hellooooo! we’re back with another one of the fics on my checklist. there’s only two left! the poll will be posted later today. enjoy ;)
The New Orleans heat wrapped around you like breathless hands — damp, thick, and relentless. It crawled over your skin and stuck to your clothes, pulling sweat from your pores before you'd even taken three steps from the car. You tugged at the hem of your tank top and pushed your sunglasses higher up the bridge of your nose, the sunlight sharp enough to sting. Your body moved on autopilot, but your mind was still catching up, weighted by the sweltering air and something deeper. Heavier.
Jayme and Wunmi had called you out for lunch after shooting wrapped for the afternoon, swearing you needed to decompress. You’d agreed too easily, distracted and restless. It felt good to laugh with them, to sip lemonade through a straw and pretend your stomach wasn’t in constant knots. You hadn’t even realized what day it was on the call sheet.
Until you turned the corner and saw him.
Stack.
Michael stood across the lot, leaning against a dusty red 1930s truck like he belonged there, like the truck was just another prop waiting for him to give it purpose. The afternoon sun hit the edge of his jaw, casting gold against the deep brown of his skin. Dark slacks clung to thighs you knew too well, that sharp white shirt hugging the broad lines of his chest, sleeves rolled against his strong forearms. His jacket was tossed over one shoulder, casual and effortless. The fedora was tilted just enough to cast shadow over his eyes, but not enough to hide the curve of his smirk.
He was laughing at something Ryan said, the sound carrying across the pavement, the sound smooth and rich like molasses. And when the gold in his teeth flashed with the grin you knew all too well, the one that said he already knew how this story would end, you felt it. A kind of heat bubbling through you that had absolutely nothing to do with Louisiana summer.
Your feet faltered, freezing where you stood.
It wasn’t fair.
Then his head turned. Michael saw you, his spine straightening up from the truck like a slow exhale. One brow lifted, and that smile deepened, touched with something darker.
"Baby girl," he called. Just two words, but the way they landed in your chest made your breath catch. His drawl was thicker than usual, the edge of his Mississippi character slipping into his tone like a slow blade. He nodded once, just his chin, in a quiet command. "Get over here."
Your stomach dropped. Admittedly, you hadn’t thought it through: you’d forgotten that he was filming his Stack takes this afternoon, and his Smoke takes in the evening. Which meant he’d be dressed like this all day. And he’d be nearby. And he’d be watching.
So you turned.
And ran.
Your trainers caught on gravel, slipping slightly as you pivoted hard, heart banging in your chest like it wanted out. You didn’t even think to look back. His voice rang behind you – sharply, steadily – but you tuned it out, focusing only on the path in front of you.
The truth was: you panicked. And you knew better.
But between the outfit and the hair and the voice, you knew you would’ve been dead meat anyway. Whether it’d be by your own hand or otherwise – you knew it would be only a matter of time before Stack ruined you in the best way.
–
The diner was cool and dimly lit, a haze of comfort you couldn’t settle into. The air conditioner hummed above your head, but it did little to quiet the buzzing in your ears. Or the buzzing coming from your phone.
You slid into the booth, breath still shallow, trying to slow your pulse. Wunmi raised an eyebrow as she sipped her iced tea while Jayme’s eyes were scrolling through the menu like nothing was wrong. You timidly placed your phone face-down on the table, hoping they wouldn’t notice the way your hands trembled.
Jayme laughed behind the laminated menu, grinning wide. "You barely made that corner. Thought you were gonna eat pavement."
Wunmi gave you a look from across the table, her eyebrows raising in amusement. "You ran like he was the police."
You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. "I panicked."
"He just looked at you," Wunmi teased, her voice lilting with amusement. "Didn’t even move."
"And spoke," you mumbled. "You heard that drawl. It’s not fair."
Your phone buzzed.
Once. Twice. Then again.
Wunmi didn’t ask permission. She grabbed the phone and flipped it over, her eyes scanning the screen. Her eyebrows shot up.
Jayme leaned over to peek and let out a low whistle.
The texts were short but pointed. Like bullets hitting bone.
