summary: you meet jaafar in acting class and become friends, and he invites reader over to his family’s house in Havenhurst for a barbecue they’re throwing. Jermajesty is there, but he comes in late and immediately wants to get to know you.
warnings: none, just fluff
chapter 1, chapter 2
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You are awakened by a group message saying class was cancelled for the day. And you almost shouted out 'Hallelujah'. Your bonnet was halfway on, and you still had a few eye crusts; you weren't even close to being fully awake. The sky looked angry, dark clouds and soft thunder in the distance, gratitude fills you for the opportunity to bed rot.
The room started glowing in a soft, warm light from the fairy lights you decided to hang. Low hum of slow R&B in the back. You decided to invite everyone over for an impromptu movie night.
Fantastic 4 🚀
y/n: sooo since my class was canceled im in the mood for a movie night. Y'all down?
bestie❤️: absolutely, I'll bring popcorn
jaafar🕴🏾: I'll be there. I can bring drinks
Jer🥸: I don't think I have a choice now
y/n: perfect, see y'all soon c:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jermajesty pov
He knew this was a bad idea; it wasn't normal to have a crush like this. He was thankful that Jaafar and y/n’s best friend would be there. Maybe they could act as a buffer so he wouldn't say anything stupid. Everyone said they would bring something; he didn't want to come empty-handed, so he brought candy and hoped she liked it.
He and Jaafar arrived shortly after Imani, so they walked up to the third floor together. The rain was getting heavier, and the smell outside was refreshing. When y/n opened the door, an electrifying feeling shot through his gut; he pushed down, creasing his eyebrows. The first thing on his mind, seeing you, was, “I have popcorn, cotton candy, and a crush on you. You choose which one to focus on.” But instead, he settled for a simple, easy “hey sunshine.” Jaafar cleared his throat and spoke as well.
“ Hey y'all! I'm glad y'all made it.” She gave everyone hugs. When she got to him, she smelled sweet, and he couldn't decode it in time. But he inhaled deeply, subtly so that she didn't notice.
“Okay, so I decided I should wait until y'all got here to pick a movie!”
He wrinkled his nose, “No chick flicks, please”
Jaafar laughed, “Please and thank you, maybe action? Or an anime?”
Y/n and her friend gasped in offense. “Both of you are boring, but fine!”
He rolled his eyes good-naturedly at her comment, fiddling with her decor. Jaafar and Imani picked their spots and talked about the latest tin-foil-hat theories. He continued to walk around her apartment as she prepped the popcorn in the kitchen.
“Can someone help bring the drinks, please?” Before she could get the full question out, he was already by her side. She took everything she needed and placed it on the coffee table. They decided on transformers, which was a mistake. Because then it led to trying to watch the movies in order. Which then rolled into a full argument about which one was better.
The rain slowed to soft drizzle, and the clouds revealed stars. Jaafar kicked-started the goodbyes; he and Imani had started walking to the car. You walked and fell behind to walk with him. All that was running through his mind was what scent that was. Vanilla? Or some type of flower for sure, lavender maybe. He sighed and reluctantly said his goodbye. “Thank you for inviting us tonight, sunshine. This was nice,” she gushed. “Really?! I'm glad you all enjoyed yourselves. Text me when you guys get home!”
Jer🥸: We made it home; we had a blast😌
y/n🧚🏾♀️: im glad, it's always a pleasure to hang with y'all
You wake up in a good mood, and you feel refreshed with a clear head. You have no idea why, but you're enjoying the feeling. Getting dressed and heading to get a coffee, you get to class, and you sit next to Jaafar. “Do you ever want to sit in the back, maybe?” He laughs, “Didn’t even think about it.” You huff out a laugh. “I figured”
“Good morning, class. I have taken Monday and Tuesday to go through your scripts. I am delighted with the amount of effort you all put into them. With that being said, I've decided to let 3 groups present to the theater production team!”
You turn your head towards Jaafar to try to read his face. He has now been known to keep things to himself instead of saying it outright. But his face is neutral, nothing to read, it's slightly irritating you. “ So, Jaafar and Y/N…..” After Professor Gamble says your name, nothing else in that moment matters; your face splits into a megawatt smile. You turn again, and Jaafar is grinning so much you can see the wrinkles all over his face. The rest of the class is in cheers and whoops.
“Okay, so I know you guys usually throw huge parties to celebrate, BUT I want to do something at my place, nothing too crazy,” he smiles gently. “As long as Imani is there, I'll be there.”It was your turn to smile and raise your eyebrow.
“I've been trying to keep it casual, but I need to know, so spill!”
He sputters. “Well, uh, I mean, she’s cute and funny, but I'm about to be filming. I don't want to start something I can't finish.”
“You big dummy, listen, if you like her, you’ll make it work. We've only been friends for a short while, so you can take that with a grain of salt, but don't sell it short just yet.”
You leave him with that and go home for the day. The sun is beating down, and you swear you can see the heat coming off the roads as you drive home. The blare of your phone interrupted the impromptu karaoke session. It's just your parents bugging you to come visit them, and you send promises of soon. You update them on what's been going on with school and the new opportunity to actually have a script be produced. They congratulate you and send you some money for the big accomplishment.
—
Later that night, as you tidy up your house for a reset, you hear your phone ping. Secretly hoping it's Jermajesty, you can't shake the disappointment when it's just Jaafar.
jaafar🕴🏾: Hey, I thought about our conversation. Do you think you can help me plan a date? I really want to take her out before I start rehearsing for the movie.
y/n💃🏾: aweee this is too cute!! Yes, let me tell you about her date standards!
y/n💃🏾: |||||||||||||||||||||||||| :30sec
y/n💃: Don't hurt her or you'll be dealing with me🔪.
jaafar🕴🏾: I won't. I promise ❤️
Now this was something else to celebrate; you didn't text Imani just yet. You were sure you would be hearing about this in the morning anyway. You sat on the edge of your bed contemplating making the first move. Usually, that wasn't your forte, but your gut told you this was the right move.
y/n 🧚: so, im planning a small get-together and unfortunately I need your help.
Jer🥸: Well, it depends on the theme, nothing lame lol.
y/n 🧚: well idk a theme yet; suggestions are welcome.
y/n 🧚: I swear to god, if you suggest One Piece ….
Jer🥸: …let’s move forward then. I can come by tomorrow and help you plan. Is that okay?
You're nervous. Jermajesty was on his way to help plan the party for Saturday. You ran around your apartment like a chicken with its head cut off. When you finally let a breath out.
Jer🥸: almost there, had to stop for something.
You changed clothes and sprayed your perfume. It felt so silly having a crush, you're 25 years old, for God's sake. That didn't stop the tingly feeling when you heard the knock at the door. Pulling the door open felt like an eternity on Jermajesty’s end of the door.
The flowers in his hand felt like they were burning a hole. Thanks to Imani, he knew your favorite, and luckily in season. Opening the door on your end was just as embarrassing; you almost fell because your Crocs caught the floor.
”Sorry, hey, come on in. Oh my goodness, are these for me?!?!” He notices your flustered state but says nothing about it. “Yeah, I didn't want to come empty-handed.” He rubs the back of his neck to try to ease the nervousness.
As you two sit on the couch, a basic movie plays in the background as background noise. The party planning is going strong. Everything else was set in stone: guest list, food, music playlist, it was great until deciding the theme.
Every suggestion turned into a debate. You’d insist on a 70s theme; it was fun and had a lot of great music options. While he argued that the early 2000s were the best era.
The only resolution was a classic game of paper, rock, scissors. Of course, he cheated, so he won. You were walking him to the door as you called him out on it.
“I want you to know you're not invited anymore, cause you cheated so bad!”
With bunched eyebrows, “My nigga there is no way to cheat in that game”
The laugh that came out was from the gut, “It is but because it's late im letting it go”
A flash of reluctance crossed his face as he was walking out the door. “Fine, I'll send my playlist over in the morning, and you can change whatever…” his voice softens a bit. “Goodnight, sore loser.” he hugs you, and his scent is like walking into the men's Dior cologne section. You inhaled to savor the scent as he walked out.
a/n: this is kinda short, lmk what ya think also not fully edited
Genre: SMUT!!(MDNI), Established Relationship. University!AU
Warnings: AGAIN SMUT!! (MDNI), I mean pure filth. Que-Dawg!Jermajesty (Valid warning). Jermajesty pretends to be non-chalant(ends up very chalant.) Cussing. Use of the ‘n’ word. Jealous!Jerpapi. Arguing. Reader is manhandled more than once. Violence. Reader is referred to as Jermajesty’s “Bitch”, Car sex. Toe sucking. Coochie slapping (once). Oral!(Fem. Receiving). Squirting! P in V, Unprotected! Possessive sex. Slight breeding kink (?), Slight dacryphilia (?). Twin I can’t lie, this is overly freaked out..
Summary: Everyone knows that you and Jermajesty are the ‘it’ couple on campus. Everyone also knows your boyfriend is president of the most notorious frat there, Omega Psi Phi. At the biggest party of the year, during their routine stroll, Jermajesty gets a little too beside himself. Since you aren’t one to be taken for a fool, you decide to get beside someone else.
W.C: 5.4k
Author’s Note: Credit for this log idea and moodboard goes straight to @siiighrns. Y’all, I fear I went a lil ham on this one. BUT it’s really good! (I’m biased). As always, thank you for reading! Share what you think, reblog if you love it!
-Love, B. 🤍 ↪ The Archive.
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The music is already shaking the walls by the time you step inside. Heat hits first, then the smell of smoke, sweat, and liquor. Bodies press shoulder to shoulder, and people dance wherever they can find space; others cling to the walls like a lifeline. Someone’s yelling over the music about body shots, a sorority girl is laughing too loudly, and in the darker corners of the house, couples are already latching onto each other, swapping a little more than spit. Homecoming always does this: turns the whole campus into one restless cesspool of drunk, loud, horny twenty-somethings. This party is the one everybody’s been waiting for; the football game against the opposing university had been won with a staggering victory, and now it was time to let loose. Omega Psi Phi always does it big, and this year is no exception.
You stick close to your girls as you move through the crowd, eyes adjusting, taking it all in. The energy bothers you. Everything feels too loud, maybe even reckless. The mess around you isn’t your problem; Jermajesty is. The way he’d been acting all day had pissed you off. Short answers, stuck off in his phone, hellbent on like you were his biggest inconvenience.
You tried to talk to him more than once, wanting to know what crawled so far up his ass and died that he’d call you ‘bruh’ for most of the day. Still, he gave you nothing but annoyed sighs and kissed teeth. Fed up, you decided to go to the party on your own. Since your boyfriend wanted to act like you were such a bother, he didn’t have to worry about you.
Now you’re here, scoping out the scene, almost sure he’s cooled off by now. It doesn’t take long to find him, and when you do, your stomach drops. ‘Off the Leash’ by Gucci Mane blares in the background. He’s locked in on some bitch like you don’t even exist. She’s all up on him, titties nearly spilling out of her cheap dress, laughing and feeling on his arms. He’s eating it up, rolling his head from side to side, tongue flicking out with a smile, moving like he’s a free agent. He pulls his shirt off and tosses it somewhere in the crowd. The chain you got him for his birthday glints in the light against the wife-beater he had on underneath. His large frame hovers over hers. The muscles in his back flex as he moves. You stare for a second too long, and his eyes catch yours, winking before pushing himself back onto the girl.
“This nigga trippin.” You mutter, more to yourself than anybody else. Anger settles in your chest while you watch him, eyes stinging as you take in the scene before you. The longer you stare, the clearer it gets. He’s comfortable embarrassing you. He’s acting like you don’t even exist, like he doesn’t know the only reason you came was him.
Your jaw clenches so hard your teeth hurt, but you force your expression to stay neutral. You’re not about to be that girl, pressed, kicking and screaming in the middle of a party just because your man ain’t shit. The two girls you came with scoff, rubbing your back apologetically. Imani, your closest friend since freshman year, speaks first. “Leave that nigga where he is, baby. He’s clearly busy.” Your other friend, Niyah, pipes up next. “Yeah, girl, forget his ass! It’s plenty of niggas here that would kiss yours. Let’s go find em’ and get fucked up like we came to!”
Niyah was right about that, you looked the fuck good. Eyes had been on you since you walked into the cramped space. Your braids are freshly done, the face card never declines, and the outfit draping your frame didn’t help either, leaving very little to the imagination. Nothing extravagant, just a plum colored mini-dress that hugged you tight, coupled with a strappy pair of open-toed heels. Still, nobody does it like you. As you think about all the ways you can get even, the girl fawning over your boyfriend takes his hand and leads him deeper into the sea of people.
You make up your mind fast, and with a single nod to your friends, you let them guide you in the opposite direction, toward something that feels more in your control. As you move through the horde of undergrads, your mind focuses on the way your boyfriend practically disowned you in front of everybody, and it becomes crystal clear that liquor is going to be your best friend tonight.
Shot after shot passes through your glossed lips, slowly but surely numbing the irritation that has settled over your spirit. The hurt is still there, but it’s starting to blur at the edges. As the liquid courage flows through your veins, you get the bright idea to scale the kitchen counter and dance a little bit, hoping to distract yourself from him. Yells of encouragement from onlookers spur you on, and just as you get ready to bend over, your eyes find him again. He’s behind a different girl now, his hands roaming her body, softer than when it’s yours, whispering something in her ear with a smirk. The enthusiasm drains out of you as quickly as it came. Suddenly, the counter is too high to stand. on. You swallow the lump in your throat.
Before the pain can linger, rival frat Kappa Alpha Psi arrives. The sound of glass breaking rattles from the speakers as Soulja Boy’s ‘Prettyboy Swag,’ begins, changing from Omega's theme to Kappas. The crowd parts just enough, and eyes start drifting toward them. They stroll through, slow and steady. Instead of stepping back and ignoring it as is expected of you, you move fast. You place yourself right where you’ll be seen, with less than pure intentions. It doesn’t take their president long to lock onto you. Ah, Rakheem Jones. Tall, dark, and impossibly charming. An academic beast with a smile that could stop any girl’s heart, someone you’d explicitly been told to stay away from. Oh yeah, you’d hit the fucking jackpot.
He moves through the room like he owns the air around him, stopping the stroll in front of you with an exaggerated swagger. His eyes drag slowly from your face, down your body, and back up again, taking his time on purpose. All you see in front of you is quiet certainty, the kind that tells you exactly what he wants. He isn’t Jermajesty, not by a long shot, but you can’t deny that he’s pretty damn close. Close enough for you right now.
A smile breaks on his face as his frat brothers bounce in step. He spreads his arms out, palms facing up in an open invitation, and you let your body answer for you. Though you are no doubt very drunk, every movement is intentional. Jermajesty’s reaction is now an afterthought. If he could have his fun, why couldn’t you? Your lips curl into something slow and dangerous, the bottom one caught between your teeth as you step forward and spin around. You bend at the waist, hands sliding down your legs and stopping at your ankles, nasty and slow; a move typically reserved for the man making a mockery of you across the room.
As your hips rock from side to side, the dress hugging your frame rides up, showing off your lace panties; it’s retaliation disguised as a proposition, but Rakheem doesn’t need to know that. It’s effortless, the way your ass moves in this dress. It should be a crime. Shouts of approval ring throughout the room. Rakheem steps in, palming your rear like he’s been given permission. He presses into you, testing the waters, and when you don’t pull away, he makes another move. Next thing you know, his hands wrap around the back of your thighs, and you’re in the air.
High above the crowd, sitting on his shoulders, you feel the room erupt because everybody knows what that means. He’s claimed you for the night. Cheers break out all over.
“Ain’t that Maj’s girl?”
“Oh shit–it is!”
One of the other Nupes yells out, “Aye! She with the Nupes now!”
The words spread fast, cutting through the music and the noise. All eyes are trained on the two of you, and you can’t help but bask in it. Someone passes you a cup, and you raise it toward the sky. You toss the drink back, and with a shout, you unknowingly seal your fate for the night. “She with the Nupes now!” Across the room, Jermajesty hears it before he understands it. Ain’t no way he just heard…what he thinks he heard. He tries to ignore the commotion.
Tries to. He’s caught up in his own game of pretending he doesn’t care, but that nonchalant shit flies out the window when he takes a quick glance around the room. Everything stops. There you are. Elevated above everybody else, laughing, moving like you don’t have a care in the world…on another man’s shoulders, practically humping his head. The sight is like a slap in the face, and the shock turns to fury.
And it’s not just any man, you’re too petty for that. It was Kappa Alpha Psi’s fucking president. Jermajesty’s teeth grind together, and his hands ball into fists. The girl in front of him grabs his face gently, trying to bring his attention back to her. “Focus on me, baby. She don’t mean nothing.” When he registers her acrylics grazing his jaw, he nearly growls in disgust, no longer interested in her advances. With an open palm and five fingers, he mushes her back, “Fuck off me.” She stumbles and looks at him like he just lost his mind. She just might be right about that. Jermajesty doesn’t waste any more time and pushes through the crowd, fuming.
By the time he gets close, you’re fully gone, rolling your body, completely unbothered. Then your eyes meet his, and you laugh. Not small or nervous, no, one big boisterous cackle that displays just how little you care. Again, while looking him dead in the eye, you chant, “She with the motherfuckin’ Nupes now!” Your smile stretches ear to fucking ear. Rakheem follows your lead, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Real slow like, the rival Greek plants his hands firmly on your waist and lifts you over his head, guiding your body down until your feet hit the floor. Rakheem then presses a deep arch into your spine, positioning you exactly how he wants you, eyes locked on Jermajesty the entire time. He only has time to roll his hips once. That’s it, the disrespect is too loud for him to ignore.
Jermajesty snaps, shoving you aside roughly, fist already in motion. It connects clean with Rakheem’s jaw, the crack sharp enough to cut through the music. Just like that, everything explodes. Omegas step in immediately, forming up behind their president without hesitation. Kappas surge forward just as fast, not about to let theirs get dropped without response.
The party morphs into shouting, pushing, and different hues of purple and red colliding with each other. Phones come out, and flashlights illuminate the brawl; the partygoers are having a ball with this, no doubt staring lives and reporting in on Snapchat. The frat's reputation could very well be on the line, but Jermajesty could give a fuck less. All he cares about is bodying the nigga dumb enough to touch his bitch. He’s got Rakheem by the back of his shirt. “Fucked up!” he yells, fist connecting again. “You. Got. Me. Fucked. Up.” Each word lands with another hit. Rakheem tries to defend himself, but he’s outmatched. Jermajesty is bigger, stronger, and fueled by nothing but alcohol and jealousy. The poor Kappa’s licks are as soft as cotton balls.
Your boyfriend doesn’t stop until Rakheem’s limp, no longer able to fight back, and far too weak to hold himself up. He leans in, making sure the Kappa’s president looks him in the eye. Voice low and dangerous, he speaks, “Try that shit again. Watch what I do.” He drops Rakheem and stands to his full height, chest rising fast, and finally looks around. His brothers are still fighting, having dealt out the same kind of damage to the rest of Kheem’s posse. Jermajesty can’t let this get any worse, or he’ll have a meeting with the dean come Monday. He inhales once, then lets out a loud bark. His fraternity falls back, bellowing out their own barks in response to his call. Across from them, the Kappas hesitate, but ultimately decide they’ve taken a big enough loss tonight. They pull away, dragging Rakheem with them, and just like that, it's over. The music creeps back up, loud chatter resumes, and bodies start to move again, like nothing even happened.
When the dust settles completely, and Jermajesty is sure no one else is going to try him, he turns to face you, “Say your little goodbyes, and take your ass to the car.” His voice holds a finality that you really can’t argue with. You stand there for a moment, testing whether or not defiance would fare well for you. When he blows through his nose, you understand the answer is no. Doing as he says, you find Mani and Niyah and offer them quick hugs. “Ooh! Somebody in trouble!” Niyah starts, “Mhmm, little Ms. ‘She with the nupes now!’ Nah, more like she done did it now!” Mani finishes. You roll your eyes. They’re right, you’re in deep shit, but you won’t admit it.
“Shut up. That nigga had it comin’.” They giggle and kiss your cheek goodbye, wishing you luck. As you make your way toward the door, you feel eyes on you again. Some of Jermajesty’s frat brothers cast betrayed glances in your direction. “Fuck are y’all looking at?” They shake their heads and wave you off, “Nothing, Nupe.” You sigh, completely over tonight. The walk to the car is long and uncomfortable as you reflect on how everything unfolded. The thought that you might’ve done too much crosses your mind. Did Jermajesty really deserve that kind of betrayal? Flashes of him caressing someone else with so much care and tenderness replay. Yes the fuck he did.
The sleek, black BMW, which had been given to Jermajesty as a graduation gift, comes into view. It was fully loaded: all-black interior, leather seats, moonroof, and custom headrests with his and your initials. Arms folded, you lean against the door, anxiety washing over your bones. What if he breaks up with you over this? The move you made was bold and not something to be taken lightly in the Greek world. You still love him, but god does he piss you off. While you ponder, his voice cuts through the air as he says his goodbyes. You shift on your feet as an unsettling feeling nestles deep in your gut. He stalks toward you now, aura anything but safe, letterman jacket clutched tightly in his right hand. Jermajesty’s head tilts to the side as he lifts his free hand to his face, brows furrowed, rubbing his jaw as his gaze locks on you. His gait is strong; each step he takes feels like it has the magnitude of a devastating earthquake. He’s pissed.
“The fuck was that? Huh?” Jermajesty asks, eyes hard, voice eerily calm. Your arms unfold, and you stare at him in disbelief. Did he seriously have the nerve to be calling you out right now? “I could ask you the same damn thing, Jermajesty!” He cuts his gaze to the side, trying to keep his composure. “You’ve been pissy all fuckin’ day. I tried over and over again to check up on you, make sure you were straight, and what do you do? Treat me like I’m some regular bitch, that’s what!” Your arms fly around frantically as you speak. His eyes return to yours, daring you to keep going. You accept, and double down continuing the tirade, “And THEN, when I pull up to this fuck ass party, that I didn’t even want to be at by the way, what do I find? You. Snug as a bug in a fuckin’ rug with some random. Get the fuck outta my face with that ‘Fuck was that?’ bullshit, Majesty. Seriously.”
He glances away, nodding a few times before speaking, “You done?” That’s it? That’s all he has to offer you? Having reached a boiling point, a response dripping with venom leaves your lips. “Nah, nigga. We done.” Jermajesty chuckles, unlocking the car and tossing his jacket in the backseat. “Yeah, okay.” He didn’t think you were serious. Sure, you’ve both been through this song and dance plenty of times before, but you always stay. With a huff, you throw your arms up and spin on your heels, starting in the other direction, hoping it’s not too late to catch a ride with Mani. “How the fuck you gon get home, y/n?” He asks, amusement lacing his tone. You growl and turn back around, “I don’t know Jermajesty! Maybe the Kappas will take me in.”
His eyes darken, and in two quick steps, he’s in front of you. “Get your ass…in the fuckin’ car.” You roll your eyes and push his chest, creating some distance. “Fuck. No.” You snarl, “This ain't even the first time you’ve pulled some shit like this. I’m fucking done, Jermaj—” Your words catch in your throat when his right hand wraps around your wrist, and he drags you into him. His other hand comes up to grip your chin as he pulls you into a searing kiss. You curse internally, feeling yourself melt as his soft, plush lips move against yours. The hand holding your wrist moves to your back, pressing you closer as he deepens the kiss. It trails down further, cupping your ass and squeezing. The action makes you gasp, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth.
You both wrestle for dominance, but another firm squeeze to your behind leaves Jermajesty as the victor. When you part, his lips are covered in a thin film of gloss, matching yours. “Ma,” He whispers soft and low, “If you think you leavin’ me…you out yo fuckin’ mind. I’m not gon’ tell your little ass again, get in the car.” This time, dazed, you listen. Slipping into the passenger side and clicking your seatbelt in place. Jermajesty follows suit, starting the engine and peeling out with a quickness. As he drives, you notice the way his large hands grip the wheel, knuckles white as he seethes.
After some time, he pulls into an empty parking lot, throws the beemer in park, and gets out. The back door on the driver’s side swings open, and he slips in. Your boyfriend leans back and spreads his legs wide. You look over your shoulder to find his eyes locked on you. “Strip.” He says, low and dark. Unsure of whether or not he’s serious, you freeze. He lifts a brow, wondering what’s taking you so long. Message received. You shimmy out of your dress in the seat and work on your heels next. Once finished, you move to climb over the center console. “Uh-uh, all of it.” You pause, glancing down at your body, still clad in your bra, and the same panties you were so keen on showing off earlier. Peeking back up at your boyfriend, you see his arms are now resting behind his head as he waits with practiced restraint.
Sitting back, gradually, you peel the last layer of clothing and dignity off your body. Jermajesty revels in your beauty, eyes raking up and down your form twice, before patting his thigh. Now, given permission, you slip into the back of the car and onto his lap. Jermajesty's head is tipped up, and his hands, rough and calloused, hold your waist softly, as if he’ll break you if he isn’t careful. He lets a deep breath out through his nose and looks into your eyes, “You know I love you, right, mama?” Though it didn’t feel like just moments ago, you still nod, big doe eyes peering back at him. “Good, because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.”
He then reaches for something near him. You hear it rustle before it comes into view. The letterman. He holds it up and only says three words: “Put it on.” Hesitantly, you slide your arms into the sleeves and shrug it the rest of the way on. “Gorgeous.” Jermajesty slides you off his lap gently and pushes you toward the other end of the car, “Lie back.” You ease down, and your legs part in the process. He takes in the sight of your dripping heat and lets out an appreciative groan. Your legs stretch past his face, and your toes touch the glass next to him. In the soft moonlight illuminating the car, your boyfriend notices something dancing on your ankle. Delicate gold lace, adorned with a pendant shaped like a 'J', rests there.
The visual nearly undoes Jermajesty. He takes your leg in his right hand and bends your knee. His fingers curl around your toes as he places soft kisses along your foot. His left hand trails up to caress the rest of your leg. Eventually, the hand holding your toes slides down to your heel. Jermajesty's kisses grow more urgent, less controlled. He moves feverishly, and before you can process what is happening, your big toe is in his mouth. He swirls his tongue, and a deep moan reverberates in your ears. You didn’t expect it to feel as good as it did, and the action earned a soft moan. Maybe it was the sensuality, but your body shakes with need. The slick between your thighs becomes unbearable. While your boyfriend continues his ministrations, you reach down. Your clit is aching, and the soft circles you begin to rub are barely enough to satisfy you.
When a whimper escapes your chest, and before you can pick up the pace, a sharp slap to your hand stops you. Jermajesty pulls off of your toe with a pop. “I didn’t say you could touch my shit, ma.” He then leans over and spreads you wider, wrapping his hands around your thighs and lifting your back off the seat. You look at him in surprise, and Jermajesty holds your gaze, blowing cool air over your clit. Frustrated, you whine out, “Maj, please—” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I can’t admire what's mine, mama?”
You let out a huff and try to sink back down. Big, veiny arms keep you steady, though. Jermajesty tuts at your bratty behavior, “Fuckin’ spoiled.” As you go to make another complaint, his lips wrap around your clit, sucking hard. “Oh, fuck— Maj!” He eats like a man starved, slurping like you’ll run dry if he stops. The sounds of your sins echo in the confined space. His tongue trails down to your ass and back up. He pushes the wet muscle deep into your pussy, earning a high wail from you. He stays there for a moment, savoring your taste, before moving back up toward the bundle of nerves hidden in your folds. Stars form behind your eyelids when two fingers dip in, making up for the empty feeling.
It’s all too much, too fast. You feel yourself careening toward the edge as he pumps them into you. He quickens his pace, knowing your body like the back of his hand. The digits buried inside of you press into that spongy spot over and over again. “Give it to me.” He murmurs into your heat. As if your body were waiting for his command, euphoria crashes into you. You tense as your eyes roll back, and his name slips off your tongue as you ride out your high. Jermajesty doesn’t stop, drinking your juices like he’s found the fountain of youth.
Overstimulation racks through your body, and you push him off your center. He leans back, breaths labored, chin glistening with your essence. You’re breathing just as hard, unsure if you’ll be able to withstand what else he has in store for you. “Baby—” He shushes you while pulling the wife-beater over his head. His jeans come off next, then his shoes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. The outline of his arousal leaves your mouth watering. No matter how many times you fuck him, you never get used to it. “Turn around f’me. Arch my shit the way I like it.” Itching for more, you do as he says, sinking into a sinful arch. Your pussy is on full display, and that beautiful, round ass has him thanking whichever god sent you down to him.
Your ears pick up on his movement, sure that he’s slipped out of the last layer between the two of you. You feel his heavy cock against your inner thigh, pre-cum smearing against it. The feeling leaves you clenching around nothing. Jermajesty leans down, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, “When I’m done with you…you gon remember you ain’t fuckin’ with no little ass puppy.” With that, he lines himself up with your heat. The tip nudges against your entrance, teasing you to the point of tears. In one long, slow thrust, Jermajesty bottoms out and has you split wide around his length.
Your mouth opens, and a loud moan tears from your chest. It burns so fucking good, he’s filled you to the brim. Your boyfriend waits for you to adjust, and when you nod, his strokes begin slowly, dragging along your sopping walls with deliberate patience. His cock is covered in your slick, and it takes everything in him to hold steady. He wants you to beg. “You forgot who I am, ma?” He asks, while still digging you out. Already too cockdrunk to speak, you shake your head with a muffled “Mm-mm.” Not satisfied with your answer, Jermajesty switches gears, picking up the pace. He feeds you harder, faster strokes, hips slamming into your ass roughly, “Nah. Tell me, baby.” He breathes out, “You forgot?”
Your breath hitches, and you throw your head back, drool sliding down the corners of your mouth. “Noo— Neverrr,” you drag out, surprised by the sudden change in tempo. Jermajesty catches the underside of your chin in his right hand, pulling you up as he props up his left leg near your side for better leverage. Again, he speeds up, driving mean strokes into your already abused pussy. A series of grunts leaves his lips before he lets you drop back down against the seat. The same foot he has propped up comes to rest on the side of your face as he reaches new depths in your core.
“Which frat you with— Shit!” The new angle leaves both of you weak. You search for the right words, but his fat mushroom tip bullying into your g-spot has you stupid. “I don’t know, Maj!— Fuck, I can’t—” He presses more of his weight into you, a ‘Thwack!’ rings through the air, and you struggle to catch your breath. “You don’t know? Sure you do, baby girl.” The strokes are heavy and slow now, grazing over your pleasure center again, and again. “I don’t, I swear.” Jermajesty laughs then, rich and smooth. “You really don’t? Guess I gotta stop then huh?” He says, still stroking deliciously slow. Panic washes over your blissed out face, “NO!— I just… Maj, give me a hint!”
His shoulders bounce as he realizes he has you right where he wants you. Too fucked out and stupid to think about anything but his dick, “What jacket you got on, baby?” Hell, if you know, all you're worried about is the heat pooling in your belly. “Majesty. Please, baby— I don’t know!” He grips you by the waist and pulls you off of him. A cry rips from your body, and tears form in your eyes. Jermajesty flips you onto your back, “It’s okay, pretty girl, don’t cry.” He utters mockingly, "I'm gon’ give you what you want.” he finishes, leaning down to lick away your tears.
In one swift move, Jermajesty pulls back and enters you again. A chortled gasp reaches his ears, and he smirks. He holds himself there for a moment and then decides that he wants to wreck you completely. He folds you in half, your knees almost touch your ears, and the tips of your toes touch the window behind you. The filthy mating press leaves your faces just inches apart. Jermajesty breathes out slowly to ground himself, “Omega. Psi. Phi.” He whispers, voice sweet like honey. Your face contorts in ecstasy as he punctuates each Greek letter with heavy, relentless blows to your pussy.
“Those are the only words I wanna hear.” He leaves no room for you to process and begins pounding into you like he’s got a personal vendetta against your cervix. “Ughh! Maj!— Fuck- Slow down!” Your boyfriend ignores your plea, driving into you harder. “Who. You. With? Hm?” Your brain is sent into overdrive, and instead of answering, your hand comes up to push against his stomach, hoping to slow down the brutal assault on your pussy. “Move it,” He grunts out, head dropping to watch where the two of you are joined together. His hand shifts up to squeeze your right tit, moving yours out of the way in the process.
