plot twists.
You pick up the remote and navigate to the streaming menu, clicking on Love & Basketball. The iconic opening notes of the soundtrack start to hum softly through your living room speakers, but before the first scene can really start, you hit the pause button.
You shift your head upward, "Okay, half-time report. Do you want me to order the food now, or do you want to wait until after this one?"
Zuko shifts smoothly, stretching one long arm across the back of your sofa so his hand can rest comfortably near your shoulder. "Whatever you like, beautiful. I'm on your schedule tonight."
"Now," you decide instantly, a mischievous grin breaking across your face. "Because I want to make sure we're completely done with dinner by the time we hit The Players Club. I need full concentration for that one, and I want to be eating the cookies and strawberries I made for us by then."
"Sounds like a strategic masterpiece," Zuko notes, a slow, fond smirk pulling at his lips. He reaches into the pocket of his trousers, pulls out his sleek, matte-black phone, and effortlessly extends it toward you. "Order whatever you want."
You look at the phone, then look up at his face, your lips instantly puckering into a dramatic, stubborn pout. You cross your arms over your chest. "Zuko, no. Put that away. This is my apartment, my movie night, and I am paying for dinner. I already told you I had it covered."
Zuko doesn't lower the phone. He just stares at you, his striking gold eyes glinting with a heavy, utterly unbothered amusement at your defiance. The sharp executive who ruthlessly runs a corporate empire doesn't even blink.
"Give me a kiss," he commands softly, his voice falling into that deep, gravelly register that completely melts your stance.
"Zuko—"
"Y/n," he murmurs, leaning his massive frame into your space until his warm breath brushes your lips. "Give me a kiss, and I’ll even throw in you typing the order yourself."
You let out a helpless, defeated laugh, your pout dissolving into a bright smile. You lean forward, catching his lips in a sweet, lingering kiss that tastes faintly of your vanilla lip oil. Zuko groans softly, his large hand instantly coming up to cup the back of your neck, deepening the kiss for a breathless, possessive second before he slowly pulls back, leaving you slightly dazed.
He presses the phone into your palm, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand. "There. You just paid."
"You are completely impossible," you giggle, shaking your head as you open the food delivery app on his phone. You quickly select the Thai place down the street. “What does my dictator want to eat for dinner?” You adjust so that he can see the phone screen with you.
Zuko doesn’t bother looking at the menu, his gaze remains fixed on the way his phone screen illuminates all of your features in a way that makes his heart skip a beat. “Whatever you order is what I would like to eat, my little tyrant.”
You giggle into his shoulder, adding the pad see ew and a double order of crab rangoon before sliding his phone onto the coffee table next to the pink peonies.
You hit play on Love & Basketball, leaning back into his side as the movie officially begins. Zuko’s arm pulls you securely against his chest, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your bare shoulder over the lace trim of your top.
As the story of Quincy and Monica unfolds, the initial nostalgia of the classic romance gives way to the reality of their relationship. By the time Quincy begins projecting his frustrations onto Monica and pushing her away, you feel Zuko’s entire frame tense up behind you.
"I don't understand this," Zuko grumbles, his deep voice carrying a sharp, critical edge as he stares at the screen. He shifts slightly, tightening his grip on your waist. "He clearly wants her. He's furious and hurting because of his family, but instead of leaning on the person who actually supports him, he pushes her away. Why does he do that?"
You let out a soft, thoughtful sigh, tilting your head up to look at his sharp profile. "It's a defense mechanism, honey. He feels like he's losing control of his life, so he takes control of the one thing he can—which means cutting her out before she can leave him."
Zuko frowns, his eyes narrowing at the TV. "And why does she stay? Why does she keep letting him back in after he treats her like an afterthought? This... this is toxic. It's a struggle."
"You're completely right," you admit softly, running a hand over his forearm, feeling the solid, grounding warmth of his skin. "Honestly, this isn't my favorite film for exactly that reason. The way 'struggle love' is portrayed here—like you have to go through absolute hell and emotional exhaustion just to prove your loyalty—is really toxic. But it's a massive part of the culture. For a long time, this was the standard for cinematic romance in our community. A lot of us grew up thinking that true love meant enduring the pain until the other person finally got it together."
Zuko quiets down for a moment, the heavy weight of your words sinking in. He turns his head, his dark hair brushing your temple as he looks down at you with an expression of absolute, fierce intensity.
"I don't like it," he murmurs, voice low and fiercely protective. He brings his other hand up to gently cup your jaw, his thumb wiping across your cheekbone. "You shouldn't have to fight a war just to be loved, Y/n. Love shouldn't be a struggle."
Your heart swells so painfully tight in your chest that you can barely breathe. The contrast between the chaotic, emotionally draining relationship on the screen and the absolute, unyielding safety of the man holding you in your own living room is dizzying.
"I know," you whisper, a soft, incredibly smitten smile taking over your face as you lean over to press a sweet kiss to the center of his cheek. "That's why I'm glad I have you. You make it easy….really, really easy"
The movie continues, but the deep, grounding weight of Zuko’s words lingers in the warm space between you. As the characters on screen navigate another layer of emotional friction, the urge to be even closer to him completely overrides your attention to the plot.
Halfway through the film, right as the slow jams of the soundtrack begin to swell, you shift your weight. You uncurl your legs from beneath your shorts, twisting your body on the cushions until you are straddling his thighs, sitting completely in his lap.
Zuko doesn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. The moment you move, his large hands automatically slide under the hem of your loose pink top, his warm, calloused palms locking firmly onto your waist to anchor you securely against him. He shifts back slightly against the sofa cushions to give you more room, his eyes darkening instantly as he looks up at you in the flickering light of the TV.
"Everything alright, beautiful?" he questions, voice sitting at an octave that sends a jolt down your spine and to your toes.
"Perfect," you whisper, wrapping your arms comfortably around his broad shoulders. You sink your weight fully into his lap, the soft cotton and lace of your pajamas offering absolutely no barrier against the solid, radiating heat of his body. "I just wanted to be closer to you. The couch was too big."
A quiet, utterly amused chuckle ripples through his chest. Zuko adjusts his grip, his large hands sliding slightly lower to cup the back of your thighs, lifting you just enough to press you even tighter against his torso. He leans forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your warm skin right where you applied the vanilla and amber oil.
"I'm not complaining," he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm. "You can stay right here for the rest of the night."
You let out a soft, contented hum, your fingers tangling into the strands of his hair. On screen, the basketball court fades into the background as you focus entirely on the steady, powerful rhythm of his breathing.
You rest your chin on his shoulder, your fingers lazily alternating between playing with the ends of his hair where it brushes against his hoodie and massaging his scalp lightly. The movie plays on, a background blur of bright court lights and dramatic dialogue, but the real focus of the room has completely shifted to the small space you two share on the velvet cushions.
Zuko’s hands stay firmly stationed on your waist, his thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles against your skin just beneath the lace trim of your top. The warmth radiating from his palms is completely intoxicating, sinking deep into your core. Every time the TV screen flashes a brighter light, you can see the dark, intent look in his gold eyes as he watches you instead of the screen.
"You're missing the pivotal turning point," you tease in a breathless whisper, your lips brushing against his jawline. "Monica is literally playing him for his heart right now."
"I don't care," Zuko rumbles smoothly, his voice dropping into that heavy, husky note that sends a delicious shiver straight down your spine. He tilts his head up, his nose sliding along the column of your neck until his lips are hovering a mere fraction of an inch from yours. "I've already decided how I feel about the movie. I'm much more interested in my tyrant."
You let out a soft, helpless giggle, the vibrations buzzing right against his chest. "Oh, really? And what's your executive assessment, Mr. Dictator?"
"The tyrant is entirely too distracting," he murmurs, his eyes dropping to your lips before locking back onto yours with a sudden, fierce intensity. "She wears pink, she smells like vanilla, and she has me completely at her mercy in a tiny apartment."
Before you can even formulate a snappy retort, the sharp, cheerful buzz of the building's intercom echoes from the kitchen wall, signaling that the Thai food has officially arrived downstairs and is on its way up.
You let out a dramatic, exaggerated groan, resting your forehead against his chest. "No, perfect timing is a myth. The universe hates me."
Zuko lets out a rich, deep chuckle that shakes his entire frame beneath you. He doesn't let go of your waist right away, giving you one last, firm squeeze before pressing a deep, stealing kiss to your mouth that leaves your head spinning.
"Stay put," he commands softly, a lazy, utterly unbothered smirk pulling at his lips as he effortlessly shifts you off his lap and onto the cushion next to him. He stands up, stretching his massive frame and running a hand through his dark hair as he heads toward the entryway. "I’ll grab the food, we’ll eat, and then we start The Players Club."
You stay nestled on the sofa for a brief second, your body instantly missing the radiating heat of his frame the moment he steps away. The movie on the screen is completely forgotten as you listen to the heavy, confident thud of Zuko’s footsteps echoing down your short hallway, followed by the deep rumble of his voice as he opens the front door to thank the delivery driver.
A moment later, he strolls back into the living room, effortlessly carrying the heavy brown paper bag in one hand. The mouth-watering scent of savory garlic, sweet peanut sauce, and fried crab rangoon immediately fills the air, completely overtaking the gentle scent of your vanilla candles.
"Smells incredible," Zuko notes, pausing at the edge of the living room. His eyes sweep over the space, landing on the coffee table stacked with your peonies, the remote, and his phone. He looks down at the floor, then back up at you with a raised eyebrow. "Are we eating at the table, or do you have another strategic masterpiece in mind, beautiful?"
"Floor," you declare instantly, a playful grin lighting up your face. You slide off the velvet cushions, grabbing the extra oversized plush pillows from the armchair and tossing them onto the thick, cream-colored area rug in front of the TV. "It's a movie night law. Couch is for watching, floor is for feasting."
Zuko lets out a quiet amused chuckle, the sound resonating warmly in his chest. "As the princess commands."
He doesn't hesitate to join you, dropping down onto the rug with a fluid, surprising grace for a man of his massive size. He discards the paper bag between you both, immediately kicking off his shoes and loosening the collar of his hoodie to get comfortable. He leans back against the base of the sofa, stretching his long legs out across the rug, creating a perfect, secure little V-shaped nook between his thighs.
"Come here," he murmurs, his voice dropping into that smooth register. He pats the space right in front of him.
You don't need to be told twice. You slide backward into his chest, letting out a contented sigh as Zuko’s large frame instantly wraps around you from behind. He adjusts a plush pillow behind your back, locking his solid arms loosely around your waist to anchor you against him. You are completely enveloped in his warmth, your back pressed flush against his broad chest, your head resting perfectly just below his chin.
"Comfortable?" he questions, his breath stirring the loose hairs at your temple.
"Extremely," you purr, already reaching into the bag to pull out the styrofoam containers.
You pop open the container of pad see ew, steam immediately billowing out, carrying the rich scent of sweet soy sauce and char-grilled noodles. You grab the two pairs of chopsticks, handing one back blindly over your shoulder. Zuko takes them, his large, calloused fingers brushing against yours, sending a familiar, delicious spark straight to your core.
"Here, try the crab rangoon first while it's hot," you say, breaking apart a crispy, golden wonton pouch and holding it up toward him.
Zuko leans forward slightly, his sharp jawline brushing your cheek as he takes a bite straight from your hand. He chews slowly, a look of genuine satisfaction washing over his usually stoic, intense features. "Incredible. Your Thai place down the street might actually be a threat to my favorite spots downtown."
"I told you so," you brag softly, turning your head to flash him a smug, dimpled smile. "Never doubt my executive decisions when it comes to takeout."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he murmurs, his eyes darkening with that heavy, unyielding fondness that always makes your heart skip. He dips his own chopsticks into the container of noodles, expertly gathering a perfect bite of the wide, glossy noodles and tender chicken, guiding it carefully to your lips. "Open up, tyrant."
You giggle, accepting the bite. The savory, slightly sweet flavor is perfect, and you let out a soft groan of pure happiness, melting even deeper back into his solid torso, “A princess and a tyrant, huh?”
He hums, glancing down at you for a moment, not at all surprised to see you staring at him through your lashes, “Mhmm, a rather charming one too. She’s commanding and gets exactly what she wants, with little to no questions asked. Borderline committed a hostile take over earlier when she climbed on top of me, so steer clear of her.”
You cackle, eyes crinkling as you throw your head back in laughter. “ It’s not like you tell me no? So, I think you’re reaping what you sowed, wouldn’t you agree?”
You hold his gaze, beaming up at him with nothing short of pure joy and contentment. Your heart skips a beat and your lips part slightly as you witness his lips pull into a smile that has you thinking about all the positions he could put you in on the floor.
He’s stunning.
“Princess,” he states, his deep, husky voice dipping into an octave so intimate it makes your heart swell. “If being in your presence, holding you in my arms, and getting the chance to simply gaze upon your beauty is a harvest I’ve earned... I’d spend a lifetime reaping what I sowed.”
Your breath catches in your throat. The absolute, fierce pride and sincerity in his gaze is dizzying, completely eclipsing the thoughts that were racing through your mind just a second ago.
He leans down, his sharp jawline brushing against your cheek as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, taking in the sweet scent of your oil before pressing a slow, lingering kiss right against your warm skin.
"I don't say no to you," he confesses softly against your skin, his warm breath sending a delicious shiver straight down your spine, "because giving you everything you want is the easiest thing I've ever done."
You let out a shaky, entirely smitten sigh. You close your eyes to take a moment, allowing yourself to feel the weight of his words—and his actions. He kisses you like you’re the very sustenance providing him with life. He holds you as if you’re the only thing that grounds him. He speaks to you with a sincerity and air that conveys there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing than conversing with you. The flowers he sends before every date. The intentionality in which he plans all of your dates. The way he offers reassurance at every step of the way; paired with the fact that he does check-ins to ensure you’re comfortable with everything he does. How he kisses you, how he touches you, every step of the way he’s making sure everything is alright.
What a man!
“You’re fucking perfect,” you whisper quietly, fluttering your eyes open to see him peering down at you. “I do think you were made for me and I hope that’s not being too forward.”
Zuko freezes against your skin, the powerful, calculated man completely vanishing as your words strike him right in the chest. When he pulls back to look down at you, his gold eyes are burning with an intensity that is almost overwhelming.
"Forward?" he echoes, his voice rough and incredibly thick. His large hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb wiping across your cheekbone with a reverence that borders on worship. "Beautiful, you could demand the world from me right now and I’d figure out a way to hand it to you. You say jump, and I’m happily asking how high. The universe doesn’t get many things right, but with you and I being made for one another? It did phenomenal work.”
A breathless, utterly captivated laugh escapes your throat. You lean your face up into his large palm, kissing the warm meat of his thumb. “Phenomenal work, huh? I guess I’ll have to write a five-star review for the universe.”
You reach up, your fingers tangling into the soft fabric of his hoodie to tug him down just an inch closer. “But since you’re happily asking how high... I demand that you kiss me right now. Because you completely ruined my train of thought and I’m at your mercy on this rug.”
Zuko’s lips pull into a slow, thoroughly pleased smirk, his eyes darkening with a sudden, heavy heat. “Consider it done,” he rumbles.
He doesn't make you move from your spot between his legs. Instead, he leans his massive frame over your shoulder, his large hand sliding from your jaw to cup the back of your neck. His long fingers grip gently but firmly, tilting your head back and up at an angle that exposes the long line of your throat.
The moment his mouth seals over yours, any lingering air in your lungs completely evaporates. It isn't the sweet, tentative kiss from earlier on the couch; this is a deep, intoxicating claim. His lips are warm and firm, parting yours with an unhurried, possessive confidence that makes your head spin instantly. Because you're pressed flush against his broad chest, you can feel the heavy, ragged thud of his heart echoing straight into your back.
He groans softly into the kiss, the low vibration rattling deep in his chest and buzzing right against your tongue. He pulls you even tighter against his torso with his free arm, his solid forearm locking around your waist and lifting you just a fraction against him. The calloused edge of his thumb sweeps along your jawline, pressing just firmly enough to make a soft, helpless whimper escape your throat as he deepens the kiss from above.
Zuko drinks the sound in like a starving man. The scent of him—expensive cedar wood, rich amber, and pure, clean heat, envelops you entirely, erasing the rest of the apartment until the only thing that exists is the sensation of his lips against yours.
When his tongue strokes against yours, it’s slow, rhythmic, and devastatingly thorough, turning your insides into absolute liquid. Your hand reaches blindly backward, your fingers gripping his shoulder and digging into the fabric of his hoodie just to keep yourself grounded as the world tilts on its axis. Every touch of his mouth feels deliberate, a perfect physical translation of the devotion he just promised you.
By the time he slowly pulls back, his breathing is uneven, his breath fanning across your swollen lips. He rests his sharp chin gently on your shoulder, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he takes a deep, stabilizing breath against your skin.
"See?" he murmurs, his voice completely wrecked, deep, and echoing right against your collarbone. "Easiest thing I've ever done. Now eat before the food gets cold, tyrant."
You exhale softly, rolling your eyes playfully, “ahhh, the dictator's back–BUT–lucky for me he’s handsome and fuckable.”
The deep, grounding breath he was just taking hitches sharply in his throat. For a long, heavy second, the only sound in the apartment is the soft hum of the television. Zuko is a man used to being in absolute control of every boardroom and corporate empire he touches, but right now, sitting on your living room floor, you have completely short-circuited his brain.
Slowly, his head lifts from your shoulder. When you glance back, his gold eyes are wide, darkened with a sudden, scorching heat that makes the breath trap in your throat. A flush creeping up his sharp neck proves just how heavily your words landed.
"Y/n," he exhales. His voice has dropped into a dangerously low, gravelly octave, completely stripped of its corporate polish. He swallows hard, his large hands anchoring onto your waist with a sudden, firm grip that presses your back flush against his chest. "You cannot say things like that to me right now."
"Why not?" you tease, your voice a breathless whisper as you turn your head to hold his intense gaze.
"Because I am trying very hard to be a gentleman," Zuko confesses roughly, his thumb twitching against your hip. He looks around your cozy, vanilla-scented apartment, a visual reminder that he is a guest in your sacred space for the very first time. "It’s my first night here. I promised myself I’d be on my best behavior, keep my hands to myself, and commit every movie we watched to memory; which is getting very hard to do with you looking and talking to me like that."
You tsk playfully, pushing the takeout containers away and turning in his hold. He assists you in your adjustment, his large hands instinctively guiding your hips, allowing you to sit completely in his lap.
You wrap your arms around his neck, leaning in until your lips are almost touching his ear. “What if… I said I don’t want you on your best behavior? Or to keep those hands of yours to yourself?”
You pull back just enough to watch his reaction, and the payoff is glorious. The powerful, usually unshakeable man completely freezes beneath you. You can visibly see his brain short-circuiting in real-time, his sharp jaw locking tight as he stares at you, utterly stunned and entirely undone by your boldness.
Your smile widens, a triumphant, rasaclly little grin breaking across your face.
"Cat got your tongue, honey?" you tease in a breathless whisper.
To drive the point home, you slowly roll your hips against his. The sudden friction causes a low, completely involuntary hitch in Zuko’s chest—but the playful smirk on your lips suddenly falters. Because the cotton of your pajama shorts is so thin, the deliberate movement allows you to feel the solid, unmistakable ridge of his rapidly growing erection pressing hard against your center.
You freeze, your breath catching in your own throat this time. The sheer, overwhelming size of him makes you pause, your eyes widening as the reality of what you're playing with sinks in.
You swallow hard, your voice dropping into a stunned, entirely unfiltered whisper. "You're... you're packing, aren't you?"
Zuko practically chokes on air.
A heavy, ragged swallow hitches in Zuko’s throat, his broad chest heaving as he desperately tries to claw back some semblance of his breathing. The hot flush on his neck deepens, burning a fierce red in the dim light of the room. He looks at you, completely flabbergasted, his mouth parting slightly before he clamps it shut again, utterly bewildered by how effortlessly you just flipped the script on him.
When he finally finds his voice, it’s completely ruined—deep, rough, and flourishing with an intense, gravelly heat.
"Y/n," he chokes out, his hands finally moving from where they had frozen mid-air. Instead of pulling away, his large, warm palms slam flat against the floor right behind your hips, bracing his massive frame as if he needs the physical support just to survive your presence. "You... you cannot just say things like that."
A muffled, dark growl builds in the back of his throat as he watches your shocked expression morph right back into a thrilled, highly entertained grin.
"I mean it," he mumurs, leaning forward until his forehead drops right against your shoulder with a defeated, heavy thud. His broad shoulders shake with a breathless, half-strangled laugh against your skin. "I am sitting in your apartment, trying to be the most respectful, well-behaved man on the planet, and you are actively trying to destroy me."
He slowly lifts his head, his gold eyes blazing with a sudden, devastatingly heavy focus that makes your stomach do a delicious flip. The initial shock is fading, replaced by a thick, simmering tension that fills the entire space between your bodies.
His hand leaves the floor, his long fingers wrapping firmly around your hip, squeezing just enough to remind you of the sheer size of the man holding you. He glances down at the paper bag you pushed aside, then looks back up at you, his thumb tracing a heavy, warning circle against your skin.
"Princess... you need to eat," Zuko murmurs, his voice dropping into a dangerously low, tight tone that tells you he is holding onto his control by a literal thread. "Because if you don't start putting that food in your mouth right now, I am going to find a much different use for it, and I can promise you that dinner will be the last thing on your mind."
You simply smile and shift back into place. You’re folding before the night ends and oh how lovely that will be.
For the next twenty minutes, the living room descends into a cozy, perfectly synchronized rhythm. You hit play on the remote, but neither of you is really paying attention to the screen anymore. Instead, you share the food right there on the floor, trading bites of noodles, laughing softly whenever a drop of sauce threatens to ruin your pink top, and enjoying the absolute, unhurried peace of the night. Zuko's large hand occasionally abandons his chopsticks just to rest heavily on your thigh, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles through the soft fabric of your shorts.
As the final contents of the noodle box disappear, you lean your head back against his shoulder, looking up at his sharp profile in the dim, flickering light of the television.
"Alright," you whisper, your voice thick with contentment. "The savory course is officially cleared. Are you ready for the grand finale?"
Zuko sets the empty containers aside, his arms instantly wrapping tightly around your waist again, pulling you so close that you can feel the steady, powerful thumping of his heart against your back. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin right beneath your ear.
"Bring on the cookies and strawberries, beautiful," he purrs against your skin, a low, possessive growl humming through his chest. "And turn on The Players Club. I want to see what requires your full concentration—because right now, all of mine is on you."
You shift slightly against his chest, a soft, thrilled shiver rippling over your skin at the promise in his tone. The warmth of his body acts like a magnet, making it incredibly hard to actually disentangle yourself from the secure nook of his thighs , but the sweet scent of the strawberry cookies and chocolate-covered strawberries waiting in the kitchen provides just enough motivation.
"Get cozy on the couch and start warming the blanket. This is going to be the movie to surpass all movies thus far," you instruct, tilting your head back to press a quick, playful kiss to his jawline before sliding out of his embrace.
He lets out a small laugh, but follows your instructions. He sets the containers back into the bag, efficiently cleaning up the small mess the two of you made.
From around the corner in the kitchen, you can't see him, but you smile as you listen to the familiar, comforting sounds of him carrying the trash to the bin and adjusting the plush pillows on the sectional.
"Blanket is warming, princess," his deep voice calls out, echoing warmly into the kitchen with that signature dry, amused undertone. "Your fortress is secured. Come back and defend it."
You let out a bright giggle , the cool hardwood beneath your bare feet a sharp contrast to the thick rug you just left. You reach into the cabinets and pull out a pretty pink serving tray, arranging everything meticulously. On one side, you set the chilled platter of strawberries—meticulously dipped in milk chocolate and perfectly set in neat, glossy rows. On the other, you arrange the homemade strawberry cookies. The rich, fruity, and buttery scent still hangs faintly in the air , a sweet reminder of how hard you and Suki had worked to get the headquarters ready.
Balancing the pink tray carefully in your hands, you navigate back to the living room. Your heart does a happy little dance when you see him—swallowed up by your blankets and looking entirely at peace , his golden eyes locking onto you the exact second you reappear.
"The grand finale has officially arrived," you announce, stepping over to the couch.
You carefully set the pink tray down on the tiered coffee table right next to your bouquet. Before Zuko can even reach out to pull you down, you take the initiative and shock him completely. With a fluid, confident step, you climb right into his lap yourself, sliding your legs over so you are sitting completely sideways across his broad, solid thighs, your back plush against the sofa.
Zuko’s breath hitches sharply, his entire body going entirely rigid beneath you for a split second. He was fully prepared to play the patient gentleman and let you call all the shots , so your sudden, unprompted boldness completely catches him off guard.
A victorious, playful little smile pulls at your lips as you watch his eyes widen in beautiful, raw surprise. But he recovers with terrifying speed. A fainr, completely captivated chuckle hums deep in his chest , and his large, warm hands instantly lock onto your waist, assisting you in your adjustment and anchoring you tightly against his torso.
