ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ɢɪʀʟ

ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴏᴀꜱᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴏᴜᴅ

[ridingreeves]

──── 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴍᴇ 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

──── ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ɪ ʟᴀᴄᴋ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴ' ᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚:ʜᴇʟʟᴏ! - ɪ'ᴍ ɴɪɴɪ ᴏʀ ɴɪᴀʟʟ. ꜱᴛʀᴀɪɢʜᴛ. ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴛᴠ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ

​→ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ → ᴛɪᴋᴛᴏᴋ → ɪɴꜱᴛᴀɢʀᴀᴍ

[yearlyjams]

domestic bliss

summary. some instances in which michael and you function as a couple . . . which you guys aren't. just a really, really good team.

❛ mature!michael jackson　𝑥　𝒻 nanny!reader ❜     ╱    𝓶 .list 𓂋 all my readers are intended to be black and or women of color , nanny is no exception . no real warnings , it's just a bunch of fluff . comedy . domestically ofc . pinning . hints at obsessive!michael ℘ 3.802k

𝓻𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬⠀ ⠀𝐚𝐫𝐞⠀ ⠀𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝⠀!

michael who made an extreme emphasis on his desire to be present in his children's lives and not have them be raised by nannie's. but soon after blanket's birth he knew he needed a little extra help with a newborn and two little ones running around.

the interview process was long and tedious and happened over a few weeks as michael personally reviewed over applications, made the phone calls to let which applicants will be getting interviewed where and when, and conducted the interviews process with various questions;

"during times of stress how do you handle the chaos of the children?"

"what was the reason for leaving the last family you works for, and what made you interested in caring for my family?"

"do you have any formal education in child care, child education, or child development?"

"are you ready to take on not just my children's schedules but my own, and what that entails?"

he wants the best for his children and you just happen to be that. you're one of two of the last applicant who progressed to the very last interview, and watching the other applicant go first and leave with an unreadable expression only worsened your worries. and when you think everything is going good your nerves are on edge and heart pounding against your chest when michael rose from his seat across from you and extending his hand out to you. placing trembling hands on the edge of the conference desk to push your seat out and away so you can also stand, wiping your sweaty hand on your slacks before extending it to meet michael's firm grip, "congratulations, you're hired."

you didn't formally meet the children until your second day, you're first day was just you getting acclimated. already having signed every form of paper possible upon getting hired, all michael requested of you for your first day was to show up to neverland ranch at 7 a.m sharp. giving you a proper tour of neverland ranch before returning back to the house and to his office to go over the kids routine.

michael's eyes follow where your body bends to reach inside of the bag you brought with you, eyes widening just a bit when you pull out a dark green journal and pen. flipping the journal open and clicking the pen to jot down the small bit of what he had said about their schedules before he went silent, only the sounds of pen on paper filling the office.

when there's nothing more left to write down you peer your gaze up just a bit, but michael's eyes are trained on the journal in your lap, mouth slightly agape. "you can continue, mr. jackson."

the sound of your voice pulls his eyes back up to meet your own, licking his lips, "right," he continues, coughing lightly, "'nd it's michael, no formalities."

and he gets amused when you give him a curt nod before moving your pen to the very top of the page and write something down, probably something along the lines of no use of formalities.

only further getting amused by you when just before you leave you pull a container full of various cookies out, "i don't know what they're favorite is so i just made small batches of chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, and sugar cookies with sprinkles," you explain, fingers gripped around the nice container you bought specifically for this, not wanting to hand michael jackson a tupperware container.

hand it over, feeling uneasy when all he does is start at the container now in his hands, "you and the other staff can have some too of course, they're not just for the children," rambling on.

when michael looks up there's a small smile on his face, "thank you, we 'ppreciate it. they're are going t'love them for dessert."

introductions with the children go well, michael makes them thank you for the cookies, and it really doesn't take too long for them to warm up to you. it only took prince a few hours to approach you to ask if you would play with him, and if there's one thing about childcare that you will never get over is their small voices when they're still a little shy, which didn't last long with prince once he got comfortable with you.

and with blanket it took no time. the five of you sat around the dinning table as the kids ate their breakfast, with prince and paris sat next to each other, paris next to michael who is at the head of the table, you were in the seat right in front of paris while blanket was in his father arms, already having had a bottle. when michael was nursing his glass of orange juice that's when you feel it, a chubby hand lightly against your forearm.

taking blanket's smaller hand in yours, the natural movement he's making seem like the two of you are shaking hands. "hi, blanket," you muse, grinning when the infant begins to coo and show off his gummy smile. his arms now fully trying to reach you.

"he's tryin' t'escspe my arms, d'you wan' him?" the question has you thinking for a second, but you do agree.

"yeah, i'll take him." opening your arms and reaching out to grab the infant. blanket instantly settling within your arms, resting his head onto your shoulder, his cheek squishing adorably against it that has michael bringing a finger to sooth at his other chubby cheek.

however, it's paris that takes some time to fully warm up to you. she still interacted with you, but she never sought you out like how prince would take your hand in his and guide you off somewhere, most likely somewhere with an elaborate toy set up or the makeshift fort he built. or how blanket started to naturally cling to you whenever you were around. but paris seemed to always longingly stare at you whenever you interacted with her brothers. you always tried to include her, making the space for her to join in welcome as you remember michael telling you that paris is interested in whatever prince has.

you didn't take it personally, you figured it would take time since during the first meeting she had clung to michael's leg, using it to hide and peek from as she'd like. and you related to her, being a shy yourself during childhood, knowing that within time and gentleness that she will hopefully get more comfortable around you.

and that she did. a few weeks into caring for them it was quiet time. blanket was down for afternoon nap and this was the time where you'd put on a movie for the kids, usually a disney one and they could choose from watching the movie, a quiet activity, or to take a nap as well. prince had insisted on watching tarzan just end up curled asleep on the couch before jane and tarzan even meet, while paris chose to do a quiet activity of coloring.

taking this time you'd often journal in the very same dark green journal about anything and everything, a habit you carried for middle school, through high school, through college, and now through adulthood. you used to journal right before bed when you were younger, but the hours of being a nanny are from the start of the morning to the end of night, so you often opt for any free time you have to do so.

