lifeisbutadream444

[lifeisbutadream444]

Nicolandria x Kulani Kinis 👙

[lifeisbutadream444]

omg?!?

[lifeisbutadream444]

Back here again 🤭😍😍

The real winners

[lifeisbutadream444]

[lifeisbutadream444]

[lifeisbutadream444]

[lifeisbutadream444]

[lifeisbutadream444]

[lifeisbutadream444]

The One That Got Away

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Female OC

Warning(s): Angst, Explicit Sex, Sad Girl Romance, Break-Ups & Reconciliations

Summary: After globetrotting as a digital nomad for three years, Michaela Maxwell returns to her hometown and meets the man of her dreams in a soldier named Terry Richmond. The only problem is, dreams happen when one is asleep to the truth. In Michaela's case, she wakes up to the sad reality that Terry won't really be the happily-ever-after she desires if he cant let go of a past love.

Word Count: 9.5K

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm gonna tell you 'bout

One of the many men, name is irrelevant, height is irrelevant

He was a one out of a ten, I wish that I knew it then

I'm still recovering

Truly, I'm vulnerable, I love a sentiment

Quickly I opened up, I learned my lesson then

Thought I was safe again, thought he was innocent

I was so wrong"

Raye – "Oscar Winning Tears"

He came back to his place later than she expected.

The Super Bowl had ended hours ago, and instead of hitching a ride back with his cousin, Terry had taken a Lyft. She waited for him in his apartment dressed in a sexy strawberry colored push-up bra and thong set.

Lounging on his bed, she listened to him use his key to get in and his cell rang. He answered, but it was difficult to make out exactly who called him. His voice sounded tired, and he ended the conversation with, "We can talk tomorrow."

He dragged into the bedroom, and his eyebrows rose.

"Surprise," Michaela said.

Her boyfriend of nearly a year stared at her and smiled. But the smile didn't reach all of his face. Especially his eyes. He recovered quickly though, and took off his Eagles football jersey, jeans, and the rest of his clothes. Climbing into the bed next to her, he admired her underwear and rubbed on her booty absentmindedly.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"The Eagle's lost."

"Aw, sorry babes."

"Maybe next year we'll get that ring."

His voice sounded sad, but not because of the football game. She stroked the perfect waves in his hair and kissed his luscious lips. He held her, and his affections turned to nibbling on her ear.

She didn't know it was the beginning of the end.

Michaela Maxwell spent three fruitful years traveling the globe as a digital nomad, creating content for three travel websites while also house-sitting in exotic locations such as Costa Rica, Mallorca, and Belize. By the time she returned to her hometown in Louisiana, she was ready to settle down in a familiar place for at least a year before she was ready to fly the coop again.

Her parents loved this of course, and her mother, a choir director, even got her back to church singing. She found a tiny studio apartment that would allow her to coast financially until she was ready for more travel.

Standing in line at a Starbucks, she fingered the silver compass necklace her father gave her when she first left the country after graduating from college. On the back of the necklace, he had a Henry Miller quote inscribed for her, "One's destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things."

She ordered a slice of lemon pound cake and a matcha green-tea latte, and when she tapped her phone against the scanner to pay, the app didn't work. Trying again and failing, her jaw tightened. She had no cash or cards because she hadn't taken a purse with her when she went out to jog that morning. Now she was holding up the line.

A large hand reached forward, holding a debit card toward the cashier.

"I got it," a deep tone said.

Michaela glanced at the face attached to the hand and let out a breath.

The sexiest-looking man she had ever seen in the states for a long time stared back at her with a grin. He wore military fatigues and had the lightest eyes whose color she couldn't discern in the light. They could've been green, or gray…maybe even blue if she squinted.

"I left my house without my purse," she said.

It was obvious from her skin-tight mint-blue jogging outfit and smartphone in hand that she had nothing else to pay with.

"If you hang here for a minute, I can get you the money."

"Don't worry about it. Pay for someone else next time," he said.

"Thanks a lot."

Michaela moved down to the waiting area for her items and watched the stranger order strong coffee and a danish.

That's how she met Terry Richmond.

On a clear spring morning, with her long hair freshly cornrowed in six braids down her back and decorated with six huge silver hoops, she left Starbucks with a smile on her face, thrilled there were some good-looking men in town.

It was only six degrees of separation, meeting him again at a barbecue. Her close friend Sandra dated a guy named Mike, who was Terry's cousin.

"Matcha green-tea latte," he said, showing her pearly whites near a food table where guests piled on fried fish and pork ribs.

They only spoke to each other the entire time and exchanged numbers when the sun went down. For the first month, it felt like a whirlwind of dates getting to know each other.

As a marine stationed nearby, he trained soldiers in specialized martial arts and other combat techniques. It afforded him the ability to stay close to his family. Their dates consisted of nice dinners, movies that she wanted to see, and long romantic drives in the country. He was smart, attentive, and a skilled conversationalist. Fascinated with her travels, he spent hours listening to her talk about rainforests in Central America, parasailing in the Caribbean, and nightlife in Spain.

In their second month of dating, he found a new luxury apartment to move into, and Michaela helped him pick out furniture and decorated it with an international flourish. Their friend groups began to overlap, and that's when Michaela suspected him of getting more serious about their relationship. His male buddies adored her, often insisting that she join them on their male outings to bars to watch sports, and to go fishing on a boat one of them owned.

There came a time when she spent more hours in the day at Terry's place than her own studio apartment. He dropped hints of being open to moving in together. Even gave her shelf space in his bathroom cabinet. The apartment had two bedrooms, and he offered the unused one as her temporary office to work on her new venture as a house sitting expert. It was his way of keeping her close to him without rushing her.

His place had a pool, state-of-the-art gym, and a nature walk trail perfect for early morning jogs. Michaela only wanted to date and have fun with Terry. Nothing too serious. She had more traveling to do and different parts of the world to see still. The pressure of a serious relationship was too heavy to pick up at that point in her life.

By then, they started sleeping together regularly, at least three times a week.

The first time they made love, a company had just delivered Terry's brand-new bed, and she had bought him designer sheets as a housewarming gift. They were oyster-blue with an outrageous thread-count that made them buttery soft. She helped him make the king-size bed up with a new blanket and goose-down pillows. They both jumped on the bed and marveled at how comfortable it was. That's when he turned to look at her. Her hair cascaded across her arm and he stroked it like it was expensive silk.

"You are so beautiful, Michaela. What would I do without you in my life?"

Her heart did a happy dance in her chest, and he leaned over and kissed her lips. He undressed her with his eyes first, and her body went limp from the searing gaze of lust that drenched her skin with desire. Terry dragged his index finger up her arm and she would've sworn on a bible that her flesh burst into flames the way he sparked her nerve endings. To have him look at her that way again for the first time!

They'd fooled around before.

Long, slow kisses for hours. Heavy petting. Jerking him off in his two-year-old Honda Civic. Going all the way was inevitable after their first month of sexual touching. They came close once at her place while watching a basketball game. She sat next to him on her couch in a pair of stretchy shorts and he fingered her slowly during commercial breaks, edging her until she nearly peed on herself. Her swollen labia melted under his fingertips and by the time he inserted his digits, moving them slowly in and out, she had tears in her eyes. She turned into a soggy noodle pressed into him. His fingers rubbed on her clit in gentle circles, bringing her orgasm to a raging explosion that had her entire frame throbbing in release. She scooted out of her shorts and panties, only to be disappointed that he didn't have condoms on him. Mentally kicking herself for not re-upping her personal stock after her Gulliver's Travels gallivanting the world, Michaela had to settle for him eating her pussy on the couch, her legs casually thrown over his shoulders and those seductive green eyes daring her to cum in his mouth and all over his lips. She rolled over and tooted her ass out, and Terry licked everything from behind, glossing his full lips until she came again, screaming into the couch cushion.

Their first time was magical in his bed.

"Why are you so wet?" he whispered in her ear.

He lowered his face to her breasts and sucked each nipple until they became perfect pebbles for his tongue to titillate further. His pretty caramel skin looked like a creamy topping against her cherry-brown color.

Returning home had taken an adjustment she hadn't expected, and having Terry in her life smoothed the tensions of small-time life. She'd outgrown her place of birth. He allowed her to tolerate it. Living outside of America showed her its obvious deficits, and Terry reminded her of the good things it still had available…like family.

Michaela grew closer to her parents, especially her father, and re-connecting with childhood friends grounded her to familial life. Singing solo gospel songs in church also brought her back to a spiritual side she'd neglected since leaving home. She started thinking about her future away from traveling, and Terry gave her other fleeting thoughts, too. Like what having companionship with one partner would be like over a length of time in one place. Michaela wasn't itching to settle down, but life handed her the man of her dreams, and it was hard to view Terry as anything less than the best boyfriend she'd ever had.

He still had four years to go before he could leave his military contract, and Michaela imagined taking him to all the places she shared with him through stories and pictures. The hard part of waiting was watching the growth of her business. She wanted to put together two conferences, one in Costa Rica and the other in Spain. That meant time away from Terry to plan and execute. She started getting calls from a travel collective in the U.K. that asked her to be a keynote speaker at a digital nomad event at the end of the year. More time away from Terry.

His kisses strayed down her neck, and she sighed.

"So wet…" he murmured, licking the hollow of her belly button and trailing down between her thighs.

He catered to her clit like it was a queen on her little throne. For what seemed like a teasingly long time, Terry ate her out until her legs shook and she whimpered, "I want more."

She rubbed on his hair, and he left her side to dig his hand inside his nightstand. The gold foil condom ripped easily. He rolled the prophylactic down his girth, pinching the top. She widened her thighs, and he nestled against them, his tip resting at her slick entrance. He kissed her while pushing inside, and they locked eyes. The intensity of their gazes brought forth laughter from both of them, and as he moved in and out, they laughed again at the joy of finally connecting through intercourse.

His dick stretched her out until her eyes wanted to cross. She arched her back to feel the muscles in his chest pressed against her breasts. Her nipples brushed against him, and he moaned at their softness. He lifted her right leg and sank in deeper. The slapping of their bodies created delightful sounds in the bedroom. Her pants and his deep groans in her ear took it to a new level of pleasure. There was no need to switch positions or try any tricks to impress each other. Their joining was enough, and her vaginal walls squeezed him unexpectedly, thrilling even her at the loss of control she experienced under him. She wrapped her legs around his hips, wanting him closer, yearning to keep him next to her like that for hours and hours.

"Shit," he groaned.

His hips pistoned, and the bed thumped under her. The headboard hadn't started smacking the wall yet, but it was close.

"Michaela…fuck…baby…"

He pushed her thighs back, his eyes glued to the sight of his dick taking her down thrust by thrust.

Their foreheads touched. He jammed his fists on the bed, giving her the fucking she deserved. She'd had lovers in every place she stayed overseas, but coming home to a southern man that shared the same culture was exquisite. Caressing his biceps, Michaela submitted to the synergy they created.

"You're beautiful. Look at you Michaela…making me feel so good."

If he talked her all the way through her orgasm, she wasn't aware of it. All she could concentrate on was his Siren eyes boring into her and the fullness of his dick taking her to greater heights physically. Her lips puckered and then she let out a cry as her walls clenched in rapid throbs around him.

"Ohhhhhh!" she shouted.

That's all it took for him to join her. She felt him pulsing inside of her. His body seized up and a loud groan roared out of him. He slammed a hand on the headboard and cursed above her face before grunting and crashing down on her.

She giggled, and he laughed out loud, his deep voice resonating around her like a cape of tenderness in their intimate moment.

Michaela had hoped to experience that type of lovemaking again after the Super Bowl game.

The day of the game she had an online panel to attend for her business coaching Black women to house sit around the world. She missed the Super Bowl game at his friend's house, but promised Terry she'd be at his place afterward to have a little party of their own. He didn't have to go to work the next day, and they planned to brunch and shop for a camping tent.

She pulled out her fancy underwear, plucked and shaved hair from her legs and private area, and prepared to put some sugar on his dick. It was supposed to be an unforgettable night in her mind.

Once he climbed into bed with her, she sensed a change in him.

Terry went through the motions of lovemaking.

It felt good, and she came hard on his dick with his fingers gently touching her clit. However, the passion wasn't at its zenith, as if his mind were elsewhere and not with her.

He fucked her from behind with long strokes, and after he came, he tied off the condom and kissed her forehead. Leaving the bed soaked in sweat, he took a long shower and she tucked the sheets under her chin and tried to fathom what had brought him to a place of disconnect.

They went to brunch at their favorite restaurant, and he picked at his food. Once they bought the tent he wanted, chats of planning a camping trip went by the wayside as he complained of a headache and went to bed to sleep off his unease.

She left his apartment and visited a girlfriend to not waste the rest of the day. Her schedule and his job kept them busy for two days. Until Terry called her to come back to his place before the weekend.

"I need to talk to you about something," he said.

She sat down on his couch, and he paced in front of her. Folding her arms across her chest, she waited for him to speak. He finally sat down next to her.

"My ex was at the Super Bowl party last Sunday," he said.

"Your ex…Eve?"

Michaela tilted her head with her lips already in a defensive pout. He dated Eve two years previously and broke up with her for reasons he never explained. It wasn't her business, so Michaela didn't care. They were getting to know each other, and she'd spoken about her past lovers, too. No big deal.

His eyes were shinier than normal, and her stomach bunched up in a single knot, already knowing the ending before he even foretold it.

"Yeah…it's been a long time since I've seen her…and we talked and …"

He couldn't keep eye contact and flexed the fingers of his right hand nervously. It scared her.

"And? Did you sleep with her or something? Is that why you came home in a Lyft instead of being dropped off by Allen?"

"No. I wouldn't do anything like that. We talked…the entire night."

"All night where?"

"At Dex's."

"Until one in the morning?"

"We weren't alone. Mike was there…a bunch of people stayed to hang out after the game. She and I talked outside in the yard."

"Okay…talked about what?"

Her voice sounded sharp, like broken glass. His eyes kept darting away from looking at her face.

"How we were both doing now. I didn't have to say anything about this, Michaela. I'm telling you because I trust you…I can confide in you about anything on my mind. I've done the same for you. I want to talk about this because it's bothered me all week…seeing her again. All kinds of emotions came back up that I wasn't prepared to deal with. It was the same for her, too. It's been two years and seeing her hurt me…"

He started leaking tears from the corners of his eyes, and Michaela couldn't move or say anything. The man she'd been dating for eight and a half months shed tears for another woman that he left behind.

He wiped his face and sat back on the couch. His eyes still captured her with their intense color. She exhaled and the pain in her stomach grew. Her voice came out shaky and unsure.

"Seeing her hurt you? Why? People run into their exes occasionally. You dumped her, so you weren't happy."

He nodded. His lips parted, and he wiped his face again.

"I wasn't happy. But I cared for her. Leaving wasn't easy for me…I didn't try harder to fix things between us. We weren't getting along and I ended it. That's it. I didn't know I would react this way after seeing her again. I needed to tell you so you'd understand why I've been so distant the past few days."

"Okay. I can understand that."

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. Before she could entwine their fingers together, he pulled away and closed his eyes. Eve really had him shaken up.

Michaela stroked his hair, and he stared at the ceiling, relaxing into her touches. More tears ran down his face like silent assassins to her heart.

"She told me she still loves me…misses me."

"What did you say to her?"

"I didn't say anything…I was surprised that she said that."

He finally looked at her. The tears on his face spoke for him.

Michaela bit her bottom lip and fought back the welling of water behind her eyes.

"You still love her?"

"I don't know what I feel…I'm conflicted."

"Conflicted about what? Do you want her back?"

"I don't know what I want."

"Terry, we've been dating for damn near nine months. I'm your girlfriend!"

"And I'm your boyfriend telling you what's on my heart and mind. I talked to my ex, and it affected me. I didn't sleep with her and we had no physical contact, if that's what you're really worried about."

"Yeah? Well, she got to you emotionally, and that feels like the same thing to me right now."

"I came home and made love to you, Michaela. If I wanted to fuck Eve, I could've done that and not said anything if I had that type of dog energy in me."

"Thank you for small favors, asshole!"

Michaela jumped up and grabbed her purse.

Terry tugged on her jacket sleeve and pulled her back toward him.

"Where are you going? I'm sitting here being honest with you about my feelings."

"Basically telling me I was a placeholder this whole time."

"We're having fun and enjoying each other. That's what you wanted, and that's what I want. I thought I could tell you everything going on with me, but clearly that was a mistake."

"Am I lacking something, Terry? Is that why you're so discombobulated with a woman that didn't make you happy?"

"You're perfect."

"Am I?"

"Michaela…please."

"So what now? Do we keep seeing each other or…?"

He stood once he noticed her eyes spilling tears of frustration.

"Michaela, I didn't tell you this to hurt you. I'm confused by all of this inner turmoil. I shouldn't be feeling like this, but I am. Can't help it."

"I don't want to be confused with you."

Terry hugged her and it felt icky. Like he was giving her a consolation hug as the loser. Instead of coming back to her on time, he stayed behind to talk with a woman who didn't see a future with him two years ago.

"Were you thinking about her while you were fucking me last Sunday?"

"Michaela, stop."

She pushed away from him. They faced each other with teary eyes and trembling limbs.

"Where does this go with us? Am I supposed to be with you while you sort out your feelings? Have you spoken to her since then?"

"We talked last night. Briefly. Less than five minutes. She told me it was good seeing me and hoped we could be friends again."

"Are you going to see her again?"

The sight of him blurred in her wet eyes. Her tears fell faster, and her mind couldn't process how to move forward.

"I made a mistake telling you."

"Terry…I'm glad you told me. It's a reality check. But I'm not a third wheel."

She expected him to protest and hug her again. If he had done that, she could've coped and pivoted to another way of handling her emotions.

But he didn't do that.

He stood there silently, his glossy eyes staring into a future without her by his side. The truth was so fucking obvious. Seeing Eve brought on regret for him. He never wanted to leave her.

In that moment, Michaela knew the pain flowing through her was because she loved him. She never said it out loud to him. She'd never been one of those women who fell in love easily. It was a slow trek for her to establish trust and intimacy, and she'd reached that stage with him when it was too late. The sting of losing his full, undivided attention to unfinished relationship baggage hurt. She'd lost him the moment he shared his truth.

"Maybe it's best that we postpone the camping trip this weekend. I have a lot on my mind, and you're busy getting your business up and running," he said.

"So you see your ex, talk to her again, and now our trip is cancelled?"

"Postponed. Not cancelled."

"Why?"

"I told you…I have a lot on my mind, and work is stressing me."

"A trip away is the best thing for stress. Tell me the truth, Terry. You want to think about her without me all up in your face—"

"I'm simply asking for space to think by myself without having to go anywhere or do anything."

"Think about what?! Either you want to be with me or her. Simple!"

He winced at her tone. Those beautiful eyes narrowed with irritation at the sound.

Michaela crumbled on the inside, but she kept her poise on the outside.

"Fuck you," she said.

She pulled his house key off her key ring and tossed it on the couch.

She didn't speak to Terry, nor seem him, for a month.

All of her social media blocked any contact dealing with him. She dropped him like a hot potato and kept it moving. No sense waiting around for him to give her a sad break-up chat of 'It's me, not you'.

His friends reached out, wanting to check on her and wondering why she wasn't around anymore. Terry's best friend Dex even drove over to see her, and she joined him for a coffee chat at the neighborhood Starbuck's, where she first met Terry.

She pumped Dex for information about Eve.

"They were engaged two years ago, and he broke it off."

"Engaged? He never told me that."

"He was embarrassed about it. His family spent a lot of money on their engagement party. Booked them an entire Paris honeymoon in advance. When he ended the relationship, they lost a shitload of money that he paid back."

Dex sipped on a berry refresher drink, his handsome looks attracting attention from bystanders in the coffee shop.

"Why did he leave her?"

"He told me she was immature. Narcissistic. He saw some other things he didn't like after her bridal shower that gave him doubts about them lasting as man and wife. I told him to break it off waaayyyy before he asked her to marry him, but he said he was in love and hoped she'd change."

"I guess she finally changed if he needed to talk to her all night after your party."

"I don't think she's changed at all. In fact, I suspect she only came around because of you."

"Me?"

Dex glanced about and leaned forward in his seat.

"Do you look at his social media? It's just photos of you two and him cheesing like he's won an Oscar for having the coolest girlfriend. Shit, I thought he was going to ask you to be his wife the way he bragged about you to us."

Michaela fiddled with the straw in her iced raspberry tea.

"I don't believe that."

"Eve sure did, because she swooped in on my party as a plus one. She loved him back then, of course, but why show up out the blue now? She saw those happy pictures and all thirty-two of his teeth grinning and didn't like it."

"She can have him because I don't care anymore."

Dex smirked.

"Do you love him?"

She closed her eyes. The first prick of tears spilled out.

"Aw, Michaela…talk to him. Let him know how you feel. He probably thinks you aren't serious about him because you didn't stay and fight for your shit."

"I shouldn't have to fight for him if I was already his."

She wiped the corners of her eyes with a napkin.

"That's not what I meant," Dex said. "Terry likes direct feedback. If you never told him you loved him, he's thinking you just want to keep the relationship casual. Exclusive for sure…but y'know…chill with no pressure."

"He never told me he loved me."

"Perhaps he was going off your vibes. The last woman he said 'I love you' to broke his heart. I'm not trying to make excuses for him, but he's been gun-shy with women. You're the first one he's brought out in two years. That makes you special. I know he showed you how he felt without saying it. If you tell him out loud, he'll snap to attention."

"He should've done it first. I don't want to look like I'm crawling back begging…"

Dex's cell rang on the table. He answered.

"Hey, speak of the devil. What's up, man? I'm chillin'…actually I'm sitting here with Michaela chatting at Starbuck's."

"Bastard!" she hissed.

"Alright, man," Dex said.

He tapped his phone.

"He's down the street and coming over to see you. Now's your chance to tell him how you feel."

Michaela jumped from her seat and cursed him under her breath.

"Being with him should've been enough for him to know. It goes both ways," she said.

"Okay, so you both fucked up by being quiet about the love part."

"Bye Dex."

Michaela shuffled out of the door, fumbling with her purse and jacket. Outside, she rushed down the street, only to see Terry strolling her way. She did a one-eighty in her stride and stomped away in the opposite direction.

"Michaela!"

He called out to her and dashed down the sidewalk to catch up to her. Her building was another block over.

"Wait up…I just want to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk, Terry. You should've come home to me, but you still wanted her. Dex told me you were going to marry her—"

"I was—"

"I don't like mess. I don't like exes showing up to throw a wrench in my relationship with you. I don't like that you never told me you loved me—"

"Can we talk inside?"

Seeing him rattled her. His gorgeous face had lines on his forehead from the stress of their uncoupling. Those green eyes threatened to weaken her if she didn't stay strong. The hurting in her chest never went away.

"Are you still talking to Eve?"

"Not really."

"Not really? Either you're talking or you're not."

"We've spoken a few times since you left me."

"Then there's nothing for us to discuss. You made a choice."

"I haven't done anything other than try to figure out why you can't…why you can't…."

"What? Spit it out, for God's sake!"

"I never thought you were this selfish, Michaela. You pretend to be this sophisticated world traveler and you can't even give me space to sort out my shit. I was this close to marrying someone I deeply loved, and it messed me up for a long time to let that relationship go. I beat myself up, wondering why I didn't communicate my unhappiness or frustrations to her sooner, and I promised myself that the next woman I got involved with would never have that problem. But you closed yourself off from me. My honesty hurt you. I can't change that. Running from me isn't going to fix us."

"What was there to fix, Terry?! We were doing fine until she showed up. There's no us if you keep talking to that woman."

"Why are you so threatened by her?"

"If you can't see why, I can't help you."

