waking dada up with a treat for his thirtieth birthday in italy ;)
warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex
the first thing you register is the light. shining through the crack in the heavy drapes. spreading across the tangled white sheets, across the scatter of clothes that you’d left on the floor the previous night. and it spreads across jaafar’s face but he doesn’t stir.
you prop yourself up on one elbow, careful, slow, the mattress barely breathing beneath you. your body remembering last night. the pleasant burn in your thighs. the tender spot on your neck where his mouth had lingered too long. you can still taste him on your tongue.
the clock on the nightstand read eight forty seven and you need to be at the boat dock by ten.
you move toward the edge of the bed, in an attempt to get yourself together. before you could go far, jaafar’s arm draped around your waist pulling you back to his chest.
“where you going, mama?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep. he hasn’t even opened his eyes yet
“just to the bathroom, baby.”
his eyes crack open, just a little. his hair is a disaster, flattened on one side, curls crushed against the pillow.
“just five more minutes.” he groans it into the pillow, his arm tightening around your waist.
a laugh escapes you at his stubbornness. “we’re gonna be late.”
one eye opens fully now. he peers at you, then at the window, then back at you. the sleep receding, replaced by a slow, crooked smile that you’ve learned to recognize.
“i guess we have to be quick, then.”
he hand finds the back of your neck and he pulls you in. he kisses you hot and open-mouthed. his tongue sliding against yours. his fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the angle.
you swing a leg over his hips and the sheet falls away. he’s already half-hard beneath you, his dick pressing against the inside of your thigh. the contact draws a sharp exhale from him that you swallow down. your hands on his face, thumbs tracing his jaw, the stubble rough against your palms.
his hand slides up your thigh. his fingertips skim the sensitive skin where your leg meets your hip, and then he finds you—slick and swollen, still tender from the hours before, still wet.
“fuck,” he breathes against your mouth.
you pulled four orgasms from him last night and he gave you five. you’d really lost count somewhere around two a.m., when he’d bent you over the balcony. the memory flashes through you now—the sound of the water against the cliffs, his breath ragged in your ear, the way he’d called out your name.
now it’s morning and he’s hard again and you’re dripping for him like the last eight hours never happened.
“happy birthday, my love,” you whisper against his ear. your teeth graze the lobe.
his grip on your thigh tightens as you rock against him, his hips twitching. the sound he makes isn’t quite a groan and isn’t quite a growl. something in between.
“flip over.”
you do.
the sheets are still warm where his body had been. you press your cheek into the pillow—his pillow, the one that smells like his cologne—and arch your back, presenting yourself to him. the morning light shining across your spine. you hear him shift behind you, the mattress dipping as he rises to his knees.
his palm flattens between your shoulder blades, guiding your chest down, down, until your ass is lifted higher.
“look at you.” his voice has gone rough. “so ready for me.”
two fingers slide through your folds from behind. parting you. he circles your clit once, twice, and your thighs tremble. a broken sound escapes your throat.
he enters you in one smooth stroke. no warning. your fingers curl into the sheets and your eyes squeeze shut and the sound you make is muffled by the pillow. he pauses there, buried deep, letting you adjust. his thighs press against the backs of yours. you can feel him pulse inside you.
“best gift I ever got.” his hand wraps around your wrist. then the other. he gathers both behind your back, crossing them at the small of your spine, pinning them there with one hand. the stretch of it sends a sharp thrill through your shoulders. “this pussy right here.”
he thrusts slow at first, but then deeper, harder, finding the rhythm. the hand not holding your wrists presses down on the back of your neck, gently guiding your face into the pillow.
“been thinking about this all week,” he grits out.
the headboard taps against the wall. a steady, rhythmic knock. you can’t see him from this angle but you can feel him. the the grip of his fingers tightening around your wrists every time you clench around him.
you whimper. unable to speak. words are gone. thoughts gone. there’s only the stretch and the slide and the building pressure low in your belly. the way he knows exactly how to angle his hips to hit that spot that makes your vision spark white.
his free hand leaves your neck. slides down your side, gripping your hip for leverage as he drives into you faster.
the room fills with the sound of your skin on skin. the creak of bedsprings. his breathing, ragged and uneven, mixing with the broken moans spilling from your mouth into the pillow.
“you gonna come for me again, baby?”
you can’t answer. you can barely nod. your thighs are shaking uncontrollably and he’s still going, relentless, murmuring filth into your ear about how perfect you are, how he’s never had anything like you, how he’s going to—
then the doorbell rings and you both freeze, not expecting company. you go rigid beneath him, chest heaving. still on a high.
