𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚In Every Lifetime ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Perpetuating baby daddy culture. Let black women be wives and have husbands. Why can't black women have a baby with her husband, why it gotta be with a baby daddy? Let's do better.

Reader x Baby Daddy Jermajesty.

Reader x Baby Daddy Jackie Jackson.

Reader x Baby Daddy whoever.

Also them: Worship Elvis who married a 15 year old girl that he met when she was 14 and he was 24. As well as starring in movies with pedophilic scenes sexualizing little girls.

Marlon Jackson x Reader x Micheal Jackson

Summary: Marlon blames himself for thinking that his little brother's feelings for you aren't as serious as his. Loud music and a few swallows of champagne and all of his feelings come raining down on Studio 54.

Word Count: 1.8k

Tags: Childhood Friends, Love Triangle, Triumph Era, Heavy Angst, Language, Jealousy.

The air around you feels so hot and suffocating, buzzing with everything that you're not ready to deal with at once. A collected, understanding expression fights to stay on your face, but your eyes are breaking like glass. "I'm just going to give you space." You're trying your best to be the calm one here, because clearly your friend needs it. His chest is heaving, his brown eyes are so full of desperation that its begun to spill as reluctant tears down his cheeks.

Everything has come to a head; and you're caught up in this whirlwind of emotion so much that you can't even see the surface to try and take a normal-feeling breath again.

The sight of him has you lost for words and your chest aching all at once; still your lips feel like they're glued together and it makes you feel awful. But you simply don't know what to say, for yourself or him. Every second you're torn between prying answers and details out of him and apologizing for whatever you did to get him like this.

Little do you know, all you did is exist .

Loud music, popped champagne and a once perfect night out with your friends are in the past now. Now you're standing in a secluded corner of Studio 54 having a conversation that Marlon never meant to go like this. But he's tipsy, alcohol has tainted and warmed his blood making everything that he's bottled up for years that much more potent.

Fifteen years of being in love with you, and nearly as many watching his younger brother be in love with you as well. He'd hid it, laughed it off, been the bigger person and never fought his brother for the woman that keeps him up at night.

He told himself that he did it out of love, but maybe it was because he believed he didn't stand a chance against how you look at Micheal. The emotional constipation has poisoned his blood more and more over the years. Poisoned his body and soul with a hunger and jealousy that he never meant or wanted to reach this boiling point.

He's watched Micheal be your jester, protector and shoulder to cry on for years; and it twisted all of his organs with jealousy every time your eyes would sparkle when he's enter the room.

But he swallowed it, he told himself that intervening with his feelings would be awful and selfish and ugly. Well, that's exactly how he'd acted tonight when Mike didn't let him cut in to dance with you. His younger brother had kept his hands on your waist and your body close to his like he owns you. Over a decade of him keeping Micheal's feelings for you a secret, letting him tell you when he was ready, and that's the thanks he gets.

A few swear swords and a shoving match later, and you'd dragged him off to this corner. Then whatever chest he'd been keeping his feelings in exploded into a million pieces The tension had become too much and it burst against his will. Declarations of love spilled from his mouth on hot breaths so fast that your head spun.

"I don't want space, I never want space from you!" Marlon pleaded, he doesn't care how pathetic he sounds, he's come this far and embarrassed himself so much already. His dark curls are shiny with product, leaving a glistening line of sweat and curl activator on his hairline. His hair has become a disheveled mess from running his hands through the black curls like he was grasping for something to ground himself.

Your throat is growing tight and painful, but you don't want to cry, not here or now. Not in front of him. Despite how your insides are doing acrobatics at his words, you can see that the tears streaming down his face are old. Precipitation stored up from years and years of things that you don't know about.

"This is...This is too much, Mar." Your voice is weaker than you wanted it to be, breathless is the word. You don't want to dismiss him, this storm is much too large to dismiss, but a tinge of your avoidance is kicking in. You don't know how to deal with this car crash of a confrontation; but you love him, so you try. The desperation on his face rouses your urge to fight wanting to shut down and deal with this, whenever.

The flashing lights from the center of the club climb up the walls in the hallway where the two of you stand. The deep, shadowy lighting cutting half of your faces in light and darkness only creates a better space for emotion to thrive.

Marlon sighs and it feels like the first breath he's ever taken in his life. "I didn't, I didn't want to tell you like this." His hands fall to his hips and he looks at you from beneath damp lashes. His voice is so close to being hoarse and is heavy with what at first glance he assumes is shame. In reality, it's much sicker than that, regret.

You take in the sight of him, white suit with quarter sleeves and a light pink tie that he pulls off too well. He's a mess but a beautiful one. "Tell me that you've been in love with me since we were children?" Yes, you're trying to be a peacemaker here, but you couldn't help but replay his words back to him. Either to make sure that you're hearing him right or that any of this is real. Your head is spinning and your neck is engulfed with heat that's long since covered your face.

To hear those words come out of his mouth, caused thousands of past moments and future dreams to flash in your mind.

You're caught in the middle of something that somehow flew beneath your radar completely. You don't understand what happened, what's happening or what's been happening. But being so abruptly confronted with this person inside Marlon that you didn't even know existed, fought off the more selfish feeling of wanting answers.

Maybe tomorrow, when the sun has risen and everyone's blood alcohol content is back to normal.

Marlon hung his head and scoffed, it was nothing short of bitter. You're pretty much the only one earth that he's not bitter at. But Micheal and himself are definitely on the list. "Only to find out that you're in love with my brother." He mutters out, and you can hear that his jaw is tight. Saying those words feels like vomiting, no matter how much he loves his younger brother.

You just look at him, and look at him for what must've been an hour but in reality was the longest few seconds of your life. Something twisted inside of you at that, and it felt like diving into a pool that you didn't even know was there. It felt like having all of your clothes ripped off while standing in times square. The barest you've ever been.

Your glossed lips are hanging slightly agape as you look at him, perplexed, speechless and feeling utterly naked and unprepared all at once. Whatever it feels like to have someone steal your diary and read it to you, it must feel similar to this.

Marlon knows you like the back of his hand and yours, except this time it felt weaponized. Like he tore a piece of your heart from behind your ribs that you haven't even read to yourself, and just read it to you.

"Does your heart ache for him, is he everything you ever wanted?" His voice cracks towards the end of the sentence, but he doesn't care. It's out now, fuck everything. What he hates the most is that he was too slow, so slow that he'd given someone else time to pull the rug out from under his feet; and rug that you've had a place on since he was ten years old.

Maybe it's his fault, he was naive and arrogant and assumed his little brother's feelings for you were less serious than his. Then Micheal's whispering jokes in your ear and buying you a necklace with an 'm' pendant that he's pretty sure doesn't stand for Marlon.

He knew that his little brother shared the same infatuation, then crush, then something deep and cascading for you that he did. The way his bones ache for you to just breathe on him, let alone touch him, let alone look at him the way you do Micheal. All of that, and he'd left the field open. That's what hurt the most, that he'd fucked himself over.

Tears well up in your eyes and threaten to spill onto your cheeks. You feel so naked, it feels like all of your memories of him and Micheal are tearing you in half down the middle. "Marlon, please." You just want him to slow down, to let you breath and to let the fire within himself become something more controllable. His words replaying in your head are making it harder and harder to inhale another breath.

So many things started to make sense, well, as much sense as they could make for the amount of time you have to reflect. The loaded glances from him throughout your teen years, suddenly became interpreted. That tone of voice that you noticed that he doesn't use for other women, came back to you with a clearer meaning.