The sensation makes your body twitch. Everything feels like jelly, and it’s hard to keep your eyes open; with them half-lidded, the only thing you’re able to see properly is the gold chain that dangles over you, thumping against his chest with every stroke. He presses delicate kisses across your chest before moving up to that sensitive spot on your neck. He sucks harshly, and a deep purple mark forms there. “I’m not askin’ again, you better tell me before I stop.” He says, nipping at your neck as his girth bullies into your g-spot, “Omega— Fuck! Psi Phi!” You yelp. Not yet satisfied, your boyfriend leans up, steadying most of his weight with one hand on the back of your thigh. “Louder.” He growls out, cracking his other hand down on your dripping snatch. Repeating the name is a feat you’re only able to accomplish by the grace of god. It still isn’t enough for Jermajesty.
“Again.” He orders, thumbing at your abused clit. Tight, fast circles send pleasure shooting up through your spine. “Omega!” He nods along in encouragement, “Mhm,” he groans, “Give it to me, baby”, eyes still focused on the way your warm, wet hole swallows his length. His hips hammer into yours at an impossible speed, sweat beading on his forehead. “Psi— Ooh Shit!” He moves to nuzzle his face in your neck, now struggling to hold himself together. His hand leaves your clit, and presses down just above your mound, adding to the whirlwind of stimulation. “Come on y/n— Fuck! Almost there. Give it to me!” With a piercing scream, the final letter tumbles from your throat. You feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin. “There it is. Shit, that’s so fucking good.” His praise adds to the familiar warmth settling into your core. You feel it coming hard and fast, “Maj, wait! The seats—” His heavy body drags against yours, “Fuck the seats. Gimme my shit.”
It only takes a few more seconds of him pistoning into you before you fall apart. Your vision goes white, and your toes curl, and your jaw drops with a silent cry. Violent streams of pleasure spurt around your boyfriend’s dick and across his abdomen. Jermajesty is right behind you, grip so tight you’re sure it’ll bruise. “Fuck! Gonna cum.” His stills as his balls tighten, and a loud groan rips from his chest. Thick globs of his spunk coat your insides. He stays put until he’s sure you’ve taken all of it.
You both breathe heavily as you come down from your highs. Your boyfriend slides out of you gently and moves to look at the mess he’s made of you. As your body twitches, completely and utterly spent, his eyes flicker to your half-lidded ones, and a smirk creeps onto his face. “A Nupe, can’t fuck you like this. Remember that.”
The body of 18 year old Nolan Xavier Wells has unfortunately been found after he went missing from Horn Island, Mississippi. Wells went boating with a group of boys — the rest of the party being white — on July 4th, but he was the only one who didn’t return to shore.
It is becoming increasingly dangerous to be the only black person in a group. Rest in peace, Nolan. You deserve justice.
Update:
I’ve found his family’s GoFundMe for his funeral and celebration of life expenses. This campaign was created by their family friend Allayah Denis and is the only campaign they have, all others are fraudulent. They haven’t reached their goal yet, and funeral expenses are an incredible burden, so if you have the means please consider donating.
In Loving Memory of Nolan Xavier Wells
Our hearts are broken beyond words.
… Allayah Denis needs your support for In Loving Memory of
As of right now there appears to be no investigation yet, but hopefully there will be soon. Mississippi representative Bennie G. Thompson has publicly urged authorities for an investigation on his social media. If you have any more information please let me know. I’ll put any further updates in a reblog.
*Alt text has now been added to the original images.
summary: vanity fair interview with you and jaafar.
monday, NYC 12:30pm
The day started calm and Anais planned on keeping it that way. The air was nippy in new york, and a light rain was starting to fall. Jaafar arrived in the dressing room a bit after she did. he was quiet but not in a mood, just a calm aura about him. he stared at her through the dressing room mirror, his eyes scanning over her. giving him a look , he just shook his head and grinned at her.
a producer came to fetch them “ its time, ready if yall are!” with that you stood and walked out with him.”come on handsome, its time to grill each other” hand and hand they walked into the recording area. before sitting he kissed the back of Anais’s hands gently. the chairs were a nice modern sling chair , they sat side by side with a small table in the middle with the cards sat on top.
Crew buzzed around, adjusting cameras and mics, making sure the two of them had water. at the same time she too turned more into each other to get comfortable.
as the director walked in , her dark eyes followed his movements. hurried and frazzled, hands juggling more than he could carry but a small smile on his face as he greeted them both. “welcome welcome , i'm so happy you both were able to make it! we've been waiting for this!”
She spoke for the both of them “ thank you for inviting us, we are very excited” jaafar says, “ this should be a walk in the park “ gentle laughs across the room from people listening in.
“easy for him to say, he's done it before. What kind of questions are there?” the director whose name she learned is Josh spoke with a light hearted tone “Well, no serious stuff. Try not to overthink the answers either. Think... fun, but, you know, juicy enough to make people smile.” anais smiles and add a wink “ oh peace of cake, everyday life then! don't worry babe i'll wont embarrass you too much.”
jaafar looked down sheepishly. He outstretched his hand to grip her shoulder lightly “she's going to go all out, trust me” a few crew members laugh a bit as the two of you continued the light jokes between the two of you.
“alrighty let's get started shall we, what is a weird habit you've noticed about each other?”
She immediately replied “his french fry obsession, i thought it was normal at first but then i noticed he in fact orders it with every meal “ she said, fully grinning now. Jaafar is quick with his rebuttal, throws his head back with a groan “ to be fair! its like eating chips, very light crispy and delicious “
he has a smirk on his face with his next sentence “hers is definitely the socks on while going to bed” she gasped dramatically “Hey! it's very comfortable especially because the house is so cold” he laughs as you swat him playfully. “Mind you the house is set to lava during the day”
everyone in the room was either grinning or full on laughing at how natural they were with each other . how they immediately went into their own world forgetting the cameras were even there. the director points to the cards on the table for each of you to pull from then on.
“next question, What is one of your favorite memories of us so far?”
jaafar answers first this time “hmm, it has to be our first time in canada. seeing you be carefree for once was a breathtaking experience ” ‘the way we were lazy on purpose, no where to be, no schedule. That was nice too.’ anais sighed reminiscing “ oou yeah that was really good trip, even though i fell more times than i can count snowboarding” they both giggled at the memory of him having to basically rub icy hot on her bum for the next two days.
“ i think mine was seeing you rehearsing for 'michael’ i dont think people understand how much you really poured into that and what you did to fully embody him to give that humanity for us to see, also how it changed you in a good way”
he's speechless for a moment because he didn't even think about it in that way. he leaned over to give her a kiss as he thanked her “ thank you baby, i really did try” the camera woman hides behind her headset as she tries not to awe outloud of how profound this moment is in real life.
who are some of your heros in real life? name 2”
he leans back in his chair with a thoughtful expression “ only two is hard i have many, but you're definitely one of them.” your eyebrows raise you weren't expecting that “really?! why?” “ well because you're you, life has been hectic and hard but you still show up for not only everyone but mainly yourself. It's admirable beyond measure. there were times i wanted to give up and you didn't let me i think about it all the time you're definitely top 2”
“ the other is definitely my uncle, after the movie I gained even more respect for him. i think his life along with my father and uncles were rough but the way they handled it was so meritorious”
Anais let out a sigh and dap her eyes to not cry fully “ i don't know what to say even, that was beautiful baby” even the people standing around were silent and watching intently to the moment that surrounded them of pure love and respect between two people. it wasn't forced or cringy.
“next – on what occasion have you lied to me”
the look on jaafar’s face made her immediately suspicious and the light carefreeness she wanted to keep for the day is gone. because she knows he's about to admit to something she knew he was guilty for all this time.
his eyes are wide and he has a grin on his face that screams guilty. “do you remember when you asked me if threw out our ice cream? and i said it must've been jermajesty.”
Her jaw was permanently on the floor “you mean to tell me you ATE it?!?”
he cowered in his chair “ to be fair , he was the perfect scapegoat cause he was there that weekend, and you chose an impeccable flavor!”
“oh we are making a pit stop on the way home” she turns towards the camera “jer, i'm sorry i yelled at you!”
“ what is the biggest misconception about us, do you see on the internet?”
With crossed your arms “ oh definitely, that i do all the talking in the house!” He lets out the deepest laugh , even the crew has to turn around to keep from laughing on the mics. “ this man is fooling yall! he is lowkey a menace”
“Lets not forget the pranks you like to pull you see from tiktok!” she tilted her head raising her eyebrows “you said you dont want to be on there regardless, and to his fandom i send him the edits yall make of him fyi!”
he gasp at that in fake offense because he knows she’s right “i do not see those! and im just a bit more looser a menace is not how i would describe it” it's her turn to have a mischievous look “we should phone a friend then and call your brother “ crew exchanged looks and quiet smiles.
“last question of the morning- will you two be having little ones soon?”
the moment is still. No one moves, not even a blink. the both of them share a quick glance at each other and stare back at the director. the camera is rolling and the entire room is leaning in so they can get the answer to their ears first.
to the room's surprise they burst out laughing—only this time, they weren't in on the joke.
jaafar is trying to calm his laughter down,as she has an exaggerated innocent smile on her face. “whew yall are good!” he finally calms “ in the famous words of kayne ‘i guess we'll never know’”
the room laughs at that and lets it go for now. The director chuckled, shaking his head. “Dodging the question, I see.”
Anais speaks up then “We’ll let you know when it happens... maybe.”
he smiles genuinely and yells cut. the room is immediately busy again. people zipping around the two of them getting the packs off of you and sharing small sentiments with the both of you. every now and then, someone would glance over, a quiet smile tugging at their lips. There was something undeniably magnetic.
you two are led back into the dressing room to gather your things and wait for your car to come. it's then you two talk and debrief the day. As they share what their favortie moments were, subtle touches, subconscious leaning in, and natural tension shared between the two of them it made the room feel empty but full all at once.
“ that was so fun, we should do this more often”
“really? i liked it too who knew you'd get me to be a softy on camera”
She pats his chest as he holds you in his arms “my favorite soft menace to society”
He kisses her forehead, hand reaching to rest over her suit dress “ lets get out of here, feed you two”
a/n: teehee i lowkey like writing, lmk what you think
Summary: A birthday planned and executed with a side of confession.
A/N: It’s been like 10 years since I've written so be nice. This is a thank you gift for @greedyjudge2
Warnings: None :) No use of Y/N. All mistakes are mines.
July 23th, 2026
You could feel your back aching from the way you were hunched over prepping the finishing touches of the ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ garland you were about to hang across your apartment kitchen. It’s two days before Jaafar’s birthday and you planned to surprise him with an early party with a few close friends the day before.
“I need a massage after all of this.” You tell yourself from your spot on the kitchen counter. The angle is awkward but to you it’s worth it. “He better appreciate this shit for real.” You whisper under your breath.
Music is softly played from the tv speakers as you finally hear the door knob start to jiggle and turn your head as the door opens revealing your best friend Solis coming in with a bunch of bags in her hands. She had left three hours ago to pick up the food and drink along with a few last minute items.
“Pookie imma keep it a buck with you but please don’t ever ask me to go to Walmart ever again! I swear it’s always something going on there. Tell me why there’s this lady walking around buck naked, I’m talking about titties all out! Wild”
You stand up to help grab the bags from her hands as she closes the door laughing. “That’s actually insane!” You say dropping the bags on the kitchen floor.
You guys shuffle around each other pulling items from the bag arranging them. The menu for the party is simple; wings and fries that are homemade and a few boxes of ordered pizza. Few alcoholic and nonalcoholic drinks to go around. Very casual but nonetheless thoughtful.
“What time is Jermajesty supposed to be here?” Your best friend questioned as she grabbed a bag of potatoes and put them in the sink to start rinsing and peeling them.
“Oh! Let me see if he did”. You say looking around for your phone. You find it on the end table in your room. Unlocking your phone you see a few messages from multiple people.
Jaa 🤞🏽
Can’t wait to see you at my birthday party on Saturday. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever with everything popping off! I miss you stink!! 💙
You
Miss you too really! Can’t wait to see you too! ❤️
You can’t help but smile at his message. He’s been all over promoting ‘Michael’. You’ve never been more proud of him. The amount of effort he put in was inspirational and whenever he doubted himself you made sure to breathe life back into him and be a supporting hand to him when it got bad and when it went amazing.
You’ve known him since you were 5 years old running around with him and his brothers. Even with the slight age gap between you and him, it just worked. When you guys are together it’s like magic. Everything works and fits together naturally. But it didn’t help that as time went on you fell more and more in love with him. You wish you had the courage to say something but if it wasn’t reciprocated you’d risk the friendship.
You shake your head and scroll down to Jermajesty’s text messages and read his response.
You
What’s your eta?
Jer 🖕🏾🤴🏽
Got the cooler and stopped for ice to put in the freezer. Otw now
That was sent five minutes ago. “He should be here any minute now with the cooler and ice” you say as you walk back into the kitchen and wash your hands before starting your prep of the chicken wings.
“What made you all happy? I see that big ass smile you’re trying to hide.” Solis leans into your space with a smirk on her face.
“Bro move!” You exclaimed, laughing leaning away from her inquisitive eyes and face.
“Ahhh! I got it! Your man texted you huh? Got you all excited and shit! Yes, get it girl!”
“It’s not even like that! You know it’s not!” You deny. Solis squints her eyes at you. Suddenly her face turns serious. “Babes, I'm going to be very blunt and honest with you and I want you to listen to me carefully. That boy is HEAD over heels infatuated with you and y’all both kinda slow as fuck for not acting on those said feelings. Just wasting my time with the anticipation you know?”
“I really don’t think-“ you try to get your sentence out but she doesn’t let you finish. “Aht! Aht! Don’t say anything. I said what I said and you’ll see eventually and when you guys get together I’ll make sure to say I told you so.”
Suddenly there’s a pounding knock at the door. “Boy! Why the fuck are you banging on the door like you the police or something?” Solis yells as she shuffles to the door, yanking it open to let Jermajesty inside.
And the heart to heart moment is over as Jermajesty and Solis start bickering back and forth. ‘For someone who gives really good advice she should take her own’ you thought to yourself. It’s funny because they both act like it’s a chore to be in each other’s presence but share so many similarities and interests. Both are nerds and could go on and on about anime or whatever interests they’ve picked up.
Jermajesty walks into the kitchen grinning and shows off his gap tooth smile. “Hey T! You want the ice in the bottom freezer?”
“Yeah go ahead and put it in there I made space.”
He places the cooler in the corner of the kitchen before opening it and taking out 4 bags of ice and putting it in the freezer.” You need me to do anything else?” He questioned.
“Uh…yeah actually can you blow up the balloons they’re in that bag over there on the coffee table in the living room. There’s also a bag you can put them in so we don’t have to worry about them the day of.”
“Gotcha.” He closes the freezer door and turns to Solis who’s setting up the table decorations. “You wanna put your headphones in to block out the balloon sounds?”
Solis’ eyes widened at his words. For as long as you’ve known her, Solis hates balloons. The sound they make when tied, the sound when they rub together. You’ve heard it many times but when you think back on it she’s only said it once around Jer at Abu’s 3rd birthday party. They had a clown making balloon animals and she gritted her teeth with a grimace until she was able to fish her headphones out to cancel the noise.
‘To be seen is to be loved’ the quote comes to the forefront of your mind. You shake your head and continue on. ‘I give it ‘til Halloween’
“Couple costumes I’ll bet” you say to yourself. Jer turns his head to you. “You said something?” He asked with his eyes furrowed slightly.
“Nah, just talking to myself.”
“Okay.”
He goes back to his task of opening the balloon packages and grabbing the balloon blower machine and turning it on. You watch him glance over to Solis, you glance over and see her bopping her head to the music in her headphones. Looking back at Jermajesty he nods his head and gets to work. All you can do is chuckle and shake your head.
-
July 24th 2026
The plan was so simple it would be impossible to fail. Randy Jr and Jermajesty were going to take Jaafar out for the day. Brothers bonding and whatnot and then you will text him saying you need his help with something asap, knowing him he will stop everything and make his way over with no questions asked.
Everything was working out according to plan. Food was ready to go and sitting in warmers. Your text to Jaafar was answered and his eta was 2 minutes out. All your close friends were here ready for the big surprise.
RJ 🥸
Here
You
Okay
I told him the door is open
We’re ready
You lock your phone and turn the music down. You clasp your hands together and grab the attention of everyone. “Okay guys it’s show time so let’s get into position!” Everyone shuffles around and the lights get turned off and everyone stands in anticipation.
The door jiggles and opens and Jaafar steps in with his brothers behind him.
“Hey T I’m-“
“SURPRISE!”
The lights turn on and confetti is shot out and sprinkles down on a taken aback Jaafar who jumps. He looks around and sees the party decorations and his close friends all around smiling and laughing at him. He can’t help the smile that stretches across his face. His eyes searches for you and when he reaches you his smile widens.
Stepping more into the room he greats and thanks everyone for their birthday wishes. He slowly makes his way to you and when he finally does he pulls you into a bear hug picking you off the floor and spinning you around.
You hit his back laughing exclaiming that you’ll get dizzy if he doesn't stop. He lets out a loud laugh before stoping and letting you back onto the ground. He doesn’t let you go far. His arms still circled around you when he pulled back slightly.
“Thank you for this. This was so sweet of you to do and I’m surprised you got my hardheaded brothers to help out. I should’ve known something was up when they wanted to hang out with me.” He said, smiling down at you.
“Not too much on them though! They were very helpful with the set up and keeping you distracted.” You had to give them their props. They were instrumental in the planning.
“I see that”
You both hold eye contact for a while. You feel like your heart is beating out your chest and it’s getting a little bit hard to breathe. You clear your throat before dislodging yourself from him a bit.
“So…uh…We made wings and yes before you ask there are fries. Drinks are in the cooler and there will be cake so you better hurry up and eat because as much as I like you, there’s a lot of people in my apartment right now and I’m ready for them to leave. Like now if I’m being honest.”
He can’t help but shake his head amused by your comment. “Yes ma’am!” He salutes and makes his way to the kitchen to eat.
-
“Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday dear Jaafar, happy birthday to you!”
The song comes to an end and someone shouts out “Make a wish!” Jaafar looks around before locking eyes with you. His eyes are filled with adoration and he has a soft shy smile. He leans forward blowing out his candles as everyone cheers.
-
The party winds down and everyone starts saying their goodbyes. Since everyone lives in different directions. Randy heads out for the night while Jermajesty and Solis stay behind to help clean up. No shocker that Solis offered to drive Jer home. More like he drives himself to her car and then she takes herself home but that’s semantics. Jaafar is going to sleep in your guest bedroom tonight and then go home tomorrow morning.
You and Jafaar are out on your bedroom balcony after seeing off Jer and Solis. Bidding them good night and making sure they check in when they get home.
“You know I really do appreciate you for all of this. You didn’t have to do it”
He spoke softly as he sat next to you. Both enjoying the cool breeze of the night with a shared blanket.
You lean your head on his shoulder with a sigh.
“It’s really nothing. I just wanted to celebrate with you. You only turn 30 once, old man!” You say patting his knee.
He chuckles and takes your hand in his before placing your fingers together. Your breath hitches as you stare down at your interlocked hands. You could feel the blood rushing through your veins and your heart pounding through your chest.
You both sit in silence for a while. Looking out into the distance of the area. Lights from downtown visible in the distance. It’s not long before you feel Jaafar shift and look down at his watch.
“It’s officially my birthday” he whispers, leaning his head onto yours. “Hopefully my wish comes true”
“What did you wish for? Actually wait don’t say because if you say it it won’t come t-“
He cuts you off before you can finish your sentence. If you had a nickel for every time you got cut off today you’d have two, it’s not a lot but it’s crazy it’s happened more than once in the last 48 hours.
“You.”
You stop breathing for a while before your brain kicks in and you let out the breath you’ve been holding. Your brain isn’t computing correctly. Must’ve been the wind because there’s no way he just said that.
“W-what do you mean”
Okay so not the best way to respond but in your defense this is crazy! He squeezes your interlaced fingers before shifting to face you.
“I’m so very grateful for you. And I know we’ve known each other since forever and this may make or break our friendship but you know sometimes you gotta take a leap of faith and jump and hope the parachute opens you know? I remember all the times you would hold me when you were scared of something. Called me when you went off to college. Brought me back a souvenir from your girls trip. The little things you would do for me and remember about me. But also the big things. Answering my calls when I felt like I wasn’t good enough. Help me push through all the noise and the hate. To be honest I’ve felt like this for years but just- I don’t know just felt like you would feel the same way but I just needed to get it off my chest that I’m so very much in love with you and have been for a while. And if you don’t feel-“
It’s your turn to cut him off.
“Jaafar shut the fuck up.”
You can’t help it. You laugh. You feel tears building up and spilling out of your eyes.
“I feel the same so please shut up.”
You feel lost for words. Jaafar looks at his eyes shining from the soft lights illuminating from the string lights on the balcony.
“I’m going to kiss you now if that’s okay” He said it so low and gently. He grabs your face with both his hands. They’re large and warm against your neck and cheeks. He leans in toward you slowly giving you a chance to deny his advances but you don’t. You grab onto both his wrists and lean into him.
When your lips connect the world around you slows and you feel good. Great even. Probably like you’re about to explode. This is everything you’ve ever wanted. And now it’s a reality.
You both pull back for air and he rests his forehead on yours. His eyes are closed and his face is filled with joy and a big smile.
“I should’ve done that a long time ago.”
“Yeah you should’ve, what took you so long?” You retorted. He opens his eyes and they’re sparked with mischief. He stands before dragging you up with him and then manhandling you onto his shoulder.
“What are you doing?! Put me down! Now”
You start kicking your feet as he walks with you both inside. He slaps your ass and that makes you freeze before you do the same to him. Next thing you know is your back hitting your bed.
Propping yourself in your elbows you look at him from where he stands in front of you. He slowly prowls his way to you. Leaning forward and eventually crawling on top of you.
“Gotta make up for lost time you know.” He says before kissing you again. You wrap your arms around him pulling him in closer.
-
The music is loud as you enter the backyard of Jaafar’s family home. You both came in together holding each other’s hand, only releasing when greeting and accepting hugs. Everyone wishing Jaafar a happy birthday as y’all walked through.
Kids were running around and screaming to their heart’s content. You know that Solis is here because her nieces and nephews are a part of said screaming children. Family members scattered all around on chairs, or blankets in the grass; a few of them in the pool splashing around. You scan the area and see Solis lounging in a beach chair with Abu laying right on top of her while she reads what seems to be some kind of manga and surprise surprise Jermajesty is next to her in her space.
She makes eye contact with you across the yard and then tilts her head down to your hands and then back up.
‘I told you so’ is what she mouths to you with a laugh and then she goes back to reading apologizing to Abu who’s demanding her attention and continuation.
You look up at Jaafar to see him looking at you already.
You tilt your head towards his brother and your best friend.
“How long until they realize they like each other?”
He turns his head up the sky with a pondering expression.
“Hmm…hopefully not as long as I took” You let out a soft laugh before hitting him gently in his chest. “No seriously, I think sometime in October for sure. Either his birthday or Halloween.”
“Nah, they’re both stubborn so I’ll say maybe Christmas time or her birthday. Maybe even New Years”
“So…what I’m hearing right now is a bet” You turn to him with a spark in your eyes.
He looks back at you. “Alright, how much is on the line here?”
“I’d say $100”
“Oh! Okay! Ms.Bigwallet over here!”
“Boy shut up!” You snort into your hands.
-
In the end you were both way off and it happened in August at a trading card event. They had a great time mastering different sets and as things go they ended up bickering about a card that Solis really wanted and unfortunately was extremely expensive and out of the budget. As things go, Jermajesty bought it and started antagonizing her about it and how they ended up kissing? They only know but that card is in her binder.
“Well at least we both lose so no money lost am I right?”
summary: you meet jaafar in acting class and became friends and he invites reader over to his family’s house in Havenhurst for a barbecue they’re throwing. Jermajesty is there but he comes in late but immediately wants to get to know you.
warnings: none just fluff
Chapter 1/?
You hated this class with a passion; the professor had this weird way of pairing y'all off with people you didn't know. On the bright side, this was nearing the end of the semester. Walking into class and unfortunately for you, someone has stolen your ‘ unassigned assigned seat’ in the back, so now you're sitting in the front row next to the class know-it-all Jaafar. He was sweet, but it's like he knew how to answer each question before you could formulate the thought correctly. The other issue is, you know, Jaafar… well, you knew his family. Well, more specifically, you had a special interest in his uncle. To be fair, it's freaking Michael Jackson! So you tried to play it cool because he didn't want anyone to know who he was, which was fair.
Today’s lesson is different because now you're paired with him and the assignment seems simple; however, Professor Gamble wants the partners to hang out at least once outside of class and come back Monday with a script based on the hangout.
After class, you and Jaafar walk together to get an idea of where you can hang out. As y'all are discussing what an ideal place and time is. You decide that maybe you should let the cat out of the bag.
“So, I know we've been in class together for a while, so I just want you to know that I know who you are.. No judgement though”
He raises his eyebrows, “Oh! What do you mean?”
You giggle a bit. “No need to be coy, I won't tell anyone”
He smirks, then “How do you know, is my next question.
With a grimace, you admit to your Michael Jackson interest and casual deep dive from time to time.
The only thing heard after that is the cars passing by and the distant conversations from groups nearby, when he fully laughs. The line by his face crinkles, and he almost has tears in his eyes. And you swear you could see the lightbulb go off in his head.
“ No freaking way, so you are aware of us already. Well then that's perfect because my family is actually having a barbecue this weekend, I think that's a good opportunity for us to hang out!”
“ Uhh, sure, I'm down at what time?”
“ 3 o’clock, and you don't have to bring anything. Here’s my number so you can call me when you get there.”
“ I’ll be there! Thanks for the invite”
He winks, “See you tomorrow, y/n”
Now a whole different issue has arisen. What the hell do you wear to a Jackson family barbecue? A swimsuit? Two-piece set? A dress? So you call your best friend, Imani, naturally.
“So, um im going out today.”
“With who?!?!”
“It's just an assignment for class, but Jaafar invited me to his family BBQ.”
“Oouu, I need all the details and just wear a cute set to make it easy!”
“Thank goodness you knew, and I will be debriefing you as soon as I get in the car”
~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~
You made it with 15 minutes to spare, because you hated being late to anything. So you call Jaafar to come get you from the car, because you also hate walking up to random places alone. He comes and looks at you with a hint of joy in his eyes that you actually came.
“ Well, hello! Everyone is almost here; my brothers are always late, so they'll be here later”
“ Hey! I can't wait to have some fun.” You shyly say as you walk with him to the backyard.
“Don't worry, your secret is safe with me.” he winks as you cross the threshold of the gate.
The party is in full swing. Kids are running around, uncles are trying not to burn the meat, aunties and moms are sitting around the fire pit drinking wine coolers and laughing aimlessly. Jaafar makes his rounds introducing you to everyone, and everyone adores you!
You are sitting at the edge of the pool talking to Jaafar about the assignment when, just as predicted, his brothers did in fact arrive late.
Jermajesty and Randy Jr pulled up with gas station snacks and loud air horns shouting “ the party has arrived.” You jump a little
Jermajesty and Randy jr make it over to where you both are sitting. With a roll of his eyes, Jaafar introduces you to both of them, as annoying brothers one and two.
Randy Jr, snuck away to hide from any cooking responsibilities. So that meant Jaafar got pulled away to help cook; in turn, he is leaving you with his younger brother for the time being. Fortunately, though, you and Jermajesty hit it off quickly and start talking about anything and everything under the sun. You find out about his obsession with Naruto and even get to see the infamous video of him and the headband.
Jermajesty’s voice carried over the loud music as you teased him about the slight fixation of it all. You can't compare the characters of Naruto to those of another anime because it's definitely not the same. “Apples and oranges, dude, that doesn't make sense!!” “You must be watching different shows than I am, man”
“You're obsessed with the wrong show and opinion jer!”
“Well, I wouldn’t say obsessed, but it could be an unhealthy hobby ”
“Oh, so you in full cosplay isn't obsessed?”
He looked genuinely offended. “ That's different! We were going to a party!”
You gave a skeptical look. “Wait, it wasn't even Halloween yet…”
“And you're done”
Surrendering, you let up on him for now “ alright fine, it's an unhealthy hobby. At least you never post it on social media”
An embarrassed look crossed his face. “It's actually circulating on TikTok and Twitter right now”
You howl a laugh, “ Oh my- you better be glad I only have Instagram”
~~~~ ~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~
The sun slowly disappeared beyond the roof of the house, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold before darkness settled over the neighborhood. You and Jaafar came up with a semi-script for Monday. The afternoon was filled with stolen glances you caught from Jermajesty across the yard, the slight smirk you would give him back once he realized he was caught, and laughs at jokes told from the bickering of uncles. The string lights hanging above the backyard gradually became the primary source of light. You realize it's getting later than you expected, so you start bidding goodbyes when you see Jermajesty doing a slight jog to you.
“ Hey, wait! I'll walk you to your car!”
Caught a bit off guard, you tried to play it cool: “Oh no, you don't have to!”
From a distance, you hear his mom scream, “ He better! I raised them right!”
Earning a laugh from both of you, you start walking to your car.
Together they made their way down the driveway while the sounds of the party faded behind them.
“You know, I didn't expect you to be as cool as you are”
You sigh, “What can I say, im a cool girl “
He rolls his eyes but has a smirk playing on his lips. “Let's not push it now”
Bumping him playfully, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, thanks for walking me to my car. I appreciate it ”
“Just make sure you follow me back on Instagram”
Getting into the car and with a small smile and wave, “I will, and tell Jaafar thanks for today”
As soon as Jermajesty entered the house, all eyes were on him. Jaafar’s smile widened, and Jermajesty already regretted sitting down.
“You like her!”
“I barely know her!”
Luckily for Jermajesty, their mom came to his rescue, shouting for Jaafar to leave him alone. However, that night, everyone went to their rooms. He couldn't help but replay the whole day. Pieces of the afternoon kept replaying in his head. Small moments. Random comments. Fragments of conversations that should have been forgettable but somehow weren't.
As promised, you called your best friend immediately, and before you could get a hey out, she was cutting you off immediately. “Tell me what happened from beginning to end.” “Well, hello to you too!” As you relay to her the contents of the evening, you can't help but smile and giggle at the things that transpired. It doesn't help that your best friend is a hopeless romantic because she's overly giddy about it. “Oh my gosh, bitch you're about to get a boyfriend!!!” You went to stop her immediately. “Absolutely not, he's cool, but I'm friends with his brother now. I've met the family, but boyfriend is too soon, sis.” “Yeah, yeah, I'll pick out my bridesmaid dress”
~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~
@/Jermajestjjackson has followed you!
You internally start freaking out because he actually followed you like he said he would. You almost start spiraling, thinking about his newfound fans and what they would say about a new follower, a girl no less. But regardless, you followed him back.
@/y/nonthescene has followed you back!
He was overly excited that you followed him back, but to seem level-headed, he didn't text you right away. He wanted to play it cool because he wasn't too sure if you liked him or if you were just being friendly. He, too, needed to figure out what this pull in his stomach was every time he checked your profile.
a/n: be kind please, this is my first ever fanfic. i wrote this for my friends. Suggestions comments are welcomed c:
thinking about how jermajesty reacted when he made you squirt for the first time.
tw: smut (18+), jermajesty being a munch, oral (f! receiving), fingering, squirting, overstimulation.
Author’s Note: my man posted, enjoy. excuse any mistakes!
This content does NOT contain AI and may not be used to train AI.
Hotboxing in Jermajesty’s car was nothing new, it was a regular occurrence—just like how it’s a regular occurrence of Jermajesty having you in the backseat being borderline cock-drunk. But on this particular night, you were drunk off his fingers.
