cesanovaaa

🌸 English Major Baddie || Multifandom Whore 🌸

[cesanovaaaa]

⚜️Masterlist ⚜️

For the black girlies that say “Michael Bakari Jordan!” when they get asked what their type is!

*all of my stories are intended for users 18+, minors do not interact*

Elias “Stack” Moore:

- No Peace, No Pussy! part 1 part 2

- I’ll Still Stay Down

Elijah “Smoke” Moore:

- Giving Him Something he Can Feel

- Timeless

Smoke & Stack:

- The Girl is Mine!

- Double Vision chap 1

- Women to Women

Erik Kilmonger:

- Special

- Sleeping With The One I Love

- Home, Sweet Home!

Michael B Jordan:

- Your Imagination

- Quiet on Set

- “It Feels Like You Guys Did This Before”

Updates might take a while but i promise you they gon hit! 🫂

[lovergirlcinema]

Tumblr Girlfriend

michael b.jordan x black!reader

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.

End.

Taglist: @plan3tch1ld @anniebelsworld2 @jc3m @krissy455

@irissunshines @mauvecherie-writes @nova-rae @wowitsafemale

@straykids1011 @mirathebookworm @blackgrlmagic @3ricstuff

@zzzyiluv @fabulousgurlll @khxna @heyyimmisunderstood

@omgffs @1-800-black-readers-r-us

[yourleogf]

[siribaes]

ᥫ᭡. 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓 — ( rio x black!fem!reader ) contents: pwp. smut. kinda mean!rio. handj0b. 0ral -> m!receiving. back seat shenanigans. rio’s grey sweatpants strike again lol. sort of sequel to this untitled 01. just general filth. semi-proofread. minors don’t interact!

ᢉ𐭩.

“i wanna feel you.”

you purred in rio’s ear as your hands slipped underneath his tank. your nails grazed the inked skin of his taut muscles, traveling downwards, past his chiseled pecks, his perfectly carved abs, stopping at the waistband of his sweatpants. you met his gaze, those onyx eyes staring back at you. so heated and hypnotizing, yet past the lust there were flickers of playfulness. he was egging you on, silently challenging you to do your absolute worse on him.

challenge accepted.

taking heed, you kept steady eye contact as your right hand slipped into his sweats, past his happy trail to his base. gently, you palmed the base. rio hissed, bitting down at his lower lip. you repeated the action, this time giving him a harder squeeze.

“shiiiit,” he tipped his backwards, exposing the column of his tattooed neck. you watched closely as his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, thickly. a rush of arousal coursed through your entire body. you shifted your hips, feeling your damp panties clinging to your soaked pussy. squeezing again, you slid down his entire length, taking your time to slide your thumb against underside of rio’s dick. he felt so warm and so heavy in your palm. and so thick too—

“oh fuck!” you yelped at the sudden slap on your ass. rio smirked, landing a another smack before palming the flesh.

“quit playin’ and pull my shit out,” he groaned. the edge is voice hinting at his loss of resolve. he was more than ready.

“fine. so pushy,” you teased.

making a show of it, you lifted off his lap, slinking down to your knees. you bounced between rio’s heavy gaze and his erection as you slid both hands up and down his clothed thighs. feeling the resolve quickly disappear within you too, you reached back into his pants and pulled him out.

that pretty eight-incher stood proudly. all those veins, and it's slight curve on full display in the partial moonlight casting from the car windows. you could’ve sworn rio’s dick moved as a tear of pre-cum dripped from his mushroom tip.

“so,” you drawled, swiping another tear of pre-cum from rio’s tip. “you want it fast? slow?”

rio chuckled. “i wan’ it good,”

“good he says.” you met gaze once more, as you took a long lick at your right palm.

with the same hand, you watched rio’s eyes flutter as you jerked him off. slow at first, taking your time reveling how his dick got harder with every pump. you began twisting and flicking your wrist, finding a good rhythm, your hand bounced up and down his length. with every pump you used your thumb to swipe at rio’s fat tip.

“yeaaah, jus’ like that. shit, fuuuck,” rio spoke, his voice tight and hoarse.

you sped up, just a tad. another wave of arousal flooded you as you watched rio’s expression twist with pleasure. that bottom lip poking out, just begging to sucked on. that would have to wait, your mouth had other plans. slowing down, you held him at the base as you leaned in, licking at his tip. immediately, rio’s hips bucked, hands shooting towards your head, burying into your thick coils. you gave him another squeeze, giving his tip soft kitten licks.

“jus’ like that mama. fuck doin’ me in already,” he used his grip on your curls to guide you further onto him.

luckily, this isn’t your first rodeo. you took more of him into your mouth, feeling his tip about graze the back of your throat. your tongue swirled around him as you sucked him off. you bobbed up and down, inching more and more of him down your throat.

rough groans and huffs filled the car as you continued to work rio’s dick. saliva dripped from the corners of your mouth onto rio’s sweatpants. some of it slid down your chin and neck, pooling at your cleavage. it was so messy and good, your mind completely tunnel vision with bringing rio to his peak. you bobbed further, swallowing his whole length, so much that your nose brushed against his pubic hair.

“shit, mama. i feel it,” rio sighed. “m’ gettin’ close,”

you let him go with a loud pop. you leaned your head on his thigh, gazing up at him. disgusting squelches mixed with rio's groaning as you jerked him off.

“you taste so good baby,” you cooed. "so fuckin' good." returning to your ministrations, you swallowed him back down, reveling in his warmth and salty taste.

“goddamn. where you wan’ it baby? huh? you want my kids in that nasty ass mouth? shit, i should nut all over those pretty ass titties,”

the image of healthy, white ropes of cum dripping onto your chest caused you to moan around him. the vibrations triggered rio, making him to buck further into your mouth. his maddened tip brushed against your uvula. you dropped your hand and let him just use you. rio angled his hands, one cupping the back of your head, while the other held your chin. he just pumped and pumped, making sure with every stroke you got all of him down your throat. so aroused, your own hands slipped inside the cups of your bra. fingers finding your nipples, roughly tugging at them. with rio down your throat and fingers tweaking your nipples, your clit throbbed with anticipation. you could cum just like this. hands free.

rio must've caught on to you. when you met his onyx gaze, he let out another chuckle, deep and grumbly. his tongue sweeping his bottom lip, before he gruffed out something in spanish. despite not knowing, you moaned around him anyway.

"goddamn. fuck, mama you gonna cum with me? s-shit, cum with me, shiiit,"

his dick swelled, stretching the corners of your mouth. you were right there with him, rubbing your hips together, clit throbbing.

and throbbing, and throbbing—

"oh fuuuck," rio gripped your coils tight as he spilled down your throat.

it was so much. him spilling down your throat in heavy spurts. your essence flowing out, spilling out panties and down your thighs. it was rope after thick rope, as rio continued to cum down your throat. you tried your best, breathing through your nose, swallowing what he gave as quickly as you could. but fuck it was still so much. finally, it seemed to slow, rio's grip on your hair went lax, as the last of his cum spurted out. you took one last swallow, sliding your tongue around him. rio pulled out of you, his dick flopping against his stomach. you took big gulps of breath, using his knees for balance.

"shit, what got into you?" rio sighed.

"i could say the same," you breathed out. beads of sweat collected at the crown of your head as you ran a hand down your hair, trying to smooth frizzy coils. there was a dull ache in your knees as you shifted them against the car floor.

rio simply laughed. his lips forming into a crooked grin.

"you cum?"

you nodded. your face became hot as rio sat up from his seat. his onyx gaze traveling down to your thighs, shiny and sticky. with both hands, he pulled you up. rio shifted your body so you leaned against his chest, while your legs draped over his lap. your thighs almost grazing his dick.

"mmm," you nuzzled the side of his face. "you need to put that away, before i get into more trouble,"

rio's hands wrapped around your waist. his fingers playing with the hem of your dress. slowly, he kept one hand at your waist, while the other traveled up and down your arm. he brought your hand back to his crotch, wrapping it around his sticky base.

"i think you like trouble," he hummed, guiding your fingers to squeeze him. another wave of heat bloomed underneath your skin as you felt him grow hard in your touch. "i think you wanna cum all over my dick,"

swiftly, rio dropped your hand, maneuvering directly on him. you gasped; your clothed pussy touching his dick. one hand settled you on your hip, rubbing and squeezing, while the other slipped into you pussy. the rough pad of his middle finger, grazed your puffy clit. a soft moan slipped past your lips. body twitching from the contact.

"round two?"

⋆˙⟡♡⟡˙ ⋆

author's note: happy new year y'all!

[mikesfavfish]

FIRST MET - Jaafar Jackson x F! Reader

warnings: suggestive content, cheesy fluff

WC: 2.1k

A/N: i've been so obsessed with jaafar jackson it's insane. this imagine took me little time to write because i'm in desperate need of expressing my sentiments.

The night you and your fiancée were patiently waiting for weeks was finally here, and to say you were nervous was an understatement. 

While the flashes and glitz weren’t unfamiliar territory for you due to your career and dating a Jackson, big events such as the Met Gala were. 

This event was invite-only, and if it weren’t for you and your fiancée’s new film, Michael, being out, you know you’d be stuck in your bed admiring your colleague’s crazy yet stunning outfits. 

You were proud of Jaafar. Not just because he was with you tonight despite his nerves, but because of his profound success recently. You met him a few years before he began training to become his uncle.

You both met at a hiking trail in Colombia. You were there for a magazine shoot, and he was there with his family visiting his mother’s hometown. 

It was a meeting made purely by destiny. You were complaining to your friends about the long walk you were barely starting, and without looking, you bumped into someone. Shocked and embarrassed by the body contact, you quickly apologize, picking up the sunglasses of whoever it is you bumped into. When you look up, you stop in your tracks all the way. This man was beautiful. Not just handsome in his physique, but he had features so elegant that it made you jealous. His long eyelashes, his beautiful shade of brown eyes, and the curl of his lips as he smiled at you. 

“It’s okay, I promise.” He said in a voice so assuring that you forgot where you were. Your friends behind you were geeking, and his brothers were all nodding to each other. 

He takes his hand out, offering you his hand. You take it without hesitation, looking down as you feel the softness of his palm. You give him your name, and he offers you another warm smile of his as he thoroughly repeats your name in his thoughts, captivated by the syllables. 

“Jaafar.” Even his name was as beautiful as his face. It fit perfectly as his skin shone in such a beautiful shade under the sun. 

Your friends give your shoulder a squeeze as they walk ahead a bit, and Jaafar turns to his brothers, nodding his head to follow your friends. You both hear them laugh, but all of that goes away once you’re both back into each other’s attention. 

“Are you from here?” He asks you as he crosses his arms over his chest. You pretend not to notice how his arms flex so carefree. 

You shake your head and point to your “work = life" tattoo above your elbow. He gives you a soft laugh, erupting butterflies from head to toe. “I’m from the States. I’m here for work.” 

“What do you do?” You hesitate for a moment, but his eyelashes captivate you in a trance you ignore all stranger-danger memos you’ve learned all your life. 

“I entertain the media.” You cringle. “Not in that way. I mean, I model, sometimes act, and have a few songs out there.” Jaafar laughs, and the softness behind it makes you laugh too. 

“Would you believe me if I say me too?” Your eyes light up, and you subconsciously step closer to him. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “my music needs to be worked on, but I love what I do.” 

You pull your phone out and open your notes app. “Type where I can find you online. I need to know if your voice is as beautiful as those lashes.” 

He laughs and takes your phone, typing in something. Your friends and Jaafar’s brothers turn to look at you and give you a thumbs-up. You shake your head and turn your attention back to Jaafar, who’s handing you your phone back. You look down and see numbers instead. “I’ll let you hear my unreleased music if you promise to text me once you’re done hiking.” 

You giggle and tuck your phone back in your pocket. Jaafar extends his hand out once more, and that was the first moment in your relationship timeline where you knew you made the right decision. 

That was almost 7 years ago, and the memories never stop reminding you of each other every single day you spend together. 

When Michael started getting into the production process, you were by Jaafar’s side as he trained. You were by his side as he read the internet’s meanest comments, reminding him that he was beautiful and deserved every opportunity that came his way. You were by his side during filming, occasionally working as a background character in most scenes to save budget cuts, or helping the makeup team transform Jaafar into Michael Jackson. 

All those moments inspired Jaafar to work harder, to show the world that he wasn’t just in the position he was because of his name, but because he truly believed he had a talent to share and wanted to work and fight for it. As filming wrapped up, he noticed your efforts to promote the movie as much as you could. Whether it was for your interviews or an Instagram story, you were there, supporting him. He knew then that you were the one. You were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his days with. He proposed to you in Colombia, on the same trail where you both met. You remember crying, shocked at the sight of him on his knees while the beautiful sunset painted the sky. You spent that night in passion, forgetting that the outside world existed. 

That was almost two years ago. Neither of you was in a rush to get married. You promised Jaafar it didn’t have to be soon. You wanted to let him take in the new fame he was part of, and he understood that you were in love with the new world you two were now part of, too. 

Which brings you to Monday morning, the Met Gala. You flew in New York that weekend, taking the days to rest (more like have passionate sex until the break of dawn), and took a couple’s spa date earlier that morning to freshen up. 

Vogue was filming you both for the day. You two were alone before the rest of the crew showed up, and you looked at Jaafar in adoration. 

“I love you.” You said, smiling as Jaafar turned down the television in the hotel room. 

“I love you more, my love. Thank you.” Jaafar wraps his arm around you, giving you a soft kiss against your lips. 

“For what?” 

Jaafar breathes and falls back onto the pillow, bringing your head to his chest. “For the past seven years of our lives. You changed my life in a way I don’t think I even want to know what it would look like if you weren’t here.” 

You look up, bringing your hands to his soft face and smile. “You are the most important person in my life, baby. I hope you know I dream of what tomorrow looks like with you.” 

Jaafar kisses you passionately, dipping his tongue into your mouth. You kiss for a while, until you pull away and smile. He opens his eyes and winks at you. “How does our tomorrow look, baby?” 

