Warning: Benjamin? Not really, he’s quite domestic; Reader and Ryan having the sweetest mother-son relationship while also being bonded through hatred 🥹; smartass kids (love them though); familial physical touch (kisses on the cheek, hugging, etc); proofread? Not a damn chance; a pt 3??? Pt 3!!!
I finished the last batch of marmalade so Miss Agatha could sell them for us at the farmers market. Anorah on my right, my biggest ‘helper’ [even though it’s actually Ryan.] “Ma, may I have some more books, please,” she asked with honey in her tone.
“Not dolls? I or Miss Agatha could make you some,” trying my best to give her a balance of creativity yet intellectualism but…this girl always has her nose in a book. PLAY WITH THE DAMN DOLLHOUSE MR REYNOLDS MADE, DAMN IT!
She shook her head, “book, Momma! Maybe even a journal so I can practice writing. Like a diary in those shows.”
“I…” Anorah had her infamous puppy dog eyes and, of course, Ryan just had to kneel down and join in.
“May I also get a new game…or games? Tomodachi Life 2 was just released,” he also begged sweetly.
“I cannot stand you two. FINE! But, you two gotta be on your best behavior and do all your chores around the house AND farm right. Give me a list of what you need.” They can both sizzled a simultaneous ‘yes!’ Attempting to suck my teeth to hide my smile but their joy made me joyous. “Ryan, honey, take all these crates of jams and marmalades to Miss Agatha. Tomorrow, one the rooster wakes you up, brush your teeth and go straight there to help her back the truck because Mr Reynolds ain’t in his prime and her grandsons are meeting her over so she’ll need the help.”
The brunette nodded, “yea, Mom, I got it,” standing up to kiss the top of my head before sweeping Anorah away to go outside. Not even 30 seconds later, he ran inside, holding Anorah like a football. “He’s here!” Ryan gritted through his teeth.
Before I could ask who, Anorah yelped, “put me down— MY DADDY!” What the fuck? Ben walked through the door with a duffle bag.
“Did sonny boy kick you out or are you running away,” mocking a pout at home with crossed arms.
Ben put the bag down as if he came back from war and kissed my forehead, then hugging me. Whispering in my ear, “you for damn sure are in need for some fuckin’ dick.” He leaned away with a smile to turn back to Anorah with, “nope, here to see my babygirl. Even got you a present.”
She gasped, wrestling her way out her brother’s grip before dropping down to the ground with a large thud. Her toddler endurance made her stand up as if she was the greatest damn Supe of all time, rushing to his bag, “IS IT A BOOK?”
“No,” drawing out the ‘o’ which had a hint of guilt due to her excitement, he’s only shown this side to her, “not quite, babygirl. A friend of mine said you would like these. American Girls? Yea. Got a custom and a friend for her. Melanie, I think is her name.”
Who the fuck is his friend?
Anorah huffed at him, “Daddy, it’s MELODY! Two cohmpwetely different names,” she watched him unzip his duffle to give the dolls to her. Walking up to check into his bag— it was not just dolls; he got her clothing AND playing sets with the addition of other shit too. “Woahhhh…did you get her books too, though?” They walked upstairs together with his duffle so he can set the toys up in her room.
Ryan and I made eye contact, walking up to him to fix his hair yet scratch his scalp to soothe him, “breathe, kid. I got you. You want me to kick him out?”
“You..,” his forehead found the crook of my neck, he was rigid as hell, “you don’t have to. Anorah looks happy with him.”
I nodded, bringing him up from my neck to kiss his forehead, tall ass kid. Oh my fuckin…
“Honey, sit down and breathe, okay? You want me to bring you some water or something,” guiding him to the couch. He mumbled, “lemonade,” so I went to the kitchen, pouring out some from the pitcher, and going back to the living room and passing it to him. I sat down next to him, watching my son closely. “You okay?” The boy shook his head. His fists balled up after he put the lemonade down, I placed my hands on his, “breathe. Listen to her laughter and excitement up there, okay? Don’t focus on Soldier Boy. Focus on your sister’s happiness.” Giving him a side hug, he melted. I looked down to see the face of the 10 year old I met many years ago.
“I feel like Homelander sometimes whenever I’m angry.”
“Well, you’re nothing like him. You’re more like your bio-mom if anything. Sweet, honest, kind, and humble; just like she raised you to be. Don’t you ever think you are less than that,” squeezing his hand tightly. He rearranged our hands so we could have them intertwined instead.
Sheepishly looking at me, giving me a kiss on the cheek, “I love you, mom.”
“I love you too, kid,” smiling brightly even though I felt a knot in my throat— I know this baby ain’t just called me mom and said the big L word. I would genuinely start to sob but I don’t want him to feel bad plus…that old curmudgeon is here. Maybe a tear did shed because I felt the boy’s rough hand gently swipe a wet drip off my cheek, “c’mon, let’s go check up on th—“
“MONSTER!” Anorah screamed. I could barely tell if it was a good or bad scream; both sounding the same. Ryan was already halfway up the stairs before I could truly leave the couch. When we eventually got up there, we saw her jumping around with a smaller, dark box in hand, “I SAW THEM IN THOSE MAGAZINES,” she gasped with shrill, pulling out a trapezoid box from the duffle, “SASHA!”
Ryan and I made eye contact before slowly looking at that geezer who sat with his elbow balanced on his knee with his other leg relaxed yet still folded in. We have never seen that little girl excited about dolls. She was more excited to have the illustrated version of Harry Potter for Christmas than having a new doll house built by an overly retired blue collar!
Anorah sat down next to— that man who I sadly repeatedly slept with to become— her father, ready to talk his head off, “I’m a lil’ disappoin’ed you didn’t get the main girls but it’s ok. You got the girls of color. We have Clawdeen, Robecca, Catty, ‘nd Venus. Plus Cleo and…Operetta? That’s a— nevermind. Now, you also got errbody besides Cloe. She could be from…uhm…uh. Momma, help me?”
“Argentina, Venezuela, or Columbia.”
“A WHITE LATINA! Wike them in South Africa.”
My brows furrowed, “no, baby, those are Dutch colonizers from monopolies like Elon Musk.”
Anorah nodded, “what Momma said,” crossing her arms in full support of me.
“You are a smart kid, got it all from your incredibly kind hearted and intelligent mother,” oh, shut the fuck up, “y’know, I remember the apartheid—“
“NOOOO!”
“Absolutely not, stop speaking!”
Ryan and I frantically yelled over Ben, my ‘o’ wouldn’t stop til he did, “alright. How about my ‘aide’ in Civ—“
We both yelled again.
“Tuskegee—“
Yelled once more.
“How about I tell you about life since I met you?” Anorah eagerly nodded while I looked up, as if I could see the heavens above, with my arms out in silent prayer of whatever was about to happen. Ryan did the same since we both do, indeed, have little faith. “Before you, I was very angry. Even sad, if you will. Some people did very mean things to me, besides your mother; for the most part. We both had each other’s back until the end. The end was when they put me away for a long time, so I couldn’t see you. Until now, which is essentially the beginning for us.”
“Woah,” her eyes twinkled as she giggled, “I feel like you have more ta say but it’s okay cause…” she blinked before folding over onto her dad.
Ben was about to panic until he saw her fingers loosely let go of the box to rub her sleepy eyes, “she just does this?”
“Crash? Yes. Like a sim with sleep deprivation. It’s two hours past nap time too. You didn’t see how blood shot her eyes were?” Ryan chuckled mockingly, continuing to express the little respect he has for him.
“She was running around like Speedy fuckin’ Gonzales. Hell, even looks like one,” rolling his eyes as he brushed through the girls defiant curls. Damn, this is a great time to do her hair actually— hold the hell on.
“What the hell did you just call my baby? Also, quit cussin’!”
He picked the girl up to lay her on his chest as he laid back, thinking to himself for a moment. Attempting to find the best alternative to whatever 50s derogatory term— or hell even slur —he was gonna call her, “called her a Puerto Rican.”
“I mean,” Ryan shrugs, “she looks more Dominican to me like Amaya Papaya but hey.”
“Both of y’all shuddup!” They both grumbled. Ryan walked out the room while Ben laid there, motionless. Sauntering over to look down at the two of them, “I’m glad it was toys instead of an over-a-few-nights bag.” He hummed in response, his forearm covering his eyes as he unconsciously patted Anorah’s back to lull her further. “Are you tryna nap too or..?”
“Leave when she wakes up,” he murmured.
I kneeled down all the way to plant a kiss on his temple then to hers, “thank you for this. You..,” I sighed to myself. Refusing to feed his ego, “are kind even though I know Hughie probably helped you somehow. Maybe even Sage.” I got up, terrified of the sleep schedule that awaits me in which I had to fix. The house shook with the unnecessarily loud snores from the two of them. They both slept through the day. I went to check on them before going to bed and they changed positions. Ben was cuddling the girl, holding her like his life depended on it or as if she would leave him.
I woke up before the rooster could scream with someone next to me. Quickly snapping my head to see Anorah in bed with me and a note from Ben…what kind of fucking handwriting is this. It’s like he was taught cursive but he still writes like a dude— so, shitty.
‘Had to head back before Humlunder starts to wet himself like the bitch he is. Thre’s gumes I thoaght Ryun woald enjoy. Tell Anrah I luve her.
Seen you soon,
Ben <3’
Okay, maybe the o’s and a’s are a little disconnected yet u’s are overly connected cause he wrote fast and the misspelling was by accident. Looking down at the girl, he probably put her here because of the PTSD he so lovingly refused to acknowledge.
Also, who the fuck does he think he is with this ugly ass heart…kinda sweet?
Summary: You pull your Michael, who’s been your celebrity crush for years. Only one problem—you’ve been writing fanfiction for years for the man, and now you have to find a way to keep your worlds separate. However, what happens when Michael finds out about your smutty little blog?
Warning(s): SMUT (18+, MDNI), smut writing, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex (m/f), deepthroating, spitting, cum swapping, daddy kink, backshots (if I missed something, don’t beat me up lol) I hope you guys enjoy. Let me know what you think!
You’d always found solace in fanfiction.
There was something so special about all of the stories that you’d read throughout the years about your favorite celebrities or your TV crushes. Your first introduction to fanfiction was Wattpad. Your friends had let you in on the coveted website and suggested it to you.
The first fanfic that your friend suggested just so happened to be a Mindless Behavior fanfic about Princeton. You were hooked. How had this world–this fandom–been escaping you for the past years?
Naturally, your relationship with the site continued to progress as you read more stories. You’d stay up till 2 AM just to read a story written by someone who was no doubt the same age as you.
Next, there was fanfiction.net.
You’d spent countless hours scouring through all of the Vampire Diaries fanfiction that you could get your hands on. You can’t recall the exact moment that you landed on Tumblr, but you knew that it just all clicked together for you.
The ‘x reader’ tag became your home.
You thoroughly enjoyed reading all of the stories about your crush on Zayn from 1D. With Tumblr, there seemed to be this brand new world of possibilities for you to read. However, there’s something that you’d noticed in your many hours of scrolling through Tumblr.
There weren’t many ‘x black!reader’s stories for you to indulge in. There was a handful of writers who’d become your solace when you looked to be shipped with a certain character or celebrity, but there weren’t many. You’d long grown tired of clicking on an interesting story only to have the reader be described as having long, flowy blonde or brunette locks that the male character could run his hands through. Similarly, you’d grown tired of reading smut where the reader was clearly described as having pale skin and pink nipples.
That wasn’t your story. As a black woman, you weren’t able to visualize yourself in these spaces or stories because they weren’t written with women like you in mind. To make matters worse, it seemed like fandoms were intent on erasing black women, who look like you, from the lexicon of the content.
It was all so draining and so very degrading.
Growing up, you’d always envisioned yourself as a writer. You loved stories, and reading was your way of escape. On sites like Wattpad and Tumblr, you could be transported to worlds and stories where you were the center of the story. There’d been many times when you opened up a Word document and started to type a story, only to never finish it.
For you, you compared yourself to other writers and their ability to write a compelling story. When you looked back at your own words on the paper, it felt like child’s play. So, you stopped writing. You subjected yourself to the role of an avid but silent reader who admires her favorite writers.
That was your role for a few years.
You’d silently heart the stories, but you were never brave enough to comment.
There were so many different stories in your head that you wanted to see on the platform. Silently, you wished that your favorite writers would somehow read your mind and bring the story to life without you asking. However, as the saying goes, “a closed mouth doesn’t get fed.”
The turning point for you was Black Panther.
You were there as the explosion of fanfics arose for Erik Killmonger, T’Challa, and M’Baku. What a time to be alive when all of your favorite writers were putting out work that should’ve been receiving some type of literary award. One night, after an hour of constantly reading about Erik Killmonger putting the reader through the mattress, you made your move.
You wrote and published your first-ever Tumblr fic.
As soon as you pushed the publish button, you immediately closed your laptop like it was an explosive waiting to detonate. You couldn’t bring yourself to go back and check to see what the reviews were.
What if they thought it was trash? What if your grammar was terrible? What if you didn’t capture the essence of the characters? What if no one read it all? For the sake of your mental health, you didn’t go back to check how your story was doing until two days later.
At the two-day mark, you found yourself logging back into Tumblr. You’d worked up the courage to see if there was any feedback. To your absolute shock and delight, people loved your story.
The hearts and comments overflowed as people asked for more. Thus, stargirlwriteswas born. Through your blog, not only did you give room for yourself to grow and see yourself be represented, but you made space for other black women to feel like they were being seen and heard. In your stories, the black women were always being loved on, worshipped, and cherished.
You’d grown a following and support system so big that you couldn’t imagine a future where you weren’t writing on Tumblr.
Honestly, you don’t know what to call what happened.
Fate. Coincidence. God.
You honestly have no clue, but this is the story of how you met your celebrity crush and bagged him. It started at the library–naturally. You liked the library. You liked coming to the library to work on your stories and your books. You’d recently been picked up by a publishing company to release your new Southern Gothic thriller. Between writing for your books and working on screenplays, you still found the time to work on writing on Tumblr.
There was no way you were letting your community down. Not after all of the support and love that they’d given you up to this point. In the library, you liked to sit at the back table that was conveniently away from everyone, but still, there was a giant window that allowed you to see outside.
It was the perfect spot.
No one had dared to venture into your self-proclaimed territory. Not until today.
You heard the light footsteps as they approached the back table and saw the man from the corner of your eye. He had a cap on his head, and from his body language, you could tell that he didn’t want to be seen. He was craving privacy just as you were.