You reached for the phone, but Wunmi pulled it back. "Oh, he’s mad mad," she said under her breath.
Another buzz.
You snatched it out of her hand, turned it face-down again, heart hammering against your ribs.
"He’s coming," you said softly.
Jayme raised her glass, "To poor choices and fine men who don’t take disobedience well."
The door opened, the overhead bell ringing with the chime that sent a chill down your spine.
Silence fell across the table.
You didn’t have to turn. You could feel it. It felt like gravity had shifted, like the air itself tilted in his direction.
Michael didn’t rush over. He didn’t need to.
He walked through the diner like a man who knew exactly how dangerous he looked. He was out of costume now: black joggers, white tee, gold chain catching the light like a warning. His eyes found you immediately, and the weight of his stare made your body lock.
He stopped at the booth, looking at you like you were already in his hands. His arms folded in discontent. "You really ran from me?"
His voice was low. Unamused. And entirely focused on you.
You opened your mouth to respond, but your throat tightened. You swallowed. "I-I panicked."
He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. "You left me standing there. In the heat. Talking to my damn self."
Jayme suddenly found her silverware very interesting. Wunmi took another sip of iced tea, pretending not to hear.
Michael didn’t look away. "Mind if I borrow her?"
Wunmi nodded curtly with a small “mhm”. Jayme gave a thumbs-up without looking.
You slid out of the booth on shaky legs. His hand was on your back the second you stood, hot and firm, guiding you a few paces away and out of earshot to any prying ears.
He stopped by the opening to the diner’s kitchen area, turning to face you, and stepping in close enough that his breath was hot against your skin. His voice dropped. "You saw me. I called you. And you ran?"
You nodded. "I-I didn’t know what to do,” you mumbled, your breath stuttered.
Michael tilted his head slightly with a humorless chuckle. "You made me look like a fool."
Your eyes dropped. "I didn’t mean to."
"But you did."
You swallowed hard. "I’m sorry."
His eyes darkened. Not with anger, but with intention. He leaned forward, lips brushing your forehead in a kiss that didn’t soothe in the way they usually do. When he pulled back, his smirk was faint but ever-present.
He pointed to the booth behind you. "Finish your lunch. Then take your ass home."
You blinked, confused.
He brushed past you to leave, mouth close to the shell of your ear. "I gotta finish work," he said, voice low, almost gentle. "But when I get there?"
He let the silence hang like a guillotine.
You nodded. Small. Quiet.
And he walked away, the door’s bell echoing in your head like an alarm.
–
Lunch was a blur after that.
You sat back in the booth pretending your soul hadn’t just left your body. Pretending the texts hadn’t made your thighs clench and your spine buzz like your phone’s vibration. You picked at your fries, nodded along as the girls carried on a completely unrelated conversation, trying to act like you weren’t filled with heat and dread and a sick thrill that curled in your belly when he used that voice to say your name like it was a warning.
Jayme offered you some of her sandwich. Wunmi cracked a joke that normally would’ve had you folded over the table, but your laugh came out too sharp, too late.
But the tension in your limbs wouldn’t ease. When the check came, you didn’t argue – you just pulled out Michael’s black card and paid.
You needed to go. Needed to breathe. Needed to prepare.
You hugged them both, tried to smile, and stepped out into the heat like it wasn’t already swallowing you whole.
When you walked back to the lot, shuffling through the gravel, you saw him. Michael was leaning against your car, still out of costume, still dressed like sin.
The sleeves of his tee clung to his arms, skin damp from the heat. His forearms flexed casually where they were crossed. His eyes didn’t leave you.
You tried not to stumble as you approached, your shoes scuffing softly against the hot pavement. The sun had shifted just enough to glint off the windshield, throwing a flash of light across his jaw. But you weren’t focused on the sun. Or the street. Or anything else.
Michael was still. Way too still. Like a fuse waiting for flame.
Your mouth opened to speak, maybe to apologize again, maybe to say anything that might soften the edge in his stare – but before you could find a single word, he stood upright. His shadow fell over you instantly, his height and heat pressing into your space like a second atmosphere.