"It's always been Mike, hasn't it?" This is self-loathing at this point, maybe he wants you to hurt him so that all of this can be easier; so that watching you melt into his brothers arms will be easier. A kicked dog will scurry, after all. But you don't hurt him, you never have, you're the sugar that he's overdosed on every day since the fifth grade.

You feel like all of your organs are helplessly tangled. Your blood feels like it's burning hot just beneath your skin all over your body. You can still smell Mike's cologne on your pale yellow dress; the feeling of his body pressed into yours is a quiet buzz that you thought you'd hidden well. But it was there, and intoxicating and you feel it every time you're in his presence. Part of you misses the days when you could pretend that feeling wasn't so serious.

But if Marlon sees it, then it was that serious and that's a forced confrontation that makes you want to snap yourself out of existence.

You sigh as Marlon looks like he's genuinely waiting for an answer to kick him in the gut. Like he's standing on the receiving end of a firing squad and begging you to pull the trigger. You just want some water to wash down the ball of nerves in your throat and a dark, quiet room where your head can stop spinning.

"Mar, there's so many things I don't understand, let's just...Please can we talk about this tomorrow?" You plead with him, and he nods, somber and silent. You wait for his eyes to come back to yours from his shoes, but they never do. His hands are in his pockets, his heart is all over the hallway and he's pretty set on just going home now.

So you swallow the cry squeezing your throat and head back to the dance floor. The chaos of the club scene is nothing compared to what's warring throughout your entire body and soul.

Jermajesty Jackson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Jermajesty being an adorable nerd and wanting to include you (his childhood friend) in all of his nerdy ventures.

Tags: Pure Fluff, Childhood Best Friends, Nerdy Stuff, No Toxic Jermajesty Over Here, Mutual Pining, Drabble, Unspoken Feelings, Marvel References

Word Count: 1.7k

Your bed is soft beneath where you lay atop of it, so soft that your weight sinks into the plush surface a bit. The baby pink blankets draped cozily over the queen sized mattress are thick and downy against your skin. Too many frilly pillows in various shades of pink crowd your headboard. You’re laying on your belly, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and sprawled out on your bed on top of the soft blankets; doomscrolling the slow sunday afternoon away.

The ceiling fan above your head spins slowly, gently fanning you with cool air from above. Every once and a while a soft breeze will blow through your open window and tickle your legs. Your chin rests on one hand as you scroll past video after video with just your thumb on the other.

Every couple of scrolls you’ll hit something hilarious or that you can’t help but comment your two cents on. Basically, you’ve been feasting on dopamine for the last few hours on your much appreciated day off. 

Without warning your bedroom door flies open on the hinges, you’re pretty sure he kicked it open. You jump, a startled gasp catches in your throat when you turn to see your brother's best friend entering your room with lightning speed. For all intensive purposes, his feet aren’t even touching the ground. 

You knew that your brother had planned on hanging with Jermajesty today. What you were unaware of is that he’d already picked him up to bring him over, and more specifically, that he was already in your house.  

The man swings your door open with his foot, his hands are carrying a brown box with a few brightly colored magazines sitting on top. “Yo, look what finally arrived!” He’s smiling ear-to-ear, not bothering to say hello and definitely not bothering to knock. He’s blinded by excitement and the desire to share it with someone he knows will be excited with him. When he saw the package on his doorstep his first thought was to tell you about it.

His curls are slightly messy and spilling in dark spirals over his forehead and a gold chain half hides under his white t-shirt. His rich bronze complexion is glowing with a reflective amber hue as usual.

Jermajesty enters your room like he also lives there; well, your house has sort of been a second home for him for nearly both of your entire lives. Your bedroom is an ultra-feminine oasis of every shade of pink and bouncy frills that he has too many memories from to count. From studying for exam together on crisp autumn nights or when you two watched your first horror movie together in middle school.

He all but flew from the doorway to launching himself in the air and crashing down on your bed right next to you. Your pillows bounce in the air. You swear all of this happened in approximately five seconds. 

The mattress ripples like a torrent of waves, causing you to lift into the air when he lands on your bed next to you. The air displaced by the impact carries his fresh-smelling cologne to your nose. By now your surprise has now turned into a smile that you can feel about to burst into laughter. 

Jermajesty lays splayed out on your bed on his belly next to you; his feet hang far off the bed while yours stop long before the end of the bed. You can see now that those colorful magazines are vintage comic books, which he carefully sits to the side to get to the box below them. His warm brown eyes are practically sparkling with excitement as he tears off the tape sealing the package.

Your bedding smells sweet like flowers and sugar and whatever else makes a girl smell like a girl. Most importantly and memorably to him they smell like the epitome of you. “I haven’t even opened it yet, I wanted to show you!” His smile is beaming bright as he focuses on getting the package open. He's been waiting for this package for weeks and crafting his plan for what's inside for even longer.

Your smile is soft and amused as you look at him comfortably laid atop your fluffy bedding. His broad shoulders stretch his white tee and are nearly touching yours from where he lays next to you. “Hi, Jer.” You greet him through lips that want to curl into a bigger and bigger smile. 

Your voice is soft and sweet and a bit teasing. He gets so excited about the things he's into, even to the point of kicking your door in and diving on your bed unannounced to share it with you. You find it unbearably cute, it's a privilege that you never want to be without.

He pauses finally from ripping the cardboard box open. “Hey, y/n.” He hadn't necessarily forgotten to greet you but he had forgotten that despite his excitement you have no idea what he's doing or on about.

His smile is sincere and toothy, including the little gap in his front teeth that you think is so endearing. 

His eyes scan over your features quickly, to each eye that gleams like the north star to him and then your fluffy, glossed lips. You smell like strawberries, which is fitting, given he's swimming in pink atop your duvet. Your skin is smooth and radiant and your hair springs and coils like the softest cloud on your head. He takes the sight of you in the span of seconds and then is back to what caused him to kick your door in to begin with.

He at last gets the box open, rustles through the stuffing paper and packaging and then pull out a costume, a spider-man costume. He jumps up off the bed, holding the suit up by the shoulders to show you it in its entirety. “Bro, my suit finally came!” His voice has raised a whole octave now, he throws his head back with excited laughter then holds the suit up to his eye-level to take in every detail.

You can tell that this is no party city costume, he spent some money on this. The material is thicker and more detailed than your typical children's Halloween costume. It's black with webbing red lines throughout in the pattern of a spider's web. There's a red symbol of a spider that looks like it's been spray painted onto the chest.

You smile at him analysing the suit like someone that clearly knows what to look for. His eyes are round with a boyish glee. The suit looks good, detailed and mature. Mature enough to look like a serious display of admiration for comic book storytelling and not something he stole from his little cousin.

You're excited that the cosplay he's been talking about since the first set photos for the upcoming spider-man dropped is falling into place like he wanted.

You admire the suit, being a fan of all of this comic booky stuff as well. “Nice!” You beam, you can picture him in it already, he's definitely got the body for it. Broad shoulders and a tight waist that will fill the costume out in a way that's sure to fit the hero bill. “Ready to save the city now, huh?” Your lips pull into a jesting smirk.

Jermajesty holds the suit up to himself. “Damn straight, girl, imma be on dat shit!” A cockier expression shifts his face into a charmingly smug look of surety and it makes you cackle. It wouldn't surprise you if he tried to swing from a few buildings later.

You cross your legs beneath yourself on the bed. “I’m excited to see what the finally look looks like.” You look at him like someone that is nothing less than adoring of him, because that's exactly what you are. Maybe more than a friend should be, but that's a conversation you haven't even had with yourself.

