BAD SYD LOVES YOU.

Sunlight spills through the open nursery windows in thick golden ribbons, warm enough to turn the dust floating through the air into glitter. The gauzy curtains sway lazily with the breeze rolling in from the Quarter, carrying the scent of rain-damp pavement, magnolia blossoms, and the faint trace of incense burning downstairs on Annie’s altar. Wind chimes clink softly somewhere on the back gallery, mixing with the distant sound of a trumpet player serenading tourists three streets over. Outside, the city buzzes with its usual mix of music, heat, and morning chaos.

But in here, the world felt gentler.

Autumn babbles happily to herself from the patchwork quilt laid across the rug, tiny gold bangles jingling around her ankles every time she kicks her feet. Her fat cheeks puff around the big toe currently shoved in her mouth, suckling as though it were the finest delicacy in all of Louisiana. Her chocolate curls were wild from sleep and haloed by the morning light, making her look less like a baby and more like a cherub the ancestors had handcrafted for Annie and Smoke’s enjoyment alone. She was perfection.

Annie leans against the doorway with sleepy eyes, her satin robe resting loosely around her shoulder as she watches her daughter. Her hand lightly caresses the small protection sigil Smoke had discreetly painted in the threshold, the blackened symbol nearly invisible against the wood unless you knew what to look for.

“Those toes providing you enough nutrients,” Annie teases softly, “or would you like some goodness fresh from the tap?”

Autumn lets out an excited squeal at the sound of her mother’s voice, nearly choking on her own laughter as she rolls onto her belly. She kicks her legs wildly behind her, determined to army crawl across the blanket despite only managing a few pitiful inches.

“Mm-hmm,” Annie laughs under her breath. “There goes that impatience. You just like your daddy.”

Autumn answers with another delighted shriek at the mention of her father, reaching for her mother with clumsy little hands.

“Calm down,” Annie giggles, pushing herself off the doorway and crossing the nursery barefoot. The old wooden floor creaks beneath her steps. “I was going to come to you.”

She scoops her into her arms, breathing in that powdery baby scent mixed with shea butter and chamomile oil. The infant immediately tucks herself against her mother’s chest with a happy little sigh. Annie pulls down one side of her night gown and settles into the rocking chair near the window, letting Autumn latch while sunlight pours over them both in warm, honey-colored waves.

Downstairs, the coffee maker gives a soft ding, followed by the familiar sound of cabinet doors opening and closing somewhere beneath the nursery floor. Annie smiles to herself. Smoke was up.

A second later, music crackles low through the house from the old speaker he refused to replace. One of Sammie’s blues records. He’d never admit it out loud, but he was his little cousin’s biggest fan and owned every album he’d ever made on cassette, CD, and vinyl.

Before long, the scent of breakfast begins creeping upstairs. First coffee, dark and rich enough to wake the dead. Then butter hitting hot cast iron. Bacon shortly after that. Annie closes her eyes for a second when the smell of sautéed bell peppers and onions finally joins the mix, followed by the unmistakable scent of seasoned shrimp cooking in garlic and Cajun spices.

Smoke was making his famous shrimp and grits.

She could already picture him downstairs moving around the kitchen, half-dressed, tattoos peeking beneath a black tank top, while he stood over the stove with the same ridiculous amount of focus he put into everything. Probably dancing a little too, if the faint sound of cabinet tapping was anything to go by. A soft laugh leaves her throat.

Annie loved it when Smoke cooked. Not because he was good at it, though Lord knew he was. It was the care behind it that always got to her. The way he plated her food like it mattered. The way he remembered she liked extra cheese in her grits and her peaches sprinkled with sugar. The way he’d slide a cup of coffee into her hands before she even realized she needed one.

She always told him she could taste the love in his food. And every single time, Smoke would roll his eyes like she was being dramatic, even though the smug grin tugging at his mouth always gave him away.

“You wanna go say hi to daddy, babygirl? I’m sure he could use some of this good loving, too.” Autumn blinks up at her with sleepy, milk-drunk eyes, one hand still gripping Annie’s robe as she finishes feeding. A soft little sigh escapes her once she’s full, cheeks warm and round as she settles against Annie’s chest.

“Yeah,” Annie murmured, kissing the top of her curls. “That’s my spoiled girl.”

The old hardwood creaked beneath Annie’s bare feet as she carried Autumn downstairs, the smell of breakfast growing stronger with every step. Annie hums along to Sammie’s record as she crosses into the kitchen, and to her surprise, there are two Moore men waiting to greet her.

“There’s unc’s baby!” Stack grins the second he spots Autumn. His whole face lights up so fast Annie nearly laughs. “Come here, Moonbeam.”

Autumn squeals at the sound of his voice, immediately reaching for him with little grabby hands.

“Traitor,” Smoke snorts.

“Don’t be mad that I’m the favorite twin,” Stack shoots back, reaching out for his niece.

“You don’t even like kids,” Smoke mutters behind his coffee mug.

“Correction: I don’t like outside kids. Moonbeam is different.”

Annie laughs under her breath as Stack carefully scoops the chunky chocolate drop from her arms like she was made of glass. Autumn immediately tucks herself against his chest with a happy hum, tiny fingers grabbing onto the gold chain around his neck.

“Aht-aht,” Stack warns gently, untangling her fist before she could yank it hard enough to choke him. “That chain cost too much money for all that.”

Autumn only blinks at him before smacking her tiny palm against his cheek.

“That’s what your ass get,” Smoke says, barking out a laugh loud enough to echo through the kitchen.

“Abusive like her damn daddy,” Stack fusses as he rubs his cheek.

“You’ll be aight.”

Autumn yawns suddenly against Stack’s shoulder, tiny mouth stretching wide before her face buries into the crook of his neck. The fight drains out of her all at once.

“Annnd she’s out,” Smoke notes, pointing the spatula towards her.

“She’s been up since before sunrise,” Annie nods softly.

Stack glances down at the chocolate cherub curled against him, his expression softening so fast it almost didn’t look like him at all.

“Y’all eat. I got her.” “You sure?” Annie asks.

“Please,” he scoffs. “I’m Uncle Stack. My baby knows she’s in good hands like Allstate.” Smoke rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest further.

Annie smiles as Stack disappears upstairs with Autumn resting against his shoulder, one massive hand spread protectively across her tiny back while he hums softly under his breath. A minute later, the house falls quiet again.

Sensing a chance to seize the opportunity, Smoke stalks quietly behind Annie before snatching her up, expertly pinning her back to the counter. He’d been eyeing the growing damp spot beneath the thin fabric of her night gown for the last ten minutes, and his patience had finally run dry.

“E-Elijah,” Annie breathes, though there’s no real threat behind it. “What are you doing?”

He answers by sliding the strap of her gown from her shoulder slowly, exposing warm brown skin and the fullness of her breast beneath the kitchen light. A fresh bead of milk gathers there, and the sight alone nearly drives him insane.