"wha's that?" a small voice asks.

feeling startled you look you see paris standing in front of you, trying to peer into the journal on your lap, "oh, it's just my journal," you respond, showing her the outside of the cover that's a little worn at the edges and the inside of the lined pages where you write.

her eyes sparkle with curiosity as you show the journal off, "is it for coloring?"

you're eyebrows furrow as you look at it, flipping through its ages, "it can be," you don't see why it couldn't be, "but i use it to write."

it's then that paris moves from in front of you to now sit squished against your side, "'nd write what?"

the question makes you smile, remembering how michael and her were sat at the dinning table just being dinner with sheets of blank paper and different colored crayons as she practiced writing her name. "i write anything," you begin, moving the journal from your lap into hers and allowing her to flip through the pages, "mainly about how i'm feeling."

"oh," it comes out quiet, like she's thinking about something.

and as you watch her an idea comes to mind, "y'know, i could get you a journal like mine."

your words instantly has paris's head turning to look at you, eyes wide like saucers, "really?" she exclaims.

chuckling at her excitement and the fact that she's still at the age where r's still sound like w's as you nod, "really, and we could practice your writing in it too," you solidify.

that's when paris's arms shoot and wrap around your torso, hugging you and squeezing her eyes shut, "than' you."

the moment tugs at your heart, wrapping your arms around to embrace her, "you're welcome, sweet girl."

and when you left that night you returned the next morning with baby pink journal, a few pack of stickers, and a glitter pen set.

it's truly fate on how well you and michael work together. falling into an easy rhythm within no time between the two of you and the children. you'd arrive at neverland every morning at 6, which gives you just enough time to say your hello's to the rest of the staff around the house before the children need to be woken up. you've developed routine of swigging by the kitchen to see what the chef is cooking for breakfast and snag a small bite of whatever is available, usually fruit when the chef's back is turned. and more times than not it leaves you and michael enough time to do a debrief of what the day entails, which is something that isn't really needed since you stay a little later on sunday nights to go over the next week, but still happens regardless. and through time it developed from that, figuring which one was going to wake which child up to random small talk, you're often the person who catches michael up on whatever sitcom show is airing on tv while he's tells you something from the news.

just outside the kid's bedrooms michael and you play rock paper scissors, the both of you hitting your open palms with your first as you whisper the words. and when you go for your safety, the reliable rock, while michael just had to go for paper you groan, throwing your head back.

looking back at him he's grinning at the way your shoulders are slightly slouched, "out of three?" you attempt, wiggling your eyebrows at the father.

an airy chuckle passes from his lips, "i've woken the lil' dragon everyday this week, by time i've gotten to wake the princess."

you and michael started referring to prince as little dragon when it comes to waking him up in the morning. he's stubborn, and it's hard to get the boy up and out of bed without persistent gentle pats and rubs to the head or back and encouraging words. you two try to hold off on turning the lights on in the kids room to get the up, finding it too abrupt, so more times than not the only light is either from the hallway or the raising sun through the curtains. while little miss paris is a dream to wake up, all it takes is a warm hand circling her back that gets her up and stretching in bed.

everyone knows that michael captures everything when it comes to his kids. from home videos, sports events, recital, anything, he finds it worthy of being caught on film.

and that includes the hard days. blanket had come down with cold that had only made abnormally fussy, and you would be lying if you said you weren't relieved when michael returned home. because entertaining prince and paris while maintaining blanket's symptoms and staying on top of his doses and still making sure that the two old kids don't get too close to blanket as siblings do so they don't fall sick as well.

michael took over for the evening essentially, he was with blanket for a little bit before you thought about how if anyone can get sick from being in close proximity to blanket it should probably be you, so you two swapped while he wore down the older kids and got them settled for the night.

while he was handling bath and bed time you were able to give blanket some purée that michael request the chef to make in batches and a bottle along with a night dose of medication. and instead of retreating back to couch that you've been on for most of the day, you retreated to blanket's nursery. sighing when you're tired body hits the rocking chair, instantly getting into the subconscious movement of rocking the infant to sleep. and in doing so you're own eyelids get heavy with each blink.

unknowingly michael had been looking for you after putting both prince and paris to bed. it takes him returning to the hallway where the kid's rooms reside to notice you and blanket in the rocker, watching the gentle movements of the rubs you're giving blanket's back. he doesn't fully know how to process how or what he's thinking, and to be honest michael hasn't been able to form a full solid opinion on you since the day you met. not that that's bad, you just seem too good to be true, and the way at which you deeply care for his children only confuses him more. knowing what it means for them to reach their development milestones along with ensuring that they are healthily expressing themselves both identity wise and emotionally. and it doesn't help that you're smart, one of the old family you nannied for during high school being generous enough to fund you going to school for psychology, and beautiful, your go to outfit being jeans with either a loose t-shirt or sweater it's effortless but pull it off too well and often more times than not you opt to have your curls up and away from blanket's strong grip.

and he knows it isn't right to develop a crush? or a deep admiration for his nanny, it gets in the way of you being able to do you job and it gets in the way of michael being able to form coherent thoughts around you, not to mention that he's twenty years your senior. he's kept it at bay since you started working, but he can't help but have the reason of why you split with your previous family you worked for loom over her head, the reason being that the kids you cared for just got too old for a nanny, entering adolescence. and although it was a mutual decision between you and the family, he doesn't think he could ever come to the conclusion that him and his children won't need you.