“ignore it,” he breathes as it rings again.
from somewhere beyond the bedroom door, you hear a voice call out in rapid italian. something about the boat. something about the tide. neither of you care.
jaafar doesn’t pull out. his grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen. he leans closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and his voice is a dark, amused whisper.
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he lets you win arm wrestling matches all the time. he fakes strain so convincingly you actually think you’ve got him—until one day, mid-match, you catch the tiniest smirk twitch at his lips.
“wait a damn minute—”
“what?” he laughs, acting innocent.
you slap his shoulder. “you’re faking?”
“wouldn’t dream of it,” he teases, letting you pin his hand again. “you’re just… strong.”
you’re always checking on him after missions, especially after he saves a city, lands a plane, or tanks an explosion. you’ll cup his face and search his eyes, even when there’s no scratch on him.
“i’m okay,” he’ll whisper every time. “you don’t have to worry.”
“i do worry, clark. you live a dangerous life.”
and he’ll just smile softly, brushing a hand over your cheek. “i’ll always make it back home to you.”
he thinks about proposing constantly. every time you fall asleep on his chest, every time you wake him up with a kiss, every time you run your hands through his curls and call him “baby” like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
but he’s scared—terrified—that bringing you deeper into his life could put you in danger.
he keeps little mementos of you everywhere—a photo of you at the planet, in his wallet, a pair of your earrings in the glove compartment of his truck, your favorite lotion tucked into his overnight bag. and he always smells like you after a night together—warm, soft, familiar.
and in the bedroom, he holds back—until you tell him not to.
there’s a night where you’re straddling him, mouth at his neck, and you say, “you don’t have to be gentle with me, you know.”
and something in him snaps—in the best way.
his hands clamp tight on your thighs, his voice gets low, and he flips you under him so fast the headboard groans.
“say that again,” he breathes, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them.
bringing michael to the cookout (based on @prettyangeliczz’s post!)
the southern heat hit you the second you stepped off the plane, but it wasn't until you were pulling up the gravel driveway of your childhood home that your stomach really started to do flips. for the past two years, you’d been living a double life. in la, you were a corporate professional with a chic apartment and a solid routine. but you were also the girlfriend of the biggest star on the planet.
when you’d first told michael about your family’s annual juneteenth cookout, you hadn’t expected him to get so wide-eyed and excited. he’d never celebrated the holiday before, and the sheer genuine curiosity in his voice made it impossible not to invite him. but trying to warn your parents over the phone had been a disaster.
“girl, bring your lil boyfriend! nobody cares! you’re grown,” your mama had scoffed, completely brushing off your frantic hints. your daddy hadn't been any better, insisting that anyone was welcome at his table.
"i'm so sorry in advance," you murmured for the tenth time, turning in the passenger seat to look at michael. "my cousins have no boundaries, mikey. if uncle troy asks you for a loan, you tell him no."
michael just offered you that warm, soft smile, as he reached over to squeeze your hand. "it's okay, baby. i promise you i'll be fine."
taking a deep breath, you finally got out of the car. you led him through the front door, the screen door letting out that familiar creek. inside, the house smelled like vanilla and sweet tea. your grandma was parked in her usual spot in the living room, completely locked into her soap operas. she didn't even look up from the tv screen, just waved a hand vaguely in your direction saying her quick hi’s and hellos.
the real action was out back.
through the large windows, you could hear the muffled thumping of a bassline. your jaw nearly dropped when you realized the speakers were blasting "rock with you." out on the patio, your aunts and cousins were dancing, red solo cups in hand. michael’s eyes lit up, a soft chuckle vibrating in his chest at the sight.
bracing yourself, you pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the grass, still holding michael’s hand tightly.
"is that my baby?" your dad shouted over the music. he was standing by the massive black smoker grill, spatula in one hand, wearing a faded apron.
"hi daddy!" you called out, letting go of michael for just a second to wrap your arms around your dad's neck, breathing in the comforting scent of charcoal and hickory smoke.
as you pulled back, the rest of the family started wandering over, drinks in hand, ready to inspect the new boyfriend. "daddy, everyone... this is my boyfriend, michael," you said, stepping back to stand beside him.
