blkgirlsneedlove2

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

hiiii lovely!! okay i have a request idea, totally up to you if you're down to do it! but could i ask for some daddy kink damian being super sweet and soft and adoring and protective of his girl? 💕 i have such a soft spot for big bad damian being the most devoted sweetheart with his girl everywhere they go and in everything they do 🥰🥰 oooh also bonus points if she's a plus size queen!!

Adore

Damian Priest x Chubby!fem!reader | 1.4k words | 18+ ONLY, smut and fluff

A/N: Sorry this took me so long, friend! I've been in a rabbit hole with my other hyperfixations (mostly Hangman Adam Page...blame @joannasteez, lol), but I always have time for Papi. 🥹 I hope you like it. 🫶🏾

Something as sweet as you deserved tender bites. Teeth grazing along the thick flesh of your thighs, his hands holding them nice and open, long, strong fingers pressed firm to your skin. His tongue lapping at the little mark he’d made at your inner right one, feeling you quiver just a bit. He couldn’t help but smirk because he thought you liked when he was just a bit rough with you. His deep brown eyes looked up at you from behind his clear-framed aviators, making you look back with low lids and a pout on your lips before you licked them...

“Too hard,” you fussed in a whisper, hands above your head to grip the pillow underneath you. You felt tightly wound in your bones? Your chest and cute, pudgy tummy pulled in with a breath you’ve yet to release as Damian’s little nips and laps of tongue kept inching closer to where you needed him most. His eyes when they left yours would trail over it, pink and pretty and glistening just from his hands on you, his mouth on your skin. That mouth of his kissing up to your belly now, soft on your skin, soft enough that you finally exhaled a small whimper as you locked eyes again.

“My bad, baby. Daddy’s too rough?” his voice seeped into you, the bass of it making you quiver again in his grip. You nodded before your head tilted back onto the pillow as he lingered his lips on you with more kisses going south, dragging along your skin as he murmured, “I’m sorry…I’ll be more gentle…promise.”

His mouth open and warm as he covered your pretty little slit with it, his breath just as delicate on you before his tongue coated itself with your flavor you’d been saving just for him. The work week was long and tiring, his work week stretching into weeks and leaving you home to relax alone and satisfy yourself with pink, french-tipped nails or pink toys that were almost shaped like him…but nothing was better than the real thing. And you knew Damian felt the same as he groaned on you, lips closing carefully around your sweet spot as his tongue washed over you in small, slow circles before he mumbled into you, “This gentle enough, baby? Mmh…taste so sweet.”

“Yeahh, daddy,” you mumbled back almost instantly, the tightness in your body making a comeback but not from him being too hard…because maybe now you wanted him to bury his tongue into you just a little, tiny bit harder. Because the longer he held your thighs in his massive hands, pushing and pinning them back almost to your chest to keep your pretty pussy open for him to adore, to curl his tongue around, the closer you felt that tight coil weaving together in your tummy. “More…please.” Your hips bucked up just once, trying to hold yourself up to his mouth so he could devour you right there…Damian obliged without losing his rhythm, his palms slipping from the backs of your thighs to beneath your bottom so he could stay right there.

And you fell apart not long after, the quivering, the tightness in a hot intensity that made you feel both whole and unravelled at once…melting under his mouth, in it, your eyes falling shut when you tried to keep your gaze on him watching you…his voice in your ears to talk you through his tongue tasting your slick folds. “There she goes…so good for me, baby. You still want more? Talk to daddy.”

Where your breath was supposed to spill, only moans dribbled out, your eyes fluttering as you tried to come back down to earth, Damian doing his best to help with his hands smoothing up to your hips as he kissed softly on the mess he made of you. You tried to focus, glancing down at him and the lens of his glasses a bit fogged from your heat, from him making you hotter, his bulky shoulder muscles between your thighs before he started to move up your body, kissing along your belly and talking to you still…“C’mon, baby. Tell me…what do you need?”

It was only when Damian’s hands reached around your plush body sunken into the sheets to hold you, letting one hand slide up and take a handful of your hair at the back of your head to guide your lips to his, it was then your moans finally morphed into little mewls on his mouth. “Need you in me.” Your hands found him, too, and thighs, cinching around his back and waist, respectively, as he kissed you like he was still hungry, growling quietly at your words. You let out a little hiss to feel the tip of him nudged at your slick, but it was more of a pout forming at your mouth again when you also felt the barrier of his cotton boxer briefs. “Off, please,” your small voice rang out the command as your hands were already finding the hem of his underwear to tug, making him breathe a chuckle on your cheek.

“Yes, ma’am.” He writhed his hips a bit to help you pull them down before he handled the rest, tossing them to the floor but not crawling back between your thighs as you laid there more than ready, a pretty fingernail tip tucked between your teeth as you watched the length of move with him. Thick and thicker towards the tip, pretty brown that he wrapped his fingers around with a thumb gliding over the slit to catch how you turned him on looking at him like that, stroking carefully as he sat on his knees in front of you. His other hand lightly tapped your thigh before he bellowed a soft command back to you. “Get on your knees, baby.”

And you didn’t need further guidance, your chest and tummy pulling in once more with an excited breath as you got on all fours. Your hair fell over your shoulders and to the pillow in front of your face before Damian ran a hand up your back to grab hold of it and make you arch your back when he tugged. “So pretty…” he groaned when you felt his tip nudge to you again but bare and warm and you moaned sweetly in his ears. “This what you need, baby?” His words nearly got lost in your whines as he pushed in the first few inches, letting him feel how soft and wet and easy to stretch you were. You felt yourself clench around him as a sob escaped you…and then another when he smacked a heavy palm to your bottom before he held it there, holding you open as he got deep enough to thrust.

“Yess…mm, yes, daddy...more.” He fed your greedy, little whines with exactly what you needed, thrusting in slowly so he could feel your pussy pulling at him with each stroke…before he sank in to the hilt…just so you could feel him in your stomach. “Fuck…!”

“Like that, baby? Yeah?” Damian moaned, jaw clenching with his hands gently grasping you by your waist instead of your hair. He needed to keep you in place somehow when you tried to squirm towards the headboard. He wouldn’t let you get away that easily, not when that was what his baby wanted…long strokes that made your knees weak and your moans noisy as your fingernails rasped at the sheets. 

“Mmhh…just like that…oh, god,” you cried as his thrusts kneaded down onto a tender spot. Now your cries soaked into your pillow as your mouth pressed to it, your eyes fluttering about again before they rolled back when you felt Damian pumping slow, short thrusts, hitting deep, finding your spot over and over…“Close, daddy…I’m close.”

“I know, baby…you gonna let me have it?” And if it wasn’t the tight, beautiful knot in your tummy being knocked loose with his careful strokes, it was the slight waver in the depths of his beautiful voice that told you he was right behind you. His pleasure feeling like your own when you both moaned at the same time, letting yourself fall apart again, letting him fall against you with his warm, strong body as he skimmed his lips on your shoulder, kisses and heavy breaths that told you he loved you and how pretty you were and how good you felt.

He felt just as good, better, pulling you to him to cuddle in the steamy suds of the bathtub. Your back to his chest and his heartbeat on your skin as he tucked his nose to your neck. The bubble bath fragrance was something sweet like you, filling your nose as you closed your eyes, but Damian could only focus on his sweet thing. Lips tender on your skin that made you yearn to be adored all over again.

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

WANT • YOU • BAD

pearline x fem reader x annie

summary: pearline and reader are a couple and friends with annie, but the two come to an agreement that the feelings they share for her are far from friendly. when at the woman’s home one night, they confess their desires and a delightful night ensues.

cw: smut, sub!bottom pearline, switch!vers annie, dom!top reader, threesome, face!sitting, no use of “y/n,”nothing crazyy

a/n: y’all. i’m too gay for this shit i fear. i started writing for smoke x annie and now i can’t handleee it. buttt i hope you enjoy :3. this is derived from letter w in my pearline NSFW! ALPHABET!

masterlist

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“You ready to go, baby,” Pearline asks you, snaking her arms around your torso as you check over your reflection in the mirror. Her voice is warm—steadying. Her hands are confident—knowing every bit of your body as they caress up and down your sides. Pearline meets your eyes in the mirror.

She can feel the nerves dripping off of you. They’re similar to her own, not wanting to ruin a good friendship but just begging for the glorious opportunity to make itself a reality.

You and Pearline have an infatuation with your friend Annie.

The hoodoo woman is captivating in a way that somehow pleases you both, tickling a part of your brains that’s very hard to reach. For months you both have been quietly reckoning with the fact that your feelings aren’t purely friendly, and out of nowhere, you and Pearline confessed to each other your want for her. Your desire to touch her skin in unchaste ways. Your need to be laid in a bed beside her.

But tonight, despite your honest emotions, you are beyond nervous.

Annie invited y’all over for dinner like she normally does, loving to cook for y’all—anyone really, but especially you two.

You and Pearline promised yourselves to stop letting this need drive y’all crazy. It’s been eating at you. Every time you stop by Annie’s to pick up some new herbs, you can’t help your eyes from trailing over her body, stopping to rest on her lips, her breasts, her thighs. Every time you see Pearline and the hoodoo woman talking to each other, you can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have them both at the same damn time. Images of hearty brown skin and glorious needy moans pour into your ears, causing you to be wholly unfunctionable around either of them.

As much as you want to have it—have her, have them—you’re worried that Annie might not feel how y’all do. That your friendship could be ruined over something you could just try harder to push to the back of your mind.

But there is no pushing away how Annie’s eyes follow Pearline when she’s walking away. Or how she hones in on your lips when you let out a moan at the delicious food she’s made. Or how her arms wrap so comfortably around your body just as Pearline’s are doing now.

Pearline turns your head to look at her. She analyzes the deep set look in your eyes, the uncertainty in your stance, the far away glint in your expression.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” she places a gentle kiss on your lips. She tries to reassure you while pushing down her own fear at the same time, knowing that neither of you could go on like this for much longer. “Just let me handle it, ok? I already told her we had somethin’ to talk to her ‘bout.” The need for Annie hasn’t caused any rift in your relationship. It’s only made the kisses longer, the sex more often, and the orgasms a thing that come back to back.

You’ve been simply ravishing Pearline’s body, loving the fact that she thinks about another woman, honoring the fact that her body could bend just as purely under Annie’s hand. You want this just as much for her as you want it for you.

You step fully into Pearline’s embrace, planting a solid kiss on her lips. She deepens it ever so slightly, pulling at your clothes, tugging you closer as if you’re not already pressed flush against her. She softly whimpers in your mouth as you overtake her, and you swallow every sound that leaves her.

Your hands rest on the fat of her ass, forcing stronger, more stable moans from her throat.

“We gon’ be late if you keep up them sweet sounds, babydoll,” you admit, trying your damndest to not be pulled fully into Pearline’s orbit. But your woman so easily gets her way. Her eyes are cloudy in the way that tempt you to give up—to give into the thoughts you both are having.

“You know you can make it quick though,” she effectively persuades you, biting your earlobe and sucking marks along the side of your neck. Her hands swiftly remove your clothes, and you let it happen, not once attempting to stop her pursuit. If you stop now, that only means showing up to Annie’s sexually frustrated, and the woman already turns your mind to mush with a simple squint of her eye.

You look over at the clock on the wall, contemplating how quick you can really make this but knowing that once you get Pearline started she won’t want to stop.