The man looks over at you before clearing his throat, “Hey, I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you, but do you mind if I sit here? It’s just, I kind of want privacy, and this spot just seems like fewer people come here.”
There was a distinct nagging in your head that let you know that you knew his voice from somewhere, yet you brushed it off. Truthfully, you could’ve told the man no, but there was something inside you that begged you not to.
Plus, the table was huge, so it’d look a little weird if you were hoarding it for yourself.
“Yeah, of course.” You slide some of your scattered papers down towards yourself as the man takes a seat. After a few seconds, you and the man both begin working simultaneously on your projects. You can see him glancing over at you a few times, but you choose to ignore it.
From the corner of your eye, you see him take the hat off his head. He takes a tentative glance at you, but you still don’t entertain the notion of looking at him. For the next twenty minutes, the only sounds are you and the man typing on your computers and then writing down notes on your respective journals.
You finally look up and happen to glance in his direction and freeze.
You now understand why he was so adamant about hiding his face. You try not to freak out as you finally clock the fact that Michael B. Jordan is sitting across from you. The man whom you’ve had a crush on for years. And also the same man whom you’ve been writing the filthiest smut for. Talk about an embarrassing predicament.
Yet, you decide to play it cool. The last thing you want is for the man to think you’re fangirling over him when he’s trying to work.
Michael looks in your direction, “Hey, sorry to bother you again, but do you know where they keep the printers?”
You nod, “Yeah, they’re just around the corner. You can just click print, and it’ll ask for your name so that they don’t mix it up with anyone else’s papers.”
Michael nods at your instructions before giving you a sheepish smile, “Would you mind coming with me and helping? I just know I’ll forget everything at the printer.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile before quickly adding, “That’s if you’re free. I wouldn’t want to take you away from your work.”
“Sure. I got you,” You said, laughing a little before standing from your chair. Michael slides the cap over his head again before falling in step beside you. As expected, the printer is exactly where you said it would be. Michael leans over your shoulder to get a look at what you’re doing. A chill travels up the length of your spine at the feel of his body against yours. You can feel the heat from his body seeping into yours.
You bite your lip softly while peering up at him. Michael seems to notice the close distance and steps back. An embarrassed look crosses his face, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to all up in your space.”
“It’s fine.”
You click the file that has his name on it, and the papers start flowing from the printer. You grab them and hand the stack to Michael. The tips of his fingers brush against yours as he grabs the papers. You try to ignore the tingle that rushes up your skin at the feel of his skin. He gives you a quiet “thank you” before you both venture back to your corner of the library.
You take your seats at the same time.
Michael reaches across the table with his hand outstretched, “I’m Michael, by the way.”
You give him your name as you connect your hand with his. Internally, you’re freaking out at the fact that out of all days, you’re sitting across from your celebrity crush and practically holding his hand. The delusional part of you is telling you that he’s down bad for you, and this is the start of something beautiful. The writer part of you is mentally tracking all of the subtle movements that Michael makes with the full intent of incorporating them in your writing.
However, you quickly push those thoughts to the side because it feels a bit parasocial in a way.
You and Michael fall back into your rhythm of working on your projects. He looks up at you as you scribble down notes on your notepad. “What are you working on?”
You lift your eyebrows in surprise, “Just a play.”
“That’s neat. What’s it about?” Michael seems genuinely interested in your work as he leans further on the table.
“It’s a Southern gothic play about a young woman returning home to face her past trauma.”
Michael nods, “That sounds really dope. You planning to put it on Broadway?”
“Yeah, my agent and I have been working to get everything in motion.”
“Good luck. I’d like to come see it when you get it off the ground,” Michael said, sparing another dazzling smile in your direction.
You smile in response, “Definitely. What are you working on?”
Michael gives you a shy smile, deep dimples popping out of both cheeks, “I’m working on a romance, actually. It’s a story of two people who are married, trying to make it work, but somewhere along the line, their communication becomes lost. The only way that they know how to reach each other is by speaking through this new technology system.”
“That sounds like an amazing concept. You’re working on the script now?”
“Yeah, I’m just getting stuck on a few things, especially with my main woman lead. I’m struggling to get her voice just right, especially in the scene where they’re confronting each other,” Michael states, leaning back in his chair.
You bite your lip nervously, “I could read it if you wanted me to. I mean, I have experience writing romance, and I’m also an avid reader, so maybe I could give you a few pointers.” You’ll definitely leave out the part where you write avid romance and smut stories with him as the male lead.
“If you don’t mind, that’d be great. I’d hate to take you from your thing, though,” Michael responds.
You quickly shake your head, “No, I promise it’s fine. Plus, we writers have to stick together.”
Michael slides his laptop over in your direction before strolling to the part that he wants you to read. He unintentionally starts to watch you and your facial expressions as you’re taking in the work. Your eyes quickly skim across the work, and you make mental notes along the way until you stop at the point where Michael stopped typing.
He looks at you expectantly once you stop reading. “It’s good. The storyline that you’ve crafted so far in this scene is good. I like the tone, but I’m only getting one side of the argument. I’m hearing your male protagonist’s voice very clearly in this argument, but what about the female lead? What does she ultimately want to express in this argument?”
Michael takes a second, “She wants to feel heard. She wants him to understand that she hasn’t felt seen by him in a while in their relationship.”
“Good. You know your theme and intentions, but it’s not coming through in the scene. All I hear is his voice. Even the lines that you have for her, they’re still in line with his wants. Put yourself in her shoes and react. If you have a partner who hasn’t been meeting your needs, how would you respond as a woman?”
Michael goes through his brain for the answer. On some level, he knows how he wants it to go, but he’s still stuck. He gives you a helpless look, which makes you chuckle.
“How about this? You rewrite it again, and I’ll give you my critique.”
Michael nods before sliding the computer back towards himself. He takes your words into account and begins typing on the document again. He peers over the top of the computer as you continue scribbling in your notebook. You don’t catch the way that his eyes zoom in on the way that your teeth bite at the end of the pencil. He’s fascinated by you. You don’t even react to the fact that you clearly know who he is.
Little does Michael know, you’re having a full-blown panic attack on the inside.
After a solid twenty minutes pass, he stands and leaves the table. You expect to see that he’s packing up his things, but once you clock that all of his stuff is still here, you shrug. Maybe he had to go to the bathroom. A few minutes later, Michael plops into the seat with a handful of snacks.
Wordlessly, he slides a pack of Hi-Chews and chips in your direction. You stop writing and give him a questioning look. Michael shrugs, “To say thank you for your help.”
“What if I didn’t like Hi-Chews?”
“There’s a wrapper sticking out of your bag,” Michael points out, nodding his head towards your open laptop bag. You glance at the bag, and sure enough, a brightly-colored wrapper sticks out.
You can’t stop the laugh as it bursts from your lips, but you cover your mouth. Soon, Michael joins you in laughing.
“Let me take you out for a coffee after this.”
That’s the story of how you pulled your celebrity crush.
Your relationship with Michael surprises you each day. It really blows your mind that the man that you’ve been writing about for years is finally your boyfriend. Initially, you slow down on writing fics for Michael on Tumblr. It all feels a bit parasocial, especially when you’re with him most of the time.
But that still doesn’t stop the writer in you.
The more you fall for Michael, the more ideas pop into your head for possible stories. However, you channel the energy into working on writing your own novels. You really try to fight the urge to write on Tumblr. But the Tumblr app on your phone calls to you like the green goblin mask.
It only takes one specific kiss from Michael, with him pressing you against an elevator wall, to run to Tumblr. The community that you had built over the past years all express how happy they are to have you back, and you fall back into posting naturally.
Most of the people reading your writing would never suspect that you’re Michael’s new beau.
‘@donwrites: ugh sis, you write Michael so good! It’s like you know him personally.’
If only they knew that you had been kissing the man seven days out of the week and cuddling in his bed.
You keep the writing from Michael. If you’re typing at his house, you’ll play it off as working on a new novel or screenplay. He’s none the wiser to the fact that his girlfriend is writing the most downright filthy smut involving him.
It’s a random Thursday when Michael gets suspicious.
He’d invited you over under the guise of working together. You both found that you were a lot more productive when you worked across from each other. You slide the glasses up the bridge of your nose as you type quickly on the computer. You’re honestly in a flow state with the current story that you’re writing about Michael. You’d had the idea to write a story about him dominating the reader after a recent miscommunication.
You move to exit the bedroom. Sharp tears sting at your eyes as the heat builds in your chest. You sniffle loudly and wipe furiously at your eyes. The ache in your chest increases with each step that you take towards the door. You’re so close to the door when Michael grabs your arm. You try in vain to tug your arm from his grip, but he tightens his hold on you.
“Michael, let go of me,” You mutter, your chest heaving up and down.
“No, you don’t get to walk away. I don’t know about any of them other niggas you’ve been dealing with, but we talk things out around here. Go sit down,” He states, a hard edge to his voice.
You shoot him a hard look, defiance swirling through your irises. Michael matches your stance and squares his shoulder as he stares down at you, “You think I’m playing?”
He takes a step closer, his eyes growing darker. He moves until he’s standing chest-to-chest with you. Michael moves a hand up to your face and smushes your cheeks between his fingers. Your wide eyes meet his as he brings his face closer to you.
“Does it look like I’m playing with you?”
You give him a surp––
“What you working on over there, baby?” Michael questions from his side of the office.
You give him an awkward smile. How does one say, “Oh, nothing, babe, just writing out some nasty smut involving you for some equally freaked out women to read?”
Instead, you just respond, “Oh, nothing. Just some romance stuff.”
It’s not a lie, but it’s not the complete truth either. Michael doesn’t push the issue. He’s asked to read some of your writing before. You’ve obliged and let him read the things that aren’t fanfiction. Though he suspects that you may be writing something else that you don’t want him to see.
Michael’s not dense. He’s well aware of the rise of smut and spicy scenes in the book community. He figures that you may be writing something along that vein, but he respects you too much to pry. Though he secretly wonders what freaky stuff you could be writing.
The sex between you and Michael was good. Real good. However, there were certain aspects that you and Michael had explored. For example, he didn’t know about your desire to be dominated by him. He didn’t know about all of the nasty and explicit things that you imagined him doing to him. With Michael, he was very sensual and emotional in the act of sex, which you loved.
But you also yearned for him to turn you every way but loose.
For the next ten minutes, you type more for the story, including starting on the smut scene. You’re genuinely reaching flow state when your phone vibrates on the couch.
“I’ll be back, my agent is calling,” You said to Michael. He nods before looking down at his own computer. You minimize the Tumblr tab before exiting the room.
Once you leave the room, Michael can’t help the way that his eyes gravitate over to your laptop. The MacBook Pro is practically calling him to take a look. Maybe just a quick peek. He tiptoes across the room and lifts the top of the laptop. He peeks through your folders, including the one labelled “stories.” There’s nothing out of the ordinary there. It’s all the stories and screenplays that you’ve let him read.
He suspects he was overthinking and is about to close your computer when he notices your web browser is still open. Michael slides the mouse over to the open tab and quickly clicks on it.
Tumblr.
Now what’s this? His curiosity gets the better of him, and he browses through the website. He’s surprised when he sees stories popping up about himself. He clicks on the “Michael B. Jordan x black!reader” tag and feels like the world shifts for him. There’s a myriad of things here. Some sweet stories, but his intrigue goes up when he sees the NSFW stories.
Michael looks off to the side where there’s clearly a profile and clicks “view blog.”
dollhousewrites.
Is this you? He clicks on the post labelled Masterlist and finds that you have an extensive body of work. Michael clicks on the post labelled with his name and realizes that there are a lot of stories about him. He clicks on the most recent post from two weeks ago called “Terms and Conditions.”
Just as he’s about to start reading, he hears your footsteps approaching. He quickly airdrops the link to himself before closing your laptop and sitting at his desk.
He’s the picture of perfect innocence as you enter the room. He smiles at you, “Hey, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, she just wanted to let me know that my publishers want to talk about my next book release for the fall,” You respond, giving him a wide smile.
“That’s great, baby. I’ll take you out tomorrow so we can celebrate,” Michael said, and he meant it. Even when you were both still forming a friendship, he watched how hard you worked on your books and screenplays. You were careful with which details you ingrained in your characters. He’d forever be talking about how you’re his favorite writer, and how he has one of the world’s greatest writers as his girlfriend.
Still, he yearns to know more about you, and that starts with delving into your Tumblr stories.
That night, while you’re sleeping next to him in bed with your back turned, Michael pulls up the Tumblr link on his phone. He strolls through the stories again and starts from the beginning of what he learned is called “a masterlist.” Your initial stories are centered more around Erik Stevenson. You truly capture the essence of what makes the character tic. The recklessness and die-hard mentality for his cause. Michael thinks that you may understand Erik better than he does.
As he progresses through your masterlist, he clocks the different eras of his career that you write for. Hell, you’d even written about Vince Howard from a college perspective. He notices the shift once he enters his Sinners era. The works are a lot more mature and erotic. It’s during this part that he reaches the stories that you’ve personally written about him.
He clicks on Terms and Conditions once again. He’s sucked into a world where you’ve characterized him down to the tee. You’ve incorporated some of the subtle mannerisms that you’ve noticed him doing from your time of dating him.
He even catches a few of the phrases that he commonly says in the story. It’s when he makes it to the smut portion of the story that things shift for him. Michael feels the heat rising within his chest and traveling further down.
Michael removes his head from between your legs, your juices shining all over his mouth. He presses one last lingering kiss to your pulsing clit. You whimper at how sensitive you are. He gives you a dark smile, hunger swirling beneath his brown irises, “You taste so good, baby.”
“Please, Michael,” You beg, doe-eyes desperately begging for more.
Michael brings his hand up to encircle your pretty neck, “What do you need from me, baby? Just tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I want you to fuck me, daddy.”
He groans at the sound of your desperate words and gently lays you back on the counter. Chills run through your body at the cool marble pressing against your heated skin. Michael takes the moment to look at you, naked and vulnerable, in his hands. Love bites litter the expanse of your skin from where he got greedy earlier. He takes both of your thick thighs in his hands and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter.
He crudely slaps his dick across your pearl as you flinch from the pleasure.
“You don’t want me to be nice to you tonight,” He inquires. You shake your head. You always liked him when he toed the line between cruel and permissive. Michael gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip down on your pussy. He slides his dicks through the mess, combining it with the slick that he’s oozing from you.
He takes the tip of his dick and notches it in your––
You shift in the bed and turn on your side to face him. Michael all but jumps out of his skin as he quickly locks his phone and glances to see if you’ve caught him. Peering closer, he lets out a deep sigh of relief once he concludes that you’re still sleeping.