pulling himself out of his thoughts he retreats and returns with his camcorder. catching the sweet moment as a forever memory, just in case there is every a time you decide to leave, maybe to leave to pursue further education (although michael would happily fund it and keep you employed at the same time) or to start your own family (which he secretly dreads), for the kids to have moments they can look back on with you in them.

you who start staying later than you need to. masking it in the disguise of wanting to help michael with whatever chore is left, which is true, but you also selfishly enjoy the alone time with michael. the nights where you stay and help pick up toys and put them back and arrange them, which sometimes turn into small fights between you and michael when either one of you throw a stuffed animal at each other and quickly turn your backs before the other turns around. or the quieter nights spent listening to the jazz station on the radio as michael washes the dishes while you dry them. it's chores that you and michael really don't have to do, he has cleaners.

prince can pursued anyone, including his father and you. which is exactly how sleepovers became a special occasion.

the hard bargaining wasn't even getting his father to say yes, it was michael having to tell blanket that you may have something you'd want to do for yourself or with friends instead of having a sleepover with them.

which was a hard pill to swallow for both, but prince still being young ran from his father and straight to you. collapsing into you arms with tears brimming in his eyes, "please have a sleepover with us," his small voice messing up the pronouncement of a few words from pushing his face into your sweater, smoothing a gentle hand through the boy's hair to regulate him.

upon looking up to search for michael, he's already there, a hand on his hip, "he wan's y'to stay 'nd have a sleepover, but i told him that y'may have plans," he explains, walking over and trying to pull the boy from off of you, but he clings to your waist.

looking down at only the peek of blonde hair, you frown then smile, looking back at michael, "'m free friday night so i really don't mind."

"you really don-"

"'s alright, michael. and besides, haven't you been wanting to build that jumbo fort, prince?"

the mention of a fort and his name has prince pulling himself back from where he hides his face against your stomach, hands still crumpled in the material of your sweater. "yeah," it's quiet and meek as he nods his head.

you hand falls from his head down to his rosy cheek to wipe his tears streaks, "then no more cryin', we've get to look forward to friday."

which is exactly how you spent a friday night building the biggest fort you have every built with michael and the kids, the night entailing movies and ice cream and books and flashlight shows.

michael who has selfish thoughts whenever you're around. often during mealtimes when the five of you intertwine hands to bless the food.

he knows it's wrong to fantasize about the five of you being a real family whenever you arrive extra early just because you promised the kids special pancakes.

michael shuffles into the kitchen, expected to see the chef, which he does, but they're off to the side chopping fruits while you're the one at the stove. the sound of your name falling softly from michael's tongue has you looking up.

and he knows he's beyond gone when the wide smile that spreads across your face gives him butterflies, because it shouldn't.

"want a pancake?" you ask, as michael moves closer, turning your head back to pan to pay attention.

"wha' are you doin' this for?" he's close enough to you for you to feel his breath on your neck and for him to smell the faint scent of your perfume mixing with the scent of your hair products.

"for the kids," of course it is he thinks, peering down into the pan to see various sizes of pancake shapes, "gonna turn them into designs, like a monkey or somethin'" you explain, flipping the pancakes once their tops get all bubbly.

and when that's done you turn your head again, as best you can with michael close in your proximity, he might as well be glued to your back. "d'you want a pancake?" asking the father again as the two of you lock eyes.

"yeah, i'll take a pancake."

your head swiftly nods and once again focuses back on the pancakes. hearing shuffles of michael's feet and no longer feeling the presence of his body close to yours, "gonna go wake up the kids for breakfas'."

michael who secretly refers to paris and you as his girls.

all three of his children are blessings, but there was nothing more exciting than to find out he was having a daughter. and now with you in their lives he's thankful to have such a positive and strong woman figure in their lives.

lingering around in the mornings, body pressed against the bathroom doorframe as he watches you do paris's hair for the day as she sits on the bathroom counter. he can do his daughter's hair, but mostly just in simple plates and ponytails, while you can do the more detailed hairstyles.

and he loves nothing more than to come home and notice that the two of you has a dress up day. either by the colorful marks on your face and the precise blends of color on paris's or by paris running into her father's arms right when he steps through the door to show off her nails that you painted while he later notices the messy marks of nail polish on your nails and the surrounding skin at dinner.

michael who keeps a polaroid of you and the kids in his wallet. one taken on blanket's first birthday that he cherishes whenever he's away. often tracing a too large finger over your faces, missing the cheerful chaos of the kids and you no matter he's at a buzzing event or a quiet hotel.

the four of you are all wearing tiny birthday hats for blanket's birthday party. the birthday sits calmly in your lap while michael attempts to direct the old two around.

"no, prince, on her other side," his voice already defeated as the young boy keeps wanting to pose his own way.

"i wanna d'it like this though," prince pouts, moving to stand right behind where you sit on the floor and throw his small arms over your neck and hook his chin over your shoulder.

"let him be," you muse through a small grin that you shoot michael, the two of you know that prince is going to win the battle either way.

"okay, paris," just when he starts paris settles against your side, removing a secure hand around blanket's belly and using it to wrap around paris and pull he snug under your arm, "good, good," clicking his fingers together to get blanket's attention facing forward.

"everyone say happy first birthday, blanket."

and when it's said and the four of you are all smiling at the end, there's a click, that encases the memory forever.

