ೃI SAW HEAVEN ᝰ In which we spend the morning with Venus and her husband warnings : grown folk shit w/c : 2588 words
Venus let out a breathless exhale, soft and broken at the edges, as the low thrum of synths and bass from whatever playlist Jaafar had decided to put on rolled through the room like heat beneath the floorboards. Which artist it was, she could not have told you. Not right then. Not while her limbs felt syrupy and useless, not while her thoughts had gone soft and fogged-over, turning to static beneath the weight of him, beneath the scent of his skin, his cologne, his sweat, all of it filling her lungs until the rest of the world felt far away and unreal. Her ring — that pretty, damning little symbol of a life she had been moments from choosing — had somehow tangled in his dark curls, catching faintly in the low light, and the sight of it there, caught in him instead of sitting obediently on her finger, made something deep in her chest twist with a guilt so sharp it almost felt like desire.
The tattooed J on her hand disappeared and reappeared beneath the fall of his dark curls, the ink half-hidden against him as though even her skin had been telling the truth long before her mouth was brave enough to. Venus let out one more shuddering sigh, her fingers flexing almost helplessly, the curl of her ring catching briefly in his hair while her eyes fluttered shut. For a moment, all she could feel was him — the warmth of him, the weight of him, the terrible intimacy of knowing that even the smallest mark on her body had always seemed to point back to Jaafar.
“Baby, baby mmm,” she whined as she felt the familiar coil in her belly tighten, the sheet beneath her skin wet from their previous escapades… how long had it been, one hour…two? Maybe three, she didn’t know anymore, and she couldn’t find it in her to care any longer, not while his tongue flattened against her, sucking her clit into his mouth and his fingers curled just right; right into that spot he knew all too well.
Before, she would’ve put a hand over her mouth in an attempt to muffle her moans, to maintain some sense of the dignity she knew he was sucking out of her; she would’ve tried harder to be Venus Taraji Hamilton, to keep the façade up just to say he hadn’t completely taken over all of her being, even though they both knew otherwise.
Jaafar lifted his eyes slowly, his mouth still close enough to her skin that every word felt less spoken than breathed into her. The synths hummed low around them, bass rolling through the suite like a second heartbeat, and Venus could still feel the faint pull of her ring caught somewhere in his curls, her tattooed J brushing against him as though her body had been betraying her in ink long before she ever learned how to say his name without lying.
Venus let out a shaky laugh, but there was no strength in it. Her hand moved to his face, thumb smoothing over his eyebrow, then down the warm line of his cheek, touching him with a tenderness that made the room feel suddenly too quiet, too honest, too full of all the things they had spent years dressing up as timing, age, friendship, and common sense.
“You love me, baby?” he asked, and there it was again — that confidence, that impossible, arrogant softness, like he already knew the answer but wanted the pleasure of hearing her surrender it.
Venus swallowed, her eyes glossy as she looked down at him.
“Jaafar…”
“No.” His hand slid over her hip, firm and slow, holding her there like he had no intention of letting her run from the question. “Don’t ‘Jaafar’ me. Not tonight.”
Her lips parted.
He smiled faintly, dark curls brushing against her fingers. “Dilo.” Say it.
Venus’s breath hitched.
“Te amo,” she whispered. I love you.
Jaafar went still beneath her hand.
For all his ego, for all his mouth, for all that golden, god-touched confidence he carried like Apollo dragging daylight behind him, those two words did something to him. They stripped him down to the boy who had loved her too young and the man who had waited too long, left him staring up at her like he had finally heard the prophecy in full.
Venus touched his face again, softer this time.
“Te amo, Jaafar.” I love you, Jaafar.
His eyes darkened, not with triumph alone, but with something deeper, something almost wounded by the sweetness of being right after years of starving for it.
“Again,” he murmured.
Venus gave him a breathless, disbelieving smile. “You’re so greedy.”
“For you?” His mouth curved. “Always.”
Her smile trembled.
“I love you,” she said, switching back to English like the truth had become too large for one language. “I love you, Jaafar.”
He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening against her hip, and for once, Venus saw the confidence falter just enough to reveal the devotion beneath it.
He had been at it all morning.
