defending michael on internet isn’t enough, i need a gun.
fuck netflix and fuck all of you guys who are abandoning mike after this nasty documentary.
netflix isn’t innocent! after the biopic was released, everyone now wants to have a piece of michael to profit, he’s INNOCENT, everyone already knows and coming back and talking about these accusations years later and making a documentary about it is ridiculous, disrespectful and disgusting! worse, releasing this doc in JUNE.
Michael didn't deserve and doesn't deserve to go through this, let him rest in peace, he's already suffered a lot here on earth. May God bless him and may the world be a better place.
Summary: The adventures of Smoke and his wild and carefree, younger girlfriend.
Warning(s): SMUT (18+, MDNI), unprotected sex (m/f), dirty talk, use of sex toys, overstimulation, spanking, bondage, mentions of creampie, harassment, misogyny (not Smoke though).
Lovergirlnote: This came out way longer than I expected y’all lol, but honestly I was having so much fun writing it. To all my fellow young hoes, this one is for y’all. Let me know what you think!🥹♥️
From the book of young hoe: Thou shan’t wear a coat if it doesn’t match the fit.
When most people met Smoke, they automatically assumed that they knew what type of woman he would gravitate towards. When they envisioned Smoke’s significant other, they pictured a woman who was modest, quiet, and poised. What they weren’t expecting was you.
Now, no one would ever step to Smoke and openly say anything unkind about you. Not unless they wanted to be packed up like a can of sardines. Because one thing Smoke didn’t play about was you.
Smoke meets you at the gas station of all places. He notices you almost immediately. It’s really hard not to notice you in your short dress that clings to your curves like it’s painted on, or the loud clacking from your heels that are definitely a safety hazard.
Or maybe it’s the warm and sweet vanilla perfume that wafts past his nose and lingers in the aisle as you pick up snacks. Smoke assumes that you must be coming back from a night out based on how you look. Your movements are a bit sluggish, but still graceful as you pick up a bag of Hot Cheetos.
You seemingly don’t pay attention to any of the patrons inside the gas station, whose eyes follow you like bugs to a porch light. You blow large bubbles with the gum in your mouth before popping it to repeat the cycle.
Smoke hates the way that his body instantly reacts to feeling your presence behind him. Your scent overwhelms his senses like you’re imprinting yourself into every atom of his being.
He spares a glance at you once he pays for his things. He finds that you’re already staring at him with a pretty smile and mischievous eyes. You wave your pretty manicured hand at him before stepping up to the counter. Smoke chuckles lowly before waving back to you and heading outside to pump his gas.
You slide the snacks across the counter as you smile flirtatiously at the associate, “Azim, how you doing, baby?”
Azim blushes under your gaze, “I’m doing good, my darling. Was it a good night out?”
“It was amazing, my girls and I danced all night. Free drinks too,” you reply, blowing another bubble.
Azim starts bagging up your items before peeking back up at you, “I’m glad to hear you had such a good time. Anything else you need, my dear?”
“Let me get $20 on pump five.”
Azim types the amount in the register before giving you your total, “That’ll be $21.00, my love.”
You smile at him, “Azim, I know you’re undercharging me.”
Azim waves you off with a soft chuckle, “You know you’re one of my favorite customers. I have to take care of you. Family discount.”
You tap your card on the reader before smiling and blowing a kiss to Azim, “You’re the best, Azim. Let me know when your wife is making some more of that baklava, so I can come through.”
“I’ll have her make you a special batch. Come by on Sunday,” Azim calls out to you. You reply with a quick ‘thank you’ before walking out to your car. You spot Smoke standing at his car, pumping gas, along with a few other guys who are crowded around one car.
Truthfully, Smoke could’ve been done pumping his gas, but he chose to pump slower in hopes of catching you coming out of the store.
You open the door to your car to throw the snack bag on the seat before moving to start pumping your gas. It’s not lost on Smoke how cold it is outside, and you, in your tiny dress, don’t even seem to be phased by it.
In fact, you keep pumping your gas and blowing bubbles like everything is copacetic.
Unfortunately, Smoke’s not the only one who notices how pretty you look tonight. The guys surrounding the car all wolf-whistle and make noise as they catch you passing by. Smoke can see the predatory look in their eyes as they drink in your appearance.
His body immediately goes into protector mode. Feeling bold, one of the guys starts to yell out in your direction, “Aye ma! Aye ma! Lemme holla’ at you!”
You roll your eyes and keep pumping your gas. You chose to ignore the ignorant man, who clearly doesn’t have any home training.
It appears that audacity is on sale as the man yells out to you again, “Aye, girl! I know you hear me talking to you!”
Still, no response from you.
“Well, fuck you too then, you stuck up bitch!”
Smoke doesn’t know whose head snaps over quicker—his or yours. He can see the anger filling your pretty face as you finally stop chewing your gum.
“Boy, if you don’t get the fuck out of my face with them cheap ass clothes and that fake-ass Cuban link. Wanna-be-rap-ass nigga,” you yell back. Smoke and all of the other men are stunned momentarily by the ruthlessness of your words.
The wanna be who you just insulted doesn’t take the lashing well. Smoke catches the ugly expression that overtakes the man’s face as he moves around the car to start making his way to you. His homeboys have enough sense to try to stop him, but he roughly shrugs them off.
Just as he’s about to make his way to you, Smoke stands directly in his path. The older man squares his shoulders and glares down at the younger man. The height difference, combined with Smoke’s quiet disposition, creates a sense of unease in the young man’s demeanor.
“Nah, don’t get shy now. Whatchu’ was planning on doing, young buck? You thought you were about to put your hands on her?” Smoke questions, stepping up to crowd the boy’s space.
The man in question opens his mouth to start stuttering. Smoke frowns, “Nah, don’t start stuttering on me now, boy. Tell me whatchu’ was planning. You wanna act bad in front of your boys, so let’s talk man to man. You wanna press her? Nah, you press me now, nigga.”
The man swallows harshly as Smoke can see the tremors racking through his body as he finally starts to recognize Smoke.
He holds his hands up, “S-Smoke, I ain’t meant nothin’ by it, man.”
“You ain’t mean nothing by it? Seems like you had your mind set before I stepped in front of you. You wanted to be a man when you were about to put your hands on her, but you ain’t a man now that I’m in front of you.” Smoke steps forward so the only thing that the young man can feel is his presence.
He lowers his voice, “You listen to me, and I want you to listen real good because I don’t repeat myself. You ever talk to a woman like that or approach her like that again, ima beat yo’ ass as yo daddy should’ve. If I see you planning on pressin’ another woman, I’ll break every bone in your fuckin’ body and have you sippin’ on yogurt for the rest of your life. Don’t get yourself put on a t-shirt, boy. I’m sure Ms. Coretta ain’t prepared to put you in a casket. We clear?”
The young man is now openly shaking as he sees the darkness in Smoke’s eyes. It’s like he’s looking at something inhuman. He nods his head, “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Smoke,” He responds, fear lacing the edge of his tone.
Smoke nods, “Now, I believe you owe her an apology.”
The boy looks in your direction, “I’m sorry, Miss. It won’t happen again.”
Smoke looks at him again, “Now, get the fuck out of here.” The young man scurries away with his homeboys in tow. Anyone in town knows that the Smokestack twins are the last men that you want to have beef with.
Smoke turns to you before walking over. You blow a bubble before popping it, “Thank you, you didn’t have to do that.”
Smoke smirks, “Yes, I did. What were you planning on doing if I hadn’t stepped in or been around?”
You shrug, “I was planning on getting him with this bear mace.”
Smoke lifts his eyebrows, “You know that’s illegal.”
You blow another bubble. Pop! “So is harassment, but these niggas act like the First Amendment entitles them to a response from me.” Smoke chuckles in response.
You look at him, “So it’s Smoke, I reckon?”
He nods, “S’just a nickname. My real name is Elijah.” You hum while still chewing on your gum. You’d vaguely heard of the Smokestack twins. Anybody this side of the Delta had heard about the two men, but you rarely paid attention when people would go into detail about them.
You only cared for gossip when it was something that intrigued you. Two men who put fear in the hearts of men in the South didn’t intrigue you. Yet, with Smoke standing in front of you, smelling like a grown man, you were now thoroughly intrigued. It didn’t help the fact that he was fine in a way that gave 90s.
Smoke catches your hand on the gas pump, “Let me finish pumping your gas for you. It’s freezing out here.”
You step to the side and let Smoke take over. Who were you to deny the services of a man being courteous to you? Smoke takes a moment to look at you up close.
You smile before leaning on your car, “You wanted to pump my gas so you could stare at me?”
“M’just wondering where your jacket is,” Smoke comments.
“At home, it didn’t go with my outfit,” you respond as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“So catching pneumonia in the ass is worth the fit?”
“Yep, you haven’t ever heard the saying ‘fashion is sacrifice’?”
Smoke chuckles, “Can’t say I have. Now, would you pretty please go sit in the car while I finish pumping your gas?”
You roll your eyes before smacking your glossed lips, “Fine, since you’re so worried that I’ll turn into a popsicle.” You open your door before sliding into the seat. From his view, Smoke can see you typing on your phone. He finishes pumping your gas and places the gas pump back on the handle.
He closes the cap as you turn on your car. You roll down the window just as Smoke steps closer to lean down. You flash another pretty smile at him, “Thank you again for your help, Mr. Smoke.”
“Just Smoke for you, sugar. Or Elijah. Whichever you prefer.”
“Hmm..I guess I’ll call you, Elijah, then,” You said, still chewing on your gum. There’s a beat of silence that’s filled with your soft chewing and music from your radio.
You lean closer to him, “Are you going to ask for my number now?”
“You know I’m too old for you, right?”
You blow another big bubble and pop it, “So? I like my men a little seasoned. Just hand me your phone.” Smoke slides his phone from his pocket and unlocks it. You start typing your number in before calling yourself. You save his contact and slide his phone back into his hand.
“Do you always give your number away at the gas station?” Smoke questions.
“I give my fake number out all the time. You should feel lucky that you have my real number,” You respond, flashing another cute smile at him. Smoke admires the way that the light dances across your skin and the faint glitter that he assumes is from some lotion.
“Consider me honored. Drive safely and let me know when you make it home,” Smoke states, looking you straight in the eye.
You smack your lips, “You checking for me already, old man?”
“I’d just feel a lot better knowing that you got home safely.”
“I’ll text you then, Elijah.” With that, you smile before rolling your window up. You drive out of the parking lot with Smoke watching your car.
He enters his own car and sets off to go home.
Later in the night, when he makes it home and showers, he’s lying in bed, and he hates to admit that he’s waiting for the text from you. Finally, his phone vibrates in his hand, and he sees your name appear on the screen.
You
*image attached*
I made it home safely
Smoke eyes the picture for far longer than he’ll ever admit. His gaze scans across your baby blue pajamas and the matching bonnet. A cute smile graces your lips as you snap the picture.
Elijah
Let me take you out tomorrow for brunch.
You
Straight to the point, I like you.
I guess I can clear some time in my very busy schedule for you😉
Elijah
I promise it’ll be worth it.
You
It better be. I’m not afraid to leave you at the table by yourself.
From that moment, you became Smoke’s old lady, and everybody knew not to cross you unless they wanted him on their necks.
From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt take the clothes from the dryer and put it in a pile; you’ll get to it later
The age difference between you and Smoke takes a little bit to get used to on both of your ends, but honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. In fact, you keep Smoke on his toes every day that you’re together. It’s within the second month of your relationship that he learns that you’re a “young ho” as you had so affectionately put it.
“Why you calling yourself a hoe?” He asked, a frown covering his handsome face.
You roll your eyes, “It’s not like that, Elijah. It’s more of a reclamation of a word for a positive cause.”
“What I tell you about rolling your eyes?”
You resisted the urge to do it again. The last time that you’d rolled your eyes at Smoke, he’d turnt you every way but loose in the bedroom.
He chose not to elaborate on your new self-proclaimed title. He learned very early in your relationship that you were a real stubborn brat when you wanted to be. He liked to play the part of annoyed, but inwardly, he loved how much you tested his patience.
Smoke was one of those guys who had a real strict program, and that program was applied to you, but he often let you off scot free most of the time. Stack would even fuss at him because of how spoiled Smoke had you.
The next day, Stack and Smoke are sitting at the kitchen table together while you’re vacuuming in the living room. You cut the vacuum off, and Smoke expects you to walk up to the wall to take the cord out.
But you don’t. Because young hoes don’t do that. Instead, you grip the cord and rip it out of the socket before dragging the piece over to you.
Smoke and Stack both watch you.
“Aye, why didn’t you just go pull it out?” Stack asks.
You smack your lips, “Why would I make all of those unnecessary steps when I can just do it my way?” You wrap the cord up and hook it onto the vacuum before leaving the living room.
Stack turns to Smoke, “You would end up with a young hoe.”
“So you know about it too?”
“Yeah, it’s this new thing on Twitter and TikTok. Girls talking about stuff that young hoes typically do. Her ripping that cord out of the wall was a prime example.”
Smoke does typically watch you. It’s a habit, really, but now, he watches you closer for your young hoe habits.
He comes over to your house on a Sunday and finds that you’re finishing up your laundry. You grab the warm clothes from the dryer in one big swoop and deposit them on the chair in the corner of your room. Smoke watches as you walk away without folding the clothes.
“Baby, you just gone leave them right there?” He questions, looking between you and the pile.
“Yes, Papa Bear, I’ll fold them later,” you respond. He wants to give you the benefit of the doubt and trust that you’ll fold them, but he has to keep an eye on you.
Turns out, he should’ve let the doubt win.
When he comes back over the following day, the clothes are still sitting in the chair. Wordlessly, he goes over to the pile to start folding the clothes into neat sections for you. He even goes the extra mile to place them in their appropriate places.
You give him a surprised look when you come into the room, “Aww, Papa Bear, you didn’t have to do that.” You press a big kiss against his lips, your lip gloss staining his lips, but quite frankly, he loves the sensation.
“You’re welcome, baby.”
Smoke is able to catch more of your young hoe antics when it comes to clothing. You volunteer to put his clothes in the washer because you love taking care of your old man.
To his honest defense, Smoke believed that you could handle the task, and truthfully, you could, but just in your own way. He stands up from the couch to go grab a water from the fridge. Once inside the kitchen, he catches sight of you in the laundry room with his dirty basket of clothes.
Now, Smoke is a man of habit. There’s a precise way that he likes to have things done. Which is why he’s honestly gobsmacked when he watches you load the clothes into the washer without separating any of them by color.
To top it off, you grab his expensive laundry detergent and pour way more than what’s required into the washing machine. You turn the machine on, step back with your hands on your hips, and have the nerve to look proud.
You turn and catch sight of him staring at you in the kitchen. He fixes his mouth to comment, but chooses not to when he sees the bright smile on your face.
You point at the washer, “Look, I got you all fixed up.”
Smoke can’t find it in his heart to take this moment from you, so he just smiles in response before walking over to press a long kiss against your lips.
“Thank you, baby.”
Now, Smoke is old, but he didn’t think he was that old. But by the way that you’re looking at him and the ironing board, the nigga starts to feel like Morgan Freeman.
“You don’t know what an ironing board is?”
“Nigga, I’m not daft, I know what an ironing board is. I’m just trying to figure out why you would need one. Just iron on the bed.”
Smoke cuts his eyes in your direction, “No, the creases won’t hit the same.”
“Anyways. So what do you need this disinfectant spray for?” You ask, holding up the white bottle.
“Baby, that’s starch.”
You frown and turn the bottle in your direction before reading it. You try to hide the embarrassed look that crosses your face before you hand the bottle back to him. You walk over to the ironing board that is still folded and fumble with it.
You look genuinely perplexed by the fact that it won’t stand up. Anyone else would be annoyed, but Smoke finds it cute. You look at him with that whiny pout on your face, “Your ironing board is broken. Probably because it’s from the 90s.”
Smoke chuckles before taking the ironing board from your hand and standing it up correctly. You look at each other in silence before you nod, “I got it loosened up for you. You’re welcome.”
With that, you walk out of the room, and Smoke figures it’s best to just let you have the win.
Besides, his baby girl gets whatever she wants when she’s with him.
From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt use Apple Pay for literally every expense. We don’t use physical cards or cash anymore.
Smoke is old school.
He still carries around a wallet of cash and his debit cards. He only sets up Apple Pay on his phone because you insisted that it was more convenient.
It is, but he won’t admit that to you. For you, you never have to pay for things when you’re with Smoke. In fact, he finds the audacity of you paying for anything outrageous. On the small chance that he isn’t there with you, he makes sure that you have the funds available for your needs.
When he tries to hand you his card, you genuinely look perplexed, “What’s this for?”
He squints, “For you to buy your stuff. No limit.”
“That’s cute, Papa Bear, but I don’t even carry my own card around. I use Apple Pay for everything,” You said.
“Just add my card to your Apple Pay, then baby,” Smoke orders, sliding the card in your hands.
“Okay, thanks, baby,” you said, kissing his lips a few times. In response, Smoke slides your body into his lap and watches as you type the card into your Apple Pay and save it.
This isn’t the only incident involving money with you and Smoke. You’re about to head out for a night with your girls when he stops you.
“Come here before you leave, baby,” He demands from the couch. He and Stack are watching the finals while you go out.
“Sup ugly,” You state, slapping Stack on the neck. He frowns and twists around to pop you back when you step out of the way.
Y’all are about to engage in another childish fight until Smoke glares at you both. Stack smacks his lips, “You better get yo girl before we be outside tussling.”
“Ima mace you too,” You quip, as you walk to Smoke’s side of the couch.
“See, I don’t even wanna play with you because I know you’re serious,” Stack states before turning his attention back to the TV.
Smoke runs his eyes up and down your body in the two-piece set. Your body shines from your rigorous body care routine. He grips your waist, “You look good, babygirl.”
“Thank you, Papa Bear,” you respond, leaning down to kiss him. From behind him, Stack makes gagging noises while you stick your finger up at him.
As you pull away from the kiss, Smoke grabs a couple of bills from his wallet and slides them over to you.
“Uh, I don’t need this,” You said, a faint whine at the end of your tone.
“Yes, you do. Your little Apple Pay can’t cover everything. What if your phone dies? You need to be prepared just in case. Here. Take a few quarters, you might need to call me from a pay phone,” Smoke explains.
All of the argument leaves your body because he’s right and you know it. You slide the bills and change in your purse before leaning down to press your lips against his again. This time, however, you slide your tongue inside of Smoke’s mouth while his hand goes to your neck.
“Man! Y’all gone with all of that,” Stack yells from his end of the couch.
You and Smoke part with a few additional pecks. A honk from outside lets you know that your friends are here. As you go to leave, you peck Smoke’s lips again, “I love you, Papa Bear. I’ll text you updates throughout the night.”
You start walking towards the door until Smoke clears his throat, “Grab that coat on the way out, babygirl.”
You huff and throw your head back, “Elijah..it doesn’t go with my outfit!”
He gives you a hard look, and you stare back. For a solid minute, you both keep the staring contest going as Stack moves his head back and forth between the two of you.
Smoke goes to stand when you hold your hands up, “Chill! Chill! I’m getting it.” You grab the jacket and hold it up as if to say, “See.”
In return, Smoke smiles at you, “Good girl. I love you too. Make sure that you text me.”
Stack laughs, “Aha…my brother got you in check.” He turns and feels like he has the last word. He doesn’t catch you creeping up behind him until you lean down to whisper, “stupid hoe” in his ear and slap the back of his neck again. You’re already out the door by the time that Stack gets off the couch.
He frowns and crosses his arms.
Smoke takes a sip from his drink, “Y’all are some children.”
Later in the night, Smoke periodically gets updates from you about your location and condition. You send him tipsy pictures from the club bathroom. It’s not too long before he gets a notification from your Instagram saying that you’ve posted to your stories.
Smoke chuckles at the picture, but he’s glad to see that you’re having a good time with your girls. Some people assumed that since you liked to go outside, it would be a turn-off for Smoke, but it was quite the opposite.
He liked the fact that you were young, carefree, and enjoying your life. He’d never try to nag or change who you were. In fact, being with you taught Smoke that he needed to let loose a lot more and enjoy the moment.
Hours later, he hears the sound of a car door closing and watches from the porch as you walk back to the house. You pout pathetically upon seeing him, “My feet hurt. Can you carry me, Papa Bear?”
Without hassle, Smoke scoops you up into his arms and carries you into the house. He waves at your friends as he closes the door. Your head lolls to the side as you lie on his shoulder.
Smoke looks down at you, “You still with me, baby?”
“Mhmm.”
He raises an eyebrow, “So you gonna carry me up these stairs?”
“Yeah, I got you, baby,” you grumble back. Smoke laughs to himself at your antics. Even in your tipsy state, you still swore up and down that you were the Incredible Hulk.
Arriving inside the bedroom, Smoke gently sets you down while grabbing a big t-shirt for you.
He helps you with getting out of the heels and your set. “Lift your arms for me, baby.”
You oblige as he slips his t-shirt over your head. He goes to the bathroom to grab some micellar water to help you remove your makeup.
You grumble in sleepiness.
“I know, baby, just a little bit more,” He coos to you gently. Once he’s finished cleaning your face, he tucks you away under the blankets. He slips your bonnet over your hair.
“It’s hot,” you whine from beneath the covers. Smoke walks over to the fan, flicks it on, and turns it in your direction. He’d never heard of someone sleeping with a fan on until he started dating you.
He slips beneath the covers and pulls your body into his side. You cuddle your body more into his hold, “Thank you, Papa Bear. I love you.”
“I love you too, babygirl,” Smoke replies, pressing a kiss to your temple.
As he listens to your steady breath, Smoke rationalizes that there’s nothing better than being here with you.
If Stack were here, he’d clown him real bad, but Smoke doesn’t care. He’d gladly go out and get your name tatted to show how down bad he is for you.
From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt play the music about the guns and drugs, but shalt not participate in said activities
Smoke watches you in amusement as you pretend to shimmy in the living room, as “Off the Leash” by Gucci Mane blasts through the space. When he first met you, he’d assumed that you would like a lot of lover girl music, which you did.
But more often than not, you were listening to music about drugs and guns, even though you were hands down a law-abiding citizen. The song changes to “All There” by Jeezy, and you start hyping yourself up more.
You walk over to Smoke and start rapping the lyrics in his face, while grabbing money from his wallet to spread it down your arm.
“So you’re a dope boy now?” Smoke asks, subtly nodding his head along to the music.
“I’ve been trappin’ out here, Smoke,” You respond. He raises his eyebrows at the change of name, but continues chuckling as you make gun gestures with your hands.
“So that means I should go get you a gun of your own now?”
You ball your face up, “No, thank you. You know I don’t like guns. Plus, I’d just be a menace if these niggas tried me.” You prove your point by making gun noises like you’re shooting
You really weren’t a big fan of guns. Even with the gun that Smoke kept in his house, you always made sure that he had it locked away, far from your sight. You didn’t even like the idea of him being near a gun, and he was a whole trained veteran.
You take your phone out and start typing. You glance back at him, “I have a hair appointment tomorrow, so I may be MIA for a while.”
He nods, “Okay, I’ll send you the money to cover it.”
You lean down to press a kiss against his cheeks, “Thanks, Papa Bear.”
When you mentioned getting your hair done to Smoke, he doesn’t expect you to be gone for that long. He checks your location, which states that you’re still at your braider’s house.
His phone buzzes with a text from you.
Babygirl♥️
Be home soon.
I can’t wait for you to see my braids🙂↔️
He lets out a sigh of relief at the message. One thing that was always true, Smoke could be a bit overprotective, but it was only because he knew how the world operated. He knew how cruel people could be, especially to someone like you.
You were smart and observant, but Smoke just preferred to be around to look out for you. In his mind, you were all bubble gum, sunshine, and sweetness. He’d hate to see someone trying to snuff that light out of you.
Thirty minutes later, Smoke hears your car pulling into the yard. You get out, casually sipping on your Stanley Cup and walking to the house.
He opens the door to greet you. You connect your lips to his while gripping his shirt, “Hey, Papa Bear. I hope you weren’t waiting up for me.”
“I was,” Smoke said, closing the door behind you.
He goes to sit on the couch and crosses his arms, “What took you so long?”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “It was mostly the braid length. You know I like to get my braids long.” You do a quick turn to show the braids off, and Smoke’s gaze travels down to how long they are. The braids’ length ends just below your butt.
You turn back to him with a wide smile, “Do you like them?”
“Yeah, babygirl, I love them. You look beautiful as always.” He means it. There’s not one moment when Smoke isn’t thinking about how beautiful you are.
Later in the night, he oils your scalp at bedtime. In return, you apply a clay mask to his face as he waits for it to dry.
Quite honestly, Smoke had never been well-versed in skincare. That just wasn’t his thing. Now, he kept himself up and always kept his skin moisturized, but stuff like skincare was more up Stack’s alley.
Since dating you, Smoke has a whole skincare routine that you and he do every night. He’s always had pretty good skin, but since being with you, you've elevated his skin to a new level. You both stand side-by-side at the sink, washing the masks from your faces. Smoke scoops you up to sit on the counter and grips your backside in his hand as you apply his serums and moisturizer for the night.
You peek up at him through your lashes, “You so handsome, Papa Bear.”
You grab his chin in your hand and pull his face down towards yours. Smoke’s lips engulf yours in a passionate kiss as he tongues you down. He slides your body closer to his as he fully steps between your legs. You roll your hips into his as his bulge presses against your wet core. When he steps back slightly, you whine in response while pouting. Smoke chuckles darkly before gripping your thighs to pull you off the counter. He effortlessly carries you from the bathroom to the bedroom and deposits you on the bed.
He leans down on the bed to cover your body with his. He grabs both of your wrists in his hands and pins you to the top of the bed. He frowns when he moves one of his hands and hears a crinkle. Smoke looks up and grabs the item. A bag of Hot Cheetos crunches in his hands.
He looks down at you while you give him an innocent grin. It’s only when he looks up that he notices all of the extra items in the bed like candy, your iPad, both of your chargers, and your Stanley.
He’s about to open his mouth to comment when you stop him, “Before you start with all of that, I need this. These are my essentials. Don’t be trynna reach across me to eat my snacks either.”
He gives you a blank look, “I’m trynna eat you now, but if you want to keep the snacks on the bed…”
You move quickly to put the snacks and other items on the nightstand.
You open your legs with a soft smile, “Okay, I’m ready.”
The only thing Smoke can do is chuckle, but he still gets on his knees regardless. His back may protest, but he’ll never give up the chance to put his mouth on you.
From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt not take any BS.
It didn’t take Smoke a long time to figure out that you were a bit of a hot head. In your honest defense, you just weren’t the type to hold your tongue, especially when something felt like disrespect. Which is why he often found it amusing when you and Stack would argue because you’d match his brother bar for bar with insults.
However, it was all love between you and Stack. You were the younger sister he always craved having, so he’s delighted to have you around more often.
As Smoke’s old lady, as he likes to refer to you as, your invitation to any family functions is automatically secured. You knew your spot was secured when all of Smoke’s aunts and uncles hit him with the famous, “That’s you, nephew?”
You stood in the kitchen with Ardelia, Smoke, and Stack’s mother as you both conversed.
“I’m so happy that you could come today, and you look so pretty,” Ardelia said, nodding her head in appreciation.
“Thank you, Mrs. Moore,” You said, grinning widely.
“Ah, now what I tell you about that. None of that, you can call me mama.”
You smiled even brighter at her comment. Ardelia had been nothing but welcoming to you since Smoke introduced you for the first time. You were nervous that she wouldn’t be accepting of you, especially with the age gap, but she referred to you as her daughter-in-law all over town. Now, a few of Smoke’s other family members weren’t as accepting of you, but they wouldn’t ever say it aloud. But you were well aware of the whispered comments.
‘He’s bringing that lil’ girl all up in here. She still got milk behind her ears.’
“He outta be ashamed. Bringing her around here when he could be back with Annie.’
‘Look at her outfit. Any shorter and them shorts will be some panties.’
’I heard she just with him for the money. Jill from down the street said she got a pattern of jumping from man to man and using them for money.’
‘Lord, that’s a shame!”
You rolled your eyes and took it on the chin. The last thing you were about to do was start an argument with Smoke’s folks, especially in his mama’s house. You knew how a lot of people viewed you, especially with how you carried yourself. There’d been rumors all over the place that you were a relationship hopper, which was far from the truth. You just weren’t the type to stick around in a relationship, especially if it didn’t serve you.
Growing up as a little black girl in the South, you recognized that many black girls weren’t taught how to date. Most girls here felt that if they dated someone, they had to tie themselves down to the person forever. It was often frowned upon if you were dating more than one person or exploring your options.
No, exploring your options was only something that was reserved for men.
The fact that you weren’t the type to stick around in dead situations or entertain men made you stick out like a sore thumb in the community. They couldn’t stand to see a black woman standing strong in her boundaries. They would never catch you apologizing for that.
You walk outside and sit next to Smoke, who is surrounded by a few of his uncles and cousins. It’s at that point in the evening when the conversations shift to more controversial topics, and the new school vs old school duke it out.
You were already rolling your eyes as Marvin, one of Smoke’s cousins, opened his mouth to speak. He was the physical embodiment of red pill alpha male content.
“I’m just saying, I wouldn’t want my Queen out here degrading herself on these apps by posting seductive pictures and doing OnlyFans. I mean, look at the state of female rap, all they talk about is their pussy and what they can get from men.”
A few of the older traditional men hum in agreement.
You frown, “Well, isn’t that a bit contradictory, Marvin? Men rap about pussy all the time. There isn’t one rap song that you can give me that doesn’t consist of some line of a man talking about all of the women that he’s slept with or the degrading acts that he makes her perform. To add onto your point, you’re complaining about the women making content, but you fail to realize that there wouldn’t be a market if men weren’t paying for it. Sounds like smart business women capitalizing on a rising market.”
Marvin cuts his eyes at you. You can see the irritation rising in his eyes, “See, I’d expect you to say that. You’re one of those new school women. You don’t have traditional values. A real woman knows her place in the home. She should be preparing the home for her King to come home to. She shouldn’t be out here selling pussy.” He glances over in Smoke’s direction, “Dang, cuz, you really switched things up with this one. At least Annie was taking care of her man.”
Marvin sits back in the chair, clearly pleased with himself. Beside you, Smoke hardens, and everyone can catch that look of murder in his eye. He’s about to address the situation when you place a hand on his chest.
“It’s okay, baby, I got it. Marvin, I don’t take pseudo-intellectual men like you seriously. You be the same niggas hollering about being an Alpha male and you ain’t even graduated from community college. Last time I looked in the mirror, my breasts and vagina were still there, so I think we got the real woman part covered. You keep trying to take jabs at me about being a low-value woman when, last time I checked, I got two degrees under my name, and I’m well on my way to my third. Let’s not forget the high-paying job, and I own my house. We can go band for band if you want to.”
You pause and snap your fingers, “I forgot, you don’t have a job, so your bands wouldn’t even match mine. What’s your occupation again? Wait…you’re still building your little YouTube with the ten subscribers, all of whom are your homeboys who can’t keep your dick out of their mouths. You keep talking about pussy, but baby boy, you wake up every day and look at a pussy in the mirror.”
You sit back in your chair with a demure smile. The backyard is silent as everyone turns to look at Marvin. He storms from the chair and walks towards the door. You all listen as his car pulls out of the driveway.
“I like this one, nephew,” Tony, Smoke’s uncle, comments as he clinks his cup with yours.
Smoke looks over at you in concern, “Baby, you good?”
“Yeah, ain’t nobody stressin’ over Marvin. I know my worth, and I know what I bring to the table. I’m not about to let anyone feel like they pressin’ me.”
“Good, but I’ma still beat his ass later on for talking to you like that,” Smoke states, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.
“Thanks, Papa Bear.” You lean over to press your lips against his. You resist the urge to deepen the kiss because you still have to be respectful in front of his family.
“Anytime, baby, you know you mean the world to me. Nobody in this world is ever gonna disrespect you while I’m around.”
Before you can comment, Stack leans over to dap you up, “That last line was a bar. Let’s go put that down in the studio.”
From the book of women: Always show respect where respect is due.
Annie Boudreaux. Formely Annie Moore.
You’d met Annie in passing a few times, and you liked her well enough. You both got along, seeing as you were both important women in Smoke’s life. To others, they wondered if it bothered you that Smoke’s ex-wife still came around to family functions, but truthfully, it didn’t.
You understood how important Annie was to Smoke and their shared history. It’d be selfish if you asked him to stay away from her. That didn’t mean that Smoke was taking advantage of the situation and disrespecting you. He’d always be open and let you know that he was going to see Annie. You’d always kiss him and bid him on his way.
Today was the first time that you’ve ever set foot in Annie’s yard.
You walk slowly towards the side of the house where baby Anais Moore’s headstone sits. You note the fresh flowers sitting at the headstone, no doubt from Smoke’s earlier visit in the week. You set down your own bouquet before willing away the tears that follow.
Smoke talks about his and Annie’s little girl from time to time, but only when the moon shines low in the room, and you can’t see his tears falling. He’d laid his head on your chest and whispered all about his daughter, while you remained silent and rubbed at his head.
“She was so beautiful and tiny. I was scared of holding her the first time,” He laments.
Your heart clenches painfully in your chest. You wish that you could take away all of the pain, but you know that nothing ever quite soothes the ache of losing a child.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here today,” Annie comments from her place on the steps. You catch her eyes as they clock the flowers that you placed at the baby’s grave.
“I wanted to come visit you, and I needed to ask for your help with something.”
Annie gives you a long look before ushering you inside the house. She pours you a glass of tea as you sit across from each other on the couch.
“So what brings you by?” Annie questions.
“Can you teach me how to make that gumbo dish that Elijah likes. He mentioned that it’s one of his favorite meals, and I wanted to do something nice for him,” You said, nerves coloring your voice.
Your wide eyes meet Annie’s, and you’re honestly scared that she’ll tell you no. Instead, she chuckles, “You came all this way to ask me how to make a pot of gumbo for Elijah? Come on, silly girl. You must really be in love.”
“I am.”
For another beat, you both look at each other, and Annie runs her eyes across you. Unbeknownst to you, she can see the pink swirls radiating around your body with all of the love that you have for Elijah.
She gestures for you to follow her to the kitchen, where she begins taking out all of the ingredients. She turns to you, “Go pick me some of those bell peppers from the garden.”
You nod before setting out to the garden, where Annie has an assortment of fruit and vegetables. You navigate towards the bell peppers as you pick out the best ones. Inside the house, you hand the peppers to Annie as she washes them off.
“I love your garden. I always wanted to grow one,” You said, leaning against the counter.
“Tell Elijah. He’s good at starting a garden,” Annie responds. She ushers you forward as she grabs the flour and cast-iron skillet.
“Now the roux is the most essential part of the gumbo. You mess up the roux, you might as well throw the whole pot away.”
Together, you and Annie work hand in hand to craft the gumbo the way that Smoke likes it. Annie lets you take over for the most part, while she gently guides you. Soon, you’re both sitting at the table sharing a bowl of gumbo over rice and laughing like old friends.
“Next thing I know, Stack is running out of the house. Yellin’ about some voodoo,” Annie states, to which you laugh loudly.
Your laugh calms after a few minutes when you catch Annie staring at you.
“Thank you,” She states.
She doesn’t have to explain what she’s thanking you for. You already know. You slide a hand across the table as you tangle your fingers together.
“I really appreciate you, Annie.”
“Likewise.”
She doesn’t mention that she can read your palms with your hands touching like this. She chuckles internally. She hopes that you’re ready for some twins in the future.
When Smoke gets home later in the day, he’s surprised at the familiar scent that wafts across his nose. For a minute, he wonders if Annie is inside the house with you. He walks inside the kitchen and takes note of you standing in front of the stove, stirring away at a familiar pot.
You and Smoke are so in tune with each other that you sense him as soon as he enters the house. You turn around, “Hey, Papa Bear, take a seat.”
Smoke sets his work bag down and takes a seat at the table. You fix his bowl of gumbo just the way that Annie mentioned he likes, along with a piece of cornbread on the side and a glass of tea. He takes a second to look between you and the bowl of gumbo. He notes the similarities in the gumbo, “You makin’ gumbo now, babygirl?”
“Mhmm..I had a little help from Annie today. I wanted to get it just the way that you like it,” You said, moving to fix your own bowl.
“You visited Annie today?”
“Yeah, you mentioned that her gumbo was always your favorite, so I went by to ask her how to make it for you.” You shrug at the end of your sentence like it’s no big deal, but to Smoke, it means the world.
Before you can take a bite of your gumbo, he grabs your hand in his.
“Thank you. You know I love you, right?” He said, eyes glistening under the light. It means a lot that you went out of your way to ask Annie how to make his favorite meal.
“I love you, too, Elijah,” You respond before connecting your lips to his.
As you both eat, Smoke eyes your empty ring finger and figures that he may need to change that pretty soon.
After the meal, Smoke offers to wash dishes, but you shoo him away.
“Just sit down, you’ve been working hard all day. It’s just a few dishes,” You said, turning the water on.
Smoke expects you to plug the sink and let it fill up with soap and water, but you do the exact opposite. You keep the water running as you wash each dish one by one under the hot water.
“Baby, you could’ve just filled the sink up,” Smoke comments.
“Ew, I don’t want all of that food touching my hands,” You shoot back.
Smoke decides to drop it and continues watching you wash the dishes. He already knows that he should expect the water bill to be higher this month. From the looks of the empty paper towel roll, he might have to just invest in the big pack from Costco.
From the book of young hoe: Always listen to Papa Bear.
It’s one of those nights when you and your girls are going out again. Smoke opts to stay in, but he’s already made sure that your purse is packed with all of the essentials. He knows how forgetful you can be.
The sound of your heels clicking brings his attention to you as you walk into the bedroom. He hadn’t paid much attention to your outfit. You always did your makeup first before putting on your outfit, and then you’d give him a little show before leaving.
Now, Smoke’s gotten used to some of your more risque clothing choices. Shoot, when he first met you, you were wearing a dress that had him drooling. He isn’t one of those guys who likes to police his woman on what she’s wearing, but he is very possessive of you. Smoke knows that you’re a baddie, so why would he stop you from being that?
However, he has to draw a line with this outfit, if you can even call it that.
Smoke coughs past the smoke and snuffs out the joint that you rolled for him. “What you got on?”
You smile at him through the mirror, “It’s cute, right? I found it the other day!”
You had taken the definition of mini skirt to a whole other level. You’re well endowed in your backside, which hangs out of the skirt. You bend forward to check your makeup, and Smoke almost falls out.
He frowns at you, “Go change. You ain’t leavin’ the house with that on.”
Naturally, the pout crosses your lips, “But why?”
“Baby, I ain’t finna have these niggas out here eyeing my woman, and I’m not around.”
You huff in annoyance, “Elijah, it’s not that deep. It’s not even that short.”
He eyes the skirt again with a glare on his face. If he could set the skirt on fire, he would.
“It’s not up for discussion. Go change into something else.”
“No.”
Smoke’s head whips around so fast that you’re surprised that his neck doesn’t break. That dark look crosses his face, “Babygirl, you sure you wanna cross that bridge with me? Take yo’ pretty ass back in there and get changed.”
The urge to be a brat weighs heavily on you tonight. You square your shoulders and look him dead in the eye, “Nope, I’m wearing this.”
A honk sounds from outside, and you move to grab your purse. Smoke is openly glaring at you and challenging you, “You leave out of this house, I hope you prepared for the consequences later.”
You shrug, “I’ll be back later on. I love you, Papa Bear.”
