#deonn writes ✍🏾

[snowseasonmademe]

Further, Faster, Harder.

word count: 7,747

warning ‼️: a LOT of smut (multiple positions), biiiigggggg age gap (20 years)

paring: boyfriend lewis x black female reader

summary: Lewis wanted to make you feel extra special on your (shared) special day.

note: this is a long one yall, but lewis and i are the same zodiac so i wrote a little 🎶birthday sex🎶 fic. he just so happens to be almost exactly 20 years older than me and apparently i like old men so i couldn’t pass this up! i hope you all enjoy, and ofc tell me what you think ;)

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The low, throaty purr of an all-black Ferrari SF90 Stradale echoed through the crisp January evening as you glanced out the passenger window. The car felt alive beneath you, its engine a symphony of power that hummed through the leather seats. The London skyline shimmered ahead, a sea of lights that seemed to stretch endlessly, while the glow of the dashboard bathed the sleek interior in an ambient red hue. Despite the chill in the air outside, warmth bubbled in your chest. It was your birthday—your mutual birthday—a twist of fate that had felt oddly serendipitous from the moment you and Lewis first discovered it.

He shifted gears with practiced ease, his hand briefly brushing the edge of your thigh. “So” he began, his voice smooth and teasing, “did you really think I’d let us spend our day any other way?”

You snorted, pulling the caramel-hued coat tighter around you, not for warmth but because his presence always seemed to steal the air. “Oh, absolutely not. I fully expected flashy cars, a private dinner, and you trying—very unsuccessfully, might I add—to outshine my birthday with yours.”

Lewis let out a low, rich laugh that filled the car, his dimple appearing in the dim light as he stole a quick glance at you. “Please. Let’s not pretend it’s a competition. Everyone knows the better Capricorn here its obvious.”

You raised an eyebrow, biting back a grin. “Obvious? That’s a bold claim for someone who just hit 40. You’re practically ancient now.”

He shot you a mock-offended look, his British accent sharpening with playfulness. “Ancient? Forty’s the peak of my prime. Haven’t you heard? I’m like fine wine.”

“Yeah, fine wine that’s been aged a bit too long” you teased, your laughter dancing through the space between you.

“Chill” he warned, a wicked smile tugging at his lips as he smoothly turned a corner, the Ferrari responding like a predator stalking the night. “This ancient man just might leave you walking home.”

“Walking home? In this coat?” You gestured dramatically at your outfit. “You’d be doing London a favor. People need to see me.”

“True” he admitted, his grin widening. “You do look stunning. But I think we both know you’d rather freeze than miss this ride.”

You leaned back in the plush seat, letting your fingers trail over the soft leather armrest. “I don’t know. Your little Ferrari phase might’ve won me over. For now.”

He let out a sharp laugh. “Little Ferrari phase? Tell that to the team—they’d love that description.”

The playful banter carried you through the streets until the car finally pulled to a stop in front of a riverside restaurant that practically screamed elegance.

Inside, the restaurant felt like stepping into another world. The glow of candlelight flickered against the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows that danced on the polished hardwood floors. The Thames flowed serenely outside, its reflection catching the city’s twinkling lights.

The maître d’ greeted you both with warmth, though his polite smile lingered on Lewis just a little too long for your liking. You shot him a knowing glance, which Lewis met with a raised brow and an amused smirk, as if to say, You’re jealous.

“Only the best for the birthday queen” Lewis declared as he pulled out your chair, his voice dipped in that velvety British lilt that always made your stomach flutter.

You tilted your head at him, feigning disappointment. “And here I was thinking you’d forgotten the tiara.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Not forgotten. Just saving the best for later.”

The dinner unfolded like a dream. Each dish was a masterpiece, from the perfectly seared scallops to the rich, velvety dessert that melted on your tongue. The wine was as smooth as the conversation, which flowed effortlessly between the two of you, laced with wit and the kind of intimacy that could only come from two people who knew each other down to the smallest detail.

“Seriously, though” you said, swirling the last of your wine in the glass. “How does it feel being forty? Do you get senior discounts now?”

Lewis set down his fork, leaning back in his chair with an amused glint in his eye. “I’ll have you know I’m still younger at heart than you. But if senior discounts include free wine, I might consider it.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Free wine or not, you’re officially in ‘bee keeper’ territory now.”

“And yet here you are” he shot back, his tone sly as he rested his chin on his hand, “celebrating your big 2-0 with me. What does that say about your taste, love?”

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh. “That I have a thing for men with ridiculous levels of confidence.”

“Ridiculous confidence is just another way of saying I’ve got good reason.”

Somewhere between dessert and the end of the second bottle of wine, Lewis leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, I’ve never spent a birthday like this before.”

You raised a brow. “What, you mean being roasted by someone half your age?”

“No” he said with a soft laugh, his gaze locking with yours. “I mean, spending it with someone who makes it unforgettable.”

Heat crept up your neck as the words settled over you. For once, you were grateful for the low lighting, knowing he’d catch the blush on your face if the room were any brighter. “You’ve got good lines, Hamilton. I’ll give you that.”

He smirked, his dimple reappearing. “And here you thought I was ancient.”

The drive back to his place was quieter now, the low hum of the Ferrari’s engine filling the silence as the city lights smeared into a kaleidoscope of golds and whites against the window. You watched the world rush by, your cheek pressed lightly against the cool glass, your mind swirling with the events of the evening. Lewis’s hand rested on the gear shift, his thumb occasionally brushing against your knee, a small but grounding gesture that sent tiny sparks up your spine.

Lewis had a way of making silence feel intimate, like you were sharing a secret only the two of you could understand. He’d crack the occasional joke, his British accent wrapping around his words in that smooth, teasing way of his, but he also seemed content to just be with you, letting the moment stretch without feeling the need to fill it.

“I’m just saying” you broke the silence, a playful lilt in your voice, “you’ve got way too much energy for someone turning 40. Should I be worried you’re one of those guys who lies about his age?”

He glanced at you, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Love, if I were lying, don’t you think I’d say I’m younger? What kind of idiot would round up to 40?”

You bit back a laugh. “Fair point. Still, you’ve got that youthful glow. Should I be looking for a fountain of youth around here?”

“Funny. I was going to say the same about you,” he quipped, his eyes flicking toward you briefly before returning to the road. “Though I think the real secret is being around me. I have that effect, you know.”

“Ah, yes” you teased, your voice dripping with mock sincerity. “Sir Lewis Hamilton, F1 driver, philanthropist, anti-aging elixir. Truly a man of many talents.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and effortless. “Don’t forget humble. That’s the most important one.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at your lips. The kind of banter you shared felt as natural as breathing, a testament to how far you’d come in the past year. Last year, you’d been strangers, exchanging polite birthday messages in a group chat. Now, almost a year into your relationship, celebrating this day together felt nothing short of surreal.

When the car finally pulled into his building’s private garage, you followed him up to his penthouse. As soon as you stepped inside, the soft scent of amber and cedarwood and cinnamon greeted you, enveloping you like a warm hug. The space was immaculate but still inviting, every detail reflecting Lewis’s refined yet cozy taste. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering London skyline, but your attention was drawn to the setup near the fireplace: a nest of plush blankets and pillows, their edges catching the soft glow of the flames, and a small black box wrapped neatly with a satin ribbon sitting in the center.

“Planning to smother me with luxury tonight?” you teased, slipping off your coat and draping it over a nearby chair.

He shot you a sidelong glance, his lips curling into that signature dimpled smile. “Only if you let me.”

Crossing the room, he picked up the box and handed it to you with both hands, his tone softening. “Happy birthday.”

You sank down onto the blankets, crossing your legs as you carefully untied the ribbon. The room seemed to hold its breath as you lifted the lid, revealing a delicate gold necklace nestled inside. The pendant was sleek and minimalist, the numbers 2040 shimmering in the firelight—your ages this year, intertwined in a way that felt both simple and profound.

You ran your fingers over the numbers, the cool metal warming under your touch. “Lewis…” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you looked up at him, emotions you couldn’t quite name rising in your chest.

He knelt in front of you, his hands steady as he unclasped the necklace. “I wanted you to have something to remember this year by” he murmured, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “Our first birthday together. The first of many, hopefully.”

The necklace was cool against your skin as he fastened it around your neck, his fingers brushing against the nape of your neck in a way that sent a shiver through you.

“Cheesy” you managed to say, though your voice wavered slightly. “Really cheesy.”

He leaned back, a slow, confident smile spreading across his face. “You love it.”

“Maybe” you admitted, your lips curving into a soft smile. “You’re still ridiculous, though. You know that, right?”

He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Only for you, love. Only for you.”

And in that moment, as the firelight danced across his features and the weight of the necklace settled warmly against your chest, you knew this was a birthday you’d never forget.

The crackle of the fire filled the space as silence stretched between you, comfortable and unspoken. He reached out, his fingers brushing along your cheek with a tenderness that made your breath catch. The air between you felt charged, thick with something unnameable yet impossible to ignore. He didn’t speak, but his gaze said everything. It was the kind of look that promised a night you’d carry with you long after the embers of the fire died out.

Wordlessly, he offered you his hand, pulling you to your feet. Your bodies moved in sync, a slow dance as he guided you away from the cozy setup near the fireplace. The city lights spilled across the polished floors of the penthouse, casting soft, flickering reflections. The world outside felt miles away, as if time had bent itself around the two of you, creating a space that existed only for this moment.

When you reached the edge of the couch, he paused, his hand slipping from yours to settle lightly on your waist. The tension between you buzzed like a live wire, your breaths shallow and synchronized as you stood inches apart. He reached up, his thumb brushing against the gold pendant resting at your collarbone.

“This suits you” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, deep and velvety.

You tilted your head, meeting his eyes. “You’re biased” you teased softly, though the words came out shakier than you’d intended.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Damn right I am” he said, his fingers trailing from the necklace to the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

And then, finally, he kissed you

The first kiss was thoughtful, like he was savoring every second of you. His lips were warm, soft, yet firm in their intent, coaxing a response that set your nerves alight. The faint taste of wine lingered on his tongue as he deepened the kiss, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck while the other settled firmly on your waist.

When he pulled back just enough to look at you, your lips tingled from the contact. The smirk that spread across your face was full of mischief, your eyes glittering in the dim light. “You know” you began, your voice sultry but teasing, “I’ve never had birthday sex with an old man before.”

Lewis stilled for half a second, then let out a deep, throaty chuckle, his dimple flashing in a way that made your pulse skip. “Old man?” he repeated, his voice dripping with mock indignation. “You’re really leaning into this, aren’t you?”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “I mean, forty’s practically dinosaur age. Should I grab your reading glasses before we get started?”

The laugh that followed was low and dangerous, his grip on your waist tightening as he tugged you flush against him. “Keep that up y/n” he murmured, his tone dropping to a husky rasp that sent a shiver down your spine, “this so-called old man is about to ruin you.”

Your grin widened, your fingers trailing along the line of his jaw. “Bold words for someone who’s practically collecting a pension.”

He responded without hesitation, his lips brushing against your ear as his voice dipped even lower. “You’re about to love this ‘old man dick’ sweetheart.”

You laughed a bit then your breath hitched in your throat, your teasing façade faltering for a split second. Before you could come up with a retort, he claimed your mouth again, the kiss harder this time, more insistent. His hands explored your body with a practiced precision that made your skin hum in anticipation.

When he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. “Pretty strong for a grandpa” you teased breathlessly, but your voice cracked with laughter as he spun you around, his mouth pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the curve of your neck.

“You talk a big game” he shot back, his words muffled against your skin, “but let’s see if you can handle me”

By the time he carried you into the bedroom, the world beyond those walls didn’t exist. The room was bathed in soft streaks of silver light from the city below, the faint hum of life outside muffled by the thick glass of the windows. But the only thing you were aware of was him—the heat radiating from his body, the controlled strength in his movements, the way his touch left trails of fire wherever his hands and lips explored.

The bed was impossibly soft beneath you, though you barely noticed as he leaned over you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath. His hands moved with a tantalizing slowness, fingers skimming along the hem of your dress before sliding it up, inch by inch, until you felt the cool air against your skin.

“You look stunning” he murmured, his voice reverent but laced with heat as his eyes roamed over you. “Better than I deserve, really.”

You arched a brow, your lips curving into a smirk. “Glad you’re finally admitting it.”

He let out another low chuckle, the sound vibrating through you as his mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Smart mouth” he murmured, his voice dark and teasing. “Let’s see how long you can keep that up.”

And just like that, words became irrelevant. The moments following were a blur of heat and sensation, a symphony of whispered confessions and breathless laughter that gave way to moans and the sound of tangled sheets. You both lay on the bed bare and craving each other beyond measure. His fingers traced a feather-light path down your collarbone, causing you to shiver despite the lingering warmth between you. He followed that trail with his lips, kissing each spot softly before moving lower. You arched into him, your nails raking gently across his back as his mouth found the sensitive curve of your breast.

His touch was both commanding and tender, guiding you with a confidence that left no doubt he knew exactly how to unravel you. His tongue swirled around your nipple, the teasing flick a jolt of electricity straight to your core. A gasp escaped you, your fingers tangling in his braided hair as he lavished the tender bud with attention. His hand mirrored the action on your other breast, kneading with just the right amount of pressure.

As he continued his sensual care on your breasts, his other hand wandered lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. His fingers parted your folds, stroking through your slick heat with agonizing slowness. You moan in relief as you finally felt the touch in the place you’ve been wanting all night.

"Shit y/n you’re so wet for me already” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. His fingers continued their teasing rhythm, circling your clit but never quite touching it directly. The taunting motion had your hips lifting helplessly, searching for more contact. “Gotta give my best for my birthday boy” you say with a teasing smile on your face

"Mmm, seems like someone's eager tonight" he teased breathlessly, your fingers tightening their grip in his hair. Arching again, you pressed harder against his teasing fingertips, desperate for relief. "Well stop teasing and fuck me already" you demanded, your voice thick with desire.

A dark chuckle rumbled through his chest as he broke away from your breasts, his eyes meeting yours with an intense, knowing gaze. "How dare you talk to the birthday boy like that?” he chuckled mocking you, finally pressing directly against your clit, making you gasp. "I have plans for you though. I can’t let you get away with making fun of all night baby.”

"And what plans would those be?" you managed to ask between panting breaths, your body winding tighter with each skilled movement of his fingers. He didn't answer with words, instead capturing your mouth in a searing kiss as his fingers continued their expert dance.

His tongue slid against yours in a mimicking what his fingers were doing below, making you moan into his mouth. Then, suddenly, he slid two of his thick, tattooed fingers deep inside you, his thumb still circling your clit.

The dual sensations had your back arching off the bed, breaking the kiss as you let out a loud moan. The feeling making you almost salivate "Oh god” you gasped, your body clenching around his fingers, desperate for more. "More…” you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I need more..."

He complied with a wicked grin, pumping his fingers faster and harder, the wet sounds of your pussy filling the air as he drove you closer to the edge. "Like this baby?" he growled, his forehead pressed against yours.

"Yes” you exhaled, your body trembling as he hit that perfect spot inside you. The wet sounds of your arousal turing you on more, —if that was even possible — your body craved even more of him. "Uuh but It's not enough” you wailed, writhing beneath him. "I need you, not your fingers” you say grabbing his shoulder. He chuckled darkly, slowly pulling his fingers out.

He didn’t make you wait another second, his movements efficient as he stripped away the last barriers between your bodies. Each piece of clothing fell to the floor in a whisper, leaving him bare before you—a vision of strength and heat. His hands returned to your thighs, firm but tender as he guided them around his waist, his touch igniting sparks across your skin.

The anticipation was almost unbearable, the space between you charged with unspoken hunger. His body hovered over yours, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless. He softly brushed his hands along your thighs, lined himself up with you, his thick length brushing against your dripping entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

When he finally thrusts forward, the world seemed to shift. One powerful motion had him burying himself inside you, stretching you in a way that stole your breath. Your back arched instinctively, your body surrendering to the sensation of being completely filled. The exquisite pressure was both overwhelming and perfect, a mix of fullness and connection that sent shockwaves rippling through you.

“This better?” he rasped, his voice thick and gravelly, the sound vibrating through your chest. His hands gripped your hips, grounding you as he pulled back just enough to make you ache for more, only to stroke back in with a slow pace that left you trembling.

A choked moan escaped your lips, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself against the onslaught of sensation. “Oh yes” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, but the desperate edge in it said everything.

Lewis tilted his head, a smug grin curling at the corners of his lips as he watched your reaction. “You feel so good baby” he murmured, his hips setting a steady rhythm. Each thrust was felt like a piece of heaven, his movements slow enough to let you feel every inch of him, but powerful enough to leave you breathless.

The way he fucked you was relentless, the friction and heat building with every thrust. His body was pressed tightly to yours, his heavy, hot body brushing against your chest with each motion, his breath hot against your neck. The room seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you, wrapped in a haze of heat, desire, and the raw, primal connection that tethered you together.

As he drove deeper, his grip on your hips tightened, his thumbs pressing into your soft skin as if anchoring himself in the moment. “Look at me” he demanded, his voice low and commanding. “I want you to look at me while I fuck you”

Your gaze locked with his, the intensity in his dark eyes making your pulse quicken. Every thrust sent ripples of pleasure through you, the rhythm building as he took you higher, each movement precise, unrelenting, and filled with purpose.

“Does that feel good?” he asked again, his voice rough and laced with amusement as he pushed deeper still, watching the way your body arched to meet his.

“Perfect” you managed to gasp, your nails raking down his back as he buried himself fully inside you once more.

Your voice broke into a raw, unrestrained scream, your nails carving crescents into the taut muscles of his back. Each thrust sent a wave of sensation through your body, igniting every nerve like a live wire. Lewis gripped you with unrelenting force, his fingers digging into your flesh as though he never wanted to let go. His pace was punishing and purposeful, each stroke a calculated attempt to claim every inch of you.

The slickness of your arousal coated his dick, allowing him to move in and out with sinful ease, his deep, guttural groans echoing your breathless cries. His chest brushed against yours, the heat of his skin matching the fire coursing through your veins. “Feel that?” he rasped into your ear, guiding your hand to you lower abdomen. “You feel where I am inside you y/n?” You could feel him beating at your insides underneath your hands, leaving you dizzy.

You gasped, your body tightening around him at his words. But then, a bold thought slipped from your lips before you could stop it. “I wanna ride you.”

His movements stilled for a heartbeat, and then a wicked smile curved his lips. “I love it when you take control” he murmured, his voice filled with equal parts admiration and desire. Without hesitation, he grabbed your waist and flipped you onto him with fluid ease, his strength sending a thrill down your spine.

Before you could catch your breath, you were astride him, your thighs pressed against his hips as his dick filled you completely. The angle was new, deeper, more intense, and it stole the air from your lungs. His hands found your breasts, warm palms cupping the sensitive curves. His thumbs teased your nipples, the gentle pinch sending shocks of pleasure down your spine.

“Go on” he said, his eyes dark with need. “Show me what you’ve got.”

His words spurred you on, your hands bracing against his chest as you began to move. The muscles beneath your fingers flexed with each thrust as he met your rhythm, his body rising to match every roll of yours. The friction sent waves of heat cascading through you, and the soft, slick sounds of your bodies moving together only added to the intoxicating haze of the moment. You couldn’t believe how wet you are, soaking both of the lower extremities with each thrust out.

His hands slid from your breasts to your waist, guiding your movements but leaving you firmly in control. “There you baby” he groaned, his voice ragged. “Take your dick. It’s all yours.”

Your head tipped back as you found your pace, the pleasure building higher with each roll of your hips. Your long hair cascaded down your back, brushing against his hands as they roamed over your curves. His eyes roamed your body, drinking in the sight of you like a man starved.

“Damn” he muttered, his grip tightening on your waist. “You’re so fucking sexy like this.”

You smirked, leaning forward just enough for your lips to hover near his ear. “I know” you teased and winked, your voice breathy but still laced with confidence.

Lewis chuckled, his hands sliding lower to grip your hips again, the movement sending sparks racing through you. “Cocky tonight, huh?” he challenged, him grinding sharply to meet you, making you cry out, shutting you up.

You threw your head back once more, your long hair tumbling in waves down your back, glinting in the dim light as it swayed with your every movement. You rolled your body with an urgency born of desire, rising and falling as you took him deeper than ever before. Each motion sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, a delicious mixture of control and submission as you rode him with abandon.

Lewis’s hands were strong on your waist, his grip possessive as he guided your movements. He met your grinding with powerful thrusts of his own, his body rising from the bed to drive deeper into you, each stroke aimed with precision that left you trembling. The thickness of his dick stretched you in all the right ways, hitting that sweet, devastating spot inside you that made your vision blur.

A whimper escaped your lips, followed by a breathless moan, your sounds blending with the wet, rhythmic noises of your bodies colliding. The heady scent of sweat and sex filled the air, mingling with the sound of his raspy breaths and your own needy cries.

“Faster” you panted, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

“Faster?” he repeated, his tone laced with mischief as one large hand left your waist and came down on your ass with a sharp smack. The sting rippled through you, blending seamlessly with the pleasure pulsing in your core, making your lower body jerk forward involuntarily. “Yeah baby” he teased breathlessly, his other hand sliding up your spine, grounding you. “Show me how bad you want it.”

Your body responded instinctively, moving with even greater speed. Your breasts bounced wildly with every rise and fall, catching his dark, hungry eyes as he watched you lose yourself above him.

“Ahh yes” he groaned, his dick throbbing inside you, pulsing in perfect time with the frantic rhythm of your bodies. His forehead glistened with sweat, his curls damp and clinging to his temples as he strained to meet every furious motion of your hips. The connection between you was electric, every nerve alight with pleasure and the sheer power of his presence beneath you.

Another sharp slap landed on your ass, making you gasp and cry out. “Fuck, you feel so good like this” he muttered, his hand immediately sliding to your lower back, pressing you forward as his other tangled in your hair. With a firm tug, he pulled you down to meet his lips in a bruising kiss.

The moment your mouths collided, the intensity between you flared brighter. His tongue slid against yours, his kiss just as commanding and relentless as the way he filled you. You could taste the taste of your lips on his lips, feel the tension in his jaw as his teeth grazed against your bottom lip, nipping just enough to make you gasp.

The heat of his chest against yours, the strength of his hands controlling your movements, and the way his body seemed to melt perfectly with yours—all of it was too much and not enough at the same time. The world narrowed to the two of you, the bed creaking beneath your combined weight as you pushed each other further, faster, harder.

“Uh- Fuck- Ah-“ he groaned against your lips, his voice raw and raspy.

“Look at you, riding your dick” he rasped, his voice low and raw as he pressed his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against yours with every labored breath. “Shit” curse fell from his lips like a confession, a whisper, the heat in his gaze burning into you.

He continued to fuck you, mirroring your movements to create the ultimate pleasure, thrust for thrust, the relentless rhythm sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. His fingers dug into your hips with such force you could feel the delicious pressure biting into your insides, a possessive mark you knew would linger long after this moment. “Harder” he growled, his voice thick with need and dominance.

The command sent a spark through you, your body responding instinctively. Letting out a desperate whimper, you adjusted your angle, planting your knees more firmly against the mattress for leverage. You began to slam down on him with every ounce of strength you could muster, taking him deeper with each thrust, the sensation of his dick filling you, driving you wild.

The room filled with the sharp, rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin, a symphony of raw passion that echoed in the air around you. Your cries mixed with his groans, creating a harmony of pleasure that left no space for anything else. His thick length hit all the right spots inside you, the perfect angle making stars burst behind your tightly closed eyelids.

“Yeeaahh there you go” he groaned, his voice a mixture of awe and desperation as his hands tightened their grip on your ass, guiding your movements. “That’s it baby, just like that.

But then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he shifted. With a sudden, fluid movement, he flipped you onto your stomach, his strength effortlessly handling your body like it was meant to be molded beneath his touch. The cool sheets met your flushed skin, contrasting with the fiery heat coursing through your veins.

Pulling your hips up, he positioned you on your knees, presenting your ass to him. A dark, appreciative growl rumbled in his chest as he took in the sight before him. “Such a perfect view” he murmured, his hands roaming over the curve of your ass, spreading you wide as he admired the way your glistening entrance twitched with anticipation.

The moment of teasing felt like an eternity. His dick, still slick and throbbing, brushed against your folds, the tip barely pressing into you before pulling back. Each pass sent a shiver down your spine, the anticipation coiling tightly in your core.

“Lewis” you breathed sound a plea that you couldn’t hold back. Your voice trembling with need, and murmured as your face a pressed into the mattress.

He chuckled darkly, his hands gripping your back firmly as he finally aligned himself with you. “I know baby. I’ve got you.”

“You feel so fucking good” he groaned, his voice thick with need as he pulled back slowly, only to slam back into you with even more force.

His strong hands grounding you as he pulled you closer, guiding the rhythm of your bodies. The new angle shifted something deep inside you, igniting a fire that spread through every nerve. Each powerful thrust sent waves of pleasure radiating through your body, leaving you breathless and trembling.

The mattress beneath you dipped with every movement, your breasts brushing against the soft fabric as if it, too, responded to the intensity between you. Your fingers fisted the sheets in desperation, the cool texture a stark contrast to the heat building between your entwined bodies. The air was thick with the sounds of your connection. You reached your hand behind you to touch him, and feel even more connected as he filled you completely, over and over again.

Your cries of pleasure filled the room, bouncing off the walls and blending with the raw rhythm of your bodies. Each powerful thrust sent a jolt of electricity through you, the intensity building with every movement. The warmth of his body against yours, the sound of his ragged breathing, and the unrelenting pace all combined to set your senses alight.

“Yes, just like that” you gasped, your voice trembling with urgency as your body tightened around him, instinctively pulling him deeper. The delicious pressure and friction threatened to make you cum then and there, a tantalizing ache pooling in your core as you teetered on the edge of release. The sheer intimacy of the moment wrapped around you, pushing you closer to the brink with every heartbeat.

His hand slid around to find your most sensitive clit, his fingers skillfully matching the rhythm of his relentless movements. The instant he touched you, a surge of pleasure shot through your body, your breath catching as the tension within you coiled tighter. The precise pressure and timing were too much to bear, every nerve alive and burning with sensation.

The world seemed to fall away as you tipped over the edge, a wave of pure ecstasy crashing over you. Your body shaking uncontrollably, your inner walls clenching and pulsing around him in perfect harmony with the pleasure consuming you. He didn’t falter, fucking you fiercely, extending your orgasm, his movements guiding you through every second of the overwhelming climax.

His release finally hit, a deep groan tearing from his chest as he buried himself to the hilt, flooding your insides with his warmth. The sensation of him pulsing inside you sent a shiver down your spine, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your own climax. Slowly, he collapsed on top of you, his weight settling over you like a comforting blanket, grounding you in the moment.

His breaths were hot and heavy against your neck, his lips brushing your skin with every exhale. He nuzzled closer, his arms curling around you protectively as though he couldn’t bear to let go. “That’s my favorite position you know” he murmured, his voice low and husky, tinged with the remnants of his pleasure.

You chuckled softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair. “I figured. You get a pretty nice view from back there.”

He grinned against your skin, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. But then he paused, his hands beginning to roam over your curves with a possessive, thoughtful touch. His fingers traced the dip of your waist, and the swell of your hips.

“I think” he started, his voice trailing off as he shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you. His gaze was soft but smoldering, a wicked gleam dancing in his dark eyes. “I think we need to try something new.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh? You’ve already got me questioning my ability to walk tomorrow, and now you want to add something else to the mix?”

His laugh was low and rich as he sat up, pulling you along with him. The ease with which he maneuvered your body made your heart race, and before you knew it, you were straddling his lap, your arms looping instinctively around his neck. His large hands settled on your waist, pulling you flush against him so that your bare skin pressed together.

“Have you ever done reverse cowgirl?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual, though the intensity in his gaze gave away his excitement.

You hesitated, the memory of past attempts flickering in your mind. “Yes” you admitted, your voice softer now, “but I didn’t like it before.” You avoided his eyes momentarily, not wanting to disappoint him.

His thumb brushed soothing circles over your side, his touch gentle as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. “But you haven’t tried it with me” he said, his voice warm and confident, laced with a promise you couldn’t ignore. “Trust me, it’ll feel good. After I’m inside you, lean forward and grab my ankles, okay?”

His reassuring tone made you relax, the corners of your mouth lifting in a small, trusting smile. “That sounds kind of funny,” you teased lightly, “but I trust you, so I guess we can try it.”

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you deeply, the kind of kiss that left no room for doubt. As his lips moved against yours, his hands slid down to grip your body, the promise of something exciting lingering in the air between you.

With a sudden, fluid motion, he shifted your body effortlessly, turning you until you were straddling him in reverse cowgirl. Your knees sank into the soft mattress as you leaned forward, just as he instructed, your fingers brushing his ankles for balance. The new position stretched your muscles in an unfamiliar but exhilarating way, your body arching beautifully as you adjusted.

“Good baby” he purred, his voice molten as his hands slid up your thighs, his fingers sprawled out. His grip was firm yet gentle, guiding your movements with unspoken confidence. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly as you began to move, rocking your hips experimentally. The sensation of his dick filling you from this angle was different—intense, consuming, and deeply satisfying. You could feel every vein, ridge and curve. Slowly at first, you rose and sank onto him, each downward thrust drawing a low, guttural sound from his throat.

From behind, he had the perfect view, and he was mesmerized. His eyes rolled over the curve of your spine, the way your hair spilled down your back like a silken waterfall, and the hypnotic motion of your pussy taking him in, again and again. “Goddamn” he murmured, his voice thick with awe and lust, “just look at you.”

He couldn’t help himself, his hands roaming over your waist and back before sliding back to cup the roundness of your ass. He spread your cheeks apart slightly, his thumbs grazing your skin as he watched himself disappear inside you, the sight driving him wild. “Fuck” he groaned, his grip tightening. “Your ass looks incredible like this.”

The raw appreciation in his tone made you move more, confidence growing with every word of praise. You rolled your hips, adjusting the angle to take him even deeper, and the effect was immediate. His sharp inhale and the low curse he muttered sent a thrill through you, spurring you on.

“You feel so damn good” he rasped, his voice rough with desire. His warm hands traveled up to your waist, wrapping around you firmly as he began to meet your movements with upward thrusts, burying himself even harder and deeper. The slick sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room, accompanied by his low groans and your breathy moans.

“Fuck fuck fuck “ he growled, his voice breaking with raw need. “I can’t get enough of this pussy.” His hands returned to your ass, spreading you wider to take him fully, the sight of your stretched entrance swallowing his girthy length repeatedly making his restraint fray. “This feels so fucking good oh my go-“ you moan out, gripping his ankles.

The angle, the intensity, the way his hands guided you—it all combined into a dizzying blend of pleasure that left you utterly undone, completely lost in the rhythm you shared. His words were a heady mix of filth and reverence, fueling the fire building deep within you.

He moved with an intensity, his pace quickening as he drove into you hard, each powerful thrust echoing through your body. The rhythmic sound of your bodies meeting filled the room once again, a heady mix of his labored breathing, deep groans of pleasure, and the unmistakable slickness of your shared desire. His grip on your hips tightened possessively, his fingers digging into your skin as if anchoring himself to the moment.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum so deep inside you” he growled, his voice rough and low, thick with need. The promise sent a shiver through you, igniting something primal as you moved together, his hips rising to meet each of your movements in perfect synchronization. “Keep going like that, yes” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. “Don’t stop until I tell you to.”

Your body obeyed instinctively, the rhythm growing more urgent as the tension between you built. The impact of your bodies meeting sent so much pleasure through you, your chest heaving as your breasts moved with every motion. The heat between you burned hotter, his body taut beneath yours as his control began to stray. You could feel him getting closer with every deep, purposeful thrust, his need pushing you both toward the inevitable.

“Take it all baby. Fuck, I wish you could see how good you look right now” he growled, his voice rough with a mix of desire and command. His eyes locked into you as he watched your body move against him, the sight of you bouncing on his dick driving him to the brink of madness. The way your tight walls clenched around him was almost too much, pulling him deeper into a haze of pure, unrelenting need.

He felt your release building, the way your body trembled and tightened betraying just how close you were. “Not yet” he murmured, his voice strained, though it was as much for himself as it was for you. He was holding on by a thread, the fire in his core threatening to erupt. Truthfully, he’d been on the edge since he got you into this position, but he refused to give in just yet. He wanted to savor every second, knowing there were still so many rounds to come.

He leaned forward slightly, his lips brushing your ear as he rasped, “Keep going Y/n. Don’t stop. I know you can”

The raw command in his tone sent a shiver through you, spurring you on.

His hands moved over your body eagerly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your sides as if anchoring you to him. He explored every inch of you with reverence and hunger—tracing the curve of your thighs, squeezing your waist, sliding his hands up to press against your stomach as if trying to pull you closer, impossibly close, onto his throbbing dick. His breathing turned ragged, his words dissolving into guttural grunts as he fought to hold back, desperate to let this moment stretch out just a little longer.

Finally, with a raw, loud, groan of pleasure, he gave in to his climax, his body shuddering as his release overtook him. His dick pulsed deep inside you, each wave of ecstasy pouring into your trembling pussy. His arms locked around you with a possessive intensity, holding you firmly in place as he emptied himself into your eagerly waiting depths, refusing to let even an inch of space separate you.

For a moment, time stilled. His chest heaved against your back, his ragged breaths hot against your skin as he stayed buried inside you, savoring the aftershocks of pleasure that rippled through both of you. His grip on your waist softened slightly, shifting into something more tender, his hands brushing over your skin as though grounding himself in the intimacy of the moment.

He pressed his face into your hair, the scent of you pulling a low, satisfied hum from deep in his chest. “Damn” he murmured softly, his lips grazing the back of your neck as he nuzzled closer. “I fucking love you, Y/N,” he confessed, his voice laced with both affection and raw desire.

His arms remained wrapped around you, holding you close as the heat between you lingered, neither of you willing to break the connection just yet.

Time washed away, each moment blending into the next until you collapsed against his chest, your skin slick with the lingering heat of passion. His arm wrapped around you, his fingers lazily tracing soft circles along your back as you rested your head against him. His heart beat steadily beneath your cheek, a soothing rhythm that grounded you in the aftermath of the whirlwind you’d just shared.

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and gentle. “Best birthday yet?” you asked, your voice low and slightly drowsy but still tinged with that familiar mischievous edge.

He let out a satisfied hum, nuzzling against him. “Definitely. Though I’ve decided—next year, I’m getting my gift first.”

Your soft laugh rumbled through his chest, and you felt the vibration as much as you heard it. “We’ll see about that, love. You might have to pop a few viagra next year.”

You couldn’t help but grin, your eyelids growing heavy as the warmth of his body and the sound of his voice lulled you to the edge of sleep. “Viagra or not , now you’re stuck with this old man.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you murmured, your voice a soft promise as he held you close, the city lights casting a gentle glow over the two of you.

[snowseasonmademe]

A Lesson Learned

word count: 5,027

warning ‼️: smut!!! very dominant lewis. slight mention of weed/smoking

pairing: lewis hamilton x black female reader

summary: all you wanted was some attention and you sure did get it

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennaskorner

@leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

@jessnotwiththemess @thepointlessideas

note: hello everyone! here’s something for my lewis girls that i promised a while ago. i wrote this like three or four months ago and it’s been collecting dust in my drafts for ages lol. get ready, it’s hot❤️‍🔥. as always, enjoy and tell em what you think!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This kind of relationship was new to you. Three and a half months in, and you were still adjusting to the way things worked with Lewis. How he set the rules, how he took care of you, how effortlessly he slipped into the role of the man in control. It wasn’t new to him. Not in the slightest. He was used to women who needed guidance, who needed to be reminded of their place. But not you. From the very beginning, you had been a good girl for him, and he never had to put you in check. You didn’t push boundaries because you loved the way he treated you when you behaved. You loved the gifts, the whispered praise, the way his hands—gentle but possessive—held your waist in public, letting everyone know you belonged to him.

And because you were good for him, he was obsessed with you. Wrapped around your finger and, metaphorically speaking, stuck inside you any chance he got. You were his indulgence, his soft spot, and you knew it. You didn’t just enjoy pleasing him, you craved it. That was what made today such a mistake. You had never tested him before, never given him a reason to remind you how things worked between you. But today, you let your attitude get the best of you, and worse—you put on a little show just to get a reaction out of him.

All you wanted was to go home. You had told him how needy you were before you even left the house, had curled up in his lap that morning and whispered about how desperate you were for him, how you needed him to take care of you. He had promised it would be a quick trip, had kissed the side of your neck and murmured something about how you wouldn’t even have to wait long. But instead, you had spent hours watching him roam around Ferrari headquarters, talking and laughing with engineers, shaking hands, entertaining whatever conversations they threw at him while you sat there, simmering.

By the time he finally wrapped up his last conversation, you were seething. You had been so patient, so good, and yet he had ignored what you needed. So, in a reckless moment of frustration, you let your irritation spill over into something else. Something that would make him notice.

The Ferrari engineer hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. He was just there—available, friendly, and perfectly positioned for you to unleash your frustration. You leaned in close as he spoke, your eyes locked on his like he was the most fascinating person in the paddock. You touched his arm when you laughed, dragging your fingers down the toned muscle like it was an accident, like you weren’t fully aware of what you were doing. And when you noticed the way he glanced down at the small but prominent curve of your cleavage, you made sure to arch your back just enough to emphasize it.

It was petty. It was reckless. And Lewis saw every second of it.

But he didn’t react. Didn’t call you out. Didn’t shoot you a warning look or pull you away like you half-expected him to. No, he did something far worse. He ignored you. He let you have your moment, let you think you were getting away with it, and that infuriated you more than anything. Because deep down, you knew. You knew he was fuming. You knew he was letting you dig yourself into a deeper hole, just waiting for the moment when you were alone—when he had you all to himself—to show you just how wrong you were to test him.

And now, as your heels clicked sharply against the marble floors of his penthouse, your arms crossed and your attitude still simmering, you could feel it, his presence behind you, heavy and unshakable. The air was thick, the tension unbearable, and you didn’t even have to look at him to know he was tense—his jaw clenched, his breathing measured, the sheer dominance radiating off him like heat.

“You’ve had an attitude all day” he finally said, his voice deep, controlled. “And then you go and pull that stunt with that engineer?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you tossed your purse onto the couch, already heated. “Fuck off Lewis” you snapped, spinning around to face him. “I wanted to come home earlier, but instead, you wanted to stay there all fucking day. Don’t get mad at him for giving me the attention you wouldn’t give me”

The silence between you was thick. Dangerous.

Lewis didn’t move at first. Didn’t say a word. Just stood there, eyes dark, tongue pressed against his cheek, hands slipping casually into his pockets like he wasn’t two seconds away from putting you in your place. Like he was giving you the space to dig your own grave.

That should’ve been your first warning.

But you were pissed. So you kept talking.

“You sure you wanna play this game with me?” His voice was low, calm in a way that made your pulse quicken.

You lifted your chin, defiant, even as your stomach twisted. “Maybe I do”

Lewis let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly like he was disappointed. “Alright then” he murmured. “Keep digging”

Your arms folded as the two of you slowly made your way toward the dining room, step by step, like neither of you realized you were moving. Like you were drawn toward the tension thickening between you, neither willing to back down. The large wooden table loomed beside you, the perfect height, the perfect size—perfect for bending you over. But your pride wouldn’t let you recognize that yet.