© yearlyjams , a reposted work from my archived blog

⠀⠀ 𝒾.⠀ 𓂅 ⠀·⠀⠀⠀　𝒕𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⠀ : @ebvnydesires @cherisboring @smoothcriminalgf @princesspluuto @curlypytclubx @tinydreamerpillar @thelittletobsterthatcould @itsnaikou @mikedotorg @sugacor3 @blkkbratt @dottedseven @kitten-bell @looenx @siighrns @watamotee33 @ifthistown @king-mila @loveposiie @ghazalbambi @angelxcs @kynswrldd 𐔌 to be added to the taglist , comment under this post or fill up the form ꒱

[rosees3ray]

reblog if it's okay for your mutuals to message you and create an actual friendship, not just interactions

[ridingreeves]

I’ll give him something good oml

[ridingreeves]

OMFG tumblr is playing like why is everything I post flagged or it gets low likes FNG

[pimpcessing]

hi everyone. i know ive been gone and i have good reasons.. recently my baby boy lucky has gotten sick and i need help. he means everything to me, me doing this is my last option and i don't want anyone to feel pressured into helping.

everything donated will be used towards getting lucky all the help needed !

Donate to Support for Lucky's Vet Bills and Recovery, organized by solina w

hi! most of you know me but if we haven't had the chance, i am solina! my friend… solina w needs your support for Support for Lucky's Vet

[ridingreeves]

He would’ve put a retaining order out on me idc

[ridingreeves]

─── ʜɪꜱ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴅ

⤷ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʙꜰ!ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ x ᴛʀɪꜰʟɪɴɢ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⤷ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʙꜰ!ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴘ

Elijah's hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he thrust into her, his dick filling her completely.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he groaned, his eyes locked onto hers. "You're so goddamn tight, baby.

Your boyfriend doesn't know what he's missing." She moaned, her body arching to meet his thrusts.

"That's right," he said, his tone praising .

"Take my dick, baby. Show me how much you can handle." She whined, her body trembling as she came, her pussy clamping down around him.

Elijah smirked, his body moving with a relentless rhythm. "That's it, baby," he said, his voice a dark promise. "Come all over my dick.” Show me what a dirty little slut you are.” Your boyfriend could never make you feel like this."

She whimpered, her body tensing as she came again, her nails digging into his back. Elijah just chuckled, his thrust slowing down .

"You're fucking incredible," he said, breathless. "Now, come ride your dick mama ."

⤷ ᴛʀɪꜰʟɪɴɢ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴘ

His huge hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as she rides him, his dick buried deep inside her.

She moaned, her head thrown back, her eyes closed.

But Elijah didn't want her to forget who was fucking her, who was making her come. "Look at me," he growled, his voice commanding.

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze. "That's right," he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Look at me while I fuck you.

While I make you come all over your boyfriend's side of the bed."

She whimpered, her body tensing as he hit that sweet spot inside her. "That's good ," he cooed, his voice a taunting whisper.

"Scream my name, let him hear you.

Let him know who's fucking you now."

She cried out, her body trembling as she came, her nails digging into his chest.

Elijah groaned. "That's right, baby," he said, his voice low. "Come for me. Come all over your boyfriend's sheets. Let daddy hear his pussy come again."

ɪ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴅɪᴅ ʙᴏᴛʜ ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴄʀᴀᴢʏ ʜᴏᴡ ɪ’ᴍ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ 19🌝 ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ ɪꜱ ᴏɴ ᴀ ᴍᴏɴᴅᴀʏ🙁

ᴏᴋᴀʏ ʙʏᴇ….,🤓

[ridingreeves]

──── ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʙꜰ!ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ

⤷ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʙꜰ!ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ.

Despite your protests, Soon-to-be Boyfriend Smoke continued to shower you with gifts - expensive perfume, designer clothes, jewelry. He'd leave them on your doorstep, or send them to your job, each one. accompanied by a note that read, "Because you deserve better." He'd call you, his voice smooth and deep, asking if you liked the gifts, but never acknowledging the boyfriend who answered your phone.

⤷ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʙꜰ!ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ.

He'd send you texts, late at night, filled with sweet nothings and promises of more, his disregard for your relationship blatant as the red 'Delivered' notifications on your screen. Yet, you found yourself saving his messages, opening the gifts, and wearing the perfume - a heady mix of vanilla and amber that seemed to whisper his name every time you moved.

⤷ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʙꜰ!ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ.

Smoke, that wicked man, reveled in the game of cat and mouse, his touches always a fraction too low, his hands lingering a moment too long. He'd hug you, his hand splayed across your back, his fingers dipping dangerously close to your ass. He'd help you reach something, his hands on your waist, pulling you back against him, his breath hot on your neck. Each touch was a taunt, a silent "I can have her anytime I want," a challenge thrown at your boyfriend, daring him to react.

⤷ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʙꜰ!ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ.

After a heated argument, your boyfriend stormed out, leaving you in tears. It was then that Smoke chose to make his move, appearing at your door like a dark specter. He found you curled up on your boyfriend's side of the bed, your heart aching, your eyes red. He didn't say a word, just climbed onto the bed, his hands gentle as he pulled you into his lap. He kissed your tears away, his touch soothing, his voice a low rumble as he whispered, "He doesn't deserve you, prettygirl. Let me show you what a real man can do."

⤷ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʙꜰ!ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ.

He laid you back on the bed, his body covering yours, his hands everywhere exploring every inch of you. He took you slowly, his thrusts measured, his touch tender, a stark contrast to the argument that just happened . He made love to you on your boyfriend's side of the bed, his groans of pleasure filling the room, his name on your lips as you found your climax . It was a claiming, a declaration, a fuck you to your boyfriend.

ᴘʟᴀʏʟɪꜱᴛ

ɪɴꜱᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ @pimpcessing

ᴀ/ɴ: ɪ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ ᴀ 'ᴛʀɪꜰʟɪɴɢ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ' ɴᴇxᴛ, ᴀꜱ ɪᴛ ᴛɪᴇꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʙꜰ!ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ.