"I see you got some old school comics over here, too.” You turn to look at the brightly-colored, charmingly vintage comics fanned out on your bed. Comic heroes painted in bold colors and funky fonts cover the front page of the books in a way that definitely catches one's eye.

“Yeah, I found them at an antique store for like 5.99.”

“Oh, and..” Jermajesty takes a few steps back over to your bed to dig in the box again. Seconds later he pulls out another spider-themed costume, this one is schemed with pink, white and black and and has a more feminine shape but nothing too sultry.

“I got you this.” He holds the suit up for you to see, it's smaller than his, about your size and has a hood that matches the material of the rest of the costume. Inside the hood is the pattern of a spider web traced in lavender and filled in with pink.

He looks from behind the suit that he's holding up higher than his head, a shyness has softened the excitement on his face a tad. “I was thinking, you and me, Miles and Gwen, July 31?” His plush lips curl into a softer more nervous smile as he awaits your answer. Life had been so busy over the weeks of waiting to receive this package from the manufacturer; that he'd forgotten to tell you that he grafted you into his cosplay plan.

Your gaze scans over the costume he's holding, then to his, hopeful awaiting expression and you feel your heart melt. You gasp softly then pout your lips, flattered and feeling warm all over. “You got me a costume?” Your voice being an octave or two higher makes it obvious how endearing you find his gesture.

At first you poked your lip out jokingly; but the more you thought about the token of inclusion in combination with his eager expression, it became more real. Butterflies are making your stomach feel like its about to fly away.

His smile grows more confident at the tone of your voice, he's still holding the costume between his fingers. He thought that this would be cute and fun; costume of not, you've always been his Gwen anyway. “Yeah, wack?” He's only partially joking, just playing it safe in case you think this is totally cheesy behavior for adults to be engaging in.

Your brows furrow at his words, almost offended at the mere idea of him thinking that you wouldn't be down for something like this. This is the same man that you've binged the entire MCU with multiple times. You rise to your knees on the bed, clasping your hands together to display the sincerity in your heart. “No, that’s freakin cute! Yes, I will be your Spider-Gwen!”

The corners of Jer's eyes scrunch when he smiles ear-to-ear at your acceptance.

Micheal Jackson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Micheal adores how you allow yourself to express joy even over little things. For a man that everyone demands so much from, you're his favorite beach to lay on.

Tags: Fluff, Childhood Friends, Unspoken Feelings, Y/n and Latoya are Besties, Set in '78, Mutual Pining.

WC: 1.1k

The music in the club is loud and energetic. The voice carrying the lyrics is upbeat and groovy, the array of instruments carrying the tune has everyone's feet moving. Something about the liveliness of the music penetrates your spirit and makes you feel as if you're levitating. Like every move of your feet is while standing on the air and not the floor.

The vocals carry you, the beat moves you like it's teaching you how it express it best. The deep amber light glowing across the club invokes in the large space a feeling that only exists in ones dreams. A warm hue that carries the vibrance and vibration of every soul in the room beautifully.

The entire club from ceiling to floor is buzzing with an energy that has smiles beaming on every face around you, including your own. In fact, you haven't stopped smiling since you entered the place. The energy here is just like that, a consuming and infectious and joyful medley. People of different ages and backgrounds dancing with friends and even strangers like all is right with the world.

"Having fun, mama?" The familiar voice cuts through the loudness of the music and presses pause on your dance moves. When you turn around you're greeted with the bright smile and kind eyes of your friend Micheal. He had made his way through the tight crowd to find your whereabouts to check on you. But also because he felt it was about time to get his necessary fix of your pretty face. Both motivations equally drove him to take a break from gettin down to locate you.

He's dressed in a dark brown suit jacket under which is a cream-colored dress shirt with the collar flipped up. It's unbuttoned all but halfway to show his chest and the chain resting against his skin that's glowing a warm, copper color under the lighting. He wears energetic scenes like this well, his features make a beautiful canvas for disco lights.

Your lips turn upwards into a big smile, the kind that's only reserved for him. His eyes are practically sparkling like the energy around him has charged his social battery to max capacity. You haven't seen him in about an hour, the club is huge and packed. You came with him and his brothers and Latoya, you're best friend. He'd gone off with the boys and you and Toya had wandered through the crowd throughout the night together having fun and looking good as hell doing it.

"So much fun!" You smile, you're practically yelling so that he can hear you over the music. This place is for dancing your heart out after all, not meaningful conversations. Your eyes wander upwards from his face to his hair and you burst into laughter, a light, adoring sort of laugh. "Micheal!" Your laughter reaches your eyes as they squint with your beaming smile.

Your face bears the beauty of a glowing sunrise as Micheal's gaze dances around your features, searching for the cause of your sudden outburst of giggles. A playfulness glints in his eyes as he catches his bottom lip between his teeth shyly. Whenever you smile at him that larger-than-life energy that makes him a titan on stage melts into a boyish bashfulness. "What?" The question bubbles from his lips on the verge of laughter too, now.

"You've got so much confetti on your hair!" You laugh, the force of your giggles throws your head back with your laughter a bit. His hair is a big display of bouncy coils like the softness cloud you've ever seen; and atop sits a dusting of colorful confetti like it belongs there. Not just a single piece or even two, it's like his hair caught half of the confetti that had been dropped earlier. The funniest part to you is how casually he's been walking around with essentially sprinkles on his head.

Micheal laughs nearly as hard as you, the brightness of his smile makes you feel warm all over. For him, it's so refreshing to be around someone like you that allows yourself to express joy even over small things. In turn that means you never make him feel weird for being excited about something. "Really?! I can't see it!" He looks up towards his hair, but of course can't see what's got you so tickled.

He looks beyond adorable with all the flecks of color sprinkled atop his hair, and his cluelessness to that fact adds to it. "Aw, so cute!" You coo with your bottom lip poked out; extending both your arms to softly pat his hair back into a perfect round shape. You can't help but touch him. "It's like you've got a bunch of sprinkles on your head, Mike!" He stands there as you shape his coils but are also kind of petting him at the same time.

His expression becomes softer and visibly more shy at your touch and closeness. Your lips are deliciously plump and glistening with gloss and your perfume is sweet in his nose. Your off-the-shoulder shirt leaves your neck and shoulders for his eyes to feast on.

The way you touch him so softly and carefully makes him dizzy, the unreserved affection makes him buzz all over with warmth. It's like it's second nature for you, it's not something the two of you ever discussed. Your kindness just flows from you and washes all over him. You handle him with such care and do it so automatically that it touches him places that no one has ever touched.

He was a boy that was handled like a product and now a man that everyone except so much from. But with you, he's treated with the tenderness of a human being and every bit of it makes him melt so entirely.

"I'm glad you're amused." He smiles, his eyes observe every aspect of your face as you fix his hair. Your dark lashes, radiant skin and your warm eyes which are his favorite abode, you just don't know it yet. "Wanna dance, pretty?"

You finish fixing his hair, you removed a few pieces of confetti but nowhere near enough to be able to tell. "Of course." You beam that the proposal. Even though you've been friends since childhood, any opportunity to be close to him always unleashes legions of butterflies in your stomach.

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Summary: Anakin would do anything for you, things you could never even imagine.

Tags: Heavy Angst, Mentions of R*pe, Mentions of Blood and Violence, Descriptions of SA, Established Relationship, Protectiveness Bordering Possessiveness, Set between AOTC & ROTS.