“Oh, what? Now you care?” You let out a dry laugh, rolling your eyes, shifting your weight to one hip. “Where was all this energy earlier, sir? Oh wait, I forgot—you were too busy making friends while I sat there looking stupid.”

His jaw ticked, but still—he didn’t take his hands out of his pockets. Didn’t move.

“Watch yourself”

You threw your hands up, stepping closer. “Or what? You gonna ignore me some more?” You let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe I should go text that Ferrari engineer, see if—”

That was it.

Faster than you could react, Lewis grabbed your wrist and snatched you around, pressing your chest against the cool, solid surface of the dining table. A sharp gasp left your lips as your hands splayed against the wood, heat rushing through your body as his strong, steady hand pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you right there.

“Oh” you breathed quietly, your stomach flipping at the realization of what just happened.

“Oh?” Lewis mocked, voice thick with dark amusement. His grip on your hip tightened. “Now you wanna think before you speak?”

You knew then, you’d really fucked up.

His other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place, his presence towering over you. You felt exposed, your little mini skirt doing nothing to shield you from him. He ran a slow, hand down your spine before—

Smack.

The first spank landed sharp against your backside. You jerked, gripping the edge of the table.

The second was harder. The third sent a shockwave through your entire body, the force of it making you press forward, your fingers scrambling against the polished wood.

Then, he stilled.

A beat of silence. Then—a low, dangerous, almost annoyed chuckle.

“What the fuck is this?” he muttered, fingers hooking beneath the thin waistband of your panties.

Shit.

“Did you really put these on?” His voice was thick with amusement, but you could feel the warning beneath it.

Your stomach twisted. You knew exactly what he was talking about.

And the worst part? He was the one who bought these damn panties. Expensive as hell. Soft, lace-trimmed, the kind that made you feel like luxury every time they slid over your thighs.

But that didn’t matter.

You knew the rule. No panties. Ever. Not under skirts, not under dresses, not when you were with him. He never had to remind you. Until now.

Before you could even open your mouth—

Smack. Another one. Even harder.

Your nails scraped against the table as you sucked in a sharp breath, eyes squeezing shut.

“I should make you count these” he mused, gripping your hip tighter as he landed another.

Smack.

Your back arched. “I—” You swallowed a whimper, fingers curling into fists.

“No, don’t go quiet now”

Smack.

Each one was deliberate. Hard. Unforgiving. By the time he paused, your skin was hot, burning under his touch. You knew your ass was as red as your eyes were after a smoke break. Your breath came out ragged, your nails pressing so hard into the table you were sure there’d be marks.

Then, in a whisper, you muttered, “I’m sorry Lewis”

The second the name left your lips, you knew.

A sharp breath. A dangerous silence.

Then—his fingers tangled into your afro, gripping at the roots, yanking your head back.

Your mouth parted in a breathless gasp as your scalp tingled, your neck arching under the force.

“What the hell you just say?” His voice was deadly quiet, the words brushing hot against your ear.

Your eyes fluttered shut, anticipation lacing your breath. “I—”

Smack.

“You know better than that”

Another.

“What’s my name darling?” His accent heavy

Another.

Your lips trembled. “S-Sir—”

Smack.

“There we go” he praised, loosening his grip just enough to let you breathe—but not enough to free you.

Your scalp was tingling, your chest rising and falling against the table as you caught your breath.

“Damn, you’re messing up my hair” you muttered, voice breathless but still full of attitude.

Lewis let out a dark chuckle. “I don’t care” he murmured, fingers tightening in your coils. “And I’m gonna mess it up even more”

His hand dragged down your spine, lingering at your hips.

“This was cute” he murmured. “You had your fun.”

His grip tightened.

“Now you have to learn to not play stupid games like that”

Before you could catch your breath, Lewis grabbed you by the arm, pulling you up from the table without a word. His grip was firm, commanding, but never cruel. He didn’t have to say anything—you knew where this was going.

Your pulse pounded as he led you through the penthouse, straight to the bedroom. The air between you was thick—too thick—but you didn’t dare speak first.

When he reached the edge of the bed, he let go, stepping back just slightly. His dark eyes flicked over you, still dressed but barely holding yourself together.

“Undress. All of it. Now.”

You hesitated, just for a second, before reaching for your clothes, stripping yourself bare under the weight of his gaze. Your shoes slipped off first, then your mini skirt slipped down, then your top, your panties, your bra, leaving you standing there in the middle of the room, completely exposed.

Lewis didn’t move at first. Didn’t speak. He just let the silence stretch, letting the anticipation build before he finally took a slow step forward.

Your eyes flickered downward as he bent slightly, picking up your discarded panties from the floor. The soft lace dangled from his fingers as he turned them over, inspecting them like they were evidence of a crime.

A low, unimpressed hum left his lips. Then, slowly, he licked the fabric up the length, his tongue dragging over the delicate lace before he held them up in front of your face.

“I know you know better than this”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “I—” You hesitated, then whispered, “I thought you would like it”

Lewis’s brows lifted slightly, like he almost found that amusing. Almost.

“Aw, you thought I would like it?” His voice was calm, smooth—but full of something dangerous.

He took another step closer, his aura towering over yours, heat rolling off him in waves.

“I said. No. Panties.”

Your breath hitched, shame curling in your stomach as you forced yourself to stand still under his scrutiny.

His head tilted slightly as he studied you, his voice dipping lower.

“You’ve never had a problem being good before. What’s the problem now?”

A long pause.

You couldn’t answer—not because you didn’t have words, but because you knew whatever came out of your mouth would get you into more trouble.

You dropped your gaze, staring at the floor instead of meeting his intense, unwavering stare.

Lewis let the silence stretch. Then, with quiet authority, he said:

“Feel free to answer any time”

Your lips parted, just barely—

But before a single word could leave your mouth, he shoved the panties between your lips, stuffing them in without hesitation.

Your muffled gasp filled the room as your eyes widened, the taste of lace and your own arousal spreading across your tongue.

Lewis exhaled slowly, shaking his head like he was disappointed.

“See? You had your chance to explain. Too late now.”

Before you could even process it, he pushed you down onto the bed, forcing you into the one position you hated the most.

“Since you wanna be bad, you’re gonna get treated exactly how you hate the most”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your stomach flipped.

No. Not that.

He knew. Of course, he knew.

Face down, ass up—your least favorite position.

It made you feel too vulnerable, too helpless, too completely at his mercy.

And that was exactly why he put you there.

Your arms stretched in front of you, your cheek pressing against the sheets as you felt him settle behind you, his presence heavy, all-consuming.

And just like that, you realized—

This lesson was far from over.

The only sound in the dimly lit bedroom was the quiet rustling of fabric. You couldn’t see him behind you, but you could hear him. The soft clink of a belt unfastening. The smooth glide of a zipper being drawn down. The faint sound of clothes being shrugged off and discarded onto the floor.

Each noise sent a new wave of anticipation thrumming through your body.

Your breathing was uneven, your fingers gripping the sheets, waiting—helpless.

Then, warmth.

His hands.

Calloused, strong. Trailing over your thighs, tracing over the places he had just punished. His fingertips brushed the sensitive skin, almost gentle—but you knew better than to expect mercy.

His palm dragged over the curve of your ass, his thumb pressing into the places where he had left his mark. You hissed at the sensitivity, your body twitching involuntarily.

Lewis let out a hum, pleased. “Look at you. You know you need this, don’t you?”

You bit down, trying not to make a sound.

That was a mistake.

A sharp slap to your already-sensitive skin made you gasp, your nails clawing at the sheets.

“You need to answer me when I speak to you”

Your voice came out breathy, trembling and muffled. “Y-yes, sir.”

Another hum of approval. Then, his hands slid further down, gripping the backs of your thighs before smoothing their way up again.

“What’s your safe word?”

The question sent a shiver through your spine. It wasn’t just a formality—it was a reminder.

Chanel.

The first designer bag he ever bought you. The one you had been dreaming of for years, the one that made you feel spoiled and special.

The name alone was a symbol of what you meant to him.

And right now? It was the only thing standing between you and complete surrender.

You swallowed hard, barely able to get the word out through the tension sitting heavy in your chest and the fabric in your mouth

“Chanel…”

A slow hum. “Good”

But then, his voice dropped lower, full of warning.

“And I hope you don’t expect to cum tonight”

Your stomach dropped.

A flash of pure, immediate regret shot through you, replacing every ounce of defiance. You spit the panties out of your mouth quickly.

“Wait, no, I—”

The desperation in your voice was instant. Your lips parted, breath quickening, panic settling deep in your bones.

Your voice was small, shaky, pleading.

“I’m sorry, sir, I—I’m s-sorry, please, I need you to make me cum”

Lewis let out a slow, dark chuckle—like you had just said something funny.

“No, no, no… don’t be sorry now babygirl”

The way he said it sent a violent shiver down your spine.

The anxiety in your chest distracted you from him teasing his tip on your entrance this whole time. And then—he moved.

Your body jolted under the pressure, fingers digging into the sheets, your toes curling against the mattress.

Lewis held you in place with ease, like you weren’t even putting up a fight.

“You love this, don’t you?” His voice was low, teasing, dragging out the words as his grip tightened around your hips.

Your lips parted, a strangled sound leaving you.

“N—yes. Yes, sir, I do.”

Lewis chuckled, but his movements didn’t slow.

He felt how much you were struggling to handle him, your thighs trembling, your breath coming out in sharp little gasps. You weren’t pushing him away—not really—but your fingers gripped the sheets so tight it felt like your nails would rip through them.

Then, when the pressure became too much, your hand instinctively flew back to his hip, trying to brace yourself.

That was a mistake.

His large hands wrapped around both of your wrists, yanking them behind your back.

Now you had no control.

Now you were completely at his mercy.

“You can take it, right?” His voice was deep, unrelenting, a challenge you couldn’t back down from.

Your head sank more into the mattress, sweat dampening your skin. Your body was on fire, every inch of you shaking.

“This is what you wanted all day. Be a good girl and take it.”

A deep, broken moan slipped from your lips as you nodded furiously, voice trembling.

“Yes, sir, I can take it.”

But Lord, you didn’t know how much longer you could hold yourself up.

Your legs felt weak. Your body was trembling. Your breathing was ragged, uneven, and every part of you was on the verge of collapse.

Lewis, however, showed no signs of letting up.

Your arms ached from being held back, your nails clenched into useless fists.

Your body was overwhelmed, exhausted, but the fire never stopped burning.

And God help you, you loved every second of it.

Lewis wasn’t usually this ruthless.

Even in the moments when he was in complete control, he always left you with a little bit of power—just a sliver. A grip on his arms, the chance to shift your hips to meet him, the ability to pull away if it got too intense.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he gave you nothing.

And what surprised you the most—what neither of you expected—was how much you loved it.

Your fingers twitched helplessly against the sheets, your body trapped, completely under him. You should’ve hated this. The lack of control. The way he wasn’t letting you move, wasn’t letting you do anything except take it.

But the truth was, you were dripping for him.

You could hear it.

The filthy, wet sounds of your arousal coating both of you, making every movement slick and obscene.

Lewis felt it, too. He could feel the way your body clenched around him, your walls fluttering, pulling him deeper.

His grip on your wrists tightened.

Your breath hitched—you knew what was coming.

And then—he pulled out.

Your body jerked forward, an embarrassing, desperate whimper spilling from your lips. Your thighs trembled, your body aching at the loss of him.

Lewis chuckled. Low, smug, knowing.

“So you do like when I fuck you like that?”

There was no answer this time.

Because you couldn’t even form words.

At this point, the panties that had gotten you deeper into this mess were long forgotten. You had flipped yourself onto your back to try and breathe better, you were panting, gasping, still moaning from the aftershocks, still twitching, still throbbing from the way he had ruined you.

But your lack of words didn’t go unnoticed.

Lewis let out a hum, his hands coasting up your body, slowly, possessively. His touch left a trail of fire over your skin as he moved up the bed, shifting his position.

Until suddenly—his length was right above your mouth.

You barely had a second to prepare before he thrust forward, filling the space between your lips with the same ruthless pace he had just used on your body.

No mercy.

Your fingers scrambled against his thighs, gripping onto anything you could, desperate for some control, some leverage.

Lewis didn’t give it to you.

Instead, his hand fisted into your tight curls, gripping the roots, holding you in place.

Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes. The sounds were filthy—gagging, choking, the slick noises of spit and heat and desperation. The taste of yourself not only on your tongue but down your throat at this angle was something you’d never thought you would experience.

Your gloss-stained lips stretched around him, the evidence of your submission smeared over his skin.

He groaned, the deep sound vibrating in his chest.

Your watery, dazed eyes flickered up to meet his, and what you saw made your stomach flip.

His pupils were blown wide, his gaze dark and intense—completely focused on you, every inch of him consumed with the sight of you. The way you were trembling, the way you struggled to keep your breath steady—he loved it.

As you gagged again, the thick, wet pressure overwhelming you, you felt the saliva pooling in your mouth, slipping down your chin in a slow, relentless stream. The taste was sharp and salty, and the sight of it dripping down your lips made his breath catch. Every movement of his only made you more desperate, more determined to take everything he gave.

Your fingers dug into his thighs, the muscle beneath your fingertips tightening as you gripped him for support, feeling the strength in his legs as he anchored himself above you. You were so lost in the sensation, so overwhelmed by the weight of his body, that you didn’t even realize how much you were gripping him until the pressure sent a shudder through him.

Your lips were stretched around him, your mouth fighting to take him deeper, to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him filling you. But the more you tried, the more he pushed. And each time you gagged, your throat tightening, it only made him more driven, his eyes growing darker, hungrier, as he watched you struggle—and enjoy it.

The way you couldn’t escape, the way you let him push past your limits, made him tremble with need. His breath came in sharp gasps, pupils wide with lust as he pushed you deeper, each thrust more forceful than the last. You could feel the heat building, his hands gripping your head even tighter, holding you in place.

Your mouth was a mess, spit bubbling at the corners of your lips, dripping down onto your chin and chest. The sight of it—of you, so completely undone—made his pulse quicken. Every inch of you was trembling, your body weak from the intensity, but the fire inside you only grew hotter. You loved how he felt, how he controlled every inch of you.

And then, with one final, forceful thrust, he pushed deep, and you felt it—his hot release flooding your throat. You didn’t even need to swallow. He was already there, filling you completely, and his body shook as he held you there, taking everything he wanted from you.

You gasped for air when he pulled away, your breath ragged and shallow. The cough that escaped you was soft, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to steady yourself. You were dizzy, lightheaded, your mind a haze of pleasure and need, still feeling the warmth of him deep inside you.

His eyes were still locked on you, his expression intense as he took in the sight of you, lips swollen and glistening, face flushed. Without a word, he leaned down, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips, then kissed you deeply, tasting the remnants of his release on your tongue. Your spit still connecting the two of you as he pulled away.

You weren’t in control tonight.

And realized you never wanted to be.

The room still pulsed with the weight of everything that had already happened, your skin burning from the reminder of it. Every inch of your body felt hypersensitive, your ass still aching from the sharp, relentless spanking he had given you earlier. You had thought flirting with the engineer would be harmless—just a bit of playful teasing. But now, pressed against mattress, legs trembling, mind spiraling, you regretted every second of it.

Lewis sat back, taking his time to admire you—your smudged makeup, the dazed look in your eyes, the way your lips parted, still swollen from him. His grip on your chin was firm yet deliberate, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed against your mouth before slipping past your lips, and instinctively, you closed around it.

“You look so beautiful like this” he murmured, voice thick and rough, heavy with satisfaction. His eyes darkened as he leaned in, pressing a slow, possessive kiss against your lips, making sure you felt just how much he enjoyed seeing you like this—how much he enjoyed you.

Then, just as quickly, he pulled away, leaving you lightheaded, floating somewhere between exhaustion and overwhelming need, your body still humming from the intensity.

You barely had time to collect yourself before he commanded, his voice low and steady, “Lean against the headboard”

You obeyed instantly, the cool wood pressing into your back, grounding you for just a moment. Your legs instinctively shifted together, seeking some sort of relief, but Lewis saw it, his eyes sharp and knowing.

His chuckle was soft, almost a whisper, but it was filled with command. “And don’t touch yourself”

Your stomach clenched at his words. You knew exactly what that meant—he wanted you completely vulnerable, entirely at his mercy.

Your fingers dug into the sheets, the cool fabric a contrast to the heat pooling in your body, the anticipation thick in the air. The soft hum of the vibrator echoed through the room, the sound sending a shiver of electricity down your spine.

You held your breath, feeling the excitement coil tightly in your chest, waiting for him to make his move. “Eyes on me, baby,” he commanded, and you immediately obeyed, locking your gaze with his, unable to look away from the dark intensity in his eyes.

And then, the vibrator was against you. The vibration against your sensitive clit sent a sharp moan slipping from your lips, your body jerking in reaction, your hips instinctively pushing toward it, chasing the sudden rush of pleasure.

“Ugh—fuck” you gasped, your body instinctively trying to close, your legs trembling with the intensity of the sensation. But before you could even think to move, Lewis’ hand was there, smooth and reassuring as it slid over your thigh, keeping you open, vulnerable.

And then his fingers—two of them—slipped inside you. The stretch was slow as though he wanted you to feel every inch of it, every movement. His fingers slid easily, coated in your slickness, pushing deeper, twisting, curling just right, filling you in ways that had your body trembling, your breath catching. You were so sensitive, every touch of his sending ripples of pleasure through you, your back arching, trying to meet him with every stroke.

Your head fell back against the headboard, the coolness of it in stark contrast to the fire building in your core, and you couldn’t stop the small whimper that escaped you as his fingers worked in perfect rhythm with the vibrator.

His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. “Don’t cum” he murmured, his voice dripping with teasing dominance.

Your entire body tensed in response, your mind spinning, trying to hold on. You were right there, your pleasure so close you could almost taste it, but he knew exactly how to make you wait, how to stretch the anticipation until it felt like you might shatter.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers continued to pump inside you, the vibrator pressing relentlessly, pushing you higher and higher with every second. “Be my good girl and don’t cum”

It was impossible. The pressure was unbearable, your body trembling, your thighs shaking under his control. The pleasure was building inside you like a coil, winding tighter and tighter until you thought you might snap—

And then, just as quickly, he stopped.

The vibrator lifted away. His fingers slipped out of you, leaving you gasping, shuddering in frustration, your body aching with need. You whimpered, your hands gripping the sheets, your mind clouded with a mix of frustration and desperation.

Lewis only smirked, watching you with amusement and something darker in his gaze. “Are you sorry now, Y/N?”

You nodded frantically, words tumbling out in a breathless, tears slowly falling from your eyes, a desperate plea. “Yes, yes, yes—I’m sorry, sir, I’m so sorry. Please, I’m sorry”

His eyes flickered with amusement, and he leaned down, his fingers still glistening with your wetness, hovering near your lips. “Mmm, I don’t think you are”

Before you could answer, his fingers pressed against your lips, and you instinctively opened your mouth, taking him in. You licked and sucked at his fingers, your tongue swirling around them, tasting the remnants of yourself as he watched, dark eyes never leaving yours. The control he held over you was absolute, and there was nothing you could do but submit, surrendering to him completely, letting him dictate every moment of your pleasure.

And just as you finished cleaning him off, he started again.

This time, he didn’t stop until you were crying—pleading, broken, overwhelmed with everything he’d done to you, with the need to be completely, utterly consumed by him.

[snowseasonmademe]

All up in Your Mind

warning ‼️: smut

word count: 3,116

pairing: lewis hamilton x black female reader

summary: lewis is obsessed with you and you love driving him crazy

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @whoevenisthiz @iamquiantrelle @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennasutopia @jessnotwiththemess

note: bae @irishmanwhore wanted this one too yall. say thanks everyone!!!!! she has great ideas :) this one was very fun to write, lewis is lowkey subby in this just a little bit. as always, enjoy and tell me what you think🤍!!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lewis sat at the head of the long conference table, his crisp black suit doing little to mask the heat simmering beneath his skin. His team was discussing strategy—sponsors, contracts, logistics—but every word went in one ear and out the other. All he could think about was you.

You had consumed his every thought since the night before. He should’ve known better than to let you out of his sight on that red carpet. You were untouchable, and radiant, your confidence commanding every room you walked into. In a crimson gown that hugged every curve just right, you moved like you knew you were the only one anyone could see. And you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

“Don’t stare too hard baby” you had teased as you leaned in close during the event, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, your fingers grazing his chest in a way that set his nerves on fire. “You know how easily… excited you get.”

As if he could help himself. Your sultry glances, the way you whispered wicked things into his ear when no one else could hear, the brush of your fingers along his thigh under the table—it had been pure torture. By the time you got home late that night, he was ready to claim you, but you had been too tired, and he had that early meeting to prepare for.

Now here he was, sitting in a room full of people, barely able to breathe because all he could see was you. The way you smiled. The confidence in your stride. The way you had whispered jokingly, “It’s like I’m the only thing on your mind”

But it was true. It wasn’t a joke. It was the truth.

Lewis exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the table as he shifted in his seat, his mind nowhere near the conversation happening around him. His team continued talking, numbers and projections flying across the room, but he couldn’t focus. Not when flashes of the night before kept playing in his mind—how effortlessly you had owned that red carpet, how your dress clung to your body in a way that made his mouth go dry, how you had leaned in close, whispering filth in his ear like you weren’t in a room full of cameras and flashing lights.

You had done it on purpose, of course. You always did. It was a game to you, watching how long he could last before he cracked, before he stopped caring who was around and dragged you somewhere private. But last night, he hadn’t had that luxury. You had teased him relentlessly, dancing just out of his reach, smirking over the rim of your champagne glass while he sat there, jaw clenched, hands fisted in his lap, hard as fuck beneath the table while the whole world watched.

And then, to make it worse, you had denied him. Had kissed him sweetly, stripped out of that sinful dress in front of him, and then crawled into bed with a yawn and a soft, “Goodnight baby” Like you hadn’t just spent the whole evening torturing him. Like you hadn’t left him lying awake for hours, painfully hard, fists clenched in the sheets, gritting his teeth because he couldn’t even touch himself—not when the only thing that would satisfy him was you.

You knew exactly what you had done. And judging by the way you had left that little message in his ear before disappearing into the crowd last night, you had known he’d be thinking about you today. You had wanted this. Wanted him distracted, restless, aching for you while he sat through his meetings, barely able to function.

His phone buzzed in his lap, and for the first time since he walked into the boardroom, Lewis moved fast. He glanced down, breath hitching at your name on the screen.

You: Bet you’re struggling.

His jaw tightened. You were so fucking smug.

Lewis: You have no idea.

You: Oh, I do.

You: Poor baby. So hard at work.

You: Or just hard?

His breath left him in a sharp exhale. His grip on the phone tightened as his other hand curled into a fist beneath the table. You were evil. He knew it, and yet, he still couldn’t get enough of you.

Lewis: You’re a fucking menace.

You: And yet, you love me.

Yeah. He did. And you knew it.

Lewis: You knew what you were doing last night.

You: Maybe I did. What’s on your mind?

He smirked, shaking his head. You always knew exactly how to get under his skin—in the best way.

Lewis: You. You’re all I’m thinking about.

You: I figured.

He stared at your response, his chest tightening. Of course, you figured. You always knew.

Lewis: The way you looked last night. The way you touched me.

You: Oh lol, you mean the way I teased you all night and then fell asleep the moment we got home?

Lewis: Exactly that.

You: Poor baby.

Lewis groaned softly, earning a curious glance from his manager across the table. He gave a quick, apologetic nod before typing again.

Lewis: Just wait until I get home.

There was a long pause before your reply came through.

You: You’ll have to catch me first.

His jaw tightened, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You were playing with him, and he loved every second of it.

The moment the meeting ended, Lewis was out of the building, his car tearing down the road at a pace just shy of reckless. His pulse raced as he thought about you waiting for him, probably grinning to yourself because you knew exactly how wound up he was.

When he finally stepped through the door, you were there, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, wearing one of his oversized shirts and nothing else. Your legs were bare, and the smile on your lips was nothing short of sinful.

“You made good time” you teased, tilting your head as you watched him.

“You’re a problem” he muttered, dropping his keys and crossing the room in a few long strides.

“A good one though” you replied, your tone light and playful as your fingers danced up his chest.

“The best kind” His voice was low and strained.

You smiled up at him, your hands sliding around his neck as you whispered, “Last night, all I wanted was you”

“Then why’d you fall asleep on me?” he teased, but his voice was thick with affection, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you closer.

“Because I like driving you crazy” you admitted with a sly grin. “And I knew you’d be thinking about me all day today”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he kissed you, his mouth crashing into yours in a way that made you gasp. His hands roamed your body with a hunger he didn’t bother to hide, pulling you flush against him as he deepened the kiss. You smiled into it, your fingers sliding into his hair and tugging just enough to make him groan.

“You’ve been torturing me” he murmured against your lips, his voice dark and thick with need.

“Mm, I know” you said, laughing softly as you pressed your body closer to his. “You love it though”

“Too much” he admitted, lifting you onto the counter in one smooth motion. His lips found your neck, his hands sliding up your thighs as you tilted your head back to give him more access.

“Keep this up” you teased, your voice breathy but still playful, “I might start thinking you can’t get enough of me”

“I can’t” he growled, his hands tightening on your hips as his lips moved lower.

Your laughter filled the air, rich and warm and utterly intoxicating. You cupped his face, forcing him to look up at you, and the heat in your eyes made his breath catch.

You didn’t rush. You wanted him desperate, aching, teetering on the edge before you gave him what he wanted.

Lewis stood there, watching you, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as you stepped back, your fingers trailing down his torso. His shirt was —somehow— already undone, exposing the warm, golden brown of his skin, the way the ink of his tattoos contrasted beautifully against it. He was everything—gorgeous, sculpted, utterly wrecked for you, and you hadn’t even really touched him yet.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he murmured, voice low and strained, a teasing smirk ghosting his lips.

“You like when I stare” you countered, letting your hands wander, sliding over the tight muscles of his abdomen, tracing the lines of his inked skin.

He let out a shaky breath when you kissed along his collarbone, your tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. “Yeah” he admitted, barely above a whisper, his hands tightening on your waist. “I like it.”

You smirked against his skin before pressing one last kiss to the hollow of his throat, then, without warning, you grabbed him by the belt and started walking him backward toward the bedroom.

Lewis let you. He let you take the lead, let you push him through the doorway and toward the bed, though you could feel the way his muscles tensed, the restraint in his grip. He was holding himself back, letting you play your game, but you knew—eventually, he’d snap. He always did.

“Turn around” you whispered when you reached the edge of the bed.

His eyes darkened, but he obeyed, letting you push him down so he sat on the mattress. His hands immediately found your thighs as you stepped between them, his touch firm, warm, possessive. You dragged your nails lightly up his chest, taking in the way his breath hitched.

You kissed him slowly at first, savoring the taste of him, the warmth of his mouth against yours. Then you deepened it, pushing him back until he was lying beneath you, your body pressing flush against his. His hands roamed over you, sliding under your shirt, up your back, fingers digging in like he needed to feel every inch of you.

You pulled away just long enough to strip your top off, and Lewis groaned, eyes locked onto you like he couldn’t get enough. His hands immediately covered your bare skin, smoothing over your waist, up to your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples in a way that made your stomach tighten with anticipation.

“Mmm” he hummed, mostly to himself, before his lips found your skin again. He kissed his way down your neck, over your collarbone, then lower, his mouth hot and open against your chest.

You let your head fall back, exhaling sharply when he dragged his tongue over your skin, his stubble leaving a faint burn in its wake. “Lewis” you breathed, rolling your hips against him, feeling the way he hardened beneath you.

He groaned, the sound deep and broken. “You feel what you do to me?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you reached between you, palming him through his pants. He was so hard already, twitching under your touch, and the way his head tipped back, the way his lips parted as he let out a breathy moan—it made heat coil low in your belly.

“You’re not very patient” you teased, undoing his belt, popping open the button of his slacks.

His gaze snapped back to you, his hands gripping your hips tight. “Not when it comes to you”

You kissed him again, swallowing his groan as you slid his pants and boxers down all the way off. He was thick and heavy in your hand, leaking already, and you loved knowing you’d done that to him.

He let out a shaky breath as you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking slowly, teasingly. His grip on your hips tightened, his body tensing beneath you. “Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish”

You smirked, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Who says I’m not ready?”

You dragged pussy along his length, letting him feel just how wet you were, and the way he groaned—low and rough and wrecked—made your stomach tighten in anticipation.

“Fuck, baby don’t tease me” he muttered, voice strained.

“Why not?” you purred, rocking your hips just enough to drive him insane.

“Because if you don’t sit on my dick in the next ten seconds, I’m flipping you over and handling it myself”

You knew he meant it. And while you loved pushing his buttons, you wanted him just as badly.

So you sank down onto him slowly, letting him stretch you open inch by inch. His hands shot to your thighs, gripping them hard, his moan deep and broken as he filled you completely.

“Jesus—fuck—” His head pressed back against the pillows, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before snapping back open to watch you.

You rolled your hips in slow, deliberate circles, dragging out every inch of him, making him feel every slick, tight squeeze of your body around his. It was torturous—exactly how you wanted it.

“That’s it baby” you purred, your nails grazing down his chest, tracing over the tattoos you knew he loved having your hands on. “Let me hear you”

And fuck, did he. A deep, shuddering moan tore from his throat, his head tilting back against the pillows as his hands tightened on your hips. He was trying to stay still, trying to let you set the pace, but you could feel the way his muscles tensed beneath your palms, the way his fingers flexed against your skin like he was barely holding on.

“You feel so fucking good” he groaned, voice thick with arousal. His grip tightened, like he wanted to take control, but he didn’t. Not yet. He loved this—watching you move, letting you take what you wanted, needing you so bad it made him ache.

You leaned forward, pressing your hands against his chest for leverage as you rolled your hips a little faster, grinding down against him in a way that made his breath catch. “You’re obsessed with me, aren’t you?”

His hands slid up your back, one tangling in your hair, the other pressing against the small of your back to keep you close. “I am” he admitted, his voice wrecked.

“Say it” you murmured against his lips, teasing, demanding.

His jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling beneath you. He let out a shuddering breath, eyes locked onto yours, raw and desperate. “I’m fucking obsessed with you”

The confession sent a rush of heat through your body, making your thighs tremble as you clenched around him. His head dropped back, a strangled moan escaping his throat as he felt it, as your body squeezed him tight and hot and dripping wet.

“Shit, baby” he groaned, his fingers pressing hard into your skin as he squirmed in pleasure beneath you. “You keep doing that and I won’t last.”

You smirked, leaning down to lick across his collarbone, your tongue tracing the ink on his chest, the tattoos he loved when you worshipped. He shuddered beneath you, letting out a sharp exhale, his hands moving restlessly over your body like he couldn’t get enough.

You pressed a slow, teasing kiss to his lips, moving against him in deep, rolling thrusts, grinding your clit against the base of his cock every time you came down on him. His moans were getting louder, more broken, his hands gripping your hips like he was right on the edge of losing it.

And then, just as you expected, he snapped.

With a rough growl, Lewis’s hands clamped down on your hips, fingers digging in almost bruisingly, and suddenly, he was slamming up into you. Hard. Fast. Desperate.

You gasped, your hands flying up to grip the headboard as he took over, fucking into you like he had no choice, like he needed it to survive.

“Lewis—fuck!” you cried out, your body jolting with every powerful thrust, your back arching as he drove deeper, harder.

“I tried” he gritted out between thrusts, his voice thick and wrecked. “Tried to let you have control, but fuck baby, I need you so bad”

You moaned helplessly, nails raking down his chest, leaving red streaks over his inked skin. “Yes—fuck—just like that baby”

His jaw clenched, his dark eyes locked onto yours, wild and hungry and completely, utterly gone for you. “Uuhh I fucking love this pussy”

You nodded frantically, your pleasure climbing unbearably fast. “Mmmmm” you moan loudly and desperately, not able to properly respond.

Lewis groaned, the sound breaking into something close to a whimper as he fucked into you harder, rougher, his hips snapping up to meet every grind of your body against him. You could feel how deep he was, how perfectly he stretched you, how completely he filled you, it was too good.

His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight, relentless circles, pushing you higher and higher, making your thighs shake as the pleasure coiled tight in your stomach, ready to snap.

“You’re gonna cum for me” he rasped, his voice shaking, his thrusts turning erratic. “Come on, baby. Give it to me.”

The moment his lips brushed your ear, whispering, “Let me feel it” you shattered.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, stealing the air from your lungs, making you cry out his name as your whole body trembled. You clenched around him, squeezing so tight that he cursed, his hips stuttering as he lost himself completely.

With a strangled groan, Lewis slammed up into you one last time, burying himself deep as he came, his moan breaking apart into breathless, desperate sounds against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both struggling to catch your breath, the only sound in the room your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the city outside.

Then, finally, Lewis let out a soft, breathless laugh, his arms wrapping tightly around you, pulling you down against his chest. “Fucking hell” he muttered.

You smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw. “That good, huh?”

His hands smoothed down your back, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. “You have no idea”

You grinned, completely satisfied, completely spent. “I have a pretty good idea”

Then you collapsed against his chest, pressing lazy kisses along his damp skin, feeling the rapid thump of his heart.

He let out a shaky laugh, arms wrapping tightly around you. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days”

You smirked, tracing a finger over one of his tattoos. “You’d die happy though.”

He groaned, tilting your chin up to kiss you slow and deep. “Ecstatic.”

note : j'ai une fic d'aurélien à venir pour vous tous le jour de la saint-valentin!

[snowseasonmademe]

Slow burn, Deep strokes

word count: 5,238

pairing: aurelien tchouameni x famous black female reader

warning ‼️: smut!!

summary: your little “meaningless flirting” game doesn’t go over well with aurélien

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennaskorner

@leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

@jessnotwiththemess @thepointlessideas

@amirawrah

note: ahhhh it’s great to be back with an aurelien smut. back to my root, yes gaaawwwdddd! a little makeup sex ;) i had sooo much fun writing this and i hope you love it just as much as i do. thank you to the anon that requested this. as always, enjoy and tell ‘em what you think❤️‍🔥!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

YSL Fall/Winter 2025, Paris.

The air outside the venue buzzed with electricity, camera flashes like lightning against the night. You stepped out of the black SUV like it was your runway. You didn’t need a red carpet—your presence turned concrete into velvet. Black 30 inch middle part bussdown laid like silk, body hugged by a custom YSL matching three peice set. A vision.

And right next to you? Your man. Aurélien in custom Yves Saint Laurent: smooth black turtleneck, tailored overcoat, strong shoulders, glinting chain peeking from under his collar. He looked like wealth and warning.

Together, you were art.

You clutched his hand, confident in your stride, soaking up the attention as you made your way into the venue. Front row seats, of course—nothing less.

You slid into your seat, legs crossed, fingers grazing the inside of Aurélien’s wrist. His head tilted toward you, dark eyes dragging down your figure like he was memorizing every inch.

“You look so sexy tonight bébé” he murmured, voice a low curl of smoke in your ear.

You turned to him with a slow, smug smile. “You make this outfit illegal. We should’ve just stayed home”

The corners of his mouth curved upward, but his gaze stayed trained on you—watching, simmering. You turned your attention back toward the aisle, grinning to yourself. You were feeling bold tonight. Flirty. Teasing.

Every person who came to greet you got a dose of charm. Your compliments were slick and sweet, and your eyes sparkled just a little more than usual. A well-known model greeted you with a soft “Hey beautiful” and you replied with a slow up-and-down gaze and a sly, “You’re lucky I’m taken.”

Aurélien chuckled once under his breath. “You’re in a mood”

“I’m always in a mood” you purred, brushing your nails down his thigh. “And you love it”

He did. But tonight, that mood was running hot enough to stir the air.

Then he appeared.

“Damson!” you exclaimed, eyes widening as your good friend strode toward you.

Damson Idris. Actor. Trouble. One of your favorite people in the industry—charming, familiar, and someone who always made you feel seen. You’d worked with him before—just a couple episodes on Snowfall, but the bond had clicked instantly. The playful banter, the creative chemistry, the late-night rehearsals with wine and playlists. You kept in touch here and there, a few DMs, liking each other’s stories, the occasional FaceTime. But it had been months since you’d seen him in person.

You stood up before he even reached your row, arms already out. He pulled you into a tight hug, scent warm and familiar. You curled your arms around his shoulders, letting your hand linger a little on his bicep as you squeezed. “I’ve missed your fine ass” you said under your breath, teasingly.

He laughed against your ear. “Still got the slick mouth, huh?”

You both pulled back with matching grins, giving each other a cheek kiss.

Then you remembered your man. You turned, still holding Damson’s arm, and reached for Aurélien’s hand.

“Come here baby, this is Damson” you said sweetly, almost too sweet.

Then to Damson: “Damson, this is my man, Aurélien.”

The handshake was firm. Respectful. But heavy with unspoken weight.

Aurélien didn’t like men who stood too close. Damson didn’t like men who got defensive too quick. And you? You just stood there smiling like nothing was amiss, your hand still on Damson’s arm, the other laced with Aurélien’s.

All three of you sat. You in the middle. Aurélien shifted closer to your left. Possessive.

You placed a calming hand on his knee, still smiling.

But the real show hadn’t even started yet.

You leaned toward Damson during the first walk. Whispered about the velvet coats. Complimented the men’s loafers. Your knees brushed. He made you laugh a few times—those inside jokes still hit. You touched his wrist once, just a friendly little nudge.

You didn’t think it was that serious.

But Aurélien noticed everything.

“I really like Damson’s shirt” you said, your voice light, looking over at your man. “It would look so good on you baby.”

That was it.

No words from Aurélien. No expression. Just stillness.

He didn’t speak to you for the rest of the show. He didn’t laugh. Didn’t nod. Just watched the models walk like it was any other night. Cold.

When the final walk happened and the house lights came up, you hugged Damson goodbye, promising to catch up soon. Then you turned back to Aurélien.

“Are you ready to g—?”

But he had already grabbed your hand, firm, not rough, but tight. He led you toward the exit with purpose, not aggression—controlled, composed.

Outside, before you could reach the car, a familiar voice called out.

“Hey gorgeous”

You turned to see Devin Booker approaching, hands in his pockets, smile boyish and soft. Longtime friend. Another one who always gave you light.

You greeted him warmly, the way you always had. “Did you get a new skincare routine or something? Your skin is glowing Dev.”

He laughed low. “Stop playing. I’m always glowing like this.”

Behind you, Aurélien’s hand moved from your waist to the curve of your ass, grip steady.

Devin gave him a nod. “Saw your goal the other day. You did your thing, bro.”

Aurélien replied without a flicker. “ Preciate it.”

You said your goodbyes and barely made it five steps before Aurélien was pulling you toward the car again. You looked down at your intertwined hands—his grip was tighter than usual.

“You don’t have to squeeze my hand like that.”

No answer.

Just the sound of your heels clicking along the sidewalk.

When you reached the car, he opened the door for you, stepping aside without meeting your eyes.

You stood in front of it, unmoving.