You sigh, stretching your hands as you sit up. You laugh as Jaafar runs his hand down your back. “Hopefully resting after a long and crazy night.” 

“Crazy night, you say?”

You stand and laugh, catching the way Jaafar’s eyes rake over your naked body. “Not like that, silly boy. We have so many people we’ll have to talk to tomorrow. Isn’t it crazy how we’re going to go to Beyoncé’s after-party?” You say, as you put on the robe. Jaafar follows you into the bathroom, giving you another kiss on your face as you take a mirror picture. 

“So no sex?” He says, pouting. 

You roll your eyes playfully, brushing your hair. “If you behave, maybe I’ll indulge.” 

“Me? Behave? Need I remind you it’s you begging for me to pleasure you all night?” Jaafar says, and you feel your face burn. You open your mouth to respond, but the knock at the door saves you from a potential spanking. Jaafar winks at you and kisses you once more before opening the door, greeting the crew. You take a deep breath and follow him. 

You run through the details of what you’re both wearing tonight and the interview questions you’ll have with the Vogue crew later that day. 

Because your outfit, hair, and makeup will require more assistance, you have to move into another room. Jaafar kisses you goodbye, and you give him a promised whisper that leaves him blushing. 

Hours later, and it’s finally time. You wave goodbye to the camera and stand. Jaafar walks in, and he stops in his tracks. He rakes his eyes over your body, and he bites his lip. 

The theme tonight was “Costume Art,” and you carried it off in your elegant gold dress, with red highlights along your body. It fit perfectly with Jaafar’s outfit, inspired by one of Michael’s previous outfits. 

“Wow,” Jaafar says, and the room laughs. You smile and do a spin. Jaafar smiles and walks to you, hugging you carefully not to mess up your hair or makeup, but close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his body. 

You look down at his shoes and hair, then whistle. The room erupts in laughter again, but take the hint to leave the two of you alone. “You look so handsome, baby.” 

“And you look like you should be my wife tomorrow morning.” You smile and turn to look at yourself in the mirror. 

“We look good.” 

“That’s right, we do.” Jaafar grabs your hand, and you both walk out. You take your pictures and walk to the elevator. 

You stand side-by-side with your fiancée, and you begin to hum the elevator song when you notice Jaafar fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket. You place your clutch under your arm and reach over, grabbing Jaafar’s hand and giving it a kiss. You cup Jaafar’s chin and place a kiss above his lip, closing your eyes. You feel Jaafar soothe his breath. 

“You are doing amazing, and will do amazing tonight. Remember, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” You remind him, looking at Jaafar as he nods at you. The elevator door opens, and you hear the distant screams of the crowd waiting to capture the outfits of the Met Gala attendees. 

“Thank you.” Jaafar grabs your hand and leads the way outside. You focus on the comfort of his touch as you make your way into the van, waving to the crowd outside out of politeness. 

The drive there was quick, and before you know it, the two of you are walking up the infamous carpet stairs. The flashes, the screams, the interviews, they’re all you hear as you pose and wave. But none of that matters, not when you have Jaafar’s eyes on you. You both reunite on the stairs and are pulled into an interview. 

“What inspired this look by the internet’s rising couple?” Keke Palmer asks, and you give her a smile as Jaafar grabs your hand. 

“Well, given everything going on with Michael, it was a bit last-minute for us. But we focused on selecting a look that subtly honors the theme while still feeling effortless and true to our identity.” Jaafar responds as you nod. 

“How beautiful you are,” Keke says as she turns to you, “what is it like to be at your first Met with your fiancée?” 

“Events such as these mean more when I have him by my side,” you say, turning to Jaafar as he presses a kiss on your hair, “he’s very special to me. He’s my comforting person, song, soul. I stand here proud as he’s loved extra special right now.” 

Keke yelps in excitement, and you laugh, closing out the interview as you and Jaafar walk off, posing for more pictures. 

You both come to a corner and take a breath. 

“You are so beautiful, darling,” Jaafar says, his expression so gentle. 

“As you are.” You smile, waving as people pass by and smile at you and Jaafar. 

“You mean so much to me. I cannot wait to marry you and create a family where I can tell stories of the beauty of their mother, of their parents’ love story.” 

You feel the tears swell up, and laugh. You wipe them carefully, scared to mess up your makeup. “I love you, Jaafar Jeremiah Jackson.” 

“As I love you, my love.” Jaafar grabs your hand, and as you walk inside the private ballroom filled with music, chatter, and laughter, you turn to your fiancée. 

The glitz and glam were just a special detail that came with you and Jaafar’s love story. But the love, the passion, the care, that was what captured you by Jaafar. It reminded you of your love for him, and of his admiration of you. Those details is what reminded you that you had the best man in the world, and had every intention in loving him every single second of your life. 

[wisteria-bae]

When I’m reading a smut fic and tryna figure out what position they’re in

[gtf-o-m-d]

Nah this is so real 🤣 some of yall are imaginative ASF cause it's certain positions I just can't visualize lmao

[aizawash0e]

That's How It Is?

۶ৎ summary: When you drop your three-year-old son, Amari, off to your Baby Daddy Stack’s house , who is also your ex-fiancée, things get a little heated when it is revealed you have had a man in your house, and around his son.

۶ৎwarnings & word count: 10k words, cursing, jealous!vulnerableStack, sly talk, smut, fingering, overstimulation, ex-fiancee!Stack, 69 position, oral receiving, nastyyyy smut, use of n word, nipple sucking, breast play, male oral receiving, fem oral receiving, sex on the floor, family drama, condomless sex, miscommunication? and a bit of angst. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

an: this took me forever and a day. but i have to give the biggest shoutout to my beautiful mooties @liliacsdelight (for listening to my yap and beta reading!!) and @thebumblebeesworld (for helping me all those months ago before I dropped the fic). I love you so much, y'all have no idea, and I can't thank you enough!! this fic is also inspired by @pyraomen BD! Stack fic is one I've ever read and got inspired by the amazing writing. (hopefully only minors error, if any!)

ALSO THANK YOU LOVELIES SO MUCH FOR 800 followers!! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১-xoxox Mika

Today was the day you drop off your three year-old son, Amari, at Stack's Place for the weekend. It was 3 pm on a Friday afternoon, and as you packed his bags, the reality of the destination left a sour taste in your mouth. You now and then still caught yourself wishing it was your house too- just like how it use to be

You and Stack were engaged, happily. Once.

You often found yourself thinking of the life you once shared with Stack, When you were engaged and living together with your newborn Amari. Stack's work began to take up more room than his presence which was needed. He was physically there, at home, coming home every night, busy finishing his projects and his availability, emotionally or rather emotional intimacy started drifting.

You and Stack's engagement didn't work out and that was ok, not really ok at first but you two managed, there was peace in the aftermath of your breakup. No heated arguments or lingering bitterness, you don't think you could ever truly hate him, instead there was a mutual understanding and respect that was a healthy way to raise your son. Your pride and joy, your three year old son Amari. You love him to bits and pieces. You love Amari with everything in your being, and as a mother to see him grow was such a beautiful thing.

Co- parenting was definitely an adjustment but it was going well. The drop-offs, the weekend pick-ups and the flow of communication it didn't feel like you were just going through the motions, but the communication, you guys were a team working together to raise your son. everything moved smoothly between you two .

You often found yourself thinking of the life you once shared with Stack, When you were engaged and living together with your newborn son, Amari. Stack's work began to take up more room than his presence which was needed. He was physically there, at home, coming home every night, busy finishing his projects and his availability, emotionally or rather emotional intimacy started drifting.

He was present, he was a true provider, but he started burying himself in the "grind", in his work and became less present as a partner and sometimes a father. You always told him money wasn't everything but he always gave you and Amari everything you two needed, which was great and you were beyond grateful but what you really wanted was him. That shift turned into a problem that made "forever" feel damn near impossible, leading you both to realize that you were better of apart for the time being, so you can take care of your son and work while Stack solely focused on work. But you never truly stopped loving him, you just focused on your son.

But today was the day you drop Amari off to Stack's house, the air was casual but charged. Jackson sat at the counter finishing a bowl of cereal as a little bit of milk was in the carton, he was becoming a more frequent guest in your home. You were clear with him and more importantly clear with yourself: this wasn't about building a future, this was about needs, sex to be exact. You were careful wrapping it up and on the pill. This was purely friends wit benefits no strings attached.

In the living room, sat on the carpet, was Amari in his own little world of imagination. You knelt beside him, packing his Lightning McQueen backpack, with some essentials, his favorite pajamas, a soft hoodie, and a couple of snacks and baggy of goldfish. Sometimes you act as if Amari won't get what he needs there, but oh, trust he will. Stack would spoil him the moment he walked through the door, but you always wanted to be prepared, and it never hurt.

You zip up his backpack and lay it on the couch. You straighten Amari's shirt, noticing a few stray crumbs on his cheeks and corner of his mouth from breakfast and you take your thumb gently wiping them away. He looked at you, holding his favorite Hess truck in his hand.

"Mama, we going to Daddy's house today?" he asked curiously.

You nod with a warm smile "Yes, baby, you're going to spend the weekend with Dad".

Lifting him into your arms, you carry him to the car, the Lighting McQueen backpack slung over your shoulder. You lift him into his car seat, and making sure you hear that click of the buckle making sure he's all safe and strapped in.

"All strapped in?" you ask checkin the tension of the harness in the car seat

Amari looked up with those big, soulful brown eyes. He nods as he holds his toy truck and flicks the light switch on the toy on "Yes, Mommy"

You gave him a light smile and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead, closing the door. But as you turned to head toward the driver's side, you felt a pair of hands settle on your waist.

It was Jackson. His touch made you blink, pulling you back to him "Want me to come with?" he asked

"No, noo" you said quickly, your head shaking that idea away. You did not want that, that your life here and you co-parenting with Stack those lines, you never wanted those to intersect, you would try to hold it off for as long as you could at least.

"No it's fine I'll be back before you know it". you reassure him

He leaned in and gave you a light kiss on the cheek, Jackson got the hint and stepped back with a quiet sigh as you reached for the driver's door.

"Bye Mari" Jackson say tapping the window not to scare him.

Through the window, your son gave a weak wave and didn't look at him any longer as he looked at the truck in his hand, mind probably already on his father's house and all the fun things to do there.

You buckle up, the arrangement with Jackson was still fresh, a couple months old and you were always transparent. It was a "no strings attached" type of thing, something to fill in the quiet spaces that Stack had left behind. Truth be told even as bad as it sounds you knew Jackson wasn't Stack, he wasn't the man you had planned a life with, and he wasn't the father of your son.

You were very wary bringing him into your home. You hadn't been with anyone since the engagement ended and that was about a year and a half ago. You never wanted to confuse Amari, you were closed of with men for a while terrified of opening that door of men into his life Jackson was meant to be the separate of your life, only pleasure and needs, but you started to think maybe for Jackson the lines are blurring as he spent more time at the house.

You prayed that they didn't, you always told him what it was and what it wasn't.

He was a distraction and that was the truth.

Before you shift into gear, you turn back to Amari making sure he's strapped in, you reach over and check the tension of the straps, your eyes sweep to the right of him making sure his backpack his next to him and it is.

You pull out of the driveway, you tend to glance at Amari using the rear view mirror always making sure he's ok. Needless to say he is fine, matter fact he is happy as he is swinging his legs and his little velcro shoes in excitement. You began the familiar drive to the home you once shared with Stack, the place that still held ghosts of the family you three used to be. The early stage of that family life.

"Going to Daddy's house?!" Amari squealed, you can practically feel the excitement radiating off of him. You caught his eye int he rear view mirror and smiled at him, you couldn't help but smile at him, he is truly the cutest thing.

"Yes, baby. I'm dropping you off, and I'll be back to get you Sunday night"

Amari looked out the window, his legs slowly swinging now. "Mommy, why don't you stay with us dis time?? Pweeaseee? we play games together!"

You could hear the plead in his voice, his request pulls at your heart. "I don't know about that, my love. This your special time with your dad. I'll see you in a couple days, mommy doesn't wanna get in the way of you and daddy's time."

"But- want Mama and Daddy together" he insists, that pout forming on his lips. "uh mommy we can play! you be the princess, Daddy can be prince and I'll be the knight to save you!!"

"An a evil dragon!, ruined your castle, so I'll fight with my sword!" He puffs his chest out as far as the car straps would allow.

"I'll be like this mommy" he makes noises with his mouth as swings his arms together acting as if he has a sword.

"Is that so?" you chuckled.

"Mhmm, and Daddy is gonna carry you away from danger to protect you".

You smile lightly feeling a bit bittersweet. You turned on some soft music to fill in the silence, and make a turn at the familiar street, the silhouette of your old home came into view. Your heart sank as you pulled into the circular driveway. This house held so many memories, the smell of Sunday dinners, you both use to make, the laughter, the frantic night your water broke at the bottom of the staircase and screamed for Stack to hurry up, Stack practically flew down the stairs tripping over himself. It was the house you had been a fiancee and a new mom, a place where you tried to build a life with a man you love that was just to busy on the grind, not meeting where you needed.

You sigh shaking your head getting out of your thoughts, and to be honest you haven't been in that house since, only meeting at the door, it opens for you two briefly talk and go your separate ways.

Amari was already dancing in his seat and you took your keys out of the ignition. You stepped out, opening his door and unbuckling him, you grab this Lighting McQueen backpack over your shoulder. As soon as his feet hit the pavement, he made a ill dance. "Papa's house!, Mhmm mhmm mhmm!!"

You couldn't help but smile and you remind him "Have fun, okay? And be a good boy".

Amari stopped mid dance, and looking up at you " I will Mama. I love you"

Your heart warmed instantly, You press a firm kiss on his forehead "I love you more, baby".

You hold your handout and he takes it as you walk to the front door and knocked. It didn't take long for the door to creak open, revealing Stack's mother. Amari's face it up even more. "Mimi!" he shouted, letting go of your hand and making a rush forward and wrapping himself around her legs.

She beamed, as she crouched down and hugging him, one of those warm loving hugs, ones that you feel you can ust sleep in your grandmother's arms. He soon scurried inside to find his dad. You let out a sigh and look a her with a light smile "Hi Ms. Moore. I'm just here for the drop-off is Stack around?"