"hi everybody, how's it going?" michael greeted, his voice soft and polite as he offered a gentle wave.
at first, the reaction was standard. your aunts swooped in for hugs, asking how the flight was, completely running on auto-pilot southern hospitality. aunt kaye didn't even look at his face, just patted his arm. "you look a little skinny, baby, make sure you get you something to eat before you leave here —"
she stopped. the gears started turning. the music seemed to fade into the background as silence dropped over the yard.
"wait!" your cousin marquise shouted, freezing mid-sip in his lawn chair by the edge of the pool. his eyes went completely wide, and he choked on his capri sun, coughing violently. "nigga is that michael jackson?" he said shaking your older brother awake.
every single head snapped back toward michael. a collective gasp echoed across the lawn. you let out an internal groan, burying your face slightly against michael's shoulder.
"no fuckin way," someone whispered.
"you're joking."
before anyone could even process it, your mama rushed past everyone, sprinting straight into the house. a minute later, she came flying back out the back door, clutching a vinyl copy of off the wall. she marched right up to michael, holding the album cover directly next to his actual face, her eyes wider than saucers.
she looked at the album. she looked at michael. she looked back at the album.
her mouth dropped completely open. she smacked a hand right onto your chest, glaring at you with pure shock. she shouted your full name, her voice booming over the yard. "and you didn't think to tell me?! i cleaned this house in a raggedy t-shirt and no wig, and you brought michael jackson into my house?!"
"i literally tried to!" you protested, throwing your hands up.
"you said he was in music! i thought you meant on the street or something!" she yelled, before immediately turning back to michael with a bright, overly sweet smile, completely changing her tone. "hello, michael, baby, welcome to our home."
michael couldn't contain his amusement. he threw his head back, laughing softly at the family dynamic, before naturally sliding his large hand around your waist, pulling you close to his side.
once the initial shock wore off, the southern hospitality kicked into overdrive. your mama completely took over, dragging michael toward the patio tables. she practically forced plate after plate onto him, insisting he try her homemade peach cobbler and the greens.
"now, michael, i know you're famous, but if you don't eat at least two plates, my feelings will be deeply hurt," she warned, loading up his plate with enough starch to feed a small village. michael, always polite, took small bites and practically melted, praising her cooking up to the heavens, which only made her beam with pride.
out on the grass, your little cousins—none of them more two apples tall—were practically vibrating with excitement. they kept tugging on michael’s shirt, begging him to show them how to moonwalk. despite his usual shyness, michael didn't mind one bit. he kicked off his loafers and spent a good half hour giggling, patiently breaking down the footsteps on the concrete patio while the kids stumbled around like newborn deer trying to copy him.
your dad eventually pulled michael over to the grill. while showing him the proper way to flip a slab of ribs, your dad launched into a massive, animated rant. "see, michael, the media won't tell you this, but the government puts chemicals in the tap water to keep us compliant. and don't get me started on the moon landing. you know about the industry, you see the truth."
michael just stood there holding a paper plate, nodding along with intense concentration, looking genuinely fascinated by your dad's wildest local conspiracy theories. you weren’t sure you’d ever seen michael eat a rib, like, ever…
across the yard, you were completely cornered. your aunts and younger cousins had bombarded you against the fence, whispering furiously.
"what is it like dating him?"
"how do you even handle that lifestyle?"
"is his hair soft? it looks soft."
you just looked across the yard, watching michael patiently listen to your dad while your little brother tried to high-five him. a soft, tender smile tugged at your lips. "when we're together, it's none of that flashy 'king of pop' mess," you told them softly. "he's just my michael."
by the time the sun went down, casting a deep orange and purple glow over the southern sky, it was time for michael to leave. you were staying for a few more days, but he had to get back to cali.
out by the driveway, the cicadas were buzzing loudly in the trees. bill was standing discreetly by the running car, waiting to take michael back to the airport. uncle troy was currently trying to pitch bill a pyramid scheme by the front fender.
"everyone loved you. thank you for coming, mikey," you said, wrapping your arms comfortably around his neck, looking up into his dark eyes.
"you don't have to thank me, baby. i had a wonderful time," he murmured, his hands finding your waist, drawing you into his space. a sweet smile broke across his face. "everyone's so funny."
"no, everyone's so embarrassing," you laughed, shaking your head.
"i love you, applehead. call me when you land," you whispered, leaning up on your tiptoes to press a warm kiss to his lips.
"bye, michael jackson!“ your little brother's voice suddenly shattered the quiet moment, echoing from the front window of the house. a split second later, you heard a muffled smack as your mama tapped the back of his head.