“What the hell are you mad about right now?”

Still no response.

“Hello??......Aurélien?........Baby—”

“In the car”

His voice was dry. Still. Like water right before it boils.

You blinked.

The look he gave you—calm, unreadable, a quiet warning. You knew that look. The one that said, Push me again, and you’ll find out.

You didn’t argue. You slid into the passenger seat with a shaky sigh, pulled your seatbelt across your chest, and turned your face to the window.

And then the silence grew thick.

He didn’t start the engine with a growl. No sharp turns. No speeding. No dramatic tension.

Just a slow, easy roll onto the road.

He drove like he had nowhere to be. One hand on the wheel, the other on the gearshift. His knuckles calm. Not tense. Not flexed.

The kind of stillness that comes from restraint, not peace.

No music.

No thigh touches.

No usual post-show analysis. Nothing.

He didn’t even glance at you.

And that scared you more than yelling ever could.

The soft click of the gear shift into park was the loudest sound either of you had heard in the last thirty minutes.

No music.

No talking.

Just the eerie stillness of the drive home.

Aurélien hadn’t looked at you once the whole way. Not a glance at your thighs crossed beside him. Not a hand drifting to your leg like usual. He didn’t even ask if you wanted food, which he always did—whether you were full or not. That kind of silence from him wasn’t loud—it was surgical. Measured. It was intention.

He drove like he had nowhere to be, like every red light was a meditation session. No sharp turns. No deep sighs or wheel gripping. Just one hand steady at 10 o’clock, the other resting on his thigh, his eyes calm but unreadable as they watched the road.

And that made it worse.

The way he wasn’t showing his hand.

Wasn’t raising his voice.

Wasn’t giving you anything.

It was eating you alive.

You sat in the passenger seat, stiff and trying not to fidget, your fresh hair swaying every time you turned your head toward him. But he didn’t bite. Not once.

When he finally pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine, he didn’t immediately hop out. He just sat there for a moment, hand still on the wheel like he was winding down from something… or preparing to start something.

Then he moved. Slowly. Calmly.

He stepped out of the car, his tailored YSL pants hugging his thighs just right as he rounded the vehicle. You swallowed. Every step he took felt like a countdown. Not to an explosion—but to a reckoning.

He opened your door and extended his hand, and though you wanted to keep up the attitude, you slipped your hand into his too fast, drawn to the warmth and quiet dominance of his touch. He helped you out with that same effortless grace he always had, but tonight, it wasn’t affectionate. It was possessive.

Still no words.

Inside, he let you enter first and followed behind without so much as a glance. His pace didn’t change. His energy didn’t spike. He didn’t drop his keys angrily on the counter or throw off his jacket. No.

He walked past you, pulled off his watch with silent precision, then made his way into the living room and sank into the couch like a man settling into control.

You watched him like he was a stranger. Mouth parted. Brow furrowed.

What the hell kind of crime did you commit to get this kind of response from Captain Tchouaméni?

He was cooler than when he got benched. Cooler than when a ref gave him a red card. And that scared you more than yelling ever could.

You followed, standing just outside the living room, arms crossed tightly under your chest.

He looked… too relaxed. Legs wide, arm draped across the back of the couch, like he was lounging after a long day. His face, though—that was where the fire sat. Not blazing. Not wild. Controlled.

You stepped closer.

“What the hell was that about?” you asked, sharp with attitude but laced with confusion.

He didn’t blink. “I should be asking you that.”

You scoffed lightly, trying to stay grounded. “Aurélien, what are you talking about?”

Then came the tap on his thigh. That silent demand.

“Come here.”

The way he said it was quiet. Casual. Like he wasn’t asking. Like you were already going to obey.

And you did. You walked slowly, pretending to be unaffected, pretending your thighs weren’t pressing together with every step. You sat across his right thigh, back straight, gaze fixed forward like you were watching a commercial break.

But you could feel his eyes piercing into the side of your face.

“You want to play games?” he said, low and even, his fingers sliding up to your jaw. “We can play games.”

He turned your head to the left gently but without room to resist. You were eye to eye now, and the look on his face? Calm. Focused. Like a man who had already decided how this would end.

You swallowed hard. His thigh beneath you was too relaxed. Too steady. And that told you everything.

“Ugh, are you mad at me for some meaningless flirting, Aurélien? Seriously?” you bit out, trying to reclaim the upper hand.

“I didn’t say that” he said, jaw tightening just slightly, eyes still on yours. That stare? It was so sharp it felt like he was peeling the truth off you.

Shit.

You stiffened. You had just told on yourself.

“O-okay well… what do you want me to say? I was just playing. It’s fine.” Your voice dropped into something softer. Less sure. He could feel the shift. You could feel it too.

His hand slid up your back, warm and firm. Then he wrapped it around the back of your neck, just tight enough to steal your breath. He pulled you an inch closer, his voice low, heat curling off every word.

“You love to play” he murmured. “Why don’t we play together, hm?”

You rolled your eyes, growing irritated, even though your thighs were already tightening from the tension.

“Aurélien, I’m not about to play stupid games with you right now. Come on.”

You made a move to stand, shifting your weight and placing your hand on his other leg in front of you for leverage. But he didn’t budge. Instead, his grip locked around you, holding you firm in place—one large, warm palm spreading over your thigh, fingers curling into the flesh possessively. His other hand stayed at the back of your neck, fingers tangled in your hair, applying just enough pressure to make you remember who was in control.

You stilled.

“No?” he said, voice like smooth velvet stretched over fire. “You’ve already been playing this whole time.”

Then his head moved forward, and his lips—full, soft, but commanding—pressed against your neck.

The first kiss was featherlight. Teasing.

The second… slower. Wetter.

He kissed like he was unwrapping you. Not with lust alone, but with intention. With memory. His thick tongue made slow, deliberate strokes up the curve of your neck, the kind that left a warm trail even after he pulled away. Your breath caught in your throat.

You tried to hold on to your frustration. Tried to stay sharp. “Are we gonna talk about this or—”

“Shhhh.” His interruption was low and gentle, but it silenced you completely. “Enough talking. You got yourself into enough trouble”

The finality in his voice made your stomach flutter. You swallowed hard.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You were just trying to breathe evenly now, trying to resist the way his lips and tongue made your body ache. He continued moving, mouth painting slow circles into your skin as if he had all night.

“Aurélien…” you whispered, your hips beginning to move instinctively, rolling in subtle circles against his thigh. You felt the muscle tense beneath you—just slightly—but he didn’t stop.

“No talking, I said”

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t shift in tone. But something about the calm way he said it made you freeze. You obeyed. Your chest rose and fell faster as you realized what kind of night this would be.

Oh, he’s serious, you thought, pulse fluttering in your throat.

And then he moved.

With maddening slowness, he shifted you off his lap. You didn’t even notice the transition until your back was against the couch cushions, and he was hovering above you—those deep, intense eyes studying your body like it was something to be solved.

And then… he started undressing you.

One. Piece. At. A. Time.

First, your jacket.

He peeled it away like he was revealing something sacred. When your arms were free, he took your hands in his, brought them to his lips, and kissed your knuckles, your palms, your wrists—his breath warming your skin in the most delicate way. Then he traced his mouth up your arms, over your shoulders, and across your collarbones. Slow. Methodical.

Then your shoes.

He slid down to the edge of the couch, unbuckling each strap as if it mattered, and placed your heels neatly to the side. Then he lifted your foot gently into his hand, kissing the arch, the top, the ankle. Worshipping. Devouring.

You were already starting to tremble.

Next, your pants.

He looked at you the entire time, never breaking the tension. He hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled them down, inch by inch. Your breath hitched when his knuckles brushed your thighs. Once they were gone, his mouth replaced them—sinking into the soft, thick flesh of your inner thighs. He kissed, licked, and gently bit, leaving no part untouched. Then he reached your panties.

He didn’t move them. Didn’t pull them aside.

He just kissed over them. Soft, deliberate pressure against your heat.

You gasped, your hips twitching upward. His hands pinned them down.

Last, your top.

He sat back, tugging the fabric up your torso, watching every inch of skin appear. When your top was fully gone, he leaned in again. He kissed your stomach, your ribs, your waist. He pressed his mouth to your lower abdomen, slow and possessive. When he reached your breasts, he didn’t touch. He hovered, let his breath drag across your nipples, and then pulled back to watch you squirm.

Your whole body was buzzing.

And then—he stood up.

It took everything in you not to beg.

He began undressing himself, just as torturously slow. Untying his shoes with perfect control. Removing his tailored black jacket and revealing the fitted turtleneck beneath, snug across his chest and arms. Your eyes were glued to his biceps, thick and veiny, flexing slightly as he adjusted the sleeves.

He rolled them up to his elbows. Slowly. You licked your lips without meaning to.

Then the belt.

He unbuckled it with one hand, each sound echoing in the silence. Then the zipper. You sucked in a sharp breath. When he pushed his pants down, your eyes dropped to his thighs—powerful and thick, every step of muscle flexing as he shifted his stance.

He stood there in just his grey briefs.

Already hard.

Your mouth watered. You clenched your thighs together, desperate for friction, for him—anything.

And then finally, he pulled them down.

He let them fall, exposing every hard, beautiful inch of himself to you. Full, heavy, throbbing. Your eyes locked there, a tremble spreading across your legs.

But he didn’t step forward. He didn’t move.

He just stood there. Letting you see him. Letting the weight of anticipation grow unbearable.

Because somehow, you knew—

It wouldn’t be that easy.

He came back to you like he never meant to leave, his tall frame casting a slow-moving shadow as he leaned over, wrapping your legs around his waist. His skin was warm, flushed, his body heavy with tension and hunger he refused to release. You could feel the full weight of his dick pressed against your lower stomach, thick and pulsing, a dark promise he still wouldn’t deliver on. It was maddening.

His kiss felt like a curse—like it carried a spell meant to make you forget how to breathe. He moved with excruciating control, soft lips dragging over yours, deep and slow, as if he wanted you to feel every millimeter of contact. No urgency. Just tension and the taste of punishment.

He touched your thighs like they were made of velvet—squeezing, stroking, dragging his palms up and down with reverence and control. Every movement was thought out. Intentional. He was worshipping you… while withholding you.

You arched your back instinctively, trying to grind against him, hoping for just the slightest hint of friction—but he shifted his hips and pressed his full weight into you, anchoring you down into the couch cushions. His restraint was terrifying. Sexy. Cruel.

“No. Stay still” he said, low and sharp, like a warning wrapped in honey.

Then he dipped back into your neck, mouth warm and open, tongue slow and wet, tasting you like you were his last meal. The pace. The pressure. The way he lingered. He was savoring you.

“But baby please—” you begged, voice small, broken by need.

He cut you off without even looking up. “No. Talking. Do I need to make you be quiet?”

The cold authority in his voice sent a shiver up your spine. You blinked, speechless, throat dry. All you could do was reach for him, pulling him back into your mouth, letting him kiss you again, needing to feel some part of him where he allowed it.

He didn’t stop. He was everywhere now—his mouth branding your neck with hickeys that felt like bruised memories, raw and fresh. Each one more possessive than the last. Your mind briefly flashed to the press run you were starting in two days. Hair. Makeup. Stylist. Publicist. All of them asking how you were going to hide the evidence of the man who was fucking you like his heart would stop if he didn’t.

You tried to keep quiet, but your breath betrayed you—coming out in short, high-pitched moans, shivering through your throat. You could feel the wetness dripping down between your legs, soaking through to the cushion. It was humiliating, how much he could make you need him without even being inside you.

Then, like he was done playing with his food, he flipped you over effortlessly, and you found yourself facedown, ass arched for him. He didn’t say a word. Just looked. You could feel his eyes on you, dragging heat up your spine.

He pressed one hand to the back of your neck, the other gripping both your wrists together like he was locking you into place. You could barely move. Barely breathe.

You expected him to take you. Ravish you. Finally give in.

But instead… you felt the heavy, teasing slide of his tip running through your folds, slow and slick. He dragged it up and down, letting it graze over your clit, circling your entrance, never entering.

It was unbearable. You whimpered.

“You want it, bébé? Take it. Go ahead and take it.”

You blinked. Was he serious?

You pushed your hips back, trying to line him up, trying to take it—and just when you thought you had him, he moved his hips back. Taunting. Laughing silently.

“Ah, not quite. Try again.”

Your eyes stung with frustrated tears. You clenched your fists. If he wasn’t holding you down, you might’ve flipped over and cursed him out. But instead, you tried again. Pushed back harder. Still missed. Another denied entry.

He chuckled low in his throat. A breathy, cruel little sound.

“You can do it. Try again. You want it, so take it.”

Your heart was pounding. You were overheating. Dripping. Shaking. You took a deep breath, exhaled sharply, and threw your hips back with more force—and this time… finally… he let you take him.

“Auuhhhh shit” he moaned behind you, his voice rough and desperate, like he hadn’t expected how good it would feel either. That sound made your walls clench tight around him, welcoming him home.

You moaned, too. Loud and messy. The sound of him sliding in echoed—slick, obscene. You were soaked, stretched, filled. Every nerve ending lit up.

And then he started to move—slow. So goddamn slow.

There was no slamming, no pounding. Just deep, luxurious strokes that made you feel every inch of him.

He leaned down, his lips right by your ear.

“Putain. Si humide pour moi. Est-ce que Damson se sent si bien ?” (Fuck. So wet for me. Does Damson feel this good?)

You froze. Every part of you went still, trembling.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The question punched the air out of you.

He stopped. Entirely.

“When I ask a question, you answer.”

The silence stretched until you finally forced the words out.

“I don’t know how Damson feels, Aurélien. Please just keep going.”

His grip on your wrists tightened. His other hand curled harder around the back of your neck.

“You were acting like you know exactly how he feels” he murmured, his tone chilling even as his hips began to move again—slow, even slower than before.

Every word, every stroke, was punishment. And you loved it.

He let go of your wrists slowly, with a kind of terrifying calm, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. Your arms dropped limply against the couch, trembling, weak from restraint and overstimulation. But he wasn’t done—not even close.

His grip shifted—one hand wrapped firm and possessive around your neck, thumb resting just beneath your jaw while his other hand dropped to your hip. He grabbed it like he owned it. Like it was his hip. His body. His to take.

Then he pulled you back into him with a brutal snap of his hips.

Faster.

Harder.

Louder.

There was no buildup this time. He went straight to punishment. And it felt so good you almost blacked out. The lewd sound of his hips slamming into your soaked, swollen core echoed through the living room like music made of sin. Your mouth dropped open, the couch cushions catching your desperate moans as you gripped at anything—his thigh, the cushion, your own flesh.

“I— I’m sorry, baby—fuck—I’m sorry, please—oh my god—” you gasped between every deep thrust.

“Don’t apologize now” he snapped. His voice was low, like a growl coming from somewhere deep in his chest. You could feel it vibrate against your back when he leaned in, fucking you so deeply you saw stars behind your eyes.

You screamed into the couch, body writhing from the inside out. You were moaning, crying, gasping—completely undone. Then suddenly, just like that, the rhythm shifted. Slowed. Slowed way down.

You cried out in pure frustration. The loss of that brutal pace felt like physical pain. His dick still filled you to the brim, but now it moved achingly slow, grinding with such teasing softness that it felt like he was mocking your desperation.

“No—no no no, baby don’t do this, please” you whimpered, your face damp with sweat and tears. “I need you so bad.”

But he didn’t give in. He wasn’t done toying with you yet.

“What about Devin, hm?” he murmured right into your ear. His voice was silk-wrapped steel. Cruel in how soft it was. “You don’t need him?”

The mention of another man’s name from his lips, at a moment like this, made you feel completely raw. You could barely speak.

“No, Aurélien” you choked. “I don’t need him. I need you. Only you. Please.”

His breath hitched behind you. He liked hearing it. Needed it.

“You need me” he repeated slowly, savoring every word like a sweet piece of fruit.

Then the snap.

His hips collided with your ass again, and again, and again. Hard. He was back to that punishing pace, but somehow deeper this time. Wilder.

“Yes—ahhhh—I need you!” you moaned, louder, more open, more desperate.

“That’s right. You need me. Remember that shit.” His voice was strained now, laced with pleasure, his hands anchoring you in place while his thick dick dragged in and out of you, perfectly hitting every swollen nerve inside your walls.

You were wrecked.

The wet, sticky sounds of your bodies filled the air—filthy, obscene. His hips slapped against your ass like waves crashing against the shore. Your legs couldn’t hold your body up anymore, but it didn’t matter—he was doing all the work, gripping your hips tighter and dragging you back onto him with perfect, relentless control.

His strokes got longer. Still hard, still just as deep. You weren’t thinking. Not about Damson. Not about Devin. Not about your hair, your image, your press tour. The only thing in the world was how deep Aurélien was inside your guts.

Then he collapsed over you, body pressing you flat against the couch. His chest against your back. His skin sticky and warm. His moans right in your ear. You could feel his abs flex and roll with every grind of his hips. His weight—solid, hot, heavy—felt like a blanket you never wanted to crawl out from under.

You pushed your ass back, trying to feel more, needing all of him.

“You want me to cum in this pussy bébé?” he whispered into your ear, voice rough, thick with lust.

“Yes baby” you cried. “It’s yours. Cum inside me.”

One final, deep, soul-shattering thrust—and he was there. You could feel it. His release flooding into you, hot and thick, painting your insides in wave after wave as he groaned your name into your neck.

You came with him. Hard. Violently. Your whole body shook like an earthquake, moans raw and broken. You didn’t even realize you were crying again until his lips kissed your shoulder.

He stayed deep inside you. Kept moving. Kept fucking you through your orgasm until the aftershocks made your toes curl and your brain go blank.

He didn’t just fill you.

He claimed you.

You couldn’t hear.

You couldn’t see.

You could only feel.

The room around you was blurred into silence. Your ears were ringing faintly, like you’d just come up from underwater. Your eyes fluttered open and closed, lashes sticking together from sweat. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was the body above you. The man still wrapped around you like a blanket of heat and muscle and dominance.

Aurélien’s lingering moans vibrated through his chest, pressed against your back. You could feel the way his voice rumbled in your bones. It was like he was still inside you in more ways than one. His hips were flush against your ass, barely twitching as aftershocks rolled through both of you.

His lips moved slowly over your temple—kissing, not just touching. Full, plush lips planting small, hot promises into your skin. You could taste salt on your lips, unsure whether it was your own sweat or his.

Then his body shifted.

His weight lifted off your back inch by inch, peeling away like a warm, weighted blanket. You immediately missed the pressure, the fullness, the suffocating closeness that had held you together through all that pleasure. Cool air licked at your damp skin, making you shiver even in the heat of the room.

His big hands slid back down to your hips.

Firm. Possessive. Gentle now, but still in control. His fingertips flexed as he held you steady and slowly pulled out of you. You gasped—your body clenched in protest at the loss. But even that couldn’t prepare you for the next sensation.

His cum.

Spilling out of you.

Warm and thick, it leaked down your thighs in heavy drips, slow and sticky like maple syrup sliding down the bark of a tree. You twitched with each droplet, your oversensitive core pulsing as his release oozed from your swollen folds.

You barely had time to whimper before you felt him again. Not inside, not commanding—but there. His arms wrapped around you like a balm. Solid and grounding. He pulled you in so close, your cheek met his slick chest. His heart was still beating like a war drum under your ear, but softer now, fading.

You hummed. You couldn’t help it. The vibration of your contentment made his arms tighten around you in response, like he couldn’t let go even if he tried.

This embrace was different.

No tension.

No heat.

Just warmth.

Like he needed you close as much as you needed him.

You melted into him, fully limp, legs trembling with aftershocks and thighs still sticky with the mess he made of you. Your breath slowly synced with his. His fingertips traced random patterns along your spine—up your back, over your shoulder blades, across the curve of your waist. Like he was still learning your body, even after owning it completely.

The couch was a mess—pillows thrown, cushions damp, the scent of sex thick in the air—but you didn’t care. You were wrapped in his arms. Safe. Loved. Fucked out and satisfied in a way that felt like more than just physical.

Aurélien’s lips brushed against your hair again.

“No more of that” he murmured, low and gravelly. “I won’t be so nice next time.”

The words rolled down your spine like thunder.

You knew he was serious. That wasn’t a threat—it was a promise. Next time, there wouldn’t be any teasing. No patience. No letting you off the hook.

And honestly?

You’d worry about that tomorrow.

For now, you just exhaled, let your body melt into his, and let the night hold you both still.

[snowseasonmademe]

Golden birthday boy

warning ‼️: smut (masturbation) and mentions of intercourse

word count: 1,785

pairing: william saliba x black female reader

summary: you couldn't be together on wilo's birthday so you sent him a little gift for his special golden birthday

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennaskorner @iamquiantrelle @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @jessnotwiththemess @thepointlessideas

note: heyy y'all know i had to do a little something for my other french husband!!! it's something short and sweet ;) as always, enjoy and tell me what you think🤍!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

William had always hated leaving. No matter how many times he packed a bag, no matter how many flights he caught, no matter how necessary the trip was—he hated it. And you? You made it even harder.

The morning of his departure, you were up with him before the sun, slipping out of bed as soon as his alarm went off. Sleep still clung to your voice as you murmured, "Go shower, I'll finish packing your carry-on."

He didn't argue. He knew better than to try-just like he knew that when he came back into the room, freshly showered and towel-drying his hair, his bag would be perfectly arranged, just how he liked it. His vitamins and protein bars in one pocket, his favorite cologne tucked into another, his passport right where it needed to be. You had even made sure his headphones were fully charged, anticipating his needs before he even thought to check.

"Mon amour, you don't have to do all this" he murmured, but you just rolled your eyes, pressing a to-go cup of tea into his hands.

"I do" you corrected, smoothing out the collar of his hoodie. "Because I love you. And because I don't want you calling me from the airport, complaining you forgot something”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, sipping his tea, letting the warmth settle in his chest. He watched you move around the kitchen, packing up a small breakfast for him, making sure everything was set before the boys woke up.

But of course, your twins Desange and Gédéon were too restless to sleep through his departure.

As soon as they heard their papa was leaving, they toddled into the kitchen in their pajamas, their curls messy from sleep.

"Papa, you go to work?" Gédéon asked, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Oui, mon fils" William said softly, crouching down to their level. "But I'll be home soon"

"Promise?" Desange tilted his head, his voice hopeful.

"Je promets" William assured, pressing kisses to both of their little foreheads.

"Love you, Papa!" they chorused, and William's heart clenched as they giggled out, "Happy birthday, Papa!" in their sweet half-French, half-American accents, the words a little clumsy but full of love.

He hugged them both tight before standing, his eyes finding yours.

You were already watching him, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over your chest. Your expression was soft, but there was something else beneath it-something deeper.

"Come on" you murmured, nodding toward the front door.

He followed without question, stepping outside with you, the morning air cool against his skin.

The house was still quiet behind you, but out here, there was only you and him.

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing yourself into him. His chin rested on top of your head as he sighed, inhaling the scent of you, memorizing the feel of your body against his.

"I hate when you leave" you admitted, voice muffled against his chest.

"I know" he whispered, tightening his hold on you.

A beat of silence stretched between you before you pulled back just enough to look up at him.

Then, with a soft, knowing smile, you lifted onto your toes and pressed your lips to his.

It started slow, warm, familiar, reassuring. But then you deepened it, your fingers tangling in the hem of his hoodie, and suddenly, the kiss wasn't just sweet-it was lingering. It was full of promise.

Full of longing.

When you finally pulled back, William was breathing a little heavier.

"For the road" you murmured, brushing your thumb against his jaw before slipping something into his hand. A folded letter.

"Open it when you have a quiet moment"

He nodded, his fingers tightening around the paper.

And with one last kiss, you let him go.

Now, hours later, William sat in his hotel room, the letter unfolded in his hands, his heart aching in the best way possible.

He could hear your voice in every word, feel your love in every sentence. His chest felt tight as he read about how grateful you were for him, how proud you were of the life you built together. You had married young, at 21, barely stepping into adulthood, but neither of you ever regretted it.

You had built something strong, something unshakable.

And God, he missed you.

By the time he reached the end, his fingers were gripping the paper tightly.

"Since we can't celebrate together tonight" you wrote, "check the front pocket of your duffle bag, my golden birthday boy. Here's a little something to hold you over until you're back where you belong"

His brows furrowed in curiosity, but when he unzipped the small pocket. He saw golden confetti and then, his breath hitched.

Bright red lace.

His fingers tightened around the delicate fabric, his throat going dry.

A slow, knowing chuckle rumbled in his chest.

Mon dieu...

Then, as if on cue, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He grabbed it, unlocking it to see a message from you.

"I hope you don't miss me too much, Mr. Saliba" There was an attachment. A video.

His pulse kicked up as he opened it, the screen filling with an image that sent heat straight through his veins.

You were lying in bed, wrapped in the same red lace, the dim lighting casting a glow on your bare skin. He could see the soft rise and fall of your chest, the curve of your thighs, the way your fingers traced along your waist. His jaw tightened as he pressed play.

"Joyeux anniversaire, mon amour" your voice purred through the speakers, smooth and teasing.

He swallowed hard, watching as you caressed your own body, your fingers skimming over the soft swell of your breasts, down the dip of your stomach. Your eyes were locked onto the camera, dark and full of something wicked, something meant only for him.

Damn.

His grip on the phone tightened when your hand drifted lower, to the hem of your panties-the same ones he was holding in his other hand. And then, slowly, agonizingly, you slid them to the side.

His breath caught.

"You better hurry home baby" you murmured, a smirk playing on your lips.

William exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. His whole body was tense, heat pooling low in his stomach.

Then, you circled your clit, extra slow, letting out soft, breathy moans that sent fire straight through his veins.

William's jaw tightened, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He could see the subtle tremor in your thighs, the way your hips shifted slightly as you worked yourself up, teasing yourself like you knew he would if he were there.

"You miss me baby?" you whispered to the camera, your voice like silk, smooth and dripping with desire.

His grip on the lace in his hand tightened. Merde.

You kept talking, your words honeyed filth, meant only for him, meant to break him. You told him how empty you felt without him, how your fingers could never compare, how you needed him, how you ached for him.

Every syllable sent another wave of heat through his body, making his blood run hot, making his patience hang by a fragile thread.

Just when you were sure you were wet enough, you slid two fingers inside yourself.

William inhaled sharply, his whole body locking up as he watched your fingers disappear inside you, your hips rolling to meet every slow thrust.

Then he heard it.

The wet, obscene sound of your arousal, filling the quiet of his hotel room, cutting through the air like a goddamn siren song.

His entire body reacted.

It was like he could feel it.

Every slick push of your fingers, every torturous thrust—you weren't just touching yourself. He was too.

He could feel himself inside you, feel the way your walls gripped your fingers the way they always gripped him, feel the heat, the wetness, the need pouring off you in waves. His muscles tensed as his mind betrayed him, his body tricking itself into believing he was the one inside you, not your fingers. Every soft gasp, every breathy whimper, every desperate plea—it was all for him.

And he needed to be there.

He was painfully hard now, his length straining against his shorts, pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. But he refused to touch himself. He refused to let this be enough. No. He needed you. All of you.

His jaw clenched as you pushed yourself closer and closer to the edge, your back arching, your free hand gripping the sheets, your legs trembling as pleasure overtook you. His name spilled from your lips between gasps, and that-that was almost enough to finish him off right there.

Then, with a final cry, you came undone.

William let out a sharp breath as he watched your fingers curl, your body tightening, your face twisting with pleasure before melting into something softer, more blissed—out.

He watched the way your chest rose and fell, the slow aftershocks still making your thighs shake.

He was utterly wrecked.

And then—you did it.

You slipped your fingers from your body, still glistening, still wet with evidence of your pleasure, and brought them to your lips.

Holding his gaze through the camera, you licked them clean.

Slow. Savoring every second.

And just like that—he could taste you.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his stomach tightening at the phantom sensation. He knew that taste like he knew the game of football — intimately, instinctively, like second nature.

He could feel the warmth of you on his tongue, the sweet, heady flavor of you that he had memorized, that he had worshiped more times than he could count.

His body ached with the need to press his mouth between your thighs, to replace your fingers with his tongue, to drink you in until you were shaking just like you were on that screen.

And then, with a wicked little smirk, you blew him a kiss.

The video ended.

William exhaled harshly, his chest rising and falling as he ran a hand down his face, trying— and failing-to get himself under control.

His body was a furnace, burning with need, his muscles strung so tight he felt like he might snap at any second.

Then, his phone buzzed again.

A new message.

"Make another baby or two when you get back?"

His head tipped back against the pillows, a deep, low chuckle leaving his lips, rough with amusement and something darker, something deeper.

"Merde, ma chérie.." he muttered, shaking his head, his free hand rubbing at the tension in his jaw.

You had no idea what you had just started.

And now?

Now, all he could think about was getting home to you.

[snowseasonmademe]

Dance for you

warning ‼️: smut

word count: 7,011

paring: aurelien x black female reader

summary: after months and months of your man asking you to give him a lap dance, you decide his birthday was the perfect time to show him your appreciation

note: when i tell yall i had to take SEVERAL break to breath when i was writing this. it was an intense writing process but i made it out alive. with that being said prepare yourselves. if your ovulating im sorry and you’re welcome. as always enjoy and tell me what you think❤️‍🔥!!!

The night had been electric from the moment he walked through the door. The sound of his keys jingling in the lock made your heart race, but nothing could have prepared you for the sight of him when he stepped inside. His tall, broad frame filled the doorway, his fitted black shirt straining slightly against his shoulders and arms, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. You almost lost yours. The way his big arms flexed as he shrugged off his jacket, the sharp line of his jaw, and the way his dark eyes immediately locked onto you—it all made your mouth water. You felt arousal building already as you took him in, your fingers clenching at your sides to stop yourself from running to him.

“Happy birthday baby” you greeted, stepping closer, your voice a little breathless. You tilted your head up, your lips curving into a sultry smile as you placed a slow, lingering kiss on his cheek, your mouth brushing the corner of his lips ever so slightly. His eyes flickered down to you, drinking in the way your navy blue satin slip dress hugged your curves, and you saw the telltale twitch of his jaw.

“Merci ma belle” he murmured, his voice deep and smooth, laced with something that made your pulse skip. His large hand settled on your waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of your dress. “I think this might be the best part of my day already.”

You smiled, taking his hand and leading him toward the table, where the soft glow of candlelight and the scent of the dinner you’d prepared created an intimate atmosphere. He pulled out your chair for you before taking his seat across from you, the weight of his gaze making you feel like you were the only thing in the room.

As you ate, the tension grew thicker with every passing moment. His hand, strong and warm, found its way to your knee under the table, squeezing gently as his thumb traced circles on your skin. Each touch sent little sparks through your body, your skin tingling where his fingers lingered.

You decided to push him just a little further, teasingly sucking on your fork as you finished your bite of food, your lips wrapping around the tines a bit too slowly, a bit too purposefully. His hand tightened on your knee, his grip just shy of bruising. When you glanced up at him through your lashes, you saw the fire in his eyes, his gaze fixed on your lips.

“Tu fais exprès” (You’re doing this on purpose) he growled lowly, shaking his head slightly, though the corners of his lips twitched like he couldn’t help but find your antics amusing.

You tilted your head and smiled innocently, running your fingers over the rim of your wine glass. But the truth was, you weren’t just teasing him for fun. As you watched him lick his lips and drag his gaze over your chest, lingering on your cleavage, one thought burned in your mind: I want to treat him like how I’m treating this fork. The idea sent a thrill through you, and you shifted slightly in your chair, the tension between your legs growing unbearable.

When you stood to take Zeus to his room, you caught the way his eyes followed you, burning into the hem of your dress. You bent over to scoop the dog up into your arms, the movement making your dress ride up slightly, exposing a peek of the lace lingerie you’d picked out for the night. Aurelien’s sharp intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed, and when you straightened up and glanced back, you caught him licking his lips, his dark gaze glued to you like he was imagining tearing that dress off you.

By the time you came back, expecting him to still be at the table, you found his chair empty. Confused, you turned toward the living room and found him there instead, stretched out on the couch, his legs spread wide, his head resting lazily on his hand. His shirt was unbuttoned a little more now, exposing the lines of his collarbone and a hint of his chest. The look in his eyes when he saw you was enough to make your knees weak—pure heat, pure want.

“Come here baby” he said, his voice soft but commanding, sending a shiver down your spine.

You hesitated for a second, unsure if you could handle what was radiating off him, but then he held out a hand, his lips curling into a slow, wicked grin. “I said come here”

You stepped toward him, your bare feet sinking into the carpet, your breath hitching as his hand wrapped around your wrist and tugged you closer. “You’ve been driving me crazy since I got back home” he murmured, his deep voice like a growl as he pulled you down to straddle his lap. His hands found your waist, sliding over the silk of your dress, squeezing as he guided you closer.

“You like it when I tease you, hm?” you asked softly, your voice a breathy whisper as you leaned in, your lips hovering over his.

“I like it when you give me what I want” he replied, his tone dark, his grip on your hips tightening as he ground you against him. His eyes locked with yours, burning with an intensity that made your head spin. “And right now, I want you to finish what you started.”

Your lips curved into a smirk as you leaned down, brushing your mouth against his ear. “Oh, I plan to” you whispered, and from the way his hands flexed on your body, you knew the rest of the night was going to be unforgettable.

Aurelien had been asking for months, his requests slipping into conversations with that teasing grin and low, coaxing voice. “When are you going to give me a lap dance bébé?” he’d ask, his hands running up and down your thighs as you sat on his lap, his tone playful yet loaded with heat. You’d always laugh it off, playfully rolling your eyes or brushing him off with a quick, “Maybe one day, if you’re lucky.” But it wasn’t because you didn’t want to—oh, you absolutely did. The thought of his big hands on you, his dark eyes drinking you in, had crossed your mind far too often.

Still, you made him wait, teasing him just enough to keep that fire alive, wanting the moment to be perfect. Tonight, with the intimacy of his birthday dinner, the tension hanging heavy in the air, and the way he couldn’t keep his hands off you or his eyes away, you knew it was finally time.

When he pulled you onto his lap earlier and whispered, to you that you knew what he wanted, it had only made your feelings stronger. He didn’t know it yet, but you were about to give him exactly what he’d been asking for—and more. The idea of surprising him, of finally breaking that anticipation, had your pulse racing and your skin tingling with nerves and excitement.

You slipped off his lap and took a few steps toward the counter on the far side of the room. Aurelien’s gaze followed you immediately, his expression a mix of curiosity and intensity. He leaned back further on the couch, his shirt now even more undone, exposing more of his chest and the defined lines of his collarbone. His legs were spread wide, taking up space, and his arms stretched lazily across the back of the couch, exuding confidence and control. He looked utterly relaxed, yet his dark eyes stayed locked on you with a heat that made your stomach flip.

The satisfied but dominant tilt of his smile made you bite your lip as you reached for your phone and connected it to the nearby speaker. The first sultry notes of Beyoncé’s “Dance for You” poured into the room, low and seductive, filling the space between you with a simmering tension that matched the fire in his gaze.

His smirk deepened, his eyes flickering with recognition as he shifted slightly on the couch, his fingers tapping against the cushion like he couldn’t wait another second. “Je savais que tu finirais par céder” (I knew you’d give in eventually) he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though there was an edge of anticipation in his tone.

You turned to face him, the soft light of the room highlighting the satin of your dress as it clung to your curves. You were nervous—your heart raced in your chest, and your palms were damp with excitement and a little fear—but you were also confident. Confident in the way his eyes raked over you like he couldn’t look away, in the way his body tensed, his muscles taut as though he were holding himself back.

The lights in the living room were dim, the air thick with the scent of vanilla and amber from the candles you had lit earlier. The soft glow cast shadows across the space, flickering over the deep brown leather of the couch, the sleek wooden floors, and the expensive glass of whiskey resting on the table beside Aurelien’s hand.

The only sound in the room was the steady bass of the music playing from the speakers, a sultry, hypnotic beat that filled the air like smoke. Beyoncé’s voice crooned through the space, velvet and honey, setting the mood as you stood in front of him, barefoot, feeling completely vulnerable.

Aurelien sat comfortably on the couch, his long legs spread wide, his back sinking into the plush cushions. His shirt was revealing the golden brown of his skin, his muscular chest rising and falling with steady, controlled breaths. His dark eyes were locked onto you, intense, expectant, drinking you in like a man ready to devour.

He brought the whiskey glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before setting it down, his tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of amber liquid. He tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he dragged his gaze over your body.

“Go ahead chérie” he murmured, voice low, thick with anticipation. “Show me”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but there was no hesitation in your movements. You wanted this. Wanted him watching you, wanted him starving for you. The way he looked at you alone sent heat pooling between your thighs.

Slowly, you let your hands glide over the smooth satin of your dress, fingertips trailing down your waist as you felt his eyes burning into you. The navy blue fabric shimmered softly under the candlelight, clinging to your body like it had been made just for you. The plunging neckline framed your chest perfectly, and the high slit on one side revealed teasing flashes of your thighs as you shifted your weight.

With calculated movements, you reached for the thin straps on your shoulders, sliding one down slowly, then the other, letting the tension build. The dress loosened, slipping down your body inch by inch, the cool air brushing over your skin as more of it became exposed. The satin slid over your curves like a whisper before pooling at your feet, leaving you standing before him in nothing but a delicate navy blue lace thong.

The room seemed to go silent, except for the soft sound of the music in the background. His eyes raked over you, dark and full of heat, lingering on every inch of bare skin you had revealed. His jaw tensed, and his lips parted slightly, as though he were about to say something but couldn’t find the words. The hunger in his gaze made your skin tingle, your confidence growing with every second of his silence.

The soft lace sat low on your hips, the intricate design accentuating the curve of your body. The dim light played off your skin, illuminating every subtle dip and line. You stood tall, nerves simmering beneath the surface, but your confidence unwavering as you let him take in the sight of you. His chest rose and fell a little faster now, his grip on the back of the couch tightening as if he needed to ground himself. The dominance he exuded earlier was still there, but now it was mixed with something deeper, something raw and unfiltered.

You walked to him and sat right on his lap, grabbing his face to make him look into your eyes. Aurelien exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening, his fingers flexing where they rested on his thighs. His eyes darkened, heavy-lidded with lust as he took you in—the smooth curve of your hips, the soft swell of your breasts, the way your skin glowed under the dim light.

You turned around slowly, giving him the full view of your backside, your hips swaying to the slow rhythm of the song. His breath hitched slightly, barely audible over the music, but you caught it.

And it made you bolder.

You placed your hands on your thighs, bending slightly as you rolled your hips in slow, fluid circles. The lace of your thong barely covered anything, the movement only making it more obvious how much you wanted him, how wet you were already.

You glanced over your shoulder, meeting his gaze as you reached back to drag your hands up the length of your body, over your ass, your waist, your breasts. Aurelien’s lips parted, his tongue swiping across the bottom one, his expression hungry.

He wanted to touch. You could see it in the way his fingers twitched, in the way his knuckles flexed. But he stayed still, watching, waiting, letting you tease him.

You turned back around, your steps sensual. You placed your hands on his broad shoulders, straddling his lap, settling yourself over the hard length pressing against his slacks.