With that, you walk your pretty self out the door, even though your stomach tingles with anxiety. As you step into the car, your homegirls turn to look at you.
“Girl, Big Daddy Smoke let you out of the house wearing that,” your friend, Leilani, asks.
You smack your lips, “He was making a big deal of it at first. Telling me that I need to go change. He don’t run me.”
Your friend, Omi, smacks her lips, “Sis, he gone tear you up when you get back. You know them old heads don’t play about all that.”
“It’s fine, y’all. He’ll be okay when I get back.”
“He gone kill her when she gets back. I’m puttin’ a sign on you that says ‘Dead lady walking.’ You might as well gone get your coochie ready,” your friend, Keisha, quips.
When you all make it to the club, it’s turnt as usual. You and Stack lock eyes as you pass his section. His eyes flicker down to your skirt before he starts shaking his head. He ushers you over, “You gotta be one of the craziest people that I’ve ever met. Does my brotha’ know you outside like this?”
“Yes, Smoke doesn’t run me. I can wear what I want,” You state, a frown crossing your face.
Stack laughs. Not one of those low laughs, but the loud and annoying types.
“Whew, I’m scared for you, girl. But I’ll keep an eye on you. Have fun now before you get home,” Stack said, continuing to laugh. He lets you and your girls come into the section with him and his boys. You know that it’s so he can carefully watch you.
Whenever you go to get a drink, Stack stops you and goes to the bar himself. You and your friends go to hit the dance floor when Stack holds his hand up.
“Oh my gosh, Stack, move!”
Stack smacks his lips, “I’m just looking out for you. Gone dance, but if I see any nigga gettin’ too friendly with you, I’m on him like white on rice.”
You give him a thumbs-up before following your friends to the middle of the floor. You’re having the time of your life and twerking like you aren’t on borrowed time. Stack keeps his eyes on you at all times like he’s watching a toddler, which he thinks may be true. He takes his phone out to record a video of you to send to Smoke.
Stack
*video attached*
Don’t stress yourself out. I’m keepin’ an eye on her.
But I know you got something planned when she gets home.
*Smoke liked your message*
Stack takes a sip from his whiskey, “Lord, she in danger.”
By the end of the night, you’re all danced out and sweaty, but overall, you consider the night a win. Stack offers to take you home and ushers you into the car. Your friends snicker because they know that Smoke is punishing you tonight. The only one oblivious to the fact is you.
Pulling into the driveway, Stack turns to you with a smirk, “Good luck.”
The lights are all off in the house except the porch light. Smoke stands under the porch light like a serial killer. You turn to Stack with a grim look, “Maybe, we should back out of the driveway really slowly.”
“Nope. You wanted to be grown. Now, you gotta face your actions like a big girl,” Stack said.
“I’m blinking twice for help. I’m telling a trusted adult!”
Stack shrugs, “Too bad I’m not a trusted adult.”
“Trick..” you mutter before opening the door to exit the car. Smoke nods his head at Stack, who reciprocates.
“I’ll see you in a week,” Stack jokes, before backing out of the driveway.
Like a scared deer, you walk unevenly to the porch where Smoke is still standing. As you approach, he blows out a big cloud of smoke before throwing the joint down and stubbing it out. You stand in front of him, “Hey…”
Smoke doesn’t say anything, but simply steps to the side to let you inside the house. You swallow loudly as you walk inside the house. The only sounds are the distinct chirps from the crickets outside, along with the subtle clicks of your heels. You and Smoke make your way to the bedroom. You go to grab your pajamas when Smoke stops you, “Didn’t I tell you to change earlier?”
You turn slowly to face him, “Yes, you did.”
“And I told you that if you left this house, there would be consequences, but you didn’t listen, did you?”
“No….”
“Come here,” Smoke demands, voice soft. He doesn’t have to raise his voice to get his point across.
You stay rooted in the same spot, partially aroused and partially scared. Smoke chuckles darkly, “You still ain’t learned? You know I don’t like to repeat myself.” You scurry over to stand in front of Smoke as you look up at him with wide eyes.
“Stand right there,” Smoke orders. He walks off to rummage through one of the drawers. Your eyes widen as you see him procure one of his good ties. The heat from his body wafts onto yours as you become hyperaware of him standing behind you. Smoke grabs your hands in his and skillfully wraps the tie around your wrists so that your hands are bound behind your back. He tugs at the knot and hums in satisfaction.
You try your hand at seeing if you can move and find that you can’t. Smoke moves to stand in front of you as he glowers down at you. He steps closer to press his chest against yours. For a moment, a soft look crosses his face as he cups your face in his hands. He leans down to connect your lips, and you moan at the taste of whiskey that lingers on his tongue.
Smoke pulls back from the kiss as his eyes run across you. He trails his hands down your form until his cupping your backside in his hands. “You could’ve stayed home and modeled this lil’ skirt for me, but you wanted to go and show off what’s mine.”
You go to open your mouth to protest, but Smoke stops you, “I didn’t say I was done talking. Since you wanted to be a brat, I’ll treat you like one.” You let out a squeak when Smoke grabs you to throw you on the bed. Your body bounces before it settles.
Gripping the corset in his hands, he cleanly tears it down the middle until the material falls away. You gasp in surprise as the cool air hits your nipples. Flipping you onto your stomach, Smoke hikes your hips up and flips the skirt over.
He tugs your head back, “You owe me. You can either take my hand or something else.”
The last time Smoke spanked you, you were left shaking on the bed. It was either his hand or one of those leather belts with his name on it. You were screwed either way.
“Your hand,” You said.
Smoke nods, “Let’s tally up how much you owe me. 10 for the outfit plus 10 because I told you to take it off and you back-talked. Also, an additional 10 because you still left.” Your wide eyes meet his as you turn to face him, “But daddy, that’s thirty.”
Smoke chuckles, “Glad to see you can count, darlin’.”
The first hit sends heat flooding through your body, along with feeling your cheek ripple under his hand. The second hit sends a flood of wetness to your panties. By the tenth hit, the tears are already running down your face. How were you supposed to count through twenty more?
Your entire backside is on fire once Smoke delivers the last hit. You’re fully shaking and hiccuping into the sheets, but you can’t deny how turned on you are. By now, you’ve soaked completely through your panties, which Smoke clocks.
He takes two fingers and runs them up and down the soiled material, “My dirty baby. What am I gonna do with you, baby? You don’t know how to listen now.”
“M’Sorry, Papa. I’ll listen to you next time.”
“I know you will because I’m gonna make sure that you do.” He flips your body around and grips your panties as he tears them clean from your body. Smoke maneuvers your body to the headboard before going to grab another tie. He loops the tie through the bedpost before securing your hands to it.
Smoke walks over to the closet and rifles through it for a few seconds. You lift your head to get a good look, but his shoulders block your view. He walks over with a long metal rod in hand, “Do you know what this is?”
You shake your head. He laughs lowly, “It’s a spreader bar. I’m gonna put your legs in these cuffs, and you won’t be able to move.” Sitting at the edge of the bed, he removes your heels one by one before throwing them carelessly to the floor. He places your ankles in the cuffs and secures them. Smoke moves to stand in front of the bed as he grabs the metal in his hands. He can already see your glistening folds as your slick pools beneath you.
He moves your legs from side to side, “See, this is a special bar, I made it myself. Every time you move babygirl, it’ll spread your legs more.” He jerks the rod, which loudly clicks as your spread apart more. You look at him in surprise.
He grabs the box that he set on the bed and opens it. Your old man is a sex fiend, apparently, as he lifts various forms of vibrators out of the box. Smoke moves to your open legs and dips his fingers inside of you to collect your slick.
He brings his wet fingers up to his mouth to suck your juices from his fingers. He takes one of the vibrators in his hand before the tip across through your wet center. You shiver at the sensation of the tip dipping into your entrance.
“This one is special, babygirl. That special spot that I’m always hitting…well my little friend is made to specifically reach that spot.” He pushes the toy inside of you as you gasp at the fullness of it.
Smoke coos gently at you as your wet eyes meet his, “There we go, baby.” He clicks a button, which brings the vibrator to life inside you. Smoke pushes the toy in and out of you as your walls cling to it.
Your eyes widen when he holds up another toy, “My other friend is for that lil’ pearl up there.” He trails his fingers through the curls that cover young mound until he reaches your clit. Your body arches into his touch as he casually rubs small circles around your clit.
“Please…” you whine into the room.
“Please what, darlin’? I need you to be more specific,” Smoke said condescendingly.
Your mind is venturing into that mushy territory where you don’t know what you’re asking the man for.
He smirks, “You don’t even know what you’re asking me for. That’s alright. Take care of my other friend for me while I get done smoking.”
He attaches the curved toy to your clit and clicks a button, and it buzzes to life. Your first reaction is to move your body. You wither across the mattress, pleasure consuming every inch of you. You go to move your legs, only for the spreader to click and spread your legs further.
You gasp.
Smoke chuckles before moving to sit in the chair in the bedroom. He grabs his early discarded blunt to relight. He inhales the smoke into his lungs as he casually watches you suffer.
Smoke casually taps the button on his phone, which increases the vibrations on your clit and inside of you. Your back arches from the bed as your release climbs higher.
Just as you’re reaching that sweet release, Smoke taps the button and turns the vibrators off. A loud whine leaves your mouth, “Please let me cum, Papa.”
Smoke blows the smoke from his nose, “Since you asked so nicely…”
He eases up the level of the vibrators to the fullest level. A loud screams erupts from your mouth as your walls clasp around the toy and your orgasm consumes your body.
Smoke leans forward, “That’s one. Give me about four more and we’ll call it even.”
You turn your head to him in disbelief. Before you can protest, he turns the vibrators back on.
You’re a mess of cum, sweat, and tears. Exactly how Smoke prefers you.
Your brain is complete mush at this point and you can feel the puddle that had formed beneath you. Somewhere between the second and third orgasm, you’d squirted.
Smoke turns the vibrators off and throws his phone on the chair. He walks over to you and pulls your ruined face to his. Your expression shows how far gone you are. He lightly taps your face, “You still with me, babygirl?”
Your tongue lolls around in your mouth, “Mhmm, Papa.”
“So you can give me one more?”
“Mhmm.”
He unties your hands from the bed. He runs his hand across your wrists and kisses them gently. Smoke pulls the vibrator from your core and observes the cream that forms around the base of the toy. He flicks his tongue out to slurp some in his mouth.
Smoke pulls his shirt over his head before dropping his boxers. You eye his hardened dick and as tired as you are, you still need to feel him inside of you.
Smoke lays down on the bed next to you and pulls your pliant body across his lap. He points his tip at your swollen entrance, “Go slow, baby. Papa will take care of the rest.”
You lower your pussy down onto his dick as you whine into his shoulder. You shudder as you feel his large tip brushing against that spot inside you.
Smoke grabs your hips in his hand as he gently bounces you up and down on his dick. You turn your head to connect his your lips to his. Smoke slides his tongue into your mouth and gently sucks at your tongue.
He gives a particular thrust that sends fresh tears to your eyes. “I know, it’s too much baby, but you’re doing so good for me. Cum for me one more time, babygirl.”
You nod weakly.
Smoke plants his feet on the bed and starts thrusting roughly into your body. Loud, wet noises fill the bedroom as your walls clench around his length.
“M’coming Papa. Right there..”
Smoke feels his own balls tightening as his release nears. He smashes his lips onto yours as your orgasm hits. He swallows your moans into his mouth as his own orgasm starts.
Smoke holds your hips firmly to his as he fills you up. You shiver at the feeling of his
Summary: You pull your Michael, who’s been your celebrity crush for years. Only one problem—you’ve been writing fanfiction for years for the man, and now you have to find a way to keep your worlds separate. However, what happens when Michael finds out about your smutty little blog?
Warning(s): SMUT (18+, MDNI), smut writing, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex (m/f), deepthroating, spitting, cum swapping, daddy kink, backshots (if I missed something, don’t beat me up lol) I hope you guys enjoy. Let me know what you think!
You’d always found solace in fanfiction.
There was something so special about all of the stories that you’d read throughout the years about your favorite celebrities or your TV crushes. Your first introduction to fanfiction was Wattpad. Your friends had let you in on the coveted website and suggested it to you.
The first fanfic that your friend suggested just so happened to be a Mindless Behavior fanfic about Princeton. You were hooked. How had this world–this fandom–been escaping you for the past years?
Naturally, your relationship with the site continued to progress as you read more stories. You’d stay up till 2 AM just to read a story written by someone who was no doubt the same age as you.
Next, there was fanfiction.net.
You’d spent countless hours scouring through all of the Vampire Diaries fanfiction that you could get your hands on. You can’t recall the exact moment that you landed on Tumblr, but you knew that it just all clicked together for you.
The ‘x reader’ tag became your home.
You thoroughly enjoyed reading all of the stories about your crush on Zayn from 1D. With Tumblr, there seemed to be this brand new world of possibilities for you to read. However, there’s something that you’d noticed in your many hours of scrolling through Tumblr.
There weren’t many ‘x black!reader’s stories for you to indulge in. There was a handful of writers who’d become your solace when you looked to be shipped with a certain character or celebrity, but there weren’t many. You’d long grown tired of clicking on an interesting story only to have the reader be described as having long, flowy blonde or brunette locks that the male character could run his hands through. Similarly, you’d grown tired of reading smut where the reader was clearly described as having pale skin and pink nipples.
That wasn’t your story. As a black woman, you weren’t able to visualize yourself in these spaces or stories because they weren’t written with women like you in mind. To make matters worse, it seemed like fandoms were intent on erasing black women, who look like you, from the lexicon of the content.
It was all so draining and so very degrading.
Growing up, you’d always envisioned yourself as a writer. You loved stories, and reading was your way of escape. On sites like Wattpad and Tumblr, you could be transported to worlds and stories where you were the center of the story. There’d been many times when you opened up a Word document and started to type a story, only to never finish it.
For you, you compared yourself to other writers and their ability to write a compelling story. When you looked back at your own words on the paper, it felt like child’s play. So, you stopped writing. You subjected yourself to the role of an avid but silent reader who admires her favorite writers.
That was your role for a few years.
You’d silently heart the stories, but you were never brave enough to comment.
There were so many different stories in your head that you wanted to see on the platform. Silently, you wished that your favorite writers would somehow read your mind and bring the story to life without you asking. However, as the saying goes, “a closed mouth doesn’t get fed.”
The turning point for you was Black Panther.
You were there as the explosion of fanfics arose for Erik Killmonger, T’Challa, and M’Baku. What a time to be alive when all of your favorite writers were putting out work that should’ve been receiving some type of literary award. One night, after an hour of constantly reading about Erik Killmonger putting the reader through the mattress, you made your move.
You wrote and published your first-ever Tumblr fic.
As soon as you pushed the publish button, you immediately closed your laptop like it was an explosive waiting to detonate. You couldn’t bring yourself to go back and check to see what the reviews were.
What if they thought it was trash? What if your grammar was terrible? What if you didn’t capture the essence of the characters? What if no one read it all? For the sake of your mental health, you didn’t go back to check how your story was doing until two days later.
At the two-day mark, you found yourself logging back into Tumblr. You’d worked up the courage to see if there was any feedback. To your absolute shock and delight, people loved your story.
The hearts and comments overflowed as people asked for more. Thus, stargirlwriteswas born. Through your blog, not only did you give room for yourself to grow and see yourself be represented, but you made space for other black women to feel like they were being seen and heard. In your stories, the black women were always being loved on, worshipped, and cherished.
You’d grown a following and support system so big that you couldn’t imagine a future where you weren’t writing on Tumblr.
Honestly, you don’t know what to call what happened.
Fate. Coincidence. God.
You honestly have no clue, but this is the story of how you met your celebrity crush and bagged him. It started at the library–naturally. You liked the library. You liked coming to the library to work on your stories and your books. You’d recently been picked up by a publishing company to release your new Southern Gothic thriller. Between writing for your books and working on screenplays, you still found the time to work on writing on Tumblr.
There was no way you were letting your community down. Not after all of the support and love that they’d given you up to this point. In the library, you liked to sit at the back table that was conveniently away from everyone, but still, there was a giant window that allowed you to see outside.
It was the perfect spot.
No one had dared to venture into your self-proclaimed territory. Not until today.
You heard the light footsteps as they approached the back table and saw the man from the corner of your eye. He had a cap on his head, and from his body language, you could tell that he didn’t want to be seen. He was craving privacy just as you were.
The man looks over at you before clearing his throat, “Hey, I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you, but do you mind if I sit here? It’s just, I kind of want privacy, and this spot just seems like fewer people come here.”
There was a distinct nagging in your head that let you know that you knew his voice from somewhere, yet you brushed it off. Truthfully, you could’ve told the man no, but there was something inside you that begged you not to.
Plus, the table was huge, so it’d look a little weird if you were hoarding it for yourself.
“Yeah, of course.” You slide some of your scattered papers down towards yourself as the man takes a seat. After a few seconds, you and the man both begin working simultaneously on your projects. You can see him glancing over at you a few times, but you choose to ignore it.
From the corner of your eye, you see him take the hat off his head. He takes a tentative glance at you, but you still don’t entertain the notion of looking at him. For the next twenty minutes, the only sounds are you and the man typing on your computers and then writing down notes on your respective journals.
You finally look up and happen to glance in his direction and freeze.
You now understand why he was so adamant about hiding his face. You try not to freak out as you finally clock the fact that Michael B. Jordan is sitting across from you. The man whom you’ve had a crush on for years. And also the same man whom you’ve been writing the filthiest smut for. Talk about an embarrassing predicament.
Yet, you decide to play it cool. The last thing you want is for the man to think you’re fangirling over him when he’s trying to work.
Michael looks in your direction, “Hey, sorry to bother you again, but do you know where they keep the printers?”
You nod, “Yeah, they’re just around the corner. You can just click print, and it’ll ask for your name so that they don’t mix it up with anyone else’s papers.”
Michael nods at your instructions before giving you a sheepish smile, “Would you mind coming with me and helping? I just know I’ll forget everything at the printer.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile before quickly adding, “That’s if you’re free. I wouldn’t want to take you away from your work.”
“Sure. I got you,” You said, laughing a little before standing from your chair. Michael slides the cap over his head again before falling in step beside you. As expected, the printer is exactly where you said it would be. Michael leans over your shoulder to get a look at what you’re doing. A chill travels up the length of your spine at the feel of his body against yours. You can feel the heat from his body seeping into yours.
You bite your lip softly while peering up at him. Michael seems to notice the close distance and steps back. An embarrassed look crosses his face, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to all up in your space.”
“It’s fine.”
You click the file that has his name on it, and the papers start flowing from the printer. You grab them and hand the stack to Michael. The tips of his fingers brush against yours as he grabs the papers. You try to ignore the tingle that rushes up your skin at the feel of his skin. He gives you a quiet “thank you” before you both venture back to your corner of the library.
You take your seats at the same time.
Michael reaches across the table with his hand outstretched, “I’m Michael, by the way.”
You give him your name as you connect your hand with his. Internally, you’re freaking out at the fact that out of all days, you’re sitting across from your celebrity crush and practically holding his hand. The delusional part of you is telling you that he’s down bad for you, and this is the start of something beautiful. The writer part of you is mentally tracking all of the subtle movements that Michael makes with the full intent of incorporating them in your writing.
However, you quickly push those thoughts to the side because it feels a bit parasocial in a way.
You and Michael fall back into your rhythm of working on your projects. He looks up at you as you scribble down notes on your notepad. “What are you working on?”
You lift your eyebrows in surprise, “Just a play.”
“That’s neat. What’s it about?” Michael seems genuinely interested in your work as he leans further on the table.
“It’s a Southern gothic play about a young woman returning home to face her past trauma.”
Michael nods, “That sounds really dope. You planning to put it on Broadway?”
“Yeah, my agent and I have been working to get everything in motion.”
“Good luck. I’d like to come see it when you get it off the ground,” Michael said, sparing another dazzling smile in your direction.
You smile in response, “Definitely. What are you working on?”
Michael gives you a shy smile, deep dimples popping out of both cheeks, “I’m working on a romance, actually. It’s a story of two people who are married, trying to make it work, but somewhere along the line, their communication becomes lost. The only way that they know how to reach each other is by speaking through this new technology system.”
“That sounds like an amazing concept. You’re working on the script now?”
“Yeah, I’m just getting stuck on a few things, especially with my main woman lead. I’m struggling to get her voice just right, especially in the scene where they’re confronting each other,” Michael states, leaning back in his chair.
You bite your lip nervously, “I could read it if you wanted me to. I mean, I have experience writing romance, and I’m also an avid reader, so maybe I could give you a few pointers.” You’ll definitely leave out the part where you write avid romance and smut stories with him as the male lead.
“If you don’t mind, that’d be great. I’d hate to take you from your thing, though,” Michael responds.
You quickly shake your head, “No, I promise it’s fine. Plus, we writers have to stick together.”
Michael slides his laptop over in your direction before strolling to the part that he wants you to read. He unintentionally starts to watch you and your facial expressions as you’re taking in the work. Your eyes quickly skim across the work, and you make mental notes along the way until you stop at the point where Michael stopped typing.
He looks at you expectantly once you stop reading. “It’s good. The storyline that you’ve crafted so far in this scene is good. I like the tone, but I’m only getting one side of the argument. I’m hearing your male protagonist’s voice very clearly in this argument, but what about the female lead? What does she ultimately want to express in this argument?”
Michael takes a second, “She wants to feel heard. She wants him to understand that she hasn’t felt seen by him in a while in their relationship.”
“Good. You know your theme and intentions, but it’s not coming through in the scene. All I hear is his voice. Even the lines that you have for her, they’re still in line with his wants. Put yourself in her shoes and react. If you have a partner who hasn’t been meeting your needs, how would you respond as a woman?”
Michael goes through his brain for the answer. On some level, he knows how he wants it to go, but he’s still stuck. He gives you a helpless look, which makes you chuckle.
“How about this? You rewrite it again, and I’ll give you my critique.”
Michael nods before sliding the computer back towards himself. He takes your words into account and begins typing on the document again. He peers over the top of the computer as you continue scribbling in your notebook. You don’t catch the way that his eyes zoom in on the way that your teeth bite at the end of the pencil. He’s fascinated by you. You don’t even react to the fact that you clearly know who he is.
Little does Michael know, you’re having a full-blown panic attack on the inside.
After a solid twenty minutes pass, he stands and leaves the table. You expect to see that he’s packing up his things, but once you clock that all of his stuff is still here, you shrug. Maybe he had to go to the bathroom. A few minutes later, Michael plops into the seat with a handful of snacks.
Wordlessly, he slides a pack of Hi-Chews and chips in your direction. You stop writing and give him a questioning look. Michael shrugs, “To say thank you for your help.”
“What if I didn’t like Hi-Chews?”
“There’s a wrapper sticking out of your bag,” Michael points out, nodding his head towards your open laptop bag. You glance at the bag, and sure enough, a brightly-colored wrapper sticks out.
You can’t stop the laugh as it bursts from your lips, but you cover your mouth. Soon, Michael joins you in laughing.
“Let me take you out for a coffee after this.”
That’s the story of how you pulled your celebrity crush.
Your relationship with Michael surprises you each day. It really blows your mind that the man that you’ve been writing about for years is finally your boyfriend. Initially, you slow down on writing fics for Michael on Tumblr. It all feels a bit parasocial, especially when you’re with him most of the time.
But that still doesn’t stop the writer in you.
The more you fall for Michael, the more ideas pop into your head for possible stories. However, you channel the energy into working on writing your own novels. You really try to fight the urge to write on Tumblr. But the Tumblr app on your phone calls to you like the green goblin mask.
It only takes one specific kiss from Michael, with him pressing you against an elevator wall, to run to Tumblr. The community that you had built over the past years all express how happy they are to have you back, and you fall back into posting naturally.
Most of the people reading your writing would never suspect that you’re Michael’s new beau.
‘@donwrites: ugh sis, you write Michael so good! It’s like you know him personally.’
If only they knew that you had been kissing the man seven days out of the week and cuddling in his bed.
You keep the writing from Michael. If you’re typing at his house, you’ll play it off as working on a new novel or screenplay. He’s none the wiser to the fact that his girlfriend is writing the most downright filthy smut involving him.
It’s a random Thursday when Michael gets suspicious.
He’d invited you over under the guise of working together. You both found that you were a lot more productive when you worked across from each other. You slide the glasses up the bridge of your nose as you type quickly on the computer. You’re honestly in a flow state with the current story that you’re writing about Michael. You’d had the idea to write a story about him dominating the reader after a recent miscommunication.
You move to exit the bedroom. Sharp tears sting at your eyes as the heat builds in your chest. You sniffle loudly and wipe furiously at your eyes. The ache in your chest increases with each step that you take towards the door. You’re so close to the door when Michael grabs your arm. You try in vain to tug your arm from his grip, but he tightens his hold on you.
“Michael, let go of me,” You mutter, your chest heaving up and down.
“No, you don’t get to walk away. I don’t know about any of them other niggas you’ve been dealing with, but we talk things out around here. Go sit down,” He states, a hard edge to his voice.
You shoot him a hard look, defiance swirling through your irises. Michael matches your stance and squares his shoulder as he stares down at you, “You think I’m playing?”
He takes a step closer, his eyes growing darker. He moves until he’s standing chest-to-chest with you. Michael moves a hand up to your face and smushes your cheeks between his fingers. Your wide eyes meet his as he brings his face closer to you.
“Does it look like I’m playing with you?”
You give him a surp––
“What you working on over there, baby?” Michael questions from his side of the office.
You give him an awkward smile. How does one say, “Oh, nothing, babe, just writing out some nasty smut involving you for some equally freaked out women to read?”
Instead, you just respond, “Oh, nothing. Just some romance stuff.”
It’s not a lie, but it’s not the complete truth either. Michael doesn’t push the issue. He’s asked to read some of your writing before. You’ve obliged and let him read the things that aren’t fanfiction. Though he suspects that you may be writing something else that you don’t want him to see.
Michael’s not dense. He’s well aware of the rise of smut and spicy scenes in the book community. He figures that you may be writing something along that vein, but he respects you too much to pry. Though he secretly wonders what freaky stuff you could be writing.
The sex between you and Michael was good. Real good. However, there were certain aspects that you and Michael had explored. For example, he didn’t know about your desire to be dominated by him. He didn’t know about all of the nasty and explicit things that you imagined him doing to him. With Michael, he was very sensual and emotional in the act of sex, which you loved.
But you also yearned for him to turn you every way but loose.
For the next ten minutes, you type more for the story, including starting on the smut scene. You’re genuinely reaching flow state when your phone vibrates on the couch.
“I’ll be back, my agent is calling,” You said to Michael. He nods before looking down at his own computer. You minimize the Tumblr tab before exiting the room.
Once you leave the room, Michael can’t help the way that his eyes gravitate over to your laptop. The MacBook Pro is practically calling him to take a look. Maybe just a quick peek. He tiptoes across the room and lifts the top of the laptop. He peeks through your folders, including the one labelled “stories.” There’s nothing out of the ordinary there. It’s all the stories and screenplays that you’ve let him read.
He suspects he was overthinking and is about to close your computer when he notices your web browser is still open. Michael slides the mouse over to the open tab and quickly clicks on it.
Tumblr.
Now what’s this? His curiosity gets the better of him, and he browses through the website. He’s surprised when he sees stories popping up about himself. He clicks on the “Michael B. Jordan x black!reader” tag and feels like the world shifts for him. There’s a myriad of things here. Some sweet stories, but his intrigue goes up when he sees the NSFW stories.
Michael looks off to the side where there’s clearly a profile and clicks “view blog.”
dollhousewrites.
Is this you? He clicks on the post labelled Masterlist and finds that you have an extensive body of work. Michael clicks on the post labelled with his name and realizes that there are a lot of stories about him. He clicks on the most recent post from two weeks ago called “Terms and Conditions.”
Just as he’s about to start reading, he hears your footsteps approaching. He quickly airdrops the link to himself before closing your laptop and sitting at his desk.
He’s the picture of perfect innocence as you enter the room. He smiles at you, “Hey, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, she just wanted to let me know that my publishers want to talk about my next book release for the fall,” You respond, giving him a wide smile.
“That’s great, baby. I’ll take you out tomorrow so we can celebrate,” Michael said, and he meant it. Even when you were both still forming a friendship, he watched how hard you worked on your books and screenplays. You were careful with which details you ingrained in your characters. He’d forever be talking about how you’re his favorite writer, and how he has one of the world’s greatest writers as his girlfriend.
Still, he yearns to know more about you, and that starts with delving into your Tumblr stories.
That night, while you’re sleeping next to him in bed with your back turned, Michael pulls up the Tumblr link on his phone. He strolls through the stories again and starts from the beginning of what he learned is called “a masterlist.” Your initial stories are centered more around Erik Stevenson. You truly capture the essence of what makes the character tic. The recklessness and die-hard mentality for his cause. Michael thinks that you may understand Erik better than he does.
As he progresses through your masterlist, he clocks the different eras of his career that you write for. Hell, you’d even written about Vince Howard from a college perspective. He notices the shift once he enters his Sinners era. The works are a lot more mature and erotic. It’s during this part that he reaches the stories that you’ve personally written about him.
He clicks on Terms and Conditions once again. He’s sucked into a world where you’ve characterized him down to the tee. You’ve incorporated some of the subtle mannerisms that you’ve noticed him doing from your time of dating him.
He even catches a few of the phrases that he commonly says in the story. It’s when he makes it to the smut portion of the story that things shift for him. Michael feels the heat rising within his chest and traveling further down.
Michael removes his head from between your legs, your juices shining all over his mouth. He presses one last lingering kiss to your pulsing clit. You whimper at how sensitive you are. He gives you a dark smile, hunger swirling beneath his brown irises, “You taste so good, baby.”
“Please, Michael,” You beg, doe-eyes desperately begging for more.
Michael brings his hand up to encircle your pretty neck, “What do you need from me, baby? Just tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I want you to fuck me, daddy.”
He groans at the sound of your desperate words and gently lays you back on the counter. Chills run through your body at the cool marble pressing against your heated skin. Michael takes the moment to look at you, naked and vulnerable, in his hands. Love bites litter the expanse of your skin from where he got greedy earlier. He takes both of your thick thighs in his hands and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter.
He crudely slaps his dick across your pearl as you flinch from the pleasure.
“You don’t want me to be nice to you tonight,” He inquires. You shake your head. You always liked him when he toed the line between cruel and permissive. Michael gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip down on your pussy. He slides his dicks through the mess, combining it with the slick that he’s oozing from you.
He takes the tip of his dick and notches it in your––
You shift in the bed and turn on your side to face him. Michael all but jumps out of his skin as he quickly locks his phone and glances to see if you’ve caught him. Peering closer, he lets out a deep sigh of relief once he concludes that you’re still sleeping.
He takes a second to just breathe. He’s never felt so overwhelmed by reading something. Is this what you wanted him to do to you? He’s dabbled here and there with some rough play and kinks in his sexual life, but he can’t recall a specific moment where he’s allowed himself to fully lose control and just give in. He spares you another glance and fully looks at the content expression on your face. His sweet girlfriend has been writing all this filthy stuff right under his nose.
By the way that his dick is straining against his brief, he concludes that he likes it just as much as you and your readers do.
Michael’s being weird, and that’s putting it lightly because he’s naturally kind of weird at home. No, this is different from his usual weird behavior. He’s been a lot more clingy, which you definitely don’t mind. But he’s been crowding your space more and seemingly more horny for you, which again you aren’t complaining, but you wonder where the shift came from.
Even now, as you both leave the after-party of an event that he was invited to, he’d been all over you. Throughout the night, he kept his grip tight on your waist and would frequently press kisses to the side of your neck.
Now, inside the car, he reaches across to rest his hand on your thigh, which isn’t unusual for him. However, you clock the way that his hand slides up the apex of your thighs, where your dress has shifted. Michael grips your thigh as he keeps his eyes on the road.
“Are you okay?” You ask, which makes him jump in surprise.
Michael looks down and clocks where his hand is. He goes to remove his hand until you place yours over his to keep it there.
“I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” Michael asks, worry filling his eyes. You always admired that about Michael. He was a gentleman through and through, and consent was always key with him.
“You’re not making me uncomfortable. I’m just asking if you’re okay. You’ve been crowding me all week. At the party, you were all over me. Now, I’m not complaining, but I could swear you’re ovulating,” You said, smiling widely at him.
Michael shrugs, “I can’t help it. You just look so sexy.”
He chooses the moment to venture further up where his fingers brush against your panties, which are growing wetter by the second. He peeks over at you, “Take them off for me.”
You give him a surprised look, to which he smirks, “Just humor me, babygirl.”
You slide your hands under your dress and tug your panties down your legs. Michael opens his hand to you and gestures with his eyes for you to put the panties in his hand. You oblige, and your jaw drops when you see him bring the wet material up to his nose.
“Open your legs,” He orders.
You spread your legs, but try to scooch down so that you’re not dripping down on his leather seats. Michael smacks his lips, “Baby, don’t worry about making a mess. That’s the whole point. I wanna smell your pussy on my seat the next time that I get in here.”
You’re clutching at your invisible pearls. Michael guides his hand back to your wet center and trails his fingertips up and down to gather your wetness on his fingertips. He slides two fingers across your clit and rubs circles across the throbbing pearl. Your pretty lips form a pout as the whimpers drop from your mouth. Moving down, Michael’s fingers dip in and out of your entrance as you roll your hips to meet his touch.
Michael bites his lip at how needy you are. It’s turning him on more knowing that he can’t fully watch you how he wants, but he has to rely on his touch and hearing. “Spread your legs wider for me, baby.”
You open your legs, and truthfully, you can’t pretend to be shy with your pussy out in his car. Michael plunges two fingers inside your dripping hole. Loud wet noises fill the car as he curls his fingers in and out of you. He presses the palm of his hand into your clit. You throw your head back against the seat as you loudly moan. You clutch at his hand, and Michael’s even more turned on; he clocks you humping against his hand.
The driveway to his house appears, and he turns to you briefly, “Go ahead and cum for me, babygirl.” He curls his fingers across your spot, and soon, your walls tighten as your release consumes you. Michael pulls into the driveway and has the pleasure of watching as you ride your release out. His eyes wander over your form as your breasts press against the dress. As you come down, your eyes meet his. He gently pulls his fingers from you, which are drenched with your release. Michael slides his fingers up to his mouth and sucks your juices from his fingers.
He makes a big display of it by closing his eyes and moaning. Once he opens his eyes, he catches your lustful stare. “Come on, we’re not done yet.”
Inside the house, you and Michael are all over each other. Hands messily groping at each other as he slams you against the wall. You can see the brief moment that he pauses, afraid that he’s hurt you, but you smile widely at him. He leans closer until his breath ghosts over your lips, “You don’t want me to be nice to you tonight.”
You freeze. Your confused eyes meet Michael’s as he smirks at you.
“Pause,” You state, pushing gently at his chest. He sets you down on your feet before you move to create distance between yourselves.
You rack your brain at how he could know that sentence. That sentence of all the possibilities of things that he could’ve said to you. Michael waits patiently on the other side of the room for you to make the connection.
You groan loudly, “You read my story, didn’t you?”
Michael looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He tries in vain to appear aloof, but he fails miserably. “Yeah, that night your agent called. I was just curious about what you were writing. I didn’t mean to disrespect your boundaries. I’m sorry.”
You bite your nails, a nervous habit of yours that Michael had been helping you break.
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I mean, this is so embarrassing. You literally found out that I’ve been writing fanfics about you, and I’m dating you!” You exclaim. You begin pacing back and forth in the room until you move to walk towards the door.
Michael frowns and quickly crosses the space to stop you, “Why are you leaving?”
He frowns even more when he sees the tears in your eyes. Guilt courses through his body. He steps in front of you and grasps your face in his hands, “Baby, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you or anything like that. This is on me, I shouldn’t have been snooping through your stuff. But I just wanted you to know how much I liked it and to incorporate some of it.”
You sniffle and frown at him, “What? You liked reading my story?”
“Yeah, you know I always like reading whatever you write. If anything, I was flattered that you put that much work into writing for me and my characters. The way you write me, baby, I’ve never seen myself that way. It turned me on, to be honest.”
“Really?”
“Mhmm. I keep going back to read all of your stories over.” He pauses to laugh, “I even created an account to start liking your stories.”
You think back to your recent follows and laugh loudly, “Boy, are you bakari87?”
Michael laughs before nodding, “Yeah, mbjlover was already taken.”
There’s a moment of silence before you both break into laughter. Michael looks at you before pressing his lips to yours. “I mean it when I say that I really liked it, babygirl. I was kind of hoping that we could recreate some of the moments from your Terms and Conditions story.”
“You really liked that one?”
“Yeah, the part about me spitting on the reader’s pussy really did it for me.” He slides his hand down to close around your throat. Your eyes move to meet his as the heat floods throughout your body.
Michael keeps his hand around your throat as he carefully navigates you toward the couch. He gestures for you to take off your heels, which you do. With the heels off, it adds to the height difference between the two of you. He navigates behind you to toy with the zipper of your dress. The sound of the zipper fills the room as you can feel the excitement building in your core.
The dress falls to your feet as you stand naked before Michael. He runs his across your figure, taking in all the details that he’d committed to memory. Once he’s in front of you, he roughly grabs your face in his hands and smushes your cheeks together.
“This is the part where you have fucking the reader’s throat. Let’s start there,” He orders gently. You nod obediently and sit on the couch. You go to button his pants when he stops you, “You can’t remember your own story, babygirl? You open my pants with your mouth.”
Your mouth waters as you remember the plot point. Moving forward, you run your face across his bulge. You mouth at the button and move your head to the side to pop it open. You look up at Michael through your lashes as you grasp the zipper between your teeth and move down. Michael is nice enough to remove his pants for you.
He grabs the back of your head and presses your face into his covered dick. You mouth at his covered dick, your spit staining the front of his briefs. Kissing upwards, you lick at the happy trail of hair leading down into his briefs. Grasping the fabric between your teeth, you pull the briefs down until Michael’s dick is finally exposed to the air.
“Let me feel your throat, baby,” Michael mutters. You shudder at the realization that he’s quoting directly from your story. You don’t even need directions for your next actions. You lick along the underside of his dick right along the pretty vein that runs through it.
Your lips close around the tip of Michael’s dick, where his precum covers your taste buds. You suck at his sensitive tip as he groans and throws his head back. You move your mouth down to begin bobbing up and down on his dick. Your hand follows to cover the base where your mouth doesn’t reach.
Michael curls his hand through your hair and pulls you back, “Stick your tongue out.”
You do, and he leans down to release a trail of spit into your waiting mouth. Your eyes flutter as you moan at the filthiness of the act. Michael guides you back to his dick, but this time it’s different. You cross your arms behind your back just as you had written in your story. Michael looks down at you for consent, and you gladly give it.
The first push of his dick makes you gag a little. He pauses to let you adjust. You nod in his hold, and he resumes thrusting. You breathe through your nose as he enters your throat. Spit from your mouth drips onto your breasts and the floor. Tears fill your eyes as your mascara begins to run. Michael looks down and moans loudly, “You look so beautiful, Princess. You’re doing so good for Daddy.”
Pleasure sparks through Michael’s body at the whole scenario. It turns him on even more with how much you trust him to use you like this. Feeling bold, he pushes your face down so that your nose is engulfed in his pubes. You breathe through your nose and moan around his dick as it settles in your throat. Michael shudders at the feel of your warm throat. After a few seconds, he pulls out of your mouth completely.