Words: 2.8k

You're standing in the large room that is your sleeping quarters. Peering out of the floor-to-ceiling window that acts as one of the four walls in the space. A space that usually feels warm and secure like the safest place you can exist. But tonight an assailing chill that you can't seem to shake has wrapped around you; making even the safe haven of your bedroom feel dangerous.

Coruscant is a twinkling mix of dark indigo and various lights ranging from deep red to a golden hue of yellow. Some stemming from tens of windows cascading up the skyscrapers in your view. Others from the bright headlights of speeders whizzing by with somewhere to be. The darkened sky frames the flickering liveliness of the capitol city like the backdrop of an elaborate canvas.

It's a view that usually brings you such stillness, but tonight it's failing you miserably. You loathe that your usual remedy for anxiety is doing nothing. When the peril stems from within, it's harder to be soothed away by ones normal comforts.

Your arms are wrapped tightly around yourself as if you're giving yourself a hug. Or perhaps trying to shield yourself from a threat that is as of now, no longer present. The sodium in your flowing tears has long since caused a burning sensation to sting the surface of your cheeks. Crying has your throat feeling similarly awful.

Every shallow breath you inhale is ragged and doesn't feel to provide you with any oxygen at all. Your body is trembling all over with shakes that you can't stop. You're trying to, but there are deeper parts of you that can't seem to calm down no matter how hard you try to ground yourself.

It all happened so fast. One moment you were having a professional political meeting with one of the more-known senators here on Coruscant. Discussing serious matters such as separatist sympathizers infiltrating the cabinet and laundering funds to their coherts in the outer rim.

The next moment the older man had grabbed you and forced his lips deep into yours. In a blink of an eye the politician had taken you to the floor and was trying to hastily lift the skirt of your dress. All you could do is scream so loud and desperately that it scratched the inside of your throat like sand paper.

Seconds later Anakin and your personal guard burst into the room without hesitation. Disgusted to find one of Coruscants most-known senators on top of the princess of Naboo, pressing you into the carpet. One of his hands covering your mouth and clenching a fistful of your dress in the other.

The last thing you saw was Anakin and the guard rush towards you. Anakin, with one hand on the man's collar tore his body from weighing down yours. So harshly that he flew feet through the air and slammed into a wall across the room. Your personal guard Captain Typho quickly lifted you to your feet and escorted you to your room with such care. Ensuring you of your safety the entire time.

That's how you got here, meeting cut short and now standing alone in your room with guards outside. Hugging your arms around your frame hoping that will ease the tremors that feel to be coming from the deepest parts of you.

It's like your organs are shaking or convulsing with shock, you don't have the means to stop it. Your face burns with tears from wet sobs accompanied by dry coughs that burn your tight throat. The memory of what you experienced and almost experienced assaults your brain mercilessly.

The door to your bedroom swings open and you turn towards the noise with a gasp. Through your pink, teary eyes you see Anakin entering your room and the guards close the door behind him. His jaw is tight, his brow is low which adds a darker appearance to his green eyes. The last you saw of him was ten minutes ago when he threw that pervert off of you. He had stayed behind with the politician while Captain Typho led you out of the room.

Now he stands before you, towering even taller than he usually does in black boots that match the blackness of his Jedi garments. His hair falls in dark brown waves over his forehead and is more out of place than it was before your meeting.

The Jedi exhale deeply and hotly through his nostrils. His broad shoulders are tense under his black robes, his teeth grit against each other in his mouth. The smoldering heat of his blood is making his palms feel burning hot. Every pump of blood his heart expels he can feel vividly. The feeling creeps up his neck to paint his face a redder shade than usual. He's blinded by rage but through that blindness he can only see you.

His eyes scan over you and the sight of you so besides yourself tears him to pieces inside. It makes him wish that he could rewind time to get his vengeance on your attacker again and again. "Y/n, are you alright?" He asks in a low voice, there's a growl in it that's not meant for you but is left over from where he was minutes ago.

You swallow down your tears thickly. "I am unharmed." You breathe, a true statement but one that only refers to you physically.

Anakin lowers his head as if contemplation overtakes him, or he's trying to wrestle something within him back into its cage. The Jedi seconds later looks at you from beneath his lowered brow. A dark veil shades the green of his eyes a darker shade of the color. "Did he?--" He begins a question that he can barely mouth, let alone bear to hear what the answer to it could be.

"No." You cut him off, you don't want to hear the rest of the question and he didn't want to finish it.

Anakin runs his hand across his jaw as if to knead the tension there away and that's when you see them, his knuckles. Raw, bloody and already brushing a mix of crimson and purple among the rest of his ivory skin. Your puffy eyes widen at the grisly sight, staying there until it's settled in your brain and registered.

Your eyes then flick upward to where you find three dark droplets of blood on the side of his neck. More like splatters of blood, as if the fluid made contact with his skin with some force behind it. The deep red of the blood stands out against his skin like drops of wine in a glass of milk.

Your stomach turns with an even greater feeling of nausea than before. It's awful how quickly your mind puts the grim pieces together. Your gaze rises from the blood to his eyes slowly, as if you're now afraid of what you'll see looking back at you. Like one slowly opening a door on the other side of which is a revelation they're not ready to have. "Anakin, what did you do?" Your voice is slightly hoarse and breathless like you're trying to keep your bile in your stomach.

He hears the bass in your voice and sees the heartbroken mix of hope and horror swirling in your teary eyes. For only a moment he searches your expression, looking for something he knows how to respond to and finds nothing. "I handled it." His words are angry but sure, one emotion he feels at the situation and the other he feels about how he handled it. His tone is stern like the final period at the end of a sentence that he doesn't want you to move.

He turns his back to you to face anything other than how you're looking at him. He doesn't wish that what he did was different. He wishes that the reaction from others when he does what he deems necessary would be different. He wishes that you of all people would see things his way.

With haste you circle around to be face-to-face with the towering Jedi again. "What did you do?!" You beg for an answer so that you can either be freed from your sick suspicion or fall apart properly over everything that's happened. Your eyes are wide and glossy as you look up at him.

He never planned on telling you because it's over with, handled, he made sure you're safe and the perpetrator was dealt with. He'd done everything he wanted and needed to do it. Telling you would only cause distress that he seems to be the only one who can see you needn't have over his methods. What is the point of strength if it's never executed?

Anakin holds your glossy gaze with a dutiful expression that's darker in nature than any other Jedi. "He behaved like an animal, so I slaughtered him like one." He confesses, his tone is calm, cold and smoldering with anger beneath the surface at once. But regret is entirely absent. His face bears no expression that matches what he just said.

There's almost a glint of dignity in his eyes as if he'd made a choice none other had the boldness to make. It's a look that horrifies you, a shimmer among darkness that indicates the path he's on like a turning signal.

His eyes are so intense they almost burn you, but are unwavering in his choice. The calmness with which he admits to such a thing instantly erects goosebumps across your skin. Your ears begin to ring like you've taken a blow to the head. "Anakin—" You gasp, the floor begins to spin under your feet. His confession registers, then registers again, then feels like an onslaught of assaults on every part of you. Your eyes dart around his face in horror but find no semblance of anything other than a surety that stems from deep within him.

The horror in your voice pricks him, you don't understand the obligation that comes with strength, but he wishes you would. Love is protection and this is his love and your rejection of what that looks like confounds him. He did what was necessary, the council wouldn't dare convict such a powerful senator anyway. If one has the power to bring about justice, shouldn't they?