“Get on that bed,” you demand, slapping her ass and making her yelp in excitement.

~~~~~~~~~~

As you and Pearline walk hand in hand up Annie’s porch steps—movements labored and minds stuck on the intimate moments that just occurred—the front door opens.

“Took y’all long enough,” Annie shakes her head with a skeptical look and wide grin. She chuckles warmly, forgetting the earlier nerves she felt at your delayed arrival. Y’all are usually on time—most times early. But now that she can see you both safe and sound, her nerves have been replaced with a giddy emotion at finally laying eyes upon you both. Cooking y’all dinner is her own excuse to spend more time together. Although you don’t know it, Annie looks forward to sitting across from the both of you, watching you enjoy her food, waiting for the sweet praises to leave your lips.

Annie steps to the side to let you in. With a hand on her hip, she eyes you both as Pearline walks with a barely noticeable limp.

But Annie notices everything.

You watch as she lifts her eyebrow, looking over your disheveled states that you tried your best to fix before being too late to the woman’s home. Your shirt is wrinkled and your pants are uncuffed. Your pants legs don’t fall cleanly over the tops of your shoes like she knows you pride yourself on. Pearline is no better. Her dress slopes to one shoulder, showcasing that loose feeling that an orgasm gives her body.

“Mhm,” Annie hums like she knows the exact reason why you were uncharacteristically late. Her eyes are drawn to your neck with an amused expression. She laughs heartily, throwing her head back at the sight in front of her.

“What,” you question, fixing your clothes nervously and grabbing at your neck to wipe off whatever has her so filled with amusement. “Is it somethin’ on my face or somethin’?” At this point, Pearline and Annie are both chuckling at you. They stand side by side in the front room of Annie’s home, trading sharp smiles and knowing eyes.

The scent of candied yams and honey-glazed cornbread swirl around you as you indulge on your view of the women. They’re both too beautiful like this: laughing all sweet and candied; throwing their heads back to show off their sharp edges of collarbone; placing hands over their chests to calm down the laughter in their bodies.

It’s all too much for your heart to bear as you remember that you’re here for a dinner that Annie cooked especially for you and your Pearline. That she wants you both here, even if that is as friends.

Calming her laughter after noticing the dreamy and enamored look in your eyes, Annie walks up to you without a second thought. Placing two fingers under your chin, she teasingly lifts your face to get a better look at you. Your breath gets caught in your throat at the way she examines you closely. The feeling of her breath on your lips makes your stomach churn softly. The sensation of her firm fingers makes your toes curl in your shoes.

Behind her, you see Pearline smiling wide. She bites her lip like she’s being entertained by her own private show. The sight of two of her favorite people in such close proximity does her in. Starting at your face, Pearline travels over you and Annie’s bodies, landing them in a deep, unashamed stare directed at the intimidating woman’s ass.

“Look like Pearl’s kiss is the only thang on you,” Annie practically groans, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Annie leans into your ear, tone carrying nothing but silk, invading your personal space in the best possible way. “She marked you real good, baby.”

You gasp, balling your fists up at your sides to control the array of emotions you feel. Annie has never been this close. And while she has called you sweet names before, she’s never said baby in such a possessive and needy tone.

You make an attempt to speak back, to match her energy, to meet her dominance, but your mind can’t bring itself to produce any words appropriate for the situation at hand.

Annie taps your face dismissively. She chuckles at the slackness of your jaw and the glaze in your eyes. As she turns to walk away, Annie leaves you shook and wanting more. Her dismissive attitude makes a yummy insecurity curl around your body as you grip at your neck like you could rub the reddening kiss mark off. Annie doesn’t spare you another glance, she just strolls over to Pearline—slow, tantalizing, sinful.

“You said you had somethin’ to tell me, sweetheart,” Annie posits. Her eyes roam over Pearline’s frame, not caring how desperate she appears. She traces every soft curve, every dip and groove, hoping to find even more evidence of what you did to her to make y’all so late. Annie leans into Pearline’s body, an evident hunger fighting to break loose.

“I, um, w-we,” Pearline trips over her words, intimidated by Annie’s dominant presence. Her body trembles just enough to make you and Annie’s eyes perk up, intrigued by the woman’s submissive nature. Before now, you were just as nervous and intimidated as your woman, but as you watch the interaction—the way Annie devours Pearline with her deep, brown eyes alone—you gain confidence.

You step behind Annie, breathing in the warm and cloudy scent of her skin. From where you stand, you don’t notice the way her eyes close and breath shutters when you place a heavy hand on her waist, pulling her hips back into you. You whisper down her neck, drawing a moan out of her throat; You speak for both you and Pearline who has been rendered quiet.

“You infatuate us, Ann,” you admit, staring directly into Pearline’s eyes while speaking into Annie’s neck. Both of their breaths heave as you begin to control the room one simple touch and whispered word at a time. “We want you. Bad.”

“Is that so,” Annie asks, steadying her cadence before stepping back into your embrace. She rests her back flush against your front. “I would have never guessed it,” she giggles, tone coated in an ever-growing arousal. The way you grip at her waist makes her want to cave so badly and her view of a submissive Pearline does nothing to help.

Annie grabs Pearline’s hand, pulling her into the both of you. Her chest lands against Annie’s, forcing her to suppress a needy moan. You meet your woman’s gaze again, sending a wink her way that causes her to completely crumble. She’s unable to look at you or Annie. Her eyes are stuck to her feet, and she bites at her bottom lip to quiet her need. Annie tsks at her before speaking, voice smooth and confident again:

“Come on, sweetheart. Let us see those pretty eyes.”

Pearline’s gaze perks up at the lovely mix of disapproval and praise in Annie’s voice. She adores the sound of her Louisiana cadence. How her vocal chords make love, erupting in a slow uptick in sound. How her mouth drops to let every velvety word slip past her lips. How her tongue falls against the roof of her mouth when Annie says her name or any of the wonderful nicknames she’s bestowed upon her.

Pearline notices the firm grip you have on Annie’s waist and how Annie mimics that onto her, pulling her impossibly closer to the two of you. The air in the home is heavy, dense with budding lust and the heady scent of a love-cooked dinner.

"That food sure do smell good," Pearline chuckles nervously, trying to find a distraction from the way you and Annie look just about ready to devour her. The food was long forgotten by you and the hoodoo woman. A sweeter treat stood before you.

"We can heat that up later. Don't you think, suga'?" Annie looks back at you for approval and affirmation, hoping to God that she's not picking up on the wrong thing here. Her stomach twists at the way your tongue darts across your bottom lip, imagining what she would taste like.

"I'm not hungry for no food right now," you admit, greedily clawing at the fabric of Annie's dress. You lean into her ear, voice sweet and lusty. "Show us to your bedroom, pretty."

You follow close behind Annie as she leads you through her home. Pearline is tucked into you side now, a quiet and coy attraction surrounding her. She never thought the night would start off like this. That Annie would immediately notice the way you had her walking different. That the marks on your neck would draw yummy chuckles from both of their throats. That you would gain control of the room so easily, beckoning Annie to make the next move.

Pearline is in heaven.

Her eyes can’t seem to stop their attention from being drawn to Annie’s backside. All of her is glorious, but watching her hips switch with such purpose has Pearline’s chest beating fiercely.

“Your mama ain’t ever tell you that starin’ ain’t polite, Pearly,” Annie asks, now standing in the middle of her bedroom. You chuckle at Pearline’s caught face. Embarrassment spreads through her chest, and apologies linger at the tip of her tongue, but before she can get them out, Annie captures her lips with a kiss.

You watch the control Annie has and how Pearline does nothing to question her authority—she just melts. Her body goes slack while Annie’s tongue makes its way into her mouth. Your body—pressed firmly behind her—aids Pearline in being able to give all of herself to Annie’s kiss. You hold her up with two hands planted on her hips. You begin to snake featherlight breathes down the column of her neck, not yet kissing just to drive her crazy.

“I knew you’d taste sweet,” Annie praises Pearline, making you nod in agreement.

“She always taste like that,” you assert while looking over your woman’s shoulder and into Annie’s eyes. You guide your lips up Pearline’s neck and to her ear, finally giving in and sucking a deep mark there. “It’s like the purest of honey comes straight from her throat,” you groan. As her breath hitches, you push further: “And her legs.”

“B-baby,” she whimpers, calling out to you for some attempt to relieve her pain.

“What’s wrong, doll,” you speak in a mocking tone. “You want me and Annie to take care of you? I’m sure she’d love to taste all of you.” A sinister grin makes its way onto Annie’s face as she imagines what it’ll be like to finally have Pearline underneath her while you direct every bit of the room.

“Please! I need it,” Pearline begs, pulling at Annie’s hips and pressing her body closer to you. She attempts to have herself fully sandwiched between the both of you, surrounded on all sides by the desire emanating off of you.

“So greedy today,” Annie bites her lip, indulging on Pearline’s sweet pleas. “You let yourself get fucked before comin’ over here, and now you want the both of us?” She lets the words fall from her lips and directly onto Pearline’s face. She breathes in the way Annie’s voice sounds delightfully condescending.

“I can’t help it. Y’all both so beautiful,” she shook her head, eyes soft with tears and emotion. “Y’all too much of a good thing.”

You moan behind Pearline’s head at her confession, the show before you enough to push your body into pleasure.

“Take your dress off. Real slow,” you demand of your woman, giving her hip a light squeeze. “Give Annie a show.”

You saunter over and behind Annie’s back.

“I want you to watch her,” you whisper into her ear, paying close attention to both of their actions. Pearline begins to pry her silk dress from her body. Annie sucks in a breath as her eyes remain focused ahead, eyeing every bit of exposed brown skin.

You start to fiddle around with Annie’s zipper at the base of her neck, not yet pulling it down but gliding your fingers across supple skin. You move slow, purposely tempting her to defy your instructions. And with the growing anticipation, Annie’s head snaps to look towards you. Her eyes are big and round, persuading you to keep going, but you grab her jaw and forcefully turn her away.

“I said watch,” your voice ruptures the quiet air, silencing the growing protest in her throat and pulling sweet moans from Pearline’s.

You unzip her dress and watch as it pulls away from her body. It falls to her feet at the same time that Pearline’s does, causing your mind to cloud as the two women stand before you completely naked.

A groan erupts from your chest as you take in the bareness of them.

“Neither one of y’all wore anything up under y’all clothes,” you question the obvious, unable to fully comprehend the glorious sight.

Annie’s body is soft around the edges but sturdy at its core. Her back curves in delight, causing you to imagine how much further it could bend for you. Her titties sit comfortably on her chest. Her stomach is round. Her hips wide.

You know Pearline’s body well. The fullness of her thighs. The expanse of her legs. The dip of her collarbone.

In your dreamlike state, you miss the way Pearline and Annie look over each other too. Need pours out of them, and before you know it, Annie is claiming your woman in another kiss.

Annie guides Pearline onto the bed. Straddling her thighs, the normally intimidating woman rakes her nimble fingers down Pearline’s body. She squeezes her throat, she palms her breasts, she toys with her nipples. Pretty moans fall from their throats, alerting you to tune back into the spectacle.

“I don’t remember tellin’ you to touch, pretty,” you reprimand Annie, not telling her to stop but cautioning her about not listening when expected to.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she groans, continuing to play with a whimpering Pearline. “She just so pretty.”

All you can do is hum because it is true. Pearline is a gorgeous woman, and sometimes you can't believe that she is yours. You've never been able to say no to her—no matter the request—so you don't expect Annie to be able to either.

“Go on,” you whisper into the hoodoo woman's ear, encouraging her to answer every one of Pearline's pleas. You go to remove your clothes, watching intently as Annie runs her fingers down Pearline's body and between her legs.

Sharp moans fill the room again, and the air turns thick with Mississippi heat and sex. With each quick movement of her hand, Pearline's voice rises and her hands grip tighter onto whatever she can reach. They glide across Annie's skin, settling in her hair, along her back, around her neck. It's like she can't control herself from wanting to have all of Annie, and the woman picks up on that.

Annie slows down her hand, taking Pearline gentler. She looks over to you as you unbutton your shirt, letting it fall where Annie and Pearline's clothes are. Annie smiles softly before kissing the side of Pearline's frowning mouth.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," she calms Pearline, using her non-busy hand to stroke the side of her face, "you can have all of me and more. Let me take you slow first."

You stand in awe of how easily Pearline's whimpers are quietened. How her voice becomes a mess of confident moans again. How Annie eases every one of her worries with a sweet kiss and curl of her fingers.

Annie repositions herself between Pearline's legs, and having removed the remainder of your clothes, you sit at the edge of the bed near the engulfed woman. You adore the look on Pearline's face as Annie's lips swiftly wrap around her clit. You've never gotten to see her from this perspective: up under another woman, being fucked with intention.

"Does that feel good, babydoll," you ask her, planting tender kisses on her lips. You place her head in your lap, leaning over her body to get a perfect look at her face and the way Annie makes easy work between her spread thighs.

"Fuck, yes," she moans. Pearline grips Annie's hair, causing the woman to groan into her parted legs. Annie devours her like she’s imagined this for ages—because she has. Fingers buried deeply inside of her and tongue lapping at her clit, Annie pulls an orgasm out of Pearline.

As her back bows under her, you stabilize Pearline’s upper body, allowing her to fully enjoy her climax. For the first time ever, you're able to watch every emotion she goes through. How her body tenses just before the orgasm hits. How her hands fist the covers to calm her tremors. How euphoria spills from her parted lips. How her eyes flit open in bliss.

Annie continues to thrust her fingers at a slower pace to help bring her back to earth. She kisses Pearline’s clit while looking you directly in the eyes. Her gaze communicates a million words:

Zeal.

Lust.

Rapture.

Greed.

Domination.

“Just like honey,” she confirms, sucking on her fingers to get a better taste of her. Annie moans and drags her hot mouth up Pearline’s body. She goes in to kiss her, but as the orgasm-wrecked woman leans forward—holding her breath in delicious anticipation—Annie pulls away. Her eyes meet you again, and she moves to kiss you for the first time tonight. She has a playful glint in her eye, one that you recognize. Once you hear Pearline whine at being denied a kiss, you know Annie is willing to do the same to you, this time out of defiance not control.

You grab her chin with force, pulling her body up and closer to you.

“I don’t play games, pretty,” you ghost against her lips. “You either gon’ kiss me or you not. But whatever you do, you gon’ kiss Pearl after, ‘cause I don’t like my babydoll bein’ left unsatisfied.”

“Ok,” Annie replies breathily. Her heart rate picks up underneath your hold as arousal surrounds her body. As she attempts to move back in to kiss you, you give her an unsatisfactory glance. Your look communicates that her answer was not to your liking, and Annie is quick to fix her mistake. She answers you with a breathy “Y-yes, baby.”

The kiss is passionate and full of a now-broken tension. For months, the three of you have been walking on eggshells and tiptoeing around what you really want. You’ve been staring when the others aren’t watching. You’ve been daydreaming about the wonderful possibilities of letting your heart's have what they want. And now you have it.

You and Annie fight for dominance, the lingering taste of Pearline’s honeyed-soul being swapped between you. She attempts to control the feverish kiss by putting a hand behind your neck, but you stop her. Gripping her wrists, you force her hands behind her back. You stumble over her body, planting your knee more securely into the soft mattress. You hold her in place.

Annie whines in your mouth and nibbles at your bottom lip in a mind-numbing way.

You can feel Pearline’s glazed stare even before she lays hands on you and Annie. The feeling of two naked bodies against yours makes your head swim. You release pent up joyful moans as Annie submits to your lips and Pearline joins you in adoring the woman.

Pearline’s mouth meets you and Annie’s in fraught desire. It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before. It’s charged and bruising. Passionate and sweet. Three lips conjoined in a way that left no room for air, doubt, or fear.

