prior to meeting elijah your past relationships weren’t the best—you didn’t have the greatest taste in men and it showed. the boyfriends, if you can even call them that lacked all the characteristics smoke had. they didn’t hold the door for you, buy you flowers, some couldn’t even change a damn tire.
the very first date you guys had was at a nice restaurant downtown. he had finally gotten a day off work and wanted to use it to take the prettiest girl he had met out for a day you deserved. “here’s the bill, i hope you guys enjoyed”, the waiter chirped with a short smile—setting the bill down. you lifted your hand to grab the bill, “what are you doing?”, elijah asked with a confused look. “paying the bill, what do you mean?” — “no ma’am i got it, move those pretty hands back.”
smoke love language is acts of service, he can’t always put it into words how he feels about you but he can show his ole lady how he appreciates her through his actions.
you’ll come home from a long tiresome day at work and your sweet elijah is already there waiting for you on the couch. your favorite tv show or movie turned on, dinner on the stove, snacks to keep you company, and just him. cater 2 you by destiny child? yeah that’s elijah. he’ll gently remove your shoes and place your manicured toes that he paid for might i add, onto his lap and just massage your feet while listening to your day.
smoke’s acts of service definitely is present in the bedroom. he wouldn’t even think about busting a nut until he got you to release that sweet cream at least twice. “come on darlin, you can give me one more right?” southern accent dripping in his voice—his large fingers digging at your sweet spot while rubbing on your sensitive clit. “see i think she can give me one more.”
elijah may not talk as much during sex, but he craves for you to talk to him. he’ll have you folded up in missionary, right leg draped over his shoulder with his plump lips leaving fat wet kissing on your ankle with the anklet that had his name. “come on baby talk to me, how i feel in this good ass pussy, huh?”, slowing down his strokes so you can respond.
a/n :: the people wanted smoke ... i delivered! no guys i felt so excited writing this like omg, i need to fuck this man NEOWW. i almost went overboard on this lil intro tho. i will be continuing and if i don’t yall got permission to cuss me out. also i know @aizawash0e did a firefighter!stack so shoutout to her.
Summary: Failed relationships make Elijah and Annie throw themselves into work, not leaving much room for anything else. A failed delivery leads them to each other, and an instant attraction makes them question themselves.
CW: Modern AU, explicit language, use of the n-word, mentions of parental loss, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of DV
Pairings: Smoke x Annie with a little Stack x OC
AO3 Link
Part One- Lost In Transit
Part Two- Resolution
Part Three- Clarity
Part Four- Assistance
Part Five- Coming Soon!
Spent some time plotting the next few chapters of the fic and decided to make this! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!
If you want to be added to the taglist, comment below :)
Heyyy I love your writing it’s so detailed and fun!
Can you write a dark!Smoke fic where he and OC break up because she feels he doesn’t take the relationship seriously, but he manipulates his way back into her life via baby trapping and/or stalking (and killing her current boyfriend)?
You'll Be Back
Pairing: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Natasha (OC)
Summary: Natasha is done waiting for Elijah to commit. After four years of his smooth deflections and vague futures, she walks out, seeking the stability she thinks she deserves. But Smoke isn't a man who lets go; he's a man who takes what's his. What begins as a campaign to win her back quickly spirals into a dark, obsessive game of manipulation, where every move is planned, and every player is a pawn. Smoke is ready to prove one thing: the only family she'll ever have is the one he forces her into.
Warnings: This story contains dark and explicit content, emotional manipulation, stalking, gaslighting, pregnancy trapping, explicit sexual content, graphic violence, character death, and themes of obsession and psychological imprisonment.
The smell of garlic and onions sizzling in olive oil filled the kitchen, a cozy, domestic cloud that Natasha had come to associate with Thursday nights. Thursdays were Smoke’s cooking nights. Tonight, it was chicken piccata, something he’d learned from a YouTube video three months ago and now executed like a man who’d been doing it his whole life. He moved around their condo kitchen with an easy grace, his broad shoulders not once bumping the narrow cabinets. He was humming some low, raspy trap song, the words barely a murmur under the sizzle of the pan.
Natasha sat at their small two-top table by the window, her phone glowing in her hand. The screen was a mosaic of pristine white arbors, crystal chandeliers, and manicured green lawns. “Ooh, this one is nice,” she said, mostly to herself. “Look at this garden. It’s giving… ‘I promise I won’t cry at my own wedding’ vibes.” She zoomed in on a photo of a gazebo dripping with wisteria. “You think my mom would let me get married in a dress with a slit this high? Probably not. She’d say I’m trying to give the pastor a heart attack.”
Smoke glanced over from the stove, a lazy smile playing on his lips. “Baby, you could wear a burlap sack, and your pops would still be crying for a whole different reason.” He plated the chicken and capers, the sauce glossy and perfect. “What you looking at over there? More houses we can’t afford?”
“Wedding venues,” Natasha said, her voice bright and hopeful. She turned the screen so he could see as he set the plate down in front of her. “Look. The Grove at Willow Creek. It’s only… forty-five minutes from the city. And they have this package deal for under twenty grand. Which, like, is a steal for a Saturday.”
Smoke sat down across from her, his own plate looking like it belonged in a magazine. He picked up his fork, cut a piece of chicken, and chewed thoughtfully. “Damn, I really outdid myself with this,” he muttered to himself. “This shit is restaurant quality.” He looked up at Natasha’s expectant face, and his smile didn’t waver, but it didn’t quite reach his dark, deep-set eyes. “Baby, that place is nice as hell. But you know they got that one stray goose out there that’s aggressive as fuck. Remember? We saw it last time we went for a walk by the lake. That nigga tried to take my whole pretzel. I ain’t trying to fight a goose on my wedding day, Nat. I’m just not.”
Natasha’s shoulders slumped just a fraction. It was his specialty. Deflection. A smooth, funny sidestep that left you wondering if you’d even asked a real question. “Smoke, the goose is not the point.”
“I know it ain’t the point,” he said, his voice a low, comforting rumble. He reached across the table and took her hand, his thumb stroking her knuckles. “The point is, this food is good, and you should eat it before it gets cold. We can talk about geese and wedding venues later. We got time.”
That was the other thing. They always had time. Four years of “we got time.” Four years of her dropping hints, leaving browser tabs open on his laptop, and him smoothly changing the subject to anything from the declining quality of modern rap to his conspiracy theory that squirrels were secretly running the government. He was a master at it. He could talk his way out of anything, which was probably why he was so good at his job, whatever the hell that actually was. Something vague in “finance” or “consulting” that had him making phone calls in hushed tones from the balcony at odd hours and paid for their condo and the ridiculously expensive watch on his wrist.
She’d met him at a cookout. He’d been leaning against a tree, looking like he owned the whole damn park. He’d seen her fumbling with the cooler latch and just walked over, popped it open with one hand, and said, “You look like you’re fighting a war you can’t win. Let me help.” His voice was like smoke, hence the name. It curled around you, warm and intoxicating, and before you knew it, you were hooked. The first year was a whirlwind of passion. He was intense, present, and obsessed with her. He’d show up at her job just to bring her a coffee, his gaze lingering on her a little too long, making her feel like the only woman in the world. But the talk of the future, the real, tangible future with houses and rings and babies, was a language he refused to speak.
She ate her chicken. It was perfect, of course. Because everything he did was perfect, he was perfect. And she was so, so tired of it.
“Do you even want to get married?” she asked, her voice quiet, cutting through his monologue about the nutritional benefits of capers.
He stopped eating. His fork clattered against the plate. The easy smile evaporated, replaced by a look of genuine confusion, like she’d just asked him to solve quantum physics. “What you talking about, Nat? Course I do. I’m with you, ain’t I?”
“Being with me and marrying me are two different things, Elijah,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “I’m twenty-eight years old. I don’t want to be your girlfriend forever. I want to be your wife. I want a baby with your eyes and my goofy laugh. I want a house with a porch so I can yell at kids who step on my lawn. I want to argue about what color to paint the living room. I want a life with you. A whole life. And you… you just want to talk about geese.”
He leaned back in his chair, his wide frame seeming to swallow the small space. His jaw tightened, just a little. “So because I don’t want to rush into some shit just because you saw a pretty picture on your phone, that means I don’t love you? That’s what you’re saying?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying!” Her voice rose, cracking with a frustration that had been building for years. “I’m saying you don’t take me seriously! You take me seriously enough to share your bed and your home and your life, but not enough to make an honest woman out of me. I feel like I’m just… here. Like your really cool roommate who you happen to be in love with. And I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep waiting for you to decide if I’m worth the trouble.”
“Trouble?” he repeated, his voice dropping to that dangerous, low register. The one that meant he was no longer playing. “Natasha, you ain’t never been trouble. You’re the best part of my day. But this pressure… this wedding and baby shit… it’s a lot.”
“It’s a lot because you won’t just say yes!” she shot back, standing up so fast her chair scraped against the hardwood floor. “It’s a simple question, Elijah! Do you see a future with me? Yes or no? Because if the answer is no, or if the answer is ‘let’s talk about it later,’ then I need to know. I need to go.”
He just stared at her, his face unreadable. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. In that silence, she saw every deflected conversation, every changed subject, every time he’d kissed her to shut her up. It wasn't just about a ring; it was about respect. It was about being seen as a partner, not a placeholder.
“Okay,” she whispered, the fight draining out of her completely. “Okay. I get it.” She turned and walked into their bedroom, her movements feeling robotic, like she was watching herself from a distance. She pulled out her old duffel bag from the top of the closet and started throwing things into it. Jeans, a hoodie, her toothbrush. She didn’t cry. She just felt… hollow.
Smoke appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t say anything. He just watched her, his expression still maddeningly calm.
“I’m gonna stay with Lisa for a bit,” she said, not looking at him. “I just… I need some space.”
She zipped the bag and slung it over her shoulder. She walked past him, not daring to meet his eyes, and headed for the front door. Her hand was on the doorknob when she felt his presence behind her, a wall of heat and muscle.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said, his voice quiet, but it cut through the air like glass.
She turned her head, just enough to see his face. And that’s when she saw it. The switch. The lazy, charming, smoke-voiced man she loved was gone. In his place was someone else. His eyes, usually soft and warm, were now hard, like two chips of obsidian. They were empty of any of the affection she’d grown so used to. There was a darkness there, a deep and chilling void she’d never seen before.
She swallowed hard, her hand trembling on the doorknob. “Maybe I am. But it’s my mistake to make.”
She opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. She just kept walking toward the elevator, her footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. Behind her, she heard a door open and heard him speak one last time, his voice no longer a warm caress but a cold, certain promise that slithered down her spine.
“You’ll be back.”
The elevator doors slid shut, and for the first time in four years, Natasha felt alone.
The first week without Smoke was quiet. Too quiet. Natasha’s friend Lisa’s guest room was white and beige, in contrast to the vibrant chaos she’d shared with Smoke. She’d catch herself talking to the empty room. “Damn, I wonder if they charge extra for almond milk at this Starbucks. Feels like they should. It’s just water with a crush on a nut.” The silence would answer back, heavy and judgmental. She missed the sound of his humming, the way he’d fill up a space just by existing in it.
But the quiet was better than the ache. The ache of a four-year dream dying a slow, quiet death.
By the third week, her friend Tisha from accounting had decided Natasha needed to get out. “You can’t just mope around forever,” she’d said, shoving a dress into her hands. “This nigga Devin from payroll is nice. He’s… stable. He has a 401k, Nat. What more do you want?”
So she’d said yes. Devin was nice. He was tall and lanky in a way that made him seem perpetually apologetic for taking up space. He smiled a lot. He talked about quarterly earnings and his Roth IRA with a passion that was, frankly, a little hypnotic. He was the anti-Elijah. He was safe.
Their first date was at a quaint Italian place, all checkered tablecloths and candles stuck in Chianti bottles. Devin was telling a story about a particularly riveting audit he’d conducted last month, and Natasha was nodding, trying to look interested, when she felt it. That prickle on the back of her neck. The feeling of being watched.
She scanned the restaurant, her eyes landing on a shadowy booth in the corner. And there he was. Smoke.
He wasn’t trying to hide. He was just… watching. He was leaning back, one arm draped along the vinyl bench, a glass of something dark in his hand. He’d shaved his beard down to a neat shadow that made his jawline look even sharper. He wore a black hoodie, but it wasn’t sloppy. It looked expensive, the fabric clinging to the muscles of his chest and arms. He lifted his glass in a slow, mocking toast in her direction. A small, cruel smile touched his lips.
Oh, you have got to be kidding me, she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs. He’s here. He’s actually here.
“Natasha? You okay?” Devin asked, his brow furrowed in concern. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“No, I’m good,” she said, forcing a smile that felt like a grimace. “Just thought I saw someone I knew. So, about that spreadsheet…”
She didn’t look back at the booth, but she could feel his eyes on her for the rest of the night. It was a type of pressure that made it hard to breathe.
Two days later, she was in line at her favorite coffee shop, the one with the ridiculously good lavender lattes. She was trying to shake off the lingering unease from the night before, telling herself it was a coincidence. He lived in the same city. It wasn’t a crime.
“Can I get a large lavender latte with oat milk, please?” she told the barista. “And… you know what? Throw in a blueberry scone. I feel like I deserve it.”
“Deserve it for what?” a familiar voice rumbled right behind her.
She froze. Every muscle in her body tensed. She didn’t have to turn around. She could smell him— a hint of bergamot, and that unique, blueberry weed scent that was just… him.
“Elijah,” she said, her voice tight. She turned slowly. He was standing way too close, a smirk playing on his lips. He looked good. Damn good. And it pissed her off.
“Smoke,” he corrected her gently. “You know I don’t like to answer to Elijah. What you been up to, Nat? Been staying out of trouble?” His eyes, those dark, watchful eyes, scanned her face, then drifted down her body and back up again. It wasn’t lecherous. It was proprietary. Like he was checking his property.
“I’m fine. Just living my life,” she said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “What are you doing here?”
“This is my spot, ain’t it?” he said, his smile widening. “Heard you went out the other night. Little Italian place over on 5th. Looked cozy.”
He wasn’t just watching her from across the restaurant; he knew where she was. He was tracking her.
“He’s a friend from work,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Devin, right?” Smoke said, taking a step closer. He lowered his voice, the words for her ears only. “Little dude. Kinda looks like a light-skinned Steve Urkel. Seems… soft. You like ‘em soft now, Nat? I thought you had a taste for things with a little more bite.”
“He’s a good man, Elijah. He’s kind. He’s stable.”
“Stable is boring,” he scoffed. “Let me tell you a story about a ‘good man.’ Back in Miami, I knew this cat. Real stand-up guy. Worked for my boss. Always on time, always polite. Until he wasn’t. Started skimming a little off the top. Thought nobody would notice. My boss, he didn’t even get mad. He just called me. Said, ‘Smoke, handle it.’ And I did. One day, that dude was just… gone. Vanished. Nobody saw him again. Not his wife, not his kids, not his little side piece. All because he crossed the wrong nigga. You get what I’m saying, Natasha?”
The threat was so clear, so direct, it took her breath away. This wasn’t the man who deflected with jokes about geese. This was an apex predator showing her his teeth.
“Why are you doing this?” she breathed, her eyes wide with fear.
“Because I told you you’d be back,” he said simply, his dark eyes boring into hers. “And I don’t like being wrong about things. Devin seems nice. But nice men… they have a way of disappearing. Be careful who you get close to, baby. Real careful.”
He leaned in, like he was going to kiss her cheek, but stopped just short, his lips hovering next to her ear. “I’ll be seeing you,” he whispered. Then he turned and walked out of the coffee shop, leaving her trembling by the counter.
The barista called her name. “Large lavender latte and a blueberry scone!”
Natasha paid on shaky legs, her mind racing. What the hell was he talking about? Miami? A boss? Handle it? The Elijah she knew was a smooth-talking consultant who worked from home, or she thought so. The man who just threatened her was something else entirely.
Later that night, huddled on Lisa’s beige couch, a memory surfaced, unbidden. It was from years ago, right after they’d first gotten serious. They were lying in bed, and she’d playfully asked what the wildest thing he’d ever done was.
He’d gotten quiet, his hand stroking her hair. “You don’t want to know about that life, baby,” he’d said, his voice low and serious. “That’s a different me. A me you don’t ever have to meet.”
She’d pressed, of course. “Come on, I can handle it. Were you a bad boy?”
He’d laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Bad ain’t the word. More like… a tool. A very specific, very effective tool. In Miami, when a problem needed to disappear, they called me. It wasn’t about being tough. It was about being… clean. Efficient. You go in, you do the job, you come out. No mess, no fuss. You don’t feel shit. You just… do it. I was there, and then I wasn’t.”
She’d shivered then, but she’d laughed it off as him trying to be scary, trying to sound cool. Now, the memory felt less like a joke and more like a confession. He hadn’t been kidding. He’d been warning her.
The man she left wasn’t just a commitment-phobe. He was a weapon. And she had a sinking, terrifying feeling that the safety was off.
A week after the coffee shop incident, Natasha was sitting at her new desk, staring at a spreadsheet that might as well have been written in ancient Sumerian. Devin was a good man. He was kind. He sent her “Good morning, beautiful” texts with a sun emoji and asked about her day. He was everything she thought she wanted. But he was also… plain. Like Lisa’s guest room. Safe, predictable, and devoid of the dangerous edge she hadn’t realized she’d become addicted to.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Smoke’s warning. “Nice men… they have a way of disappearing.” It was probably just a sick, manipulative bluff. The man she knew was a master of head games. Still, she found herself looking over her shoulder, flinching at sudden noises.
She didn’t know that Smoke had already been inside her new life. While she was at work, her new building’s super—a wiry little man named Manny who owed Smoke a favor from a card game years ago—had let him into her apartment. Smoke moved through the small space like a ghost, his eyes absorbing every detail. He ran his hand over the new throw pillows on her couch, picked up the book she’d left on her nightstand, and opened her lingerie drawer. He took a pair of pink lace panties, the ones he’d bought her, and stuffed them in his pocket. He moved back to the front of the apartment and stood in the center of her living room, observing.
So this is what she chose, he thought to himself, shaking his head. Beige walls. A boring-ass ficus in the corner. This ain’t my Nat. I gotta save her from this shit. He found the spare key under the mat, took it to make a copy, and let himself out, leaving no trace he'd ever been there.
He learned her new routine. When she left for work, when she came home, and the nights she went out with Devin. He knew Devin was taking her to some boring accountant’s dinner on Friday and that he’d be out of town for a conference all of next week. The information from his mole at Nat’s job was a gift, a perfect opportunity.
Friday night, Natasha was home alone, sipping a glass of cheap wine and trying to get into a rom-com. Devin had texted her a picture of his hotel room’s complimentary fruit basket. “The pineapple is surprisingly fresh!” it read. She’d smiled, but it was a weak one. She felt… adrift.
A loud, insistent pounding on her door made her jump. It wasn’t a knock. It was the sound of a fist demanding entry.
Smoke had planned it all out, step by meticulous step, in the quiet of his own car an hour earlier. He’d sat in the driver's seat, the engine ticking as it cooled, and stared at her building. He needed a performance. Vulnerability would be the key. He’d cracked the seal on a bottle of Hennessy he kept in the glove compartment—not for sipping, but for emergencies like this. He didn’t drink to get drunk; he drank to appear drunk. He took three long, burning pulls straight from the bottle, letting the liquor sit on his tongue, acclimating his body to the taste and the sting. He practiced his slouch in the rearview mirror, letting his shoulders slump, softening the hard lines of his jaw. He practiced his speech, mumbling “I fucked up” and “I can’t” until the words felt thick and clumsy in his mouth. He knew the exact amount of alcohol it would take to make his eyes glassy and his gait unsteady without making him sloppy. He was a method actor in a one-man show, and the role was ‘Broken Man.’ The final touch was a single, controlled shot of bourbon, just to give his breath that undeniable, pitiful kick. Then, and only then, did he stumble out of the car, a masterpiece of calculated misery, ready to go to war with her pity.
“Who is it?” she called out, her heart in her throat.
The only answer was a pained groan and another heavy thud against the door.
She crept to the peephole and peered out. It was Smoke. He was leaning against the doorframe, his head bowed, his body slumped. He looked… wrecked.
She hesitated, her hand on the chain lock. Every instinct screamed at her to leave him there. But it was Smoke. The man who’d held her while she cried, who made her laugh until her sides hurt, who knew her better than anyone.
“Elijah?” she whispered, undoing the chain and cracking the door open.
He stumbled in, catching himself on the doorframe. He smelled of liquor. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his handsome face a mask of misery.
“Nat,” he slurred, his voice a ragged mess. “I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice trembling as she helped him to the couch. He collapsed onto it, a dead weight. “And how did you even know where I lived, Elijah?”
He let out a broken sound that was half laugh, half sob. He looked around the small room, his gaze lingering on a photo of her and Lisa on the wall. “Shit, baby. You think I didn’t know? You think I could just… let you go? I been driving by. For weeks. Just to make sure you was okay. I saw your light on one night and I just… I had to know. I had to see you.” He looked down at his hands, a picture of shame. “That’s pathetic, right? Stalking my own girl like some kinda creep.”
Her heart softened, just a little. It was pathetic. It was also the most Elijah thing he could have done.
“I can’t… I can’t do this without you,” he said, his head in his hands. “Our apartment is empty. This city is empty. Everything is… gray. I was wrong, baby. I was so fucking wrong. I was scared. Scared of being a husband, scared of being a father, scared of not being enough for you. So I pushed you away. And I’m dying without you.”
It was everything she’d wanted to hear for four years. And it was coming from the mouth of a man who smelled like a distillery. She should have known better.
“I miss you so much,” he whispered, looking up at her, his eyes swimming in unshed tears. “I miss your laugh. I miss the way you steal the covers. I miss the way you talk to yourself. I miss everything, Nat. Please… just… can I just stay here? On the couch. I just don’t want to be alone.”
Her resolve, already weakened by the colorless monotony of her new life, crumbled. And against her better judgment, she nodded. “Okay,” she whispered. “Just for tonight.”
He didn’t sleep on the couch.
Smoke lay perfectly still. His breathing was deep and even, a practiced rhythm designed to mimic the dead sleep of the truly intoxicated. His eyes were closed, but behind his lids, his mind was replaying every detail of the night.
Phase one: complete, he thought, a slow, satisfied smile touching his lips in the darkness. She bought the whole act. The pathetic, drunken ex. Shit, I should win an Oscar for that performance. Got her feeling sorry for me. Now she thinks I’m harmless, passed out on her couch while she plays the good little martyr.
He listened to the sounds of her moving in the bedroom. The rustle of sheets, the soft sigh as she settled into bed. He waited. He counted her breaths, a metronome marking the time until he could make his next move. He could smell her in the air—a faint trace of her lavender lotion, the scent of her hair. It was a drug, and he was jonesing for a hit.
She’s probably in there thinking about that boring-ass nigga, Devin. Wondering if he’s texting her goodnight. Little does she know, his ass is about to be a distant memory. She’s carrying my last name in her mind already; she just don’t know it yet. All this space, this quiet… she thinks she wants it. But she’s gonna learn.
He waited another twenty minutes, until the apartment was still; the only sound was the refrigerator's low hum. Then, silently, he rose from the couch. There was no creak of the floorboards, no stumble of a drunken man. He moved through the dark apartment like smoke itself, his feet finding the path he’d memorized when he’d broken in days earlier. He paused at her bedroom door, his hand resting on the frame. He could see her shape under the covers, a small lump in the big bed.
He approached the bed, his shadow falling over her. He stood there for a long moment, just watching her sleep. Then, he lifted the edge of the blanket and slid in beside her.
The shift in the mattress woke her. She was groggy, disoriented, and then she felt the heat of him. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her back against his chest, his body a familiar, overwhelming weight. She was tired, and lonely, and his proximity was a drug she’d been craving. When his lips found her neck, she didn’t push him away. When his hands roamed her body, caressing his favorite spots through the thin fabric of her nightgown, she let them.
But this wasn’t the slow, tender lovemaking she was used to. This was something else entirely. The moment she responded with a soft moan, a switch flipped in him. The vulnerable, broken man was gone, replaced by the unknown man from the coffee shop.
He flipped her over with a rough, easy strength, his body pressing hers into the mattress. He was shirtless, and the skin of his chest and abdomen was the color of midnight, a seamless expanse that seemed to swallow the light against her back. One hand tangled in her hair, his fingers wrapping around the strands at the roots, pulling her head back just enough to be on the edge of pain, forcing a deep, submissive arch in her spine. His other hand gripped her hip, holding her in place as he began to grind against her, the hard pressure of his dick, still trapped in his briefs, sliding between the cheeks of her ass through the thin fabric of her nightgown.
“Look at you,” he growled in her ear. “All this attitude, all this ‘I’m moving on’ bullshit. But your body knows who it belongs to, don’t it? You miss this dick, Nat? You miss me fucking you? Huh? Answer me when I talk to you.”
“Y-yes,” she whimpered, her voice barely audible, her face burning with a mix of shame and unwanted heat.
“Louder,” he commanded, his free hand coming down in a sharp, stinging smack against her ass that was peeking out from her nightgown. The sound echoed in the room, and the sharp, blossoming heat made her gasp.
She tried to squirm away, a feeble attempt at defiance. “Stop it, Elijah,” she bratted, her voice muffled by the pillow.
He smacked her again, harder this time, his big hand covering the entire globe of her ass. “What did I tell you about calling me that?” he snarled, his grip on her hip tightening painfully. He landed two more quick, sharp smacks on the same spot, the skin stinging and throbbing. The fight went out of her, replaced by a trembling submission. “Now answer me. Yes.”
“Yes!” she cried out, the word torn from her throat.
“Good girl,” he grunted. He hooked his fingers into the hem of her nightgown, yanking it up and over the curve of her ass, exposing her to the cool air. He shifted, his knees nudging her thighs apart, and she felt him pulling his dick out. He didn’t use his fingers to get her ready. He didn’t need to. He notched the swollen head of his dick at her entrance, coated in the slick evidence of her betrayal, and with no warning, he entered her in a single, authoritative drive, a deep, hard claim that left her breathless beneath him.
There was no gentleness, no preamble. He fucked her like he was trying to erase every trace of Devin, every moment of the last three weeks, from her body. Each stroke he threw hit deep inside her, his hips slapping against the already-stinging flesh of her ass with every thrust, the only sounds in the room were the messy, internal rhythm of his dick punching into her depths, each thrust forcing a lewd, squelching gasp from her cunt as it tried to accommodate him.
“This is my pussy,” he grunted, his grip on her hair tightening. “You hear me? This is mine. You can run around with them boring-ass niggas, but you always come back to this. Always. This is the only dick that can make you scream, ain’t it?”
She couldn’t form words, could only moan and whimper as he used her body, her own traitorous arousal slicking his way, making it easier for him to take what he wanted. He released her hair, only to grab both her arms and pin them behind her back with one of his large hands, the leverage allowing him to go even deeper.
“Look at you, taking all this shit,” he snarled, his breath hot against her ear. “Pretending you wanted some soft-ass nigga when all you really wanted was to be fucked like a slut. Is that what you are, Nat? My little slut?”
She was lost in a haze of sensation, her body responding with eagerness that shamed her. She was both a participant and a hostage in her own ravishment. This is wrong, her mind screamed, a frantic, desperate voice in the fog of pleasure. You just left him. You’re with Devin. You’re supposed to be done with this chaos. But her body, the traitor, had a different agenda. It remembered his dick. It craved this. Him stretching her out, the possessive grip, the filthy words that were a twisted form of poetry to her senses. He felt her body start to clench around his dick, her orgasm building despite her mind’s screaming protests. No, not like this, she thought, a fresh wave of shame washing over her. Don’t let him make you cum. Don’t give him this. But it was like trying to stop a tidal wave with her bare hands. The pressure was rolling deep, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
“Oh, you about to cum for me, aren’t you?” he taunted, his rhythm becoming more forceful. “Go on then. Cum on this dick. Show me who owns this pussy.”
His words were the gunshot at the start of the race. Her orgasm wasn't gentle. A choked sound escaped her as she bucked against him, lost to the sensation. The way her inner muscles gripped and released him in erratic, powerful spasms was the final straw.
“Fuck, Nat,” he roared, and with one last, deep thrust, he buried himself as deep as he could go. That’s it, baby girl. Take all this shit, his mind chanted, a vicious, triumphant mantra. You wanted to run? Now you’re gonna carry my baby, inside you. This is how you make a family, Nat. This is how I make it so you can never, ever leave again. He held her there, his body breathing deeply as he spilled himself inside her. He wiggled his hips in tight, circular motions, a final swirl to make sure every last drop of his nut was painted deep against her cervix, a permanent, biological claim. He bit down hard on his lower lip, the coppery taste of blood mingling with the salt of his sweat as his body shuddered. He let his full weight collapse onto her, pressing her deep into the mattress, his balls still tight against her, the soft skin brushing her over-sensitive clit with each aftershock that wracked his frame. He didn’t pull out. He just stayed there, his weight pinning her down, his essence filling her. He was a man who loved chaos, and he had just created the most beautiful, permanent storm of all, right there inside her.
When he finally rolled next to her, his body slick with sweat, his breathing ragged in her ear, the weight of what she’d done crashed down on her. He’d cum inside her. He’d never done that before. In four years, through hundreds of nights of passionate sex, he had always been meticulous, always in control, always pulling out at the last second. They’d never had a single pregnancy scare. It was his one hard rule, his one line he never crossed. And now, the one night she was supposed to be with another man, he just… broke it. The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through her, but it was too late. She’d cheated on Devin. She’d let the very man she was trying to escape back into her bed, back into her body.
Smoke's arm stayed draped heavily over her waist. He was already half-asleep, a satisfied smirk on his face. Natasha lay staring at the ceiling, tears silently tracing paths down her temples. She wasn’t just trapped in her apartment anymore. She was trapped in her own weakness.
The first light of dawn was a traitor, spilling into the room and illuminating the scene of her crime. Natasha was alone in the bed, but the space beside her was still warm, the sheets rumpled and smelling of him—sex, sweat, and that underlying hint of bergamot. Her body ached in places that were both familiar and foreign, a deep, satisfying soreness that was a physical tell of her betrayal. She felt the sticky, uncomfortable residue of him between her thighs.
Oh my god, she remembered, her hand flying to her mouth. He came inside me. The panic was a cold, sharp blade in her gut. The violation of it, the unilateral decision, made her feel sick.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was Devin. “Good morning, beautiful! Hope you have a great day. Thinking of you. ☺️”
The message was so pure, so decent, it felt like an accusation. Tears welled in her eyes. How was she supposed to face him? How was she supposed to look this good man in the eye and lie? She had to tell him. She owed him that much. She started typing a response, her fingers shaking. “Devin, we need to talk…”
But what would she say? “Hey, sorry I ghosted you last night, my ex showed up drunk, and I accidentally let him raw-dog me into next week”? She deleted the words, a wave of nausea rolling over her.
She didn’t see Smoke leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen, watching her. He’d been up for an hour, coffee already made. He wore only his briefs; his skin carried a quiet radiance in the morning sunlight. He took a slow sip from his mug, a calm settling over him.
Phase two: commence, he thought, a smirk playing on his lips. Look at her, all panicked and guilty. It’s adorable. She’s trying to figure out how to tell this boring nigga what she did. Little does she know, Devin’s got bigger problems than a cheating girlfriend. Time to introduce a little chaos into the mix.
He pulled out his phone, scrolling to a contact labeled “Miami-Mouse.” He typed out a quick message. “Need a favor. Need a digital ghost. Name: Devin. Target: his professional reputation. Make it good. Make it gay.”
The reply was almost instant. “Say less, papi. On it.”
Three days later, Natasha was at her desk, trying to focus on a quarterly report, when the office chatter started. It was a low hum at first, then a frantic buzz. Tisha from accounting rushed over, her eyes wide.
“Nat, you are not going to believe this,” she whispered, her phone clutched in her hand like a juicy piece of gossip. “Devin… he’s… well, he’s apparently… not into us.”
“What are you talking about?” Natasha asked, her heart already sinking.