She pushed past him and headed for her secure building. His footsteps trailed after her. She ran inside her lobby after punching in the code. The heavy glass door slammed in Terry's face.

"Michaela, I did love you…I'm sorry I never said it…I love you…please. Talk to me."

"Go talk to Eve!"

His voice faded as she climbed the stairs to her studio.

Michaela co-chaired a conference in Costa Rica and rekindled her love of travel. A year after leaving Terry, she stayed busy expanding her venture as a self-employed entrepreneur. She found a luxury villa to house-sit for three months back in Mallorca and would use that time as a vacation and a chance to plot her next move.

First, she had to go home to see her parents for a week.

Winters in Louisiana were harsh, and she couldn't wait to get back to the Mediterranean climate she loved.

Sitting in her parent's cluttered dining room, she ate jambalaya, fried chicken steak, and cabbage croquets. She caught up with cousins and siblings and soaked up as much of Louisiana as she could.

She also had an obligation to go to church.

"I need you to cover for Marcus on Friday," her mother said.

"Friday? What's going on Friday?"

"A memorial service for one of our deacons in the church. Deacon Tolliver."

"What song?"

Her mother, Iris, marked a line under a note in her music book on the stand in front of their church's pulpit. The entire Baptist choir of eighty singers took a break to catch their breath.

"'Praise Him in Advance'. Marcus has a sore throat, and I know you got it down front to back. Can you help me with it, baby?"

"Sure."

Michaela took her place at the soloist mic and went through the song twice. It was a regular part of her mother's repertoire, so it wasn't a big deal practicing. Her tone of voice was just as good as Marcus' singing it.

After she finished, she stepped back into the choir pews and played her part with all the altos.

Her mind wandered as her mother's arms waved and dipped, guiding the rich voices.

Word on the street, according to her bestie Sandra — who still dated Mike—Terry went back to Eve about four months after Michaela left town. After hearing that, she made Sandra promise not to tell her anything about that man. He clearly chose who he really wanted, and she'd been correct in feeling like a rebound. Those tears he shed gave the performance of his life, and she was smart not to fall for it.

It tore her up inside knowing Eve was getting good dick, passion, and excitement all wrapped up in a Terry package. No more light-skinned niggas for her. Every single one she ever dated was a problem, and if they were pretty? Forget about it. She should've smacked the shit out of him when she had the chance. The saddest part for her was cutting off all contact with Terry's buddies. She genuinely liked them all. The man had an amazing circle of friends.

Sandra texted her about going out to a movie, and she accepted, only to find out it was a set-up with a co-worker of hers. It pissed her off to be ambushed that way, but Michaela sat through the "Wicked" musical because the man was cute. It became a no-go when he knew all the songs and sang them at the top of his lungs. A fucking theater kid…with great pipes, though.

The day of the memorial, she packed her suitcases with freshly washed clothes to be prepped for an early morning flight to Atlanta. She had a few more friends to see before she left the country again.

Dressed in a stylish indigo dress and her best heels, Michaela fluffed out her hair. She opted to tie it up high to give herself a little oomph. She switched out her hoop earrings for diamond studs and smoothed a fresh tube of bronze lipstick across her lips.

Riding over in her parent's car to church, she received an urgent text message from Sandra.

Michaela threw her phone back inside her purse. She pulled it back out, curious to know how Terry looked after all. Sandra wouldn't have to know she was peeking.

No.

Fuck him still.

But…

She scrolled the old people's social media. Facebook. Hopping onto Mike's page, she checked out his recent photos and found a group one posted six months after she left. Her heart fluttered seeing Terry in a fishing trip photo. He wasn't smiling with teeth, but held a crooked grin. Next to him, with her name tagged, was Eve.

Michaela enlarged the photo.

"She's not even all that cute," she grumbled.

"You say something, baby?" Iris said from the front seat.

"Talking to myself, Momma."

Eve was bottom heavy in her shorts and wore too much make-up for a fishing trip in the raging sun. Her twist out hair looked nice. She was nearly the same skin-tone as Michaela with a wide, flat face that reminded her of bread dough ran over twice with a rolling pin.

She wondered what went wrong this time. That thought paused her. What difference did it make?

It must have meant something because she thought about Terry while walking into the church, which someone had decorated with bright blue and white flowers. This wasn't a funeral, but a celebration of life. The sanctuary pews were slowly filling up, and Michaela followed her mother and the rest of the choir through a side hallway. They weren't wearing choir robes because the family requested they all don Deacon Tolliver's favorite color. All shades of blue surrounded Michaela. They looked like a pretty winter bouquet.

Her purse vibrated. She ignored Sandra's new message and silenced her phone with a quick swipe of her finger and hung up her coat. Pastor Greene looked out upon the flock and began speaking words of comfort as the choir waited to begin their processional from the side wing.

Would it hurt to see him? It had been a little over a year since she had flounced away from him. He could see how fabulous she looked and hopefully he'd regret losing her this time.

Michaela strode in from her position on the line and sang an upbeat song with the choir to stir up the congregation with feelings of joy and not sadness. Deacon Tolliver's family walked in as a large group down the aisle to take their seats in the front.

Michaela nearly fell over.

Terry walked solemnly behind the elderly Tolliver relatives dressed in a dark blue suit and tie. Ushers led them to their reserved rows, and he sat down next to some older women. He looked at the memorial program in his hand and glanced up to take in the flower arrangements and the size of the choir.

Michaela ducked her head down, hoping he wouldn't notice her. He didn't. The sopranos partially hid her on the side. The sea of blue helped camouflage her, along with holding the program directly in front of her face.

The pastor read a short scripture and then asked for the congregation to bow their heads in prayer. Michaela thought she could coast through the first half of the memorial, but the closer it got toward the choir singing again after heartfelt speeches from Deacon Tolliver's close friends, her stomach twisted in discomfort. She read the memorial program for the ninety-six-year-old deacon and learned that Terry was a great-grand nephew.

Her mother rose from her seat and stationed herself in front. Terry stared at Iris, and his expression changed from sadness to awareness. Those captivating eyes searched over each face in the choir until they rested on Michaela's as she stepped forward to sing for his great-grand uncle.

She prayed her throat wouldn't close up. The organ player tapped out the keys and the drummer gave a rousing introduction to her vocals. Michaela focused on Deacon Tolliver's widow and the memories of her husband's good work in the church. She had a job to uplift the family, even if one of them was her ex boyfriend.

"I've had my share of ups and downs…times when there was no one around…God came and spoke these words to me…praise will confuse the enemy…"

Deacon Tolliver's widow shouted "Amen!" and the choir brought up the rear, repeating what she sang in a powerful, harmonious sound that brought people to their feet.

Michaela relaxed into her vocal performance, letting the lyrics build up on their own, not doing too much as she led the call and response with the choir, her runs clean and touching hearts in the audience. She used her fingers to point on certain words at the family that held meaning to Deacon Tolliver when he was alive.

"That's when I praise him with my hands…"

Michaela hummed at the end of the line and raised her hands up, her eyes cast toward the stain-glassed depiction of a Black Jesus with his flock of sheep. As a child, Deacon Tolliver told her that Jesus was a rock she could depend on whenever she felt lost. He told her the same thing four years ago before she left Louisiana. She could almost feel his hand on her shoulder like back then, reassuring her about the path she was on. Funny how she ended up falling in love with his great-grand nephew.

Her eyes flicked over to Terry. He stood clapping his hands double time with the choir as she went up a notch to celebrate a good man who supported her call to adventure, even when her parents were worried about it. Hands were up in the audience and she heard shouts as the spirit came down on several people.

She brought the sound down softly and sang to the congregation like she was preaching the word and not just singing. Stepping down from the stage, she approached Mrs. Tolliver's frail form and held her hand, keeping her voice soft.

"Praise him, when things are good…praise him…trouble on every side…and when I'm broke…I will praise him…"

Mrs. Tolliver squeezed her hand and said, "Yes, God…praise him."

Michaela went down the family line to give the message of comfort, and the palpable feeling of love enveloped her. Faced with Terry up close, and knowing this would be the last time she would ever see him, she smiled and gave him some joyful notes that volleyed back and forth with the choir. His lips trembled, and he held steadfast, listening to her sing life into him and his family. She made her way back to the stage and put the cordless mic back on its stand, taking final direction from her mother as the band went off, creating a musical frenzy getting everybody charged up with emotion.

Back at her seat, she breathed in deeply, thankful that she got through the song and seeing Terry at the same time without bursting into tears.

"Nah, nah, Sister Michaela, come back, come back," the pastor said. "One mo' 'gin! I don't think they heard you!"

The band struck up the music again. The choir led her this time for another stirring reprise. Her voice soared over the church and even her momma jumped up and down, shouting. The entire church double clapped as she did a run of "ohs" that ended with a crescendo from the choir. Michaela felt touched by a higher power then, and shook her fists, feeling the spirit move through her. The choir connected her to the only thing that mattered in that moment: to love and be loved in return among her community. She shook her head, rooted to the floor, and another choir member helped her find her seat.

Iris led them through some classic gospel songs and threw in a few newer ones. Michaela sang and snuck glances at Terry who did the same. He pulled back his lips and gave her a smile that reached his eyes, and she did the same back at him.

The memorial ended, and the congregation headed over to the church-owned building next door where the repast was to be held. The food was buffet-style, and Michaela made herself a plate and sat with some church friends. Terry sat with his family on the other side of the room and she relaxed to eat and drink punch.

Eventually she mingled, sharing stories of getting in trouble at vacation bible school and Deacon Tolliver setting her straight.

"Michaela."

It was unavoidable.

Michaela inhaled and turned to look at Terry. His suit was perfectly tailored to his physique. His soulful gaze took her breath away again, and it was like being at Starbuck's that first time, hearing the robust sound of his voice. Her cheeks rose, lifted by the smile she tried to pull off, but she couldn't do it. Regret washed over her like a heat flash and her face grew warm. She didn't fight for him like she should've. She didn't support him with his jumbled feelings. Running off to Costa Rica had been her answer because she didn't want to hear him say he didn't want her anymore. Fear of abandonment caused her to react in a way that didn't help them overcome an obstacle.

"Sorry for your loss," she sputtered.

"Thank you. I'm sorry for a lot of things, too," he said.

Her eyes watered, but the tears held in place. He sensed the battle within to hold it together and looked around to see who could hear them. She blinked several times to clear her eyes. He'd led her to the punchbowl. Handing her a cup of punch, he sighed and moved closer to her so their conversation wouldn't be overheard.

Her heart thumped rapidly, being next to him, and her hands sweated. She wiped them against the cup of punch.

"Can we go outside? It's kinda loud in here," he said.

"Sure."

She pulled on her coat and grabbed her small purse to follow him out a side door. He held out a key fob. Tapping it, a maroon SUV chirped, and he opened a back door for her to get out of the cold.

They sat in the far back seats of the seven passenger vehicle. He tapped the fob again, and the engine came on, blasting much needed heat in the interior. Tinted windows prevented anyone from seeing directly inside. She took off her coat after the temperature grew comfortable.

"You look great," he said.

"You too."

"You sang like an angel. Uncle Bo would've loved it."

"Oh, he's heard me sing before. I didn't even know you were related to the Tollivers."

"On my father's side."

His eyes never wavered. There was a softness behind them that matched the tone of his voice. God had really broken the mold when he made Terry.

He glanced down at his hand near hers.

"I wasn't careful with your heart, Michaela. I'll never forgive myself for that. I loved you…still love you. When you left town, I thought you did what you needed to do. I dealt with that pain, even when you refused to accept my calls or attempts to contact you."

"Why did you go back to her?"

"You left, and she…gave me what I thought was a second chance. I couldn't get you back. You were worried about being a rebound, and that's what Eve became to me. She didn't feel right at all…nothing about her was different. We went out a few times to test the waters. Tried to be friends instead. Dex told me I was stupid for doubting myself about her motives for coming back into my life. The moment she learned you left the country, she turned right back into her vindictive, jealous self. I let her fool me into thinking I'd made a mistake about getting away from her. She played me. I paid a heavy price for it by losing you. I'm sorry for not listening or taking your apprehensions about it seriously. You loved me and I didn't…I lost the plot of us, Michaela. That's all my fault for thinking I knew better."

"I was scared. I met someone truly special, and I held you away from me because I didn't know if you felt as deeply as I did. I've been burned in the past enough times to be cautious," she said.

"Where does this leave us now?"

"I'm going back to Spain in two days. I won't return to the states for a while."

He nodded and glanced away from her face.

"I guess there's nothing more to say. We missed our chance."

The defeat in his voice broke her inside.

"Terry, I loved everything about you—"

He smothered her lips with his.

His hands cradled her face. The reunion of his mouth against hers made her swoon. She parted his lips with her tongue and he took advantage of the opening and swept his tongue around hers. Their passion for each other never left. It pleased her that Eve turned out to be exactly as Dex predicted. That woman didn't want anyone to claim Terry after her, and only popped out to sow confusion in him, knowing how vulnerable he'd been to end their engagement. He figured out her charade and dumped her again, making her a two-time loser. She also relished that Terry got what he deserved on a purely petty level. That flat-faced ex showed him for all time that he never should've considered her as anything less than a dodged bullet. But at what cost?

Their kissing aroused her.

Her panties dampened, and Terry started moaning into her mouth. She ran a hand down his chest and brushed her fingers across the bulge in his pants. So stiff.

He cupped a breast and squeezed, then groped a nipple, pinching it through her dress and bralette. She came undone by looking deeply into his eyes. Love stared back at her. Regret, too.

She gave him love with her mouth, sliding her tongue against his with slow, succulent kissing. Rubbing on his dick through his pants had him panting her name. He lifted her dress, and she helped him pull down her pantyhose. She kicked off her heels, knowing she had to have him. He unfastened his belt and lowered his pants and boxer briefs.

She climbed on top of him as he held his erection up for her to slide down. Her pussy swallowed his dick easily, and they both sighed loudly when she reached the bottom with her ass resting on his balls. They kissed again and Michaela bounced on his dick, her slickness pleasing him.

She clung to his neck, pressing her cheek to his and pounded on that thickness, making a wet mess in his lap. He grunted and held onto her ass cheeks. Unprotected sex was something they never indulged in, but there was always an exception to that rule for a desire that overpowered them both. A final fuck was very necessary.

"Fuck me…fuck me…fuck me…raise up, raise up…now drop it back down hard on that dick…yes! Just like that, Michaela…fuck me, baby. Fuck that dick…fuck it…fuck me…shit…that's your dick…."

The throaty moans into her neck heightened her pleasure to the extreme. His voice sounded deeper than it ever did, and it serenaded her grinding into him fast and furious. Her clit rubbed against his shaft and electrified her walls, sending tiny spasms of pre-orgasmic release. She reached behind and squeezed his balls.

"You're trying to make me nut all in this pussy. Aren't you?" he choked out.

"Yes!"

He moaned, helpless to stop himself.

"I'm 'bout to give you the biggest nut…fuck, Michaela…why you do this to me now?"

He whimpered as she went stupid on his dick. All he could do was hold on to her plump ass cheeks and go along for the ride. They both had nothing to lose. Their foreheads touched, and desperate breathy pants sent warm air across their lips.

"Take this thick creamy nut, girl. I'm gonna fill you up… right now…oh shit! I'm cumming…I'm cumming…..!"

Terry's body bucked, and he held her so tight against him. She couldn't breathe. She felt the swelling of his dick and the quick pulses as he eagerly spurt a hot nut inside of her. His erratic panting and the pressure of him squeezing her tight compelled her to let go. Her eyes rolled back as her pussy clenched like it would never let his dick go.

"Terry…oh, God!" she cried out.

"Damn…Michaela…you fucked the shit out of me!"

They laughed.

Their voices bubbled up, a shared release like the old days together. Except this time, his warm cum flooded her pussy.

"We're going to look a mess going back inside," she grumbled.

"I don't care," he huffed into her hair.

She leaned back and his eyes held more desire for her. The feline quality in them brought shivers, and she had to look away from the intensity. He kissed her, and she gave in again, allowing their tongues to make a pact she knew they couldn't keep. Not anymore.

When her legs started cramping, she lifted off of his dick and lap, falling back into the seat. Cum pooled out of her, wetting her inner thighs.

She pulled up her underwear and pantyhose. Slipped on her heels. He fastened up his pants, and they looked at one another with longing. Outside of the SUV, he helped her put on her coat. She closed it up tight and cinched it with the belt.

They returned to the repast. She hoped God and the church couldn't smell the sex on her. Now and then, she glanced over at Terry and they burst out laughing, unable to hide the awkwardness of being together like that in a church parking lot. She became bashful whenever their eyes met, his thick lashes so seductive with his eyebrow arched, watching her move around the space.

When her parents said their goodbyes to the Tolliver family as the repast wound down, she and Terry bid farewell with silent eye contact. She rushed out behind her mother, feeling a hitch in her chest and a lump growing in her throat.

The summer sun in Mallorca did wonders for Michaela's rich skin color.

She wore long slinky dresses and drank chilled gazpacho by the pool in the small villa she tended for a British family who went to Australia for a long winter holiday.

Peace and tranquility spoiled her. Part of her house sitting duties were caring for two rowdy Ibizan hounds that snoozed at the foot of her pool lounge chair, the heat wearing them out into quiet submission.

Her cell vibrated next to her hip.

She swiped, and her eyes lit up behind her big shades.

Terry sent her a picture of himself wearing the gold compass necklace she bought for him in a pricey Mallorca jewelry shop. She had it engraved and mailed it to him in time for his birthday two weeks ago. He'd been on her mind a lot after leaving home. Wistful days passed by as she pondered her horizon. But he was always on the fringes.

He had the nerve to wear a sweater with no shirt while sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and sunlight making him look like a movie star.

Michaela let her index finger hover above the smartphone keyboard. She grappled with what to say. Touching her own compass necklace, she read the words her father put on it again.

"One's destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things."

Under a Spanish sun, Michaela Maxwell decided to trust with an open heart. Her fingers flew across the keyboard.

Taglist:

@nahimjustfeeling-writes

@planetblaque

@kindofaintrovert

@thedondada05

@blackburnbook

@avoidthings

@slutsareteacherstoo

@nayaesworld

@notapradagurl7

@4pfsukuna

@yamst3rdamctrl

@sweettea-and-honeybutter

@comfortzonequeen

@theereina

@brattyfics

@prettyisasprettydoes1306

@megane96

@honeytoffee

@taurusqueen83

@mightbeher

@melaninpov

@carlakeks

@woahthatshitfat

@hrlzy

@theglamclosetsl

@liquorlaughslove

@teeresaresa

@cocoagadgetsworld

@mogul93

@helloncrocs

@dremmmm

@simplyzeeka

@pearlkitten33

@jas241

@leahnicole1219

@kaykay772

@juniperlovesstuff

@kingclementyne

@thickmadame

@onherereading

@daneiawrites

@hotgrlcece

@darqchilddaydreamz

@ariiijestertheklown

@blackerthings

@soufcakmistress

@jaythegreat

@venusincleo

@ovohanna24

@kirayuki22

@beas-mind

@supremechae

@solunaseira

@kalaahisthebestest-

@justlo7

@kanafunee

@contentfiend

@nun0ir

@livingfiction

@megamindsecretlair

@ranikyani

@thegreatlibraryofalex

@wabi-sabi1090

@soft-persephone

@insertcatchynamerighthere

@invisiblegiurl

@mitruscity

@gopaperless

@thabiddie23

@beenathembo

@aldrigmer444

@gg-trini

@youalreadyknowitsmesis

@teddybeerz

@dimepiece09

[lifeisbutadream444]

Masterlist

Aaron Pierre x Reader

The Last Night

After the series finale wraps, you think you're saying goodbye to four years of tension, restraint, and the co-star you were never supposed to love.

The Last Night (Original Version)

After four years of denying your feelings while working side by side, you and Aaron finally confront the desire you've been hiding, risking everything for one night that might change everything.

Do It Scared

Aaron left your shared apartment in New York three months ago to film the biggest movie of his career, and every day since, the distance between you has grown. When photos surface of him looking a little too comfortable with an actress at an event, you hit your breaking point and decide to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Playing Games - Part One

A passionate yet complicated friends-with-benefits arrangement unravels as you finally confront Aaron about his inability to commit.

Playing Games - Part Two

After finally committing to a monogamous relationship, distance, fame, and the ever-watchful public eye put cracks in the foundation of what was once unshakable trust.

[lifeisbutadream444]

The Last Night (Original Version)

Aaron Pierre x Reader

A/N: This is the original version of The Last Night. After working on this for weeks I decided to start from scratch and wrote the version I published yesterday. I decided I might as well finish this version too. Let me know what version you prefer. Enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut

Summary: After the series finale wraps, she thinks she’s saying goodbye to four years of tension, restraint, and the co-star she was never supposed to love.

The wrap party was everything it was supposed to be, loud, nostalgic. The kind of celebration where laughter echoes and everyone pretends they aren’t grieving something they’ll never get back.

You stood near the back of the venue, sipping Moet that had long since gone flat, pretending to laugh at a joke someone from production told. You couldn’t even remember what he said, your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes anyway. Not tonight.

Four years. That show had been your entire life for four years. And now, just like that, it was over.

Worse than that? It meant no more long shoot days with Aaron. No more early call times where he brought you coffee and teased you until you smiled. No more inside jokes whispered between takes. No more lingering glances in the makeup trailer when he thought you weren’t looking. No more pretending you didn’t feel what you’ve been trying to swallow down since day one.

It was easier to laugh it all off. To act like you never noticed the subtle touches, the way he always found a reason to sit too close, the way he remembered your Starbucks order better than you did. Easier to pretend you were just friends. Close friends. Best friends. Because if you didn’t, you’d have to face the terrifying truth: Aaron made you feel too much.

And you couldn't afford heartbreak.

Not when this show was your first real acting job. Not when you were finally being offered opportunities to work with actors and directors you've always admired. You couldn’t afford to be messy. Not publicly. Not with someone like him. Your name trending beside his would be career-ending, or worse—life-consuming. You had seen what his fans did to the girls they thought he was dating. You weren’t ready for that kind of bloodbath.

So you kept your distance.

But tonight, distance felt like a knife in your chest.

You glanced across the room, and there he was, laughing with one of the directors, drink in hand, that easy smile stretching across his face. The smile that always found a way to cut through your worst moods.

You hadn't spoken to him tonight. But every time you looked at him, your heart squeezed like it knew the truth before you could admit it to yourself.

You were going to miss him. Every part of him.

“Hey,” Lauren nudged your side, breaking your trance. “You okay?”

You blinked, pulling your gaze away from Aaron. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Lauren looked like she wanted to press further, but thankfully someone called her name and she was pulled away into another conversation.

You took the chance to slip toward the back exit. Maybe if you left quietly, you wouldn’t have to deal with goodbyes. You weren’t sure you could get through one without your voice cracking.

But just as your hand reached for the door, you heard his voice behind you.

“You were really gonna leave without saying goodbye?”

You closed your eyes for a split second, cursed under your breath, and turned.

Aaron stood there, that signature half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips, one brow raised like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. His gaze was steady, but his eyes, those fucking blue-green eyes, held something else tonight. Something softer.

“I figured you were busy,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual.

“Too busy for you?” He stepped closer. “Come on, don’t do that.”

You forced a smile, even as your chest tightened. “Congratulations, by the way. Everyone’s been talking about how brilliant your last scene was.”

Aaron tilted his head. “You’re really gonna stand there and give me the PR version of goodbye?”

Your smile faltered.

He took another step, closing the space between you. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered for just a moment longer than necessary.

“You gonna miss me?” he asked, low and unassuming, like he didn’t already know the answer.

You looked away, blinked rapidly. Your vision started to blur.

Shit.

Aaron leaned in slightly, his voice a whisper now. “Hey… are you crying?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He exhaled through his nose, like something had just clicked for him. Like maybe—for the first time—he really saw it. That you cared. That you always had.