He reached behind you, gripped the driver’s door handle, and opened it with one smooth motion. His other hand landed on the roof of the car beside your head, caging you in.
“Go home,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper but it still cut clean through your chest.
You nodded quickly, stepping to the side, but he didn’t let you move.
His eyes swept over your face. Your mouth. The flushed skin at your throat. Then lower. “You hear me now, don’t you?”
You nodded again, throat dry. “Yes.”
“And just so I’m crystal clear,” He leaned in slow, lips brushing just beside your ear, his breath hot and deliberate. His voice dropped even lower, deep enough to rattle your ribs. “You ever run from me again… next time I won’t wait until we get home.”
Your breath caught.
“I’ll fuck you stupid right here in the backseat. In broad daylight. With the windows fogged up and your legs shaking so hard you’ll forget your own name.”
A gasp slipped past your lips before you could stop it, knees buckling just enough to make him smirk. He gripped your chin gently with two fingers, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that you were his.
His lips brushed over yours, slow and soft, then bit your bottom lip. Just once, and just enough to make you gasp again. “Good,” he whispered. “Now go.”
And you did, seating yourself into the car, buckling your seatbelt with trembling hands and clenched thighs, and turning over the ignition. The sound almost – almost – drowned out the sound of your heartbeat in your ears.
Your brain was foggy. With fear, ache, want. But also with the dangerous truth that you were in trouble. And you knew you’d learn to never run again.
Not from him.
Not ever.
–
The hours dragged slowly like wet rope across tile. You couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop checking the clock. You’d showered, changed, then changed again. Tried to eat something but couldn’t.
Everything smelled like him. The seat of your car, your pillow, the air around you.
Your phone hadn’t buzzed once since he walked away.
But when you heard the front door unlock, your body snapped to attention like a live wire. Your breath hitched. Your hands trembled.
The door clicked shut with a soft, final sound. When he entered the house, his footsteps were quiet. Measured. Intentional.
You heard the rustle of his keys hitting the bowl by the door. The subtle tug of fabric as he peeled off his jacket. The faint sigh that escaped him as he finally crossed the threshold.
And then you saw him.
Michael stood in the bedroom’s doorway, framed by the hallway’s dim light, jaw set, shoulders rolled back like he was walking into a fight.
He didn’t speak. Instead, he just looked at you. And honestly…that was way worse.
He moved slowly, coming toward you with the kind of purpose that made your knees lock together. His silence wrapped around your throat like rope. “You ready to explain yourself?” he asked, voice cold.
You opened your mouth but closed it again. “I–” you started, but he held up a single finger.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Your throat closed as you stood frozen in place, heat crawling up your neck.
Michael stalked closer until he was right in front of you, his body crowding your space, his presence stretching thick across your skin. “You ran,” he said. “While I was talking to you. In front of people.”
“I panicked,” you whispered.
He laughed, but it was cruel. “You panicked.”
His hand shot out, gripped your jaw, thumb pressing into the soft space beneath your chin, tilting your face up to his. “You really thought that was gonna fly? That I was just gonna let that shit slide?”
“I didn’t mean–”
“You didn’t think,” he snapped. “That’s what you didn’t do.”
Your eyes welled up, shame and heat burning behind your ribs.
“Strip,” he said, taking a step back, eyes boring into yours.
You froze.
He didn’t move. “Everything. Move.”
You obeyed. Fingers trembling, heart slamming against your ribs, you peeled your clothes away piece by piece until you stood naked under his gaze.
Michael looked you over like he was assessing damage … or, rather, measuring what he was about to destroy. “Turn around, hands on the bed.”
This time, you moved without hesitation. And the second your palms hit the sheets, his hand came down hard across your ass.
You yelped out at the contact.
“Louder,” he growled.
Another slap. Then another.
Your legs buckled, your throat raw from the cry it dragged out of you.
He didn’t speak as he pulled your hips back, forcing you to arch until your spine trembled and your breath came shallow.
“You wanna run?” he snarled. “Let’s see how far you get.”
