#x black!reader

What if kryptonite wasn't Superman's only weakness?

Your reflection stares back at you as you wrap your scarf around your head, pushing in a last minute braid that tried to escape.

Your skin reflects in the shining lights of your bathroom, the clear peeling mask lifting slightly at the edges.

You take your time, freshly manicured hands peeling away, a satisfaction no one could take away from you. Throwing the remnants in the trash, you reach for the sink, turning on the cool water.

Bending, you gather water in your hands, splashing your face, rubbing along your skin softly. As you come back up, swiping your fingers over your eyes, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you freeze momentarily.

Turning off the water, you blindly reach for the soft cloth neatly sitting on the counter before dabbing your face, blinking your eyes open before you could really dry your face.

He stood there in the reflection, eyes lingering on your face, hands loosely at his sides. His cape was torn at the edges, little tears in the fabric around his legs. His bottom lip was busted, dried blood stained into his skin.

His hair was damp with water, maybe sweat, splayed across the top of his head, stubbled jaw tight. You swallow, looking away from him, looking down into the skink.

Your tensing shoulders relax, the feeling of him right behind you coursing through you like a current. His hand is heavy on your shoulder, fingers digging into your skin without restraint.

His forehead presses against the back of your head, breath warm on your neck, and you close your eyes tighter, feeling his other hand on your hip. You instinctively reach for it, threading your fingers through his.

He lets out a deep breath, and you're turning, quick to look up at him. You reach your free hand towards his lip, tracing over the non-healed skin. You frown, opening your mouth. He interrupts you, eyes still closed, his hand that was once on your shoulder behind your neck.

"It won't heal," He murmurs gruffly, dark blue eyes finally looking at you. He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. Until I'm away from you.

It's easy for your breath to fall in sync. For your heart to beat just like his. For your skin to feel hot.

You move first, stepping on the tips of your toes, pressing your lips against his, tasting the blood from his mouth.

His fingers dig into your side, pulling you so close that if it were possible his body would swallow yours.

His tongue licks your lips, asking to taste you, and you oblige. It's slow, exploring your mouth as if he's never tasted it before. Your hand finds the edge of his cape, and you grip it tightly, resisting the urge to touch other parts of him you knew you shouldn't. Not now.

A sound leaves your mouth, and he swallows it before pulling away, a groan of his own following your shallow breaths.

His forehead presses against yours, and you lean against him, ear pressed to his heart.

His arms come around you, his chin nuzzling into the top of your head.

He looks within the mirror, the picture almost perfect.

He should be holding you. Kissing you. Touching you. Loving you.

But he can't. It's like a cruel punishment.

I got this idea listening to a Jacquees song of all things lol

Aaron was exhausted. It was the same shit just a different day. His jacket hung over his arm, watch ticking softly, reminding him that on the bright side he could be home early for once.

He knew Jack was probably settling for a long weekend where he could stay up while Jr. was more than likely getting ready to spend the weekend with his dad.

The thought makes him proud.

Aaron knew it had to be a hard transition going from being a single mother, trying to co-parent, and then he comes along just to shake things up. Neither of you regretted it though. Jr., though he would never share a resemblance with him was just like his own. He'd love that kid forever. As he loved you. The boys got along great, weekends spent at the park when Aaron was off to play basketball or football. Family ice cream trips because you had to try a new place.

Jr., had to get used to 'visiting Dad every two weeks' then 'Uncle Aaron', and spending more time with said 'uncle', and now he just calls Aaron dad. Aaron never pushed for him to call him anything he weren't comfortable with. He made it clear that he wasn't a replacement father figure. He'd be whatever was needed, and if 'dad' was the newest term, it's a win.

The team probably thought he was crazy when he said you were moving in just after six months of dating, but Aaron didn't have time to waste. He knew you and your son was what he wanted so why pretend to care about the logistics?

You were worried at first, it was adorable to him really. First if he cared you had a son, then if your son wouldn't like him, and a billion other thoughts in your head that he put to rest on the second date when we decided to just have a family day instead.

You were smitten after that. Aaron would be labeled as the same whether or not that he admitted that himself. He was worried you wouldn't be able to handle the job, but coming from a family in law enforcement, you understood the uphill battles.