He pulls the heavy, warm blanket up and over both of your laps, completely enveloping your smaller frame in his radiating heat. He leans down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his lips lingering against your right where your vanilla and amber oil smells the most potent.
"You are full of surprises tonight, beautiful," he breathes, his grip on your waist giving you a firm, possessive squeeze. "Now hit play. Let's see what requires this legendary level of concentration."
You pick up the remote, navigate to the streaming dashboard, and click on The Players Club. As the iconic, high-energy dramatic music starts to swell through the living room speakers , you reach over to the tray and pick up one of the pink strawberry cookies, taking a soft, sweet bite.
You tilt your head up, holding a cold, chocolate-dipped strawberry up to his lips. "Open up, handsome. Let's see if you can handle Dolla’ Bill and Diamond, or if you're just going to keep staring at me the entire time,” he releases an amused huff as he leans down to take a bite of the delicious treat straight from your fingers. His lips warm as they brush against your hand.
You try your absolute best to keep your eyes locked on the screen, determined to maintain your full concentration as Diamond navigates the chaotic backrooms of the club. But it is proving to be an uphill battle.
Even though you were the one who demanded he pay attention, your mind is currently taking a one-way trip to the deep end of how wonderful this night could go if you end up underneath him by the time this movie finishes.
Because you’re sitting sideways across his lap, you are hyper-aware of every single detail of his body. The broad, immovable expanse of his chest is pressed flush against your side, and you can feel the rigid, unyielding muscle of his thighs beneath you. Worse, every time you shift even a fraction of an inch to take a bite of your strawberry cookie, you can still feel the heavy, solid ridge of him pressing firmly against your hip under the thin blanket. The sheer size of him—paired with the wicked memory of what you just teased him about, is making your core ache with a heavy, needy throb.
Meanwhile, Zuko is actually being a model student. True to his promise to learn more about your culture, his golden eyes are locked onto the screen, his expression a mix of intense focus and utter bewilderment.
“Wait,” Zuko mutters, gesturing towards the TV. “ Dolla’ Bill is supposed to be running a successful club, but you’re telling me he’s not paying the people who loaned the money to him? And now he’s putting his security in trouble because he’s hiding?”
You let out a weak, slightly breathless hum, your mind completely tracking the way his large hand is currently resting flat on your waist, his thumb casually rubbing through the thin cotton of your top. You swallow hard, trying to process his question through the heavy fog of desire settling over your brain. "Uh... yeah. He's greedy. Selfish…very all about him."
You look up at his sharp profile, completely captivated by the crisp line of his jaw and the plush fullness of his lips. Your heart skips a beat, your eyes dropping to his mouth as you imagine exactly what those lips felt like when he was devouring you just minutes ago on the rug. You think about him pinning your wrists above your head, about the weight of his massive frame pressing you down, about how loud he would groan if you rolled your hips against him just one more time.
"Y/n?" Zuko questions softly, breaking the spell.
He turns his head, noticing the quiet stillness that has come over you. When his gold eyes meet yours, he doesn't find the enthusiastic film guide who was loud and proud during the first two films. Instead, he sees your flushed cheeks, your slightly parted lips, and the dark, heavy gaze you're using to track the movement of his throat.
A slow, thoroughly knowing smirk gradually pulls at the corner of his lips. He instantly recognizes that look. The strict gentlemanly restraint he was forcing himself to maintain softens, replaced by a glint of heavy, unbothered amusement.
"Princess," he rasps, his hand on your waist tightening, his fingers digging into your hip just firmly enough to make you gasp. He leans down, nipping your ear lightly with his teeth, his voice dipping into a wickedly quiet pitch. "You're not paying attention to Diamond at all, are you?"
He feels the way you shudder against him and when he pulls away to get a good look at your face, you’re wearing a grin that’s dismantling his composure in every sense of the word. You’re up to no good—and he’s acutely aware of that.
“Give me a kiss,” you demand.
The words leave your lips like an ultimatum, and the effect they have on Zuko is immediate.
The low, knowing smirk on his lips completely vanishes, his mouth parting slightly in a ragged, silent breath as his entire frame locks up under your thighs. He stares down at you, his eyes wide and burning with a dark, electric heat that proves your raw confidence has shattered whatever fragile hold he had left on his composure.
"Y/n," he groans out. It's a warning, a desperate plea for you to stop pushing him, but the way his long fingers effortlessly dig deeper into the meat of your hip entirely betrays him.
You don't back down. Instead, your grin only widens, your hands sliding up the heavy cotton of his hoodie to wrap firmly around the back of his neck, your fingers tangling slightly into the long, loose strands of his hair. You give a deliberate, unyielding tug, pulling his massive frame down until his mouth is a mere breath away from yours.
"I didn't ask you what my name was, Mr. Dictator," you whisper teasingly, holding his scorching gaze through your lashes. "I said, give me a kiss."
"God help me, you are something else," he rasps against your lips.
Before you can even flash a triumphant smile, his large hand flies from your waist to the back of your neck, his fingers locking firmly into your hair to tilt your head back. He claims your mouth with a sudden, bruising certainty that leaves you completely breathless, his lips parting yours in a deep, intoxicating rush that proves he is entirely done trying to be good.
You moan directly into the heavy, intoxicating warmth of his mouth, the soft sound trapped between your lips as you tighten your hold around his neck. The pure intensity of his kiss is dizzying, making your head spin instantly.
Desperate to feel the contrast of his skin, you slide one of your hands down from the silky strands of his hair, tracing the broad line of his shoulder until your fingers find his large hand stationed around your waist. Your palms meet, your fingers loosely interlocking with his over the thin cotton of your top.
But before you can guide his hand anywhere, you force yourself to pull back just a fraction of an inch.
Your breathing is shallow and completely uneven, your lips swollen and tingling from the sheer weight of his claim. You look up at him through your lashes, your heart hammering a frantic, wild rhythm against his chest as you take in his darkened gold eyes and the hot flush creeping up his sharp jawline.
"Zuko," you whisper breathlessly, your thumb tracing a slow, trembling line across the back of his large knuckles. "Can I... can I be forward one more time?"
Zuko lets out a rough exhale, his warm breath fanning across your damp lips. The strict gentlemanly restraint he had been clinging to all night is almost entirely gone, replaced by an unyielding, thorough devotion that burns in his gaze. His hand on your waist tightens, holding your hips so securely against his thighs that you can feel every single inch of him pressing hard against you.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his voice completely undone, gravelly, and scraping heavily against his throat as his long fingers slide up to cup your jawline with a reverence that borders on worship. "You can be as forward as you’d like. I'm entirely at your mercy tonight."
You tilt your head, a sheepish grin playing on your lips as you hold his intense gaze. Slowly, you guide his hand, inching his long fingers down the side of your stomach, letting his warm palm slide over the curve of your hip before you finally pause, resting his hand right against your outer thigh.
"You're always asking me if things are okay and if something is too much," you murmur, your voice dropping into a quiet, tentative whisper that hangs sweetly in the space between your faces. "I'm turning those questions back on to you. How far is too far, and what's okay and not okay?"
Zuko stops breathing entirely for a long second.
For a moment, he simply stares at you, his eyes wide as the weight of your question sinks into his chest. The large hand resting against your thigh tenses slightly, his calloused fingers twitching against the thin fabric of your pink shorts. He is a man who spent the last three months carefully structuring every boundary, entirely intent on keeping his word and ensuring you felt completely safe in his presence. Hearing you offer that same meticulous protection back to him completely shatters his ability to speak.
Slowly, the tension in his broad shoulders softens, a look of profound, overwhelming tenderness overtaking his sharp features. He doesn't pull his hands away from your hips. Instead, his fingers simply loosen their grip, his warm palms resting flat against your skin with a reverence that makes your throat tighten.
"Y/n," he murmurs, his voice incredibly thick, heavy, and quiet in the dim light of the television.
He lifts one hand from your hip, his long fingers gently sweeping a stray braid behind your ear, his touch so light and deliberate it makes a soft shiver ripple down your spine. He holds your gaze, ensuring you can see the absolute sincerity and clarity shining in his gold-flecked eyes.
"Nothing you do could ever be 'too much' for me," he confesses quietly, a small, incredibly smitten smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I am completely, entirely yours. If you wanted to take things all the way tonight, I would stay right here on this couch and let you have your way with me until morning. I don't have boundaries when it comes to what I'll give you."
His hand sits warmly against the upper part of your thigh, his thumb tracing a heavy, soothing circle against your skin under the blanket, grounding you both in the quiet safety of the apartment.
"But it’s our very first night in your space," Zuko continues gently, his gaze dropping to your lips before locking back onto yours with an unyielding warmth. "And I know how important it is to you that we take our time and build this right. So, what is okay with me? Anything that makes you feel cherished, beautiful. We can stay right here, tangled up under this blanket, eating strawberry cookies and making out for the next ten hours, and it will still be the best night of my life. You set the line. Wherever you draw it, I'll happily stand right behind it."
Your fingers wrap tightly around his large wrist, breaking the quiet stillness of his speech as you deliberately guide his hand down. You slide his warm palm lower, moving past the edge of your pink shorts until his fingers glide directly beneath the thin material. The second his calloused hand presses against the bare, sensitive skin between your legs, the reality of what you're doing hits him like a physical blow.
You’re pantyless. You’re soaking.
Zuko is utterly paralyzed by the sheer, exhilarating rush of heat greeting his fingertips. You are completely slick, a beautifully warm and heavy mess that you made entirely because of him, and the absolute absence of any panties under your cotton shorts completely short-circuits his mind. He can feel the direct, unshielded pulse of your arousal right against his touch, making him acutely aware of just how deeply his kisses and the heavy weight of his erection have unravelled you.
Your lips part at the delicious sensation of his hands on you without any barrier.
"Y/n," he chokes out. His voice is barely a whisper, completely stripped of its usual weight, sounding entirely undone as he looks up at you through his dark lashes. "You... you aren't wearing—"
"I told you I didn't want you on your best behavior," you murmur, your voice dropping into a daring, flushed confession as you hold his wide, scorching gaze. To drive the point completely home, you gently press down on his hand, shifting your hips just a fraction of an inch sideways across his thighs.
The deliberate movement causes his calloused fingers to slide directly through your slickness, and a sharp, ragged groan rips from Zuko’s throat.
Your restrained gentleman’s control is damn near gone and you aren’t helping, nor do you have any ambitions to.
The large, trembling hand you are holding suddenly takes over entirely, his long fingers parting the thin cotton of your shorts with a sudden, possessive confidence that makes your heart stutter. He doesn't pull away. Instead, his palm cups you entirely, his thumb finding the exact center of your ache and pressing just firmly enough to make your hips hitch off his lap with a sharp, helpless whimper.
A hoarse, dark chuckle resonantes from deep in Zuko’s chest at the soft whimper that slips from your lips, his fingers flexing against your hip to keep you securely aligned with him.
He doesn't rush. Instead, he uses the sleek warmth he’s gathered to glide his thumb up and over your sensitive clit one more time, deliberately testing your responsiveness. Your hips instinctively twitch upward, chasing the contact, and that subtle, desperate movement is all it takes to make his golden eyes darken to near-black.
Slowly, deliberately, Zuko curves his hand, the tip of his long, index finger nudging against your entrance.
He watches you with a rapt, unblinking intensity, his sharp features completely locked onto your face as he pushes past the tight embrace of your muscles and slips a finger inside.
A sharp breath trips in your throat, your eyes fluttering shut as your head drops against his shoulder. A soft, undone moan ripples past your lips, and the sound is music to him. Zuko’s thumb instantly finds your clit, anchoring his hand against you as he stays perfectly still inside your tight, blazingly hot depth, letting you adjust to the sudden thickness of him.
"Look at me, beautiful," he commands softly, his voice dropping into that thick, commanding tone that captivates your attention. He nudges his jaw against your temple, his voice a rough command against your skin. "Open your eyes. Let me see you."
Through a heavy, desire-fueled fog, you force your eyelids open, your gaze instantly colliding with the fierce, burning heat of his gold eyes. He is looking at you with a reverence so profound it makes your throat tighten, tracking the ragged rise and fall of your chest.
Seeing that you're looking right back at him, Zuko hooks his finger slightly, curling upward to find the exact spot that makes your entire body tremble. He curls it again, beginning a slow, agonizingly deep stroke that pulls a loud, high-pitched gasp straight out of your throat.
"There’s my beautiful girl," Zuko exhales, his composure completely fracturing as he watches your lips part, your features twisting into a beautiful expression of pure, unadulterated pleasure. He begins to move his finger in a steady, unhurried rhythm, matching the deliberate press of his thumb against your center. "So warm and wet... and you did all of this just sitting in my lap."
You nod breathlessly, the simple movement feeling heavy and monumental under the weight of his stare. Desperate to get even closer to the heat of his skin, you slide your hands right past the soft cotton collar of his black hoodie, your fingertips sinking directly onto the broad, solid expanse of his shoulders. Your nails catch against the firm shift of his back muscles, anchoring yourself to his massive frame as he continues that agonizingly perfect, rhythmic stroke inside you.
"Just being around you is dangerous," you confess, your voice barely a ragged whisper against his jawline. You tilt your hips just a fraction, leaning into the full thickness of his finger as a delicious, tight ache begins to pull at your lower stomach. Your eyes lock onto his burning gold ones, all your defenses entirely stripped away. "I—I really fucking want you,” you gasp out, legs opening wider as he targets your g-spot with a precision that makes your nails curl deep into his shoulders.
Zuko’s breath hitches sharply at the raw, unshielded curse slipping from your lips, the sheer weight of your confession sending a visible tremor straight through his massive frame. Hearing you completely drop your defenses and admit how badly you want him shatters the final remnants of his restraint.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he growls softly against your mouth, his eyes burning with a dark, unyielding heat as he takes in the sight of your parted legs and the tight, desperate grip of your nails in his shoulders.
He doesn't make you wait. Keeping his first finger buried deep inside you, targeting that perfect spot with a deliberate, agonizing pressure, Zuko coaxes your thighs a fraction wider with his palm. Slowly, relentlessly, he presses a second finger right against your soaked entrance, nudging past the tight, pulsing ring of your muscles before sliding it smoothly inside alongside the first.
The sudden, stretching fullness of him inside you makes the air trap instantly in your throat. Your back arches completely off his chest, your inner walls convulsing in a frantic, tight grip around the added width.
Zuko lets out a low, rough groan at the tight squeeze, his forehead dropping heavily into the crook of your neck as your body frantically tries to adjust to the heat of his hand. His chest heaves against yours, his heart hammering a wild, chaotic rhythm that echoes straight into your ribs.
"Look at me, princess," he murmurs, his voice thick, gravelly, and completely undone as he lifts his head to lock eyes with you again. He doesn't start moving yet, letting you ride out the overwhelming wave of stretch, but his thumb delivers a heavy, crushing press right against your swollen clit. "Take a deep breath for me. That's it... take all of it."
You let out a broken, high-pitched whimper, nodding breathlessly as the heavy ache in your lower stomach tightens into a knot of pure desperation.
Once he feels your muscles reluctantly soften around his fingers, a slow, predatory smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. He hooks both fingers upward, finding that sensitive ridge inside you with a precision that makes your vision go dark around the edges. He begins a heavy, punishingly deep rhythm, driving into you in a slow, unhurried pattern that leaves you completely at his mercy under the blanket.
"Just like that," you gasp out, the words tearing from your throat in a breathless, undone rush as the heavy, rhythmic friction of his fingers threatens to steal your sanity entirely. You throw your head back against the couch, your hips blindly arching up to meet every deep, punishing stroke. "Zuko, please... don't stop. Don't you dare stop."
To emphasize the sheer desperation of your demand, your fingers flex hard against his shoulders, your nails digging significantly deeper into the firm, flexing muscles of his back.
Zuko lets out a low, rough groan at the sharp sting of your nails, his entire frame shuddering against yours. The raw, aggressive drag of your grip doesn't make him pull away; instead, it completely triggers something primal in him. His hands on your waist tighten like steel bands, anchoring your sideways position across his thighs so securely that you can feel the heavy, frantic pulse of his erection throbbing straight through your shorts.
He leans down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, and presses a hot, bruising kiss right over your racing pulse point. The intense, velvety heat of his mouth against your sensitive skin makes a long, trembling whimper ripple down your spine.
But he isn't done testing your limits.
With his fingers still driving relentlessly deep inside your soaked warmth, matching the heavy, crushing rhythm of his thumb against your center, Zuko nips the soft skin of your neck lightly with his teeth.
The sharp, sudden prick of pleasure and pain completely shatters whatever hold you had on your composure. It unravels you in every sense of the word. Your vision goes dark around the edges, your inner muscles convulsing in a violent, desperate squeeze around his fingers as a loud, completely unprompted groan rips straight out of your chest.
"Ohhhh, fuck," you moan out, the curse loud, floating over The Players Club soundtrack.
He drinks in the uninhibited sound like water after a drought , a hushed, deeply captivated rumble stems from his chest directly into yours. He pulls his teeth back just enough to lick over the sensitive mark he just left, his breath fanning scorching hot against your damp skin.
"That's it, beautiful," he rasps, his voice completely ruined, gruff, and thick with a dangerous amount of satisfaction as he speeds up his fingers, driving you mercilessly toward the edge. "Let it out. Let me hear exactly what I'm doing to you."
The sudden increase in speed is the final, devastating blow. Your inner muscles clamp around his fingers in a violent, desperate contraction as a wave of sharp, blinding pleasure crashes over you. You lose all sense of time and space, your back arching off the sofa as you ride out the peak of your orgasm, your helpless whimpers filling the small gap between your faces.
Zuko holds you through every single tremor, his fingers remaining buried deep inside your soaking warmth, pulsing in sync with your walls. He watches your face with an unblinking, profound focus, taking in the burning heat of your cheeks and the sheer beauty of your complete surrender.
As the heavy waves of pleasure slowly begin to recede, leaving your mind completely fried and your body tingling, a sudden surge of raw confidence returns to you.
Before he can even offer a gentle word, your hand flies up, your fingers wrapping firmly around his sharp, masculine jawline. Your thumb digs right into the corner of his cheek, and with an unyielding tug, you pull him down into a soul-snatching kiss.
The collision of your mouths is completely electric. You pour every ounce of your lingering, post-climax desperation into him, your lips parting his in a deep, consuming rush that proves you are nowhere near finished with him tonight. Zuko lets out a muffled, completely staggered groan into your mouth, his large hand on your waist tightening so hard his knuckles go white under the blanket.
Carefully, and albeit, reluctantly, he breaks the kiss, but he doesn't let you escape his personal space. His eyes remain fixed entirely on yours as his hand finally slides out from beneath the hem of your shorts. You let out a soft, helpless moan at the sudden absence of him, the cold air hitting your sensitive skin, but the sound is instantly cut short when his hand rises into the dim light between your faces.
Holding your gaze with a deliberate, unblinking intensity, Zuko brings his wet fingers directly to his lips.
He slowly parts his mouth, his long tongue sweeping across his fingers to taste the thick, glossy evidence of your climax right in front of you. A sharp breath trips in your throat at the sheer audacity of the gesture, your entire body tightening all over again as you watch his throat swallow. An unhurried, thoroughly wicked smirk gradually pulls at the corner of his lips, a flash of heavy, unbothered pride taking over his sharp features.
"You taste absolutely phenomenal," he murmurs, his voice heavily undulating against your lips as he leans in close, his thumb gently catching a stray drop of moisture at the corner of his mouth. "Like the most perfect dessert."
You pull back just a fraction of an inch, your breathing shallow and completely ruined as you hold his gaze through your lashes.
"Bedroom now," you whisper heavily against his swollen lips, your voice a daring, heated command that makes his pulse spike instantly. "Before our first time ends up being on my living room couch... which is much too small for what you're carrying."
The journey from the living room to the bedroom is a blur of shifting shadows and the steady, solid thud of Zuko’s heartbeat against your ear. He carries you effortlessly, his massive arms holding you securely against his chest as if your weight is nothing at all. Your fingers stay tightly tangled in the soft fabric of his black hoodie, your face buried in the warm crook of his neck.
When he steps into the dimness of your room, he doesn’t just drop you on the mattress.
Zuko moves as if he’s carrying one of the most precious pieces of cargo to grace the planet, setting you on the edge of your bed with the utmost care. You watch with wide eyes as he steps back just a bit, putting distance between the two of you. He’s a masterpiece of perfectly tailored loungewear and beauty that echoes the craftsmanship of ancient greek sculptures.
And as you sit on the bed, eyes blown wide and glossy. Lips swollen from kisses and skin glistening from your skincare routine. You’re the living embodiment of temptation and perfection—a dangerous combination to a man trying hard to respect your desire to take things slow.
“Are you sure, beautiful? We can stop right now and finish the movie, or we can just chat and I hold you. We don’t have to do anything beyond what we’ve already done,” he states, voice oozing with reassurance and contentment.
A smile takes over your features, and you fall back, releasing a sigh from the way his words feel just like your duvet; cozy and comforting. Your smile morphs into something else entirely though as the cool air of your room brushes along your skin and brings more awareness to the heat in between your thighs. You lift your legs up, not bothering to glance at him as you lazily wrap them around his small waist.
“See, and that just made me wetter…” you whine, your voice light and airy. “I—I really do want you, Zuko. Badly. Desperately. I want to…. oh wow, here comes the honesty,” your voice drops to a tentative whisper and your cheeks grow warmer. “I want to have sex with you, and not just in an I want to fuck you senseless kind of way, which I’d also like, but also in a sensual kind of way? Like I want to become even more intimate… with you.”
Zuko takes one step closer, his legs grazing the edge of your mattress. He brings his hands up, resting them on your knees, his large palms snug and steady against your skin.
He just looks down at you, searching your face, completely awestruck by the immense trust you are placing in his hands.
Slowly, his hands slide up from your knees, tracing a slow, burning path along the tops of your thighs until he leans over you, pinning his weight onto the mattress on either side of your head with the support of his arms. He doesn't press down on you; instead, he hovers just inches away, creating a warm, private cocoon in the dim light of your room. He reaches out, his long, calloused fingers gently cupping your heated cheek, his thumb catching a loose strand of hair to brush it away from your face.
“Are you sure,” he questions one last time.
You huff playfully. You grab the edge of your shirt, maintaining eye contact with him as you take it off in one smooth motion. “No more questions unless you’re talking me through it and asking who’s is it? Am I understood?”
An entirely captivated chuckle rumbles right against your chest, his shoulders shaking slightly as your specific set of orders hits him. An incredibly smitten smirk pulls at his lips, his gold eyes burning with a sudden, dark intelligence that proves he is more than happy to play by your new rules.
"I understand perfectly, beautiful," he murmurs, his voice entirely undone as his gaze drops down to the bare skin of your chest before locking back onto yours.
He doesn't waste another second. Zuko closes the small distance between your faces, capturing your lips in a deep, consuming kiss that feels entirely different from before. It’s heavy, possessive, and dripping with a sudden, unbothered confidence. His tongue glides smoothly against yours, drinking in your soft whimpers as his large hands slide down the sides of your body to stop right underneath the weight of your breast.
He takes his time breaking the contact of your mouths, but his lips don't go far.
He presses a warm, lingering kiss to your jawline, and then his path moves lower. He trails an agonizingly slow line of damp kisses down the sensitive column of your neck, making your head roll back against the duvet. He moves lower still, past your collarbone, his breath fanning across your bare skin and sending a wave of intense goosebumps rippling down your arms.
As his mouth descends, his large hands slide upward. His palms cup the soft weight of your breasts, his long fingers massaging the sensitive tissue with a heavy, unhurried rhythm that makes your breath hitch sharply.
When his lips finally find the aching curve of your breast, you let out a loud, unrestrained moan.
Zuko sweeps his thumb over one nipple, while his mouth claims the other side. He sucks the soft skin gently into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak before placing a careful, incredibly deliberate, and delicious bite right onto it.
The action sends your back arching into him. The sudden prick of his teeth mixed with the amazing pressure of his hands sends a jolt to your clit that makes it pulse against the thin fabric of your shorts. Your thighs tighten around him, your fingers tangle themselves into his hair as another loud moan slips past your lips.
He moves and handles you as if in the three months, he’s committed everything you’ve ever done to memory. Every kiss that made you stutter, every touch that made you turn into his chest and hide your face; and now he’s behaving as if every ounce of those lessons are being put into practice.
His reward for doing so is your endless praise falling from your lips in reverence. You wiggle and writhe underneath him, hips moving on their own accord to garner some form of friction to satiate and calm your cunt. “Zu–zuko, pleasee,” the plea comes out breathy and more moan than words as he bites a little harder this time.
“Please what, princess?” he breathes against your skin, slowly making his way lower down your body as he leaves a trail of wet kisses.
Your grip tightens in his hair, legs shaking from how tightly you're squeezing around him and the sheer anticipation of everything. “I–I want you and you’re— ooooh,” the words short-circuit as he places a kiss right on your center. You exhale shakily, legs falling from around his waist as you lift your head to look at him.