Your leggings and panties were discarded somewhere in the front, you were in the backseat, back laid on the cool leather seats—your legs pushed to your shoulders as Jermajesty lapped at your sopping wet pussy like he was a madman. The car was filled with wet squelches, your unrecognizable babbles, and Jermajesty’s muffled groans.
By now, your chest is heaving like you ran a marathon—your body coated in a film of sweat, your legs shaking uncontrollably, and your eyes constantly rolling back.
“Maj—fuckk, slow down. Please.” Your words jumbled together, right hand trying to push his head away. Jermajesty finally lifted his head from between your legs—lips and the tip of his nose drenched from your slick. “Come on mama, you can take it.” He licked his lips as he dove back in to eat your pussy. He lapped his tongue around your clit. The sensation sent tingles up your spine, feeling your slick drip down, creating a small puddle on the seats.
A loud squeal sounded off in the car as his two fingers slid deeply inside you, curling them at the perfect angle. “Maj, oh my goshhhh.” You babbled out as a euphoric sensation trickled through your body. Jermajesty moves his fingers at a steady pace as he picks up the pace with his tongue, lapping and licking at your pussy as if this is his last time living.
You could feel Jermajesty moving—you forced your eyes to look down, just for you to see his hips absentmindedly rutted into the seats—the thought of him cumming just off of giving you head made a slight whimper slip through your lips.
Jermajesty hollowed his cheeks as he sucked at your clit harshly and angled his fingers deeper into you—his unexpected movement sent a rush of heat through you as your orgasm rushed through you, causing your legs to fall on his shoulders, leaving your toes curled tight. Your mouth slacked open as a silent moan fell.
You expected him to ease up for you to recover—but you were so wrong; Jermajesty didn’t even slow down his speed, in fact, it felt like he increased his speed just a tad, sending your body into a frenzy.
A loud yelp ripped through your throat as the pleasure became too much to bear. “Baby, please—slow down, it’s too much.” Your words slurred together, as your legs trembled harshly. Jermajesty dug his face deeper in your pussy, he was completely pussy drunk—small whimpers fell out of his mouth like a waterfall, his eyes rolling back at your taste, and the lower half of his face, along with his arm, was drenched in your juices.
The pressure within you kept growling stronger—heavier, becoming harder to control. Your walls clench around his fingers, slick pouring out constantly. You can barely breathe, as you can only let out short, staccato gasps. “Baby—fuckkk, I think—“ Your words got cut short as Jermajesty’s fingers pounded at that spot inside you.
That pressure within your stomach finally snapped, you let out a scream that filled the car, and the area around you—your body locked up, eyes harshly rolling back as a harsh gush flooded out of you, drenching Jermajesty. His eyes rolled completely back at you drenching him—he kept lapping at you as you came down from your high, never missing a single drop.
When you came to, your body shivering violently, your bottom half soaked with your slick—you could hardly catch your breath. But you were able to reach your hand into Jermajesty’s damp curls, pulling him up—his cheeks flushed with slight embarrassment. “Are you alright baby?” You breathlessly asked. He paused for a moment; “I came in my pants, baby.” He said shyly. “Aww, it’s okay, maj.” You cooed at him.
Silence filled the car for all of ten seconds before Jermajesty’s voice cut through.
“You squirting on me like that was sexy—when we get to the house, you gone do that shit on my dick.”
well🌚
all likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated🤎.
can yall just say who is doing ai fics and stop speaking so vaguely especially when we ask who it is and get no response because as readers we want to engage in REAL work and support REAL authors so unless you actually admit who it is please stop with the posts unless you call out the mfs doing it, please and thank you
Summary: Unwarranted and unwanted, a series of events snatch you away from the breezy skylines of California and throw you into the muggy Bible belt state of Indiana. Conveniently, flushing your grand plans for a final, unforgettable summer as a student right down the drain.
But then, a certain choir boy makes that web of losses feel spun into something made of luck and lechery.
Weeks of bible study and partially blind, but fully blissful interactions appear harmless enough on the surface. Yet underneath, the flames of desire radiate between you hotter than the Midwestern sun, begging to be quenched.
Will Michael be able to hold tight to his faith, or give in to feelings that could lead him to a fallen state?
Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem! reader (black-coded, but no specific features are listed, so anyone can self-insert)
Era: Off the Wall
Setting: Gary, Indiana. Summer of 1980.
Category & Warnings: fluff, smut, mildly objectifying dialogue, masterbation (m receiving), nipple play, dry humping (very brief), oral (m and f receiving), vaginal fingering, outercourse/non-penetrative sex, corruption kink (finally, some good fucking food), sub-ish? Michael (edit: upon re-reading, I realized it is in fact very sub! Michael. also, manipulative! reader), virgin! Michael, dacryphilia, religious blasphemy (mayhaps a tad overhanded on the use of religious references… oops), porn with plot
Word Count: 29,766
Note: First, who/what I’d like to thank for inspiring this fic: the film Sinners, the novel Their Eyes Were Watching God, renaissance-style weeping (specifically The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel), and the elaborate (genuinely freakier) methods my former church-going peers used to get action while still somewhat keeping their virginity intact.
Both reader and Michael are 21, getting ready to be seniors in college (maybe should’ve clarified that better in the summary 💀) This started out as a small writing exercise and snowballed into a full-fledged project (a passion project, if you will), and took me EIGHT MONTHS to complete… I gotta stick to shorter fics and drabbles in the meantime 😑
Forgive me if the setting description is unnecessarily long here haha 😅 That’s the part I really experimented on + I wanted it to evoke the feeling of observing passing sights in a car ride, but it kind of helped me set the flow and tone of everything else (It was months ago and I kinda don’t like it now, but that’s just the harsh self-critic in me.) But, I think the roughly 14–15k of spicy stuff makes up for that. Anyway, enjoy! ;)
“Don’t sulk, baby. This is exciting! Besides, it’s just for the summer.”
Your mother was practically leaping out of the driver's seat, bursting at the seams with joy, her face upturned in a grin that stretched her eyes thin, crinkled and gleaming. “Exciting” wasn’t quite fitting for what loss you felt that your specified ‘vacation-to-do list’ would now remain largely unchecked.
The thousand mile journey you took from the sun-kissed rooftops and lofty palms of Encino, to the unexpected surprise drawing you to Indiana, left you unsure if this was an endeavor to dread or an experience to embrace. On one hand, you couldn’t help but ache in longing for the university break you’d made plans for back home, wanting to close off your final summer with a grand send-off from the island of academia.
The vivacious swing and vibrance of the valley was a clinging and taunting recollection. A pleasant daydream that couldn’t materialize within your grasp a whole five states away. Your body surrendering to the caress of warm Pacific waters, salt-rich waves drifting into your nostrils on a coastal breeze, exhaling the strain of the lively clamor of the Santa Monica boardwalk over the steady whoosh of ocean currents.
Hazy, late-night cruises with your friends down Sunset Boulevard, the streets humming a nocturne of youth and freedom, Piña Colada and adrenaline dancing through your veins as wildly as you moved under the neon strobes and disco shimmers of LA’s hottest night spots.
It was all nothing more than a mirage, a distant vision, as the rundown state of Gary blurred by through your window-view. Like a tick, exasperation burrowed itself deep under your skin. But beneath the reluctance, curiosity rippled at what this drastic change in location might entail.
For the sake of not dampening your mother’s upbeat mood with your confliction, you simply stayed silent, lips pressed into a flat line, your gaze fixed on the place you'd be serving time until your release was mandated by your final stretch of college, each pitiable display reeling past as your destination closed the distance.
The morning sun sat high in a cloudless sky, beaming down in mercy, warmth kissing the cracked pavement of a dying city in much need of nourishment. The dense, Midwestern air pressed in all around you, winds the polar opposite of Jack Frost gusting through your open window, heat haze simmering upon the uncrowded roads like freshly scorched coals on the brink of collapse. Much like the town itself, a mere phantom of glory days long passed.
Lining the landscape were small businesses that continued to take blows to customer attendance as the population steadily dwindled, many jumping ship where employment was plentiful and the future felt assured. Low in traffic, their welcome signs hung in a fashion some would call futile--others, resilient--as the chime of their registers grew fewer every year.
The fissured brick of apartment complexes and chipped paint of one-story homes stood stubbornly, battered by the slow erosion of decay and age, yet tended to with love and pride by the humble community that remained.
Whether from weightless wallets, familiarity, or clasping onto the fading hope possessed by a once-prosperous city, something kept Gary from flatlining--undulating with life that almost made the present mistake past. That almost masked the abandonment creeping in if you didn’t look close enough to notice it.
Children sprinted through the spray of a fire hydrant, their laughter and hollers bubbling through the mist. Their safekeepers--elders with skin marinated in light and faces etched by time, flapping paper fans that did little to nothing to stave off the humid heat. A wooden round table on a rickety porch supported their conversation over a game of cards, reminiscing about days when doo wop groups crooned from every corner and the raging pulse of the steel mill whirred and hammered with enough power to sustain the whole town on its own.
A group of young men lounged on an unusually active street corner, getting into trouble both good and bad, testing out manhood with the zip of a whistle or the hoot of a catcall after the pumped and platformed strut of dolled-up ladies passing by, met with scoffs and sideways glances of dissatisfaction at their immature antics.
Flared jeans and fitted tops accentuated every dip and curve of their divinity, sculpted like pristine deities amongst ancient ruins. Their hair bloomed in an array of different styles and textures that stood out like flowers pushing through concrete: feathered, fluffed out wide, or folded strands woven into intricate patterns. The jewels and bangles they decorated themselves with jingled in time with the rhythm of their idle stride to nowhere, but they did it with undeniable style.
Gary held a unique charm that spoke loudly. Even with the lack of audience, even though plenty avenues crescendoed in silence as more gradually fled, and void clung to the walls of foreclosed buildings like letters left unfinished, a story was still told in the absence of characters.
It was a bittersweet spectacle, heaving to prosper in spite of lost opportunity and neglect. And, though the town was barely holding on, those who stayed were its life support. The pulse that pumped blood to its vitals and breathed energy into its withering bones.
They carried themselves in a way that painted these weary streets in hues of grit and glimmer, an ode to the fading legacy that once crowned it,“The City Of The Century.” As with Rome, this once-thriving metropolis had been trodden down by the unrelenting march of time it failed to keep pace with. Yet still, though meagerly, it endured.
It wasn’t the glittering skyline or the lull of ocean sways you’d rather be soaking up, but it'd have to suffice for the three months you’d be here. And what brought you, at least, was much cause for celebration.
As soon as the front tires of your station wagon slid onto the driveway of a quaint, brown bungalow with a white porch, your Aunt Vivica came racing out the front door like joy sprouted legs and flung itself at the first sight of love, ready to shower you and you mother in hugs and kisses after over a decade apart.
“Christmas must’ve swooped in early this year! Oh my--look at what a beauty my niece’s grown into! Those holiday pics don’t do justice. Got that from her auntie, no doubt.”
She teased her little sister in a sweet Midwestern drawl, like they were still rugrats on the sandlot, giving you a good look over before engulfing you in a hold tight enough to see stars. You squeezed back with an equal amount of enthusiasm, though carefully, as the reason for this getaway faintly swelled into your lower belly, small enough to miss even at second glance, but unmistakable when pressed so close.
“In that case, it’s only fair that this munchkin pops out wearing my mug. You’ll have to take kindly to it,” your mother teases in a tone light and familiar, as if the distance from these parts had spanned only for a season as opposed to the actual years that had gone by. Breaking from your auntie’s hold, she lowers her hands to cradle the bump forming in her womb in a soft, yet protective way.
“How far along did you say you were?”
“Doctor says twelve weeks, but it beats me. Wasn’t a sign or symptom ‘til that faint I had. You almost took me out before you could get here, little one,” your aunt's jest was fond, paired with a light smile, marveling in awe at the miracle growing inside of her, being told for so long that her chances of conceiving were slim to none.
She had been battling with infertility for years, trying everything doctors recommended. Every test, treatment and remedy in the book, but to no avail. Uncle Lenny even consulted some of his own specialists to ensure things were properly functioning on his end. They all ruled what was suspected: he was as potent as he’d ever been.
Nothing provided results, and reluctantly, she started to accept that maybe the universe had disconnected the line with her on this particular matter.
So, imagine her shock when a dizzy spell landed her in the ER, one she chalked up to be from all the toiling she’d done in the garden that day, only to be brought the news that she’d been eating for two for quite some time. When the announcement was delivered to your mother through the ring of the telephone a few weeks ago, it was like the cosmos finally accepted her call and aligned for this specific moment.
Your father’s work as an orthopedic surgeon had taken him abroad for a year-long post in South America. Your mother, not having much to occupy her in his absence, saw no reason to not make travel plans herself. And for what better occasion than this? It was decided on a whim. She’d be of support in person through her sister’s first pregnancy, until your father returned home.
And you would be right there by her side.
When she suggested you join her until school resumed in the fall, you weren’t fully eager to accept it. But, seeing how ecstatic she was about using this summer for some long-overdue family bonding, you couldn’t refuse the proposal. Besides, life was bound to get busier after graduation, and this might’ve been your last real chance to spend meaningful time with your loved ones before the hustle of adulthood set in.
So, reluctantly, you packed your bags and slid into the passenger seat for a thirty-hour drive across the western United States, a trip that left your limbs stiff and your patience frail. But, once you’d finally made it into the snug fit of your auntie’s embrace and saw how she lit up upon your arrival, the dread you had on the way here all but dissipated. It truly had been so long, you’d forgotten just how much you missed her.
You’d all fallen into each other’s rhythm rather quickly and with not even a pinch of awkwardness in spite of the prolonged separation, almost as if there had never been any distance to begin with. There was ample space for both you and your mother, each having your own separate rooms, making crampedness a thing of naught. The few days you’d been here had been spent catching up on lost time over the sizzle of dinner prep or while leaned over side by side in the vegetable garden, tending hands busy, connecting through shared labor.
Uncle Lenny was a suprisingly spry character when he managed a break from the oil grime and hectic hours of his auto shop. He sprung at the opportunity to round everyone up for a family outing. One that uncovered gems that were miraculously never once sighted during your rare and brief childhood visits. The shoreline views and winding hiking trails that were nestled less than seven miles away felt like you had a small piece of the West Coast with you.
While sitting on the sandy surface, grainy morsels slipping absentmindedly through your fingers, guffaws and memories of missed moments sailed through the afternoon until moonlight left silver tracks across the tides as crickets serenaded the day a farewell. And, truthfully, you were having a much better time than you’d originally settled for…
Then Sunday morning stormed in and shattered that sentiment like fresh glass contracting from sudden cold. Aunt Vivica was always an early bird, the aroma of breakfast already floating through the house by the rooster’s first crow. But on this particular day, she had you all waking up before dawn even brushed the horizon, determined that everyone be dressed to the nines and out the door in time to beat the bustle of the congregation for the best seats in the house.
Out of respect for your aunt, you attended. But, her Sunday service rule for anyone under her roof wasn’t exactly a matter of compromise. Seated in the pews alongside your family, the grogginess from early rising pulled at your eyelids and weared at your attention, making it all the more challenging to feign interest at the drone of testimony and drawn-out scripture readings you had no desire to connect with.
Unpleasant but expected, the church service dragged on for far too long, seeming to surpass the limits of time itself. As the minutes piled up, your boredom was ever increasing, silent and building behind the veil of a carefully reserved demeanor: face set, posture upright, yet ears so disengaged that the sermon registered as a non-cohesive string of words, hardly grazing the barrier of your unreceptive mind.
If it wasn’t crystal clear, churches had never been your scene. Faith, in any single form, seemed too rigid for something as uncertain and complex as existence. You’d never rejected belief itself, just the idea that one path could hold every answer. There were so many ways to search for meaning and purpose, each with its own light, each within its own walls. And sometimes those walls seemed to shape people more than protect them, drawing lines where curiosity might have wandered freely into something truly fitting.
You’d come to think that any belief’s worth rested in the peace it gave. Declaring one truth above all others felt too narrow for mysteries this vast, too simple for questions that expanded into infinite possibilities.
The incessant buzz of ceiling fans and stale reek of old hymnals had the strangest effect, melting you into subdued haze. Just beyond the preaching at the pulpit, stained glass light splayed across the bronze contours of the crucifixion in a spectrum of color, each glow glaring around the edges like the hues of a trippy hallucination you desperately wanted to come down from.
The only thing that snapped you back to the present was the choir’s closing number. And by the grace of God, it was the single time you felt a flare of inner stirring. Not because the verses spoke to you in any way, nor from the long-awaited release that would come with the piece’s final chord, but because of who no doubt must’ve been an angel, cloaked in sin, singing front and center.
His fierce gaze swept over the crowd, sealing in passion behind every note. His voice--a timbre that made the whole church hall glisten in anointing, piercing and swaying all who consumed his holy recital. It echoed off walls, rattled window panes, and coiled around the fellowship like a tightening cord, squeezing hearts, clenching souls, overwhelming everyone who bare witness.
Some shed serenity through tears in silence; others sprang up, glee in their feet drumming against the wooden floors in a rush they could not contain. But all were overtaken by his magic in melody. Every spirit, risen by his lyrical spell. Every soul, charmed into deliverance.
Unlike the congregation, his vocals struck somewhere inside you where godliness did not reside. Somewhere primal and visceral, where raw instinct drowned out reason, clouding your thoughts like vapor in a sauna. Stifling. Heavy. Inescapable. And if this sacred chamber could hear what coursed through, could glimpse into the musings of your mind--you’d surely be rendered to flame right where you sat.
The performance left you utterly spellbound, as if something else had seized your will, holding you hostage within your own skin. Rolling up your spine until you quivered, his baritone nearly casted down the rails of your restraint. Each falsetto--soaring, spectral howls that raked goosebumps across your flesh, conjuring a force that cleaved at your grip on sensibility until you felt stretched thin, barely holding on, your trembling grasp ready to give way, so delightfully, to that unrelenting pry.
How could one feel so fallen in the presence of praise to the Most High?
Jovial figures danced and shouted all around you, but like the narrowing scope of a barrel, you were entirely fixated on him, unable to so much as twitch your eye toward the commotion. He had your undivided attention. Demanded it with each fluid spin and sharp, deliberate step that accompanied his tenor. Synchronized. Precise. Explicit? Brazen as it was--the heat that flushed your cheeks and nipped at your nerves until sweat beaded down your neck--it had to be.
Heavy as iron, your lungs were crushed beneath the weight of the breath you failed to release, laying trapped in your chest. Your limbs mirrored the statues you’d passed in the foyer, rigid and unmoving, as if carved from the very same stone.
With locked joints, unwavering eyes, and mind like a boundless abyss, void of all clutter, yet only able to form notions of him, an epiphany dawned on you like the waxing of a red moon into view. Slow. Luminous… Laced with danger.
Where the congregation was being freed, lifted by these transcendent frequencies, ascending towards salvation, you were frozen, held captive, wrapped in the snares of damnation. Of possession. Of his possession…
And there was no fate that could taste sweeter.
In conclusion, the last ‘amen’ of the finishing prayer granted permission for people to begin filing out of the nave, slowly ambling towards the parking lot or pausing along the way to chat with their neighbors. As your sore, clammy palm released its firm clutch on the pew’s armrest, still reeling from the intensity of the performance, you made an attempt to rise until a maternal voice interrupted.
“I see you brought some new faces with you this Sunday.”
A petite woman with a grin that radiated sweetness and welcome stood before your aunt and uncle, clearly expecting an introduction. Behind her, a group of boys and girls, appearing to be close to your age, were gathered. Some of them wore inviting smiles, upturned identical to hers and waiting patiently.
That is, besides the two teens--seemingly, the youngest--who were locked in a silent pinching match until an older boy with a thin mustache framing fuller lips gave them each a firm thwack on the back of the head. A direct signal for them to mind their manners in public.
“Oh, Kathy! This is my little sister and her daughter, the ones I was tellin’ you about. They just got in from California last week,” your aunt announced as she rose to embrace the woman. Someone you assumed was a close friend, given the same tenderness in her hug as the one she gave you the day you arrived. Uncle Lenny kept his salutation brief but comfortable, offering a quiet “Good afternoon, Kathy,” with a courteous nod before stepping aside for all of you to exchange greetings.
“That’s no quick hop down the road, is it? I hope it’s not too dull in these parts for you. I’m Kathrine, by the way. Kathrine Jackson,” her voice rang as softly as her handshake, gentle and inviting. “These are my children.”
A girl so gorgeous she could’ve been a supermodel introduced herself as LaToya. You were astonished to meet someone with such a high-profile look at an ordinary Sunday service instead of on the cover of Cosmopolitan.
The boy you’d seen scolding his siblings, Marlon, was all suave tones spread heavy under a flirtatious smirk now, handshake lasting a bit longer than needed and a failed attempt at subtlety as he tried to mack and sweet talk the best he could, just shy of his mother’s attention. But he’s quickly discarded, being pushed aside by the same two youngest, each scrambling for a turn.
The one named Janet won that battle, immediately doting over your dress and insisting to know where you got it, while the boy managed a sheepish “I’m Randy,” from the sidelines of his sister’s enthusiastic shove. And as if fate or fortune was at play, the one you’d seen on stage earlier was suddenly right in front of you, sliding his hand into yours, as delicate as the flit of a monarch’s wing: light yet intentional in a way that left you soaring.
“Hi, I’m Michael,” his smile was both polite and beaming, like a bow tied on a gift you didn’t expect to receive. Like a frosted lawn being thawed beneath sunlight, warmth spreading slowly. A soft beckoning for dew-dropped blades to dazzle in morning rays, resonant with the flicker in your heart.
You could hardly believe it… he was even more magnificent up close. His shy demeanor. His soft, velvety voice. A striking contrast to the absolute powerhouse vocals he’d nearly blasted the walls down with. He could’ve been mistaken for an entirely different person, but those eyes could only ever belong to one. Eyes that once blazed with so much energy, now unguarded and more befitting of a fawn in their mildness, sparkling and renewed, like smokey quartz catching light after the first rain of spring.
It was your turn to prolong the touch, your grip solid around the unexpected callus his hand was made of. Sinewy strength, broad and masculine, yet softened by a grace like golden leaves: veins weaving elegant paths beneath smooth, melanated skin, strong roots threading through rich soil. You held steady--engaged and waiting. Not just because you didn’t want it to end, but because you sought after how he’d feel in its calm maintenance. And, perhaps, in that stillness, you’d find his heart’s rhythm too.
His lips quirked into something incredibly boyish and bashful, as if he might draw back, overwhelmed by the proximity, the closeness. But he, ever full of surprises, didn’t loosen his hold. He allowed the moment to simmer in a daring game, played out between your shared gaze and persistence, each of you anticipating to see who would slip away first…
That round was ultimately tied, broken by his mother’s call for departure.
“Well, we’d best be on our way then. I’ve gotta get my pot roast going before they start grumblin’ like I don’t feed them. Growin’ kids sure make tired hands, and a stockpile of groceries vanish in a day… you’ll know all about it soon enough yourselves.”
She gave a parting word of camaraderie to the soon-to-be parents, enfolding your auntie’s hands and delivering an affectionate pat to the backs of them before turning to you and your mother.
“It was nice meeting you both. Don’t be too shy to stop by next week!”
Her chime, followed by a light wave, was the cue the rest needed to follow her down the aisle, but not before Michael turned around to flash one last grin in your direction, wide and endearing, before heading out the way you all came.
Maybe Aunt Vivica’s church rule wasn’t so bad after all.
You lie in bed late that night, the fan’s low hum serving as white noise, room cool and dimly lit by the slivers of luna whispering through your curtains. In the hush of that ambience, you couldn’t help but wander back to that measured moment with Michael near the pews. His smile--a tilt so precious it could be bid on for more than the rarest diamond. Hands that could bind just as much as they could break. Eyes that shone like the expanse of the universe. Endless. Reverent. Reviving…
And revive, they did. It almost made you feel ashamed at how easily you found yourself getting reignited. When he was confident and in his element during his performance? Who wouldn’t be moved by such command, such presence? But being more drawn in, more enthralled by his softness, his quiet, meek nature… that felt down right blasphemous.
It should’ve been wrong, how it set something off inside of you that made you want to provoke, to prod until the other version of him surfaced again. Or, would it stay dormant? Would he remain docile and pliant when pressed? Malleable, easy to mold, effortless to sway to every whim’s lingering and turning.
Maybe, he’d shed his respectable bearings when presented with a chance for indulgence, for release. Cast them aside to open space for what was firm. Unruly. Untamed. Like a young tiger coming into its own, frenzied by the taste of its first successful catch. Ravenous. Reinvigorated.
And his sounds… would they glide over you like honey slipping from a fresh comb on a summer day? Thick, golden, melting under the heat of sweltering forbiddeness. Or would they spill out rough and low, a rumble teasing your nerves and tugging at your psyche until even you questioned your true self?
Until the shadows of your thirst intertwined with proclivities you never knew lay dormant, transforming you into something unrecognizable. Something that contradicted all you’d believed of yourself to be. The curiosity was driving you to madness. Either way, you were determined to find out which side was most true to the boy with doe eyes and spellbinding song, or to uncover what else he had yet to reveal…
Next Sunday couldn’t have rolled around any slower. It seemed the more you anticipated, the more it stalled. But, even as the days leading up to it paddled along at their own leisure pace, it eventually arrived right on schedule.
You took the honor of waking yourself before your aunt did with the scent of her famous hot cakes or the low, velvety murmurs of Billie Holiday, both wafting from the kitchen most mornings. Earnest and on edge, you reserved an extra hour to prepare yourself, outwardly composed in reserved elegance: pearls rested just above your collarbones, paired with the finest dress you could rake from your wardrobe. Inwardly, you were ruminating on a damn near million ways for a clue to get closer to him.
Between the service’s insistence on faith, worship or whatever other rites were meant to draw them closer to the heavenly and eternal, and the six rows that barricaded any chance of rekindling that flame beyond what it had been, you pathetically managed a mere “hello” and “goodbye” in brief passing during the prelude and dismissal.
Feet dragging and shoulders slumped, you trudged to your room, displeased at the lackluster reunion and failed attempt to connect past the point of polite pleasantries. You kicked off your kitten heels, their low thumps hitting the wall on impact, before flopping face-first onto the comfort of your bed, bouncing a few times before the springs settled.
With frustration needling your thoughts and creasing your forehead, you couldn’t help but fret, rolling over on your back, massaging your temples to ease the tension stored there. Most of it stemmed from the three-hour church session, but your inability to shift casualness to something more personal bore just as much weight.
It was a feat in itself. A full week of plotting, and still, you couldn’t piece together a single thought that might open the door to intimacy. Somehow, you managed it nonetheless. And if inspiration didn’t strike soon enough, the summer was sure to burn out before you even had the chance to make a move.
Meanwhile, at the Jackson home, a feeling in sharp contrast swirled silently in Michael, giddy and swooning over the encounter he’d had with you at church. They were only crumbs, but he felt full, sustained just by seeing you again and eagerly awaiting when you’d next cross paths.
He found himself reminiscing on your interactions with a smile he couldn’t hold back. One that would’ve risen even if every muscle in his face tried to suppress it. But he didn’t want to fight it. He wanted to bask in this newfound crush.
His mother had said they would be stopping by to welcome Sister Vivica’s visiting family, and he trailed after her without giving much thought to it. He figured this would be a quick in-and-out kind of thing and nothing more. What he didn’t expect to find was the bombshell who left him stupefied and stunned in equal measure. The sudden disorientation left him unsure of what to make of the moment or the way it hit him.
He was already taken by your beauty, allured before he’d even spoken a word to you. Like a moth drawn to a flame, entranced and instinctively compelled, he ached to get closer. Yet his nerves went haywire, rumbling like static as his feet remained rooted like pillars set in cement, defying his wishes.
It was unpredictable. He wasn’t sure whether he’d stay hidden deep behind the veil of his siblings, unknown and admiring from a distance where he felt safe, or if he’d actually muster enough courage to get a better look. But when he caught a whiff of Marlon’s obnoxious attempt at flirting, that was all the motivation he needed to trample his anxiety and take a shot.
In a rush of incentive and intrigue, he took his place behind Janet, waiting with as much nonchalance he could manage, until she finished gushing over your outfit.
He spoke in a reverent hush once in front of you, worried that raising his voice even a decimal higher might make it crack, especially with the jolt of electricity that ran through him at the embrace of your hand. Much to his contentment, he soon realized that you weren’t making any effort to let go… and neither was he.
Your grip was assertive. Firm, but not forceful. Just enough to show you were interested as well. Though, Michael couldn’t have pulled back even if he wanted to. The energy simmering between you was too enticing to let up. The hint of challenge dancing in your eyes, the warmth and softness where you connected. It sent his heart racing off the charts, ready to leap from his chest and nestle itself next to yours. He felt like he’d been catapulted into the stratosphere, elated and cruising on a high nothing could bring down.
And he wouldn’t let it…
“Hey, little bro. Peep this,” Marlon announced his arrival from the doorway of their shared bedroom before a magazine smacks Michael square in the face.
Well, that was short-lived.
His eyes rolled in annoyance as he got ready to tell Marlon to buzz off, but when they snapped to what landed in his lap, shock snatched the words right off his lips. He fumbled with the item, clumsy and startled, slipping from his fingers as if the contact had scorched him, but he managed to get a solid hold. The bold, scandalous letters spelled out Playboy, stamped across the cover like lechery dripped in ink.
”If mama knew you were bringin’ filth like this into her house, she’d send us both straight to the Lord herself!” He hissed at his brother, who slammed the door shut, locked it and pounced onto the bed to slap a hand over Michael’s mouth.
“She won’t find nothin’ if you shut your trap. Talkin’ loud enough to wake the dead,” Marlon whisper-yelled, scolding Michael for the ruckus he was stirring up. He froze for a moment, ears tuned for any signs of movement outside. When it became clear that the shouting hadn’t alerted anyone, he slowly pulled back, shooting Michael a look that carried a warning of its own if they got caught.
“...How’d you get this, anyway?” He stared at the girlie edition in disbelief. Considering their state had laws that heavily restricted pornography, there had to have been some strings his brother pulled to get his hands on it.
“Nothin’ for you to worry about. Let’s just see what’s inside,” Marlon tossed out, sly as ever, keeping his methods a mystery, all in service of his self-perceived cool points. He took the magazine, his thumb a glide along the edge that sent the pages spinning like a roulette wheel, only stopping when he felt like it landed on a lucky number.
“Oooh, she is foxy! Jugs like that gotta be the tap to buttermilk,” he smirked lazily, ogling the blonde woman, clad in nothing but an underbust corset, laces weaved and stitched up in front to keep the skimpy article of clothing bound tight, elevating the spillage of her bare breasts.
Just below her sternum, the tassels--fastened and hanging low--were a threaded path leading right to the border of her pubic bone, legs parted wide like two ivory arches reaching towards the sky, revealing a well-trimmed tuft of brunette locks peaking over the rim of a glass of red wine, skillfully placed to shield her most intimate secret.
“Oh God, I’m not into all that stuff. It’s silly,” Michael scoffed, shoving the magazine away like it barely deserved his attention. The trouble that came with it was more than it was worth.
“You won’t think it’s silly no more once you get some,” Marlon teased as he turned the page, eyes scanning whatever lewd pose was on display next. Michael wouldn’t know. He wasn’t looking that way anymore.
“I ain’t even gonna humor that ‘til I’m settled down.”
Suddenly, the book is snapped shut. Marlon practically leapt off the bed, staring at him like he’d just grown a second head.
“Settled down? How you gonna enjoy the main course if you ain’t tasted the appetizers?” He asked with what sounded like genuine concern. Given Marlon's long list of lady loves, he probably considered this a real crisis.
“All I need is God to guide me when the time is right. I happen to know how to put Him before pleasure--unlike some people,” Michael huffed, throwing that last comment to jab, slightly offended by his brother’s interrogation. Not to convince himself that he wasn’t just saying that to save face. That he wasn’t actually worried about the possibility of it not working out how he, or He, intended.