“Lord have mercy,” he mutters softly, more to himself than her.

Smoke leans down without another word, mouth closing around her with a quiet groan that sends electricity through Annie’s body. Her fingers tighten against the cool marble instantly while his tongue soothes and teases in slow, deliberate strokes, savoring her like something sweet he’d been craving all morning.

“Eliijahhh,” she whimpers as she squirms, attempting to free herself from his grasp.

“Be still, woman,” he fusses. “I’m tryna take care of you.” His free hand carefully glides up her thigh and finds solace in the slick between her legs. Annie’s knees buckle as his fingers expertly work that sensitive bundle of nerves while he indulges in his daughter’s life force, desperate to increase his calcium intake for the day.

“Aye, family! Baby Autumn is down for the coun—” Stack stops short in the kitchen doorway, one brow lifting slowly. “Now what the fuck y’all got going on in here?” 

Annie’s knuckles whiten from how tightly she grips the counter while Smoke nurses from her with a low hum of approval, his fingers working quickly under the hem of her dress.

“Well,” Stack drawls, dragging his gaze over the scene in front of him, “I see Autumn ain’t the only one that likes her milk from the tap.”

“Mind ya business,” Smoke mutters against Annie’s skin, though the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth ruins the threat completely. Stack only laughs, stepping farther into the kitchen. 

“Hard to mind my business when my brother got his wife soundin’ like a damn late-night R&B playlist at breakfast. And in front of my shrimp and grits, no less.”

Annie lifts her head just enough to glance at him over Smoke’s shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded and amused. 

“Then stop staring.”

“Nah,” Stack says easily, leaning against the island. “I’m entertained now.”

Smoke sucks his teeth while Annie fights a smile. The twins had always been dangerous together. Same crooked grin. Same wolfish confidence. But where Smoke burned low and steady, Stack carried chaos in his pockets like loose change.

“Careful, Stack,” Annie murmurs sweetly. “You keep looking at me like that, and your brother gon’ start growling.”

“He is already growling,” Stack shoots back instantly. “I heard him from the hallway.”

Smoke lifts his head just long enough to glare at him. “Get out my kitchen.”

“Make me.”

Stack watches from his spot against the island, arms folded tightly across his chest as he tries to ignore the growing tension low in his stomach every time Annie lets out another soft sound. He’d always thought she was the finest woman he’d ever seen, but watching her melt beneath Smoke’s touch nearly unraveled what little self-control he had left. The sight of her flushed and breathless had temptation crawling straight up his spine.

“Y’all nasty as hell,” he says after a beat, watching the way Annie’s eyes rolled back in her head as slick warmth slowly trails down her thigh.

“And yet you’re still watching instead of coming to do something about it,” Annie challenges.

“Don’t bite off more than you can chew, Antoinette,” Stack warns, stalking closer to her. “I’ll have you in a puddle of ya own nut before you can blink.”

“All bark and no bite,” Annie teases, caressing the back of Smoke’s head as he strokes himself through his pajama pants. And in that moment, something in Stack snapped. One of his biggest pet peeves, and secret turn-ons, was a woman who challenged his manhood. He quickly closes the short distance between the island and Annie, attaching himself to her left breast in one fluid motion. Annie almost screamed at the sensation of having both twins on her at once while Smoke’s fingers still danced in her slick. 

“Oooh shiiiit,” she purrs, rolling her hips against Smoke’s rough fingers. 

Though she knew it was wrong, she’d often fantasize about how it would feel to have both twins worshipping her body, and now, here she was experiencing it in 8K. Though they were identical, each brother had his own way of pleasuring her that made her feel like a goddess being worshipped. Smoke took his time, slow and steady, like he enjoyed drawing every reaction out of her piece by piece. Everything he did felt deliberate. Controlled. The gentle pull of his mouth, the lazy flick of his tongue, the slow drag of his fingers between her thighs.

Stack was the complete opposite. He kissed her like he was starving and touched her like restraint had never once crossed his mind. Every impatient movement, every rough little sound he made against her skin sent another rush of heat straight through Annie’s body until she could barely think past the sensation of both brothers surrounding her at once.

“W-Wait,” she says as she feels that familiar bloom in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t want to cum yet, I want to play a game.”

Smoke ignores her initially, glaring daggers at Stack when he notices Annie’s moans growing louder because of him. The two carry on their silent bickering until Annie grips them both by their curls, lifting their heads to meet her gaze. The pair groan in frustration at the loss of contact. 

“I said I want to play a game,” Annie repeats, watching them both with lidded eyes. 

“A game?” Smoke echoes.

“What kind of game?” Stack presses.

“A game of willpower, between the two of you,” she coos, wrapping a hand around each of their third legs. Their dicks felt heavy in her hands as she mentally noted the similarities between them. They were both 9 ½ inches, with Smoke curving to the right and Stack curving to the left. Her pussy throbs as she imagines how it would feel to have one twin fucking her throat while the other fucks her into oblivion. 

“I’m going to stroke you both. Whoever cums first has to watch the other one fuck me.” They both stare at her blankly, blinded by the way her soft hands work them both with steady precision. Smoke weakens almost instantly, and it takes a moment for him to register the proposition.

“You must be out yo mind,” he growls through clenched teeth, eyes darting between his wife and his twin. But Annie ignores him and keeps stroking, her mouth secretly watering as both of their tips begin leaking precum. Stack remains quiet, except for the few small moans that escape his lips as Annie’s thumb swipes over the sensitive head of his dick. When he finally regains his voice, it’s to taunt his grumpy dopplegänger.

“What’s the matter, ‘Lijah? Scared you gone have to watch me bend your wife over?” he teases.

“It’ll be a cold day in hell,” Smoke barks back, already positioning himself back at Annie’s dripping right nipple. Her right hand strokes him with calculated motions, drawing curses from his lips like prayers.

“Gahdamn woman,” he moans, thrusting into her palm like he would her pussy.

“It’s just a friendly competition, ‘Lijah,” she mewls. “You can share me this one time.”

Smoke ignores his wife’s statement, opting to continue pumping his fingers in her slopping wet hole. He wasn’t in the mood to share his lover with his menace of a brother. All he wanted was to indulge in a little breastmilk and enjoy an early morning fuck. Part of him wanted to appease Annie and see where this little competition would lead, but the other side of him, the possessive, unstable side, wasn’t fully convinced. 

One second, his fingers were deep in her core, thrusting in and out. The next, he was curling them to hit that sweet spot that made her toes curl.

“I don’t like sharin’,” he grumbles.

“L-Lijah…”

He uses her moans as fuel to continue working his tongue and fingers until her orgasm rips through her before she has time to process it.

“Fuuuuuck!” she screams, before reeling her voice back in, afraid of waking Autumn.

Stack doesn’t falter. He uses his tongue to guide Annie through her orgasm and work her up for another one. Annie rewards him with a firm squeeze of his shaft.