Lucifer or Michael, you’re not sure which side he falls on yet, but he looks like an angel in between your legs. And as he maintains eye contact with you while slipping your itty bitty shorts off, you start to think he’s falling more on the devilish side than anything else.
“I’m what? Taking my time? Being too rough? Not rough enough? Give me my half-time report,” he demands, adjusting your legs so they rest right back on his shoulders.
You glare down at him through the hazy fog of your arousal, a breathy, frustrated laugh slipping past your lips at his demanding tone.
"You're teasing," you accuse him, your voice shaking slightly as you try to steady your breathing. "That's your report. You are a terrible, wicked tease, Zuko."
Zuko doesn't even blink. His large hands slide down the backs of your calves, keeping your legs securely locked over his broad shoulders as he looks up at you with a calm, unyielding seriousness.
"I'm ensuring I don't hurt you," he informs you smoothly, his voice deep and completely steady despite the wild, chaotic rhythm of his pulse against your shins. "You asked for sensuality, princess. That means we don't rush. I'm making sure your body is ready for all of me.”
A defiant, sassy smirk instantly replaces your dazed expression. You lean back entirely, resting your weight on your hands behind you on the mattress, tilting your chin up in a bold display of confidence despite being completely bare to his gaze.
"I'm not a virgin, Zuko," you fire back, a playful challenge dancing in your eyes. "I know how to handle myself. You don't need to treat me like glass."
At your sass, his eyes darken instantly, a wicked grin pulling at the corner of his lips. He doesn't budge. Instead, he shifts his weight slightly forward, the massive, unyielding width of his shoulders widening your stance just a fraction more as he rests his hands firmly on your hips.
From his position on the floor, the heavy, prominent length of his erection is pressed right against the mattress between your thighs, a blatant visual reminder of the sheer size you're dealing with.
"I know you aren't," he responds snarkily, his gold eyes locking onto yours from below with a dangerous, teasing edge. He leans in just enough for his lips to brush against your inner thigh. "But the way your entire mouth dropped open on the couch the second you felt my print tells me a completely different story, beautiful. It lets me know that you've never slept with anyone my size."
A heavy, sudden surge of heat hits your cheeks at the direct hit, your words instantly trapping themselves behind your teeth. He catches your stunned reaction immediately, a flash of pure, unbothered male pride taking over his sharp features as he watches you struggle for a comeback from his spot between your legs.
Your mouth parts as you scramble to form a sharp, witty rebuttal, your mind racing to find any sort of comeback to salvage your pride. You open your mouth, a sarcastic remark right on the tip of your tongue—
But Zuko doesn't give you the chance to speak.
With his hands firmly anchoring your hips to the edge of the mattress, he leans his head forward and completely intervenes. He slides his tongue out, delivering one slow, incredibly broad stroke from your entrance all the way up to your sensitive clit.
It’s electric, so much so it zaps all coherent thoughts away. Until all you can focus on is the way he’s devouring your cunt with a type of precision you’ve only ever read about in books. Your toes curl and your fingers dig into the comforter as if your life depends on it. Your hips instinctively tilting upward into his face as the delicious ache in your lower stomach tightens into a knot of pure desperation.
"Zuko—ohhhhh god," you cry out, your hands flying down to tangle into his dark hair, not to push him away, but to anchor him right where he is.
He alternates his pace with perfect execution, moving between long, wet licks that coat your center and deep, dragging suctions right against your clit. Every time his tongue swirls around the bundle of nerves, a heavy jolt shoots straight to your core, and every time he uses his lips to gently pull at your sensitive skin, a loud, helpless whine slips past your lips.
Just as the tension in your lower stomach begins to tighten into a knot of pure desperation, Zuko shifts. Keeping his mouth firmly pressed against you, he slides one of his hands down and guides two long fingers directly against your soaked entrance. With one smooth, unhurried push, he slides them both deep inside your cunt, stretching you beautifully.
A loud, unrestrained moan rips from your chest, your head throwing itself back as the double sensation of his mouth and his fingers completely short-circuits your mind. Your inner muscles clamp around the added thickness, pulsing frantically.
Zuko lets out a low, vibration of approval against your skin, instantly obeying. He hooks his fingers upward, finding that perfect, sensitive ridge inside you, and begins a slow, punishingly deep rhythm.
"Keep going," you gasp out, your eyes blowing wide as he targets your sweet spot perfectly. Your back bows off the bed, your heels dig into his back and fingers tighten their hold on the silky strands of his hair. “Y-you’re so fucking perfect, oooo my god.”
The relentless, matching rhythm of his tongue and fingers is too much to bear. Your inner walls tighten into an incredibly fierce, desperate vice around his knuckles, and your breath completely stalls in your chest as the wave finally breaks.
You scream his name into the quiet room, your hips lifting completely off the mattress as a violent, blinding orgasm ripples through you.
Zuko doesn't flinch, and he doesn't pull back. True to your command, he handles you with absolute, unyielding control, riding you through every single contraction. He keeps his two fingers buried deep within your pulsing warmth, moving them in a slow, heavy, grounding stretch that coaxes even more pleasure from your climax. His mouth stays firmly sealed against your clit, his tongue delivering deep, solid strokes that drink in the thick, glossy evidence of your orgasm until your frantic whimpers turn into quiet, exhausted pants.
He presses one last kiss right above your sensitive bundle of nerves and begins to remove his long fingers. You let out a soft, trailing whine at the sudden absence of him.
But before he can fully retract his hand, your hand flies down to catch him by the wrist.
Zuko freezes, kneeling between your thighs as he looks up at you through his lashes, his breathing heavy and uneven. With a slow, thoroughly impish grin spreading across your features, you guide his large hand upward. You lift his wet fingers right to your face, parting your lips to slip his two glistening fingers directly between them.
His eyes widen, darkening to near-black as you hold his unblinking gaze. As you begin to slowly swirl your tongue around his fingers, cleaning the thick, glossy evidence of your own orgasm off his skin, Zuko instinctively shifts. The intense visual forces him forward, his broad chest leaning over the mattress to hover slightly above you, narrowing the space until you can feel the radiating heat of his skin.
Before you can even say a word to break the silence, a thoroughly captivated chuckle rumbles from Zuko's chest. He shakes his head slightly, his eyes glittering with a mix of disbelief and intense affection as you finally let his fingers glide free of your lips.
"You are absolute trouble," he murmurs, his voice entirely kaput as his thumb gently traces the wet contour of your lower lip.
Your grin only widens at the accusation, your eyes flashing with a daring, heated spark as you suddenly sit up. The forward momentum of your body forces him to yield, making him straighten up to his full height as he stands between your parted legs on the edge of the mattress.
You slide your hands forward, your palms resting firmly against the solid, warm span of his hips to anchor him right where he is.
"You like this trouble," you respond smoothly, your voice trickling into a light, airy demand that vibrates with anticipation. "Now clothes off, before I get feral."
Zuko’s smile widens, thoroughly amused and entranced with your ability to be a tease, yet comedic simultaneously. He towers over you, looking down from his full height as your hands grip his hips, the raw hunger in his expression completely sealing his fate.
"As you wish, tyrant," he growls softly.
His hands instantly grip the bottom hem of his black hoodie, pulling it over his head in one swift, fluid motion.
You wolf-whistle, the sharp, playful sound echoing loudly in the quiet room.
The unexpected gesture completely shatters Zuko’s intense expression, pulling another rich, genuine laugh from his chest. His broad shoulders shake as he drops the discarded hoodie onto the floor, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement at your sheer audacity.
Taking full advantage of his distraction, your hands glide smoothly up the firm, defined expanse of his bare chest. You lean forward, maneuvering your body so you are now kneeling right on the very edge of the mattress. The added height brings you perfectly level with him, allowing you to wrap your arms securely around his neck, your fingers tangling into the hairs at the base of his head.
The moment you are within reach, Zuko's large hands slide instantly around your waist. His palms are scorching hot against your bare skin as they travel lower, his long fingers spreading wide to settle firmly over the curve of your ass.
With a sudden, possessive flex of his muscles, he pulls you firmly against him. A soft, breathless moan escapes your lips at the sudden impact. The sensation of being entirely skin-to-skin with him is overwhelming, every single line of your body molded perfectly against the rigid, heavy musculature of his frame.
"You are literally like a heater in human form," you mumble against the warm skin of his shoulder, burying your face in his neck to hide the sheer dizziness of the feeling.
Zuko tilts his head back just enough to look down at you, a soft, incredibly smitten expression melting his sharp features.
"You are adorable," he murmurs, his voice dripping with affection.
You let out a soft giggle, shaking your head against his chest as you look up at him through your lashes. "Stop it. I am supposed to be sexy right now."
A soft, deep rumble ripples through Zuko’s chest as he pulls you just a fraction closer, his large hands anchoring you firmly against his hips. "You're incredibly multitalented," he tells you quietly, his eyes dancing with merriment as he takes in the playful pout on your lips.
You let out another quiet giggle, your fingers lightly tracing the strong line of his collarbone. "You know, you really don't have to compliment me like you're trying to get in my pants. You're already there. Technically, I should be the one complimenting you right now because I am very actively trying to get into yours."
Zuko’s head throws back as a piquant, booming laugh escapes him, the sound filling the quiet space of your bedroom. He shakes his head, looking down at you with pure adoration.
"You are on a serious comedic run with your jokes tonight, princess," he murmurs, his thumbs gently sweeping over the bare skin of your lower back.
"Listen, excitement and nervousness make me the absolute love child of Kevin Hart and Martin Lawrence," you explain smoothly, leaning your weight fully into his solid frame. But then you freeze, your eyes widening slightly as a brilliant realization hits you. You pull back just enough to look him dead in the eye. "Oh, wait. Pause. The very next TV show we are starting together is Martin. You're going to love it."
Zuko doesn't even hesitate. A tender, easy smile graces his features as he nods. "Okay. We'll watch it next."
The sheer readiness of his answer melts something deep inside your chest. A delicate, breathy sigh escapes you, and you lean back in, peppering a flurry of sweet, adoring kisses across his jawline, moving down to the warm, sensitive skin of his neck.
"I love it when you just tell me yes," you murmur against his skin, your lips brushing softly against his pulse point with every word.
He lets out a soft, breathy sigh against your hair, his arms tightening around you as if the admission is the simplest thing in the world. "It's very easy to do," he tells you, his voice steady.
Your grin only widens against his skin at his quick compliance. You pull back just a fraction of an inch to look at him, a sudden, bright twinkle of mischief dancing across your features.
"I think we're stalling because we're nervous," you tease, tilting your head with a challenging little smirk.
Zuko lets out an amused huff, a slow, knowing smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he holds your gaze. "I think we sounds better as you," he counters effortlessly, completely turning the accusation back on you without a single shred of shame.
Indignant, you lean forward and bite the side of his neck, your teeth catching the firm cord of his muscle a little sharply. Zuko lets out a deep, heavy moan directly into your ear, his large hands suddenly flexing to squeeze the soft flesh of your ass with a sudden, bruising grip.
The bite is instantly cut short and turns into a loud, high-pitched gasp.
The raw force of the response sends a wild, electric jolt straight to cunt that makes your walls contract, making your eyes widen in absolute shock as he holds you completely pinned against his rigid frame.
Zuko pulls back just enough to look down at you, a thoroughly satisfied smirk playing on his features as he finds you completely speechless. The smug, unbothered confidence returns to his sharp features in full force. He drags one large hand up the bare skin of your back, his long fingers trailing a line of fire along your spine until they lace firmly into your braids, gently pulling your head back to force you to meet his scorching gold gaze.
"How flexible are you, beautiful?" he asks, his voice thick as he tilts his head, studying the way your breath hitches.
A sharp, matching smile full of pure mischief spreads across your face despite the heavy pulling sensation at your scalp. You tilt your chin up, holding his eyes with an unyielding confidence.
"I think you should find out," you challenge softly, your voice a teasing murmur. "Unless, of course... you're nervous."
Zuko playfully rolls his eyes at the callback, an amused huff escaping his lips, but his expression softens just a fraction with that familiar, protective seriousness. "I'm only nervous that I'm going to hurt you."
You let out a breathy, dramatic laugh, your hands smoothing over his broad shoulders. "Zuko, I am practically a splash pad at the moment. You aren't going to hurt me," you reassure him, before your smirk turns entirely mischievous. "Besides... I like a little pain."
He hums, the deep sound vibrating straight through your chest as his grip on your braids tightens just a fraction, tilting your face up a millimeter more. "Only when you're giving me attitude, princess."
Your mouth drops open in a dramatic gasp, your eyes widening with faux offense. "Why, I would never," you drawl, the sarcasm dripping so heavily from your tone that it makes the corner of his mouth twitch.
Before he can even call you out on it, you suddenly tighten your grip around his neck.
Using your entire body weight, you throw yourself backward onto the mattress, pulling his massive frame straight down on top of you. The sudden shift in momentum sends a wild rush through the air, your bodies hitting the bed in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter. The second your back settles against the sheets, you adjust your hips, wrapping your legs tightly around his firm waist to anchor him.
With a sudden, coordinated surge of energy, you use the leverage of your thighs against his hips and roll, flipping the two of you over in one fluid, chaotic motion until you are sitting triumphantly on top of his chest.
Sitting astride his broad chest feels like an absolute victory. Your braids spill over your shoulders as you look down at him, your hands resting flat against the hard, warm expanse of his pectorals. From this vantage point, you can feel the heavy thud of his heart beneath your palms and the rigid length of his erection pressing firmly against you from beneath his loungewear pants.
Zuko doesn't even look disgruntled about being overpowered. Instead, he lies perfectly still beneath you, his large hands sliding up to grip your outer thighs to keep you balanced. A slow, incredibly indulgent smile spreads across his face as he looks up at you, his gold eyes tracking the triumphant gleam in your expression.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly, affectionate rumble that vibrates right into your thighs. "Sitting up there like you actually own the place."
"I do own the place, we're in my bedroom," you remind him cheekily, leaning down just enough to let your breasts graze his chest. You trace a slow pattern over his collarbone with one finger, your voice dropping into a playful whisper. "And right now, I think I own you, too."
Zuko’s gaze darkens instantly, the indulgent warmth in his eyes turning into something thick and dangerous. His thumbs dig into the sides of your thighs, his grip tightening just enough to let you know exactly how easily he could switch your positions if he wanted to.
"Do you?" he questions softly, a dare dripping from every single syllable. "You're very brave when you're on top, princess. What exactly do you plan on doing with me now that you've got me pinned?”
"Well, first," you murmur, placing open mouth kisses along the column of his throat, "I plan on getting you out of these pants. Because they are currently serving as a barrier between me and the prize, and I am a very impatient woman."
Zuko lets out a low, rough sound that is half-groan, half-laugh, his head tilting back against the pillows to give you better access to his neck. "Is that so?"
You hook your fingers into the band of his loungepants and boxers.
"It is," you whisper, your hands tugging the fabrics down his hips just enough to let the heavy, rigid length of him spring free against your inner thigh.
The direct, searing contact of his bare skin against your soaking cunt makes your entire body shudder, a sharp gasp breaking past your lips. He’s massive. Bigger than any toy you own. Bigger than anyone you’ve slept with before. And it’s pretty. Veiny. Girthy. The tip slightly red and glossy with precum.
He watches with pure mirth as your gaze remains fixed on the prize you’ve been working so hard to acquire. Your mouth opens and then closes. You inhale sharply, before releasing a laugh that’s partially soundless from the shock.
“Yo–you— I–I,” you clear your throat, trying to regain your bearings. “I appreciate you for working me open, you fucking monster. You should’ve just said you had a third leg. I–I we have breakfast plans with Suki and Sokka tomorrow, I’m not gonna make that— we’re not gonna make it,” you ramble, completely abandoning your perch to remove his pants entirely as you shimmy down his frame.
Your gaze never quite leaves the size of him as you move around. Zuko simply lies back and observes you with a potent mix of reverence and amusement, a soft, highly entertained smile tugging at his lips as he listens to you completely unravel over the logistics of tomorrow morning.
“I–I was real confident that I could just take you for a joyride on the first go round, but that—that’s gonna require a slight rain check after you’ve worked me open entirely. Shit. You may actually split me in half. I’m so sorry I doubted you, your worry was based in logic, but—but my mom didn’t raise a quitter and if she did, it’s one of my siblings,” you continue, dropping his pants and boxers on your bedroom floor before climbing back on top of him.
The second your knees settle back on either side of his hips, the hearty laugh that had been building in Zuko’s chest finally breaks free. He shakes his head, his broad shoulders shaking against the mattress as he looks up at you with pure, unadulterated entertainment.
"Good to know your family honor is safe," he cracks, his voice deep and raspy as his large hands immediately fly back to your waist. His fingers dig firmly into your skin, anchoring you right where he wants you. "But for someone who was just begging me to hurry up, you sure have a lot of thoughts about Sokka's breakfast schedule."
The playful mockery in his gold speckled eyes instantly shifts into something dangerous and consuming. With his hands still locked onto your waist, Zuko suddenly sits up, his powerful upper body rising off the mattress until he is looming directly over you, forcing your chest to tilt back. His thumbs sweep over your hip bones, a sudden, firm downwards pressure forcing your pelvis down until your drenched cunt is resting right against the heavy, pulsing crown of his length.
"You're done rambling now, right?" he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave into a low, commanding rumble that vibrates straight through your thighs. He lowers your hips just a fraction of an inch, the blunt, massive head of his erection intentionally nudging against your opening, testing your stretch. "Because you're right. My worry was based in logic. And since you're apparently not a quitter..."
He pauses, a thoroughly wicked, dominant smirk flashing across his face as he locks his gaze onto your wide eyes.
"...let's see how much of this third leg you can actually handle."
You slide your arms over his shoulders, clinging to his upright frame as a shudder of pure anticipation runs down your spine. Keeping his large hands locked tightly on your waist, Zuko begins to lower you down. He moves with an agonizing, meticulous care, taking his sweet time despite the heavy, erratic thud of his own pulse against your thighs.
The sheer width of him breaches your entrance with a thick, relentless pressure that has your nails instantly digging deep into the firm muscles of his bare back. Zuko doesn't even flinch. He hardly registers the sting of your nails as his eyes remain completely fixed on your face, tracking every micro-expression.
Your eyes are blown completely wide, staring at his shoulder as your chest heaves, your bottom lip caught tightly between your teeth as you try to swallow down a wordless cry. Only the broad head of his erection has entered, but the stretching fullness is already overwhelming.
Sensing your distress, Zuko pauses. He freezes your momentum entirely, keeping you pinned at that exact depth. Slowly, he lifts one hand from your waist, his large thumb reaching up to gently press against your chin until he coaxes your trembling bottom lip free from between your teeth.
"Don't do that," he murmurs, his voice a hushed, gravelly caress as his thumb strokes the wet, reddened skin of your lip. He tilts his head, his gaze burning into yours with a fierce, protective intensity. "Bite me instead of yourself. I don't want you hurting yourself, princess."
You blink through the haze of pleasure and friction, a faint pout forming on your lips. "But that'll hurt you," you whisper breathlessly, your fingers flexing against his shoulders.
An unhurried, completely soft look enters his eyes, though his grip on your waist remains utterly unyielding. "I'd much rather prefer that."
"I don't," you protest, your stubbornness making the corner of his mouth twitch.
But the words are instantly stolen from your tongue. Before you can argue any further, Zuko subtly shifts his weight, sliding your hips down just a fraction of an inch deeper onto his massive width. Your mouth drops open even wider at the sudden, mind-melting stretch, a sharp gasp catching in your throat as your inner walls spasms around him.
You stare at him, completely undone by the sheer size of what's currently filling you up, before your head drops against his chest. You give a weak, defeated nod against his warm skin.
"Okay," you whimper out, your voice trembling with a mix of submission and heavy arousal. "You win. I'll bite you."
A rumbling vibration of approval echoes in Zuko’s chest as he hears the surrender in your voice. He doesn't waste a single second. His hand slides right back down to your waist, his long fingers anchoring your hips with an iron grip that makes it very clear who is in control now.
"Good girl," he growls softly against your ear.
The praise has your inner walls clenching automatically. You hum back in response, your thoughts somewhere in the ether as you breathe him in and feel him.
With that same agonizing, controlled power, Zuko lifts his hips, forcing you down another fraction of an inch. The relentless, inch-by-inch stretch is so completely encompassing that your brain short-circuits. True to your promise, you lean forward and bury your face in the crook of his neck, your teeth sinking sharply into the thick, tense muscle where his shoulder meets his neck.
Zuko lets out a sharp, guttural hiss at the sting of your teeth, but instead of pulling away, the pain seems to drive him completely over the edge. His grip on your waist turns bruising, his knuckles turning white against your skin as he deliberately shifts your hips downward, sliding deeper into your soaking, tight warmth.
A muffled, entirely ruined sob is trapped against his skin as your walls frantically flutter, trying to make room for the sheer, impossible volume of him
“You’re doing so good for me, princess,” Zuko praises. He keeps pushing, slow and merciless, until his pelvis hits your bare thighs with a solid, heavy thud.
He is buried entirely inside you. Every single millimeter of his veiny, heavy length is completely sheathed in your heat, filling you so thoroughly that you can barely catch your breath.
Zuko’s head falls back, a ragged, breathless groan tearing from his throat as your tight cunt twitches around him in a vicious, pulsing vice-grip. His chest heaves against yours, his eyes shut tight as he forces himself to hold completely still, giving your body a moment to adapt to the large, welcomed intrusion.
You exhale quietly against his shoulder, letting the hot, trembling breath fan over his skin as the initial shock of his size transitions into a profound, heavy warmth. Your lips linger against his neck for a moment before you press a gentle, apologetic kiss directly over the fresh teeth imprint you just left in his muscle.
You don't move yet. Your body is still adapting to the thick, unyielding fullness stretching you to your absolute limit, so you simply turn your head on his shoulder, resting your cheek against his skin as your gaze tracks the sharp, tense lines of his neck and collarbone.
"Thank you, big monster," you murmur affectionately, your voice a breathless whisper that vibrates directly against his pulse point.
A faint, rough huff of laughter shakes Zuko’s chest beneath yours, the sound rich with a mix of exhaustion and absolute adoration. His large hands remain firmly locked onto your waist, but the bruising grip relaxes just a fraction, his thumbs resuming those small, soothing strokes against your hips to help you stay grounded.
"You're welcome, princess," he replies, his voice incredibly resonant and raspy in the quiet room. He tilts his head slightly, his lips brushing the side of your face as he lets out a long, shuddering breath. "Are you alright? Truly? I'm not going to move until you tell me you're ready."
A bright, delighted laugh breaks from your throat, the sound slightly muffled against his shoulder as your inner walls give another helpless, happy twitch around his length.
"Ah, big and patient," you tease in a winded murmur, your fingers lightly tracing the broad expanse of his chest. "God, did I hit the lottery."
Zuko’s resonant laugh returns in full force, a rumble that you feel completely mirrored in the tightest rings of your core. He shakes his head, the tips of his dark hair brushing your cheek as his hands on your waist give a sudden, firm squeeze that acts as a quiet, protective warning.
"Don't get used to the patient part, princess," he growls dotingly, his eyes flashing with a sudden, mischievous intent as he locks his gaze back onto yours. "You wanted a joyride. Now that you've caught your breath, tell me if you can handle a little speed."
You lift your head off his shoulder, a defiant, wicked smirk flashing across your face despite the ache keeping you anchored to his lap. You slide your hands down to his chest, your palms flat against his warm skin as you lock your gaze with his burning, gold-speckled eyes.
"I told you," you murmur, your voice steadying as you reclaim your confidence. "My mom didn't raise a quitter. But..." You pause, a sudden, playful tilt to your head as your thighs tremble slightly under the strain of keeping yourself balanced over his massive width. "...this third leg is monstrous, big guy. I think I'm gonna need some assistance if I'm gonna take this joyride properly."
Zuko’s gaze darkens instantly, a downright pleased, sinful smile pulling at the corner of his lips at your direct request.
"Always happy to help, princess," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly rumble.
He doesn't need to be told twice. His large hands slide from your waist down to the undersides of your thighs. Hooking his strong fingers firmly under your knees, he lifts your legs slightly, taking the entire burden of your weight onto his own powerful frame and effortlessly stabilizing your balance.
"Here," he growls dotingly, his thumbs rubbing reassuring circles into your skin as he manually guides your hips back, tilting your pelvis at a much sharper, devastating angle. "Hold onto my shoulders."
The moment your hands lock onto his frame, you shift your hips, driving yourself down while Zuko simultaneously surges upward.
The coordinated assistance changes everything. The new angle allows his veiny length to slide inside you with an even deeper, more friction-heavy impact, striking your sweet spot so accurately that your vision completely blurs.
You lean forward, entirely overwhelmed by the sheer velocity of the collision, and smash your mouth against his. A loud, completely undone whine is crushed between your lips, turning into a desperate, winded confession against his skin.