He didn't press, didn't tease you like he usually did. Instead, he leaned in just a little closer, his breath brushing against your temple.

“You wanna get out of here?” he murmured. “Not like that. Just… come back to mine. For a little while. Don’t go home sad, yeah?”

You hesitated.

You should have said no.

But instead, you nodded once.

“Okay.”

And just like that, something between you shifted.

You didn’t know what it meant yet. Didn’t know if this was the beginning of something or the inevitable unraveling of a years-long friendship.

But you followed him out into the night anyway.

Aaron’s house was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that made your skin hum with awareness.

You’d been here before. Once. Maybe twice. But never alone. Never with your heart in your throat and your body still trembling from the pool of emotions you’d barely managed to hide at the wrap party. Never with the weight of goodbye thick in the air between you.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you stood there in his entryway, wrapped in the dim gold light spilling from the living room. Everything smelled like him, clean linen, a hint of whatever cologne lingered on his skin. It should’ve been comforting.

It wasn’t.

It was dangerous.

He walked past you to his kitchen, silent, calm, and poured two drinks. You didn’t sit. Couldn’t. Your body was buzzing, pulse erratic. You needed to leave. You should’ve never come here. But you didn’t move when he handed you the glass.

“Relax,” he murmured, taking a sip of his own. “You’re acting like I brought you here to eat you alive.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and your throat went dry.

Because the way he was looking at you, eyes smoldering under heavy lashes, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips.

You scoffed, trying to push the heat down. “I’m fine.”

You looked away, sipping your drink to steady yourself. But it did nothing to settle the nerves, or the ache you hated admitting was there.

He wasn’t trying to do anything.

That was the problem.

He didn’t have to.

And he knew it.

“Come get in the pool,” he said, like it was nothing. “It’s warm. You’ll like it.”

You blinked. “I don’t have a bathing suit.”

Aaron turned back toward you, one brow lifted like the answer was obvious.

“I’ll find you something,” he said. “Or you can wear nothing. I’m not picky.”

Your heart flipped. You knew he was joking. Kind of.

But the look he gave you lingered.

Not a dare.

Not a question.

You hated how easily he could undo you with a single look.

Still, you followed.

The water was warm, just like he said. It wrapped around your skin like silk, soothing and overwhelming all at once. But being with him—like this—was anything but soothing.

He was leaning against the edge of the pool, arms spread wide, watching you, like always.

You floated near the center, trying to pretend like you didn’t feel the way his gaze traced every inch of your body. You felt naked under his stare, even with the tank top he had given you to swim in.

“Why were avoiding me tonight?”

Your throat tightened.

You shrugged, eyes fixed on the surface of the water. “I wasn't”

He pushed off the wall, slow and silent, cutting through the water like it parted just for him.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” he said, voice low and dark. “How you avoid being alone with me whenever we’re not working?”

You backed up, your shoulders brushing tile. Nowhere to go.

His hands landed on the wall beside your head, caging you in without touching you.

Your stomach flipped.

He was too close. Too warm. Too much.

You hated that your body betrayed you before your mouth could speak.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmured, even though you absolutely did.

He smiled. Slow. Cruel.

“Yes, you do.”

You couldn’t hold his gaze.

Your breath hitched as his fingers dipped below the water, brushing your thigh. Not by accident.

“I’ve let you lie to yourself for years,” he murmured. “I let you keep me at arm’s length because I thought maybe… one day, you’d stop.”

You swallowed hard.

But you said nothing.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

And maybe… tonight… he finally had proof. You’d almost cried earlier. Over him. He saw it. You knew he did.

“Are you scared I’ll fuck it up?” he asked, tone too soft now. “Or are you scared I won’t?”

Your breath caught.

“You must be drunk,” you whispered, even though you knew he wasn’t.

His fingers dragged higher, slow under the water, skating along your thigh, your hipbone, stopping just shy of where you ached.

“I think you want me,” he said, lips brushing your jaw. “And I think you’ve spent four fucking years pretending you don’t.”

Your knees went weak. You thanked God for the lack of gravity in the water.

But still, you stayed quiet.

Because saying it out loud would make it real. And once it was real, it could break you.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his lips grazing your neck now.

You didn’t.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes burning into yours. Waiting. Testing.

And still—you said nothing.

That was all he needed.

Aaron surged forward and kissed you.

Hard.

His mouth crashed against yours like he was punishing you for every moment you made him wait. His hand fisted in your shirt under the water, dragging you flush against his chest, your legs lifting instinctively to wrap around him like muscle memory.

You moaned into him before you could stop it, and he groaned back like it fed him.

It was the kind of kiss that left no room for lies.

You wanted him.

You loved him.

And it terrified you.

You pulled away suddenly, breath ragged. “We can’t.”

Aaron’s brows furrowed. “What?”

You shook your head, already backing away toward the steps. “I should go.”

You grabbed your towel from the chair, wrapping it tightly around yourself like a shield.

You were already halfway across the deck when you heard it—the shift in the water. Then the unmistakable sound of him climbing out after you. Not rushed. Not panicked.

You turned around, pulse hammering. He was still dripping wet, his swim trunks low on his hips, chest rising and falling with every breath.

“You’re really gonna do it, huh?” he asked, voice quiet but tight. “Walk away. Pretend none of this happened.”

He let out a soft laugh, one that held no humor.

“You’re exhausting,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You really are.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“No, really,” he said, stepping closer. “I watched you fall apart in front of me less than an hour ago. You practically cried over the thought of not seeing me again. But now you’re gonna leave and pretend that all of this was nothing.”

You crossed your arms. “I didn’t say it was nothing.”

“Well you’re definitely acting like it,” he snapped.

He stepped closer, water still dripping from his body, his voice rough with restraint.

“Can you let go of your pride for two fucking seconds and admit what’s been obvious since year one?”

You shook your head. “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me get it!” he fired back. “Tell me why you’d rather keep pretending we’re just friends.”

Your silence said more than your words ever could.

Aaron exhaled a bitter breath, then looked at you—really looked. His voice dropped.

“Fine. If that’s what you want,” he said. “Then go. Walk out. We’ll send each other happy birthday texts once a year and make awkward small talk at events.”

You didn’t move.

His eyes narrowed.

You felt your pride clawing at your throat.

But your heart? It was already unraveling.

Your voice cracked. “You don’t understand. If we take it there, and something happens… if I lose you…”

“You already are,” he said, softer now. “You’re losing me right now.”

“I waited,” he said, softer now. “Four fucking years. Do you know what it’s like to want someone that long and still try to play it cool?”

You looked away, eyes stinging.

“I gave you space,” he continued. “I didn’t push. I stayed your friend. I didn’t touch you, didn’t cross the line, because I thought that’s what you needed.”

You swallowed hard, throat aching. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did,” he said, simply. No accusation in his voice. Just fact.

He stepped closer. Slowly. Like he wasn’t trying to intimidate you — just be near you. Like it physically hurt to be that far away.

“I love you.” he said, voice steady now. He reached out, fingers brushing your wrist gently.

Your breath caught.

Aaron’s hand wrapped gently around yours, grounding you.

“I’m not saying it to pressure you,” he added. “I’m saying it because it’s the truth.”

You stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted, as something in your chest cracked open.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” he continued, voice barely above a whisper. “Even when you ignored it. Even when you gave me every reason to give up on you.”

His thumb rubbed over the back of your hand, slow and patient.

The silence between you swelled — not empty, not awkward.

“I love you too,” you whispered, voice breaking. “And I've spent every day talking myself out of it.”

He didn’t interrupt.

You swallowed. “You know how brutal this industry is. One wrong rumor, one bad headline, and it’s over before it even starts.”

Aaron’s face softened. Just slightly. But his jaw ticked—he didn’t like hearing it.

“I’ve watched what happens to the women you're linked to,” you continued. “The obsession. The speculation. The fucking hate. It’s relentless. You brush it off like it's nothing, but I can't. I don’t want to live under a microscope, constantly defending who I am and why I'm standing next to you.”

You paused, eyes locked with his, not backing down. “I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of what the world does to women who get too close to men like you.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then Aaron stepped in, slow but certain, until your bodies were almost touching. His hands lifted to cradle your face, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones—gentle, but claiming. His voice dropped low.

“You think I don’t see how hard you’ve worked?” he said, gaze unwavering. “You think I’d let some clickbait headline undo that? You think I’d let anyone touch what you’ve built?”

His eyes narrowed, intense now. “Let me be very clear. If anyone tries to come for you—press, fans, blogs, producers—I’ll handle it. You don’t have to fight them alone. You don’t have to carry any of this alone.”

You exhaled, shaky but steadying, and he caught it.

You blinked up at him. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not,” he said. “It’s gonna be messy. There’ll be headlines. There’ll be moments that test both of us.”

He paused, then added, quieter—dead serious:

“But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll take the heat, the questions, the bullshit. I just need you to trust me.”

You didn’t look away.

And maybe that’s why he smiled—just a little. That crooked, cocky half-grin that always drove you insane.

“You're so fucking stubborn,” he murmured.

But his tone wasn’t annoyed. It was amused. Admiring. Like he liked it — like he liked you this way. Unflinching. Complicated. Honest.

Then he stepped in and kissed your cheek.

Not your lips.

Not yet.

“I want you upstairs,” he murmured against your skin. “Now.”

Your legs went weak. The floor tilted.

“Come on.” he whispered, voice low and dark.

He didn’t wait for you to respond. He turned, grabbed your hand, and started leading you down the hall like he already knew you’d follow.

And you did.

Of course you did.

The second the bedroom door shut behind you, everything changed.

The air thickened.

The lights were low, but the tension was high — the kind that buzzed against your skin before he even touched you again.

He stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face you.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Not for a moment.

He looked at you like he was still giving you an out. But there was no judgment in his stare — only confidence. Only heat.

Aaron kissed you like he was starving. Like four years of restraint had finally burned up and he was done pretending.

He walked you back until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. His hands were already on your hips, your waist, your ribs — gripping like he needed to ground himself in you.

“You’ve been driving me crazy for years,” he muttered into your mouth.

You gasped when he slipped his hands under your wet shirt. He didn’t rush. He didn’t ask.

He just lifted it over your head, slow and reverent, watching you the entire time.

His voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. “Get on the bed.”

You obeyed.

And when he climbed over you, when he leaned down and pressed a kiss just under your jaw, then lower — just above your collarbone — your body melted beneath him.

In the next breath, his hand slipped between your thighs — over your panties, not inside. Just pressure. Just enough to make your eyes flutter shut and your hips buck into him.

You groaned. “Aaron.”

You squirmed beneath him, his body caging you in, his mouth at your ear now.

“You ever touch yourself thinking about me, sweetheart?” he murmured, dark and velvet-smooth.

You gasped, the flush rushing to your cheeks so fast it burned.

His lips brushed your ear. “Be honest. Did you?”

“…Yes.”

He groaned, his breath catching just slightly.

Then he pulled back to look at you, his hand still teasing you through your panties, his thumb stroking in slow, maddening circles.

“You gonna let me take care of that tonight?” he asked.

You nodded, wide-eyed, hips rocking into his hand like your body was already answering for you.

“Tell me what you need.” he said, still rubbing your clit through your soaked underwear.

You were too overwhelmed with pleasure to say anything. You were burning — for him, with him — and that hunger was terrifying. The power he had over your body. Over your mind.

His eyes narrowed, his fingers stilled right as you were about to reach your peak. He stared down at you with the kind of heat that made you ache all over again.

Then, suddenly, he was gone. His body left yours completely — the heat of him, the weight, the steady hand between your legs.

You blinked in confusion as he stood at the edge of the bed, running a slow hand through his hair, like he was cooling himself down.

And then he smiled.

That smug, heart-stopping, ruin-you smile.

“You wanna act like you don’t need it that bad?” he said, voice low and calm. “Then I won’t touch you again until you say it.”

Your pulse thundered. “Say what?”

He crossed his arms. “That you want me to make you come.”

Your whole body went still.

His eyes dropped down to your legs, still parted, still waiting.

“You’ve got five seconds,” he said, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Or I’m getting in that bed and going to sleep.”

You stared at him, chest heaving. Your pride flared — for half a second.

Then you exhaled, wrecked and trembling.

“I want you,” you breathed.

He raised a brow. “That’s not what I said to say.”

Your face burned. “Aaron—”

He stepped closer, slowly, grabbing your ankles and dragging you down to the edge of the bed until your hips met the mattress seam and your thighs bracketed his.

“Say it,” he whispered, hand grazing the inside of your knee.

You bit your lip.

“I want you to make me come.”

His growl was soft. Satisfied.

You barely had time to respond before he slipped your panties down in one fluid motion and lowered his mouth to your center.

You gasped — sharp and guttural — as his tongue dragged through your folds with precision, with reverence. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you in place like you might try to run.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

He licked you again, then again — slow, rhythmic, maddening. Your back arched, your fingers flying to his hair. He let you tug, let you guide — and then he groaned, deep and hungry, like your reaction fed him.

“Fuck,” you breathed, already trembling. “Aaron, please—”

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t let up.

His tongue circled your clit, then flattened against it. His fingers gripped your thighs harder now, keeping you spread, keeping you exposed, like he wanted you to feel completely his.

You moaned his name again, louder this time, and he didn’t speak — just hummed into you in response. The vibration made your legs twitch, made your hips rise — and he pushed them back down with ease.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked.

You nodded, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

The pressure built with every flick of his tongue, every pass of his mouth. You were unraveling — slowly, beautifully — on the edge of something that had been denied for far too long.

You gasped again, eyes wide. “Aaron—”

“I know,” he breathed. “Let go.”

And when you did — when the wave broke and you cried out his name, body arched, toes curled — he didn’t stop.

He didn’t pull away.

He held you through it, mouth still working you through every shudder, every pulse, until you collapsed back into the mattress, completely undone.

You were still catching your breath when he kissed the inside of your thigh. Slow. Purposeful. Like he wasn’t done worshiping you yet.

Aaron’s hands were still on your body — one anchoring your hip, the other smoothing up your stomach in slow, calming strokes. You were trembling. Soft. Open.

He climbed up over you, every inch of his body pressed to yours now — bare chest flush against your skin, his forearm beside your head, bracing himself.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, reaching up to touch his face. “More than okay.”

He kissed you then.

It was different this time.

Slower. Deeper. Like he was sealing a promise between your mouths. Like this wasn’t just about lust anymore — it never really was.

You could feel the weight of him against your thigh now. Hard. Hot. Controlled. And when you shifted beneath him, hips brushing instinctively against his, he groaned low in his throat.

He stood at the edge of the bed and undressed without a word — sliding off his swim trunks.

When you saw him — all of him — your mouth went dry. You’d imagined this moment a thousand times, but nothing compared to the real thing.

Aaron crawled back over you, settling between your thighs again, his weight comforting, overwhelming.

“You nervous?” he murmured, brushing your hair back again.

You nodded. “A little.”

He lowered himself just enough so his mouth hovered above yours. “Don’t be.”

Then, slowly, he reached between you — guiding himself, dragging the thick length of him through your slick folds.

You gasped at the contact. At the feel of him so close. So real.

“You sure?” he asked again.

“I’m sure.”

He watched your face the entire time as he pressed in.

Inch by inch.

Stretching you. Filling you.

You let out a soft cry, gripping his forearm as your back arched, your body adjusting, welcoming him in a way that felt both completely new and somehow inevitable.

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed there, buried deep, forehead resting against yours.

His voice was a rasp.

“Fuck...”

Your eyes burned. You didn’t expect that part. The emotion. The weight of being seen — fully, deeply — and still wanted like this.

He started to move.

Slow.

Measured.

Devastating.

Every thrust hit deep, unrelenting, made worse by the way he kept whispering things into your skin — your shoulder, your neck, the corner of your mouth.

“You’ve been mine for a long time.”

“Say my name again.”

“You feel so good wrapped around me, baby.”

Your fingers clawed at his back, anchoring yourself, trying to match his rhythm, but he was stronger. Steadier. Always in control.

You whimpered as he rolled his hips, hitting the perfect spot inside you again and again.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.

He kissed you hard, catching the sound in your throat before it escaped.

And when your second climax started building — sharp and fast — he felt it before you said a word.

“That’s it,” he whispered, fucking you a little harder now. “Let me feel you.”

You shattered with a cry, clenching around him so tightly his rhythm faltered.

And that’s when he gave in.

Aaron groaned, low and guttural, as he buried himself to the hilt, stilling as he came with your name on his lips.

It was raw. Breathless. Unfiltered.

He collapsed over you, still holding you close, chest heaving against yours.

He didn’t move right away.

He just held you.

Tight. Steady. Like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

And when he finally lifted his head, when he looked at you like you were something holy, you knew one thing for sure:

This wasn’t the end of something.

It was the beginning.

[lifeisbutadream444]

The Last Night

Aaron Pierre x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut

Summary: After the series finale wraps, she thinks she’s saying goodbye to four years of tension, restraint, and the co-star she was never supposed to love.

It’s almost 2:00 a.m.

And you still haven’t said goodbye.

Half the guests have already wandered off, some heading to other parties, others promising brunch meetups that’ll never happen. Someone’s curled up on a velvet couch in the corner, half-asleep. The playlist has drifted from party anthems to bittersweet throwbacks. Like even the speakers know this night is dissolving.

The show is really over.

And you’re still here. Clinging to a glass of wine you stopped sipping an hour ago, too aware of the time, of the way the room is thinning out.

You told herself you’d leave by midnight. Then by one.

Now, you’re just… hovering. Stuck. Stalling.

Every time you think about walking up to him and saying goodbye, something in your chest feels heavy. Because a goodbye means it’s done — not just the show, not just the job — but this. This rhythm you’ve grown addicted to. Seeing him almost every day. Knowing when he’ll laugh. The way his eyes linger. The heat in them. The softness. The unspoken question that used to live there.

Used to.

Because there was a time he flirted with you. Not overtly. Not in a way that could get him in trouble on set. Just enough to make you heart race. Just enough to terrify you.

Back then, you’d shut it down every time.

Not because you didn’t want him, that would’ve been easier. But because you wanted him too much. And you couldn’t afford to. It was your first real acting job. The kind of role that could make or end a career depending on how the audience took to you. The kind of opportunity that came with fine print. Be professional. Don’t stir up drama. Stay out of gossip blogs. Don’t sleep with your co-star.

Especially not him.

Because Aaron wasn’t just anyone. He had that dangerous kind of calm. Women loved him. All of them. They tweeted about his hands. His voice. His interviews. His lips. You saw it sometimes. Fan edits, thirst comments, tweets speculating about who he was dating. You knew what his fanbase would do to you if they even thought he was spending too much time with someone who wasn’t famous enough, hot enough, soft enough, loud enough, quiet enough. And you already hated being perceived, despite your career choice. You weren’t built for that kind of spotlight. Which means you weren’t built to be his.

So you smiled. Laughed. Dodged. Every time.

And then, one day, he stopped trying, and you couldn’t blame him. It was relieving and devastating at the same time.

Now, you couldn’t pretend you were avoiding scandal or danger or chaos.

Now there’s nothing left to hide behind.

Four years. Four entire seasons of close scenes and interviews and press tours and hotel rooms with adjoining walls. Four years of biting your tongue and pretending his voice didn’t make you shiver.

The series finale was filmed yesterday. The wrap party is winding down. He’s not tied to you anymore. He’s free. Free to fly off to another set. Another city.

You watch him from across the room, laughing with someone from production, wearing one of those black cashmere sweaters you love so much on him, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the tattoos on his forearm. His hands in his pockets. He looks good. Too good.

You know you’re dragging this out. You said goodbye to everyone else. Hugged the crew. Took selfies with castmates. But you haven’t said goodbye to him. You couldn't bring yourself to do it.

“You’ve been drinking that same glass of wine for at least an hour now.”

His voice comes from behind as you stand by the bar, low, smooth, familiar.

You shrug, trying to look casual. “Yeah, I’m holding onto it for emotional support at this point.”

He steps to the side so he’s facing you fully, one hand in his pocket, the other resting on the edge of the bar. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just watches you, the way he always used to, before you made him stop.

Damn, he used to look at you like this all the time.

Back when he still thought he had a chance.

“We’ve barely talked tonight,” he says.

He leans in a little, voice softer now. “Are you avoiding me or something?”

You laugh, but it comes out tight. “Of course not.”

You look down at your shoes. They suddenly feel like the wrong choice. Like everything about you tonight is trying too hard, your dress, your lipgloss, the way you kept positioning yourself just slightly toward him in every photo. Desperate. That’s what you feel like. Pathetic and exposed.

“You’ve been suspiciously quiet tonight.” he says.

Your chest tightens.

You want to say I didn’t want to cry in front of you.

You want to say I don’t know how to say goodbye.

You want to say I can’t breathe when I think about not seeing you every day.

Instead, you say, “Just tired, I guess. It’s been an emotional night for everyone.”

He doesn’t press.

He knows you’re stalling.

He’s enjoying it. You can tell.

You shift your weight. “Are you heading out soon?”

“Eventually.”

And then you do it. The thing you’ve been rehearsing in your head for hours. The thing you almost talked yourself out of in the bathroom mirror twice tonight.

“I don’t really want to say goodbye yet,” you say, voice quieter now. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

It’s out before you can take it back. Your heart is in your throat. And it’s stupid. You should’ve asked sooner. Or not at all. You don’t even know where “somewhere” is. You just know you can’t let him leave without giving yourself the chance to be brave — just once.

You feel like you’re about to be laughed at. Or worse, gently let down.

But he doesn’t laugh.

He just tilts his head, gaze warm, steady.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”

He steps in closer, voice low. “Too late. Come on.”

The speakeasy is nearly empty when you walk in. It was only a ten-minute walk from where the wrap party was, but it feels like a different world. Jazz curls through the air in soft, distant waves. The lights are low and amber.

The booth he chooses is tucked in the back, half-shielded by a long, draping curtain. Private. Intimate.

You slide into the seat across from him, heart pounding, instantly too aware of how small the space feels. The table between you is narrow. Your knees almost touch. You tuck your legs to the side, careful not to brush him, but you can already feel his eyes on you.

He looks unbothered. Relaxed. One arm draped across the back of the booth. He orders a bourbon. Neat.

You fumble through the cocktail menu like you need an excuse not to look at him.

“A spicy margarita, please,” you say, your voice too fast.

When the drinks arrive, you take a confident sip of your margarita—then immediately start coughing.

You cover your mouth, eyes watering. “What the — this is spicy as fuck.”

Aaron raises his brows, casually sipping his bourbon. “Did you think ‘spicy margarita’ was just, like, a vibe?”

You glare at him, still coughing. “I thought it would be, like… fun spicy. My mouth is on fire."

Aaron raises a brow, setting down his bourbon. “It can’t be that bad. Let me taste it.”

You start sliding your glass across the table. “Here.”

He doesn’t reach for it.

Instead, he leans in slowly, head tilted, eyes locked on yours. “Not like that.”

Your hand stills. “What?”

He doesn’t answer, just looks at you, all steady confidence and heat. And you don’t move. Not for a second. You just watch him, like you're trying to figure out if he’s serious. He watches you right back, the corner of his mouth twitching.

And that’s when it hits you. He's just fucking with you.

You groan, leaning back in your seat, still flustered. “You’re an asshole.”

Aaron shrugs, sipping his bourbon like he didn’t just short-circuit your entire nervous system. “Sure. But you were gonna do it.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, I wasn’t.”

“I don't know, you were kind of leaning in.”

“I was assessing the situation.”

“You were ready to let me taste it from your mouth,” he says, so calm, so damn pleased with himself.

You scoff, gripping your glass just to keep your hands busy. “You’re delusional.”