As he puts the key in the lock, he can hear muffled talking, and he remembers that Jr's father was stopping by. Aaron never met the man, so he wasn't sure what he was like, but he definitely didn't like the hushed tone he could hear from the kitchen.

Jr. was sitting at the table, swinging his legs as he played on his iPad. Aaron sets his laptop bag dow on the table, riffling a hand through his curls, causing him to look up, a toothy grin appearing on his face.

"Hey kiddo," He bends to press a kiss against his forehead, small hands tugging at his shirt in a hug. "Got all your stuff? Where's your Optimus Prime pillow?" As he gestures towards some of the things that were already laid out, Jr's eyes widen and he's gasping, setting his iPad down.

Jack pokes his head out from the nearby living room, opposite of the wall of the kitchen. "Go help Jr. find his pillow," Jack was more than happy to oblige, taking on the big brother role with utmost seriousness. "Mom's been arguing with him for like five minutes," He mutters, taking Jr's hand.

Once Jack rounds the corner towards the bedrooms, Aaron slowly rolls up his sleeves, ears not attuned to the kitchen. "I'm not being overly dramatic!" It was a hushed whisper/yell, and Aaron starts to round the corner towards the kitchen. "You up in here playing house with some man my son barely knows, and I find out because you've got a new address all of a sudden, and there's man shit all over the place. So what? Dinners, family shit, ya'll fucking too?"

When he rounds the corner, he wants to say All the time, including the countertop your hand is on' but that might make things worse. Your arms were crossed, bonnet sitting crookedly on your head, a sign you're irritated as you roll your neck a lot when frustrated. "First of all, stop all that yelling in my house, there's children, and what Aaron and I do is none of your business. The only thing that matters is that our son is cared for even when you're not here,"

"Everything okay in here? I sent Jr. to grab his favorite pillow," Aaron glides past your former partner, laying a hand at the small of your back. He reaches out with the other, offering a hand. "Aaron,"

"Raymond," At first, Raymond looks at the hand, eyes shifting, obviously sizing Aaron up before eyeing the badge and gun still on his hip. Raymond clears his throat before shaking Aaron's hand.

"Nice to finally meet you...Jr. should be out in a moment," "I'l go get him," You murmur, leaning up to place a kiss on Aaron's cheek. Aaron watches you leave before leaning against the counter. "So...you serious with my baby moms?"

"Very. I'm not here to replace you in Jr's life, spend your time with him, be a father, but this is also my family and I'm not going anywhere any time soon. The only person that matters in this situation is Jr., and I promise you that if you make things hard on either of them, I'll make every day hard for you,"

Aaron pats Raymond on the shoulder as he can hear Jr. running down the hall. "School start back up on Tuesday. He needs to be back by Monday night,"

━━━━━ happy birthdayyy @cinnamoncunt you requested this little bit ago boo, enjoyyyy!

the summer of 1995 started with white roses and gold everything at holly robinson’s wedding. the ceremony was outdoors under a massive white tent on a private estate just outside Los Angeles.

everyone who mattered in the industry was there. you stepped out of the black town car in a deep emerald silk dress that hugged every curve of your deep brown skin, the fabric skimming over the full shape of your breasts and the soft dip of your waist before falling over the thick flare of your hips. your pixie framed your face perfectly, gold cuffs catching the late afternoon light. glossy lips, soft highlighter on your cheekbones, and long acrylic nails painted a soft champagne color completed the look.

you were already the breakout everyone in the industry was talking about, the kind type with the sharp tongue and the quiet confidence that made people look twice.

wesley snipes was standing near the open bar when you first noticed him. broad shoulders in a sharp black suit, no tie, the top buttons of his white shirt undone just enough to show the strong line of his throat. he looked exactly like the man who had just finished ‘new jack city’ and ‘white men can’t jump’ that intense stare already locked on something across the lawn. you didn’t know each other yet. neither of you knew that in a few months you would be sharing a film set in humid atlanta and driving each other completely insane.

you ended up at the same table during the reception because the seating chart had a sense of humor. the conversation started polite. he complimented the dress. you told him the suit looked better than whatever he wore to the last premiere. then the talk turned to work. wesley leaned back in his chair with that easy ego of his and said something about how most of the new actresses coming up were all polish and no real edge. you tilted your head, russian manicured nails tapping once against the stem of your champagne glass, and answered that most of the men who said that were just scared of women who didn’t need them to open every door. the air between you shifted. his eyes dropped to your mouth for a second too long. you felt the first spark of something that was equal parts irritation and heat.