"Holy shit," you moan directly into the heat of the kiss, your tongue tangling with his as your inner walls flutter frantically around him. "Zuko—you're massive."
Zuko lets out a deep, guttural grunt straight into your mouth, the raw praise driving him completely wild. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, matching the sudden, relentless increase in his hip speed as the two of you lock into a punishing pace, his pelvis hitting yours with a loud, wet smack.
He swallows your moan, his grip on your thighs tightening to a bruising intensity as he continues to drive upward with an unhurried, devastating power. He breaks the kiss just enough to look at you, his chest heaving violently against yours, his gold-speckled eyes dark with a heavy, consuming possessiveness.
"You're taking me so well, princess," he pants out, his voice a rough, broken growl as he slides nearly all the way out before burying his entire veiny width back inside you to the hilt. "Look at you. You're taking every single inch."
The deep, relentless friction of the impact makes your head roll back, your fingers clawing into the hard muscles of his shoulders as a loud, completely ruined cry rips from your throat. Your inner walls flutter frantically, clamping down around his massive length in a desperate, pulsing squeeze.
You force your eyes open, holding his burning gaze as your hips slam down against his pelvis once more.
"Because you're fucking me so good," you moan back to him, completely unfiltered and breathless from the sheer intensity of it. "Baby, it feels—god, fucking so good."
You start to lose your grip on his shoulders. Your hands slide down, your fingers clawing blindly as your nails drag down the firm, sweaty expanse of his back, leaving a trail of hot, red lines in their wake.
"Z-Zuko—" you whimper out, your head rolling frantically against his neck as the friction inside you reaches a boiling point. Your core is twitching violently, walls clamping around him so hard that his breath hitches with every relentless thrust. "Wait, wait—I'm gonna cum again. Baby, I'm gonna cum!"
"Perfect," Zuko growls, his voice entirely ruined and thick as he wraps one massive arm around your upper back, locking you tight against his chest. His own lower body locks up, his hips hitching as the vice-grip of your climax pushes him right to the absolute precipice. "Do it. I'm right behind you, princess—I'm so close—"
"Finish inside me," you beg breathlessly, your voice a desperate, undone whimper against his skin as you arch your back, grounding your pelvis completely against his. "Please, baby, fill me up. Don't pull out."
A deep, primal groan tears from Zuko's throat at your plea, any remaining restraint shattering completely. He doesn't slow down for a single second. Instead, he drives upward with a sudden, devastating surge of power, burying his full width to the hilt, perfectly targeting that hyper-sensitive spot until your entire body goes completely rigid.
His name falls from your lips like a litany as he fucks you through it, drawing out every tremor of your release while simultaneously spilling his own hot, heavy release inside you. He pumps into you deep and hard, holding you trapped against his chest until you’re both left completely reeling together and panting as the aftershocks roll through you.
The silence that follows is thick, dense, and broken only by the synchronized, ragged sound of your chests heaving against one another.
Zuko doesn't move a muscle. He remains sitting upright, his powerful arms locked around you like a vice, keeping you plastered securely against his torso while his head slumps forward onto your shoulder. His skin is slick with sweat, a profound, radiating heat pulsing off his frame that feels completely consuming in the quiet room. Inside you, the thick, substantial length of him remains buried to the absolute hilt, twitching faintly as the last lingering aftershocks of his release settle profound within your core.
A long, shuddering breath rumbles through his chest, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck where a faint, damp trail of his own breath cools against your skin.
"God," Zuko pants out, his voice a thoroughly wrecked, resonant whisper that vibrates directly against your collarbone. His fingers flex weakly against your lower back, tracing the dip of your spine with lazy, completely satiated affection. "You... you're entirely lethal, you know that?"
You let out a faint, airy puff of a laugh, your forehead resting profoundly against the side of his neck. Your muscles feel completely melted, like jelly, and you lack the energy to even lift your eyelids.
"I told you," you whimper-whisper back, your voice a tiny thread of sound. "Not a quitter."
A faint, thoroughly entertained huff of laughter shakes his broad shoulders. Carefully, slowly, Zuko lifts his head just enough to look at you. His eyes are weighted, dark with a lingering, intense devotion, a tender smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he takes in your utterly flushed, ruined expression.
"Yeah, well, your family honor is definitely intact," he murmurs dotingly, reaching his thumb out to stroke your cheek. "But I think your prediction was accurate."
"Which one?" you mumble, blinking up at him, fighting to clear the post-sex fog from your cognitive functioning.
Zuko’s smile turns into a full grin, a faint, boyish flush creeping up his neck despite the dominant energy he just displayed. He gives your waist a gentle, affectionate squeeze, reminding you of exactly how thoroughly filled up you still are.
"We are definitely not making those breakfast plans with Suki and Sokka."
You grin back at him, nodding in agreement, “Couldn’t agree more, I need to show you how flexible I am.” You pause, moaning as you adjust to sit upright in his lap. “I just know your ass has a long fuse, fucking stallion of a man,” you mumble, staring at him incredulously.
The rich, resonant laugh that rumbles through Zuko’s chest this time is completely unvarnished, his broad shoulders shaking as he tries—and utterly fails—to keep a straight face. The sudden shift from your post-coital haze back into unhinged, competitive rambling catches him completely off guard, the "stallion" comment making a dark flattered flush creep all the way up to his ears.
"A long fuse? A stallion?" he echoes, his voice a highly amused scratch.
Before you can even clarify your incredulous math, his large hands tighten on your waist, and with a sudden, seamless shift of his powerful frame, Zuko completely flips the two of you over.
Your vision spins for a breathless second before your back hits the mattress. The sudden change in gravity forces a sharp, needy gasp from your throat as his massive, substantial length slides deep and re-seats itself inside you from an entirely new, devastating angle. Zuko hovers directly over you, his broad shoulders framing your vision as he traps you beneath his heavy weight, pinning your hands gently beside your head.
"The math is mathing, Zuko. Two rounds back-to-back, you're handling me like I weigh nothing, and you're still sitting inside me like an absolute brick,” you mumble, giving your hips a cautious tilt upward to feel how solid he still is inside of you.
A gratified growl escapes his chest at your unfiltered logic, the dark flush on his neck deepening as your praise hits exactly where it hurts.
"You think you have me figured out, do you?" he murmurs dotingly, his thumbs rubbing firm, warm circles into your wrists where he holds them down.
"I'm just stating facts, big guy," you tease, a sudden, wicked glint cutting through your post-sex fog. "A regular fuse blows under that kind of pressure. Yours just keeps burning. So yeah... stallion behavior. Prove me wrong."
A shadowed, sinful smirk completely replaces the boyish grin on Zuko's face, his gold-speckled eyes clouding over with a sudden, competitive hunger that matches your own. He lets out a low, gravelly chuckle that vibrates right through his broad chest and directly into yours.
"Prove you wrong?" he echoes, his voice dropping into a rough, dominant register that makes your walls give a helpless, frantic twitch around his thick extension.
He releases your wrists, but before you can even think about celebrating your freedom, his large hands slide down the frame of your body. He hooks his strong fingers firmly behind your knees and smoothly drives your legs up toward your chest, folding you completely in half beneath his massive frame. The sudden, extreme change in the angle forces a sharp, completely undone gasp from your throat as his length buries itself even deeper to the hilt, stretching your hyper-sensitive walls to their absolute limit.
Zuko leans down, hovering just millimeters from your lips, his breath fanning across your mouth as he locks his gaze onto your blown-out pupils.
"Can I prove it while testing out exactly how flexible you are, princess?" he breathes dotingly, a confident, predatory smile pulling at his lips.
You might not make it to lunch either.
Fin
I'm currently in the Caribbean visiting family, but I just needed to upload this so I could pivot to my other WIP--- and my apologizes for the delayed upload. My goal is to try to post once a week a least, but we shall see. Writing on the beach distracts me and I'm here for s couple more days 😭.
I don't know if other writers do this; but a lot of what I write is what I want to read. Therefore, when I start something, I have to see it through because I want to read it like everyone else and I get impatient.
Anywho thanks so much for reading! if you asked to be tagged and I missed you, please let me know so I can add it to my documents and not forget for the next post!!!
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬◞﹒୧ . As an nationally renowned attorney married to a wealthy businessman, you have everything you need to be happy. However, you're not. You never wanted this. When your mother wants to force you to have children, you realize your life has been stolen. Depressed, you get drunk in a bar, contemplating the disaster of your life. But everything changes when you meet Eren, a rapper who offers you what you've always wanted: to feel free. The attraction is immediate and Eren turns your daily life upside down. Until everything falls apart because of the most dangerous feeling of all: love.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬◞﹒୧ . 18.8k words, black!fem!reader, plus!size!reader, westafrican!reader, capeverdean!reader, rapper!eren, happens in los angeles, angst, hurt, romance, good girl x bad boy, opposite attract, older!reader, age gap (33 & 24), pet names (baby, ma'am, ma’), forbidden romance, falling in love, christian!reader, cheating, music, trauma, family pressure, fear of abandonment, abortion, smut, oral sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration, degradation, rough sex, hair pulling, spit in mouth, fingers sucking, doggy style, spanking, spoon position, squirting, bittersweet ending.
𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬◞﹒୧ . [repost + edited] i was so embarrassed of this one lmfao, bc tf you mean eren was a jazz rapper, i was CRAZY!!! this version is way better !!! hope you will like it <3
Sade played in the jazz bar, creating a soft and sensual atmosphere. The sound of customers laughing with their friends, the shuffling of wooden stools, and the bartender's shaker with rolled-up sleeves as he poured drinks filled the room. Dim red lights shone across your face as you held your head in your hands, sobbing aloud at a far-flung table, alone.
You weren't the type to let yourself get so overwhelmed by emotions like that. You were a powerful, confident woman who, at 33, was the best attorney in Los Angeles. Everyone was intimidated by you, your quick wit, and your discipline in your work. You inspired respect wherever you went.
You were ashamed. You hated drinking because it made you lose control of your 'proper persona', which you had to maintain for appearances. You sniffled and took another sip of alcohol. The bitter liquid burned your esophagus; you had chosen the strongest liquor to forget your problems.
Your hair slicked back into an afro puff, your mascara dripped down your face and ruined your light, professional makeup. The red blush you had applied this morning had dissipated the second you burst into tears because of your mother.
“We've given you enough time for your career, now you have to have children. You're over thirty! After everything we've done for you, you want to end the family line? You're our only child!”
Your tears intensified as you recalled the scene, and an ungainly trickle of snot slid down your nose. Your curly locks escaped from your bun as your hands clutched your head in despair.
“My life is a disaster, what have I done with my life so far? I’m such a failure,” you muttered, your voice hoarse.
“Can you stop crying? You're not alone here.”
A deep masculine voice made you look up. Tall and muscular, a man was leaning toward you. As if he'd just stepped out of the gym, he wore a compression shirt that hugged the hard planes of his body, and the lines of his abs through the fabric made you wish you didn't already have a husband. His arms and biceps were decorated with black ink, tattoos all the way down to his neck. Your gazes met and your mouth grew dry at the sight of his piercing green eyes. Like a sharp dagger, it was as if his eyes were cutting you in half to find the source of your inner turmoil. His shoulder-length brown hair framed his angular face, and his thick eyebrows were furrowed.
“I’m so sorry.”
“You know you’re not the only one having a bad day?”
His harsh voice grazed your skin like a knife. There was something condescending and grumpy in it that almost made you feel guilty for disturbing him, but because of the alcohol making you emotional, you were unable to stop crying.
Against all odds, the man dragged the chair to sit across from you. In his hands, he held an open notebook and a pen on which were written texts that distantly resembled song lyrics. A deep crease between his brows, he tried to concentrate, but your occasional whimpers and sniffles made his jaw tense.
“Your boyfriend left you? Do you know the planet is full of men? You’re a gorgeous woman, stop crying over some worthless asshole, it’s pathetic.”
“A gorgeous woman?”
You were sure you looked like a nightmare with your runny mascara and snot, but the stranger seemed sincere, his eyes serious and voice firm.
“I’m married,” you cleared your throat. “And that’s exactly the problem.”
He cocked his head to one side.
“Kill that man if he bothers you.”
You let out an incredulous chuckle at his blunt statement. “I wish I could. But it’s not his fault, it’s mine.”
You glanced at his large, tattooed hands that had rings that were silver as well as his chain around his neck. He drew his full, plump lips into a thin line, his face stern as he stared at his notebook while playing with his pen between his middle and index fingers. After a few seconds of silence, he let out a heavy breath.
“Man, where has my inspiration gone? If this keeps up, I'll never release my album on time.”
“Are you a musician?”
For the first time he'd spoken to you, the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile.
“You don't know me?”
“You seem young, I only listen to gospel, I don't know anything about recent music.”
Surprise flashed across his face. “Only gospel?”
“Yeah?” You tilted your head, not understanding what the problem was.
He shook his head, not believing his ears. “Are you an extreme Christian or something?”
“Christian yes, extreme no. My parents just raised me that way.”
“I'm a rapper. You're the first person I meet who tells me they only listen to gospel. Does that mean you only listen to music about God? Not love music, sad music, or ego-trip music to feel confident?”
“I feel pretty confident with gospel. Especially when it's gospel influenced by soul. But I listen to the music of my culture too, like Kizomba and Cabo Zouk.”
The man narrowed his eyes, doubtful. “So you don't have a sex playlist?”
“A what?!”
His smile widened into a full, playful grin. “A sex playlist, miss prude.”
Because of his nonsense, you had almost forgotten why your eyes were itching and why you were there. You sighed, massaging your temples with your fingers.
“My husband isn't into that.”
“I don’t give a damn about your husband who lets you get drunk at 10 p.m. alone.” His face hardened. “I was talking about you.”
“Sex is kind of boring, music would distract me.”
“Are you asexual?”
“No, it’s just… I don’t know… Long and boring…”
“Ma’am, your man sounds lame as hell.”
“Don’t say that…”
A couple walked past you, their children trotting behind them, and it reminded you of the conversation with your mother. You burst into tears again, and the stranger rolled his eyes.
“There.” He handed you a tissue he had taken out of his pocket.
You blew your nose loudly with it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because of you fucking crying, I can't concentrate and this is the only kind of bar where I won't be recognized, so we're both stuck.”
“Are you famous?”
“My last album was in the top ten spots on the Billboard charts for 15 consecutive weeks.”
Since your face showed no reaction, he deduced you knew nothing about the Billboard charts.
“Yeah, I’m famous. It’s a pain in the ass.”
“You should be grateful, God bless you with success. Not everyone has this chance.”
He looked displeased, his features sharpening.
“I haven’t worked since I was 14 for my success to be attributed to a bearded man in the sky.”
You frowned. This man didn’t mince his words.
“You’re right. Sorry to force my beliefs on you.”
His expression relaxed. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”
You stared at your wet handkerchief, feeling the sadness from earlier wash over you like a surging wave drowning you. Unable to survive this deluge alone, you needed to share your pain. Besides, alcohol inhibited you, preventing you from withdrawing into your 'professional mode'.
“If you don't mind, can I talk to you about my life? I don't have any friends.”
“I'm not the most empathetic person in the world. If my friends have problems with their boyfriends, I tell them to beat them.”
You chuckled and sniffled. “Yeah, I noticed.”
“But go ahead, maybe your sob story will give me inspiration for a song.”
You took a deep breath. You didn’t know his name but you were going to tell him your deepest wounds.
“My mom wants me to have kids, but I don't want any.”
“What's the problem? You just don't have to get pregnant.”
You sighed.
“You're used to being able to do what you want, when you want, aren't you?”
“Nah, what makes you say that?” He cocked his head to one side with a smirk.
“You're kinda…”
You weren't sure if it was his neck tattoos, his long dark eyelashes covering his mesmerizing eyes, or his low-octave voice that could send shivers down your spine if he were near your ear, but he exuded an intimidating aura. Something dominant and powerful.
“I'm kinda what?”
“Nevermind.” You looked away, flustered.
“I don't think your husband will appreciate the look on your face, ma'am.”
“I have to have children; no one asks my permission. That's why I'm in this state.”
A shadow passes across the man's face.
“We all have free will. You're a Christian, you're supposed to know that, right?”
“I think God forgot to give me some,” you muttered. “I have no control over anything, I'm so stuck.”
“Okay, stop complaining and tell me the full story.”
“My parents are from Cape Verde, it's an archipelago in West Africa—”
“Ma’am, I didn’t ask for your biography.”
You chuckled, your face lighting up. He was so sassy. “It’s important to my story. Since they’re immigrants, they expect me to have a better life than if they had stayed in Cape Verde. So when I told them I wanted to be a cook, they laughed in my face.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t pursue your dreams because of your parents?”
You drew your lips into a thin line and he shook his head in disbelief.
“You don’t know what it’s like to live with African parents, do you?” You gave him a small smile.
“One of my best friends, Ony, is also Cape Verdean. But he always followed his dreams and became a beatmaker, even though his mother always told him it wasn't a real job.”
“He's just lucky.”
“Or maybe you lack strength and ambition.”
Your gaze challenged for a moment, but you lost the battle as his green irises shone brightly, burning your retina.
“So I became an attorney for them.”
“What else did you do for them?”
“Marry off the son of one of their friends…”
The man paused, wincing. “Are you serious?”
“It's not a big deal, arranged marriages are still a thing in some cultures,” you cleared your throat, feeling uncomfortable.
“I don't want to judge a culture different from mine, but does that mean your current life, being a attorney and married, isn't even what you want? Don't you think it's crazy to live a life that doesn't reflect your own choices?”
You looked away, your shoulders slumping. His face softened.
“Sorry, you're already in a bad mood, I shouldn't say that.”
“It's just… I don't know… My parents left so much behind so I could have a better life, I feel ungrateful for not making them happy.”
“You're not ungrateful, you have the right to do what you want. You know that all the 'I did this for you' that parents do to us is a type of emotional abuse?”
“I get that, but… My parents really worked hard for me. My mother has infertility issues, and I'm her only daughter; I kind of represent their dreams…”
“It's your life, not theirs.”
“You can't understand.”
His eyebrows knitted.
“Don't ‘white people’ me.”
You leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms over your chest. “But it's true, you can't understand.”
“So… Are you going to live the life you want when your parents die?”
“The day they die, I'll be stuck with kids to raise.”
“You know you're going to traumatize your children? A mother who doesn't want to be a parent can't raise her children well.”
Your gaze saddened. “You're right, but…”
“I'm always right,” he cut in, “you're going to be a horrible mother.”
“Okay…”
“Why are you crying anyway? You wanted to be a doormat and do what your parents wanted, so at least do it with a fake smile. You can't be mad at your parents when you're a grown ass woman who could have said no.”
“Are you victim-blaming me?” You let out a sad giggle.
His lips quirked up. “Be happy to be a pretty victim at least.”
A silence fell between you as the man lowered his head to look at his notebook. After a few seconds, he looked back up at you, a vulnerable glint in them.
“Today is the anniversary of the day my dad abandoned me. I wasn't kidding when I said you weren't the only one having a bad day.”
Your lips parted, empathy filling your heart.
“I'm so sorry.”
“Nah, don't give me that pity shit. You don't know me enough to be really sorry,” he huffed, “I just wanted to make the silence less awkward for you.”
“You're really… a strong person. Doing what you want, calling out people's bullshit, asserting yourself, and you're resilient too.”
His lips curved into a playful grin. “Stop flirting with me, baby.”
You stuttered, flustered. “I didn't want to!”
“Yeah, you're married and loyal, I know. You're really good at playing the good girl, but what's behind all that?” He leaned across the table, also crossing his muscular arms on the table. His gaze pierced you, making you feel small. “You can be real with me. I'm just a stranger, you don't even know my name.”
Your heart raced. “Why do you care?”
“Don't know.” His eyes lingered on your gold cross necklace. “I'm attracted to you.”
You didn't know what to say and lowered your head to stare at his notebook.
“I don't have much to say about myself,” you mumbled, “I'm a bit boring.”
“I noticed.”
His blunt self made you laugh. “Sorry, I'm not a rapper who can travel the world and do whatever he wants.”
“Ouch.” He placed his hand over his heart, a mock pain. “You think my life is all about my rap? I'm also a great big brother.”
“You have a sibling?”
“My little sister, Mikasa. She's my biggest fan.”
“I wish I had siblings; growing up alone was so lonely.”
“I swear you don't want her in your life. She's a pain in the ass.”
“It's good that your father's abandonment didn't separate you and made you closer.”
His face darkened. “I had no choice but to look after her; my mother started doing drugs after my father left.”
A gentle look passed across your face. “That's really sad. I hope you can see a psychologist to talk about it. These kinds of things are mentally heavy to bear.”
He shook his face, his features easing at your cute worry. “Nah, I don't need that. Music is enough for me.”
“Want me to listen to it?”
His cheeks turned pinkish. “It's not gospel, you know that, right?”
“I'm aware, but I don't mind. I'm curious.”
He took his phone out of his pocket with wired earphones. His hands were shaking a little as he scrolled through his folders, glancing at you nervously as he searched for his music. Seeing him anxious for you made you shy too. He passed you an earbud, which you slipped into your ear, and you leaned across the table to look at his phone screen, his warm breath caressing your face.
“My genre is more horrorcore, but I do anything with a dark atmosphere,” he warned you. “A fan sent me an incredible instrumental, and I had to rap over it. Some of my fans are also mad that I don't have a specific genre and that I'm hard to categorize and would like a full album of that style. But honestly, I will still do the shit I want.”
As soon as the video began, the heavy bass of the music sent shivers down your spine. Filmed in the middle of the night, he was in a forest, the hood of his black hoodie pulled over his head. The beat was dark, with an almost solemn atmosphere accompanied by a creepy voice in the background that echoed like in a church. Each of his lyrics ended with a clever rhyme that made you press your earbuds to better hear what he was saying because you didn't want to miss a word of his excellent flow.
“That’s… Kinda sexy.” Your drunk mind was saying nonsense.
“What the hell? I’m rapping on a horrorcore beat.”
“I don’t know if it’s your voice, the confidence in your way of being, the roughness of your lyrics but… It’s sexy.”
His tongue began to rub the inside of his cheek and his eyes narrowed. “You really want me to fuck you tonight?”
Your cheeks burned. “No.”
“Because I can, you know.” He smirked.
“Let’s focus on your music…”
“Talk about your fav singers.”
“I thought I was lame because I didn’t have a sex playlist and listened to gospel?”
A low chuckle escaped his mouth. “Don’t do me like that.”
“I don't really follow artists because I avoid worshipping people who shit like us and reserve that treatment for God, so I just have favorite songs.”
“I actually like your mind.” He nodded. “I feel weird when my listeners see me as their favorite human without knowing me personally, but they pay my bills, so I avoid being ungrateful.” He gestured to his phone. “Show me some songs.”
“That’s not aggressive rap like yours, you know.”
He rolled his eyes. “Please, I’m a musician before I’m a rapper. I know how to appreciate good music even if it’s from a religion that’s not mine.”
You searched YouTube for “You Waited” by Travis Greene, and your heart beat a little faster, watching him watch the music video, a little nervous about whether he’d like it.
Surrounded by people but with the lights pointed at him, the black singer began to sing, guitar in hand. The beginning of the song was soft and slow before the drums joined the music. In the second half of the song, everything accelerated, and the singers in the background joined the lead vocalist in a beautiful accumulation of vocals. The audience, some of them feeling emotional, began to cry and raised their arms to move to the beat.
“That’s really beautiful,” he said at the end of the video. “I love all the instruments used. I still don’t believe Jesus is waiting for me somewhere, but he’s very talented.”
“That’s okay, Jesus loves everyone even though you don’t like him.”
“What a great guy,” he teased.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Nah. I’m more into existentialism.”
“What is that?”
His eyes became serious. “It’s the fact of thinking that life has no meaning, and that it’s up to us to give it one. There’s also the absurdism of Albert Camus, which is to accept the absurdity of life and live it anyway, but his philosophy is quite weak to practice. Existentialism is also not believing in the idea that we have a soul, and that therefore human nature doesn’t exist, and that we all have free will. I never believed in God when I see homeless people dying in the streets of Skid Row, or families broken by drugs. I believe that we just live on a huge ball for no reason and that we have two choices: commit suicide because life is unfair, or make our life the best possible experience with the freedom of choice we have. When I wake up in the morning, discouraged by my album sales, although it rarely happens to me because I’m really the shit in the rap game, I tell myself that it’s up to me to make my life better and I shouldn't complain. So yeah, not a Christian, but free will and freedom are very important to me."
“That's really... Interesting,” you offered an impressed smile. “I've never really thought like that. I just… I think everything happens for a reason. In the Bible, there's this concept of predestination, that Jesus has already saved whoever he wanted to save. In fact, there are two Jesuses that exist, two types of Christians. There's the Jesus who punishes, and the one who loves everyone. You'll see the difference in the way some treat homosexuals, for example. Some Christians will see homosexuality as a test to overcome given by God, like in Islam, or a vice of the devil, while others will accept the person's homosexuality, because if that person is like that, it's because God chose them and they deserve to be loved in the way Jesus created them. I think we're born with a set of predestined tests to make us grow, and sometimes a little temptation from the devil to prevent us from being on the right path, but I don't think we really have to ‘change’ to be loved by God.”