He looks down at you again as you give him a wide smile. Tear, spit, and mascara streak across your face, but to Michael, you’ve never looked more beautiful.
He helps you to stand as he lifts you in his arms. You see him walking to the counter, and your pussy clenches in anticipation. Gently, he lays you across the marble counter. He quickly discards his shirt before moving between your legs.
“Please, Michael,” you beg, wide eyes meeting his.
“What do you need from me, baby? Just tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I want you to fuck me, daddy.”
He pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. He takes both of your thick thighs in his hands and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. Just like the story, Michael gathers the spit in his mouth and deposits it crudely on your wet center. He slaps his dick across your clit where the spit landed and rubs the mess in with your combined slick.
Only this time, he won’t be getting interrupted.
He guides his tip to your entrance, and you both watch as he slips inside your warm walls. Your combined moans fill the empty kitchen as Michael’s thigh touches the back of yours. He pulls back and watches as pussy clings to him. His dark eyes find yours, “You see that? Pretty pussy is begging to keep me in.”
A deep breath leaves your mouth as he thrusts back in. Michael covers your body with his as he thrusts in and out of you.
“Michael..” you whine, once he lifts one of your legs to hang over his shoulder.
“I know, baby. You’re doing so good for me,” He responds, connecting his lips to yours. You whimper as he pulls out of you. You can feel your walls clenching in response to the loss.
Michael maneuvers your body from the counter and bends you over. You shiver as your nipples brush against the cool surface. You look back as Michael lines his tip up with your opening again, “I wanna see that pretty ass bounce on me.” You arch your back in the way that you know he likes, which makes him groan.
Michael slides inside you as he watches your backside ripple under his thrusts. You look back at him as you start thrusting back against him. Michael’s gaze is focused on the motion of your ass and the ring of cream that’s coating the base of his dick.
“You’re so deep, baby,” You whimper.
Michael can feel his own release building inside of him. He grabs your hips to start thrusting again. He reaches under you to start stroking your clit. He leans over to your open mouth, and you stick your tongue out again. A string of spit leaves his mouth and falls into your waiting mouth. A loud cry leaves your mouth as your orgasm hits. You shake in Michael’s hold as tears trail down the side of your face. He kisses your tears and continues to thrust inside of you.
With one last stroke, Michael moans loudly at this own orgasm consumes him. His own body shakes against your own as he pulls you flush against him. You and Michael moan at the mutual feeling of his cum shooting against your womb. When he pulls out, his cum trails down your thighs.
You surprise him by dropping to your knees and taking his cum-stained dick into your mouth.
“Baby, wait..”Michael pleads, still sensitive from his own orgasm. You ignore him and keep bobbing your head while fondling his balls. Michael practically screams as he cums again, his white release painting your tongue.
You stand up, and Michael clocks that you haven’t swallowed yet. You gesture for him to open his mouth. Your own hand comes to close around his throat as you spit his cum back into his mouth. You don’t waste any time sliding your tongue into his mouth as you both swap the cum back and forth until it’s gone.
You both pull back as you give him a demure smirk.
“I hope you write that into the next story for all of your freaky followers,” Michael comments.
“Oh, I most definitely will. I’m sure that they’ll love to hear that their Oscar Winner loves the taste of his own cum,” You mutter against his lips.
Michael laughs, “I like it when it’s coming from you. But I’m not done with you yet. There are a few other stories that I wanna recreate, starting with your Sinner story.”
Let’s just say, the girls were treated to a lot more Michael content, approved by the man himself.
can yall just say who is doing ai fics and stop speaking so vaguely especially when we ask who it is and get no response because as readers we want to engage in REAL work and support REAL authors so unless you actually admit who it is please stop with the posts unless you call out the mfs doing it, please and thank you
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬◞﹒୧. Onyankopon was a bit foolish to introduce his cute autistic sister—you—to Connie. You were a literal princess who deserved all his care. The most beautiful girl ever in his eyes, and he had no shame breaking Ony's rules to make you his girlfriend. Ony thought he had managed to protect you from his criminal friend, but for years Connie had been secretly coming at night to make love to you. Like tonight.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬◞﹒୧ . 2.5k words, black!fem!reader, plus!size!reader, hyperfeminine nonverbal autistic reader, sign langage, hispanic!connie, plug!connie, fluffy smutty fic, established relationship, forbidden love, stoner!connie, tattooed!connie, pierced!connie, affectionate!connie, check ins, sensory seeking needs, hyposensitivity, ‘mami, baby, princesa’ pet names, feet kissing/toes sucking, fingering, cunnilingus, choking, vaginal penetration, missionary with legs on shoulders, kisses.
𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬◞﹒୧ . first mini connie fic, i wanted something cute!!!! i have a longer one in my wips, hehe… hope you will like this <3
The sounds of the game Detroit Become Human lulled Connie into a high. Even Eren's grunts when he made a choice that would negatively impact the story were like a sweet melody accompanying him as he floated, staring at the ceiling with glazed over eyes. Everything was perfect; he was so relaxed he wasn't thinking about the addicted clients he'd have to serve tomorrow, or how hard Ony would beat him if he knew how he was going to make his sister cum tonight.
He glanced down the stairs, alerted by your footsteps, as if you were divinely connected. His eyes followed you down with your tablet, wearing a pale pink leggings and vest set from I AM GIA. No one in your family knew, but Connie had bought it, and he felt hot just thinking you were wearing it on purpose because he was there. You looked like a pilates princess, and your vanilla scent filled the room as you approached your brother's group of friends, making Connie intoxicated, as always.
Everyone greeted you except Connie, who must play it cool as if his dick wasn't making regular in-and-out motions inside you at least four times a week. As if his heart wasn't beating, his body wasn't breathing for your beautiful, sparkling brown eyes.
You glanced at Connie, smiling shyly as if he were a stranger and not your boyfriend of several years. It was a shame your overprotective brother was in the room; you would have loved to get down on your knees to kiss the tattoos on his stomach and take his pierced dick in your mouth, turned on by his dark streetwear outfit, contrasting with your pink one. He looked like a bad boy, but the only bad guy here was Eren; Connie was a loverboy. He returned your small smile by discreetly patting the spot next to him. You sat down next to him, pleased because you thought he was looking at the drawings you were making on your tablet, but the truth was that Connie was staring at your thick thighs, which had tripled in size in your seated position. He remembered what it felt like to have them trembling around his head and adjusted his sweatpants so his erection wouldn't be noticeable. He took out his phone. You had to know.
“I want to be inside you.”
Concentrated in your digital art and oblivious to the tension, your stylus stopped drawing, your eyes rereading the message in confusion.
‘In a food, stabbing, or sexual way?’ You sent.
Connie giggled softly when he received the notification. You and your autistic brain that takes everything literally. Dirty talk was a pain in the ass with you.
“All three. Your beauty stabs me, I want to eat you up to have you inside me, and I want to fuck you.”
“That’s something Chikage from Hakuouki would have said.”
“Who is this nobody from another otome?”
“Speak of my husband with respect.”
“Your real future husband is right here, princesa,” he whispered in your ear. You shivered at the sensual intonation of his voice, as close as you were, your body overheating at the thought of tonight. You checked that no one was looking in your direction so you could sign “I hope so, but you know it’s not possible.”
Connie didn’t lose his sweet expression, still a playful glint in his eyes. He placed his hand on your thigh to grasp the soft flesh. “Ony will have to kill me with his own hands to prevent our future together. Even my spirit will haunt him. He can’t do anything to me.”
You quickly brushed his hand away, heat rising to your neck and burning your cheeks.
Your relationship consisted of three things: acting like goofy fools together, him playing the hero of forbidden romances, and him making love to you passionately and tenderly.
Being with Connie was like living a real rom-com, even though he was a drug dealer.
You were writing a new message. “I’m going to leave you, you make my head boil.”
He laughed softly. “Since when does my girl understand metaphors like that?”
You playfully punched him and signed “I’m not a walking autistic cliché.”
“Yes, you are. Look at what you sent me a few minutes ago.”
You ignored him and went back up to your room and once at the top of the stairs you gave him the finger and he just gave you his stupid smile with his red eyes because of the weed.
──────── 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭,
Connie walked into your room, immediately ripping off his hoodie and t-shirt and throwing them on the floor, revealing his fully tattooed chest and abdomen. Filled with designs you'd done, like the rose that started its stem on his hip and whose petals touched his ribs, the soft style of the tattoo contrasted with the harsh lines of the ink. But Connie loved it. It was like having you and him inside him, on him, for him.
'Heaven or Las Vegas' by Cocteau Twins played softly in your room as you sat at your vanity. The dream pop song made Connie, who was stoned out, drift even further into the psychedelic atmosphere. You detangled your hair with hair milk, separating it into four twists—two in the front on each side, two in the back—so it would be easier to manage tomorrow when you went to get your hair braided by your favorite braider, who didn't charge an entire month's salary for long knotless braids. Connie admired the goddess who was his girlfriend for a long time, licking his lips as he noticed you were wearing that Savage X Fenty pale rose nightgown, which was sheer, with a ribbon bow at the center of your chest.
“Mami, I missed you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your neck and burying his face in your scalp, inhaling the scent of rosemary mint from your Mielle hair oil, castor oil, and shea butter from your Skala leave-in conditioner. He bought that one for you after seeing a TikTok about a Brazilian influencer with the same curl pattern as you recommending it.
With your hands manicured in a French manicure, you used sign language to communicate “We saw each other earlier,” with a roll of your eyes.
“I know, but I’m obsessed with my princess.” He kissed the back of your neck, his cuban accent adding charisma to his voice.
His desire, love, and passion for you, dripping from his voice, made you feel all giddy and fuzzy in your stomach. You smiled shyly at him in the mirror of your heart-shaped vanity.
“Don’t smile like that,” he said softly, almost desperately, his red eyes and dilated pupils even more affected by your little smile. “You’re so gorgeous in this.” He played with the thin straps of your nightgown. “But I’m sure you’re even prettier without them, aren’t you, baby?”
Shyly, you ignored his compliment and finished styling your hair before protecting it with your satin bonnet, the same color as your wardrobe, before getting up to hug Connie. Thinking he wanted to make love now, you led him toward the bed, but Connie spun you around.
Chuckling, you understood he wanted to dance and followed him, as the dream pop song stopped to make way for “Punch Drunk” by Sade. A wordless jazz track, purely instrumental, that made you feel like you were in an old jazz bar with your secret forbidden lover.
His hand on the small of your back, Connie made you dance, roaming around your room, laughing when you bumped into furniture because the space was small, kissing you when the saxophone was more intense than ever. He took advantage of the kisses to move his hands up and caress the voluptuous curves of your chubby body. Your fat ass, which he gripped even though you tried to push him away, the pudginess of your belly that he loved to feel under his fingers, and your ample breasts that rose and fell rapidly before him because of your barely concealed desire.
“Use your voice, what do you want?” he teased, knowing damn well you had nonverbal autism.
You glared at him and tried to push him away, but he threw you onto the bed.
“Aww, I’m such a bad boyfriend, I have to make amends for my crimes.”
He removed the rest of his clothes, keeping his black boxer briefs on for now. He stayed on his knees on the bed as you lay there, resting on your elbows.
You nodded at what he said and lifted your legs to place your French-manicured foot on the center of his collarbones. Connie smirked, knowing what you wanted.
He took your foot in his hands and kissed it all over, from heel to toe, appreciating the softness of your skin as you had just come from the shower where you had exfoliated. He wrapped his tongue around your toes, then sucked on them, his gray eyes fixed on you, a fire igniting from your core and spreading through your body.
You wanted this, you needed this. You gave him your other foot where he did the same, little shivers running through you at the movements of his tongue on your skin. Your breathing quickened as his lips moved up your leg, venturing under your nightgown. You couldn't see Connie because of your chubby belly, so you lay fully on your back, staring up at the ceiling. Not being able to speak or see him should have made your sex life difficult, but it was quite the opposite. Connie regularly checked for your consent and comfort; your nonverbal communication wasn't an issue. You tugged at his hair to let him know you liked what his tongue was doing, and you patted his shoulders to tell him to pause because the wave of overstimulation was near. As for the details—how fast or slow to use his tongue, which spot to lick—Connie paid close attention to your breathing and the way your thighs clenched around his head to gauge whether he was doing a good job.
“I’m gonna keep this on you,” he breathed, liking the lacy pink panties you were wearing. He pushed it to the side, his warm breath on your cunt, in need for attention.
The music switched to “Iceblink Punk” by Cocteau Twins, and the combination of the psychedelic sound and Connie’s tongue plunging into you was surreal. You felt like you were floating high in the sky.
Connie was truly gentle, slow, and calm when he was eating you out. Eating pussy was an art, and he was the Mozart and Shakespeare of the field. He took his time pleasuring you, smiling because even when you couldn’t speak; you didn’t fake your panting. The warm metal ball of his piercing kept rolling around your throbbing bud, just to feel your legs tremble, but his tongue explored every corner, collecting your arousal in his mouth. He was even disappointed you'd just showered, because it lacked flavor. He was a perverted loverboy like that, yeah.
Lapping through wet folds, he groaned every time he felt the pulse of your pussy in his mouth. His hands gripped your thick hips, making them grind against his face, to guide you, to show you it was okay to do that, because your autism sometimes made you a motionless robot during sex.
“You’re okay, baby?” he asked softly, reassured when you stroked his scalp to say yes.
After a comfortable rhythm of hip movements settled in, he removed his hands and sank his fingers inside you, all the while sucking your clit. A searing, burning sensation in your lower abdomen, almost setting your whole being ablaze, as you pulled at his short hair that had grown since his buzzcut to indicate to him that the combination was perfect.
When you reached your peak, there were no dramatic expressions or noises, just Connie nearly choking as you pushed your pelvic floor into his head and painfully squeezed your thighs around him.
“Still in a hyposensitivity mode?” he whispered, as he managed to pull away from your grip.
You nodded, catching your breath. Connie was always attentive to your autistic sensory needs, especially when you were in a sensory-seeking mode, or a mode where your sensitivity was low and you needed a lot of stimulation, like now.
He removed his underwear, nudging your entrance with his pierced tip as he laid down on you, putting all his weight on you. You were crushed by him, but it was perfect. To further satisfy your sensory needs, he wrapped his hand around your neck, squeezing comfortably. It was the perfect combination of pressure for you.
“No tits touching?”
You shook your head. Sometimes, you needed a lot of stimulation while simultaneously hating stimulation somewhere.
He leaned down to kiss your neck. “Okay, mami. Gonna take of you, now. Do you feel my piercing?”
He slid his pierced dick through the folds, still not entering for the moment. Your hands caressed his back, digging your nails into it to communicate that yes, you feel it, and you like it. He groaned, placing more passionate open-mouthed kisses on your skin. He pushed his hips, your warmth welcoming him like a king. He smiled against your skin hearing your usual gasp when his full size was inside you.
“Can’t handle these inches, huh?” he teased, sucking your earlobe. “You’re gonna take this dick anyway. Too bad for you, princesa.”
He leaned back to see your eyes widening every time he penetrated you. He moved his hips backward to let you breathe and pushed back in.
“Why is she wetter than usual?”
He looked at your slick cock, which covered his face with awe.
You pointed at his red eyes. His smile widened.
“Are you turned on by my stoner self? You’re so cute.” He kissed you, his tongue entwined with yours. You breathed softly into the kiss, overwhelmed by him, his dick, his affection.
He slipped his hands under your bent knees and placed them on his shoulders. The position you were in made it impossible for him to hide your belly rolls under your sheer nightgown. He looked terrifying with his low groan and his eyes dilated by weed and your beauty, staring at your curves as if he wanted to devour you whole. He wrapped his hand around your neck again, to your great pleasure. He increased the speed of his thrusts, panting above you, obsessed with the sight of your eyes rolling back when he touched a sensitive spot inside you.
A fever rose in your belly; you were embarrassed to come so quickly again, but every movement of Connie's was precise and deep, so he chuckled when he felt your legs clench his head once more.
He kissed your forehead.
“My baby is needy tonight.”
You nodded, cuddling him, pleading with your eyes to go even faster and harder.
He gladly spent the whole night taking care of you like he always does. Because that’s the thing about Connie: when his princess wants something, he’s going to give it to her. Even if his best friend, your brother, would kill him if he knew.
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Aww, he is so considerate and sweet! I love the detail about her hair and how he pays enough attention to know her specific curl pattern. He is so understanding of her sensory needs, too—he's just a wonderful guy for her.
Also, when he walked into the room and started stripping? Yes, please. Take it off. All of it!!
The line,“Yes, you are. Look at what you sent me a few minutes ago,” killed me. This might sound weird, but your writing style is just so pretty, if that makes sense.
Summary: You pull your Michael, who’s been your celebrity crush for years. Only one problem—you’ve been writing fanfiction for years for the man, and now you have to find a way to keep your worlds separate. However, what happens when Michael finds out about your smutty little blog?
Warning(s): SMUT (18+, MDNI), smut writing, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex (m/f), deepthroating, spitting, cum swapping, daddy kink, backshots (if I missed something, don’t beat me up lol) I hope you guys enjoy. Let me know what you think!
You’d always found solace in fanfiction.
There was something so special about all of the stories that you’d read throughout the years about your favorite celebrities or your TV crushes. Your first introduction to fanfiction was Wattpad. Your friends had let you in on the coveted website and suggested it to you.
The first fanfic that your friend suggested just so happened to be a Mindless Behavior fanfic about Princeton. You were hooked. How had this world–this fandom–been escaping you for the past years?
Naturally, your relationship with the site continued to progress as you read more stories. You’d stay up till 2 AM just to read a story written by someone who was no doubt the same age as you.
Next, there was fanfiction.net.
You’d spent countless hours scouring through all of the Vampire Diaries fanfiction that you could get your hands on. You can’t recall the exact moment that you landed on Tumblr, but you knew that it just all clicked together for you.
The ‘x reader’ tag became your home.
You thoroughly enjoyed reading all of the stories about your crush on Zayn from 1D. With Tumblr, there seemed to be this brand new world of possibilities for you to read. However, there’s something that you’d noticed in your many hours of scrolling through Tumblr.
There weren’t many ‘x black!reader’s stories for you to indulge in. There was a handful of writers who’d become your solace when you looked to be shipped with a certain character or celebrity, but there weren’t many. You’d long grown tired of clicking on an interesting story only to have the reader be described as having long, flowy blonde or brunette locks that the male character could run his hands through. Similarly, you’d grown tired of reading smut where the reader was clearly described as having pale skin and pink nipples.
That wasn’t your story. As a black woman, you weren’t able to visualize yourself in these spaces or stories because they weren’t written with women like you in mind. To make matters worse, it seemed like fandoms were intent on erasing black women, who look like you, from the lexicon of the content.
It was all so draining and so very degrading.
Growing up, you’d always envisioned yourself as a writer. You loved stories, and reading was your way of escape. On sites like Wattpad and Tumblr, you could be transported to worlds and stories where you were the center of the story. There’d been many times when you opened up a Word document and started to type a story, only to never finish it.
For you, you compared yourself to other writers and their ability to write a compelling story. When you looked back at your own words on the paper, it felt like child’s play. So, you stopped writing. You subjected yourself to the role of an avid but silent reader who admires her favorite writers.
That was your role for a few years.
You’d silently heart the stories, but you were never brave enough to comment.
There were so many different stories in your head that you wanted to see on the platform. Silently, you wished that your favorite writers would somehow read your mind and bring the story to life without you asking. However, as the saying goes, “a closed mouth doesn’t get fed.”
The turning point for you was Black Panther.
You were there as the explosion of fanfics arose for Erik Killmonger, T’Challa, and M’Baku. What a time to be alive when all of your favorite writers were putting out work that should’ve been receiving some type of literary award. One night, after an hour of constantly reading about Erik Killmonger putting the reader through the mattress, you made your move.
You wrote and published your first-ever Tumblr fic.
As soon as you pushed the publish button, you immediately closed your laptop like it was an explosive waiting to detonate. You couldn’t bring yourself to go back and check to see what the reviews were.
What if they thought it was trash? What if your grammar was terrible? What if you didn’t capture the essence of the characters? What if no one read it all? For the sake of your mental health, you didn’t go back to check how your story was doing until two days later.
At the two-day mark, you found yourself logging back into Tumblr. You’d worked up the courage to see if there was any feedback. To your absolute shock and delight, people loved your story.
The hearts and comments overflowed as people asked for more. Thus, stargirlwriteswas born. Through your blog, not only did you give room for yourself to grow and see yourself be represented, but you made space for other black women to feel like they were being seen and heard. In your stories, the black women were always being loved on, worshipped, and cherished.
You’d grown a following and support system so big that you couldn’t imagine a future where you weren’t writing on Tumblr.
Honestly, you don’t know what to call what happened.
Fate. Coincidence. God.
You honestly have no clue, but this is the story of how you met your celebrity crush and bagged him. It started at the library–naturally. You liked the library. You liked coming to the library to work on your stories and your books. You’d recently been picked up by a publishing company to release your new Southern Gothic thriller. Between writing for your books and working on screenplays, you still found the time to work on writing on Tumblr.
There was no way you were letting your community down. Not after all of the support and love that they’d given you up to this point. In the library, you liked to sit at the back table that was conveniently away from everyone, but still, there was a giant window that allowed you to see outside.
It was the perfect spot.
No one had dared to venture into your self-proclaimed territory. Not until today.
You heard the light footsteps as they approached the back table and saw the man from the corner of your eye. He had a cap on his head, and from his body language, you could tell that he didn’t want to be seen. He was craving privacy just as you were.
The man looks over at you before clearing his throat, “Hey, I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you, but do you mind if I sit here? It’s just, I kind of want privacy, and this spot just seems like fewer people come here.”
There was a distinct nagging in your head that let you know that you knew his voice from somewhere, yet you brushed it off. Truthfully, you could’ve told the man no, but there was something inside you that begged you not to.
Plus, the table was huge, so it’d look a little weird if you were hoarding it for yourself.
“Yeah, of course.” You slide some of your scattered papers down towards yourself as the man takes a seat. After a few seconds, you and the man both begin working simultaneously on your projects. You can see him glancing over at you a few times, but you choose to ignore it.
From the corner of your eye, you see him take the hat off his head. He takes a tentative glance at you, but you still don’t entertain the notion of looking at him. For the next twenty minutes, the only sounds are you and the man typing on your computers and then writing down notes on your respective journals.
You finally look up and happen to glance in his direction and freeze.
You now understand why he was so adamant about hiding his face. You try not to freak out as you finally clock the fact that Michael B. Jordan is sitting across from you. The man whom you’ve had a crush on for years. And also the same man whom you’ve been writing the filthiest smut for. Talk about an embarrassing predicament.
Yet, you decide to play it cool. The last thing you want is for the man to think you’re fangirling over him when he’s trying to work.
Michael looks in your direction, “Hey, sorry to bother you again, but do you know where they keep the printers?”
You nod, “Yeah, they’re just around the corner. You can just click print, and it’ll ask for your name so that they don’t mix it up with anyone else’s papers.”
Michael nods at your instructions before giving you a sheepish smile, “Would you mind coming with me and helping? I just know I’ll forget everything at the printer.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile before quickly adding, “That’s if you’re free. I wouldn’t want to take you away from your work.”
“Sure. I got you,” You said, laughing a little before standing from your chair. Michael slides the cap over his head again before falling in step beside you. As expected, the printer is exactly where you said it would be. Michael leans over your shoulder to get a look at what you’re doing. A chill travels up the length of your spine at the feel of his body against yours. You can feel the heat from his body seeping into yours.
You bite your lip softly while peering up at him. Michael seems to notice the close distance and steps back. An embarrassed look crosses his face, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to all up in your space.”
“It’s fine.”
You click the file that has his name on it, and the papers start flowing from the printer. You grab them and hand the stack to Michael. The tips of his fingers brush against yours as he grabs the papers. You try to ignore the tingle that rushes up your skin at the feel of his skin. He gives you a quiet “thank you” before you both venture back to your corner of the library.
You take your seats at the same time.
Michael reaches across the table with his hand outstretched, “I’m Michael, by the way.”
You give him your name as you connect your hand with his. Internally, you’re freaking out at the fact that out of all days, you’re sitting across from your celebrity crush and practically holding his hand. The delusional part of you is telling you that he’s down bad for you, and this is the start of something beautiful. The writer part of you is mentally tracking all of the subtle movements that Michael makes with the full intent of incorporating them in your writing.
However, you quickly push those thoughts to the side because it feels a bit parasocial in a way.
You and Michael fall back into your rhythm of working on your projects. He looks up at you as you scribble down notes on your notepad. “What are you working on?”
You lift your eyebrows in surprise, “Just a play.”
“That’s neat. What’s it about?” Michael seems genuinely interested in your work as he leans further on the table.
“It’s a Southern gothic play about a young woman returning home to face her past trauma.”
Michael nods, “That sounds really dope. You planning to put it on Broadway?”
“Yeah, my agent and I have been working to get everything in motion.”
“Good luck. I’d like to come see it when you get it off the ground,” Michael said, sparing another dazzling smile in your direction.
You smile in response, “Definitely. What are you working on?”
Michael gives you a shy smile, deep dimples popping out of both cheeks, “I’m working on a romance, actually. It’s a story of two people who are married, trying to make it work, but somewhere along the line, their communication becomes lost. The only way that they know how to reach each other is by speaking through this new technology system.”
“That sounds like an amazing concept. You’re working on the script now?”
“Yeah, I’m just getting stuck on a few things, especially with my main woman lead. I’m struggling to get her voice just right, especially in the scene where they’re confronting each other,” Michael states, leaning back in his chair.
You bite your lip nervously, “I could read it if you wanted me to. I mean, I have experience writing romance, and I’m also an avid reader, so maybe I could give you a few pointers.” You’ll definitely leave out the part where you write avid romance and smut stories with him as the male lead.
“If you don’t mind, that’d be great. I’d hate to take you from your thing, though,” Michael responds.
You quickly shake your head, “No, I promise it’s fine. Plus, we writers have to stick together.”
Michael slides his laptop over in your direction before strolling to the part that he wants you to read. He unintentionally starts to watch you and your facial expressions as you’re taking in the work. Your eyes quickly skim across the work, and you make mental notes along the way until you stop at the point where Michael stopped typing.
He looks at you expectantly once you stop reading. “It’s good. The storyline that you’ve crafted so far in this scene is good. I like the tone, but I’m only getting one side of the argument. I’m hearing your male protagonist’s voice very clearly in this argument, but what about the female lead? What does she ultimately want to express in this argument?”
Michael takes a second, “She wants to feel heard. She wants him to understand that she hasn’t felt seen by him in a while in their relationship.”
“Good. You know your theme and intentions, but it’s not coming through in the scene. All I hear is his voice. Even the lines that you have for her, they’re still in line with his wants. Put yourself in her shoes and react. If you have a partner who hasn’t been meeting your needs, how would you respond as a woman?”
Michael goes through his brain for the answer. On some level, he knows how he wants it to go, but he’s still stuck. He gives you a helpless look, which makes you chuckle.
“How about this? You rewrite it again, and I’ll give you my critique.”
Michael nods before sliding the computer back towards himself. He takes your words into account and begins typing on the document again. He peers over the top of the computer as you continue scribbling in your notebook. You don’t catch the way that his eyes zoom in on the way that your teeth bite at the end of the pencil. He’s fascinated by you. You don’t even react to the fact that you clearly know who he is.
Little does Michael know, you’re having a full-blown panic attack on the inside.
After a solid twenty minutes pass, he stands and leaves the table. You expect to see that he’s packing up his things, but once you clock that all of his stuff is still here, you shrug. Maybe he had to go to the bathroom. A few minutes later, Michael plops into the seat with a handful of snacks.
Wordlessly, he slides a pack of Hi-Chews and chips in your direction. You stop writing and give him a questioning look. Michael shrugs, “To say thank you for your help.”
“What if I didn’t like Hi-Chews?”
“There’s a wrapper sticking out of your bag,” Michael points out, nodding his head towards your open laptop bag. You glance at the bag, and sure enough, a brightly-colored wrapper sticks out.
You can’t stop the laugh as it bursts from your lips, but you cover your mouth. Soon, Michael joins you in laughing.
“Let me take you out for a coffee after this.”
That’s the story of how you pulled your celebrity crush.
Your relationship with Michael surprises you each day. It really blows your mind that the man that you’ve been writing about for years is finally your boyfriend. Initially, you slow down on writing fics for Michael on Tumblr. It all feels a bit parasocial, especially when you’re with him most of the time.
But that still doesn’t stop the writer in you.
The more you fall for Michael, the more ideas pop into your head for possible stories. However, you channel the energy into working on writing your own novels. You really try to fight the urge to write on Tumblr. But the Tumblr app on your phone calls to you like the green goblin mask.
It only takes one specific kiss from Michael, with him pressing you against an elevator wall, to run to Tumblr. The community that you had built over the past years all express how happy they are to have you back, and you fall back into posting naturally.
Most of the people reading your writing would never suspect that you’re Michael’s new beau.
‘@donwrites: ugh sis, you write Michael so good! It’s like you know him personally.’
If only they knew that you had been kissing the man seven days out of the week and cuddling in his bed.
You keep the writing from Michael. If you’re typing at his house, you’ll play it off as working on a new novel or screenplay. He’s none the wiser to the fact that his girlfriend is writing the most downright filthy smut involving him.
It’s a random Thursday when Michael gets suspicious.
He’d invited you over under the guise of working together. You both found that you were a lot more productive when you worked across from each other. You slide the glasses up the bridge of your nose as you type quickly on the computer. You’re honestly in a flow state with the current story that you’re writing about Michael. You’d had the idea to write a story about him dominating the reader after a recent miscommunication.
You move to exit the bedroom. Sharp tears sting at your eyes as the heat builds in your chest. You sniffle loudly and wipe furiously at your eyes. The ache in your chest increases with each step that you take towards the door. You’re so close to the door when Michael grabs your arm. You try in vain to tug your arm from his grip, but he tightens his hold on you.
“Michael, let go of me,” You mutter, your chest heaving up and down.
“No, you don’t get to walk away. I don’t know about any of them other niggas you’ve been dealing with, but we talk things out around here. Go sit down,” He states, a hard edge to his voice.
You shoot him a hard look, defiance swirling through your irises. Michael matches your stance and squares his shoulder as he stares down at you, “You think I’m playing?”
He takes a step closer, his eyes growing darker. He moves until he’s standing chest-to-chest with you. Michael moves a hand up to your face and smushes your cheeks between his fingers. Your wide eyes meet his as he brings his face closer to you.
“Does it look like I’m playing with you?”
You give him a surp––
“What you working on over there, baby?” Michael questions from his side of the office.
You give him an awkward smile. How does one say, “Oh, nothing, babe, just writing out some nasty smut involving you for some equally freaked out women to read?”
Instead, you just respond, “Oh, nothing. Just some romance stuff.”
It’s not a lie, but it’s not the complete truth either. Michael doesn’t push the issue. He’s asked to read some of your writing before. You’ve obliged and let him read the things that aren’t fanfiction. Though he suspects that you may be writing something else that you don’t want him to see.
Michael’s not dense. He’s well aware of the rise of smut and spicy scenes in the book community. He figures that you may be writing something along that vein, but he respects you too much to pry. Though he secretly wonders what freaky stuff you could be writing.
The sex between you and Michael was good. Real good. However, there were certain aspects that you and Michael had explored. For example, he didn’t know about your desire to be dominated by him. He didn’t know about all of the nasty and explicit things that you imagined him doing to him. With Michael, he was very sensual and emotional in the act of sex, which you loved.
But you also yearned for him to turn you every way but loose.
For the next ten minutes, you type more for the story, including starting on the smut scene. You’re genuinely reaching flow state when your phone vibrates on the couch.
“I’ll be back, my agent is calling,” You said to Michael. He nods before looking down at his own computer. You minimize the Tumblr tab before exiting the room.
Once you leave the room, Michael can’t help the way that his eyes gravitate over to your laptop. The MacBook Pro is practically calling him to take a look. Maybe just a quick peek. He tiptoes across the room and lifts the top of the laptop. He peeks through your folders, including the one labelled “stories.” There’s nothing out of the ordinary there. It’s all the stories and screenplays that you’ve let him read.
He suspects he was overthinking and is about to close your computer when he notices your web browser is still open. Michael slides the mouse over to the open tab and quickly clicks on it.
Tumblr.
Now what’s this? His curiosity gets the better of him, and he browses through the website. He’s surprised when he sees stories popping up about himself. He clicks on the “Michael B. Jordan x black!reader” tag and feels like the world shifts for him. There’s a myriad of things here. Some sweet stories, but his intrigue goes up when he sees the NSFW stories.
Michael looks off to the side where there’s clearly a profile and clicks “view blog.”
dollhousewrites.
Is this you? He clicks on the post labelled Masterlist and finds that you have an extensive body of work. Michael clicks on the post labelled with his name and realizes that there are a lot of stories about him. He clicks on the most recent post from two weeks ago called “Terms and Conditions.”
Just as he’s about to start reading, he hears your footsteps approaching. He quickly airdrops the link to himself before closing your laptop and sitting at his desk.
He’s the picture of perfect innocence as you enter the room. He smiles at you, “Hey, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, she just wanted to let me know that my publishers want to talk about my next book release for the fall,” You respond, giving him a wide smile.
“That’s great, baby. I’ll take you out tomorrow so we can celebrate,” Michael said, and he meant it. Even when you were both still forming a friendship, he watched how hard you worked on your books and screenplays. You were careful with which details you ingrained in your characters. He’d forever be talking about how you’re his favorite writer, and how he has one of the world’s greatest writers as his girlfriend.
Still, he yearns to know more about you, and that starts with delving into your Tumblr stories.
That night, while you’re sleeping next to him in bed with your back turned, Michael pulls up the Tumblr link on his phone. He strolls through the stories again and starts from the beginning of what he learned is called “a masterlist.” Your initial stories are centered more around Erik Stevenson. You truly capture the essence of what makes the character tic. The recklessness and die-hard mentality for his cause. Michael thinks that you may understand Erik better than he does.
As he progresses through your masterlist, he clocks the different eras of his career that you write for. Hell, you’d even written about Vince Howard from a college perspective. He notices the shift once he enters his Sinners era. The works are a lot more mature and erotic. It’s during this part that he reaches the stories that you’ve personally written about him.
He clicks on Terms and Conditions once again. He’s sucked into a world where you’ve characterized him down to the tee. You’ve incorporated some of the subtle mannerisms that you’ve noticed him doing from your time of dating him.
He even catches a few of the phrases that he commonly says in the story. It’s when he makes it to the smut portion of the story that things shift for him. Michael feels the heat rising within his chest and traveling further down.
Michael removes his head from between your legs, your juices shining all over his mouth. He presses one last lingering kiss to your pulsing clit. You whimper at how sensitive you are. He gives you a dark smile, hunger swirling beneath his brown irises, “You taste so good, baby.”
“Please, Michael,” You beg, doe-eyes desperately begging for more.
Michael brings his hand up to encircle your pretty neck, “What do you need from me, baby? Just tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I want you to fuck me, daddy.”
He groans at the sound of your desperate words and gently lays you back on the counter. Chills run through your body at the cool marble pressing against your heated skin. Michael takes the moment to look at you, naked and vulnerable, in his hands. Love bites litter the expanse of your skin from where he got greedy earlier. He takes both of your thick thighs in his hands and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter.
He crudely slaps his dick across your pearl as you flinch from the pleasure.
“You don’t want me to be nice to you tonight,” He inquires. You shake your head. You always liked him when he toed the line between cruel and permissive. Michael gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip down on your pussy. He slides his dicks through the mess, combining it with the slick that he’s oozing from you.
He takes the tip of his dick and notches it in your––
You shift in the bed and turn on your side to face him. Michael all but jumps out of his skin as he quickly locks his phone and glances to see if you’ve caught him. Peering closer, he lets out a deep sigh of relief once he concludes that you’re still sleeping.
He takes a second to just breathe. He’s never felt so overwhelmed by reading something. Is this what you wanted him to do to you? He’s dabbled here and there with some rough play and kinks in his sexual life, but he can’t recall a specific moment where he’s allowed himself to fully lose control and just give in. He spares you another glance and fully looks at the content expression on your face. His sweet girlfriend has been writing all this filthy stuff right under his nose.
By the way that his dick is straining against his brief, he concludes that he likes it just as much as you and your readers do.
Michael’s being weird, and that’s putting it lightly because he’s naturally kind of weird at home. No, this is different from his usual weird behavior. He’s been a lot more clingy, which you definitely don’t mind. But he’s been crowding your space more and seemingly more horny for you, which again you aren’t complaining, but you wonder where the shift came from.
Even now, as you both leave the after-party of an event that he was invited to, he’d been all over you. Throughout the night, he kept his grip tight on your waist and would frequently press kisses to the side of your neck.
Now, inside the car, he reaches across to rest his hand on your thigh, which isn’t unusual for him. However, you clock the way that his hand slides up the apex of your thighs, where your dress has shifted. Michael grips your thigh as he keeps his eyes on the road.
“Are you okay?” You ask, which makes him jump in surprise.
Michael looks down and clocks where his hand is. He goes to remove his hand until you place yours over his to keep it there.
“I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” Michael asks, worry filling his eyes. You always admired that about Michael. He was a gentleman through and through, and consent was always key with him.
“You’re not making me uncomfortable. I’m just asking if you’re okay. You’ve been crowding me all week. At the party, you were all over me. Now, I’m not complaining, but I could swear you’re ovulating,” You said, smiling widely at him.
Michael shrugs, “I can’t help it. You just look so sexy.”
He chooses the moment to venture further up where his fingers brush against your panties, which are growing wetter by the second. He peeks over at you, “Take them off for me.”
You give him a surprised look, to which he smirks, “Just humor me, babygirl.”
You slide your hands under your dress and tug your panties down your legs. Michael opens his hand to you and gestures with his eyes for you to put the panties in his hand. You oblige, and your jaw drops when you see him bring the wet material up to his nose.
“Open your legs,” He orders.
You spread your legs, but try to scooch down so that you’re not dripping down on his leather seats. Michael smacks his lips, “Baby, don’t worry about making a mess. That’s the whole point. I wanna smell your pussy on my seat the next time that I get in here.”
You’re clutching at your invisible pearls. Michael guides his hand back to your wet center and trails his fingertips up and down to gather your wetness on his fingertips. He slides two fingers across your clit and rubs circles across the throbbing pearl. Your pretty lips form a pout as the whimpers drop from your mouth. Moving down, Michael’s fingers dip in and out of your entrance as you roll your hips to meet his touch.
Michael bites his lip at how needy you are. It’s turning him on more knowing that he can’t fully watch you how he wants, but he has to rely on his touch and hearing. “Spread your legs wider for me, baby.”
You open your legs, and truthfully, you can’t pretend to be shy with your pussy out in his car. Michael plunges two fingers inside your dripping hole. Loud wet noises fill the car as he curls his fingers in and out of you. He presses the palm of his hand into your clit. You throw your head back against the seat as you loudly moan. You clutch at his hand, and Michael’s even more turned on; he clocks you humping against his hand.
The driveway to his house appears, and he turns to you briefly, “Go ahead and cum for me, babygirl.” He curls his fingers across your spot, and soon, your walls tighten as your release consumes you. Michael pulls into the driveway and has the pleasure of watching as you ride your release out. His eyes wander over your form as your breasts press against the dress. As you come down, your eyes meet his. He gently pulls his fingers from you, which are drenched with your release. Michael slides his fingers up to his mouth and sucks your juices from his fingers.