He takes a second to just breathe. He’s never felt so overwhelmed by reading something. Is this what you wanted him to do to you? He’s dabbled here and there with some rough play and kinks in his sexual life, but he can’t recall a specific moment where he’s allowed himself to fully lose control and just give in. He spares you another glance and fully looks at the content expression on your face. His sweet girlfriend has been writing all this filthy stuff right under his nose.
By the way that his dick is straining against his brief, he concludes that he likes it just as much as you and your readers do.
Michael’s being weird, and that’s putting it lightly because he’s naturally kind of weird at home. No, this is different from his usual weird behavior. He’s been a lot more clingy, which you definitely don’t mind. But he’s been crowding your space more and seemingly more horny for you, which again you aren’t complaining, but you wonder where the shift came from.
Even now, as you both leave the after-party of an event that he was invited to, he’d been all over you. Throughout the night, he kept his grip tight on your waist and would frequently press kisses to the side of your neck.
Now, inside the car, he reaches across to rest his hand on your thigh, which isn’t unusual for him. However, you clock the way that his hand slides up the apex of your thighs, where your dress has shifted. Michael grips your thigh as he keeps his eyes on the road.
“Are you okay?” You ask, which makes him jump in surprise.
Michael looks down and clocks where his hand is. He goes to remove his hand until you place yours over his to keep it there.
“I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” Michael asks, worry filling his eyes. You always admired that about Michael. He was a gentleman through and through, and consent was always key with him.
“You’re not making me uncomfortable. I’m just asking if you’re okay. You’ve been crowding me all week. At the party, you were all over me. Now, I’m not complaining, but I could swear you’re ovulating,” You said, smiling widely at him.
Michael shrugs, “I can’t help it. You just look so sexy.”
He chooses the moment to venture further up where his fingers brush against your panties, which are growing wetter by the second. He peeks over at you, “Take them off for me.”
You give him a surprised look, to which he smirks, “Just humor me, babygirl.”
You slide your hands under your dress and tug your panties down your legs. Michael opens his hand to you and gestures with his eyes for you to put the panties in his hand. You oblige, and your jaw drops when you see him bring the wet material up to his nose.
“Open your legs,” He orders.
You spread your legs, but try to scooch down so that you’re not dripping down on his leather seats. Michael smacks his lips, “Baby, don’t worry about making a mess. That’s the whole point. I wanna smell your pussy on my seat the next time that I get in here.”
You’re clutching at your invisible pearls. Michael guides his hand back to your wet center and trails his fingertips up and down to gather your wetness on his fingertips. He slides two fingers across your clit and rubs circles across the throbbing pearl. Your pretty lips form a pout as the whimpers drop from your mouth. Moving down, Michael’s fingers dip in and out of your entrance as you roll your hips to meet his touch.
Michael bites his lip at how needy you are. It’s turning him on more knowing that he can’t fully watch you how he wants, but he has to rely on his touch and hearing. “Spread your legs wider for me, baby.”
You open your legs, and truthfully, you can’t pretend to be shy with your pussy out in his car. Michael plunges two fingers inside your dripping hole. Loud wet noises fill the car as he curls his fingers in and out of you. He presses the palm of his hand into your clit. You throw your head back against the seat as you loudly moan. You clutch at his hand, and Michael’s even more turned on; he clocks you humping against his hand.
The driveway to his house appears, and he turns to you briefly, “Go ahead and cum for me, babygirl.” He curls his fingers across your spot, and soon, your walls tighten as your release consumes you. Michael pulls into the driveway and has the pleasure of watching as you ride your release out. His eyes wander over your form as your breasts press against the dress. As you come down, your eyes meet his. He gently pulls his fingers from you, which are drenched with your release. Michael slides his fingers up to his mouth and sucks your juices from his fingers.
He makes a big display of it by closing his eyes and moaning. Once he opens his eyes, he catches your lustful stare. “Come on, we’re not done yet.”
Inside the house, you and Michael are all over each other. Hands messily groping at each other as he slams you against the wall. You can see the brief moment that he pauses, afraid that he’s hurt you, but you smile widely at him. He leans closer until his breath ghosts over your lips, “You don’t want me to be nice to you tonight.”
You freeze. Your confused eyes meet Michael’s as he smirks at you.
“Pause,” You state, pushing gently at his chest. He sets you down on your feet before you move to create distance between yourselves.
You rack your brain at how he could know that sentence. That sentence of all the possibilities of things that he could’ve said to you. Michael waits patiently on the other side of the room for you to make the connection.
You groan loudly, “You read my story, didn’t you?”
Michael looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He tries in vain to appear aloof, but he fails miserably. “Yeah, that night your agent called. I was just curious about what you were writing. I didn’t mean to disrespect your boundaries. I’m sorry.”
You bite your nails, a nervous habit of yours that Michael had been helping you break.
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I mean, this is so embarrassing. You literally found out that I’ve been writing fanfics about you, and I’m dating you!” You exclaim. You begin pacing back and forth in the room until you move to walk towards the door.
Michael frowns and quickly crosses the space to stop you, “Why are you leaving?”
He frowns even more when he sees the tears in your eyes. Guilt courses through his body. He steps in front of you and grasps your face in his hands, “Baby, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you or anything like that. This is on me, I shouldn’t have been snooping through your stuff. But I just wanted you to know how much I liked it and to incorporate some of it.”
You sniffle and frown at him, “What? You liked reading my story?”
“Yeah, you know I always like reading whatever you write. If anything, I was flattered that you put that much work into writing for me and my characters. The way you write me, baby, I’ve never seen myself that way. It turned me on, to be honest.”
“Really?”
“Mhmm. I keep going back to read all of your stories over.” He pauses to laugh, “I even created an account to start liking your stories.”
You think back to your recent follows and laugh loudly, “Boy, are you bakari87?”
Michael laughs before nodding, “Yeah, mbjlover was already taken.”
There’s a moment of silence before you both break into laughter. Michael looks at you before pressing his lips to yours. “I mean it when I say that I really liked it, babygirl. I was kind of hoping that we could recreate some of the moments from your Terms and Conditions story.”
“You really liked that one?”
“Yeah, the part about me spitting on the reader’s pussy really did it for me.” He slides his hand down to close around your throat. Your eyes move to meet his as the heat floods throughout your body.
Michael keeps his hand around your throat as he carefully navigates you toward the couch. He gestures for you to take off your heels, which you do. With the heels off, it adds to the height difference between the two of you. He navigates behind you to toy with the zipper of your dress. The sound of the zipper fills the room as you can feel the excitement building in your core.
The dress falls to your feet as you stand naked before Michael. He runs his across your figure, taking in all the details that he’d committed to memory. Once he’s in front of you, he roughly grabs your face in his hands and smushes your cheeks together.
“This is the part where you have fucking the reader’s throat. Let’s start there,” He orders gently. You nod obediently and sit on the couch. You go to button his pants when he stops you, “You can’t remember your own story, babygirl? You open my pants with your mouth.”
Your mouth waters as you remember the plot point. Moving forward, you run your face across his bulge. You mouth at the button and move your head to the side to pop it open. You look up at Michael through your lashes as you grasp the zipper between your teeth and move down. Michael is nice enough to remove his pants for you.
He grabs the back of your head and presses your face into his covered dick. You mouth at his covered dick, your spit staining the front of his briefs. Kissing upwards, you lick at the happy trail of hair leading down into his briefs. Grasping the fabric between your teeth, you pull the briefs down until Michael’s dick is finally exposed to the air.
“Let me feel your throat, baby,” Michael mutters. You shudder at the realization that he’s quoting directly from your story. You don’t even need directions for your next actions. You lick along the underside of his dick right along the pretty vein that runs through it.
Your lips close around the tip of Michael’s dick, where his precum covers your taste buds. You suck at his sensitive tip as he groans and throws his head back. You move your mouth down to begin bobbing up and down on his dick. Your hand follows to cover the base where your mouth doesn’t reach.
Michael curls his hand through your hair and pulls you back, “Stick your tongue out.”
You do, and he leans down to release a trail of spit into your waiting mouth. Your eyes flutter as you moan at the filthiness of the act. Michael guides you back to his dick, but this time it’s different. You cross your arms behind your back just as you had written in your story. Michael looks down at you for consent, and you gladly give it.
The first push of his dick makes you gag a little. He pauses to let you adjust. You nod in his hold, and he resumes thrusting. You breathe through your nose as he enters your throat. Spit from your mouth drips onto your breasts and the floor. Tears fill your eyes as your mascara begins to run. Michael looks down and moans loudly, “You look so beautiful, Princess. You’re doing so good for Daddy.”
Pleasure sparks through Michael’s body at the whole scenario. It turns him on even more with how much you trust him to use you like this. Feeling bold, he pushes your face down so that your nose is engulfed in his pubes. You breathe through your nose and moan around his dick as it settles in your throat. Michael shudders at the feel of your warm throat. After a few seconds, he pulls out of your mouth completely.
He looks down at you again as you give him a wide smile. Tear, spit, and mascara streak across your face, but to Michael, you’ve never looked more beautiful.
He helps you to stand as he lifts you in his arms. You see him walking to the counter, and your pussy clenches in anticipation. Gently, he lays you across the marble counter. He quickly discards his shirt before moving between your legs.
“Please, Michael,” you beg, wide eyes meeting his.
“What do you need from me, baby? Just tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I want you to fuck me, daddy.”
He pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. He takes both of your thick thighs in his hands and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. Just like the story, Michael gathers the spit in his mouth and deposits it crudely on your wet center. He slaps his dick across your clit where the spit landed and rubs the mess in with your combined slick.
Only this time, he won’t be getting interrupted.
He guides his tip to your entrance, and you both watch as he slips inside your warm walls. Your combined moans fill the empty kitchen as Michael’s thigh touches the back of yours. He pulls back and watches as pussy clings to him. His dark eyes find yours, “You see that? Pretty pussy is begging to keep me in.”
A deep breath leaves your mouth as he thrusts back in. Michael covers your body with his as he thrusts in and out of you.
“Michael..” you whine, once he lifts one of your legs to hang over his shoulder.
“I know, baby. You’re doing so good for me,” He responds, connecting his lips to yours. You whimper as he pulls out of you. You can feel your walls clenching in response to the loss.
Michael maneuvers your body from the counter and bends you over. You shiver as your nipples brush against the cool surface. You look back as Michael lines his tip up with your opening again, “I wanna see that pretty ass bounce on me.” You arch your back in the way that you know he likes, which makes him groan.
Michael slides inside you as he watches your backside ripple under his thrusts. You look back at him as you start thrusting back against him. Michael’s gaze is focused on the motion of your ass and the ring of cream that’s coating the base of his dick.
“You’re so deep, baby,” You whimper.
Michael can feel his own release building inside of him. He grabs your hips to start thrusting again. He reaches under you to start stroking your clit. He leans over to your open mouth, and you stick your tongue out again. A string of spit leaves his mouth and falls into your waiting mouth. A loud cry leaves your mouth as your orgasm hits. You shake in Michael’s hold as tears trail down the side of your face. He kisses your tears and continues to thrust inside of you.
With one last stroke, Michael moans loudly at this own orgasm consumes him. His own body shakes against your own as he pulls you flush against him. You and Michael moan at the mutual feeling of his cum shooting against your womb. When he pulls out, his cum trails down your thighs.
You surprise him by dropping to your knees and taking his cum-stained dick into your mouth.
“Baby, wait..”Michael pleads, still sensitive from his own orgasm. You ignore him and keep bobbing your head while fondling his balls. Michael practically screams as he cums again, his white release painting your tongue.
You stand up, and Michael clocks that you haven’t swallowed yet. You gesture for him to open his mouth. Your own hand comes to close around his throat as you spit his cum back into his mouth. You don’t waste any time sliding your tongue into his mouth as you both swap the cum back and forth until it’s gone.
You both pull back as you give him a demure smirk.
“I hope you write that into the next story for all of your freaky followers,” Michael comments.
“Oh, I most definitely will. I’m sure that they’ll love to hear that their Oscar Winner loves the taste of his own cum,” You mutter against his lips.
Michael laughs, “I like it when it’s coming from you. But I’m not done with you yet. There are a few other stories that I wanna recreate, starting with your Sinner story.”
Let’s just say, the girls were treated to a lot more Michael content, approved by the man himself.
Warning: Benjamin? Not really, he’s quite domestic; Reader and Ryan having the sweetest mother-son relationship while also being bonded through hatred 🥹; smartass kids (love them though); familial physical touch (kisses on the cheek, hugging, etc); proofread? Not a damn chance; a pt 3??? Pt 3!!!
I finished the last batch of marmalade so Miss Agatha could sell them for us at the farmers market. Anorah on my right, my biggest ‘helper’ [even though it’s actually Ryan.] “Ma, may I have some more books, please,” she asked with honey in her tone.
“Not dolls? I or Miss Agatha could make you some,” trying my best to give her a balance of creativity yet intellectualism but…this girl always has her nose in a book. PLAY WITH THE DAMN DOLLHOUSE MR REYNOLDS MADE, DAMN IT!
She shook her head, “book, Momma! Maybe even a journal so I can practice writing. Like a diary in those shows.”
“I…” Anorah had her infamous puppy dog eyes and, of course, Ryan just had to kneel down and join in.
“May I also get a new game…or games? Tomodachi Life 2 was just released,” he also begged sweetly.
“I cannot stand you two. FINE! But, you two gotta be on your best behavior and do all your chores around the house AND farm right. Give me a list of what you need.” They can both sizzled a simultaneous ‘yes!’ Attempting to suck my teeth to hide my smile but their joy made me joyous. “Ryan, honey, take all these crates of jams and marmalades to Miss Agatha. Tomorrow, one the rooster wakes you up, brush your teeth and go straight there to help her back the truck because Mr Reynolds ain’t in his prime and her grandsons are meeting her over so she’ll need the help.”
The brunette nodded, “yea, Mom, I got it,” standing up to kiss the top of my head before sweeping Anorah away to go outside. Not even 30 seconds later, he ran inside, holding Anorah like a football. “He’s here!” Ryan gritted through his teeth.
Before I could ask who, Anorah yelped, “put me down— MY DADDY!” What the fuck? Ben walked through the door with a duffle bag.
“Did sonny boy kick you out or are you running away,” mocking a pout at home with crossed arms.