“Damn Elias,” she purrs softly. “You might be the little brother, but that dick is full-grown.” Stack groans deeply against her chest as she uses his precum to stroke him faster. As much as he loves bringing a woman to her knees and turning her into his personal free-use doll, Stack’s ultimate kink is praise. He loves being told how good a job he’s doing or how well he’s pleasing his woman. 

Annie’s praises, coupled with the way her soft hands alternated between slow, deliberate strokes of his dick to fast, precise ones, had turned Stack into a leaking, moaning mess around her nipple. Shivers shoot down his spine as he tries his best to match the rhythm of her strokes with the flicks of his tongue. His orgasm was building fast.

“You’re being such a good boy for me, Elias,” Annie purrs. “I might let you fuck me just for that.”

Stack shoots Smoke a devilish grin as he suckles a mouthful of breastmilk. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back for Smoke. In one swift motion, he lifts Annie onto the island, spreading her legs as wide as they can go. 

“Say that shit again and I’ll edge you every night for the next week,” Smoke warns, positioning his face right in front of her dripping center. Annie bites her lip as she looks down to meet her husband’s gaze, shivering slightly at the menacing look in his eyes.

“You still wanna try that Eiffel Tower shit you showed me the other night?” he asks, lazily licking up her thigh before placing a gentle kiss on her pussy. The sensation pulls a desperate whimper from Annie’s lips.

“Eiffel Tower? Oh you nasty nasty, Mrs. Moore,” Stack smirks, pressing a trail of kisses from her nipple, down her stomach, and right on top of her mound. “I like it.”

Annie squirms in anticipation as the twins take their places, Stack at her head and Smoke between her legs. Her mouth waters as she comes face to shaft with Stack’s dick, the weight of him resting warm against her lips while that cocky grin slowly spreads across his face.

“Say ahh, pretty girl,” he purrs, amused at how quickly she complies. 

He carefully eases himself into her awaiting mouth, knees buckling as she expertly wraps her tongue around his thick tip. A soft curse slips from his throat almost instantly, one hand bracing against the counter while the other disappears into her curls.

“Fuck,” he breathes, head tipping back for a second before his eyes lock onto her again. “There she go.”

Annie looks up at him through heavy lashes, taking her time like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him. Every slow movement of her mouth pulls another strained sound from deep in his chest, his confidence cracking little by little beneath the heat of her attention.

“Shiiiit woman,” he growls through clenched teeth as he watches his dick disappear down Annie’s throat before reappearing again, completely covered in thick ropes of saliva. He rolls her nipples between his fingers, as she sucks him like her favorite popsicle on a warm, summer day. 

Smoke watches the exchange from his place between her legs with dark, possessive eyes, his hand sliding along her waist while Stack struggles to keep himself together above her. Without warning, he plunges deep into her sex, pulling a strangled moan from her throat. Annie squirts unintentionally on impact, but Smoke keeps on fucking. Annie gasps softly as Smoke buries himself against her neck with a low sound that barely sounds human anymore. The friendly competition between brothers had become possessive.

Smoke had always worshipped Annie openly. Anybody with eyes could see that. The soft kisses against her forehead when she was tired. The way he fixed her coffee exactly how she liked it every morning without asking. The way his hand automatically found the small of her back whenever they walked through a crowded room.

But moments like this pulled something rougher out of him. Something territorial. He was more than willing to give Annie anything under the sun. Jewelry, time, devotion. Hell, blood if she wanted it.

But her pussy? That was his and his alone. And judging by the dark look in his eyes, Smoke intended to remind everybody in the room of that fact.

“Now what was all that shit you was talking about Elias fucking my pussy?” he mutters against her skin, voice rough enough to send heat rushing through her chest. Annie could barely form words, let alone answer him. Her thoughts had melted into scattered fragments somewhere between Stack teasing her nipples and the overwhelming sensation of Smoke filling her to the hilt.

Stack fists her curls, driving himself deeper down her throat as the coils in the pit of his stomach began to unravel.

“Anniiiieeeeee,” he moans as she wraps her hand around the base of his dick, using both her mouth and hand simultaneously to encourage his release. She pulls him out of her mouth just as cum flies out in thick ropes, covering her supple breasts in his unborns.

“Shiit!” he rasps, planting both hands beside her head as he struggles to catch his breath. Annie takes in the sight with pride before shifting her attention to her husband. She readjusts, locking her thick thighs around Smoke’s waist, winding her hips to match his thrusts.

“Cum in your pussy, Papa,” she purrs, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. “It’s yours. Claim it.”

And with that, the little resolve Smoke had left diminished. The feeling hit him hard and sudden, ripping through his body with enough force to leave his knees weak beneath him. A broken sound tore from his chest as he buried his face against Annie’s neck, teeth sinking lightly into her skin while he tried to ride out the overwhelming rush of it. She shivers at the feeling of his mouth against her neck, immediately threading her fingers into his curls while trying to steady her own breathing. Smoke was gone now. This was Elijah again.

“Damn,” Stack laughs softly under his breath, shaking his head while Smoke stays buried against Annie’s throat. “Boy sound like he just saw God.”

Smoke blindly flips him off, keeping his position on Annie’s chest. She laughs, breathless and warm despite the exhaustion settling into her limbs.

“Y’all are ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love us,” Stack retorts, tugging his sweats back on. He pulls his shirt over his head just as a sharp cry crackles through the baby monitor sitting forgotten near the fruit bowl.

All three of them freeze before another cry follows, loud and offended.

“Oh, she up,” Annie sighs instantly, already trying to sit up, despite Smoke’s large body still pinning her to the island. He groans dramatically.

“Swear that child got the worst timing I ever seen,” he fusses as he reluctantly sits up.

“She your child,” Stack reminds him, making his way towards the stairs as Autumn’s angry little cries echo through the speaker. “Y’all stay cuddled up. Uncle Stack can take it from here.”

“Still tryna solidify your spot as her favorite twin,” Annie accuses.

“Because I am her favorite,” he yells back confidently before disappearing up the stairs. A few seconds later, the crying softens upstairs, replaced by the faint sound of Stack’s voice talking nonsense to calm her down. Smoke watches Annie with tired eyes and a crooked smile.

“The way he acts, you’d think she was his child.”

“In his mind, she is.”

•

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•

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Annie when Stack stood over her:

You’d always found solace in fanfiction. 

There was something so special about all of the stories that you’d read throughout the years about your favorite celebrities or your TV crushes. Your first introduction to fanfiction was Wattpad. Your friends had let you in on the coveted website and suggested it to you. 

The first fanfic that your friend suggested just so happened to be a Mindless Behavior fanfic about Princeton. You were hooked. How had this world–this fandom–been escaping you for the past years? 

Naturally, your relationship with the site continued to progress as you read more stories. You’d stay up till 2 AM just to read a story written by someone who was no doubt the same age as you.