Aurelien exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers digging into his thighs as he fought the urge to grab you. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in his muscles as you rolled your hips against him, dragging yourself over his dick through the fabric of his pants.

“You like that baby?” you purred, your lips grazing the shell of his ear as you rocked against him.

His jaw clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the couch, his self-control hanging by a thread. “You know I do” he rasped.

You leaned back slightly, giving him a perfect view of your body as you moved, your hips undulating in slow, mesmerizing circles. The friction was intoxicating, the feel of him, hard beneath you making you ache, making your clit throb with need.

Aurelien’s breathing was uneven now, his pupils blown wide as he watched you, his hands still clenched at his sides. He wanted to touch—God, he wanted to touch—but he was letting you have control, letting you drive him to the brink.

You reached between your bodies, palming him through his slacks, feeling the heat and hardness of him beneath your fingers. His body jerked slightly at the contact, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“You’re so hard for me” you murmured, your fingers tracing the outline of his dick through the fabric, your other hand reaching for the button of his pants. “Let me take care of you.”

Aurelien exhaled harshly, his restraint snapping as he grabbed your wrists, stopping your movements. His grip was firm but not rough, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a heat that sent shivers down your spine.

“Not yet” he said, voice thick with need. “I want to watch you a little longer”

A slow, wicked smile spread across your lips. You leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.

“Then watch me”

You slid off his lap, sinking to your knees between his legs, your hands running up the inside of his thighs, your nails dragging lightly over the fabric. His breath hitched, his eyes following your every movement, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

You undid his belt slowly, teasingly, before unzipping his pants and freeing him. His dick sprang free, thick, heavy, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. You licked your lips, your mouth watering at the sight of him.

Aurelien’s fingers tangled in your hair as you leaned in, your breath warm against his skin. You pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his tip, flicking your tongue over him just enough to tease.

His grip on your hair tightened, a low, guttural groan spilling from his lips.

Your lips hovered over his thick length, and for a moment, you just stared, letting the anticipation build. The heat radiating off his body made your thighs press together, trying to contain the arousal dripping down your skin. Slowly, you leaned forward, dragging your lips and tongue over the strong muscles of his thighs. You bit down lightly, the sharpness of your teeth making him hiss, his hips jerking slightly in response.

“Bébé…” he warned, his voice a deep, gravelly sound that only spurred you on. You smirked, placing one more teasing bite higher up, just shy of where he needed you most.

Finally, you wrapped your hand around his dick, marveling at how hard and heavy he felt in your grip. Your fingers barely closed around his girth, and the veins that ran along his length pulsed under your touch. He twitched in your hand as you gave a few slow and the way his pre-cum beaded at the tip made your mouth water.

You leaned in, your tongue darting out to taste him, swirling around the head. The slightly salty, musky taste of him filled your senses, and a quiet moan escaped your lips as you licked down his length, savoring every ridge and vein. Your hands gripped the base firmly as you slid your tongue along the underside, your saliva mixing with the slickness of his arousal, making him glisten in the dim light.

As you finally took him into your mouth, his breath hitched audibly. You worked him slowly, savoring the weight of him on your tongue, the way his dick stretched your lips. The veins pressed against your tongue with every stroke, every bob of your head, and his taste coated your mouth, intoxicating you.

You glanced up at him, wanting to see his reaction, but his head was thrown back against the couch, his lips parted in a low, guttural moan. His hands rested gently on your braids, his fingers flexing every so often as though he were trying to keep his composure. The sight of him like that—completely undone, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths—only made you want to please him more.

Your pace quickened, and the wet sounds of your mouth filled the room, mingling with the soft groans spilling from his lips. His thighs tensed beneath your hands as you dug your nails into his skin, steadying yourself. His dick throbbed on your tongue, and every groan, every twitch of his hips only made the ache between your own legs more unbearable. You could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs, pooling beneath you as your own need grew with every second.

The muscles in his abdomen tightened, and his fingers gripped your hair a little more firmly, guiding you, though still letting you lead. His restraint was slipping, and you could feel how much he wanted to lose himself in you. When you pulled back slightly, swirling your tongue around the head before taking him deep again, a strained “Fuck” fell from his lips, his hips bucking involuntarily.

This was where you wanted him—completely at your mercy, unable to control the raw need coursing through his body. And yet, as you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, you couldn’t ignore how much it turned you on to see him like this. Pleasing him, feeling his pleasure in every tense muscle and low groan, made the fire in your own body burn hotter, consuming you from the inside out.

“Shit” he growled, his fingers flexing. “You feel so fucking good”

You hummed around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath. His hips twitched, his restraint slipping, his need to fuck your mouth growing stronger.

But just as he was about to lose himself, you pulled off him with a wicked smirk, licking your lips as you met his dazed, lust-filled gaze.

“I think I teased you long enough” you purred, climbing back onto his lap, your hips brushing against his. You leaned in close, your breath warm against his ear as your fingers trailed up his chest. “Are you ready for me baby?”

Aurelien’s eyes darkened instantly, his grip on your hips tightening with a bruising force. He tilted his head back just slightly, a slow, dangerous smirk spreading across his face. His deep voice rumbled in your ear, low and dripping with dominance.

“Ready for you?” he rasped, his tone sharp and commanding as his hands slid down to grip the curve of your ass. “No bébé. The real question is, are you ready for me?”

Before you could respond, he moved with the kind of power and control that always left you breathless. In one fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, spreading them apart as he hovered over you, his gaze searing into yours.

“I’ve been waiting for this all night” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower as he ran his hand along the inside of your thigh, brushing against your soaked lace. You couldn’t speak. All that confidence you just had flew out the window. All you could do is moan in response.

His lips crashed against yours, possessive and demanding, as he pressed his body into yours. The real game had just begun, and it was clear he intended to leave you completely at his mercy.

Aurélien’s lips crashed yours, hungry and demanding, his hands gripping your waist. The memory of you as you moved in sync with the slow, sensual beat of the music. The way you rocked your hips against his clothed hardness, your body pressing against him with each grind, had him barely holding on to control. His dark eyes were locked onto your body—your breasts swaying in front of his face, your skin glowing under the dim lights—making him harder than he thought possible.

His fingers trailed down between your thighs, pushing your panties aside, and the moment his fingers slid against your drenched folds, he groaned, deep and primal. “Fuck,” he murmured against your neck, his voice thick with need. “You’re so wet for me.”

A needy whimper escaped your lips as you clutched at his shoulders. “Mm, yes… please, touch me” you pleaded, voice breathless, body trembling with anticipation.

Aurélien smirked against your skin, spreading your slick over your clit and down your folds, teasing you with almost effortless strokes. His lips never left your body, kissing and biting his way down your neck and chest, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. Open-mouthed kisses, sharp nips, his tongue tracing patterns on your skin—he worshiped you with his mouth, making sure no inch was left untouched.

But patience was never his strong suit. With a growl, he sat up, yanking his shirt over his head, revealing his sculpted torso, muscles tensed with restraint. His hand wrapped around his thick, pulsing length, stroking himself slowly as he pushed your knees toward your chest with his other, spreading you wide open for him.

“Look at you” he murmured, dragging his tip along your soaked, soft slit, teasing, taunting. He took his time, watching you squirm beneath him, your body begging to be filled. His gaze locked with yours, dark and intense, and finally—finally—he pushed in, the stretch making your breath hitch.

Aurélien usually started slow, knowing you needed time to adjust to his size, but tonight? He couldn’t hold back. A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he began moving, his strokes steady but urgent, each thrust sending shivers through your body. His grip on your legs tightened, pushing your knees further back as he drove deeper.

“Tu me prends toujours si bien, putain” (You always take me so well, fuck) he rasped. His hands roamed your body, gripping, claiming, dominating. His lips crashed into yours again, swallowing your moans as he fucked you with unrelenting intensity, your bodies lost in the rhythm of desire.

Both of his strong hands gripped your knees, spreading you open as he thrust into you with a smooth, effortless rhythm. The way your body welcomed him, soft and dripping around his thick length, made his jaw clench, his control slipping with each deep stroke.

Slowly, he lifted your legs, guiding your ankles onto his broad shoulders. His fingers dug into your shins, holding you firmly in place as he drove deeper, filling you completely. His breath was hot against your skin as he pressed his lips to your ankle, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the delicate skin, never breaking eye contact. His tongue flicked out, teasing, tasting you, before he bit down just enough to make you gasp.

Even as his pace quickened, his movements rough and precise, he never looked away from your eyes. His gaze burned into yours—intense, possessive—watching every reaction, every tremor of pleasure that coursed through you. “You feel- so- fucking good inside- me” you murmured, your voice thick with lust, the deep strokes making your body arch beneath him.

Your moans only spurred him on, his grip tightening as he claimed you completely, his dominance unmistakable in the way he controlled every movement, every sensation, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

Your hands rested on his sculpted abdomen, feeling the tension in his muscles as his body pressed into yours, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. But just as you were getting lost in the rhythm, he suddenly slowed, teasing you with deep, languid strokes before coming to a complete stop. A desperate whimper escaped your lips as he pulled out, the wet squelch of your bodies disconnecting making you shiver. You bit your lip, already missing the way he filled you.

Before you could protest, Aurélien grabbed you effortlessly, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He bent you over the arm of the couch, his hands spreading your legs apart, his presence towering behind you. Turning your head, you caught the way he was staring—his dark eyes filled with hunger, lips parted as he ran his large, warm hands over your soft ass. He groaned lowly, kneading the flesh, his fingers digging in possessively before he leaned down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to each cheek. The sensation sent tingles down your spine.

Then—slap!

His palm came down hard against your ass, the sharp sting making you jolt forward, but the pleasure outweighed the pain, sending a rush of heat straight to your core. A wicked smirk played on his lips as he did it again, watching your body tremble beneath him.

“You like that bébé?” he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Before you could answer, he slid back into you in one swift motion, filling you to the hilt. This time, there was no teasing—his strokes were fast, deep, relentless. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, a filthy mix of wet, desperate moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. You were a mess beneath him, gripping the couch for dear life, pleasure coursing through you like fire.

Then, his fingers tangled into your braids, gripping them firmly at the root as he yanked your head back, forcing you to arch your back. The dominant act made you moan loudly, your walls clenching around him in response.

“Do you love this dick bébé?” he growled through gritted teeth, trying to maintain control, but his own release was dangerously close.

“Fuck yesss, I fucking love this dick baby!!” you screamed without hesitation, your voice shaking from the intensity of his thrusts.

But when the pleasure became too much, your body instinctively tried to escape, your hands pushing against the couch as you attempted to pull forward.

Big mistake.

As if on reflex, Aurélien yanked you right back onto his dick with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. A sharp gasp left your lips as he gripped your hips so tight you knew you’d have bruises the next day.

“Don’t run from me Y/N” he growled, his tone dripping with dominance. “Take it. I know you want it”

And you did. You surrendered completely, your body melting under his control as he fucked you mercilessly, each deep stroke dragging you closer to your breaking point.

His pace quickened, the intensity overwhelming as your walls tightened around him, your body on the brink of release.

“Fuck Aurélien—I’m gonna cum. You’re gonna make me cum” you moaned, voice high and needy.

He hummed in response, the deep vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you. “Mmhmm” was all he said before delivering two more stinging slaps to your ass, the impact sending you over the edge.

Your body convulsed beneath him as your orgasm tore through you, a cry of ecstasy ripping from your throat. You shook uncontrollably, your arousal spilling out, coating his thick length and dripping down onto his thighs.

Aurélien groaned at the sight, his grip on your hips tightening as he chased his own release, ready to fill you up completely.

“There you go baby… fuck, you feel so good” Aurélien groaned, his strokes slow as your body trembled beneath him. You were still pulsing around him, shaking uncontrollably from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your body completely at his mercy.

“Fuck” you whispered, your voice barely audible, lost somewhere between exhaustion and overwhelming pleasure. You felt everything and nothing all at once, floating in a haze of bliss.

He stilled inside you for a moment, letting you catch your breath before he finally pulled out, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. Without hesitation, he scooped you up effortlessly, his strong arms holding you close as he carried you across the house to his bedroom. The heat of his skin against yours, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath—it was intoxicating.

Gently, he laid you down on the bed, climbing over you, settling perfectly between your thighs. His body pressed into yours, warm and solid, grounding you.

His lips found yours again, slow and tender this time. His soft, plump lips moved against yours, his tongue teasing, tasting, savoring. His hands roamed your body, caressing your waist, tracing the curve of your hips, his touch both possessive and gentle. Your fingers dug into his biceps, feeling the strength in them as he hovered above you, completely wrapped up in you.

You broke the kiss first, catching your breath as a lazy, satisfied smile played on your lips. “Where did you learn how to fuck like that?” you murmured, half-joking but also completely serious.

Aurélien let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You taught me how you like it… and now you’re surprised when I fuck you exactly how you want?” His smirk was pure arrogance, but you couldn’t even be mad.

“I’m never leaving you” you whispered between kisses, your fingers running over the ridges of his back.

His gaze darkened, something unreadable flashing across his features before he leaned in, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to your lips. “You don’t have to tell me that bébé” he murmured, voice thick with certainty. “I know.”

The moment felt almost sacred—intimate, intense, like nothing else existed outside of this bed, outside of him.

And then, taking full advantage of your closeness, he guided himself back inside you, pushing in slowly, savoring every inch of your tight, warm heat. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he filled you to the hilt, but this time, he didn’t move. He just stayed there, buried deep inside you, his forehead resting against yours, breathing in sync with you. He wanted to feel you—every pulse, every flutter of your walls around him, the way your body molded perfectly to his.

“Ughh, you’re so deep” you whispered into his ear, your legs wrapping around his waist, keeping him locked in place.

“Mmmm” he hummed, not being able to speak. He was to consumed by the feeling of you. His lips brushing against your shoulder before his teeth grazed your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine.

The tension built between you like an electric current, and then, finally, he began to move—slow at first, his strokes deep and precise, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Fuck me harder, Aurélien, please” you whined into his ear, your voice needy, desperate. “I need it”

His jaw clenched, and without hesitation, he did exactly what you begged for.

“Whatever you want bébé” he muttered, and then his pace quickened—his hips snapping into yours with raw, unrelenting force. Your moans turned into near-screams, your body arching beneath him as he fucked you like he was trying to break you apart and put you back together at the same time.

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, angling himself even deeper, hitting that perfect spot that almost made you pass out. The pressure was overwhelming, consuming, and just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, he reached between your bodies, rubbing your clit with slow, teasing circles, the contrast driving you insane.

“Oh my God—fuck! I’m cumming again” you gasped, your voice breaking as your entire body tensed, your walls clamping down on him with a vice-like grip.

Aurélien groaned, the way you squeezed around him making it nearly impossible to hold back. He wanted to last longer—needed to—but the way you felt, the way you came undone beneath him, nearly shattered his control.

Somehow, he held on. Barely.

His finger nails dug into your thigh, his breath ragged against your neck as he kept fucking you through it, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from you.

But he didn’t slow down—not even a little.

Aurélien kept up his brutal, relentless pace, fucking you like he was trying to put you straight through the earth’s core. The force of his thrusts had you screaming in pleasure, your body caught between the sharp edge of overstimulation and pure ecstasy.

His grip tightened. One hand wrapped firmly around your throat, his fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch, while the other grabbed your waist, holding you still so you had no choice but to take everything he gave you.

“Oh fuck I love it when you fuck me like this” you gasped, biting your lip as your hazy, lust-filled eyes locked onto his.

That look—so raw, so desperate—almost broke him. His jaw clenched, his grip tightening. He was close, so fucking close, but he wasn’t done with you yet.

He suddenly shifted, his hand moving from your throat to the back of your head, forcing you to look down at where your bodies connected.

“Look at that” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “Look how good I’m fucking you”

Your eyes dropped, and the sight nearly made you cum again.

His thick, glistening dick was sliding in and out of you, stretching you in ways no one else ever could. The wet, obscene sounds of your pussy echoed through the room, the slick mess between your thighs dripping down to where he was still buried deep inside you.

“Fuck… it looks so good” you whispered, completely mesmerized by the way he disappeared into you over and over again.

And then—without warning—he let go of your head, grabbed your neck once more, and started drilling into you even harder.

“OH FUCK, FUCK YES!” you screamed, your voice blending with his deep, guttural moans.

“Yeah?” he gritted out through his teeth, his thrusts growing rougher, more erratic. “Tu veux que je jouisse dans cette chatte, n'est-ce pas ?” (You want me to cum inside this pussy don’t you?)

“Yes please, baby—cum inside me” you begged, your voice breaking, your nails clawing into his shoulders.

Aurélien groaned, his control hanging by a thread. His hand slipped down between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing harsh circles. The moment he touched you, your entire body shattered.

Your third orgasm of the night hit you with devastating force, a scream tearing from your throat as your walls clenched around him, milking his dick for everything he had. The sensation was too much—too tight, too wet, too perfect.

And then he came.

And when he did—when he finally let go—it was with your name spilling from his lips in a broken, desperate moan. His entire body trembled as he buried himself deep, filling you completely, his warm release spilling into you in thick, hot waves.

“Ahhh—fuck, fuck—” he groaned loudly through the room, his voice raw, his hips twitching as he emptied himself inside you.

He collapsed onto you, his weight heavy and grounding, his breath hot against your skin. The heat between your bodies was overwhelming, sweat slicking your skin, the room thick with the scent of sex.

“I have never cum so hard in my life” you laughed breathlessly, still trembling beneath him.

Aurélien lifted his head from the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your cheek as he chuckled, his voice deep and satisfied. “I was gonna say the same thing”

He kissed you—slow and lazy this time, as if he wanted to savor every last second of this moment. And even as his dick softened inside you, he didn’t pull out, keeping you full, his cum already dripping from where you were still connected.

But you weren’t done with him yet.

Somehow, with the last bit of strength left in your body, you flipped the two of you over, straddling him. His hands immediately found your ass, squeezing, massaging, as you settled over his face, his half-hard dick resting between your thighs.

Then, without a word, you turned around to face his still half-hard dick, you leaned down and took him into your mouth, licking and sucking him clean—lapping up every last drop of his release mixed with your own arousal.

Aurélien groaned, his head falling back against the pillows, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes as you worked your tongue over his sensitive length. His grip on your ass tightened as he watched the excess cum drip from your still-throbbing pussy, trailing down onto his abdomen and the sheets below.

“Fuck bébé” he rasped, his voice wrecked, completely undone.

Aurélien’s legs tensed beneath you, his breath hitching as you sucked harshly on his still-sensitive dick. His fingers dug into your hips, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths as he tried to regain control of himself.

“You’re such a nasty girl for me” he murmured, his voice quiet but full of heat. The words shot straight to your core, making your pussy clench around nothing, the ache between your thighs still lingering.

When he finally softened in your mouth, you released him with one last teasing lick, swallowing every drop before turning around to face him again. You leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, making him taste the mixture of both your juices.

His hands instinctively gripped your waist, pulling you closer, but you pulled away with a soft giggle, slipping off the bed. “I’ll be right back” you murmured, heading to the bathroom to clean yourself up.

When you returned, fresh and glowing, Aurélien was exactly where you left him—laid back against the pillows, hands tucked behind his head, watching you with a soft, knowing smile.

But it was the way he looked at you that made you pause.

His gaze roamed your body, admiring every curve, every dimple, every stretch mark and scar as if they were works of art. It made your skin warm under his scrutiny, a small flicker of nervousness sparking in your chest—but there was no judgment in his eyes. Only love.

“What are you looking at?” you teased, trying to mask your flustered state with a witty tone.

Aurélien exhaled deeply, shaking his head slightly as his eyes locked with yours. “I think I just fell in love with you all over again” he said softly, his voice filled with something so tender, so sincere, it made your heart stutter.

You swallowed, your chest tightening in the best way as you climbed back into bed, curling into his side, burying yourself against his warmth under the covers. His arm wrapped around you immediately, holding you close, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your skin.

Tilting your head up, you looked at him, taking in the post-orgasm bliss still etched onto his face. He was beautiful—so effortlessly perfect in this moment. Smiling shyly, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“I love you” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “So much.”

Aurélien’s grip on you tightened, his lips brushing the top of your head in silent response.

You paused, your smile growing softer as you nuzzled into his chest. “And… happy birthday,” you murmured, closing your eyes, completely at peace in his embrace.

He let out a quiet, content sigh, his own eyes fluttering shut.

As sleep began to take him, he silently thanked God—not just for this moment, but for you. For the way you loved him, for the way you made him feel wanted, desired, cherished. For the way you were his, in every way that mattered.

And even through the hard times, he knew—especially through the hard times—he would always choose you.

With one last lingering kiss pressed to your forehead, he drifted off, hoping that whatever dreams came to him would be even half as good as the reality of having you in his arms.

[snowseasonmademe]

Can I hit It in the Morning

warning ‼️: smut !!

word count: 3,634

pairing: aurélien x black female reader

summary: as you both lay, sleeping soundly, you couldnt start your day without a little morning delight

note: this was inspired by this little conversation over on @rougereds blog. thank you to her and here anon! i can always count on her to have the best freaky thoughts and opinions about our (her) man :) everyone say thank you maha!!! as always enjoy and tell me what you think🤍.

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The faint glow of dawn tiptoed into the room like a shy visitor, brushing its delicate fingers over every surface it touched. Soft hues of honey and molten amber danced across the walls, kissing the edges of the heavy wooden furniture and pooling in the corners like liquid sunlight. The open window, framed by gossamer curtains that swayed ever so gently, invited in a crisp morning breeze. It carried the earthy sweetness of dew-soaked lavender mingled with the faint tang of damp earth, the scents swirling together in a symphony that hinted at the garden just below. The room held its breath in a perfect stillness, the only motion the slow, synchronized rise and fall of two bodies nestled beneath a duvet so pristine it looked as if it had been spun from clouds.

Your black silk nightgown shimmered in the early light, clinging to your figure like a second skin, its texture a fluid whisper against your warm curves. The fabric, smooth as flowing water, seemed to amplify the quiet intimacy of the moment. His arm was slung across your waist with a lazy possessiveness, his hand large and strong, yet tender in its placement on your soft stomach. Behind you, Aurelien’s body molded to yours with a warmth that radiated through the duvet, cocooning you in a way that made the idea of moving unthinkable. His breath, slow and even, ghosted against your shoulder, a gentle rhythm that grounded you as you blinked into the gilded light of the morning.

The scene felt suspended in time, a tableau of serenity and closeness that teetered on the edge of something sacred. The golden rays spilled through the sheer fabric of the curtains, painting streaks of sunlight onto your bare skin. The soft glow highlighted the curve of your collarbone and the faint sheen on your arms, catching every subtle rise and fall of your chest. The sheet that had slipped down from his shoulders revealed the defined lines of his torso, his skin sun-kissed and glowing as though he had been sculpted by the hands of a master artist. The air between them felt almost electric, charged with a quiet intimacy that words couldn’t capture.

His breathing shifted, a subtle change that sent a ripple of awareness through you. Then, his voice—low and rasping, like the first notes of a cello—broke the silence. “Bonjour, ma chérie” (Good morning, my darling) he murmured, the words rich and heavy with the texture of dreams and sleep, a husky melody that wrapped around you like a physical touch.

Your heart stumbled over itself at the sound, each syllable slipping into your consciousness like velvet dipped in honey. Your lips parted in response, and a faint, unconscious smile graced your face, the corners of your mouth curving upward as warmth bloomed in your chest. “Good morning” you breathed, your voice soft and rasping, still carrying the haze of sleep. Yet his words had done something to you, sending a low, simmering heat spiraling through your body like the first crackle of a fire.

His face, still tucked into the crook of your neck, pressed closer, his stubble grazing the tender skin there. The roughness of it sent shivers skating down your spine, each graze a spark that seemed to ignite something deep within you. “Mon ange, you feel so warm” (My angel) he whispered, his lips barely brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke, his breath hot and enticing.

Your reaction was immediate, instinctual. A quiver rolled through you, your thighs pressing together as a ripple of sensation coursed through your limbs. His chuckle, low and throaty, vibrated against your back, a sound that was both teasing and unrepentant.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice a lazy tease that belied the subtle flex of his fingers against your stomach. The pad of his thumb, rough but gentle, began to draw slow, languid circles just above your navel, the movement sending tingles radiating outward.

“No” you managed, your voice trembling slightly, betraying the delicate balance between your words and the way your body had begun to respond to him. Every touch, every breath between them seemed to blur the lines of restraint.

“Non?” he murmured again, his lips now exploring the graceful curve of your neck, his kisses so light you both barely registered as more than the press of air. “Maybe it’s me, then” he mused, the teasing lilt in his voice offset by the heat of his touch. “I think I’m the one burning up.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the tension between them thickening as his lips lingered at a particularly sensitive spot just beneath your ear. The brush of his mouth against your skin felt both reverent and demanding, a silent promise laced into every movement. You could feel him behind you, his body warm and firm, the undeniable press of him leaving little to the imagination.

“Aurelien” you whispered, his name escaping your lips like a prayer, soft yet charged with meaning. Your tone carried a note of caution, but your body betrayed you, arching back just enough to meet his heat.

“Oui, bébé?” (Yes baby) His voice was velvet and smoke, laced with amusement but deepened by something darker, something more primal. His hand, still resting at the edge of your silk gown, slid lower, the tips of his fingers grazing the bare skin of your thigh. The contrast of warmth and cool silk sent a thrill racing through you, your pulse quickening.

“You’re doing this on purpose” you accused, your voice shaky, the words carrying no real bite. You shivered again as his mouth moved to your shoulder, each kiss a mark of possession and adoration.

“Moi? Jamais” (Me? Never) he said, his grin evident even without seeing it, his accent wrapping around the word like a caress. “How could I not? You smell like heaven, cœur tendre.” (Sweetheart)

Your breath came faster now, every movement of his lips and hands unraveling your composure. The sound of his voice, so rich and resonant, made your stomach tighten and your cheeks flush with heat. His free hand, rough and sure, skimmed lower along your thigh, his touch igniting a fire in your that spread like liquid gold through your veins.

“You’re trouble” you murmured, though the words carried no weight, your voice dissolving into a breathless whisper.

“And you” he said, his voice dropping an octave, roughened with raw need, “are temptation itself. Do you know what you do to me?”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you turned your head, catching a glimpse of his face. His dark eyes, smoldering and half-lidded, seemed to pierce through you, his lips parted in a slow, knowing smile that left you weak.

“You should hear yourself” you countered, though your voice trembled, your composure slipping. “Your voice…”

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “My voice, hmm?” His words were molten, the cadence of his accent turning them into something decadent and irresistible.

You shivered, your body arching instinctively toward him. He pressed against you more firmly, his breath hot against your skin as his hand drifted higher, brushing the edge of your nightgown with an agonizing slowness.

“Aurelien” you said again, this time more desperate, your hands finding their way to his hair, tangling in the soft, unruly curls.

As the golden light bathed them in its glow, their world narrowed to just the two of them, lost in a sea of whispered words, fiery touches, and the unyielding pull of desire that drowned out the rest of the morning.

The first sparkles of dawn wove their way through the room, painting ribbons of molten gold across the bed. The air was thick with the scent of lavender and something warmer, something unmistakably them. Beneath the duvet, heat pooled between their bodies, a slow-burning fire stoked by the lazy weight of Aurelien’s arm draped over your waist. His breath, warm and steady, ghosted against the curve of your neck, a hypnotic rhythm that sent ripples of awareness through your barely waking body.

The silk of your nightgown was cool against your fevered skin, but his touch—his touch was fire. His hand, broad and calloused, slid lower, teasing the hem of the delicate fabric. He didn’t rush. No, Aurelien moved like a man savoring every second, his fingers tracing idle circles just above your knee before skimming higher, exposing inch after tantalizing inch of your thighs. A shudder coursed through your, anticipation tightening every nerve.

“You’re trembling, mon ange” he murmured, his voice deep and husky, still roughened with sleep. The sound alone sent a sharp pulse of pleasure through you, pooling low in your stomach.

You swallowed hard, your body instinctively pressing back against him, feeling the hard, unmistakable evidence of his own desire. you moaned quietly , your own tone breathless, needy. “Aurelien—”

A low, satisfied groan rumbled in his chest, echoing through your back as his fingers slid higher, pushing the silk aside. “Mmm” he mused, grazing his lips along the shell of your ear. “You love my voice, don’t you, bébé?”

You nodded, barely able to form words as he reached the lace of your panties. He didn’t rush—of course he didn’t. Aurelien reveled in control, in drawing out every ounce of tension until it snapped into something uncontrollable. His fingers traced the delicate fabric, teasing you without truly touching, making you writhe in frustration.

“J'adore à quel point tu es mouillée pour moi” (i love how wet you get for me) he murmured against your neck, his voice rich with approval.

Your breath hitched as he finally hooked a finger around the lace, tugging it aside. The cool air kissed your exposed skin, making you gasp. Aurelien’s hand was warm as he traced a feather-light path over your slick core, spreading the wetness he found there with slow, teasing strokes. You moaned softly, hips shifting, seeking more.

He let you grind in his fingers, he knew how bad you wanted him. He pressed a single, teasing circle against your clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “Tell me again how much you love my voice.”

You clenched around nothing, your fingers digging into his forearm as you gasped, “I love your hearing your voice. It t-turns me on so much” you moan.

His other hand slid up your thigh, gripping just behind your knee before lifting, hooking your leg over his arm to open you up completely. His movements were calculated to keep you right at the edge. Then, without warning, you felt the hard, smooth head of his dick pressing against the outside of your pussy.

“So wet” he murmured, dragging his length up and down your slit, coating the tip in your arousal. He moaned into your neck, the sound making you gush around nothing. “So soft”

Your nails dug into his skin, your body arching as you tried to push back onto him. Aurelien groaned, a deep, sinful sound, but held himself just barely at bay.

And then—finally—he pushed inside.

A broken moan tore from your lips as he stretched you, filling you inch by inch with agonizing slowness. His breath turned ragged, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly as he bottomed out. He was thick, perfect, every inch pressing into you with aching precision.

“Mon Dieu” (My god) he exhaled, voice thick with restraint. “Je pourrais jouir tout de suite, tu te sens si bien.” (I could cum right now, you feel so good.)

He rolled his hips, setting a slow, deep rhythm, each stroke a thoughtful indulgence, each thrust sending sparks skittering through your veins. “Does that feel good?” he asks calmly, as if he wasn’t fucking you right back to sleep. “Yes oh- god yes that feels so good”. His hand slid up your stomach, his fingers grazing the soft swell of your breast before continuing their path, wrapping around your throat—not to restrain you, just to feel you, to remind you he would never let you go.

“You’re shaking, bébé” he purred into your ear, his voice dipping into something dark, something devastatingly erotic. “You like it when I talk to you like this?”

Your only answer was a desperate whimper as you clamped down around him.

He hummed in approval, the sound low and knowing. “Oh, you love it.” His thrusts grew firmer, his dick dragging along every sensitive inch of your insides. “You love my voice, my touch….tell me, do you love being fucked like this?”

Your moan was answer enough, but still, he wanted to hear you say it.

“Tell me” he pressed, his breath hot against your ear.

“Yes—, yes—I love it, I love you— Keep talking please”

Aurelien groaned, his hips snapping forward with a sharp, needy thrust. “C’est ça, mon amour” (That's it, my love)

Aurelien’s breath came hot and uneven against your neck, his chest rising and falling in time with the ragged gasps that escaped your lips. The room was thick with heat, the scent of sex and sweat mingling with the remnants of the morning air. He pressed a kiss to the curve of your shoulder, his lips searing against your damp skin.

“J’adore te baiser bébé” (I love fucking you baby) he groaned, his voice wrecked, his accent curling around the words like silk and sin.

He pulled out almost entirely, leaving you trembling, the head of his dick barely kissing your entrance before he slammed back in, stealing the breath from your lungs. The bed creaked in protest, their bodies moving in a desperate rhythm, the sound swallowed by the symphony of your breathless moans and his deep, guttural curses.

Aurelien’s hands never stopped moving, never stopped claiming. He reached for a pillow, shoving it between your legs to, adjusting his angle with a sharp, knowing tilt that sent pleasure rocketing through you. You gasped, arching against him as he drove into you again, deeper this time, his dick pressing into the very core of you.

“Fuck—Aurelien—” you choked out, your voice breaking on his name.

“Je sais, mon amour” (I know, my love) he growled, capturing your neck between his teeth, his kiss hungry and all-consuming. “I know.”

Your fingers dove into his curls, yanking at the soft strands, urging him closer, your other hand gripping the back of his neck as if you could pull him inside you completely. Aurelien groaned into your skin, his hips snapping forward, his thrusts gaining urgency.

“So fucking good” he rasped against your ear, his voice a feral growl, his grip unrelenting. One hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to send a delicious shiver down your spine, while the other dug into your hip, controlling the way you moved against him. The wet, obscene sounds of their bodies colliding filled the space between them, the slick glide of him inside you an erotic melody that only seemed to push them closer to the edge.

Your walls fluttered around him, tightening, your body wound so tight you thought you might snap. Aurelien felt it—felt the way you clenched, the way your thighs trembled.

“Mhm, I can feel you” he grunted, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Cum for me, bébé. Let me feel it.”

His hand slipped between them, fingers finding your clit, rubbing firm, relentless circles. You shattered.

A strangled cry tore from your throat, your entire body seizing as the climax crashed over you, pleasure blinding and all-consuming. Your walls pulsed around him, squeezing him in rhythmic waves, milking him as you trembled beneath him.

“Mon Dieu” (God) Aurelien groaned, his pace stuttering as he buried himself deep, his release hitting him like a tidal wave. He spilled into you with a deep, shuddering moan, his body tensing, his dick throbbing inside your warmth. He held you through it, his hands splayed across your skin, grounding you as you trembled in his grasp.

For a moment, there was only the sound of their heavy breathing, the slow come-down from pleasure so intense it left them both boneless.

Aurelien pressed his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling against your damp skin, his lips pressing soft, lazy kisses there.

“Good morning” you murmured, your voice still thick with the remnants of pleasure, your accent turning the words into something utterly sinful.

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your body melting beneath him.

He lifted his head, his dark eyes finding yours, a mixture of satisfaction and something infinitely softer swimming in their depths. His thumb traced the curve of your hip, anchoring you in the moment.

“You okay, chérie?” (Darling) he asked, his voice low, intimate.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath, your limbs languid and spent. “Yeah” you managed, your voice hoarse from screaming his name. “Just… give me a minute.”

Aurelien chuckled, the sound warm, indulgent. He rolled to the side, pulling you with him effortlessly, keeping you pressed against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, strong and secure, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.

Aurelien’s fingers sifted lazily through your hair, his touch slow, absentminded. His mind replayed every gasp, every moan, the way your body had clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. A deep satisfaction settled in his chest, unlike anything he’d felt before. He wasn’t just content—he was utterly, decadently satiated.

His gaze drifted down to where their bodies were still tangled beneath the sheets, lingering on the faint marks forming along your hips—bruises shaped by his own fingers, reminders of how tightly he had held you, how desperately he had wanted to be as close to you as possible. A small, satisfied smile curled his lips at the sight.

As you lay together in the golden afterglow, your breathing gradually steadied, your body growing pliant against him. He was just beginning to drift into that hazy state between wakefulness and sleep when you shifted, suddenly sitting up beside him.

Aurelien blinked, watching as a mischievous glint flickered across her expression. His curiosity piqued immediately.

“Baby?” you purred, your fingers tracing lazy, teasing circles on his bare chest. Your nails skimmed lightly over his skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“Hmm?” he responded, tilting his head slightly to look at you, his lips still curled in a languid smirk.

“There’s something I want to do with you…” you continued, your voice dipping lower, sultry, knowing. Your eyes sparkled with something wicked. “In the shower.”

Aurelien’s smirk deepened, his amusement quickly shifting into something darker, hungrier. His hands, which had been resting idly at his sides, sprang to life, sliding up your thighs, gripping the soft curves he already ached to claim again. His fingers flexed as he pulled you onto his lap, the feel of your bare skin against his sending heat surging through his veins.

“Oh?” he drawled, raising a single brow, his voice edged with intrigue. “And what might that be, chérie?”

You bit your lip, tilting your head as you leaned in, your breath warm and inviting against his jaw. The teasing, almost innocent expression you wore was at complete odds with the filthy words that spilled from your mouth next.

“I want you to fuck me against the shower wall” you whispered, your voice sultry and dripping with need. “I want the water pounding down on us while you’re inside me, and then I want you to bend me over and take me from behind while the water rinses us clean.”

Aurelien groaned, low and deep, the sound vibrating through his chest. His dick, still sensitive from their last round, twitched back to life at the mere thought of it. You knew exactly what you was doing to him.

“Mon dieu” he muttered, his grip tightening on your thighs. His dark eyes raked over her, his desire unmistakable. “Fuck, you have a dirty mouth on you.”

You only smirked, a challenge glinting in your gaze.

Aurelien didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, he stood, dragging you with him effortlessly, their bodies still flush together. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your arms circling his neck as he carried you toward the bathroom.

“Let’s go get that shower then” he murmured, his voice a velvet promise against your lips.

And with that, he rose from the bed, utterly bare, his body a masterpiece of sculpted muscle and golden skin, still flushed from their last bout of pleasure. Every inch of him was firm, commanding, and undeniably breathtaking—all confidence, all hunger, all yours.

Your gaze raked over him, drinking in the way the morning light kissed the sharp planes of his chest, the deep lines of his abdomen, the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin. And then lower—where he stood, proud and thick, already aching for you again. Just the sight of him so eager for you makes you turned on all over again. Your arousal — and his — dripping onto the bed sheets.

Without a word, Aurelien reached for you, his fingers tangling with yours as he pulled you to you feet. His grip was firm, possessive, but the look in his eyes was something else entirely—pure, smoldering need.

He guided you toward the bathroom, his pace slow, as if savoring every second before he got his hands on you again. The air between them crackled, thick with anticipation.

A knowing smirk curled his lips as he glanced back at you, his voice husky with amusement and desire.

“And a good morning it is, indeed.”

You both were in you own world. There was only him—his voice, his touch, his body, his love.

[snowseasonmademe]

Good and Plenty

warning ‼️: lots of smut

word count: 5,554

pairing: aurelien x older black female reader

summary: the tensions are high all day and you and aurelien (almost) can’t make it home to finally get what you’ve been waiting for

note: happy valentine’s day freak-a-leaks!!!! here’s a very sexy valentine’s day fic for my fellow aurelien sister wives ;) everyone, let’s thank @whoevenisthiz ! she helped me with the scene after they get home and it really what kicked off the inspiration for the whole the fic. she’s so amazing. i’m posting this earlier than i planned because im really excited about it!!!!! i recommend y’all grab a snack and sit in a cold, dark room….alone. as always, i hope you enjoy and tell me what you think❤️‍🔥!!!

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The tension had been simmering all day, long before the intimate dinner, long before the teasing touches under the table. It started that morning—when you woke up to the slow, wet heat of Aurélien’s tongue between your legs, dragging you from your half asleep haze with the lazy, purposeful flicks of his mouth. He was buried beneath the covers, strong hands gripping your thighs apart as he feasted, groaning against your clit like he was tasting the sweetest thing he’d ever had.