Aaron leans back against the booth, stretching his arm across the top like he owns the whole damn night. “You’re nervous,” he says, not accusing, just annoyingly observant.

You roll your eyes. “I’m not nervous. I’m annoyed.”

“You’re annoyed because I caught you.”

“I’m annoyed because you think you caught me. There was nothing to catch.”

“Mhm.” He takes another sip of bourbon, like he’s letting you have that one.

The moment hangs between you, not tense, exactly, but something close. Like the edge of something sharper, waiting to cut through.

You don’t respond. You just look down at your drink.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Doesn’t ask why you brought him here or what you want. But he knows. You can see it in his face.

He leans forward again, forearms resting on the table. His cologne drifts across the small space, dark and familiar.

“You still tired?” he asks, voice low.

You hesitate. “No.”

“You said you were earlier.”

You look up at him, meet his eyes. “I’m not anymore.”

He doesn’t look away. Just nods once, gaze unreadable.

For the next hour, the two of you talk about nothing, the playlist, the overpriced drinks, the ridiculous wrap gifts, like you’re still trying to prove you’re just friends who always knew how to kill time together.

“You know,” he says, casually — too casually — “it really has been great working with you.”

Your stomach twists.

You laugh under your breath. “That sounds like a polite goodbye in an email.”

Aaron chuckles. “What, I can’t be sincere now?”

“You being sincere is suspicious.”

“I’m trying to give you a moment.”

You try not to look like you’re panicking. And fail.

“That’s it?” you ask lightly. “That’s your goodbye?”

“I mean, I could write a card.”

You snort, covering your mouth with the back of your hand.

He grins, slow and amused. But it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“So,” he says, swirling what’s left in his glass, “what happens now?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

He glances around the room. “Well, the party’s over. The show’s over. We’re sitting here. Just you and me.” He looks back at you, tilting his head. “Feels like we’re supposed to wrap this up somehow.”

You try to match his tone. Cool. Detached. “I don’t know.”

“We should probably head out soon,” he says casually, glancing toward the door.

Your stomach sinks.

You nod slowly, trying to act like you’re fine. Like this was always going to be just a drink. Just a quiet ending to a loud night.

He stands, smooth and effortless, slips his jacket back on like it’s just another night.

Then looks down at you. Calm. Unreadable.

“I can have my driver take you home if you’d like.”

You blink. “Okay, thank you.”

He opens the back door of the black car idling at the curb and waits, holding it open like it’s nothing.

You slide into the back seat. He gets in after you.

You stare straight ahead, lips pressed tight, hands gripping your purse like a lifeline. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t reach for your hand the way you used to imagine he might if the moment ever came.

The driver mentions he’ll drop Aaron off first — since his place is only a couple minutes from the speakeasy.

And that’s when the quiet starts to hurt.

The kind of silence that settles in your chest like a final scene. Like this is the last time you’ll be in the same car, breathing the same air. No more excuses. No more proximity. No more inevitable collisions.

This is it. This is the part where he gets out. Where you let him.

You stare down at your hands, trying not to do the math of it — of how long you’ll last pretending this was enough. Pretending you didn’t want more. You had your chance. A hundred of them, really. You spent four years collecting them and letting them pass.

The car slows. Aaron unbuckles his seatbelt without a word.

And your whole chest clenches.

This is really happening.

He’s going to get out. Say something vague. Wish you luck. You’ll go home and tell yourself this is what you wanted. That you were being smart. That silence is safer than saying I love you to someone who might not say it back.

You feel the moment cracking open, something in your throat tightening.

He doesn’t move right away. Just stares ahead — jaw tight, unreadable. Then he looks at you.

“Come on,” he says. “Get out.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

“Just for a second,” he says, already opening his door. “Say goodbye properly.”

You hesitate.

But he’s already stepping onto the sidewalk.

Your legs feel heavy as you follow him, like you’re walking through something thick. Like grief. Like regret. You wonder if this will be the last time he ever asks you for anything.

When you reach him, he’s standing a couple of feet from the car, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly. Watching you like he knows. Like he’s always known.

You stop a foot away.

He opens his arms.

“Come here.”

You step into him.

And the second his arms close around you — one low on your back, the other curling over your shoulder — it breaks.

You didn’t plan to cry.

You didn’t feel it coming.

But the second your face hits his sweater, it starts.

Silent. Unstoppable.

Your fingers fist the fabric like you can hold him in place that way. Like he might vanish if you let go. Your whole body shakes from it, this quiet, aching sob that’s been waiting years to slip out.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong.

He already knows.

His hand moves in slow, warm circles on your back. The kind that soothe. The kind that say you’re safe. The kind that make everything worse because they remind you what you’re losing.

You breathe him in, voice cracking as you whisper, “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

He stills. Not sharply. Just feels it.

His hand moves to your hair, his touch reverent now. Like you’re something fragile. Like he knows what it costs you to say it.

You stay like that. Too long. Not long enough.

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you. Your cheeks are wet. His thumb brushes a tear away. He studies your face like it’s a decision.

Then, softly—

“Come inside.”

You nod.

You don’t say a word.

You don’t have to.

Because even though everything in you thought this was the end…

You were wrong.

This was never going to be goodbye.

The door clicks shut behind you, and suddenly it hits you:

You’re in his house.

You’ve been here before, sure — group hangouts, cast dinners. But never like this. Never alone.

Your feet stay planted on the welcome mat. Like if you move too far into the room, it might feel real.

Aaron steps past you, reaching for the light switch. He kicks off his shoes and turns to find you still standing like a nervous intern.

He lifts a brow. “You want me to carry you in bridal-style, or…?”

He smiles. Warm. Like he’s easing the tension on purpose.

“Maybe I do.” you respond, smiling despite your nerves.

You slip your heels off and take a slow step deeper into the room.

Aaron watches you like he already knows. Like he’s waited a lifetime for you to finally walk into this exact moment — nervous, squirming, ripe for unraveling.

He walks over to his kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from his fridge. He brings it to you, and watches as you sip.

Your hand shakes slightly around the bottle. He doesn’t miss it.

When you’re done, he sets it aside and curls two fingers under your chin, tilting your face to his.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low.

You nod — too fast.

He studies you for a second. Then walks over to his couch. He flops into it without fanfare and pats the cushion beside him.

“Sit down.”

The second you sit down, his arm slides behind you, resting along the back of the couch — not touching, not pulling, just there. Like he’s giving you an invitation you don’t have to take.

You sit stiffly. Sip your water. Stare at the art on his wall.

“I didn’t expect to end up here tonight.”

He nods. “Me either.”

You turn to look at him.

“I thought you were finally sick of my shit.”

“I was,” he says with a shrug. “Until I saw you crying over me.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “That’s so embarrassing.”

He laughs, full and real. “It was the highlight of my night.”

You look back up at him. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you’re like that,” he says simply, smiling.

The kind of smile that makes your stomach flutter and ache at the same time.

You roll your eyes, but it’s weak — you’re too aware of the way he’s watching you. Too aware of the heat pooling low in your body, of the words you’re still too scared to say.

A silence settles between you, not awkward, but charged — like the pause before a storm. Like you’re both waiting to see who’s going to say the next brave thing.

You reach for your water again, if only to give your hands something to do.

Aaron watches you for another beat, then shifts — like he senses the tension and decides to cut through it just enough to let you breathe.

“You want music?” he asks.

“Sure.”

He leans forward and taps something on his phone. A slow, low beat hums from speakers you hadn’t noticed before. R&B. Something moody. Sultry.

Of course.

“Really?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, unbothered. “It’s just a playlist.”

You sip your water again. “This is a sex playlist.”

“Could be a soul-baring emotional conversation playlist.”

You roll your eyes, but he catches the smile you try to hide.

You lean forward and rest your elbows on your knees, staring down at your hands. “This is so weird.”

He raises a brow. “Weird how?”

“Just… being here. Like this. With you. Alone.” You pause. “I used to imagine this.”

You look up slowly — unsure whether to smile or backpedal — but Aaron isn’t laughing. He’s watching you like you just handed him a secret.

“You used to imagine this?” he repeats.

You nod once. “Not like… this exactly. But yeah. Just… being close to you without wondering if someone’s watching."

His jaw ticks. That quiet restraint you’ve seen in him so many times — it’s still there, but just barely.

“I used to picture it too,” he says, voice low.

You blink.

“You did?”

“All the time,” he murmurs. “But it wasn’t like this. You weren’t sitting a foot away from me like I was a stranger.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off gently.

“Come here.”

You freeze. For half a second, you don’t move.

Because for all you know, this could be like the bar again — one of his little tests. Another game just to see how flustered he can make you before pulling back with that smirk like gotcha.

So you hesitate. Watching him.

“Are you serious?” you ask softly.

Aaron doesn’t smirk this time. Doesn’t tease. His head tilts slightly, lips twitching into something softer, steadier.

“I’m dead serious,” he says. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

You swallow, heart thudding loud in your chest.

Then you crawl across the couch, slow and deliberate, every inch closing the space you’ve been scared of crossing for four years.

His hands are already at your waist when you reach him. He helps guide you into place — like you’re weightless — settling you onto his lap with ease. Your legs straddle his thighs.

Your dress hikes up dangerously high, and you instinctively try to shift it down, but his hands tighten on your waist, holding you still.

“Leave it,” he says, voice low and firm.

You freeze.

Then slowly drop your hands from the hem of your dress.

Your palms land on his shoulders, grounding yourself. His eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up, and the look on his face makes your breath catch.

“Four years of pretending you didn’t want me…” he teases. “How’d that work out for you?”

You try to glare at him. Fail. “Shut up.”

He grins. “I will. As soon as you stop lying to me, and to yourself.”

“I’m not—”

He cuts you off with a look. Sharp. Commanding. Don’t.

You swallow hard.

“I waited,” he says, dragging his hands up the sides of your thighs. “I let you push me away. I let you pretend.”

His grip tightens slightly.

“I just want you to be honest. I want you to look at me and say exactly what you want.”

You try to speak, but it’s just a shaky breath you can’t bite back.

He leans in slowly, caressing your neck with his lips, making you shiver with need. His voice drops to a velvet threat.

“I can do this all night, baby. I can keep you squirming on my lap until you’re begging and saying everything you swore you’d never say.”

“Aaron, please,” you whisper.

“Please what?” he teases darkly, dragging his lips closer to your ear now. “What do you want, sweetheart? My mouth? My hands?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders. He feels it, and grins like he’s won something.

“You wanna be mine?” he asks. “Say it.”

You hesitate.

“I want you. I've always wanted you.” you whisper, breathless, broken.

That’s all it takes.

He kisses you.

No hesitation. No tenderness.

It’s not sweet, not at first.

It’s everything you’ve denied, everything he’s been holding back. A collision of years of silence, missed chances, and stubborn pride. His mouth claims yours like it belongs there, like he’s making up for every time you turned away, every night he imagined this and didn’t act on it.

You gasp into him, but he doesn’t let up — just deepens it, tilting your chin up further, one hand tangled in your hair now, the other gripping your waist like he’s trying to remind you whose lap you’re in.

You feel like you're unraveling.

Your whole body is burning — breath hitching, skin flushed, mind dizzy with the taste of him. He kisses you like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s been starving for this.

And he has.

His tongue brushes yours, deliberate and slow, drawing a soft whimper from your throat. Your hands slide down his chest, anchoring yourself. You grind forward, instinctive and unthinking, and he stills you with a groan that sounds like it’s been clawing its way out of him for years.

“Uh-uh,” he growls. “You don’t get that yet.”

Your mouth drops open. “Aaron—”

“No,” he says again, firmer. “Not until you tell me why you waited so long. Not until I get every answer I’ve been patient enough to wait for.”

You’re panting now.

His thumb drags across your bottom lip — slow, focused, like he’s trying to decide whether to kiss you again or call you out.

His hand stays on your waist, warm and firm, the other still curled behind your neck. He hasn’t kissed you again. Not yet. He’s waiting. Letting the silence stretch until you can’t take it anymore.

“You told me you wanted me,” Aaron says quietly, eyes dark. “Now tell me why you waited so long.”

You hesitate. Swallow. Try to look away.

His fingers tighten just slightly. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You meet his gaze — and once you do, the words start to spill.

“Because I was scared,” you say softly.

He says nothing — just strokes his thumb along the back of your neck, coaxing more.

“I didn’t want to be another actress linked to her co-star. I didn’t want to ruin the show with drama if things didn't work out between us. I didn't want to risk my career before it even really started."

Aaron’s jaw ticks, but he stays still, letting you keep going.

“And your fans…” you continue, voice shaking, “They’re intense. They hate anyone who gets too close to you. The comments, the threats — I’ve seen them. I didn’t want to live like that. Constantly being picked apart for being near you.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything — not yet. Just listens, eyes locked on yours, hand still firm at the base of your spine. His thumb is tracing slow circles into your skin like he’s trying to keep your pulse tethered to his.

“I know who you are, Aaron. I’ve seen it up close. Every woman wants you. I couldn’t walk into a room with you without someone throwing themselves at you.”

He’s still quiet. Dead quiet. But his grip tightens on your waist like he wants you to keep going.

“And I didn’t know if you’d want something real with me. I didn’t want to be some fling. I didn’t want you to use me to burn off steam between interviews and premieres and then move on to someone else."

Silence.

Aaron’s jaw clenches.

The silence stretches too long. It’s not teasing anymore.

His fingers flex against your waist — not rough, not soft. Just restrained.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low. Cold. Not because he doesn’t care — because he cares too much.

“You think I waited around for years… just so I could fuck you and forget you?”

You freeze, but your pulse spikes.

He sees it — the way your lips part, the way your breath catches. He sees everything. That’s always been the problem. He sees through you too easily, and tonight, he’s not letting you hide.

“Aaron,” you whisper, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You did.” His gaze holds yours — firm, but not unkind. “You meant it exactly like that. And I get it. You were protecting yourself. You’ve always been good at that.”

He exhales slowly, jaw ticking once before he shifts beneath you, his hands steady on your hips.

“But I thought by now,” he says, voice lower, rougher, “you’d know me better than that.”

You bite your lip, heart in your throat.

“I waited,” he says, fingers flexing at your waist, holding you exactly where he wants you. “I was patient. I watched you laugh it off every time it got too real.”

His hands glide up your sides — slow, reverent, grounding. His eyes don’t leave yours.

“And now you’re here,” he says. “In my lap. Dripping through those tiny little panties. Still pretending you don’t love me.”

His mouth twitches into something smug. “You’ve been running for four years, sweetheart. But you’re out of road.”

You lean in — trying to distract him — brushing your lips over his jaw, his neck, anywhere he’ll let you touch.

He tilts his head, letting you try. But his grip stays firm. Unyielding.

You whisper, desperate, “Just kiss me again…”

Aaron chuckles under his breath, dark and knowing. “No.”

You blink. “What?”

“I’m not kissing you until you say it.”

Your breath catches. “Aaron—”

He lifts a brow. “Unless you’d rather go home soaking wet and unsatisfied.”

You squirm in his lap, trying to grind down on him — needing friction, contact, anything.

You whimper. “Please…”

He leans in — not touching your mouth, just close enough to make you ache. “Use your words, baby.”

“I can’t,” you whisper, voice breaking.

“Yes, you can,” he says, calm and sure. “You’re just scared I won’t say it back.”

Your chest tightens. Your throat closes.

He softens, just slightly. One hand moves to cradle your jaw. “I’m not going anywhere. But I need you to be brave this time.”

You’re shaking.

You try to hold it in. You try to keep the last piece of yourself locked up, because once you say it, you can’t take it back.

But then he rocks his hips up into yours — just once — and your entire body jolts.

“Fuck,” you breathe, voice cracking.

“Say it,” he whispers again. “Or I’ll keep you like this all night.”

You’re on the verge of tears now — not from sadness, but the overwhelming pressure of it. The ache. The love you’ve been trying to bury alive for years.

“I love you,” you whisper.

His eyes darken, and the shift in him is immediate. That sharpness in his jaw relaxes, but everything else gets tighter — more focused. Like he’s locked into place now, no more teasing, no more waiting. Something quiet but fierce settles behind his gaze.

He cups your jaw fully now, both hands framing your face. “I know.”

Then he kisses you — again. This time it’s slow. Controlled. He tastes like promise. Like the kind of love that doesn’t get taken back in the morning.

“You don’t have to be scared.” he whispers against your lips. “I'm not going anywhere.”

You nod, your breath catching as his hands slide down your body with slow certainty.

He leans back slightly to look at you, one hand slipping beneath your panties, fingers tracing along your soaked heat. Your whole body arches into him — not even shy about it anymore.

“I knew you were wet,” he breathes. “But fuck…”

His fingers slide through your slickness and you cry out — overwhelmed, shivering.

He dips one finger inside you — slow, deep — and your eyes roll back. Your moan is shameless, immediate.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let me hear you.”

Your hands scramble for something to hold on to — his arms, his shoulders, anything — and he shifts you slightly in his lap, his thumb circling your clit now while his finger curls just right.

You gasp. “Aaron—”

“I know, baby,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I got you.”

His rhythm stays slow, steady, designed to ruin you inch by inch. Not rushed, not greedy, just devastatingly focused on what your body needs.

Your climax tears through you like something you’ve been holding back for years — a release of pressure, of fear, of everything you never said. You cry out against his lips, shaking in his arms, as he whispers praise into your ear.

He holds you through every wave — grounded, strong, steady — never letting go.

And when it finally passes, when you’re trembling and flushed and breathless, he kisses your forehead, then your lips, then down to the curve of your jaw.

He doesn't move his hand from between your thighs yet, his fingers still resting against your sensitive skin, stroking you in slow, lazy circles, like he’s not ready to stop touching you. Like he won’t.

“I told you I could do this all night,” he murmurs, voice rough, dangerous.

You shiver.

Your hand finds the hem of his sweater, slipping underneath. His skin is warm and solid, muscle flexing under your fingers as you push it higher. He lets you pull it off, watching you, letting you touch him now, letting you finally have what you’ve wanted for so long.

His chest is broad and defined, that faint trail of hair down his stomach making your pulse trip. You run your hands down the planes of his torso and feel him inhale through his nose, eyes darkening.

“You look like you’ve been dying to get your hands on me,” he says, voice quiet and smug.

You nod, helpless. “I have.”

He grins, then grips your thighs and stands, lifting you like you weigh nothing.

You gasp and cling to his shoulders as he carries you toward his bedroom, your legs wrapped around his waist, dress still bunched up around your hips.

He kicks the door open and lays you down on his bed, standing over you for a moment, watching you like you’re something holy.

“Take it off,” he says, nodding to your dress.

You start to slide the straps down your shoulders, but your hands are shaking. He notices, of course he does, and steps forward to help, voice softer now.

“Let me.”

He undresses you slowly, carefully, pulling the fabric down inch by inch until you’re left in just your soaked panties beneath him, bare and exposed in every way. His eyes drag over your body like he’s memorizing it. When his hand moves to your inner thigh again, your breath catches, your body still sensitive from before.

But he touches you anyway, brushing between your legs with just enough pressure to make you whimper.

You squirm. “Aaron—”

“You want me to stop?”

“No,” you breathe.

He pulls your panties down, slow and deliberate, and lets them fall to the floor.

Then he climbs onto the bed—kneeling between your legs, eyes dragging over your body like you’re something he’s been starved for.

He leans down and kisses your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your breast, never rushing. His hands stroke your thighs, your stomach, your hips, like he’s trying to ground you while simultaneously unraveling you all over again.

Then, without warning, his mouth is between your legs.

You cry out, hands fisting in the sheets as his tongue drags through your folds, slow and precise. He groans against you when you moan, like the sound alone is a reward.

You squirm a bit, still sensitive from your last orgasm and overwhelmed by the pleasure—but his hands hold your hips down, firm and steady.

“Uh uh. Stay still.” he murmurs.

His tongue circles your clit with expert precision, lips closing around it just enough to make your hips jerk. Then he slides two fingers inside you again, curling them just right, and you feel yourself breaking apart all over again, faster this time, more desperate.

He brings you over the edge with a low groan, licking you through it, and when you come this time, it’s with a cry of his name that almost leaves your throat raw.

You barely have time to breathe before he’s crawling up your body, kissing you hard, letting you taste yourself on his mouth.

You reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, and he grins against your lips.

“Don't you regret not letting me do this years ago?” he murmurs.

“You talk too much,” you pant, tugging at his jeans.

He helps you strip him down, and when you feel him—hard, thick, and heavy in your hand—you freeze.

Your eyes flick up to his, suddenly nervous.

He sees it. Smiles. And not sweetly.

“Too much for you?” he teases, brushing your hair off your face like he’s comforting you.

You open your mouth—probably to fire back—but he doesn’t give you the chance.

He kisses you again, deep and slow, then lines himself up and teases your entrance with the tip—just the tip—until you’re gasping and clawing at his back, trying to pull him in.

“Aw, look at you,” he murmurs against your cheek. “Already came twice and still so desperate.”

Then he pushes in.

Slow. Deep. Devastating.

You choke on a gasp, legs wrapping tight around his hips, your back arching as your body stretches to take him.

“F–fuck,” he grits out, forehead pressed to yours. “I should’ve made you mine the second I met you.”

He pulls out almost all the way—then drives back in, hard enough to make the bed creak.

You cry out, and he chuckles darkly.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “that’s it. Let me hear you."

He starts to move—long, unrelenting strokes that leave you boneless. Every thrust is deliberate, every angle calculated. He grips your thigh, holding it high against his side, while the other hand cups your jaw like he’s anchoring you in place.

“Are you still gonna pretend I don't own you after this?” he whispers, tone dripping with taunt.

You whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. Your mouth finds his neck, desperate, clinging. But you can’t stop shaking. You can’t breathe.

You fall apart under him, gasping and sobbing into his throat as your body clamps down around him. He doesn’t stop—not until he’s spilling into you with a growl of your name, his hips jerking, forehead pressed to yours as he rides it out, slow and deep and full.

After, he doesn’t pull away.

He kisses your jaw, your shoulder, your throat—soft now, like penance. Like he knows exactly how much he just wrecked you and he’s trying to stitch the pieces back together.

For a while, neither of you move. Just breathing. Just existing. Your limbs tangled, your bodies still buzzing.

Eventually, he pulls back—just enough to press a final kiss to your temple. Then he slips out of bed, tugging you with him.

By the time you’re both clean, dry, and back in bed—wrapped in one of his massive gray blankets—the tension from earlier has softened.

Aaron lies behind you, arm draped around your waist, chest warm against your back. You feel his breath in the dip of your neck—slow, steady.

You break the silence first. “You still awake?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You good?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Then: “Just thinking.”

You shift slightly, just enough to glance back at him. “Thinking about what?”

His touch moves higher, his thumb tracing soft circles beneath your ribs. “About what would’ve happened if you hadn’t asked me to leave that party with you.”

Your chest tightens.

“I spent a long time convincing myself that what we had — the flirting, the inside jokes — was enough,” he murmurs. “That I didn’t need more.”

He exhales, quiet and controlled. “But it wasn’t enough. Not even close.”

You turn onto your side to face him. He watches you in the dark, eyes unreadable, jaw tense.

You feel the words settle between you — warm, honest, a little heavy.

He brushes a knuckle down your cheek, almost absentminded. “I love you,” he says, soft and steady. “And I’ve never been subtle about it.”

Your lips twitch into a smile, even as your eyes burn. “No. You weren’t.”

He laughs under his breath. “And you never made it easy.”

You nudge him with your foot beneath the blanket. “Neither did you.”

A beat of silence passes before you add, quieter now, “I wasn’t trying to be a bitch. I just… didn’t know how to handle it.”

“I know,” he says, gentle now. “You didn’t owe me anything."

You nod, heart full. Then, after a beat: “So what now?”