“His phone must have synced to the cloud or some shit,” Tisha explained, shoving her screen into Natasha’s face. “Someone posted these screenshots on the company’s internal forum. Of his private messages.”
Natasha looked. There, plain as day, was a chat log between Devin and someone named “Alex.” The messages were mundane, but undeniably intimate. “Can’t wait for our getaway this weekend, just the two of us.” “You looked so good in that blue shirt today, was thinking about it all afternoon.” “I love the way you make me feel, Alex. I’ve never felt this way before.” It was damning. It was humiliating.
The worst part, the part that made Natasha’s stomach twist with a fresh wave of guilt, was that nobody in the office even knew they were dating. They were just “good friends.” Natasha had wanted to keep it to herself, a small, private bubble of normalcy after the chaos with Smoke. Now, watching Devin’s entire life get publicly dissected, she felt like a coward. She couldn't even stand by him and say, "That's not the man I know." All she could do was watch, a silent accomplice to his destruction.
And then, the chaos descended. A man appeared in the office lobby. He was tall and lithe, dressed in a tight-fitting, canary-yellow suit, his hair a magnificent, gravity-defying sculpture of pink and purple. He slammed a perfectly manicured hand on the reception desk.
“I’m here for Devin!” he announced, his voice a booming, theatrical baritone that cut through the cubicle farm. “Is my Devin in? We have a weekend getaway to get to, and I am simply dying to get out of this dreadful city.”
The entire office went silent. Everyone stared.
The receptionist, a poor woman named Amanda who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else, stammered, “I-I’m sorry, sir, who did you say you’re here for?”
“Devin Johnson, honey, don’t play coy,” the man purred, leaning over the desk. “I'm Alex. From the chats. The one he calls his ‘sweet escape.’ We’re supposed to go to the cabin. He promised me he’d wear that little sweater vest I like.”
From her desk, Natasha watched in horror as Devin’s face went to a deep, burning crimson under his caramel skin. He stood up, his chair scraping the floor. “I-I don’t know who you are! I’ve never seen you before in my life!”
The man, Alex, put a hand to his chest in a display of theatrical hurt. “Devin, baby, no! Don’t do this! Not here! Not in front of all these… people. Is this because I didn’t use the safe word last night? I told you, ‘popsicle’ was too silly!”
It was a performance. A masterclass in public humiliation. Within minutes, HR was escorting a sputtering, furious Devin from the building. His reputation was annihilated. His career, in that office at least, was over.
And Smoke, sitting in his car two blocks away, watched it all unfold on a live feed from a hidden camera one of Mouse’s bots had activated on a coworker’s phone. He took a slow sip of his coffee.
“Damn,” he muttered to himself, a genuine grin spreading across his face. “That shit was even better than I hoped it would be. That nigga Mouse really knows how to put on a show. Now, let’s see if my baby’s ready to be rescued.”
The office was a minefield of whispers and sideways glances for the rest of the day. Devin was gone, spirited away by HR, but his ghost lingered in every hushed conversation. Natasha felt like she was walking around with a flashing neon sign over her head that read “I Fucked Up.” Every time someone looked at her with pity, she wanted to scream. Because they were pitying the “good friend” of the office’s newest scandal.
She went home and curled into a ball on her couch, the silence of the apartment pressing in on her. She was about to order a pizza and call it a night when a soft knock came at her door. It was Smoke. He was holding a greasy paper bag and a six-pack of her favorite craft beer.
“I figured you probably ain’t eat,” he said, his voice soft, his expression a perfect mask of concern. He’d changed into a worn grey hoodie and sweats, looking more like a comforting, reliable presence. “Heard about what happened at your job. That’s… wild. You okay?”
She let him in, and he immediately took charge, setting the food on the coffee table and popping open a beer for her. He sat next to her, not too close, but close enough that she could feel his warmth.
“I just… I can’t believe it,” she said, her voice small. “Devin… he’s not like that. He’s so… normal. This has to be a mistake.”
“People got secrets, Nat,” he said, his voice gentle. “You of all people should know that.” He handed her the beer. “Here, drink this. It’ll help.”
They ate in a comfortable silence for a while, Smoke letting her process. He was the perfect picture of a supportive friend. He was her rock.
Phase three: checkmate, he thought, watching her fidget with the label on her beer bottle. She’s ripe. Confused, guilty, and looking for someone to tell her it’s all going to be okay. Time to introduce the ‘evidence.’
“Hey, you mind if I look something up on your tablet?” he asked casually. “Wanna see if the weather’s supposed to be nice this weekend. Thought we could go for a drive, get you out of the city for a bit.”
“Yeah, sure,” she mumbled, sliding her tablet across the coffee table to him.
He picked it up, his fingers moving across the screen. He opened the browser, and then ‘accidentally’ swiped to a different screen; his feigned casualness was a masterpiece. His brow furrowed in a look of genuine confusion.
“Nat… what’s this?” he asked, turning the screen toward her. “Is this… is this one of Devin’s friends? The messages are kinda… weird.”
The chat log was on the screen. The same one Tisha had shown her. But seeing it here, on her tablet, in the quiet intimacy of her own home, made it feel different. More real. Like a case of Déjà vu
“I… I don’t know,” she whispered, but the seed of doubt, planted by the public spectacle, began to sprout.
“You don’t think…?” Smoke let the question hang in the air, his expression a mixture of disbelief and concern for her. “Shit, Nat. That’s… I’m so sorry. I know you guys were close.”
The combination of the public humiliation, the synced messages, and Smoke’s gentle prodding was a perfect storm. Her guilt over cheating on him, her confusion, her hurt—it all coalesced into a single, burning need for answers. She grabbed her phone and dialed Devin’s number, her heart hammering against her ribs.
He answered on the second ring, his voice tight and angry. “What, Natasha? You here to tell me you believe all this bullshit, too?”
“Devin, what is going on?” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “The messages… the man at the office…”
“I don’t know an Alex!” he roared, his voice cracking with desperation. “I’ve never seen that dude before in my life! I’m telling you, it’s a setup! I swear to god, Nat, I don’t know who would do this!”
“But why would someone do this, Devin? It’s so detailed!”
“I don’t know! Maybe it’s some crazy ex from my past! Maybe it’s a mistake! I don’t fucking know! What I do know is that my life is falling apart and the one person I thought I could count on is on the phone questioning me like I’m some kind of… pervert! Who the fuck is Alex?! I don’t know an Alex! This is bullshit, Nat, you know me!”
His flustered, angry denials were so passionate, so genuine, that for a second, she believed him. But then she’d remember the look on his face in the office, the way he’d stammered, and the doubt would creep back in. It was a vicious, impossible loop.
“Devin, I just… I need some time,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Time? I just got fired, Natasha! My reputation is ruined! And you need time? I needed you to have my back! To tell them you know me! But you couldn’t even do that, could you? You just stood there with the rest of them, watching them tear me apart. I can’t do this. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me. We’re done.”
He hung up. The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. He had broken up with her. She was left reeling, feeling betrayed and foolish. She’d lost him twice—once to the lie, and again because she hadn’t been strong enough to fight for the truth.
And just like that, she turned to the only person she had left. She turned to Smoke, who was already there, his arms open, pulling her into a comforting embrace.
“It’s okay, baby,” he murmured into her hair, his voice a soothing balm on her raw nerves. “I got you.”
Smoke sat on the plush leather of his sectional, a glass of expensive tequila on the rocks in his hand. He swirled the liquid, the ice clinking a soft, rhythmic beat in the quiet of his condo. It had been two weeks since the Devin incident. Two weeks of Natasha calling him, crying; of him showing up with her favorite foods; of him slowly erasing the other man from her life and replacing himself as her sole source of comfort. It was almost too easy. He took a sip of the tequila, the burn a familiar comfort. His mind, however, was already on the next move. The endgame.
Phase four: the legacy, he thought, a slow smile spreading across his face. He pulled out his phone, his thumb swiping past notifications and emails until he landed on a little pink icon with a white flower. Flow. The period app. It had been a bitch to set up, requiring him to guess the answers to half a dozen of her security questions—What was the name of your first childhood pet? (Fluffy. Original.), What street did you grow up on? (Maple Drive. Boring.)—but it was worth it. He had synced it to her account, giving him a front-row seat to her monthly cycle.
He tapped on the calendar. The little blue dot that marked the start of her last period was three weeks late. And there was no new dot. No log of cramps, no log of bloating, no log of “ugh, I hate everything.”
Smoke’s grin became wide. “That’s my girl,” he muttered to himself, taking another sip of tequila. “My super sperm ain’t never failed me yet. Knew that shit was potent. All them other niggas shooting blanks.”
He had fully intended to give her another week. To let the panic and the nausea set in, to let her work herself into a tizzy before he swooped in to play the savior. He was a patient man when the reward was this sweet. But then his phone buzzed. It was a text from her.
“I think I’m getting the flu. I’ve been sick for days.”
Smoke’s smile widened. The flu. Right.
Three days later, Natasha was kneeling on the cold tile of her bathroom floor, her body trembling. She’d been sick for a week, a relentless nausea that she’d chalked up to stress. But when she’d missed her period for the second time, a cold, creeping dread had begun to crawl up her spine. She’d bought three tests, just in case.
The first one was a plus sign. The second one was a plus sign. The third one, the digital one, left no room for doubt.
PREGNANT, 3-4 WEEKS.
She stared at the little plastic stick, her mind a blank, screaming void. She and Devin… they hadn’t been intimate in over a month. Not since before the whole office fiasco. The timing… the timing could only mean one thing. That one night. That one mistake. That one terrifying moment of weakness with Smoke.
A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she slumped against the wall, the pregnancy test clutched in her hand. She was going to be sick. She was going to have a baby. With a man who was a walking, talking natural disaster. A man she couldn’t trust, but who was, undeniably, the father of her child. She didn’t know how long she sat there, lost in a haze of panic and despair. She was still trying to form a coherent thought when a knock echoed from her front door. She jumped, her heart leaping into her throat. She wasn't expecting anyone.
She stumbled out of the bathroom, her legs feeling like they were made of lead. She peered through the peephole.
It was Smoke.
He stood there, looking calm and infuriatingly handsome in a black bomber jacket and dark jeans. He wasn't smiling. He just looked… expectant. Like he knew.
With a trembling hand, she unlocked the door and cracked it open. “What are you doing here?”
He didn't answer with words. He just held up his phone, the screen glowing in the dim hallway. It was the Flow app, the little pink flower icon unmistakable. He’d zoomed in on the calendar, and the stark reality of it was there in black and white: the little blue dot that marked her last period was over a month ago. The next several days were blank. No log of cramps, no log of bloating. Just empty space.
His eyes, dark and knowing, met hers. He didn't have to say a word. He just let the silence hang there, thick and suffocating, as the realization crashed over her. He’d been watching her. He’d been tracking her most private, intimate cycles.
“You’re late, Nat,” he said, his voice a low, certain rumble. He wasn't asking. He was stating a fact. “Are you pregnant with my baby?”
The question, so direct and so knowing, broke something inside her. A sob escaped her lips, and she stumbled back, letting the door swing open. She couldn't lie to him. Not when he held all the cards.
She turned and walked back into the living room, sinking onto the couch. He followed her in, closing the door softly behind him. He didn't touch her, didn't crowd her. He just waited. She reached into her pocket and grabbed the plastic stick, feeling heavy in her hand. She held it out to him, her hand shaking so badly the little pink plus sign wavered like a mirage.
“I just… I just took it,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “It’s positive.”
He took the test from her and looked down at it, and a smile spread across his face. It wasn't a happy smile. It was a smile of victory. Of conquest.
“I told you we were meant to be, Nat,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. He knelt in front of her, taking her face in his hands. He didn't cage her against the wall. He didn't need to. The truth was a much stronger prison.
“You’re carrying my child now.”
The next two weeks were a blur. Natasha was a wreck—morning sickness that lasted all day, a body that felt foreign and heavy, and a mind that couldn’t reconcile the life growing inside her with the man who’d planted it. She was completely dependent on Smoke. He was there for every wave of nausea, every hormonal crying fit, every moment of paralyzing fear. He held her hair back, he rubbed her feet, he brought her saltines and ginger ale at 3 a.m. He was the perfect partner.
And every time she’d cry, “What are we going to do?”, he’d hold her close and whisper, “I got you, baby.”
Phase five: cleanup. Smoke was watching her sleep from the armchair in her living room. He’d moved in that same day she told him about the baby, his stuff appearing in her closet and his toiletries in her bathroom as if by magic. She’s so cute when she’s all vulnerable. Thinks I’m her knight in shining armor. Little does she know, I’m the dragon who's about to burn down her village. Now, time to take out the trash.
He knew Devin’s routine. The man was a creature of habit. Every Friday, like clockwork, he went to the same sad, divey sports bar on the edge of town to drown his sorrows in cheap whiskey and watery beer. It was pathetic. It was also the perfect opportunity.
Smoke didn’t go to the bar to get drunk. He went to work. He sat two stools down from Devin, wearing a plain baseball cap and a hoodie that obscured his face. He ordered a club soda with lime, nursing it like it was a real drink. He listened to Devin mutter into his glass, a sad, broken monologue about betrayal and lies and a woman he couldn’t get out of his head.
Damn, this nigga is still talking about Nat. Smoke's expression unreadable. It’s almost sad. Almost. Note to self: stop at the 24-hour flower place on the way home. Get her some of them white lilies she likes. Nothing says ‘I’m sorry I had to kill your ex’ like overpriced flowers.
After an hour, Smoke made his move. He “accidentally” bumped into Devin’s stool, spilling his club soda. “Oh, my bad, man,” he said, his voice gruff and friendly. “Let me buy you a real drink.”
Devin, lonely and desperate for a friendly ear, nodded. “Yeah. Aight. Thanks, man.”
Smoke bought him a double of the cheapest, nastiest bourbon they had. Then another. And another. He kept the conversation light, asking about Devin’s job, his hobbies, anything to keep him talking and drinking. Smoke, for his part, sipped water. He was a professional. This was a job, and he was sober on the job.
By midnight, Devin was blackout drunk. Smoke slung an arm around his shoulders, helping him stumble out of the bar and into the cold night air. “Come on, man, let’s get you a cab.”
Instead, he guided him into the dark, deserted alley behind the bar. Devin, slurring and stumbling, didn’t notice the change in Smoke’s demeanor. The friendly, hooded stranger was gone. In his place was the cold, efficient killer from Miami.
“Devin, my man,” Smoke said, his voice dropping to a low, conversational tone. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? Had to go and fall in love with my girl.”
Devin blinked, his drunk brain trying to process the words. “Nat…? I love her…”
“I know,” Smoke said, and with a speed and precision that was terrifying, he pulled a thin, stiletto-like blade from his sleeve. He drove it into Devin’s side, once, twice, three times, puncturing a lung, his liver, and his heart. It was over in seconds. Devin made a soft, wet sound and crumpled to the ground.
Smoke knelt, taking Devin’s wallet and watch. Then, he stood up, kicked a nearby trash can over, and walked away, disappearing into the night like he was never there. It looked like a robbery gone wrong. A tragic, random act of violence in a bad part of town.
The next morning, Smoke was in the kitchen whipping up a batch of blueberry pancakes, the scent of batter and melting butter filling the apartment. He was whistling, a cheerful, off-key tune. Natasha shuffled in, her face an off-color of mocha, her hand resting on her still-flat stomach.
“Morning, baby,” he said, his voice full of warmth and sunshine. He plated a stack of pancakes, drizzled them with syrup, and set them down in front of her. “Eat up. You’re eating for two now.”
She picked at her food, her appetite gone. “I had a bad dream,” she said softly.
“Yeah? What about?”
“Devin,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “I dreamt he was… gone.”
Smoke’s face softened into a mask of perfect sympathy. He reached across the table and took her hand. “Oh, baby. It’s just the pregnancy hormones. Your mind is just… going through the motions. It’s okay.”
She’s got good instincts, I’ll give her that, he thought, his thumb stroking her knuckles. Too bad they’re about to be completely validated by a 6 p.m. news report. She’ll think it’s a psychic dream. Adorable.
Later that day, curled up on the couch watching a movie, his phone buzzed with a news alert. He glanced at it, a small, satisfied smile touching his lips. Body of man identified as Devin Johnson found in alley downtown. Police suspect robbery gone wrong.
He put his phone away and pulled Natasha closer. She was dozing against his chest, her breathing soft and even. He was her rock, her safe harbor. He was the father of their child. He was everything.
As he held her, his mask slipped for just a second. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. “You know,” he said, his voice a low murmur, “it’s a good thing that Devin guy is gone. You don’t need that kind of stress right now. It’s not good for the baby.”
Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, a flicker of confusion in them. “What do you mean, ‘gone’?”
Smoke’s smile was immediate, disarming. “Gone from your life, baby. Out of your head. He’s in the past. That’s all I meant.” He kissed her forehead, his touch feather-light. “Now, get some rest. You need to grow my baby.”
She relaxed against him, her mind easily soothed by his words. It was just a slip of the tongue. He was just being protective. He was just being Smoke. And as she drifted off to sleep, she didn’t see the dark, victorious look in his eyes as he stared at the television, where the news anchor was just beginning to report on a tragic story in the city’s downtown district.
Six months later, Natasha was a glowing, round vessel of new life. Her apartment was no longer beige; it was a nursery. Smoke had painted the walls a soft, buttery yellow. He’d built the crib himself, his large, capable hands sanding the wood with an almost reverent precision. He was the perfect father-to-be. He sang to her belly, read stories about financial markets to their unborn son, and mapped out a future that was so bright, so secure, it almost blinded her to the lingering darkness in his eyes.
He was attentive, devoted, and suffocatingly in control. He’d "suggested" she take an extended leave from her job, citing the stress. He’d "handled" all the baby shopping, because she was too tired. He’d "taken care" of all their finances, because she needed to rest. Her life was a series of decisions made for her, a velvet-gloved iron fist that guided her every move.
She was seven months pregnant when she found it. She was looking for a charger in his bedside table, the one drawer he always kept locked. He was out getting more diapers, and in a fit of nesting-induced determination, she’d found the key he thought he’d so cleverly hidden in a hollowed-out book.
The drawer wasn’t filled with old receipts or spare batteries. It was a shrine to his other life.
A slim, black ledger sat there. When she opened it, her eyes grew wide. It wasn't a financial record. It was a kill list. Names, dates, locations, and meticulous notes. “Markus ‘The Hammer’ Rodriguez. Miami. 2018. Two shots, chest. Clean. Left a red rose for his girl. She paid extra for that.” The handwriting was his. Elegant, precise. The last entry was dated three months ago. “Devin Johnson. Downtown alley. Blade work. Made it look like a robbery. No loose ends.”
Underneath the ledger was a small, velvet pouch. Inside were two things: a set of professional-grade lock picks and a small, custom-made stiletto. The same kind of weapon he’d used to kill a man. And underneath it all, a stack of photographs. They were grainy, taken from a distance. One of them showed a man slumped against a brick wall in a dark alley, a dark stain spreading across his shirt. It was Devin.
She sank to the floor, the evidence scattered around her, a storm of horror and understanding breaking over her. The gay lover, the public humiliation, the "random" act of violence. It was all him. It had always been him. He hadn't just manipulated his way back into her life; he had destroyed every other path until his was the only one left.
The front door opened and closed. “Nat, I’m back!” he called out, his voice cheerful. “They had that new brand of organic ones you like. You won’t believe how much they charge for this shit. It’s criminal.”
She didn't move. She just stared at the photograph of Devin’s dead body.
He found her there, on the floor of their nursery, surrounded by his sins. He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t look angry. He just looked… calm. He knelt in front of her, his expression unreadable.
“So,” he said softly, his voice the same low, comforting rumble she’d come to depend on. “You found my little box of ghosts.”
“You killed him,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “You killed Devin.”
“I did,” he said, no hint of remorse in his voice. He picked up Devin's photo and looked at it with detached curiosity. “He was a problem, Nat. A loose end. I don’t like loose ends. They’re messy. And I can’t have messy things in my family’s life. Our son’s life.”
Tears streamed down her face. “You’re a monster.”
“I’m a protector,” he corrected her, his eyes finally meeting hers. They were intense, and devoid of anything she could recognize. “I protect what’s mine. And you, Natasha… you are mine. This baby… is mine. I burned down your old life so I could build you a new one. A better one. A safe one. With me.”
He reached out and stroked her cheek, his touch gentle, almost loving. “Now you know. All of it. The question is, what are you going to do with it? You can run. You can take my son and try to hide. But you and I both know how good I am at finding things. I will find you. And I won’t be as… gentle… next time.”
He let that hang in the air, a threat that was not a threat, but a simple statement of fact.
“Or,” he continued, his voice dropping to a persuasive whisper, “you can stay. You can be my wife. You can raise our son in a beautiful house with a gate and a security system. You can have everything you ever wanted. A husband who adores you, a child who is the center of your world, and a life where you never have to worry about a damn thing. All you have to do… is accept me. All of me. The man who cooks you breakfast, and the man who kills to keep you safe.”
He stood up and walked over to the crib, picking up the baby name book they’d been looking at last night. He opened it to a page they’d bookmarked. He pulled a pen from his pocket and wrote something down, then handed it to her.
On the line next to the name “Elijah,” he had already written his last name. “Moore.” It was a signature. A contract. A brand.
He knelt in front of her again, his expression softening into the mask of the loving, devoted man she’d fallen back in love with. He took her hands, his grip firm but not painful.
“Choose, Natasha,” he whispered, his voice a velvet caress. “Choose your family. Choose your future. Choose me.”
She looked from his face to the name on the page. She was trapped. A prisoner in a luxury without freedom, pregnant with the child of her captor. And as she looked into his eyes, she knew part of her didn’t want to escape. Part of her was drawn to his fire, to his chaos, to his devotion.
And in that moment, a horrifying clarity washed over her. She circled back to that dinner, months ago, the night she’d walked out. She had been so angry, so hurt. After all, he wouldn’t talk about wedding venues, because he wouldn’t commit to a future. She had accused him of not taking their relationship seriously, of dragging his feet on the one thing she wanted most: a family.
Now, looking at the evidence of his obsession, she saw the twisted truth. He had taken her request more seriously than she ever could have imagined. He hadn’t been dragging his feet; he had been plotting. He hadn’t been apathetic; he had been executing a plan of terrifying devotion. He had given her the family she craved, the commitment she demanded, the baby she wanted. He had just done it his way. He had burned down her world to build her a new one, a world where she was the sun, the moon, and the stars, and he was the ruthless god who kept it all spinning. This was what she had asked for, just not in the way she’d ever imagined. She may not have wanted to escape, after all. This was the answer to her prayers.
She was his. She had always been his. And as she placed her trembling hand in his, she sealed her fate.
request: would it be crazy to ask for a fic based on michael body building for the dangerous (and or history) tour and merge it with your idea of riding his abs…and maybe thick thighs. also since this isn’t anon please don’t post me 🙏 thank u!
cw/tw: nsfw 18+ mdni, smut, no plot, soft! dom mike, mentions of thigh riding and m! masturbation, ab riding, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie
wc: around 900
🪐— inspired by this clip. — i’ve done thigh riding for him in the gold pants before! you can read that here
michael rested his arms behind his head as he watched you. the way you had your throat bent back as you dragged your bare pussy across the length of his abdomen.
occasionally flexing the muscles there just to see the full body reaction you had to it.
after all, you had asked him for this. albeit, shyly. muttering under your breath in a lust induced haze about how good his abs must feel as you ran your hand down his stomach through his wet shirt. you’d been like that a lot lately, he had noticed. ever since he started to put on a little more weight and muscle, you seemed starved. your eyes hungry and always watching him in a way that was wholly inappropriate and he loved every minute of it.
christ, the first fitting of him with the gold pants, you were practically insatiable. he had dragged you over his lap, expecting you to grind down on his already hard cock, but instead you spread your legs and rested your clothed pussy against one of his thighs. your pupils completely blown as you rode him like that… he hadn’t been able to help himself as he took his dick out and jacked off to the sight of you.
but this? his abs?
who was he but a gentlemen? of course he’d oblige in his wife’s curiosity.
hell, his hair was still wet from the shoot. your eagerness adorable as you peeled off his shirt and pushed him flat into the mattress with your nails digging into the toned plane of his chest.
his stomach would clench even harder when you rolled your hips too far back, your ass and edge of your sopping cunt teasing the head of his aching cock.
it rested against his naval, neglected and leaking pre-cum onto searing skin. twitching every time you moaned.
michael’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he watched you, his eyes on a repeated cycle of flicking between your face and your pussy. mesmerized as you started to grind down harder and faster. your moan cutting off into a high pitched sound.
“that’s it mama, just like that.”
his hands found your hips in a grip strong enough to leave bruises as he dragged you against him, helping you reach your climax in a wet gush along his stomach.
“michael- oh fuck!” you practically shrieked when he dragged you further down, immediately rolling his hips up into yours with a sharp smacking sound of skin hitting skin as his cock slammed into you.
a groan tore right up from his diaphragm when he bottomed out, your pussy still fluttering from being in the middle of an orgasm.
you were soaked, practically making a mess across his pelvis as he fucked up into you.
the force of his thrust so strong, it sent you falling forward on his chest and his mouth latched onto your own in a sloppy kiss.
one of his hands buried in your hair while the other remained digging into your hip, slamming you repeatedly back down onto him and the only noise echoing in the room was your pathetic whimpering and the lewd sounds of skin slapping skin.
michael rolled you over, keeping his dick buried deep inside of you as his hands cupped beneath your knees. pushing them up and out and the new angle made your head spin.
“please—“ it hurt and it was wonderful. the head of his cock hitting every single inch inside of you and his pelvis was dragging an incessant rhythm into your clit.
“that’s it, baby. take it.” his voice was rough in your ear with his own heavy breathing before he leaned back and maneuvered onto his knees, lifting your hips up to stay joined with his at the tilted angle.
and jesus, was that a new feeling.
a moan tore out of him as his eyes fell to where your bodies were connected. his cock continuously disappearing inside your swollen and glistening pussy. a wet, creamy ring forming at the base of his cock and it only drove him to go harder. desperate to reach something inside of you that he wasn’t even sure was humanly possible.
the sight of michael being entranced as he fucked you made your head spin and push that much closer to the edge, especially as the muscles in his stomach rippled when you’d tighten around him. the ridges of his abs glistening with sweat and your arousal from earlier.
“m-mikey, i’m—“ your words broke off in a moan as he reached a hand down, rubbing tight circles into your clit.
“come f’me. i want all of it.” he ground out, somehow going just a bit deeper and harder and that was enough to send you toppling. tongue dripping a bunch of orgasm induced nonsense.
michael threw his head back at the feeling. he loved it when you came on his cock. getting to feel every single twitch and convulse and it never failed to make him follow soon after.
your name leaving his mouth in a broken sound as he started to come, his attention rapt on your pussy as he did so, seeing the way his cum would start to leak out of you in a gush as his thrusts grew erratic and sloppy before he finally pulled out and collapsed on top of you.
not giving a single damn how much of a mess he just made of the sheets.
The one thing he loved after your body was to bear his children and bring them to life was your lactating tits. Oh God, he’d suck on them every chance he’d get.
Often, when the sun went down and the moon came up, and you were laying all comfy in bed, he’d sink in next to you, trying to get closer to your body, gripping your waist and occasionally rubbing your skin softly with his hand.
His hands would then find the straps of your nightdress you’d put on and tug them down softly. Your hand finding his to help him take it off.
Your plump tits would be in full display for him, all for him to do whatever he wanted.
“Oh, you’re such a pretty mama,” he’d mumble before diving into the sweet flesh he adored.
Kissing around the skin of your boobs whilst the other pinched your nipple ever so slightly, causing you to whimper.
“Ngh, Michael.”
Your back arched slightly, your hand finding the hair on the back of his head, tugging it gently.
“My pretty mama.”
His mouth then found your nipple, sucking it gently as the other boob kept his hand occupied so it didn’t feel neglected.
As Michael began to suck, he finally tasted the milk he’d loved drinking. He moaned at the taste.
You threw your head back at the feeling, eager to touch yourself. Your hand traveled down your body on its way to relieve the tension, till he stopped your hand, putting his thigh between your legs.
“Ride it out on me, pretty baby,” he mumbled before continuing his sucking on your tits.
And oh, you did.
You grabbed onto him, grinding down on his leg, relieved from the ache you’d been feeling ever since he started touching you.
He continued sucking on your breasts, swallowing every bit of milk that dropped from your tits onto his tongue.
“You taste so, so good, baby.”
You couldn’t comprehend an answer in return. Instead, you were in desperate need to chase that release that was coming dangerously closer.
Michael kept his attention occupied on your boobs. His hand would cup your flesh to try and pry all of it in his mouth. Eager to consume you whole.
“M-Mike!” you whimpered, before one last grind led your orgasm to crash over you.
Your whole body convulsed, and as if Michael had just come at the same time, he groaned hard at the sound of you coming.
He latched himself off your tit with strings of saliva attaching you both before traveling up to your lips, where he kissed you deeply.
“Gonna make me drunk off your milk, mama.”
You giggled breathlessly at his remark before you both dozed off to sleep, with your boob still in his mouth.
ame’s notes : I need to lock in and make actual longer fics instead of these fast blurbs…
⋮ ✶┆what was supposed to be a sweet movie night between friends turns into… something else entirely.
⋮ ✶┆ 𝒻. black reader x best friend!michael j. | smut mdni. aphrodisiac. loss of control. marathon sex. he’s technically drugged : everyone is consenting. marking. softdom!mike?. dry humping but it’s not dry at all. pining. unprotected sex. p in v. thigh fixation. pussy drunk. just lost in it really. dirty talk. lot of cum. lots of nicknames incl mama cuz I love it. circa 1979. valentines came early. purity police might execute me for this one. wc. 6K
𝓂asterlist
One thing Michael knew to be wary of was taking things from fans. It had been drilled into his brain since he’d been alive to not take things from strangers generally, but since he and his brothers started garnering more attention, the rule became infinitely more important. A matter of his safety at times.
He adored his fans of course, he’d give them any and everything if he could, but he knew the nature of some of them— that they had the capability to be a little dangerous. Just as anyone in the world could be.
And of course he wanted to give everyone a piece of himself, to make each and every person who supported him feel seen and special. Especially if they were pretty.
It wasn’t uncommon for fans to want to gift Michael things to express their adoration. They loved what he did, so when a young woman came backstage to meet the brothers after a concert, a little intricately decorated white box in hand, it wasn’t all that suspicious.
Michael took the box happily, thanking them with that warm and overly bright smile he gave only to women, along with a hug that lasted far longer than just friendly.
You’d noticed the exchange from where you were perched across the room and watched the two interact. The flirting was obvious to anyone with eyes. And she was gorgeous, a fact you were sure hadn’t slipped his mind. Just his type.
The whole exchange made something in the corner of your eye twitch and as if he could feel you staring, Michael’s gaze snapped to yours curiously. You tried to school your features into something unbothered and he raised a brow at you, asking a silent question.
You okay?
You two did that often, spoke to each other without words from across the room.
You ignored him this time, turning your gaze away to look elsewhere, but from the corner of your eye, you noticed him lean in and whisper something to the girl. It was probably due to the sudden noise spike in the room but you’d guessed that probably wasn’t all.
A moment later he excused himself, gathering the box in his hands and trudging through the small crowd of fans, press, and security gathered backstage. A few tried to stop him, grabbing at the sleeves of his outfit for his attention but he eventually made it to you, a sly and overly sweet smile on his face.
He was still all sweaty from the show, curls sticking to his forehead, the sweat and hair product mixed and dripping from his neck.
“What’s that?” you asked, unable to hide your nosyness as he sidled up next to you, placing the box down gingerly. It really was beautiful. You’d never have suspected what was inside.
“It was supposed to be a Valentine’s gift.” he pulled at the ribbon holding the top in place and peered inside. “Why, you jealous?”
Your response was quick. “Not even a little.”
Nestled neatly in the box was a dozen individually wrapped roses, arranged in a small bouquet. It even had little dried flowers and other greenery tucked between each rose, making it look all the more real.
You would have thought they were real if not for the little card inside. You plucked it out holding it up in front of Michael.