“So you’re the good kind of Christians, not like the MAGA kind?”
Your eyes widened. “Please.”
“Just asking.” He grinned, raising his arms to show his innocence.
“If Jesus came back, he would be against them. Jesus was always there and protected the marginalized.”
“You’re really the first Christian who tells me Jesus would be a trans supporter…”
“I told you, Jesus loves everyone.”
Too immersed in your conversation, you hadn’t approached the bartender who had approached your table.
“Excuse me for disturbing you, but we’re closing.”
You looked at your luxury watch and noticed it was past midnight.
“I’m sorry, we’re going out.”
The man you shared the evening with followed you out of the bar, his eyes roaming over the curves of your ass molded into your denim pencil skirt, a glimmer of appreciation in them. Once outside, he took a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. He leaned his back against the wall of a building next to the bar, lit his cigarette, and his gaze fell on you, his mouth forming a small 'o' as he blew out the smoke.
“Do you know the song Slow Down by Bobby Valentino?”
“No?” You tilted your head.
“The singer sings about a beautiful girl he saw on Melrose Avenue and really wants to sex up.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks. “Um, yeah?”
He raised his free hand to point at the 'Melrose' sign not far from them, then pointed at you.
“You really don’t get it?”
You looked away. “Mhm…”
“I saw you walking down on Melrose, you looked like an angel straight out of Heaven, girl. I was blown away by your sexiness, now all I have to do is catch up to you,” he sang, approaching you.
Your cheeks were so hot you could cook eggs on them. “This is so embarrassing, stop!”
The man just made a sly smile.
“Slow down, I just want to know you…”
You turned around, clutching your shoulder bag, ready to escape this horrible situation, but he grabbed your hand behind you.
“But don’t turn around, ‘cause that pretty round looks good to me.” He twirled his hand above your head, his devious grin meeting your shifty eyes. “Now turn around and bless me with your beauty.”
The world stopped as he lowered his head and captured your lips. You didn’t fight, didn’t scream, didn’t react, didn’t do anything! You stayed frozen, kissing a second man after having known only your husband your whole life. And the worst part of this is that you’re this close to fainting for him. Your heart skipped a beat, and you closed your eyes. He didn’t need to cradle your face; his lips already possessed your entire being. And you did something incomprehensible. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the argument with your mother that made you want to break the rules and stop being a good girl. But you kissed him back, gently pressing your mouth against him.
“The church girl wants my dick?” he whispered against you.
“Please don’t say anything and just kiss me.”
“It reminds me of another song my friend Connie loves. Los Infieles by Aventura. It’s about infidelity. At the beginning of the song, they say they commit a sin and are going to hell. I know the words by heart. His hispanic ass can’t stop listening to bachata every day since we were little.”
“You’re really a music nerd.”
“And you, a very sinful girl. Do you think God would still love you after this?”
He deepened his kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you parted your lips.
“In the song, they say ‘how can something so wrong can feel so good,’ don’t you think it applies to us?” He grabbed your throat to press your body against his, his cigarette still lit in his other hand. “You smell so good, what’s your perfume?”
“Her by Burberry,” you breathed. You struggled to think straight every time his tongue flicked against yours, your cunt pulsating, wanting more. “How many girls crying in a bar have you picked up?”
“You’re the first and the prettiest.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t need to.” He nibbled your lower lip. His way of kissing was teasing, playful, sassy, just like him. You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the firm muscles of his chest under your palms. Nothing to do with your older beer-bellied husband.
“I…”
“You look like you’re needing some good dick,” he moved away from you, and his dark gaze with dilated pupils made your body in a liquified mess. You stared at the ground, swallowing hard.
“I don’t want to cheat on my husband but I…” Your voice cracked, tears welled up in your eyes. “I’m just so tired of everything.”
“Where is your husband?”
“In a business trip for a week.”
“Ma’am, I can change your whole view of sex in a week. In just a night, actually.”
“You seem so young, I can’t do that…”
“I’m 24.”
You gulped. “I’m almost 10 years older than you.”
“Sexy.”
You looked up in exasperation. “Please.”
“What? I can’t find you sexy at your age?”
“You need to go home before I make a really big, sinful, and serious mistake.”
“I want you to make that really big, sinful and serious mistake.” He took a drag of his cigarette before exhaling. “Just let me walk you home at least. You’re a lady, I’m not leaving you alone in the street.”
The rest of the walk was silent as you could hear the sound of his exhalations as he smoked. You only spoke to point him in the direction as he walked ahead of you, his hand intertwined in yours. When you reached your apartment, he let out a whistle.
“You live in Pacific Palisades, girl? Am I talking to a simple attorney or Olivia Pope?”
“Why?” You made an awkward expression, taking your keys out of your bag.
“That's like the richest neighborhood in Los Angeles after Bel-Air.”
“You're famous, so you also have money, where do you live?”
“Near Skid Row.”
A deep crease formed between your eyes. Skid Row was known for its serious poverty, with a large community of homeless people living on the streets, accompanied by the overwhelming majority of drug addicts wandering the streets.
“...Why? It's the worst neighborhood in Los Angeles.”
“Your privilege is showing, ma'am.”
“Privilege where? I'm a fucking diaspora kid.”
“Ohhh, the church girl can cuss,” he teased behind you as you entered the building.
In the elevator, he played with the curly locks sticking out of your afro puff.
“You let me in the building, am I to understand that you really want my dick?”
“You still haven't explained to me why you live in the poorest part of town.”
“My mom lives there. I tried to get her into rehab, but she's always trying to kill herself. I finally realized I'd never see my sober mom again, and decided to look out for her when I pass by her street. She's often outside; if you lived there, you'd know her.”
Your features eased. “That's really sad, I don't know what to say.”
“Let's talk about how your professional look like coming straight from a porn video with your curves.”
“Do you watch porn?” You made a disgusted expression.
“Don't need to, if I want to fuck I just need to go to a club. You know that just my name makes panties wet?”
“You really have a filthy mouth.”
“And you want to know what more can this mouth do?” He placed his hands on your ass, gripping the ample flesh. “Does your husband spank you?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Answer it.” He lowered his head to press soft kisses along your neck. “You told me sex was boring with him, I'm trying to figure out how boring.”
“We're never in a position for spanking…” Your body temperature rose at the lips on your throat. You stared at the ceiling and bit your lip, wondering why you liked committing such a serious sin, as if that stranger was the devil in disguise.
“Don't tell me you're only doing missionary. I hope this is a joke.”
“Why would I want my man to hit me? He loves me.”
“Luckily I'm not your man so I can treat you as roughly as I want.” He caught a piece of skin between his teeth and sucked it.
You gently pushed him away to go open the door to your apartment when the elevator stopped. Hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, he followed you. He was so much taller than you, so when he stood behind you as you opened the door, your palms became sweaty, intimidated.
Your apartment had floor-to-ceiling windows with a perfect view of Los Angeles at night. Skyscrapers, tall buildings, and streetlights illuminated the still-dark rooms of your home. When you turned on the light in the entrance hall, the man admired the minimalist decor, which reflected your wealthy lifestyle. There was nothing personal about it except for the obviously well-tended plants and the many black, white, and wooden objects.
“So…” You scratched the back of your head.
“Just show me your room.”
“You don’t want to eat something?”
“For what?” He raised an eyebrow. “My meal is right in front of me.”
Blood rushed to your cheeks. Your heels tapped against the expensive parquet flooring as you walked toward your bedroom. The man glanced at the living room and the kitchen—still minimalist, clean, and rich as fuck.
“Um, I…” You stared at the floor, fidgeting your hands.
He was pulling off his compression shirt without a care in the world, and your jaw dropped. He was built. Ripped. So muscular, as if he had an OnlyFans account and was flexing his abs for his followers. You bit the inside of your cheek. He was the kind of man you had a crush on as a teenager, but you knew your parents would never accept his tattoos.
“Is that you and your husband?” His deep voice made you look up at his face and stop watering at his V-line. He was looking at your wedding photo on the nightstand.
“Yes.”
“Can I say something disrespectful?”
“As if you didn’t have a foul mouth all night.”
“You could do better than him, he looks like he's 10 years older than you, like why he's balding and you're in your thirties?”
“Men are like that in their forties…”
“I will not be like that when I am 40, trust me. Booking a flight to Turkey as soon as I see a bald spot. Gotta keep looking fine for pretty ladies like you.”
You giggled at that and sat on your bed. You really didn't know how to begin this awful idea. You avoided his gaze as you played with your wedding ring on your ring finger. A sinful gesture.
The devil sat next to you, and took your hand.
“You know how to read hand lines?” He stroked the thin creases in your palms.
“No, what about you?”
“Me neither. Just tryin’ to make things less awkward.”
His sentence caused a small quiet laugh to come out of your mouth.
“I really like your laugh, it’s sexy,” he stared at you, his eyes serious.
He made your insides bubble up. “Thank you. I like your voice too.”
“Yeah?” He lowered his head to kiss the back of your hand. “What else do you like about me?”
“Um, you really have pretty eyes.”
His mouth pressed against your wrist in a soft gesture, his hydrated lips smooth against your skin. You struggled to focus because of his gentle way of treating you.
“And I really like your tattoos. You look more intimidating and confident, it’s attractive.”
He smiled against your forearms, and looked up to stare in yours as he caught a piece of flesh between his teeth, sucking. Your eyes wide, you shivered.
“What are you doing?”
“I said you were my meal.” He let his tongue run over your flesh before peppers kisses on your arm and moves up to your shoulder, leaving a wet trail behind him. “You seem to really like me. You would really like a thing between my legs in a few minutes.”
“You're always talking about your penis…”
“That's the best thing about me, ma'am.”
“Actually, I don't think I really like sex, so…”
“I don't know if you're just asexual or if your husband is the shittiest man out here,” he sighed. He placed his hand on your thick thigh, and placed a few kisses along your throat making you erupt goosepumps on your skin. “There are many things you can like during sex.”
“I like it when it’s quick like that, it ends quickly.”
He drew his lips into a thin line. “Yeah, no. That won’t do.”
He undid a few buttons of your shirt, revealing your lacy red set underneath.
“Not very church girl of, huh?”
“My husband offered me this.”
“That bastard has good taste. Too bad I'm the one enjoying it right now.”
He lowered the cup of your arm, and pinched and rolled your brown nipple between his fingers. You bit your lower lip, getting hot.
“I had sex with an autistic woman one day,” he kissed your jaw while toying with your nipple. “She had trouble voicing her needs and desires so we used a color system. Red for stop, orange for slow down, yellow for continue doing it and green for harder, faster or more of it. We can do that for you. I don't mind if you realize mid-sex you're not really enjoying it. I had a good night with you, it was fun.”
Your heart swelled at his caring attention. “So you’re actually a respectful guy?”
“Not you admitting you're seeing me as an asshole-”
“Green,” you cut in.
His lips curved into a grin and he captured your lips for a kiss again as his whole hand fitted your big breast which he squeezed. You didn't get the self-conscious thought about the sagginess of your chest that you had when your husband touched you because that man treated you as if you were the most beautiful woman he had seen in his entire life.
His tongue toyed with yours, sliding against it, and it was the first time a kiss made your cunt throb because your husband didn't do it with real passion. Nah, the man in front of you kissed you with languor, a nasty craving to suck on your tongue while he kneaded your tits.
“Strip,” he commanded against your mouth.
With trembling hands, you undid the belt of your skirt and lifted your ass off the bed, sliding it down your legs until it fell to the floor. Completely in your underwear in front of a stranger whose name you didn't even know, a flustered embarrassment washed over you, and you lowered your head, your thighs tightly closed.
“Don't get shy on me now,” he muttered, his voice dominant and harsh, making you shiver again. “I know you're a freaky-ass person. You like to keep things on the low, right? That's why you invited me over without your husband knowing, and let me flirt with you all night. You're an evil woman.”
Your cheeks heated up, still your head down. He wasn't wrong.
“You know the rapper BeatKing?”
“No?”
“In his song “Smile”, he starts his song directly by saying “let me see that pussy”. Do you really want me to get real corny and rap his verse?”
“N-No!”
“So open these fucking legs.”
He stood up to kneel in front of you. He gripped your knees and forced them apart, accessing your already drenched heat between your legs.
“I hope your lame ass husband eats your pussy at least.”
“He does but I don’t find it very pleasurable so we skip it.”
He let out a sigh. “What good has your husband done in his life?”
“A lot of things, he's a businessman and-”
He tossed your thong to the side, parted your lips and plunged his lower face deep into wet folds. The feeling of his warm mouth on your tight heat made your heart miss a beat, a wave of pleasure taking over you. Usually, your husband did unnecessary foreplay where he spent long minutes kissing your inner thighs, focusing more on the outside of your pussy than the inside, making you bored. So having a man who was going straight to the pussy was a change.
And he wasn't shy at all. Like a real munch, when your taste met his tongue, he hummed against you, the vibrations of his voice making you weak in the knees. His tongue wiggled through the folds, working its way up and up to your clit, so that he can wrap his lips around it and suck it with greed. You clenched your thighs around his head at the sensation, pants coming from your mouth and he wrapped your legs around him, putting them on his shoulders.
He removed his silver rings and shoved two fingers up to your cunt but you tensed.
“I don’t like fingering.”
He paused. “Girl, what do you like about sex?”
“When he does it it’s-”
He rolled his eyes in exasperation, and made a back and forth movement with his digits, dragging them out and in of you. Slicking them with your juices, the motion made a wet noise that made your cheeks burn. When he bottomed out, he curled them to hit that spongey spot in you that you didn't know you had and made your legs shaking.
In an unconscious gesture, you ground your hips around his face. He gripped your love handles to bring you closer to him and help you rock your lower body better. He alternated between eating you out and fingering you, sometimes removing his fingers just to lapping between folds, the dance of his tongue on you exquisite, plunging them back into you, the thrusts of his digits so pleasurable and good. It had nothing to do with your husband.
Brain so fucked out, you chased your high while bucking your hips, not familiar with the coil in your lower belly winding tighter and tighter.
“Is that…”
“Is that what?” He moved away from your clit, his lips glistening with your arousal.
“I never came with him.”
“You married him for your parents, of course you're not attracted to him. But that doesn't apply to me, does it?”
He placed kisses in the crease of your thighs and sucked the skin while the languid pace of fingers gliding against your velvet walls made soft moan coming out of your mouth. He did everything in reverse: coming straight to the pussy, riling you up quickly and while you were just waiting to cum on his face, he teased you, doing foreplay before the big orgasm.
As he kissed you, he came back from time to time near your clit, spreading the lips that hid your sweet spot to blow a soft breath on your throbbing bud. Your head buzzed with arousal as you arched your back, biting your lips at his playful way of pleasing you.
“Green, suck on it, please,” you asked, your voice desperate, hips canting up.
“Your orders are absolute.”
His lips wrapped again around your clit, sucking it with craving, a jolt of pleasure setting you ablaze. The tremor building in your core intensified to the max, your eyes rolling back in pure bliss as your toes curled. As your orgasm rippled through you, the man between your thighs fixed his gaze on the sight of you unraveling.
“Get on all fours.”
You hadn’t even had time to digest the fabulous high you had just experienced with him, the first time you came with a man, before he was already using an almost threatening voice.
“I never did that position…”
“I know that, Miss Church Girl. Now, on all fours.”
You got into position just as he asked, your body tensing as you heard the sound of his jeans falling to the floor behind you. You were scared because he didn’t seem gentle at all, nothing like the loving sex you were used to with your husband. You knew he was going to beat your shit with a straight face, like he's used to doing with other women.
Kneeling on the bed, his tattooed hand ran over the skin of your back, pressing down to make you arch, your face pressed against the sheets as your ass was high up in the air. Your heart pounded in your ribcage as you felt the long drag of his dick sank in your tight heat, his girthy inches disappearing inside you.
“So tight,” he hissed, his cock throbbing, “gonna ruin you.”
It sounded terrifying, but your pussy clenched around him, turned on. He gripped your wide, thick hips, pressing your ass against his pelvic bone, as he drove his dick deeper. Your breath caught when he bottomed out, never having been so full in your life.
“W-Wait,” you panicked, needing time to adjust to his size.
“Baby, I’m an asshole, I won’t wait for shit,” he let out a wicked laugh, making you shudder, realizing you were stuck with a psychopath.
“No, wait, I-”
“We have a color system, ma’am. You can say ‘no’ as much as you want, I won’t stop.”
Not really wanting to stop, you were just scared, you kept your lips close.
“That’s what I thought,” he moved his pelvic floor backward, a little relief washing over you as he was no longer deep inside you, but he slammed his hips back against your ass instantly, delivering a particularly harsh thrust.
Your hands clenched into fists as you panted against your pillow, tears already welling up in your eyes at the brutality of his movements. This wasn’t what you were used to, not at all. Your husband treated you like you were a fragile thing, a victim of a Madonna-Whore complex where he was unable to see his wife in a sexy way, because he categorized women into two categories: sensual women among whores and marriageable girls that he could not sexualize. While this man behind you saw you as you really were, a girl who had sexual needs.
You arched better your spine off the bed, wanting to please him and show off your curves, ignoring the voice in your brain that reminded you that you were committing a sin. He smirked seeing how you positioned your back, making your fat ass more round for him. With his head lowered, he had an erotic view of his tattoos on his defined abdomen and the curvature of your ass against him, with the white lines of your stretch marks making you ever more beautiful to him. He raised his hand in the air and delivered a hard spank on one of your asscheeks, making you flinch. He groaned seeing them bounce, the ample flesh moving like water.
“You know, you have the best body I’ve ever seen in my life,” he rasped, rocking his hips with force and aggression, making you cry against your pillow. You couldn't even be flustered by his compliment, your gut twisting in arousal at each of his strokes. His hard length slid easily inside you; you were so wet, your dripping cunt swallowing him with greed. “But I also wonder who you are inside.”
He grabbed your hair, removing the shoe lace that formed your afro puff, freeing it, and grabbed a handful to lift your head from the bed. One hand on the bed, he bent over a little, his rapsy voice close to your ear.
“You see that photo?” He directed your head towards your wedding photo on the bedside table. Your lips parted, trembling. “You’re a cheating whore. You do everything to show everyone that you’re a good girl, but I see through you.” Your pussy pulsed around his cock as he pounded into you, your mouth open as you moaned, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Focus. Look at your husband when I’m fucking you.”
Your vision blurred by tears, you could see the chubby face of your loving husband beaming with happiness while his arms were wrapped around you in your wedding dress. “I’m so sorry,” you sobbed.
“Nah, you’re not,” he chuckled darkly. “You love this dick. See how your pussy is squeezin’ me?”
He let go of your hair to grab your wrists and place them behind your back. The noises coming out of your mouth were almost pornographic with how loud you were. This is what heaven felt like for you. You started babbling nonsense in Kriolu, your native language, your breathing ragged as each brutal thrust made you see stars.
“Verdu,” you whimpered. Green.
“Don’t understand what you’re saying, baby. You want more?”
He picked up the pace, always having more to give you, his stamina frightening. Each roll of his hips fed into you became more aggressive, fucking you as if he hated your gut.
“Oh my god!” you shouted, feeling so much pleasure that the sensation of having to pee made you panic, and forgetting your own faith.
“Not God, just Eren Yeager, baby,” he kept a grip on your wrists with one hand and used his other to stimulate your clit.
“Eren?”
His dick twitched inside you at the sound of you pronouncing his name in your Cape Verdean accent.
“Yeah, it's me, keep saying my name.”
You did what he wanted, moaning his name as he drilled into your shit, your walls fluttering around his girth. His fingers continued to trace circles on your sweet spot. Eren's body was glistening with sweat from the effort and intensity of his movements. He loved seeing your ass bouncing on his dick, but he wanted to be facing you when he came. Your face was too beautiful to just be fucked in doggy-style.
He released your wrists and turned you onto your back, smirking at your dizzy expression. He brought your knees onto his shoulders and pushed his hips back into you, the angle deeper, still at the deadly pace he had when you were on all fours. In a moaning mess, you continued to mumble Kriolu nonsense, and Eren tried to understand what you were saying.
“Your language is pretty, just like you.” He leaned over to kiss you, the wet obscene sounds of your union filling the room.
Your kisses were sloppy and messy, sucking his tongue and letting out soft pants. Your nails dug into his back as you scratched him a little harder when his cock hit that spongey spot inside you.
“Más forti, pur favor.” You held him tightly against you, and he understood what you wanted without speaking your language. Harder, please (literally stronger, but said in a “more intense” way).
One hand on the bedframe, rising a little higher, he dragged his dick deeper, harder, pumping you full as the wet slap of your skin hitting his flesh was so loud.
“Who is fucking you?” he asked, his voice husky.
“Eren,” you breathed, your legs trembling harder.
“I said, who is fucking you?” His voice was threatening and harsh, as he pushed in and out in a frantic pace.
“Eren!”
Fucking you into oblivion, your release was closer and closer but you did everything to prevent it.
“I-It’s weird…”
“What is it, baby?”
“It's like I'm going to pee.”
A low chuckle escaped his mouth. “You husband never brought you to this state? That's a shame. It's okay, you can cum for me.”
"Mhm…"
“Open your mouth.”
You frowned but did what he asked. He spat between your lips, the trickle of saliva sweet in your mouth. Surprise flashed across your face but you swallowed and looked away, flustered.
“Now, cum,” he commanded.
You closed your eyes, focusing on the sensations of your bodies moving together. His cock deeply buried in you, your juices milking him, his warm breath caressing your face… Tremors seized your limbs as you let go, your body racked with spasms of pleasure as you cried out his name, your nails racking his skin.
“Shiiit,” he hissed, his eyes glazed over with lust as your cunt pulsated around him. He joined you in your orgasm as he pulled out of you to cum on your belly.
For a few seconds, neither of you spoke as you realized you'd made a puddle on the bed, his sticky warmth snaking over your skin, his rapid breathing above you. Then, you broke down. Tears streamed even more heavily down your cheeks as you sobbed, the infidelity you'd just committed mortifying you. He took a tissue from the bedside table to wipe the liquid from your flesh.
“It's a little late to cry, ma'am.”
“I've always done things right, so… Why do I have to ruin all my efforts now?” you sniffled.
“Maybe you're tired of being a good girl, you want your freedom.”
He threw the tissue in the trash can next to your bed.
“I had a bad day too,” he began, sitting down next to you. He didn't know how to console crying girls, so he wanted to share a little vulnerability with you so you wouldn't feel alone. “My sister always gets depressed when we're in the period after our father abandoned us. I spent all morning cleaning her apartment because she couldn't do it.”
“You take good care of her. She can count on you; it must be reassuring for her.”
“I try to.” He gave an awkward smile. “I don't think you're wrong for cheating on your husband,” he changed the subject, ultimately not liking to talk about his sister; it made him too vulnerable, and he didn't know you well enough. “He's lame. He doesn't even see that his wife is unhappy. He deserves what you just did.”
“Don't say that, he's a good guy…”
“A good guy?” His eyebrows knitted. “Because not being attentive to his wife, and not knowing that she's unhappy, is being a good guy?”
“He was never abusive, I was lucky.”
“That's like… The bar minimum?”
You shook your head. “I'm still grateful to have a good husband in a loveless marriage.”
He tsked. “Yeah, ‘a good husband,’ I have my own opinion on that…”
A not-so-uncomfortable silence fell between you. You looked down at your thighs twitching from your overwhelming orgasm, something you'd never felt before.
“How come you're younger than me and able to do this?” you murmured, still at a loss for words.
“Experience, baby. Experience.” His lips curled into a sly grin. “Not something your lame ass husband can have.”
“So you admit you’re kind of a whore?”
“Ohhh, so you really can cuss?” His eyes lit up with amusement. “What can I say? I’m hot and famous. I’m just doing what’s expected of me.”
You got out of bed, and Eren’s eyes roamed over your figure, lingering on your heavy breasts, and he regretted being too focused on fucking you than looking at all those curves.
“You can go take a shower, if you want,” you offered, pulling back the sheets from the bed to change them because of your squirting.
“I’m not going to use the clothes of the asshole who’s your husband,” he huffed.
“I have some of my dad’s clothes somewhere, don’t worry.”
You pulled a pair of sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt out of your closet and handed them to Eren. He eyed them suspiciously before taking them.
“Down the hall on the left.”
He nodded, leaving the bedroom, and your eyes lingered on his round ass, his muscular back covered in tattoos. It was the first time that just looking at a man made your pussy hot. You continued changing the sheets on your bed and put on a nightie. The sound of the water running in the shower filled the apartment as you went to your kitchen to heat up some food for him.