“Ahhh, you mad ‘cause I got game,” Marlon quipped, not taking the insult to heart. He knew relations were a sensitive topic for Michael. Knew when to back off from it too.
“Nah, I just ain’t willin’ to gamble with the devil,” Michael declares with conviction. Faux? Maybe, but he wasn’t letting the thought linger long enough for doubt to settle.
He stood up quickly, snatching open his bedside drawer to pull out a worn, wrinkled binding of Holy Writ, creased and softened from the many times he’d turned to it for reassurance. Now, to serve as an antidote to the debauchery his brother seemed intent on poisoning him with.
He had just started toward the door, aiming to remove himself from the lasciviousness brewing in the room, when Marlon’s voice stopped him right before he could twist the knob.
“Yeah, you keep tellin’ yourself that. All it takes is the right one, and you’ll dive in before you can even thank Jesus.” He left the conversation with that parting word--or omen--shuffling over to his own bed and plopping down to resume his porn-mag sesh in peace.
Michael opens his mouth, ready to fire back some kind of rebuttal for the off putting remark, but the words sank like quicksand down his throat. Deciding it was useless to keep entertaining his brother’s provocations, he let them lie. With nothing else to say, he turned and left quietly, the door closing with a soft thud behind him.
“Michael, come here, please!”
His mother’s call from the living room halted the scribble of his pen. He flipped his journal shut, red cover closing over the notes, his feet padding softly on the carpet as paced to her request.
“What’s all this, Mother?”
He eyed the cardboard boxes stacked high around her, curiosity creeping into his voice.
“Old baby stuff I’m gonna donate to the church. I just got off the phone with Vivica. Figured she might find somethin’ useful here. She said she ain’t busy, so I’m headin’ that way first once I get all this in the car. Think you can load it up for me?”
His interest piqued the moment he heard where she’d be stopping, though he couldn’t tell whether the surge of excitement or his reply came quicker.
“Yes! Yes, I can do that. How about I come with you? You know, so I can help you unload when we get there.” He loved helping his mother whenever possible, but this offer was entirely self-serving. This could be the chance he needed to get to know you better, and he wasn’t about to let it slip away.
“Oh, I appreciate it, baby,” Katherine cooed, touched by her son’s thoughtfulness. Oblivious as she was to his true intention, but unlikely to turn down the extra assistance anyway, she smiled and handed him a box.
Every bit of clutter that filled the family room eventually found space, packed tight in the trunk and backseat. The steady hum of the vehicle along the streets served as backdrop to Michael’s thoughts, which were about as stable as a wagon on uneven ground: wheeling, wobbling, and picking up speed as they neared Vivica’s house.
Though he initiated the invite, Michael realized his mouth may have moved sooner than he could’ve better assessed the situation, or himself. In his eagerness, he hadn’t considered the downside of showing up unrehearsed.
His fingers drummed against the suede armrest and his lip fell victim to a nervous bite as he wondered if he’d make a good impression… or utterly embarrass himself. When the car parked and the engine sputtered to a stop, he had no choice but to wing it and hope he didn’t flail.
They both stepped out, gathering as many boxes they could handle in one go, like they had a mission to see through: Kathrine, to help an old friend; Michael, to make a new one. And, hopefully, turn that connection into something more.
The front door opened to the familiar warmth of Vivica’s smile.
“Kathy! Michael! It’s so nice of y’all to think of me while doin’ this. Please, come on in! You need a hand with that, sweetie?” she asked, parting the door wider and stepping aside to make way for their entrance.
“No ma’am, I got it just fine,” Michael insisted, taking his invitation down the hallway into the living room. A path he knew all too well.
After several trips to and from the car, everything was finally brought in and spread across the room. They chatted easily with each other amongst it, settling wherever they could find a place and sifting through the items with care and grateful hands.
“So, how’s college life treatin’ you? You got one more year left to go, right?” Vivica inquired, neatly folding a striped onesie, then placing it in a pile of things she’d set aside to keep.
“Yes, ma’am. Just one more of learnin’, then I’m off to teachin’,” Michael replied with a proud smile, nudging the box labeled ‘Toys’ closer to her. He was just two semesters away from earning his bachelor’s in music education, and he couldn’t wait to spark a new generation’s love for the art.
“Well, if you’re showin’ ‘em how to hit all those notes, I’ll be sure to send this one your way,” Vivica quipped, promoting Michael to giggle, a shy grin breaking across his face at the compliment.
Their conversation carried on comfortably, more boxes joining the pile of those already explored, soon surpassing the amount left untouched. And yet, there was still no sign of you. It looked like you might’ve not even been home that day, and Michael was starting to wonder if his initial reason for coming had been in vain.
But it seemed his wishes were granted by the sound of the mechanical clicks of the door unlocking, your voice growing nearer over the light rustle of plastic.
“Auntie V, I forgot which you wanted, so we just grabbed broth and stock. I hope that’s alright. Oh--hello,” you paused, surprised, as your steps came to a halt. You weren’t expecting to find visitors when you got back, and certainly not him, the boy you’d secretly been plotting to get a little more personal with.
“That’s fine with me, honey. Just set it down on the counter. Kathy and Michael brought some things for the baby,” your aunt chirped, maneuvering through the clutter to lend your mother a hand.
Michael gave a small wave in your direction, which you returned with a smile, being mindful of the bags in your clutch. Perhaps, this was destiny, meddling in your favor…
“That’s so kind of you. We appreciate it a lot,” your mother acknowledged warmly, passing a couple of the lighter groceries to her sister. Not that she needed any help, she just knew Vivica liked feeling useful when she could.
“It’s no trouble, really,” Michael replied breezily, gaze finally pulling away from you to address her. At that, it felt like an anchor had lifted and your feet found motion again, crossing into the kitchen to help put things in their rightful place.
As you tucked the items into the pantry, that same frustration and nerves were bubbling back to the surface. He was here, in your home, so close, and yet, your master plan for closeness was still nowhere to be found. There had to be something you could bond over.
You finished unpacking your bags, fixing yourself before you went back out. You primped your shirt and tousled your hair, making sure not a crease nor stray was in sight. After a deep, self soothing breath, you turned to exit the kitchen. Just as you stepped through the threshold, reentering the main room, a gentle tap on your shoulder stopped you in your tracks.
“Could you fill this with some carrots and potatoes from the garden? Need it for dinner tonight,” Auntie V requested, passing you a woven basket you’d need two arms to carry once it was full.
“...Of course,” you forced out after a beat, reluctantly redirecting your course toward the backyard. Before you could get far, your mother chimed in with an offer:
“Let me come with you.”
With you being steered away from the group browsing to toil outside, it appeared you wouldn’t be able to take advantage of this unexpected arrangement after all.
Katherine, however, had other plans.
“No, no, no--us ladies need to gossip. The young ones can handle all that hard work,” she said with a playful wave of her hand, “Michael, go help her with that, please.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, already making his way to your side as your mother slid into his vacated spot, ready to join the chatter. Their voices grew faint, fading as the two of you made your way to the garden.
In that moment, an odd and heavy silence clung to the air, breached only by the rhythmic trill of cicadas, both of you at a loss for words now that you were alone.
“So, do--”
“How’s--”
You both spoke at once, reaching for a conversation starter to squash the awkward tension. It’s melted away by the imperfect timing, a fit of giggles dancing between you.
“Sorry, you go first,” you offered with a small grin lingering as the laughter subsided, your ears fixed in anticipation for what he might say.
“I was, uhm, just asking how you like Gary so far?” Michael said, his voice faltering as he knelt down next to the garden bed, hands tugging at the stubborn roots in an effort to calm his nerves. You followed along, resting the basket in between you and gently loosening the soil around the base of a carrot to make it easier to pull.
“It’s been great! A lot slower than summers out in Cali, but I’m enjoying it. It’s been a long time since we’ve been here, got to see family like this… it’s nice. I don’t care too much for the humidity, though.”
Michael chuckles at that, placing a few small carrots into their designated spot.
“Yeah. When the sun’s high, that heat’ll have you sizzlin’,” he joked. “We hit the beach sometime to catch a break.”
“Uncle Leny took us out that way a while ago,” you gushed, thrilled that you shared something in common with him. “It’s beautiful up there. Especially at night.”
“Probably ain’t much compared to the Pacific, I bet.” It’s a modest guess, one that you readily agree with.
“Nothing compares to the Pacific. You should see the coastline at dusk,” your voice lilts softly, faraway and fond, your thoughts adrift in the golden scenery of your mind’s eye. “It’s like the Earth stole a piece of paradise.”
Michael stays silent for a moment, his hands still moving on autopilot, but he was focused entirely on you, drawn to the warmth of your expression as you recounted the sites you most cherished.
"Maybe I’ll get around to it someday," he mused lightly, his tone naturally softening to match yours.
You glance over, only to find his gaze on you, gentle and unwavering. Like calm, amber pools catching the light of the afternoon, reflecting it back at you so intensely, you might’ve fallen right in.
“Uhm, I think that's a good amount,” you say, clearing your throat and forcing the words out. Sitting up straighter, you wipe the dirt off on your jeans and nudge the half-full basket closer to him. ”Could you carry this for me?” you ask, not quite meeting his eyes.
“Sure,” he squeezed out, surprised and a little embarrassed that he let himself get swept up in his feelings. He smooths down his tee shirt, as if the gesture might help him reclaim his sense of composure.
You both rise to your feet. He stoops down to take the woven basket into his arms, and together you walk a few rows up the garden plot to where the potatoes were planted.
"So, where’d you learn to sing?" you ask, gripping a sturdy stem and yanking until the soil gave way, revealing a cluster of thick, well-nurtured russets.
Michael follows suit, grunting as he wrenches a shoot from the ground. “It’s always been somethin’ I just… kinda had, I guess,” he pants. “I was probably singin’ when I came out the womb.”
You both chuckle at that, his hands plucking each spud from the plant and carefully brushing the dirt from their skins.
“You never had any lessons or anything?” you ask, your voice light with curiosity, your focus resting a little too long on the constellation of droplets scattered across his toned bicep, each one shimmering over muscle drawn taut as he tugs another root.
“Not really. Well, my father, Joseph--he was a music man, and our manager. Had me and my older brothers start a band. Called ourselves The Jackson 5.”
A faint smile tugs at his face, remembering the time he spent with his brothers. The long days on the road and the joy of making music together, built on something they all loved deeply.
Your hands freeze at the revelation, and you stare at him wide-eyed, your mouth agape in awe.
"A band? That’s so cool, Michael!" you exclaim, giving his shoulder a playful shove that draws a breathy laugh from him. Another question rises to your lips.
“Wait, older brothers? I thought it was just, uhm… Merlin, was it? Marvin?” you guess, tilting your head. The action clearly does nothing to help your accuracy, judging by the cackle that bursts out of him. He doubles over slightly, hands resting on his stomach as if to keep himself from floating off with it.
“It’s Marlon,” he says once he’s caught his breath, quietly satisfied that your mix-up confirmed that despite his brother's church flirtation, you weren’t holding any space for him.
“I knew that didn’t sound quite right,” your voice is sheepish, but Michael is smitten enough to praise your efforts.
“Was a good guess, though,” he murmurs with a faint grin, returning to the potatoes. His fingers move deftly, detaching one from the root with attentive care as he continues.
“Jackie, Tito and Jermaine--they’re all settled down with their families on the other side of town. We competed in a lot of talent shows across the country. Were even gainin’ some traction, too. Had record labels reachin’ out to sign us.”
His smile fades a little.
“But, then Joseph got killed comin’ home from the mill one day, and that was that,” he mutters, dropping three potatoes into the basket.
“Oh my… I’m so sorry,” your hands falter, stilled by the sudden weight hanging in the space between you. Michael is swift to lift the mood again.
“You ain’t gotta apologize. It was an ambulance, ironic as that is. Driver was hammered on the job--sped right through a red light… I guess Joseph couldn’t dodge it in time," he shrugs.
“We got compensated, though. Nothin’ crazy. Just enough to get a place that could fit all of us, and stash some away for the kids' college funds.”
You nod silently, letting the information settle. After a pause, you decide it’d be best to shift the conversation.
“Do you miss it? Band life and all?”
“Sometime,” he responds after a brief moment, reflecting on both the grind and glory of life as a young musician.
“It was hard work, especially bein’ so little. But, I remember bein’ so happy when I got on stage. Felt like I was free… like I could do or be anything.”
The memory of packed auditoriums and thundering applause under bright stage lights brought back treasured moments he had long since laid to rest. Though the church choir offered a near-enough imitation of that feeling, it could never quite compare.
“Would you ever go back to it?” You asked, laying a cleanly picked haulm aside for the compost bin.
“I don’t know. Music industry’s a tough one to break into. Ain’t likely to make it,” he said, uncertainty threading his voice as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist.
Besides, he already had a career path laid out that offered high stability and low risk. Maybe that was the route he was meant to take after all.
“With your voice? You have nothing to worry about.” It’s an honest remark, though Michael doesn’t quite know how to take it.
“Ahh, you’re just sayin’ that,” he dismissed the compliment with a bashful giggle, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“No, I’m not! I’m serious,” you insist with a chuckle of your own, but there’s no humor behind the words. “You’re selling yourself short if you don’t think you can go far. You’ve got something really special.”
You couldn’t understand how he could doubt himself. To you, his hesitation felt like greatness turning back on itself when it was already his to claim. If he chose to walk a different path, you’d hoped it was out of true passion, not because he didn’t believe in himself enough to bet on his own potential.
“You really think so?” he asked hesitantly, like someone who wasn’t sure he had what it took to go the distance.
“I know so. What you did in that program on Sunday--there wasn’t a soul who didn’t feel it. That’s your gift. It moves people. It makes magic.”
Like his most devoted spectator, you offered firm encouragement. Not out of flattery, but out of true faith in him and his capabilities. Nonetheless, he is beyond pleased by the praise as a quiet bashfulness bloomed in his cheeks. Not in a way the eyes could reach, but felt all the same, gently veiled by his rich, earth-toned skin.
But what he asked next would’ve fooled you into believing he had all of the boldness and confidence in the world:
“What about you? What’d you feel?”
His voice wraps around the question like mahogany. Soft, deep and smooth in a way that had you wondering whether the culprit was all the lifting and rending he’d done under the afternoon sun… or something more. Somehow, he’d managed to surprise you again, a pattern that seemed to repeat itself each time you met.
Perhaps, it was nothing more than an innocent inquiry. But whether it was intended to rouse you or not, you were determined to strike your own spark and toss it into the fire simmering between you, already hot, and nearly too much to handle.
“...You’ll have to sing for me again before I answer that,” you utter with amusement curling at the edge of your lips as you watch him, waiting to see if he really was as daring as his words made him out to be.
For a breath, neither of you look away. The tension so palpable, even passing strangers might sense it. Michael’s throat tightened, heat creeping up his neck as his heart stuttered, reactions he knew the muggy weather could not be blamed for.
Before it could build further, before his body did anything else against his volition, you’re quick to cut through it, redirecting his focus to the basket that was near overflowing at that point.
“Well, that seems about enough,” you say with finality, rising to stretch and push the creak out of your back. “Guess we head back inside now.”
The sudden shift nearly gave Michael whiplash. The mood had flipped so fast, he almost wondered if he’d imagined it altogether. He blinked a few times to regain himself, then stood to his feet. Taking a deep breath, he rushed to speak before his nerves overrode what little courage he had left.
“Y’know--uh, we don’t really… talk much outside of church. I mean, maybe we could… I dunno, fix that? If you want?” he stammered out, wincing the second the words left his mouth. God, she probably couldn’t understand a thing I said.
But, you heard him clearly. And now, you found yourself scrambling for an adequate suggestion, still without a clue where or how to plan anything outside of those church walls. Then, as if by divine intervention, something caught your eye: the steady sway of a windchime, its crystal cross glinting in the sun, tinkling in the breeze like a bell tolling the arrival of your brightest idea.
“Bible study,” you say after a beat. “Are you free for it sometime? You bring the scripture, I bring the snacks?” you quipped with a grin, jokingly extending your hand to shake on the bargain while internally high-fiving yourself for landing on something both practical and promising.
How you hadn’t thought of it sooner was beyond you, but now that you had, you were prepared to endure the discomfort it came with for the reward it would surely bring. And Michael, in his faith and infatuation, was more than happy to reap the benefits.
“Sounds like a sweet deal to me,” he smiled, clasping your hand in his for a solid, settling shake to anchor the promise.
One hour, twice a week, at your place. That was the arrangement you both agreed on. Michael would come over at any set time, his satchel slung over his shoulder, packed with everything needed to annotate and deconstruct the verses: highlighters, pens, note paper, sticky notes; all tools to ensure a productive study session.
But once you finally delved into the Word, those minutes spent poring over scriptures swiftly gave way to laid-back exchange about your lives. Plans, interests, passions, all mingling with the long-forgotten, colorful array of stationary items scattered across your bedspread.
Michael didn’t mind the change of pace at all. In fact, he much preferred to savor these moments getting to know you, rather than mulling over words he’d already absorbed so deeply, they felt like a second skin.
He realized you had more in common than he initially thought. Both of you were in your final year of college and majoring in creative fields. You were an aspiring writer with plans to take an editing position after earning your degree. A career option that provided financial stability, plus gave you the flexibility to sharpen your skills and focus on your own literary projects.
Often, he found himself swept up in your grand imaginings of a future still waiting to unfold. The way you spoke of the possibilities you envisioned for yourself made it clear that your encouragement didn’t come from someone waiting on the sidelines of their own dreams. It came from someone who believed just as deeply in their own potential as they did in others’, and who’d stop at nothing to have those dreams made manifest.
Although Michael had taken a more grounded approach to music, committing to teaching, his reluctance was beginning to bend at your inspiring words, slowly cracking the door open to grander pursuits in his talents. Not to abandon his course in education completely, but to remember that he could always pave another road.
And as naturally as a river flows downstream, an ease settled between you where twinkling eyes and giddy hearts played off of one another as you shared hopes and wonder, dreaming together over disregarded Bible pages.
Then there were the instances when banter and friendly dialogue yielded to fleeting glimpses of something deeper, something more intimate. The more you opened up to each other, the more your chemistry bloomed, unfurling through a prolonged glance, a dulcet utterance, and subtle brushes of skin, slipping between laughter and quiet, almost ephemeral gestures.
They always ended just as quickly as they came, reeled back before anything could move beyond the domain of decency. It felt like sipping from an elixir, offered in drops too few to fulfill. Just enough to awaken something in him, but never soothe. It was addictive. And with every passing interaction, he found himself craving more. More of your talk, more of your touch, more of your time…
Alas, the summer was inching closer toward its end, already nearing its halfway point, and with it, dread crept to the front of Michael’s mind. He wasn’t sure what the distance would bring, or if it’d bring anything at all. Maybe, this connection was only meant to last a season, destined to remain as wistful memories of quiet longing and unspoken confessions…
Michael’s wrist moved with a lazy rhythm as he dusted off a trunk filled with vinyl records from his favorite artists, spanning from Claude Debussy to Stevie Wonder. Everyone had been tasked with a set of chores for the day, nestled in various rooms as they carried out their homely duties.
He was close to being finished as he swept over his bedside dresser, briefly lifting the Peter Pan figurine resting there before gently setting it back down, redirecting his attention to the last item in need of care--his bookshelf. Resting the microfiber towel on an empty spot along the middle row, he gripped the ridged spine of a random volume, one of the few in his collection he hadn’t gotten around to yet, and slid it out with a careful touch to place aside.
More titles followed suit, piling on his bed as he removed others to reach the undusted row beneath. But, when he tugged one of the last books free, a thinner, flimsier paperback fell out after it, landing on the floor with a soft rustle. A sound that gnawed at Michael’s growing suspense.
Strange. He never put magazines in this section, but he had a creeping suspicion of who the culprit might’ve been. Lo and behold, as his stare dropped downward, they met with that cursed cover of erotica his brother had shown him some weeks ago, and undoubtedly planted here for Michael to take the fall if it was discovered.
“Real clever, Marlon,” Michael muttered with a huff, rolling his eyes as he bent down to retrieve the item, the covers folding shut under their own weight as he lifted it.
The front page showed the woman he’d seen before, now in a white dress sitting in a field of tall grass, almost giving the object of impurity a touch of innocence. But from her top that dipped too low to the far more scandalous sights inside, it wasn’t nearly enough to cleanse its contents.
Without his brother’s teasing and egging on, and with the silence occasionally wavering under the muffled sounds of distant activity, Michael was left entirely to his own devices. And in his solitude, as the angel and devil on each shoulder battled for dominance, it was the voice of impulse that triumphed.
He stared at the edition for a minute too long, rested in his palms as distaste waned into curiosity. Like tasting something that doesn’t quite please the palate, but letting it linger long enough to try and find its appeal. And the only way to test it further was to take a peek…
With caution, he glanced at the door, peering intently, as if looking away might summon someone to burst through.
“So stupid," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the superstition, or of what he was about to do. He didn’t know which had compelled the action first, but he chose not to care as he turned his focus back to the magazine.
With a gulp to swallow down his unease, he let the cool, matte-coated paper slip beneath his fingertips as he opened to a random page. His brow raised, face scrunching in puzzlement as he spelled out Destination Hollyweird, scrawled across the top in a bold, blocky font, backgrounded by a chaotic graffiti piece that screamed of Americana on the wild side.
A police cruiser skidded from side to side, chasing a red convertible shredding down the highway with two, cigarette-toting, rugged-looking mavericks in the front. It mirrored the type of machismo and masculinity many of the magazine’s audience idolized and aspired to be. The rest of the spread simply contained an article on the piece: all words and no women.
Maybe, this uneventful selection was the universe offering him a final chance to turn back before doing something he’d regret. His stomach twisted in knots as he hovered there, caught in hesitation. But, it’s only for an instant before he ultimately chose not to heed the warning and proceeded with shaky hands anyway.
The next flip stopped him cold. His cheeks flushed, nearly blooming a shade close to the ruby red of Miss June’s lips and manicured almond tips. Her real name, Ola Ray, taunted him from the lower left-hand corner in white, all-caps print.
She was poised on the edge of a green, marble desk: half standing, half sitting. A calculated posture that concealed just enough to leave the rest to imagination. But what was real and raised high were the well-rounded peaks of her chest, tantalizing in their boldness, paired with the black mesh and gold silk of her blouse, undone and hanging haphazardly around her upper arms.
Suddenly, the glossy image felt a little too real, too personal, like he’d crossed into something private he wasn’t meant to see. And though a flush of guilt crept beneath his skin, it still wasn’t enough to stop him from venturing further into the pages.
The poses grew more revealing, more risqué with each passing page, sending Michael’s pulse pounding in his ears, overtaken by the very thing he swore he had no interest in. One spread wide, another angled low, each beckoning him to keep folding over to more of her lithe frame, dewy and glistening like molten caramel.
Jewel tones, gold pumps, satin and nylon clung to her form like delectable candies slipping from their wrapper, offering a sliver of leg, or a glimpse where she dipped deeper and eternal. Not enough to see everything, but just enough to leave him craving to.
His hands shook and his heart hammered for different reasons now. What began as simple intrigue had unraveled into something sultry and illicit, curling around him like smoke and dragging him into its depths.
He couldn’t deny it, or pretend it had no effect on him, which was exactly why he tried so hard to refuse it in the first place. And though his conscience tried to pull him back out, his fingers were aiming to turn to the next spread, already sunk too far to break free…
The sudden pound of footsteps stomping down the hallway, paired with the loud bickering of his two youngest siblings, yanked him out of his hypnotic state, startling him so badly he nearly tore the book in his rush to shove it under the bed.
“I swear I’m gonna strangle you with my headphones when I find it!”
Michael heard the threat just before the door slammed open, revealing a very disgruntled-looking Janet. You could practically see the steam rolling out of her ears.
“I’d like to see you try!” Randy’s snark doesn’t make the situation any better as she lets out a frustrated groan, stomping her foot to release some of the fury building in her chest.
“Michael, he’s done it again!” she fumed as Randy sauntered into view, arms crossed and annoyance written all over his face.
“What is it this time?” Michael sighed, having no choice but to step into the role of peacemaker while their mother was out running errands. By now, his initial alarm had dulled into exasperation as his siblings clashed yet again.
“He hid my Walkman and won’t tell me where it is,” she gritted through clenched teeth, jabbing a thumb in Randy’s direction.
“I did not! Why you always gotta fib on me? Ain’t my fault you can’t keep track of your stuff.”
Michael was unsure if Randy’s defense was reliable or not, but he wasn’t betting in his favor. His brother had a well-documented knack for getting under their little sister’s skin. He didn’t even have a chance to interject as their arguing picked back up, forced to watch the verbal scuffle play out between the two.
“That’s a bold-faced lie and you know it!” she snapped, wide-eyed and full of wrath. “How’d I set something down one minute, then it’s gone the next? Must’ve grown legs and run away, huh?” Janet's quip was sharp, hand planted on her hip while her foot tapped furiously against the hardwood floor, frustration brimming dangerously close to boiling over.
“From you? That ain’t too far-fetched,” Randy sneered, waltzing in just in time to tip the pot.
Janet balled her fist up and slugged him in the bicep as hard as she could. Their five-year age difference didn’t do much to soften the blow, and she never held back when she was mad.
“Ow!” Randy yelped, cradling his arm like it had been mortally wounded. “Are you crazy?!” he yelled, shooting her a look that held all the resentment in the world.
“Oh, I’ll show you crazy!”
She spat out with a scowl, pulling her fist back and gearing up to land another strike, but Michael stepped in before it could turn into a full-blown WWF smackdown.
“Alright, alright! That’s enough, you two,” he exclaimed, arms flailing as he broke in between them, swatting their hands away from doing any more damage. Just like that, his secret indulgence was shoved far to the back of his mind, replaced by the immediate task of settling his siblings’ dispute.
“Oh, Michael…”
His name--a sweet sigh from behind the veil of a cracked door, light spilling across the floor in golden rays like treasures waiting to be claimed.
Who could it be? The timbre held a warmth he recognized, but couldn’t quite remember. A name sizzled on the tip of his tongue, staying trapped there, just out of reach as the gears in his mind turned too slowly to drag it free.
Another honeyed croon escaped, sharper and higher, wrapped in silken soprano. The sound sent a jolt through Michael, rousing regions he’d dared not to engage.
“Come inside…” she called out softly, almost a whisper--perhaps meant only for him, quietly drifting into the night like a secret, knowing Michael would follow.
He scanned the room from side to side, confirming what he already felt: no one else was there. The invitation couldn’t have been aimed at another.
His feet moved in echoes of hesitation as he inched closer to the breach of dim glow, faintly illuminating a path he wasn’t sure he was ready to tread.
Time felt non-existent, his timid steps lasting but an instant and stretching into eternity all at once. By the toll of a hidden hour, he stood before the mahogany barrier, barely ajar and concealing what waited beyond.
His hand pressed flat to the surface, pushing forward with slow, measured force to reveal more of the scene in unraveling fragments.
The room was cloaked in candle light and compulsion, so thick that if he stepped inside, there’d be no stopping what would unfold.
A womanly silhouette lay centered on a queen-sized bed, writhing and tangled in satin sheets, her gilded heel glinting against the violet fabric like a nightshade in bloom. Beautiful, yet signaling the danger of the intrusion, the enchantment it held.
The door edged open in invigorating increments, uncovering a leg draped in nylon, rising from beneath the sheets. A hand with nails a shade between crimson and candy, clawing gently at the sleek fabric.
The dip of a torso, the swell of a bust, bathed in a steady celestial flare, luminous and bare as the day she came. And lips, rouged and rounded to speak more serpentine seduction, a lure so potent, so perilous, resistance stood no chance.
“Sing to me.”
Her plea was a sacred strain. A breath of longing, a revitalizing expression of desire. One that burned him so deeply, it scorched through the refrain that sought to keep him in the dark.
He had to know. To put a face to this source of forbidden delight, fatal and magnetic, pulling him deeper toward his destruction… a fate he felt ready to embrace, regardless of the consequence.
The slow, restricted stretch of entry gave way below Michael’s hand, as if holding its own bated breath, anticipating to unmask the lady of silk and sin.
As it took a final bow to his will, to his yearning, to his demise… a full face emerged within the flame-lit boudoir.
In an instant, the reel holding all the moments of his life shifted from blurred flickers to a single, still frame. The remedy that lifted the fog of amnesia, sparked by the alluring visage of his infatuation…
“You.”
Michael jolted awake to a dark room, drenched in a cold sweat, panting and disoriented at the shocking revelation from his dream. The covers clung briefly to his back, warm and clammy, as he rose on his forearms, one hand fumbling around the bedside table until it found the familiar, rectangular shape of his alarm clock.
He pulled the device close, its red glow washing over his face and stinging his freshly opened eyes, reading out the numbers 2:15 am. With the time confirmed, he set it down with a clumsy thud, then swallowed, trying to ease the cottony dryness of his mouth.
His breathing slowed as the initial surprise faded and he adjusted to his surroundings. That’s when he noticed something he couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized sooner. He flushed in embarrassment as he became aware of the uncomfortable, unmistakable situation below his waist, slightly wet and severely constricted.
He peeled back the covers timidly, as if moving slow enough might rid himself of the unwanted arousal, but it remained, strained against the fabric of his briefs, a damp patch staining at the crown. Guilt twinged in his gut, knotted and churning like something he’d dared to consume, knowing he shouldn’t have.
With each flickering remnant of his astral fantasy, the girl he fancied intertwined with what his wandering eyes hadn’t abstained from the afternoon before, a suffocating and heavy dread pooled in his chest like an unconfessed sin, cowering in his rib cage, as if giving it voice would make it too real to ignore.
And yet, it wasn't enough to keep his hand from drifting down, reaching to soothe the persistent ache. Thankfully, Marlon was off on one of his secret escapades--mischief that would surely give their poor mother a nervous breakdown if she knew even the half of it. He wouldn’t be crawling back through their window until the streetlights blinked off, which gave Michael the time and privacy he’d need to complete the task at hand.
He descended into a maddening whirlwind of pain and pleasure with a trembling touch. A spiral that twisted in his chest, contorted his conscience, until the lines between his shame and satisfaction blurred where he could no longer tell which imprinted his heart so.
The thick skin enveloping his head served as both a shield and gateway to the cool breath of air that had long settled in the room, sliding back and forth under each tentative tug. He teetered in the liminal space between discipline and debauchery, the once-impenetrable fortress of obedience slowly but surely crumbling, stone by stone.
Yet, as the walls collapsed, his concern for their ruin was swept away, overcome by sensations too powerful to suppress. His movements grew smooth and languid as more slick coated his palm, an enticing gleam of maroon and cream, spilling through the crevices of impatient fingers, precum pearling down the side of his shaft.
With eyes shut tight, he could barely grasp the glimpses of unconscious vision dancing among the snowy static behind his lids. But his eagerness prevailed, peering through frenzied specks to catch the racy sights he could swallow down and savor.
Your red was the tart bite of cherry, sheen of gold and glossy skin, rich and syrupy-sweet. And the shadow of nylon, as smooth, dark and earthy as licorice on the tongue. It was a riot of flavors and textures that teased his senses, driving him wild with want, spurring his pace to quicken, trying his hardest to keep his moans and groans from spilling over too loudly.
Your contours were compelling and evoked covetous longing, his restless mind wondering, reveling in what hands could not touch. How would you truly appear, stripped of the confines of your Sunday best? Not that it ever revealed or concealed so much as to leave the imagination uninspired.
But for more hidden parts, the ones that inquiring eyes could never quite reach, he had to delve deeper, conjuring from lust alone. What shade adorned the peaks of your chest? What hue did you blush down below when lost in the throes of pleasure?
And how you would feel…
Would your lips meld like rose petals dancing on a balmy breeze? Or would they be greedy and all-consuming, pouring over the desperation of unfettered desire? Would your breath be a summer whisper, brushing against his neck? Tracing gently down the planes of his torso, ghosting over his hip bone, and finally fanning over his…
The sudden whimper that burst through his lips was jarring and stark against the restful quiet of the house. He grabbed the edge of his bunched-up white tee, tucking it between clenched teeth to stifle anything else that might escape, leaving only the lewd harmony of his muffled sounds beneath ragged breath and the slippery squelch of motions that carried him closer to ecstasy.