later that night when the music got louder and people started dancing, you ran into him again near the edge of the tent. the string lights made everything soft and gold. wesley’s hand brushed the small of your back as he leaned in to say something over the music and the touch lingered just a beat longer than it needed to. you looked up at him, deep brown eyes steady, and told him he better not start something he wasn’t ready to finish. he laughed low and said he never started anything he couldn’t finish. the tension sat thick between you for the rest of the night, but neither of you crossed the line. you left the wedding with his number written on a cocktail napkin that you never called, and he left with the memory of your perfume and the way your hips swung when you walked away.

three months later the call came. the same gritty action drama that had been floating around town finally locked its leads. you and wesley snipes. the shoot was in atlanta. the second you walked onto the lot and saw him leaning against a folding chair with a water bottle in one hand, that same intense stare locked on the director, the wedding came rushing back. he looked at you the exact same way he had under those string lights. the only difference was the ego had more room to breathe now that you were both stuck on the same set for eight weeks.

the first week was pure friction. every table read turned into a quiet war. wesley wanted the dialogue sharper, more street, more raw. you wanted the character to have more depth than just the strong black woman who held everything together while the men made messes.

he would lean across the table and say “she wouldn’t say it like that. she would cut him with her eyes first.” you would answer just as calm “and she also wouldn’t let him talk over her for three pages either.” the rest of the cast shifted in their seats. the director cleared his throat. wesley’s jaw tightened. you could feel the wedding tension sitting under every argument like a live wire neither of you wanted to admit was still there.

by the second week the crew had started taking bets. you caught him watching you during a night shoot when the lights turned your deep brown skin golden and the sweat at the base of your throat made the gold chain around your neck stick to your collarbone. he was standing just outside the pool of light, arms crossed, eyes dark. you looked straight at him and raised one perfectly arched brow. he didn’t look away. later that same night he brushed past you in the narrow hallway between trailers and the heat of his body and the faint scent of his cologne made your stomach tighten the same way it had at the wedding. neither of you said a word about the napkin or the string lights.

the day everything broke open started like every other day. the director decided at the last minute that the big confrontation scene needed to be rewritten so the male lead could have the final word. wesley lost it. he stepped right into the man’s space, voice rising until it carried across the entire lot.

“you want some sanitized bullshit that doesn’t sound like any black man i know? then hire somebody else. this is not how we move and you know it.”

the set went dead quiet. cameras stopped rolling. the boom operator lowered the mic. you watched wesley’s shoulders rise and fall with every angry breath and felt something snap inside your own chest. you had spent two weeks swallowing the constant challenges and the side-eye and the way he acted like he was the only person on set who cared about authenticity. the wedding version of him had been smoother. this version was pure ego. enough was enough.

you walked straight between them and put both hands on wesley’s chest, acrylic nails pressing into the soft cotton of his shirt. the muscle under your palms was solid and warm.

“back the fuck up,” you grit, voice low and steady so only he and the director could really hear. “you do not get to scream at people because the script isn’t perfect. we are all trying to make this right. your ego is the only thing making it worse right now.”

wesley’s eyes dropped to your hands still pressed against him. for a long second the only sound was the distant traffic beyond the lot gates. then he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and pulled you toward his trailer without another word. the door slammed behind you hard enough to rattle the small window.

inside the air was cooler but still thick. wesley turned on you the second the latch clicked.

“you think you can put me in check in front of the whole damn crew?” his voice was rough, low, almost a growl. “walking around here like you run everything. calling me out like i’m some new actor who doesn’t know what the suck he’s doing. you did the same thing at holly’s wedding. sat there looking like that and talking like you already knew you were better than everybody in the room.”

you stepped closer instead of backing up. the space between your bodies disappeared. “i put you in check because somebody needed to. you have been side-eyeing me and challenging every single choice i make since the day i got here. and for the record, at that wedding you were the one staring at my mouth like you wanted to shut it up then too. what’s your problem, wesley? scared a woman who looks like me and talks like me might actually match the energy you bring?”

he laughed once, short and dark. his hand came up and brushed the end of your feathered curls, fingers sliding down the length of it until the gold cuff rested against his palm.