All morning, Jaafar had woken with the kind of insatiable need that felt less like desire and more like devotion, the kind that pulled him from sleep with one thought already burning clean through him: Venus. His wife. His woman. His altar and his ruin. Everything else had fallen secondary before he could even pretend to care — the calls, the schedule, the world waiting beyond the walls of their room — all of it reduced to distant noise beneath the singular, consuming purpose of pleasing her.
There was something almost religious in it, something ancient and Roman, as if he were no longer merely a man but a soldier kneeling at the temple of Venus herself, offering his mouth, his hands, his patience, his breath, anything she would take from him. He wanted her undone and cherished, breathless and safe, spoiled beyond reason until the only thing she could remember was that she was loved by a man who had made her pleasure his empire and crowned her its goddess.
Because that was what she was to him now.
Not almost. Not someday. Not the woman he had chased through years of bad timing and pride and other people’s names.
His wife.
And Jaafar, arrogant as he had always been, loved that word with a dangerous sort of satisfaction. Wife. It sat in his chest like victory, like conquest, like a laurel wreath pressed into his hands by the gods themselves. It made him greedier. Softer. Worse. It made him want to spend entire mornings proving that the ring on her finger had not simply changed her name, but had given him permission to worship her out loud, without restraint, without shame, without the old ache of wondering whether she would run before he finished loving her properly.
Slowly, he descended back to his altar, pressing kisses down the soft plane of her stomach as if every inch of her deserved reverence before he dared return to the place where he had chosen to worship. His eyes flickered briefly toward the mirror across the room, catching the reflection of them there — Venus laid out beneath him, breathless and adored, and Jaafar bowed between her thighs with all the devotion of a man offering himself at the feet of his goddess. He wanted her to see it. Wanted her to witness the ruin and reverence on his face, the hunger, the patience, the absolute surrender he laid bare before her, because loving Venus had always felt like prayer, but being allowed to love his wife like this felt like religion.
He sucked on her clit, pulling it back before releasing; then he moved down to her pussy, running the tip of his tongue through the edges of her lower lips. Her back arched off the bed as she shut her eyes, and the sounds of her ecstasy resonated through the room, the finest harmony Jaafar’s ever heard in his life.
“Such a pretty pussy,” he whispers to himself as he adds two fingers and eats at her at the same time. As she shut her eyes, with every deep moan her chest rose, gasps resonating through the space, and yet it still wasn’t enough air in her lungs as the coil wound tighter and tighter, her belly clenching as she finally released for the umpteenth time that day. She let out a squeal as she felt him go in for more, shuffling away on the bed, managing to make it a few inches away before he pulled her back in by her hips, tossing her thighs over his shoulder as he dropped his briefs, revealing the thick throbbing girth Venus had taken time and time again.
“I think you can do better, my love, matter of a fact, I know you can do better than that… show me.”
Venus shuddered as she felt the blunt head of him push into her, the gold of their rings clinking together as he intertwined their fingers. Venus’ eyes flickered to the mirror, watching as he pulled back slightly and pushed in further. She watched the bead of sweat drip down his hairline, the way his gaze never left her face as he watched her watch him.
His other hand reached up to caress her cheek, bringing her gaze back to his as he brought their lips together, his tongue intertwining with hers as he began his slow, deep strokes into her, ensuring she felt how much he loved her. He watched the way his dick disappeared and reappeared into her, covered in her release, everytime he pulled out he was coated with more and more of her, creating a sticky mess between them as the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh was heard through the room.
“You hear that?” Venus whispered
“You making her so happy baby, can you hear her?”
“Yeah? What’s she sayin’?”
“She wants you to feed her baby.”
Jaafar chuckled low against her skin as he nuzzled into the curve of her neck, his breath warm, his mouth lazy with satisfaction as he pressed a kiss to the bruise he had left there late the night before. The mark bloomed faintly beneath his lips, tender and possessive, a little secret written into her skin while the morning rays spilled gently through the curtains, bleeding gold across the sheets and cocooning them both in a warmth that made the rest of the world feel distant, unnecessary, and far too loud for the quiet devotion of their room.
“Yeah? You not gon’ run from it this time, my love? You gon’ take it?”