Ben put the bag down as if he came back from war and kissed my forehead, then hugging me. Whispering in my ear, “you for damn sure are in need for some fuckin’ dick.” He leaned away with a smile to turn back to Anorah with, “nope, here to see my babygirl. Even got you a present.”
She gasped, wrestling her way out her brother’s grip before dropping down to the ground with a large thud. Her toddler endurance made her stand up as if she was the greatest damn Supe of all time, rushing to his bag, “IS IT A BOOK?”
“No,” drawing out the ‘o’ which had a hint of guilt due to her excitement, he’s only shown this side to her, “not quite, babygirl. A friend of mine said you would like these. American Girls? Yea. Got a custom and a friend for her. Melanie, I think is her name.”
Who the fuck is his friend?
Anorah huffed at him, “Daddy, it’s MELODY! Two cohmpwetely different names,” she watched him unzip his duffle to give the dolls to her. Walking up to check into his bag— it was not just dolls; he got her clothing AND playing sets with the addition of other shit too. “Woahhhh…did you get her books too, though?” They walked upstairs together with his duffle so he can set the toys up in her room.
Ryan and I made eye contact, walking up to him to fix his hair yet scratch his scalp to soothe him, “breathe, kid. I got you. You want me to kick him out?”
“You..,” his forehead found the crook of my neck, he was rigid as hell, “you don’t have to. Anorah looks happy with him.”
I nodded, bringing him up from my neck to kiss his forehead, tall ass kid. Oh my fuckin…
“Honey, sit down and breathe, okay? You want me to bring you some water or something,” guiding him to the couch. He mumbled, “lemonade,” so I went to the kitchen, pouring out some from the pitcher, and going back to the living room and passing it to him. I sat down next to him, watching my son closely. “You okay?” The boy shook his head. His fists balled up after he put the lemonade down, I placed my hands on his, “breathe. Listen to her laughter and excitement up there, okay? Don’t focus on Soldier Boy. Focus on your sister’s happiness.” Giving him a side hug, he melted. I looked down to see the face of the 10 year old I met many years ago.
“I feel like Homelander sometimes whenever I’m angry.”
“Well, you’re nothing like him. You’re more like your bio-mom if anything. Sweet, honest, kind, and humble; just like she raised you to be. Don’t you ever think you are less than that,” squeezing his hand tightly. He rearranged our hands so we could have them intertwined instead.
Sheepishly looking at me, giving me a kiss on the cheek, “I love you, mom.”
“I love you too, kid,” smiling brightly even though I felt a knot in my throat— I know this baby ain’t just called me mom and said the big L word. I would genuinely start to sob but I don’t want him to feel bad plus…that old curmudgeon is here. Maybe a tear did shed because I felt the boy’s rough hand gently swipe a wet drip off my cheek, “c’mon, let’s go check up on th—“
“MONSTER!” Anorah screamed. I could barely tell if it was a good or bad scream; both sounding the same. Ryan was already halfway up the stairs before I could truly leave the couch. When we eventually got up there, we saw her jumping around with a smaller, dark box in hand, “I SAW THEM IN THOSE MAGAZINES,” she gasped with shrill, pulling out a trapezoid box from the duffle, “SASHA!”
Ryan and I made eye contact before slowly looking at that geezer who sat with his elbow balanced on his knee with his other leg relaxed yet still folded in. We have never seen that little girl excited about dolls. She was more excited to have the illustrated version of Harry Potter for Christmas than having a new doll house built by an overly retired blue collar!
Anorah sat down next to— that man who I sadly repeatedly slept with to become— her father, ready to talk his head off, “I’m a lil’ disappoin’ed you didn’t get the main girls but it’s ok. You got the girls of color. We have Clawdeen, Robecca, Catty, ‘nd Venus. Plus Cleo and…Operetta? That’s a— nevermind. Now, you also got errbody besides Cloe. She could be from…uhm…uh. Momma, help me?”
“Argentina, Venezuela, or Columbia.”
“A WHITE LATINA! Wike them in South Africa.”
My brows furrowed, “no, baby, those are Dutch colonizers from monopolies like Elon Musk.”
Anorah nodded, “what Momma said,” crossing her arms in full support of me.
“You are a smart kid, got it all from your incredibly kind hearted and intelligent mother,” oh, shut the fuck up, “y’know, I remember the apartheid—“
“NOOOO!”
“Absolutely not, stop speaking!”
Ryan and I frantically yelled over Ben, my ‘o’ wouldn’t stop til he did, “alright. How about my ‘aide’ in Civ—“
We both yelled again.
“Tuskegee—“
Yelled once more.
“How about I tell you about life since I met you?” Anorah eagerly nodded while I looked up, as if I could see the heavens above, with my arms out in silent prayer of whatever was about to happen. Ryan did the same since we both do, indeed, have little faith. “Before you, I was very angry. Even sad, if you will. Some people did very mean things to me, besides your mother; for the most part. We both had each other’s back until the end. The end was when they put me away for a long time, so I couldn’t see you. Until now, which is essentially the beginning for us.”
“Woah,” her eyes twinkled as she giggled, “I feel like you have more ta say but it’s okay cause…” she blinked before folding over onto her dad.
Ben was about to panic until he saw her fingers loosely let go of the box to rub her sleepy eyes, “she just does this?”
“Crash? Yes. Like a sim with sleep deprivation. It’s two hours past nap time too. You didn’t see how blood shot her eyes were?” Ryan chuckled mockingly, continuing to express the little respect he has for him.
“She was running around like Speedy fuckin’ Gonzales. Hell, even looks like one,” rolling his eyes as he brushed through the girls defiant curls. Damn, this is a great time to do her hair actually— hold the hell on.
“What the hell did you just call my baby? Also, quit cussin’!”
He picked the girl up to lay her on his chest as he laid back, thinking to himself for a moment. Attempting to find the best alternative to whatever 50s derogatory term— or hell even slur —he was gonna call her, “called her a Puerto Rican.”
“I mean,” Ryan shrugs, “she looks more Dominican to me like Amaya Papaya but hey.”
“Both of y’all shuddup!” They both grumbled. Ryan walked out the room while Ben laid there, motionless. Sauntering over to look down at the two of them, “I’m glad it was toys instead of an over-a-few-nights bag.” He hummed in response, his forearm covering his eyes as he unconsciously patted Anorah’s back to lull her further. “Are you tryna nap too or..?”
“Leave when she wakes up,” he murmured.
I kneeled down all the way to plant a kiss on his temple then to hers, “thank you for this. You..,” I sighed to myself. Refusing to feed his ego, “are kind even though I know Hughie probably helped you somehow. Maybe even Sage.” I got up, terrified of the sleep schedule that awaits me in which I had to fix. The house shook with the unnecessarily loud snores from the two of them. They both slept through the day. I went to check on them before going to bed and they changed positions. Ben was cuddling the girl, holding her like his life depended on it or as if she would leave him.
I woke up before the rooster could scream with someone next to me. Quickly snapping my head to see Anorah in bed with me and a note from Ben…what kind of fucking handwriting is this. It’s like he was taught cursive but he still writes like a dude— so, shitty.
‘Had to head back before Humlunder starts to wet himself like the bitch he is. Thre’s gumes I thoaght Ryun woald enjoy. Tell Anrah I luve her.
Seen you soon,
Ben <3’
Okay, maybe the o’s and a’s are a little disconnected yet u’s are overly connected cause he wrote fast and the misspelling was by accident. Looking down at the girl, he probably put her here because of the PTSD he so lovingly refused to acknowledge.
Also, who the fuck does he think he is with this ugly ass heart…kinda sweet?
WARNINGS: BENJAMIN; Based on these beauts but this a pt2 to this; OUR favorite word will be nigga. Angsty/venting w/ minimal comfort (it’s Ben, ofc it’s minimal and shitty); no tears from reader; reader lore; another damn kiss (not on the lips);
“Momma, why did the lightning bug gotta die,” Anorah inquired as I pulled her night gown over her head and through her arms simultaneously. We had just watched The Princess and The Frog. Anorah’s favorite princess isn’t Merida anymore, that’s for damn sure, but she’s absolutely devastated. Eyes still teary from sobbing her eyes out.
“That’s life, babygirl. Some people gotta go to help others grow. We saw that he ended up with Evangeline anyways,” giving her a tight squeeze, “hey. I can read you a bedtime story about a different princess. Would you like that?” She shook her head, I nodded, “alrighty, uhm…how about a fairytale?”
She shook her head again, leading me to her bed so I can tuck her in, “me! How was I when I was a baby or when you had me in your belly.”
“Well, little angel,” I pushed the sheets and duvet cover aside to let her in the bed then pulled them back up over her to tuck her in, “it was hard having you in my belly. I was setting up the farm for you. Learning how to plant and garden. Making sure the animals were nice to me. Y’know, I tried to pick up some animals and bubba stopped me. It wouldn’t be good for you and I to be doing heavy lifting. So he picked them all up for me as I watched.”
Anorah only gave me an ‘mhm’ sound as I saw her eyes fluttering shut, I continued, “Anorah, you’re my greatest blessing. I don’t care for my powers. I care about you and Bubba, only you and him.. I love you, babygirl.”
“Wuv you,” was all she sleepily muttered. Planting a kiss on her forehead then plugging in her nightlight so I can turn off the main lights. Quietly shutting the door all the be spooked by Ryan behind me.
“Oh, sorry, uhm…she’s asleep?”
“Yea— boy, what do you need. You could clearly hear all of what we said and hear how steady her heart is,” putting a hand on my hip with a harsh whisper.
Ryan shook his head, “nothing. Nothing, I’ll just…be in my room. Asleep.”
Before he could walk off, I grabbed him by the back of his collar, “if you’re gonna be a teenage boy, be a damn clean one. Go shower before you go to bed. You reek.” Ryan only pouted at me, I let him go, and he purposely hunched his shoulders down. Looking back every so often with a mock sad expression. I had to look away so I wouldn’t laugh out loud. Heading downstairs instead. The house was clean enough, I went out on the porch. Sitting on one of the rocking chairs, looking at how bright the stars are in the sky. Being able to see the constellations in the sky I taught the kids about. Heavy footsteps made the wooden floor board creak, I could smell the greasiest fast food which made me look down to see Ben, he looked like he was from the 70s.
“What the—“
“Peace offering. I come in peace,” he sat down next to me on the other rocking chair, “knew you would be lonel—“
I quickly cut him off, “that kiss meant nothing to me. You’re not getting into my pants.” I beeped what he had in his other hand, “ooo! I haven’t had a shake in a while— hey.”
Soldier Boy drifted the shakes behind him, “what about the kiss?”
“It meant something to me,” he nodded, bringing the shakes back. I took one, pushing a straw into the open container top, then took a sip with a smirk, “sucker. Fix your fucking face before you start to gray with all them wrinkles.”
“I’m not a damn sucker and you act like you won’t gray at a faster rate than me,” grabbing a burger out the bag, “still can’t believe they discontinued the chop socket oriental sauce.”
“It’s cocaine infused sweet and sour sauce with large hints of soy in it. Just do a line,” I rummaged through the bag to find what he ordered me. Quickly unwrapping it to take a bite before I continued to speak, “it’s like the ketchup to all sauces. Ketchup is for children unless you’re using it for fries.”
Ben put his feet up on the fencing, “excuse me? What fucking sauce do you use then.”
“Anything besides fuckin’ ketchup. I’m not in elementary school, I’m a grown ass bitch with two whole damn kids. Then again, Anorah has an acquired taste therefore she does not use ketchup.”
“Okay, but she would enjoy the oriental sauce—“
I cut him off once more, cause why is this white man still speaking, “I’m not allowing my toddler to have organ damage and or failure.”
“You always got a stick up your ass or is it cause you’ve been dickless since Anorah popped out that hole? Live a little and relax,” he spoke with a mouth full, gross. His privilege was showing.
“Do you always have to talk about dicks or are you just mad because you didn’t get Bombsight to stick his in your hole? Hm?” Taking a drawn out sip from my milk shake before I smacked my lips together after I swallowed. Sucking my teeth.
He sucked his teeth too, “no dickriding, got it.”
“You too? Yikes,” taking another long sip.
Soldier Boy took his feet down, practically slamming them down onto the worn out wood, “I came here in peace and you become a moody bitch, it’s that time of the month, ain’t it?”
“No, nigga, you always wanna say some bullshit and wonder why people get so irritated around you. It’s not that time of the damn month, I’m not dickless; I am a single mother raising two damn kids. One I gave birth to and the other I gotta mentally fix bit by bit because YOUR son fucked him up. Y’know how hard it is to help a child who doesn’t know how to be helped because the world failed him? He’s already goin’ through puberty too and can probably hear me right now cause he…is a teenager. No sleep for the wicked,” I sighed, wrapping my food up, “I’m rambling. I’m sorry.” Completely losing my appetite. When I looked over at Ben, he was intently listening to me. Intense eyes staring at me.
Ben shook his head, “keep talking, you obviously need it.”
“Do you have to sound so fucking condescending?”
“Do you always have to distrust me, I’m fucking listening to you. Keep talking, you clearly fuckin’ need it,” he took one last bite out of his burger then took another out the bag— NIGGA, ANOTHHHEERR? Oh, his dumpster stomach is ready for fatherhood apparently.
I sighed. My tongue glossed over my teeth with a loud click. Looking up to see the stars again, “I went to the hospital because I had the worst stomachache of my life. They did an ultrasound to see if it was my intestines or someshit but it was much…much better. I couldn’t pay a Vought doctor enough or convince Ashley to delete the damn files. So I ran. Not entirely too far since yo’ ass could easily find me.” Shifting in my seat, unknowingly picking at the skin near my nails since I stopped nail biting, “found this house, heavily redecorated. Used my strength to manhandle those bad ass goats. Pushing hay bales, milling, and overall setting up the farm as Anorah rapidly grew within me . Luckily, Ms Agatha is a midwife— retired but still knows what she needs to do—“
Ben cut me off, “you gave birth here?”
“What else was I supposed to do? Go to a hospital so Vought could punish me and take her from me? Absolutely not,” sneering at him, my lip raised up, “anyways. It was painful. I could only use so much medication and being a supe doesn’t mean I’m exempt from feeling pain. Had to get a new bed and mattress cause I couldn’t control my own strength, luckily, Miss Agatha and Reynolds were okay. I was lonely. Incredibly lonely, luckily my postpartum wasn’t horrendous. Giving birth was a bitch but I’m happy, content. I’m still a lonely bitch though. Even with Ryan here, I feel empty a bit. He’s filled that void though. I’m not entirely too unhappy as I once was.” I leaned back, finally looking down to take a bite out of my food. “A whole year. Away from society. My cravings barely could get met because I don’t wanna see like my supe meal at my local Taco Bell next door while I’m tryna go another place and I get mobbed, y’know. On my own for an entire year. The community and village I had was minute…damn, now I’m having a craving.”