You’d tried to push him away—mumbling something about needing more sleep—but he only chuckled, that deep, knowing sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. “Just let me take care of you” he murmured, lips brushing against your slick folds before he sucked your clit into his mouth, making you gasp.

He always wanted to take care of you. Always so eager to please, so willing to obey. Out of the bedroom and especially in it. And God, he was good at it. Even with all your experience, all the years you had on him, he still made you feel like you knew nothing when it came to pleasure. Like your body was something to be discovered, unraveled, and worshipped anew every time he touched you.

He didn’t stop until your fingers were tangled in his curls, until you were gasping his name, thighs shaking around his head as you came hard against his tongue. Only then did he finally emerge, lips wet, eyes dark with satisfaction. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue before pulling back to whisper against your lips, “Good morning baby.”

Then, as if nothing had happened, he got up to get ready for work, leaving you spent and panting in the sheets. You were still trying to catch your breath when he reappeared, straightening out his white compression shirt, looking every bit the composed, put-together man you knew he wasn’t when he was beneath you.

Before he left, he leaned down, brushing one last lingering kiss against your jaw. “I bought you something” he murmured, lips ghosting over your ear. “I want you to wear it tonight after dinner. It’s in the closet”

And just like that, he was gone. Leaving you hotter, hungrier, and more frustrated than when he had his mouth on you.

By the time dinner came, the anticipation was unbearable. The restaurant was your favorite—dimly lit, luxurious, filled with the kind of quiet intimacy that only made the tension between you more potent. Aurélien looked devastatingly good in his tailored suit, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders and strong arms, the open collar teasing just a glimpse of his smooth, warm skin.

But it was the way he looked at you that had you gripping your wine glass tighter. Like he wanted to devour you right there at the table.

“Staring is rude you know?” you murmured, dragging your tongue over your bottom lip just to tease him.

He exhaled sharply, adjusting in his seat. “Can’t help it ma belle” he admitted, his voice thick with restraint. His eyes dropped to the deep neckline of your dress, then back up to your lips. “You look too good”

You smirked, setting your glass down before leaning in, letting your fingers trace over the back of his hand. “You’re acting like you weren’t between my legs this morning” you whispered, watching his jaw tighten. “Like you didn’t make me cum on your tongue before you even ate breakfast”

Aurélien sucked in a slow breath, his fingers curling into fists on the table. “You trying to make me hard in this restaurant Y/n?” he muttered, voice low and rough.

You hummed, dragging your nails lightly up his arm. “I think you like when I tease you” you mused. “When I make you wait”

His gaze darkened, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “Do you want to leave right now?”

You smiled, tilting your head. “I want you to be patient” you corrected, trailing your fingers up to his wrist. “And then, when we get home, I want you to lose all of it”

His breath left him in a slow exhale, his grip tightening under the table. “Tu vas me donner une crise cardiaque un jour” (You're going to give me a heart attack one day)

You only laughed, taking another sip of wine.

You didn’t even make it through dessert before agreeing to leave. The second you stepped outside, Aurélien’s hand was on your lower back, guiding you toward the car with a possessive urgency that made your stomach flip.

The moment you slid into the passenger seat, restraint snapped like a frayed thread. Aurélien had barely even pulled off before you grabbed his jaw and kissed him—deep, hungry, desperate. He groaned into your mouth, his hands immediately roaming your body, gripping your waist, your thigh, your neck—anywhere he could reach. His lips were hot and urgent, trailing down your throat, nipping at your skin as his breathing turned ragged.

Your hand drifted between his legs, pressing against the thick, hard length straining beneath his slacks. He hissed, bucking slightly into your touch, his fingers tightening around your thigh.

“Fuck” he exhaled, forehead pressing against yours as he struggled to catch his breath. “You trying to make me crash before we even get home?”

You smirked, breathless, pressing one last slow, teasing kiss to his lips before pulling away. “Drive faster”

He obeyed.

The second you stepped through the door, his hands were on you again. You barely had time to drop your purse before his lips crashed against yours, hands greedy as they pulled you close. The heat between you was unbearable now, both of you gasping between frantic kisses as you stumbled back against the wall.

Your back hit the surface with a soft thud, but you barely noticed because Aurélien was already pressing into you—his hard, strong body molding against yours, the unmistakable heat of his arousal pressing against your stomach.

“I want you to fuck me hard” you murmured against his lips, voice thick with need. “Right here against the wall”

His breath hitched. His grip on you tightened, fingers digging into your hips, pupils blown wide with hunger.

“I’ll do whatever you want baby” he rasped.

And he meant it.

He grabbed your thigh and brought it to wrap around his hip as one of his hands slid into your drenched panties. “You’re so wet” he groaned, dragging his finger through your slick folds before teasing your clit in slow circles.

“Of course I am” you purred, arching into his touch, guiding his hand with yours to show him exactly how you liked it. “I’ve been thinking about you all fucking day”

His jaw clenched, and his free hand gripped your thigh, hiking it up against his waist. “Fuck” he breathed.

You laughed softly, teasing, threading your fingers through his curls and tugging. “Aurelien” you said in a serious tone. “I need you inside of me. Now”

His strength paired with his obedience, his need to dominate warring with his devotion to pleasing you—made your body burn.

His hands worked fast—pushing your dress up, sliding your panties down your thighs. His movements were eager but careful, like he was desperate to have you but still mindful of your comfort. He always was. Even in his most desperate moments, even when his body was shaking with restraint, his first instinct was to make sure you were taken care of.

But right now? Right now, you wanted him to lose control.

“Don’t hold back” you urged, grabbing his chin, making him look at you. “Show me how bad you want me Aurélien”

That was all it took.

Aurélien cursed under his breath, fumbling with his belt, shoving his slacks down just enough to free himself. The second his dick pressed against your entrance, he paused, his gaze locking onto yours, waiting—always waiting for your permission.

You pulled him closer, breath hot against his ear. “Do it”

And he did.

The stretch was exquisite, his size forcing your body to adjust, but it was exactly what you wanted—what you needed. A strangled groan left his lips as he sank in, forehead pressing against yours, his body trembling with the effort to control himself.

“Putain bébé” (Fuck baby) he choked out. “Je pourrais jouir maintenant” (I could cum right now)

You tilted your hips, urging him deeper, wrapping your leg tighter around him.

Aurélien gripped your hips and pulled back before slamming into you with a force that made your breath hitch. He set a brutal pace, fucking you against the wall just like you asked, the sound of your back hitting against the wall filled your ears and breathy moans filled the room.

He was lost in you, worshiping you with every thrust, every reverent kiss against your shoulder, every desperate moan muffled against your neck. His hands couldn’t stay still, roaming your body, nails digging into you, memorizing every curve, every dip, every shudder.

“Tell me what you need” he panted, lips brushing against your ear.

“You” you gasped, nails digging into his back, pulling him closer, deeper. “Just like this. Just—”

Your words cut off in a moan, back arching against the wall as Aurélien drove into you, hitting that perfect spot again and again—so precise, so ruthless, like he was made to fuck you just like this. His strokes were deep and demanding, dragging pleasure out of you with each roll of his hips, each desperate thrust that left you gasping. His fingers dug into your thighs and hips, holding you up effortlessly, his strength undeniable as he used it to wreck you in the best way. You could feel the tension coiling in your stomach, that telltale heat building, threatening to snap.

His grip tightened, knuckles white from how hard he was holding onto you, and his pace turned brutal—fast and deep, yet still so in tune with your body, like he knew exactly what you needed before you even had to ask. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the air, mixing with the frantic gasps, the sharp moans, the low, desperate groans spilling from his lips. He was unraveling, coming undone just as fast as you were, and the knowledge only pushed you closer to the edge.

“Cum for me” he begged, his voice breaking, thick with need. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes blown wide, dark and pleading. “Let me feel you bébé please—”

It was the way he said it, the raw desperation in his voice, the absolute worship laced in his words that finally shattered you. Your climax slammed into you like the way his dick was stroking your inner walls, stealing the air from your lungs, making your whole body tense as pleasure ripped through you. You cried out, nails raking down his back and arms, thighs trembling around his waist as he fucked you through it, determined to pull every last ounce of pleasure from you.

The way you clenched around him sent him spiraling right after you. His hips stuttered, a deep groan escaping his chest as he buried himself to the brim, his whole body shuddering with his release. You felt the warmth of him spill inside you, the way his muscles locked up, his grip on you tightening as if he needed to hold onto something—needed to hold onto you—to survive the intensity of it all.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just panting, tangled up in each other, his body still pressing you into the wall like he never wanted to let go. His breaths were ragged, hot against your neck, his heart pounding just as wildly as yours. Slowly, his grip softened, fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin, grounding himself in your warmth.

“Fuck” he murmured against your lips, voice wrecked, filled with nothing but awe.

And the way he said it—like he still couldn’t believe you were his—made you ache for him all over again.

Then, slowly, Aurélien pulled back, his fingers brushing through your hair, tucking a stray lock behind your ear. His eyes were dark with satisfaction, but there was still something softer—something almost tender—in the way he looked at you. The dominance he’d shown moments ago had been replaced with a hunger that felt a little different, but no less intense.

“You okay?” he murmured, kissing your forehead, his voice rough, thick with desire.

You smirked, taking his face in your hands, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw before dragging your nails down the sides. His pulse quickened beneath your touch. You tilted his face up to meet your gaze, locking eyes with him, and you could feel the shift between you—him, still catching his breath, and you, already craving more.

“I should be asking you that” you teased, voice low, dripping with satisfaction and hunger. “I did tell you to fuck me hard didn’t I?” Your tone was teasing but laced with a darkness that promised there was more to come.

His grin curled lazily, cocky, like he knew exactly how you felt and didn’t mind it one bit. But in his eyes, there was still that hint of boyish awe—like he couldn’t quite believe he was here with you, in this moment, with all of you. “I’ll do whatever you want” he reminded you, his voice rough as he pressed another slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “Whenever you want”

Your breath hitched at his words, but you didn’t let him get the upper hand yet. You hummed, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, savoring the way his breath caught, the way his muscles twitched under your touch. “Then I hope you’re not too tired” you purred, letting your fingers trail lower, teasing the waistband of his trousers before dragging them back up to his chest. “Because we’re not done yet”

His sharp inhale echoed in your ear, his hands tightening around you—too desperate to pull away, too eager to do exactly as you said.

Aurélien might have been the athlete, the one with stamina that went for miles, but you? You were the one who knew exactly how to use it.

The power was in your hands, and right now, it was your turn to make him bend to your will. You leaned up to kiss him again, slow and deep, your tongue tangling with his as you pulled him toward you, guiding him backward toward the stairs.You felt his cum dripping down your thighs and it made you so ready for the next round.

As you reached down, your fingers wrapped around him again, and you could feel it—the slick mess of both of you coating his dick, warm and sticky against your palm. You glanced down, smirking at the sight of it, the evidence of everything you’d just done still glistening on his skin. With a slow stroke, you spread it over him before tucking him back into his pants, smoothing the fabric over his length like you hadn’t just had him unraveling in your hands.

As you made your way up the stairs, you felt the pulse of anticipation building again—this time not from the tension of the moment, but from the sight awaiting you at the top of the stairs. Aurélien had planned something special. The soft glow of candles lit the path to the upstairs balcony, the space decorated beautifully with roses, fairy lights, and soft pillows arranged just so—an intimate, romantic scene that made your heart race in a different way.

You stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night air brushing against your skin, but it didn’t matter. Everything else melted away as you took in the sight before you. The balcony was transformed—soft candlelight flickered around the space, illuminating a scattering of roses, delicate fairy lights twinkling overhead, and pillows arranged perfectly. It was beautiful, intimate, and undeniably romantic.

“Oh, what’s all this?” you asked, your voice filled with surprise, though you couldn’t hide the hint of excitement rising inside you.

Aurélien moved behind you, his body warm against your back, arms wrapping around your waist. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, a satisfied smirk pulling at his lips. “I decorated before we left” he murmured, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “But we couldn’t really get to it because we were… busy” he finished, squeezing your side with a playful, possessive grip.

You smirked, spinning in his arms, eyes dark with desire. “You’ve been making me wet all night, and now you pull this shit on me?” you purred quietly, almost a whisper, hands running over the muscles in his chest as you leaned in closer, your breath hot against his lips. “It’s gonna be hard to wait any longer baby” you said, biting your bottom lip.

His eyes darkened at the tone of your voice, his grip tightening on you. “I’m gonna have to make you wait, but trust me, it will be worth it”

Before you could respond, Aurélien reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, holding it out toward you with an intensity that only made you burn hotter. “I have something for you” he whispered, voice thick with need.

You took the box, eyes glinting with curiosity. As you opened it, your breath caught in your throat. Inside was a stunning Tiger’s Eye Van Cleef bracelet, the deep golden hues reflecting the candlelight, beautiful in its simplicity and elegance. The piece was exquisite—just like him.

“It matches mine” he said, his voice proud and full of admiration as he stepped closer. “I knew you’d like it”

Your fingers brushed over the bracelet as you slipped it onto your wrist, eyes never leaving his. You could feel the intensity between you, like the space between your bodies was filled with pure electricity.

“Oh you knew huh?.....It’s perfect” you whispered, your voice a soft purr, eyes locked on his. “You always know exactly how to please me”. The words rolled off your tongue, full of intent, as you moved toward him again, pressing yourself against his chest.

Aurélien smirked, his hands trailing down your sides, fingers grazing over the curves of your body. “That’s my job baby” he replied, his voice dripping with desire.

Just when you thought he was about to pull you in for another kiss, he surprised you. He turned you again, pushing you gently toward the balcony railing so your back pressed flush against his chest once more. Your heart raced as you bent over it, the cool metal biting into your palms as you leaned forward, offering yourself to him completely. You gasped, feeling his growing arousal against you. His fingers slid down your back, tracing the curve of your spine before grasping your hips firmly, pulling you toward him. The heat between your legs was unbearable, and you could feel his hard dick pressing against you, demanding, urgent.

“You look so fucking sexy like this” he murmured, his voice thick with need, hands gripping your hips, holding you close. But you didn’t care about looking sexy—you cared about feeling him, having him, finally getting what you’d been desperate for all damn day.

“Aurélien” you whined, pressing your ass against his hard dick, rolling your hips against him.

His breath hitched, and his fingers dug into your skin as if he was barely holding himself back. “You need me that bad, baby?” he rasped, dragging his hands down your stomach, teasing the lace of your panties.

“Yes” you gasped, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “I want you to make me cum again—fuck me. Right here”

That did it. His restraint snapped. He quickly took off your shirt and skirt, his hands gripping your ass as he pressed you against the railing. “Bend over a little more for me” he ordered, voice rough, almost desperate.

You did as he said, gripping the cool metal as you arched your back, offering yourself to him completely. The night air brushed against your skin, making you shiver, but you didn’t care—because you felt him behind you, felt his fingers trailing down your spine, then yanking down the tiny lace he’d made you wear.

“So you liked the lingerie I set out for you this morning” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, his hands already gripping your waist like he couldn’t stand another second without you.

“Of course I did” you purred, tilting your head to brush your lips against his jaw. “I’ve been thinking about you fucking me in this all day.”

His dick twitched against you, his grip tightening. “Ouais?” (Yeah?) His voice was rough, dark with intent. “Laissez-moi vous donner ce que vous attendiez” (Let me give you what you've been waiting for)

You turned your head slightly, eyes dark with lust. “I want you to fuck me over the balcony so everyone knows how good you fuck me” you said, voice dripping with filth.

“Putain” he swore, his control completely shattered. His hand cracked against your ass, making you gasp, before he slid his fingers between your thighs, groaning when he felt how soaked you were. “Dripping for me” he murmured, rubbing your clit in slow, deliberate circles. “You need me that bad, huh?”

“Stop talking and fuck me” you demanded, rocking back against him.

He didn’t make you ask again. Lining himself up, he slammed into you in one deep thrust, stretching you open, making you gasp at the perfect, overwhelming fullness. He didn’t give you time to adjust—he started fucking you hard, deep, just like you needed, his grip bruising on your hips.

“Yes—fuck” you moaned, hands gripping the railing for support. “Fuck me Harder”

“You take this dick so fucking good” he groaned, pounding into you with everything he had. “So tight. So fucking wet for me.”

You gasped when he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, making you arch even deeper for him. He landed a hard slap on your ass making you whine loudly. The mix of pain and pleasure had your legs shaking, had you completely at his mercy.

“Smack me again” you moaned.

He did—hard. The sting only made you wetter, made you clench around him.

“Again”

Another sharp slap.

“Now make me cum” you gasped, your voice almost breaking from how desperate you were.

He obeyed instantly, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, tight circles, his thrusts turning brutal. “Cum for me” he rasped. “Let me have it”

Your orgasm hit like a fucking earthquake, your entire body tensing as pleasure exploded inside you, your walls clenching down on him, pulling a deep groan from his lips. He wasn’t far behind—you felt him twitch inside you before he cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, his grip on you unrelenting.

For a moment, all you could hear was your heavy breathing, the sound of the city below, and the lingering echoes of your moans in the night air. Aurélien’s hands traced slow, lazy patterns over your hips, his lips brushing over your shoulder, his breath still ragged.

Then, without a word, he turned you around, capturing your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. It wasn’t soft—it was all tongue, all heat, all the leftover desperation that neither of you could shake. His hands roamed your body, gripping, squeezing, pulling you closer like he still hadn’t had enough.

Slowly, he walked you into the loft, the soft carpet cushioning your feet as he guided you inside. The flickering candlelight cast shadows along the walls, and the night air from the open doors made your overheated skin tingle. When he reached the center of the room, he lowered you onto the plush floor, his hands firm but careful as he eased you down.

You looked up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly, watching as he sat back on his heels and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. His muscles flexed in the dim light, his skin still glistening from your last round on the balcony. Then, his hands moved lower shoving his pants and boxers down his thighs until he was completely bare above you, hard and ready again.

Your breath hitched when he leaned over you, flipping you onto your stomach with ease. His hands slid under your hips, lifting you slightly, arching your back so your ass was perfectly presented for him—your body pressing into the carpet, your legs spread just enough to feel the heat of him behind you.

“This” he murmured, trailing a slow hand down your spine. His touch left a trail of heat, every inch of your skin hyperaware of him. When he reached your ass, he squeezed—firm, possessive, sending a sharp pulse of desire straight to your core. “This is how I want you”

A shiver ran through you at his words, your body responding instantly. The anticipation was unbearable, pooling deep in your belly, making your thighs clench. His hands gripped your hips firmly before sliding lower, spreading you open with intent. The cool air against your heated skin sent another shiver down your spine, a slow, teasing pause that left you breathless.

Then, without warning, he slightly leaned down and let out his spit into your pussy. The sensation made your body jolt, a needy whimper slipping from your lips as he teased you, drawing out every ounce of anticipation. He groaned, savoring the way you trembled beneath him, before finally pressing the thick, leaking tip of his dick against your pussy.

With one deep, unhurried thrust, he filled you completely, stretching you open in a way that made your breath hitch, your mouth parting in a silent moan before it finally broke free.

“Fuck Aurélien” you gasped, voice trembling, your fingers digging into the plush carpet beneath you, desperate for something to hold onto. The overwhelming fullness, the slow, dragging way he pulled out only to press back in—it had you teetering on the edge of madness.

He groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you steady as he began to move, each stroke deep and measured, savoring every second of being inside you. His breath was uneven, his restraint evident, but it didn’t last long. Soon, his rhythm shifted, his control slipping as his hips snapped against you, faster, harder, his dick slamming into that perfect spot that had your legs shaking beneath you.

Your body tensed, pleasure unraveling inside you at a pace you couldn’t keep up with. The way he stretched you, filled you so perfectly, sent wave after wave of ecstasy crashing into you. It was too much, too intense. Your limbs burned, the friction, the overwhelming sensation making it impossible to think straight. You whimpered, trying to crawl forward, your hands scrambling at the carpet as you attempted to escape the unbearable pleasure.

But he was quicker. “Mm mm” Aurélien growled, his voice thick, dark with dominance as he grabbed your waist and yanked you back, forcing you flush against him again. “You’re not running from this dick. Come here”

A needy, broken moan fell from your lips as he grabbed you, pinned you in place, his hands locking around your hips, making sure you took every relentless stroke. Every inch. The deep drag of him, the way he filled you without pause, left you gasping, your body trembling under him. Your vision blurred, your muscles burning from the strain of taking him this deep, this hard. Every thrust sent a sharp, intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain rippling through you, leaving you desperate, stretched, and utterly consumed by him. His grip was bruising, his pace unyielding—there was no escape, not that you wanted one.

You felt him everywhere. The heat of his body pressing down on yours, the rough scratch of his breath against your shoulder, the tension in his muscles as he held himself back just enough to draw it out. Every inch of him dragged against your walls, thick and unrelenting, forcing your body to yield. The way he filled you, the way he stretched you, made your thoughts dissolve into nothing but him. And he felt you, too—his grip tightening as he groaned low in his throat, as if he could barely hold himself together. You clenched around him, and his rhythm faltered for a split second, a raw, helpless sound tearing from his throat. “Fuck” he gritted out, the word drenched in hunger. You could feel it—how close he was to losing control, how much he loved the way you took him.

His breath ragged as he reached beneath you, fingers expertly finding your swollen, sensitive clit. He rubbed tight, merciless circles, each touch perfectly in sync with his punishing thrusts. The sharp contrast of pleasure and intensity sent you spiraling, your body tensing, then unraveling beneath his relentless pace. His other hand smoothed over your ass before bringing it down in a sharp, stinging slap. Once. Then twice. The sharp bite of pain only made the pleasure crest harder, your cries muffled against the sheets. “Give it to me” he growled, his fingers pressing, stroking, demanding—until you shattered for him, falling apart in his hands.

The combination was lethal. Your orgasm ripped through you with devastating force, your entire body jerking as your walls clenched down on him, squeezing him so tight you heard him curse under his breath. A strangled cry left you, muffled against the carpet as you came, waves of pleasure crashing over you again and again.

Aurélien groaned, his pace faltering, his grip on you tightening as he buried himself deep one last time. His body tensed, his breath shuddering as he spilled inside you, his low, broken moan vibrating against your skin.

Neither of you moved, your bodies still locked together, trembling in the aftermath. Your breaths were ragged, chests rising and falling in sync, the only sound filling the space around you.

Then, slowly, he leaned down, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses along your spine, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you into his chest. His warmth, the way he held you so securely against him, sent a different kind of shiver through you—one that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with the way he made you feel.

A deep, satisfied groan rumbled in his chest as he pulled out, slow and careful, letting you feel every inch of him leaving your body. The wet, obscene sound of it filled the air, making your breath hitch. He lingered there for a second, eyes locked on the way you trembled, before finally settling beside you.

Neither of you said a word at first, just the sound of your breathing filling the room. But you didn’t need to.

Then, with a lazy smirk, he exhaled a laugh. “You know” he murmured, dragging his fingers up and down your arm, “we really could’ve just fucked in the car”

You laughed, burying your face against his chest. “I don’t even know how we made it home without crashing to be honest” you admitted. “I had my hand in your pants the whole damn ride”

He groaned, shaking his head. “Yeah, I was holding on for dear life” He traced a slow circle on your hip before tilting his head down to look at you. “We’re reckless as hell”

You grinned, pressing a lazy kiss to his collarbone. “A little”

He hummed, then suddenly— “What zodiac sign do you think our baby’s gonna be?”

You froze for a second before lifting your head to look at him. The countless hours of teaching him astrology finally came back to haunt you. His expression was unreadable, but there was something teasing—something knowing—lingering in his eyes.

“The way you’ve been putting it in me like you’re trying to start a family, we might find out real soon” you teased, arching a brow.

His smirk widened, hand smoothing over your stomach. “Yeah?” His voice was deep, almost too casual. “Hope they’re a Scorpio”

“So Jules can have a birthday buddy? Great idea” you teased, rolling your eyes.

He chuckled, fingers tracing lazy patterns against your skin. “Exactly. Double the chaos.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day” you shot back, laughing.

He smirked, tilting his head. “Yeah, and nine months from now, you’re gonna be saying ‘Happy Parenthood”

You scoffed, swatting at his chest, but he just grinned, pulling you even closer. He kissed you again, deep, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. And he did.

What started as lazy touches and teasing words unraveled into something primal, something untamed. You lost track of time, lost track of how many times he pulled you under, only to bring you back gasping, shaking, begging for more. Every surface became a playground—the bed, the couch, the kitchen table, even the floor when patience ran out. He flipped you, stretched you, took you apart in ways that had you seeing stars, until your body was trembling, muscles aching like you’d spent six straight hours on a stairmaster.

By the time you collapsed against him, boneless and wrecked, dawn was threatening the horizon. Your voice was hoarse, your skin marked with the evidence of everything he’d given you.

You knew this was gonna hurt so good when you woke up later.

[snowseasonmademe]

La terre a besoin de l’océan (chapter 1)

word count: 1,341

pairing: Jules Koundé x Imani Taylor

summary: Poet and new mother Imani is navigating life after birth, co-parenting her daughter with the man she once thought she’d marry—Barcelona footballer Jules Koundé. Though their relationship ended, the love between them never truly disappeared, simmering beneath shared responsibilities and lingering touches. As they rebuild trust and reimagine their future, Imani must decide if the life she walked away from is the one she’s meant to return to.

fc: @/ tatyanaalii_

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennaskorner

@leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

@jessnotwiththemess @thepointlessideas

note: i will make this quick :) the recurring dream i’ve been having made me write this and there’s so much to the story it couldn’t just be a one time fic! as always, enjoy and tell me what you think🤍!

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The scent of jasmine tea drifted through the apartment, curling into corners and settling in the silence of the early morning. It was quiet in a way that only homes with babies could be—calm, delicate, filled with the weight of knowing at any moment that stillness could be interrupted by a single cry.

Imani stood in the kitchen wrapped in a soft robe, a warm mug cupped between her palms. Her braids were pulled into a loose ponytail at the back her head, a few baby hairs framing her face. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes, not quite from exhaustion, but from thought. Her days always started like this now—quiet reflection before the real world called.

She sipped slowly, eyes flickering toward the hallway, just in time to hear the low creak of the floorboards. Jules appeared a moment later, barefoot with black sweats and a block top, Danielle nestled sleepily against his shoulder. The baby’s tiny hand clutched at the fabric of his tank top, her cheek pressed against his warm skin.

His voice, low and rough with sleep, filled the kitchen like a melody she hadn’t heard in a while.

“Morning.”

Imani glanced up at him, a tired smile tugging at the edge of her lips. “Morning.”

Danielle made a small sound in her sleep, a soft exhale, and Imani reached for her automatically. But Jules hesitated, just for a second, arms tightening around their daughter. He pressed a kiss to her curly head, eyes soft before he passed her into her mother’s arms.

“You should still be in bed,” Imani said, cradling Danielle against her chest. “Didn’t you get in late last night?”

“Had to hold her,” he murmured with a shrug, running a hand over his face. “She was crying, and I think she wanted her papa.”

Imani’s gaze lingered on him longer than she meant to. His locs were still damp from a shower, and his skin glowed from sleep. Fatherhood looked good on Jules. It always had. Even when things between them shifted, that part never changed.

She turned away.

Jules moved to the counter, pouring coffee with familiar ease. His body was cut in soft, defined lines—his back, his chest, the thick strength of his legs. Imani had spent so many mornings tracing them with her fingertips, back when their love was still brand new and electric. Back when everything had moved faster than they expected.

Six months into their relationship, she found out she was pregnant.

The news hit her like a wave—gentle but overwhelming. She’d been in Paris for a poetry event, heart still humming from the high of another sold-out reading when she took the test. She was six weeks along. The call to Jules was quiet, breathy. Her voice trembled.

He didn’t panic. He didn’t even sound shocked. “Okay” he said after a pause. “Let’s figure it out.”

Two weeks later, he helped her move into his apartment in Barcelona. Her 24 and him 25. No idea what they were doing, but determined to do it together.

Their relationship hadn’t always made sense on paper. She was a poet with three globally acclaimed books, her words dissected in academic circles and Instagram captions alike. He was a world-class athlete, intense and private, but wildly devoted. Somehow, it worked. She’d be in the front row at his matches, sunglasses on, not always knowing what was going on but always clapping the loudest. He’d be backstage at her events, leaning against the wall in all black, smiling quietly every time someone asked him, “Are you the Jules she writes about?”

They laughed easily. Fought rarely. Cried when they needed to—once about a major mistake he made, once about her father’s absence, once about nothing at all. He had a way of peeling her open without trying. And god, the sex. She used to joke that his Scorpio placements should be studied. But it wasn’t a joke. He was intense. Focused. Tender in the way his mouth moved against her skin, feral in the way his hands gripped her waist.

That last time they were together like that—intimate, raw—Imani was 26 weeks pregnant.

It had been a long night. They’d just set up the nursery. She was tired, but he was looking at her like she was magic. It was slow. Reverent. Her body swollen, but beautiful in a way neither of them fully understood yet. Afterward, they lay there in silence, her hand resting on her belly, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

Neither of them said it, but they both knew it would be the last time.

They hadn’t touched like that since.

Their breakup wasn’t a rupture—it was a decision. A quiet one. They both agreed before the baby was born that they didn’t see forever in each other, not in that way. But they loved each other deeply. And that mattered. They’d remain close. Best friends. Parents. Partners in a different kind of way.

Now, they lived together still. For Danielle. For her stability. Imani had suggested it when she was eight weeks pregnant. Jules didn’t hesitate.

They planned to stay under the same roof until Danielle started elementary school—at least. Imani adored living in Spain, but she often thought about moving back to New York when Danielle was a little older. She wanted her daughter to know the rhythm of the city that raised her. To walk the same Brooklyn streets, to feel that pulse beneath her feet. But not yet.

Not yet.

Jules leaned against the counter now, watching her move across the kitchen with their daughter in her arms.

“You’ve been working out again” he said, voice casual, but laced with something warmer.

Imani raised an eyebrow. “Why? You checking me out?”

He didn’t even blink. “Always”

That was the thing with Jules. He never pretended. He still thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. Her body had changed. Softened. Filled out in places she hadn’t expected. She was self-conscious about it sometimes, but Jules? He loved it. He hadn’t seen all of it—just glimpses. The curve of her hips under a towel, the way her thighs pressed together when she lounged in one of his t-shirts, the occasional flash of cleavage when she dressed up for a book signing.

He saw her. And he noticed everything.

Her face had matured too. Her eyes carried more weight now, her cheekbones a little sharper. He adored it more than he admitted.

And him?

Somehow, he’d gotten finer. His arms had grown thicker, veiny and strong from training, the kind that made Danielle look even smaller in his grasp. His legs—she noticed them too. And his face—clean-shaven or scruffy—was almost unfair. That sharp jaw, those deep-set eyes. Even more beautiful now than when they’d first met.

But neither of them did anything about it.

Because co-parenting came first. Always.

“She looks more like you every day,” Imani said suddenly, gaze soft as she looked down at their daughter. “It’s kind of unfair.”

Jules tilted his head, eyes never leaving her. “I think she’s got your spirit though. The fire. That soft heart underneath. She’s gonna be a poet too.”

Imani laughed, rich and full, the kind that came from the belly. The kind that made Jules smile before he could stop himself.

“You really think that?” she asked.

“Yeah, I do.”

There was a pause. A silence that felt like something sacred. A breath of all the things they didn’t say. The past. The love. The not-quite-gone desire.

They lived in that in-between now. No longer lovers. Not quite just friends. Co-parents, yes. But so much more than that. The way he noticed when her tea was almost out. The way she remembered his favorite post-match meal. The way they spoke without speaking. The way their lives were still wrapped around each other, just a little looser than before.

Maybe it wasn’t forever. Maybe it wasn’t love in the way it used to be.

But it was real. And for now, it was enough.

[snowseasonmademe]

French lessons and Rough sessions

word count: 3,700

warnings‼️ : smut

pairing : boyfriend aurelien x black female reader

summary : aurelien has an interesting way to teach you to not be so stubborn

note: SURPRISE SHAWTAAAYYYYY. i wanted to write this as a thank you to everyone (including all my moots and aurelien girlies) and a welcome to my new followers bc there have been a lot in the last couple of days! hello and welcome if you're new, i hope you have a great time here 2 another fic inspired by a song ik but songs are great inspo for me. i also mixed in the demon time thoughts of this anon (everyone say "thank you anon"). wrote this on a an hour ago so i hope it's still as good as my more well thought out ones. also i am working on that lewis fic, it is in progress and will be posted soon. i hope you enjoy, and tell me what you think💋💋💋.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Aurélien” you sing out teasingly, your voice lilting over the soft hum of music filling your cozy apartment. The dim, golden glow of the lamps casts long shadows, warming the space and bathing the French footballer in a sultry light. He lounges shirtless on your plush brown sofa, long, juicy legs sprawled lazily, one arm draped over the backrest like he owns the place. That one vein in his thigh popping out looking oh so appetizing.

Your finger crooks toward him as you sway your hips to the slow, sensual beat of Kehlani’s track playing from your phone. The sweet scent of vanilla candles mixes with the faint musk of his cologne lingering in the air, a heady combination that makes your pulse quicken.

“Clothes off?” you ask, your lips curving into a playful smirk as you roll your shoulders back, accentuating the movement of your hips. The fabric of your shorts brushes teasingly against your skin with each deliberate sway.

Aurélien’s deep brown eyes gleam, his gaze sharp and hungry as it tracks your every move. A slow, confident smile spreads across his face, the kind that promises trouble. “Ah, tu veux que je sois nu, c’est ça?” (Ah, you want me to be naked, is that it?) His voice is rich and smooth, the deep rumble of his accent sending a shiver down your spine.

“Only if you say please” he says, arching a brow as you tilt your head coquettishly. “In French.”

Without breaking eye contact, you reach for the hem of your top, sliding it up and over your head with unhurried precision. The cool air kisses your skin, and the black lace of your bralette feels deliciously daring against your bare torso.

Aurélien exhales softly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes linger on your curves. “S’il te plaît” you murmur, your voice rasping as he bites his lower lip, that signature smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth.

The tension between you hums like a live wire.

He leans back, the firm muscles of his torso stretching enticingly, and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts. The soft brush of his clothes against his skin almost silent in the room. He pushes the fabric down, inch by inch, revealing the sculpted planes of his thighs until his shorts fall to the floor in a soft whisper of fabric, making your mouth water.

Now clad in nothing but black Calvin Kleins, he stands tall before you, his skin glistening faintly under the warm light. Shadows dance across the ridges of his abs, the sharp lines of his physique a testament to hours of discipline and training.

“Hmm” you hum appreciatively, your voice low and thick with want. You step closer, the soft carpet muffling your footsteps, and still looking him in the eyes, you reach out to trail a single fingertip down the length of his chest. His skin is warm, smooth, and firm beneath your touch.

“What’s the French word for insatiable?” you ask, your voice husky as your fingers tease at the waistband of his boxers.

“Insatiable” he replies, his voice, dripping with his sexy, foreign accent, dropping to a growl that vibrates between you.

Before you can slip your fingers further down, his hand catches your wrist, holding you firmly but gently. The warmth of his palm sends a jolt of anticipation through you.

“First” he says, his gaze locking onto yours, dark and commanding, “say something dirty to me en français.”

Your lips curve into a wicked smile as you lean in, your breath ghosting over his jaw. “Baise-moi jusqu’à ce que je ne puisse plus marcher.” (Fuck me until I can’t walk) Your voice is a whisper, low and full of promise.

A sharp breath escapes him, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric. The grin that spreads across his face is nothing short of predatory. “Oh, ma belle” he rasps, his voice thick with lust, “tu sais quoi dire pour mettre un homme à genoux.” (You know exactly what to say to bring a man to his knees.)

Aurélien releases your wrist, and you take your time sliding his boxers down, the soft cotton brushing over his firm thighs before pooling at his feet. The heat radiating from his body is intoxicating, and the faint sound of his breathing grows heavier as your hands linger on his skin. The image of him standing right in front of you with nothing in was enough to make you faint. You wanted nothing more but to lick him from head to toe.

His hands find your hips, his grip possessive, pulling you against him. The hard planes of his body press into your softness as he captures your lips in a searing kiss, his mouth warm and demanding.

“Tourne-toi and spread your legs for me” (Turn around) he orders against your lips, his voice a low growl that leaves no room for argument.

Your heart pounds as you turn slowly, the cool air brushing your exposed back. You place your palms flat against the wall — knowing that’s what he would say next — the textured surface rough against your skin.

“Bien” (Good) he whispers, his voice low and approving. His hands slide over your shoulders, down your sides, and linger at the clasp of your bra. With a practiced flick, it falls away, leaving your breasts bare to the room’s warm light.

The sharp contrast of his large, calloused hands against your soft skin sends a shiver coursing through you. His fingers dip to the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down with tantalizing slowness.

You wiggle your hips, feigning innocence as you make the task harder for him. His low growl rumbles behind you.

“Reste immobile” he warns, his tone sharp enough to cut through your playful defiance. (Stay still.)

But you can’t help it—you giggle, wiggling even more just to provoke him.

Aurélien’s hands then grip the waistband firmly, yanking your shorts down in one swift, decisive motion. The fabric catches briefly against your curves before pooling at your ankles, leaving you completely bare. A sharp, stinging slap lands on your left cheek, followed by another on your right. Then again, left then right. The sound echoes in the room, and you gasp, the sting sharp and thrilling.

“Are you going to stop playing now?”

Your lips curve into a pout as you glance over your shoulder. “Ouch, Aurélien, that hurts” you whine, though the heat pooling in your core betrays your words. Your hands find your ass trying to soothe the pain but his hands swat yours away quickly before you could stop the pain.

His grip tightens on your hips, his voice steady but dark with desire. “I asked you a question” he says, his breath warm against the shell of your ear.

You turn your head slightly, a teasing glint in your eye. “No.”

He respons with a calm “Mm okay then.” sending a rush of heat through you. You stood there wondering how he is still so unbothered by your antics.

His palm comes down again, harder this time, landing squarely on your backside. The sharp smack echoes against the walls, and you cry out, the sting blooming across your skin and spreading like wildfire.

“You’re going to have to learn not to be bad, chérie” he murmurs, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. The deep timbre of his voice vibrates through you, melting into the haze of desire pooling in your core.

His hand moves in slow, deliberate circles over the place he just struck, the contrast between the soothing motion and the residual sting sparking electric shocks along your nerves. His fingers press gently, teasing the sensitive skin, and your breath catches at the exquisite mix of pain and pleasure.

“Am I a dog?” you ask, your voice dripping with cheeky defiance, though your heart races as you test his patience.

He pauses for a moment, and you feel his body tense behind you. Then, his dark chuckle rumbles low in his chest, the sound rich and dangerous. His hips press forward, and the hard ridge of his arousal grinds against you, stealing a gasp from your lips.

“Non” he murmurs, his voice a husky promise. His fingers trail up your spine, tracing a line so light it sends shivers racing across your skin. His touch lingers at the nape of your neck before sliding down again, slow and deliberate, as if savoring every inch of you. “Mais we can put you in a position that makes you feel like one.” (but)

The wicked edge in his tone makes your knees tremble, though you refuse to give him the satisfaction of faltering.

“Smart ass” you mutter under your breath, turning your face just enough to mask the smirk tugging at your lips.