Next, there was fanfiction.net. 

You’d spent countless hours scouring through all of the Vampire Diaries fanfiction that you could get your hands on. You can’t recall the exact moment that you landed on Tumblr, but you knew that it just all clicked together for you.

The ‘x reader’ tag became your home. 

You thoroughly enjoyed reading all of the stories about your crush on Zayn from 1D. With Tumblr, there seemed to be this brand new world of possibilities for you to read. However, there’s something that you’d noticed in your many hours of scrolling through Tumblr. 

There weren’t many ‘x black!reader’s stories for you to indulge in. There was a handful of writers who’d become your solace when you looked to be shipped with a certain character or celebrity, but there weren’t many. You’d long grown tired of clicking on an interesting story only to have the reader be described as having long, flowy blonde or brunette locks that the male character could run his hands through. Similarly, you’d grown tired of reading smut where the reader was clearly described as having pale skin and pink nipples. 

That wasn’t your story. As a black woman, you weren’t able to visualize yourself in these spaces or stories because they weren’t written with women like you in mind. To make matters worse, it seemed like fandoms were intent on erasing black women, who look like you, from the lexicon of the content. 

It was all so draining and so very degrading. 

Growing up, you’d always envisioned yourself as a writer. You loved stories, and reading was your way of escape. On sites like Wattpad and Tumblr, you could be transported to worlds and stories where you were the center of the story.  There’d been many times when you opened up a Word document and started to type a story, only to never finish it.

For you, you compared yourself to other writers and their ability to write a compelling story. When you looked back at your own words on the paper, it felt like child’s play. So, you stopped writing. You subjected yourself to the role of an avid but silent reader who admires her favorite writers. 

That was your role for a few years. 

You’d silently heart the stories, but you were never brave enough to comment. 

There were so many different stories in your head that you wanted to see on the platform. Silently, you wished that your favorite writers would somehow read your mind and bring the story to life without you asking. However, as the saying goes, “a closed mouth doesn’t get fed.”

The turning point for you was Black Panther. 

You were there as the explosion of fanfics arose for Erik Killmonger, T’Challa, and M’Baku. What a time to be alive when all of your favorite writers were putting out work that should’ve been receiving some type of literary award. One night, after an hour of constantly reading about Erik Killmonger putting the reader through the mattress, you made your move.

You wrote and published your first-ever Tumblr fic.

As soon as you pushed the publish button, you immediately closed your laptop like it was an explosive waiting to detonate. You couldn’t bring yourself to go back and check to see what the reviews were.

What if they thought it was trash? What if your grammar was terrible? What if you didn’t capture the essence of the characters? What if no one read it all? For the sake of your mental health, you didn’t go back to check how your story was doing until two days later. 

At the two-day mark, you found yourself logging back into Tumblr. You’d worked up the courage to see if there was any feedback. To your absolute shock and delight, people loved your story.

The hearts and comments overflowed as people asked for more. Thus, stargirlwriteswas born. Through your blog, not only did you give room for yourself to grow and see yourself be represented, but you made space for other black women to feel like they were being seen and heard. In your stories, the black women were always being loved on, worshipped, and cherished. 

You’d grown a following and support system so big that you couldn’t imagine a future where you weren’t writing on Tumblr. 

Honestly, you don’t know what to call what happened. 

Fate. Coincidence. God. 

You honestly have no clue, but this is the story of how you met your celebrity crush and bagged him. It started at the library–naturally. You liked the library. You liked coming to the library to work on your stories and your books. You’d recently been picked up by a publishing company to release your new Southern Gothic thriller. Between writing for your books and working on screenplays, you still found the time to work on writing on Tumblr.

There was no way you were letting your community down. Not after all of the support and love that they’d given you up to this point. In the library, you liked to sit at the back table that was conveniently away from everyone, but still, there was a giant window that allowed you to see outside. 

It was the perfect spot. 

No one had dared to venture into your self-proclaimed territory. Not until today. 

You heard the light footsteps as they approached the back table and saw the man from the corner of your eye. He had a cap on his head, and from his body language, you could tell that he didn’t want to be seen. He was craving privacy just as you were. 

The man looks over at you before clearing his throat, “Hey, I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you, but do you mind if I sit here? It’s just, I kind of want privacy, and this spot just seems like fewer people come here.”

There was a distinct nagging in your head that let you know that you knew his voice from somewhere, yet you brushed it off. Truthfully, you could’ve told the man no, but there was something inside you that begged you not to. 

Plus, the table was huge, so it’d look a little weird if you were hoarding it for yourself. 

“Yeah, of course.” You slide some of your scattered papers down towards yourself as the man takes a seat. After a few seconds, you and the man both begin working simultaneously on your projects. You can see him glancing over at you a few times, but you choose to ignore it.

From the corner of your eye, you see him take the hat off his head. He takes a tentative glance at you, but you still don’t entertain the notion of looking at him. For the next twenty minutes, the only sounds are you and the man typing on your computers and then writing down notes on your respective journals. 

You finally look up and happen to glance in his direction and freeze. 

You now understand why he was so adamant about hiding his face. You try not to freak out as you finally clock the fact that Michael B. Jordan is sitting across from you. The man whom you’ve had a crush on for years. And also the same man whom you’ve been writing the filthiest smut for. Talk about an embarrassing predicament. 

Yet, you decide to play it cool. The last thing you want is for the man to think you’re fangirling over him when he’s trying to work. 

Michael looks in your direction, “Hey, sorry to bother you again, but do you know where they keep the printers?” 

You nod, “Yeah, they’re just around the corner. You can just click print, and it’ll ask for your name so that they don’t mix it up with anyone else’s papers.”

Michael nods at your instructions before giving you a sheepish smile, “Would you mind coming with me and helping? I just know I’ll forget everything at the printer.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile before quickly adding, “That’s if you’re free. I wouldn’t want to take you away from your work.”

“Sure. I got you,” You said, laughing a little before standing from your chair. Michael slides the cap over his head again before falling in step beside you. As expected, the printer is exactly where you said it would be. Michael leans over your shoulder to get a look at what you’re doing. A chill travels up the length of your spine at the feel of his body against yours. You can feel the heat from his body seeping into yours.

You bite your lip softly while peering up at him. Michael seems to notice the close distance and steps back. An embarrassed look crosses his face, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to all up in your space.”

“It’s fine.” 

You click the file that has his name on it, and the papers start flowing from the printer. You grab them and hand the stack to Michael. The tips of his fingers brush against yours as he grabs the papers. You try to ignore the tingle that rushes up your skin at the feel of his skin. He gives you a quiet “thank you” before you both venture back to your corner of the library. 

You take your seats at the same time. 

Michael reaches across the table with his hand outstretched, “I’m Michael, by the way.”