“Please fuck me,” Annie petitions, voice strained and full of want.

And just like with Pearline, there’s no way in hell you’d deny her.

Annie lays on her back, thighs open for your greedy mouth. You leave possessive marks on her inner thighs while patiently waiting as Annie guides Pearline above her face. Pearline is slow to listen, timid about putting all of her weight on the woman, but Annie reaches up around her thighs and pulls her closer.

Pearline is facing you—a perfect view of the entire show. Annie’s body glistens in a soft sheen of sweat. Her chest caves in as she tries to catch her breath from the erratic nature of your shared kiss. Her thighs tremble as you place them over your shoulders. You and Pearline make eye contact as you lower your head to Annie’s dripping arousal. Annie does the same to the woman above her, the moment perfectly timed.

“Oh shit,” Pearline and Annie moan simultaneously, overstimulated before anything truly begins. Annie’s nails pierce Pearline’s thighs as she attempts to hold her body together. Pearline’s limbs flail, and she struggles to find something useful to hold onto. She leans back into the headboard, using it as stability.

The taste and scent of Annie is addicting, and all you can focus on is how you pray this isn’t some one off thing. If you have to stand before Annie, pretending that this moment never occurred, you might just combust. She’s too much. They’re both too much. They cloud your senses and make your body feel completely out of control in the best way. You think that if you shut your eyes you'll miss out on the full beauty of the moment, so you refuse to do anything but blink sporadically.

You groan approvingly once Pearline fully surrenders to Annie’s tongue. Body fluid and face drenched in satisfaction. The hoodoo woman does the same for you, allowing you to swallow and indulge on every bit of her without restraint.

You alternate between gently stroking her clit and sucking it fully between your lips. You send Annie through waves of pleasure that only add to her attempts to please Pearline past her ability.

“Mm, baby,” Annie cries, tightening her thighs around your head to quiet the feelings she’s having at her bottom half. She wants to slow down the gratification, but she also wants it to speed up. She can't wrap her mind around the fact that she feels both under-stimulated and over-stimulated at the same time. It's like she wants more, but it's already too much.

“Keep your legs open,” you demand, pushing her hips into the bed with little effort. She doesn’t fight back, just let’s you handle her body and move her exactly where you want her. “Make her cum, pretty,” you guide her, meeting Pearline’s hooded eyes as you give Annie the command.

“An-Annie,” Pearline stutters. Her hips begin to grind against the woman’s face. She rides her tongue, body close to breaking down as she convulses. Pearline attempts to run away as the pleasure becomes too much, but Annie pulls her back down, thrusting her tongue into her. "Please. I can't take it," she laments, voice getting caught in her throat as she chokes on her continuous moans.

"Yes you can," you object, replacing your mouth with your fingers. You slow down your efforts to bring Annie to her climax as you guide Pearline through hers. "Come on, babydoll. Let yourself have it."

Annie moans into Pearline as you speed up your fingers. Your soft encouragement makes both of their bodies buzz. Your easy conquering of them numbs their minds. All they can focus on is your voice, your hands, your providing of pleasure.

They're both so close. You can see it in the way Pearline's hips fall out of rhythm and Annie's fingers replace her mouth that can do nothing but spew heady moans.

"There y'all go," you encourage, moving onto your knees. You continue fucking Annie with sturdy fingers, but you climb over her body to kiss along Pearline's neck. "Y'all go on and cum for me."

The two women are quick to obey you, falling apart with a symphony of graceful and lush sounds.

“Baby,” Pearline mumbles into your neck. You have Pearline laid to the left of you and Annie to your right as you gently pull them back into the present. Your hand caresses the hoodoo woman’s back while you plant kisses on Pearline’s forehead.

“Yes, doll?”

“I think I’m a li’l hungry now,” she admits timidly, but all you can do is chuckle. Annie groans as your laughter and movement disrupts her comfort.

“I’ll get y’all somethin’,” you assure, pulling your body away from the clingy women. Throwing on your shirt, you venture into the front of the house and into Annie’s kitchen. The food still smells warm and fragrant. As you fix a plate big enough for you all to share, your mind drifts back to what led you here. You didn’t think confessing your feelings would result in sex, but you certainly aren’t complaining.

You smile at your earlier worries. You’d thought that Annie only saw y’all as friends. That your friendship would change for the worse after getting things off your chest. But here you are: half-naked in Annie’s kitchen, fixing a plate for your lovers as they recover.

You fix two glasses of water before making your way back to your women.

In Annie’s bed, you find them curled up into each other. Eyes barely open and bodies spent. The sight is lovely—one that you hope to indulge in for many nights to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: i was supposed to write this almost two months ago————-

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

@brownskincheyenne @bigjh @zer0productions @devonda81 @raysogroovy @terayne-4 @hdfen2474 @mbjswife @iiiheartfayee @princesstar655 @captaincalypso2 @sleepysquishe @nuttyinternetprincess @lolimblack @chrome-edition @my-name-is-h-u-m-a-n @sweetalittleselfish-honey @theegyal @known-only-by-the-insane @nanak0matsux @d1spact @thugger-wugger @voidlesslove @massiv3tr33p3rsona @thefutureemmywinner @thelifeoflagab @marley-444 @itstayleigh @shamansha @margepimpson @everlucivee @katezy2x @chknnwffls @juniooox @milkywayzard @bbymuthaaa @zunibugsiren @strawberrylemonades-stuff @rkiiives @kitesatforestp @saralance03 @wildcardmelaninfreak @thevelvetwhispers @queenofklonnie22 @wakandamama @numb1smokeanniestan @mayday39 @bl3ssyn @blue4everrsworld

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

Hotel California | Track 21 : Promise

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 4.3k

Chapter 21/22

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: i hear wedding bells x2

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Wedding song

Find Natasha Romanoff.

A terrible way to start the morning of her wedding.

She was completely unaware of the silent chaos brewing one floor below as she sat cross‑legged on the wide sill of the window, hotel robe gaping off one shoulder, bare legs tucked under her. There was a legal pad balanced on her knee, and a pen cap between her teeth as she hummed to herself. Her phone was flipped to do not disturb, the screen glowed dimly with a voice‑memo app armed and ready.

She wasn’t writing vows; she'd been stressing over those for what felt like forever.

She was writing a song.

names and faces

different places

the beauty of a flower holds nothing to you—

She grimaced and slashed a decisive line through the words.

Too Hallmark. Try again.

She tapped the pen against her lip, staring past her reflection to the courtyard below. Caterers darted like ants. She could spot Wanda even from this height by the purposeful stride. The red was pointing at a clipboard. Somewhere, a walkie‑talkie crackled with static. Someone, Tony, was stress‑testing the speakers when he wasn’t supposed to.

Natasha lowered her eyes to the page.

when the crowd fades out and the lights go blue

there’s a quiet in my chest that only fits you

She paused, head tilted, humming the line under her breath, letting it settle. Better. Closer. She doodled a treble clef, then wrote:

countdowns, meltdowns, cheap wine, it's alright

I still whisper your name over all the noise,

She exhaled, almost a laugh. Corny? Maybe. True? Absolutely.

A soft knock, which received no answer, was given. The knock turned into a rapid staccato.

“Nat? Natasha? Romanoff, I swear to—” Wanda’s voice muffled through the door, half panic, half project manager. “If you made me put on lashes and then disappeared—”

“Nope!” Tony added from the hall. “Abort mission, she’s not in the kitchen. Just an unguarded mimosa pitcher that I have bravely, heroically, rescued.”

“Check the roof,” Yelena suggested, entirely too amused. “Brooding on high ledges is in her brand guidelines.”

“Bear says she’s upstairs,” Isabella chimed in, her voice bouncing. “He sniffed and then sat. That’s dog for ‘duh.’”

Natasha grinned around the pen cap. She loved her ridiculous, noisy village. She also loved this moment of silence before the tidal wave hit. She clicked the memo on, letting the room fill with her low hum as she stitched a melody to the skeletal lines. There was a slight rasp in her morning voice. Her singing was vulnerable and honest. She imagined your head on her shoulder, your fingers tracing idle shapes on her thigh, the way you said “our daughter” without thinking. That click inside her chest, it was right there, moving under each line.

The knob jiggled. “Okay, Romanoff, I’m picking the lock in five, four—”

The door cracked an inch. A single hazel eye appeared. “—three—oh. Found her.”

Wanda eased the door open the rest of the way, catching herself before she launched into the mini‑lecture cued up on her tongue. She took in the scene, the robe, the notepad, the faraway look, and softened.

"I never locked it," She murmured, not even looking up from her writing.

“Of course you’re writing on your wedding day,” she muttered, stepping inside and closing the door with her hip.

"It's a compulsion," Natasha responded. "I'm fine. I need five minutes." She capped and uncapped her pen.

“You took thirty,” Wanda said, but it wasn’t scolding, more like a sigh of relief disguised as sarcasm.

"Thought I ran?"

"Considered it."

"It's not like we don't have a history of running off on our own," She teased, grinning up at the redhead.

Wanda smirked, and the smirk became a reluctant smile. She dropped her clipboard and her heels to the carpet and climbed up beside Natasha on the windowsill, pulling her knees to her chest.

"You're really getting married," Wanda said wistfully. "What's it like?"

"You should know. You and Agatha."

"Are just fuck buddies," Wanda responded, and with Natasha's brow raised, she changed her tone. "Fuck buddies with feelings. You and y/n have the real thing."

"Everyone keeps saying that," Natasha couldn't hide her grin. She looked out of the window and down to the courtyard again. The weather was perfect. "I love her."

"I know," Wanda nodded. "It's the happiest I've ever seen you. Like you finally figured yourself out. And, if I can say it, it's about time."

"You can say it," Natasha laughed, and adjusted herself to lean her head on Wanda's shoulder. "You've seen me through more heartbreaks than my mother."

"It's good seeing you so domestic," Wanda continued. "I get to see you walk down the aisle. I might cry."

"Please don't. We'll have enough of that from my family," Natasha smiled softly.

"I can't help it, okay?" Wanda sighed. "You're like a sister to me. Seeing you happy and settled. It's touched me."

"Touched, huh?"

"Shut up."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"You will not."

Natasha chuckled, looking back down at her legal pad. Her smile faded. "I think... I'm ready to have that now. I was waiting for someone who could keep up, and here she is. So, yeah."

Wanda smiled and leaned her head against Natasha's. "It's gonna be a good day."

Natasha smiled and reached out to squeeze Wanda's hand.

"You're not nervous, are you?"

"No, not really."

"Because there are still three hours to call it off."

"I'm not gonna call it off."

"Good. Then what's the problem?"

"I don't have a problem," Natasha said. "Just wanted a little quiet."

"You're allowed," Wanda nodded, and squeezed Natasha's hand. "But we've got work to do."

"Mhm," Natasha nodded, and set her legal pad down, standing and holding her hand out to help Wanda stand. "What do we have left?"

"Makeup, hair, dress, pictures," Wanda listed. "All in order."

"Then let's go and get married." Natasha nodded. She could do this.

******

“Hey, Mama, look who we have here!”

You turned in your makeup chair, earning an exasperated “uh-uh, eyes forward!” from Delilah, your makeup artist, to find Isabella stepping into the room, Sam’s palms resting proudly on her shoulders. Your daughter’s satin dress flared just enough to make the rhinestones on her little kitten heels catch the light. Both of them were beaming like they owned the patent on joy.

“Ta-da!” Isabella announced, striking a pose. “Junior Maid of Honor reporting for duty.”

Delilah clicked her tongue. “Five more seconds and I’ll have you winged sharp enough to cut cake. Don’t you blink, bride.”

You froze obediently, but your eyes crinkled at the corners. “You look perfect, baby.”

“I know,” Isabella said matter-of-factly, then softened. “Do you like the bow? Lenny said it was ‘giving main character.’”

“Very main character,” You confirmed. You gestured for Delilah to step back as you took in your girl. You took a deep breath, and Delilah, having known you for practically ten years now, handed you a tissue. "I told myself I wasn't going to cry, but you look so grown up."

"Here come the tears," Sam fake-whispered to Isabella. She collapsed against you, arms flung around your waist in a hug that still felt like toddler-weight somehow. This moment felt much. It felt overwhelming at once. Your little girl was your maid of honor. Your little girl was ten.

You dabbed at the corners of your eyes, and Isabella stepped back.

"Mama, no! No crying!"

"I can't help it," You whispered, and Isabella giggled.

"You look so pretty, Mama," Isabella said, looking you over. You'd kept the makeup soft and natural, but Delilah was a magician, and the subtle shimmer on your skin gave you an ethereal glow. "I like what she's done with your eyes." You leaned down for her to inspect you further.

"I like what she's done to yours," You told her. "They're very pretty."

"I like how you look," Isabella said, and leaned up, kissing your cheek. "Pretty."

You smiled softly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Thank you, baby."

“Got a minute?” Sam asked. He hated to break up the love fest, but he wanted to talk to you.

Delilah took the hint. “I’ll go sanitize brushes I already sanitized. Holler if anyone needs a brow rescue.” She slipped away.

"I'll go help her," Isabella shrugged and followed Delilah over to her makeup bags.

Your eyes turned back to Sam, and you could feel it before he said a word, the weight of everything unspoken. The history. The truth that you were still each other’s family, just not in the way you once thought.

“I’m not gonna take up much time,” he started. “Just… felt like I should say something today. Before the rest of the world crashes in.”

You turned slightly toward him. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I am. And I mean that.”

He paused, then gave a short laugh dry, honest laugh. “It’s weird, you know? Watching someone you used to picture your whole life with get ready to marry somebody else. Not weird in a bad way. Just… a knot you didn’t know you still had gets untied a little.”

You swallowed. “I didn’t mean for it to hurt you.”

“It doesn’t,” he said quickly, gently. “That’s the thing. It sucks that we didn’t work out, sure. But I think deep down we always knew we were running on borrowed time.”

You nodded, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes.

"We were kids," He said more to himself.

"Kids in love," You reminded him. He smiled a little.

“I’m proud of us,” he said. “We did good, Y/N. We made something good together. That kid over there? She’s gonna move mountains. And the way we've raised her, hell, the way you love her, there’s no one better for her to learn from.”

You smiled, voice quiet. “We did alright, didn’t we?”

“Better than alright,” he said, then exhaled, looking down at his hands. “And Natasha…”

You waited.

“If it had to be someone else,” he said slowly, “look, you’ve never needed my approval,” he added, wry grin easing the weight of his words. “You didn’t need it when you figured out who you were at that ridiculous couples retreat, and you sure don’t need it now. But for the record? I like Natasha. I like the way she looks at you. I like that Bella calls her when she needs a math check and doesn’t feel weird about it.”

You snorted. “Natasha’s terrible at math.”

“Yeah, but she shows up. That’s the part that counts. I’m glad it’s her. I mean that. She sees you. She really sees you. And she shows up. Not everyone does.”

He looked up at you again, all warmth and steadiness. “I’m not losing anything today. I’m gaining someone who loves my kid like she’s hers. And who loves you the way you always deserved.”

You felt your throat tighten, and your lip trembled.

Sam grinned softly, voice dipping to that familiar hush. “You deserve that quiet kind of love, Y/N. The kind that doesn’t ask you to shrink to fit inside it.”

Your eyes shimmered.

“I’ve got your back,” he said simply. “Now and always. Co-pilots forever, right?”

“Co-pilots forever,” you echoed, reaching up to squeeze his hand.

From the corner, Isabella shouted.“Mommmm, can I eat this whole cookie or what?”

You both laughed, clearing the moment like a fresh breeze through an open window.

“Go,” you said, nodding toward the hallway. “She’s plotting something.”

*****

Wanda and Monica were a force of nature. Best friends of the brides, self-declared wedding generals, and probably the only reason the day hadn’t burst into chaos. They had the officiant arriving early. The catering confirmed. The DJ cordoned off with extra security to prevent surprise leaks. Even the guest list was seated exactly as requested, not a cousin or college roommate out of place.

You had nothing to worry about.

Which made it all the more annoying that you couldn’t stop worrying.

Your hands had stopped trembling, but your stomach had that annoying, flipping feeling again. Not cold feet. Never that. But something like… anticipatory vertigo. The sense that you were standing at the edge of the biggest leap of your life. Which was crazy because you'd done this before.

So you ducked out.

Just for a second.

Almost completely dressed, everything but the actual wedding gown, you slipped into a nearby supply closet in the venue hallway and closed the door behind you. No lights. No sound. Just a beat of quiet to let the moment catch up.