You’re sure he didn’t hear you. The music still hums faintly in the background, and the tension in the room is thick enough to drown out quieter sounds. But you’re wrong.

His grip tightens on your hips, his fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch. The heat of his palms sears into your skin, a firm reminder of his dominance. You can feel his smirk pressing against the space between your shoulder blades, a silent warning that he doesn’t let anything slide.

“What did you say?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm, but there’s an edge of challenge there, daring you to repeat yourself.

Your mind races as you weigh your options. Finally, you glance back over your shoulder, lips parted in mock innocence. “Je n’ai rien dit” (I didn’t say anything) you reply, your voice sweet and soft, though you both know the lie is as thin as air.

His eyes narrow, dark with suspicion and amusement. “Huh, I must be hearing things then” he says, his grip shifting slightly. You say nothing not wanting to cause him to spank you anymore. You feel the rough pads of his thumbs brushing over the curve of your hips, a tantalizing touch that makes your pulse quicken.

He leans closer, his breath warm against your neck as he murmurs, “Careful, ma belle. Lies have consequences.”

The room feels thick with tension and the musky heat of desire, the dim lighting casting long shadows that flicker with each of your movements. The faint hum of music in the background competes with the sound of your heavy breathing, every note of Kehlani’s sultry melody blending with the symphony of your escalating passion.

Aurelien’s large hands grip your hips possessively, his fingertips pressing into your soft skin with just enough force to leave ghostly impressions. He grinds his hips against your ass in a slow rhythm, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against you through the thin fabric separating your bodies. The friction sends jolts of heat through your core, leaving no doubt about what he wants—or what you need.

Without warning, his hand slides between your legs, the roughness of his touch contrasting with the smoothness of your folds. His fingers dip into your wetness, teasingly stroking the slick, sensitive skin, and you gasp at the sudden intimacy. “You’re already this wet for me…..but you don’t deserve what you want until you start listening.” His accent laces his words with an intoxicating mix of authority and seduction, and his lips brush faintly against the shell of your ear as he speaks.

“Keep your hands on the wall” he commands, his voice low and firm. “Spread those legs a little wider for me.”

Your knees threaten to buckle under the intensity of his touch, his fingers trailing languidly up and down, drawing out soft gasps that you can’t suppress. Despite the stubborn tilt of your chin, your body betrays you, and you slowly spread your legs wider, the ache for more overcoming any shred of defiance. His hand grips your hip as his other explores your wetness, his thumb grazing your clit with maddening precision.

“D’accord, tu y arrives” (Okay, you’re getting there) he murmurs approvingly, his breath fanning over your neck. The gruff praise sends a thrill down your spine, and your toes curl in anticipation.

Then he pushes two thick fingers inside you, filling you with delicious intensity. You cry out in surprise, arching your back, your walls clenching around him as your body adjusts to the intrusion. “Aurelien!” you gasp, your hand instinctively flying back to grab at his wrist as pleasure courses through you like an electric current.

“Non, bébé, qu’est-ce que j’ai dit?” (No, baby, what did I say?) His tone is both stern and amused, laced with mock disappointment. He pulls his fingers back slightly, denying you the full sensation you crave, before delivering another sharp smack to your bottom that stings enough to make you yelp. “Les mains sur le mur.” (Hands on the wall) The command comes with just a hint of menace, and you know better than to defy him twice.

Whimpering, you flatten your palms against the cool wall, the chill grounding you for a moment before his fingers plunge back into you, curling to hit that perfect spot that makes your legs quake. His thumb resumes its torturous circles on your clit, coaxing desperate cries from your lips as he works you with skillful precision.

“Bien, bébé” (Good, baby) he rasps, his voice low and velvety. The warmth of his breath skims over your damp skin, and you can feel the smirk curling on his lips even though you can’t see it.

Then, just as the pressure within you starts to build, his fingers withdraw abruptly, leaving you empty and aching. You hear the rustle of fabric behind you—the low scrape of his underwear hitting the floor—and then the hot, hard length of him pressing against your wetness, teasing without entering. You can hear how turned on you are. Your body shudders at the sensation, your breath hitching as he places a firm hand on your lower back, gently arching you forward.

“Stay just like that” he mutters, his tone a tantalizing mix of roughness and care. “Don’t move.”

He grips your hips, spreading your legs wider with his knee, the position forcing you onto your tiptoes, the burn in your thighs adding to the delicious tension building in your core. “Très bien bébé” (Very good baby) he murmurs approvingly, the heat of his words spilling over your ear as he slowly pushes forward, inch by tantalizing inch, stretching you completely.

A low groan escapes his lips as he buries himself fully inside you carefully, his hands flexing against your hips, holding you still as he savors the tight heat enveloping him. “Si humide pour moi…” (So wet for me), he hisses through gritted teeth. The words are raw, and they ignite a fire within you.

“Toi—tu me rends si humide, Aurélien” (You—you make me so wet, Aurelien) you stammer, the effort to form a grammatically correct sentences lost to the overwhelming sensations flooding your body. He chuckles darkly at your attempt, clearly pleased with the effect he has on you.

His hips pull back, his length sliding out almost completely before he thrusts back in with a force that sends you rocking forward against the wall. The sound of your back side meeting hips fills the room, a steady, rhythmic slap that only grows louder as he sets a punishing pace.

“Plus fort, s’il te plaît, Aurélien” (Harder, please, Aurelien) you beg, your voice raw and desperate.

“Ah, tu veux que je te baise plus fort, Y/N?” (Ah, you want me to fuck you harder, Y/N?) he taunts, his voice steady and teasing despite the sweat glistening on his skin and the relentless motion of his hips.

“Oui… oui… s’il vous plaît” (Yes… yes… please) you plead, your head tipping back as the words tumble from your lips between gasping breaths.

With a growl, he grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging your head back so your neck is exposed. The rough pull sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and making you let out a few loud moans, almost sounding like a sob. His lips brush against the curve of your ear “Ne me supplie pas si tu ne peux pas suivre” (Don’t beg if you can’t keep up) he rasps before slamming into you harder, deeper, each thrust sending shockwaves through your trembling frame.

The air in the room is riddled with the scent of sweat and sex, the heat clinging to your skin like a second layer. The dim light casts shadows across the walls, flickering as the movement between your bodies sends vibrations through the room. Your hands scrape against the smooth surface of the wall, desperate for something to anchor yourself as Aurelien drives into you with a force that steals the air from your lungs. Each thrust is unrelenting, hitting deep, hard, and perfect, until the world around you dissolves into white-hot sensations.

“Oh. fuck. yes” you cry out matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Your voice raw, almost breaking. The pressure of his thrusts pushes you forward, your cheek brushing the cool wall, a contrast to the blazing heat radiating from your bodies. The sting of overstimulation blends with the sweet ache of pleasure, driving you wild.

Aurelien wraps his thick, muscled bicep around your throat, pulling you flush against him. His chest presses against your sweat-slicked back, the hardness of his body a stark juxtaposition to your trembling body. His lips graze the shell of your ear, and give you a little bite. Hips lips hot and insistent, and the deep, gravelly rasp of his voice sends shivers down your spine.

“Tu vas jouir sur ma bite, bébé?” (Are you going to cum on my dick, baby?) he growls, his hips slamming into you with merciless precision. Each syllable is steeped in dominance, his accent curling around the words in a way that makes your core tighten.

“Oui! Oui, je vais jouir!” (Yes, yes, I’m going to cum!) you pant, the desperation in your voice echoing off the walls. Your body shakes with anticipation, your muscles tightening as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion. His fingers find your clit, pinching and rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves with a skill that has you keening, the sound breaking from your throat like a plea.

You can’t stop yourself from pushing back against him, grinding your hips to meet his brutal rhythm. The lewd slap of skin on skin grows louder, each thrust pushing you closer to the brink.

“Ouais, juste comme ça. Continuez.” (Yeah, just like that. Keep going.) His voice is breathless, thick with arousal, his moans spilling out as he holds you in place, fully impaled on his cock. His arms gently adds a little more pressure to your throat. The pressure is firm but not overwhelming, a delicate balance that only adds to the overwhelming sensations coursing through you.

Your vision begins to blur, your mind drowning in the sensations. The gentle choke intensifies the pleasure, turning the fire in your core into a roaring inferno. You gasp, the lack of oxygen sharpening every nerve ending, sending shocks of ecstasy coursing through you.

“Ughhh, fuck yessss” Aurelien groans, his deep voice breaking with need. His relentless thrusts grow uneven, his own pleasure cresting as your cries push him over the edge.

The dam within you finally breaks. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your body convulsing violently as every nerve ignites. You scream his name, the sound raw and primal, as your inner walls clamp down hard around him, pulling him deeper into you. Aurelien doesn’t stop, his hips hammering into you with harsh, irregular thrusts as your climax continues to ripple through you.

His grip tightens around your throat just enough to send your orgasm into overdrive. The sensation is overwhelming, pushing you past the limits of what you thought your body could handle. You feel him swell inside you, his low growl echoing through your ear.

“Sacrément, this pussy feels so good” (Damn) he whispers cruelly, the sinful words spoken in a tone designed to make you lose control all over again. His pace falters, becoming erratic as his own release overtakes him. With a guttural groan, his body tenses, and you feel the hot rush of his seed spilling into you, marking you in the most intimate way.

As he pulls out, his release trickles down your thighs, warm and sticky, a reminder of his claim on you. Aurelien turns you around with firm hands, his touch steadying your shaky legs. His dark eyes lock on yours, heavy-lidded with satisfaction as he spreads your thighs wider, studying the mess he’s made of you.

“Regarde-moi” (Look at me) he commands, his voice soft but brooking no disobedience. His hands remain on your hips, his touch grounding as your body still trembles from the aftermath. You meet his gaze, your lips parted as you try to catch your breath, the dazed look on your face making his smirk widen.

Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes glazed with satisfaction and submission. His seed drips down your inner thighs, mingling with your own arousal, the evidence of your passion painting your skin. You look thoroughly used, and the sight clearly pleases him.

“Did you learn to be good?” he asks, his tone sweetly mocking, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, and you can’t help but smirk slightly.

“Yes” you reply, your voice hoarse but tinged with amusement.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Will you be bad again?” he asks, his tone laced with playful warning.

“Maybe” you tease, your lips curling into a grin despite your trembling legs.

His eyes darken, a mischievous glint lighting them as he clicks his tongue. “Oh, I think that means you didn’t learn, chérie” he says, shaking his head. He steps back, his presence commanding even as he gestures toward the bedroom. “Go to the bed and lay down.”

He turns and strides toward the bedroom without a backward glance, his confidence leaving no doubt that you’ll follow. And he’s right. There’s no way you’d dare to disobey—not after this. You take a shaky step forward, your body still tingling, already anticipating what’s to come.

[snowseasonmademe]

I need some compassion

word count: 2,812

pairing: alejandro balde x black female reader

summary: things between you and alejandro aren’t how they used to be and you don’t know what could’ve changed.

warning ‼️: angst. mentions of sex but no full out smut.

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennaskorner

@leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

@jessnotwiththemess @thepointlessideas

@amirawrah

note: here’s my first alejandro fic! and it’s angst, sorry guys lol. i’ll write a fun, nice one for him soon but i wanted to experiment a bit. as always, enjoy and tell me what you think!

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Alejandro had always been the romantic type.

But not in the shallow, performative way that most people toss the word around. He didn’t just show up with flowers because it was expected. He didn’t take you out to dinner because it was what boyfriends were “supposed” to do. No, Alejandro moved through romance like it was instinct. Like it was something etched into the marrow of his bones. His love wasn’t a series of gestures—it was an atmosphere. A way of being. A gravitational pull that swept you into orbit before you even realized you’d left the ground.

He loved with his whole self. Not just his hands and his mouth, but his silences. His timing. His patience. He listened like each word you said was a delicate string he didn’t want to snap. He remembered things. Small things. Things most people would let slide into the background. He’d recall how you once mentioned loving the smell of rain on hot pavement—and a month later, he drove you through backroads in a summer storm with the windows down just so you could breathe it in.

His kind of love wasn’t just romantic—it was transformative.

It changed the air around you. The way your body moved through space. The way you held yourself, like maybe you really were the sun in someone’s sky, the steady pulse at the center of a world built just for you. When Alejandro looked at you—really looked—it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t passing. It was stillness. Arresting. Like you were something sacred. Like you were a living prayer, and he had just remembered how to kneel.

You could still remember the exact way he used to hold your face when he kissed you.

His palms weren’t soft—he was an athlete, after all—but when they cupped your cheeks, they felt reverent. Like he was holding something fragile, something holy. His thumbs would brush just under your eyes, slow and careful, like he thought you might vanish if he touched too hard. He would trace your cheekbone with such aching gentleness it felt like he was reading braille, like your skin was telling him secrets only he could hear.

He had this habit of tucking your hair behind your ear, not just to tidy it or to see you better, but because it gave him a reason to be close. To touch. To linger. There was something grounding in it for him—like the silk of your hair between his fingers reminded him of what was real, what mattered. He noticed things others missed: the way your back responded best to slow, clockwise circles when you couldn’t sleep, or how you always left the last sip of your coffee untouched unless it had oat milk in it.

In the beginning, being with him felt like stepping into sunlight after years of shadow.

It wasn’t a grand revelation, not a fireworks-and-fanfare moment—but something quieter. Truer. Like breath, or gravity. Like the two of you had always been orbiting, and finally, finally, you’d collided in the softest kind of miracle.

But now?

Now you weren’t even sure he saw you.

Not really.

His eyes still landed on you—but they didn’t linger. They didn’t see. Not in that soul-cradling, heart-stopping way that used to make you feel like the most alive thing in any room. The motions were all still there—the gestures, the habits—but they were stripped of meaning, like a song played on mute.

The dinners still happened.

You still sat across from each other in dimly lit restaurants that smelled of roasted garlic and candle wax. The tables were dressed in crisp linen. The wine glasses were tall and thin, filled with something French and expensive. The waiters wore pressed shirts and shoes that clicked softly against hardwood floors. From the outside, it looked perfect. A couple in love, living well.

But from your side of the table, it felt like theater.

You said your lines. He said his.

The conversation was a script neither of you had the heart to rewrite, so you kept performing it. The roles you once inhabited so fully—lover, partner, confidant—felt like costumes now. Heavy and ill-fitting.

“How was training?” you’d ask, twirling your fork like it mattered.

“Fine. We ran tactics for Saturday.”

“Oh. That sounds intense.”

“No really. Just repetitive.”

That was it. That was the scene.

The scrape of your fork against the ceramic plate sounded louder than his voice. You’d nod, swallow some overpriced Cabernet, and offer him a practiced smile. The kind of smile you might give to a neighbor in an elevator. Not the man who had kissed you breathless just three days ago after a fight. Not the man whose body had curled instinctively toward yours that morning in bed, even in sleep.

You missed him. God, you missed him.

But maybe worse—you missed yourself in his love.

You missed the version of you that bloomed under the warmth of his gaze. The woman who felt easy in her skin, held, seen, known. The version of you who didn’t have to earn affection or translate silences or decode sighs.

You missed the way his touch used to speak.

He used to rest his hand on your thigh during car rides, fingers splayed like they belonged there, like they were always meant to be there. He used to kiss the curve of your shoulder while you stirred dinner, his lips brushing your skin like punctuation marks in a language only he could write.

Now, when he touched you, it felt...dutiful. Or worse—automatic.

The easy, unconscious intimacy had calcified into muscle memory. Something rehearsed. Something fading.

And the fighting? That had changed too.

You fought more now. Not loud, slam-the-door fights. But slow, painful ones. Heavy and sharp. The kind that didn’t clear the air but poisoned it. Words came out barbed and jagged, slicing deep before either of you realized what you were even trying to say. You didn’t argue to resolve—you argued to survive. And somewhere in the chaos, you forgot how to speak each other’s language.

Still—after the fights, when the dust of your anger hadn’t even settled yet, he would reach for you.

And you would let him.

You always let him.

His mouth would crash against yours like a man starving, like the fight hadn’t cracked something open but cracked something loose. And your body—traitorous, aching, hungry—would answer. Would open. Would respond like it still remembered everything even your mind tried to forget.

He would hold you like a man lost in a storm. Not tenderly, not gently—but like a drowning man clutching a rope. His hands would grip, his breath would catch, and his forehead would fall against yours with a desperate kind of pressure that said: Please.

He never said the words.

He never said I’m sorry.

But in those moments—in the trembling press of his hands, in the way he breathed your name like a prayer—it almost felt like he meant it.

Like maybe, just maybe, this was his version of an apology.

A wordless, frantic, clumsy kind of love that still didn’t know how to stop choosing you.

Even if everything else had already started to let go.

And you hated that.

Hated the twisted ritual of it all.

How the closest you ever felt to him now came not in the lightness of laughter or the comfort of everyday touches, but in the ashes of your worst arguments. After the yelling. After the silence. After you’d both stood there, wounded and raw, having thrown knives shaped like words. That was when he touched you like he still remembered. Like his skin ached without yours. Like he could undo the wreckage with the heat of his mouth and the desperation of his hands.

You hated that pain had become the precursor to passion. That intimacy now arrived hand-in-hand with suffering. That your body still opened for him—hungry, responsive, needy—while your heart cowered in the corner, whispering pull away, please, pull away.

You were split in two: the version of you that still loved him so deeply it hurt, and the version that was tired of bleeding for that love.

And the worst part? You knew he noticed.

You saw it in the quiet moments. The ones he didn’t think you were watching.

Like the way his gaze would drift to you and then quickly away, like he was afraid of what he might see reflected in your eyes. Not wonder. Not the awe he once wore like second skin around you. But guilt. Maybe shame. Confusion.

You caught him lingering in the hallway sometimes, paused mid-step like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for you or retreat. You saw the way he held his phone, scrolling slowly through old photos of you together when he thought you were asleep—his thumb brushing over the screen like a prayer, eyes glassy in the dim blue light.

There was one night—3:12 a.m.—you’d padded into the living room for water and found him sitting there, hunched over, elbows on knees, phone lit up with that same photo album. Your playlist—the one you used to make love to, the one that played during lazy Sunday breakfasts and long, tangled mornings—was playing faintly through the speakers. It was like he was trying to summon a ghost. Trying to remember what it felt like to be close without the aftermath of a storm.

He was searching. Always searching. For a cure. A quick fix. A lifeline.

But that was the problem. Alejandro kept looking outside himself.

He acted like love was a riddle to solve. A game with hidden clues. Like if he just found the right podcast episode, if he bookmarked the right advice meme on Instagram, if he could just piece together enough romantic gestures—a surprise dinner here, a hotel room with rose petals there—it would all click. The connection would return. The love would flow again. The warmth would come back like water from a turned tap.

But love doesn’t work like that.

Love doesn’t live in checklists.

It’s not a problem to be fixed. It’s a presence. A choice. A quiet, continuous offering.

And the truth was: no getaway could replace what had gone missing. No luxury could fill the vacancy of being emotionally abandoned. No Pinterest-perfect date could make up for the fact that you hadn’t felt seen by him in weeks.

You didn’t want more effort if it wasn’t honest. You didn’t want bigger gestures if they were just smokescreens for absence.

You needed presence. Consistency. The unsexy, unglamorous kind.

You needed to feel him in the room. In the moment. In the ordinary.

You didn’t need more flowers. You needed to not feel like a stranger sitting across from someone who used to trace galaxies into your spine.

You didn’t want to feel like a task on his to-do list.

You wanted to feel like his.

And if he couldn’t offer that—if he couldn’t meet you where you were, couldn’t choose you on the hard days, in the silence, in the slow spaces—then you’d have to walk away.

Not because you stopped loving him.

But because you finally loved yourself enough not to stay where you were slowly fading.

You both knew the end wasn’t what either of you wanted. Not truly. Not yet.

Too many pieces of your shared life still whispered of love.

His hoodie, crumpled in the laundry basket, still carried the scent of him—warm sandalwood and sweet caramel.

Your silk scarf still hung from the back of a dining chair, left there the last time he undressed you with frantic hands and aching want.

The photo booth strip still clung to the fridge by a single magnet—his smile wide, face pressed to your cheek, your mouth mid-laugh, joy radiating off the print. Neither of you had moved it. Neither of you could.

But nostalgia wasn’t enough.

Love couldn’t breathe in memories alone.

So now, you sat on opposite ends of the couch—two familiar strangers in a home you once built together.

The space between you was thick. Dense with everything unsaid. With every swallowed apology, every unmet need, every moment you’d both pulled back when you should’ve leaned in.

Your arms were folded. Legs curled up beneath you like a shield. Your gaze fixed on nothing, because eye contact felt like too much.

Alejandro leaned forward.

His elbows balanced on his knees, fingers raking restlessly through his curls—longer now than they used to be, messier.

His knee bounced, jittery with nerves.

“I don’t want to break up” you said, voice hushed but heavy, like the words might shatter if you spoke them too loud.

His head snapped up instantly. “No. Yo tampoco.” (No. Me neither)

His accent—thicker now, untouched by translation—carried the weight of truth. He never softened it when he was being vulnerable. When he was speaking from the deepest part of himself.

You watched him closely. The way his jaw flexed. The flicker of fear behind his eyes. He looked like someone teetering at the edge, unsure if the next step was going to bring him back to you or send him spiraling further away.

“I just…” you hesitated, swallowed, pushed past the knot in your throat. “I feel like we’re fading. We’re both watching it happen in real time and just… hoping the other person will do something.”

His exhale was sharp. Painful. He pressed his palms into his face, fingers curled like claws.

“I know.”

When he looked at you again, his eyes were rimmed red. Raw. Wide open.

“I’m—” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. Tried again. “I’m trying. I swear. But it’s…” he shook his head, voice barely above a whisper, “Joder. It’s like I forgot how to move. How to feel.” (Fuck)

He touched his temple. Then his chest.

“In here. And in here.”

You said nothing. You just let him speak. Spill. Unravel.

“I feel frozen” he confessed. “The man who loved you—he’s still in me. But he’s… buried. Quiet. Waiting for me to let him speak again.”

Your arms tightened around your knees.

“I want to love you right” he went on. “I want to kiss you like I mean it. Not like a routine. I want to hold you because I need to, no because I feel like I should. But I get scared. And then I freeze. And then you pull back. And I panic. Then we fight.”

His voice broke again. “Lo odio, joder.” (I fucking hate it)

“I hate it too” you whispered, eyes stinging. “And I hate that the only time we’re close now is when we’re making up. Not even apologizing.”

He flinched like you’d hit him.

“No” he said quickly. “No, that’s not it. That’s not true. I always want you. I still see you.”

“But you don’t show it”

“I know” He blinked hard. “And I hate that even more”

He looked wrecked. Like someone standing in the rubble of something sacred, unsure where to begin the rebuild.

“I’ve been lost” he said. “Been living in my own silence. But you were always the thing that bring me back to life.”

You bit down on your trembling lip.

“I don’t need perfection” you said. “I just need presence. I need to trust that I’m still loved… not as a duty, not as a memory. But now. As I am.”

“I do love you. Muchisimo” he said, with a force that made your breath catch. “Even when I don’t say it right. Te lo juro. Every time you walk into a room. Every time I hear you laugh, even when it’s not for me. When you’re angry. I look at you and I still think, Dios… how did I get this lucky?” (A lot) (I swear to you)

A tear slid down your cheek, uninvited. You wiped it with the back of your hand, smiling through the ache.

“I want to turn the page” you said. “Not pretend the rest of the book doesn’t exist. I want to grow from it. With you.”

He nodded, slowly. Like he understood for the first time.

“I want that too. Contigo. Real this time. Honest.” (With you)

You sniffled. “Can you show up for me? Even on the numb days? Even when it’s hard?”

He moved closer—just enough for his knee to touch yours. His hand slid gently to your thigh. Not urgent. Not possessive. Just warm. Steady. Seeking.

“I promise” he said, eyes locked on yours. “Even if it come out messy. Even if I don’t always get the right word. Tú eres mi corazón. Always.” (You are my heart)

And no—maybe this wouldn’t be easy.

But in that moment, with his hand on your leg, his eyes open and pleading, his voice cracking beneath the weight of it all—you believed him.

And for now…

That was enough.

[snowseasonmademe]

In your hands

warning ‼️: smut

word count: 4,991

pairing: william saliba x black female reader

summary: on a nice, innocent pottery date you can help but desire for you to be in william’s hands instead of the clay

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @whoevenisthiz @iamquiantrelle @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennasutopia @jessnotwiththemess

note: my first william fic🥳 the girls and i had a timeeeeeee with that pottery video so i had to write something because it was really making me ✨tingle✨. as always enjoy and tell me what you think!

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The warm glow of the studio lights cast golden hues over the room, reflecting off the damp sheen of the spinning clay. The air smelled of earth and something faintly musky—maybe the clay, maybe the lingering scent of William’s cologne. Either way, it was intoxicating.

You had both been waiting weeks for this pottery date, but between his matches and your packed schedule, the timing never aligned. Until tonight. And now, here you were—knees touching as you both sat in front of the wheel, hands trembling slightly as you tried to center the clay.

William let out a low chuckle, watching as the mass of clay wobbled under your uncertain hands. “Let me help you bébé” he murmured, his deep, accented voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could protest, he reached for another chair, dragging it behind yours. The scrape of wood against tile barely registered before he settled in—his long legs bracketing yours, his chest pressing flush against your back. His presence engulfed you, surrounding you in his warmth, in the scent of him—clean, rich, subtly spiced. It made your pulse stutter.

His hands found yours, covering them with ease, his fingers warm and firm as they guided your movements. The clay was soft beneath your touch, pliant, shifting under the gentle pressure of both your hands.

“Just like that bébé” he whispered, his lips dangerously close to the shell of your ear. His voice was low, smooth, almost teasing. “You have to keep it steady, or it will fall apart.”

The words, innocent in context, settled deep in your stomach, curling like a slow-burning fire.

You swallowed thickly, forcing your focus back on the clay, but it was impossible when every breath William exhaled ghosted over your skin, sending sparks of heat straight to your core. His fingers laced with yours, guiding them up and down the spinning strangely cylindrical shaped clay. Smoothing, shaping, molding. The way the unshaped clay leaned to the side reminded you of the curvature of William. How he hits some many unknown spots inside of you.

Your mind drifted, thoughts slipping into dangerous territory. His hands were large, skilled, his grip both firm and delicate. You imagined them elsewhere, imagined those same fingers dipping inside you with the same careful precision. The way his chest molded to your back, the solid weight of him behind you, how easily he took control.

A sharp inhale betrayed you, your breathing shifting ever so slightly. William must have noticed because his grip on your hands tightened, just a little. His thumb brushed over the back of your knuckles, slow, thoughtful.

“Faster” he murmured, instructing you to press the pedal.

You did, and the wheel spun quicker, the clay stretching, lengthening beneath your touch. But you weren’t thinking about the vase anymore. No, all you could think about was the way his voice dropped an octave when he spoke in your ear, the way his body heat seeped into yours, the way his fingers still moved over yours, teasing, coaxing, controlling.

His breath was heavy now as he tried with a small amount of strength to keep the clay in the middle of the wheel. He let out a few grunts that sent you down a spiral. Each exhale a low rumble near your ear. You weren’t sure if it was the effort of keeping your hands steady or if he could feel the same tension building thick in the air between you.

Then, his voice dipped lower, darker. “Get it wet for me”

The instruction was innocent enough—he wanted you to add more water to the clay before it dried out. But the second the words left his lips, your stomach clenched, heat rushing through you in waves.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the bowl, scooping up water and letting it drizzle over the spinning clay. But in your mind, all you could hear was the weight of those words, all you could think about was how wet he was making you.

For a moment, you let your eyes flutter shut, let yourself get lost in the sensation of his hands over yours, the steady rhythm, the quiet intimacy of it all. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the strength in his arms as he held you still, the way his breath stuttered ever so slightly when you shifted against him, his heartbeat steady on your back.

A low hum vibrated in his chest. “Bébé?” His voice was softer now, laced with amusement. “Y/n? You can stop the wheel now—we got the shape you wanted”

Your eyes snapped open.

The clay had transformed—what had once been a messy, phallic-shaped lump was now a perfect, smooth vase, ready to be fired and painted. You had no idea how long it had been like that, how much time had passed while you were caught up in everything else.

William was quiet for a moment, but you could feel the smirk on his lips before you even turned to look at him. His fingers lingered over yours, his chest still pressed to your back, his breath still warm at your ear.

“Alright, they said we just leave the pieces on the wheel and they come and pick them up” he murmured, his tone knowing, teasing, promising. “Ready to go?”

Your pulse thrummed.

Yes. Yes, you were.

William stayed close behind you, his chest still pressed against your back, his hands still covering yours. The wheel had stopped spinning, the clay was molded perfectly, but the tension in the air hadn’t settled—it had only thickened, stretching between you like an invisible thread ready to snap.

Finally, he exhaled, slow and controlled. “Come bébé” he murmured, his voice deep, rough around the edges. “Let’s clean up”

His hands slid from yours, trailing lightly over your wrists before pulling away completely. The loss of contact left your skin tingling, hyperaware of the warmth that was no longer there. You swallowed and stood up, but your legs felt unsteady—whether from sitting too long or from the way his voice had been in your ear all night, you weren’t sure.

William noticed. Of course he did.

A smirk played at the corner of his lips as he straightened to his full height, towering over you. “You okay baby?”

The way he said it—low, teasing, laced with something smug—made your breath hitch.

You rolled your eyes, trying to act unaffected, but he saw right through it. He always did.

The two of you moved to the sink, side by side, hands covered in clay residue. The water ran warm over your fingers as you rinsed off the mess, but the real distraction was William—how he stood so close, how his arm brushed against yours, how he watched you with darkened eyes through the mirror above the sink.

“Pretty good for your first time” he murmured, voice smooth as silk. “I liked watching you work”

His gaze flickered down, slow and playfully, and the way he said it made it clear—he wasn’t talking about pottery anymore.

Your breath stuttered. “Glad I could entertain you”

William smirked, reaching for a paper towel. Instead of handing it to you, he took your wrist gently, turning your palm up as he slowly—too slowly—wiped your hands dry, his touch lingering over your fingers. His thumb brushed over the sensitive skin of your wrist, pressing lightly against your pulse.

“Always do” he murmured.

Heat coiled in your stomach.

You knew you needed to leave before things spiraled right here in the studio, but every second stretched out, every movement felt drawn-out, and teasing.

Finally, you both grabbed your coats, the fabric sliding over your skin like an afterthought. He helped you with yours, pulling it over your shoulders, his fingers grazing your bare collarbone before smoothing the lapel down.

“Ready?” he asked.

Hell yes. You thought.

But you nodded anyway.

As he led you toward the door, you reached out, grasping his arm—needing the connection, needing to feel him under your fingers. His muscles flexed slightly under your touch, but he didn’t say anything, just let you hold on as he opened the door and led you outside into the cool night air.

The walk to the car was slow. Tension curled between you like thick smoke, wrapping around every step, every glance. The air was crisp, but it did nothing to cool the heat simmering between you.

William opened the passenger door, stepping aside to let you in. But before you could move, he leaned in close, one hand bracing against the car beside your head.

His scent wrapped around you—something rich, something warm, something distinctly him. His lips hovered near your ear, his breath warm as he murmured, “Get in bébé”

It was a simple request. But the way he said it—commanding, full of promise—made your entire body shiver.

You swallowed hard and slid into the seat, your thighs pressing together instinctively. He closed the door with a soft click, rounding the car and slipping into the driver’s seat with effortless grace.

The car was silent as he started the engine, but the energy between you was deafening. The air felt thick, heavy, charged. You shifted slightly, trying to find some semblance of control, but when William’s hand landed on your thigh—casual, but firm—your breath caught in your throat.

His fingers flexed slightly, his thumb brushing along the inside of your knee.

“You’re quiet” he mused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he pulled onto the road. “Something wrong?”

You turned to look at him, his profile sharp under the glow of the streetlights. His jaw was tight, his grip on the wheel firm. He looked composed, relaxed even—but you knew better. You could see it in the way his fingers drummed lightly against your skin, in the way his chest rose and fell just a little too calculated.

You exhaled slowly. “Just thinking about… getting home.”

William let out a soft hum, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Yeah?” His fingers inched higher up your thigh. “What about it?”

Your pulse thrummed. “Just that I’d rather be there right now”

That did something to him. His fingers twitched against your skin, his grip tightening slightly. His jaw clenched, and for the first time, he broke eye contact with the road for a brief second, flicking his gaze toward you.

Dark. Heated. Possessive.

His foot pressed just a little harder on the gas.

The rest of the ride was silent, but the tension didn’t fade—it only thickened, crackling between you like static electricity. Every glance, every breath, every small shift in your seat felt loaded, stretched taut.

By the time he pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, you were already reaching for the door handle. But before you could move, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist.

“Aye aye wait, let me get your door” he murmured, sounding slightly confused as to why you would ever reach for your door when he always does.

You turned to him, your breath catching when you saw the look in his eyes—dark, hungry, filled with all the things he hadn’t said yet.

Slowly, he reached for his own door handle, stepping out first before rounding the car. He opened your door just as slowly, offering his hand.

You took it.

The second your fingers laced together, he pulled you up—too fast, too sudden, too intentional. You barely had time to react before you were against the car, his body crowding yours, his hands bracing on either side of you.

“Still thinking about getting home?” he asked, voice a rough whisper.

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding against your ribs. “Not really. No”

A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips. “Good”

And then—finally—he kissed you.

It was soft at first, teasing, like he was savoring the moment. But then you sighed into him, pressing closer, and something in him snapped.

His hands gripped your waist, his body pressing into yours, deepening the kiss with a slow, consuming hunger. His fingers traced along your spine, his grip tightening like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed more.

By the time he pulled back, his breathing was uneven, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you like this for hours” you murmured.

Your lips tingled, your whole body alight with want. “You don’t have to wait now” he whispered, trailing his fingers up your arm, across your collarbone, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating against you.

And with that, he led you inside and to your bedroom—where waiting was no longer an option.

A slow, heavy silence settled between you, thick with anticipation. William’s grip on your wrist lingered, his thumb stroking over the delicate skin just above your pulse, tracing slow circles that sent a ripple of heat straight through you.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

His dark eyes roamed over you, taking in the rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted slightly as you tried to steady your breath. His own breathing was measured, deep, his broad chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt too controlled—like he was holding something back.

Your skin prickled as he finally moved, his free hand reaching up to toy with the lapel of your coat. His fingers, long and warm, ghosted over the fabric before he slipped one button free. Then another. And another.

Each movement was excruciatingly slow.

Your breath caught as the last button came undone, the heavy material sliding apart. His hands, now unhindered, spread the coat open, his fingers grazing over the thin fabric of your top beneath. The contrast of warmth against cool air sent a shiver down your spine.

William smirked. “Cold bébé?”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “No”

His smirk deepened, approval flickering in his gaze. He slid the coat off your shoulders, the weight of it disappearing as it pooled at your feet with a soft thud.

For a moment, he simply looked at you.

His gaze swept over every inch of exposed skin, dark and intense, lingering on the way your nipples strained against your top, the way your thighs pressed together like you were already trying to contain the tension thrumming through you.

Then, he sat down.

Spreading his legs, he pulled you between them, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs, firm and possessive. The heat of his palms burned through your jeans, his thumbs tracing lazy circles just beneath the curve of your ass.

He leaned in.

His breath, warm and steady, fanned over your clothed stomach as his lips hovered—so close, yet refusing to touch. His hands squeezed gently, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel him, grounding you in the moment.

Then, he lifts your shirt slightly and pressed his lips to your skin.

Soft. Slow. Controlled.

A sharp inhale escaped you as his mouth moved lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your hip bones, his tongue flicking out to taste, to tease. Each kiss lingered, warm and wet, the faintest hint of teeth grazing your skin before he soothed the spot with his tongue.

You clenched your fingers into his hair, not pulling—just holding. Needing something to keep you tethered.

William inhaled, then exhaled against you, his voice a deep murmur vibrating against your skin. “You smell so good” he mused, pressing another kiss, this time firmer, just above your waistband.

His fingers toyed with the button of your jeans, flicking it open with a practiced ease. Then, just as slowly, he dragged the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband, brushing against your lower stomach, teasing but not rushing.

“Lift” he instructed, voice low, smooth as silk.

You obeyed, shifting just enough for him to tug your jeans down your hips, dragging them over your thighs, your calves, before discarding them somewhere behind him. The cool air kissed your newly exposed skin, making every nerve stand on end.

His eyes darkened as they trailed over you, lingering on the damp spot forming on your panties. He didn’t comment, but the way his jaw tensed, the way his hands flexed against your hips, told you everything.

Then he moved again, gripping the hem of your top and pulling it over your head in one smooth motion. Your arms instinctively crossed over your chest, but William tsked, catching your wrists and gently pulling them away.

“Laisse-moi te voir chérie” (Let me see you darling)

The way he said it—low, reverent, like he was asking and demanding all at once—made your stomach tighten.

His fingers traced over your bare skin, the lightest touch, following the curves of your waist, up to the swell of your breasts, stopping just shy of touching where you wanted him most. His eyes flicked up to yours, gauging your reaction, watching the way your breath hitched.

He didn’t say it out loud but his eyes told you how beautiful he thinks you are. How much he admired you, in every way.

Your skin felt hot, your whole body thrumming with the weight of his attention. “William…”

He hummed, pleased by your breathlessness.

Then, swiftly, he guided you down onto the bed, following until he hovered over you, his weight pressing into you just enough to make your breath catch.

His lips found your throat, pressing slow, lingering kisses before his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin. You gasped as he sucked, harder this time, leaving behind a mark you knew would still be there in the morning.

His hands mapped your body, fingertips tracing, memorizing. His soft palms scraped lightly against your soft skin, the contrast sending a delicious shiver through you.

One hand drifted lower, teasing, testing, before slipping between your thighs. His fingers brushed over your panties, feeling the heat, the dampness, his breath hitching slightly against your neck.

“Déjà si mouillée” (Already so wet) he murmured, voice thick with approval. “I haven’t even touched you yet”

Before you could respond, he slid your panties down, taking his time, his fingers grazing over your thighs as he discarded them. His gaze stayed locked on you, dark, smoldering, as he traced a single fingertip along your inner thigh, moving achingly slow toward your center.

Then—finally—he pushed one finger inside.

A sharp gasp slipped from your lips as he moved, slow, measured, his other hand pressing against your stomach to keep you still. He worked you open, thrusting in and out at an unhurried pace, watching your every reaction. You could already hear your juices drenching his finger.

“Look at you” he murmured, almost to himself. “So perfect for me”

A second finger joined the first, stretching you just enough to make your back arch, your thighs trembling around him. He curled them, pressing up—hard—against that spot that made your whole body jolt.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “How does that feel mon amour?” His voice was rough, almost teasing. “Are you gonna cum for me bébé?”

You couldn’t answer—not with the way your breath hitched, your body responding to every slow, devastating movement.

Then, just as you teetered on the edge, William withdrew his fingers.

A whimper of protest left you, but he only chuckled, sitting up slightly. He lifted his fingers to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste you. His eyes locked on yours the entire time, as he wrapped his lips around his fingers.

Your breath hitched, heat pooling in your stomach all over again.