You give him your name as you connect your hand with his. Internally, you’re freaking out at the fact that out of all days, you’re sitting across from your celebrity crush and practically holding his hand. The delusional part of you is telling you that he’s down bad for you, and this is the start of something beautiful. The writer part of you is mentally tracking all of the subtle movements that Michael makes with the full intent of incorporating them in your writing. 

However, you quickly push those thoughts to the side because it feels a bit parasocial in a way.

You and Michael fall back into your rhythm of working on your projects. He looks up at you as you scribble down notes on your notepad. “What are you working on?”

You lift your eyebrows in surprise, “Just a play.”

“That’s neat. What’s it about?” Michael seems genuinely interested in your work as he leans further on the table. 

“It’s a Southern gothic play about a young woman returning home to face her past trauma.”

Michael nods, “That sounds really dope. You planning to put it on Broadway?”

“Yeah, my agent and I have been working to get everything in motion.”

“Good luck. I’d like to come see it when you get it off the ground,” Michael said, sparing another dazzling smile in your direction.

You smile in response, “Definitely. What are you working on?”

Michael gives you a shy smile, deep dimples popping out of both cheeks, “I’m working on a romance, actually. It’s a story of two people who are married, trying to make it work, but somewhere along the line, their communication becomes lost. The only way that they know how to reach each other is by speaking through this new technology system.”

“That sounds like an amazing concept. You’re working on the script now?”

“Yeah, I’m just getting stuck on a few things, especially with my main woman lead. I’m struggling to get her voice just right, especially in the scene where they’re confronting each other,” Michael states, leaning back in his chair.

You bite your lip nervously, “I could read it if you wanted me to. I mean, I have experience writing romance, and I’m also an avid reader, so maybe I could give you a few pointers.” You’ll definitely leave out the part where you write avid romance and smut stories with him as the male lead. 

“If you don’t mind, that’d be great. I’d hate to take you from your thing, though,” Michael responds. 

You quickly shake your head, “No, I promise it’s fine. Plus, we writers have to stick together.” 

Michael slides his laptop over in your direction before strolling to the part that he wants you to read. He unintentionally starts to watch you and your facial expressions as you’re taking in the work. Your eyes quickly skim across the work, and you make mental notes along the way until you stop at the point where Michael stopped typing.

He looks at you expectantly once you stop reading. “It’s good. The storyline that you’ve crafted so far in this scene is good. I like the tone, but I’m only getting one side of the argument. I’m hearing your male protagonist’s voice very clearly in this argument, but what about the female lead? What does she ultimately want to express in this argument?”

Michael takes a second, “She wants to feel heard. She wants him to understand that she hasn’t felt seen by him in a while in their relationship.”

“Good. You know your theme and intentions, but it’s not coming through in the scene. All I hear is his voice. Even the lines that you have for her, they’re still in line with his wants. Put yourself in her shoes and react. If you have a partner who hasn’t been meeting your needs, how would you respond as a woman?”

Michael goes through his brain for the answer. On some level, he knows how he wants it to go, but he’s still stuck. He gives you a helpless look, which makes you chuckle. 

“How about this? You rewrite it again, and I’ll give you my critique.”

Michael nods before sliding the computer back towards himself. He takes your words into account and begins typing on the document again. He peers over the top of the computer as you continue scribbling in your notebook. You don’t catch the way that his eyes zoom in on the way that your teeth bite at the end of the pencil. He’s fascinated by you. You don’t even react to the fact that you clearly know who he is.

Little does Michael know, you’re having a full-blown panic attack on the inside.

After a solid twenty minutes pass, he stands and leaves the table. You expect to see that he’s packing up his things, but once you clock that all of his stuff is still here, you shrug. Maybe he had to go to the bathroom. A few minutes later, Michael plops into the seat with a handful of snacks. 

Wordlessly, he slides a pack of Hi-Chews and chips in your direction. You stop writing and give him a questioning look. Michael shrugs, “To say thank you for your help.”

“What if I didn’t like Hi-Chews?”

“There’s a wrapper sticking out of your bag,” Michael points out, nodding his head towards your open laptop bag. You glance at the bag, and sure enough, a brightly-colored wrapper sticks out. 

You can’t stop the laugh as it bursts from your lips, but you cover your mouth. Soon, Michael joins you in laughing. 

“Let me take you out for a coffee after this.”

That’s the story of how you pulled your celebrity crush.

Your relationship with Michael surprises you each day. It really blows your mind that the man that you’ve been writing about for years is finally your boyfriend. Initially, you slow down on writing fics for Michael on Tumblr. It all feels a bit parasocial, especially when you’re with him most of the time. 

But that still doesn’t stop the writer in you.

The more you fall for Michael, the more ideas pop into your head for possible stories. However, you channel the energy into working on writing your own novels. You really try to fight the urge to write on Tumblr. But the Tumblr app on your phone calls to you like the green goblin mask. 

It only takes one specific kiss from Michael, with him pressing you against an elevator wall, to run to Tumblr. The community that you had built over the past years all express how happy they are to have you back, and you fall back into posting naturally. 

Most of the people reading your writing would never suspect that you’re Michael’s new beau.

‘@donwrites: ugh sis, you write Michael so good! It’s like you know him personally.’ 

If only they knew that you had been kissing the man seven days out of the week and cuddling in his bed. 

You keep the writing from Michael. If you’re typing at his house, you’ll play it off as working on a new novel or screenplay. He’s none the wiser to the fact that his girlfriend is writing the most downright filthy smut involving him. 

It’s a random Thursday when Michael gets suspicious. 

He’d invited you over under the guise of working together. You both found that you were a lot more productive when you worked across from each other. You slide the glasses up the bridge of your nose as you type quickly on the computer. You’re honestly in a flow state with the current story that you’re writing about Michael. You’d had the idea to write a story about him dominating the reader after a recent miscommunication. 

You move to exit the bedroom. Sharp tears sting at your eyes as the heat builds in your chest. You sniffle loudly and wipe furiously at your eyes. The ache in your chest increases with each step that you take towards the door. You’re so close to the door when Michael grabs your arm. You try in vain to tug your arm from his grip, but he tightens his hold on you. 

“Michael, let go of me,” You mutter, your chest heaving up and down. 

“No, you don’t get to walk away. I don’t know about any of them other niggas you’ve been dealing with, but we talk things out around here. Go sit down,” He states, a hard edge to his voice. 

You shoot him a hard look, defiance swirling through your irises. Michael matches your stance and squares his shoulder as he stares down at you, “You think I’m playing?” 

He takes a step closer, his eyes growing darker. He moves until he’s standing chest-to-chest with you. Michael moves a hand up to your face and smushes your cheeks between his fingers. Your wide eyes meet his as he brings his face closer to you. 

“Does it look like I’m playing with you?”

You give him a surp––

“What you working on over there, baby?” Michael questions from his side of the office.

You give him an awkward smile. How does one say, “Oh, nothing, babe, just writing out some nasty smut involving you for some equally freaked out women to read?”