You exhaled. Let your head fall gently against the cool wall.

It creaked open a second later.

“Occupied,” you said quickly, not even turning around.

A beat.

“Same,” came Natasha’s voice from the shadows. “I’m in here too.”

You turned just enough to see the vague outline of her silhouette in the dark. “You’re not supposed to see the bride before the ceremony.”

“Well, technically,” she murmured, “we’re in complete darkness, and I can’t see shit. So I think we’re fine.”

You felt her hand brush yours in the dark before she found it fully and squeezed it. Familiar. Anchoring.

“You smell good,” she added quietly.

You blinked. “Did we just hide in a closet at our own wedding? I hope you're not reaching for the light switch. That will break every code in the book.”

Even in the darkness, you could guess that she was grinning. “Ten minutes until first look. I wanted a pre-look.”

“No spoilers,” you warned, finger to her lips. “My glam team will revolt.”

“I can work around the contour,” she whispered, stealing a quick kiss to your jaw instead. “How’s the eyebrow twitch?”

"Managed," You rolled your eyes. You reached into the pocket of your robe and said. "Open your hand." Natasha uncurled her palm and waited expectantly. "Close." She obeyed, and you dropped a single gummy bear into her hand.

Natasha looked down, getting the feel of it, delighted. “You smuggled contraband candy into the bridal suite?”

“Tradition,” you said solemnly. “One gummy for luck.”

She popped it into her mouth, chewed thoughtfully. “Red. Appropriate.”

"How can you tell the color?"

"Lucky guess."

You smiled. She squeezed your hand again, thumb stroking the back.

You took a slow breath, then another.

"Are we freaking out?" She asked gently.

"A little," you admitted.

"Same."

"You're allowed."

"So are you."

"Here's another one," You offered this time to her waiting lips. Natasha leaned in, plucked it with her teeth, purposely brushing your fingertips. You rolled your eyes, failing to contain your smile.

"We should go before they come looking for us."

"One last single-lady swear?" You suggested.

"Sure, though neither of us is single,"

“I promise I won’t be the kind of wife who nags about dishwasher loading,” you whispered.

“I promise I won’t be the kind who leaves socks on the floor and picks fights at brunch.” She answered back. She liked this game.

You smiled. “Promise we won’t become bitter and old and hate each other in forty years?”

“I promise,” she said softly. “But even if we do… I’ll still love you. Old and bitter and all.”

"Hmm," You thought. "I promise to always make sure the sex is bomb."

"You are, as they say, freaked out," Natasha laughed.

"Who says that?"

"I don't know the kids, teens, or something on TikTok," She fumbled to explain herself. "I've watched a few of our edits."

"You're not even thirty yet, and you're struggling to keep up with the trends," You chuckled. "You can't talk like a teen. You're not allowed."

"Okay, one last promise?"

"Last one," You nodded.

"I promise," She said quietly, pulling you closer, her hands on your waist. "That this is forever. This is real. You're not losing me. Ever. You're stuck with me."

You leaned in, pressing your lips to her nose. Her arms wrapped around your waist. It was a soft, lingering kiss that gave her goosebumps.

"Did I mention how good you smell?"

"You did," You nodded, kissing her forehead.

"What about how beautiful you look?"

"That, you didn't because you can't see me."

"I can, actually," Natasha chuckled, and pressed her lips to the corner of your mouth. It seemed some rules she was paying attention to. "I have this image in my head. I'm imagining you all dolled up."

Before you could respond, the closet door whipped open, and you quickly closed your eyes not to see Natasha in her dress. Natasha's response was to turn towards the wall and pretend to count the bricks.

"Is this some type of pre-wedding quickie?" Monica questioned.

"We both have clothes on?" You pointed out.

"Like that's stopped you before."

"You know what, this is my wedding day, I don't have to explain myself." You tapped Natasha's shoulder in goodbye and dragged Monica back to your room to get dressed.

*******

When Natasha picked the song for her aisle walk, it was supposed to make her feel happy and excited. It was supposed to be a feel-good song that moved her. It was moving her, alright. From the moment the wedding director gave her a light tap and a “go” to push her down the aisle, Natasha could only focus on how much she was feeling.

Her dress flowed around her, tendrils of her hair framing her face, her lipstick just the right shade of red, but nothing beat the reaction she got from you. Standing there at the end of the aisle, she could swear she saw a few tears leave your eyes as you quickly patted at them. Someone—maybe Monica—handed you a tissue as you watched and waited for your love. Natasha was given away by her mother and Yelena. The sunlight caught her cheekbones as she mouthed hi, your hands joining together in the middle like a ceremony of their own.

You blinked fast, afraid that if you looked too long, you’d float away.

Everything else fell away. The music, the buzz of guests, even the sound of the wind against the floral arch behind you. All you could hear was your heart beating and possibly hers, when you realized you could feel it through her grip.

The officiant was saying things. Beautiful things about choice and timing, about how love comes in moments and stays in promises. You didn’t catch every word, but you didn’t have to. Her smile told you everything.

A question was asked. Natasha said “I do” with so much certainty, the leaves seemed to still.

Then your turn. You could barely get the words out before your breath caught. “I do.” It felt like a sunrise.

There were rings. There was cheering. There was a kiss neither of you remembered to keep brief. Natasha pulled you close, cupping your cheek like she had to brand the moment into both of your skin.

In the front row, Isabella clapped loud enough to break the spell.

And just like that, it was done.

And just like that, it had always been.

******

Walking down the aisle was magical. It was beautiful. It was overwhelming. It was all the feelings and all the words in the dictionary that Natasha couldn’t even begin to wrap her head around in that moment.

The feeling of walking back up the aisle with you, her wife, by her side was unimaginable. The cheers, the sunlight, the way your dress brushed hers with every step, it was too surreal for Natasha to fully compute. Her smile was bursting at the seams, and when she looked over to see you doing the same, it grounded her.

The gentle squeeze of your hand let her know your feelings mirrored hers. Everything was real now. Everything was yours.

The two of you were quickly ushered out of view, down a winding path toward the private courtyard for pictures.

This part? This was the nerve-wracking part.

Security had been airtight. Guests were hand-selected, and NDAs were signed. No press. No drones. No leaks. Still, it felt like you were keeping the world’s biggest secret. Like somehow, someone would find out that Natasha Romanoff, the Natasha Romanoff, had just gotten married.

“You okay, baby?” you asked gently, voice low and warm.

Natasha didn’t answer right away. She exhaled deeply, still smiling as the photographer circled to get different angles.

Finally, she gave a subtle nod, turning just slightly to nudge her forehead against yours before slipping back into position.

“I’m more than okay,” she whispered. “I just… don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

You kissed the edge of her cheekbone, careful not to smudge anything.

“Then let’s remember this part forever.”

Natasha looked at you again, her hand tightening over yours. “We will.”

You stood in front of her and wrapped your arms around her, kissing her slowly. You couldn't resist.

"Mm," You mumbled against her lips. "Red's my favorite color, too."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "That was cheesy. You're cheesy."

"It's my job to be cheesy," You smirked.

"Then you're doing it very well," She winked.

"You're the one who married me."

"Yes, and I'll do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that."

"That's the plan," You agreed.

"Are you two ready to pose?" The photographer interrupted playfully.

"Yeah, yeah," You said, stepping away.

"Sorry," Natasha shrugged. "My wife's a little cheesy."

"Wife, huh?"

"Mhm," Natasha nodded, and kissed your lips softly. "My wife."

The photographer continued with the shots, and the two of you posed as he directed, a little more at ease and happy to be there, in that moment.

When the shots were over, and the photographer and his assistant went to check them over, you took the moment to slip inside a changing room to change into your reception dress.

*******

The entrance was lavish, even though you'd only left the guests less than an hour ago. Your reception dresses were more freeing but still just as elegant and flashy as the wedding. More appropriate for dancing. And though the party was small, the cheers were loud. Much louder than you expected. "Spend My Life With You" by Eric Benét filled the air like a slow, perfect promise. You waved to Isabella as she bounced excitedly in her seat. She'd mentioned how this would be her favorite part at least a dozen times in the weeks before.

You followed Natasha onto the dance floor, where the beginning notes settled over the hall, and suddenly it was just the two of you again. Natasha took your hand with a small, knowing smile. The same one she wore when she kissed you under the arch, the same one she wore when you whispered I do. It was soft, reverent, and made your whole body exhale.

“I almost forgot we had to dance in front of people,” she murmured.

"You perform in front of thousands of people every night, and a little wedding dance has you nervous?" You teased.

"I never get nervous," She defended herself.

"Oh, okay," You laughed, and Natasha rolled her eyes, twirling you, her hand falling to the small of your back, and she pulled you close. You couldn't help the quiet sigh that escaped you, and Natasha hummed happily, kissing your cheek.

"You look beautiful," She whispered.

"You're beautiful," You responded.

"I love you,"

"I love you,"

"Forever?"

"Forever."

Her arms slipped around your waist as your hands found her shoulders, and together you moved, just enough, just slow enough, to make it look like something choreographed, even though it wasn’t. Her thumb traced small circles against your lower back. Your forehead dropped to hers.

“I love you,” she said quietly, just for you.

“I know,” you breathed back. “I love you, too.”

Your noses brushed as you swayed. Neither of you noticed the camera flash, or the teary-eyed stares from across the room. You mouthed along to the lyrics—I will spend my life with you—and felt Natasha’s lips press gently to your cheek.

*******

"So I have two moms and a dad now," Isabella said as she stepped between you and Natasha. Her little hands were careful not to smudge either of the white dresses you wore, but what made your heart swell was the way she wrapped her arms around Natasha’s waist with complete ease. Like she’d been doing it her whole life.

Seeing them together felt so right, you swore you wouldn’t cry again today. You failed, of course. Quietly.

“Seems like it,” you murmured, brushing a hand over Isabella’s curls. Her hair had been a perfect half-up half half-down do for the wedding, but she pulled the clips out once all of the guests left.

“Cool,” she said matter-of-factly. “I get to call you Mom now, too, right?”

Natasha’s head lifted, eyes meeting yours like she was silently asking for permission, even though no permission was ever needed. She’d already loved Isabella like her own, but hearing it, really hearing it, from Isabella’s mouth made her chest rise in a sharp inhale.

“If that’s okay with you,” Natasha said softly.

Isabella leaned her head back dramatically. “Mom,” she groaned. “It’s more than okay. I practiced in the mirror all week.”

You choked out a laugh, dabbing at your eyes.

Natasha smiled so wide her cheeks hurt.

"Come here," She said, kneeling to hug her properly.

You couldn't stop staring. There was no one more perfect for the both of you. You laughed, blinking fast. Natasha was already holding her, but somehow she pulled her closer, whispering something you couldn’t quite hear into her hair.

"Moms," Isabella giggled, and Natasha smirked, looking at you. You could only nod, and Natasha pressed her lips to Isabella's temple, holding her close.

"I like the sound of that," You grinned, and Isabella smiled.

"Me too," Natasha murmured, and held Isabella a little tighter.

Isabella hugged Natasha's neck and closed her eyes.

“Alright, c’mon,” you said, holding your arms out. “Let’s give the photographer a good one.”

The three of you fell into a slow dance—awkward, uneven, and perfect.

another wedding song

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

In the Kitchen

Pair: Joe Burrow x Chef!Reader

Genre: 18+ | Humor, Fluff, Flirting, Dirty Talk, SMAU

Des: Videos and pictures of training camp have everyone in a frenzy, including one special foodie.

JB Masterlist | Main Masterlist

A/N: all made with the same possibly illegal app.

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

Johnny is 100% the kind of dad that’s gets his daughter flowers when she gets her first period. Simon is the type to clock it (probably asked the missus what’s going on) and quietly gets his daughter her fave candy and gives her space. Kyle cries because his baby is growing up and is in pain. John the type of dad to tell the entire team his little girl is a woman now 💀

(My dad was a mix of Johnny and John and I was so embarrassed 😭😭😭tf you mean your coworkers know I’m bleeding)

☆You're so right for this lol check the cut☆ something to get you all ready for the posting storm on Saturday and Sunday lol.

Kyle x wife!reader ft his daughter and son

You had been sitting out in the living room reading up on birth control that would be suitable for your daughter. Sure, it was her first period, but she was already complaining about unbearable period symptoms. So far, you knew for certain that a nuva ring and daily pills were out, and she may not handle an IUD or shot well. Maybe just the rod? Her first gynecologist visit was next week, and you'd see about options.

"Mom?" Your daughter, who is practically your twin and doppelganger at the sweet age of 15, looks at you, "Katie says she and her mom use diva cups? Could I do that?"

A quick glance up from your phone and you shrug, "Hmm, maybe, try tampons first to practice, that way you won't feel weird with the cup."

"What do you use?" She asked.

"I use tampons, but maybe a diva cup would be better."

The front door opens and closes, and it's Kyle arriving home. Trailing behind him is your son, and he's ranting about something that you don't really pay attention to.

"I'm just saying Dad! He can't come over here anymore, and he's mad at me about it." Your son throws himself onto the couch and glares at his sister. "You aren't to be around any, and I mean ANY of my friends anymore!"

"What why?" She shouts "I happen to like hanging around Jay-Jay!"

"PRICE?" Your son is beside himself, "No! After the comment about your headlights being on! Mom!"

"It's not my fault they got hard! It's the period hormones!"

You can only sigh as they dissolve into an argument about periods and hormones and silly crushes. Kyle finally tunes back in and he does a double take.

"Hormones?" He kisses you on the lips and sits on the other side of you, "what hormones?"

"Princess got her period this week and she's been very excited about finally becoming a woman." You say and go back to your research.

"Wait, period?" Kyle gasps and snaps his attention to his daughter, "Why would you go and get that? You're still my baby!"

"Dad the issue is that Jay thinks she's attractive!" Your son jumps to his feet.

"Am I suddenly not allowed to be that girl?!" Your daughter also jumps up and places both hands on her hips.

"No!" Both Kyle and your son shout for very different or the same reasons. Your daughter being the diva she is scoffs and storms off to her room. Going on about how she can't believe her biggest haters are her brother and Dad.

"Have a crush on someone else! Not Jay," Your son follows after her, "Price looks cool but he's a slag!"

"A period?" Kyle whispers like he's in some type of shell shock. "She's just a baby."

"She's 16 Ky."

"It was just yesterday she was asking me to check for monsters under her bed." His voice wobbles.

You can only sigh, "Kyle Garrick are you crying?"

He only places his head in his hands, "What am I gonna do?" He practically whines.

"Wha-"

"Jr. Is right, no boys." He's suddenly up and pacing back and forth, "She still needs me to flip her pancakes when she makes them!"

"Ky-"

"My little Princess is growing up, and since when was she 'That Girl?' Since when?" He works himself into a tizzy.

And you can only watch as he declares that her period is canceled.

Thank you, everyone, for waiting for me. I appreciate it. ☆♡☆

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

Untitled

Cagefighter!Adam Page x Girlfriend!fem!reader | 1.5k words | Angst with fluff

Summary: Hard times create strong men, but you want Adam to know he doesn't need to be strong all by himself.

A/N: Not my first Hangman fic not being smut, who am I?! But it felt right for my anxious cowboy. He definitely deserves some TLC in the next one. ❤

Adam would prefer it if you didn’t remind him of the red cuts on his forehead. He'd like it if you didn’t fuss at him about the bruises on his chest, the lashes on his back. And no, it wasn’t like he didn’t appreciate your concern for his well-being, it was in your nature, your fingertips dabbing a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol to the blood seeping above his right eyebrow. If he didn’t have you and your concern, he’d likely have none at all. Adam wasn’t in the business of giving a shit about his health unless there was money on the line that paid him to heal up sooner, train his body stronger, and step into that cage in the underground arena to wrench his arm around a man’s neck harder until the referee raised his hand as he stood over the man who wasn't man enough that night.