He makes a big display of it by closing his eyes and moaning. Once he opens his eyes, he catches your lustful stare. “Come on, we’re not done yet.”
Inside the house, you and Michael are all over each other. Hands messily groping at each other as he slams you against the wall. You can see the brief moment that he pauses, afraid that he’s hurt you, but you smile widely at him. He leans closer until his breath ghosts over your lips, “You don’t want me to be nice to you tonight.”
You freeze. Your confused eyes meet Michael’s as he smirks at you.
“Pause,” You state, pushing gently at his chest. He sets you down on your feet before you move to create distance between yourselves.
You rack your brain at how he could know that sentence. That sentence of all the possibilities of things that he could’ve said to you. Michael waits patiently on the other side of the room for you to make the connection.
You groan loudly, “You read my story, didn’t you?”
Michael looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He tries in vain to appear aloof, but he fails miserably. “Yeah, that night your agent called. I was just curious about what you were writing. I didn’t mean to disrespect your boundaries. I’m sorry.”
You bite your nails, a nervous habit of yours that Michael had been helping you break.
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I mean, this is so embarrassing. You literally found out that I’ve been writing fanfics about you, and I’m dating you!” You exclaim. You begin pacing back and forth in the room until you move to walk towards the door.
Michael frowns and quickly crosses the space to stop you, “Why are you leaving?”
He frowns even more when he sees the tears in your eyes. Guilt courses through his body. He steps in front of you and grasps your face in his hands, “Baby, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you or anything like that. This is on me, I shouldn’t have been snooping through your stuff. But I just wanted you to know how much I liked it and to incorporate some of it.”
You sniffle and frown at him, “What? You liked reading my story?”
“Yeah, you know I always like reading whatever you write. If anything, I was flattered that you put that much work into writing for me and my characters. The way you write me, baby, I’ve never seen myself that way. It turned me on, to be honest.”
“Really?”
“Mhmm. I keep going back to read all of your stories over.” He pauses to laugh, “I even created an account to start liking your stories.”
You think back to your recent follows and laugh loudly, “Boy, are you bakari87?”
Michael laughs before nodding, “Yeah, mbjlover was already taken.”
There’s a moment of silence before you both break into laughter. Michael looks at you before pressing his lips to yours. “I mean it when I say that I really liked it, babygirl. I was kind of hoping that we could recreate some of the moments from your Terms and Conditions story.”
“You really liked that one?”
“Yeah, the part about me spitting on the reader’s pussy really did it for me.” He slides his hand down to close around your throat. Your eyes move to meet his as the heat floods throughout your body.
Michael keeps his hand around your throat as he carefully navigates you toward the couch. He gestures for you to take off your heels, which you do. With the heels off, it adds to the height difference between the two of you. He navigates behind you to toy with the zipper of your dress. The sound of the zipper fills the room as you can feel the excitement building in your core.
The dress falls to your feet as you stand naked before Michael. He runs his across your figure, taking in all the details that he’d committed to memory. Once he’s in front of you, he roughly grabs your face in his hands and smushes your cheeks together.
“This is the part where you have fucking the reader’s throat. Let’s start there,” He orders gently. You nod obediently and sit on the couch. You go to button his pants when he stops you, “You can’t remember your own story, babygirl? You open my pants with your mouth.”
Your mouth waters as you remember the plot point. Moving forward, you run your face across his bulge. You mouth at the button and move your head to the side to pop it open. You look up at Michael through your lashes as you grasp the zipper between your teeth and move down. Michael is nice enough to remove his pants for you.
He grabs the back of your head and presses your face into his covered dick. You mouth at his covered dick, your spit staining the front of his briefs. Kissing upwards, you lick at the happy trail of hair leading down into his briefs. Grasping the fabric between your teeth, you pull the briefs down until Michael’s dick is finally exposed to the air.
“Let me feel your throat, baby,” Michael mutters. You shudder at the realization that he’s quoting directly from your story. You don’t even need directions for your next actions. You lick along the underside of his dick right along the pretty vein that runs through it.
Your lips close around the tip of Michael’s dick, where his precum covers your taste buds. You suck at his sensitive tip as he groans and throws his head back. You move your mouth down to begin bobbing up and down on his dick. Your hand follows to cover the base where your mouth doesn’t reach.
Michael curls his hand through your hair and pulls you back, “Stick your tongue out.”
You do, and he leans down to release a trail of spit into your waiting mouth. Your eyes flutter as you moan at the filthiness of the act. Michael guides you back to his dick, but this time it’s different. You cross your arms behind your back just as you had written in your story. Michael looks down at you for consent, and you gladly give it.
The first push of his dick makes you gag a little. He pauses to let you adjust. You nod in his hold, and he resumes thrusting. You breathe through your nose as he enters your throat. Spit from your mouth drips onto your breasts and the floor. Tears fill your eyes as your mascara begins to run. Michael looks down and moans loudly, “You look so beautiful, Princess. You’re doing so good for Daddy.”
Pleasure sparks through Michael’s body at the whole scenario. It turns him on even more with how much you trust him to use you like this. Feeling bold, he pushes your face down so that your nose is engulfed in his pubes. You breathe through your nose and moan around his dick as it settles in your throat. Michael shudders at the feel of your warm throat. After a few seconds, he pulls out of your mouth completely.
He looks down at you again as you give him a wide smile. Tear, spit, and mascara streak across your face, but to Michael, you’ve never looked more beautiful.
He helps you to stand as he lifts you in his arms. You see him walking to the counter, and your pussy clenches in anticipation. Gently, he lays you across the marble counter. He quickly discards his shirt before moving between your legs.
“Please, Michael,” you beg, wide eyes meeting his.
“What do you need from me, baby? Just tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I want you to fuck me, daddy.”
He pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. He takes both of your thick thighs in his hands and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. Just like the story, Michael gathers the spit in his mouth and deposits it crudely on your wet center. He slaps his dick across your clit where the spit landed and rubs the mess in with your combined slick.
Only this time, he won’t be getting interrupted.
He guides his tip to your entrance, and you both watch as he slips inside your warm walls. Your combined moans fill the empty kitchen as Michael’s thigh touches the back of yours. He pulls back and watches as pussy clings to him. His dark eyes find yours, “You see that? Pretty pussy is begging to keep me in.”
A deep breath leaves your mouth as he thrusts back in. Michael covers your body with his as he thrusts in and out of you.
“Michael..” you whine, once he lifts one of your legs to hang over his shoulder.
“I know, baby. You’re doing so good for me,” He responds, connecting his lips to yours. You whimper as he pulls out of you. You can feel your walls clenching in response to the loss.
Michael maneuvers your body from the counter and bends you over. You shiver as your nipples brush against the cool surface. You look back as Michael lines his tip up with your opening again, “I wanna see that pretty ass bounce on me.” You arch your back in the way that you know he likes, which makes him groan.
Michael slides inside you as he watches your backside ripple under his thrusts. You look back at him as you start thrusting back against him. Michael’s gaze is focused on the motion of your ass and the ring of cream that’s coating the base of his dick.
“You’re so deep, baby,” You whimper.
Michael can feel his own release building inside of him. He grabs your hips to start thrusting again. He reaches under you to start stroking your clit. He leans over to your open mouth, and you stick your tongue out again. A string of spit leaves his mouth and falls into your waiting mouth. A loud cry leaves your mouth as your orgasm hits. You shake in Michael’s hold as tears trail down the side of your face. He kisses your tears and continues to thrust inside of you.
With one last stroke, Michael moans loudly at this own orgasm consumes him. His own body shakes against your own as he pulls you flush against him. You and Michael moan at the mutual feeling of his cum shooting against your womb. When he pulls out, his cum trails down your thighs.
You surprise him by dropping to your knees and taking his cum-stained dick into your mouth.
“Baby, wait..”Michael pleads, still sensitive from his own orgasm. You ignore him and keep bobbing your head while fondling his balls. Michael practically screams as he cums again, his white release painting your tongue.
You stand up, and Michael clocks that you haven’t swallowed yet. You gesture for him to open his mouth. Your own hand comes to close around his throat as you spit his cum back into his mouth. You don’t waste any time sliding your tongue into his mouth as you both swap the cum back and forth until it’s gone.
You both pull back as you give him a demure smirk.
“I hope you write that into the next story for all of your freaky followers,” Michael comments.
“Oh, I most definitely will. I’m sure that they’ll love to hear that their Oscar Winner loves the taste of his own cum,” You mutter against his lips.
Michael laughs, “I like it when it’s coming from you. But I’m not done with you yet. There are a few other stories that I wanna recreate, starting with your Sinner story.”
Let’s just say, the girls were treated to a lot more Michael content, approved by the man himself.
summary: the one where cameron shows you how you deserve to be treated.
word count: ~9k (oops?)
pairing: dom!cameron cade x black!sub!reader
warnings: 18+!!! kind of a slow burn, subdrop, d/s dynamics, subspace, angst, smut, weed smoking, friends to lovers, hints to reader being plus size, dacryphilia, degradation, aftercare, vulgarity, smacking/impact play, oral sex (both receiving)
a/n: i was going through subdrop while writing this and just needed some comfort so enjoy!
—————
An abyss.
That’s what this felt like.
A chasm so deep that when you looked up, you could see stars in the sky in the middle of the day.
You were suspended in thick matter, like glue. This made it hard to get out.
“Aftercare isn’t real”
The words repeat in your head like a mantra.
But it is real. There’s just something about guys wanting to play the dominant role and forgetting how vital aftercare is at the end of a scene.
The sex was good, but the dopamine crash wasn’t worth it.
You trust a guy enough to play but once they feel they’ve scored, the entire dominant act ends. They get their fix and suddenly they’re a different person. Cold and short before they leave you there to clean yourself up.
No reassurance. No soothing.
Just… nothing.
The names they used to degrade you feel like scarlet letters on your chest, everlasting brandings that others can see.
Your phone rang for the 7th time in the past hour but you can’t move your arm just an inch over to grab it, lift it and hit the green button, let alone have an entire conversation.
Your screen goes black once again and it feels like a weight off your already exhausted shoulders. Except it lights up again and it feels like an elephant sitting on your chest.
You lie on your side and stare at the wall ahead, not even taking the fraction of a second to see it was your best friend calling.
Cameron Cade, the famous football player who also dabbles in the BDSM scene. You two met at a club, both of you just getting a feel for the scene and finding comfort in each other as newbies.
But Cameron was a natural at this. He earned his stripes and many desired to get him as theirs but they never got past a few play sessions with him.
Cameron has had many good times with subs. You hear whispers in the clubs about just how good he is but you? You can only hope to find a Dom as good as him.
“Bunny! I know you see me calling you what the hell is go-,”
Cameron’s voice startled you but you were so stuck that you couldn’t even flinch, the only thing your body could do to acknowledge the shock is make your stomach flip, making you nauseous.
“Bun?” You see his figure step into your room but you can’t move.
When he crouched down on the other side of the bed to face you, his eyes met yours. You can’t process the emotions in his, but he certainly can in yours.
“Please don’t tell me-,”
“It’s happening again,” you confirm without him explicitly saying it.
“Bun, I told you. These guys out here aren’t-”
“Real” you finish for him again, “They aren’t real Doms.”
This has happened more than Cameron would like to acknowledge. He takes his role seriously and it pisses him off that people claim this title just to hurt people in the end.
“How long have you been like this?”
“Don’t know.” your throat is dry, causing your voice to crack. Time isn’t a thing to you right now.
“Bunny-“
“Don’t call me that right now,” suddenly your voice is hard as stone.
Bunny.
Cameron always called you that, even when you two were nothing but a pair of rookies under the red lights of the club sipping cranberry juice through cocktail straws.
It kind of just stuck and it became your sub persona. You figured using the name he coined for you would make you feel closer to him, even when the gold chains that dangled in your face weren’t his.
“C’mon, we’re going for a drive.” It wasn’t a question, it was a declaration to let you know you didn’t have an option.
Your eyes met his, he noticed just how hollow yours were, it made his stomach ache.
He’s tired of people fucking around with his Bunny. He’d watch for your enemies and those who hurt you, to let them know they contend with him.
“Help me?” Your voice is shot and tired. You didn’t have to ask, you knew Cameron would pull the mountain of blankets back and help you up.
You’re lifted with ease (he always took pride in how much he could bench) and carried to the bathroom where he sits you on the counter. He grabs your mouth wash off the counter, filling up the little cup and holding it to your lips.
The gesture is so sweet and you’re not sure if he’s aware of just how much you crave this from him all the time.
When you’re done swishing, your back bends to spit it down the drain. Next, he hands you your tooth brush, bristles dressed in toothpaste. While you brush your teeth, he wets a cotton pad with a cleansing toner to carefully swipe across your face.
Then it’s your bonnet he takes off with care, moisturizing your scalp and hair to give it some life before covering it with a shower cap.
When you’re done he turns the shower on for you, steam immediately filling the room.
“Take all the time you need, I’ll be right out here then we can get going, yeah?”
He pulls you in for a tight embrace, his cologne flooding your nose. It’s a scent of comfort, a smell that relaxes your nervous system because wherever this smell is, it means Cameron is near.
You take your time in the shower. Letting the hot water disintegrate your fears and worries. When you emerge from the bathroom, Cameron is sitting on the edge of your bed with your comfort clothes laid out.
Baggy sweatpants, an oversized burgundy hoodie with his number on it and some fuzzy socks.
He gives you your privacy to go sit in the living room, continuing to wait.
Before you know it, you’re in his passenger seat, cruising the back roads of town until he pulls into a field. Cameron digs in the glove compartment for the blunts he rolled just before he came over.
He pushes his seat back, reclining slightly to get comfortable and you follow suit.
It doesn’t take long for the car to fill up with smoke. Tinashe playing in the background as you exhale.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He does a quick French inhale before passing the blunt back to you.
You don’t answer right away, inhaling the smoke into your lungs, holding it there until you can’t anymore.
“He said aftercare isn’t real” another inhale as you sink into your seat passing it back to Cameron, muttering a small “I’m done” to signal that you’ve reached a spot where you’re comfortably high.
“What a fucking cuck,” Cameron spits. He can’t count how many times on both his hands and feet the number of fake doms he’s had to call out for shit like this.
Pushing subs to their limits just to leave them to their own devices when the scene is over. It makes him sick. He’s stood up for subs who were strangers, subs he’s played with in the past, new or seasoned- he didn’t play that shit.
The scene is a safe space for so many, a getaway from the real world and it fills him with rage to know people are infiltrating something he respects down to his marrow. Weaseling their way in just to get a quick fuck from people who are entrusting their play partner with their mind, body and soul.
He’s furious to know it’s happening to his Bunny.
It’s been years since you two have met, growing alongside each other. Talking, learning and bonding.
Your bond reaches a level so deep that many think he is yours and you’re his.
If only.
“Can I be truthful?” You glance over at him, that sinking feeling coming back to your stomach.
“You can always be 110 with me, you know that.” His hand rests on your thigh, he’s trying to be helpful but the act sends goosebumps across your body.
“Promise me that no matter what I say… no matter what I tell you, that you’re gonna stick around.”
He chuckles, eyes low and brows scrunching together. His smile is so goofy when he’s high, it usually calms you down but this was serious.
“Girl, what? You can’t get rid of me that ea-“
“Cameron, promise me. Please.”
The atmosphere changes. Suddenly it seems as if you’re sitting in dead silence, like the r&b isn’t bleeding from the speakers.
“I..? Yeah. Yeah I promise.” He stuttered but he wasn’t lying. Cameron says it all the time, you can’t get rid of him.
But that’s the problem.
That sentiment is exactly why you’re here.
You see the blunt is still lit between his fingers. You snatch it from his grasp and take one more big inhale to give yourself the courage, trying to coax your anxiety to calm down for once.
His forehead is scrunched in a frown, slowly taking the blunt back from you, taking one more hit himself.
“Talk to me.” Worry lying beneath his tone.
You open your mouth many times to speak but nothing comes out. The two sides of your mind playing tug of war. The words want to come out, they need to come out but there is a tight lasso reeling them back in.
“It’s okay,” he encourages.
“I… Isaidyourname.” The words come out too fast and jumbled together for Cameron’s high state to comprehend.
“What?” His eyes scan your face, trying to make sense of it all.
“During my last scene I…,” The cotton mouth makes this so much harder, “I said your name.”
Cameron stared at you, giving many blinks until a lightbulb went off in his head.
“Is that why the fucker didn’t perform aftercare?”
“I’m not sure why he didn’t, I just… he just didn’t.”
Cam is quick to put the blunt out, cracking the window just a tad to clear the smoke, figuratively and literally. You bit your lip so hard you started to taste the metallic crimson on your tongue.
“Stop doing that,” Cameron reached over to gently pull your lip from between your teeth, “You hurt yourself when you do that.”
See? This is exactly why you cried his name that night.
He is a natural and makes it so easy for you to slip.
“Do you want to talk about why you said my name or do you want to leave it at that?”
His voice was so soft and his eyes didn’t shy away from yours.
“Ever since the day I met you, Cam.” You shake your head and look out your window as the tears start to flow, hiccuping due to your lungs needing air, “I have tried to replicate that feeling over and over again. I tried to make it tangible but…”
“No one can make you feel the way I do,” His index finger and thumb grip your chin to gently turn your face back to him, "C'mon Bunny, don’t cry.”
“It’s embarrassing!” Your tears stuck to your eyelashes, making it difficult to see, “God, you’re my best friend and-,”
“I make you feel safe.”
You two had a habit of finishing each other’s sentences. How cliche, but that’s just how you two were from the beginning.
“So fucking safe,” you started to snivel and Cam’s heart broke with every drop of a tear, “Every mutter of your name from other subs at the parties… it fills me with so much envy and rage and I feel so selfish for wishing it was me. I’ve always wanted it to be me.”
Cameron doesn’t speak, he’s always like a sponge in moments like this. Soaking in your words to understand instead of responding just to speak.
“This isn’t the subdrop speaking, I mean, it is but this has been building overtime and after saying your name I just couldn’t hold it in anymore and I can’t lose you-“
“You’re never gonna lose me,”
He couldn’t tell if your eyes were red from smoking beyond your limits or from crying but he didn’t like it.
“You’re always going to be my Bunny.”
It was in that moment you really looked and relaxed in his warm gaze. Just his tone alone lets you know that he had skin in this game.
My Bunny… he said my Bunny.
Claiming you for himself.
“I think you knew deep down that you always had me wrapped around your finger,” The pad of his thumb swipes a tear away, “I was at your every beck and call. I just never wanted to assume your feelings. So I stood by and I took care of you in ways that you allowed me to, not wanting to overstep.”
Cameron’s own eyes watered at the way your face was contorted in pain. Your eyes were so puffy and he loathed to see you this way.
“Had I spoken up sooner you wouldn’t be feeling like this,”
“This isn’t on you, Cam. Not even close! I fell in bed with those men but they’re the ones to blame! They’re the ones… who are preying on people like me to get a quick nut and not following through with their role. Don’t you blame yourself.”
“But I watched as you dropped. I could have stopped it,”
“I could have stopped it,” you correct him, “But you know me, glutton for punishment I guess.”
“Well not anymore.” He reached over to hold your hand, kissing your knuckles.
“I’m gonna open the sunroof so we can sit here, relax and just look at the stars. Then we’re gonna take you home, run you a bubble bath, turn on some Bob’s Burgers and just… be in each other’s company.”
You started to feel the elephant lift off your chest, a weight you’d been carrying for quite some time.
The two of you recline your seats while the sun roof opens, revealing the twinkling orbs in the midnight sky.
“The stars remind me of your freckles,” you whisper, turning to look at him. He is such a beautiful man, eyes captivating and his smile always felt like home, “They’re like little kisses from angels before you were sent down here.”
He blushed. He’s fucking blushing.
“You flatter me”
“Cameron Cade you have always been beautiful to me. Before I knew you as the football star or the well respected Dom in the city’s BDSM scene,”
He chuckles lightly at your words, trying to not blush even harder.
“You were always just… Cameron, to me. Cam, the bright eyed and bushy tailed newbie like me. From the moment I looked in your eyes under those red club lights, I knew… I knew you were meant to be in my life.”
“Would you believe me if I said I felt the same way?” His eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes again, “I thank God everyday that I met you.”
Your eyes stung once more, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill, a wide grin growing on your face, “Now who is flattering who?”
As the night progressed, Cameron kept his word. He ran you home, prepared a bubble bath, ordered your favorite take out and had Bob’s burgers ready when you were done.
Days went by and Cameron didn’t press the subject of you saying his name. Despite you mentioning how you wanted him in ways that otherwise were forbidden, he didn’t overstep and continued to take care of you in ways that you needed.
However, on your end, you were burning to talk about it. The topic was burning on your tongue and in moments where he was close, you just wanted to pull him in and have his lips on yours.
Each day that he left to fulfill his football star obligations, he would come back to make sure you were well and taken care of.
Today, he returned and his cologne was profound, in a good way of course. It usually lingers and you’re fine but today you just needed him near, it’s different.
“We can talk about it if you want,” his head turns to you while he hangs his jacket the hook he designated as his.
“What do you m-,”
“You’re gnawing away at your lip again,” he comes to sit close to you, his thumb meeting the skin just below your bottom lip to ease it from the vicious grip of your teeth.
“What are we doing?” The golden question finally being asked.
“What do you want to do?” He retorts
“No, I asked you first!” A playful push to his chest has that glinting smile appearing on his face before he settles.
He clenches his jaw as he ponders over his thoughts, trying to figure out the best way he wants to say this.
“I want more. But if you want to erase everything we talked about the other night that works too. My main priority is meeting your needs in the way you see fit.”
“You have to make your needs a priority too,”
“My needs and wants are your needs and wants” He said it as if it was plain as day, “You need to be taken care of? I need to be the one to do it. You need to talk about something to get it off your chest? I want to be the one you unload it all on. You need a hug? I want to be the one to wrap you in a warm embrace,”
His eyes didn’t leave yours for even a second, it’s sort of intimidating. But you suppose that’s what makes him so magnetic.
“Or-,” he shrugged, “if you just want a friend, I’ll be there. I just need to know.”
You know what you wanted. You’d been keeping it locked up for years, so why is it so hard to just say it? Why did it feel so exposing?
“Don’t get shy on me now.” He flashes that dizzying smile.
“I don’t want anyone else to experience you.”
Flat out. Just like that. It was blunt and there was no other way around it.
“I don’t like who I am when I’m envious of other people muttering your name. I don’t like who I am when I expose myself to men who can’t even hold a light to you. I’ve loved having you as my best friend but I just need more and that may make me selfish but I-,”
The smell of Cameron is closer than you’ve ever experienced and it’s only because his lips are on yours now. His hand is on your jaw to pull you closer and the rapid pace of his breathing is a sign of just how bad he’s been wanting to do this.
How bad he’s been needing this.
“Cam-“ you needed to catch your breath but you needed more of him so that took precedence. You were grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, your tongue dancing with his, he tastes so good it’s inebriating.
“Please” he sounded so pretty when he whimpered, “Just come here, Bunny. Just.. please”
He pulled you forward to sit in his lap and his hands are grabbing at your waist. All Cameron ever wanted was to have you like this and be able to kiss on you.
He wove his hands in your hair to lightly pull at your roots, exposing your neck so he could get a lay of the land before his attack.
His teeth nip at the skin of your neck and you can’t help the moan that escapes.
“There goes my Bunny”
Your eyes rolled at the drop in his voice, the dominant side of him was taking control and he could tell just by the way you were melting into him that you were ready to submit.
“Cam-“ a pathetic plea when his hands grip your ass in an attempt to get you even closer.
“Yes, Baby?” He pulls your face away, and he is in awe at how fucking sexy you look. Lips glistening, eyelids heavy with a slack jaw.
He’s unaware of just how ravishing he looks right now. Lips red and swollen, nostrils flared as he tried to calm himself down and you can see the fire in his eyes.
He can see an eye of a storm in the sky of your mind, your eyes brimming with tears as the hurricane winds blow you each and every way.
“I need you.” your chin trembles and your hands squeeze his wrists.
“Not right now, baby”
His rejection guts you and he can see you panicking.
“No, no. Breathe with me. Relax.” His voice is stern but the touch of his thumbs on your cheeks is tender.
“I just mean we need more time to build this. My job is to deliver but it’s also my job to be thorough. I may know you but I need to know you, Bunny.”
Cameron brings your face forward, kissing your forehead to subdue you.
“You trust me, right?” His forehead presses to yours and can feel the motion of you nodding with fervor.
“I trust you. More than you will ever know”
“Then trust that I know what I’m doing,” his hands rub circles on your back to ground you.
“Okay,” your eyes squeeze tight, wanting to let him guide you.
Of course the impatient side of you was hard to control during this time. However, you know going slow is the best option for longevity.
But time seemed to drag.
Weeks.
Cameron meant it when he said he was thorough.
He wanted to know everything that made you cringe and everything that made you tick.
What made you swoon and what made you sick.
Of course in turn, you learned a lot about him and while time seemed to move excruciatingly slow, it was a time filled with knowledge and growth.
And patience.
Boy, did this teach you patience. Each time you were boiling over, Cameron decreased the heat to make you simmer down.
It was a push and pull. He’d pull you closer, making you think it was time just to push you away and keep you waiting with anticipation.
You loved it though. You were the type of sub to like the chase.
To be honest, Cameron wasn’t even doing anything inherently sexual. It was his natural dominance that had your core twisting, that had you yearning.
Like opening the car door for you, grabbing something off the top shelf, massaging your calves during movie nights.
And he was a damn good cook.
Your mind got hazy every time he’d ask you to taste test something he made. The way his hand cradled your chin when he spoon fed you the sauces he created had you ready to pounce on him.
It really was the little things that made you crave Cameron more and more everyday.
Like the late night dances in your living room where you were in nothing but your panties and one of his shirts while he just sported a pair of sweats that hung low on his hips.
And like the days he’d pick out a perfume for you that coincided with the energy your outfit was giving that day.
The foundation was coming along quite nicely, but the restless brat within you just wanted to be underneath him at his mercy.
The make out sessions continue though. Just sitting in his lap, trying to imprint the taste of him on your tongue.
“Cam, I think I’m ready.”
You couldn’t hide it anymore. This was the ultimate symbol of devotion and you have been ripping at the seams to give yourself to him.
With his forehead pressed to yours, he gives a deep chuckle that goes straight to your pussy.
“You think?” His grip on your hips gets tighter as he moves you over his hardening dick. Your eyelids get heavy, thrill filling your body.
“If you have some idea that you can handle this you better be sure. I don’t do ‘I think’,”
His right hand is quick to grab your neck, fixing your gaze so he’s looking into your eyes.
“So try again. You think you’re ready for me?”
“N-no. I know. I know I’m ready”
“Mmmm, you don’t seem too sure, baby. I don’t believe you.” He goes to remove you from his lap but your thighs tighten around his, planting you in place.
“Please. I’ll show you. Please let me show you,”
You were all about acts of service.
“You gon’ put on a show for me?”
“Yes, I wanna make you proud,” your hips buck against the hump that his dick created in his sweatpants, relishing in the stimulation.
“Shade of pink?” He breaks character to check on you, making sure you’re actually good. Using shades of pink as your safe word system.
“Bubblegum.”
Bubblegum being great! keep going!
Fuchsia being slow down / need a minute.
Magenta being full stop.
“Good girl,” His lips cover yours in a kiss that sends you in a tizzy, “Show me why you’re my Bunny.”
You’re quick to slip out of his lap and kneel on the plush carpet in front of him, your hands on his knee caps.
“You’re so fucking pretty, you know that?” A heavy breath falls from him and the worship has you leaning against his thigh to hide your eyes.
“No, noooo” he sings, picking your head up, “You don’t get to hide from me anymore. Understand?”
“Yes” A quick nod from you doesn’t satisfy him.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir.” The whine in your voice lets Cameron know you’re teetering the edge of subspace.
“You’re so good for me, baby” he leans back and your mouth salivates at just how fine this man is. Like he was etched from marble and put up in the most prestige museums.
“Now tell me what you want. Don’t hold back.”
A groan rumbles in your chest, thinking about how vulgar your desires are when it comes to him. You’ve never said any of this shit out loud.
“I want you to fuck my throat.”
He chuckles and your cheeks heat up, feeling embarrassed.
“I know that’s not it. I know just how much of a slut you want to be for me. I know you’ve got more in you than that.”
“I want to feel fear set in when my lungs need air but your dick is stuffing my mouth. I want my tears to mix with my spit while you slap it on my face. I know you care about me, but is it too much to ask for you to act like you don’t?”
“Fuck.” His breath shudders at the concept of ruining you. He’s always wanted to make love to you but there is something that started to awaken within him the more you talked about how bad you needed him to fuck you within an inch of your life.
His fingers fall beneath the band on his sweatpants to pull them down and finally release his hardened length.
Watching the way your eyes crossed sent shivers down his spine. Sure he’s been fawned over by other playmates but this was different.
This is where he wants to be. It’s where he always wanted to be.
He felt loved here and desired in a way that makes his heart skip a beat instead of making it feel like a there’s a black hole in his chest.
“Oh you’re hungry, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You gonna make me proud and show me?,”
You didn’t answer and it was the only time Cameron would accept silence as an answer. Your hand immediately wraps around his leaking dick, squeezing just to see what reaction it would cause.
“You wanna play games?” Cameron bucked his hips, trying to keep his eyes straight but his head lolled slightly to the side.
“Just doing what you would call… learning what makes you tick.”
You leaned forward to lick the bead of precum that threatened to go to waste.
A moan of relief is shared upon you two.
You finally get to taste him and he finally gets to bask in that sensation.
You cover his dick with your mouth, the part of you that aims to please is feeding off of his heavy breathing.
“Oh God, Bunny!” His voice trembles while he looks down at you, swallowing as much of him as you could. He can feel how bad you’ve been wanting this with the way you’re getting sloppy. You’re savoring this as if you’ll never get to experience it again.
You’re making up for lost time and you’re doing everything you can to show him you’re worthy.
“Fuck.” you pull your mouth off him, leaning against his inner thigh while you stroke him with your hands. The sound is erotic, your hand quickly twisting and stroking your spit down his dick.
Your eyes meet his and he smirks when he sees the tears.
“You treat me so fucking good,” he wipes away a tear, “But I need more, baby. Do you think you could give me more?,”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then move your hands.” He demanded, voice deep and leaving no room for negotiation, “Either in your lap or behind your back but you don’t get to touch me anymore.”
You whine quietly. Losing the ability to touch him for even a fraction of a second was like taking away your ability to breathe. You sadly place them in your lap and wait for further instruction.
“If you do good I just might give you what you want.”
“Please,” you huff, “Please, Sir. I’ll be good, let me prove it.”
Cameron chuckles while sitting up. His hands grab the sides of your face before licking your pouting lips and kissing you with pure ferocity.
“Shade?”
“Bubblegum.”
“Good,” he inhales sharply, “Because play time is over.”
You could practically see the switch in his eyes.
He’s here.
So is she.
“Now open your fucking mouth and show me why you’re my. fucking. Bunny.”
His fingers grip your roots tight, bringing your mouth back down on his dick. His body vibrates with a groan that comes from deep within. His hips buck up and his eyes meet yours.
He can’t get over how beautiful you look like this, eyes burning with desire for him and you just couldn’t get enough.
“You’ve always wanted to be my little slut, haven’t you, baby?”
His pace picks up when you hum an answer around his length. Your saliva painting his dick and he can’t tear his eyes away from you.
You’re addicted to him. He feels so full and heavy in your mouth, the sounds he’s making are so pretty. His jaw hangs and sweat beads on his forehead. The lack of air in your lungs was quite exhilarating actually.
All your body knew was Cameron.
Cameron is all you see. The way his stomach tightened each time you gagged on him. The way he bit his lip to try and ground himself so he doesn’t bust too quick.
Cameron is all you hear. The way he moans your name is so tantalizing. His breath hitches when your tongue swipes against his balls each time you go down.
Cameron is all you smell. The scent of his cologne is mixing with his sweat and it smells so delicious. Like an aphrodisiac, a pheromone that was sending you into heat.
Cameron is all you taste. His precum was just a tad salty and it was satiating the appetite you had for him. The flavor of his enthusiasm was filling your stomach.
Cameron is all you feel. His fingers massaging your scalp as a way to ease you. His dick filled your mouth and it was all you ever wanted. To feel him like this. To feel his body twitch for you, fighting all the alarm bells within him that say to slow down or he’ll cum just like this.
Cameron is all encompassing. Like the universe spreading far and wide. He became all you knew and more.
He yanks your head off, a large gasp coming from you as you catch your breath. Shortly after, your cries fill the room. You’re fully under for him now.
“Pleeaaaaase!,” a sob wracks your body and in the blink of an eye you’re straddling his lap and he’s rocking you.
He’s soothing you, speaking sweet nothings while his hand slips past the waistband of your shorts.
He hisses once he feels just how wet you are.
So fucking messy.
“You like being good for me? You finally got what you’ve been aching for, huh?” He’s teasing in the midst of your tears and his taunting laughter sends shivers down your spine but makes your pussy clench around his fingers.
“Yes, Sir. I love it. I’ll always be your good Bunny!”
He used one hand to grip your cheeks, to keep your face forward while he finger fucks you right in his lap. Your hands hold his shoulders tight so you don’t topple over.
“Tell me you’re mine,” his eyes roll at the pulsing of your core
“I’m yours, Sir,”
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours!”
He knew he was pulling you to the edge already.
“Say it again. Slower this time. I want to hear every fucking syllable.”
“Sir, please! I’m… I’m gonna-“
“You’re not gonna do shit unless you do what I say, Bunny. C’mon don’t be a bad girl now,”
Your noses were touching and you didn’t dare to look away from him.
“I’m.. I’m fucking yours!,” your chest was heaving, “All of me… is yours. My mind..”
Your head tried to loll to the side but Cameron wasn’t having it.
“Focus on me.” He muttered.
“My mind… my body and my soul. I am yours,” you started to grind against his fingers to help you over the edge.
“And you?,” your eyes half lidded and drool decorates your bottom lip, “You, Sir… are mine just the same.”
“Fuck,” his fingers moved faster, dipping in and out of you to rub your slick clit, giving it some attention too, “Show me.”
His lips are on yours again. The clashing of your teeth, the strings of spit and lip biting was too much in the best way possible. All of it was taking you there. Filling your bodies with a drunkenness that not even the finest liquor can bring forth.
“Mark me. Show me I’m yours. Cum for me, baby. Cmon, I know you can do it. I know just how bad you need it. Just show me. Please, baby? I need it. I need you to show m-“
He was going on a tangent. It was fulfilling to know he burns for you in the same way.
“Hhhhhhnnnn- fuuuuck!!,” you do your best to keep your gaze on him as you cum on his fingers but your eyes crossed and your body curled into him. Every nerve ending was firing off and Cameron could feel it.
“That’s my girl,”
You were trembling in his grasp while his hand ran up and down your back.
“Just breathe. You did fucking good for me. Just like I knew you would,”
“I’ll always be good for you, Sir.” your eyes were glazed over and you kept scooting closer as if you and him weren’t already chest to chest.
“Before we go on, what shade are you, baby? I need to make sure you’re good.”
“I…,” you hesitated.
“Be honest.” He implored, eyes not leaving yours so you don’t even think about lying.
“Fuchsia, but I just need some water.” A small poke of your bottom lip sends him into action.
“Go to the bedroom and I’ll be right there, okay?”
“Wanna stay with youuuuu,” you latched onto him and it filled his stomach with butterflies.
“C’mon, Bun. I won’t be long. I’ll be there before you know it”
A heart fluttering peck is placed upon your lips and he taps your ass so you get going.
The journey to your room took 30 seconds but waiting for him felt like an eternity. When he appears he has your insulated water bottle, filled with ice and your favorite flavor packet.
“Drink for me,” he kneels in front of you, hold the straw to your mouth and didn’t pull away until you told him you were good and he sets it on the nightstand.
“Bubblegum,” you nodded, reassuring that you’re ready to continue.
His calloused fingers rub up and down your thighs, just needing to feel you.
“Relax,” he instructs, “Let me take care of you.”
Cameron removes your top to expose your breasts and his mouth instantly waters. He kisses all over your chest causing your head to fall back. A sigh of relief is sent into the air.
You were self conscious about the size of your breasts and the pudge of your stomach but Cameron allowed no territory to go without attention.
Then you felt his lips wrap around your nipples. Flicking his tongue, tugging with his teeth, hollowing his cheeks to suck on the hardening buds as he switched back and forth.
“Have I told you how fucking gorgeous you are?” He whimpered, like he can’t believe he is in this position.
He’s not sure how the idiots before could fumble you but he is ever so thankful that they did.
Or else he wouldn’t be here in this moment.
He urges you to lie back so he can remove your night shorts and you swear you hear him gasp at the sight of your swollen lips, glistening with the cum he coaxed out of you on the couch.
“Fucking hell, Bunny,” his arms wrap around your thighs pulling you closer to the edge of the bed to kiss and nip at the inside of your legs.
“Feed it to me,” his voice low and stern, “I’m starving for you, Bunny. Feed me that pretty pussy, baby.”
You pull your pillows to rest them under your shoulders and head to give you a good view of him.
Your hand trembles while you reach to hold the back of his head and lift your hips up to rub your slick lips against his. He licks it off slowly, groaning at the taste of you.
He never thought he’d be here, tasting you, touching you, pleasing you.
But fuck, was he grateful.
“More,” he pleads. Who are you to deny him?
His mouth is open when you bring your hips up for him to kiss and lick. You relax your legs and his mouth is following close behind.
“That feels so fucking good,” you stare up at the ceiling, too nervous to look at him because if you look, you’ll come undone and lose it.
He was so tentative, like he was making out with your pussy. He suckled on your clit and you felt his fingers push into you once again.
“Yes!,” your back arches when you feel his fingers curl, “Fuck, baby. Right there, yes!”
You spread your legs wider and kept one hand on the back of his head while the other moved to pull and tug at your hardened nipple.
You’d never had head this good. Either guys were too selfish and never offered or they just didn’t know what the fuck they were doing, forcing you to fake an orgasm so they’d just stop.
But this? This felt too fucking good to rush.
His tongue swirled around your lips before diving into your leaking pussy, slurping on your arousal to quench his thirst.
“You taste so fucking good, Bunny. What the fuck.”
He was in awe.
“It’s all for you, Sir. All for you.”
It was almost shameful with how close you were but you couldn’t hold it anymore. It’s been years of rubbing your own clit and fucking yourself to the thought of him. You put off your orgasm for as long as you could but he knew you were almost there.
So he fingered you harder and sucked your clit just right.
“Oh God!!,” your hips rise off the bed and you push his head closer to your core to ride it out. A blistering heat wave takes over your body, you’re seeing stars and just calling for him over and over like a broken record
“God dammit,” he pulled back after licking you up all you had to give, just to see you shake in overstimulation. Smiling at the way you were breathing so hard.
“C’mere,” you mewl breathlessly. Pulling him up onto the bed, your hands framing his face to pull him in for a kiss, you both hum at the taste of you on each other’s lips.
“I’m ready,” you whimper, legs still spread wide beneath him, “I’m ready for you, Sir. I’m ready to give myself to you. Make me yours.”
He sits back on his heels to pull his shirt off, his sweats and boxers long gone and his dick seemed even harder now than before.
“You ready for me to show you how a real man takes care of his girl?” His slaps his dick against your clit making your body jolt at the contact.
“Are you ready for me to show you..,” he huffs, shaking his head with a smirk, “Just how good I can ruin you?”