He leans onto his back, pulling you with him so your head rests against his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You toy with the edge of the blanket. “We’re not working together anymore. No more excuses to see each other every day.”

He raises a brow. “You worried I’ll disappear without the studio forcing us into close proximity?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he says. “You’re already overthinking how we stay in each other’s lives like I haven’t spent four years plotting exactly that.”

You make a face. “Plotting?”

“Yeah,” he says, smirking. “Meticulous long game."

Your breath stutters. “So… that means we’re together?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Babe. You’re naked in my bed, your legs around me, and I just told you I love you. What the fuck else would we be?”

You laugh. “You really know how to make someone melt.”

“I know.” he says smugly, trailing his hand beneath the blanket.

You try to stay still, to keep the upper hand—but his fingers slip beneath your shirt again, slow and deliberate.

“You love me?” he whispers, kissing your jaw.

“I do,” you sigh, finally letting yourself say it out loud. “Which is unfortunate, really.”

He laughs into your skin, his mouth finding your neck. “Terrible life decision. But I fully support it.”

[lifeisbutadream444]

[lifeisbutadream444]

Do It Scared.

Aaron Pierre x Reader

Summary: Aaron left your shared apartment in New York three months ago to film the biggest movie of his career, and every day since, the distance between you has grown. When photos surface of him looking a little too comfortable with an actress at an event, you hit your breaking point and decide to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Warnings: smut

Note: Partially inspired by a Terry fic I read on here recently. Link at the end <3

Word Count: 8.5k

The silence in your apartment feels heavier these days.

It used to be filled with his voice—his deep, warm laugh echoing through the space, his teasing remarks as he stole bites of whatever you were cooking.

But now, it’s just you. Just the quiet hum of the city outside your window, the occasional vibration of your phone lighting up with a text that never seems to be from him.

Aaron has been in L.A. for three months now, filming the biggest project of his career. A high-budget action film that is officially making him a "household name" in Hollywood according to the press.

And you? You’re still here in New York. Still in your shared apartment, still going through the motions of your life as an interior designer, still waiting for some sign that you belong in his world now.

You’ve supported him through everything—the auditions, the rejections, the near-misses. You were there when he was barely making rent, when he was working odd jobs between gigs, when he questioned if this dream was even worth it.

Now he’s finally getting everything he ever wanted.

And you’re not sure where that leaves you.

You don’t want to be that girlfriend. The one who demands answers, who needs reassurances, who can’t handle a little distance. But this feels different.

You thought he’d at least ask you to visit him by now. Thought he’d tell you he missed you so much that he couldn’t take another night apart.

Instead, he’s been busier than ever, responding to your texts hours later and giving you clipped responses during your phone calls.

You understood that he was under an immense amount of pressure, trying to carry a film on his back for the first time in his career. You tried your best to not add to his stress by not complaining about any of it.

Your phone vibrates on the kitchen counter, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Aaron.

You let it ring twice before answering, not wanting to seem like you were waiting for it. You know it’s silly this far into your relationship, but you do it anyway.

“Hey,” you say, keeping your voice light.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rich, deep—but tired. He always sounds tired when he calls now. “What are you doing?”

You glance around the kitchen, where your laptop is still open from the project you were reviewing. “Trying to be a responsible adult. What about you?”

Aaron exhales a small laugh. “Trying to not lose my mind, memorizing all these lines.”

You smile despite yourself. “How was set today?” you ask.

“Long,” he sighs. “Good, though. Just… a lot.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t press. He never used to be like this. Before, he would tell you everything—the directors he liked, the actors who annoyed him, the lines he struggled with.

Now, it’s just good, though.

“What’s new in the life of America’s Newest Obsession?” you ask, holding up a copy of GQ with his face on it. You couldn’t resist buying it when you came across it at CVS earlier that day.

Aaron groans, covering his face with his hand. “Don’t start.”

“What? You’re the one out there in L.A. making the whole world fall in love with you.”

There’s a beat of silence, then—softer—“Only care about one person being in love with me.”

“Smooth,” you murmur, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips.

“I try.” he teases.

You shake your head. God, you miss him. But you don’t say that, either. Instead, you exhale, glancing at the time. It’s late for him, even with the three hour time difference. His call time is usually 5:00 am.

“You should get some sleep,” you murmur.

Aaron hesitates. “You trying to get rid of me?”

You chuckle. “Just trying to keep you on track as always.”

A beat. Then—“I miss you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone. You know he means it. But missing someone and making sure they don’t feel forgotten aren’t the same thing.

“I miss you too,” you admit softly.

Another pause. This one longer.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Aaron murmurs.

You nod, secretly wishing he would ask you to stay on the phone or tell you more about his day. “Okay.”

And then, just like that, the call ends.

You set your phone down on the counter, staring at it for a long moment.

Waiting for the heaviness in your chest to pass.

It doesn’t.

--------

You knew this would happen eventually.

Aaron has always been desirable. He’s talented, charming, and now—famous. The kind of famous that has the internet scrutinizing his every move, every glance, every woman he so much as breathes near.

You’re sitting on your couch, wine glass untouched, staring at the screen.

It’s everywhere.

Aaron, seated next to Emilia Stark at an award show.

She’s beautiful. Confident in a way that commands attention. They’re leaning in close, talking, laughing, her hand resting lightly on his arm. The cameras captured it all.

The headlines are already writing the love story for them:

"Hollywood’s Next Power Couple?"

"Aaron Pierre and Emilia Stark Spark Dating Rumors at Award Show."

Your stomach twists as you scroll through the comments, knowing you shouldn’t, knowing you’re going to hate every word.

You close the app, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts from spiraling.

You’re his woman. Have been for four years. But no one knows that.

Because Aaron wanted privacy. Because you both agreed it wasn’t the world’s business. Because he didn’t want everyone scrutinizing your every move.

But now, with the world watching, you wonder if privacy was just another way to keep you out of his new life.

Aaron doesn’t call that night.

He always calls.

Even when he’s exhausted, even when he’s jet-lagged, even when he’s drunk from whatever post-event party he’s forced to attend. He always finds time for you.

But tonight? Nothing.

You stare at your phone, the screen dark, taunting.

Your stomach is in knots, your mind looping through the possibilities like a film reel stuck on repeat. Did he talk to her all night? Did he think about calling you and decide against it? Did he take her home? Did he notice the internet already crowning her his queen and think—

You squeeze your eyes shut, banishing the thought before it can finish forming.

You shouldn’t feel this way, but you do.

------

The next morning, you wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing against the nightstand.

You scramble for it, heart hammering against your ribs when you see his name on the screen.

Aaron.

You hesitate—just for a second—before answering.

“Hello?” Your voice is steady, but your fingers grip the phone tight, waiting.

He exhales, slow and groggy. “Hey, baby.”

Baby. The word should soothe you. But it only makes you feel sick.

Because he says it like nothing happened. Like the whole world didn’t spend the last twelve hours pairing him up with someone else. Like he didn’t go radio silent on you for the first time in years.

You swallow, your voice even. “Hey.”

There’s a pause, long enough for your chest to tighten.

Aaron sighs, his voice laced with exhaustion. “Didn’t mean to disappear last night. Got home late, crashed right after.”

That’s it. That’s all he says. No mention of the photos. No mention of her.

Your fingers tighten around the phone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s just another day. “You good?”

Am I good?

The words sit heavy in your throat.

You could say yes. Pretend you didn’t see. Pretend you’re not questioning every single thing. Pretend you’re not wondering if he was out all night with someone else.

But you can’t.

You sit up in bed, your free hand pressing against your temple. “I saw the pictures.”

The line goes dead silent.

And just like that, your entire body tenses.

“I figured you would.”

Your stomach drops.

That’s it? No denial, no immediate reassurance, no baby, it’s nothing.

Just I figured you would.

You exhale sharply, swinging your legs out of bed, your heart pounding against your ribs. “And you weren’t going to bring it up?”

“I—” Aaron sighs, slow and measured. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

A bitter laugh pushes past your lips before you can stop it. “Oh, it doesn’t matter?” You shake your head, pressing your palm against your temple. “Well the entire fucking internet thinks you two are Hollywood’s new power couple, and I can’t even blame them with the way you’re whispering in her ear and letting her put her hands all over you.”

Aaron groans. “Come on, it’s not like that.”

You push up from the bed, pacing the length of your bedroom. “Then what is it like, Aaron?”

“Jesus.” His voice drops lower, frustrated now. “It’s a fucking seating arrangement. She was next to me, we talked, cameras flashed. That’s all.”

You clench your jaw. “You definitely seemed to be enjoying yourself with her.”

He exhales, like he’s struggling to stay patient. “I was being polite. What was I supposed to? Just ignore her while she's trying to speak to me? It’s not that deep.”

You scoff. “Right. Gotta keep her comfortable. Wouldn’t want to be rude.”

Aaron exhales sharply. “Are you serious right now?”

Your jaw tightens. “Forget it.”

“No, really.” His voice is sharper, cutting through the phone. “You think I’m—what? Cheating on you?”

You exhale, voice light, careless. “Aaron, I said forget it. You’re a grown man, do what you want.”

Aaron exhales sharply. “Come on, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like this suddenly isn’t bothering you. I’m trying to talk to you.”

You tilt your head. “You’re right. I was annoyed. And then I realized how stupid it was to waste my energy worrying about things I can’t control.”

Aaron scoffs, his frustration bleeding through. “That’s a real poetic way to say ‘I don’t trust you.’”

You smile tightly, even though he can’t see it. “I trust you to do whatever you want to do.”

Aaron lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Wow. Got it.”

There’s a long pause.

Then, quieter, almost like a plea—“I need you to talk to me, baby.”

Your throat tightens, but you force your voice to stay light. “I am talking.”

“No, you’re shutting me out.” His voice is strained, low. “You do this every time.”

You swallow hard, keeping your expression neutral, even though there’s no one in the room to see it. “Aaron, I promise you—I’m fine. Seriously. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Another silence. This one feels heavy. Frustrated.

Then, voice tighter now—“Fine.”

“Good.”

A pause. Then—“Are we good?”

You hesitate.

Then, carefully— “We’re good. Have a great day.”

Aaron exhales, like he doesn’t believe you. Like he knows you’re just saying what you think you’re supposed to say.

You hear him shift on the other end of the line, like he wants to say more, but you don’t give him the chance.

“I’ll talk to you later,” you say, already pulling the phone from your ear.

Aaron exhales sharply, but before he can respond, you hang up.

---------

You know it’s toxic. You know.

But desperation makes you reckless.

You don’t trust words—you never have. Promises are just sounds strung together, and you learned a long time ago that actions hold all the weight. And Aaron? He hasn’t done anything to prove you’re still the woman he’d go to war for.

So tonight, you need to know.

You put on the shortest dress you own, something sleek and black that hugs every curve just right, and when you step into the club with your friends, you make sure to look happy. Carefree. Like nothing in the world is eating at you.

The second you walk in, the music vibrates through your bones. Your friends lead you to the VIP section, and within minutes, drinks are flowing, bodies are moving, and the night is alive with laughter.

You pose for group pictures with your friends and some of their male friends. Nothing explicit, nothing outright disrespectful, but just enough. Enough for someone to wonder. Enough for Aaron to see.

You don’t post them yourself. That would be too obvious.

Instead, you make sure your friends do, knowing damn well that Aaron—or someone who knows him—will find them.

And then?

You wait.

You sip your drink, lean into the music, and try to ignore the way your stomach churns with nerves. Because if this backfires, if Aaron doesn’t react at all—

That will tell you everything you need to know.

*One Hour Later*

Your phone vibrates against your thigh.

You knew it was coming.

Still, when you glance down and see Aaron’s name lighting up your screen, a sick sort of satisfaction curls through your chest.

You don’t answer.

He calls again.

Then again.

Then—

Text message after text message.

Aaron: Where the fuck are you? Aaron: Who are these fucking guys? Aaron: You think this is funny? Aaron: Answer your phone.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He’s pissed.

But that’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?

You: No thanks. You: Have a great night :)

You lock your phone before he can respond.

Then, you take another sip of your drink, letting the fire burn all the way down.

Your phone vibrates again. Another call.

Aaron’s name glares up at you like a warning.

You let it ring.

Your best friend, Camille, leans in, eyes flicking toward your still-ringing phone. “Are you gonna answer?”

You scoff. “Nope.”

“Seriously, though,” Camille presses. “What’s your endgame here?”

You open your mouth to respond, but your phone dings again—a text.

Aaron: Pick up the fucking phone.

Your stomach clenches.

Camille lets out a low whistle. “Damn. He’s mad mad.”

You roll your eyes, feigning nonchalance. “He’ll get over it.”

Another text comes through.

Aaron: You want my attention, sweetheart? You’ve got it.

Your breath hitches.

Then—one more.

Aaron: Let’s see how you feel when I give you a taste of your own medicine.

Your grip tightens around your phone.

Shit.

Your phone buzzes again. Aaron.

You swipe to accept the call, pressing a finger to your other ear to hear better over the pounding club music.

“You think this is funny?” His voice is low, sharp.

You blink, acting confused. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he mutters. “You’re out at a club, with a bunch of guys around you, drinking, posting shit all over the internet—”

You roll your eyes. “Are you serious? I'm out with my friends for the first time in months. That’s not a crime.”

A harsh exhale. “You didn’t tell me.”

Your brows knit together. “Since when do I have to?”

Aaron lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Since I’m your boyfriend.”

You pause. Your stomach clenches at the word. He’s never been the type to throw that around like a trump card.

“So let me get this straight,” you say, voice cold now. “You can be at all these events and parties every week, surrounded by famous women in gowns, but I can’t go to a club with my friends?”

“That’s different,” he finally says.

You scoff. “How?”

“I don’t go to clubs,” he snaps. “I don’t get drunk out of my mind. I go to work events that I'm contractually obligated to attend. There’s a difference.”

You bite your lip. Because that part is true. You’ve never seen Aaron out at clubs. But who would have the energy to go clubbing after the lineup of events he attends every week?

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” you say. “Those are Camille’s friends, they’re just at the table next to ours.”

Aaron exhales sharply. “I’m sending you a car.”

Your breath catches.

“What?”

“A car,” he repeats, voice tight. “An Uber. A driver. Whatever the fuck you want. Just go home.”

You blink. “Aaron—”

“I mean it,” he says roughly. “I don’t want you there anymore.”

You feel a flicker of irritation. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

His voice is deadly quiet. “No, but I can tell you that I don’t like this. And I know you don’t either.”

You hesitate. Because he’s right. You don’t even want to be here anymore.

Aaron exhales. “Go home, baby.” His voice is softer now, more like himself. “Please.”

Your throat tightens.

You don’t say anything for a long moment.

Then, finally—

“Fine.”

A slow, relieved exhale. “Good girl.”

And with that, he hangs up.

-------

You curl into yourself under the covers, your phone screen still glowing in the dark.

Aaron: Your driver’s outside. Let me know when you’re home.

You never responded.

Now, lying in bed, staring at your ceiling, your chest feels tight, like something is pressing down on it. You hate this. Hate that you feel like you’re losing him.

You squeeze your eyes shut. You won’t cry again.

But then your phone vibrates. The screen lights up.

A FaceTime call.

Aaron. Shocker.

Your fingers hover over the screen, your heart pounding. Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you answer.

Aaron’s face fills the screen. He’s leaning against the headboard, one arm resting on his knee, his expression unreadable. But the moment he sees you, his brows pull together.

"You been crying?"

Your stomach clenches. You hate how well he reads you.

You let out a small scoff, rolling onto your side. "What? No."

Aaron exhales, tilting his head, studying you through the screen. His jaw is tight, his blue-gray eyes sharp and searching.

"You’re lying," he murmurs.

You force a small smile. "I’m just tired."

His lips part slightly, like he wants to push, but instead, he sighs.

"You didn’t text me when you got home," he says.

You shrug. "I forgot."

He doesn’t believe you. You can tell by the way his fingers twitch where they rest on his knee, the way his jaw tenses like he’s biting back a hundred things he wants to say.

Aaron licks his lips, sighing. "You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?"

You keep your face neutral. "Likewise."

Aaron chuckles softly, shaking his head. Then, after a moment—

"What’s going on with you?"

Your breath catches. "Nothing."

His voice is rough now, insistent. "I can tell when something’s wrong. So tell me."

You chew your lip, staring at the screen, at the way his eyes are burning into you. "I just—" You hesitate. "I don’t know."

"Try," he presses.

You swallow hard. "I just feel… weird lately."

Aaron exhales. "Weird how?"

You don’t know how to answer that.

Weird because he’s suddenly everywhere. Weird because for the first time in years, he feels just out of reach. Weird because maybe he was never really yours to lose, and that realization is eating you alive.

Instead, you just shake your head. "I don't know."

His voice is sharper now, more impatient. "You always make me pry everything out of you."

Your throat tightens. "I don’t—"

His voice is insistent. "You’re clearly upset. And I don’t know why. And you’re not gonna sleep tonight if you don’t say it out loud, so—say it."

You shake your head. "Aaron—"

"Say it."

You swallow, staring at him through the screen. He’s watching you carefully, waiting, giving you that look that always makes you fold.

Your chest tightens.

"I just feel like we're drifting apart."

The words slip out before you can stop them.

Aaron stills. His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts behind his eyes.

"You’re in LA," you continue, voice barely above a whisper. "You’re at these big events, with these big names, and I’m here—alone. And it just..." You exhale sharply. "It feels like you’re leaving me behind."

Aaron’s jaw tenses. His fingers twitch slightly where they rest on his knee.

Aaron exhales, rubbing his temples. "Baby..."

"I see the pictures, Aaron," you cut in. "I see how good you fit in there. And I just…" You blink rapidly, fighting the burn in your eyes. "I don’t know if I fit in your life anymore."

Aaron’s face hardens. "Don’t say that."

"But it’s true," you murmur, swallowing the lump in your throat. "And it scares me."

Aaron’s expression softens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Then come here."

Your breath catches.

"What?"

"Come to LA," he says simply.

You stare at him through the screen, your pulse hammering in your ears.

"Aaron…"

"You don’t have to decide to stay right away," he presses, voice rough. "Just come. Let me prove to you that you belong with me, no matter where the fuck I am."

Your throat tightens. "No."

Aaron’s brows furrow. "No?"

You shake your head. "You’re only asking me because you feel bad."

Aaron’s jaw clenches. "That’s not—"

"It is," you say, voice quieter now. "If I hadn’t said anything, you wouldn’t have asked. And I—" You exhale sharply. "I don’t wanna come because you pity me, Aaron. I wanna come because you want me there."

Aaron’s eyes darken,"You think I don’t want you here?"

You don’t answer.

Aaron swallows, staring at you for a long moment. Then, voice raw—

"I fucking hate that you feel like this."

You inhale shakily.

Aaron leans in slightly, his face inches from the screen. "You think I fit in here? You think I want to be at these parties, talking to people I don’t give a fuck about?" He exhales sharply. "I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner."

Aaron studies you, his eyes scanning your face. Then, voice softer, "Just tell me what you need. from me."

You swallow hard. "I don’t know."

Aaron exhales, running a hand through his hair. "Okay."

Silence.

Then, after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper—

"I love you."

Your breath catches.

"I love you, and I’m not leaving you behind," he murmurs. "You belong with me. Always."

Your throat tightens, your vision blurring.

You bite your lip, nodding slightly. "I love you too."

Silence stretches between you as you drift off to sleep.

And for the first time in weeks—you finally feel like you’re not alone.

--------

The next day, your phone buzzes with a text while you're trying to sleep your hangover off.

You groan, blindly reaching for it, already knowing who it is.

Aaron: Check your email.

You swipe out of your messages, opening your inbox. A new email sits at the top of your screen.

You click it, eyes scanning over the subject line.

A flight itinerary.

Your stomach drops.

You scroll, scanning the details—first class, a direct flight to LA, departing tonight at 7 PM.

You barely have time to process before your phone buzzes again.

Aaron: Pack a bag.

Your pulse spikes.

You type quickly.

Me: Are you insane?

His response is immediate.

Aaron: Sometimes.

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Me: You really think this is gonna work?

Aaron: Yes.

You shake your head.

Me: What part of “I don’t want to come just because you feel bad” are you not understanding?

Aaron’s typing bubble pops up, then disappears, then pops up again.

Then, finally—

Aaron: If I wanted you here just because I felt bad, I would've just accepted your answer last night.

Your hands shake slightly as you type.

Me: This is crazy.

Aaron: So is pretending we’re fine like this.

You swallow hard.

Aaron: Baby.

Your heart stutters.

Aaron: Please.

Your throat tightens.

You don’t respond.

But you do start to pack.

You could keep fighting this. You could tell him you’re not ready, that you need time, that he needs to earn this.

But then what?

You’d go to bed alone again, your phone face-down on your nightstand, staring at the ceiling, missing him so much it feels like a physical ache in your chest.

And for what?

For pride?

For the illusion of control?

Aaron is home. And the truth is—you just want to go home, too.

-------

LAX – 11:42 PM

You step through the terminal, nerves buzzing under your skin.

Aaron told you he’d send a car. Told you to text when you landed.

But standing here, scanning the crowd—

He’s here.

No car. No driver. Just him.

Black hoodie pulled over his head, hands stuffed in his pockets, leaning against a pillar like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.

Your breath catches, heart hammering against your ribs as his gaze locks onto yours.

He pushes off the pillar, walking toward you—slow, easy, certain.

"Hey, baby," he murmurs when he reaches you, voice low and warm.

You swallow hard. "Hey."

Aaron tilts his head, eyes sweeping over you. "Missed you."

You scoff, shifting your weight. "Yeah, well. You’re annoying."

His lips twitch. "So are you."

You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

Aaron steps closer, voice dropping. "You know what I think?"

You raise a brow. "Do I want to?"

He smirks. "I think you got on that plane because you couldn’t stand another night without me."

You cross your arms. "I think you should shut up before I get back on another plane."

Aaron chuckles, shaking his head. Then, softer—"Let’s go."

Your chest tightens, the fight in you crumbling piece by piece.

He reaches for your bag, pulling it off your shoulder before you can argue.

You should protest. You should roll your eyes and tell him to quit being so smug.

Instead, you let him take your bag.

And you let him take you home.

The ride to Aaron’s Airbnb is quiet, but the air is thick—heavy with something unspoken.

Your body is still tense, your mind still reeling. The past twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind of emotions. Aaron unlocks the door, stepping inside first, flicking on a few lights.

You hesitate.

This is his space. You’ve never been here before. The place he’s been living while you’ve been in New York, wondering if you even still fit into his life.

Aaron turns around, eyes catching yours. His brow furrows slightly, reading you instantly.

He steps forward, his voice softer now. "Come here."

You don’t move.

So he closes the space himself.

One hand reaches for your wrist, his grip firm but gentle as he pulls you inside, closing the door behind you.

And then, before you can say a single word—

His hands cup your face, his lips crashing onto yours.

Finally.

You gasp into his mouth, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he devours you, like he’s been waiting for this for months.

Aaron presses you back against the door, his body solid and warm against yours, his grip possessive as his fingers tangle in your hair.

"You have no idea," he murmurs against your lips, voice rough, needy, "how much I fucking missed you."

His mouth trails down your jaw, his breath hot, sending a violent shiver through you.

"You could’ve just asked me to come," you manage, barely above a whisper.

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. "And miss the part where you tried to pretend you didn’t want to?"

You pull back just enough to glare at him. "That's not funny."

He smirks, thumb brushing over your cheek. "You still mad at me?"

You let out a breath, trying so hard to stay indignant, but he’s right here, touching you, kissing you—

And you’ve wanted this too much to stop now.

You forgot what it felt like to be with him.

To be wrapped in him, to feel like this was yours and no one else’s.