“Enticing Eternity Chocolate.” you read aloud flipping it over. You didn’t recognize the name printed— it being some Belgian chocolate brand.
“It’s pretty.” Michael remarked, taking one out, lifting it to his nose to smell it.
“Michael Jackson I know you aren’t about to eat that.” you looked at him like he was crazy, eyes squinted, a disappointed frown marring your features. He could be so careless.
He scoffed, not meeting your eyes before placing the chocolate back down. “No, ‘course not.”
“Liar, you know better than to eat that. God knows what’s in it.” you wrinkled your nose in a way Michael found cute.
“If I were to guess… I’d say milk chocolate, white chocolate, dark chocolate and caramel.” he listed, voice light and playful. He was trying to get that reaction from you that he loved so much. And you took the bait.
You pinched his hip and he jumped a little. “Smartass. Y’know what I mean.”
He leaned over the table, placing a hand right by your hip, eyes looking into yours enticingly. “C’mon try some, they even got your favorite, raspberry crème.” He held the bloom to your lips.
“Nu uh, I’m not eatin’ that Mike.” you crossed your arms, trying to ignore his sudden closeness. He always got close like this, not having a gauge for most peoples personal boundaries. Not that you two really had any.
“What if I fed it to ya’?” he pressed a little closer, his usually bright eyes turning a different shade, still blown wide with the adrenaline of performing. He loved to tease and you knew that. Still didn’t stop the thought of Michael’s fingers in your mouth, melted chocolate dripping off and onto your tongue while he fed it to you.
He seemed to see the moment your mind wandered off because his jaw clenched slightly like he was holding something back.
“Michael! Get back ova here boy, you not done.” the spell was immediately broken by his father’s voice. You both tore your eyes from each others looking back towards Joseph standing a few feet away, patience clearly wearing thin.
“Yes I’m comin’.” Michael spoke respectfully before rolling his gaze back around to you, looking at you as if you could do something to save him from his dad. You wished.
“Lord give me strength.”
You pressed a hand against Michael’s shoulder in a comforting gesture, offering a reassuring smile. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
The smile Michael returned back was much more strained but you appreciated the effort. “See you later? Y’ still comin’ over tonight right?”
“And risk missing movie night? Never.” Michael grinned and turned, offering you a wink before disappearing back into the crowded meet and greet.
What you didn’t know was that tonight for Michael wasn’t supposed to be just an ordinary scheduled movie night. He had a plan.
Tonight was the night he’d confess his feelings for you, and hopefully, ask you to be his girlfriend. You’d been friends since you were babies, with you knowing him since before he was Michael Jackson of the Jackson 5 turned Jackson’s.
You knew that little boy from Gary, who wasn’t often allowed to play outside and who came to school sad about what was going on at home. You’ve been a person, aside from his mom, who he’d come to for comfort for a long time. And that bond you shared only grew with you both.
He didn’t really start noticing the turn his feelings had taken from friendly until his adolescent years. Suddenly things were changing. He was changing, you were changing. Becoming your own beautiful person, and his admiration for you only grew.
He started noticing how much he liked being around you, how much he liked when you touched him, or drew him into a hug.
And if he noticed, it wasn’t long before other boys started noticing too, but thankfully, you didn’t pay them any mind. Didn’t stop Michael from being agitated when you’d smile in some guys face or hang out with other boys.
And that feeling never left as you both creeped into your adult years. He still felt the same about you. Loved what his heart did when he thought about or was near you, which was a lot.
He didn’t have a single clue if you felt the same. He knew you probably better than anyone but you didn’t wear your heart on your sleeve like he did. If you liked someone, it was impossible to tell unless you outright said it. You were honest and blunt like that. And you’d given no indication that you felt anything but friendly.
So this would be a leap for Michael but he figured he waited long enough. And if things didn’t go well… well he didn’t want to think about that.
Today was the perfect day to confess. Mostly because he wouldn’t have anyone in his ear, or yellin’ halfway across the hall. All his brothers and sisters would be out, per his request, and his parents would also be out tonight— a carefully planned date he’d convinced them that they needed. It was almost a dream come true how empty the house was.
He had the snacks already set out on the coffee table, and the disgustingly buttered popcorn you loved so much already made the way you liked.
Last thing he was missing was the ice cream. When he bent to look in the fridge though, the white and gold box shoved to the back caught his eyes. He of course didn’t listen to you when you said to toss it. They were so pretty and someone had given them to him as a gift.
Plus, he was getting the munchies and way too curious. Just one bite wouldn’t hurt and after all, who was Michael to turn down chocolate. He decided to pick the one you probably would’ve liked most.
Dark chocolate with raspberry crème filling. He unwrapped it slowly and brought it to his lips. The first bite he took was, honestly, a little underwhelming. It tasted bitter, like he’d shoved an entire spoon of cocoa powder in his mouth. But for some reason, he kept eating, like it would get better.
The second bite was near addictive. The strong cocoa taste dissipated into something dark, smooth and rich. And when the sharp, vibrant, raspberry flavor mixed in. It was over. He finished the whole thing in seconds. Even went so far as to have another. And another.
He didn’t even care for dark chocolate normally but something about the thing had him licking at his fingers for every last bit of it.
He was about four in and about to have another when the sound of the door opening met his ears and you padded into the kitchen, letting yourself in like you often did.
Your eyes landed on Michael, hunched over the counter, the dim lights of the kitchen shadowing him.
“I swear I told you not to eat those.” you eyed him warily. The way his lips were wrapped firmly around his pointer. He let it go with a pop, like a kid who’d been caught.
“They’re actually really good.”
“Michael my point was you don’t know what’s in that. It could be poisonous or something.” you were exasperated, pinching your nose bridge. Sometimes he reminded you of a bad ass little kid.
“Well, I’ve been eatin’ it and I’m fine. Plus they were wrapped up.” he shrugged and placed the lid back on the box before shoving it back in the fridge.
“How many have you eaten?”
“I don’t know like— three, four ish.”
“Michael!” you threw your hands up.
He moved around the counter and in your direction, hands pressing into your shoulders. “Relax, I’m fine. And if I’m not later, then I got you here with me.”
Despite his words you couldn’t help the knot of worry building in your stomach. Truthfully you wanted to call him a damn fool but you didn’t. Instead you nodded and let him lead you over to the tv, already paused on The Sound of Music. Something you both almost never tired of watching.
You settled on the couch, already falling into your usual routine, passing around snacks, fighting over blankets before you both just decided to share it. You watched Michael and giggled as he playfully sung the melody to My Favorite Things with Julia Andrews. He could never help himself and it was something you always looked forward to.
You didn’t notice anything off with Michael until a few moments later.
He wouldn’t stop adjusting. Every two seconds you’d see from the corner of your eye, he'd raise up and shift, the couch cushions repositioning under his weight.
“You okay?” you turned your head that was pressed into his shoulder, peering up at him. You’d ended up in your normal position after the snacks were gone, tucked into his side with his arm around you.
“Yeah m’good,” he cleared his throat. “It’s just a little warm.” he sounded a little winded. You sat up to press a hand to his forehead feeling for a fever of some type. He did feel warm.
“Maybe take the blanket off of you?” you suggested. He kicked the blanket off but grabbed one of the nearby pillows, sitting it firmly in his lap and holding it. You took the blanket off too even though the house was a little chilly, you tended to run colder.
You thought that would fix it but as the minutes ticked by he just got more antsy and a whole lot warmer. You could feel him practically radiating heat onto your side.
“I think I need to lie down.” he spoke suddenly, voice hoarse.
“Alright, go ahead.” you sat upright clearing space for him. You’d assumed he would lay his head on your lap, like he sometimes did when you watched movies together. But the way he was looking at you, he looked hesitant.
Michael didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him.
It’d started about fifteen minutes into the movie. But it was easy enough to ignore. It felt no more than a stomach ache.
But twenty five more minutes and that dull feeling persisted and grew into a deep and relentless feeling. And then he started to get hard in his sweats. He didn’t even know what the hell to do about it. And you suggesting to remove the blanket had him panicking.
He started noticing more things too. After a certain point he’d locked completely out of the movie, his full attention falling on you. The feeling of your body pressed into his was maddening. More so than usual. Just the feeling of your skin touching his had his whole body on fire.
He felt every breath you took like it was breathed directly into his lungs, his senses honed into whatever reactions you had. And when you took the blanket off, he’d honed in on your newly exposed skin. The way your shorts sat high on your hips, the invitingly plush skin of your thighs. It was all he could think about.
And you seemed none the wiser.
Because if you knew the thoughts circulating in his head, you probably wouldn’t let him near you, let alone lay on you.
You looked so soft. And it wasn’t like it was the first time. And you were offering yourself up. Or that’s what it felt like. Michael knew his body was gonna make the decision before his rational brain could.
He stretched out onto the couch, resting his head on your legs, making an attempt to get comfortable. He thought he was doing a good job at pretending everything was okay.
He was tracing small shapes and patterns on your legs, the movie becoming his personal background noise. His mind drifted to a much dirtier place. A place where he ran his hands up your thighs. Or dipped his hand between your legs. All the way up to your—
He felt your fingers caress up his back and into his hair and it sent a jolt through him. You gently rubbed his scalp through his curls, and he melted into your touch instantly, turning his face deeper into the crease of your thighs, inhaling softly.
“Does that feel good?” your voice was a quiet whisper.
Michael just nodded because he was one slip up from whimpering like a dog into your leg. The same ones that were squeezing together slightly the farther he pressed his face in. This wasn’t a part of your usual routine.
Something about this was nearly euphoric for Michael. Having your skin on his, his face pressed between your legs and your hand in his hair. Your smell was surrounding him and he was in heaven. So much so that he couldn’t control the way his hips started to inconspicuously ground into the couch.
You were starting to get a little worried. You weren’t completely oblivious. It was impossible to not notice his strange behavior. Not to notice the way his nose burrowed into you. His deep inhales. He was so close and you couldn’t help but rub your thighs together against the tension building.
You felt like a pervert for where your head was at. He was just trying to get comfort and here you were thinking less than pure thoughts. Thoughts of his head between your legs in an entirely different way.
Above all else though, you were worried. He was growing hotter by the second.
“Michael?” the sound that left him was completely wrecked. A low whine piercing the air.
“What’s going on with you? You’re so hot.” your voice held a mix of worry and confusion but all he’d heard was ‘you’re so hot’.
You dipped your hand into the back of his t shirt to feel the rest of his skin. He nearly melted at the feeling of your palm on his back. It felt so good to have your hands on him.
“Hn— please—“ he was clutching at the fabric of your shirt, nestling deeper between your thighs which he’d managed to part slightly. He was practically nuzzling his nose right into the apex of your thighs, breathing you in.
“Michael!” your voice seemed to knock him out of it and he shot up quickly kneeling against the couch and panting. He looked like he did after a performance, eyes dilated, hair a mess, and damp with sweat. His breath was coming out in uneven spurts through his nose, eyes flitting around anxiously, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth nervously.
He couldn’t even look at you. He was so fucking hard, it almost hurt and somthing about you was making his control slip faster and faster. He needed you gone before he started grinding up against you like a needy puppy. Or something else he might not regret.
“I— I’m just not feeling too well. I think we need to call it a night.” he tried to keep his voice measured, inching away from you slightly. It almost hurt to do so.
“Hey, I’m not leaving. Especially not if you’re sick. C’mere.” you don’t wait for him to come to you. You just grabbed him and started inspecting his body curiously.
You didn’t see anything visibly worrying and a thought suddenly crossed your mind, “Wait right here.” you got up off the couch and headed for the kitchen and Michael fought the whine crawling up his throat at the loss of contact.
You took the box of roses out the fridge, before removing the lid. You looked around in the box when you noticed another small card tucked away, revealed by the roses Michael had eaten.
You fished it out, eyes scanning over the words.
Aphrodisiac Chocolate. Intended for the one you love. No more than one per person. And a whole list of other side effects.
“What? What’s it say?” Michael asked frantically, already coming into the kitchen fighting the feeling forming in his gut.
“It says uhm…” you trailed off still inspecting the card as if you could will the words to rearrange themselves into something you could comprehend.
He plucked the card from your hands, eyes going wider as they dragged across the words.
“Oh god and I had four.” he sounded absolutely freaked out.
You sighed out exasperated and a little fed up, crossing your arms over your chest. “This is why I told you to listen to me. You can’t just go around eating things that random fan girls give you. It’s not safe and you’re way too trusting. I mean I swear it’s like you don’t even—“
Michael wasn’t even listening to a word of your rambling. It was like his brain kicked completely off and stalled. The only thing he could focus on was the curve of your mouth forming around the words. The plushness of your lips and the high shine gloss coating them, drawing him in.
You snapped in front of his face. “Michael, are you listening?”
He didn’t answer. He barely even heard you over the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears.
He didn’t even have a moment to stop himself before he grabbed at you, shoving you up against the fridge door, crowding your space. He pressed his nose into your neck, taking a deep inhale of your perfume, his hands gripping at your hips.
You couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room anymore. Not when it was pressed against your thigh where he was grinding his hips.
“Please, I need you to help me…it hurts and— my body is so hot.” he was panting in your ear voice strained and barely audible.
Your eyes widened, a mixture of arousal and surprise causing your breath to catch. He was trembling in your arms, barely holding himself up. Clearly the thing had him acting erratic. But he was your best friend. You couldn’t leave him like this.
You swallowed nervously before speaking. “What— what do you need me to do?”
“M’ burning up. Please touch me. Need t’ feel you.” he pleaded, pressing open mouthed kisses over the column of your throat and pressing his face in. The contact had heat pooling between your thighs, even more so when his hand dipped underneath the back of your shirt, dragging over your ribcage.
“Michael— you don’t even know what you’re asking.” you swallowed hard. “You’d only regret it in the end.”
Michael pulled his head from your neck, his lust filled eyes meeting yours and flitting between them. He brought a large palm to cradle the side of your cheek, his thumb smoothing over the spot. The desire welling in his gut still persisted. But he needed you to know.
“I promise you I wouldn’t. I don’t want anyone else but you… but if you don’t want that then I need you to leave. Now.” he inched back away from you, giving you enough room to move away and leave if you wanted.
But you didn’t move.
You stayed firmly planted where he had you in his arms. He didn’t waste another moment, surging forward to claim your lips. It was like he melted into you, pulling you in as if to tuck you into a little corner of his body. His head was still fuzzy but one thing was incredibly clear to him.
He needed to get you upstairs and in his bed now before he tore all your clothes off right in the kitchen.
He detached his lips from yours with great effort, backing up to look into your eyes again. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, yes I’m sure. And very willing please just—“ you let out a surprised yelp when he dipped forward suddenly, picking you up and carrying you over his shoulder. Now Michael wasn’t the biggest man in the world, but his quiet strength shocked you sometimes. He was almost sprinting up the stairs, until he reached his door which he shut before placing you on the bed.
He was on you again. His kiss this time was less frantic, more gentle and soft but still deep and hungry. And the more he kissed you, the more you wanted from him.
You licked at his bottom lip, taking it into your mouth before opening back up. He makes a pleasured sound low in his throat and you start feeling heat coil in your gut.
You angle your body before wrapping your leg around his hip and dragging him down onto you. He immediately starts grinding his hips against yours in slow circles, seeking pleasure, and you moan into his mouth.
You can feel him, hard and insistent rubbing against your cunt through your shorts. And the more you touched him, the warmer your body got. The more arousal started to pool between your legs before it became uncomfortable.
“Michael— please take these off. You’re teasing.” he pulled up, looking down at you sprawled out on his bed. It was like something from a dream.
“Okay, okay y’ want me to take these off honey?” he hummed already reaching for the waistband to your shorts. He slipped them down your legs before tossing them away somewhere.
The sight that met him had his lust clouded brain frazzled. The entire crotch of your panties was soaked through, making the outline of your pussy practically visible through the fabric. And if he looked closely enough, he could see the little twitch of your clit peeking through.
“Fuck—“ he could feel the burn worsening. The need to bury himself inside you and fuck you taking over his thoughts like a parasite. But a fixation had him halting a moment, bringing his thumb to draw circles over your clit through the fabric. And he was so pleased when you writhed on the bed, gripping at his wrist, your legs falling shut slightly.
He got up off the bed and quickly shoved his pants off, his boxers following.
He was hard and long but not overly thick, flushed a deep red color from increased blood flow and arousal.
You and Michael were close, but you’d never been this exposed to each other before. You’d both expected to feel self conscious, but were surprised at the absence of shyness or discomfort.
There was really only one thing going through Michael’s head. He gave himself a few experimental strokes and hissed at the sensitivity, small moans slipping past his lips.
Then he brought himself down, kneeling between your legs, before running his tip over the fabric of your panties. He nearly comes from the feeling of your slick soaked panties alone. You’re both moaning every time he nudges against your clit, keeping himself pressed firmly between your legs while he thrusts against you.
“Hah— I — hmm ‘m jus’ gonna do this kay? Not gonna put it in.” but god he wanted to. He was doing this for your benefit. You’d only offered to help him get off. That didn’t require penetrative sex. And maybe it would be enough. Despite the fact that his brain was screaming at him that it wouldn’t. Screaming at him to just slip your panties off and fuck you properly.
“Ohmygod— Mike please!” your cries were desperate as you rut your hips up against his, trying to catch that perfect angle that made your toes curl and your legs tense. It was almost torturous what he was doing.
“Just a little bit more pretty girl okay?” he whined out, mouth coming over yours. He tried to kiss you but just ended up pressing your mouths together while you both panted.
The sounds of frantic breaths, skin meeting and the bedframe creaking were all that could be heard while you both slide against each other, chasing release.
Your shirt was still on and he shucked it up over your breast with the hand that wasn’t holding his dick. As soon as your tits are presented to him, he’s palming them, surging forward to suck a nipple into his mouth.
“Nnn shit— please don’t stop, baby.” your hands were holding the back of his neck, fingers threading into his curls. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against you when he pressed closer.
“Fuck— you’re so sweet like this y’know. Lettin’ me rub up against you. My sweet girl, always helpin’ me out.” he tilted his head up, dark brown eyes peering at you from your chest and you keened at the praise. He felt the spasms from your cunt reacting— wanting so bad to be filled up by him.
“Michael please, need more.” your eyes were wide and glassy looking down at him, begging for more contact, more friction.
“M’sorry mama I don’t wan’ you t’ hate me but… I have an idea.” he pulled back looking down at the mess he’d made on your panties. His white milky precum mixing in with your slick.
He gingerly peels the middle of your panties up, strings of your arousal snapping against the fabric, and slides his dick under the fabric. The feeling of your warm wet heat sliding against his velvety shaft without the barrier was euphoric. Just skin against skin. And now, every time he slid forward his tip would catch right on your clit, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips.
“Oh this is so much better.” his voice cracked slightly on the words, his sharp thrusts drawing out gasps from your lips. He was grinding his dick along your messy and soaked folds, hips moving in that smooth and controlled way only he could.
The slick friction has Michael’s abs tightening and he cums before he can even think about it. Or stop it. He cums a lot, ropes coating over your already dripping sex and naval.
And even though he just came, that feeling still doesn’t go away. If anything it just made him feel worse.
“Mmmngh— ‘m sorry pretty. Can we do it one more time? Jus’ one more time okay?” he begged and begged, voice desperate, already moving to press against you again.
He was much more enthusiastic this time, chasing after his release with fervor, his cum still between your pelvises making him lose momentum and slip over your pussy. You were a mess at this point, hands gripping anywhere they could and moaning out. You knew this wasn’t going to be enough. For either of you.
“Mikey, need you inside please.” he stalled, coming to a complete halt. He knew he wasn’t gonna need much convincing, but still—
“Are y’sure?” he looked manic but needed to make certain it was something you actually wanted.
“Yes, yes please.”
He didn’t need to be told again. He sat up before roughly flipping you over onto your stomach, pulling you to the edge of the bed. His hands gripped at your hips, lifting them up while a hand smoothed down over your back to press you down, chest flush with the mattress.
He brought his dick to your entrance and pressed inside without preamble. He’d had enough teasing and was met with very little resistance, you being worked up and wet enough.
At the first feel of him inside you, you both let out a simultaneous moan. He was in pure ecstasy. And the angle had him hitting a spot deep inside you every time he pressed his hips to yours. He didn’t know if it was the drugs or just you but he felt like he’d finally gotten some relief. So he chased after that feeling.
It was messy and heated, slick sounds from your combined wetness ringing in his ears and spurring him on. Little groans of your name and whimpers were leaving his lips and every time your pussy spasmed and drew him in was like heaven had fell down and relocated between your legs.
He hardly knew what to do with himself. He just watched that little ring coating around your entrance where he was sliding in and out of you.
“Feel good mama, y’like when I’m deep inside you like this? C’mon, tell me how it feels angel.”
“Ss’so good.” you couldn’t frame together a full sentence, drool spilling from the corner of your lip while he fucked you.
Michael was relentless, hips smacking roughly against yours. At some point you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore and collapsed down onto the mattress. And instead of hauling you up, he just followed you down, plastering himself firmly to your back.
“Nu uh please don’t run mama, mm not done yet. Still need this pussy. Gotta take it.” he huffed out into your ear and tightened his hold on you, dragging you into his thrusts. You were thankful when he dipped his hand around your body, reaching to rub tight circles over your clit. Even if he was fucked out of his mind, he wouldn’t forget your pleasure.
You were wailing out, repeated cries of his name and please all stringing together in an indistinguishable mess.
“Pussy so sweet to me, gonna come for me? Yeah she is— you’re so close aren’t you?” he was babbling so much, all of it bringing you closer and closer to the edge until you came with a barely audible cry.
His hips still didn’t stop, he kept the momentum going, fucking you through your orgasm, and when you finally were ready to come back down he still hadn’t stopped. You were feeling the beginnings of overstimulation setting in, your limbs shaking slightly.
Michael finally pulled off you and flipped you back over. He looked apologetic and in a daze as he wrapped your thighs up in his hands, spreading you open and shoving a leg over his shoulder.
You had a feeling of what he was gonna say next. He kissed your ankle sweetly before speaking. “Jus’ one more time okay sweet girl, I promise jus’ one more. Y’can do that right? Doin’ so good for me.”
One more time actually turned into about five more times, Michael bending you into any position his mind could conjure up in his sex induced haze. You’d lost track of just about everything, but around your last time, when things had finally started to tame, it felt different.
It wasn’t frantic and chasing like it had been. He went slow and pressed deep. It was reverent and loving and had you clawing your nails against the slope of his back. He didn’t say much but the message was there in the way he caressed you after, pressing gentle kisses all over you.
The last thing you remember is him whispering something in your ear before your body took the rest that it needed.
You woke the next morning to a harsh sound directly in your ear. Your body felt like it’d been hit by a truck but you managed to turn to be met with a soundly sleeping Michael, mouth open and arm draped over your hip. He was snoring, you realized with a smile. At least he was actually sleeping for once.
You stretched your limbs out as best you could, head pressed into the pillow. You needed to get up, your brain already running scenarios in your head for what you’d do when he got up. A cold fear crashed into you when you thought of what he’d say.
If he’d regret this whole thing. Because you didn’t. It was unexpected, sure but you didn’t regret it. You knew the feelings you had for Michael before this whole thing even happened. Ones you tried to push down because you thought it was the right thing to do.
You decided that you wanted to be up first and at least have clothes on or got in the shower for this conversation. You pried your limbs from under his body, attempting to not wake him up.
You went to pick your clothes up off the floor when you caught sight of your reflection in a mirror near the wall.
“Holy fuck.” you furrowed your brows moving closer. All marred across your skin were deep marks, ranging in color and size. You’d be hard pressed to find a spot untouched.
Michael stirred on the bed lifting up and wiping sleep from his eye. When he saw you across the room he got a deeply embarrassed look on his face. How could he look so innocent after what happened last night?
“I uh— I’m sorry about that. I may have gotten a little carried away.”
You turned to inspect your back and ass, tilting your head at him. “A little carried away? It looks like I got mauled.” you pointed to a bruise on your thigh glaring at him playfully. Truthfully, you weren’t all that upset at all. You enjoyed last night.
“Sorry I was just havin’ too much fun. It was jus’ the drugs in my system.” he’d said it with a shrug like it was no big deal. Your brows drew down immediately.
“So… all of last night, that was just the drugs?” you held your breath, waiting for an answer, eyes staring into his expectantly. You were already planning your emotionally detached response and escape but he seemed to realize how that sounded quickly.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Oh goodness no no. I didn’t mean— of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.” he reassured and you let out the breath you’d been holding.
“I promise you it didn’t mean nothin’ to me.” he said, eyes filled with something you couldn’t put a name to yet. But you believed him and his words eased your mind.
“Okay. These bruises are still crazy though. How am I supposed to hide this Michael?”
⏾ content - 18+(mdni) black popstar! reader. p-in-v. secret relationship. pure filth. the reader is a bird, but she has a mouth.. lowkey toxic relationship. and lots of cussing.
you were pissed.
and it was slowly getting impossible to ignore. according to your reciptionist, michael had called 2 times. which normally isn’t problem, technically even once is considered a ‘luxury’. you and michael both have time consuming lifestyles, even at the end of the day it was still asking for more.
“miss, he’s calling again..” your reciptionist calls out.
you groan head falling back on the plush couch of the studio. you're supposed be brainstorming for your next project, random ideas scattered across the small table. but you were really hiding from michael.
the night before, during a networking event you spotted michael with this up and coming ‘star’ on his arm the whole night. its one thing to have simple conversation, but a whole other when his hands are gripping her waist so tightly and smiling as he fixes her hair. he was basically orbiting her like she was sun.
you sat at the bar, observing. slowly sipping on something expensive. the whole night michael was completely entranced with her presence he couldn’t bother even looking your way, until the end of the night.
locking eyes with you, dropping his hand from her waist. standing there like an idiot with his mouth open.
you quickly realized, you got to stay calm. he knows he messed up, so why blow up in his face, at least today. he’ll call tomorrow, trying to explain and you wont pick up. let him feel everything your felt from this moment.
grabbing your clutch, sparing him no glance as you exit the event. the coolness of the night, soothing the anger brewing inside never extinguishing it.
now, you sit on your counter right next to the landline watching it ring. once, twice, and on the third you slowly picked up.
“mikey…” the nickname slipping out. “quit playing on my phone.” your voice clearly irritated.
on the other end, he lets out a low breathy laugh, almost as if he was simply brushing your irritation off.
“m’not playing,” his voice low and grumbly. “m’calling. there’s a difference, baby.”
"just spit it out, michael. i dont have to time be listening t'you breathin' in my ear." you scoffed out.
the line goes slient for a split second.
“you’ve been ignoring me.”
twirling the cord around your finger. remembering to be brief, let him do the talking.
“i havent, i’ve been busy. theres a difference, baby.” your voice now sticky sweet, mocking his words.
“hm. you didnt come over last night.” he asked you more like it was a statment then a question.
now understanding where this is going. "and arent you observant?" you mused. "hate to cut this call short, but is work is calling my name. how about we continue this at mine?" michael tries to get words in as you continue "in 45? okay, see ya!" you hang up before he could answer.
not even, 20 minutes later you hear knocking on your front door. you let him knock, letting the sound echo through your walls.
"mama." just loud enough for you to hear.
you stood there, staring holes into the door. your heartbeat now in your ears. walking in long strides towards the sound. yanking the door open, you see him looking like somebody pissed in his cereal.
internally rolling eyes. 'why in the world would he be mad?' your thought quickly being interrupted by michael pushing his way past you. waiting for no invitation, walking in like he owned the place.
"you hung up on me."
"and?" sucking your teeth. your eyes looking for a response. back leaning against the closed door.
"and... i was tryin' to talk t'you."
"no, you were tryin' to give me an excuse." your hand now propped on your hip.
he tlits his head back, give you a soft chuckle. "last night was nothin' and you know this, girl. business."
"nothing?" clearly shocked at his words. "nigga, please. you were all over her, that didnt look like business t'me. you dont expect me t'believe that shit, seriously." rolling your eyes and turning your head away from him.
"you're overreacting." he stated plainly.
"overreacting.." your voice sharp. "were supposed to be together, everyone may not know, but i know. you had me there feelin' like a fool." you closed your eyes, inhaling deeply, finding your words. as much as you were mad at him, you didn't wanna lose your man.
"did you really think you could smile your way out of this and it would magically be fixed?" your tone much softer now.
his jaw tightened. "it meant nothing, you know how these nights go."
you shook your head, making a disapproving sound. "fuck, that." muttering under your breath.
michael now inching closer towards you. his large hand gripping at your waist. you reacting quickly, slapping his away. pointing the same finger in his face
"don't touch me." you barked out.
in one swift motion he grabs your waist again, tighter this time. face dipping down to your ear. your hand gripping the shoulder of his shirt.
"real bold,” he said, voice dark and taunting, “for somebody who was just screaming my name the other night, begging me not to stop.”
"bull. shit." annunciating each word . shoving him, not to push him off to push him off, but enough to prove a point.
michael's jaw flexed, looking at you deep in you eyes. "listen baby, i know i fucked up." a sigh grumbles through his throat.
"lemme fix it." lips grazing your neck.
you wanted to protest, to demand it wouldn't be that easy. but it all went out the window as michael smashes his lip against yours. kissing you as if he was apologizing and taking your response straight from your mouth.
you bit his lip in pure defiance, michael making a low sound but never pulling away. both his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. feeling how hard he was on your stomach.
"you can't just—" you tried to argue but his hand already slipping between your legs, cupping you through your thin shorts. the pressure of his thick finger on you made your breath hitch. he watched your face the whole time, reading every little reaction you tried to hide.
"and there she is." he quietly teased you.
your face contorting into a scowl. "dont get cocky."
"hmmm, too late." he grins at you. gripping at your shorts and pulling them down to your knees. you shimmy out from them, and kick off to the side. he yanks his own pants down, his cock so thick and hard. lifting his shirt up over his head.
he grabs the back of your thigh, lifting it up placing it on his forearm, your knee bending over it. with his free hand he takes his cock rubbing the tip in the wetness of your pussy.
"pretty baby." he groans peckering kissing on your cheeks.
before pushing into your slick entrance in one smooth motion. a broken sound leaving your throat, your fingering digging in his shoulders. he stays motionless, feeling your walls flutter around him. his forehead pressed against yours, watching your eyebrows furrow as you feel every inch.
"breathe," he tells you, almost quieter than a whisper.
"you don' tell me what t'do." you slurred out. so dizzy from the way hes stretching you out.
michael grins at your response as begins moving at a steady, deep pace. the kind that makes it hard to keep your attitude up. everytime you tried to say something slick, he angles his hips just right and the words sounding more like whine and a cry more than anything.
you hated how fast your body was giving in, hated how good he still felt, and now he was the only thing you could focus on.
"mikey—” you moaned out.
"i got you," he says low and soothing, even as he begins fucking you harder. he brings your lifted knee closer to your chest, spreading it wider so he could get deeper. helpless sounds pour out your mouth.
"i know. i know." his voice laced in false sympathy. "you're still mad, take it out on me, sweet thing."
you did just that.
nails deep in his back. bitting his shoulders so hard you swore you could taste something metallic. pulling hard at his hair. you were fighting him, spewing profanities at him. but your body gripping him hard and pulling him in closer. still so angry, but it was tangled with something heavier. something that made your thigh tremble and voice go impossibly high.
“you feel that?” he asked, breath rough against your ear. he sounded just as wrecked. “how wet you are for me even when you were oh so mad at me”
“shut up.” you huffed out
“make me.”
he kissed you again, slower this time, while his hand slipped between your bodies and found your clit, picking up your other leg. the dual pressure and change in position made your head tip back onto the door and your mouth open in a silent moan. he lifted your shirt sucking on your pretty nipples. your soaked cunt leaking out and straight on the floor below. the same hands who tried pushing him away, now pulling him closer. feeling that warm knot in your body tighten.
"i cant stand you.." you breathed, he was slowly breaking you apart at each thrust.