The cuts, the bruises, the lashes, the blood, they would fade. They always did. The pain they left behind was slower to leave, but Adam was used to it. Used to fixing his mind to concentrate on other things that felt better, like the comforting scent of your vanilla perfume and the warmth of your breath grazing his cheek as you leaned in, concentrating in your own right to clean him up. “It could be worse…but it still doesn’t look good.” Your words came out hushed, followed by a tsk tsk because this wasn’t your first time tending to him after a fight. You could damn near feel the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, the one in his thick neck pulsing, his own breath still a bit of a huff as you spoke. And it wasn’t the first time he had to gather your hand in his, making you drop the cotton ball to the bathroom tile beneath you, and press a kiss to your knuckles as he let out a somewhat shaky breath.

You returned his gaze when he looked up at you through his eyelashes, his blue eyes round and soft and yet somehow cool and hardened. The tenderness in them was reserved for you, however, as he reached up again to take your hand that you held at the crown of his head as you pushed his dirty blond hair out of your way to get a good look at his wounds. Adam kissed those knuckles, too, before flashing you a half-smirk and holding your hands in his lap. “I’m fine, honey. Really. Don’t I look fine to you?” Your gaze then silently fell over him from head to toe, sitting cross-legged across from you in your tiny bathroom, leaving no space between you for you not to see the slight bruise on his left cheek or the swollen marks on his left shoulder and hairy chest where he’d told you his opponent caught him off guard and landed open-palmed chop after chop on him. Your eyes fell lower still, noticing the dark red stains on the black bandana tied around his right wrist, watching how his tummy didn’t expand at the waistband of his black sweatpants, and you furrowed your eyebrows as you could tell he was trying his best to steady his rapid breathing.

“Am I allowed to worry about you?” you asked him a question back and it was a good one to ask. To you, each fight seemed a bit more cruel than the last. Adam getting home more banged and bruised up than the last. You knew he’d win most of them, the money he brought home with him was evidence, but you knew how he won it was quite cruel, too. Subduing the man on the other side of the grimy, steel cage with a chokehold and earning himself the nickname “The Hangman” from guys in the audience who’d started placing their bets on him. Yet you’d bet Adam was growing tired of coming home to you and the small apartment you shared with a duffle bag stuffed with his sweat-and-blood stained gear and wads of cash rubber-banded that would only cover next week’s groceries and a few bills if you both could make it stretch. 

Bare knuckle boxing — or simply to you, fighting — was supposed to be Adam's “quick and easy” solution to earn a little extra money, especially when he begged you not to get a second job, especially when he could see how hard you worked at the diner downtown for your tips. He felt it was only right for him to do more, especially since consistent work with the construction crew he ran with during late night road repairs was drying up. You had every reason to worry about your boyfriend whose solution turned out to be neither quick nor easy…eight months gone and his body before you showed the wear and tear for it.

And when he couldn’t answer your question with another question, or even say anything, he quietly sighed and squeezed your hands gently in his. You let your right thumb run over his left one as you looked at his hands swallowing yours, felt his warm, rough palms on yours. It made you lean into him, resting your forehead on his chest, before he released your hands, the lack of touch, comfort, not missing for long. He circled those hands around your waist and pulled you onto his lap, settling back against the bathroom wall behind him. His breathing seemed to even out then and that was one less thing for you to worry about, thankfully. You closed your eyes, feeling the thick pads of his fingertips strumming up and down your spine, passing over a bit of exposed skin where your shirt rose with his movements. A soft sound escaped you, something like a hum, more of the comfort you craved sounding out as Adam pressed another kiss to you, on your hair. But he sighed again and you knew he was working on his words. Wanting to make sure whatever left his lips next would give you more comfort, more reason to believe him when he said he’s fine…

“It’s my job to take care of you.” His voice low and even but tight like he was holding back, like whatever those additional words may be might make the emotion trying to waver in his throat seep out. It made your eyes sting with hot tears immediately. 

“No…we take care of each other.” Your words probably didn’t even sound like words but more like some strange gargle before you swallowed hard, feeling a tear escape down your cheek. Adam’s fingers on your back turned into his wide palm rubbing there when he felt you shake a little.

“You shouldn’t have to work at all.” His cheek nudged to your hair in that moment, the coarse hairs of his beard catching softly, his voice even lower, even tighter, like a strained murmur. Like he was thinking of all the times he wished he could spoil you and could not — or could, if he measured it against where else the money had to go and spent what he could to make you feel as priceless as you are to him. 

“Y’shouldn’t have t’fight.” Your voice was a small sob as you wiped at your cheek with the back of your hand, your other cheek on his chest as you felt the thump of his heart that made you want to cry again. You worried for so many reasons but your deepest fear was he’d leave you all alone. Something you’d share with him, something he’s tried to soothe you from, but you felt how you felt. An exhausting feeling that kept you up until the early hours of the night as you waited for him to make it out of that goddamn cage — god knows you didn’t want to be there to see him in it. And you didn't even believe in god but you still prayed to him or whomever for Adam to hurry home and crawl into bed next to you soon.

“C’mon, baby.” And now, Adam’s voice was almost a whisper, sounding just as exhausted as he tilted his head back onto the wall, his eyes falling shut as he held you. Not upset. Just tired. Tired of the same sentiment he’d rather you not say…because the guilt that rattled in his chest, the old scars still marked on his flesh there, were enough reminders. But you needed to remind him of something, anyway.

“If you want to take care of me…y’have to take care of yourself.” There was a heavy concern in the weight of your soft words that made Adam’s hand rub up to the back of your head to cradle you to him even closer, like he’d protect you with his life…the thing that frightened you most. 

You didn’t have to say aloud, he felt it in his bones, a crushing density that hung in the air over your heads like the gray clouds that rolled in with the humid breeze of a torrential storm. You cozied up to him as you felt his lips on your forehead with a long kiss before he parted his lips to maybe speak but sealed them shut. Storms don’t last always, you had faith in that…but whether he understood it or not, he was the reason the storm was always bearable for you. And you were his one and only reason, too.

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

Sam: “Bee you’re so spoiled by your Papa” ☺️

Bee: “I not an egg, Uncle Sam” 🙄

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee

"'Sides I not spoiled. Papa spoiled."

Sam nods sagely, never turning down the opportunity to tease one of his closest friends. "You're right. You do too much for him."

"I knows but I can't helps it cause it's weally fun," Bee answers earnestly, unaware of how close Sam is to losing it.

"Seriously?" Bucky asks, glancing down at her.

"Yeah, I sorry you weally spoiled. It jus' happens." Bee apologizes with a sigh, like it was out of her control.

Like he's not carrying her across the parking garage because she took one look at gravel outside—still damp from the rainstorm a few hours ago—and decided she didn't want to get her shoes dirty.

They're brand new and pink and most importantly sparkly.

She didn't even have to ask, Bucky saw the frown on her face and was already bending down to get her.

Her legs swing loosely as he carries her, holding her like she's a princess surveying her lands.

Sam tsks. "You can't keep doing that, Bumblebee. He'll get a big head. And then he won't be able fit inside your house. He'll have to sleep outside."

Bee gasps. Her poor Papa. She can't let that happen to him. "I gotta asks Mommy what to do so Papa doesn't gets big head and fall overs."

Bucky envisions how that conversation would go. He can almost hear you cackling as she explains everything. He'll never live it down.

"I'm sorry to say but it's too late." Sam whispers conspiratorly, clearly eating this up. "Bumblebee, his head just grew. Look at it. Wait, it just did it again."

Bucky coldly stares at Sam. He doesn't know how this got turned around him but he's going to stop it before it gets out of hand.

Except he can't deny he's spoiled because he doesn't want to hurt Bee's feeling and in a way she's right. He is spoiled. Just not in the way she assumes.

Bucky's glare intensifies when Bee peers up at him and lets out another horrified gasp. "Oh—oh you rights Uncle Sam."

"I know I am." Sam claps him on the back. Bucky shifts her to one arm and manages to clip Sam on his side. He only grins and moves out reach.

Bucky runs his tongue across his teeth, nodding to himself while his best friend continues to goad his sweet Bee into unknowingly roasting him.

Then Sam takes it too far just as they reach his Maserati. "Maybe you should be mean to him. See if that'll shrink his head down."

Bee's answer is swift, sure. "I not being mean to Papa." She wouldn't even know how. "He good Papa."

Bucky grins, pressing a kiss into her hair. "Thank you Bumblebee."

"You welcomes. It's okay. You can has big head. And I not going lets anyone be mean to you." She narrows her eyes at Sam.

It's uncanny how much her little glare resembles Bucky's. Even Sam knows when he's up against a formidable opponent, he concedes. It was fun while it lasted. On to the next victim.

"You know who else has a big head Bumblebee?"

"That's cold. But so damn right." Sam grins, pulling his phone out of pocket to find Steve's number. "And this is why you're my favorite goddaughter."

"Uncle Steve?"

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

thinking about dry humping Lewis and making him come in his fireproofs.

warning : 18+ NSFW, smut, pwp, dry humping, slight dirty talk, bodily fluids, spitting into mouth, sub!Lewis vibes.

[lewis x black!reader but no full physical body descriptors]

It’s like you couldn’t get enough of him despite how long you have been together . You always felt this constant urge to just want to live inside of his skin. He’s just come off the track and into the motor home with his fireproofs still on. A rare sight and for some reason, it makes you lose it.

You put your lips on his as he bends down to sit the couch, grabbing your hips and pulling you down to sit on him. Eyes closed, chest to chest as the kiss shifts from being soft to demanding. Lewis can’t help the sounds that leave him and travel into your mouth as you suck on his tongue as you tug to remove his compression shirt.

He’s hard already. His mind is empty - the worries of his racing setup gone - the only constant thought echoing in his head is how good you feel on top of him. He doesn’t even care what made you jump on him without even saying hello, he just knows that he love the way you’re rolling your hips down against his bulge and he wants more of that. You feel his hands grip on your hips harder, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as you buck against each other. The whimpers leave him so easily with each roll.

“Baby, fuck.” He moans.

“I know, baby. You just feel sooo good.” You feel his dick pressing right on your sweet spot. It would be easy to push the rest of his fireproofs off and sink down onto his dick. But you love this side of Lewis. The sound of his desperate moans and pleads for more, the feel of his body shivers beneath your fingers. He is weak to your seduction and you love every second of it.

“Fuck!” He curses as his head falls backwards as you roll your hips faster. You smile, intoxicated with the effect you’re having on him. You lean down and kiss him and you kiss him hard. Lewis opens his mouth, welcoming the swipe of your tongue as you demand his attention. He grabs the back of your neck, making you gasp at how greedy he’s being.

“Getting a little needy huh?’ You tease him with a smirk playing on your face as his hips snap back.

He’s about to come. You know all of his tells. You know how he sounds when he’s close, how his body tenses up, his mouth goes slack, falling open as his eyes scrunch shut. You also know Lewis is a clean freak and he’s going to hate making a mess in his pants … but you don’t wanna stop. You don’t want to miss the euphoria of seeing him lose his senses.

So you rock harder, you moan into his mouth, tugging at his beard and his braids just to torture him even more. You want to make him feel the need that you have for him that holds your body hostage, the need that has held you captive from the very beginning.

Using his hair, you pull his head backwards, exposing his neck for your bidding. You lick a stripe down the length of his neck, tasting the sweat of his day. That move seems to break him. His hands go under the robe covering your body, kneading your ass as he pulls you harder onto him.

He starts to moan your name but you shut him up by grabbing his cheeks - the pressure of your fingers forcing his mouth to open. You spit into his awaiting mouth and then cover it with your free hand. His moans are trapped behind your palm and his breathing gets heavier.

“Lewis.” You whisper his name and move your hands away from his mouth to cup his head with your fingers caressing his scalp. “I need you to cum for me.” You moan against his lips.

You watch as his eyes roll back before he closes them shut, mouth falling open as his hips jerk, holding onto you as he lost control. He’s coming hard in his fireproofs. ‘I can’t believe she just made me do that’ Lewis thinks to himself. You sigh contently as you feel the warmth of his spent through the fabric as he tries to calm his racing heart. His hands fall away from your body and settle on the back of the couch.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart.” He rasps. “What was that for?”

You giggle as you tug on his beard, your eyes zoning in on the stray strands of grey in the bristles of reddish brown and black - his age beginning to wear on his body.

“Do I need a reason to jump on my man?”

“Absolutely not.” He mumbles before he moves your bodies so that he’s lying on his back on the couch with you still sitting on his lap. He tugs at the ties barely holding your robe together, licking his lips as your breasts came into his view.

“Can you sit on my face to make me feel even better?”

“Of course I can baby.”

The giddiness in his eyes reflect the eagerness as he lifts you closer to his face. You laugh - his eagerness contagious — you fucking love this man.

tags: @queenshikongo3 @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @jessnotwiththemess @sapphireheaven @saintwrld @brownsugarcoffy @iamryanl @christmasbales @l0vesicktimes @brieanana @fashiondollparade @captainwithoutmakingitlove @krissy455 @amirawrah @muglermami @dhlfastestlap @serpenttines @saturnville @hopefulromantic1 @cocobutterqwueen @olyvoyl @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @laneywrld @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy @bekindbecoolbeyou @greedyjudge2 @itsapurrfectstorm @createdbylivingclocks @omgsuperstarg @peyiswriting @miyuhpapayuh @blowmymbackout @purplelewlew @henneseyhoe @leilaxaliel @hotfudgeslug @pickingupmymercedes @nat-lh-44 @mochachocolatteyaya @melaninpov @kindan3rdy951 @gwenda-fav

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

Daylight Is Calling

Pairing: Jalen Shaw x his beautiful wife

Summary: Jalen and his wife wake up early with the best intentions and still end up late.

Notes: mild cursing, nonexistent smut by my standards, mainly boob worship 😼

This is something random I started during shenanigans with my twin @megamindsecretlair and decided to share here. Forgive any errors cuz I for sure haven't given it a proper edit. I'm trying to force myself to write more without overthinking it.

Early mornings are normal in your household. It’s not the alarm clock resting on your nightstand rousing you from slumber, but rather the instinctual call and response from two bodies perfectly aligned in every way. Even with your eyes closed you can tell it’s still dark outside when Jalen reaches for you, his fingers warm and seeking along your torso until your back lines up with his chest.  

“Good morning baby.” His voice is low and weighted with sleep against your neck. It’s the erection pressing along your backside that captures your full attention. You promptly raise your thigh to ensure his words hold true. It’s an effortless reunion for a man who’s never really left you. He lives in your mind, occupies your dreams, keeps you in a perpetual state of anticipation for the next time he decides to claim what belongs to him.

His movements are leisured and deep, not solely for pleasure, but for the sake of being closer to your soul. Yet the orgasm he provides is an inevitable testament to the power he holds. It lingers beneath your skin long after he’s finished inside of you and carried you to the shower.

Jalen is more awake than you are, but he doesn’t tease or force conversation. You wash each other with quiet reverence and emerge two fully realized people ready to take on the day ahead. Together you prepare breakfast. French toast with a side of strawberries and whipped cream for you. Grits, eggs, and bacon for him.  

“Alright my love, I’m heading out.” Only glimpses of the man who’d sat you in his lap and fed you breakfast by hand are present in his smile. His snug briefs resting low on his waist and tattooed limbs are covered in a navy-blue suit and charcoal gray peacoat with a skull cap tugged over his ears. “Come say goodbye to me.”