While the friction thrilled him, the rough, calloused edges of his hand bordered on abrasive. Frustration made his head toss back as it nearly pulled him from his purpose. That is, until he pictured the soft outline of your fingers replacing his own.
Would they, lithe and lovely, be the soft caress of bonded doves nesting? A touch so delicate, pure and eternal. Or would they be greedy, gripping and groping at a fleeting moment their yearning allowed to simmer for only an instant, clinging to passion they might never feel again?
Then came crashing in like a rude awakening, the looming reality of the fading season and impending farewells, threatening to shatter his flow. But he pushed it deep into the recesses of his mind, immersing himself once more in the realm where the salacious took on fanciful form.
Would your pulse pace as sporadically as his when pressed most intimately? Desperate pants of passion, mingling as he sheathed himself deep into the cavern of your heat. Driving into you over and over and over again, your wanton cries and gasps, feeding his transgression, until you were both filled with the inner glow of satiated longing.
He felt the coil of his impending release wound tight, licks of fire ascending his spine in a sweltering path, setting his entire being ablaze. Perspiration clung to his blissfully concentrated face, his brow furrowed and lips quivering, pale drops shimmering like scattered diamonds as he was hurled deeper into carnal becoming beneath the gracious hue of moonlight.
And as all burgeoning sinners are, he was too far gone in his lust to retreat, propelling toward gratification and undoing through the wet, fluid flow of his hand, the increasing speed of his wrist and reveries too satiating, too ravenous to ever forsake.
He painted lively visions of you, wrapped around him, enveloping and warm as the western waters you dreamt of reuniting with. Your nails raking across damp shoulder blades, overexerted from delight, carving welted streaks of burning hunger in their wake. Your thighs a vise around his ceaseless hips, anchoring him to the deepest part of your being as he sunk into you with gentle, steady rocks or vigorous, merciless thrusts, alternating and addictive.
The strength in his jaw was spent, his shirt bitten and tugged in stress, snapping back against his torso in wrinkled rumples as mumbled sounds of approaching release spilled forth in a hoarse, hushed rasp. He was right on the brink of letting go, enraptured by you and him in fervid invention.
What he tested next was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Your name fell from his lips like a desperate plea, low, needy, and begging for desire to be quenched. At its utterance, the pressure building in his groin intensified, drastic and electric.
And with growing confidence, he did it again… and again, until your name became a chanted incantation, seeping into every corner of the once-hallowed bedroom, and finally, the invoking force to his climax, erupting in long, rapid spurts, painting his heaving chest and hand in pearlescent webs, the other racing to firmly block the heightened noises escaping his mouth.
A supernova exploded inside of him, sending sparks radiating through every nerve, expanding into a bright, blissful cataclysm of primal emergence. He exhaled with a shuddered breath, eyelids lifting to take in the disheveled sprawl of afterglow, his shirt and sheets a crumpled heap around him, skin shining and tacky with the exhausted efforts of pleasure.
But just as the remnants of his release died down, euphoria swiftly waned into the crushing gravity of what he had truly surrendered to. His head sank into the pillow with a groan, now heavy with the burden of contemplation.
He had always been one to keep his desires at bay, mastering his wants through unwavering will and staunch godliness. Had prided himself on maintaining his chastity in a world riddled with devilish delights, their snares only multiplying with the widespread reach of modern media.
For twenty-one years, he had managed well in leading a life of humble devotion, never shaken by ruses meant to taint his soul and leave him desolate. Had long believed that staying in the Lord’s good graces was all the motivation he needed to keep himself diligent in holiness.
But then you came in and upended everything he thought he was certain of about himself. Your presence lingered in his thoughts, haunted his dreams and took root in his heart where he once believed pure faith had become so deeply entrenched, it could never be severed.
He found himself unraveling beside his own will, weak and ravaged, losing control in ways he vowed to always abstain from. His emission stuck stale and cold against his skin as he blinked rapidly, perturbed and staring upward for answers that wouldn’t be uncovered in the patterns of a stucco ceiling.
And he was perplexed, disarmed and lost at your mercy under God’s watchful eye, ever more uncertain whose power truly held claim to his soul.
The sun hung motionless, blinding and stinging like it had overstayed its comfort, vexed at being out for so long, yet begrudgingly doing its job all the same. Just not without making it everyone else’s problem. Despite being outside for only a few minutes, sweat was already staining the back of Michael’s hand where he kept wiping it, an expected result of the heatwave that had been plaguing Gary for the past week.
His loafers scuffed against the sidewalk, leather satchel rested at his side, carrying his bible and other church-related materials as he made the short trek from his house to yours, just the next block over.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t a matter he spent much time weighing, choosing to proceed with these weekly meetings despite the severity of what transpired that night. Though he hadn't cast the matter aside entirely, he reasoned that falling prey to sin was bound to happen once or twice in a person’s life, and that, afterall, was what repentance was for.
The battle with his feelings for you was far from over. He struggled to keep them dormant, but he wasn’t foolish enough to waste these final weeks in distance just to preserve his sense of dignity. Besides, it had been his own dabbling in worldly devices that sullied his self-control, and he was confident the countless prayers he’d offered in atonement had long since settled the debt.
His steps quickened as the familiar outline of your porch came into view, relief washing over him like the promise of central air waiting just inside. With a short skip up the porch, he found himself face-to-face with the wooden front door. Letting out an exhausted huff, he knocked with a deep, solid thud that briefly disrupted the low buzz of the afternoon.
The sudden noise sent a trill of excitement through your chest, your freshly tinted lips curving almost cunningly at you through the vanity mirror, anticipating the long-awaited fruits of your labor.
You gave a light spritz of fragrance to your pulse points and unclasped the top button of your white blouse, cotton and faintly ruffled along the cuffs and neckline, just enough to seem innocuous. Then, carried by the satisfaction of a riveting plot on the cusp of being actualized, you floated into the front room to answer.
The door announced itself with a long creak under your touch, opening to Michael who appeared to be sweating bullets by the millisecond, yet still managed to wear a warm, weary smile.
“Why, don’t you look exhausted. Quick! Let’s get you cooled down." You playfully ushered him in with a firm tug of his hand. He stumbled along without resistance, a faint giggle falling from his lips at the gesture. He sighs in ease as the immediate chill envelops him.
“I’ll go grab something for you to drink. You’re usual?” you ask from behind him with the gentle clicks of the door being sealed and locked.
“Yeah, that’ll be fine. Thanks,” he turns around to face you, and suddenly it feels as if a freight train barreled in and knocked all the wind from him. It must have been the flurry of your urgent invitation that kept him from noticing before. But now that he does, a rush of heat floods his cheeks.
His eyes pan from head to toe, taking in the traces of you that were more tinged and exposed than usual. A teasingly short, pleated red skirt hugs your waist, calling to mind the manicured nails that encircled him in private fantasies. The fabric skims along your thigh like venom on ice, dangerously enticing in a way that has him taking a gulp that feels sharp as nails, fingers nervously fidgeting with a single strand of loose thread, unwound from his bag.
The dresses he saw you wear at church were always at least knee-length: stylish and tailored, yet modest. Your usual casual outfits were more relaxed, something he'd grown used to. But this... this was unlike anything he’d ever seen you in before, and it instantly made all those prayers he whispered feel utterly useless.
Of course, it’s only natural that you’d opt for less concealing attire to counter this unrelenting heat. Still, with the Most High’s omniscience breathing heavily down his neck, he can’t stop himself from lingering on the smooth expanse of your legs. A detail that doesn’t go unnoticed to you.
Internally, you wear a wicked smile, triumphant as you recognize the intensity of his observation and where it’s directed. Well, this should be easy. You weren’t entirely sure how he’d react, but now, you’re confident that what you’ve planned for this little one-on-one just might come into fruition. Until then, you’ll need to keep up this guileless act for a little while longer.
“On the rocks?” you quip, donning a grin that deceives with its sweet gleam.
“Huh? Oh--y-yeah! Sounds good.”
Your bubbly voice snaps him out of his ogling, shame creeping in at the lecherousness of his gaze, especially when met with your cheerful disposition. You welcomed him in good faith, and now he’s tainting that gesture with impure thoughts. Hoping to shake the unwelcome feeling, he clears his throat, reaching for a conversation starter.
“Issss everyone taking a nap or somethin’? It’s awfully quiet around here.”
He drawls out slowly, his voice low and inquiring, as he’s noticed the only signs of movement are confined to the main room. The drop of a pin would thunder against the silence blanketing the rest of the house.
“Nope!” you chirp, “Uncle Lenny wanted to go on a little family camping trip for the weekend. They should be headed back this way tomorrow evening.”
Your voice fades into an echo as you amble down the hallway to the kitchen, leaving Michael alone in a quiet panic. That was not a detail he’d been filled in on. He certainly wouldn’t be here now if he had.
“You know how Auntie V is about her sermons. She wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you jest, right back in front of him just as quickly as you left.
“For now, you and I have the whole place to ourselves.” Your voice lilts around the words, something between sacred and forbidden, your stare unwavering as your fingers brush while passing him a cold glass of orange juice.
He’s really trying not to read too much into the exchange, but he can’t help but feel something more lies within it. He pushes the thought aside, forcing a smile as he speaks through nerves to ease the tension.
“Oh, heheh okay. Uhm, how come you stayed behind?” He takes a timid sip of the drink, avoiding your eyes.
“Eh, I just didn’t feel up for it,” you shrug, all the while knowing the lengths you’ve gone to make this moment possible.
Truth is, you were supposed to be off on that outdoorsy retreat as well. But one evening call from Michael to reschedule your study session, an adjustment you failed to mention to your folks, and a conveniently timed fake illness left you all alone, free to do exactly as you pleased.
“Besides, I can’t miss out on our lessons. That’s no way to make a star student, right?” you tease, your tone light and playful, tilting your head in a coyish manner to reach his line of sight.
“You sure are about that, haha,” he retorts with a tense laugh, not sure if this was an unintentional overstep with your family. It’s not like she’d invite me over if that were the case… right?
“Well then, let’s hop to it, teach,” you say, giving him a cheeky tap on the shoulder and signaling him to follow you to the room, brushing off the suspicion before it has the chance to take root.
He trails after you up the stairs, his hand grazing the cool, mahogany banister to ground himself, and crosses the threshold into your room with a stride both hesitant and willing. You both quickly settle onto the familiar comforter of your bed, the mattress dipping beneath you as you reach for your Bible from the storage drawer in the bedframe.
“Whenever you’re ready,” you propose while flipping the book's pages lazily as Michael sets his beverage down, condensation glistening under the dim lamp light. He then draws his own Bible from his satchel, setting the bag down beside the bed and sliding out his bookmark from where it’s tucked between the chapters you last studied together. Before long, you’ve both fallen into the natural rhythm of reading each scripture, trading off after every verse.
“Whew! Is it warm in here, or what?” you exclaim after some minutes have passed, fanning yourself with one of the pamphlets he brought over. You swish your hair from side to side, shaking it off of your shoulders, giving them access to the faint breeze.
“Uh, I-I feel fine,” Michael stutters, blinking rapidly as the motion causes the collar of your blouse to slip a bit lower than he can handle. He swallows hard, his focus averting to the padded window seat where a pile of plush companions stare back at him with beady eyes and finely stitched smiles.
“Must be me, then. I’m super sensitive to heat,” you comment with a sigh, standing to move closer to the fan across from you. “You don’t mind if I turn this on, do you?”
“No, not at all. Don’t mind me,” he says, waving his hand permissively and glancing down at the pages as they begin to gently billow in the fan’s draft. Soon, you're back at his side, your reading carrying on beneath the faint whir of spinning blades and the quiet strain building between you.
As the minutes drag on, Michael begins to feel suffocated by the closeness you share. Each sacred word, spoken from your stained lips in soft syllables, cuts through the stillness, just as sharp as the notes of your perfume, wafting into his senses on a steady current. Smoked vanilla drenched in mahogany and golden amber, a medley of aromas that are as sweet and comforting as they are undeniably sensual.
The warmth of your skin, nearly pressed to his in this confined space, radiates like bonfire embers. His glances, flitty and furtive, straying to hints of more intimate places that peak from beneath the seam of your skirt, the low cut of your shirt. His will for virtue is slowly seared away, simmering sparks of self-control, clinging to dwindling heat before each flicker fades to settled ash.
Despite how desperately he tries to suppress the lure of temptation, sneering and sinking its fangs into him, it torturously gnaws at his inhibitions, even as they flail and writhe in urgency. Urgency for him to get his head together before he succumbs to something he’ll regret.
His hand trembles as he picks up his now-watered-down orange juice from the nightstand, raising it to his mouth in an impatient chug. Condensation cascades over his cuticles, vanishing just as swiftly as his inclination toward the Lord slips further from concern.
All the while, your attention sharpens on every subtle action he takes, fueled by creeping unease and waning restraint, exposing fragility in every stammered word, every involuntary twitch. You relish in his confliction, intoxicated by the power of knowing that it is you who can make him falter in the steadfastness of his conviction.
You’ve reached chapter four of the Book of Proverbs a few pages back and are now making your way towards the fifth. At this point, you struggle to stay engaged in dissecting the words as other profane thoughts persist just beneath the surface. The day isn’t getting any younger, the sun almost leaving a dusky imprint on the horizon. So, now seems as good a time as any to amp things up.
“Uhm,” you hum softly, scooching closer to Michael until there’s no space left between you, your thigh and bicep pressed flush against his. He stiffens at the contact.
“I’ve lost my place. Was it verse thirteen?” you ask, tilting your head in faux confusion as you glance up at him from where you’re slightly bent over the text on his pages.
The soft dazzle in your eyes, the delicate dip of your cupid’s bow, and the faint ripple of your blouse, now angled just enough to reveal a glimpse of the frilly bralette beneath, have him seizing up before abruptly leaping from the bed and retreating to the far side of the room.
“O-okay! Uhhh, I-I don’t think I should be here,” he rushes out with a shaky smile, fingers toying with the side of his pants to keep himself stable and from going insane. His eyes darting elsewhere, anywhere but you.
“What’s the matter? We were making good progress,” you express with concern lacing in your voice, lips pouted and brows furrowed, feigning ignorance of the trouble you’re causing.
“It’s just, uhm--you’re folks are out and--,” he blinks several times, clearing his throat behind a loosely clenched fist. “it’d probably be best if… ya’know--they weren’t,” he finishes awkwardly, not even sure if he managed to string together a coherent sentence.
“I’m sorry, but you’re not making any sense right now,” you murmur, the mattress shifting with a subtle squeak as you rise. You saunter toward him with slow, calculated steps. A movement that makes his heart pound as he catches it in his peripheral vision. He swallows hard to keep it from jumping out before offering reluctantly,
“Well, you see? Uhh, m-maybe we shouldn’t be… alone together. Not sayin’, like--me and you--anything would happen, but--”
“Things could happen,” you interject, stepping even closer. “That’s what you're getting at?”
“I dunno. Maybe?” he replies, unsure if it’s in either of your best interests to reveal too much. But then he finds himself seizing a moment of unusual courage. “I’m a man and you’re a lady and… s-sometime I can’t keep my head on straight. It floats off too far.”
“What do you mean?” The inquiry is futile. The answer is written all over him.
Michael drags a hand down his face, exhaling like the weight of the words might crush him before they even leave his mouth.
“I can’t focus. I try so hard to push these… feelin’s aside, but you… the way you look, how close you are… you’re makin’ it really hard for me to do,” he confesses, both relief and dread washing over him now that it’s out in the open.
“What kinds of feelings?” you whisper, stepping right in front of him and slipping your hand into his. He neither accepts nor rejects the gesture. Instead, his face tightens with frustration. Not at you, but at what he fails to control within himself.
“Ones I shouldn’t have… ones I shouldn’t even think. I-It's not right--by God.” It sounds more like a last-ditch effort to save face than a principle he still believes he can uphold.
“So, I’m the cause of these feelings… I suppose I should take responsibility then,” you muse softly, your words meant only for the space between the two of you. “Michael… do you like me?”
A knowing smile plays on your lips, eyes shimmering with mirth as his finally snap to yours.
“Like you?” his voice cracks, eyes wide as saucers as if your question had knocked the ground out from under him. Yet, here he stands, frozen and shaken, silently wishing it actually had.
“I, uh… well, l-like you like a friend. No wait--not a friend!” he blurts out, waving his hands frantically, cringing as his sudden loudness startles you both. “Sorry, I mean--uhm, haha--you’re pretty, and--”
You stop his rambling with a gentle, deliberate press of your finger to his lips, silencing him effortlessly. He blinks at you and swallows hard, as if the task of tackling his unspoken words and what lies before him is too daunting all at once… Luckily, he won’t have to face it all on his own, and you’re more than ready to take charge.
“You know,” you muse, fingers grazing the back of his hand with an affectionate stroke. “I’ve had my eye on you since that first church service I attended. That performance? You left quite the impression.” Your voice is like rose thorns in hiding. The bloom is so entrancing, it’s enough to make him bleed. And yet, some long-evaded part of him savors that sting.
“But when we finally met… you were nothing like I expected. You amazed me even more. And, I couldn’t help but wonder… if that’s how you transform for the Lord, how do you come alive under a woman's touch?”
You whisper into his ear, then place a delicate kiss just beneath it. You can feel his pulse quicken at the contact, can almost hear it drumming beneath his skin. Or perhaps it’s your own, just as affected by the proximity.
You’ve grown so close to him, it’s hard to tell where one of you ends and the other begins. You pull back just enough to gauge his reaction. Your gaze is intense, unflinching, and you’re certain you have him right where you want him.
And he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. The real you.
And in that moment, he fully understands he has fallen right into your trap.
“You did all of this on purpose, didn’t you?” he says, his tone laced with accusation, eyes dark and conflicted, searching yours, a storm of betrayal tangled with reluctant admiration.
You ‘tsk’ disapprovingly, grinning like a Cheshire cat at the inkling that he’s secretly just as enthusiastic about this ploy as you are.
“Let’s not pretend we weren’t both already aware… I think that’s why you chose to stay,” you say, your voice a soft purr, breath brushing over his lips as if trying to breach his defenses, invade, and shatter his denial. His heart beats wildly, pounding like a thoroughbred at the Kentucky Derby, driven onward by this increasingly bold and dangerous gesture.
The skimpier attire, the orchestrated solitude, the fine fragrance, the lingering touches and stares… all of it is for him. He knows it’s manipulation, and he knows he should resist, but he can’t help feeling flattered, his morals fading, slipping away under the pull of your intent.
“So, what now?” It doesn’t sound like a question. More like an admission that he’s already in too deep.
“Whatever you want, Michael. Just say the word,” your words pour out like tainted honey, slow and smooth, dripping with promises as bitter as they are sweet.
“What if I want to leave?” He asks as if saying it aloud might break the spell. Might save him from the fall he doesn’t truly want to avoid.
“Oh, we both know that’s not true. And I’d much rather you didn’t.”
You lean in, your breath ghosting against his ear, your voice low and tempting.
”I think something brought us together on purpose, just so we could share this moment. Wouldn’t it feel wrong to fight it?” Your gentle petting resumes, climbing up his arms to rest on his shoulders, a touch both grounding and destabilizing.
“Let’s just see where we are. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing. We can explore a little, have some fun. We don’t even have to go all the way if that feels too much… all you have to do is say yes.”
Your hands remain still, but your lips wander with growing curiosity, planting featherlight kisses wherever they can reach. A gentle peck to his left cheek, tender and deliberate. Michael nuzzles into the affection.
“I’ve n-never… I’ve never done anything--like this--before,” he whispers vulnerably, as though he might shatter from shame if you recoil from his lack of experience.
He doesn’t notice the way heat winds through you with wicked delight at his admission. “That’s okay,” you purr, voice low and sure as your lips resume their lavishment between each phrase. “I’ll take the reins… you just enjoy the ride.”
“I think… I think--” he splutters, nerves and excitement blurring beyond any discernible line.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” you coax, mouth growing bolder against his neck, searching for the places that make him melt.
“Oh God--” Michael breathes out, his eyes squeezing shut at the intensity between you, right on the brink of boiling over. Or perhaps his exclamation is one last desperate cry to the Redeemer for a chance at salvation.
“Say it.” Your command is accompanied by a trail of petals along his jaw, soft yet persistent. Each one blooming his growing desire. Unfurling the passion beginning to awaken in him.
“Yes…yes, I want this,” he complies, signing his name on the dotted line to whatever lies ahead in the wake of your persuasion.
“Would it be alright if I kiss you?” you whisper against his lips on bated breath, barely there, yet striking in impact, igniting the final thread of his composure until it snaps. Damn you Marlon and your stupid jinx.
“Please,” he sighs, chest rising and falling over each shaky exhale, hands lifting on their own accord to settle on the small of your waist.
And you take him, wasting no time in melding yours with his. He welcomes them eagerly, pressing back against your own. Your hands cradle his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, capturing the warmth and faint stubble, while his tighten their grip, bracing himself to you as if you might slip away. As if he’ll wake to find himself only dreaming of you, an apparition of his unfulfilled desires.
But you are real. The embrace of your lips, your heady fragrance invading his senses, the heat that radiates from you, they’re proof enough that he’s not imagining. He deepens the kiss, hungry and unrelenting, consuming more. The soft smacks and heated pants of your entanglement are barely drowned out by the fan’s steady hum.
He takes a daring move that has your eyes widening, his tongue teasing along the seam of your lips, a silent plea you grant with a sigh, soft and surrendered. Your lashes lower as you sink into the motion. Each swirl, each flick, exploring, meeting his with mirrored fervor.
Your fingers curl into his coils, tugging ever so slightly, but it’s enough to rile something inside of him as he groans, low and desperate. His pace shifts, greedier now, stumbling you both back toward the bed, his need to feel more of you outweighing the need to remain rooted.
You follow his lead without resistance, careful not to stumble along the way. The hollows of your knees meet the edge of the mattress, and in the next breath, you both tumble onto it, the springs creaking beneath your crashing presence, but the action doesn’t halt the passion you unleash through tangled limbs and lips. Doesn’t distract either of you from the unending want and burning need you share for one another.
His frantic heartbeat, a hummingbird against his ribcage. The lingering scent of sandalwood and citrus, sharpened by the faint salt of sweat from his short walk over. His weight, steady and solid, holding you down. His presence surrounds you like a sanctuary, its permeating elements blending into something both comforting and addictive, anchoring you to the moment.
But then you move, swiftly taking control, sheets wrinkling as you roll over and pin him beneath you. He holds you closer, his hands a roaming force, caressing what they’ve yet to uncover. You exhale, rough and ragged, your tongues clashing with the heat of a summery gust, not in a battle for dominance, but in a dance of push and pull, give and take. Each movement is an embodiment of the symbiosis you share, guiding one another.
Your shoes are slightly distracting, so you kick them off. Then, with your toes, you try to wiggle his loafers off, bending and twisting around the backstay. It’s not the most effective method; in fact, it hardly works at all as you repeatedly lose your grip. Michael's eyes flutter open, looking confused at first, but when he realizes what you're trying to do, he breaks the kiss with a low laugh that shakes between you.
“I reckon you need some assistance?” he jokes, his eyes and teasing smile alight with amusement at the gravity of your charm being momentarily broken by the clumsy attempt, a feverish heat rising to your cheeks in response.
“Uhm, yes please,” you murmur shyly, an awkward chuckle trickling from your lips to soften the embarrassment. He removes them without delay, unwilling to let you sit in discomfort for too long, sliding them off with two resounding thumps as they join yours on the floor.
Michael halts for a moment, hesitant in waiting, staring at you with pending decision. Of what, you're unsure. You’re gearing up to ask, but he interrupts with a brazen, searing kiss, pulling a gasp from you, part shock, part arousal. His strong fingers grip where your neck meets your hairline, tangling in the locks, and he holds onto you, like not grasping what’s tangible now might erase it from his memory.
You lean in to take, the flow of your lips unceasing, even as you swing a leg over to straddle him, settling with purpose on either side of his waist. Your arms wrap securely around his shoulders, and you finally break the kiss with a soft parting smack, eyes closed, softly heaving as you rest your forehead to his, gathering yourself.
“So…” you pant, pulling back just enough for your eyes to meet his. Their sight leaves you even more breathless, blown out and endless, two onyx gems absorbing you, grounding you in the undeniable longing they reflect. It mirrors your own, only burning brighter. A flame you're determined to feed.
“Where do you want to start?” you offer, mild and gently entreating, a hopeful request to fulfill his every wish.
Michael freezes, caught in the headlights, suspended between sanctity and seduction. He could retreat, backtrack, and leave it at nothing more than a kiss, one steeped in the rush of lust but not yet succumbed to it. Or, he could move forward into uncharted territory, crossing the threshold from which there is no return.
But as he takes you in, lips shaded and swollen from craving, the slow, steady ebb and flow of your chest, a soothing tide pulling him closer, and a look that holds the full warmth and security of a haven, where he knows he is safe to explore those depths with you, he leaps in with a soft, stumbling supplication,
“Could you… c-could you take this off?”
Michael tugs lightly at the hem of your shirt, his hand a tremor of nerves and anticipation, this single piece of fabric being the only thing to separate him from the closeness he’s dared to imagine. Your fingers work deftly and slow, unfastening each button free at an unhurried pace, revealing inch by inch of what lies beneath the cotton, the barrier upholding any trace of purity between you.
Once you reach the last nob, a single shrug of your shoulders sends the fabric gliding down your arms, falling in a faint rustle as it meets the floor. The last delicate layer remains, lacy and fragile, gracefully shielding you with the final threads of complete modesty. You look at Michael in silent communication, and he answers with a gaze that strips you bare without a single touch, giving a subtle, permissive nod for you to continue.
You reach behind, fingerpads trailing over the white band until they find their target, accompanied by a faint snap of hooks releasing. Michael swallows harshly, pulse surging at the unmistakable sound of the clasp giving way, a quiet cue as thrilling as it is definite, indicative of what’s to come.
He’s unaware, but the chaos within you matches his, raging and relentless in equal measure as the straps slip from their place at your guiding touch, swiftly followed by the cups sliding past your breasts, the garment discarded and landing like the final nail in the coffin, sealing his fate.
You hold your breath as he beholds you in all your glory, eyes darkened and heavy with the haze of desire, sweeping over every inch of skin you have to offer, reverent, grateful that he’s the one who gets to drink you in. Heat stirs deep within him at the sight of you, a vision more captivating, more hauntingly perfect than any he had shaped in longing. A marvel beyond his wildest wonders, a frame bearing both infinite grace and insurmountable allure.
“You’re an angel,” he whispered, low and thick with feeling, his voice trembling with ardent admiration.
Your bashfulness surfaces as a faint smile, eyes dropping as his words leave you at a loss for your own. You hadn’t expected to feel so green in his presence, but he had a way of making you seem as fresh as a lily in mid-June.
"Can I?" he asks after a beat, hopeful, yet thick with the undercurrent of pent-up nerves and fervent need, his fingers itching to take hold of what he’s so willingly lost himself for. You answer with action, steering his wrists with a decisive grasp, lifting until his palms rest flush, splayed across the swell of your disrobed chest, charged with a magnetic heat that has your heart thrumming beneath his hold.
“Just do whatever feels right.”
It's a gentle phrase, yet gravity seems to collapse inward, pressing in on you both, yearnful suspense tangled with tension, rising to heights too immense to be contained by the walls around you. And Michael, ever determined, reaches to transcend the barriers that once bound him.
He gives an experimental squeeze, his large, hardened hands enveloping you, a stark contrast to the soft, supple surface that yields beneath his touch, molding to him like it was made for no one else. You expel, gasping and overtaken by the caress, quaking under the strength and warmth of his command.
Michael presses further, rolling and kneading the flesh, folding over where his eager digits imprint, wondrous in his focus, attuned to every tremor, every shift of your body’s response. They lower tentatively, only to tweak and toy with you with expert precision, your nipples stiffening under each measured stroke.
Your eyes, glazed and low-lidded, speak what your lips cannot, parted and preoccupied with the haze of hallowed sighs. And he honors them with a sweltering kiss, tongues and breath dancing, swooping in as if to steal them straight from your lungs. His lips descend in a blazing trail, lathering your neck with impatience, nipping and etching hues of carnal urgency, dousing kerosene on the small flame already kindling within you, stoking an ache that begged to be soothed.
They brush along the line of your collarbone, hurried pecks carried to your ears on his frenzied breathing, much like your own, immersed in the rush of this moment, then dip to lavish ardent affection just where your curves begin to rise, inching closer and closer to where you need him most. Your waiting ends before it even begins as he delves in without hesitation, his mouth latching onto your left tit, as if his own ellipsis had been a purgatory stretching for millennia, and his torturous longing was finally at its end.
“Oh Michael,” you whimper, face contorted with bliss, exerting your pent up pleasure wherever it can press through, fingers twisting in the fabric of his red polo, hips swiveling along his lap, the fine fabric of your panties paired with the textured surface of his blue jeans, creating a dizzying friction between you, offering a moment of shared relief. He moans in reply, long and muffled around the cushion of your chest, sucking and nibbling with renewed vigor as you grind against him.
His hips cant upward to meet you, rocking in rhythm to the sway of your motion, one hand groping tighter at your waist while the other drifts skyward along your skin, reaching to give attention to your unoccupied breast, fondling with tender ministrations. They spur your actions, your paired sounds of pleasure blending into a symphony meant for your ears alone, a duet of raw need and long-held desire, finally breaking free.
Your yearning seeps through the fine material, stamping your brand where his length lies, stiff, an aching strain beneath the restricting confines of his pants. He pulls away with a wet pop, a thin strand of saliva still tethering you to his mouth, before he delves into the other, his tongue reaching to draw you in.
Your hands skim over his biceps, fingers tightening as his exquisite manipulations leave you craving for more. More closeness. More connection. It persists without benevolence, burrowing deep within your skin like a maddening itch you must scratch or else you’ll go insane.
“Stop for a minute,” you say, breathless and panting, gently pulling him back until your eyes lock, ending his intense doting. His gaze wavers with insecurity.
“D-did I do it wrong?” His voice is shaky and timid as he asks, worried the sudden withdrawal might mean he didn’t live up to your expectations.
You can’t help but giggle at the incredulity of the question. The proof of his success is written all over you, from the lingering trace of his kisses still on your skin, to the way your loins simmer, as if he’s branded them with his name, claiming you as his own.
“No sweetie, you were great,” you reassure, intertwining his hand with yours in quiet, heartfelt comfort.
Michael’s shoulders visibly relax, letting out a breath of relief he hadn’t known he was holding.
“It’s just…” you pause, worrying your lip in thought. “Do you trust me?” Your hand squeezes his tighter, a silent gesture to convey the genuine care and concern you feel for his comfort and enjoyment in this experience.
“More than anything,” He answers without hesitation, his expression showing that he stands by his words, sincere and certain. You smile, your thumb a tender sweep along the back of his hand. Then, the caress eases to stillness, your hands drifting down to…
“I wanna try something…” you declare quietly, your words layered with an undertone of mischief. But it’s barely registered over the soft purr of metal teeth as your fingers, tugging and deft, move along the zipper pull. Michael feels heat stir within him, violent as a fire whirl, as he gulps at the sound, sharp with the promise of far more indecent deeds to ensue.
“If it’s too much, you tell me right away. Promise?” you say, gentle yet firm, resolute in making sure nothing you do goes beyond what he’s ready for. With your sensual brilliance on full display, just as much wanting as his for the taking, he’s sure he can go pretty far.
“I promise.”
And that’s all you need to hear before capturing his lips again with slow, languid movements, a patient coax to ease him into the intimacy that lies ahead. Your hands move with practiced ease, lifting the red polo shirt over his head and adding it to the growing heap of fabric collecting nearby. Your eyes trace every line and angle with quiet appreciation, from his faintly toned biceps to the trim cut of abs that rest against his physique, unexpected yet effortlessly natural.