He thrust two fingers between your embarrassingly soaked folds. “You’re so pathetic,” he muttered, adding another finger and pumping deep, curling them against your G-spot until your knees shook. “Still drippin’ for me after all that?”
You choked on a moan. Tried to answer. Couldn’t.
“You don’t even deserve to cum tonight,” he said. “You deserve to cry.”
He pulled his fingers out, making you whimper at the loss of contact, feeling your hole clench with want. You heard the shuffle of fabric behind you, but you didn’t dare meet his gaze.
He spat nastily on your cunt, lining the mushroom head of his cock at your entrance, thrusting into you so deeply, so fully, you couldn’t help but let out a scream that could’ve cracked open the ceiling.
You clawed at the sheets, back arching, eyes rolling back as he slammed into you over and over, the pace brutal, unforgiving, relentless.
“You mine?” he growled, fingers digging into your hips like vices.
“Yes,” you sobbed with a nod, eyes already fuzzy. “Yes–yes, I’m yours!”
“Say it again.”
“Fuck, I’m yours!”
“Louder.”
“I’M YOURS!”
He grunted in satisfaction, one hand fisting in your hair, yanking you up until your back was pressed to his chest.
“You gonna run again?”
“No–n-no, never–”
“You gonna ignore my calls?”
“No, I swear–”
He wrapped a hand around your throat, squeezing at the pressure point. “You better fuckin’ not.”
You took every snap of his hips. Every sting of his words. Every filthy word he growled into your ear. You took it until you were shaking, until your body betrayed you and started to cum around him even though you knew you weren’t allowed.
You cried out – your throat aching, your voice broken, desperate, apologetic.
He didn’t stop.
He fucked you through the orgasm, through the sobs, through the dizzy tears streaking your face. He flipped you over, pressed your knees to your chest, and went deeper.
You were nothing but sound and motion now. A ragdoll in his hands. A lesson he was making sure stuck.
When he finally came, it was with a snarl against your throat, his hips grinding deep, releasing in hard, punishing waves.
He didn’t pull out right away.
Didn’t loosen his grip on your thighs.
Just breathed. Heavy. Possessive.
Then he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “You feel that?” he grunted angrily. “That ache in your stomach? That burn in your throat? That’s me. That’s what happens when you run.”
You didn’t even register the shift in position until you felt him prop you against the headboard and Michael was kneeling in front of you, eyes dark, jaw locked tight. His hand cradled your jaw firm enough to keep you right where he wanted you.
“Open your mouth.”
Your lips parted automatically, tongue trembling as he tilted his hips forward, dragging the head of his cock along your bottom lip. Still slick. Still hard.
“You think I forgot about that smart-ass mouth?” His thumb tapped your cheek once. “You thought I wasn’t gonna handle that, too?”
You tried to speak. To beg, maybe. But he slid in before you could even get a sound out, the thick weight of him forcing your throat wide, inch by brutal inch.
Tears pricked your eyes but he didn’t pull back. He just held you there, watching you struggle around him, spit already pooling at the corners of your mouth. “Take it,” he growled. “All of it.”
You gagged once, then again. He rocked deeper.
Your hands clutched at his thighs, nails digging into his skin, but he didn’t flinch. He just kept going, letting your throat stretch, making you fight for every breath.
By the time he pulled out, a string of spit connected your mouth to the head of his cock, and your lips were red, swollen, wrecked.
Your chest heaved, voice completely gone now, throat sore.
Michael smiled down at you with a grin that could only be described as devilish. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”
–
Michael didn’t speak again when he finished with you. He just laid you down with a reverence that cut against everything he’d just done, like he hadn’t spent the last hour using your body like a battleground. Like he hadn’t made you break in the best way.
The pillows were still warm, your limbs still trembling. He settled beside you, chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths, his gold chain sticking to his damp skin.
He looked at you like he was still angry, but he touched you like you were breakable.
His palm rested gently against your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth in slow, measured strokes. The sheets were half-draped over your waist, your chest rising in uneven, shuddering inhales.
You blinked up at the ceiling, voice barely audible when it finally came. “…You mad at me?”
His head turned instantly. “What?”