Then—he pressed those same fingers against your lips.

“Open”

The single word sent a shiver through you. You obeyed, parting your lips as he slid his fingers inside, letting you taste yourself on him. His gaze darkened, his smirk deepening as he watched you suck them clean.

He hummed murmured, voice thick with approval.

And then—he reached for his belt.

His eyes stayed locked on yours, his smirk promising something slow, something devastating, as he murmured, “Let’s see if you can take more bébé”

You lick your lips, anticipation thrumming through your veins as you watch him undress with a torturing slowness. His fingers grip the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, revealing a chiseled torso adorned with tantalizing muscles and glistening skin that catches the dim light. Each ridge and contour of his abdomen flexes as he unbuttons his pants, letting them drop to the floor with a soft thud. His boxers follow suit, sliding down his thick, toned thighs, leaving him completely exposed. Your eyes widen as his dick springs free—thick, veined, and proud. Its light brown shaft contrasts against his skin, the pink tip flushed and needy, curving slightly to the left as it pulses with arousal. Your breath catches, and your mouth waters at the sight of him.

“I can take more” you murmur, voice trembling with desire, the words a plea that escapes your lips. “I need more”

His eyes darken, filled with an insatiable hunger that matches your own. Slowly, he lowers himself between your thighs, the warmth of his skin searing against yours as he presses your legs wide, framing his hips. His hands trail up the soft curves of your thighs, spreading you open as he dips his head to capture your lips. His kiss is deep, consuming—his lips melding with yours in a passionate dance, tongues tangling as if he’s tasting you for the first time. His mouth moves with an urgency that leaves you breathless, every kiss more demanding than the last, like you’re the only thing sustaining him.

His lips trace a scorching path down your neck, his breath hot against your skin, making your pulse flutter wildly beneath his touch. When his mouth finds that sensitive spot just below your ear, he sucks gently, his teeth grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. A soft moan escapes your lips, but it quickly turns into a desperate whimper as he positions himself, the head of his dick pressing insistently against your entrance. Slowly, achingly slow, he pushes inside, stretching you open, inch by torturous inch, until he’s fully seated within you.

A guttural groan rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating against your collarbone as he buries himself to the hilt. His forehead rests against yours, eyes closed, breathing ragged and heavy. “No matter how many times I’m inside” he murmurs, his voice thick and gravelly, fingers threading through your hair tenderly, “better every time” His eyes open, locking onto yours with an intensity that steals your breath away, his gaze filled with raw, unspoken emotion.

He stays still, letting you adjust, the fullness of him sending sparks of pleasure rippling through your body. Then, he begins to move—slow, languid strokes that drag against your walls, setting every nerve ending ablaze. He moves with expert precision, each thrust deeper than the last, his hips rolling in a sensual rhythm that leaves you gasping for air. His eyes never leave yours, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face, memorizing each soft moan and breathless sigh.

But soon, his restraint wanes. He shifts, lifting both your legs with effortless strength, draping them over his broad shoulders. The new angle sends him deeper, the thick length of him pressing against that perfect spot inside you, making your back arch off the mattress. He leans forward, folding you in half beneath him, his chest pressing against yours, his skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. His thrusts grow harder, more demanding—each one a powerful surge that forces desperate cries from your lips.

Your nails dig into the thick muscle of his biceps, fingers clutching desperately as he pounds into you with an unrelenting rhythm. Every stroke is deep, precise, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. His body is a furnace above you, his skin burning against yours, slick with sweat. You can feel the heat radiating from him, every flex of his muscles, every slight shudder of restraint in his body as he pushes deeper, stretching you to your limit.

“Oh William” you whimper, voice breaking as the intensity of his thrusts robs you of breath. Your head falls back against the pillows, but he doesn’t let you escape—his large hand cups your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His dark eyes are hooded, half-lidded with lust, locked onto you with a gaze so heated it makes your stomach coil tighter. He watches every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face, drinking in each gasp, each moan, each helpless whine that spills from your lips.

“This what you wanted baby?” His voice is rough, laced with desire, the deep timbre vibrating through your very core. “Fucking you nice and hard, just like this, yes?” His words are punctuated by a sharp thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, makes your toes curl, makes your back arch into him.

“Yes” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper, barely coherent through the pleasure wracking your body. Your fingers slip down his arms, nails dragging over the sculpted ridges of his forearms, gripping at anything you can hold on to. “Oh, yes—please.”

A dark smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, but his expression is wrecked with need, his body trembling slightly as he tightens his grip on your thighs. His fingers sink into the soft flesh there, anchoring you beneath him as his pace quickens. His hips snap forward with a bruising force, slamming into you over and over, deeper and harder, until the pleasure borders on unbearable. The room fills with the intoxicating sound of your bodies colliding—wet, fevered, the slap of skin against skin mixing with his deep, husky grunts and your breathless cries.

His dick drags along your inner walls, each thrust hitting every single perfect spot inside you, making your vision go dark at the edges. But it’s the way his pelvis grinds against your swollen clit with each deep stroke that sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through you, your body wound so tightly it feels like you might snap.

Your breath stutters, chest heaving, every muscle in your body tightening as the pleasure mounts higher, higher, until you’re teetering on the edge. The coil in your belly twists, tighter and tighter, heat pooling low in your stomach until you feel like you’re about to burst.

“Uhh baby—I’m cumming,” you gasp, your voice raw, trembling. Your hands fly to his back, nails digging in, desperate, as your entire body locks up beneath him. “Please don’t stop”

He groans at your words, his thrusts growing more erratic, more desperate. His head falls forward, forehead pressing to yours as he slams into you, driving you over the edge. And then it hits—your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, white-hot and all-consuming. Your body shakes, your walls fluttering around him, gripping him so tightly that he lets out a strangled groan, his pace stuttering as he fights to hold on.

But he doesn’t stop. He rides you through it, fucking you harder, deeper, until you’re a trembling, breathless mess beneath him. The overstimulation has you gasping, your body writhing as he wrings every last drop of pleasure from you.

A few more hard, punishing thrusts, and then he’s pulling out, scrambling up your body. His hand wraps around his dick, stroking himself furiously, his jaw clenched, his muscles glistening as he hovers over you. His breaths come in sharp, ragged pants, his eyes locked onto you—your heaving chest, your sweat-slicked skin, the way your body glows in the aftermath of your orgasm.

And then—he breaks.

A desperate moan rips from his throat as he spills himself over you, hot, thick ropes of cum painting your chest, your stomach, even reaching your neck. His entire body shudders, his hips jerking as he milks the last of his release onto your skin. His head falls back, eyes squeezed shut, the sheer force of his orgasm wracking through him, leaving him trembling above you.

When he finally comes down, his chest still heaving, his dark eyes meet yours once more. You hold his gaze as you dip your fingers into the sticky warm mess on your skin, gathering it up and bringing it to your lips. Slowly, you suck each finger clean, savoring the taste of him with a teasing smirk.

The sight has him groaning again, his head falling forward as he watches, utterly wrecked, utterly mesmerized. His hands drop to the bed beside you, as if he needs to brace himself, as if the sheer filth of you licking him off your fingers is enough to make his legs give out.

“Fuck” he breathes, voice hoarse, shaky, still dazed from the intensity of it all.

Leaning down, he captures your mouth in a slow, languid kiss, tasting himself on your lips, his tongue sweeping across yours in a possessive, lingering claim. Finally, he pulls back, collapsing beside you, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you against his chest.

His fingers trace lazy patterns along your spine, and with a breathless chuckle, he murmurs, “Maybe we should do dates like this more often. You laugh shyly into his chest “I don’t think we’ll make it out of the parking lot if we go on another date like that”

The afterglow settles between you like a warm, lazy haze, your bodies tangled together beneath the soft sheets. His strong arms stay wrapped around you, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your bare back, grounding you in the quiet intimacy that lingers after the storm of pleasure. Your heartbeat is still erratic, your body still thrumming with the echoes of his touch, but in this moment, you feel nothing but contentment. William presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and tender, a stark contrast to the way he had just ravaged you. His scent—deep, musky, unmistakably his—surrounds you, mixing with the remnants of sex in the air, making you never want to leave this bed.

[snowseasonmademe]

Make love to me

“When my days look low, pull me in close and don’t let me go”

“When the world is at war, let our love heal us all”

word count: 3,753

warnings‼️ : SMUTTTT (but sweet passionate, loving smut🥰)

pairing : husband aurelien x black female wife reader

summary : your husband has been facing what feels like war in the media and all he wants to do is forget about it, so what better way to help him than to make love.

note: i know i said i was gonna wait till 12 but i couldn’t so, here you go. consider this my christmas gift to you. i hope you love it as much a i loved writhing it. just prepare yourselves for some straight up baby making scenes in this yall. i went a little crazy on the french in this but i put the translations for yall of course!! oh also the song is on repeat the whole time. i had to add that in for timeline purposes :) anyway, enjoy!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of Beyoncé’s 1+1 playing from your speaker. You had picked the song intentionally—it was comforting, grounding, and tonight, you felt like you might need it.

Aurélien had texted you an hour ago saying he was on his way home, but there was something clipped about the message, a short tone that wasn’t like him. You knew he’d been struggling lately, battling the weight of expectations that came with playing at the highest level. It didn’t matter how well he performed; there was always someone on the internet with something to say, often cruel, thoughtless words meant to tear him down.

And Aurélien, for all his confidence on the field, had a heart that felt too deeply sometimes.

The sound of his key turning in the lock broke your thoughts. You looked up from your spot on the couch, wrapped in one of his hoodies, your bare legs stretched out over the cushions.

The door opened, and there he was—tall, broad, and beautiful, but carrying an energy that made the air in the room feel heavier. His dark curls were frizzy, his jaw set in a way that told you he’d been grinding his teeth. He stepped inside, dropped his gym bag by the door, and let out a frustrated sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Hey, baby” you greeted softly, not wanting to overwhelm him.

His eyes flicked to you, and though they softened for a moment, the tension in his body remained. “Hey.”

“You good?”

“Yeah” he said quickly, but the sharpness in his tone betrayed him. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, his movements rigid.

You got up and followed him, leaning against the counter as you watched him take a long sip. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and for a moment, you were distracted by the sheer perfection of him. But the crease between his brows brought you back.

“What’s wrong?” you asked gently.

He set the bottle down with a little more force than necessary and leaned against the counter opposite you, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s nothing.”

“Aurélien.”

His name on your lips made him pause. He sighed again, dragging a hand down his face before finally meeting your eyes. “It’s just the same shit, you know? Every game, every performance, no matter what I do, people always have something to say. If I have a good match, it’s not good enough. If I make one mistake, I’m suddenly overrated. It’s exhausting.”

You nodded, understanding the weight of what he was saying. “I’m sorry, baby. People can be awful.”

“It’s like they forget I’m human” he continued, his frustration spilling over. “They don’t see the work I put in, the sacrifices I make. They just… they judge.”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to carry all of that alone.”

He looked down at you, his eyes softening again, but this time with something deeper—gratitude, love. “You always know what to say” he murmured.

“Because I see you, Aurélien. The real you. Not the headlines or the tweets or the highlights. Just you.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze searching yours as if trying to find an anchor in the storm. And then, in one swift motion, he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was strong, almost desperate, and you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him just as tightly.

“I don’t deserve you” he whispered into your hair.

“Don’t say that” you said firmly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “You deserve everything good in this world, and I’ll spend the rest of my life reminding you of that if I have to.”

His lips quirked up into a small smile, but there was something else in his eyes now—a spark, a flicker of heat that made your pulse quicken.

“Thank you” he said, his voice low.

“For what?” you laughed slightly

“For being you.”

Before you could respond, he leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was hungry, desperate, as if he needed to lose himself in you to escape the weight of the world.

You melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest and around his neck. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepened the kiss.

“Baby” you murmured against his lips, your voice breathless.

“Let me forget” he whispered, his hands sliding under the hoodie you wore—his hoodie. His fingers brushed against your bare skin, igniting a fire that spread through your entire body.

“You can take what you need from me” you said, your voice barely audible but full of meaning.

In the bedroom, the atmosphere shifted like a storm breaking into calm—a transformation charged with electricity. The frustration and tension that had clung to him earlier melted away, replaced by something primal, raw: pure love. The air was thick with it, heavy and needy, every breath you took filling your lungs with his presence.

Aurélien stood at the edge of the bed, towering over you as you sat perched on the edge, your legs dangling loosely. His broad shoulders seemed even wider under the soft, warm light of the bedside lamp, casting shadows across the hard planes of his chest and abs. His hoodie—once your cocoon of comfort—lay discarded somewhere on the floor, leaving you exposed in just your simple black underwear.

His eyes were on you, dark and intense, moving over your body as though this was the last time he would have you like this. every curve, every dip, every inch, he adored you. The weight of his gaze sent a coolness down your spine, but it wasn’t discomfort you felt. It was anticipation.

“Je suis tellement amoureuse de toi, ma chérie” (I am so in love with you my darling) he murmured, his voice low and rough, as if the words were being dragged from the deepest part of him.

Your skin warmed under his scrutiny, a blush rising to your cheeks. You resisted the urge to look away, to shy from the intensity in his eyes, and instead met his gaze head-on. “You’re so perfect baby” you said, your voice soft but steady.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, the smallest curve of arrogance and appreciation. “Say it again” he commanded, his tone firm but not unkind, the dominant edge sending a thrill coursing through you.

You swallowed, your heart racing in your chest as your eyes locked with his. “You’re perfect, Aurélien.”

This time, your words were heavier, weighted with conviction and the gravity of the moment. Something shifted in his expression, his smirk softening into something more dangerous—something tender and possessive all at once.

He moved onto the bed with a grace that was almost predatory, his long frame caging you in as he leaned over you. His hands planted on either side of your body, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. His proximity was intoxicating, his scent—woodsy and warm—wrapping around you like a drug.

His lips found your neck, soft at first, a ghost of a kiss as his breath tickled your skin. Then, he pressed his mouth more firmly, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “I love you so much. My good girl” he whispered, his voice low and warm, like melted chocolate.

The simple words sent a jolt through you, your breath hitching as a shiver rippled down your spine. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin, and it wasn’t lost on you that he enjoyed your reaction.

Aurélien’s hands moved then, large and warm as they slid over your body, exploring you with a purpose that felt urgent yet somehow slow. His fingers trailed up your thighs, pausing to knead at your hips before gliding along your waist and higher, brushing against the sides of your breasts. He didn’t rush, didn’t hurry; he savored, as though every touch was a declaration, every caress a promise.

When he kissed you again, it was different from the one in the kitchen. This kiss was slower, more thoughtful. His lips moved against yours with a purpose, coaxing, teasing, claiming. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a conversation, an unspoken exchange of everything you felt for each other.

His tongue slid against yours, tasting, exploring, leaving you breathless and wanting more. His hands continued their exploration, every stroke, every press of his palms a reminder of his strength, his control.

“Je suis à toi bébé” (I am yours baby) he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and possessive, sending a thrill straight to your core.

“And I’m all yours” you whispered back, your voice trembling with need and sincerity.

Aurélien pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours. He didn’t need to say anything else; his gaze alone told you everything he felt—that you were his anchor, his sanctuary, the only place he felt whole.

“And it’s me and you, That’s all we’ll have when the world is through” the music played on

Aurelien gazed up at you from between your thighs, his dark eyes smoldering with adoration. The dim lamp lighting flickered across his chiseled features, casting a warm glow on your skin. With a reverent tenderness, he slowly parted your folds, face to face with your dripping wet core.

He exhaled a shuddering breath, your intoxicating scent flooding his senses. He pressed a sweet kiss to your center, a promise of the passion to come. His tongue, ever so lightly, traced the length of you—a featherlight caress that sent tingles cascading through your body.

Aurélien gazed up at you from between your trembling thighs, his dark eyes blazing with a mixture of adoration and raw hunger. The dim, golden light from the bedside lamp danced across his sharp features, highlighting the strength of his jaw and the curve of his lips. His warm, broad hands cradled your thighs, holding you open with a reverence that made your breath hitch.

His gaze never left yours as he leaned in closer, his hot breath ghosting over your most sensitive flesh. Slowly, almost torturously, he parted you with the same care an artist might give their masterpiece, revealing your most delicate parts.

Aurélien exhaled a deep, shuddering breath, the sound laced with pure desire. Your intoxicating taste flooded his senses, drawing a low groan from the back of his throat. Without breaking eye contact, he pressed a soft, chaste kiss to your center—gentle, yet filled with a promise of the unrelenting passion that was ahead.

“Mon amour” he whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion, vibrating against your skin. “You taste so good”

His tongue flicked out to trace the length of you, a touch that sent a roll of hot shivers rippling through your body. Your fingers instinctively gripped the sheets, your chest heaving as he began to explore you with calculated precision.

Aurélien dipped his tongue into your entrance, savoring the tangy essence of you with a low groan of approval. He moved with a slowness that bordered on maddening, his tongue swirling and stroking with unrelenting attention. His lips followed, planting soft, open-mouthed kisses along your vulva, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

The soft rasp of his stubble against your inner thighs only heightened your sensitivity, and the sound of his quiet moans was enough to drive you wild. His hands tightened on your thighs, his thumbs gently brushing against your skin as he held you open, his strong grip grounding you while his mouth sent you spiraling.

“Aurélien” you breathed, your voice trembling as he latched onto your clit, his lips wrapping around the sensitive bud with just the right amount of pressure. He suckled gently, his tongue flicking against you with expert precision.

He groaned deeply, the vibrations of his voice resonating against your most intimate parts, pulling an uncontrollable moan from your lips. The pure, unfiltered pleasure made your head tilt back, your fingers threading through his curls, tugging him impossibly closer.

Aurélien pulled back briefly, his breath hot against your glistening skin. He looked up at you, his dark eyes smoldering with intensity. “Look at me” he murmured, his voice rich and commanding.

You forced your gaze down, locking eyes with him, and the intimacy of the moment hit you like a wave. The connection, the unspoken language between you, was almost too much to bear.

“Je t’adore” (I adore you) he said, his voice soft but resolute, the words spoken like a vow.

His tongue returned to your clit, swirling delicate circles before pressing firmly against that spot that made you arch off the bed. His movements were calculated, measured—he knew your body better than you did, and he wielded that knowledge like a master craftsman.

Arousal coated your thighs, his chin and cheeks, the evidence of your pleasure only spurring him on. His lips and tongue lavished devoted attention to every nerve ending, every inch of you, as if he wanted to worship you until there was nothing left of you but bliss.

He took his time with you, drawing out every moment, every sensation until you were trembling beneath him. His lips and hands worked in tandem, finding every sensitive spot, every place that made you gasp or sigh or moan his name. He was meticulous and relentless, his touch firm yet tender, as though he wanted to ensure that you felt as cherished as he always made you feel.

Aurélien’s hands slid up your thighs, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just enough to ground you. His mouth moved with precision, alternating between soft, teasing strokes and deep licks that had you teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“Oh baby please don’t stop” you gasped again, your voice high and trembling. The sound of your voice desperate for him seemed to ignite something within him, and he doubled down, his tongue curling and stroking inside you in a way that unraveled you completely.

Your climax washed over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking beneath his relentless attention. He stayed with you through every moment, his mouth softening but never leaving you, as if he wanted to pull every last drop of pleasure from your trembling frame.

As you came down from the high, your breaths ragged and your body pliant beneath his hands, Aurélien pressed one last lingering kiss to your center. He rested his forehead against your inner thigh, his breathing heavy, his hands stroking your trembling legs as if to soothe you.

“You’re so beautiful when you cum Yn” he said softly, his voice still thick with emotion. His lips quirked into a small, satisfied smile as he gazed up at you. And in his eyes, you saw nothing but devotion.

“So when the world’s at war, let our love heal us all, help me let down my guard” the speakers sang quietly

Aurélien positioned himself between your trembling thighs, his broad shoulders framing you like a protective wall. His eyes locked onto yours, glossy and blown pupils, and his dark and molten with desire, as he gripped your hips with a reverence that made your heart stutter. Slowly, he pressed forward, his thick length stretching you inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming—almost too much yet utterly perfect.

When he finally joined with you completely, the world outside the bedroom fizzled out. There was no noise, no criticism, no judgment—just the two of you, your bodies and souls tangled together in a rhythm that felt sacred.

“Mon amour, mon cœur” (My love, My heart) he whispered, his deep, husky voice tinged with a tremble that betrayed just how much this moment meant to him. His words, raw and intimate, wrapped around you like a bear hug as he buried himself until he couldn’t go anymore, the heat of him melding with your own.

For a moment, he stayed perfectly still, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. You felt his chest expand with a deep, shuddering breath, as though he was savoring every second of being fully inside you. “Tu es ma vie, mon seul et unique” (You are my life, my one and only) he murmured, the French rolling off his tongue like a prayer.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper. The way his body fit against yours felt like a key sliding into its lock, perfectly aligned and meant to be. His lips brushed against yours, tender and slow, his kiss carrying all the unspoken emotions that neither of you could fully articulate.

Then he began to move.

His hips rolled in a slow, tantric rhythm, every thrust designed to unravel you. His muscular chest pressed against your breasts, teasing your hardened nipples with the friction of his skin against yours. The room was filled with the intoxicating sound of his deep groans and your soft cries, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

“Bébé” (baby) he groaned, his voice hoarse as he suddenly stilled, his length buried impossibly deep within you. Without warning, he shifted your positions. He sat back on his heels, your legs instinctively resting on his shoulders, your bodies perfectly aligned.

The new position sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, and he resumed his slow, deep thrusts, each one hitting a spot inside you that made your vision blur. His strong hands gripped your hips, guiding you as he lifted and lowered you onto his shaft. The controlled power of his movements made your head spin, and your nails raked down his hard biceps in a desperate attempt to hold on.

“Oh Aurélien” you gasped, his name falling from your lips like a plea. Your fingers tangled in his, tugging lightly, and he groaned in response, the sound vibrating through you.

“Regarde-moi” (Look at me) he demanded softly, his voice low and commanding. You opened your eyes, locking onto his, and the intensity in his gaze left you breathless. There was no escape from the intimacy of this moment; he was baring his soul with every thrust, and you felt the weight of his love in every touch.

He moved with purpose, his strong hands gripping your hips as he guided you both to a place that felt infinite. His forehead rested against yours, your breaths mingling as you held each other close.

“Say my name again” he murmured, his voice strained but commanding, and you didn’t hesitate.

“Aurélien” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body arched into him.

“C’est ça, mon amour” (That’s it my love) he whispered, his lips brushing against yours, his movements becoming slower, deeper, more deliberate. His voice was a low, raspy caress, the French rolling off his tongue like a melody.

Both of your moans echoed, your voices trembling with emotion, his every word heavy with sincerity as you clung to him, every part of you surrendering to the moment.

Aurélien’s eyes locked onto yours, his expression softening, though the intensity in his gaze never wavered. “Je te veux, pour toujours” (I want you forever) he murmured, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you as if to ensure you understood.

“I’m here” you whispered softly, your hands cradling his face as your eyes searched his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile before he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin. He didn’t need to say anything more. The weight of his love, his devotion, was in every touch, every movement, as he held you close.

“Oh make love to me…” the song continued, on repeat.

And that’s exactly what he did.

Aurélien held you close, his hands never straying far from your body, as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. Because together, you were whole. You were enough.

“You’re everything to me” he whispered, his accent thickening with emotion. His hands slid to cup your face, holding you steady as he captured your lips in a passionate kiss. The rhythm of his hips never faltered, slow and purposeful as he took you apart piece by piece.

He gently took your legs from his shoulders, his body never breaking its connection to yours. Pushing your knees up to your chest, he adjusted the angle, and the first thrust made you cry out, the new depth sending shockwaves through your body.

“Like this, chérie?” (darling) he murmured, his voice sultry and teasing as his hips began to move with more intensity. Each deep stroke ground against your clit, building the pressure inside you until you thought you might shatter.

“Yes” you hissed, your voice trembling with desperation as your nails dug into the muscles of his back. “Harder, Aurélien. Please fuck me harder.”

His lips curved into a dark, knowing smirk as he complied. His pace quickened, his hips slamming against yours with a force that made the bed creak beneath you. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure racing through your veins.

“Mon dieu” (my god) he growled, his voice ragged as sweat beaded on his bronzed chest. His powerful hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he drove into you with unrelenting passion. “I love fucking you” he rasped, his head dropping to kiss along your neck, his teeth biting down hard on his lip.

“Please Aurélien, I’m so close” you whimpered, your body arching off the bed as the tension in your core squeezing tighter and tighter.

He looked down at you, his dark eyes heavy-lidded with lust and love. “Je te ferai jouir bébé, je t'ai eu” (I will make you cum baby, I’ve got you) he promised, his voice rich and velvety as he shifted his angle slightly, driving deeper and grinding harder against that spot inside you that made you see stars.

With a final, powerful thrust, the coil inside you snapped. Your orgasm washed over you in waves, your body trembling and writhing beneath him as he drove you through the peak and beyond. The intensity of your release triggered his own, and with a deep groan, he buried himself completely inside you.

“Ahhh yesss” he breathed, his body shuddering as his release poured into you, warm and overwhelming. He held you close, his strong arms wrapping around you as though he never wanted to let you go.

As the aftershocks faded, Aurélien gently lowered your legs, his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs as he pressed tender kisses to your forehead and cheeks. “Tu es incroyable” (You are incredible) he murmured, his voice soft and full of awe.

You smiled up at him and hummed in adoration, just wanting to enjoy the silence and intimacy of this moment. Your fingers brushing through his damp curls.

His lips found yours once more, soft and lingering, carrying all the tenderness and devotion he had no words for. The kiss wasn’t rushed or hurried—it was steady, a slow melding of souls that seemed to transcend the physical. His hand cradled the side of your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, looking deep into your eyes as if had had fallen in love all over again.

As his lips moved against yours, the rest of the seized to exist. The noise of scrutiny and doubt that haunted his days, the chaos of life outside these walls—all of it melted into insignificance. In this moment, there was only the warmth of your body beneath his, the taste of your lips, and the steady rhythm of your breaths mingling with his.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his dark eyes searching yours with a vulnerability that tugged at your heart. “Je t’aime” (I love you) he murmured softly, the words carrying a gravity that made your chest tighten.

“I love you too” you whispered back, your voice steady but thick with emotion.

Aurélien exhaled a long, contented sigh, his hand sliding down to intertwine with yours. He pressed a gentle kiss to your ring finger before settling beside you, pulling you into the protective embrace of his arms. The sheets tangled around your bodies, warm and soft, as you lay together in the quiet aftermath of your passion.

The steady beat of his heart beneath your ear anchored you, a soothing reminder that whatever storms lay beyond these walls, you’d weather them together. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns along your back, his touch as intimate and reverent as it had been all night.

Outside, the night stretched on, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains. But in his arms, wrapped in the cocoon of his love, time felt irrelevant. You were safe here, cherished, seen in a way that felt like the purest form of freedom.

As your eyes began to flutter closed, Aurélien’s lips brushed your temple, a final whispered promise slipping from his lips. “Que tes plus beaux rêves se réalisent mon amour” (May your sweetest dreams come true my love)

And with that, you let yourself drift off, the world outside waiting for another day. For now, there was only this—his warmth, his love, and the unshakable bond that held the two of you together.

[snowseasonmademe]

Reminder

warning ‼️: smut !

word count: 4,258

paring: toxic situationship noni x black female reader

summary: as much as you tried to walk away from him, he always, always, pulled you back

note: a special request from my special @irishmanwhore . she requested this late at night a couple days ago, and i’m not the biggest lover of noni (for obvious reason🦷) buuuuttttt i had to cook up something for her. all i’m gonna say is, grab your plate because yall are about to eat gooooodddddd. as always, enjoy and tell me what you think !!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

London nights always felt heavier when you were alone. The streets, the clubs, even your own damn bed—nothing felt right anymore. Not since him.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

It had been months since you walked away. Months since you finally accepted that Noni would never call you his girlfriend, never give you the security you craved, never love you the way you needed him to.

You spent too many nights crying over him, replaying the same arguments, the same lies. I’m not cheating. I don’t even find them attractive like that. But who just casually has Rubi Rose’s number? Who texts other girls at 2 AM, only to turn his phone face down when you’re in the room?

You wanted to believe him. Every time he kissed your forehead, wrapped his arms around you, whispered, It’s not like that, you’re moving mad, you let yourself fall for it again. And every time, you regretted it.

Because the truth was, he never wanted you for anything more than convenience—sex, company, someone to show off when it suited him. He’d buy you gifts, take you on expensive dates, post half a picture of you on his story just to keep you quiet for a while. And for a moment, you’d let yourself believe it was real. That you were special. That you weren’t just another girl in rotation.

But then the cycle would repeat.

He’d disappear for hours—sometimes days—only to pop back up like nothing happened. You’d argue. He’d dodge every question, spin everything back on you, make you feel like you were crazy for even asking. Why do you always do this? You swear I’m some wasteman when I’ve done nothing wrong. And then, like clockwork, he’d find his way back into your bed. Because no matter how mad you were, how hurt you felt, one look from him, one touch, and your body betrayed you.

Everyone knew what it was. You weren’t his girlfriend, but you weren’t just some random. You were something in between, stuck in limbo, and no matter how much you wanted to walk away, you never could.

Until you did.

Yet every step you took away from him felt like you were being pulled back in.

And still, even now, even with Jessie waiting for you, you weren’t sure if you’d ever really left.

But you really like Jessie.

Jessie, with his safe hands and soft voice. Jessie, who planned dates and sent good morning texts and actually responded to messages on time. Jessie, who respected you. Jessie, who wasn’t him.

You liked Jessie. You really did. He was sweet, patient, the kind of guy who held doors open and kissed your forehead just because. He listened when you talked, remembered little details about your day, always made sure you finished first in bed.

But he didn’t make your heart race. He didn’t make your blood boil. He didn’t push you to the brink of madness, teetering between love and chaos the way Noni did.

Jessie didn’t know how to handle you when you had an attitude—he didn’t hit you with something slick and lowkey mean just to shut you up, to remind you exactly who you were dealing with. He didn’t grab your face with that rough grip, fingers digging into your skin, forcing you to look him in the eyes while he fucked the air from your lungs.

He didn’t choke you like you liked—like you needed. Didn’t know how to shut you up with one hand around your throat, making you gasp for breath just to prove a point. He didn’t slap your ass hard when you tried to ease how deep he was going, didn’t hold you down and make you take every inch.

Jessie was careful. Considerate. Gentle.

And it wasn’t enough.

And worst of all? He was a Chelsea fan.

You swore the universe was laughing at you. The first time you saw Jessie post a matchday photo in his blue jersey, you almost blocked him on sight. It felt like you were being haunted, constantly reminded of the man you were trying so damn hard to forget.

Jessie didn’t follow Rubi Rose. Jessie didn’t have to convince you he wasn’t cheating. Jessie didn’t gaslight the hell out of you and then send a designer bag as an apology.

Jessie was perfect.

And you were fucking miserable.

Tonight, you were supposed to go see him. He had been texting you all day, excited about some new restaurant he wanted to take you to.

But when you stepped outside, your heart stopped.

Noni was standing at the bottom of your steps.

His hands were tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, head tilted slightly, eyes watching you with that infuriating mix of amusement and ownership. Like he had always known you’d come back. Like he knew you never really left.

“You going somewhere?” he asked, his voice smooth, calm.

You sucked your teeth. “I’m going to see my man” you shot back, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing here? Don’t you have some Instagram hoes to lie to about not being with me? Or did you get me another Birkin to try and apologize?”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “You know you don’t want to go over there” he said, voice low, confident. “You don’t even like him” he said waking up the steps, to stand directly in front of you.

Your jaw clenched. “Get the hell out of my way Noni”

You stepped forward, placing your hands on his chest to push him aside, but he didn’t move.

He took a step closer instead.

His body heat, his scent—familiar, intoxicating—wrapped around you, making your head spin. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Turn around” he murmured, then paused. “And open the door”

Your breath caught in your throat. You swallowed hard.

This was the moment you had been dreading. The moment you had always known would come.

You should’ve walked away. Should’ve pushed past him, called Jessie, pretended you didn’t still crave the toxicity, the chaos, the him of it all.

But instead, your fingers curled around your keys.

And you turned around.

The key slides into the lock with a quiet click, and just as you’re about to turn it, you sigh, feeling the warmth of his body almost pressed against your back.

“Do you have to be that fucking close?” you murmur, eyes rolling as you focus on getting the damn door open.

Instead of stepping back, Noni moves even closer, his chest now fully against you, heat radiating through his hoodie. His voice is low, teasing. “Just open the door man”

Your breath hitches for a second, but you do as he says, pushing it open and stepping inside. You don’t even have to tell him to follow—he does anyway, closing the door behind him and locking it with a soft click.

You walk into the living room, placing your purse and keys down on the table, slipping off your coat. The silence in the room is thick, charged. When you turn around, he’s just standing there a few feet away, eyes locked on you like he’s taking in every inch, every detail he’s missed.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna tell me what the hell you’re doing here?” you ask, folding your arms.

Noni exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he walks toward the open kitchen, still keeping direct eye contact with you.

“I know you miss me babes” he says smoothly, leaning against the counter like he owns the place. “And don’t try to lie—I know what my girl looks like when she misses me”

You scoff, stepping into the kitchen, resting your hip against the counter as you tilt your head. “Oh, I’m your girl now?” you ask, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Why couldn’t you call me that to your friends? Or your fucking parents?”

His jaw flexes for a moment before he sighs. “Come on man, don’t do this right now” he mutters, shaking his head as he steps closer.

One hand comes up to your chin, tilting it up so you have no choice but to look at him. His other hand finds your hip, fingers pressing into your skin as he turns you toward him, your body now flush against his.

“I missed you too” he murmurs, a slight smirk on his lips as he leans in, trying to kiss you.

You turn your head away, heart pounding in your chest. “Noni what are you on bro?” you say, voice sharp even as your body betrays you, leaning into his warmth. “My man is waiting for me you know”

Noni chuckles, the sound low and smug. “Your man” he repeats, like the words are a joke. His hand tightens on your hip. “Your man is a fan of mine. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I treat his girl how she really wants to be treated” He tilts his head slightly. “I’m doing him a favor”

His audacity almost makes you mad again—until his lips find your jaw.

He starts slow. Kissing down to that sensitive spot below your ear, then lower, down your neck, before coming back up again.

Your breath hitches, a soft moan slipping out before you can stop it. His lips graze your ear, and then he whispers, voice thick with certainty, “You can’t find another me out there. Just come home.”

Your lips part, ready to say something—anything—but then your phone buzzes on the counter, just inches away.

The name Jessie Bear❤️‍🩹🐻 lights up the screen.

Noni doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. If anything, his grip tightens, his fingers pressing into your hips, keeping you locked in place.

“Go on, answer your man” he murmurs in a mocking tone, lips still grazing your skin.

You swallow, fingers shaking slightly as you pick up the phone. “Hey baby” you say, but your voice comes out unsteady, breathy.

“You almost here baby?” Jessie asks sweetly. “I know you’re late sometimes, just checking to see if you’re all good”

Before you can even process a response, Noni’s hands are moving—trailing up your waist, caressing your sides, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. His teeth graze your earlobe, and you feel a shiver roll down your spine.

Your breath catches. “Y-yeah, baby, um, I—”

Jessie’s voice softens with concern. “Are you okay darling? Do you need me to come over?”

Noni smirks against your skin.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus, trying to breathe. “N-no, baby, I’m just feeling a bit…sick” you lie, your voice weak. “Is it okay if we reschedule?”

“Yeah, that’s no problem babe” Jessie says, his voice filled with nothing but concern. “I’ll come by later with some medicine and food for you”

You barely hear him. The only thing you can focus on is Noni—his teeth, his hands, the way he’s completely unraveling you without even trying.

“Okay, thanks baby” you mumble, desperate to end the call. “Bye, I—I’ll see you later”

You hang up as fast as you can, barely able to process the guilt that should be hitting you right now.

But Noni doesn’t give you time to think.

His lips trail up to your jaw again, his grip on your hips tightening as he leans into your ear.

You shove him hard, smacking his chest with both hands. “What the fuck Noni?” you snap, heart still racing from what just happened. “Are you trying to get me caught up?”

He barely flinches, just catches your wrists with ease, his grip firm as he presses your hands against his chest, holding them there. His body is warm beneath your palms, his heartbeat steady—like he knew this was going to happen. Like he planned this.

“You got yourself caught up” he says smoothly, voice teasing, “when you unlocked the door like I told you to”

Your jaw clenches, anger bubbling to the surface as you remember everything—all the back and forth, the games, the manipulation, the way he kept you dangling on a string while acting like he was doing you a favor. “You don’t deserve to have me” Your voice is sharp, your chest rising and falling with frustration. “He does”

Noni just smirks, unbothered. “But I’m gonna have you” he says, his voice thick with certainty. “I’m the one you want, not him. You know that. And I’ve always known that”

You start to protest, but then he guides one of your hands downward—down to where his body is burning hot beneath his sweatpants, to the evidence of just how much he’s missed you. The moment your fingers graze the hard outline of him, your breath stutters, and his grip on your wrist tightens.

“You will always come back to me” he murmurs, like it’s a fact, like it’s inevitable.

His hands slide under your shirt, fingers trailing across your bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He moves to your back, then lower, down to your ass, squeezing firmly, possessively. The way he touches you, the way he knows your body—it has you biting your lip, fighting back a moan. But when his fingers dig into you just right, the sound slips out anyway, and your head tilts up instinctively, lips parting, searching for his.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours but not quite kissing you yet. He just stays there, breathing you in, his face so close you can feel the warmth of him, the tension stretching between you like a thin, fragile thread.

Then finally—finally—he crashes his lips onto yours, hard, almost bruising. He bites your lip, hands gripping you rough and firm, like he’s making up for all the time lost.

“You miss me?” he asks against your lips, his voice almost harsh, daring you to deny it.

Your hands are already at the hem of his hoodie, pushing it up, desperate to feel more. “Yes” you whisper breathlessly. “Yes I missed you”. You both continue to feverishly kiss and undress each other, gripping and kissing at any skin you could get your hands and lips on, until you’re both left in your underwear.

Without warning, he pulls away, spins you around, and bends you over the countertop with a force that knocks the air from your lungs.

“You feel how much I missed you, hmm?” His voice is low, gravelly, as he presses and grinds against you, his clothed hardness teasing against your covered, aching core. His hands roam your body, gripping, kneading, claiming.

Your hips move on instinct, grinding back against him, desperate for friction. He lifts he palm and lets down a sharp smack to you right ass cheek.

You gasp as his palm comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting sending heat rushing through you. “Did I tell you to move?” Another smack follows, making you whimper. “I asked you a question”

“No” you whisper, voice small.

Another sharp slap lands, making your breath hitch. The sting lingers, mixing with the growing heat between your legs.

“I can’t hear you. Where’s all that attitude now?” His voice is amused, darkly satisfied with your sudden silence. “Did I tell you to move?”

This time, you answer with your chest. “No”

Your fingers clutch at the cool countertop, your body burning, your mind clouded with need. “Just fuck me already Noni… please”

His hands tighten on your hips, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he leans over you, his breath hot against your ear. “Ahh there she is. My girl” he says with a satisfied toned.