He groans, soft and barely above a whisper, groping your waist tight as you etch a bruise into his neck, pressing close until you’re satisfied with the mark it leaves behind. Your delicate touch lowers to the planes of his chest, your tongue dipping to swirl around his nipple, a sensation he clearly delights in, given how his fingers dig deeper into your flesh and the quiet whimper that slips from him at the heightened sensitivity.
You resume nipping along the way, gentle and attentive, his heart thrumming like a jackrabbit beneath your lips, then move further down his torso as you slide to the floor with featherlight pecks, tender and warm, reverent toward the frame that will become a source of pleasure as deep and powerful as your own.
“Just relax, Michael. It’ll feel good,” you murmur, looking up at him from your kneeling position, rubbing his thigh in a soothing pattern, back and forth, easing him out of rigidity. He would need to be for what’s to come.
His nod is stiff at first, but as your words and adoring gaze sink in, he gradually begins to loosen, his throat easing, joints unlocking, and breath shifting into a steady, calming flow. He plants his hands firmly on the mattress, bracing himself as your fingers start to tug at the waistband of his briefs, preserving his decency only as long as it takes to glide the fabric down, slowly, deliberately, heightening the anticipation of the reveal.
Over the jut of his hips, past the shield of dark coils draping his pubic bone, and finally, his length slaps against his lower belly as the material gives way, settling right below where he’s erected. You draw in a small gasp, desire swelling in your widened eyes, momentarily stunned by the sheer magnitude of what you're faced with. He stands tall and thick, foreskin curled over the tip, veins woven and pulsing just beneath the surface, as if responding to the intensity of your stare.
Michael groans quietly, overwhelmed by the embarrassment of being so exposed. He slaps his hands over his eyes, as if hiding them could somehow erase his self-consciousness. He feels you rise slightly from the ground, your hands skimming up his arms with patient care, yet firm as they circle his wrists and draw them away from his face. He’s met with a gaze swirling with concern, affection, and something more, something entrancing that leaves him feeling caught and unable to look away.
“It’s okay. You’re safe with me,” you whisper, your voice full of sincere conviction, every word a vow to protect and please him with all you have. You lift his hand tenderly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his knuckles. And with reverent surrender, he lets his guard fall, yielding to the sweet reassurance he’s certain you’ll stay true to.
His heart skips a beat at what you say next, low and seductive, draped in velvet and the foreshadow of delicious trouble,
“Don’t look away. I want your eyes on me every second I make you feel this.”
That unspoken flame behind your eyes rises higher with every heartbeat, glowing warmer, bolder, just for him. You emanate an aura so hypnotic, so utterly arresting, he couldn't tear his gaze away even if he wanted to. He’s captivated, mesmerized with bated breath as you lower again at your own leisurely pace, dragging out the suspense between you, charged with desire stretched thin, on the verge of snapping.
He inhales sharply when your hand wraps around him, lithe and delicate, your fingers straining to meet from the sheer width he carries. You begin to stroke him at a slow tempo, the flesh warm and soft beneath your touch, his fingers wound tight in the sheets as your forbidden caress overtakes him, molding him in ways that leave his will knelt at the foot of your command.
Your hold encircles him with increasing certainty, gripping tighter, bolder in your intention. His teeth sink into his lower lip, biting to hold back a groan, his arousal aiding the glossy glide of your embrace, each dribble a testament to his waxing need. The skin moves back and forth under each measured movement, revealing his flushed, leaking tip, sensitive and practically pleading for attention. And who are you to ignore its cry?
You lean in to acquaint him with a gentle kiss, barely there, yet powerful in its capture. Michael quivers, his heart thrumming in a frenzy at the thrill of your lascivious claim. You can feel him trembling, shaken with delight, a delight as fierce and potent as the one that drives you to serve. So you cater to him by resting deeper, more intense kisses to his crown, enclosing your lips to suckle at the head.
A moan falls from him on a stuttered sigh, weak from your wantonness, your tongue swiping out to sample his flavor, salty with a sweet edge, a tangy, harmonious blend dancing across your tastebuds. It fuels the drizzle of your own essence, pooling at, weeping along your womanhood. You shift your affection down the side of his shaft, tongue tracing the vein that runs there, licking a wet trail to the base before climbing up again. Your ambition is a craving that can no longer be contained, and the reward, vulnerable, frayed and unraveling, is yours for the taking.
You welcome him in with eager possession, your rouged and kiss-swollen lips, stretched tight over the head, sinking down to take him deeper into your mouth. Michael's eyes squeeze shut, fingers wringing the comforter so hard it might tear. But his lids fly back open abruptly, the echo of your demand snapping him back into focus. He truly wants nothing more than to be on his best behavior for you, but the exquisite sensations reigning over him make that anything but easy.
You keep your motions unhurried, wanting him to feel every ridge, every wet, elastic corner you have to offer. A gentle inlet, intent on easing him into the sail of a high like no other. As you lower halfway, taking all you can handle, you hollow your cheeks, suctioning like a vise around him, your hand stroking in tandem with the orchestrations of your mouth, working over what doesn’t fit.
You intensify your actions, bobbing your head in long, drawn out drags to enhance his pleasure, softly gagging as his tip nudges your soft palate each time down. You slurp and lap at what dribbles out, pooling around the corners of your mouth, descending his shaft in glistening trails to meet your hand, a sleek sheen shining below the room light as you tug up and down, coating him in the blendings of your shared enthusiasm.
His sounds spill out, heightened in both volume and frequency. A hiss when your teeth lightly graze, sending shockwaves through every nerve. A whimper, high and frail, when you constrict around him, tight and warm. A groan, low and throaty, as you pull off with a wet pop, staring him square in the eye, face flushed, water line damp with tears and lips gleaming, lowering to catch the steamy concoction that trickles down the side of him.
“Goodness,” he grits out, momentarily disoriented as your eyes collide for the first time since you’ve fallen to your knees.
Weepy drops well within his own, misted with the veil of profound pleasure, your bleary visage almost phantasmal to him as he blinks the haze away just to see you more clearly. He feels lightheaded, struck by a dizzying wave of realization, crashing into him like time snapped into place, and now he’s fully here. Present. Immersed in the reality of illicit wiles made manifest through mutual pining and desire.
“How does it feel?” you ask, your voice a sultry husk, worn thin from the exertion of your labor, your hand relentless in its slick caress.
“Like heaven,” he hiccups, watery and wilted. It’s a reluctant confession laced with aching relief, both painful and euphoric in its release, tearing through him as if admitting that the wayward path he’d chosen was the true one to ascension all along, freeing him from a piece of himself he’d long clung to.
He cannot place the culprit of his tears: pleasure surpassing anything he has ever known, treachery toward his long-abided covenants. Yet, the possibility of betrayal fades quickly: the flame kindled within your eyes at the sight of his sunken state seeping into him, awakening a part of him he never knew lay dormant, a part that craves for the sole validation of that flame dancing higher. You relish in his weighted confession and the weak, pitiful sight of him, his vulnerability the finest exhibit of your actualized appetite, a condition only a lover’s touch could reduce one to.
“Mmm…” you hum, thick with satisfaction, “Then I’m most obliged to take you there.”
A wicked grin plays on your lips, your gaze smoldering with the heat of triumph and possession, basking in the sacred knowing that you’re the first to bring him pleasure beyond his wildest dreams. You lick a broad, hungry stripe up the underside of his length before consuming him again, enclosing your lips around the head, taking it much deeper than should’ve been possible, swallowing him down so far it nearly blocks your airways.
Michael quivers from the rush of your zealous ministrations, his face scrunched in agonizing ecstasy, brows drawn tight and eyes lowered, zoned in on the erotic scene playing out before him. You hold him there, throat pulsing around his girth, pulling back with a soft sputter, sending a thin trail of your dribble and his seed to merge with the messy mixture that assists the slide of your grip. Your motions plunge him farther into depths of you where tenderness has vanished, now driven by the greed and urgency of your own fulfillment, wholly committed to making him shatter completely beneath your control.
Michael’s body bends like a marionette under the pull of your power, his back bowing outward, posture beautifully broken, his fists buried in the sheets, knuckles clenched and bleached with strain. His mouth agape, pouring over ragged, guttural resonances within the room, blending with the wet sloshes of your mouth and hand tending to him, an obscene and tantalizing harmony of carnal passion. The provocative sounds and overwhelming sensations blur together, intoxicating and deeply gratifying, making you water more freely, the ridges and lines of your slit drenched with drooling arousal, your thighs squeezed tight to subdue the throbbing ache within you.
“I feel like… I f-feel--”
The heat and pressure in Michael’s loins are beginning to build, slowly climbing to unbearable heights that leave him teetering on the precipice of something uncontrollably vast, his summit just out of reach.
You can sense his impending release, from the way he twitches in your mouth, his precum beading out faster against your palate, to his thigh seizing up beneath your grip, winding tighter with each push and pull of your heated manipulations, inching him closer to the edge of ecstasy. You draw back with gasp, labored and spent, escaping your passion-glazed lips as your hand remains wrapped in its care, slipping and sliding along him as you heave, fighting to reclaim the breath you’ve so willingly given up.
“Shhh, I know baby. I got you. Let it out for me,” you coax in a hoarse murmur, smoked with rasp and warmth. It’s a reverent command, infusing every nerve with the searing pleasure already coiled inside him that has yet to be expelled, reaching in to take what’s been rightfully, resolutely earned.
You lean down to welcome his tip just past your lips, sealed tightly to catch his approaching outflow, near the point of spilling over, your hand steadfast in its slick, torrid pursuit. Michael trembles with ragged breath, pressure mounting, compelled by the force of your sensual mastery, bordering on the edge of pain. And finally, he releases with a wanton cry, high and unrestrained as waves of turbulent, heated euphoria course through him, every extremity singed by the radiant bliss erupting from his core.
Watchful and clouded with hot-blooded vapor, your gaze does not falter, riveted on the way he contorts as he climaxes. His face wears an eroticism so utterly enchanting, so enrapturing, that not even the murals of the Sistine Chapel could compare.
His mouth ajar over each desperate sound, a melodious tonic that invigorates your own need. Lids drawn tight, pressing out a cascade of wept ecstasy, painting his face with willowy streaks as he melts into the pleasure that ravages his body. Perspiration gathers at his furrowed brow, beads trailing from temple to jugular, each oxy-infused droplet a testament to the fruits of your labor.
You drink down what he has to offer with great elation, your hand stalling to a halt as he drifts back to earth, still buzzing with the pulse of a rhapsody in decrescendo, pulling off completely as he sags into relaxation. Reaching for your discarded shirt, you use it to wipe away the spent remnants still glistening on your hand before casting it aside. You look up to find him staring back, eyes still shimmering with unshed tears and whispers of unquenched desire.
You rise with ease, reclaiming your place upon his lap, his arms finding you by second nature, drawing you close until your bare chests merge in tender accord. He holds on tight, clinging to you as if the closeness of this moment will expire once you separate, burying his head in the crook of your neck as a single tear escapes him, its warmth tracing your skin before sliding down the curve of your shoulder. Your hand moves in a gentle drift along his back, soothing the storm that no doubt rages within him.
“Thank you.” He says in whispered reverence, his tone too light to bear the weight of his gratitude. His breathing slows, a soft steadiness returning as warm repose seeps into his bones. You hold him a little tighter, letting him find his calm within your embrace. A small giggle rises from you, your heart fluttering at how effortlessly he turns the aftermath of such lewd displays of desire into something so endearing.
“Are you ready for more?” you whisper, leaning back just enough for your gazes to meet and fasten, yours patiently searching for his answer--whatever it may be--as your thumb brushes away the tear from his cheek. His reply is wordless: a small, brief nod, yet a tender, brighter warmth lives in his eyes, a fervent light that stirs you to dive in with no hesitance.
His lips are seized with your searing kiss, deep and languid, letting him delve in to savor the lingering notes of himself, still fresh on your tongue. But a grander, amorous pursuit tugs at Michael’s conscience--unventured, waiting--as he swiftly peels away from you, his panting uneven and soft.
“Could I… maybe give it a try?” he asks, timidly hopeful, voice quiet with gentle insistence, his fingers fidgeting with the knit material of your skirt.
“Only if you’re really sure about it. I don’t want you to feel like you have to return the favor,” you say softly, your hand grazing up and down his arm in a soothing rhythm, eyes searching his for any flicker of uncertainty or discomfort.
“No, I--I been needin’ it so bad, it’s been hoverin’ over me and I just can’t shake it… Lemme taste you. Please.”
He’s quick to dispel the notion with his declaration, imbued with lust and longing, his voice raw, trembling with hunger, sending heat pooling low in your core. You move without a word, stealing his breath away with another kiss, wrapped in its warmth as you rise from his lap and shift to the other side of his body, all without slipping apart.
Your hands brace over his shoulders, easing him down atop of you as you melt into the fluffed pillows, making space for him to rest between your parted thighs. Your lips peel away once you’ve both adjusted, goosebumps rising across the skin where your skirt billows in the breeze. You’re not sure if it’s the cool gust of the fan gliding underneath, or the way Michael’s ardent gaze and avowal seep into your bones, settling there like they’ve always belonged.
He leans back in, dousing quick, affectionate nips and kisses along your neck. You mewl softly, tilting your head back on instinct, offering more of yourself to him. He’s on a mission, moving with haste past your collarbones, descending the valley of your breasts, decelerating slightly to savor the sensation of the warm, velvety surface, dusting delicate pecks from your stomach to your hips, and finally, stopping to rest where pleats of red still veil the rubies between your thighs.
“Okay, Michael. Do you know what to do?” you ask out of courtesy, though you already have a strong idea of the answer, especially in the way his eyes falter as he twiddles the hem of your skirt.
“Uh--in theory? But, I ain’t exactly ever…” he pauses, sifting through the wreckage his nerves left behind. “Put my skills to the test, so…” he finishes in a murmur, rubbing the back of his neck in an attempt to ease the awkwardness.
He had four older brothers, each guilty of telling a raunchy tale a time too many. College dorm life had been a revelatory experience as well, whether it was his fellow roommates bragging about their sexcapades, or waking Michael up in the middle of the night with one. Yes--he’d been abstinent until now, but never quite oblivious.
Still, he wasn’t convinced that the scraps of knowledge he’d picked up would help him much at the moment, and this wasn’t exactly a situation the Lord would be inclined to help with. Truth be told, Michael had left Him at the doorstep the second he set foot in your home.
“Hey, that’s alright. Don’t worry. I’ll teach you,” you console, fingers reaching out to lift his chin, a gesture as gentle as the look you give him, carrying no trace of judgment. The innocence of the moment vanishes as quickly as it arrived, replaced by an atmosphere thick in sensual intimacy as your thumb grazes his full lips, tracing to revel in their softness, his heart hammering at the touch.
It only increases as your hands, slow and purposeful, lower to gather the trim of your skirt, nudging it up your thighs until it rests at your hips, loosely bunched and abandoned, no longer given a second thought as the illicitly enticing royal purple peaks from below, your legs as brazen and unrepentant as the hue, spreading wider to give more access.
“Have mercy...” Michael breaths out, eyes ravenous and roaming over the lace intricacies that embellish your undergarment, to the longing in you that’s seeped through the silky center.
“I take it you approve of the accent piece I chose?” you jest, a teasing curl on your lips as he marvels at the object, weak in the wake of the attention it commands. He’s spellbound when you shift, it scintillating like an enchantment that refuses to let his eyes stray. And in them, wonder blooms, curiosity stirring for the hidden power that lies beneath.
“You wanna take them off?” the coquettish lilt of your voice snaps him out of his ogling, his fingers itching to pursue the invitation. A part of him is reluctant, wanting to gaze just a little longer at the skimpy article, lustrous and decadent, wrapped around you like temptation in the deepest shade of twilight. Still, he tugs at the waistband with slow, adoring care, your lip caught between your teeth as you lift slightly to assist the graze of his fingertips and the fabric down your skin, rich with the promise of pleasure.
You both gasp, breaths hitching in unison: yours from the cold exposure; his from the slow release of anticipation, as it slides past your knees, gathering in soft folds around your ankles. You nudge them away with a gentle sweep of your foot, your flower… weeping… wanting… finally dawning into view. Michael is transfixed by the slick evidence of your need laid bare, swollen with yearning, drenched in desperation. Desperation reserved solely for him, a sacred obligation he’s vowed to tend to with the utmost care. Just as soon as his eyes set him free.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to stare. It’s just… you’re so lovely down here,” he murmurs, voice trembling, full of awe and wonder. He’s broken out of his trance as he looks up at you, gaze wavering with nerves, yet shining with everything he longs to give.
“The view’s not half bad from where I’m at either,” you breathe, struck by his reverence and the way it cloaks over you, adorning you with his eagerness to please. He takes the initiative in an unexpected move, one that sends a rush of need through you as he crawls closer to the source that craves him just as fiercely as he craves it, his tone low and heartfelt when he says:
“Show me how to please you.”
His eyes mirror that humble request, imploring, pining, as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your thigh. His large hand undulates in a slow, lulling motion where it rests before ceasing his drift, gently moving to urge your legs farther apart, opening you more fully to his imminent claim.
Your hand reaches for his with trepidation, shaken by the energy he emanates, already surrendered to whatever your body seeks to draw from him… and everything he intends to pour in. The space that separates his touch from your need is but a breath, yet the distance seems to grow with every inch he gravitates nearer. They eventually find their way to their target, your hearts drumming in tune, one beat bounding after the other, as he makes contact, brushing against the soft, outer layer of your petals.
“Stroke back and forth along the edges… slowly. Don’t be afraid to apply a little pressure.” you coax, warm and hushed as his fingers, stretched and charged with excitement, begin to massage you in smooth, unhurried motions, timid but tactful, fully absorbed in the task of easing your ache.
His digits gleam brighter beneath the caress, silken sap over glossed mahogany, your arousal saturating them with each controlled shift and slide, his movements a stark contrast to the chaos that roars within him. His expression teeters between careful concentration and craving tension, brows drawn in delicate focus. His eyes display everything he's afraid to ruin… and sing of everything he wants to unleash.
“You see that little button right at the top?” you ask, nearly a whisper, careful to not disturb the quiet tenderness that envelops you both.
“The clit?”
So… he does know his way around that anatomy. It shouldn’t be as surprising to you as it is.
“Yes. Use your thumb. I want you to press on that. Rub it.” Your gentle instruction is solemnly obeyed by his inquiring touch, his thumb working in deft, figure-eights where it’s nestled.
“Like this?” he glances up briefly to gauge your reaction.
“Just like that,” you sigh, the softest sparks awakening under his ministrations, warmth blooming slow and sure. “You can go a little faster.”
He does as he’s told with much enthusiasm, quickening his pace against the soft button, keenly acute to the way your breathing sharpens, the way your love tenses and flexes, spilling more of your wet passion in an abundant stream. Your body buzzes like a drowsy hive beneath his curious affection, gently humming as your nectar, rich and intoxicating, swells steadily in electrifying agitation, your pheromones a seductive potion that pierces his senses, luring his focus ever closer to its sacred source.
You feel the moment his attention is drawn away, his thumb being replaced by his middle and trigger, sliding back and forth along your slit where moisture has gathered, stopping to trace lazy circles around the endless curve where you overflow. Gingerly, he lifts his head for you both to share a look: wordless, telepathic in its clarity, each of you aware of the mutual desire guiding this shift in placement… and what it leads to.
“Go ahead, baby. Put them in,” you encourage him, your pulse and need surging as his touch nears its inevitable dive.
He doesn't leave either of you suspended for much longer, his digits, cautious yet earnest, breaching your entrance with a steady, graceful push, inching in with gradual force. But the sultry, clinging tightness of your warmth pulls him in with a mind all its own, desperate, driven, as if more of him was the only thing it sought for. He’s soon sunk in to the hilt, his thick fingers buried deep, stuffing you, stretching you in the most delectable way.
He settles into a steady tempo that has your walls thrumming in tune to that rhythm, smooth enough for him to truly explore the hot, wet, wanton wonder within a woman, yet bold enough to unravel it. His fingers, astoundingly skillful, fan the flames of your longing, burning brighter just beneath the surface with every prod and tilt, every slide and graze he delivers with tender motions. You moan, sharp and shuddered, as your excitement leaks past where he fills you, dripping down his hand as he remains engrossed in the task, his nerves and need morphed beyond recognition.
“A-am I doin’ it okay?” He edged the question in quietly, stammering around the lump in his throat, almost afraid the answer would confirm his anxieties.
“You’re doing excellent, sweetie,” you say, breathless and nearly strangled under his attentiveness, relief and pride swelling within him at your praise. You honestly feel as if you could come undone just from this alone, but the main event still lies in wait, having yet to be fulfilled. “Now, t-try using your mouth. Almost like how we kissed, but more… vertical. And tongue-driven. But don’t rush. Take your time. Tease me.”
Heightened thrill, tinged with both hesitation and undeniable hunger, has his heart racing, thoughts spiraling as he dips toward you, his tongue peaking out for a light, experimental swipe through your longing, parting you with featherlight grace as his lips envelop your lower ones, sucking softly on the tender flesh. Your hands, fervid and tensed, fist the sheets with an ironclad grip, your body glowing, pulsing with radiance under the advent of his new-found devotion.
He deepens his actions with growing confidence and mounting desire, submerging himself willingly, wantingly, into the depth of your arousal, unmistakable in the way it staccatos--slick and piercing--alongside your labored breathing, as his fingers remain avid in their wet cadence, his mouth making a filthy melody of its own where he licks and laps at you. Your pleasured sounds trickle over his ears like a whispered prayer, quiet, yet saturated with the full extent of your thirst, a parched ache he craves to quench.
Though you struggle under his lavishing, you find your voice, quivering, stammering with delight to say, “M-move up and down the center… Yes… t-that’s perfect.”
His tongue slithers with serpent-like charm beneath the slow pour of your invigorating medley, pleasantly pungent notes that flood his senses as he delves low to swirl at your piquancy, sugarcane and petrichor, spilling out where his fingers maintain their stimulating rhythm. It tumbles out in spite of his volition--a moan, husky and desperate, torn from him by the voracious delicacy you provide in plenty, empowering his resolve to satisfy you to the fullest extent.
You gasp as the vibration rattles through you, his tongue gliding along the rift of your womanhood, swaying through your folds on the path of his ascent, climbing higher until it’s perched on your throbbing pearl before engulfing you, all separation erased as you’re sealed within the supple hold of his lips’ embrace.
He drags in with gentle insistence to suction around the bulging, beckoning bud, his tongue twirling against it in steady orbit. You mewl, wispy and high-pitched, arching into the celestial force that unfolds a glimpse of paradise. Michael had always been a fast, eager learner--now was certainly no exception. And as he consumes with newfound prowess, with messianic vitality, your fruit yields the waxing light of a new horizon, where a full moon’s red glow illuminates, bathing him in her divinity and sweet damnation.
You speak, stammered and near-incoherent, trying to override the pleasure that’s reduced you to a babbling mess:
“I think you’ve--hah… g-gotten the hang of it. You can take it from here. Just--lean into what you think might feel good. I’ll let you know what I like.”
Michael acknowledges your bestowal with a soft, longing hum of assent, his free hand sliding to your hip to draw you closer to his indulgence, his grasp firm, warmth pressing into your skin like a living furnace. His eyes squeeze shut with intent, tuning into the way your body responds as he continues exploring the surface and inside of your heat, digits stroking smoothly along your silken walls, tight and fluttering around his graze.
Your head tosses gently from side to side, shallow gusts breezing across your lips, the frilly ruffles on your pillowcase rippling in small waves under its faint current, your chest rising and falling in uneven undulations with every breath you chase beneath the ardor of his waxing touch. You thrust into his actions, smooth and firm, hips flexing as the hand that cuffs your skirt unfolds with mindful consideration to keep the bunched-up material from disrupting his flow, your fingers stretching to intertwine with his where they grope you.
The sudden brush startles his heart but does not sway him from his purpose. He simply lets your hand melt into his delicate hold while his mouth remains absorbed in unwinding you with the sweeping pets of his tongue, with long, attentive slurps to your bundle of nerves, engorged and throbbing, lapping along your petals to savor your essence, glistening on you like a renewed orchid after tender rain. You shimmer with liquid sustenance, nourishing his hungered spirit, stirring his loins to reawaken as every tastebud gets sopped in honeyed ambrosia.
“You’re doing so good,” you gasp, airy and strained, your deliverance blooming brighter, drifting nearer as he cherishes your most intimate parts. “Try a little more to the right… That’s it. Good boy.”
A raw, helpless whine escapes before he can stop it, the words shooting through him like a paralyzing current, his body faltering, its utterance alone threatening to undo him. He doesn’t understand what awakens inside him at those two simple syllables, only that the sound rips through his composure. Good boy… your good boy. All he wants is to be worthy of that title, to prove he’s earned it.
Once that determination has settled into every vein and vessel, woven into the very fibers of his being, his motion finds him again, driving him forward with relentless, ravenous intent. The wind is all but shoved from your lungs, your back caving in, your hand squeezing his tighter as he delves into your passion with renewed energy.
He’s honed in on your clit, sucking and flicking at the tender, achy nub, his fingers sliding in and out of you with gained momentum, his low hums and moans of indulgence hardly veiling the sound of your dripping heat, each sticky squelch echoing between you, loud and unmistakable. He’s enamoured by the way you mewl and squirm beneath him, by how overcome you are with the weight of his worship.
He knows he’s truly struck gold when his tips nudge against a particular spot and you seize up, letting out a breathy, broken whine before your free hand shoots down to tangle in his curls, pushing his head closer to your center, your hold strong and unshakable against his nape. He’s practically suffocated within your sweet, sweltering love, though he can’t find an ounce of panic at the yieldless circumstance, his length jolting from the force of your excitement and his inability to escape it.
“Hngh! Right there! Don’t stop!”
Your demand is desperate keen, your right leg thrown over the side of the bed, lower limbs shaking and splayed out wider for him as he brings you ever closer to transcendence, his fingers curling into the spongy point that sends muted bliss crackling within you, faint but dazzling, like fevered sparks leaping from colliding pyrite, on the brink of blazing into the inferno he seeks to summon.
Michael’s jaw lowers to tongue down more, alternating between fast flicks and long laps, greedy and unrestrained in the way he moves along you. Your nectar gently froths around his mouth, thin traces of syrupy gloss dripping past his chin and the corners where it’s pooled. Your bare chest lifts and heaves in sync to every broken gasp, every breathless sound, every desperate cry, body twisting and writhing with the welling pleasure your limbs can hardly contain, falling apart beneath his unexpected mastery, one that far exceeds anything either of you ever imagined he could possess.
“Michael! You’re gonna make me--”
Your warning slips pass tensed lips as that familiar, heated knot winds tighter in your core, muscles pulled taut and hips remaining avid in their chase for blinding rapture, so close you can almost taste it. Though trembling and clammy, your hold stays firm on his neck as you look down at the scene unfolding where you two connect.
He noisily feasts on you with the same wolfish desire that oozes from his eyes: dark, wild and devouring every inch of you until they lift to meet yours. And that ravening flame pours into you with such admiration, such intensity, every morsel of all he has to give, it’s enough for the coil within you to snap free, currents of shimmering elation spreading from your center and outward, fully consuming and overriding all self-composure.
You release with a shattered wail, your head thrown back, your body a quivering, contorting mess of soft, faintly sheened curves and lines, melting into the comforter’s plush embrace, unraveling to Michael’s faithful dedication. He can feel the instant your dam breaks. Your walls spasming as a large tide of arousal gushes around his fingers, spilling past your entrance and dribbling onto the bedsheet where he pushes more out of you. His mouth still lapping at your pearl as he remains immersed in his lavishment, aiming to please you until the very end.
He drinks you in completely, storing in his mind what his senses might hold later only in yearnful recollection: your graceful form convulsing as the power of your orgasm surges, rippling through every nerve and fiber, your sacred sounds swelling in sync to each earth-shattering wave, each rapturous strain composing a euphony all of his making.
Michael doesn’t let up until your blissful cries turn bittersweet as you wince from the stimulation, painfully sensitive and overstayed, your hand untangling from his curls to gently guide his head away, your grasp slipping from his to rest upon your heaving chest, shuddering between each breath you try to catch.
He withdraws his fingers from your core, gently, so as not to disturb you as you wind down--a thin, viscid strand of your cum keeping you both connected until it snaps, clinging to his digits in a silvery, translucent luster. Michael is mesmerized by its gleam, a glistening reflection of his impeccable craft, a reward he delights in with a slow swipe of his tongue, delicate at first, then fully talking it into his mouth, lids fluttering shut as the taste melts into a rich, pleasantly tangy burst, sucking your essence clean off with a groan that rumbles low in his throat.
He’s given a mere breath’s pause to savor those mellow notes, fingertips easing from the warmth to rest on his lips where your presence still lingers, before your sudden acknowledgment pulls him from his focus:
“Looks like you enjoyed that as much as I did.”
His eyes snap open, darting down to what he already knows is certain… He’s glaringly, remarkably hard again. A furious flush creeps across his malars, eyelids shuttering in an uneasy flash, a nervous giggle erupting from him, followed by the brief consonant of a stammered, attempted excuse, cut short by your leading insistence:
“Come here,” you murmur in a kittenish coo, eyes alight with the ravening flare of a tigress, sultry and low-lidded, your index curling inward in a ‘come hither’ motion to lure him closer, though he follows largely on his own whims, clumsily shuffling over the bedspread--the monument poking out awkwardly from his pants making it a challenging endeavor--until he’s in range for you to capture him by his wrist, dragging him down in a sudden swoop.
His hand shoots out beside your head, propping himself up to keep from crashing into you, a startled noise leaping from his throat at the swift seizure, but you swallow it just as quickly as your lips slant against his, joined in a deep, unhurried meld. Michael finds himself sinking into their warmth. Two plush, malleable clouds, cradling him in the sweetest high, both of you floating in the aftermath of expelled intimacy, yet not fully sated.
If it wasn’t obvious by his risen excitement, solid and dangling between you, it’s palpable in the way your fingertips latch onto his back, digging into his deltoids with a firmness that vows that these clandestine pleasures are far from over. And as every moment spirals by, edging towards hours and ever closer to the reluctant parting of ways, there’s not a second to be spared.
Your axis has shifted again, the change in position a courtesy to you, with Michael’s head now resting upon your pillows as you straddle his lap fully, fronts finally pressed flush to each other as you settle atop of him, his thick appendage nestled snugly between your lower lips. You share a sound, sharp and shuddered, breaths intertwining through the deliberate, molten flow of your mouths, a dissonance that resounds with the clash of your readiness and his sudden hesitance.
But that indicator goes unnoticed as you part abruptly, wrapped in your own anticipation for the finale, stretching toward your bedside dresser. The metallic knob is cold against your palm when you pull the drawer open, the drag of the roller guides creaking in a way that gnaws on Michael’s nerves, a boding of what naturally comes of these events. That unease is only amplified when you reach inside--a faint, plastic noise rustling under your fingers as you draw out a stacked strand of condoms.
“W-wait!”
You’re only pulled from your oblivion once he catches your wrist in a firm clutch, halting your movements before they lower any further, his eyes wide and wild with anxiety when you look back down at him.
“I don’t--uhh, I’m not sure that I can--” Michael stammers, taken aback by the untimely arrival of his precaution, feeling strangely misplaced in the midst of all he’s already succumbed to. Still, reckoning with that truth doesn’t quiet the feeling.
“Is this a little too fast for you?” You lift slightly, careful but quick, creating distance between where you connect, your stomach tightening at the thought that you might have intruded on him somehow. Had you realized his discomfort sooner, you would’ve stopped immediately. And Michael knows that, can see it in the timid regard swirling in your eyes, solemn and concerned, in the way your body holds rigid above his, afraid to overstep any further.
“That’s so… silly, ain’t it? Chickenin’ out now, after we’ve gone this far and--I’m sorry.” He apologizes, voice faltering as embarrassment blooms in his chest, simmering in his cheeks as he silently berates himself for believing he could entirely cast aside a lifetime’s worth of spiritual oaths in a single day.