“I’m ready, Sir. Please, I can take it. I can take it, I ca- Ooooooh FUCK!-“
Cameron filled you to the hilt, cutting you off and taking your breath away. His girth was delicious and his length hit spots you didn’t know could be hit.
“Are you gonna be able to take it like the slut you always wanted to be for me?” His arms frame your face and you grab onto his forearms, “I wanna ruin you so bad, Bunny. I wanna hurt you the way you need me to and make it all better. Can I do that? Will you let me do that?”
“Yes!,” you buck your hips up but he pins them down, “Please! I can take it. Let me show you. I can show you!”
“Yeah?,” he kisses your lips delicately before a sinister look makes itself a home in his eyes, “Bite the pillow if you need it. I won’t be holding back.”
Cameron was a man of his word. His grip on your hips was tight as he rolled his hips into you, building a strong pace.
His gold chains dangle in your face like you’ve dreamt of for so long, swinging back and forth like a hypnotizing pendulum.
You felt him in your stomach and he was vicious. Your wetness was spattering all over his pelvis and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
“Where am I? Tell me, baby. Tell me where you feel me,”
“You’re soooo deeeeep!” His strokes were tear jerking and pushed every moan out. You tried to cover your mouth but he took your hand away and pinned it next to your head.
“On second thought-“ he snapped his hips, “Let me hear you.”
With his other hand, he smacks you and you call out for him. Craving more. Your body was on fire, all the sensations had you in a frenzy.
You were addicted to mixing pain and pleasure. You were his and Cameron always delivered.
“I’m gonna fucking cum already-“
“Not until I say so,” he retorts, “Just relax and take this dick, Bunny. It’s all yours now. Savor it.”
“Fuck!” You weren’t sure if you could, he was stirring you up inside and the noises of your skin slapping and wetness filled the room.
Cameron was a vocal man too. He was whimpering your name, trying to keep his composure but he was failing. He needed to let you know how good you made him feel.
Cameron was having a hard time, trying to keep his shit together. You were so fucking messy and wrapped around him like a glove. Nothing he ever imagined compared to the reality of this. Nothing compared to how fucking good you feel in real time.
“God damn, Bunny. This pussy is so good to me. She’s swallowing me right up.” He says through clenched teeth.
Your toes were curling so hard you felt they’d cramp up.
“I can’t hold it, Sir. Please, can I cum?”
“No.” He smacked you once more and your pussy pulsed around him even harder. The way he rolled his hips had him feeling every ridge within you and it was driving him insane.
You cried for him. You fucking loved being able to cry for him. You were trying to tell your body not to cum yet but his strokes were too good. With each drag of his dick against your walls you were brought closer to your climax.
His lips ghosted over yours and his stare into your eyes was serious.
“I will fuck you up if you cum without my permission, Bunny. You don’t wanna disobey me do you?”
“But I caaaaaan’t. It’s right…,” you hiccup when he hits that special spot that’s buried deep within you and you almost went against his wishes right then, “It’s right… there… and I can’t!”
“Awwwww,” he cooed, brushing a tear off your cheek, “That’s too fucking bad, isn’t it?”
His hand presses against your pelvis and you try you run away from his hands and his dick but he wasn’t having it.
“Don’t you fucking run from me.” he pulls you back and it feels like he’s even deeper, like you could feel him in your chest.
“Baby- please!,” your legs were shaking around him and your pussy just kept clenching and it was driving him up the fucking wall.
“You’re such a pretty slut when you beg. You wanna cum? Go ahead. Make me proud, Bunny. Don’t let me down.”
“Fuuuu- oh God, oh God- C..CAMERON!”
You came so loudly that he could feel your cries reverberate inside his own body. He was slapping your clit to draw out your orgasm until you clenched your legs tight.
“Oh my fucking God,”
Cameron leans back on his heels again and pulls you into his lap once again, continuing his strokes.
“You’re done when I say we’re done. I know that pussy wants more, I can feel her. I can hear her- do you hear her, Bunny?”
Cameron’s hand clamps on your mouth to quiet your whimpers so you could hear just how gushy your pussy was for him.
“I’ve got your fucking cum dripping down my balls, Bunny. You should be proud of the slut you’ve become for me.” The sounds that your bodies made between your legs has you ready to hide your face from how obscene it is.
“I know you've been wanting it, baby. To go fucking brain dead for my dick. Look at you. You look so fucking pathetic. Just look at you going dumb for the way I dig in that pussy. You like being my pathetic little slut, huh?
“No, I love it!” Your nails are digging and scraping down his chest, Cameron was getting overwhelmed. Your skin was hot against his and you were clenching so fucking tight that he was struggling to hold back his own impending climax.
“I fucking love it, Sir. I fucking love it. It’s your pussy, baby. You’re fucking me so good.”
His own head fell back, eyes closing shut tightly as you began to take over all of his senses this time.
Cameron could see all of you. The way your breast bounce with every thrust, the way your eyes fill with tears each time you look at him or he hits that sweet spot deep in your core. He can see your true self. Elated with the fact you’re trusting him enough to be vulnerable like this.
Cameron could hear you. The way you mumbled incoherent phrases as subspace took over your mind, letting your body just float in the pool of pleasure you were suspended in.
Cameron could smell you. He smells your gourmand perfume and your sweat smells so sweet. Your shampoo was his favorite aroma, because it wrapped him in a warm blanket of peace. Having you this close brought him comfort that this is where he’s supposed to be.
Cameron could taste you, your pussy juice still on his tongue and lips and when he kisses you, he can taste your mint mouthwash. You need to please is palpable and it tastes like victory.
Cameron could feel you all over him. You were creating a sticky mess between his legs and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He bites his lip at the feeling of your nipples rubbing against his chest and your pulse pounding for him beneath the hand he had on your throat.
You surrounded him like air. You were always there and he would always need you so he could breathe, to survive this world. You were his everything and he wouldn’t give this up for anything nor anyone.
It filled Cameron with pride to know that he's the one to make you fall apart. He was in seventh heaven knowing he gets to put the pieces back together when you two are done.
“You wanna cum again, don’t you? You wanna paint my dick some more?”
His hand squeezed the sides of your throat, making you dizzy but the harder it was to breathe right now, the closer your orgasm became.
“Yesyesyesyesyes!” You chanted, seeing his blissed out expression from behind your heavy eyelids.
“Bunny, baby… I’m gonna cum,”
“Fill me up… please? I deserve it. I’ve earned it. Please!”
Cam squeezes tighter and yet you still crave more. Despite his tight grip on the sides of your neck, your body melts into him.
This was the epitome of submission to him. He could deprive you of something as vital as air and you’d still meld into his grip because you trust him so deeply.
You know he wouldn’t hurt you.
But if it’s like this? The pain is welcome and it’s the catalyst for your surrender to him.
“Oh my fucking-,” he drops you flat on the mattress and his fingers weave between yours as he drives his hips hard and deeper into you.
The finish line in sight for the both of you.
He’s moving so fast that he slipped out and your gasp was big enough to suck the air out of the room.
“Give it back!,” you were full on sobbing now, “Please. Sir, give it back. Give it back, give it-“
“I’m right here, baby.” He reassures, slipping back inside and your body jerks, “Just breathe, Bunny. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Your nails are digging into the back of his hands the closer you get.
“Yes, yes, yes-,” you look up into his eyes and you chin trembles, “Oh God, I fucking love you.”
“Oh, I love you so much more, baby.”
Sure it’s been said before. But this time it was different.
Before, it was said as friends who hoped the other could read between the lines.
Now it’s said as two people who are growing alongside each other in a contrasting way this time. Two people who no longer have to hope for the other to pick up the hints because it’s blatant.
Just as he finished saying that, he’s spilling inside of you and it takes you over the edge, pulling him down for a kiss to hush your sobs.
“Fuck!,” his body felt like jelly as he tried to keep himself up from crushing you.
His eyes are shut tight but they open just as quick as he hears little sniffles.
“Hey. You’re okay. I got you, Bun. Just breathe with me, okay?”
His hands frame your face once more and you latch onto his wrists, to ground yourself.
“You did so fucking good, you know that? You made me so fucking proud”
“P-promise?,”
Cameron could tell it wasn’t just the subspace taking over and asking for reassurance. It was the sub that had been denied aftercare time after time. It was Y/N who feared that she’d never be good enough for anyone.
Most important of all, it was his Bunny that longed for him in silence for years because he was too much of a wimp to make the move.
“I promise. I’m here and I’m not leaving,”
Cameron gave you acetaminophen to get ahead of any post coital soreness that’ll be sure to show up in the morning and made you finish your entire bottle of ice water.
After he cleaned you up, he made sure that you peed while he turned the shower on, grabbing the towels and washcloths as the water heats up.
He turned on your favorite r&b music to relax your mind while you two showered together. He had to make sure you’re coming down safely. Letting you know that you don’t have to fear being abandoned again.
Cameron made sure to reinforce the fact that the degrading things he says during sex are purely sexual and he’d never think that of you outside of play.
He held you in his embrace under the hot stream and sang to you, giving you little kisses on your cheeks and shoulders.
“I know I’ve said it a million times but you really are beautiful.”
You tried to hide the smile that was growing but it can’t be contained. Not when he’s here, like this, so close.
After he dried you off and helped lotion you up, it was your turn to take care of him. Massaging lotion onto his back and peppering kisses on his neck and singing to him now, even if you didn’t sound as good as he did.
“How are you holding up?” The two of you lie in bed, legs tangled and finding solace in each other’s arms.
“I’m free from the cell I’ve quietly sat in for years waiting for you to find me,” your eyes look from his lips to his eyes and they’re so gentle now. So soft and kind.
“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.” the back of his index finger brushes your cheek and he loves to see the smile growing on your face.
“Don’t be. I had the key the entire time.”
“It seems we both did,” he moves to kiss you once again and he smiles bashfully as if this is the first time he’s kissing you. As if he didn’t just fuck you six ways from Sunday, “I’ll never get tired of being able to do that.”
“I won’t either,” your fingers gently touch your lips like, rejoicing in this all being real.
It’s mind boggling that you’re here now.
But it’s freeing.
You are free from the abyss.
From the void that swallowed you whole every time you were done with someone who wasn’t genuine.
This feeling in your chest, it’s tranquil. Like feeling the grass beneath your feet as you prance around without bounds.
You were his and he was finally yours.
It felt good to not just be Bunny to him.
Because now?
Now you were exclusive.
He can sleep at night knowing that you’re more than just Bunny.
Because you’re his Bunny.
And that will never change.
——————
If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for your support and attention!!
if you enjoyed, please make sure to like, reblog and comment! it helps a ton!
Lovergirlnote: Howdy! Howdy! The weather is so much brighter outside of timeout, but no seriously, thank you again to everyone who’s been on this journey with Jack and Princess. Y’all kept mentioning therapy & I definitely felt like Jack needed to go visit our good homeboy, Dr. Richmond, to work through those feelings! Hope you all enjoy. Let me know what you think.
Dr. Yosef Richmond has been a therapist for a long time. Over 40 years if his memory still serves him correctly. Through the course of his 40 years as a therapist, he’s seen a wide variety of clients. His speciality, however, was veterans. He’d quickly become known throughout Pittsburgh as a the go-to therapist for any veteran still reeling from the effects of their trauma.
On a Tuesday–to be exact–over four years ago, Jack Abbot walked into his office. Dr. Richmond knows that it’s forbidden in the clinical world to say that you have a favorite client, but he does. Jack just happens to be one of his favorites.
To Dr. Richmond, Jack was interesting case.
He quickly locked onto how Jack would deflect from hard hitting topics by using his dry sense of humor. He recalled all of the times that he’d have to call Jack out on his BS—not that Jack minded. In fact that’s what made their therapist-client relationship so strong. There was a no BS rule allowed in the space.
Over the course of four years, Dr. Richmond had grown to care for Jack. He looked forward to seeing the disgruntled man come into the office with some new daredevil, borderline suicidal hobby that he’d added to his arsenal.
Dr. Richmond was especially ecstatic to hear Jack mention you. It was clear to him Jack was deeply in love with you. He watched the way that Jack’s eyes and demeanor softened when he spoke about you. He was happy for Jack.
He was quite surprised however when Jack started to miss his appointments again. He recognized the patterns in Jack. Whenever things would get bad, Jack would disappear and miss a few sessions before popping back up when the situation was severe.
Most clinicians would drop Jack from their schedule or refer them out, but Dr. Richmond never did. He knew that Jack would be back soon.
It’s Tuesday.
Almost three weeks later, Dr. Richmond opens the door and finds Jack sitting on the couch. He doesn’t judge. Doesn’t admonish. He simply holds the door open with a soft smile, “Come in, Jack.”
Jack crosses the threshold and sits down on the couch in his exact same spot. There’s a beat of silence between the two men before Dr. Richmond breaks it.
“It’s been a while, Jack. I’m starting to think that breakup is actually on the table,” Dr. Richmond teases gently.
Jack smiles, “Sorry, I keep flaking on you, Doc. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”
Dr. Richmond nods, “Tell me all about it.”
A heavy sigh leaves Jack’s mouth and he looks at the carpeted floor for a second. “I messed up. Really bad. I did something really stupid a few weeks ago.”
Dr. Richmond’s eyes soften at Jack. “Jack, whatever you’re about to say, remember I’m not here to judge or punish you.”
“I broke my engagement a few weeks ago.”
The statement hangs heavy in the air. Dr. Richmond can’t help the frown of confusion that takes over his face, “What were the circumstances that led up to that choice?”
“It started on the fourth. You know I always go volunteer with the SWAT. Well, I got home that night and everything was fine. But then the fireworks started and the episodes started back up. My fiancée, she was trying to help but my body was reacting and I pushed her on the floor.” Jack pauses, it’s clear that the memory still hurts him.
“She pushed through it like a champ. Got right back up like nothing happened and she comforted me through it all. After that, it just went downhill.”
Dr. Richmond pushes his glasses up, “For you or her?”
“For me. I started getting in my head about everything. I kept feeling so shameful at the thought of possibility that I would’ve accidentally hurt her more. All of those feelings were eating me up. But I got some advice from a friend who advised me to talk to her. I swear that was my plan, but then I told home and I was in the shower. I slipped and fell. She heard me and she came in to help. But….the whole situation was so embarrassing. It made me feel helpless and incompetent. I yelled at her and then the next few minutes, we were sitting in the living room and I broke off the engagement,” Jack explains.
The older man across from him hums. It’s clear that he’s thinking and pondering over Jack’s stories. “Did you give her a choice in the matter?”
Jack shakes his head.
“I didn’t think so. Walk me through your reasoning behind breaking off the engagement,” Dr. Richmond said, coaxing Jack further.
“I just felt like a burden mostly. All of the situations just compounded together made me feel she was better off without me. I didn’t want her to feel like she had to spend the rest of her life trying to take care of me,” Jack said.
“Did she ever express that you felt like a burden to her?”
“No.”
“Then what gave you the right to take that choice from her? You weren’t engaging in a partnership, Jack. You were sabotaging it,” Dr. Richmond said.
Jack swallows roughly at the admission. Dr. Richmond was right as usual. Jack knew that he was unfair to you, especially with making that choice without letting you decide.
“You’re right. It was selfish of me to make that choice, but I think you’ll be proud of me when I tell you that I made it right,” Jack relays with soft chuckle.
Dr. Richmond responds with his own chuckle, “She made you work for her forgiveness, correct?”
“She made me atone for my sins and I loved every second of it.”
The conversation continues between the two men with Dr. Richmond helping Jack to examine more of his behavior and preventing it in the future. Dr. Richmond glances at the clocks and notes that their hour is officially up. With Jack, he always felt a sense of sorrow when their hour was up. It always felt like it had been too short.
Just as Jack is about to exit out of the room, he turns back to Dr. Richmond, “Hey Doc, do you do couple’s sessions?”
“I do.”
Jack scratches the back of his neck, “Would you possibly be open to seeing us next week? I mean I just think it’d be really helpful if we could do a counseling session before the wedding.”
“When is the wedding?”
“Next month actually,” Jack said, a soft smile curving at his lips.
Normally, Dr. Richmond would say no to couple’s sessions, especially if he had been counseling one member of the relationship already. The last thing that he wanted was for the other person to feel like there was an imbalance of power. But….he knows how important this is to Jack’s treatment, and also to his relationship with you.
“Let’s do it. I’ll tell Anna to book you both in for next Tuesday.” Dr. Richmond replies.
Jack smiles at the older man, “Thanks Doc, I owe you one.”
With that, he walks out of the office.
___________________
The next week, Dr. Richmond feels like he’s almost anticipating the session with you and Jack. He knows that partially it’s a sort of curiosity to meet the woman who has Jack smitten.
He opens the office door and catches a glimpse of you and Jack sitting on the couch. He first notes how well you and Jack compliment each other. Secondly, he watches the way that Jack looks at you like you’re the world and you also reciprocate the same look.
He calls Jack’s name.
You and Jack both look over to the older man before standing to follow him in the office. You and Jack take your seats on the couch. Dr. Richmond focuses on the fact that Jack purposefully lets you sit in his usual spot. Your and Jacks knees stay connected while you play with Jack’s fingers.
‘A sign of nerves,’ Dr. Richmond thinks to himself.
He smiles at you, “Hello, I’m Dr. Richmond. You must be the woman that’s stolen Jack’s heart.”
You reach your hand out and give Dr. Richmond your name. “It’s really nice to meet you. Jack has a lot of positive things to say about you.”
Dr. Richmond laughs, “Funny since he’s always mentioning breaking up with me.”
Jack chuckles, “I couldn’t leave you alone if I tried, Doc.”
You look at the dynamic between Jack and Dr. Richmond, and the casual ease at which they joke with each other. You can tell that they’ve built a solid foundation of trust, which makes you happy. You’re glad to see that Jack has a therapist who he feels completely comfortable with.
“So shall we begin?” Dr. Richmond asks.
You and Jack both stare at each before turning back to nod at Dr. Richmond.
“I understand that you both are here for a couple’s session. I anticipate that we’ll be talking about the brief period where you weren’t together. So let’s start there.”
He turns to look at you, “Why don’t you start? I’d like to get your point of view on the situation from your point of view if that’s okay.
Despite the nerves in your stomach, you nod and take a deep breath. “I guess I’ll start with the 4th. Honestly, sure the night was scary, but I wasn’t scared of what Jack would do to me. I was scared for him. I just wanted him to know I was here and that it didn’t matter.” You stop talking.
Dr. Richmond’s face softens, “And then the breakup….”
You nod, “I knew that something was off. I felt it. I just assumed that he’d ruminate over it and then we’d talk, but then the shower thing happened. He’s never yelled at me like that before…..Then he said that he didn’t want to be together anymore. He didn’t even phrase it like it was an option, he just said it like it was final.”
“Mhmm….and what did you think when said that it was over?”
You take a deep breath, “I kept thinking that it was my fault and that he didn’t want me anymore.” You sniff at the end of the sentence, but hold the tears back.
“Jack, how does it feel to hear her say this?” Dr. Richmond asks. He can see the tension in Jack’s body language and how the man looks like he wants to vomit.
Jack swallows, “It makes me feel like a shitty partner, which I am.”
Before Dr. Richmond can step in to interject to redirect Jack’s words, you step in, “You’re not a bad partner, Jack. You’re just a man with a lot of trauma. You’re allowed to feel those things. I just wish you would have communicated it to me instead of leaving me.”
Dr. Richmond locks in on the end of your statement, “Leaving you.”
You turn to face the older man and realize that you’ve uttered the words out loud. You nod, “Yes, leaving me. That’s what it felt like. He was leaving me and there was no say that I in it.”
“Correct. You felt powerless and helpless in the moment. Like your entire world was being shattered without your consent.
“Yes! That’s what it was. It didn’t feel consensual.”
“Because it wasn’t,” Dr. Richmond confirms.
He turns back to Jack, “Jack, I want you to give her your point of view just as you gave it to me.”
Jack turns to face you, “I never meant to make you feel that way, but I understand that I did. The reason that I did what I did was because I felt like a burden. I’ve lived majority of my life and yours is still beginning. I just thought about things in the long run, and sweetheart, I’m only gonna get older. I don’t want you wasting your years on me—especially if you have to take care of me. That’s why I was prepared to let you go. As much as I love you, I wanted you to be happy, even if that meant I wasn’t in the picture.”
Dr. Richmond, “But she wasn’t happy. In fact, neither of you were.”
Your tear-filled eyes meet Jack’s, “Jack, you’ve never been a burden to me. I knew what I was getting into with our age gap. Even when you told me about your leg and your wife, I knew that I would have to love you harder. Not because they were flaws—they’re not. But because I want you to know that I’m in this for the long haul. I want to love and take care of you because you deserve it, Jack. You’re not this story that you keep telling yourself in your head. You’re my Jack. You’re my husband.”
Dr. Richmond smiles fondly at your monologue, but even more at you referring to Jack as your husband.
You reach your hand across the couch to intertwine with Jack’s. The older man sniffles as tears stream down his face.
Dr. Richmond looks down at your hands, “This is good. From my point of view, I can see that you both love each other deeply. The communication only became unbalanced because of Jack’s fears, which he has openly acknowledged. But there’s still something else, isn’t there?” He points the question in your direction.
You nervously bite at your lip, “Yeah, there is. I’m scared.”
“Tell Jack what you’re scared of,” Dr. Richmond goads gently.
Your eyes connect with Jack, “I’m still scared that you’ll leave again. I’m scared that when things get hard like this again, you won’t come talk to me. I don’t think I could handle you leaving again, Jack.” Your voice cracks at the end. Jack looks at your pain-stricken and heartbroken face. You were laying your heart out for him, and he’d left you open and vulnerable.
“Jack, what can you do to make her feel more secure? To show her that this won’t happen again.”
Jack grasps your hand firmly in his. He holds eye contact with you, “I’m so sorry for ever making you feel like this. I know that it’s scary now and I have so much work to do, but Princess, I promise with every single piece of me that I won’t leave again. I can’t leave you again. I’ll spend every day of our lives together showing you that I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
In Jack’s eyes, you can see the promise there. You know that when Jack says something, he follows through, so you trust him.
You nod, “I just want you to communicate, Jack. When the noise gets loud, let me help you navigate through it.”
He nods in response, “I will. I promise.”
You both continue staring at each other.
Dr. Richmond watches the display fondly. From his experience of counseling couples, he can almost immediately tell when a couple will be divorcing, but he knows that this isn’t the case with you and Jack.
I am actually so sick and tired of straight women complaining about WLW media and in the same breath overly sexualising MLM media. You aren’t an ally. You’re a fetishizer.
Summary- The position the Moore twins fuck you in and their aftercare.
wc- total 1.207k
A/n: I don't know—I'm on my period! Give me grace.
CW- Each will have individual warnings but uhhh, fucking and straight pure no holding back freak nasty smut. (yeah that works)
Smoke
CW-519 words, Cowgirl, P in V, ear candy/praising(don't ask me to stop), ass slapping, and grabbing, usage of daddy(just the name y'all!!).
His cowgirl, he loved it. To see you bouncing and babbling on his dick. You straddled him, feet pressed flat against the mattress, toes scrunched up as you rolled your hips struggling to keep going. Arousal painted the man as he stared up at you grinning from the sight.
“Nuh uh suga’ keep goin’ don’ give out on me nah.” His hands bruised your hips as he cooed then drove his hips forward and deeper inside your gaping pussy.
The overhead fan couldn't even cool you down; the heat ran through your sweaty body, heart pacing so quickly it felt like it was trying to leap from your chest, and your hands held on to his forearms for dear life as you let out choked cries.
“Naaa-daddy! t-ouhhggh-too m-much!” You slowed your pace trying to catch your breath and in return, his hand struck your ass.
“Nah, ya been doin’ so good f’ me, keep it up, baby.” He slammed up in your aching hole, one hand holding the plush of your ass and the other wiping the tears off your cheeks.
“Look at you pretty girl, so good. Ain't ya good girl f’ me?”
“Uh huh!” You babbled, bobbing your head. Your hot walls curled around every inch of him, his cock throbbing as you glided over every sensitive vein of his length.
“Fuuuck, jus’ like tha’ pretty girl.” He rasped, his breath ragged.
Once you tried to fall forward you gained another strike to your ass.
“Stay up, lemme see ya.”
“B-ohhhhh-but-ughhhh.” You whined.
“No buts, stay ya pretty ass right where I have ya.”
You whimpered as you obeyed and caught your previous pace. Your pubic hair dragged against each other, your clit twitched, and your walls massaged all of him.
Your hands fell to either side of his chest, you leaned forward back arched in, and looked back at your fluids seeping from your sopping hole. With each roll of your hips, he dragged over your G-spot, and his tip flirted with your cervix.
“Ooohh fuuck, d-daddy!” You jerked, your orgasm hitting you hard, throat tight making your cries come out cracked, and your slick walls clutching him then releasing repetitively.
Your juices pooled on and under him, your hips spasmed while your body gave out and collapsed on him, your head over his shoulder.
It got quiet, his hand rubbing over your ass, your pants in his ear, and his in yours, your whole body trembled from the activity. His beard rubbed against your cheek, and his lips brushed your lobule.
“Alrigh’ can't leave ya a mess, huh suga’?” He purred while lifting from the bed.
“Hm?” You murmured.
“Bouta get in the bath, get ya cleaned up.”
“Nuh uh.” You shook your head, your legs squeezed tight around his hips to stay secure in his arms.
“Ain't no ‘nuh uh’, it wasn't a choice. I ain't leaving you a mess.” He replied sternly, You rolled your eyes, of course not in his sight, that would get you fucked senseless all over.
Plus, he was just caring in his own special way.
Stack
CW- 688 words Backshots(💨), impact play(just slapping), heavy degradation(you is smart, you is kind, you is important), filling that pus up/creampie, unprotected sex(what did I tell y'all bout this, no babies in my house), he's rough and mean as hell(chill at the end though), mirror sex.
He was trying to ruin you, correction he was ruining you. Each thrash was merciless, like he was determined to make sure you couldn’t move after. Your heavy breast knocked against your chin with every roll of his hip. The humid room was filled with the sounds of his pelvis slamming against your fluffy ass and the fat of your thighs slapping against each other.
“S-stack, f-fuuuck-ugghhgh!” You shrieked, your manicured nails digging at the sheets.
On all fours, a full-body mirror in front of the bed, the headboard slamming hard against the wall, the material of the bed squeaking in protest, he railed into you relentlessly destroying your insides.
It was mean and brutal, each thrust had the intention of engulfing every bit of you. Sweat trailed down your back and forehead, you felt like you had a fever, and your conflicted emotions didn't help, pleasure rode through you like a breeze, the pain however made your limbs shake and tears melted down your face.
“Nasty little bitch! Stupid for my dick like a whore.” He grunted, sending a hard strike to the back of your fat thigh.
You mewled, your head dropping between your arms, each ram making you squeal and squirm. You couldn't count how many times his cockhead met your cervix you just knew it was too many.
“Look at you, stupid little bitch for me. My slut, say it, say your Elias's slut.”
“I-ahhh-fuc-ughhh!” You could only whine, your chest rose and fell rapidly. That man had you gasping for air as he hammered into you with that stupidly attractive smirk on his face.
“Say it.” He rasped and sent another slap to your thigh.
He pressed his hand down on your lower back making a nasty arch in your back, with your ass rose, it slammed against his abdomen. The veins of his cock throbbing from the feelings of your gummy walls embracing all his inches, his cockhead twitched as he could feel his orgasm building.
“I-I’m Elias's slut,” You choked out, “good, that's righ’.” He cooed mockingly and pulled back till just his tip was being clutched by your sappy pussy then rammed back into you like a bull.
“Fuuuuck!!” Your head shot up, your toes curled so far back they dug into your foot, and you pulsated around his shaft. Before you could even begin to process anything, your cream covered him and the blankets beneath you.
A white ring was left around the man’s cock, you gave out, no longer able to take anymore but he wasn't finished. Tears raced down your cheeks and your thighs shook frantically while you softly gasped but he kept going, slamming your bodies together, keeping those walls right around him no matter how much you wanted to loosen, he drove himself in so deep it felt like he was past your cervix.
“P-please s’muuuch, s-slower- t-t’much.” You squirmed and begged him to be gentle.
“Nah you can take it. You're gonna take all this like the greedy bitch you are.” He groaned and kept his brutal pace that sent his balls slapping against you.
You whimpered and moaned, clawing at the sheets, til you felt his cock pulse and he bottomed out inside of you. The relief that you felt when he did was unmatched. Finally, you collapsed into the puddle of your juice beneath you, catching all the breath he knocked out of you.
You heard him rustling behind you and then watched him walk out of the room in only his boxers. You couldn't even bring yourself to ask what he was doing so you just awaited his return.
Your eyes were slowly shutting when you heard things getting tossed on the bed, chips, a bag of mini cookies, and a Powerade.
“Whatcha tryna watch? I'm thinkin’ transformers.” He dropped back down on the bed after finally turning on the fan. You squinted your eyes at him, was he serious?
Yep, dead serious. He browsed through options and you just shook your head and turned toward the TV.
It was an interesting form of aftercare, at least he was feeding you.
A/n: No comment. (this was straight horny bullshit.)
can you please do michael finding out reader is pregnant 🥰🥰
Baby Blues
michael b.jordan x black!reader
Summary: You and Michael have both been feeling under the weather, but your mothers may know what’s making you both sick.
Lovergirlnote: This also goes with another ask where someone asked me to do a story where Michael and the reader find out that they’re expecting twins/triplets. I just decided to combine both into one! ♥️
“You would get sick when the weather pretty outside,” You said, handing Michael another cup full of medicine.
“Man it’s crazy! I was doing okay yesterday and then I wake up today feeling bad.” He replied, wincing at the bitter taste of the medicine.
You placed your hand on his head and felt the back of his head. He was a lot less warm than when we woke up before, but he still looked crappy.
“I also think it’s so unfair that you still look good even though you’re sick,” You said walking back into the kitchen.
It was completely true. Even with him sneezing and running to the bathroom to throw up, Michael still looked like he had stepped out of a GQ magazine.
Michael groaned from the couch and laid down. “Baby come lay with me.” One thing for sure is that he always turned into a big baby whenever he got sick. He was naturally kind of clingy, but when he got sick, he wanted to be around you 24/7.
You came to sit back down on the couch and Michael laid his head in your lap. You caressed his head while you both watched Steven Universe.
A knock sounded from the door that interrupted you both watching tv. Michael groaned as you got up. You walked to the door and saw your mother-in-law, Donna, standing there.
“Hey my baby. You keep getting prettier every time I see you,” She said, moving to hug you.
You loved your mother-in-law. You thanked God every day that she wasn’t one of those crazy mother-in-laws that you had heard horror stories about.
Donna was actually the one that introduced you to Michael. You had been working with her for months on a community project for kids in need. Your bond with her developed naturally and she enjoyed the fact that you were doing this because you were passionate about the work, and not just because Michael was her son.
In fact, it didn’t even seem like you cared that Michael was her son.
You had met Khalid and Jamila during your time of helping out their mother. During their family dinners, his mother and siblings would be gushing over you. You had even met his father and made a good impression on him, so Michael knew you had to be something special.
When the last day came to wrap up the event to celebrate with everyone who had helped out, Michael had showed up to show support to his mother and selfishly to meet you.
He was curious about the woman that his family couldn’t seem to get enough of. Little did he know, his mom was already plotting to get you both together.
When he first saw you standing with his sister and laughing, the world seemed to freeze. He felt like one of those cartoons with hearts in his eyes.
Given how close he and his mom are, he had asked her to introduce him to you. From that point, your relationship was locked in. You dated for a few months and got engaged a few months after that. Now, you had both been officially married for a solid 3 years.
3 years of ups and downs, but still you and Michael were madly in love with each other.
You ushered Donna into the house and closed the door behind her. The two of you looked at Michael who was lying helplessly on the couch. Seeing his mother enter the room, he seemed to put the theatrics on even more.
“Has he always been this dramatic?” You asked Donna.
She nodded her head, “Yep! One time when he was little, he called himself having a little tantrum. He fell out in the floor and everything, then he peeked from behind his hand to see if we were falling for it.”
You start laughing which makes Michael look over in your direction. “Ma, you suppose to be taking care of me.”
You shook your head, “Don’t let him fool you, mama Donna. I just gave him some medicine.”
Michael smacked his lips like you betrayed him. It only took a few minutes before he was shooting up from the couch and going to throw up in the toilet.
“He been throwing up like he pregnant,” You joked.
Donna laughed lightly before frowning a little bit. She looked over in your direction and ran her eyes over your form. You did look extra pretty today. Almost like you were glowing. Her eyes closed in on your stomach and she noted the slightly curve there.
She smiled even more, but chose not to say anything.
She stayed with you and Michael for the rest of the day, fixing him a hotty toddy and cooking for you both.
The next day, Michael was seemingly cured from his sickness. You both shrugged it off as a one day bug.
______________________
The following week, you and Michael went to his mom’s home for a family dinner with his and your family. Your families had made it somewhat of a tradition to eat together, especially since Michael’s schedule was pretty free.
“Dang baby, you look good in that dress,” Michael said coming up to press his lips against your shoulder.
You really did look extra good today. You guessed that it was just one of those days. Your skin was glowing. Hair was popping. Body was tea.
“Thank you baby. I’m just ready to eat some of your mom’s roast today.” You said, mouth already watering from the thought of the food.
You had been craving this food all night and knowing that your mom and mama Donna we’re about to throw down in the kitchen had you even more hyped.
When you walked through the door, you were greeted by your siblings and Michael’s. You went in the kitchen to say hi to your mom and Donna.
“Hey baby,” your mom said, hugging you.
Donna gave you a hug and kiss of her own.
They both looked you up and down. “Oooo baby you glowing today. What you been using?” Your mom asked.
“Nothing, just my same old routine. I guess it’s just one of those day,” you replied, eyes hungrily looking at all of the food.
You turned your gaze to Donna, “Can I have one piece of chicken, please? I’ve been dying all week for this food.”
Donna looked at your pleading eyes and nodded. Donna and your mom both watched as you practically devoured the chicken in two seconds.
“Thank you,” you said with a big smile.
You exited the kitchen to go spend time with your siblings.
Donna and your mom looked at each other in understanding and smiled. Your mom started laughing first, “Looks like we’re both about to be grandmas again.”
Donna laughed, “Girl, I told you! Michael throwing up last week was my first sign. Then she came in here glowing like that and eating.”
They both squealed together lowly. They had been craving to have another grand baby to love and dote on. They just couldn’t wait for you and Michael to officially confirm the news.
When the food came out, your plate was stacked higher than anybody else’s. Nobody commented on how much you were eating or how quickly you were eating. You were already on your second plate.
“Michael, you ain’t been feeding my sister?” Your brother joked.
“Y’all laughing but yall just don’t know how much I’ve been craving this my mama Mac-n-cheese,” you said, moaning as you put another spoon of your food in your mouth.
Your father and Michael’s both watched as you even started combining the food together on the spoon. To anyone else it would seem gross, but to you, it was like heaven. Both fathers at the table gave each other looks and smiled slyly.
You were most definitely pregnant and you didn’t suspect a thing.
Your sister frowned at you, “Dang sis, you sure you ain’t pregnant?”
You paused from putting the roast into your mouth. Michael had even stopped eating and was looking in your direction. You mentally started to count in your head when you got your last period. Your periods had always been irregular so sometimes it was hard to keep track of them.
You smiled nervously at everybody at the table.
“Oops.”
Later that night, you and Michael had went to the nearest CVS and got pregnancy tests. Well, more like Michael went and bought every pregnancy test that they had. You had already peed on all of the sticks that were sitting on the counter.
You and Michael both hadn’t sat down as you waited for the timer to go off. You both jumped once it did ring. You looked at each other nervously.
“No matter what those tests say, we’re in this together, okay?”
You nodded in agreement and Michael pressed a quick kiss to your lips. You moved closer to the tests and gently picked them up. Your eyes scan over them and you quickly clock the two lines that adorn all of them.
You look up and smile at Michael, “All positive.”
You can tell that it takes Michael a couple of seconds to process the information. You point the tests in his direction and he gently grabs one from your hand. It finally seems to hit him that you’re pregnant and he quickly pulls your body to his.
“We’re having a baby,” He said softly. There are tears in both of your eyes as you embrace each other. The topic of having kids had come up at numerous points in your relationship, but you both had decided it would be best to wait.
You wanted to enjoy your married life together before integrating any children into the dynamic.
Michael kneeled to be face to face with your stomach. He lifted your shirt and pressed his lips to your abdomen. “Our baby is in there.” For the next few moments, he just held you there with his ear pressed to your stomach.
You caressed his hair.
You were having a baby.
___________________
You and Michael quickly scheduled an appointment to the doctor to confirm your pregnancy and to get a check up.
You were sitting across from a couple who looked like they were madly in love. The father had his arm around his wife as he caressed her belly. Michael leaned over to you, “That’s gonna be us soon.”
He was practically buzzing with excitement at the day that your bump would finally start showing.
The nurse called you back and checked your vitals. Soon the doctor was walking into the room.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Jordan, I’m Dr. Bailey. I see you’re here to confirm your pregnancy. From our samples that we took, it’s safe to say that congratulations are in order for both of you. Now, one thing I did notice is that you are two months along,” Dr. Bailey explained.
You looked over at Michael, “I didn’t even notice.”
“It’s nothing to worry about. It’s actually quite common, especially if you have irregular periods. Now are you ready to do the ultrasound?”
You don’t know who nodded quicker—you or Michael.
You laid on the table while Dr. Bailey applied the gel to your stomach. Soon, she took the wand out to run across your abdomen. She looked at the screen and pointed, “There you go. There’s your baby.”
You and Michael watched the screen intensely. You smiled at the image of your baby on the screen. When you looked at Michael, he looked awestruck by the image.
“You guys ready to hear the heartbeat?” Dr. Bailey asked. You both nodded.
Soon, the soft sounds of whooshing filled the room. Tears prickled at your eyes upon hearing the noise. “That’s our baby in there,” you said to Michael. In response, a few tears trailed down his face while he smiled at you.
At the end of your appointment, Dr. Bailey prescribed you prenatal vitamins along with setting up your next appointments.
She printed off pictures of your ultrasound for you.
When you and Michael announced the news to your families, you don’t know who screamed louder. Your mama or Donna. Both women were quick to start jumping into making plans for their future grand baby.
When your stomach started showing, Michael had cried. He had been nothing short of amazing since you found out that you were expecting. Every bout of nausea. Every craving. He was there to support you through it.
He was already buying you outfits to complement your bump. He decided to take time off from working so that he wouldn’t miss a moment of your pregnancy. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel alone during your pregnancy.
It got to the point in your pregnancy where it was time to discover what the gender of your baby was. Michael was betting on a boy while you were betting on a girl. Your mutual families and friends also had started a betting pool for the gender of your baby.
You had been a lot more tired recently, but you knew that it was one of the signs of being pregnant.
Dr. Bailey knocked on the door and smiled at you and Michael, “Morning you two. How are we doing?”
“A little tired honestly,” You replied.
“That’s to be expected. A lot of mothers find that they fall asleep a lot more during this time,” Dr. Bailey said, setting up the ultrasound machine.
“Do you want me to tell you the gender today?”
Michael nodded, “Yeah that’d be great. We actually have a little betting pool going on right now.”
Dr. Bailey laughed, “Not the first time I’ve heard that. Well let’s see who’s winning.”
She moved the wand over your stomach gently. “Huh, that’s a bit strange.”
You and Michael both frowned. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, just a few second,” Dr. Bailey muttered, moving the wand around your stomach.