"i know." kissing the corner of your mouth. "but y'takin' my dick so good, pullin' me in s'deep."
that did it.
your orgasm hitting hard, broken moans falling from your lips. your cunt pulsing hard against his cock. he followed soon after, burying himself deep with a low groan, arms locking around you so you wouldn’t slide down the door. for a long moment the only sound was the two of you trying to catch your breath.
michael stayed buried deep inside you, breath from his nose tickling your face. slipping out from you and taking you straight in your bedroom and putting the both of yall under the covers before starting.
"baby... im sorry." his hand stroking your cheek, keeping you from floating off. "i know i should have never had my hands on her. i only want to have you, my lady."
you didnt answer immediately, the anger temporarily fucked out from you.
"hmph. dont do it again." your face basically pressed in his chest.
"i wont." a stupid grin growing on his face.
he kissed your forehead, then your temple, staying close. you were not not mad, but done arguing at least for tonight.
bro i rewatched baby boy nd it really sparked something inside of meee. its okay to be a bird especially for mike. also thank yall for 240 followers like omg im genuinely im shocked. i love you all truly!!!!
☆Summary: Michael purposely left a mark on your neck and came home to see that you covered it up.
♡Tags: Thriller! Michael, Protected Sex, Marathon Sex, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Dumbification, Cockdrunk! Reader, MICHAEL HAS A BIG—, Possessive Behaviors, Breeding Kink (kinda?), Marking Fetish (sorry i forgot the actual term), Mean! Michael :(, P in V, Squirting, NOT PROOF READ
◇Word Count: 3.9k
》 maybe I got a little carried away? Maybe, just a little. Will be releasing shy otw! michael an hour after this takes off muehehe.
Rarely do you ever stay the night at Hayvenhurst nowadays. With the new client demanding the work be done before the actual deadline, you were more at the studio bent over the table sketching over the paper being illuminated under it than lounging under the covers with your boyfriend.
Between his promotional schedule and your work days, you both were barely scrounging up the time for each other.
You still had time to meet up every other day but they’re mostly composed of sleepy recounts of that day—like your coworker Markus messing up the coffee orders so he gave you his own instead, or Marissa, the canteen lady, accidentally causing a fight between two women who turns out to be fighting for one man—before you’re passing out cold in his arms while Michael would stay up a little longer to write or read.
Physical touch was one of his love languages and you indulge him with it by always seeking his hand under the tables or by simply holding him close but there was a different kind of neediness in the way Michael sought you out the last few days.
Fingers digging into flesh whenever they find your waist, hips or thighs if he's feeling extra bold. His lips are always chasing yours before you get a word in, then there’s the rise in his need to have you wearing clothes that are obviously not yours to send a message.
Michael had always been a bit possessive but you don’t mind his little quirks. If it helps calm his anxiety, then you'd happily do it for him. Whether wearing a piece of him with you—usually a sweater that is far beyond your paycheck and style or a handkerchief with the magnificently embroidered ‘M’—or him risking the attention so he could drop you off at the studio, you don't mind them at all.
(You also find a sick satisfaction knowing how much he wants you and it’s a little cute.)
But you had severely underestimated just how deep how the distance had affected him until he broke one of his most important rules.
Last night was a flurry of desperate kisses, hands eagerly exploring every uncharted territory, and whispered assurance that you were here for him. Michael didn’t have to say his vulnerabilities out loud when his body’s doing the talking, movements frantic and restless as if he had something to prove to the voice in his mind with every thrust he rewarded you.
You can’t even remember how many rounds it took for him to finally calm down from his frenzy, mind full of cottons and your muscles static from who-knows-how many orgasms the man had wrought out of you.
But it all came to a head hours ago when in the haze of his encompassing need to have you close, his lips closed around the skin of your neck and sucked, hard.
Drunk on ecstasy, you hadn't realised what he did until you were done and Michael was checking his work, thumbing the discolored skin like you would a masterpiece with that uncharacteristic, dark satisfaction in his eyes and the curve of his mouth
He apologized when you whined about it but his smile made him seem insincere.
Now that you’re standing in front of the mirror in Michael’s bathroom, two hours since he woke you up to say his goodbye before going to the long line of interviews prepared for him, staring at the stark purple bruise on the side of your throat with a wince, mentally debating on hiding it under makeup or wearing a turtleneck.
It wasn’t a big of a mark to be ashamed of—it's literally the size of a mongol pencil's eraser if not a little bit bigger—but the position and its color nonetheless suggested the night you had with Michael and you’d rather not give fuel to the gossipmongers.
Seeing that you don't have the exact color corrector for it on your pouch, you pulled a turtleneck from your little corner in Michael's wardrobe instead and threw it on before rushing out to work.
“Look at that skank over there. Is she not ashamed that she's practically broadcasting to everyone that she got fucked last night?”
“Marissa, keep it down!” Her shift partner today, Tonia hissed, swatting the other woman's idle hand over the counter with her ladle.
“She must be doin’ that so her boy doesn't leave her, the animation teams’ been doing overnights, no?”
“God, you’re such a—”
You didn't pay anymore attention to their bickering, quickly taking the slice of clubhouse sandwich from the file before moving forward as inconspicuously as you can, trying to not reach up to fix the rather loose collar of your turtleneck and give the old ladies any idea.
Her words aren't even directed at you but it hits just the same, sinking into the depths of your mind like a snakebite. Hastily taking from each appetizing tray with a burning face, you then flutter away to the farthest table to avoid catching their prying gaze because god forbid the news of your new non-virgin status goes around the office.
Of course you know Michael wouldn't leave you for having forced overtimes—you always joked that you bring in the discounts for Disney Parks so he has to no choice but to keep you, to which he'd always playfully wave off saying he can afford the full price without problem—its more about how nasty they were treating the girl for a mistake she must have accidentally made.
A mistake you luckily did not make.
Putting distance between you and the counter however, only intensified the feeling of being perceived. Even if you could see the two busy themselves behind the booth, the moment you look away, Melissa's poisonous words would resurface and you're snapping back up again to watch them work.
Markus had raised an eyebrow at your peculiar behavior and you waved his concern off, saying you were debating on getting more sandwiches. He misunderstood your action as being shy and offered his own instead.
Not wanting to embarrass him by correcting him, you just smiled and thanked him.
You carried that tenseness with you back to your table, hands always itching to check if your top or hair is covering what you logically know is hidden well.
The restlessness led to the ruin of a couple sheets—first, it was your drink falling when your leg jumped a little too high that it should and knocked it off. Then it was the paper ripping from how intense you were using the eraser—before Markus had to physically pull you off your chair after the tenth crumpled paper so you could walk around the compound to relax.
The exercise helped and the idle chatter with your coworker made it easy to forget what you were so worried about and soon enough, you were back in your cubicle to continue drawing, managing to finish more frames than you thought you could for the day.
Which means an early out and a little more time to spend with your boyfriend. Yay!
Bill was already at his bench by the time you drove into Hayvenhurst, waving at you as soon as you approached the front door before informing you that Michael retired to his room early tonight.
You briefly greeted Mama Kath who was in the kitchen gossiping with La Toya and Rebbie before jogging up the stairs and to your boyfriend's room whose door is left wide open.
Wanting to surprise him, you quietly skip to the door and slowly peek in from the side of the door.
“Mikey? Are you here?”
The room is empty and the bathroom is open wide, obviously barren as well. Maybe he had gone somewhere else?
Picking up the hairclip you left on his bedside table, eyes briefly grazing the pillow stuck between the headboard and the wall, you quickly pinned your hair back before padding towards the bathroom with your travel bag, cheeks flushed as memories of last night flooded into your mind.
Oh heavens, what is going on with you today?
Pulling out the cotton pad and micellar water, you make quick work of your makeup when you hear Michael's quick and almost silent footsteps enter the room.
“Angel? You in here?”
“In the bathroom!” You respond, throwing the used cotton before pulling out the travel cleanser bottle and squeezing out a generous amount on your palm.
Lathering the product on your hands, you then rubbed it all over your face a little hastily, wanting nothing but to finish up and finally lounge with Michael.
After last night's distraction, you both hadn't got the chance to finish the movie you've been wanting to watch since it came out in the cinema due to your work. You had bought the physical copy yesterday for the both of you to watch until desires completely overrode every plan.
Maybe you could get through the ending before you get derailed into having yourself pressed against the mattress again.
“Why'd you hide it, baby?”
Hearing the disappointment in his voice made you quickly rinse the product off your face, you bent down and blindly reached for the faucet when you felt his strong arms wrap around your waist before one hand pulls the side of your turtleneck down to see the mark while you splashed your face with water.
“It's not too big to be distracting, why hide it?”
“Well I can't really walk around with it out and about, can I?” You tell him lightheartedly, smiling as you look around for the facial towel but his hold only tightens.
“It looks pretty, your hair would've been enough to hide it.”
There was something in Michael's voice that made your heart race nervously, along with that almost blank look in his eyes as he gently manoeuvred your hair to prove his point, patting it into the skin.
“There, it's hidden.” He hummed.
“Mikey, I can't have it out unless I wanna be called a harlot for having it visible.”
You recalled Deborah and the very apparent purple bruise placed suspiciously under her jaw, remember how it got her called a ‘whore’ the moment she left the counter and was out of earshot.
He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly.
“Don't say that.”
“Someone got called worse than that in the office, Mikey. She must've thought she could pass it off as a mosquito bite and left it alone.”
“Mine's pretty small, your hair can hide it. Besides, old folks used to say it wards off bad spirits.” He joked, laughing to himself as he played with your hair a little more.
“People can still see it up close.” You argued, picking out your toner from the pouch when you noticed the shift in the air.
Confused, you looked up into the mirror and met his gaze.
Despite there being a smile plastered on his face, there’s an edge to them that shivers down your spine as his eyes simmer down into an expression that strikes the feeling of being a prey being sized up before a feast and your heart speeds up a little.
“What kind of people?”
“M-my workmates, of course. Particularly my current team this development, I have to check in with a few people if we’re still on the same page.”
“Like?”
“Mikey, you already know who’s my team this time ‘round.” You tell him with a look before busying yourself with putting on your toner then fetching the moisturizer.
There's two unlabeled bottles that could either be your moisturizer or a serum. Picking one up to unscrew and check its contents, Michael's arms found your waists again but this time, it held a tightness that pinned you from where you stood as he rested his chin on your shoulders.
Finally finding the right product, you placed it on your face with your head down, suddenly finding it hard to look into the mirror.
“Is it Markus?” He asked, the emptiness in tone not lost on you.
“I mean, he's the one who digitalizes my frames. Of course he would, baby.”
“Hmm.” Was his only response.
Then his hands slip into the hem of your top, thumbs delicately massaging the skin there. It was the gentleness of his touch, the prominent bulge poking your back and the continued silence that got your heart galloping.
There's a tenseness in the air that's as fragile as porcelain—as pulled taut as a rubber band pushed to its limit. A warning hangs at a balance high up in the air. All it’d take was one particular gust of wind and it’ll topple over.
“Remove the turtleneck for me, sweetheart.”
You didn’t hesitate in pulling the thick top off of your body, neither did his hands as they crawled up below the swell of your breasts before falling off to explore the planes of your visible skin, eyes never wavering from where it continued to stare at you through the mirror.
Clicking his tongue at your continued attempt to avoid his gaze, he took a firm grip on your chin and directed your attention to your reflection then to his large hand falling to the length of your throat. You flushed at the lewd sight, heart galloping as Michael leaned down to pepper reverent kisses on your shoulder and up to the side of your neck.
“Baby, I’m not done—”
“Then continue.”
His hand undid the button and zipper of your pants before boldly reaching down, long fingers immediately finding the plush of your cunt and cupping his palm over it. Immediately, you open your legs a little wider, hips bucking into his hand instinctively.
Seeing yourself spread like a wanton woman was just too lewd and you looked away but Michael clicked his tongue and guided you back by the chin with his other hand. Only this time, he kept you watching your reflection and his smoldering gaze.
“I've been thinking about you the whole day. Everything I do, even when I'm just breathin’, brings me back to what we did last night. I couldn’t focus on the music because all I can hear is you. But you were out there acting cute for other guys.”
“Mikey, I did not—mfgh!”
After your rather intense first time—or is it times with how many rounds it went on for?—its a wonder why you're so surprised that he hadn't gone back to his shy self. Not that it mattered much, a sick part of your brain buzzed with anticipation at what Michael's jealousy this time would entail.
He dips a digit into your clothed cunt and immediately finds your engorged clit, rolling it tightly and slowly. You gasped at the stimulation, cheeks burning hot as your attention fell to the hypnotizing way his hand moved under your jeans.
Pushing the waistbands a little lower so he could have more access, you arched into his touch as he picks up a pace neither fast or slow but still as tight as he started with.
“You're not doing it on purpose, I know that but people will get the wrong idea when you're acting so nice. I don't like it.”
You don't even know what's happening anymore but you do know that you're being loved with every inch of your life right now.
From the tips of your head and down to the ends of your toes, all you could feel was a fuzzy buzzing from the past orgasms and the ones that followed right after. Eyes rolling back and legs tensing down to the tips of your toes as he gave you a particularly deep thrust from behind, knocking you from your hands and knees, and down to the mattress.
The sudden shift caused by your fall almost drove you to insanity, clawing at the sheet as you bit down on your lips to keep yourself from screaming.
Seriously, you think you might just pass out.
Taking a break to fix the position, he sneaks a hand under your abdomen to push your hips up a little before Michael’s driving back in, deeper than before and you moan into his sheets, eyes screwing shut as you blindly reach behind to push at his stomach.
“Fuck wait—you’re too deep…!”
He catches your hand and places it back down to your side
“I know you can take it, sweetheart. Don’t be silly.”
Then he’s ramming his insanely big dick into your battered cunt, filling the room with an obscene wet plap! plap! plap! sound as skin meets skin.
Your eyes brimmed with tears as you grew lightheaded, intoxicated by the mixture of both ecstasy and pain as the tip of his dick kissed your cervix again and again.
His lips found the back of your neck again, kissing an unmarked part of your skin before he’s opening his mouth and the sharpness of his canines grazed your nape. You gasped, shivers running down your spine as your walls tightening instinctively around him.
He groaned.
“You’re so tight f’me, angel—ha... You like it this deep? Like it when I make you mine?”
It’s so crude, so degrading but when he’s overtaking every sense of your being, feeding you this sweet ecstasy without rest, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care anymore.
“Yes yes, fuck—yes!”
You feel the girth of his condom-wrapped dick part open your plush walls and hit your spot every time, rendering you into an incoherent mush under him, gripping the bedsheets for dear life as he hammered your insides, pushing your arousal out and letting it gush down your cunt to stain his mattress.
“Damn, you hear that, sweet thing? He-hear how—mfmgh!—wet you are for me?”
Fully cockdrunk to mutter a proper response with his hips slamming into yours, stealing your breath away, you just nodded frantically.
Unsatisfied, he clicks his tongue and buries himself to the hilt, tearing a broken moan out of your lips as he wraps his arms around your neck and you rest your chin on his forearms.
“Still with me, ma? Don’t go just yet, I’ve barely made a mark on ya.”
Liar. You haven’t even seen your neck but you have a feeling that it's a complete mirror of your chest where a thousand little kissmarks littered it like stars in the night sky.
Not that you're complaining, you kinda like how they looked on your skin.
“Yes yes ye—nghh! D-don’t stop.. Please, fuck—”
“Language, baby.”
“You’re so—You’re so mean t’me…” You whined.
“You're just too pretty looking drunk on my love, sweet thing.”
Grinding his hips against your ass, you melted back into the bed as he picked up a slow but deliberate pace, cockhead nudging the depths of your cunt while his lips kissed every inch of your neck and shoulders.
“You're goin’ to drive me crazy. You're just too kind that everyone can't help but fall for you. Should I just put a ring on your finger? Would that make people stop trying to flirt with ya?”
You don’t get what he’s trying to say. Who was flirting with you?
“Should I just give you a baby, hm? Get you all round and big, full of our kid?”
A sob wretched out of your throat as Michael took on a bruising pace, goaded on by his words and imagination.
You feel so light. Completely euphoric.
Every part of your being is fried from the static electricity from your last orgasms and his deep thrust that continues to bully the depths of your cunt with reckless abandon. If it wasn't for the vivid feeling of his dick constantly sliding against your pulsing walls, you would have long thought you've gone to heaven.
Sneaking a hand under your pushed up hips, his fingers found your clit and began rubbing you in frantic circles, grunting into your ear as you clenched tightly around him.
“Ngh—shit, baby fuck…! I’m close…”
Hearing this, his thrusts turned animalistic and you hear a loud slam! as his hand found stabilization on the headboard as he pistoned in and out of you, the feeling of his thickness sliding against your gummy walls rendering you dumb from how addictingly sweet it is.
“Cu-cum on me, mama… Give it to me. Show me how much you love me.”
It took two more thrust and a few swipes on your clit before you’re violently unravelling around him, his name a broken and bitten off moan on your lips as he chased after his own.
You sobbed, body shrivelling as your pleasure became too much for you to handle but he didn't stop. Instead, he's pulling you up to sit on him with your back on his chest as his hands falls to your hips, grinding his dick somehow deeper inside you.
And oh god, you might just pass out. Head falling back listlessly as you shakes, feeling so full and stretched out now that you're sitting on top of him.
“Ride me, baby. Roll those hips for me.”
When you don't move the way he wanted to, Michael does it for you instead with a little bit of strength in his hold as he manuevered you up and forward on his dick before grinding you backwards as you fall.
There's something building up inside you, like a water balloon growing heavy with every stimulation.
You sobbed, head falling to your chest as you mustered up your remaining energy to mimic his pace until you see a very prominent bulge on your abdomen whenever you fuck yourself down on him.
“I-I can't—fuck..!—baby, you’re gonna—I'm goin’ to lo-lose it…!”
“A little more for me, baby—Ha—you can take a lil’ more.”
His hand finds your clit and he's rubbing you at the same pace as your thrusts. You feel his nose against your neck again, hot breath fanning your skin as his mouth opens to latch onto flesh, teeth grazing as he sucks another mark on your shoulder.
And with the deliciously painful feeling of his dick reaching depths he never had before that he's bulging out of your stomach, it was an inevitable that you were going to cum again on him.
But you weren't expecting the gush of liquid that exploded out of you as you fall, completely staining his sheets and his pillows, body completely folding onto yourself as your limbs convulses at the amount of pleasure being injected into your bloodstream.
“Fuck! D-did you just—” A laugh of disbelief leaves his lips and if your head wasn't floating, you would've felt more mortified than you already do or cared that he swore out of shock.
“Ba-baby…” You gasped, voice weak.
“Only me, hm? You only squirt for me? You're so pretty, lovely—hah…”
You just nodded feverishly, delirious and dumbed down to reply anything sound.
Then he’s cumming too with a pitchy groan, sitting you still on his dick as he emptied himself into the condom, breath stuttering and body shaking a little.
And like a puppet cut off of its strings, you fall limblessly onto his bed, shaking like a leaf as you gasp for air, eyes already heavy with exhaustion now that you're done being jostled and stimulated.
It was all too much for your brain to handle and you couldn't stop yourself from completely shutting down on the first sign of rest.
Michael hushes you, hand feeling like a balm as it rubs your shivering lower back up and down before his attention drifted up to the artwork he's left on your skin, a ragged exhale leaving his lips as he gently caresses a spot.
“Rest a little but just know that I'm not done with you yet, lovely.”
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: thrill the wall!michael jackson x f!reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’re a super freak—but you’re alright with global popstar michael jackson (inspired by ‘super freak’ by rick james)
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.1k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: smut, 18+, (p-in-v), use of (name) once, smut and implied sex, creampie, facial, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, semi-public sex (hand-job), mentions of sex toy’s and kinks, multiple orgasms, sex-crazed reader, freaky reader, groupie esc but not rlly, clubbing, drinking, cursing, smoking (all reader) drug usage (not reader), katherine hates us LOL, down bad mike. mentions of religion/repenting but doesn’t go very well, your friends are as wild as reader, yeah this is uhh this is smth. enjoy!
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is obviously inspired by ‘super freak’ by rick james, which has been one of my favourite songs since i was a young teen and instantly thought of michael and the jackson’s when i re-listened to it the other day. this is pretty wild so enjoy!! this a long fic but idk how to find out my word count but strap in LMFAO
She’s a very kinky girl…
Michael wasn’t sure exactly sure how he got here—Tucked into a V.I.P booth at Studio 54, an array of sickly sweet alcoholic beverages sprawled out across a wooden, circular table, music blasting in his ears, and a young lady with minimal clothing on, perched on his lap.
To say he was uncomfortable would be a lie. To the untrained eye—Michael Jackson, the famously shy, timid and gentle man, looked tense and awkward with such a woman atop of him, whispering in his ear, twirling a stray curl at the nape of his neck around her index finger, and skirt hiked up so high her panties were visible to anyone walking by. But, in reality, he was trying his hardest to not let his natural, masculine urges fulfil themselves beneath his black slacks, threatening to get uncomfortably tight.
The lady perched on his lap was you—Dressed in a ridiculously low-cut top, stiletto’s and a mini-skirt, which could’ve easily passed as belt. You were drunk, reeked of cigarettes, and had a perfume that mingled with the stench of tobacco deliciously—A potent vanilla scent that radiated cheapness, yet still intoxicating to say the least.
Michael and his brother’s, excluding his youngest brother, Randy, had decided taking a night off from day-to-day tour business was much needed. That Studio 54 would awaken their spirits, lighten the mood from the gruelling studio sessions, and buzz their energy with an alcoholic beverage that was bursting with an over-poured amount of liquor.
Michael, being the quiet, tentative man he was, at first declined—Rejecting the idea all together. Rather suggesting a movie night, or a late-night walk around the cul-de-sac, before tucking into their hotel bed at nine-PM.
His boisterous, reckless brother’s turned that down immediately.
And so, Michael was dragged along the lively streets to Studio 54—Tense, and out of his comfort zone, as his brother’s made passing comments about half-naked women traipsing past, and exchanging mutual excitement for their night of liquor indulgence. He had trailed behind—Scuffing his shoes on the concrete, occasionally kicking a stray stone or beer can, or gazing longingly into the dark sky, studying the dispersing clouds or twinkling stars. Until—
“Whew! And where are you handsome boys off to?”
Michael was interested now.
Your suggestive, drawled tone snapped him out of his self-induced trance, voice a fluid, tempting sound that had his eyes adjusting to the bright neon sign of the cheap, tacky club you stood outside of. His eyes, now accustomed to the light, widened at your frame—Dressed provocatively, and sporting a seductive smile that would send any God fearing man into the deep, dark depths of reckless temptation.
“Mm—mm! Too fine to be walkin’ ‘round lookin’ like that, baby.” Your friend piped up next to you, shorts ridden up her behind so far the curve of her ass cheeks peeked out the bottom as she approached Michael’s brother, Jermaine, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers.
Two of your other friend’s lingered behind you, giggling between hushed whispers, before finally stepping forward to approach each of his brother’s as they stopped in the middle of the street.
“We’re headin’ to Studio 54.” Marlon, Michael’s other brother, was the first to speak, smiling cheekily down at your one friend, who had now placed herself so close to him that he could see every particle of an infamous white powder underneath her nose, “What you pretty ladies doin’ at a club like this?”
“Waitin’ for a handsome bunch a’guys to come save us, of course.” Your friend shot back, licking her lips as she trailed her eyes over Marlon’s frame, “And I think we just mighta found ‘em.”
Jermaine, Jackie and Marlon shared mutual glances—One’s that spoke a thousand words. Yet, Michael knew exactly what they said—“Bingo!”. A look that signified they’d struck pot gold. Michael swallowed thickly—This was his best dream and worst nightmare all in one. Negatively, he had never, ever been with a woman before, intimately. Sure, he’d kissed girls before, but never gone all the way. Not even orally. It pained and embarrassed him, the scrutinising fact often led him into relentless teasing sessions with his brother’s who’d had their fair shares of women—Only furthering their excitement to your group’s presence. But, on the positive side—He was certain with your sensual, hyper-sexual behaviour, he could practice a thing or two. And it certainly helped with how beautiful you were despite your anti-social habits.
“Real quiet back here, handsome.”
Michael jumped—Not out of fear, but surprise, as his eyes landed on your frame right at his feet. Your smile was dizzying—Alluring, magnetic and teasing, a lit cigarette hanging between the plushness as you met his gaze.
“Y’all are from that band, aren’t you?” You questioned, tilting your head at him, “‘The Jackson’s’, right?”
Michael nodded quickly, “Y—Yes, we are.” He managed to squeak out.
You hummed, satisfied with the response as you took in his frame—As stiff as a board, hands twitching at his sides and throat bobbing every few seconds as he gulped at your electrifying closeness. He was clad in a black suit—The dark colour sported across his suit jacket, slacks and shoes, aside from the crisp white shirt that hugged his torso, and the dazzling, white diamond waistcoat that peaked through the layers of his outfit. He looked like a million bucks—And who doesn’t want that?
“Hm. I like your music.” You admitted, taking an impossible step closer—Smiling as Michael tensed further, forcing himself to not look anywhere but your eyes, as your pushed-up, exposed cleavage hit his peripheral vision, “Makes me wanna move, y’know? Start dancin’.”
“Y—Yeah? That’s good, tha’s what we were goin’ for.” Michael spoke, voice cracking slightly, his fingers finding the material of his trousers, toying with a loose thread.
“You jus’ released your first solo album, too, didn’t’cha?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Yes ma’am?” You snorted, furrowing your eyebrows with a dry laugh, “What am I? Your mother?”
Michael’s eyes widened, “S—Sorry! I mean yes, I have. It’s called ‘Off The Wall’.”
“Hm, I heard that too, superstar.” You smiled, tight-lipped, and teasing, “Got some real dirty songs on there, babe.”
Michael’s breath hitched in his throat at your words, eyes blowing wide open, “I—I, n—no, I don—“
“‘Girlfriend’? ‘Rock With You’?” You named, grinning wickedly, “Unless, ‘I wanna see you shake that thang’ means somethin’ else in ‘Get On The Floor’, I’d say you’re a real dirty boy, Michael Jackson.”
Michael gasped softly, lips parting, and then closing, before repeating the movements as words failed him. You laughed loudly, throwing your head back, cigarette dangling dangerously loose between your lips as you shook your head.
“Gotcha there, handsome.” You purred, winking, before taking his clammy hand in your own, “C’mon. I’ll shake my thang for you, if ya’want.”
The kind you don’t take home to Mother…
And that’s how Michael got into this beautiful predicament. Your friends had claimed a brother each—Aside from Jermaine and Jackie, who were happily sharing your one friend, her behind perched on Jackie’s lap, while her long, bare legs traipsed across Jermaine’s thighs, hands covering her skin from both sides. Tito, always the gentlemen, had declined his lady on his lap—But, instead opted for grazing her bare knee, and a hand in her hair as he discussed his music, and band life. Marlon, wasting no time, was too busy pressing kisses to his lady’s neck—The loud sound of her high-pitched giggles filling the room as he grabbed a handful of her behind in his palm.
Michael was still tense and nervous, despite his male instincts screaming at him inside to kiss you, or grab a handful of your ass peeking out from beneath your skirt, or at the least stare at your breasts that were practically in his face—But, he remained stiff. And you noticed.
“Loosen up, superstar. You got a long night ahead a’ya.” You teased, lips brushing against the lobe of his ear, your sticky lipgloss leaving behind a faint residue on the flesh as you spoke, hands threaded through his curls.
“I do?”
You hummed, “I only just got’cha, I don’t plan on lettin’ you outta my claws for a while, handsome.”
Michael couldn’t suppress the heat that flushed his cheeks—The blush blooming across not only own his face, now sporting a shy smile, but also his neck and ears, from your casual compliments.
She will never let your spirits down…
“Hey Mike!”
The sound of Jermaine’s voice over the muffled, booming music forced Michael’s head to peek around your shoulder, your hair dancing over the skin.
“What’d’ya think about meetin’ these lovely ladies after our show tomorrow?”
“No way! Like backstage?” Your friend, whose neck was now littered in lovebites from Marlon’s eager mouth, perked up, swivelling her head around, away from Marlon’s lips, to face Jermaine.
“Yeah, sure, why not?” Jermaine laughed, nudging Jackie who shared the chuckle.
Your friends squealed—Giddy and buzzing with euphoria as you giggled, smirking at the plan bubbling to life.
“Joseph’s gonna kill you.” Marlon cackled, “But, I’m all for it. Would ya like that, sweetie?”
“Uh, yeah! You comin’, right, girl?” Your friend called out to you, eyes wide with hope and anticipation.
“Is coke white? Girl, of course. Wouldn’t want this pretty boy leavin’ with no-one else.” You drawled, turning back to Michael, who swallowed thickly, as you pressed yourself further into his chest, “You’d want me waitin’ for ya afterwards, right? Make you sweatier than you were on that stage?”
Michael’s eyes blew wide open—Forcing a loud laugh out of your throat as your hand released its grip on his hair to glide down his chest.
“You’re so cute, I could just eat you right here.” You whispered, lips dancing over his cheek as you pressed a chaste kiss there, “Swallow you whole.”
“Oh, Lord.” Michael mumbled, eyes squeezing shut, as your teeth grazed along the flesh of his earlobe, before licking a stripe across it to soothe.
“You’re all mine now, Jackson.”
Once you get her off the street…
New York was buzzing with electricity after their first show of the tour. Fans bustling out of the stadium—singing, dancing, crying from the magnitude of the show. Michael had been top of his game—Providing a perfect performance despite the nerves that wracked through his body.
Nervous for one reason, and one reason only.
He knew you were waiting for him backstage.
You and your friends, dressed similarly to how you had the night before, had been hidden backstage from the brother’s gruelling father—Who would no doubt murder them, especially Michael, if he caught whiff of their secretive plan.
Straight after the final song, and the show had been wrapped up, they would exit the stage as they usually did, clean up, change, shower, the usual routine. And then, once Joseph left to handle his usual business—They would sneak out. Run through the arena, out the back door, and into the night to resume another night of clubbing and sensual closeness,
As Michael’s final song, ‘Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough’ came to a close, and they thanked the fans for their everlasting, unconditional support and love—They belted it off the stage. Jermaine was as fast a hyena—Sprinting to his dressing room, already ridding himself of his jacket and shirt to speed up the process before diving into his shower. Marlon, at a similar speed, raked fingers through his hair, fixing any loose curls, smoothing his edges back to his forehead, and drying his damp forehead, before turning to face a confused, frozen Michael.
“Brother, I suggest you get movin’ if you want that girl tonight.” Marlon quipped, eyeing him up and down, “We ain’t comin’ back for ya if you take too long.”
“Right, right, shoot.” Michael, snapping into reality at Marlon’s words, darted towards his own dressing room—Dragging his jacket from his shoulders, and placing it neatly onto the back of a chair, before fixing himself up.
Within fifteen minutes, the boys were ready.
Jermaine and Jackie had changed clothes completely, whereas Marlon, Tito and Michael remained in their stage clothes—Aside from their jackets, microphones and ties. Michael, as always, had left his bare chest exposed—The top buttons ripped open as he had sensually done on stage, letting his supple, brown skin become bare to the dark night.
Jermaine led the pack of boys through the bustling backstage like a top-secret spy mission—Avoiding any familiar faces, family members or respecting managers, as well as their father, as they crept towards the fire exit.
Marlon, engaging in a conversation only Michael would refer to as ‘degrading’ and ‘dirty’, with Tito, was quickly shut down by Jermaine, who ordered him to ‘Shut his horny ass mouth’
She likes the boys in the band…
“There’s my lil’ celebrities!”
Your words hit his ears first as they burst through the fire exit—Your tantalising, yet sickeningly sweet voice sent excitable shivers down his spine, the nerves washing away instantly as you came into eyeshot. You were stood with your friends, who instantly clung to their respecting men from the night before, with another cigarette between the fingers of your left hand, and a mysterious flask filled with most likely an alcoholic beverage in your right. Michael, albeit not surprised, forced himself to suppress the smile that crept onto his face at your outfit—You were wearing, as usual, a low-cut top, and booty shirts, that hugged your plush behind and thighs as you approached him slowly. But, what got his lips twitching was the pair of Aviator sunglasses that rest upon the bridge of your nose—Covering your eyes as his famous ones usually did.