There was still food in your fridge. You poured two plates and heated them in the microwave. A few minutes later, while you were filling a bowl of rice with water to remove the dust, Eren came back into the kitchen, shirtless and his sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
“I don't know what the fabric of the thing in your shower is, but my skin is so soft,” he said, coming up next to you.
You turned your head over your shoulder, offering him a soft smile. “It’s an African net washcloth; it exfoliates the skin and removes dead skin. It’s called sapo.”
“That’s why your skin is so glowing. You have to give me one.” He hugged you from behind, pressing his warm body against yours. “You should stop crying and smile more like that.” He kissed your cheek.
The scene was oddly domestic and intimate, even though you’d only known that man for a few hours.
“It smells good, what is it?” He glanced at the plates on the counter.
“Feijoada. It’s a stew of beans, beef, and pork. It’s a recipe known to Brazilians, but all Portuguese-speaking African countries eat it, including Cape Verde.”
He hummed. “I like beans.” He pressed soft kisses on your neck. “It reminds me of a dish from my childhood, kuru fasulye.”
“What country is it from?” You finished washing the rice and placed the pan on the stovetop.
“It’s Turkish. My mom is Turkish.”
“And your dad?”
“Fuck his German ass.”
You giggled. “Sorry.”
You continued talking as the rice cooked, Eren taking his time peppering your neck with kisses. Even though he was basically a stranger, you felt like he was a friend you’d known for years. You felt safe with him. You enjoyed cooking for him; cooking for people was your love language; it was why you wanted to be a cook when you were little. Secretly, you wished you were his little wife. Things would have been so different.
Finally, sitting around the table—on Eren's lap, because he refused to let you leave—you ate in silence.
“It's really good,” he complimented you after a while.
“Thank you, if you come see me often, I can make you taste all the dishes of my culture.”
His arm tightened around you. “Do you really want to have a long-term affair with me?”
“Why not?”
“I feel like there's been a lot of character development since the bar, Miss Church Girl,” he teased.
“It's just…”
You didn't know how to describe what you felt. You felt guilty about cheating on your husband, but on the other hand, having sex with Eren had made you feel alive for the first time in your life. Now you were addicted to the feeling of freedom he gave you. Eren was the Devil, you were sure of it.
“I feel like I need to pray to gather my thoughts.”
A deep chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Yeah, let’s pray while another man’s cum touched the womb that will welcome your husband’s children.”
“Eren…”
“You religious people are truly the most hypocritical people I know,” he sighed. “But it’s okay, in my family there are Muslims who are more concerned about not eating pork while committing plenty of other sins. I guess, these are the ‘trials’ or ‘tests’ of God you often talk about.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in God.”
“I come from a Turkish Muslim family, ma’am. Just because I don’t believe in it doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about it.” He finished his plate of feijoada and buried his head in your neck. “A lot of people in my family don't like me because I do music, and it's forbidden in their religion. Many judge my mother because she does drugs. They are very judgmental of us, even though at the end of our lives, according to their beliefs, it's God who will judge us, not them.”
“I feel like you're really mature.”
“Mhm, someone wants to be fucked again…”
He tickled you as he kissed your flesh, making you giggle. You didn't have that closeness with your husband. He was loving, gentle, but that was it. There wasn't the passion and tension that existed between Eren and you. You looked at the clock, dreading the moment he was going to leave and you would be alone.
“Don't you want to sleep here? It's late.”
“Are you already in love with me?”
“Don’t say that… I just… I don’t know…” You lowered your head. “I don’t want to be alone…”
“It’s okay, I’m your man tonight, don’t worry. You can use me.” He kissed your cheek again.
That night, Eren and you slept in the same bed. Cuddled in his arms, you cried a little while he was already well asleep. You didn’t know if it was joy or sadness, happy to have found a safe place in your daily life where you always had to pretend to be okay, or sad because you had committed a serious sin. All you knew was that no matter what kind of cliff you fell from, you closed your eyes and let the wind carry you away, not thinking about the violent landing.
────────
𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑
“Ren, you’re not focused, you’re pissing me off,” Ony huffed, adjusting his loosely tied navy durag on his head, contrasting with his deep brown skin.
“I’m talking to the baddest girl ever,” Eren said, his eyes glued to his phone. They were alone in the music studio, Armin left to buy food for everyone, and Connie was late, like always.
“I worked my ass off yesterday to finish the beats on time, so you better focus on me, asshole.”
Eren rolled his eyes.
'You're distracting me,' he sent to you. You replied instantly.
'You too. You're lucky I don't have many clients today; I'm mostly doing administrative work.'
'Are you a attorney or a secretary?'
'Do you think client files magically prepare themselves?'
'Sorry, ma'am, I don't know anything about your job. But I wish I were a criminal so you could defend me.'
Ony grabbed the phone from Eren's hands.
'Focus, dummy.'
“Give me back my fucking phone, I'm not playing with you.” Eren tried to get his phone back, but Ony put it back in his pocket. “I'm talking to a girl you only see in your dreams.”
“Your album is due out in a few months, and you still need to record five songs. You're not focused.”
“Five songs for a few months, it's easy, Ony.”
“Yeah, it would be easy if you weren't a little perfectionist shit who was always changing your mind. Recording a single song takes us weeks because of your moody ass. Aren't you tired of the majority of your fans listening to your unreleased tracks?”
“Playboi Carti is the same, and his album sales are still good.” Eren leaned back on the chair where he was sitting, next to Ony, who was working on the computer, using Reaper software. Everyone else was using FL Studio, but Ony had started beatmaking on a budget, and Reaper was an honest company that offered its lifetime services for $60.
All of Eren's fans were shocked at the types of beats Ony was capable of making on software that was less popular than the big names we knew in the music industry. Ony was one of Eren's best friends, but also a musical genius; it was a blessing to be able to work with him.
“Playboi Carti is a lame rapper. Without his beatmakers, he's nothing. You have me, but you're talented without beats. Your freestyles always go viral, don't compare yourself to him. He beat Iggy when she was pregnant.”
“Yeah, I know. I hope he dies.”
Eren and Ony talked for a long time, suggesting artists the young rapper could work with for his soon-to-be-released album. Eren was a very successful rapper who had never been involved in any beef with another artist, so he could feature whomever he wanted; the response would always be positive.
Connie walked into the studio humming along to the music he was listening to in his headphones, his gray beanie on his head, contrasting with his tanned, tattooed skin. Everyone had tattoos, except Armin, who was more reserved. They even shared a tattoo they'd gotten in Atlanta after a show, a testament to their deep connection.
“Man, we need you here at 2 p.m., not 4 p.m. You have no respect,” Ony reprimanded him.
“I was with Sasha,” Connie said, his voice nonchalant.
Eren quirked an eyebrow. “Sasha? The one who cheated on you with Niccolo?”
“Yeah, that one. What about it? I do what I want with my dick. Eren is fucking a married woman!”
“She's a victim,” Eren corrected. “It's a loveless marriage.”
“Right, right, everything is okay as long as you're the one doing it,” Connie grumbled and slumped into one of the chairs. “You constantly criticize me. I find it kind of racist.”
“Man, the fuck are you talking about?” Ony shook his head, focusing on the large computer.
A hard beat filled the room. Connie bobbed his head to the music with an appreciative expression.
“That's really good.”
“Nah,” Eren frowned. “I don't like the hook, changing the gain, or improving the build-up.”
“Always somethin’ to complain, I swear to God.” Ony tensed but made the changes his friend requested.
Eren's phone vibrated in the pocket of Ony's baggy jeans. His friend looked at the notification.
“Your girl is saying she's done today and you can come fuck her early.”
“She'd never say that, you idiot,” he took his phone from Ony and read your message. He wrote a quick reply.
‘Come to the studio.’
‘Isn't that a little risky?’
‘Your husband is at work right now. Come home at the same time as if you'd finished your day as usual.’
‘Okay. Is my work outfit okay?’
‘This is a music studio, not a gangster hangout, baby.’
He sent you the address of the studio, which was near the Top Dawg Entertainment building, Eren's independent label.
'I'll be there in 30 minutes, Carson's not far from L.A.,' you replied.
'No problems, baby.'
“No problems, baby,” Connie repeated in a honeyed voice, his head over Eren's shoulder to check what he was texting. Eren tsked and nudged him.
Armin came back with a plastic bag in each hand, adjusting his glasses as he closed the door.
“I hope you didn't make a mistake and get tostones instead of empanadas like last time. I'll kick your ass,” Connie rubbed his hands together.
“You look like Sasha.” Armin smiled. “Nope, I got the empanadas you wanted.” He gave Ony and Eren a handshake before sitting down and taking the contents out of the bags onto the desk.
“Karibbean Cuisine is the only Dominican food truck in Los Angeles. I'm so mad they're all in New York.”
“There are less Carribean Latinx on the West Coast, that's why,” Ony dropped the computer mouse and began to eat.
“I exist, so everyone should open restaurants for me.”
“Go to New York if you feel too lonely here,” Eren mumbled, his mouth full of food.
“Ew,” Armin winced.
Eren gave him the finger.
They ate while bickering, laughing most of the time. Armin was Eren's manager and Connie was one of his sound engineers, but mostly they were Eren's best friends. His second family.
After a while, there was a soft knock on the door, making everyone freeze. Connie smiled and licked his lips, excited to see Eren's girl, while the rapper gave him a mock-punch, getting up to open the door.
Outside, dressed in your leather trench coat that hid your professional dress, with high heels, your short curly wig that you only reserved for work because Eren messed up your afro yesterday and you couldn't be bothered to redo a neat afro puff, you held your designer bag against you. Nervous, your jaw tensed as you stared at Eren, who was standing in front of you.
With a blue and white NFL jersey, black baggy jeans, and his sneakers the same color, his silver chain glowed in the sun that lit up Carson today. His brown hair was messy, as he often ran his hand through it when he focused on Ony's beats. His emerald eyes lingered on the belt of your trench coat, which created an hourglass illusion on your voluptuous body.
“Yo,” he greeted you, his voice low. “You look good.”
He had spent the entire week your husband was on his business trip fucking you; he still had flashbacks from yesterday, and seeing you still had the same effect on him. He wanted to ravish you.
“You too.”
He took your hand and led you into the studio. The lighting was dim, and the walls were completely black. There was a hallway and two large rooms. One for mixing, and one for recording the rap verses. Eren led you into the mixing room, where all his friends were curious to see that it was the new girl he was obsessed with.
You gave them an awkward smile and took off your trench coat to place it on the back of one of the chairs. Connie's eyes roamed your body and glanced at Eren, giving him a discreet thumbs-up. Eren gestured with his hand in front of his throat that said, "I'm gonna kill you." Ony and Armin were more respectful and avoided staring too much at your ample curves, impossible not to notice in your dress.
“The man in front of the computer is my beatmaker, Ony. He's the Cape Verdean I told you about who isn't a victim to his family compared to you,” Eren smirked, amused by the way your lips drew in a thin line at his mean remark.
“Which island in the archipelago are you from?” you asked softly at Ony.
“Sal. You have the accent of the people from Saõ Vicente.”
Your eyes lit up, happy that he recognized where you were from just by your accent. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I'm from Mindelo. I've never visited Sal.”
Ony offered a polite smile. “The island gets a little annoying with all the tourists, but you're safe once you get away from Santa Maria. I always loved the beaches and—”
“Turkey is cool too,” Eren cut in, jealous that Ony was taking up all your attention.
“I didn't say otherwise,” Ony chuckled.
“You've never been to Turkey, you're American,” Connie teased.
“Do you know what 'diaspora' means, dickhead?” Eren bickered with Connie, their laughter filling the studio.
You sat on one of the chairs and watched the guys work. Ony had two ways of doing things: either he presented beats to Eren, and the rapper chose which of his lyrics best suited the production, or Eren presented his verses to Ony and asked him to create a beat based on the rapper's requests.
Eren was skilled in horrorcore, cloud rap and trap, so Ony had to be versatile in his productions to suit his tastes. The rapper wanted to make aggressive rap for his album, so Ony focused on heavy bass beats.
Having spent every night together last week, you and Eren were closer; he already knew your body by heart, but now, with his friends and in the studio, you saw a more comfortable, natural, and playful Eren. You sometimes exchanged glances, but his eyes quickly darkened, moving down to the neckline of your dress.
“Have you prepared any music videos?”
Eren turned to you, pleased that you were interested in his career. He tapped his lap, and understanding his gesture, you came to sit on him, and he moved closer to the desk.
“Yeah, we have 5 of the 15 tracks on the album.”
“Can I see?”
Eren basically pushed Ony out of the office area. He laughed and moved away so the rapper could show you his MP4 files.
“How long are your songs?” You leaned your back against his firm chest.
“Minimum 3 minutes, but I don't like long songs over 5 minutes.” Eren clicked on the “documents” folder and searched for where the clip shots for his videos were stored on Ony's hard drive.
An MP4 file appeared, showing Eren sitting on a couch surrounded by partying people while he rapped, ignoring the commotion around him. The camera followed him as he walked through the house filled with humans, but still nonchalantly. The lyrics spoke of the dangers of the music industry, like drugs, the industry metaphorically representing the party while Eren, the artist, navigated this world avoiding its vices.
“That's very clever,” you complimented him.
“Mhm, nah. It's kind of corny.”
“You're being hard on yourself. I like the metaphor.”
“You just want my dick like everyone else.”
You tensed. “Don't say things like that, there are your friends here,” you murmured.
He moved his head next to your ear, his voice husky. “Why? You're flustered when we're not alone?”
“It's just not polite.”
“Always so proper as if you weren't crying over my dick, yestereday, telling me to go harder in Creole—”
You pressed his foot with yours and he smiled.
“My bad. I have a foul mouth.” He turned toward his friends. “Can you go smoke outside? I want to be alone with her.”
“It's a studio, not a love hotel,” Ony warned Eren.
Eren's smile expanded. “I will be the first to transform it like that then.”
Ony looked up in exasperation and grabbed Connie's shoulder, who protested but let himself be dragged towards the exit with Armin. Once alone, Eren pressed out kisses on your neck, tightening his arms around you. Your heart racing at the thought of doing anything sexual here, you changed the subject.
“Why are there never women in your music videos?”
“What do you mean?” A deep crease formed between his eyes. “I have plenty of feats with women, I don't discriminate.”
“No, I mean like… A lot of rappers have naked girls in their music videos…”
“Ah.” He buried his head on your neck, nuzzling it. “That's just not my style. I find it cringe.”
“You never rap about women?”
“Of course I do.” His breath caressed your skin. “But I'm just talking about sex. I've never been in a relationship.”
Your eyes widened. “Never? But…”
“But what?”
“I mean, you're obviously a very attractive guy…”
“Yeah, I know.” He nibbled at your flesh. “Handsome, yeah, but pretty fucked up in the head.”
“What do you mean?”
“You think it's easy to trust someone after being abandoned by the one who was supposed to love you forever?”
“Oh.” Your voice softened with empathy. “I didn't think of that, sorry. You seem so confident.”
“Stop that, you're talking as if I said some emo bullshit. I'm just being honest.”
You closed your lips, unsure how to handle such a vulnerable conversation. Eren sensed your conflict and caressed your thighs over your dress to soothe your worry.
“I saw a psychologist a few months ago.”
It was something he'd only told his best friends. You made him feel safe. It was a gift, a gift of himself that he gave you.
“And what did you tell him? Were you able to talk to him about your trust issues?”
“I ghosted him.”
“Eren…”
His tongue ran back and forth across your neck. “What?”
“You're sabotaging yourself.”
“I'm a grown-ass man, I don't have the BPD he wanted to diagnose me with. He should have never said that to me.”
“He was just doing his job.”
“Is this really the woman who's a pathological people pleaser talking to me?”
“I'm not a people pleaser.”
“Right,” he laughed quietly, “and I'm not a traumatized kid. We are just a duo of hot humans, right?”
He sucked on a sensitive spot, making you shiver.
“Is your husband back from his trip?”
“Yes, and I'm a little scared about tonight.”
“Scared of what?”
“I don't want to sleep with him. After what we did… I don't know… I feel weird in my body.”
“Ahhh, you're finally feeling the effect of having good dick? You don't want to touch an inexperienced man after this, do you?” He slid his hands under your dress to reach up to your panties, and rubbed his fingers on your clothed cunt.
“Not here, Rennie.”
The nickname escaped you before you could stop it, and you flinched, waiting for his reaction, but Eren's lips quirked up against your skin, and he continued fake-fingering you through your panties, causing a wet zone to form. His fingers slipped under the fabric to stroke your wet folds.
“Are you going to think of me when your husband fucks you?”
“Don't say things like that…”
“But it's true, am I right? No one knows how to take care of you better than me,” his fingers traced circles on your clit. “Does he make you cry and say ‘o nha mae’ all night like me?” Oh my gosh (literally “oh my mom” but it’s cape verdean slang).
You squirmed on his lap, soft pants escaping your lips. “Rennie, stop, your friends…”
“They know perfectly well what's going on, baby.”
“Even though, I feel uncomfortable.”
“I forgot you were a princess. You have to do it right in a clean bed.” His hand left your warmth and slipped into your mouth as your tongue swirled around his knuckles, tasting yourself. “I will not call you a good girl, you're a cheating whore.”
“I don't want to be your good girl.”
“Ah, it's only for your husband, I know that,” he huffed.
“That's not what I meant—”
His friends came back into the studio, the sound of the door opening making you fix your dress.
“I hope you're not naked!” Connie approached with his hands over his eyes.
“Idiot,” Eren muttered.
You looked at your watch, biting your lower lip because you wanted to stay with Eren, but you had to go home.
“I need to—”
“I know,” Eren kissed your temple. “Have a good evening and think about me a lot.”
You got up from him and leaned down to give him a big hug. You'd only known each other for a week, and you felt like you were already so attached to him. You already missed him when you left the studio to go home.
────────
Eren was a blunt, determined, and confident man, while your confidence was only displayed in the professional sphere. In everyday life, you were a shy, reserved woman who let people walk all over her and was afraid to say 'no'. Your parents had always taught you to obey, to be submissive, and polite.
The difference between you two was obvious when you texted each other. Eren used slang and abbreviations, while you were polite and sophisticated in your replies. You only had a small Facebook account, but Eren had encouraged you to create an Instagram account to follow his stories and posts.
On Twitter, some fans had noticed your mysterious account in his followings, and many simply assumed it was his spam account, without suspecting that it was a woman behind it.
Several weeks had passed since your husband's business trip. The sex between you and Eren was always passionate, aggressive, and oddly vulnerable. There was something intimate about being able to be yourself in front of someone, to drop the social mask, and let yourself be free. With Eren, you discovered sides of yourself you didn't even know existed.
“You like that?” your husband whispered as he thrust into you, your legs around his waist, his beer belly rubbing against your pudgy belly. It was nothing like the feeling of Eren's strong arms encircling you, his defined abs, a hard plane against your softness. You weren't fatphobic, you were plus-size yourself, but Eren was painfully your type as a man, compared to your husband, who was older than you and was losing his attractiveness as the years receded his hairline.
“Mhm,” you struggled to really get in the mood, the friction of his cock inside you too different from Eren's hard pounding, or his hands gently touching your breasts, too soft compared to Eren's hands wrapping around your throat while he was grunting, asking you 'who is fucking you?'.
You weren't very wet, so the action hurt a little, so you stared at the ceiling, waiting for it to end quickly. When your husband was finally asleep, you texted Eren.
'I hate sex.'
'Nah, you hate him. You love sex with me.'
'I feel like something is wrong with me. He's very gentle and loving, but it's not enough.'
'Gentle sex only works when you're in love, not in an arranged marriage.'
'Do you think if you were gentle it would work?'
'Of course, I do.'
'I'm not in love with you.'
'For now. It's only a matter of time before I break up your little union.'
'You're very arrogant.'
'I have to be to get where I am in the music industry.'
'I have something to ask you, but I'm afraid you'll say no.'
'Tell me, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.'
'I sing in a gospel choir, and we're performing at a church next week. I know you don't believe in God, and I know you don't want to get too close to me, but I'd like you to come see me. My husband doesn't care and never comes to see me. I'd be happy if you were here.'
'Your husband is truly the worst guy I know. Of course I'll come. Can I bring my friends? Ony is a Christian.'
'Yes!'
'Why didn't you tell me you sing? We have a lot in common.'
'It didn't cross my mind, I don't know. When I'm with you, my mind forgets the outside world a little.'
'Hahah, that's my charm.'
────────
Nuestra Señora Reina Church of Los Angeles, located in Downtown Los Angeles, was your favorite church because it was the only church in Los Angeles that had helped immigrants, and in 1980 it was a sanctuary for migrants facing deportation. It had values you shared, and you were proud that it partnered with the organization where you sang your gospel choir.
Dressed in a white dress that didn't specifically hug your curves, only slightly revealing your wide hips and ample chest, which were impossible not to notice, you stood in front of the many religious people listening to you. Your hair was pulled back in an afro puff that exposed your face, framed by your large gold hoop earrings.
All your friends were also well-dressed and wore beautiful earrings, but Eren's eyes were fixed on you. Sitting in the aisles of the church pews, enveloped by the solemn atmosphere of the building, he could admire the gold-framed Christian paintings behind you, or gaze at the statue of the crucified Jesus on the wall to his left, but all his attention was focused on you. The sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the wooden pews and tiled floors of the small, packed church.
He was frustrated, a deep crease formed between his eyes.
“Man, you can’t be angry in a church,” Connie leaned over to whisper in Eren’s ear.
“I just don’t care about the rest of her choir, I just want to hear her,” he mumbled.
The melody of the chanting echoed between the walls, the soft female voices, and he could feel the faith and emotions in them without necessarily sharing the same beliefs. Setting a soulful rhythm, your voice rose into the air with the others, the notes rolling out like a prayer.
“It’s beautiful,” Ony declared.
“It’ll be even better if my girl was a soloist,” Eren grumbled, and Connie pressed his foot against his to silence him.
As if God heard his complaints, you stepped forward, the choir stopping singing to let you lead the rest of the song. Eren shuddered at your first notes, your voice rising, with perfect breath control, your vocal cords giving a harmonious sound, like honey to the ears of the audience.
“Hey, it would make a good interlude for your album. Like Yebba’s Heartbreak for Drake,” Ony nudged Eren.
The idea crept into his mind and he nodded, a warmth rising in the pit of his stomach at the thought of collaborating with you.
The music finally ended, the church filled with applause and praise as you smiled at the spectators. Eren wanted to capture this moment, finally a moment where you were doing something you truly enjoyed, and your husband wasn't even there to see how beautiful you looked when you were happy.
With his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, he approached you as you spoke to some Christians.
“Yo.”
“Hey,” you greeted him, your smile widening for him. “I'm really glad you could come.”
“I would never have missed this.” You sweared as his eyes softened with affection for a moment. “What are you doing after this?”
“I'm coming home, my husband is coming home from work, I have to cook for him.”
He frowned. “You work too, why should you be the one cooking for him?”
“That’s how I was raised…”
“And?” An angry expression flashed across his face. “You’re not his servant as far as I know. It’s 2025, not 1960.”
“Cooking is my love language. I’ve always wanted to be a cook, so it makes me happy to cook for the people I love.”
“But you don’t love your husband,” he insisted, “you’re always texting me when you have to sleep with him at night.”
“Can you avoid talking about this in church?” You looked around to see that no one was listening.
A low chuckle rumbled in his throat, sarcasm in his voice. “Because inviting the guy you’re cheating on your husband with to church, isn’t that already a sin?”
You swallowed hard. “You have a point…”
“Your husband is going to cook for himself tonight, I’m taking you out to dinner tonight.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you behind him as you left the church with him, your eyes wide.
“Eren, I can’t-”
“Just tell him your friends wanted to celebrate the choir at church with a restaurant, and send him pictures of what you ate.”
“Are you used to sleeping with married women or something?” Your eyes narrowed with how quickly he had found an excuse.
“Maybe, we don’t know…” A mysterious smile formed on his mouth.
────────
Still in Downton L.A., in the Fashion District, was Connie's favorite restaurant: Dama, a Latin-inspired restaurant. When you walked inside, you were immediately amazed by how the brown color took over the cozy space with numerous plants illuminated by the soft light from the gold ceiling lamps. A square bar in the middle of the room, with dozens of chairs placed around it where you could see the bartenders working, attracted attention. Eren and you sat at a table a little far from the bar, near the windows where the leaves of the outdoor trees brushed against it.
"Connie is sponsored by this restaurant, he talks about it all the time," he teased.
"It's very pretty."
A waiter brought you the menu, and you let your eyes run over the paper. Eren was already a regular, so he already knew he was going to have the fried quesilladas. He stared at you, who had a focused expression.
“You always wear the same blush,” he remarked.
You looked up, your cheeks burning. “Um, yeah. It’s a NARS blush.”
“You say that like I’m going to use it.”
Your eyes lit up with amusement. “You’re right, sorry.”
“Stop apologizing, I’m not your strict parents.”