"boy, shut up!"
the two of you broke the kiss, turning your heads toward the house. sure enough, the entire family—including your grandma, who had finally abandoned her soaps—was bunched up against the living room window, their faces pressed so hard against the glass their noses were flattened, trying to spy on the goodbye.
the second they realized they'd been caught, there was a frantic scramble of shadows as they all tried to dive out of sight, someone knocking over a lamp in the process.
you couldn't help but giggle, hiding your face into michael's chest as his soft laughter rumbled against your cheek.
"give them my goodbyes, and thank your parents for me," michael murmured, leaning down to plant one last, lingering kiss on your lips before finally turning to get into the back of the car.
the morning sun was hitting the villa just right, casting a warm glow over soulties as you and carl melted into the mountain of pillows. his thick arms were securely wrapped around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest, while your legs were completely tangled together. it was the perfect, quiet sanctuary away from the chaos of the rest of the islanders.
for the past few weeks, carl had been completely utterly obsessed with you. he couldn't keep his hands to himself, always needing to touch your skin, play with your hair, or steal a quick kiss when your attention was elsewhere. every time you smiled, his entire face would light up.
he constantly told you how much he admired how attentive and deeply caring you were—it really felt like you two were just one in the same, operating on the exact same wavelength. in that moment, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss right to the side of your neck, making you giggle and press backward into his warmth.
suddenly, zach’s voice boomed from across the main pool deck, echoing off the villa walls. “i got a text!”
“oh shit,” you muttered under your breath, a mix of excitement and nerves hitting your stomach. you and carl reluctantly untangled your limbs, scrambling out of soul ties alongside everyone else to crowd around zach.
zach cleared his throat, holding up the phone with a huge grin. “islanders, it’s time to turn up the heat and shake your cakes in tonight’s boys vs girls villa challenge!”
instant, deafening cheers erupted from all over the deck. the guys started chest-bumping each other, while the girls immediately locked eyes, giving each other knowing looks.
carl leaned into your ear, his hands resting heavily on your hips as he pulled you back against him. “i hope i get to see you shake somethin,” he teased, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly register that sent a shiver straight down your spine. you laughed, turning around in his arms to slap his chest playfully before the girls started pulling you away.
you immediately ran to the makeup room, rushingto see what outfits the producers had laid out on the clothing racks. they found the look of the night: pastel colored corsets that hugged every curve, tiny white shorts that left very little to the imagination, and floppy white chef hats to tie the whole theme together.
the energy in the room was pure excitement. music was pumping through the villa speakers as the girls helped oil each other up with shimmering body oil. trinity was right behind you, squatted down and rubbing a generous handful of oil onto your butt to give it that perfect glow.
right then, the heavy makeup room doors swung open, and in walked megan the stallion herself, looking absolutely stunning.
“omg no fuckin way!” you shrieked, your jaw dropping to the floor.
“oh shit!” screams erupted from every single corner of the room. girls were jumping up and down, clutching their chests in pure disbelief. down the hall in the main bedroom, the boys were still totally clueless, completely unaware that a superstar was currently standing feet away from them.
megan laughed her signature laugh, walking around the room to give everyone big, warm hugs. she smelled amazing, and her energy completely filled the room as she complimented each and every one of the girls.
“how are y’all feeling? i love seeing yall on my tv! yall are so beautiful in person,” megan gushed, her eyes lingering on you with an approving nod. “i wish i was having a love island summer right now, but yall are giving me the inspiration exploreee.”
after chatting with the girls for a few more minutes and giving everyone a major confidence boost, megan quietly tiptoed down the hallway to the bedroom. she burst through the doors, completely surprising the boys right in the middle of them practicing their own ridiculous twerks and lines in front of the full-length mirrors. the boys absolutely lost their minds, shouting with their matching shorts and chef hats.
soon enough, you all went outside and it was time for the challenge to officially begin. megan stood at the center of the platform.