Though he has violated his virtues in ways that will shadow him long after he leaves your side, the complete stripping away of his chastity weighs on him all the heavier, driven by a fear of straying too far from the Lord’s good graces. The gravity of that descent is too great to be borne, especially for something as fleeting as a summertime fling.
“Michael, that’s not silly at all. We can stop whenever you need. No pressure.” Your reassurance, calm and genuine, goes a long way in soothing his worries. You set the condoms on top of the nightstand, a small, conclusive gesture to the sensual advance that exceeds what he is willing for, your leg lifting to remove yourself from over him until:
“But, I--” he interjects, startling you with a sudden rush of his hands to your waist, closing around it in a vise-like grip that stops you from leaving, “I don’t want it to be over… not yet.”
“Well, what else did you have in mind?” you ask softly, earnest yet patient, all ears for whatever he’ll propose.
”How about we just…” he trails off, thumb rubbing at your soft curves in slow, comforting circles, a subtle, centering effort to steady his thoughts as they waver in contemplation… Should I?
It found him by unlikely chance during a restroom break as the sermon went on, a murmured exchange that had no rightful place in the Lord’s house. Two of his peers indulged in worldly gossip, sordid and unashamed as they defiled its sanctity, their words staining the air with irreverence. With his back turned to them, the disapproving scowl tugging at his face remained hidden from their view as they blindly conversed, boasting of all the illicit deeds they’d done with the opposite sex.
"Trina Wilkins?! Man, there ain't no WAY you tapped that! Her pop’s got his eye out for ‘any ol' mutt that thinks they can sully his precious baby girl.’"
"Well, what he don't know is she's stickin’ it out for any guy that comes sniffin’ ‘round. She's one of them play-prude types, ya know, all clean and proper-like on the outside. But once ya get her alone, sweeten her up ’til she’s all hot ’n bothered--I mean ‘til she’s damn near tearin’ down her legs and can’t take it--you ain’t walkin’ outta there empty-handed. Only one way she'd have me, though. Said the Lord wouldn’t hold it against her that way..."
Part of it was astonishment at their sheer audacity that kept him at the sink, thoroughly scrubbing away at invisible grime, his fingers lingering below the lukewarm stream longer than necessary. The other, perhaps stronger side, was curiosity, reluctant yet waxing as he dwelled near the waste bin, prolonging the simple act of patting his hands dry while their lecherously enlightening whispers carried loud enough to echo off corners he strained to hear.
Now, in the heat of the moment, that actually doesn’t seem like such a bad idea to Michael. Though it treads dangerously close, as if all that’s transpired thus far doesn’t loom there as well, it’s still not technically a lapse of equal measure compared to what had just been intended. But if this transgression exceeds what God is willing to forgive, well, he guesses he’ll simply have to wait and find out on that inevitable day of judgment…
“I-it doesn’t have to go inside s’all.”
His face burns hotter than ever, as if singed by the obscenity of his own words, spoken so low he almost convinces himself he didn’t mean for you to hear it. For an instant, he believes that to be the case, your brows dipping in what could be mistaken for puzzlement, but the quiet fascination that flickers in your gaze makes it clear you’ve already caught on to what he’s barely managed to spell out.
“You’re talking abou--oh my God…” The confirmation dies on your lips just as soon as Michael fills in for you, his large, strong palms cuffing right above your red waistband, tugging you closer to place his length firmly between your silken drapes again, restoring the previous heat that blanketed him with such compelling invitation.
He’s careful to remain loyal to his limits, shifting his hips along yours with steady, controlled movements, creating a delectable, gratifying friction of ridged warmth and clinging wetness where you merge, still honouring the boundaries of this trespass, not prodding or breaching beyond what permission he has granted himself.
“I-is this okay?” It slips out lowly, weighted with his regard for your pleasure and the faint shimmers beginning to stir within him, kindling brighter with every glide.
“More than okay,” you sigh as radiance ripples through every erogenous point on your fevered frame, your pelvis rousing from stillness, moving along his in perfect unison, your hands falling to rest on his pectorals to anchor both body and mind, grounding yourself amid the electrifying pulses that no doubt course through him too, that send his heart pounding beneath your fingertips.
“Keep going just like that.”
And that aching, tremulous entreaty is all he needs, his hands sturdy grips against your midriff, his hold growing stronger around you. There is a new firmness to it, a wordless sign of how deeply he is affected by all of this: the warmth you emanate in your nearness, the fire building where you fuse with each slow and purposeful rut against one another, both driven by a primal need to become each other’s undoing. Both absorbed in a requited endeavor of the most beautiful wreckage.
A sensuous note rises with the labored exhale you release, suspiring bliss as you lean back, one hand sliding down the cleft of his chest to the faintly chiseled terrain of his abdomen, your touch making him shiver and respond in consequent with a stuttered breath. You take each other in, the very sight stoking your excitement further.
You watch in awe as his sleek, ebony muscles flex where he rolls into you, lightly misted from his efforts, from the heat smoldering there, just beneath the surface. You can feel it where your palm lies, every tense fiber rippling below your gentle possession, your nails biting deeper into the tacky flesh as your arousal amplifies, your womanhood gliding over his length with each rhythmic cant of your lower body.
Michael observes, greedy and entranced, as a delicate ribbon of sweat traces a path from your neck to your breasts. A gentle sheen dances off of them as they sway, catching the half-yolk of sunlight that fractures into luminous threads through plumes of marigold and lavender, the day waning just as your shared passion rises towards its crest, a conflicting culmination he dreads even as he yearns for it. A moment shaped in the relief of release and the inevitable aftermath of leaving all of this behind.
He doesn’t dwell on that fleeting notion for long, too enthralled by the sultry, slick sensations where your centers graze, by the golden beams and pastels that gather in a soft halo around your silhouette, subtle motes glimmering, surrounding you like stardust as your pelvis undulates with sensual grace, and he is certain that he must be gazing upon something truly heaven sent. A witness to the divinely fallen, liberated through earthly decadence, now bestowing that liberation to him.
The admiration his eyes hold you with, reverent, aching and desirous, has your sap soaking his length as you rock along him, feeling every line, indent and vein he bears. Drawn-out moans bleed into the space between you as your clit repeatedly catches the base of his tip, grinding down harder to have that little ridge rub you in just the right way.
He’s so thick, parts you so wide, you can’t help but quiver at the thought of what it would be like to fully take him. How his girth would fill you, stretching you past limits your walls would struggle to accommodate, how he would sink deep enough to kiss your cervix, straining you at the seams until you molded to his fitting, until he settled into your warmth as if it were always his. And it seems wickedly befitting when your hips surge further for a single instant, a sharp gasp escaping you both as his swollen head brushes against your entrance.
Your movements halt as soon as it happens, and you hurry to apologize for almost crossing the one boundary he wouldn’t dare to break, but he interrupts you when his hands shift their placement, dropping to take a firm hold of your upper thighs beneath your skirt, the plush skin bunching around his fingers where he gropes, his digits trembling against you.
“Do that again,” he pants, low and ragged, his chest billowing like something deprived of need, his gaze dark as pitch and wild, ravenous for the one thing he withholds from himself.
“This?” You slide up, pressing his leaking tip to your soft opening again, caressing him with small, experimental swivels, savoring the tingles that flourish there while ever mindful not to slip beyond his comfort.
“Y-yes!” he pleads, sounding the utmost devastated as his sensitivity heightens with each tantalizing twirl you deliver, his vises growing firmer, more desperate upon your supple flesh as they begin to move you to his liking, slow and measured. His expression crumbles into one of ecstatic torment, features warped by the sheer effort it takes to defy the ultimate impulse.
And that limitation being provoked should seize him with alarm, should wrench his mind out of the spellbound fog that binds him, but the danger looming above, lurking at the edges, only makes this subtle, perilous dance all the more enticing.
He must be insane: verging on such risk, yet finding thrill where there should be dread, caught in the scandalous pull of having you only half-way how he wants you. Of being so close, a simple push could pierce the heart that throbs and weeps below, agonized, beckoning for him. And yet, he restrains, even as every sinew twinges to trespass this sole virtue.
Your silken surfaces stroke together with the tenderest of touch, mingling in a sticky, lustrous glow, your combined essences trickling down his shaft, the excitement in your loins rising, near the point of boiling over. From the heat that fills and surrounds him, sultry and insistent, pressing him ever closer to completion, to the sweet, heady musk of your coupling clinging to the air, and how your countenance morphs into something delicate and decadent, finely sewn, every stitch wrung taut on the cusp of your own unraveling: he is engulfed. Overwhelmed entirely.
And the only thing he can find to anchor himself amid the torrent of sensations, welling too sharply for him to withstand, is the clement cradle of your lips, mild and merciful in every reverie they’ve made real, in every passion they’ve set free. He pulls a small gasp from you as his hand curves around your nape, tugging you down into a famished kiss, your mouths meshed, your hips moving in heavy, languid tandem.
It’s all tongue and no technique, damp and clumsy, impossibly vehement. A feverish exchange of panted breath and swapped saliva and shaken, needy notes. And yet, its raw imperfection is everything that binds you to this moment. That encircles you tightly, that swathes you from within, pleasure mounting in a balmy burden your core aches to let go.
He can sense your struggle, your desperation, hardly masked and laid bare in how your lips move even more tactless, mashed and messily fumbling with his whenever they manage to meet. It feels futile and redundant now, and yours slip away, your forehead pressed to his, the warmth of his breath brushing across your face.
“You’re driving me crazy, Michael. I’m almost there,” you whisper against his mouth, harsh and weighted. Your chest parts from his, your torso lifting and hand returning to its resting place on his stomach, your pelvis grating and gliding along his harder, sharper, chasing your release and determined for him to follow.
His hold seems like more of a hindrance to you than a help, so he settles it back on your waist, just firm enough to keep you steady as his hips begin to rut in tune to your motion, assisting with his own eager force. As molten, unshed bliss simmers and builds within him, drawing him closer to his climax, his focus narrows to the sounds of forbidden passion spilling into the air.
Each sigh, each mewl, each groan, flowing freely in treble and bass, lilting, dulcet and unrestrained, resonating with the slick, heated harmony your bodies make where you collide. The primal aroma of perspiration and faded perfume and the fusion of arousal, your shared fervor and exertion deepening its potency. Soon that scope closes in, thinning until he can only register the repeated twitch of his length against your dripping heat, the strain of his groin tightening, filled with the urgent need to unload.
“I’m gonna--” he warns in a broken whine, one hand clenching tighter on your side as the other shoots up to clamp over his mouth, already sensing that whatever might escape him will be blaringly loud. And even though he knows the only living souls in the house are confined to this room, he’s still overtaken by a sudden need for courtesy, instinctively trying to muffle the volume incoming.
“Nuh-uh. Don’t hide.”
You move with a quickness that nearly gives him whiplash, prying his palm away from his face and cupping his jaw with a grip he can’t shake, forcing his mouth open and locking his gaze on you.
“Give me those pretty sounds. Wanna hear how good I make you feel.”
That sultry command, that desperate declaration, and a final upward shove of your hips is all it takes for him to be plunged into disorienting ecstacy, his vision blurring around the edges, muscles going rigid as thick ropes of cum spew from his tip, some landing on his lower belly but mostly staining the flap of your skirt. Now that you’ve given him that liberty, he has a complete lack of regard for his loudness, unabashed and heedless as he’s entirely submerged in turbulent tides of rapture.
At some point, he feels your movements waning, becoming stiff and jerky until a sudden, full-framed tremor and an unbridled moan cuts in sharply, your entrance fluttering, syrupy nectar pouring over in a delicate rivulet, oozing along his length as you ride out those incandescent waves with him.
An aligned frequency threads through this union, one only perceived through your shared connection. It pulses where you merge, your hearts drumming in frenetic tune. Harmonious tones mixed with the aspiration of exhausted breath. Resounding. Rhythmic. Synchronized. Ligaments pulled taut, bodies strung with euphoria, nerves thrumming like strings, bones shaped into a contorted expression of rhapsody and rhyme. And in concord, you’ve conducted a symphony of all-consuming eros, your bodies making sweet music together.
A languorous stillness drapes over you, as restful as the worn-out sun, lazy-lidded and blinking along the horizon, protesting drowsily as if witnessing the deep bond blooming between two young lovers has made it reluctant to retire.
Half-clad, your forms lie entwined atop jumbled bedsheets, limbs cozy and relaxed, undergarments now shielding what you’ve just newly become well-acquainted with. His arms--strong, velvet ropes--keep you bound tight to his side, enfolding you with a warmth that seems determined to never let go.
Your cheek rests comfortably on his pec, your eyes drawn to your fingertips, skimming over his breastbone, coiling every so often around the barely budded patch of locks, grown in so faintly they almost go unnoticed, even this close.
For minutes, you’ve sat in silence. No awkwardness. No tension. Just resting in the soft heat of each other’s presence, the day’s unfoldings reflected quietly through the gentle press of skin, underscored by the fan’s faint but persistent drone, and the subtle invitation this calm offers to speak your minds when either of you wishes to.
“So,” you begin lowly, inclined to give way for him to voice what he might be holding, “how does it feel to have a few petals plucked?” The inquiry dances with playful teasing, all the while carrying genuine curiosity.
“...Ain’t as bad as I supposed it’d be,” he replies after a beat, perhaps coming out more tongue-in-cheek than he means it to be. It’s reflexive, a response born from being flustered by a question that turns the spotlight onto him; an unintentional deflection that slips out from vulnerability that isn’t quite ready to sit on his sleeve, even after sharing the most intimate parts of yourselves.
But there is a layer of honesty to it too. He wasn’t struck by lightning, the gates of hell didn’t open beneath his feet to swallow him whole the moment he said yes to your advance, and the residual guilt he expected never came. In fact, all he can do is bask in the warm tingle that spreads through him, swirling high in his stomach and lulling his heart’s pace, feeling profoundly fortunate that it was you who opened that door for him.
You push yourself off his chest, lifting until his hold naturally slips away, much to his displeasure, his arms falling limp against the mattress as you hover over him, your brow quirked and mouth agape in amused, exaggerated offense.
“Ohhh, you’ve got jokes,” you sing-song, your voice ringing with lighthearted sarcasm, “I’ll see myself out then.” You’re swift to rise, but your feet aren’t even given a second to attempt a fake exit before his arms circle around your waist.
“Get back here, girl–” A surprised yelp jumps from your lips as he pulls you into his embrace, you both tumbling back onto the bed, the springs bouncing like the fit of giggles that erupt between you.
“It was amazing,” he says once the laughter has subsided enough for him to speak, the sound fading gently.
“...You’re amazing,” he whispers, his thumb tracing a featherlight path back and forth along your cheek, as tender as the warmth his gaze cradles you with; staring through you in a way that causes your breath to catch and your heart to stammer off beat, shining with a vibrance that proclaims you a light unlike any he has ever witnessed. One that would pain him dearly to part from once you leave, all too soon. And it seems that concern has quietly crept its way into the serenity you’ve nurtured, prompting what follows:
“You’re pretty neat yourself… So, what does this mean for us?” Your tone carries a pensive edge meant to mask the soft, nearly imperceptible nervousness tracing your features, thankfully too slight for him to notice.
His thumb ceases its drift along your skin, hand lowering instead to take hold of your fingers, splayed across his chest, twiddling with them in an anxious effort to steady himself. A moment of silence stretches almost unbearably as he ponders, his brows creased and lips pursed in thought, apprehension building as he gathers himself to answer:
“Well… I enjoy what we’ve got goin’. But we ain’t known each other long, and you’ll be outta here in a month, so… I ain’t gonna fault you if you leave all this behind when you head home.”
He chooses words he feels are most proportionate to your comfort, though they fall far short of what he truly wants to tell you, trying to play it off as if he wouldn’t be devastated if your interest ends here. Yet, even as his heart aches at the thought, it still hammers with hope that you’ll requite his affection.
His honed-in focus on your interlocked hands breaks when you pull away to sit upright, looking toward him with a delicacy he can’t tell is meant to let him down easy or that mirrors his most honest emotions.
“I really do like you, Michael… a lot. I’d like to keep in touch. See where things go,” you murmur, optimistic and sure, your certainty releasing a rush of relief through him that settles every worry he’d been carrying.
“Y-yeah! I’d like that too. Very much.” His teeth tug at his bottom lip, lashes fluttering as he tries--and fails--to keep the happiness from rising in his cheeks. Though, his moment of elation is gently interrupted by your voice, small, yet shadowed by a trace of something heavier underneath.
“And, uhm,” you clear your throat, straightening and rolling your shoulders, a feeble attempt to ease a tension that lives not in your posture but in the words stalling to leave your mouth. Your gaze drifts away, taking sudden fascination in the few, faint freckles scattered along the side parallel of his forearm--an odd mechanism, but it manages to do the trick.
“...I was kind of wondering--just hypothetically. Over one of your breaks or something, if I bought you a ticket out to Cali… would you come?”
With caution, you look up to gauge his reaction, but not long enough to truly tell what lies there, eyes darting back down out of fear of what you’ll find. It’s a flustering ordeal now, too direct, too loaded for something that has upgraded from mere study partners no more than an hour ago. You want to just drop it, to escape the embarrassment grappling with your nerves and simmering in your chest, but now that you’ve started, you feel obligated to finish.
“You can think of it as a little solo getaway if that makes it, you know, less heavy. We could--maybe take a spin down that coastline I never shut up about. It’s way better in person than I could ever describe..."
You know it’s a rash request, a bold shot to take so soon, and the thought of putting yourself out there only to wind up in rejection makes your stomach twist. Still, you can only reason that you’ve followed through because the thought of not seeing him again, the threat of finality that comes with distance, far exceeds your need for composure. You haven’t garnered enough bravery to look up yet, but the single syllable he utters almost makes you glad you didn’t:
“No...” It stings a little more than you anticipated.
“Oh.” Dammit. Of course, I came on too strong.
Trying to mask your overmounting disappointment and save yourself from any further shame, you go to feign polite indifference.
“I-I understand--”
“I can cover my own fare. All I needed was the invitation.”
You go mute, stunned by his statement, your eyes freed from the gloom that kept them avoidant, finally looking at him with full intent not to waver. And what you find in his countenance, tender and resolute, holding everything you hoped for, allows you to breathe again.
The silence embraces you both once more, carrying something new, something promising, something profound. It dances in your steady gaze, rises in the warmth of the knowing smile you share. It sings of far greater things awaiting you beyond these walls, and radiates with the heat of this summer, reassuring that it will endure long past its season.
Note: Welp, there it is (thank goodness omfg.) I apologize if there were any grammatical errors. This would’ve been done a lot sooner if I would’ve actually followed my word count guidelines lol. The process was as stressful as it was exciting, and I can’t wait to make more content for you guys!
credits for dividers: @sister-lucifer, @anitalenia and @uzmacchiato
Synopsis: You were both the picture-perfect image of romance in f1, everyone's favourite couple. But then the frame broke, the glass shattered, and all fans could do was speculate and hope for some kind of explanation.
Starring: Sir Lewis Hamilton
Form: SMAU
☀️Sunny says: we've reached the finale! Thank you for granting me so much patience and this series so much love!
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☆ March '26
Show Me Love (with WizTheMC, bees&honey) • YN YLN
Liked by romeflynn, spinzbeatsinc, danielkaluuya and others
sincerelyn always thankful to the people who managed to help put my broken pieces back together again. Each and every one of you who always follow, support, and cheer me on count as well, so get ready for a very special announcement soon😝
user678 is that oscar award winning michael b jordan in slide 4????😧👀
user682 curse him for not having ig😑😑
user686 I was wondering why she hadn't been tagging him in her stories all this time🫢it's bc bro doesn't have an account to tag in the first place!
user693 does this mean they're confirming the dating rumours???
user456 just looked at my friend group and sighed😔😔😔
user789 she's alive, she's well, she's smiling again! fuck you lewis hamilton
user794 tried to take my girl's light away and got himself left in the dark💀💀
user234 lewis hamiltons closest friends turning their backs on him and taking his exs side I'd set myself on fire😭😭😭😭
user253 losing everything in #thegreatdivorceof2021 and only being left with kim kardashian on his side😬I almost feel bad for lewlew
user279 I don't. screw that prick!
isackhadjar what's the surprise??👀
kimi.antonelli mamma is cooking...
gabrielbortoleto_ kimi what do you know?!
francolapinto it's gonna be crazy, hermano😎
liamlawson30 stop keeping secrets, mate🫤
olliebearman liam??
liamlawson30 isack and arvid converted me🙁
sincerelyn you boys are so silly
isackhadjar MON DIEU😧🫢
arvid.lindblad mother, I miss you😔
sincerelyn see you in miami, baby goat
arvid.lindblad AAHHHH I mean cool😎
user123 MICHAEL B JORDAN😀😀
user166 hamiltonupdates and ynupdates may have been right...
user567 slide 8 is CRAZY
user588 how does it feel to live MY dream MBJ HUH?!
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Liked by theynstan, hamiltonupdates, landhoeluver and others
deuxmoi While everyone was focused on the NY Yankees thrashing the Red Sox, our eyes were glued on a certain couple in attendance. Despite not confirming the rumours, alt pop legend YN YLN and esteemed actor Damson Idris publically enjoyed the game wrapped up in each other👀
tagged: sincerelyn, damsonidris
user777 HOLY PLOT TWIST?!?!?!
user444 she really took every friend that man had and left him with the kardashians I can't breathe😭😭😭🏃➡️
user476 lewis certainly brought this on himself🫤🫤I can't even try to defend him
user483 that man has always been a poser😒
user497 "man"💀💀💀
user498 guess no one ever taught him how to be a real man🚶🏾➡️
user222 the way he's gripping her hand??? I know a yearner when I see one☝️🙂↕️
user238 someone on twitter said he had his eyes on her more than on the game😭😭
user266 my baby deserves this kind of love🗣
user888 I was at the game and when I tell my neck damn near snapped when I saw them further in the crowd🧍🏾♀️thought I was hallucinating😭😭
user892 not you giving yourself whiplash💀
user111 luv how they aren't keeping it a secret but aren't shoving it in everyone's faces either
user127 THEE f1 couple and neither of them are even drivers😭😭
user143 they're so classy I LUV IT🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️
user167 it shows this isn't a pr scheme☝️🤓
user333 I was sitting a few rows behind them, and damson was always fixing her hair and placing kisses on her shoulder he does NAWT play about her🗣🗣🗣
user378 my girl got her happy ending😭😭
user555 bro watched his friend fumble a 10 and said PUT ME IN COACH😭😭
user999 not the whole friend group cutting lewis out🫣💀
user666 does this mean "Show Me Love" was written about Damson????
user678 I'd write a song like that about Damson Idris too
user684 it's FREAKIN DAMSON IDRIS
user699 he showed her true love🧎🏼♂️
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☀️Sunny says: thank you for coming along for the ride! Also, you'll never believe it, but this is still not proofread😭
☀️Sunny's playlist:
1. Show Me Love (with Tyla) by WizTheMC and bees&honey
Summary: After the viral sensation of Shawn’s Quinn audio, their team decides to further capitalize on that success by getting you to record with him. And let’s just say…you and Shawn are really good at erotic audios.
Lovergirlnote: Hello there to all of my freaky lovergirls. Our resident director, LovergirlCinema, has worked to bring you an interesting, but unofficial collaboration with the Quinn App. When we heard that our leading man, Shawn Hatosy, would be using his talents over at the Quinn studio, we called our man up for his very own collaboration with us. We hope that not only do you enjoy hearing our silver fox on audio, but reading about him as well. Now playing….Lessons in Desire. Take your seats and keep your panties clean! xoxo..
If there was one thing that you discovered that you really liked about Shawn. It was his voice. All deep and raspy with this light edge to it at times. You’d spent way too much time rewinding scenes of Animal Kingdom just to hear the man say, “Good girl.” You were down bad just to hear him say the simplest sentences.
Now, imagine having that voice in your ears at every single hour of the day.
Your panties hadn’t been dry since.
You were present on set to hear the infamous “I’ll pay for it” line, and honestly, it was living rent-free inside your head. Quite frankly, there were too many of Shawn’s lines in The Pitt that you had committed to memory. What was even worse–the man in question was well aware of the effect that his voice had on you.
Now that you were officially a couple, Shawn was using every opportunity to tease you endlessly with his voice. When you’d wake up in the morning, he’d press a kiss to your head while muttering, “Good morning, baby” in your ear. It usually ended with his cock down your throat while he moaned and praised you in that same voice. Even on set, he found ways of sliding beside you to praise how well you acted in the scene. Let’s just say, there were a lot of times when you both would mysteriously “disappear” and reappear with your costumes rumpled.
Much to your delight and all of the other women down bad for Shawn, he had been officially tapped to do the latest erotic audio for Quinn.
“And you’re going to be playing a chef?” You asked, leaning further on the couch next to Shawn.
He nods, “Yeah, supposed to be forbidden romance. Age gap.”
You smile, “Sounds pretty hot, old man. You’re gonna get all the ladies wet with that voice of yours.”
“Only woman I’m worried about getting wet is you.” Shawn responds, reading over the script and eyes flickering up to meet yours.
You move from your spot on the couch and crawl over to Shawn. You slither your body into his lap and place your arms around his shoulders. A cocky smile graces your face as you look down at him, “I guess I can share with you all of those women out there. They have to listen to you through their headphones. I bet you’re gonna get them all hot and bothered with your voice. Just imagine all of the women who’ll have their hands in their panties or a vibrator on their clit, wishing and hoping that it’s you.”
Shawn swallows harshly at your words. You can see his pupils dilating as you lean down closer to him. You move your head to the side and start nibbling at his earlobe. You trail down to his neck and bite down. Shawn jumps, and a needy whimper leaves his mouth at your action. Your tongue licks over the wound to soothe it.
Beneath you, Shawn is hardening. You can feel his heart thumping faster beneath your hand that’s on his chest. You move back to his ear, “But you know one thing? They’ll only be able to listen to you. I actually have you here with me.” You grab his hand and move it under your shorts, which are growing wetter by the second. Shawn’s eyes roll back at feeling your wet folds with his fingers.
“Do you like that? Cause I do. I love knowing that I get to hear you moaning in my ear. I get to hear all of those filthy words up close and personal when you’re giving me backshots.” You said, grinding yourself down on his fingers.
Shawn’s utterly helpless and enraptured with the way that you use him for your own pleasure. He moves his fingers in tandem with your own thrusts. The more that you move, the more of your slick pools in his hands. He presses the heel of his palm into your clit, and you moan loudly. You lean back, bearing your neck to the open. Shawn is mesmerized as your release hits you and you throw your head back while moaning his name. He’s never seen something quite as beautiful as seeing you cum for him.
Your chest is moving up and down, and he can’t help but admire the way that your breasts press against the t-shirt that you’re wearing. Your heated eyes meet his, and you smile, “Thank you, Daddy.”
He moves his now-wet hand from your shorts and admires the glistening of your juices on his fingers. You watch as he brings his fingers up to his mouth and slides them between his lips. He moans at the sweet tanginess of you settling on his tongue.
Once his hand is fully cleaned, he gives you a demure smirk, “No, baby, thank you for the early treat.”
For the next couple of days, you and Shawn are both busy, but never too busy for each other. He goes to film his Quinn episode, along with all of the BTS that they’re gonna be posting.
One thing you know about Shawn is that he’s a slut. He’s gonna preening off of the attention that this audio gives him. And you’re going to be preening for an exclusive look into the audio.
Fortunately for you, you had the day off and Shawn had invited you to come along while he filmed the last episode for the series, and finished up his interviews. You were sitting in the studio as Shawn talked into the mic in a scene that was supposed to be the culmination of his character getting with Iris, the female lead.
You and all of the other female staff were entranced by the way that he got lost in the performance. You could see how lost in it that he was he getting.
“Baby..you’re making me so feel so good…right there…just like that..you’re being so good for me,” Shawn moans in the microphone.
He brings his hand up to the mic and starts kissing his hand to be able pick up the sounds. You subtly clench your thighs together at the wet sounds.
Honestly, you didn’t think that you could find this man even more attractive, but he always manages to prove you wrong.
“She’s so lucky,” You hear one of the interns whisper behind your back.
“He’s lucky too! I mean imagine being able to say you pulled YN,” the other girl whispers back. You smirk at the comment and turn around to send a flirty wink to both girls.
They immediately blush and scramble from the room. When Shawn finishes the script, everyone starts clapping and cheering.
Shawn exits the booth and immediately comes to stand beside you. He presses a deep kiss to your lips before pulling back, “So, what did you think?”
“I thought it was very sexy. I think you may have a future in erotic voice acting,” You reply, smiling up at him.
He laughs, “I’ll have to let my manager know that.”
The social media pulls him in to start answering questions. Shawn sits in the chair with the interview flash cards. You chuckle silently as he pulls out his readers. He was never beating the sexy old man allegations.
“Okay, first questions says, what does consent in a relationship mean to you? That’s a good questions. For me, consent is everything. Consent means trust and complete autonomy. I think in today’s age, people like to treat consent like something that can be negotiated and that’s not the case. You should always be checking with your partner that they’re 100% on board for things, and allowing them to feel safe enough to express when they aren’t okay,” Shawn explains, flipping to the next card.
As if you couldn’t fall more in love with the man.
“Next question, are you more sexual or sensual? Sensual for sure. My girlfriend’s actually been teaching me a lot more on embracing sensuality and deepening the connection to my body.”
He flips to the next card, “What’s something non-sexual that turns you on? Oooo..we’re getting to the frisky questions. To answer your question, my girlfriend. She’s really smart and whenever she’s explaining something, I just get really turned on by how smart she is. So most definitely a competency kink there. But also…she doesn’t even know this. She stretches sometimes around my house and just seeing the contours of her body…jeez, she’s my dream girl for sure.”
You laugh silently behind the camera. You had no idea that the man was watching you as closely as he was.
You feel a tap on your arm and you turn to find one of the interns standing there. You give her a soft smile which she returns.
“We were just wondering, and feel free to say no, but we were wondering if you wanted to film a couple of videos to post for Shawn’s episode?”
“Of course! Anything to help out,” You reply.
You follow behind the team while they set up the camera for you to various Tik Toks sounds of you thirsting over Shawn in the background.
The girl points the camera at you, “So why do you feel that Shawn is good for Quinn?”
“I mean, not only is he hella sexy, but have you seen those biceps? And that voice? I nearly fainted when he filmed the ‘I’ll pay for it’ scene. But overall, I just really think he embodies this positive version of masculinity that we rarely get to see in real life,” You explain.
“I’m glad you think so,” Shawn states from behind you. He presses a kiss to your forehead, which the intern catches.
On Tuesday, the episode officially drops, which sends the internet into a frenzy. You’re cracking up at all of the memes that you’re being tagged in.
@hotgirlterri: everybody say thank you to @yourusername for sharing her man with us!
@shawnhatosyfanpage: okay, but how is @yourusername still with us? If I had to listen to that man’s voice every day, I would stay pregnant!
@pittfangirl: this made my hole weak—I meant my whole week!🥴
@shayla29: I woke up crying cause I’ll never have Shawn Hatosy moaning in my ear.
Naturally, you had to add your own chaos to the fire.
@yourusername: Just listened to my man’s Quinn audio and moaned out loud. Y’all welcome🙂↔️
view replies
@shawnhatosy: can 100% confirm that she moaned out loud
@yourusername: @shawnhatosy perhaps…you can give me a live performance of the audio 🙂↔️
@shawnhatosy: @yourusername that can be arranged😏
@ynandshawnfanpage: 🥺so yall just gone tease us..right in front of my rose toy?
@ynfanpage: HEAR ME OUT GUYS….what if we had YN and Shawn on a Quinn audio?😮💨
@shawnhatsfan: @ynfanpage girl I would keep my vibrator charged for that! @tryquinn pls make this happen!!😩😩
@tryquinn: Hmm….🤔
Little did you or the internet know, the Quinn team was all hands on deck with capitalizing on the success of Shawn’s audio. From running their numbers, they quickly discovered that their audio with Shawn was bringing in numbers that they hadn’t seen before, and sales were through the roof. Why not capitalize on the internet’s newest favorite couple that everyone wants to sleep with?