Your throat burned, and your voice was raw – broken glass laced with guilt. “I just… I didn’t know if you were still mad. You didn’t say anything.”
He stared at you a moment longer, then exhaled hard, like the question had knocked the wind out of him. He leaned in slowly, forearm sinking into the mattress as he hovered above you, nose brushing yours. “I was mad,” he said, voice low. “But not because you ran.”
You swallowed, lashes fluttering. His eyes didn’t leave yours.
“I was mad because you forgot who you belong to.”
His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb dragging across the corner of your mouth, wiping away the dried tears and spit from earlier. “You belong to me, baby. And when you run like that? When you look afraid of me? That shit makes me feel crazy.”
Your throat worked around the lump that built there. His voice was calm, but it shook something deep in you. “I wasn’t scared of you,” you whispered.
He nodded, eyes scanning your face like he needed to etch it into memory. “I know that now.”
Then, quieter, almost to himself, “But I needed you to remember what it feels like to be claimed.”
You didn’t answer. But really, you didn’t need to.
He bent down and kissed your shoulder softly. Then your collarbone. Then your temple. “You okay?” he murmured. “Anywhere hurting bad?”
You shook your head, then paused, motioning to your throat with a weak gesture. He chuckled low, the sound rough and unapologetic. “You could’ve tapped out, y’know.”
You gave him a half-smile that barely lasted. “You wouldn’t have let me.”
He hummed and kissed your cheek again. “You’re right. I wouldn’t’ve.”
Then, after a long pause, “You scared me today.”
You blinked. “I did?”
He nodded, brushing a thumb along your damp hairline. “You ran so fast. Thought somethin’ was wrong. Thought maybe I crossed a line somewhere.”
Your chest squeezed. “I just… I got overwhelmed. Seeing you like that. Dressed like him. Sounding like him. I knew what was coming.”
His jaw flexed.
“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I just… I didn’t know if I could take it.”
“But you took all of it,” he said, voice low with pride. “Every fuckin’ bit. And you're still here.”
You blinked slowly, vision blurring.
He kissed your forehead, then got up briefly. When he returned, it was with a damp washcloth and a bottle of water. “Drink,” he ordered gently, propping you up with one arm. “Don’t argue.”
You obeyed. Your throat ached with each swallow, but the coolness helped.
Afterward, he wiped you down slowly. Between your legs, behind your ears, under your breasts. Everywhere he thought to reach, until the shame melted from your skin and only warmth remained.
You were already drifting when you felt him tug the blankets over both of you. His arms wrapped around your middle, tugging you close until your back was flush against his chest.
“I’m not mad,” he murmured again, nose buried in your hair.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Then, after a beat: “But if you run from me again, I’m puttin’ a tracker on your phone, your car, and your titties.”
And they used to call Blues, Jazz and Rock'n'Roll "The Devils" music so "good god fearing Christians" would be shamed into not listing/loving music created by Black Folk.
Little Richard, Screamin' Jay Hawkins, Lead Belly, Bo Diddley and Sister Rosetta Tharpe.
I started following this girl and her whole dash ended up these. And her last post. I can’t even say words. Anons took her life. If that okay with you, then carry on with your day. If you agree this is unacceptable and okay, then reblog and spread the word. What you say can actually change a persons life! So help out
I don’t care if this makes your dash look ‘ugly’, no matter what type of blog you have you should reblog it.
reblog and make a wish!
this was removed from tumbrl due to “violating one or more of Tumblr’s Community Guidelines”, but since my wish came true the first time, I’m putting it back. :)
so…
I half jokingly reblogged this yesterday cos I thought it was a nice picture…
and was like oh wow I only get wishes on birthdays what would I wish for?!?!?! how about gainful employment L0L
… and like…
I have a job now? That I never applied for? That someone just called me up and said “here, have this”? In a place I really really like?
So like… h8ers gonna h8 or something
Guys, I just saw this and I remember reblogging it before, and I wished that my crush would tell me his true feelings about me, and like five days ago, he confessed to liking me, and we started dating. This shit works. Thanks tumblr
snowghoul
germansingergirl
tangentwithtanner
titsay