“scared? nah. i’ve been watching that mouth of yours since the reception. every time you talk back i want to shut it up. every time you walk away in those jeans i want to put my hands on you. you think this is just about the script?”

the air in the trailer changed. the anger was still there but it had turned into something hotter and heavier. you could feel the heat coming off his skin. his free hand settled on the soft curve of your waist, thumb pressing into the warm brown skin just above the waistband of your jeans.

“say it then,” you whispered. “stop playing and say what you really want.”

wesley’s mouth crashed into yours before the last word fully left your lips. the kiss was hard and messy and full of every argument you had thrown at each other since the wedding. his tongue slid against yours and you tasted mint and frustration and something darker. your acrylic nails scraped up the back of his neck and into the short hair at the base of his skull. he groaned into your mouth and walked you backward until your ass hit the edge of the small counter.

he broke the kiss only long enough to yank your tank top up and over your head. the white fabric landed somewhere near the couch. your full breasts sat heavy in the thin black bra, deep brown skin glowing under the soft trailer light. wesley’s eyes dragged over every inch like he was committing it to memory. he reached behind you and unhooked the bra with one practiced motion. the second the lace fell away his mouth was on you, hot and open, sucking one tight nipple between his lips while his hand cupped the other breast and squeezed. the wet heat of his tongue and the scrape of his teeth made your head fall back against the cabinet. a soft moan slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“been wanting to taste this skin since the night of that wedding,” he muttered against the soft underside of your breast. “every time you stood under those lights looking like that i wanted to drag you somewhere and put my mouth all over you.”

his hands moved lower, unbuttoning your jeans and shoving them down your thick thighs along with the thin lace panties underneath. you kicked them off and stood there completely bare while he stayed fully dressed. the contrast made the whole thing feel dirtier. wesley dropped to his knees right there on the trailer floor and pushed your legs open. the first long drag of his tongue over your already wet folds made your knees buckle. he held your hips steady and licked deeper, flat tongue spreading you open, nose pressed against the soft thatch of hair at the top of your mound. the wet sounds of him eating you filled the small space. you gripped the edge of the counter with both hands, nails clicking against the laminate, and watched the top of his head move between your thighs.

“fuck wesley…” your voice cracked when he sucked your clit between his lips and flicked it with the tip of his tongue. two thick fingers slid inside you without warning, curling up against that sensitive spot that made your toes curl against the thin carpet. he worked you open with slow deep strokes while his mouth stayed locked on your clit. the dual sensation was almost too much. your thighs started to shake. he looked up at you with dark eyes and kept going harder, the wet sounds getting louder, your soft moans turning into full curses.

“shit uh! ” you came the first time with his name on your tongue and your nails digging into his shoulders. your walls clenched around his fingers and a rush of wetness coated his hand and chin. wesley kept licking through it until your legs gave out completely. he stood up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, that arrogant little smirk back on his face.

“taste even better than i thought,” he says, voice rough.

you reached for his belt with shaky hands and yanked it open. the button and zipper of his jeans followed. you shoved the fabric down just far enough to free his cock. dark brown, thick and heavy and already leaking at the tip. you wrapped your fingers around the base and stroked once, nails dragging lightly along the vein on the underside.

wesley’s head dropped forward and a low curse left his mouth.

“get on the counter,” he ordered.

you hopped up and spread your legs. he stepped between them and rubbed the head of his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your wetness. the first thrust was deep and hard. you both groaned at the same time. he filled you completely, the stretch burning in the best way. his hands gripped the soft flesh of your hips and he started fucking you in earnest, long powerful strokes that made the trailer rock on its tires. every time he bottomed out the wet slap of skin on skin echoed through the small space. your breasts bounced with every thrust. wesley leaned down and sucked one nipple back into his mouth while his hips kept moving.

“look at this pussy taking me,” he muttered against your skin. “so fuckin’ wet. so fuckin’ tight. you been walking around this set for two weeks acting like you didn’t want this since the wedding.”

“shut up and fuck me harder,” you shot back, wrapping your legs around his waist and digging your heels into his ass.

he did exactly that. the pace turned rough and deep. one of his hands slid up and closed lightly around your throat, not enough to cut off air but enough to make your eyes flutter. the other hand reached between your bodies and rubbed tight circles over your swollen clit. the dual pressure built fast. you could feel another orgasm coiling low in your stomach.