“Wow, I mean. Tha’s somethin’.” Michael chuckled, his voice breathy and low, just as it was the previous night.
She says that I’m her all time favourite…
“What can I say? You’re my favourite boy in the band, handsome.”
Michael, now fighting the urge to succumb to his usual shyness, finally smiled—Chuckling as you slid a hand down his chest, winking seductively, before taking his hand in your own.
The night was equally, if not more crazed than the night before.
Tonight, a fifth friend joined you, who instantly took a liking to Jermaine—Which left your original friend with Jackie all to herself. Luckily, the two had long dispersed to the dance floor of the high-end, celebrity-filled club the brother’s had dragged you to, and were leaving zero room for Jesus as a Stevie Wonder song boomed around them. Tito and his lady had retreated to the bar for the fifth time that hour—Stocking up on shots and cocktails as they stumbled throughout the club. Marlon had disappeared with his lady within fifteen minutes of getting to the spot—Clambering over one another’s feet as they exited the private booth, mouths connected in a brutal kiss as they ‘went to the bathroom’.
As for you and Michael, you’d managed to get a drink down his throat—And alcoholic at that. And thanks to his nonexistent drinking habits, the young man was already buzzed after one drink and a shot of Tequila, his mouth running wild as his confidence took over, and relaxation took the reigns of his body.
“I’m—‘M just sayin’, Diana Ross is better than—“
“Boy, that woman could murder a puppy in cold blood and you’d find some way to defend her.” You quipped, raising an eyebrow at him, alcohol evident on your breath as you spoke, “Sometimes it’s okay to admit that your little mentor is a shit actress.”
Michael’s mouth fell open at your insulting words, “No, no, she is really good.”
“Real convincing, baby.” You teased, narrowing your eyes his way, “Enough about that old crow.” You ignored his ‘Hey!’, “Any other ladies in your life, Jackson?”
Michael swallowed thickly—Ah, the dreaded question. He’d heard it a lot in his adult life—Is so-and-so his girlfriend? Or had he been intimate before? Or who does he think he’ll marry in 5 years time? All ridiculous, unanswerable questions that left him sweating and nervous—And even more so now that you, as the sexually charged lady you were, were asking such question.
“Uh—Heh, no. No ladies for me.” He admitted, avoiding direct eye contact as he focused on Jackie and your friend bumping and grinding on the dance floor in the distance.
“Hmm. I find that hard to believe, handsome global superstar, Michael Jackson.” You fired back, a delicate, taunting finger tracing down the bare skin of his chest, “You’re tellin’ me you got no one to bump uglies with?”
“Wha—What’s that?”
Michael dipped his head in timidity as you cackled, head thrown back as your body shook with laughter. He knew you weren’t necessarily laughing at him, or his lack of intimate knowledge—But, it didn’t stop his heart hammering in his chest in embarrassment.
“Oh, sweetie, you are just the cutest.” You giggled, your hand travelling swiftly to his face.
Your manicured hands, fingers withholding the smell of cigarettes, cupped his warm cheeks—Forcing his head upwards from where he hung it low in shame. You directed his vision to your own, meeting his avoidant eyes with a gentle nudge of his chin under your thumb—Smirking knowingly down at him from where you perched on his thighs. Michael gulped again—Hands sweating and clammy at his sides as he awaited your next action nervously. He liked how unpredictable you were at times, how you made things lively and unexpected in a fun manner—But, moments like these he shared with you, made him anxious beyond belief. It was as if any alcohol present in his light-weight system dissolved into nothingness the second you got closer, like any viable, intellectual brain cell left in his mind crumbled into mush with every word that left your intoxicating lips.
“I’ll be that lady for you, if ya’want.” You whispered, face a mere few inches away from his own, as your plump, tempting, pillowy lips brushed over his own, noses touching as you pressed yourself closer.
“Y—You would?” He croaked out, cursing himself internally at the crackling of his voice, “But, I’ve never—“
“Then, let me be the first, handsome.”
When I make my move to her room it’s the right time…
Michael was certain he’d never felt anything like this in life.
Being on stage, performing, entertaining, creating world-wide popular songs, meeting fans, dancing—None of it compared to this moment.
He was entranced—His eyes locked on you with every single breath, sound or movement you made. Every crease in your forehead, knitted into your furrowed eyebrows, every flutter of your eyelashes, every parting of your lips, every rock of your hips had his brain short-circuiting a thousand times over.
“Oh, Michael.”
His name fell so easily from your lips it was almost natural—Like it was meant to be there. Meant to be tumbling past your swollen, spit-stricken mouth each time you snapped your hips forwards against his own.
You had made your way to your hotel room swiftly—Stumbling drunkenly into the back of a day-to-day cab, ignoring the way the driver instantly asked for an autograph from him, followed by you demanding he put his foot down before you ditch him without paying—And then clambering into his lap to smash your lips against his own. He quickly learnt you weren’t from New York at all—That you and your friend’s were on a trip from Los Angeles, where you lived, for a week, that clubbing and shopping was mainly on your itinerary. Your hotel was cheaper than he would ever stay at nowadays—Small bedroom, leaky tap and no robes hanging in the closet on arrival. But, considering your behaviour—It was nicer than he was expecting.
You wasted no time on him—Instantly tugging off your shirt and shorts, pushing him back first onto the plush, cotton sheets and straddling his thick, clothed thighs, pressing directly into his crotch. He almost didn’t know what to do with himself—Mind running a thousand miles a minute the second your undergarment clad body came into eyeshot, grinding down onto the ever growing bulge beneath his slacks. He’d never been stiffer—The tent in his boxers reaching its greatest length and height as you rocked against it slowly, hips moving just as languidly as his own on stage. He was transfixed. Completely hypnotised by the way you moved—Hands threaded through your hair, the other cupping a handful of your right, clothed breast through your lacy bra, and hips rolling over him with practiced precision.
And, of course, since Michael had never in his twenty-one years experienced anything quite like this, y’know a deathly attractive, sexually experienced young lady grinding over his hardened, clothed cock, the little whimpers that left his mouth that were miserably suppressed, and had you drooling twice as much—A permanent slick stain pooling into his black slacks, staining the expensive material.
“Fuck, you feel so good already, Jackson.” You gasped as you rolled particularly hard over your throbbing clit, “I wonder how good you’ll feel inside, baby.”
Michael’s eyes shot open—He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but sex? Immediately? Maybe not. I mean, fuck he wasn’t complaining—He’d been looking for some action with the ladies for so long now it almost felt like a distant dream that’d he’d never have. Most women he’d got to know in the industry were older, or married, or just not interested in getting jumbled up in his busy, bustling tour life—But, you? Fuck, you were taking it by the reigns. Literally.
“Oh, God.” He whined, voice broken and ragged as his eyes fluttered shut.
“You want that, baby?” You whispered, leaning down to press your half-bare chest against his own, still clad in his unbuttoned shirt, lips brushing against his ear, “You wanna fuck me, Jackson?”
“Oh, Jesus.” He cried again, chest heaving as you licked a stripe up his neck, before swirling your tongue around the outer ridges of his ear, the sensation sending goosebumps pebbling across the skin of his arms.
“Answer me, handsome.”
“Y—Yes! Yes, yes, please.” He begged, nodding swiftly as his eyes slammed open, meeting your own as you raised your face from his neck.
The infamous, devilish smirk crawled back onto your face before you smashed your lips together—Moan muffled against his mouth as you worked against it. Michael’s breath hitched in his throat as you kissed him—Hands instantly flying to your face, cupping your cheeks sweetly, as he moved his lips against your own. You were ferocious, kissing him so fiercely it nearly sent Michael into overdrive, your hips still rocking against him, increasing your pace.
However, a feeling, one that only Michael had brought himself, crept dangerously up his spine—Lingering deeply in his abdomen as his stiff cock twitched in his boxers.
“W—Wait! Stop, stop.”
You pulled away from the kiss quickly, a string of lewd saliva connecting your swollen lips as his hands, now feeling brave and confident, fell to your hips—Gripping them gently, yet firmly, forcing you to a halt.
“‘M sorry, I was just—God, I almost…”
You giggled again, leaning down to press another deep, extended kiss to his lips—Catching him by surprise. His suspicion only furthered when you pulled away, rising to your knees as you slid your underwear to the side with one hand, and fumbled with his belt buckle with the other.
“Better get to it then, huh?”
She’s never hard to please…
“O—Oh! Oh, my God—Oh, my God, sweetie—Nnhg, I—“
Michael was a mess.
The second your warm, wet, inviting heat engulfed his hard, virgin cock—He was a goner. He was certain the rock of your hips against him, clothed cunt sliding over the ridge of his cock, confined in his slacks, was the best feeling he’d ever felt so far in his adult life. Oh, boy, did he get the shock of his life. And a blissful, ecstatic shock at that. He’d been quivering even when your manicured hand wrapped around his bare dick, after you undressed him—Jerking him slowly in your fist, as you guided his dick towards your entrance. And when he finally slipped inside?—Unprotected at that—He saw stars. He had to fight every submissive, weak urge in his body not to orgasm the second he bottomed out.
And now, you were riding him—Hips bucking back and forth, and up and down, alternating every few minutes or so as you deepened your pleasure. Every rock forward would roll your clit against his pubic bone, the curly, black tufts of hair dragging along your nub deliciously, paired with every bounce up and down, nudging his thick, cock-head against the spot inside you that your toes curling besides his thighs. His hands were gripping your hips with such fervent passion, guiding you along his dick with every drag of your cunt down his length, that you were certain marks indented in the shape of his long, slender fingers would remain in the morning.
“Mmh—Fuck, baby, feels so so good.” You whined, your head thrown back, hair painting your spine as you switched to bouncing up and down, “‘M so fuckin’ close, Michael.”
Michael whimpered softly under his breath, “R—Really? Already? I—I barely even got inside ya?”
“Y’just so big, Michael.” You cried, moans and cries mingling with each word, “So so big, baby.”
Michael panted, a whine mixing with the breathless sound as your seductive, lewd words hit his ears—He had always been so nervous at the thought of sex. Worried about his size, his noises, his faces, his body—Everything. Everything made him anxious. But, your unconditional praise and physical signs of pure, undeniable pleasure sent confidence flooding through him like adrenaline, pumping through his veins.
As if a switch had been flipped—Michael tightened his grip on the plush fat of your hips, and bucked his hips up at an extraordinary pace. You took to it instantly, your body falling slack against him as you let him take control—Thrusting up into your sex like he had rent to pay. Michael grunted, mingling with his usual whiny whimpers, lower lip caught between his lip as he fucked you like a bitch in heat.
Your words were chants—Belting from your throat in high-pitched, breathless cries of electrifying ecstasy as you matched his pace, humping yourself forward on his pubic bone, only pushing you further towards the edge.
“Oh—Oh, Jesus, I—Already? I—Oh!”
Michael was taken by sweet, sweet surprise when you orgasmed—Gasping sharply as his breath caught in his throat, hands twitching at your sides as your drooling sex pulsated and convulsed around him. Quivering and tightening as you creamed deliciously—Head thrown back, eyes slammed shut and mouth hanging open as the lewdest, intimate and most pornographic worthy noises stumbled past your lips involuntarily, as you continued to hump yourself over his dick, that throbbed incessantly in your tight walls.
“W—Wait! Oh, God—Mmh!—Honey, ‘M gonna—Where should I—?”
You didn’t give a response—Still buzzing from your release, you slid off his dick with ease, settling between his legs, and catching his dick, soaked from tip to base in your essence, in your grip, fluidity pumping him.
“All over me, handsome.”
Michael cried out once more at how quick, smooth and easily you switched positions—From riding his cock, to kitten-licking his tip as you jerked him, pushing your breasts up against his shaft. With a particularly sharp flick of your wrist, and a long stripe up the slit of his dick—Michael came with a cry. Dick twitching and throbbing beneath your palm, as hot, thick, salted cum spurted from his dick deliciously—Painting your face, tongue, fingers and chest in his white, sticky release as he panted and writhed beneath you at the overwhelming sensation of his orgasm.
Michael only shuddered as he came down from his delightful high—Whining as you lapped up his cum, drinking up every last drop of his release, from your fingers, to your cheeks, and even taking the head of his cock between your lips, not without a loud, overwhelmed cry from the man beneath you, as you milked him dry.
As you pulled away with a girlish giggle, a dazed, fucked-out expression dancing across your face, and a splatter of his cum decorating your cheekbone—Michael swallowed thickly.
“Did I get it all?”
Michael, hazy himself, let a smile creep onto face, before bursting into laughter himself—What a night.
That girl is pretty wild now…
That night wasn’t the last Michael saw of you.
He did try and dumb your love-making down to a one-night-stand—That maybe you wouldn’t want anything to do with him post-sex. That maybe you just wanted to get your rocks off and leave.
But, when he awoke in your hotel room after that night, the morning sun bursting through the curtains, just to find your side of the bed empty and cold—The worst thoughts hit him. That you were just going to be a one night ordeal.
He sighed, rolling over to face the night-stand with a frown, an unusual sense of rejection and disappointment settling in his chest. Before, his eyes landed on a small business card of the hotel’s laid next to a glass of water and an Aspirin—The words ‘LA was calling me, can’t leave the city without me for too long. Call me though, handsome: (212) 555-****’ read back at him in rushed, sloppy hand-writing, and a smudged lipstick kiss mark in the top right corner.
That girl’s a super freak…
Michael called you the second he got home—Running, hungover and fatigued, ignoring his brother’s confused voices, through the house and up the stairs, towards his respecting bedroom. The number you left was dialed instantly—His heart hammering in chest as he let the phone ring …and ring ….and ring. Until—
“Someone’s eager, huh, pretty boy?”
He smiled.
The kind of girl you read about… In new wave-magazine’s.
That girl is pretty kinky…. That girl’s a super freak…
The next few weeks were a whirlwind of blissful sex—To put it plainly.
Michael couldn’t, for the life of him, spend any longer than 48 hours apart from you—Or not inside you. He’d learnt more about sex in the last three weeks then he ever had in any out-dated sex-education book from the local library, or from his brother’s exaggerated stories. He felt like a God, like not only was he talented vocally, but now sexually. Like all his shy, reserved nature had dissolved into a glowing, intimate love—Taking over his body whenever he was blessed with your presence.
On the bonnet of your car, in the bathroom of a club, at a ridiculously expensive hotel he paid $7,500 for for just one night, in his studio—Everywhere. Absolutely everywhere had been christened—Missionary, cowgirl, from behind, reverse cowgirl, prone bone, from the side, mating press, butterfly—Fucking everything. He was animalistic, and was absolutely certain his dick was going to go limp and drop off with the amount of sex he was having. And if it wasn’t penetration, it was the kinkiest things he’d ever seen—Vibrators, whips, cock rings, handcuffs, whipped cream, gags, blindfolds—The lot. All casual and small-scale to you, but utterly mind-blowing to Michael, who had never been so enthralled in his entire life by the whole ordeal. But, the self-appreciation, confidence and glow that radiated off him had even his brother’s jealous, despite their luck with women. Michael truly had it all right now—And he was basking in it.
I’d really love to taste her… Every time we meet…
But, even with every sex position crossed off the list, multiple orgasms pulled from one another each night, and every inch of skin licked, sucked and kissed—Michael’s favourite activity was to devour your pussy. Get on his knees, part your legs, and spend hours between them with the tongue of an angel—Dragging countless mind blowing orgasms from your shaking body with effortless ease. And even with his talent for cunnillingus, Michael enjoyed it. Correction—He adored it, and begged on his knees, bordering on tearing up to eat you out, to taste your glorious cunt, and moaning loudly into your sex every time his tongue slipped between your folds.
He was obsessed. And exceptionally talented at it.
Which everyone at Hayvenhurst unfortunately found out.
Michael had the bright (Not!) idea to finally invite you over to his family home—To meet his mother, his sister’s and see where he made history. Unfortunately for Michael, you weren’t really the ‘Bring home to mama’ type of girl. He knew this, and even with his brother’s frantic disapproval, he did it anyway.
And it was almost laughable when you met Katherine Jackson, Michael’s mother. She had been ecstatic when Michael announced he was bringing a lady friend home, someone he’d been seeing for weeks now, someone he really liked, and wanted his loving, Jehovah’s Witness, might I add, mother to meet the special girl in his life.
However, pretending to be someone you’re not was not your style—Instead, you showed up just as you would to …well, the club. Stiletto’s, a mini-dress that stopped at your upper thighs, long, manicured nails, hair grazing your ass, makeup to a T, and bracelet’s draping along your arms, tattoo’s and piercing’s in clear show.
“Hi, Mrs Jackson!” You beamed, pushing your sunglasses, one’s that Michael had bought you, up your face to rest on your head, your hand extended out to the woman before you, “So nice to finally meet you.”
You, and Michael for that matter, chose to ignore the way Katherine’s jaw fell to the floor, her eyes trailing over your frame, clad in provocative clothing, blasphemous tattoo’s and piercing’s, and chewing blue-raspberry flavoured chewing gum obnoxiously.
“I—Uh, Michael, I—“
“Mother, this is (Name).” Michael spoke, attempting to clear the air as his mother fought to find the right, and respectful words, as you dropped your hand, which had clearly been rejected, “Y’know, the girl I was tellin’ you about.”
“I’m so glad to finally meet the mama of the man who’s rocked my world, ain’t tha’ right, Mikey?”
And that he did. As Michael ushered you away, whispering a quick apology to his mother who stood, frozen in time, at the doorway, as he hurried you up the stairs, away from his bewildered mother—He knew deep-down he was fucked, like truly and clearly. But, the way you shimmied your dress higher up your ass as you climbed the stairs, revealing to the man behind you that you weren’t, in fact, wearing panties, with a wink as you scurried up the stairs—He couldn’t find himself to care.
And of course, the second Michael got you into his room, his hands were on you like it was his last day on Earth. Like you were his cure of a deadly disease. Lips on your neck, hands groping your behind, fingers threaded through your hair, stiffened cock rolling against the skin of your bare thigh—He was insatiable. Like he needed to be in your skin to fully be satisfied.
Alas, he settled for gliding his eager tongue between your folds instead—Lapping at your clit, sucking and slurping the aching nub between his lips, and two fingers curling inside your center, abusing the sweet spot that made you cry out.
Those same cries that echoed throughout the mansion—Unfortunately for Michael.
“I—I—Are you serious? Is that really the kind of girl he’s involved with?” Katherine heaved, a hand clutching at her pearls around her neck, as her three son’s crowded round her panicked, shocked frame in the living room.
Marlon exchanged a knowing, slightly amused glance with Jermaine and Jackie who rubbed comforting circles along their mother’s back as she welled up in tears.
“Where’d he even meet this girl?”
Marlon couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him—Snorting as he covered his face with his hand at the irony that he effectively got Michael into this mess.
“What’s so funny?” Katherine questioned, eyebrows furrowed up into her forehead.
“Nothin’, nothin’, mama, I—“ Jermaine, pursed his lips together to suppress his own laughter, before letting out a shaken breath as he composed himself, “We met her and her friends at the club.”
“You boys are involved with those kinda girls too?” Katherine exclaimed, anger painting across her face.
“Way to go, asshole.” Jackie hissed, shaking his head, shoving Jermaine’s arm.
“Oh, my Goodness.” Katherine heaved, lip wobbling, “I can’t believe this! She’s a—She’s a …Goodness, I shouldn’t say this but—“
“Oh! Oh, Michael!”
…
“What on Earth was that—?”
“Michaelllll! Oh, baby, yeah—Mmmh!—Right there, big daddy!”
…
Marlon, Jackie and Jermaine’s eyes blew straight out of their head—Straightening up and freezing as the sound of your blissful, extravagantly loud moans rang out throughout the house. Marlon’s lip quivered, fighting a roar of laughter that threatened to spill from his mouth—If only it wasn’t for his tensed mother, now shaking with fury.
“Am I hearing what I think I’m—“
“Yeah! Yes! Yes! I’m cummin’ on your tongue, baby! Oooh, yeeees—Nnh!”
Silence.
The room downstairs stilled—No-one spoke a word even when the obvious creaking of Michael’s wooden bed, the frame slamming against the wall followed suit, echoed throughout the house in the deafening silence. Katherine, mortified and stunned, shook her head, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she clenched her fists so hard the knuckles turned white, before gritting her teeth as she spoke—
“She’s a freak.”
She’s alright, she’s alright… That girl’s alright with me…
Michael managed to redeem himself with his mother by never uttering your name or defacing the house with your presence ever again—Apologising profusely and repenting at church for the next week, reciting confessions and attending bible study. All the while fucking you in the back of your car straight afterwards. It was the thought that counted, right?
Rightfully so, his brother’s hounded him relentlessly with questions—Probing him for answer’s about his relation to you, your intentions with him, and where this relentless sex would lead you.
“I don’t know, okay? She’s not my girl, but I don’t think she’s seein’ anyone else—“
“What do you mean ‘you think’?” Jackie cut in, a confused expression plastered across his face as he sat across from him at the studio, “You’re not sure?”
“No, I am sure.” Michael quickly defended.
“You didn’t sound like it, Mike.” Tito added, shaking his head, “What if she has …y’know, has somethin’?”
“I think we’d know by now as he’d be walkin’ around with his hand by his junk every five minutes.” Jermaine butted in, smiling to himself.
“Or he did have somethin’ and he’s already got rid of it.”
“I don’t have anythin’!” Michael exclaimed, growing agitated, “And neither does she. She’s not that kinda girl.”
Marlon exploded into laughter, clutching his stomach as he roared, “‘Not that kind of girl’? Mike, c’mon now. Just look at where we met them!”
“Don’t even start with me, Marlon, you’re still seein’ her friend, are you not?”
“Well, yeah—“
“So, stop houndin’ me ‘cause you’re not gettin’ like it I am.”
The room erupted into ‘Ooh!’’s and ‘Whoa!’’s as Michael fired back at Marlon with swift, precise confidence—Rolling his eyes as Marlon clapped his hands together in blissful surprise, and Jackie jostled him back and forth by the shoulder.
“Look who’s got that pussy confidence! You’re like a changed man, little bro’!” Jermaine roared, smile wide and bright as he watched Michael shrug Jackie’s hand from his shoulder.
“Enough. She’s a special girl, ‘n I like her, and she likes me, and tha’s all there is to it.” Michael responded calmly, expression brooding and irritated as his brother’s hounded him.
“That and she’s probably a groupie.”
“‘Maine, you’re such an asshole, man.” Tito chuckled, “Alright, Mike, as long as y’sure.”
“I am sure. I’m very sure about her.” Michael responded, letting a small smile crawl onto his face, “She’s alright with me.”
She’s a very special girl… From her head down to her toe nails…
Yeah, she’ll wait for me at backstage with her girlfriend’s… In a limousine…
Los Angeles was sensational—The crowd was the loudest so far, cheering at such a decibel that Michael had ringing in his ears for ten minutes post-show as he rid himself of his sweaty stage clothes, rushing into the shower, fixing his hair and slipping into another bedazzled suit, just as Jermaine pushed open his dressing room door.
“They’re outside—You ready?”
Like clockwork with each show—You were waiting for him.
This time, after Katherine forbade you and your friends to even step so much of a toe into the arena, Michael had arranged for a limousine to await him and his brother’s by the back entrance once he’d finished the show.
With a fix of his tie, a ruffle of his curls and a nod to himself in the mirror—Michael jogged out of the dressing room, following hot on Jermaine’s tail as they raced throughout the bustling backstage, apologising to staff members, and engineers, as they barged past—Shamelessly eager to reach you.
When the driver, finding it hard to mask his irritated expression, opened the door to reveal the chaos you’d already ensued—Michael couldn’t help but laugh.
You were straddling your friend, pouring champagne directly into her mouth, your dress hiked up your thighs so high, the plush curve of your ass was visible to every brother that stood in the doorway of the limo—Watching as your other friends squealed, taking shots of their own, and turning up the music that blared throughout the car, dancing and singing loudly.
“Mikey!” You squealed, shoving the bottle into your friend’s hand, who took it willingly, bringing it to her lips once more, as you scurried to the door.
You leant past Jermaine and Jackie who were directly at the door, grabbing Michael’s hand and dragging him into the car. Michael made a quiet noise—One of shock and surprise as you ushered him into the bustling mayhem, ears now having to adjust to the way your friends squealed and screamed as his brother’s followed suit.
“Let’s get this party started, ladies!” Marlon, of course, exclaimed, grabbing an unopened champagne, shaking it violently, releasing his thumb from the bottle head, and spraying the room in the bubbly liquid, basking in the cries of excitement that radiated from the limo.
As the driver slammed the door shut aggressively, muffled curses muttered under his breath as he retreated to the driver’s seat, Michael soon released what he was so annoyed about.
But, when you pushed him into the leather seat, straddled his hips, wrapped your arms around his neck, and smashed your lips together in a feverish kiss—He suddenly found it hard to understand what the driver could be so irritated at?
This was the life.
Three’s not a crowd to her she says…
The ride to the conference center was a long one—Traffic post-concert was horrific, all thanks to the Jackson’s. But, they daren’t care in this moment.
Jackie had a handful of ass as his lady shook her behind directly in his face at the music, laughing as he repeatedly smacked her bare cheeks, her dress pushed up her hips. Tito was locking lips with his lady, a slow, intimate kiss that had been occurring the second he entered the car. Jermaine was pouring champagne into Marlon’s mouth, an arm around one of your friends, before Marlon sprayed the champagne over your other friend’s chest—Before, licking the residue directly from her pushed-up, exposed cleavage, earning himself cheers and squeals of laughter and joy.
Tucked into the corner of the limo, hands roaming places they probably shouldn’t in a car filled with his brother’s and your friend’s, lips one another’s and whispered promises, was you and Michael.
“‘M sad you’re gonna leave me.” You pouted, a hand twirling a strand of his Michael’s curls at the nape of his neck between your fingers.
“‘M just goin’ to do a couple interviews, baby, tha’s all.” Michael reassured, tucking a loose lock of your hair behind your ear, “I’ll be all yours for the night afterwards. And every night following.”
You giggled sweetly, “Y’so soppy, y’know that?”
“Only for you, darlin’.”
You hummed, smiling softly as you leant down to capture his lips in your own—Moaning softly into his mouth as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer to his body, radiating a thumping heat. Michael’s mouth moved slowly against your own—Occasionally pulling back to bite your bottom lip, suck on it, or let you press kisses to his jawline, and the corner of his mouth. Just as your mouths connected once again, your tongue swiping past his lower lip to swirl against his own—Michael felt a familiar, nimble hand crawl down his front.
His breath hitched in his throat as your hand, precise and slow, slipped down his front, stopping at his crotch to gently wrap your hand around the length of him beneath his trousers—Your palm enveloping around his half-hard dick, now stiffening more under your grasp.
“Baby!” Michael gasped, muffled against your lips, his eyes shooting open to observe his surroundings.
Luckily, everyone was still immersed in their own world—Kissing, touching, drinking, dancing, completely focused on themselves as your hand began jerking him through his trousers. Michael’s head fell forward, lolling against your forehead as he panted against your lips, eyes fluttering shut, not before he caught glance of your wicked smirk.
Your hand moved slowly, tantalisingly and dangerously—Teasing him with each half-stroke of your fist around his cock, now drooling with pre-cum into his boxers.
“S—Shoot, baby, that feels s’good.” Michael whispered, pressing a soft, quick kiss to your lips as he talked.
“Letting me jerk y’pretty dick with all my friends and your brother’s right behind us, but y’won’t say ‘Shit’? Y’so cute, Mike.” You taunted, giving him a particularly hard squeeze.
Michael couldn’t suppress the noise that left his mouth, that was instantly captured by your lips—Cutting off the whine before it filled the room. Thankfully, the way your friend was screaming as Marlon nuzzled his face between her breasts managed to cover Michael’s noise easily.
“Baby—Oh, God, love, ‘M gonna—“
“Shhh. Just take it.” You whispered, lips brushing against his, before smushing them together as he twitched beneath your palm.
Michael came with quiet, high-pitched whines that you swallowed up—Kissing him ferociously as he released, eyes rolled to the back of his head as your hand sped up pace to prolong his orgasm. You kept going, even as he whimpered at the overstimulation, before his shaking hand pulled yours away, now glistening with a faint essence that painted across his black slacks. Luckily for Michael, the bulk of his warm cum decorated his boxers underneath, only leaving behind a subtle, invisible to the naked eye, dampness on his slacks as his release soaked the material.
“You’re evil.” Michael panted, shaking his head as you giggled.
His breath hitched as you brought your palm up your mouth—Licking a lewd, sensual stipe from the bottom, to the tip of your middle finger, the faint taste of his salty release lingering on your tongue as it lolled back into your mouth, with a devilish smirk.
“You love it, Jackson.”
The car finally rolled to a stop, the brakes slamming hard against the concrete, sending your friend, who was still grinding against Jackie’s crotch, flying to the floor, scuffing her knees on the plastic flooring, earning herself a handful of laughs as she giggled drunkenly.
The door slid open, and the instantaneous blinding flashes of cameras, and screams from fans and reporters flooded the limo. Your friends ducked, hiding their faces from the relentless cameras, as they crawled towards you, and out of view shot.
Marlon, finding the whole secretive ordeal hilarious, exited first—Taking the attention off the multiple bottles of champagne that rolled out of the car and onto the floor, the music that blared out into the street, and the dangerously obvious bag of white powder your friend had stupidly left on the seat next to were Jackie was previously sat. He addressed the reporters and thanked the fans as Michael rose to his feet.
“Hey.”
He turned, eyes finding your own as your friends clambered behind you, snorting and howling with laughter at the whole experience, as you met his gaze—
Room 714, I’ll be waiting…
Michael nodded at your words, revealing your whereabouts at the hotel later, smiling softly as he leant down to press a soft kiss to your lips, the pillowy plushness lingering on your own as he head for the door.
“Be good.”
“Never.”
Michael hated these conferences—Despised them actually. The reporters and interviewers didn’t actually care about their music, or his career, or their next steps—No. They only cared about the drama. The juicy gossip of their personal lives, women, industry feuds and affairs.
Marlon and Jermaine were, luckily, doing most of the talking. Albeit a bit more sluggish and slurred than usual due to the sheer amount of champagne they’d consumed in the thirty minute drive to the conference centre. Michael was thankful—As his mind was on a complete other planet.
He shifted in his seat, swallowing thickly as his eyes landed on a camera pointing right at him, as a blossoming, warm blush crept up his cheeks as his drying, yet still sticky, release rolled against his skin from his boxers. The memory of your hand, swift and precise, moving with ease, stroking his hard cock beneath his slacks, mouth against his own, nipping against the skin of his lips, had him fighting the urge to stiffen once again.
His mind soon drifted to a similar place.
The idea of you waiting for him, just as you promised, at your hotel for the night. It led him to think maybe you were in a matching lingerie set, laying on your side on the bed with your hair up. Or maybe you were draped in a silk robe, bent over with your hand already between your legs, deliciously impatient to feel him. Or maybe you were—
“Michael?”
The sound of a reporters confused voice pulled him quickly from his sensual daydream—Throat running dry as his eyes darted around the room, checking, impossibly, that no one could’ve possibly read his mind.
“Sorry?”
“I asked if you have anyone special in your life, like your brother’s do?” A tall reporter asked, tilting his head as he awaited his answer.
Michael glanced over to his brother’s, who were suppressing their laughter—Assholes. They’d deliberately baited him into this. Michael wasn’t a liar—But certainly didn’t want to tell the whole truth. He wasn’t ashamed of you, of course not—Why do you think he brought you around his faithful mother who was obviously going to reject you? But, the tabloids would run a thousand miles and back if they knew shy, bashful, gentle Michael Jackson was fucking a girl of the night.
“I—Uh, yeah. Yeah I do.” Michael responded, his voice dropping to his famous soft, breathless tone.
“You do? Anymore you can tell us about her? What’s she like? Is she a celebrity?” The man pressed, instantly jotting Michael’s latter words down into a pad of paper as he spoke.
“Uh, no, but she’s, uh …She’s a real special girl.” Michael spoke, unable to hide the genuine smile that crawled up his face.
“Oh, she’s special, alright.” Marlon quipped, earning himself a pinch of his thigh under the table from Tito.