You’re already drying your hands and halfway to him, the black silk from your robe billowing around your thighs with each hurried step you take. It’s by design that you’re so undressed for the occasion. He’s shameless in the way he tugs at the belt keeping you somewhat decent, revealing the soft and supple skin undeath. The perfect landing place for his hands as he draws you into a wall of muscle and designer fabric. Hours from now when he’s sitting idle behind a desk he’ll build a fantasy around your scent.

There’s more you wish to impart onto him, beyond your possessive urge to mark your territory or climb him like a tree every chance you get. You need to speak life over him, fortify his armor to guarantee he returns to you sane and in one piece.

“I love you. Be safe. Keep your head on a swivel and remember you’re right 99.9% of the time. Anyone who disagrees is an idiot.”

He chuckles with his brow lifted in a prominent arch. “Only 99.9%?”

You smile and stroke your thumb along his nape. “Yep. We’ve gotta leave some room for human error.”

Jalen’s eyes soften with the kind of emotion that used to make you cover your face in embarrassment. Through affirmation and lots of practice he taught you how to accept his devotion, making it real in a way you thought only existed in silly fairytales.

More time passes with you suspended in your truth, worshipful, reciprocating, and more than a little greedy. You’re closer than you were, foreheads touching, but somehow unwilling to go any further. Jalen is the one to close the distance between your lips, claiming you with a gentle confession. “I’ll miss you.”

In return you kiss him like it’ll be weeks before you see him again instead of later this evening. Passionate, covetous, all tongue and desperation shared on a single breath. Then his lips start to wander along your jawline, down your neck, sweeping over your collarbone where he delivers the same message “I’ll miss you too,” over the swell of your breast, one and then the other in hungry open mouth kisses.

This doesn’t feel like a goodbye anymore. It’s foreplay headed nowhere fast. Once he’s gone, you’ll finish yourself off under a cold shower. First, resist the temptation.

“I’ve loved on you properly and fed you dessert. Now get your greedy ass out there and protect the city from the bad guys.” Your voice is airy with laughter and sweet encouragement; the kind you imagine every married man hears when his wife is forced to be the voice of reason. Jalen doesn’t partake in the joke or the way you snatch off his beanie to kiss his bald head and rub it for good luck. If not for his steady pulse and constantly moving tongue you’d assume he finally died happy in his favorite place on earth.

You huff and try again. “Jalen Shaw!”

Using his full government earns you half the desired results. He acknowledges you, not as the levelheaded man you know but as a grumbling demon unwilling to release its bounty. Amusement turns to wide eyed shock when he lifts you off the ground by your ass and pins you to the wall, easily restraining both your hands above your head in a single-handed grip. The other hand is rolling your nipple between his fingers.

“You aren’t playing fair.  I should call out sick and teach you a lesson.” A flicker of eye contact to drink in your shock and then he’s unhinging his jaw to latch on to your breast like he intends to swallow it whole.

“We don't have time--mhm shit.”  You squirm in pleasure and frustration, unable to deny how sexy it is to watch him lose himself so easily.

The only crime you’re guilty of is daring to exist in the same space. Perhaps trying a new body lotion on a weekday wasn’t the best decision given the warnings left in the comment section. Apparently, those women hadn’t been lying about needing to pry their husband off with a crowbar.

The way Jalen is licking and sucking on you as if you’re the key to his survival makes it impossible to come up with a proper defense anyway. This is your fault. You’ll gladly face the consequences.

All you can do now is honor your vows and be with him through sickness, in health, and the feral outbursts no one warned you about. Like the good little wall fixture he’s turned you into, you quietly watch the clock, measuring time by how long it takes him to release one swollen nipple to give the other equal attention. When his phone finally starts to ring you smile with your eyes closed, allowing your head to roll back into a comfortable angle as you issue an apology to the presumed caller.

Sorry Riley… He’ll get there eventually.

 Once Jalen finally emerges from his trance with clarity in his gaze and fulfillment on his lips you decide being late for work isn’t the end of the world.    

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

hi hi i hope you are well, i love you work sm🥰🥰 can you please do a smoke fic! please make it very intimate like based of the songs 105- alex isley or rocket by beyoncé? i love reading your writing with the music you recommend it’s amazing!

rocket ( req )

✗ warnings: 18+, mdni, pinv, sensual, breeding kink, needy!smoke, soft!smoke, intimate sex wc; 1k

synopsis; after a long week of missed moments and quickies, you and your man finally were able to have sex.

it started off as just kissing. you both were equally tired and being back together felt great. it seemed like you hadn’t had a moment alone in forever.

this was that moment.

the moment were the kisses got more intense and intimate rather than innocent. the moment where elijah’s finally decided he’s had enough of being away from you. he’d grab you by your waist, placing you on his lap.

let me sit this ass on you

you felt his restrained bulge against your hardly covered core. he whimpered at the feeling of you pushing down onto it, unintentionally of course.

show you how i feel

this felt like love making. not sex. not fucking. far more gentle. he took his time undressing you. wanting you to know he was feeling you, not just touching.

his hand moved upward to your tank-top pulling it over your head. your breast lightly fall hitting your skin as he raked his eyes over the vast flesh. you could see the moment he had finished his once over. his gaze darkened.

let me take this off

he lowered his head to your chest placing gentle opened mouth kisses around and on your breast, releasing a soft hum with each press of his lips. you’d tilt your head back enjoying the feeling prior to him mumbling something that got muffled against your bust. you looked down at him to see him gazing up at you, “look at me, please?” he begged as you petted his head and nodded.

will you watch me?

you stared down at him with as he looked back at you just as intense. he’d suck and lick and kiss all he could just to hear the small huffs or ‘ngh’ you made.

elijah wanted you to watch him, which you did. he removed the fat out of his mouth with a pop sound from all the saliva. he’d soon rub his fingers against your nipple. you felt so worked up.

since he wanted to be a tease, why can’t you?

you adjusted yourself a bit aligning your core with his hardened erection before slowly, carefully, and gently, riding him. still clothed. mostly.

this elicited an needy whine from him.

that’s mass appeal

the very little friction that you got felt astonishing. “elijah..” you moaned breathlessly at the feeling of your already aching cunt moving against his hard groin.

he looked away from you; a visible sign that he was enjoying this as much as you were. “no daddy, look at me, look at how good you make me feel” you pleaded as he groaned looking at you through half lidded eyes.

don’t take your eyes, don’t take your eyes off it

his eyes trailed down from your orbs to your rocking hips.

watch it, baby

his hands quickly found your hips, guiding them. you parted your lips at his rough calloused hands gripping and kneading the flesh.

if you like, you can touch it, baby—do you, do you wanna touch it, baby?

smokes grip increased at each roll of your hips it felt.

ooh, grab a hold, don’t let go, let me know

just as you find a good rhythm, elijah sits up hooking his arm around your waist and laying you on your back. he settled between your legs, kissing your neck and jaw.

that you’re ready

he looped your legs around his waist as his palm glided up your thighs. he was growing needier by the second it seemed. you gently nipped his earlobe after whispering; “we’ve got all night baby, let’s take our time”

i just wanna show you now, slow it down, go around

he nodded “you’re right”. elijah then resumed the friction from earlier. except this time, he rocked his hips against yours harder.

you rock hard, i rock steady

this continued on for a while. he’d grind his hips hard but carefully against yours, being sure to enjoy this.

and rock right up to the side of my mountain

you panted grabbing his hands and interlocking your fingers. he kept the pace and the rhythm dipping his head down to bite onto your neck.

climb until you reach my peak, baby, peak, baby, peak

the restrained humping was killing elijah. he couldn’t take it, he paused his movement, pulled down his pants as his dick sprung up. your eyes widened feeling the wet sticky tip against your ass cheek.

“please baby..let me do this please” he’d plea to which you nodded allowing him access to slide the lace of your panties to the side. shortly after he slowly slid his length in you causing you to gasp at the feeling.

his pace was slow and savory like he wanted no, needed you to feel each inch if him. you moaned at the feeling of him in your cervix. “hmph” was all that came out of your mouth.

and reach right into the bottom of my fountain

smoke grunted with each movement he made. you could feel him going deeper. he wanted to feel how deep he was in you. his hand moved over to your abdomen pressing down to feel the entrance and exit of his cock.

you whined before wrapped your arms around his back and hooking your hands onto his shoulders. this encouraged him to go deeper and deeper hitting your sweet spot.

i wanna play in your deep, baby, deep, baby, deep

with his ear being by your mouth and vice versa, you heard every little exhale he made. “right there please—don’t stop” you begged bashfully. elijah took heat to what you said and didn’t change his pace or rhythm.

he continued his attack on your g-spot until your walls fluttered around him eliciting a deer groan from him.

the coil in your stomach snapped at the same time you felt elijah release hot white strings in your womb. “don’t pull out” you told your voice stern. he listened and let his load coat your walls.

rock it ‘til the water falls

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

Heyyyy! I was wondering whether I could request a message between stack x reader. Maybe y’all have had an argument and you leave the house for some space… he texts you after asking you to come back home- please could I be quite longish?

Hope this is okay to ask. Thank you very much. XO

✗ warnings; none really (sfw), slight use of the n-word (intended blk reader), angst (kinda) wc: 1k

synopsis: an heated conversation leads to you leaving the house.

( i misread the request and wrote a whole ass fic 🤦🏽‍♀️. but you got a two for one so 🤷🏽‍♀️. i also wrote this listening to ‘ctrl’ album by sza!)

this hardly ever happened. you and elias almost never argued. especially never over mundane things.

“[𝜗𝜚] you bein’ ridiculous right now” the man spoke his southern drawl more prominent now than ever before, “don’t give me that bullshit, i know im not crazy! no woman wants her so called boyfriend to disappear for days on end without warning or explanation!” you practically shouted.

you were fed up with his macho man act. it was pissing you off that he’d fall off the face of the earth to run off with his brother to god knows where, for god knows how long.

this was your breaking point.

“ain’ nobody sayin’ you crazy, im just sayin’ im i was handlin’ business and i come home to this? you always ridin’ me ‘bout somethin’” he rebutted causing you to scoff “ please don’t insult my intelligence, elias! anybody with half a mind would feel how i feel!” “‘nd how do you feel, [𝜗𝜚]? huh?” he pushed.

“i feel neglected! unprioritized, unloved, whatever the fuck is gonna make you get it! i feel unimportant.” you told with an eyeroll. you were so through.

“you think i’ont love you? that you not important to me? who was there for you when all that shit happened with your family? nobody, just me ‘nd smoke. so trust me, you important.” stack chimed in and for the first time in this conversation, he looks interested.

you scoff frowning up, “ don’t throw that shit in my face, nobody asked you to do that shit, elias. you did all that because you wanted to! i ain’ beg you to do anything for me!” “i didn’t say it because i care [𝜗𝜚], you think if i didn’t care i would’ve did any of that shit? no so—“ you cut him off, “ so what? i should be grateful? because you did what a boyfriend supposed to do?” that was funny.

“i know niggas doing less than that for they baby mamas..we ain’ even got no kids together.” what??

“so because we don’t have kids together you not s’posed to be there for me? please tell me that’s not what you mean.” you finished before crossing your arms over your chest. “im not sayin’ that you gotta be my baby mama to get some respect but you actin’ like..” he paused.

“actin’ like i actually want my boyfriend to care about me rather than leavin’ me in the dark about shit a couple needs to discuss?” “no but you actin’ brand new like you don’t know what i do. you knew from the jump what this was.”.

“ right i knew that when we were ‘talkin’ now we’re together, you’d think you would adjust. that’s my bad for asking for too much, i guess.” you shrugged.

were you being sarcastic and petty? yes. did you care? no, next question.

he sighed in an frustrated manner, “you blowin’ me, baby. you know that i get deals and gotta go, no matter when or where. i can’t put that on hold for you!” he rebutted his voice louder now.

“you say you care and im important yet, you can’t not up and leave without explanation?” you huffed throwing your hands up, “but i get it, we can’t find some common ground? fine.” you shrugged yet again before turning your back to him, finally done with his shit.

“ c’mon baby, you know i ain’ mean it like that” he said approaching you, hand hovering above your shoulder. “well how else am i s’posed to fuckin’ take it, if that’s what you said, elias?” you swiveled around to face him as he jumped slightly.

“you know what, that’s alright. imma stay at my homegirls house tonight.” you voiced walking past him and towards the door. he inevitably caught up with you, just as you closed the door.

only things you had being, your phone, your keys, and the clothes on your back. you didn’t care. you were through with his shit.

you walked for about five minutes before receiving a message.

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

⋆.ೃ࿔ 𝐁𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋 ᝰ Smoke's been gone on business, him and Stack out making shady deals and God knows what else. You’ve been home waiting for his return, trying to keep your hands busy and your anxiety at bay, but when he finally comes home, with blood dripping down his torso, all that waiting boils over into worry.

𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮… Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore

𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻… SFW ᝰ fluff + angst, non-canon, fem!reader, envisioned as black!reader while writing, pregnancy [second trimester], mom!reader x dad!Smoke, soft!Smoke, established relationship [married couple], use of derogatory word [cracker], implied anxiety & worry, depictions of injury, southern/country dialect used. implied southern/country accent. 1930’s time period.

𝑫𝑼𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… 2.8k words

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑹… Wanted to write something fluffy/angsty for Smoke since I recently posted smut for him and I came up with this idea. As always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!

𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑺… Sinners M.List ・Sinners Taglist ・Main M.list

The house has settled for the night, there’s cicadas hiding in the trees, the hum of distant frogs buzzing in the air, and the gentle creak of the old floorboards beneath your feet as you move throughout your home. The house has been quiet all day since Smoke isn’t here for his voice to bounce off the walls and his shoes tapping against the floor.

Him and his brother are out on a “business” trip doing God knows what. Smoke doesn’t like involving you in his dealings, not wanting those type of things to spill into your marriage but sometimes you force him to tell you things and when you don’t feel like going back and forth with him, you ask Stack, bribing him for information with a warm pie or whatever he’s in the mood for.

These trips never have a set amount of time they’ll be gone, it could be a few days or a few weeks so you just wait for him to return to you. You’ve been trying to distract yourself all day, straightening up the house, folding the same blanket three times, and even baking a pound cake just to keep your hands busy. But now the night’s settled in, and you’re left with nothing but your thoughts.

You just finished up in the bathroom, wrapping up your hair for the night, and getting ready for your bed so you can get some sleep. You sit on the side of your bed, taking off your robe that’s tied loosely over your nightgown, your belly becoming rounder by the day as your pregnancy progresses. Your hand strokes over your stomach as you hum a little tune, reaching to turn off the lamp on your nightstand.

When you’re about to lay down and close your eyes, that’s when you hear it. The low growl of a car engine cutting through the quiet, tires rolling slow over the dirt road leading up to the house. You didn’t need to look out the window to know who it was. You can feel him, that familiar tug in your chest, the one that always stirs up inside you whenever he’s near.

A soft smile creeps onto your face as you slip on your slippers and tie your robe back on, stepping into the parlor room, turning on the lights so you can see in front of you without tripping over your feet. By the time you open the front door to greet Smoke, he’s already climbing up the porch steps, that same easy strut in his walk paired with his cold expression that doesn’t warm up until he’s in your presence.

You can tell something is off with him, you just can’t put your finger on it. His feet are moving a little slower than usual, and there’s a tightness in his jaw. Despite being a little curious you push those thoughts aside and welcome your husband back home. “How you be?” he says, his voice clearly tinged with exhaustion from travel but still tender enough for you to feel his love. “the baby been good to ya’?”