Noni pulls out his rock-hard dick, one hand still gripping your hips to keep you in place. With his other, he slides your panties to the side and drags his sticky tip along your soaked folds, teasing you.

“Huh, looks like she misses me too” he chuckles.

You want to turn around and smack him—how can he joke at a time like this? When you’re dripping, aching, needing him inside you? The teasing is unbearable, every slow drag of his pulsing tip along your folds making your body twitch with anticipation.

Enough. You can’t take it anymore.

With a desperate whimper, you push yourself back onto him, forcing his dick past your entrance. The thick stretch steals the air from your lungs, your walls struggling to accommodate his size as you sink onto him. Nearly half of his length fills you in one motion, and the burn is delicious, sharp and perfect all at once.

Noni lets out a deep groan, voice strained. His dick twitches inside you, stretching you open, throbbing against your tight, fluttering walls. His fingers digging into your hips, like he’s holding himself back from slamming into you fully.

But you don’t care about his teasing anymore.

You just want him to fuck you.

“Ahh, fuuuck, Noni” you whimper, gripping the countertop as pleasure shoots through you.

He doesn’t ease into it. The moment he’s inside you, he sets a brutal pace, each thrust deep, stretching you open without mercy. The sheer size of him has you gasping, your body struggling to accommodate the thick length that fills you to the brim. The sting of the stretch quickly melts into pleasure, your walls clenching around him, desperate to hold him in place even as he drives into you relentlessly.

His hand trails up your spine, his fingers dragging over the dip of your back before settling at the base of your neck. Then, in one swift motion, he wraps his hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head swim. The lack of air only amplifies the sensation, making your moans come out in choked, desperate whimpers.

Your bare chest is flush against the cold countertop, the contrast of heat and chill making your nipples pebble as you claw at the surface for stability. The force of his thrusts pushes you forward, your body jolting with every deep stroke. Each wet slap of skin against skin echoes through the room, the sound mixing with his ragged breaths and your breathless moans.

He groans, his grip on your throat tightening just slightly before he releases it, letting you gasp for air only to slam into you even harder.

“Does Jessie fuck you like this?” Noni grits out, his breath hot against your skin. “Does he fuck you this good?”

“No—fuck—no, Jessie doesn’t fuck me like you do” you cry out.

Unfortunately for you, your phone is still sitting on the counter, screen glowing faintly as it rests just inches from your trembling fingers. In the heat of the moment, you don’t notice when Siri, always too damn nosy, registers Jessie’s name and dials him without hesitation.

You remain completely oblivious, too lost in the symphony of sin filling the room—the obscene wet sounds of Noni’s thick length plunging into you, the sharp slaps of skin meeting skin, the way your moans mix with his deep grunts. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming, consuming. Your mind is drowning in pleasure, body pliant under his ruthless pace, your focus narrowing to nothing but the way he fills you, ruins you.

But then—a voice.

Soft at first, barely registering through the haze of lust. Then clearer, more distinct, like a sudden splash of ice water against burning skin.

“Hey baby, I was just about to be on my way over. Did you want the NyQuil tea or the liquid medicine? Because I got bo—”

Jessie.

Your stomach drops. The world tilts.

He stops mid-sentence. Silence hangs heavy, suffocating. And then you realize—he hears everything.

There’s silence on the line, but you know he hears everything. The way Noni is fucking you. The way you’re moaning. The wet, filthy sounds of your bodies colliding.

“Y/N… baby, what are you doing?” Jessie’s voice breaks.

You hear him start to cry. And still, you don’t care. Noni is fucking you too good for you to care.

He fucks you even harder, making sure you feel every inch of him. He lands three sharp smacks on your ass, his voice dark and taunting.

“This is how you like it right? Not that soft shit your man does?”

“Yes—fuck—you fuck me so good Noni. So fucking good” you whimper.

Jessie is still on the phone, his voice barely holding together.

“Y/N, why are you doing this to me? What the fuck man…”

Sniffling. A few more seconds of silence. Then— click.

Jessie hangs up.

Noni chuckles, gripping your waist tighter as he thrusts even deeper.

“Now we don’t have to worry about him interrupting us later.”

All you can do is lay there, moaning helplessly as Noni fucks you deep and hard. Every stroke leaves you breathless, your body arching into the overwhelming pleasure. Then, suddenly, he slows, dragging his thick length almost all the way out before slamming back in, making you gasp. His hands move to your lower back, thumbs pressing into the deep dimples there as he leans over you.

His voice is low, and calcualted, making sure you catch every single word.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, yeah? You won’t ever think about fucking another man again”

And then he does.

He picks up his pace, his strokes turning punishing—hard, fast, relentless. Each thrust forces you up onto your tiptoes, your body jolting with the sheer force of it. The sharp bite of pain from your hips being slammed into the unforgiving countertop sends a dull ache through your bones, but it only heightens the pleasure twisting in your core.

And fuck, the way his thick length drags along your walls, hitting deep, grazing that perfect spot inside you—it has your head spinning. But it’s the way his tip kisses your cervix, over and over again, that has you gasping, your legs trembling beneath you.

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

Your body is caught in a beautiful contradiction—blazing heat and sharp sting, unbearable stretch and overwhelming pleasure, everything crashing down on you at once. Your nails dig into the countertop, searching for something, anything to anchor yourself as Noni fucks you deeper, harder, making sure you feel every inch of him.

“Ahh yes” he groans, his fingers pressing bruises into your hips. He’s relentless, chasing his own pleasure, determined to pull you apart in the process.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, mixing with the lewd, wet noises of him plunging into your dripping core. Your moans are shameless, high-pitched and broken, filling the air as pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside you, threatening to snap.

“Noni—please—keep going” you moan, your voice shaking. “You’re gonna make me cum right now”

“Keep going just like this?” he taunts, rolling his hips a little extra, making sure you feel every inch of him.

“Yess—yesss, just like that!” you cry out, gripping the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles turn white.

For a split second, guilt seeps into your mind. Jessie. His broken voice. His pain. You know damn well you would’ve committed several crimes if the roles were reversed—if you had caught him, or worse, Noni, on the phone fucking someone else like this.

But the guilt doesn’t stand a chance.

It’s ripped away, shattered beneath the crashing waves of your orgasm.

“Oh my god—fuck—ahhh!” you cry out, your whole body trembling as pleasure tears through you, leaving you breathless, weak, undone.

Noni groans, his grip tightening on your hips. He wants to keep fucking you through it, wants to keep slamming you into the counter, but the way your pussy clenches around him—wet, tight, fucking perfect—it pushes him over the edge.

“Fuck—” His hips stutter, a deep, loud moan leaving his lips as he releases inside you, hot ropes of cum filling you up, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor. His thrusts slow, but he stays buried inside for a moment, letting you both catch your breath.

Your legs are beyond weak, your heart hammering so fast you feel like you’ve just finished an intense Pilates class. When he finally pulls out, he smacks your ass one last time, making you jolt. Then, before you can even think about standing, he turns you around and crashes his lips against yours.

The kiss is rough, desperate, his hands gripping your waist to keep you upright. Then, effortlessly, he lifts you onto the countertop, his body still pressed against yours.

You rest your head on his shoulder, trying to steady your breathing, trying to figure out how the hell you’re supposed to clean this up—his cum dripping down your thighs, pooling on the floor. And worse, the emotional mess you just left in Jessie’s heart.

But Noni’s deep, raspy voice pulls you right back in.

“Let me know when you catch your breath darling” he murmurs, his tone dripping with confidence. “I need to make up for what your boy wasn’t doing while you were acting like you didn’t miss me”

You groan, shaking your head.

“I did miss you” you admit, voice still shaky. “But fuck Noni, did you have to fuck with him like that?”

He smirks, completely unbothered. “I’ve done nothing wrong. You’re the one who cheated on your little boyfriend”

He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Now, can we stop talking about him? We have some business to take care of.”

And with that, he picks you up effortlessly, carrying you to your bed.

By the time the sun rose, Jessie was nothing but a forgotten thought.

[snowseasonmademe]

Under the lights

word count : 2,914

warning ‼️ : smut

pairing : aurelien x black fem reader

summary : an evening out by yourself turns into a romantic, steamy night with your…..good friend.

note: lets just act like his house isn’t designed badly and it looks like how it’s described :) anyway, i hope you all enjoy and tell me what you think!!!

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Paris was alive with its usual magic—glittering lights, cobblestone streets kissed by the faint glow of streetlamps, and the hum of evening conversations spilling out from the cafés. You stepped out of your favorite bistro in the Marais, the evening air cool against your skin. You adjusted your scarf, glancing up at the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance. The sight always managed to steal your breath, even after living in the city for two years.

“Y/n” a deep voice called behind you.

You turned, your pulse quickening as you recognized the tall, striking figure approaching you.

Aurélien Tchouameni.

The star midfielder for the French national team and an international sensation. His face—sharp jawline, piercing brown eyes, and an effortless charm—was a regular on billboards and magazine covers. But here, in the intimate glow of the Parisian night, he was just Aurelien. No flashing cameras, no roaring stadium crowds.

“ Aurélien,” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. “What brings you here?”

“I was hoping to see you.”

His words were simple, but the intensity in his gaze made your cheeks warm. You met him months ago at a gala you’d been covering as a journalist. Since then, he had found ways to linger in your life—chance encounters that never felt entirely accidental.

“You were hoping to see me?” you repeated, an eyebrow arching.

He smiled, that slow, devastating grin that had charmed millions but seemed crafted just for you in this moment. “Does that surprise you?”

“A little,” you admitted, folding your arms as you leaned against the lamppost. “Big-time football stars don’t usually frequent neighborhood cafés.”

“Maybe I wanted to try something new,” he replied, stepping closer. The space between you shrank, and the cool air suddenly felt warmer. Your heart raced, but you masked it with a smirk. “And you thought you’d find excitement here?”

“I’m finding it now,” he said, his voice lower, softer. His gaze dipped briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. “Let me take you out tonight.”

You hesitated. You weren’t immune to Aurélien’s charm, but you weren’t the type to swoon over fame or flashy gestures. Still, there was something about him—something genuine behind the confidence.

“Where?” you asked, tilting your head.

“You’ll see,” he said, offering his hand.

You stared at his outstretched palm, the smooth tone of his skin contrasting against the dark fabric of his coat. Finally, you took it, letting his warmth spread through you.

An hour later, You found yourself seated at a small, candlelit bistro tucked away in one of Paris’s quieter streets. The restaurant was intimate, with soft jazz playing in the background and couples scattered at tables, lost in their own worlds.

“How did you find this place?” you asked as you sipped your wine.

“A teammate told me about it,” Aurélien said, leaning back in his chair. “Said it was perfect for nights when you want to disappear.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Disappearing isn’t something I’d imagine you’d be good at.”

He chuckled, a sound that seemed to vibrate through you. “You’d be surprised. I’m not always looking for the spotlight.”

“And what are you looking for now?” you challenged, meeting his gaze head-on.

“You,” he said simply.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced herself to play it cool. “That’s a bold answer.”

“I’m a bold man,” he replied, his lips curving into a grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Do you always say exactly what’s on your mind?”

“With you, yes.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. For a moment, you forgot where you were, lost in the way his eyes seemed to see right through your carefully constructed walls.

“Tell me about you,” he said, leaning forward. “The real Y/n. Not the journalist with the sharp wit or the woman who keeps dodging my calls.”

You smirked. “Dodging your calls? I prefer to think of it as… being selective.”

“Selective, huh?” He chuckled, his hand brushing yours on the table. The touch was brief but electric. “Then I feel even more honored to be here.”

“You should,” you teased, though your voice softened.

You talked for hours, the conversation flowing as effortlessly as the wine. You found herself opening up in ways you hadn’t expected—about your upbringing in New York, your move to Paris to pursue journalism, and the struggles of balancing ambition with vulnerability. Aurelien listened intently, his gaze never wavering.

“And you?” you asked, curiosity finally getting the better of you. “What’s it like being… you?”

He shrugged, a hint of vulnerability flashing across his face. “It’s not as glamorous as people think. The pressure, the scrutiny—it can get overwhelming.”

“But you love it,” you said, studying him.

“I do,” he admitted. “But it’s nights like this that remind me why it’s worth it. Meeting people who see me for more than just the headlines.”

Your chest tightened at his words. You’d spent so much of your career dissecting public figures, analyzing their every move. Yet here, sitting across from Aurélien, he felt disarmingly real.

By the time you left the bistro, the city had quieted. You strolled down the cobblestone streets, your footsteps echoing in the stillness.

“Thank you for tonight,” You said, glancing up at him.

“I should be thanking you,” he replied, his hand brushing yours as you walked.

The silence between you was comfortable, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. When you reached a small park near his apartment, Aurélien stopped, turning to face you fully.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, his voice low.

“Depends on the question,” you replied, your lips curving into a smile.

He stepped closer, the space between them evaporating. “Do you want to come inside?”

Your breath hitched. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world—made it impossible to say no.

“Yes,” you said softly.

The smile that spread across his face was radiant, his eyes lighting up with a boyish charm that made her chest ache.

Without another word, he cupped your face in his hands, his touch warm against your chilled skin. His lips met yours, gentle at first, as if testing the waters. But when you responded, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his intensity grew.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath his coat. He pulled you closer, one hand tangling in your curls, the other resting on your lower back.

When you finally broke apart, both breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.

As you took his hand, your lips still tingling from his kiss, you couldn’t help but smile. For once, you felt like the walls you built around yourself didn’t need to stay so high. Maybe, just maybe, you were ready to see where this could lead.

The soft hum of jazz filled the air as you stepped into Aurélien’s apartment.

You weren’t sure what you had expected when you agreed to come inside, but the cozy, understated elegance of his home surprised you. Warm lighting, minimalist decor, and a wall of bookshelves gave it a personality you hadn't anticipated.

"You live here?" you teased, setting your coat on the arm of the sofa.

"Disappointed?" he asked, stepping into the open kitchen.

"No," you admitted, walking toward him.

"I guess I expected something flashier. This is... nice."

He smiled as he poured two glasses of wine.

"I don't need flash at home. It's the one place where I can just be me."

As he handed you a glass, your fingers brushed, and that familiar spark ignited. You tried to focus on anything but the way his presence seemed to fill the room. You talked and laughed as easily as they had at the bistro, right now felt different. More intimate. By the time you moved to the couch, your nerves were buzzing. Aurélien sat close, your knees brushing, his scent— earthy and clean-pulling you in.

"You know," he said softly, "I've been thinking about you all week." Your heart skipped.

"Oh I’m sure you have" you say slightly joking

He leaned closer, his voice dropping." And now that you're here, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to let you leave."

You laughed, but the sound was shaky. "You’re a bold man."

"I am bold man." he murmured, in agreement, brushing a curl from your face,

The air thickened, charged with unspoken desire. His hand slid to your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin as he leaned in. When your lips met, the world seemed to tilt. His kiss was slow and deliberate, as if savoring every second. You melted against him, your hands finding his shoulders as he deepened the kiss. The soft hum of music faded, replaced by the sound of your breathing, the gentle rustle of fabric as his arms circled your waist. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours once more, his eyes searching yours for permission to go further.

"Y/n," he whispered, your name a question and a promise all at once.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as you nodded, your breath hitching. "Yes."

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you toward the bedroom. The space was just as warm and inviting as the rest of his apartment, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting shadows on the walls. Aurélien set you down gently, his hands never leaving you as he kissed you again, slower this time. His lips traced a path down your neck, his touch reverent as he explored your skin. Your head tilted back, your fingers tangling in his hair as you let herself surrender to the moment.

Aurelien's strong hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. He whispered your name "Y/n” his French accent making it sound like a secret. You unbuttoned his shirt, revealing chiseled abs and broad shoulders.

Your fingers traced the defined muscles, feeling the power that made him a force on the soccer field. Aurélien’s hands explored your curves, marveling at the beautiful mix of your bronze skin tones. He unzipped your dress, letting it pool at your feet, leaving you in black lace.

The dim light caressed your curves, making you look like a dark goddess. He stepped back to admire you. His breath caught in his throat. You moved closer, pressing your body against his. His lips found yours- hungry, possessive.

His hands moved to your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around him as he stumbled forward onto a plush love seat near an open window. The night air was cool on your bare skin, contrasting with the heat generated between you.

Aurélien broke the kiss to trail kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone. Your head fell back, exposing more of your throat to his hungry mouth. He gripped your hips tightly, grinding his hardness against your core. You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"I need you," Aurélien growled, his voice rough with desire. Your response was to squeeze your legs tighter around him, trying to get closer. He reached between your bodies, fumbling with his belt before tearing open a condom with his teeth.

As he kicked off his pants, you wriggled out of your underwear, leaving you bare before him. Aurelien paused, taking in your form - the swell of your breasts, the flare of your hips, the softness of your thighs.

“Si beau" he murmured. He slowly lowered you down onto him - easily sliding into you due to how you’ve secretly wanted him badly all night- his hands splayed possessively on your hips. He kissed you softly, his thumb stroking your cheek as he guided himself inside you.

You inhaled sharply as he filled you, your back arching to take him deeper. He wrapped your legs around his waist, his large hands supporting your ass as he began to move. The chair creaked under your movements, the room filled with your heavy breaths and soft moans.

Aurelien's strong arms lifted you up and down on him, his hands roaming over your curves possessively. He broke the kiss to look down at where you joined, his eyes darkening as he watched himself enter you.

"Tellement parfait" he growled, his voice strained with desire. He pulled out almost completely before slamming back into you , the force of his hips making you bounce on his lap. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you clung to him, your head thrown back in ecstasy.

"Look at me chérie” he commanded, his voice deep and demanding. You opened your eyes, meeting his intense gaze. He slowed his pace, moving deliberately now, making each thrust count. His thumb found your clit, circling it gently in rhythm with his hips.

Your eyes rolled back as pleasure overwhelmed you. "Aurélien" you whimpered, your voice barely audible. He smiled, his heart swelling with love and desire. He picked up the pace again, his thumb pressing harder against your sensitive clit as he fucked you mercilessly on the lounge chair.

He wrapped his arms around you , pulling you flush against his chest. "Wrap your legs around me," he ordered, his voice strained. You locked your ankles at his back, allowing him to go even deeper. He grunted, his face a mask of concentration.

Aurélien stood up, still buried inside you, and carried you to the bed. He sat down, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist, and leaned back against the headboard. Your back arched as he sank deeper into you, the change in position hitting your g-spot perfectly.

"You like that?" Aurelien asked, smirking as you whimpered and clung to him. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, opening you up even wider as he pounded into you. The bed creaked loudly, keeping rhythm with your bodies slapping together.

Your nails dug into Aurelien's shoulders once again as you tried to pull him closer, needing more of him inside you. He hissed at the sharp pain, but it only seemed to fuel his desire.

"More?" he growled, thrusting harder. You nodded, unable to form words as pleasure coursed through you. He reached between the two of you, finding your sensitive clit and rubbing in time with his thrusts.

"Tell me you want it," he whispered harshly against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Tell me you want me to make you cum all over my dick." His fingers continued their maddening dance on your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

"I want it," you choked out, your voice desperate. "I want you to make me cum so bad." Aurelien grinned, his eyes dark with lust. "That's what I like to hear" he said, his thrusts becoming even more brutal as he drove into your gushing pussy.

"Your pussy feels so good around me," he groaned, adjusting his angle to hit just the right spot, triggering waves of pleasure through you. You could feel your orgasm building, intense and inevitable. "Not yet," he commanded, slowing his pace slightly despite her desperate whimpers.

"I'm going to count to three," he said, his voice low and commanding. "And when I reach three, I want you to cum for me. Hard." He started moving again, his thrusts long and deep, each one pushing you closer to the edge. "One,"

... "Two..." His pace picked up, becoming more urgent as he felt your muscles clutching him tighter. "Three..." A surge of pleasure rushed through you as he hit that perfect spot, and with his command, you shattered completely, your body convulsing around him in a powerful orgasm.

grunts "That's it... cum all over this dick" he growled, his own pleasure building as he felt you pulsating around him. "Don't stop... ride through it" he commanded, continuing his punishing rhythm.

As you rode through your release, he wrapped his hand around your neck. "Look at me," he ordered, his voice rough with barely contained passion. He wanted to see your face as he continued to thrust into you, prolonging your pleasure.

Your eyes locked, he picked up his pace, slamming into you as he gazed into your dilated pupils. "You're going to cum again, and again, and again..." He punctuated each word with a hard thrust, his hands gripping your hips possessively.

Needless to say, it was a long night. Time seemed to blur as you came together, your movements tender yet passionate. Your touch was a mixture of strength and care, his attention to your every reaction making you feel seen in a way you never had before. When you both finally lay tangled in the sheets, your breaths mingling in the quiet, you traced lazy circles on his chest.

"I wasn't expecting this," you admitted, your voice soft.

"Neither was I," he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "But I'm glad it happened."

You smiled, closing your eyes as you rested against him. For the first time in a long time, you felt at peace-wrapped in the warmth of something that felt like it could be real.

“Goodnight, Y/n” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple before closing his eyes.

“Goodnight, Aurélien” you whispered, slowly drifting off to sleep.

[snowseasonmademe]

Island of us

word count : 1,700+

warning ‼️: mentions of conception, flash back to the beginning of the conception, descriptions of intimacy but not straight up smut

paring : husband aurelien and wife blackfemale reader

summary : as you enjoy your much needed beacation you can’t keep your secret bundle of joy away from your husband any longer.

note: i really loved writing this one. i live for a lover boy, soft aurelien fic but there aren’t too many so i figured i would just write one myself :) tell me what you think!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Seychelles sun hung low in the sky, casting shades of amber and gold across the crystalline waters as the gentle breeze kissed your skin. You stood barefoot on the deck of your private villa, a silk robe fluttering around your body as the sounds of the ocean lulled you into a blissful trance. Behind you, the faint shuffle of Aurélien’s movements brought a smile to your lips. Even after four years of marriage, the anticipation of being near him still sent a ripple of warmth through you.

“Taking in the view without me?” His deep voice carried over, laced with playful accusation.

“I am” you teased, turning back to the horizon. “But it’s not nearly as nice as the view inside.”

You glanced over your shoulder, your eyes drawn to the sight of him standing in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. He looked effortlessly relaxed, his loose linen pants hanging low on his hips, the soft fabric swaying slightly in the gentle ocean breeze. His shirt was unbuttoned, the light material framing the sculpted planes of his chest and the faint sheen of moisture that lingered on his golden skin from a quick rinse in the outdoor shower.

His curls were damp, tousled and glistening, catching the sunlight in a way that made him seem almost ethereal. A few stray droplets clung to his jawline, trailing down the strong column of his neck before disappearing beneath the open folds of his shirt. He held two glasses of chilled passionfruit juice in his hands, the condensation dripping down the sides of the glass and pooling at his fingertips.

The casual ease in his stance made your heart skip a beat. His lips curved into a soft, knowing smile when he noticed you watching him, his dark eyes warm and filled with a quiet kind of affection. He walked toward you with a confidence that was unhurried, his movements fluid and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world to spend with you.

The light filtered through the palm trees above, casting dappled shadows across his skin, and as he approached, the faint scent of saltwater and his cologne wrapped around you like a comforting embrace.

“I thought you could use this” he said, his voice low and smooth, holding out one of the glasses to you. The coolness of the glass against your fingers was a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from his hand as it lingered briefly against yours.

You smiled, taking the glass and sipping the sweet, tangy juice. “Perfect timing,” you replied, your voice soft, your eyes lingering on his as you felt the familiar flutter of butterflies in your chest.

He leaned against the railing beside you, his gaze drifting out toward the shimmering turquoise water. “This view never gets old” he murmured, but the way his eyes flicked back to you made it clear that he wasn’t just talking about the ocean.

Aurélien chuckled as he approached, his bare feet silent against the wooden deck. “Flattery will get you everywhere by the way, madame.” He handed you a glass and slid an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips brushed the curve of your neck, sending a pleasant shiver through your body. “But you already know that.”

You leaned back into him, savoring the warmth of his skin against yours. “What can I say? I have good taste—in views and in husbands.”

“And I have impeccable taste in wives.” He turned you gently, cupping your face in one hand as he brought his lips to yours. The kiss was soft, unhurried, as if time itself had slowed just for the two of you. The scent of the ocean mingled with the faint citrus of his cologne, wrapping you in an intoxicating cocoon.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his brown eyes shimmering with mischief. “What do you say we skip dinner tonight? Room service and a dip in the pool sound more appealing.”

“Are you suggesting we ignore the five-star restaurant you insisted we book three months ago?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned. “I’m suggesting that we enjoy the one-star experience of me feeding you grapes while we float under the stars. Far more romantic, don’t you think?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t stand you.”

“And yet, here you are still standing in my arms.” He nipped playfully at your lower lip before pulling away, leaving you breathless and more than a little flustered.

The night unfolded just as he suggested, effortlessly romantic and entirely unhurried. Dinner plans were abandoned, replaced by a tray of vibrant fresh fruit—mango, passionfruit, and ripe berries—and decadent desserts delivered directly to your villa. The sweet aroma of caramelized pineapple mingled with the salty breeze drifting in from the ocean, creating a sensory backdrop that felt nothing short of magical.

The infinity pool, shimmering under the glow of soft underwater lights, became your private sanctuary. The water was warm, wrapping around you like a cocoon as you both slipped in, the cool air above only enhancing the inviting heat of the pool. Beyond the pool’s edge, the ocean stretched out endlessly, its rhythmic waves harmonizing with the soft hum of crickets hidden in the lush greenery surrounding the villa.

Aurélien leaned back against the edge of the pool, his arms stretched out, his relaxed posture a picture of ease. His dark eyes glimmered under the faint moonlight as they watched you move through the water, his lips curving into a playful smirk.

“You’re staring” you teased, tilting your head with a knowing smile.

“Can you blame me?” he shot back, his deep voice carrying a warmth that sent a shiver through you despite the heat of the water.

It wasn’t long before his playful side emerged, and he waded toward you with mischief written all over his face. “You’re too relaxed” he teased, his hands slipping to your waist.

“What are you doing?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as he began to lift you slightly out of the water.

“Just helping you enjoy the pool” he replied, laughing as he tried to hoist you over his shoulder.

You let out a shriek, clinging to him for balance as water splashed around you both. “Aurélien, don’t you dare!”

Your stern glare only made his grin wider, but your mock-serious tone eventually gave way to laughter as he loosened his grip, letting you slide back into the water with a dramatic splash. The sound of your giggles echoed into the night, mingling with the soothing symphony of waves in the distance.

When you finally caught your breath, you swam to him, wrapping your arms around his neck in retaliation. “You’re lucky you’re cute” you muttered, pressing a kiss to his jawline, your lips lingering against his warm, wet skin.

“I know” he said with a low chuckle, his hands settling on your hips to pull you closer. His gaze softened, his playfulness fading into something deeper as his thumb traced slow circles against your waist.

The two of you drifted together in the quiet stillness of the pool, the only sounds now the faint lap of water and the occasional crash of waves against the shore. The night felt endless, and for once, there was no need to rush—just the two of you, lost in your own private paradise.

Later, as the moon hung high in the sky, you found yourselves lying on the pool’s edge, your bodies still damp as the night breeze swept over you.

“Do you ever think about how we got here?” you asked softly, tracing a finger along his chest.

“All the time” he replied, his voice low and intimate. “Sometimes I wake up and can’t believe it’s real—that I get to call you my wife, that we built this life together.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I feel the same way. Especially now.”

There was a pause, and you felt his body tense slightly beneath yours. “Especially now?” he repeated, his tone curious.

You pushed yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him. The moonlight illuminated his features, highlighting the slight furrow of his brow and the spark of concern in his eyes. “I wasn’t planning to tell you like this” you began, your voice trembling with emotion. “But… Aurélien, I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you. His dark eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief softening into something deeper as his lips parted, as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his entire body frozen in place as if his brain was racing to catch up with the reality of what you’d just said.

Then, as the realization began to sink in, his expression transformed. The hesitation melted away, replaced by pure, unfiltered joy that lit up his face like the morning sun breaking through the clouds. His brows lifted, his mouth curved into a slow, disbelieving smile, and his eyes glistened with an emotion so raw it nearly brought fresh tears to your own.

“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice low and trembling with a mix of excitement and awe. He sat up so quickly that he nearly knocked you over, his hands instinctively reaching for yours, gripping them tightly as if anchoring himself to this moment. “You’re not joking, right? Because if you’re joking, I—”

“I’m not joking” you interrupted, your laughter bubbling up through the tears that blurred your vision. “I’m six weeks along. I found out a few days before we left, but I wanted to be sure before I told you.”

His gaze dropped briefly to your stomach, his hands trembling slightly as they moved, almost hesitantly, to rest on your waist. His fingers brushed against you with a tenderness that made your heart ache, his touch reverent as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

“You’ve been carrying this secret for days?” he asked softly, his voice thick with emotion. “How—why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I wanted it to be perfect” you admitted, your voice cracking as the weight of your decision hit you. “I wanted us to have this moment—here, where everything feels right.”

His eyes met yours again, a tear slipping down his cheek unnoticed as he pulled you closer, cradling your face in his hands. “Ah my wife is pregnant” he whispered, his voice a mixture of awe and love. “We’re going to be parents.”

Hearing him say it out loud made the reality hit even harder, and you nodded, tears spilling freely now as you both laughed and cried, holding onto each other like the world had just shifted beneath your feet in the best possible way.

Aurélien stared at you, his hands cradling your face as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His gaze flicked from your eyes to your lips, then down to your belly, as if he were trying to process the enormity of your words. “We’re going to have a baby” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “We made a baby. You and me.” The way he said it—awed, almost reverent—made your heart swell. His thumbs brushed gently across your cheeks, and his lips quirked into a crooked, boyish grin. “Mon amour, we really don’t miss, do we?”

“Well” you teased, biting your lip as the blush crept up your neck. “You certainly put in the work.” A quiet laugh bubbled out of you, but it was muffled when Aurélien pulled you into his chest, wrapping you in his strong arms. His embrace was warm and grounding, his heart pounding steadily against your ear as you both soaked in the reality of what was to come. “You should probably be thanking me for being such a good teammate” you added, your tone playful. “I carried a lot of that effort.” He tilted your chin up, his grin widening as he kissed the tip of your nose. “You’re right. You’re the MVP of this team.”

His laugh was deep and full of relief, echoing like a melody in the open night air. “I mean, I distinctly remember how much effort I put into it. What can I say? I’m a man who commits.” His hands moved down to rest lightly on your hips, his fingers drawing slow, lazy circles that sent a tingle up your spine. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he added, “And I don’t just mean on the pitch.” His tone was teasing, but the heated look in his eyes made your pulse quicken. You swatted at his chest, laughing despite yourself.

Your cheeks flushed as memories of that night flooded back. It had been a rainy evening in May, the kind of night where the sound of the downpour against the windows begged for warmth and closeness. The air had been thick with the earthy scent of rain and the seductive notes of his cologne, a combination that lingered in your mind like a favorite song. You had slipped into his oversized soccer jersey, the fabric soft against your skin and far too big, the hem grazing your thighs. He’d smiled when he saw you in it, his eyes flicking over you with a mixture of amusement and unfiltered desire.

Throughout the evening, his gaze had lingered on you, darkening with each subtle shift of your body under the jersey. When he caught you absentmindedly fiddling with the edge of the fabric, the teasing smirk on his lips gave away his thoughts. The tension had simmered between you all day, growing heavier with every stolen glance and casual touch.

By the time you both retreated to the bedroom, the unspoken restraint between you had completely unraveled. The moment the door closed, the atmosphere shifted, the dim light casting shadows across the room as he stepped closer. His hands were on you in an instant, pulling you flush against his chest, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that stole the breath from your lungs.

Nothing else mattered as his hands and lips explored you, his touch igniting a fire that made the rain outside feel like a distant memory. That night, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, you surrendered entirely to him, the sound of the rain blending with the whispered promises that only the two of you could hear.

6 weeks ago~

As Aurélien enters the room, the faint creak of the door announces his presence before his deep, honeyed voice fills the space. “Mon amour” he murmurs, his French accent wrapping around the words like a caress. His mischievous smile widens as his gaze lands on you, lounging in his oversized jersey that just barely skims your thighs. He locks the door behind him with a quiet click, his long-sleeve compression shirt clinging to his chiseled torso and his sweatpants slung low on his hips, teasing you with every step he takes closer.

“You’re staring” you tease, raising a brow as his muscular frame looms over the bed, casting a shadow across your body.

“How can I not?” he counters smoothly, his voice dripping with playful arrogance. “You steal my jersey, take my bed, and still look better in both than I do. It’s unfair, vraiment.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head at his dramatic tone, but your breath catches as he sits on the bed and effortlessly pulls you onto his lap, his strong hands sliding around your waist with an air of possessiveness that makes your skin tingle.

“Baby” he whispers against your neck, his lips brushing your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine. His large hands begin to creep up your thighs, fingers teasing the hem of the jersey. “We need to make a little football player, yes?”

You giggle, nuzzling into his neck and inhaling his musky scent, laced with the faint, earthy notes of the football field. “You’re already planning positions for a baby that doesn’t exist yet?” you tease, letting your fingers trail over his broad chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. “And you’re so sure it’ll be a boy, huh?”

“Of course, yes” he replies, his tone rich with mock confidence as he hooks his fingers under the hem of the jersey, inching it higher to reveal your smooth, dark thighs. His lips hover just inches from yours, his smile downright sinful. “But boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. They will be strong, like their father” he says with a cocky grin before his voice softens “and beautiful, like their mother.”

“You’re something else” you whisper, biting your lip to hide your smile, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrays you.

“It’s only the truth, ma chérie” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your collarbone in soft, deliberate kisses that make your heart race. His hands splay over your stomach, his thumbs brushing the bare skin beneath the jersey as if imagining it round with life. “I can already see it. Our little miracle. Can’t you?”

Your teasing demeanor falters as his words sink in, their sincerity making your breath hitch. “Aurélien” you begin, your voice soft, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“Shh” he whispers, his lips curving into a smile against your skin. “No words. Just us.”

With a gentle but firm motion, he lifts you from his lap, placing you beneath him on the bed. His eyes lock onto yours, a perfect storm of love and desire swirling in their depths. Slowly, reverently, he peels the hoodie over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought. His gaze roams over you, lingering on the soft pink of your bralette against your dark skin, and he exhales deeply, as if the sight of you steals his breath.

“I love you so much mon amour. I cant wait for you have our baby” he says softly, his hands running over your bare belly, his touch warm and tender. “My baby’s mama” he adds, his voice thick with both adoration and lust.

Your lips part to respond, but all coherent thought dissolves as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that is slow, deep, and consuming. The world around you fades, leaving only the heat of his body, the strength of his touch, and the unspoken promise of the future you’re about to create together.

back to the present ~

“I think it was that night after your match” you mused, running a hand through his damp curls. “The night you scored that free kick and came home looking for an even bigger win.”

Aurélien grinned, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. “I knew I was on form that night. Guess I should thank my teammates for setting me up so well.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting his chest. “Don’t push your luck, Tchouaméni.”

He caught your hand, bringing it to his lips. “I’m serious, though. I can’t believe this. You’re going to be the most incredible mother.”

“And you’ll be the most amazing father” you replied, your voice soft. “I can already see it.”

For a while, the two of you simply sat there, wrapped in each other’s arms and the magnitude of the moment. The weight of your news settled into something warm and grounding, a quiet assurance that your love had grown into something even bigger than the two of you.

As the night deepened, Aurélien carried you back inside, his strength and tenderness making your heart swell. He laid you gently on the bed, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, filled with the depth of his love for you.

“You know” he murmured against your skin as his hands roamed over your body, “I feel like I should thank Seychelles for this little miracle. Maybe it’s the air here. Or the sunsets. Or the fact that I can’t seem to keep my hands off you.”

“Maybe it’s all of the above” you replied, your voice hitching as his lips found the sensitive spot below your ear.

He hummed in agreement, his kisses growing bolder as he trailed them down your neck and across your collarbone. His hands mapped your curves with reverence, lingering on the slight swell of your belly as if he could already feel the life growing within you.

“Aurélien” you whispered, your hands threading through his hair as he continued his exploration of your body. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“Good” he replied, his voice husky. “Because you’ve been driving me crazy since the moment I met you.”

The night stretched on in a haze of passion and intimacy, the two of you utterly consumed by each other. Every touch felt electric, like rediscovering a familiar map with new terrain to explore, each caress igniting a fire that burned hotter than ever. Aurélien’s hands moved with purpose, his fingers tracing the curves of your body. He lingered at your waist, his palms warm and firm, before settling over the gentle curve of your belly. There, his touch softened, tender, as though he could already feel the faintest heartbeat of the life you were creating together. His lips followed the path of his hands, pressing tender kisses along your skin, trailing from your shoulder to the delicate hollow of your collarbone and down to the swell of your stomach.

Each kiss felt like a vow, his whispered praises in between making your heart ache with love. “My wife, I love you” he murmured against your skin, emphasizing wife, his voice low and thick with emotion. “Perfect. My everything.” His breath fanned over you, sending shivers down your spine, and the way he gazed up at you from where he knelt—eyes filled with awe and devotion—made you feel like the center of the universe.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains, casting a silver sheen over the scene. It illuminated the sweat-slicked planes of his shoulders and the tender curve of your body beneath his touch, painting the moment in an ethereal light that made every movement between you feel sacred. Time seemed to stand still, the outside world fading as you and Aurélien became completely entwined—body, mind, and soul.

By the time the first rays of dawn began to filter through the curtains, painting the room in soft hues of pink and gold, you lay tangled in each other’s arms, the warmth of his body a comforting shield against the morning chill. Your bodies were sated, a pleasant ache lingering in your limbs as a reminder of the night’s passion, while your hearts felt impossibly full—overflowing with love, joy, and the quiet anticipation of what was to come. Aurélien’s strong arms enveloped you, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go, his breath slow and steady against your hair. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, the tender gesture carrying an unspoken promise of devotion. His fingers moved in lazy, absentminded patterns on your back, tracing invisible shapes that sent a soothing warmth through you. Occasionally, his touch would pause, his fingertips pressing lightly against your skin as if savoring the connection, before continuing their gentle path. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the ocean in the distance, the serenity of the moment cocooning you both in a world where nothing else mattered but the two of you—and the tiny life growing inside you.

“Thank you” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?” you asked, your eyes heavy with sleep.

“For being my everything,” he replied, his lips curving into a smile. “And for making me the happiest man in the world.”

As you drifted off in his arms, your head resting against the steady rise and fall of his chest, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of peace. His warmth enveloped you, his heartbeat a soothing rhythm that seemed to sync perfectly with your own. The faint scent of his skin—a mix of salt, his cologne, and something uniquely him—wrapped around you like a lullaby, anchoring you to this perfect moment. You closed your eyes, letting the weight of his embrace and the soft whispers of the ocean beyond the villa lull you into a dreamy haze. A smile played on your lips as a singular thought nestled in your mind: no matter where life took you, no matter the challenges or changes ahead, as long as you had Aurélien by your side, you’d always have your own little paradise. Not just in Seychelles, but in every touch, every look, and every moment you shared with the man who was your home.