Instead, you just respond, “Oh, nothing. Just some romance stuff.” 

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the complete truth either. Michael doesn’t push the issue. He’s asked to read some of your writing before. You’ve obliged and let him read the things that aren’t fanfiction. Though he suspects that you may be writing something else that you don’t want him to see. 

Michael’s not dense. He’s well aware of the rise of smut and spicy scenes in the book community. He figures that you may be writing something along that vein, but he respects you too much to pry. Though he secretly wonders what freaky stuff you could be writing. 

The sex between you and Michael was good. Real good. However, there were certain aspects that you and Michael had explored. For example, he didn’t know about your desire to be dominated by him. He didn’t know about all of the nasty and explicit things that you imagined him doing to him. With Michael, he was very sensual and emotional in the act of sex, which you loved. 

But you also yearned for him to turn you every way but loose. 

For the next ten minutes, you type more for the story, including starting on the smut scene. You’re genuinely reaching flow state when your phone vibrates on the couch. 

“I’ll be back, my agent is calling,” You said to Michael. He nods before looking down at his own computer. You minimize the Tumblr tab before exiting the room. 

Once you leave the room, Michael can’t help the way that his eyes gravitate over to your laptop. The MacBook Pro is practically calling him to take a look. Maybe just a quick peek. He tiptoes across the room and lifts the top of the laptop. He peeks through your folders, including the one labelled “stories.” There’s nothing out of the ordinary there. It’s all the stories and screenplays that you’ve let him read.

He suspects he was overthinking and is about to close your computer when he notices your web browser is still open. Michael slides the mouse over to the open tab and quickly clicks on it. 

Tumblr. 

Now what’s this? His curiosity gets the better of him, and he browses through the website. He’s surprised when he sees stories popping up about himself. He clicks on the “Michael B. Jordan x black!reader” tag and feels like the world shifts for him. There’s a myriad of things here. Some sweet stories, but his intrigue goes up when he sees the NSFW stories. 

Michael looks off to the side where there’s clearly a profile and clicks “view blog.” 

dollhousewrites.

Is this you? He clicks on the post labelled Masterlist and finds that you have an extensive body of work. Michael clicks on the post labelled with his name and realizes that there are a lot of stories about him. He clicks on the most recent post from two weeks ago called “Terms and Conditions.”

Just as he’s about to start reading, he hears your footsteps approaching. He quickly airdrops the link to himself before closing your laptop and sitting at his desk. 

He’s the picture of perfect innocence as you enter the room. He smiles at you, “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, she just wanted to let me know that my publishers want to talk about my next book release for the fall,” You respond, giving him a wide smile.

“That’s great, baby. I’ll take you out tomorrow so we can celebrate,” Michael said, and he meant it. Even when you were both still forming a friendship, he watched how hard you worked on your books and screenplays. You were careful with which details you ingrained in your characters. He’d forever be talking about how you’re his favorite writer, and how he has one of the world’s greatest writers as his girlfriend.

Still, he yearns to know more about you, and that starts with delving into your Tumblr stories.

That night, while you’re sleeping next to him in bed with your back turned, Michael pulls up the Tumblr link on his phone. He strolls through the stories again and starts from the beginning of what he learned is called “a masterlist.” Your initial stories are centered more around Erik Stevenson. You truly capture the essence of what makes the character tic. The recklessness and die-hard mentality for his cause. Michael thinks that you may understand Erik better than he does. 

As he progresses through your masterlist, he clocks the different eras of his career that you write for.  Hell, you’d even written about Vince Howard from a college perspective. He notices the shift once he enters his Sinners era. The works are a lot more mature and erotic. It’s during this part that he reaches the stories that you’ve personally written about him.

He clicks on Terms and Conditions once again. He’s sucked into a world where you’ve characterized him down to the tee. You’ve incorporated some of the subtle mannerisms that you’ve noticed him doing from your time of dating him.

He even catches a few of the phrases that he commonly says in the story. It’s when he makes it to the smut portion of the story that things shift for him. Michael feels the heat rising within his chest and traveling further down. 

Michael removes his head from between your legs, your juices shining all over his mouth. He presses one last lingering kiss to your pulsing clit. You whimper at how sensitive you are. He gives you a dark smile, hunger swirling beneath his brown irises, “You taste so good, baby.”

“Please, Michael,” You beg, doe-eyes desperately begging for more. 

Michael brings his hand up to encircle your pretty neck, “What do you need from me, baby? Just tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I want you to fuck me, daddy.” 

He groans at the sound of your desperate words and gently lays you back on the counter. Chills run through your body at the cool marble pressing against your heated skin. Michael takes the moment to look at you, naked and vulnerable, in his hands. Love bites litter the expanse of your skin from where he got greedy earlier. He takes both of your thick thighs in his hands and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. 

He crudely slaps his dick across your pearl as you flinch from the pleasure. 

“You don’t want me to be nice to you tonight,” He inquires. You shake your head. You always liked him when he toed the line between cruel and permissive. Michael gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip down on your pussy. He slides his dicks through the mess, combining it with the slick that he’s oozing from you. 

He takes the tip of his dick and notches it in your––

You shift in the bed and turn on your side to face him. Michael all but jumps out of his skin as he quickly locks his phone and glances to see if you’ve caught him. Peering closer, he lets out a deep sigh of relief once he concludes that you’re still sleeping. 

He takes a second to just breathe. He’s never felt so overwhelmed by reading something. Is this what you wanted him to do to you? He’s dabbled here and there with some rough play and kinks in his sexual life, but he can’t recall a specific moment where he’s allowed himself to fully lose control and just give in. He spares you another glance and fully looks at the content expression on your face. His sweet girlfriend has been writing all this filthy stuff right under his nose.

By the way that his dick is straining against his brief, he concludes that he likes it just as much as you and your readers do.

Michael’s being weird, and that’s putting it lightly because he’s naturally kind of weird at home. No, this is different from his usual weird behavior. He’s been a lot more clingy, which you definitely don’t mind. But he’s been crowding your space more and seemingly more horny for you, which again you aren’t complaining, but you wonder where the shift came from.

Even now, as you both leave the after-party of an event that he was invited to, he’d been all over you. Throughout the night, he kept his grip tight on your waist and would frequently press kisses to the side of your neck. 

Now, inside the car, he reaches across to rest his hand on your thigh, which isn’t unusual for him. However, you clock the way that his hand slides up the apex of your thighs, where your dress has shifted. Michael grips your thigh as he keeps his eyes on the road. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, which makes him jump in surprise. 

Michael looks down and clocks where his hand is. He goes to remove his hand until you place yours over his to keep it there. 

“I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” Michael asks, worry filling his eyes. You always admired that about Michael. He was a gentleman through and through, and consent was always key with him.