[ridingreeves]

→ ᴇʟɪᴊᴀʜꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ

⤷ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ

ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ʙɪɢ ᴘᴀ ꜱɴᴇᴀᴋ ᴘᴇᴀᴋ ᴏꜰ 'ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟᴀꜱᴛ' ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ

ᴘᴜɴɪꜱʜᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ᴅᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ᴊᴇᴏᴘᴀʀᴅʏ ᴠɪꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʟᴅᴇʀʙꜰꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ ᴄʜᴇᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴄʜᴇᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴄᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴇᴀᴍʙꜰ ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙ ᴡᴏʀᴅ

ᴀɴɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴀʀʏ

ᴘᴇʀᴋꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀ ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ ʙᴀʙʏ

ᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴀɴ

ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ɢᴏɴ ᴅᴏ ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ

ɪɴ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ɢᴏɴ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ɢᴏɴ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ɢᴏɴ ᴅᴏ ᴍᴏᴏᴅ ʙᴏᴀʀᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ɢᴏɴ ᴅᴏ

ᴛᴇxᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ɢᴏɴ ᴅᴏ

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ

ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴏꜰꜰ ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ "ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ɢᴏɴ ᴅᴏ"

→ ᴇʟɪᴀꜱꜱᴛᴀᴄᴋᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ

⤷ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ

ɢᴏᴏᴅʙʏᴇ

ʜᴇ ᴀɪɴ'ᴛ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴀ ᴋɴᴏᴡ

ᴘᴇʀᴋꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀ ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ ʙᴀʙʏ

ᴄᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ᴏʟᴅᴇʀʙꜰꜱᴛᴀᴄᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ʙ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ

ᴍᴇᴀɴʙꜰꜱʀᴀᴄᴋ ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ʟɪɴᴋꜱ

ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴏʟᴅᴇʀʙꜰꜱᴛᴀᴄᴋ

→ ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴡɪᴄᴋ

⤷ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ

ᴘᴇʀᴋꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀ ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ ʙᴀʙʏ ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ ʙᴀʙʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ʟɪɴᴋꜱ

ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴡɪᴄᴋ

→ ꜰʀᴀɴᴋ ᴄᴀꜱᴛʟᴇ

⤷ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜰʀᴀɴᴋ ᴄᴀꜱᴛʟᴇ ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ʟɪɴᴋꜱ

→ ᴍᴀɴɴʏ ᴄᴀꜱᴛɪʟʟᴏ

⤷ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ

ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴅᴀʏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ʟɪɴᴋꜱ

[ridingreeves]

Wedding night

Pairing-Elijah*Smoke*MoorexBlack reader

Summary-you and Elijah after your wedding

A/N-i think I’m losing my touch to be fair but this is something while i work on my judge thing🌝

Warnings-second hand embarrassment(do not try this at home!!!!!)

The door of the hotel shut behind you, quieting the world outside. You, the resplendent bride, and Smoke, your dark, brooding groom, were finally alone. The air between you is thick with unspoken promises and pent-up desires, a symphony of anticipation echoing through the dimly lit room.

Smoke, a man of few words and even fewer smiles, had been your secret obsession since you first laid eyes on him. His name was no mere moniker; it was a testament to his mysterious allure, a smoldering ember hidden beneath an icy exterior, burning hot and fierce. And tonight, he was all yours.

He turned to face you, his eyes reflecting the dance of the flickering candles. His voice, a low, gravelly rumble, broke the silence, "You look...good, Mrs Moore." A smirk played on his lips, the first crack in his stoic facade. You felt a shiver run down your spine, a delicious thrill at the promise in his words.

"You're not so bad yourself, Mr Moore," you replied, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. You looked him up and down, taking in the tailored suit that hugged his muscular frame, his short cut waves, and his grown-out beard. He was a vision of rugged, tamed masculinity, and you couldn't wait to mark him as yours.

Smoke stepped closer. He stopped inches away, his eyes never leaving yours. You could feel the heat radiating from his body. He reached up, his calloused fingers brushing against your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The simple touch sent a jolt through you, a spark igniting the kindling of your desire.

"I've waited long enough, mama," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "I want to see what's mine. Baby."

A thrill ran through you at his words, at the possessiveness in his tone. You felt your cheeks blush, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. You reached up, your fingers fumbling slightly as you began to unbutton your wedding gown. Smoke's eyes followed your movements, his gaze intense, hungry.

He didn't wait for you to finish. With a growl, he stepped closer, his hands joining yours. Together, you pushed the dress off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet, leaving you standing in nothing but your lacy lingerie and heels. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but the heat in Smoke's eyes, the raw, primal hunger, made you feel powerful, desired.

"You're beautiful," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. It was the first time you'd heard him use that word, and it sent a shiver down your spine. He reached out, his fingers tracing the edge of your lace bra, his knuckles brushing against your nipple. You gasped, your back arching at the contact.

Smoke smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. He knew the effect he had on you, the power he held. And he loved it. His hands moved to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you against him. You could feel his hard dick against you, a promise of the pleasure to come.

He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. His tongue in your mouth, claiming you, tasting you. You moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders, as he deepened the kiss, his mouth moving against yours with hunger.

His hands moved to your back, unhooking your bra with ease. He broke the kiss, his eyes locked onto yours as he pulled the lace away, baring your breasts to him. He groaned, his eyes darkening with desire. "Fuck, you're perfect," he growled, his hands reaching up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing against your nipples.

You gasped, your head falling back, exposing your neck to him. He took the invitation, his lips trailing down your throat, his tongue tasting your skin. His hands moved to your ass, lifting you up, pressing you against the wall. You wrapped your legs around him, your heels digging into his back, holding on as he grinds against you, his hard dick rubbing against your aching pussy.

"Smoke," you gasped, you hold the back of his head. He chuckled, a low, dangerous sound, his teeth nipping at your skin. "Patience, baby," he murmured, his hands moving between your thighs, pushing your panties aside. "I wanna take my time with you."