She stepped forward, pulling you into a warm familiar embrace. "Girl, stop acting all so shy, as if we ain't family."

"But—" you tried to protest feeling the sting of "what if's" in your gut.

"But nothing" she interrupted, her eyes with love and yet warning "you gave me a beautiful grandson. If Stack doesn't realize what he has, which he does, trust me he'll regret it for the rest of his life".

You swallow at her words, and look down a wave of complicated emotions hit you "Well… tell him i said hi, and this bag had some of Mari's favorite pajamas and some snacks he likes.."

Truth be told you haven't seen her in a long time and when that door opened you didn't know how she was gonna react, but she acted as if she had just seen you yesterday and no time has passed.

"I packed a couple things for Amari, some snacks he likes and light clothes, i know he has things here it's- just in case he wants these specific things." you finished, you realize this might've come off as rambling so you try to stop yourself.

Mama T place a hand on your forearm, her touch warm and familiar. "Come on in, sweetheart"

You shook your head with a light smile, stepping back some. "It's okay, really. I just came to drop him off and—"

She didn't say a word, she simply gave you that look-it's like a universal look that all mother gives that means shut up and do what she says, she wasn't asking she was telling. You sighed and stepped in. The house hit scents hit you first, the faint smell of cologne, Stack's cologne, the warmth of home-cooked food.

"Something smells good" you murmured, following the sound of Amari's giggles. You see Amari pulling on the sliding door that he's having trouble with.

In the backyard you could hear the muffled soulful sounds of Frankie Beverly's "Before I Let Go" playing from the speakers, the air was filled with that thick scent of hickory smoke and the steady rhythm of the music. Amari was grunting as he tugged at the sliding glass door.

"What are you tryna do, munchkin?" you asked, leaning over him.

"Daddy is out there! Eghh, wanna say hi!" he pouted bracing his little feet trying to tug again at the door handle with all his might.

A smile couldn't help but appear on your face"Okay, baby, step aside" You offered what seem like much needed help, giving the door a firm shove, releasing the warm breeze across your face. Standing there manning the grills were Stack and Smoke, hovering over the flames and laughing . Your heart hammered against your ribs.

Amari didn't even hesitate. He bolted across the grass, shouting, "Daddy! Uncle Smoke!"

"Uh oh, look who it is!" Smoke shouted with a grin making it sound like it was a royal announcement.

Stack set his tongs aside wiping his hands with the rag that laid on his shoulder, his signature sly smile creeping across his face as he scooped up Amari into the air, swinging him in a circle, while Amari giggled like there was no tomorrow.

Stack pressed a kiss to Amari's cheek, his voice dropping into an immediate warm and fatherly tone "How's my boy doing?"

"Daddy, stop! It tickles!" Amari kicked his legs against him, his laughter ringing out loud and infectious.

You couldn't help it, a small giggle escapes you. At the sound, Stack froze. His gaze snapped to yours, setting Amari down, as he is drinking your appearance in from head to toe. You see his jaw clench as he whispered a faint "Damn" to himself. You swallowed, but he moves away from the grill and towards you.

The closer he got, the smaller you felt. the world seemed to shrink to you. He smelled of smoked wood chips, the ones he must've been hovering over and— that familiar cologne—, the scent that use to make your head spin with need. You looked up at him, as you heart frantically hammers against your ribs.

"Hey" he said, his voice dropping into that smooth, low register that threaten to make your knees buckle. "How you been, Mamas? Amari hasn't been giving you too much trouble has he?"

The nickname hung in the air, feeling intimate, nostalgic, and truth be told, entirely wwaayyy too effective. You cleared your throat, your feet moving, shifting your weight nervously.

You blinked, forcing your eyes away from his and onto Amari. "Uh, good I've been good. Mari's good. And you?"

"I'm good" he replied, his eyes sparkling, his smile flashing just enough to show his grills. The way he was looking at you, sent a chill up your spine it was a look that felt like far more than just "co-parenting". The chemistry was living between you, bringing up memories you'd tried to bury. He seems a bit too close, making you take a tiny step back.

Amari watches you two, seeing how close you two are, he looked up with wide innocent eyes. "Are you gonna kiss Daddy like you kiss Jackson?"

The silence that followed Amari's lips after the mention of a name was deafening. Your heart stopped. You gasped trying to cover it with a cough but it was way too late. It was as if a record player had been scratched and the world stopped spinning.

You felt frozen in time. Stack posture shifted, his playful expression wiped clean from his face. His eyebrows furrowed, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as he ran it over his teeth—a tell tale sign or pure and simmering irritation. Smoke standing nearby, looked like he'd choked on his drink, his eyes darting between you see his tongue poke at his cheek and run over his teeth, acting as if he has some food stuck in teeth, there was no food only pure irritation.

Smoke nearly choked on his drink, his eyes darting between the three of you.

Smoke's gaze never left as he analyzed the three of you. First his eyes hit you, the stiffness in your stance, the breath you were seamless holding. His eyes quickly went to Stack's he sees his eyes glaring at you, the silence and now shallow breathes Elias was taking and Amari innocent eyes and wide smile.

"C'mon, little trouble" Smoke quickly intervened, sensing the tension and pressure rising to a breaking point. He scooped Amari over his shoulder. "Let's see what Mimi is doin' in the kitchen. She probably making cookies! Let's head inside, food's almost ready!.

The mention of Jackson's name and the smell of food all around you suddenly make you nauseous.

Amari laughed as Smoke carried him off. Leaving you and Stack standing there. The yard was quiet. It was heavy. You turned to leave, the words flowing from you quickly, in a panicked rush. "Ishouldgo,ionlycametodrophimoff—"

"Who's Jackson?" Stacks voice cut through the tension like a blade. "You kissing some man in front of 'Mari?"

You fumbled with your bracelet, unable to meet his eyes under his heated gaze.

"It's nothing, Stack. It's none of your business"

You tried to down play it, you really did, but you knew how he was. You knew he wasn't gonna let it go, no, no, not wasn't— couldn't.

"None of my business?" he stepped closer, his posture stiff and his breathing shallow. You looked at him for a moment and he looked vulnerable for a split second before the anger masked it.

"Stack-" you tried to say.

Before Stack's lips could fire something quick, the sliding door creaked open. Mama T stood there, her expression soft but knowing. "Honey, would you like to stay for some dinner? I made some of that good cornbread you like?"

No,no, no ,no ,no ffuucckkkk no, you thought, but before you could politely decline. Amari's voice coming from the living room as you hear his little feet padded over closer to you. Until his body hits your legs and his little arms wrap around you . "Please, Mama! Stay!

You see him as he looks up at you with his puppy-dog eyes and his plump, pouting lips, pouting as he jumps, how could you say no to that? You watch Amari's hopeful expression, even after the exchange between you and Stack, the word "no" wasn't finding it's way on your lips.

You sighed "Okay…I'll stay for a little bit"

Inside, the air was tight but clam. You decided to busy yourself and help Mama T set the table, handing her glasses while Smoke brought in trays of food. The spread was a feast that included ribs, brisket, mac and cheese, greens, salad and honey cornbread. You sat across from Stack while Amari perched in his seat next to you.

Mama T then led grace and the clinking of silverware is what you hear. You lean over taking Amari's plate fixing his plate for him, making sure he has veggies on his plate. Across the table, the heat of Stack's eyes hasn't left. They were locked onto yours, his eyebrows looked furrowed as if he had heavy questions that he hadn't asked or hadn't finished asking.

Only for a while the house noise faded and in the air lingered a name that you never wanted in this house, or anywhere around Stack's ears. Jackson's name now sat in the air like an uninvited guest at the table.

"So.. Jackson hm? Amari you like him?" Stack asks as he watches his son eat with some barbecue sauce splayed on his mouth.

Amari shifted in his seat looking at you and then Stack, shrugging his shoulders.

"Stack enough" you say looking up at him, you do not want Amari involved even if he did unkowningly, open the can of worms.

Stack barely touched his food. He just sat there, his framed hunched over a bit and his eyes burning into you, while you cut a piece of meat for Amari.

"So.." his voice rumbled lowly, vibrating around the table. "Jackson, that's his name? Mari seems real comfortable with him."

Your grip tightens on the fork. You didn't even look up at him "Stack, please. just eat your food."

"I ain't that hungry no more", he replied now leaning forward. " I'm tryna figure out who this man is you kissing in front of Amari" the cocky smirk was no longer smeared on his face but something deeper, something raw underneath. His voice cracked just a bit. "I'm just trying figure out when I became second to my son to some man I ain't never heard of. You really got him in your house like that? Around Amari?"

You see it in his eyes the vulnerability it caught you off for a bit. It wasn't only anger, he looks like he's missed out on a chapter in his own life and now someone is in your house. You looked at him, you hurt for him. "Stack, I truly don't think this is the time, please just let it go"

"Let it go? I can't just let this—"

"Elias, enough" Mama T said, her voice was still soft but her voice carried like a gavel with finality to it. She didn't look at anything from her plate as she put butter on her cornbread. "The boy is right there, we are having dinner and he don't need to hearing any of this".

Stack's jaw ticked, his tongue poking at his cheek again and he remained silent.

Smoke just watched as he was chewing on the smoked rib.

As dinner continued Amari began to yawn and his head began bobbing a bit, he was fighting his sleep, his eye looking droopy.

As dinner continued it was all cordial, Smoke and Mama T sending looks to each other but not saying anything. Stack barely ate the food that was on his plate, his gaze drifted from his plate to you, and then to Amari, his jaw tight the entire time.

Finally dinner was over and you immediately got up grabbing your own plate and Amari's, Mama T joins and the familiar rhythm of scrapping food and rinsing dishes, took your mind off of things.

Meanwhile in the living room, there Stack and Amari sat on the couch as he rushed to give his dad the remote. Amari's feet padded to the arm chair grabbing a fuzzy blanket from the couch, insisting on watching a movie with him.

"Daddy, sit! Watch cars please!" Amari commanded.

Stack didn't argue. He sat down next to his son, arms relaxing on the back of the couch. He could tell Amari wasn't gonna be up for long, the way his little body relaxed into his arms and it seems like his eyes got heavy once the movie started playing, looks like all the excitement throughout the day caught up with Amari's body.

In the kitchen, you watched them both through the doorway as Amari's head laid against Stack's chest.

Stack adjusted him instinctively, his large hand splaying across the boy’s back, holding him with a protective gentleness that made your chest ache. It was a mirror image of three years ago—Stack rocking a colicky infant in the middle of the night in this very house.

You turned away, blinking back the nostalgia, and grabbed your purse and keys from the counter. It was Stack’s weekend, and you needed to leave before the memories pulled you under.

You watched as, Stack rose from the couch, moving with careful precision so he did not wake the sleeping boy in his arms, rocking him softly.

Amari whimpered in Stack's hold cuddling into his shoulder. Maybe you have always known but this place would always be a home to you, Jackson maybe at your house, but your heart resided in this home with your two boys.

Just the way Stack was rocking Amari brought you back to how it use to be, when Amari was only a couple months old even a year. Stack would always rock Mari as he would hum and give a lullaby, no matter in the dining room or anywhere, Amari had trouble sleeping when he was a baby but he always eased when he was in Stack's arms. As if Stack was all he needed to be at peace and rest.

Seeing Stack have Amari sleep in his arms again just brought that back.

You hug Mama T as she makes way with a to-go plate of her own. She then kisses Stack's forehead and Amari's, Smoke putting a hand on Stack's shoulder and just a nod for them was a whole conversation.

"Alright, I'm gonna head out. Good seein you, Sis" he said pulling you into a brief warm hug.

He made his way to the couch dapping Stack up "Talk to her, and be easy".

As Mama T and Smoke both take their leave, it's almost like your cue to head out as well.

As you too were going to head for the door, Stack rose from the couch, moving carefully so he did not wake Amari who was now fully asleep in his arms.

"Wait," he whispered, his voice thick. "Don't go yet. We need to talk."

"Stack, it’s late, truly. You have him for the weekend, I should get home," you murmured, jiggling your keys nervously.

"Please." The word was quiet, stripped of his usual tone. You heard the raw vulnerability in his tone—the sound of a man who was hurting. "Just five minutes. Please."

You hesitated, your purse strap dug into your shoulder, but you nodded slowly.

The front door clicked shut, leaving just the three of you in the home, how it used to be. The house fell into a heavy silence.

Stack looked down at Amari, then back to you. "I'm gonna put him to bed. I'm beggin' you don't leave. Please".

You wait in the hallway, you fiddle with the keys in your hand, watching him carry your son up the stairs. This house used to be yours. He used to be yours. This house is the one you decorated, the nursery that Stack insisted on painting and getting Smoke and Sammie to help. Everything was the same here, and that's what stung.

Seeing the house, the home you two built together, felt like the ghost of the life you used to have felt more real than the one you were living now.

You stare at the art that hung on the wall. You remember the day you picked it out, it reminded you of the flowers he got on your first date, the lilies he gifted you, you remember you wanted to walk down the aisle with those exact flowers in hand.

Stack heads upstairs, to Amari's bedroom placing him in bed laying a loving kiss on his head and tucking him, before turning off the lights and closing the door.

A few moments later, you heard the soft click of the bedroom door upstairs. Stack had left the bedroom. His heavy and measured footsteps descending from the staircase, each creak of the floor felt like a countdown.

Felt like a bomb just waiting to go off.

You see him as his eyebrows are furrowed his back straightened body almost stoic. He stood there for a beat his shoulders dropped, looking less guarded then he did when he was glaring at you from across the dinner table, that expression on his face looked more like the man you used to wake up to every morning.

You feel a lump in your throat, and then he looked at you, he really looked at you and you saw exhaustion on his face and it mirrored the pain in your chest.

Truthfully, you weren't sure how this was going to go. What were you going to say? or do? How could you make this right, and how would he take this?

He took his time, taking slow steps into the hallway. He didn't rush toward you, he kept a respectful distance— a painful distance.