He speaks his justification before you can pour out your dismay. "He tried to rape you y/n, I saw it with my own eyes!" He reasons, he's yelling now, trying to get you to see. He says it as if you grasping that detail will cause you to justify his actions along with him.

The fire that was smoldering beneath his composure is breaking through the cracks before your eyes. "What was I supposed to do, let him finish the job? Let him get away with it to try the same thing with another woman?!". He knows that you don't want that, so why can't you see?

That what you look at with horror is what being willing to do anything for someone looks like? That this is the sacrifice of love and he's willing to make that sacrifice every time even if it means staining his hands with blood?

The fire in his eyes is wilder now, willing to burn all things and leave you unscathed. You're the only person that sees him like nobody else does but your inability to see him on this exasperates him. It's like loving someone that wants you to let them get hurt, even though he has the power to make sure no one ever hurts you again.

Your face reflects pure heartbreak as you watch him stalk back and forth, roaring out such words. He sees absolutely nothing wrong with what he did and it's so clear that it knocks the wind out of you. It was easy for him and fits his morality to the point of being declared through loud justifications from his mouth; not even pretend regret. This man you love wears the garments of a murderer and he let them fit him perfectly.

You want to explode into a wet puddle of sobs but you know the pain of fully letting your emotions go will be excruciating. "I didn't expect you to—I didn't think you would--" You choke on your sobs, eyes darting back and forth towards the floor in search of words you never find.

He stops stalking back and forth atop the carpeted floor and looks at you. "Are you upset, that he's dead?" He half wants to understand and half wants you to hear yourself. He wants you to hear the ridiculousness of you saying you're upset that the man that tried to force his penis inside of you is now in five pieces. Then maybe you'll wake up and collapse into his open arms and let him be the protector he's willing to be for you.

Your stomach lurches like a stress reflex, you feel like you're about to vomit. The stress of events that have happened in just the last twenty minutes have become too much. "Please, Anakin." You just want him to be quiet so the blaring chaos in your brain can stop. You'll surely collapse under the weight of his confession and everything else that's transpired. A single hand clutches your turning stomach through the material of your dress as you step away from him in a daze.

His eyes follow you puzzled as you walk away to lean against the window. One hand outstretched, planted against the clean glass. The sparkling lights of the city on the other side of the glass reflect on your hair.

He didn't expect you to worship him, but he did think that swift justice being delivered to your perverted attacker would bring you some comfort. As apposed to you having to work along side the man when he goes unconvicted and have to pretend that nothing happened.

"He was a monster, y/n." He speaks to your back and you say nothing in response. He doesn't wish to convince you, he wants you to open your eyes and see his love and rational.

But rationalization in his tone, the nonchalance with which he speaks with another man's blood on him unnerves your every nerve. It makes you question everything.

He can't seem to see it, but everything he says is making you feel worse. Your head hangs weakly as you lean against the window. Too many things are swirling in your mind to deal with. A colleague tried to rape you and the weight of having a lover that will kill for you without hesitation suffocates you.

After a few deep breaths, you don't feel any less sick but you turn to face him again. "I don't care that such a vile man is dead, I care about the violent lengths you're willing to go to for me without hesitation. I care about where this leads for you, for us." You keep your voice as steady as possible but it's still weak with heartbreak. Hot streaming tears haven't given your face a chance to dry in nearly half an hour.

Anakin crosses the floor to approach you while you plead with him through blurry eyes. "Anakin you cannot become this, this cannot become who you are!" The end of your sentence spills into a messy sob as he stops right in front of you. The tip of his boots nearly touching the tips of your shoes.

His gaze is tender towards your distress that he wishes to sop up and lock away. But the weight of murder isn't weighing on him at all. In fact it's nowhere to be seen. The Coruscant skyline acts as the backdrop for a conversation that you never thought you'd be having.

Anakin exhales a deep breath and the heat of it blows across your skin. He raises both of his large hands to softly cup your tear-soaked face. Your cheeks are burning and stained with every negative emotion in liquid form. "I am, this. Only for you." He speaks what he believes is assurance. Almost whispering across your face while gently angling you up to hold his gaze that bores into you.

The tone carrying his words is an impregnable fortress that will never waver or hesitate. Just a glimmer of regret would give you hope that he isn't spiraling into darkness, but such regret isn't there.

His height shields you, the broadness of his chest holds you and his thumbs brush the flow of tears from your cheeks. "I will never let anyone hurt you, ever." He murmurs. The lowness of his brow and darkened seriousness of his eyes proclaim his dedication to committing whatever act he must to preserve your safety.

When it comes to being the woman that Anakin Skywalker breaths for, that means things you can't even imagine.

David!Clark Kent x Reader

Synopsis: You think your boyfriend has a praise kink and seek to confirm your suspicion.

Tags: Clark has a praise kink, Established Relationship, Slight Suggestive Material, Reference to Sexual Themes.

WC: 1.5k

Clark finds you in the kitchen, watering your plants while wearing one of his t-shirts that's so big it reaches past your knees. The golden sunlight shining through the kitchen window casts a halo of sorts around your figure.

His eyes immediately find your bare, smooth legs extending from under his shirt. Your hair is loose and free, fitting the slow Sunday evening. "An iced latte with oat milk and two pumps of vanilla for the missus." You turn from your plants at the sound of his voice, deep and familiar.

Clark hands you a medium sized coffee that fills the clear plastic cup holding it with beautiful swirls of dark espresso and creamy white milk.

He stands before you in the doorway of the kitchen with his head nearly touching the door frame. The softness of a smile dresses his face warmly. A plain white tee and soft, dark curls left unstyled on his day off give him a domestic appearance that you adore.

You smile first at his handsome face, then at the caffeinated token that handsome man has brought you.

In two steps across the wood floors you're chest-to-chest with him. Well, more like head-to-chest. Your hand absentmindedly brushes across his abdomen and snakes around his waist in one, caressing motion. The action comes naturally to you like reaching for him is second nature. "Thank you, baby." Your hands curls back around to softly rest atop his belly as you take the drink from him.

Your lips curl around the straw to take a sip. Robust espresso hits your tongue and your brain instantly lights up. The silkiness of the milk and the toasty vanilla blend with the rich coffee perfectly. You hum, eyes closed in delight as the cooling drink goes down.

When your eyes flutter back open, he's already looking at you, more watching you. His blue eyes remain on your face like it's the sole painting in an art gallery. A soft smile curls the corners of his lips upwards but there's something else woven within his expression. As if he's enjoying you enjoying what he brought you but is still, expecting something.

His slowly runs his large hands down the outside of your arms, it's a secure, brushing feeling over your soft skin. "Good?" He asks, he knows you're a real coffee snob. He feels like bringing you one that you actually approve of is a boyfriend right of passage.

You look up at him from beneath your lashes. "So good." You smile around the straw when your lips go to take another savoring sip. "I'm so proud of you, Clark." The words leave your mouth once it's free from sucking your straw. Your tone is hot and sweet like caramelized sugar, though subtly. Laced with a calculated charm only to those who know what that sounds like in your voice.

You allow just enough of it to leave your tongue, enough to verbally mimic the barely-there touch of a feather that you'll see if he picks up on.

You and Clark have been together for two years now, and living together for nearly a year. It wasn’t long before you noticed the deep, crimson blush that would rise on his cheeks whenever you praise him. Whenever you tell him how proud you are of him while running your fingers through his dark hair.

You noticed the added glint that arises in his sparkling blue eyes at that specific kind of attention. He’d lose track of his words mid sentence or start to fumble over them like his mouth had gone dry.