He slid a finger inside you, his thumb rubbing against your clit. You moaned, your hips bucking against him, riding his hand. He added another finger, his pace steady, his thumb never relenting. You could feel the pleasure building inside your stomach, ready to release.

"Not yet," he murmured, his voice a rough command. "Not until I tell you to."

You bit your lip, your nails digging into his shoulders, trying to hold back. He smirked, knowing the struggle he was putting you through. He leaned down, his thick lips kissing yours again, his tongue pushing in your mouth, his fingers never stopping their relentless pace.

He broke the kiss, his eyes locked onto yours. "Now," he growled, his fingers curling inside you, pressing against that spot that made your toes curl. You moaned out, your body quivering as the pleasure crashed over you, wave after wave of ecstasy coursing through you.

Smoke watched you, his eyes dark with desire, a smug smile on his lips. "Good girl," he murmured, his fingers slowing, drawing out your orgasm. "But we're just getting started."

He lowered you on the bed, his hands moving to his belt. You watched, your eyes wide, as he undid his pants, freeing his hard dick. He was long, thick, and leaking. He stepped closer, his hands gripping your hips, lifting you again. You wrapped your legs around him, your eyes locked onto his as he positioned himself at your hole.

"You're mine," he growled, his eyes never leaving yours. "Tell me."

"I'm yours," you replied, your voice steady, your gaze unwavering. He smirked, a challenge in his eyes. You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear. "Fuck me, Mr Moore," you whispered, your voice quiet and breathless.

He groaned, his hands tightening on your hips. He slowly pushed inside you, filling you, inch by inch. You gasped, your head falling back on the pillow, your nails digging into his back. He began to move, his pace steady, his thrusts deep and slow. You could feel every inch of him, stretching you, filling you, claiming you.

"Fuck, you feel good," he growled, his voice a low rumble. His hands moved to your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh as he lifted you, changing the angle, going even deeper. You moaned, your body moving up as he thrust, he holds you there, making you take him deeper.

He leaned down, his lips on yours in a sloppy kiss. His tongue in your mouth, his pace never slowing, his thrusts never breaking. You could feel the pleasure building inside your lower stomach, a feeling ready to snap. You broke the kiss, your head falling back, your breath coming in short gasps.

"Smoke," you gasped, your legs quivering, your orgasm approaching. "I'm... I'm going to..."

"Come for me, baby," he growled, his voice a low command. "Come on papas dick."

His words sent you over the edge. You cried out, your body shaking as your orgasm hit you, even more intense than before. Smoke groaned, his body tensing as he followed you over the edge, his release filling you, marking you as his.

He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath coming in short gasps. "Fuck, baby," he murmured, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. "You're incredible."

You smiled, your fingers rubbing his face, holding him to you. "You're not so bad yourself, Papa," you replied, your voice soft, satisfied. And as you lay there, still skin to skin, your hearts beating as one, you knew that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of passion, of pleasure, of unending desire. For tonight, you were Smoke's, and he was yours. And that was all that mattered.

[ridingreeves]

You don’t understand how much I love them

@sintizc

[ridingreeves]

Okay new idea the reader is a lawyer/federal judge and the only reason she’s a lawyer/federal judge is due to her lover being in prison for life or whatever but she dates around BUT…. he’s a drug pin with other stuff on the side so whatever she’s doing he knows about but one day she comes home and he’s on her couch

So how do we feel about that🌝

Which brother

Smoke

Stack

Voting ended onMay 14

[ridingreeves]

[ridingreeves]

𝖡𝗂𝗀 𝗉𝖺

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－𝖤𝗅𝗂𝗃𝖺𝗁*𝖲𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾*𝖬𝗈𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗑𝖡𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒－straight nasty

𝖠／𝖭－ 𝖧𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎．．．𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗎𝗉𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾？？？？？

Video(ignore caption)

She always knew Smoke had a switch in him.

Most days, he carried himself like nothing could shake him—quiet, steady, the type of man who didn’t waste words because he didn’t have to. People listened anyway.

She usually did too.

Usually.

But tonight, something in her just wouldn’t sit still. Maybe it was the way he’d been brushing her off earlier, barely reacting to her running your mouth. Maybe she just wanted attention. Either way… she pushed.

And pushed.

And pushed.

“You act like you ain’t hear me,” she muttered, leaning against the wall with her arms folded.

“I heard you,” he said calmly from across the room, not even looking up at first.

That made it worse.

“Then why you acting like it don’t matter?”

That’s when his eyes lifted.

Slowly.

And there it was—that shift.

Not loud. Just… different.

“You just don’t know when to stop, do you?” His voice stayed even, but it carried weight now.

She rolled your eyes, like that didn’t do anything to her. Like her stomach didn’t just tighten a little.

“I said what I said.”

Silence.

Then he stood up.

The air changed.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t storm over. Just walked toward you with that same steady pace, and somehow that made it worse. Made your heartbeat pick up in a way you refused to acknowledge.

“Say it again,” he said, stopping right in front of you.

Her chin tilted up, stubborn. “You heard me the first—”

Her words cut off when his hand gripped her chin.

Not rough.

But firm enough that it meant something.

“Smoke—”

“Come on.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a shout.

But it wasn’t a suggestion either.

Before she could decide if she was going to fight it, he was already guiding her back toward the couch. Each step felt slower than it should’ve, like her body was suddenly too aware of everything—his grip, his presence, the way he wasn’t letting go.

“Still got something to say?” he asked, sitting down and pulling her with him in one smooth motion.

She barely had time to react before she was on his lap, her knees on either side of him, her hands instinctively landing on his shoulders to steady herself.

The position alone knocked the edge off her attitude.

“You real bold over there,” he murmured, his hands settling on your hips like they belonged there. “But now you quiet.”