“You’re not making me uncomfortable. I’m just asking if you’re okay. You’ve been crowding me all week. At the party, you were all over me. Now, I’m not complaining, but I could swear you’re ovulating,” You said, smiling widely at him.

Michael shrugs, “I can’t help it. You just look so sexy.” 

He chooses the moment to venture further up where his fingers brush against your panties, which are growing wetter by the second. He peeks over at you, “Take them off for me.” 

You give him a surprised look, to which he smirks, “Just humor me, babygirl.”

You slide your hands under your dress and tug your panties down your legs. Michael opens his hand to you and gestures with his eyes for you to put the panties in his hand. You oblige, and your jaw drops when you see him bring the wet material up to his nose. 

“Open your legs,” He orders. 

You spread your legs, but try to scooch down so that you’re not dripping down on his leather seats. Michael smacks his lips, “Baby, don’t worry about making a mess. That’s the whole point. I wanna smell your pussy on my seat the next time that I get in here.”

You’re clutching at your invisible pearls. Michael guides his hand back to your wet center and trails his fingertips up and down to gather your wetness on his fingertips. He slides two fingers across your clit and rubs circles across the throbbing pearl. Your pretty lips form a pout as the whimpers drop from your mouth. Moving down, Michael’s fingers dip in and out of your entrance as you roll your hips to meet his touch. 

Michael bites his lip at how needy you are. It’s turning him on more knowing that he can’t fully watch you how he wants, but he has to rely on his touch and hearing. “Spread your legs wider for me, baby.”

You open your legs, and truthfully, you can’t pretend to be shy with your pussy out in his car. Michael plunges two fingers inside your dripping hole. Loud wet noises fill the car as he curls his fingers in and out of you. He presses the palm of his hand into your clit. You throw your head back against the seat as you loudly moan. You clutch at his hand, and Michael’s even more turned on; he clocks you humping against his hand. 

The driveway to his house appears, and he turns to you briefly, “Go ahead and cum for me, babygirl.” He curls his fingers across your spot, and soon, your walls tighten as your release consumes you. Michael pulls into the driveway and has the pleasure of watching as you ride your release out. His eyes wander over your form as your breasts press against the dress. As you come down, your eyes meet his. He gently pulls his fingers from you, which are drenched with your release. Michael slides his fingers up to his mouth and sucks your juices from his fingers. 

He makes a big display of it by closing his eyes and moaning. Once he opens his eyes, he catches your lustful stare. “Come on, we’re not done yet.”

Inside the house, you and Michael are all over each other. Hands messily groping at each other as he slams you against the wall. You can see the brief moment that he pauses, afraid that he’s hurt you, but you smile widely at him. He leans closer until his breath ghosts over your lips, “You don’t want me to be nice to you tonight.”

You freeze. Your confused eyes meet Michael’s as he smirks at you.

“Pause,” You state, pushing gently at his chest. He sets you down on your feet before you move to create distance between yourselves. 

You rack your brain at how he could know that sentence. That sentence of all the possibilities of things that he could’ve said to you. Michael waits patiently on the other side of the room for you to make the connection.

You groan loudly, “You read my story, didn’t you?”

Michael looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He tries in vain to appear aloof, but he fails miserably. “Yeah, that night your agent called. I was just curious about what you were writing. I didn’t mean to disrespect your boundaries. I’m sorry.”

You bite your nails, a nervous habit of yours that Michael had been helping you break. 

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I mean, this is so embarrassing. You literally found out that I’ve been writing fanfics about you, and I’m dating you!” You exclaim. You begin pacing back and forth in the room until you move to walk towards the door. 

Michael frowns and quickly crosses the space to stop you, “Why are you leaving?”

He frowns even more when he sees the tears in your eyes. Guilt courses through his body. He steps in front of you and grasps your face in his hands, “Baby, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you or anything like that. This is on me, I shouldn’t have been snooping through your stuff. But I just wanted you to know how much I liked it and to incorporate some of it.”

You sniffle and frown at him, “What? You liked reading my story?”

“Yeah, you know I always like reading whatever you write. If anything, I was flattered that you put that much work into writing for me and my characters. The way you write me, baby, I’ve never seen myself that way. It turned me on, to be honest.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm. I keep going back to read all of your stories over.” He pauses to laugh, “I even created an account to start liking your stories.”

You think back to your recent follows and laugh loudly, “Boy, are you bakari87?”

Michael laughs before nodding, “Yeah, mbjlover was already taken.”

There’s a moment of silence before you both break into laughter. Michael looks at you before pressing his lips to yours. “I mean it when I say that I really liked it, babygirl. I was kind of hoping that we could recreate some of the moments from your Terms and Conditions story.”

“You really liked that one?”

“Yeah, the part about me spitting on the reader’s pussy really did it for me.” He slides his hand down to close around your throat. Your eyes move to meet his as the heat floods throughout your body. 

Michael keeps his hand around your throat as he carefully navigates you toward the couch. He gestures for you to take off your heels, which you do. With the heels off, it adds to the height difference between the two of you. He navigates behind you to toy with the zipper of your dress. The sound of the zipper fills the room as you can feel the excitement building in your core. 

The dress falls to your feet as you stand naked before Michael. He runs his across your figure, taking in all the details that he’d committed to memory. Once he’s in front of you, he roughly grabs your face in his hands and smushes your cheeks together. 

“This is the part where you have fucking the reader’s throat. Let’s start there,” He orders gently. You nod obediently and sit on the couch. You go to button his pants when he stops you, “You can’t remember your own story, babygirl? You open my pants with your mouth.”

Your mouth waters as you remember the plot point. Moving forward, you run your face across his bulge. You mouth at the button and move your head to the side to pop it open. You look up at Michael through your lashes as you grasp the zipper between your teeth and move down. Michael is nice enough to remove his pants for you. 

He grabs the back of your head and presses your face into his covered dick. You mouth at his covered dick, your spit staining the front of his briefs. Kissing upwards, you lick at the happy trail of hair leading down into his briefs. Grasping the fabric between your teeth, you pull the briefs down until Michael’s dick is finally exposed to the air. 

“Let me feel your throat, baby,” Michael mutters. You shudder at the realization that he’s quoting directly from your story. You don’t even need directions for your next actions. You lick along the underside of his dick right along the pretty vein that runs through it. 

Your lips close around the tip of Michael’s dick, where his precum covers your taste buds. You suck at his sensitive tip as he groans and throws his head back. You move your mouth down to begin bobbing up and down on his dick. Your hand follows to cover the base where your mouth doesn’t reach. 

Michael curls his hand through your hair and pulls you back, “Stick your tongue out.” 

You do, and he leans down to release a trail of spit into your waiting mouth. Your eyes flutter as you moan at the filthiness of the act. Michael guides you back to his dick, but this time it’s different. You cross your arms behind your back just as you had written in your story. Michael looks down at you for consent, and you gladly give it. 