You don’t answer at first, at least not with words. You just wrap your arms around him the second he’s close enough, squeezing him tight against you. He wraps you up in those big muscular arms, one hand slipping to your lower back and the other curling over your belly. His lips press against your forehead, making you light up at his act of affection. “The baby been quiet,” you murmur into his chest, “and now that you standin’ in front of me in one piece? I’m doin’ real good.”

He lets out a low chuckle, pulling back just enough to give you a proper kiss, slow and deep against his juicy lips, like he’s trying to make up for every second he’s been away. You melt into it, your hands holding the sides of his face until you pull back just enough to search his eyes, wanting to make sure he’s alright. “Did you and Stack take care of yourselves out there?”

Your hand rests lightly on his chest, fingers splayed out beneath the soft fabric of his wrinkled shirt. The moment you ask if he and Stack were okay, you feel his hand graze along the curve of your belly one last time before pulling back. “Yeah, we alright.” he says, voice smooth like molasses but just a little too fast, like he already had this rehearsed. “Ain’t nothin’ to worry ‘bout.”

Even though his tone is calm and confident you know better. That’s the voice he uses when he doesn't want you poking around, when he’s trying to ease your mind without telling you the whole truth.

You know every version of Smoke’s tone of voice; when he’s lying, when he’s happy, when he’s horny, when he’s in pain and trying to hide it. This one? This is his lying tone.

Your brows knit a little, but you don’t push for any information just yet. Instead, you take another approach, slinging your arms around his body, sliding your hands under his suit jacket and feeling the fabric of his dress shirt. Your palms travel down his back, then across his sides, searching for any sort of injuries he could be trying to hide.

You almost think you aren’t going to find anything until you feel a wet and warm substance against your hand. Your hand jerks back and when you look down at your palm, there’s blood against your skin. “Elijah…”

He doesn’t answer at first, just presses his lips together like he already knows you’re about to start fussing at him. You reach forward and press your hand lightly over the stain again on the side of his torso, and this time, he flinches. “Elijah,” you say again, firmer this time. “you bleedin’.”

He sighs, like it’s just a minor inconvenience, not really thinking too much of it. “It’s jus’ a scratch, baby. I’m fine.” When it comes to things like this, it’s like pulling teeth to get Smoke to admit when he’s in pain. You know it’s rooted in him to worry about everyone else’s well being and not his own but you won’t let him, not while you’re still walking this earth.

“That ain’t jus’ a scratch.” You pull him inside the house and close the door behind him, dragging him throughout the house and stopping once you both get to the kitchen. “Take that jacket off and lemme patch it up.” Smoke is about to tell you that ain’t necessary, but once he sees the look in your eye, the stern look you give him when you aren’t in the mood to play tongue tug-a-war, he does what he’s told.

He shrugs out of the jacket slowly and the moment it slips from his shoulders, you see the ounces of blood that’s seeped through the white of his shirt, clinging to his side in a way that makes your stomach turn. “Sit down.” you murmur, pointing toward one of the chairs at the kitchen table. He does, but not before grunting as he lowers himself, one hand bracing against the table, the other hovering near the wound.

You grab the little tin box from the cabinet that holds everything you need to doctor him up: bandages, alcohol, and a needle and thread just in case he needs stitches. You set it on the table with a sharp thud, pulling up a chair and sitting in front of him. “Take yo’ shirt off.”

Smoke undoes the buttons slowly, flinching when the fabric peels away from his skin as he tries to take it off. Once the dress shirt is away, and he takes off his t-shirt, your eyes fall upon the wound. It’s stretched just along his ribs, dripping with blood and jagged like someone tried to cut him and only half-finished the job.

You wet a cloth and bend towards him, pressing it gently against the wound. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth but doesn’t pull away. “What happened?” you ask quietly but with a stern tone, not looking up since you’re trying to focus on the wound. “And don’t give me some half-assed reason you jus’ made up in yo’ head. I wanna hear what really happened.”

Smoke leans back in the chair, his eyes flick up to the ceiling, then down at you as you doctor him up, your belly brushing his knee each time you shift closer to get a better angle at his wound. For a moment, you think he might lie again. Might smooth it over like he always does. But he must see the way your mouth’s set tight paired with the heat in your eyes, because this time he honestly answers your question.

“Man we went to handle,” he starts, voice a little raspier than before. “was s’posed to be alone. Told Stack I ain’t trust it, but you know him, runnin’ his mouth as usual, sayin’ it’d be quick money.”

You keep pressing the warm cloth to the cut, dabbing carefully and gently, though inside you’re ready to chew Stack out for putting your husband in a dangerous situation.

Smoke winces, trying to pretend he isn’t in pain but continues telling the story. “The man had two crackers waitin’ out back. Soon as we got ‘im cornered, they come rushin’ in. One of ‘em got lucky, sliced me while I was tryin’ to handle the other.” He grumbles at that, wishing he had you light him a cigarette before you started working on him. “Stack damn near lost his mind when he saw me all cut up, shot both of ‘em in the leg ‘fore I could even blink.”

You look up at him then, eyes soft but your voice is sharp, shaking your head at how Smoke and Stack allow themselves to be in these compromising positions. “And you didn’t think maybe you shoulda got that looked at before draggin’ yourself in here bleedin’ all over my floors?”

“Ain’t trustin’ no backroad doctor to touch me. Rather come home and let you fuss over me. You patch me up better than anybody.”

You scoff but your cheeks flush warm, hating how even all cut up, this man still makes you go soft for him. “Keep talkin’ sweet like that and I might let ya’ off the hook.” you mutter, rinsing the rag in the bowl and pressing it back firm enough to make him hiss again.

“Mm.” He grunts with his slightly jaw clenched. “Might be bleedin’, but I still know how to talk my wife. ‘Specially when she mad at me.”

You shake your head again, trying not to smile while your hands moves steady as you wipe away the last smear of blood. The gash isn’t pretty, but it’s clean now. It’s long but thankfully not deep enough for him to need stitches if you keep its wrapped tight.

You reach for the little bottle of alcohol next, needing to make sure it doesn’t get infected. Smoke sees it and narrows his eyes like a child about to get scolded, trying to brace himself for the upcoming sting.

“This gon’ burn somethin’ ugly.” He grumbles under his breath when he hear you say that, so low that you can’t catch all the words. But he sits there all the same, shoulders squared, breathing hard through his nose as you pour the alcohol straight into the cut.

He lets out a growl, hand gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles almost turn white .“Look at you,” you murmur, trying to soothe him and put his mind on something else as you blot the alcohol in with clean gauze. “Actin’ all tough out there, but the second you back in my house, you jus’ a big baby who can’t take a lil’ burn.”

He cracks the smallest smile through his gritted teeth, shaking his head at you calling him a baby. Even though he tries to deny it, when he gets around you he lets his walls down, allowing himself to be soft and gentle.

With you he doesn’t have to mean ole’ Smoke that everyone claims him to be, he can just be Elijah. “Only reason I’m sittin’ here lettin’ you torture me with that rag is ‘cause I love ya’. Anybody else woulda got they ass cussed out.”

You let out a small laugh, knowing that Smoke’s words are true, if it wasn’t you tending to his wounds he definitely would be cussing like a sailor to whoever’s trying to fix him up. When it’s finally clean, you coat it with a salve that Annie swears by and wrap it up snug with fresh bandages. Your fingers work fast and precise, practiced from all the little patch-jobs you’ve done on him over the years.

When you’re done, you lean back, hands resting on your round belly, looking him dead in his eyes. “You gotta be more careful out there, ya’ hear me?” you scold. “I ain’t let you knock me up just to end up raisin’ this baby by myself. Me and this little one need you comin’ back home in one piece. Every time.”

One of your greatest fears is that one day Smoke won’t come home, that someone will be at your door giving you the bad news that your husband has gone to be with the Lord before you could even tell him goodbye. You try not to worry yourself with what if’s but the image of him being in a casket before his time haunts you every time he walks out the front door.

Smoke’s eyes soften, knowing that the work he does makes you uneasy sometimes, especially at times like this where he comes home wounded. He dips his forehead to yours, wanting to ease your mind and let you know that you don’t have to worry about him. “Ain’t nothin’ out there worth more than what I got right here.” he murmurs. “Ain’t neva’ gon’ let nothin’ take me from you and this baby. You got my word on that.”

You swallow, fighting back the burn in your eyes, brushing your nose against his before pulling back, taking a sigh of relief. “Good,” you breathe, a tremble in your voice you can’t quite hide but you don’t let it stop you from bossing Smoke around. “Now, come to bed. You gon’ rest the next few days. Ain’t no runnin’ off behind Stack till you healed proper. You got that, Elijah?”

He doesn’t argue or rebuttal. He just leans forward slow, his brown dyes burning into yours like always when he looks at you. “Yes ma’am. Whateva’ you say, mama.” He presses a soft kiss on your forehead before standing up, putting his hand out so he can help you stand up since he knows it’s getting harder for you to do so on your own as your belly continuously swells.

You take his hand, letting him pull you up slow and careful. The weight of your belly shifts as you rise, and Smoke’s other hand instinctively moves to steady your back, like he always does now, a gentle but firm touch while he watches you like a hawk.

Once you’re on your feet, you don’t move right away. You stand there with him in the low kitchen light, your arms wrapped loosely around his middle, careful not to press against the bandages, your cheek resting against his chest. His heart beating steady beneath your ear, so strong you can hear each thump of his heart. “I missed you somethin’ awful.”

He hums, his lips pressing into your hairline before leading you down the hallway. “I missed you more. Missed hearin’ your voice instead of Stack’s loud-ass complainin’ every five minutes.” Hearing that makes you laugh because you know how much those two love to bicker about any and everything.

You lace your fingers with his as you walk slowly down the hall, both of you moving in sync like you always do. Once in the bedroom, you help him out of the rest of his clothes, folding them neatly on the chair while he climbs under the covers in just his boxers.

You untie your robe, slip it off, and join him under the quilt, your back pressing against his chest as he curls his body around yours protectively. One arm slips beneath your pillow, the other drapes over your middle, his big hand resting on your belly.

His thumb rubs soft circles into your skin, feeling the little fluttering movements in your womb. “Baby movin’?” he asks, his voice low and thick, already sinking into that drowsy place that only comes when he knows you and the baby are doing well.

“Mhm,” you whisper, smiling weakly against the pillow. “started up soon as I laid down. They must know you back home.”

Smoke hums, pressing a slow kiss to the curve of your shoulder. “Baby, already got good sense.” he murmurs, voice heavy with sleep but still soft and tender. “Know they papa gon’ always come home.”

You don’t respond to him verbally, you just reach down and rest your hand on top of his that’s sprawled across your stomach, holding him close, anchoring both of you to this little slice of peace y’all have carved out of this rough world.

Feeling your husband's warm embrace against your frame, comforts your soul, helping you easily grow tired and your eyelids to grow heavy. “Goodnight, ‘lijah.” You whisper, falling deeper into his chest while a yawn passes through your lips.

Smoke kisses your neck, pulling you closer to him before resting his head on his pillow. “Night, baby.” And just like that, the Moore house is silent and fast asleep. Both of you feeling a sense of relief now that you’re wrapped in the other's arms again, safe and sound.

𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 — @Yungblud423 @nostlicions @loveabledovee @secretisme4 @pinkkycherrish @bl3ssyn @shamansha @queenofklonnie22 @rios-st4rs @Secretlifeofpreshap @bxrbie1 @t-wylia @bendoverboo18 @milesf4vg1rl @secret89sblog @gabbysbl0gg @li-da-savage @minyara-kun @st4rrdrexm @rose-bliss @sajoi @plan3tch1ld @queenofklonnie22 @n-ae-vis

— all rights reserved ©𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐙𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘. all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, repost repost on other platforms (ex. AO3 or Wattpad) nor recommend on tiktok any of the works seen here.

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

I was wondering if you could do more smoke and stack black!fem!curvy/plusize!reader

pretty and plush

Smokestack twins x black!femcurvyplusize!reader

Mdni 18+

That thought kept echoing in your head, loud even under the bass thudding through the club walls. You weren’t the girl who partied. You weren’t bold or flashy. You were soft. The kind

that avoided crowds, and barely spoke unless someone spoke to you first.

But tonight… you let your friends talk you into something different.

They’d bought you a hus tracksuit that hugged every dip and curve, hyped you up with glitter gloss and soft curls. They said it was your night to be seen. That you were beautiful, thick in the best ways, and needed to act like it.

You didn’t believe it. Not really.

But then you stepped into the club.

And they saw you.

Smoke and Stack.

You didn’t know they were here. Wouldn’t have come if you had.

But the moment you looked up and saw them through the crowd, Elijah’s dark stare locked on your, Elias’s slow grin stretching across his face like with that gold glint.

You knew it was too late.

You tried to disappear back into the crowd, heart pounding, nerves buzzing. You just needed to make it to the bathroom.

But they didn’t give you that chance.

“Damn, Big Mama,” Stack said, catching you near the back wall. “Out here lookin’ like this and didn’t think to tell nobody?”

You startled, swallowing hard, eyes on the floor. “I didn’t know y’all were here…”

“That right?” he asked, eyes dragging down your body slow and hot. “So all this softness just for you, huh?”

You nodded once, voice barely audible. “I wasn’t tryin’ to be seen.”

Stack chuckled low. “You gon always be seen around us.”

You flinched when a second presence stepped behind you. Elijah. Quiet and still. He didn’t speak right away, he just stood there, his stare made the hairs on your neck stick up.

“You came out here alone?” he asked, low.

“With friends,” you murmured. “I think they’re still on the dance floor.”

“You think?” he echoed.

Your stomach flipped.

“You always look pretty and when somebody appreciate it you wanna disappear.” Stack murmured.

“I just wanted to feel nice.”

“You look better than nice,” Elijah said behind you.

You looked up at him shyly and that was your mistake.

Because he didn’t look away.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared you down like you’d just signed your name on something serious.

“You wore this for attention,” Stack said, his hand brushing the bare skin of your upper arm. “You just didn’t think it’d be ours.”

“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” you whispered.

Stack leaned in. “You sure?” His hand slid around your waist, fingers splaying low on your back. “You look so good right now”

You couldn’t speak.

“Say the word,” Elijah murmured, voice dark. “And we’ll take you outta here.”

Your breath caught.

“We’ll take real good care of you, Muffin,” Stack said, thumb stroking the side of your waist. “Ain’t gotta talk. Ain’t gotta explain.”

“I-I don’t usually…” you trailed off, voice tiny.

“We know,” Elijah said, stepping in behind you now, his chest at your back. “Let us show you”

Stack smiled slow. “That’s all we need.”

⸻

You didn’t remember the drive.

Didn’t remember what song was playing, or how long it took to get there.

All you remembered was Stack holding your hand the whole way, thumb brushing over your knuckles, and Elijah’s hand firm on your thigh, never moving, never hesitating.

By the time the car pulled into the quiet driveway, your hands were shaking in your lap.

You weren’t scared. But you were overwhelmed. These were them.

Elias. Elijah.

Smoke and Stack.

They weren’t just fine, they were dangerous. Everybody knew it. Everyone warned you. But none of that mattered when their hands were on you.

Stack opened your door, then stood with his arm resting on the frame, watching you with that slow, crooked grin. “You still with us, Muffin?”

You looked up at him shyly. “Yeah.”

He reached for you. “Come on, baby.”

The house was quiet when you walked in. Big, but not showy. Clean. Dark walls, soft lights, hardwood floors that echoed the sound of your heels like a heartbeat.

Stack closed the door behind you with a soft click. Elijah brushed past silently, locking it.

Then it was just the three of you.

No music. No club lights. Just the sound of your breath catching in your throat as you stood in their living room — curves wrapped in a dress that suddenly felt way too tight, eyes too wide, heart in your throat.