“I’m not quiet,” she shot back, even though her voice didn’t sound the same.

His thumbs pressed lightly into her hips, just enough pressure to ground her—just enough to remind her exactly where you were.

“Yeah?” His head tilted slightly. “Then why you breathing like that?”

she hadn’t even noticed.

Now she couldn’t ignore it.

“I’m not—” she started, but her words faltered when his grip tightened just a little, pulling her down more firmly against him.

her breath hitched.

There it was.

That reaction she didn’t want to give him.

His eyes darkened just slightly, catching it.

“That’s what I thought,” he said quietly.

She tried to push back, to hold onto whatever attitude she had left. “You doing too much.”

“Or you just not used to a nigga checking you?” he countered, calm as ever.

Her hands tightened on his shoulders, fingers curling into his shirt. She hated how steady he was. How in control he stayed while she felt like she was slipping just a little.

“I don’t need you to check me,” she muttered.

His hand slid up her side, slow, deliberate, before settling on her lower back.

“You sure about that?” he asked, leaning in just enough that his voice dropped lower, closer.

The warmth of his breath brushed her skin, and her body reacted before her pride could catch up.

She shifted slightly—just trying to get comfortable, she told herself.

His hand immediately adjusted, holding you in place.

“Don’t start moving now,” he warned softly. “You weren't moving like that a minute ago.”

Her lips pressed together.

He noticed everything.

“That mouth get real quiet when I get you like this,” he added, almost like he was thinking out loud.

“I’m not quiet,” she repeated, weaker this time.

“Then say something smart.”

She opened her mouth—

Nothing came out.

Because now all she could focus on was the way his hands were moving again. Not rushed. Not grabbing. Just slow, controlled, like he had all the time in the world to let this build.

Her breathing gave her away before she could say anything else.

“Yeah,” he murmured, watching your face closely. “That’s what I thought.”

She looked at him, really looked this time, and there was no teasing in his expression. No rush either. Just that same quiet control that made everything feel heavier than it should’ve.

“You like acting up,” he said, voice low. “But you know exactly what you doing.”

She swallowed, her fingers tightening slightly against his shoulders.

“And you know exactly how this ends,” he added.

Her attitude had slipped somewhere along the way, replaced with something softer. Something quieter.

But not weak.

Just… aware.

“I wasn’t even doing that much,” she muttered, though it barely sounded convincing now.

One of his brows lifted slightly.

“No?” His grip tightened just enough to make her breath catch again. “So this don’t got nothing to do with me?”

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because now the tension sitting between them wasn’t just about the argument anymore. It was something else entirely—something heavier, slower, pulling tighter the longer she stayed right there on his lap.

His gaze dropped to her  lips for a second, then back to her eyes.

“You done?” he asked quietly.

Her voice came out softer than before.

“…yeah.”

A pause.

Then his hand slid up her back again, slower this time, less about holding her in place and more about keeping you there.

“Good,” he said.

But he didn’t move her.

Didn’t let her go.

Just kept her right there, like he wasn’t in any rush to end it either.

And the worst part?

She didn’t want him to.

𝖶𝖤𝖤𝖪 𝖫𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖱

(𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂 𝗐𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗇𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆𝗌)

"All fuckin' day, you've been pushin' buttons, mama," he says, his voice gravelly and low, laced with the edge of a man who's on his last nerve . He steps in front of her, his footsteps quiet on the carpet, closing the distance in three long steps. Before she can say something disrespectful, his rough hand wraps around her wrist, yanking her up. He bends her over his lap, her belly pressing into his thighs. Her short skirt comes up immediately, bunching around her waist and showing him her lace panties.

She twists, trying to wriggle free, but his other arm comes across her lower back , pinning her in place. He grunts as he slides you up a bit. "Think you can mouth off to me? Acting like a nigga won´t put you in your place?" He says, making her feel hot all over. He rubs her ass , taunting her or getting her ready, then his hand comes down, smacking her on her ass. It stings, making her yelp, her fingers digging into the couch cushion.

He doesn't give her time to recover. Another slap lands on the left, harder, the impact making her ass turn red. "That's for the attitude at breakfast," he says,  each word coming with a smack—smack, smack—alternating sides. Her thighs press together instinctively, but the growing ache between them betrays her, a slick warmth starting to pool between her thighs. She bites her lip, stifling a whimper, but he hears it anyway "you like that, hm? Ms nasty  gettin' wet from a spankin'?"

By the fifth hit, her ass is red, each new slap  burns her eyes watering. She buck against him, half protest, half plea, but he just tightens his grip on her hip, holding her steady as he delivers two—smack, smack—right where her thighs meet her ass. The pain twists into something hotter, needier, her pussy clenching around nothing as she soaks through her lace panties. "Pa, please—" she whimpers, voice cracking, but he silences her with a firmer swat, his fingers splaying wide to cover more area, his hands rough against her tender skin.

"Please what? You gon apologize for bein' a bad girl hm?" He asks, tilting his head, his hand rubbing slow, circles over her red ass, kneading the soreness in a way that makes her arch into it despite yourself. But mercy's not his style tonight. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pulls  them down her legs, the lace catching her knees before coming down to her ankles. She's fully exposed, her wet pussy glistening in the low light, ass cheeks marked with his handprints.

He exhales a low curse, his fingers tracing the evidence of his work before dipping lower. "Fuck, look at this pussy. Drippin' for big pa." His fingers part her  lips, sliding through her wetness to circle her swollen clit with agonizing slowness.  She whines,her ass pushing back against his hamd  for more, but he pulls away just as she  starts to grind against his hand. He slapped her inner thigh. Making her yelp "Not yet, baby. You gotta earn it." He manhandles her then, flipping her onto her back, her head on the arm of the couch. Her  legs spread open as he kneels between them on the floor, shoving her skirt higher until it's out his way. His hands grip her thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he forces them apart, exposing her pussy to his hungry gaze. His grills showing as he smirks,he leaning close enough for her to feel his nose on her clit.