“okay yall let’s get into it! now yall know i couldn’t show up empty handed. i brought some gifts for yall, hot girl and hot boy swim! now who’s ready for some hot girl bakeryyy!”
the entire cast cheered, the boys hooting and hollering from across the yard. the producers had completely transformed the space. two massive sets of bleachers faced each other, one side for the boys and the other for the girls. directly in the center sat a raised, glossy platform, and next to it was a long table stacked high with massive, heavily frosted cakes.
the first round consisted of a girls vs boys showdown. it was musical chairs style, but instead of chairs, you had to land directly on top of a cake. the winner of the challenge would be hand-picked by megan herself.
the girls were up first, stepping onto the platform as the bass-heavy music started to blast. you didn’t hesitate for a single second. you immediately turned your back to megan, raising your arms above your head making your ass clap. the boys went absolutely wild, standing up. you then dropped all the way down to your knees on the slick platform, arching your back, while the rest of the girls performed to the side of you.
with a mischievous grin, you moved smoothly into a push-up position, holding yourself up while throwing it in a hypnotic circle, looking right over your shoulder to wink directly at carl. across the yard, carl’s entire demeanor shifted. his eyes went completely dark, locked onto you, and he heavily bit his lower lip, visibly turned on and completely mesmerized by how effortless you made it look.
suddenly, the music abruptly cut off.
the girls scrambled in a blind panic. you rushed forward, throwing your weight backward to sit squarely onto a massive, multi-layered chocolate cake just in the nick of time. you were safe, but the immediate feeling of thick, sticky frosting and squished sponge cake soaking through your tiny white shorts made you pull a hilarious, cringing face.
“don’t worry baby, i’ll clean it up later!” carl shouted at the top of his lungs from the bleachers, a massive, highly suggestive smirk plastered across his face.
the entire villa erupted into laughter, the boys smacking him on the back and shaking their heads at just how whipped he was for you.
the game went on for two more messy, chaotic rounds. girls were sliding around, but your determination kept you in the running until finally, the whistle blew and you were officially crowned the female winner.
“woo! let’s go baby! that’s my girl!” carl screamed, jumping over the bleacher seating, his chest puffed out with pride. you laughed, bending over one more time to do a quick, playful victory twerk right in his direction, which made him and the rest of the boys cheer even louder.
next up, it was the boys' turn, and it was pure, unadulterated chaos. guys were throwing their bodies around, slipping on stray frosting, and completely flattening the baked goods within seconds. it looked like a food fight dynamic. but by the end of the timer, through all the sliding and splashing, carl emerged from the mess completely victorious, his chef hat tilted to the side and frosting covering his chest.
you ran out onto the main platform to meet your man. you both stood there at the center stage as the reigning winners of the hot girl bakery challenge, completely covered in layers of frosting, laughing together at how wild the entire afternoon had been.
before megan could even announce what the next challenge of the night was, carl looked down at you, a dark, heavy spark of pure mischief in his eyes. he didn't care about the challenge or the rest of the islanders watching.
carl dropped straight down onto his knees on the gooey platform. his large, warm hands reached up, wrapping tightly around your hips to steady you as he leaned in, deliberately licking the sweet cake and thick frosting straight off your skin. playfully biting your left cheek.
the entire villa absolutely lost it. the girls were screaming at the top of their lungs, covering their mouths in shock, while the boys hyped him up, yelling and throwing their chef hats into the air. carl just closed his eyes, completely unbothered by the audience, a satisfied smile brushing against your skin as he took his absolute sweet time cleaning you up.
Okay girl, I really need you to hear me out. Do you know that rumor that Michael jackson and tupac fought at one point??? GIRL I NEED THAT AS A FIC!!! I need jealous!michael x reader BADDD!!
michael defending you at the slightest sign of disrespect ⊹₊⟡⋆
you and michael had been together for a year now. it was a very lowkey relationship, completely tucked away from the public eye and the constant chatter of the tabloids, but you were happy. both of you. it was a quiet, solid kind of love that didn't need the world's approval.
but tonight, the two of you had decided to step out. it was a random industry party thrown by one of his longtime friends, the kind of exclusive, dimly lit club event where the room was packed tight with artists, producers, and executives.
you were standing together near the edge of the crowd when someone caught michael's eye from across the room. he turned back to you, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand.
“you gonna be okay baby?” he asked, leaning down slightly so his soft voice could carry over the music.
“yes love, go ahead,” you said, smiling up at him.
he gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze before walking away to greet his friend. once he departed, you took a spot in the corner of the club, not too far from the bar. it was a good vantage point—safe from the crowded dance floor but close enough to keep an eye on things.
you were just watching and vibing with the music when a shadow fell over you. you looked up to see a very familiar face approaching.
tupac smiled, leaning one arm against the wall near you. “hey ma, how you doing?”
“i’m good, mr. shakur. how are you?” you said. you wanted to be polite, keeping your tone even and professional, but secretly you were hoping he’d just take the hint and go away.