You chose fried calamari with red onions and tomatoes, and your dish and Eren’s arrived quickly. Eren ordered cocktails for you to try. It was nice to share a friendly moment with him like this, face to face with each other. Eren told you about the progress of his album, while you told him what you could about your job while respecting professional confidentiality. While you were eating, one of the waiters asked Eren for his autograph, which he happily signed, and you realized even more how popular he was.
“What would you do if you could have your own life?” he asked, bringing his glass back to his lips to take a sip of his cocktail. You swallowed the bite you were chewing to answer him.
“I think I would have opened my restaurant in Cape Verde or Brazil.”
“Brazil?” He quirked one of his eyebrows.
“Yeah, I really like Brazilian food. We have a lot in common in our culture with Brazilians, like carnivals. I would have loved to open a restaurant that serves food from all the Portuguese-speaking African countries besides Brazil. We share a similar history with colonization.”
“What is your best childhood memory in Cape Verde?”
Your lips curved into a fond smile. “The nights at the beach where we had barbecues. Seafood is very present in Cape Verde because we're surrounded by water, so I can still taste the shrimp we grilled.” You cocked your head to one side. “And you?”
He looked away, scratching the back of his head. “I think my best memories are when my dad was still here and my mom was still sober, but I don't like them because I feel like they're a big lie.” His voice was low, almost as if he didn't want you to hear the vulnerable tone.
“Tell me a little about your dad.”
His jaw tensed. “That asshole was a doctor. With my mom's job as an English teacher, we had a comfortable life, but everything was ruined around the time I was 13 when he decided to cheat on her for a younger woman.”
“Doesn't the fact that I cheat on my husband trigger you?”
“It wasn't really the infidelity that traumatized me. I think it was more that he completely cut us off from one day to the next. As if we were worthless. That's why I don't like to remember my childhood with him because I know he didn't care about us deep down.”
“I don't know how to answer that,” you choose your next words carefully. “I think telling you he loved you anyway when I don't know him is a bit tone-deaf, but reinforcing your idea that everything was fake doesn't sit right with me. Maybe the moments he shared with you were real, but when he falls in love, his world revolves around his partner and he forgets the rest.”
“Or he’s just a deadbeat dad…”
“Yeah, but… You know, my attorney friends who work for families have already seen fathers who want to have rights back over children they abandoned.”
He shook his head. “They don’t deserve anything. They weren’t there to raise the child, why come back when the mother has already done all the work?”
“You’re right…”
You continue talking, gulping down your desserts. When you get up after finishing eating, you take your wallet out of your bag, and Eren glared at you.
“You’re embarrassing me.” He took his black card out of his pocket and paid your meal bill.
“I’m not used to this. I do 50/50 with my husband.”
He huffed. “You’re going to hurt your body giving him babies, and you want to do 50/50? Men and women aren’t the same. You do so much more than him just to do 50/50.”
You didn’t like what he was saying because just imagining what it would be like to be his wife made your mouth water. He intertwined your hand with his, and the cold air outside made goosebumps rise on your arms as you stepped out. He opened the passenger door of his black luxury car for you, and you sat inside. A scent of vanilla enveloped the vehicle, which was soon overpowered by his expensive cologne when he plopped his ass on the driver’s seat.
“There's still a little time before you go home, it's early. Do you want to go for a car ride? I'll show you some songs you might like.” He started the car.
“Yeah, I would like to.” You grinned, happy to spend more time with him. There was so much you wanted to tell him, learn about him. He became like your best friend in just a few weeks.
Eren connected his Bluetooth to his car and “Too Deep” by dvsn filled the car, the notes soft and sensual.
“What kind of music is it? I like that.”
“It's R&B. There's Christian R&B that exists too, I'll make you a playlist.”
You leaned back against your seat, closing your eyes to listen to the music. PARTYNEXTDOOR, SZA, Jhené Aiko… All the R&B singers were echoing in the car. Eren lowered the cars as a small downpour fell on you, the sound of the misty rain accompanying the atmosphere.
“Have you never been in love?” you asked.
He kept his eyes on the road. “I already told you I don't do relationships.”
“But you must have fallen in love with someone without being able to control it…”
His lips twitched upward. “This isn't a romantic comedy.”
You chuckled. “I know, but it's sad to think you don't know what it's like to be in love.”
“You're literally in a loveless marriage and you're 33. Your situation is much sadder than mine.”
“Mhm, it's true.” You nodded. “I don't know what it's like to be in love and probably never will.”
“Let me show you then. Let's use each other. A real relationship between us is impossible in any case.”
Your eyes fluttered open and you turned your head to admire his handsome profile. “What do you mean by using each other?”
“If we're both incapable of living a love story, let's create one together. But without ever really going beyond the limits of what we truly are: an affair.”
You tilted your head. “And what would we do if we were in love?”
He glanced at you, a smirk on his face. “Exactly what I did tonight. We go to restaurants, we go on dates. We just don't meet up to only fuck.”
“But it's risky…” You flinched.
“Do you want to live your own life, yes or no? It starts like that, you have to take risks. You'll never discover freedom otherwise.”
The rest of the car ride passed in silence, Eren just playing his playlist for you while you noted down a few songs in your phone notes. Arriving near your building, Eren parked. You leaned towards him to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“Think about me a lot.”
“I always think about you,” you replied as you left the vehicle. Eren's eyes followed you until you disappeared into your apartment building.
────────
Eren had never experienced what it was like to be in love, so he was unable to realize that he was sinking into the abyss of love with you. Everything changed one Friday when he called you while you were working from home, weeks after your dinner at the restaurant.
“Rennie, I’m busy, you-”
Your voice stopped when you heard sniffles on the other end of the phone. Your heart tightened.
“Why are you crying?”
“That’s so embarrassing, forget that,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse before hanging up.
You stared at your phone for a few seconds, confused, before calling him back. He only picked up on the third attempt.
“What?”
His voice was harsh; you weren’t used to dealing with an Eren like this. You chose your words carefully.
“It’s okay, you can talk to me.”
“I need more than just to talk to you.”
You glanced at the clock high on the living room wall.
“My husband will be home in two hours, so if you have time to come…”
“Your husband this, your husband that,” he grumbled. “I’m tired of this shit.”
He hung up like that, but you knew he was coming. Thirty minutes later, he knocked on your door. When you opened it, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his reddish-green, puffy eyes. They were still wet, as if he’d been crying throughout the car drive.
“Eren…” You wrapped your arms around him, trying to comfort him with your warmth. His body was stiff, his body suddenly harder than usual.
“I didn’t come for this.”
“Drop the tough boy act,” you chided him. “Hug me too.”
He let out a heavy breath and hugged you too, pressing you against his chest. People were leaving the apartments near yours, and a shiver of fear that someone would find out about your infidelity gripped you. You guided him inside your home, still cuddling him.
“My mom has become a prostitute,” he declared, his voice low, almost inaudible, as if he didn’t want you to hear what he was saying.
“What do you mean?” You frowned.
“There’s a man on the streets of Skid Row. He’s homeless, but he knows everyone in town. I asked him to watch my mom when I’m not there. He just told me she’s started selling her body to get more drugs.”
“Oh,” you breathed, the weight of his confidence heavy in your heart. “I’m really sorry, Eren. You did so much for her, and-”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity. I’m genuinely sad for you.” You tightened your arms around him. “Stop dismissing the emotions I feel for you.”
His heart raced, your cheek pressed just against the skin of his torso, as if your words had a special effect on him.
“I don’t know why I called you, I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You’re not bothering me, Eren.”
“It’s just…” he began, his head lowering to place his mouth on the top of your head. “I felt like you would understand me better than my friends. Men aren’t the best at comforting other men.”
“You did the right thing.” You nuzzled his chest. “We’re friends, we should be able to be vulnerable like this with each other.”
A sarcastic chuckle escaped his mouth. “Right, we are ‘friends’...”
He sat on the sofa, carrying you with him so you could find your place on his lap. Your hands dived into his hair, stroking the soft dark locks, slicking them back to better gaze at his morose face. You tilted your head, your gaze locking.
“Why are you so…” You bit your lower lip, searching for the right word. “Grumpy when you cry?”
His lips twitched upward. “I’m not grumpy.”
“You basically called me a bitch on the phone.”
“That’s a reach.”
“Barely.” You wiped away the tears that continued to fall with your thumbs. “I don’t like seeing you like that. It hurts me when you cry.”
“You’re becoming too attached to me.” You didn’t need to know the feeling was mutual.
“Please.” You looked up in annoyance, and Eren smirked at your sass. “We have a deep bond together.”
“Do we?” He leaned over, his breath caressing your face.
“Don’t flirt with me when you’re crying.”
“I’m a versatile man.” He captured your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Your tongues tangled together for a few moments in languid pace before the salty taste of his tears mingled with your passion.
“I’m just tired of everything,” he murmured. “I don’t even know why I care so much about my mom. I’ve done everything for her these past few years, even though her whole life has been drugs. Mikasa and I haven’t existed in her world since my father left.”
“Why don't you pay someone to take care of her?”
“Take care of her how? She tries to kill herself whenever she doesn't have her drugs. Do you think I'm happy leaving her alone on the street?” His face hardened. “They're writing articles about me, saying I'm abandoning my mother and letting her prostitute herself. They know nothing about my life.”
“You need to sue them, they have no right to defame you like that,” you informed, your voice firm, in your attorney mode.
“You're cute when you're like that.”
He rubbed his nose against yours.
“What are you doing?”
“An Eskimo kiss, didn't you know that?”
“Yes, I know.” You smiled. “I just thought you were too depressed for that.”
“Never too depressed for an Eskimo kiss.” He kissed you again. “I have to go to the studio to see Ony.”
Your eyebrows furrowed in worry. “Are you sure you're okay?”
“Of course not. I feel like shit, but I have no choice. My album is coming out soon.” He pulled his face back to look at you better. “Thanks for listening.”
Your eyes softened with empathy. “No problems, Eren.”
Your heart squeezed painfully as you let him leave your apartment, hands in the pockets of his jeans. You hoped the short time you spent together had soothed the ache in his mind.
In a way, you had succeeded, and Eren was grateful to have you in his life.
────────
Sitting in the waiting room, illuminated by the artificial lights above him, enveloped by the "antiseptic" atmosphere of the abortion center with its blue and white walls, Eren's foot twitched on the floor every few seconds. He bit his lower lip in a nervous gesture, his hands interlaced on his lap, his legs manspreading.
It was two months after he learned his mother was a prostitute. He did what he could to protect her, but it wasn't easy to control someone who dedicated their life to drugs.
One morning, you called him after feeling excruciating pain in your lower abdomen. Your husband was at work, and he accompanied you to the emergency room. Verdict: you were pregnant.
You weren't shocked by the news because for several weeks now, your husband had refused to let you take the contraceptive pill, considering it was the right time to have a child. You hadn't been able to verbalize the fact that you didn't want children for fear of reprisals.
Eren had volunteered to accompany you during the abortion procedure, secretly from your husband. He didn't want you to be forced into motherhood when you didn't want to.
You left the operating room with your head bowed, your left hand holding your right wrist, accompanied by the doctor. Eren immediately stood up to hug you. He knew this was difficult for you because of your religious beliefs, and wanted to show you that he was there for you.
He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead and intertwined his fingers with yours, guiding you toward the exit.
Outside, a group of pro-life people shouted insults at everyone leaving the building, holding fetus signs. You flinched and stared at the ground until you reached his car.
“Don't listen to them, they don't know anything about your life.” He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
You leaned back in the seat, your expression somber as you looked at the road.
“Eren, I think we should stop seeing each other.”
He paused, his heart pounding in his chest. He glanced at you, his eyes searching for the humor in your gaze.
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“I've been committing nothing but sins since I've been with you. I don't recognize myself anymore.”
His heart ached at that. “Look, I understand what you mean. What we're doing goes against your beliefs. But that doesn't mean we should stop. It makes you feel good when I spend time with you, doesn't it? You wouldn't have agreed to the abortion if I wasn't there, right? I'm good for you. Tell me I'm good for you.”
His voice trembled towards the end, as if he was desperately clinging to something that might validate your unhealthy bond. His eyes implored you to confirm what he was saying. You looked away, your gaze lost through the window.
“I think I need some distance, Eren.”
The feeling of being abandoned once again by someone important pierced his heart, like a knife penetrating his organ. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, swallowing hard.
“Okay.”
────────
It had been a month since you and Eren had been in touch. Eren had a hard time getting used to the long days without speaking to you; he missed your sophisticated and polite messages. But he understood. Your life was complicated. He would wait for you to want to talk to him again when it was okay with you.
While he was chatting with his friends about the final preparations before his album release, which was next week, you called him. His heart leaped at the notification, and he rushed out of the studio to take the call. The moon lit up his face, framed by shoulder-length brown hair.
“Hey Rennie,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse from crying.
“What's wrong?” His voice softened.
“My husband is cheating on me. Funny, right? I'm doing the same, but I don't know why it hurts so much. I did everything for him, and this is how he thanks me?”
Eren sent a quick message to his boys, apologizing for leaving, and got into his car.
“Where is he?”
“At the house of the woman he's cheating on me with. He's been saying for weeks that he's going to the bar with friends, but I found some false eyelashes in his pocket. Probably a woman younger than me.”
“That's a good excuse to see me. I'll be right there.”
────────
Eren embraced you the second you opened the door. Kissing your forehead, his hands made soothing circles on your back as his heavy gaze looked over you.
“You need some dick to take your mind off things,” he murmured, his breath brushing your face as he caught sight of you crying, mascara running down your cheeks.
“Make me forget about this day, please.” You pressed yourself against him, your big doe eyes begging him to take you.
His eyes darkened, and he reached under your ass to lift you and carry you to your room.
He peppered your face with kisses during the short walk to where you were sleeping before gently setting you down on the bed. “What You Need” by The Weeknd played in the room, the playlist you'd put on to take your mind off things still playing. It was Eren's recommendation, and he was pleased that you listened to the songs he sent you.
“Don't you think the lyrics suit us well?” He removed your nightie and his own clothes, his hands caressing your flesh all over your body. The 'he's what you want, I'm what you need' filled the room with sensual notes.
You squeezed your eyes shut, letting the frenzy of the sensation of his hands on your skin carry you away. You joined the singer in moaning when his fingers found your core to trace circles on your throbbing bud, his lips trailing feverish kisses down your inner thighs. When his fingers sank into you, curling inside to touch that spongey spot inside you, you arched your spine off the bed, your hands tugging at his hair.
After a month, you missed his dick. In a spoon position, Eren pressed his muscular chest against your back, his hands gripping your pudgy belly as he pushed his girthy inches through your wet folds. He buried his face in your neck, breathing softly as his hips brushed your ass with each of his deep thrusts.
“I missed this, ma’,” he whispered against you, his voice soft and husky.
“I missed you too.”
His hands moved up to knead your breasts while his mouth possessed every bit of skin exposed to it, inflicting torture on your neck. Your walls fluttered around his cock as he plunged in and out of you, his pace slow and gentle, like a secret intimate dance just for the two of you.
In the intimacy of the moment, Eren realized he couldn't let you go back to your husband. He squeezed your breasts forcefully, with greed. Only he could make you happy. Your husband didn't deserve you, and you didn't deserve to end your miserable life with a man who wasn't your soulmate like Eren was.
“You can't go back to him,” he mumbled. “Your place is with me. I'll be the most loyal man you've ever seen, and I'll support you in your dreams. No one will force you to have children; you'll be free and happy. You will be my christian older girl. I will take care of you.”
You flinched. “Eren, I already told you—”
“Told what?” he huffed. “That you're a doormat? I know, thanks. What I mean is, you don't need to stay like this with him. You could be fulfilled with me; I'll do whatever you want. I'll even pay you what it takes to open your restaurant in Cape Verde, just like you wanted.”
It's a good thing you weren't face to face because he couldn't see your eyes welling up.
“Eren, these are just dreams. I'll never achieve them. I'm stuck.”
“You're stuck because you choose to be. You're 33, aren't you tired of having your life dictated to you? Aren't you tired of not having a choice? Are you too scared to disobey your parents? Ask yourself how your inner child must feel about living a future she didn't even decide on.”
“You're mean, Eren.”
“I'm just telling the truth, baby.” He kissed the few tears that rolled down your cheeks. He rolled his hips just right, angled perfectly to brush your g-spot as his elbow was under your knee. Your sniffles mingled with your whimpers as pleasure shook you in intense waves. “Divorce your husband,” he murmured near your ear, his voice rapsy.
Your body shook. “Eren, I can't.”
“Why?” His lips wrapped around your earlobe, sucking it. You struggled to focus on the conversation.
“Divorcing my husband means denying me the life my parents want for me. I can’t do that to them, not after everything they’ve sacrificed for me.”
“So you’re going to accept painful pregnancies to please your parents when you don’t want children? Do you see yourself spending your days changing diapers and breastfeeding your babies? Being a housewife who does all the difficult chores around the house while your ungrateful husband comes home from work only to eat and sleep? Is that your future?”
Your heart gripped with dread as you visualized your everyday future. Losing yourself in motherhood was everything you feared.
“With me, you wouldn’t need to do that,” he continued, “I’ll only be happy if you are. You can be anything you want to be with me.”
“Eren,” you sniffled, “I told you I can’t.”
His jaw tensed. He lifted your leg higher and began to slam his hips against your ass with more harshness and aggression, making your cunt pulsate around him.
“Do you enjoy letting people walk all over you? Are you a masochist? Does it give you pleasure to suffer?”
“N-No…”
“So what? Why are you so attached to other people’s opinions?”
“I want my parents to be proud of me, they did so much for me.”
He looked up in annoyance.
“And I, I want you to be happy,” he rasped against your ear. “Even if it means disappointing your parents.”
You loved Eren so much. He was only interested in your happiness and didn’t care what others expected of you. If nobody had your back, you know Eren would. But your relationship was impossible, and he had to understand that. Even if the words hurt you, sounding false on your tongue, you had to say them.
“We're not a couple, we were only supposed to use each other. There's nothing deep between us.”
His heart squeezed painfully. A quiet, sad laugh escaped his lips.
“And to think I thought we were getting closer, you just see me as a booty call?”
“Eren, that’s not what I said—”
He pulled you out, getting up from the bed to get dressed. You sobbed as you watched him put on his jeans.
“Eren, please—”
He gave you a cold glare before leaving your room. “It’s your husband or me.”
────────
𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄
The room's dim red lights illuminated Eren's face, which was partially hidden by the hood of his black hoodie. Sitting on the brown sofa, manspreading, he listened to his interviewer ask him questions about his album.
“A lot of people are saying that you're one of the most influential rappers on the West Coast, but that your lack of a specific genre is your worst flaw.”
His lips quirked up. “They're kind of right.”
“You don't mind the critics from what I see.”
“You know, a woman that I really loved told me that God granted my wishes, and I should be grateful. So that's the mindset I'm building my career with. Haters can talk, but as Jay Rock said, ‘you ain't gotta like it 'cause the hood gone love it.’”
“Is this the same woman you talk about in your track ‘Poetic Justice’?”
Eren's jaw tightened a bit, but he nodded. “Yeah. Pretty much all my recent music is about her now.”
“What inspired you to write that track? It's very sad.”
“It's about us, so of course it's sad. We didn't have a happy ending.”
“I sense a lot of anger in you, am I wrong?” The interviewer offered a kind smile.
“A bit,” he let out a sigh. “I still resent her.”
“Do you want to talk about her?”
“I don't really know what more I can say about her. She was a woman I loved very much, but love isn't enough sometimes.”
“A lot of your fans were surprised that you talked about a girl. You're kind of seen as a nonchalant artist who's never had a girlfriend before.”
“I'm still surprised that I was attached to her. It wasn't planned.”
“I hate when rappers are mysterious like this, tell us more!”
His lips curved into a smile. “I have a reputation as a nonchalant guy to keep up.”
The interview ended thirty minutes later. With a quick car drive, he arrived at Connie's house. He gave handshakes to all his best friends before sitting down on the couch and lighting his blunt.
Marvins room by Drake played in the living room.
“Fuck that nigga that you love so bad
I know you still think about the times we had
I say fuck that nigga that you think you found
And since you picked up
I know he’s not around.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about you. It's been 3 years since he was in contact with you. He felt like you were a drug and he was going through withdrawal, his hands itching to check your Facebook account and see how you were doing and how capable you were of putting on a fake smile for those around you.
His eyes fluttered open, and he opened the Facebook app, having created an account solely to stalk you. Your twin daughters were now two years old. Everyone complimented your daughters, saying you were cute, just like their mother. Only he knew you must have cried every night.
Drake's son ended so that "Too Fast" by Sonder filled the room.
“Tell me what I got to prove
(While I was working)
I don't mean nothing to you
(I hope you're hurting)
You ain't got nothing to say
(While I was working)
You're too good at walking away
(I hope you're hurting).”
He didn't want you to suffer. He hoped you would always think of him the way he thought of you.
It was him or your husband.
And every day, he mourned the day you chose your husband.
──────── ✃- - - - - - - - - - - you liked it ? please support fics you liked with a reblog or a comment ! writers never know how we impact you if you don't say anything <3 ── .✦
ೃ1,667 words, excerpt from After Hours, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), fingering, dirty talk, bent over the countertop->standing doggy position, squirting, dity talk, degradation, praise, spanking, making out, petnames/name-calling (e.g., baby, slut¹, bitch¹, baby girl), etcೃ
ೃ࿔ ͙✟ 18+ 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝑫𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕 ✟ೃ࿔ ͙
The humid storm from the night before had left the air inside the diner cloying and thick, smelling of old grease, bleach, and the sharp, clean scent of rain coming off the street. Outside, the early dawn was a low, murky green, the overcast sky pressing against the plate-glass windows and drowning the intersection in a heavy, gloom. Inside, the only light came from the neon sign vibrating in the window and the amber glow of the heat lamps behind the counter, pooling across the laminate surface like spilled syrup.
You were bent over that counter, your chest flat against the cool, smooth surface, your spine arched so high it made your lower back ache. Your skirt—part of the uniform you’d been forced to wear—was bunched up around your waist, leaving your bare hips exposed to the damp chill of the room. Your panties were gone, kicked somewhere into the shadows beneath the stools.
Behind you, she stood firm, her pelvis pressing directly against your ass. She had two thick, long fingers buried deep inside your cunt, her knuckles riding hard against your opening as she worked you with a steady, punishing rhythm. You were so sensitive from what she’d done to you the night before, your internal walls already raw, swollen, and aching with a relentless, throbbing heat. Every micro-movement of her hand felt magnified, a sharp, electric shock that went straight to your thighs.
You were moaning loudly, a constant, breathless stream of noises tearing from your throat, echoing off the empty booths.
Smack. Smack.
The sudden, stinging cracks of her palm against your bare ass cheek cut through the hum of the kitchen. You jolted, your belly scraping against the counter as your thighs trembled violently.
"Keep your fuckin' voice down," she scolded, her tone a low, harsh rumble right against your ear. She didn't pause her fingers; she just dug them in deeper, her thumb rubbing hard against your clit. "You're a noisy little bitch today. Look out there. If someone walks past that glass right now, they’re gonna see you face-down on the counter with my hand between your legs. "
You shook your head frantically, your face pressing into your crossed arms as another wave of pleasure made your thighs tremble. "Y-You didn't... you didn't give me a chance," you stuttered out, your voice trembling as you tried to catch your breath. "You just—ahnn.. grabbed me."
She let out a short, mocking laugh, the sound vibrating through her chest and straight into your back. "Please. If you really cared about anyone seein' you, you wouldn't let me do this to you. You'd be telling me to stop, baby girl."
The squelching, wet sounds of her fingers churning through your natural juices were loud in the silence of the diner, a filthy, steady sliding that made your face burn with a heavy, internal heat. It was embarrassing. Completely exposing. But it felt too good being stretched out and fucked while your insides were still tender and raw from last night was an intoxicating sensation.
"You would've done what I told you to anyway," she murmured, her pace shifting, her fingers curling upward to hook against your internal walls. "Stop actin' like you got any decency. We both know you don't."
You let out a weak whimper, your jaw clenching as you turned your head back to look at her over your shoulder.
She was wearing a fitted black tee that stretched tight across her chest and the thick muscle of her biceps, her dark cargo shorts riding low on her hips. Her locs are down, hanging over her shoulders and framing her face in thick, shadowed ropes. In the dim light of the diner, her brown skin looked incredibly smooth, catching the faint glow along her jawline and the soft, full curve of her lips.
The metal on her face gleamed under the low lighting—the sharp glint of her eyebrow ring, the subtle sparkle of her surface piercing, and the micro-dermal shining against her cheekbone. She was so pretty, so effortless and sexy, it made your chest tight just looking at her. She wasn't even looking at your face; her narrow, feline eyes were fixed entirely on your lap, watching the way your pussy was swallowing her long fingers down to the palm with every stroke.
"Look at you," she said, her voice dropping into that smoky, hypnotic register. Her knuckles pushing their way past your soaking wet lips. "You're so easy... you're dripping down my wrist, all down the inside of your thighs. So nasty."