“Special? What does that mean, Michael?” The reporter queried further, cocking an eyebrow as he scribbled.
“It means she’s great, real good fun—She’s super.”
“A super freak.”
Michael was thankful Marlon uttered those words quieter this time, more so under his breath—But, he still heard them, and still shot him a look that could kill through his famous Aviators. If anyone in this room, reporter, fan, interviewer, family, had heard that—Michael was certain his mother would lock him in the house and never let him see the sun again, as well as getting hounded left, right and centre by the tabloids.
Alas, he was even more grateful when the interview finally concluded—The still drunken Marlon stumbled out of the conference center and into the back of another limousine, this time without the cocaine, champagne and half-naked women, after taking ahold of fan’s hands, kissing their cheeks and taking elaborate pictures for the paparazzi.
As soon as the car whirred off into the night, following the direction of your previous limo—Michael sighed, ignoring the sound of Marlon singing concerningly badly along to a popular song on the radio, as he dreamt of his night coming forth.
Special lady—Here he comes.
When I get there, she’s got incense, wine and candles… It’s such a freaky scene…
Michael’s eyes were nearly half-hanging out of his head when he pushed the door to the bedroom of your hotel room open.
“Welcome back, handsome.”
All the sensual ideas Michael had conjured up in his head of how’d you’d be posed in the bedroom during his interview was nothing like the one he was witnessing right now.
You were laid on your side, just as he’d imagined, but instead of draped in a silk robe or a matching set—You were completely bare. Perky breasts, pebbled nipples, curved waist, and parted legs to reveal your glistening sex were all on joyous display—Your bottom lip caught between your legs as you shuffled your leg further to the side, your pretty pussy lips sliding further apart to reveal your drooling entrance, clenching around nothing. Surrounding the dimly lit room was burning candles, erupting the room into a sensual, amber glow that bounced off your glistening skin, as well as an dizzyingly beautiful scent of musky incense that danced into the thick, tense air, and two glasses of Merlot on the nightstand, one already half drank.
“‘M special, huh?”
Michael swallowed thickly, eyes locked on your naked frame as he traipsed slowly into the room, chest rising and falling quickly as his dick hardened rapidly beneath his soiled boxers.
“Mm-hm.” He affirmed, nodding his head as he finally reached you, dropping to his knees between your parted legs, “You’ real special, baby.”
“Yeah? And ‘m real super?” You added, lifting your arched foot to rest upon his shoulder, curling your pedicured toes around his shoulder blade.
“Mhm, yeah, baby. My super freak.” Michael spoke, voice drawled as his eyes transfixed on your soaking cunt, completely checked out of the conversation as his brain went short circuited at the sweet scent of your sex filling his nostrils.
“Oh! A freak, huh, baby? Is that what’cha think of me?” You teased, giggling as his hands slowly wrapped around your ankle, clad in gold jewellery.
Michael hummed, bringing the skin of your foot to his mouth, pressing kisses up your ankle, “Yeah, darlin’, yer s’kinky.”
You laughed, tipping your head back as you watched him flutter his eyes shut as he pressed hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses up your leg, trailing up your calves, to your thighs, humming into your skin at the scent of your lotion melting into your flesh.
“Kinky, huh?” You tilted your head to the side, voice dropping an octave, “Y’not so innocent yourself, Jackson.”
“Don’t care.” Michael mumbled against your skin, licking a stripe up your inner thigh as he neared where you needed him most.
A quiet, almost inaudible moan tumbled past your parted lips as Michael nuzzled his face between your parted legs—Nose and plump lips smushing into your sex, now glistening with your arousal.
“Don’t care when I have you, baby.”
Your chest heaved as he licked a stripe up your sex—Collecting your intoxicating essence along the twitching muscle, as he wrapped his lips around your clit swiftly. Your back arched, your hips jerking into his mouth, as your hand flew to his hair for support, your fingers tangling into his curls.
“The sweetest, most special, most super freak I’ve ever known, baby.” Michael admitted, his voice low and deep as his fingers swiped through your folds, before his index and middle slid inside your tightening cunt, filling you up with a gasp, “And all mine.”
You giggled, head shaking as you swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, wetting the flesh, before reaching behind you. Michael’s eyes followed you intently, his fingers twitching inside you, as he watched you fumble with a hidden item behind your back.
An lit-up, excitable smirk painted his lips as you dangled a daring pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs between your manicured digits, and a pair of your panties, ones that had been decorated into your arousal from watching him cum in his pants earlier, between the other, meant to be stuffed into his mouth when you slid down onto him later.
Michael shook his head with a laugh, curling his fingers to hit the sweet spot inside you, earning himself a gasp, and a devilish giggle, before you grasped his jaw in your hands and pulled him down for a feverish kiss. He smiled back into it, as, just as he loved,—
Anyways y’all I’m going to be completely honest, I hate sharing Michael with #those fans. I know it’s toxic but I feel like he should only be ours; I don’t like the way #they act in this fandom. Call me greedy I don’t care but #they don’t deserve him at all especially with how they treat us. As his women, I think we have every right to be strict and honestly we should be more strict because of what we have to deal with from #those fans. This is definitely going to piss them off but honestly I really don’t care at this point. I feel like they tend to have a habit of forgetting that Michael was Black first and that we (black women) were here long before any of them would’ve even looked his way. Like no shade but at the end of the day they’re just fans, we are literally HIS PEOPLE. Okay that’s enough being messy for today but it needed to be said and I’m pretty sure y’all understand why I’m saying this 😭
This comes from a place of being fed up with all of this for so long. The same people who walk around preaching that Michael was for everybody will then go out of their way to exclude Black women, knowing damn well that we are the original fans of Michael.
As soon as y'all are the ones being excluded and you know who I'm talking about suddenly Michael is for everybody. Suddenly Michael loved everybody, Michael's music was for everybody, and Michael's message was for everybody. But as soon as it's Black women being excluded, we're doing too much, we're taking it too far, and we're acting like we own Michael.
The double standard in so many things in today's society never fails to baffle me.
I don't own Michael, and I will say that with discernment. I don't own Michael. But when I say I didn't mind sharing him, I meant that everybody is allowed to love Michael. Because Michael loved people. Michael loved beauty. Michael saw the good in people. Michael saw the good in the world.
So where do you get off being a fan of a Black man and his Black family while hating on Black women, knowing Michael loved Black women? Whether you think he liked Black women romantically or not, he still loved Black women. His sisters were Black. His mother was Black. His aunties were Black. His cousins were Black. Okay? Where do you get off? Where do you find the audacity?
And that's the thing I don't think y'all understand.
Any racist bitch who's thinking about coming into my inbox and sending me a hate message after this, don't bother.
You're anonymous. You're not even brave enough to say it with your real account or show your face on your account. You have to hide behind a screen. And I guarantee you that not a single one of you who are racist toward Black people in this fandom would ever have the fucking balls or audacity to walk up to any one of us in public and say the shit you say online to our faces.
Because at the end of the day, you're a pussy.
We know you're mentally ill. We know you're not the smartest. But guess what? That's not an excuse to be a dumb bitch.
Anywho, I'm getting back to my day and back to the positive.
Casual tag list : @plan3tch1ld @missharper33 @syrndollie @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @1andonlytashae
Do anybody remember that story where you was smoke side chick( it was something like that ) and you work at a diner and a man came in and yall was flirting, but last time I remember it stop at that point . I hope the person continues the story. Do anybody remember that story and If you do please tag them so I can reread , I hope they finish it .
Modern!AU Elias "Stack" Moore x Black Plus Size OC
. sounds // officially missing you - tamia . warnings: 18+, angst, explicit language . wc: ~1.2k .
. shea buttah bakery masterlist .
"Hello?"
His smooth voice usually brought her instant comfort, but tonight it had done the complete opposite. She was shaken to her core. She'd been practicing what she would say to him for the past twenty minutes while she got up the nerve to actually dial his number--since it wasn't saved in her contacts anymore. She'd practiced a little more while she tried to get her finger to tap that little green button. But now...
"Lyla?"
"Hey. Sorry." She shook her head at herself, attempting to massage some of the tension from her brow.
“Hey.”
It was already her turn to speak again and she still had nothing. The silence was so awkward it physically hurt. Potential responses flew around in her head but none sounded good enough to actually verbalize. She was starting to panic.
They hadn't spoken in almost three weeks. It was the longest they'd been apart since their start a little over a year ago. Up until now, none of their disagreements had gone so far left. It'd kicked off over something trivial and, under unwatchful eyes, had been allowed to morph into a bigger mess. Much bigger than it ever needed to be. In the heat of the moment, she'd told him to leave. She wasn't at all serious, but she should've known he would call her bluff. Now she missed him like crazy. A second didn't pass where he wasn't invading her thoughts. His face, his laugh, that smile; she longed for every part of him. And it seemed like this nigga was about to be cool with them never speaking again, which meant she was gonna have to be the one to fold first. Her pride hated that more than she hated his absence.
"Um..."
"I know. I just, um... how are you?" Embarrassed, she squeezed her eyes shut. That was all she could come up with.
"I'm doin' fine. How you?"
"Honestly, I've been way better."
"I’m sorry to hear that. I hope everything aight."
"Are you busy?"
He glanced to his right. "Actually-"
"Can you come over?" Not really caring what his answer would be, she didn't even give him the chance to finish. Fuck whatever he was doing, honestly.
"It’s two o'clock in the mornin'.”
“I knew you were still awake, so…”
“I'm not gon' be able to do it.”
She frowned. "Stack... be for real."
"I'm deadass."
He was still playing games. Regret made her clench her teeth as she took a deep breath, trying to quiet the voice screaming for her to get off the damn phone. He knew why she was calling, but he was gonna make her say it. And she was already mad at herself for thinking it. For feeling it. "I miss you," she confessed, just above a whisper. Her breath immediately hitched and she threw her hand over her mouth, not even believing she could be this weak.
And he only made shit worse, sighing audibly into the receiver, like she was on his last nerve.
"So, you don't miss me?" she asked, starting to feel less shame and more anger at his blatant lack of a response. Though one could say he'd responded pretty clearly. "Really? You gon' sit your ass on this phone and tell me you don't miss me? After all this time?"
"Look, I don't wanna argue with you, Lyla. So, I'ma go."
"I'm not arguing. I asked a simple question, babe. Just tell me you miss me."
"...I'll call you back."
"Wait! Don't hang up." She sighed deeply as her pride took what felt like another violation. "What's wrong with you, Stack? I don't like this."
"Ain't nothin' wrong with me." He caught a second glimpse of the graceful silhouette sauntering closer to him. "I can give you another five minutes and then I really gotta go."
"Why? Baby, it's me."
"I'm giving you space. That's what you said you wanted." He'd switched to a more serious tone, something he didn't often do. An enormous lump began to swell in her throat.
"I was being stupid. I want you to come home."
"I'm at home, Lyla."
"You know what I mean. It's been three weeks. I feel like you're punishing me."
"Look, we gotta talk about this later."
She frowned again, a lot harder than before. Yeah, she wanted to appeal to him, but the way he was acting was so unexpected. And it was pissing her off . "Why can't we talk about it now? Why you trying so hard to get me off the pho-?"
"Stack, honey. Just how long are you gonna keep me waiting?"
That airy, sensual cadence knocked the wind out of Lyla. It felt like a heavyweight punch to the chest. "Who is that?" The question had come out much softer than she'd wanted.
"I'ma call you back later, aight?"
"No! Are you serious?!" She launched up from her bed in full panic mode. Suddenly her clothes became too hot, it felt impossible to get sufficient air to her lungs, her thoughts scrambled more than they already were, the room was closing in around her. "Do not hang up this phone."
"Lyla, come on. Don't do this."
"Are you serious, Elias?!" She took the deepest breath she'd ever taken in her life, trying hard to hold back the tears burning white hot in her throat. Just like that, her heart was broken into a million pieces. Why would he do this? "Elias... who the fuck is that? What are you doing?"
"I don't have to explain that to you. I'm sorry."
"Yes, you do!"
"I don't. We ain't together no more, remember?"
Another punch to the chest.
"That's not... what I said," she spoke slowly, through trembling lips and a voice breaking against her toughest will.
"Well, that's what I heard."
"Why can't you just come to me so we can talk about this?"
He sighed. "I can't do that right now."
"You can! You choosing not to, because you fucking somebody else. How long you been doing this? The whole time?"
"Lyla-"
"You don't even care you got me cryin', Stack." She sobbed into the phone, immense pain overtaking the last bit of her restraint.
"That ain't true, I'm just followin' your instructions. You told me to get the fuck on, so that's what I'm doin'. I'm not just tryna hurt you."
"How? That's exactly what you doing! You know I wasn't serious."
"You can't be sayin' things you don't mean, mama."
"Babe, please... don't. I love you."
Breaking down like this was never part of her plan, but she was so overwhelmed she didn't know what else to do. He wasn't listening and she couldn't think straight enough to continue arguing with him. Though the signs had always been there, she'd never been personally subjected to this side of him before. She didn't even know what to expect anymore. But it certainly wasn't the last words she heard before the call abruptly ended:
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll send him back to you when I'm done."
Summary: Smoke and Annie's daughter is starting kindergarten and Smoke doesn't know what to do with himself.
Author's note: Pleaseee enjoy, this came to me and I had to share, a lot of this free writing is helping me with my series, let me know what you think and please forgive any errors of mine<3333
WC: 7.6K
6:20 am.
The Moore household had looked forward to this day for weeks, Ivy’s first day of kindergarten. The sweetest thing in their house after her mama was starting kindergarten and Smoke was trying his hardest to keep it together. He went to orientation, met her teacher, he toured the school with Annie, learning where her only baby would be spending her time, eating her lunch, making friends and learning social skills that would prepare her for growing up, growing up? Where had the time gone? It felt like she just entered the world and was wrapped in that pink baby blanket, that she just got her first two teeth, took her first steps and finally said ‘da-da’. God he was a mess at 6am, he had shed a few tears twice already before Annie even woke up.
He peeked in Ivy’s room as she slept snuggled under her hello kitty comforter.
Ivy was an adorable little girl with the kind of warm brown cherub cheeks that made people want to pinch them even when she gave them a look like Smoke's stare that said don't you dare. She was the spitting image of her mama, from her warm brown eyes and long lashes to the soft roundness of her face and the little smile that could melt anybody who saw it. Her curls were thick, full, and growing longer by the day, she had her mama's sweetness too, the gentle way she spoke to people, the empathy she showed even at five years old, and the little habit of tilting her head whenever she was listening closely. But there were pieces of Smoke in her that made Annie laugh, especially the stubborn streak, the way her face scrunched up when something didn't make sense and the way she could give a perfectly innocent look after doing something she knew she wasn't supposed to.
And Smoke? He worshipped the ground that little girl walked on.
The little fist bawled up by her pillows, mouth slightly open, lashes long and shut, yellow bonnet still on her head, she twitched in her sleep like Annie swore he did while he slept but when Ivy slept all he saw was himself in her reflection but when her sweet brown eyes opened all he saw was his wife. Her warmth, her love, her appreciation and empathy, he stepped back slowly to the door quietly shutting it, deciding to let her get a few more minutes of sleep before waking her, he could hear movement in the kitchen downstairs and saw the light illuminate that let him know his wife was awake.
Annie yawned and stretched in her purple house robe as she stood behind the stove aware of her new visitor in the kitchen doorway.
She continued setting up pans for breakfast “You want to take a picture?” She says before turning towards the fridge, he closed the distance between them letting his hands slip around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder as she looked for eggs.
“Mmmm, she still sleeping?” Annie mumbled half asleep herself, he was always a morning person compared to Annie but the next eighteen years she would have to adjust to a new routine
“Give her a few more minutes before I wake her,” He planted a soft kiss on her cheek.
She smiled sleepily, finally pulling the carton of eggs from the refrigerator before turning in his arms to see her husband.
“She’s probably gonna sleep until you wake her,” she murmured.
“You know she got your ability to sleep through anything.” She pinched his cheek with her free hand before escaping his hold to start breakfast.
Smoke huffed as his eyes followed her. “ She got that from you.”
“I wake up.” she responded
“You wake up when you want to.”
Annie looked over her shoulder at him, giving him the slowest, most unimpressed blink her tired eyes could manage. “Okay.”
For a few seconds neither of them said anything, the kitchen was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the clock above the stove.
She started with the pancake mix when she heard some sniffles behind her, she froze. “Smoke.”
“Hm?”
“...Are you crying?”
“No.” he said but a sniffle two seconds later gave up everything he tried to conceal.
“You are.” she teased.
“I got something in my eye.”
“At six in the morning?”
“..Yeah.”
“Both eyes?”
She turned around from the stove, trying not to laugh when she saw the glassiness in his eyes.
“Oh, baby.” she said as she left the pancake mix alone and went to embrace her husband.
“I’m fine.” he said in her arms.
“You've been crying all morning, haven't you?” she asked as she rubbed his back.
“No.”
“Elijah.”
He sighed. “Twice.”
Annie's face softened immediately, she reached up and rubbed her thumb beneath his eye. “You getting emotional over kindergarten.”
“I ain’t emotional.” He sniffled
“You been holding it in since orientation?” she asked.
“I have not.” he lied, but today was all becoming too much for him.
“You absolutely have. Mrs. Thomas was talking about schoolwork, and you looked like somebody had told you Ivy was leaving for college and not coming home.” Annie released him to continue making breakfast
“That woman was talking about my baby growing up.” he said as he leaned against the fridge and watched her
Annie smiled as she cracked eggs in the mixing bowl. “She’s five.”
“Exactly.”
“She has to grow up.”
“I know.” His voice came out quieter this time.
She turned around as she recognized the sadness in his voice.
“She’s still gonna need you.”
Smoke looked at her. “She better.”
“She will.” She reassured as she poured the egg mix in the hot stove
“And she better call me every day.” he continued.
“Smoke.”
“I'm serious.” He pushed himself off the fridge and closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder.
“She don’t have a phone.”
“I’ll buy one.”
Annie laughed softly against him. “You're gonna scare her teacher.”
“I don't care.”
“You're going to be that dad?”
“I already am that dad.” That made Annie laugh harder, and he finally smiled against her.
Annie leaned back and kissed his cheek. “Come on. Let's make breakfast before she wakes up.”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
She smiled. “Happy first day of kindergarten, papa.”
Smoke's expression immediately crumbled. “Annie…”
“Oh, Lord.” Annie said as she whipped up the pancake mix in another mixing bowl while Smoke watched.
Upstairs, Ivy slept peacefully in her room for another few precious minutes, completely unaware that her first day of kindergarten had already broken her daddy's heart.
Waking her was difficult, but they had a schedule to stick to, and Smoke knew just how excited his little girl was for her first day of kindergarten. She had been talking about this day for weeks, telling everybody who would listen about her new backpack, her teacher, and all the friends she was going to make.
He sat carefully on the edge of her little bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.
“Peaches,” Smoke mumbled, reaching for the tiny fist resting against her cheek.
Ivy tugged her hand away and stirred, her face scrunching beneath the yellow bonnet.
“C’mon, angel. It’s time to get up.”
He reached for that little fist again, gently wrapping his fingers around hers.
“Nooo,” Ivy whimpered, barely awake.
Smoke smiled despite himself. “Yes.”
“Five more minutes.” she mumbled, sounding just like her mama.
He chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, well, kindergarten don't care about your five more minutes.”
Ivy slowly cracked one eye open. “Daddy?”
“Yeah, Peaches?”
“Is it time?”
His smile softened. “Yeah, baby. Today’s the day.”
Her sleepy expression changed instantly. “Kindergarten?”
“Mhm.”
She sat up so fast her bonnet nearly slipped off. “Today?!”
Smoke laughed, catching her before she could tumble forward. “Today.”
“I get to wear my new shoes?” she asked enthusiastically, sleep suddenly far from her mind.
She scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the blanket before he caught her around the waist. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.”
“But Daddy!” Ivy whined
“You ain't going nowhere until I get a hug.” Ivy giggled and threw her arms around his neck and Smoke closed his eyes, holding her tightly. For just a second, he let himself stay there: his little girl, his baby. Five years old and already getting ready to step into a world that didn't revolve around him and Annie anymore.
He swallowed hard before kissing the side of her bonnet. “I'm proud of you, Peaches.”
Ivy pulled back and smiled. “I'm proud of you too, Daddy.”
Smoke's eyes immediately watered. “Why you gotta say stuff like that this early?”
Ivy giggled. “Because I love you.”
He pulled her back into his chest. “I love you more than you know.”
From the hallway, Annie's voice called out.
“Y'all come eat!”
“Come on, Daddy. We don't wanna be late.” Smoke followed behind her, shaking his head and smiling.
Ivy was showered and eating her pancakes still in her pajamas, her little legs swinging beneath the kitchen table as she shoveled another bite into her mouth.
“When you finish, we’ll do that hair,” Annie said, glancing at the kitchen clock. “We are still on time, so don’t eat so fast.”
Ivy nodded enthusiastically, cheeks already swollen with pancake pieces and Smoke couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face as he watched her eat.
“Slow down, Peaches,” he laughed. “Ain't nobody taking your pancakes.”
Ivy swallowed just enough to speak. “I’m excited.”
“I can tell.”
Ivy reached for her glass of milk “I get to see my classroom again.”
“Mhm.” Annie said.
“And Mrs. Thomas said we get to pick where we sit.”
“That's important,” Smoke said seriously. “You gotta pick a good spot.”
Annie glanced over at him from her plate. “A good spot?”
“Yeah, somewhere she can see everything.”
Ivy nodded like her father had just given her the most important advice of her life. “Exactly.”
“And you better be nice to your teacher,” Smoke continued.
Ivy nodded “I will.”
“Be nice to your classmates.”
“I will.” Ivy agreed stuffing more pieces of her mama's famous pancakes in her mouth.
“And if somebody bothers y-”
Annie interrupted him “Smoke.”
“What?”
“She is five.” she reminded her husband.
“I know how old she is.”
“Then why are you giving her a security briefing?”
“Because kindergarten is serious.” Annie shook her head, laughing as she reached over and wiped a little syrup from Ivy's chin.
“Daddy's just nervous.”
“I ain't nervous.” he reassured her.
Ivy looked at him and made an honest observation. “You look nervous.”
Smoke's mouth fell open and Annie immediately covered her laugh with her hand.
Smoke looked at Annie. “You see what you started?”
Annie grinned. “You're the one who cried this morning."
“I had something in my eye.”
“Both eyes?” Annie asked
Ivy giggled and Smoke pointed at her. “Don't encourage your mama.”
Annie watched them, her smile lingering there was something about watching Smoke watch their daughter that still caught her off guard. The pride in his face was almost impossible to hide. She could already see it, the man he was going to become as Ivy got older. Kindergarten was apparently enough to have him emotional but she could only imagine Ivy starting middle school. High school? Lord. Sweet sixteen? She'd probably need to schedule a therapy appointment for him. Prom? He might personally interview every boy who comes near the house and graduation? Annie already knew she would be the one holding him upright while he cried through the entire ceremony.
She smiled to herself; it reminded her of the day she'd told him she was pregnant:
She'd known something was different before she ever took the test, her eating habits had changed first. Lemon pepper wings and fried rice from Andy’s Deli on 44th street had always been her favorite combo, actually one of her favorite meals, but one afternoon the smell of lemon pepper alone had sent her stomach turning. At first, she blamed it on anything else… then she bought the test, and when she finally looked down and saw those two lines, everything seemed to stop, she remembered walking into the room and telling him.
She remembers the look on his face. Shock, fear, then joy. Pure, overwhelming joy and for the next nine months, she barely had to lift a finger. If she asked him for something, he was already getting it. If she stood too long, he was telling her to sit down and if she mentioned being hungry, food appeared. When her doctor mentioned during one appointment that they were keeping a close eye on her blood pressure, he went into an entirely different mode.
After that, he watched everything she ate.
“What's in that?” He asked as he came across the scene of Annie eating at the kitchen table, a crumbled sandwich bag, a water bottle, a messy italian sub in one hand and a bag of Lays in front of her.
“It's a sandwich.” Annie responded after swallowing her bite
“What kind?” he eyed the sandwich suspiciously in caution but curious for a bite.
“Smoke.”
“How much sodium?” She would roll her eyes, but secretly she loved every second of it.
He had always been sweet and attentive, but that wasn't new. He had loved her loudly since the beginning of them dating, taken care of her without being asked, and somehow always noticed the smallest things.
At eight months pregnant, the parents to be still hadn't agreed on a name.They had gone through lists, baby-name books, names suggested by family and names they had heard somewhere and liked for five minutes before one of them inevitably ruined it.
“No.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why would you name our daughter that?”
“What’s wrong with that name?”
They had been doing it for months and he had eventually started offering his own suggestions just to annoy her.
“Elijah Jr.”
Annie had stared at him like he had two heads. “She is a girl.”
“So?”
“Why would I name our daughter Elijah Jr.?”
Smoke shrugs “Tradition.”
“There is no tradition.”
“We could start one.” She'd rolled her eyes.
“Fine, how bout Annette Jr?” Smoke had laughed so hard at the look she gave him he'd nearly fallen off the couch. “You don't like it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because that's stupid.”
And somehow, eight months into the pregnancy, their daughter was still simply, the baby. At 2:16 in the morning, Annie slipped quietly back into bed after another nighttime bathroom trip, the room was dark except for the faint glow of the clock on the nightstand. Smoke was sprawled across his side of the bed, face buried into his pillow, snoring softly. Annie carefully lifted the covers and eased herself back onto the mattress, the bed shifted and Smoke stirred immediately but his eyes never opened.
“C’mere,” he mumbled.
She smiled. “I’m here papa.”
His arm reached across the mattress almost instinctively, finding her waist and pulling her against him, he tucked her back into his chest like he'd been waiting for her to return.
“There you go,” he murmured sleepily.
She settled against him. “Thank you.”
He kissed her shoulder without opening his eyes. “Get some sleep.”
A few seconds later, his breathing evened out again but Annie stared into the darkness, she couldn't sleep. Her mind was still working, names and she thought about all of them but none of them felt right.
She rested a hand over her stomach as the baby shifted beneath her palm.
“Girl,” she whispered, “what are we gonna call you?”
Another little kick answered her and she smiled.
Then, suddenly, “Ivy.” She blinked.
The name sat in her mind so naturally that she almost wondered why she'd never thought of it before.
Ivy - soft, pretty, unique, she whispered it again. “Ivy.”
She looked over at her husband, he was completely knocked out.
Annie nudged his shoulder. “Smoke.”
Nothing. “Baby.”
He groaned into his pillow. “What?”
“I have a name.”
A long pause. “For what?”
“Our baby.”
Smoke barely moved. “Let’s talk about it in the morning.”
Annie frowned. “Smoke.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I think Ivy.” Silence and she waited.
Smoke's breathing remained heavy. Then, just when Annie thought he'd fallen asleep again, his voice came low and raspy.
“I like that one.”
Annie's eyes widened. “You do?”
“Mhm.” Another pause. “Ivy Mae Moore.”
Annie smiled in the darkness. “You really like it?”
“Yeah.” He pulled her a little closer. “Pretty name.”
Annie's heart fluttered. “I think so too.”
He gave one sleepy hum of agreement and immediately knocked back out, his snoring started again.
Right beside her ear while she stared into the darkness. “Of course.”
She smiled anyway and her hand returned to her stomach. “Ivy Mae Moore,” she whispered.
The baby kicked and Annie laughed quietly.
“I think she likes it too.” And beside her, completely unaware that he'd just helped name his daughter, Smoke continued snoring peacefully into her ear.
Something had changed when Ivy entered the world, the first time Smoke held their daughter, Annie had watched his entire face soften. He'd stared down at that tiny pink bundle like somebody had handed him the most precious thing on earth and from that moment forward, Ivy had him wrapped around her little pinky toe.
Five years later, apparently nothing had changed, if anything, he was worse. Smoke reached over and wiped another new crumb from Ivy's cheek.
“You ready, Peaches?”
Ivy nodded, still chewing. “Mhm.”
“Good.”
Annie watched him lean over and kiss the top of Ivy's head and her heart squeezed. Their baby was going to kindergarten and judging by the way Smoke was looking at her, she had a feeling he was going to need a whole lot more than five minutes after drop off to recover from it.
Annie sat Ivy between her knees on the edge of the bathtub in the hallway bathroom, a small water spray bottle, gel, brush comb, hair ties, and a handful of colorful bows spread out beside her and across the bathroom counter.
“Okay, Peaches, what are we doing today?”
Ivy looked at herself in the mirror, studying the fro framing her face.
“Puffs!”
“Puffs?”
Ivy added “With the white bows.”
Annie smiled. “The mini ones?”
Ivy nodded eagerly. “The tiny ones.”
“Alright, tiny white bows and puffs it is.”
Annie dampened Ivy's hair and began working through the curls with her fingers, gently separating each section before running the comb through it. Every morning it seemed like Ivy's hair was getting longer. Annie could have sworn she was just looking at her baby fro yesterday, and now those curls stretched farther down her little head every time she washed them.
“Your hair is getting so long,” Annie said.
Ivy smiled at herself in the mirror. “I know.”
“You know?” Annie asked.
“Daddy said.”
Annie laughed softly as she gathered the first section. “Of course he did.”
Ivy loved her curls. Never once did she ask for them to be straightened or hidden. She loved seeing them big, fluffy, and springing in every direction, and Annie loved that about her.
“Hold still, baby.” Annie said as she brushed the right side of her part into the exact spot she needed it to be.
“I am holding still.” but she wasn't, Ivy kept fidgeting as her mother would brush her hair back into another direction.
“You're moving your head.”
“Because you're pulling.” Ivy whined.
“I have to pull a little.” Annie reassured her as she finally got the puff's part correct
“But it hurts.”
Annie immediately loosened her grip. “Okay, okay. Mama's sorry.”
Ivy smiled at her reflection. “It's okay.”
Annie kissed the side of her head before continuing.
“So,” she said, gathering the second section, “how excited are you about school?”
“Very!”
“How very?”
Ivy thought about it. “Like...a lot.”
“A lot?”
“Yes!"
Annie laughed. “That excited?”
“Mhm. I get to see Mrs. Thomas again.”
“You like her?”
“I love her.” Ivy giggled as she thought of how nice her new teacher was at orientation.
“Already?”
Ivy nodded. “She showed us the bookshelves!"
“Oh, you're going to love the books she has.”
Ivy continued “And we get to color.”
“Uh-huh.”
Her espresso eyes got bigger as she remembered all she heard on orientation “And we get to have recess.”
Annie smiled as she secured the first puff. “And what are you most excited about?”
Ivy thought for a moment, then her little face brightened. “Making friends.”
Annie's heart warmed. “That's a good answer.”
“Mrs. Thomas said we have to be nice.”
“She did.”
“So I'm gonna be nice.”
“I know you will.” Annie finished the second puff and stepped back to admire her work. Two little puffs sat perfectly on either side of Ivy's head, her curls springing outward like soft little clouds.
“Now the bows.”
Ivy's eyes lit up. “The white ones!”
“The white ones.” She repeated, she carefully clipped one bow in front of each puff.
Ivy immediately turned toward the mirror. “Pretty!”
“Very pretty.”
Annie leaned down and kissed Ivy's cheek. “Alright, princess. Let's go show Daddy.”
Ivy smiled at herself one more time before grabbing her mama's hand.b“Now I'm ready for kindergarten.”
Annie looked down at her little girl and smiled, “Yeah, baby.” She squeezed her hand. “You sure are.”
Smoke had gone through every school supply they had bought for Ivy at least twice. Really, he just needed something to do with his hands. He had checked her backpack, opened every zipper and made sure her notebooks were where they belonged. Checked that her pencils were inside the pink glittery pencil box instead of rolling around loose at the bottom of the bag. Her name was written neatly on everything that could possibly need a name, he had even checked the little AirTag he'd bought the day after they went school shopping was still zipped safely inside the backpack's back pocket.
He pulled it out, looked at it, put it back, zipped the pocket…. then opened it again. Annie watched him from the living room sofa, trying desperately not to laugh and he had moved on to the lunch bag. Again, he unzipped it and inside was exactly what he'd packed less than an hour ago. A juice box, her favorite animal crackers, a banana and a ham and cheese sandwich sliced in a triangle half, how she liked it. Everything is perfectly in place. He stared inside like he expected somebody to have snuck in overnight and switched something around.