“i’m great now that i’ve seen you,” he said, his voice smooth, completely confident.
you forced a tight smile, your eyes instantly scanning the crowded room to see where your man was. michael was still locked in conversation a few yards away, his back turned to you.
tupac noticed your wandering gaze. “looking for somebody?”
“just my boyfriend,” you responded directly, hoping the word boyfriend would act like a solid brick wall.
it didn't. tupac just let out a low laugh, his hands rubbing together as his eyes ran down your body, taking you in. “boyfriend? girl i could care less about that. come party with me and my crew tonight. i promise i’ll show you a good time.”
the sheer arrogance of it hit you instantly. he’d literally given you the ick so so badly, the uncomfortable warmth spreading in your chest making you want to roll your eyes and walk away.
“im good, thanks,” you said, your voice dropping all the previous politeness.
“come on now-“ tupac started, stepping just a fraction closer into your space.
“i think the lady said she was good pac.”
the interruption was sudden. michael had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, stepping right between you and tupac. his voice had dropped to a low, heavy tone you’d only ever heard a handful of times before—the exact tone he used when he was absolutely pissed.
tupac blinked, looking a little caught off guard before he squared his shoulders, a cocky smirk returning to his face. “with all due respect, michael. i wasn’t talking to you.”
“but you were talking to my girl,” michael said, his posture rigid, his chest heaving slightly under his jacket.
“your girl?” tupac asked, raising his eyebrows. from the slightly glassy look in his eyes and the way he slurred the words just a fraction, it was clear he was drunk out of his mind. he looked at you, then back at michael, letting out a mocking laugh. “oh so that’s why this bitch wasn’t checking for me. okay playa.”
the word left tupac's mouth and the entire atmosphere shifted. the air in the corner of the club turned completely freezing.
“don’t call her that,” michael warned, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.
“or what mike? you gonna hit me? i’m so scared,” tupac laughed, entirely amused, completely misjudging the situation.
sensing the immediate danger, you reached out, your fingers catching the fabric of michael's sleeve. “michael, don't, let's just go—”
you tried to stop him, but before you could even finish the sentence, michael moved.
it happened in a fraction of a second. michael’s right arm swung forward with a sudden, explosive speed no one in that corner expected. there was a sharp, sickening crack as his knuckles connected dead in tupac's jaw.
the force of the blow sent tupac stumbling backward into a nearby high-top table, sending a couple of glasses crashing to the floor. the sudden noise caused a few people nearby to snap their heads around, their eyes widening in pure shock.
tupac stayed down for a second, one hand flying up to cup his face, his cocky expression completely shattered into stunned disbelief. he blinked rapidly, shaking his head as a thin trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his lip.
michael didn’t step back. he stood right where he was, shielding you completely, his breathing heavy and his eyes completely dark with an intense, protective fury.
"i told you," michael said, his voice dangerously quiet, vibrating with an authority that left no room for argument. "don’t call her that."
tupac glared up from the floor, his hand still on his jaw. for a split second, it looked like he was going to scramble back up to his feet, but before he could make a move, two members of his crew rushed over from the bar, having seen the commotion. they quickly grabbed pac by his arms, holding him back.
"yo, pac, chill, chill! let's go, man, it ain't worth it," one of his friends muttered, looking at michael with a mixture of wariness and utter surprise. they knew better than to let a full-blown riot break out here.
tupac spat a bit of blood onto the floor, his eyes narrowing to slits as his friends began dragging him back toward the VIP exit. "you lucky, mike," pac muttered darkly, his voice muffled. "you real lucky."
the second they disappeared through the heavy doors, the heavy tension in michael’s shoulders seemed to snap. he let out a long, shaky breath, the terrifying anger in his expression melting away into pure anxiety as he spun around to face you.
“are you okay? did he hurt you? did he touch you?” he asked frantically, his hands coming up to gently cup your face. his palms were warm, his touch so incredibly soft and careful it was hard to believe he’d just thrown a punch a second ago.
“i’m fine, michael, i’m completely fine,” you said, your own hands coming up to grasp his wrists. your heart was hammering against your ribs. you looked down at his right hand, noticing his knuckles were already swelling and turning a dark shade of red. “your hand... oh my god, michael, you just punched him.”
michael looked down at his fist, then back up at your eyes. a faint, almost sheepish look crossed his face, but there wasn't a single shred of regret in his eyes. “he disrespected you. i don’t care who he is, no one talks to my lady like that”
looking at him standing there—completely untamed by his usual shy, gentle demeanor just to protect your honor—a sudden rush of warmth flooded your chest, completely washing away the bad vibe tupac had left behind.