"Beg for it. Tell me you're sorry for runnin' that mouth." His tongue licks her clit, flat and broad, licking a long stripe from her slit to her clit to her hole. His tongue makes her hips buck,but he pins her hips down with his large hand. "Words, mama'. Don't make pa ask twice."

"I'm sorry, pa," she whimpered, the words tumbling out as his tongue flicks  again, his lips sealing around her clit and sucking with just enough pressure to make her toes curl. Pleasure coils tight in her belly, but he nibbles at her sensitive clit, a sharp reminder of his control, before flicking his tongue inside her. He fucks her with it,  curling it to the right angle,  his free hand squeezed her ass.

She rides his face, her hands holding his head, gripping tightly as she moans his name. He growls against her pussy, the vibration humming on her pussy, he adds a finger—then two—stretching her  walls as he sucks at her clit. She can feel the tightness in her belly, her breaths coming in ragged pants. "Fuck, pa... please, I need—"

He pulls away quickly, licking his lips, his eyes filled  with lust and anger. "You need to remember who owns this pussy," he says, his voice  rough as he unties his sweatpants. The sweats drop, and he shoves his boxers to his knees, his dick hitting his stomach —thick, veined, the head already leaking pre-cum. He wraps a fist around it, stroking once, twice, watching her squirm. "Spread wider. Show me how bad you want pa dick."

She listened, hooking her knees over the couch cushions, baring herself completely. He rubbed his fat head against her hole, teasing her clit with slow rubs before pushing into her slowly. He stretches her, her pussy clenching around his fat dick as he bottoms out, balls pressed against her ass. "That's it—take it like the good girl you can be," he grunts, pulling back only to thrust  in again, harder, the couch moving slightly due to his thrust.

He sets a fast pace,  his hips snapping forward as he plunges himself in her. Each thrust hits deep, his dick dragging against her walls, his fat tip hitting that perfect spot inside. she cries out, her nails digging in his back, leaving red welts  on his chocolate,inked skin. He holds her face with his hand, looking into her eyes as he fuck her, his weight pressing her into the leather. "Say it—tell me this pussy mine. No more actin' up."

"Yours! I'm yours, Pa—oh my goodness" She silently screams as he angles his hips, pounding harder, his free hand sliding between their bodies rubbing her swollen clit. Sweat slicks her skin where they connect, the wet sounds of him fucking her filling the room alongside his groans and her moans. He lets her face go to grab herthroat—not choking, just holding, thumb stroking your pulse as he watches her face twist every time he thrust into her .

The pressure builds, her orgasm comes hard, her pussy fluttering and squeezing him in rhythmic pulses. She screams his name, back arching off the couch as her eyes roll back. He doesn't stop, pushing  her through it, his thrusts turning erratic as he chases his own nut. "Gonna fill you up—mark my pussy so you know who it is," he snarls, bottoming out inside her deep one last time. His dick throbs, hot cum flooding her pussy spilling out of  him as he grinds against her oversensitive pussy.

Finally done, he lays on top of her his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing heavily. He pulls out slowly, watching his nut drip from her pussy with a satisfied smirk, then pulls her against his chest. His arms wrap around her, one hand gently massaging the lingering ache in your ass while he presses a kiss to her neck. "That's my girl. No more bullshit tomorrow, hm?" His voice softens just a bit, the edge of dominance giving way to that rare tenderness he saves for you.

But as she is on him, the throb between her legs whispers a promise: next time she pushes, it'll be even rougher. And deep down, she knows she'll crave it just the same.

[ridingreeves]

Happy black history month my queens and kings

[ridingreeves]

𝖲𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝗈𝖿 “𝖥𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍“

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－𝖲𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝖬𝗈𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗑 𝖡𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒－Smoke and the reader love each other very much, but time shows that they are trapped in an agonizing cycle. The reader holds on as long as she can; Smoke knows he can’t keep giving. They say their goodbyes while still caring for each other, understanding that not all love is meant to be.

𝖠／𝖭－ 𝖨'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗂 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗀𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗂 𝗋𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝖻𝗁

You loved Smoke like it was a sickness.

Like something that lived in your bloodstream, something you needed even when it burned on the way down. Every time he pulled you close, every time he kissed your forehead like he didn’t know how else to love you, it felt dangerous and perfect all at once.

“Like I was on dope for us, baby.”

You were addicted to the way he said your name when nobody else was around. To the nights where the city was loud but his room was quiet, just the two of you breathing the same air.

You chased it.

That feeling.

That version of him.

“Chasin’ after a high that I’ll never get back again.”

At the beginning, it was easy. Laughter came naturally. Smoke smiled more back then—real smiles, not the tired half-smirks he wore later. He’d make you laugh until your sides hurt, until you forgot the world he came from.

You thought you’d found forever.

But time doesn’t ask permission when it takes things from you.

𝖲𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗏

I didn’t mean to love you like that.

Didn’t plan on it, didn’t see it coming. One minute you were just there—laughing too loud, looking at me like I wasn’t already halfway gone—and the next you were in my bloodstream.

“Like I was on dope for us, baby.”

That’s what it felt like.

A hit I kept chasing even after I knew it wouldn’t ever feel the same again.

You made me feel clean for a minute. Like the mess I carried didn’t matter when you were curled into my side, tracing old scars you never asked about. I kept trying to get back to that feeling.

“Chasin’ after a high that I’ll never get back again.”

At the start, it was easy. You laughed at my dumb jokes, called me out when I got too quiet. You saw something in me I didn’t see in myself, and that scared the hell out of me.

I should’ve let you go then.

Instead, I stayed.