"He's out cold," His voice barely above a whisper, you can hear the raspy emotion in it. "Was always a heavy sleeper, just like his mama."

He looked past you this time, towards the living room, then back at you, his gaze settling on your face with this time a searching intensity. He didn't start with an apology for the scene at the table and he didn't start with a demand, yet.

Instead his eyes were just on yours, his eyes looking at the woman he used to know— the woman who wanted those lilies for a wedding that should've happened, but never did.

"It's been a while since i saw you standin' in this hall, and not in a rush to leave" he said his words almost forced.

You don't know what to say.

He took another step, this time his presence filling the space, the heat of his body radiating towards you. He gestured towards the living room, toward the space where the two of you used to talk until the sun came up,

"I know you don't wanna be here, and i know i might be over steppin'," he continued, his voice dropping into that low, register that made you skin prickle. "But i gotta know, for my own sake… when did we get to the place when I'm the last person you'd tell what's going with you, when have i been the last person to know anything goin' on with you?"

"When did i become the person that you truly hidin' from?" he said.

You gripped your keys so hard that the metal began to bite into the palm of your hand.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Stack I-I didn't want you to find out like this. I just…I don't know"

Stack watched you and took a step closer, the shadow of the man who used to be your world was large in the dim living room. That anger that splayed his face at the dinner table has shifted..into something heavier, something that look like grief and maybe even sorrow.

"I know why you broke it off, the engagement," he said his voice cracking with vulnerability he usually kept locked behind his grills and his pride.

"I know I was gone too much, I was chasin' the bag, chasin' the life I thought you and 'Mari deserved, the one i thought you truly needed. I know and now i know I learned the hard way that the work isn't everything. Work doesn't hug me when I walk through that door. Work doesn't watch movies with me on the couch or fall asleep in my arms."

He vaguely gestured with the nod of his head toward the stairs where your son was sleeping.

"That's my family up there. That's my heart. And i come home to this big house and it's different, it's just…quiet. Too quiet."

His chest was heaving as he looked at you, his eyes were searching yours for the woman who wanted to carry the lilies you liked so much down the aisle. His jaw couldn't help but clench at the thought of Jackson settling in his mind and the hurt at the mention of another man sharpened back into a shape of jealousy.

You couldn't help but feel guilt.

"So who is he?" His voice rose, the irritation slipping back in again, the same kind that was shown at the dinner table moments ago. "Who is the man, is this man spending time with you and my son? Do you love him, or is he some guy who is doing something I couldn't?"

"Stack" you begin.

He was now all up in your personal space, the scent of that familiar cologne and smoked wood chips now clouding your judgment. "Does he care for you? Does he hold you like you deserve?

"Cause I know how you need to be held. And what about my son? What is 'Mari calling him daddy?? Does he treat 'Mari right? Or is this nigga just playin' house with my life?".

You feet shifted the your weight, he looked down at your hands, seeing you fidget with your bracelet and his voice dropping into a pained whisper. "Tell me the truth. Do you love him more than what we had?"

Your eyes couldn't help but water up and you put your bag down on the table. the sudden sting of tears blurring the hallway lights. You let out a jagged breath.

"Just listen, You're not listening, Elias!" you broke out. your voice echoing, trying not to be loud enough to wake up Amari. "I told you! I told you a hundred time back then to take a break, to stop running yourself into the ground. I told you money wasn't everything, that we didn't need the i house or the fancy life if it meant you were never here. But you never truly listened! You were always working, always gone, when all I wanted was for you to be home, you were chasing something that didn't have me or Amari's name on it, while i was chasing you to stay home."

Stack took a sharp step toward you, his face becoming darkened with a mix of frustration and desperation. "That ain't what I asked you! I'm not talkin' bout the past right now, I'm talkin' about this! I'm asking you if he's replacing me! I'm asking you if he is who you truly love?"

His eyes were wild searching your face, seeing if a lie would come from your mouth or the truth that would destroy him.

Do you truly love that man? If you kiss him, you must, right? Stack thought.

"I need to know if I lost you to me working, to the lifestyle, or if i lost you to another man" he let out, his voice dropping into a painful sound

You choked on your tears as you heard him ask you these questions.

"Does he know how to hold you when you're scared? Does he look at you the way I do?"

The vulnerability that had been there moments ago had hardened into a desperate, jealous hunger.

"You look at me", he commanded, his voice slightly shaking. "You look me in the eye and you tell me, that he is the one you love? Or are you just tryin' to fill a bed that I ain't layin in no more?"

If someone came in to this house right now you think they would choke on how thick the air was, the tension. It was suffocating.

You could feel the heat radiating off of him. His gaze was burning, demanding honesty and truth for the both of you.

You bit your cheek and the words tore from you, raw and jagged, you took a step back as your wiped at your eyes, but the tears kept coming, relentless.

"He isn't you, Stack!" you choked out, the confession coming out like a physical blow. "He isn't you. I just.. I needed something to forget that i needed you and still want you. I was trying to fill a void, I was just trying to find a way to make the house feel less quiet, i just needed somebody. I don't know, I needed someone who would show up. But he couldn't truly replace you…. No one can, Elias".

Stack stood there as if the words that left your lips had struck him in his chest as he stared at you. The fire he had in his eyes only calming with a bit of clarity.

"Jackson can't replace Amari's father," you continued, your voice shaking, trembling. "Because I see it every night. When I put 'Mari to bed, and he has a nightmare… and he wakes up crying in the middle of the night," you continue with a shaky breath. "It isn't Jackson he's screaming for. He calls for you. He wants his Daddy".

Stack's jaw dropped slightly, his gaze no longer on you but falling to the floor as he hears the words leaving your lips, they are now settled into his bones. The slick-mouthed man who always had something to say or a defensive response, was now quiet, he was found without the words, speechless.

He took a step toward you, this time not defensive or jealous, just understanding with a bit of defeat. His hand trembled as he caressed your cheek, just that touch was electric, it was so familiar, it reminded you of how he always wanted to look at you, his eyes were filled with regret that felt deep like it just might swallow you both.

"I ain't know" he whispered, his voice breaking "I thought, i was been erased, I thought i was just going to be the man who dropped off checks and takes him for this weekends…i don't wanna be that".

His hand lingered on your cheek as he wipes away a tear falling from your eye.

"I'm sorry" the weight of the conversation, the months of contemplations all the trouble seemed to collapse the moment you stepped into him. You let it g, the hurt, anger, frustration. You let out a hitching sob and melted int his arms.

You felt the broadness of his chest, it firmly against yours. The intoxicating scent surrounding you, filling your sense. Instantly transporting you back to the nights you use to fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart.

But he didn't hesitate, he completely locked his arms around you as if he were trying to pull you back into the void that needed to be filled. His face buried into the crook of your neck, you feel his breath on it prickling your asking, his breathing was wet against your skin.

You could feel the slight shake in his hands.

It was just silence for a while, neither of you spoke. You just stood there, tears running down your face, but as you stood there in his arms. It felt like for the first time you were breathing fresh air for the first time in a long time.

Your tears dampened the fabric of his shirt, causing him to hold you even tighter, his warm palm splayed on your lower back, rocking you slight, a motion he used to sooth Amari, he is now using it on you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching your as his hand moves to cradle your face with tenderness. "I'm here" he whispered, his voice thick. "I'm right here, we gonna fix this, I'm gonna fix this,"

These walls the ones you two built together are now wrapping you in it's arms, all the memories comes flooding back, it was less of a burden and more of relief.

He didn't pull away, he leaned close to you having your foreheads resting against each other, all you hear is the shallow breathes you are now both taking.

You felt the heat of his gaze, his focus now entirely on you, his eyes almost hid the terrifying feeling of losing his soul. Losing you

"He doesn't love you like I do" Stack whispered again, his confession having the hair of your back standing up. "He can't, cause your heart is wrapped in mine, you have me completely baby, he doesn't know the half of our love, the love i have for you."

He pressed a lingering yet tender kiss to your tear-stained cheek. You couldn't help but let out a broken sound, causing your eyes to flutter shut. He moved lower this time his lips grazing the sensitive skin on your neck, his hot shaky breath against your pulse, causing you to shiver and tighten your hands on him.

His touch was like a claim, a silent plea to have you back, for you to remember what you two shared, for you to remember everything you tried to hurt and forget with another man.

"I'm sorry, baby" he said against your neck. "I'm sorry I let work get in the way of you and 'Mari, I'm sorry it got in the way of you, but I've changed."

His lips trailed back up, hovering just a bit from yours. He took a second, he waited giving you the chance to pull back, but you didn't you moved closer.

"Please Elias" is all you said and that was all he needed to hear.

His lips finally crashed into yours, this kiss was heated it was the collision of your love and longing coming together, you were starving for his lips ever since the last time you had then on yours.

This kiss burned with hope, with a new beginning it was a kiss that said more than you two felt words ever could, it was a sealed promise that the void Stack created could only be closed by the one who created it, Stack himself.

"Please, speak to me?" Stack pleaded as his chest was heaving, as his hand slid down the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

You were grounded here, this was your home, this was where you heart resided between Stack and Amari, in this house.

"I want you, it's always been you, Jackson couldn't even—" you began to say.

"Imma prove to you that no man can replace me, but i think you know that baby, don't you?" he asked, you feel as if his question was rhetorical.

"I love you "ꨄ︎", I love our son, I wanna prove to you I've changed, I wanna show you that I am the man you've wanted me to become, the business is doing so well I won't have to work for a long time, this time I can provide and be here for the both of you". He states looking you in your eye.

Your eyes threaten to swell with tears again as these are the words you've been wanting to hear all along; this is all you wanted.

It was your turn to lean in and kiss him, leading you to be breathless, Stack's arms cling tighter to you, sliding to the meat of your ass to hold onto, causing you let out a moan.

He sits on the couch, pulling you down with him, forcing you to straddle his lap, knees braced on either side of him. He holds your hips, looking up at you as one of his hands makes it's way towards your stomach, leading to cup your breast.

He massages you breast through your clothes. "So you want me, hm?" He asks, but by the way you are grinding on him, he definitely knows the answer.

"You know I do," you whimper as you begin to take your shirt off, and his hands quickly go to unhook your bra, stripping it off of you so he can see your tits. His eyes are solely on you as his lips inch closer to your nipples, and his tongue latches onto you.

He strips his shirt off placing it on the couch.

You whimper, biting your lip "Elias-" you lean closer to him as his lips encircle your breast. Stack shakes his head "Nah, baby, say my name".

"Daddy" you whimper as your nails dig into his neck.

You heard a low moan leave him, as his mouth was working on your right breast while your other nipple was busy being squeezed by his fingers. You shifted slightly, beginning to grind on him.

"God, I've missed you, baby," he moaned, as a string of saliva connected to his lip and to your nipple. He licks his lips. Your back arches, only wanting to lean into him as much as you could, as far as you could.

You take his chin in your hand, truly looking at him, and you smile, kissing him. He leans back as you melt into his touch, your bodies were melting together on the couch. You both have been aching for this.

Your hands are shaking as you pull at the strings of his sweatpants, as he grabbed your wrists shaking his head. "As bad as I can't wait for that, I need my mouth on you first" He stated, his mouth trailed up to your neck finding beautiful places to make marks on.

Before you can try to grind your hips again, Stacks kisses you, completely silencing any of your pleas, as he lifts you up and gently sits you on the couch, breaking your kiss. You quickly pull your shorts down, but Stack grabs your wrist as he sees your fingers looped onto your panties.

His eyes never left yours as he knelt before you, as if he were ready to give you everything. He peppered kisses on your knees, up to your thighs. His eyes weren't just loving or lustful, but they were determined…they—no, he was hungry.

He saw your soaked panties and kisses them, smelling the sweet musky scent of you, smiling to himself.

"Missed this smell, missed how you taste" he said.

You squirmed as your wet panties cling to your sticky mound "Please, do something, daddy!!" you whimpered.

He didn't take your panties off yet, no, he kissed you through your panties, and all you could do was watch as your hand found his head, caressing the back of it.

"Patience, baby" is all he whispered, but you swore he wasn't even talking to you; he was talking to your pussy.

He licked your panties that clung to your heat, your hand instinctively tighten on his shoulder as you shuddered a breath. His tongue was laid wide as he licked stripes all over your pussy.

Hearing your whimpering and seeing you squirm was good enough taunting for him as he then took your panties off for you, having the wet fabric slide down your ankles, holding them in his hand.

Your bare soaking pussy now in front of him, just glistening, so pretty.

"Please, been wanting you to get a taste all day" you pleaded. You knew you just had to rile him up at the exact moment so he would stop going go slow.

Why was he taking so long anyway? Didn't he want you?

He groans as the blood and heat rushes to his cock.

His mouth finds your clit, immediately causing you to hiss and your back to arch. He tasted your heat, your slick oozing into his mouth.

"Shhh.. baby, we ain't tryin wake him up, keep your voice down, okay ?" he spoke lowly, as he kissed your mound. "Can you do that for me, or try?"

You inhale deeply nodding, "I can try, nnghh". He barely gave you time to respond as his tongue lapped at you again.

 His tongue absolutely agonizing, as he lifts his head only a bit "That nigga got a taste of this?" he asked as his finger begins to apply pressure to your clit.

You whimper, trying to cover your mouth. He did say for you to keep your voice down, didn't he ? So why would you answer his question now?

His eyes bore into yours, his warm, comforting mouth now releasing you, causing you to shiver, feeling the cool breeze on your wet, sopping pussy. His energy completely shifted, and his eyes grew dark as he looked at you.

"I know you heard me." he reiterated.

His tongue began to glide against your folds, as he pulled your legs closer towards him, his nose started to hit your clit, panting wasn't what you were doing at this point, you were gasping for air as your hand pushed his head in deeper, your voice cried out as your hand snapped to cover it.

"mmmm-nghhh baby s-slow down" your hips began to jerk.

"Answer my question"

"H-He did" you admit as your eyes closed, causing Stack to pull back from your soaking pussy, and you to look down at him.

"Come here" Stack said pulling your hips down, so you two are now both on the floor and you pull his dick out of his sweatpants, he aligns your sopping pussy with his mouth, your wet mouth with his tip.