Venus nodded, nothing but whines and moans leaving her lips, and Jaafar gently wrapped his hand around her throat, pressing down firmly but gently.
“Usa tus palabras, Venus.” “Use your words, Venus.”
“Yes, Jaafar, ‘m gon’ take it I swear,” Venus whined as she felt the familiar coil grow tighter and tighter in her lower belly before it finally snapped; she let out a loud whine of Jaafar’s name, one that would’ve had their neighbours banging the wall if they hadn’t moved last month. Without warning, Venus wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, pulling him down to her with a need that felt almost clumsy in its urgency. Jaafar caught her at once, chuckling softly against her mouth before the kiss deepened, their tongues meeting in that familiar rhythm they had always found too easily, that old, dangerous dance her body remembered even when her mind was too fogged and overwhelmed to keep up. She tried to match him, tried to give back the same slow confidence he poured into her, but all she managed was a soft, helpless whine against his lips, her fingers tightening at the nape of his neck as if he were the only thing keeping her anchored.
“You love this pussy baby?” Venus whispered against his lips, the question barely more than breath, soft and trembling where their mouths still touched.
Jaafar let out a low sound, somewhere between a hum and a groan, his hand tightening at her waist as his forehead rested against hers. “Mhm.”
Venus’s fingers slid into the curls at the nape of his neck, holding him there, keeping him close enough that there was nowhere for either of them to hide.
“Then show me,” Venus whispered.
And Jaafar did.
Not with haste, not with the careless hunger of a man trying only to take, but with the trembling devotion of someone who had spent years turning want into patience and patience into prayer. He held her like Rome itself could fall beyond the bedroom walls and he would not turn his head, like empires could burn, senators could weep, marble temples could split beneath thunder, and still the only kingdom worth saving would be the woman beneath him, breathing his name like it belonged in her mouth by divine right.
For a while, there was no room for anything else.
No ringing phones. No forgotten obligations. No world outside the curtains. Only the warmth of morning wrapped around them, the low music spilling through the room, the soft gold of daylight touching her skin, and Jaafar above her with his forehead pressed to hers, undone in that beautiful, dangerous way only Venus could make him. He looked less like a man then and more like Mars at the end of battle, not conquered, never conquered, but willingly disarmed at the altar of the goddess he loved most.
“Venus,” he breathed, and her name sounded like both warning and worship.
Her hands tightened at his back, her body arching into the vow of him, into the weight of everything they had survived to get here — the years, the running, the other people, the almosts, the ring she had once worn for another man, the red thread that had stretched and tangled and still refused to break.
Jaafar’s breath fractured.
His eyes found hers, dark and glossy with devotion, and for one suspended second he looked almost startled by the force of his own love, as if even he, arrogant as he was, had not expected to be brought this close to ruin by his wife.
Then he surrendered.
It was not loud. It was not crude. It was not something that could be reduced to the body alone. It moved through him like the Tiber swelling past its banks, like a temple flame catching wind, like every vow he had ever made in silence finally finding somewhere sacred to land. His mouth parted against hers, his grip tightening as though he needed to anchor himself to the earth, and Venus felt him give himself over completely — not as conquest, but as offering.
As promise.
As husband.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
They simply stayed there, breath tangled, foreheads touching, the room cocooned in gold around them. Venus opened her eyes slowly and found him already watching her, his face softened by something deeper than satisfaction, deeper than pride, deeper even than desire.
There was reverence there.
Awe.
The kind of love that looked almost painful to carry.
Jaafar brushed his thumb across her cheek, his voice rough when he finally spoke.
“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s me loving you.”
Venus’s lips trembled.
And because there was nothing left to run from, she pulled him closer, kissed the breath from his mouth, and let the morning close over them like a blessing from the gods.
tags <3 : @lov3lylxvender @melaninjoys @cinnamoncunt @healthenature @kryptonianheart @sagittalust @tenacioustestamentambush @tatumcelts @jakardyz @freaky1nterlude @daliscrim @michealsapplehead @asiatarg @imgenuinelyinsane @mrs-dylanobrien265 @plan3tch1ld @mamasturn ( lmk if you want to be added or removed)