Your nails graze his scalp as you sigh against his lips. The past few months of distance, of doubt, of letting your own pride keep you from him—it all feels so stupid now. You hate how easily other women get to be around him, touching him, laughing with him, making the world believe they have a shot.

His free hand roughly palms your breast, kneading the soft flesh as his thumb circles your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra. He can feel it pebbling under his touch, betraying your body's eager response to him.

"You can't resist me, can you, love?" he purrs, nipping at your earlobe. "No matter how mad you are, your body remembers who it belongs to."

"Don't be so sure of yourself," you pant, even as your back arches, pressing your breast more firmly into his palm. "I'm still pissed."

But your words lack conviction, undermined by the breathy quality of your voice and the way your thighs tremble, opening slightly in invitation. Aaron notices, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Really?" he murmurs, low and dangerous. In one swift motion, he hikes up your skirt and pushes your panties aside, his thick fingers caressing your folds. "Then why are you so wet for me already, hmm?"

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips buck. "Stop lying to yourself, love."

Two long fingers suddenly plunge knuckle-deep inside you, curling to stroke that sensitive spot. "Tell me how much you've missed this, baby."

You gasp sharply, head falling back as Aaron's fingers fill and stretch you so perfectly. "Fuck, Aaron…"

Your inner walls flutter and clench around the intrusion, drawing him deeper. "I-I've missed you so much." you admit.

He curls his fingers just right, rubbing insistently against your G-spot as his thumb flicks rapidly over your clit. "I know, baby."

You moan wantonly, grinding down onto Aaron's fingers as they work magic inside you. "Ahhh…f-fuck, just like that…"

He growls lowly as he suddenly withdraws his fingers, leaving you aching and empty right as you were approaching your release. "Not yet, love. Did you think I was gonna let you come that easily after what you pulled last night?"

In one smooth motion, he scoops you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He carries you to his bedroom, and puts you down next to his king sized bed. "Strip for me. Nice and slow."

You slowly remove your disheveled clothing, revealing your curves inch by tantalizing inch. You keep your gaze locked with Aaron's, a defiant glint in your eyes despite the blush coloring your cheeks.

He unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans, freeing his throbbing erection. He strokes himself slowly as he watches you strip. "Fuck, look at you… so fucking sexy. You drive me crazy, you know that?"

He climbs on the bed and leans back against the headboard. Stroking his dick slowly, eyeing you with intense desire and a hint of challenge. "Come here, baby. Show me how much you missed this dick."

You straddle Aaron's lap, positioning yourself over his throbbing erection. You tease him, rubbing the tip along your slick folds. "Like this, baby?"

You sink down slowly, inch by delicious inch, until he's fully seated inside your tight heat. A low moan escapes your lips at the feeling of being so perfectly stretched and filled after so long.

He groans deeply as your tight walls engulf him, gripping his shaft like a velvet vice. "Fuck yes, just like that."

He grips your hips tightly, guiding your movements as you start to roll your hips, riding him slowly. "That's it. Show me how bad you needed this dick."

Your hands rest on his broad chest for leverage, nails lightly scraping his skin. "Mmmnh… I did need this… needed you so badly…"

He grunts and thrusts up into you, meeting you stroke for stroke. One hand moves to your ass, gripping and kneading the soft flesh as he guides your movements.

Your breasts bounce enticingly with each movement, nipples hardened into stiff peaks. You throw your head back in ecstasy, lost in the sensation of being so thoroughly filled and pleased. “Ahhh... fuck Aaron... I missed you so much...”

He groans appreciatively as he watches you lose yourself in pleasure, reveling in the sight of your body moving so beautifully above him. “That's it, baby... let go for me.”

He leans up to capture one of your bouncing nipples in his mouth, suckling and nibbling the sensitive bud as his hand snakes between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit. “Cum for me, darling.”

You cry out sharply as Aaron's skilled fingers find your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Ahhh... fuuuck... I'm gonna cum!”

Your movements become erratic, chasing your impending release. Tears of overwhelming emotion prick at the corners of your eyes. Despite your reluctance to express your feelings, you cant help but say, “I love you. I never want to be apart from you again.”

With a final roll of your hips, your orgasm crashes over you. Your inner muscles clamp down rhythmically on Aaron's dick. “FUCKKK!”

With a few more powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his own release overtaking him.

He holds you tightly against his chest as he pulses and throbs within you, filling you with his hot seed.

Panting heavily, he presses fervent kisses along your neck and jawline, each one searing with need, but also with something else—something deeper, something he’s been holding onto for too long. “God, I love you so fucking much... Never doubt that, okay?” His words are rough, filled with raw emotion, and they send a wave of warmth and longing rushing through you.

He cups your face tenderly, his fingers tracing the delicate contours of your skin, his gaze intense and unwavering. His eyes shine with adoration and lingering passion as he gazes at you, making you feel both vulnerable and cherished in the same breath. “We’re in this together, always. I promise.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, like a rush of relief flooding through your chest. His sincerity washes over you, but you can’t stop the overwhelming emotions threatening to spill out. You pull back slightly to meet his gaze, needing to look him in the eye as your own shimmer with unshed tears and raw emotion.

“I’m sorry I have such a hard time expressing my feelings, I don’t know why I’m like this,” you whisper, the words slipping from your lips before you can even think about holding them back.

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he wipes a stray tear from your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across the skin, his touch soft, yet grounding. He studies your face with that same loving gaze, his expression soft and understanding, but there’s a hint of something deeper—concern, perhaps, or even a touch of hurt.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs, his voice a whisper that feels like the calm after a storm. “I do wish you felt safe enough to tell me anything after all these years. I want to be the person you lean on when you’re struggling with your feelings.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly you’re flooded with guilt. You knew how much he cared, how deeply he loved you, but hearing him say it, hearing him speak of his own pain at the wall you’ve built between you—it hurts. You feel like you’ve let him down, like you’ve betrayed the very trust he’s shown you. He’s right. He’s always been right. And still, you kept walls up like he was the enemy, when he’s only ever reached out with open hands.

You’re horrified that he thinks he doesn’t create an emotionally safe environment for you when that’s so far from the truth. “It’s not your fault at all,” you say, your voice cracking slightly, “I’ve always been this way. I’ve always been so scared of being vulnerable, scared of needing someone too much.” You feel the weight of those words as they leave your mouth, and a part of you knows they’ve been trapped in you for so long that it’s finally time to let them out.

Aaron watches you for a long moment, his thumb still brushing softly across your cheek like he’s trying to calm something in you that’s always been just out of reach.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he says. “You don’t even have to be ready. But you do have to let me in. That’s the only way this can work.”

You look away, jaw tightening. But he doesn’t let you escape into silence this time.

“Don’t do that,” he says gently. “Don’t shut down. Not now. Talk to me. Say what you’ve been wanting to say since I left.”

You bite your lip, your throat tight.

“I hated waking up alone every day,” you admit. “I hated not knowing if you were thinking about me, not knowing if I still mattered in a world that suddenly couldn’t get enough of you. I hated seeing your name in headlines next to someone else’s face. I hated that I couldn’t tell anyone you were mine. I hated that you didn’t seem to care.”

You pause, breath shaky.

“I used to wait for your name to pop up on my phone like it was oxygen. And when it didn’t... I’d lie to myself. I’d tell myself you were too busy. That I was being needy. That this is what I signed up for. That you already had so much on your plate.”

Aaron’s expression doesn’t waver. He doesn’t flinch or deflect or turn away.

He listens.

And then, he speaks—voice low but firm.

“You should’ve told me all of that the first night you felt it.”

“I know,” you whisper.

“I should’ve done better,” he says. “I should’ve made sure you never had to wonder if you still mattered to me.”

“I got caught up in it all,” he admits. “The press, the schedule, the pressure. I kept telling myself you understood, that you were strong, that you’d wait for me to get my shit together.” His eyes find yours, full of something honest and unguarded. “But that wasn’t fair to you."

You look down, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know how to ask for more without feeling like I was asking for too much.”

His hand lifts to your cheek, tilting your face gently back to him.

“You’re never too much,” he says, his voice soft but laced with that familiar teasing edge. “I love knowing how obsessed you are with me.”

You roll your eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching despite the weight in your chest. “You make it hard to stay mad.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

There’s a silence that settles between you then—not empty, but full. Heavy with all the things that no longer have to be said in the dark, or buried beneath pride.

“I don’t want to live in separate lives anymore,” he says after a beat.

Your heart skips.

“I want you here,” he says. “Permanently. Let’s find a place that’s ours. Start fresh. I know it’s a lot to ask—starting over, uprooting your life. But I’ll support you. If you want to work, work. If you want to take your time, do that too. I just want to know that I get to come home to you.”

You let out a slow breath, all your old defenses still rising like reflexes—but you push through them this time.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “Do it scared.”

You let out a breath that feels like it’s been caught in your chest for months. “We're being so fucking dramatic right now. Have you been stealing lines from your scripts again?”

He chuckles, sliding his arms around your waist again. “You say that like you didn’t just admit you waited for my texts like oxygen.”

You bury your face into his chest, groaning. “Can we not bring that up ever again?”

There’s still fear threading through your chest, still questions and doubts lingering in the corners of your mind. But for once, they’re not winning. Because he’s here, and you feel something you haven’t in months.

Home.

Not a place. Not a plan. Just him. Just you. Still choosing each other.

Even scared. Especially then.

------

A/N: Here is the story I mentioned earlier that inspired the club scene a bit: Read Here.

[lifeisbutadream444]

Study Buddy [M] Oneshot

tw: drug paraphernalia, swearing, general filthiness

“this just something sweet for the fucking kids okay” - Auntie Fee

“London you just came over here to study, that’s it.”

London was quietly berating herself in the bathroom mirror, fingers nervously twirling the same braid she’d been messing with since 8 that night.

It was now 11PM and she was heavily contemplating sucking the skin off of Terrance Richmonds dick – the polite gentleman who was currently waiting on her to return back to their study session in his living room.

The original plan was to come over and prepare for her last midterm of the week, the most heavily dreaded exam in her program to date. Everyone she knew who’d previously taken advanced calculus with Professor Malkin bombed this particular test – everyone but Terrance who’d scathed by with a 92, a low for him but still a pass, nevertheless. For the last few semesters he was known solely around the quad as a mousy brainiac, rarely seen but always heard of from both administration and the incoming PhD students desperate for help.

London herself initially became acquainted with him during a freshman Biology class and for weeks he without question covered her ass when she was running behind, scrambling into her seat with Starbucks, hopes and a dream that she’d be able to catch up to their lectures. What started as frequent texts regarding academia trickled into casual conversation and before they knew it, they were what most people considered close friends. Close in the context that they rarely saw each other outside of the confines of their library’s study rooms, but chatted enough through texts that they knew mostly every mundane thing about each other. No one on campus – including London – thought much of him looks wise until he returned from study abroad an entirely different person.

Over the course of his summer internship in Thailand, he’d bulked up match his staggering height, caught a tan, and traded his scruffy look for a more polished cut low fade and goatee. Though it didn’t sound like much, his confidence had shot up tenfold, and in less than three months he came back to campus an entirely new person. It was noticeable by everyone he’d come across again, his dimpled smile and deadly charm were infectious. Frankly, it made most people want to throw their panties at him; London was one of those people, and here she was ready to send her thong flying.

“Aye, you good in there?”

London almost jumped out of her skin when he knocked on the door. It’d been a solid ten minutes since she disappeared, and he was worried something had happened.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine! I saw something stupid on Twitter and lost track of time.”

“Aight.”

Flushing the empty toilet, London opened the door and awkwardly came face to face with Terry noting the tightly rolled blunt tucked in his ear.

“Is that..a funky ass grape Swisher?”

“Uh yeah,” he smiled innocently, “does the same thing them weird vegan wraps do.”

“It’s not weird. It’s called having taste and being health conscious. Swishers taste like shit.”

“To you.” He said while trailing her back into the living room. London's long forgotten study guide and scratch papers were still spread across the table with no chance of making anything higher than a 67 in sight. It didn’t help that she’d given up on studying ten minutes into being that damn close to him - equally blamed on his piercing seafoam eyes and cologne.

“Well…it’s safe to say my brain is cooked. I mean you did great; it’s just not sticking. I’m sorry T.” London pouted earnestly, “ I really didn’t mean to take up your whole night with this shit.”

“I told you it’s aight, wasn’t like I had shit going anyway. You’ll be fine, even if you bomb it you got enough cushion to bring it to a 75 by the end of term. C’s make degrees, right?.” He nodded before dipping back into the couch, lighting his blunt. To save herself from getting more flustered London focused her attention on cleaning her mess up and shoved her papers into her bag. Watching a nigga smoke was top two and not two in her turn on list – it was actually how she got caught up with running behind he who shan’t me named a month badk. It was really her fault for dating frat, but then again that wasn’t the point of her current affliction.

As soon as she zipped her bag up the smell of chronic seized her nose, Terrance was offering her the blunt as a kind gesture seeing she was going to be stressed the fuck out the rest of the weekend. Knowing she had to be home soon, London contemplated taking him up on her offer. Her group chat would question the hell out of her if she disappeared this late, which would lead to a fight over whether or not she was with her ex.

Terrance wasn’t her ex though.

“Fuck it.” She thought aloud as she accepted the free smoke.

It’d only been three days’ since she last partook – however – whatever Terry had managed to sneak through customs was so strong it tightened her lungs the second she inhaled. Quickly passing (more like flinging) the swisher back to him, she made a dash for her Stanley cup on the counter, shooting him daggers as he flashed his signature cheeky laugh.

Though her burning throat London rasped a “Where the fuck is that from?”

“Being honest? Some hole in the wall in Bangkok; looked better than the shit I had back here for half the price so I bit.”

“Uh huh,” she huffed through ringing ears, “I think I’ll stick to my prerolls.”

Nodding humbly, Terry ghosted the cloud of smoke leaving his lips and briefly turned to retrieve the TV remote. As much as London wanted to continue the banter all she could do was stare lustful rings of fire into him. He was doing nothing out of the ordinary – smoking and surfing Crunchyroll for some anime she was sure to forget – and yet London still wanted to burst into a ball of flames. Whatever happened to him when he left the states was out of this world; it was mind boggling how normal he continued to act despite turning into an unrecognizable hunk of his former self. For what felt like an eternity she couldn’t help but to scan every muscle adorning his frame. That was until his familiar baritone brought her back down to Earth

“London…let me ask you something?”

Shit.

“Why you keep staring like that?”

London tried to play dumb,“What? I just wrecked my brain with equations for hours and hit a rillo’, if I’m staring at you it’s because I’m high and tired.” she mouthed back

“Nah, that’s not what I mean,” he chuckled, “you keep giving me that look.”

“What look, Terrance?”

There was a deafening silence between the two as he ashed his smoke out on the coffee table ashtray. London’s head was now swimming from the additional contact high in the room and the signal he was sending off was insane– to her his playful demeanor had shifted to something deeper in what felt like mere seconds.

Arms folded, London insisted on pretending nothing was happening and proceeded to take a seat back on the couch, this time away from him to keep up the act.

“What look was I giving you Terry?” She said while glaring at him. She watched him exhale with a grin and darkly catch her glance.

“You know I’m not stupid right,” he started, “we been cool for what? Three, four years now and I know you London. You only give somebody that look when you tryna cut – and don’t bullshit me cause you know I’m right.”

She wanted to scream. He was absolutely right and putting her on the spot like it was nothing. Had he done this before? She couldn’t tell and her mind was beginning to race with all sorts of unholy thoughts.

“Look, I know I shouldn’t be putting you on blast like that but it’s obvious… and you ain’t the first person I had this conversation with.”

“Oh, okay. Well…what usually happens after this conversation?” stiffly said London. It was the most she could get out with a straight face.

“We either laugh about it and pretend it never happened, or…” he trailed off.

“Or what?”

Terrance simply eyed the television and deadpanned while continuing his statement.

“We fuck and call it a night. That’s up to you though.”

London couldn’t think straight, hell she couldn’t think at all while processing what the fuck he just said. For a second, she thought he was joking, but considering the growing wet spot in her shorts couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t at least try.

“Oh...sooooo like..before or after the movie?”

————

Terry and London attempted to get through the first episode of Baki - that only lasted through the first arc though. As soon as London's body pressed into his broad side, his lips found themselves on her, anime be damned.

In the moment tried to stifle her moans but quickly faltered once she realized they were alone: no roommates, no problems. Pecking up to her face and stopped to hover at her lips, glaring her in the eye – one hand gripping her cheek and the other tugging at the hem of her button up.

Between soft kisses fluttering her lower jaw Terry mumbled a grumbly, “You sure?”

London could only nod and melt into every single peck they exchanged. Little moans seeped out of her glossed lips and into his own as he popped the buttons on her tank top one by one; it did nothing to hide her lack of a bra and that had admittedly been driving him wild since she’d gotten there. Truth be told he Terry liked her - honestly wanted her as bad as she did him but couldn’t dare lead her on like that knowing who she was with. Why things ended the way they did and how badly he wanted to break her ex nigga jaw for embarrassing his friend like that. With the cards now off the table he had no reason to hold back anymore, and that he no longer would do.

Terrance took a freed umber nipple into his mouth and softly glided his hand past the bands of her cotton shorts. She was painfully warm, her voice raising an octave as he circled her clit with the pad of his thumb. The way her face turned up with each slow drag was as mesmerizing as it was arousing, her eyes never leaving his as she struggled to form coherent thoughts.

“Knew I had you wet,” he said while turning his attention to pulling her bottoms off, “whatchu’ wanna do, you gone let me taste it?”

London nodded to keep from screaming. Foreplay was unfortunately new to her and she’d grown accustomed to her man getting a quick nut and going to sleep, her pleasure be damned. Being teased like this made her absolutely crumble. In a lustful haze London watched Terrance peel his shirt off – then drop his sweats to reveal the thick log tucked across the leg of his boxers.

To her chagrin his face was already between her thighs before she could register the type of night she was in for. In one gentle sweep he pulled her panties to the side and prompt my went to work eating her pussy – thick lips suctioning her clit first to rouse her, then relaxing to lick a stinging stripe up her glistening folds.

“Oh fuck.” Was all she could breathe.

She was soaking wet and throbbing across his tongue, her clit rock solid from the sensation; he was attentive, seafoam iris’ diliating and fluttering as he explored her lips. London almost immediately felt an orgasmic wave creeping up her spine as he sopped her up, however, she was determined not to fuck it up and cum this early in.

Her body wasn’t taking that waiting on that shit though. One sharp shudder after another and she was unwinding all over him and his plush couch, nails raking across his back and eyes clamping shut. Clocking her in intending orgasm, Terry groaned into her clit, vibrations setting off a moan that cut deep from London’s vocal chords. Terrance let her loosen the grip on his head before delivering a messy, slick kiss to her mouth to quell her whimpering. London sucked herself up weakly - the taste adding to her overstimulation as she tried her hardest to recover from her first orgasm. She cut him the craziest look when she settled.

“Who– when the fuck did you learn that?” She rasped, fixating her attention to his now obvious poking erection.

Between a playful shrug, Terry bit her bottom lip and , pulling away to take off his boxers. Every vein trailing his arms and pelvis were rushed full of blood as his dick sprang out of confinement, tapping his stomach and garnering a gasp from London.

She couldn’t believe her fucking eyes; their entire friendship Terry had been hiding all of this dick and was now about to put it in her. Her first thought with a stranger was always a condom – however – tonight she was stuck on stupid and wanted to feel all of it. Raw. Taking no pause London lazily shifted her legs back and waited for him to tear her shit up - prompting Terry to lightly chuckled and shake his head no.

“You want it that bad huh? C’mon, we gon’ need some more room than this. And a rubber, freaky ass frog.”

Once best friends - always best friends.

In one effortless swoop Terrance hoisted London off the couch, hoisting her over his left shoulder marching them to his bedroom. He stopped momentarily to fish a Skyn from his side drawer, then hoisted her down to his neatly made bed. His sheets were pitch black and cold enough to make her perk up from the head-drunk coma she’d been in. She had no time to get adjusted either, as soon as her legs reopened Terrance was back assaulting her clit with his thumb.

She dragged out a “Terry please.” and watched in anguish as he stroked the condom on above her. He looked almost ethereal with his eyes falling down her frame hungrily, muscles contracting, and veins hardened in heat. Giving her a devilish smile Terrance hooked his arm around her left leg and softly ran the head of his dick up and down her folds.

“Please what?” he asked. His free hand snaked its way to her throat and slowly pressed the sides of neck in as she spoke.

“I said please what?” he demanded louder.

A whimpering London strained “P-please T.”

“What’s my name?”

“Terra-“

That was all she could get out before Terrance slid inside of her to the hilt. She could only gasp as he filled her up, her walls gripping his dick with a ferocity, engraving the memory for later. For the first time that night Terry cocked his head back and audibly moaned, making London’s walls grip him up coaxing another one out of him.

He was so fucking nasty.

“I’m finna fuck you up.” He uttered before winding back and stroking into her. Words were no longer forming on London’s tongue at this point, just strained whines of pleasure as Terrance stroked into her, deeply. Their foreheads touched as her hands snapped to brace his arms, the pairs eyes locked together as he slow pounded her leaking core, kissing her deeply as he picked up the pace.

In the moments he let go to admire the mess they were making London’s eyes lulled deep into the back of her head, her grip on his arm loosening at every thrust he made. The way her dollish brown eyes bore into his with each snap of his hips, how she dug her nails into his wrists, how wet and sticky her folds were becoming around his shaft with each pressing moment.

Terrance usually cared to be a tease, however, it was clear neither of them would be making it far tonight. Beneath him London was close cumming again, Terry hoping he could make her hold out for him just a little longer. He needed to stay in it.

“I can’t – fuck I can’t t-“

“Hold on, hold on,” he groaned, pecking at her parted lips, “ just breathe, wait for me Lo. You gone wait for me?”

That whiny baritone made London’s legs tremble around him. There was no way she could stop a second creeping orgasm from knocking her clean the fuck out far before he got to that point. Both gently and quickly, Terry pulled out, flipped her over and wrapped his hand in her braids. With her back arched deep, her weeping core completely exposed, London could only whine back at him as he tugged her by the nape of the neck back to rest in his shoulder, his right hand anchoring her to his slick skin by gripping her throat.

His dick then found its way back inside of her and started hitting an angle she hadn’t felt in months. He wasn’t jack hammering her shit but he damn sure wasn’t going as soft as he had earlier. Between their moans he could hear the sound of her ass smacking against his thighs. Her curves rippled under the pressure of his strokes and his dick was twitching out of control for release.

Blinded again by pleasure filled tears, London could barely hear him as he rattled off curses into her ear and smacked the everliving fire out of her ass. She reached behind her and pulled Terrance in as close as she could, nails harshly scratching up the nape of his neck - a familiar warmth rising from her lower stomach with each earth shattering, sloppy wet strokes.

She begged him,“Terry…p-please. F-fuck right there don’t stop, dontfuckingstop-.”

“Think you got enough,” he snarled through grit teeth, “let me feel that shit Lo...there you go.”

That was all she needed to hear; as the floodgates opened London’s entire body jerked – from her core to the tip of her fingers she completely lost control, walls contracting erratically around the veiny thickness getting stuck in her vice grip. Just as she came unglued, so did Terry; though he could’ve stayed in it for at least another hour he couldn’t dare spoil the moment of unloading into her, the only thing stopping her from getting pregnant being the integrity of the condom she’d long forgotten about.

Terrys voice strained into her ear as his hips jerked erratically into her own, the only thing he whimpered between mourns being London's name. The moment his grip to her throat softened, she took the initiative to free herself, flopping to the mattress and swatting him back by the pelvis to make him pull out before he got the itch for round two. She couldn’t help but to groan and shiver at the sensation, Terry on the other hand finding it funny while trailing kisses down her spine, his goatee scratching her supple skin.