Such a large man melting at your praise before your eyes. Displayed through a softened gaze and heat that spreads across his face in a light rosy dusting. He never said anything about liking it specifically, but it’s painfully obvious.

Clark’s ears perk up at your words like a canine whose favorite word was just uttered, his brow raising slightly. The sudden verbal applause was unexpected just for getting you coffee but never unwelcome. He swallows thickly, thinking and maybe hoping that you didn’t notice that, but warmth is already creeping up his neck.

"Proud of me? I hope you don't think I'm that incapable." He jokes with a husky laugh that’s accompanied by an amused but slightly confused smile. Little do you know your words are still perched in his ears and echoing down to his bones. Such praise penetrates his cells and affects his blood like wine making him dizzy.

You try not to smile too big or too knowingly as to give your intentions away, but you do giggle at his jest. There’s that shift in his eyes, rising up like a curtain right on queue. You’ve discovered his hidden buttons and how to push them all without him even realizing. "Of course not, I just want you to know how proud of you I am." The same candied tone shivers down his spine carried on your bubbly giggle. 

The tips of his ears have turned a deep red, he can’t see it but you can. His face feels like he’s standing in front of an industrial heater. The lump in his throat bobs when tries his best to swallow what’s quickly rising in and overtaking him. "Proud of me, huh?" He’s a bit confused but wants you to say it again, even if he doesn’t know what’s got you in a praising mood.

His voice is softer and lower now and he didn’t mean for it to be. Like a spell is gradually seizing his focus and directing it solely on you and your words.

A rosy blush lightly tinges his cheeks and nose. He has no idea what you’re doing but the look in your eye is one that he usually only sees after dark. It scares him and enthralls him at once because he's unsure if he can handle what is to come of it. The echo of your words sends a buzzing sensation from the top of his head, down to his feet and back up again like a flowing current of electricity. 

He’s a mess now, he’s doing a decent job at hiding it but to someone who is very well versed in his expressions, you can see it. The muscles in his face rest looser and unguarded and disarmed completely. His lips have begun to poke out ever so slightly, just barely.

You try not to smirk, reaching your hand out to gently hold his face and stroke his cheek with your thumb. "So proud, you're such a good boy." You coo, you’re laying it on thick now, your lashes bat so coyly its sinful. You keep your mischievous enjoyment of this from showing on your face, instead you keep your expression soft and sincere.

He likes when you tease him while seemingly not knowing that you're doing it. Like he's spying in or being perv whose mind is in the gutter. Another thing he never verbalized, but you've noticed. Let him think he's being bad by sexualizing your lips curling around a strawberry or you being bent over doing laundry and he's a goner.

Your palm is hot against his cheek and watching the praise leave your plush lips makes his heart race.  His pupils are blown to black nearly engulfing the baby blue surrounding them. He nods into your hand unreservedly, burying his face deeper into your skin where you’re connected.

Just like that he needs more of you and would do anything for you to tell him what a good boy he is again. His eyes flutter closed as he hums like he can't take your teasing anymore. The sound is soft and vulnerable and borders on a whimper towards the end. The bridge of his nose is rosy pink and his eyes are pinched shut.

He's so close to being breathless from just your words already. You stand on your toes to press a deep kiss to his lips. The kiss is quick but leaves no part of his mouth untouched by you. Your lips are softer than silk and smoldering with drive and when you pull away your taste remains in his mouth.

When your lips break away from each other his lids are much lower and his lips stay slightly puckered. Such a large man has become putty between your hands that are now both cupping his face softly. His expression bears the appearance of a drunken man.

You run one hand through his hair in slow strokes that curl his dark locks all between your fingers. "You're always such a good boy for me." Your murmur, your bottom lip poked out. You're just enjoying making him fall apart at this point and want to see how much he'll endure before he tells you that he likes this.

Another whine from him as his eyes roll closed again. Every nerve pulses at the sensation of your fingers gliding through his hair with just the right amount of force. "You noticed, huh?" He breathes, his breaths are hot and brush across your face with a quickened pace.

Your lips curl into a smile that's half adoring and half mischievous. "I did."

Summary: You hate Aerion Targaryen with every sliver of your soul and he knows it. But hatred is better than apathy. To ponder upon your disdain for him is better than to not ponder on him at all.

Tags: Enemies to Lovers (kinda), Y/n hates his as*, Unrequited Love, Slight Suggestive Material, Aerion likes her Chest, Dub Con if you Squint.

Words: 1.5k

"I hate you." The words feel like burning bile rising from your throat, and sound like spitting in ones face. The fire in your belly pushes them from your lips with greater surety than you've ever said anything. Your words are not yelled, they're hissed like a curse and spat like venom. You hate him, your face has mastered the way it twists with loathing to a depth that's only for him.

You don't yell, you want him to hear that this is your soul's truth and not some rash outburst. A declaration as solidified as the turning of the seasons, not a wavering emotion.

The snow-haired prince looks at you, his lips are closed but his jaw carries no visible tightness. The white hairs making up his brows are low, focused in a way that casts unreadable expression across his ivory face. "I know." He doesn't whisper but his voice is low, unwavering.

He knows that you hate him, it sits on his tongue bitter and sweet because to hate someone is the opposite of indifference. But he knows that you hate him, that a look from you has never not burned him. That your presence strangles him, it doesn't hold him.

His violet eyes crackle with a fire that's smoldering--existing rather than burning. Your words don't penetrate. They're heard, but how can one penetrate a place where they already live? He's already drunken you down. Everything he feels circles back to reminding him that any space you could take up within him you've already taken. No greater fire ignites in him at your declaration of hatred, none greater than what exists in him by default.

He sees clearly the disdain in your eyes, your flared nostrils and the heat of loathing on your face. But the daggers from your lips have no effect on him. Even the pain you seek to inflict upon him brings him greater pleasure than wine. You have no power to change that. You are the marrow in his bones, your words have no space to ripple in the blood beneath his skin.

You don't require or desire a reaction, you want him to hear you and hear you well. You don't want to go back and forth, you want this arrogant, monster of a man to drink down the understanding that you despise him. Through his pride, through his delusions of grandeur, your eyes and hatred cut and disregard.

Heat pricks the tips of your ears with a disdain that has consumed you to the point of assimilating into your nature. But a tingle of satisfaction blows across your face like a breeze at his words.

I know.

Good.

The makings of your chest feel to strength just from you uttering the confession of your hatred aloud. Aerion stands there before you, without movement, without speaking. His face is unreadable like fresh snow in which no tracks have been made. His lack of reaction doesn't enrage you, it makes you feel powerful that you have hushed the man who believes himself to be a god. This is no debate. You will cut him, how deep you don't truly care. You live to plant the sore in his mind that he has not conquered all.

Your shoulders go from being slightly low under the weight of your hatred, to growing to a greater strength. You wish to declare, clear and true and you have him here, lending you his ear for reasons that you couldn't care less about.

Your posture straightens, he's used to people cowering at him, just you not fearing him is an act of defiance. "I simply cannot stand your existence and the cruelty that you bring to this world." Your tongue lashes the words deep. "I hate you." You whisper, because words spoken that way slip into ones bones easier. Your eyes narrow into his as you speak.

He finally steps closer to you, two heavy steps atop the stone floors as he approaches, stopping arms length away. "Tell me how much." He holds your gaze, no matter how hateful, the burn of your eyes brand him. His body is a wall of stone and ice that offers no one a glint of intimidation; but his eyes, his eyes are loud. He looks down at you with a flicker dancing in the violet of them that reads as amusement but stops short of enjoyment.