“come on,” wesley growled against your ear. “let me feel it. come on my cock like you’ve been wanting to since that night under the string lights.”

the second orgasm hit harder than the first. your walls locked down around him and a broken moan tore out of your throat. wesley fucked you through it without slowing down, chasing his own release. when he finally came he buried himself as deep as he could go and groaned your name into the side of your neck, thick pulses of heat filling you up until it leaked out around his cock and dripped onto the counter.

you stayed locked together for a long minute, both of you breathing hard, sweat cooling on your deep brown skin. wesley’s forehead rested against yours. his hands had gone soft, one stroking slowly up and down your back while the other played with the end of one of your short hairs.

“we are going to have to fight more often if this is how it ends,” he says, voice still rough but quieter now.

you laughed softly and dragged your acrylic nails down the center of his chest. “only if you promise to let me put you in check every single time. wedding or set. doesn’t matter.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, almost gentle. outside the trailer the crew was still moving and the director was probably looking for both of you. inside the small space the enemies who had first met under string lights and white roses had finally crossed every line they had drawn. neither of you seemed in any hurry to go back to pretending the tension had never been there.

wesley pulled out carefully and reached for a clean towel from the small bathroom. he cleaned you up with surprising care, eyes soft in a way you had never seen on set. when he finished he helped you down from the counter and handed you your clothes one piece at a time. you got dressed in silence that felt heavier than any of the arguments. once your jeans were back on and your tank top was smoothed into place he caught your wrist again.

“tonight,” he stated. “my hotel. no scripts. no crew. just you and me figuring out what the fuck this is.”

you looked at him for a long second, still tasting him on your tongue, still feeling the ache between your thighs. the classy women you carried every day wanted to make him wait. the part of you that had just cum twice on his cock wanted to say yes immediately.

“maybeee,” you answered, stepping past him toward the door. “depends on whether you can keep that ego in check for the rest of the day.”

wesley’s low laugh followed you out into the thick atlanta heat. the set looked exactly the same as it had twenty minutes ago, but nothing between the two of you would ever be the same again. the rest of the shoot stretched out in front of you like a long humid summer that now held the promise of more arguments and more nights where the only thing that mattered was how hard you made each other come. you walked back to your trailer with your secret smile that no one else on set could read. wesley watched you the entire way, that same intense stare now carrying something deeper than frustration.

oop- michael’s at your window!! what do you do?

━━━━━ you’re scared to take your shirt off during sex but jackie being jackie he makes your worries go away!

you’d been with jackie for months now, long enough that the way he looked at you still made your stomach flip every single time. long enough that you’d learned the soft, low sound he made when he was trying to be patient. long enough that you trusted him with parts of yourself you’d never handed to anyone else.

but not this part.

not yet.

the bedroom was quiet except for the low hum of the ceiling fan and the distant city noise filtering through the cracked window—some noises being cars honking and some being the laughs of the children in the neighborhood playing. soft yellow light from the hallway spilled just far enough to catch the curve of his shoulder and the warm brown of his skin. you were already in his lap, straddling him on the edge of the bed, his hands steady on your waist beneath the green, slim fitted shirt that read ‘camp Beverly Hills’ from your camp leader days—you’d kept on. your bra was gone. your panties and skirt all long gone. you were wet and aching and breathing hard against his mouth— hot combed air starting to get frizzy in its pinned up state, and still that soft cotton barrier stayed between you like a last line of defense you weren’t sure you were ready to drop.

jackie pulled back just enough to look at you, thumb stroking slow circles over your hip. his eyes were dark, patient, a little concerned.

“you good?” he asked, voice already rough from kissing you.

you nodded, then shook your head, then laughed under your breath because both answers felt true at once. your fingers twisted in the hem of the shirt, the fabric soft and familiar against the deep brown of your bellybutton.

“i want to,” you mumbled. the words came out quieter than you meant them to. “i really do. i just…” you swallowed. “i’ve never taken it off. not during. not with anybody. i always kept something on. even when i was with people i liked. it just never felt safe enough. like if they saw everything… the soft parts, the stretch marks, the way i actually look when i’m not sucked in or posing… they’d change their mind.”

his hands stilled completely. he didn’t rush to fill the silence the way some men did. he just looked at you—really looked—like he was memorizing the way your voice got smaller when you talked about this, the way your shoulders had gone a little tight.