My whole body shifted to face him, becoming more open, “Anorah loves mushrooms which meant I hate an unusual yet delicious amount of mushrooms throughout the pregnancy.”
“I love shrooms too,” he chuckled deeply, “like father like daughter.”
My fist somehow landed on his shoulder with some force, I wonder how that happened, “shut the hell up. Anyways. I want a BTLA, no tomato so I guess a BLA with a mushroom swiss burger. But not with…combined. I think I should make that tomorrow.” I slouched down in my seat, “I’m tired.”
“You didn’t even finish your food,” he scowled as if he paid for it with his own money.
Making me scoff, “no, nigga, I’m gonna finish this now. After that, I’ll head to bed.”
Ben’s legs spread out significantly more
“I’ll tuck ya in then. Help you feel less lonely.”
My head nodded, reaching over to brush his hair before my hand reached his cheek. Thumb brushing against his facial hair as I smiled softly at Ben, “awh, you’re so cute when you think you can fuck me again.” Grabbing the bag and milkshake, “thank you for letting me talk and bringing me food. I am gonna finish this butt booty ass naked, watch a girl that looks like me getting fucked while I use my rose toy— wait…I made my own videos.”
“The fuck— what’s a rose?” Ben got up.
“Practicing self love, respect, and discipline,” leaning to kiss his cheek before waving goodbye at him, “G’night, Ben.”
“Not even gonna let me stay the night, doll?” Doll? My brow raised as I smirked. Shaking my head with a wink. Ben only nodded then opened the door for me, letting me into my own home, “next time then?”
“G’night, Ben.” He wouldn’t allow me to kick the door shut, “uhnt uhnt.” Shaking my head but the look in his eyes said otherwise. Licking his lips at me with a that stupid grin.
Holding my lower back, inching closer to my face, “just one, doll.”
“If I say my neck only, you not gon’ give me a hickey,” look at him and he shook his head as he went down to my neck. Giving me more than one kiss. Backing away from me when he was finished. The last thing I saw of his face was him wink with that weird *click* he does whenever he does it. Closing the door for me, leaving me to lock it.
don't know if this is ur vibe, no worries if not!! ily <3
currently wine tipsy and watching animal kingdom, thinking about visit dbf jack's house and him letting me taste his wine while he makes dinner... getting me all pliant and sweet for him.... siiiiigggghhhh <333 want him to make me call him dad while i'm too far gone on either him or the wine to know what i'm even saying
dbf!jack gets you a lil’ tipsy (f!reader)
cw: fauxcest
you’re sitting on the counter while he makes dinner, legs swinging as you listen to him talk about his day—you’d only gone over to pick up something he borrowed from your dad, but when he offered to cook you your favourite meal, well, you couldn’t say no.
he notices you staring at the glass of wine in his hand and offers you a sip, he knows your parents don’t like you drinking, they’re kind of strict like that, but he offers you a sip anyway.
you’re a little bit hesitant, worried your parents will find out but he assures you that they’ll never know.
“it’ll be our little secret, kid” he winks as he holds the half-full glass towards you.
you take it from him, holding it to your lips you take the tiniest sip and to your surprise it actually tastes good, full of sweet and fruity notes that make you want more.
and so when he offers you your own glass you’re eager to take it.
by the time dinner is over you’re on your third glass, your cheeks are burning hot and your head feels dizzy.
jack hadn’t meant to get you drunk, didn’t realise what a lightweight you’d be, but he can’t find it in himself to regret it as you’re basically a puddle sitting in his lap on the couch with his hands all over you.
if he were being honest he’d had a little bit too much to drink too, so it’s okay when his hand slips under the waistband of the pretty little sundress you’d put on just for him.
you’re putty in his hands as his thick fingers trace soft lines against your pussy over your underwear, letting out quiet little moans between cute hiccups that jack can’t help but smile at.
“need- need more, jackie” you whine as he places hot, wet open mouthed kisses against your neck, you can feel him smirk into your flushed skin—he has you exactly where he wants you.
“mm yeah? want dad to take care of you, baby?”
you nod slowly, eyes half-lidded with a lazy smile on your face as you turn your head to look up at him—the sight of which has jack’s cock twitching where it’s strained against the fabric of his pants.
“y-yes please, d-dad”
a loud moan escapes your lips as he pulls your panties to the side and slips two thick fingers inside of you without warning. you’re already so wet for him, been wet for him since you first got into his lap when his hands started wandering across your body.
“mm, such a sweet girl, so wet f’me, pussy’s so tight, want to feel this pretty little cunt on my cock, you want that? want dad’s cock filling up your tight little pussy, baby?” jack rambles, admittedly so lost in the feeling of your tight warmth around his fingers—he always imagined how your pussy might feel, mostly when he’s in bed on his own after seeing you at your parents house, when he has his hand wrapped around his cock and your instagram up on his phone.
“ye-yeah, want dad, want dad’s cock, pl-please”
your shaking fingers are already working on the button and zipper of his pants, haphazardly pulling them down as jack lifts his hips.
you can’t help the slurred gasp when you finally get to see his cock—you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about him too.
without even being instructed you’re straddling him, hovering just above him, waiting for him to give you the go ahead.
“s’okay baby, there you go, nice n’easy, sit on dad’s cock, it’s okay” his hands are on your hips, guiding you as you sink down onto his cock.
just the tip has you feeling like he’s splitting you open, your head lulls forward onto his shoulder, he rests his head against yours, kissing the side of your face as he coos in your ear.
“such a good girl f’dad, already feel so good, baby, come on, just a little more” his hands gently push you down further, inch by inch until he’s bottomed out inside of you.
you’re rocking your hips against him, too far gone to actually muster up enough strength to bounce.
jack doesn’t care, too lost in the feeling of your tight cunt choking his thick cock to even realise you’re barely moving.
his hands grip your hips tight as you roll them, uttering filthy words into your ear, his voice gravelly with arousal as you lose yourself on his cock.
“mm, my sweet girl”
“so good for dad, sweet baby”
you're so pliant and dumb for him as you make yourself cum on his cock. which is enough to send jack right over the edge with you, his arms wrap around your waist holding you down as he musters up all his strength to fuck up into you, hard and sloppy.
he knows he can’t send you home to your parents in this state, knows your dad will kill him, so when he invites you to spend the night it’s definitely because of that…
…definitely not so he can have you again and again while you’re too tipsy to care about all the reasons you shouldn’t be fucking your dad’s best friend.
definitely not.
kind of lost flow state half way through but i hope it’s okay anyways, maybe i should actually make a jack masterlist now i have two…
also for anyone finding me through this, i am mostly a robby writer, i kind of only write for jack if its rabbot or if someone asks very nicely, don’t want to get your hopes up x
i would LOVEEE a med student/resident reader x jack fic where he’s so down bad but they aren’t together (yet😛) and there’s a love triangle of sorts with someone else at the pitt? so we get to see his possessive, obsessive, jealous side 😩
that man can do ANYTHING to me
okay yes... yeah. frank langdon you're volunteering as tribute! let's ignore that they're not on the same shift pls guys he's my friend. and im sorry for the mel erasure it made sense dramaturgically
poor frank. he knew he was on thin ice (putting it lightly) with robby, but he thought he was cool with abbot. lately he's been getting nothing but cold stares and short answers from the night shift attending. to make matters worse, you're literally his only friend in this awful place and now he thinks he's losing you too...
what he doesn't know is that jack abbot is lowkey obsessed with you. you're an interesting girl: quick-witted, empathetic, curious, not to mention gorgeous. he knows for a fact you've rejected advances from paramedics, police officers... he smiles at the thought, and something warm and possessive settles in his chest.
jack knows your coffee order, your birthday (he's already got you a present, a brand new Littmann, the tubing in your favourite colour), and where you go after your shifts.
and where you go, interestingly, is into dr langdon's car.
it could be completely innocent for all he knows, but you're just so handsy with him... all but doubled over when he tells a joke, hugging him in the hallways, rubbing his back while he stresses...
so when you're alone in the break room with jack and you say something about being single, he takes his chance to clarify. "so you're not with doctor langdon, then? i saw you leave with him a couple nights ago."
your nose scrunches up at the idea. "what? no, we just carpool. besides, he's married."
he hums, the sound gruff in the back of his throat. "never stopped anyone around here before. i've been working in ERs since before you were born, princess. i've seen things."
you give him a sideways look. "... okay, well, you're not seeing anything now. i picked apples with langdon in papa's orchard."
"... apples? what the fuck is that?" he asks, looking at you as if you've just spoken in perfect latin.
you roll your eyes. you must've forgot who you were talking too. "you're so— ugh, it means i'm not attracted to him. he's like a brother to me."
"you sure?" he replies, with a raised brow. "cause he's got the hair... the eyes... the whole ER Ken thing..."
"not my type."
and there's something about the decisive tone in which you say it that makes jack's gut flare with heat. he's flustered now, but he tries not to let it show. "well, i just thought cause he's... you know, age appropriate... not decades older than you..."
he hadn't meant for that to slip out, but you take it in stride. you always do.
"i think you'll find that a lot of women don't strive for age-appropriate when they look for a partner. some of us want someone with more life experience. someone mature."
and jack's eyesight may be waning, but he sees that sign. a glaring green light.
he leans in and kisses you and holy fuck, you're kissing him back, and all of a sudden he's got you pressed against the break room door.
his hands slide up your top, then down to your waistband, fingers working deftly until your scrubs are pooled at your ankles. then, he flips you so your face is pressed into the door, giving him access to you from behind. "jesus, sweetheart, so wet... you walk around like this all day, or 's it just for me?"
he fucks you on his fingers first, watching breathlessly as you sink yourself onto his digits, up and down, your silky wet walls clinging to his skin. you're letting out sweet gasps that he now wants to hear every single fucking day. "tell me. say it to me, say you don't want that fucking kid, and that you want me. only me."
"i... i don't want him, never wanted him, only want you..."
jack curls his fingers into your front wall, the pads, calloused with age and use, rubbing deliciously against your g-spot. "want who? use your words."
"you! you, doctor abbot, i only wanted you..." you sob into the door.
"there's a good girl," he growls against your ear. "say i'm the only one who gets to touch this fuckin' pussy. swear it to me. swear i'm the only one who gets your pussy this wet. i'm older so i got the skills to make you feel so good, you know that? none of these boys are gonna make you feel as good as i do, i promise."
and when you leave that evening, hair a mess, scrubs shoved into your bag haphazardly, jack leans against the doorframe and watches with barely restrained glee as you try and give frank a bullshit reason as to why you won't be carpooling with him anymore.
he watches langdon's eyebrows scrunch as he seems to realise something: his eyes flicking over your shoulder to jack, then back to you, his mouth gaping softly.
jack makes it a point to slide his hand into the back of your jeans and squeeze as he leads you out of the door, making you squeak just within langdon's earshot. "you're comin' home with me from now on," he grunts, leading you towards his car.
Concept of BLACK!SUPE reader who is the baby momma of Soldier Boy, but she doesn’t find out until he was put back in the freezer. BLACK!SUPE reader who ran away to the farm lands in order to raise her daughter far from Vought— Homelander— and The Boys. She worked with them, which is how she met Soldier Boy. Turned into the watch dog of the 100 something year old man —who clearly doesn’t look his chronological age— and, y’know, y’all got bored…and high but mainly bored. The only person who knows where you are is Ryan. How? Well, that’s basically your son now even though he’s your…step-grandson…anyways, that’s your child now. He clearly needs better father figures and his mom is gone. Plus he needed to seek asylum somewhere. Steady farmland, less interactions with the outside world, and the Homelander is pissed because he can’t find his son. Triple wins!
Soap who’s mission everyday is to make sure you’re well fed so he packs your lunch everyday
cw: fluff, shitty coworker, overworked!reader
And to be honest, Johnny doesn’t like you job. In fact, he hates it with a burning passion.
After learning how they work you into the ground, and you don’t get paid enough for it, he wanted you to quit. But you looks at him with those pretty brown eyes, mumbling at how you wanted to put up “your share” and have your own spending money.
How could he say no when you looked at him like that? If you wanted to keep that job, so be it. He’d bite his tongue (for the moment) if it made you happy.
So he makes sure to pack you a well and hardy lunch to ease your mind. Even on his days off, even when he's tired from his own job, even if you have to be on a train at 7 am. Johnny will wake up, throw on that pink 'home maker' apron, make you a nice lunch and making a light breakfast. Sending you off with your cute lilac polka dot lunch pail, water bottle and a kiss. A warm home cooked meal at your lunch break to calm you down was the best part of your day. And it worked, you'd come out to the parking lot where Soap would pick you up, rushing to see him. Obviously exhausted but you're so happy to have made it to see your loving boyfriend, smiling ear to ear, letting him hug you tight and kiss you all over.
"Good work Hen, ye eat so well."
Did Soap notice his wonderful, darling Bonnie start coming to the car with a slight frown for the past week. Like you've crawled into yourself even further than you already did. Maybe you just had a bad a rough day. You’re not immune to have them. But there's more than a few scraps left as of late. Some times only one bite, other times the things which are your favorites go untouched.
"What's wrong hon, thought ye liked ma lunches."
"I do!" You yelp out, but you bite your lip. You don't really have the words to say.
How do you tell Johnny that, the lunches he takes time to make for you, has been getting stolen for the past two weeks, and you hadn't had a bite of his food for lunch. Shit, you get swamped in the mess of work with things piled onto you there no time to eat lunch till 1pm. And when you check the fridge it’s been touched.
After all the hard work you do, your co-workers just keep fucking with you. You’re not sure why, you do all your work, and you try to be nice and they still leave you behind or pass on their work to you. It’s all the more frustrating.
Soap clicks his tongue, grips the stealing wheel. It’s not like you’ll confess like this. He’ll just fix the issue himself. Rightfully impose, by showing up at 12 the next day.
He told you that morning he, “woke up late ‘nd could only do breakfast.”
But you were right in the middle of reorganizing some files in your manages cabinet when you got called to the front desk of your office. You scurried over, praying it wasn’t something serious but there Soap was. Leaning against the wall as you rounded the corner, not a care in the world and casual than ever. He was handsome of course, hair perfectly styled, uniform clinging to his muscles.
With your lunch box in hand.