Annie finally spoke. “Baby.”
He looked up. “Yeah?”
“Nothing has disappeared.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you checking it?” she asked.
“I'm making sure.”
“.....You've checked that lunch bag three times.”
Smoke shrugged. “Maybe I missed something.”
Annie smiled. “You didn't.”
He closed the lunch bag and set it down….then picked up the backpack again.
Annie laughed. “Smoke.”
“What?”
“Come sit down.”
“I am sitting down.”
“You're standing.”
“I'm about to sit down.”
“You've been ‘about to sit down’ for twenty minutes.” He looked at her and Annie could see right through him, she always could. He wasn't worried about the supplies, wasn’t worried about the lunch or about the AirTag. He just didn't know what to do with himself, his baby was going to be somewhere without him, without both of them soon.
Somewhere he couldn't walk behind her, couldn't check on her every five minutes and couldn't make sure she had everything she needed. He'd spent five years being the person who made sure she was okay and now kindergarten was asking him to trust that somebody else would do it.
Annie walked over and gently took the backpack from his hands. “Come here.”
He sighed but let her pull him toward her.
“She has everything,” Annie said softly.
“I know.” He admitted
“She's ready.” Annie continued, “She knows where her classroom is, knows her teacher and she knows how to ask for help.”
“I know.”
Annie smiled. “And she knows her daddy loves her.”
Smoke finally looked at her. “That ain't changing.”
“No.” Annie wrapped her arms around him. “Nothing about that is changing.”
He rested his chin on the top of her head, holding her close, after a moment, he sighed.
“I just feel like I should be doing something.”
Annie rubbed his back. “You are.”
“What?”
“You're being her dad.”
Smoke was quiet, then he looked toward the backpack sitting on the counter.
“.....Think her sandwich gonna get squished?”
Annie laughed. “Smoke.”
“I'm serious.” he said
“She'll survive a squished sandwich.”
He mumbled “I should've put it in a container.”
“You did.”
He paused. “Oh.”
She laughed harder. “You see? This is exactly what I'm talking about.”
Smoke smiled despite himself and kissed her forehead. “I'm just trying to make sure my baby has everything.”
“She does.”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. “And so does her daddy.”
He nodded, finally letting himself sit down….for approximately thirty seconds, then he stood back up.
Annie stared at him. “Where are you going?”
He grabbed the lunch bag. “I'm checking the juice box.”
“Smoke!” Annie shrieked.
He grinned. “I'm playing.”
She shook her head, laughing as he finally came back to her. “Come here, nervous daddy.”
He wrapped his arms around her again. “I'm not nervous.”
“Sure.” she said dryly.
“I'm prepared.”
“Whatever you say.”
Smoke kissed her temple. “I just love that little girl.”
“I know.” And Annie knew that was really all of it, the supplies could be checked a hundred times and the lunch could be inspected until the sandwich fell apart. None of it was really about school, smoke just wasn't ready for the first time his baby would walk away from him carrying a backpack that was almost as big as she was and Annie wasn't sure either of them ever would be.
“I'm ready!” Ivy's voice rang through the house before her little feet came thundering down the stairs.
Annie turned around and immediately froze. “Oh, my goodness.”
Ivy stood at the bottom of the staircase in her kindergarten uniform, looking entirely too cute, her white polo was tucked neatly into her plaid skirt, and ruffled socks peeking over the tops of her new shoes. Her curls had been parted carefully down the middle and pulled into two perfect puffs, each one decorated with her favorite white bows. Her face was clean, her teeth freshly brushed,
Smoke stared at her for a long second. “Look at my baby.”
Annie immediately reached for her phone. “Don't move.”
Ivy grinned. “Mommy!”
“Wait, wait. Let me get a picture.” Annie crouched down, snapping picture after picture as Ivy posed proudly.
“Okay, smile!” Ivy smiled.
“Big smile!” She smiled bigger.
“Now give me a serious face.” Ivy scrunched up her face looking exactly like Elijah Jr.
Smoke laughed. “Why she look so mad?”
“Because I told her to be serious, like her daddy.”
“Hey!” Ivy giggled as Smoke helped her with her backpack that was almost as big as she was. Annie stood, looking at the picture she'd just taken, and there it was. Her baby. Standing there in a little uniform with her daddy helping her get her backpack on, ready to walk into kindergarten.
Her eyes immediately started watering as the emotions of today overcame her. “Oh, no.”
Smoke noticed. “Annie.”
“What?”
“You crying now?” he asked, shocked.
“No.”
“You're crying.” he repeated.
“I'm not.” She wiped away tears that threatened to fall.
He grinned. “You just took pictures and now you're crying.”
“I'm emotional.” she countered as she tried to compose herself.
“You're dramatic.”
She wiped underneath her eye as quickly as she could. “You were crying this morning!”
“That was different.” he responded as he grabbed his truck keys out of the key bowl.
“How?”
“I'm the daddy.”
Annie rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
She slipped on her coat, still fighting the lump in her throat and tears forming.
“Come on, baby, let's go.” The sudden Mississippi chill had settled over the morning, making Annie pull her coat tighter around herself as they stepped outside.
Ivy practically bounced toward her dads truck next to her. “I'm going to kindergarten!”
“Yes you are, baby,” Annie laughed.
He opened the back door for her and helped with the oversized backpack before making sure she was buckled in. “Ready?”
“Ready!”
The drive to Hillside was filled with Ivy's excited chatter, she talked about her teacher, the classroom, the friends she hoped she'd make, the snack she had packed last night with her dad’s help..Everything. Smoke listened, occasionally answering her questions, but every now and then his eyes flicked up toward the rearview mirror, and there she was, his little girl.
Small yet mighty in the backseat, her red Hello Kitty backpack beside her as she stared out the window, watching the world pass by. Smoke's jaw tightened and she noticed but didn't say anything. Instead, she reached across the center console and took his hand, resting it gently in her lap, he looked down at their joined hands for a second, then back at the road. He squeezed her fingers, being here was different. It was one thing to imagine Ivy starting kindergarten and it was another thing entirely to pull into Hillside Elementary and see dozens of little kindergartners and elementary school kids walking around with backpacks nearly swallowing them whole. Parents hovered, teachers called out names, children cried. Some clung desperately to their mothers while others bounced around excitedly. One little boy was already shouting about somebody taking his dinosaur backpack and it was barely eight in the morning.
“This is chaos,” Smoke muttered.
Annie laughed. “You knew it was going to be busy.”
“I didn't know it was gonna be like this.” Smoke opened the back door and helped Ivy out.
“Stay close.”
“I know, daddy.” He picked her up anyway and Ivy giggled as he settled her against his side. Annie stayed tucked against him as they made their way inside, Smoke keeping one arm securely around Ivy while his other hand stayed at his wife’s back. They moved through the crowded hallway, searching for the classroom number.
“Where is this room?”
“Down here, I think.”
“I don't see it.” Annie looked over the crowd, then her face brightened.
“There she is!”
She pointed toward a lean woman standing outside one of the classroom doors, greeting children and parents as they arrived.
“I see her.”
Ivy's head snapped around and her entire face lit up. “MRS. THOMAS!”
The teacher looked up and her eyes immediately widened.
“IVY!” The excitement in her voice matched Ivy's perfectly.
“Hi, baby!”
Ivy started squirming in Smoke’s arms. “Daddy!”
“What?”
“Put me down!”
Smoke laughed. “Hold on.”
“Daddy!”
“You were just comfortable two seconds ago.”
“I gotta see Mrs. Thomas!”
“Okay, okay.” He lowered her carefully and the second her feet touched the floor, Ivy took off. She ran straight toward her teacher, her puffs bouncing with every step.
Mrs. Thomas opened her arms and Ivy practically flew into them.
“There she is!”
Mrs. Thomas was the kind of kindergarten teacher who immediately made children feel safe. She was a warm, soft-spoken Black woman in her late thirties, with a bright smile, kind eyes, and shoulder-length twists she usually wore pulled back with a colorful headband. She had a gentle but confident presence, sweet enough to get down on a five-year-old's level and listen to their very serious stories, but firm enough that the classroom never got completely out of hand.
Ivy liked her immediately and there was something about Mrs. Thomas that reminded Annie of the teachers she had loved growing up. She spoke to the children with patience, never making them feel silly for asking questions, and she had a way of turning even the simplest lesson into something exciting. Smoke, however, had already decided he was keeping an eye on her: not because he didn't like her, quite the opposite, she seemed wonderful. But she was the woman who would be spending several hours a day with his baby girl and Smoke needed everybody to understand that he took that responsibility very seriously.
“I missed you!”
“And how was your summer?”
“It was great! We went swimming in the lake and Uncle Stack taught me how to fish! And my daddy taught me how to make smores!”
Annie stood beside Smoke, smiling as they watched their daughter share her summer stories with the woman who would be spending so much of her time with her now. Smoke's hand found Annie's again and he squeezed it and looked up at him, his eyes were already glossy.
She smiled. “Don't.”
“I ain't doing nothing.” he mumbled as he looked down at his work boots.
“You're about to cry.”
“No, I'm not.”
She leaned closer and whispered. “You are.”
Smoke swallowed and looked back at Ivy interacting with her teacher. “I'm just happy.”
She rested her head briefly against his shoulder, their baby was exactly where she was supposed to be and somehow, that made letting go feel just a little harder. Mrs. Thomas finally managed to calm Ivy down enough to get her to turn around and properly greet her parents.
“Okay, Miss Ivy,” she said, smiling as she gently guided her back toward them. “Now you can show Mommy and Daddy where your things go.”
Ivy immediately grabbed both of their hands. “Come on!”
Smoke laughed as she dragged them into the classroom. “Girl, you ain't gotta pull us.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because you don't know where you're going.” She covered her mouth to hide her laugh.
He looked offended. “I was gonna figure it out.”
“Sure, dad.” Her humor was getting more and more like her mother’s everyday.
The classroom looked even better than it had during orientation, colorful posters covered the walls, each one filled with letters, numbers, shapes, and encouraging little messages. A reading corner sat tucked into one side of the room with a small rug and shelves overflowing with picture books. Students' artwork from over the years decorated the bulletin boards, and tiny name tags had been placed carefully around the room.
He slowed down, taking everything in. “Wow.”
Annie glanced at him. “Pretty cool, huh?”
“Yeah.”
There was something about the room that made everything feel real, this wasn't orientation anymore, this was where his daughter would spend her days, reading, making friends, learning how to solve problems without mommy and daddy standing right beside her.
Smoke watched Ivy with a quiet pride as she looked around the room.
“Look!” She pointed toward a row of little blue cubbies with nametags until she spotted hers.
“There's mine!” She ran over, dragging her backpack behind her and Smoke followed.
Ivy struggled to get the oversized backpack off her shoulders, so he helped her slide it down.
“Here.”
She opened her cubby and proudly stuffed her backpack inside after pulling out her pencil box. “Perfect.”
She turned around to look at her parents “Where should I sit?”
Annie crouched beside her. “You pick, baby. Make sure it's a good one.”
Ivy looked around the room carefully, there were desks pushed into groups of four near the front of the classroom, positioned close to Mrs. Thomas desk. To the right were several tables closer to the cubbies and windows, where sunlight streamed through the glass.
Ivy studied both options like she was making an important business decision, then she noticed her. A little Black girl sitting alone at one of the tables near the window with a pink bow clipped to the side of her bun. She had her hands folded neatly on the table and was quietly looking around the classroom, Ivy looked at her for a moment, then she looked back at her parents, and Annie gave her a small nod and with their encouragement she walked over.
“Hi.”
The little girl looked up. “Hi.”
“I'm Ivy.”
The girl smiled shyly. “I'm Maya.”
Ivy pointed toward the empty chair beside her. “Can I sit here?”
Maya nodded. “Okay.”
Ivy climbed into the chair and pulled out her pencil box, placing it on her desk. “I have Hello Kitty pencils.”
Maya's eyes immediately brightened as she pulled out her Hello Kitty stickers. “I like Hello Kitty too!”
Ivy grinned. “Me too!"
Within seconds, the two girls were already whispering to each other like they'd known one another for years.
Annie smiled and Smoke stood beside her, watching the interaction.
“Well,” he murmured.
Annie looked up at him. “What?”
“She’s making a friend.”
“Looks like it.” He smiled. Their little girl had walked into a room full of strangers and found someone to sit beside, taking a page out of her mama’s book, he slipped his hand into Annie's and for the first time that morning, he felt himself relax.
Maybe she was ready and maybe they were the ones who weren't. Parents continued filing into the classroom until the room that had felt so spacious only minutes ago was suddenly packed. Ivy's little table for two had become a table for six, with children settling into the empty chairs around her. Some were talking excitedly, others were hiding behind their parents, and a few looked just as overwhelmed as Ivy had been moments before. Mrs. Thomas eventually stepped toward the front of the classroom and clapped her hands gently.
“Alright, everyone, can I have your attention?” The room gradually quieted.
She introduced herself properly, went over the basics of the school day, explained classroom expectations, and let everyone know what time pickup would be.
“Dismissal is at two o'clock. Parents, please make sure you're here on time.”
Smoke nodded along, two o'clock…he'd never forget that.
Then Mrs. Thomas smiled warmly at the parents.
“And now, it's time for our kindergarteners to begin their first day. Parents, this is where we say goodbye.”
The room shifted instantly, some parents hugged their children, some children cried while others waved excitedly as their parents walked toward the door. Ivy had been smiling all morning, until now - her little face fell, she looked around the classroom, suddenly realizing that mommy and daddy weren't staying. Then her eyes found Smoke and he knew that look, fear and his heart cracked.
“Baby,” Annie said softly as she crouched down next to her daughter's chair and kissed her cheek.
“You're gonna be fine, okay? You're gonna have such a good day.”
She continued, “You’re going to forget all about us until two o’clock, I promise you”
Ivy didn't answer, her eyes stayed locked on her father, Smoke swallowed hard before walking over and crouching beside her chair. “Hey, hey.”
Ivy's bottom lip trembled and he was trying to keep it together himself.
“You're gonna be fine.” His voice was gentle, but his own eyes were beginning to water.
“You're gonna have so much fun today.” She stared at him with those big brown eyes, trying to be brave.
Smoke reached out and held her little hand. “The day is gonna fly by.”
Ivy sniffled. “And Daddy's gonna be right back here to get you at two o'clock, okay?”
She nodded faintly. “And when I come back, you're gonna tell me all about your day.”
“Okay.” Her puppy-eyed expression nearly destroyed him.
He smiled through the lump in his throat. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Daddy.”
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Have fun, okay?”
Ivy nodded and he stayed there for another second, squeezing her hand before finally letting go.
“Be good for Mrs. Thomas.”
“I will daddy”
He stood slowly, his eyes were wet now, and he quickly wiped them with the back of his hand before turning away. Annie was waiting near the door and she reached for him as soon as he got close, sliding her hand into his. Smoke glanced back and Ivy was still watching them, he smiled at her and gave a little wave and she waved back. Then Mrs. Thomas gently stepped beside Ivy, giving her something to focus on as the parents began filing out.
He forced himself to turn around and Annie squeezed his hand. “You okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
She looked at him. “You're lying.”
He sniffed and looked toward the doorway one last time. “I'm fine.”
Annie leaned into him. “She's going to be okay.”
He took one more breath. “I just didn't know leaving her was gonna feel like that.”
Annie rested her head against his shoulder. “Me neither.”
Together, they walked out of the classroom and behind them, their little girl took her first brave steps into a world that belonged to her.
They walked to the car hand in hand, neither of them saying much as their first morning drop-off finally came to an end. Parents passed them in the parking lot with the same sad, watery eyes they had worn walking away from their children. Some looked too happy for the first day of school and others were talking quietly, trying to convince themselves that their babies were going to be just fine.
Smoke didn't say a word, he just held Annie's hand a little tighter. When they reached his truck, he opened the passenger door for her.
“Thank you.” Annie slid into her seat, and he closed the door before walking around to the driver's side.
He climbed in, started the car and then just sat there. For a whole minute, neither of them moved as the radio went on and on, the silence felt strange. Everything that had happened that morning seemed to hit them at once: the pancakes, Ivy's little uniform, the oversized Hello Kitty backpack, the classroom, Mrs. Thomas, that tiny hand in Smoke's, and finally the moment he'd had to walk away.
Smoke stared straight through the windshield, his lips pressed together as his chest rose with a shaky breath.
Annie turned toward him. “Baby…”
He shook his head and then he broke, a silent sob escaped before he could stop it. He covered his face with both hands and Annie didn't look surprised, didn't laugh or tease him.
She simply reached across the console and rubbed his back.
“They better be nice to my baby!” His voice cracked as he cried harder.
“Smo-”
“They better be nice to her!” he repeated.
“They will.” she encouraged
“Because she don't bother nobody!”
“I know baby, she doesn’t.”
“And she is so sweet!”
“She is.”
“And if someb-” He had to stop because another sob caught in his throat.
Annie pulled him closer, rubbing his shoulder. “She’s gonna have a great day.”
He wiped his face, shaking his head. “I just left her there.”
“She’s not alone.”
“I know, b-”
“She has Mrs. Thomas and you know our baby loves to talk.”
Smoke sniffled. “She got that little girl sitting beside her.”
“Maya.”
“Yeah. Maya.”
Annie smiled. “See, she already has somebody to talk to.”
He took a shaky breath and leaned back against the seat. “She looked scared.”
“She was.”
“I hated seeing that.”
She stroked the back of his neck “I know.”
He looked at Annie. “What if she needs us?”
“She'll tell Mrs. Thomas.”
“What if she wants me?”
“She'll be okay.”
“What i-”
“Elijah.” He stopped.
She took his hand. “She is going to be okay.”
He stared down at their joined hands, slowly calming and she smiled softly.
“She's growing up.”
Smoke groaned. “Don't say that.”
She laughed quietly. “Sorry.”
He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “I can't believe kindergarten got me crying before nine in the morning.”
Annie smiled as she watched. “You're a good daddy.”
Smoke opened his eyes. “I just love that little girl.”
“I know.” Annie squeezed his hand, she loved that about him. Loved how deeply he loved their daughter, loved how deeply he loved her, loved how fiercely protective he was of their family and she loved that the man sitting beside her could be reduced to tears simply because his little girl had looked scared and started kindergarten.
…..What he didn't know was that there was something else she hadn't told him yet, something that was already changing their family all over again. She glanced down briefly at her stomach, then back at her husband and she smiled to herself.
I'll tell him eventually.
She imagined his face, then imagined Ivy finding out, then imagined the chaos of another baby in the Moore household. Annie bit back a laugh. Actually… ahe looked over at Smoke, who was still sniffling and staring toward the school like he might turn around and march right back inside and pull Ivy out of class.
I'll save it for Ivy's high school graduation, she smiled.
“What's funny?” Smoke asked, noticing how quiet she had gotten in the passenger seat.
“Nothing.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You laughing at me?”
“No, baby.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Drive.”
He sighed and started pulling out of the parking lot, neither of them noticed the way Annie's hand instinctively settled protectively over her stomach, not yet. For now, they were still just the parents of one kindergartener, and he was still trying to recover from the fact that his baby had made it through her first morning without him.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I HOPE YOU ENJOYED <33333 TYSM FOR READING!
Summary: Smoke and Annie's daughter is starting kindergarten and Smoke doesn't know what to do with himself.
Author's note: Pleaseee enjoy, this came to me and I had to share, a lot of this free writing is helping me with my series, let me know what you think and please forgive any errors of mine<3333
WC: 7.6K
6:20 am.
The Moore household had looked forward to this day for weeks, Ivy’s first day of kindergarten. The sweetest thing in their house after her mama was starting kindergarten and Smoke was trying his hardest to keep it together. He went to orientation, met her teacher, he toured the school with Annie, learning where her only baby would be spending her time, eating her lunch, making friends and learning social skills that would prepare her for growing up, growing up? Where had the time gone? It felt like she just entered the world and was wrapped in that pink baby blanket, that she just got her first two teeth, took her first steps and finally said ‘da-da’. God he was a mess at 6am, he had shed a few tears twice already before Annie even woke up.
He peeked in Ivy’s room as she slept snuggled under her hello kitty comforter.
Ivy was an adorable little girl with the kind of warm brown cherub cheeks that made people want to pinch them even when she gave them a look like Smoke's stare that said don't you dare. She was the spitting image of her mama, from her warm brown eyes and long lashes to the soft roundness of her face and the little smile that could melt anybody who saw it. Her curls were thick, full, and growing longer by the day, she had her mama's sweetness too, the gentle way she spoke to people, the empathy she showed even at five years old, and the little habit of tilting her head whenever she was listening closely. But there were pieces of Smoke in her that made Annie laugh, especially the stubborn streak, the way her face scrunched up when something didn't make sense and the way she could give a perfectly innocent look after doing something she knew she wasn't supposed to.
And Smoke? He worshipped the ground that little girl walked on.
The little fist bawled up by her pillows, mouth slightly open, lashes long and shut, yellow bonnet still on her head, she twitched in her sleep like Annie swore he did while he slept but when Ivy slept all he saw was himself in her reflection but when her sweet brown eyes opened all he saw was his wife. Her warmth, her love, her appreciation and empathy, he stepped back slowly to the door quietly shutting it, deciding to let her get a few more minutes of sleep before waking her, he could hear movement in the kitchen downstairs and saw the light illuminate that let him know his wife was awake.
Annie yawned and stretched in her purple house robe as she stood behind the stove aware of her new visitor in the kitchen doorway.
She continued setting up pans for breakfast “You want to take a picture?” She says before turning towards the fridge, he closed the distance between them letting his hands slip around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder as she looked for eggs.
“Mmmm, she still sleeping?” Annie mumbled half asleep herself, he was always a morning person compared to Annie but the next eighteen years she would have to adjust to a new routine
“Give her a few more minutes before I wake her,” He planted a soft kiss on her cheek.
She smiled sleepily, finally pulling the carton of eggs from the refrigerator before turning in his arms to see her husband.
“She’s probably gonna sleep until you wake her,” she murmured.
“You know she got your ability to sleep through anything.” She pinched his cheek with her free hand before escaping his hold to start breakfast.
Smoke huffed as his eyes followed her. “ She got that from you.”
“I wake up.” she responded
“You wake up when you want to.”
Annie looked over her shoulder at him, giving him the slowest, most unimpressed blink her tired eyes could manage. “Okay.”
For a few seconds neither of them said anything, the kitchen was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the clock above the stove.
She started with the pancake mix when she heard some sniffles behind her, she froze. “Smoke.”
“Hm?”
“...Are you crying?”
“No.” he said but a sniffle two seconds later gave up everything he tried to conceal.
“You are.” she teased.
“I got something in my eye.”
“At six in the morning?”
“..Yeah.”
“Both eyes?”
She turned around from the stove, trying not to laugh when she saw the glassiness in his eyes.
“Oh, baby.” she said as she left the pancake mix alone and went to embrace her husband.
“I’m fine.” he said in her arms.
“You've been crying all morning, haven't you?” she asked as she rubbed his back.
“No.”
“Elijah.”
He sighed. “Twice.”
Annie's face softened immediately, she reached up and rubbed her thumb beneath his eye. “You getting emotional over kindergarten.”
“I ain’t emotional.” He sniffled
“You been holding it in since orientation?” she asked.
“I have not.” he lied, but today was all becoming too much for him.
“You absolutely have. Mrs. Thomas was talking about schoolwork, and you looked like somebody had told you Ivy was leaving for college and not coming home.” Annie released him to continue making breakfast
“That woman was talking about my baby growing up.” he said as he leaned against the fridge and watched her
Annie smiled as she cracked eggs in the mixing bowl. “She’s five.”
“Exactly.”
“She has to grow up.”
“I know.” His voice came out quieter this time.
She turned around as she recognized the sadness in his voice.
“She’s still gonna need you.”
Smoke looked at her. “She better.”
“She will.” She reassured as she poured the egg mix in the hot stove
“And she better call me every day.” he continued.
“Smoke.”
“I'm serious.” He pushed himself off the fridge and closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder.
“She don’t have a phone.”
“I’ll buy one.”
Annie laughed softly against him. “You're gonna scare her teacher.”
“I don't care.”
“You're going to be that dad?”
“I already am that dad.” That made Annie laugh harder, and he finally smiled against her.
Annie leaned back and kissed his cheek. “Come on. Let's make breakfast before she wakes up.”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
She smiled. “Happy first day of kindergarten, papa.”
Smoke's expression immediately crumbled. “Annie…”
“Oh, Lord.” Annie said as she whipped up the pancake mix in another mixing bowl while Smoke watched.
Upstairs, Ivy slept peacefully in her room for another few precious minutes, completely unaware that her first day of kindergarten had already broken her daddy's heart.
Waking her was difficult, but they had a schedule to stick to, and Smoke knew just how excited his little girl was for her first day of kindergarten. She had been talking about this day for weeks, telling everybody who would listen about her new backpack, her teacher, and all the friends she was going to make.
He sat carefully on the edge of her little bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.
“Peaches,” Smoke mumbled, reaching for the tiny fist resting against her cheek.
Ivy tugged her hand away and stirred, her face scrunching beneath the yellow bonnet.
“C’mon, angel. It’s time to get up.”
He reached for that little fist again, gently wrapping his fingers around hers.
“Nooo,” Ivy whimpered, barely awake.
Smoke smiled despite himself. “Yes.”
“Five more minutes.” she mumbled, sounding just like her mama.
He chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, well, kindergarten don't care about your five more minutes.”
Ivy slowly cracked one eye open. “Daddy?”
“Yeah, Peaches?”
“Is it time?”
His smile softened. “Yeah, baby. Today’s the day.”
Her sleepy expression changed instantly. “Kindergarten?”
“Mhm.”
She sat up so fast her bonnet nearly slipped off. “Today?!”
Smoke laughed, catching her before she could tumble forward. “Today.”
“I get to wear my new shoes?” she asked enthusiastically, sleep suddenly far from her mind.
She scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the blanket before he caught her around the waist. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.”
“But Daddy!” Ivy whined
“You ain't going nowhere until I get a hug.” Ivy giggled and threw her arms around his neck and Smoke closed his eyes, holding her tightly. For just a second, he let himself stay there: his little girl, his baby. Five years old and already getting ready to step into a world that didn't revolve around him and Annie anymore.
He swallowed hard before kissing the side of her bonnet. “I'm proud of you, Peaches.”
Ivy pulled back and smiled. “I'm proud of you too, Daddy.”
Smoke's eyes immediately watered. “Why you gotta say stuff like that this early?”
Ivy giggled. “Because I love you.”
He pulled her back into his chest. “I love you more than you know.”
From the hallway, Annie's voice called out.
“Y'all come eat!”
“Come on, Daddy. We don't wanna be late.” Smoke followed behind her, shaking his head and smiling.
Ivy was showered and eating her pancakes still in her pajamas, her little legs swinging beneath the kitchen table as she shoveled another bite into her mouth.
“When you finish, we’ll do that hair,” Annie said, glancing at the kitchen clock. “We are still on time, so don’t eat so fast.”
Ivy nodded enthusiastically, cheeks already swollen with pancake pieces and Smoke couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face as he watched her eat.
“Slow down, Peaches,” he laughed. “Ain't nobody taking your pancakes.”
Ivy swallowed just enough to speak. “I’m excited.”
“I can tell.”
Ivy reached for her glass of milk “I get to see my classroom again.”
“Mhm.” Annie said.
“And Mrs. Thomas said we get to pick where we sit.”
“That's important,” Smoke said seriously. “You gotta pick a good spot.”
Annie glanced over at him from her plate. “A good spot?”
“Yeah, somewhere she can see everything.”
Ivy nodded like her father had just given her the most important advice of her life. “Exactly.”
“And you better be nice to your teacher,” Smoke continued.
Ivy nodded “I will.”
“Be nice to your classmates.”
“I will.” Ivy agreed stuffing more pieces of her mama's famous pancakes in her mouth.
“And if somebody bothers y-”
Annie interrupted him “Smoke.”
“What?”
“She is five.” she reminded her husband.
“I know how old she is.”
“Then why are you giving her a security briefing?”
“Because kindergarten is serious.” Annie shook her head, laughing as she reached over and wiped a little syrup from Ivy's chin.
“Daddy's just nervous.”
“I ain't nervous.” he reassured her.
Ivy looked at him and made an honest observation. “You look nervous.”
Smoke's mouth fell open and Annie immediately covered her laugh with her hand.
Smoke looked at Annie. “You see what you started?”
Annie grinned. “You're the one who cried this morning."
“I had something in my eye.”
“Both eyes?” Annie asked
Ivy giggled and Smoke pointed at her. “Don't encourage your mama.”
Annie watched them, her smile lingering there was something about watching Smoke watch their daughter that still caught her off guard. The pride in his face was almost impossible to hide. She could already see it, the man he was going to become as Ivy got older. Kindergarten was apparently enough to have him emotional but she could only imagine Ivy starting middle school. High school? Lord. Sweet sixteen? She'd probably need to schedule a therapy appointment for him. Prom? He might personally interview every boy who comes near the house and graduation? Annie already knew she would be the one holding him upright while he cried through the entire ceremony.
She smiled to herself; it reminded her of the day she'd told him she was pregnant:
She'd known something was different before she ever took the test, her eating habits had changed first. Lemon pepper wings and fried rice from Andy’s Deli on 44th street had always been her favorite combo, actually one of her favorite meals, but one afternoon the smell of lemon pepper alone had sent her stomach turning. At first, she blamed it on anything else… then she bought the test, and when she finally looked down and saw those two lines, everything seemed to stop, she remembered walking into the room and telling him.
She remembers the look on his face. Shock, fear, then joy. Pure, overwhelming joy and for the next nine months, she barely had to lift a finger. If she asked him for something, he was already getting it. If she stood too long, he was telling her to sit down and if she mentioned being hungry, food appeared. When her doctor mentioned during one appointment that they were keeping a close eye on her blood pressure, he went into an entirely different mode.
After that, he watched everything she ate.
“What's in that?” He asked as he came across the scene of Annie eating at the kitchen table, a crumbled sandwich bag, a water bottle, a messy italian sub in one hand and a bag of Lays in front of her.
“It's a sandwich.” Annie responded after swallowing her bite
“What kind?” he eyed the sandwich suspiciously in caution but curious for a bite.
“Smoke.”
“How much sodium?” She would roll her eyes, but secretly she loved every second of it.
He had always been sweet and attentive, but that wasn't new. He had loved her loudly since the beginning of them dating, taken care of her without being asked, and somehow always noticed the smallest things.
At eight months pregnant, the parents to be still hadn't agreed on a name.They had gone through lists, baby-name books, names suggested by family and names they had heard somewhere and liked for five minutes before one of them inevitably ruined it.
“No.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why would you name our daughter that?”
“What’s wrong with that name?”
They had been doing it for months and he had eventually started offering his own suggestions just to annoy her.
“Elijah Jr.”
Annie had stared at him like he had two heads. “She is a girl.”
“So?”
“Why would I name our daughter Elijah Jr.?”
Smoke shrugs “Tradition.”
“There is no tradition.”
“We could start one.” She'd rolled her eyes.
“Fine, how bout Annette Jr?” Smoke had laughed so hard at the look she gave him he'd nearly fallen off the couch. “You don't like it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because that's stupid.”
And somehow, eight months into the pregnancy, their daughter was still simply, the baby. At 2:16 in the morning, Annie slipped quietly back into bed after another nighttime bathroom trip, the room was dark except for the faint glow of the clock on the nightstand. Smoke was sprawled across his side of the bed, face buried into his pillow, snoring softly. Annie carefully lifted the covers and eased herself back onto the mattress, the bed shifted and Smoke stirred immediately but his eyes never opened.
“C’mere,” he mumbled.
She smiled. “I’m here papa.”
His arm reached across the mattress almost instinctively, finding her waist and pulling her against him, he tucked her back into his chest like he'd been waiting for her to return.
“There you go,” he murmured sleepily.
She settled against him. “Thank you.”