She smiled after a few moments and turned to you and Michael. “Well I have some shocking and exciting news for you. It seems like you aren’t just expecting one baby, but two!”
Your heads snapped to the monitor to see for yourselves. Dr. Bailey turned the monitor and moved the wand to a specific spot on your stomach. She pointed at the screen, “See there’s baby #2. He must’ve been hiding during our other checkups.”
“He?” Michael questioned turning his head to her.
Dr. Bailey nodded, “That’s right. Two baby boys. They both look very healthy. All fingers and toes accounted for. Baby #2 just thought it’d be funny to play hide and seek.”
You and Michael stared at Dr. Bailey in disbelief. You turned to face Michael, “You got twins in your family?”
“No.”
“Lord, this man done got me pregnant with two babies.”
__________________
Your families seemed to find it amusing that you were pregnant with twins.
“Wait so you mean to tell me that you pregnant with Smoke and Stack?” Your brother joked.
Everybody laughed in the room, and you even cracked a small smile. There weren’t any twins on either side of your families, so it was weird that you were having twins. Maybe, Michael did a little bit of that hoodoo from Sinners to get twins.
“Well, I’m happy to have two grandbabies to love on now,” Donna said. She and your mother were already planning their respective names that your babies would call them.
“Have you decided on the theme for the baby shower?”
“We’re gonna do Winnie the Pooh themed,” Jamila answered. She and your sister had taken over planning the baby shower for you and Michael. In response, Michael had just told them to get whatever they needed to make the day special for you and the baby.
He’d drop a bag to see you happy.
You moved to go into the kitchen to get a piece of the sweet potato pie that your mom cooked. When you got into the kitchen, you saw that the piece that was on the table was gone.
The tears welled up in your eyes before you knew it. You walked back into the living room with the empty tin and tears streaming down your face.
“Who ate the last piece of pie?”
Everyone looked around the room at each other until Khalid raised his hand in shame.
You looked down at the empty tin again and it seemed to make you cry harder. Michael went over to you to start comforting you, “Hey baby, it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay, there’s no more pie,” You said, getting more upset at the fact.
“Oh my poor baby. Come on, I made an extra one on the side just for you,” Your mom said ushering you into the kitchen. Donna followed behind to comfort you.
Everybody looked at Khalid in disappointment. “You should be ashamed,” Your brother said, even though it was clear that he was joking.
Khalid made his way into the kitchen where you were eating out of the pie tin. “Hey, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for eating the last of the pie.”
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that over some pie.” You said, spooning another piece into your mouth.
“Does that mean I can have a piece?”
“Don’t push your luck with me, nigga.” You and Khalid looked at each other before breaking into laughter.
You stopped and ate another piece, “No, but I’m serious though. Don’t touch my pie.”
________________
As the months winded down for your pregnancy, your bump grew bigger and it actually did look like you were having twins. Even when you started to feel insecure, Michael was always there to remind you differently.
“Ugh, I’m so big. Look at how I look in this dress,” You whined. It was a lot more comfortable for you to wear dresses during your pregnancy.
Michael walked up behind you and placed his arms around you, “You look beautiful, baby. You’re growing our babies in there. Not only does that make you beautiful, but it makes you brave too.”
He pressed his lips to your neck.
Later that night, you were lying in bed next to Michael. You got up to go pee in the toilet and you felt a pop and a sudden rush of fluid run down your legs.
You waddled back into the bedroom and started shaking Michael.
He groaned before opening his eyes to look at you, “What’s up baby?”
“My water just broke.”
Michael’s eyes popped opened and he jumped out of the bed. You watched as he started rushing around to throw on clothes and grab your maternity bag.
You casually threw on one of his hoodies along with your slides. You sat on the couch as Michael continued running through the house.
“Baby!” He called out worriedly.
He came into the living room where you were casually watching TV. “Why you just sitting there?”
“Boy, I’m waiting on you,” you said, turning the TV off. He ushers you off the couch and into the car. You call your parents on the way there to let them know.
When you make it to the hospital, you check into your room. Michael had paid for a private room to ensure that you had a stress-free delivery.
You were laying in the bed, munching on a cup of ice while Michael kept checking on you. Frankly, the contractions hadn’t gotten to the point of being unbearable, so it was all going good for you so far.
“Kari,” you called out softly.
Michael sat next to you and was honestly expecting you to give some sweet speech about how your lives were about to change. You leaned closer to him, “Can we go get a seafood boil after this?”
________________
Two hours later and many threats of beating up Michael, Orion and Omani Jordan had officially made their debut into the world.
You and Michael had cried the entire time, especially when it came to cutting the cords and holding your squirming bundles.
Luckily for you and Michael, Omani had a birth mark on his arm that helped you tell the difference between them.
Michael was quick to throw his shirt off to have skin to skin with his babies. He had both Omani and Orion sitting on his chest. Both of your babies seemed to content on his chest and he looked down at both of them in wonder.
Not only did he have a beautiful wife, but you had given him two beautiful baby boys. He looked over at your sleeping face, you had been knocked out since giving birth. When you woke up, your families came back to see the babies.
Your mom and Donna gushed over the babies and what features they had from you and Michael.
By the end of your stay, you and Michael were taking your babies home. You could’ve moaned at seeing Michael walk out of the hospital with both car seats in hand.
“Now that’s a man,” you heard one of the older nurses say. The other hummed in agreement.
When you got home, just as you had asked, Michael had a large seafood boil ready for you.
“Consider it one of your push presents. The rest are coming soon,” Michael said, holding Orion in his arms.
You were holding Omani, who was looking up at you curiously. “Hey baby boy,” you cooed softly to which the newborn quirked his lips up in a tiny smile.
Later, you had both of them sitting in their bassinets while you and Michael watched them. “Thank you for this. You’ve been an amazing wife and partner. I know you’re gonna be a great mom too. I just wanted to let you know that I’m here ,” Michael said.
You pressed your lips to his, “Thank you for being there for us. I love you, Kari.”
“I love you too, babygirl.”
You started kissing again before you were interrupted by Omani and Orion both crying at the same time. You and Michael both watched as both babies seemed to be egging each other on with their crying.
“Dang we got a lot more months of this,”. You said, moving to pick up Orion while Michael picked up Omani.
“Yeah, but at least we’re doing it together.” He replied.
While you were rocking Orion, Michael had started rocking Omani. The twins both settled down but you looked at Omani as he started letting out small grunts.
Loud poots left your baby’s body as Michael held him. From the noises, you could already tell it was a blowout. Michael looked at you expectantly.
“Let’s rock paper scissor for it,” You suggested.
You both held your hands out.
Rock. Paper. Scissors. Shoot!
Your paper covered Michael’s rock. You laughed as he stood and moved to go change Omani.
“Love you baby,” you called out.
Your victory was short lived as Orion let out his own grunts and start pooping. “Man, you tripping.”
You stood to follow behind Michael.
But honestly, dirty diapers aside, you wouldn’t change anything.
Summary: You love horror movies. Michael does not. But as your boyfriend, he has to suck it up and deal with it.
Lovergirlnote: As a horror movie girlie, I’ve had this idea in mind for the longest. I thought it would so funny bc Mike has said in a lot of interviews how he doesn’t like scary movies, so I thought what would happen if he had a horror fanatic girlfriend. This one goes out to all of my black horror girlies. I hope you all enjoy!
When you and Michael started dating, he knew that it’d be an interesting experience. Interesting being the fact that you were completely obsessed with horror movies, while he was too terrified to watch them.
It was actually how you guys met.
You did a lot of film reviews online as your side job. You were a known film nerd, but you were especially popular in the horror movie space. It was refreshing for women of color to see a woman who looked like them sharing her love of horror movies.
You know a lot about movies. From the production to the cinematography to the screenplay. You always paid attention to those details. When Sinners was first announced, you were so hyped, especially when you found out that it was going to be a horror movie.
You popped up on Ryan’s radar as a fellow film nerd, so he and Zinzi made the decision to invite you to an exclusive screening of Sinners with a few other film nerds and the cast.
When you stepped into the room, Michael couldn’t take his eyes off you. From your big curly hair to the bright smile on your face. You had dressed in a Texas Chainsaw Massacre tee with a pair of jeans, and a stack of necklaces complementing the fit. Michael loved how you could make something so casual seem so unique.
A few people who recognized you from your social media flocked to you to gush over being there. You were a radiant beacon of energy and Michael couldn’t help but gravitate to you.
Even when Ryan stood in front to introduce the film, you kept your eyes on him. Your gaze didn’t flicker to Michael once. When the lights dimmed for the screening to begin, you chose to sit in the middle to watch the screen. It surprised Michael because he knew that everyone else would be practically salivating to sit near the cast.
He saw an empty seat next to you and took his chance while no one else was looking. He slid in the seat and settled just as the room went completely dark.
He turned his head to the side and flashed a smile at you. You gave him a polite smile in return, but kept your gaze on the screen in front of you. He thinks that made him fall deeper for you. You didn’t care about him being here, you were genuinely here for your love of film.
As much as Michael hated watching himself on screen, it helped to be sitting next to you. From the corner of his eye, he watched you intensely to gauge your reactions to the movie. When the “I Lied to You” montage started, he clocked the way your breath hitched and the light that illuminated in your eyes.
Mentally, he clocked all of your reactions to each scene in the movie. The small laughs you would let out at certain lines. The way you cheered when Smoke killed the Klan members. It was fascinating to see you experience this movie.
At the end of the movie, you clapped along with everyone else, and soon, Michael was being called back up front to do a Q & A with everyone. You didn’t ask questions, but you simply listened to everyone’s questions and answers.
After the event ended, a few people lingered hoping to get pictures with the cast. Michael watched you from the corner of his eyes, hoping to get the chance to talk to you. He smiled dutifully for a few pictures.
When he looked over next, you and Ryan were engrossed in a deep conversation. Whatever you had said had Ryan practically howling with laughter. Michael took the chance to slide over in yours and Ryan’s direction.
Ryan noticed him first, “Oh hey Mike, I gotta introduce to somebody, man. I’m a fan of her work, she’s amazing.” Ryan said your name to Michael and internally, Michael rolled the syllables of your name around in his mouth.
He really liked the sound of your name.
You held your hand out to Michael and he gladly shook your hand. Seeing as though, Ryan knew Michael like the back of his hand, he could tell that he was interested in you.
“It was really good seeing you. I appreciate you coming out,” Ryan said, hugging you one last time. He smirked at Michael and nodded his head at him.
Michael turned back to you, “Did you like the movie?”
Your eyes glimmered in excitement, “Yeah, it was transcending. I don’t think I’ve felt like that in a movie for a while. You were amazing by the way. Was that intentional with the different voice inflections for Smoke and Stack?”
Michael’s eyes widened. He was surprised that you had picked up on the subtle differences that he had crafted for the characters.
“Yeah! Um, I actually worked a vocal coach to pull some archival footage of a people speaking from the 30s,” Michael explained.
“That’s so cool. I could tell that you put a lot of work into showing the differences between the twins. It’s really good work. Congratulations.” Michael was about to say more when you looked past him. You gave him one of those polite smiles that signaled the end of a conversation.
“Looks like a lot of people are waiting to meet you. It was nice meeting you, Michael. Congratulations again.” You said, turning to leave.
“Wait, don’t you want a picture?” He quickly corrected himself, “For your video?”
You pondered the suggestion over in your mind, “Sure.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket and opened the camera app. Michael grabbed the phone and noted the horror movie case adorning the phone.
He held your phone out and snapped way more pictures than you needed. He pulled your body closer to his as you both smiled into the camera. He was tempted to ask for your number when he handed your phone back. You thanked him once last time before leaving.
The next day, Michael was stalking all of your social media pages. You had recently uploaded your official review of Sinners. At the end of the video, you had clipped in one of the pictures you and Michael.
Your phone buzzed on the counter. You flipped it upside down to see the new notification.
@michaelbjordan is now following you..
@michaelbjordan liked your video.
You saw that your video was blowing up even more because of Michael commenting and sharing it to his story.
@michaelbjordan: It was nice meeting you the other day. I’m glad you liked the movie♥️
You liked his comment and replied with a simple “♥️♥️.” You weren’t going to make it a big deal. Sure, you thought Michael was fine. Who didn’t? Those dimples were enough to send any woman or man spiraling.
But you weren’t about to bet all of your cards that he was checking for you.
However, Michael was 100% checking for you. He was always liking your videos and DM’ing you on the side. He was getting bolder and bolder with his messages, trying to toe the line between implication and directly saying it.
He wanted you bad.
After a few weeks of DM’ing, he had worked his way up to asking for your number. The conversation between you both is constant. You and Michael nerd out about anything from movies to music to food. It’s refreshing to have a conversation with someone, who doesn’t care that he’s Michael B. Jordan.
Once Sinners is released, it’s a hit. You’re not surprised in the least. You already knew that the film would be on a generational run. Despite his busy press schedule, Michael still keeps in contact with you. Your texts upgrade to phone calls and FaceTimes.
Michael is hyped when Ryan mentions that his production company, Proximity Media, is getting you to do one of the interviews with him and Ryan. He feels like it’s first time having a crush with how excited he gets to see you.
The following day, you enter with room in a casual fit. Ryan had made it clear that he wanted this to be an informal conversation with three nerds. You were wearing a custom Sinners tee that both Ryan and Michael clocked.
Michael pulls your frame to his. “I’m happy you’re here,” He whispers in your ear.
You smile back, “Happy to be here.” You both stare at each other for a few seconds with Ryan in the corner with Zinzi sipping on his espresso.
“You planned this, didn’t you?” Zinzi questions, a smirk covering her own face.
“I mean it’s a win for us both. I wanted somebody that I know has a passion for the movie just as much as I do, and I can tell he really likes her.” Ryan explains.
They both turn their gazes back to you and Michael. You’re explaining something and they don’t even know if Michael fully even registers what you’re talking about. The man in question is looking at you like you hung the stars. It’s literally giving the embodiment of “blah blah blah proper name backstory stuff.”
Zinzi and Ryan both laugh at how down bad Michael is for you.
The interview starts with you introducing yourself before introducing Ryan and Michael. You didn’t let the fact that you had a personal connection to Michael dilute the interview. You were the perfect balance between funny, professional, casual, and thoughtful.
“Okay question for you Michael. When it comes to playing characters like Smoke and Stack, I know that I’ve heard actors say that they resonate with pieces of the characters that they play. Which twin would you say you’re more like?”
Michael laughs slightly, “Stack for sure.”
“So reckless and irresponsible?”
Michael and Ryan both start laughing loudly. Michael shakes his head, “No, no. A little reckless sometimes, but mostly I mean that I’m goofy like Stack, I love to play around.”
Ryan looks at you, “Who do you prefer more out of Stack and Smoke?”
You smirk, “I mean is both an option?” Ryan starts cracking up, while Michael smiles in your direction. “To be honest, younger me would be drawn to Stack. But me now, I’d pick Smoke for sure. He looks like he runs a strict program.”
The three of you laugh in response of your question. Michael can’t take his eyes off you the entire time which the camera picks up on. By the end of the interview, you’re all making jokes like you’ve known each other for years.
When the interview drops, your numbers jump up tremendously. Everybody comments on how chill Ryan and Michael look around you. They specifically pick up on Michael’s demeanor around you.
@teammbj: okay but am I crazy or is the chemistry between them really good?
@mbjfanpage: Mike didn’t take his eyes off my good sis not one time
@smokestack: did yall see how he was looking when she said she wanted Smoke and Stack.
@whimsyblackgirl: I love the fact that we all peeped Michael looking at her, but can we talk about how good she did at this interview. The questions really showed how much of a film geek that she is. I could see them hiring her for more interviews
Michael shares the interview on his story. He pulls up your contact. He’s done beating around the bush, he figures now is a good time to make a move.
You pick up on the first ring, “Wow a phone call in the middle of the day. I’m starting to think you may be obsessed with me.”
“Maybe I just like you a lot. Let me take you out on Friday.”
The line goes silent for a while, “Sure, let’s do it.”
Michael picks you up on Friday. He takes you to a fancy restaurant with names of food that you won’t pretend to pronounce.
He sips from his glass, “So what started your love for movies?”
“Horror movies actually. My uncle used to buy all of these bootleg DVDs from this guy in our neighborhood. He’d always let me sit and watch them with him. I think my earliest memory of a horror movie was Night of The Living Dead with Duane Jones. I remember the scene where he got killed and my uncle paused it to talk about the significance of it all. He always told me to remember that all horror is political and to always look for the meaning,” You find yourself blushing at the end of your speech.
“Sorry, I just really love horror movies,” You said, sipping from your own drink.
“No, don’t apologize for that. It’s refreshing to see someone be passionate like that,” Michael replied.
As he paid and you left the restaurant, he held your hand as you both walked to the car. He turned to you, “I’m not ready for the night to end yet. I have one last surprise if you’re down for it.”
You smiled at the boyish look on his face. You nodded in response as he held the car door open for you. Butterflies fluttered through your stomach as you clocked that he was still holding your hand while he drove.
Your smile widened when Michael pulled up to one of the local movie theaters.
“You’re taking me to watch a movie?” You asked.
“Actually, I’m taking you to watch your favorite movie. They’re playing The Thing tonight. I remember you mentioning in one of your videos that it was one of your top 4,” He explained casually. Your eyes widened a bit.
“You watch my videos?”
He nodded, “Yeah, they’re really good. It’s refreshing to hear you talk about movies and explain the mechanics behind the production and themes. I like to play them while I’m working out or lounging. You should start a podcast.”
A soft laugh left your lips. You started to wonder if you were dreaming or not. Michael was pleasantly surprised when you pulled his face down to yours and connected your lips. His hand found the side of your face as he deepened the kiss.
He continue to litter soft pecks against your lips as he pulled back. You both stood there smiling at each other. You entered the theater hand in hand.
You both chose to share a pack of sweet tart ropes along with cherry coke slushies. Fortunately, there weren’t any people in the auditorium which meant that you and Michael had the entire place to yourselves.
As the movie began, you became engrossed almost immediately. Michael was watching but his eyes flickered to you and your reactions. You gently explained facts about the movie to him during certain scenes.
Michael had left out one detail to you. He was absolutely terrified of horror movies. Even the process of filming Sinners was a bit squeamish to him. He found himself tensing and jumping in the seat at certain parts.
When the part came with them trying to do CPR on one of the crew members and the person’s chest opened up, Michael shrank in his chair.
“Are you okay?” You asked, turning your head to him.
“Huh? Oh yeah. I’m just not really a horror movie person. I’m actually kind of squeamish about gore.”
“Oh no, I didn’t know. Do you wanna leave?” You questioned, your face showing obvious concern.
Michael shook his head, “No, I’ll be fine. I want us to stay.”
He continued to sit through the movie, but he was doing a terrible job at not acting scared. From the corner of his eye, you looked completely unphased by the gore. You could sense that Michael was scared, so you intertwined your fingers together. You laid your head on his shoulders.
In response, Michael wrapped his arm around you. This way it gave him semblance of comfort and feeling like he was the one protecting you.
From that moment, it changed the trajectory of your relationship with Michael. You were now officially his nerdy horro fanatic girlfriend and he was your scarredy cat boyfriend.
It clicked well.
_______________________
Four months later, you and Michael were still going strong. Your career in the movie space was flourishing. More production companies were calling you to come review their movies and interview their casts.
You respected the art of journalism. In a world of social media journalists, you set yourself apart by ensuring that you did your research and developed engaging questions for the cast. What people loved more about your content was how you would interview members of the production crew to talk about the technicality of their jobs.
Naturally, you were in the spotlight more for being Michael’s girlfriend, but you were clear to not make being his girlfriend your brand. In fact, diehard fans had even started referring to Michael as your boyfriend as if he wasn’t the big movie star.
It was the weekend, which meant that it was movie weekend for you and Michael. Each week when you both were free, you would alternate picking movies for each other. You always tried to pick horror movies that you felt like Michael could handle. On the few separate times when you picked hardcore horror, he almost fainted.
Tonight, you had picked The Exorcist. Michael had assured you that he felt confident enough to handle the movie.
A couple of minutes in, he was already spooked. He pulled your body closer under the guise of wanting to cuddle, but actually he was scared.
“You okay, baby?” You asked looking up at Michael.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He answered, placing a kiss on your lips. You deepened the kiss and slid your tongue in his mouth. In response, Michael let out a low groan.
Soon, you were straddling his hips while his hands wandered up your shorts.
Pulling back, Michael placed kisses down the column of your throat. He sucked gently at that sensitive spot while he continued grinding your hips down on his.
“You know this is usually the part in the scary movie when the couple gets chopped up into tiny pieces,” you said, breath uneven.
“Good thing we aren’t in a horror movie. But don’t worry baby, I’d protect you.” He said connecting your lips back together.
You both continued to make out on the couch until you pulled back. “I gotta go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back, baby.” You slid off Michael’s lap and walked to the bathroom.
Michael’s gaze settled back to the tv where The Exorcist was still playing. He was half tempted to pause the movie. Six minutes passed and you still weren’t back.
“Baby, you good?” He called out, but received no response.
He bit his lip as the anxiety started rising in his chest. Michael stood from the couch and went to the bathroom. He gently knocked on the door and waited to hear you respond. When you didn’t, he gently opened the door and found it empty.
The fear started to spike in his chest.
He jumped when his phone started ringing. Your contact popped up on the phone.
Sliding the answer button over, he placed the phone up to this ear, “Baby, where you at?”
“Hello Michael,” a raspy voice answered back. Michael quickly pulled the phone back to confirm it was your number.
“Who is this?” He asked.
The voice laughed, “That’s not important. But I do have one question for you. What’s your favorite scary movie, Michael?”
“Baby, this isn’t funny. You know I don’t like scary movies.”
“Cute of you to assume I’m your girlfriend. She’s rather tied up at the moment,” the voice snickered.
Michael started moving quickly through each room, but still no sign of you. “What’s wrong, Michael? You scared?”
“Aye, I ain’t got time for this! If you did something to my girl, it’s gone be me and you,” Michael said roughly into the phone. Truthfully, he was scared out of his mind.
“Let’s play a game first, Michael. You answer my questions and I’ll let your girlfriend go. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“First question, who was the killer in Nightmare on Elm Street?”
“Freddy Krueger!”
“Good! You might just win. In Jeepers Creepers, how many years until he comes back?”
Michael ponders on the question and tries to remember. “Ummm…23 years?”
“Correct again, Michael! In the People under the Stairs, what’s the name of the couple’s daughter?”
Michael’s eyes widen. He hadn’t watched that movie with you yet. He remembered you talking about it, but he hadn’t seen it.
“Sarah?”
The voice chuckles on the other end of the line. “Wrong answer, Michael. Guess your girlfriend won’t make it to the sequel.”
The call ends. Your loud scream radiates through the house before the lights pop out. The house is in complete darkness. Michael quickly turns his flash light on. His hand is shaking the entire time. Somewhere in the house, a door slams.
Michael is silently praying the entire time.
“Baby,” he calls out softly, hoping to catch sight of you.
He quietly creeps up the stairs.
He looks around the bedroom for you. Internally, his gut is telling him to high tail it from the house, but honestly, it would be a douche move to leave you in the house alone.
As he turns, the hair rises on his arms. “Michael,” a voice whispers.
Michael’s eyes go toward the closet which is slightly open.
“Nope,” Michael says before turning and running down the stairs.
Glancing behind him, he almost faints at seeing a shadow at the top of the stairs.
He runs in the direction of the kitchen and is about to go to the door. He can hear the front door slamming in response.
He’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, heart beating erratically out of his chest. He bumps into the counter and drops his phone on the floor. When he leans down to pick it up, he quickly stands again.
His eyes frantically search around in the dark to make out some semblance of an exit. A hand touches his shoulder and a voice whispers, “Found you.”
Michael does the only normal thing his body can think of, he starts screaming and swinging erratically. The lights turn back on and Michael is still screaming and swinging.
He finally stops and opens his eyes. You’re standing in the middle of the room, trying to hold your laughter in.
Michael has his arm still mid swing when you finally start laughing loudly. You actually start clutching your stomach while tears are streaming down your face.
“Oh my god, baby, you were so scared!” You wheezed out.
Michael lets out a deep breath, “GIRL! You scared me! What’s wrong with you?” He leans against the counter and starts to calm his heart down.
You move to stand in front of him. Your hands come up to cradle his face, “I’m sorry baby. That was mean.” You say this with a pout on your face and start placing gentle kisses on his lips.
Michael’s body melts into yours. He finally starts laughing, “I don’t think anyone’s ever pranked me like that before. That was good. I mean you turned the lights off and you really got me good upstairs.”
At this, you start frowning, “What are you talking about?”
“Upstairs. You know hiding in the closet and whispering my name. Standing at the top of the stairs almost had me peeing on myself,” Michael answers.
You pause and your frown deepens, “Michael, I didn’t go into the bedroom. I’ve been downstairs in the kitchen the whole time.”
Michael stops laughing. He expects you to say that you’re joking and that it was you, but you don’t fix your mouth to correct it.
“Wait, but how did you close the front door?” Both of your heads turn to the front door.
“Baby, I promise, I’ve been in the kitchen this entire time.” You say, moving to stand closer to Michael.
Instead of doing the typical thing of questioning it, you and Michael both look at each other.
“Nope,” you both say before making your way outside to his car.
The golden gleam of the Oscar statuette pulsed even brighter under the streetlights as the car glided down the road.
Inside the vehicle, the silence was filled only by the sound of kisses, Michael’s heavy breathing, and the rustle of his expensive tuxedo fabric against your silk dress. Thankfully, the car’s partition made it impossible for the driver to see what you two were doing.
He had won. The whole world had watched Michael B. Jordan walk up that stage, but only you knew how much he had trembled before hearing his own name. You saw how he had braced himself for loss, and how his soul seemed to leave and return to his body in the seconds after he was announced the winner.
It had been incredible to witness the process how Michael had dedicated himself to interpreting Smoke and Stack, the sleepless nights spent studying, and the long, deep conversations with Ryan.
That victory was more than deserved.
You were both drunk, not just from the expensive whiskeys at the after party, but from sheer adrenaline and happiness. When the car pulled up in front of your house, Michael could barely coordinate his feet. He held the statuette in one hand as if it were a newborn, while the other was wrapped firmly around your waist.
"I won... I can't believe it," he whispered against your neck as you walked through the yard toward the front door. "I really won this shit!" he suddenly shouted, starting to jump for joy, pulling you with him.
"You won, Mike. And you’re almost dropping it on the floor!," you laughed, trying to keep your balance and grabbing his wrist while he planted messy, damp kisses on your shoulder.
The moment the door opened, chaos ensued. Michael kicked it shut with his foot but accidentally hit the doorframe, making you both laugh even harder. With all the care in the world, he placed the statuette on a shelf in the living room and lunged toward you. His hands, large and warm, cupped your face with urgency.
"The way this dress makes you look even more beautiful is so unfair," he said, his eyes locking onto yours. "I’ve been struggling all day thinking about how much I wanted to fuck you."
"We have the whole night for that, don't we?" Your hands were already pulling at his tie, undoing the knot in a hurry.
"The whole night."
He kissed you with a hunger that left you breathless, a tangle of teeth, tongues, and the lingering taste of alcohol. His hands moved down to the zipper of your dress, struggling against the fine fabric with impaired motor skills but pure determination.
"Mike, wait, we’re going to fall," you managed between a moan and a laugh as he tripped over his own feet while trying to lead you toward the bedroom.
He managed to shed his jacket, tossing it somewhere in the hallway, while you tugged at his white shirt, popping buttons as you pulled it open. His skin was hot, his chest muscles defined and inviting. When you finally reached the bedroom, moonlight flooded the space, illuminating everything from floor to ceiling.
Michael laid you onto the sheets with a tenderness that was surprising for someone who could barely walk straight minutes before. He knelt between your legs, still in his trousers, watching you with an adoration that went far beyond physical desire.
"Thank you for being with me. Thank you for supporting me when I was being an idiot and doubting myself. Thank you for letting me be part of your life." he murmured, his kisses alternating between your neck and your bare breasts. "God, I’m the luckiest man in the world."
You pushed him back, making him lie on his back, and straddled him, grinding slowly.
"I love you so much."
You left a trail of kisses down his cheeks, his neck, and his chest where you gave him a light, playful bite, down to his waist. You unbuckled his belt and pulled his trousers and underwear down while keeping eye contact.
He sprang free, hard and aching for you.
"I’ll always be here to remind you of the incredible man you are, even when you forget it."
You coated your hand and began to stroke him, moving from tip to base without any rush.
"Now, let me thank you my way..." As you leaned down to take him into your mouth, his hands tangled in your hair, gently pulling your head up to look at him.
"Babe, I love when you do that, but I need you now. I feel like I'm going to explode."
He looked at you with those needy, longing eyes and didn't even wait for an answer. He pulled you up to sit on him again. Michael was so desperate he didn't even take off your white lace panties; he simply pushed them to the side and, without ceremony, drove deep inside you.
He didn't need it; you were already completely wet for him.
Both of you groaned loudly at the same time, feeling the heat of the friction. His hands went straight to your hips, guiding your movements.
"Just like that... fuuuck!" he growled.
"I love seeing you like this," you whispered, your left hand wrapping around his neck, applying slight pressure.
Your rhythm quickened, the sound of skin hitting skin growing louder. You purposely squeezed around him, knowing exactly how much he loved the sensation.
"You're trouble " he said, smirking through the pleasure.
Suddenly, he stood up with you still clinging to him. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck. He pushed open the bathroom door and walked inside, stopping in front of the vanity mirror. He set you down and turned you around.
Your hair was a complete mess, your lip liner was smudged, and your skin glistened with sweat.
"You're all mine," he rasped, massaging your breasts.
Michael leaned down to bite your ass, and as if it were nothing, he ripped you panties.
When he finally entered you again from behind, your eyes rolled back and you arched your spine, leaning against the counter for support. Michael moved with a raw intensity, his eyes fixed on yours in the reflection, chasing every reaction. The pace was frantic, matching the euphoria of the night. He whispered your name like a prayer, interspersed with dirty words that made your face flush and your body spark with pleasure.
Through the mirror, you watched him biting his lips, lost in the moment.
The climax hit you both like an overwhelming wave, leaving you trembling and breathless. Michael leaned his forehead against your back, both of you gasping for air.
When he finally pulled out, he lingered for a moment, admiring the cum drip.
"Look at what we did," he said, giving your ass a firm, playful swat before turning you around to face him.
"We are going to have a terrible hangover tomorrow." you murmured, closing your eyes as he lazily ran his hand through your hair.
"We definitely are, but it was worth it." he said, kissing the top of your head. "Everything was worth it today."
You smiled, leaning into his embrace, savoring the quiet for a few more moments before heading into the shower together.
Summary: Michael and his new fucking cologne. It might kill someone. It’ll definitely kill your vagina.
Pairing: Michael B. Jordan x Feral!Reader
WARNINGS: smut!!!!! hair pulling, spit, spanking, public sex, oral (m+f receiving), slight overstimulation. excuse errors!! i edited on my phone
in case you were wondering where i’ve been for a month…
You don’t notice it right away; when you first step through the door, cheeks flushed from the laughter still echoing off your lips, heels clicking gently on the hardwood. Not even when Michael’s deep voice calls out a casual, “Hey baby,” from somewhere in the kitchen, where you hear the gentle clink of ice settling in lowball glasses.
It’s subtle at first… but then it hits you.
Not like a slap. No. More like a slow drag of silk along the skin, warm and smoky, curling through the air and pulling. There’s a richness to it, something dark and magnetic beneath the top note you can’t quite place. Something downright sinful and so overwhelming that your knees almost buckle.
You blink once, then again, that’ll settle whatever the fuck your body just did in response to that scent.
That’s new.
Your friends trail in behind you with the easy chaos of post-dinner tipsiness, none of them seeming to notice the way your breath just stalled in your throat.
You try to shake it off. Try to stay cool. “Y’all can make yourselves at home,” you call over your shoulder, forcing a little laugh into your voice, even as your spine straightens and your pulse stutters like it just skipped a beat. “I think he made drinks.”
Michael rounds the corner from the kitchen just then, glass in hand, sleeves pushed up, beard shaped to perfection, and…oh, hell. You feel it all the way down.
Your clit pulses on instinct.
It doesn’t even matter what he’s wearing — just a fitted black tee and sweats that cling to the curve of his hips — but your whole body sways slightly like you’re being pulled forward on a leash. Your eyes flicker up to meet his and of course, he fucking knows.
One side of his mouth twitches, a barely-there smirk, cocky and warm and knowing. And that’s when you realize this man has set you up.
“You change your cologne?” you ask lightly, clearing your throat, head tilted like you’re not already half-feral and shifting your weight just so to quiet the throb between your thighs.
“Mmhm.” He sips his drink and leans a shoulder against the wall like he’s not wreaking absolute havoc on your body just by standing there. “Came today. Figured I’d try it while you were out. See how it settles.”
Oh, it’s settling alright. Right in your bloodstream. Against your G-spot. In your brain stem.
But you just nod, dragging your gaze away and making your way to the couch. “It’s nice. Real…grown.” You shrug. “Sophisticated.”
Tati throws herself dramatically into a chair. “Girl, you good? You got quiet.”
“Yeah,” you lie, tucking your legs under yourself as if you’re not soaking through your panties. “Just tired.”
Except you’re not. You’re overstimulated, your nerve endings are singing, and all because that damn cologne is clouding every corner of your brain.
Lex is halfway through asking about dessert when you cut her off with a sweet smile and a stretch. “Actually, y’all, I might call it early. Got a long day tomorrow. And…Michael looks like he wants some one-on-one time.”
Michael blinks once, slow. He doesn’t say a word. Just watches.
Tati squints at you. “You just said we could stay for a nightcap.”
You nod. “I did. But then my man hit me with that scent and now I need y’all to leave.”
Kris cackles. “I knew it. I knew you looked like you were about to slide down the wall.”
But you’re already on your feet, ushering them up, tossing them their purses with one hand and opening the door with the other.
“Love y’all. Text me when you’re at the hotel. Don’t let the door hit you. Kisses all around.”
The second it shuts behind them, silence blankets the space like a heavy curtain.
Michael’s still standing there, barely moving, watching you with that unreadable expression. His glass is still half-full.
You breathe in again and it practically burns through your chest. “What is that?”
He smiles slow, lazy, like a man with all the time in the world. “Just something new.”
“It’s evil,” you mutter, already walking toward him. “It’s a weapon. You bought that cologne just to ruin my life.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “You like it?”
Your hand slides up the front of his chest, fingers curling in the collar of his shirt. Your voice dips to a whisper, trembling and low. “I’m about to get on my knees just to breathe you in properly.”
Michael hums, glass forgotten as his hands find your waist. “Then do it.”
Your mouth opens… Closes… Then opens again. No sound comes out at first because you’re too busy reeling, spinning, from the way he smells, the heat of his chest under your palm, the smirk playing on his lips like he’s got you strung up on puppet strings.
“I’m not playin’ with you tonight, Kari,” you mumble, fingers balling into fists. “I’m serious.”
“You think I’m playin’?”
His voice is low and heavy, dragging across your skin like velvet soaked in bourbon. And he smells unholy. Expensive, deep, warm… like the kind of scent that belongs in sin and silk sheets and locked doors.
You tug him down by his collar, just enough to brush your lips over his jaw. Just a taste, enough to let it burn across your tongue.
“Bedroom,” you breathe against his skin.
He pulls back, eyes dark with something smug, something territorial. “Already?”
“I told the girls I was tired, remember?”
Michael’s fingers slip down your waist. “You don’t look like you’re tired yet.”
You don’t even feel your feet move upstairs, every thought clouded by that fucking cologne. Your back hits the bedroom door and he follows like a storm, drinking glasses long forgotten, his scent soaking the air.
“Take it off,” you whisper.
He tilts his head. “Take what off?”
“That shirt. Before I rip it.”
Michael raises a brow like is that a threat or a promise, but obliges. He peels it slowly, arms flexing, abs catching the warm light from the hallway, and tosses the shirt somewhere over your shoulder.
You don’t even look where it lands — you’re too busy licking your lips.
You step forward, hands dragging down his torso, nose grazing his chest just to inhale again. You moan without meaning to, like a reflex, like your body can’t even process how feral this cologne has made you.
“I can’t think,” you whisper, dragging your lips down the center of his chest, tongue flicking against his sternum. “It’s in my fucking brain.”
He watches you drop to your knees, burying your face in his abdomen and just breathing.
When you look up, pupils blown, hands trembling as they find the waistband of his sweats, your voice is hoarse with greed. “Please let me suck your dick.”
Michael’s jaw flexes. He nods once, low, controlled. “C’mon then.”
You drag his sweats down with shaky fingers, lips parted, moaning again when the scent deepens and mixes with his skin and his sweat and the weight of him in your palm. You don’t even bring your mouth to him yet; just stroke him slowly, twisting at the tip, watching him throb in your hand while you press your nose right against the crease of his thigh and whimper.
“You’re outta your mind,” he mutters, voice gone gravel-thick. “You just needed a reason, huh?”
You mumble out a pitiful “mhm”, licking a stripe along the side of his shaft.
Michael groans loud, fist bracing the wall above your head as your mouth stretches around him, lips shaking as you sink down slow, greedy, nose brushing his stomach. You hum and moan around him, lost to it. Not just sucking him off, but like you’re trying to breathe him in, swallow his soul, imprint him in your fucking lungs.
And that damn cologne is making it worse.
Michael’s hips twitch. His eyes roll back. He’s trying to talk but it’s coming out broken. “You’re gonna make me — fuck, baby — you want me to cum already?”
You nod with his dick in your throat, gagging around him.
You don’t stop. Not even when spit is dripping from your chin, puddling into the fabric of your dress. Not even when he’s panting above you, whispering curses, calloused hands fisted in your hair.
You suck harder, sinking onto him deeper, as if that were possible, clamoring to feel him in your sternum.
He finally yanks you off by the back of your head, thumb swiping your soaked bottom lip, eyes wild. “You’re not tired yet?”
You shake your head. “I don’t even need sleep anymore.”
He laughs hard, utterly breathless. “Oh you’re gone,” he says, voice coated in disbelief. “You’re gone. What the fuck did that cologne do to you?”
You stand then, hand wrapping around his wrist. You tug at his hand, crawling back toward the bed.
Michael doesn’t even let you settle all the way onto the bed.
You crawl back, trying to catch your breath, but the scent of his cologne follows you like smoke. Still clinging to his skin, his breath, the air around you. You try to focus, try to speak, but it’s like your brain is underwater and all you can feel is want.
“On your back,” he orders, voice low and mean now. “Legs up.”
You flinch at the tone of his command but obey anyway.
“Good girl,” he groans as you scramble to get your outfit off — hands fumbling, tugging the thin straps of your dress down your shoulders while your breath saws uneven in your chest. “You wore this little dress out with the girls like I wasn’t gonna see it? Hm? Titties just out and on display.”
“I-I didn’t think—”
He cuts you off with a look. “Don’t lie to me.”
You freeze. Then whisper, “I wanted you to see.”
He smirks. “Yeah? You wanted me hard all day, waiting for you to get home, just so I could take you apart?”
You nod helplessly, already spreading your legs for him, already dripping.
Michael drops to his knees at the edge of the bed and pulls you down toward him with one strong arm hooked behind your thighs. His face dips low and that scent rolls off his neck again, thick and concentrated now, and it wrecks you.
Your whole body jolts.
“I’ve had you this worked up since you walked in the door. Can’t even think straight, can you?”