With a final, plush kiss to the side of her neck, Terry fully removed himself from her and flopped to the mattress, the covers and sheets scattered and ruined as they both struggled to catch their breath.

Terry of course was the first to speak, voice deepened out of exhaustion, “We need to shower. Bad,” he smirked, “I’ll get you a shirt, c’mon fore’ you fall asleep.”

It took all of the manpower they collectively had between them to hobble to the bathroom and clean up - both parties shooting sneaky glances between flushed cheeks, pursed smiles and snickers as they rid themselves of the night's essence. London tipped back to the bed first but grimaced at the damp spot in the covers. Terry on the other hand, smirked sheepishly at the mess as it wasn’t his first rodeo and opted to knock the linen off in full - a thick blanket from an older comforter set in tow. He was quick with his set up, carefully eying her as she made herself comfortable in the striped duvet. The wild animal from before, gone, it was back to calm and sweet Terrance doting on every wince. He mumbled apologies as he made the bed dip with his weight, opting to lay his hand on her stomach as London wrapped her arms into his. They would delve into how world changing this dynamic would be for their friend groups in the morning - the only thing mattering now was rest amongst one another.

And as for her midterm? It happily was good as fucked just as she’d been.

[lifeisbutadream444]

stale

terry richmond x black!reader summary ; in which terry, despite never being one for birthdays, realizes maybe a push was all he needed? word count ; 4.9k warnings ; none - mostly fluff, some vulgar language used, a SMIDGE (barely...) suggestive towards the end...enjoy!

He doesn’t even know how he got here or how in the hell he let these niggas talk him into this, and yet…

It’s barely midnight, and he feels he’s seen enough. He needs air or something. Everything feels so stuffy and too hot, plus the smell of weed is giving him a headache, and he just needs a breather.

He heads upstairs to an empty room and finds a balcony. Taking a seat outside and enjoying the crisp night air. He takes a sip of the same cup of beer he’s been practically holding hostage since he came to the party and almost gags. It’s warm and tastes like piss. He scrunches his face, forces the sip down, and sets his cup to the side as he slinks down in the chair. 

He closes his eyes, forcing himself to take a breather, and tries to enjoy the quiet moment, not knowing how long he has before he’s found and forced back down to the party.

You came with some friends, mostly because they needed a designated driver, and you weren’t much of a drinker. Plus, you just so happened to have a car, so you supposed it worked out. 

Outside of them, you hadn’t known nor recognized anyone. Though you tell yourself it’s okay to have some fun, as you’ve been putting in a lot of work this semester. And for a while, you do, putting on a smile and surprisingly enjoying yourself, but after about an hour and a half, plus your girls find their little "fun time" friends…heading off lord knows where, so you figure you’ll busy yourself until they’re ready to go. 

After walking around for a while, you come across a room that thankfully isn’t occupied (you had a couple of awkward run-ins). Heading in, you close the door quietly behind you, the balcony immediately catching your eye, so you make your way out, stretching your limbs as you yawn.

"Long night, huh?" 

The deep voice causes you to jump as you make a noise you don't even recognize. Since you weren't expecting anyone else out here, you turn to find the voice. And you almost immediately recognize him as you catch your breath.

You put your hand on your heart, steadying yourself and calming your breathing while you laugh awkwardly.

"Fuck! You scared me, sorry…I didn’t know anyone else was out here. If I’m bothering, I can go. I didn’t mean to intrude." He readily puts a hand up, shaking his head softly. 

"No, no, you’re good…I needed a moment away from the party, too, so I get it."

You smile softly nodding as you find a place near the railing. In moments like this, you hate your need to fill the awkward silence with noise so it feels less awkward…not that it ever works.

"Yeah, it’s pretty stuffy down there….and a lil rank, won’t lie." Your words cause a laugh to come from him, which brings a smile to your own face; maybe today is the day your big mouth will work in your favor. 

You turn, leaning your back and arms against the railing, looking at him.

"What?" the genuine confusion and slight concern on his face make you giggle, and you shake your head, calming him to some degree.

"Nothing, nothing, it’s just…" You stop yourself, honestly not sure what you want to say, but force words out nonetheless.

"It’s just nice to hear you speak, I guess? I don’t know if you know, but we share an art class, Professor Tanusia?" It's almost like a lightbulb goes off as he nods and smiles at your words.

Part of Terry is surprised by the conversation, and though he initially came to the balcony to be alone, he happily welcomes the new distraction. Normally, he would find any number of reasons as to why he needs to be excused from a situation like this, but for some reason, he finds himself wanting to stay.

He apologizes for not being a big talker and also explains how he didn’t even want to come tonight but was essentially forced to by some friends. 

"Oh trust me, I know the feeling all too well…I’m pretty much playing sober companion tonight so yeaaah. Also, I think I've met a few of your friends. Seems like they’ve taken quite a liking to my girls."

You both laugh at the insinuation and take that as a way to slowly get to know one another. Your small conversation isn't much to write home about, but even through the small awkward silences and rushed stumbling over each other, it still manages to be nice and surprisingly comfortable despite the current situation. 

Through one of those lovely bouts of awkward silence, his phone ringing forces him to look away from the side of your face as he apologizes and takes his call.

"Heeyy Nana…yeah, of course, for you? Always…" You turn, facing the railing, attempting to give him a little privacy at the very least, though you can’t help but smile at his words. Because, of course, he’s as handsome as he is, as sweet as he is, AND he loves his nana….sigh, it might just be a setup you fear.

You try not to be TOO nosy, but you catch a few words between their conversation. The biggest thing you catch is her singing the beginnings of Happy Birthday to him. When she finishes, he chuckles timidly, a sound you’re coming to quite enjoy, and he thanks her warmly. 

As he finishes his call, he apologizes again, and you shake your head, telling him not to worry.

"Nah, you’re all good…and, uh, happy birthday, by the way…." you say with a small laugh; however, his embarrassed sigh and tense shoulders are enough to make you feel bad about even the possibility of making him feel uncomfortable.

"Sorry! I wasn’t eavesdropping, I swear. Also, I won’t tell anyone….I mean...unless they already know, hence why they forced you to come tonight?" He shakes his head and smiles at you sadly.

"No, you’re good, I promise. Thank you, by the way. But uh, yeah, nah, they don’t know; I’m not too big on birthdays, just another day for me…I guess." He shrugs as he looks back out into the view in front of you both, and though you nod understandingly, it still manages to make your heart feel heavy at his declaration. 

You’ve been through your fair share of shit, but no one should be alone on their birthday. And with that thought roaming around in your very overactive brain, you make a choice; you nod to yourself as you turn to face him, grinning.

"Terry…" you call out to him cautiously, trying to seem very casual about your evil (completely well and good-intentioned) little plan.

His face grows warm hearing you say his name, and he doesn’t know what comes over him when he opens his mouth to speak.

"Terrance…you can call me Terrance." You smile shyly and nod. 

"Okay, Terrance…" The way it sounds and feels coming out of your mouth makes the smile grow wider on your face. You’re almost embarrassed, and you try and force the feeling down as you finish speaking to him.

"…I am going to do something for you, and it will 1000% change your life, and all you gotta do is say yes to my next question…

So…do you trust me?" You ask him with an unreadable expression. He watches you closely with furrowed eyebrows and quirks one as he answers.

"Uh, y…es?" Causing you to laugh as you nod. 

"Good. Follow me." As you make your way downstairs, you hear his heavy footsteps following close behind. Grabbing your jacket from near the front door, you head outside, get into your car, and once Terry is in, you both head off.

"So, uh…something tells me you’re not gonna tell me where we’re going, hm?"

You laugh, throwing your head back slightly, and signal your turn light. Terry watches you closely, something about the way it sounds, how it comes out of your mouth, so genuine, so natural, almost laughing from your full belly makes him smile, wanting to hear more.

"You catch on quick…I like you, I think I’ll keep you around." You turn another corner, sparing him a quick glance, as you keep your eyes on the road, smiling softly.  

After about a few more minutes of driving, you pull up to a pharmacy. Once you park, you hop out of the car.

Terry eyes you suspiciously and is confused, but he follows behind you.

"Before you speak…Yes, I know, it’s weird. But it’s also past 2am, and we don’t have a lot of options, so the next best thing it is; now, follow me, young man!" You do a silly march to the sliding doors, walk inside, and head straight towards the snack section.

From behind you, he shakes his head lightly at your silliness and makes a small saluting gesture.

"Sir, yes, sir…." He mumbles as he jogs slightly to catch up with you.

Once he does, you’re standing with a hand on your hip, tapping a foot on the floor, biting the inside of your cheek, and he just stares at you, awaiting your next move.

You stare between him and the generic cupcakes with a furrowed brow as if studying them for a few moments and put a hand out toward them.

"Pick."

He looks at you, beyond confused, and scratches against his forehead as he speaks.

"What?"

You gesture towards the 5 different options in front of you both and tell him once again.

"Pick one…."

It takes him a minute or so, but once he puts two and two together he sighs, laughing quietly to himself. He shakes his head as he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck.

"You know you don’t have to do this, right? When I was telling you earlier, it wasn’t for some sort of pi—"

You hold a hand up, cutting him off as you turn to face him, staring him directly in the eyes.

"Terry- Terrance….it is your 21st birthday. You were already at a shitty house party you were forced to go to, and it is now…

You check your watch.

It's 2:37am, and though extremely sweet, the only person who’s called you is your nana. Not only that, but you said your birthday is "just another day" for you….And because of that, respectfully, I refuse for her call to be the highlight of your day and perhaps even the only thing you looked forward to."

You step closer to him, closing a barely noticeable gap, and bring a hand to his shoulder, grasping at him softly.

"So I need you to turn this off and pick a damn cupcake…please." You say through a laugh, poking at his forehead lightly and stepping back to give him space to make his choice.

He just stares at you for what feels like forever. Initially, you know he needs a moment to recover from you being all in his space like that, especially since you barely know one another, which is starting to make you nervous and feel like you possibly overstepped.

That is, until a corner of his mouth slowly falls upward, into that sweet, calm grin. It's almost like he's trying to suppress a larger smile, and it makes you smile yourself.

Terry thinks about how close you were only a few moments ago. To anyone looking from the outside, the exchange barely lasted more than a minute, but god, it felt like at least 20+ to him. It’s been a long time since he felt so nervous like this around a person, but you weirdly make him feel both on edge and oh-so comfortable at the same time.

He never does much for himself; everything he does is usually for other people. It's not that he minds it, but he honestly cannot remember the last time someone forced him to take time and make a choice just for him. It almost feels like too much responsibility, which is not a phrase in Terry’s vocabulary.

He shakes his head, pushing out a laugh as he recalls your words. "…turn this off, and pick a damn cupcake…" And pick a damn cupcake he did.

"Double chocolate…"

You smile, nodding as you pick it up and hand it to him.

"Great choice." You say as you take some cash out your back pocket, handing it over to him.

"Okay now go pay for that, and I’ll get some candles and stuff and meet you at the car."

He stands back, giving you a small salute, and heads towards the register. You can’t help but laugh to yourself as you go get the remainder of the items, pay, and meet him back at the car.

The way he idly lazes against your car, like it's the most natural thing in the world, makes you laugh. How a person can seem like they just fit in a place they've never been before is beyond you...but you are starting to gather the key to "understanding" Terry is to simply just leave things be, things'll make sense, when they make sense.

"We ready?" His words pull you from your ever-running mind as you unlock the doors for you both.

You hold up the bag of goodies and nod as you look him in the eyes and just barely brush past him to get in the car.

"Mhmm, let us go." he clicks his tongue against his teeth, smiling as he climbs into the car.

You start it up and begin driving, turning on the radio and letting it play low. 

The ambiance in the car between you both is almost palpable. He holds the small 4-piece case of cupcakes in his hand on his lap as he squeezes his other hand between the seat and his thigh. His hands are sweaty, and he is embarrassingly overthinking every moment he shares with you.

Though he won’t readily admit it, he already knew who you were on the balcony, he’s seen you around campus, and he most definitely remembered you from your shared 10am art class. He’s never been much of a morning person, but seeing you with a smile every time you strolled in at 9:55 am on the dot, taking your seat, catching up with a few friends from the class, and always bringing along some kind of snack.

It made him wonder what your favorite was if you were more of a sweet or a savory kind of person like him? He hadn’t really ever spoken to you before, but he’s always wanted to. 

Shy isn’t necessarily the word someone would use to describe Terry; reserved is more accurate. But you make those things seem so unimportant. You make him want to get closer to you and learn more. So long as it means basking in whatever light you shine, then so be it.

He’s brought back to earth when he feels your hand on his leg. Thus causing a shiver to run along his spine as he looks at your hand, following up your arm and landing at those big and beautiful brown eyes.

"Hey, we’re here…" you say to him softly.

He’s almost too embarrassed to speak, barely mumbling out an apology as he nods. Trying his best not to think about the embarrassing spaced-out look he probably had on his face. Shaking your head, you squeeze his thigh once before letting go.

"All good, come on." You climb out of the car, feeling the cool air against your face. The Overlook has always been one of your favorite places. You give yourself a moment after heading to your trunk as you open it and set a few things up for you both. You look out at the skyline, hoping that Terry will enjoy the view as much as you do. Climbing in the newly set up trunk, you realize Terry still hasn't gotten out of the car yet.

"You coming?" Your words pull him out of his head as he nods and gets out of the car, climbing his long-limbed self into the trunk with you.

"I know it’s not the biggest thing in the world, but it’s either this or sit directly on the ground…look, it was pretty short notice." He laughs, getting comfortable enough, and shakes his head.

"Nah, this is good. Okay, so don’t leave me in suspense. What are we doing out here?" he asks as he takes in the view himself. You watch him closely. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking it all in, breathing in the earthy scent and almost relaxing wholly with you.

You smile brightly, putting a hand out so he can hand over the cupcake pack. He does and watches you as you put things together.

"Ahh, and there comes the fun part." You say, setting it on your lap, taking out the bag from the pharmacy, and setting up the small candle pack. As you try your best to spread the 10 little sticks evenly across the 4 cupcakes, he looks at you softly, taking in your composed nature and the determination in your eyes to ensure everything is perfect. This causes him to smile and chuckle to himself quietly. Someone he barely knows is sitting here trying to make something perfect….for him? What an unusual night. What an even more unusual and unexpected birthday.

“And don- wait…” You light the candles quickly and then smile to yourself, proud of your simple but hard work.

“Okay…now I'm done!” You smile up at him as you hold the case of cupcakes up carefully so as not to put out the candles.

He smiles back at you, shaking his head, probably at your excitement, but his smile is so sweet and soft that you can let it go at once. He leans down to blow out the candles—

“Terrance! Make a wish first nigga…” he looks at you like you have two heads before he rolls his eyes with laugh.

“Are you serious? There’s only 10 candles, and I’m turning 21…you want me to actually make a wish on this?”

Looking at him with a slight glare, you explain- "Well there were only 3's, 5's, 7's, 8's and one pack of 10 left…so either you were gonna be 73, 58 or 10…had to make a judgment call." you say with a shrug.

He laughs, nodding as he understands the cosmic predicament you found yourself in. 

"So I'm 10 years old today huh?" he asks with an amused smile, making you nod along to his question.

"Yes, you are turning 10 today, Terrance. Now close your eyes and make a wish…I'll even close my eyes and turn my head away if it makes you feel any better." Though you are joking, Terry is sure that if he asked, you would actually do it. He huffs out a laugh and settles down slightly as he closes his eyes for a few moments and makes his wish.

You use this time to take in his face simply; the only light between you is the candles and just a bit coming from the skyline at the Overlook. You have to physically force your hands to stay put. He almost seems like a painting. You can see his dark circles, probably from a long semester, perhaps from something more. You wish you could help; just lessen the load on his shoulders even if for a little while. You see a small scar on the edge of his left eyebrow, you wonder from what, hoping one day you can hear the story. 

He blows out the candles after another minute or so, and when he opens his eyes, you're both just staring at each other. The moment is nerve-wracking but also the most comfortable you have felt in a long time. It's almost a battle of wills to see who will break first, and you feel your stomach turning and your neck growing warm, so you take the initiative, clearing your throat and looking away, setting the case down between you both and taking the blown out candles off and setting them aside. You feel his eyes on you as you clean up a little and take a cupcake out of case, which he does as well.

You both bite into your cupcakes, and after a few moments of chewing, you look at him with a sad chewing smile.

"That is…stal—"

"Yeah…that's stale…"

Nodding along with him, you force the bite down. You look at one another in silence again before you both break out in laughter. 

"Well, here's to your 10th birthday, huh?" 

His laughs only continue, and it makes you feel proud. Hopefully, it's better than the day he would have had otherwise. 

"Best 10th birthday a guy would ask for…" he says as he looks at you softly. You smile, nodding, feeling warm inside and then you remember that you have something else for him. 

"Oh! That's not all…we still have one more surprise in store…" he looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, and you look at him with a knowing look. He shakes his head, closing his eyes, causing you to laugh, and you pull the small gift from behind your back, placing it in his lap. 

He feels around it and opens his eyes. He immediately looks up at you with a large grin, you can't help but laugh slightly, knowing you may have just hit the mark. 

He takes the generic stick on bow off it and looks through the soft leather-bound sketchbook. 

"I know, I know…I'm amazing, you don't have to say it… and you are very welcome." Your sarcastic but playful tone causes him to hum in agreement, rolling his eyes. 

"…You got this from the pharmacy didn't you? That's why you sent me away to get the cupcakes..." his words cause you to stop dead in your tracks, looking at him with an unreadable expression, blinking slowly. 

"The magic…your 10th birthday….yeah, you're ruining it…" Your words cause him to laugh hard, throwing his head back. Once he catches his breath, he looks at you with an apologetic smile as he nods. You aren't even a little serious, but something about watching him be so happy, even in just this moment, makes you think, how in the hell could anyone ever be angry with him? Ever be anything less than nice to him? Do anything less than constantly consider him? 

"Okay, okay…I'm sorry— All jokes aside though, thank you forreal, this is dope…thank you." he looks at you so genuinely, and you can feel the honesty and gratefulness pouring off of him, and it's taking a whole lot in you to not just reach forward and feel his warmth against you. You simply nod and try your best to keep your racing heartbeat at bay. 

You look at your watch and see it's a little past 3am, and you start cleaning up. 

"We should probably start heading back. I promised to get the girls back to campus at a decent hour." He nods understanding, and you both hop back in the front seats and take the drive back to the house. 

The ride is quiet but so warm, a thrilling contrast to the crisp air of the late night/early morning. You both steal and sneak glances at one another throughout the ride, but it's all unspoken, and you wouldn't want it any other way. 

You catch a long red light when you are down the street from the house, and you look over to a closed-eyed Terry. He seems so much more calm and at ease than he was earlier when you interrupted his time on the balcony. He holds a faint smile on his face, and you can't help but smile yourself as the light turns green and you face the road again, knowing that no matter what happens, this is definitely an experience you will take with you for the rest of your life. You just hope he feels the same.

As you finish checking on the second little munchkin, you leave her door cracked and head back into the kitchen, catching your husband finishing up the dishes from dinner. 

You smile to yourself and head over to the large sign made by your 3-year-old twins Elijah and Iliyah, which reads; "HAPPY 31st BIRTHDAY DADDY!!!"

He hears the chair scrape behind him as you step on it to pull it down. 

"You can leave it up for a little longer…for Jah and Ili—"

You laugh at his attempt to act nonchalantly as you climb down from the chair and move to put away the remainder of dinner. When you finish, you run your hand along his back as you pass him near the sink; hearing his soft hum in reply to your small touch brings a smile to your face as you head over to the couch, preparing your last gifts for the night.

"Be quick, the night isn't complete yet, Mr. Richmond…" he finishes up the last dishes, drying his hands, and meets you at the couch. 

Just as he sits, you finish lighting the last candle. "We finally hit that big 2 1 huh?" He says laughing upon seeing the numbered candles on the cupcakes. 

He closes his eyes and makes his wish. Once he blows out the candles, he takes the case from you, passing you a cupcake, as he takes his own. 

You both bite into it and share a look.

"Dear god…all these years later and its still fucking terrible." You can't help but laugh as you nod, watching him closely. He looks at you, rather looks through you as he takes your cupcake setting it alongside his on the coffee table.

"Mrs. Richmond, I know there's more…that big ol' brain of yours is always working." You push against his leg playfully and grab your gift from behind a throw pillow, handing it to him. 

"Now…when you open it, I know you'll fight the urge to have a stroke…but I need you to know I was as safe and precise as possible. Practically used a surgical hand to get it out— I promise." he looks almost scared as he opens the gift. When he sees it, he's stunned and can't stop himself from looking between you and the framed picture of a sketch he made of the Overlook with you at the edge of it. 

This sketch being the first thing he ever drew in the gift you gave him ten years ago. 

"It's a pretty important moment in our relationship. It only felt right, plus I know you've been wanting to have more of your old sketches in the new office, so ya know, two birds-one stone…" Your words trail off as he sets the framed sketch next to the pharmacy cupcakes, pulling you into him. He holds you close, kissing your temple, and you enjoy his warmth as usual. You both sit in a comfortable silence as you listen to his soft breathing; it almost lulls you straight to sleep after a long day with the kids preparing for tonight, though the clearing of his throat causes you to open your eyes, giving him all your attention. 

"Did I ever tell you what I wished for that night?" You shake your head at his soft words, feeling the rumble of his chuckles against your back.

Once you help your friends into your car—with Terry's help, of course—you get settled in yourself, and he jogs around to the driver's side as you roll down your window. 

"Terrance…" he just stares at you with a fond look and god you want to kiss him so badly. You keep a hand on the steering wheel and the other lying against the door with your face resting against your fist, attempting to cover your stupidly embarrassing grin.

"Hmm?" You roll your eyes and shake your head while laughing. 

"Oh my god…go in the house!" suppressing your giggle, you purse your lips and nod towards his friend's place.

He bites his lip as he tries to keep his own smile down; you actually feel like hitting him now. He's not being fair in the slightest at this point.

"Am I gonna see you tomorrow, huh?" He tries his best to keep the giddy feeling inside, but he stares at you so closely and sees that adorable smile on your face, no matter how much you try to hide it. Fuck, he needs to kiss you. 

"Maybe…I don't know. We'll see…" you say looking at him innocently, shrugging your shoulders. 

That's the last straw for him. He looks at you with a face you can barely read, and just as you are about to ask if he's okay, he speaks. 

"I really want to kiss you…" You feel your heart stop and while you try and catch your breath, you feel yourself nodding.

You watch as he bends down to meet you at the window; feeling his lips against yours is like nothing you've ever felt. All that overdramatic, sappy storybook stuff that people talk about…unfortunately, it is very much real. Though fortunately for you…you are over the moon. It's him causing it. 

He brings a hand to your face, his thumb softly grazing against your cheek and ear, almost pulling you impossibly closer to him, which forces a soft whimper from your throat, procuring a groan of his own. 

Hearing a car horn snatches you both from the moment, and you immediately put a hand over your mouth. A moment later, you realize the sound was of your own making. 

Forgetting that your hand was even on the wheel, in trying to get yourself closer to Terry, you mistakenly slid against it. 

You both look at each other and laugh shyly, trying to keep your eyes off one another while also stealing any glances you can. 

"I-- Yeah…I am gonna go. I'm gonna go…" you say, keeping your eyes on the road as you start up your car.

He nods softly, chuckling as he taps the top of your car twice, backing up and giving you space to pull off. 

You look at him for another few moments and start pulling off.

"Goodnight, Terrance…" You say softly as you drive off. You watch him from your rearview, and he stands there all the way until you can no longer see him. 

"So you got your wish?" you ask him as you turn lightly in his hold, just wanting to look at him, laying your chin against his chest.

He looks down at you, nodding, as he kisses against your nose, temple, and lips. 