He kissed her shoulder without opening his eyes. “Get some sleep.”
A few seconds later, his breathing evened out again but Annie stared into the darkness, she couldn't sleep. Her mind was still working, names and she thought about all of them but none of them felt right.
She rested a hand over her stomach as the baby shifted beneath her palm.
“Girl,” she whispered, “what are we gonna call you?”
Another little kick answered her and she smiled.
Then, suddenly, “Ivy.” She blinked.
The name sat in her mind so naturally that she almost wondered why she'd never thought of it before.
Ivy - soft, pretty, unique, she whispered it again. “Ivy.”
She looked over at her husband, he was completely knocked out.
Annie nudged his shoulder. “Smoke.”
Nothing. “Baby.”
He groaned into his pillow. “What?”
“I have a name.”
A long pause. “For what?”
“Our baby.”
Smoke barely moved. “Let’s talk about it in the morning.”
Annie frowned. “Smoke.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I think Ivy.” Silence and she waited.
Smoke's breathing remained heavy. Then, just when Annie thought he'd fallen asleep again, his voice came low and raspy.
“I like that one.”
Annie's eyes widened. “You do?”
“Mhm.” Another pause. “Ivy Mae Moore.”
Annie smiled in the darkness. “You really like it?”
“Yeah.” He pulled her a little closer. “Pretty name.”
Annie's heart fluttered. “I think so too.”
He gave one sleepy hum of agreement and immediately knocked back out, his snoring started again.
Right beside her ear while she stared into the darkness. “Of course.”
She smiled anyway and her hand returned to her stomach. “Ivy Mae Moore,” she whispered.
The baby kicked and Annie laughed quietly.
“I think she likes it too.” And beside her, completely unaware that he'd just helped name his daughter, Smoke continued snoring peacefully into her ear.
Something had changed when Ivy entered the world, the first time Smoke held their daughter, Annie had watched his entire face soften. He'd stared down at that tiny pink bundle like somebody had handed him the most precious thing on earth and from that moment forward, Ivy had him wrapped around her little pinky toe.
Five years later, apparently nothing had changed, if anything, he was worse. Smoke reached over and wiped another new crumb from Ivy's cheek.
“You ready, Peaches?”
Ivy nodded, still chewing. “Mhm.”
“Good.”
Annie watched him lean over and kiss the top of Ivy's head and her heart squeezed. Their baby was going to kindergarten and judging by the way Smoke was looking at her, she had a feeling he was going to need a whole lot more than five minutes after drop off to recover from it.
Annie sat Ivy between her knees on the edge of the bathtub in the hallway bathroom, a small water spray bottle, gel, brush comb, hair ties, and a handful of colorful bows spread out beside her and across the bathroom counter.
“Okay, Peaches, what are we doing today?”
Ivy looked at herself in the mirror, studying the fro framing her face.
“Puffs!”
“Puffs?”
Ivy added “With the white bows.”
Annie smiled. “The mini ones?”
Ivy nodded eagerly. “The tiny ones.”
“Alright, tiny white bows and puffs it is.”
Annie dampened Ivy's hair and began working through the curls with her fingers, gently separating each section before running the comb through it. Every morning it seemed like Ivy's hair was getting longer. Annie could have sworn she was just looking at her baby fro yesterday, and now those curls stretched farther down her little head every time she washed them.
“Your hair is getting so long,” Annie said.
Ivy smiled at herself in the mirror. “I know.”
“You know?” Annie asked.
“Daddy said.”
Annie laughed softly as she gathered the first section. “Of course he did.”
Ivy loved her curls. Never once did she ask for them to be straightened or hidden. She loved seeing them big, fluffy, and springing in every direction, and Annie loved that about her.
“Hold still, baby.” Annie said as she brushed the right side of her part into the exact spot she needed it to be.
“I am holding still.” but she wasn't, Ivy kept fidgeting as her mother would brush her hair back into another direction.
“You're moving your head.”
“Because you're pulling.” Ivy whined.
“I have to pull a little.” Annie reassured her as she finally got the puff's part correct
“But it hurts.”
Annie immediately loosened her grip. “Okay, okay. Mama's sorry.”
Ivy smiled at her reflection. “It's okay.”
Annie kissed the side of her head before continuing.
“So,” she said, gathering the second section, “how excited are you about school?”
“Very!”
“How very?”
Ivy thought about it. “Like...a lot.”
“A lot?”
“Yes!"
Annie laughed. “That excited?”
“Mhm. I get to see Mrs. Thomas again.”
“You like her?”
“I love her.” Ivy giggled as she thought of how nice her new teacher was at orientation.
“Already?”
Ivy nodded. “She showed us the bookshelves!"
“Oh, you're going to love the books she has.”
Ivy continued “And we get to color.”
“Uh-huh.”
Her espresso eyes got bigger as she remembered all she heard on orientation “And we get to have recess.”
Annie smiled as she secured the first puff. “And what are you most excited about?”
Ivy thought for a moment, then her little face brightened. “Making friends.”
Annie's heart warmed. “That's a good answer.”
“Mrs. Thomas said we have to be nice.”
“She did.”
“So I'm gonna be nice.”
“I know you will.” Annie finished the second puff and stepped back to admire her work. Two little puffs sat perfectly on either side of Ivy's head, her curls springing outward like soft little clouds.
“Now the bows.”
Ivy's eyes lit up. “The white ones!”
“The white ones.” She repeated, she carefully clipped one bow in front of each puff.
Ivy immediately turned toward the mirror. “Pretty!”
“Very pretty.”
Annie leaned down and kissed Ivy's cheek. “Alright, princess. Let's go show Daddy.”
Ivy smiled at herself one more time before grabbing her mama's hand.b“Now I'm ready for kindergarten.”
Annie looked down at her little girl and smiled, “Yeah, baby.” She squeezed her hand. “You sure are.”
Smoke had gone through every school supply they had bought for Ivy at least twice. Really, he just needed something to do with his hands. He had checked her backpack, opened every zipper and made sure her notebooks were where they belonged. Checked that her pencils were inside the pink glittery pencil box instead of rolling around loose at the bottom of the bag. Her name was written neatly on everything that could possibly need a name, he had even checked the little AirTag he'd bought the day after they went school shopping was still zipped safely inside the backpack's back pocket.
He pulled it out, looked at it, put it back, zipped the pocket…. then opened it again. Annie watched him from the living room sofa, trying desperately not to laugh and he had moved on to the lunch bag. Again, he unzipped it and inside was exactly what he'd packed less than an hour ago. A juice box, her favorite animal crackers, a banana and a ham and cheese sandwich sliced in a triangle half, how she liked it. Everything is perfectly in place. He stared inside like he expected somebody to have snuck in overnight and switched something around.
Annie finally spoke. “Baby.”
He looked up. “Yeah?”
“Nothing has disappeared.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you checking it?” she asked.
“I'm making sure.”
“.....You've checked that lunch bag three times.”
Smoke shrugged. “Maybe I missed something.”
Annie smiled. “You didn't.”
He closed the lunch bag and set it down….then picked up the backpack again.
Annie laughed. “Smoke.”
“What?”
“Come sit down.”
“I am sitting down.”
“You're standing.”
“I'm about to sit down.”
“You've been ‘about to sit down’ for twenty minutes.” He looked at her and Annie could see right through him, she always could. He wasn't worried about the supplies, wasn’t worried about the lunch or about the AirTag. He just didn't know what to do with himself, his baby was going to be somewhere without him, without both of them soon.
Somewhere he couldn't walk behind her, couldn't check on her every five minutes and couldn't make sure she had everything she needed. He'd spent five years being the person who made sure she was okay and now kindergarten was asking him to trust that somebody else would do it.
Annie walked over and gently took the backpack from his hands. “Come here.”
He sighed but let her pull him toward her.
“She has everything,” Annie said softly.
“I know.” He admitted
“She's ready.” Annie continued, “She knows where her classroom is, knows her teacher and she knows how to ask for help.”
“I know.”
Annie smiled. “And she knows her daddy loves her.”
Smoke finally looked at her. “That ain't changing.”
“No.” Annie wrapped her arms around him. “Nothing about that is changing.”
He rested his chin on the top of her head, holding her close, after a moment, he sighed.
“I just feel like I should be doing something.”
Annie rubbed his back. “You are.”
“What?”
“You're being her dad.”
Smoke was quiet, then he looked toward the backpack sitting on the counter.
“.....Think her sandwich gonna get squished?”
Annie laughed. “Smoke.”
“I'm serious.” he said
“She'll survive a squished sandwich.”
He mumbled “I should've put it in a container.”
“You did.”
He paused. “Oh.”
She laughed harder. “You see? This is exactly what I'm talking about.”
Smoke smiled despite himself and kissed her forehead. “I'm just trying to make sure my baby has everything.”
“She does.”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. “And so does her daddy.”
He nodded, finally letting himself sit down….for approximately thirty seconds, then he stood back up.
Annie stared at him. “Where are you going?”
He grabbed the lunch bag. “I'm checking the juice box.”
“Smoke!” Annie shrieked.
He grinned. “I'm playing.”
She shook her head, laughing as he finally came back to her. “Come here, nervous daddy.”
He wrapped his arms around her again. “I'm not nervous.”
“Sure.” she said dryly.
“I'm prepared.”
“Whatever you say.”
Smoke kissed her temple. “I just love that little girl.”
“I know.” And Annie knew that was really all of it, the supplies could be checked a hundred times and the lunch could be inspected until the sandwich fell apart. None of it was really about school, smoke just wasn't ready for the first time his baby would walk away from him carrying a backpack that was almost as big as she was and Annie wasn't sure either of them ever would be.
“I'm ready!” Ivy's voice rang through the house before her little feet came thundering down the stairs.
Annie turned around and immediately froze. “Oh, my goodness.”
Ivy stood at the bottom of the staircase in her kindergarten uniform, looking entirely too cute, her white polo was tucked neatly into her plaid skirt, and ruffled socks peeking over the tops of her new shoes. Her curls had been parted carefully down the middle and pulled into two perfect puffs, each one decorated with her favorite white bows. Her face was clean, her teeth freshly brushed,
Smoke stared at her for a long second. “Look at my baby.”
Annie immediately reached for her phone. “Don't move.”
Ivy grinned. “Mommy!”
“Wait, wait. Let me get a picture.” Annie crouched down, snapping picture after picture as Ivy posed proudly.
“Okay, smile!” Ivy smiled.
“Big smile!” She smiled bigger.
“Now give me a serious face.” Ivy scrunched up her face looking exactly like Elijah Jr.
Smoke laughed. “Why she look so mad?”
“Because I told her to be serious, like her daddy.”
“Hey!” Ivy giggled as Smoke helped her with her backpack that was almost as big as she was. Annie stood, looking at the picture she'd just taken, and there it was. Her baby. Standing there in a little uniform with her daddy helping her get her backpack on, ready to walk into kindergarten.
Her eyes immediately started watering as the emotions of today overcame her. “Oh, no.”
Smoke noticed. “Annie.”
“What?”
“You crying now?” he asked, shocked.
“No.”
“You're crying.” he repeated.
“I'm not.” She wiped away tears that threatened to fall.
He grinned. “You just took pictures and now you're crying.”
“I'm emotional.” she countered as she tried to compose herself.
“You're dramatic.”
She wiped underneath her eye as quickly as she could. “You were crying this morning!”
“That was different.” he responded as he grabbed his truck keys out of the key bowl.
“How?”
“I'm the daddy.”
Annie rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
She slipped on her coat, still fighting the lump in her throat and tears forming.
“Come on, baby, let's go.” The sudden Mississippi chill had settled over the morning, making Annie pull her coat tighter around herself as they stepped outside.
Ivy practically bounced toward her dads truck next to her. “I'm going to kindergarten!”
“Yes you are, baby,” Annie laughed.
He opened the back door for her and helped with the oversized backpack before making sure she was buckled in. “Ready?”
“Ready!”
The drive to Hillside was filled with Ivy's excited chatter, she talked about her teacher, the classroom, the friends she hoped she'd make, the snack she had packed last night with her dad’s help..Everything. Smoke listened, occasionally answering her questions, but every now and then his eyes flicked up toward the rearview mirror, and there she was, his little girl.
Small yet mighty in the backseat, her red Hello Kitty backpack beside her as she stared out the window, watching the world pass by. Smoke's jaw tightened and she noticed but didn't say anything. Instead, she reached across the center console and took his hand, resting it gently in her lap, he looked down at their joined hands for a second, then back at the road. He squeezed her fingers, being here was different. It was one thing to imagine Ivy starting kindergarten and it was another thing entirely to pull into Hillside Elementary and see dozens of little kindergartners and elementary school kids walking around with backpacks nearly swallowing them whole. Parents hovered, teachers called out names, children cried. Some clung desperately to their mothers while others bounced around excitedly. One little boy was already shouting about somebody taking his dinosaur backpack and it was barely eight in the morning.
“This is chaos,” Smoke muttered.
Annie laughed. “You knew it was going to be busy.”
“I didn't know it was gonna be like this.” Smoke opened the back door and helped Ivy out.
“Stay close.”
“I know, daddy.” He picked her up anyway and Ivy giggled as he settled her against his side. Annie stayed tucked against him as they made their way inside, Smoke keeping one arm securely around Ivy while his other hand stayed at his wife’s back. They moved through the crowded hallway, searching for the classroom number.
“Where is this room?”
“Down here, I think.”
“I don't see it.” Annie looked over the crowd, then her face brightened.
“There she is!”
She pointed toward a lean woman standing outside one of the classroom doors, greeting children and parents as they arrived.
“I see her.”
Ivy's head snapped around and her entire face lit up. “MRS. THOMAS!”
The teacher looked up and her eyes immediately widened.
“IVY!” The excitement in her voice matched Ivy's perfectly.
“Hi, baby!”
Ivy started squirming in Smoke’s arms. “Daddy!”
“What?”
“Put me down!”
Smoke laughed. “Hold on.”
“Daddy!”
“You were just comfortable two seconds ago.”
“I gotta see Mrs. Thomas!”
“Okay, okay.” He lowered her carefully and the second her feet touched the floor, Ivy took off. She ran straight toward her teacher, her puffs bouncing with every step.
Mrs. Thomas opened her arms and Ivy practically flew into them.
“There she is!”
Mrs. Thomas was the kind of kindergarten teacher who immediately made children feel safe. She was a warm, soft-spoken Black woman in her late thirties, with a bright smile, kind eyes, and shoulder-length twists she usually wore pulled back with a colorful headband. She had a gentle but confident presence, sweet enough to get down on a five-year-old's level and listen to their very serious stories, but firm enough that the classroom never got completely out of hand.
Ivy liked her immediately and there was something about Mrs. Thomas that reminded Annie of the teachers she had loved growing up. She spoke to the children with patience, never making them feel silly for asking questions, and she had a way of turning even the simplest lesson into something exciting. Smoke, however, had already decided he was keeping an eye on her: not because he didn't like her, quite the opposite, she seemed wonderful. But she was the woman who would be spending several hours a day with his baby girl and Smoke needed everybody to understand that he took that responsibility very seriously.
“I missed you!”
“And how was your summer?”
“It was great! We went swimming in the lake and Uncle Stack taught me how to fish! And my daddy taught me how to make smores!”
Annie stood beside Smoke, smiling as they watched their daughter share her summer stories with the woman who would be spending so much of her time with her now. Smoke's hand found Annie's again and he squeezed it and looked up at him, his eyes were already glossy.
She smiled. “Don't.”
“I ain't doing nothing.” he mumbled as he looked down at his work boots.
“You're about to cry.”
“No, I'm not.”
She leaned closer and whispered. “You are.”
Smoke swallowed and looked back at Ivy interacting with her teacher. “I'm just happy.”
She rested her head briefly against his shoulder, their baby was exactly where she was supposed to be and somehow, that made letting go feel just a little harder. Mrs. Thomas finally managed to calm Ivy down enough to get her to turn around and properly greet her parents.
“Okay, Miss Ivy,” she said, smiling as she gently guided her back toward them. “Now you can show Mommy and Daddy where your things go.”
Ivy immediately grabbed both of their hands. “Come on!”
Smoke laughed as she dragged them into the classroom. “Girl, you ain't gotta pull us.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because you don't know where you're going.” She covered her mouth to hide her laugh.
He looked offended. “I was gonna figure it out.”
“Sure, dad.” Her humor was getting more and more like her mother’s everyday.
The classroom looked even better than it had during orientation, colorful posters covered the walls, each one filled with letters, numbers, shapes, and encouraging little messages. A reading corner sat tucked into one side of the room with a small rug and shelves overflowing with picture books. Students' artwork from over the years decorated the bulletin boards, and tiny name tags had been placed carefully around the room.
He slowed down, taking everything in. “Wow.”
Annie glanced at him. “Pretty cool, huh?”
“Yeah.”
There was something about the room that made everything feel real, this wasn't orientation anymore, this was where his daughter would spend her days, reading, making friends, learning how to solve problems without mommy and daddy standing right beside her.
Smoke watched Ivy with a quiet pride as she looked around the room.
“Look!” She pointed toward a row of little blue cubbies with nametags until she spotted hers.
“There's mine!” She ran over, dragging her backpack behind her and Smoke followed.
Ivy struggled to get the oversized backpack off her shoulders, so he helped her slide it down.
“Here.”
She opened her cubby and proudly stuffed her backpack inside after pulling out her pencil box. “Perfect.”
She turned around to look at her parents “Where should I sit?”
Annie crouched beside her. “You pick, baby. Make sure it's a good one.”
Ivy looked around the room carefully, there were desks pushed into groups of four near the front of the classroom, positioned close to Mrs. Thomas desk. To the right were several tables closer to the cubbies and windows, where sunlight streamed through the glass.
Ivy studied both options like she was making an important business decision, then she noticed her. A little Black girl sitting alone at one of the tables near the window with a pink bow clipped to the side of her bun. She had her hands folded neatly on the table and was quietly looking around the classroom, Ivy looked at her for a moment, then she looked back at her parents, and Annie gave her a small nod and with their encouragement she walked over.
“Hi.”
The little girl looked up. “Hi.”
“I'm Ivy.”
The girl smiled shyly. “I'm Maya.”
Ivy pointed toward the empty chair beside her. “Can I sit here?”
Maya nodded. “Okay.”
Ivy climbed into the chair and pulled out her pencil box, placing it on her desk. “I have Hello Kitty pencils.”
Maya's eyes immediately brightened as she pulled out her Hello Kitty stickers. “I like Hello Kitty too!”
Ivy grinned. “Me too!"
Within seconds, the two girls were already whispering to each other like they'd known one another for years.
Annie smiled and Smoke stood beside her, watching the interaction.
“Well,” he murmured.
Annie looked up at him. “What?”
“She’s making a friend.”
“Looks like it.” He smiled. Their little girl had walked into a room full of strangers and found someone to sit beside, taking a page out of her mama’s book, he slipped his hand into Annie's and for the first time that morning, he felt himself relax.
Maybe she was ready and maybe they were the ones who weren't. Parents continued filing into the classroom until the room that had felt so spacious only minutes ago was suddenly packed. Ivy's little table for two had become a table for six, with children settling into the empty chairs around her. Some were talking excitedly, others were hiding behind their parents, and a few looked just as overwhelmed as Ivy had been moments before. Mrs. Thomas eventually stepped toward the front of the classroom and clapped her hands gently.
“Alright, everyone, can I have your attention?” The room gradually quieted.
She introduced herself properly, went over the basics of the school day, explained classroom expectations, and let everyone know what time pickup would be.
“Dismissal is at two o'clock. Parents, please make sure you're here on time.”
Smoke nodded along, two o'clock…he'd never forget that.
Then Mrs. Thomas smiled warmly at the parents.
“And now, it's time for our kindergarteners to begin their first day. Parents, this is where we say goodbye.”
The room shifted instantly, some parents hugged their children, some children cried while others waved excitedly as their parents walked toward the door. Ivy had been smiling all morning, until now - her little face fell, she looked around the classroom, suddenly realizing that mommy and daddy weren't staying. Then her eyes found Smoke and he knew that look, fear and his heart cracked.
“Baby,” Annie said softly as she crouched down next to her daughter's chair and kissed her cheek.
“You're gonna be fine, okay? You're gonna have such a good day.”
She continued, “You’re going to forget all about us until two o’clock, I promise you”
Ivy didn't answer, her eyes stayed locked on her father, Smoke swallowed hard before walking over and crouching beside her chair. “Hey, hey.”
Ivy's bottom lip trembled and he was trying to keep it together himself.
“You're gonna be fine.” His voice was gentle, but his own eyes were beginning to water.
“You're gonna have so much fun today.” She stared at him with those big brown eyes, trying to be brave.
Smoke reached out and held her little hand. “The day is gonna fly by.”
Ivy sniffled. “And Daddy's gonna be right back here to get you at two o'clock, okay?”
She nodded faintly. “And when I come back, you're gonna tell me all about your day.”
“Okay.” Her puppy-eyed expression nearly destroyed him.
He smiled through the lump in his throat. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Daddy.”
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Have fun, okay?”
Ivy nodded and he stayed there for another second, squeezing her hand before finally letting go.
“Be good for Mrs. Thomas.”
“I will daddy”
He stood slowly, his eyes were wet now, and he quickly wiped them with the back of his hand before turning away. Annie was waiting near the door and she reached for him as soon as he got close, sliding her hand into his. Smoke glanced back and Ivy was still watching them, he smiled at her and gave a little wave and she waved back. Then Mrs. Thomas gently stepped beside Ivy, giving her something to focus on as the parents began filing out.
He forced himself to turn around and Annie squeezed his hand. “You okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
She looked at him. “You're lying.”
He sniffed and looked toward the doorway one last time. “I'm fine.”
Annie leaned into him. “She's going to be okay.”
He took one more breath. “I just didn't know leaving her was gonna feel like that.”
Annie rested her head against his shoulder. “Me neither.”
Together, they walked out of the classroom and behind them, their little girl took her first brave steps into a world that belonged to her.
They walked to the car hand in hand, neither of them saying much as their first morning drop-off finally came to an end. Parents passed them in the parking lot with the same sad, watery eyes they had worn walking away from their children. Some looked too happy for the first day of school and others were talking quietly, trying to convince themselves that their babies were going to be just fine.
Smoke didn't say a word, he just held Annie's hand a little tighter. When they reached his truck, he opened the passenger door for her.
“Thank you.” Annie slid into her seat, and he closed the door before walking around to the driver's side.
He climbed in, started the car and then just sat there. For a whole minute, neither of them moved as the radio went on and on, the silence felt strange. Everything that had happened that morning seemed to hit them at once: the pancakes, Ivy's little uniform, the oversized Hello Kitty backpack, the classroom, Mrs. Thomas, that tiny hand in Smoke's, and finally the moment he'd had to walk away.
Smoke stared straight through the windshield, his lips pressed together as his chest rose with a shaky breath.
Annie turned toward him. “Baby…”
He shook his head and then he broke, a silent sob escaped before he could stop it. He covered his face with both hands and Annie didn't look surprised, didn't laugh or tease him.
She simply reached across the console and rubbed his back.
“They better be nice to my baby!” His voice cracked as he cried harder.
“Smo-”
“They better be nice to her!” he repeated.
“They will.” she encouraged
“Because she don't bother nobody!”
“I know baby, she doesn’t.”
“And she is so sweet!”
“She is.”
“And if someb-” He had to stop because another sob caught in his throat.
Annie pulled him closer, rubbing his shoulder. “She’s gonna have a great day.”
He wiped his face, shaking his head. “I just left her there.”
“She’s not alone.”
“I know, b-”
“She has Mrs. Thomas and you know our baby loves to talk.”
Smoke sniffled. “She got that little girl sitting beside her.”
“Maya.”
“Yeah. Maya.”
Annie smiled. “See, she already has somebody to talk to.”
He took a shaky breath and leaned back against the seat. “She looked scared.”
“She was.”
“I hated seeing that.”
She stroked the back of his neck “I know.”
He looked at Annie. “What if she needs us?”
“She'll tell Mrs. Thomas.”
“What if she wants me?”
“She'll be okay.”
“What i-”
“Elijah.” He stopped.
She took his hand. “She is going to be okay.”
He stared down at their joined hands, slowly calming and she smiled softly.
“She's growing up.”
Smoke groaned. “Don't say that.”
She laughed quietly. “Sorry.”
He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “I can't believe kindergarten got me crying before nine in the morning.”
Annie smiled as she watched. “You're a good daddy.”
Smoke opened his eyes. “I just love that little girl.”
“I know.” Annie squeezed his hand, she loved that about him. Loved how deeply he loved their daughter, loved how deeply he loved her, loved how fiercely protective he was of their family and she loved that the man sitting beside her could be reduced to tears simply because his little girl had looked scared and started kindergarten.
…..What he didn't know was that there was something else she hadn't told him yet, something that was already changing their family all over again. She glanced down briefly at her stomach, then back at her husband and she smiled to herself.
I'll tell him eventually.
She imagined his face, then imagined Ivy finding out, then imagined the chaos of another baby in the Moore household. Annie bit back a laugh. Actually… ahe looked over at Smoke, who was still sniffling and staring toward the school like he might turn around and march right back inside and pull Ivy out of class.
I'll save it for Ivy's high school graduation, she smiled.
“What's funny?” Smoke asked, noticing how quiet she had gotten in the passenger seat.
“Nothing.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You laughing at me?”
“No, baby.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Drive.”
He sighed and started pulling out of the parking lot, neither of them noticed the way Annie's hand instinctively settled protectively over her stomach, not yet. For now, they were still just the parents of one kindergartener, and he was still trying to recover from the fact that his baby had made it through her first morning without him.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I HOPE YOU ENJOYED <33333 TYSM FOR READING!
Michael falls asleep by sucking your boobs. That’s it. That’s the fic. Inspired by this <3
It became a nightly routine at this point.
Your eyes will find the clock on the wall, nearing midnight, then followed by the sounds of the front door from downstairs opening and closing. The covers are halfway kicked off of you, just in time as the doorknob turns and reveals your terribly exhausted husband. Yet, he still pulls a smile for you to be greeted with.
“Missed you so much, baby.” He says it every night he comes home, thankful you no longer make the air in his house taste like loneliness. You don’t move over on the bed, because the spot for him is in your arms.
You happily let his weight topple on you, head resting on your chest as you go to rub soothing circles on his back. “Don’t want to shower n change first?”
He grumbles into your skin, eyes already fluttering shut. “Mmm, wanna lay down for a bit before.” You would’ve believed him if you didn’t start to feel fingers play with the straps of your loose tank top, silent permission to pull them down your shoulders. You help push the fabric down, revealing your breasts for the habit you don’t remember letting him create, although you’re more than happy to let it continue if it knocks him to sleep like a baby for the rest of the night.
His palm is full and warm as there’s no hesitation to cup one of your breasts, having your breath stutter. He begins to knead gently, the soft weight of you in his hand making your own arousal start to surge.
The other hand wanders down, creating goosebumps in its wake. His touch stops at your ass, now caressing them in the same rhythm he’s doing on your breast.
“Tell me about your day, mama. What did you do while I was gone?”
Your mouth falls open, but no words come out as he now rolls a thumb over your nipple, hardening the peak. He feigns obliviousness to your shivers, but there’s a thrill surging through him to having you like this, open and breathless, undone with any touch he gives you.
You clear your throat, searching for your voice. “It was okay,” The tremble you tried to fight back in your tone becomes evident the second he starts to close his lips over your nipple, sucking gently. “Besides waiting for you to come home, I kept myself busy by seeing what needed to be clean around the house.”
He hums in response, then letting the tip of his tongue swirl over the bud. The hand on your ass stops its caresses, to only give them to your other breast so it wouldn’t be left neglected.
You bring up your hand to comb through his curls, keeping the conversation going to ignore the way his tongue is dragging slow, messy circles over your nipple, which is giving you the urge to press your thighs together. “I take it rehearsal was tiring again today?”
He draws back to breathe over the wet skin, squeezing the other breast in his palm gently. “mmm, my pretty girl feels so soft.…would stay here forever if I could.” How he completely ignores your question, too lost in how giving love to your breasts is nearly putting him to sleep.
You pull back some of the curls covering his face, watching him lean back down to lick a wet stripe up to your nipple, sucking it back into his mouth and letting it roll between his lips.
God, it’s hard to not squirm. You hear his breathing start to slow, work of his mouth getting gentler, sleep around the corner ready to take him. Whether it was an accident or intentional, you don’t know, but he suddenly bites down lightly on the bud.
You shudder out a gasp, unable to stop the jerk of your hips. He grumbles, snaking one arm around you to keep you still. As if you weren’t already fighting for your life to do so.
Then, you feel the cold air hit you particularly hard on your chest, looking down to see him dozed off with half of your nipple hanging out his mouth, breast all slick and peak swollen. How even in his sleep, his tongue twitches to give the faintest licks to your nipple, never truly letting you escape the shudders he delivers you.
Michael falls asleep by sucking your boobs. That’s it. That’s the fic. Inspired by this <3
It became a nightly routine at this point.
Your eyes will find the clock on the wall, nearing midnight, then followed by the sounds of the front door from downstairs opening and closing. The covers are halfway kicked off of you, just in time as the doorknob turns and reveals your terribly exhausted husband. Yet, he still pulls a smile for you to be greeted with.
“Missed you so much, baby.” He says it every night he comes home, thankful you no longer make the air in his house taste like loneliness. You don’t move over on the bed, because the spot for him is in your arms.
You happily let his weight topple on you, head resting on your chest as you go to rub soothing circles on his back. “Don’t want to shower n change first?”
He grumbles into your skin, eyes already fluttering shut. “Mmm, wanna lay down for a bit before.” You would’ve believed him if you didn’t start to feel fingers play with the straps of your loose tank top, silent permission to pull them down your shoulders. You help push the fabric down, revealing your breasts for the habit you don’t remember letting him create, although you’re more than happy to let it continue if it knocks him to sleep like a baby for the rest of the night.
His palm is full and warm as there’s no hesitation to cup one of your breasts, having your breath stutter. He begins to knead gently, the soft weight of you in his hand making your own arousal start to surge.
The other hand wanders down, creating goosebumps in its wake. His touch stops at your ass, now caressing them in the same rhythm he’s doing on your breast.
“Tell me about your day, mama. What did you do while I was gone?”
Your mouth falls open, but no words come out as he now rolls a thumb over your nipple, hardening the peak. He feigns obliviousness to your shivers, but there’s a thrill surging through him to having you like this, open and breathless, undone with any touch he gives you.
You clear your throat, searching for your voice. “It was okay,” The tremble you tried to fight back in your tone becomes evident the second he starts to close his lips over your nipple, sucking gently. “Besides waiting for you to come home, I kept myself busy by seeing what needed to be clean around the house.”
He hums in response, then letting the tip of his tongue swirl over the bud. The hand on your ass stops its caresses, to only give them to your other breast so it wouldn’t be left neglected.
You bring up your hand to comb through his curls, keeping the conversation going to ignore the way his tongue is dragging slow, messy circles over your nipple, which is giving you the urge to press your thighs together. “I take it rehearsal was tiring again today?”
He draws back to breathe over the wet skin, squeezing the other breast in his palm gently. “mmm, my pretty girl feels so soft.…would stay here forever if I could.” How he completely ignores your question, too lost in how giving love to your breasts is nearly putting him to sleep.
You pull back some of the curls covering his face, watching him lean back down to lick a wet stripe up to your nipple, sucking it back into his mouth and letting it roll between his lips.
God, it’s hard to not squirm. You hear his breathing start to slow, work of his mouth getting gentler, sleep around the corner ready to take him. Whether it was an accident or intentional, you don’t know, but he suddenly bites down lightly on the bud.
You shudder out a gasp, unable to stop the jerk of your hips. He grumbles, snaking one arm around you to keep you still. As if you weren’t already fighting for your life to do so.
Then, you feel the cold air hit you particularly hard on your chest, looking down to see him dozed off with half of your nipple hanging out his mouth, breast all slick and peak swollen. How even in his sleep, his tongue twitches to give the faintest licks to your nipple, never truly letting you escape the shudders he delivers you.
Oh, what would he do without you?
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