“No,” you gasp, fingers tangling in the sheets as his tongue licks a slow stripe from your opening to your clit. “Michael—fuck—”
He moans into you like he’s drunk off the taste, spitting and lapping and spreading your lips with his thumbs and goes deeper, tongue fucking you slow and mean, letting you grind against his face like he’s got nowhere else to be.
“Nah. Don’t you run from it.” He grunts against your clit, “Take it like a good girl. Smell my cologne while I eat this pretty pussy.”
He reaches up, palms your throat while he eats you out, squeezes just enough to make your head buzz and your eyes roll. You start to shake, thighs clenching around his ears, and he just laughs into your pussy like the sick bastard he is.
“Go ahead. Black out if you want to.”
You do… just for a second. The pleasure spikes white-hot and your scream punches straight from your chest before your body sags, twitching. You barely register him climbing onto the bed, yanking your hips up, lining himself up behind you.
“You’re not done.” He demands like a punishment. And then he eases in with a stroke that knocks the breath from your lungs and leaves your eyes wide, mouth open, silent.
“Where’s all that noise now?” he hisses into your ear. “You were begging to get ruined. What happened?”
He fucks into you hard and mean, his hips slapping against your ass. The other wraps in your hair, jerking your head so he can spit into your open mouth, his own lips brushing your cheek. “Swallow it.”
You do, fully incoherent now, mewling, clawing at the sheets.
His cologne is in your nose, your tongue, your brain. It’s like it seeped under your skin and now you’re his, nothing but nerves and gasps and need.
He grabs your jaw, tilting your head so you’re forced to look at him. “Say thank you.”
You choke out, “Th-thank you—fuck, Daddy—thank you.”
Michael growls out a real, chest-deep sound. He fucks you so hard the bed creaks, the headboard slamming angrily against the wall. You yelp, but he doesn’t stop. He adjusts, hikes your hips up higher, and goes deeper.
“Open your mouth,” he pants. “Let me see how far gone you are.”
Your tongue falls out, drool smeared across your chin. You can’t even form words.
He pulls out, flips you over, and slides back in from behind — his hand around your throat again, forcing you to bow your back, the scent of him surrounding you like a drug. “There she is. Lemme tire that pussy out.”
You black out again when you cum, your vision goes white. Your hands fist the sheets, gripping like you’ll fall off the planet if you let go.
And even after, when he kisses you through your tears and lays you flat against the torn sheets, you’re still shaking. Still whining for him, even as your body tries to shut down from overstimulation.
Michael brushes your hair back, chuckles low, and presses a kiss to your temple.
“You’re gonna ask what it was tomorrow,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna ask what cologne this is like it wasn’t laced with crack.”
You hum weakly, lips parted, breath gone. “I’m gonna burn every other bottle you own.”
He grins. “Good.”
—
Sunlight slips through the curtains in gold ribbons, warming the edge of the duvet, filtering across tangled limbs and damp sheets that still smell like sex and sweat and him.
You don’t want to move.
Your body is fully wrecked. Every inch of you aches in the best, filthiest way, like you’ve been broken open and rearranged. Your legs are tangled with Michael’s beneath the covers, and his hand is still resting on the curve of your ass, like he fell asleep claiming it.
He stirs first, nuzzling into your neck, and presses a soft kiss to your jaw like last night didn’t happen. Like he didn’t just do deeply unspeakable things to you with his scent as the weapon of choice. “You awake?” he rasps, voice heavy with sleep.
You hum. “Barely.”
He grins into your skin. “You good?”
“Can’t feel my legs.”
Another kiss. Smug. “So that’s a yes.”
You groan as he rolls out of bed, stretching those ridiculous arms overhead before disappearing into the bathroom. You hear the shower turn on, the sound of water cascading onto tile. For a second, you think about moving.
But your bones are liquid.
Still, the promise of hot water and his hands massaging lotion onto your skin pulls you upright with a hiss. You pad into the bathroom slowly, and he looks over his shoulder when you open the glass door.
“Morning, pretty girl,” he says, pulling you in. “Still feral?”
You grumble. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
And he’s smiling bright. Like he didn’t fuck you senseless, proud of the damage he inflicted. And truly, you’d let him get away with it because his hands are so gentle right now. Rinsing you off and kissing your shoulder while steam wraps around both of you like silk.
By the time you’re dried off and moisturized, dressed in something cute and brunch-worthy, your muscles are a little looser, your brain a little less scrambled. He’s pulling on jeans, a white tee, his watch. You sit at the edge of the bed slipping on your sandals when you hear the faint pssst-pssst.
You freeze in your tracks.
Michael turns, confused. “What?”
Your eyes narrow, sniffing once, then again. And that same warm, smoky, deliciously unholy scent curls under your nose and claws its way through your chest.
You actually gasp.
He raises a brow. “What’s your problem?”
“My—” You stand abruptly. “You’re my problem.”
Michael stares. “What the hell did I do?”
“You sprayed that cologne again!”
“…yeah? And?”
You march up to him, completely unhinged. “You and that cologne and the way you just…exist. You’re banned from wearing that unless I have a clear schedule and a safe word.”
Michael blinks, then smirks. “You mean the cologne that made you black out last night?”
You whimper. “Don’t talk about it.”
“I shouldn’t talk about how you were shaking on my face?”
You throw your head back and groan. “Oh my god, Michael—”
“Or the way you gave me head like you were addicted to my—”
“Sir!”
He laughs and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close until your nose is in the curve of his neck. You inhale on instinct and moan. Audibly.
“Jesus Christ,” you whisper against his skin. “I’m gonna hump your leg like a dog.”
“We’re going to brunch.”
“Well I’m not gonna make it to brunch!”
Michael leans back just enough to look at you, smug and smugger. “You want me to change?”
You pause. “Yes.”
He starts walking toward the closet. “Okay.”
“Wait. No,” you whimper, following him. “Actually… y’know what? Yeah. No. Don’t.”
He cackles. “So which is it?”
“I hate you.”
“You said that already.”
“And I meant it.”
He kisses your forehead and turns to grab his wallet and keys, ushering you downstairs. “You gonna act normal at brunch or am I gonna have to carry you out?”
You narrow your eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”
Michael opens the door for you, still smirking stupidly as you walk by. “I wore this for you, baby.”
You follow him out with a huff, muttering under your breath. “I hope you get jumped by a pack of women who think you’re single.”
He just laughs.
——
The brunch spot is warm and buzzing, all soft sunlight and the low clatter of plates. You should be relaxed. The restaurant’s full of good vibes, mimosas, and waffles. But instead… you’re vibrating in your seat like a bottle of shaken soda. Barely capped and about to burst.
Michael’s sitting next to you in the booth instead of across, because he’s annoying like that and certainly wants you to suffer, and the second his thigh brushes yours, you damn near jump out of your seat.
He notices. “Oh, we're still sensitive this morning?” he murmurs, smirking over the rim of his water glass.
You glare at him. “Don’t talk to me.”
“I’m just existing, having a nice brunch with my lady,” he replies smoothly, cutting into his chicken and waffles like he’s not a walking, smirking, scented crime against humanity. “You did say you didn’t want me to change.”
You look at him.. like, really look at him.
Beard clean, brows perfect and resting contentedly as he chews slow. He wets his lips, licking syrup off the corner of his mouth because he knows you’re watching.
And he smells so fucking good.
That cologne is in your lungs, winding around your spine. Every time he shifts, it stirs the air and you catch another wave of it — and it’s like brown liquor in the back of a velvet-draped lounge.
You cross your legs under the table. Tight.
Michael notices that too. “Oh,” he says, feigning surprise. “We crossed the legs. That’s strike one.”
You stab your fork into your potatoes.
He leans in close enough for you to hear him exhale through his nose. Close enough for the scent of his neck to sucker punch your ovaries again. You swear the air gets thicker when he speaks. “What’s wrong, mama?”
Your jaw clenches. “I’m gonna flip the fucking table.”
Michael hums in amusement. His hand finds your thigh under the table and rests there, his warm, intentional, thumb tracing lazy circles too close to dangerous territory.
“Mmhm,” he says. “I knew you weren’t tired.”
“Michael,” you hiss, but it comes out desperate. “Please stop.”
“Stop what?” He’s full-on teasing now, voice low and cruel and playful. That scent is driving a nail into the center of your body and twisting. You’re throbbing, clenching, borderline panting. You haven’t even touched your food.
“You don’t even realize what you’re doing,” you whisper.
“Oh honey,” He leans in until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Your hands grip the edge of the table. You look down and exhale, trying to regulate your breath, trying to see straight.
Michael chuckles and sits back. “Eat your food, baby.”
Oh, but you can’t. You’re done for.
By the time the waiter comes to clear the plates, Michael’s finished his entire meal and your food is practically untouched. You’ve been squirming in silence, pressing your thighs together, biting your bottom lip until it’s red and swollen.
And he’s been enjoying every second. “You ready to go?” he asks sweetly, kissing your cheek.
You nod.
He tips well, slides out of the booth with an exaggerated stretch, then reaches for your hand. You grab it but don’t say a word until you’re out of the restaurant and halfway to the car.
Then you stop walking. “Get in the car,” you grunt out.
Michael blinks. “What?”
You grab his shirt and haul him close, voice shaking. “Get in the car, Michael. I’m not gonna make it to the house.”
His brows lift. “You tryna act up in public?”
“I will ride you on the sidewalk if I have to.”
Michael swallows. You see his jaw tick.
And then he grins. “Oh, so I’m the problem?”
“You’ve been the problem!” you whisper-shout, shoving him toward the car. “You did this to yourself.”
He unlocks the doors without breaking eye contact. “Backseat or passenger?”
You don’t answer. And you don’t even remember who opened the back door. Might’ve been him, might’ve been you.
Michael’s back hits the leather and you’re on him, straddling his thighs, grinding your hips down, clawing at his shirt like it personally offended you. The scent of that cologne is even stronger now, locked in the car with you, hot and swirling and obscene.
“You still smell like sex,” you hiss, dragging your tongue up his throat. “You still smell like last night.”
He groans, thick and low in your ear. “You didn’t get enough?”
“I couldn’t even get breakfast,” you snarl, yanking your panties to the side.
Michael laughs, but it dies on his tongue when you reach down, free his dick, and sink down on him in one long slide.
“Fuuuuck—” he grits out, grabbing your waist with both hands. “You still this wet for me?”
“You’re still wearing that fucking cologne,” you growl. “What the fuck did you expect?”
He watches your face, your eyes fluttering, your mouth falling open, then shifts, rocking up into you with a slow, deep roll of his hips.
“You wanted me to ruin you,” he murmurs, voice like molasses, like thunder. “Now look at you. Actin’ stupid and gettin’ fucked in a parking lot.”
You ride him like your life depends on it, like brunch was never an option, like his cologne is poison and the only antidote is taking his dick raw in the back of his car with the doors unlocked.
And it’s obscene — the wet and filthy slap of skin-on-skin, your moans, his cursing. The squeak of leather, windows fogging.
Horny ghosts and peeping Toms would be impressed.
Michael leans back just slightly and lets you grind on him faster, harder. He watches the way your nails dig into his shoulders. The way you pant when your clit catches just right. The way your body clings to his like you’ll never be full enough.
He unclasps your bra, exposing your tits. He takes your nipple in his mouth while his thumb finds your clit.
“You don’t even care where we are,” he mutters, tongue flicking. “You just needed it that bad?”
“Michael, shut the fuck up, I swear,” you gasp. “I’m fighting for my life right now.”
He chuckles through a moan and grips your ass, bouncing you harder.
You slap your palm against the window to steady yourself, forehead pressed to his, eyes rolling back. “Fuck! I hate you so fucking much.”
Michael snarls and snaps his hips up, dragging a scream out of you.
“Shitshitshit I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. “I’m gonna fucking die in this backseat.”
He fucks you through it, through the first orgasm and into another wave, like he’s trying to kill you with pleasure. His thumb never leaves your clit as he rubs ferocious circles into your skin. His mouth is on your throat, licking and sucking and biting, his scent everywhere, and your body is convulsing around him like a prayer.
You cum twice before he even finishes.
And when he does, it’s with a groan punched straight from his chest, hips jerking, arms locked around you so tight you can’t move. You feel him spill inside, thick and hot, and your eyes roll back like you’re possessed.
It’s silent after, save for the sound of your breath and the beat of your heart in your ears.
Michael drags his nose along your cheek, voice smug and syrupy. “Now you ready to go home?”
You blink, dazed and boneless. “…You still smell like it.”
He grins. “Want me to keep it on while you nap?”
“I want you to burn the bottle.”
He kisses your neck. “No you don’t.”
The car ride back is silent. Not the awkward kind, just the wrecked kind.
You’re stretched out in the passenger seat, thighs still trembling, panties missing (you think they’re somewhere in the backseat), your dress haphazardly tugged back into place like it’ll fool anyone.
It won’t.
Michael’s driving like a man on a mission, one hand on the wheel, the other resting low on your thigh, fingers trailing light and lazy patterns against your skin.
Every few seconds, he glances over at you, grinning. “You good?”
You scowl. “No. I’m still mad at you.”
“For what?”
“You ruined brunch.”
He shrugs. “You ruined brunch. I was minding my business.”
“You wore that demonic scent and then sat next to me like everything was fine!”
He smirks. “I was being sweet.”
“You instigated me!”
He squeezes your thigh. “You weren’t complaining twenty minutes ago.”
You go quiet. Because the memory is still fresh, his scent heavy in your lungs, his cum dripping down your thighs, your voice bouncing off the car windows as you begged him not to stop.
You glance at him, flushed. “The girls are gonna have a field day with this.”
Jack wakes up before you do. There’s a lot of nerves radiating throughout his body because today’s a special day. Not only is it your one-year anniversary, but today’s the day that he’s going to ask to be his wife.
His wife.
He visualizes the day when you’ll be standing across from each other at the altar and he gets to hear you officially be called Mrs. Abbot.
The thought you being his wife and being able to wake up to you each and every day makes his chest fell warm. You’re sleeping next to him with your head on his chest and your hand resting on his chest Jack takes a minute to admire you. His eyes trace across your face and he notes all of the things that he likes about your face.
Even in your sleep, that cute pout doesn’t leave your face. He takes your hand and plays with your fingers. He imagines today when he asks you to marry him and places the ring on your finger.
“Holding my hand while I’m sleep. You really are down bad, Jackie,” You mutter with your eyes still closed. A few seconds later, you’re opening your eyes and staring up at him with a small smile.
Jack returns your smile and leans down to place a soft kiss against your lips. “Happy Anniversary, sweetheart.”
A wide grin overtakes your lips before you’re moving to straddle his hips. You had chosen to wear one of Jack’s shirts to bed along with a pair of panties. Jack’s hands find your hips and he runs them up and down along your thighs.
You lean down with your lips ghosting over Jack’s, “Happy Anniversary, Jack. I love you.”
Jack feels the way that his heart beats faster at you saying those three words. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of hearing you express your love for him. The best part was not only did you say it, but you were very intentional with showing how much you loved Jack.
‘I deserve this.’ He thinks to himself. He does deserve this. He deserves to be happy with you. He deserves to love you. He deserves to be loved by you.
Tonight would just be the moment where he finally was able to solidify it.
You and Jack decide to take the morning slow. You both have the day off due to wanting to celebrate together. You had both made a mutual effort to cook breakfast together.
Currently you were sitting across the table from each other. You took a bite out of one of the strawberries, “Do you know what you wanna do tonight?”
Jack nods his head, “Yeah, I already got us a dinner reservation for tonight, so the only thing I need for you to do is to get all pretty and dolled up. Speaking of, I booked an appointment for you with your nail tech.”
You swallow the strawberry in your mouth, “For today?”
“Mhm, I sent her the design that I think you should get. Your sisters are coming too. I thought it’d be good for you to spend a day with them before our date.” Jack explains, moving your foot into his lap and rubbing at your ankle.
You pout slightly, “I thought we were gonna spend the day together.”
Jack trails his hand up your thigh lightly before gripping it, “We will, baby. I promise. I just want to spoil my girl on our special day. You go get your nails done, your toes too if you want. All paid for today by me.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. “And you’re not gonna worry about any costs. All paid for by me.”
You nod and smile at him. Jack moves his hand to cradle your jaw, “Words, princess. Say you understand.”
Heat spreads through your body, “I understand, daddy.”
Jack smirks, “Good girl.”
You stand and place yourself in Jack’s lap. You grab one of piece of the strawberries and run it across Jack’s chests. You look up innocently, “Oops, look like I made a mess.”
Your tongue runs across Jack’s chest where the red liquid had run down. You continue to squeeze the juice along Jack’s chest and allow your tongue to trace along the path. His breathing grows deeper and you can see that he’s barely holding on by a thread. You’re kneeling in front of Jack and you squeeze the juice along his happy trail.
You’re the picture of perfect innocence as you stare up at Jack, “Well, I guess I gotta clean up my mess.”
____________________
After yours and Jack’s moment of pleasure, you both get dressed for the day. A knock sounds out from the door. Jack moves to go open it as you’re spraying your perfume of your clothes and wrists.
“Hi, brother-in-law,” Kiara teases, obviously an inside joke due to today’s event. You don’t think much of it because Kiara’s always calling Jack her brother-in-law.
When you come in the living room, they’re all standing around the counter, whispering about something, but stop once they see you. You frown, “Okay weirdos. Are y’all getting your nails done too?”
Kiara and Jaylen both nod. Jack takes a sip of his coffee, “Yeah, I’m paying for their nails too.”
“Awww that’s so sweet. Thank you, baby,” You reply, leaning forward to place a kiss on his lips. Jaylen and Kiara both thanks Jack as you’re all leaving out the door.
“I already deposited the money to your account, sweetheart,” Jack calls out.
“Okay, thank you, daddy,” You call back.
Kiara turns to you with a smirk on her face. “Ohhh thank you daddy,” She teases, making her voice higher.
Jaylen is laughing off to the side and you side eye her, “Jaylen, what you laughing for? I bet Jesse got you calling him daddy too.”
Jaylen balls her face up at you, but you can still see the smile on her face. You all pile in Jaylen’s car with you in the front and Kiara in the back. You turn your head in Jaylen’s direction, “What exactly is going on with you and Jesse? Is it serious or just casual?”
Jaylen shrugs, “Mostly casual, but I think he wants to make things serious.”
You can see the hesitancy on her face, “But you don’t want anything serious?”
Jaylen lets out a puff of high, “I don’t know what I want. Y’all know what happened last time I was ‘serious’ about someone.”
You and Kiara both nod with empathetic looks on your faces. Jaylen’s last relationship was…..tough to say the least. She had been dating a guy named Charlie for a solid three years. It was the first time that you or Kiara had ever saw Jaylen light up about a relationship. Usually, she was a lot more private about her relationships, but she was more open when it came to Charlie.
You all were sure that she was going to be the first to be engaged and married based on the relationship. However that all came crashing down when Jaylen found out that he had been cheating. Not only was he cheating, but he was cheating with her best friend. You and Kiara had been there to help Jaylen pick up the pieces of a shattered heart, but after that, she became more reserved. No longer dating or constantly pushing away anyone who showed interest.
“We know how bad you got hurt last time, Jay. But I know Jesse. I’ve known him for years and he’s a good guy. I’m not saying that you have to rush into anything, but at least give it a shot.”
Jaylen thinks your words over and nods. Kiara leans forward from the backseat, “You know we always got your back, Jay. Whatever you need. If Jesse start acting up, I can handle that.”
Jaylen briefly glances back at Kiara, “You know what, I don’t think I want to know how you plan to handle anything.”
Kiara nods, “Good. Keep it that way. Hand me the aux.” She leans back and starts playing Pooh Shiesty. You start thinking about how Jack would have a field day knowing that Kiara was playing this.
When you get to the nail shop, Layla is already waiting with a huge smile on her face. She was always a really happy girl, but you had never seen her this giddy before.
You sit down in the chair, “Okay, Lay, what did my man pick for me today?”
Layla smiles and turns the inspo pic around that Jack had send her. The nails are almond shaped with white French tips and white 3-D flowers. You nod, impressed by his choice, “Period, my man got taste. I think I would like something like this when we get engaged eventually.”
From behind you, Jaylen and Kiara both look at each other and laugh silently. If only you knew that eventually was today.
After you all get your nails done, Jack texts you to meet him for lunch at a brunch spot close to his apartment. Jaylen drops you off and as you’re leaving, they both pull you into a hug. You look at them both in confusion, “What was that?”
Kiara hugs you again, “Shhh…just let us love on you. Don’t fight it.”
You return the hugs before saying “I love you” to each other. You walk into the restaurant and spot Jack sitting at a table. He smiles brightly as he sees you approaching the table. He gets up to kiss you and usher you into your seat.
You flash your nails at him, “Do you like them?” Jack takes your hand into his, “I love them, baby. Did you have a good time?”
“Mhmm. Kiara and Jaylen were being weird when they dropped me off. They kept hugging me.” You said, fiddling with the straw in your drink.
“Maybe they’re just showing that they love you,” Jack replies. You nod in agreement then look back at him, “Did you ever want siblings?”
Jack thinks on it for a second, “Yeah, I did. But my parents never got around to having any. My army brothers kind of became my de-facto brothers after that.”
“I bet you were so cute as a kid. I mean you’re hot now, but I know I’d be thirsting after you if we were in high school at the same time.” You state. Jack didn’t have many pictures up of himself as a kid or teenager. You had saw pictures of him in his early 20s and 30s, to which you told him that you definitely would have cracked him back then. Which then led to you explaining what exactly “cracking him” meant.
Jack looks over the menu, “I have some pictures in my apartment. I’ll show them to you soon.”
After that statement, the waitress comes up to the table to take your orders. You both continue to chat and eat together before Jack suggests going shopping.
“I wanna buy you a dress for tonight.” Jack announces.
“Wow, a new dress and nails. You’re going all out for this anniversary, Jack,” You tease.
You both go from boutique to boutique trying on multiple dresses for tonight. You make it to the last boutique and you’re both searching the racks together. Jack comes back with a strapless white dress which would hug your waist and flare out at the bottom.
He hands it over to you, “I think this one is our winner.”
You go into the changing stall and try the dress on. Surprisingly the dress fits like a glove. You’re even more impressed at Jack’s observation of your body and what looks good on it.
When you step out of the changing room, you stand in front of Jack and he feels like the entire room stands still in time. You look stunning—you always do. But in this, you’re perfect. He imagines the day when you’re coming down the aisle and wearing another gown.
God, tonight isn’t coming fast enough.
Jack stands and circles around you. He turns your body to face the mirror, “You look beautiful, sweetheart. My perfect girl.”
You can feel your cheeks heating. Jack had always managed to find ways of making you feel beautiful. At the end of your shopping trip, he buys you the dress and a pair of heels to complement it.
You both arrive back at his apartment and decide to spend the rest of the time lounging on the couch. You fall asleep on the couch and Jack moves gently to go to his phone. He texts a few people to ensure that all details are confirmed and that tonight will be perfect for you both.
Jack left his apartment to go visit Mrs. Harrison. She opened the door with a bright smile, “Oh Jack! It’s so nice to see you. Where’s my friend?” She asked, referring to you.
Jack laughed, “She’s at my place asleep. She’s got a long day ahead of her.”
Jack and Mrs. Harrison sat across from each other. She made them both a cup of tea before sitting down. “What did you mean by a long day?”
A huge smile crosses Jack’s face and Mrs. Harrison almost laughs at how boyish and young he looks right now. “I’m asking her to marry me tonight.”
Mrs. Harrison gasps before clapping her hands, “Oh! Jack, that’s amazing dear! I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you. I really love her, you know. I wanna spend the rest of our lives together.” Jack explains, staring off into the distance.
Mrs. Harrison smiles, “I’m just blessed to see you find love again, Jack. She’s a special girl and I’m wishing you both a lifetime of happiness.”
Mrs. Harrison and Jack continue talking and drinking their tea for an hour. Jack makes his way into the apartment and finds you awake.
“Hey, where’d you go?”
“Went to visit Mrs. Harrison. She says hi by the way.” Jack says.
You nod, while stretching, “I’m gonna have to go see my homegirl. We gotta catch up on the gossip about the senior center that she’s going to. I need to know if Shelly and Henry are still fooling around.”
Hours later, it’s officially 7:00PM. You and Jack both get ready for your night out. You take extra care to moisturize your body. You choose to wear your natural hair out in a puffy Afro. Jack helps you with putting on your heels while he puts on his dress coat and pants.
You whistle as he leaves two of the buttons undone, “Sheesh, two button undone with a little titty showing? I might not make it through the night, Jack.”
He wraps his arms around your waist, “Trust me, it’s taking all of my restraint to not bend you over. But we got all weekend to celebrate, princess.”
You grab your clutch, while Jack grabs his keys and wallet. On the drive over, you hold hands. You smile when Jack starts to play “Best Part” by H.E.R.
When he pulls up to the restaurant, you notice that it’s the Italian restaurant that you both had your first date at. Jack moves to your side and opens the door. You both walk hand in hand to the restaurant.
When you reach the door, Jack turns to you, “I have a surprise for you here, but you have to close your eyes first.”
You laugh nervously but follow his orders. Jack places his hands over your eyes for double assurance and guides you into the restaurant.
“It’s so quiet. Was it this quiet when we came here last time?” You say aloud.
Jack stops moving and removes his hands. He leans forward and mutters lowly, “Open your eyes, princess.”
You open your eyes and gasp in surprise. The entire restaurant is decorated with flowers, balloons, and candles. Your eyebrows furrow at seeing your parents, sisters, favorite co-workers, and the entire Pitt crew standing there.
“I don’t understand. Why’s is every—“ As you turn to Jack, you notice a small ring box in his hands. Your heart begins racing in excitement.
Jack smiles at you, “Sweetheart, you’ve been the best thing to ever happen to me in this past year. I wake up every day grateful that I get the opportunity to love you and to be loved by you. I thought that I wouldn’t get a chance like this again to be happy. I didn’t think that I deserved to be loved, but you proved to me that I do deserve it. You’re beautiful. Smart, caring. You make me laugh more than anyone has ever made me laugh. I know you were it for me early in our relationship. I want to wake up and see your beautiful face every single moment. I want to grow old with you. I want to experience every single new thing as long as it means it’s with you. So…”
He trails off and you can see him beginning to kneel down. Your mind quickly goes to his leg and you grab him gently, “Ask me like me this.” You state with tears glistening in your eyes.
Jack’s eyes become misty. Even in this moment, you’re still thinking of caring for him. He takes your hands in his and opens the ring box. You gasp at the ring inside.
Jack stares into your eyes again and says your name, “Will you marry me, sweetheart?”
You immediately start nodding as tears stream down your face, “Yes! Yes! Of course, I’ll marry you Jack.”
A wide smile breaks onto Jack’s face and he grasps your face into his hands to kiss you. When he pulls back, he places the ring on your fingers. Both of your families all start cheering and start to surround you.
You’re still crying when your parents and sisters embrace you, all with tears rolling down their face.
“Wait, that’s why he picked my nails today,” You question. Kiara and Jaylen both nod.
“Whew girl it’s been so hard sitting on that information ever since he asked daddy for your hand,” your mother says.
You look over to your father, “That was months ago. You really said yes?”
Your father nods, “During our talk, I realized that Jack was the perfect man for you. I knew he’d take care of my little girl.”
Tears start streaming down your face again as you launch your body into your father’s embrace. You’re pulled into another conversation by the Pitt girlies who all gush over your engagement ring.
Dennis and Jesse both have their turn to hug you. “Did you both know about this?”
They both nod with huge smiles on their faces. “Yeah, he told us as soon as he bought the ring.” Dennis states.
“You know this means that you’re both in my wedding, right,” You tease.
“We better be. I’m already drafting up my speech,” Jesse says. You can see his eyes flickering over in Jaylen’s direction. You smile at him, “You should go over there.”
Jesse nods and makes his way in her direction. You and Dennis both take the time out to admire your engagement ring.
Next, you’re pulled into Robby’s arms as he, Jack, and Dana all surround you.
“Flash the rock at us, honey,” Dana says. You gleefully hold your hand up and Dana nods her head in approval. She glances at Jack, “You did good, Abbot.”
The night progresses with you all sitting at one big table together. You and Jack are sitting in the middle with your hands intertwined. You can’t keep your eyes off of your engagement ring. Jack catches you staring, “I take it that I make a pretty solid choice with the ring?”
Your eyes sparkle as you look at him. “I love it so much, Jack. I love you too.”
You press your lips against his. Laughter and chatter radiates throughout the table as your families mingle together. Food and drinks are served.
In the midst of it all, you and Jack don’t take your eyes off each other. You’re partially still in disbelief at the fact that you’re now engaged to the man of your dreams. You had always wished and prayed for this moment, and it was finally here.
Jack takes your hand in his and kisses your knuckles. He’s over the moon with excitement at finally being engaged to you.
Now, you get to spend the rest of your lives together.
Mr. and Mrs. Abbot.
He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing it.
Summary: After a mission goes wrong and your husband is declared legally dead, you’re surprised to find him standing at your doorstep eight months later in seemingly perfect health. You’re happy to have him back, but the man in your home isn’t the same man who left you months ago. Who is this stranger….and why isn’t he acting like the man that you love?
(Lovergirlnote: Whew, I've been working on this for weeks! I'm so excited for you all to read. It's definitely one of my new favs. If you like spooky and sci-fi, then this will definitely be the story for you.)
Warning(s): cosmic horror, sci-fi, smut (18+ mdni), violence, murder, extraterrestrial horror, tentacle horror, angst, grief, mentions of death
Assimilation (noun): the process of becoming similar to something.
June 4th, 2025 (Present Day)
You moved through the kitchen with practiced ease. You had been living in your home for over three years, so it was only natural that you were familiar with all the nooks and crannies of the home that you and your husband had purchased.
You opened the stove to observe the appearance of the baked gravy pork chops. Once you were satisfied with the progress, you closed the stove and moved on to making your mashed potatoes. You gently carved at the browned skins of the vegetables until you were satisfied with the amount. You placed the shaved potatoes in a pot of water on the stove and turned it on.
You gently hummed a familiar tune, A Song for You, by Donny Hathaway. It was a favorite of you and your husband. He often liked to sing the song to you in bed, even though it sounded terrible coming from his mouth. You laughed every time and sang it with him to save him the embarrassment.
Now, the song only serves as a painful reminder of the loss of your beloved husband.
You quickly pushed the thoughts from your mind before they ventured into dangerous territory. A knock sounded throughout the house, and you quickly moved from the kitchen to your front door. The flow of your dress twisted and flared at your sides as you moved gracefully to the door.
Grasping the knob between your hand and pulling the door open, you started to speak, “Dave, I wasn’t expecting you here so early. The food isn’t nearly do–”
You stopped short in your sentence as the air in your chest started to become constricted. Dave wasn’t the one standing at the door as you expected.
No, your husband was standing on the other side of the door.
Your dead husband.
Your husband, who had been declared legally dead eight months ago.
You watched the man with your husband’s face scan his eyes down your frame as if refamiliarizing himself with your features again. His eyes locked on yours again.
“Hi, rabbit.”
At hearing his voice, that same deep cadence that you had grown to love the sound of, you did the only reasonable thing that a woman in your situation would do.
You fainted.
__________________
August 19th, 2023 (Two years ago–first meeting)
Sergeant Michael B. Jordan has been through a lot. Survived basic camp training. Two tours in different countries. Flew planes at speeds that no other person in the world would ever get the privilege of doing. He had survived being shot at behind enemy lines.
But the scariest thing by far had to be the concept of having to approach you.
It started in the grocery store. An Aldi’s that he liked to come to because the groceries were more affordable. Michael spotted you first. You were tracing the lines of a watermelon and gently tapping your fingers across the skin of the fruit. He subtly stared at you from the corner of his eye as his fingers danced across the lemons.
You were, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. Even in a pair of biker shorts and an oversized graphic tee, he found himself drawn to you. He had been subconsciously working up the nerve to talk to you, but he talked himself down each time.
Surely, someone as beautiful as you had someone waiting for you at home?
But he thought to himself–he’d be a fool not to shoot his shot at you. He lightly walked over to you and stood by you. He pretended to be looking at the watermelons as well, but frankly, he had been allergic to watermelon since he was six years old.
“How can you tell if it’s a good watermelon?” He asked.
You jumped slightly, as if you had just realized that the man was standing next to you. Your eyes tracked up and down his face, and you smiled lightly, “You see that yellow spot on the lower side?” Michael nodded as you pointed to the spot. “Yellow usually tells you that it’s a lot more ripe. But also if you tap it, and it sounds deep and hollow, that usually means that it’s ripe.”
You tested the theory by tapping on one of the watermelons. To Michael, it sounded like a regular watermelon, but then you urged him to come closer as you tapped on another watermelon. He heard the distinct sounds between the two watermelons and looked up at you in wonder.
“If you’re thinking of buying one, you should get that one,” You said, pointing to the watermelon that you initially tapped.
Michael smiled sheepishly, “Umm..actually, I’m allergic to watermelon. I actually just came over here because I wanted to talk to you.”
You laughed and smiled at him again. Seeing your smile up close made Michael feel like the entire world had stopped. He wanted to see more of that beautiful smile.
“I’m Michael,” he said, holding his hand out to yours.
You connected your hands with his and gave him your name.
From that point, the two of you were connected.
___________________________
June 4th, 2025 (Present Day)
You awoke with a sharp pain threading through the front of your head. You blinked in confusion as you noted that you were lying across the couch.
“You should go slow. You fainted and almost hit your head before I caught you.”
Your head snapped in the direction of the voice. Your husband’s voice. For a moment, there was a stretch of silence as you looked in Michael’s general direction. You ran your eyes up and down his frame numerous times. It was as if you were looking for any differences in his appearance, or you were actually trying to convince yourself that he was actually here. Fear and confusion ran through the core of your being. He looked just like himself. He looked the same as when he left you for that godforsaken mission.
You stood and crossed the room with hesitation. Your movements resembled those of a frightened animal. When you made it to Michael, you kneeled in front of him. Michael could see the myriad of emotions as they played throughout your face. You reached your hand out, the one that held your wedding ring, and placed it upon his face. Soon, your other hand joined, and you moved your fingers across the expanse of his face. One of your fingers found the scar at the top of his eyebrow from a childhood accident.
Michael reached up and placed his hands over yours. He gripped your hands that held his face. As if struck by some kind of lightning, your lip began to quiver as tears flooded your eyes. You threw your body into Michael as you wrapped your arms around his body. Sharp sobs radiated through your body as you held him close. You placed your nose in the crook of his neck and inhaled. He even smelled the same.
In return, Michael wrapped his arms around you and squeezed tightly. He kissed the crown of your head and cooed gently.
“It’s okay, baby. I’m home now.”
An hour passed by, and you had made Michael a plate of the food that you had cooked. You sat across from him and watched as he ate. It was still so foreign to see him here when you had watched that chair stay empty for eight months.
Michael felt your gaze, and he looked back at you, “Where did you go?”
He frowned, “I don’t know.”
“That doesn’t make sense. What do you mean that you don’t know?” You questioned, leaning forward in your chair.
“I just don’t remember. One minute, I was on the ship with my crew, and the next, everything went bright. Then I just woke up one day and knew I needed to get back to you.” He explained. You bit at your lip, a nasty habit that you had developed since childhood, “Do you know how long you’ve been gone, Michael?”
He shook his head. “Eight months. They declared you and your entire team dead seven months ago.”
Another frown overtook Michael’s face. Eight months. Eight months missing. Eight months of being declared dead. Eight months of not being with you.
He reached across the table, “I’m sorry.”
You took his hand between yours and intertwined your fingers. “It’s okay. The only thing that matters is that you’re back.” You looked down for a second before looking up again, “Does anyone else know that you’re back? Your superiors? Did anyone from your team survive?”
“No one knows I’m here except you. I don’t….I don’t think my team made it. All I know is that I needed to get to you.”
You nodded. You brought your combined hands up and kissed the back of his hand.
Later, when the night fell and the skies darkened, you and Michael had prepared for bed. You picked out a pair of clothes for him and handed them to him. Normally, you and Michael would shower together, but you figured that it was best to give him space to adjust to being home first. When he stepped out of the shower, you looked over at him from the mirror as he toweled off and started to slide the briefs over his hips.
You frowned upon seeing the giant scar radiating down the middle of his chest to the top of his stomach. You walked and stood in front of him as you observed the scar. You ran your finger down the length of it and looked up, “Is this from the accident?”
He only nodded. You moved forward and placed a gentle kiss on the scar. You soon left the room to take a shower. Ten minutes later, you were back in the room in an oversized T-shirt that belonged to Michael. The two of you moved the blankets back and got into the bed. It was obvious to Michael that you wanted to embrace him, but you were choosing to respect his boundaries. He moved closer and pulled your body into his hold. He laid your head upon his chest and relaxed. You missed being held like this.
You woke up hours later to find that Michael wasn’t in the bed with you anymore. You looked over to the clock that read 3:00 AM. You moved to get out of bed in search of Michael. A part of you feared that you had simply gone crazy and imagined the entire interaction with your husband. Sharp, violent coughs radiated echoes from the bathroom. You rushed to the bathroom and saw Michael kneeling over the ceramic bowl.
“Kari,” You called out softly, approaching him quietly.
However, when he turned his face to you, you gasped in surprise at seeing the blood coating his lips. You dropped to your knees and scrambled to his side. Michael’s body continued to lurch forward as he sputtered blood across your t-shirt. You stared in horror as his body began to convulse and white foam radiated from his mouth. You rushed to the bedroom and immediately dialed 911.
Within minutes, the paramedics were ushering your husband into the ambulance as you sat beside him and held his hands.
One of the EMTs began to speak, “We have an African-American male. 6’0 ft. Apparent seizures and blood loss. No determined cause.”
You continued to hold Michael’s hands as tears swept along your face. You prayed. You prayed just as hard as when his superiors came to your door to tell you that they had lost contact with Michael’s ship and couldn’t determine their location. You couldn’t lose him. Not after you had just gotten him back mere hours ago.
Arriving at the hospital, the EMTS immediately rushed Michael’s body from the ambulance on the gurney. You saw the doctors and nurses rushing to his side as you all ran down the hallway. One of the doctors frowned as she pressed on Michael’s wrist, “Heart rate is declining. Take him for surgery right now!”
Your heart dropped upon hearing the words, and you were confused when one of the nurses stopped you from going back. The nurse stared at you and noted the heartbroken and fearful look in your eye, “Listen, sweetie, I know you wanna go back there, but we can’t allow you to go back there. I promise your husband is in good hands; we just need you to trust us.”
It was as if the words and the severity of the situation finally settled on you, and sobs tore through your body. Your body crumbled to the floor as sharp sobs rattled throughout the hallway. The nurse moved to join you on the floor and pulled your body into her arms. She rocked you back and forth and cooed at you.
She ushered you to a private waiting room and brought you a blanket and a cup of tea.
“Do you have anyone to call? I don’t think it’s good for you to be alone right now.”
You went through your brain and tried to think, “I can call my mother and my in-laws.”
The nurse nodded her head in sympathy, “Would you like me to call them, or would you prefer to be the one to do it?”
“You should call them,” You whispered. In your distressed state, you weren’t in your right mind to have to talk to your parents and Michael’s and let them know that he was back, along with the fact that he was now in the hospital, and you weren’t even sure that he was going to make it through the night. It was all just too much right now. You unlocked your iPhone and handed it over to the nurse, who dialed your parents’ numbers and calmly explained the situation to them.