“come on,” you whispered, pulling his arm gently toward the main exit. “let’s get out of here before the security gets involved. let’s go home.”
“yeah,” michael agreed, his fingers sliding down from your face to lock tightly with yours, pulling you close against his side as he led you out into the cool night air. “let’s go home, baby.”
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being in a couple with carl felt completely surreal, like something straight out of a romance book. he was easily the sweetest, most attentive guy you’d ever been with, and he made sure everyone in the villa knew you were the only girl he had eyes for.
ever since that very first night, he constantly found ways to keep you close. he was incredibly tactile, always touching you in some small, comforting way.
whenever you walked out to the kitchen together, his large, warm hand would rest gently on the small of your lower back, guiding you through the villa.
when you were lounging out by the pool, you’d sit side-by-side on the daybeds with your leg draped over his lap, his fingers casually tracing patterns on your skin.
even when you were just sitting around the fire pit having big group conversations, you’d find yourself holding onto one of his fingers, twisting his ring around, while he squeezed your hand back to let you know he was listening.
because he was so tall and had those gorgeous biceps, he was also the absolute best cuddler in the world.
at night, the villa bedrooms could get pretty chilly with the air conditioning blasting, but burying yourself into carl's side made you feel perfectly warm. he would wrap his strong arms completely around you, pulling your back flush against his chest, making you feel so safe and protected that you fell asleep instantly.
mornings with him were your favorite part of the entire experience. carl was always one of the first boys to get out of bed. he would always quietly slide out of bed so he wouldn't disturb you, learning very early on that you weren’t a morning person, and head straight to the restroom then to the kitchen.
a little while later, he’d walk over to the glam room carrying a plate of the best eggs and avocado toast you’d ever tasted. he paid attention to the smallest details, making sure to leave the egg yolks just a little bit runny, exactly the way you liked it, so you could dip your toast into them.
he was just so incredibly attentive to everything you did. whenever you were talking about your life back home, your family, or your favorite things, his eyes were locked onto yours, hanging onto every single word like you were the only person in the entire room.
carl also made it his personal mission to make sure you felt confident every second of the day. he showered you in compliments constantly.
he would hype you up whenever you got dressed up in your favorite dresses for the evening, he’d roll over in the morning, look at your completely bare face and messy hair, and smile that adorable dimpled smile just to whisper how beautiful you looked. he'd do the exact same thing right before you went to bed, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear and telling you how lucky he felt.
and to top it all off, carl gave you the absolute best kisses you’d ever had in your life. whether it was a quick, sweet peck before a challenge, or a deep, lingering kiss under the stars on the terrace, every single time his lips met yours, it gave you the exact same butterflies you felt on day one.
you can’t help but notice them every single time he looks your way, those massive, dark doe eyes that seem to hold the entire universe inside them. they are so deep and incredibly expressive, framed by thick, lashes that rest perfectly against his high cheekbones. whenever he focuses that gaze entirely on you, your heart skips a beat.
"you're doing it again," michael murmurs, a soft, teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
you blink, snapping out of your daze. you’re sitting on the plush couch in his living room, your fingers intertwined with his. your deep brown skin contrasts beautifully against his, a striking visual that he loves to admire, but right now, your attention is completely on his face.
"doing what?" you ask, though you know exactly what he means.
"staring," he chuckles, his voice a low, melodious rumble. he leans in a bit closer, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "what is it? do i have something on my face?"
"no," you sigh, entirely defenseless against his proximity. you reach up, the tips of your fingers gently tracing his jawline before resting softly on his cheek. "you’re just so pretty, mike. it’s so unfair, really. how does anyone look at you and not just melt?"
a soft, blush creeps up his cheeks, and he looks down for a split second, suddenly shy. it amazes you how a man who commands stadiums with a single movement can get so flustered by a simple compliment from you. when he looks back up, his doe eyes are wide, glassy, and filled with an overwhelming amount of affection.
"you always say that," he whispers, leaning into your touch.
"because it's true," you insist, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss just beneath his brow, right where those beautiful eyes rest.
michael lets out a soft gasp, his hands moving to cup your face, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. the way he gazes into your eyes leaves you breathless, matching your intensity with a pure, unfiltered devotion of his own.