"You gonna forget his name tonight, I'll make sure of it" is all he said, as he spread your ass and his nose hitting your pussy. You can't help but moan and grind, staring at his now standing dick, he was hard, hard for you.

You drool on him before leaning down and wrapping your wet warm lips around his dick.

"All this for me?" He asked, and you can't help but nod your head, causing you to bob your head on him eagerly.

"Breathe, baby, breathe," he reminds you as his own mouth finds it was back to your pussy.

He was huge, but you've missed this, you missed having his body with yours, this is the void you've been trying to fill, all you wanted was him. Your hips never stop rolling on his face as you whimper on his dick, his hips snapping, causing you to choke a couple of times and hit the back of your throat.

His hands find their way on your waist, holding you steady and completely devouring you, causing you to gasp and moan at the feeling.

Your mouth releases his dick "fff-ucck, mmhm keep going baby please."

You stroke his dick, and unexpectedly you snap, feeling a release oozing from your pussy. You cum on his face, forcing your hips to jerk as you lift form is face a bit, seeing hims lick his lips you turn around and kiss him, tasting yourself on your own tongue.

Stack groans, "You taste as sweet as I remember. Come on, baby, I need to be inside you."

You whimper and nod, pulling away from him, and licking your lips as his back stays lying on the ground, and you straddle him, but he quickly swaps places with you, rolling you two so he is now on top of you.

As much as he loved seeing you on top, he wanted to give you everything.

His hand reaches for those soaked panties he had, wrapping it around his cock and stroking himself, and you watch him, only the pre cum getting on your panties.

"I need you, baby, gosh I've missed you," he said, hissing, lining his dick up into your tight hole.

Your hand wraps around the back of his neck, causing him to grab your throat, and you two sloppily kiss, making out, tongues fighting for dominance. Feeling and tasting yourself on his lips, he moves a bit closer to you.

You feel him, his tip sinking in slowly, as if he was taking his time to indulge in you, savoring how you feel wrapped around him, your soaked, gushy walls, sopping and crying just for him and only for him.

Your arms instantly wrapping around his neck, his hand moved your thighs, spreading you out, trying to dig deeper, you couldn't help but clench.

And all this time you were going on without him? Without your best friend, the man you love? You wonder how you made it this long anyway.

"Baby, you too tight, open up for me" He commanded, as his middle finger began to place itself on your clit and rub in a slow circular motion, making you jolt. He took his opportunity to thrust deeper, knocking the wind out of you.

As one hand was beside your head the other between your legs, messing with your clit.

"You so tight, baby, it's ok Daddy's back, i'm here, i'm right here" He whispered.

You couldn't help but whine, as your hand wraps around his wrist trying to slow down his painful yet pleasurable toying with your clit.

"Nah, baby, this is who you need, I'm right here," He said as he felt your hand wrapping around his wrist, causing him to intertwine his fingers with yours, placing your hand above your head. Now both of your hands are interlocked together.

"Missed you, missed you so much," He groaned as his hips didn't even want to stop. "No, no, it's ok, baby." "It's a lot taking a real man's dick, but you remember how to don't you?. His voice was somewhat taunting

You don't know if he was talking to you or her. But his hips moved if he had everything to prove, as if you were on the line.

"You're so big nggghh" your breath coming out as panting.

"You can take it, I know you can, just like you used to."

"Mmhmmm, you feel so good," you can't help but look at him.

His thrusts only picked up, becoming harder and more determined, with pure precision. You only grow tighter around him, his hand that was intertwined with yours soon released, slithering down your face to palm your throat in his grasp.

"Who you miss? Hmm? Say you missed Daddy's dick," he said as he leaned down his warm breath on your ear, tickling your neck.

His hand firm on your throat, it wasn't brutal, it was only light pressure, squeezing ever so lightly, just the way you liked it. He remembered.

You snap your hips up to meet his "I-hmph,"

He squeezed your throat just a little tighter as he felt your hips meet his.

"I missed your dick, baby."

The only sounds in the living room to be heard, was the slapping of skin, your moaning, ass rubbing against the soft carpet, but more importantly the wet sound coming from you pussy.

"Cmon pretty, i need you to- hah! try to stay quiet i need to hear something" he kissed your lips, his hips slowing down slightly.

"What?" you asked in a bit of confusion.

"You trust me?" He asks rather softly, catching his breath

Your eyebrows furrow as you choke on a moan. "Of course I do"

A smile appeared on his face, more like a mischevious grin as he gave a peck to your forehead.

His hand, which was wrapped around your throat, then covered your mouth, and all you could do was look at him and take it.

The palm of his hand covering your mouth, not harmfully—just silencing you.

"I love you, I need you to know that, and you tap me if I'm too rough, alright?"

All you did was nod, and that's when the thrusts began, oh, he fucked you, he fucked you like he hated you or something, as if he was trying to win a competition.

"Shhh, baby i can't hear her" he breathed.

Your muffled moans were dying by his hand, silencing you.

Schlick.

Your eyes widen, causing your breathing to become heavier.

He moaned at the sound "Thereeee, she is,"

Schlick

Your hands traveled making there way to your clit as you play with yourself only a little bit.

"Oh thaattt's it baby say it one more time for me, who is daddy?" He asked, but again he wasn't ask you to say it, he wanted to hear it. Hear it from her.

You took deep breathes as you felt the cum already pooling down your ass.

"Hmphh- Mmmm" was all could be heard from you.

"That's it C'mon baby talk to me" he commanded and so she did.

He was in a different state, he was commanding your attention and your pleasure, when and where to give it was all up to him.

He felt you, and seeing your eyes roll back and your body begin to shake, your sound muffled, as you gripped onto him like your life depended on it, circling your hips back to his.

"F--Fuckkk I think —I'm gonna cum, can I ?" before he can finish his sentence, you nod, both of your hips meeting one another's in pleasure.

His hips stilled, his abs clenching, as he panted catching his breath and removing his hand from your mouth.

"You okay? He asks carefully, as he pulls out slowly. Catching his breath.

You nod, feeling the plush cushion on your skin felt nice, the house was silent more of catching each other breath than anything. The soft hum of the air condition.

He grabs his sweatpants, putting them back on and heading over to the fridge grabbing water.

He hands you a bottle "Drink"

You feel the nice cool water bottle in your palms as you begin to drink it, just what you needed.

It truly felt surreal to be back in this house, with the man you’d tried so hard to erase from your heart.

Stack was sitting next to you, with his hand resting on your waist, his thumb tracing slow, thoughtful circles against your skin.

"Stay," he whispered, the word carrying more weight than a command. It was a plea. "Don't go back to that house tonight. Just... stay here. With me. With 'Mari."

You look towards the window. "Stack… I didn't even bring any clothes, shit I wasn't even supposed to be here. I only have the clothes I came in with."

Stack has a small smile appear on his face after he takes a sip of water. "You know I still have some of your clothes in the room in a box", he said, a bit sheepishly, as if he didn't just rearrange your organs. "I don't know what it's got in there, but there is definitely some leggings, some sweatpants, and a hoodie."

Stack watched your face, and he could clearly see all the wheels turning in your brain.

"Listen to me, I ain't rushing you, but i'm not gonna act like i don't miss you or love you. That is clear, it's gonna work, cause imma make it work," he said reassuringly "It ain't gonna be the same as it use to be, cause I ain't the same man and imma prove it to you and 'Mari no matter how long it takes."

He looked at you "We ain't gotta tell him everything, we just gon' tell that Mommy stayed over cause we missed each other, we can take it slow, I don't have any problems with that. But I ain't letting work or anybody come between what we got. I want my family back. I want you back.

You looked at his hand interwined with yours "Are you sure this time?"

Stack nodded.

"And you promise?" you ask.

"Promise, we'll be slow, I ain't losing my family again". Stack said reassuring.

mika's notes .ᐟ.ᐟ: ummmm yeah i actually loved the way this turned out, i might revised the smut, but i hope you all enjoy, i think this might be the longest fic to date

taglist: @liliacsdelight @pyraomen @thebumblebeesworld @blue4everrsworld @nayys-world @d1gitalb4rbie @jellywrites1218 @imqueenmelanin @lizbehave @beas-mind @cravemyhoney @moundbayou @krys4h @babewhothehellknows @karma-reader @nanamiismine @blackbarb1e @h3avenlyglory @mjblovergirl @plan3tch1ld @blcknebula @phxnomxnal @thegetou @bananajoeclone @og-goddesstrill @sintizc @xeebop @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @dealore @shereeluvssinners @thatbitchatesblog @kittyken006 @wrestlingbaby @yourstru1y444 @krys4h @lovergirlcinema @whimsihoe @underated345-blog @notapradagurl @chromexbarbie

if you’d like to be added to taglist please click A NAME FOR THE ORDER .ᐟ.ᐟ

all rights reserved © aizawash0e. all fanfics made here are mine, do not copy, translate, or modify in any way repost as yours. do not feed my work to AI as well.

[biologicalstepfather]

If you know who Emmett Till is please reblog.

I’m trying to prove a point to my dad.

[sageispunk]

main masterlist

updated: 3/9/25 | ⭐️ smut | 🐚 fluff | 🥀 angst | 🖤 dark |

✦ the bear (hulu)

'might be' - Richie Jerimovich x f!reader ⭐️

The first time you meet 🍃 dealer Richie.

'he finds out ur a squirter' - Richie Jerimovich x reader ⭐️

Passionate missionary with bf Richie talking you through it.

'looking ahead' - Richie Jerimovich x reader ⭐️

Richie can't help but to watch. Even if you didn't mean to leave your door open. (dubcon)

breeding kink drabble - Richie Jerimovich x reader ⭐️

Richie can't wait until you're finally knocked up with his baby.

✦ they cloned tyrone

'drown in it' - Fontaine x black!reader ⭐️

He makes you squirt on his face. Happily.

NSFW alphabet - Fontaine x black! reader ⭐️

The ABCs of Fontaine's love.

'eyes on me' - Fontaine x black! reader ⭐️ (Ao3)

You're a little too interested in Fontaine's weapons.

✦ rebel ridge (2024)

'anointed' - Terry Richmond x black!reader ⭐️

When he eats you through the panties.

'red lipstick' - maintenance man!Terry Richmond x black!OC ⭐️

Don't let your husband stop you from finding the love of your life...

✦ wwe

'pretty like u' - Jeff Hardy x black!reader ⭐️

A little lipstick never hurt anyone...

'told you so' - Jey Uso x black!OC Ravyn ⭐️

[infidelity, teasing, crazy dirty talk, rough sex]

'belongs to another' - Jimmy Uso x black!reader ⭐️🐚🥀

[friends with benefits, infidelity, weed use]

untitled - Jey Uso x black!reader ⭐️

[alcohol use, groping, teasing]

✦ triple frontier

‘too divine’ - Frankie Morales x f!reader ⭐️

Riding Frankie after a long night out.

'homecoming' pt. 1 - Santi Garcia x reader x Frankie Morales ⭐️🥀

Santi's back and wants your forgiveness.

✦ marvel

'just one more' - Matt Murdock x f!reader ⭐️

Matthew is out of town but you still need him. (Ktober prompt: phone sex)

'wriggle' - Erik Stevens x black!reader ⭐️🐚

[roommates, teasing, tickling kink]

✦ the last of us (hbo)

'what u need' - Joel Miller x f!reader ⭐️

Teasing Joel underneath a table in a bar sometimes leads to getting ruined on the side of the road.

'melting' - Joel Miller x f!reader ⭐️

Joel wants to try something new. (Ktober prompt: temperature play)

'sticky' - Joel Miller x f!reader ⭐️

Joel wants to learn. So you let him. (Ktober prompt: squirting + masturbation)

'inside'- Joel Miller x mistress ⭐️🥀 (Ao3)

When the cat's away, the mice will play.

✦ how high (2001)

'what's it gonna be?' - Silas x black!reader ⭐️🐚

When two friends finally get a night alone...

'as nature intended' - Silas x black!reader ⭐️🐚

[weed use, hairy coochie praise, breeding kink mention]

✦ formula 1

'foolish' - Lewis Hamilton x black!reader ⭐️🥀

Cause I can't seem to break away from your foolish love...

✦ misc.

'control' - Max Phillips x f!reader ⭐️

Drinking with your boss goes differently than you'd planned. (Ktober prompt: sex pollen, thigh-riding, forced orgasm)

'4/20' - Terrance Coin x black!reader ⭐️🐚

[weed use, neighbors to lovers, age gap]

'sweet dreams' - Gustavo Fring x reader ⭐️🖤 (Ao3)

When Mr. Fring finally gets his hands on you...

'work it out' - Method Man x black!reader ⭐️

An impromptu lunch date gone too long...

✦ series & AUs

'the first taste' - vamp!Lewis Hamilton x black!reader ⭐️🐚🥀🖤

What do you do when one night just isn't enough?

'all the way down' - Clifford Smith x black!reader ⭐️🐚🥀

When a night of spontaneity spirals into a full-blown affair out of your control.

'same ol' mistakes' - Jordan x reader x Sophie ⭐️🐚🥀

When they love you more than they hate each other...

✦ OCs & Unnamed characters

'crush' - blackfem!OCs x black!OCs⭐️🐚🥀

Oneshot series based on each song of Ravyn Lenae's Crush EP.

'rise n shine' - blackfemme!reader x blackfemme!OC⭐️

Cute lil something about waking up with a pretty girl...

i do not give permission for anyone to copy, translate, or repost any of my works. 18+ ONLY -- i am not responsible for the content you consume.

[megamindsecretlair]

The Secret Tyrone Files

Do not copy or repost my work. Reblogs are encouraged. Do not use my work to train AI. 18+ only. Minors do not interact.

Tyrone/Fontaine x Black!reader Fics

Sunshine - use of N-word.