The following Monday, you get a call from your manager, Riley.
“Are you sitting down for this, and are you around Shawn?” Riley asks over the phone.
You look across the room at Shawn, who is sitting at your dining room table and typing on his computer. “Yeah, he’s here.” Shawn perks up at you mentioning him.
“It’s Riley,” You mouth over to him.
“Put the phone on speaker. I’ll beep his manager in,” Riley said. For a moment, you start to wonder if there’s going to be some bad news that she’s going to deliver to you both. You press the speaker button and usher Shawn to come sit next to you. He plops down beside you before pulling you into his side. He presses a calming kiss to your forehead.
“Alright, Georgia’s here now. So before you both start thinking the worst, it’s nothing bad. Actually, this is really exciting news. After Shawn’s audio on the Quinn app, their numbers have skyrocketed tremendously. So much so that they want to bring Shawn back,” Riley explains.
You frown in confusion, “That’s great, but what does that have to do with me?”
“They want both of you to do a series for them. After someone on the internet had suggested that they wanted to hear you both together, the reception has been out of this world! Quinn is willing to pay you both top dollars if you agree to record their new series,” Georgia explains.
You and Shawn both look at each other. A goofy smile takes over his face, “Well, it could be fun for us to do together. You know we’re everyone’s new favorite ship.”
You think it over for a second before shrugging, “Let’s do it. I think it could be really fun for us and our fans. Plus, we talk dirty to each other all the time, it’ll be a piece of cake.”
Riley pretends to gag, “I’m gonna end this call before I find out way more than I need to.”
You and Shawn laugh as the phone disconnects. He looks down at you, “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, the last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable.”
You shake your head, “I could never be uncomfortable around you. In fact, I think it’s because I’m with you that I’m more comfortable with expressing parts of my sexuality.”
Which, definitely was true. With Shawn, you felt more free and open with tapping into your sensuality and allowed yourself to be your your most true and erotic self. It was refreshing to have a man matching your energy and not making you feel like you were too much.
“Good, I always want you to be yourself around me. Especially if it’s your inner freak,” Shawn said, pecking your cheek.
“I think you may have me beat in the freaked out department, baby.” You said. Shawn laughs and cradles your body closer to his, “This audio with you is about to unlock new levels for me.”
After ironing out all of the details with your teams and the Quinn staff, you and Shawn are given your scripts. The story is called, “Lessons in Desire.” The plot centers around a graduate student named Indigo Carter, who starts an illicit affair with her much older professor, John Devereaux.
The story follows John and Indigo as they try to fight their attraction for each, while fantasizing about each other.
What you loved about the script is how it’s written by a black woman and centers a black women’s pleasure. You whistle a few times at how sensual and raunchy the script gets. You’re excited to hear Shawn’s raspy voice saying them while you’re in the studio together.
You both arrive at the studio at the same time. Shawn sits in the chair next to yours and gives you a sly smiles, “You ready for this, sweetheart?”
You lean over to whisper in his ear, “Ready if you are, daddy.” He smiles in response. Little did either of you know, the mics had picked up the entire exchange.
Interns from the Quinn staff place warm cups of tea in front of you and Shawn. You take a sip before flipping to the first page of the script. Shawn repeats your actions.
You both put your headphones on while you wait for the countdown.
3….2….1…..Recording live.
Indigo Carter walks into the lecture hall and takes a seat closest to the window. She doesn’t want to be seen or noticed. She’s content with watching and observing everyone else around her. A girl plops down in the chair next to her.
She smiles at Indigo, “Hi, I’m Leila.” She holds her hand out to Indigo, who gives you a tight-lipped smile, “Indigo.”
“Ooo…that’s such a cute name. Does it have any significance?” Leila asks.
“My mom’s favorite color is Indigo and she figured that it would make a lovely girl’s name. Pretty simple story,” Indigo responds.
Leila hums, “That’s nice. I’m so happy I got in this class. Professor Devereaux is pretty strict when it comes to who he lets in this class. I practically spent a week writing my essay.”
Indigo thinks back to her own essay. The prompt had been to write about any literary character who’s sexuality/sensuality you admire. She had chosen Sula Peace because of the unrestrained sexuality that she wasn’t afraid to portray in the novel.
She had received her acceptance into the class three days later.
Leila excitedly turns to Indigo and leans in, “Have you heard about hot, Professor Devereaux is? They said the man’s a literal sex god.”
Indigo had heard the same rumors, but she wasn’t getting her master’s in English to fawn over some Professor. Indigo smiles softly, “Well, I wouldn’t know. I’m kind of a homebody.”
“Well, we’ll just have to change that. I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends, Indigo.”
Before Indigo can respond, the door opens and a wave of silence consumes the room. She doesn’t turn to ogle the man, but she can feel his presence as he passes by her. Finally lifting her eyes, she’s as starstruck as any of the other women in the room are.
He’s gorgeous. Hazel eyes. Salt and pepper hair. Good lord.
“I’m sure most of you know who I am, but in the sake of good manners, I’m Professor John Devereaux. In this course, which is titled The Art of Sexuality, we’re going to be getting rid of any notions that you all think you know about sex and intimacy. I want this course to make you better writers and better partners,” Professor Devereaux explains.
He walks to the board and grabs a piece of chalk. He writes “smut” on the board. A few people giggle nervously. He turns back with a smile, “Ahh..I see a few of you are familiar. Who can tell me a few tropes in smut?”
A girl raises her hand and Professor Devereaux nods at her, “Enemies to lovers.”
“A classic,” He comments.
A few others raise their hands to comment. Professor John nods and writes the tropes on the board. He comes around the desk and sits down on the edge of it, “Smut is one of the leading genres in the literary world now. It used to be one of those things that you hid under the covers and read, but now your generation has Booktok where you openly give suggestion. Now I’ll admit, I read a few books myself. I was impressed, but I realized you’re all missing something from your smut.”
Everyone leans in to hear the answer. He smirks, “You’re missing desire and sensuality. You all don’t know the first thing about eroticism. You think sex is just fucking.”
A few girls giggle at hearing the man curse. He chuckles, “You all are going to have to get used to hearing me swear. This isn’t a class where we’re being prudish. I’m asking you to sit in the discomfort. If it doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, then feel free to drop the course.”
His gaze scans around the room until his eyes settle on Indigo. Her eyes look back at his and she almost refuses to break eye contact.
Indigo feels her skin heat up at the the man’d intense stare. A quick image flashes of his hand wrapped around her—nope, definitely not. She’s not going to let herself fantasize about her English professor. No matter how sexy he is.
You and Shawn finish recording the remainder of the episode. It was surprisingly more easy than you thought. Of course, you hadn’t gotten to all the freaky bits yet, but you were enjoying the pace of the character’s relationship so far.
Becca, one of the social media interns steps into the booth, “That was really good. We’re gonna get some promo shots and videos of the two of you together.”
You and Shawn follow behind her as you’re ushered to the dressing rooms. He comes back out wearing a tweed suit, while you’re dressed in a somewhat skimpy little dress.
Shawn whistles, “I gotta say, baby, I’m really into this whole look.”
You smirk, “Yeah? You wanna bend me over and send what’s under my skirt?”
One of the nearby assistants clutches her necklace in shock. Shawn laughs before you’re both ushered on set. The Quinn staff had decorated one of the rooms to look like a lecture room.
There’s a desk standing in the middle of the room in front of a chalk board.
“Alright, we’re gonna get you guys in front of the chalk board. Shawn, you stand behind her and guide her hand with writing. YN, I need to really give this look like you’re being seduced by Shawn,” Becca explains.
“That won’t be too hard,” You joke.
You and Shawn take your places in front of the chalk board. You take the chalk in your hands and begin writing. Shawn presses his body against yours and places his hand over yours.
You can hear the camera snapping, but you don’t pay it any attention. You crane your neck up to stare at Shawn. The moment is perfect as your wide doe eyes meet his soft, domineering ones.
The camera girl gets a few more shots of your both in this position, along with one of you both standing chest to chest. Next, you move to the desk.
“Okay, now a video. YN, you’re gonna be sitting on the desk when Shawn comes up to spread your thighs.”
Shawn helps with lifting you on the desk. He moves out of frame as you look at him. When Becca signals, he walks into frame and places his his hands on your thighs.
He slides his hands down to the hem of the dress before one slithers underneath and the camera catches his hand moving between your legs. You play your part and throw your head back to give the impression that you’re being fingered.
Shawn moves closer and presses his lips to your neck. You both hear the camera shuttering as he pecks kisses along your exposed collarbone. Shawn moves to lay you down on the desk and covers your body with his.
He brings one of your legs higher on his waist as the dress bunches up at your thighs. He places his lips by your ear, “You look so sexy like this baby. I could eat you right now.”
You move your head to brush your lips against his. You take the initiative to run your tongue across his lips before taking his bottom lip between your teeth.
The photographer moves closer and captures the moment, along with Shawn’s absolutely ruined expression.
“We have found pure gold with these two,” Becca whispers.
The entire team murmurs in agreement while they continue to watch you and Shawn with intrigue.
@tryquinn: Mr. Devereaux’s office hours are officially open.
Tagged: @yourusername, @shawnhatosy
View comments
@Ynfanpage: Ummm!! What’s this?!
@Shawnandynfanpage: Y’all!? Did they really get YN and Shawn for an episode?!
@thepittgirly: now I gotta charge my vibrator back up!!
@jackabbotsleg: my clit ain’t gone never get a break!!!
@ruerue: what did we do to deserve this blessing! I’m about to cry my eyes out frfr
@jalengirly: I need to call out sick for this. I need a whole day to buss this nut.
You and Shawn come back into the studio to film your next episode. The next scene features Professor John confronting Indigo over a pretty explicit paper that she wrote, and the character seems oddly familiar to him.
Indigo knocks on Professor John’s door and opens the door when she hears him tell her to come in.
“Nice to see you, Indigo. Have a seat.” John said, pointing at the chair across from him.
She sits and looks at him, “You said you wanted to see me?”
“Yes. I want to talk about your paper. It was interesting to say the least.”
Indigo frowns, “You didn’t like it?”
He shakes his head, “Actually I loved it. I called you here because truthfully speaking, you’re the most talented writer out of all of your classmates. Don’t tell them I said that though.”
Indigo laughs, “Yeah, you’ve built quite the fan club. I think they’d be disappointed to hear you say that.”
“And you’re not?”
“Not what?”
He chuckles, “You’re not a member of my fan club?”
She smiles, “More like a casual and seasonal fan. But I do love your books. I read them all my freshman year.”
“What do you like about them?” Professor John questions.
“I like the way that you write desire. You make it sound all-consuming. It’s like I can visualize the main character wants to crawl into the skin of their lover. The sex scenes you write, they transcend the typical bounds of sex. They’re more spiritually grounded.”
Professor John pauses. For the first time, someone’s actually said this about his work. Usually, most people focused on the raunchiness of the scene that they missed out on the pure eroticism of it all. They missed how he was intentional with assigning specific smells to the scene to evoke emotion.
But Indigo, she’d sen it all.
“Thank you. That’s really kind of you. If I have to say so myself, you write the same way. That’s actually the reason I added you to this class. Your essay on Sula was transcending. I knew I wanted your voice in my class.”
Indigo pauses. Her body preens at the praise from the older man. She shifts in the chair. John sees it. He knows that he’s having an effect on the younger woman, and truthfully, she’s affecting him just as much.
The pair stares at each other. The tension growing strong between them. John breaks the eye contact, “That’ll be all for today, Indigo.”
She practically mourns having his gaze upon her again. She gets up and leaves the office.
A month passes after Indigo’s meeting with John. The tension continues to grow between both of them. Not that they’d ever acknowledge it. It’s too risky. Too dangerous, but that makes it more seductive.
Having something so close within your reach and not being able to touch it.
It’s Friday when the knock sounds on his door. He calls out for the other person to enter and Indigo shuffles in quietly. Her wide eyes meet his. He smiles, “Nice to see you again. What can I do for you?”
“I want you to read something that I wrote. I want to get your opinion–if you have the time,” She announces.
Jack nods, “I always have time for you, Ms. Carter. Let me see what you have.”
Indigo hands him the printed packet of paper. He slides his glasses up his nose and reads the title. Lessons in Desire.
Indigo sits in the chair and nervously bites at her lips as she watches him. John becomes locked in on the papers. His throat dries as he reads over the erotic prose. His eyes find the girl in front of him, “This is really good. Outstanding work really.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
“John,” He corrects softly.
He stands and moves around the desk to sit in front of her. “Why’d you come here today, Indigo?”
She shrugs, “I wanted you to read my paper.”
He chuckles darkly, “You could’ve emailed it like every student your age, but you brought it here. I think you came here for something else.”
Her eyes widen. She’s been caught.
John steps forward and leans over the nervous young woman in the chair, “Tell me what you want Indigo.”
“I want you to kiss me.”
He obliges and presses his lips against hers. This is the start of their descent into desire.
Things have gotten progressively more needier for John and Indigo. In class, he can’t stop his eyes from wandering over to her. He yearns to have her eyes on him at all times.
He sits in his office and reads over her story again. The main male character. He resembles John quite closely. Not only in coincidence, but in appearance. John breathes deeply at the pure filth that Indigo has written between her characters.
It’s not just writing.
It’s confession. She’s writing all of the disgusting thing that she wants him to do to her and how she’s willing to lay herself upon the altar for his worship.
A knock sounds from his office door, and John knows. He knows that it’s her. His body tingles in anticipation. Months of yearning and watching her in his class. Months after the kiss and him pushing her away.
It’s all led to this.
The pair sits across from each other. A routine that had been familiar and damning. Indigo looks at him, “I can’t keep pretending that I’m not thinking about when I’m writing those stories.”
John shakes his head, “I know. But I can’t let you ruin yourself for me. You’re too talented to waste your time on me.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me, John. You said that desire was about taking what you want. And I want you…I want you to touch me,” she trails off.
John looks conflicted, he wants her. He wants her so badly that it feels like he’s being flayed alive when he isn’t near her. Indigo stands and moves behind the desk. She stands in front of John. She takes his hand and guides it to her center. She warm. Wet. Ready to be sucked clean.
He obliges.
Inside the studio, you and Shawn sit beside each on your respective chairs.
You could just kiss your hands to mimic the kissing, but that doesn’t seem fair to you. You move closer and lean over to connect your lips to Shawn. You angle your heads to the microphones as it picks up the sounds of you tonguing the man down.
Shawn’s tongue enters your mouth and you moan softly into the microphones. You both pull back with a wet pop before you move to your microphone.
Shawn looks turned on but he remembers his script, “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of kissing you, sweetheart. Your sweet lips, god, you taste like cherries, but I wanna taste your pussy. Is that okay?”
You moan into the microphone, “Please, I want to feel your tongue.”
You ruffle your clothes to get the illusion of Shawn taking off your clothes. Shawn groans, “Look at that, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” You give out a pathetic and whiny “yes.” Shawn picks up the slide orange half from the table and begins rubbing his fingers through it. It was supposed to be his way of illustrating how you were for him.
The sounds in the mic sound downright pornographic. If you weren’t present in the studio, you would truly believe that the man was actually fingering someone. “Listen to that. Sounds like music to my ears, but I bet you’d taste even better.”
Shawn brings the orange to his mouth and licks his tongue across the fruit. You let out a soft moan, “John…”
Shawn hums into the fruit and then starts slurping loudly at the orange. You catch sight of the juices running down his face as he messily eats the orange. You keep moaning into the microphone, and truthfully, the moans may be real considering how turned on you are by watching the man eat.
Shawn pulls back with a low groan, “You taste divine, princess. I could eat this sweet pussy forever. I want you all over my face after this.” He lowers his mouth back into the fruit and adds his fingers to increase the sounds of squelching. You read the script, which states that your character is supposed to orgasm at this point. Your girlish and wanton moan echoes throughout the studio as you reach your “peak.”
Shawn abandons the fruit with one last slurp before wiping the back of his mouth. He leans close to the microphone, “Taste yourself for me, baby.”
You bring your fingers to your mouth to start licking around them. Feeling bold, you push your fingers back in your throat until you gag lightly. Shawn shoots you a heated look and watches as you move your fingers and continue to gag softly. He knows the sound all too well from the times that you’ve been gagging on him. You remove your wet fingers and wipe them on a nearby paper towel.
“I need you, John,” You whine.
“I’m all yours, baby. Only yours,” Shawn replies.
He grabs the belt props and unbuckles it before rustling his clothes just as you did. You both pause before letting out a moan in unison. “You’re so deep..nghh” You said into the microphone.
“Sweetheart…” Shawn groans breathlessly. You grab the other orange slice while looking at Shawn. He nods, and you start to run your fingers through the wet fruit. At the same time, Shawn lightly claps his hands. The combination of your sounds gives the impression of him thrusting inside you. From behind the plexiglass, the entire Quinn staff is gobsmacked at the absolute audio porn that they’re being treated to. Never had they ever seen two performers give the type of performance that you and Shawn were putting on.
They’d have to put the NSFW tag in huge, bold serial killer letters.
In the studio, you and Shawn continue to moan and create the ambiance of the moment. You both get to the point of the script where you share a mutual climax. You increase the sounds of the squelching while Shawn claps faster. You both moan in sync before your high-pitched moan fills the space. In response, Shawn groans and pretends to whisper affirmations of praise in your ears.
You both continue breathing heavily into the mic until the recording sign goes off. You wipe your hands on the rag before turning to Shawn, “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Ditto,” Shawn said.
Little did you both know, you had the entire Quinn staff taking simultaneous trips to change their panties.
You and Shawn wait for the episode to be released. In anticipation of the release, Quinn drops a lot of the promo content that you both shot, including the desk teaser. Quite naturally, most of your and Shawn’s fans lost their minds. The hype surrounding your episode brings more hype to the app than anyone could have ever speculated.
It’s a Friday when the episodes drop.
As expected, the internet explodes.
You both check Twitter.
@tommiegirl: Just heard that YN YLN and Shawn Hatosy audio, I don’t think my rose toy cut off once!
@ynfanpage: YN and Shawn some FREAKS! That was the nastiest thing I ever heard in my life😩
@ynandshawn: @tryquinn ain’t no way they wasn’t getting down and nasty in the studio. Release the video version!!
@drrabbotsgirl: these Quin episodes just proved that Shawn be putting my girl THROUGH the mattresss
@jackabbotsleg: he real life said “your pussy tastes so good” like Mr. Hatosy pls
@tiatameradoja: how I felt listening to Shawn Hatosy slut YN out
@loveisllandgirl: my bad y’all I can’t see past all the white stuff on my phone
Back inside Shawn’s house, the sound of gagging echoes through the house, along with the loud groans from the man.
You bob your head up and down his cock. You pull back up and smile sweetly at Shawn. You have mascara running down your eyes, along with thick spit and cum clinging to your lips.
You slurp at Shawn’s cock. He smirks, “What am I gonna do with you, dirty girl?”
You open your mouth and slide the man down your throat. You bob your head while your tongue traces the vein running up Shawn’s cock. He tangles his hand in your Afro, while guiding your head up and down.
His moans loudly while thrusting roughly into your mouth. “Baby, I’m gonna cum.” You lap greedily at his cock until you feel the first warm spurt hitting your tongue.
Shawn throws his head back while moaning and holding you steady. He finally lets you go and you pull back to open your mouth and reveal the milky white substance sitting on your tongue.
Shawn leans down to connect his lips to yours. You both swap the cum between your lips before you greedily swallow it out. You open your mouth to show him your now bare tongue.
Shawn pulls you up, “Come on baby. Daddy’s not done with you yet.”
Synopsis: You were both the picture-perfect image of romance in f1, everyone's favourite couple. But then the frame broke, the glass shattered, and all fans could do was speculate and hope for some kind of explanation.
Starring: Sir Lewis Hamilton
Form: SMAU
☀️Sunny says: she loves you. Here's a chapter to keep you satiated while I'm away🫶🫶It's not much, but it's a peace offering.
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☆ March '26
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Liked by hammertime44, lewlewluvr, teamh44m and others
f1 In an exclusive interview with the 7-time world champion, Lawrence Barreto sneaks a personal question past the GOAT's usually unbreakable walls. lewishamilton talks about how he only wishes the best for #YNYLN like the true gentleman we know him to be. We can't wait to see more podiums in red from the legend himself!
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☆ April '26
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☀️ Sunny says: oh, Lewis, your friends are turning on you...
☀️Sunny's playlist:
1. IWH2BMX by FLO
2. Future Lover by Thee Sacred Souls
3. Good Intentions by RINI
4. Show Me Love (with Tyla) by WizTheMC, bees&honey
having your own money is fucking dangerous because the only person stopping me from buying whatever I want is myself. and myself has bad judgment sometimes
do i wanna know? - chapter one: that one friend that's too gay
𑣲summary: y/n has found a new roommate and is planning a chaotic birthday celebration for javadi's 21st. abbot is a strap-blocker. samira needs a break.
𑣲contains: black!fem!reader but anyone can read. reader uses she/her pronouns. use of y/n. swearing. suggestive language. usage of the word "maknae". doesn't follow the exact plot of the pitt. some characters might be ooc. reader calls samira, "sami". mentions of alcohol and getting drunk. a few typos.
𑣲guide: y/n - your name, y/l/n - your last name
it was the end of your shift and you had just finished handing off your patients to the night shift resident. you made your way downstairs to the emergency department of the ptmc to meet up with samira, and to drag her out of the building because she will not leave if you don't make her.
you made plans with her earlier to grab dinner at a restaurant a few minutes away from the hospital, and you were going make sure those plans happened.
when you pushed through the heavy doors of the emergency department, you were immediately engulfed in the chaos of the emergency department. you walked through the department to find samira sitting at a computer typing away.
"sami, it's shift change." you scolded her. "shouldn't you be handing your patients over to the night shift?"
"i know, y/n," samira looked up at you and sighed, "but i really need to finish some charting before we leave."
"fine, but we better make it to the restaurant." you groaned and find the nearest chair to sit in to wait for her. "i'm starving."
several minutes go by and you're still waiting on samira. you hear footsteps approaching from behind, but you're too tired to turn around to see who it is.
"dr. y/l/n, what are you doing in my ed?" a voice you recognize as michael robinavitch, asked.
"now, why would i be in your erectile dysfunction, dr. robby?" you quipped.
"ah, i can always count on you to be witty."
you turn towards him to see he's not alone, jack abbot was right beside him.
"waiting on samira?" jack asked.
"yup." you said popping the p. "just waiting on her to finish charting."
"alright, brother. i'll see you at shift change tomorrow. goodnight, dr.mohan and dr. y/l/n." robby leaves.
"y'know, i never heard white men call each other brother until i met you and dr. robby." you teased jack.
jack just chuckled, and samira scolded you for teasing him.
when samira finally finished charting and you were waiting for her to get her belongings from the locker room. as you were waiting you spotted dr. ellis walking your way and you smiled at her.
"y/n, whatchu' doin' down here in the ed?" parker greeted you with a big smile and a hug to match.
"nothin', just waitin' on samira." you replied with an even bigger smile. "parker, you need to stop smilin' at me like that because y'know i'm easy."
"girl, you always playin'." parker laughed at you.
jack overheard the exchange between you and parker, and puts a stop to it immediately.
"dr. ellis, stop flirting with dr. y/l/n. you have patients to take care of."
you and parker told each other "bye" before she gets back to work.
"jack, you stay strap-blocking." you whined. "you're like my biggest hater."
"i am not-" he started before he's interrupted by samira approaching.
"what are you two talking about?" samira asked.
"your boyfriend ruining my life." you exaggerated to her.
"i stopped her and dr. ellis from flirting when dr. ellis should be with her patients." he answered.
"exactly, you're ruining my life." you groaned.
you stand off to the side as samira says goodbye to jack. before she walks away he pulls her into a long loving hug and kisses the top of her head. you hated the sight of him holding your best friend like that.
"okay, y/n let's go get dinner. you're getting hangry." samira wrapped her arm around yours and the two of you walked out of the building.
"when did robby get so bitchy?" you asked samira.
"not sure, but i swear his whole mood changed when heather left." she acknowledged.
"she definitely has somethin' magical between her legs for him to be actin' like that." you joked and samira laughed.
when the two of you made it to the restaurant you were seated and began talking about your shifts as you waited for your server.
"god, robby was so hard on me today." samira groaned. "he picked apart almost everything i did. he's starting to make me second guess myself."
"sami, robby is an asshole, and you're the best damn doctor in the pitt." you reassured her. "don't let him get to you. he just has a stick up his ass for whatever reason."
"thank you for that." she smiled and reached across the table to grab your hand. "you're the best friend a girl can dream of, y'know that?"
it shouldn't have stung when samira called you her friend, so you simply smiled and nodded. deep down inside you felt something completely different than what she felt. you truly never planned on liking samira as more than just a friend, but eventually she became so much more than a friend to you. the way she cared for you and spoke life into you when you would have a rough time during med school, you really could not help it. you told yourself to suppress whatever it was that you felt because you were her best friend and that was all she saw you as. you saw it as just another one of your silly little crushes.
💌a/n: i hope you all liked it. i don't think i proofread it very well, so there may be some typos. also i'm very upset that our girl supriya ganesh, who plays dr. samira mohan, will not be returning next season. thank you all for reading!!!🫶🏽
do i wanna know? ⟢ samira mohan x reader x jack abbot
𑣲 synopsis: you and samira have been best friends and roommates since med school. samira has been dating jack abbot, who just so happens to be your least favorite doctor in the pitt. jack and samira have decided to move in together, which leaves you without a roommate and needing to find someone to take on samira's half of the rent. while going through this process you realize you have feelings for samira and you might not actually hate jack.
𑣲 contains: black!fem!reader but anyone can read. reader uses she/her pronouns. slow burn [friends to lovers & enemies to lovers]. mutual "hate" between the reader and jack. age gap between jack and samira and the reader [the reader and samira are in their late 20s, jack is 50 years old]. lots of swearing. hidden feelings. this story is both writing & smau. the reader's sexuality is not labeled. the reader is a fourth year psychiatry resident. there will be more to come!!!
introductions
introducing.... psychiatry resident reader
introducing.... samira mohan
introducing.... jack abbot
💿playlist💿
chapters
chapter 1 : that one friend that's too gay
author's note💌:hiii everyone!!! i am new to uploading fanfics on tumblr, so please bare with me as i figure out how to navigate the app. i am excited to share this story with you all. updates may be slow because i am in college and i will write in my free time. if you would like to be added to the tag list please lmk, so i can figure out how to do that. also my medical knowledge is very limited so please correct me if necessary!! i hope you all will enjoy!!!💕
Synopsis: You were both the picture-perfect image of romance in f1, everyone's favourite couple. But then the frame broke, the glass shattered, and all fans could do was speculate and hope for some kind of explanation.
Starring: Sir Lewis Hamilton
Form: SMAU
☀️Sunny says: that we're almost the end🫣
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Escapism. • YN YLN
Liked by danielkaluuya, magui_corceiro, fencer and others
teamyn So sorry about that cliffhanger, but 'Escapism. ft 070 Shake' OUT NOW! Welcome to my first professionally prescribed journal entry of 2022. It's a bit of a nightmare, because what I experienced felt like a real nightmare at the time. Please don't feel sorry for me. Thank you Rayray and JB for riding along, and a special thanks to 2025 WDC Lando Norris for his surprising producing talents.
Sincerely, YN.
tagged: 070shake, raye, jensonbutton, lando
user789 😧whatdidijustwatch?!?!!
user456 lewis step forward and answer for your crimes right this instant🧍🏾♀️
user234 someone give jenson a fcking oscar😫
user247 the manic look in his eyes in the ENTIRE video??
user276 bc i believed his chilling obsession to ruin her and get rid of everyone around her, I really did🧍🏻♂️
user288 8 minutes of jenson making me deathly afraid of him😭
logansargeant I will never look at jb the same way again🧍🏼♂️
alex_albon seeing him for the skysports interviews is gonna be really awkward now🧍🏻♂️
pierregasly now imagine being lewis in those ss interviews🧍🏼♂️
yukitsunoda0511 how come all the drama starts when im off the grid🧍🏻♂️
schecoperez chismosos😭😭
mahalia bloody and bruised jenson button...what a concept👁🫦👁
dualipa behave!
user123 is the end supposed to symbolise YN burying her past relationship with the help of her friends and the people who support her?
user127 user123 your mind!!!🖐🏾👩🏾🦲
user678 "I don't wanna feel how I did last night" and it's YN taking an axe to jenson's head (metaphorically chopping lewis out of her life??)
user630 lemme go watch the mv again🏃➡️🏃➡️
user652 from false freedom, to forced capture, to reluctant detachment, to true freedom YN YOU ARE AN ARTIST🙇🏾
user890 YN's therapist (probably): "how did that make you feel?" // YN (definitely): "YOU ASKING ME MY SYMPTOMS DOCTOR I DONT WANNA FEEL🗣🗣🗣🗣"
user345 "the man that I love sat me down last night and he told that it's over DONE DECISION" we know he did a little more than sit you down sweetie EXPOSE HIM😫😫😫
user376 after everything lewis has done to her, this album has been a relatively tame response🧍🏼♀️
user389 wdym he broke her heart, broke her trust, lied on her name, and came out looking like a saint???? I'd show up at his place with a bomb strapped to my chest🧍🏽♀️
user567 "24 hrs since my ex did dirty//I've got a new man on me, it's about to get sweaty" OMG WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO??????
georgerussell63 lando did what?
oscarpiastri still hard to believe
maxfewtrell I was actually in the studio and I still don't believe it🧍♂️
mclarenf1 a papaya type beat🧡
mercedesbenz 🩵🎧
arvid.lindblad finish him🗣
arvid.lindblad omg who said that??
sincerelyn don't get involved, love
arvid.lindblad yes, ma'am🫡
romeflynn stab me next🙋🏾♂️
sincerelyn what is your deal?🧍🏾♀️
raye freedom at quite a hefty cost
sincerelyn the best kind of freedom
lando loved the ride
sincerelyn look at you acting nonchalant🙄
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Liked by spinzbeatsinc, fencer, damsonidris and others
spotify It is our esteemed honour to welcome her highness of heartbreak sincerelyn to the #BillionsClub 🎸🎶 In the special Bllions Club Live concert film, watch YN YLN take the stage in Melbourne to perform PILLOWTALK (with an extra special extended electric guitar solo), which reached 1 billions streams on March 1st.
user990 she can't keep getting away with this😭
user778 a billion streams on a song she wrote with her ex is actually perfect karma💪🏼🙂↕️
user745 referring to the 7-time WDC and sports legend SIR Lewis Hamilton as just YN's ex is actually so crazy, what kind of upside down world have I stepped into??🫤🫤🫤
user792 personally I refer to him as Mr Super Evil guy, but do you honey🤷🏾♂️
user445 wdym she's performing the song they wrote together in Melbourne, just days before the AUSTRALIAN GP???
user479 just playing in that man's face😭💀
user223 oh YN you are a legend of the game🙇🏼♀️
user889 UGH SHES SO ETHEREAL😩😩
mahalia oh lewishamilton may you never find peace🕯🕯🕯
raye THREE candles🧍🏽♀️really?
mahalia 😇
mercedesamgf1 see you on track sincerelyn?
sincerelyn maybe🫶🏾
user556 ok now give her a grammy🔪
arvid.lindblad I agree!
isackhadjar only thing we do agree on
user556 oh?!
user112 she is a vision😍🤩
user334 I hope she keeps haunting him and actually attends the aussie gp💀💀💀
dualipa look at my wife!
jorjasmith_ involve me
romeflynn I was half a billion of those streams sincerelyn🫶🏽
fencer 👀
sincerelyn swore off lightskinned men.
martinbobbsemple your next trick should be a best album grammy sincerelyn👏🏾👏🏾
fencer 👀
sincerelyn stop that.
user667 saw my hero irl✅️
sincerelyn it's actually MY honour to be in the club, get it right.