"i could say the same about you," he replies softly, his eyes scanning every inch of your face before locking back onto yours. "i love looking at you and i love the way you look at me."
he leans down, closing the small distance between you to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. but even as your eyes flutter shut, the image of his beautiful, doe-eyed stare stays burned into your mind, keeping you completely captivated.
you always make little decisions without clark’s input. mainly because you’re used to your hyper-independence. but when you make one of the biggest decisions in your relationship without even consulting him. he gets very upset.
it wasn’t the first time clark had felt like you’d decided something without him.
sometimes it was little things—like when you rearranged the living room furniture while he was on night shift. he came home, half-asleep and bruised from a mission, only to stumble into the coffee table you’d moved. you just laughed it off, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, saying, “i thought it’d look better this way.”
then there was the weekend you’d gone and signed a lease on a bigger storage unit for all your things without even mentioning it to him. he only found out when you asked him to help you move boxes. when he asked why you didn’t talk to him first, you shrugged, “i didn’t want to bother you. you’re busy enough.”
he let those go. he told himself it was just your independence, something he admired most days. but deep down, each decision chipped at him, making him feel like he wasn’t really in your life—just orbiting around it.
so when you finally sat him down in the kitchen, nervously twisting your fingers together, he had no idea you were about to drop something much heavier.
“i, uh… i was offered a job in central city and… i accepted it.” you shyly.
he froze, mid-sip of water, staring at you over the rim of the glass. “come again?”
“it’s two hours out,” you rushed to explain. “but i can commute, or we’ll figure out weekends, and—”
“you accepted a job two hours away? without even telling me you were applying?” his voice was sharp, sharper than you’d ever heard it.
you swallowed. “i didn’t think it was a big deal until i got the offer. and then… i just thought i’d handle it.”
there it goes again. he set the glass down with a thunk, his jaw tight. “you keep saying that. handle it. like i’m not even here.”
“clark, it’s my career. i’ve always made choices like this for myself. i didn’t want to slow down and risk losing it.”
“but we’re not just you anymore. it’s us.” his voice cracked, raw and desperate. “don’t you see how it feels to find out something like this after the fact? like i don’t matter enough to even be considered?”
“clark,” your chest ached. “it’s not that you don’t matter. i just—i’ve had to do everything on my own for so long, i don’t even think about checking in sometimes. it’s instinct for me, im sorry.”
he shook his head, stepping closer but keeping just enough space between you that it stung. “instinct or not, this is our relationship. i need to know you want me in it, really in it—not just tagging along for the pieces you decide to share.”
you blinked against the hot pressure in your eyes, because clark never yelled, but every word cut like steel.
“i am so proud of you. i’ve always been proud of you. but right now? i’m scared.” his eyes burned into yours, his voice softer but still trembling with anger. “because if you can make this decision without me… what else can you decide without me?”
you sat on the edge of the bed, wringing your hands in your lap. the silence between you stretched like a taut wire, ready to snap. clark stood by the window, arms folded tight across his chest, staring out at the night sky but not really seeing it.
“i didn’t… i didn’t realize how much i hurt you.” your throat tightened, and you leaned forward, trying to catch his eyes. “all those little things—the apartment, the storage unit, even the furniture—I thought they didn’t matter. i thought they were just… me doing what i’ve always done. i never once stopped to think what it felt like on your side.”
“you’re not just my boyfriend, clark. you’re my partner. and i should’ve treated you like that.” your words came out shaky. “you’ve done nothing but make room for me in your world, in ways i don’t even deserve. and i shut you out without realizing it.”
his arms dropped slowly, “do you know what it feels like to be standing right here, loving you with everything i’ve got, and to keep finding out i’m the last to know about your life?”
tears blurred your vision. “i’m sorry. god, i’m so sorry.” you reached for him, hesitant, your fingers brushing his hand. “i’ve been independent for so long, i didn’t even think about what i was taking away from you. but i don’t want you to feel like you’re standing on the outside. i don’t want to keep making you feel like you don’t matter.”
finally, finally, his hand turned and wrapped around yours. he looked down at you, eyes softer now, though still glistening with unspoken worry.
“i don’t need to make your choices for you,” he murmured. “but i need to be there. i need to know we’re building something together. because i can’t… i can’t do this if i’m not a part of it.”
you squeezed his hand like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground. “then you’ll be part of everything. no more shutting you out. no more deciding alone. i want us, clark. i want us more than anything.”
for the first time that night, some of the tension in his face eased. he bent down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath shaky.
“please don’t shut me out again,” he whispered.
“i won’t,” you promised, voice breaking. “never again.”
and when he finally kissed you, it wasn’t angry—it was relief.