Then she finally looked up, her dark brown eyes locking onto yours. You were biting your lower lip, trying to stem the noise, and to her, you looked so cute like this—completely ruined and exposed under her gaze. Your eyes were glassy and hooded with a helpless, focused arousal, and the neat, laid edges of your hair were completely frizzy and messy now, baby hairs curling wildly from the sweat tracking down your temples. Your long braids were slipping out of their loose bun, cascading over the side of your face.
The sight of you looking so messy seemed to shift something behind her eyes, a heavy, possessive fondness softening her expression for a fraction of a second.
"C’mere," she murmured.
Before you could answer, she grabbed your left leg, lifting it easily and hooking your knee over the top of the counter, forcing your pelvis to tilt at a sharp angle that laid your swollen pussy completely bare. With her free hand, she reached up and wrapped her fingers around the back of your neck. Her grip was heavy and certain, her thumb pressing into the side of your throat as she pulled you backward, forcing your spine to curve until your back and head were resting flat against her chest.
The heat of her body swallowed you whole. Her hot, tobacco-and-vanilla breath hit the side of your neck in ragged puffs, making your skin break out in goosebumps. The position—the absolute, unyielding restriction of her weight against your back—instantly made you think of how she had you pinned to the prep table last night, holding you down until you forgot your own name.
You let out a loud moan, a sharp curse slipping past your lips as her fingers suddenly hit deeper. The blunt tips of her fingers brushed against the sensitive ring of your cervix, a deep, heavy impact that made your stomach drop. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp, your body automatically trying to jolt away from the pressure. She knew you didn't enjoy that blunt ache, so she seamlessly adjusted her angle, pulling back an inch before driving her fingers upwards, targeting your g-spot with fast, deep pumps.
"O-Ohh—fuuck —" Your hand scrambled backward, your fingers locking onto her forearm, your nails digging into the dark ink of the vines curling across her skin.
"Yeah, right there," she whispered against your ear, her tone a condescending, sultry purr as she kept up the relentless, deep rhythm. "Look how good you take it when you're behaving. Such a good slut for me, aren't you? Keeping my spot warm before the sun's even up."
The degradation mixed with the praise made your head spin, your internal walls contracting violently around her fingers in tight, desperate pulses. You needed her mouth on yours; the distance was making you ache.
"Kiss me," you begged, your voice cracking as you tilted your head back into her shoulder, looking up at her with a needy, desperate expression. "Please... kiss me."
She slowed her fingers for one agonizing second, looking down at your pouty, wet lips. "You gonna cum again if I do?"
"Mghnnm—yes..."
She let out a low, satisfied hum, the sound tickling against your neck before she leaned down and caught your mouth. It was a sloppy make-out, her wet tongue sliding past your teeth to claim yours with a heavy, all consuming hunger. She sucked on your tongue, swallowing your ragged gasps while her lower half quickly picked up the pace again, her fingers churning your slickness into a thick, creamy white foam between your thighs.
The hard, laminate edge of the counter was putting intense pressure directly against your lower stomach as she pulled you back, and the combination of the internal thrusting and the external pressure was driving you crazy. You wanted to come so bad. Your toes curled against the floorboards, your hips involuntarily twitching against her hand.
She broke the kiss, a thick string of spit connecting your mouths before it snapped. Her hand left your throat, sliding down the front of your uniform shirt to grope your breast, her thumb rubbing hard over your stiff nipple through the thin cotton.
"Fuck, you're makin' a mess," she teased against your cheek, her fingers inside you turning into a relentless, blurring hook that hit your spot over and over. "C'mon. Take it. Tell me how it feels."
"It's s-so good—ughnn—I'm gonna—"
"Cum for me, baby girl. Make a mess," she commanded, her voice constantly coaxing. "Mhmm, let it out for me."
You lost it. Your spine arched violently off her chest as a high, broken shriek tearing from your throat as your walls clamped around her fingers like a vice. You squirted, a hot, frantic rush of fluid pulsing straight out of your heat, spraying across her wrist and dripping heavily onto the floorboards below.
She didn't stop.
She kept fucking you straight through the entire orgasm, her fingers relentlessly driving into your pulsing, sensitive walls, wringing every last drop of surrender out of your body while you thrashed helplessly against her grip, your vision whiting out completely, your head lolling back against her shoulder as you panted heavily into the quiet room.
The tempestuous movement finally slowed to a stop, her wet fingers sliding out of you with a soft, plap sound that made your thighs twitch one last time.
She stayed there for a moment, her chest heaving slightly against your back as she let you catch your breath in the dim green light of the dawn. Then, slowly, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your damp cheek, her heavy locs brushing like silk against your shoulder.
"Good girl," she praised, her voice returning to that flat, professional tone as she stepped back, letting your leg drop from the counter. She wiped her hand on a rag from her pocket, her narrow eyes tracking the way you slid down to the floor, your legs barely capable of holding your weight. "Now, get yourself together. You're cleaning that floor before we open."
Depending on your sim's mood, the sleep pose could change from arm under pillow (Happy, Embarrassed, Sad, Shy, Silly, Bored, Depressed) to arms stretched out (Passionate, Dazed, Furious, Flirty, Angry) They can do the same sleep pose if their moods are similar.
DO NOT use this if your sim uses those beds where the blanket doesn't cover your sim. You will be horrified.
Sleeping Animation by Zlostudio: Sleeping Pack
Arm Under Pillow Pose by @herecirmsims: Sleeping Ugly Pose Pack
✨Pillow Talk Override ✨
I really liked this kiss animation by Igor_Santos_Adonai, so cozy after a steamy night. And also Cuddles On The Couch By d'Violet, cute and comforting after giving up the goods.
*Its not perfect but I tried my best with overriding this*😭 (Vid shows both animations)
🚨Take out any other pillow talk mod mod you have if you wish to see theses animations🚨
warnings ⁀➷ semi-public sex, age gap (rafe is in his 40’s, reader is early twenties), cheating, unprotected piv, baby trapping, boob play, oral. 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+
author’s note ⁀➷ fuckkk i wanna lick his bald ass head.
older bf!rafe who would never even think about saying no to you. It doesn’t matter how many of his cards you’ve maxed out, he would never make you unhappy. You never notice it, but his dick twitches at the sight of your happiness. He knows for a fact that no man will ever take care of you like he does, and that’s what makes him sleep better at night.
older bf!rafe who spoils you more than his own wife. Who never fails to pay all of your bills on time and gives you even more money on the side. Who takes you shopping to buy all of the clothes and jewelry that you could ever want.
older bf!rafe who wants to taste you at every chance he gets. If y’all are stuck in traffic, he’ll quickly pull your panties aside to get a good taste of you. He always has a need to dive his head in between your legs and take his sweet time with your pussy.
older bf!rafe who brings you to his yacht to finally get some alone time with you. Whose wife and colleagues stress him out so much that he needs you in order to get some release. Who finally feels a sense of peace whenever you are around him.
older bf!rafe being on an important work call as you’re down on your knees. He puts his fist over his mouth trying not to moan as you shove his dick even deeper in your throat.
His legs shivering and twitching as he’s seconds away from cumming down your throat. Who jerks violently as he reaches his orgasm and tries to push you off of him. Who throws his head back in agony as you have no intention of stopping until you make him cum again.
older bf!rafe who brings you into his house whenever his wife is away at work. Who fucks you hard as he stares at their wedding photos with a wicked grin on his face. Who makes sure that he fucks you on her side of the bed, letting you know that you should be his wife and not her.
older bf!rafe who’s heart swells at the nudes you send him while he’s at work. Who excuses himself from the conference room to jerk off to your pretty pictures. His grip gets tighter around his dick at the reminiscence of your tits in his mouth. Imagining how your tits would squeeze around his length as he fucks them. He cums hard at the thought of your tits in his face.
older bf!rafe who makes sure to breed you each and every single time. Whose thick arms pin you down to stay absolutely still as he cums inside of you. Who makes sure that you will certainly get pregnant so that he will forever be in your life. You will finally be Mrs. Cameron after all.
SYNOPSIS ⨾ no matter how vast his patience, you always manage to find the end of it. but suguru has the sweetest way of breaking a brat.
CONTAINS ⨾ ( 3.5k+ ) words of . . . nsfw, getō suguru x bratty!reader ( hyperfeminine & black coded ), curse-free au, set in modern japan ( may 2018 ), established relationship, size difference, soft dom / brat tamer sugu ( the duality of man lol ), mentions of cunnilingus & fingering, light slapping / clit slapping, folded missionary, tummy bulge, mating press, overstimulation, eventual creampie, use of pet names ( e.g. papa, baby, sweetness, princess, etc. ), explicit language, lowercase intended, minors shoo!
MY LOVE LETTER! ⸻ at long last, i’m posting my first suguru fic ever >.< my love, my muse, my gorgeous male wife!!! i think about this man relentlessly, and the best way to channel it is by pouring my heart into this nasty little piece of work for him (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) this is only the beginning of many more getō fics to come! now please enjoy, and thank you so much for reading! ❤︎
INSPO TRACK: sell me candy, rihanna ⨾ right and a wrong way, keith sweat ⨾ whatever you want, tony! toni! toné! ⨾ the town, the weeknd ⨾
getō suguru’s universe begins and ends with his princess — his sole, decadent fixation. for him, breathing is simply a rhythm meant to keep him alive long enough to spoil you. he moves through the world guided by one sweet, all-consuming obsession: you.
his absolute conviction is that his entire existence was designed to anticipate and deliver your every need — like how he instinctively knows when your spirit yearns to be held, protected . . . or pleased.
there’s this warm gravity in the way he gathers you in his arms; all thick and firm and devastatingly strong. every peak of muscle is concealed beneath the loose, baggy knit of his oversized sweater as his forearms fold completely around your middle.
suguru catches onto all of it, tracking every unvoiced desire that passes through your mind — the way you want your pillowy lips kissed, your waist caressed, your ass grabbed and kneaded in his big, wide palms. it’s all confessed in how you adorably shift, wordlessly nuzzling further into the crevice of his solid chest. he smells of rich sandalwood, smoky traditional incense, and the dewdrops of light spring rain.
it’s an all-day, everyday luxury, being loved by a man who predicts your every want. whenever you ramble about needing a new piece for your wardrobe, he listens with a quiet, indulgent smile before grabbing his keys to start the car for the mall. the very second the quiet rumble of your stomach catches his attention, he’s already drifting into the kitchen, gathering ingredients to whip up a rich, creamy bowl of your favorite white pasta.
he’s the truest provider, down to the very marrow of his bones. even when — especially when — ovulation turns into a throbbing, unbearable ache, and you find yourself craving him more than you can possibly bear, he never fails to take perfect care of you.
suguru stretches you out, sliding in with the circumference of two thick fingers that move in a slow, sweetly maddening deliberation. the sensation builds until he dives and buries his pretty face between your plush thighs, suckling tenderly while you gasp out shakily strung syllables that are meant to shape his name.
but filling you up with sweetness only makes you reckless, turning your soft satisfaction into attitude, entitlement, appetite — until you completely forget where his indulgence ends and his authority begins.
that’s why, even with such a patient, nurturing heart, suguru can be so, so mean when he chooses to be. or perhaps, it’s just that you’re . . . too fucking brattish.
it’s an addictive cycle, the way you endlessly push your luck — becoming greedy with what he gives, cumming without permission, and breathlessly demanding more. he knows exactly when that lack of inhibition needs to be nipped in the bud, and he’s never afraid to resort to a little discipline. suguru loves to spoil you, but he thrives just as much on absolute control.
the second you get too pushy, you show him that he’s spoiled his princess far too much. it’s a rather advantageous mistake, because the sudden, smoky flash of deep indigo in his narrow eyes tells you he’s more than ready to remind you exactly who you belong to. his sweet affection shifts instantly into something darker, so thick and inescapable. he never raises his voice, no — he simply needs to apply the right amount of unyielding pressure:
and it comes in the form of a mean tug at the pretty spirals of your curls. his thick fingers entwine with the pattern, mercilessly tilting your head back to claim your mouth in a deep, bruising kiss, swapping spit until your defiance melts completely on your tongue.
“you're getting a little too bratty for your own good, sweetheart,” he hums against your swollen lips, tugging a little harder on the bunched root at the soft texture of your hair with one large hand, while the other moves up to meltingly squeeze your puffed, pouting cheeks.
to that, you whine, peering up at him from the helpless angle he’s got your head tilted in. your vision swims with nothing but him, imposing and broad like that of a dark-winged angel. you’re quick to try and refute him, tapered pearly-pink nails sinking desperately into the thick, dense meat of his biceps.
“mmph, shuguru! —am not!”
“you are.”
the heavy warmth of his palm meets your cheek in a firm, deliberate pat — a sudden reminder of who you belong to. it isn't meant to hurt, it never is, but it’s just enough to shock the breath right out of your lungs. a delicious pulse instantly rushes straight to your pooling cunt, leaving you with shifting thighs and an aching throb.
“just . . . listen to me.” he watches with a low, satisfied hum as your big, glimmering pupils instantly dilate from the impact, before his large thumb sweeps slowly over your skin to stroke the very cheek he just pawed.
“open up.” suguru claims you without warning, his mouth dropping back down to steep your lips in a deep, wet, melting lock. the slather of his pink muscle slides heavily between them, effortlessly parting you to pry out every ounce of your sweetness. he tongues you open and swallows your mindless sounds, absorbing every sugary, breathless whimper like this one kiss is his most prized indulgence.
when you finally break away in search of oxygen and he leans in to lick after you, a thin, glistening thread of spit lingers between your lips, stretching and snapping as he shifts his broad frame over yours.
suguru follows up with a deft, slow yank, peeling down your gossamer-thin, cotton-candy pink leggings; exposing the lush, supple curve of your round butt to the heavy warmth of his large palm. it connects with a resounding smack, one that brings about his serene, pearly grin, followed by a couple of firm, melting slaps directly over the wettening spot of your mesh, frill-adorned panties whenever you start to writhe too much for his liking.
“keep still for sugu. m’kay, princess?” he murmurs sweetly against your neck, keeping your clothed, needy clit entirely trapped beneath the relentless patter of the thick span of his splayed fingers. he lingers there for a torturous second, letting the friction build a warm, melting pool that completely soaks into your panties. every sweet tap of contact sends a sharp yet delicious ache straight to your core, holding you entirely captive until the exact moment he abandons all that remains of his faux restraint — he doesn’t like it when you call it that. though, you know he’ll end up devouring you regardless.
with an eager, breathless haste, he strips away the last of your barriers — the threaded seam of your creamy-pink camisole, your lacy little panties, his dense fall sweater — until not a thing remains. his irises, dark and orchid-purple, melt into a sweet softness as they drink in every rich, delectable bare curve of your warm brown skin. he scoops you into the comforting span of his steady hands, savoring how incredibly soft and perfectly molded you feel against him.
suguru dips low, lower, until the inky silk of his long black hair spills free from its loose half-bun; cascading over his broad shoulders as he bends his head to bury himself in the crook of your neck. the fine, glossy midnight strands drape down like a cool wave against your feverish skin, tickling mercilessly against the sensitive line of your exposed jugular.
he then languidly takes hold of himself, fingers gliding with every stroke to the base, groaning lowly at his own lazy touch. you let out a soft, appreciative mewl as you watch him. the heavy, teasing tap of the crown of his bobbing cock is dropped right over your pearly bud. warmth and slick spreads he rests the weighty underside upon your clit, even as it pulses for him.
“mm, you're so beautiful, baby . . . let papa look at you,” he gives you the calm flash of his slow, familiarly cattish smile, “i wanna take care of every little thing you need.”
with a final, bone-deep push, suguru delivers a sweeping thrust that melts right through you, driving all the way to your sticky hilt. he tilts his strong hips at just the right angle, plunging deeper into your squelching walls. a saccharine, breathless sound escapes you once he’s successfully filled every last inch of you with dick. stretched so nicely by the intrusion, you rake your precisely filed french tips down the cream-smooth expanse of his broad back.
he settles inside your warmth and rests perfectly still, cock throbbing softly while your trembling thighs bracket the tapered slope of his waist. his sharp violet eyes roll back at the delicious, fluttering squeeze you make around the girth of him.
“mm, s-suguruuu,” a syrupy plea drips from you, knowing he drinks up the sweet sound of your begging. “p—please move, papa . . . you promised you’d make me cum—”
“god, i spoil you too much.” a heavy, almost helpless sigh breaks out of him just before he surrenders completely to your successful pleading. he intended to discipline you, he truly did — but when you're underneath him like this, pussy wrapping around his cock so deliciously tight, staring up at him with expectant glossy eyes and milky-pink gloss-pouted lips, your breasts swaying as your chest heaves from the lingering burn of having to swallow every thick inch of him . . . getō can no longer help himself.
and so, he establishes a relentless rhythm that steals the breath straight from your lungs. every firm drive of his hips echoes densely throughout the atmosphere, like that of a warm heartbeat thump, thump, thumping hard enough to dissolve you entirely against the soft fibres of the cottony futon.
“oh, s-suguru, you're sooo — fucking big,” you coo against the strained cords of his neck, peering down through tear-blurred lashes to watch the thick, heavy shape of him moving so visibly against the pudge of your lower belly. “mmfuck, you feel so good, it's so much . . . l—look, papa, you’re making a mess of meee . . .”
an intoxicating shade of midnight floods his violet eyes, smogged into a blown-out haze of amethyst. tracking your tear-blurred gaze, getō doesn't only look — he reaches down with a heavy, calloused hand, pressing its warmth onto your skin until the width of it covers your stomach, his broad palm flattening right against the thick swell of his own intrusion moving beneath his fingers.
“fuck. fuck, baby . . .” suguru rasps, a gravelly vibration that rolls from the depths of his chest straight against the delicate clavicle of your collarbone. his fingers splay wide, mapping out the delicious way your skin stretches to accommodate him.
“look how deep I am inside you . . .” his thumb traces the distinct swell under your skin. “I can feel it — god, I can feel it. you’re taking every inch of me so well, sweetness . . .”
irregardless to his sugary words of praise, suguru is malicious in the way that he doesn’t allow you even a mere second to gather your breath before his hips tilt sharply, plunging into you with a new, utterly ruthless tempo. such a shoving grind has the swell of his twitching balls pressed completely flush at your helplessly tight pussy until he’s bottomed out against the dripping hole of your slit.
the sheer friction of him sliding all the way in makes your mind fracture into pure, sizzling white noise. his large hands move from your stomach to grip around the soft span your full thighs, bruisingly tight, pinning them right back against your chest to open you up even wider, forcing you into a position where you have no choice but to take him to the absolute hilt as he pounds you sore.
“you want me to fill you up? hmm, sweetness?” he murmurs, his voice a velvety, breathless growl that bleeds straight into your lips as his hair-dusted pelvis knocks against your sensitive bud. his fingers creep down to rub at it, quick and pressured just the way you like, and he revels in the sweet pitch of your feeble scream. “then stay just like this for me. don’t you dare run from it."
the heavy grind of his hips dissolves into a dizzying, frantic pace, the wet friction of your bodies meeting echoing ever so lewdly through the otherwise quiet room as the white quilt of his floor-mattress bunches up beneath you. getō’s chest heaves, his firm peaked nipples brushing the pebbling nerves of your own sensitive ones, breasts full and smushed against the solid wall of him; no matter how your body instinctively flinches from the intensity of the feeling.
he finds sanctuary in the soft slope of your neck, burying his face into the crook of it; inhaling the sweet, sweat-slick scent of your kiss-peppered skin. he can feel the impending pleasure wash over you — your writhing body gradually tensing to a tight, trembling coil beneath the sheet of his own weight.
“sugu—ah, s-suguru, i’m gonna . . !” you cry out, and the fractured wail shoots straight to his aching cock as he fucks you through the approaching high of it. you claw blindly at his broad shoulders, leaving shallow crescents in the smooth skin while your vision spots into a teetering suguru-shaped blur.
the rhythm grows unrefined as his thrusts turn heavier, sloppier, sliding with a slick, heavy nudge of his fat mauve tip to your tender cervix that completely overstimulates your senses. every wet, desperate push into your gushing cunt sparks a current of blinding electricity straight to the nerve-endings of your poor little cockdrunk brain.
your legs tremble uncontrollably where he’s got them pushed up as you drown in the splitting fullness of him. one more pound is enough. a broken, pitched wail is pulled straight from your lungs as your release finally hits — a sweet, crashing wave of a climax that ripples through every nerve of your strung body.
“mm—oh! ohhh, god, suguru,” a futile sob escapes you, your breath coming in shallow, desperate hitches; all as your sadist of a boyfriend eases his full, calculated weight down upon you. he keeps the flat of his palms pressed firmly against the backs of your thighs, ensuring your tautly folded legs remain secure at your buzzing-hot ears as you gaze up at the ethereal sight of him.
“gonna cum, princess,” he grits out a low, strained warning. you brace yourself for the splash of a thick load, eager for the warmth of his seed to claim you completely from the inside out; instead, amidst the blended haze of your orgasm and anticipation alike — suguru pulls out, drawing back enough to jerk his hard cock in an open palm, swirling hastily over the tip until thick ribbons of his cum spurt onto your soft breasts, trembling abdomen and spread thighs — everywhere except for the one place you wanted him.
“suguruuu . . .” you whine, tears threatening to spill over your damp lashline. “w—why’d you pull out?” your sniffle almost has him regret it. “wanted you to fill me up s-so bad . . ugh, you’re always so mean to me . . .” you continue to whimper, cry, ball up your fists to thwack against his chest, all of the above — all the while asking how he could be so, so, mean.
getō strokes himself casually, his eyes dark as he watches you tremble on the futon. “mean, huh?” he echoes in amusement. the audacious man kneeling before you can only bring himself to laugh. peering down through his long black hair, his voice drops to a velvety rasp.
“I was nice enough to let you cum.” he murmurs, stroking down his throbbing shaft before lining the head of his cock with your terribly empty hole. he groans at the sight of you, spread and dripping for him, all as he readies himself to push right back inside your welcoming embrace.
“maybe you’ll earn mine, sweet girl. only if you’re good this time.”
a breathless hiss escapes him the exact second he reunites with the sweet constriction of your walls; the snug intensity of your cunt hugging every pulsing inch of him without even the grace of a mere refractory period.
there’s absolutely no downtime to save either of you from your ebbing orgasms — not when suguru drags you right into another staggering round that leaves both of your bodies trembling uncontrollably. it's pure, mutual overstimulation from the very first sink he made back into you, and he was more than aware that every movement after would be unbearable.
his sculpted, porcelain body shudders violently against yours, his breath coming in ragged grunts into the soft, damp, curling edges of your woven hair. broken sounds draw from your lips, and his residual cum spattered onto your chest smears beneath your dainty hands as you knead your own boobs restlessly, head thrown back while you shake beneath him. suguru trembles with every thrust, rendered just as undone, because he knows damn well that neither one of you are bound to last any more than the next few seconds that follow.
“c—can’t . . nooo, sugu — i can’t t-take it,”
catching wind of you mewling his name so sweetly is what brings him to the absolute brink. getō, in all his entirety, goes completely rigid, the muscles in his broad back locking up like stone as he delivers one, two, three more deep, devastating thrusts that bottom out entirely against the seam of your sopping pussy, stretching you so beautifully that the airiest moan is pulled straight from the depths your lungs.
trapping you beneath the magnificent alabaster of his firm chest, his strong arms, his encompassing love, he pins your writhing hips hard against his own, binding you to him; all while the very universe narrows down to the sweet, awaited moment he finally groans your name aloud and spills over inside of you.
“hold it for me,” he gasps against your sweat-warmed skin, his voice a ruined, trembling whisper as his pulse drums erratically within the hollow canal his gauged ears. he catches hold of your face once more, wearily squeezing your cheeks between the large pads of his fingers as to press your lips into the perfect, sugar-pouted shape for him to kiss.
a low groan is pulled from him as his mouth slants over yours, grinding his hips deep and fucking you full of his warm, syrupy cum with every slick, desperate suck and lick made against your tongue.
"look at me, baby . . gave you what y’wanted — hnngh, t-take it all, right now . . .”
he said you’d have to be good — yet you know down deep down in your heart that your desperate, messy whining didn't earn a single thing. you were completely, entirely bad for him. crying and twisting beneath his weight, begging to milk him until he gave into you. but the truth's as simple as the act of sex itself:
at the end of the day, no matter how spoiled you are or how hard he tries to punish you, your boyfriend simply can’t bring himself to deny his princess, his sweet baby — his spoiled, little brat.
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most swatches:
Please note that these tattoos are placed in a highly sensitive mapping area. Due to different meshing techniques used by shoe creators, you may experience:
Duplication: Tattoos appearing on both sides or doubled.
Disappearance: Tattoos being hidden by the shoe’s skin tght mesh.
Glitching: Partial rendering on certain heel styles.
If you experience any of the above, just change the shoes <3
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