Your eyebrows furrowed, taken aback, “How did you-“
“—Like I wouldn’t know when ma sweet girl needs ‘er belly full, hm? Managed just fine.” He hums, gently placing the handle in your hand and then cupping your face with his other hand. Rings brushing against your skin. He winks, whispering in your ear after tugging you close, “Couldn’t help but wanna show off in front ‘f those bastards a wee bit though, any excuse t’come ‘nd see ye.”
You can’t help the smile that shows on your face. A wave of relief washing over you but so bashful while Soap smothers you in kisses in front of your co-workers.
Lunch is incredibly delicious for once and on time. Your co-workers scowls thoughts of the past as you chow down.
And then Johnnys there again the next day, and every day he’s able to drop of lunch he’s there. Making sure to be a total flirt ever chance he gets. Right when you turn to leave, pulling you back for another kiss. And when he’s not able to, he’s got the new recruits dropping your favorite off.
He’ll always make sure you’re well fed.
a/n: This took so long but I very literally had no clue how to end this. I’m kinda getting the hang of Soaps accent (kinda)
Yeah quiet quitting is great and all but have you tried chaotic working?
Like. I remember back in my grocery store cashier days I did so much crazy shit.
When WIC (Women, infants, and children voucher program to help low income mothers/families with children) people were in my line I would pretty much know who they were. Before the cards they had to tell us upfront they were WIC and show us their vouchers for what they were allowed to get (it was awful some times. Like. 2 gallons of milk. $4 worth of vegetables etc etc). They’d always have items hanging back, waiting to see what the total was and if they would have to take it off the belt.
I began to place the fruits/vegetables a certain way on the register scale so that like 1/2lbs of grapes read as like .28lbs or something. Then act shocked when I said that they still had X amount of lbs left. They got all their fruit and vegetables.
I think it started to kinda? Catch on to the women? Because I would have the same moms in my line month after month. And even after they switched to the cards (they worked like food stamp cards?) I’d still do the same thing. They were able to get more produce for whatever shitty max amount Indiana gave them.
summary: This is one of my personal WIPS, which is why there are characters. This is for everyone who wanted to know what happened next.
pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Reader
word-count: 2.4K
read part one first: ❄️ SNOWED IN SEDUCTION - RIO X READER
Approximately 5 years later
The mirrorball silver gown reflects an old reality, one of another time, another life. When champagne flutes, jet-setting, hobb-knobbing and socialising were the highlights of your days. Your figure is there but the light in your eyes is different. It's where the passage of time can be seen. There's no longer the reckless mischief and naivete there used to be.
You’re a mother now.
While it’s been the subject of whispers and chatter selfishly it’s arguably it’s high ranking among the best things that’s ever happened to you. She has your playful sense of humour, your eyes, your face and raising her alone in a peaceful comfortable environment has been more fun than anything else. You had no idea you needed the heeling raising a carefree little girl would bring you.
The circumstances though are far from ideal and why you're contemplating arguing with your older sister, to get out of the dress that makes a huge statement. Once upon a time you would have revelled in the attention but after a thorough set of google searches five years ago – no dice.
The one night stand had been more than you bargained for in more ways than one. First was the cushy nest egg that afforded you an excellent head start, second was the positive pregnancy test, third was the man.
One name, Rio.
He’d been all tall, dark and handsome. Charm and pick up lines. It was only supposed to be one night of fun. But the chemistry was so electric the reveries can still make your toes curl. The way he kissed, the way he fucked …. It’s always like this, around the holidays your body remembers even if it’d be easier to just forget and leave it alone.
You take a breath and get out of your head, slipping into the shoes your eldest sister Brooke picked out and smile when you see they’re Jimmy Choo’s. Your parent’s negligence and your hard upbringing had its effects – Brooke’s materialism and obsession with optics chief among them. She means well. Care to her means provision, but you don’t need providing for.
Playing chess you call her assistant Jessie who picks up on the second ring.
“Y/N” She says, sounding chipper.
“Jessie, I just sat through an hour and a half of make up and now I’m in a gown that’s practically a mirror ball, who is my sister trying to pair me with?” you ask, Jesse’s pause is all you need as confirmation.
“You know I hate getting in the middle,” she sighs.
“You’re not just text me his name and photo and were even - I won't tell Brooke, she never has to know” you negotiate.
Jessie sighs again choosing correctly, you smile when you hear your phone chime and look over your sister's choice with a scoff. He’s perfect, handsome, clean shaven, rich, in shape, the whole nine – which means in reality the man is likely a nightmare.
“He checks out Y/N” Jessie says, ending the silence.
“My matchmaker doesn’t know what to look for and can’t respect that I’m not looking” you respond. “See you at the party,” you tell her.
It’s the one downfall of keeping details about the nitty gritty of your daughter's conception and paternity close to the chest. Unwanted assumptions that run the gamut. Very few people believe the truth you’ve presented. Her father won’t be in her life and you kept her because you wanted to.
You’ve heard all kinds of whispers. People equate your ‘hiding’ as the product of an affair with an executive which is how you were able to buy a house and quit working, it’s why you shun your old colleagues, don’t post your child on social media and can afford to live comfortably. You have the father by the balls in a blackmail plot.
Allegedly.
It’s hardly creative or originally but it’s the one most people have settled on as truth. Brooke among them, which is why she wants to shine you up, make you pretty and find you a good man. Her PR brain never stops working. The joining hotel room door opens and Syd walks in significantly less glam. A hundred unspoken words and understanding passes between you in a single look. Syd’s the middle, she knows all your secrets but not in full detail. Her eyes scan your dress and she shakes your head. You pick up your phone showing her what Jessie sent you and she scoffs.
“I’ll handle it” Syd smiles, making you follow suit. You know she will. “Unless you want a lavender marriage?” she says and you laugh as she draws her conclusions from the photo.
“I don’t want to marry period” you reiterate and she fixes one of your face framing curls before putting the phone down. Sydney was there the night you found out the truth.
Rio, was a front. A well crafted one for a very dangerous man.
Rio, had effectively wiped the internet of any traces of his true identity. Rio had a few modest write up’s calling him an angel investor in the hospitality space. It was the man who’d entered your room with an NDA that blew the lid off the truth.
Raul, you learned his name was. He wasn't a bodyguard either; he was Rio’s uncle. Raul had been a key player in a certain faction of Latin American crime organization. Rather Rio’s entire family had. As far as you could tell the two men and Rio’s mother were the three survivors of that violent time period. They hadn’t been attached to narcotics, they’d been ‘bankers’. It was enough to give you goosebumps as you looked at the violence that left so many slain. A hand against your stomach sobered your resolve to stay away, making it essential to stay lowkey.
The probability of bloodfeuds was high and further cemented by the lack of accessible information. Fear coursed through your veins as you called Syd crying. She booked a flight immediately and came to you. She didn’t ask for his name or the details, she just trusted you when you said it was dangerous. Her and her husband, who knows far less, have been the only ones not to add pressure or add questions while following your lead.
“What do you say we spend an hour at most mingling and then we come up, order room service and watch movies?” You propose.
“Forty-five minutes” Sydney says pointing to her stilettos and you smile.
“Deal” you shake just as Brooke enters, poised perfection like one of those glamorous women in the fifties.
“What deal?” she asks, handing you a masquerade mask. “You look gorgeous by the way,” she adds.
“You too” you force a smile.
“Next time Brooke tell me you hate me, don’t pick shoes that do your dirty work” Syd interjects.
“If I hated you I wouldn’t be letting you wear my personal shoes” Brooke defends. She used to be your hero, until you had your daughter and her husband’s perception of you changed. You turn, letting her tie the mask into place.
“Gorgeous,” she smiles.
It had been your condition. You’d attend the holiday party if it was masquerade themed. Concessions were made and Brooke had agreed on the concession that masks would be optional for the men, strongly encouraged for women. She ties Syd’s mask into place and you all head out without any resistance. The silence between us is loud during the elevator ride with Brooke looking between us wanting to be let in but Brooke’s head is so far up her husband's ass she can't be trusted anymore.
“I checked on the kids, mine’s knocked out but Noey was still up watching movies” she smiles.
“Tell Kelsey to put on Winnie the Pooh, the old one. Noey will be out in fifteen minutes” Syd says knowing her niece. The unspoken tension rises and I watch the arrow on the gilded vintage elevator crescendo.
“Good to know” Brooke swallows sending off a text.
“So what's the fundraiser at? How much will you be donating to the women's shelter?” You ask, changing the subject.
“Blake’s keeping it from me as a surprise for the end of the night” she says and you manage to hold back an eyeroll. Syd lets one fly coupled with a sigh. Thankfully before they can go at it the door opens, you're out first.
“You look nice Y/N” Blake smiles as his wife joins his side.
“Thanks” you mutter.
“Sydney” he nods in Syd's direction.
“Blake” she nods and you all turn. Your plan is clear, disappearing in plain sight the moment you enter the ballroom. When the doors open you do just that as Brooke and Blake are swarmed by guests. The trick is to stay in the thick of the mass of people and not off on the peripheries where the disco ball dress can catch light and draw attention. The closer people are packed together the better. You move with Syd overhearing monotonous conversations about the kind of things you used to find interesting but rich people love secrets and scandal so you stay away to avoid being scandalized.
It isn’t until Brooke finds you with a man that isn’t the one her assistant sent to you, that you know you’ve been played. Brooke, the clever one. You pause acknowledging you’re now in check before looking up at the man – apparently what your sister thinks is your type now.
“Hello” Your smile is tight and he holds out his hand.
“Sorry, guess Brooke didn't tell you I have this thing with hands” You squirm knowing from experience men find weird more off putting than mean. His eyes widen and he turns to Brooke before putting his hand back.
“How do you know Brooke?” you ask.
“Blake’s firm represents my business” he says which means he’s richer than he looks.
“Oh, that's nice. Excuse me while I go find–”
“Me” Syd smiles materializing. What I won’t light a fire to Brooke and Blake's plans she will with a smile.
“I’m Sydney, hmmm he looks like a lizard person, what do you think?” Syd asks, playing our version of ‘are you into him?’.
“Definitely, she’s an exotic animal vet - it's a game she plays” You interject and both brook and her boy look put off.
“Nice to meet you, excuse me” He says leaving faster than you predicted. Brooke glares, saving her lecture for later. You count your losses and see you’re at fifty minutes on the stopwatch. Syd takes your hand and you head out of the hall and into the foyer that's practically desolate. You untie the mask and find a mirror to make sure the make up Brooke insisted on isn’t too ruined from the mask, Syd’s beside you doing the same.
“I don’t want five star food – I want fried food” Syd says singing music to your ears. You hook your arm in hers and she grabs her valet ticket from her clutch as the two of you head to the main entrance.
The excitement for some sisterly shenanigans ends the moment you see the tall broad man with a blank but intimidating gaze you’ll never forget. You don't realize you’ve gone still until Syd’s movement yanks you forward alerting her something’s not right. There in a corner is Rio and Blake face to face talking.
Fuck.
You swallow hard not wanting anything to be exposed. Your face heats and ice replaces the fire when there’s recognition in the body guards eyes.
How? It couldn't have been a first or the last. It was too efficient and systemic for that to be the case.
“Where are you going?” Brooke shouts and your eyes close.
“What?” Syd is asking you as your hands tremble. It's all happening too fast. You look up just as Raul steps in the line of Rio’s sight blocking you from him. Your hands tremble and you get the mask on, fumbling until Syd fumbles hers on too with urgency.
“Are you two deaf? What the hell was that?” Brooke snaps again and when you look up at her you know you must look terrified because all the fire in her dies.
“Babe, what's wrong?” Blake’s voice says.
“Nothing” Brooke smiles proving that she still has the instincts of a big sister in there somewhere.
“Perfect, I wanted to introduce you to someone, hopefully my new prospective clients.” Blake says giving you no room to run as your heart beats out of your chest. Rio comes into view, the same casual smile – somehow more handsome.
“Blake tells me you planned this entire thing, if you ever want to work in hospitality - I promise it’s less hassle than PR” he says, his rasp a register lower than I remember. I step back before introductions start.
“We’ll get out of your hair” Syd says, pushing you in front of her and using her body as a shield to the best of her abilities. Syd hands the valet her ticket and he disappears leaving you both shivering in the vestibule, thankful for the mild winter. Your luck takes another turn for the worse when the door opens and Rio’s eyes catch yours. He looks right at you pausing for a moment before heading out to the valet.
“Let’s get out of here” Raul says, using his size to shield you once again but it's not enough as Syd’s car rolls around. You give Syd a silent nod forcing courage to the forefront as you head out beside her. She opens her purse to tip the valet.
“Nah, I got it beautiful” Rio interjects hand out to the valet but eyes fixed on you. Your heart races but this time you don't feed into it, this time you look away and head into the car.
“Thanks” Syd responds.
You have goosebumps as you shake off the reveries. You put on your seatbelt and sit looking straight forward. You don't realize Syd’s been driving until the car makes it to the drive through window. Your eyes open as Syd orders you your favorite and extra for good measure. You hold the bags and she spares you a look at the red light.
“That’s him isn’t it” Syd asks and stray tears couple your nod of affirmation. Silence fills the car as she takes everything instead of prying. The interaction replays and your rumination starts. This time Syd skips valet and opts for underground parking. The ride up to the room is equally as silent.
“Don’t tell Brooke” you say exiting the elevator and Syd nods walking into your room with you and for the first time you tell your sister Sydney every important detail about that snowstorm on christmas eve and her niece Noelle’s conception.
_____
Thanks for reading, happy holidays ♥️ Also don't forget to reblog, like and comment.
Summary: Rio's planned date night. Finally, you get a front row seat to who he is and a taste of what he's capable of. This one's steamy 🌶️
Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Black Reader
Word-Count: 2.5K
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「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」
➨ rio's library - good girl nbc
Rio’s been applying pressure. A quality you enjoy in a man. He’s been a great communicator, texting and FaceTiming you when he’s free for the past four days. His cool demeanour is never ending. Neither are the lazy promises about what’s awaiting you the next time you see him in person. After that kiss you know it’ll be good, straight to the point, signed, sealed, delivered - sincerely Rio. In the past few days you’ve come to appreciate him. There were no forever promises snapping you out of the thrill of the here and now with him.
8:30 Sharp. Don’t play with me either baby girl.