No anger radiates from his pores, no pique rises from him like vapor. His eyes pave a place for you that none other can walk. Your voice speaks to him through the wind and waves. Whether declaring hate like a whips lashes or love in his dreams, it all meshes into a bucket that you could never fill more. Your anger is a drop in the ocean of your existence that he swims in without say and has long since given into.

Your lips hang agape for the shortest second, taken aback by the tone he's choosing to take. Like a man playing with a meal that he plans on eating anyway; a sweet poison he's accepted that he's going to drink. His voice purrs more than you'd like. You don't care if he screams or cries or kills himself because of your words but how dare he get aroused by them.

A new glint in his eyes, a warmer thrill in his throaty voice that makes your stomach nauseous.

Your throat begins to tighten with pricking pain, you want to break him. You want to pound him to powder, you want to wash his memory from every corner of your brain they've stained. A heat rises to your face that accompanies a wildness in your widened pupils. The combination makes you look like a woman maddened with a legion of spirits. A spirit of contempt that only he can call to the surface.

Your bust heaves, your face twists with disgust at his lowered eyes and purring voice. "So much it makes me mad! So much my blood feels to boil beneath my skin when you breathe, I hate you, Aerion!" Your voice screeches, your body declares your hatred as your arms flail in the air left and right as if you're showing the expanse of your disdain.

You rehearse the words like a poem you wrote thousands of years ago. As if you've had centuries to contemplate the words, of which every syllable is true.

As widened as your eyes are, rage fills too many parts of your brain like tainted wine for you to regard how he's creeping closer to you. Inching, like he's being drawn in and his feet are no longer touching the ground. Your voice bounces from the ceiling, the scratch of how harshly you spit your words could crack glass. But he's drifting nearer, and nearer and you drift not back like a mountain that refuses to crumble to an earthquake.

With every syllable you speak, he comes closer, one would think you to be a siren.

Then once he's close enough that a deep breath from you would bless him with the brush of your breasts, he seizes you. A quick snake of his strong arm around your waist and you're pulled flush against him. Your heels lift from the ground and he savors the moment the plushness of your breasts touch him.

Your breath is snatched from your lungs from the way your body slams into his. He seizes your body like you're a part of his soul that's drifted away. His arms curls around your waist, holding you across your back and leaving his fingers to press into your abdomen. "You make me mad." His eyes are low, his words are hot and spill from his mouth like a drunken man.

Then his lips crash into yours, hot and slick and with a ravenous thirst that steals your breath from your lungs. You try to gasp for air against his mouth but every breath he ingests into his lungs. He feels your bust heaving against him and pulls your tighter into his chest to feel you through his clothes and yours.

The prince's strength holds you against him effortlessly, he bruises your mouth with wet open-mouthed kisses. His tongue is burning hot and slick as he twirls the muscle over every corner of your open mouth. He presses his lips into yours with such depth that you can barely feel where your mouth ends and his begins.

When he pulls away, you're gasping to fill your lungs again. Your eyes are still alight with a now even greater rage but a haze now filters it.

Aerion doesn't pull far enough away for your warmth to leave him, his swollen lips hovering over yours. "I'd rather be the object of your hate than your apathy." He breathes the admission hot over your skin and it reeks of masochism and poor taste. The selfish, twisted logic of a man consumed by your being but unable to accept no for an answer.

He drives you mad, and he knows it. To believe that you'll ever love him is a dream that his madness for you mutated long ago. You hate him and it enthralls him; because hatred still has a place carved out for him in your mind. Even if love never will.

Micheal Jackson x Reader

Summary: Celebrating the 4th at the Jackson residence is always a blast. Great music, great food and lots of laughter. When you and Micheal have a moment alone in the kitchen, he gets the boldness to do something that he's wanted to do for years.

Tags: Pure Fluff, Reader & Mike are 19, First Love, Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends/Crush, Flirting, Mutual Pining, Slight Sexual/Suggestive Themes.

Word Count: 2.4k

July 4, 1978

The scent being carried on the warm breeze is the very epitome of summer. If whatever good memories smell like had to be summarized, it would be like this. The air is hot and dressed in notes of chlorine, grass and the smoky scent of various meat being grilled to perfection.

The breeze blows through the open window in the kitchen that's facing the large pool outside; bringing the already nostalgic combination of all of aromas to your nose.

That's what the breeze carries inside the kitchen from outside, the kitchen itself smells different, if not better. Various serving dishes, large plates and family sized bowls are beautifully arrayed atop the large counter top. All of the dishes apart from the aluminum ones are various combinations of red, white and blue.

For the last few hours you've been helping Mrs. Jackson put together different dishes for the cookout. You helped cut the potatoes for the potato salad, seasoned the wings, made the baked beans and handed her whatever she needed when she asked.

You felt flattered that she viewed your skills as good enough to help her throw together everything, especially in her kitchen. Between stirs of collard greens and tasting mac and cheese, she'd show you how to do this or why not to use too much of that. She's a traditional woman, and has been like a second mother to you your whole life.

The primary scent floating around the kitchen is that of barbecue sauce and the creamy sweetness of the banana pudding that you're currently finishing up. Rich layers of fluffy whipped cream, golden cookies and pale yellow pudding climb layer upon layer in the beautiful glass dish in front of you.

The sound of the backdoor swinging open causes you to look up from adding the last few crumbles of vanilla wafers to the pudding. When you look up, you see Micheal already entering the kitchen with a bright smile on his face; that's his usual expression whenever he lays eyes on you, he can't help it.

His heart skipped when he realized that you're by yourself, he's wanted your attention to himself all day. Between you so kindly helping his mom and fighting off Marlon and Jermaine that kept begging for premature samples; the two of you haven't shared a words since he opened the door to let you in earlier.

His skin is a beautiful, deep sunkissed bronze and his hair indicates clearly that he hasn't been in the pool yet. He's wearing red swim shorts and a pale blue button-up shirt that he's left unbuttoned; leaving his slender but toned chest exposed to your eyes.

Your lips curl into a warm smile, the type of smile that you only flash at him. Of course you love his brothers, they've been like your brothers since you all were little, but being around Micheal ignites a different warmth in your chest. It's deeper and harder to control. "Hey, Mike!" Your gladness to see him finally is evident by your chipper tone.

Micheal leans on the counter top on crossed arms, his eyes scanning over the array of fresh food. "How's it, mama? How's everything coming along?" His eyes quickly come back to yours after he's done admiring how delicious everything looks. You look better than all of it, though. Pretty skin that glistens even in indoor lighting and your hair shines with that stuff he loves the smell of.

You let out a sigh that sounds like a satisfying job-well-done. "Good, good." You untie your apron from behind your back without missing a beat and place it on the counter. "Everything is almost finished, well, in here. Jackie's on the grill taking care of the proteins." You inform him as you step to grab something out of the cutlery drawer.

Micheal's gaze follows you across the kitchen, he doesn't want to miss a single one of your movements. The thing is, he doesn't even realize that he's doing this, at least, not anymore. It's a habit that he'd developed at some point over the course of your friendship. His eyes are always on you, even in a crowd of people.

If you're speaking, there might as well be nobody else in the room. You've never known anyone to make eye contact like he does when you're saying anything, literally anything. He'll hold your gaze like a warm hug for minutes on end, only breaking to dance around your features, then back to your eyes.

You noticed this habit, but you thought it was just Mike being Mike. His brother noticed this habit, and jest among themselves about how far gone their brother is for the pretty neighbor girl.