The first push of his dick makes you gag a little. He pauses to let you adjust. You nod in his hold, and he resumes thrusting. You breathe through your nose as he enters your throat. Spit from your mouth drips onto your breasts and the floor. Tears fill your eyes as your mascara begins to run. Michael looks down and moans loudly, “You look so beautiful, Princess. You’re doing so good for Daddy.” 

Pleasure sparks through Michael’s body at the whole scenario. It turns him on even more with how much you trust him to use you like this. Feeling bold, he pushes your face down so that your nose is engulfed in his pubes. You breathe through your nose and moan around his dick as it settles in your throat. Michael shudders at the feel of your warm throat. After a few seconds, he pulls out of your mouth completely. 

He looks down at you again as you give him a wide smile. Tear, spit, and mascara streak across your face, but to Michael, you’ve never looked more beautiful.

He helps you to stand as he lifts you in his arms. You see him walking to the counter, and your pussy clenches in anticipation. Gently, he lays you across the marble counter. He quickly discards his shirt before moving between your legs. 

“Please, Michael,” you beg, wide eyes meeting his. 

“What do you need from me, baby? Just tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I want you to fuck me, daddy.” 

He pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. He takes both of your thick thighs in his hands and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. Just like the story, Michael gathers the spit in his mouth and deposits it crudely on your wet center. He slaps his dick across your clit where the spit landed and rubs the mess in with your combined slick.

Only this time, he won’t be getting interrupted. 

He guides his tip to your entrance, and you both watch as he slips inside your warm walls. Your combined moans fill the empty kitchen as Michael’s thigh touches the back of yours. He pulls back and watches as pussy clings to him. His dark eyes find yours, “You see that? Pretty pussy is begging to keep me in.” 

A deep breath leaves your mouth as he thrusts back in. Michael covers your body with his as he thrusts in and out of you. 

“Michael..” you whine, once he lifts one of your legs to hang over his shoulder.

“I know, baby. You’re doing so good for me,” He responds, connecting his lips to yours. You whimper as he pulls out of you. You can feel your walls clenching in response to the loss.

Michael maneuvers your body from the counter and bends you over. You shiver as your nipples brush against the cool surface. You look back as Michael lines his tip up with your opening again, “I wanna see that pretty ass bounce on me.” You arch your back in the way that you know he likes, which makes him groan. 

Michael slides inside you as he watches your backside ripple under his thrusts. You look back at him as you start thrusting back against him. Michael’s gaze is focused on the motion of your ass and the ring of cream that’s coating the base of his dick. 

“You’re so deep, baby,” You whimper. 

Michael can feel his own release building inside of him. He grabs your hips to start thrusting again. He reaches under you to start stroking your clit. He leans over to your open mouth, and you stick your tongue out again. A string of spit leaves his mouth and falls into your waiting mouth. A loud cry leaves your mouth as your orgasm hits. You shake in Michael’s hold as tears trail down the side of your face. He kisses your tears and continues to thrust inside of you. 

With one last stroke, Michael moans loudly at this own orgasm consumes him. His own body shakes against your own as he pulls you flush against him. You and Michael moan at the mutual feeling of his cum shooting against your womb. When he pulls out, his cum trails down your thighs. 

You surprise him by dropping to your knees and taking his cum-stained dick into your mouth. 

“Baby, wait..”Michael pleads, still sensitive from his own orgasm. You ignore him and keep bobbing your head while fondling his balls. Michael practically screams as he cums again, his white release painting your tongue. 

You stand up, and Michael clocks that you haven’t swallowed yet. You gesture for him to open his mouth. Your own hand comes to close around his throat as you spit his cum back into his mouth. You don’t waste any time sliding your tongue into his mouth as you both swap the cum back and forth until it’s gone. 

You both pull back as you give him a demure smirk. 

“I hope you write that into the next story for all of your freaky followers,” Michael comments. 

“Oh, I most definitely will. I’m sure that they’ll love to hear that their Oscar Winner loves the taste of his own cum,” You mutter against his lips. 

Michael laughs, “I like it when it’s coming from you. But I’m not done with you yet. There are a few other stories that I wanna recreate, starting with your Sinner story.”

Let’s just say, the girls were treated to a lot more Michael content, approved by the man himself.

End.

Taglist: @plan3tch1ld @anniebelsworld2 @jc3m @krissy455

@irissunshines @mauvecherie-writes @nova-rae @wowitsafemale

@straykids1011 @mirathebookworm @blackgrlmagic @3ricstuff

@zzzyiluv @fabulousgurlll @khxna @heyyimmisunderstood

"Aaliyah make sure you keep an eye on that pie. Someone find Tyriq please." one of his aunts calls. As the day progresses I find my day outside for air. I look down at my phone and I see three texts from my mother.

I sigh and open them.

Mom: Your sister needs to hear from you

Mom : When you get a chance text your sister

Mom: Call your sister

I ignore the those texts messages. I refuse to call my sister on this holiday. I know she'll emotionally dump on me and try to make me feel bad about coming home. I take a seat on the steps.

I hear footsteps beside me. "Hey baby," Ty's voice floats. "Hey, I was wondering where you went," I say as I fight the tears away. "Why the tears?" he asks. "Its nothing. Nothing…" I start. "Liyah, it must be your mom," he says as he sits down beside me.

I felt the tears come down. "She doesn't even ask how I am. All she does is tell me to call my sister," I say. I lean my head on his soulder. "Don't think about them. We got you. Let's go for a walk before the rest of dinner is finished." he says.

Ty stands up and helps me up. We take a short walk down the street. This is one of the quiestest and coziest walks that we ever been on. The leaves are beautiful. "This has always calmed my nerves when I was younger," he says. I smile as we keep on walking.

When we got back to the house, everyone is waiting. "There you two are. Now we can finally eat," Riley says. We wash our hands and go back into the dining room. We said grace.

Dinner was so energetic. By the end I had three things of tupperwear to take back to campus. In that midst I text my sister and then put my phone on DND.

After dinner and leftovers all packed for us to take back to school I finally get a breathe from everything that has happened over the past couple of days.

Saturday

12:56 pm

"So when do yo want to head back to campus?" he asks me. "We can't go back until Sunday." I say to him. "Early? Late?" he asks. "Early. Because we got finals to study for." I say to him. "Alrighty." he says as he smiles. He goes off with his cousins.

After finals I need to figure to where I'm going. for Christmas break. Guess I got to go home for Christmas. Sigh.

Later on I finally got my bag packed and ready to go back to school. Ty comes by and looks at me. "Packed and ready to go." he says. I nod and sigh. "Yeah. Just thinking what I'm doing after finals. I know what it will be a pain to go back home for a month. But I have no choice." I say to him.

"If you ever need a break from them. You are more than welcome to come back down here for a few days." he says.I smile up at him. "Have I told you, you are amazing?"I ask him. He play thinks it over. "Maybe once or twice." he says as he kisses me.

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