“and you think it might be safe enough with me?” he asked quietly.

you felt your throat tighten. “i think it is. i want it to be. i trust you, jackie. more than i’ve trusted anybody. i’m just… still nervous as hell. my body’s never felt like something i could just… offer. not completely.”

jackie exhaled slowly, like he was steadying himself too. then he leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to the corner of your mouth, lingering there.

“the we go as slow as you need,” he said against your skin. “you don’t take anything off until you want to. and if you change your mind halfway through—hell, even after it’s off—we stop. no questions. no pressure. no weird energy. you hear me?”

you nodded, throat still tight.

he kissed you again, deeper this time, one hand sliding up your back under the shirt just to hold you closer. his palm was warm and broad against your bare skin, and the simple contact made your eyes sting. you weren’t used to being touched like this—like your body was something precious instead of something to rush past or keep half-hidden.

when he finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours. his breath was warm against your lips.

“can I see you?” he asked. soft. careful . almost reverent. “only if you’re ready. no rush.”

your heart was pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat and the tips of your fingers. you nodded once. then you reached down, grabbed the hem of the shirt with both hands, and pulled it up and over your head before you could talk yourself out of it.

the air felt cooler against your skin. you immediately wanted to cross your arms, to hide the soft roll of your stomach, the way your breasts sat heavy and full with dark nipples already tight from the cooler air, the stretch marks that curved along the sides of your hips and under your arms like silver threads against deep brown skin. you’d always been curvy—thick thighs that touched, a soft middle you never quite knew how to feel about, hips that filled out everything you wore—but under lights and eyes it always felt like too much and not enough at the same time.

jackie didn’t look away. he looked at you like he’d been waiting his whole life to see exactly this.

“jesus,” he breathed.

his hands came up slowly, giving you every chance to stop him, and settled on your waist. thumbs brushing the soft skin just above your hips, tracing the gentle dip where your waist curved out.

“girl, you drivin’ me clean outta my mind. he murmured, and there was nothing rehearsed about it. his voice was low and full of wonder, almost rough with it. “look at you.”

you tried to glance down, to assess yourself the way you always did, but he caught your chin gently and lifted your face so your eyes met his.

“no. look at me.” His eyes were dark, sincere, a little shiny. “i’ve been half-crazy wanting to see all of you. and now that I am…” he shook his head like he couldn’t find the right words. “you’re perfect. every single part. the soft. the marks. the way you curve. all of it.”

your throat closed up. you felt the first tear slip down before you could stop it, hot against your cheek.

jackie leaned in and kissed it away, then the other side when a second one followed.

“come here,” he says, and carefully laid you back against the pillows. he stayed over you, braced on his forearms, looking down at your bare chest like he still couldn’t quite believe it was real. then he dipped his head and pressed an open-mouthed kiss right between your breasts, soft and reverent, lingering there like he was saying thank you.

you shivered hard.

he took his time. kissed the underside of one breast, then the other, the soft heavy weight of them filling his hands when he cupped them. he licked a slow circle around your nipple before sucking it gently into his mouth, tongue flicking, and your back arched off the bed with a quiet sound you couldn’t hold in. he hummed against your skin like the taste of you was something he’d been starving for. his free hand stroked down the soft of your stomach, fingers spreading wide like he was measuring how much of you he could hold, then lower still to squeeze the thick of your thigh.

“these are beautiful too,” he said against your skin when he finally moved lower, leaving a trail of wet kisses down the middle of your stomach. he paused to press his lips to every stretch mark he found, soft and deliberate. “don’t you ever hide from me again. you hear me? these marks… this softness… this is the body I want. the real one.”

by the time he settled between your thighs, you were trembling. he looked up at you one more time, checking in without words, dark eyes soft, and only when you nodded—voice too tight to speak—did he lower his mouth to you.