Sit Back and Unwind

Substance

Sunday - use of N-word

Sprung - use of N-word

Run it Back

Stay With Me - Use of n-word

Worship - use of n-word

Have Mercy - use of n-word

Just One Taste - heavy use of n-word

A Seduction at Midnight

A Seduction at Midnight Prequel

Pour Into Me - Parts 1 and 2

Let Me Hold You

Midnight Sin - Vampire Tyrone series

Break Me - multiple uses of n-word

If You Please - Fontaine

Pretty (Pretty) Boy

With This Sin

Wrong For It - Follower Celebration fic

Blackbird - Fontaine, use of n-word

BedRock - Tyrone and Fontaine, use of n-word

You Already Know

It's Your Show

Ain't No Sunshine - heed warnings

[atinystaypixie]

I’m legit so tired of bitches complaining about black!reader. Tfym all black!reader does is party, smoke, and strip? So many fics of black!reader being a scholar, a bimbo, ex-wife, wifey, wifey to girlfriend, girlfriend to ex girlfriend, tutor, needing a tutor, a baker- i mean the list goes on AND THESE ARE ALL FICS THAT HAVE RECENTLY BEEN RELEASED! Mind you these types of fics have also been released on black!reader tumblr for YEARS! I’ve been on this account for a few years now and black!reader is never just some random ignorant, ass shaking bitch. Even when shaking ass, all of these girlies put in so much work to give her personality, a backstory, and emotions. Not only have I seen one black fic writer write a range of black!reader, I’ve seen MULTIPLE black writers on here write a range of black!reader. It’s not just a matter of you not finding the right account, it’s a matter of you just ignoring the damn fics and not looking for them. DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE FUCKING SINNERS FICS BECAUSE HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT BLACK WRITERS HAVE DONE FOR BLACK!READER WITH SMOKE AND STACK?! Yea stop playing these girlies like that aint put hella time, energy, and thought into these fucking works that they do FOR FREE! Even if they want to only write black!reader as “ghetto” and as someone who shakes ass THEY HAVE EVERY FUCKING RIGHT TO DO WHAT THEY FUCK THEY WANT! If you want something different WRITE IT YOUR FUCKING SELF! Everyone does this shit for FREE and for the damn love of the game. Black women can’t even create in peace without random bitches getting on their ass? Can Black women please just be left the fuck alone ESPECIALLY by their OWN FUCKING PEOPLE?! Damn yall pmo.

To every Black fic writer out there that’s creating for us to enjoy, please continue unapologetically. Please let black!reader shake ass, get degrees, get married, have kids, get divorced. I’ve seen too many black writers leave this platform and deal with constant harassment and negativity. I love you and all of us who are enjoying yout content loves you too!

[all444glo]

✦ KISSLAND ✦

1:2

Warnings: Age gap dynamics, sugar baby/sugar daddy themes, mild cursing, slow-burn tension, hints at Dom/brat dynamic forming.

synopsis~ When you’re down on your luck, you’re desperate to do anything to get back on your feet. Even if that means sneaking around with everyone’s favorite basketball player.

Word count: ~4,200+ words

“Ballin' ain't an issue for me, I'll make a hundred stacks right back next week”

You were in trouble. Deep, suffocating, nightmare financial trouble. You fell into one of those pyramid schemes and found your bank account in the negative thousands. As a result your parents officially cut you off.

They claimed they had spoiled you too much and it was time for them to spend their money on just them. You couldn’t cry too much, you were incredibly well taken care of, your tuition was paid for, you still had your car, they paid for your apartment deposit. Not to mention they left a good sum in your savings but that wasn’t even accessible till your 22nd birthday. In theory you were set up but in practice not so much. Going from living without worry as a college student to basically being the average broke college student shook you to the core.

On the bright side you were halfway done with college: honors program, fantastic GPA, sorority girl — but trying to fill out scholarship applications right in the middle of the semester and expecting something worthwhile? Delusion.

Full rides were just too hard to find not to mention rent, food, and clothes.

The school loved you. Professors adored you. But none of that love translated into any material items. Tuition for a double major would eat through your savings like fire, if you had access to it. Loans scared you half to death and deadlines loomed.

You’d think you’d get a job, but working just wasn’t for you. Plus, your experiences weren’t exactly the best, to say the least. Multiple strings of fast food jobs, break downs in retail, you’d done it all. You were convinced you wouldn’t be satisfied till you had your “big girl job”. The long hours at some campus café or retail store, grinding for just above minimum wage, never felt worth it.

So you started looking for other arrangements. Findom felt too sad, content was just too much work, so you settled on being a sugar baby.

Something you knew almost nothing about, but your roommate Lia always seemed to have a handle on it. You’d seen the gifts, the dinners, the mysterious deposits. But asking her felt awkward. You didn’t even know how to begin.

“Yo, Li,” you muttered from across the room one night, laptop open but untouched. Lia shifted in her bed, eyes rolling.

“What?” she asked flatly, thumbs still tapping at her phone.

“I, uh… I need to make some extra money.”

She sat up, now fully interested. “Oh, are we finally having this conversation?”

You blinked. “I mean, maybe. How do you even… start?”

She sighed like it was obvious. “Make a profile on twitter. Maybe discord too. and if they ask too many questions, block ‘em.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Because in a way it is, you just gotta be P about it.” She tossed a pillow at your head; you dodged it barely. “Don’t send nudes or fuck right away and you’ll be fine. If you wanna do meets, stay protected” she made a gun motion with her hands.

You hesitated, then blurted out, “If you have all this money from your daddies—” you cringed at your own words— “why do you still live here with me and not in your own shit?”

Lia shrugged. “Why not ” She flopped back down, scrolling again.

After she drifted off to sleep, you did what she said. Profile on one site. Then another. Messages rolled in within seconds, but none of them were interesting. Old, white, creepy. You scrolled and scrolled until a request popped up on your screen.

@helak.11

The profile pic was beyond blurry all you could see was a man in a hoodie. You frowned, from what you could see he was a bit too young to be a sugar daddy. You figured it was a scam but curiosity won, you liked trolling them anyways.

You clicked accept.

hey gorgeous, hry queen?

You stared at the message. Damn, he was quick.

Hii, i’m good just tired from class nd what not you? you typed back, instantly regretting it.

You clicked his profile again. No full name, but something about his face tugged at you. You couldn’t place it right away. He had plenty of gym pictures, off guards, anything that didn’t show his face. ‘probably has a wife’ you thought to yourself, shrugging it off.

he replied almost immediately.

All is well i can’t complain, doing my usual workouts

but u seem like you’re up late too lil lady Couldn’t sleep?

You bit your lip, typing back. Yeah. College and stress go hand in hand

What are you studying?

And just like that, the conversation stretched. From majors to music to food, then back to money. You were careful and guarded, but he had this calm way of talking that didn’t feel like the usual scams you heard of. he didn’t push for anything , didn’t mention much at first. He just… talked.

Hours slipped by. Midnight became two, then four. By sunrise, you’d been messaging for nearly six hours straight.

Somewhere between playlists and favorite cities, he finally asked, What do you actually want from this?

You hesitated. Your fingers hovered. Honestly? I don’t even know. I’m new to this.

Good, he typed. So am I.

That made you blink. You?

Yeah. I’m not looking for someone to… you know. Just… someone who gets it.

Someone who’s cool with my schedule, me traveling, and my privacy.

You stared at his words. Something about the privacy line stuck out. He definitely had to be married.

You’re not married are you? you typed half-joking.

Not at all. not my thing 😂

you half smiled and drifted off to sleep, your phone still warm in your hand.

By noon, you woke up groggy. Your phone buzzed with a new message.

lunch today? Somewhere nice. i know u tired of that dining hall food

Your stomach flipped, things were moving a bit faster than you expected. You weren’t exactly prepared quite yet, sure texting was easy. But you weren’t sure if it’d translate to real life.

You don’t even know what I look like in person.

I’m going to have to see you irl eventually.

I like your vibe. You like mine, let’s just be grown and move forward.

I’ll send you a band if you’re nervous.

He sent a smile emoji, nothing else. You tried to calm your anxiety, the thoughts of you embarrassing yourself and him potentially being a murderer ran through your mind. You had to remind yourself that this is exactly what you signed up for. Besides it was just lunch.

Suddenly your apple cash balance increased in a way you’d never seen before even from your parents.

You typed back. Okay i’ll c u at 2:30 :)

okay love i’ll be in a brown hoodie

The restaurant was nicer than anywhere you’d been in months. High ceilings, muted lighting, velvet booths. You walked in, clutching your purse tighter than usual.

And then you saw him in a really cute brown hoodie you knew you’d steal. You stared for a bit as you got closer, he wasn’t just anybody he was Kyrie Irving. The man plastered on billboards, in the airport, sneaker commercials, and your exes favorite basketball player.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You didn’t wanna seem freaked out but this wasn’t something little to you. ‘I’d rather him be married than a fucking nba player.’ Thoughts of your name plastered on blogs, and twitter made you almost gag.

Maybe he just really is lonely?You thought as you made your way over to him, grasping for some slither of optimism.

Kyrie stood when you approached. “Hey beautiful,” he said, voice low and smooth.

You swallowed. “Hey...”

He gestured for you to sit. The air between you hummed with nerves. His fingers rapped on the table awkwardly, he almost seemed just as nervous as you.

“I didn’t want to do this online,” he said, leaning slightly forward. “I like real conversations.”

“That’s… fair.” You adjusted your napkin, trying to keep your cool.

He smiled faintly. “You recognize me?”

“Kind of hard not to, unless I lived under a rock”

“Not a fan?”

“I mean, I know who you are,” you said carefully. “I’m just not gonna freak out about it.”

“Good,” he said softly, almost relieved “Do you even know what team I play for?”

You laughed, something in you started to relax. “Boy— we here in Dallas ain’t we?”

“I mean some people don’t know ball at all, i’m just trying see how much you know” He laughed, his eyes locking in with yours as his laughter died down.

A waiter approached, clearly flustered, and took your orders. Kyrie ordered for you too, but asked first, casual.

“So,” he said finally. “Here’s the deal, I’m not here to buy anyone. I’m not here to rush you. I just… I’m busy. Lonely sometimes. I want someone around who’s cool with it being on my terms. But it’s still about you.”

You blinked at him. “That’s… honest.”

He slid a discreet folder across the table. “Basic contract. Just privacy, loyalty, some boundaries. Of course an NDA. Look it over. No pressure.”

You flipped through it. It wasn’t insane. No sex clause. No weird rules. Just clear lines. You were thoroughly surprised, you were sure athletes were into way weirder shit. You could’ve sworn you saw tweets about all of them being porn addicts.

“And the money?” you asked quietly, attempting to be assertive”

“Don’t let a man throw out numbers first, you gotta learn how to play the game my love”he said, a tiny smile. “You tell me what you need.”

That floored you. You’d expected some cliché pitch. Instead he was patient.

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted. “I wasn’t expecting to even get this far.”

He nodded. “Me neither, start small then. We can figure it out as we go. I’ve never done this before either”

You exhaled slowly. The tension eased more and more.

He leaned back, finally looking at you fully. “You’re even prettier in person,” he said, voice low.

Your cheeks heated. “You’re… taller in person.”

He laughed soft and warm. The table between you felt a little less like a negotiation and a little more like a first date.

As lunch went on, it wasn’t strictly business. He asked about your classes, your hometown, your sorority. He talked about traveling, about how quiet hotel rooms felt after games. His tone was calm but laced with something heavier, a loneliness he never outright said but you could feel.

By the time dessert came, you weren’t even thinking about the money anymore. You were just…talking.

He finally said, “I’ll transfer something to help with tuition. Nothing crazy. Just so you can breathe. We’ll talk numbers later.”

Your heart thudded. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to. I got all this wealth and if I can help you out and fix my loneliness issue…that’s good with me.”

He handed you a black Amex card. Your jaw almost dropped, the only other man doing anything close was your father. The familiar weight of it in your hand felt heavier than it should’ve.

“I’ve got to head to practice,” he said, standing. “But get whatever you want today. I’ll call you tonight?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He leaned down, brushed a kiss against your cheek. The room seemed to watch but he didn’t care. He left like a quiet storm, pulling a hoodie up, slipping out the back.

You sat there, phone buzzing with a notification: a modest deposit. Enough to cover a month’s rent and books,

You looked at the card again, heart racing. You had no idea what you were stepping into.

[all444glo]

✦ KISSLAND ✦

1

Warnings: Age gap dynamics, sugar baby/sugar daddy themes, mild cursing, slow-burn tension, hints at Dom/brat dynamic forming.

synopsis~ When you’re down on your luck, you’re desperate to do anything to get back on your feet. Even if that means sneaking around with everyone’s favorite basketball player.

Word count: ~4,200+ words

“Ballin' ain't an issue for me, I'll make a hundred stacks right back next week”

You sat courtside slightly over stimulated but infatuated. You’d seen Kyrie in action on TV of course, but watching him rip around the court in real life— it was almost hypnotic. He’d asked you to come to a game and who were you to say no? Part of you did it for the aesthetic but something about kyries athleticism and physicality hooked you, maybe even turned you on. 

Part of you felt guilty for it. Yes— in technical terms you all had a bdsm relationship but you felt your attraction somehow perverted things. The more you watched him on that court, the sweat dripping down his body, the small glances he’d shoot to you. The average woman would swoon— who wouldn’t when faced with the constant financial validation of a NBA player?

But still, that didn’t mean blur the lines.

You sipped on the drink you had, dabbing the light sweat that was budding from your forehead from the lights of the arena. It was overwhelmingly hot, between the intensity of the game, kyries glances at you, and the overbearing feeling of being watched—your body was on fire. 

The buzzer sounded and the arena erupted. You were on your feet before you even realized it, clapping with the crowd, adrenaline rushing through you like you’d been the one sprinting up and down the court. Kyrie slowed only when it was over, hands on his hips, chest heaving as he laughed with his teammates. When he finally looked up and found you, the look he gave was warm almost comforting. You were proud, of course Dallas was your hometown so the pride came naturally but you were specifically proud of Kyrie. It warmed you to see him do well and be happy. 

You sat back down, suddenly aware of how tight your dress felt against your skin, how your pulse was still racing. The drink in your hand had melted down to ice, the condensation slick against your fingers. Around you, people were already moving. A member of the team staff leaned in to say something you didn’t fully catch, but the message was clear enough: wait. Kyrie would come get you.