-Rio
The way he’s asserted himself leaves little room for anyone else to be entertained. He’s a handful. It’s the last message he’s sent you hours ago now. Clad in your robe you turn to face your closet. Your hair and make up is what it is already. Now onto the conundrum of what to wear? Did it really even matter? Swallowing you walk from the nudes to the colourful section of the closet. Pausing you shake your head with a finger to your lips turning around to the blacks. You don’t want to clash with him, you want to blend in to his low-key air. You don’t want to do too much at all. You skim over dresses better suited for wow factor and settle on one that will do the trick. Accessories are easy and you choose simple ones that flatter your dress. With a final turn you look yourself over. It gives calm cool and collected, simple, not too fussy. Checking your watch you see you have thirty minutes until Rio arrives. You ensure your necessities are in your purse before spraying perfume.
The thrumming in your chest is a pleasant reminder of wants to come. You don’t remember a time outside of adolescence where someone had this kind of effect on you. Only this time you aren’t sneaking out of the house, you’re ignoring your brothers warnings. Deciding against games or grand entrances you head down to the lobby to be on time and step out five minutes early to see Rio in the parking lot of your condo leaning against his G-Wagon giving his phone his undivided attention. You're halfway to him when he senses you. You smile first allowing his raised brows and caution to settle into a pleased smile.
“Who were we texting?” You ask making him chuckle. His eyes drink you in making their way up slowly before he looks displeased. His jaw settles and when his eyes meet yours again he looks angry.
“Don’t disrespect me with this simple shit. I know you have way better up there” he comments acutely. There’s little to be said about his choice of clothing, nor are you his personal barbie.
“Didn’t think it mattered when you’re just going to take it off me?” You shrug leaning against his car to match his nonchalance. His frustration fades quickly and Rio doesn’t know exactly what to do with you. He tries his best not to smile as you snicker. He gets the door helping you in. When he gets in he reaches in the glove box and takes out a jewelry bag handing it to you.
“Instead of flowers” he says. You open it to see a pretty tennis bracelet. It’s definitely a first.
“Much better than flowers, a consolation for your asshole remark just now” you tell him holding out your wrist. He takes the bracelet putting it on and you admire the shine.
“You not going to accuse me of buying you fake diamonds? No smart remark?” He asks pulling off.
“It’s no fun when you expect it” you shrug leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Thanks”
Rio turns reaching for your chin he takes it between his thumb and index finger to kiss you properly, claiming you as his for the moment. “You’re welcome” he says having given you two reasons to smile tonight..
Your dinner is on the water, just the two of you on a nice boat sailing around the cities skyline at night. Each of the dinner courses are delicious and conversation with Rio is easy so long as the conversations float over the personal. He keeps his guard up setting a clear boundary you're comfortable respecting. He gives you his jacket when you shiver playing the role of a gentleman well. You feel none of the first date jitters or dread, it’s like you’ve known Rio for some time. He’s meticulous in having things perfect for you. You don’t get the sense he’s showing off but more like he’s a stickler for order and satisfaction which bodes well for you later. Away from the dinner table and rnow outside on the deck you pour two shots of tequila.
“Truth or drink?” You say raising the glass and taking a shot for good measure. Rio throws one back nodding - ready for whatever. He opens the bottle pouring out another two shots.
“When’s the last time a man made you cum?” He asks being the forward asshole he is.
“Awhile” you respond evasively.
“A few months or a few years?” He asks.
“Months, now I get two questions” you tell him.
“Go on baby-girl” he says like he’s talking you through it leaving you to blush because he is hell.
“Why doesn’t my brother like you?” you ask and he grimaces; it’s a surprise. In Rio’s mind there are too many reasons to name. Reasons that’ll have you off the boat and ironing his calls.
“That’s between us, nothing to do with you” he responds taking a sip.
“If the roles were reversed would you want your sister sitting where I am?” You ask and Rio smiles, you know the answer before it leaves his lips.
“No” he confirms. “What to you like most about me?” Rio asks and it’s a surprise to you. His confidence makes the question seem a little out of place. Racking through your brain you try to narrow it down. There are more physically attractive guys, taller guys, richer guys, better dressed guys… Losing yourself in your thoughts you look back at him looking him over.
“I don’t know, that you have yourself together and you’re not afraid to put in work.” you shrug surprising him.
“What do you do for fun, hobby wise?” You ask.
“You don’t want to know what I like about you?” Rio asks.
“No” you tell him outright and he laughs.
“Boxing, helps me put the stress away” he responds and you feel the boats engines stop. Turning you realize you’re back at the dock and turn to find Rio watching you intently.
“Don’t kill the fun now by falling in love” you tease getting your bag.
“You’d fall first baby-girl” he taunts smoothly.
“Not likely” you comment heading off of the boat.
“Not likely?” he chuckles like it’s a first. “Keep playing with me.”
“Or what? I’ll probably like whatever punishment you can think of,” you shrug being forward turning back you see a blush on his cheeks as he smiles. You stop walking to let him catch up and find him chuckling a little like he’s broken character.
“Most likely, if I’m nice” Rio says into your ear as he holds you from behind. Chuckling you allow him to lead the way forward to his car. His cologne is perfect, the entire night has been perfect.
“Don’t call me unless you’re being nice” you respond.
“Mhm?” Rio raises a brow as he gets in.
“I thought you might like me being mean?”
“No, I don’t intend to underestimate what that means. Not my kind of surprise” you shrug looking over at him and his smile turns into contemplation. There you were right again. He’d passed curiosity, the cat and mouse was over and now he was considering your words a valid warning. Having a son and family were enough of a liability in his work. Things with you could get complicated especially with his involvement with Ruby and Stan. The pussy will be good; that Rio is for certain but now’s not the time he needs to be spending wide open chasing his next hit or the next thrill. He already knows you don’t know how to behave, taming you won’t be as fun as coming in and shutting shit down every time. For now there was a very clear scheduling conflict as well as ethical concerns.
Besides, Rio can’t quite decide your type of crazy yet. One round won’t suffice and after a few … would you slash his tires for his involvement with Stan and Ruby? Would you ignore him or worse? He could see the promise of mutually assured devastation in your eyes should you have to go head to head.
“Second thoughts, wow. Didn’t think Mr. Christopher would bitch out first” you taunt.
Fuck it
Rio mutters leaning over to kiss you. It’s not what you expect. The switch from contemplative to sensual heats your body in an instant. Unbridled passion, no time for logic.
Its on.
You can feel the seat going back and steady Rio as he maneuvers the seat flat not letting up. His tongue spelling promise of his other talents. Better than in the bathroom. You feel your body relaxing into it, the sensations rushing to your core as it readies itself in anticipation of pleasure. His hands run featherlight touches up your legs before lifting them to wrap around his torso.
It’s a first, sex in a car.
The thought of it flushes you sending goosebumps to cover your flesh. You feel pliable under his touch as he takes the lead. “Quiet now huh?” His voice is low as he peppers kisses on your neck. Before you can speak you feel him pressing into you and a moan of pleasure is your response. “Doesn’t feel like you’re the whore you pretend to be” he whispers enjoying the grip on his fingers.
“Shut up” you moan before your eyes close he comes in for another kiss that is messier an more frenzied. The nights foreplay has come to an end. Honestly there had been other plans but there was no way either of you were doing anything other than getting what you came for. His size is impressive and leaves you reeling to catch your breath as he uses technique that tells he’s no novice. He hits all of the right spots leaving you a pillow princess as he gives and takes until you're both sated and breathing hard. He slides off the condom leaning back and you smile seeing the fogged glasses until flashing lights snap you out of the fantasy. A knock Rio’s glass startles the both of you as a figure peers in. Instinct makes Rio shield your indisposed body from view. It’s a frenzied rush to cover yourself and Rio manages to put his dick away.
The cop demands you to get out of the car and you both do. Rio makes no effort to hurry, his aura reeks disgust and impatience. So much so that there’s no charming your way out of a seriously tacky potential charge. You rage silently as you’re cuffed and placed in the back of the cop car with Christopher.
“Bonnie and Clyde huh?” Rio whispers earning him an elbow. Rio chuckles not understanding the gravity the situation or your embarrassment. “Relax, love I have a few more rounds in me” he continues ready for more as you seethe by his side. The precinct is lit in tacky fluorescent lighting that is jarring on the eyes after a night of warm romantic hues. All eyes are on you and so is the chatter. Your stomach falls in your ass the moment you realize Stan was once one of them.
“Would you like your phone call or do we head outback and you take care of me like you did him?” A portly cop propositions.
“Fuck did you just say?” Rio snaps finished with his call. Cops pop their heads up and the phone rings.
“Buddy don’t try to look tough for the girl” the pig says balling his fists.
“Stop!” A female cop says popping her head up holding a phone. “Stop now and let them go” she demands and there is some shuffling as the phone is passed around. Rio waits impatiently seemingly bored by the process until the cuffs are removed from his wrists and then your’s. The look he gives the dirty cop makes you nervous for the mans well being as he takes your hand walking you out. You stop now feeling the gravity of it. A man who can fuck like him and stay that cool under pressure is dangerous. A man cops tread lightly with is something else entirely. The big leagues, very major. Looking up at him you curse yourself knowing the date and any romance between you is done. For the first time your brothers protective instinct really was trying to shield you from serious trouble. The part of your brain that loves a thrill is ready to fight against it but you stand firm. Instead of making a scene you re enter the car once the two of you are returned to the marina with profuse apologies. Reveries of how he felt wash over you, the feeling of being kissed and the fresh memories dance around your mind. You don’t have to ask - Rio drives you home and parks in your parking lot.
This time the silence between you both is thick once the engine shuts off. Its like all the progress and familiarity has been washed away in spite of you still being able to feel the effects of him on your body.
“I’m sorry, I planned to take you to my place. Everything will be wiped your record and reputation will be fine” he says speaking first. Everything about him screamed he wasn’t fond of apologies. Turning you see his eyes are sincere and you swallow letting your seatbelt loose.
“Rio...”
“Don’t say it” he smiles looking down into his hands. “Don’t say it baby girl” he sighs holding your gaze. You want to invite him up and ride him till your frustration fades. You want rounds two three and four if your bodies can take it but for once your head is resigned against the thrill.
“I had fun” you admit earning a disappointed nod from Rio. He gets out of his car with you and heads into the trunk and walks towards you with a large bottle of Ace of Spades champagne.
“Cheers” he says bidding you goodbye with Champagne what was supposed to kick off the fun in his hand. Looking up at him as the gold bottle sparkles along with the newly gifted bracelet in the light you look at the forbidden fruits contemplating a few more rounds or if you plan to kick the habit cold turkey.
“Cheers” you respond with a smile.
_________
Author's Note: Thank you for all your support and patience on this series. It means more than you know. I love writing for character I feel like we should have got more of. Hope you enjoyed, leave a comment, like and reblog to let me know 💖
Authors Note: Monday Morning 🍵 , this one is based around the asks, the girls wanted filthy rio, I tried 😘
Summary: You have your concerns and reservations. Rio doesn't give a damn ... usually but then you stand on business, staying away for two weeks. Rio doesn't like that and lets his presence be known.
You and Rio have been in a standoff for the past three weeks. It started with him snatching your phone out of your hand as you attempted to take a picture of the two of you. He’d wined and dined you after a busy work week. He had his place turned into a restaurant to hold the intimate date. How often does a girl get Michelin grade food with a side of five star dick? Rio was something new, he chased you mercilessly but there was never that ‘let me show you off’ phase that you’re typically used to. There were no meetings or greetings from friends or family. You were excited for a relationship that was private but you didn’t sign up to be a secret. You already made it clear to him that you wanted to know if he was sleeping with other people. You’d asked him countless times if he was seeing someone else, secretly married, everything. Each time Rio’s been dismissive, more present and somehow better in bed to prove his point. It was only you. Still your suspicions beat out every single affirmation of his. As good as it’s been physically, the flags are crimson.
Swallowing hard you make your way to the country club for tonight’s benefit. Your phone rings again. Rio’s name flashes and you respond with another customer service-esque response, that delays your meeting citing being busy and exhausted as the reason. At first Rio was giving you time to cool off but now he’s relentless. If you were the only one perhaps his hand just isn't cutting it anymore. Rubbing shoulders isn’t typically your favourite thing to do but socialising is better than sitting at home and forcing yourself not to think of him. you see a few childhood friends among the opportunists and the schmoozes that frequent this kind of social climber opportunity. You dance and drink and enjoy the night out with your peers who are going off the rails. They encourage you to mingle with the eligible men but you know better. Thankfully your father’s wealth has purchased your freedom. There’s no need to pretend to be interested in them or the woman ‘worth’ settling for, to gain the opportunity for a more ‘financially free’ life.
It’s after two in the morning when you’re finally headed home. You tip your cabby and head in the lobby. It's been three weeks since you’ve been taken care of properly and you feel it every time you have to sit in the house alone. You make a mental note to buy a vibrator to take the edge off until you can find Rio’s replacement. The ding of the elevator gets your attention and you head to your apartment unlocking the door. The cold floor feels perfect against your sore feet. You let out a sigh of relief picking up your heels as you lock up behind you. You’re nearly down the hall to your bedroom when you freeze in place. Rio’s seated dressed in all black on your sofa. He stands furious and you take a step back so startled your heart is racing. Maybe it’s the liquor. You squeeze your eyes shut but when you open them he’s more clear.
“How was the party?” He asks.
“What are you doing here?” You ask.
“My girl has been sick for three weeks dodging me, you’ve been moody and shit so I’m wondering if you're down bad. I come here to be supportive and you don’t answer the door. I worry and get the spare key from management. I come in and you’re nowhere to be found. Now I just know you’ll be back soon but then I’m sitting here waiting and what do I see?” Rio asks before pulling up your social media, all the reposted stories from the girls night are there. You feel caught. His energy is menacing.
“And you didn’t leave and think maybe I don’t want to see you anymore?” You snap and Rio moves quickly grabbing a handful of your hair at the back of your head to pull you in. Your heart races and you feel your body begin to betray your brain, relishing the contact.
“You’re still lying to me?” He challenges. You look up at him in defiance and he smiles loosening his grip on your hair. “I should really leave you high and dry,” he threatens.
“Then let go of me” you respond, challenging him and his grip on your hair releases but he doesn’t step back. You can feel his breath on your face as you look up at him. You stare back at his angry eyes. He’s the only man who’s never cowered at your defiance.
“You think you can quit me just like that?” He asks settling into his usual disposition. Calm, challenging, maddening.
“It'll be pretty easy actually, no pictures, no mutuals, Rio who?” You taunt raising a brow before fearlessly turning your back to him. It strikes a nerve. Sighing to maintain his cool he wonders why he likes strong willed women while admiring your frame in your selected outfit for the occasion. If it were anyone else he’d be out the door, he wouldn’t put up with it but you have him by the balls and have no idea. He hears the shower running and makes himself comfortable in your bedroom.