"Seems like it…" 

⇒ bottom header made by @thecutestgrotto + @strangergraphics

© wonderlustwrites

[lifeisbutadream444]

Playing Games - Part 2

Aaron Pierre x Reader

Summary: After finally committing to a monogamous relationship, distance, fame, and the ever-watchful public eye put cracks in the foundation of what was once unshakable trust.

Warnings: toxic af, smut, angst

Aaron is in New York. You are in L.A. And for the first time since taking the leap into a monogamous relationship, you’re waking up alone.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That this is normal. That this is what happens when you date someone just as deep in the industry as you are. There will be press tours, there will be events, there will be distance. You both knew that. You both prepared for it.

But that doesn’t make it any easier.

Especially when your phone screen is flooded with images of him with her.

The first time you see it, you’re on set, tucked into your trailer between scenes. It’s innocent enough at first—a random post on Twitter with a grainy shot from a gala, Aaron seated next to her. You scroll down, trying not to care, but then the clearer pictures appear.

She’s whispering in his ear. He’s laughing. Their heads are close together, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Then, worse—posed photos. Beautiful, perfectly lit shots of them standing together, her hand resting lightly on his chest, his arm grazing her back. And then the Instagram post:

A night well spent with the one and only @AaronPierreOfficial. More to come.

More to come!?

Your stomach twists as you stare at the post, your thumb hovering over the screen. Your first instinct is to check his account—to see if he’s posted her too, to see if there’s anything, any indication that this is just PR, just networking, just a fucking coincidence.

Instead, you see something worse.

They’re following each other now.

You lock your phone and throw it across the trailer like if it burned you.

——————

For the next few days, you do everything in your power to ignore it. You tell yourself not to be that girl, the insecure one who starts a fight over social media when you know—deep down—you have nothing to worry about. Aaron has been nothing but perfect during his time in New York. Loyal. Devoted. He calls you when he can, always with a tired but eager voice, always telling you how much he misses you. He’s never out longer than he needs to be, only focused on work.

But he doesn’t mention her.

And then, a few nights later, it happens again.

Another event. Another flood of pictures. Another Instagram post—this time a carousel of professionally shot photos of them at a fashion show, laughing, posing, her head tilted toward him in a way that makes your blood boil.

This time, you don’t ignore it.

You see the post as you’re lying in bed, your script abandoned on your nightstand. The moment your eyes land on the images, your entire body stiffens.

Your phone is in your hands before you can talk yourself out of it, fingers already dialing before your pride can stop you.

Aaron picks up on the third ring, his voice warm but tired. “Hey, sweetheart.”

There’s a pause. A deep inhale.

Then—flatly, coldly—“So you and that bitch are a thing now? Thanks for letting me know.”

Aaron sighs. Actually sighs. Like this conversation was inconvenient.

“Oh, come on, babe, not you too.”

The sheer casualness of his voice makes your irritation flare. “Not me too? Are you fucking serious? I’ve been sitting here trying to be the perfect, understanding girlfriend while the internet is convinced you’re already replacing me!”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?” Your voice wavers, and you hate it. “Do you have any idea what that’s like, Aaron? Watching someone else with their hands all over you while I have to sit here in silence, pretending it doesn’t bother me?”

Aaron exhales sharply. “You’re acting like I have control over this.”

“You do! You don’t have to pose with her, you don’t have to entertain whatever the fuck she’s trying to do. And you sure as hell don’t have to follow her on Instagram to give her even more validation. Why are you trying to stay in touch with her?”

There’s a pause. Then, voice lower—“I followed her back because I didn’t want to make things awkward at the event. That’s all.”

You laugh bitterly. “Oh, well, as long as she’s comfortable, who gives a fuck about me, right?”

Aaron groans. “Come on, don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what, Aaron? Have feelings? Be pissed that my boyfriend is being treated like some eligible bachelor while I have to sit here and keep my mouth shut?”

Aaron exhales sharply, the frustration clear in his voice. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

You let out a bitter laugh, gripping your phone tighter. “Oh, you can’t believe it? Try sitting on my end, watching the whole world act like you’re single while I have to pretend none of it matters.”

“Pretending I’m single? You know that’s not true.”

“Then why does it look like it?” The words come out sharper than you intended, but you don’t care. “Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for me? Seeing you all over the internet with her—”

“Oh my God, we were just talking.” His voice rises, defensive, impatient. “Do you seriously think I’m fucking other women when I spend every minute of my free time with you?”

You hesitate, your chest tightening. “No.” Your voice is quieter now, but the anger hasn’t left. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, Aaron. That doesn’t mean it’s not messing with my head.”

He lets out a humorless chuckle, and something about it makes your stomach drop. “You know, for someone who’s always saying she trusts me, you’re really fucking bad at showing it.”

Your pulse spikes, and before you can think, you snap, “And for someone who claims to love me, you’re really bad at acting like it.”

Silence. Thick, heavy, suffocating.

You can hear his breathing through the phone, hear the way he’s trying to rein himself in. But you don’t take it back.

Finally, his voice comes, low and tight. “I don’t have time for this.”

Your heart clenches, but you force yourself to match his tone. “Yeah, but you probably have time to fuck other bitches.”

And then, just like that before you can finish your sentence, he hangs up.

You stare at your phone, your pulse ringing in your ears, your chest aching in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

For the first time since choosing him, you wonder if you made a mistake as you cry yourself to sleep.

———

You should stop looking. You know you should.

But the moment you wake up, the ache in your chest still fresh, you reach for your phone out of habit. And there it is. Everywhere.

A new interview with her.

The headline alone makes your stomach twist:

“Pop Star Dodges Question About Rumored Romance with Aaron Pierre – ‘We’ll See’”

Your heart pounds as you press play, the video loading instantly. She’s sitting on a talk show couch, all smiles, dressed in something sleek and effortless. The host leans in, grinning.

“So, I have to ask—you and Aaron Pierre. The internet is obsessed. Is there anything going on there?”

She laughs, tilting her head. “Aaron is such a gentleman.”

Your stomach churns.

The host pushes. “So, is he your man or what?”

She smirks. “I mean… we’ll see.”

Your blood runs cold.

We’ll see?!

Not a denial. Not a correction. Not even a casual “Oh, we’re just friends.” Just enough mystery to keep the speculation going, to keep the headlines spinning.

You lock your phone, your hands shaking.

But it’s not over. Because not even an hour later, another clip starts circulating.

This time, it’s Aaron.

A red carpet interview, all flashing lights and polished charm. The reporter brings her up, because of course they do.

“So, you and Sophia Saturn, is there any possibility for a romance”

Aaron huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “Ah, man.”

Your chest tightens as the reporter pushes, eyes gleaming. “Come on, give us something. The people want to know.”

Aaron shifts, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, we’re not together,”

Your shoulders sag slightly. Okay. That’s… good. That’s—

Then he shrugs, smiling a little. “But she’s cool, man. I’ve got a lot of respect for her.”

That’s it. That’s all he says.

Not a strong denial. Not a “No, I have a girlfriend.” Just vague enough to let the rumors keep going.

The interviewer grins. “So you’re saying there’s a chance?”

Aaron laughs. And you feel like you might actually throw up.

———

You don’t hear from him that night.

Or the next day.

You don’t text. You don’t call. You refuse to be the one to reach out first.

But the silence kills you.

You cry yourself to sleep again, torn between heartbreak and fury. Between wanting to believe in him and wondering if you’ve been an idiot this entire time. You feel like one.

———

The following night, you wake up to the sound of knocking.

At first, you think you’re dreaming, the dull thud thud thud blending with the haze of your half-conscious mind. But then it comes again, louder, more insistent.

Your heart lurches.

You stumble out of bed, barely processing, your body moving on instinct. You open the door—

And there he is.

Standing on your doorstep, hoodie pulled over his head, bags under his eyes, looking tired as fuck.

Your breath catches. “What are you—”

Then, voice low, hoarse, like he hasn’t slept, he murmurs, “I came back early.”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “Congratulations.”

Aaron sighs, running a hand down his face. “I needed to see you.”

You shake your head, your chest tightening. “Funny. You didn’t seem to need me when you were laughing about your maybe relationship with another woman on a red carpet.”

His brows furrow, jaw flexing. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh, really?” You let out a bitter laugh. “Because it looked like that.”

Aaron steps forward, voice more urgent now. “Baby—”

“Don’t call me that,” you bite out, your voice breaking slightly. “You don’t get to come here in the middle of the night and act like a few apologies will fix this.”

Aaron exhales harshly, raking a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the tension in his shoulders. “I fucked up, alright? I know that. But you’re blowing this out of proportion.”

Your head jerks back, something inside you snapping. “Out of proportion?” You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, rage searing through your veins. “You let the entire world think you were single, Aaron. You let her feed into it. You sat there laughing, smiling, making me look like a fucking idiot while you act thirsty as fuck over this bitch. And I’m blowing it out of proportion?”

Aaron clenches his jaw, shifting on his feet, but he doesn’t argue.

You take another step back, shaking your head. “You don’t even know how to be in a real relationship.”

His eyes darken, something unreadable flickering across his face. “That’s not fair.”

“Am I wrong?” Your voice wavers, but your anger doesn’t falter. “You’ve spent years doing whatever you wanted, being with whoever you wanted, never once worrying about how it affected someone else. That’s who you are, Aaron. You don’t think about anyone but yourself.”

His entire body tenses, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “That’s not true.”

You scoff. “No? Then tell me—when did you think about me these past few days? Was it when you let some other woman act like she had a claim on you? Was it when you barely denied it? Or was it when you ignored me for two fucking days because you were too pissed to face what you did?”

Aaron’s nostrils flare, his frustration boiling over. “I didn’t ignore you because I didn’t care—I ignored you because I do! I knew if I called, we’d fight, and I’d say some stupid shit, and I—” He cuts himself off, exhaling harshly. “I knew I fucked up, okay? But I didn’t know how to fix it. And I needed time to think.”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh bubbling up. “Right. Because you needed time. And meanwhile, I got to sit here, spiraling, watching everyone talk about how you have a new girl, feeling fucking delusional for thinking I ever had you in the first place.”

Aaron flinches. His lips press into a thin line, his gaze flicking to the floor.

You step forward now, your fury rising like a tidal wave. “You don’t know how to consider someone else’s feelings before your own. I should’ve known better. I should’ve fucking known that I was just another woman you’d make feel special until it got inconvenient.”

His head snaps up, his eyes burning into yours. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” Your voice cracks. “Because right now, it just feels like I’m another woman who thought she could change you.”

Aaron’s face hardens, his jaw ticking, but he doesn’t speak.

Tears sting your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Not in front of him. Not when he still can’t say what you need to hear.

You inhale shakily, taking another step back. “Just leave me alone, Aaron. You apparently don't have a problem with that.”

You reach for the door, pulling it open, your voice barely above a whisper. “Go home, please”

But he doesn’t move.

He stands there, staring at you, chest rising and falling unevenly, his jaw tight. His entire body radiates tension—like he’s forcing himself to stay still when every part of him is screaming to do the opposite.

“No,” he says, voice rough, unwavering.

You blink, anger flaring. “Aaron—”

“I’m not leaving.” His tone is low but firm, his blue-grey eyes dark with determination. “I’m not letting you push me away like this. Not after everything.”

Frustration bubbles in your chest, but there’s something else too—something warmer, deeper, something that makes your stomach clench. Because this is who he is. Stubborn, relentless, unwilling to let things break without fighting first. And even now, when you’re furious with him, when your heart is still aching, you can’t pretend that doesn’t mean something.

“Aaron,” you start again, voice shaking, “I told you, I don’t even want to see you right now.”

His gaze softens slightly, but the determination never wavers. “Then don’t look at me. Just listen.”

You exhale sharply, gripping the edge of the door, fingers digging into the wood. “I’ve been listening to you for days, Aaron. Listening to you not deny her hard enough, listening to you brush everything off like it’s not a big deal, listening to nothing from you when I needed to hear from you the most.”

His expression tightens, like every word is a punch to the gut. “I know I handled it wrong. I know I should’ve done more, said more, made it clearer—”

“Then why didn’t you?” The words burst out of you, raw and desperate. “Why didn’t you just say what you needed to say when it mattered?”

Aaron steps closer, closing the space between you, his presence overwhelming. “Because I’ve never done this before,” he admits, his voice quieter now, rough with something vulnerable. “I’ve never had to think about how my actions affect someone else. Never had to protect something real like this.” He exhales, eyes searching yours. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

Your breath hitches.

Aaron shakes his head, jaw clenching. “I don’t know how to be perfect in this, but I do know I love you. I know I can’t fucking breathe knowing you’re sitting here thinking I don’t care, thinking I’d risk losing you for a goddamn headline.” His fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you. “And I know I’m not leaving until you believe me.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them away, your walls still up, still guarded.

“I came back early for a reason. I came straight here for a reason. Because if I wanted to take the easy way out, I would’ve. But I’m standing here because I don’t want easy. I want you.”

You swallow hard, your breath uneven. “I don’t know if that’s enough, Aaron.”

His jaw tightens, his hands balling into fists. “Then tell me what is enough. Tell me what I have to do, and I’ll fucking do it. I don’t care what it takes, I don’t care how long it takes. If you need me to shout it from the rooftops, I will. If you need me to cut off every single woman in my life, consider it done. Just tell me what you need.”

Your throat tightens, because this is what you wanted, isn’t it? For him to fight for you. To prove that this is different. That he’s different.

And God, you believe him.

But you’re still hurting.

You look away, exhaling shakily. “I think I just need some space.”

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his voice dropping to that low, rich tone that always turns your brain to static.

Your pulse stutters. “Aaron—”

“You want space?” His fingers graze your hip, just barely, the contact so light it makes you shiver. “Then why haven’t you stepped away?”

You should. You should push him off, make him suffer, make him work for the privilege of touching you.

But you don’t move.

Aaron smirks, like he knows, like he’s already won. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, lips hovering just above your ear. "You missed me," he whispers, his voice so deep and smooth it nearly undoes you. His nose skims along your jaw, slow, teasing. "Just admit it, sweetheart. You missed me, so now you’re acting out."

Your breath hitches. "I—"

But then his hands are on you—gripping your waist, tugging you against him, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Whatever argument you were about to make dissolves into a shaky exhale.

Aaron hums, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "That’s what I thought."

You want to fight him, want to hold onto the anger that still simmers inside you. But then his lips find your neck—slow, deliberate—his hands sliding down to grab your ass.

"I can make you forget all of this," he murmurs, voice thick with promise. Then, his grip tightens, his breath hot against your ear. "You can be as mad as you want, baby," he rasps, his voice low, rough with hunger. "You can hate me, curse me, swear you’re done—but we both know you’ll still end up right here."

His fingers dig into your hips, owning you. "Because no one makes you feel the way I do. No one ever will."

Your stomach clenches, heat pooling low in your body. “Aaron…”

“Shh,” he soothes, kissing his way down to your collarbone, his hands gripping your hips tighter, grounding you. “Let me make it up to you, baby.”

And then he lifts you effortlessly, his soft, thick lips crashing onto yours, stealing every last bit of resistance you thought you had.

You should make him earn you, make him wonder—just for once—if you’ll ever let him have you again.

But as he presses you against the door, his tongue sliding against yours, his body solid and hot against you—you don’t want to.

You’ve always been powerless against him. And he knows it.

He groans into the kiss, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your thigh tightly as he holds you pinned against the door. He pours all his regret, all his love, into the heated caress of his lips and tongue against yours.

“Mmm, you taste even better than I remembered, he murmurs huskily as he breaks the kiss, trailing his lips along your jaw and down the column of your throat. “I missed you so fucking much, baby. Missed this. Missed you.”

He nips at your pulse point, soothing the sting with his tongue before suckling hard, intent on leaving his mark on your skin. His hips grind against yours, letting you feel the evidence of his arousal.

“Tell me you missed me too, sweetheart. Tell me you forgive me.”

You whimper and arch into his touch, your hands fist in his shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. “I... I did miss you. So much.”

He captures your mouth in another searing kiss, “Fuck, baby, I needed to hear that. Needed to feel you.”

His hands roam your curves greedily, mapping out every dip and swell he's missed so desperately.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. So fucking sorry for hurting you, for making you doubt me. You're the only one I want, the only one I need.”

He starts walking you backwards towards the bedroom, never breaking the kiss, his body hard and insistent against yours.

Breathless and dizzy with need, you let him guide you, stumbling into your bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed, covering your body with his own, pinning you with his weight. He gazes down at you with dark, hungry eyes, a wicked smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

He slowly puts his hand down your silk pajama shorts, your slick heat coating his fingers as he teases your sensitive bud, groaning approvingly. “Damn, baby. You're fucking dripping for me already.”

He circles your clit slowly, deliberately, reveling in the needy whimpers spilling from your lips. “Was my greedy girl imagining me touching someone else? Wondering if I’d touch her like I touch you, make her beg the way you beg?”

Aaron hums, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to your throat. "You know better, sweetheart. No one else ever comes close. Even when you try to push me away."

Aaron's fingers continue their maddeningly slow circles around your clit, stoking the fire building low in your belly. He chuckles darkly at your needy whimpers, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

"No, baby girl. You're the only one who gets to experience this," he purrs, punctuating his words with a particularly firm press against your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

"The only one who gets to scream my name in ecstasy." His other hand slides down to grip your hip, holding you in place as he sinks two long fingers knuckle-deep inside your dripping heat, pumping them steadily.

"Aaron!" you gasp, hips bucking involuntarily into his touch. He just smirks, knowing exactly what he's doing to you.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let me hear you." He purrs as he curls his fingers just right, hitting that special spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Please, I need…I need…" you babble incoherently, too far gone to form proper sentences. All you can focus on is the exquisite torture of your fingers and the overwhelming ache between your thighs.

Aaron groans at the desperate, needy sounds falling from your lips, his own arousal skyrocketing at the evidence of your desire. He loves reducing you to this state - pliant, wanton, completely at his mercy.

"What do you need, baby? Tell me," he coaxes, voice a low, seductive rasp. His fingers never cease their torturous movements,. He returns to circling and pressing and rubbing your clit until you're a writhing mess beneath him.

Aaron dips his head to capture one pebbled nipple in his mouth, sucking hard as he laves the sensitive bud with his tongue. His teeth graze the tender flesh, sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain straight to your core.

"I've got you, sweetheart. Gonna give you everything you need," he promises darkly, releasing your nipple with a wet pop.

"Please Aaron, I can't take it anymore. I need you inside me." You're practically sobbing with need, too far gone to care how desperate you sound. All you can think about is having him buried deep inside you, claiming you, owning you in the most primal way possible.

Aaron's eyes darken with primal hunger at your desperate pleas, a feral grin spreading across his face. He finally removes his clothes, settling between your trembling thighs.

"Such a perfect little slut." he groans, voice rough with barely restrained desire.

With a powerful thrust of his hips, Aaron sheathes himself fully inside you, stretching you deliciously around his thick length. He hilts inside you, grinding his pelvis against your sensitive clit.

"Ahhh, shit! So fucking tight," he grits out, fighting the urge to move.

You moan loudly, your walls clenching greedily around his thickness. "Yes, yes, please! Fuck me hard!" Lost in a haze of lust, you wrap your legs tightly around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back to urge him deeper.

Aaron sets a punishing pace, hips snapping against yours with bruising force as he pounds into your welcoming heat. The obscene slap of skin on skin fills the room, mingling with your wanton moans and his guttural grunts of pleasure.

"Yes, fuck! Take it, baby." he snarls, angling his hips to hit that special spot inside you with each deep thrust. Each powerful thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your entire body.

"This pussy belongs to me, understand? No one else gets to have you like this." One large hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he rails you relentlessly. The other tangles in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat. Aaron latches onto the sensitive skin, sucking a vivid hickey into the flesh - marking you as his.

"Yes, all yours! Only yours, always!" You babble deliriously, too consumed by sensation to filter your words. You can feel your release barreling towards you like a freight train, your inner walls starting to flutter and clench around his pistoning cock.

"Please Aaron, I'm so close! Don't stop!" You keen desperately, your hips meeting his thrust for thrust.

Aaron feels your walls starting to quiver and squeeze around his shaft, signaling your impending orgasm. He wraps his hand around your throat, applying just enough pressure to heighten your pleasure while still allowing you to breathe.

"That's it, baby. Come for me." he commands huskily, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. 

He leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your desperate cries as he drives into you with renewed vigor. The hand on your hip slides around to rub tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

"I've got you, sweetheart. Let go for me,." Aaron murmurs against your lips, his own release coiling tighter in his gut.

With a keening cry, your body convulses in ecstasy as the most intense orgasm of your life crashes over you. Your vision whites out momentarily, waves of pure bliss radiating from your core. Your walls clamp down on Aaron's cock like a vice, rippling and squeezing as you come undone.

"AAARON!!" you wail, not caring who hears your rapture. In this moment, nothing exists except the feeling of him moving inside you, prolonging your high. Tears of relief and overwhelming emotion leak from the corners of your eyes.

Aaron groans long and low as your velvet walls spasm around his cock, milking him expertly. The feeling of you coming apart beneath him, crying out his name so beautifully, proves to be his undoing.

"Shit, I'm gonna... Ahh, fuck!" His words dissolve into a guttural moan as his orgasm slams into him like a tidal wave.Aaron buries himself as deep as physically possible, grinding against your cervix as he empties himself inside you. Thick ropes of his hot seed paint your insides, marking you as his from the inside out.

He collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight. Panting heavily, he peppers your face with soft kisses - your forehead, your cheeks, the corners of your mouth. "God, I love you."

Aaron rolls to the side, pulling you with him so you're draped across his sweat-slicked chest. He cards his fingers through your hair soothingly as you both catch your breath, basking in the afterglow.

"That was... incredible," he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. "You're amazing, you know that?" His hand traces idle patterns on your back, occasionally dipping lower to squeeze the curve of your ass possessively. Even in the aftermath, he seems reluctant to let you go.

You nuzzle into his chest, relishing the strong arms wrapped around you and the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. A contented sigh escapes your lips as you savor the feeling of his skin against yours after being apart for so long.

"I love you too," you murmur softly, placing a feather-light kiss over his heart.

The air in the room is thick, warm, humming with the remnants of everything he just did to you—everything you let him do despite your best intentions to stay angry.

You groan softly, tilting your head against the pillow as his lips trail up to your neck, slow and teasing. “You’re annoying as fuck.”

Aaron chuckles, low and satisfied, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your bare skin. “Mmm, is that what we’re calling it now?”

You roll your eyes, still dazed, still trying to regain some semblance of composure after the way he wrecked you. “You think this fixes everything?”

He hums, his mouth grazing the shell of your ear. “No. But it definitely helped, didn’t it?”

You exhale sharply, biting your lip to keep from smiling. He knows it did. But you refuse to let him get away with everything so easily.

After a pause, you shift slightly beneath him, your fingers trailing up his spine as you murmur, “I’m starting to think you like making me jealous on purpose.”

Aaron chuckles, his thumb tracing a slow, lazy line along your hip. “I like reminding you that no matter how mad you get…” He leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You’re still mine.”

A sharp shudder runs through you, your body betraying you as you press into him without thinking.

Aaron hums, satisfied. “See?” His breath is warm against your skin, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing over your bare waist. “All that anger, all that fire—burning just for me.”

You hate how easily he unravels you, how he can read every little reaction like he wrote the script for you.

Your breath is unsteady, your nails digging into his chest. “You’re insufferable.”

Aaron grins. “And yet,” he whispers, lazily pressing a kiss to your jaw, “here you are.”

You should stop this. Make him beg for forgiveness. Make him pay for how easily he plays you.

But then his teeth scrape along your pulse point, his hands sliding up your ribs, his body pressing even closer—

And just like every time before—

You lose.