You waited.

You watched as eyes slowly turned to you with an obvious curiosity. Only people left were begging fans, celebrities, and the WAGS. People just couldn’t place where you fit in, and of course was dying to know. It made you beyond nervous, if people found out you alls arrangements sure he’d be fine but you’d be over with. And the thought of that made you very nervous.

The arena lights dimmed slightly as the post-game routine kicked in. You watched as he moved through interviews, quick hugs, and kids leaning over the tunnel railing hoping for attention. You watched Kyrie move through it all with ease. You wondered if he ever felt as anxious as you felt right now— or ever. Kyrie had a naturally flow to him, he was exactly who he thought he was if not 10 times more. That made you even more attracted to him but even more so— scared.

When he finally peeled away and came toward you, you stood instinctively, smoothing your dress like you hadn’t been sitting perfectly still for the last ten minutes.

“Hey,” he said quietly, like the world wasn’t screaming around you.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice softer than you meant it to be.

He looked you over—analyzing how the tiny strapless bodycon dress hugged your curves. Taking a mental note of the cleavage bursting from the front. You looked damn good, and from the way he was looking at you…you knew it. “You good ma?”

You nodded. “Yeah. You did really well.”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “It’s just my job Y/N, I coulda did better.”

“You did better than I could and that’s what matters”

He laughed under his breath, then gestured toward the tunnel. “Come on. Let’s get you outta here.”

Security cleared the way, and suddenly you were walking beside him, the noise fading as the concrete walls swallowed it. The air back here was cooler, the lighting harsher, but it grounded you. Kyrie’s arm brushed yours once, twice—never fully touching, but close enough that you felt it.

That was the line, you reminded yourself.

The locker room door shut behind him, and you were guided into a quieter lounge area with a couple of other people—assistants, a teammate’s partner, someone scrolling on their phone. You perched on the edge of a couch, replaying the game in your head. The way he moved. The confidence. The discipline. It wasn’t just attraction—it was admiration, and that felt more dangerous somehow.

When he came back out, hair damp, hoodie pulled on over his shoulders, the shift was immediate. Less athlete, more human. He sat beside you, close enough that your knees almost touched.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“Starving even.”

“Good. We can go to dinner.”

The car ride was quiet in a comfortable way. City lights streaked past the tinted windows, and the hum of traffic filled the space between you. Kyrie sat across from you, long legs stretched out, phone in his hand but not really paying attention to it. Every so often, his eyes flicked up to you, then away again.

You wondered if he felt it too—that subtle shift, the energy humming just under the surface.

Dinner was tucked away in a place that felt deliberately low-key. Dim lighting, dark wood, the kind of restaurant where people minded their business because they were either too important or pretending to be. You slid into the booth across from him, the leather cool against your skin.

“How was the game— from your POV I mean” you asked as you skimmed the menu. 

“Chemistry was really good, defense was questionable as fuck but we pulled through” Kyrie said with a smile 

“Okayy that’s tea, I’m glad it went well. I hate when y’all lose”

“Trust we do too”

Wine appeared without much discussion. You told yourself one glass was fine. Two, maybe. You weren’t driving.

For the rest of dinner the conversation flowed easily—about the game, about travel, about school, about nothing at all. He asked questions and actually waited for your answers. For him to be a sugar daddy he was more interested than most men you dated.

By the second glass, your shoulders had loosened. The heat from earlier had settled into something softer, heavier. You caught yourself watching his hands as he talked—how they moved, expressive but controlled. You wondered what they were capable of, then immediately shut that thought down.

He noticed the way you went quiet, head tilted slightly as you stared at your glass.

“You okay?” he asked again, like it was his favorite question.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just tired.”

He nodded, like he understood more than you were saying. “We can head out whenever you want.”

You didn’t say you wanted to stay. You didn’t say you wanted to leave. Instead, you finished your wine.

The car took you back to his place almost on autopilot. You told yourself it was practical—it was late, it was closer, you could sober up before heading home. You’d done this before. Sat on his couch. Talked. Watched something you didn’t really pay attention to.

Nothing had happened before.

His place was quiet, lights low. He kicked off his shoes, gestured for you to do the same. You padded in, the familiar space somehow different tonight.

You sank into the couch, legs tucked under you, and he handed you a glass of water without being asked.

“Drink up mama,” he said.

You did.

The intensity of the win was still buzzing under your skin, the wine making you braver than usual. You leaned back, head tipping against the cushion, and looked at him through half-lidded eyes.

“You know,” you said, voice light, “you were really feeling yourself tonight.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Was I?”

“Mhm. Courtside view doesn’t lie.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Careful.”

That should’ve been your cue to rein it in. Instead, you shifted closer, close enough that your knee brushed his thigh. The contact was brief, almost accidental—but not really.

The room went quiet in a way that felt loud.

Kyrie’s gaze dropped to where you were touching, then back up to your face. He didn’t move away, but he didn’t lean in either. He set his glass down slowly, deliberately.

“Hey,” he said, low. Calm. “Nah.”

The word landed heavier than you expected.

You pulled back immediately, heat flooding your face. “I—sorry. I didn’t mean—”

He shook his head, gentle. “I know what you meant,but we’re not doing that.”

You swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. You’re right.”

He leaned back, giving you space, but his voice stayed steady. “You’re a little tipsy. Big night. A lot of energy. That’s all.”

You were beyond embarrassed, no man had ever shot you down this bad. You couldn’t have misread the signals this bad. Your stomach churned, you had to come up with some crazy excuse to get out after that. 

After a beat, he added, “You still good to hang out?”

You met his eyes. “Yeah. I am.”

“Good.”

He picked up the remote, turned something on low in the background. The tension didn’t vanish, you watched as he calmly sat. And all the while you nearly felt like dying. Was he not attracted to you? Was something just not right with you? The show on the TV droned on, something you’d normally ignore completely. You were hyperaware of everything instead: the space between you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his knee angled just slightly toward yours now.

Kyrie muted the TV.

The click felt loud.

“Was I too harsh earlier?” he asked again, biting his lip slightly flustered.

You nodded. “Well I wouldn’t have exactly did what you did, but I get it.”

He studied you longer than necessary, his eyes steady and unreadable. He turned fully toward you, shifting the mood completely. One arm draped along the back of the couch, close but not touching. Boxing you in without actually doing it.

“That look,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “What look?”

“The one you been giving me all night.” He paused. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

Your pulse spiked. “Maybe you’re projecting.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Maybe.”

Silence filled the room as both of you tried to read each other’s faces whilst also putting on you alls best poker face. 

“You came out tonight looking like that,” he continued, “sat courtside, watched me work, then drank half a bottle of wine like you didn’t know exactly what it’d do to you.”

Your breath caught. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

“It’s exactly what I wanted but—“

Kyrie placed a hand on your thigh dragging it slowly down to your knee to rest. You just looked at it, then back at him.

“See,” he murmured, “that look like you wanna touch me…”

“And yet you’re the one touching me,” you pointed out.

He hummed. “Yeah. I am.”

His thumb brushed your knee softly stroking it, you hadn’t had this much physical intimacy in eons. Your core was starting to beg for more, and you prayed she would get what she was asking for.

Your voice came out softer. “So why are you doing it?”

“Because I want to,” Then, quieter, “And because I know when to stop.”

Your chest tightened at that, he was such a tease.

He leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath, smell the faint mix of soap and something earthy underneath. His forehead rested briefly against yours.

“Tell me to chill,” he said. “And I will.”

You swallowed. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I still might,” he replied  “Tonight ain’t about that”

His lips brushed your cheek. Barely there. A near-kiss that felt more intimate than anything else could’ve.

“Kyrie…” you exhaled shakily, beyond irritated with him. This game of cat and mouse you had going on was sexually frustrating.

“I know.” His hand stilled on your knee. “I know…”

He pulled back first, hand dropping away like it took effort. He leaned into the opposite end of the couch, creating space on purpose.

“You’re staying a bit,” he said, not asking. “You can crash if you want. Guest room’s made up.”

You nodded, emotions tangled: want, frustration, respect all twisted together. “Okay.”

He unmuted the TV, volume low, normalcy returning in pieces. After a minute, he glanced at you again.

“You did look good as fuck mama,” he added, voice lighter now, “I coulda took you down right then and there.”

You huffed a small laugh. “Oh please, quit it with the pumpfaking”

“You know me so well,” he chuckled.

You soon disappeared to the guest room, slipping into a shirt of his and falling asleep. In the master bedroom was Kyrie— stroking himself to the thought of you. How the dress you wore barely covered your ass, how the thigh high boots perfectly cuffed everything accentuating you even more. Good God he needed you bad, but he needed discipline even more. And you? You would make all of that collapse, he knew he would devote himself to you if he tasted you. Hell— he already kind of was devoted to you and he hadn’t even kissed you. 

You were the typical dangerous young spoiled brat that most men like Kyrie were warned to stay away from. 

But he just couldn’t get enough.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Erik Killmonger Masterlist

Series/Multiple part fics:

Nasty College Erik

one

two

three

four

five

Crazy Erik Series

one

two

three

four

five

Office Bae Erik Series

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

Rapper Erik Series

one

two

three

four

Daddy Dom Erik and His Princess

one

two

three

Sugar Daddy Erik Series

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

eight

Pornstar Erik Series

one

two

three

Incubus Erik Series

one

two

three

Couples Getaway/Breakaway Series

one

two

three

flashback one

four

five

flashback two

six

headcannon

seven

eight

nine

ten

Fae and Vampire Erik Series

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

Species: Prototype Series:

one

Mirror Mirror Series:

one

two

three

prequel

four

Neighbors to Lovers Series:

one

two

three

four

HBCU Confession Series:

one

two

three

four

A Night Forgotten Series:

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

Say My Name Series:

one

two

three

four

five

six

Kinktober/Spooky SZN Fics:

Gamer Erik humiliates his girl (SpookySZN)

The Dancer In The Window (Halloween Smut Challenge)

Halloween Roleplay with Erik

Species: Prototype (Alien Erik)

Rise Of The Lycan (Lycan Erik)

Soulmate (Werewolf Erik Imprinting)

When The Wolfbane Blooms (Red Riding Hood Inspired)

Don't Look Under The Bed ONE

Don't Look Under The Bed TWO

The Oakland Ghostface

[cesanovaaaa]

Hey Freaks! I’ve been in the lab 🧪 But we have some choices to make tonight! 💞

~

berry 🍓- Smoke Moore x reader!

°˖➴ Smoke finds himself smitten by a young women who happens to be the daughter of a man who owes him money. Lines get crossed and blurred as he must decide if he’s being played or doing the playing.

~

Twinless 🪬 - Smoke Moore x reader x Stack Moore

°˖➴ Reader is depressed after the death of her twin sister while also feeling guilty that it’s her fault. After months of feeling trapped in her own reflection, one night makes her feel alive again. She’ll stop at nothing to to feel this way again but it seems like tragedy follows her everywhere she goes. While “grieving” again she meets a familiar face and that alive feeling returns. But what goes up must come down, right?

Which one should drop tomorrow night (01/30)? 🫧

berry 🍓

Twinless 🪬

Voting ended onJan 31

[cesanovaaaa]

i'm dropping this week, i been going through it 🥲🥲

[jemgirl86]

Delroy Lindo, Michael B. Jordan, and every other Black person in attendance should’ve been apologized to during the show. The apology needed to be as loud and as public as the offense.

[cesanovaaaa]

dude shouldn't be apologizing for having tourette's, he should be apologizing for not taking his medication, he should be apologizing for the feeling that was caused from the words that came out his mouth, he should be apologizing for embarrassing 2 black men during an important moment in their careers.

all i'm saying is...normal people apologize when they don't mean something or had no malice intent! this feels orchestrated! like why would you not take your medication when you know you are going to an award ceremony ?!!?! CANT TRICK ME, COLONIZER!

[litlforestfellow]

‧₊𓂃౨ৎ His Everything

word count: 3.1k

pairing: 80s big baller!stack moore x reader

warnings: adult content, semi-public, unprotected p in v, creampie, breeding kink, ownership kink, reader is a brat, dirty talk, daddy kink, rough sex, one instance of thigh slapping, reader is afab, age gap (not explicitly mentioned but it was in mind as i wrote) stack’s lowkey an ass, use of n word, pet names like little girl, slut, whore and honey used

summary: you and stack have been seeing each other for a while, but you want more, you want something real. you want stack to claim you. and, this valentine’s day, you’re gonna make that happen.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| you’re the first, my last, my everything 🍧 barry white

Club Juke was drowning in Valentine's Day excess on February 14, 1986. Red satin draped every VIP booth like spilled blood, heart-shaped balloons floated against the mirrored ceilings, and the DJ had switched the entire set to a sultry holiday rotation: Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing” bleeding into “I Want Your Sex” by George Michael, then slowing down to Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know” for the couples grinding chest-to-chest under the pink strobes.

Red confetti rained from the rafters every thirty minutes, sticking to sweat-damp skin and glittering in hair. The bar had swapped out regular flutes for rose-tinted champagne glasses, and every table held a single long-stemmed red rose in a black vase. Even the sharks gliding beneath the glass dance floor looked romantic in the crimson lighting.

Stack’s usual booth in the upper mezzanine was the best in the house. Curved black leather, low table cluttered with ice buckets sweating around bottles of Dom Pérignon Rosé and Rémy XO, a crystal ashtray already holding two crushed blunts.

He sat sprawled, legs wide in tailored black slacks, silk shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest so his heavy gold chains caught every flash of light. His eyes never left the main floor.

You were posted at the bar rail directly below the mezzanine overhang, a perfect sight line for him, coincidentally. He could see your gold lamé mini dress, a pretty number he bought last week, shimmering under the pink and red lights, so short every time you shifted your weight the hem rode up another dangerous inch, your fresh box braids swinging loose, gold hoops glinting, lips painted a glossy Valentine’s red that matched the roses everywhere.