“You’re still here?” You respond sarkily fresh out of the shower and better equipped to handle the uninvited guest currently occupying the lounge in your bedroom. Rio’s eyes make note of your tone and that you have nothing under your robe, using it as a more secure towel.
“Mama, I know you’ve got liquor in you but tread lightly. Ya hear?” He warns still in his seat. All you want to do is be his baby. To take care of him, for him to take care of you. To have multiple orgasms to pass out in his arms throughly fucked and a little sore. To be his road dog on his runs listening to music and eating snacks. To surprise him with blowjobs when he’s stressed from his work and watch as he loses control.
“I’m not drunk” you respond with folded arms.
“C’mere” Rio sighs, relaxing in the lounge chair. Usually it would work but he’s too comfortable. Instead you ignore his request heading into the bathroom to finish up your nighttime routine. You’re looking in the mirror and finishing up your skincare routine with hand lotion when he appears behind you. His expression is serious and you hear metal clanking. Looking down you see he’s unfastened his belt. Your eyes hold his and you watch as his hands slide up your thighs lifting your robe. His lips don’t offer praise or affection; a rarity. Anticipation builds as his hold tightens around your hips. Bringing them back against his growing manhood. He doesn’t need to promise a lesson. His eyes tell you it’s going to be sweet punishment. His hand swipes against your folds to find you’re already ready. He applies pressure before sliding a finger into you. Watching your expression change in the mirror.
“You’re lucky no one else has been in what’s mine” he comments possessively.
“You’re lucky” you contest moaning as he finds his rhythm with his fingers.
“Keep talking shit” he warns but it feels too good to talk back. “What’s that?” He asks finding your spot. Edging you closer and closer to your release.
“Mmmmm” you moan as he changes pace.
“That’s what I thought” he says onto your ear before giving your neck a kiss. You can feel him fully hard pressing into you from behind as he makes you come with his hand. You’re throbbing for more as you pant trying to recover. You want to kiss him but his eyes tell you all is not forgiven yet. He leaves a stinging slap on your ass. Punishment. Your brain chemistry alters making you wetter. It’s sick and twisted what Rio’s capable of bringing out of you. The quickness of the orgasm affirms you haven't stepped out on him, it pisses him off that you've been deliberately depriving him of sex. “When I call, answer the phone, don't send me any more automatic texts, or stupid distant responses.” He says laying down the law. “Dont ignore me” he adds.
“If you want me to behave differently treat me better” you manage standing upright and looking at him in the mirror again. He should walk out now. He should be done with you but he isn’t. You watch his jaw clench. He sees what needs to be done in spite of it being early morning, your defiance energises him. When he smiles your heart catches and it’s the moment he slides in full hilt. Gasping, your eyes close as he fills you completely, fitting snug. The feel of your walls around him nearly makes him lose control but he has a point to prove. When you wake up he wants you to see and feel him all over you. Pulling back before going back in repeatedly you feel your breaths grow shallow. The feeling is second to none. It’s why Rio’s so different. Your chemistry is always enough foreplay. He leaves you satiated every time. He’s no slouch and your moans affirm the truth. Instead of putting on a show most of the time you’re fighting to hold them back. But Rio knows how much you enjoy when he’s inside you. The slickness of your walls, the responsiveness of your body, how soft and malleable you become. Gripping the counter you brace for his impact as he fucks you into it. His hand protectively palms your stomach to keep you from falling forward into the faucet. His pace and strength is punishing in the best way possible. You come hard again.You want a break but when he pulls out he lowers. Gripping your thighs bringing you closer to claim you with his mouth. He hoists you onto the counter to better his leverage before sucking and driving you crazy.
“Leave me for who” he asks, somehow still dominating you while in a submissive position. He continues like his appetite for you is insatiable and it must be because in moments you find yourself beyond the point of comprehension. You moan yeses and other sounds of praise. He’s so good you can barely enjoy the sight of him pleasing you. Your head is back for most of it. You come even harder the third time absolutely spent. Rio gets up slower this time he knows you’re worn thin. He knows he has you in the palm of his hands. You look at his manhood standing at attention. His pants aren’t fully off, neither are his boxers. That’s how much he needed you. Your robe is still on too, you albeit not properly. There wasn’t even time to undress. Looking at him you go to return the favour but Rio stops you.
“No, I want to be in my pussy” he tells you, turning you around again.
“Let’s go to bed” you offer.
“Shut up be a boss and take it standing up” he continues goading you. Your legs are tired from standing all night and worn in from your orgasms.
“Rio please?” You whine and he chuckles.
“Now you want to be nice?” he asks.
“Baby please” you add.
“Now I’m baby?” he smiles pecking your cheek, having omitted his usual intimacy.
“Mhm” you nod.
“Words” he challenges.
“Rio!” You snap and he silences you again with re-entry. His hand over your mouth stifles a curse before he lets you taste your arousal on his fingers. His strokes are lighter than before and his rhythm is lethal. He’s a man that listens, he hits just where you need, and you feel the last bit of resistance and tension leave your body like a spool of thread being spun out. Your body is pliable and responsive. You lose your restraint, your moans affirming his talent and everything you feel. Rio’s moans follow, so do curses. Your body buzzes with satisfaction as you feel his pace hitch and the tension of a coming release. You prepare for the loss of contact but it doesn’t come. He thrusts deeper coming inside of you. You’re surprised for a millisecond before the feeling makes you relax. Your body settles completely. You feel goosebumps pepper your flesh as he hums emptying all of his pent up lust into you. You dare to look up into the mirror. His eyes are watching you. The anger is out of his face, his expression is blank and distant. You don’t recognize it as you feel his arousal dripping down your leg. His palm is against your stomach again. You hold it tighter and he comes to. You realise he’s sated and the unfamiliar look is a mix of exhaustion and euphoria. You want to kiss him so bad, he steps back pulling out and robbing you of the contact. His manhood bounces as it falls. You feel sore instantly. It takes him some time to catch his breath. Catching yours, you don’t know how to feel. If he’s still upset or if you’re back on solid ground. Rio answers the question when he turns on the water in your shower and holds out a hand inviting you in. You both get naked and he kisses you hard under the water before washing you up with care. He’s unpredictable and you are relieved he hasn't walked out to make you eat your words. After washing you up he gets dressed, choosing from the clothes he’s left for times like these, and to mark his territory.
“It’s quiet” he comments as you get into your night dress. A smirk plays on his lips. You roll your eyes climbing into the bed incapable of further defiance and too exhausted for a witty retort. Rio follows suit, pulling you in and spooning you. You know sleep won’t be far.
“Nite” he whispers.
“Nite” you respond.
When you awake you’re happy until you see Rio getting dressed. Rolling over you check the time to see it's 8am. Not enough time has passed for a full rest. You don’t have the energy to argue with him. Putting on a T-shirt Rio snickers pleased with the fruit of his labour. Now dressed in a sweatsuit he walks over to your side of the bed leaning in for a kiss. You oblige and he steals a few extra pecks before standing to look at you.
“Get some rest, I have a meeting. I’ll be back with some breakfast around 11:30, then I want you on the road with me” Rio says casually.
“Rio-“ you start, he knows you’re about to protest by your tone.
“I don’t want to hear about that shit anymore. You want to be public, now everyone will know I’m fucking you when you start to show in a few months. You won’t be able to get rid of me for years.” He says shocking you. You sit up scared straight and he smiles.
“Later … mama” he says walking out with a wink.
———-
Authors Note: Rio’s hell right? But we love our bad boy 😉 This one’s for the anons who wanted it nasty. I did my best to keep it Rio. Let me know if I got the vibe you were looking for. Like, comment, reblog.
Just thinking about how the behavior of the aliens in Animorphs makes so much sense in the context of their biology.
Andalites are boastful, misogynistic, abilist, and unnecessarily secretive. They're like that because they're a species of herd animals that grew up on a planet of predators. Everything about the Andalites tells us that they are apex prey animals. They have natural camouflage (for the blue foliage of their planet) because if you get seen you get eaten. They have full 360° vision, because if you don't see the predator, you get eaten. They communicate psychically, because if you make noise, you get eaten. They eat from their feet while running because if you slow down to eat, you get eaten. They have a tail blade because IF a predator can see you and IF they can sneak up on you and IF you can't run away, your best hope is to convince them that they will have to bleed for every bite of your flesh.
That last one is important. So many prey animals survive by just looking like they're too much trouble to eat. Don't eat me, I'm too tough. Eat the guy next to me.
Generations of living like that has hardwired their brains into thinking that ANY show of vulnerability is a threat to your life. If you're smaller than the next guy, you get eaten. If your hooves are duller, you get eaten. If you look less experienced, you get eaten, etc. etc. etc.
Then you have the Yeerks. Little slugs with HUGE egos. And of course they need those massive egos. When you're trying to control a creature a hundred times bigger you have to act like you're a thousand times bigger than it. On top of that Yeerks are basically just self sufficient brains. Essentially no sensory organs, they eat though what is more or less photosynthesis. And since they're only brains, no bodies, they're prone to addiction. Not just oatmeal, but the addiction of sensation. A brain craves new experiences and rewards itself when it finds them. So the yeerks will strap themselves into a skull for days at a time, starving themselves of their limitless food supply, just for another hit of those sweet endorphins. They'll take whatever they can get be it cannibalistic taxxon or clumsy nearly useless gedd.
Speaking of Gedds, let's talk about those parasites. Now you're probably thinking "no, Gedds aren't the parasites, Yeerks are!" Are you sure? One defining characteristic of the Gedd is that one leg is shorter than the other. I see this as an evolutionary stroke of genius. Imagine, you are a Gedd, born with a malformed foot. Because of this you're far more clumsy than the rest of your species, so you fall down, stumble, and trip all the time. One day, you fall into a lake. When you get out of the lake, something has changed. You have a genius brain in your skull. This genius brain craves experience. It wants to eat, breed, see, feel, everything. Because it's a genius it can get you food, it can get you mates, it makes you king of your tribe. All because you had that one freak gene that gave you a wonky foot. So of course some of your offspring end up with the wonky foot gene, they fall into lakes and get free genius brains. Their lives are improved. They have more wonky footed children and so on and so forth. Your survival is all but guaranteed because these genius brains need you. You are their drug. They give you everything and in return you give them practically nothing.
Taxxons are in the same boat. Parasites to the yeerks, when you look at what their evolutionary path must have been. They were bugs under a queen. The queen gave them commands, dig here, forage there, care for the larvae. We know from the Animorphs adventures in ant land how overpoweringly distracting those kind of orders can be. A lot can fall by the way side when you're under the thrall of your queen, such as eating. So a simple solution is evolved: eat whatever you can whenever you can. Always be hungry, even if your body doesn't actually need food right now. You don't notice the hunger much because you have more important things to think about, the queen needs a tunnel here, better dig it now you'll just swallow anything that gets in tongue's reach. Of course, all that food, all that nutrition, eventually your species will develop bigger brains. You have more independent thoughts, better problem-solving, that's great for the whole species right? Except... Now that you can reason, you reason out that maybe the queen isn't always right. So you start experimenting with other approaches. Approaches that work! Great! Fantastic! You don't need a queen anymore! But...now there's nothing to distract you from that instinctive drive to eat what you can when you can. You're hungry all the time, no matter how much you eat, you feel like you're starving. If only you could turn off that part of your brain! Then one day a wonderful answer comes out of the sky. A species of genius brains who want bodies shows up. You have bodies and they can turn off you hunger. Easy solution. We read about how taxxon controllers are constantly struggling to keep their host body's hunger in check, I theorized that they're downplaying the severity of the effort. I think it takes nearly all a yeerk's focus just to manage the hunger, the taxxon remains in control of its own actions. No yeerk will ever admit it, though. They're junkies and getting half an experience high while fighting off the irrational pain of starvation is better than nothing. The taxxons get far more than they give up. As soon as they have an option to get rid of the hunger without giving anything to the yeerks, they take it.
And then we have humans. Illogical, impractical, unpredictable humans. What sets humans apart in the Animorphs world is that they have a left brain and a right brain and those two halves are always fighting. So many of the human characters are walking contradictions. Cassie, the pacifist who rips out her enemies throats with her teeth. Rachel, the killer who became a monster to stop the ones she loves from becoming monsters. Marco, who's always laughing while being deadly serious. Jake, the leader who always follows his team. Humans are always contradicting themselves because, in reality, they aren't. They're always arguing with the other side of their brain. Boldness vs caution. Violence vs peace. Fight vs flight. Sometimes one side wins, sometimes the other one does. That's what makes humans so unpredictable to other species, every choice they make is the result of an unknowable battle within.
Lest I forget, Hork-bajir. The only ones who have the benefit of evolutionary planning. They're smart enough to solve problems, but not curious enough to look for problems to solve. Equipped with the dangerous tools needed for their work, but not the drive to use them against their masters. Hork-bajir are seen to be a hardy species, able to heal from injury quickly, that, plus the face that they generally don't have any predators gives them that manatee/ capybara mindset. They may not know what you are, but they'll probably assume you're a friend because what else is there? They trust because they have never had a scenario where trusting another was the wrong move. They grew up in a Garden of Eden that didn't even have a snake. They are perhaps one of the few species that is actually a complete victim of the yeerks.
I sometimes think about the letter KA Applegate posted for her fans who were disappointed by the ending of her series, and while I understand simply not liking how a story ends, I really respect her reasoning.
Like you can dislike the ending, that's fine.
But her reasoning is very interesting to read. And I really enjoy the framing of the anti war message.
forever in awe of people who pay attention. people who wait for you while you tie your shoes while the others have walked away. when they continue listening intently while the rest of the group stopped listening. noticing your moments of silence when everyone else hasn’t. “this made me think of you” noticing things you never even noticed about yourself. people who say “text me when you get home safe.” people who make you laugh until you cry. childhood friends who keep in touch. people with genuine intentions. people who are soft when the world has given them every opportunity to turn hard. the “let’s get ice cream” at 3am friend. the turn up the music in the car and sing friend. people whose actions match their words. people who make the world feel less chaotic. kindred spirits. the trustworthy and honest. hard workers. good listeners. clear communicators. people who love you for who you are. people who don’t ask you to be anything other than yourself. people who choose you. people who stay.
friendly reminder that findtags is the best way to search tumblr’s absolutely destroyed tag system. it actually accurately looks through the tags without omitting results. it’s the only thing i use at this point because it’s the only thing that works