Stack came up behind you. “Relax.”

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

“You sure?” Elijah asked, watching you from across the room with that unreadable look on his face, the one that always made your stomach flip. “You can say stop anytime.”

He stepped in front of you, eyes dragging over your body like he’d been starving. “ lemme see you.”

Your hands twitched at your sides. “Here?”

Elijah stepped in behind you, voice low in your ear. “You trust us?”

You swallowed. “Yes.”

“Then let us take care of you.”

Stack’s fingers reached for the zipper of your jacket unzipping it.

“Take these off” smokes hand tapped on your bottoms.

You obeyed, heart hammering.

You stripped the rest down until you stood in just your bra and panties, heels still on, curls falling softly around your shoulders.

Stack let out a soft whistle. “Goddamn.”

Elijah’s fingers brushed your waist from behind. “Beautiful.”

You froze under their eyes, arms instinctively coming up to cover your stomach but Elijah caught your wrists gently, pulling them back down.

“Don’t hide,” he said.

You bit your lip.

“You ever been touched like this before?” Stack asked.

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

Both of them stilled.

“Not even a little?” Stack asked, brows raised.

“Not like… this,” you whispered. “Not… both.”

“Then we gon’ take our time, Make sure it feel right” Elijah said his voice making that heat pool in your panties.

Stack leaned down and kissed you,soft at first, lips barely brushing yours. Then firmer, deeper, until you gasped into his mouth.

Elijah’s hands slid up your sides, over your ribs, unhooking your bra with one smooth motion. You shivered when it fell.

“You cold?” he murmured, breath on your neck.

“No,” you said, barely audible.

“Good.”

Stack dropped to his knees in front of you, mouth trailing kisses along your belly, his hands smoothing down your thighs.“Softest thing I ever touched.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then higher. “You smell good as hell.”

“Elijah,” you whispered, overwhelmed.

He was already pulling you gently into his chest, holding you steady as Stack’s hands slipped under the band of your panties and dragged them down your thighs, slow.

Elijah tilted your face up. “Look at me, baby.”

You did.

Stack kissed the soft flesh just above your knee. “You feelin’ shy still?”

You nodded.

“That’s alright,” Elijah said. “Be shy. Just don’t run.”

Then Elias’s tongue met you — and everything broke.

You gasped, knees trembling, body jerking back into Elijah’s chest.

“Oh—!”

“Easy,” Elijah said, tightening his grip on your waist. “We got you.”

Stack moaned into you like he couldn’t help it. “You so damn sweet.”

You whimpered when he licked again, slow and deep, tongue pressing where it hurt sweetest. Elijah held your hands in his, keeping you still, grounding you.

“Let it happen,” Elijah whispered. “You don’t gotta do nothin’.”

And you didn’t.

You just stood there, trembling, panting, fingers clutching Elijah’s, while Elias devoured you with a hunger that made you want to cry. It was too much. Too good. Too new.

Then he added a finger.

You bucked.

“Stack—!”

“I know, baby,” he groaned. “I know.”

You came embarrassingly fast, body curling into Elijah’s arms as you moaned through it.

And they praised you for it.

“Just like that,” Elijah said, kissing your temple.

You were still panting when Stack rose, mouth glistening, eyes dark.

They took you to the bedroom. Lifted you onto the bed like you were the most precious thing in the world. Elijah kissed your thighs while Stack mouthed at your chest, both of them everywhere at once.

When Elijah slid inside you, slow and thick, you cried out.

But Stack was there,licking and kissing your neck.

“Shh,” he whispered. “you doing so good.”

You moaned his name, breath breaking.

“Shh. We got you.”

Elijah moved slow, deep, filling you over and over while Stack whispered everything in your ear, how good you felt, and how pretty your moans were.

“You under us, eyes rollin’ back, callin’ our names like you need it.” Stack said, voice rough.

“She does,” Elijah growled, thrusting deeper. “She need all of it.”

You came again harder this time, a sob wracking your body as you clenched around Elijah.

Stack kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

“That’s it, baby. That’s our sweet girl.”

When Elijah finally finished inside you, he pulled out slow, leaning down kissing your lips.

Then Stack laid you flat again, stroking your thighs, your belly.

“You okay?”

You nodded weakly.

“You want me too?”

You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Please.”

He groaned.

Then he kissed you and fucked you soft, slow, deep.

And when he came, he said your name like a prayer.

Tag list: @chrisevansmentee @queenofklonnie22 @christinabae @cocooned-butterfly @midnightmemoirsofher

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

dreamland: vacay visuals

note: this is set the summer before solana and leya get pregnant. it's a lot, and i apologize. 😭 -------

the social media posts:

the og's call log:

you can easily figure out who's who.

the og's and roman texts:

roso texts:

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

Can I request a text fic where Izzy finds and watches the QB season 2 film (within your fictional timeline, ofc). I feel like she would have so much to say, especially seeing as, according to your Izzy-Universe timeline, she would have been a toddler and Joe and Y/N would have been back together and planning a wedding…..

Dad…

~ mini gossip girl au ~

Des: Izzy's first confrontation with her dad about "The Quarterback" does not go the way she thought. The first of Izzy's many reactions to the series featuring her little brother, Jaxon.

TW: 18+ | language, implied activities, Izzy is 15, Jaxon is 11 (and acts like it), teenage embarrassment, dad!Joe, mom!reader, Izzy's POV.

More from this AU | JB Masterlist | Main Masterlist

A/N: Next time on Mini Gossip Girl... Izzy watches the first two episodes of "The Quarterback" and has a very special debrief with her mom.

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

Impatient

I haven’t wrote anything in a while so bear with me! 😂😭 @v6quewrlds @heavyhitterheaux

This is for Joe and his Little hoochie daddy cut up compression shorts he had on at training camp!

Joe Burrow X Black Reader

Hot and bothered doesn’t even start to describe how I’m feeling right now.

Y/n was not okay.

She was in her apartment, pacing the kitchen in one of Joe’s hoodies—his number stitched across the back, the sleeves falling past her tattooed arms—and she was feral.

She had tried to go about her day. She really had. She even opened her laptop, intending to respond to work emails. But then the Bengals’ official Instagram had dropped the Training Camp Day One content. And there he was: Joe Burrow, white cut off compression shorts, orange practice jersey, looking like summer trouble wrapped in cocky quarterback confidence.

“Oh, you think you’re cute, huh?” she muttered at her phone like it had personally offended her. The comments section was already thirst central, but none of those people had the actual man coming home to them. She bit her bottom lip and texted him.

Y/n: Sir. Sir. SIR. 🗣️🗣️

Y/n: Why would you do that to me? 😩

Y/n: I’m ovulating. Literally. You’re trying to get me pregnant through a SCREEN??? 🤰🏽

Y/n: Come home NOW I’m going insane.

Y/n: Your thighs should be ILLEGAL!

No use. Joe couldnt respond right away—running routes on the field and breaking hearts with that jawline and cleats. But she knew he’d see it. She knew he liked it. The little read receipt that popped up later might as well have been a wink.

She sent another.

Y/n: I’m not even playing, Joey. I will climb you like a jungle gym. Don’t test me. 🥺

She was being impatient. Whiny. Bratty. But this was Joe. Her Joe. And he always knew exactly how to push her buttons. So, she pushed back.

By the time she heard the front door unlock that evening, she was halfway down the stairs, in nothing but one of his shirts and ready to pounce. Joe stepped in, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, looking tired but smug, his curls damp from a shower, his thighs doing Olympic-level things in a clean pair of them damn hoochie daddy shorts.

“Hey, baby,” he said casually, taking off his sunglasses. “Have a good day?”

She was already halfway to him when he set the bag down and sat on the couch, legs spread comfortably, patting one thick thigh like a throne.

“You’ve been real impatient today,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Sending me all those texts like a needy little brat…”

Her breath hitched. She was heat and adrenaline and pure want, but she froze—just for a second.

“Don’t stop now,” Joe murmured. “C’mere.”

She climbed into his lap, straddling his thigh just like she’d been dreaming about all day. She rocked once, needy and unashamed.

“No panties?” He questions with a smirk.

Her hips rock again.

“Do the thing.” She whines

Joe’s eyes were dark. “Uh uh,” he said, hands resting behind his head, lazy like a king. “You wanted it so bad, you’re gonna take care of it yourself.”

“Joe…” she whined, glasses slipping slightly as she moved.

“You were the one talking big shit all day,” he said, tilting his head. “Let’s see if you can back it up.”

She bit her lip and started to move—slow at first, deliberate. His thigh flexed beneath her, and she gasped. He was solid. Hot. Unmoving. A problem.

Joe didn’t touch her. Just watched, smirking like a man who knew he’d won training camp and whatever game they were playing here.

“I hate you,” she whispered breathlessly.

He raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t.”

She didn’t. God, she really, really didn’t.

Her breath came in soft gasps, hands braced on Joe’s shoulders as she rocked against the muscle of his thigh. He still hadn’t moved, just sat there like the smug bastard he was, letting her do all the work—watching her squirm and whimper like he wasn’t the one who caused the chaos in the first place.

“You’re so unfair,” she panted, her braids falling over her glasses as she rolled her hips in slow, needy circles.

She didn’t stop grinding, and Joe’s thigh flexed just enough to make her moan.

“Mmhm,” he said, finally placing his hands on her waist but just to still her. “You that close already?”

“Yes,” she groaned, nails digging into his shoulders.

“You can get there on your own keep going.” He says watching her buck and rock her hip.

She whimpers out a response.

“You’re so wet for me. All I did was wear shorts.” He taunts. Her hips moved faster, deeper, chasing something that’d been taunting her since the first minute of training camp started. Her face was twisted in frustration and bliss, all at once.

Joe finally gave in, just a little—bringing one big hand to her lower back, grounding her, anchoring her. “There you go,” he murmured. “Go ahead, Y/n. Take what you need.”

And she did.

Her body tensed and a soft, strangled sound escaped her lips—high and helpless. She collapsed forward, forehead on his chest, shivering with the aftershocks of satisfaction and revenge.

“See?” he said, brushing a braid behind her ear. “Patience pays off.”

She didn’t answer right away, still catching her breath.

Then, with a groan, she sat up and glared at him. “You know you’re not getting out of this untouched, right?”

He smirked. “Didn’t plan to.”

Hello! I’m Jaz or Jay. This is my first time writing in YEARS! last time I wrote anything was during my 1D and 5SOS days on wattpad! I’m self conscious about my writing which is why I stopped. 😬😬 If you want more Joe feel free to ask! I write for a few other players too!

[blkgirlsneedlove2]

Be My Comfort, Be My Peace

✨Pairing✨: Jalen Shawxblack!reader

Summary🪄: after a hard day of working another difficult case, Detective Shaw just needs you

🚨: language, tiny bit of angst, talks of violent crimes against women, age gap (reader is early 30s, Shaw is mid 40s), pretty much all fluff🌸

*DISCLAIMER!: I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were all found via Pinterest*

It wasn’t when he left the precinct that Jalen could feel the tension and stress leave his neck and broad shoulders. Not when he pulled into his usual parking space in front of your shared brownstone. Not even when he entered the dimly lit foyer immediately locking the wooden door and re-setting the security alarm behind him.

Jalen felt himself finally relax shedding the hardness of the day, able to breathe, once he opened the bedroom door to find you deep in sleep. The light from the hall shining through to illuminate your dewy face against your pillow and above the cloud like white comforter. Sliding into bed once he was showered, - black boxer briefs comfortably snug on his hips - his face sinks into the back of your neck as he practically melts into you. His tattooed arm wraps around your waist gently pulling your body closer towards him needing that grounding warmth only you’d been able to provide.

As soon as his full lips meet behind your ear, it’s as if your body knows he’s back. Needing him just as he does you, you sleepily turn with eyes half open. It’s blurry and dark, but you still know it’s him from the heat radiating off his body. From the fresh, soapy scent mixed with shea butter from his lotion that tickles your nose and makes you softly smile.

“You’re home.”

“Yea. Finally,” he sighs.

“Long day?”

He simply nods before pecking your temple and letting his lips linger there a few moments longer. The way his arms hug you impossibly closer - as if he’s afraid you’ll leave - tells you something’s off. Not that he wasn’t usually physically affectionate. There wasn’t a day that his hands weren’t practically cemented to your body, but being with Jalen for a while now you were able to distinguish the meaning of his different touches.

His protective touch when you were in public that was usually his large fingers entwined with your smaller ones, or his hand resting on your lower back and/or hip. His needy touch that could have you cancelling plans or running embarrassingly late from how his hand would caress your ass or grip your thigh.

Then there was this. A touch you couldn’t quite name yet, but knew he needed to be close to you. That it was hard to fully explain or communicate, but came with the territory of being apart of “New York’s finest”.

Your hand rests on his chest just above the tattoo over his heart as you drag your leg over his hip and try your best to tilt your head so you could meet his eyes.

“What’s wrong baby?,” you gently ask letting your finger trace back and forth along his collarbone.

His lips part slightly before closing again trying to find the words he wanted to say. After a few seconds, he gently shakes his head trying to clear the thoughts from his mind - you guessed. “You should be sleep.”

“So should you, but here we are,” you reply making him chuckle. The tip of his nose taps against yours as his head sinks further into his pillow. From his silence, you think this is another tough day Jalen chooses to keep locked away never to be released.

Reluctantly, you accept letting your eyes flutter close before you feel a squeeze to your hip, “It was the last day of trial today for this guy who was targeting women riding the subway after midnight.”

From the news you’d heard how he’d gained a vendetta against women stemming from his troubled relationship with his mother. Hating how she chose lovers and nightlife over her own child, he set his sights on those innocently trying to get home. “Out that late…they’re up to no good. They’re all the same and deserve to be punished!,” he said in his psych evaluation.

“All day I was remembering how we found those last two victims. And hearing from the one that got away it- I dunno it hit different this time.”

“Why do you think so?”

He lets his forehead rest against yours. “Made me think of you. How there’s sick people out there every day hurting others off some petty shit.”

“Yea it’s sad, but unfortunately that’s part of the world. Luckily you caught him.”

“He won’t be the last though,” he sighs letting his fingertips drag along the peek of your midriff; enjoying your smooth skin under his touch. “You still havin issues with that ass at work?”

A slight burn settles in your nostrils from your surprise snort. “Jay..”

“I know, I’m overprotective,” he rolls his eyes making you tiredly giggle. “I don’t want you ignoring stuff for the sake of no drama and end up gettin hurt though.”

And who were you to fight him on that? True, he could be overprotective, letting those natural, “alpha male” instincts take over when you could handle your own, but you knew it was ultimately out of love. A love you’d dreamed of since childhood that made you feel cherished; not out of pride like a trophy, but from genuine adoration and desire to take care of an earned rarity.

Jaylin showed you every day how you were his world and how he’d do whatever to make sure you felt it too.

Feeling the tip of your index finger delicately drag along the nape of his neck, a low hum vibrates his chest and curled lashes flutter from impending sleep. “Stop distractin’ me,” he mumbles making you giggle.

“No, he hasn’t messed with me anymore. You don’t have to worry.”

“M’always gonna worry,” he yawns sinking his head further into the pillow.

“I worry about you too you know,” you whisper feeling bashfully vulnerable even after giving everything to the man in front of you.

Those days you’d hug him a bit longer before he left for the day, or the way you’d fight to keep your face neutral when he’d get a late call told him you were worried long before tonight. A shaky, “be careful,” slipping past your lips before Jalen was striding towards you leaving multiple pecks along your face attempting to get you to smile again.

Jalen’s grip on your waist comfortably tightens bringing you close to keep your body on his. It’s almost like he’s holding you hostage, unable to move or even wiggle an inch, but you don’t mind. Not with the heat seeping from his body to what feels like your bones.

Or when his scent practically smothered you in the best way.

“I know,” he whispers letting his full lips graze along your temple. “I’m sorry.”

“Mmm…I think you actually like the attention,” you smirk getting that famous boisterous laugh in return before he leans down to kiss your lips for the last time tonight.

“Only from you though.”

*something quick and sweet from your friendly, neighborhood emotional thug☺️! Jalen is a new bb of mine so definitely have more stories lined up, (but we’ll see on account of my adulting schedule🙃)*