You’d been working the bar for the better part of an hour, turning the Juke into your own personal stage. It's Valentine's day, love is in the air, and you still don't officially have a man to celebrate with. You've been with Stack for a little over a year now, and you're tired of being unclaimed. You want people to see you and think Ain't that Stack's girl? So, you have a plan. You're going to make Stack claim you, no matter what it takes. The nice men here in this lovely establishment should be the perfect pawns to help you.

Unfortunately, most of the guys who've come up to you so far haven't been good enough. They're small fish, minor street runners that'll be the first to go should the spot get blown up. Nothing Stack would take too serious.

That is, until a tall, light skin nigga with dreads came up to you, his gold teeth flashing as he grinned. You recognised him as one of Smoke's, actually, from before he retired to be with Annie, handing everything on over to stack. The light skin—V, he tells you—leaned in to order you a flute of the pink champagne the bartender was pouring for every woman who looked single. His hand brushed your lower back to "keep you steady, girl. You look real uneven on them heels” while the bottle was being opened. You laughed, head tilted back, hand resting on his forearm for a beat longer than necessary, then let him pour for you, clinking glasses while you leaned closer so he could smell your Opium perfume.

Then the shorter one joined. He was new around here. Not a baller at all, in any way. He had just bought a gym a couple of blocks over, in fact. He had Cuban link hanging heavy on his neck, Rolex catching every strobe flash. He bought the bottle outright, poured you another, whispered something in your ear that made you smirk and playfully tug his chain. You swayed between them to the beat of “Let’s Get It On,” hips rolling slow, back arched just enough to make the lamé dress ride higher. Let the tall one’s fingers graze your waist again when he “helped” you turn, and laughed louder than the music required.

Every move was for the mezzanine booth above. You knew Stack was watching. You felt the weight of his stare like a hand on your throat.

The shorter one moves closer to you, suddenly, his hands settling low on your waist. You felt it before you fully processed it: his breath brushing your cheek, his head tilting, his eyes dropping to your lips. Oh, boy, he really thought he had you. He leaned in, slow but certain, like you were a sure thing. Like the man who owns you, the most dangerous man in town, wasn't watching his every move.

You jerk your head back just enough to dodge him, a sharp turn of your chin, a quick laugh to play it off, your braids swaying with the movement. You want to be claimed, not taking care of in a back alley somewhere. But the attempt was unmistakable, and Stack has already seen.

Security moves instantly at Stack's behest, bee-lining straight toward you. Suddenly, two guards flank your sides, polite but firm, only a little threatening. “Mr. Stack would like you upstairs,” the darker one says, in a tone that implies you can't argue.

The pawns blink, confused. The short one reaches out, fully intending to follow you, while V disappears into the background, well aware of who Stack was and what he could do.

Security leads you away from them with ease, completely disregarding the short guy's displeasure with you leaving. They walk you up the stairs to Stack's booth like you were a prisoner headed to the chair, a pretty little lamb headed to the slaughterhouse. You swallow, suddenly unsure about your plan, as the eyes and whispers of club goers follow you.

When you reach the booth, Stack doesn't greet you. Instead, he clears it. “Out,” he says, voice commanding as he casts a glance around the booth. The people scatter.

The men lounging on the sides didn’t hesitate. One stood so fast he knocked over his champagne. Another muttered an apology and practically jogged toward the stairs. Even the bottle girl in sequins scooped up her bottles and disappeared without making eye contact, closing the heavy curtains behind her.

In less than fifteen seconds, the booth was empty. It was just you and Stack left. You wondered what he had in store for you. Stack didn’t touch you, didn't speak to you, he didn't even look directly at you. Instead, he stared at your reflection in the mirrored wall behind you. His arms were folded, chest rising slow as his nostrils flared. He was mad as hell at you. You hated how the sight made you feel—like a misbehaving pet.

“You done?” he says, finally, voice low and mean. “You get it out your system?”

You lift your chin, defying. You're not stepping back until you get what you want. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

He scoffs. “Lie again."

He stands slowly, deliberate and unhurried. His presence fills every inch of the mirrored space, overwhelming you. “You been makin’ a fool outta me all night,” he says as he approaches. “Smilin’ in niggas’ faces. Letting ‘em touch you. Playin’ cute for whoever lookin’.”

You swallow but don't back away. “That's not what I was—”

“Shut up.” It's an order. He's never spoken to you this way. Perhaps you've pushed him too far.

You blinked, breath catching. “Don’t talk to me like—”

“Look.” He cuts you off again, not giving much of a fuck about whatever it is you have to say, gripping your waist and turning you toward the mirror. Your reflection stared back at you: flushed cheeks, parted lips, dress glittering, body thrumming with adrenaline. Stack stands behind you, close enough that his breath warmed your shoulder, his gold chains catching flashes of neon.

“That’s what the whole club saw,” he murmurs. “You actin’ up, actin’ available.”

You try to steady your breathing. “I wasn’t—”

His hand slides from your waist to your chin, lifting it sharply. “Tell me you ain’t do that shit on purpose.”

Your lips part, ready to answer. You meet his eyes in the mirror. “Maybe I did.”

Stack breathes out one harsh laugh, disbelief, irritation and desire all tangled up in it. “You just love workin’ a nigga’s nerves, huh?” he hisses against your ear. “Flirtin’ with them broke-ass niggas right where I can see. Lettin’ ‘em touch you. Actin’ like I ain’t been watchin’ every second.”

Your body betrays you, chest rising fast and incessant as your cunt drips at the tone of his voice. “Maybe if you claimed what’s yours,” you shoot back, tone haughty, “I wouldn’t have to put on a show.”

He drags his thumb across your bottom lip. “That what this was?” he asks darkly. “You tryna force my hand?”

You smirk at him in the mirror. “Worked, didn’t it?”

He grips your jaw harder, the hold bordering on painful. “Careful,” he says , voice dropping to a threat. “You gon’ make me do somethin’ you ain’t ready for.”

“Try me.”

He tilts your chin up more, thumb pressing harder against your lip, parting it just enough to slip inside. You don’t fight it. Your tongue meets the pad of his finger instinctively, slow curl, tasting salt and smoke and the faint sweetness of the Rémy still on his skin.

Stack’s eyes darken in the mirror. “You really think you runnin’ this shit?” he growls, voice low and vicious, laced with that edge that makes your stomach twist. “You think you can tease me all night, let other niggas put they filthy hands on what’s mine, then strut up here and talk back like you got some kinda say?”

He yanks his thumb free with a rough tug, dragging the slick digit down the center of your throat, pressing hard enough to make you swallow against it. Like he was testing how far he could go. Your pulse hammers under his grip, fear and want mixing together into something filthy.

“Answer me, little girl.”

You lick your lips, tasting him still. “I think… you like being tested, putting me in my place.”

His responding laugh is short, cruel with no warmth in it. He spins you around fast, your back slamming against the mirrored wall with enough force to knock the breath out of you, the cold glass biting into your shoulder blades. It’s a miracle it doesn’t break. Your palms flatten against the wall, acrylic nails scraping for purchase.

Stack cages you in, one thick forearm braced above your head like a bar, the other sliding down to grip the meat of your thigh. He yanks your leg up roughly, hooking it around his hip so your dress gets rucked up all the way to your waist, exposing your bare, dripping core. Stack feels it immediately, his fingers brushing against warm, slick skin. He freezes, eyes narrowing.

“No fuckin’ panties?” he snarls, voice drowning with disgust and hunger. “You walked in here like that? Bare-ass pussy out for anybody to see? You that much of a desperate little slut tonight? Tryna get filled by some random nigga downstairs?”

You whimper, shaking your head. “No—Daddy, it was for you—”

“Shut the fuck up.” He slaps your inner thigh, a sharp string that makes you gasp. “Don’t lie to me. You been drippin’ all night, ain’t you? Wet and ready like a whore beggin’ for it.”

His hand cups you possessively, palm grinding against your clit while two fingers go in deep, no warning. You arch, a choked moan tumbling out of your throat. “Look at that,” he mocks, pumping hard, fingers curling viciously. “Soakin’ my hand already. This pussy knows who it belongs to, even if you actin’ like you don’t.”

He adds a third finger, stretching you wide, ignoring your whine of too much, Daddy, please. “You mine. Every fuckin’ inch. From yo' toes to them braids I paid for to yo' fucking womb. And you gon’ learn that tonight. I'ma put my name on that shit proper.”

He drops to one knee without ceremony, yanking your leg over his shoulder. He looks up at you, eyes black and merciless, before he buries his face between your thighs. He licks a long, punishing stripe up your center, tongue flat and brutal. Then he sucks your clit into his mouth hard, teeth grazing just enough to make you yelp. He growls against you, the vibration a warning. His fingers move faster, reaching deeper into you, hitting that spot that makes your breath stutter. His free hand grips your ass, spreading you even wider for him.

“You gon’ come on my tongue,” he rasps between licks, pulling back just enough to spit on your clit before diving back in. “Right here, where the whole club can see you fall apart for your Daddy. Show ‘em who owns this wet little cunt.”

You were loud, moans ringing out through the booth, but Stack didn’t care. If anything, he wanted you to be louder, for every nigga in the club to hear how pretty you were sounding for him, how good he made you feel. He keeps devouring you, tongue relentless and incessant, until your thighs shake, hips backing up against his face.

Your orgasm rips through you, your cunt clenching around nothing so hard it’s almost painful. You grip at Stack’s hair, pulling at the ends, grinding down on his face as each wave crashes over you. He doesn’t stop. He licks you through it until you’re sobbing and overly sensitive, begging him to let up. Only then does he stand, letting your leg fall gently back on to the floor as he rises up, wiping his mouth with back of his hand. His lips were glossy, the lower half of his face completely covered in your cum.

“Pathetic,” he spits out, gripping your jaw hard, forcing you to make eye contact with him “Cummin’ that fast? You that starved for your Daddy’s attention?”

Embarrassed by how easy you were for him, by how quickly your plan had turned on you, you elect not to answer. Instead, you stand there, panting, legs feeling like jello, as Stack watches you. When he gets fed up of waiting for an answer, he spins you back toward the mirror. “Hands on the glass,” he orders, voice like gravel. “Ass out.”

You obey, palms flat, arching your back instinctively. He shoves your dress up, kicks you feed wider apart. You hear the clink of his belt, the rush of his zipper, before suddenly feeling the blunt head of his tip resting at your entrance. He teases you first, rubbing himself through your slick folds, making sure to hit your clit with every drag. “Beg for it,” he tells you.

Your pride, your confidence in your plan, has long since evaporated. You should’ve known better to fuck with Stack like that. Shaking, you do as you were told. “Please fuck me, Daddy. I need it, need you.”

He pushes in slow, the pace so torturous it almost feels like he’s mocking you, stopping when he has a little over and inch inside of you. “Again. Louder. Tell me who this dick belongs to. Let the whole Juke hear you.”

“Please, Daddy, please fuck your pussy,” you nearly scream, clenching around his unmoving length, “it’s yours—only yours, please!” He slams home in one vicious thrust, the sudden weight of him making you cry out, palms smacking. the mirror.

He establishes a rhythm quickly, fucking you hard with deep, punishing strokes that shove you forward until your tits press against the cold glass. “Look atch yourself,” he snarls in your ear, one hand wrapping around your throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make your vision spot. “Look how fuckin’ wrecked you are. Dress hiked up like a whore, takin’ Daddy’s cock in front of the whole damn club.”

You do, eyes going wide at the sight. Your lips are swollen, your mascara’s running, and your braids are a wild tumble on your head. Your gold hoops swing with every brutal snap of Stack’s hips, his chains glinting in the neon club lights, hair mussed from you grabbing at it, his jaw clenched like he was pissed off. “Who pussy is this?” he demands, angling deeper, hitting your g-spot with every thrust.

“Yours, Daddy, all yours!” You choke out, throat raw from screaming.

He reaches around your body, deft fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast and rough. “That’s right,” he groans. “Mine to fuck. Mine to fill. Gon’ breed this tight little cunt tonight. Pump you full of my cum so you remember who you belong to. Walk outta here drippin’ me, marked inside an’ out.”

The words light you up, body shuddering with pure pleasure at the thought. “You want that?” Stack growls, his thrusts turning erratic, sloppy. “Want Daddy to knock you up? Claim you for good?”

“Yes, yes! Please breed me, Daddy. Want everyone t’ know I’m yours!”

He groans, low and guttural, as his talented fingers dance around your clit. “Cum on this dick,” he commands. “Milk me dry. Show Daddy how bad you need his seed.”

You do as you’re told, cumming hard around Stack’s length, legs shaking as a wail tears its way through your throat, your walls clenching around him like a vice. He follows suit, slamming deep inside of you, his tip kissing your cervix, as he floods you, your name leaving his lips like a curse. “Take every fuckin’ drop, baby. And say thank you like a good girl, now.”

You barely manage a trembling, “Th-thank you, Daddy,” voice wrecked.

He chuckles, dark and content, still twitching inside you. “Good job. Always so good for me after I fuck you stupid, honey.” He says, staying buried inside you a moment longe, letting you feel every lazy pulse, every last drop he just pumped into you. He pulls out eventually, easing his back slow and deliberate, the wet drag of him making you whimper. You could already feel the thick warmth of his cum starting to spill.

He watches it happen with a mean, awed sense of satisfaction, eyes flicking to your face in the mirror, then back to down where his cum oozes out of your swollen in pussy in slow, heavy gushes. White trails slide down the inside of your thighs, glistening under the pink and red strobe lights, some of it already dripping on the floor of the booth.

“Next time you go off flirting with other niggas,” Stack begins, his voice a warning as he catches your eyes in the mirror, “I’ll fuck you up.”

You give him a shaky, cum-drunk smirk. “Promise, Daddy?”

Stack tuts, ignoring you. He calls for the guards posted outside of the booth to come in. “Get her cleaned up,” he tells them, “But bring her right back. We still celebratin’.”

a/n: for some (belated) context, this is in line with a universe thats been in my head for a while where stack is like big meech lowk and the reader is his pretty lil college aged (she’s mainly 19 but she’s rlly whatever age i need her to be for the idea lmfao) gf. its set in atlanta because i have personal beef w mississippi :)

[porterdavis]