jackie ate you like he had all night and nowhere else to be. slow, thorough, focused. he licked broad stripes through your folds, then focused on your clit with the kind of steady pressure that made your thighs shake around his head. every time your hips jerked, he held you down gently with one big hand on your lower belly and kept going, making soft, wet sounds that filled the quiet room. he groaned like he was the one receiving pleasure every time you got louder. you came the first time with your fingers twisted in his hair and his name falling out of your mouth like a prayer, thighs clamping around his ears, the soft of your stomach rising and falling fast.

he didn’t stop.

he worked you through it, gentle then building again, until you were crying out and pushing weakly at his shoulders because it was too much and not enough at the same time. only when you were shaking and oversensitive did he finally climb back up your body, kissing every inch of deep brown skin along the way—your soft stomach, the undersides of your breasts, the column of your throat.

you reached between you and wrapped your hand around his cock. he was hard and heavy in your palm, already leaking against your fingers. jackie groaned and dropped his forehead to your shoulder, hips twitching once.

“you sure, mama?” he asked, voice strained, almost shaking with the effort of holding still.

“i’m sure,” you whispered. “i want you. all of it.”

he lined himself up carefully, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance. then he pushed in slow—so slow it made both of you shake. you were tight around him, and the stretch burned in the best way, a deep full pressure that made your toes curl. jackie kept his eyes on yours the entire time, watching every flicker of feeling that crossed your face, one hand coming up to cup your cheek.

when he was fully inside you, he stayed still for a long moment, just breathing with you, forehead pressed to yours.

“you feel like heaven,” he whispered. “you know that? soft and warm and perfect. like you were made for me.”

you pulled him down into a kiss and rolled your hips in answer, and he groaned into your mouth.

jackie made love to you like he had something to prove—not to the world, just to you. deep, steady strokes that made the headboard gently knock against the wall. he kept one hand cupped under your thigh, spreading you open so he could get even deeper, and the other braced beside your head so he could look at your face the whole time. every time you clenched around him, he groaned low in his throat and kissed you harder. he told you how good you felt. how pretty you looked taking him. how long he’d wanted this—wanted you—exactly like this. Bare and open and trusting him with every soft, real part of yourself.

“look at you,” he murmured against your mouth. “taking me so well. why you always got me wantin’ you like this? huh?” he started powering his thrusts to a high degree, gripping anything he could reach.

“oh my- shit sigmund mmm!.” you came a second time with your legs wrapped tight around his waist and his mouth at your ear, whispering filthy-sweet things that made your eyes roll back. jackie followed not long after, burying himself deep and coming with a broken sound against your neck, hips stuttering as he filled you.

he didn’t pull out right away. he stayed inside you, soft kisses pressed to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, while both of you tried to remember how to breathe. his hand stroked lazily up and down your side, over the curve of your hip, the soft of your stomach, like he still couldn’t get enough of touching you.

“you okay?” he asked after a while, voice low and a little wrecked.

you nodded against his collarbone. “yeah. more than okay.”

he tilted your chin up and looked at you carefully, like he was still checking for any leftover nerves, any regret.

instead something warm and shaky unfurled in your chest, the feeling of finally giving your all to jackie. you kissed him soft and slow, and felt him smile against your mouth.

you stayed like that for a long time—legs tangled, his hand stroking over every part of you he’d just worshipped, the room quiet except for your shared breathing. eventually he slipped free and rolled onto his side, pulling you fully against his chest so your bare breasts pressed to his skin and your soft stomach nestled against him. He pulled the sheet up over both of you, but not before pressing one more lingering kiss to the top of your head.

sometime later, when the room had gone fully dark and the only light was the city glow through the window, jackie rolled you onto your back again. he kissed his way down your body for the second time—slower this time, more playful, stopping to suck marks into the soft skin of your inner thighs, to bury his face between your breasts and just breathe you in. he made you come on his fingers first, then on his tongue again, until you were laughing and gasping and pushing at his shoulders because you were oversensitive and giddy with it.

when he finally slid back inside you, it was different—deeper, slower, more emotional. he held your hands above your head, fingers laced with yours, and rocked into you like he had nowhere else in the world to be. You came a third time like that, quiet and shaking, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes for reasons that had nothing to do with sadness. he kissed them away and followed soon after, whispering your name like it was the only word that mattered.