You lean against the counter on your hip in front of him. It feels good to take a break after playing chef since eleven this morning. It was fun and enriching, but now you can get back to being a nineteen year old on the fourth of July.

"Yeah, he just told me that he's finishing up the first round of meat. He doesn't wanna make everything at once, then stuff will be sittin." Micheal says, his eyes scan over the food again and he's pretty sure he feels his stomach grumble.

"Okay, great!" Jackie had insisted that grilling is 'mans work' when he took the tray of burgers and hot dogs from you earlier; so you're glad to hear that everything went well and according to schedule.

"This all looks amazing, y/n." Mike's voice is soft and genuine, there's a hum of awe and pride in his voice that you inspire more often than you know. You follow his gaze to look over and admire everything. The watermelon is the most alluring shade of red and everything carries a freshly-made shine that makes both your mouths water.

Something flutters in your stomach and your lips break in a smile, a softer, more shy one. He's so giving when it comes to praise, and it never feels shallow or performative. It's the way he'll intently hold your gaze and speak such affirmation from his heart right into your ears. His voice becomes lower and softer like he's speaking from the deepest depths of himself.

You took a moment to take in the beauty of his face; a moment that you didn't realize you took because time feels relative around him. "Thanks." You smile softly, and it warms him all over like sunshine.

"Taste!" Before Micheal could say anything you'd shoved a spoon past him lips. A generous spoon of banana pudding entered his mouth before he knew what hit him or where you were even hiding that spoon.

Surprise melted into sugar-induced euphoria as the flavors spread over his tongue. Drowning every taste bud in rich creamy whipped cream that carries the texture of silk. The flavor of banana takes him to the islands in his mind and the crumble on top adds just enough salt to tie it all together beautifully.

His eyes flutter closed to focus all of his senses on the perfection you'd just forced into his mouth and you smile at the sight. The man has no idea how adorable he is. The way he hums with pleasure is the first audible sign you have that he likes the dessert.

"You like?" Your cheeks would hurt from smiling if smiling at him wasn't your favorite thing to do.

Micheal's eyes shoot open, widened with excitement and sparkling. He looks like a man that's struck gold. "Whew!" That sample was too good for only words to sum it up, he had to throw some hoopin and hollerin in there. "More than like!" His tongue cleans every last drop from inside his mouth; swiping the cream that got left above his teeth and the bit of pudding on the corner of his lips too.

The way his face lights up to praise you causes a warmth to spread throughout your chest. You esteem him so highly that him showing enjoyment in anything you do or create feels beyond nice. His smile is so bright and his eyes make you feel more seen than anyone else's.

You dig the tablespoon back into the little bowl of banana pudding that you'd set aside for the purpose of taste-testing. You put the spoon into your mouth to taste your work.

Mike watches the same spoon that was just in his mouth enter yours in slow motion; the way your slick tongue glides across the bottom of it to turn the spoon over onto your taste buds. His gaze is practically in your mouth, he didn't realize you're comfortable sharing like that. His eyes become glazed over as his mind drifts to the idea of his slick mixing with yours in your mouth. He didn't realize how he bit his lip at that.

Neither did you because your eyes are currently closed in ecstasy. The pudding is refreshingly cool, the cream is the creamiest you've ever had. The banana flavor is fresh and strong enough for you to smell it through your nose. "Mmm." You hum as your lips curl into a closed smile while your tongue licks the remaining sweetness off of your teeth.

You swallow the sample down after savoring it all you could and your lips open with a satisfied smack. Micheal, on the other hand, is lost in watching your tongue lick the silver spoon totally clean. Fortunately for him, his rich complexion hides the flush that rises to his cheeks. Your tongue curls around the spoon, leaving wetness in its wake that he wonders the taste of.

He forces his mind back to the less obscene things. Because it would be weird to escape to take a cold shower at this point in the afternoon and the material of his swim shorts isn't the thickest.

You analyse the flavors and textures that you just ingested, searching for anything that needs to be tweaked. "I'm glad the banana came through, I was afraid it would taste too vanilla-y." You remark, before licking one last bit of cream from the back of the spoon.

Micheal resists the urge to clear his throat, that would make it more obvious how watching you open-mouth lick that spoon is affecting him. "It's perfect, you nailed it." He praises you once more with a smile that's somehow softer but from an even deeper place. His blinks are slow when he looks at you. His heart finds a way to express itself through his mannerisms even if his mouth won't say the words.

Micheal's round, doe eyes radiate a warmth that you're very comfortable in and his lids are lower than they probably should be. His voice sounds like a purr, like warm honey makes your skin buzz all over.

You hadn't previously realized how close the two of you are standing to each other because it felt so natural. It's as if your bodies put the two of you here subconsciously because it just felt right. There's only a few inches between the tips of his toes and yours.

Your eyes finally meet his again after having been squinted in concentration as you were looking for any needed alterations to your dish; of which, you found none.

You look up at him from beneath your lashes, and there's that feeling. A feeling that's been hovering between the two of you for years but goes unacknowledged. Neither of you is sure if the other feels it too, but it feels like lightning crackling throughout your body and the highest high at once. It's magnetic and overwhelming and buzzing with something that's kept you up at night since you were thirteen.

Micheal clears his throat, the back of his neck grows warm at the proximity. The top of your head stops at his collarbone, the sweet scent of your hair is making him dizzy and his knees weak. Damn it, he can survive swarms of screaming fans but if you so much as look at him he's a goner.

Everything that's happened in the last five minutes starts to hit him at once and he feels himself getting shy. He presses his lips together, a subtle indicator of his rising bashfulness. "You got some--" Micheal softly points to a bit of whipped cream that's left on the corner of your pretty lips.

Your eyes widen when you get the message. “Oh.” You gasp, you quickly turn towards the counter to grab something to wipe your face. Before you can find a napkin you feel the heat of Micheal’s lips kiss the dessert from the corner of your lips.

He leaned in, quickly before the boldness left him, and kissed the cream from where your lips meet your cheek. Two pecks and his plush lips had mopped it all up. He wanted to use his tongue but has sense enough not to. It was fast and soft and sweetly shy. The heat of his mouth lingered even when he pulled away and when he did your face is now clean again. 

It happened so fast you feel like a deer in headlights. You blink at him in shock, mouth agape but curling into a smile and your eyes sparkling a bit brighter. “Wow.” Is all that you can say, you’re beyond surprised but not unpleasantly. Your heart rate has definitely increased and your ears feel like they’re on fire.

You tilt your head to the side playfully. “Feeling bold today, Mikey?” There’s a teasing sarcasm in your voice that’s lowered with something meant for after sunset. Your big smile beams all the way to your eyes and bears the slightest resemblance to a smirk. 

Micheal flashes a bashful smile, the softness of your skin already feels to be tattooed onto his lips. He lets out a shy laugh that’s more breathy than usual as he looks down at his feet. He feels like he’s burning up all over.

Self-awareness hits him and just like that he's terrified that maybe he shouldn't have done that. He just thought, well, he's not sure what he was thinking. “It’s just so good, I didn’t want to waste any.” He chuckles, catching his lip nervously between his teeth as he rubs the back of his neck.

His big brown eyes flick back up at you from under his dark lashes. "Was that okay?" He asks softly, and you can't see it but he's practically holding his breath. That was either the greatest completed pass or greatest fumble of his life.

You pause and take in how his features have become shrouded in a boyish nervousness that makes your heart ache. Your lips curl into a smile. "I'll allow it."