Within the next 45 minutes, your mother and father, along with Michael’s mother and father, burst into the waiting room. A fresh batch of tears entered your eyes before you started to cry again. Your mother and Donna rushed to your side and immediately started to console you. Seeing you in a pair of sweatpants in a bloody t-shirt with tears running down your face wasn’t the most pleasant sight. Their heart broke at seeing you like this.
They hadn’t seen you this torn up since Michael’s superiors came to your door to announce that he and his team were now declared legally dead. ___________________________________________
September 13th, 2024 (3 Weeks Before the Mission)
Two bodies are entangled with each other. Coiled in an intimacy that doesn’t need to be named aloud. You sigh at feeling Michael’s body connecting with yours. You clutch harder at his shoulders as his thrusts deepen into your body. Michael moves his head so he can look into your eyes. He always told you that your eyes were one of his favorite features. He loved how expressive you would get when it came to your emotions, and your eyes were always a key indicator of what you were feeling.
He moves closer so that he can connect his lips to yours. For a few seconds, you both continued to kiss and pass moans between each other. At the precipice of your combined pleasure, you brought Michael’s body closer to yours so that he lay his weight completely on you. You loved to feel his body pressing on yours when you orgasmed because you felt like it connected your souls.
Your chests moved against each other as you caught your breath. Michael moved to lie on his side and pulled you to lie on his chest. You casually played with his chain on his neck.
“Now explain to me again, what’s this special secret mission that you’re going on?” You asked, tracing the tattoo on his chest. He had gotten your name tattooed on his chest as a wedding gift. Some cheesy line about “always keeping you close to his heart,” to which you laughed, but ultimately, you loved it.
Michael placed a kiss on your forehead, “We got a signal on one of the satellites about a possibly new planet. Baby, this could be really big for us in terms of new information and discovering if there are new habitable planets out there. Think of all of the new possibilities.”
You smiled at his excitement. Michael had always been passionate about his job and space. Michael’s love for space first started when his father took him to the local astronomy museum. He fell in love with the stars, the planets, and the thought of what was out there in place. His young mind went through all of the possibilities of what was in space that we didn’t know about, or even possible life out there that we hadn’t discovered.
From that point on, he made it his mission to be a part of NASA. His parents had catered to his dreams by getting him a telescope and numerous books that were about space. By the time that Michael was 10-years-old, he could recount any fact to you about any planet in our galaxy. It also helped that he was a genius when it came to science and math. Naturally, he enrolled in the military to be able to afford school. The path from there led him straight to being called one of NASA’s lead astronauts and scientists.
He was curious. He wanted to make a difference in the world and discover something that hadn’t been found before.
You pouted slightly, “A month in space. What am I going to do all of that time without you?” Michael chuckled slightly. You and he had never gone for extensive periods of time without each other. Sure, you still did things independently of each other, but you really just enjoyed being in each other’s company.
“I’ll be back before you know it, baby. I’ll record videos for each day so that you never get lonely without me.” He said, running his fingers down your spine. You shivered and moved closer to him. You both sat in silence and enjoyed the feel of your bodies together.
“I wanna have a baby.”
You froze and sat up slightly to stare at Michael. The conversation of babies had come up early in your relationship, but once you got married, you both opted to wait a couple of years to enjoy your time together before introducing a child.
“Really, Kari?” You asked, excitement filling your body.
Even though you hadn’t mentioned it to him, you had that feeling in your body that you were ready for a baby. That was the weird thing about you and Michael. You both were always just naturally in tune with each other. You both anticipated each other’s needs without having to say it aloud. Most people found it weird when they would go out to dinner with you and Michael, and you’d wordlessly hand each other things without speaking. Even with just being married for a year, it was like you both had known each other for life.
Michael leaned up to connect his lips to yours. His hand found the back of your head where he absentmindedly played with your curls, “Of course. I’m ready to start our family. But if you’re not ready, then of course we can wait, baby.”
You shook your head quickly, “No, I’m ready. I want this.”
You both smiled at each other, and Michael started to place kisses all over your face while you laughed. He grabbed your face in his hands and smiled, “We’re gonna have a baby!”
___________________________
Friday, October 4th, 2024 (The Before)
“Okay, everybody, no homework this weekend, but please practice your reading, okay?” You said gently to your first-grade students.
“Yes, Mrs. Jordan,” Small voices replied. You smiled in response before ushering your students out to their respective parents or buses.
You had always wanted to be a teacher. You enjoyed being around kids and knowing that you were stimulating their minds with new knowledge. Most of your students loved coming to your class. You had always kept things fun and unique, and you made it easy for students to learn, no matter what impairment they may have had.
Getting in your car, you made the drive home. You hadn’t heard from Michael in weeks. You would typically get a little transmission from the ship letting you know that he and his team were okay. But you figured that their ship had possibly lost a signal, being that they were so far in space.
You frowned when you pulled into your street and noted the increase in cars there. You frowned even more when you recognized one of the cars as Michael’s superiors. Once you got out of the car, Admiral Shane Bennington met you as you entered your yard.
“Admiral Shane, I wasn’t expecting to see you today. Is everything okay?” You question, staring at the older man.
He sighed, and you felt your stomach begin to get queasy. “Why don’t we go inside so that we can talk?”
You led the man into your house, but your stomach ached the entire time. Once inside, you set out to make you both a cup of coffee. Setting Admiral Shane’s cup in front of him, you were still standing by the coffee machine when he looked at you. “Please sit.”
You sat at the table across from him and picked at your nails. “You’re starting to worry me, Admiral. Is everything okay with my husband and his team?”
Admiral Shane let out a deep sigh, then leaned closer, “Mrs. Jordan, I know that what I’m about to say isn’t easy, but I want to assure you that we’re doing everything in our power to rectify the situation. A few days ago, during one of our scheduled calls with your husband and his team, we lost connection. We haven’t been able to make contact yet.”
You frowned, “You haven’t spoken to any of them in days, and you’re just now telling me this?!”
“I apologize, but we figured that it was typical satellite interference, and we expected to get them back online quickly. But so far, our technicians are struggling to receive a signal.” Admiral Shane explained.
You felt your heart beating roughly against your rib cage, and your breath started to shorten. Sensing your impending panic attack, Admiral Shane quickly crossed the table and knelt before you. “Mrs. Jordan, I can assure you that we’re not going to stop until we find your husband and his team.
You want to believe him, but that aching in your stomach tells you otherwise.
_________________________________
You try to return to normal, but those words feel wrong and foreign. How could you go back to pretending that things were normal when your husband was lost in space? What was normal about that situation?
At your job, you try not to let your personal life bleed into your teaching, but you can’t help it. The other teachers think that they’re being discreet when they whisper about how sickly you look since your husband went missing. They all give you sympathetic stares and check in too frequently when you’re in your planning period. You don’t need their sympathy or prayers.
You need your husband back.
Some of the other wives and partners of your husband’s team reach out to you. You can tell from the call that they’re expecting to hear any information from you about the search, but you’re just as lost as they are. You can also sense that they’re waiting on you to give some grand speech about this being the time to come together and stay strong for each other, but you don’t want to do that.
You don’t want to have to say strong. You want to feel everything.
You want your husband back.
The other wives and partners all form a sort of pseudo support group chat, and they add you to it. You got tired of reading into the sad messages as if your husband and his team were dead. You just weren’t ready to accept that as a possible reality. You reach out to Admiral Shane every day to see if there are any updates, but you always get a, “We’re sorry, Mrs. Jordan, there are no new updates yet.”
It makes you angry.
Your mother and in-laws step up to support you during this time. Donna Jordan, your mother-in-law, frequently visits you. You both support each other during this time, and you can tell that she’s trying to be strong for you. No mother should ever have to wonder if there child is alive or not. Michael’s brother and sister come by a few times to try to take your mind off of everything that’s happening, but you struggle.
One day, when you get home, you notice the cars that are littering the front of your yard. Your heart rate picks up against your chest, and you rush inside your home. You hope to see your husband sitting on the couch, smiling at you with those deep-set dimples. Instead, you only find your mother, father, Michael’s parents, his siblings, Dave, his best friend, and Admiral Shane sitting in your living room.
You feel the frown overtaking your face.
However, your eye catches something sitting neatly on Donna’s lap. Dried tear stains are adorning her face, and you can feel the room losing oxygen as your mind deciphers what’s on her lap.
A flag.
Folded neatly in your mother-in-law’s lap. It’s a flag that no wife of any soldier wants to see. A flag that’s supposed to represent honor and gratitude for service, yet it’s only marked by death.
“Get out.” You hear yourself saying.
Your father rises first and starts to take steps towards you. Tears began to blur your vision, but the anger took over the sadness. You push your father’s hand away that reaches out to you, “I said everybody get out of my house.”
“Hey, it’s okay, baby, we’re all here for you,” Your father states.
You turn your gaze to Admiral Shane, “Where’s my husband? What happened?”
Admiral Shane’s empathetic gaze finds yours, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jordan. We couldn’t find them. Our team ran multiple tests, and there is still no sign of your husband and his team. It’s our best assumption to conclude that they are no longer with us.”
The anger flares inside of you, “Your best assumptions? So a guess?! You can’t even confirm if my husband is dead. I want you out of my house.”
Something strikes inside of you. It all feels like the entire world is falling at this moment.
Dead.
Dead.
Your husband is dead.
Your breathing starts to quicken, and you start clutching at your chest as the tears finally start to fall from your eyes. They feel like lava as they trail down your cheeks. Multiple “no’s” fall from your lips, and you feel your feet moving. It’s the pair of arms that set you off, and you can hear yourself screaming. You don’t even know what you’re screaming about. It’s like you’re out of your body and watching this all play out.
Your mother and father surround your body and pull you closer. You continue screaming and thrashing in their hold.
“No, mama! No! We’re supposed to be having a baby! He’s coming back so we can have the baby!”
________________________________
After your husband and his team are declared dead, you change.
You become a shell.
You don’t talk. You don’t eat.
You just sit on the couch, staring off into space.
You don’t even remember going to the funeral. Michael’s parents and siblings plan it all because you aren’t physically or mentally stable enough to do it yourself. Your job allows you a leave of absence to process the grief.
Your mother and Donna come over every day to take care of you. They help you to bathe and eat things such as soup and crackers. Sometimes, your father or Michael’s siblings will come over to watch you. You aren’t stupid. You know that they’re all scared that you’re going to do something to hurt yourself.
You get multiple visits from friends, co-workers, family, and casual acquaintances of yours and Michael’s. They all fix you multiple dishes and give their condolences.
Whispered confessions of prayers.
But you don’t want their prayers. You don’t want their sympathy. You don’t want their sweet potato pies or casseroles.
You want your husband back.
______________________________
June 5th, 2025 (Present Day)
You’re sitting in the waiting room the next morning when the doctor finally enters the room. You all perk up immediately.
The doctor looks at you, “Hi, Mrs. Jordan, I’m Dr. Holloway. I know that you’ve been in quite a state of distress, but I can assure you that your husband is going to be fine. The seizures appear to have been caused by his body trying to stabilize to being back here within our atmosphere. He’s in stable condition, but we’d like to continue to monitor him for a few days.”
A collective sigh rings out through the room. You stare at Dr. Holloway, “Can we go see him?”
Dr. Holloway nods, “Of course. He’s actually up now, and he’s been asking for you specifically.”
All of you leave the room and follow behind Dr. Holloway as he leads you to Michael’s room. When you enter, Michael is sitting in the hospital bed, looking as if nothing had ever happened. Your eyes scan over his body and note that he looks surprisingly perfect.
His eyes finally meet yours, “Hey, rabbit.”
His arms open, and you find yourself moving forward to enter them. Your hands find his face, and you can’t help but start caressing his cheeks, “I was so scared that you weren’t coming back to me.”
Michael shakes his head, “I’m not leaving you again, baby.”
His eyes peer past you at his and your parents standing in the doorframe. You move to the side so that his parents can embrace him. You know the pain that this has caused them and part of you feels guilty for not considering their grief in all of this.
You push it all to the side because all that matters is that your husband is here and that he’s going to be okay.
You’re going to be okay.
______________________________
June 26th, 2025 (3 Weeks Later)
After Michael’s hospital visit, he was discharged with literally no signs of his previous seizures. It was an anomaly to the doctors there how someone could go from having seizures that severe to being in seemingly perfect health. Alas, they decided to discharge him into your care.
At home, you and Michael try to form some semblance of a routine together. Michael can feel you tiptoeing around him, not wanting to overwhelm him with anything. When you’re thinking of giving him subtle hints at his old routine, he surprises you by performing it down to a T.
The intimacy between the two of you is still strained. You haven’t tried to pursue any close sexual contact with Michael despite how much your body begins to react to having him around. At night, when he holds you, you can feel the muscular planes of his body molding to your soft shape. The rough feel of his hands wrapped around your body lights a new fire in you that you hadn’t felt in ages. But you remain respectful.
You had just gotten your husband back. The rest of it could wait until later.
However, you failed to notice the same desire that Michael held for you. He watched you like you were one of those beautiful planets that he focused his research on. He was detailing every single aspect of your body into his mind and storing it for later use.
Currently, you’re standing in the shower, lathering your body with your chosen body wash. Through the steam of the bathroom, Michael could still see your prominent figure through the glass. His eyes raked down your form. He analyzed all of the subtle marks, such as the stretch marks that colored your thighs. He imagined himself tracing each stretch mark one by one. Your back was turned to the shower, and it allowed him to see the small bunny tattoo that you had on your left shoulder. It was a delicate and small piece, which you couldn’t necessarily see unless you wore a piece of clothing that revealed it.
You jumped in surprise when you saw Michael standing on the other side of the shower. You open the shower door slightly, “Hey, baby, did you need something?”
You pretended not to be casually ogling his bare chest and his lack of underwear under the grey sweatpants. Michael stepped closer to the shower and placed his hand on your cheek. You subconsciously leaned into his touch. He presses his lips to yours and tastes the small droplets of water from your lips. Soft whimpers leave your mouth as he moves to pull your wet body to his. Your nipples brush against his chest, and you moan at the sensation. You step back as you watch Michael start to take off his sweatpants. Once undressed, he steps fully into the shower with you.
You both stand in the shower, staring at each other. It had been eight months since you both had been connected like this. As if he senses the nerves present, Michael steps forward and traces his hands up the curves of your body. He turns you so that your back is against his chest. You shiver at the feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist.
Pleasure radiates through you as Michael begins to kiss your neck. You missed the feeling of his beard and mustache subtly scraping at your skin. Michael’s hand is wrapped around your throat, and he moves your head to meet his lips once again. This time, his tongue engulfs your mouth as you can only match his intensity.
Turning your body to meet his again, Michael backs you up until you're directly against the wall. Small goosebumps cover the expanse of your skin from the coldness of the wall. Hoisting you up against the wall, your eyes connect to Michael’s, and you can tell that he’s waiting to receive some form of consent from you. You nod, and you both moan deeply as his tip finally breaches your entrance.
The entire situation is unexplainable. Your bodies slot together like there hasn’t been an eight-month delay between them. Your pleasure and Michael’s naturally sync together. The shower fogs, and you don’t know if it's because of the water or your lovemaking. Your nails dig roughly into Michael’s skin, but he doesn’t let the pain deter him. In fact, it only seems to fuel his desire for you.
When your orgasm hits, your entire body reacts. Michael delivers a few more thrusts before he’s releasing inside of you with a low groan. You don’t even realize that you’re crying until you see Michael’s concerned face.
“Did I hurt you?”
You shake your head. You can’t explain the reasonings for your sudden tears, but you know that it’s because you had missed Michael in all aspects of your being. When you both exit the shower, Michael is gentle with you as he wipes your body down. You both get into bed together, and he immediately pulls your body closer to his.
“Michael?”
“Hmm?”
You pause, “Promise me, you won’t leave me again.”
“I promise, baby.” He murmurs against the crown of your head. You finally allow yourself to rest and close your eyes.
_____________________________________
July 4th, 2025 (1 Month Later–Present Day)
“Baby, can you zip my dress up?” You call out to Michael, who’s in your shared closet getting his shoes.
He suddenly appears and zips the back of your dress before placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder. You move to clasp the diamond necklace around your neck, then put your heels on.
Tonight was the honorary ball for Michael’s return, which his superiors had decided to host in his honor. He was being awarded a medal for his bravery and resilience during the mission. He had yet to return to work due to his superiors deeming that he needed time to reacclimate to being back home. He had only been to the base a handful of times to be asked follow-up questions about the mission and what he remembered. When he returned home, he’d never reveal any of what was discussed. He was a soldier through and through, and you understood his duty to the national security of this country.
You were only happy to have him home. You were wearing a midnight blue gown to complement his dress blues. Standing behind you in the mirror, Michael placed a kiss on the side of your neck, “You look beautiful, baby.”
You turned in his hold, “You look pretty handsome, too. Did I ever tell you that I love a man in uniform?”
Michael laughed softly, “Yeah, I think you may have mentioned it a few times.”
You grabbed your small purse while Michael grabbed the keys to the car. He held your hand the entire way to the gala. As far as you knew, it would be Michael’s parents, his siblings, his co-workers, and their significant others, along with his superiors at the gala.
Arriving at the gala, Michael parked the car before coming around the side to open the door for you. You placed your hand in his, and you both were walking inside the venue.
When you walk in, all eyes immediately turn to you and Michael. You can read the shock that’s present on everyone's face. Michael was literally the man who walked from his grave. As far as any of his coworkers knew, Michael and his crew had all died on the ship eight months ago. So, to see him physically walking among them… it was eerie. What was even more scary to them all was that he was the sole survivor, and they all had yet to find out how he had made it back.
But with their respective jobs in the military, they knew that discretion was valued above all. If Michael had been cleared by their superiors, then there was nothing left for them to question. You could sense the hesitation in everyone’s body language. They were practically itching to crowd around Michael. Finally, one of Michael’s co-workers, Terry, stepped up and dapped Michael up with a huge grin on his face.
His fiancée, Evelyn, stood next to him and smiled at you.
Soon, many others were surrounding Michael with their own words or gratitude. Michael took it all in stride, but he kept you by his side through it all. You sensed that it was the nerves, and he didn’t want to have to answer any uncomfortable questions about his crew or the mission.
One of the wives that you recognized as Gina grabbed your hand and ushered you to a corner where the other wives and partners were. You looked back at Michael, who gave you a small smile and nod.
“Hey girl, we missed seeing you so much at these things!” Kylie, one of the other wives, gushed.
You smiled politely, “I’m just happy to be here.”
Gina took a sip from her champagne, “Oh, honey, you don’t have to play demure with us. We know these events can be a bore, but we’re just happy to have you and Michael back.”
The conversation continued naturally, but you could sense that they were all itching to ask you questions about Michael. You subtly maneuvered your way around answering questions without giving away any details of anything. You didn’t have to do much because, frankly, you still didn’t know what happened.
The talk ended once the food was announced to be done. You and Michael were sitting at a table in the middle with a few more guests. Michael’s fingers found yours under the table. All eyes turned once you noticed Admiral Shane walking to the stage with a glass in hand.
“First, I’d like to thank you all for taking the time out to be here tonight. Tonight, we’re honoring a brilliant young man. I first met Sergeant Jordan when he was a fresh-faced 19-year-old. He was quiet, but brave. I could tell that he didn’t need to announce his attributes–he only let the actions speak for themselves. Then, imagine my surprise when he goes on talking about space and discovering all the ways that we haven’t explored space. I thought, ‘This kid is crazy,’ but I’m not too prideful to admit that he was right. Due to Sergeant Jordan’s work, we’ve discovered more about the future parts of the solar system than we previously knew. As you’re all aware, he went missing eight months ago, but we’re blessed to have him back in our arms. Which is why tonight, we’re honored to present Sergeant Jordan with The Medal of Honor.” Applause radiates through the venue as Michael stands to walk to the stage. He places a quick kiss on your lips before leaving.
You admire his form as he walks. He’s always been a man whose presence is commanding without being domineering. He’s one of those men whom people can’t help but stare at and desire. You had witnessed firsthand how men and women would pounce to have Michael’s attention on them.
Michael takes the stage, and Admiral Shane pins the pin to his jacket, along with handing him the box that contained his medal. A few of Michael’s coworkers started to cheer and demanded a speech. Michael laughed shyly before taking the stage, “Hi, first I’d like to say that I appreciate you all for being here tonight. I’m aware that some of you have children, so the fact that you’d make time to be here means more than you know. Thank you to Admiral Shane and my superiors who’ve awarded me this honor. It means the world to be considered for this. I want to issue a special thanks to my wife. Baby, thank you for staying strong during all of these months and not giving up on me. I love you with every atom in my body. Also, thank you to everyone who supported my wife during this time. I know it couldn’t have been easy for her, so I appreciate you all. Thank you.” He finishes and leaves the stage. Michael makes his way back to the table and takes his seat next to you.
You turn to him, “That was beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” Michael states, leaning over to kiss your shoulder.
You giggle slightly before telling him that you’re going to the bathroom. Once in the bathroom, you conduct your business and move to the sink to wash your hands. You leave the bathroom, and you’re walking down the hallway when a figure suddenly appears in front of you. You jump slightly, but calm once you notice that it’s Alina Rodriguez, the wife of Cass Rodriguez, Michael’s co-captain on the ship.
Your eyes scan over the young woman’s form, and you note how disheveled she looks. “Hi Alina, it’s nice to see you.”
Alina stares at you for a moment. There’s complete silence between the two of you. You step closer to her, “Are you okay?”
Alina snaps out of her apparent trance, and her eyes darken. You can see the angry tears beginning to fill her eyes as she stares at you. “What did you do? What deal did you make with them?”
‘I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” You ask, confusion coloring your face.
“Why does your husband come back, and mine doesn't? Huh?! Did you know that Cass came back, too? Then, he was gone again. They took him!” Alina rambles. Your brows furrow more, and your mind immediately goes to the fact that she may be experiencing some sort of mental crisis.
You step closer to Alina, “Hey..Alina, I’m so sorry about Cass. It’s all going to be okay.”
Your words seem to anger the woman further as she shakes her head. “It’s not going to be okay! My husband is gone! But you! You get to keep your husband. I bet you don’t even know what he is! He’s not your husband.” In your confusion and Alina’s breakdown, you fail to notice the woman taking a knife out of her pocket. Your heart beats heavily against your chest as you finally see it.
“Is everything okay here?” A voice calls out. Your body relaxes slightly as you recognize it as Michael’s voice. Michael clocks the scene between you and Alina. He steps forward hesitantly once he notices the knife in Alina’s hand.
He moves around the woman and comes to stand in front of you. Your hands find his arm as you stare at Alina in concern.
“No! It’s not okay! What did you do to my husband, huh? What did you turn him into?” Alina demands, pointing the knife in your and Michael’s direction. Her shouting gets the attention of the other guests in the venue, and they all crowd to see the commotion. Gasps ring out, and you can see the men moving their partners back and assessing the best way to de-escalate the situation.
Admiral Shane steps forward, “Alina, I know you’re upset about Cass, but this isn’t the way. Put the knife down, and we can all work through this together.” Alina cries more, and she stares back at Admiral Shane, “None of this is okay. It’ll never be okay. Cass isn’t coming back.”
She looks back at Michael, “He’s not what he says that he is!”
Michael steps forward in an attempt to grab the knife from Alina. You can see a flash of fear that radiates across her face before she starts screaming and swinging the knife at Michael. Michael pushes you back as he tries to defend himself from the blows. Your entire body is filled with fear when you see the knife strike Michael on his hand. He manages to grab the knife as Alina continues to scream and thrash against him. The other men rush forward and firmly grab hold of Alina. You can see Terry holding her body to his and whispering to her. Warm, thick tears continue to roll down her face as she sobs violently.
You don’t even realize that you’re crying until you feel Michael’s hands on your face. His concerned eyes meet yours, “Hey, it’s okay, baby. Shh...we’re safe now.” He pulls your trembling body into his chest. You pull back suddenly and grab his hand in yours.
Your body freezes when you notice that his hand is perfectly fine. No cuts. No blood.
“I saw her cut you,” You say.
Michael shakes his head, “No, you must’ve thought you saw it. I’m fine. See? No blood.”
You decide to drop it, but your stomach still feels queasy.
Because in your mind and heart, you know that you saw it.
_______________________
September 16th, 2025 (2 Months Later, Present Day)
Today’s the annual family bar-b-que.
Your combined families had all come together to celebrate Michael’s return home. Your father and Michael’s father are both manning the grill with their respective towels thrown over their shoulders. You’re in the kitchen with your mothers, aunts, and cousins helping with making the sides.
Well, more like, you’re watching and laughing at all of the gossip.
Michael’s aunt, Ruth, speaks up, “How’s Kari adjusting to being back?”
You take a sip from your drink, “He’s doing good. He’s still off from work, but he’s expected to return next month to start his research again.” Everyone hums before Ruth speaks again, “He isn’t planning any more of those lil’ missions any time soon, right?”
You tense at the mention of the missions. You and Michael hadn’t explicitly discussed whether he would be going on any new space missions. Truthfully, you still didn’t like to think about the mission that took him from you all that time. You’d be content knowing that he never went on another mission, but you knew that wasn’t realistic. You knew how much Michael loved space, and you’d never ask him to give up on his dreams. But you wouldn’t survive another incident if he didn’t come back.
“No ma’am. No more missions for a while.”
All of your eyes snap to Michael, who is standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He crosses the kitchen to stand by you and presses a kiss to your hair. You feel yourself relaxing in his hold.
The cookout continues with everyone eating and having fun. You’re sitting next to Michael, sipping on your tea, when you freeze. Michael follows your eyes and sees you staring at Dave, Michael’s best friend, who also appears to be meeting your gaze. Dave snaps out of it and smiles at Michael.
Michael stands, and both men dap each other up. Dave hadn’t been around much since Michael’s return, but he claimed that it was due to being away for work. You stand and go to enter the kitchen to get a slice of pie. You’re in the process of putting the pie up when you turn and jump at seeing Dave standing there.
______________________
Michael notices that you’ve been gone for a little while. He moves from the table and goes into the house to find you. He’s about to enter the kitchen when he hears you and Dave talking. He notes the aggressive tone of your voice.
“You haven’t been returning my calls,” Dave states.
You look over at him, “What reason would I have to answer your calls, Dave?”
Dave shakes his head, “I don’t get why you’re treating me like this. Like I’m nothing to you. I’m not chill with just acting as if nothing happened between us. I love you. You know that.”
You slam the plate on the counter and lean closer to Dave, “What happened between us, Dave? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You know that I love Michael, and I would never jeopardize my marriage. The fact that you’re coming to me with this of all times is pretty stupid! My husband, your best friend, is back! What did you think was going to happen? What? I’d leave him for you? You’re even stupider than you look.”
With that, you leave the kitchen through the patio door. Michael can see Dave’s shoulder slump in disappointment. He watches Dave pick up the fork that you just ate a piece of your pie from and put it in his mouth. He frowns, and his stomach turns in disgust.
A range of emotions radiates through his body. Anger. Confusion. But most of all, possession. You were his, and you always would be. He moves quietly back outside and takes his seat next to you. You turn your head, and he pulls you closer so that he can connect his lips to yours.
“I love you, rabbit,” He whispers against your lips.
“I love you too, Kari.” You whisper back.
______________________________________________
October 16th, 2025 (1 month later, Present Day)
Michael doesn’t bring the Dave situation up to you, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t leave his mind. He still invites Dave around, but mostly to observe his behavior around you. When Dave comes around the house, you make yourself scarce, only stopping by to give them more snacks.
Michael clocks the way that Dave’s eyes rake over your figure, and the longing in his eyes. You, however, don’t show any reaction to Dave. You don’t give off any signals that would suggest any mutual attraction.
It’s one night when Michael is over at Dave’s crib. They’re both playing 2K together and casually lounging on the couch. Michael texts you that he’s going to be home soon. He can see Dave’s eyes trying to catch a glimpse of your message.
“You getting back to the wife soon?” Dave asks, trying to appear unbothered.
Michael nods and continues pressing the keys on the PS5 controller. Dave looks at him from the corner of his eye, “I mean, I bet with you being back, the sex must be out of this world. I bet she’s practically giving it to you every night.” Michael’s expression drops, and he fully turns his body to look at Dave.
“You sure got a lot of questions about my wife tonight. You checkin’ for her or something?” Michael questions, expression dark.
Dave quickly shakes his head, “Nah, man! It’s not like that. My bad.”
The two men sit in silence for a few seconds. The tension rises with each passing second. Michael is still looking at Dave.
“I heard your conversation with my wife in the kitchen the other month. You told her you loved her and you wanted her to leave me.” He states, plainly.
Dave begins to stutter before he sighs and looks down, “Look, man, I’m sorry. But I do love her. We got close when you went missing.” Michael doesn’t miss the emphasis that Dave puts on the close. His mind flashes with images of you and Dave… together. Rage begins to build in his chest.
“So, you fucked my wife?!” Michael yells, standing from the couch.
“Nah, man! It wasn’t like that. I kissed her!” Dave doesn’t get to finish his sentence when a blow knocks him off his feet. He stares at Michael in surprise. Anger fills his own body, and soon the two men are trading blows with each other. However, the more that Dave attacks Michael, the less it seems to be hurting him. If anything, Dave’s hits only fuel Michael to rain his punches down harder on Dave. Soon, Michael is straddling Dave and throwing punches at his face.
Dave’s face is bloody and already beginning to swell. Michael grabs his cheeks in his hand and moves his face closer. Dave is expecting Michael to hit him again, but he watches in horror as Michael opens his mouth and moves it over his. A slimy black tentacle flows from his mouth and into Dave’s own open mouth.
Dave pushes at Michael’s chest and tries to scream. The tentacle slithers down the expanse of his throat, and he sputters as his air begins to drop. He can only look up in terror as Michael’s eyes change to a milky white color. He’s helpless as the tentacle reaches the inside of his chest cavity. Spit and blood sputter from his mouth as his body convulses. Not long after, Dave’s body stops moving, but his eyes remain open in terror.
The tentacle slithers from his mouth, and Michael stands back to his normal self. He wipes his mouth and turns to leave Dave’s apartment. He’s not worried about anyone suspecting him of hurting Dave because, in one to two days, Dave’s body will have disintegrated into mush.
Back at the house, Michael finds you eating popcorn and watching The Thing. He laughs to himself at the irony.
“Hey, baby,” You say, patting the cushion next to him.
“Hey, you still up this late?” He asks, throwing a few popcorn kernels in his mouth.
You nod, “Yeah, I figured I’d wait until you got back home. But then I started watching TV, and you know, The Thing is one of my favorite movies.”
Michael hums as he continues to eat popcorn and watch the movie with you. He looks down at you, “You know something interesting happened tonight?”
“What’s that, babe?”
Michael throws another piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Dave said that he kissed you.”
You cough on the popcorn in your mouth and quickly grab the water in front of you. You stare at Michael in shock, “What?”
“Mhm, I thought the same. But I would’ve just taken it as him lying, but I heard the conversation in the kitchen the other month. So I guess, I want to ask, was there anything going on with you and him?’
You sigh and shake your head as tears fill your eyes, “I promise it’s not what you think it is. I didn’t sleep with him or anything like that. It was about six months after you went missing. I wasn’t in the best headspace. I wasn’t eating or sleeping. Everybody kept coming around to baby me, but I didn’t want that. I wanted you. I wanted to feel some semblance of normalcy. That’s when Dave started to come around. It’d be small visits initially. Just him coming to sit and keep me company, but then he’d help me go outside. It felt good to feel like a person again. But then something shifted…” You trail off before looking at Michael again.
He nods for you to continue. “I noticed that he started to act differently around me. More affectionate. I brushed it off initially. I didn’t want to see it that way. But then he came over one night, and we were drinking and talking about all of our favorite memories with you. Then….he just kissed me. I won’t lie to you, I kissed him back, but it was only for a second, and I pushed him away. He started going on and on about how he’s loved me for a long time, and he wants to make it work, but I told him that I didn’t see him in that way. I wasn’t going to leave you because a part of me still hoped that you were out there alive. I had been avoiding him for a while after that. That day that you came home, he was supposed to come over, so that I could tell him that I didn’t want to hang out anymore. I wanted to make it clear that I wasn’t able to break my vows to you. I promise that’s all that happened.”
Michael ponders your words, and he can see the worry on your body. He stares into your eyes and nods his head. He knows that you’re telling the truth. You had never been a great liar. His lips find yours, and he deepens the kiss, “I believe you.”
___________________________
October 31st, 2025 (2 weeks later, Present Day)
You and Michael put the Dave situation behind you. None of that matters because you love each other.
However, you start to notice more things about Michael. Weird behaviors. How you’d wake up in the middle of the night to find him staring into the sky. His appetite seemed bigger than usual. Even his craving for sex with you seemed to increase.
You would even catch him moving funny at times. Like he was trying to adjust to being in his body and moving the limbs. You never brought any of this to his attention, but you noted it down silently.
You looked at the calendar, “Kari, don’t forget you’re scheduled for your physical exams and blood work with Dr. Bailey.”
Before Michael could come back, his superiors had requested that he submit labs showing that he was in peak health. A few days after Michael’s appointment, you were standing in the kitchen eating a piece of toast when your phone started to ring.
You saw Dr. Bailey’s name on the phone and answered, “Hi, Dr. Bailey. What can I do for you?”
“Hi, Mrs. Jordan, I was trying to get in contact with your husband, but I couldn’t reach his cell. This is about his lab report.” Dr. Bailey states, and you can hear the wavering in her voice.
“Is everything okay?” You question, leaning forward.
“Yes, ma’am, just a few abnormalities that we want to follow up on.” She replies. You can tell that she’s intentionally keeping her answers vague with you.
“Well..okay, I’ll have Michael call you back.” You say before hanging up the phone.
Soon, Michael enters the kitchen and places a kiss on your head. He takes a bite out of the toast that you’re eating. “Who were you on the phone with?”
“Dr. Bailey. She said that she tried to call you. Something about some abnormalities with your lab reports. I told her that I’d tell you to give her a call back.” Michael hums before moving to grab fruit. You watch closely as he picks up a piece of watermelon and plops it into his mouth. You freeze and wait for a reaction–only for nothing to happen.
Michael’s been allergic to watermelon since he was a kid. Deathly allergic. So how is it possible for him to be eating watermelon now?
______________________________
November 16th, 2025 (Present Day)
You’re staring at the news in shock.
Dr. Bailey is dead. Dead in a freak fire accident. That’s what the news is calling it.
Michael passes by as you’re watching the news. You stare back at him in shock, “Baby, did you see this?” He looks up at the TV and frowns, “No, this is the first time that I’m hearing anything. This is crazy.”
You side-eye him at how casually he says it. Like, there’s not a trace of empathy inside his body.
Later in the day, you’re moving around in your bedroom and cleaning. You’re vacuuming the rug, and when you’re finished, you move to unplug it from the wall. You stop when you feel one of the wood panels lifted beneath your feet. You frown and lean down to examine it. When you press your fingers on the panel, it shifts beneath your touch. You dig one of your nails into the panel and find that it lifts fairly easily.
Inside the hole in the floor, there’s a manila envelope and a small box. You grab both items in your hands. You open the manila envelope first. Inside, there are lab reports with Michael’s name at the top. All of the information seems normal at first, but when you get to the notes section, you frown.
‘PT’s vitals all appear normal. PT’s blood and hemoglobin appear to show abnormalities.’
You place down the folder and go to open the small box. Inside the box, there are small blood vials labeled with Michael’s name and birth date. The blood inside the vial appears normal, but when you move it closer to your gaze, the blood inside jumps.
You let out a yelp and drop the vial, which collapses on the floor and shatters.
“You weren’t supposed to find that,” A voice announces.
You look up in horror as Michael enters the room. He stares at the scene in front of him. The manila folder, the splattered blood, you. You almost faint when he reaches his hand out, and the blood on the floor suddenly travels in his direction. The liquid makes its way across the floor and slithers up Michael’s leg before traveling to his arm. Michael slides a nail across his skin, and the blood enters the wound.
The entire room is ringing for you. Michael steps closer, and you move back quickly. He continues to cross the room, “I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”
Tears sting in your eyes, “You aren’t my husband, are you?”
Michael’s brows furrow, “Of course I am.”
“No. You’re not him. What are you?” You question, tears finally rushing down your face.
Michael keeps his firm eye contact with you, “I just am. It’s hard to explain. But I’ll be completely transparent with you. I am your husband, but I’m also not. Your husband and his crew did make it to their assigned destination, but their ship was damaged in the process. Half of his crew died upon impact. I found him and one last survivor on the brink of death on my planet.”
More tears flow down your face at the thought of Michael alone and dying. You sink into the floor, and Michael kneels in front of you. “I tried my best to nurse him back to health, but there wasn’t much that I could do. I…I liked your husband. I could tell that he was a brave and honest man. He talked about you the entire time. You were on his mind in his final moments. He was the only one out of himself who fought to live and get back. I found it to be very noble that he wanted to get back to you.”
Soft sobs rake through your body, “Where’s his body?”
“Still on my planet. I gave him a proper burial.” Michael answers.
“But why are you here?” You question, still trying to wrap your mind around it all.
“Because you needed me. Sergeant Jordan stated that he wished that he could come back home to you. He didn’t want you to have to live without him.”
Your sobs intensify, and Michael’s expression softens. “I’m sorry for upsetting you with this information. But I felt it was obligatory to uphold Sergeant Jordan’s wishes. I do admit that a part of me was curious about you. The way that he spoke about you. The love. The devotion. I wanted to see it for myself. On my planet, we’ve yet to experience such sensations as you all do.”
You stare at its face. How is it possible for this thing to look like your husband?
“How do you look like him?” You ask, hands trailing across his face.
Michael leans into your touch, “I spent an adequate amount of time collecting samples of Sergeant Jordan’s DNA to replicate myself in his image perfectly. It’s what your people would call assimilation. Obviously, there were slight defects that I couldn’t have depicted, such as the allergies. You saw me eat it and didn’t have a reaction. My species doesn’t allow me to assume any of your sicknesses or genetic defects, such as allergies.”
You think back to the first night when he came home. “Is that why you had that seizure when you got here?”
The Thing nods. “Yes. This form had not yet been regulated to your planet’s atmosphere or oxygen levels. Similarly, when you fed me, my form’s organs had not yet acclimated to your food. We eat differently on my planet.”
You move back to place distance between yourself and the Thing. “You keep saying your form. How do you actually look?”
The Thing shakes its head at you. “I can’t reveal that to you. Your mind isn’t ready to fully comprehend what I actually look like. If I were to show you, it could drive you mad.”
You can feel your mind racing to conjure up any image of what it could actually look like. Was he some sort of blobby tentacle monster? Was he the classic alien that the media loved to use?
The Thing steps forward, and your fearful eyes meet his again. One of his hands goes to your waist while the other stops on your face. You can’t help the fact that your body naturally melts into yours. It looks like your husband. It smells like your husband. It feels like your husband.
“I can see the conflict on your face, but I can assure you that I mean you no harm. I love you. I know it may not seem like it, but I’m still your husband. Every part of me is him. Every memory that I have of his life and you is him. This doesn’t have to change. We don’t have to change. I’ll still take care of and love you just as he did. I just want to make you happy. But if you don’t want me here, then I understand. I’ll leave, and you’ll never see me again.”
Something feels tight in your chest at the thought of not seeing him again. Not seeing your husband again after you just got him back. Your eyes meet Michael’s again. You can see the desperation and devotion written on his face.
“Stay.” You say softly.
Truthfully, you weren’t ready to lose your husband again. You wouldn’t survive it. But this was your chance to be happy.
You wouldn’t lose him again.
End.
Eternal Sunshine☀️ @blackgirlfariy - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