between rounds he held you. talked to you. told you stories about growing up, about the first time he’d seen you and how he’d known he was in trouble. he stroked your hair, your back, the thick of your thighs. he made you drink water. he laughed softly when you admitted your legs felt like jelly. he told you again—multiple times—that you were beautiful, that this body was the one he wanted, that he never wanted you to hide from him again.

near dawn, when the sky outside was starting to lighten just a little, he pulled you on top of him. let you set the pace. watched your face with open awe as you moved over him, breasts heavy, soft stomach flexing, deep brown skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat. his hands stayed on your hips, guiding but not controlling, thumbs stroking over the stretch marks like they were something sacred.

you came one last time like that, falling forward against his chest, and he held you through it, whispering how proud he was of you, how good you felt, how much he loved seeing you like this—free, open, completely his.

when you finally fell asleep near dawn, completely bare and still a little sticky and held tight against his chest, you realized something that made your heart feel almost too full to hold:

for the first time in your life, you hadn’t wanted to cover up.

not even a little.

Black reader x Bobby Mercer

The scratching noise woke you up for the fifth time tonight, and you sit up slowly, cracking open an eye. The moon from the partially shut blinds casted lines across the closet doors.

You look around slowly, ears listening for every little sound.

It was becoming annoying and disrupting your what was at first good night's rest.

Hearing nothing, you slowly start to lay back down, eyes closing slowly.

The sound of a trashcan in the kitchen toppling over made you shoot up, hand automatically reaching over to shake your boyfriend.

He groans as you shake him from sided to side, his heavy arm sliding over you in response. "Mmm...?" "Bobby," You whisper, tapping on his shoulder.

"Five more minutes mamas," You shift as he pulls you closer, and you huff. "Bobby..." You stress his name a bit more, and he only seems to pull you closer, nuzzling into your neck. "You cold?" He mumbles, pulling on the blanket, covering you up at the lower waist.

"No,"

"Bad dream?" "No..."

Bobby finally cracks an eye open, his tousled black hair partially in his face. "Then why are you waking me up from the best sleep I've had all week?" "There's something in the kitchen,"

It was like a switch went off and he was sitting up, throwing his legs off the side of the bed. He was pulling on his boxers as you got on your knees behind him, sticking close. "Something? What do you mean something?"

He's reaching in the dresser next to his bed, and you can hear the magazine snap as he pushed it in. As he stands, you start to get up behind him, rushing off the bed. Reaching for the back of his boxers, you stay almost pressed against his back. "We need to talk about that..." You murmur.

"You say that now until I bust a cap in somebody's ass," He whispers, slowly heading towards the door. Once again, the trash can rattles loudly like it's being kicked over, and you both pause in your steps.

"Stay behind me,"

He slowly opens the door, and you wince at the slight creek it made.

The hallway area is dark, barely illuminated by the light from the stove in the kitchen. You slowly following behind Bobby, your nails digging into his back. He sticks to the wall, and his hand was steady as he took the safety off.

Bobby always said, if you're gonna use a gun, be ready to use it. He's using a hand to keep you back as he rounds the corner, harshly flipping on the switch.

"Got you now you mother-," Bobby's words come to a halt, and you're too scared to peer around the corner. It's only when you hear a loud sigh and his voice as he says a prayer that you worry even more.

"Sweetheart...you can come out...I found your something,"

You slowly walk around the corner, seeing the trashcan on the floor with trash spilling out. Bobby moves to the side, and you don't know whether to be awed or embarrassed.

On the counter was a raccoon, holding a Burger King wrapper with a half eaten sandwich. Next to it was a smaller raccoon, staring at the two of you with what appeared to be dislike and as much surprise.

Bobby flips the rest of the lights on, gun now down and safe.

"Little bastards were just hungry,"

Your shoulders deflate and you groan. "I'm so sorry," You cautiously eye them as you go to stand next to Bobby who wraps an arm around you, fixing your slightly crooked bonnet.

"I'm telling the guys I was called to action tonight," At the look of mortification on your face, he's chuckling, pulling you closer. "Waking my ass up because of some damn raccoons," You push on his arm, rolling your eyes. "Now you gotta figure out how to get rid of these raccoons by yo-self,"

You're squeezing from his hold, his hands barely catching onto your shirt. "Now sweetheart,...I was just kidding,"

You hide a smile as you head back towards the bedroom.

couldn't find annnnyyyyy gifs of Bobby alone which is crazy